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platypan · 5 years ago

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Strangest (chapter 8)

“Yeah, you trespassed a few too many times, asshole. Keeping you.”

“What,” Billy buried his face against Steve’s side. “You’re not keeping me, you’re--you’re releasing me with one of those radio collars. Throw me in a truck, drop me in the mountains, hope to fucking god I don’t find my way back.”

Leaning his head back, Steve watched Will edge out of the room, pointing upstairs, and waved with his free hand. His other hand teased at the hairspray in Billy’s curls. “What,” he had to clear his throat a couple of times to laugh. “You--you saying you’re--domesticated. Tame. You want to--”

“Fuck you,” Billy yanked away, standing up. “Saying I’ll probably knock over your trash cans every night after work.”

“You can always ring the doorbell--” Steve swung his legs to the floor to reach for him, and Will walked back in.”

Whole chapter under cut, Ao3 link in the comments!

Will placed his hand flat to the door of Steve’s room, and shoved dramatically. “...wow, Dustin...Dustin was not kidding, it is...plaid.”

Steve glanced around, and sighed, arms full of comforter. “Yeah, it’s really plaid. They hired an interior decorator, I guess. Didn’t ask me.” He shoved more pillows at Will, called down “Hey yo, Hargrove,” and dumped the other comforter over the railing after the first. Billy scrambled out of the way.

“Watch yourself, King Steve,” he looked up, and exchanged a grin with Will. “The peasants might revolt when you’re snoring tonight. Pitchforks and torches.”

“Will the Wise, my fine court wizard, would never!” Steve grabbed the pillows in one arm, and Will around the waist--he yelped--and trotted down the stairs.

Billy was grimacing, head cocked, at Will’s giggles and kicking feet. “‘Will the Wise’? What’s that, his--his nerd game name?”

“His D&D character,” Steve corrected, sitting Will’s feet on the floor.

“Seriously?” Billy tossed something in the fridge with a clunk. “You coulda been ‘Zarbok the Unendearing’ or ‘Magicmaster’ or ‘Savatage’. You stuck with William? Who the fuck wants to be a William, if you could be somebody else.” He stuck some rattly cardboard boxes labeled ‘lasagna noodles’ in the cupboard, and Steve for once salivated over something other than his lovely ex, or the school bully. “Done.”

“Are you making lasagna?!” he gasped, but Will cut him off.

“I like being a William,” Will grabbed the movie club box Steve’d left on the counter, and rattled it. “When we built Castle Byers, Mom wanted to put a ‘Trespassers Will’ sign outside. I’m not five.” He rolled his eyes, glanced between their blank faces, and sighed. “It’s from Winnie the Pooh. Piglet says his grandfather was Trespassers William.”

“Trespassers William, huh,” Steve grabbed the movie club box, tearing at the corner, and let his smile grow at Billy.

“No,” Billy frowned back. “You’re not calling me anything to do with a bear--”

“It’s so perfect, though,” Steve yanked at the box. “Trespasser.”

“It’s Piglet,” Will stared between them. “Actually.”

“Trespassers Billiam,” Steve snickered, yanking a side of the box away, and wrinkled his nose. “...huh. Anybody wanna watch The Smurfs and the Magic Flute? Or hey, they reissued Snow White. Jesus. My mom’s hot secretary thinks I’m five.”

“Your mom?” Will perked up.

“Yeah,” Steve shrugged, trying to ignore the avid attention of various Williams. “Do we need to explain where babies come from? Again?”

“Are you up for that?” Billy raised his eyebrows. “You could barely handle it the first time.”

“...does Hargrove need to explain where babies come from again?”

Billy smirked, and Will giggled. “No, I--just--where is she?”

“Oh, uh. She’s roommates with her really...hot...secretary--” he narrowed his eyes, then blinked. “Wait, my--my mom’s gay. That’s definitely weird.” Billy slid an arm around him, laughing into his shoulder. “Uhhh, she’s in Boston, usually? She, um, she travels a lot.”

“Why doesn’t she--” Will began, and Steve felt his jaw clench. The kid must have noticed, because he stopped.

“You got a dad?” Billy leaned his chin on Steve’s shoulder.

“He’s got his own secretary,” Steve let himself lean back into him. “I guess.”

Billy squeezed him. “Where?”

“Uh, guys--”

“You live here alone,” Will’s eyes were huge. “You’re all by yourself. That’s why Billy can stay.”

Steve sighed, squeezing the bridge of his nose. “Okay, look, I’m still seventeen--”

“We’ll keep it quiet,” Billy shifted against him, glancing around. “Shit, Harrington, how long you been living on TV dinners?”

“Hey, I get Kentucky Fried chicken, sometimes,” Steve squirmed, and Billy stepped back.

“...the hell’d you do before you could drive,” Billy stepped away, digging a beer out of the fridge.

Steve snorted, cracking his neck. “I took the bus? I had a--” he waved his hand hip-high. “Little kid bike, y’know, what the hell d’you think.”

“How--how old were--” Will’s eyes just kept getting wider, and Steve cut him off, swallowing around a raw feeling in his throat.

“Not everybody’s got your mom, Will,” he grabbed a chair in one hand, the bag of Christmas lights in the other, tossing them over his shoulder, and strode into the front room. “Hoy. Buttfaces. How do we start. Let’s make this fort.”

Will followed him out, Billy bringing up the rear with the sound of a crushed beer can tossed into the sink. As Will dug clothespins out of one of his totes, Billy slid an arm around Steve, leaning in. “So. How hot is your mom’s secretary,” he whispered, and Steve’s tight shoulders dropped as he barked a laugh.

“She’s almost as old as my mom,” he grinned, pulling the chair over and climbing on to reach the ceiling.

“Just my type,” Billy grabbed his hand and kissed his knuckles as he walked by, and Steve stepped too far to the side. The chair tottered, then slowly began to tip--like the chair got a run-by smooching, Steve thought, rolling his eyes--and he had to shift his feet to balance it on two legs as he stepped down to the side rung, then to the floor as the chair thudded softly on its side behind him.

He glanced around, head ducked, feeling like a silent movie comedian. Both Williams were pink-cheeked and watching. “Oh, fuck off,” he put one foot on the rung of the chair to get it arcing upright as he stepped on the edge with the other, and Billy turned away, clearing his throat.

“Did you practice that?” Will asked, wide-eyed, as the chair settled back on four legs, and Steve cocked his head.

“...falling...off a chair? Why...why would I practice that.”

“It looks cool,” Will watched as Steve rolled his eyes, grabbing the back of the chair and rocking it back to two legs while he balanced with one foot on the seat, one on the side rung. Will clapped--and slid a glance at Billy. “Billy really likes it.”

“Shut up, Will,” Billy stomped off to grab a blanket.

“Of course my trespasser likes watching me stumble around--” Steve rolled his eyes, and Will shook his head, opening his mouth, and sighed.

“...you wouldn’t fuck off from under my window, shithead,” Billy threw a pillow at his head, and Steve took the hit and caught it, grinning over. “The hell was I supposed to--”

“Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your mullet,” Steve snickered, and Billy grabbed pillows in both hands and launched an attack. Will grabbed a couch pillow, forgetting the effect the size of it would have on his reflexes, and ran around waving it at both of them and missing entirely.

They circled the front room in an infinite loop, supplying each other with thrown pillows, stances wide like they were playing one-on-one basketball. Billy finally smacked Steve sprawling over the arm of the couch and knelt on the floor next to him, panting. “You wanted me here. You--you fucking--you came and got me, don’t--”

Steve flailed an arm out, and grappled his shoulders close, talking into his curls. “Yeah. Yeah, you trespassed a few too many times, asshole. Keeping you.”

“Fuck you,” Billy yanked away, standing up. “Saying I’ll probably knock over your trash cans every night after work.”

“You can always ring the doorbell--” Steve swung his legs to the floor to reach for him, and Will walked back in.

“I got the sheets,” he said, breathless. “They aren’t as heavy, it’s easier to tie them--” He glanced between Steve and Billy, blushing.

Billy accepted one, stepping up on the chair, frowned at it under his feet, and then squinted at Steve.

“What,” Steve mouthed, and Billy stuck out his tongue and looked away, shaking his head. He braced himself, feet as wide as they’d go on the chair, before stretching up to tie the corner of the sheet around the track lighting.

Steve looked away from his toned stomach where his shirt rode up, cleared his throat, and started gathering other tall things--the metal tubing hatrack from the garage, and while he was there, bungee cords. They shortly had a canopy wide and tall enough for--he stopped, glancing around for Billy, who was crouched with Will trying to untangle the Christmas lights.

Steve stepped over, bent in a low bow, and kissed his stubbled cheek, as Will giggled. “May I have this dance?”

Billy turned a pink-cheeked glower on him, and Steve crouched, holding out his hand.

“What are we waltzing to, your highness,” Billy thumped his shoulder into Steve’s, and Steve threw an arm around him to keep his balance.

“We should get the lights up first,” Will tugged harder at his strand, face bright red.

“I could put on a princess cartoon--” Steve began, straight-faced, and Billy shoved him over, scrambling to his feet and stomping off to the garage, yelling back through the door.

“You’re a sick fucker, Harrington! You’re diseased in the head!”

Steve shot a grin at Will, who was leaning on the floor on one hand, cackling into the other.

When Billy returned, carrying a small suitcase and an armload of cassettes to dump in front of the stereo, Steve and Will were arranging the lights. They zigzagged them between the hatrack and the chair supporting the other back corner, which lit most of the fort, and then Steve climbed back up and started twining them along its ceiling. Will abandoned him to look through the cassettes.

“Do you have any Led Zeppelin?”

Billy grinned at him, leaning in to unclasp the little suitcase, and Steve finished the fifth and last strand to look over and see Will and Billy’s heads together, discussing music. He switched off the overhead lights--forcing them to huddle closer to the stereo light--and crossed his arms, waiting for them to look up and see his fairy lights.

Billy smacked a cassette in, and crossed his arms at Will, who held up his fists, giggling. “Next one’s my turn.” Billy rolled his eyes, and Steve shook his head, grinning, and moved the chair he’d used to stand on out of their blanket fort. He dropped down to lean between them--and get an unasked-for lecture on, of all things, metal bands who liked Lord of the Rings. When Will paused to cover a yawn, Steve opened his mouth to rescue Billy, who promptly ejected the Led Zeppelin Will’d been explaining. Billy popped in a tape labeled “Cirith Ungol,” which sounded, to Steve’s ears, like screaming.

Will crawled across Steve’s lap to get to the case in fascination. “That’s a pass on the way to Mordor--well, and the orc stronghold in the pass--”

“What,” Steve groaned.

“In the Lord of the Rings! You’ve seen the movies, Steve--” Steve leaned against Billy’s shoulder, succumbing to his fate, as the two nerds pawed through the cassettes, talking about orcs and goblins. Billy said something about the Dark Tongue, and Steve snickered into his shoulder.

“But you’ve never read it,” Will yawned again, slumping between them, his shoulder digging into Steve’s chest, his head against Billy’s neck.

“Tried the Two Towers once, couldn’t figure out what the fuck was going on,” Billy grinned over his head at Steve, and switched out the tape for a more comprehensible one labeled “Attacker: Battle at Helm’s Deep”.

“You can’t start there,” Will took that case too, blinking slowly at the lyrics “Vandalizing the countryside/Goblins march in fearless pride”. “I want to hear all of them,” he tipped himself forward to inspect the cassette case, covering another voluminous yawn. “And then we can--we can start the book.”

“Yeah, no,” Steve leaned sideways to watch him rubbing his face. “We can do that in the morning.”

Will squinted at him, unsubtly sliding another cassette around his body to Billy, who blinked wide eyes at Steve before clicking it in the player.

Steve groaned as another guitar riff reverberated around the room. “I’m gonna set it up so we can sleep,” he jerked his thumb towards the fort, and Billy scrambled up with him, displacing Will onto the floor. He didn’t seem to notice.

Steve started laying out the comforters, and arranging pillows, eventually realizing Billy had sat back on his heels, frowning around.

“Hey, Harrington,” he licked his teeth, grinning. “Looks like a sex cave.”

Steve covered a loud snort. “Shut up.”

“I think we could fit the king-size off that bed upstairs in here.”

Steve surveyed the grounds with new eyes, eyebrows raised as he nodded. “I think you’re right.” He stepped over and hauled Hargrove to his feet, pulling him close for a peck on the mouth, and holding him with their heads together. Billy let his eyes close for a second, then jerked back, shooting a glance at Will, who was staring at the stereo, bouncing a little in place.

“He’s not even looking,” Billy hissed, and Steve bit his lips, stepping back. Billy ran his fingers through his hair, staring at Steve, then turned on his heel and stomped away towards the stairs. The electric guitar cut out as Steve followed.

When Steve walked in Billy’s room, he was lying on his back on the bare mattress, his curls a little wild where he’d run his hands through them. “...sorry?” Steve tried.

“Doesn’t matter,” Billy shoved himself upright, yanking his t-shirt down. “Kiss me all you like, you’re the one who fucking--who doesn’t want--”

“Wait, it’s not that I--”

“Look, fuck you,” Billy stalked up and shoved him back. “Get the other end of this fucking mattress.”

Steve ducked his head, and did. As they took mincing steps on the multi-point turn out the doorway and into the bannister, familiar notes on a familiar harmonica floated up the stairs, and Steve cracked up, dropping the mattress to lean against the bannister. “William Whatever Hargrove,” he gasped, pushing the mattress just enough to feel it thud into Billy, “You listen to the Beatles?”

“...it was my mom’s,” Billy growled back, and Steve winced, picking his end of the mattress up again.

“Shit, sorry...let’s just tip it over the bannister, we won’t make this turn. We can balance it and then catch it, yeah?”

Billy shrugged, but helped him balance it, and Steve squeezed his shoulder as he slid around him to stand on the stairs.

“Serve you right if I drop it.” Billy’s voice was hoarse. “Sled down over your corpse.”

“I think it’s a specific crime if you kill somebody you’re married to,” Steve bounced on his toes to catch the mattress as Billy flipped it towards him.

“Shut up,” Billy sighed.

“Is it maricide?” Steve mused. “Maritime? No, matricide?”

“You aren’t my mother,” Billy shoved the mattress, and Steve staggered down the bottom steps. “And holding hands at the IHOP doesn’t make us married.”

“Think it does, we had witnesses--” Steve jogged backwards to the front door so Billy could get out of the stairwell, and they slid the mattress on its side into the front room. Billy left Steve holding the mattress, then stopped, beckoning Steve over with raised eyebrows.

The mattress thumped as Steve pushed it against the wall, sidling over slide an arm around Billy, and look at Will asleep, curled up in Steve’s plaid comforter. His face was half under the entertainment system, hugging an armload of cassettes so one was partly in his mouth.

Billy swore under his breath, and went to yank the blankets out of the fort and clear the floor. Steve pulled some out, and piled them up, but when the next song started, Billy just stood in the center of the fort. He had his fist pressed against his mouth, and his eyes closed tightly, and Steve dropped the pillow he was holding to go stand in front of him.

“Hey,” he lifted his hands, remembered Billy’s earlier flailing, and lowered them. “Do you--you okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good--” He took a deep, shaky breath. “The fuck are you--”

“Want me to turn it off?”

“Fuck.” Billy rubbed his face. “It’s--whatever. Doesn’t matter. What’re you staring at, straight boy, aren’t you afraid I’ll try and slow dance?”

“Hey, I suggested it,” Steve grinned, twiddling his fingers as he reached out with both hands and grabbed Billy’s, then leaned close to whisper in his ear. “Are we doing this or aren’t we?”

Billy groaned, leaning his face in Steve’s neck, but swayed along with If I fell in love with you/would you promise to be true/and help me understand? “I’m gonna get hard, and you’re not,” he mumbled into the skin under Steve’s ear, and Steve snorted.

“Don’t count on it.”

“If I give my heart to you,” Billy sang along his breath warm against Steve’s ear, “I must be sure/from the very start that you/would love me more than her--”

Steve huffed a laugh into his curls, tucking his fingers, twined with Billy’s, in the back pockets of Billy’s jeans. “I’ve asked you out, asshole. You threatened to kill me.”

“So I hope you see that I/would love to love you,” Billy pressed against him shoulder to hip, singing against his collarbone. Steve could feel his grin. “And that she will cry/when she learns we are two--”

“Jesus, I didn’t realize this song was so pissed at my ex,” Steve dug his nails in the denim covering Billy’s butt, and Billy jerked closer, laughing, as the song switched to And I love her. He stumbled, and Steve slowed, pulling a hand free so Billy’s weren’t pinned awkwardly behind his back when he had Sudden Emotions.

He listened to Billy’s slow breaths, running a hand up his spine. “...that’s not my sweatshirt,” he lifted his head to squint at it. “Whose sweatshirt is that?”

Billy yanked his other hand free and slung both around Steve’s neck, laughing helplessly into his shoulder. “I have my own clothes, Harrington.”

Steve felt himself flushing. “How was I supposed to know you owned shirts?” he whispered back. “You don’t fucking wear them.”

“I do fucking wear them,” Billy lifted his head, breathing less than an inch from Steve’s mouth. He smelled like beer, and chapstick, and toothpaste, and his eyes made Steve feel like a swimming pool was laughing at him. “I’ve been wearing yours, just ‘cause you keep...shoving me into them.” He licked his lips.

“...like...you’re still--days later,” Steve stumbled over his words, sliding his hand up to curve it around Billy’s jaw, and feel his face get warmer with every second they swayed to A love like ours/Could never die/As long as I/Have you near me. His mouth and throat had gone dry somehow, and he swallowed, and didn’t slide his other hand through Billy’s curls. “But--good--good to know you, y’know, you know how to--dress yourself. When--once you--get back to California.”

Billy stalled out, suddenly just a cement traffic barrier Steve was trying to dance with. “What.”

“I mean. I won’t--it’s not like--you’ll have to zip up your own sweatshirts,” Steve cleared his throat, swallowing again. “Good. Good thing it’s warm there.”

“California,” Billy repeated. He nodded, grinning, and yanked his arms back, shoving away from Steve’s shoulder. “Right. You’re giving me money to get the hell out of your fucking life. How could I forget that.”

“...you wanted a job, to leave town,” Steve staggered back. “You said you--”

“Yeah. Thanks. That’s great, Harrington.” Billy laughed, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. “I thought that was some of the shit you didn’t mean. How long’s that gonna take.”

It was probably good, Steve reflected, how fast Billy could switch channels. Apparently I need to be reminded: he’s only here because it’s safe. He’d known Billy only wanted to get back to California, but it kinda stung sometimes, being disposable. “A-a week, maybe two? I called the bank, but I’m--I’m a minor, so--”

“What’s going on?” The comforter rose with Will’s wide eyes underneath it, his face red where he’d hugged the cassettes, and Steve tried not to whine.

“My sweet boyfriend here,” Billy reached out and squeezed Steve’s shoulder, right at the bone. Steve’s t-shirt was no protection from the grip of his blunt nails. “--he’s letting me have some money to move home to California. I--I can see all my friends! I bet my mom really misses me, too, right, honey?”

“Your mom lives in California?” Will’s eyes widened. “Wow, that sucks. That--that is so goddamned far.” He enunciated the swear carefully, and Steve resisted a snort. “Unless your mom tries to keep you all--wrapped up in bubble wrap, like mine does, sometimes I--I mean--”

“She does not do that, no,” Billy’s eyes were fixed on Steve’s.

Will’s eyes were flicking between them. “You--you must be excited, to see her, but…what about you and...” He fixed wide, shining eyes on Steve, who winced, both from guilt and Billy’s bruisingly-tight hold on his shoulder.

“Oh, of course my beloved will visit,” Billy yanked his hand away to fold his arms around himself. He bared his teeth in a grin at Steve, and Steve swallowed.

“I would if you wanted me to,” he muttered, rubbing his shoulder, and Billy narrowed his eyes at him.

“Of course you’ll visit,” Will stumbled out of his nest and hopped over on one leg, trying to disentangle himself from the comforter. “Right?”

“Ye-yeah, of course,” Steve swallowed, his throat feeling like a dry riverbed. “Maybe he’ll come back for the fair this summer. Or--or I could--take you and El and, uh,” he risked a glance at Billy, who’d stalked over to haul the mattress away from the wall and push it towards the fort. “We could--road trip. Disneyland.” He dodged out of the fort as Billy rammed the mattress at him.

“Oh!” Will blinked. “That’s a good idea, the mattress, at home we don’t have a bed that big. You know what, we could use the couch cushions as walls. Do--do you live near Disneyland?” He helped Billy lower the mattress.

“Don’t fucking live anywhere,” Billy clambered back out. “Apparently. I need a--a fucking--smoke.” He grabbed Will’s head with both hands and messed up his hair, and Will giggled, batting at him, and then spent a few seconds trying to get it back out of his face as Billy slammed out the door to the deck.

“Shit,” Steve watched him stomp down the steps. “Shit, shit shit. I--I gotta go--I think I said something--I think he thinks I want him out--”

“Okay,” Will bit his lips.

“I really--I do like him,” Steve groaned, scrabbling at his hair, and wishing it wasn’t true.

“I know,” Will shrugged, grabbing the pile of sheets.

“Shit,” Steve reached to slap the pool lights on on the way out the door, then braced himself as the cold frosted down his windpipe on the first breath. He coughed, ducking his face into his collar. “Shit, shit, goddamn it.”

“Fuck off, Harrington,” Billy’s voice sounded thick.

Steve followed it around to the snowy chairs around the pool, and tipped the snow out of the closest. “I don’t--I’m not trying to--I like you here.” He took a deep breath, dropping into the chair, and frowning over to see Billy’s suspicious eyes barely visible between his hair and his attempt to turtle into the sweatshirt.

“Yeah, I know you’re lonely, Harrington, shit.” Billy raised his chin just enough to take a drag on his cigarette. “‘Course you don’t mind me. You’re too afraid you’re crazy to date. Your old friends suck balls. Your new best friend’s a fucking--toddler. You’re so tired of this empty house you’re watching princess movies. Probably nothing sounds better than some fag hanging around just--leaning into you like you’re a fucking flame.”

“Shit, no,” Steve got out of his chair, and Billy held up a hand.

“Don’t fucking touch me. You don’t--you don’t want all of this pile of--of--screw you.” he took another shaky drag on his his cigarette, and blew a ring. “Don’t fucking touch me if you won’t kiss me, or let me just--christ.”

“Sorry,” Steve swallowed. “It’s not that I--”

“It’s okay around Will,” Billy turned away as much as he could, squirming with his legs curled in the chair. “I know you aren’t actually gonna let me go any further with that. But if you aren’t--if I’m your fucking pound puppy, stop fucking romancing me, it’s--”

“Sorry,” Steve shivered, rubbing his arms. “You’re--you’re so--” He tried to encapsulate the frustration of never knowing how to form his vague feelings into words, to someone who could apparently do it exhausted and shivering.

“What, Steve,” Billy smiled up. “Am I being too complicated? Or is that too difficult a word for you?”

Steve stopped, and considered, feeling a bit like he’d been asked to stand in a grave and handed a shovel. Or maybe smacked with it. “Sorry. I--I’ll go inside now.” Before he turned, he unzipped his sweatshirt, tucked it around Billy--who froze, mid-drag on his cigarette--and shoved his hands in his pockets to tromp back in the house.

He’d almost made it to the door when Billy let out a hacking cough and roared “Harrington! Take your fucking sweatshirt back--I just fucking said--”

When he leaned into the fort, Will was piling up the comforters. He frowned up. “We need a name. And a sign...where’s Billy?”

“I don’t think he’s gonna hear anything I say right now,” Steve shrugged, kicking the pile of pillows closer to the fort, and tossing them singly to Will. “I mean I dunno what to say, but I think if I stumble around with a bunch of bullshit right now, he’ll--” he frowned, suddenly annoyed. “I bet he’d shove me in the pool.”

“Why’s he mad?” Will brushed his hands together theatrically, waving around their colorfully lit blanket cave. “Lemme get my paper and markers--”

“Looks really comfy,” Steve pushed Will over backwards into the pillows, and flopped next to him, ducking away from a flailing arm. He grabbed an armful of fluffiness, and buried his face, until he felt tiny sharp fingers prodding his side.

“Steve,” Will whispered. “Why’s Billy mad?”

After a long fight against the impulse to smother himself with the pillow, Steve lifted his head. “...I don’t…” He groaned, kicking his feet. “I mean. I kinda know, like, he’s mad that I...he thinks...okay,” he folded his arms on a pillow, propping himself up to see Will’s intent face. “Dad Hargrove is such a fucking--he’s a shithead, okay, he’s just--he’s completely--rargh.” He buried his face in his arms again.

“Yeah,” Will waited.

“So Billy keeps--he doesn’t--he doesn’t think he’s...like-able, y’know, like--nobody could ever like Billy Hargrove, to Billy, so--”

“He doesn’t believe you?” Will sat up, crossing his legs, the better to lean in.

Steve sighed, rolling onto his back. “I don’t--it’s like it changes, he thinks I really want Nancy, and I’m lying, and then he thinks I don’t want him at all, but right after that he thinks I want him to--” he stopped with his mouth hanging open, his cheeks heating like burners as he realized he’d almost mentioned blow jobs to Will Byers. After a long pause, about the point Steve was thinking he really did need to breathe, at least, Will prodded him again.

“He thinks you like him sometimes?” Will squinted.

“Whenever I’m mad,” Steve said carefully, “--he thinks I want him to do...stuff, and I don’t know if he even wants to do the--the stuff.”

Will squinted harder, cocking his head. “What kinda--oh.” He cleared his throat, biting his lips. “Stuff. Uh.”

“I don’t wanna do--stuff--if he doesn’t even usually--ugh,” he pulled the pillow over his face again.

“Why...would he...I mean, don’t you believe he wants to--to do--stuff?” he squeaked the last word, hands steepled to hide some of his face.

“Uuuurgh,” Steve lifted his head. “He just wants me less...mad. Like. Like if your mom was upset already, and you took the trash out, you’d be doing it, like--”

“So she wouldn’t cry,” Will nodded, huge-eyed. “Doing--stuff--is like that?”

“I don’t know!” Steve flailed. “Maybe! For Billy Hargrove!”

Will tottered to his feet, staggering across the thick uneven layers of comforter and pillows, and grabbed his backpack. “What are you gonna do?”

“I don’t know,” Steve watched him pull out construction paper and markers. “I don’t know what he wants. I think I do, but then I keep fucking up.”

“You can’t just ask him? Or--oh, is it like--” Will gripped his markers, frowning down. “He just--tries to make you happy?”

“Yeah,” Steve sighed. “Or he tries to make me mad? He’s always just--he does shit to piss me off, he was yelling at me for being dumb out there. I’m not stupid, he’s just crazy.”

Will nodded slowly. “...what should we name the fort?”

Steve army-crawled over to look at the tapes. “Uh, wasn’t this a place?” He waved Cirith Ungol at Will, who wrinkled his nose.

“A bad place. What about--”

“Trespassers Billiam,” Steve pointed, grinning. “All trespassers with that name I toss in here.”

Will made a face, then grinned. “You’re gonna make him mad again.”

“Uuuurgh,” Steve rolled to bury his face again.

“Can’t you just...say you like him...even if he doesn’t do, um, things?”

“He’s leaving anyway,” Steve sighed. “He thinks his mom hates him, but I bet his dad like--got full custody by lying about her, or she’s hiding from him, or--I dunno. It’ll work out. He’s...he’s got somewhere to fucking be.” He punched the pillow, twice, then grabbed it to cover his face.

“...that’s...good, though, right?” Will wouldn’t stop talking, and Steve swallowed a couple times, before raising his head to press his thumb against the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah. It’s great. Of course. He doesn’t need all this, he’s got somewhere to go. If I had the money to g-lend him, he’d be halfway there now. Cloud of--cloud of fucking dust.”

“...you...you could call him. A lot. And, uh, and visit.” The mattress bounced as he shifted closer, and Steve forced out a laugh, sitting up.

“Sorry. Sorry. You came for a sleepover, and I’m not any fun.”

“I’m having fun,” Will grimaced. “Not--not while you’re fighting, but. This is fun. You told me it was a bad time.”

Steve snorted, combing the hair out of his face with his fingers where the pillow-hugging had messed it up. He crawled to the side to fix the blankets.

“You--you know,” Will watched him with wide, determined eyes, and Steve leaned away, “Um, you don’t have to be fun. Not all the time. Your friends will still like you if you aren’t fun.”

Steve almost laughed in his face, but reached over to mess his hair up again instead.

“I mean it,” Will smacked at his hands. “Real friends won’t--”

Steve swallowed back another laugh, and tossed a pillow at him. “I’m glad you’ve got good friends, Will.”

“You have lots of friends! You’ve got Billy, and Dustin, and--and Nancy--”

I shouldn’t take satisfaction in him running aground. Steve let his smile widen. “I’ve got friends when they need something, okay? I get the call when something dangerous is happening, or a kid needs someplace to go--” he waved around at Trespassers Billiam.

“Wait,” Will held up his hands. “No, that’s not--”

“--and I thought he needed me, because--I mean, fuck it, anyway, he doesn’t--shit, I’m sorry, you don’t need to hear this. Fuck.”

“Steve!” Will smacked him in the face with a pillow, tears running down his cheeks.

“Shit,” Steve took a deep breath. “Shit, Will, I’m sorry, I don’t care if you come over. I didn’t mean that.”

Will smacked him again, and again, sitting on his chest to aim properly, until Steve was curled up laughing, arms around his head. “Take all that back, you do too have friends,” he smacked at Steve’s protective arms again.

“Sure, kid,” he snickered, and got smacked again.

“I-am-your-friend,” Will punctuated every word with another whack of the pillow. “Dustin-is-your-friend.” He panted, wiping his face on his sleeve. “I--I think Billy really--really likes you. He got those photos away from me and slid them under the cassettes in his carrier case. I wasn’t supposed to tell you.”

“...blackmail?” Steve suggested, and got walloped a few more times, before Will flopped forward over the pillow, groaning.

“I’m tired and you’re dumb,” he reached down and pinched Steve’s cheeks, hard, and Steve rolled to dump him off.

“I thought a real friend didn’t mind if I wasn’t fun.”

“Screw you,” Will mumbled, throwing the pillow at him, before clambering back upright, pointing at Steve’s face. “You said it! I’m a real friend!”

“Feel better?” Steve grinned over, and got another pillow to the face.

“I do now, yeah,” he sighed contentedly up at the Christmas lights. “Also, I’m telling.”

“What?”

“I’m telling Dustin, and Nancy, and--and your boyfriend, and Mrs. Williams--”

“Holy god, please don’t,” Steve breathed. “Please don’t tell my ex I was whining about her not liking me enough.”

“Mmmm,” Will narrowed his eyes, and smacked him with another pillow. “Okay, fine. But I’m gonna hint real hard.”

“Christ,” Steve whacked him back with the pillow. He wrinkled his nose. “Leave it be, they’ll think I’m clingy.”

“Nancy already knows that,” Will rolled his eyes, and Steve felt his throat click.

He rubbed his face, standing. “Right. Right. She knows I’m--clingy. She said that?”

“Basically,” Will shrugged, and Steve nodded, taking a deep breath and blowing his cheeks out.

“Great. That’s--that’s really great. Perfect. Y’know the only reason Billy likes me is I think I’m the first person who didn’t treat him like shit--”

“What?!” Will squeaked, but Steve cut him off.

“Christ fucking hell, did he freeze out there?” He scrambled over the piles of bedding and loped to the wall to peer through the window. “...should I go get him?”

“...I could? Do you want me to?”

“You,” Steve pointed, “--should be brushing your teeth and putting on--sleeping--things. I’m gonna--” he pointed outside, took a deep breath, and blew it through his cheeks. “...tell my dickhead boyfriend he’s great and I don’t want him to freeze to death.”

Will snickered. “Maybe he doesn’t believe you because you sound so romantic.”

“Okay, you’re like nine, so fuck off,” Steve flicked his head, then ignored his detailed rebuttal, math excuses, and flung pillows.

Will was still yelling “I’m not nine! And I’m still telling!” as Steve set his shoulders, grabbed the afghan Will had left on the couch, and huddled into it to brave the outdoors again.

When he crept ineffectively around the corner of the house, the crunching of refrozen snow reverberating clear to the neighbors, Billy was still curled up in the plastic lawnchair. All of him except his hair and eyes was covered by Steve’s sweatshirt. The whole chair was shaking.

“Hey, dickhead,” Steve tried, hanging back a few feet. “Maybe come inside before you freeze solid?”

Billy laughed. It sounded wet. “Th-think I’m-m already--”

“Yeah, okay,” Steve dropped the afghan over him, sliding one arm under his knees, and one around his shoulders. Billy’s clothes were cold, and stiff to the touch, like a tarp.

“D-don’t you f-fucking d-dare--”

“Come on,” Steve braced himself, and lifted with his knees, and Billy grabbed for him with both arms, stuttering profanity. “Just taking you--inside--oof--jesus, maybe--go a little--easier on the reps.” All curled up, he was heavy as hell, but he still seemed smaller, with his head tucked under Steve’s chin, and his boots in the air.

“Stop--stop this p-prince shit, p-put me down-n,” Billy shivered hard against him, laughing.

“I could throw you over my shoulder like a fireman,” Steve grinned, hoping Will was in the front room to open the door. “But I’m kinda afraid you’d crack in half--”

“You d-drop me,” Billy laughed against his neck, “--and I will c-crack you in half--y-you will fucking d-die, I will f-fucking murd-der you--”

Steve went slow, both unworried and undoubting that he would, in fact, die. And fair enough, if I drop him on his spine down the stairs in the snow. “I’d do it, y’know. Date you. I think you--do you--think I’m shitting you, when I say I’d take you out? ‘Cause I would, I’d fucking do it.”

“...fucking would n-not,” Billy muttered. His fingers clenched in Steve’s shirt so tight it pinched.

Steve held him tighter, pretending to himself it was so he could see the stairs. “I mean, if you weren’t leaving.”

“Fffuck you,” Billy shuddered against his shoulder, in what could have been laughter, or cold.

“I would! We could--we could do the drive-in movie thing!” Steve took a few deep breaths after climbing the stairs, and kicked the door lightly.

“S-sit at the theater, r-room between us for Jesus,” Billy huffed.

“Theaters are dark, dipshit,” Steve squinted through the door, trying to see Will in the dim front room. “You can get up to shit in the back of a theater--” He waggled his eyebrows, and Billy jerked in his arms.

“...think I did fr-f-fuck. F-freeze solid,” he muttered. “C-can’t even kick you. ‘N my lips ‘re numb.”

“I’d bring you forget-me-nots. Frosty.”

“D-don’t want any ff-fucking flowers,” Billy laughed hoarsely. His shivering had slowed, bundled against Steve, but Steve was slowly going numb.

He kicked the door again, trying not to hum ‘Frosty the dickhead’. “Might just eat all the fancy chocolates and stare at you, then, like ‘Look at me, eating all the chocolate, you actual fucking prick.’”

“What the f-fuck,” Billy burst out laughing, and rolled his head against Steve’s shoulder. Despite his flush, his face was cold even through Steve’s t-shirt, but Steve remembered, and didn’t pull hims closer, or bury his face in the soft curls. “You’re g-gonna stare at me and s-slowly eat things? Y-you’re sure you don’t wanna b-blow job?”

Steve started cackling against the side of the door, looked down to see Billy waggling his tongue around, and lost it again. “Shit. Jesus. Okay. Stop that, Will’s coming. How’re you doin’, asshole?”

Billy raised his eyebrows. “D-dinner’s great, ma’am, c-could we get some more breadsticks--”

“Oh, shut up.”

Will ran to the door, and beamed at them as Steve walked by--for all Billy’s griping, he didn’t try to get Steve to drop him. When Steve did set him on his feet, he staggered, started to tilt toward him again, and jerked back, stumbling off through the kitchen like an afghan-swathed grandmother zombie.

“...we better get ready too,” Steve grinned at Will.

“...did you, uh, did you...fix him?”

“...I don’t think I can...fix it that fast, but,” Steve shook his arms out, wincing. “God, he’s like carrying a--like a stone statue, I need a crane or something--we’ll be right back down.”

Will yawned, grinning.

Billy was glaring up the stairs, leaning against the wall, and Steve slid an arm around him slow enough for him to pull away. He didn’t. He was quiet while Steve hauled him up the stairs, and quiet when Steve tipped him onto the lid of the toilet and turned away to run the hot water. The afghan flew by as Steve turned back, but Billy’s hands were shaking too hard to disentangle himself from Steve’s sweatshirt, let alone unzip his own. He was still unnervingly passive as Steve pushed his hands aside and leaned in to unwrap him, and tug the undershirt over his head.

“What the hell was that?” Steve asked, dropping to sit in front of him and yank on his boots. “You were just gonna sit out there?”

“Just th-thinking. Thought I might g-go home,” Billy rubbed his hands together, and up his arms, keeping his gaze on the shower curtain. “I mean it’s n-not like I haven’t run off before--”

“What, no,” Steve grabbed his hand, and Billy yanked it back, thunking his elbow against the toilet.

He grinned down. “Whatcha g-gonna do, Ha-Harrington, lock me in the garage?”

“No! No, why would--don’t--” Steve yanked at his other boot. “Come on, dickface, your lips are blue. At least get in the shower.”

Billy pushed himself upright, and Steve kept his eyes on Billy’s holey athletic socks at the sound of his jean zipper. “F-figure I’d be out of your h-hair sooner.”

“I want you in my hair, Hargrove--” Steve growled, smacking Billy’s leg, and ignoring Billy squirming around trying to get out of his extremely fitted jeans. He clapped his hand over his eyes. “What d’you want from your room? To wear?”

“...whatever, Ha-harrington,” Billy slurred, shivering, and Steve heard the shower stall open, and close.

He slid out to get sweatpants, and change, then wandered back in--eyes on the floor--to sit on the toilet, and brush his teeth. He crossed his legs, trying to get the words everybody else used to play well together in his head. “Hargrove.”

“Yep,” came Billy’s voice, over the sound of a thorough soaping.

“I don’t--” Steve leaned his elbows on his knees, and frowned at the suds on his toothbrush. “I know I--I say stupid shit. But--” he stuck his toothbrush back in his mouth, thinking as he thoroughly brushed his molars, then jumped as Billy smacked the inside of the shower door next to his head.

“Fucking christ, Harrington,” he growled.

“The hell d’you wanna hear?” Steve leaned to spit in the sink, and rinse his brush, then glared over. He bit his lips on a smile at the sight of naked Billy Hargrove, covered in suds, narrowing his eyes. Steve jerked his head away, flushing.

“You opened your fucking mouth when it’s got nothing in it.” Billy smacked the glass again.

“Agh,” Steve let his head fall back against the wall. “Just--just stay here, goddamn. I’m not--you don’t--I’m not gonna be--” he waved a hand, then rubbed his face with it. “‘M not gonna be glad when you leave.”

For a long moment, there was only the sound of running water, and then the sound of bare feet again, and the snap of a plastic cap. “...can’t leave you high and dry with Will, anyway,” Billy’s voice was muffled by the water.

“Yes! That too!” Steve reached over and slapped his side of the glass. “What the hell, Hargrove, you just gonna--just let him think I’d throw you out if we broke up?”

“Maybe I got drunk and kicked your ass again, and you dropped me in a ditch outside of town,” Billy laughed, and Steve started to stare at him, then rolled his eyes and smacked the glass again.

“He wouldn’t believe that--”

“Might if I did it,” Billy tapped the glass, and Steve frowned over, watching the water run down Billy’s shoulder and over his chest, and feeling the blood that wasn’t already in his face redirect to his crotch.

“Shut up--you look like a fucking mermaid in there, you’re all--”

“All?” Billy’s grin widened.

