#but I’m almost finished chapter 11 right now and I want to get at least chapter twelve finished before I edit and rewrite chapter ten

[magics-neptunes-things]

Mockingjay - Part 11

Hi guys!

I'm so sorry for the delay, but between my health and all the work I have to do for my job, I almost don't know what day we are.

I'm glad for all the sweets messages and the love and supports I get for this serie though, it really means a lot ♥

There is a little bit of suspense here, I'll try not to make you wait as long as this time for the next chapter.

Please enjoy ♥

TW : Fight, injury, scorpions, death, gun, gunshot, angst.

Chapter Before

“I’m so sorry”

“Lucy, stop” Ona sighs softly.

Lucy doesn’t answer anything, she just bites her bottom lip to stay silent. But she can’t help but look at Ona’s arm and the bruise forming on it. Even if it was to save her life, she had to hit her hard enough to at least hurt the scorpion who was casually strolling in her arm.

So, Lucy just basically saved Ona’s life, but the older girl can’t get over the fact that she hit Ona. And hurt her in the process.

They are currently sitting on a blanket, Lucy scanning the ground around them with the pocket lamp to see if there are more scorpions and eventually make them leave thanks to the light.

They are sitting back to back, just to have a better view around them. Because they shouldn’t look for the scorpions only, but for the other tributes maybe too. They don’t know where Tony went and where everyone else is. Being attacked right now could be the worst fight ever.

Ona is jumping in the air from time to time, sure that she felt one of those animals running on her body. She was wrong every time and Lucy almost had a heart attack every time too.

“Are you sleeping?” Lucy asks after a moment.

“No” Ona mumbles.

She’s tired, she must admit that. But there is no world where she falls asleep and puts them both in danger right now. It’s hard to imagine how my time passed since the night fell some hours before. Ona really hopes that it will be finished soon.

Ona changes her position when she feels Lucy’s hand reach for hers, unrolling her arms that she had wrapped around her legs glued to her chest. She gladly let Lucy play with her fingers, enjoying this little closeness even here.

Ona can’t explain why, maybe because of how tired she is, but once again their reality hit her like a wall of bricks. She feels her throat tightens at the idea that they will never be able to have this kind of moment on a lovely date, for example. She doesn’t say anything though, not wanting to make Lucy sad or even alert her.

But Lucy learned to know her, and she quickly hears Ona’s unsteady breathings, even if she can’t see her silent tears.

“What’s up?” Lucy asks softly.

“Nothing” Ona breathes. “It’s stupid”

“If it makes you upset, it’s not stupid” Lucy answers, turning herself a little to have a better view of Ona. “Are you mad at me?”

Ona shakes her head no, still looking around just in case. She doesn’t want Lucy to see her cry. She doesn’t want to pass for someone weak. And more, she doesn’t want Lucy to find her childish.

“Hey, what’s up?” Lucy asks softly.

“I just…”

Ona frowns softly, not really knowing how to say the right things. She has all those fears about Lucy’s eventual judgement and how she can see her after that. Which is particularly stupid, Lucy would never judge Ona in any way.

“I would give everything to just have one night together, only the two of us. Without the Games, the injuries… Just you and me.”

“Ona…”

Ona hurries to take her hand back, whipping her tears and sitting a little straighter. She knows they won’t have it and that it’s stupid to cry for something they will never have.

“I told you, it was stupid” Ona shrugs.

Her back is perfectly turned so she doesn’t see Lucy. But like this, she doesn’t see the sadness and the regrets in Lucy’s eyes.

“I wish I could share these moments with you too” Lucy finally whispers.

Ona feels her throat tightens once again, but not for the same reason. She doesn’t really know if she feels better now that she knows that Lucy feels the same way. Is it worse because it supports the fact that they won’t have it? Or is it better because Lucy can understand how she’s feeling?

“What kind of things would we have done?” Ona finally asks.

“For our first date, I would have brought you on my boat to watch the sunset.”

“Sounds very romantic” Ona smirks.

Lucy hums and Ona hears her moving a little before kissing her neck. It makes Ona shiver, of course, but she smiles anyway, not expecting for Lucy to talk again.

“I don’t know if that’s any consolation, but I’m yours. No matter what happens, I will always be. Only yours.”

This time, Ona turns around completely to have an entire look at Lucy. The older girl is already looking at her, her green eyes scanning the brown one’s. Getting on her knees rather than her ass, before taking Lucy’s face between both of her hands to kiss her.

The kiss is slow but full of love and Ona can’t help but let her mind fly away, to the moment they shared together on that mountain. They had a moment only the both of them finally, only accompanied by the fire.

Lucy answers her kiss, and they are finally stopped when they feel the first light and heath of the sun on their skin. Lucy sighs from relief and looks around them. It could be hard to find their way back, everything looks the same around. But Lucy understands easily with the way Ona gets up that the younger one knows perfectly where to go.

“Are we going back to the centre of the arena or do you want to look for the oasis?” Ona asks, seeming to be happy again.

“We can look for the oasis until noon. Then we can go back to the forest if we don’t find anything.”

Ona nods and accepts the dry meat that Lucy gives her before starting to walk. She still feels tired, but she knows that they must move. She doesn’t know if someone already came here before them, the sand is the same everywhere. Including in their shoes.

“Is it a palm tree?”

They were walking for almost thirty minutes when Lucy talks again, and Ona raises her head in the direction of where Lucy is pointing.

“I think it is” Ona nods after several seconds. “Let’s go.”

They turn in the right direction, Ona two steps in front of Lucy. The latter is particularly attentive to everything, the fact that the two other girls might still be here hiding in her mind. When they are close, she softly grabs Ona’s hand to whisper it.

“Maybe they are here. Let’s be careful”

Ona nods again and squeezes Lucy’s fingers before letting her go. She can feel Lucy’s presence right behind her and it helps her to be more at ease. She feels safe with Lucy and little did she know that Lucy feels safe with her too. After all, they saved each other's lives already.

The oasis isn’t very big, but Ona must admit that it’s cute. There are a few palm trees around a very small lake. But the water is clear like a mirror, almost inviting. Rocks are around the water, as if someone had arranged seats to be able to settle comfortably in front of it.

“Someone came here” Ona whispers.

She’s looking at the rocks, but her gaze is scanning the other places of the area. Now that Lucy is looking around too, she feels the same way too. There are dates on the ground, some of them eaten and she can see footprints at some places too.

Lucy hums, turning around to look around them.

“Let’s just be careful, Love, yeah?”

Ona nods and smiles, unable to hide the butterflies she feels in her stomach when Lucy calls her like that. She takes the bow in one of her hands, just in case, when Lucy decides to make a walk around the lake “Just to have a look.”

Ona should have known it was a bad idea, every time they are separated something bad happens.

Just when Ona can’t see Lucy anymore, she feels something icy against her neck.

“Make any sound and you're dead. Do you understand?”

Ona feels her blood freeze, but she only nods softly. She doesn’t know what is held against her neck, but if it’s a knife, she doesn’t want to take any risks.

“Let go of your bow” the voice says.

Ona doesn’t hesitate before letting it go. She just hopes that Lucy will come back soon to help her. She feels stupid, Lucy just told her to be careful.

“Good. Do you know how to get out of this desert?”

Ona nods once again. She tries to recognize the voice of the person talking, but she didn’t talk a lot to those two girls. She’s unable to say which one of them is behind her.

“Show the way. Don’t turn around.”

Of course, Ona wants to turn around or even look for Lucy, but she can’t. So, she obliges and starts to walk, taking the way back she took several minutes. She can feel that icy things brush against her neck from time to time, attesting of its presence.

They were walking for several minutes when the girl talks again. Ona was walking as slow as possible, still hoping that Lucy will see them.

“Are you okay?”

Ona frowns, not understanding why the girl is asking her that question. She doesn’t understand either the soft tone used to ask this question, until she hears the girl talking again.

“Stop, Batlle.”

Then Ona turns around and realise that they were two people walking behind her. But the second girl doesn’t look good.

“What happened to her?” Ona whispers.

The first girl, Enya as Ona just remembered her name, shot her a dirty look. She raises what she had in her hand and Ona blenches when she sees that Enya is in fact holding nothing much than a gun.

“Hands up!”

Ona obliges once again, raising both of her hands without hesitation. She looks at the way Enya is looking at her partner, looking hopeless. The other girl has various purple patches all over the body, some swollen and appearing painful.

“She got bitten by scorpions” Enya groans.

Ona shivers, remembering that she had one of them in her arm last night. The second girl doesn’t seem able to talk and Ona wonders if she really can understand what is happening. She seems lost, looking at Ona blankly.

“You… You know that she won’t make it, right?” Ona says as softly as she can.

She feels sorry for that poor girl. But Enya seems angry by that statement and point her gun at the middle of Ona’s forehead.

“Shut up if you don’t want to die right now”

Ona raises her hands again, not moving anymore. She doesn’t know what sign Enya is waiting for, but she seems to be happy, so she kneels down next to the other girl lying on the ground.

Ona’s mind wanders to Lucy, who must be lost about not finding her anywhere now. Ona hopes that she won’t do something stupid, they keep reminding each other that as long as they haven’t heard the canon, there is nothing to worry about. Ona just hopes that they won’t be separated for long. Unless Enya really decides to kill her soon, which might be problematic in that case.

“Where did you find a gun?” Ona asks.

Enya looks up to look at her, seeming to think before answering. But the question is on Ona’s mind, she’s scared that Tony or Camden have found guns too. If that’s the case, winning will be difficult.

“I’ve received it from the sponsor.”

Ona arches her two eyebrows under surprise. She received pretty great things too, but nothing like that. Enya must have someone who likes her very much outside.

“Help me carry Leane. If your girlfriend sees us, she will come, and I’ll be forced to shoot her. You don’t want that, do you?”

Ona contracts her jaw at Lucy’s mention. Of course, she doesn’t want something like that. However, Ona wonders for several seconds how Enya knows about her and Lucy’s relationship. But she doesn’t have to think a lot, because Enya is pointing her gun at her face once again and she hurries to help.

They walk like this for what feels like forever, one arm around each other. Ona doesn’t know if it’s because she’s walking for a very long time, but Leane seems heavier every single second.

“Come on Leane, we are almost here” Enya repeats every two minutes.

Ona doesn’t say anything, she’s thinking a lot. She’s thinking about the chances she would have against Enya. Leane can’t fight that’s for sure and Enya seems very weak. But she has a gun, and a single shoot will be enough to kill her.

An energy boost takes Enya when they are able to see the end of the desert, the girl almost jumping until it. But Ona just has to take a look at Leane to know that things are very bad.

“I think she’s dying” Ona says slowly.

It takes Enya’s attention, and the girl looks at Leane with stupor.

“No no no no no” Enya says, laying Leane on the floor. “Not now, we are just getting out of the desert!”

The girls take Leane’s face between her hands, looking at Leane’s face. Ona feels like the girl is looking for any sign of life, which is particularly awful in her opinion. Ona jumps when Enya points the gun once again in her direction.

“Is she alive?”

Ona hesitates, looking at Leane’s frame on the sand. Poor girl seems gone, but no cannon is audible.

“Look at it!”

Enya seems to lose the little control of herself she was keeping until now. She’s making big movements with her hands, pointing Ona, then Leane, then Ona again. All of this while walking around.  

Ona kneels next to Leane, putting her finger on her neck to search for her heart rate.

“She’s alive” Ona mumbles.

She doesn’t add “for now” but she almost can’t feel anything against her fingers. It seems to calm Enya a little bit. At least she stops walking around like a crazy maniac.

“Good. Because if she dies, it’s because of you.”

“What are you talking about?” Ona asks after several seconds of silence.

“If you came earlier, you could have helped us earlier. We spent days trying to get out of this place. Leane got bitten by a scorpion in the middle of the night while I was asleep. It was so painful that she wasn’t even able to walk to me to wake me up. When I woke up she was surrounded by them, so I had to kill them with the gun.”

Ona bites her lip, looking sadly at Leane. This death must be awful, she would rather die like Teagan. She feels sorry for the other girl but for Enya too. She would probably not react better if it was Lucy in this case.

“Alright, get up. Find us the bridge.”

Enya makes Ona carry Leane on her back this time, walking behind them still with the gun pointed on Ona’s head. The sun is shining brightly now, and Ona feels the sweat running on her body. She feels the weakness in her legs too, Leane is a little bit bigger than her and heavier too.

“Can we take a pause please?” Ona finally asks.

“No”

There is no room for discussion. The brunette sighs softly, trying to ignore the sweat that runs down her face. Ona manages to walk ten more minutes before feeling her legs really getting tired.

“Enya” Ona whispers.

“I said, shut up and walk.”

Ona tries. As hard as she can, but soon her legs give up and she feels on her knee. The sand is burning against her skin, but that’s probably not the most important point. Ona feels the gun against her temple, making her close her eyes.

“Get up.”

“I can’t” Ona whispers, out of breath.

Her whole body is shaking, she has trouble breathing normally, and her head is spinning. Even opening her eyes seems hard for her right now.

