#so in an attempt to not make things worse he tried to just let lane take the wheel in raising carewyn

[carewyncromwell]

“Hey, Dad, look at me: Think back, and talk to me -- Did I grow up according to plan?”

~“Perfect (cover)” by At Sunset

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animation made with EZGif // my other accompaniment while drawing this

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Um... “happy” Father’s Day, everybody? 😅 Here’s some Jacob Cromwell content to mark the occasion -- specifically Jacob content that also features his estranged father, Evan Bach!

Those of you who are familiar with Jacob and Carewyn’s backstory are probably already aware that Evan was a pretty poor father. He tried continuously to shape Jacob in his image and only vindicated the opinions of others labeling him as a “delinquent”; he actively plugged out of his daughter Carewyn’s life from an emotional perspective, leaving her to be raised solely by her mother and brother; and worst of all, he abandoned his wife Lane and their children after the arrival of Jacob’s Hogwarts letter, unable to accept that his wife had lied to him about her and their children’s magic for so long and not wanting any part of the Wizarding World he’d have to join to be part of their lives. But at the same time, I never saw Evan as an inherently bad person, so I wanted to explore the generational trauma that both Evan and Jacob suffered through, and how it ultimately shaped them as people.

Evan Bach was the only son of Josef Bach, the son of a German immigrant raised largely by his uncle Jakob after the death of his father in the first World War. Josef learned from an early age how to lie to stay out of trouble with both his uncle and the authorities, and coupled with his chronic alcoholism, this led to him getting involved with a lot of petty crime. Josef’s childhood sweetheart Margie thought that having a family might help coax Josef to stay at home with her more, rather than spend his nights at speakeasies and pool halls, and at first, it seemed to work -- Josef wanted to put on a good face for his wife and newborn son, so he tried to hide his more illicit behaviors from them. Then Britain entered World War II, and Margie was forced to take one-year-old Evan out of Westminster and into the countryside to safety, leaving her husband behind. Soon Josef fell head-over-heels into organized crime, which actually flourished during the Second World War in Britain with most legal authorities having to focus on the war effort, and he soon became very rich working as an “enforcer” for a prominent London gang who participated in dozens of protection rackets. All the while, Josef wrote letters to his wife and son claiming he’d used that Ivy League education he’d convinced Margie he’d gotten somehow to land a job for the British government, and that with the profits he was making as part of the war effort, he’d bought them a huge house on an acre of land that they’d be able to enjoy together once the War was over. For Evan, who had next to no memories of his father aside from what his mother told him, he clung to these written lies enthusiastically, endlessly proud of the man he thought his father was and looking forward to the day that he and his mother would finally get to return home and meet him.

Sadly, while in the country, Margie became very sick and died in the winter of 1943, just before the end of the War. Following his wife’s death, Josef became all the more devoted to his gang life, and soon extortion, arson, and murder became everyday occurrences. Even so, on those few occasions when Josef would speak to his young son Evan on the phone, he’d lie about the weird noises and explosions the boy would hear in the background, saying that he’d be there to pick the boy up when he returned to Westminster and he’d take them home to their beautiful (and completely fictional) house outside the city. When the War was over, though, Evan did not find his father waiting for him at the train station, but instead his great-uncle Jakob -- for Josef, it turned out, had been lying to a lot more people than just his wife and son: he’d also lied to his bosses that he had no wife and children. And in order to keep up that charade, he couldn’t have Evan live with him -- so Josef asked "Uncle Jakob” to pick Evan up and take him in instead. The revelation of Josef’s lies and subsequent abandonment shattered Evan in a way he had trouble articulating to anyone, though he tried to once, when confiding in his future wife, Lane --

“I know what you mean. About your father, I mean. ...My father...wasn’t like yours, really. He was a crook, a liar...a petty criminal, in every way. ...But I know what it’s like, seeing the love other people seem to have for their kids and just wondering, ‘...Why? Why didn’t I have that, why couldn’t I have that? Why does my father have to put himself, and his wants, and his vices, first, instead of his family? Why isn’t he like those parents who, when faced with a tough choice, always choose their kid? ...Why didn’t he choose me...?’”

Not long after, Josef’s lies and crimes finally caught up with him, and he was sentenced to life imprisonment for all of the violent crimes he’d gotten wrapped up in. And so Evan was raised by his great-uncle, who desperately tried to take advantage of his “second chance,” raising the orphaned son of the boy the old man had raised as a son himself, and teach Evan to live an upstanding, honest life. Evan was so haunted by the corruption of his father through his addiction to alcohol, his proclivity toward violence, and his pathological lying that he was determined to be a man who would provide for his family the right way -- one who would be a proper role model for them, who would model the correct way to behave and instruct them about how to do the same. A man who wouldn’t let his son throw his whole life and potential away the way his father did.

Unfortunately Evan’s rosy view of fatherhood was complicated when his son -- named “Jacob” for the man who had largely raised him and had passed away five years previously -- ended up being both a wizard and a completely different person than Evan himself was. For as conventional and people-pleasing as Evan was, Jacob was opinionated and eccentric. For as rule-abiding and respectful of authority as Evan was, Jacob was rebellious and irreverent. For as uptight and conservative as Evan was, Jacob was wild and sometimes even violent, when provoked. Add to this Jacob’s distinct disinterest in any of the classic “father-son” activities Evan had envisioned them doing like fishing, playing catch, and going to sports games, as well as the boy’s frequent “misbehavior” (in truth outbursts of underage magic) that would get him into trouble at school, and Evan honestly didn’t know what to do to alter his son’s course. And because of his departure, Evan never saw just how hard his son worked to get top grades at Hogwarts, only to have his life upended by Lane’s father Charles and his criminal organization R and get locked in a magical portrait for seven years. Evan also never saw Jacob pull off the best, “underdog”-style comeback imaginable and graduate the school he’d been expelled from with honors so as to become a world-renown freelance cursebreaker and magical researcher. Nor did Evan ever see just how loyal, heroic, brilliant and loving of a man Jacob ended up becoming, even without his father there to mold him into what he thought he should be.

But perhaps, in a sad way, that’s the way things had to be. Evan had no desire to be part of the Wizarding World, the place where Jacob felt more complete and “himself” than anywhere else. He had no desire to lie to the people around him or to live a life outside of the straight and narrow path that had helped him move past his father’s tarnished legacy. He’d wanted to give his wife and children what he hadn’t had -- a stable, peaceful, middle-class life in Westminster, where they could just live normal, modest lives and grow into normal, upstanding people with normal, respectable careers. He’d failed in that...and ultimately, Lane -- the woman he loved, who chose him over her abusive family, who he cherished so much for having chosen him, over any other man in the world -- had chosen their son over him. Just as Jacob chose Lane over him...just like how their daughter would’ve chosen Jacob and Lane over him, if she’d had the choice. It’s not like Evan could’ve molded her any better than Jacob, even if he’d tried -- Lane said she was just as “normal” as she and Jacob were. And if Evan had stayed, it no doubt would’ve been out of duress, rather than out of sincere loyalty -- for how could he not resent a woman who he bared his heart and soul to and worked day and night to provide for, only to find out she had lied to him from the very beginning? Would he then only be a pocketbook for his family -- someone to write the bills every month, rather than someone to lead, protect, and guide them in being upstanding members of society? Someone for them to respect, love, and be devoted to, the way upstanding families were supposed to? Was he just meant to accept this life he’d never chosen for himself -- a life where he had to bow to the whims of the rest of his family, just because they had these bizarre, mysterious powers he didn’t have anyway to curb or restrain?

So perhaps Evan leaving ended up being the best outcome for all parties, however cowardly and cruel it was. If nothing else, the Obliviators assigned to keep tabs on Evan after his departure never found any evidence that he tried to expose Lane’s magic or the Wizarding World to any of his friends, associates, or remaining family, or even to the Muggle authorities. He never even made up any stories explaining away his departure to cast Lane in a bad light or absolve himself of blame -- not of her having an affair, nor of her being involved in any criminal activity, impropriety, or abuse. On the contrary, Evan always shut down any accusations of that nature, whenever anyone would suggest them.

“Lane lied to me,” was all he’d ever say. “That’s all it was, and that’s the last I’ll say about it.”

It seemed that, no matter how much Lane’s betrayal had hurt him and how much he resented how their children had chosen to follow her down a path far removed from the upstanding society he’d so wanted them to contribute to, as he did, Evan was an honorable enough man that he refused to tarnish his ex-wife’s name with lies and false accusations. For however poor of a father he was to Jacob, and however justified Jacob might be to hate the man, that honor at least can be respected.

[look-at-the-soul]

HIII ANGEL <3 can I request 'Hometown Glory' for the Adele music thing? I love that song so much overall so no specific lyric or anything for reference 🙈

Hello my darling! How have you been? 🥰 thank you so much for sending in this song as request!! As I started playing it over and over, I was playing different scenarios of how to make Tommy go back to his hometown. ✨

⚠️ There’s a bit angst but comfort after it

Lyrics and flashback in italics 😊 I hope you guys like this! Would love to hear your thoughts about it 💕

Song: Hometown Glory by Adele

Hometown Glory

Tommy sighed loudly as they entered the Birmingham territory, he got tense immediately, his energy changed and the atmosphere as well.

Charlie was sleeping in the back of the car, he saw his son through the rear-view mirror.

I've been walking in the same way as I did

Missing out the cracks in the pavement

It had been a while since he came back, over the years he changed, both mentally and physically. Unlike him, everything in Birmingham was the same, but worse; the smoke irritated his eyes, he found more factories than he could remember, people on the streets, smoke clouding around.

He took a turn and found the old church where his mother would take them every Sunday, he hadn’t stepped in one in ages. In the corner he found the old building where he and his brothers used to go to school when they were little, it was now abandoned and falling into pieces, he saw broken windows and the door was replaced by blocks.

"Is there anything I can do for you dear?

Is there anyone I could call?"

"No and thank you, please Madam

I ain't lost, just wandering"

No matter how hard these people worked, they’d never be able to get out of Small Heath, they could only hope to repeat the same story of their parents. They were still digging, but instead of getting out of the hole, they were moving deeper and deeper.

Tommy looked to the side, finding the pub where his Dad used to send him and Ada to get a bucket of beer for him, he even remembered the one time when he and his sister decided to bet who could run faster and the spilled almost half of the bucket, when they got home his father got pissed for the missing booze and started raising his voice, then Tommy saw him taking of his belt. It was only natural to ask Ada to run and hide while he took the beating for her.

As the memories were too vivid for his own liking, Tommy had to shake his head to them brush away.

Somehow his heart felt at ease with the familiarity as he stopped his vehicle outside the Watery Lane house, the place held so many good moments.

'Round my hometown

Memories are fresh

Taking Charlie’s sleepy body into his arms, Tommy had to hold his breath as he looked in the small space between two houses in the other side of the street.

Flashback

“Tommy!” Y/N squealed as his hands pulled her body towards his. “Someone might see us!”

Y/N tried to push him away, but his hands were resting firmly on her waist.

He laughed and the sound echoed in the small corridor while her palms attempted to stop him, but there was no use because he had other intentions.

Leaning towards her face, Tommy captured her lips in a soft kiss.

Y/N gave in, not only to his kiss but her hands gave up and instead of trying to push him away, she moved them to the back of Tommy’s head.

Taking a few blind steps, and Tommy had her pressed between the wall and his body.

“Let them see.” He replied after pulling apart to have some air.

He always waited for her there, he knew the exact time where she would go out to buy some bread for dinner and they’d sneak around before it was time to walk her home.

End of flashback.

'Round my hometown

Ooh the people I've met

Are the wonders of my world

Tommy felt the heartache was unbearable, but as Charlie stirred in his arms, he hurried to open the door to the house where he was once happy.

Shifting his son’s weight to one arm, he carried his kid upstairs, into his old bedroom, the same bed where he and Y/N would lie together to watch the stars and the moon. Memories of the two of them making love right there, burning his skin.

Tucking Charlie in, he stared at his son for a few seconds, before turning around to walk out of his room.

“Mama?” Charlie called half sleep.

Charlie’s voice made him stop on his tracks abruptly. His son had only started calling Y/N Mama.

“She will be back very soon, sleep well my boy.” Tommy lied and his eyes filled with tears.

Charlie had already lost Grace, his Mum. He couldn’t let him lose Y/N too, she was now his Mama, the woman who tucked him in and read him bedtime stories, the one who kissed him better.

Exhausted, Tommy flopped on the couch, he was quiet but his mind was already working at speed to find a way to get Y/N back.

His enemies finally found a way to make him surrender, by taking Y/N he no longer cared about any business, deal or wealth. For the very first time he was powerless, he wasn’t ahead of everyone else like he used to, he didn’t see that coming.

I like it in the city when the air is so thick and opaque

Because one morning she was kissing him say goodbye by the door, talking about going out for lunch together since she would be in the city visiting the orphanage and the next thing he knew is that she never showed up to have lunch, she was barely ten minutes late and Tommy knew something was wrong, she was never late.

As if she knew someone would take her, she left Charlie at home that day since he was sleeping. He wouldn’t be able to keep going if they took Charlie too.

Staring into the flames he made a silent promise; he wouldn’t stop looking for Y/N. He would give anything those bastards wanted, anything to get her back.

***

Looking at her nephew, Polly rubbed her forehead. Dark circles under his eyes, lines of worry decorating his features.

Just like she did for her nephews and niece all those years ago, now she stepped in again to take care of Charlie, she had help him have a bath that morning, get him dressed and have breakfast, all while Tommy was still waiting for a phone call.

As she was wiping her hands with a small cloth, she heard the unmistakable sounds Charlie was making from the living room. The image broke her heart; Charlie was playing on the floor with a horse made out of wood and he was holding a small photograph of Y/N, making voices as if she was riding his horse, but what really hit her like a bucket of cold water, was Tommy’s lost stare, his eyes fixed on his son and the photograph, his cigarette hanging from his lips, still unlit.

She quickly moved with the lighter in her hand and the movement made Tommy snap out.

“Jimmy McCavern called.” Tommy stated without an ounce of emotion.

“Charlie? Sweetheart go and find my shawl, it’s by the window in my old room.” She ushered the kid out of the living room, to then look back at her nephew. “So? What happened?”

“They want the racing licenses, the exportation permit, two pubs and Arrow House.”

“What?”

“It’s the Billy boys Pol, they want everything or nothing at all.”

“But..” She tried to reason with him.

“They planted explosives in my property, they almost killed my boy!” Tommy exploded, his heart was beating like a drum, hammering his ribs, his head. “I’m not going to risk Y/N, I’m giving them what they want.” He explained with fear in his voice and eyes.

Then before Polly could do or say anything else, he stormed out of the room.

“Is my Dad mad at me, aunt Pol?” Charlie looked from the floor to her with sadness.

“Oh no my sweet boy, no…” she tried to stop the tears forming in her eyes as she hugged Charlie, “he’s worried about Mama, that’s all, he sent a letter and she hasn’t written back,”

“But she’s alright, she’s shopping.” He explained sure of himself.

“That’s right, but you know Dad right? He worries too much.” Bitting the inside of her cheek, she extended her hand to Charlie. “How about you help me bake a pie?”

Charlie nodded and rushed to the kitchen, allowing Polly to take a deep breath, she wasn’t sure how long they could keep lying to Charlie and if Y/N would come back from the Billy boys on one piece.

I like it in the city when two worlds collide

You get the people and the government

Everybody taking different sides

Tommy slammed the door, making Lizzie jump in the process.

“Do you have the papers I asked you?”

Lizzie looked away.

“Don’t make me repeat myself.” He was about to lose his patience.

“Tommy…”

“Lizzie give me the fucking papers!”

When she didn’t move, Tommy walked around her desk, took the keys from her skirt and after fumbling with the keys for several seconds, he finally opened the drawer. Rushing towards his office, he took the pen and signed the papers.

As he was about to go out, the ringing of his phone made him stop on his tracks.

“How’s the paperwork going Mr. Shelby?” Jimmy asked.

“I need to talk to Mrs. Shelby first.”

Jimmy groaned. “Fine, you can say hi to the wifey.”

The next thing Tommy heard was Y/N gasping and letting out a sound of pain.

“Y/N!”

“Tom… don’t believe anythi-”

“That’s enough bitch, now…” Jimmy tore off the phone from her ear and threw her to the floor.

“Don’t you dare to hurt her, prick!” Tommy yelled, feeling frustrated and useless.

“Oh, what are you gonna do about it tinker-boy?”

“I’ve the papers.” Tommy made a huge effort to control his emotions, he needed to think.

“That’s what I like about you Mr. Shelby you know how to make a deal.”

“I’ll have the rest of your demands by the end of the week.”

“Fabulous, meet me at the canal at five o’clock. And you can have the wifey back after you hand over the rest.”

“Charlie’s yard. But I need to see she’s alright.”

“Ha, that’s not going to happen, I need to have a little fun first.” Jimmy hang up before Tommy could say another word, and it only left him more agitated than he already was.

Bonnie was already dead and Aberama was injured badly, he couldn’t let Y/N get hurt.

Tommy wanted to throw away the phone but deep down he knew it wouldn’t change a thing. So he walked towards the bar, finding only another memory unlocked as he saw the decanter, Y/N bought it for him after his horse won a race. Just like the globe and the black horse figure, she also added an hourglass in one his shelves.

Everything, reminded him of Y/N. No matter where he looked at.

Taking the checkbook from his drawer he started filling the information on the cheque.

***

Let’s leave the wives out of this. Tommy had whispered to Jimmy before turning his back at him.

It required all of his strength to not kill Jimmy right there at Charlie’s yard, but his message was loud and clear.

Subtly, Tommy let slip a direct threat to Jimmy’s wife by handling him the £500 cheque. Then pointing at Isaiah patrolling around should’ve made clear that he wasn’t joking.

About a couple of hours later, Tommy got a phone call from the Midland Hotel, announcing Mrs. Shelby was dropped at front desk.

He couldn’t drive fast enough to the hotel, smoking frantically to release some stress. As he saw the building another memory hit him hard, as the big salon was the place Y/N chose for the wedding back in the day.

For an instant he was transported back in time to that day, watching her in her wedding gown walking towards him, with her big smile and eyes sparkling from the love they felt.

'Round my hometown

Memories are fresh

Nothing prepared him for what he was about to see, surrounded by a sea of people carrying towels and a first aid kit. Tommy felt like his heart stopped beating as Y/N appeared in his eyesight, there was a deep bruise decorating her cheek, her chin scraped just like her palms, they were already putting some kind of ointment.

“Mr. Shelby I ran a quick checkup on your wife, but I’d like to run a few tes-”

But Tommy finally reacted and pushed past the Doctor to get to his wife. Kneeling in front of her, his hands trembling before caressing her face gently, he didn’t want to make her even flinch from the pain.

“Are you alright love?” He asked with fear in his voice, he was terrified to learn she was hurt.

Y/N threw herself in his arms, feeling relieved to finally see him. “Oh Tom!” Tears flew freely as she wrapped her arms around his neck, his came to rest behind her back, trying to convince himself that she was safe now.

Are the wonders of my world

Taking his gloves off, he took a deep breath.

“I’m hungry.” Y/N stated easing the tension, her statement made Tommy chuckle slightly feeling like he was getting his wife back.

“You heard Mrs. Shelby, she wants to eat something!” He cracked a small smile, leaning forward to catch her lips in a soft kiss, allowing her to give him back the part of his soul that was missing.

Wiping the tears from the corner of her eyes, Y/N arranged Tommy’s tie.

“So… I really need to leave all of this behind, I want to go home, have a bath and give Charlie a hug and then snuggle with you all night.”

“You know I can’t just look the other way around and pretend nothing happened, right?” He already had a plan to get to that prick and not lose anything in the process.

“I know,” her voice faded away as her hand squeezed Tommy’s. “Just let me have this moment, yes? I was terrified that I’d never see you again.”

Tommy swallowed hard as her voice broke. His hands rested at each side of her face, to make her look at him.

“What makes you think that you’d get rid of me so easily, ey?” Tommy asked with glossy eyes.

“Never.” Y/N moved her hand to the back of his head.

“Charlie has been asking for you a lot, Polly told him you were out of town, shopping.”

“Oh! Then we really need to get a few things, to keep the lie going.” Y/N joked, earning a scoff from Tommy.

“Everything reminded me of you… the house, the neighbors, places we’ve been together, this hotel, where we got married.”

Tommy motioned Y/N to stand up, his arm around her waist for support. Kissing her hair softly, he could only think of the memories they still have yet to create.

***

Masterlist

Tag list: @lyarr24 @runnning-outof-time @cillmequick @datewithgianni @cloudofdisney @gretelshelby @gypsy-girl-08 @lespendy @onlydeadcells @fastfan @stevie75 @prettylittlehoneyeyesxoxo @esposadomd @forbidden-forest-witch @ange-thoughts @moral-terpitude @elenavampire21 @forgottenpeakywriter @thenattitude @winchestergirl22 @zablife @heidimoreton @imichelle-l-rigby @allie131313 @already-broken144 @peakyscillian @babaohhhriley @shelbydelrey @shaddixlife @sloanexx @sydneyyyya (can’t tag) @adaydreamaway08 @pono-pura-vida @thomashelbyswife @darleneslane @everythingelseisextra

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Sunset and Vine

Pairing: Frank Iero x Reader Summary: Kinktober Day Four - Hate Sex Warnings: NSFW content Tags: hate sex, degradation, begging, oral sex Word Count: 3756 A/N: My pre-August writing makes me puke, honestly. It's a crime. Unfortunately, it's one of my only Frank fics. I'll definitely write another one after I finish the Ray fic I'm working on. Anyway, the title is a reference to Taylor Swift, not geography. Enjoy!

Having Gerard as a roommate was great in many aspects. He wasn’t loud or overly messy, and he didn’t take long showers–if any–keeping the bills low. It was nice to have someone to talk about your problems with, especially someone as empathetic as him. Living with him was so close to perfect that it seemed like any issue could be overlooked. Unless that issue was his best friend, who was practically a third roommate at this point.

Frank was probably at your apartment more than you were, hanging out with Gerard as often as he could. This would be fine if he wasn’t the most insufferable person you’d ever met, priding himself on his ability to infuriate you. Whether it was waking you up at night by talking too loud, or having the energy of a Jack Russell terrier at eight in the morning, having Frank around always sparked conflict.

Aside from his rowdy behavior, he was also a total asshole. The second he realized you disliked him, he made it his life’s mission to push you over the edge. His tactics varied from playground insults to minor “accidents”, which included shoving past you in the hallway, eating food that you swore you marked, and other intentional inconveniences.

You weren’t much better, often retaliating just as bad. It was mostly bickering and occasional roughhousing, but nothing worth leaving over. Gerard usually got in the middle of things, making futile attempts to settle arguments before someone got hurt. In addition to this, he was always trying to convince the two of you that the other was tolerable, nice even. Until it showed though, you took his convictions with a grain of salt.

Today you had less patience than usual, getting little sleep the night before. It was a Saturday so you had more than enough time to nap, but you couldn’t seem to relax. You could live with that, but things got worse when you went to the kitchen, realizing quickly that you had forgotten to go grocery shopping. Despite the rough morning, you tried to keep an open mind.

Shopping wasn’t awful, but the lines were. After waiting in line for ten minutes, the lane closed, leaving you to wait another ten minutes in another line. Somehow, your day hadn’t been troublesome enough. The universe had granted you fifteen minutes of traffic on the way home, because heaven forbid you try and stop for coffee.

Coffee that you spilled as you got out of the car, effectively staining your pants, warranting a frustrated outburst, or at least a few tears. As if this wasn’t enough, you walked all the way up to your floor, arms full, with no key. Not only had you locked your car keys in your car, but also the key to the apartment, resulting in ten minutes of knocking and calling Gerard.

Thankfully, he came to your rescue, greeting you at the door with an exhausted expression, one that quickly turned to worry as he saw the distress on your face. He didn’t say anything at first, taking the bags and placing them on the kitchen counter before returning to you with open arms. It was nice, cathartic, to be held, and you were more than grateful for his compassion. However, you still wanted to take your anger out on something, feeling a strong urge to go punch a hole in your wall like an angsty teenage boy.

Gerard wasn’t going to let you do that though, unpacking the groceries and telling you to change into clean pants. When you came back in a fresh pair of sweats, he already had the coffee maker brewing, proudly presenting you with a cup as you took a seat at the counter.

“I take it your morning went well?” he joked, blowing away the steam while you held your head in your hands.

“Gerard, I’m running on three hours of sleep and eight ounces of coffee, and my keys are locked in my car. So yes, my morning was fucking wonderful.”

He breathed a small laugh, shaking his head as he took a sip of coffee. “It’s only eleven, so you’ve still got time to do something fun. Besides, it’s Saturday, which means no work. At the very least you can take a nap.”

His suggestions were sweet, but you’d already failed to go back to sleep, which took that off the list. “Actually, one of my friends is dragging me to some bar tonight,” you groaned, remembering the promise you’d made to her after she spent two weeks begging you to go.

He gave you his condolences before downing the rest of his cup and returning to his bedroom, leaving you to dwell on the rest of your day. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t seem to lighten up, the afternoon dragging on slower than usual. At least you had your keys now–thankfully Gerard kept a spare–so that took some weight off your shoulders.

You had gotten a couple of texts from your friend, ensuring that you were still going and practically begging you to put some effort into your appearance. More to prove yourself than anything, you reluctantly hauled yourself out of bed to get dressed up, hoping something short and scandalous would be the cure to your problems.

A few hours had gone by since something detrimental had happened, leaving you to believe that the storm had passed and that you could enjoy your night. You tried to stay positive as you picked up your friend, fortunately arriving at her place with less traffic than earlier. She was standing outside already, breathing a sigh of relief at the sight of you, who had tried harder than usual to look nice.

Things really seemed to be looking up, as you arrived at the bar with no accidents or road rage, and you were actually starting to look forward to the night. Plus, dressing up proved to be some help, as you were chatting it up with some guy at the bar who couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from you.

Maybe this was good–you had a pretty poor day, so a hookup wasn’t an awful idea. He was cute and seemed interested in you, but right as you were going to take things further, your friend stumbled over, slurring something about how she had puked on someone’s shoes.

Lo and behold, there was another girl, drunk off her ass, wailing about her ruined heels. Of course, when things began to seem okay, there had to be some sort of sabotage, bringing you right back to square one. You muttered a quick apology to the guy, who waved you off and moved on to someone else, rubbing salt in the wound.

Thankfully, you hadn’t had much to drink, leaving you much more sober than your friend and a much safer driver. You tried your best to keep her calm while she cried about ruining your night, and how there was this “totally sexy guy” that she was in love with–despite forgetting his name–and how she would never see him again. As much as you loved her, it was exhausting, and you were more than happy to walk her inside and get her a glass of water before heading home.