“Wet,” Steve gritted his teeth, and Billy leaned close, and licked up a big swath of the glass. Steve stood and pressed his face against the other side, and Billy stumbled back, cackling, as Steve made fish faces, inflating his cheeks with his lips pressed against the glass.

Billy leaned back in, grabbing the top of the door, and the light refracted off the water in his eyelashes. His curls were dripping down his face and collarbones, then down the edge of his hand as he tucked them behind his ear. His grin looked like it was more at himself than anything else, and his eyes wouldn’t meet Steve’s.

“...at least stay ‘til you graduate, Hargrove.” He put his hands next to Billy’s on the top of the door, running his thumb over wet knuckles. His bruises have mostly healed, I can’t let him go. Back there. God.

Billy licked his lips, and Steve stared. “...you sure you’re up for...all this, Harrington?” he swayed his pelvis at the glass, waggling his tongue, and Steve turned his head and laughed into his upstretched arm, feeling his dick take even more of an interest.

He tried not to squirm in his jeans, turning his eyes back to Billy’s. “Think I know what I’m getting into.”

Billy stepped right up to the glass, leaning his forehead against it, and bit his lip in a grin. “Yeah?”

Steve leaned his forehead against Billy’s, separated by the glass, and Billy closed his eyes for a long slow breath--before pushing away, and yanking his hands free of Steve’s.

“Water’s gonna get cold,” he said hoarsely, sticking his face right up under the showerhead, and blowing his nose.

Steve bit his lips, opened his mouth, closed it, and blew through his cheeks. “Uh. I could just...tell him we broke up. If--if you want, if it’s easier.”

The conditioner bottle bounced off the glass directly in front of Steve’s face, skittered around the floor, and nearly hit Billy’s foot. “Fuck you, Harrington, are you high, make up your fucking mind--”

“No, for real, I mean, we could just tell him. If you don’t want m--to--just. Just say we can’t be togeth--we can’t keep it together ‘cause you’re leaving m--moving away. We’re--we’ll stay friends, you’ll stay here, but I couldn’t--I just can’t--” Steve shut his eyes, running a hand through his hair.

“Oh, ‘cause me leaving is really gonna break your heart,” Billy snorted.

Steve grinned and nodded, eyes stinging, and forced himself to swallow.

“...nah,” Billy turned to rinse, and Steve watched the water run down his spine.

I’m not even hard anymore, he realized--even how hot Billy looked showering wasn’t distracting enough from how empty the shower would look every time he walked in and remembered, and how echoey the house would be--again--without his snide comments about singing princesses, shoes lying everywhere, careful check-ins about hot chocolate, and the scent of his cologne on Steve’s pillow.

“Let’s let him think we’ll exchange syrupy love letters,” Billy shot a grin over, and Steve’s lungs seized.

He cleared his throat again. It didn’t help. “Fuck, yeah, yes, we can--loads of--total dumbshit poetry. Stupid drawings on ‘em. You’ll get a letter with a crunched up candy heart in it and be trying to figure out what it said without saying ‘yeah, your stupid candy arrived broke--’”

Billy finally turned off the water, laughing, and bent to squeeze the water out of his curls. “You don’t need to actually send any goddamn letters, Harrington--”

Right, of course. Steve backpedaled. “Yeah, I don’t have to, shit. It’ll fuck with, like, you getting a girlfriend, or--”

“Why the hell would--fine, send me fucking letters,” Billy took a deep breath. “I’ll fucking--woo you back, you royal ass--”

Steve laughed, holding up a towel as he stepped out, and Billy stepped in to lean against him. Steve kept the towel between his hands and Billy’s wet shoulders, but squeezed him tightly, rubbing the terrycloth up and down.

Billy huffed a laugh against his shoulder, and drew back, back and neck still red from the shower, frowning at everything but Steve. “Why the fuck--that afghan is the ugliest--pink and brown and orange with green tassels?”

Steve snickered, aware Billy’d find other normal not-asshole people the second he got away from his dad, but inexplicably pleased at the permission to send letters. This is even worse, he told himself, firmly. Instead of a clean break, now you’ll be waiting for weeks for a letter. He’ll never even call with an address. It wasn’t like he was any good at letters anyway. Billy’d probably be subjected to bad diagrams of how they lost basketball games. He grinned at the afghan, cheeks warm. “Mrs. Williams made it. She said she wanted it to be cheerful.”

“It’s...bright,” Billy raised his eyebrows, pulling on the sweatpants, and running his fingers through his curls as he patted at them with the towel. He shivered.

“...put something else on,” Steve leaned back against the door, keeping his hands to himself. “You almost froze to death earlier. I’ve got an ugly as fuck afghan and I will use it.”

Billy snorted, shrugging.

“...you think, when you’re back in California…”

After a few seconds of silence, Billy parted the hair in his face to raise his eyebrows through it.

Steve leaned back against the door, sliding to sit against it. It creaked. He closed his eyes for a minute, then flailed his hands. “Just--you think you can go a few fucking days without--driving drunk off your ass, or freezing to death in a--a fucking lawn chair?”

“Maybe?” Billy shrugged, and Steve yanked another towel down and threw it at his butt.

“Come on, fuckhead--”

Billy crouched down to grin at him, tucking wet curls behind his ear, and Steve’s hand twitched toward a drip running along the edge of his jaw. “You almost sound worried about me there, your right royal majesty--”

“I’m worried as hell! What if I’d fallen asleep or something, dingus? You coulda died out there!”

“Dingus,” Billy bit his lip in a grin. He was turning a little red across where he usually hid his freckles, and Steve wanted to grab him and shake him.

“Why do you think I kidnapped you, I was losing my shit thinking--”

“Does it count? As kidnapping?” Billy dropped next to him on the floor, crossing his legs, and cocked his head. “I mean, I climbed out that window on my own. This time.” He stuck his toothbrush in his mouth, and Steve buried his face in his hands.

“Oh my god, twice.”

Billy patted his head, getting up to spit in the sink.

When they wandered down--sharing the afghan--and tiptoed through the kitchen towards the fort, it was glowing from within with the rainbow of Christmas lights. Will was on one edge of the mattress, out cold with his mouth hanging open.

“Trespassers Billiam,” Billy mouthed, wrinkling his nose, and punched Steve in the shoulder.

Steve pointed to Billy, and then the middle of the mattress, and Billy shook his head, eyebrows raised. Steve nodded, miming a shiver, and pointing at Billy again, then several times at the middle spot on the mattress, and Billy rolled his eyes, leaned his head on his hands and pretended to snore, then pointed at Steve, then himself, then the bed, and put his hand on his crotch. He lifted it so it stuck out, widening his eyes at Steve, then pointed to the middle spot, then Will, and made a huge X of his arms, shaking his head.

Steve was trying to keep his cackling silent, shaking his head, but he crawled in, holding the blankets up for Billy to situate himself at the edge opposite from Will. He still felt chilly against Steve’s hands, so he pulled him close, and Billy made a weird noise that might have been a groan if it hadn’t been so high pitched, and clung to the edge of the mattress.

“Fine,” Steve whispered, letting go, and Billy yanked the covers over his head.

Steve smacked a kiss against the lump under the plaid comforter, and Billy kicked back at him.

What felt like moments later, he awoke to Billy’s curls brushing his face as he pulled his arm from under Steve’s head, leaving a chill where Steve had apparently been using Billy’s warm weight instead of a blanket. Steve squinted into the Christmas lights, listening to Billy trying to navigate in the dark and thud against the coffee table. His eyes started to drift shut again, but when he heard the fridge door open instead of the bathroom, he rubbed his face, muffled a groan into the pillow, and crawled out, hands low to intercept any malevolent furniture. He heard a familiar pop and hiss, and sure enough, in the dim light from the stove hood, Billy was leaning over the sink shotgunning a beer. There was another on the counter.

Steve waited--nothing like choking over a shotgunned beer--until Billy sat it in the sink, and folded his arms against the edge of the sink for a few slow breaths. “You okay?”

Billy went perfectly still, watching Steve in the dark window over the sink. His breath ratcheted up as Steve stepped closer, so he stopped, smacked a hand back to find the fridge, and leaned against it.

Billy closed his eyes, lowering his head to rest on his arms again. He was whispering something.

It was nearly as dark in the kitchen as outside, and Steve started to relax, squinting into the darkness, before he registered Billy’s shoulders shaking. “Hey,” he tried. “Hey. Dickhead. Sweetheart. Asswipe. Hey, hey,” he slid a hand over next to Billy’s elbow, and knocked his knuckles softly against the counter.

Billy shook his head without lifting it, and grabbed a white-knuckled handful of his own curls.

Steve bit his lip, but didn’t touch him, stepping close enough to lean in and hear the news that Billy was sorry he was a fucking drunk rotten sack of shit. “Hey, no,” he whispered over the stream of furious apologies. “Hargrove. Honeymustard.” He risked his thumb brushing Billy’s elbow, and he went quiet--so quiet Steve was fairly sure he wasn’t breathing. “Jesus,” Steve whispered. “Come on, breathe, babe. Fucking--cupcake, jellybean, come on, dipshit--”

Billy shook harder, now silent, and Steve finally slid an arm between him and the sink--Billy’s knees bent, and he curled away against the lower cupboards, and Steve almost let him go before registering all the knobs and the oven handle he’d be slamming back into, and pushed him sideways against the smooth wood as carefully as he could. Billy held his arms around his head, face contorted as he suppressed sobs. His wet face gleamed in the dim light, and Steve pulled him in to a careful hug.

“Deep breaths, come on, shithead, jesus--breathe, babe--I scared the shit out of you, christ, breathe--”

Billy made a soft noise in his throat, finally taking an uneven breath against Steve’s neck, and Steve stroked his back. God, not the time to crush him in a hug. Later. I’ll squeeze him until he doesn’t want to leave. The air in the kitchen was cold, and Steve could feel himself getting gooseflesh as he rocked them back and forth. His legs started to ache in the awkward half-crouch. He kinda wished he’d worn a shirt to bed, feeling Billy’s tears run down his collarbones and collecting in the waistband of his sweatpants. Billy’s back felt as cold as earlier as he stroked it, and cupped the back of Billy’s head to hold the constant mumbled “Sorry. Sorry, shit. I’m sorry,”s against his shoulder.

When Billy finally lifted his head, he jerked away, staggering upright to the paper towels and juicily blowing his nose.

Steve allowed himself to be drawn over by the hand clenched on the waistband of his sweatpants.

“Sorry,” Billy panted. “Fuck. Shit. I didn’t--I didn’t get any of that, Harrington, I couldn’t--” he laughed, wiping his eyes, “--I’m too fucking stupid to understand words in my own language, sometimes.”

Steve reeled him back in. It was hard to tell whose heart was pounding harder. “Shit. Jesus. Welcome back. Christ.”

“Missed whatever you yelled at me,” Billy laughed into his shoulder again, still shaking. “T-too much of a fucking drunk to understand words. Couldn’t get my ears to switch on. Tell me what to do again,” he took a slow breath. “I don’t hurt anywhere. You throw me out finally? Fucking--fucking getting drunk in here with your kid out there sleeping? I can just--”

“Jesus, shut up.” Steve buried his face in Billy’s curls, squeezing him, and Billy nodded, taking a shaky breath. “Not fucking throwing you out. I’m not even mad, babe--”

“You’re mad as hell,” Billy snickered, sniffling. “You’re shaking--”

“Not mad at you,” Steve slid his hand up to rub the back of Billy’s neck. “I’m not mad at all at you.”

“...what now?” Billy swallowed. “You’ll get pissed again if I try and blow you. Probably been apologizing. I fucking apologize better now, is that right?” He laughed. “I thought. Y’know, finally, this is the part where you grab my hair and slam my face into the counter.”

“You didn’t do anything, jesus. I don’t give a shit if you wanna finish off my shitty beer.”

“I’m shameful,” Billy snorted into his shoulder. “I can’t stay sober for one day to help a little kid build a pillow fort. You should hate me even more now.” He was giggling, whispering in Steve’s ear, and he wanted nothing so much as to shove away, but he yanked him closer.

“Christ, shut up. Stop--stop telling me I hate you, I don’t.”

“Fucking scum.” Billy breathed against his ear, his warm lips brushing Steve’s neck. “Throw me off those stairs. Back out in the fucking snow. Make a better ice sculpture than I do a human being--”

“Stop,” Steve hugged him closer, pressing their heads together so Billy didn’t lick him. “Sorry I scared the shit out of you. Don’t flip your shit. I shoulda waited.”

“...fuck, I got you all snotty again,” Billy swallowed, pulling away enough to grab another paper towel, and start dabbing at Steve’s chest. “God, I’m disgusting.”

“Y’know,” Steve leaned back against the counter, as Billy pushed him back to wet the paper towel in the sink. “You--you drink a lot, and yeah, you cry a shit ton--”

“Fuck you,” Billy muttered, running his fingers under the faucet to test the temperature.

“No, just, I mean--anybody would, right. Your whole life is bullshit.” He jerked as Billy pressed the hot, wrung-out paper towel against his chest. “I think you’re doing okay.”

“Just blew my lid because you walked in the kitchen.” Billy wiped the hot towel along his collarbones, and Steve shivered, and tried to keep his train of thought.

“Yeah, but like. That’s ‘cause something happened, right. You don’t just--”

“Just fucking ask,” Billy growled, stalking back to the sink and wetting a new paper towel.

Steve pushed himself up to sit on the counter. “No, I don’t--I mean, I can guess, you don’t have to tell me anything. I mean. You don’t...want to, right--”

“Fuck no.”

Steve took the paper towel when he wandered back over, lifting Billy’s chin to wipe under his eyes. “Okay, then.” Billy’s eyes widened and teared up again as Steve carefully patted along his moustache, and Steve yanked him close again, laughing into his hair. “Christ. Maybe if everyone wasn’t so shitty to you, me being normal wouldn’t set you off--”

“You are not normal,” Billy huffed a laugh against his chest. “You are abnormal. You are a fucking mutant. God. I’m fucking exhausted.”

“We should get back to sleep,” Steve didn’t let go. “...d’you need the other beer, first?”

Billy flinched.

“Listen, I...used to, um, I dated Carol’s sister. Couple years older--”

“Shit, I don’t care,” Billy slumped against him, his skin cool and still damp, and Steve kept rubbing his neck.

“No, I know, I just--” Steve grimaced. “Uh, before she went to college, her mom was taking her on this trip for a couple weeks, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to--hide. Y’know. Things. So we said she had the flu.”

“...mmm,” Billy slid his arms around Steve’s waist, yawning.

“So, uh. She came over and hugged a toilet for a few days, and--I mean, it sucked, no lie, but I don’t think you’re any worse than she was.”

Billy grunted, then lifted his head, squinting. “...you’re offering to help me dry out? Jesus, Steve.”

“If you want. I’m good at calling people in sick,” he grinned. “Want me to get you some aspirin?”

“I guess,” Billy mumbled, dropping his head back to Steve’s shoulder. “...wait, that’s why you’re friends with Tommy and Carol. Carol’s sister.”

“I guess?” Steve shrugged.

After he chugged the second beer, Billy allowed himself to be hauled upstairs, and pushed him in the right direction a few times as he stumbled. He swallowed the aspirin dry, then sighed and accepted the glass of water Steve shoved at him, dropping to sit on the floor. He leaned against the bathtub, letting his eyes drift shut as he drank it. Steve grabbed the glass, slapping his toothbrush in his hand, and Billy brandished it, glaring. “...didn’t think you’d noticed,” he breathed, then winced. “I mean--I musta been pretty fucking obvious--I know you saw me hiding the tequila behind the microwave. When we were making bread.”

“I wasn’t sure,” Steve shrugged, outside the open bathroom door, his eyes on the window. “But it’d be, y’know, good, if you could stay sober driving west.”

“Depends on how I’m paying for it,” Billy snickered, and Steve frowned over, but then he shrugged. “Sounds shitty, but. Sure. I guess.”

Steve kept his arm around Billy’s shoulder on the way down the stairs, and Billy leaned in to whisper “So what now, Harrington, do you rock me to sleep?”

“Don’t test me,” Steve whispered back. Jesus, here it is, the part of the slumber party where he’s so tired everything’s hilarious.

“In your lap?” Billy grinned, and Steve barely resisted kissing his face.

“Necessary part of the slumber party,” Steve whispered back, and Billy snorted.

“Never got invited.” He thudded against Steve as they got near the mattress, knocking them both into it, and Steve ended with an armful of Billy Hargrove, trying to giggle silently, the two of them sprawled on top of the blankets. Steve rocked him, whispering Rock-a-bye-baby in his ear, and he laughed harder, strumming an air guitar.

Billy’s silent wheezes of laughter shook the mattress until Will mumbled in his sleep, and he finally just rolled them both sideways off the mound of blankets, curling into Steve and pulling the blanket over their heads. It was hard for Steve to stop laughing, when every time he started to doze off, he could still feel the back pressed against him shaking with giggles.

Will awakened them with Fellowship of the Ring at seven o’clock. Steve squinted at the clock, and then smacked him with a pillow, but Billy waved. “S’fine. Jus’ sleep.”

“Nope!” Will clambered over and dropped his skinny butt on Billy’s back, which was half on Steve, and both older boys yelped. “These books are really long, guys, we gotta get reading. I made a schedule--”

“I thought this fucking kid was cute,” Billy grabbed a pillow, trying to hide, and Steve held up a hand.

“‘Nother hour, Will. Just--just another hour.”

“Fine,” Will groaned, flopping backwards across their legs, and Steve pulled Billy closer, trying not to think about sleeping alone.

When Billy did consent to be awoken, he stumbled and grumbled his way to the kitchen, and Steve huddled tighter under the blankets.

After a while expecting attack, he caught the smell of bacon. He sat up in bed, looking around at piles of blankets and pillows, then followed soft voices to the kitchen, where Will was sitting on the counter kicking his feet, and Billy was chopping something. Steve waited until the blade of the knife wasn’t near anything, and pulled out a chair. “Smells so good in here.”

“He says I’m Boromir,” Billy grinned over. “I have no idea who that is, but--”

“He saves the Ringbearer and prevents Sauron from taking over the world, his mom’s gone, and his dad is a shithead,” Will reported, and Billy cocked his head, nodding.

“Uh, your majesty,” Billy turned to face Steve, wiping the knife, and sitting it back on the counter. “Omelettes are almost ready.”

“We were gonna bring you breakfast in bed,” Will grinned. “And read--”

“Eat first, jesus,” Billy rolled his eyes.

“Really,” Steve stood, preparing to sneak over, and Billy pointed the spatula at him.

“Siddown.”

Steve did. When the omelette, bacon, and fried potatoes landed in front of him, he stared. “Holy fuck, Hargrove, this looks like restaurant food.”

“Yours does,” Billy handed over Will’s--somewhat smaller--selection, and pulled up a chair with his own, which had apparently tipped over and spilled most of its filling.

Steve took a huge bite, and groaned happily. “Oh my god, you asshole, this is amazing. I love the--cheese, it’s melty--there’s crunchy things!” he took another bite, and Billy snickered, choking. “And spicy things!” He took another bite, holding a thumb up. “Mmhmmf!”

Will nodded, wide-eyed. “You cook better than my mom--” he leaned back to yell “Sorry, Mom!” at the ceiling, and grimaced at his plate, while Steve cackled, leaning to bump shoulders with Billy.

“You don’t have to cook all the time, dude,” he shoveled in another bite. “So damn good, though--”

“You’ve never even seen the movies? Steve has the movies,” Will’s track switched back to Lord of the Rings as though they’d never left.

“My dad liked C. S. Lewis,” Billy shrugged, watching Steve vacuum his omelette. “I read Narnia.”

“Narnia,” Will took a big bite and chewed, crossing his arms, and Steve tried not to snort.

“They were friends, y’know,” Billy grinned over. “C. S. Lewis and Tolkien. C. S. Lewis wanted more religion in his books, he was a theologian--”

Will blinked, wide-eyed, and Billy was in the middle of explaining what that was, with phrases like biblical inerrancy and referring to discrepancies between the books of Genesis when Steve could not hold his laughter in anymore. He buried his face in his arms, cackling, and Billy shut up mid-sentence. The knife on Steve’s plate scraped, and he lifted his head, wiping his eyes, to see Billy collecting the dishes.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to throw you off,” Steve snickered. “Oh my god, I have such a--”

“I know it sounds dumb, I’m probably getting it wrong, but you can shut the fuck up now.” Billy cranked on the water, leaning against the sink. “It--it was--I probably didn’t even understand it.”

“Shit, no, you were making sense, that’s why I was laughing,” Steve balled up his napkin and tossed it at Billy’s butt. “You see it, right, Will, here I am fucking--fucking mooning over this curly brunette with booksmarts.”

Will blinked between them, and started giggling. “You did make sense,” he beamed over. “I don’t know anything about that stuff--”

“See? And he’s a toddler, if it made sense to a toddler--”

Will cackled, kicking Steve under the table. “How come I keep getting younger?”

Steve grabbed Will’s napkin and threw that too, and Billy squinted at him. “All this time you’ve been pretending you were normal, and you’re smart as hell, you asshole fuck. I have a type, oh my god.” He buried his face in his arms again, laughing.

“I was just saying what I read,” Billy shook his head, smiling tightly. “I remembered some of it. Don’t get your hopes up that I’m--different, I’m still Billy fucking Hargrove, and that’s--”

“Yeah, you keep saying that,” Steve got up and slid his arms around him, reaching to turn off the water. “I keep finding curly brunettes that are way too smart for me. Long eyelashes and big eyes, jesus.” Billy’s face was hot to the touch when Steve leaned in to kiss his freckles, then his mouth.

“Augh,” Will flailed in the corner of Steve’s eye. “Aaah! I don’t want to know your turn-ons, Steve!”

Steve pulled Billy closer, sliding his hand through the soft curls in question, and tucking his face against Billy’s ear--and Will’s chair groaned against the floor as he pushed it out from the table and fled to the front room.

“Let’s read when you’re ready,” he yelled over his shoulder, and Steve pulled back, clearing his throat, and turned on the water to wash the dishes.

“Fucking chaperone coulda stuck around long enough for a real kiss,” Billy stepped close and leaned his hot face against Steve’s shoulder, taking a deep breath. “Well fucking played, he thinks you think I’m a catch.”

Steve bit his lips, then leaned to bump shoulders. “You know you are a catch, though--”

“Jesus fuck,” Billy shoved away, stalking back into the front room.

Steve turned off the water and followed him out to find him face-down in a pillow, neck and ears red.

“Finally,” Will groaned.

After breakfast, and one chapter of The Fellowship of the Ring, with many questions such as “What are hobbits,” and “What do you mean I missed the dragon,” Billy drove off to the auto-repair place, and Steve did the dishes. Will picked up the phone on the third ring, when Steve yelled that he was up to his elbows in suds, and brought it in to hold to his ear.

“Hey, kid,” came Hopper’s voice, audible to both of them through the loud handset.

“Sheriff Hopper?” Steve took a deep breath. “Did--did something happen?”

Hopper sighed. “Not yet. But Neil Hargrove called. He says there’s stuff missing from his house. He’s considering pressing charges for robbery.”

“...what?” Steve tried.

“He’s accusing your boy Billy of robbing his house.”

“He--he just took--he took socks. Some sweatshirts. His schoolbooks,” Steve breathed, and Hopper sighed again.

“Yeah, I figured. But since Billy’s a minor, it’s sticky. When’s he turn eighteen?”

“I--I don’t know--”

“Huh. Well, we can keep Mr. Hargrove wading upstream with it--”

“But it’s his stuff,” Steve prodded the melted cheese he was scrubbing, his brain watching film of Billy being loaded into a police car, and mug shots, and orange outfits. “They’re--they’re just his clothes--” Will was quiet, holding the phone up, and Steve grabbed the hand towel, drying off so he could take the phone, and pull Will’s head to rest against him.

“Yeah, son, I know.”

Steve flailed an arm, wanting to pace in a circle. “He--he can borrow my clothes, we can give his clothes back--”

“You gonna buy him a new car, too? Calm down, kid. Neil Hargrove won’t realize we’re giving him the runaround for a while. Max said Billy’s leaving town anyway. When?”

“He was--we thought he’d stay here. Just until he graduated,” Steve could hear his voice getting a little high, and tried to swallow down the thickness in his throat.

“Might want to speed that timeline up a bit. We can keep the man chasing his tail--it’ll keep him busy for a while, but it’s gonna piss him off, eventually, and he’s--we don’t know what he’ll try then. Might want to keep an eye on your boy, until you can get him out of town.”

“Shit,” Steve ruffled Will’s hair, dodging Will’s batting hands. “I need to go, Hopper, he’s getting his car fixed. Wait--do you, uh.”

Hopper waited on the line.

“Uh,” Steve swallowed. “You know when I asked you about Billy’s mom. Um, do you--can I have her number?”

“...lemme look it up,” Hopper sighed. “I’ll call back with it--”

“Don’t leave it as a message,” Steve cringed into the phone. “He thinks she hates him, I just wanna talk to her--”

“Yeah, okay, kid.” There were some rustling noises. “I found it, you got a pen?” Steve wrote it in the magnet pad on the fridge, and folded it up in his pocket. “You play it safe, Steve, and give me a call if you need anything.”

“If--if Mr. Hargrove comes?”

“Then you definitely give me a call, and don’t open the door.”

“Okay. Okay. Yeah. Okay. Thank you. I gotta go.”

“I can finish the dishes,” Will said in a small voice, once Steve had hung up.

“Shit, thanks,” Steve squeezed his shoulder, and ran to pull on his shoes. “We’ll be back soon. Sorry.”

When Steve pulled up to the service place, they had the Camaro’s hood up, but Billy was nowhere to be seen. Steve popped in the office and took care of the bill, sending up a little prayer that nobody receiving the bill’d look at the make and model of the car requiring a new battery, then accepted a paper cup of coffee, and stood out on the sidewalk. He almost spilled it when he was suddenly drug, Billy’s fist in his jacket, around the corner of the building.

Billy hauled him clear down by the dumpsters, in the cement-walled dead end between the car shop, a cinderblock fence, and what smelled like a neighboring pizza place. “Harrington,” he unfolded a piece of paper from his pocket, and flattened it against his leg. “I--I swung by the clinic first, they had my--”

“Hargrove, I need to talk to--”

“Shut up, shut up,” Billy put a hand over Steve’s mouth, then yanked it back. “I’m--I’m talking, don’t--don’t pretend you can’t hear me.”

“It’s important, dickface--”

“This is important,” Billy held his hands up, twitching towards Steve, then smacked the paper into his hand. “Not to you, but. It’s--it’ll just take a sec, just--come on.”

“Yeah,” Steve nodded, leaning against the wall next to the dumpster to watch Billy pacing around, flicking his lighter five times more than he should have needed to to light his cigarette, and swearing quietly into his cupped hands. “Am I listening or reading--”

“I know this wasn’t--anything,” he waved his hand between them, smirking at the wall behind Steve. “But I thought--if you thought--”

Steve snorted. “My purty talkin’s rubbing off on you.”

“Fucking read it,” Billy leaned against the wall next to him, taking a long draw on his cigarette.

The paper was Billy’s test results for STDs, and Steve blinked, reading “Negative. Negative. Negative.” in a long line.

“If--just, if that’s why,” Billy laughed, blowing smoke in a long trail. “I’m clean. At least. And you came, your majesty, don’t pretend I was no good. You fucking liked it. You liked my mouth.” He flicked his tongue at Steve, but wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“Jesus, B--Hargrove,” Steve folded it back up, his mouth stumbling as his brain started running like a hamster wheel.

Billy snatched it back. “Fuck you, fine, sorry I don’t have a fucking cunt, my liege. Tell me when to clear out when you bring home all those other bitches in the sea--” he shoved by, and Steve caught him around the waist, letting Billy’s momentum spin them around.

“Ssh. Gimme a second, goddamn. Hopper called, your--” Billy’d gone rigid against him, watching his face, and Steve forced a smile. “It’s okay, he’s got your back. For--for now, it’s fine.”

“The fuck did he say,” Billy shoved him back against a dumpster, folding the test results up, and tossing them over Steve’s shoulder.

“Your dad’s...he’s making trouble. You should--”

“The fuck did he say, Harrington,” Billy leaned in close, blowing cigarette smoke that smelled like toothpaste.

“He wants you arrested for theft,” Steve grimaced. “Hopper said they’ll keep him chasing his tail, but you should leave town.”

Billy clenched a hand in Steve’s jacket, and slammed the other one into the dumpster.

Steve grabbed his arm as he pulled back to punch it again, checking his fingers. “Shit, hold on, Hargrove--”

“Just a dumpster, Harrington,” Billy shoved him off. “Just fucking trash back here. Doesn’t matter, let me fucking--”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Steve grabbed him around the upper arms. “Hold the fuck up, don’t break your hand. Come back with me. We’ll go yell in the woods, okay?”

Billy pulled himself into the shaking tension Steve remembered from first meeting him, slapping a smile on his face and allowing himself to be drawn back to Steve’s car. “So I’m going to jail,” he grinned over, as Steve pulled away from the curb. “For taking my shit. That’s new, actually. Used to be for assault. Or I was gonna set myself on fire.”

“What.” Steve tried not to speed--the last thing he needed was Billy deciding he and the sheriff department needed to have a shootout at the OK Corral.

“Yeah, I shoved him back. He said he’d have them try me as an adult. For assault. Adults can get the death penalty. His word against mine. Shit.” Billy let his head loll against the window, his breath coming fast through his clenched teeth. “Adults get the electric chair. I’m big, I’m strong, nobody’ll ever believe I didn’t swing at him. It’s actually lethal injection here, I looked it up.”

“Hopper believes you,” Steve flapped a hand over until he found Billy’s, and squeezed it. “He said he’ll give him the runaround until you get out of town.”

“Sure. I’ve never fucking talked to Hopper--”

“He believes me, then,” Steve swung around a turn. “And I have a bat, babe. Shit. Bi--dickhead. He’s not taking you anywhere.”

Billy was laughing over his verbal stumbling, but his breaths were still sounding punched out of him. “He said I was gonna burn to death. One of these times coming home drunk, if I didn’t go in the ravine, I was gonna--I’d spill some liquor, and drop a cigarette. Burn to death in my car.”

“Christ,” Steve swallowed, listening to Billy try to force himself to breathe. He was making these awful muted screaming noises between his teeth, trying to muffle them with the arm of his jacket.

“Fucking inferno,” Billy whispered, and Steve squeezed his hand again, patting it.

“Tell me about your dumb nerd music. Goblins, and--”

“Didn’t bring any,” Billy’s laugh sounded strangled, as he grinned over, but at least he wasn’t staring at his imagined death out the window.

“What’s that sugar song you’re always singing. What’s that about.”

“It’s--it’s Def Leppard,” Billy swallowed, closing his eyes.

“Almost there,” Steve told him, and kept asking about the band, and their other songs. Billy was describing one of their music videos as they pulled up in the driveway, and Steve squeezed his shoulder. “Okay, I’m gonna go get--we can throw bottles at trees, or something, okay?”

Billy snorted, letting his head fall back against the headrest. “You don’t want me in there around Will.”

“I’m just going in the garage, we don’t need snow in the house. I’ll grab you another jacket.” At Billy’s smirk and nod, he dashed in, grabbed his ski jacket, found a crate, started loading it up with bottles, and saw his bright red toy bat leaning in with the skis. He opened the door to the house and leaned in. “Hey, Will? Everything’s fine, but we’re gonna go and just--scream at the woods--I guess--”

Will’s head popped around the doorway to the front room. “Okay..?”

“Sorry,” Steve waved. “We’ll be back soon.”

Billy was having a smoke, and Steve rolled his eyes, flumping the crate of bottles in the snow by his feet, and digging gloves out of the pockets of the jacket. He grabbed the hand without a cigarette in it to tug a glove on to.

“I’d think being from California, you’d be more worried about the cold, not less,” he growled, as Billy stuck the cigarette in his mouth and surrendered his other hand. He was already pink-cheeked from the wind. “Christ. I hope you wear sunscreen.”

“Why, you wanna put it on me?” Billy allowed himself to be maneuvered into the coat, waggling his tongue.

“Whatever keeps you safe,” Steve groaned, handing over the crate of bottles, and stalking off around the side of the house.

“Where’d that bat come from?”

Steve twirled it. “Got it for me before I was old enough to join Little League. Used to hit trees with it. Doesn’t, y’know, vibrate your whole arm like a wood one.”

“That what that trophy was for? Little League? By your bed.”

“Yee-up.”

“You don’t still play?”

“Stuff happened,” Steve led him over to the trees, and spun the bat around his hand to offer the handle. Billy rolled his eyes, but took it.

“What, I’m supposed to hit a tree?”

“Or throw bottles into that rock over the ditch. Pretend it’s your dad. Pretend it’s--”

“I got something,” Billy tromped through the snow over to a tree, and hit it.

“Harder,” Steve coached. “And call it a fuckhead.” Billy grinned back at him, and shook his head, but faced up against it again.

As Billy got into it, he got louder, and Steve looked over to see Ms. Williams’ face pressed against her window. Billy didn’t notice him waving, too busy roaring profanities at a tree, so Steve jogged over to her house, stomping on the porch and blowing into his hands as she opened the door.

“Sorry.” He waved at the shuddering trunk. “He’s, uh, there’s a lot going on, so I gave him my old plastic bat.”

She nodded slowly. “Well, he doesn’t look like he needs any assistance.”

“Maybe I’ll go back later and cheer,” Steve nodded frowning over the porch railing. “I just didn’t want you to think we were fighting.”

“You look tired, again,” she held out the bowl of strawberry-shaped candies, and he grabbed a handful. Billy’d actually eaten one. Maybe his tongue’s too sharp to mind candy shrapnel. He crouched to hug the head of the nearest dog, and then frowned up. “Ma’am, would you--”

She raised her eyebrows, and he bit his lips. “M-may I use your phone?”

She set him up at her little phone desk, with pencils, and a paper pad, and he dialed Billy’s mother. He let it ring for several minutes, then hung up and let his head drop against the desk.

When Steve wandered back out, he had two mugs of hot cider, and Billy was starting to get slow and clumsy with the bat. “Hey,” he held out the mug, and Billy squinted at it, then at him, panting.

“Where’d...I didn’t buy cider.”

Steve stepped closer, raising his eyebrows, and Billy took it, inhaling.

“...this isn’t mix cider. Where’d you even--” he frowned behind Steve, flushed, and put his hand up and waved.

Steve swung around to see Ms. Williams waving in the window, and waved back. “Figured I’d give you a minute. Y’know, just in case my face was on any of those bottles.”

“What,” Billy laughed. “Why--no.”

“I dunno, you were pretty mad last night.”

“I wasn’t--ugh.” He tossed the bat down to wrap both gloves around the mug of cider. “...thanks for this.”

“Sure,” Steve reached over and brushed snow out of the hair around Billy’s ear. “Should get you a hat.”

“Nah,” Billy grinned. “You can keep doing that all you like. I’m gonna make lasagna,” he took the last swig, and grabbed the bat, “--and then I think I can sit still. Maybe.”

“Use it all you want,” Steve couldn’t fight back a huge grin. “It helped?”

“Didn’t even break the bottles,” Billy shrugged, and Steve grabbed one and hucked it at the rock he’d pointed out in the ditch, sighing as it exploded in a shower of sparkles.

“Might as well. That one was my math teacher who uses essay questions.” He grabbed another. “And Hawkins Labs.”

Billy watched, mouth quirked, then grabbed one, frowned at it, biting his lips together, and threw it with a grunt of effort. He took a shaky breath when it shattered, and Steve wondered who it had been aimed at, but just offered another. Billy got through about half the crate before they were both laughing too hard, bent over.

“So,” Steve staggered, snickering, and Billy grabbed his jacket, steadying them both. “You were not in Little League.”

“Fuck you! How the hell do I keep missing--”

“It’s a huge fuckin’ rock,” Steve wheezed, smacking his shoulder. “It’s huge, how--we’re like twenty feet away, dude--do you need me to paint a target on there, or--”

“I could probably lift it--I could throw you at it--” Billy slid an arm around Steve and hefted him, grinning, and Steve kicked, shoving at his shoulder, and discovering the appeal of muscles that could lift him one-handed.

“No! No! I’m sorry!” he cackled. “I won’t make fun of your shitty-as-hell aim! I promise--here, put me down,” he stumbled in the snow as Billy sat him back on his feet, and turned away to cover his face. Oh my god, would it be too obvious if I put SNOW on my face, I’m on FIRE, wait, I need to just--he let himself fall forward, flumping body-length in the snow. Calm the fuck down, Steve, he’s leaving. He’s leaving. He’s leaving. If you jumped him right now he’d probably think he owed you. Just--just pushed him right down in the snow and yanked his pants open. Kissed his lips until they were hot from our breath. Christ.

“What the fuck,” Billy crouched next to him, prodding his shoulder.

Steve lifted his face out of the snow enough to talk. “I’m making a snow angel.”

“I think you’re doing it wrong,” Billy dropped next to him. “You’re such a dork. Can you breathe?”

“I’m fine,” Steve groaned. “Kill me.” He turned his head, opening his mouth, and Billy was sitting in the snow, watching him with pink cheeks and snow in his hair. Steve put his face back in the snow, willing the hot tightness in his pants to subside, particularly where it was kinda squashed by a lump of snow. “Christ,” he whispered, into his hands.

“If you’re so amazing, you throw them,” Billy growled, punching his butt.

“I will,” Steve tottered to his feet, arms numb, and regretting his decision to stick his dick in the snow, even if in hindsight he couldn’t think of a better idea that didn’t involve Billy’s mouth--jesus, I need a long shower with the door locked. He tried to push his hair out of his face with gloves on, and then just shook it. “I’ll show you up. Gimme a bottle.”

Billy got up, brushing himself off, eyebrows raised.

“And name it.”

“What?” He frowned over.

“Fucking name it, or picture a face, or something.”

“Okay?” Billy held one out, and Steve threw his best pitch into the mound of bottles that’d rolled unbroken from either side of the rock. The crash sent some birds flying up from the surrounding trees, and Billy burst out laughing, wide-eyed. “Holy shit.”

Steve accepted the last couple, tagging an outlier, then waggling the last one. “This one’s just a ‘Fuck it, why do you have to leave.’”

Billy blinked at him, watched it shatter, and ducked his head. He took a deep breath, tucking his hair behind his ear.

Steve slung an arm around him. “Come on, dickweed. Let’s go make lasagna. Tell me what to do.”

“Fuck no,” Billy leaned into him, glancing over with a small grin. “I’ll tell Will what to do with the food. You can read to us about goblins.”

#harringrove #stranger things #stranger things fic #platypan #platypan fic #Apparently metal bands loved Lord of the Rings #So does Will #Steve just wants Billy to stay #Billy just wants an excuse to #Neil Hargrove deserves an ACME falling anvil #Fake relationship to convince Will it's safe to be LGBT+#Fake relationship so Billy and Steve can slow dance in the pillowfort

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calaofnoldor · 4 years ago

Text

Sixth Time’s the Charm [4]

(GIF credit: @teamfreewill-imagine)

Characters: Sam x F!Reader, Dean

Words: 6,107

Series Summary: All the times Dean has tried to get Sam to admit his feelings for you. (Each chapter can be read as a stand-alone.)

Chapter Summary: You offer yourself as bait for a shapeshifter hunt. Things do not go as planned.

Warnings: canon level violence, language, idiots in love, mutual pining, huffy!sam, protective!sam, slight angst?, slow burn, fluff

A/N: i am SO sorry for the wait (story of my life) but to make up for it, look, 6k words! (yeah i’m sorry about that too, i don’t know what happened there.) written for @tvdspngirl314‘s birthday writing event with the prompt “You ever feel like that? Like you were just destined for someone?” which is bolded in the fic. this also fills a square for @spnfluffbingo!

