#Neil if this is remotely close to what you have in mind please know that i have no desire to have children

[ingravinoveritas]

The best part of this is that I feel like we already got a taste of 1960s America female-presenting Aziraphale with Michael dressed as Mrs. Robinson in The Graduate and I desperately need more of this...

hey neil!!

the historical flashbacks are some of my favorite scenes in season 1 and season 2 of good omens, so i was wondering if there were any time periods you’d really like to portray aziraphale and crowley in that you haven’t already???

Quite a few. Ones that we had planned as possible for Season 2 (that either didn't get written or didn't get filmed) included a Wild West one, a 15th century Papal one, an Arabian Nights one, and a 1960s American one with Crowley and Aziraphale female presenting. And we have the whole of human history as a canvas. But for now the ones you've got are all.

[deppiet]

About the yassification of GO2.

Warning: the following text is highly critical of the second season of Good Omens. If you enjoyed it, I am happy for you, and a non-negligible amount of jealous as well. Please scroll past before I inevitably rain on your fandom parade.

So, I did the thing. I binged the entire second season of what was, up to now, my favorite show ever, in one sitting. And I have a great deal of things to say, but hardly any of them is positive.

Let me start by saying that I don't mind the cliffhanger or the melancholy ending, like at all. In our era of Marvel apologists and the instant gratification culture, it is necessary for media to persevere and add nuance to romantic relationships. That said, what transpired during the six hours leading up to this sort of unearned climax hardly contains anything remotely close to nuance.

Who are these people? I don't mean the new characters, all of them written as cardboard-cut anthropomorphic personifications of stereotypes, yassified to the point of representation losing its purpose and getting in the way of, you know, actual writing. I mean the protagonists themselves, Aziraphale and Crowley, up to now my favorite characters in the entire world and -up to now- tangled in a love story so beautiful I had, for better or for worse, devoted a large part of my creative output on it, making art, songs, and metas on why what those two entities had was as close to perfect as anyone can hope to find for themselves.

These are not the characters I knew. The characters I knew spent hundreds of human lifetimes revolving around each other in a treacherous yet familiar dance- they both knew the love was there, it was comfortable like an armchair that has taken the shape of the body using it for years. They argued the way old couples do, and of course, like all fictional beings that are counterparts of one another, had differences to settle, but what stood in their way wasn't misunderstanding or miscommunication, in was their fear of Heaven and Hell, and their fundamentally different approaches on how to keep each other safe.

What is all this teen angst? This will-they-won't-they silliness that lacks any nuance, thematic coherence, or literally even trace amounts of understanding of the source material? Where is the dark humor, the quotability, the chaotic overarching plot, the self conscious camp? The season is so cynically written to cater specifically to a certain part of fandom, that I am losing respect for the original work- because if Neil Gaiman doesn't care for these fictional beings, and he evidently doesn't, why should I?

The thematic core of what made Good Omens what it was, had always been the "Love in unexpected places" trope Sir Terry Pratchett knew how to write so well. It had never been about the fantasy, because Sir Terry wrote satire wrapped up in a supernatural package, it had never been about the romance, because when the ship becomes the end instead of the means, the love rings hollow, like artificial light trying to pass as sunshine. The beating heart of GO lies in its philosophy, in the beautiful notion that the agents of two oppressive systems at war have more in common with one another than with their respective oppressors. That being a nobody, a mere cog in a larger machine, says more about said machine than it does about you, and that you can try to break free and build a life for yourself, where a happy ending looks like a dinner at the Ritz with the one you love most.

Shoehorning an underdeveloped "romance" between Beelzebub and Gabriel not only feels like bad fanfic (disclaimer: I like the ship and feel like it could have worked if developed in any capacity, and presented in a more humorous and character-appropriate way. I hate with passion how much they watered down Beelzebub in order to make them stereotypically romanceable, adding the Ineffable Bureaucracy to the ever-expanding list of characters I don't care about anymore.) but also, it muddles and grossly undermines the thematic raison d'être of Ineffable Husbands. If the ramifications for defecting and fucking off with the enemy were a slap on the wrist for the respective leaders of both sides, well surely the system can't be that oppressive after all. And if fear of the oppressive system wasn't, after all, what kept these beings apart, surely these two entities don't like each other as much as we thought. Or rather, one is reduced to a lovesick puppy and the other to a brainless husk of a character, a plot device, a means to go from place A to place B without spending much brainpower on the logistics.

And if these two new people got to kiss I care not, for they are not the same people I rooted for (props, though, to the actors, who gave, somehow, an almost Shakespearean gravitas to their love affair, underwritten and dumbed down as it was. They both love the characters, and it shows in the minuscule yet brilliant ways in which they added nuance where the script had none.)

What was that thing with the lesbians about? Though straight passing, I have always known myself to be attracted to women as well as men, and I am always highly suspicious when an "ally" writer (see: straight, no shade to straight people among which I live because they are, like, the majority) decides to make all characters queer, in the face of real-world statistics and despite NOT being queer themselves. When a person like Nate Stevenson does it they get a pass because writers self-insert and because, when done well, it can carry a message of equality. But when the ally writer does it, unless it is pitch-perfect, I am forced to examine the possibility of them being calculating about it and trying to score representation points, often because they need the rep as a fig leaf to cry homophobia behind when people start complaining about the atrocious plot.

Nina and Maggie were boring. They had no personalities, no cohesive backstories, nothing to make us understand what they are to one another and to the overarching plot ("plot" is used loosely here, for there was no plot: the series ended where it should have started, with six hours of -progressively more offensive to my intelligence- fanfic tropes in a trenchcoat serving as the, well, "plot"). I didn't care whether or not they'd end up together, because I have no idea who they are. The blandness of the dialogue had the actresses, both very talented as evidenced in the first season, grasping at straws with what little characterization they were left to work with, and the "ball" was so unbelievably bad a plot device no amount of suspension of disbelief was ever going to make it right.

The minisodes, though at parts clever and philosophical, felt out of place. This was another narrative choice I had to raise my eyebrows at, because it felt like a bunch of executives sat around a table and watched Neil Gaiman's powerpoint presentation of what made Season 1 financially successful. They were shoehorned in, largely irrelevant to the, eh, "plot", and most of them lasted far more than I personally deemed welcome, or necessary.

What else is there to say? The wink-winks and nudge-nudges to the Tumblr nation? The in-your-face Doctor Who reference? The narratively myopic choice to make Crowley a former archangel? The cheese dialogue, not one bit of which was quotable?

I am distraught. I am grieving an old friend, and a part of my fandom life I cannot, in good faith, return back to after this gross betrayal. I am happy for those who don't see it, because I wish I could love this season past its flaws. However, the writing isn't simply mediocre, it is irrevocably, immeasurably, undescribably bad, so bad I am shocked to my very core, so bad I find it offensive to Sir Terry's memory and everything his own creative output was lovingly filled with.

I am passing all five stages of grief and very much doubt I will return to this fandom. I loved the original story and the characters with all my heart- now the aforementioned heart is broken, not by the breakup or anything as pedestrian as cheap romantic tropes. But because my old friends, my family of fictional beings, are no longer the ones I loved and could relate to.

Deppie out.

[faithsknife]

i'd give up forever to touch you

read it on A03

originally gifted to @witchsickness

rated mature for: language, references to sex, etc.

I  

He's pretty, that's one of the thoughts that ran through Billy's mind when he saw Steve for the first time. 

Sure, the boys in California were pretty too. The ones that always had Billy wrapped around their fingers looked the same. They were tan, hard bodied, and too old for him. Each and every time. The type of boys that should have been chasing girls that weren’t remotely as pretty as him. Yet they found Billy and he found himself heart broken. Every goddamn time. He’d hear Neil’s voice in his head afterwards. Faggot, pussy, whore. And then they'd leave. Everyone always fucking left Billy. One way or another. Whether it was his mother or all the boys who whispered sweet things to get him on his knees. 

So, Billy started leaving too. He'd leave bruises on faces, holes in walls, and teeth marks below his lip when he had to stifle his moans at night. But he wasn't thinking about the girls who wanted to bend over for him in the backseat. Never about the girls who drooled at him as he walked down the hallways at school.  It was always about Harrington. Pretty boy. Former king. 

You're a desperate piece of shit. Harrington only likes girls, the ones with soft lips and feisty personalities.  Just like tonight it was about Harrington and tomorrow it would be too and the next day. That sick desperation clung to him like the smell of cigarette smoke. Another habit he should quit. Though like all the things that ruined Billy - he kept chasing. 

Billy closed his eyes as he came all over his fist.

II  

"Get the hell outta my way, Hargrove. I'm not in the mood," Steve grumbled at Billy as he cornered him outside of a shitty party at some girl's house. Someone that Billy didn't bother to remember the name of. 

Billy took that as a challenge because of course he did.  "Or what King Steve? You got a date with that bitch Wheeler? Unless she's still with that Byers kid." He watched Steve's fingers flex like he was itching for a fight just off that comment alone. Billy certainly wouldn't mind tasting blood tonight, it'd be the most fun he had all week. "Go on."

Please touch me again. I fucking need it.

"What?" "You can hit me once to make it even between us. I know I kicked your ass that one time -" Steve scoffed and had a look of disgust on his face. "Kicked my ass? You nearly beat me to death in front of the kids." "And Max shoved a needle in my neck. I think I learned my lesson." Billy searched Steve's eyes, which weren't all that forgiving. "Look, Harrington. I'm giving you an opportunity that I won't be giving again. I'm really not known to be generous, at least not in this department." He gave Steve his signature wink and it only made the brunette roll his eyes.  Just one touch. Even a touch like this. 

A sort of twisted disappointment settled inside him as he watched Steve turn around to go back inside. Billy didn't know what he actually expected. At least he had a good view until Harrington disappeared into the house.  When he was completely alone, aside from the drunk girls stumbling out and puking all over the grass, Billy stomped over to the closest tree and punched it a couple times. The tree wouldn't deny him anything. By the time he was done, his fist was crimson, and he tasted salt in his mouth. He didn't even realize he was crying. 

III

Billy ached, just like the ocean does the shore, for Steve Harrington. But why would he ever want him back? He was just the asshole who scared those nerd kids, beat the shit out of him, then got taken down by his kid stepsister.  He was nothing. Nothing to former King Steve. And fuck, did Billy want to be everything to him. It was disgustingly desperate to want someone that badly. A person that you'd destroy the moment you got them. He was pure destruction, a tornado that brought everything up and sent it crashing to the ground.  Some pop shit was blaring at the house party Billy reluctantly came to. The invitation came from some girl named Hannah, who was clearly interested in him. Probably thought him taking her into the Camaro to screw her brains out. It was always the wrong people that wanted Billy. In Hawkins, where the hicks came out to play, it was the girls who popped pink bubblegum and wore tacky outfits.  If Billy were normal and actually wanted girls, then he would’ve fucked Hannah already. Would have ignored her terrible dancing and sweet soaked breath just to get her legs around his back. She would have bit down on his shoulder and came for him multiple times. Instead, he was stuck awkwardly watching her dance and make eyes at him. Her tits were practically hanging out of her pale pink dress. Something that seemed so out of place for a hick town like Hawkins.  He didn't even pretend to feign interest in her and simply poured himself a shot of some cheap ass vodka. Billy didn't even care that he had no idea what the brand was. And he sure as hell didn't care if he had a headache in the morning. The shot glass was holding hell but the drunkenness would be heaven. A way for him to forget about the fact that he missed curfew because of this party. How Neil was going to give him something to remember once he got home. And how Steve Harrington didn't even bother to show up to this boring party.  Why would he? Not like he hangs out with anyone but Max and her geek friends. Which is still pretty damn weird. 

Billy poured himself another one and another one. Until the bottle was damn near empty and someone beside him swiped it away. He heard them mumble how he was being a greedy bastard. Somehow he was too drunk to care. 

IV

Billy parked the Camaro in what he considered to be his spot. Next to nobody ever came out there and it's where he found himself escaping. Coming home from that party reminded him why he shouldn't have gone. He didn't even get to see who he wanted to and the hangover was more painful than the punches.  He cupped his jaw and winced at the pain. What if he just ran away and went back to California? Maybe he'd find his mom and she'd tell him she was sorry for leaving him behind. For leaving him with Neil. He'd get to bury his face in her hair, which always smelled like flowers. And she'd smile at him like he brought the sun home with him. Everything would be alright. He'd finally be alright. Sure, Max would miss him. She'd probably stare at his place at the kitchen table and hope he'd come home. That alone wasn't enough though. No matter how close they'd gotten after she almost nailed his balls to the Byers' floor.  Billy shook the thoughts out of his head and reached for his pack of cigarettes. Only to find there was only one left and it was already partially smoked. He groaned and took his lighter out and put the cigarette in his mouth. Only to be startled by someone coughing. He turned around to find Harrington standing there with his hands in his pockets. Look at this fucker, all preppy and pretty. "What do ya want, Harrington?" Billy tried to pretend he didn't care that Steve was there in the first place. "Last I checked it's late and it's not good for pretty boys like you to be out here. Never know what could happen. Especially in a hick town like this."

Harrington lightly chuckled at that. "Maybe I'm out for the same reason you are." "I doubt that." "Why? You don't know what I'm goin' through or have gone through. All you know is that I was popular before and now I'm not." "Well maybe..."Billy lit his cigarette finally and took a drag then blew it in Harrington's direction. "you need to stop hanging out with middle school nerds all the time. Maybe you'll crawl back up to relevancy." "Nah. I don't really care about that anymore. And believe it or not those kids are more than what they seem. This town...it's not what it seems either." Harrington's voice sounded so far away. Billy still had no idea why Harrington, Steve, was out tonight or why he was speaking to him. They weren't friends. Steve seemed to only tolerate him and that was it. Where as Billy was knee deep in his thoughts about the guy. It was pretty pathetic and the way Steve was looking at him made Billy wonder if he knew. Maybe he knew every little thought in his head. Billy finished his cigarette and Steve carefully watched him snub it out.  For whatever reason, Steve decided to stick around. He leaned across the front of the Camaro and told him about why he was out there. Something about needing some fresh air to think. If only that were my only reason for being out in the fucking cold.  They talked about random shit and what the summer was going to bring. Billy told him about the job at the pool that he was looking into, how he swam like a fish. And Steve was considering finding a job himself. He talked about how daddy thought he was a failure and how he wasn’t going to college. It didn’t take Billy not going to college for Neil to see him as a failure.

”Max’s been worried about you,” Steve blurted out, his eyes staring off into the distance.

Of course she has. That little shitbird doesn't know when to leave it alone. ”Oh yeah? She say anythin’ specific or are you just speculating?” ”She told me that you’ve been acting weird lately. Weirder than usual obviously. And that, uh, you haven’t been as much of an asshole. Can’t say I wasn’t surprised to hear that Billy Hargrove wasn’t being a total dick.” There wasn’t much bite in Steve’s words. Billy knew how to chomp with his words and nothing about that sentence felt vicious. It almost seems like he gives a shit.

Billy wished he had another cigarette to keep his hands busy. “You been hanging out here with me because you care? Or you just making sure I don’t drive myself off a cliff for Max’s sake?”

”Can it be a little bit of both?” Steve questioned softly.

When Billy turned to look at Steve, he felt the desire pull at him. All he does is want and want and want. “I guess it can.”

V

Billy got closer and closer to Steve after that night. In fact, it felt like he was too close, and it scared him. Standing too close to the sun always killed somebody. And Steve burned too bright for him. So Billy did what everyone else in Hawkins seemed to do - he went to a shit party to forget. Though as soon as he got there, he immediately regretted it. Tommy was chirping in his ear all night. Carol was too busy trying to get Tommy’s attention when he wasn’t slamming back shots. And Billy felt suffocated.

In the beginning he would have ate up the attention and got the crowd roaring for him. Just like when he did the keg stand on Halloween. That time wasn’t even his personal best, but they ate it up anyways. That’s what sheep did. Now Billy didn’t care about the roar of the crowd or the pats on the back. It didn’t bring him anything. And all he ever cared about was getting Steve's attention. From being a dick on the basketball court to stealing his crown.  All of it was about Steve and Billy thought he made it obvious when he said: I've been waitin' to meet this King Steve everybody's been telling me so much about.  His eyes searched for Steve, like they always did, in a sea of people that didn't give a shit that he was. Nobody here was asking about their former king. He had faded into the background. Not for Billy though.  Just like a daydream he found Steve standing by the punch bowl. He stopped breathing for a second when Steve's eyes caught his. There was no Wheeler to interrupt them or anybody getting in the way. Nobody else mattered. ”I’m gonna catch you guys later.” Billy watched Tommy nod as he swapped spit with Carol. His hands were waving him away and Billy couldn’t get out of there quick enough.

The moment he reached the punch bowl he saw Steve grimace at something. He let out a chuckle at his disgust and it earned him a look he couldn't figure out. At least not really. 

”Ya never know what that could be. Last time somebody puked in the punch. Goddamn hicks have no manners.” Billy winked at Steve who playfully scoffed. “I didn’t expect to see you here though. You barely come to these things anymore." Steve shrugged but there was a sadness there. “People are almost expecting me to reclaim my crown, be who I used to be. Now I just don’t have much interest in being king anymore. It's not all it cracked up to be." Would he think the same if we - 

"Well if being king doesn't matter anymore, what do you have interest in?" "Somebody sounds eager to know." I'm more than eager.

Bodies started flinging themselves around to the song playing in the background. Billy and Steve were the only ones standing still like somebody pressed pause. All that he wanted to do was lean in. If this was California, I would. I'd take him to any bedroom and worship him on my knees.

It was like Steve was reading his mind because he was looking at him with curious eyes. "Do you wanna get outta here? Go for a drive?" "Yeah, this party sucks." I'd go anywhere with you. They left just in time to escape the terrible dancing and music that Billy wanted to erase from his memory. Billy was almost giddy, l o v e-drunk if you will, from the idea that Steve wanted to go somewhere with him. He licked his lips and hopped into the Camaro and got her started up. Steve was already driving off in his beemer and that felt like an invitation to follow him. And Billy did. Not because he was bored though. He'd simply follow Steve anywhere if he let him.  Billy kept up with Steve's weird pace and after what felt like a long drive, they ended up stopping in a lone parking lot. The kind of places that people in a town like Hawkins would get murdered at. Billy parked and tapped his wheel to the rhythm of something playing in his head.  He was interrupted when he heard Steve tapping on his window. Billy reached over to unlock the passenger door to let him in. The cold invited itself in like a dog and quickly left when Steve shut the door. Billy still found himself not comfortable with the bitter weather Hawkins had. He wasn't used to a lot of things. The desire in his gut was one example.  The way that Steve laid his head back made Billy gulp. So beautiful. "You really like to stare, don't you?" Steve's voice was tender and playful, it made Billy melt. Billy put on his smoothest voice, the one that's always made people swoon. "Maybe I was. Why? That bother you?" "No it doesn't actually." Hearing that made Billy turn his head and he found Steve leaning in just a bit more towards him. The air was heavy in the cramped space, Billy's hands were flexing on his thigh, waiting for the courage to move.  Think of this like it's a dream. Stop being a goddamn idiot.