All you wanted was to go to sleep, but the second you walked inside, you knew that wasn’t happening. Instead of a quiet apartment, you were met with the unpleasant sight of Frank, sprawled out on your couch.

“Oh my fucking god, you’re here?” you asked, exasperated.

He rolled his eyes, “Are you always such a whiny bitch?”

Gerard looked back and forth between the two of you, concerned and slightly frustrated as he tried to diffuse the situation. “Hey, I didn’t expect you to be home until later, and I can tell that something happened, but Frank isn’t here to bother you.”

“Look, I’d rather gouge my eyes out with a rusty spoon than come home to this,” you assured him, motioning to the mess that was Frank, shirt rucked up and a beer in hand, looking disheveled and a little buzzed.

“Says the one dressed like a back alley whore,” he scoffed; his words would be hurtful if you hadn’t heard them a million times.

“Don’t you moan on stage for people?” you snapped impatiently.

Frank sneered, “You’re just pissed that it’s not for you.”

He was insufferable, absolutely awful in every way, shape, and form. After the day you’d had, you barely had it in you to not take a Louisville Slugger to his knees. The grin he wore as he fueled the flame made it worse, ignorant and mocking as he waited for your insufficient response.

“You’re vile,” you spat, slipping your shoes off and having half a mind not to chuck them at him.

“But I’m right.”

Finally, Gerard piped up. “Alright let’s not do this right now. You go chill out for a bit,” he instructed, pointing at you. “And you, stop instigating them.”

“Fine,” you huffed, sauntering off to the bathroom to shower off the lingering grime from the bar.

As previously mentioned, a perk of living with Gerard was the nearly endless supply of hot water. His hygiene—or lack thereof—meant you could take long, hot showers without any complaints. This was especially helpful after days like these, the warm water cascading down your body, taking your problems with it as it whirlpooled down the drain.

You weren’t sure how long you had spent in there, but it must’ve been a while as the wretched sound of Frank’s shouting had died out. Hopefully, he had left, and realized that he also had somewhere to live. At this point, you should’ve made him start paying rent, he spent enough time here anyway.

Unfortunately, he was still hanging around, making his presence abundantly clear after you finished blow-drying your hair, banging on the door far harder than necessary.

“Could you be any louder?” he griped as you opened the door, eyes lingering on your bare skin, body barely covered by your towel.

“My eyes are up here,” you snapped, annoyed solely because it was him.

“I know where they are,” he said, eyes narrowed mockingly.

”Is Gerard still here?” you asked as you pushed past him, heading off to your room with him trailing after you, sticking around in the doorway.

He knew you were attractive, but it was nearly embarrassing how difficult it was to focus on anything else, watching closely as you shuffled over to your dresser. “No, he went to get food, what’s it matter to you?”

“You actually shut up for once, I figured he must’ve left,” you turned to face him, quickly realizing he was still in the doorway. “Fucking Christ, Iero, have some dignity.”

He grinned as you shut the door on him, heading back to the living room while you changed away from prying eyes. When you finished, you had little choice but to sit next to him, now hungry upon the mention of food. Staying in your room wasn’t the best option when there was a 5’6 toddler in your living room, so you settled on the opposite end of the couch.

“You’re really wearing that?” he asked in distaste, receiving an eye roll.

“They’re fucking pajamas, yes, I’m wearing them.”

“Okay,” he said passive-aggressively, raising his hands in defense. “Better than whatever you wore earlier.”

Impatient didn’t even cover how you felt at this point. “How in the world are you friends with Gerard?”

“How are you his roommate?” he fired back.

“Because I’m not an insufferable douchebag.”

“And I’m not a priss, so it seems like he can put up with anyone.”

This didn’t help, leaving both of you equally pissed off. “Look, I’ve had a pretty awful day, and now I come home to this,” you motioned at him. “In my living room. Go back to the fucking dog pound, Frank.”

“Did anyone ever tell you that the world doesn’t revolve around you? As far as I’m concerned, you pay half the rent. So no, I’ll be staying,” he said, breath stalling as he realized just how close the two of you were.

You hated how attractive he was, from the way he spoke to his appearance, boyish and effortless. It was clearer up close, which only upset you more. “Get the fuck out of my apartment.”

He huffed a short laugh, breath fanning across your skin from the close proximity. “Is that what you really want? Or are you actually dying to be fucked? I know you think about it,” he said cynically. “Quit being a bitch all the time and maybe you’ll get what you want.”

“Shut up,” you told him, burning up as he carefully placed his hand on your jaw.

“C’mon, you can do better than that,” he mocked you, thumb brushing across your parted lips, and lightly pressing it against your tongue. “You’re so much sexier with your mouth shut.”

Maybe it was lack of oxygen, or the weight of your day, or maybe even the two shots back at the bar, but you could barely think as his thumb left your mouth, swiftly replaced by his lips. You had no issue kissing back though, coming to your senses just enough to gain some control. His hands flew to your waist to pull you closer, yours tangled in his hair.

Frank was an outlet, and you could project all your frustration and anger onto him–he deserved it. When you pulled away, his arrogant grin returned, and you gave him a sharp glare before kissing him again.

His kisses were rough and carnal, wasting no time parting your lips once more and gliding his tongue against yours, smooth and assured. You were on fire, and as much as you hated giving in, he was irresistible.

“We are not doing this on my couch,” you told him, panting softly.

“Why? Don’t want Gerard to see you getting fucked like a whore?”

It turned you on more than you’d like to admit, ignoring him and pulling him towards your room. The second the door shut, he was back on you, hands meeting the bare skin of your waist as he held you, fingers digging into your sides with more aggression than you deemed necessary. He slid your shirt off and pushed you back onto the bed, leaving you surprised that he was even more attractive when he was on top of you. Frank, however, hadn’t stopped thinking about this since you came out of the bathroom, his gaze fixed on your half-naked form.

You grew impatient in the few seconds he spent idle, snapping at him. “Can you hurry up? Or will I have to get myself off without you?”

With a scoff, he pulled off his own shirt, chest showcasing a handful of tattoos, arousal coursing through you at the sight of them. “Can you be patient for two fucking seconds?” he glowered at you.

“Maybe if you weren’t so slow, I wouldn’t need to be,” you bit back, quickly cut off by his lips on yours, his fingers tracing the waistband of your pants before shucking them off.

Everything was quick from there, Frank’s palms warm against your thighs as he pushed you up against your pillows. He nipped at your skin, sucking and biting at your chest, leaving light blemishes as he went, smoothing over each one with quick flicks of his tongue.

“For as much as you run your mouth, I thought you’d know how to use it,” you said, earning a gentle bite in response, Frank perking up as you let out an involuntary moan at the sudden sharpness.

He let out a dry laugh, “You’re in for a real surprise, then.”

Frank proved himself right as he settled between your thighs, making quick work of your panties before resting your legs over his shoulders, and placing his hands under the swell of your ass. His ego grew at the sight of you, splayed out and desperate to be touched, dripping with arousal mere inches from him. He could hear the way your breath caught in your throat, anxiously waiting for relief. Your subtle shifts didn’t go unnoticed either, Frank relishing in your attempts to get closer to him. Finally, he leaned in, tongue running flat as he tasted you, feeling his jeans grow tighter as you arched into his touch.

It was almost embarrassing how eager you were for him, but anyone would be with the way his tongue moved, lapping with a motive. He was a bit shocked to be enjoying himself around you, but he was between your legs, after all, listening to every vulnerable noise you made. It was enough to make him pull you closer, sucking lightly on your clit as you attempted to grind against him.

“You know,” you started, cutting yourself off with a moan as he worked his tongue at a merciless rate, undoubtedly to shut you up. “You’d be so much more tolerable if you did this instead of talking.”

He almost pulled away, ready to shoot back a comment about how you would also be more tolerable if you were sucking his dick, but he selfishly believed his mouth had better use between your thighs.

“Frank,” you whined, rocking down against him as he pulled away for a moment, lubricating the pads of his fingers with your arousal.

The sound of his name on your tongue surprised him at first, but his shock quickly turned to desire. It was easily the hottest thing he’d ever heard, making it a goal to earn every noise he could. Every moan increased tenfold as he slipped his fingers inside of you, moving slowly before picking up an even pace. His tongue was a fierce contradiction, gently licking at your clit while his fingers curled quicker, the contrast sending an orgasm rippling through you.

With quick strokes of his tongue, he cleaned you up, pulling every last sound from you. Hastily, he climbed up the bed, itching to get out of his tight jeans. For once, you had nothing to say, too focused on catching your breath.

“Open,” he instructed, biting back a moan as your tongue lolled out.

He pressed his slick fingers to it once more, but this time you closed your lips around them, sucking and flicking your tongue against the pads, causing him to let out a choked curse.

“You’d be so perfect if you weren’t a bitch all the time,” he told you, pulling away as you unzipped his pants.

To your surprise, he stopped you, receiving a look of subtle concern. “What do you want?” he asked, a wicked grin on his face. You paused, looking at him confused.

“C’mon, I want to hear it,” he insisted, waiting for you to speak.

“I’m not gonna beg for it,” you told him, rolling your eyes. He shrugged and started to slide away from you, and you found yourself giving in quicker than you would’ve liked.

“Fine!” you said, and he looked back, waiting smugly for your pleas. “I want you to fuck me.”

It definitely sounded forced, and he could tell that your voice was laced with annoyance. He hummed, “I don’t know, that seemed kinda rude. Try again.”

You looked at him exasperated, trying again with slightly less irritation. “Please, Frank.”

He still wasn’t convinced, shaking his head, grin still plastered on his face. “Man, you’re really bad at this.”

“You’re such an asshole,” you lashed out, kissing your remaining dignity goodbye as you put on a sweet voice for him. “Frank, please fuck me, please. I need it.”

Proudly, he tugged his jeans off. “See what happens when you’re nice?”

You ignored him, too focused on the generous bulge in his boxers, prying down the waistband with nimble fingers. A wave of sheer want crashed over you, head spinning as he hovered over you on full display, Frank quickly noticing how your eyes stayed fixed on him.

“See something you like?” he asked, breath catching as you reached a hand up, gently stroking him.

“Fuck you,” you muttered bitterly, and he was back to scowling at you.

Frank lined himself up before you could react, taking things slow just until he was buried inside of you. “Has no one ever thought to fuck the bitch out of you?” he asked, eyes narrowed in mild distaste.

You opened your mouth to retaliate, but he quickly snapped his hips against yours, any rebuttal you had prepared turning to a loud moan. He built up a rhythm, rough and unforgiving, hooking your legs around his waist to thrust harder, deeper, as you cried out beneath him. You wrapped your arms around his neck, desperate for anything to ground you. He moaned as your nails sunk into his back, the sweet burn encouraging him to pound harder.

With another call of his name, you came undone, legs shaking around him as he thrust a few more times before pulling out. Frank let out a short string of curses as you wrapped your hand around him, pumping him until he came on your stomach.

He laid next to you for a minute, the two of you panting softly from the exertion. It was peaceful, although a bit odd, to have him next to you, without arguing or hard feelings. Maybe he wasn’t as bad as you thought.

“I’m surprised Gerard isn’t back yet,” he said out of the blue, sitting up.

Oh fuck. You had forgotten that he was due home soon.

“Shit, you should probably go then,” you said, eyes barely open at this point. “Could you get a towel?”

He snickered, “Clean it yourself.”

“You’re disgusting,” you said, slapping his thigh. With a melodramatic sigh, he left, returning a few moments and tossing a towel at you.

“Thank you, now get dressed before Gerard sees you stark naked in the hallway.”

He grinned, “So we’re cool now?”

“As if,” you mumbled tiredly, though in your haze you still shot him a smile, listening to him fumble with his jeans as you cleaned yourself off.

Too caught up in your sleepy state, you nearly missed the sound of his soft footfalls and the creak of your bedroom door as it shut, and Gerard’s voice through the walls as he returned a few minutes later. You’d have more than enough time to regret this tomorrow, but at the moment, it seemed like a pretty good end to a pretty bad day.

kinktober taglist: @clichedlovers  @halloweenbitch2764  @lubbockshusband @cigarettesandalcohol  @couldbegayer1234  @doc-martens-enthusiast @yachiiko @becausethedrugsneverwork @michelethesong @dangerouslittlefairy @chronicallythicc

[jeweled-blue-eyes]

I think the thing about what makes the cha siyeon and iklies thing worse is that where cha siyeon is from slavery and underage relationships are illegal and morally worng. Like one could make the excuse that for the people in the game world, slavery and courting 17 year olds isn't that bad cause they aren't illegal and not morally frowned upon by society which would still be a really terrible excuse but like...

Cha Siyeon is from a country, a world where slavery is the most inhumane crime and the legal age is 18 so she knows these things and yet she hasn't shown any disgust towards the actions of others or herself, only a mild sort of self centred disdain. There is a manhwa that I've read, can't remember the name, where the main leads get sent back in time and the guy feels like a criminal when he tries to date the girl he used to date at the time, when he was 17, the female lead kinda forced him to do so in order not to change the past so much. But I don't think cha siyeon ever felt disgusted with her actions not did she feel gross.

And the escapism and power fantasy that some manhwas have to offer have a lot of unexamined biases in them that make them into colonialist, pro slavery pieces of work.

And another thing that felt really unnecessary for me was the comonnars having no last name. Like why? Was it really necessary? And there isn't any resolution for that down the lane.

As far as I know the age of consent in Korea is 20. That means Iklies was 3 years below. I just wanted to mention this because the age of consent being 18 in some western countries shouldn't be treated as universal to the rest of the world especially when the beginning of the story was set in South Korea, Asia. Some readers might be arguing that Iklies being 17-18 by the end of the story makes him "technically" legal.

Cha Siyeon's lack of morals is strange. If I were let's say transported to a world where cannibalism was legal and the only way out was to kill and eat another human being I would not suddenly stop feeling horrified at the idea. She doesn't react viscerally to the things the game tells her to do - doesn't feel physically ill or disgusted. Her only comment on Iklies age was that she isn't usually into older guys but he would have to do. That's it. Her problem was that Iklies wasn't her type. An average modern day person accepting slavery and statuatory rape so easily is not realistic. To me it makes it harder to empathize with her as her behaviour is so far removed from reality and her inner world doesn't really reflect that of a modern day woman. The author could have shown the struggles of a moral person being forced to carry out immoral acts by a sadistic gaming system and how they would desperately fight against it, seek out an alternative, find a middle ground or finally fold and try to do something good afterwards in an attempt to clear their conscience. Instead the author created a character lacking a certain set of morals unless it's convenient for the narrative.

The way Cha Siyeon shows empathy is not consistent. She's willing to do terrible things in order to escape the game but sometimes for narrative reasons, as if a switch is turned, she feels bad. For example when she is rejecting gifts and friendly gestures that could improve her chances to get out of the game earlier with the justification that these things should have belonged to og Penelope. It feels ooc to me that she would do without valuables when this rejection won't benefit anyone not even the girl that has died. Also what makes her so sure that og Penelope won't return to her body and have a Happy Ending once Cha Siyeon has won and returned to her own world? Even more a reason to accept every gift with a smile. Romancing og Penelope's murderer is much worse than receiving a gift from one of her abusers anyway. But Cha Siyeon has to act rude and abrasive towards LI's that aren't Callisto in order to make her romance with Callisto work.

She is also a huge hypocrite I find. She likes empathy in theory but is unwilling to put it into actions. Mourning the owner of her body is easy and effortless because she's already dead. She never knew her personally and could project herself onto og Penelope's suffering with the illusion that she cares when in reality she is just self-pitying. She thinks she feels empathy for og Penelope but upon meeting another abused teenager (Iklies) she just becomes another source of trauma in his life. Like the duke she brings someone home with a specific purpose. Like the duke she neglects that person and is genuinely surpised when the staff abuses them. Like the duke the only apology she gives are gifts and expects money would fix everything. Another example of her hypocricy is when she is going on a date with Vinter which turns out to be a charity project where Vinter is giving food to orphan children. If I remember correctly Cha Siyeon acts angry when Vinter draws her attention to some children who were waiting in line that have already gotten their share of bread. Cha Siyeon was in no place to judge the way he distributed the food bought with his money when she accompanied him purely out of self-interest and otherwise would have eaten cake comfortably in the Eckart mansion while the kids would have starved if not for Vinter. Her worrying about not being dressed for the occasion only makes her more unsympathic.

Surnames were introduced in the 11th century but I doubt the author did their homework or cared at all. It would make sense for the Eorkan Empire to have surnames as they incorporated occupied territories, the population grew and people would need more names to distinguish among themselves. Volume 1 states that Penelope didn't even have a last name which implies that there must be some commoners that do have surnames but the story never bothered to elaborate on the reason why some commoners have surnames and she doesn't. Personally I don't have such an issue with it since we don't meet many commoner characters of importance. It's at the bottom of the list of things I would criticize about the manhwa.

I have more issues with this:

Slavery is treated as a just punishment. Another villain joins the oppressed population so we, the readers won't feel compassion towards them. No voice is given to the innocent ones that have truly suffered working themselves to death in the Duke's diamond mines (which now belong to the protagonist) or were torn apart by the wild beasts in the fighting pits. Incidentally I don't find it believable as punishment. I have never heard of nobles being demoted to slavery. Historically even the method with which nobles were executed was different from the way commoners were executed in order to preserve their dignity. Some say that slavery is a fate even worse than death. I feel as if this was deliberately done to manipulate the impression of the readers and make them side with the slavers by making the only known slaves criminals that were originally belonging to the aristocracy. It was very low of the author to do this.

[co-mixed]

Supurbia: Superhero Picket Fences

When you see a Controversy section on the writer’s wiki page, you shudder. Especially if you happened to already love their work. But sometimes it’s not a massive issue at all as was the case with Grace Randolph. Let’s get this out of the way – I only know her through her work, so that’s exactly what I’m going to talk about. 

Supurbia. 

This story is all about what happens between the sheets after your classic save-the-day team of superheroes takes off their tights and capes. A more interesting part is, it’s not even their story – it’s the days of those who wait for them at home and those who pick up the pieces when they fly full speed to yet another battle. Which right away makes it an interesting take. 

What do you think got me interested in the first place? More spoilers below. Honestly, not that many. Even if you read them, you'd still find plenty of new info in the book.

It’s a character-focused book, so it would be impossible to discuss it without dissecting the faces on the cover. 

Meta-Legion is the Justice League of this world. They even follow the pattern: the all-powerful stone-faced hero, the billionaire with gadgets, the warrior-princess, the boy scout leader, the guy with unexplained space powers, and Nightwing. Fine, maybe that’s more of a character salad, who cares. It’s not even them I really want to talk about. 

The All-Powerful Sovereign is your typical domestic tyrant and he picks the perfect victim too, a reformed villain Hella Heart. Her life’s absolute nightmare and that is exactly what makes her interesting. Sovereign has less in common with Superman and more with Dr. Manhattan. While Hella needs attention and understanding. She doesn’t get it from him, and she doesn’t get it from her Wisteria Lane neighbors. Even if they attempt to connect, it always comes down to their own agenda. Is it even surprising that she eventually slips? 

To be fair, I was rooting for her not to. She gives this victim-of-the-circumstances vibe and still tries to do the right thing. Kinda like Harley Quinn if she was locked in a house with laundry and dishes. Most of Supurbia characters are like that, you know who they’re based upon but they are still different enough for you to ignore it. 

We only get to see the beginning of Hella’s full arc before the run gets canceled. So I imagine, she had miles to go. 

Meanwhile Sovereign himself remains a distant figure. By the end, he’s just starting to get in touch with any emotions. So again, canceled too soon. 

The billionaire Night Fox is having an affair with Nightwing I mean Agent Twilight (not that Twilight and not the other one). Night Fox’s wife and business partner Alexis finds out and it’s your typical betrayal story that hurts a whole bunch of people. While the unhappily married couple decides what to do and how to be, Agent Twilight becomes one of the most sympathetic and interesting characters. His love is all bruised and tortured, and he is almost ready to give it up even though he doesn’t want to. Not only I would still like to see how the whole story plays out, I’d like to see way more of his friendship with Tia. 

Tia is the wife of Cosmic Champion (unexplained space powers) and a former superhero. Reminds you of anyone? Yeah, Jessica Jones. She gives up patrolling and fighting crime to raise her daughter. But unlike Jess, Tia misses it and she isn’t afraid to fight about that with her husband Dion. She manages to get her way too, and she ends up in an awesome costume speaking in tricky rhymes. She even saves the day when she goes after Batu.

The Warrior-princess Batu has two kids and a husband, and believe it or not, their lives are far from perfect. So far, in fact, it gets better before it gets worse, not the other way around. Batu is not a Diana-type, she’s quite the opposite and reminds more of Sovereign. If you look closely, most of these heroes lack empathy which is the reason for their domestic troubles. Batu is no exception – her issues with her kids are a good example. She ignores her son when she believes her daughter is the one with the inherited power, but as soon as she finds out otherwise, she forgets all about her. I like how this story in particular developed with a balance of a caring father and a powerful but absentee mother. This is what drives Sara to evil. If only we got a little more of this evil child and could see her grow from a rebellious teen to a real threat… 

And then there is the person through whose eyes you are supposed to be looking at all of it, the newbie on the block – Eve. She’s a superhero fangirl and the wife of new Marine Omega who arrives to the neighborhood with her husband just before the old one passes away. 

Out of all the characters I liked her the least. She had this optimistic desire to get involved that, for the most part, is a foreign concept to a millennial. She wants to help, she’s a nurse, she’s nosy for good reasons. She also saves the day and becomes a hero. But that was still not enough for me to like her. Matter of taste, I suppose.

Art and overall thoughts

The art in this book is vibrant. That’s the best word for it. It’s not my favorite style but the more you get into the story, the less you mind it. In this case, the art fits the story well. It’s a little… mischievous would be the right word. And it sort of lightens the whole mood of the book. It works in harmony with lettering, colors, and really, the more I think about it, the more I like it. 

These days Russell Dauterman is mostly associated with a very specific X-men look, so it’s easy to simply not recognize his work. I didn’t, he certainly grew and changed a lot. 

Covers are another part that’s hard to ignore. They immediately make you think “Desperate Housewives”. And it’s probably very intentional because this story certainly has similar vibes. Less than let’s say, Vision, but more than nearly anything else. 

Supurbia is a good read. It’s emotional as hell if you let it sink in. And you should. It has great characters, complex heroes, and scary villains. Villains might not be the driving force here but they’re formidable and by no means easy to defeat. Supurbia can give you tons of enjoyable content and hours of fun, but I won’t recommend it to you unless you can live with an unfinished story. It has a conclusion, but it’s certainly not over. 

[georgianadarcies]

I'm just lowkey in love with your latest Gilmore Girls meta, it's perfect. I can't stand how people misread 6.08, because it's such a gorgeous scene!! It isn't about punishing Rory or yelling at her at all?? Jess is genuinely confused by what's going on, which makes sense because he wasn't there to see the lead-up. Also I feel like it's so important to note that no one else helps Rory by asking her what's wrong or letting her explain. 1/?

The main cast all tries to fix it in different ways: Lorelai cuts her off, Sookie does the godparents thing, Lane walks on eggshells, Richard and Emily put her in the poolhouse, then move her to the main house. Season 6 is so painful because it's like Rory is this one still point and they're all moving around her, talking around her, trying to nudge or provoke Rory into motion (and it's kinda manipulative) without ever really sitting Rory down and having a genuine conversation without accusations. And yeah, that's why Jess knows her better than anyone else. It isn't a smug thing or being overly presumptuous. It's because, even from the very start of season 2, Jess always asked Rory why she does things. And even when he doesn't get a straight answer, he knows that it's important to ask so that Rory remembers to also ask herself the right questions. And even when he doesn't get a straight answer, he knows that it's important to ask so that Rory remembers to also ask herself the right questions. And because this is part of who Jess is, we know that even if Logan hadn't shown up, Jess would have still asked these questions! Probably in a less dramatic way, but he still would have been the person who talked to her rather than at her. Anyway, the whole Lit ship is all about mutually inspiring each other to be the best possible versions of themselves and it's weird how so many people missed that. Sorry for the long rant, your post was really great. Good luck with your paper :)

don’t apologize at all omg you said it perfectly!! I doubt I could have said it better myself like this is just. exactly. I try not to get worked up about what other people think because them being wrong in theory shouldn’t affect me but the fact that people view this storyline as a reason to hate rory or to wish her to be “put in her place” had me seeing red?? she’s struggling and spiraling and like you said, no one thought to actually delve into it with her and try to help her through it. even lorelai, her best friend, took the offensive and refused to even attempt to be understanding. and I love lorelai, but she did not handle this well, and it’s so frustrating that people act like she’s 100% in the right and rory is just a horrible person for, you know, having a hard time. but anyway, it’s just that much worse when people try to take that jess scene and change it’s purpose in order to align with their hatred for rory. he was CONCERNED. he saw her hurting and lost and he knew something was wrong. and like you said, his urgency was due to the way logan was treating him rather than rory having done something wrong.

[hargrove-mayfields]

Day one of the Horror on Cherry Lane Challenge! I’ll be participating this month as a writer! The prompt for today is Knife!

warnings for mentions of suicidal ideation and attempts, death, child abuse, and blood.

Billy met Steve in the psych ward.

Well, they met officially at Tina’s party, but that wasn’t the real Steve. That was the King Steve. Deeper than that though, even the Steve Harrington everyone else saw even after the breakup and the fall from grace still wasn’t the real thing.

That was fake smiles, overdone nonchalance to cover up the wound from his fallen status. Now he was stripped down to himself, all bloody bandages and tired eyes, the boy he was pretending to be finally broken down to reveal this.

Apparently, Ruthie Harrington found her son with his grandfather's switchblade- all the other objects in the house sharper than a spoon and with less sentimental value had already been tossed -bleeding all over her freshly polished linoleum floors. She dropped him off at the hospital a night ago and nobody’s been by to see him since.

Now, it’s by pure coincidence that Billy’s already in on the same day Steve’s admitted.

He’s been locked up the past three days compared to Steve’s one. These small town hicks are jumpier (ha) than he thought, and don’t think doing the walk and turn test on the edge of the quarry after downing a bottle and a half of fireball is as funny as he does. Whatever. Cid would’ve thought that was badass as hell.

So he was admitted, on suicide watch for a stupid joke that wasn’t really worth it, or even really a joke. Max came to visit once. She punched him in the chest as hard as she could and cursed him out for an hour. She’d never done that before. By the time she left they were both in tears, and maybe Billy realized a thing or too about his carelessness. Realized for the first time that someone cared.