Square Filled: Rescue Mission

← BACK UP | MASTERLIST | SERIES MASTERLIST

The fourth time was all you. Dean barely had to lift a finger. The result, however, was far more traumatic than he had planned and rather emphatically revealed the magnitude of his brother’s feelings toward you.

Much like the previous attempts, there was a case: a shapeshifter going after women who conveniently happened to fit your description. The strategy was obvious, and you’d leaped at the opportunity to both make yourself useful and hopefully take the place of what would have otherwise been the next innocent civilian victim. But of course, Sam resisted at first.

“No. Absolutely not! We don’t know enough about this guy for you to just jump into his waiting arms, Y/N!” The fervent indignation in his tone and body language was palpable. Sam was rarely one to raise his voice or sport much of a temper at all really, but lately these heated outbursts seemed to be occurring more frequently, and frankly you were getting sick of it. The false hope they momentarily granted you through the notion that perhaps he cared about you as more than a friend was one thing. What’s more, the way his voice lowered half an octave combined with the sight of his flared nostrils, puffed chest, and straining jaw always seemed to have a sideways effect on you, in that it was impossible to keep your attention on his words alone. But boy did you try.

“Sam, how many times do we have to go through this? I’m a big girl; I can take care of myself. And your wrist is still healing so it’s not like you can call the shots on this one anyway. Besides, I’m not going in alone. You and Dean will be there for backup the whole time, right?”

“’Course we will, eh Sammy?” In a strange turn of events, Dean often appeared to be the one with a more jovial outlook recently.

Sam merely nodded and continued his heavy breathing. He glared down at his bandaged left wrist, the result of skirmish with a couple of wraiths, as if it were the root of all his problems. Then he looked up and through densely drawn brows, those magnetizing multicolored eyes pierced yours, his countenance bearing a charged and sullen expression of pensive exasperation as his jaw visibly tightened. You swallowed and could not for the life of you find the will to look away.

“So it’s settled then,” Dean proclaimed jubilantly, “Unless… you’ve got another reason you don’t want Y/N playing bait, hmm Sam? Maybe something you wanna share with the class? Or, you know, I could leave…”

“Dean, stop it. You’re not helping,” you quickly admonished before steadying your gaze back on the taller Winchester, “Look, Sam, have I ever let you down?”

“No. Never.”

“And do you still trust me?”

“Of course,” he responded immediately in a ‘what-kind-of-a-question-is-that’ tone, at which you simply raised your eyebrow to send him a reciprocating ‘then-what’s-the-problem?’ look.

“OK fine,” Sam huffed out a big breath, “But you’re not taking any risks! Anything seems off at all, just… promise me you’ll wait for me and Dean and keep us in the loop?”

His pleading eyes were so earnest and you’d truly never been able to say no to the giant puppy before, so you offered him a little smile and said, “Cross my heart.”

Sighing, Sam rubbed his face, looking lost in thought for a moment until he spoke up again, much more reserved and hesitant this time, “Do you still have that uh… ring from… that time?” Dean muffled a snort at his brother’s expense but you both ignored him, completely accustomed to his nonsensical teasing by now.

“Uh yeah, I- I think so.” The uncertainty in your voice was a lie. Of course you still had the ring you’d once used to pretend to be married to Sam Winchester. You may or may not have tucked it away in a special place for safekeeping.

“Good,” Sam nodded curtly, “I want you to wear it. It’s silver. I’ll wear mine too and Dean already has his. That’s how we’ll know that we’re still… ourselves.”

“OK, yeah that’s a good idea,” you agreed, trying your hardest not to linger on the memories.

“Well look at you two! Getting hitched again so soon-“

“Shut up, Dean,” you and Sam cut him off together.

When the meeting was adjourned and you were about to part ways to prepare for the upcoming hunt, something inside you forced you to call out his name, “Oh and Sam!” He turned around at once, questioning gaze somewhat urgently searching yours for a sign of what might come next. You stuttered though, feeling suddenly self conscious, so the next words you uttered were not much louder than a whisper, “Be careful with your wrist.”

Sam smiled, his dimples making your fingers twitch with the need to caress them. “I’ll be fine. You just look out for yourself. Remember, we’ll be right behind you.”

Somehow you both didn’t hear the groan Dean emitted as he rolled his eyes to the ceiling and prayed to whoever was listening, ‘Good lord, someone give me the strength to survive another day with these imbeciles.’

There was only one diner in the tiny Pennsylvanian town, and seeing as you were starving by the time you got there, the three of you were forced to make do with soggy fries and questionable milkshakes. As you ate, you went through your game plan once more, which essentially consisted of waiting until nightfall to visit the bar from where the previous girls had gone missing, while Sam and Dean shadowed you covertly.

Before you left, you took a quick trip to the loo and when you returned, Sam was stood outside alone, a broad smile upon his face.

“Where’s Dean?” you asked as you began to walk out the diner, expecting to find the older brother waiting impatiently in the parking lot by his precious car, but the Impala was gone.

“He went back to the motel, said he had something to take care of and that we should go scope the place out first.”

“But I thought we agreed to-“

“Yeah, well change of plans, you know how it is,” Sam replied casually with a shrug.

Little red flags started fluttering in your head, urging your eyes downward to locate the silver band on his finger. You frowned when you found it there untouched on his right hand; Sam almost never interrupted you, not even when he was absorbed in the foulest of moods.

Apparently sensing your hesitation, he added, “I mean, he made a good point. Maybe if you familiarize yourself with the surroundings first, you’ll be able to take the guy out faster.”

Sam was still smiling at you, but it felt all wrong. You couldn’t explain it, but there was something missing from his rainbow eyes. The colors were all there, but they lacked luster and warmth, a delicate twinkle that you’d learned to associate with the beautiful, heroic yet self-doubting giant of a man. Never had you seen that breathtaking magic replicated elsewhere, nor had you ever seen Sam without it, which was why you were almost completely certain that the man before you was not the real Sam Winchester.

But weaving within you was a thread of doubt, insisting that you couldn’t just pull a gun on your best friend because of something as trivial as… a feeling? No, you needed to test your theory. And so, bracing yourself with a deep breath, you slowly reached out your silver-equipped hand to do something you’d grown accustomed to resentfully abstaining from: touching Sam’s bare skin. You aimed for the large target of his hand, deeming it the most inconspicuous of places (given that he was wearing his hunters’ uniform and the only other visible option would’ve been his face or neck), but Sam was faster. Just before you were able to graze his skin with your ring, he caught your wrist in his much bigger hand and pulled it away, twisting your arm until it was locked painfully behind you.

“You think you’re smart, huh?” the shifter snarled with a flash of its eyes, moving in real close as he used Sam’s immense size and his own superhuman strength to easily constrain you.

Even so, you stared up at him defiantly, unafraid, “Sam and Dean will be back.”

“That’s the plan.”

Sam’s sneering face and threatening voice were the last things you saw or heard.

You had no way of determining how much time had passed when you unceremoniously came to in what looked and smelled to be an underground sewer. As your senses sharpened and your muddled brain began to size up your current plight, you nearly scoffed at the clichéd style of your captor. Sat on a peeling wooden chair, manila rope bound your wrists together behind your back and tethered your ankles securely to each of the seat’s front legs.

Ignoring the ache in your head, you set about strategically testing the knots and the integrity of the wood. If only you could reach the silver blade in your boot. But your attempts were interrupted by the reappearance of the shifter, whose shoe hit something as he stepped before you. A metallic clang echoed through the confined space as a result and you followed the sound to find your coveted knife on the ground, far beyond your reach.

“Fucking hunters, always think they’re so clever, always one step ahead because it’s their game. Sure, we might be the monsters but you’re the predators! So let’s see how you like being the prey for once.” Shifter Sam’s upper lip curled up in a way that seemed so foreign to you as he leaned forward to rest his hands on either arm of your chair, caging you in.

The malicious glint in his eye left you with no qualms about affronting this being who, for all intents and purposes, appeared identical to the man you’d recently discovered you were in love with. Lifting your chin, you glared up at him brazenly, “If you’re so keen on being the predator then why am I still alive? What are you waiting for?”

“Why your knight in shining armor of course!” he exclaimed, backing up as he stood to his full height and gestured to himself with both hands. “You think it was a coincidence that all those women looked like you?”

The shifter’s narrowed eyes were alight with amusement and a ripple of fear surged through your body. You were in much deeper than you or the boys had anticipated, though years of practice helped you keep your voice steady and bold, “What did you do to them?”

“Oh, I gave them a fairly painless death, don’t you worry. They were just stepping stones on my way to you. See, the Winchesters owe me a girlfriend, so I figured I’d take the closest thing to theirs. But imagine my joyous surprise when I got into this big lug’s head and discovered that he’s in love with you! No, actually it’s more than that. He’s obsessed with you; you never leave his brain! Every other thought and memory is about you... Well, it’s either you or his brother, but oh, it’s gonna kill him to see you die before his eyes. I might’ve been able to replace my dead girlfriend, but I don’t think Sam here will ever come back from losing you.”

Stunned into silence, the stupid influx of misguided hormones pumping through your veins forced you to focus on maintaining a neutral expression as he rattled on.

“And you feel the same way, don’t you? So this really will be a double kill. It’s OK, you can let it all out. I might be a monster but I’m not one to deny the dying their chance for some last words. Besides, you can say it all while looking into the eyes of the man you love.”

“Fuck you,” were the only words you could trust yourself to spit out at him.

‘Sam’ laughed, but it was nothing like the laughs you normally pulled from him. It didn’t radiate like sunshine or replenish your soul with glee. Rather, it was chilling and conniving and despite the mimicry of Sam’s beautiful voice, you immediately decided that you never wanted to hear it again.

“Not feeling too talkative, huh? Or maybe you’d rather wait until he gets here in the flesh to make that anticlimactic confession of love? That’s alright, I can just tell you more about this dumbass’s feelings for you.” The shifter chuckled with delight, as if every word brought him nothing but pure joy. “Man, he loves you so much, it’s insane. I’ve never been inside the skin of someone so in love. And I thought I really loved my ex. Afterall, this whole revenge thing is for her. But I gotta tell ya, I’ve got nothing on Sam Winchester. Did you know he thinks you were made specifically for him? You ever feel like that? Like you were just destined for someone? Cause Sam does. That’s how he feels about you.”

“Why should I believe you?” you challenged, growing tired of the inadvertent response his words were eliciting. Your heart was pounding in your neck, core trembling at the mere possibility of Sam genuinely feeling the way he’d described. But you knew better than to trust a monster, and one who was in pursuit of maximal vengeance no less. Still, those rose-colored thoughts resonated within you, and you stumbled to dismiss them as they bubbled up, one after another like a game of emotional whack-a-mole.

Shifter Sam smirked, “Yeah, you’re a cynical one, aren’t you? You know everything he said in that marriage counseling session was true. You kinda hurt his feelings when you just brushed it all off. Even big brother Dean’s been trying to get him to confess his love for you. You must’ve heard them arguing about it at some point? They weren’t exactly being discreet.”

Choosing not to respond, you simply scowled at him.

“No? Still in denial? Perhaps you need details… You ever notice how he always sits across from you whenever you’re doing research? It’s because he thinks you’re gorgeous when you’re focused, and it gives him an opportunity to admire you without getting caught. And why do you think he lets you call him Sammy, huh? Yeah, he might not let it on but he fucking loves it when you do, makes him feel all tingly inside. And you remember that cop who hit on you? Captain Anderson, was it? Sam wanted to break the guy’s nose just for touching you. Oh and why do you think he asked you to move into the bedroom closest to his? It’s so he can keep track of your nightmares. He likes to keep you close because it makes him feel like he can protect you better when you need it.”

By now, your ‘neutral expression’ must have surely mutated to betray your shock, and you couldn’t have answered if you tried. The shifter didn’t seem to mind either way. In fact, he appeared to be having the time of his life.

“And it’s not all pure thoughts, let me tell you! Oh man, buddy boy here has dreamed up plenty of X-rated scenes with you, ranging from obnoxiously romantic to just plain obscene. You name a position and he’s imagined it, in high-definition detail,” he embellished, tapping an index finger against his temple, “His mind is like a library of pornos starring the two of you, although he’ll never get to live out any of his fantasies, will he? It’s a shame really; some of these are really hot... Ooh, I’ll have to borrow that one,” he said with closed eyes, as if a figment of Sam’s imagination was playing through his head in that very moment, “Maybe my girl and I can re-enact it while we’re still in your skins-”

“Shut up, just shut up!” you finally bellowed in protest.

Sam watched the bathroom door attentively after you’d disappeared through it, unable to contain the upward jerk of his lips when he saw you walking back out of it. Heartwarming relief had become his body’s intrinsic response to seeing you safe and sound.

“You ready?” he questioned when you made it to his side.

“Yeah, I’m good.” God, even the sound of your voice made him happy.

Once you got back to the motel, Dean plopped down onto one of the full-size beds, exhausted from the drive. Within a matter of seconds, snores began to fill the room, and Sam chuckled under his breath as he sat down around a wobbly table with you to continue your research on the shifter’s victims, hoping to find something else that linked them together or a clue as to where they might’ve been taken.

It wasn’t long before you inhaled a revelatory gasp and abruptly clutched Sam’s wrist to show him what you’d found. But your grip was harsh, causing him to hiss in pain and do something he’d never before done: recoil from your touch.

“Oh, I’m sorry, does it still hurt?” you asked nonchalantly, smiling up at him innocently.

Worse than the pain in his fractured wrist was what felt like sirens blaring in his head. You were always hyper-cognizant of his injuries and exceedingly careful around them, sometimes even more so than himself. Sam looked you over subtly, eyes landing on the silver ring still upon your finger. Perhaps his mind had been playing tricks on him and all that tender attention he thought you’d shown him was simply a mirage of his own wishful thinking?

“It’s fine, I just wasn’t expecting it.” Sam sent you a tight smile, to which you responded with a dazzling one of your own. It was beautiful but something about it felt off. In the past, you apologized profusely if ever you found yourself the accidental cause of his discomfort, no matter how indirect or insignificant the case, but right now there wasn’t a single speck of concern in your eyes. Indeed, the more he looked into them, the more he struggled to recognize the person staring back at him.

In a flash, Sam had you up against the wall, a silver blade held against your neck. He looked down to see the metal sizzling there, burning your flesh, and cursed himself for failing to notice sooner.

The noise woke Dean from his slumber and what he saw when he opened his eyes was equal parts shocking and amusing. “Whoa! At least wait till I’m out of the room! And isn’t that a little kinky for your first time?”

“Dean, it’s not her. She’s not Y/N,” Sam grit out, “She’s wearing the ring but she’s not Y/N.”

His brother’s brows knit together as he rubbed the sleep from his emerald greens. “Wha- How did you know?”

“She was acting… weird.”

Dean scrambled off the bed, making a quick call on his phone to ensure you really were missing. He paled when a robotic voice over the line told him the number he was trying to reach was no longer in service.

It was then the shifter decided to speak up, “You know, the real Y/N would have liked this, you pressing her up against a wall?” she murmured suggestively.

“Shut up. Where is she?!” Sam slammed her body against the flimsy motel wall once more and dug the knife in a little deeper. In his panic-stricken state, he barely registered her remark, being driven entirely by a one-track mind at present.

Shifter Y/N grimaced slightly, glancing down at the knife, “Maybe if you stop cutting into me with that, I might consider telling you.”

“How did you get the ring?”

“Oh, this little thing? You like it? It’s imitation silver, but otherwise nearly identical to the one on the real Y/N’s finger. You see, we’ve been following you for a while now.”

“Who’s we? Where did you take Y/N?!” he demanded incessantly.

“My boyfriend’s got her, but don’t worry, he looks just like you so I’m sure she’ll find her accommodations to her liking,” she retorted with a smirk.

Sam’s heart lunged in his chest and his mind began whirring with endless possibilities of escalating dread. Had you been deceived and captured by a shifter pretending to be him? Were you being hurt or tortured by someone who looked exactly like him? How would you ever be able to look at him the same way again? Of course, you’d know it wasn’t Sam but the damage would still be done. You would forever remember his face as that of someone who once hurt you, who tried to kill you. That is, if Sam could make it to you in time.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get to see her one last time. That’s actually why I’m here, to take you to her when the time is right,” the shifter added casually.

“I will end your miserable fucking life! Tell me where she is right now!” Sam roared before pressing the blade further into her neck, the veins in his forearms ready to burst through his skin.

“Hey, hey! Sammy, ease up! We need her alive, alright?” Dean bounded over to his brother and after quite the struggle, managed to assuage him enough to release his vice grip and replace it with silver chains that shackled her to a chair.

“Sam, maybe we should also be asking ‘why’,” Dean mused as he fastened the end of a chain against one of the beds.

With a shake of his head, Sam avowed through grinding teeth, “I don’t fucking care. I have to get to her.”

“And what if it’s a trap?”

“Then I’ll find her myself.”

Dean scoffed in disbelief as he turned to his usually wise and level-headed little brother, “Oh yeah, and how’re you gonna do that? Where would you even start?”

“I don’t know!” Sam exclaimed in exasperation. Then, after a pause of desperate deliberation alleged, “Shifters like to make their lairs in sewers, right?”

Taking a step closer, Dean maintained his challenging tone, “So what are you gonna do, just wade through the entire town’s shit and piss until you find her?!”

“If that's what it takes, then yes!” Sam looked like he was about to eat his brother alive.

“Aww, that’s so sweet,” shifter Y/N interfered from her seated position before them, raising her chin to meet Sam’s eyes, “Don’t worry, handsome, I can tell you she feels the same way. But unfortunately, by the time you get to her, I don’t think she’ll be able to tell you herself. In fact, you’ll probably hardly recognize her anymore… so you might want to keep me around, if only as a souvenir of your soon-to-be-dead girlfriend.”

Sam couldn’t contain himself anymore. Despite looking like a carbon copy of you, the evil gleam in the shifter’s eyes made her easily differentiable, and so Sam held back nothing when he lunged across the distance, knife in hand ready to do some real damage. However, Dean pounced with him, having predicted his brother’s violent eruption and felt his shaking wrath, knowing a little too well just how rash he could be when it came to you. Still, it took all of Dean’s strength to pull Sam back, sending him a stern but knowing look once he did.

“Sam, stop!” His low voice rumbled as he went into authoritative big brother mode, “Listen to me, you wanna save Y/N? Well so do I, but this is not how we do it! Now I know it’s hard, but I need you to calm down, alright?”

Sam’s massive chest was practically at his chin as he heaved ginormous breaths. Though his body language was still offensive, his hazel eyes were filled with fear and devastation when they looked toward his brother, “Dean, if I don't get to her in time, I’ll...” Clenching his jaw, Sam made a fruitless attempt to calm his tremoring frame and quell his tumultuous emotions. What would he do? Sam wasn’t even sure himself. All he knew was that every cell in his being was currently screaming at him to get to you, to make sure you were safe and soothe away any of your pain. There was nothing he wouldn’t give in that moment to simply know you were alright and to hold you in his arms. He knew you could look after yourself, but for once he had a terrifying feeling that even you were in over your head, that you might actually need him this time, and he’d be fucking damned if he let you down.

“Woah! Hey, hey! Sammy, look at me! That ain’t gonna happen, alright? We’re gonna find Y/N and we’re gonna bring her home in one piece, you hear me? We’re the Winchesters, man! We’ve faced the end of the world. What’s a couple of shifters got on us?”

‘You,’ Sam thought, ‘They’ve got you.’ But he appreciated Dean’s pep talk nonetheless and nodded in response as a fresh surge of determination swelled within him.

“Alright then,” Dean nodded as well, “Why don’t you let me give her a go?”

As Dean’s silver blade cut into the detained shapeshifter, Sam flinched with every moan and howl of agony. He knew it wasn’t you, but she still had your voice and your perfect face. Yet not a second was wasted on the feeling of relief when they finally managed to get a location out of her. Sam nearly tripped over himself in his haste as he snatched the Impala’s keys and his gun before flying out of the room with a jumbled order for Dean to stay with the monster.

“Well, if you’re not gonna admit your feelings for the giant lumberjack, I guess you’re right. Maybe I should stop yapping and get to prettying you up for that first and last date of yours, huh?” Shifter Sam prodded your cheek with a switchblade.

You said nothing. At this point, you had a sneaking suspicion that physical pain might be more bearable than the psychological torment your imprisoner had been so keen on. It was one thing for you to torture yourself by entertaining the slim possibility that Sam might return your feelings for him, but to hear such outrageous perceptions from a creature who could read the inside of his mind like a paperback novel, and conveyed with such tantalizing conviction… well, it just about broke you.

And knowing that the shifter was yearning to coax a confession out of you simply to cause Sam as much anguish as possible made you more resolute about your refusal to submit, beyond the need to protect your own sanity.

One shiner and a slash to the thigh later, however, you heard a loud clash. Shifter Sam paused his handiwork and began to turn around, “Could your knight be here ahead of schedule?”

‘Dammit,’ you thought. The Winchesters were usually capable of being stealthy when necessary but in case it really was the sound of them making a blunder or encountering some other form of resistance, you figured you’d buy them a distraction.

“Wait, wait! You’re right, OK? Maybe I do feel something for Sam, but even if I told him, I think you’re forgetting… This is Sam fucking Winchester we’re talking about here. He’s been tortured by the devil himself. You really think killing me is going do much damage?”

Your abductor had now given you his full attention, leering at you with a sly smile, so you continued, “Besides, you picked a fight with the Winchesters; don't expect to live to see tomorrow.”

Right on cue, a hulking blur of hair and plaid came barreling in, growling ferally as he grabbed the shifter and threw more than one brutal punch against what appeared to be his own face. The silver ring on Sam’s hand made contact with skin and his shifter counterpart groaned in pain.

You nearly forgot about your ceaseless work of untying the rope that cuffed your wrists together as your looked on in shock. Why Sam hadn’t just shot him with a silver bullet was beyond you. He was smarter than this. There was no need to drag out a monster’s death if a more efficient option existed. But as he continued to engage his clone in hand-to-hand combat, it appeared almost as if he was venting his frustrations on the shifter, as if he drank up every ounce of hurt he was able to inflict. But his high only lasted so long and shifter Sam soon regained his balance, making use of his supernatural invulnerability and superior strength.

“Sam!” you screamed as the shifter threw him across the room.

He tumbled up just in time as the shifter meandered over, “So nice of you to join us, Sam. You know, Y/N here was just telling me about-“

Sam didn’t wait for him to finish, choosing instead to tackle him to the floor with a loud grunt. While they wrestled on the ground, you worked furiously at the knots behind you, wincing with every hit Sam took though it was becoming hard to tell them apart.

When Sam finally drew his gun, the shifter was able to divert its barrel and a shot rang out futilely. Catching a subsequent elbow to the ribs had Sam falling to his knees and you watched in horror as shifter Sam once again gained the upper hand, sending the gun flying out of Sam’s grasp. The binding around your wrists was just about undone when Sam seized a stray rusty pipe and swung it against his counterfeit. Shifter Sam was incapacitated for a brief instant but quickly returned to form with some vicious hooks and a couple of well-placed knees.

With your hands finally free of their restraints, you staggered over to the gun, the chair still attached at your ankles. As you took aim, you shouted, “Sam, get down!” before you shot his mirror image through the heart.

Sighing, you slumped to your hands and knees whilst the real Sam sat up with his back against a wall, gaping at you with a look of awe. Yet before he even caught his breath, he was up and gliding toward you, cradling his left wrist at an awkward angle.

“Sam, your wrist!”

“It’s fine, are you OK?” he swiftly dismissed your concern, cupping your face with his good hand as he examined the darkening bruise around your eye.

You ignored the palpitations in your chest and placed a hand upon his wrist, “Yeah, I’m fine. He wasted more time playing mind games than anything. You know villains and their monologues,” you joked, trying to ease his tension and the deluded self-imposed guilt you knew he must’ve been brewing in.

As if to prove your point, Sam lamented, “God, I’m so sorry. I should have known. I should have gotten here sooner.”

“What? No! They were miles ahead of us, Sam. The whole thing was a set up; this was their hunt. How could you have known?”

Rather than replying, he released a breath and busied himself trying to help you out of your binding.

Back at the motel, after icing your eye and stitching up your thigh, you insisted on re-wrapping Sam’s wrist while Dean took care of shifter Y/N’s remains. But when the older Winchester returned and spied you and his brother sitting together on a bed through a crack in the door, he couldn’t resist the chance to exercise his espionage skills.

“How did you know she wasn’t me anyway?” you asked as you gently wound the ace bandage around Sam’s swollen forearm.

“I just…” He looked down at your nimble fingers upon his skin and smiled unwittingly at their tender touch, “had a feeling.”

Sam’s sunflower gaze locked onto yours for a frozen instant and something about his soft expression made you forget what words were, until he cleared his throat, “Did you um- did you know he wasn’t me?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed, smiling for some strange reason. Perhaps you were just glad to see his trademark twinkle return to those otherworldly eyes. “Pretty soon after actually. I… had a feeling too.”

Sam’s dimples made every ache in your body disappear as that twinkle glistened in full force, “And how’d you know which one to shoot?”

Well, that dampened your mood and brought you back to the task at hand, “Oh, I don’t know, maybe because you kept grimacing every time you used your left wrist?” Although your words had a bitter force behind them, the pressure beneath your fingertips never increased and Sam had almost completely forgotten about his pain.

You, on the other hand, were reminded of your struggle to reconcile with what had happened since his question prompted a restored and growing frustration.

It had been bugging you the whole time and you felt compelled to confront him about it because storming in alone with a bad wrist, ready to throw hands with an out-of-his-league monster was really not Sam’s style. Something must’ve gotten into him and with everything the shifter had told you, you couldn’t help but wonder. Nevertheless, you were a little afraid of how he might answer, so Dean had to lean in closer to hear your next words.

“Why didn’t you just shoot him?”

“W-what do you mean?” Sam stammered out after a pause.

“Sam, you have a broken wrist, but instead of sending Dean or using your gun from the get-go, you came in like a madman and went after him with your fists!” Your voice was full of incredulity though it also carried an undertone of anger.

As Sam picked up on that reproachful tone, you could almost feel the telltale signs of his puppy dog eyes coming on. “He used my face to deceive you, to hurt you. They manipulated us. I had to- ...I mean, he killed those women just to get us here. He had it coming!”

Your hopes plummeted. Of course, Sam was ever the righteous man. Why would you assume his brashness had been purely born out of a need to avenge you? Though regardless of his reason, you were still upset about his self-destructing behavior, “Yeah, but you had to have realized you were in no position to be the one to give it to him, right? I mean, you might’ve looked the same but he was juiced up on monster superpowers, Sam… which meant he was stronger and faster, not to mention uninjured, in his own territory, and apparently the only one with a sound plan.”

A breath of laughter left Sam’s lips though there was no smile on his face. Here he’d been on a mission to save you, but you were the one who’d ended up saving him, again. You must’ve thought he was comically stupid and pathetically useless. How could he possibly think he was worthy of you? “I guess I should thank you for saving my ass again, huh?”

“What?! No! That’s not what I mean. Sam, you’re the one who saved me! And I’m beyond grateful for it, really I am. I just wish you didn’t hurt yourself more in the process.” You finally finished up with his wrist wrap, securing the final ends with a clip, and letting your hands linger on his for longer than necessary, momentarily distracted by the disparity of size between them. Sam didn’t appear uncomfortable though, as his fingers twitched closer to yours and he made no move to pull away.

He couldn’t help but smile again when he noticed the sincere concern in your eyes that was previously absent in the shifter’s. “Yeah well, what was it you once said to me? ‘Your ass will always be worth it’?”

“And if I remember correctly, you once told me you don’t do things on hunts that make your injuries worse,” you quoted him back with an arched brow.

“Yeah well, I guess this is payback. Now you know how I felt.” A playful grin made his dimples deepen and you clenched your jaw to refrain from gushing over the ridiculous cuteness of this ‘giant lumberjack’.

“You’re an idiot.”

“As long as you’re OK,” Sam answered assuredly, and you nearly melted when his free hand caressed your cheek for the second time that day, big thumb tracing a feather-light path below the purpled skin.

‘You’re both fucking idiots,’ Dean groaned internally from the other side of the door. He knew he had no choice but to up his game.

thanks so much for reading! feedback is greatly appreciated!

STTC TAG TEAM: @matchesarelit @chaoticgremlinwholikescheese @gia-25 @laurakirsten0502 @ruined-by-destiel @sunflowersandotherthings @acertainhero @440mxs-wife @thatdisasteromni @spnjediavenger @justagirlinafandomworld @moostress19 @sweetjedi @stunudo

TEAM IDJITS: @mrswhozeewhatsis @carryonmywaywardbucky @swiftlymoniquesblog @moosewinchester @sams-sass @thinkinghardhardlythinking @jotink78 @winifrede @writingforthelonelysoul @turtletaylor98 @lyarr24 @deanwanddamons @peridottea91 @tvdspngirl314 @idreamofplaid @samsgirl2020 @katwed

TEAM MOOSE: @paulaern

#sam winchester x reader #sam x reader #spnfluffbingo2021 #allyswritingevent #protective!sam #huffy!sam #sam winchester x you #sam x y/n #sam winchester x female!reader #sam x female!reader #supernatural x reader #sam winchester fluff #spn #fanfiction #mini series #sttc #my writing #text

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amiscreations · 2 years ago

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Thank you for the tag @de-luxeviolets !

Nickname: just Ami!

Sign: Capricorn

Height: 4′11

Last thing I googled: Discogs.com

Song stuck in my head: Slow Ride by Foghat (I'm learning it on bass atm)

Number of followers: idk, I never check on here bc its the only social media where followers do not mattar at all to me

Amount of sleep: anywhere between 3-10 hours lmao, it depends on what I'm doing

Dream job: it honestly changes every year or so, but I think my ultimate dream job would be to create art for bands and films etc, either for marketing or promotion. but right now realistically, I'd love to work in Lush again, I worked there a year ago and it was genuinely the happiest I've been and I miss working there every day. It’s retail tho so there are just no vacancies and the ones that do come up are very competitive where I am lmao

Wearing: my dark blue starry top and my green blue and yellow mandala harems, and ofc lots of random layers under those bc its cOLD😂

Books that summarize you : Coraline by Neil Gaiman, The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R Tolkien

Favorite song: this changes a lot, but one that always comes to mind is Move With Me Slowly by Def Leppard! Some honourable mentions are: Shelter Me by Cinderella, Quicksand Jesus by Skid Row, Stand Up (Kick Love Into Motion) by Def Leppard, Man On The Rocks by Mike Oldfield, We Sink by Of Monsters And Men and lots of others!

Favorite instrument: bass and also maybe cello or harp. I can play bass but not the other two😂

Aesthetic: 70s-80s glam metal, and also hippie/boho

Favorite author: Patrick Ness or Richard Ayoade

Random fun fact: I'm (apparently) distantly related to Bill Wyman, he’s my mum’s third cousin or sth. He most definitely doesn’t know I exist tho😂

Tagging: @mccoys-killer-queen @and-i-want-and-i-need @anotherhitandrun @hungercityhellhound @elliearty @thiswatch-lepparddef-werehi (idk who else to tag lmao and sorry if you've already been tagged a bunch!)

#tag games

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davosmymaster · 5 years ago

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To the Ends of the Universe

A/N - Hello!!! How’s everyone doing? Just wanted to say thank you to the people who left a comment/liked the post about this one shot. I really hope this fic won’t dissapoint anyone.

Special thanks to @wonders-of-the-multiverse who has been there from the very first second. This fic initially started as both of us just daydreaming about the Master as usual and well, here we are XD. She was also my incredible beta reader.

As some of you know, English is not my first language, so I apologize in advance for any mistake. This is also my first fic on tumblr YAY

I really hope you have a good time reading this!!!

WARNINGS - Blood, mentions of nightmares, it’s pure fluff basically with hints of angst

PAIRINGS - Dhawan!Master x Reader (The Master x Reader)

WORD COUNT - 6,062 words

TO THE ENDS OF THE UNIVERSE

The dimly lit hallways exploded in a bright white light as you rushed to the medbay, the loud thumping of your heart stuck in your ears as you forced your legs to keep the pace for just one more second.

As Opposed to The Doctor’s, The Master’s TARDIS had always looked quite dark and unwelcoming, almost as if it wasn’t pleased with having anyone wandering around inside her. This time, however, a white flickering light guided you through the maze-like corridors to your destination. It was a big change from the dirty tricks she used to play during the first few months of your stay.

The floor under your shoes quaked as the ship took off, the harsh trembling sending your body forwards and your shoulder crashing against one of the metal doors. You rubbed the tender spot for a second, the worry that had overwhelmed you at the sight of blood quickly being replaced by a wave of pure annoyance and agitation.

“You could help me a bit here” you whispered through gritted teeth towards the TARDIS, the pain in your shoulder slowly dissolving into numbness.

A low groan seemed to come from the walls and the energy inside it. The metal disappeared as the door slid open to reveal the grey colour of the medbay.

“O-oh” you gasped “sorry”

Once inside the room and without a thought, your body automatically went for the second drawer in one of the cupboards.

Traveling the stars wasn’t as safe as you would have liked, and both the Master and yourself had gotten hurt more times than either of you remembered. As years and years passed you had surprised yourself in the most appropriate situations, becoming aware of the fact that you could find almost anything in the medbay at this point; even if you couldn’t understand the advanced medical technology a time lord could have gathered all over time and space for god-knows-how-long.

“I’m back!” you announced when the control room appeared in front of your eyes again. The figure of the Master was leaning against the console, eyes too focused on his own empty fists to be considered normal. His hair was more disheveled than usual, the fringe coated with blood as it brushed across the top of his eyes. “Master”

He jumped in place at the sound of your voice, one of his hands instinctively going to his coat’s pocket as a reflex. The wound on the side of his head was still bleeding, although the oozing flow of blood seemed to have lessened considerably since you had last seen him. His skin was much paler than usual and the dark rings under his eyes were looking much worse than that morning. You couldn’t help but think that he looked miserable, even beyond the blood staining his face and clothes.

“Are you alright?” you whispered. You took a step forward cautiously and didn’t look away from his eyes, trying to find all the answers to your questions in those big brown orbs.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

He quickly backed off, putting as much space between the two of you as he could. You watched him wander the room, walking in one direction before changing his mind the next second. You clenched your hands around the medical supplies, the weight of all the things you were carrying reminded you why you had left the room in the first place.

“Have a seat somewhere” you demanded, although it sounded angrier than you had intended, almost like a bark. “You’re still bleeding”

“YOU DON’T TELL ME WHAT TO DO!”

Your heart hammered in your chest as a response. The silence fell between the two of you, the atmosphere suddenly running out of air. He looked like a madman right there in front of your incredulous eyes, bleeding and pointing at you like he pointed at his enemies after stating a threat. He had never glared at you with angry eyes before.

The Master had been acting odd for some time now. It all started with a change in his plans. One day, for no apparent reason, he took you on a trip to one of the most beautiful planets in the universe. The blue dunes of sand under an orange bright sun permanently eclipsed by one of its forty-three satellites. It seemed to be the perfect place to have some rest, at least it was until some of the natives recognized the Master and threatened to kill both of you.

Surely ‘the most beautiful’ didn’t imply ‘the safest’, as the few civilizations that lived there had been at war for more than a millennia. The only thing all those aliens had in common was, somehow, the desire for the Master’s dead body. When the TARDIS set off again, as far away from the planet as she could, you realized he had done the first good action in a long time: he had left behind two civilizations unified for a cause greater than themselves, to get rid of him once and for all.

Most of the time you couldn’t choose where to go, he always traveled whenever and wherever he needed in order to gather weapons or artifacts. Other times it was merely to have some fun, and on some rare occasions you would manipulate him to use his bloodthirstiness to do some justice.

Those trips weren’t as usual now, or maybe he just had stopped telling you the truth about his intentions. Burning planets, dangerous ships and poisonous waters became beautiful trips to sightseeing constellations and the most delicious dinners served next to the colorful Medusa Cascade. No matter how beautiful or safe the place seemed to be, there was always someone or something interrupting the dates you were trying to enjoy with the Master. Not that he would call them dates, anyway.

You used to read him like an open book. When he said “you’ll slow me down” in reality he meant “this is gonna turn nasty and I want you as far away from here as possible”. When he said he wanted to be alone, that was probably the last thing he wanted. And most of all you were almost a hundred percent sure that the strange words he whispered into your hair when he thought you were asleep meant “I love you” in Gallifreyan.

But you still hadn’t managed to persuade the TARDIS to get you a Gallifreyan dictionary with the words’ pronunciation. It was definitely a work in progress though, or it had been until you realized that the Master and yourself had been slowly growing apart for the last few months.

“(Y/N)” he said, his voice almost as low as a whisper “I- I shouldn’t have-”

“You’re right, you shouldn’t have” you responded firmly. There were a lot of things you were willing to forgive him for, but yelling and mistreating you wasn’t one of them.

He groaned in pain then, drenching his fingertips in the blood clot in his temple. Your own heart shivered in your chest at the sight, concern quickly burning your insides as a white hot fire ran through your veins.

“Don’t touch it!”

You quickly walked the space keeping you apart and gave him a gentle smack to his wrist. He avoided your eyes, fixing them instead on the rolls of unopened gauze, alcohol, towels, and those strange alien band-aids that accelerated the healing process up to five times faster.

In a flurry of movement the Master moved, his hands quick to try and snatch them from you. But you had known him for a long time and knew exactly what he was like.

“I can do it myself, I’m not a child”

“I know you can-” you replied softly, your mind trying to convince itself that he was acting weirder than usual because you had underestimated the damage caused by the blow he had suffered to the head. “-but I’m not as sure about the rest of the sentence.”

He raised one eyebrow in response and you watched him try not to grimace in pain again.

“Here” he pulled away from you and walked to the front door of the TARDIS, opening it with ease. The old wood-like doors pulled back to reveal a black nothingness filled with thousands of distant flickering stars “I need some air.”

The Master took a seat at the border. His back rested against the doors, one of his legs dangling out into space, the other bent beneath him on the floor.

“You’ve definitely taken quite a hit.” you laughed, “There’s no air in outer space!”

He smirked with closed eyes, calmly breathing in and out through the nose. “Don’t tell a Time Lord what can and cannot be in outer space. Now get to work, if you’re not going to let me do it myself.”

You took a seat in front of him in the small space between his figure and the open door, one of your legs also dangling out into space. Leaning in, you pressed the gauze soaked in alcohol against the open wound to finally stop the bleeding. The Master clenched his jaw as much as he could, hissing in pain.

“Sorry” you apologized, “Keep the pressure on yourself, I’m gonna clean you up.”

He leered at you, the corner of his lips smirking lasciviously. You rolled your eyes, taking the wet towel in your hands and proceeding to clean the dry blood away from his chin and cheek. You cleaned his short beard the best you could and tried to get rid of the blood clots in his fringe, unsuccessfully to your dismay.

You could feel his eyes piercing yours, his fingers gently sliding across the skin of your shoulder, softly brushing your hair to get it out of the way. You fixed your eyes onto his own only to catch him avoiding your gaze, his attention stuck on staring out at the endless sight of the universe.

The Master kept his eyes fixed in nowhere in particular while you worked on his wound. You slowly opened one of the band-aids and tried to avoid his hair as much as possible, so you could place it on the side of his head; just above the temple. Now you just had to wait a few minutes to remove it. You had used those curious things several times before and although the healing was sped up, the thing never failed to leave some kind of scar. But even with those odds stacked against him, the Master was always lucky enough to never get scarred- likely thanks to his own unique biology.