Billy unbuckled his seatbelt slowly because he didn't want to seem too eager. From the corner of his eye he saw Steve spread his legs just a bit more. Look who's eager now.  "Waiting for somethin', King Steve?" "Not a king anymore, remember?" Maybe to me you are. It took all but a moment or two for Billy to finally lean over. His lips barely brushed Steve's but he felt the shiver where his hand was placed on Steve. "Tell me to and I'll do it." "Do what?" Steve chuckled and locked eyes with him to drive home his cheekiness. "You're a little shit, Harrington." He waited for Steve to nod that it was okay before pressing their lips together. His hands moved to grip to Steve's hair, touching him so tenderly to make up for the violence before. Billy let Steve lick into his mouth, allowed to him to take everything he could possibly give. He felt like he was spinning out of control and losing it in the best possible way.  Steve's hands snaked around to touch underneath his red shirt, feeling the small of his back. It took everything in Billy not to moan like he was being touched for the very first time. This is all I wanted. After the waiting and wanting and starving, I have him. He's with me here. 

They were both breathing heavy when they pulled apart. Billy pressed his forehead to Steve's and breathed out that he'd always wanted this. That he never thought it would happen. And it surprised Billy to hear Steve breathe out a me too.   Hawkins was still no California or anything that came close to it. There was no sand or beaches. He never thought he could cling to anything in a place that drained the life out of him. But now it felt like he really had Steve. Not just moments and daydreams that soothed him. He didn't just have the king, he felt like one with Steve's forehead pressed to his.  Finally.

[billysbabysblog]

strawberry band aid || part 2

pairings: billy hargrove x fem! reader

warnings: crying, blood, cursing, explaining the abuse in the last chapter, and that’s about it, but please let me know if i missed any!!

overall summary: after getting tired of his dads behavior towards him and max, billy decided to run away to the readers home where he knows him and max are welcomed and loved.

Y/N looked down at Max, automatically frowning as she saw the tears streaking down the girls face. Noticing that she was soaked she quickly pulled her in, whispering “C’mon sweetheart, you must be half frozen.”

Max didn’t argue, because she was in fact freezing. She didn’t realize before she had left her house a small drizzle had started falling, slowly turning into a down pour as she biked to Y/N’s house. Once she had gotten to her destination she was so numb and so sad that she ignored the cold, the hurt, the worry, all of it until one of the things was brought up. Reality struck her again as she walked into the warm house, fresh tears springing in her eyes as she took quick small breaths looking at Y/N as she did.

Y/N didn’t have to ask, she knew what had happened, she always did. Max and Billy had this joke between them that she could read their minds, and at times like this it seemed true.

“How bad is it?” Y/N asked as she led Max to the couch, gently pushing her down onto the couch before rushing to grab the girl a warm blanket. Max shook her head as she wrapped the blanket around herself tightly once it was handed to her, letting the fresh tears run down her face as she looked down at her lap.

“The insults were worse than last time, Neil was brutal…I’m scared something bad happened after I left.” she whispered so quietly that Y/N could barely make out her words. She didn’t miss them however, letting a new frown cover her face as she walked into her kitchen.

“Should I go over there or wait for him to come?” she questioned, looking over to the girl as she grabbed a strawberry soda for her. She quickly opened it , making her way back to Max as fast as she could, fear flooding her with each step she took.

“Wait. The last thing Billy needs is you getting Neil’s hits, that would make him..god I don’t even know how he’d react.” she mumbled as she took the drink from Y/N’s extended hand, closing her eyes as she quickly drank the cold red liquid. The taste was like home, a nice familiarity that slowly made Max relax. Y/N had always given her and Billy strawberry sodas, claiming that the sweetness would wash the bitterness of the fights and arguments away, which to the siblings surprise was sort of true.

Although neither of them would tell Y/N, everything about her (and her home) was sweet and comforting to them. There had been a countless number of times where Max and Billy had stayed with the welcoming girl who never turned them down. The number had grown so big that Max had gotten her own room at Y/N’s house, decorated just the way she wanted it.

And Y/N would never tell them that their staying had saved her, had made her feel loved. The endless conversations they shared, the game nights they had started, even the small arguments over which movie they were going to watch, all of it saved her from the feelings she had be drowning in. Y/N loved the two of them so much, so when she got a knock on her door with a teary eyed Max her heart broke.

“How about you and I put on a movie while we wait for him yeah? Distract you as best as we can?” she whispered, smiling at the young redhead as she sat beside her. Max immediately nodded, she needed something, anything, to get her mind off of what could’ve happened to Billy. Y/N watched as she grabbed the remote quickly picking a cheesy rom-com, smiling as she laughed at the horrible complements shared between the characters.

After about an hour of the lovesick flirting that had been coming from the tv, Max had fallen asleep completely tangled in the blanket given to her earlier. Y/N wasn’t far behind her, falling asleep herself when another knock was delivered on her front door. The noise made her bolt upright, stumbling some as she quickly made her way to the door.

She had no idea what was in stake for her when she opened the door, but what she saw she certainly didn’t expect. Billy’s face was covered, covered, in blood and bruises. His lip was split in the corner, his eyes both held light hues of purple, and his cheek held blood and tear stains.

“Oh my god,” was the only words that left her mouth as she brought Billy into a hug, being careful not to squeeze too tight. He was quick to return the favor, wrapping his strong arms around her in a tight embrace, holding her close as small sobs began to leave his bloody abused lips.

She rubbed small circles on his back, whispering small ‘I’ve got you’s and ‘I’m here’s’ into his ear. It took awhile to get him calmed down enough to even walk into her house, and even more time for him to finally start telling her what happened.

a/n: i feel like this chapter is really bad- i’m so sorry- but i hope you enjoy it none the less!! i would just like to say once again thank you for all the love and support, it means the world:)

[thinger-strang]

okay okay centerfold au (like....the song by the j geils band) where billy mas moved out and away from hawkins (he hasnt quite made it to california yet, hes not ready) and hes starting to let himself be gay and think gay thoughts and ya know indulge himself every so often

which obviously means he picks up a magazine from the back corner of the corner store he frequents

he does for something a little tamer, maybe throws in a few playboys just because hes nervous (which doesnt even matter because the cashier doesnt even spare the covers a glance once scanned)

gets home and eagerly flips through it, feeling excited that he can have gay porn out in the open in his living room without fearing for his life

hes mostly just idly looking through it, folding down a few corners of pages he'll revisit when hes in the mood, just kinda reveling in the freedom of it

until

he flips to the centerfold, the showcase, the main event and it's–

"steve?"

billy fucking drops the entire magazine, it lays open, teasing billy with those big brown eyes and tantalizing moles

its a good shot honestly, pretty tasteful, definitely not modest, but billy can appreciate the artful quality

of course not in this moment, in this moment billy is panicking?

who the hell told steve harrington he was allowed to do that?

billy finds himself staring at the photo; steve as the centerpiece, draped across several laps, being groped by way too many hands for billy's liking, steve's got a half hard cock in one hand, the other possessively wrapped around the thigh of a man standing next to him, everyone's sweaty and there's splatters of something all over everyone, and there's hard and soft dicks and muscular legs and soft bellies and flexing muscles but only one face

steve stares at the camera–at billy–with an enticing stare that seems to ask "what are you waiting for?" and the barest hint of a tongue pokes out–

billy cant look away but wants to tear his gaze away to anything else, he wants to memorize the page, he wants to burn it, he wants to frame it, he wishes it never existed, he wants to be in that room

billy thought he was over this silly crush on straight boy steve but heres he is, gripping another man's cock, letting another man's cock rest on his leg, letting other men hold him and touch him

it might be fine if billy hadn't seen steve in years, hadn't seen steve since he left that fucking hellhole behind but no, no!

steve harrington, the man who happened to be the centerfold of the one single gay magazine billy happened to pick up, was his upstairs neighbor

///

billy stares at the ground as he stops to get his mail, hoping, praying, that he'll be lucky and not run into anyone on his way home

prayers not answered

"hey billy, i haven't seen you in a while, you doin' okay?" steve asks cheerfully as he wiggles his own mailbox open.

"yup, doing just fine, thanks for asking" billy slams his box shut and hurries to the elevator without running and jabs the close door button a hundred million times

"woah hang on, hold the door!" steve calls after him, juggling his mail and his groceries that billy somehow didn't notice

steve makes it

fuck

steve's blabbering on about.... something, billy can't hear a word he's saying, he focusing on thinking about anything other than–

sweaty

magazine

dick

nude

moles

dick

dick

dick

billy is begging for any thought, anything, to cross his mind, anything but that stupid centerfold

"hey are you sure you're okay?" steve asks in a far too nice voice

"i told you i'm fine, please just leave me alone?" billy grits out

"i thought we were past all that" steve says in a sad voice

billy sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose

"we are, i'm just having an off day, got this killer headache ya know?" he lies through his teeth

"oh okay, gotcha, i'll be quiet" steve mimes zipping up his mouth

why is that worse why is that hot?

it's billy's floor and he can't get into his apartment fast enough

pulls out his dick and jerks it a few times before cumming right there in his kitchen floor

///

things don't get better

at all

billy avoids steve like the plague, which it wasn't like hung out on the regular, but theyd chit chat in the elevator or say hi when passing each other

so it was just awkward when billy would see steve in the hallway and immediately turn the other way

so it's not that surprising to wake up on a saturday morning to angry pounding on his door

"i'm coming, i'm coming, hold your fucking horses" billy grumbles as he pulls on a shirt and walks to the door

yanks it open to find a grumpy steve with his hands on his hips

"what gives hargrove? you said we were fine yet avoid me any time we so much as make eye contact? did i do something?"

billy has not had enough sleep to handle this conversation

"no you didn't do anything, it's kinda hard to explain just–" billy opens up his door to invite steve in

steve shoulders past billy and plops onto the couch

"coffee?" billy asks as he rubs his eyes

"im good" steve bites out

great

billy rolls his eyes and gets busy making himself a pot, trying to figure out how to say this, what to even say that would make this remotely okay

"oh my god" steve gasps

"what?" billy groans

he turns around and sees steve holding the magazine, clutching it really, something close to horror drawn all over his face

billy left it out on the coffee table as some sort of sick twisted 'fuck you' to neil

"shit shit SHIT i can explain–"

"no no i get it, um... i think i'm going to go, just... yeah i'm sorry i'll just–"

and with that steve was gone

///

this is worse, so so so very much worse

they either need to talk about it or billy needs to fucking find a new apartment

billy comes home after a long day at work to find steve knocking at his door

"hey–"

"jesus christ you scared me!" steve jumps into the wall

"sorry i kinda... snuck up on you, what are you doing at my door?" billy adjusts his backpack

"i, um... i wanted to explain? or talk? i get why you were avoiding me, i honestly forgot that came out this month" steve is twelve shades of the prettiest blush billy has ever seen

"hang on, let's go inside, i don't really wanna talk about this in the hallway"

steve's shoulders relax and he pressed himself into the wall to let billy open his door

steve sits awkwardly on the couch as billy hang up his bag and jacket and starts taking off his boots

"i... don't really know where to start" steve chews on his bottom lip and fidgits with his fingers

"i'm gay" billy blurts out

"what?" steve laughs

"i mean, i have a gay porn magazine, you're all nervous, i figured i'd break the ice?" billy shrugs

steve laughs and looks ten times lighter

"those pictures are older, i did them to help pay some bills while i was inbetween jobs, it was for a smaller thing, a blog or something, i dunno, it payed good so i said yes, i was desperate"

steve tuns his hands through his hair and breathes

"the guy who took the pictures asked if i'd be okay with him selling them to a bigger magazine, he said i'd get half the profits so i said yes"

steve shrugs and looks out the window

"so you just... did it for the money?" billy asks

"yes and no, i'm gay–well not gay, i'm bi but i'm... into dudes and all that, but mostly just to pay the bills"

steve finally meets billy's gaze with an almost scared look but more of a 'what are you gunna do about it' look

a lot like the one in the magazine

"that's cool, pretty brave too" billy says casually and leans back into his chair

"yeah... i'm kinda scared my job is going to find out that my dick is all over a magazine" steve laughs nervously

"you'll be fine, if it helps, you'd make a killing as a porno model"

billy grins wickedly in steve's direction

steve tries to smile back but it turns into a grimace

"i don't think it's weird, by the way... and while i don't think my crush on you from high school has quite gone away, i'm not going to like, make a move ot try to do anything" billy nudges steve's toe with his own

"okay" steve smiles for real this time

"okay" billy smiles back

"you really had a crush on me in high school?" steve smirks

"oh god, yeah, it was so bad, i didn't know what to do so i was just... an ass!" billy laughs

steve laughs along too and it's just comfortable, more comfortable than they've been ever

"do you wanna go get dinner?" steve smiles lopsidedly

"what!"

"like a date, do you want to go on a date with me?"

"it won't be weird?" billy asks earnestly

"not unless you make it weird"

billy grins and stands

"then let's go on a date!" he hold out his hand an hauls steve up

///

they're walking in comfortable silence, bumping into each other's shoulders, trying to make the other drop their left over box

they get to billy's door and kean against it, very much in each other's space

"you wanna know a secret?" steve asks with a mischievous glint in his eye

"sure"

"i had a crush on you in high school too" steve smiles and rests his forehead against billy's

"oh yeah!" billy leans into steve's touch, their noses bumping

"hell yeah" steve closes the distance and presses a soft kiss into billy's lips

[whats-rambled-rambled]

Smoke & Mirrors - part 6

Neil x Reader

Chapter 6: You’re mine

(see chapter  5, 4, 3, 2, 1)

summary: a conclusion.

warnings: alcohol mention, language and other explicit things, 18+

author’s note: When @vaneilla​ first mentioned she had an idea for a story, I thought it was a good opportunity to challenge myself with writing something new. I had no idea how attached I was going to get to these two over the course of the last weeks. 

But this is it. Not the final story, but the finale of this story.

Couldn’t have finished it without my friends, putting up with me and my bullshit at the craziest hours, so ladies - thank you, from the bottom of my heart. 

And thank YOU, for your support. For staying until the very end.

As for the song - you have to wait til you finish reading. 

Anyway, enjoy! Can’t wait to see what you think, so let me know, please?

------

Things between you and Neil were… civilized, so to speak. Because of your recent promotion, you really were stuck with him. Training, missions, planning, and back again.

Two of those things were not a problem, the worst part of it all was training together, especially those bloody sparring sessions.

None of you could hide behind tactical gear, a stack of documents, or a laptop. Or anything even remotely resembling a barrier of some sort, making it easier to pretend that nothing had happened. Ever. Having that, both of you were the embodiment of professionalism, focused on a shared goal, one could even say that the mutual respect was visible in your actions. But as soon as you collided with each other in combat, you found yourselves slipping into old patterns almost instantly--

“Why don’t you hit me like you mean it?”

“Oh blondie, I really don’t feel like bulletproofing those next variations all by myself.”

“Aren’t you cute.”

--at least up to the point, and that point usually being one of you getting pinned to the mat. That look in his eyes, not helping in the slightest. The pure need overriding every other thought. Your bodies ready to respond in complete disregard of any sense. And then, every time without fail, the memory of a searing embarrassment snapped you out of the moment, casting a bitter shade over the rest of the time you had to be in such close proximity to each other.

Your back hit the mat with a loud thud again.

“Know what, your lack of focus is almost insulting, mate.”

“Fuck off,” you hissed, sitting up and glaring at Ives. “Remind me again, why am I even training with you today?”

“Thought we could catch up.”

You scoffed, accepting a hand extended in your direction.

“Couldn’t we do that over a pint or something?”

He shrugged lightly. “Would have to stop avoiding everyone first,” he said, his voice casually mocking, but you knew him well enough to know what that look in his eyes meant. He was concerned.

You put your guard up.

“I’ve been busy.”

That wasn’t a lie. Technically. And if you didn’t have enough on your plate to keep your mind occupied – because you could only spend so much time at the shooting range – you always found a way to make yourself busy. That’s exactly how you survived the last couple of days - you dived into your team’s archived reports, analyzing old operations and figuring out ways to improve and incorporate particularly interesting tactics into the next planning sessions. Because, of course, the initial draft from that evening was just plan A, and now you needed several backup ones, just in case anything went sideways. Murphy never sleeps, so why should you, right?

“Uh-huh,” Ives sent you a doubtful smile. “Fucking it out stopped working?” he teased and threw a punch aimed at your head.

The audacity of the question was almost enough to stop you in your tracks, but you ducked, avoiding his flying fist just barely. Still, it felt as if the hit landed straight at your chest.

“What gave you that idea?” you huffed as you started circling him slowly.

Your friend raised a brow, studying you carefully. “A wild guess, but your reaction is rather telling.” He blocked your hook to his chin. “But honestly? The lack of your usual bullshit in the comms.”

Damn it.

It had been a while since you trained with Ives, Now that you finally focused on what was going on, you realized that his hand-to-hand combat style was so different from what you’d gotten used to over the last weeks of training - he was more about strength and endurance than speed and precision, and you needed to adjust your tactics accordingly.

“You need to work smarter, not harder.”

Wiping sweat from your forehead, you tried to make your tone as nonchalant as possible.

“Maybe we’ve grown as people,” you said, shifting your balance back and forth, waiting for an opening.

An amused snort was enough of a comment.

“Or someone’s caught feelings,” he pondered, charging at you.

You laughed dryly, jumping out of his way.

“Like you’d be the one to know.”

The kick you sent after him reached its destination and Ives grunted before turning your way, perplexed.

“Oi, the fuck was that supposed to mean?”

A closed chapter.

“Nothing,” you shrugged. His next attack was sloppy and your eyes flared up, spotting the perfect opportunity. Quick sidestep and grab. Precisely applied pressure. Well-practiced twist. Using Ives’ own weight and momentum, you sent him to the ground with ease.

A smug grin crept on your face at the sound of him turning the air blue.

“You’ve had enough?”

Ives gave you a murderous glare, trying to catch his breath.

“Stop gloating and give me a hand.”

Next thing you knew, you were lying next to him on the mat, wondering how you could fall for the oldest trick of his. Without changing your position, you punched him in the arm. He laughed in response and you shook your head, stifling a chuckle.