But he’s still in here for another week and a half by law, so. He’s not going to mope about it. And while Steve Harrington showing up is about the last thing he’s expecting, he decides that’s at least something he can work with. Definitely brings a little life to the place.

He waits until Steve’s intense watch period is over to bug him, once they’re out of their cramped little rooms for a couple of hours to “socialize” (see, the more sound of mind keep an eye on the other patients while the nurses take their smoke breaks) Billy goes straight to Steve. Him and Harrington are far from friends, but that’s pretty much irrelevant when the only other choices for company are kids younger than them too scared to approach them and people too deep in their midlife crises to bother with teenage drama.

Throwing himself down in the blue plastic chair across from where Steve settled in, Billy kicks his feet up on the table,, “What’s up Harrington? Didn’t expect to see a familiar face in here.”

But Steve, poor Steve, takes one look at Billy with those haunted brown eyes, and his face just falls completely apart. There are tears on his way too pale cheeks before Billy even has a chance to breathe.

The smile drops off of Billy’s face, “Jesus Harrington, I know m’not looking my best surviving on hospital food and cigarettes without a hairbrush, but that’s a little unwarranted.”

“Shut up. Not everything’s about you, Hargrove.”

“Oh I disagree with that. But I get the point. I’ll let ya be.” Billy hums, scooting his chair back and getting up. He stops when Steve starts to speak, “Y-You outta be careful saying that kinda stuff in here.”

“What?”

“That the world revolves around you. They’ll come up with a diagnosis for that and keep you here forever. Drug you ‘til you forget your own name, let alone your status.” Steve tells him with humor, wiping the tears off his face.

Billy nods in understanding, sits back down with an interested smirk, “This ain’t your first time here, is it?”

“Is it yours?”

“Nah. I’ve done some shit on purpose, some on accident. Once it wasn’t even me. But s’never done anything to help so far.”

Steve puffs out a sigh, “Don’t I know it.. I’ve been in and outta this place since I was like, ten. Clearly nothing’s changed.”

“Why? What’s your dirty little secret, Harrington?”

“I cut myself, dumbass.” He deadpans, looking at Billy with a bluntness in his expression that reads more concerning, more like indifference to what he just said than matter-of-fact.

“No shit. But that ain’t the secret.” Billy probes further, can tell he’s getting under that mask Steve wears, “Why do you do it?”

“Legally, I can't tell you. And I don’t think I would anyways.”

“What about if I tell you all about me first? I got no reservations ‘cept the one that got me a bed here.”

“It’s not a hotel, Hargrove.”

“Eh, might as well be. Feels like the damn hotel California.”

“Is that why?”

“Huh? Oh no, I been pullin’ stunts like this long before we left Cali.”

“Like what?”

“Like downing two full bottles of my mother’s meds after she left. Not at the same time obviously, or I wouldn’t be here. Mostly ‘cause my dad didn’t even wanna take me to the hospital either time.” Billy doesn’t look at Steve while he elaborates. Not because he cares, he’s an open book, if a random old woman at the grocery store asked about his last attempt, he’d tell her.

But. He doesn’t like watching people’s faces. Seeing sympathy and concern there. It makes him feel all stupid and guilty. It’s usually not like that with other kids like him, but Steve’s different. He’s got a big heart. Even if there’s no room for himself.

And Billy hurt Steve before. He doesn’t want to see someone he caused pain caring so much about him. He already cracked when Max came to see him. This could be what splits him open, spills out all the things he’s covered up.

So he keeps going, “And like runnin’ out in front of traffic with my friends. They thought we were just playin’ chicken ‘til I stopped dead in front of a station wagon. Metal rims’d done me in for sure if one ‘a the older boys hadn’t pulled me outta the way. Damn near ripped my shirt in half how fast he grabbed me.”

“I’m guessing your parents are the reason why then?”

“Yessir.” Billy deflects, not good at getting deeper into it, “You wanna tell me yours then?”

“I started cutting because Tommy Hagan told me about it. He thought it was freaky, but when he ran his mouth about how they found the neighbor kid in his room, drained of all his blood from his wrists, I wanted to try it. I’ve tried liquor and drugs and all kinds ‘a shit I shouldn’t, but nothin’ stuck like cutting.” Steve pauses for a long time, his eyes going blank, staring right past Billy, “When my mom found out she.. she.. Forget it.”

“Hey, you seen my skeletons. Can’t I see yours?”

“No. I don’t wanna fucking talk about it anymore.” Steve answers, despite his assuredness, his tone wobbling with some unidentifiable emotion.

Talk about mood swings. Billy doesn’t get how nobody would’ve noticed something was up before Steve started carving into himself. Really, he knows someone would have seen it and just ignored it.

It only gets worse though, the reservedness turning to sadness and frustration. None of the words are coming out, but he can tell Steve’s thinking of the stories, reliving all that got him to the here and now. Billy can also tell there’s nothing he can do no to stop him from doomsdaying.

So when Steve is inevitably in the thralls of a panic attack, he tries to hug him tight, to try to get it to stop maybe, that always worked for him at least, but Steve swats him away. Judging from the way he winces, it’s not easy for him to do either, with those thick ass bandages constricting his wrists, but the tears and the pain on his face are buried behind his resolution.

He’s hiding something from Billy.

In hindsight, talking to a new patient about past attempts probably wasn’t his brightest idea anyways, so he switches the subject while Steve works on coming down from his panic attack. He brings up Max and her little nerds, trying to bridge the healthier connections between him and Steve that they’d both been ignoring since the fight. He mentions basketball too, another something they have in common other than trying to kill themselves.

It doesn’t really work, though Steve does stop shaking as bad, just curling up in his little chair and sniffling, pretending not to listen while Billy rambles on and on. But he doesn’t talk. It’s probably better for him not to anyway. Billy himself has been known to say some dumb shit when he’s in distress.

Ultimately, even once the conversation runs out, he stays with Steve until dark. He can tell from the way his gaze sticks to the floor that Steve recovered from his fit a while ago, but he’s embarrassed by having a breakdown in front of him, as if he isn’t in here for the same reason. It helps that he gets it though, and they sit in a comfortable, albeit very prolonged, silence.

Long after Steve gets xanned up and knocked out though, while Billy is still free to wander until the midnight curfew as a low risk patient, he decides to stick with him in his room. Billy’ll never admit it, but he gets nightmares, and he doesn’t want to face that just yet, so with a new friend as an excuse, he’s up half the night watching Steve sleep.

He remembers what happened earlier, how focused Steve was on keeping him away from him, despite his panic, and decides, with a glance at how deeply Steve is sleeping, his greasy hair all strewn about on stiff pillows, that he’s going to figure out what it was.

He snoops around in his bedside drawers, in the bathroom, in the locker in the corner. It’s there he notices the knitted jacket Steve was wearing before, hanging heavy to one side, like there’s something in its pocket. He touches it and feels the outline of something small, so he pulls it out.

He regrets checking though, because it’s a knife. Judging from the old looking engravings on its handle, and the coppery stains within the grooves, it’s specifically the very same one that got Steve hospitalized.

He shoves it in his own back pocket and keeps looking, with a quick glance at Steve, finding a note tucked where the knife had been. Written in perfect scrawl on bond paper that’s been folded a dozen times and stained with tears,

“Do it right next time, why don’t you? Your mother is too soft on you. I’m not paying for this again.

- J.Harrington.”

Billy doesn’t know what to do but throw the note in the trash. Not really in shock, but definitely more than a little fucked up from reading that, he sits on the end of Steve’s bed. His own dad, who'd more than once been the one putting him in the hospital, had never even said anything like that to him.

He didn’t get to talk to Steve much today, but they’ve got as long as Billy’s stuck in here together to fix that. Longer if he just pulls something in front of a nurse. And he wants to, really really wants to.

Because he knows he just met the real Steve, can recognize another broken boy when he sees one, and he knows too, that he never wants to meet a pretty boy like this again.

And if that’s his declaration to get clean, then so fucking be it.

But. He never promised not to hurt anyone. Ultimately he’d still need that outlet.

He keeps the knife. To make sure his pretty boy doesn’t get hurt again.

[waywardimpalawriter]

“I’m done. I’m done trying so hard only for you to never even look in my direction.”

With Marcus Pike? Maybe BFFs to lovers because I want it to end happy? Thank you 🙏

Love of his life

Pairing: Marcus Pike x best friend!Female Reader

Characters: Marcus Pike,

Setting: five years after the last episode Marcus was in.

Rating: PG:13

Warnings: 2,774

Summary: Conversation overheard leads to feelings of regret at the chance not taken. Will he take that risk and go for who he wants or let it slide away just like the past?

Word count:

Notes: Written for the lovely @hnt-escape asking for the prompt “I’m done. I’m done trying so hard only for you to never even look in my direction.” Will be in bold in the story. I hope you enjoy sweetie.

Tag List:

Forever tags: @chickensarentcheap @jedi-mando

Pedro Pascal tags: @evyiione

Staring into the caramel colored liquid ceramic mug warming your hands, thoughts clouded by a certain brown eyed man and how to handle the feelings you’ve harbored since grade school.

“Trying to divine this weeks lotta numbers from you coffee sweetie?” Soothing southern accented voice breaks through the fog smile in the sweet lilt.

Head snapping up to look towards the blonde, grin firmly in place over her ruby lips, “I wish, would donate at least half to research the antiquities we have that no one’s cataloged yet.”

“Wow devoted,” chuckling, walking over to the Keurig k-cup spinner to pluck the last Colombian dark roast pod. “What or should I say who’s on that gorgeous your mind that’s got your brow furrowed deeper than the Mariana Trench?”

Not wishing to discuss your thoughts right now, you deflect to ask, “Those things waste so much Donna and bad for the environment. Why don’t you just buy the bulk grounds?”

“Great way to keep from answering the true question,” baby blues lock, sincerity written deep and meaningful. Knowing she’s only trying to help having confided many times your dilemma those feelings you’ve held on to for so long brings about. “I don’t know why you haven’t told him sugar I mean you came to DC…”

“For this job Donna, Marcus turned up later… not much later,” last few words muttered into cooling coffee you try to hide behind while taking a sip. “I didn’t upheave my life for a man,” not sure who you’re trying to convince more yourself or Donna.

Established in your position at the museum a month before Marcus’s transfer and at the time he’s heavily invested with one Teresa Lisbon. Memories flood through like film reel before your eyes. Of that very night he comes to you heartbroken bags in hand with no one beside him and no real place to go. Promising yourself to shove your feelings aside and help him get back on steady legs. Even letting him stay till his place became ready to move in.

Loud snort greets your ears, breaking you from memory lane. “You keep telling yourself that and while you’re at it keeping him friend zoned when your clearly in love with him does neither one of you any good. He ain’t gonna wait around forever sugar trust me on that one,” hurt coloring her tone speaking volumes of her own pain. She looks away to watch the final drops of coffee land in her mug. You know exactly why she’s not looking at your right now, the hurt she tries to hide behind the bubbly personality. Fixing her coffee up just the way she likes to hide her own pain she’s shared a few times.

“How,” licking your lips slowly, mug placed beside you on the counter to clasp your hands in front of you. “I’m not even sure how or where to start Donna. He’s my best friend knows me inside and out I don’t…”

“Do you love him?” Simple question with no easy answer as grey blue eyes land on and pierce you with their intensity.

“I…” wringing those hands her question chases thoughts around your head. Finally giving the heart answer, “I love him, just unsure if he loves me in the same way. I don’t know if I’m strong enough to change the dynamics of our relationship and loose what we have for a what if.”

“Oh sweetheart I know it’s not easy to bank on what if’s but trust me when I say that man loves you in ways I’ve never seen and I’ve seen a lot.” Giving you a teasing wink then sobering, “Why do ya think I haven’t tried to snag him up myself?”

“Cause he’s not your type?” Joke sounding stupid to your own ears, glaze dropping to your shoes. “What if… what if I’m not his type? I mean you’ve seen the women he’s gone out with before. I’m hardly in the same league.”

“No your in a league of your own sugar.” Head nodding in understanding Donna comes over resting a hand on your bicep giving a gentle squeeze. “Compensating maybe even trying to replace the one he truly wants sweetheart. Don’t let a good man slip away especially since you love him.”

“I do, he’s,” head shaking at a loss for words to describe Marcus. “Amazing and sweet, the kind of man that’s so easy to love and care for. I’m lost truly without him.” Happy tears blur your vision for a moment thinking about him. How he’s always at your side just when you need him without notice at times. Sixth sense when you need those late night pancakes from the best diner in town. Watching old movies after a crappy break up, snuggled together with popcorn and beer, snacks of all kinds. Snap shot of his face filters across your vision, “I’m gonna tell him in fact,” glancing down at your watch finding end of day fast approaching. “Would you close down for me Donna I need to tell him now before loosing my nerve.”

“Don’t have to ask me twice sugar go get your man,” nodding towards the doorway you start for, coffee long forgotten in favor of someone more sweeter. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.”

“There’s things you wouldn’t do?” Cheeky grin highlighting your features, the sound of crinkling plastic reaching your ears so you look down. Frown replacing the smile at finding a small bouquet of blue tipped carnations laying on the ground. Bending to scoop up the beautiful flowers knowing only one man would’ve brought these. “Shit,” curse flying from your mouth while your feet start to eat up the distance towards the back doors bouquet held firmly in your grasp.

Missing Donna yelling about your keys and belongings, to not forget about the storm rumbling in the background. Wide smile forming watching you go hoping you’ll catch Marcus just in time.

While you pray with each step taken you’ll catch him in time to explain. Thoughts running rampant wondering what he heard and didn’t. If the reason for the dropped flowers has to do with the fact he thinks you love someone else. That last thought spurs you on into a run, thankful for the flats you wore today instead of customary heels you normally wear. Eating up the distance you burst through the back doors into a curtain of rain meeting your eyes as more curses fly from your lips. You pause eyes narrowing through the gloom looking for Marcus’s car, his back, hair surely plastered to against his head. Something to point you in the right direction. At the right moment a flash of lighting illuminating the darken skies, makes you jump but press on determined to find him. While stepping out into the pouring rain, clothes soaked through low rumblings of thunder taking your calls out for Marcus away with the howling wind.

Tears form and slide down cool cheeks, still franticly looking around but coming up empty till you catch the flash of grey out of your periphery. Whipping around you head in the direction calling out his name praying there’s a break in the rain so your voice carries to his ears.

And for a moment that one split second he catches a sound other than the storm raging around him. Sweet desperate voice calling out his name, giving him pause in dragging footsteps. Looking around but seeing nothing but the driving rain, drops soaking his suit and blurring his vision. Before turning to resume his path the voice calls out again, nearer and stronger than the last time.

His doubts cloud the mind, accusing him of hearing things the wind brings from other parts of the parking lot. Till a vision dressed in black slacks, creamy silk blouse, hair and clothes plasters to your body appears in front of him. Hand raised in the vain attempt to keep the rain from your face as you search for him.

Eyes lock surprised deep chocolate orbs meet the relief in yours, “You’re gonna get sick sweetheart go back inside.”

“No,” single word yelled out as you near Marcus, gripping his bicep and moving closer to speak into his ear. Warm breath making him shiver despite the cold rain trying to drown the both of you. “Why’d you leave?”

“Saw you busy didn’t want…” shaking your head Marcus swallows catching sight of the flowers in your free hand.

“You dropped these why?” Hurt lacing the tone in your voice as you bring the small plastic wrapped bundle up between you. “Thank you.”

Eyes dart between the flowers and your eyes unsure how to answer your question as so many of his own chase around his mind. Wanting the truth Marcus gather’s his courage to ask, “Do you love him?”

Confusion coats your veins, drawing up your brows with the same emotion till it clicks. “Yes, very much in fact you just doesn’t know it.”

“I’m done,” pain etched into his voice heart aching behind its prison of bone and flesh. Misunderstanding the look in your eyes and the words your spoke. “I’m done trying so hard only for you to never even look in my direction. I just can’t do it anymore it’s so much worse than any of the other.” Taking two steps back from your touch that sears the skin under heavy suit jacket and starch white cotton dress shirt. Gaze dropping to concrete unable to look into your eyes a second longer knowing he’s lost the chance. Internally cursing himself for waiting so long, letting other’s in his heart when the one woman he’s wanted all along stood by him through all life’s ups and downs.

Frowning at the loss of touch, his words sinking in you step forward he matches with one back. “Marcus,” soft achingly tender voice reaches out towards him. Heard now the rain has slowed to light drizzle. “Do you know how long I’ve waited to tell you I love you? Not as a brother or best friend, but in love with you.”

“What?” Single word choked off on a gasp, eyes reaching your smiling orbs trying to find the jest. Only seeing genuine love backed by worry and fear that he doesn’t truly have the same feelings. “You never told me.”

“You didn’t tell me either Pike so we’re kinda in the same boat,” carefully reaching out for his nearest hand tugging him back towards you. “So many times I’d try to tell you, to explain, to see if there’s a chance for us. Every time someone else got my shot. I gave up almost for good this time.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Moving closer, warm palm coming up to cup your cheek from apple to jawline. Thump brushing slowly over soft delicate skin drowning in your eyes as you rubbing your cheek into his large palm. “Never would’ve guess you felt the same way.”

Not sure how to answer the first question, so you joke instead. “Not only good at picking out a fake piece of art but putting on a good show.” Trying to infuse a little lightheartedness into the tense moment. “Gonna call Oscar see if they’ll give me one of those little golden guys for my performance. Not Ingrid Bergman worthy but I can hold my own,” nervous little laugh leaving your lips that Marcus brushes his thumb over the bottom lip. Stuck dumb by the action breath shallow before held while trying to depict the emotions running through those sweet brown eyes. “Say some Marcus.”

The tremor in your voice shakes the shocked cobwebs from his mind to focus his thoughts. Picking up that you haven’t answered his first question, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Which time?” Breathy sigh leaving your mouth as you try to gather the right words. “Not to mention your my best friend Marcus I didn’t want to fuck that up especially if you didn’t feel the same way,” taking a breath fresh rain mixes with the warm subtle cologne Marcus wears. “Couldn’t risk loosing you and changing our relationship for a what if.”

“And now?” Cupping the other side of your face, keeping your chin tilted upward, eyes searching the depths of yours. Finding the peace he’s missed out on with everyone who came before. Home written in your embrace, sweet light flora scent wrapping around his senses reminding him of just who he needs.

Swallowing, pink tongue coming out to wet your lips, a path he follows with rapt attention. “I recently became enlightened by a good friend reminding me sometimes you need to take those chances.” Both arms wrap around his neck, flowers still clutched tightly, free hand carding through rain soaked strands at the back of his head. Blunt nails scratching gently over Marcus’s neck receiving a shiver that vibrates through your body and has nothing to do with the cool air or wet clothing.

“And you want to take that leap with me?” Inching closer with barely a millimeter’s breath between your lips. Eyes still wide open assuring each other and finally showing the truth and need.

“I think this is the beginning of a beautiful love affair,” cheeky smile splitting your face at the crinkles appearing at the corners of his eyes. Knowing full well you’ve gotten the quote wrong on purpose.

“Here’s looking at you kid,” deepened voice sending tingles of excitement racing down your spine. Slightest brush of his chapped lips to yours bringing a sigh and parting your mouth that’s captured and devoured.

Angling your head just right as he licks into your sweet coffee tasting mouth mixing the minty freshness of his. Low groan whispers between your lips, which moves and changes. Nibbling his bottom lip, slipping your tongue over the bruised skin to sooth before sliding back into the warm cavern of his delectable mouth. Dreams having no merit on the real kiss that makes your toes curl a moan of your own existing to join with the groan he’s let loose. Air becoming much needed and you part to rest foreheads together.

“I love you to have for a long time,” admitting his feelings frees a part of him held back for so long. “I’m sorry for all the missed opportunities but if you’ll let me I’ll make them all up to you.”

“Start by taking me home to change then out for pancakes,” bright smile blooming over your lips that press into his. Unable to stop yourself from giving another tender kiss while wrapping your arms around his shoulders tighter. “And kisses lots more kisses,” mumbling the words into his mouth while initiating another kiss for emphasis.

Only breaking when someone clears their throat you both turn to see Donna standing there with your purse in hand. “No making out in the parking lot you two take it home,” grinning extending your purse towards you. “Just remember don’t do anything I would,” before turning to start back towards the museum. “Congratulations by the way took y’all long enough.”

“There’s things you’d do I wouldn’t Donna,” you call after her shaking your head before looking back up at Marcus. Catching the look burning in his eyes, “I’m guessing pancakes won’t happen tonight huh?”

Soft smirk slides over those kiss swollen lips, “Later but right now I have other plans.” Tugging you against his chest for one last deep drugging kiss that leaves you weak kneed and panting.

“Care to share those plans?” Snuggling into his arms as you both head the last short distance to his car.

Opening then crowding you into the corner of the door hands braced on either side to lean in placing a soft chase kiss to your cheek. “Making up for all the missed time and then later,” pausing to brush his lips over your ear. Whispering the last words with gentle puffs of air floating across your skin. “I’ll make you those pancakes and lick the syrup from your lips afterwards and any other place you’ll let me.”

“Only if you’ll let me return the flavor,” mischievous smile stretching across your lips, ducking under his arms to slide into the car. Finding him still standing there, you tug on his jacket gaining his attention.

Darken eyes meet yours, “I’ll even paint you like one of my French girls,” sending you a playful wink while closing the car door and running around to the drivers side. Marcus slides in, key slipping into ignition, simple flick of his wrist the car flares to life and he’s backing out heading for home and a new start filled with promise.

[coeurdastronaute]

Essays In Existentialism: Nerd 13

Previously on Nerd

“One more time,” Lexa called out, walking backwards to the other end of the lane, her sneakers kicking up some dust as she moved and watched the playback on her phone. 

“Your girlfriend is a little intense, eh?” Evan asked as he followed Clarke back to the start of their scene. 

Clarke looked up and wiped a little sweat from her brow as she watched Lexa move with Luna, talking about something, watching her phone while Luna juggled a camera and a script that’d seen better days. The messy waves were tamed, tied up and hidden by a baseball hat from her sister’s university, well-tattered and sweat-lined. The sleeves on her shirt were rolled up, exposing a slight bit of bicep, her jeans were caked in dirt and mud. 

“She’s hot though, right?” 

“I’m not answering that.” 

“I’ll allow you to answer it just this once.” 

“In a weird way, yeah, I guess,” he shrugged. “Ow! What the fuck?” 

“She’s super hot in a normal way,” Clarke informed him after socking his arm. 

“I meant like, I never considered it. Like, weird in a way I hadn’t considered. I’d prefer not to think of her like that, but you made me.” 

“Good, and you’ll never think of her like that ever again.” 

“Let’s give it one more go, and this time, Evan, I want you to pause before you answer Clarke. I want her words to ring for a moment. Play it how you think your character would feel it. Just for fun.” 

He nodded and Clarke smiled at how serious Lexa was, how intricately she thought about the scene. They’d been at it for three weeks and were nearly finished, toiling away after school as best they could, and Clarke found that she didn’t think she was the world’s greatest actress, but that she did enjoy seeing her girlfriend doing something she was insanely passionate about. There’s a bit of magic in seeing someone happy about something they enjoy. As silly as it might have seemed, Clarke let her imagination wonder to the idea of Lexa actually achieving her dream, of making things. She jumped twenty years, and Lexa was the exact same person, but different, but better, somehow. It was silly, but it helped. 

“Notes for me, sir?” she ventured. 

“You’re perfect. Keep being perfect.” 

As silly as it was again, Clarke smiled proudly and ignored the eye roll Luna gave before setting up with the camera again. 

In reality, it was about six more takes, two more requested by Luna, three requested by Evan, and once by Clarke. It was infectious to care and try to do better. But they were finally done with all else, and the end somehow felt so final. Though she’d been hesitant to try, now that they’d created something, Clarke felt connected to the entire thing. 

“So when will I get to see the entire thing?” Clarke asked, carefully dropping a bag of equipment on Lexa’s bedroom floor. 

“Oh, uh, maybe at the end of the summer? It’ll go through a ton of work with Luna and myself, and I’m not sure what we’re going to do… I will definitely show you though as soon as it is done.” 

“I’d hope so.”

“Thank you for helping me with this,” Lexa offered as she ran her hand over the back of her neck. “I know you are really busy. SAT, work, school, pep squad.” 

“And you’re not?” 

“Well, yeah, but I chose this, and you were recruited,” she shrugged. 

With a sigh, Lexa plopped onto her bed, tired and spent from the busy weekend. 

“You can recruit me anytime,” Clarke promised. 

In a move that was still somewhat new to Lexa, hips circled her own, and knees gripped her thighs, and that led to a lot of feelings in her body, especially in the below the belt part that she hadn’t particularly figured out in the practical sense. Theoretically she knew exactly what was happening. 

Without saying anything else, Clarke removed her girlfriend’s ball cap and tossed it on the bed. Lexa held her hips, ran her hands up her thighs and squeezed there, careful not to move her eyes anywhere but Clarke’s face. But they closed on their own when hands ran along her temples, scratching the sweat and soreness away, melting her instantly. 

There’d been a truce ever since the dance. There’d been a few make outs that went slightly past polite. There’d been a few time hands wandered lazily where they might not have been allowed, but didn’t care about no trespassing signs. There hadn’t been Clarke in her lap though, and Lexa knew this was different. She made it different when her hands slid around hips and toward Clarke’s ass. She squeezed and she thought she’d died. 

By the time Clarke kissed her, Lexa realized she was on her back in her bed with the head cheerleader on top of her. When hips pushed against her, she realized she was going to stop. Hands went to her chest. Hands slid under her shirt. Hands slid under her bra and she pushed back against being pinned. 

It all disappeared in a second, and confused at the loss of lips and contact, Lexa opened her eyes and searched. Clarke sat there, hands braced on her stomach until she lifted her own shirt and tossed it on the floor. Scrambling, Lexa lifted herself, tangling her arms in an attempt at solidarity in taking clothes off only to be aided by an amused girlfriend. 

“Wow,” she whispered, taking her time to look over new skin before her. She kept her hands locked on Clarke’s hips despite wanting to move them. She let her eyes roam shamelessly. “You’re like… wow.” 

“Is this okay?” 

“Very okay.” 

“Thank God,” Clarke nodded before leaning back down, cupping Lexa’s face, and kissing her again, fiercer this time, if it were possible. 

Hips moved more this time. Breathing picked up more. Hands pulled, tugged, grasped tighter. They clawed at each other and at more, at what their bodies already knew how to do but their brains overthought and tempered. It was a battle of want and need and restraint, and in it, they both knew which was losing. 

In a shaky attempt, Lexa somehow unhooked Clarke’s bra. And in an instant her girlfriend was topless on top of her, and now her lower half was absolutely made of lava. It was painfully molten. 