You let yourself fall limp against the door and tilted your head to whatever the Master was looking for. The sight was beautiful as it had always been, millions of stars were almost swallowed by the black nothingness that separated planets, constellations, solar systems, and asteroids. And even at the incredible sight of all of this, you struggled to find something that could possibly retain the Master’s attention for more than a split second.

“Are you alright? You’ve seemed a little distant lately” you asked again.

Fixing your eyes on his features you searched for any sign of discomfort, either physical or emotional. At the lack of response your gaze started to wander, his hand catching your attention as he played with something inside of his coat pocket.

He was likely twisting and curling the TCE between his fingers. It was a trait you had noticed during your time travelling with him, his fingers fidgeting without fail whenever he was deep in thought. It happened every time, he would either tap four beats on any surface he could find or get something to entertain his restless fingers with, most of the time the ‘thing’ being his TCE.

The memories from the day filled your head then. He had looked distant the whole time, from the very first second he landed the TARDIS in one of the three planets that formed the solar system of one of the seventeen suns in Kasterborous. It was the closest you had ever been to Gallifrey and, still, it was far enough to not be able to admire the beautiful planet that had watched the Doctor and the Master grow into adults for centuries.

“I’m just planning my next scheme to trap the Doctor”

You nodded, although you didn’t believe a thing of what he said.

The words of what you had been thinking for endless nights poured from your lips before your mind could make up an excuse for his strange behavior, like all the other times. No one could blame you, after all you were just trying to protect your heart and mind from shattering.

“Is it me?” you asked finally, your voice betraying you and showing more emotion than what you had intended.

The Master suddenly turned his curious gaze to you. So he was paying attention then…

“Don’t you think I haven’t spotted how distant you’ve been lately” you added, although lately didn’t seem to be the right word. Obviously you had realized how much time he spent alone in the library and how his visits to the room you both shared were becoming less and less frequent. He always claimed he didn’t need to sleep as much, but you had been apart for enough time for you to notice that it was just a cheap excuse to not be there.

“Do you not want me to be here anymore?”

He frowned at your words.

“W-wha-”

“Are you still happy?” you asked with a hoarse voice, feeling the familiar weight of tears building up in your eyes at the low wheezing sound of the silence. You clenched your jaw and tried to swallow the tears. “Don’t lie to me.”

He just stared at you in silence for a second, mouthing like a fish out of water, until he finally blinked and tried to make a sound.

“I-is not-”

“Just-” you cut him off, feeling again like a lie was about to spill from his lips. “-you seem sad, distant, you’re not happy and you’re lying to me.”

“No-NO!” You snapped when he tried to talk again, “Don’t try to deny it, I can tell. I know you”

“So…” Anxiously you took a shallow shaky breath “It has something to do with me, doesn’t it?”

He pressed his lips together for a second but soon relaxed again. Changing his expression, the shimmer in his eyes shifted as he smirked slightly, the dark circles under his eyes failing to achieve the frightening look he was striving for. Maybe it would have worked with anyone else, but not with you.

“You humans are so vain, always thinking the universe spins around you.”

“I’m being serious, Koschei”

He took a breathless gasp, almost as if he had been hit. The name of a time lord was one of the biggest, best-kept secrets in the universe. Only a handful of people had known (or would ever know) the real name of the Doctor, and due to the Master’s lack of sympathy and his trouble to connect with people to an emotional level, even less had known or ever would know his.

‘How many?’ you had asked when he confessed his real name one night, his forehead pressing against your sweaty collarbone.

‘Only you’ he had whispered, right before kissing your shoulder “and some Time Lords at the Academy, but they are not important.” you heard him take a deep breath, his nose pressed against your throat “All dead now.”

Those times seemed out of reach. You even asked yourself if he regretted telling you.

“Not you.” he whispered defeatedly, his head falling to his lap “It could never be you.”

“What is it then?”

He shifted his whole body to face you, squirming in his place and unable to keep still. He removed his hand from his pocket, clasping your own tightly.

“It’s me.” he whispered in a choked breath and looked at your eyes “It’s so selfish of me to want you forever even though I know I don’t deserve you.”

“Don’t say that!” you replied, struggling to believe the honesty in his voice and eyes. “You’re not serious. You can’t think like that after everything we’ve been through!”

He focused again on your hands firmly entwined.

“I believe it because… you’re so good” he looked away briefly towards the stars, before turning his gaze back to you again. “And people like me don’t get good people by their side or moments like this.”

The Master stroked your palms with his thumbs, suddenly finding them more interesting than his own thoughts. After a few moments he gave a shaky sigh, backing off once more.

“And if the past few attempts haven’t been proof of that, then I don’t know what could it be.”

“Proof?” you questioned, “Proof of what? And what do you mean by the past few attempts?”

He froze in place, and you frowned at his sudden stiffness. His shoulders tensed and body solid as he sighed deeply, his eyes fluttering closed as he tried and failed to relax his posture. The Master grumbled to himself in defeat, his hand dipping back into his pocket and playing with the TCE or whatever he had found to fiddle with once more.

“I-it’s nothing. Just rambling.” he shrugged in an attempt to consolidate his own thoughts, but not even you believed his body language. “You do it a lot, ramble I mean, ugh, it’s your fault. I’m getting your bad ha-”

“Does it have something to do with the last few stops?” you insisted, although you knew from personal experience that pressuring the Master to talk more than he wanted was never a good idea “All those… extravagant places, the two dates at the Medusa Cascade…”

“Dates?”

You would have laughed at his disgusted look if the atmosphere wasn’t so tense between the both of you. So you just gave him a crooked smile.

“Yes, Master. That’s what it’s called when a person takes another person for dinner to talk and have a good time, especially when the place is that fancy. I loved it even though...”

He watched silently as you told him about the whole date and everything that happened afterwards, despite him being there by your side. Although the dinner had started off with good intentions, it had quickly slipped into a tone of awkwardness through no fault of his own. So much so that the chasing and ‘running for your lives’ had been very much welcomed, although he didn’t notice it. He even apologized once you got into the TARDIS. It was fair to say that he was beyond annoyed the first time.

A month later, when the second date was just another failed attempt in another restaurant in the Medusa Cascade, he had been furious. That was one of the reasons why the console room (or the living room of the house the TARDIS was disguised as) was even messier than usual. He had broken some chairs and cups before following your steps as you had stormed out to the library.

The Master realized as he watched you talk that there would be no such thing as a perfect time. He silently admired the star light reflecting in your eyes and highlighting your features, oblivious to everything else. He couldn’t believe the fact that fate had found a way for both your souls to meet and connect. It didn’t matter in the end how much he had tried to distance himself from any other form of life in the universe, because at the end of the day you had always been there, always. He didn’t believe in fate, but when he looked back at the few possibilities there was for him to meet a person that he truly cared about, it was hard not to succumb at the idea of a force greater than himself pulling the strings to figure everything out.

Even if he dared to think for a split second about not seeing you again, he wouldn’t be able to keep his pieces together. The Master wanted to do the right thing for once, and if fate surprisingly existed, he was certain it absolutely despised him. Countless times he had tried to have a full minute in silence with you, just enjoying each other’s company with a beautiful view, and the same amount of times his plans had been ruined by someone or something trying to either kill him, obtain revenge or obtain revenge via killing him. Until that precise moment he had never had regrets about all the people he had annoyed.

He wondered what he could do now. Kasterborous was the last place on the list, and he was beyond exhausted from trying. On the other hand, he couldn’t give up on you. His best dreams were always about you, but so were his worst nightmares. And whenever and wherever he was he could always be sure about two things: his love for you and his conviction that as long as your heart was beating, so would his.

How had he expected to make it perfect when your lives had always been so messy? After all, that was the whole basis of your lives: chaos, adventure, nothing ever occurring according to plan. And still, everything seemed to always find a way to fall into place. Not even the tardis had felt like a home before you, but now home seemed to be in his hands whenever he held yours, and he would be so lost if your hand ever left his.

A sudden current of hope swallowed him whole.

“Travel the universe with me.” He whispered, loud enough for you to hear.

You couldn’t help but chuckle at his pleading. However, your laugh died with ease when you turned around to find a pair of saddened eyes.

You leaned in and stroked his beard in your palm, using a few seconds to admire his lips and features. Sighing, you repositioned yourself with both of your hands in his lap, your eyes staring intensely at his own as you held his attention on yourself.

“I already travel with you, idiot.” You gave his hands a gentle squeeze, “What’s wrong?”

The Master took three shallow breaths, his sight lost somewhere in your hands above the fabric of his trousers. You moved away from him again, gazing worriedly to how distant he seemed to be from his own flesh. It was at that moment that his hand emerged from the concealment of his thick purple coat pocket, his fist trembling and knuckles a stark white colour.

An idea quickly surged in your brain, and you fought to swallow the dry lump in your throat at the fear of something serious happening to him.

However, that fear quickly vanished when his fist relaxed and his fingers slowly curled open; revealing what was inside for the light of day to see.

For a split second you thought he wasn’t holding anything, but then your mind acknowledged the shape of a ring sitting proudly in front of your incredulous eyes. The ring was so tiny in his large hand that you couldn’t properly see it until his fist was completely open and flat, it seemed almost a crime to keep something so beautiful concealed in the shadows.

The ring was silver, encrusted with white circular gemstones that you didn’t even bother to try and name as without a doubt they weren’t from Earth. The central gem shined a dim light almost invisible until he lent his hand to the side. For a second you could have sworn you had seen a fine black line inside of it, the thought quickly dismissed as a trick of the light as your eyes filled with unstoppable tears once again.

The only thing that could make you look away from the small piece of jewelry was a gentle squeeze to your shoulder, that and the fact that the Master had quickly stowed the ring away in his coat pocket once more. Your trembling body kept your eyes locked on the empty space it had once inhabited regardless, that was until you heard his panicked voice breaking through the loud thumping of your heart in your ears.

The Master had positioned both his hands against your cheeks which were now wet with your tears, his thumb tracing the contour of your cheek and drawing you away from your reverie. Only then did you dare to look at him again.

“I-I’m sorry. I-” he took shallow breaths, blinking away the tears forming in his eyes at light speed. “I’m so sorry. Don’t cry, please. Don’t cry.”

“W-” you tried to ask, but the words in your mouth didn’t seem to appear fast enough in your mind “W-what’s that?”

He leaned in and pressed his forehead to your own, still wiping away the tears that littered your cheeks with his thumbs. Even from that angle you could discern how one tear slipped away from his right eye, licking gently at the hot skin behind only to die in the corner of his lips.

“Nothing.” He stated with a shuddered exhale, suddenly cutting himself off by chewing his lip “It’s nothing!”

“It’s a ring!” You cried in return.

From all the things you expected from the Master, marriage was very low on the list. He despised most planets and sassily commented about any tradition and culture that wasn’t his own. You had never even bothered to think about marriage, especially after knowing that weddings on Gallifrey were mostly arranged, a mere game to obtain political power and status amongst the community. In Gallifrey weddings weren’t enjoyed and at the end of the day, they didn’t mean anything either; it was just a convenient tool for both parties.

But you weren’t a Time Lord.

You were human.

Just one more human traveling the stars.

During your travels, you had learned that the meaning of marriage was a timeless concept to the future of the human race, no matter how long someone had been away from Earth or how many millenniums had passed since the Solar System had been destroyed to dust. Some things simply stayed the same.

So he knew what marriage meant to the human race, and most importantly, he knew what marriage meant to you, for the both of you.

“No” he tried “No, it’s…”

“Don’t lie to me” you growled, pushing his shoulders back “Don’t you dare lie to me. I’m tired of getting pushed away. You always, always, do that. And it hurts”

You buried your head in your knees, your arms wrapping around yourself tightly as tears silently escaped your eyes without remedy. It happened regardless of how you felt, were you happy? nervous? sad? You didn’t even know at this point. The thing with the Master was that he was always so hard to comprehend, despite all the years of traveling and living together. In the end he was always true to his spontaneous, chaotic natures, never failing to surprise you at the least expected moment.

The Master moved closer, this time pressing his forehead to your shoulder. A second after you felt your own shirt getting damp, your heart tightening in your chest even more, if that was even possible. Knowing that not only was he only trying not to cry in front of you, he was also trying to hide, trying to find somewhere safe to let himself break. It was hard not to think about how much exhaustion and courage it was taking him not to get on his feet and run as far as he could.

He always had struggled to put his emotions into words, and expressing the depth of his feelings for you was still something he wasn’t quite used to. Even though he had never said I love you openly, you also knew he didn’t need to.

The Master was the kind of person whose acts always said more than his words. The way he supported you in everything you wanted to do, the soft whispers to wake you up and his habit of making a single cup of coffee in the morning just for you (mostly because he didn’t like the taste). You had spent an endless amount of nights in his arms when you couldn’t sleep, countless days curled up tightly next to him when sickness took over your body. You didn’t remember what nightmares felt like anymore, you hadn’t had one since the first night he shared with you. Yet still, you preferred them to the terror swallowing your body whole when his own nightmares woke you up in the middle of the night.

“Of course it’s a ring.” he finally admitted, “Im selfish enough to not want you with anyone else or anywhere else. I want you here for as long as we have.”

His confession was sealed with a feather light kiss against the exposed skin of your neck. “I’ve been trying to ask you for a long time, but it never works out. I fear this will have to do”

When you pulled away, he quickly wiped all the tears from his face in a rapid and almost angry manner. But even with his cheeks partially dry, you could still see the redness tinted around the edges of his eyes and the tip of his nose, still spot the remnants of tears clinging to his eyelashes.

You pulled his hands away from his face and cleared away the final tears that slipped across his cheeks. A choked sob tearing from his throat as he tried to take a steadying breath. You could clearly see the conflict he waged with himself, especially so when his hands turned into fists and his jaw clenched so tightly you feared he would break a tooth.

Pressing the tip of your thumb against his lip, you caressed the soft skin you were dying to kiss. Looking deeply into his eyes, you could tell he seemed to be finally paying full attention.

“Look at me.”

“I’m looking at you.”

“No, you’re not.” You exclaimed, “You’re thinking, not looking. Stop torturing yourself in that head of yours and just… look at me and see.”

Frown lines marked his face and you took the chance to get rid of the white band-aid that stuck to his forehead; revealing the pristine healed skin underneath.

“What do you want me to see?” The Master ventured after a moment of silence.

“How much I love you.” You brushed the tip of his nose with yours and slid your hand against the soft hairs in his jaw. “You need to see it, and believe…”

His short chuckle was melody to your ears.

“It's impossible not to see it, love.” He smiled sadly, your skin shivering under his touch as he slid two fingers under the fabric of the shirt’s collar. Lazily he outlined your collarbone, his hands roaming and exploring your skin as though it was an uncharted planet.

You smiled to yourself, knowing it was yet again another sign of his nervous quirks; the constant need to entertain his fingers with something.

“It’s there every time I look at you.” The Master continued, “And unfortunately, I never believe what I see.”

Somehow, you already knew what he was going to say, the words nestled deep within your heart. Closing your eyes, you gently pressed your lips against his own, the moment brief and chaste before backing off almost immediately afterwards.

“I’ll have to make you then.”

Leaning forwards your hand reached outwards, pulling the pocket of his coat round as you brazenly dug down into his pocket. It wasn't hard to find the tiny piece of jewelry, but it was definitely harder to free your wrist from the Master’s grip.

“Please…” he begged with pleading eyes “What are you…?”

Eventually, and without a word, he let your wrist go. You licked your lips, feeling the coldness of the ring nestled against your own palm but too afraid to open your fist to give it a proper look.

Taking a deep breath, you finally encouraged yourself to do what had to be done.

Even before giving the ring a second look, you slowly slid the piece of jewellery on to the place it belonged; where it would always belong. Then with baited breath you drew your gaze carefully across every inch of it, committing every shine, every detail to memory. The circular gem in the middle caught your attention for a lot longer than when you had initially seen it, and you found that the more you fixed your eyes on it, the clearer the thin black lines became inside of the gem.

You could tell it was gallifreyan, the entwined circles were hard to mistake for any other language, the black dots inside the circumferences were almost impossible to see. You struggled to find the meaning, even with the knowledge from the classes that The Master had given you in the past.

He seemed to be holding his breath when your eyes watched his features again. Noticing your eyes on him, he swallowed loudly. His whole figure relaxed. His shoulders falling back against the wood-like door, his constant frown fading and hands falling limp in his lap. With nifty fingers brushed away his fringe in an attempt to remove the hair from his eyes.

He was clearly overwhelmed by the situation and you did understand his reaction, after all he had been trying to propose for a long time.

“What does it mean?”

His grin was the biggest he had ever made, his eyes recovering that special shine you hadn’t seen in months.

“Why do I even bother trying to teach you?”

“Why do I even bother treating your wounds if you make me want to punch you in the face afterwards?”

“Uhm… let’s see…” He jokingly teased. Catching your left hand, he brought it closer to his eyes, his gaze fixated on the ring perched on your finger.

With a steady voice and growing confidence, The Master pronounced a series of sounds that you couldn’t quite comprehend, your mind still flaring with recognition for them as the words he always whispered in your hair during the night.

Before you could protest about not speaking gallifreyan, he promptly translated.

“Hold my hand to the ends of the universe.” He took your hand and gently pressed his lips to the ring and the skin around it.

“This is my promise” he finished with a whisper.

Your breath was caught in your throat. You only remembered you needed to say something when he warily gazed to your own incredulous eyes. You had no idea what he would decipher in your gaze, as your own torrent of emotions were hard to decode even by yourself. But you caught sight of the huge amount of hope installed in his eyes and your heart hammered in your chest at the sight.

“Yes, I do.”

The Master chuckled, your attention catching a glimpse of the happiness exploding in his eyes. It was like watching a supernova explode in before you. He let his head fall to your intertwined hands once again, sliding his fingers to tighten his grip around your own as he held your hand.

“I wanted to propose to you.” he smirked, “Not marry you on the spot. We have time for that.”

You chuckled and he lent in, his lips gracing your cheek as he kissed you once more. With his breath hot against your skin, the Master released a shaky, relieved whisper.

“Thank you, love.”

With a gentle touch, his hands wandered to the small of your back urging you to lay down on top of him. You followed his guidance with little resistance, hands pressed against his chest as you could hear the rapid beating of his hearts despite the numerous layers of clothing he always wore.

Excited at the sound, you shifted your hand directly above his hearts, the gemstones in the ring sparkling and reflecting the flickering light of the stars on your finger.

“I love you.” You whispered as his hands traced circular lines in your back. He made an amused sound and kissed the top of your head.

“I love you too,” He answered without a moment's hesitation.

#dhawan!master x reader #the master x reader #master x reader #doctor who #doctor who imagine #doctor who fanfic #doctor who x reader #sacha dhawan #the master #dhawan!master

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writingithink · 4 years ago

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The Full Pub Experience Pairing: Ten x Rose Rated: T Wordcount: 3,834 Summary: The Doctor suffers through another honeymoon interruption for Earth wedding related things. Notes: FINALLY, this is my fic for Day 7 of @timepetalsweek ! And it's a free day. So you would think that it wouldn't be so late, but everything in my WIP folder rn promises to be long.

This fic would definitely make more sense if you've read the ones that came before it. That being said, I still think that if you know they accidentally got bonded that's also probably enough to jump in.

Super special thanks to @hey-there-juliet for betaing!! <3

All mistakes are mine.

I own nothing.

READ IT ON AO3 -> copy/paste link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25590310

With a sigh, the Doctor kicked his feet up onto the armrest and sunk into the sofa. Finishing up their honeymoon was starting to seem like a nigh impossible task. Who would have thought that trying to do seven romantic trips in a row would prove so difficult?

Sure, they’d had to sort out the Isolus when he took them to the Olympics, but after that things had gone on without a hitch. And yes, they had taken a day to do wedding planning things with Jackie midway, but then they’d gotten right back to it. Now, though, it was starting to get irritating.

His attempt to take Rose to a winter village on Sirius Colony VI had failed - they landed three years late and ended up having to stop a coup. Then he tried to take her to see the Rings of Akhaten but something went wrong with the TARDIS and they were flung out of the vortex, landing on an asteroid being used as an illegal zoo of endangered species. He’d almost been turned into an exhibit!

Once they finally made it back to the TARDIS, before he could come up with a new honeymoon destination Rose got a text from her mate Shareen. Now here they were, back at Jackie’s flat, for more wedding planning type things (he wasn’t sure on the details, just that this time he wasn’t ‘needed’).

(Not that he’d even been needed last time).

“Oh, cheer up,” his wife urged, leaning over the back of the sofa and running a hand through his hair. “How bored would you have gotten if we didn’t have a few adventures?”

The Doctor did not dignify that with a response, but did lean into her touch.

“Y’know, we could still try to get to that cabin again. We don’t know for sure if we actually missed the reservation,” she suggested.

“I suppose,” he huffed, trying to resist moving away from his foul mood. Maybe he wanted to sulk.

“Oh, come off it. Why don’t you find something to watch on the telly? Or play in the kitchen? Mum’s out, so I’m sure you could work on the perfect piece of toast.”

It was annoying, how she seemed to know just what to say. (It actually wasn’t, he was a terrible liar).

“C’mere,” the Doctor muttered before pulling her down further and giving her a kiss.

A kiss that quickly turned into a snog, him hauling her the rest of the way over the couch to sprawl on top of him. Just as he moved his hand under her shirt and up her back, there was a loud rapping on the door.

“Ugh,” he sighed, dropping back down onto the sofa as Rose quickly stood up, trying to fix her hair and clothing. For a Time Lord, he really did have an atrocious sense of timing sometimes.

We can pick up where we left off later, y’know, she telepathically reminded him.

He wondered if he could just nip into the TARDIS and move forward just a little, early evening, when ‘later’ was likely to be ‘soon’. This got him a quick zap through the bond before Rose opened the door.

“Rose!!”

Then there were hugs and squealing and he didn’t think he’d ever heard his bondmate’s voice get quite so high pitched. But the worst part was that her barriers had shot up, so all he could get from their connection was her general state. The Doctor did find himself pleased, however, when the squealing became about Rose’s ring - he had made it himself, after all. The gemstones and metal weren’t of Earth origin, but looked similar enough to the untrained eye. The center stone was quite diamond-like, surrounded by two gems that could be mistaken for morganite. He’d used an old, broken TARDIS part to create the band, which Jackie had criticized as looking too copper-like, but they had both ignored her. The Gallifreyan metal had unique properties, meaning he was able to biotune it to Rose’s finger. It would always fit perfectly, and only she could take it off.

Most importantly, Rose loved it.

“And hullo, Doctor.”

He looked up to see Shareen peering at him from the other end of the couch, and she really didn’t have to say his name as if it was a joke.

“Hello.” He hoped his smile was cheery, that’s what he was going for.

“’S it fine if I call you, what was it- oh, John?” she asked.

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

“Well, I don’t get why you go around havin’ everyone call you ‘Doctor’. I get that John Smith is a boring name, but really.”

A glance at Rose revealed her trying, and mostly failing, to not laugh. Not even her barriers could keep him from feeling how amused she was.

“Anyway, how are you?” he drawled, trying to remember what his wife had last told him about her best mate (on Earth, that is).

“‘M fine. Aren’t you headin’ out?”

His brows furrowed and he opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to figure out what kind of segue that was supposed to be.

“Heading out?” the Doctor ended up repeating.

“Yeah. To like, I dunno, hang out with mates down the pub or somethin’?”

“Hang out wi- ? Down th- ? Why would I do that?” he sputtered.

“Well we’re gonna plan out Rose’s hen night! No blokes allowed! ‘Specially not the groom.”

“Oh, that’s not fair, he can stay,” his wife came to his defense before he could say anything else idiotic.

“Nope.” Shareen crossed her arms. “I hardly ever get to see ya anymore, and this is a girls thing. You two could do with some time spent apart.”

And as much as he didn’t want to, the Doctor worried that maybe Rose’s friend was right. They did spend pretty much all of their time together, even before they accidentally bonded. Sure, sometimes they would split up for a little while if they were on a safe planet, but that hadn’t really happened since they started their honeymoon.

So he found himself standing up and saying, “Fine, fine, I can get out of your hair.”

“Are you sure?” his bondmate frowned, walking up to him and needlessly adjusting his tie.

“Yeah, yeah … I’ll, erm, be back this evening.”

“But what are you gonna do?” You don’t actually have mates to go down the pub with, she laughed in his head.

“I- I can definitely ‘go down to the pub with my mates’,” he informed her, not really helping his own point by doing air quotes. “I’ll- I’ll ring Sarah Jane! I’m sure she’d love a trip to the pub.”

Actually, he wasn’t sure at all that she’d love that. But that wasn’t really the point.

“Sarah Jane ? He’s off to spend time with another woman?” Shareen asked Rose, though honestly she did it so loudly and right in front of him, she might as well have just asked him.

“The Doctor’s allowed,” Rose huffed, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow. “He ain’t Tommy.”

Shareen winced. “Tommy’s changed, though. Whole new man, really.”

“What?! Don’t tell me you’re still hangin’ round with him!”

This seemed like the perfect time to leave, so the Doctor silently (and quickly!) exited the flat, telling his wife goodbye over the bond before putting his own barriers up. He had, after all, overheard many of Rose’s phone calls with Shareen and was aware of who this ‘Tommy’ was. Now that he realized her best mate had pretty much been accusing him of cheating on his bondmate, his thoughts were less than flattering.

Eventually he found himself standing outside the flats, a bit at a loss. He put his hands on his hips and looked around, surveying the area. Was he really going to ring Sarah Jane and go to the pub?

It was just- it was so … humany.

There had to be something more interesting for him to do.

The sun was shining, a few children were playing with sidewalk chalk, people were walking about. Everything was calm. Not a lick of danger in sight.

With a sigh, the Doctor walked over to the nearest phone booth, lifted the receiver and sonicked it. After a moment it started ringing. And ringing. And ringing.

He was just about to hang up when she answered.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Sarah Jane!”

“Doctor?!”

“Yes! How are you?”

“What’s going on?” she asked, not answering his - very polite, not rude at all, very much knowing how phone calls are supposed to go, ta - question.

“Oh, erm, I don’t kno-”

“How in danger are we?”

Oh, oh.

“No danger! None at all. Why does there have to be danger?”

He could actually go for a spot of danger, but it would probably get taken the wrong way if he told her that now.

“So this is a social call?” Her obvious skepticism was offensive.

“It is! What’s wrong with a social call?”

“I mean, nothing. I just didn’t think that was something that you did.”

“Well, it is.” Now, at least. Apparently. “I was wondering if you’d fancy going to the pub?” The words felt very wrong on his tongue.

“Where are Rose and Mickey?” she asked him, once again ignoring a question.

The Doctor scowled before sighing. “Mickey moved universes. Rose is busy. I’ve been kicked out of her mum’s flat, which I didn’t want to be at in the first place, really. So it’s all worked out for the best, don’t you think? It was suggested that I go down to the pub, and isn’t it interesting that which pub isn’t specified? So really, if you want to go, any pub you like. Though I do know which pub they meant, because they always talk about the same one. It’s the one down the street. Rose dragged me there once for New Years. It’s … fine, I guess. I mean, they’re all pretty interchangeable, if you ask me. A bunch of humans drinking, watching the match, maybe playing a spot of darts. Or billiards! We could play billiards! If you’d like, I could turn off my alcohol-inhibiting enzymes. I’m not sure I’ve ever gotten drunk on Earth alcohol before. If I have, I don’t remember. Or we don’t have to drink at all. We could, I don’t know, have lunch? I know they have chips, or most pubs have chips? Well, the pub Rose goes to has chips, which is probably why Rose goes there. So what do you say?”

“I- blimey. Yes, I can go to the pub. I’m sure the one you’re near is fine, just give me the address.”

So he did, and shortly after she rang off. He wasn’t sure how long it would take for Sarah Jane to get there, but since he obviously had nothing better to do, the Doctor headed over to the pub. Since it was midday, there weren’t too many people around - definitely not as packed as it was for New Years. So he ordered a pint, realized that he hated beer, spat it back into the glass and then ordered a banana daiquiri. The bartender didn’t seem very impressed with him, so once he had his cocktail the Doctor slunk away to a booth to wait for Sarah Jane.

By the time he noticed her walking into the pub, he was on his second drink and debating the merits of trying out jalapeño poppers.

“Sarah Jane! Hi! Over here!” he called, waving his arms in a wide arc to make sure that she noticed him - she did. “Have you ever had jalapeño poppers?”

With a disbelieving laugh she walked over, taking off her jacket and sitting down her bag before sliding across from him. “Can’t say I’ve ever tried them. Suppose we could give it a go.” She got comfortable in her seat, looked around them, then focused on him. It felt almost as if he was being analyzed. Then the tension broke, she shook her head and let out a small laugh. “This is so strange.”

“Strange? Why’s it strange?” he asked, even though he agreed with her. The thing is, he knew why he felt it was strange, but she was human. This was something humans did - hang out with mates at the pub.

“Well, I mean, you’re you. I didn’t think this was something you did.”

Ah, same reason, then.

Before he could respond to that, a waitress appeared to take Sarah Jane’s order. They got the jalapeño poppers, but also each an order of chips in case those turned out to be rubbish. She also ordered a pint (but why? They were not good) so the Doctor preemptively ordered another cocktail so that he could avoid having to be subtly mocked by the bartender again.

“How many of those have you had?” Sarah Jane asked once the waitress was out of sight.

“This one is my second.”

“And did you turn off your, what did you say on the phone again? This you talks so quickly sometimes and the connection was so poor, I was having a hard time keeping up.”

“Ah, yeah, was calling on an old payphone. But yes, alcohol-inhibiting enzymes. I have them. Turned them off. It’s starting to get a little tingly. Reminds me of Rose laughing.”

“What?”

“You knooooow. Or you probably don’t, actually. I wonder if the daiquiris are affecting me more than I’d thought. It’s like … oh, I don’t know. English is a rubbish language for describing telepathy. Cancel your beer and get two banana daiquiris and that will be like if someone is laughing in your head. The nice kind of laughing. Not the you-just-did-something-stupid kind of laughing.”

“I think I’ll pass, but good to know,” she laughed. “Wait. What happened that had you and Rose connected telepathically? I thought you usually avoided that kind of thing. And as far as questions go, you said Mickey moved universes? I think we have a lot of catching up to do since I last saw you. Not to mention everything before then. It sounds like you’ve been busy.”

She wasn’t wrong. So first he told her about the parallel world, and the Cybermen, and Mickey deciding to stay there. Then he told her about Rose, and a very edited story of how they accidentally ended up bonded. Married. Same thing, really.

“Wow.”

“I know,” he agreed, finishing off his third drink and wondering if he should order a fourth.

Sarah Jane opened her mouth to say something, but then their food arrived. She ended up finding the jalapeño poppers surprisingly good, while he felt that they didn’t go as well with banana as chips did (he ordered the fourth drink - might as well get the full Earth drinking experience, right?).

“Am I going to end up having to carry you back to the TARDIS?” Sarah Jane asked him.

“Nooooo. If anything, you’d have to carry me back to Jackie’s flat. That’s where Rose is. Unless you rang her and told her to meet you at the TARDIS. Or you could ring her and have her carry me back to the TARDIS. I’d rather not have her mum see me drunk. I’ve never actually been drunk in this body before. Don’t know what it’ll be like. I pretended to be drunk once. To fool some robots. Rose didn’t think it was funny.”

She chuckled, shaking her head a bit. “I just can’t believe you’re married.”

“Why’s that? I’ve been married before this. I don’t know how many of them actually count, but I’m over 900 years old, I’ve been around.”

“Yeah, I’m getting that.” Sarah Jane rolled her eyes. “When were you married before?”

“Well, I was definitely married on Gallifrey. Arranged union of houses. Very proper. Loomed some children and everything. I, er, wasn’t a very good husband. But I’ve also never been a very good Time Lord. It’s complicated,” he sighed, leaned back, picked up a chip and fidgeted with it.

“Considering you were exiled when we met, I think I believe you. What about these other times?”

“Oh, I’m not sure they really count. One of them happened in an anti-matter universe, pretty sure it was fictional. I did actually marry a human once. For world saving reasons. It ended up going decently well, actually, but it didn’t really last. And now that Rose and I are bonded, I feel like … I don’t know, I think I was wrong about how deep our connection really was,” he admitted.

“What’s an anti-matter universe?!”

Before he could answer, his cocktail arrived. Thank Rassilon, because he could definitely use another drink if this is what they were going to be talking about.

“Sooooo what’s new with you?” he asked after taking a long sip.

“Oh, I don’t think so. We’re not done talking about you and the fact that you’ve just gotten married.”

“Not according to Jackie,” the Doctor rolled his eyes. “She’s having us do an Earth wedding. Ancient Gallifreyan bonding isn’t good enough for her. To be fair, I haven’t actually researched it properly yet. Maybe once I can explain it better, Rose’s mum will- ahhhh what am I saying. The day I’m able to reason with Jackie Tyler will probably herald an apocalypse.”

She laughed, which was good. Things were much more tense with Sarah Jane now than they were back when they traveled together. And, of course, that was his fault. But it was nice, spending time with her again. Even if it was in a boring old pub.

“And what does Rose think of all of this?”

“Ohh, she’s got mixed feelings. Sometimes she’s excited about planning the wedding, sometimes she wants to cancel. Apparently I’m not much help, but really I-”

“Not about that, about you two being married,” she corrected.

“Oh! We’re both very, very happy about that.”

“Good. I’m not going to lie, it does seem a bit fast. Then again, I don’t know how long it’s actually been for you.”

“Mmm … maybe about, I don’t know, how long has it been for you since you last saw us?”

“It’s only been about 2 months.”

“Nearly a year, then,” he quickly calculated.

“Really?”

“Rose wanted to catch up her real age to the age she’s supposed to be on Earth. Don’t tell Jackie.” His eyes widened at the potential slap that would get him.

“I’m sure if I ever meet her it won’t come up,” Sarah Jane laughed.

“What do you mean ‘if you ever meet her’? Aren’t you coming to the wedding?”

“Oh. Well, I didn’t want to assume-”

“Of course you’re invited! Not only are you one of my oldest friends, you’re one of my best friends!” the Doctor exclaimed.

“Don’t know how I feel about oldest friend.”

“Please, I’m much older than you are,” he rolled his eyes and leaned back, propping his feet on the table, idly playing with his newest little umbrella. He had quite the collection accumulating.

“Yes, but you seem to be regenerating younger.”

The Doctor winced a bit and tugged his ear.

“What?” she asked, after finishing her drink.

“I may have picked this regeneration on purpose, a bit.”

“Oh? I didn’t know it worked like that.” Sarah Jane raised her eyebrows.

“Takes a lot of effort. Usually I don’t care which body I get, but …”

“Had a reason for looking young?” she teased.

“881 year age gap,” he frowned.

“Obviously can’t be much of an issue, considering what you told me about the bond you two have now.”

“Eh.”

He downed the rest of his drink.

“Be right back!” the Doctor announced, standing up. “I’m going to see about getting a pitcher of these. Provided they put a lot of umbrellas in. I’m using them to keep count.”

“Keep count of what?”

“I want to see how many it takes to get me drunk. Even without the enzymes, I still have a superior biology. And Earth alcohol is famously tame.”

“Are you, really?”

“I’m getting the full pub experience! What do you say to billiards when I get back?”

“Doctor, how long are you planning on staying here?”

“I told her I’d be back in the evening. And I mean, we don’t have to stay here. We could go someplace else, if you’d like. But, as I said, as far as I know and for certain in this body, I’ve never been drunk in a pub. Plus, it’s not like I’m planning on having a stag night, and you and I are both here right now, and you’re my only friend on Earth aside from Rose, so maybe this would count, right? I mean, from what I’ve seen on films, getting drunk in a pub is pretty much what a stag night is … well, there’s also ones with strippers, but that’s all a bit too human for me. Not that there’s anything wrong with it! I’m just sayi-”

“Doctor!” Sarah Jane interrupted him with a laugh. “I swear, the gob on you this go around! Of course this can be your stag night. There’s a sentence I never thought I’d say.”

“Yeah, but who needs predictable, eh?”

“Yeah,” she smiled.

The Doctor put on his best grin as he went to see a man about a pitcher.

Hours - and many daiquiris - later, he felt a surge of amusement across the bond before Rose’s barriers dropped. He turned around, and there she was.

“Rose!” he bounded over, quick to wrap her in a hug, lifting his wife off her feet in the process.

“Hi there,” she smiled up at him when he put her down before giving him a kiss on the cheek.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. “Not that I’m not glad you’re here! I’m very, very glad you’re here.”

She laughed, and the feel of it combined with the alcohol was indescribable. “Shareen and I were drinkin’ wine and laughing at bad telly when I got a call from Sarah Jane.”

“Oh? What was it about?”

“She said I should get down here quick or I’d miss a once in a lifetime opportunity.”

“Really?! What’s that?” Also, why wouldn’t Sarah Jane tell him about it? She’d just agreed to be his groom-party-best-person, whatever it was, and it was his stag night!

“Doctor, you were about to perform, remember?” When had Sarah Jane come up behind him like that?

“Oh, right!” he bounced on his toes a little. “Karaoke! I’m about to go up!”

“You were right, this is gonna be amazing!” Shareen laughed, pulling out her phone.

“I’ve already queued up the song, I didn’t know you’d be coming, but we can sign up for a duet!” the Doctor said, getting even more excited.

“I’ll think about it,” Rose giggled. “Think you’re a few drinks ahead of me for karaoke.”

“It’s funny that you say ‘a few’,” Sarah Jane laughed.

And he was about to ask her why, but then his name got called. He’d have to ask her later.

#timepetalsweek #ficandchips #dw fanfic #ten x rose #timepetals #dw fic #tenrose #dw fanfiction #fandom: doctor who #pairing: rose x doctor #fic: the full pub experience #my fic

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orange-waterfalls · 5 years ago

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Say It Back(Part 1/2)

Host x gender neutral!reader

@thekillingjoke-haha ty for the request!

Part 2

A/N: BRO I FUCKIN LOVE THIS ONE. I was on a writer's block and then CAVETOWN MY LORD AND SAVIOR apparently made a song called "Sweet Tooth". I took a lil bit of inspiration from the chorus(hence, the title). You took inspiration from a song, so did I lol. It took me a bit to find the mood for the story, but once I found it I couldn't stop lol. So. Two-parter. Uh a bit of cursing, Rated T. Slight angst for a minute. The names I used are not people I actually know, they're from a random name generator website. Enjoy!

Word Count: 2.0k

Requests are open!

The Host stares at them from across the room.

Well… less ‘stares’ and more ‘keeps his head facing their general direction’. Even so.

They are beautiful. Even with the loss of his sight, he knew they were beautiful. On the inside, at least. He smiles in content as he hears their angelic laugh from across the room. Bing is making jokes again. The Host might’ve been jealous if he were a lesser man and if he weren’t so focused on how their happiness made him happy.

He doesn’t very much understand what he is experiencing. He’d seen movies, he’d read books, he’d listened to songs. He knows what love is. He knows it well.

What it feels like, however, was a completely different ballgame.

Host more focused on his work than on romance. Besides, he just doesn’t like people. He wanted to fall in love at times, but he just couldn’t.

Y/N on the other hand makes him… feel things. He’s not sure if it’s love, he just knows he really enjoys everything they do.

He doesn’t even care that they barely talk to him anymore.

Well… he cares, obviously, but…

You understand, don’t you? Good.

“Host? Hooost. Host!” A voice calls from his side. He hums in response. Bim rolls his eyes and leans back in his chair. “Have you been listening to me for the past ten minutes?”

“No,” Host answers flatly. Bim smiles when he looks over to where Host was facing.

"So you've finally realized you have a crush?" He teased. Host raises his eyebrows.

"Finally?"