“You leave me no choice”

Ona hears the weapon making a click and she closes her eyes harder, waiting for the blast. But contrary to what she expected, she feels Enya falling next to her and then rolling in the sand.

Ona manages to make Leane go down on her back, kneeling to see what is happening. Enya is fighting with someone that Ona recognizes immediately. Lucy is here, saving her once again.

“She has a gun” Ona shouts.

She doesn’t know if Lucy saw them, if she was following them for many times or if it’s just a miracle for her to be her.

Enya is fighting harder than Ona would have thought, the metal of the gun shining under the sun from time to time.

When Ona finally manages to stand up, the two other girls are fighting almost hundred meters further. Ignoring her feet who are killing her, Ona tries to run to help Lucy. She regrets not having her bow.

Just when she arrives at their height, a sound of gunfire resounds in the air. Ona freezes instantly, her eyes crossing Lucy’s gaze.

Lucy’s beautiful green eyes are wide under the surprise. Ona has always loved this shape of green. But right now, what she can see in them is terrifying her.

“Lucy!”

The younger girl screams this time, looking as Lucy’s body falls on the ground, only three meters away from her.

[whumpyourdamnpears]

repeating to myself as I first draft these next few chapters that, “it doesn’t need to be perfect, it just needs to be written,” and not think too hard about how badly written they are as of now

[ladykailitha]

Royal Pain Part 26

Hello, and we have got to the end of the massive arc that culminated the last four chapters.

I also wrote this part before 24 and 25 because I couldn't figure out how to write Eddie having a hard time on tour, but the aftermath flowed from my fingers.

Also as a reminder this story is finished, I'm just posting on a regular schedule. This story is the longest fanfic I've ever written. Topping out at 58165 it's definitely longer than 50K fic I wrote for NaNoWriMo last year (Sandman, never finished or published.)

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3 Pt 4 Pt 5 Pt 6 Pt 7 Pt 8 Pt 9 Pt 10 Pt 11 Pt 12 Pt 13 Pt 14 Pt 15 Pt 16 Pt 17 Pt 18 Pt 19 Pt 20 Pt 21 Meta Pt 22 Pt 23 Pt 24 Pt 25

****

“You’ve been sitting on that sofa for an entire week,” Wayne growled. “Steve has called three times, your bandmates at least a dozen times each. Hell, boy Miranda has been calling concerned. So want to tell me what’s fucking got you so twisted?”

“I was given a choice out there on the road,” Eddie said, twisting his rings around his fingers. “Stay in Indy and play small time gigs for the rest of my adult life or go to LA and get an album and the chance at super stardom.”

Wayne sat down next him. “Sounds like a big decision to make.”

Eddie leapt to his feet. “That’s the problem. That’s what makes me so angry how fucking easy the choice is.”

Wayne cocked his head to the side. “Sounds like you’ve got a lot on your plate again, boy. Start talking.”

Eddie started pacing back and forth. “As much as I loved playing for so many people, I didn’t like that I could only connect with a handful of them and not even the good kind.” He rubbed his chin angrily. “I didn’t like how tired we all were. It was set up, sound check, play, break down and move on to the next fucking town. And that wasn’t including all the parties, interviews, and all that other shit.”

“That does sound exhausting, Ed.”

“I didn’t like how easy it was for them to tell me to drop Gareth as drummer just because he had trouble adjusting to the increased volume. The price of fame they said. Like it was so simple to throw away almost two decades of friendship for the sake of adoring crowds and hearing our music on the radio.”

“Oh, darlin’,” Wayne said softly. “They didn’t...”

“Oh they absolutely did,” Eddie raged. “I didn’t like how they thought that because me and Steve’s relationship was new that I would be able to find someone better. Someone who liked metal, someone who would be down for the ride.”

Wayne furrowed his brow. “That doesn’t sound like good advice.”

Eddie grabbed his hair pulled at it frustration. “The last straw was when they offered to let their tattooist to finish my back tattoo, because while my artist was good, theirs was better.”

He stopped abruptly and turned to face Wayne. “I picked Steve to do my tattoo on my back because he was the only one I trusted to make it meaningful. To understand the symbolism of making something of yourself when everyone is rooting against you. I made the decision before I fell in love with him and now that we’re a couple– and for them to just dismiss him like that? It made me so angry.”

“So what’s the problem? What’s got you so twisted around the bend?”

Eddie took a deep breath and let it out slow. “I’m fucking furious because I always thought that when fame and fortune came knocking I would throw open that door and march right through it. But now? Given the choice? I’m slamming the door in its face and walking away.”

Hot tears ran down his face. “And I don’t know why.”

He dropped to his knees and began to sob.

Wayne stood up and put his arms around his nephew’s shoulders, gently pulling him to his chest.

“Did that band you were traveling with say that?” he whispered into Eddie’s curls. “Because if they did, I swear to god I will burn every record and CD you have of theirs. Don’t think I won’t. I’ll delete them off your phone too.”

Eddie chuckled weakly. “No, no. They were kind. It was everyone else we met. Agents, managers, roadies, groupies, the people around Metallica every day.”

Wayne nodded.

“I was just constantly bombarded with hateful messages and the constant running at one hundred percent...” he whimpered. “I don’t want to do it.”

“Have you told your band that?” Wayne asked.

Eddie shook his head. “I don’t dare to. I was the one that was gung ho about the touring and everything. How do I tell them I don’t want to leave the comfort of Indianapolis and home?”

“Kinda like that,” Jeff said from the doorway. His arms were crossed and he was leaning against the frame. Peaking around him was Miranda with a concerned look on her face.

Eddie scrambled to his feet and wrapped his arms around his waist. “I’m sorry I’ve been a brat.”

Jeff took three giant steps forward and hugged him fiercely. “You’re not being a brat. You’re scared and trying to figure it all out on your own, but you don’t have to, okay? We’ve all been worried sick about you. But Steve especially. I’ll call all the boys down for a chat and you call Steve, okay?”

Eddie nodded.

He dialed the number he knew by heart.

“Baby?” he asked, unsure of the reaction he was going to get. He deserved to be yelled at. Cursed at. Broken up with. He’d hurt Steve the most with this little temper tantrum he’d been having.

“Eds?” Steve breathed. “Sunshine, are you okay? Wayne said you hadn’t been eating well or sleeping much. Say the word and I’ll be there in a heartbeat.”

Eddie’s lip began to quiver and tears spilled out of his eyes. “I need you. More than anything.”

“I’m on my way,” Steve said fiercely.

Eddie looked over at Jeff.

“Tell Steve Brian will swing by and pick him up.”

Eddie nodded and relayed the message back to Steve.

“I’ll be at my apartment,” Steve said. “I’ll have Robin arrange my schedule, don’t you worry about thing, baby.”

“Mm’k.”

“I love you, Eds.”

Eddie closed his eyes and breathed in the warmth of that simple phrase. “Love you, too, pretty boy. Come quick.”

“I promise.”

*

Steve piled into Brian’s car. It was the newest, having bought it right before they got picked up by Metallica. He had finally saved up enough money to replace his beater.

Gareth and Gethin in the backseat. Gethin had come up to Indy to watch his twin’s apartment while he was gone and just ended up staying. He was currently looking for a job so that he could move in with Gareth full time.

At least that what they said on the trip down. The twins and Brian were intent on filling the air with talk and Steve let them. He let them fill him in on the tour and everything that had been going on since they’d left.

Steve couldn’t be for certain, but it sounded like that touring hadn’t been fun for anyone. Even after a week of rest, he could still make out the circles under their eyes and how hunched over they were with just sheer exhaustion.

A feeling Steve felt all too well.

Gethin was pressed against his twin’s side and was rubbing his neck soothingly.

Steve looked at Brian.

His face was set, hard and unflinching. He was going to make the drive to Hawkins as fast as he could and still avoid the cops.

Steve was grateful Brian was driving because he didn’t think he would have made the distinction to avoid breaking the law. He would have gunned it and flipped off any cop that tried to catch him.

After awhile, Steve was getting the oddest feeling that Brian was used to speeding down this stretch of highway because there were points where he would slow down for a few miles and then speed right back up.

Soon enough they were pulling up to Wayne’s trailer and piling out the car.

*

Eddie sat on the sofa with Jeff and Miranda on either side of him, just hugging him.

Wayne was busying himself in the kitchen, getting ready to feed the hoard that was about to descend on his home.

The door opened up and Brian, Gareth, and Gethin all stumbled through the entryway. Eddie was on his feet in an instant, Jeff and Miranda not far behind.

And then the trio at the door parted and there stood Steve. Looking just as tired and worn as Eddie felt.

“Stevie?” Eddie asked, taking a step toward him uncertainly.

Steve threw open his arms and Eddie ran straight into them. They wrapped their arms around each other and just sobbed.

“I’m here, Eds,” Steve murmured into Eddie’s neck. “I’m here. I love you so much.”

Eddie lifted his head and kissed him hard. “I love you, too. I regret leaving you behind, sweetheart. It nearly killed me. Every song I wrote was about you. About missing you. I don’t even want to leave you ever again, I can’t.”

The silence that followed that statement was deafening.

Steve led Eddie back over to couch and sat them both down. “Tell us everything, babe.”

And so Eddie did. He told them everything. Everything he had told Wayne, everything that had been weighing on his mind since they started touring. It all just came out in a flood.

They all listened patiently.

“Why didn’t you tell us you felt like that while we were on the road?” Gareth asked. “I knew what they were saying about me, but I also knew you guys wouldn’t drop me. If you had me about that I would have been able to reassure you that I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

Eddie flushed with embarrassment. “I didn’t know how to bring it up, it was so vile, man.”

Jeff gave his hand a squeeze. “Well, I think that you did a bang up job telling us now and that’s what really matters.”

“Someone offered to ship me out to LA and record an album,” Eddie finally admitted. “Not the band, just me. I told him that I wouldn’t go without you guys and he laughed in my face. Told me to cut the dead weight and be a star.” He dragged his hands over his face.

“But there were other offers. Good ones. Ones that included the band, well most of it, anyway. Always under the proviso that Gareth be replaced either on tour or all together. They didn’t want to make any accommodations for him even though there is a drummer with one god damn arm!”

“So the options are,” Brian said, “stay in Indy doing what we’ve been doing, only better because of the money we got for doing this tour. Go to LA without Gareth. Go to LA with Gareth but only as a studio musician and take some person we don’t know on tour with us. Does that sound about right?”

Just then Gareth’s phone went off. He looked at it with a frown. It wasn’t a number recognized so he let it go to voicemail. He pulled it up after the notification popped up.

He listened to message with wide eyes. “Hey guys, I think we have another option.” And he played the message so everyone could hear.

“Hey, Mr Hughes,” the tinny voice said through the speaker. “This is Murray Bauman, I’m music producer, we spoke in Las Vegas. I think I have the perfect deal for you boys. You were telling me that touring was really hard on you and that if there was an option you wouldn’t do that. I know you weren’t speaking for all your band, but I could tell that they would do anything for you, all four of you being such good friends.

“So the reason for this call is that I own a small music company in Bloomington and boy do I have a deal for you all. You would make a record through us, we would sell and distribute the record, keeping a portion of the sales, of course. But you wouldn’t have to tour. You have a steady gig as I understand it. If your fans want to see you play, they’ll know where to find you.

“But give me a call, we’ll hash out the details. My phone number is 555-555-2080...” and then message beeped, signaling the end of the voicemail.

Eddie looked down at the phone and then back up at Gareth. “Oh.”

Gareth grinned. “We don’t even have to take his offer, but I vote we listen to it. Brian can bring Cecil.”

Brian nodded. “He’s only got a semester left of law school, but I’ll have him brush up on his contract law to be on the safe side.”

Jeff raised his hand. “All in favor of hearing Mr Bauman out raise your hand?”

Eddie, Brian, and Gareth’s hands shot up.

“Sounds good,” Jeff said. “You call him back and set it up and if it doesn’t work out we can vote again.”

Brian shook his head. “Nah. I think if it doesn’t work, we stick to Nightmare Holes. We took a swing at it and if it’s a miss then we tried. I thought I wanted the touring and everything that came with stardom, but like Eddie I learned I wanted the romanticized version of it. I’ll be happy playing in front of our friends for the rest of our lives.”

The rest of the band nodded.

Soon everyone getting up to go back to Indy, but Steve stayed behind, he would go back up with Eddie in the morning. They had things to discuss that went deeper then the band.

****

Part 27 Part 28 Epilogue

I told you I would fix it.