With the corner of your eye, you caught his worried glance.

“You know you can always talk to me, right?”

“I appreciate it, but--...” you hesitated and sighed. The offer meant a lot to you, but you didn’t really feel like talking.

Ives sent you a knowing smile.

“But you’d rather just grab that beer and brood in silence, eh?”

“I don’t brood,” you faked an offended tone and got up on your knees, reaching out your hand again.

“Since when?” Ives smirked and accepted your help, only for you to let him fall on his ass in the next second.

Damn, you really missed this, you realized later on, closing your locker. In your line of work, it was almost impossible to cultivate relationships with civilians, so the ones you made with your teammates were essentially the only friendships in your life. And with everything that was going on over the past few weeks, having someone like Ives around felt like a true blessing.

You exhaled slowly. It was supposed to be your first free evening in a long time, as your boss asked Neil to accompany him to some work-related event. You could use that time off to recharge - order some comfort food, watch something from your ever-growing list of movies you had to catch up on, or simply have some you time...

You looked around to check if you hadn’t forgotten anything, and then your gaze landed on that certain spot and--

“Don’t be so dramatic.”

All of the sudden, the thought of going back to a dark and empty apartment was unbearable. You grabbed your bag and rushed outside.

“Ives…?” you called out, stopping at the top of the stairs. As he turned around and looked up, you shifted nervously from one foot to the other. “That beer offer still stands?”

“You know it.” His eyes warmed up as you made your way to him. He wrapped one arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer, as you walked down the street together.

You looped your arm around his waist in return and sighed quietly, easing into the embrace.

-------------

Neil tossed a clipboard across the table and rubbed his face.

“We’ll run out of letters soon.”

You glanced at him from your spot on the windowsill.

“Wanna bet some idiot is gonna end up improvising anyway?” you said, closing your laptop.

“Jesus, don’t even make me think about it,” he groaned and shot you a tired look. And as he noticed your raised brow, he scoffed, rolling his eyes. “That was one time!”

“I didn’t say anything,” you pouted, slipping to the floor.

“Didn’t have to.”

The insulted expression on his face contrasted with a spark in his gaze as you snickered, piling up all the notes littering the windowsill. You placed them on the laptop, and in the name of your general rule that you'd rather eat barren rocks than go twice, you lifted everything up, balancing the stack, careful not to scatter it around. Should have paid more attention while reaching for your empty glass, though.

The glass shattered on the floor, sending broken pieces all over the place.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry,” you mumbled, putting your stuff back, your face flushed from embarrassment.

Neil jumped up from the sofa. “It’s nothing,” he said, waving his hand dismissively and sending you a reassuring smile. “I’ll get something to pick it up, just don’t move.”

A quite accurate representation of everything slipping out of your hands, you thought as you squatted, collecting the bigger chunks with shaking fingers. Sharp pain in your palm made you realize how much of a stupid idea was that.

“Motherfucker!” you hissed, dropping the now bloodied glass on the ground and flapping your hand as if it could stop it from aching.

Neil emerged from the hall, carrying a broom and a roll of paper towels.

“Couldn’t you have waited one goddamn minute?”

“Excuse me for wanting to help,” you huffed angrily and stood up.

Swiping the glass out of his way, he eyed you with concern.

“How bad is it?”

You glanced at the injured palm and winced, fighting the childish urge to hide it behind your back. “Just a small cut.”

But your casual tone was not convincing enough. Neil’s features tightened as he put the broom away.

“Let me take a look,” he said, tearing off a sheet from the roll. Without giving you much of a chance to protest, Neil reached for your hand. He smacked the tongue and shook his head as he examined the wound, carefully wiping off the blood from around its edges. “You’ll live, but we have to clean it up.”

You realized you were holding your breath. Not from the pain, though - it was the first time you felt his touch outside of training since that initial evening in his apartment, and something as simple as the light strokes of his fingers was enough to send your heart racing.

Get yourself together.

You inhaled sharply.

“I can do it myself, thanks,” you said, trying to slip away from his grasp, but he wasn’t ready to let you go that easily.

“But you don’t have to.”

The enigmatic look in his eyes was unnerving. You glared at him with determination and pulled your hand out of his.

“I’m fine.”

"Suit yourself," he shrugged, watching as you crossed the room cautiously, your bare feet tiptoeing around every glimmering spot on the hardwood floor on your way to the kitchen, where you knew Neil kept his first aid kit. Your thoughts wandered back to that one evening he answered the door mid-buttoning up the striped shirt of his.

“Can come back later if you have company...”

“I’m sure arnica is not gonna mind you joining in, a dirty little ointment that she is.”

Rolling your eyes almost as hard as the previous time, you opened a cabinet next to the sink and took out the kit. As you began cleaning the cut, you could hear Neil swiping the glass and tossing it to the bin behind you shortly after, when you were almost done.

But the further you got into the process, the more you struggled, having to use your slightly trembling non-dominant hand to deal with all the unpacking, disinfecting, and so on. And when a bandage slipped out of your hand, rolling out to the floor, you spurted out a litany of curses. Trying to salvage it into a state that would make it relatively easy to use, you noticed Neil casually leaned against the further end of the countertop with his arms crossed, looking at you with a smug grin.

“Need a hand?”

You wanted to snap back at him, but then your fingers cramped and you winced, exhaling shakily. Neil walked up to you and as his eyes met yours, you slumped your shoulders in defeat, nodding. He took the messed up bandage and rolled it back into a more usable form, the amusement in his expression tainted by something resembling a fondness. Holding your injured hand gently, he readjusted the gauze over the cut. You turned his way fully, your gaze transfixed on his moves as he meticulously dressed the wound. When he was done, he examined his work, running his digits across your palm. A corner of his lips curled into a smile and you bit the inside of your cheek, trying to ignore a sudden heartache.

He arched a brow and looked up at you. Playful lights danced in his eyes as his thumbs stroked your fingers slowly.

“Your pride still intact?”

“Just barely,” you said and internally cursed your hoarse voice for exposing you and your reaction to him, his closeness and his attention. “Thank you.”

Neil smiled in response and his gaze softened. He raised your hand and placed a small kiss on your knuckles. Your mouth fell open but he already let go of you and started packing the first aid kit back into the cabinet. You left the kitchen in a hurry, the initial shock got replaced with a mix of frustration, anger and confusion. What the fuck was he thinking?

Grabbing your laptop on the way, you fell on the sofa, hoping it was enough of a barrier to shield yourself with until you get your storming emotions under control again.

Neil sat down on the armrest and the blue eyes bored into you.

It took all your self-control not to shift away, just to gain a little more personal space, but you were determined not to give away how uncomfortable you felt at the moment. Instead, you simply pressed your lips into a thin line, reading one sentence from the opened document over and over again, waiting for Neil to back off voluntarily.

As if you’d forgotten how persistent he could be.

"Okay, enough.” He let out a frustrated sigh. “Can you tell me what's going on with you?"

You shot him the most indifferent glance from your arsenal.

“I’m trying to get the job done, despite my coworker’s attempts at distracting me with some impertinent questions.”

“You’re funny,” he grimaced. “And what is it, really?”

"Nothing."

Neil laughed dryly. "One thing I've learned about you is not to trust your nothings."

You closed your eyes for a second, trying to keep your nerves at bay.

What could you possibly tell him to make this whole mess between you more bearable?

"Drop it. We have plenty of work to do."

A sore scoff.  

"If that’s truly what you want," he said, shrugging.

But his bitter tone was the match in the powder barrel, and you couldn’t stand it anymore.

"And what do you want, huh?!" you exploded and sprung from the sofa, tossing the laptop away. Neil’s eyes widened as he stood up slowly, but the confusion on his face was only fueling your despair. "Tell me, because just when I think I know, you pull off some--” flailing your arms around, you searched for any appropriate word to push through the lump in your throat. ”--some bullshit, and I can't go on like this, so tell me - what do you want?"

Neil stared at you in disbelief, shaking his head slightly, as if he had trouble coming to terms with the turn this conversation had taken.

"I want you,” he said, stepping in your direction.

You chuckled harshly. Could have expected that.

“Sure,” you spat out, turning away, the pain in your chest making you struggle to draw a breath.

And then a sudden touch on your clenched fist.

“No, not like that!” he huffed, taking your hand in his and pulling it gently so you faced him again. “I mean-- ...yes, of course I do, but that’s not what I have in mind, goddammit.” He cringed and groaned quietly. And then he gave you a look so hopeless it took your breath away. “I care about you. I…” he stumbled over his words and blinked a few times in a futile attempt to compose himself. "I want...you." He moved closer. “The right way.” Neil cupped your face with his free hand and as he leaned in, you exhaled shakily. He softly stroked your nose with his, the familiar gesture letting you know how much he wanted to turn back time to fix his mistake from before. His broken voice shifted into a breathless plea. "Let me show you. Please."

You closed your eyes, melting into his touch.

“Neil…” you sighed, as his name was the only thing left in you when your mind went blank. Allowing your fingers to interlock, you raised your joined hands and pressed them to your chest so he could feel the heart pounding in your chest. The light brush of his thumb against your cheek made you look at him again, right into his longing eyes. You bit your lower lip to stop it from trembling and nodded.

A sharp chuckle escaped his mouth as his hand slipped into the back of your neck, pulling you into his embrace, your joined hands trapped between you, the racing heartbeats speaking more than a thousand words.

You wrapped your other arm around him and while you buried your face in the crook of his neck, your injured hand fisted on the material of his black hoodie, as if you were afraid that as soon as you let him go, you would never get him back again, losing him forever.  

While Neil’s hand slid from your neck down your back, tightening the embrace, the other one loosened the hold of yours, grazing over your collarbone on its way up, and tangling itself in your hair. You felt his warm breath on your neck and then a soft kiss just below your ear. You bit back a needy whine and your eyes screwed shut as Neil tipped your chin and his lips traveled along your jawline and stopped in the corner of your mouth. His thumb glided over your lips slowly and you opened your eyes, your fingertips already mirroring his gesture. He gasped and his gaze darkened. The yearning pouring from the blue irises resonated in your every particle and hazed over your mind.

“I need you,” you breathed. Three words being both a confession and a prayer.

A corner of his mouth twitched into a smile.

There was a purposeful lack of urgency in his movements as he laid you down on the bed and undressed you, his lips greeting every inch of your bare skin with admiration. You followed, getting rid of the clothes that stood in your way, exploring his toned body with the reverence it deserved. The way his breath hitched when he eased into your hands made any coherence dissolve in your mind.

But Neil could give as good as he got, and he already knew how to work you. So you melted under his fingers. Every touch set you ablaze. Every kiss he left on you made you crave for more. More of this. More of him.

“Neil--…” you begged, bucking your hips, dragging your nails against his shoulders.

The roguish twinkle in his eyes when he crawled up to you made your heart skip a bit. He hovered over you, mesmerized by the view of you falling apart for him that easily.

“Look at you, so eager,” he teased leaning in, a husky voice carrying a smug smile. His teeth grazed your earlobe and a shiver ran down your spine.

“Takes one to kno--...oh fuck,” you panted as his thumb circled your clit, your reaction prompting a hoarse chuckle against your neck. Your hands flew to his hair and you tugged on the blonde strands, tilting his head. A groan built in his throat and it was your turn to let out a pleased laugh. “Stop playing around,” you rasped, hooking one leg over his hip as you sucked on his jaw, the sharp edge that drove you wild your every waking hour. And as your hand wandered impatiently down his body, Neil grabbed it and pinned it over your head, lacing your fingers together.

“Gladly.”

A moan escaped your mouth, taking any last resolve left in you with it. Your eyes fluttered shut. The fire in the pit of your stomach kept rising with every move of his. Even with the pure want overcoming both of you, Neil’s thrusts were slow, almost tantalizingly so, but you didn’t feel the need to ask for more. Not yet. You relished the sensation of his weight on top of you. The way his chest heaved against you. The breath you shared. There was only him. Filling your body. Filling your mind. And, undeniably now, filling your heart, too.

You looked into his eyes.

Your free hand already on the nape of his neck.

The pulse pounding in your ears.

You pulled him closer.

And kissed his lips softly.

Neil gasped breathlessly, his grasp on your hand tightened as his brows furrowed slightly and he kissed you back, athirst, and the pace of your lips matched the rhythm of your bodies instinctively. When you broke the contact, the awestruck look he gave you was filled with so much affection. Tenderness. And absolute devotion, like he would follow you to the end of the world if you asked him to.

You bit back a quiet sob.

And then he let you go and sat on the bed, a sudden lack of his closeness drawing a deprived whimper out of you. He laughed and pulled you into his arms again, and as you straddled his torso, he tucked his long legs under you, nesting you in his embrace perfectly.

The blue eyes wandered around your face and his features softened as he wiped off a single tear rolling down your cheek with his knuckles. Oh. Neil searched your gaze, making sure you were all right, and you smiled, feeling your heart melting a little inside.

His hands slid down your sides to your hips and he lifted you up, helping you position yourself on top of him. You held onto his shoulders, and as you lowered yourself down, taking him in fully, your back arched and your head fell back. You moaned and bit your lip, the pleasure searing your every nerve. God, he felt so good.

Captivated by the view in front of his eyes, by your reaction to him, Neil licked his lips and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer.

His mouth traveled through your chest as you rocked back and forth, gasping when he cupped your breast with his hand and rolled your nipple between his fingers. You tipped his chin to kiss him again, couldn’t get enough of him. You savored his taste. The heat of his body. His scent. Him. Utterly stunning.

The pressure built inside of you, threatening to consume you any moment now. And if the hazed blue eyes could be any indication, Neil wasn’t far behind you, too.

So you slowed down, agonizingly.

The wounded expression on his face was somewhat satisfying.

“...a payback?” he huffed in disbelief.

“Couldn’t resist,” you purred with a wicked grin, enjoying the way he groaned when you started rocking your hips again. He screwed his eyes shut and your name rolled off his tongue. You captured his parted lips in a kiss and kept grinding into him, every move bringing you closer to the release. You closed your eyes, panting frantically, trembling, almost collapsing. But he was there, holding you firmly in his arms, keeping you going.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to yours.

Encouragement. Reassurance. But also a statement. And epiphany.

You cried out and the reality shattered as the blissful pleasure rippled through every fiber of your being. Cupping Neil’s face, you kissed him again, riding out your high, feeling he was getting closer to the brink himself. You buried your hands in his hair and tugged at them, rolling your hips and he cursed and moaned, coming into you hard, pulling you to him as close as he could.

When the world stopped spinning and your gazes met, it dawned on you that there was no turning back now. He saw you. And right through you.

And judging by the tender look in his eyes, he rather liked it.

How fortunate.

Because the feeling was very much mutual.

And you weren’t afraid anymore.

------------

The moonlight seeping through the window was slowly gaining warmer undertones. You glanced at the sky visible between the tall buildings - must have been dawning already.

Grunting softly, you turned to the other side, shivering at the sensation of the chilly air against your skin, and you melted at the sight.

The impossibly ruffled blonde hair. The peaceful face, half-planted into a pillow. The gorgeous lines of his arms. The veiny forearms. The watch, still present on his wrist. The hands--...

“You’re staring at me.”

Your gaze flitted back to his face, only to see a corner of his lips twitching into a smile.

You stifled a giggle.

“And what about it?” you teased, propping the chin on your palm.

Neil opened his eyes and a cheeky grin crept on his mouth. “Seems like a good moment to mention that I don’t fold my underwear.”

You couldn’t keep the straight face at the reference and you let out an amused snort.

“Ah, nobody’s perfect,” you said, aiming for the most sympathizing tone.

The playful sparks lit up the blue irises as he grabbed your uninjured hand.

“Come here, you--” he chuckled, pulling you into his arms, entangling your legs together as you laid face to face on his pillow.

He brushed a strand of hair from your forehead, gazing into your eyes fondly.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked, stroking your cheek with his knuckles gently.

“Just woke up,” you said, easing into his touch. ”And got...distracted.”

A knowing hum was enough of a comment.

You slid down a bit and hid your face in the crook of his neck. Neil tightened his embrace and started tracing small patterns on your back. You let out a happy sigh, reveling in his warmth and closeness.

“Am I going to see this side of you more often now?”

“Maybe,” you wondered.

Neil sighed and smacked his tongue. “Such a shame, that obnoxiously angry chick started to grow on me.”

An outraged scoff escaped your mouth.

“Oh, fu--” you started, pulling back to glare at him, but he didn’t let you finish. Cupping your face with his hands mid-curse, he placed a kiss on your lips, deepening it at the sound of your incoherent protests. When you finally kissed him back, you felt him smiling against you, and then you lost yourselves in this little moment of bliss until you ended up breathless.

“You’re perfect,” whispered Neil, nudging your nose with his tenderly.

Your heart sang in your chest as you laughed softly in response, “You’re quite okay yourself.”

He mumbled something about you being insufferable and pinned you into the mattress, climbing on top of you.

“Aren’t you tired?” you gasped as his mouth traveled down your neck.

A throaty chuckle. “Of you?” And a roguish smile. “Impossible, I’m afraid.”

That smug bastard.

You didn’t stand a chance.

You knew you were beyond saving.

...or maybe quite the opposite?

--------

“You’re humming,” noted Ives as you left the HQ together.

You sighed and rolled your eyes at him, wrapping your jacket a little tighter, trying to protect yourself from the cold wind.

“Don’t be absurd.”

He studied you warily.

“I’ve heard what I’ve heard.”

“You should mention that during your next medical then,” you said, arching your brow.

He snorted and punched your arm playfully and you grinned, hitting him back.

“Oi, wanna grab a beer?”

You ran your fingers through your hair, grimacing slightly, suddenly embarrassed.

“I can’t. I--…I have a date,”

His eyes lit up. “A proper date now?” he teased, shaking his head. “You two are a tad backwards, eh?”

You shrugged and smiled, waving at the blonde man on the bottom of the stairs.

“Seems fitting for our line of work, don’t you think?”

---------

“What took you so long?”

“Neil, I swear to god, if you don’t stop asking me that every damn time you lead the blue team--”

“I can ask our boss to demote you and put you back on my squad if you want.”

“I’d rather take that total annihilation instead, please and thank you.”

The Protagonist sighed, joining Ives outside the building.

“Some things never change, huh?” he pondered.

They watched as the bickering couple walked down the street together.

Ives smirked, spotting the joined hands.

“Well, that’s new.”

Wheeler walked up to them. “These two are made for each other, all right.”

TP puffed out his chest slightly.

“I told you so.”

She glanced heavenward, keeping her next thought to herself.

Then she looked at the couple again, just to see a light tug at the olive green scarf.