"Oh, yeah. We’ve known this, Host, it's really obvious." Host furrows his eyebrows.

"We? What does Bim mean by ‘we’?" They hear footsteps and turn towards the front.

Y/N standing in front of the two, a small, awkward smile on their face.

"Hey," Y/N greets softly. The Host is frozen in place.

"Hey!" Bim says, a wicked grin on his face as he sees the effect on Host. "Didya need something?"

"Yeah, um… Bing told me to ask you where Wilford would be…"

"Oh, well I know nothing about Wilford. I don't think anyone does," Bim explained. “But Host here knows everything, so…” Host turned to Bim angrily. He turns back to Y/N when he hears them clear their throat.

“So, uh, Host?” They ask. Host has to keep himself from shivering at the sound of his name.

��Hm?”

“Where is Wilford?”

“W-Wilford is d-down th-the hall… uh, t-to th-the right f-from the b-bathroom…” Host stutters out, voice cracking once or twice. Y/N smiles and nods in thanks before remembering Host is, in fact, blind.

“Uh, thank you…” They laugh, embarrassed. Host tries to give a small smile. His face isn’t used to that yet, so he settles for a nod. They walk away, and he increasingly becomes more sad and more embarrassed as their footsteps fade away.

“Wow,” Bim laughs, “For a narrator, you can’t talk very well, can you?”

“That is not true, the Host can talk very well…” He pauses, “When he is not around Y/N…”

“Oh, so it’s just them, huh?”

“Yes, they very much affect Host and he isn’t quite sure he likes it…” Bim smiles at Host. “What is the problem with Bim Trimmer?”

“There’s no problem, Host, I’m just happy for you!”

“Why would Bim be happy that Host cannot speak correctly?”

“Because you’re in love, dumbass!” Host would have found the insult very… well… insulting if he hadn’t become distracted by the previous phrase.

‘Because you’re in love’. Was Host in love? He wasn’t sure what that felt like.

There was Serena Munoz in kindergarten. They dated for a couple days. She didn’t like how he read constantly, and decided to break up with him. Host wasn’t in love with Serena. He wasn’t even sure he had a crush on her. Maybe he dated her just because she asked. It didn’t affect him when they broke up.

Then there was Jesse Snow in the sixth grade. He was nice. Trumpet player in the band. They liked to read together in the library at lunch and after school. They recommended books to each other and even wrote a couple stories together. They sat next to each other in math and passed notes in cryptography so the teacher wouldn’t understand. They would, though. But Jesse was scared. Two boys dating in middle school? Not the best for his image. He probably got teased or called gay(which he was) and that’s why they broke up. He liked Jesse. He was sad when they stopped talking. But he didn’t think that was love. It was more of a ‘like’ than anything.

Then Asa Holmes in his senior year of highschool. They were really different. They had blue hair, but he could see the natural-brown in the roots. They wore a lot of black and spikes and chains. They listened to punk rock and heavy metal. Host liked the heavy metal more, so they listened to that more often. They did homework together at Asa’s house, and Asa would start dancing halfway through and it kind of annoyed Host, but he also found it endearing. Then they graduated and promised to keep in touch, but Asa just… couldn’t. Host understood, and they stopped. He was disappointed, but he wasn’t in love with them.

Is this what love feels like? Is it a weird feeling in your stomach when you look at this one person? Is it your heart racing when you see them laugh? Is it hyperventilating when they come over to talk to you? Is that what love is?

Oh.

Oh no.

Host is in love.

Y/N had managed to weasel their way into the dark and lonely place in his soul and fill it with hope and joy and love.

And, oh, how he absolutely loves you.

And what the hell is he supposed to do about that?

“Uh, Host?” Bim calls after 20 minutes of silence from the writer. “Are uh… are you okay?”

“No,” Host answers instantly.

“Uh… why not?”

“Because… Host is in love…” Bim is quiet for a second and Host worries he’s gone Deaf as well. But Bim lets out a loud laugh that startles Host.

“Bing! Get your ass over here, you owe me $30!” Bim yells. Bing groans and drags his feet over to them, mumbling as he takes the money out of his wallet. Host begins to zone out, all the noise around him fading into nothing.

Host was… in love. What was he to do? Tell Y/N? No… he couldn’t. They might hate him. They might think he’s awful. They might stop being around him completely. He couldn’t handle that.

So, what was he to do?

“So, what’re you gonna do?” Bim asks, as if reading Hosts mind. “You’ve got to tell them of course.”

“No.”

“No?” Bim scoffs, “Wha do you mean, ‘no’? You have to tell them, Host!”

“Hos does not have to do anything. Host is content with watching from afar.” Host explains. There’s a pause.

“That’s goddamn creepy, Host,” Bim states. Host frowns. It is a bit creepy.

“Host cannot tell them,” He whispers. Bim, finally seeming to understand, sighs and leans forward.

“Look, Host, I know you’re scared. I know this is unfamiliar territory for you, but…” Bim starts. Host leans a bit towards him, wanting to hear what he has to say. He may treat the man like he’s annoying, but ultimately, Host cares about his opinion. Bim sighs again.

“If you don’t tell them, you’re going to regret it. Trust me I know…” Bim pauses, and Host begins wondering who hurt him. “But, these are your feelings, Host! You can’t keep them bottled up inside you forever. It’s unhealthy. You need to tell them and if they like you back, great! If they don’t, that’s too bad, watch ‘Dirty Dancing’ on repeat and eat a tub of ice cream like the rest of us.” Host tilts his head a bit.

“Host cannot exactly watch--”

“Oh, you know what I meant, smartass!” Bim laughs and Host smiles. He does know what Bim meant, and he undrstands. He just needs to say it. How would he say it?

‘Hi. I like you. Say it back.’

That’s a bit too forward.

But forward is what Host does. It’s who he is, he can’t change that.

He’ll just say that to them when they come back.

Y/N walks back into the room where Bim and Host are. They’re wearing different shoes, he can tell. Are they wearing different clothes as well? Why would they be?

Wait…

“Wow, hey Y/N! Who you dressing all nice for?” Illinois says from somewhere else in the room. Host is pale. He doesn’t want to know.

“Well,” Y/N chuckles, “I’m glad you asked!”

No.

No, no, no.

“I’m actually going out for lunch.”

“Really? With who?”

Stop.

Stop!

“It’s ‘whom’.”

“Fuck you, Google. Y/N, spill.”

Don’t.

Please, don’t.

“I’m going out on a date!” They finally finish. The room is completely silent. Not that Host would hear anything with the ringing in his ears.

He felt bad. He felt so bad. He hated this… feeling. He was so upset.

“Well, don’t all talk at once…” Y/N jokes awkwardly. Bim finally decides to take pity on them.

“Wow! Didn’t know you had it in you!” He teased. “Congrats!” The other egos joined in in a chorus of congradulatory phrases. Host was silent.

“Well, I better go. Wish me luck!” They said, practically bouncing out the door. Everyone said goodbye to them, and the door finally closed. Host could feel everyone’s eyes on him. They all knew. The all knew. And he didn’t until he was too late to do anything.

Typical of him.

“Host…” Bim starts. Before he can say anything else, Host shoots up and makes a beeline for the bathroom. No one calls after him, no one tries to stop him, no one does anything, He is grateful for that. He just wants to sit and wallow, and that’s exactly what he plans to do.

Host heard a soft knock on the door.

“Host?” Bim asks quietly. “Host, it’s Bim. Are you okay?”

“No,” Host whispers. “Host is not okay. Why would Host be okay?”

“Well, uh… you’ve just… been in there a while. I figured you’d have gotten a bit better…”

“Host has not.”

“Oh…”

Silence for a moment, and Host thinks Bim will leave. No matter how much he may try to seem cold, he does enjoy the man’s company.

“Don’t worry. I’m still here.”

Host lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“Bim?” He hears the other man shift so he is sitting out side the bathroom door.

“Yeah, Host?”

“Do you think Host is worthy of love?”

“Yes.” Bim said immediately. Host waited for an explanation. He got none. He supposed that’s just how it works. Sometimes you don’t get an explanation.

“Bim?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think that Y/N could be in love with Host?”

“I think… you shouldn’t bet on it.” Host’s shoulders fall. “But, I also think that there is a possibility and you should tell them soon before they fall in love with someone else.” Host brought his head up. Bim was right.

Y/N was going on a date. Presumably, their first date with this person. Dates are used to figure out if someone is in love, or gives an oppurtunity for someone to fall in love. There was still time. He still has time.

Host swings the bathroom door open and Bim hits his head on the floor.

“Ow! Dammit, Host!” He cursed. Host couldn’t feel bad. Not now.

“Host needs help.”

“With what?” Host turns towards Bim, who pulled himself to his feet.

“With getting Y/N to fall in love with me.” Host heard nothing for a second. Then, a chuckle from the gameshow host.

“Alright,” He sighs, “What do you wanna do?”

136 notes · View notes

platypanthewriter · 5 years ago

Text

Baby’s First Punk Rock Concert: 1/2

Billy hummed to himself, washing his hands. His knees were scuffed from the cement floor, his throat was raw, and he wanted a drink to wash the taste of latex away. He grinned in the mirror at the man behind him, who slid an arm around him and squeezed, licking the sweat off his neck and kissing his ear.

“You sure you don’t want to leave now,” he whispered, rocking his pelvis against Billy’s ass.

Billy laughed, elbowing him away. “Show hasn’t even started.”

“Give me your number,” the guy tried next, and Billy looked him over.

“Just here for a good time,” Billy told him, leaning in for a kiss as he slid by.

“Have a good night, you’re beautiful!” the guy yelled as he opened the door on the rest of the bar, and Billy’s cheeks heated as he considered heel-turning right back in and letting himself get hauled to some dude’s apartment.

I can make it a couple weeks, he thought, without calling up some random asshole to tell me I’m pretty. That’s a thing a normal person should be able to do.

The bar was crowded—everybody wanting to get their drinks before the opening act started—and Billy got jostled into exactly the kind of homophobic dickheads that made trouble at Dicks shows. He wondered, in the back of his mind, what looks they’d have on their faces when Gary Floyd walked out in drag. They didn’t like a t-shirt, apparently, from the slurs they were guffawing, and the actual lost child they had braced against the wall was swallowing convulsively, with huge eyes. The bartender caught Billy’s eye, and jerked her head at the kid. “Go ahead and make another dent on my bar, Billy,” she shouted.

“Hey hey,” Billy said, leaning between their heads, and interrupting their flow of critique of the kid’s t-shirt. He slid his arms around their shoulders to show them his hands. “—lookie, my knuckles’ve just about healed up from the Nazis I hadta smash into that bar! Y’know what that means,” he whispered against the ear of the one to his left, who’d gone rigid, staring around at a grim bartender and silent patrons,“—what that means, is,” he told the one on his right, “—my knuckles are itchy.”

They scrambled away, and the kid they’d had cornered took a shaky breath.

“Freebies on me,” the bartender smacked a beer and a bottled water on the bar next to them, and Billy took a long grateful pull on the beer.

The kid stared at her, then the beer, then Billy—and Billy tried not to snort his beer as the wide brown eyes followed his throat as he swallowed, then looked over his chest where his shirt was unbuttoned, before blinking back up, red-cheeked, at Billy’s face, and grabbing clumsily for the water. Of course he’s hot for me, Billy bit back a grin, a middle-schooler who sneaks in to see a band that made J.D.’s Top Ten Homocore hits. “You, uh, here with a…” he trailed off, frowning around, “—a—somebody else?”

The kid’s eyes widened, and then narrowed at Billy, and he nodded.

“You want me to stick around until they show back up?”

The kid’s eyes narrowed further, and he startled as somebody rattled by on a skateboard, so Billy backed away. “Stay over here, and that bartender will keep an eye on you,” Billy told him, finishing the last couple swallows of the beer, and waving for another.

“I won’t let him get drunk—what are you, twelve?! The hell did you get in here—” the bartender yelled over the crowd, pushing back from the bar to run to the other end.

The kid didn’t look like he was gonna answer the question. He still held the water bottle with his fingertips, like it might explode, and Billy accepted a shot glass from somebody who clapped him on the back.

“Anyway,” Billy tossed back the shot and shifted, thinking. His shoes stuck to the floor. “If you need anything. You want a t-shirt? I can shove people around. Get you in to buy a t-shirt.”

The kid flushed even more red, staring at him, and Billy grinned, shaking his head.

“Okay, well, you know I’m here. Drink lots of water, okay. Only gonna get hotter in here. You got earplugs?”

“Wha?” the kid whispered, clearing his throat.

“Here,” Billy said, slapping some in his hand, “—thank me when you can hear tomorrow.”

The kid nodded, watching him go, and Billy resisted swaggering, not wanting to be the cause of a child’s dislocated jaw.

He was zoned into the music, yelling, when he ran into the girls. He'd yanked his shirt off and shoved most of it into his back pocket so somebody with “VEGAN DYKE” scrawled across her bared breasts could write “QUEER” across his chest in lipstick. He'd always looked good in red.

“Hoy Billy!” Kali yelled, and he waved back, chugging enough of his beer to not spill it as he wove through the crowd.

“Hey,” he shouted back, clinking their drinks together.

Her lips thinned, scanning the crowd, and then she stood on her toes to yell up. “Where’s the jackass?”

“What?!”

“Your other half?!”

Billy cleared his throat. “He wasn’t,” Billy shouted back, then mouthed, then mimed a wedding ring, pulling it off, and tossing it over his shoulder.

She elbowed him, grinning, and yanked him down by the shoulder. “You’re better off—BETTER OFF,” she tried to stage-whisper over the crowd, loud as microphone feedback in his ear, and he shoved her off. The kid from earlier was staring at him through Kali and El like a pygmy owl through underbrush, and Billy shrugged, waving.

When the set ended, El surveyed the crowd, her hands over her ears. “Maybe you’ll find a new boyfriend here,” she suggested. “D’you see anyone you think is attractive? I could—”

“Pretty happy as a free agent, for now,” Billy cut her off, laughing. “Don’t drag anyone over.”

“I could, though,” she said, squinting. “What about that one? He could pick you up, probably, we could ask him to try.”

Billy choked on his beer, and Kali smacked his back.

“We're not holding try-outs, El. I think he wants to shop around,” she said, and Billy nodded, eyeing El’s pick. She knew him better than he thought, apparently, because the line of the worn t-shirt stretched over the man’s shoulderblades down to his very tight jeans had Billy’s definite attention, and the lipstick made something relax between his shoulders. But the stranger was screaming something at the stage, and waving a clenched fist, and Billy shook his head.

“Want me to see how the front of his jeans look?” El asked, miming a crotch bulge, and even Kali nearly spit her drink, cackling.

“No, nah,” Billy laughed, grinning down at her. “Think I’d like to try somebody who doesn’t start out pissed off, this time.”

Kali grimaced, shook her head, and squeezed his arm.

El shrugged, sliding an arm around Kali, and the kid. “We’re thirsty. Oh, this is Will,” she told Billy, pointing behind her as she and Kali cut away through the crowd, and the kid nodded, glancing up at BIlly with narrowed eyes.

“Me too,” Billy shrugged, glancing over at him, and lighting a cigarette. “William, I mean. Billy Hargrove.”

“Will Byers. Um, thank you. For earlier,” the kid said, finally, and Billy nodded, squinting at him through the smoke and dim lighting from the stage. He had a too-large shirt hanging half off one shoulder. It had some kind of calligraphy on it, hard to make out.

“…aren’t you a little young for beer?” Billy asked.

“I’m thirteen. Almost fourteen,” the kid shot back, and Billy remembered telling people he was six and three-quarters, and covered a snort.

“Yeah, sure. Y’know, when you’re old enough to go to school, they’ll teach you how to count up your age,” he said, dodging a swift elbow. “Nice shirt. That an elf?”

“…shut up,” the boy frowned down at his shirt, and firmed his little pointy chin, clenching his hands into fists.

Billy shrugged. “Looks like Lord of the Rings or something. Elves.”

“It’s Cirith Ungol ,” Will hissed up, scowling. “I know, not the place for metal, here, those assholes told me—wait, you—you read Lord of the Rings?”

“Yeah, who knew, I can read,” Billy whispered back, and Will sighed, rolling his eyes. Billy relented. “I even read the Silmarillion.”

“Really?!” Will squeaked, beaming, and bouncing a little on his toes, and yanking his t-shirt taut to show it off. “Cirith Ungol is from the Lord of the Rings! They’re—they’re a band named after a place in Lord of the Rings!”

“I know,” Billy grinned down at him. “On the way to Mordor.”

“I—I like Faramir,” Will bit his lips, swallowing, his eyes searching Billy’s face. “I—I reread all the Faramir parts, I l-love Faramir—”

“Everybody wants Faramir,” Billy whispered back, holding his hand under the QUEER on his chest like he was selling his titties on the Price is Right. “I’ve got the book in my car,” he added, clinking his glass into the kid’s water bottle. “How d’you know El and Kali?”

“Oh. My brother’s girlfriend’s ex-boyfriend teaches their little-league team,” Will answered, as though that was a comprehensible thing to say, and Billy choked on his beer.

“Kali’s in—” he cocked his head, grinning through the crowd, and trying to imagine her in a baseball cap and white button-up uniform.

“Oh, she’s not any more. But their mom—”

Foster mom, Billy thought, wondering whether Will wasn’t aware, or just didn’t see the difference.

“—she gets everybody who wants into Little League, says kids should get to swing bats around. Um. I—I do want a t-shirt,” he admitted, still beaming that bewildered smile up at Billy like he couldn’t believe he was awake, and Billy covered his grin with his beer.

“Let’s elbow our way in, then,” he said, waggling his eyebrows.

In the thick of the crowd, and the thick of the smoke, it was hard to get people’s attention, but Billy smacked shoulders, and yelled in the politest way of his people, and once they turned around and saw Will’s determined jaw, and he pointed from his shirt to the merch table, they pushed him onwards, yelling a course open.

By the time they reached the stage he was travelling with a company of pierced, painted protectors suited for his fantasy novels. He thanked a towering woman in platform combat shoes, a person in a clown suit of indeterminate gender, and a group of men with their arms around each other like they were in a musical football huddle, and they smacked his shoulders. Will giggled, bouncing a little on his toes.

At the table there were shirts for both bands, and Will steepled his fingers before selecting one of each. The crowd around him, now invested, cheered, and he ducked his head, grinning. There wasn’t a shirt small enough, of course, but Will looked delighted with the two t-shirts he bought, hugging them to his chest and turning to face the tide of humanity, when the other band walked onstage, and introduced themselves as the Big Boys.

The singer did a spin in his tutu, waving to the audience, and everyone yowled at the first riff of guitar, shouting “Biscuit!” and song names. Will’s eyes widened as he got shoved back into the table, nearly overturning it. Billy planted his feet against the press of people, feeling like a herd beast protecting its child from a stampede. The surrounding punks started yelling—both about Will, and at the musicians, and Billy crouched, patting at his own shoulders. He tried to yell instructions through the wall of noise, but Will just blinked at him.

Will’s hands were white-knuckled on his haul, and Billy slapped his shoulder to get his attention, pointed to all of him, and then Billy’s own shoulders again, and held his hands out. After a headcocked moment, Will nodded, and Billy picked him up and plonked him astride Billy’s head. Like that, Will could see, and Billy could dance, as much as anyone could, wedged in the crowd. Somebody started throwing food—Billy honestly wasn’t sure whether it was the crowd or the band—and the opening riffs of Fun, Fun, Fun started, and Will nearly climbed onto his head.

The singer whooped, waving, and Will waved back—and the guitarist beckoned him up, grabbing some other fan who’d crawled halfway onto the stage and hauling her up by the belt. Billy elbowed closer, steadying Will as he climbed on the stage, and the singer introduced himself as Biscuit, grappling Will and a pile of other fans to sing the chorus into the microphone.

The rest of the concert was a blur of adrenaline, as Billy panicked a bit over Will’s choice to crowdsurf to him, but he arrived safely, and Billy double-checked that he was wearing the earplugs. Will climbed back up his shoulders, shouting along with the lyrics, and Billy relaxed into the pounding drums, letting himself be jostled and heated by the music and people roaring around him.

After the last encore—when most of the audience was still onstage, singing the chorus of Hollywood Swinging for the seven hundredth time, and the Big Boys had yelled their signature “Now y’all go start your own band!”—El ran up and grabbed Billy’s arm, waving to Kali.

“Couldn’t get to you,” Kali panted, grinning up at Will.

“I got on stage!” Will yelled, and El cheered.

“You don’t have anything written on you,” she told them, pointing out the “ANARCHY!” written across her back, between the straps of her tank top. “Do you want me to write something on you? It’s sticky.”

“No,” Will giggled. He let himself drape forward against the back of Billy’s head, heaving a long sigh. “That was fun, fun, fun.”

Billy caught the momentary relief on Kali’s face, before she smiled. “Our ride’s probably waiting,” she said, for some reason, to Billy.

El blinked. “Oh! Will, have you called Steve?”

“Noooo,” Will snickered, high on adrenaline, and possibly the smoke. “I still need to call him.”

“Mmmm,” El frowned, glancing at the door.

“I can stay with him,” Billy offered, shrugging. “Since he, y’know. He goddamn...lives on my head now. Climbing monkey.” Will giggled.

“Oh,” El gasped, wide-eyed, “—Kali. Steve’s coming to pick Will up. Steve. Billy’s going to meet Steve.”

Kali drug her away, muttering about yentas, and waved over her shoulder at them.

“Thanks for the ticket, Kali!” Will bawled after them, and Billy snorted, shaking his head, and went to get another bottle of water for both of them.

“Gotta pee?” he asked his nesting owl, and Will hugged his head.

“Nuh-uh.”

“Well, I do,” Billy told him. “You gotta get down sometime. You can call your ride.”

After a long moment of silence, Will sighed, swinging a leg back over Billy’s shoulder, and he helped manhandle the kid to the ground.

Despite his original plans coming to a queercore concert, Billy hurried in the bathroom, avoiding eye contact, to come out and see Will perusing somebody’s zines. They were laid out on jackets on the floor, with some empty shot glasses. The ladies selling them were half-asleep—probably stoned, Billy gauged, from the red eyes under their skull makeup, and the smell of the smoke—but they smirked goodhumoredly at Will’s questions about who wrote them, and how they were printed (“Photocopied,” one whispered, giggling), and whose pictures and articles were inside.

“Her poetry’s in there,” the left one leaned to kiss the right one, and Will gaped, again, as he’d done all night, every time somebody did anything queer. He grabbed the zine, scrabbling for his wallet, and glancing up at Billy. The whole selection was probably pornographically gay, but Billy shrugged, knowing from his own squinting experience that the pictures would be so badly photocopied Will’s imagination would have to do all the work.

“I’m a dollar short of buying all of them,” Will said, resting his chin on his hands to survey what looked like their own homebrew edition of Queercore, and the latest Dr Smith and JDs , and Billy rolled his eyes and dug out his wallet. The woman on the left patted her jacket down, and pulled out a blunt—she handed it to the one on the right, who lit up—then tugged at her inside pocket, grinning at Billy. She yanked at it again. "I've—I've got Last Rites' Code Blue," she whispered, jerking a cassette free, and waving it upside down, and Will made a soft noise in his throat, reaching for it.

"So do I," Billy leaned to whisper in Will's ear, and handed over the dollar for the zines. "I'll make you a copy, if you like."

“Thank you,” Will told them, and then beamed up at Billy, who rolled his eyes and helped the kid fold everything up so he could carry it. “...uh, Steve said, um, he said he could pick me up at the diner. Around the corner?”

As they wove through the remaining—extremely drunk—crowd, Will grabbed him by the shoulder, and started trying to climb his back again. Billy piggy-backed him out to the parking lot, which had turned into an impromptu drunken skate park. Somebody'd brought spraypaint, and they were painting skateboards. Will nearly fell off, staring at the flips, and Billy got his leather jacket out of his motorcycle saddlebag—only to register Will hanging over his shoulder to reach for it like he was in the middle of a religious experience.

Billy waved it back and forth, and the kid’s head followed. Billy shivered, sweaty as he was in the night air, but held the jacket up. “You want to try it?”

“Yeh!” Will squeaked. “Yeh-yes!”

Billy sighed, and hefted his charge towards the diner, grinning to himself at Will’s describing every song as though Billy hadn’t been paying attention.

“Oh!” Will yelped, smacking his shirts and zines over Billy’s chest just in time for Billy to push at the door.

“Right,” Billy snorted, remembering the word scrawled across his chest, and finding an empty booth.

Will interrogated Billy on his order, his music taste, Lord of the Rings, and was just rounding back to hashbrowns or toast—Billy shook his head again, laughing, his stomach if not his brain still entirely full of beer—when a man in a pink polo shirt, smelling of clean laundry, soap, and faint cologne, swung into the booth and grinned at the server.

“Hashbrowns for me,” he panted. His sleeved arm was warm against Billy’s sweaty one, and his thigh pressed against Billy’s jeans.

“We can stay?” Will asked, wide-eyed, and Steve cast a sideways glance at Billy.

“Unless you’ve got somewhere to be. Steve Harrington.” He held out a hand, and Billy wiped his hand on his jeans before shaking it.

“Billy Hargrove,” he replied, realizing his voice was hoarse, and Steve’s eyes sparkled when he smiled.

“I didn’t think you’d even get in,” Steve told Will. “When you said—”

“Oh, they get shut down all the time,” Billy told him, half-laughing, half-cringing. “They don’t even have a liquor license.”

“Or a sign,” Will whispered. “They used to be a gay bar.”

“That they did.” Billy accepted coffee from the server, who winked at him.

“Billy helped me get t-shirts,” Will told Steve, grabbing one from the pile of leather jacket, t-shirts, and zines next to him. “He let me sit on his shoulders.”

“Oh, did he?” Steve ran his fingers though his hair, missing the part where it stuck up at the back, and Billy’s itched to follow them. Steve’d be asleep, Will’d explained, in the middle of the night—and now having seen him it was impossible for Billy not to imagine Steve Harrington sprawled across silken sheets. Snoring, probably, or possibly grinning, like now, as he listened to this nerdy kid Billy was fairly certain he barely knew.

Will gave Steve a play-by-play on the concert, and Steve laughed when the kid waxed melodramatic about Billy’s rescue. “He scared them off with his arms,” Will slumped sideways against his pile of clothes, one leg kicking in the air. “And his tattoos.”

“Sounds pretty heroic,” Steve said, leaning to bump his shoulder against Billy’s, and Billy laughed, biting his lip.

“He’s all sweaty everywhere because he let me sit on his shoulders the whole time,” Will continued, and Billy let his head thump back against the wall of the booth, staring at the ceiling, and wondering why he had ever been born.

“Oh, I’ve been to concerts,” Steve laughed. “It’s hot in there. Particularly if you’re carrying some tiny shithead.” He grinned over at Billy, then jerked, muttering as Will kicked him under the table.

Billy grinned back, relaxing a bit. “You don’t mind a little sweat, Harrington?”

Steve snorted, watching Billy’s mouth, then bit his own. He met Billy’s eyes as he let his lip slide between his teeth, and Billy stared, feeling a dull ache as his fingers dug into his thighs, trying to distract himself from his dick wanting to leap out of his jeans.

Will's voice broke the spell. “He helped me up on the stage and I got to sing with them—”

“What, really?” Steve looked back at Will, distracted, and Billy took a slow breath, wondering if Steve could possibly be unaware of the letters across his chest. Wondering whether this preppy Ivy-League looking kid would let Billy suck him off in the bathroom before he drove away, and forgot people like Billy Hargrove existed.

“They, um,” Billy said, swallowing, and trying to remember the question. “They do that. Big Boys. They get the audience onstage.”

By the time the food arrived, Will was rambling about Billy’s need to read Farmer Giles of Ham, and the affect of Tolkien on Led Zeppelin—Billy thought, because Steve Harrington kept unleashing smiles down at his cup of coffee like guided ballistic missiles.

@sky2fall Hope you like it! Thanks to The Dicks and Big Boys for their image and fictional likeness!

#harringrove #harringrove for Australia #Billy + Will friendship #platypan #platypan fic

103 notes · View notes

nightklok · 5 years ago

Note

ASH... oh my lord those prompts are SO good... chickles for #60? and/or hammertooth for #98? whatever strikes your fancy~

100 Ways to Say I Love You Prompts[Open]

AAAA Thank you for requesting Kelly ;^; I really liked the two you picked out so i ended up doing both!! (And sorry if they became too long sdfsff)

60)-”Happy Birthday.”

Word Count:1278

For his own reasoning, Pickles chose to pretend his birthday didn’t exist. It was difficult given how famous he is and how much more fan mail and online exposure he’d get around that time that would constantly remind. It’d be easier to not collect his fan mail and avoid the internet but his family always seemed to find a way to pester him. Every single Goddamn year would be them trying to come over or pestering him with texts, phone calls, and dollar store birthday cards with half-assed written messages.

Fortunately, this year seemed to be different. He was only thankful that conveniently their latest mission to fulfill the prophecy or whatever was in England In hindsight, he should’ve realized that it was actually part of Charles’ plan.

And since he never really looks at the schedule of what they needed to do, he didn’t realize that conveniently there was a day off between the tasks. And it so happened to fall right on his birthday.

It didn’t click into place once he found himself slowly waking up to Charles pulling him closer sleepily. His hands were always so gentle around him that it was almost easy to fall back asleep. Luckily, him being kissed was enough to get that jolt of energy to not fall as fast asleep.

“Happy birthday, Pickles,” Charles said and Pickles tiredly laughed as he kissed him back.

“Aren’t I gettin' a little too old for birthdays?” He asked with a tired smile.

“That would mean you actually had celebrated your own birthdays. There’s nothing wrong with treating yourself a little,” Charles answered, "Besides, I kind of planned something for us to do together. Of course, the boys want to do something with you too but that will be in the evening."

“What about my family? They're gonna ruin it if they find out-”

"They won't. It's all taken care of. It's nothing worth getting the press over. It's just gonna be between us and no one else."

That was enough to get Pickles to be comfortable enough to not ask anything else. Charles wasn't pestering him to get up and start the day like he usually would. He seemed to be taking his time with him and it was actually nice for once.

True to Charles' word, it was as quiet and enjoyable as Pickles preferred. He had shared plenty of birthday bashes before in the past to wake up incredibly hungover with a bunch of celebrities on his bed. As nice as those times were, he didn't miss it as much as he thought he would.

There was something nice about being able to spend a birthday not trapped in a room or with people he barely even knew. While the other guys may call him old, he just found it not as appealing as they must have. Charles could've simply given him a cake and he would've been content enough with it. However, because he was Charles, he always had tricks up his sleeve that he was never able to catch.

They spent most of the morning and afternoon traveling around England, visiting a few music museums, catching a private matinee performance of Book of Mormon, and even trying out pie at that traditional pie shop Charles always raved over. It was just as delicious as he had said.

It was evening when they finally made it back to the tour bus after basically traveling around like tourists. The two hadn't had a day where they basically traveled around aimlessly like normal people and while their celebrity status gave them extra special treatment, it was more enjoyable than either of them had expected.

He saw that the boys had attempted to throw him a surprise party. Attempted being the keyword here. Obviously, the boys and Abigail had fought over who was doing what and it ended with a disarray of balloons, streamers, and food being scattered all over. There was no sign of his family so honestly, he could've been knighted by the Queen herself on the spot and he would've felt the same.

“So we really tried but someone had to insist on being in charge.” Nathan glared at Skwisgaar.

“Not my faults your aesthetics are shit.” Skwisgaar pointed out.

“Should I remind that you wanted to throw in actual rattlesnakes to the punch bowl for the ‘aesthetics’?” Abigail asked.

“I don’t get why we couldn’t get a metal birthday cake! Mercury is totally safe and metal too!” Murderface chimed in.

“Uh eithers ways, happy birthdays!” Toki said quickly as he hugged Pickles so tightly he almost saw white.

Pickles just laughed when Toki pulled away. How could he be mad at people who at least genuinely tried to throw him a birthday party? He couldn’t remember if his family ever tried to throw him one. It used to hurt him he didn’t remember and he’d try so desperately to remember as the last thing of hope he had that they definitely cared about him.

Looking at the scene now, he realized that it didn’t matter. He finally got the birthday party he truly wanted. A birthday party thrown by his actual family, “The gesture’s still sweet. I really appreciate it. Thanks, guys.”

The cake was at least saved thanks to the fact it was kept in the fridge by an Abigail who definitely knew how to hold a sword. As they ate their cake, the presents were brought in by a klokateer. Six gifts in all.

The gifts were exactly things he would like. A mixture of handmade from the boys' secret talents and store-bought that still carried the same amount of love as they were all things he would like. The final gift was almost easy to not notice. It was a small box wrapped in white packaging and even though it had no name tag, it was still easy to see from who it was from.

It took a few moments to unwrap the paper and open the box. Seeing what was inside almost made him drop the box before looking at Charles, "You-This is for real? You actually mean it?"

Charles nodded as he took his hands, staring at him completely with a look that was full of the love he shared for him as well,"Of course I do, Pickles. You really mean a lot to me and I can't believe it's taken me so long to realize that. I know things are going to be hard soon and I'm not sure if we'll ever get another opportunity for me to propose to you so I'm taking this as a chance. I want this to be a promise that no matter what happens, I'll always be waiting for you and I hope you'll do the same for me."

Pickles almost choked back a sob as he kissed Charles before hugging him tightly, "Of course I fuckin' will. I'll wait a million years if I have to because I do wanna marry you. You're really the only one for me, Charlie."

It seemed like everyone else was aware of that moment because he heard party poppers go off and a mixtures of 'Congratulations', 'About fucking time', and 'Great, let's eat more cake.'

They eventually pulled away and Charles slipped the ring in his finger, which was a perfect fit.

"We cans plans your weddings!" Toki said excitedly which sparked immediate discussion among the others.

"No, I don't think-" Charles said before he was interrupted by the boys beginning to ramble about a very metal (and dangerous) wedding planned.

"We can tell them tomorrow. For now, I just wanna spend the rest of my birthday with my fiance." Pickles chuckled as he reached over to kiss him again.

“Sounds good to me.” He smiled as he kissed him again, “Happy birthday.”

98) “Take a deep breath.”

Trigger Warning: Panic Attack, blood mention Word count: 897

Transitioning was difficult. In one moment, Magnus was spending the past decade or so solely on revenge against the band that took everything away from him. The next moment, he’s now spending the rest of his life helping the band that took everything from him. Life had a funny way of throwing things at him that he least expected. Going from a vengeful person to someone who was not was something he never expected to happen. He figured he was too old to change but he supposed the world was nice enough to grant him some humanity to change.

The world was never kind to him. Magnus had made his peace with that and then continued to fight against it for all he had left in him. He wondered if giving in to help Dethklok meant giving up fighting. He was still fighting, for sure, but the difference was that his battles became for something much more than revenge.

He sat in a meeting with the _Council, _which was full of the people who apparently had a role in the prophecy to help fight against Salacia. Dethklok, Charles, Edgar, Dick, Abigail, ghost Trindle summoned via seance...and him. He was one of the people a part of the prophecy and that was still hard to wrap his head around. He wasn’t told his role yet, it was not his time yet, and that’s what ended up terrifying him the most.

What if his role made him throw away everything he began working for after he was saved? What if he had to go back to his old ways and hurt Toki...fatally this time? No...no he wouldn’t fall down that path again, prophecy be damned.

He couldn’t bring himself to pay attention to the meeting. It could be blamed on the pain he _refused _to take morphine for or perhaps trying to figure out himself after realizing he wasn’t who he thought he was. Every meeting he sat through brought up the same uncomfortable feelings and this one was no different really. Just usually talking about the usual stuff; updates on the song Dethklok and Dick were working on, Edgar’s messages with whales, boring stuff. And just as usual, he had nothing to provide to the table.

“Magnus?” Charles asked and Magnus was brought out of his thoughts.

Eyes were on him now. Maybe Charles asked a question and he didn’t notice why he was being asked. God, he should’ve paid attention. Maybe this was part of the prophecy? His role was to answer a question incorrectly and be quickly beheaded as an example to those that dare betray Dethklok. Maybe he was really just kept alive for that example. They brought back a fucking psycho for a prophecy; morality is non-existent with them...Maybe...

“Magnus, you okay?” Toki was sitting next to him. He gently reached for one of his hands only for Magnus to quickly pull away.

Magnus didn’t say anything and ran out of the room instead. He could hear Toki and the others call after him but he didn’t stop. He ran as far as his repairing body would allow him before stopping at a corner, gasping for air. Almost frantically his hand reached for his bandaged chest, feeling something wet just touch his fingertips. God, he fucked up. He always did.

His breathing didn’t stop from escalating. He could feel his heart pound rapidly to the point where it gave no moment for him to breathe. It was almost as similar as to when he stabbed himself. Knowing that he had to die but still fighting for air like he had some sort of worth.

He could hear footsteps and almost a gasp before feeling himself being dragged to sit on the floor. The hands that held his shoulders were so familiar that he didn’t need to look up. Other footsteps were heard across the empty hall. Distinct voices he couldn’t quite make out. He couldn’t tell who was speaking at all but it was enough for him to want everything to stop.

He wants to tell everyone to fuck off and let him suffer in peace. Let the re-opened wounds open more so he could bleed out to death. That would be so much easier for everyone.

But there was only one distinct voice he could somehow hear. Toki. The only one speaking directly to him, speaking softly but enough for him to hear. It was still hard to hear his voice compared to the others and his own breathing but it was something to focus on.

If Toki was willing to help over...whatever he’s going through, then how would he feel if Magnus ended up dying? Magnus was one of the few people Toki called out to when he was stuck in the hospital. Magnus became one of the many people Toki gave second chances to but definitely one of the first to actively try and make sure his second chance wouldn’t ever be a third.

He wouldn’t hurt Toki.

He couldn’t hurt Toki.

His self-imposed role would be to never hurt him for as long as he lived. As his breathing was struggling to stay even and he was struggling to awake, it was that promise and Toki’s voice that kept him staying awake.

“Takes a deeps breaths.” Toki’s voice was the only clear one he could hear.

And so he did.

#lampmeeting #Caffeinated Insomniac Writings #metalocalypse #metalocalypse fanfic #Charles Offdensen #pickles the dummer #chickles #charles/pickles #Toki Wartooth #magnus hammersmith #hammertooth #magnus/toki #As you can see i'm incredibly terrified of writing magnus as he has no lines sadfl;jkdfs #but it was a fun challenge writing something fluff and writing magnus!!#Not on AO3

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complicatedandstained · 5 years ago

Text

The Other Day at Hot Topic: Destiny, My Dude

The dust has barely settled between Roxas and Vanitas before business starts to pick up and for the first time all day, the unlikely duo find themselves confronted with a hoard of holiday shoppers.

It’s not long before they have barricaded themselves behind the register, side-by-side, juggling purchases from overenthusiastic nerds, under-enthusiastic goths, parents who just want a gift card so they can GTFO, and middle schoolers who can’t seem to grasp that Roxas and Vanitas can hear the kiddos rating them on their Hot Topic Scale of Hotness.

It’s a conversation which makes Roxas wince and grin in equal measure, trying to hold in laughter, as Vanitas helps the one that had said he was ‘trying too hard’ check out her items with all the warmth and personality of a GPS navigator.

When the last of the shoppers has left the store, Vanitas groans and slumps forward, arms crossing and rings clattering against the countertop. “Thank the Lord.”

Roxas sweeps a hand through his bangs and laughs, a relieved and airy thing. “Yeah… I think that’s the most people I’ve seen in here since I started.”

Vanitas rolls over, his back against the countertop, and covers his eyes with his arms. “And all those fricking children. I thought I’d have to beat them off of you with a mannequin arm.” He shifts his arms slightly to better level Roxas with an accusing glare.