Also a little BTS, the reason in my head for why things went wrong on tour but immediately righted itself when Eddie and Steve met up again? Steve still has Eddie's lucky pick. ;)

Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @artiststarme @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @pyrohonk ​@bookworm0690 @chaosgremlinmunson @goodolefashionedloverboi @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence @plyerice27 @thedragonsaunt @sapphirecobalt-1 @a-little-unsteddie @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv @rozzieroos @wonderland-girl143-blog @itsall-taken @justforthedead89 @emly03 @aizawa-emma @yikes-a-bee @redfreckledwolf @thesuninyaface @bookbinderbitch @archermightbegay @littlewildflowerkitten @scheodingers-muppet @hallucinatedjosten @ellietheasexylibrarian @anne-bennett-cosplayer @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @bestwifehaver @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @oldwitcheshat @nightmareglitter @tinyplanet95 @novelnovella @jonesn4coffee @slowandsteddie @awkwardgravity1 @steaddie-on

[withacapitalp]

How to Rehabilitate a Jock in Four Months Part 11

Part One Part 10 Part Twelve Link to Ao3

Alrighty guys I want you all to thank @stevethehairington for betaing this and making it fantastic, @henderdads for making the poll that made me finally finish writing this, and @steveshairychest for being a furry lmaooo (Sorry I had to)

Also I know you guys reallllly aren't going to want to hear this, but I wanted to put out one more chapter before I let you know that HTRAJ is going on a hiatus. Not a long one! I just have way too many WIPs going right now, and two of them are Valentines gifts (and good reads if I do say so myself!)

Step Eleven: Play Some Music

“Steve gets shotgun,” Eddie called as they exited the trailer, tossing Steve a smile that made his chest feel fuzzy as he jumped down the last two steps. 

“What the hell man?” Jeff grumbled, looking slightly put out, “We take turns,” 

Steve opened his mouth to say he didn’t mind and he would take sitting in the back, but Eddie pushed him towards the van with ease. 

“Steve’s never been inside of Hortensia, he deserves to see her at her absolute best,” He reasoned, giving Jeff a big megawatt smile and waiting to see what he would say. He still didn’t seem thrilled, but Jeff just rolled his eyes and climbed into the backseat. 

Steve would have made a comment on the fact that Eddie had named his beat up clunker ‘Hortensia’ of all things, but it was just so Eddie that all he could do was smile and shake his head. That was classic Eddie, always seeing the good, always finding something to make better. A trashy white van was Hortensia, an ex-jock was a potential friend. 

It was his superpower, almost as strong as El’s. 

“Your ride, my liege,” Eddie said, opening the passenger side theatrically. Steve rolled his eyes and climbed in, buckling his seatbelt as Eddie jumped into the drivers side seat and flourished his keys. 

“Let’s get this show on the road,” Eddie declared, turning the ignition. 

Nothing. 

Another attempt. The van gave a low grumble but did nothing. 

“Damn hunk of junk, piece of shit, mother-”

“Hortensia, huh?” Steve said with a raised brow, interrupting Eddie’s tirade of angry muttering. He threw Steve a slightly dirty look, staring at him directly in the eye as he tried the ignition again. 

Bingo. The van roared to life, headlights instantly taking the empty blackness around the trailer and filling it with trees. The entire group cheered as Eddie victoriously beeped the horn, and Steve opened his mouth to say some stupid comment that would probably make everyone laugh. 

Then the headlights flickered. 

In a single moment the ease, the happiness, it was just gone. Like a fire in dry brush, it had disappeared, and all that was left was a quick panicky feeling that there was something watching them, something waiting nearby. 

He needed his bat. 

“What the hell- Woah, what’re you doing?!” Eddie demanded as Steve shoved his way out of the car, walking over to his Beemer. He had already gotten his backpack out and was rifling through it by the time Eddie snuck up on him. 

“Steve?” Eddie asked softly. 

Eddie was out of the van. He was vulnerable. If something was sneaking up on them, then he would be the first one down.

Steve moved quickly, spinning the two of them so Eddie was up against his car, and Steve was out in front of him. That was better. He didn’t have a weapon, but he knew how to fight these things. At the very least, Eddie would have the time to run to the van if things went bad. 

“Do you see anything?” Steve asked, looking around them. 

The lights had only flickered once, just once, but once was enough. Once was a warning, and ignoring that would be stupid. 

That was Hopper’s number one rule. Don’t be Stupid. 

“What should I be seeing? A boogeyman?” Eddie teased, standing up straight and walking over to Steve, “You think I’m gonna see a were-”

“Eddie,” Steve cut him off with a severe look, grabbing Eddie’s wrist and pulling him behind him again, “Do you see anything?”

“No,” Eddie murmured after a moment. Steve spared a quick glance behind him, faltering when he saw just how uneasy Eddie was. 

“There’s…Steve there’s nothing out there,” 

Nothing out there. The lights were clear, they had been the entire time, and there was no growling, no sound of strange steps creeping up. Just the purr of a rusty engine, and the sound of Steve’s blood racing in his ears. 

Eddie was right. There was nothing out there. 

A rush of humiliation barreled over Steve, erasing everything else. He let out a slow shaking breath, running a hand over his face and hating the way his eyes were starting to burn. 

A few lights acting funny and he turned into this? Over lights? 

“Are you-”

“I’m fine,” Steve whispered, the lie strikingly obvious to both of them, “Just-”

Steve reached around Eddie and grabbed his backpack off of the ground, hefting it up over one shoulder and turning back to the van. 

“I have what I need. Let’s go,” Steve said, closing the door before Eddie could ask him again if he was okay. 

Flashlight, walkie-talkie, car keys, first aid kit, knife. 

Flashlight, walkie-talkie, car keys, first aid kid, knife. 

Flashlight-

What was he doing? 

Steve forced an exhale, pushing all of the air out of his lungs, letting the deafening chatter from the car around sink back in, and finally releasing the death grip he had on his bag. 

The backpack that had his flashlight, walkie-talkie, car keys, first aid kit, and knife. Everything he could carry inconspicuously in case of an emergency. His knife wasn’t ideal, but better than nothing. Steve would have loved to have Baby with him too, but she had to stay in the trunk of the Beemer. The last thing he needed was everyone to know how actually insane he was now, and carrying around a bat full of nails was a one way ticket to the loony bin.  

Maybe he should ask Nancy to teach him how to shoot a gun. A pistol was easily hidden, and-

Jesus. There really was something wrong with him. 

This was fun. Steve was supposed to be having fun. It was just a nice normal night with nice normal friends. The gates were closed, the kids were all together having a sleepover at the Wheeler’s, everything was just fine. 

So why was his stomach still twisted up in knots? Why was he obsessively looking out the window at the trees, just to make sure nothing was running alongside the van?

“What do you think, Steve?” Eddie asked, thrusting Steve back into the conversation happening all around him. The bumping bass from the radio was gone, and the rest of the group was now staring at him, waiting for an answer. 

Shit. 

Steve curled his hand around the strap of his backpack again, shrugging and giving Eddie a tight lipped smile, hoping that would be at least a somewhat adequate answer. Judging by Eddie’s furrowed brow and downturned mouth, it wasn’t. 

Flashlight. Walkie-Talkie. Car Keys. First Aid Kit. Knife. Flashlight. Walkie-Talkie. Car Keys. First Aid Kit. Knife. 

“He probably hasn’t listened to either of them yet,” Jeff cut in, tapping his chin. 

Oh. They were still talking about bands. Steve probably couldn’t have answered that question even if he had been listening instead of quietly freaking out. 

“You can tell us which was your favorite after the show,” Frank said, making eye contact with Steve from the rearview mirror and giving him an easygoing smile. Steve returned it, feeling the tension in his shoulders ease up ever so slightly. 

Frank was a cool guy. Understated, but nice. He always kind of hung around in the back, but that was fine. In a group like Hellfire with so many big personalities, having a steady person like Frank helped to balance everything out. 

“I still think he would like Black Sabbath best,” Jeff said, settling back in his seat. 

“Of course you think that,” Gareth replied with a roll of his eyes, pausing for a minute before crossing his arms and continuing in a begrudging tone, “Quiet Riot. Everyone can appreciate them. Even Steve.”

It wasn’t exactly an insult, so Steve decided to let go of any part of him that bristled at Gareth’s words. Gareth was a lot like Mike, it took him time to warm up. It was just…taking a bit longer than Steve had expected it to. 

Whatever. He liked a good challenge. 

“Trust me, we’ll play a song from the new Dio album and Steve’ll be a total convert,” Eddie said, shooting Steve a bright smile that warmed him from the top of his head to the tip of his toes. “We’ll have to get you a battle vest to match mine soon enough,” 

Without really thinking about it, Steve let go of his bag and reached up to play with the guitar pick hanging around his neck. Even just touching it was enough to ease away whatever nerves were still rolling around his body. 

It wasn’t like he was magically some different person, but wearing Eddie’s clothes and having his necklace was… it was almost like there was a shield. They were a buffer, a barrier between Steve and the fear that seemed to rule over everything he did nowadays. Here he wasn’t the babysitter or the protector. He was the new kid, someone who was still learning and allowed to slip up. If he didn’t know something, then it wasn’t the end of the world. 

“You sure you’re okay?” Eddie asked, staying quiet so the other three who were still debating wouldn’t hear him. 

“Yeah,” Steve replied immediately, squeezing his fingers around the chain and taking a slow deep breath, “better now,” 

“If you wanna talk, I’m always here,” Eddie whispered back, giving Steve one more soft glance before turning his eyes back to the road. Steve sighed, dropping his hands back to his lap and letting his head rest against the seatbelt, closing his eyes so he didn’t have to see the forest around them. 

The thing was, Steve knew he wanted to talk to Eddie. He wanted to tell him that Dustin had left at 4 o’clock today, and Steve had been late because he was nervous about coming tonight. He wanted to tell Eddie that he was worried about fitting in, worried about letting his guard down, worried about the endless ‘what-if's' that seemed to run around in his mind in an endless loop these days. Eddie would listen, and even if he didn’t understand, he would empathize. 

Steve wanted to, but he couldn’t. 

Because Eddie was understanding, but he was also so so nosey. He would poke and prod and try to learn the whole story, because he wouldn’t be able to help himself, and Steve couldn’t handle that. If that happened, Steve would have to pull back, put distance between them. Not only to protect himself and his people, but to protect Eddie too. 

Steve had seen what happened to people who got pulled into their world. 

Bob was what happened. 

And even the thought of something like that happening to Eddie made Steve’s heart race. He reached up to touch the guitar pick again just to ground himself in the moment. 

It was fine. Nothing was going to happen to Eddie. Nothing was going to happen to any of them. Steve wouldn’t let anything ever happen to any of them. 

“Alright freeloaders, we’re here!” Eddie crowed, and Steve opened his eyes just as they pulled into the parking lot of a dingy looking hovel. 

The place looked about two steps from being closed for a health code violation, and Steve was instantly reminded that his mom had made him promise to never get within a thousand feet of the Hideout. It was apparently a bar for ‘other’ kinds of people. Mechanics and factory workers and cashiers. Not Harringtons. 

But here he was, right outside, and the world hadn’t caved in. Imagine that. Steve laughed quietly to himself, getting out of the van and coming around to the back with the rest. 

“‘Sup douchebags!” A voice called from across the parking lot. 

Rocky and Janet were walking over, both decked out in their metal best. Rocky was wearing the same spiked vest he wore every day, but he had chosen a pair of jeans to go with it that was more chain than denim, a look that would have gotten him sent straight to detention if he so much as stepped onto the parking lot of the school wearing it. Janet was wearing her usual attire, but her hair was up in a messy bun complete with deep dark eyeliner and a skull patterned choker. 

“Hey asshole,” Gareth replied, slapping Rocky’s hand against his own and opening the van door, “Help us with set up?” 

As they began to coordinate getting all of the stuff out of the van, Janet skipped over to Frank to chat. 

“I thought you weren’t allowed to come out tonight,” Frank said, rubbing his arm and giving her a timid smile. 

“I wasn’t. As far as my parents know I’m asleep in bed right now,” She replied, giving Frank a mischievous little grin as she kissed him quickly on the cheek, turning around before she could see the way the boy immediately turned into a tomato. 

“Hi Steve. I like the new look. You should wear it to school when we go back. Start 1985 off with a bang,” Janet said in her normal slightly snarky tone. 

“Hi Janet,” Steve said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket and ducking his head down to hide the stupid grin on his face as she came over to inspect him, pointing out various add-ons he could have made to get the ‘true full metal experience’. 

This was the thing he had been searching for. Blissful normalcy with dumb conversations and stupid lighthearted jabs. Something easy that wasn’t bogged down in reality. 

“Hup two, guys. We’re already late,” Eddie huffed, pulling on an amp that was far too big for him to hold up on his own. 

“And who’s fault is that?” Jeff said with a roll of his eyes, quickly stepping in to take the other side of the equipment and gently easing it out of the van. Steve grabbed a random box and hefted it up, walking towards the door with Janet hot on his heels, still examining his new outfit. 

“Is that Eddie’s necklace?” She blurted out the second she spotted the dark red swirls, her jaw dropping open comically wide as she stared at it with huge eyes. 

“Someone decided to play Heavy Metal Barbie with pretty boy right before we were supposed to leave,” Gareth grunted, accidentally smacking Rocky with one of his drums as he stepped out of the van.

“Okay! Let’s just get moving, please!” Eddie quickly shouted in an uncharacteristically high pitched voice, practically dragging Jeff as he hurried into the bar. 

If Steve wanted to let himself over examine things, then he would have dared to say that Eddie was blushing. Instead of assessing that particular thought, he grabbed the door and held it open for the rest. 