“Oh… my…. Goodness,” she hummed. 

Clarke pressed her hands harder against Lexa’s ribs and rotated her hips. Lexa slid her hands up Clarke’s chest and squeezed. She watched her hands moved and touch and feel. She was touching someone else’s nipples for the first time ever, which was a weird thing to be cognizant of, but something that she never imagined desiring. But she did. And she wanted to memorize it entirely. She earned a hum and she pushed her hips up, in an off-kilter response to Clarke’s hips. 

“Hey Lex, you home, sweetheart?” a voice called out from down the hall. 

The spell was broken. The frantic, hot buildup was drenched in freezing cold water. The skin on display was covered with shirts as quickly as possible and the contact of bodies was broken with as much space as humanely possible placed between them. 

“Yeah, uh,” Lexa cleared her throat and tucked in her shirt for some reason as she stood, her legs wobbly and her head not much more sturdy. “Just got home.” 

“Your mom is bringing home dinner. She got sandwiches from the deli.” 

“Sounds good!” 

“Want to work on your car?” 

“Yeah, I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

“Sounds good, kiddo. I’m just going to go change.” 

Her father’s voice faded as he moved toward his room. Lexa leaned against her door and looked back at Clarke in her room. The blonde just pushed her hair out of her face and tried to adjust her shirt, tugging her bra slightly from the quick reassembly of her parts. Her lips were puffy. Her cheeks were bright red. She was perfect, Lexa realized. 

Lexa cleared her throat again and redid her pony tail. 

“So that was--”

“Really good,” Clarke finished. “Maybe we should… it’s good your dad-- we should talk about this, right?” 

“Um, yeah, I think.”

“Not right now though.” 

“Of course, yeah,” Lexa nodded, unsure exactly what was going to be discussed and even worse when it would be. She needed more context clues because too much had just occurred, and she was a specifics type of girl. 

“I should head home. I have to finish some physics homework and take a cold shower.” 

“Right, yeah. It was hot out there today and I kept you out in the sun.” 

“Okay, we definitely are going to have to have some conversations.” 

“Am I in trouble?” Lexa asked, cocking her head as Clarke picked up her backpack and shouldered it, making her way to the door. 

“Not at all. I just want to be able to talk about sex with you before we do it because I imagine you might need it, and to be honest I’m not sure how much longer I can survive how sexy you are.” 

Sex. Clarke wanted sex. They had almost, Lexa imagined. And Clarke was talking about sex with her and wanted to talk about sex with her and wanted to have sex with her and talk about the having of sex with her and they were going to have sex. Having sex was an option that they were going to talk because they were going to have sex and they should talk about it. It was going to be a thing that was discussed between the two of them because sex was going to happen and it might have almost happened and they should talk about the sex that almost and might also in the future happen. Sex. 

“I’m kidding,” Clarke assured Lexa, pressing her hand to the center of her chest and bringing her back from the place she just died and went to. “I can wait however long we need to, but I think we should talk about it so something like this doesn’t happen and we don’t have a clear line drawn or not drawn. Think about where your line is, I guess and then we can talk about it.”

“Okay.” 

Clarke kissed Lexa’s cheek and then her jaw and then her neck and then her lips. 

“Are you okay?” 

“Mhm. Yes. Me okay. I’m okay. Always ok.” 

“Did I melt your brain with the mention of sex?” Clarke smiled. 

“Yeah, kind of.” 

“No rush, I promise. Just like to be prepared.” 

“Like a boy scout.” 

“Don’t stress. I like you.” 

“Mmm,” Lexa nodded and tried to make her eyes not be completely huge, tried to make her heart stop throbbing in her pants and ears, tried to make her brain not explode or melt. 

“I’ll talk to you later. Have fun with your dad.” 

“Mmm,” she hummed and nodded as Clarke moved past her toward the door. “See you tomorrow.” 

In an instant, Clarke was gone, and Lexa looked down at her hands. They’d been on Clarke’s naked boobs. She looked at her hips. They’d been on Clarke’s thighs. She looked at her bed and how surprised she was that her body just did some of the things it did. She wasn’t sure what else it was capable of, but she decided she might need to do research. 

XXXXXXXXXX

“I need to talk to you about two things.” 

“Hey, I’m good, thanks for asking. Just cramming for some finals, but yeah I definitely have time to help you out.”

“Okay, good,” Lexa nodded to herself as she paced through the garage, twisting a wrench around as she moved, twirling it around her fingers. It all happened quite seriously as she surveyed the car as it was coming to life. 

The house was empty, her parents out on a date. Luna was coming over shortly to work on some of their film, but Lexa had a few things she wanted to get done on her car. More than anything though, she needed to speak with her sister desperately regarding many things in her life. 

“How have you been, Lex?” 

“Pretty good.” 

“Anything planned for the summer yet?” 

“I have an internship with a film crew that’ll be in town for a few weeks. My history teacher’s old college roommate is first camera. Some movie of the week thing for the holidays.” 

“Wow! Lex, that’s huge!” 

“I guess. But I need to know about sex. Sex with another girl. You’re in college. Have you had sex with another girl?”

Anya choked on her sip of coffee as she stopped walking down the sidewalk. She nearly dropped part of her armload of books, but managed to get a grip at the last moment. 

“Sorry to disappoint, but I haven’t.” 

“I tried to ask Gus but he said he couldn’t talk to me about it, and I just need someone to tell me what to do because I’ve run out of online resources short of porn and to be honest I looked a few and I didn’t like it.” 

“Lots of information to unpack in this…” 

“What do I do or who do I talk to?” 

“Just give me a second, okay?”

With a sign, Lexa sat the phone down on the edge of the car and went about the tough work of running some wires through the rear panel. If she was doing something with her hand, then she didn’t have to repeat the word sex nine hundred times per minute in her brain. 

“You and Clarke are talking about having sex?” 

“We’re talking about talking about it.” 

“How long have you been dating?” 

“Um since beginning of November. Almost six months.” 

“Do you love her?” 

“I don’t know. I mean…” Lexa paused her movements and furrowed. She hadn’t thought of it like that. It seemed almost insane to quantify her feelings into one word. She was excited to always see Clarke, and when she had a bad day, Clarke was the only person she really wanted to see, and when she did, the bad day just melted away. How was she supposed to figure out if it was love when she couldn’t compare it to anything else? She got butterflies still, when she saw her girlfriend. And Lexa felt this weird need to do things for Clarke, without being asked. She was helpful and attentive because the payoff of Clarke’s smile was worth even a few minutes of forethought. But she hadn’t considered that love, but maybe it was. 

“I really don’t know. I like her a lot. I like how we are” 

“That’s fair. I guess I should rephrase it. What makes you think you’re ready to have sex?” 

“I really want to.” 

“Okay, yeah, well everyone really wants to have sex, but what makes you think you’re ready? Can you confidently say where your boundaries are? Are you ready to have a much more intimate relationship with someone?”

“I was kind of just looking for more help in the mechanics of it.” 

“That’s the easy part,” Anya smiled to herself as she took another sip of her coffee. The weather was changing, the spring breeze ruffled the trees so they loudly clamoured above as she moved with the crowd along the narrow sidewalk. “There’s a certain level of intimacy in having sex with someone, especially someone you really like. I’m not saying it’s good or bad, but it’s certainly different. Do you think you’re ready to do that?” 

“I think so,” Lexa murmured after a moment of contemplation. She tapped a screwdriver against her thigh and stared at a single screw. “I really want to make her feel good and I know that sounds stupid, but I just… Sometimes it’s easier to want to kiss her than tell her exactly what I feel. I want to show her.” 

“I can see how that would work. Just so long  as you take a good bit of time and really consider it. And remember, even if you agree, you can change your mind at any time.” 

“Ugh, not you too! Dad’s already given me a billion consent talks. I just want to go down on Clarke without making a fool of myself.” 

Anya couldn’t help but laugh out loud at the outburst, but she somehow managed to hold her phone away from her mouth as she did. It took her a moment to recover. 

“Just do what you like and listen to her. Ask her what she enjoys. Be receptive to how she sounds and moves. It’s really not that hard. Just give it your all.” 

“This is all fine advice, but I still don’t know how to actually do it.” 

“You’ll figure it out.” 

“I don’t like leaving it up to chance.”

“You’ll be fine, I promise. You care for Clarke and I think she’ll be able to show you a thing or two.” 

“What does that mean?” Lexa paused her movements and furrowed. 

“You’ll see.” 

“I really don’t like the sound of that.” 

“You will, I promise.” 

“Are you coming home this summer?” 

“I might. So, sex with your girlfriend, huh?” 

“Maybe. Is it weird that I just… I want everything to keep going how it has been? It’s been so easy and nice and I didn’t think dating Clarke would be so … so… easy?”

“That’s not weird at all. It sounds like you are having a good time.” 

“I’m going to ask her to go to prom.” 

“Wow,” Anya smiled to herself, doing her best to sound surprised by the news, as if it wasn’t customary to take once’s girlfriend to prom. “Are you going to do a big ask?” 

“Nah, I don’t think that’s me,” Lexa shrugged, even though no one would see it. “And I don’t think it’s Clarke. She’s not like… she’s not like what I would have thought. She’s better.” 

“You’ve got it bad.” 

“Nah.” 

It was nice to talk to her sister. It was nice to be put at ease, even if she just heard a bunch of stuff she already knew. Lexa wasn’t sure how it came to be that she was someone who talked to her sister every few days and actually filled her in on her life. She wasn’t sure how she enjoyed spending Saturday morning with her parents going on a hike or breakfast. She wasn’t sure how it came to be that the head cheerleader was soft and quiet and warm and made her feel like she was full of helium, but it was all happening, and Lexa felt herself open up to the world again without ever realizing she had been closed. 

XXXXXXXXXX

For an entire seventy-two hours, Lexa let it all rattle around in her head, the words and the ideas and the thought of it all. All at once it felt like she didn’t know what came next while also incredibly knowing and that held her stuck. She hadn’t thought to ask for more, and she wasn’t sure how to have it. She knew that it was important, and she knew that was a different step than the ones she’d already taken. 

Nothing seemed to change with Clarke though. 

Lexa still held her girlfriend’s hand between classes, and they still hung out and texted and kissed and no one said anything despite Lexa taking her sister’s advice to really think about what it all meant. 

She didn’t know what it meant. Not truly. 

“That’s it. I quit. My brain is melting out of my ears.”

With an exaggerated flourish, the body on the bed flopped over and tossed a notebook onto the floor. Eyes rolled back before a tongue hung out and Lexa smiled from her spot at her desk. The music played softly from the speaker on the bookshelf. It was already dark outside as they worked on studying, but the lights reflected so that outside didn’t exist at all. 

“Your brain isn’t melting. It’s just growing and growing and will soon explode.” 

“I think I prefer the melting,” Clarke sighed. 

Lexa smiled to herself because there was the head cheerleader laying in her bed. And Clarke was wearing her old soccer sweatshirt and she was tired from after work, but still stopped by before heading home just for a few hours of studying. 

“Would you like to go to prom with me?” 

“Me?” 

“Yeah you,” Lexa decided, cocking her head slightly. The corpse in her room rolled over again and lifted her head. “With me.” 

“Was it the melting brain thing that really sold you?” 

“I just like how you look in my bed.” 

“Your bed is very comfortable.” 

“I thought about the sex thing and I don’t know if I’m ready right now, or by prom or whatever, but I want to just keep doing things slowly if that’s okay?” 

Clarke sat up so she was kneeling on the bed. She’d already rolled the sleeves of the sweatshirt that hung a little long on her. There was a hole over the letter on the left part of her chest. Her hair was falling out of a messy bun, and her cheeks had their dimples in them. Lexa took a moment to remember it. 

“That’s fine by me.” 

“It is?” 

“I like how fluid everything is with you. I just wanted you to be aware of what you were feeling and what your limits were.” 

“I don’t know them right now, but I’ll know them as things happen, if that’s okay.” 

“Very okay.” 

“Do you want to go to prom with me?” 

“Didn’t I already say yes?” 

“No.” 

“Well then, yes.” 

“Cool,” Lexa grinned, holding her chin on her palm. 

Clarke relaxed slightly and smiled back. 

“Cool.” 

NEXT

[definitelyseven]

hurts so good | four

summary: growing up with Park Jinyoung was never easy and things are about to get worse when you’ve been asked to marry him

one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | ten | eleven | twelve - final |

“What the hell were you doing there?” Jinyoung asked again as the both of you entered your shared room. “Answer me!” 

“It was for business,” you attempted to cover.

“Business? You were dress like that for business? Tell me the truth,” he demanded as he got closer to you. “Why were you dress like a slut?” If he knew the real reason why you were there, he would be even more mad. “Tell me!” he shouted with his arms gripping tightly around your shoulders. 

“You’re hurting me!” you complained as you tried to get out of his grip. 

“Tell me and I’ll let go,” he threatened. You tried to push him off but he was too strong for you. His hands moved from your shoulders to your neck.

“Karma’s a bitch, right?” you let out as you tried to gasp for air. 

“What?”

“Mess with another man’s woman and they mess with yours,” you choked out. You continued to claw at his hands until he finally let go of your neck. You fell onto your bed, coughing and gasping for air. 

“I don’t want you to go around dressing like that just for business,” he said in a soften tone.

“You think I enjoy being groped by a man old enough to be my father?” you coughed as he walked out of the bedroom. How did you end up like this? You took a deep breath and closed your eyes, swallowing your tears. This is what you signed up for.

Jinyoung didn’t come back into the room that night. You wondered how many more nights you had to spend alone for him to realize how much you actually loved him. 

“Are you cold?” Jaebum asked as he sees you fiddle with your scarf in the hallway the next morning.

“N-no. It just looks good with this outfit,” you tried to cover up.

“Bullshit,” he said as he ripped the scarf off your neck.

“Jae!” you shouted as you tried to cover your neck from him. 

“What happened to your neck?” he immediately questioned when he saw the red marks. 

“N-nothing. It’s a rash,” you lied. 

“Did he touch you?” Jaebum asked, making his way towards you. “Let me see.”

“I’m okay,” you assured him, snatching the scarf out of his hand. 

“Let me see,” he demanded as he reached for your neck.

“Leave my wife alone,” Jinyoung scoffed from behind. “Why are you so interested in my wife?” he smirked. You shut your eyes and looked down at your feet. 

“How dare you lay a hand on her?” Jaebum said angrily. 

“Jae, stop. I’m okay,” you reassured him. “Really.” Jaebum lets out a deep sigh before leaving you and Jinyoung. The both of you headed downstairs where the family was seated for breakfast. “Good morning everyone,” you greeted before taking a seat next to Jinyoung.

“Jinyoung, you should be grateful for your wife. She handled the situation well,” your father said. 

Jinyoung turned to you confused, “Did she?” He reached for your hand, giving it a small squeeze.

“I didn’t really do much,” you smiled weakly. 

“Next time you fool around make sure you know who you’re messing with,” Jinyoung’s father warned. Jinyoung clears his throat, finally understanding what happened last night.

“You knew?” Jinyoung questioned on the drive to work. “You knew that’s why you met with Uncle Choi and Jaebum helped you? Are you stupid?” he said angrily. 

“Jinyoung slow down, please.”

“He made you dress like a slut to keep quiet?” You could tell he was furious by how recklessly he was driving.

“Slow down, Jinyoung. You’re driving too fast,” you begged. 

“Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve handled this!”

“Jinyoung, please slow down. I’m scared,” you whimpered in fear. 

“Goddamn it, Y/N! Do your fucking job and be the good little wife you’re supposed to be,” he shouted. 

“I was only trying to help,” you said as tears fall from your eyes. Your body jolts backwards as he steps on the gas pedal. “Jinyoung,” you cried, afraid. “Oh my god, Jinyoung! Watch out!” you screamed as a kid jumps out on the street. Jinyoung swerves the car, attempting to avoid him. Your car slams into the car in the next lane and then hitting a nearby pole. Your body slams against the side of the door and jolts forward. The both of you winced in pain.

“Y/N, baby. Are you okay?” Jinyoung groaned, immediately checking up on you. “Baby?” he called again. “Where does it hurt?” he asked, brushing your hair out of your face. “Answer me, baby.”

“It hurts...” you whined. 

“Where? Tell me where,” he asked, worried. He gently unbuckles your seat belt. He moves your face to look at him, checking to see if you had any injuries on your face. “Don’t worry. I got you.” 

The sound of monitors beeping and people whispering wakes you up. You squint from the brightness of the light. “Where am I?” you asked, voice hoarse. 

“Hey baby,” the man beside you comforted. “How are you feeling?” 

You groaned in pain. “Where am I?” you asked again.

“The hospital,” he answered. Jinyoung gently strokes your head, moving your hair out of your face. “You’re okay - you’ll be sore for a couple of days but you’ll be okay.” 

“Are you okay?” you asked him. 

“Yes, I’m fine baby. You’re the one in the hospital bed.”

“Was anyone hurt?” Jinyoung shakes his head. “The kid?”

“He’s fine. I’m so sorry Y/N,” he apologized as he helped you sit up on the bed. 

“You don’t have to apologize, Jinyoung. It was an accident.”

He takes a seat next to you in the bed and lets out a loud sigh. He holds your hand in his - the first time you felt any sincere affection from him. He brings your hand up to his lips and gives it a gentle peck. “Does it hurt a lot?” he asked, concerned. You shake your head, assuring him that you’re alright.

“Don’t worry,” you tell him with a weak smile. “I’m okay.”

“Let me get the doctor to come check on you,” he said getting up. You grabbed his hand tightly. “I’ll be right back. I promise,” he said before kissing your forehead. He looks down at you with a subtle smile, stroking your cheek.

“Mrs. Park, everything looks good but just to be safe we’d like you to stay overnight.” the doctor said. 

“Thank you, Doctor.”

“Jinyoung, I’m okay. You should head home,” you tell him. He hesitates to respond; not wanting to leave your side. “I’ll be okay. The doctor and nurses here will take care of me.”

“O-okay. Get some rest,” he said as he helped you settle in bed. “I’ll be back first thing tomorrow morning.” You nod as he gives your forehead a light peck again. “Call me if you need anything, okay?”

“Jinyoung I’ll be fine,” you giggled. 

“Okay, okay,” he smiled down at you.

Maybe it’s true what they say - you never know how important something is until you almost lose it.

a little note from jennie: all this news about got7 is making my heartbreak. i know i should be happy for them but it still hurts. does anyone feel the same? :( 

[hb-writes]

A Small Comfort

TW: Story mentions loss of a pet.

1921

Clara was old enough to not need a nightly tucking in, but Tommy had promised them a final game of cards before taking leave for the Garrison. His promises weren't always something you could count on, especially promises about something as inconsequential as a silly card game with a pair of thirteen-year-olds, but Tommy had been different when he settled down with the twins, passing an hour or so at the table in their company. Clara thought he was maybe feeling sorry for her on account of her horse being sick or maybe he was just plain sorry the horse was sick in general, his slowing down and staying in for a bit having little to do with her feelings on the matter.

Either way, Clara thought he would be good for his word on one last game.

But it was only Finn left at the table when Clara came back down the stairs. She had gone up only to wash her face and change seeing as they were decidedly in for the night. Clara expected Tommy would still be there when she finished.

She had heard some commotion while brushing her hair out, the rushed exchange below too muffled by the wooden floors and doors for her to decipher any of it, but that and Tommy's absence now made her heartbeat race.

"Where did he go?"

Finn met his sister's eye as she stood in the doorway, his mouth falling open with no words following. He sighed and at its end, Finn's lips shifted to form a straight line.

Clara tried again. "Finn, who was here?"

"Clara—"

"Where did Tommy go?"

Finn pushed back his chair and stood up, ready to come around the table and meet his sister. "Curly came. He said—"

Clara didn't wait for Finn to tell her what Curly said, her slippered feet carrying her through the front door and out onto the lane as she sped in the direction of Charlie's yard.

The cool air stung her skin through the thin fabric of her night clothes and the wetness of the streets quickly dampened her slippers, too, but Clara paid little attention to those things, her mind thinking only of the first horse she'd ever called her own, her Lavender.

She knew that was what Finn was about to say when she ran out, that Curly had come to get Tommy because it was time. Curly had a sense for that type of thing, for knowing when a creature was in too much pain for things to continue, for knowing when the hope of recovery shifted to a thing of the past.

Tommy had already sat his sister down and explained what was coming, told her he would be the one to put the horse down when the time came. And then they rowed about the fact that Tommy wasn't going to allow her anywhere near that business. He would take care of it himself and he’d let her know when it was done.

Clara loved that horse more than Tommy had seen a person love a horse since he was a child himself, just a boy enamored with the first creature he could properly call his own. But horses didn't die well and Tommy had never been quite the same since he saw his first. It was something he never got used to, no matter how many times he saw it happen. There was a lot Tommy couldn’t keep his sister from seeing, a lot of moments of protecting her from the world that had slipped through his fingers over the last couple of years, but he would spare her this.

Clara caught sight of the men when they were two blocks from the yard. She was out of breath and shivering as she called her brother's name, desperate for him to stop and turn to her, to pause and allow her a chance to catch up or overtake them and make it to Lavender first.

Curly and Tommy had been moving quickly, not quite running as she had been, but moving quicker than could be designated a walk. Tommy was filled with a sense of desperation and dread, a wish for it to be done with and a wish for it to never come, and his sister's approaching voice filled him with a bit more of both, the desperation and the dread.

Tommy turned to Clara and watched as she raced towards him. He had hoped Finn would be able to keep her home, but really, Tommy knew better. There wasn't much Finn did by the way of managing his sister, not much managing anyone other than him did these days.

While Tommy waited on her, he sent Curly ahead with instructions, not that there was much to be done by this point. The man had already told Tommy everything he needed to know. He didn't need to examine his sister's horse to know he'd be putting the mare down.

Tommy caught his sister's arms as she came near enough. Seeing that Curly had been sent on she hadn't intended on stopping, but Tommy pulled her to a halt in front of him.

Clara attempted to peel out of his grasp, her eyes desperately looking towards the entrance to Charlie's yard.

"Clara, I need you to go back home."

Clara didn't look at him as she twisted in his hold. "Let me go. Let me see her."

Tommy shook his head, gripping her tighter the more she pushed and pulled. "It'll do no good for you to see your horse like this."

"I need to be with her."

Clara's breathing was out of sync, a mix of sweat and tears leaving strands of hair stuck to her face.

"And we already—"

"No, Tommy!" Clara's voice broke. "I won't let you shoot—"

Tommy said her name a few times and moved his hands to Clara’s cheeks, forcing her face up to his as gently as he could manage while still keeping her there with him and stopping whatever longwinded argument was poised to make its way from her lips. "Listen to me."

In the pause after Tommy's words, Clara sniffled and coughed, fresh tears meeting her brother's hands before she closed her eyes in an attempt to stop them.

Tommy wiped his thumbs under her eyes and softened his tone, grateful that he didn't have to say what he had to say while looking into Clara’s eyes. "Your horse is in pain. Curly's said it'll only get worse. Death will be a kindness."

Clara's body swelled as she breathed, taking in more air than she had done since coming down the stairs back at Watery Lane.

"I'll make sure she won't suffer."

Clara opened her eyes, meeting Tommy's. "I won't let you shoot her without me there with her," she said. "She can't be alone."

"She won't be alone," Tommy shook his head. "I'll be there. You don't need to see this. It'll do no good—"

"She's my horse. I need to be with her."

Tommy heard the need in Clara’s voice, saw it in the way she stood in front of him with her resolved, rational defiance, ignoring the persistent shivering of her limbs and her disheveled hair and clothes. Looking at her, Tommy realized quite quickly that he couldn't protect her from this after all, and even if he did shield her from seeing it, ordering her back home while he did what needed to be done, it wouldn't do a thing to ease her pain. Clara would hurt whether she saw it or not, and he imagined she would assign herself never-ending guilt for not being there with Lavender at the end, and assign a bit of never-ending resentment to him prohibiting it.

"I'm gonna be with her, Tommy."

Tommy nodded then, accepting that his sister wouldn't be swayed, accepting that she knew well enough what she was asking for and knew whether or not she could handle it.

"Alright, but take my jacket. It's cold outside." Tommy dropped his hands from his sister’s face and shrugged out of his coat without waiting for an answer. He draped the long black wool over her shoulders before pulling her into his chest.

It was the type of gesture Clara often argued against these days, stubbornly refusing a brother's coat even if she was shivering cold through to the bones, but Clara didn't fight Tommy now. She leaned into him for a moment, welcoming the warmth and comfort of him and the wool before she withdrew, slipping her arms into the sleeves of his coat, and nodding at him once before they both set off towards the stables.

The coat dragged behind Clara as they walked. The bottom edge would be covered in a layer of dried mud come morning, but so long as it covered Clara, brought his sister some small comfort from the cold or the pain of losing her horse, Tommy wasn't much concerned about a bit of mud.

-----

Peaky Blinders (Little Lady Blinder) Masterlist

[cloveroctobers]

THINGS COME & GO — D. HAYES

A/N: sliding into Darnell’s lane for the night, sounds fun right? This is considered a short fic i guess? But not really since it’s kinda long but not too long? Idk. I’ll probably do a prologue to this to explain how we got here since you know me, I love diving into the angst right off the bat to set the scene so this is to be expected!

Anyone from Germany + this town, I hope any comments made here aren’t too offensive? I don’t know much about this town, or Germany for that matter. I’m just setting the tone for this character/y/n. Let me know what you think?

Warnings: language ofc, underage drinking + substances, mention of s**cide, and abuse.

Requested: nope.

Baumholder, Germany became your new home for the past month now. You were indeed a military brat and have been many places from all over the US to Asia to the Middle East and then right back here to Europe. You got used to it, it was just the way it was with one mom being a COC (commissioned officer candidate) and the other being a FBI Victim Specialist. You put the math together and figure out how parenting was going for you...it certainly wasn’t the healthiest because they also had their own share of issues and traumatic experiences.

Nonetheless you were here with one parent while the other commonly left for weeks at a time to tend to her own difficult job. The amount of neglect from both parents was a different story but you weren’t here to talk about that. You were here attempting to get adjusted to this boring ass town and people that walked around here like they had sticks up their asses. It was safe to say that you weren’t making any friends here in this town. Everything was always about structure and order but you already had that with one mom at home so to have a double whammy with this town was not going to happen.

A month in and you were already arrested for being out past curfew on the military base for excessive partying (laws here were more lenient at 16+ but it was mainly being out past curfew) but you only got a slap on the wrist due to who your mother is. Which didn’t go over well with your mom who enjoyed being verbally abusive because you continued to embarrass her. You were waiting for the day where she ever got physical and you already plotted your escape. You didn’t have to stand for any form of abuse really but you also didn’t need the system dictating where you should live your life...and that’s even if they believed you.