“Whoa. Me?” Roxas steps back, a hand lifting to cover his heart. “You must not have heard them right.” He tries to keep his tone serious but can’t smother another smile. “Your brooding score was double mine.”

“Ah,” Vanitas shifts his arms back over his eyes, “shut up, Thirteen.”

Once again it seems that as much as Vanitas likes to throw shade, he doesn’t like to stand in it.

Roxas paces toward the trashcan to throw out a forgotten receipt, but continues over his shoulder, “You’re just salty we didn’t hear what they superscored you.”

“I’m salty,” Vanitas corrects, and it’s obviously not a word he’s fond of, “I had to be nice to them because, as much as you might enjoy the experience, I don’t want Axel to chew me up and spit me out.” He removes his arms, revealing a cringe, and narrows his eyes at Roxas, “I swear to God, the next person that tries to come in here, I’m going to bite their face off.”

Roxas doesn’t have time to try to suss out what this chewing and spitting comment means, before his thoughts are interrupted. “Shh…” he cautions, as Vanitas opens his mouth again, “I think someone is coming.” Roxas can hear humming and the rustle of displays being jostled off near the front.

Vanitas groans but pushes off the counter and rises to his full height. “Welcome to Hot Topic,” he greets with uncharacteristic enthusiasm, though their guest is not yet in sight. “Thanks for stopping by! What brings you in today and how may I be of assistance?”

Vanitas has the customer service voice of someone being held at gunpoint, but Roxas supposes it’s marginally better than Vanitas cussing people out or making unwanted comments about their sex lives.

“Uh, what?”

Roxas feels like he’s heard that disgruntled squawk before. Sure enough, a few seconds later, Demyx’s pompadour mohawk rises above the aisle displays, and then he’s peeking out, eyes wide, the stretch of his mouth skeptical. “You feeling okay, Vani? You’re sounding awfully... pleasant.”

“Oh,” Vanitas bats his hand as if to shoo Demyx off, cheer deflating from his voice, “it’s just you. Aren’t you off today? What do you want?”

Demyx smiles, waggles his eyebrows, tosses back his head, and, as he maneuvers through the aisles, starts to sing, “Hello, darkness, my old friend.” He’s not strumming on a ukulele, but he may as well be.

Vanitas groans, burying his head in his arms on the countertop once more, like maybe it will make Demyx go away. “Not this again.”

Demyx appears in full view and stretches out his arms, displaying a cropped, cut off ‘Take It Easy’ ‘Life is Good’ tank top above a flat stomach and ripped skinny jeans, slung low enough to reveal the edges of his boxers, despite the plaid shirt tied unevenly around his narrow waist. It’s a notable, but not, in Roxas’ opinion, unwelcome, departure from the unicorn sweater Roxas had last seen him in. The closer he gets, the more the air smells like burnt sand and coconut sunscreen.

“I've come to talk with you again.”

Vanitas scrunches his hair in his hand and, lifting his head slightly, his eyes flit to Roxas. “What did I do to deserve this torment?” “I can think of a few things,” Roxas quips before his better judgement can stop him.

Vanitas presses a palm to Roxas’ chest without looking, pushing him a step off, but his glare returns to the approaching Demyx.

“Because a vision softly creeping,” Demyx’s voice dips lower, and his steps are light enough to make Roxas wonder if the aspiring rockstar hadn’t had a few ballet classes back in the day. “Left its seeds while I was sleeping…”

“And by that you mean Axel texted you?” Vanitas calls, entirely disrespectful of Demyx’s lyrical momentum.

That Demyx’s visit isn’t random hadn’t occurred to Roxas. No one had exactly praised Demyx for his reliability and work ethic, but it does seem like he and Axel are close enough to merit a personal favor.

Had Axel tried to stop Vanitas from targeting me by sending in a bigger target?

Demyx smile widens, but he’s not thrown off. He pauses just in front of the checkout lane, posture sure, the smell of the beach clinging to him stronger than ever.

“And the vision that was planted in my brain, still remains.

Within the sound—of silence.”

A chill creeps up Roxas’ spine, listening to the soft lyrics laid bare, resonating in the empty store, entirely eclipsing and yet enhanced by the roaring background music. It’s not even that Demyx has the most incredible voice, so much as that he’s experienced enough to know how to really use it.

Vanitas looks less appreciative. He glances around like he’s looking for something to chuck at the man singing to him.

“In restless dreams, I walked alone—!” Demyx breaks with tradition to belt, one arm outstretched grandly as he advances, just a few paces away from the register.

“Boo.” Vanitas flings a Pokeball chapstick at Demyx’s jaw.

Demyx’s arms quickly rise in defense. “Ouch,” he whines. “Not the face, Vani…!”

Trying not to laugh, Roxas steps forward to ensure Demyx is alright, but he must be, because Demyx steps up to the register and lobs the chapstick back toward Vanitas’ chest.

“Vanitas used ‘Quick Attack,’” Vanitas observes sourly, as the Pokeball hits the ground and rolls away. “It was not very effective.”

“You don’t like it?” Demyx pauses in his singing to reassess. His hip juts out in challenge, and there’s a bit of a pout to his lip.

Vanitas’ sigh is heavy, but he shifts into a pointed smirk. “It’s not that I didn’t like it. I just didn’t think you knew what the sound of silence was.”

Demyx scoffs, decidedly offended. “Simon and Garfunkel, bro. It’s a classic. I picked it just for you.”

Roxas chuckles, a thousand percent sure that’s not what Vanitas meant, and earns a knowing side eye in response, before Vanitas returns to Demyx, “Yeah, well, serenade Roxas next time.”

“It’s one of Xigbar’s favorites,” Demyx continues, running with his own thoughts, as if Vanitas hasn’t spoken. “He likes the old stuff, asks me to play it all the time.”

Roxas recalls the large, intimidating man from the “training video” Aqua had shown him. Xigbar had been all over Demyx: standing too close, smiling too wide, pulling Demyx off camera to (most likely) make out. On one hand, his muscle mass and massive scar were inarguably terrifying. On the other hand, Xigbar’d been in the video drinking tea with Luxord and is apparently dating Demyx, which means he’s probably some kind of huge teddy bear. Right?

Yeah, no.

The wolfish smile he’d fixed Demyx throughout the video hadn’t exactly given Roxas teddy vibes. Xigbar’s confidence and cockiness had struck a harsh, uncomfortable contrast against Demyx’s playful naivete. Roxas can’t help but think Demyx has to be either totally stupid or totally fearless.

But, if Demyx is happy…

Vanitas leans forward, elbows on the counter, chin in his hands. His brows rise, as if perplexed, though he continues to smile. “He’s asking you to ‘shut it’ all the time, then.”

Roxas is somehow both pissed off and relieved to see that apparently Vanitas likes to give everyone shit about their love lives with very little background knowledge.

“Well,” Demyx tilts his head as if realizing this is a very real possibility before he shrugs, “he should be more specific.” Roxas chokes down another laugh, and Demyx turns his sights toward him, as if just noticing him, waving a small black bag. “Hey! Roxas! I brought you a surprise!”

“Please don’t let it be another song,” Vanitas mutters, nonetheless pushing off the counter and following Roxas out from behind it and up to Demyx.

Demyx proceeds to open a black drawstring bag, printed with a white, boxy, professional looking font reading “The Organization.” Small, metallic silver chains twine the letters and beside them what must be the band’s logo is printed all in white. The image—a cross with three points, curving into two tails at the bottom, like a crucifix impaling a heart, sends a slight chill up Roxas’ spine.

Roxas pushes the thought away. “This is stuff for your band?”

Demyx nods enthusiastically, tilting the bag to show it off to both of them. “You like? Xigbar and Axel re-did the font and logo a couple months ago and they killed it.”

“Uh, yeah… Looks great…” Roxas is saved from having to elaborate, as Demyx begins listing off items he pulls from the bag, handing them off to Roxas.

First, comes a demo CD with the same white logo emblazoned across the cover above the band name in the same font. Next, a t-shirt with the band name across the breast pocket, size small, Demyx assures him, “for obvious reasons.” Then, in quick succession, come a couple handfuls of stickers, something that looks like a tentative performance schedule, and finally, a slouchy black beanie with the logo stitched into the rim.

The last of which, Demyx opts to cap Roxas’ head with immediately, smushing his hair and leaving loose gold spikes sticking out at random. He’s talking all the while, “I invited Xigbar to come and meet you, actually. He can always tell who’s going to be a good fit with the band, but…” Demyx sticks out his tongue, focusing instead on fixing the back of the hat, as Roxas’ adjusts his hipster glasses.

Roxas is not exactly upset at missing this intro opportunity. “Oh, uh, that’s okay. I’m sure he’s busy…”

Vanitas snorts. He’s turned around, pretending to be busy organizing a register display.

“Oh, nah,” Demyx buries his nose in the bag again to ensure he hasn’t missed anything, “tattoo parlor was dead, he just didn’t want to come.”

Roxas blinks, uncertain what to make of this. Demyx laughs and then Vanitas does, harder.

Vanitas tilts his head to look at Roxas, his arms full and his head crowned. Vanitas’ expression seems both horrified and taunting. “Well, aren’t you a picture?”

Roxas glares back before checking himself and turning to offer Demyx a maybe slightly overwhelmed smile. “Thank you, man, but you didn’t have to go to all this trouble...”

Demyx waves the thanks away and snaps his fingers. “Yeah! A picture! We need a pic of our newest Organization groupie for the Instagram. Gotta give the fans what they want.”

Roxas smile turns wry. So that’s why he went to all this trouble.

Demyx pulls his phone from his back pocket. Roxas notes its case is plastered with band and beer stickers, as Demyx angles the camera toward him. “Smile pretty, Rox.”

Roxas thoughtlessly obeys as the camera flashes.

Demyx flicks through the photos with a thumb and nods, “Awesome, awesome.” He glances up. “What’s your Insta handle, bro?”

“Oh, gees,” Roxas bites the inside of his cheek in thought. “Haven’t used it much since high school. I think it’s either a-nobody-named-roxas or roxas-thats-a-stick.”

“Ugh.” Demyx full out grimaces, clearly not impressed with High School Roxas’ sense of humor. “Dude, if you join the band, we’re changing that.” He glances down again, tapping, swiping, “Ah! Here we go. Oh,” he breaks into a goofy grin, “look how freaking cute you were…” Demyx tilts his phone, elbowing Vanitas to look, which he doesn’t. “Skateboarding, karate, rock concert, emo selfie, emo selfie, more skateboarding... Oh, what?” His smile disappears, and Roxas shifts forward, to look at his saved photos upside down. “Whoa, that’s trippy.”

Demyx has up a photo of Sora balanced on Roxas’ shoulders, standing on the beach, the sun in their eyes, dripping with sweat, muscles straining, teeth grit around bubbles of laughter, desperately trying to stretch the few more inches needed to reach a low hanging paopu fruit, so that Sora could woo his crush of the week.

“There’s two of you!” Demyx continues. “You have a clone!”

Vanitas stiffens and stops pretending to be straightening anything to lean in and examine the screen, “It’s called a ‘twin,’ genius.” He turns away, rubbing between his eyes like Demyx’s very presence is giving him a migraine. “I have one, too.”

“Actually, that’s my little brother, Sora.” Roxas taps the screen and Sora’s handle @sora-the-explorer appears.

Demyx scrolls further down. “Man, Sora’s in half of these. He’s a selfie king.”

“Yeah, well.” Roxas would be more embarrassed by this information if Sora hadn’t been the one to make him download the app and force him to start uploading photos in the first place. “He means well. He likes to ‘share the fun’ with all our friends, so they don’t, you know, miss out.”

The small, derisive noise that leaves Vanitas’ throat makes Roxas grit his teeth. Yeah, Sora’s a huge cheeseball, but he’s also a downright amazing person.

“Wait, what’s this…” Demyx is well into Sora’s photos by now. “Roxie’s tenth grade piano recital?”

Vanitas and Roxas’ objections overlap, but Demyx is already pressing play. A familiar melody springs to Roxas’ ears. He did better than he remembers, though one discordant mistake still makes his fingers twitch.

“What was with your ‘I don’t play anything’ nonsense, Roxie? You’ve been holding out on me, man!” Demyx jabs a finger in Roxas’ chest. “You play the keys damn well.”

Roxas huffs, glancing down at his chipping nail polish, which had always made his instructor cringe. “It’s not exactly my most badass quality.” He glances back up, mouth twitching. “Besides, I didn’t think you’d want a classical pianist for your rock band.”

“Didn’t think we’d want a…” Demyx echoes, fading off, patting Roxas’ shoulder dismissively. “Well, if it was good enough for “Bohemian Rhapsody,” Roxas!”

Roxas laughs, as Demyx cups his face in both hands, expression growing serious. “The Organization has been looking for someone to play the keys since for-ever! This is destiny, my dude.” Roxas’ brain skips like a scratched-up CD. “I mean… I hadn’t ever really thought about…” Roxas mumbles, frowning.

This obviously means a lot to Demyx and he doesn’t want to get on the wrong side of Demyx and his friends off this fast. Especially not after this morning with Vanitas. And, it could be fun. Roxas has never been in a band before.

But he hasn’t played in ages… and the idea of singing in front of a crowd makes him kind of want to lock himself in the Hot Topic fitting room and barricade the door. He was never as good at either thing as he’d wanted to be. Not to mention, he’s only in town for break.

But it’s not exactly far, and some of their shows are bound to be on the mainland… and…Axel’s in the band… and… and…

“I just… I don’t know…Can I have some time to think about it?”

Demyx swats Roxas’ shoulder again unconcerned. “All good, little man. Think about it! Talk to Axel. Come to our practice tomorrow night. I’ll send you the deets. I know you’ll love it.” Demyx is already back to tapping at his phone like it’s a done deal.

“A-a-a-a-nd you’re tagged.”

Roxas has already nearly forgotten about the photo Demyx had just snapped of him. “What?”

#kingdom hearts #roxas #vanitas #demyx #axel #xigbar #akuroku #xigdem #organization xiii #the other day at hot topic #my writing

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hey-have-you-heard · 5 years ago

Text

Hey have you heard these 50 songs from 2019

I really enjoyed this last year so going to give it another go for ‘19. I put quite a lot of thought into what actually a ‘song of the year’ for me when I was first constructing and then heavily editing the playlist that came to be my Top 50 of 2019. I think the most important thing is that above all it’s a track that I’m glad exists, sometimes this is because of the songwriting or composition, sometimes the performance, sometimes the lyrical importance and sometimes just because it sparks joy.

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6bFJOjL8b8Zc2s5r1oJbsk?si=UJdqSXOTR3SQ8D3IwcmV2g

Explanations for each tracks inclusion below the fold…

100 gecs - 800db cloud 100 gecs channel a mix of Crystal Castles and Sleigh Bells with a Death Grips level appreciation for noise. It’s an absolute rush and that outro is just absurd.

Natalie Evans - Always Be Natalie Evans soft melody and sing song vocals are sublimely sweet on this heartfelt track of lost love, longing and nostalgia.

Petrol Girls - Big Mouth “If you fight back or disagree you’re the one with the fucking problem” this hits home, hard. Big Mouth is a rallying cry to speak out against oppression and discrimination, to raise you’re voice and be heard, not to be controlled.

Charli XCX ft. Lizzo - Blame it on your Love Charli has a midas touch when it comes to pop, combine that with Lizzo who has just about been the most fun thing in music this year and you’ve got a 10/10 banger.

Poppy - BLOODMONEY Poppy’s music just keeps going further down the rabbit hole. Originally playing with blending elements of nu-metal with bubblegum pop, she now seems to have transcended genre altogether to create whatever BLOODMONEY is, it’s absolutely ridiculous and I love it.

Body Hound - Bloom Get on that GROOVE! So proggy it hurts, this track from Body Hound is a technical wonderland of metamorphosing rhythms, gargantuan riffs, and just the tastiest of chord progressions.

Can the Sub_Bass speak - Algiers Word of warning, this is not an easy listen. A freefall tumble through genre and tone accompanies a stream of consciousness monologue full of racism, prejudice and political and artistic critique.

Elohim - Buckets Buckets is an onslaught of trap influences, emotional outbursts and aggressive distortion. I’m a big fan of this sound.

VUKOVI - C.L.A.U.D.I.A I know very little about VUKOVI as a band, but that riff is absolutely massive and this track has been a constant throughout my year on that basis alone.

Show Me The Body - Camp Orchestra Apparently more hardcore bands should use Banjos, because this is a damn good sound. Slowly building from a single bass line this track builds into a powerful demolishing force.

clipping. - Club Down Having thoroughly proven themselves able to do afro-futurist scifi on the Hugo nominated Splendor and Misery, clipping. now turn their considerable talents to horror core and unsurprisingly nail it. Daveed’s flows are tight as ever as he brings to life a decaying city backed by tortured screams.

Dream Nails - Corporate Realness YOU ARE NOT YOUR JOB. WORK IS NOT YOUR LIFE. YOU ARE NOT WHAT YOU MUST DO IN ORDER TO SURVIVE. Dream Nails are great and exactly what we need right now.

ControlTop - Covert Contracts This track positively bristles with an anxious energy. A fitting sound for the subject of the information overload we find ourselves locked into everyday.

Cherry Glazerr - Daddi There’s an icy coolness to ‘Daddi’, a disconnected sarcasm that falls away to reveal the anger and torment in the chorus, it’s a masterful bit of emotional storytelling through musical tone.

The Physics House Band - Death Sequence I Listening to Physics House latest release, the Death Sequence EP feels like a physical journey. This opener is a perfect example of this, as you’re plunged straight into a heady and disorienting mix of rhythms and counter-melody’s, the Sax guiding you through the turbulence until you land in a placid midsection, before that bass riff drags you forward through rhythmic breakdowns into an absolutely absurd brain melting saxophony and then it just keeps on going from there…

Witching Waves - Disintegration I saw WW back in the early summer, they were a bassist down so it was just a guitar and drums duo. They started with this track and it was one of the most pure punk things I’ve experienced, drummer/vocalist Emma Wigham bashing the absolute shit out of her kit . A great no-nonsense lo-fi banger.

Lingua Ignota - DO YOU DOUBT ME TRAITOR Another, not particularly easy listen here. DO YOU DOUBT ME TRAITOR is a dark and angry brooding track, building in intensity to release the primal rage, fear and horror of the abused. Its deeply chilling and instantly arresting. This track and the entire CALIGULA album stands as an absolute must listen.

Carly Rae Jepsen ft. Electric Guest - Feels Right I love the instrumentation on this one, those chunky piano chords and screaming guitar lift the track out and make it the highlight of an already great album to me.

Orla Gartland - Figure it out Dialing back the intensity slightly, Orla chronicles the frustrations of having to deal with someone in your life who you’re done with. The choruses burst forth in beautifully fuzzy explosions of noise. That vocal flair at the start of the final chorus is chef kiss.

Battles - Fort Greene Park Battles are at their best when they keep things simple. This is evident on 2019′s Juicy B Crypts which features some incredibly cluttered moments, but this just makes Fort Greene Park stand out all the more. A delightfully spacious piece of math rock, from some of the best in the business.

Dogleg - Fox Boy howdy, do I love me some midwest emo. Catharsis in musical form, it just makes me want to mosh my troubles away like I’m 16 again.

Tørsö - Grab A Shovel Tørsö go hard, I can appreciate that. An absolutely brutal track about the destructive power of depression and self-loathing.

“Pijn & Conjurer playing Curse These Metal Hands” - High Spirits “We were like, are we Pijn and Conjurer, or are we Curse These Metal Hands? I think we’ve settled with ‘we are Pijn and Conjurer playing Curse These Metal Hands’ …whatever that means!“ what it means is one of the most joyously triumphant pieces of metal music I’ve ever heard. Some of the guitar lines in this absolutely soar.

Lizzo - Juice Lizzo has won 2019, her message of self love, acceptance and body positivity has won her both critical and cultural acclaim and permeates her music in a way that makes it impossible to not love.

COLOSSAL SQUID, AK Patterson - Kick Punch Colossal Squid is the name given to Three Trapped Tigers drummer, Adam Betts’ experimental project. After a solo album of percussive wizardry Betts has now teamed with vocalist AK Patterson to give us something else entirely.

Evan Greer - Liberty Is A Statue Evan Greer uses the a folk punk sound to deliver an essay on the damaging influences of cis-normativity and social inequality. Of course I like this one.

Taylor Swift - Lover I wasn’t on board with this song for a fair while, but then I kept listening to it and kept coming back to it because of a roughly 50 second section which ties the track and the whole album together. Yeah, this is on here purely for the bridge, which is just beautiful.

Dodie - Monster Monster is an incredibly well written and delivered study on how perception changes with resentment and it makes me cry.

The Y Axes - Moon Moon is a delightfully dreamy piece of pop that glitters with infectious melodies, it’s lyrics a blissful embracing of cosmic nihilism, need I say more?

Ezra Furman - My Teeth Hurt My teeth hurt is a song about tooth ache, about that pain you carry with you everywhere and can’t get rid of, that ruins your days and and is one hell of a mood. Yeah it’s about gender dysphoria.

Nervus - No Nations Speaking of things being a mood, this track hits the nail squarely on the head.

Cultdreams - Not My Generation "Everyone ignores me Unless I’m on a stage talking Because they put me on a pedestal And pretend I’m just performing“ Lucinda Livingstone calls out the misogyny in our culture with a singular ferocity.

Lil Nas X - Old Town Road If there’s one song that’s dominated 2019 this is it right here. Who ever had the idea of putting that NIN Ghosts sample to a trap beat and cowboying over the top of it is an absolute genius.

King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard - Planet B It’s impossible to predict where King Gizzard’s sonic influences are going to take them next I doubt even they know half the time. Whatever they turn their hand to though they do it as if they mastered the sound decades ago Planet B is an all out thrash track with a strong environmental message.

Kesha - Rich, White, Straight Men Okay, I’m about to compare Kesha to John Lennon here but HEAR ME OUT… As ‘Imagine’ asked us to consider a world without conflict or capitalism, Kesha now posits that we should tear up our conceptions of our society based on its formation by a privileged group and imagine what kind of utopia could be built if we gave the underprivileged and minority groups a say.

Allie X - Rings A Bell The chorus here sounds like it could have been off Daft Punk’s Random Access Memories, and I’m all about that sound. Combined with Allie X’s dreamlike vocals make this a certified bop.

Poly-Math - Sensors in Everything Sensors in Everything is a beast of a track spanning over 14 minutes of absurdly dense prog. Having recently enlisted keyboardist Josh Gesner. Polymath make use of the new sounds and textures available to them, at times imitating a sort of Hammond sound not unlike John Lord to the chaotic maelstrom of noise.

Calva Louise - Sleeper Big hooks on this one. Sleeper has a confident swagger to it’s sound which stands apart for the bands previous work. It’s an absolutely huge track.

Slipknot - Solway Firth Slipknot didn’t disappoint after the tease of 2018′s “All Out Life”, following up with an album which blended old and new aspects of their sound to create one of their best to date. Solway Firth is a perfect example of this matching the punishing heaviness of Iowa with the melody driven sound of All Hope Is Gone.

Clt Drp - Speak To My Seeing Clt Drp perform live was one of my highlights of the year. The filthy guitar tones, powerhouse vocals tight as heck drumming and the _grooves. _Absolutely like nothing else I’ve seen. Just an incredible band that deserve so much more recognition.

Black Country, New Road - Sunglasses Black Country, New Road released two tracks this year and now I just want more. Dense wordy lyricism plays off against ever evolving instrumentation to present a raw cut of emotional storytelling.

Her Name Is Calla - Swan Her Name Is Calla are a band that have always been on the edge of my radar, my Dad is very fond of them and saw them live a couple of years ago, but never went back to relisten to any of their stuff, then they started an album with this. I was sold instantly.

black midi - Talking Heads Talking Heads (the band) are an obvious inspiration on this track. Both David Byrne’s vocal style and the Talking Heads penchant for sharp angular melodies are on show here. But given an extra ounce of chaos through Black Midi’s delivery.

Amanda Palmer - The Ride The ride is ten minutes of bundling up all your fears and anxieties of where we are and where we’re going and just, accepting them as part of the ride. Written off the back of a prompt from Amanda asking her fans what they were afraid of right now.

Kim Petras - There Will Be Blood Okay, let’s have some out of season spookiness. Love the squelchy synths on this, there’s a huge amount of energy on this track and with it’s commitment to the horror conceit it makes for a super fun bop.

Kate Nash - Trash Kate Nash’s sound is like bathing pure nostalgia,here she spins the toxic-relationship narrative central to her work to deliver a bigger story about humanity’s, quite literally toxic relationship to our planet.

American Football & Hayley Williams - Uncomfortably Numb The other side of the “midwest emo” coin. A melancholic song built on a soft bed of arpeggiated chords and clean harmonics, Uncomfortably Numb is a heartbreaking track of losing everything and of cycles persisting thorugh generations. Employing the clever metatextual trick of referencing Pink Floyd’s comfortably Numb to mirror the generational similarities.

Glenn Branca - Velvet and Pearls Disclaimer, Glenn Branca was a musical hero of mine, his approach to music and composition being solely responsible for influence a vast number of my favourite bands. Released posthumously, Velvet and Pearls is taken from a live performance by Branca’s ensemble and perfectly captures the sense of sonic disorientation, conjuring aural illusions through an assault of intricately crafted noise. It’s an exhilarating piece that should be played as loud as humanly possible.

Brutus - War The raw emotional strength of Stefanie Manneart’s vocals instantly made me pay attention when I first heard this track. Then the song exploded into a barrage of riffs and breakneck drumming.

Valiant Vermin - Warm Coke Another slice of throwback pop, Valiant Vermin proved with “Online Lover” how much of an ear she has for pop and has proven it once again with Warm Coke. Is a real good bop.

———

Welp there it is, 50(+1) songs, I had to limit myself to one track per artist in the main 50 because according to Spotify I listened to [checks notes] 1082 new artists this year. There are a small handful of tracks I wanted to highlight from the same artists though as they offer something quite different to the tracks in the playlists, so here they are quickly with 3 word descriptions.

Petrol Girls - Skye (dead dog, sad) Amanda Palmer - Voicemail for Jill (Talk about abortion) Ezra Furman - I Wanna be Your Girlfriend (Trans Torch Song) Battles ft Jon Anderson & Prairie WWWW - Sugar Foot (Batshit Prog Insanity) Poppy - Choke (Dark Minimalist Pop) Show Me The Body - Forks and Knives (Anxious nightmare punk) Lingua Ignota - CALIGULA (the whole album.)

———

Closing Statement

Cultdreams - Statement

There has been a shadow over the entertainment industry the latter half of this decade. Whether film, music, TV or video games, the late 2010′s are filled with stories of people coming forward to bravely tell their stories about being abused and manipulated by men in positions of power. The #metoo movement as it’s come to be known has been a powerful force in giving marginalised people a voice and the ability to call out oppressors and in starting the groundwork to root out the misogyny in the seats of power, but this is a battle far from won.

While there are thousands of stories out there I want to focus on one in particular.

In 2016 a number of women spoke out about various forms of abuse by a well-known musician in the punk scene. It’s now over three years later and this group of women are in the midst of a long fought claim of defamation from this musician. If this case goes through it sets a precedent for silencing marginalised voices in the industry. They have been fighting for so long and with no legal aid available for the case they have had to finance their defense from their own pockets.

This is where Solidarity Not Silence comes in. Solidarity not silence is a crowdfunding effort to help take the case to trial without the women bankrupting themselves entirely so that they don’t have to give in to this mans demands. You can read more about Solidarity not Silence and make a donation (if you feel so inclined) here: https://www.crowdjustice.com/case/solidaritynotsilence/

You can also follow them on twitter here https://twitter.com/solnotsilence

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ranier-layarte · 5 years ago

Text

LONG Character Survey: Ranier Leveilleur

BASICS.

FULL NAME: Ranier Kyran Layarte Leveilleur

NICKNAME: Ran, Raven

AGE: 21-25 (depending on expac)

BIRTHDAY: 1st Sun of the 2nd astral moon

ETHNIC GROUP: Au ra (Xaela)

NATIONALITY: Eorzean – From Ul'dah

LANGUAGE(S): Eorzean,

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: No

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Isn't this the same as the above?

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Married

CLASS: Weapon Master

• Proficient in almost all martial weapons.

• Tends to carry multiple weapons at all times.

• Prefers Axes out of all the bladed weaponry

HOMETOWN / AREA: Ul'dah

CURRENT HOMETOWN/ AREA: Shirogane Mansion

PROFESSION(S): WoL, Scion, Machinist, Businessman, Crafter

PHYSICAL: Extremely fit, exercises daily. Muscular build

HAIR: Black/Dark Blue

EYES: Crimson

NOSE: Average, straight, roman-esque

FACE: Straight essentially a greek nose. (At least if I had to try and describe it)

LIPS: A bit on the thinner side, very lightly pink.

COMPLEXION: A mix of Fair and Medium?

BLEMISHES: None

SCARS: Scar on left thigh from stab wound, Scar on left midsection, and upper right thigh.

TATTOOS: WoL tattoo on the palm of his right hand. (Working on giving him another)

HEIGHT: 7'4

WEIGHT: 330 LBS/ 150kg

BUILD: Tall, Muscular, Fit,

FEATURES: None

ALLERGIES: None, at least not yet.

USUAL HAIRSTYLE: Long hair parted in the middle framing the face. Pulled into a ponytail and held with a silver bead big enough for the tail.

USUAL FACE LOOK: Around 40% expressionless, 30% Scowling, 20% Reflective, 10% happy.

USUAL CLOTHING: Higher end clothing generally a mix of casual with formal preferring long pants and a short sleeved shirt. Boots of some kind and armor of some kind at all times. Either under or over the clothes having a preference for the bulkier armors.

PSYCHOLOGY.

FEAR(S): Dying and thereby becoming unable to prevent future deaths and incidents. A fear of the unknown. (Which is part of why he tries to prepare for so many things)

ASPIRATION(S): Being able to amass enough wealth to live comfortably and to continue making the lives of the less fortunate easier. Helping create a better society for all.

POSITIVE TRAITS: Empathetic, Compassionate, Humanitarian, Perseverance, Fairness, Courageous, Loving, Self discipline, Reliable, Thoughtful, Patient

NEGATIVE TRAITS: Bossy, Jealous, Secretive, Grumpy, Harsh, Aloof, Stubborn, Cruel (Only to enemies but that doesn't really matter to people does it?) Arrogant (In some things though less now)

ZODIAC: Pisces

TEMPERAMENT: Mix of choleric and melancholic.

SOUL TYPE(S): King, Warrior, Server (In that order)

ANIMALS: Raven, Bear

VICE HABIT(S): Training, Fixing machines, Drinking, Rubbing Chin,

FAITH: The Twelve (Loosely)

GHOSTS?: I mean if you've seen them you can't deny them.

AFTERLIFE?: With everything we see there has to be right?

REINCARNATION?: Yes, it's clear there is.

ALIENS?: Yes.

POLITICAL ALIGNMENT: Leftist

ECONOMIC PREFERENCE: Prosperous, everyone has what they need. Along with the means to go beyond that if they are willing and able.

SOCIO POLITICAL POSITION: I think there’s enough to go on.

EDUCATION LEVEL: Higher end of the spectrum, attended sharlayan schooling for a few years of his life. (Around three) Was home taught and by other teachers. Extensive knowledge in numerous subjects such as Machinery, Technology, Gunsmithing, Gemology, Business. Holding the equivalent of a mixture of Graduate or Masters in the subjects.

FAMILY.

FATHER: Kyran Layarte

MOTHER: Sahar Layarte

SIBLINGS: Kyari Layarte

EXTENDED FAMILY:

NAME MEANING(S): Ranier (Rainier with out the first I Meaning Wise army apparently)Kyran (Beam of Light) Sahar (Early morning or Dawn) Kyari (???)

HISTORICAL CONNECTION?: My families connection to history? My connection? My father was one of the survivors of the hotgo tribe also. Does fighting in the Calamity among all the other events count?

FAVORITES.

BOOK: Whatever has his current interest, it can very.

MOVIE PLAY: Does this mean Movie or Play?

5 SONGS:

• “Shock me” Baroness

• “Up In The Air” Thirty Seconds To Mars

• “Rise” League of Legends, Glitch Mob, The Word Alive

• “Unbreakable” Of Mice and Men

• “Drown” Bring Me The Horizon

DEITY: Halone

HOLIDAY: Valentione's day

MONTH: March

SEASON: Fall

PLACE: Beside his wife or workshop.

WEATHER: Light rain

SOUND: The turning of pages, the sound of rain, metal moving against each other.

SCENT(S): Smoke, Metal, Old books, and sweat

TASTE(S): Dulcet, Spicy,

FEEL(S): Rocks, Silk, Smooth metals,

ANIMAL(S): This was listed before.

NUMBER: 1? I don't know.

COLORS: Black, Blue, Red, Gold, Silver

EXTRA.

TALENTS: Metalworking, Singing, Sewing, Gem Cutting, Technology, Smithing, Machinery, Dexterous.

BAD AT: Getting rest even now, Not over exerting himself, Not overthinking potential scenarios that may never happen. Dealing with almost all animals, Even now sometimes talking about what bothers him too well, but he’s gotten much better over the years/expansions.

TURN ONS: Caring, Helpful, Courageous, Educated, Aggressive. Listening, Reliable,

TURN OFFS: Selfishness, Boastful, Belligerent, Cruelty, Intolerant, Racism, Weak willed, Careless,

HOBBIES: Creating new things be it machines, armor, clothes, weapons, tools, etc. Working on the same as before. Reading, Exercising, Cooking. Shopping.

TROPES: Pragmatic Hero, Bad ass boast, Big Fancy House, Chekhov's Gun, Determinator, Don't You Dare Pity Me, Genius Bruiser, Heroic Build, It's All My Fault, No Challenge Equals No Satisfaction, Super toughness, Friend to All Children, The Chosen One, The Ace, Ain't Too Proud To Beg, Always Save The Girl, Berserk Button, Death glare, Excuse me while I multi task, Game face, Hypocrite, Lady and Knight, Not So Stoic, Not So Invincible After all, Red Eyes, Take Warning, Stern Teacher, Undying Loyalty, The Power of Love

AESTHETIC TAGS: Workshops, Tools, Kitchens, Weaponry, Guns, Armor, Fine Clothes, Rain, Feathers, Azure Skies, Romance.

VOICE CLAIM(S): Keith Silverstein, (Speaking voice) John Rzeznik (Singing) John Baizley (Singing)

FC INFO.

MAIN FC(S): Free company? Azure Talons.

ALT FC(S): What?

OLDER FC(S): What?

YOUNGER FC(S): What?

GENDERBENT FC(S): What the fuck?

MUN QUESTIONS.

Q1: IF YOU COULD WRITE YOUR CHARACTER YOUR WAY IN THEIR OWN MOVIE, WHAT WOULD IT BE CALLED, WHAT STYLE WOULD IT BE FILMED IN, AND WHAT WOULD IT BE ABOUT?:

• I genuinely don’t know. Something with the grandeur of lord of the rings maybe? But with the ability to add comedy and romance in the proper way. I'm all for serious movies but I enjoy the ability to add a well executed joke or sweet moment. It also would probably not just be a single film. Taking the general events and using my fics as material would probably be fine.

I’d have to think about it a lot more than I will right now

As for the name, well, I don't really have many options. But, probably something with Final Fantasy XIV as the main title. Give it a JRPG title I suppose as a sub title. Sort of like Warriors Dissonance or Uncovered Stories.

Q2: WHAT WOULD THEIR SOUNDTRACK / SCORE SOUND LIKE?:

• Ambient, switching to full of energy, able to convey emotion. Again mentioning LOTR, the score by Howard shore is really great and able to accompany many scenes in such a fantastic manner. As for the other bits perhaps the addition of artist tracks such as from favorite bands and those songs that have meaning to him. Like the ones listed above.

Q3: WHY DID YOU START WRITING THIS CHARACTER?:

• As a way to work on and show that, a character doesn't just have to be overly reliant on tropes and cliches. That those are good as part of them but not as defining traits of them. Along with breaking some of those. Like how all protagonists always have dead parents, what's up with that? I enjoy seeing characters that try to break their molds and be more than that.

Q4: WHAT FIRST ATTRACTED YOU TO THIS CHARACTER?:

• My general thing in any game where you can create your own character has always been. To make who you'd want to be in this universe. I did that and then worked on it and reworked things until I got what I have now. So also, yes, he was a self insert.

Q5: DESCRIBE THE BIGGEST THING YOU DISLIKE ABOUT YOUR MUSE:

• Hard one I suppose but. I'd say how he is capable of doing so much. Even though I work with it as it is a key part of him, it's still hard to make him feel right, feel human when he's got these clear incredible strengths. He's very proficient at so many things some would maybe say he's a mary sue type of character. I make an effort to work on how he became that way to offset it. So it's a lot of extra work than if I had him being a more archetypal hero of his type. I may dislike this the most but I also like it. Love hate relationship you know?

Q6: WHAT DO YOU HAVE IN COMMON WITH YOUR MUSE?:

• A good part of our attitudes and personality though on his end they are greater generally. Along with our want to be as best as we can at certain things.

Q7: HOW DOES YOUR MUSE FEEL ABOUT YOU?:

• Honestly, and in my current state. He would probably be very upset with me and to just know me or the hand I have in his creation and self.

Q8: WHAT CHARACTERS DOES YOUR MUSE HAVE INTERESTING INTERACTIONS WITH?

• Alisaie Leveilleur – She is the main one being his main love interest, girlfriend, and wife later. Though overall he sees her as an equal and a partner, which is part of the reason their relationship grows as much as it does. Along with giving someone who he can trust in and rely on, and vice versa.

• Finn Hogveart - Who harasses Ranier often enough especially with his pet and regarding moogles.

• Alphinaud Leveilleur - and him sometimes get along strangely due to Ranier's relationship with his sister. For a long time he tried to spy on Ranier and make sure he was good for his sister even though he knew he was a good person.

• Cid Garlond - Ranier sees him as a mentor of sorts, along with someone that he can bounce ideas off of and work with on projects leading to a solid relationship between the two. The two sometimes bicker regarding their work but it's always just them being passionate for the projects.

• Gerolt Blackthorn – Similar to cid in some ways. Ranier looks up to Gerolt and his ability to continue making such amazing creations. Wanting to learn more regarding the processes means Ranier visits him when possible, bringing some drinks for him when he does. Almost having a relationship like bros. Ranier also sometimes has gone to try and sway Rowena on his behalf to lower his debt.

There are more but I don’t want to make this too much longer.

Q9: WHAT GIVES YOU INSPIRATION TO WRITE YOUR MUSE?

• I do not control the write, also Alisaie.

Q10: HOW LONG DID THIS TAKE YOU TO COMPLETE?:

Uhhhh maybe an hour all together. Over the course of three hours.

==========

Tagged by: @amandafullmetal @lyllyan-weiss

Tagging: @heyafinney @anikisbox and anyone who wants to do it that sees this.