With all seven of them working, set up went quickly, and before too long there were only a few things left to get. 

“I’ll grab them so you can start tuning or whatever,” Steve offered. 

“I’ll go with you,” Rocky said, pulling Steve out of the bar.  

“You know, I can’t believe he let you wear his lucky pick,” Rocky said the second they were alone outside, pitching his voice low even though there was no one to overhear them. “He doesn’t even let anyone else touch it, let alone wear it. ” 

This was enough to stop Steve in his tracks, his eyes darting down to the little piece of plastic around his neck.

No one else was even allowed to touch it? 

The necklace was already sentimental enough when it was just Eddie’s favorite. Now it was something precious, a treasure that wasn’t meant for any other person. Steve had been joking about Eddie staking a claim on him before, but the guitar pick practically felt like a brand at this point. 

The startling thing was just how much Steve didn’t mind. 

It was the same as ‘Sweetheart’. This was another thing that guys weren’t supposed to do for other guys, another thing that Steve shouldn’t want. He should be taking it off right now, handing it back to Eddie and going home back to the life he belonged in. 

None of this was right. Steve shouldn’t be here at a bar meant for people who were supposedly below him, he shouldn’t be dressed up like a metalhead going to listen to thrashing loud music in the middle of the night, and he certainly shouldn’t be happy Eddie Munson was having him wear something he wouldn’t even let anyone else even touch. 

This wasn’t the way things were supposed to be. This wasn’t who Steve was supposed to be. 

But was anything the way it was meant to be anymore? 

There were monsters from other dimensions and little girls who could move things with their minds. There were government cover ups, evil scientists, and dead people all over the place. 

No, nothing was how it was supposed to be anymore. At least this was a change that made Steve happy. He didn’t need to think about that too much, or try to figure out why. 

At least, he didn’t need to yet. 

“Well…maybe he just thought I could use some good luck tonight,” Steve murmured, reaching up and letting his fingers rest against the necklace for a moment before grabbing one last amp and walking back into the bar. He put it down gently on the floor of the ‘stage’ (It was a rickety wooden platform that was barely a feet off the ground, but Eddie had called it a stage), fully intending to turn right around and go back to the car to get his backpack. 

“That was the last of it, Sweetheart,” Eddie called from behind, making Steve stop short, “Rocky and Jan grabbed the best table in the house for you guys. It’s far enough that the drunks won’t hurl on you if they end up having a little bit too much. ” 

“Oh um,” Steve’s mind flitted around as he looked for any excuse he could use, “I…left my wallet in the van,” 

Steve crossed his fingers, praying that Eddie wouldn’t call out the very obvious wallet shaped lump in his right pants pocket. 

“You won’t need it,” Eddie said smoothly, hopping down and steering Steve gently towards the table with their friends, “The barkeep knows to keep my people fed and watered. Just let him know you’re here with me, or better yet, make Rocky do all the heavy lifting. He is a freshman after all, he has to take his licks.” 

That would be great if Steve was actually worried about his wallet. He wasn’t. He needed his flashlight, walkie-talkie, car keys, first aid kit, and knife. He needed to be prepared in case things went wrong. 

He needed those things, but he couldn’t explain to Eddie why, and he couldn’t walk out right now without looking like he was trying to ditch. Steve’s breathing started to kick up, and he could feel his heart leaping in his chest. 

They weren’t safe right now. Anything could happen, and he wasn’t prepared. Anything could go wrong, and- 

“Relax,” Eddie said slowly as they reached the table, pulling out a stool and nudging Steve towards it, “No one’s gonna bite,” 

“I will,” Rocky immediately replied, baring his teeth just for show. 

“Okay well don’t sit too close to him, and you’ll be just fine,” Eddie laughed, the other two Hellfire members snickering alongside him. This was where Steve should laugh with them too, but his throat was closing up. 

He was in a place he didn’t know, with a group who he didn’t really know, without anything to defend himself or keep in touch with his people. 

This wasn’t safe. Steve wasn’t safe right now. 

A soft touch on his arm startled him and he jumped back. Or he would have, if Eddie hadn’t held on and kept him from moving and crashing into the table. Steve stiffened up, looking up at Eddie knowing that he wasn’t doing a damn thing to hide how freaked out he had become. 

He couldn’t care about that. He couldn't care about anything except how dangerous everything had suddenly become. 

“Seriously. Everything’s okay. I promise,” Eddie whispered, leaning in so their heads were close together. Steve closed his eyes, taking a deep breath the way Joyce had shown him. In for four, hold for four, out for four. 

Usually it didn’t do anything for him, breathing slowly normally only made him even more aware of how little air there was in the room, but the breathing combined with Eddie’s hand still on his arm was enough to get Steve centered again. 

Everything was okay. The kids were safe, Nancy and Jonathan were safe, Hopper and Joyce were safe. 

Steve was safe. 

He was out with friends doing something fun, and there was nothing wrong with that. This was normal. This was what he was working towards. All he wanted was something easy, and this was easy. He didn’t have to make things complicated by being afraid. 

And, if anything went wrong, he could just run outside and get his things. 

“Thanks,” Steve whispered.

“Anytime,” Eddie whispered back, his big dark eyes locked on Steve’s. Once again Steve was completely aware of the guitar pick around his neck, and the fact that no one else was even allowed to touch it. 

“Eddie! Seriously! Tick fucking tock!” Frank shouted from the ‘stage’. Eddie growled quietly, muttering to himself about evil bandmates who had no sense of boundaries. Steve snorted, chuckling softly until Eddie stopped grumbling.  

“Have a good show,” Steve said, pulling away from Eddie and hopping up onto the stool. 

“Prepare to have your world rocked,” Eddie said, trying to act cool as he walked backwards, but tripping on the world’s tiniest step and falling flat on his ass on the stage. 

Steve made a valiant attempt to not laugh along with the rest of the bar, but he quickly failed, tossing his head back and laughing loudly, putting a hand on his chest and feeling the hard plastic against his fingertips. Eddie paused, giving Steve an indescribable look before straightening up and brushing away the invisible dirt from his vest. 

“And with that incredibly suave move, I’d like to formally introduce our band to the dozen or so drunks that are here tonight,” Eddie said into the mic, spreading his arms out wide like he would at Hellfire. The meager crowd yelled back and raised their drinks, making Eddie put on an absolutely feral grin

“Ladies and gentleworms, we are Corroded Coffin,” 

Much like Dungeons and Dragons, Steve hadn’t really expected that he would enjoy the show. He liked Eddie and he enjoyed the rest of the group, so he figured he would come and watch and be a good sport. 

And, much like Dungeons and Dragons, he was completely wrong. 

It wasn’t his favorite genre of music by any means, but the energy in the air was absolutely enthralling. From the first note there was just this push, this indescribable palpable movement in the air that was exhilarating while also being settling. It was like they were collectively experiencing something special, and all having a grand old time while doing it. 

It didn’t hurt that he was also about four whiskey sours in.

He had only planned to drink one, maybe two, but every time his glass was empty another magically appeared by his arm, courtesy of Rocky and Janet. He had tried to turn them down a few times, but they could be awfully persuasive when they wanted to be, and Steve couldn’t help hoping that the alcohol might clear up the last bit of the panic that was still rolling around in his head.

So with a warm fire in his belly and a brain that was finally for once quieting down, he happily listened as Janet and Rocky screamed the lyrics right alongside Eddie and the rest. He couldn’t really understand, per say, but the energy was all that mattered. 

And then, halfway into their set, everything fell apart. 

“Alright, everyone,” Eddie said as they caught their breath from an original that left everyone slapping their tables and stomping their feet, “It’s time to settle a bet.”

He turned to face Steve dead on, a gleam in his eyes that had nothing to do with the low light of the bar. 

“We have, let’s call him a…metal virgin, with us tonight,” Eddie drawled, letting the crowd hoot and holler as they pleased. There was less than two dozen people in the bar with them, and there was no way any of them besides Hellfire knew that Eddie was talking about Steve, but he still felt like every eye in the room had just turned to him. 

“Earlier tonight the band and I were trying to figure out who would make him a convert. Black Sabbath, Quiet Riot, Metallica. I said Dio, because I think this song is right up his alley. So, this one’s for you,” 

Steve’s heart began to race in a completely brand new way as Eddie began shredding down on his guitar, joined by Gareth with an impressively quick beat on the drums. 

The song was good. It was fast-paced, lively, and Steve could actually follow along with the lyrics unlike some of the more intense songs from before. Eddie had hit it exactly. The song was just another example of Eddie knowing him even more than Steve expected him to. 

It was so good in fact, that Steve almost didn’t notice the lights behind the bar begin to flicker. 

Almost. 

Steve’s hands began to shake as his eyes darted around, looking at all of the walls. The other lights were also flickering, but the walls were still straight and narrow. No bending. No monsters. 

Not yet. 

Or not here. 

Steve’s heart dropped as reality slapped him square across the face. If the lights were flickering, but there was no sign of any monsters, then they were close, but not here. They could be anywhere, going after anyone. 

Going after one of his people. 

Steve stumbled off the stool, catching Janet and Rocky’s attention as he nearly toppled to the ground. 

“Steve! Are you okay?!” Janet yelled above the noise. 

No, he wasn’t okay. He was a stupid fool in fact. A complete idiot who had honestly let himself believe that the danger was gone when he knew it wasn’t. 

“I- I need to-” Steve couldn’t finish the sentence, couldn’t make his breath even enough to find the words for what he needed. 

He needed his bat. He needed his backpack. He needed to get in touch with Hopper. He needed to get out of here. 

He needed to find his kids. 

And then, just as Eddie hit one last screeching solo note on his guitar, everything went dark. 

Tag List: @paopaupaus @zerokrox-blog @surferboyzaza @whatever-is-a-good-name @minjintea @addelyin @5ammi90 @hagbaby420 @shinekocreator @bornonthesavage @starxlark @electrick-marionnett @resident-gay-bitch @ash-a-confused-enby @classicdinosaurdeathpose @valon-whomsttf @rotten-lil-goblin @thereindeerlady @love-ya-kash @kerlypride @sparkle-fiend @thefreakandthehair @flowercrowngods @milf-harrington @sadcanadianwinter @gothbat99 @hotcocoaharrington @henderdads @lightwoodbanethings @colorful565 @h0n3y-dw @craterbbox @sourw0lfs @lesliiieeeee @bidisastersworld @tinynebula @ravnlinn @bonescaro @mexmatch @cottagecoredreams @joruni @hellykelly @maegan1116 @farewell-wanderlvst @desertfern @due-to-the-fact-that-im-a-slut @anythingforourmoonyedits @eerielake @fandemonium-takes-its-toll @sidekick-hero

[mazegays]

could've followed my fears all the way down

Chapters: 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 31

Chapter 30

Thomas’s nerves are almost cute, if they weren’t so worrying. He’s more than willing to hold their hands in public, if he doesn’t have the sling on, but he’s clearly fretting over everything else.

“Do you think he knows we want to kiss him?” Gally asks when Thomas is laughing with Sonya across the fire.

“I think that’s the problem.” Minho watches Thomas’s face.

“What, he doesn’t want to kiss us?”

“More like he’s not sure how.” Minho’s pretty sure Thomas kissed Teresa a few times, and maybe Brenda, but he doesn’t know. It’s not exactly the kind of thing Thomas would have told him about. He doesn’t really want Thomas to tell him about it.

“It’s kissing, it’s not that hard.” Gally scoffs a little.

“Just because we had sex in the Glade doesn’t mean he did.” Minho points out, and he can see when that clicks for Gally.

“We have to talk about feelings again, don’t we?”

When did Minho become the one who knows that first?

… Actually, he doesn’t want an answer to that. 

“Yeah.”

“Thomas wants to go into the forest.” Gally changes the subject.

“No.” It hasn’t been that long since he had a panic attack sitting under one tree, he’s not allowed to go into the forest.

finish on ao3 or continue reading - if you like the fic, please reblog!!

“He’s been talking about it all week. He keeps creating signs for it while he’s teaching me. He wants to go together, but not for long.”

This is a fight Minho’s going to lose, he already knows it. Gally looks like he’s ready to say yes, he probably offered to tell him so Thomas wouldn’t have to.

“Why? He can hardly look at it without panicking.”

“He thinks he needs to get over it. I know he’s said something to Sonya. I think he’ll just follow her in if we don’t go.”

“Well, at least he’s not planning on going alone.” 

“So we’re doing it, then?”

“Maybe this is something we should talk to Jamie about— together, not individually.” is what Minho settles on saying, because he really doesn’t know.. He hates the idea, he doesn’t want Thomas anywhere near that forest and he thinks it’s going to end very badly.

But Thomas is a stubborn shank whose two settings of ‘dealing with things’ involve ignoring them or charging into them headfirst.

“Why Jamie?”

“Because she might be able to explain why it would be helpful, or why it’s a really bad idea and we shouldn’t do it. I know he talks to her about it one-on-one, but for something we do together we need to talk to her together.”