And a kiss that followed.

She smiled.

Her job was done.

You’re welcome, dumbasses.

-------------------------------------------------------

a/n: I promised you a song.

Here it is.

The song. 

Their song.

Thank you, A.

[neutron-stars-collision]

The Art of Inversion

Neil x Reader

Chapter 11 - What If This Is All The Love You’ll Ever Get?

Masterlist; Chapter 10

Summary: The brief peace you experience does not last long. And this time the consquences cannot be ignored.

Warnings: Swearing; it gets quite angsty with some mentions of loss, excessive drinking and such... (I’m sorry)

Author’s Notes: Right so... this is post-Kiev, before Mumbai film-wise. It gets intense for which I’m sorry (trust me this wasn’t fun to write). I hope you enjoy nonetheless and please let me know what you think! Feedback makes my days so much better <3

It turned out that if you and Neil were forced to cooperate (long-distantly yet still), it could work out pretty well. Kiev was a success, to put it simply. Yes, the opera house got partially blown up, and TP’s initial operation became a ‘massive fuck-up’ (as Neil put it), but the boss himself made it. You have been assured about that by some remote Tenet connections you did not even know they had. Now it was their time to step into the game. So you waited patiently for Neil’s return while keeping yourself occupied with other random small tasks for the organization. You went back to texting him rather frequently as well, having decided that friends are allowed to have little chats like that. Also, because you could not deny yourself that guilty pleasure…

He came back just as it was planned, four days after your awkward goodbye (which still haunted you at night). It was late in the evening, and you were finishing a report needed for the morning when you heard a knock on the door.

“Hey you” Neil smiled when you opened the door.

You eyed him quickly, noticing the wrinkles on his clothes, ruffled hair, and tired eyes. It became pretty obvious he came to see you straight after coming back. And that idea made you feel… strange.

“Hey” you smiled back and left the ajar for him “When did you come back?” you watched him sit down on the bed and stretch his arms elegantly.

You could not hide the small smile that showed on your face at the sight. He met your gaze with a little grin of his own before answering:

“Just arrived back from the airport. Left stuff in my room, and here I am” he opened his arms to emphasise the point, and you laughed.

“I can see that. Aren’t you tired though?” once again, you warily searched his face.

But apart from being shocked at how beautiful he was, you got nothing concrete.

“I’d rather talk to you than sleep” he shrugged as though it was obvious. You blushed and looked down at your lap before closing the documents. The report would have to wait.

“How was the mission?” you turned back to him and watched, mesmerised, as he rolled up the sleeves and leaned back on his forearms.

Having Neil chill on your bed was certainly not an image you expected to see this evening.

“Well, you were there in spirit, so you probably know” he grinned “But if you want details…” he trailed off to gather his thoughts, “It was surprisingly easy to enter despite the ongoing siege with two different groups fighting inside. Then all I had to do was wait and try not to draw attention to myself”

“Where did you wait in the end?”

You have discussed the different options he had a day before the attack.

“A lovely storage room backstage” his eyes sparked “Would’ve been more fun if you were there with me” he smirked.

So nothing’s changed then.

“Did you find TP with no problems?” your swift change of topic did not go unnoticed.

But this time, he obeyed.

“Once shit started going off, I went back into the concert hall, and there he was. Trying to save all those civilians from being blown to pieces” Neil looked pensive for a moment “But then just as I thought that I would not be needed there, I saw movement near him. Someone has shot an inverted round there” he met your gaze “So I collected the bullet, making sure it went through whoever that was threatening TP and left just as quickly” he took off the shoes and went back to relaxing on your bed.

“He noticed you?”

“Probably yeah. But to him, I was just a handy help in a rather messy situation” he smiled “Enough about that. How have you been?” this time it was his turn to search your face.

You wondered what he found there.

“Alright, I guess” you smile lightly “When I wasn’t busy helping you, I was mostly working on some boring reports”

“Sounds fascinating” he grinned “Anything fun happened while I was away?” now he was lying on his side with head propped on the elbow.

For a second, you thought about the fact that your pillow might smell like him over night.

“Apart from Anna nearly slamming the door in my face yesterday… not really” you frowned at the memory.

“What?!” Neil’s eyes widened in shock.

“Yeah, well… think she just didn’t see me following her through the door, but I almost ended up with a concussion”

“That doesn’t sound like her but, then…” it was Neil’s turn to frown.

“After everything, I wouldn’t be surprised” you murmured and met his gaze with a weary smile.

You probably had to get used to the rush of butterflies you felt every time your eyes met. He stared at you with an inquisitive look. You were acutely aware that you were both probably recollecting the events from a few days ago. To stop the flood of images from making you do something stupid, you got up:

“Do you want a tea?” you busily stared at the kettle.

“Yeah sure” you could hear the self-satisfaction in his voice.

While you got busy with preparing two cups of tea, you could feel his eyes on you. Then a text alert broke the silence that fell. You turned to see him type an answer. For an absolutely unknown reason, you wanted to know who was messaging him. And why. But instead, you had to try not to pour boiling water all over your hand. At which you failed.

“Fuck” you hissed on reflex and hoped he has not noticed.

But nothing seemed to go past those deep blue eyes.

“Are you alright?” he sat up and watched you from across the room.

“Yeah, just clumsy as fuck” once the tea was brewing, you could assess the damage.

Apart from a little sore skin, you should live. When you turned to give Neil his mug, you were faced with a very smug grin.

“Don’t tell me you got jealous over a text from TP” he pushed his phone into your hands.

You stared blankly at the recent texts. The last one was his response to The Protagonist. One before that was to you. And nothing more remarkable after that. You felt very stupid. But thankfully, Neil was done with taunting. At least for the moment.

“It’s okay” he took his phone back and then gently cradled your hurt hand “Swear I won’t mention this again”

“If you will, I’ll shoot you” you glared at him, trying to ignore the waves of shame threatening to spill from your system.

“Now that’s quite dramatic, don’t you think?” he looked up at you and grinned.

Then he kissed your knuckles and released his hold on your hand. You were finally free, and you were not going to waste that.

“I’ll… I’ve got to go the bathroom for a sec… sorry” you bolted to the door with newly found energy.

Just before you locked the door, you heard him say:

“I’ve missed you”

Fuck. You pressed your back against the closed door and took a deep breath. The sting of the burn was nearly gone, but the shame burned just as strongly through your body. Now you understood why Jasper called you pathetic. That was probably the best adjective to describe your behaviour. Slowly, you calmed down the racing heart and opted to take off make-up as a relaxing task. It worked, and soon you also decided to change into some nightclothes. It was late, and it was safe to assume that Neil would leave for the night in the not too far future. Finally, you took long fifteen minutes to coach yourself to go back out into the room. It was a rather difficult task as you had enough humiliation for the day. But at the same time, you wanted to spend as much time as you could with him. 

Was addiction to Neil a thing? Because you might have just diagnosed yourself with it, you mused while exiting the bathroom. Outside, you were faced with a surprising yet adorable sight of the man himself curled up on your bed and snoring. His face was relaxed with no frown lines visible, and the abandoned mug of tea steamed on the bedside table. You noticed that he took your blanket and covered himself with it. You could not stop the smile that showed on your face when you took in the image. However, that also left you with a rather difficult decision… He certainly left enough space for you on the bedside facing the wall. But also, that was a bit risky… was it not? You contemplated taking a spare pillow and nodding off on the floor. But as soon as that thought entered your mind, the pathetic side decided to object. Friends are allowed to share a bed right? You sighed, switched off the lights, and carefully stepped over Neil’s form to lie down. You made sure to leave all the space you could before you turned to the wall and let the tiredness take you. As a parting thought, you realised that his presence next to you felt right somehow.

*** Waking up to the sound of your alarm was a harsh experience. Unconsciously, you reached out to turn off the brutal device and sighed with happiness when you succeeded. Only then, your brain began to catch up with reality. And especially with the fact that there was an arm draped over your stomach, with fingers touching the bare skin where your top rode up. The alarm has woken him too as you felt him hug you closer to his chest. You felt a warm breath on the back of your neck.

“I could get used to waking up like this” you shivered at the way his voice reverberated through your chest.

Before you could react, he pressed a kiss to the nape of your neck and followed it with a trail of pecks down your spine, as far as your shirt allowed. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to level breathing. His fingers softly caressing the strip of skin just above the hemline of your trousers made your brain short-circuit. It was all too much. You had to move, or else you could not be responsible for anything that would happen.

Quickly you turned in the embrace to face him. The closeness made your breath hitch. Neil stared at you with a small smile on his lips. You knew that the innocence was nothing but a façade. You had to distract yourself and him, so you scrambled for anything to say. Glancing down at his shirt collar, you found the words:

“Maybe you should stop falling asleep in suits” you aimed for a neutral tone, but the moment his eyes lit up, you knew it was pointless.

“If you wanted me to undress, all you had to do was ask” he smirked when seeing your mild panic.

Bloody fantastic.

He was still too close. And the way he glanced down at your lips for a split second did not help the situation either.

“Right… I’ve had that alarm set for a reason” you rushed to get up and climb over him.

But naturally, Neil had other ideas. When you leaned over him to push yourself up, he took your hands in his, forcing you to lie partially on top of him. You stared in shock, suddenly overwhelmed by the situation. His blue eyes stared back at you with that unreadable expression you have seen before. You took the time to look at him, his wild bed hair and two-day stubble on the chin.

If you were allowed, you could get used to this…

“Is this one of those moments when I should be the voice of reason?” when you found your voice again, it was weirdly hoarse.

“Maybe…” he grinned and squeezed your hands “How’s your burn?”

Only now you actually remembered about your embarrassing moment from the previous night. At the reminder, you felt your face grow warm. The moment was gone.

“It’s fine” you muttered and moved to get up.

This time he let you go, but you were sure you saw a brief look of disappointment on his face.

“What is your plan for today?” he asked while reaching for yesterday’s tea.

You frowned at that.

“Sure you don’t want a new one?” you gestured towards the mug.

“Nah, don’t want your martyrdom to go wasted” he winked and finished the cold drink.

“You really want to get shot, my dear” you mused while eyeing him sharply.

“My dear?” he sat up and looked at you with one eyebrow arched curiously.

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. It was so much easier to talk with him like that when you had a little bit of space preserved.

“You don’t have a monopoly on nicknames”

“Of course not” Neil got up and folded the blanket he used “But it’s nice to hear that you consider me ‘yours’ in any way, my dear” he winked and crossed the room “I’ll see you around later” he kissed you on the cheek and was gone before you could process anything.

In the end, you never got to tell him what your plan for the day was.

*** The next three days went in relative peace. You started to build a pleasant routine in the organization, and ever since he was back, you could incorporate time spent with Neil into it. Every morning you would attend a sparring session (with Ives or whoever was handy), then a shooting training to keep yourself in shape. After that, meetings and missions briefings where you would help with the logistical side of the operations. In the evening, you ate dinner with Neil in the dining hall. Undoubtedly that was a highlight of the day for you when you could use the hour and a half window to get to know him better. Apart from that first blunder in your attempts at friendship-like behaviour, it all went rather smoothly. Neil did his best to cooperate. The only times when he was proving to be difficult were the goodbyes during which he made it his goal to make you flustered. The kisses on the cheek became a routine thing. And so did his tendency to gaze into your eyes for extended periods of time. You did not mind either of those things.

The lack of concrete news about the unfolding plan sometimes made you almost forget about it. But you did not dare relax, remembering TPs words about the upcoming events. And so, you waited patiently, preparing in any way you could think of.

The fragile peace got disrupted during one of your evening meals. You were mid-conversation concerning Neil’s past experiences in the Navy when Ives approached your table:

“Evening lovebirds” you grudgingly accepted the nickname he chose for you both.

“What is it?” Neil instantly sensed trouble, judging by the frown that showed on his face.

“TP is calling us to the US. Urgently” Ives looked at you apologetically “Just me and Neil, sorry love”

“That’s okay” you met Neil’s gaze over the table “You two are more crucial to the whole organization than I am” you shrugged.

Neil looked as though he wanted to argue but chose not to. Luckily.

“When do we have to leave?” he asked Ives.

“Ideally in an hour”

“Shit” he took a moment to gather his thoughts “Okay, I’ll meet you in the reception in 45mins”

Ives only nodded and left without a further word. You stared at Neil, who eyed his half-full plate mournfully.

“At least you’ll get some nice food on the plane” you offered upon seeing his internal debate.

“But the company won’t be as good” he looked up and smiled sadly.

“That’s quite harsh on Ives” you joked, trying to ignore the inexplicable sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach.

Neil laughed, but you could tell that he was worried too. Using the only way you knew to assure him, you reached out across the table and squeezed his hand.

“You should pack” you brushed your thumb over his knuckles “I’ll see you when you’re back”.

He entwined his fingers with yours and met your gaze for a moment. You could see that he was hesitant, as though he wanted to say something you would not like. Then he made up his mind because he released his hold over your hand and got up to stand next to you.

“I’ll miss you” he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

Before you could answer, he left the hall. You took a deep breath, aware of the strange feeling creeping into your brain. Hopefully, it is nothing but anxiety, you sighed and went back to eating, acutely aware of the loneliness.

*** The peace you got when Neil and Ives left lasted for about twelve hours. A good night text from Neil calmed your nerves slightly as it meant he made it safely to the HQs. You tried to get an early night, but it did not happen. Instead, you spent three hours staring at the ceiling in the dark, trying to convince your stubborn brain that it worried for nothing. After all, urgent missions happened all the time, right? Well, your logic was desperately trying not to fail while faced with an irrational voice that never seemed to shut up. In the end, you resorted to taking a sleeping pill and hoping to catch at least 5 hours long nap.

That plan was cut short by a sharp ringing at 7 am coming from your phone resting on the bedside table. You looked at the display to see Ives as the caller ID. This could not be good. A sudden shock made you sit up and pick up the phone despite being barely able to open your eyes.

“Yes?” you cleared your throat when you heard your raspy voice.

“Y/N…” you have never heard Ives’ use your first name.

Fuck… The world went black for a millisecond. You felt lightheaded. Something was terribly wrong.

“What’s going on?” panic was creeping into your voice.

“Neil… he found TP in his room…” his voice was breaking “He’s gone” you heard him take in a shaky breath “TP is gone”

Your heart skipped a beat. Your vision blurred as you reached out to touch the wall to feel something steady beneath your fingertips. For a short second, you forgot how to breathe. Then as you started to struggle for the oxygen, you took greedy breaths, hoping to calm down. It was not working.

“Are you there?” Ives’ panicked voice broke through the paralysis.

“How did it happen?” you choked out the question, feeling tears well up in your eyes.

“He…” Ives stifled a sob “He took a cyanide pill”

You could not stop the sobs that came then. Only after you could take in a full breath, you spoke again.

“Why?”

“No one knows. He saw Neil and me when we arrived. Then I went to sleep, and Neil woke me up” you could hear the strain in his voice.

“How’s he?” you feared the answer to the question.

Somehow you knew there was a reason why it was not him calling you. But the explanation for that was too terrifying to be admitted aloud.

“Bad” the grave tone made you panic again.

“Fuck” you inhaled sharply.

“You should come via the next plane. He has to be in Mumbai by the twentieth, and I don’t think we can sort him out without you”

You winced at the serious tone.

“Okay, I’ll try to get there as soon as I can” you bolted up from the bed “Please try to look after him” you hated the pleading tone.

“I’ll try though it’s hard to do when he’s locked himself in his room and isn’t letting anyone in”

Shit. The dizziness returned, and you leaned on the wall for support. To say that you were worried would be an understatement. Everyone knew how much Neil cared about TP. The helplessness was frustrating. You wanted to scream and let it out.

“Just do what you can” you sighed “Stay strong, Ives”

“Don’t hang up yet”

“Why, what’s wrong?” his sudden change of tone made you even more concerned.

“Nothing, it’s just that I think you should know about something… about Neil”

“Yes?”

“He should be the one telling you but fuck that” he sounded hesitant.

“Ives” the agitation won over any other emotion “Please”

“Neil lost someone very important to him nearly two years ago during a mission. It was an accident, but Neil blames himself for what happened as he was leading the attack”

“Okay…” you needed a moment to process the information.

“I just wanted you to know in case it mattered”

“Thank you… What was their name?” that was the only question you could think of.

“Alex. He was an agent and joined Tenet at the same time Neil did. They were together”

The only immediate thought was that you wished you knew before. Maybe then you could have been a better friend. However, Ives’ took your silence as something else.

“Is that okay?” he sounded genuinely worried.

“Of course, I don’t care who he was with. Only that he’s hurting right now” you glanced at the watch “I should start packing. I’ll see you soon, I hope” you hung up.

You tried your hardest not to breakdown while throwing random clothing articles into the bag. You tried calling Neil, but he has not picked up. You just sent him a message:

“I’m sorry. I’ll try to get there soon”.

There was not much else you could do. Apart from trying to preserve sanity.

*** The plane journey to Boston was a blurry memory. You spent the 8 hours trying not to cry publicly and ignoring the temptation to get drunk to numb the pain and worry. Once you landed, the anxiety got worse. With shaking hands, you went through the customs and into the arrivals hall. All the while, you tried not to think too much about the last time you visited the airport and about Neil’s steady hand guiding you. He still has not responded to your text, and that made you think about the worst. You calmed down your anxious stomach just enough to get into the car sent by the HQ and relaxed into the leather seat. Just twenty minutes now.

But before you could reach any mental clarity, your phone buzzed. You took it out of the pocket and nearly dropped it onto the car floor upon seeing the text. It was from TP. You gasped and unlocked the device to read it.

“When this reaches you, you most likely know what happened. I’m sorry, but there was no other way. I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t know that you, Neil, and the rest are ready. I trust you, Y/N, and that’s why I have decided to make you responsible for the logistical side of the plan. Once you’re ready, materials are waiting for you in the inbox. Please take care. I know I don’t have to ask you to help Neil but make sure he doesn’t blame himself”

It was clear that he scheduled the messaged to come through after he was gone. And you had a feeling it was only the first one of many. You only had time to wipe the tears from your eyes before the car parked in front of the Tenet building, and you were forced to get out. Once you got through the security booth, you spotted Ives waiting in the reception hall. He had his head bowed, staring at the floor. None of his usual confidence was there. Once you approached, he sensed company and looked up. You were struck by the dark circles underneath his eyes.

“Hey” suddenly you did not know what to say.

“Thank god you’re here” Ives shook off the hesitation and hugged you tightly.

You returned the embrace, feeling tears well up again. You stepped back and sniffed, accepting the offered tissues. Only now you noticed how quiet and empty it was in the building despite the hour.