You talked with many military brats online, mainly Twitter about their experiences...some were worse than your situation and you heard how no one did a single thing. And it was unacceptable how children were often overlooked when it came to mistreatment from parents in the military. Your friends lived online and some in the ground due to taking their own lives.

To erase your own pain, you ignored it, (well “suppressed it” according to your old therapist until military mom felt like you were being brainwashed to be against her) and acted as if it didn’t exist but it did. Many who knew the real you, knew that. But you wanted more from this life than what was given to you and although it felt like you were stuck no matter where your mothers dragged you off to, you were trying your best to outlive those challenges. You wanted to be more than strong, you wanted to be invincible and you knew how to put on a good show to onlookers who tried you.

“You just gonna keep running from me the whole time we’re in this shithole?” You asked the tall boy who sat on the curb while you smoked a joint, standing behind him.

He was here.

Darnell Hayes.

It’s been a couple of days where you caught a few kids speaking German to each other about a new kid. And to your surprise it had been your old neighbor from back in Nevada.

Darnell stood up pulling on his legs one by one while looking out into the scenery, which wasn’t much but he’d rather keep his attention on that than you right now.

“No, ‘hey, y/n! How you’ve been since you flew off to Italy?’ Or ‘I’ve been doing just fine in California, living it up forgetting about old friends.’ That old friend being me and blocking me on Instagram.” You talked with your hands after exhaling.

Darnell turned to you with a frown.

Smirking you pointed, “ah, that got your attention didn’t it?”

“You’re unbelievable you know that?” Darnell finally spoke in his low calm tone, “I’ll talk to you when I’m ready to talk to you. But for right now, just leave me alone. I got bigger things to worry about than your bullshit, alright? Thanks.”

And with that he set off into a jog around this middle of nowhere town. You watched him go, hand coming over your forehead to shield some of the sun since you didn’t have your transition glasses on at the moment and let out a ‘hmph’ with a click of your tongue.

At least he said something to you.

You’d give him a little more time to come to you since you basically put your foot out there, but time was limited so Darnell better hurry up. It only took a day for you to find out that his mother was out of a medically induced coma and ready to start some therapy. You partly understood why Darnell was pushing you to the side, hell, if the shoe was on the other foot, you probably wouldn’t be talking to yourself either. You’ve done some stupid shit and even lied to Darnell before so to see him around again was only a 50/50 percent chance so you never thought you’d have to clear up the air in the first place.

It was the weekend when you found out from your mother what exactly happened and decided to bring something over. “From the both of you” but not really. Your mothers didn’t get along, which wasn’t much of a shocker. You knew how much Darnell loved cheesecake and only hoped, Renee did too. You’ve met Renee a couple of times before back in Nevada, she was of course on military time so kids tend to be alone most of the day and that happened to be the case with the both of you. She was much like your own mother, strict and proper.

You just knew her and Darnell bumped heads. Whenever you didn’t follow your parents instruction, it was automatic disrespect. Like you weren’t allowed to form your own opinion or be what you wanted to be. You really had to pull teeth to get what you wanted around here.

Guess that’s what you were doing right now.

You knocked on the door and rang the doorbell, knowing someone was home with the living room light shining through the blinds. The sun was slowly starting to set behind you as you waited for someone to come to the door. It felt like an hour before the door was pulled open revealing Darnell behind it.

He let out a long sigh staring down at his feet before he lifted his head again to stare at you, “yes?”

“Your mom home? I bought her some cheesecake.” You wiggled the holder up at the coco skinned boy who blinked at you.

“We just got back from PT. She’s resting now.”

You nodded in understanding, “oh-Kay...we’ll save her some for later then?”

Darnell broke eye contact and licked his lips before he slowly stepped back opening the door wider to allow you access. You perked up, squeezing by him which he let out a breath after you brushed up against him.

Glancing around the place, it didn’t look much different from yours except his house had two levels, earthy tones, and high ceilings. Your house felt colder, one level, spread out, modern furniture and shades of basic black and white. As you glanced around you barely noticed Darnell scanning over you, probably trying to figure out what was different after not seeing each other for almost two years now.

Not much has changed from the way you carried yourself. Physically? You put on ten pounds or whatever not that you really cared although your mother made it a fact by weighing you, fought more against your glasses although you were almost legally blind in your left eye, your hair was more copper than auburn now, and your shoulders hunched over a little more. 

Snapping out of it you fully placed the cake on the dining table before taking a seat on one of the wooden chairs. Darnell took his time making his way over to the table, tapping his knuckles against the table to fill the silence before he went on to ask, “want something to drink?”

“Peach wine?”

“You can have water.” Darnell offered, already moving into the kitchen.

You scoffed, “always shittin’ on my party.”

“From what I hear,” Darnell went through his cabinets going to rinse them before he opened the fridge, “you don’t need any alcohol.”

“So you are keeping tabs on me.” You smiled, “I knew you wouldn’t stop loving me.”

Darnell snorted, glancing over at you, the usual small laughter lines appearing by his lips, “I see you haven’t changed one bit, y/n.”

“Better believe it.” You winked as Darnell set the square glass in front of you.

He then pulled a chair out and sat across from you eyeing the dish which you pushed towards him to take a peek at. “Looks promising, did you made it?”

“I can’t cook or bake for squat, you know that.”

“Hey, a lot can change in almost two years.” Darnell answered which you gulped some water down in response.

Darnell leaned back in the chair, stretching his long legs out to the point your knees almost brushed against each other’s. You didn’t like the way he was looking at you in this time, it was different when you were out in the open where you could be carefree. Something about being behind closed doors in close proximity with your old friend brought up some old feelings you weren’t allowing yourself to endure.

“So...you came all this way,” Darnell was at ease laying his arms against the round table, “what do we need to talk about?”

Chewing on your lips you muttered, “wasn’t that far, you’re only the next street or two over from me but—

“Y/N.” Darnell pressed.

Raising your hands you shifted the conversation, “okay, okay. We’re gonna do this, not dive back into where we left off. Fine.”

“Left off?” Darnell repeated, “you mean you in my bed or after you left the country without telling me goodbye?”

Widening your eyes you glanced off to the side. So yeah, okay he was ripping the band-aid right off! It was what you wanted so that’s what you were going to get. You could handle it. And Darnell could handle you and your shit. Which is why you needed someone like him around to keep in check when you needed it, there was a difference between needing it and being controlling about it.

We’re looking at you mom and mom.

“Uh, I was thinking before all of that...when we were just friends and happy?”

Darnell broke eye contact to suck his teeth a little bit, “I never wanted to just be your friend, I thought that was obvious.”

“How the heck am I supposed to know that with your calm and collected nature?!” You deadpanned, “Darnell what do you think about this? ‘It’s cool. It’s straight. It’s nice!’ Three different answers to different situations.”

Darnell scrunched his nose, “you’ve never came straight out and asked me if I wanted to be your man.”

“I—I almost did that one time probably drunk off my ass at that one party, Dave’s? at his secluded place out in the desert?”

Darnell was still confused, “was that before or after you made out with him?”

“I was singing ‘this is the life’ from Hannah Montana.”

“And how does that song correlate with you sticking your tongue down Dave’s throat?” Darnell challenged.

Shrugging you lamely replied, “don’t play with me when it comes to Hannah Montana and Cheetah girls or any girl group songs. Plus I was drunk! It didnt mean anything, he’s our friend! If you were closer and actually did karaoke with me, it might have been you instead!”

“So that’s my fault because I preferred to be low key? Wooow.” Darnell rubbed at mouth.

Breathing out a laugh you rested your hand on top of his which he allowed, “That’s typical of you, always staying back and observing before taking action...but seriously, Darnell. It didn’t mean anything.”

“I know it didn’t but it still sucked to watch.” The boy announced.

“I left with you that night didn’t I?”

“And threw up in the backseat, that took a week to get that smell out of my mom’s car.”

“I told you, you loved me.”

“Love.” Darnell corrected, keeping his eyes locked on yours so that you knew his meant it.

You went to pull your hand back but Darnell quickly flipped his hand over to latch onto yours so you couldn’t pull away, “Uh Uh. We went too long without saying what needed to be to said but I knew what was always there, you on the only hand were too scared to let it happen.”

“Darnell...”

“No, let me say this.” Darnell glanced down at your hands and sat up straight, “I get why you didn’t say anything when you knew you’d be leaving and why you didn’t want to get attached. It’s common with us brats. It’s what we do but what’s the point in living like that if we don’t allow ourselves to just live in the moment?”

“Cause it hurts like hell when we actually have to say goodbye?” You said how you felt, “I’m no good at goodbyes. Never was. I hate them so it was better to leave things unsaid until the next time...and this is our next time and look at us now.”

“Okay...and what happens if you leave again or if I go back to California? Or Nevada even?” Darnell questioned, curious to what you would say.

Your eyes burned, “I don’t know? Maybe we’re not meant to be then...which is why I don’t want to say how I feel. How you make me feel.”

Darnell shook his head, “so you rather just go on living in the unknown? That’s not fair to me or to you, y/n?”

“Well, it’s easier.”

“For who?”

“The both of us!” You exclaimed, sniffing, “if we don’t feel then it doesn’t matter.”

Darnell knew where that was coming from. Your mother, he could see it all over you. And he couldn’t be there to encourage you to be better than what your mother was trying to build you into. No matter what he always had your back, and Darnell was always consistent and you knew you could count on him.

“You need to wake up, we’re kids. We’re not made to be these emotionless robots like these people around us. We have emotions, you have emotions and dreams and whatever else your heart desires. And right now you’re showing me fear. And that’s not the person I knew back in Nevada.”

Glaring at him now you snapped, “people change, Darnell. That much is clear with you blocking me on Instagram and shutting me out of your damn life.”

“Fuck that superficial social media crap. I’m talking about face to face now. You and me. What do you want to do about it? Keep ignoring what’s clear as day between us?” Darnell was annoyed now, he could be patient but he had a long time to think about this.

You could tell this was coming with the way he kept rubbing his face and now his nostrils were flaring a little bit. So you knew you struck a nerve. Good. Served him right. Not really.

You scrapped the chair back and went over to Darnell plopping down in his lap. Darnell watched your every move, you took a deep breath wrapping your arms around his shoulders, you shuddered as his large hands trailed from the small of your back down to squeeze your waist. You stared into his eyes, glance drifting from his mouth and back. He was letting you take the lead this time, he never wanted to make you feel overwhelmed. Sure he liked to challenge you but he wanted you to show him how you felt. It was your turn.

And so you carefully locked lips with him. It was gentle, going at your speed before you positioned yourself to straddle him. He kept squeezing you closer than close to him but it wasn’t enough. You needed to be closer. And before you knew it, he had you hitched around his hips leading you down the hall to his room.

That’s what you wished would have happened and could have happened if you didn’t build a higher wall around yourself.

“I want to be more. But I think we should just be friends because we never know, it’s always come and go with us. You said it.” Your voice quivered as you said so but you stood your words.

Darnell didn’t like that or agree but he could respect what you were saying even if he knew you were lying to yourself. He knew when to push and pull but he also knew when to let things go. He understood you more than you understood yourself.

He knew you were just happy to have him here and it was likewise for him. If you wanted to be his friend, then so be it. For now. He just hoped at some point, you’d let yourself be loved and that he could give that to you like you deserved.

He swallowed lifting your joined hands to place a lingering kiss on the back of your hand, “alright...friend. Just know my love for you will always be there when you want it.”

You were positive he couldn’t know that in the near future but you’ve been out of each other’s lives for almost two years now...and with Darnell Hayes, anything was possible.

So a part of you would secretly hold that to your heart.

[missdawnandherdusk]

I’ve Got You

Gryffindor!Reader X Draco Malfoy

Requested: @queenofmankind​ Hii! can I request a small oneshot for Draco x Gryffindor reader based on the song “I Got You” by Leona Lewis please if that’s not too much? Thank you! 

A/n: Okay this is in no way “short” though I suppose by my normal works it is, only about 3.5k. But I hope it’s what you were after and may I just say it is an amazingly precious song by oh my stars does it sound like the early 2000s of my youth. Also sorry it took so long to get around to, I’m very particular about music (because I have synesthesia with music among other things) but I absolutely love how this turned out!!  Let me know what you guys think and watch these dorks pine after each other. 

“Malfoy?” I looked up from the rack of new quills. “What are you doing in this part of town?”

The blond hair boy stared at me shocked, as if my acknowledgement of him was unbelievable. He rolled his eyes and went back to looking at new rolls of parchment.

“Oh, come on really? You’re gonna be like that?” Crossing my arms, I turned and faced him completely.

“Be like what?” He snapped, his eyes cold and defensive. “In case you have noticed, we don’t like each other!”

“And in case you haven’t noticed, it’s the summer, and I never said I didn’t like you. Not that I do like you particularly,” I muttered under my breath.

“So, what that it’s the summer?” His words were quick and sharp.

“Well, I mean, right now, I’m not a Gryffindor and you’re not a Slytherin. You’re just Malfoy,” A smile played at my lips. “Or have you forgotten?”

“How can you say something like that? Of course, you’re still a Gryffindor and I’m still a Slytherin. That’s how this works!”

“But it doesn’t have to,” I held out the parchment I knew he was looking for because I had seen him use it all year.

“Of course, it does!” He snatched the parchment from my hand. “If we’re not our Houses what are we?” The words were like ice, but they didn’t faze me.

“Maybe, I don’t know... people?” I rolled my eyes, shaking my head at the seemingly lost cause. “Don’t be a stranger Malfoy,”

His dumbfounded look had me laughing to myself as I exited the small shop, and stepped out onto the lane, smiling up at the rain that came down.

........................................

The next time I saw him, was just before the school year started. We both wound up looking for the same book together. There was a challenge in his eyes—the book was elusive: who would find it first.

“Ha!” I called, holding up the book victoriously.

Draco’s head popped up from a few rows away. He sulked, making his way over to me. I handed him the copy and went to look for another... that wasn’t there. Draco seemed to realize that too.

“Here,” He scoffed, shoving the book back into my hands. “You found it first.”

“No, it’s alright,” I smiled, not taking it. “I can buy it second hand, I don’t have a problem with that,” There was a slight accusation in my tone that Draco seemed to pick up on.

Rolling his eyes at me, he stormed off, book in his hands. I remained near the shelves, looking to see if I had missed another copy indeed, but it was in vain. Sighing, I stood. Until I heard a familiar voice ranting near the counter of the shop. A very scared store clerk rushed away, ducking into the back of the store, coming out with another copy of the book we had just been arguing over.

An annoy smirk was on Draco’s face as he gave me the one from the shelf.

“This one had no doubt been touched by a mudblood.” He sneered. “How dare the clerk think I would buy such a thing,”

Tried as he might, I saw right through his little charade.

“Okay, Malfoy,” I chuckled, hugging the book to my chest. “Sure thing,”

“And besides. I owe you for finding that parchment. I don’t like being in people’s debt,” His mask was stoic and unfeeling.

“It’s not about—” I tried as he walked away.

I let out an annoyed growl that faded to a smile as I caught his eye as he left the shop. There was a smile on his face as he looked back at me.

........................................

As soon as we were back on school grounds, he was a Slytherin and I was a Gryffindor again. But maybe we weren’t. Maybe we were... people.

When I found Draco asleep in the library late one night, hunched over his Potions notes, I found myself smiling at him. He wasn’t a Slytherin then, he wasn’t even Malfoy... he was Draco.

“Draco,” I whispered softly, nudging his arm. “Draco, wake up,” I whispered a bit harsher.

Blue eyes flashed open, his wand at the ready as he almost fell out of his chair—if I hadn’t caught him.

“I got you,” I helped him stand. “What are you doing here? It’s the middle of the night.”

 He rubbed his face and leaned against the desk that protruded from the shelves of books. 

“Studying,” His voice sounded annoyed and groggy.

“Oh, I’m sure,” There was a smirk on my lips. “Go to bed, Draco, you’re exhausted.” 

“You’re just saying that, so you’ll beat me on the exam tomorrow,” He sulked.

I almost rolled my eyes.

“Yes, because your grades are much more important to me than your well-being,” I drawled. “Don’t be stupid Draco, go to bed.” I annunciated each word.

“I’m not being stupid, and I don’t need you looking after me! We’re not friends and I don’t like you! Now stop acting like I do and leave me alone!” He snapped, grabbing his notes and storming out of the library, leaving me there, dumbfounded and hurt.

A deep breath in and out, and the hurt faded. I raised my head and walked out of the library behind him. For better or worse, he was on my mind as I laid in bed that night, and all the while the next day as we took our Potions exam under Snape’s watchful eye.

Our interactions throughout the years stayed at about that level. I’d catch him in a moment when he needed help but wouldn’t admit it, and I wouldn’t hesitate.

........................................

It happened when I was going back to my dorm after prefect duty and Draco was avoiding Filch like the plague. I said nothing but grabbed his hand and shoved him into a nearby classroom, standing guard outside. As Filch passed, I smiled and nodded, and he left without suspicion.

“If you ever—” Draco seethed, white hot fury on his face that honestly scared me. He towered over me this year.

“You’re welcome,” I snapped, heading back toward my dorm, my fists clenched, tears in my eyes.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid!” I yelled at myself. “What is wrong with you?” I met my reflection in the mirror. A confused, hurt girl looked back.

You care for him, she seemed to say back.

........................................

It happened again when he and Harry fought after the quidditch game. Hermione aided Harry, and no one dared go near Draco, who was bleeding and appeared downright dangerous. As soon as the crowds left, I saw Draco try to take a step forward and stumble. Rushing forward, I grabbed his arm and slung it around my shoulders.

“I got you,” I murmured encouragingly.

He didn’t seem to have an insult to throw at me as I took him to madam Pomfrey. I didn’t stay as soon as he was in her care. Instead, like a true Gryffindor, I fled the scene and broke down in tears in a nearby hallway. Hermione found me and wrapped her arm around my shoulder.

“It’ll be alright,” She encouraged. “You’ll be alright,” 

........................................

And again. It was sixth year. I had watched Draco go from an annoying git to looking like death walking. The night after Harry did something that I would never forgive him for, I found Draco curled up in the Astronomy Tower, a mostly empty bottle of Fire Whiskey gripped tightly in his hand. Worry grew in my chest as I wrestled the bottle from his hands.

“Did you drink all of this?” I shrieked. “Of all the stupid insolent thoughtless reckless idiotic things you could have done!” I didn’t even know how to end the insult.

“I’m fine,” He slurred. “You worry about me too much,” His head lulled back, half opened eyes looking up at me, an amused smile on his face.

“Oh, I worry just enough for your sorry ass,” I growled, helping him to his feet. “Come on, we have to get you back to your dorm,”

“You’re bossy,” He leaned most of his weight on me, tripping and nearly face planting on the first step he tried to take. The curse that tumbled from his lips caught me off guard.

“Merlin, Draco.” I groaned, helping him back up. “Oh, I am never going to hear the end of this,” Muttering to myself, I draped my robe around him.

“Get this fucking thing off me,” He sloppily fumbled, attempting to dislodge my robe from around his shoulders. “Bloody Gryffindor,”

“You’re making this very difficult,” I growled, resorting to actually carrying him with the aid of a Levitating Spell.

“But that’s how you like me,” Draco smirked, his head falling back. “Little Gryffindor can’t leave the Slytherin prince.”

“More like Slytherin damsel in distress,” I muttered under my breath, walking up to the Gryffindor portrait.

The Fat Lady eyed us both. I gave her a pleading look with the password said and she let us in. Thanking the stars that the common room was empty, I quickly hurried up the stairs, marveling that they didn’t fall out from under me. Who knew that carrying a boy up the stairs would work?

“Put me down!” Draco whined.

I obliged and dropped him on my bed. Locking the door and practically barricading the room, I paced my floor trying to figure out what to do with the very drunk very ostentatious Draco who was lounging across my bed.

“Of all the times I imagined your bedroom, I didn’t expect this,” His eyes followed the walls of my room that were covered in my favorite paintings and hanging plant vases.

My cheeks flushed as I realized that he just admitted to thinking about my room. More than once. I shoved that thought aside and started to think about what to do with him. What was I supposed to do with him?

Sighing, I resulted to taking care of him.

“I’m going to take my robe off of you. And yours,” I whispered softly, nearing him. 

“Stripping me already? Isn’t that a bit forward?” He grinned. “Never took you as the type.” 

“For the love of Merlin, shut the fuck up right now,” I begged, squeezing my eyes shut. 

“Ooooh, I don’t think I’ve ever heard that pretty mouth curse before.”

I paced away from him and clenched my fists, fighting the urge to punch him in the face. Six years. Six years he never once batted an eyelash at me. Never showed an inkling of care and this is what it took? Him wasted and not thinking correctly?

Inhaling deeply, I ignored all of the other words that came from his mouth with great difficulty as I got his robe off as well as his tie and sweater. Tugging him off the bed, I lead him to the small bathroom that was allotted to my prefect dorm. Draco slumped down on the toilet. Rummaging around in the back of my med kit, I found what I was looking for, something I had bought off of Fred and George: anti-nausea tablets. It was intended for use after throwing up tablets to get out of class, but I figured it was better to keep them on hand.

“Here,” I offered it to Draco with a glass of water. “We need to sober you up,”

“I’m fine,” He slurred again, leaning against the cool tile of the shower. 

“No, you’re not. Draco.” I bit out and took a deep breath. “Please,”

“Whatever,” He grumbled and took the glass of water and tablet, downing both. Some color returned to his face and I sighed in relief. “Why is it so damn hot in here?” He groaned, easily slipping his shirt over his head.

I gasped, seeing the angry red gashes littered across his creamy skin. My eyes followed them over his shoulders and down his arms, to where something else resided, having my stomach churning.

“Draco you didn’t,” I squeaked out, taking his left arm, tears in my eyes. “Tell me you didn’t!”

“I had to; The Dark Lord was going to kill me family... kill me.” His words were surprisingly calm, all things considered.

Tears streamed down my face as I reached up to stroke his face, there was a sadness that lingered in his eyes. He was a broken man in my hands. I ran the water from the faucet, running a washcloth under it, wringing it out, then crouching down between his legs.

“I’m gonna clean you up, alright?” I whispered softly.

He didn’t speak. His eyes stayed trained on me. The garnet cloth was a stark contrast to Draco’s marble skin.

“Why are you so kind to me?” He mumbled out. “I’ve been an arse to you for years...”

“Because,” I smiled softly, delicately wiping the sweat from his face. “Against my better judgement, I’ve got you Malfoy.”

His eyes slipped closed and his weight slumped against me.

“Draco? Draco!?” I tilted his chin back, kneeling before him. “Wake up! Come on asshole, wake up!” There were tears in my eyes as his blue eyes fluttered open.

“Your eyes have flecks of gold in them,” He slurred out, his hand clumsily brushing the hair from my face.

“Okay pretty boy,” I smiled. “Let’s get you to bed,”

It took some effort and a bit more arguing, but he was curled up on top of my sheets, sleeping on his side. I let out a defeated sigh and pulled my desk chair beside his head and sat there, picking up my book, keeping mind to wake him every so often to drink water and to make sure that he was sobering up. Sometime around four in the morning, I felt sure enough to let him sleep off the rest of the alcohol as I folded myself in the chair, watching him until my eyes became too heavy to open again.

In the morning, he was gone. There wasn’t a trace of him left. The bed was made properly, his clothes had vanished, the washcloth I had used was dried and folded back in the cupboard. Looking around there was no evidence except my dislodged desk chair that last night wasn’t a dream.

It broke my heart more than it should have.

When our eyes caught in the halls, he looked away and rushed the other way, leaving me staring after him and Hermione pulling at my arm, reminding me we were going to be late.

He avoided me the rest of the year. 

I didn’t see him that summer.

I avoided him seventh year.

 Almost. 

........................................

Draco crashed into me one night. Fear struck my heart because I was out past curfew, getting a blanket from a first years dorm that they had forgotten to bring to the Room of Requirement. He almost didn’t notice me, there were tears in his eyes.

Then he yanked my arm hard and shoved me against the wall, his wand under my throat. 

“You shouldn’t be in the halls,” He hissed, almost in hysterics. “What are you thinking!?”

I held my tongue, tensing for the Cruciatus Curse that I knew was coming. It was an all too common punishment these days. Seconds dragged on as we stared each other down. Then, he backed away, catching me when I stumbled at the lack of support.

“Now we’re even,”

Then he stalked down the hall in the opposite direction.

“Draco,” His name fell from my lips without my permission as my feet followed his. “Draco, please,”

“I won’t be forgiving twice,” He growled, keeping his brisk pace.

“Fine,” I pulled his hand, making him stop. “Do whatever you want to me. Snap at me, insult me, leave me, torture me, I don’t care, but Draco I ask one thing,” My voice wavered as tears pricked my eyes. “When are you going to see that this has never been about keeping score?”

His snarled faced fell into the same broken look that haunted his features about a year ago. His hand raised, and I flinched involuntarily, but there was no need. His arms curled around me, pulling me to him. I froze. He inhaled deeply then released me.

Wordlessly he left. 

And this time I watched him go.

........................................

His eyes met mine as we stared at each other from different sides of the same war.

Then he was gone.

This time I knew the heartbreak was coming. I just didn’t know how much it would shatter me. 

.......................................

It had been a few months since the Battle of Hogwarts. There was a knock on my apartment door. Night hung in the air.

“Mr. Weasley? Draco?” I frowned.

“Alright Draco, you know the rules,” Mr. Weasley gestured. “Five minutes.” I let the blond- haired man into my apartment.

“Please, I don’t have a lot of time.” His voice was barely a whisper.

“Alright...” I closed and locked the door behind him.

He stood in front of my small hearth, his back to me, watching the dying flames. 

“Draco?” I asked, taking a step towards him.

“My... my trial is tomorrow,” The words scarcely left his lips at an audible volume. “They... they say I can call any witness... to speak on my behalf... Harry would be my best bet, but he would never but I thought maybe you would—” He stopped short, turning to face me. “I don’t deserve to ask this of you,” His blue eyes scrutinized mine, holding all the sadness of the world. “But please,”

“Give me a time and place,” I said without second thought. “I’ve got you, Draco,” A smile touched my lips.

A strangled cry of relief left his lips as he pulled me into his arms. I don’t know how long we stood there, holding each other. There was another knock on the door. Five minutes was up. Mr. Weasley gave the information for the trial, and his best, before apperating away.

I wasted no time going around to every classmate I could find, not giving in until they promised to be there tomorrow too. When Harry agreed, I sagged in relief and pulled him into a hug. Maybe, after all this time, I could forgive Harry for nearly killing Draco after all.