“He’s been a lot better lately, Minho. He’s been able to eat more, he’s sitting near the tree right now and not panicking, the sling is just about off for good. If he wants to try this, why wouldn’t we help him?”

“I’m not saying we wouldn’t,” he pauses, trying to get his thoughts together. “I’m worried, Gally. If this is too much, too soon, it could be bad.”

The two weeks of nearly entirely signing after the initial tree panic attack prove that very well. Sure, it’s better now, but only signing all the time and having to rely on Minho and Frypan to translate frustrates Thomas.

He likes to get his point across, and since no one had known about their sign language before, no one had learned it.

“What else are we supposed to do, make him feel like he has to be afraid of the forest for the rest of his life?” Gally’s worried too, he can tell— and not just about Thomas. “Minho, you want to protect him, we both do. He doesn’t want to be protected from this.”

And the little kids don’t want to be protected from running into the fire pits, but that doesn’t mean it should be allowed.

“That’s different, Min. The little kids don’t know better. We’re all nearly adults, might as well be, with what we’ve been through. Thomas has talked to Jamie about this, he’s been thinking about it for a while. He knows it might be a bad idea.”

“I still think it’s a bad idea.” Minho crosses his arms over his chest, but he knows Gally is right. “I still want all three of us to sit down and actually talk about it, with Jamie or not.”

It probably won’t be for a very long time, maybe less than an hour at first, but he wants to be prepared for everything.

Maybe Thomas will step into the forest and realize he’s not scared of it at all now. Great! Probably not going to happen, but great.

Maybe he’ll immediately have a panic attack. Also probably not the most likely option, not now that he’s actually been working though it with Jamie.

No, they’ll go in, fit a spot, sit and talk for a while. Thomas’s anxiety will build to the point where he can’t keep it hidden anymore, and they’ll leave before it gets worse.

Thomas will want to do it again, so they’ll go back until he’s happy with how long it takes for him to reach peak anxiety levels.

Minho doesn’t want him to do that to himself.

“Gally, this is going to take forever.” Minho realizes. “He’s going to want to keep going back until he can be in there for hours, if not days, without panicking.”

“So we’ll go with him, every time.” Gally says, like it’s as easy as that. “Until he’s okay with it.”

They can do that. Even though Minho’s going to hate every minute of it.

They can’t do this.

They’ve been taking it very slowly with the exposure therapy, as Jamie calls it. Once a week at most, for a few minutes at a time, a little longer each week.

Minho really wishes Thomas would wait.

This is the fifth week, and it’s been twenty minutes. Thomas is shaking already, but he doesn’t want to leave.

He never wants to leave.

“Minho, if he thinks he can handle it, let him.” Gally pulls him back a little. “He wants to try. We have to let him.”

“He’s shaking, Gally.”

“It’s cold. He’s a dumbass wearing shorts and a t-shirt.” Gally raises his voice a little, so Thomas can hear him teasing. Thomas glances back at them and rolls his eyes.

He looks… okay. He’s shaking, but his face is relaxed, not like he’s scared at all.

Maybe it’s not that bad.

“Who do you think is out hunting today?”

“It’s Rosa’s group’s turn!” Thomas calls back. He moves back to stand by them, leaning into Gally’s side.

Gally is kind of their personal space heater sometimes. He complains about it, but Minho knows he doesn’t really care.

“What do you think they’ll find?”

“I don’t know. I saw a moose.”

They’ve heard that a million times. Thomas wants to take them out to see it, but even Jamie, as encouraging as she is about him wanting to learn how to not be afraid of the forest anymore, has nipped that in the bud.

No week-long trips into the forest for a long time for them.

Minho’s okay with that. He doesn’t really like it here either, what with the tree falling on them and everything.

Wait, is Thomas trying to get them over their lingering fears of the forest too?

Damn.

That’s more tricky than he thought Thomas would pull on them.

(Other people, absolutely. Them? Thomas isn’t supposed to do it to them. But that’s Thomas for you. )

“Minho, you’re the one overthinking things now.” Thomas pokes him lightly. He’s smiling faintly when Minho looks over at him.

“So what if I am, shuckface? You don’t have a monopoly on overthinking things.”

“No, but it’s a little weird to watch someone else do it.”

“Then don’t look at me, I guess.”

“Where’s the fun in not looking at you?” Thomas pouts, exaggerated. “Gally, can I share your jacket?”

“I should tell you no, because you’re the dumbass here. But yes.” Minho can’t help but laugh at them as they try to figure out how to get arranged so Thomas will actually be warm without smothering him.

“Are you sure you don’t want help?”

“We’ll figure it out, thanks though, Minho.” Thomas answers, focused on the task at hand.

It’s hard not to laugh a little at Thomas as he tries to squeeze into Gally’s jacket. He’s biting his lip, completely focused, and he’s not thinking about being in the forest at all.

Minho’s laughing too, and his shoulders have dropped a little. He won’t say anything, but he doesn’t like the forest too much either.

If Gally could freeze time, this is one of the spots he’d do it in. Just linger here, in this moment, where they’re all laughing and joking around, despite everything. 

Despite the fact that he knows Thomas chose this spot because it’s not far from where Harriet found him.

He doesn’t want to be anywhere where they’re not happy, not again. They don’t need more sadness in their lives.

“Gally, you’re not even trying to help!” Thomas complains, pouting at him.

“I think it’s hopeless, Thomas. You can have my jacket instead.” Minho throws an arm around Thomas’s shoulders.

“But Gally’s already warm.” 

“And I’m not?” Thomas pulls away a little, just enough to put Minho’s jacket on. Gally’s not expecting him to grab his hand as he steps back.

“Okay, I think that’s enough for the day.” Thomas says.

“You’re feeling okay?” Minho asks, dropping the smile.

“I feel fine, but I’m cold. I want to bully you two into building a fire in the cabin and sit in bed all day and read.”

“Just for that, you can bring in all the wood from outside in your shorts and t-shirt.” he threatens, but he already knows he won’t go through it.

“And maybe I wanted to sit in bed and read. What are you going to do then?” Minho’s hand brushes his arm lightly. Gally can’t tell if it’s intentional or not.

“Read things out loud to you? Then you’ll fall asleep and I can read whatever I want.” Thomas raises his eyebrows at Minho, like it should be obvious.

“What if I want to read something, Thomas?”

“You don’t care what I read, as long as I read it out loud.” Thomas squeezes his hand softly, and. Yeah. It’s true. He doesn’t care.

He’s not much of a reader on his own, anyway. It’s just better when Thomas reads to him. Or Minho, on the rare occasion he decides that it’s his turn.

“So, a fire, reading, and cuddles? Sounds like a good day to me.”

“We can’t forget lunch.”

“I guess you can go and get it for us then, Minho. Thanks for offering!” Thomas manages to say it with a straight face, like Gally’s not cracking up next to him.

“That was not an offer, shuckface. That was a reminder that we need to eat.”

“Sounded like an offer to me, Minho.” Gally’s still grinning, which ruins the effect a little.

“The both of you? Really? I guess if all I’m good for is getting lunch I might as well leave you both!” Minho plays into the part, hand on his chest and everything.

“You’re the one who’s not letting go of me, so if you want to do that, then you can.”

“Yeah, Minho, if you’re really going to leave you have to let go of Thomas first.”

“He’s got my jacket!”

“You can let go of me and get your jacket back.”

“Well, maybe I will!”

He doesn’t, though, and Gally knows he never even considered it.

“Or maybe I’ll just get my jacket back later.”

“You can’t get it back if you can’t find it.” Thomas teases, smiling properly now. “Hey, Gally, cover me?”

“Yeah, of course.” He grabs Minho’s arm where it’s around Thomas’s shoulders, holding him just tightly enough that he can’t get away easily, while Thomas jogs ahead, eventually turning backwards to face them.

“Even if you hide it, I’ll still find it, Thomas!” Minho calls. “Gally, let go of my arm.”

“Are you going to chase him? Because I told him I wouldn’t let you do that.”

“No, but can’t I hold your hand instead, shank?”

“Oh.” Gally slides his hand down Minho’s arm, lacing their fingers together. Thomas has stopped ahead of them, kneeling to look at some plants.

“What are those, Thomas?” he asks when they get a little closer.

“Berries. I don’t think they’re edible though, we don’t have any in the greenhouse.” Thomas shakes his head a little.

His hair’s getting long. Maybe Gally should offer to cut it.

Or not. It might be a nice change.

Gally has to fight to keep his face straight, but Minho’s nudge tells him that he’s not entirely successful on that front.

<- 29 31 ->

[sixhours]

Chapter 13 - The Ghosts of Babylon

Series Chapter Index | Read on AO3 | Complete

Rating: Explicit, 18+, here be smut and violence Series tags: Joel Miller x You, Joel Miller x Reader, Joel & Ellie, mostly follows canon, LGBTQ+ characters, y/n is bi/pan, y/n is ~45, violence, pregnancy, abortion, medical trauma, emotional trauma, panic attacks, sex work, suicide, smut, slow burn, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, romance, no use of y/n, reader has longish hair, Joel can lift you, smallish age gap (~11 years), I've probably forgotten some so please let me know <3

~*~

You’re staring at the blurry ultrasound screen again. It’s worse than the last time you used it with Joel’s heart, except now you’re looking at the uterus of a 14-year-old girl. At least, you hope that’s what you’re looking at; the screen flashes and wavers like television static, making it difficult to tell.

Emily, the girl on the table, stares at the ceiling impassively as you move the wand over her lower abdomen. Eventually, you sigh and wipe it down, tucking it away and handing her a clean cloth.

“You’re pregnant, but I can’t get a good read on the size of the fetus. Do you know when your last period was?”

Emily shakes her head.

“I’d say you’re anywhere between seven and ten weeks out, then.”

No response.

“Do your parents know you’re here?”

The girl had shown up at the clinic alone, claiming to have a stomachache. When you’d sat down in the exam room to ask about her symptoms, she’d pulled out the plastic pee stick and handed it to you wordlessly. Drugstore pregnancy tests were mostly accurate, even 20 years past their expiration date, and the positive result was plain as day.

You should have stopped the examination right there. You were way past the ethical boundary for treating a minor without their guardian’s consent, but the girl had begged…and if you were being honest with yourself, the sight of the positive pregnancy test hit a little too close to home.

“I don’t have parents.”

“Who looks after you?” 

She shrugs. “The Wilsons, I guess.”

Right, the Wilsons. They’re an older couple if you remember correctly. You take a deep breath, steeling yourself.

“Do you know who the father is?”

She shrugs again, and you close your eyes. “Has anyone in your family touched you inappropriately? Is there a chance this could be–”

“What? Gross, no,” the girl says. “No. They’re strict, but they’re not…he’s not…like that.”

You breathe a silent sigh of relief. “So…do you have a boyfriend?”

“Yeah,” she says softly.

“And you’re sexually active with him?”

The girl squirms and wrinkles her nose at the question, cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“It’s a little late to be shy about it now,” you murmur. “Did he force you?”

Her eyes widen, suddenly understanding, and she shakes her head vehemently. “No! No, he…I wanted to do it. I told him to. I swear.”

The kid was too damn young to be consenting to anything, you think, but you put that aside for now.

“Look, kid, I’m going to be straight with you, because I think if you’re mature enough to have sex, you’re mature enough to deal with the consequences. Okay?”

The girl swallows but gives a tiny, almost imperceptible nod.

“Pregnancy is dangerous. It’s dangerous for fully grown women, and it’s especially dangerous for kids. Your body hasn’t finished growing, and your pelvis is tiny, so there’s very little chance you’ll be able to give birth naturally.

“We don’t have anesthesia for c-sections like they show in the movies. So if you choose to keep this baby now, and the baby can’t come out when it needs to…you both die.”

This seems to have the intended effect. The girl’s stoic recalcitrance gives way to abject terror and her eyes fill with tears. “I don’t want to die.”

“That makes two of us,” you say, softening. “And it’s my job to make sure that you don’t. We need to have a discussion about your treatment options and to do that, we need to tell your guardians. They have to give consent for me to continue treating you. Can I call them now?”

The girl looks miserable, tears dripping down her cheeks, but she nods and gives a little hiccup. You push the button on your walkie. 

“Hey, I need someone to find Mr. and Mrs. Wilson and tell them to come to the clinic. I’ve got Emily here.”

~*~

When the girl and her parents leave, you sit at your desk, poring through a medical textbook by lamplight.

The good news is they’d all agreed an abortion was the best decision. The bad news is the only two doctors in town have never performed one. Even if you and Eric had the experience, the clinic doesn’t have the right equipment.

When you find the section in your textbook on reproductive medicine, you grab a pen and start circling things in red ink, writing them down on a pad of paper. After a second’s hesitation, you rip the pages out of the book entirely, folding them neatly and tucking them into the notepad.

Next, you head to the library in search of more reading material…and a phone directory.

~*~

It’s well past late when you arrive at Tommy and Maria’s house, relieved to find the lights still on. Maria answers the door holding Gwen on one hip, looking tired.

“What’s wrong?”

“May I come in? I have a request for the council.”

She narrows her eyes, but opens the door and beckons you inside. You’re too keyed up for formalities; you’re talking before she can close the door behind you.