#Ranier Leveilleur #Ranier Layarte #I did the best I could with it with the time i put into it.#I'm not the best at these either Hopefully someone finds new things or interesting #things from it

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proxylynn · 5 years ago

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Lynchtale: File Name Game of Death #5

Chapter 5: All power, little control, some hope, but no care. WARNING: THIS IS A MATURE STORY THAT WILL HAVE BLOOD, GORE, PSYCHOLOGICAL SURVIVAL HORROR, HEAVY CURSING, AND LIKELY SEXUAL THEMES/BONING. I DO NOT OWN UNDERTALE, THAT BELONGS TO LORD TOBY FOX. I DO NOT OWN DEAD BY DAYLIGHT, THAT BELONGS TO BEHAVIOUR DIGITAL INC.. I DON'T OWN THE AU'S THAT SOME OF THE CHARACTERS COME FROM, THEY BELONG TO THEIR RESPECTIVE CREATORS. I DON'T OWN THE IDEA FOR LYNCHTALE, THAT BELONGS TO PUNNYSIDEUP (AKA. SANSFULPUNS). WHAT I DO OWN IS MY SELF-INSERT OC ANOMALY LYNSIE AND THE LOVE OF FAN PARODY. IF YOU'RE STILL READING THIS, THEN CONGRATULATIONS ON EITHER BEING ONE WITH STRONG DETERMINATION OR AN ENDLESS WILL TO OVERCOME THE CHALLENGE OF STOMACHING WHAT I HAVE IN MIND. EITHER WAY, IF YOU LIKE THIS AND/OR MY OTHER CONTENT, SIT BACK AND ENJOY THE ETERNAL PUNISHMENT. HAVE FUN SINNERS. ^_^ --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Do you ever have that odd sensation of floating? Like, there's nothing else, it's just space and you're simply drifting with nothing but this warm fuzzy feeling. Feels good. A nice feeling compared to the one I last felt. ...Crap. I've acknowledged this as a dream. That means I'll wake up soon and have to go back to all that other shit again. I hate that flaw of sleep. ...Oh well. Least this time I know I've died and ended up at camp. Worst comes to worst, David is sneaking a feel or Nea will hit me once I'm up. Either way, as long as I'm away from Legion then I'm fine. The last thing I want to see is that skeleton any time soon. Suddenly I feel something. A shift. Hands. God damn it, David, I will beat your ass black and blue! I faintly growl as my eyes struggle to open. "oh, look! she's waking up." I freeze. I don't know this voice. {big fucking deal. ya want a medal?} Another one? {just keep her quite. bones dose not want to be disturbed.} A third voice? Bones? Oh...Oh, fuck my life! I'm not at camp. I crack one eye open and find an overly chipper face grinning at me. And those eyes...light blue orbs with yellow stars for pupils. So full of energy and something else...something forced. His clothing, it's very similar to Bones but different enough to not be confused for him. This one has a pale blue hooded jacket that's fully zipped, the hood covering his head has no white fur around the collar. His shorts are the same color as the jacket, though the sleeves are dark grey, and he has dull grey knee-high socks. He has fingerless gloves too but are super pale blue and only the first two fingers are free from coverage. He spots light blue and pale blue sneakers. He doesn't have tape like Bones did, though he does have what looks like a long light blue scarf that's wrapped around his waist and tied into a bow on his back. Yet, of course, you can't forget the random splotches of blood that seem to make it look even better. "hello, human. did you sleep well?" Fully awake and trying not to freak out, I merely nod. It makes that grin of his stretch even wider. "good. i tried to make sure you were comfortable." Letting my senses come back, I find myself being cradled in this skeleton's lap and we are nestled by a fire pit. The fire that sits in the center of the chalet of their territory. Mount Ormond Resort. Ormond was once a small, remote ski town with idyllic slopes, but its resort turned obsolete when a deluxe ski village was built on Mount Richards less than two hours away. Mount Richards offered fresh slopes with luxurious stores and hotels, which crushed Mount Ormond's isolated, decrepit facilities. The fate of the mountain worsened when a mining project took interest in the coal present at its summit. The mountaintop was lined by explosives to extract coal seams from under it. The project caused public outrage and was stopped midway. Mount Ormond is now a soulful, deforested graveyard where gangs and teenagers go looking for trouble. Some people say that the mountain hides a darkness, a bottomless hole from where no one can return. And they aren't wrong. Legion lives here. "can you heal yourself?" Realization kicks in. I'm still injured. Of course, killers can't heal. So how have I not died this whole time? "well?" "Um...May I ask you something?" "sure." "Why am I not dead?" "oh, that's easy. you humans stop bleeding when held. so i figured i'd keep you in my arms till you woke up and do that yourself." "Oh...Makes sense." "also, you seemed cold. so i moved us over to the fire." "...Thank you." "but again, you can heal yourself...right?" "Yeah. Just...give me a moment to process this." "process what?" "The overly nice behavior. The general kindness. The attention to care and consideration. In short, and I mean no disrespect, but either you're so sweet it's unbelievable or you are trying way too hard to make me like you." {if ya call being a little bitch boy sweet, then it's the first one.} The second voice pulls my attention. Looking over my shoulder, there's another skeleton lounging sideways on a recliner and playing with his blade. But he's slightly transparent like a specter. This one, this is the killer you expect to find in Hot Topic. There is no blue on this one. Black, red, and yellow are his colors. Like a deadly snake. His eyes are wicked. Golden orbs surrounded by red filled sockets. And those teeth, it's like looking at the mouth of a shark but both bottom canine teeth are longer, protruding, and covered in gold. A red collar highlights his neck and the metal spikes add toughness. At first glance, he doesn't seem to have gloves, but he does, he's made finger-less gloves out of bandages. The jacket is black, a single red stripe runs down the length of each sleeve, the zipper teeth are like the golden fangs in his mouth, and the bottom hem has this red band with what looks like a silver bullet pattern. The jacket is also unzipped completely but form-hugging, so while you can see his rib cage he'd need to move around more to really expose it. He has matching black pants that, like Bones, he's rolled up the legs to his knees, showing off some of his tibia and fibula. The rest of his leg is covered by long scrunched black socks that can't go further than the top of the calf-high red combat boots, sporting yellow laces. Blood really shows on this guy but it matches him so well you could easily mistake it for design. As for the weapon he's playing with, it's a chained blade. One end locks it as a ring around his middle right finger in the shape of bone top, the gold chain coils around his arm to cross his back and coils down his left arm to where the bone-shaped metal knife is spinning in his left hand. "i am not! you're just a jerk!" {oooh, such strong language. ya sure showed me who's boss. *scoff* dumbass.} The blue skele-boy holding me pouts. "you're so mean." I am having a hard time understanding what is going on. Am I being punk'd? I feel like they're punking me. {your confusion is natural, human.} Oh right, there was a third voice. This one is a bit harder to find, I can't see him till he stands up behind what looks like a snack bar, apparently rummaging around for something. This one...He gives me chills. He looks like Bones yet...is off. He wears a blue jacket with a single white strip going down the sleeves, the hood is super fluffy with its furry rim, it's not zipped fully so his ribs are showing a bit, black shorts with two white stripes going down the sides, and short white socks in blue tennis shoes. His clothing is like the others, stained with blood. But that's not the scary part. It's his face. His physical appearance is what truly makes him stand out from the other. His bones appear weak as if he hadn't eaten anything for many years. His left eye glows blood-red while his right eye socket is completely black. He's got a big cracked hole on the top-left spot of his head and his smiley grin is wide and psychotic looking. The bone-shaped handle of a meat cleaver sticks out of a pocket on his left side. {we are not what your kind would see as normal.} He inspects a bottle but finds it empty and tosses it behind him into a wall, somehow not breaking it. "Not sure about that. You seem okay so far." Blue boy pokes into my wound and I yelp at his intruding digit. "please, if you would heal yourself now, it would be appreciated." "*wince* Alright, alright, sorry." He stops and I start the weird process of healing. At least with a medkit it makes sense. But somehow rubbing my hands across the injury for long enough undoes the damage. The Entity doesn't seem to understand how medicine and anatomy work. Occasionally I notice my "capture" watching this with interest. No clue if they can be taught how to heal but if possible I don't see anything bad about it. "wowzers. the hole is closing up. and all you're doing is rubbing it?" "Yeah. Makes no sense but if it works I can't knock it." Once the hole closes I do feel a bit stronger. Though the blood might take a bit longer to come to me. "all better now?" "For the most part. Sorry for the inconvenience...um..." I totally spaced on how I don't know these guys' names. I gently get off of him and rub my head like an idiot. "Sorry, I don't know your names. Just Bones. And he didn't mention you guys by name when we first met." "no harm done, human." The blue boy leaps to his feet and strikes an "I'm so cool" pose. "you may me boo." Why do I suddenly have the urge to call him boo-berry? "the potty mouth over there is chops." He points to the edge lord on the chair and said edge lord snarls while flipping us off. {piss off.} Such a charmer. "and mister doom over there is dead eye." The hungry one makes eye contact with me and after a moment of no emotion being expressed, he smiles but in an "I watch you sleep" kind of way with a slow wave hello. I force a nervous smile and wave back. His grin widens and I make a mental note to never be on that one's bad-side. "and together with bones, we make up the legion." "Nice to meet you all. Though, if it's okay to ask, where is Bones?" {that's none of your business, bitch.} {he is resting upstairs.} {mother fucker, don't undermine me in front of the meat!} Dead Eye pays Chops no mind. "after we got you here, he said and i quote...i'm so tired." {he said he was fucking tired.} "you know i don't swear." {pussy.} "jerk. you understood what i meant, right human?" I nod. "see? you don't have to curse all the time to explain things." {whatever, bitch boy.} Boo pouts and stomps his foot in annoyance. I can't help the small giggle that sneaks out at the childish act. "anyway, i bet you're wondering why you're here." Oh yeah, that is a thing. "It was a thought in the back of my head, yeah. But I figured Bones wanted to kick my butt in the privacy of his home turf." {no dice, meat. that was my idea.} Why is that not surprising even though I just met this guy? "actually, you were brought here so we could talk." "Talk?" "yes. see...we need your help." I fold my arms. "Forgive me if I find that a bit hard to believe." {you have trust issues.} Dead Eye suddenly speaks into my ear and I nearly jump into the fire from shock. This reaction has Chops laughing his bony ass off and Dead Eye smiling in amusement. Damn specter moved silently and fast for that. Boo comes to me and puts an arm around my back in comfort. "are you okay?" "Yeah. *shaky breath* D-Dude got me good. Nearly jumped out of my skin." Dead Eye's smile never falters. Yet his eye holds a stronger intent. I don't like it. {good one, creep show. maybe next time you can actually skin this kitten and we get some lady bone action.} That remark makes Dead Eye sneer. {do not call me that name. and there would be no point...} He turns away moving to examine a messy bookshelf. {it is not like you would know what to do even if you managed to get a female.} That stung Chops, he gets out of his seat and flings his blade into the shelf to make his point. {don't talk shit, freak. if you're gonna dis me, then have the balls to do it to my face!} The death glare shot to Chops is heart-stopping. {do not call me that word. you will not like what will happen if you do. this is your last warning.} Chops exchanges glares with Dead Eye before scoffing and yanking the weapon back effortlessly. {ya ain't worth the trouble.} They go about their previous activities as if nothing happened. I just look at Boo confused. "don't worry. this is normal." "If you say so." "here, let's go over there." Boo leads me away from the fire and we sit over by the stairs. Giving the other two their space. "so, like i was saying, we need your help." "Not sure how, but I'll bite. How?" "see...the thing is, when bones made that deal in the trial with you and carved our tag into you, he broke a rule set up by the others." "Go on." "um...from what i understand, he enacted claim of obsession when he cut you." "You'll have to forgive me. I know not the laws made by you guys." He rubs his jaw in thought. "if memory serves me right, the right of obsession was giving three main steps for a killer to have claim on a certain human. the first being the expression of intent to the group." "And he didn't do that, right?" "right. if anything, he did step three first then step one." "What was step three?" "leaving your mark on the target of obsession. be it mentally, physically, or emotionally." Memory has me look down the collar of my shirt. It's faint. Like stretchmarks. I can still see the lettering. "Yep. That step was achieved." "now we need to do step two. that one requires doing certain challenges when in trials with the target of obsession. that being you." I rock a bit. "So you boys need me to be in the loop and go along with this to make it easier. Correct?" He nods. "pretty much. there are no set challenges to do. the others come up with them at random. so there's no time to get ready once told what they are." "And how many are there?" "i believe there will be anywhere from three to five. the difficulty will be random as well." I ponder over this. "i must say, human, you're taking this better than we guessed." I stop rocking. "I like to think I am more excepting than most. But don't think my calm means I'm agreeing right off the bat." He puts his hands up. "fair enough. this is a bit crazy." "That and you haven't told me what I get out of this." He tilts his head. "i'm sorry?" "What benefits me in helping you? Granted, I think I know the answer, yet you've been straight forward so far and I'm hoping your nice-guy act is more real than fake." This has him lean back on his hands. He's quiet now. So my suspicion was right. This is less of a "this helps us both" type deal and more of a "this helps only one of us" thing. I guess some things never change even in this place. "honestly...i'm not sure." Okay, that's more than expected. "it's not that i'm saying nothing. it's more because i don't know. no one else that's tried claiming obsession rights has ever gotten past step two. plus, no other human has been willing to cooperate with monsters before." "No other human can communicate with monsters either, so that helps too." "true. so...are you willing to help?" I take a deep breath through my nose followed by a long exhale. "...Okay." His sockets widen. "really?" I nod. "But...I want some reassurance." "such as?" I offer my hand. "You probably have to talk this over with the others, but if we're doing this, I'd like it if we weren't just killer and target. But partners." He looks at me funny. "partners?" "I cover your back and you cover mine. Seems fair if you ask me." He looks at me and then my hand. "i want to...but..." I pull my hand back. "I get it. Baby steps. No rush here, buddy." He springs to his feet. "i'm not high up in the chain of command. i'm bottom tier." He looks over at his companions. "if they agree with you, it won't mean anything. bones is the leader. and they only listen to him." "If you're valued so low, then why give you this important job of talking with me?" He looks down at me. "because i'm the nice guy. the other two wouldn't deal with a human like this." He starts to step away. "you can stay if you want. my part is done." Well...that's a load of crap. "You shouldn't do that." He turns back. "do what?" "Putting yourself down. Because clearly, what you just said is shit." That gets his attention as I stand up. "You're more important than you give credit. You even said it yourself, the other two wouldn't have done this right. Bones trusted this to you. Remember that whenever you feel like you don't matter. You can do something they can't." His blank expression only adds to the dumb feeling washing over me for the shit that I just vomited out. I'm not sure if I've ever felt more embarrassed. Is this dumber than attempting to kiss that boy that liked me in taekwondo? Or that time I cried in sixth grade because my Digimon cards were stolen? Or during that same school year, I took choirs and sang "My Heart Will Go On" from Titanic even though I didn't like the movie? Fuck my childhood was weird. Just when my brain begins to flip the "apologize you idiot" switch I hear...chuckling? "heheh...that was really sappy. like...really really sappy." Yep. I'm a massive dork. A massive blushing dork. "Yeah. Sorry about that. It just...happens sometimes." He comes back over to me and I think he'll do something in a chummy way. Instead...he bashes his forehead into mine and I fall back into some debris. "it's a shame you're human." Trying to shove off this stuff is a pain but manageable. "*grunt* Why's that?" He smirks. "you're cute. that's why." I...I have nothing to say. I'm just utterly flabbergasted. "like i said...you can stay if you like." He walks off and I can't move. Every synapse in my brain died...and I can't figure out why. Why did he say that? Why did it affect me? Is he just messing with me? Is he for real? Why is this bugging me?! {you seem lost.} Dead Eye once more pops up beside me and I slam back into the debris. "Jesus fuck! How the hell do you do that?" He grins. {it is not my fault that you do not pay attention.} Once more I claw off this broken crap. "I take it you heard our talk then?" {i heard enough. hehe...partnership with a human? you are a gutsy creature.} I wipe some moisture off my face to find blood. Damn Boo hits hard. "I take it you don't like the idea." {on the contrary. i like the thought of having someone like you around.} And suddenly my creepy senses are tingling. "Dare I ask...why?" He comes closer. I move back. {i have been so bored...} He moves fast, pinning me back with his hands on either side of my face. {so very bored.} That eye. The hidden intent it holds, so strong and intimidating. Its gaze is paralyzing. And he knows it. {you are afraid of me. i see it in your eyes.} He leans in more. {it is my appearance. my face frightens you.} Suddenly...clear thought returns. "Actually...You look fine to me." This gets him. {wh...what?} "The thing about you that scares me is not your looks. Though it does add to it." That intensity of his dies down a bit. {then what is it?} "I can't tell what you'll do." His face is flat. Seemingly lost in his thoughts. I know not what part clicks on. But some moronic place in my head has the nerve to reach up for his face. Of course, I hesitate. Especially when his sight darts to my hand. Yet he doesn't move or say a word. Slowly, I try to touch his skull but my hand goes through him, giving off a cold sensation. An act that gets his grin to come back. {a brave move from a gutsy creature like yourself. but you should know that only one of us can have control of the body at a time.} The gears turn in my head. A sight that makes him snicker. {that is right. i am not physically present. neither is chops or bones. not as long as boo has the body. this place. outside of trial. this is the only time we can be seen outside of having the body.} Something foreboding comes to me. I should keep my mouth shut. But when have I ever done that? "Why are you telling me this?" The look of psychotic delight. Something I haven't seen outside of fiction. It's utterly terrifying. {because i want you to know there will come a time when i have control of the body. and unlike the others...} He leans into my ear. {i will not be gentle.} He backs away and loves the view of me visibly shivering. {oh yes. my boredom ends now. you are just what i need.} He leaves me and frankly, I'm not sure whether I've fucked myself up royal by agreeing to this. The saying goes that the enemy of my enemy is my friend. But with friends like these who's to say who my enemy really is? Yet what choice do I have? Either the humans that treat me like dirt or the monsters that do that too but are honest about it. Oh, what a messed up life I live. [AT THE SURVIVOR'S CAMPSITE] Tension is mounting among the humans. One antsy guy is not handling the current lack of his gal pal well and his pacing from one edge of camp to punch a tree to then do the same thing on the other side is starting to work on some people's nerves. "David, we know you're in a mood, but I don't think that's helping." David glares at Dwight. "And just what do you think I should do? Go out there with no clue where to bloody go? Did you really think I 'adn't thought of that when she fuckin' ran off?!" "Ease off him, man." Meg stands up for a trembling Dwight. "We get it. You're pissed. But you don't have to unload on Dwight..." Dwight feels respect. "He's got enough issues as it is." Well, that lasted all of four seconds. A new daily best. "Lil' grrl, don't tell me 'ow to vent. If I wanna rip that shrimp a new arsehole, then I'm gonna get loud and tear into him like fat fucker at an all you can eat joint." "Please don't." Dwight utters with the confidence of a man strapped into the electric chair with less than a minute left on the clock. "Yeah, please don't." Claudette mutters now broken from her thoughts. "Can we not turn on each other? It's only playing into the Entity's favor." Jeff adds while poking a stick into the everlasting bonfire. "The way I see it..." "No one asked you, Nea." Bill cuts Nea off. "All I'm saying..." "Shut it, cunt!" "Fuck you, cockney bastard!" "You wanna go, bitch? Come on then, let's 'ave it! I don't give a shit if yer a grrl. I'll kick yer arse just as hard!" "Whoa! Whoa! Slow down there. There is nothing that makes hitting a woman okay...Unless she's possessed by a demon and trying to devour your soul." Ash attempts using reason. "Wait...What if a woman has killed one of her children and is about to kill the second? Are you telling me it's still wrong to hit her to save the child?" Jane questions things, as is her talk show nature. "Uh..." "Stand down, Ash. There is no right answer." Adam pats Ash's shoulder. "It's a vicious cycle. Women want to be treated the same as men yet still want to be treated differently when it comes to certain things." Ace states with a shrug and earning glares from every female around him. "Oh don't even try to shame me. You can't tell me you want the same crap guys don't get away with but you do." "Name one thing we women get away with but guys don't." Kate demands and Ace tips his shades. "Flirting to get free stuff." "...Name two things." "*sigh* I hate my gender." Min groans into her palm. As dumb as this exchange was, and continued to be as some keep it going, it did do one thing well. It's made David not want to fight Nea. Though...It's made David leave camp to fight something else. Something that will last longer than annoying bitch and get some pent up emotions out. [AT MOUNT ORMOND RESORT] Since Boo gave me the option and I figure it looks better for me to do so, I have remained at the lodge with the four of them...well...three due to Bones still resting upstairs. I pretty much stay around Boo because he seems the most stable. Chops I'm unsure of. He's got attitude and a smart mouth, but he doesn't seem to want to bother with me. I'm cool with this. Dead Eye, however, I wish he'd stop eyeing me and making me uncomfortable even while he's across the room. Right now at least I can do something rare...relax. Even if it's short-lived. Being able to lounge by the fire and chat with Boo is refreshing. With David, he'd be hitting me with yet another flirt or one-liner or random story that makes him seem so cool. But Boo? Other than calling me cute one time he's been normal. Sure Boo's stories kind of involve the murder of the others at camp, sometimes getting the other two to add their own comments, yet it just comes off as common as someone talking about a pleasant day they had. I guess a bonus to this would be learning how they tend to attack in a trial. Who knows? It could pay off later. "so what do you think? was i unfair?" "Heck no. All four had flashlights and were blinding you every second while pallet bashing your skull. The ones you caught deserved being hooked." "so i wasn't being too harsh?" "Not at all." Chops scoffs. {bet ya wouldn't be saying that if you were on the hook.} I shrug. "If I'm being a turd, by all means, call me out and hook me. I won't complain about how karma works." {not even if you're right outside the gate and then get whacked?} "Hmmm...Maybe I'd be a little salty over it. But if you caught me than I wasn't giving it my all in the first place. So it's my fault." {...i can't tell if you're fucking with me or not.} {she is not.} Dead Eye interjects. {and how the hell would ya know?} {simple...what reason would she have to lie?} Chops opens his mouth but then rolls over in his seat. {yeah, whatever.} I look at Boo. "Is he always so cheerful or is this an off day?" Boo covers his mouth as he snickers. "no...heh...that's just how he is. you get used to it." "If that's the case, how do you know when he's really mad if this is his norm?" "easy...he doesn't talk when that mad." Note to self, if Chops isn't willing to talk than get the ever-loving fuck away from him. "but don't worry about it. only one human has ever made him that mad before." I bet it was Nea. "Do you know who it was?" {it was that jackass with the rose tattoo behind his ear. mother fucker thought it was funny to shove firecrackers in my pants when i got pallet stunned. heh...i sure showed him a thing or two.} Wait...David? For real? "What happened?" The tone in Chops's voice carries the ring on smug satisfaction hidden on his likely grinning face. {when i got him on the hook...i spilled his guts. the bastard learned to not pulled anything stupid like that shit again.} And now this feels weird. Thank god they have no clue about me being close to David. Otherwise, I think they'd be a lot less cool with me. {ya wouldn't pull any stunt like that...} He turns enough to give me a look. {would ya, meat?} I throw my hands in the air. "Dude, I get wrecked just doing basic junk. I ain't no masochist." I hardly see the faint smirk he gets before ignoring all life again. {smart meat. that's new.} "i think he likes you." "Better that than hating me." "and dead eye really likes you." I really wish he didn't. "How can you tell?" "i've never seen him smile so much. see?" Boo points and I crane my neck to see the monster in question looking at me like I'm a happy meal. Why? Why do I pull in such things? There's a sound not made by any of us. The sound of a doorknob being turned and squeakily opened. It's gotta be Bones but this confuses me as, if he's not physically solid, how can there be inaction with physical matter? Astral projection of the soul maybe? More Entity bullshit? Such thought leaves me once he leaves the room and peers out over the railing. The dark blue glow of his eyes in the shadow of his hood is spooky in a cool way. {boo...} "y-yes?" Poor guy is rattled. I guess Bones really does hold a lot of power. {did you do what i asked?} "yes, i did. and she said she'd go along with us." Pause for thought. {...then why is she still here?} Reasonable question. Yet not reasonably answered. Why, brain? Why you make me do stupid things? "Gooooood morning, bonehead." The others look at me as if I'll be shot. Bones just looks indifferent before slowly descending to the ground floor. {again...why are you still here?} "Nice to see you too." He glares. "i told her she could stay if she wanted. it's not like there are more trials for this feed cycle." Feed cycle? Is that how they measure time? {go back to your camp.} Okay, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed. "What's wrong, buddy? Did you have a bad dream?" I ask sincerely. But Bones growls at me. Boo is worried. Dead Eye and Chops are intrigued. {go away.} I turn to Boo. "Did I do something wrong?" Boo readies to speak but quickly hushes himself. His eyes darting away in submission to Bones' leer. {you've agreed to help already. you have no other business here. so get back to camp with the rest of the humans where you belong.} Where is this hostility coming from? "Bones, I..." {just go!} I feel it...That pain of being used only to be discarded. Well...No more. I refuse to feel that again. I take Boo by the hand and begin to take him with me as I head outside. This doesn't go without incident from a fast-moving Bones. {what the hell do you think you're doing?} "If you want to be cranky, fine. Boo has the body and if he leaves the realm then you can't intimidate him into being quiet." {the hell is wrong with you, woman?!} "Me? What's wrong with you? I haven't done anything wrong. Yet you're being a dick for no reason." I can only imagine what the faces of the others look like as I keep eye contact with Bones. {i'm being a dick? you're the one dragging him into this.} I freeze. Déjà vu smacking me hard. Flashbacks to my parents arguing leading to the divorce. I release Boo's hand in shock. "I'm so sorry." He doesn't say a word. He just slowly goes back inside. {now go. we'll contact you when needed.} He follows Boo but... "Bones..." He didn't have to. He could've kept going. But he looks back. "Don't do this. Tell me what's wrong" {we have nothing to talk about.} Time to feel awkward again. "I'm sorry." His attitude lessens slightly. {you're sorry?} "That stuff I said...you know...before you started kicking my ass. I didn't mean to say that shit." I rub my arm shyly. "I don't know you or what you've gone through. It was a bitch move made at the moment to just lump you among the other jerks that mess with me. Can you forgive me?" Now he's the shocked one. {...you're serious?} I nod. {...the hell is wrong with you?} Well, that went as fine as I figured. {i kicked you within inches of death over some dumb remark and you're apologizing to me?} I merely shrug. "That's the gist of it, yes." I can't tell if the odd look he's giving is made in confusion or disgust at my ineptitude. {you are by far the oddest human i have ever met.} I merely give a weak smile. "I prefer quirky." He sighs and shakes his head. I take it as my cue to leave. But I have one last bit to say. "You know...You could've just asked." {huh?} "This whole thing with bringing me here and having Boo tell me about helping you with the obsession rights. You could've just asked me and I would've listened." He looks elsewhere. {no you wouldn't. not after the crap i pulled.} I step a bit closer. "You don't know that." {*scoff* you're telling me you'd give two shits about helping me after being stabbed?} "Dude, I get why you did it. The others were pushing your buttons and you snapped. It happens. I don't hold it against you." He gets in my face. {do you think this makes us cool? that telling me this will do anything?} I shrug. "Just being real with you. It's the foundation of any real trust. And if we're to work together in these trials..." I offer my hand out to him. "I'd prefer being on the level with my partner." He just stares at it. I may have pushed this on him too soon. {i can't shake on it.} "I know. Dead Eye already freaked me out about the whole 'not really here' thing. It's more of a symbolic gesture." The mention of Dead Eye seems to bug him yet it's ignored. {no, i mean, i can't shake because how do i know i can truly believe you?} I give him a flat face. "Dude...I could've run away at any point and told you lot to piss off. After everything, I'm still here. Trying as no human has. I've helped you once before. Can you truly say you doubt me?" The longer he avoids eye contact the more it strangely hurts. "Bones..." He finally looks at me as my other hand is placed over where he cut me and say what he wants to hear. "I belong to Legion." We remain like this for some time. Just staring at each other as words sink in. Suddenly...I feel it. A slight cold sensation on my hand as he takes ghostly hold of it. {your life is mine...lynsie.} I smile. His use of my name, something easily forgotten by most and replaced with nicknames, feels so unnaturally amazing. Wow, I'm pathetic if that's all it takes to win me over. Acknowledgment. It's all anyone wants. "Now and forever." {gay!} Chops shouts from inside. "Look, I know it's girly and cliché as fuck. But I ain't taking it back, edgy boy." There's quiet. {the fuck did ya just call me?!} Bone's snickers. {ignore him. i swear he gets off on attention.} "So...Are we cool?" He rubs the back of his head. {for now. i guess.} "Then...I can stay? Just a bit longer?" {why do you even want to?} This has me looking at the ground in wariness. {you're not sure they'd take you back even if you're like this. right?} Bones is right. There is no guarantee. I'll probably be let back in the campsite but I won't be trusted. They know the danger I am and now...now they know I will act on it. There won't be trust. Only suspicion on when I'll turn. When I'll kill any of them for just agitating me the wrong way. There will be a few that might be willing to overlook this danger. Yet it'll never be the same. "Yeah." He looks at me and then heads inside. {do what you want. just don't be annoying.} It's a small step. But every adventure starts with one. [IN THE SURVIVOR'S FOREST] Things aren't going well for David. Wandering the woods in search of a killer to take his frustration out on has not given him the satisfaction he craved. In fact...he's gotten himself lost. Resulting in only more building annoyance. Any sound triggers him to go attack it. A lot of ridiculous assaults on shrubbery and attempts to catch crows. One miserable pointless action and failure after another. All of which culminates in him beating his fists into the ground till his knuckles bleed and threaten to leave the cover of flesh. "Arrrgh! This ain't fair! It ain't! You can't do me wrong like this! A more than decent bird shows up in this 'ellhole and what do you do?! You make 'er into a fuckin' monster!" lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub... "Piss! Piss on all of it! Do you hear me?! PISS!" lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub... "Give 'er back, damn it! Give 'er back to me!" lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub... "She's not a monster! She's not yers! She's mine!" lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub... *LOW-PITCH YELP* In his fit, David failed to keep his guard and alertness up. Forgetting that some monsters have the skill of Undetectable in their power, a skill that keeps the Terror Radius and Red Stain from being, well, detected. While surprised, David sees enough to size up this opponent. The odds aren't good. It's Shape. "*wince* Oi! Fuck off, you flamin' tosser!" Shape, of course, says nothing. He swings his knife with his large range and David has to Dead Hard to get out of the way while negating any hit that might have happened. The chase begins. One that won't last long in his current condition. There are many monsters David has no trouble taking on. But this one? Even the most hardcore fighters know there's no shot of victory in tussling with something that doesn't give in to pain. As his spine begins to chill David grits his teeth in hate. Not at the monster about to cut him down. Nor the Entity for tangling a good thing in his face. No, he hates himself for being unable to do anything. He couldn't hold on to her. He couldn't help her. He couldn't keep his head straight. He couldn't be stronger. And he couldn't outrun the inevitable. *LOW-PITCH YELL* Add being face down in the dirt to the list of things he hates. "Just get it over with. I was bleedin' lost anyway." Shape looks down at him and shrugs, picking David up by the throat before plunging the knife up into his chest. With every fiber of his being wanting to live David beats on Shape's shoulder and tries to pull the knife out by pushing on Shape's wrist. Sadly for David, Shape is far stronger than he'll ever be. Shape pulls the knife out to then thrust it back in with more force, enough for the blade to go through bone to pop out his back. Massive internal damage takes its toll instantaneously. David's eyes roll back into his head and Shape discards the limp body as if were a toy cast aside by a bored child. To camp he shall go and alone he shall remain. [AT MOUNT ORMOND RESORT] I've made up with Boo by letting him play with my hair. I'll regret it later due to knots, but it makes him happy. So far he's been trying to braid it while I sit on the floor in front of him and when his fingertips scrape my scalp I try hard not to purr at the pleasantness of it. Though he often has to remind me to lean forward as I subconsciously lean back into him. Bones and Dead Eye don't seem to care about this friendly display. But Chops? He has some words about it. {getting awfully cozy with us, aren't ya?} Bones told me to ignore him, so I do. He glares. {bitch, don't ignore me.} I keep my eyes to the ground until he storms over and kneels to be in my face. {ya don't want to piss me off, meat. ya won't like being on my bad side.} Don't say anything stupid! For the love of God don't be stupid! {well? say something!} "chops..." {stay out of this. this is between me and the meat.} "I have a name." {*scoff* like i give a shit.} "Is that what your reflection said when you looked in the mirror?" A chill not from the snow enters. Chops' sockets widen. And I know mistakes were made. {did ya just...} {hey, chops, why not go outside and ice that burn.} {heh...nice one.} Bones and Dead Eye adding in only makes it worse. Chops gets a little flustered but is super mad now. {think ya can start shit and get away with it? nuh-uh. ya don't want any of this.} He cracks his knuckles and I mentally kick myself. What did I get sucked into? {your family tree must be a cactus. because you're a massive prick.} Oh...Oh damn. {come on, meat. try me.} I really don't want to. But with eyes all on me I feel forced. I tap Boo's leg. "This might get nasty. Sorry for the words I'm about to say." Boo stops. "Alright then...*ahem* The only way you'd ever get laid is if you're rammed up a chicken's ass and wait." Chops is surprised. {hmmm...seems the meat is going to give you a bad time.} Chops snarls at Bones's comment. {the hell she is...they broke the mold when ya were born. one retarded defect is bad enough.} A bottle is thrown across the room. {dis off!} Bones is more into this than he should. I guess I should get my head in this game then. "You're the reason the gene pool needs a lifeguard." {your gene pool needs chlorine.} "That insult was about as dense as a black hole." {karma takes too long. i'd rather just beat the shit out of ya now.} {oh snap!} Bones is acting like a hypeman. It's hard to not laugh at his enthusiasm. "It's better to let someone think you're stupid than opening your mouth and proving it true. Case in point..." {of course i talk like an idiot. how else would ya understand me?} "I'd like to see things from your point of view, but I can't seem to get my head that far up my ass." {ooooh!} At this point, Boo and Dead Eye are now an audience to this wacky show. {i guess ya prove even god has a sense of humor in making mistakes.} "Stop trying to be a smart ass. You're just an ass." {if ya really spoke your mind, you'd be speechless.} "Shock me by saying something intelligent." {why don't ya slip into something more comfortable...like a coma.} Bones gets in close. "If I wanted to kill myself I'd climb up your ego and jump down to your IQ." He then jumps up like a firework. I motion for a timeout. "Dude, is he okay?" {*sigh* he gets this way sometimes. makes him look like a fucking psycho.} Bones stops and puts his hands in his pockets before whistling innocently. I shrug and we resume. {so how'd ya get here? is there a zoo missing their exhibit?} "Did a thought cross your mind? That must've been quite the arduous adventure." {it looks like your face caught fire and someone put it out with a hammer.} "I wasn't born with enough fucks to give to that weak insult." {i don't really think you're stupid. ya just have shitty luck when it comes to thinking.} "Roses are red, violets aren't blue. I've got five fingers, and the middle one is for you." {if you're gonna be two-faced at least make one of them pretty.} "If you're the pretty one. That means I'm the smart one." {calling ya an idiot would be an insult to stupid people.} "The last thing I want to do is hurt you. But it's still an option." {i could explain why you're dumb, but i don't have the time or crayons.} "I thought this was a battle of wits. So why are you unarmed?" {the only thing that would ever fuck you is life.} "If life did fuck me, it would still do a better job than you." Chops growls at that line. I'm beginning to suspect he might have issues there. I feel bad about it. "Sorry. I didn't mean..." {i wouldn't fuck ya if ya were the last vagina in existence. in fact, i'd fuck myself before ever thinking of doing ya.} Okay...Don't push that button on him ever again. Best take this battle of words back into silly town. "You're about as useful as tits on a pigeon." {i'd call ya a cunt but you're not warm or deep.} That one stuns me for a second. Not that it hit hard but more like it made me think about it. "Huh...Never heard that one before. Bravo. Very creative." He smirks smugly, his mood getting better. {heh...had enough yet?} "Maybe. Honestly, this is kinda fun. But I think I still got something that might get you." {then bring it on, girly.} "Alright...You're so inbred that you're a sandwich." That one makes him pause. {what...the fuck?} "I know. That one's weird compared to pigeon tits." {it wasn't bad. it was just...} "Confusing?" {yeah.} "My bad." {screw it. i'm ending this now before ya say something else mood ending.} "That's what she said." My playful finger guns are met with his disinterested scowl. {don't ever bother playing hard to get. no one will ever want ya. period. and i ain't insulting ya either. i'm describing ya. ya miserable pile of unwanted trash.} Ouch. Like...OUCH. He saved one hell of a bomb for last, a dang nuke. There's no recovery for that. "Dude...That's not funny." {ah what's wrong, meat? did i hit a nerve?} He doesn't sound spiteful or sarcastic. Calmer than anything else. It's odd. {gotta say...ya got some good game. better luck next time.} He gets up and goes off somewhere. I'm still too devastated to pay attention. I turn to Boo who has a pitiful expression. "that was just uncalled for." "Did I upset him? I said sorry." "as mean as that was, i think he didn't mean it. he sounded...nice." "Still..." Chops' verbal lashing hit hard. Cutting deep at insecurities I don't like to acknowledge. "I should probably go. I've bothered you guys enough." Boo pouts. "do you have to?" {i thought you could not go back?} Dead Eye comments as he looks out at the snow blowing inside. {yeah, she's kind of screwed...} Bones plops down in a chair. {not accepted on either side. a killer to the humans and an oddity to the monsters. there's no middle ground for her to walk. in other words...she's boned.} I hate this. He's right. And the feeling I was hoping to forget comes back. Being stuck and unable to move. Like I'm a puppet on strings that are suddenly cut and I can no longer function. It scares me. "so...she's staying?" {if she's smart she'll stay. be a waste with those worms.} {dunno. that's on her.} {it begs the question...what are you going to do, human?} I feel my heart begin to speed up. I'm beginning to freak out. I've never had panic attacks. But this feels like it. Rapid, pounding heart rate. Trembling or shaking. Chills. Hot flashes. Chest pain. And a growing headache. Boo being behind me doesn't like this. "um...guys? she's not doing so well." Now they're all looking at me. This attention. It's adding pressure. I can feel it. That surge of power. That corrupting influence boring into my being. The Entity is getting to me! {she don't look so good. like a nut about the crack.} {boo, get ready to switch control when i say so.} They watch. They just watch while I grip my head and try to keep control over this demanding force. This feeling of being internally detached from everything that I am. I'm losing it. I'm losing this battle of control and it's terrifying. My throat is squeezing itself yet I'm hyperventilating noises like a frightened beast. I can't take it. This stress...I can't take it! I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE! {is she gonna change?} "guys, i'm freaking out!" {shush. just wait for it.} This time...It feels different. Probably because this was done out of trial. I feel the stretching of my bones. The extending of my nails. The contortion of certain parts. And the heightening of my senses. Yet the thing that doesn't have much feeling is my mind. It's numb. Uncomfortably numb. Like dizziness or faintness. Whatever you want to call this dull tingling in my brain. This transformation doesn't seem to phase Bones all that much. The others, however... {holy fucking ass crackers!} {so...this is what nurse got to see?} "*uncomfortable* d-do i move? am i safe?" I don't move from my spot. Being brain numb makes me slow. Simple. More prone to impulsive action than complex thought. But I'm not mindless. Just a little dull with no objective like in a trial. *SNAP-SNAP* Bones snaps his fingers and gets my attention. {come here.} I'm hesitant. Mostly because trying to move from a flat sitting position with altered limbs is like a baby deer crossing a frozen pond. I end up crawling and even then it's not graceful. {look at you...pathetic.} I'm taken back by his sudden tone. {you have no idea how to control this power.} "This is my second time." {in the same day and not by choice. you're letting your emotions get the better of you and that's what the entity preys on. you need to control this power and not let it control you.} My gaze is cast to the ground with a weak whimper. "don't do that." I look back at Boo. "he isn't trying to make you feel bad. if left alone and you do this a few more times, you probably end up being some simple animal. the entity doesn't want animals. it wants beasts. monsters. things that think as well as kill. and failed killers are cast into the void." "But...I don't want to kill. I don't want to hurt anyone." {then get your ass ready for the void. ya can't say no to the entity. bad shit happens when ya do.} Chops makes a point. {consider yourself blessed, human. the others would not be so willing to aid you like this.} Dead Eye says his thoughts. {true. if we were like the others, we'd turn you over to the doctor and have him figure your power out. he likes to be hands-on with all things he finds...interesting.} There's this melancholy tone in Bones' words. Did...did something happen to them? {but i already told you once...i'm not like the others. and you're not like them either. you're a misfit.} He mimics me from earlier, offering a hand out to me. {lucky for you, you're among fellow misfits. that and...well...} Bones' eyes shift awkwardly as if embarrassed to say what he wants. {you're...kind of okay...i guess.} I remember this side to him. That soft easily flustered side that came out when I made him blush. "Hey..." I get his attention. "Do you know the band most skeletons like?" The randomness of that puzzles him and the others. "Spinal Tap." I can see him putting that together in his head. Once he figures it out, the guffaw that leaves him is loud before he covers his mouth. The others are less quiet. Especially Dead Eye which surprises me. {*muffled* heheh...oh my god...that was so bad...} "Then why are you laughing?" It takes a moment for them to calm down. Though now that I think about it, Bones had a hard time keeping himself normal during some of the insult jokes. Maybe he has a thing for bad puns? "*coughs* okay...okay. *sigh* no more jokes. this is serious time now." I nod. {now...show me your soul.} I go blank. {don't give me that look. just do as i say.} "You've seen it already. Don't make this weird." He blushes and goes to slap me...but he's intangible and has no effect. {*huff* why do you always have to make things awkward?} Aside from thinking he has a weird thing for my soul, I still don't know how to make it come out. "i don't think she knows how." {geez. talk about a clueless woman.} I growl at Chops who flips me off. {damn it...this is more annoying than i thought.} That has me confused. How much of this did Bones plan? {i can help.} Like looming doom, Dead Eye stands ominously behind me and, even in this form, I tremble. My sudden shift in demeanor has Bones doing a double-take of looking at me, then the pleased looking Dead Eye, and then me again. {what did you do?} Dead Eye doesn't take his sight off me. {nothing.} {i thought i told you not to interfere.} {and i did as told. i did nothing.} Dead Eye's voice is unnervingly calm and the look on his face, his eye partly closed mixing with that sly Cheshire cat grin, doesn't exactly make him seem like he has good thoughts in that cracked skull of his. {i can get her to produce her soul. all i need...is the body.} My eyes widen along with his smile. His earlier words come hauntingly back to me. {because i want you to know there will come a time when i have control of the body. and unlike the others...i will not be gentle.} That primal part of my brain that handles the fight-or-flight response is spamming the "GET THE FUCK OUT!" button but my legs seem to be suffering from a connection error and not receiving the signal. Bones reads the room and smirks. {when i say stop, you better stop.} Connection error fixed...PANIC ENGAGED! "No! No! No! No! No! No!" Shoving off the floor, I bound for the closest way out. As luck tends to go for me...This is a fail. "*roar*" I'm stopped dead in my tracks by the sudden addition of a blade in my back. {i'm not the kind of guy to dole out advice. but here's something to remember...} I wearily cock my head to look back. Only to see a very solid Dead Eye directly behind me and still clutching the meat cleaver that's just inches shy of my trembling spine. How does he move so fast?! {never turn your back on dead eye.} I expect the cleaver to be yanked out and another strike to quickly follow. I should know by now not to expect things to go by normal logic. Dead Eye pushes onto the weapon and kicks the back of my knee, forcing me down on all fours. I'd reach back or kick like a mule but he's still pressing his might on that blade to the point it starts touching bone, so any move I'd make will result in losing balance then eating the floor. "gutsy creature, thinking you can run from me. i wonder..." A second sharp pain comes to my side as he thrusts his sharp phalanx tips into the soft flesh and digs them in deep. The howl of anguish as he claws into me is excruciating. "just what do those guts look like?" His intent is clear. I'll be disemboweled if I can't produce my soul. I'd think this was a bluff if he wasn't starting to pull on the chunk of me in his grasp. {you know how to make him stop.} "*seething* I don't know..." *CRACK* One of my ribs gives way to the cleaver's pushing and I lose my shit. Wailing like a banshee in sheer hell. {not so rough. she's no good to us broken.} Dead Eye lets the cleaver go, keeping it where it rests in me and grabs my neck to cease my writhing. The skin begins to tear as he pulls further on my side. I know not which will happen first, changing back to being human or passing out from the pain. I hope for the latter. "do keep this up. i have not had so much fun in ages." "*whimper* Please...stop..." "if you insist." And he does stop...by ripping that chunk in a single fast pull. The only good thing is that it's just flesh and muscle, any deeper would result in some spilled entrails. Two things happen at this moment. One, I feel so much pain that it overloads my system to the point it stops hurting. And two, due to the insane amount of adrenaline flooding me this causes some parts to be confused as to what to do. Case in point, I should be uttering some sound of hurt yet I'm silent but also crying...and my soul pops out thinking I'm dying which is entirely possible. The obvious shimmering heart doesn't go ignored. Dead Eye snatches it and just like that, I'm feeling awful once more, collapsing on my side. I feel paralyzed. Only my eyes work. "i told you i could get her to show it." {don't think ya can brag. any of us could've done that.} {you're lucky this even worked. you weren't supposed to interact with her at all.} "you are welcomed." Bones groans. {*huff* just show it to me.} {oooh...pretty.} {too many bright colors if ya ask me.} Boo and Chops get to see the odd mass of clashing colors. "i see why you wanted to look at it now." {yep. it's just as i thought. burning scars and blisters of light.} {*gasp* it's entity-touched.} {yeah...and by the looks of it, it's been touched a lot.} "what do we do with it?" {give a moment. maybe it'll heal on its own.} {that's retarded. you're retarded.} {you don't know that!} Chops and Boo quarrel as Bones and Dead Eye share annoyed looks. {we're surrounded by idiots.} "agreed." Dead Eye fades out and Bones becomes solid. "had enough fun already?" {...for now.} Dead Eye looks at me than the soul. {you will want to put her back together soon. that wound will not heal if she reverts to being human.} Was that...pity? Huh. Maybe he's not so bad. "got any ideas on lessening the entity's touch?" To that, he shakes his head. {you already know who might have the answers.} Bones sighs. "true. just...it's not going to end well." {neither would be letting the entity consume more of that soul than it already has. dealing with the doctor is a small price to pay compared to letting the entity have its way.} Bones rubs a hand across his skull as if moving it through invisible hair. "i hate it when you're right." Bones takes the soul before he comes over to me, kneeling and putting the torn chunk of flesh back where it came from. "you're not going to like what needs to be done to you." All I can do is blink a couple of times for a response. Putting the soul back is like putting a metal fork in an electrical socket. It jump-starts my body. The damage inflicted by Dead Eye begins repairing itself. Yet he hasn't let go of it. "*groan* What are you doing?" "if i let go now you'll change back. right?" I want to say nothing. But...that's not how trust works. "*wince* If I'm hurt enough while changed, it makes me shift back." "figured as much. you won't heal as a human. not with this much damage. as a monster, you can at least regenerate." This feels so uncomfortable. Sure he has a point and being this way is allowing my body to repair itself. But him holding my soul while I'm this weak feels about the same as being naked with four dudes are just staring at my goods. After some time, my rib reconnects as the shade of the cleaver is pushed out and my side is now one piece again. When he deems me healed he releases my soul and they watch these changes to my body reverse. Bit by bit. Bone crunch after loud pop. {stars...that has to hurt.} {if that shit happened each time we switched body control, yeah, i'd fight to prevent that crap too.} I force my upper half up but I'm wobbly. "talk to us, girl. what's wrong?" I try to shake this feeling off. I was mentally dumb as a monster. Now I'm lightheaded and tipsy. "Groggy. Like fog is filling the space in my skull." "need anything?" I shake my head slowly. "Nah. Don't trouble yourselves over this. I just need a moment." "good." Well, that was quick. Bones grabs me and carries me over to one of the sofas. Plopping me down a bit rougher than needed. "get some rest. you'll need it. once tomorrow's trials are done, we have to go pay the doctor a visit." I visibly cringe. "Must we?" "do you want to end up in the void?" "No." "then you're going." I roll over and do as told. Not much else I can do. I hear Bones leave me. Perhaps he'll find something else to do. {don't worry, human. the doctor won't kill you. at least, not intentionally. the dead can't be studied here.} {bitch boy, ya suck at pep talks.} {stop calling me that.} Chops snarls but is made silent. They both are. Suddenly there's a chill dancing on my neck. Like slowly moving fingertips. {you will behave for us tomorrow. right, human?} Damn it Dead Eye...Why are you so fucking creepy? "Y-Yes." {good girl. do not make us regret showing you mercy.} Fuck my life. I'm tired, cold, in pain, and just sick of it. I just want to shut my eyes and forget where I am. Even if it's only for a little while. To lose myself in unconsciousness. It's the only escape I have.