After the trial—and the witness accounts of nearly fifty Hogwarts Alumni that Draco was a victim of war—is when Draco broke down crying into my arms, away from the cameras and the crowds. I held him and rubbed his back softly.

“I’ve got you,” I soothed. “It’s alright. You’re alright, Draco.” 

........................................

The next few days, Draco wound up on my doorstep in the waking hours of the night, trembling. Claiming that he couldn’t sleep at the Manor because of what memories haunted him there. Again, he begged for my kindness, whispering that he knew he didn’t deserve it, crying because he desperately needed it anyway.

After a while, I simply invited him over for dinner then to spend the night. There was no use denying that he was going to wind up here anyway.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I rolled my eyes. “You’re not sleeping on the couch. You’re like six foot four, Draco.” I crossed my arms in indigitation. “Take my bed and I’ll sleep on the couch,”

“No, that’s just wrong,” He argued. “I’m imposing on you, I can deal with a bloody couch,”

“Draco,” I scolded, fighting the urge to stomp my foot. “Take—the—fucking—bed—you— asshole,”

An amused smile played at his lips as I glared up at him. He didn’t argue back, however, to my surprise. When I was finally grasping at sleep—not because of the stupid couch—there was a creak in the floorboards and the sound of socks against hardwood. They paused in front of me and I felt arms pull me into their grasp, cradling me.

“Draco?” I slurred sleepily. “Put me down,” It was nearly a whine. 

He shushed me softly. “I’ve got you,”

That was the first night we both found sleep and comfort in each other’s arms. And it surely wasn’t the last. Draco moved in about a month later, and the first thing he did was buy a bigger bed for the both of us—and a longer couch.

........................................

Months turned into years. Nervous butterflies turned into ‘I love you’s. Night terrors turned into nightmares turned into peaceful nights. Night turned into day. Traitor turned to Co-Trainee Healer turned to Co-Head Healer. Girlfriend turned into fiancée turned into wife. Boy turned into man turned into father. Fears turned to memories. Moments turned into photo albums.

One thing never changed: You always had Draco Malfoy.

. 

Tags: @coffee-addicti @msmcsmutt @ravn-87 @artemismohr18  @whygz @crazywritingbug @fuzzy-panda @bitemebro522  @zombiesnips-blog @savingdraco @welcometomyworldwithoutrules @akari180 @slytherin-emerald @memalfoy-spidey @queenfeatherwings @fanficflaneuse @go-whovian-universe @spicyshenanigans @darling-im-not-okay-i-promise @dietkiwi @katsukink @takemetothekingdom @strangerr-things @tmnt-queen @hxneybgb @justsomerandomgur @belcvayelena @moviesbooksandfandoms @howdycharlie @xtrashmouthxtozierx @cocochanelthepupper @ninacotte @braelynn-j @jiggllyy @honeymarvel @darcypottah @atomicpunkrock @thiccheerioss @lottie289 @boredashaeck @beautiful-pegasus @tceedlmao @deadlynyghtshayde @iconjuresnapeingrandmaclothes @anonymous034 @bi-andready-tocry @lunna-does-real-doodle @dragonsandbread @okaydraco @the-queen-of-hell-things @cmxreader @alienmotel @oh-itsnothing  @sunflowerxsadnessw  @fattycooter @angelotakunerd08 @thisisahugemistake @fanficsigottaread @gweaslvy @strawberriesonsummer @gaysludge @cleopatera @ray-of-sunrise @artist-bby @shadowsingeraxolotl @peters-legos @quillsareforwriting @ghostlytoadalmondhairdo @wollymalfoy @lilpieceoftoast @paper-cats @floweryjh @sdicapriox @slothgirl22 @peachesandpinks @monimillion @hufflautia @livize75 @annie-mcl @riathearora @live-like-luna @justathoughtfulangel @coconutdawn @skteaiy @wannabeskinny-thinspo @naughtygranger​ @queenofmankind​ @dragonsandbread​ @abundantxadorations​ 

[imaginesupply]

Homecoming - Chapter Five

(Gif’s not my own.)

Summary: The day has arrived, Captain Syverson is going home. For good, this time. He is going home to a civilian life he can hardly remember and a wife he barely knows, with memories of the war still fresh on his mind. Love might not be able to heal everything on its own, but it’s a good start.

Genres: Romance, drama.

Story warnings: Smut (always fully consensual), mentions of PTSD and nightmares and mental health, angst, hurt and comfort, fluff, mentions of war (minor), mentions of cheating (minor), mentions of pregnancy (very minor), police appearance (very minor), violence (very minor).

Notes:

It’s my first time writing for one of Henry’s characters and I’m unsure I did Sy’s character any justice.

This is a Capt. Syverson x OFC (Ada) story, written in 3rd person POV but OFC’s physical description is very limited so it could also be read as Capt. Syverson x Reader, I think.

English is not my first language, so there might be some mistakes. Proofread, but not beta’ed. We die like men and all that.

Timeline is a little wacky: The movie takes place in 2003 and the U.S. forces were withdrawn from Iraq in 2011, but I never set a precise date because I don’t think it’s essential for this story. However, some elements might not be realistic because if we set this story in 2003: Phone cameras quality was not as good as it’s now, but for the purpose of the chapters, I will need you to imagine you could film great videos with your flip phone haha. Plus, it says Sy is coming back after being deployed for more than three years which makes no sense unless we set this in 2006 or later. I am asking you disregard any time inconsistencies.

Also: I am not American. I only lived in the US for six months and it was in the Midwest, not Texas so please bear with me if I write something stupid.

Finally: This will be a Christmas fic and I intend to post the last chapter (there will be seven in total) on or before Christmas. However, religion is never mentioned in this story and the Christmas-sy elements of this story are limited to family gathering, gift giving and tree decorating.

Chapter Five starts after the cut. (Chapter Four can be found here.) Let me know if you wish to be tagged in future chapters or if you wish to be removed from the tag list.

A/N: I am aware of the neutral, perhaps positive, portrait of the police I painted in this chapter. I am fully conscious of the recent (and not so recent) instances of police brutality happening all around the world, many – if not most – of them motivated by racism and other despicable ideologies. With this chapter, I did NOT mean to express support for the police forces. I simply had this ‘plot’ idea come to my mind and decided to write it. There is no ulterior motive.

While all my personal experiences with the police have been positive, I am aware that my ethnicity gives me privilege and that many people are not as lucky as I am. This both angers and saddens me. It has to change.

Black lives matter. Minority lives matter.

Chapter 5

Chapter warnings: Cockwarming, irresponsible driving (kind of), car accident (not serious), police (but no police violence), very mild violence, language (perhaps a little bit worse than in previous chapters but nothing you don’t hear in real life, I guess), mentions of mysogyny.

Ada yawned with Sy quickly following suit. “You can drive my car if you want, Sy. It’s not that new anymore, you know.” She offered, gracing him with the most angelic smile she could muster. It was the first time she was granting him the opportunity to drive her car.

Sy laughed next to her, his left hand moving over the center console to rub her thigh. He had that stupid grin again, that looking endearing with his current droopy eyes. “It’s your car, darlin’. Besides, you’d kill me if I ever so much as got a scratch on it.” He chuckled, suppressing another yawn. “And I know you’re only offering because you want to sleep.”

His wife gasped, a look of mocking offense on her features. “They’re your nephews!”

“But you were the one who said yes,” Sy countered, his eyes closing again as he made himself more comfortable on the car seat. The drive home was only about one hour and a half, but it was the perfect length for a nap.

“What the fuck was I supposed to say, huh?” Ada laughed, gesticulating wildly as was her habit. “Yes, Joshua, I understand you’re taking my pregnant sister-in-law to the hospital. No, I will not look after your kids for the night. It’s our date night.”

Next to her, Sy grimaced. She did have a point, even if he had been looking forward to going bowling with her: Ada was a sore loser which always ended with lots of fun for him. At least, his sister and the baby were okay. Just a normal case of Braxton Hicks, apparently, whatever that was supposed to mean. Perhaps it was good thing Ada didn’t want children because he’d freak out if she started having contractions four months in. “You fell asleep on Luke’s bed at one in the morning when you tried to get him to sleep for the third time and I had to spend the whole night entertaining them with tea parties because they wouldn’t tire!”

“Hey! That’s not cool!” She protested accusatorily, her eyes on the road as she switched lanes to take the next exit. “I didn’t know you couldn’t give kids sugar after a certain hour!”

Sy huffed, shaking his head. They’d had the great idea to bring donuts because according to his dear wife, sugar always made you feel better when you was anxious or down, and the kids had been aware something was off with their mom. “We suck at this parenting thing.”

“You don’t say!” Ada laughed, before loudly cursing at driver who’d just cut her off, something which never failed to make Sy smile. “The nap’s going to feel heavenly once we’re home.”

Sy hummed in agreement, his head falling back against the headrest as he drifted off, hiding his eyes from the sun with his cap. Ada glanced sideways at him, shaking her head. Part of her wanted to shake him awake. If she had to suffer, so did he. But he was right, she had slept more than him and he looked too peaceful to disturb, especially with some leftover glitter still on his cheeks.

Suddenly, there was a mild thump and the car stuttered before stopping, startling Ada who jumped on her seat.

"Shit!" She cursed. "Did I just...?" She began to panic, her eyes moving to the red car in front of them, too close. She had bumped it while she had been distracted by her husband’s stupid, sleepy face!

"Yes, yes you did," Sy laughed next to her. Ada was a good driver and she loved driving, but she was easily distracted and Sy never failed to tease her about it. This time, however, he could tell she was scared from the way her chest was heaving with her shallow breaths. "Want me to deal with it, darlin'?" He offered, tilting his head at the other driver who had just come out of the red, broken-down car.

"No!" Ada protested all too quickly, taking off her seatbelt and grabbing the necessary documents from the glovebox, accidentally hitting his knees in the process. "I am an independent woman who don't need no help," she muttered, trying to convince herself of her own statement. In the eight years since she’d had her gotten her licence, she had never given any of her cars a single scratch, let alone gotten into an accident.

Sy grinned at her antics but tried to hide his amusement, not wanting to make it worse. "All right. I'm here in case you need me, okay?" With a determined nod in his direction, Ada stepped out of the car and attempted to summon the Annalise Keating or the Olivia Pope inside her, whichever she could find in herself.

The man from the red car, who seemed to be in his early forties and balding, was already inspecting his vehicle for damage – looking mighty pissed as he did so. Ada approached the impact point from the other side, noticing the bump on the man’s old car. It didn't look too bad, she sighed with relief. Her own car barely had anything. Ha! She would have to use this as an argument next time Sy and her started discussing cars. Her black Citroën DS5 was sturdy and not just fancy looking, unlike what he said.

"Hello, sir," she said calmly, the man instantly looking up at her. Damn! He really looked furious, seething even. "I am so sorry for this. I was a little distracted- Anyway, it doesn't matter. My insurance will cover whatever repairs your car may require."

"You stupid little bitch!" The man shouted, out of the blue.

Ada gasped, backtracking. The muscles in her jaw twitched. What the fuck was wrong with him? "I understand your anger, but there's no-"

"What were you even doing behind that wheel?" He snarled, gesturing at her car, her baby. "Who the hell lets women like you drive cars like that?!” The man cursed, aggressively waving his hand in the air.

She just stood there, still in shock. Did... did he just bring misogyny into a fender bender situation?! "Women like me?!" She repeated, quite stunned.

"Aye! Bitches like you have no business driving-”

Ada flinched at the man’s words. He was starting to breech the distance between them, moving too close to her. Ada jumped again when she felt a warm hand on her shoulder before realizing it belonged to Sy and letting herself exhale slowly. Thank God he didn’t listen to her and stayed in the car!

"I get that you’re pissed, but that's no way to talk to a lady. You should to apologize," Sy told the man, making it sound very much like an order and very little like a suggestion. The driver huffed before coming closer, his face about as red as the car as when he started laughing. Ada instinctively hid under Sy's arm, though she aware of the ridicule of the whole situation.

"That's your whore? You let your whore drive your car?!"

Okay, this was going too far. It left her lips before she could help it, "that's my own goddamn car, you wanker!". Maybe it was time to stop borrowing insults from Tom.

Ada could almost hear how his jaw clenched when she felt Sy's whole body tense up against hers. "Call her a whore one more time and you're gonna wish she had run you over instead."

This was escalating. Ada bit her lower lip. She was going to have to be the bigger person here. "Look, I'll just go grab my phone from the car and call the police. They'll deal with this." Ada announced, dislodging herself from Sy’s grip before turning around to get to her car.

Her hand had just wrapped around the car door handle when there was a clouting noise, quickly followed by a loud thump, this time. Ada immediately turned around at the sound. The angry driver was out cold on the ground, blood rushing out of his nose and forehead, with Sy looking down at him, the same blood tainting his fist.

"Oh shit!"

°°°

A lanky guy, smelling heavily of pot, was thrown inside the almost full holding cell by the same officer who had arrested him. Sy was amused at the sight until the guy, after a full survey of the room, started walking him up to him before sitting down on the bench far too close for his liking.

Exhaling through his nose, Sy tried ignoring the smell and closed his eyes again. He didn’t expect the nap he had been looking forward to, to be in a stinky cell with stinky men but it would have to make do. At least, after the man sitting closest to the entrance had commented on the leftover pink glitter that still shone in Sy’s beard, nobody had bothered him anymore – not after he quite literally made the man piss himself with just one stare. That man wouldn’t have survived a single day in Baqubah.

"It's cramped in here," the new guy commented nonchalantly though his eyes were fixed on Sy. Out of politeness - damn Ada and her insistence on good manners! - Sy acknowledged his useless statement with a noncommittal hum.

"Name's Ben, by the way," he said, stretching out of his hand but Sy didn’t move a muscle. What was it in his current posture - crossed arms and spread legs - that made him appear friendly enough for a chat, he wondered, rolling his eyes behind his closed eyelids.

"And you are...?"

Sy groaned out loud time. "Not interested."

Ben didn’t get the hint and proceeded to ramble off about how he got caught selling pot near the university. Sy was actively working on drowning out his voice when the sound of fast and angry clicking heels on the concrete floor caught his attention. He smiled. Ada. Apparently, she hadn’t changed and was still dressed for date night, wearing a dress and stilettos, even though they had only meant to go bowling and eat at a steakhouse.

Somehow, everyone in the holding cell must have been intrigued by the same sound because all conversation suddenly stopped, the men all hoping to eavesdrop.

"I am here for Syverson. I wish to talk to him."

"Ma'am, I apologize but we are not allowed to let him out of his cell."

"Not a problem. Just give me the keys and I'll let him out myself!"

Every person in the holding cell laugh with Sy grinning quietly, amused at how she sounded distinctively more foreign when she was mad. He was used to her accent in more intimate settings, but he was enjoying the sound of it during her current outburst which was followed by an uninterrupted string of curse words and insults alike, all coming from her delicate mouth. First, in English, then French. Spanish. Portuguese. Italian. Sy frowned at the last one, he didn’t recognize it. Was it German? He'd have to ask her.

"What a woman, huh," the guy next to him deadpanned, still not giving up on a conversation.

Silence fell again as everyone attempted to listen to the rest. “I swear to God I’ll hang your heads up in my living room if –“

Sy only huffed, leaning back against the cold wall. "You can't even begin to imagine."

"You know her?" The pothead quipped up.

"Yeah," Sy replied. "She’s my wife." He said it loud enough to make sure everyone was able to hear it.

“Oh,” came the nasal voice next to him just as they heard heavy, resigned footsteps become louder.

A different policeman stopped just behind the door, a colleague just behind him as he fished out the right key from his pocket. “Syverson,” he called out loudly. “There’s a woman here for you.”

Sy got up at once, unable to hide his smug smirk. Ada always got her way.

°°°

“What the fuck were you thinking, Sy?!” His wife blurted out as soon as she was let inside the interview room, the young officer locking the door from the outside. Then, turning around, she caught sight of her husband handcuffed to the table and her shoulders instantly slacked, her anger vanishing almost instantly. “What you did was disproportionate,” she sighed, her voice calmer as she took a seat in front of him, the cold iron table separating them.

"He called you a whore, I just punched him!" Sy protested, leaning back on the chair. "My response was disproportionate - disproportionately small."

"You knocked him out cold!" Ada reminded him, her voice pitching higher than usual but the only response she got from Sy was a smug grin. "He might press charges, you know. It's battery."

Sy rolled his eyes, sitting up straight. "He’s an asshole."

Now, it was her turn to roll her eyes although she knew he hated it when she did that. She took a deep breath, hoping to calm down. Sy was looking entirely unbothered, but she was freaking out at the situation. "I'll try to convince him not to press charges and offer to cover the medical bill on top of the car repairs in return."

"Medical bill?" Sy asked, cocking his eyebrow.

"Yes. After the police took you into custody, he was brought to the hospital. From what I heard, he has a broken nose, needed stitches on his forehead and got a concussion." Sy only huffed with a smirk. "This is not funny, Syverson!"

"It wasn't funny when he called you a whore either," Sy countered. He was right. It was also very pleasant to see that dickhead in pain, but she wouldn’t tell him that.

"Look, my friend, Gale, who's a lawyer, is on her way. I'll get you out of here tonight. He’ll either agree to drop the charges or I’ll bail you out."

The corners of his lips twitched. He moved his hands as much as the chain allowed, to grab hers and squeeze them in his large ones. "Are you worried about me, darlin'?"

What a teasing little shit he could be! Of course, she was worried about him! He was in a cell! Feigning innocence, Ada smiled, running her thumbs over the back of his hands. "I am not. However, seeing what you did to that prick just got me really horny and I would like to have you back in my bed tonight," she whispered, watching as her husband’s smug grin slowly disappeared as she got up and grabbed her purse, heading to the door.

"You better get me out of here quickly!" Sy called after her.

°°°

He was returned to the holding cell, the officer uncuffing his wrists again once the bars closed behind him. There were two new faces, but he also recognized that at least three men had left already. Unfortunately, pothead was still there.

“I saved you your spot,” Ben smiled wildly, gesturing at the vacant portion of the bench next to him. “The guy in the red shirt was going to sit here but I told him it was occupied.”

Sy merely hummed, taking the seat that had so generously been saved for him. Hopefully Ada would get him out quickly because he didn’t know how much longer he could deal with his chatty neighbour.

“Was she mad?” Ben asked, whispering loudly and defeating the entire purpose of a whisper in the first place. “Did she yell at you?”

Despite his closed eyes, Sy could feel Ben’s stare on him as he awaited an answer. “No.”

Ben nodded thoughtfully, shaking the uneven bench as he did so. “If we go to prison, I want to share a cell with you.”

If Ada didn’t get him out of there quickly, he was soon going to get charged for battery again.

°°°

Sy stood by the counter, his attention on the ugly Christmas decorations he hadn’t noticed when they brought him in hours earlier. Somehow, he had managed to forget all about it. And fuck, he still needed to get Ada a present!  

“Here are your things,” the young officer told him as he slid over a transparent plastic bag.

With a curt nod, Sy ripped it open and fetched his wedding band first, before looking for his wallet and belt. He was already heading to the door when he turned around at the last minute. “Did Mrs. Syverson post my bail?”

“No, the charges were dropped.”

Huffing with amusement and a hint of pride, Sy zipped up his coat and headed to the front door. He swiftly descended the stairs in front of the precinct, his face illuminating at the sight of her. She was still wearing the black dress and the fancy shoes, her makeup now lightly smudged around her eyes.

As soon as he was close enough, his hands moved to Ada's waist and he leaned down to kiss her, only for her to pull away at his touch. "Not so fast, big guy," she teased, a glint in her eyes as she grabbed something out of her coat pocket he couldn't yet identify. "You're still in trouble."

Sy threw back his head, his laugh booming through the night sky as he finally saw what she was holding up in front of him. Handcuffs, and not the fluffy ones either.

"Now gimme your hands," Ada demanded, making him cock his brow at her authoritative tone.

With a chuckle he obeyed, presenting her his hands. "Yes, ma'am."

Sy watched keenly as she fumbled with the cuffs to get them around his wrists, and then seized the right opportunity to take the upper hand, easily taking the cuffs away from her small hands.

With a shriek, Ada found herself bent over the black hood of her own car, her cheek pressed up against the slick surface and her husband's body pressed up against hers. She could hear the smirk in his voice when he spoke. "Mrs. Syverson, you're under arrest for unlawful teasing back in the questioning room." Ada scoffed, the sound weakened by his heavy weight on top of her. "You have the right to remain silent. Everything you do say can and will be held against you in-"

"Your dick!" Ada suddenly blurted out, a little too loud given where they were, and Sy immediately stopped, clearly surprised, but she quickly felt him laugh against her back.

Before she could join him, Sy smacked her ass, effectively silencing her. "Guess I'll have to fuck that attitude out of you," he grunted before pulling away and fastening the cuffs around her wrists.

Ada kept complaining as he carefully dragged her inside the car. Despite her struggling, Sy easily opened the right backdoor and threw her on the backseat, mindful to fasten her seatbelt before closing the door. Her eyes widened and her mouth went agape when Sy sat down behind the steering wheel and proceeded to push back the driver’s seat and readjust all the mirrors.

“Are you shitting me?” She exclaimed, leaning forward on her seat as much as the belt would allow. He was messing up with all her settings and the grin on her face made it very clear that he was doing it all on purpose just to get her riled up.

“Language, darlin’,” he chided, turning on the engine. “Didn’t you ask me to drive earlier, anyway?”

Ada groaned in response, shutting her eyes tightly before opening them again. “You know very well that was-“

Sy didn’t let her finish, the tires squealing on the tar as he sped out of the parking lot all too fast. Ada involuntarily cringed at the noise. “I’ll make you pay for this!”

“We’ll see, kitten. We’ll see.” He was entertaining by her determination even though her eyes were already closing.

As expected, Ada fell asleep within five minutes despite the handcuffs keeping her arms in an uncomfortable position. Her head lolled before it finally came to rest against the window. He watched her though the central mirror, an adoring look in his blue eyes as she sighed contently the very moment she had fallen asleep. While he had managed to rest while in the cell, though not as much as he had hoped, he knew Ada had been up all afternoon trying to sort everything out and get him out. Sy had noticed her exhaustion as soon as she started fumbling with the handcuffs, her movements uncharacteristically clumsy.

He stopped at a junk food drive thru on their way home – night had already fallen and he hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. He doubted she had either. Her eyes didn’t even flutter under the bright neon lights and once he parked the car on their driveway and went to carry her inside along with their food, after undoing the cuffs, her body was completely limp in his arms. It was only when he accidentally let her shoulder hit the doorframe as he tried to lead them inside their bedroom, that she woke up again. “Ouch!”

“Sorry,” Sy murmured and kissed her forehead before laying her down on the bed and setting down the bag on the mattress next to her. Her nose wrinkled as she sniffed the air even as he helped her out of her coat and dress, and then the shoes. “Did you get us food?”

“Tenders and fries.”

Within an instant, she had ripped the bag open and was clutching the bucket of chicken to her chest, moaning as soon as she took a bite. He smiled knowingly at her– she had been hungry after all.

Hurriedly, Sy took off his clothes and slid in bed behind his wife, wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her closer to him. They hadn’t slept together the previous night as they babysat the kids and he had missed the feel of her soft body against his. A content hum escaped him as his already partially hard cock nestled against the roundness of her ass.

Ada chuckled at his reaction, the vibrations of her body sending sparks of pleasure to his growing erection. “I have an idea,” she whispered, her voice becoming seductive again as she started rubbing herself against him.

Sy groaned deeply and tightened his grip on her waist, forcing her to still even though he was no longer sure for what he now hungered more; food or his wife. “We’re both hungry and exhausted,” he reasoned with her, his fingers moving some hair away from her neck so that he could kiss her there.

“Let me,” she insisted, a grin audible in her voice. Her hands disappeared under the bedsheets and she slid off her panties before retaking her initial position as the little spoon. Behind her, Sy groaned as her delicate fingers took hold of his cock, giving it a few pumps before guiding him inside her warmth. He muffled a soft moan against neck at the snug feeling of tight her walls, his arm tightening around her again. She let out a quiet gasp at the stretch, it hurt a little despite her still being sufficiently wet from when he had pushed her against the hood of the car. But once he was fully inside, Ada sighed at the pleasure of being again. “Now we can eat.”

°°°

There are two more chapters to go! Next chapter will include Christmas tree decorating. I am running behind on schedule so I cannot guarantee the last chapter will be posted by Christmas but I’ll do my best.

°°°

@colourmeinblue​ @hail-horror-queen​ @youthought-iwasa-nicegirl​ @kmuir1​ @madbaddic7ed​ @coffeebreathy​ @purplelove75​ @summersong69​ @helenaellie​

[hargrove-mayfields]

this was requested by @deardmvz ! based off of this lovely post!!

Billy is released from the hospital a few months after he’s out of that place, having been dragged back to his own world a bloody mess by a group of government men in hazmat suits.

They said he was lucky to have spent as long as he did in a toxic environment and come out of it only needing a weekly breath treatment and a couple of bandages. But he knows it wasn’t luck.

Because if there was such a thing as lucky, Billy Hargrove was not it.

Rather, it was because he’d learned how to give the monsters over there what for. Didn’t hide and come whimpering at the first signs of rescue, begging for their protection like everyone was expecting him to after dealing with monsters and breathing polluted air for six months.

Six months. He couldn’t believe that. To him, on the other side, it had felt more like years.

But he’d stumbled out of that place all the same, dripping axe still gripped tight in hand, in case this was his mind giving up, in case his hell wasn’t really coming to an end after all, and in the end, he was tougher, more resilient, unafraid.

But the doctors didn’t really believe that, did they?

As soon as he was given the clear in the emergency room, onced over for physical injuries he’d thankfully avoided and the doctors having given him something that made him cough up most of the gross stuff that’d been collecting in his lungs, he was sent straight to the psych ward.

Because he could kill as many monsters as he wanted, and he could spend months as a survivor, doing what nobody before him had been able to without super powers, but he was never going to be able to shake the isolation, the uncertainty of everyday he spent over there. Not without help.

The upside down was a no man’s land, he didn’t have the time of day to think about what he’d done, who he’d lost, what had happened to him. But the moment he’s free of it, he’s back to reality.

Back to being the kid down on Cherry, with years of baggage to carry even before all this interdimensional bull that he’d never worked through. With a sister who thought he was dead, and a father who probably wouldn’t care less whether or not he was.

They see all of that, so he pushes them away, refusing every attempt the nurses make at helping him. He doesn’t want their help anyways, he doesn’t want to be in the hospital anymore, and he sure as all hell doesn’t want to be a part of some government conspiracy.