“I have a patient. A teen girl. She needs an abortion.”

Maria blinks, taken aback.

“I have permission from her guardians to do the procedure, but I need supplies.”

You pull out the notepad. “I’ve written down the addresses of three Planned Parenthood centers in Colorado and Utah. I’m sure they’ve been picked over for antibiotics and painkillers, but I doubt anyone would have grabbed dilators–”

“Whoa, hold up. Come in. Sit,” she gestures to the living room. “Do you want tea? Little miss here has decided we’re having a late night.”

“Tea? No, thank you. I’m–I have to–”

“I know,” she soothes. “Let me grab a cup and I’ll be right back. Then you can tell me everything from the beginning.”

She puts Gwen down on the rug, and the little girl immediately makes a whining noise, then crawls after her mother. Maria comes back with a steaming mug of something fragrant and herbal, deftly dodging the baby on the floor before picking her back up and setting her between you on the couch.

“Tell me.”

You do, explaining how your patient’s age and size are not conducive to carrying a pregnancy to term. You tell her how you’ve treated more pregnancies in Jackson than ever before in your career, and that without some more reliable forms of birth control, you’re looking at an unsustainable population boom. You even tell her about the kids you and Joel saw from the roof of the stables…although you leave her brother-in-law’s presence out of the story.

“We’re going to have more cases like this,” you say. “Most of these kids have been forced to grow up too fast. They’re reckless. We don’t have enough options, it’s not like we can just put every girl in Jackson on the pill. I know our assault rates are low, but they’re not zero,” you swallow, thinking of the jackass who cornered you at the Tipsy Bison. “If there was a rape–”

Maria winces. “No, I get it.”

You nod, taking a deep breath. “I’ve written it all in here. I even have pictures so they know what to look for,” you say, pulling out the torn pages of your medical textbook. “I just need someone who can find the stuff. Soon. If I wait too long with this kid…it gets risky.”

“Right.”

“Oh, and there’s some other stuff on there if they can find it. IUDs would be amazing. Diaphragms, although I doubt the latex is any good, but maybe they can find something silicone, a shallow menstrual cup might work–”

“I understand,” Maria cuts you off, looking at the list, then back at you, resignation in her eyes. “I’ll bring this in first thing tomorrow. The next supply run isn’t scheduled until spring, but…I can probably convince the council to grant an exception for a medical emergency.”

You breathe a silent sigh of relief, feeling a faint spark of hope in your chest.

“I wish we’d found you sooner,” Maria says after a pause. She’s looking at the baby between you, lost in thought, or perhaps just tired. “Eric has done his best, but he’s…old-fashioned in some ways. I should have seen this coming.”

“Well, I’m here now,” you say, all forced cheer, but your mouth is suddenly dry.

For how long?

~*~

Two nights later, you’re chest-deep in your tub, trying to slough off the week’s events with a bath so hot it’s turned your skin the bright pink of a peony.

“I’m so glad you fixed the floor, Miller,” you murmur, sinking deeper into the water.

“Don’t know how you can stand it,” he mutters at your back. “Feel like a boiled crawdad.”

You smile. “Suck it up, tough guy.”

He grunts. You’re pressed back to his chest, wrapped in his legs. You’re vaguely aware of the washcloth he draws across your skin, under and around your breasts, down your stomach, down…

“Again? Christ, Miller…you’re insatiable.”

“Uh-huh,” he growls at your ear, nipping the lobe, one hand coming up to rub the hardening peak of one nipple as the other abandons the washcloth and slips between your thighs, thick fingers almost delicate in their ministrations as your back arches involuntarily, opening yourself to him.

“Want me to stop?” he murmurs.

His fingers are circling, fluttering, sending little sparks of pleasure to your core, inner muscles clenching, desperate to be filled. You’re already halfway to your orgasm when his fingers slow, teasing, and you remember to answer.

“Don’t you dare stop,” you moan, reaching back for something to hold onto, finding the damp curls at the nape of his neck.

You feel his smile against your ear, the rumble of his soft words as he massages your clit, then slips two fingers inside you. “Good fuckin’ girl.”

You tilt your chin up and his lips find yours, messy and wanton, licking roughly into your mouth as his fingers coach you toward your climax. You groan when he curls into that soft, aching core inside you and flutters his fingers against it, applying just enough pressure to make you ache and throb and writhe between his legs, but not enough to find release.

“Joel! You here?”

The voice calls out from downstairs, and your eyes fly open.

“Shit,” Joel whispers, then calls back. “Yeah, yeah, hold your damn horses.”

Footsteps on the stairs. “Joel?”

You scramble out of the tub, grabbing for your robe, knotting it around your waist. You slip out of the bathroom and close the door behind you to find Tommy standing in the hall at the top of the stairs.

“Hey,” he says, brow knit in confusion. “Sorry, I thought you were–Joel said you were workin’ tonight. Said you had somethin’ for him to finish up here?”

“I, uh–” you clear your throat. “They didn’t need me after all.”

“Oh, uh…is Joel here? We’re short a patroller and I know he’s–”

You hear the bathroom door open, Joel’s footsteps at your back.

“...free,” he finishes as understanding dawns. “Oh–shit.”

Joel’s hand finds your shoulder and gives it a light squeeze. “Yeah, I can go. Give us a minute.”

“I really stepped in it, didn’t I?” Tommy says, ducking his head. “I’ll, uh, let you get dressed. Maria wants you for the next shift, there’s been a lotta activity out there. Need all the help we can get.”

“Tommy,” Joel says sharply. “Don’t tell Ellie yet, okay? I need to be the one…to…” he trails off.

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Tommy says, embarrassment giving way to a grin and a wink. “Good on you, brother. Maybe make it longer than a minute, though.”

“Jesus, get outta here,” Joel snaps, and Tommy’s laughter carries down the stairs and out the front door.

Joel is holding a towel around his waist, chest dewy with bathwater, cheeks pink from the heat. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“Actually, I think that was a best-case scenario,” you say dryly. “Ellie carries a knife.”

~*~

He takes more than a minute.

When Joel is gone, you wrap yourself in your robe and climb the stairs to the attic, distracted, thinking of his hand on your shoulder as he not-so-subtly claimed you in front of his brother. 

“Don’t tell Ellie yet.”

Yet.

You swallow hard at the sight of the light on the radio, indicating the recorder has been running. FEDRA seems to have awoken from its winter slumber, and you sink into the chair at your desk with a resigned sigh. You rewind the tape and press Play, but you’re barely listening to the playback.

…suspected Fireflies…Salt Lake City…

You’ve been in Jackson for almost a year, your longest assignment yet, and you’ve given FEDRA everything you have. You don’t ask why you haven’t been ordered to return to Boston, but it’s the question that keeps circling in the back of your mind.

And the longer you stay, the harder it is to consider the consequences of your inevitable departure.

~*~

“Emily? Still with us?”

The girl’s voice rises from the head of the exam table, groggy and faint. “Yeah?”

“You’re doing great, kid. Almost done.”

The girl’s guardian, Mrs. Wilson, is holding her hand, whispering soothing words. You’ve asked one of the nurses to observe and assist. You hope they don’t notice the slight tremor in your hands.

While you’d waited for the council’s answer, you’d studied everything you could get your hands on in the town library, cramming for the abortion procedure like it was a test, acutely aware of the ticking of the girl’s biological clock.

Within three weeks, a box of tools and supplies were delivered to the clinic’s doorstep. You’d opened it like a Christmas present, overwhelmed at your good fortune. They’d found a working portable aspirator, dilating inserts, and forceps, in addition to a bunch of copper IUDs, individually packaged and showing no real wear despite the years gone past.

Then it was all on you, and you just had to try your hardest not to fuck it up. You hadn’t felt this nervous since your first mission out of Boston.

And now, it was done. Tears are leaking down Emily’s face and she’s pale and shaking a little, but she’s not pregnant anymore. And once you finish placing an IUD, she won’t need to worry about it happening again for a long time.

~*~

Later, you flop back on your bed after a shower, relief and something like elation blossoming within you.

Your mind races, already thinking about the IUDs the supply run had procured. You’re ready to propose a sex education program for the school–you’ll volunteer to teach it if you have to.

You smile–no, you grin –and realize you haven’t felt like this since you were a fresh-faced resident. This must have been what it felt like to have a calling, to have hope that you could do something to make the world just a little bit better.

Then you think you hear the click-whir of the recorder kicking on in the attic above you, and the truth reasserts itself, settling over you like a heavy cloak. You’re planning for a future that doesn’t exist.

You’re still lying naked in your bed, ruminating, when you hear him knock. Groaning, you make your way downstairs and open the door, ready to meet your perfect distraction.

~*~

A few minutes later, you’re pressed into the softness of your mattress as his fingers play your body like a treasured instrument. One hand cups the back of your neck and the other runs a torturous loop down to the V of your thighs, caressing and stroking, back to your breasts, and your throat, teasing you into a puddle of pure need.

He hasn’t even removed his clothes. Seeing you standing in the doorway naked and lithe against the frame was all the impetus he needed to take you to bed.

When he finally slips his fingers between your legs with intent, the ferocity of your cry surprises you. His calloused fingers rub the nub of your clit in deliciously slow, lazy circles. Your hips match his movements, and you grasp his arm, feeling the muscles tensing under hot skin as he pleasures you.

“So fuckin’ good, beautiful,” he growls, the vibration of his words against your skin only serving to heighten the sensation. His hand moves lower and teases at your entrance, finding you more than ready. One finger slips inside, then two, his thumb replacing them at your clit. It’s a practiced dance at this point, and he knows all the moves.

But there’s something about the low light and the scrape of his fingers across your cervix that trips a wire in your brain. Your legs splayed, your fingers gripping the sheets, and suddenly the pain is back, so blinding you can’t breathe.

He’s nuzzling into your neck, whispering into your ear, but you can’t feel it; only the sensation of being scraped, of being impaled and dissected and undone, the pounding rush of blood in your ears. You pull away from him with a strangled groan of terror, the sudden absence of his fingers inside you is painful, until you’re gripping the edge of the bed and heaving over the side.

He’s calling your name. You’re dimly aware of him leaving the bed, kneeling next to your side, peering at you through the curtain of your hair, but all you can think is this is how it happens, this is how you die. Bleeding out in this cold, gray room, the winter light fading on the ruined city outside.

“Breathe,” he says, his voice reaching you from a great depth, so gently it cracks your heart. “Breathe, baby.��

You struggle against the tightness in your chest, the trembling of your limbs, the clench of your gut that threatens to turn you inside out. His hand finds yours at the edge of the mattress, but you barely feel it.

When it’s clear you’re coming back–back to your room in Jackson, back to yourself, back to him–he leaves and returns with a glass of water, encouraging you to sit up and drink.

“Better?”

You nod weakly, handing back the glass, and pulling your knees to your chest. He doesn’t attempt to touch you. At some point during the panic attack he’d wrapped you in a blanket, covering your nudity, and the simple kindness of this gesture floods you with gratitude and shame.

“Wanna talk about it?”

You shake your head tightly, unable to give voice to these feelings even if you want to. When you finally speak, your voice comes out in a hoarse whisper.

“Can you stay?”

He glances at the clock, and you remember that he has someone else to take care of, somewhere else to be. It’s getting dark, Ellie will be waiting.

“Yeah,” he says. “I can stay for a bit. Be right back.”

You hear him talking softly on the walkie in the hall, telling Tommy to go check on Ellie and that he’ll be home late.

You should call him back and tell him to go home to his kid. You’ve been through these before, and the worst is over. But the light is fading fast, and your body is suddenly wracked with a shudder. Your chest tightens, threatening. You close your eyes hard, focused on your breath.

In. Out. In. Out.

He returns, and you curl on your side under the quilt, facing away, not bothering to peel back the bedclothes. You’re tired and embarrassed and your abdomen aches. You feel the mattress shift when he lays down, curls around you. “This okay?”

You nod, and his arm comes around your waist, gently pulling you against him. You burrow into that feeling; the soft quilt, the warmth of his stomach against your back. The exhaustion is bone-deep, but you’re still wide awake ten minutes later. You think he is, too, the way his fingers are absently playing in your hair. You close your eyes and let the words flow.

“I was pregnant. Before.”

He shifts at this. His arm tightens around you slightly, as if to hold you steady, giving you something to grab onto.

“I…cheated…on my girlfriend. This guy…he was an old friend, but it wasn’t like that. We had too much to drink, things went too far, I…never told her. But then…”

You stop, momentarily unable to form the words. 

“Then,” he breathes the word into the back of your neck. Then.

The quiet is deafening. There is Then and there is Now , and you’re caught somewhere between, in a state of permanent loss.

“We were working a double shift when it…happened. This guy comes out of nowhere and attacks her and then, she’s…she was…was…”

You can’t speak around the lump in your throat. You wipe at your eyes, surprised to find fresh tears.

“I loved her,” you whisper. “I loved her but we never said it, we were so young, we had…our jobs and…it just wasn’t…but I was a shitty person, such a fucking slut –”

“Don’t,” he cuts you off gently. “Don’t do that.”