“How is the situation?” you did not even know how to ask any specific questions.

“Very bad” Ives frowned, and you felt like he was holding back.

“Take me to him, please” you shivered involuntarily.

He did not need more convincing and started leading you through the corridors.

“He hasn’t left the room since midnight when I last saw him” Ives started speaking, “I’m pretty sure he’s drinking” he stopped in front of a regular door in yet another corridor.

“Right… Has he let anyone in?” you strained to hear any potential sounds from within, but there was nothing.

“No” Ives shook his head.

You could tell that he was incredibly tired and worried. You had to be the strong one this time.

“Why do you think I’ll be different?”

You placed one shaky hand on the surface of the door.

“Because it’s you” you could tell he was barely restraining the urge to roll his eyes “You’re probably the only person he cares about”

Despite the gravity of the situation, you felt your face grow warm. You took a deep breath to calm down and raised a fist to rap on the door. At first, there was nothing. The panic kept rising.

“Neil, it’s me” you leaned your head against the door “I’m sorry…” with tears streaming down your cheeks, you tried to find the right words “Please let me in. I just want to see you…” you glanced at Ives who looked almost uncomfortable.

Suddenly you heard faint sounds coming from the room. Rustling, the unmistakable clang of an empty glass bottle hitting the floor and the footsteps stopping just by the door.

“Please go” you mouthed at Ives, who only nodded and rushed down the corridor.

You took a step back and waited, with the heart in your throat. After agonising few seconds, the lock clicked, and the door opened. Nothing prepared you for the sight you saw.

Neil’s hair was sticking out in every direction. His eyes were red-rimmed and paired with dark shadows underneath. He still wore the clothes you saw him in the day before. But probably the worst was how obviously drunk he was, barely able to stay upright by the door. When his unfocused eyes landed on you, he attempted a smile. It ended up looking like a tragic scowl. He opened the door wider for you and went back inside. You took a second to gather your thoughts and followed him, shutting the door behind you.

Once inside, you took the time to scan the room and analyse the situation. Neil sat down on the edge of the bed, which was entirely unmade. The floor was covered in random bits of paper he must have tossed from the table. You counted at least two empty bottles of alcohol lying amidst the mess as well. Taking a deep breath, you faced Neil. He was looking at you, but his eyes lacked their usual spark.

“I’m sorry” he breathed out, and your eyes widened.

“What for?” you were not expecting that.

“They sent you to get me sorted” you did not like the dark look in his eyes “That can’t be an ideal job. Even for you”

“Neil” the stern tone made him focus on your words “I’m not here because they asked me to come. I’m here for you” you took a step closer and knelt to be levelled with him “I was worried” you admitted finally.

“Fuck… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” his slightly slurred rambling made you even more acutely aware of his state.

“No, don’t apologise” you interrupted him; TP’s text message fresh on your mind “None of this is your fault. And my job here is to make sure you understand that” gently, you reached out to brush the hair away from his eyes.

You did not know whether it was what you said or what you did, but at that moment, he seemed to break. Before you could react, he slid down onto the floor and started crying with heart-wrenching sobs. It took you a second to change position and put your arms around him. He leaned into the embrace.

“He’s gone” he choked out after a few seconds of silence.

“I know” you run a hand along his back in a soothing motion “But you don’t have to tell me more. It’s alright, I’m here” you whispered, feeling him shake.

At that, he just started sobbing more violently. You could only sit there, holding him and letting your own tears fall silently. You will be okay someday. You hoped.

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: Very Real Worries About Black Holes

Summary: Rushbelle. Rush and Belle are both dealing with the challenges of being teachers trying to organise remote learning in the pandemic, but they find that there are some perks to working from home.

Written for the @a-monthly-rumbelling February random prompt: Education AU.

Rated: G

Very Real Worries About Black Holes

If there was one thing that Belle had never expected to encounter when she had first become an elementary school teacher, it was the challenges of teaching a class of seven-year-olds remotely. The last few months had brought with them more technical challenges and Zoom misbehaviours than she had ever thought she would have to deal with in her entire lifetime.

Still, needs must, and she knew that Nicholas was having just as many issues with teaching his college classes online. The difference was that her students’ mishaps tended towards the unintentionally amusing, and his more towards the exasperating.

She checked everything meticulously one more time. No food in her teeth, nothing weird happening in the background – just the bare kitchen wall. All her notes and materials were in place, and she’d emailed the kids’ worksheets to them the previous day. She was ready to enter the virtual classroom.

“Good morning, class.”

“Good morning, Miss French,” came the tinny chorus in her earphones. She did a quick headcount; there was a good attendance this morning, although Billy Fields appeared to have been replaced by a golden retriever panting happily at the webcam.

“Our first lesson today is science, and we’re going to be learning about the solar system. Does everyone have the worksheet that I emailed you yesterday?”

Of course not. Belle didn’t think there would ever be a day when all her students were fully prepared, just as there would never be a day in their real-world classroom where someone hadn’t forgotten their pencil case, or their gym kit, or their lunch money (Belle kept a slush fund – no child went hungry on her watch). She resent the worksheets and started up her PowerPoint presentation.

“The sun is at the centre of our solar system… Yes, Katie?”

“Miss, how big is the universe?”

Belle was slightly taken aback by the question. “The entire universe?”

“Yeah. I know that the solar system is only a little bit of the universe. My brother’s studying it at middle school, and he says that the universe is at least… three times as big as the solar system. And it’s getting bigger!”

“I don’t know exactly how big the universe is, but it’s mind-bendingly huge… Yes, Aaron?”

“Miss, are we going to get eaten by a black hole? I saw a show on TV last night about them, and I’m worried. I don’t want to get eaten by a black hole before I’ve had the chance to taste every single flavour of ice cream at the Blueberry Farm ice cream shop.”

Belle sighed. She could do with an entire tub of Blueberry Farm ice cream herself right now. It was a shame they’d closed due to the virus. “Aaron, we’re not going to get eaten by a black hole. The nearest black hole is thousands and thousands of light years away.”

“What’s a light year?”

“It’s a very, very long way. Can we get back to the worksheets, please? The sun is at the centre of our solar system, and… Yes, Aaron?”

“Miss, how do we know that the nearest black hole is really far away? I mean, black holes are black, right? And space is black, right? So how do we even see them and know where they are? There might be one sneaking up on us right now!”

Katie screamed in terror at the thought of this and dived under her desk. The golden retriever sitting in for Billy seemed unperturbed. Belle rubbed her forehead and sighed. This was absolutely not how she had intended this lesson to go. Looking up, she saw that Nicholas had come into the kitchen for some more coffee, and he was giving her an amused look.

“Trouble in paradise?” he asked lightly. Belle just glared at him. Then she smiled as a thought struck her, and Nicholas’s expression changed to a worried one.

“Class, hold on for a moment.” She muted herself. “Nick, when’s your next class?”

“If I say right now, will you believe me?”

“No.”

“Fine, it’s at half-ten.”

“Perfect.” Belle returned to her own class. “Class, you can forget the worksheets. We have a special guest joining us for our science lesson today. He’s a scientist who knows all about space, and luckily, he happens to be my fiancé.” She beckoned Nicholas over and he groaned, taking the seat beside her at the table and giving an unenthusiastic wave to her students.

“This is Dr Rush, and he’s going to answer all your questions about the universe.”

“I hate you,” Nicholas mouthed to her.

“Now, now. There are children present. Ok class, one at a time. Yes, Maisie?”

“Dr Rush, do they have coronavirus in space?”

“Probably not.”

“So, the moon people don’t have it?”

“The moon… There are no people on the moon.”

“What about Neil Armstrong?”

“He’s not still on the moon, we didn’t leave him there after he planted the flag.”

“Oh.” Maisie paused. “What about the Martians? Do they have coronavirus?”

“There are no Martians.”

“Oh. Won’t Percy and Curiosity get lonely with no Martians to talk to?”

“Erm…”

“Dr Rush, how big is the universe?” Katie had come out from under her desk. “And are there any black holes sneaking up on us?”

Nicholas was in far more comfortable territory here, and soon enough the questions veered away from the weird and into the genuinely scientific and insightful. It was nice to see him in his element, even if she did have to keep reminding him that the kids were seven and did not have an entire lifetime’s worth of astrophysics vocabulary at their fingertips. Belle was somewhat loath to put an end to the discussion.

“Ok class, we’re at the end of lesson time now, we need to move on to math. Do you have one final question for Dr Rush?”

Billy’s voice came out from behind the retriever. “Dr Rush, are you really, absolutely, completely sure about the black holes? I mean, I already have to worry about coronavirus and the weird mouldy tomatoes at the back of the fridge. I don’t want to have to worry about black holes too.”

Even Nicholas had to stifle a laugh at that. “I am one hundred per cent certain that there are no black holes sneaking up on us, and I promise you that NASA has people monitoring for them. We’ll all be safe.”

“Good.”

Belle put the class into recess for five minutes to allow for bathroom breaks, and she turned to Nicholas.

“That wasn’t so bad now, was it?”

Nicholas raised an eyebrow. “Hmm.”

“Oh, come on, you enjoyed it really, and some of them had really good questions.”

“I’m a bit concerned by their collective obsession with black holes.”

Belle just laughed and double-checked that her webcam was covered before leaning in and kissing him.

“Thank you for humouring me anyway.”

“Anything for you. Although now I’m going to get you to come and act as my glamorous assistant in one of my lectures.”

Belle laughed. “What will that involve, holding your dry-wipe markers?”

“I’m sure I’ll think of something.” He kissed her again and left the room to go and prepare for his own classes. Belle smiled. There were some upsides to remote teaching after all.

[spaceskam]

Something Isn’t Right Here

day 1 of @whumptober2020 : waking up restrained

warnings: restraints/handcuffs, confusion, talk of attempted murder and suicide, guns, false accusations, hospital, vague description of injuries, interrogation

ao3

There were very few things Kyle appreciated about handcuffs.

He’d been around them a lot as a kid with both of his parents being cops and he had at least three plastic pairs of his own after being a cop for Halloween three years in a row. He’d played cops and robbers with Alex when they were small, too, and he’d been with a few women who found them fun in bed. However, he hadn’t done any of that since getting with Alex. Alex didn’t like it and Kyle had grown to share his distaste of feeling trapped.

Which is why when he woke up handcuffed to a bed, he was very confused.

“What the fuck?” he asked himself, pulling on them a few times and getting nowhere. It took him a few seconds to realize he was handcuffed to a hospital bed. What happened?

Kyle tried to think hard about what he’d missed that had led to this very peculiar situation, but nothing came to mind. The last thing he remembered was watching a movie with Alex on the couch. He didn’t know how he woke up here. Was he dreaming?

Kyle pressed the call button on the remote since that was the only thing he could fucking reach at that point and then watched the door like a hawk. He needed answers.

Eventually, Victoria, one of the head trauma nurses, came in looking uneasy. Kyle noticed there were police officers guarding his door. Seriously, what the hell was going on?

“Victoria,” he said thankfully even though he didn’t understand why she was dealing with him. He felt fine. “Why the hell am I handcuffed?”

“Please don’t make this difficult,” she said softly, uncharacteristically.

“What? Make what difficult? What’s going on?” Kyle asked. She had a grim look on her face, conflicted and concerned. It didn’t make any sense. “What happened?”

“I should go get the Sheriff.”

“My mom’s here?” Kyle clarified. He wouldn’t actually mind hearing what she had to say about all of this mess.

“No,” Victoria said, “Conflict of interest.”

“Conflict of--Where’s Alex?” he asked. If he was here, where was Alex? Victoria’s face got impossibly more disgusted. “I need to see him.”

“Really, Kyle?”

“Really what? He’s my boyfriend, I deserve to see him. Where is he? What’s going on? Why am I handcuffed? Just tell me what’s going on,” he pleaded. Victoria sighed.

“I-I know I’m not supposed to talk about this, but I just don’t get why you did it. I thought I knew you.”

Kyle felt panic rise in him even more and his heart monitor started speeding up in tandem. He was so lost.

“Did what? What did I do?”

She shook her head and did a quick check of his heart rate and moved the blanket and hospital gown. Only then did he realize he had a bandage on his abdomen. When she lifted the bandage, it looked like the impact of a close range GSW. How much medication did they have him on that he didn’t even notice? And, more importantly, what did that mean for Alex?

He tried to ask more questions, but she ignored him. Victoria left the room and he had too much time to fester in his own imagination before the Sheriff from the county over strolled in. He looked even less kind than his mother and that was saying something.

“Nice to see you awake, Mr. Valenti, I’m Sheriff Neil O’Connor,” he said, “Mind if I ask you a few questions?”

“Not if you answer mine,” Kyle demanded, “Where’s my boyfriend? What’s all this shit about?” The sheriff huffed an unamused laugh.

“You know what this is about, Mr. Valenti.”

“I obviously don’t. I would guess it was about the person who shot me, but I wouldn’t be handcuffed unless you guys assumed I was the one who did something,” he said, “So what exactly am I being accused of?”

Sheriff O’Connor took a deep breath, “September 30th at 7pm, two gunshots were heard coming from your apartment. Both you and Mr. Manes were found seven minutes later.”

“Oh my God,” Kyle said, a whole new level of panic in him, “Where’s Alex? Is he okay? I need to see him.”

“Yeah, that won’t be happening,” Sheriff O’Connor said, seeming awfully smug, “There was no forced entry and the gun is in your name and was found beside your hand. We’re having the security cameras checked, but I have a hunch we won’t see anyone entering or exiting within the time of the shootings. Which leaves us with our prime suspect.”

“I need to see Alex,” Kyle insisted. He could deal with the false accusations later. He needed to make sure Alex was already, to make sure he knew it wasn’t him who did it.

“Tell me what happened that night, Kyle.”

“I was literally shot in my stomach, you think I did this to myself?” Kyle scoffed. He knew logically he should get a lawyer before even talking, but he didn’t care in that moment. He needed Alex.

“Which is what we considered too. But, again, no forced entry, your gun, your hand. So tell me what happened that night,” he pressed. Kyle shook his head, so done with everything.

“You wanna know what happened? I went out to eat with my boyfriend. He paid. We went home, he put on the beginning of his Halloween month movie marathon, and I fell asleep in his lap. Is that enough information? No arguing, no motives, no gun. I-I don’t even own a gun.”

“You don’t own a gun?” Sheriff O’Connor asked skeptically, “Son, now you’re not even trying to be believable. It’s in your name.”

“I don’t know how!” Kyle argued, “Fuck this, I need a lawyer.”

“You sure about that?”

“If you’re going to keep accusing me of something I didn’t do, then yes,” he decided. Sheriff O’Connor sighed, but he nodded and stood up. He got to the door before Kyle couldn’t help calling out to him again. “Can you at least tell me if Alex is okay?”

“Do you really want the answer to that?” he asked. 

Kyle felt like he was suffocating.

-

Like any intellectual would, Kyle waited until the hospital started to turn down for the night before he called for another nurse.

This time, it was Brooke who seemed a little more skeptical about whether he did it or not. When he said he didn’t, she’d nodded and said she thought the bullet wound looked too perfect to be self-inflicted. It was exactly what he needed.

“Can you please do me a favor?” he asked, knowing that if this failed, he would get in a fuck ton of trouble. But it was worth the try. “Can you please take me to see Alex? I’m worried sick and no one will tell me how he’s doing.” 

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea...” Brooke trailed off. Kyle did his best to give her pleading eyes. It was the first time he’d gotten any inkling that Alex was indeed in the hospital.

“I swear I didn’t hurt him and I won’t. I promise, I-I just need to see him and know that he’s alright,” he begged.

It took a few more minutes, but eventually she had him in a wheelchair and was wheeling him to the elevator after telling the guards that she was taking him for an MRI. They didn’t question her and she was bold enough to not look suspicious as she went to the ICU floor. Kyle gulped.

After what was debatably the worst day of his life, Kyle was being wheeled into Alex’s secluded room. It was still on the ICU floor, but it wasn’t in the big ICU room and that was enough to ease some worries. Still, the sight of him wasn’t exactly heartwarming.

He was uncharacteristically pale and sweaty, wires and tubes coming out of him every which way. There wasn’t one in his throat, though, only a mask over his face to assist him in breathing. Kyle had seen a million people in that condition or worse, but nothing held a candle to seeing Alex that way.

“Can I get closer?” Kyle asked.

“Kyle...” Brooke trailed off.

“If I do anything, you can have me arrested right now,” he said, slowly pushing himself out of the chair. His feet were a little wobbly which was the only sign he was actually hurt and he very gently used Alex’s bed to steady himself. He moved closer to his face, swallowing hard. “God, Alex.”

He hesitantly reached up to push back his hair. He was somehow warm and cold at the same time. Tears pricked Kyle’s eyes and he took a deep breath, dragging his thumb over his thumb.

“It’s gonna be okay. You’re strong as hell. We’re both gonna be okay,” Kyle promised, “I love you so much.”

Kyle leaned down and kissed his forehead. He wanted him to wake up. A little bit just so he could tell the cops that that wasn’t what happened and they could drop the charges, but more just so he could see his eyes again. They were way too fucking special to stay closed.

“It’s going to be okay.”

Brooke eventually coaxed him back to his room and back to bed, leaving him alone and hoping that it would actually be okay. 

Even if that means knowing someone shot them both and framed him.