But with enough personal questions and screenings, they’re able to, a couple of weeks into the program, coax it out of him, working him up to the breaking point and the following outpouring of guilt.

Pushing him to admit things about himself he’d never had to look in the face until that hard shell he’d had to build up to protect himself from monsters of all kinds since he was just a kid dissolved away, and he was left a sobbing mess in a support group, going on and on about having chased his mother away, how he was working on chasing his little sister away.

About the way he treated his peers and the way he let others treat him. About Heather Holloway and everyone else and how he’d killed them.

Straight away they get him in to see somebody, something he doesn’t really like the sound of at first, but they say they’re willing to release him from the psych ward if he agrees to go regularly, so it’s worth a shot.

That is, until he realizes he has nowhere to go except back to his house. 5280 Cherry Lane, where Neil Hargrove, the very first monster he’d ever had to fight, would be waiting for him.

He tries to get out of it, to go back to who he was before he’d let all this stuff get to him, but it doesn’t last. He’ll bark out nasty things at the nurses and refuse to cooperate when they get to trying to evaluate his head again, but there’s no bite behind it, and he can’t keep it up.

That seemingly infinite well of hatred and pain had been drained by his time on the other side, until he just didn’t have it in him to be angry all the time anymore.

Billy tucks his tail and goes to the shrink, signs the release papers at the hospital and goes straight to that first appointment like he isn’t terrified of what will happen the minute they let him go home for the first time in forever.

Some part of him knows it’s no different than what he’d already been dealing with in intensive care, but there’s still something about being out there on his own, shooed away from what had become his sanctuary after escaping just to have some government approved doctor tell him he’s mentally unwell, that doesn’t sit right with him, and he walks out of that office even more nervous, more jittery to return than before, but he can’t avoid it forever.

The house isn’t too far from downtown where the office is, so he just walks home. He thinks of stopping at a payphone and call ahead, to let them know he’ll be coming home, but he hasn’t exactly been carrying pocket change with him, and he thinks it might be better if they’re not expecting him anyways.

It’s bitter cold outside, a dusting of snow on the ground making him walk slow over slippery sidewalks, unused to the conditions, but it’s the most fresh air he’s gotten in a long time, out in the kind of cold he can appreciate.

Over there, it was a clammy kind of cold, the type that clung to his skin and seeped into his bone, like he was under water. But this is different, the sun shining overhead taking off some of the bite, a cross wind that blew his hair back in his face and made the tip of his nose go numb.

By the time he reaches the door, he still doesn’t know exactly what he’ll say. How does one go about breaking the news to their family that they aren’t really dead?

The general idea is this: ring the doorbell, hope against hope that Neil isn’t afraid of zombies, appeal to his inner anti-government conspiracy theorist, and pray that he’ll buy it for long enough not to shoot him dead and maybe let him inside.

First step goes smoothly, and he’s ready to move on to blocking punches in the case of a kinemortophobic, but when the door is yanked open, it’s not his dad, and the rest of the plan goes out the window. It’s Max that answers, and before he has time to even process that, she wraps her arms around his torso in a hug tight enough to knock the wind out of him.

He doesn’t know what to do, this wasn’t what he’d been anticipating, so he kind of just, awkwardly pats her back and tries to ask her if he can come in, but all she does is squeeze him tighter.

Susan peers around a corner in the house, “Max, who was at the…” They lock eyes, and she trails off, a mix of relief and apprehension and maybe something like fear on her face. “Bring him inside, dear.”

Max pulls away and lets him in, wiping at stray tears with her sleeve pulled up over her hand. She waits for Billy to sit on the couch, and sits down right next to him, pressing into his side. “Where were you? We watched you die.“

“Wasn't me.” He eyes Susan, trying to communicate to Max that this was top secret, don’t tell your step-mom immediately after leaving a government facility information, but Susan chimes in.

“She told me everything. After what happened she was too upset to remember her agreement. We both signed the NDA.”

And for a second that pisses him off. Not at Max and Susan, but the agents who knew what was happening and still had the nerve to bring them in to threaten them without even bothering to mention he was still alive.

Right now that’s the part he tries to focus on. That he was still alive, and had better things to worry about than what he couldn’t change. “It was a clone. A fail safe made by the shadow in case your merry band killed me. When he died, I was trapped.”

“In the upside down?” Max’s eyes were wide as could be, the color drained from her cheeks. “But-but that almost killed Will and he was only there for like, a week.”

“Do I look like a scrawny twelve year old kid?”

“Muscles can’t protect you from toxic air, jerk.”

Susan’s looks frantic in that way she used to around Billy’s dad, who is notably not present, as she scolds, “That’s enough, Max. He’s been through a lot to get here, let’s let him ask some questions.”

It wasn’t like Billy really minded Max’s questions, he was sure he’d have quite a few himself if it was Max who had come back from the presumed grave, but he did have one of his own sitting heavy at the front of his mind. “Where’s Neil? He get his work schedule changed or something?”

“He’s gone.” Max deadpans.

At her tone, Billy feels his stomach drop, his heart stutter. “He died?”

“Heavens no. We got a divorce three months after we buried you, or what we thought was you.” Susan looks at Max tired, remorseful. “He was never the same without you.”

Things had been close to boiling over even before everything, he worried who had filled his shoes. He nods towards Max. “How bad was he?”

“Better and worse. He never laid a finger on us, but he was…”

An overdramatized shiver runs through Max as she finished her mother’s sentence, “Creepy.”

Susan nodded in agreement and explained, “So nice, so reserved, it was like we were constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“And he’s not coming back?”

“Why should he? He didn’t even tell us where he was going.” Max scoffs, missing the implication of what he asked. Seeing her still be so clueless made Billy infinitely grateful that Susan had finally given his old man the boot, even if that meant he was somewhere in the middle now.

He figures that was something he was willing to deal with if it meant Max was okay, and Neil wasn’t anywhere near her. Now he just needed to know if Susan would be expecting him to go find his dad on his own and move in with him.

He doesn’t mean to let as much tension into his voice as he does when he asks, “So what’s all this mean for me?”

“What else? You are never leaving me again, asshole.”

So it was settled, and judging from the look Susan gave him, she agreed with Max’s answer. Which was, overwhelming, to say the least.

Not that Neil had exactly been a family man, but the fact that they were willing to accept him back into their home without him around was more than Billy knew how to process just yet.

His room had already been converted into a storage space as Neil had been moving out, dragging everything that had never been unpacked in the first place out into the one space he viewed as disposable.

They thought he was dead, he couldn’t have expected them to keep his room the way he left it, and though it did sting a little when he found out half of his stuff was missing, either taken by Neil or thrown out in the process, it was soothed by Max giving him a box of all the things she knew were the most important to him, having snuck in and gone through his belongings herself.

Billy decides to let Susan keep her little storage room, it had been too drafty in there to make for a decent bedroom anyhow, so he moves into the carpeted corner of the basement, which he notices is finished now.

Before, the ceiling had been wide open, half built wooden slats coated in years of dust and cobwebs, a single exposed light bulb offering the only source of light. Now it looked like an actual room, and it made him feel something tight in his chest.

Because Neil had retiled and painted the upstairs bathroom when his first wife left him, and he had finished the basement when he thought his son had too.

Billy doesn’t know how he’s supposed to feel about his dad anymore. He’d been dreading the moment he would have to walk through the doors of his own house out of fear and hatred of that man, but learning he wasn’t even there, he almost missed him.

Almost. But then he thought about the way Susan and Max were now, so distinctly different in the comfort they exhibited in their own space, no longer having to constantly cower in fear of the overbearing head of the house, the person he’s free to be now that Neil isn’t around, and suddenly he’s not so remorseful.

Though he does catch Susan once, standing in the kitchen one morning and crying over an old photo of her and Neil.

He’s pretty sure, from the glimpse that he gets, that it’s from the first church registry photoshoot they did as the Hargrove-Mayfields, when the photographer had mindlessly said something like “now just mom and dad,” making both him and Max gag, which made Susan cry after it was over.

That night had been her first taste of the real Neil Hargrove when Billy got a beating in the parking lot. He still remembers the horrified look on her pale face as she told him it was alright when he apologized, snotty nose and bruises on his skin.

He knew the feeling was the same for her, torn between the man they needed Neil to be and the man he had actually been to them, so he pretended not to see her tears. Silently, she agreed to do the same, and ignore the way he sometimes sat in Neil’s chair with a glazed over look in his eye, or sighed and trained his gaze to the floor when he passed the family photos still hanging in the hallway.

It takes a long while for the three of them to settle. Max is a constant ball of excitement, reminding Billy so many times a day that she’s happy to have her brother back that he might just cry about it once he’s alone, and Susan and him are nervous 24/7, pinballing off one another as they try and fail to forget the ghosts of the house.

He thinks about leaving for a while, moving in somewhere all on his own, but his therapist tells him it’d only make things worse now, to lose his support system. Besides, he didn’t have a penny to his name, so it wasn’t like he had much of a choice but to just suck it up and stay with the Mayfields.

In the meantime, he gets himself a job working stock at Melvald’s. They had an open position after Mrs. Byers skipped town, and he thinks they would’ve hired just about anybody to try to get back on their feet after the now demolished mall almost put them out of business, even zombie boy 2.0. His boss is understanding enough, doesn’t say a word when he has to go into the back and have a panic attack when a grieving family member comes in.

They tell him that’s what’s best for him, getting out there and doing something, even if it’s not the something he would ideally be doing at this point in his life. It had never been his intention to stay in Hawkins after graduating, he wanted to go to college back in his home town, but he had to admit it was growing on him some, and setting up roots there was supposed to be good. Maybe that was just the fact he wasn’t allowed to leave talking though.

The guy they’re sending him to, he thinks is somewhat of a quack. His advice is shaky at best, and he treats Billy like some kid, giving him tasks and a reward system more fit for Holly Wheeler than an eighteen year old with enough trauma for the whole town.

So even though he does cooperate, does everything last thing the guy asks of him, he doesn’t particularly feel the need to go beyond that, face the deeper set issues his therapist doesn’t even know about.

Billy’s lack of cooperation makes the whole thing more complicated, gives him less that his therapist can tell him to work on, so he asks him just to talk to Susan.

They’re closer now than ever before, far beyond all the tension and avoidance and misplaced resentment, but they still don’t really talk about any more than what’s necessary. Things like, how was your day, could you help me with this, are you okay, but nothing substantial.

It should be easy, they’d been living under the same roof since he was twelve, so they should have plenty to talk about, it just never seems like the right time, though he has been thinking about it a lot, the way he treats her despite how much she’s done for him.

He doesn’t really have a plan to bring it up, he’s fully prepared to go back to another appointment the next week reporting no dice, but there’s one morning where the clock keeps ticking and the both of them are still wide awake in the living room, like a stalemate of who’ll give in to sleep first.

They both look like they need it, Susan’s hair is frazzled, the bags under her eyes as dark as the coffee she drinks. Billy knows he’s not looking so hot either. He doesn’t remember the last time he could go to sleep without his subconscious taking him back to that place, so he doesn’t even try anymore, just waits until he gets so exhausted he’ll pass out into a dreamless sleep.

He doesn’t know what it is that compels him to say anything, because it’s not awkward or even tense silence really, but he does, his tired voice cutting into the quiet.

“I dunno how to make it up to you.” He’s looking down at his hands, at the barely there scars that still litter the skin there. He thinks for a moment about how much worse it could’ve been, before looking to her. “I mean, I’d get it, if you didn’t want me around.”

Susan looks back at him, not having expected him to say anything really, let alone something so heavy. “What’s this about, Billy?”

“M’not even your kid, Sus. I just- I dunno. Why’d you let me back in?”

She looks baffled. “Should I not have?”

“I’m an adult. don’t need to be moochin’ off my ex-stepmom.” He feels like he had the very first time he ever met her, scared to look her in the eyes, only this time for an entirely different reason. “M’not your burden to carry.”

“Honey, you’re not mooching. You go to work, you help around the house, you help me with Max. That’s more than I could ask for.” She hesitates, unsure of how wide his boundaries are, then adds, “And, maybe you aren’t my son by any stretch of the imagination, but you will always be Max’s brother.”

He had been expecting something about his dad, always had some suspicion that he’d forced a dependent on Susan after he left, but the total opposite seems to be true, and that makes a lump rise in his throat.

In the absence of a response, Susan continues, “If there was one thing you could do for me though, I know you lie to your therapist. Don’t.”

He doesn’t have it in him to fight it, has enough sense about him to know she’s right. All he can manage is a breathless, “Okay.”

She pats him on the shoulder gentle as can be, and stands up from the couch. He doesn’t look up as she retreats to her bedroom, afraid the tears that had welled up in his eyes would spill over if he did.

When he hears her door close softly is when he lets the tears fall. It’s still a lot for him, to have someone be so casual in looking out for him in that way he still hadn’t quite grasped was possible.

The very next day Billy fesses up, and to his surprise, they don’t immediately cart him off when they hear he’s been faking. That had been his biggest fear, with the power that these people held. They’d threatened to lock him up if he ever ran his mouth, so he didn’t know what to expect.

He did feel stupid though, opening the damn for the same guy who gave him stickers for taking his meds about all the things he’d bottled up. But it works to get him into a better program than what they had him doing before, and he realized he’d had it backwards.

The fear of what they were going to do to him kept them from doing anything at all, and it gave Billy a deep sense of relief, that he’d finally broken free of that.

So instead of being assigned things like brushing his teeth or going outside for five minutes a day, which was decent advice, but completely irrelevant to what he needed, now his therapist had started telling him things like throwing out the razor blade he’d been saving for a rainy day, dumping the last of the nonprescription pills he kept in his night stand.

The more he did, the more complicated they got, until he was told that, in exchange for completing his tasks, he would only have to visit the office once or twice a week instead of every day. His last assignment before that could happen was to make amends with his past.

The most obvious thing the doc wanted him to do was forgive his parents, but Billy didn’t know where to even begin on that one, or really, if he had or hadn’t already done as much, so he went with the other way first, apologizing to everyone he had, or felt he had hurt.

He started at the cemetery. Max came with him and held his hand as he broke down graveside, begging his repentance for all the people who’d died last July. Talking to their survivors was strictly out of the question, they still thought he was the hero that tried to save as many as he could and was killed in action, not the one responsible.

That had been the story spread it the public by the people who had known all along he wasn’t really dead, monitoring his activity on the other side while they turned murderer into martyr. The more time he spent in the shrink's office, the less sure he was that even he knew what side he was on.

Apologizing to the living proves to be easier. He starts with the Sinclair kid at one of the weekly nerd meetings Max holds at their house, now that it’s safe, pulling him aside for a few to say his piece, which, judging from his reaction, Max had already done most of the heavy lifting for him.

When they came back he got fixed with a glare from the unfamiliar little girl that was always around these days, and he realized he and Lucas had that in common, a weapon of a little sister.

Next came minor inconveniences, people like Tommy who he used as a punching bag just because they were friends. Most of them blew the whole thing off, they were in high school when it happened, didn’t understand the moral dilemma of it all, and everyone but maybe one kid who he might’ve punched a little too hard when a fight broke out after football practice forgave him.

Last on his list, the one person standing in the way of what was supposedly the next step of his healing process, was Harrington.

Steve’d had his own fall from grace, and Billy fell much, much harder than he had, so it could be the easiest apology he has to do, but there were reasons it might be the hardest too. He didn’t think he deserved forgiveness for the way he’d treated Steve, which he’d never even apologized for in the first place, and it seemed like a cheap shot to be doing it now, more than a whole year after beating his face in.

He tracks him down at work, rifling through shelves lined with tapes he wasn’t interested in until he had the guts to approach the counter and ask Steve to follow him outside. The bastard doesn’t even look suspicious, doesn’t hesitate in giving him his warmest smile and inviting him behind the counter instead with a, “What’s on your mind, man?

It should be awkward, uncomfortable at the very least, they're having a conversation that should be happening anywhere but in two folding chairs behind the counter at Family Video, and yet, Billy feels none of that unpleasantry, just a conviviality he’d never expect to have with Steve Harrington, of all people. T the one apology he’d expected to be turned down is accepted with a simple, “It’s okay, Billy.”

That’s what made him different. He wasn’t like Tommy, who’d told him to forget anything ever happened, or Susan, who was adamant that it wasn’t his fault; Steve actually forgave him without ignoring what he did, and that, that was what this was about.

He finds himself frequenting the video store on his off days, trying to make friends with the one person other than Max he felt like he could trust, who trusted him, and from there it turned to swinging by Steve’s place after work, going out on the weekends together, falling head over heels in love.

That last part Billy tries to deny, tries to rationalize that maybe he’s just clinging to something constant after so long in isolation, but the longer he spends around Steve, the more he knows there’s no way around it. Billy was so gone for him and his stupid hair and his stupid laugh and his stupid little family video vest.

There’s a while where he tries to distance himself a little, feeling guilty about crushing on the only person to extend the olive branch back after he got out, but then Steve starts showing up at his door, and Max would hide a guilty smile behind her hand.

Once summer hits, just a few short weeks shy of the anniversary of when the shadow got Billy, Susan and Max get more and more careful around him, like they don’t want to set him off, and he gets that. Sometimes Max or one of her little friends would mention something that had happened last July, a sort of ‘hey, remember when we,’ and he would get a little, off.

Never violent, never cruel, never the Billy he had been before, just, reserved.

He thinks they’re afraid he’s going to snap. That they’ve gotten the wrong impression from all this recovery stuff. The very last thing he wants is for Max to think just he’s a shmooze, faking being better to get on her good side.

But they’re not. They’re just want to give him his space, after everything, and he knows he’s got to get out of his head about it.

For now though, when he’s afraid he might break his promise, he takes off, but it depends on what kind of day it is where he’ll go. Sometimes it’s the pool, at the picnic table on the other side of the fence, or to the cemetery again, making the rounds between all of the markers, the ones he put there, or even to visit the totaled Camaro, sold to a junker and kept in the corner of some private property, his blood still on the seats.

Once, he’d made the mistake of going to the steelworks, just to sit on a railroad tie outside of the place for hours, having a panic attack alone as he tried and failed to forget bad memories, bruised ribs, falling fast, losing control.

None of those were particularly healthy places for him to be spending his free time, so per therapist recommendation, he starts finding better spots to hang out, places that weren’t just a way to retraumatize himself.

The problem is that in Hawkins, there isn’t anywhere really to go unless he wanted to spend all day in a dingy old diner or in half abandoned shops downtown. He liked taking Max to the drive-in on the outskirts, but the point is he needs somewhere to go away from his step-family.

When Steve finds out about his new assignment, the rides to and from work and quick drop ins just to say hello turn into days off spent at the quarry together, nights spent in front of Steve’s huge TV set.

One day after a double shift at Melvald’s, they end up out back by the pool. The air conditioning in Steve’s old house was not the best when it came to humidity, and Billy doesn’t like to be too hot. Something about the feeling is too familiar, too much like being on the floor of the sauna, sweating bullets and pleading for his life.

Heat is also one of the many things that triggers coughing fits, making him hack up his lungs from the months he spent without clean air to breath, so Steve’s ushering him outside to dip their feet in the pool and get out of the stuffy old house before he gets sick.

The smell of chlorine wading off of the pool isn’t all that much better. The strong chemicals make his nose and his throat and his whole chest burn like fire. Just the smell of it is enough that he has to try to remember that that hasn't been his reality for almost a year now, that he isn’t in the storage room at the pool downing bottles of poison.

It doesn’t bother him so much though, because the bad stuff, that’s all in the past now, isn’t it?

He tries instead to focus on the good things, on the breeze that they do get in the beating down sun and the way it carries cool air off the surface of the pool, offering more relief from the heat than they could get inside Steve’s inferno of a mansion, and on feeling the sunshine warming his skin again, the cold water and the smooth liner against his calves submerged in the pool. He even tries to focus on Steve, leaning all his weight back on his hands outstretched behind him, sitting so close to Billy their knees bump in the water every time Steve kicks his legs out.

And quite frankly, it’s not particularly hard, paying attention Steve with the way he’s practically glowing in the summer sun. As much as winter was his season, his forever pale skin and how he could rock a sweater didn’t even hold a candle to the way he looks now.

Maybe he is wearing preppy khaki shorts and a sun visor, but the way his back freckles in the summer, the skin on his cheeks and his shoulders flushing from the heat, his long hair sticking to the back of his neck with sweat, it’s a sight that makes Billy's heart pitta-pat.

Still, as nice of a view as Steve makes for, nothing can distract him from the nagging feeling that has Billy on edge. That sense that his flesh will start burning if he stays out here too long, that he’ll lose control of his body. That he’ll hurt Steve.

If Steve’s old nail bat propped against the pool shed, or their newer method of self defense, a machete from the hardware store purchased after Billy's last panic attack, hidden underneath of the chairs, offer any indication, the feeling may be mutual.

Despite the aviators perched on Billy’s nose, Steve must notice that distant look in his eye, because he offers Billy a quaint smile and, using one hand to stand up, he announces, “Be right back, gonna go get us some stuff.”

Billy nods and vaguely wonders what ‘some stuff’ means before turning his attention back to his surroundings. Back to following his therapists advice and watching the ripples in the pristinely kept water, listening to the rustle of untrimmed grass when a breeze comes through, bumble bees in the neighbors yard, anything at all that might stop his mind from wandering.

He’s almost feeling grounded again when he feels a chill run down the back of his neck. Goose pimples fan out across his skin, a deep seated cold to contrast the heat. He knows the feeling well, he’d gone through six grueling months using it as his only advantage over the monsters out to get him.

Some rational part of his mind tells him it’s just a bead of sweat rolling down his back, a loose strand of hair from the messy bun Max had put in his hair that morning brushing against his skin, the fact that his legs are still submerged in the 70 degree water, but he isn’t feeling rational after that, and he feels panic setting in again.

He wants to go run and tell Steve, wants to grab something to defend himself, but he can’t, he’s just, frozen to the spot.

The feeling is gone as quickly as it came, but everything else feels different now.

The pool water feels sticky and warm, almost like it’s sucking him in. The cement surrounding it feels rougher against his palms, and so hot to the touch. He’s scared to even blink, afraid that on the other side of that calm darkness, he’s in that hell again, and this has all been some delusion.

There’s a bang from behind him, and he’s on his feet, heart racing a thousand miles a minute. He’s just short of reaching for the machete under the chair when he notices it’s just Steve.

He’s standing by the sliding door, having pushed it open with his knee so far that the glass hit off the other door, and balancing way too much. Feeling like his legs are going to give out from under him and bringing one hand absently to his chest, Billy breathes out, “Damn it, Harrington.”

“Sorry.” There's a sheepish smile on his face, which has gone pinker than even the sunburn with a hint of embarrassment. He has a bulky radio balanced on his hip, a glass of something in each hand, and a deck of cards tucked under his chin. “A little help?”

Hurrying up the steps, Billy takes the radio before Steve can drop it and smash it to bits on the concrete. Steve takes the opportunity to explain himself, “I made lemonade, my gramma's recipe, and I thought we could use something to do.”

Maybe it’s reckless, maybe it’s the exact opposite of what he should do, but he puts the radio on the table and lets Steve distract him from that creeping feeling with mundanities.

It’s almost funny, how getting out of the house for him used to mean partying and sneaking out to wreak drunken havoc on the town. Now it meant sipping lemonade and playing double solitaire and go-fish with the fallen King poolside, like he was in some retirement community or something.

The only thing that kept him from feeling too ridiculous was the radio, which was playing a decent selection of rock music, not too much of the glitzy stuff he pretended not to like or the poppy stuff Steve definitely did.

Once the sun went down, the smallest bit of orange and pink sky disappearing behind the thick trees, and all the breeze had died out, they moved away from the pool's edge to the plastic chairs, pushing two together and sitting cross legged so they were facing one another. The night air was thick with the smell of a burning citronella candle and chlorine.

The cards had been long ago abandoned, both of them favoring just being in each other’s company, swapping stories of how bad work had sucked that day, and things like plans for the week. Billy sort of just likes having an excuse to look at Steve all night.

It’s more calm than Billy’s had in a long while since coming back, and he almost get to appreciate it before the chill comes back, this time accompanied by the distant rustling of leaves.

He could’ve pretended it was just a critter moving around or the trees settling, but then they hear the unmistakable sound of a monster's trill further out in the woods, and there’s no longer any doubt about it.

Steve freezes, looks to Billy with eyes as wide as saucers and, slowly as can be, reaches blindly behind himself until his hand closes around the base of the wooden bat, which had been moved closer as night fell.

He rises to his feet, stopping cold when the chair creaks as his weight lifts off it, trying to make as little noise as possible, an action mostly pointless with the radio still on. It’s too late anyways, they’d already been seen. Billy could feel it.

“Stay here. I’m just going to check it out.”

“No way, out of the two of us, I’m the only one who’s ever killed one of those things.” Steve looks like he wants to argue, wants to be noble and brave like he has to be for everyone else, so Billy tells him sternly, “I’m coming with you.”

And maybe Steve doesn’t refuse his help, but he isn’t looking at Billy either. His gaze, empty and exhausted, is trained on the trees, searching for signs of the monsters they’re both used to handling on their own. He leans into Billy’s side as they start into the woods, and he can feel him shaking.

The leaves and twigs all along the ground that crunch under their tennis shoes as they move deeper into the woods sound impossibly loud, drawing enough attention to their location that this was guaranteed not to be a surprise attack.

Billy would’ve preferred it that way, they were easier to kill if they weren’t expecting a fight, but he supposed he should just be grateful that they’d found them before they could make their way into Steve’s backyard and take them by surprise.

They reach a clearing and he gets a dreadful feeling like his entire body has been dipped in ice water, and he knows they're right in the middle of a swarm. Instinctively, he puts his arm out across Steve’s chest. “Stop.”

“What?” Billy doesn’t respond, but as Steve’s eyes adjust, he notices them too. About six or seven demodogs, behind trees and bushes, hiding from their prey. He whispers harshly right into Billy’s ear, “Do you think they see us?”

“No shit.”

“Then what the hell are they doing?”

“Waiting for their chance. But we’re not gonna give it to them.” He digs the heels of his Chuck’s into the dirt, grip tightening on the machete. He glances over at Steve and tries not to think too hard about the apprehension written across his features, “You ready for a fight?”

Steve pales, like he was never expecting it to get that far, but they were about thirty feet, maybe further, into the woods already, they wouldn’t be able to book it back to Steve’s house in enough time. The damn things were much too fast. He swallows hard, whispers, “How do I kill one?”

“Aim for the base of its skull. Never let it get your weapon in its mouth. Always pay attention to your surroundings.” His voice is quiet, but stern, trying not to let any fear slip into his tone that might make the other boy more afraid. He was the experienced one, if he were to let it show that he was scared, Steve might go running for the hills. “And Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“Plant your goddamned feet.” Steve nods, furrows his brows and tries to force a breathy chuckle at the call back, but he barely manages a huff, and Billy can tell he’s terrified.