“I knew I couldn’t have the baby,” you continue after a while. “But they wouldn’t…FEDRA doesn’t…”

“I know,” he says. “I remember.”

Right.

You take a deep, watery breath. “I was fifteen weeks along, it was risky, but I didn’t…didn’t know what else to do. I had a…friend, she was a nurse. I asked her to help me. We did it in my dorm room.”

His hand finds yours under the quilt and grips it.

“It went bad,” you say softly. “I thought I was going to die. I think…maybe part of me did that day.”

“You wanted kids?”

You snort. “No. I don’t…I don’t think so. But it was the…I wanted…the option. I wanted the choice.”

He hums into your neck, pressing a kiss there. Something about getting the words into the open makes you feel lighter, helps the constriction in your chest loosen.

After several minutes, his even breathing at your back tells you Joel is still listening. Taking a shaky breath, you risk turning this newfound peace upside down.

“Ellie said…you had a daughter once.”

He tenses behind you, but his voice is soft. “She told you that? Why?”

You shrug. “What was her name?”

A long pause, so long you’re not sure if he’ll respond, but eventually, he does.

“Her name was Sarah,” he says, the words spoken like a vow, like an incantation to something sacred.

“Sarah,” you whisper, the name rolling heavy off your tongue. He makes a rumbling sound of acknowledgment in his chest.

“Y’said you had a girlfriend? What was her name?”

Oh , you think, oh oh , and it hurts somewhere deep and raw and tender. You haven’t spoken it aloud in years.

“It was Jo. Joanna.”

“Mmm.”

He doesn’t say she would forgive you. He doesn’t say you would have made a good mother. He doesn’t treat you like a broken thing to be fixed. He just holds you until your body feels like a safe place again, because that’s all he can offer…and for now, it’s enough.

~*~

You pretend to be asleep when Joel takes his leave, pressing a too-gentle kiss to your forehead before he does so. When you hear the front door latch shut, you slip into your robe and pad downstairs. You can’t stay in bed without thinking of him, without remembering his hands on your body, and it’s too intimate, too real.

You’ve crossed a boundary, you see that now. You had a full-on panic attack and spilled your guts and he told you his dead daughter’s name.

You asked him to fucking stay .

You’re sending messages in the dark of night over the airwaves, knowing someday you’ll have to turn and betray him and everyone he loves. Shame is a dark shape taking root in your core, spreading like a fungus, keeling you over with its weight.

You ball yourself up on the couch, cheek pressed to the scratchy fabric, and for the second time that night, you try to remember how to breathe.

[scary-grace]

Love Like Ghosts (Chapter 15) -- a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

You knew the empty house in a quiet neighborhood was too good to be true, but you were so desperate to get out of your tiny apartment that you didn't care, and now you find yourself sharing space with something inhuman and immensely powerful. As you struggle to coexist with a ghost whose intentions you're unsure of, you find yourself drawn unwillingly into the upside-down world of spirits and conjurers, and becoming part of a neighborhood whose existence depends on your house staying exactly as it is, forever. But ghosts can change, just like people can. And as your feelings and your ghost's become more complex and intertwined, everything else begins to crumble. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21

Chapter 15

There’s something wrong with your house, but you knew that when you bought it. Right now the thing that’s wrong with your house isn’t the ghost who haunts it, but the fact that said ghost is on day five of an extended sulk. With every day closer to your departure, Tomura’s gotten mopier, and no matter how many times you explain to him that you’ll only be gone for two days, it doesn’t seem to stick.

It’s Friday morning, and you’re leaving directly after work, which means you have to say goodbye to Tomura this morning. He’s not making it easy. “Someone else can go. Aizawa can go,” he complains. “I don’t see why you have to.”

“I’m the one who started looking into this. And Aizawa has kids to look after.” You finish packing your bag and zip it up. “Are you sure you’re okay to watch Phantom? Spinner said he would –”

“I know to feed her and play with her and let her out. I’m way better at taking care of our dog than Spinner.” Tomura is scowling worse than before, and you feel slightly guilty. You like hearing Tomura say that Phantom is both of yours, but that’s not a good enough reason to wind him up. “Why do you have to stay away that long?”

“It’s going to take me six hours to get there. I won’t be there until midnight tonight. I’ll take all of Saturday and some of the next day going over the documents, and I’ll be back late on Sunday.” You pick up your bag and start down the stairs. “I don’t like being away, either. I like it here.”

“Then don’t leave.”

“I have to.” You set your bag down by the front door, then crouch down to say goodbye to Phantom. You haven’t left her alone for this long in a while, and you’re going to miss her. If it wasn’t for Tomura, there’s no way you’d take this trip.

Tomura didn’t follow you down the stairs, and you hear his voice echo through a house that already feels a little too empty. “I won’t have anybody to talk to.”

You thought about that, too. You thought about it and decided that not talking to Tomura for two days wasn’t something you were prepared to tolerate. “Can you come down here? I’ve got something for you.”

Tomura’s footsteps are slow, almost reluctant, as he makes his way down the stairs. “What is it?” he asks. You don’t answer – you’re too busy searching through your hall closet for a bag you stashed there months ago. “If you want me to kiss you before you leave, just say that. Don’t act weird and –”

He stops talking when he sees the bag you’re holding out. “It’s a present,” you say. “Sort of. Open it.”

Tomura’s not very good at opening presents. He shreds the bag, followed by the box, and a charger cable and a pair of headphones fall out and clatter to the floor. He avoids dropping the main event, if nothing else – the smartphone remains in the palm of his hand, and he stares at it suspiciously. “This is for me?”

“We can set it up really quick right now.” If you were smart, you’d have done this last night, but last night you were busy – not with sex, which would have at least been fun, but with trying to snap Tomura out of his over-the-top bad mood. You beckon him closer and he hovers over your shoulder as you start the process. “See, this is your profile. What do you want to set your name as?”

“My name.” Tomura watches as you set it. “Now what?”

You adjust his phone so it’ll always be on battery saver, hook it up to the WiFi so he won’t burn through all your data, and mute all his alert sounds. “Now we’re going to get you some contacts. People you can call or text if you need to.”

You probably spent a lot more time than necessary thinking about whose numbers you should give to Tomura. You ruled out Dabi’s and Hizashi’s instantly – the last thing you want to do is give Tomura the ability to start fights with either of them whenever he wants. Giving Tomura Keigo’s number is risky, but you’re pretty sure Dabi doesn’t know Keigo’s passcode. Tomura gets Aizawa’s number, and Spinner’s, and Jin and Jin’s mom. Jin’s mom, after pleading from Himiko and significant hesitation, agreed to let you add Himiko’s number to Tomura’s phone. You add the other ghosts, too, even though Tomura doesn’t really need a phone to talk to any of them. Last of all, you add Mr. Yagi.

Tomura doesn’t like that. “I don’t want him on my phone. Get rid of him.”

“You don’t ever have to call him,” you say. “It’s just in case.”

“In case what?”

You don’t really know. Tomura makes an irritated noise. “I want Izuku’s number.”

“You can’t have Izuku’s number. Even I don’t have it.” You wouldn’t want it, honestly. Giving Izuku unlimited opportunities to text you or Tomura feels like a stunningly bad idea. “Okay, that’s everybody. Only text them if it’s important, not to start fights. I don’t want to have to fix the fence again.”

“I know,” Tomura says, annoyed. He studies his phone, then looks up at you. “Where are you? Are you in here?”

“I’ve been texting you all the contacts.” You tap your number. “This one is me. You can name me something if you want.”

You show him how to edit the contact, then watch with a little too much interest as he selects a name. He hesitates for a long time, then looks at you. “What am I in your phone?”

“Um –” You added him as a contact already. You hold out the phone for him to examine, and he studies it like he’s reading a textbook. “It’s just your name. Tomura. See? I thought about adding the ghost emoji, but that would have been silly. I can add it if you want.”

Tomura shakes his head, then sets your phone aside and types your name into his as your contact. Which is fine. Except then he adds a display name – My Human. “Hey,” you complain. “Don’t do that. I used your name.”

He smirks. Part of you wants to change his display name to something like “my asshole ghost” to return fire, but before you can say anything, Keigo honks his car horn and hollers from outside. “Hey, if we’re going, we need to go now!”

“We’re going!” you shout back. You pick up your bag and your work backpack and race out to his car. You’re about to get in when you realize you haven’t said goodbye to Tomura yet. And that you’re missing your phone. “Shit –”

“I have your stupid phone.” Tomura’s on the other side of the fence. You reach for it, but he holds it just out of range. “I want a kiss first.”

“I was going to kiss you anyway,” you say. You lean across the property line, grasp his shoulder to pull him closer, and kiss him goodbye. You don’t stop until Keigo honks the horn again.

You’ve been in relationships before, but none of your exes ever insisted on a goodbye kiss when you had to leave for more than a day, let alone a goodbye kiss in full view of the entire neighborhood. You’re a little giddy on the drive to work, and Keigo, to his credit, doesn’t rib you too much about it. “He knows you’re not going off to war, right?”

“He knows.” You slouch down in the passenger seat. “He’s been moping all week. Did Touya do that?”

“When I was gone for too long, Touya broke out of the house,” Keigo says. Your jaw drops. “He and a bunch of other ghosts haunted this old-style family compound, and each of them was confined to a specific area. He broke out of his and into somebody else’s. You can guess how that went. So that ghost broke out of their assigned haunt, and then –”

You remember what Keigo said about ghost fights. “How many ghosts were there, total?”

“Six.” Keigo winces. “I moved pretty fast after that.”

Dabi sounds like he was a lot to deal with even back when he was Touya. A terrible thought occurs to you. “You don’t think Tomura would –”

“You told him where you were going,” Keigo points out. “And you got him a phone so he can talk to you. When it was me I just dipped for a day or two. I had no idea Touya was going to take it like that.”

“So that was kind of early on for you guys?”

“I guess.” Keigo sighs. You’re at a stoplight, and he hits his head lightly against the steering wheel. “Anyway, that one was on me. If he’d been a normal roommate I would have told him where I was going. So I think you’re probably fine. But we’ll let you know if anything weird starts happening.”

You’re hoping it won’t. You change the subject. “Thanks for giving me a ride. Parking in the station lot for two days was going to be expensive.”

“No problem. I was headed this way anyway,” Keigo says. “It’s better that you’re taking the train than driving. Less expensive.”

“It’s harder to track, too,” you say. “I don’t think anybody’s watching, but – still. Better safe than sorry.”

“Definitely,” Keigo agrees. He merges onto the highway and floors it to a speed he swears the cops don’t pull people over for. “Nobody wants a repeat of last time.”

You’re hoping to avoid it. That’s what this trip is about. When you shared the idea with Mr. Yagi and Aizawa, they both approved, although they both suggested that they should go instead of you. You held your ground. Even fifteen years after his embodiment, Mr. Yagi has a reputation among ghosts, and Aizawa’s carrying around Hizashi’s marks with no conjurer-forged bracelets to conceal them. Besides, you’re the one who found the asylum, who found Shigaraki Yoichi. Since there’s basically nothing else you can do to help, you want to see this through.

But that doesn’t mean you’re looking forward to the trip. In fact, your dread of it increases throughout the day, until you’re dragging your feet along with your suitcase as you walk to the train. Some part of you knows the dread is irrational, but it’s hard to shake, and it’s got nothing at all to do with conjurers, asylums, or ghosts. The city nearest to the asylum is the one your parents moved to, after you went to college and they sold the house you grew up in. And you and your parents have an agreement to check in whenever you’re in the same city as they are. When you texted them to tell them you’d be there for the weekend, they told you to cancel your hotel reservation and invited you to stay with them.

It’s been over two years since you last saw them. Last time it was awkward, and it was awkward the time before that, too. Your parents’ ambitions for you included a college degree and financial independence, and once you hit those milestones, it was clear at least to you that they have no idea what to make of you. But turning down their offer of a place to stay would have made things worse, and besides, hotel rooms are expensive. Saving money is worth an awkward weekend at your parents’ new home. You’ve never been there before.

You doze on and off on the train, waking up at every stop and checking your phone. Tomura hasn’t texted you, but then again, why would he? He existed in the house alone long before you were even born. Maybe he’s figuring out that he likes the peace and quiet, too.

The thought doesn’t sit well with you, and you’re crabby for the rest of the ride, although you do your best to shake it off once you arrive. The meeting with your parents will be difficult enough without you being irritated at the ghost in your house at the same time. It’s just past eleven-thirty as you make the short walk to your parents’ house from the station, your stomach growling the entire way. You’ll have to order in from somewhere once you’re settled for the night.

Their house is in a small new development, multiple homes clustered around a large central courtyard. You step through the gate and make your way across it to your parents’ front door. You check your phone one last time, ordering yourself not to be disappointed when you see that Tomura hasn’t reached out. Then you raise one hand and press the doorbell.

The door swings open almost immediately, and your father smiles at you in a way that gives you pause. He reaches out and lifts your suitcase out of your hand, then pulls you into the house and into a hug shortly afterward. For lack of anything better to do, you hug him back.