[ufonaut]

I hope this isn’t annoying, but what’s your take on how dragon king and the wizard viewed jordan and henry’s weird power relationship and differing views on project New America? Like how henry allowed jordan to be in charge before hank died, and how jordan’s ideas didn’t seem to translate to henry’s endgame in the finale? It sucks that we missed henry’s speech later in the season because I would have loved to see the other ISA’s reaction to henry’s new (well more like stepped-into) power. Like dragon king seemed invested in jordan’s dream and the wizard probably believed more in what jordan would have wanted instead of what henry enacted, you know? Also sorry if this sounds like an essay prompt- the ISA relationship, especially jordan and henry makes me feral 😅

absolutely no worries, this isn’t annoying at all! might be the film student in me talking but analysing my favourite media is my no 1 hobby & passion so there’s nothing more validating than anyone being interested in my thoughts, genuinely thank you for reaching out to me!!! sorry it took me a hot minute to get back to you, i wanted to make sure i’d have the time to get into it because i really do genuinely love this

OKAY. LET’S DO THIS. ONE BY ONE.

first off, i think it’s important to note that the project: new america is actually the world’s most high stakes game of telephone. not a single person in the isa has the same vision for the endgame here nor for the means to achieve it

that being said, dr ito fundamentally couldn’t have been invested in jordan’s dream. out of every character in stargirl, he’s the one who’s changed the least and who has remained the most comic book-y level of one-dimensional evil (disclaimer: not a bad thing! sometimes rule of cool is well-earned, particularly in the case of lizard men). let’s recap what we actually know for a fact about dr shiro ito:

so we’ve got the following conclusions: ‘controversial’ scientist specifically means scientist for the axis powers in wwii. while in real life the creators of the bacilli bombs weren’t prosecuted as war criminals despite japan frequently using chemical weapons, dr ito’s so-called execution takes place well within the timeline of the real life IMTFE/the tokyo war crimes tribunal and it’s very likely that he was less executed and more declared dead after secretly fleeing the country (hence his current residence being blue valley’s sewers). while in the comics his ultimate goal is to became the emperor of japan and subsequently take over the world, the facts of the case haven’t changed when they’ve been adapted for stargirl

that’s one of the reasons i tend to be pretty baffled when i see any fandom affection or “”soft””” headcanons directed at dr ito considering surely it’d be obvious how outright stupid that is if he’d been outright called, say, a nazi scientist. that’s another discussion though! what i mean by all this is that dr ito isn’t in any way, shape or form a man who believes or is invested in jordan’s dream. as a matter of fact, i think it’s pretty clear he’s got his own power play within the isa

he’s not well-liked (for the obvious reasons above and the lizard-ness) within the gang and it’s obvious that he spends the majority of his time doing his own experiments in the basement with the drones/zombies/whatever you wanna call them. i think his plan for the machine was a genuine mind-control thing that he needed henry for and his own endgame isn’t remotely similar to the rest of the isa’s. that being said, he clearly holds henry in some regard (fellow evil doctor?) going by the letter he sent him about hank & the fact that he doesn’t address him as anything other than “dr king”. my personal headcanon is that he actually talked his way into the isa by offering a palpable method (the machine) of achieving the so-called “dream” and his goals are much more aligned with henry’s. it’s equally likely that it’s henry who insisted on dr ito joining up in a rare show of leadership, especially if jordan & co aren’t actually aware of his history

dr ito, like everyone else, doesn’t appear to respect jordan as much as he simply keeps him at arm’s length -- as he does with everyone else who isn’t henry, at any rate. jordan falters on the stairs in episode 4 when he sees dr ito in the meeting room! he’s distinctly and visibly tense! it feels less like a talk between teammates and more like begrudging allies, with an implied possibility of backstabbing at every turn (”i won’t betray you, like the shade”, “i won’t fail, like the wizard” etc etc. are suspiciously specific denials!). sure, dr ito says he believes in the injustice society but i think the emphasis there is on injustice and his goals that have changed very little since the war. if nothing else, he simply believes in an exceedingly long con

AS FOR THE WIZARD. i think he & jordan were actually friendly and somewhat united in their goals. we’ve got the following neil interview:

where he calls william jordan’s friend, despite also saying in the stargirl after hours podcast that jordan has “zero friends” (and which i assume to mean that there’s no one left after wizard). they’ve clearly got a somewhat close relationship considering jordan left william in charge in his absence (a possible reference to wizard being the leader of the original comics isa but no doubt a testament to their similar povs as well), he doesn’t shy away from calling him literally four times in a row and william does sincerely seem to be the only person in the world to respect jordan to some degree. he’s certainly the opposite of dr ito in that he’s aligned with jordan’s general idea of helping people rather than what the plan turns into after henry takes over. the problem, however, is that jordan very evidently lost his trust in william somewhere along the line

now, i’ve seen a couple posts around here claiming that jordan could’ve just gone into politics (which shows a fundamental misunderstanding of his character and, again, a different discussion for another day) but we know for a fact that he distrusts and dislikes politicians. that’s precisely the rift between him and william! jordan is fighting for real actual change, for a genuine & humanising way to help people and that’s near impossible to be done through politics. regardless of how much william would’ve been able to do through his job, the fact of the matter is that there would always be compromises & corruption. despite william believing in jordan’s plan, it’s jordan (for once!) who can’t reconcile his dreams with william’s actions

beyond that, promises are everything to jordan because he’s spent the past decade tied to the promise he made christine and he’d never even dream of breaking that. the perceived betrayal of an unkept promise (to take care of the isa? of henry?) is unbearable to him. no matter how much he might like william, the measures he takes seem necessary in the moment precisely because of all this

so, ultimately, i think the isa are well aware of the dynamics between henry & jordan and they’ve more or less split between them in accordance with their personal goals. i really do wish we could’ve seen henry’s cut speech too though!

EXCUSE THE ESSAY BUT I HOPE IT ANSWERED A COUPLE QUESTIONS & PLEASE LET ME KNOW UR THOUGHTS!!! THANK U AGAIN!!!!!

[softestgentlest]

Lily & Harry - high school fanfic

Harry Styles.

Harry fucking Styles.

An egotistical, quick witted asshole with a silver tongue and easy charisma.

He's also irritatingly privileged; not only is he filthy fucking rich, but he's also extraordinarily intelligent, and to top it all off, positively, mercilessly, despicably gorgeous. As if he wasn't already dealt the winning hand, his otherworldly physical attractiveness afforded him the freedom to do whatever the hell he pleased, whenever, and wherever he wanted to do it.

And, of course, in some cruel twist of fate, he most often chose to utilize his influence by victimizing me: Lillian Mercier, a quiet, harmless junior, whose sole desire is to graduate ASAP, so I can move onto Cambridge University by the Fall of next year.

I'm on track to receive my diploma a year early, according to my guidance counselor, but I've got to keep my GPA above a 3.8 at least, if I have any hope of getting admitted into my uni of choice.

My mind is humming, sifting through upcoming exams, assignments, papers that need writing, and a number of other priorities as I open up my locker.

I'm just pulling out my SAT prep book, when a series of excited murmurs echo through the crowded hallway. A girl a few feet away turns, whispering to her friend, "I think my ovaries just exploded, dude. Look at Harry's haircut."

I roll my eyes, swapping the prep book with the AP English text that's currently weighing down my bag. I try to focus on my mental "to do" list, but I'm now annoyingly in-tune with the girl's conversation, unable to block them out.

"I know! How could he have gotten even hotter? And look at his outfit...like, he can literally make anything look good."

"Oh my goooodd dude, he's graduating this year. I honestly think I'll die, like, he's the only thing that makes this school tolerable."

"Shhhh, they're coming over here."

The girls go quiet, and I tense, keeping my eyes trained on the interior of my locker. Harry will be graduating at the end of the year, as he's a senior, and with that knowledge, I feel intensely relieved.

Even if I can't graduate early, he'll be gone, and I'll actually be able to enjoy my senior year.

A smile plays across my lips as I stretch to reach the top shelf of my locker, standing on my tippy toes. I'm 5'3, and these lockers were clearly built by men of average height, with little to no regard for high schoolers of smaller statures.

I know I threw some flash cards up there in the rush to make the bus yesterday, but even when I step up and onto the metal base of my assigned storage space, I still can't seem to-

I gasp, as I lose my footing and fall backwards. Luckily - or, maybe unluckily - my fall is broken by something solid. I hear a soft grunt, and large hands grip my waist, steadying me.

I pant, pressing a hand to my racing heart, when I feel something soft brush against the sensitive shell of my ear, "good morning to you too, clumsy."

I shiver, and pull away, immediately recognizing that deep, accented voice as it burns hotly into my skin.

Do not engage, I mentally remind myself, forcing my trembling hands to occupy themselves with the contents of my backpack.

He tssks, clicking his tongue, "Aren't you going to thank me?"

"Thanks." I concede through gritted teeth.

He chuckles, leaning too close for comfort once again, "it was my pleasure, Lillian." His voice drops an octave on the word 'pleasure,' giving it an unnecessarily sexual undertone, if only to get under my skin.

At the corner of my vision, I see his shadowed silhouette as he leans against the locker beside mine, tall and domineering as ever.

I ignore his presence, slowly zippering up my bag, and securing my lock, before reluctantly turning to face him.

The first thing I notice is the lack of hair. What had once been long, lustrous, chocolaty curls, is now shortened gossamer strands of hair falling over his forehead in a provocative, untidy tumble. The new cut exposes his defined jawline, and those sharp, light catching cheekbones.

As usual, he's dressed to the nines, somehow managing to make his unexpected attire look effortlessly appealing. Today, he's clad in a strange mix of professional, and bohemian pieces: a blue and white checkered wool jacket, a dark pinstriped suit, a red beaded necklace. He's got on bright pink socks, and white loafers, and his signature assortment of rings.

I clear my throat when he catches me checking him out, "Harry, I didn't know you could sew."

He looks perplexed, considering my assumption with furrowed brows, "I can't."

"Oh, then I suppose it was your mother who made that jacket from one of her tablecloths?"

He tilts his head to one side, and runs his fingers roughly through his freshly cut curls, "this," he snarks, smoothing his hands down the woolen fabric, "is a $2,000 jacket, love."

I roll my eyes, hitching my bag over my shoulder, and turn to walk away, only to come face to face with Mitch and Nick, two of Harry's equally asinine friends.

"Excuse me." I prompt. The two boys ignore me, smirking over my head at their scumbag leader.

I huff, turning back around, knowing full well that they aren't going to do anything unless he commands it. "I don't have time for this, Harry." I cross my arms, pursing my lips in annoyance, "I'm gonna be late to class, and so are you."

His mouth curves dangerously, drawing my attention to the pillow-soft push of his lips. "And we wouldn't want that, now would we, Lillian?" he pronounces my name so that it drips from his shapely lips leisurely, provocatively. "What with your big plans to graduate early."

Immediately, I recoil, meeting his expectant stare with wide eyes, "H-how...?"

"Oh, you thought I wouldn't find out?" He pushes off the lockers, Stepping closer, "did you know that you're GPA is just .01 points less than mine?" His voice is honeyed, sickeningly sweet - it sets off warning bells in my head.

I swallow nervously, taking a small step backwards, "I don't see what that has to do with my plan-"

"Oh, but it has everything to do with your plans." Again, he advances, but this time I hold my ground, tilting my head to meet his stare, "you see, we weren't competing before...not really. But, if you graduate ahead of your class and maintain that same GPA, well...Cambridge won't even look at me, regardless of my achievements, because you'll have the edge."

I blink, processing his words, "You want to go to Cambridge...?"

He quirks a dark brow, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement.

I'm dumbfounded, "But...but I-you...but-that's just ridiculous!" I nearly stomp my foot at the sheer absurdity of the notion, but opt to clench my fists at my sides instead.

He looks utterly amused, and leans a bit closer, a challenge in his eyes: "is that right?"

"Why would you want to go to Cambridge?!" I note how whiny my voice sounds, but I'm too distressed to care.

He's full on grinning now, his emerald eyes dancing with glee. "wouldn't you like to know" He purrs in that slow, sexy drawl, his voice dropping so low that it can only be heard by the two of us.

It is then that the bell rings, shrill and disruptive, tearing me from his trance-like stare.

I realize how close we've gotten, our faces perhaps six inches apart. I can feel the warmth of his body radiating off of him and wrapping around me. Before I can stop myself, I inhale his intoxicating scent: spicy and earthy and masculine, like cigarettes and pine and the leather spines of old books.

For a fraction of a second, my eyes slip shut...he smells so damn good.

Then, just as quickly, I blink, and step back, my heart racing in my chest. I did NOT just...

He straightens, raking his eyes over my trembling frame with an air of affected smugness. Silently, he steps the side, watching me as I collect myself, an embarrassing blush infusing my cheeks.

Slowly, I move down the hallway towards my class, uncharacteristically unconcerned with the possibility of being marked tardy. I can tell that he's following, as students all around turn to stare behind me. We're in the same English class.

My brain seems to have gone into overdrive, conjuring up insane reasons for why I'd smelled him and liked it enough to consider doing it again. Impossible. Harry's a prick. The bane of my existence. Sure, he's wildly attractive, but never have I ever been even remotely interested in him...sexually. So what the hell was that?

Why am I all hot and blushing and trembly? Why?! Especially after he'd dropped the Cambridge bomb! I mean, really? Of all the schools for him to choose, it had to be my dream school. And of the thousands of people I'll be competing with to be admitted, it just had to be him.

Harry's one of the smartest people I've ever met, and he's got the resources and connections to get into any school he wants. The chances of two kids from the same high school getting into Cambridge are absolutely zero, and whether I graduate early or not, Harry's a shoe in for a spot there - he's the ideal student: rich and intelligent and driven, with a shit ton of community service and extracurriculars under his belt, and with a number of published poems and short stories.

He'll take my spot there just by aiming his perfect white grin in the right direction. And if we were both admitted, by some miracle, that would be even worse! 6 more years with him?! I'd die. I couldn't take it. I'd-

"Ah!" I gasp, colliding with a tall boy for the second time today. My books fly out of my arms again, and I fall flat in my ass with a soft yelp of pain.

"Woah! Are you ok?" A voice asks, and I glance up to find a familiar blonde boy looking down at me.

"Um, y-yeah." I say, quickly moving to stand up. Like a gentleman, he reaches down, offering me a hand, and I take it, allowing him to pull me gently to my feet. "Uh, sorry about that. I wasn't paying attention..." I smile sheepishly,

"Oh, no, it's totally fine." He grins back, then kneels down to pick up my books. "As long as your ok."

"Really, I'm fine." I giggle, kneeling down to help. "Your Neil, right? I think we have psych together?"

He hands me my things, standing up, "close! It's Niall, and yeah, 6th period right?"

I nod, "Niall. Yeah, I'm Lily. I'm the one always shouting out the answers and then getting yelled at." I giggle nervously, feeling a little self conscious around this boy with pretty blue eyes and a kind smile.

He laughs, "well, I'm definitely not one to shout out answers. I'm terrible at Psych." He gestures for me to walk with him, and I do, "I'll walk you to your class, just to make sure your alright."

I roll my eyes playfully, but follow, "I already ran into you. Don't let me be the reason that your late to class too."

I lead the way to the English wing, and we joke lightly about our Psych teacher, Mrs. Campbell. By the time we've arrived, the bell has rung, and I know that he's going to be late because of me, but he doesn't seem to care.

"Hey," he calls out, just as I'm about to open the door to my classroom, "maybe you could tutor me sometime? In Psych? You always seem to be yelling the right answers, and I could really use the help..." he rubs the back of his neck nervously, and I can't help but smile at how cute he looks.

"It's the least I can do after running into you." I say, "let's talk in class later?"

"Yeah, sure!" He backs down the hallway, "I'll see you then, Lily!"

When I enter the classroom, there's still a smile on my face, and I quietly make my way to an empty seat in the back. My teacher, Mr. Gray, shoots me an inquisitive look, since I'm not one to show up late to my favorite class, but he doesn't call me out on it.

"Alright guys," he says, "while I was reading you essay submissions from last week, I noticed quite a few spelling errors, so I thought we might have a little bit of a...spelling bee today, just to see where we all stand when it comes to commonly misspelled words." The class groaned collectively, and he laughed, "nothing to worry about. This won't count for a grade, I just want a chance to see where everyone stands. It'll be fun!"

Mr. Gray proceeded to split the class into two groups, and two at a time, he called students up to the board, and in tournament fashion, the winner played the winner from the opposite team. I could tell that he was saving certain students for the end, since they would likely beat out all the competition, thereby depriving their teammates of turns. By the time it got to me, only a few students were left on the opposing team.

"Ok, Kim," he called to my competitor, "your word is Accidentally" Kim correctly spelled two words, and then swapped out with another teammate, Jamie, who only beat me on one word.

"Alright, this is it, guys. Last two. Harry, join Lily up front."

Immediately, my eyes found him, just as the rest of the class turned to watch him rising from his seat. He took a step towards me. Then another. I sort of shivered, watching him move, observing his long legs, slowly closing the space between us with their every measured step. There's something almost feline about it - the way he moves - very masculine...and very...sexual, if that makes any sense at all.

I averted my eyes as he took up the space beside me. Again, the drowsy scent of books and pine with undertones of coffee and tobacco invaded my senses, and I felt my knees threatening to buckle.

"Harry, your word is 'allegiance'"

I felt him smiling, tasted his smooth baritone, skating hotly down my spine: "A-L-L-E-G-I-A-N-C-E. Allegiance."

"Lily, controversy."

I spelled it correctly and held my breath, gazing stubbornly straight ahead.

"Harry, 'immediately.'" He did the same.

"perseverance"

"Accommodate"

"I-N-T-E-L-L-I-G-E-N-C-E, Intelligence." I glanced over at Harry, noting the look of intense boredom on his face as he stared off into the distance. Clearly, this was too easy for both of us.

"Too easy is it, Lillian?"

"Uh, w-what?" I snapped out of my reverie, glancing at Mr. Gray, who looked rather amused.

"If you think it's too easy, we can really put you two to the test. What do you think class?" Mr. Gray looked around, and the class erupted into excited giggles and shouts.

Realizing my mistake, I felt my cheeks flush hot with embarrassment, "oh I-I didn't m-mean to say that um...out loud sir..."

The damage had already been done. Mr. Gray grinned, clearly excited to have piqued the class's interest, "alright then, let's try....sacrilegious."

Harry, looking rather more alert than he had before, turned to look at me, holding my stare even as each honeyed letter fell from his lips "S-A-C-R-I-L-E-G-I-O-U-S" the flecks of gold in his eyes danced, embers crackling, glittering.

"Conscientious, Lily."

"Oh, um..." I quickly averted my gaze, glancing nervously at my trembling fingers, "C-O-N..." my heart wobbled in my chest. What's comes next? "...S-C-I-E-N-T-I-O-U-S, Conscientious." I want this to be over...

Harry chuckled beside me, low and slow. I felt his eyes on me. "bureaucratic." He spelled, quick as a whip, and all eyes were back on me.

"Bourgeoisie." Amidst the nerves and exhaustion, my stubbornness gave way to another correct answer. I won't lose to him. Not this, not Cambridge.

He managed "clairvoyant," "coalescence," and "kaleidoscope." I got through "lachrymose," "mnemonic," and "pharmaceutical," and then, finally, he messed up.

I heard it in his voice first, knew before it happened that I had won. Mr. Gray - once again proving himself to be my favorite teacher- threw "triskaidekaphobia" at Harry, and we both froze.

"T-R-I-S-K....A-D-E-K-A-P-H-O-B-I-A." Harry murmured uncertainly, sounding just as breathless as I felt. The class had gone silent, and I could hear my heart racing.

"Incorrect." Mr. Gray uttered, but before the class could erupt into cheers, he continued, "let me just say, Harry, Lily, that was extraordinary. Really, very good show." He slowly began to clap, and our classmates followed suit, whooping and jeering at Harry good-naturedly.