#undertale #dead by daylight #Lynsie #Anomaly #lynchtale

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madamebaggio · 6 years ago

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Has Arthur Pendragon and Sansa Stark’s feud just escalated?

What is going on in the music industry? Stark and Pendragon’s feud seemed just like any other pair of celebrities bickering over Twitter.

However, as off last week... It escalated to covers.

No, you didn’t read it wrong: the rockstar and popstar have been exchanging covers via Youtube, and leaving fans confused. Does this mean they made up? Or is it just another episode to the feud?

Chapter 4

“SANSA!”

Sansa almost rolled out of her bed with the shock of having her name screamed like that.

Arya was spending the weekend with her in New York and her sister had always been an early bird, but she hardly ever woke Sansa up like this.

“What the hell, Arya?” Sansa groaned, confused.

Arya barged into her sister’s room, skin almost vibrating with a strange energy. “You won’t believe this!” She was nearly screeching in her excitement.

Sansa couldn’t hold back a fond smile. Her relationship with Arya had come a long way in recent years. They had a hard time connecting as girls because they were too different. Then Sansa started listening to Cersei as if the woman was her new Messiah and things got even worse for a while. She could hardly believe how blind she’d been, and could only be thankful for her sister’s forgiveness and support.

Seeing Arya so at ease with her, to the point she entered Sansa’s room and threw herself onto the bed like this, made Sansa extremely happy.

“Sansa, you have to see this!” Arya was looking like a maniac, waving her tablet in front of her sister’s face.

“What?” She chuckled, picking the tablet up.

Then her eyes went to the screen.

She spent a whole minute in shocked silence, while Arya just bounced in excitement. “He’s got to be joking!” Sansa screeched.

She was going to murder Arthur Pendragon! He covered one of her songs!

And not just any song; he’d chosen “Soap Bubble” -which was from her first album and her first hit- and made a freaking metal cover of it!

It was on YouTube with thousands of views already, as he screamed the lyrics of her ridiculously sweet and innocent song.

It was absolutely ludicrous.

“How did you find this?” Sansa wanted to know.

“He put it on his Twitter.” Arya informed her in glee.

Sansa grabbed her phone and saw that Shae had called her 5 times and Brienne -her agent -another seven. She groaned as she went on her Twitter. Arthur had actually tagged her on the post.

“No hard feelings?” It asked.

The little…

“This is priceless.” Arya snickered, going back to the beginning of the video one more time. “He sounds stupid screaming how his heart is like a soap bubble.”

“That’s it!” Sansa kicked her sheets and got up.

“Where are you going?” Arya called after her.

“I need to find the poppest beat possible. I’ll show him.”

XxX

Arthur was a bit bummed out. It’d been four days since his cover of Stark’s song had gone viral and she hadn’t said a word.

The internet had gone crazy over it, retweeted it, complained about it, praised it, but nothing from Sansa herself.

Had she hated it?

It had looked like a good idea at the time…

“Hey, you prick.” Back Lack called, putting his head inside the room where Arthur was resting. “Check your Twitter.”

Arthur arched a brow, but grabbed his phone. The band had been weirdly cool about doing the cover. He’d expected protests; instead he got a lot of snickers and pitying looks he was still trying to understand.

Sansa Stark had replied his tweet.

Her reply to his “No hard feelings?” came with the words “None whatsoever” and a video.

He opened the link and almost died. “Holy fuck!”

She’d repaid him in kind! She got his song “Stone Saints” and made a fucking pop cover with it. It had a choreography and backup dancers! Dear Lord, it looked as ridiculous as his had.

He loved it.

The sheer cheek of that woman, using one of his heaviest songs to dance.

Arthur liked the tweet, then grabbed his tablet. He had some research to do.

XxX

“He did it again!” Shae announced, barreling into the room.

Sansa sighed. It was a sad state of affairs that she didn’t even need to ask who Shae was talking about.

After she replied Arthur’s tweet with her own cover the internet had nearly broken. There had been a lot of offenses coming from his fans, because she’d ‘desecrated’ the song. However, many people thought it was hilarious.

She should’ve guessed he wouldn’t be able to keep quiet.

“What song now?” She asked resigned.

“Oh no. You have to see it.” Shae seemed particularly delighted, and Sansa felt a bit worried.

She still hadn’t figured out Arthur’s game. What exactly did he expect? Was he doing this to promote himself? He didn’t need it. Or at least she didn’t think he did.

Sansa took a deep breath before opening the new link.

It wasn’t what she’d expected.

He wasn’t making a screaming cover of one of her popper ballads; he’d chosen one of her new ones, “Cathedral”, a slow and sad song she’d written for this last album. He was alone in this video, just playing the guitar and singing.

And he was good! His voice was strong and evocative; she’d heard some of his softer songs before, but this…

It should be annoying, she should be pissed at him.

But she wasn’t. Not even close.

And that pissed her off.

She threw the tablet on the couch. “What’s wrong with him? He has way too much free time.”

Shae was trying to hide her amusement and failing miserably. “I read his band is on a short break before going back to the studio.”

“That explains it.” Sansa grumbled.

She felt challenged now. Like he was showing her he could do something different. “He asked for it.” She declared mostly to herself.

“Hey!” Shae ran after Sansa. “He might be on a break, but you aren’t!”

“This won’t take long.” Sansa threw over her shoulder.

Shae just sighed. Let the girl have some fun.

XxX

Arthur wasn’t sure what Sansa would do, but he knew she’d do something. He spent the next days glued to his phone and focused on his Twitter like he’d never been before.

His second cover of Sansa’s song hadn’t created as much noise as the previous one, probably for sounding more serious and being way less ridiculous.

When he started looking for a new song to cover, the pitying-slash-amused looks came back. His bandmates didn’t seem inclined to share the source of all those looks, just to keep providing them.

He’d thought long and hard before choosing “Cathedral”. He’d considered doing another funny one, but...

Why lie? He wanted to impress Sansa Stark. He wanted her to like his cover, but he didn’t want to analyze why he wanted that. It was already bad enough he was admitting he wanted it.

Two days after he posted it, he got an answer. He was talking to the band about the plans for the next album when his phone pinged, announcing he’d been tagged in a post by Sansa Stark.

“Just take it, mate.” Back Lack rolled his eyes. “We all know how much you want to.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He challenged.

Wet Stick snorted. “You’ve been sleeping with this phone for the last two days. Just check the fucking thing.”

He gave his bandmates his most unamused look, but he checked his Twitter anyway.

Fuck, she was trying to break him.

He’d chosen “Cathedral” because the lyrics were powerful, the words really made him feel something. He liked putting his touch into it, and just playing the guitar.

She’d done exactly the same thing, or so he believed. She’d picked “The Sword” and sang it alone, playing the piano. He didn’t even know she could play.

It was…

“Just call her.” Back Lack asked, clearly beyond tired of this bullshit. “Please, mate, do us all a favor, and call her.”

Arthur cleared his throat. “She probably doesn’t wanna talk to me.”

Nimue gave him an incredulous look. “Since when to you care about that?”

“Oy.” He hit her with a pillow. “I’ll just…” He indicated the door, and they all kept looking at him with those fucking pitying looks.

Arthur closed the door behind himself and cleared his throat one more time, before looking for her assistant’s contact.

He could do this. She was just a girl.

He pressed the call button. Shae -the amazingly nice assistant -picked the call in the second ring. “Took you long enough.” She threw at him, before he could say anything. He didn’t even have time to reply that before Sansa’s voice came over. “Why am I not shocked?” She asked bemused.

“Because you know I have no self-control, Stark.” He couldn’t contain a smirk. “Did you like the songs?”

“I didn’t know you could sing without screaming.” She teased.

“I didn’t know you could sing without backup dancers.” He threw back.

She chuckled. “Touché.”

“So… Friends now?”

He heard her scoffing, could even picture those pretty blue eyes rolling. “Don’t push your luck, Pendragon”. She hung up.

Arthur knew he had the stupidest grin ever on his face, so he decided to take a break before going back in. His friends would never let him leave this down otherwise.

Notes: I wasn’t planning on posting this today, but I couldn’t resist. I love this chapter, because it goes deep into fluff and wishful thinking. Two super famous people trading covers give me warm feelings... lol

A few observations...

Apparently “to cover” is a verb. Or so I’ve been told. I’m mostly confused by it, but one of my friends insisted it works. Let me know if she lied to me! Lol

Sansa’s songs are all translations from Brazilian songs. There is an axé song called “Soap Bubble”, that does say that a guy turned her head and heart, making it like a soap bubble. Not joking. “Cathedral” is a deeper song. I wanted Sansa to have something like her own “Skyscraper” (the one by Demi Lovato), but didn’t want to just steal Demi’s song… Arthur’s are all Slipknot songs. I’d say Stone Saints would be something like “Psychosocial” and “The Sword” could be something like “Snuff”. Funny fact: I went to a Slipknot concert a few years back, completely alone, because I couldn’t find anyone to go with me. I was the only one wearing white.

I wasn’t sure if “pop” became “poppest”, but according to the rules I learned in school… It should be, so I just went for it XD

I absolutely love when people cover pop songs with a metal twist. Unfortunately I couldn’t find any cover that was the other way around, but if you know anyone that turned a Metallica song into something like Baby one more time, please, let me know ASAP.

Anyway... Let me know your feelings!

Next chapter: Arthur gives an interview, Sansa finds out that the internet is shipping it pretty hard and the Stark clan has an opinion on the matter.

#madame baggio #fanfiction #CrossOver #Crossover Pairings #game of thrones #king arthur legend of the sword #modern au #Sansa Stark #Arthur Pendragon #Sansa x Arthur #theres no way

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clarketomylexa · 6 years ago

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To The Witches I Have Known, Chapter I

The Woods and the Griffin’s might as well be the Montagues and Capulets of Polis, Connecticut. As the heirs to their family lines, Clarke and Lexa have been juggling the magical politics of their rival covens with normal life since they were old enough to understand. But when a magical incident sparks fears that haven’t been felt since the unsteady truce was made between them – an incident that Clarke is the prime suspect of – both of them are going to have to get much better at multitasking.

read on ao3

“I hate Halloween.”

Anya is in a sour mood, so much so that Lexa doesn’t know whether it’s the recent spiral the weather has taken or her cousins frostiness that has her fingers retreating into the woollen cuff of her sweater. She would say it was normal – Anya has never been the easiest to get along with – but she almost stepped on Wednesday earlier as the cat hogged the watery puddle of sunlight in the hall and she didn’t even say sorry.

“It’s pumpkin spice season,” Lexa suggests in appeasement.

“Public ridicule season,” Anya corrects her bitterly, shooting a scathing look in the direction of the merrily grinning jack-o-lanterns gathered at the steps of the gazebo. It had been a strange transition into fall. The leaves on the outskirts of the square are frozen halfway between green and russet orange, but the town committee had descended on main street on the first of October regardless with the manic kind of excitement that came with the prospects of pumpkin carving and scoping out costume options at the dinky shop in the corner of the square that never seems to realise that Halloween isn’t a year-round event. Not that she would ever give Anya the satisfaction, but Lexa quietly loves the eeriness of the festival regardless, of the silly mockery it makes of them every once a year.

Anya folds her arms over her chest. “If I see one more pointy hat, I’ll be giving out hexes for free,” she promises darkly.

“Anya!” Lexa’s eyes saucer. She whips her head around to check if they have been overheard but this early people are too wrapped up in their eight a.m. hunt for coffee to notice the pair. She turns back to Anya, lowering her voice anyway. “You know Titus doesn’t like you saying that,” she scolds quietly.

Lexa was seven the first time she realised magic wasn’t commonplace. The enormity of such a secret was almost too large to understand for a girl who had grown up chanting Latin incantations and watching coven meetings through the rungs of the staircase when she should have been asleep, but Titus hadn’t wasted any time in sitting her down and drilling the importance of confidentiality into her. She had walked around tight-lipped and grey-faced for a week afterwards for fear of retribution.

Anya laughs shortly. “I think Titus would rather I didn’t say anything at all.”

“Anya…”

“You know it’s true,” her cousin insists, “I’m barely a Woods, god forbid I have any opinion that doesn’t reflect the coven’s.”

The truth sits uneasily on Lexa’s chest. She twists the braided silver band on her ring finger, feeling responsible.

“I’m here to watch you and that’s it,” Anya continues, “next year I’ll be out of a job.”

Anya is the outcast of their household. She’s prickly at the best of times, with all of angles and sharp lines of the Woods and none of the softness Lexa inherited from her mother. Lexa doesn’t think Titus ever forgave Anya’s father for his illicit liaisons with a witch from another coven, or for his disappearance – lord knows why, but Lexa has learnt that Titus is more paranoid old man than wise advisor she thought he was when she was seven-years-old and hanging iron off her bed to ward away fairies. He ostracised her when they were younger, and is even more reluctant now to give his twenty-two-year-old niece the responsibility that a witch of her age should have – especially considering their family name.

In turn, Anya has fully embraced the role of black sleep, vintage leather jackets and all.

“You’ll always have a job as long as I’m in charge,” Lexa vows, reaching across to take her cousins hand in hers.

She couldn’t call her childhood conventional. Since her mother died her care had been transferred to Titus and the coven to raise her as they saw fit, which had meant a rigorous regime of magical theory, and strict practice on top of trying to maintain a normal existence. The normal existence part still has her stumped, but there’s never an excuse not to perform. She is after all, the eldest direct descendant of the Woods line, as far as the coven is concerned, she’s their property and amongst all the craziness, sometimes she thinks Anya is the only thing keeping her sane.

“Sap,” Anya accuses. The show of affection makes her squirm and she disentangles their hands to cuff Lexa around the head, feigning indifference. “Anyway,” she changes the subject swiftly, tucking her hands into her pockets and scanning the empty square while Lexa tends to her mussed hair. “It’s not about that. Titus can shove it up his own as far as I care. You’re going to be eighteen next year.”

“Is that why you’re walking with me?” Lexa prods.

Anya stiffens before she can help it and Lexa knows she has struck a nerve. It takes a conscious effort to disengage every muscle in her body, but when she does, she elongates her strides and Lexa jogs to keep up, hands tucked inside her pockets as the wind picks up. “You’re lying,” she accuses calmly.

Her cousin shifts under the scrutiny, “how’s Costia?”

“Anya!” Lexa snaps, taking her by the arm and forcing her to stop in the middle of the sidewalk. They level their stares at each other, unflinching for a moment before Anya gives up the childish competition and snatches her wrist back. “Fine,” she relents ungracefully, massaging the skin, then nodding in an indication they should keep walking.

Lexa acquiesces but eyes her warily with each step it takes to formulate her answer.

“There’s been another incident.”

“An incident?” Lexa pounces on the word.

Anya nods. “Titus and Indra didn’t want to tell you.”

Frustrated, she stifles a biting comment. For all they drill this ridiculous sense of responsibility into her – ‘you’re almost of age Lexa, the coven must be your focus from now on’ – Titus and the others tend to censor what she is told like she’s still the eight-year-old she was when her mother died. Hypocrisy at its finest.

Anya is agitated again as she glances around. She puts a hand on Lexa’s back and guides her roughly down the nearest walkway between the second-hand bookstore and the coffee house where it smells like decaying paper and stale dishwater. Anya’s hand twitches, then goes up to smooth her hair behind her ear and Lexa tries to regulate the uneasy throb in her chest.

For as long as she can remember Anya has never been afraid of consequences, especially where it meant disobeying Titus and her discomfort now is unnerving.

“Lincoln found a dead raven on the back steps this morning,” Anya relays quietly when she seems satisfied they aren’t being heard.

Lexa’s breakfast curdles in her stomach.

Anya pauses to fish something out of her pocket. “Next to it was this.”

The odd object sits against her hand as Anya holds it up for Lexa to see, the black ribbon it’s strung on tangled in her fingers as Lexa takes in the intricate design. It looks like a seal stamped into a round of metal, a pentagram inside three rings of tarnished Latin that, for all of her afternoons cooped up in the dining room translating ancient texts under Titus’ trained eye, Lexa can’t decipher.

“What is it?”

Anya shrugs but hands it over and Lexa lets it sit in her palm. She thinks the pattern is familiar.

“Titus thinks it was the Griffins.”

Lexa’s head snaps up in alarm. “No,” she argues stubbornly.

“Lexa…”

The door a few feet further down the alley opens and an acne covered teenager emerges with a black trash bag at his side. Anya falls silent while he throws it in the trash can and gives them a confused glance before returning inside. “It had their magic all over it,” she informs Lexa curtly when the boy is gone.

The only other magical – but not non-mortal – founding family of Polis, Connecticut, the Woods had been stuck in a power battle with the Griffin’s since the town was founded. Every other non-mortal family in the area had fallen into an alliance on either side, and the magical violence that was said to have gone on between them got so bad, the fatalities rivalled the Salem Witch Trials. Gustus used to tell Lexa stories of when he was young to scare Lexa into practicing her magic even though every part of her body felt drained and rubbed raw. Apparently, four mortals had to end up as collateral damage before Titus enacted the truce.

Any act of violence now would be like an act of treason.

“They wouldn’t dare,” she insists confidently. Titus has had her involved in magical politics since she was old enough to understand it; both covens agreed to the truce, neither would risk the consequences. The Griffin’s might be altogether too liberal with their magic but they aren’t stupid.

Anya purses her lips like she doesn’t agree. She keeps her eyes trained on the spot where the alley opens out onto the square like she’s worried hellfire will erupt out of the cobblestones if she continues to explain. “Did you know Clarke is back in town?”

Lexa’s heart leaps and she pretends it doesn’t. “You can’t be serious?” She scoffs instead, understanding what Anya is implying. “You think Clarke did this?” It’s ridiculous and not just because the Clarke Lexa knows is too preoccupied with practical magic and floating bottles of vodka from her parents’ stash up to her bedroom to be sending malicious omens to the Woods’ doorstep.

And then there’s the other thing.

Lexa doesn’t talk about the other thing.

Anya throws her hands open in an aggravated ‘who knows’ gesture and Lexa fights not to get defensive.

“I’m not saying she didn’t,” Anya retorts. “She’s a Griffin, Lexa.”

Lexa hates that that’s an accusation in itself. Mostly because ‘she’s a Woods’ has plagued her entire life; the excuse for lab partners and dodgeball team mates rejecting her. More than any of the curses that are cradled in the aging pages of the books Titus keeps in the upstairs hallway, Lexa thinks having your identity boiled down to nothing but your last name is the worst curse of all.

Anger at Anya simmers into frustration in the pit of her stomach and she slips the seal into her pocket and shoulders past her cousin onto the main street.

“Lexa,” Anya grouses, quiet guilt colouring her tone as her steps clack in her effort to catch her. “Wait.”

Lexa shakes her head. “I need to talk to Clarke.”

Polis is just as insignificant as Clarke left it four months ago, but somehow, it still feels better than the draughty colonial of her grandmothers that she spent the summer and then some shut up in. She’s pretty sure the only thing of note that has happened in four months is her poor house plants ultimately death on her windowsill – apparently the half-hearted self-watering charm she had uttered on her way out wasn’t long range. That, or her mother walked into her room one day to see her dinky tin watering can hanging in mid-air and had dismantled the thin spell with an eye roll.

Her parents have always had a liberal attitude to magic. As long as she wasn’t spell casting in the front yard or enchanting her stationery to write her biology essays, they were content to let her explore her it on her own terms.

She hadn’t known magical theory was something people practiced as actively as they did until her parents got tired of her quote unquote behaviour and sent to her study under the tuition of her mother’s mother. Or that’s what they told her when she came home on the last day of school to find her bags packed in the hallway – ‘you’re the heir Clarke, you need to learn to control your magic’.

In reality, she knows it was really a ploy to get her out of town after Abby interrupted Finn kissing her goodnight after homecoming.

Her parents had never been phased by her frivolous magic use in the past, and the Collins are notorious for being unreliable allies – evidently magical politics doesn’t take a break for school girl crushes.

The bell rings for the end of the period and Clarke rises from her desk, rubbing her thumb over the braided band on her ring finger. She doesn’t know what excuse her parents gave the school for her absence but she can feel the teacher’s hesitancy to bring the subject up as he waves her to the front of the class and it’s suffocating. The Griffins are formidable figures in the eyes of the town, and it feels like Mr. Walker is handling her with kid gloves as he hands her a sheet covering the last few weeks, tells her to read Macbeth and suggests she borrow a classmate’s notes. It feels too stiff and formal, and suddenly her whole life is being played out in front of her; a clinical rotation of coven meetings and maintaining magical politics that she isn’t ready for.

She nods into the panic bearing down on her chest and leaves as quickly as she can.

The building used to be a private residence before it was the high school. Like everything else in Polis the high arched ceilings, wrought iron embellishments and stained glass were leftovers from the gothic revival period that her history teacher – as old as the town itself – loves to go on about. In Junior year a rumour went around the back staircase was haunted by the ghost of the last owner, who’s grisly death in the late 1880’s had been enough to give The Tribune content for four months straight.

People seem to have gotten braver over summer though, because the staircase is packed again – likely because the ‘haunting’ stopped as soon as Bellamy had been busted by an Octavia intent on revenge for her broken curling iron and suspended from magic use for the summer. Either way, Clarke is unhappy to collide with a trio of rowdy Freshman with their shirts shredded and fake blood soaked. Agitated, she curses at them loudly for getting the concoction on her sweater, trying to pick it off with her finger nails to no avail before looking up in defeat and freezing.

Lexa stands halfway down the corridor, head in her locker as she diligently switches out her books and Clarke watches, feeling abruptly guilty as she tucks her hair behind her ear and twists the lock to scramble the combination.

She didn’t tell Lexa she was back.

She didn’t know if she was supposed to tell Lexa she was back.

There text conversations had switched abruptly from numerous and emoji filled, to once a week at most and strangely formal at the end of Sophomore Year. It left them in an awkward twilight zone of ‘just friends’ that neither of them quite knew how to navigate correctly.

When Lexa turns to walk to class Clarke raises her hand in a static wave, and an urgent expression passes over Lexa’s face.

“Clarke!”

Whipping her head around, she sees two girls narrowly miss being taken out by the backpack Octavia has slung over one shoulder as she barrels down the stone staircase, flinging it to the harlequin tiles to throw her arms around Clarke’s neck. The girls mutter something crude and following behind, Raven flips them off aggressively. “Freshmen,” she mutters, picking Octavia’s backpack up off the floor.

“Ignore her,” Octavia disentangles herself from Clarke and when she looks back down the hall, Lexa has gone. Octavia cards a hand through her hair, taking her backpack from Raven with an exasperated glance. “She’s cranky because her car got scratched.” Her fingers are full of stacking rings and black nail varnish chipped down to the cuticle, but the sight of her friend, in her Champion tee and black jeans ripped at the knee, just as chaotic as usual, is familiar in a way Clarke didn't know she needed. She feels the vestiges of irrational terror slink away.

Raven gives Octavia a pointed look. “Last time we take my car to the lake,” she informs the brunette curtly as she leans in to give Clarke a hug.

Clarke is appalled. “You went to the lake without me?”

“You dyed your hair back,” Octavia retorts smartly and Clarke winces.

“My grandmother wasn’t exactly a fan of cotton candy pink.”

‘Not exactly a fan’ is an understatement. The woman, who was still as spritely as Clarke remembered her being when she was five years old, had rolled her eyes at the audacity of ‘teenagers these days’ and marched Clarke into the dining room to sit her down and mutter Latin until the home done dye job leached out of her hair.

She hadn’t heard someone do a verbal spell in years.

“Boo,” Octavia pouts, reaching up to twist a lock of Clarke’s hair around her forefinger. “I’m not ready for serious Clarke.”

Pink starts to crawl up the coil but Clarke bats Octavia’s hand away in alarm, looking around wildly to check if they had been seen, the strictness of her grandmother still sits weirdly ingrained in her immediate reactions. She adjusts her hair over her shoulder and tucking the now pink-ended lock behind her ear where it isn’t noticeable. “I’m not serious,” she argues, “I’m Clarke. I am!” she insists when Octavia makes a comically sceptical face. “Look, we’re still going to Atom’s tonight, right?”

“His parents are out of town, everyone is,” Raven confirms and Clarke sits back on her heels, satisfied. “Great,” she decides, “then I’m going to be one hundred percent fun Clarke.”

Raven snorts, “God help us.”

Costia has a polaroid of them tucked inside the metal slit of her locker that Lexa notices as she listens to the redhead grumble about the Chemistry pop quiz sprung on her by an unsympathetic teacher, humming and then nodding when she is accused to not listening.

She doesn’t know what to make of them exactly. Her and Costia that is. A witch herself, she understands the complexities of the situation Lexa has been born into, and despite all the ways that that simple fact makes her more likeable, it also makes the prospect of “them” infinitely more complicated. Which is probably why they are hanging in an awkward dimension of hugs that last too long and walking each other to class every other day.

“I’m sure you did well anyway,” she says mindlessly.

There are dollar store witch hats strung on fishing wire from the arched ceiling and poster paint cut outs of ghosts and the school initials tacked to the walls. She fixates on the stylised pentagram inside the ‘o’ of ‘All Hallows Eve’ on a poster advertising a Halloween party in town that no one will attend, and lets the trepidation that’s been clawing at her chest all day swell to a boiling point. The seal sits in her front jean pocket, conspicuous enough that she untucked her sweater from her waistband as she walked into advisory for her own piece of mind.

“Lexa?”

She straightens, “yeah?”

“You’re really out of it today,” Costia’s brow peaks in concern, as she dips her chin to try and catch Lexa’s eye. “Did something happen? Or…”

Shaking her head, Lexa wills herself to engage. She hasn’t seen Clarke since Octavia and Raven had interrupted their almost-reunion but the need to speak to her grew more urgent with each minute the seal gathered weight sitting in her pocket. “Just a lot going on,” she explains pathetically and Costia slides a hand up her arm.

“Anything I can help with?”

Lexa opens her mouth to assure her that ‘no, it’s fine’, when a blonde firecracker struts up to them with a melodramatic sigh and a faux-hurt expression.

“Are you cheating on me Lexa?” Clarke demands flinging her hand over her heart like she’s in a soap. “Does this ring mean nothing to you?” She thrusts her ring finger under Lexa’s nose, indicating to the familiar silver band, and Lexa struggles to hide the amused quirk in her lips.

Costia rolls her eyes, taking her cue to leave, “I’ll see you tonight, Lexa,” she says sweetly, squeezing her hand, then looking over, “bye Clarke.”

“Bye, Costia.”

Clarke twists her ring like it isn’t sitting right under her knuckle and leans a shoulder against the locker. “I’m sorry,” she apologises when Costia has disappeared. “She likes you.” Lexa doesn’t know how she is meant to respond to that, grappling for a reply feels like reaching out into a muddy pond in search for answers.

“She’s not my fiancée,” she drawls instead.

Clarke snorts.

It’s ironic, Lexa thinks, that, for the amount of weight their so-called “engagement” holds within the magical community, it has become such a joke between the two of them. Since the ceremony four years ago – a date which Clarke likes to ironically mark in her calendar as their “anniversary” and give Lexa cards with ‘To My Loving Husband’ embossed across the front in scripted letters – Clarke in particular has taken every available moment to mock the sanctity of the fealty they swore to each other and their rival covens in a bid to stop the violence. And after a while, compelled by the ridiculousness of all of it, Lexa joined in.

“How was Maine?”

“Four months shut up in a library translating…” Clarke glances around, then lowers her voice, “incantations that haven’t been used since Salem isn’t my idea of a good time. I lit a sparkler on the Fourth,” she perks up, “but my grandmother was worried it would set fire to her herb garden so she put it out.”

All at once, Lexa remembers being five-years-old and standing on the front lawn with a kiddie-sparkler in hand. The sparks burn stone-cold and morph into technicolour from the spell her mother recites in her melodic voice – purples, blues, greens and oranges twisting in and out of each other wonderfully. It isn’t the Fourth, she thinks – they didn’t celebrate holidays like that before Lexa was school aged – but the sky is a watercolour of dusky pink. Midsummer perhaps.

Then, as quickly as the memory came, it vanishes, leaving an echoing ‘whoosh’ in the vacuum of her head. She blinks, dizzy.

“Lexa…”

“We need to talk.”

“Oh?” Clarke sings flirtatiously.

“It’s serious.”

Her face drops, “oh.”

The bell trills but Lexa learns into the nearest classroom to find it dark, the desks empty and blinds pulled, and she wills Clarke inside, waiting until she is perched on the edge of the nearest desk before pulling the seal out of her pocket.

“Do you know what this is?”

It looks oddly mundane hanging from her fingers. In this light, it’s hard to make out the tarnished Latin or the pentagram inside it, but it’s ice-cold despite the hours it has been sitting in her pocket and that’s enough to make her sceptical.

Clarke’s eyes saucer. Lexa takes careful note of her reaction.

“Where did you get that?”

She opens her palm and the seal sails into her hand.

Lexa has always been taken back by Clarke’s liberal approach to magic. While Titus has drilled into her that magic serves a purpose and that purpose is not her own personal needs, Clarke seems to find a need for it in every situation. Quietly, she thinks she admires the easiness she wields it with because, the truth is, Lexa is too scared of magic to do the same.

“Do you know what it is?” She dodges the question. “The Latin’s illegible, but it looks like a penta –”

“It’s not,” Clarke shakes her head. She puts the seal flat on the desk, ribbon at the top, then turns it one hundred and eighty degrees so the pentagram is inverted. Suddenly, Lexa knows where she has seen it before. “This is dark, Lexa,” Clarke warns her, “like, black-magic-devil-worshipping dark.” There is an element of awe in her voice that twists in the put of Lexa’s stomach. “Where did you get it?”

“There was one on the cover of that book you used to have,” Lexa says calmly.

“Lexa.” Clarke insists.

She sighs. “Lincoln found it on the back steps.”

Clarke scrutinises her. “There’s more.”

“Anya thinks it was you.”

“What?”

“Did you do it?”

Clarke straightens, growing stony at the accusation. “Do you think I did?” She fires back.

There’s a whole host of replies Lexa could give, all of them laced with the political idiocy that Titus likes to spout around the dinner table, elitist bullshit about how the Woods are magically superior in the traditional sense of their craft, how the Griffins are liberal pretenders, imposters and manipulators. But none of it has ever translated to Clarke in her mind. When she looks at Clarke she sees herself, a freer version of herself maybe, but still, someone stuck in this mess other people have made for them and she can’t knowing blame her for something she doesn’t have the capacity to do.

“No,” she admits, hoping she is right.

Clarke deflates in relief. She lets out a heavy sigh and sifts her fingers through her hairline, shaking out blonde locks until Lexa can see a pink streak, the colour glimmers slightly like a mirage in a way she knows isn’t drugstore hair dye and fixates on it. “I didn’t,” Clarke promises in a voice so soft it’s barely there.

“I believe you.”

#clextober18 #13daysofclexa #day 7: this witch #clexa #fic #moodboard #there's magic #and gays #get reading

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