They don’t have time to think about it though, in the middle of a swarm he can’t let him dwell on it for too long, so he turns his attention off of Steve, and whistles, shouts “Hey, assholes! Come and get us!”

There’s a breathless second where the dogs don’t move an inch, he can tell Steve is about to say something that could’ve gotten the both of them killed so he cuts him off, “Get ready, Harrington.” One of the demodogs, he’s guessing the leader of the freakish pack based on the sheer size of it, shrieks, the cue for the others to start charging them.

These ones are fast, probably faster than even he’s used to, and he doesn’t like how close the first one gets to Steve before he brings his bat down it, so he pulls him closer by the back of his shirt, presses their backs together so there’s less room for a surprise.

The big one comes after Billy, the bigger threat of the two. The sense works as a two way street, if he can tell where they are, they can tell where he is, and they don’t like that.

It only takes him a few swings to get it stumbling, two more to finish it off, but in the time it takes him to kill the one, he loses track of where Steve is. Frantically he looks around, taking note of the location of the dogs, until he finds him in the dark a few feet off from where he is, swinging his bat at the runt over and over, making sure it was good and dead.

And Billy would be impressed, except for there was another dog charging him, just a few seconds off from closing its teeth around Steve’s arm on the backswing. It’s too close for him to try to kill it, so he kicks it, making it hiss and tumble across the muddy ground.

Steve looks over at him, blood spattered on his face and fear in his eyes. Billy wishes he could stop and appreciate the close call, but it’ll come back, and there’s another charging from the other side, so he settles for shouting, “Just remember what I told you and you’ll be alright!”

With the biggest out of the way it’s easy pickings, Billy takes out the next one that tries him quick, but another catches him off guard, clamps it’s teeth down hard on the machete, lodging it in its mouth. It gets cut bad, but not enough to really do much damage to it. If he lets go, he’s defenseless, if he doesn’t, he’s going to lose his arm.

That’s a call he’s almost willing to make, wrenching his weapon free at the risk of getting himself bit, but he doesn’t have to, because Steve takes it for him, running over from somewhere and bringing the bat down hard on the back of its head.

It would be too distracting to thank him, so he just nods his way and turns back to the last two dogs still alive, Steve taking the one that was still hiding and leaving the other for him.

At this point, he’s feeling pretty confident, one dog on its own is nothing much to worry about, and it seems it knows it too, because it stops a few feet off, daring him to come at it first. He takes his own advice and plants his feet in the dirt, daring it right back.

It charges him, and he stabs it straight through its head. It was a weak one, a last line of defense they didn’t expect to need, and it hisses out it’s final breath after only one go.

Billy hears the one Steve went after scampering off too, judging from the uneven drag of its weight across the forest floor, hurt badly enough it won’t last long.

He tries to feel for any others, but they don’t travel in packs that big, not without an order to follow. He rolls his shoulders and relaxes his stance, but he doesn’t dare dream of letting go of the machete yet. Even as it drips sticky slime and gore in thick drops onto the ground, even if it feels so heavy in his hands, also splattered with gooey blood.

There’s a moment of disturbing calm, the bodies of maimed demodogs scattered all around them as Billy tries to remind himself that they’re in his world this time, instead of him in theirs. He closes his eyes to shut out the panic and just listens.

Listens for gentle reminders that he’s in the real world. The sound of the katydids in the trees. A stray breeze rustling the leaves, dry from the relentless heat. The distant scratch of tires on pavement. Softly bubbling water from the jets in Steve’s pool.

He notices that the radio is still going, making the whole thing feel somehow more eerie, as if interdimensional monsters lurking in the neighborhood wasn’t bad enough on its own. Like when a car goes off the road, still playing a reckless teenager's final anthem. Billy wonders what song he’d like to be playing when he died. Maybe some Misfits.

But he isn’t dead, not yet anyhow, and that’s not the music that’s drifting out to where he’s still standing stock still in the woods, waiting for reality to hit him.

REO Speedwagon with Can’t Fight This Feeling carries softly out to their location, probably one of the lamest songs to fight monsters to if you were to ask Billy.

I can't fight this feeling any longer

And yet I'm still afraid to let it flow

What started out as friendship has grown stronger

I only wish I had the strength to let it show

Though he’s got to admit, it’s not a horrible song for this thing he has going with Steve. After that close call of the dogs stalking so close to his house, Billy doesn’t think he has it in him to let the chance to bring it up with Steve slide through his fingers again. He’d never forgive himself.

I tell myself that I can't hold out forever

I said there is no reason for my fear

“Harrington.” When he opens his eyes again Steve isn’t there, and for a second he’s got to fear the worst. To wonder, if the dogs aren’t the only thing he’ll find dead. “Steve?”

'Cause I feel so secure when we're together

You give my life direction, you make everything so clear

“M’here, Bill.” He's leaning against a tree, his bat still held close at his side, looking winded, but alright, from what Billy can tell at least. “Just needed to, to catch my breath.”

And even as I wander, I'm keeping you in sight

You're a candle in the window on a cold, dark winter's night

And I'm getting closer than I ever thought I might

“You scared me, asshole.” Billy gathers his courage, rides the wave of adrenaline to take a step closer, until he’s hovering right in front of him, dangerously close, to say, “Listen Steve, there's something I’ve been thinking about for a while, and after this I just, I can't fight it anymore.”

He gets the memo, half-lidded eyes focusing on Billys lips, making him flick his tongue across them on instinct, tasting remnants of strawberry chapstick and lemonade dulled by the scent of copper. “Then don't fight it.”

And I can't fight this feeling anymore

I've forgotten what I started fighting for

It's time to bring this ship into the shore

And throw away the oars, forever

Their weapons are tossed to the ground before Billy closes the small gap that was left between them, ignoring all the muck and goo and blood splattered on their clothes and their skin to cup the side of Steve’s face, kiss him as soft and as sweet as he knows how after a fight like that.

'Cause I can't fight this feeling anymore

I've forgotten what I started fighting for

And if I have to crawl upon the floor, come crashing through your door

Baby, I can't fight this feeling anymore

Steve pulls away too soon, a soft gasp escaping his lips as he leans forward, forcing his weight onto Billy. The magic of the moment comes crashing down, when he notices how dreadfully pale Steve is, even in the darkness of the woods, untouched by street lamps or moon light.

“What’s wrong with you?”

Through gritted teeth, he mumbles into Billy’s shirt, “I think one got me.”

“Jesus, you're telling me this now?” He helps him lean back against the tree again, feeling he has the right to fret over him after a first kiss. “Where at?”

“My leg.” He says it so casual, Billy’s expecting nothing more than a nick, a last attempt at a scratch from a dying dog, but it’s bad.

Skin and muscle are torn through in a gash probably five inches long on Steve’s leg, deep enough he swears he can almost see bone. It’s already bruised dark, deep purple and black under all the blood, and bent just a little, like the bone had been cracked, but not quite broken.

Billy has to fight the urge to wince, to gag, to let any sort of panic over the severity of the bite show, because he knows Steve hasn’t seen it yet, that he’s maybe even in shock right now. The moment he let it show how bad he thought it was, Steve could pass out on him. Or worse.

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“Thought we were having a moment.”

“Well I’d like to have at least a few more, if you wouldn’t mind.” He sighs, but he drops the attitude. Stressed as he may be, Steve needs him level headed right now. “Can you walk?”

“Sure, yeah.” Something about the way his voice sounds like he’s struggling for air makes Billy not believe him, but he offers him his arm to let him test his weight anyways. It doesn’t go well, “Son of a mother bitch!”

“Yeah, I’m gonna take that as a no.” Billy figures it’d be better just to come back for their weapons later than to wait around for a second attack with an injured Steve, or to get sliced to ribbons carrying them and Steve back to the house. Because that’s what he’s going to have to do, from the looks of it.

He bends down and lets Steve wrap his arms loosely around the back of his neck, and hooks his hands under his knees to lift him. With his leg off the ground, he’s guessing Steve must catch a glimpse of how badly it’s torn up, because he throws his head back and mutters an “Oh shit.” to the stars.

Billy wishes his voice sounded more certain when he assures him, “You’ll be alright, just don’t look at it.”

There’s blood dripping from Steve’s leg on the grass, all on the concrete steps from the backyard that lead into Steve’s house and then the hardwood floors. Billy tries not to think about how they’re leaving behind a trail that would lead the monster straight to them.

They’d killed the dogs though, so he tries his damndest to believe that his biggest worry right now would be not being able to get the stains out before Mr. and Mrs. Harrington got back.

“Where do you keep the first aid around here?”

“Upstairs bathroom, third door on the right.”

Billy frowns. Trying to get him up the stairs was going to be awkward, the space between the wall and the banister so narrow, and Steve’s legs so long. The only way he can keep from dragging his wound against anything, which he’s almost positive would kill Steve at this point, is to turn sideways.

It feels like it takes forever to get up the steps and walk down the upstairs hallway, dodging side tables and potted plants until they reach the bathroom.

Even once they get there, Billy winces, taking in the tall, but thin door frame. “M’not fitting through here with you, Stevie. Gonna have to let you down.”

“Okay.” His jaw tightens, like he knows it’s gonna be hell to put pressure back on his leg, and Billy thinks about how he’d rather knock out the entire wall than have to watch Steve hurt himself.

But slowly, with Billy’s help, he gets his good foot back on the ground, and his arms unwrap themselves from the back of his neck. Billy keeps one hand holding tight on his hip, to keep him from toppling over while standing on one leg.

“Let me go in first, okay?” Turning around so they’re facing each other, he gives Steve both of his hands and kicks the half opened door the rest of they way open to reveal the dark bathroom behind him. He gets Steve to use the doorframe as a brace long enough that he can turn the light on, then gives him his hand again.

Steve takes the first step, hopping on one foot and making barely any progress. A steely look crosses his face, like he’s already decided what he’s about to do, and he lets his other foot down to the ground.

“That’s it, Stevie, just like that,” Billy mutters little encouragements under his breath, tries anything to keep Steve from thinking about walking on a broken leg. “Keep it coming, baby, just a few more steps.”

The closest thing to the door is a double tiered wooden shelf with magazines and towels on it, so Billy pushes the towels onto the floor with one hand and helps Steve sit down on it with the other.

Maybe it’s the wallpaper, but his complexion looks ghastly, all green and grey where he should be flushed and lively. Before he starts getting everything together, Billy puts his hand on Steve’s shoulder. “You good?”

It was a stupid question, Steve scoffs and says, his voice strained, “No.”

“At least you’re honest.”

Steve groans and stares up at the ceiling, ignoring his leg and the puddle of blood spreading on the tiled floor. “Shouldn’t I be at the hospital right now?”

“Normally, I would say yes,” Billy crouches down by the sink, digging in the cabinets underneath it for the first aid and a rag, “But closest hospital to us is the general hospital, and they’re not going to be thinking about demodog infections. They’ll put a cast on this thing and kill you.”

“Oh.” A poor choice of words, because Steve whispers, “I’m not gonna die, am I?”

“Not if you let me take care of you.”

He soaks through three wash rags with blood before the bleeding slows down enough that Billy can clean it, and slowly the shocked state of mind he was in starts to wear off. At least, judging from the way he’s gripping the edge of the shelf he’s sitting on so hard his knuckles turn white, it’s starting to hurt him pretty bad.

But Steve stays agonizingly quiet as Billy works anyways, hardly even wincing, despite the obvious amount of pain he’s in. Billy clicks his tongue, “I know you’re holding back on me, Steve.”

“You’re one to talk.” He’s defensive, borderline hysterical. “Mister pretending to be tough just because you’ve been through this once.”

“Next time I’ll just let the dogs get you, then.”

Ignoring Billy's rudeness, Steve mutters, “It just hurts so fucking bad.” A tear he’d been trying to hold back slips past, running a track through the dirt and blood that had gotten on his face.

“I’ll get some pain meds in you in a minute, just need you to be alert for this.” 

He swallows thickly, like he’s scared. “Ready for what?”

“Well, you’re gonna need stitches.” 

“Do you even know how?” 

He didn’t. The most he’d ever sewn was a tiny hole in a jacket sleeve, but he didn’t feel it wise to tell him that. “I think it’s pretty self-explanatory.” 

“No way. Absolutely not.” Steve grabs his hand tight to emphasize his point. “You are not coming anywhere near me with a needle.” 

“Look, the alternative is it gets infected and you lose the leg. Or, you know, since nobody has ever survived a bite, your life.” He’s not trying to be snappy, but the more blood Steve loses, the more nervous he’s getting about wasting time arguing.

“Man, could you cut back on being an asshole for like, five minutes.” Billy rolls his eyes and tries to reach for Steve’s leg again, but he pulls away from his touch, blinking real slow like he made himself dizzy or he’s getting sick, before he tacks onto the end, “I’m wounded.” 

“I know, I'm just trying to help you, Stevie. Please.” 

Sighing and running his fingers through his hair, he puffs his cheeks out with a sigh and gives in with Billy’s pleading. “Whatever, just, get it over with quick.” 

He goes back to not saying anything, biting his tongue while Billy tries to do a decent patch up. It looks somehow even gnarlier than before, with crooked and sloppy sutures, but it stops the bleeding for long enough that Billy can wrap it as tight as he can with some gauze and an ace bandage.

He sits back on the balls of his feet, and takes note of how they were definitely going to have to go to the government hospital where he’d been treated in the morning. Steve’s quiet so he asks, “Steve?” 

“M’good.” He assures halfheartedly, leaning forward to hold his head in his hands. “Doin’ just peachy fucking keen.” 

They stay upstairs, Billy completely unwilling to try to get Steve back down to the main living room on a busted leg. He'd have to worry about showering and getting the stains that’re all over the Harrington’s floors off later, right now he was just worried about making sure Steve made it through. 

There’s a second living room, a foyer, Steve calls it, at the end of the hall, so he takes him in there, lets him sprawl out on the couch while he goes to get a phone and something for Steve to take from the first floor. 

He snatches up the rotary off the coffee table, and goes digging in the medicine cabinet for pain killers. Near the back is a bottle of Vicodin, thank god for Mrs. Harrington’s many ailments and her equally surplus supply of pain pills. 

Before making his way back up to Steve, he remembers to make sure to lock the sliding doors. Not that it would do much to really stop a demodog, but it’s the thought that counts. He decides to tack a blanket up to block the glass too, in hopes that it might make their scent at least a little harder to track. 

Steve is hesitant to take his mother’s prescription, afraid of the side effects, but then he tries to drag his leg up from the floor to prop it on the coffee table so he can get more comfortable, and his mind changes right quick. He almost convinces Billy to let him take more.

Next is letting somebody know. Part of him wishes they could just sweep this whole thing under the rug and forget it, but this was a small town. The woods behind Steve’s house stretched all the way to the now empty Byers’ residence, to the Wheeler's, and from there to Hop’s cabin. 

Keeping this a secret would cost lives, that he could be sure of. One measly pack of demodogs weak enough to be taken out by the two of them was guaranteed not to be the last. This was the start of another battle, and they needed as many people as possible to be ready for it.

He sits down with the phone next to Steve on his own cushion, careful not to jostle the couch too much. “Do you know Hop’s number?” 

“Just give it here.” 

Billy watches Steve dial the number, not a fan of how instinctual an action it seems to be, and as he barely gets a word in edgewise over Hopper on the other end of the line. When he get the chance to breaks the news, the call is over almost immediately, Hop getting ready to warn everyone else. He hangs up with tears in his eyes and a defeated posture. 

The instant the phone is discarded on the side table, Steve tells him, his voice thick with tears and exhaustion and pain, “I don’t wanna do this again, Bill.” He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes and shakes his head. “Just, last time, we were so close to losing Hopper, losing you, and I just- I can’t do it.”

“Hey. Look at me, Steve. It's not gonna be like last time. You got me now.” Steve does look over at him, his eyes wide, but he only cries harder. 

Not knowing what else to do, Billy tosses an arm over his shoulder and pulls him close, and Steve leans into his touch, but there’s a deep frown on his face. Billy thinks his heart breaks clean in two as he insists, in a voice so worn, so dejected, “That’s just one more thing for me to lose.” 

“I say it’s one more person looking out for you.” His heart fluttering in his chest, he prays the kiss in the woods wasn’t a heat of the moment thing, and presses another to the side of Steve’s head. 

As best he can with his leg up on the coffee table, Steve settles up against Billy's side, sighing heavy through his nose. 

Long enough passes that he thinks Steve’s fallen asleep, the pain meds would hopefully knock him out soon, but then he breaks the silence with a quiet, so gentle Billy almost doesn’t hear it, “Will you?”

“Will I what?” 

“Look out for me?” The way he says it, it’s almost like he’s embarrassed to ask, so unable to believe that somebody would care about him instead of the other way around. 

“‘Course.” Billy smiles despite the way seeing Steve so broken makes him feel, lets the fingers on one hand trail lazily up and down Steve’s arm in a way he hopes is comforting. “Even as I wander, I'm keeping you in sight, remember?” 

Steve rolls his eyes, but he presses himself somehow even closer to Billy and sighs a little laugh, sniffling. “God, you're never gonna let that go, are you?” 

“Hey, I’d rather remember our first kiss as being to REO Speedwagon, which is super lame by the way, than with you bleeding out in the woods, so.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Steve sits up a little straighter so he can look him in the face. There’s still some sadness in his expression, but there’s a hint of a smile too, and Billy will take that as a win any day. Teasingly, Steve says, “Maybe you’ll like the second one better.”

“We’ll just have to see won’t we?” He leans in, but it’s Steve who initiates the kiss this time, leading with more heat behind it than before. He tangles his hands in Billy's hair, deepening the kiss with the press of his tongue against Billy’s. 

The angle isn’t very comfortable, a crook forming in Steve’s neck to reach Billy, and they pull apart for a breath. Face flushed beet red, Steve whispers, “Hey, Billy?” 

Billy hums in response, too flustered to get his words in order, “Hm?” 

“REO Speedwagon isn’t that bad.” 

[cdt12345]

We've been friends many years but I've never thought to ask; Top 10 gay OTPs?

1.) Ian & Mickey (Gallavich) - Shameless us

What can I say about these two that we haven’t already said about them?! They are my absolute all-time favorite couple ever! Gay or straight. They perfectly complement each other, they love each other on a level I feel like I’ve never seen before (and I have watched a lot of tv/movies), they’re like a comedy duo, they support each other, understand each other better than anyone else ever will, they fell in love as kids, they bring out the best in each other, and they’re each other's best friend. I’m a sucker for opposites attract, who are also best friends. Gallavich really fits that bill. I wish they didn’t have to struggle so much to get their happiness, but I’m happy they finally got it. When they got married, it felt like the biggest victory ever! We went through those years of struggle with them, rooted for them, mourned for them when John Wells let Noel go after season 5. So much has tried to keep these two apart, even real-life circumstances tried to keep them apart. The chemistry between these two characters and between Cameron and Noel was so powerful, they were brought back to the show. That kind of thing doesn’t happen very often. When an actor leaves a show, they don’t usually come back as a series regular, let alone two actors who have already left the show. It felt like a miracle! I will never forget getting the news that Noel was coming back from you @luckyshazmrsmonaghansblog I was crying with happiness bc we wanted this for so long and I never believed we would get to see both Cameron and Noel back on the show. Or that they would get their happy ending outside of a jail cell. Especially after Cameron left the show in season 9. With their return we got a wedding, an entire season of them as a married couple, we got to see them dance with each other twice, we got them singing together, we got to see them start a lucrative business together, we got to see them free and happier than we’ve ever seen them before, and we got to see Terry get what he deserved after putting them through hell. We are only halfway through season 11, but I already feel so fulfilled with this extra time with gallavich that we were never supposed to have. JW tried to take that away from us. I will never understand why, but he failed. I am not surprised this is the one I wrote the most about. I can go on and on about gallavich!

2.) David and Patrick - Schitt’s Creek

This was everything I ever wanted to see onscreen, where there was zero homophobia. The pansexual character didn’t need to have a big coming out or tell everyone in the town of his sexual orientation, except his best friend. The gay character had a coming out with parents who loved and accepted him for who he is and was only upset that he felt he couldn’t tell them sooner. I dreamt of a day where I could see this kind of representation onscreen. The casual treatment of their sexuality was so refreshing and something I’ve been waiting for. There is no darkness or huge struggle they had to overcome to be together or a sad ending for them. They were allowed to be together without the major conflicts most LGBTQ characters have to go through. Once David made the first move Patrick was comfortable allowing himself to fall for David and start a relationship with him. He was so sure of his feelings for David after that first kiss, he never looked back and I loved that. They had such an adorable love story. Truly one I have been waiting to see for so long between two LGBTQ characters. They made me smile every time they were on screen. They are another of my OTPs that are exact opposites who complement each other perfectly. Patrick was welcomed into David’s family and blended in with them so well, even when he and David had very different upbringings. Patrick serenading David with Tina Turner and then Mariah Carey at their wedding is one of the most romantic things I have ever seen!

3.) Holt and Kevin - Brooklyn Nine-Nine

Captain Holt and Kevin are strange men on their own but together they are the perfect pair. They get each other in a way no one else does. The best part is their adorable fur baby, Cheddar! They seriously make the cutest family! I was so nervous when they went through a rough patch for a while because I didn’t want them to split up. Thankfully, they made it through and are still going strong!

4.) Will and Vince - Will & Grace

On the show's first run, Will and Vince were in a serious relationship and Vince was Will’s longest relationship on the show. They broke up a few times but were together by the series finale. The two reunite during the funeral of Will's father. There was a time jump on the series finale. Though I didn’t love everything about the last episode, I did love the fact that Will and Vince had been together for 20 years and raised a son together, who was conceived through in vitro fertilization with a surrogate. After the time jump, nearly twenty years later, their son goes to college and meets Grace's daughter, whom he would eventually marry. Though I wasn’t happy with the fact that Will and Grace didn’t stay close over the years, it did allow for their kids to one day meet, fall in love, and get married. I did like that outcome out of the finale. My family and I used to watch the original show, but we refused to accept or watch the 2017 revival because they completely changed everything from the original series finale. The second I found out they were changing everything; I knew I couldn’t watch it. They even wiped the existence of their kids from the first series finale. The revival was an attempt to cash in on the reboot craze and I wasn’t happy about that already, but even more so when they were going to break up one of my OTPs for easy money. Bobby Cannavale, who played Vince, has become even more famous since starring in Will & Grace. So, I already figured he wouldn’t be back for the show as a regular, but I know he did guest star. I won’t accept the revival and to me, Will and Vince stayed together, and their son married Grace’s daughter. THE END!

5.) Albert and Armand - The Birdcage

Miss Albert and Armand were the earliest gay couple I remember ever watching onscreen when I was eight years old. I have watched this movie more than I can count over the years. It is a family favorite that we quote often. Their son is planning to marry a girl whose father is in politics and is very conservative. They have to hide the fact that he has two gay fathers for one night, but everything goes awry, and comedy ensues. Nathan Lane and Robin Williams give a wonderful performance without resorting to using the stereotypes that are often used on gay characters, especially back then. It’s a classic!

6.) Stefon and Seth - Saturday Night Live

Okay, hear me out on this one! They’re not the most conventional OTPs on my list, but I really do love them so much! Stefon started doing a correspondent segment on Weekend Update on SNL. The first time Stefon came on, he flirted with Seth Meyers. The second he did I was like ooh they would make a cute couple! Stefon the wild party guy and Seth the serious news anchor. It was a match made in heaven for me. Before Seth Meyers left SNL to do Late Night with Seth Meyers, Bill Hader came back to play Stefon for Seth’s last episode. I didn’t expect what happened next to happen at all! They gave Seth and Stefon the ending that I haven’t even gotten from some actual scripted shows. I never expected Stefon and Seth to have this big ending, but I could not be happier that they did. I’m posting the link to the six-minute skit/ending and I hope it works. It’s worth watching. Though the video says it’s Stefon’s farewell it was really Seth’s farewell episode.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rj-wYWMdWNk

7.) Mr. Simmons and Peter - Hey Arnold!

Anyone who grew up watching this show already knew that Mr. Simmons, Arnold’s teacher, was probably gay. It was hinted at in the Thanksgiving episode. Arnold and Helga visit Mr. Simmons on Thanksgiving at his house and his family and “friend” Peter are there. Mr. Simmons mother says she didn’t know Peter was coming to dinner and Peter responds with the infamous line “There’s a lot of things you don’t know.” When Mr. Simmons mom tries to get him to take a woman friend to the ballet, he says he loves the ballet and Peter gives him a disapproving look and Mr. Simmons immediately declines. Those were enough hints for us fans to decide Peter was his boyfriend. Years later, the show's creator Craig Bartlett finally confirmed Mr. Simmons is gay and had them together in the 2017 Hey Arnold: The Jungle Movie. It was so exciting to finally get the confirmation years later, even though I was already certain of it for many years. I was happy that the cartoon no longer had to settle with vague hints about it.

8.) Callie and Arizona - Grey’s Anatomy

I was very happy to see a lesbian couple on prime time tv and I really liked both characters. I was excited to root for them but sadly as most couples on this show, their relationship took a turn, and I wasn’t thrilled about it. I was disappointed that it came to an end. By then I was already getting tired of watching the show. It was starting to feel like a chore to watch it every week. I tried to stick it out because I don’t like to give up on shows in the middle of it, but I just couldn’t do it anymore. I’m glad I did though because the shocking events with Derek Shepard, is something I’m glad I wasn’t around for. Anyway, I heard things between Callie and Arizona got even worse, so I was even happier I left when I did.

9.) Sherwin and Jonathan - In a Heartbeat

This was one of the cutest things I have ever seen! I wish this got the full-length movie treatment instead of a short film. But it was still a step in the right direction for the LGBTQ community. Gay characters in cartoons always bring me such joy and that was the focus of this short. A boy with a crush on another boy with a cute ending. What is not to love?!

10.) Mitch and Cam - Modern Family

Another show I had to give up on in the middle of the series. The show began to be less funny and more annoying to me. Another reason, that really has nothing to do with the show itself, that used to annoy me was that this show repeatedly beat out Parks and Recreation during award season. Parks and Recreation is a superior show when compared to Modern Family. This show won almost every year for years and it got really annoying especially when the quality of the show started slipping and they kept winning. After a few years, they finally stopped winning all the time. But before all that, I was a fan of Cam and Mitch. They were a great couple who I loved watching on the show. They were the best part of the show most of the time. But sadly, my annoyance of the show no longer being as funny as it used to be, was enough for me to stop watching.