I turned to glance at him then, not feeling very excited about having won. I couldn't help the little gasp that escaped my throat when I saw his face. He had curved his mouth into a grin, ran a hand through his hair boyishly, a calculated carelessness slackening his features - but I saw it in the way his lips twitched, in the way his eyes glossed over and darkened to muted jade.

He's upset. I realized, moving closer without really thinking about it. He's really, really upset.

"H-Harry?" I heard myself whisper, voice trembling. Everyone had, by now, moved into their own little groups, all talking animatedly about the results of our little duel, so they weren't really paying us any mind.

His smile faltered - just for a moment - "good game." He husked, his voice raw. He held out a hand, quirking a brow, watching me with those expectant eyes.

It was then, in that moment, that I realized, very suddenly, that Harry is...beautiful. Like, proper beautiful, like earth shatteringly, mind numbingly gorgeous.

The realization hit me with such immense force that I had to grab his outstretched hand to keep from crumbling to the ground. "O-oh." My mouth parts on the startled little noise, and suddenly I'm very aware of the gentle press of his cold rings against my fingers, his large hand claiming mine, the muscles in his forearm flexing as he holds me. "Uh-huh." My response catches in my throat and comes out sounding like a strangled hiccup.

Quickly, I pull away, stumbling back a few steps, I tear my eyes from his face, flailing my hands around like a monkey.

What the fuck?

•••••••••

LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT A PART 2 💛

[twoprettyboys]

(drunk enough) to say that i love you

I also posted this to AO3 just now ^^

I might have an unhealthy obssesion with this song. And with this ship, but... that's a different story lol.

Song: Drunk enough to say that I love you - PLVTINUM

Summary:

Billy's drunk and in Steve's house. He also has a big fucking crush on Steve. What could go wrong?

It's a spring day like any other in Hawkins, Indiana. It's eleven am, kinda sunny, and erything's quiet and boring, as usual. Except for the fact that one Billy Hargrove is currently swaying on the sidewalk, drunk out of his mind. He's also on his way to Steve's house.

The evening before, Billy had constructed a nice plan. He wanted to come over to hang out with Steve, maybe drink one or two beers and smoke for a bit. But then... Neil Hargrove found a new reason to get angry at his son - in the fuckin' morning, which had been new - and push him into a wall. The resulting argument had left Billy with a bleeding nose and probably more than a few bruises under his shirt.

He'd waited until Neil was done, and only dared to get up once he heard the sound of his father's car outside. He'd cleaned himself up carefully and checked for any injuries he hadn't seen. And then he had taken out the bottle that had been hidden inside his closet. He'd decided to just drown all the pain and shame in the alcohol, and it had been working.

But then Steve called. Billy can't remember what exactly the other boy said, but what he does remember - vaguely - is that he told Steve to wait. Then he had just hung up, shrugged on his leather jacket and left.

Billy's reached the Harrington's driveway by now, and he takes a small break to get his shit together. He doesn't want to make Steve worry, so he tries to appear as sober as possible when he rings the doorbell.

It obviously doesn't work, because as soon as he sees Billy, Steve narrows his eyes at him. "Are you drunk?" Billy shakes his head, which makes him a bit dizzy and shit, he didn't think it was that bad. "Naah... 'm not drunk." Steve just sighs, unimpressed, rolls his eyes and tells Billy to get inside the house.

Once they've made hemselves comfortable on the couch, Steve leans back, grabs the remote turns on the TV without a word. There's some weird movie playing that Billt doesn't recognize (he doubts that he'd recognize anything in his current state, though), so he decides not to pay attention.

Instead, he turns a bit, just enough to look at Steve's pretty face without the other boy noticing it.

☆

Apparently Billy fell asleep at some point, because he startles awake when Steve sets down a glass of water on the table in front of him. A bit harder than he has to. Steve doesn't seem angry or anything though, so Billy figures he just wanted to wake him up. He offers Steve a grin and gets a "Good morning, sleeping beauty," in return. And- whoa.

Suddenly Steve's... really close. Like, so close that Billy could count his lashes if he wanted to. "What the fuck, Steve..?" The brunette blushes - pretty, Billy's brain supplies - and says: "Uhm. I wanted to... try something."

Now Billy's curious. He's also kinda still drunk, which... makes him more likely to just do or say things without thinking about them first. Steve's a little drunk too, now - Billy remembers him drinking at least two beers before he fell asleep.

"And what would that be?" Steve startles at the sudden question. Then he glances away, rubbing his neck with one hand. "Oh, nothing... You wouldn't like it anyway.. You're gonna hate me."And- what? What exactly would make him hate Steve..?

Wait. He doesn't mean... does he? Billy's trying not to get his hopes up when he tells Steve to try whatever it was he wanted to try. "It's okay, really. I won't hate you, pretty boy. I promise." Steve still doesn't look him in the eyes. He's also still blushing, which Billy thinks is adorable.

Then Steve takes a deep breath. "Okay. Close your eyes, yeah?"Billy does, and honestly? He kinda knows what Steve's gonna do. He's still surprised, somehow, when he feels Steve's hand touch his cheek. Steve's taking his time and Billy just- he can't fucking wait anymore. "Please, pretty boy," is what he says, then. Quiet, almost a whisper.

Steve hears him, though, and Billy can hear him breathe in one more time. In the next moment, Steve's lips finally touch his. They're not as soft as he expected and kinda rough, honestly. But to Billy, it's the best kiss he's ever experienced in his eighteen years of life. He hums softly and starts moving his lips against Steve's.

☆

When Billy pulls away to breathe, Steve's smiling at him. He's a bit breathless from their kiss that somehow turned into a full-on makeout session and looks almost ethereal in the glow of the TV. Billy takes a few seconds to compose himself and returns the smile. "So. That was... something, pretty boy." Steve nods. "Yeah... let's do that again some time.."

Hearing Steve say that and looking at him, Billy suddenly feels a rush of emotion that makes him want to wrap his arms around Steve and never let go. He does it only a few moments later, much to Steve's surprise. The brunette relaxes immediately and presses another kiss to Billy's cheek.

'Damn, I'm not drunk enough to say that I love you,' Billy thinks. 'I wish I was, though - you deserve to know how I feel about you, pretty boy.' He sighs and leans back against the couch, getting comfortable. Steve positions himself so that his head is on Billy's chest, and Billy realizes he likes it.

Billy isn't a cuddler. Usually. But with Steve, it's... different. He strokes Steve's hair and just feels like the luckiest guy in the world (because that's Steve fuckin' Harrington). Even more so when Steve falls asleep on him. When he notices, Billy smiles and just grabs a blanket. He drapes it over them and hecides he could use some sleep as well.

The TV is still on, so Billy quickly grabs the remote and turns it off. Then he leans over, turns off the light and relaxes back into the couch. Then he looks at the boy in his arms one last time and closes his eyes.

"Night, pretty boy."

[writing-prompts-for-friends]

Notes from Stephen King’s “On Writing” 05: Description, Dialogue, Creating Characters

Description

"Description begins in the writer's imagination, but should finish in the reader's."

We all know that too much description robs the reader of their imagination and bores them, yet too little description leaves them confused and scratching their heads. So how can we strike a middle ground with confidence?

"Good description is a learned skill, one of the prime reasons why you cannot succeed unless you read a lot and write a lot. It's not just a question of how to, you see; it's also a question of how much to. Reading will help you answer how much, and only reams of writing will help you with the how. You can learn only by doing."

King says that he personally doesn't like to provide detailed descriptions of how his characters look. He would rather have the reader supply their faces, builds, and clothing. To exemplify, he says:

"If I tell you that Carrie White is a high school outcast with a bad complexion and a fashion-victim wardrobe, I think you can do the rest, can't you? I don't need to give you a pimple-by-pimple, skirt-by-skirt rundown. We all remember one or more high school losers, after all; if I describe mine, it freezes out yours, and I lose a little bit of the bond of understand I want to forge between us. Description begins in the writer's imagination, but should finish in the reader's."

Maybe it's because now more than ever we are obsessed with visual media, be it TV or film or social media, but I personally feel a need to give detailed physical descriptions of my characters. Does anyone else feel the same? But what King said really made a lot of sense to me--by keeping the descriptions of the characters non-distinct, we allow the readers to fill in the gaps and make a character that is even more relatable to them. I think that's genius.

On the other hand, King feels that locale and texture are more important to the reader's sense of actually being in the story. Describe the region the story takes place in (but don't go full Tolkein on your readers, please). Paint a picture of the house and town in broad, distinct strokes.

"For me, good description usually consists of a few well-chosen details that will stand for everything else. In most cases, these details will be the first ones that come to mind. Certainly they will do for a start. If you decide later on that you'd like to change, add, or delete, you can do so--it's what rewrite was invented for. But I think you will find that, in most cases, your first visualized details will be the truest and best. It's as easy to overdescribe as it is to underdescribe. Probably easier."

So let's say that you want to use a certain real-life restaurant as the setting of a scene in your story. This is a restaurant that you have actually frequented. Now close your eyes and picture that place. What are the first 4-5 things that come to your mind? Could be how to looks or smells, what sort of clientele is usually there, anything. Take those 4-5 details and only use those to describe the place in your writing. Let the reader do the rest of the work.

"In many cases when a reader puts a story aside because it 'got boring,' the boredom arose because the writer grew enchanted with his powers of description and lost sight of his priority, which is to keep the ball rolling."

Oh man, I really agree with this. I quit reading LotR because I just couldn't force myself through another description of goddamn rivers and valleys.

On the Use of Similes

"When it's on target, a simile delights us in much the same way meeting an old friend in a crowd of strangers does."

When we compare two seemingly unrelated objects, we are sometimes able to see an old thing in a new and vivid way. But you have to make sure that the simile makes sense and isn't cliched. Don't use "he ran like a madman" or something. Come up with your own.

"The key to good description begins with clear seeing and ends with clear writing, the kind of writing that employs fresh images and simple vocabulary."

There are a lot of authors that do a great job describing things like king says, but there is one specific line from Neil Gaiman's Coraline that stands out to me. Coraline has just discovered the hallway that leads to the Other House, and the sentence describes the hall.

"It smelled like something very old and slow."

Simple vocabulary, yet very fresh. I love this sentence and its eeriness.

Dialogue

"It's dialogue that gives your cast their voices, and is crucial in defining their characters--only what people do tells us more about what they're like, and talk is sneaky: what people say often conveys their character to others in ways of which they--the speakers--are completely unaware."

You can explain through narration or backstory that a character didn't do well in school or didn't finish it, but you could also demonstrate that through dialogue. Conversely, you can show just how smart they are, or how honest/dishonest, lighthearted/serious they are through dialogue alone.

Have you ever read dialogue that makes you think, "Man, nobody talks like this!" because it feels so stilted or forced? I'm certain you have. So how can we prevent ourselves from crafting dialogue that feels inauthentic?

"Dialogue is a skill best learned by people who enjoy talking and listening to others--particularly listening."

Picking up the accents, rhythms, dialect, and slang of various groups helps give your writing a certain veracity that readers pick up on instinctually.

A Word on Political Correctness in Dialogue/Characters

"As with all other aspects of fiction, the key to writing good dialogue is honesty."

King says that not a week goes by that he doesn't get an angry letter accusing him of being foul-mouthed, bigoted, homophobic, murderous, frivolous, or downright psychopathic, and usually the people writing these letters are upset about certain lines of dialogue within his stories.

Sometimes you are going to have a character that holds unpleasant opinions and uses unpleasant words to get them across. That doesn't necessarily mean that what the character believes/says is what you believe. And, in my own opinion, I think it is important to have these non-pc characters in our stories. How can we combat ignorance if we do not draw attention to it? Sweeping it under the rug does nothing but prolong the problem.

So if a character is prone to swearing, don't substitute their expletives for words like "shoot" or "dang." Have them say "shit" or "damn." If a character is a homophobe, have them vocalize their sentiments if the scene deems it appropriate. Don't censor your characters.

Building Characters

"The job of building characters in fiction boils down to two things: paying attention to how the real people around you behave and then telling the truth about what you see."

Take note of the people around you. Many fictional characters are drawn piece by piece from people in real life. For King, what happens to his characters as the story progresses depends solely on what he discovers about them as he goes along. Sometimes their character grows only a little. But other times, their characters grow a so much that they influence the course of the story instead of the other way around.

"I think the best stories always end up being about people rather than the event, which is to say character-driven. Once you get beyond the short story, though (two to four thousand words, let's say), I'm not much of a believer in the so-called character study; I think in the end, the story should always be the boss."

Most readers want to see not only a progression in plot, but also in character development, so trying to have both of those is important.

"It's also important to remember that no one is 'the bad guy' or 'the best friend' or 'the whore with a heart of gold' in real life; in real life we each of us regard ourselves as the main character, the protagonist. If you can bring this attitude into your fiction, you may not find it easier to create brilliant characters, but it will be harder for you to create the sort of one-dimensional dopes that populate so much of pop fiction."

King goes on to explain how when he wrote Misery, a novel about a crazy nurse who holds her favorite author Paul Sheldon hostage in her remote house, he went to great lengths to give the reader a view of the nurse Annie Wilkes' perspective. To us, she seems psychopathic. But to her, she seems perfectly sane and reasonable.

"If I can make you understand her madness--then perhaps I can make her someone you sympathize with or even identify with. The result? She's more frightening than ever, because she's close to real. If, on the other hand, I turn her into a cackling old crone, she's just another pop-up bogeylady. In that case, I lose bigtime, and so does the reader. Who would want to visit with such a stale shrew? That version of Annie was old when The Wizard of Oz was in its first run."

What is really boils down to is making sure that each of your characters are three-dimensional within your own mind. As long as they feel like real people in your head, capable of making rational decisions and feeling rational emotion (as fits their unique nature), that should be able to be seen by the reader as the story unfolds.

On Creative Liberties

“Try any goddamn thing you like, no matter how boringly normal or outrageous. If it works, fine. If it doesn’t toss it. Toss it even if you love it. Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch once said, ‘Murder your darlings,’ and he was right.”

Write however you want. Use whatever techniques you want. Have fun with it. It’s yours before it is anybody else’s. And you can’t please all the readers all the time, but if you can come out happy with the end product, surely you can please some of the readers some of the time, and that is enough. 

Source: King, Stephen. On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft. Hodder, 2012.

[the--blackdahlia]

Life is Beautiful (Nikki x Tommy)

Title: Life is Beautiful

Summary: Nikki hears word of Vince’s car crash, but the passenger with him has been mistaken.

Warnings: Angst, unprotected sex (18+ only please), love dovey shit

Nikki awoke from his drug induced slumber, stretching as he watched the sun filter in through the window. He looked over at his bed mate, sleeping soudly on the other side of the mattress. Long, slim body with a headful of thick, dark hair. If Nikki closed his eyes, he could picture it was someone else. But it would never be the same. He couldn’t have the person he wanted though, so he settled for second best.

There was a loud ringing, making him want to cover his head. It took him a second to realize that the ringing was not in his head, but the hotel phone. With a groan, Nikki pushed himself up, ignoring the bottles and clothes that littered the floor, or his bedmate waking up. Nikki just unplugged the phone, not wanting to talk to anyone.

“Morning.” The girl murmured. Her voice was too high and it made Nikki close his eyes. “Mind if I watch the news?”

“Yeah, sure. Whatever.” Nikki grumbled as he made his way to the bathroom, to wash her off of him and brush stale Jack out of his teeth. The girl wrapped the sheet around her and grabbed the remote, turning on the TV to catch the weather. She could still go meet her friends at the beach and brag about the night she had.

Nikki climbed into the shower, resting his head against the tiles as the hot water massaged as his sore muscles. The hotel mattress wasn’t the most comfortable he had slept on, not that it mattered. He was just hoping that the girl caught a hint and scrammed soon, or became a bit more useful. He didn’t know why he had picked her of all the girls that had been at the party.

Actually, he knew exactly why he had picked her, but he didn’t want to admit it. Tall and lanky, dark hair, lips that felt good wrapped around his cock. If he closed his eyes, he could just imagine it was someone else. But when she talked, it ruined the illusion. God, why was he like this? Why did he want something so bad that he couldn’t have? He cleaned up, got out of the shower, and finished up his business in the bathroom before heading back into the main room. She was sitting there, lounging on the bed with a sheet draped loosely over her.

“Find what you want on the news?” Nikki grumbled.

“Yeah, but there’s a big news story after the commercial I want to watch.” She told him. “Wanna go get breakfast after?”

“Sure. Whatever you say.” Nikki said, agreeing. He figured that after breakfast, he could make up a lame excuse to ditch her and find something else to do for the day. He had just picked up a pair of pants and sniffed them, seeing how they smelled, when the news program came back on and the girl moved forward on the bed to watch.

“It was late last night that Motley Crue singer, Vince Neil, caused an accident while driving well over the legal limit,” The reporter said. Hearing Vince’s name caught Nikki’s attention and he turned to look at the TV. “While Neil was uninjured in the accident, two people in the other car had to be flown to an area hospital due to increasing brain trauma, and unconfirmed reports are telling us here at KABC that Motley Crue drummer, Tommy Lee, was killed in the accident.”

“Oh my god.” The girl gasped. “That’s your band, right?” Nikki just stood there, staring at the TV. “Nikki?”

“Get out.” Nikki said.

“But, I…” The girl said. Nikki tossed her her clothes.

“Get dressed and get the fuck out!” The bassist shouted at her. The girl quickly pulled on her clothes, grabbed her purse, and ran out of the hotel room. Nikki sat on the edge of the bed, watching the TV. He could see Vince’s red car on the screen. Nikki couldn’t even remember what type of car it was, and the picture wasn’t helping with that. He was just playing over the words in his head over and over again. Tommy was dead. Vince had killed Tommy. He had died right as they started to rise. He had died and Nikki had never been able to tell him how he felt.

Nikki went to the phone, plugging it in and dialing Tommy’s number. It rang and rang before the answering machine picked up.

“Hey dudes! I can’t come to the phone right now becuase I’m probably partying!” Tommy’s obnoxious message greeted Nikki. Nikki slammed the phone down before he shut off the TV, grabbed all his stuff, and headed out the door. Right as the phone rang.

****

“Any luck?” Mick asked, watching the drummer dial the number that had been left with them by Doc.

“Assholes not picking up.” Tommy sighed. “Fuck man, I’m exhausted.”

“I hear ya drummer.” Mick said. “Wanna ride the couch over at my place?”

“Nah. I need my own bed.” Tommy ran a hand down his face. “Call me if we hear anything about Vince’s bail or anything.”

“Will do.” Mick told him. Tommy got in his car and headed home. He had to drive by the crash scene and it hurt his heart. He really like Razzle. The guy was cool and didn’t deserve what happened to him. Tommy turned on the radio to distract himself, but the station he loved to listen to kept talking about the wreck.

“And people are saying that it was Tommy Lee in the car,” The DJ said. “But just to clarify to everyone, it was not Tommy Lee, but Nicholas “Razzle” Dingley of the band Hanoi Rocks.” Tommy sighed. He knew he’d have to talk to his mom to assure her that he was still alive. By the time the station actually started playing music, Tommy had pulled into his driveway. He made his way into his house, dropping his keys off on the counter. He picked up his phone to make his round of phone calls to people to assure them that he wasn’t dead.

But still no call from Nikki.

****

“Damn it, why aren’t you working?” Nikki asked as he messed with the radio controls. No stations were coming in, and his cassette deck only worked half the time. The car was possessed. It made him think to the time that Tommy had jumped out of his car to take a piss, forgot to put the parking break on, and the car had literally ran him over.

Nikki’s heart tightened. He hoped that the news had made a mistake, that the unconfirmed reports were wrong. Nikki made his way towards Tommy’s neighborhood, almost a little scared of what he was going to find when he got there. He pulled up at Tommy’s house and he could see his car and his bike in the driveway. But that didn’t mean anything. Tommy did bum rides quiet a bit. He liked to sightsee and he was a little harder to do that when you were driving.

Nikki parked behind Tommy’s car and made his way up to the front door. He took a deep breah and rang the doorbell.

And waited.

****

“Go away.” Tommy groaned. He had just laid down on his bed when the doorbell rang. He was sure if he just pretended he didn’t hear it, whoever was at the door would go away. But then he could hear the knocking and he knew he couldn’t ignore it. Whoever was there wanted to be seen. So Tommy was going to see them. He pushed himself off his bed, marched to his front door, and threw it open.

“What?” He asked harshly before he even realized who was there. His face softened when he saw the bassist standing there. “Nikki?”

“Oh thank god you’re alive.” Nikki breathed.

“This face is too cute to kill.” Tommy teased. “What are you doing here? I thought you wanted space.”

“I...the news...Vince…” Nikki mumbled. Tommy sighed and let Nikki into the house. Tomm led him to the living room and had him sit on the couch.

“Vince was drunk,” Tommy started as he sat down by Nikki. “0.17. Well above the limit. No one at the party seemed to realize how drunk he was. He took Razzle with him on a beer run. It was Razzle in the car, not me, not Mick.” Tommy told him.

“Razzle’s dead?” Nikki asked. Tommy closed his eyes and nodded.

“Yeah,” Tommy confirmed. “Those of us at the party thought it was Mick. But the bastard had been out on the beach. And the fucking reporters heard drummer, saw Mick’s name and just assumed it was me.”

“I guess I did too.” Nikki whispered, looking down at the floor. Tommy watched his friend. “I...I was so scared Tommy. When I heard the news, I thought…”

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m alive. Vince is sitting in jail, but he’s okay. Mick’s okay. Everyone’s alright.” Tommy reached out and placed a hand on his knee to offer some comfort.

“You don’t understand.” Nikki told him. “I was afraid that...that I’d never be able to tell you that I…”

“I know.” Tommy said. Nikki’s head shot up and he stared at Tommy.

“You know? What do you know?” Nikki asked.

“Nikki, I’m clueless at times, but I’m not completely stupid. I’ve seen the girls you bring back to the hotels.” Tommy offered him a smile. Nikki didn’t know what to do then, so he just closed the gap between him and Tommy and kissed him. Tommy’s eyes widened for a brief moment before he closed them and cupped his hand on the side of Nikki’s face. Tommy parted his lips, allowing Nikki to trace them with his tongue before it dipped inside his mouth. They stayed there like that, until the need for air arose and they reluctently broke apart.

But the quiet didn’t last long before Tommy was standing up. He took Nikki’s hand and pulled him to his feet and led him towards his bedroom. Once they were safe in that room, Nikki was on Tommy again, kissing him a little more fiercly. He thought Tommy was dead. He never thought he would have this. Fuck, he needed it. And from the noises Tommy was making, he needed it to.

Clothes were pulled off, showing off tattoos and scars from bar fights and jealous partners. Tommy had gotten his fair share of bruises and cuts from people in his life. Nikki would never do that to him.

“I, uh, I have some lube.” Tommy admitted. Nikki raised an eyebrow. “Not all girls get wet and...obviously I can’t.” Tommy blushed a little, ducking his face so Nikki couldn’t see. Nikki gently took his head in his hand and made him look into his eyes. He just smiled at Tommy and kissed him gently. Tommy led him back to the bed and reached into the nightstand, handing Nikki the bottle.

“I’m taking it, by the way you were acting, you’ve done this before?” Nikki asked. Tommy nodded. “I’ll make it much better than in the past.” Tommy let out a moan at Nikki’s words. Nikki smirked as he slicked up his fingers and started to work Tommy open. One finger went in easy and had Tommy squirming. Two fingers in and Nikki started scissoring Tommy open, getting small gasps from the drummer. But the third finger, Tommy knew he was ready. He knew that it would be a bit of a stretch, because just from what he had seen, Nikki was bigger than any guy he had ever been with, but he was ready.

“Nikki.” Tommy whispered. “Please.” Nikki slowly pulled his fingers out, making Tommy whine. He slicked himself up and slowly started to push in, taking in each noise that passed through Tommy’s lips. He was so fucking tight, and if Nikki didn’t have some self control, he would’ve probably came right then and there.

“Fuck baby.” Nikki groaned. He moved slowly until his hips were flush against Tommy. He waited, rubbing circles on the younger man to bring some calm. He waited for Tommy to give him a nod, telling him he was ready. Then he started to move his hips. Slow, deep thrusts inside the warm heat of the drummer. Tommy wrapped his arms and legs around Nikki, holding him close to him.

“Nikki, shit.” Tommy whispered. Nikki caught his lips with his, his need and desire taking over at the kiss became more heated. Pulling back, Nikki rested his forehead against Tommy’s.

“I love you baby.” Nikki whispered as he picked up his movements, hitting the right spot in Tommy to make more of those beautiful noises.

“Love you too.” Tommy gasped. “Always have.” Those simple words were enough to push all the fear out of Nikki’s heart. Fear that this was a dream, fear that Tommy was really gone and he’d never be able to tell him that he loved him. He was here, in his arms, and he was taking him so well.

In fact, Nikki was getting close, and he wanted nothing more than to bring Tommy over the edge with him. He snaked a hand between them and started to jack Tommy off, stroking him in time with his thrusts. Tommy closed his eyes as he felt the familiar tightness of his oncoming orgasm. Before long, he was shooting his seed on his stomach, and it didn’t take long for Nikki to fill up Tommy with his own.

“Fuck!” Nikki hissed before he started to come from from it. Taking deep breaths, he looked into Tommy’s eyes for a moment before he slowly pulled out of the younger man. He headed to Tommy’s bathroom, bringing back a washcloth to gently run over him.

“You’re staying, right?” Tommy asked when Nikki tossed the washcloth in some vague direction. Nikki looked at Tommy.

“Where else would I go?” He laughed, laying down by him and taking him into his arms. “Nowhere else I’d rather be.”

“Good.” Tommy yawned, pillowing his head on Nikki’s shoulder before drifting off to sleep. Tommy had had a long night, and Nikki had had a long morning.

But for now, they were at peace in each others arms.

Forever Tags:  @anathewierdo @dekahg @marvel-af-imagines @nanie5 @imboredsueme @gemini0410 @aiaranradnay @babypink224221 @mogaruke @xxwarhawk @sandlee44 @shatteredabby @caswinchester2000 @supernaturalwincestsblog @lauravic @mrsambroserollinsacklesmgk

Motley Crue Tags: @primal-screamer @waywardprincess666 @saint-of-los-angeles

[winterblues]

tw for implications of rape and self-harm

Andrew Minyard truly breaks my heart. Yeah, because let’s give this broken boy who was abused and sexually assaulted time upon time again, an eidetic memory, why don’t we?

Andrew used to be convinced it was a curse, even though he tells himself he doesn’t believe in that kind of thing. What else can such a harsh breed of irony be? He never believed it when Cass told him how gifted and intelligent it made him, because to him, it’s been nothing but a mockery, something wickedly capable of immortalising the pain he’s been through.

He is cursed. He is cursed to have every trivial detail of a world that he so loathes, burned into his mind like a brand like a burden he did not ask for. 

Andrew’s brain is a constant horror reel. His memories are acidic, and they do nothing but usher bile to his throat. He has memories with teeth that only exist to gnaw at him. Violent, ugly, unbearable memories that he might’ve learned to somehow repress, if only he had the ability to forget. Time doesn’t heal shit when your every yesterday is a scab you can’t scratch away, burned into your brain like a shallow grave and dug right back up on the daily. No, Andrew does not want to remember it like this. Not like this. The dirtiest press of hands and every brutal line that curves like a fault along them. The vapid twist of their wet, demanding mouths, inching towards his sprained face. The unwanted weight atop of him- and the details he can’t even speak of, the ones that he can see like a crystal clear reflection in water at night, corroding the expanse of calm black behind his eyes.

Andrew is tired. Tired of all this futile information that he takes in without quite meaning to, information that travels like a flame over frostbitten skin. He remembers the face of every man whose ever laid a hand on him. He remember what it felt like. The horrid invasion of privacy, of breath, of body, of any will he might’ve ever had to remotely care to keep existing. Sometimes the thoughts will creep up on him without invite. When he’s in the shower (splintered bathroom mirrors & quivering fingers), on court (a racquet slammed down against solid ground & breath torn out of burning lungs), midnight (wide awake and sheets a wreck) and they won’t go away. They won’t let him rest. 

They were in his head. They were in his skin. Reminders of everything he’d lost, everything that’d been taken from him, drilled into him like bullets

The bliss the pills offered him was a vacant mind, frazzled memories ridden slippery and sinking away from him. Good fucking riddance.

The nicotine helps. When the smoke infiltrates his system and he allows his mind to take a backseat. The stale memories giving way to ashes. 

Bee teaches him about positive reinforcement. Take the thing that hurts you, look it in the eye, and then, throw it away. Replace the hole it rips through you with something new, something healing. Remember, your past does not dictate you. It’s quite the other way around. 

So he takes memories of bloodstained bedsheets and his heart escaping his chest and the worst glimpses of flesh and replaces them with other things. He focuses instead, on the sound of Nicky’s laughter when he beats Aaron at Crash Bandicoot or cracks up at his own lame joke, the crease in between Aaron’s eyebrows when he’s sat against the wall with his head buried in a biology book, the crucifix at the base of Renee’s neck and how it glints when it catches the light, the rabid gleam in Kevin’s eyes when he stands, unshakable on court. 

And Neil, Neil, Neil. 

Neil’s unwavering respect for his boundaries, that annoyingly knowing look in Neil’s eyes that never fails to set the alarm bells off in Andrew’s head, Neil’s mouth on his; reducing everything else to violent, beautiful nonexistence. Neil’s ability to make him feel.  

His imagination is vivid, and fantasising about being in bed with Neil is a whole lot more interesting than whatever activity he’s reluctantly participating in at the time. Someplace where touch is sacred, and Andrew can pull animal noises out of Neil without having to flinch at the sound, where his body does not hold him back, and he can touch and be touched without having to be afraid, without his stomach bottoming out from under him, without his hands shuddering and head clanging. Some place safe and secret, his to venture to and seek comfort in as he pleases. Losing himself to thoughts of Neil changes things. It keeps him anchored to reality, even when he feels like he’s fading away again, because Neil Josten is not just a fantasy. He’s real. This thing in between them is real. This is something Andrew gets to keep, gets to learn, gets to take his time with, gets to love, without having to call it love. 

Nothing can take this away from them.

This stagnating, mesmerising, healing thing he won’t put a name to because names don’t matter. Not to them.

He doesn’t ever forget, and at this point, he doesn’t want or even need to. After all, he has no place for regrets, or rumination over a past long dead. The thoughts never go away. They never will, but they’re less frequent, less scarring, less volatile. There are still nights he wakes up to the sound of his own blood rushing through his ears, his body seized in phantom reflex, his heart a battering ram trapped in his ribs. 

There’s Neil’s gaze like clockwork, full of concern and knowing. He keeps his hands to himself whenever Andrew gets like that. No touch, not even one of support, is extended without an affirmation of consent. The stubborn idiot would wait a century, if that was what it took. And Andrew is grateful, and he’s relieved, and he’s in love. He won’t ever say those things out loud, won’t make the notions tangible; susceptible to the light. He doesn’t need to. He knows Neil feels the same way. 

He can’t afford words as shallow and spat around as love.

This is something quickening and dizzying, like falling from a great height.

And maybe it isn’t such a curse being able to get every single one of Neil’s scars down to a tee when he closes his eyes and pictures him naked under his own body, or the twist of his mouth when he smiles that ebbing, genuine smile, reserved for when the two of them are alone and aching, or the way his lips blaze a riot against his, or the feeling of soft hair caught in between his coarse fingers.

Andrew learns to live with it. He’s good at that, learning to live with things, despite ample evidence to the contrary.

He sleeps better when it’s with Neil pressed into his chest, a hand clasped over his heart as if to shield it.

The road to recovery is slow, agonising, winding, torturous and somedays, seemingly unending, but every single time he thinks he might just wander off the taunting goddamn edge, Neil brings him back home.

[lovebunnie]

[oops she’s back at it again✨🐢] i brought this up before we were friends but i rEALLY need to see you bring it to life,, first anderperry kiss after the desk set scene au bc thinking about it makes me💕💕💕💕💕

mads this set my heart on fire i love it

There was a certain feeling of weightlessness the flew off Todd’s fingers as grin stretched across his cold cheeks in the dreary red-ish light of the dusk. He had been sitting there, drowning in his own mind and couldn’t force himself to stand up and make his way back tot he dorm. He walked all the way to the post office on campus, carrying a secret in his pocket: it was his birthday. He intentionally hadn’t told anyone, as he knew they perhaps didn’t know one another well enough to bring things up. Besides, the worst case scenario would be the group fretting about getting Todd something for his birthday, which was a situation he wanted to avoid completely.

So he opened the door to the post office and took one look at the informal desk set, no note or letter to accompany it, and walked until he felt better about it all. 

He didn’t know that better meant where Neil was. Or maybe he did and that’s precisely the reason that when he saw Neil walking by, he didn’t hide or look away from his position on the cold ground, desk set sitting nearby.

Todd knew Neil was different from the rest of the group, he was the kind of person you’d follow into hell or pick out of a crowd because he just looked trusting. Neil was genuinely a good guy, so it made sense that he would sympathize with birthday issues and stand before him, declaring the uses for a perfectly good desk set.

Neil’s cheeks were flushed and they were complimented by the harsh lighting from the building; he looked happy and refreshed, which was an expression Todd knew Neil did not wear often. His grin was easy and his words felt right and soft, Todd couldn’t help but look up at him completely enamored. He looked angelic.

He knew his parents weren’t thinking about him or his requests on his birthday, but Neil was. Todd’s birthdays were a brief affair and to have someone look after you so closely in the biting cold, Todd thought he could get used to this.

“This desk set wants to fly,” Neil whispered and Todd stood to attention. They looked at one another for a moment, holding the other’s stare carefully as though it may shatter. Neil passes the deskset off to Todd, giving him the key and allowing him to do with it as he pleases. Their fingertips brush and Todd’s insides flutter.

And so, looking out beneath them, the ravine of deep green and hideous shades, Todd flung the deskset off with purpose, chuckling with Neil as they watched the papers flutter to the ground and the pens click their way down wayward rocks, until it was the two of them on the bridge, glowing.

“Oh my…” Todd whispered.

“Well, I wouldn’t worry,” Neil said back. “You’ll get another one next year.”

They shuffled on their feet, tensions rising. Now, technically, Todd didn’t have a gift for his birthday, at least nothing tangible. Neil dug his heel into the dirt below, and Todd faced him.

“Thank you, Neil.”

Neil glanced at Todd. “Oh, it was nothing. Just a spark of… courage, I guess.” He grinned and allowed a playful bit of tongue to poke through. 

Yes, Neil was riding a high of rebellion, and Todd was starting to think that it was contagious. If his parents found out he threw all the money into a ditch…

“Me too,” he said. “I’m feeling rather courageous tonight.”

“Oh yeah? Imagine the look on your parent’s faces if they saw you throwing that perfectly good deskset off a bridge.”

“You’re one to talk, mister forged-my-own-father’s-signature!”

They chuckled for a moment, Todd not noticing how Neil’s seemed a bit too forceful and not at all as soft as he was previously. The chuckling died down and eventually they were standing shoulder to shoulder, look out unto the ravine, seemingly an endless sea of which there was no bottom to. Todd placed his hands on the ledge, and Neil followed in suit.

Todd couldn’t help but remember growing up in the shadow of his brother, always second place. Here he was in a place he had never been with people he never thought he could meet. They were all so desperate to live and here Todd was, another year, and nothing to show.

“I can’t believe I’m officially an adult, and I’ve never done anything in my life,” Todd whispered, hoping Neil didn’t hear.

“What do you mean?”

Todd sighs, looking down. “I haven’t done anything in my life, not really. I haven’t done great in any sport, or made my parents happy, or excelled in something, or met anybody worth meeting. It’s kind of like…”

“…you’re starting your life right now.”

Todd snapped his neck to look at Neil, who was also looking down now. Their fingers on the ledge were touching, gently, and Todd tried to slow his heart.

“I get what you’re saying,” Neil replied. “About, not feeling proud of anything. This play that I’m doing… I think it’s going to save my life, Todd. I think this is the beginning of something really really great.”

Neil turned to face Todd, eyes wide and gentle looking, like a small candle was lit. Todd’s head began to spin and Neil’s hand covered his own completely on the ledge, the warmth making Todd dizzy. Surely, this was the first time he felt anything even remotely close to this; maybe Neil was right, maybe today brought something even better than a flying deskset.

They both leaned in, slowly yet determined. Todd had never kissed anyone before, but in that moment he didn’t give it any thought; Their lips met, and Todd felt his heart practically melt with fondness. It was soft in the coldness surrounding him, their hands falling from the ledge and hung between them, still clasped. It was quick and soft and when they both leaned back, grins were on their faces.

“That was my first kiss,” Neil spoke first.

“…Mine too.” Todd said. And feeling that courage lingering in his fingertips where a deskset once took it’d first flight, murmured, “and I hope it wasn’t my last.”

Because in the cold with the red-ish light illuminating the scene, Todd knew things were only beginning.