He’s smaller than you remember. More frail, and there’s more grey in his hair. How old are your parents now? Pushing seventy – they had you late, and you’ve always had the impression that you were sort of an accident. “It’s been too long,” your father says to you. He waits while you take off your shoes, then beckons you further down the hall. “Come along. We held back dinner so we could eat together.”

That doesn’t sound right. You rarely ate with both parents at once when you were a kid; family mealtimes were no one’s priority, and you ate with whichever parent was in the house at dinnertime, or you ate alone. “Why?”

Your father gives you an odd look. “It’s been too long,” he says again, as if the distance is all your fault, as if they couldn’t have reached out just as easily. “And it seems you’ll be very busy this weekend. This might be the only time we can catch up.”

“I have a lot to do,” you admit. Your father sets your suitcase down just inside the door of a room and continues down the hall. You can smell food cooking. “Thank you for waiting for me.”

Your mother is busy in the kitchen, but when you go to help her, she waves you off, under instructions to wash your hands and get settled. “I’m making your favorite,” she tells you, and smiles. But then you see the smile waver. “Is it still your favorite?”

“I make it all the time,” you say. “It never tastes quite like yours.”

Tomura’s observed you working on the recipe more than once, and he always makes fun of you for changing it each time. No matter what you change, you can’t make it taste right, but maybe – “If you won’t let me help, can I stay and watch?”

“Of course,” your mother says. “It’s been too long.”

You wish they’d both stop saying that. If they wanted you to talk to them more now, they should have talked to you when you were a kid. Hizashi’s words pop into your head, like they do every so often: Mommy and Daddy didn’t love you enough. Maybe they didn’t. Or maybe they just didn’t know what to do with a kid once they had one.

Your phone makes the sad chiming sound that tells you it’s running low on battery, and you dig up your charger and plug it in, leaving it balanced on the corner of the kitchen counter as you watch your mom cook. Watching her, it’s easy to see where you went wrong in the recipe, or where you went wrong by following the recipe – there are spices your mom uses that are nowhere to be found on the ingredient list. You didn’t watch her cook very often as a kid. Maybe you should have asked if you could help.

The three of you sit down to dinner, and it’s beyond weird. The family dinners you remember were full of silence, but it’s been over two years since you last saw your parents, which means there’s a lot to talk about. You’re not sure how to talk about your life now, so you ask your parents about theirs, and hear that your dad’s retired but your mom is working part-time teaching English at a local middle school. They like their neighbors a lot. In fact, they want you to meet their neighbors tomorrow night. Apparently the neighbors have been asking about you.

“We told them a little, but you’re so busy that we haven’t talked in a while,” your mom says. Now you get why they invited you to stay here. Not knowing what your only child is up to looks pretty bad. “How have things been for you? Are you still working in the public defenders’ office?”

“What about law school?” Your dad takes a sip of his drink. Sometime in the last three years, your parents got sort of into fancy wine. “Are you still planning to go back?”

“Yeah. Money’s still an issue. I had a hard time saving with how high my rent was.” You try your own wine, but you don’t know enough about wine to know if it’s any good. “I bought a house, though. So I guess that’s new.”

It’s quiet for a bit. When you look up from your plate, you find your parents staring at you with their jaws dropped. “You bought a house?” your mother repeats. “You can’t afford law school. How can you afford a house?”

“I didn’t have enough for law school. I had enough for a downpayment,” you say. “My mortgage payments are cheaper than my rent was.”

“That’s hard to imagine. Is it in a good neighborhood?” your dad asks. “If it isn’t – what’s funny?”

Your neighborhood, being good. “There are five other houses besides mine. Three of them have families in them. They’ve been really nice to me, mostly. We all get together sometimes.”

“What for?”

Strategy sessions. Ghost fights on the sidewalk. Conjurer ambushes that end with half the street wrecked and some of you injured. “Just regular stuff. I went to one of the kids’ parties last weekend. I brought Phantom. She was a hit.”

“Who?”

“My dog,” you say. “I’d just gotten her the last time we talked. Don’t you remember?”

“She sent us a picture,” your dad reminds your mom, while you tamp down your frustration. “Is someone looking after her this weekend?”

“Yeah. My –” The stumbling block of how to describe Tomura temporarily breaks your brain. “A friend.”

You covered it well, you think – but you weren’t fast enough. “What kind of friend?” your mother asks, way too interested. “A special friend?”

“God, Mom. No.” You imagine the look on Tomura’s face if he heard someone refer to him as your “special friend” and experience a brief but powerful urge to crawl into a vent and die. “A friend. Really, I could have asked anybody in the neighborhood. They’re all really – nice.”

“A house,” your father muses. “In a good neighborhood. You must have a lot of friends over.”

You can’t tell if he’s needling you or not. He knows you’ve never been the type to have a lot of friends. “It’s kind of a ways out from where everybody else lives. Most people don’t like driving that far.”

“Oh, so that’s how you could afford it.”

You could afford it because it’s so goddamn haunted that nobody else wanted it, and the only reason you kept it is because the ghost who haunts it let you stay. “I don’t mind. I’d rather drive than have roommates and a landlord.”

Your father nods sagely. Your mother’s on a different track. “What about dating? Is there anybody special?”

“No,” you say, lying your ass off. “I’m not seeing anybody.”

Your phone starts ringing on the counter, but you ignore it, and so do your parents. “I don’t want to rush you, but you ought to get a move on, don’t you think?” your mother presses. “You’re going to be twenty-seven soon. If you don’t hurry up, all the good ones will be gone. Don’t you want to settle down?”

“I’m as settled down as I’m going to get,” you say. Your phone starts ringing again, and you ignore it again, even though you’d almost take a telemarketer over this conversation. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

“You’re not disappointing us if that’s what makes you happy,” your dad says, and you’re impressed for about two seconds before he ruins it. “Are you sure that’s what will make you happy? What about –”

“What about kids?” your mother breaks in, looking honestly distressed. “Don’t you want kids? You’d be such a good mom –”

You would possibly be the worst mom on the planet. Your phone starts ringing again. “Are you going to get that?” your dad asks.

You should. Three calls in a row means it’s important, but this line of questioning from your parents is pissing you off, which means you’re not in the mood to do anything you should be doing. “Nope.”

“I’ll get it,” your mom announces. She picks up the phone and gasps. “Who’s Tomura?”

Your stomach drops like you’ve been kicked off a building. “Nobody,” you say. “He’s –”

“I knew you had a special friend!”

“He’s not a special friend!”

Your mom brandishes your phone, triumphant. “Then why is there a heart next to his name?”

He wouldn’t. He – you stare at the screen of your phone, and sure enough, there’s Tomura’s name on the caller ID, complete with an obnoxiously red heart emoji. You’re going to kill him. You seize the phone, accept the call, and press it to your ear. “What?”

Tomura sounds unfathomably sulky when he answers. “You got me the phone so we can talk while you aren’t here. Why didn’t you pick up?”

“I’m having dinner with my parents. It’s rude to pick up the phone at dinner.” You’re conscious of your parents staring at you with identical gleeful looks on their faces. “Just like it’s rude to call somebody three times in a row. What was so important?”

“You didn’t call me all day.”

“You didn’t call me, either,” you point out, trying not to lose your temper. If he had called you, you’d have noticed his little edit to his contact and gotten rid of it. “Is everything okay?”

“It’s fine. Phantom ate and everything.” Tomura’s quiet for a second. “You have parents?”

“Yesh,” you say. Did you tell him that’s who you were staying with? You don’t remember. “I’m staying with them, not at the hotel. They invited me.”

Tomura swears under his breath. You can hear him rustling around, but you’re not sure what he’s doing, and the longer you give your parents to prep for their interrogation, the worse it’s going to be for you. “Can I call you back in a little bit? I do want to talk to you. I just – can’t right now.”

“How long is a little bit?”

“I don’t know,” you say hopelessly. Why does it matter? It’s not like he’s going to fall asleep. “I will, though. I promise. I miss you.”

The words leave your mouth before you can really think them through, but it’s the truth. You do miss Tomura. You miss him extra right now, and you’re not looking forward to falling asleep without his presence lurking somewhere in the room. When you wake up from nightmares of the world between, he and Phantom are the only things that make you feel better. “I miss you, too,” Tomura says. Then he hangs up the phone.

You set it aside, then turn back to face your parents. “So,” your mother says, grinning, “who’s Tomura?”

Your ghost. The reason why you don’t date anymore. The reason why you’re as settled as you’re ever going to be and the reason why your parents aren’t getting grandkids and the reason you’re here at all in the first place. There’s no way to explain him that your parents will understand, so you pick the one thing they will understand, even if it’s sort of wrong. “My boyfriend.”

You stagger off to bed forty-five minutes later, feeling like you’ve been run over by a train. Your mom had lots of questions – about where you met Tomura, how long you’ve been seeing him, what he looks like, what he does for a living – almost all of which you had to lie about. You’re going to have to remember all those lies later, too. Your dad was more concerned about why you’d lie about having a boyfriend, at which point you lost patience a little bit and said that the conversation the three of you just had about it was all the reason you needed. Then your mom said she wanted to meet him, and you decided it was time to start clearing the table.

They have a guest room, which is where you’re staying. You get ready for bed, go inside, and shut the door before checking your phone again. You’ve got messages from Tomura – and from Keigo. You open Keigo’s first and grimace when you see what it says. The lights in your house are going berserk right now. If he’s trying to get ahold of you, you should pick up the phone.

Keigo sent a video, too. In it, the lights inside your house are flickering wildly, and the entire property seems to be surrounded by some kind of weird, wavering forcefield. Great. You check Tomura’s texts next. He wants to know where you are. Why you haven’t called him. Then there are a few texts of him winding himself up over reasons why you haven’t called him, externalizing a thought process you would have kept to yourself if it killed you, before it occurs to him that something might have happened to you. At which point the phone calls started. You dig your headphones out of your backpack, put them on, plug them in, and call Tomura back.

He picks up halfway through the first ring, and you start talking first. “I shouldn’t have gotten mad. I just wasn’t planning to tell my parents about you, and because you called me when you did – and because you put that emoji in your display name – they found out.”

“Why does it matter if they found out?” Tomura asks. “Why don’t you want to tell them about me?”

You almost point out that you said you weren’t planning to, not that you didn’t want to, but Tomura knows what you really meant. He knows you better than you think he does. “You’re hard to explain,” you say. “To people who don’t know about ghosts. It wouldn’t make sense to them.”

“Why not?” Tomura’s climbing the stairs. You can hear them creaking under his feet. “You’re my human. Not the kind of human Spinner and Jin are. The kind Aizawa is.”

“The kind Keigo is,” you correct. Tomura makes an irritated sound. “Aizawa and Hizashi are married.”

“So what? You’re that kind of human. That’s not hard to explain.”

Maybe it isn’t. Maybe you’re making this more complicated than it needs to be. “I told my parents you’re my boyfriend. I hope that’s okay.”

“Boyfriend,” Tomura repeats, like he’s never heard it before – but when he speaks up again, it’s clear he’s got a handle on what it means. “If that’s what you have to call it so people understand, fine. As long as they know you’re my human.”

You could probably play off Tomura calling you his human as a cute nickname or something, but you’d really prefer not to have to do that. “If I tell people you’re my boyfriend, they’ll understand for sure.”

“Good.”

There’s some rustling around on Tomura’s end of the line. “What are you doing?”  you ask. “Where are you?”

There’s a prolonged silence, which means Tomura’s somewhere he thinks he’s not supposed to be. There aren’t many options left these days. “You’re on the bed, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. So what?” More rustling. “It’s weird that you’re not here. I hate it.”

“I don’t like it, either,” you admit. When you close your eyes, it’s easy to picture Tomura stretched out on your side of the bed, taking up the space you usually would, head resting on your pillow. “Maybe there won’t be as much to go through tomorrow as I thought and I can get home tomorrow night instead.”

“The sooner you come back, the better.” Phantom’s collar rattles in the background of the call, and you know she’s jumped up on the bed with Tomura. “Spinner came over. He said I needed a game that wasn’t Rainbow Fish, so he gave me one and taught me how to play it. It’s – Pokémon?”

“He gave you something to play it on, too, right?” You need to thank Spinner. “What do you think of it?”

“It’s okay. The music is weird.” Tomura’s voice fades for a second, and you can hear Phantom slobbering into the microphone. “It was more fun before he left. I don’t like playing games alone.”

“You can ask him back over. I bet he wouldn’t mind,” you say. “Which starter did you pick? Fire, water, or grass?”

“Fire,” Tomura says. You could have guessed that. “My rival had water, though. I should have picked grass.”

“If you picked grass, your rival would have picked fire.”

“So they always pick the one that can beat yours?” Tomura sounds honestly pissed at the unfairness, and it makes you smile. “That’s stupid.”

“It would be boring if it was too easy,” you say. Tomura complains under his breath. “And they can’t beat you if you build a good team. I used to play that a lot as a kid. I can help if you want.”

“I don’t need help,” Tomura says. “You can watch if you want.”

“That sounds nice.” You imagine sitting next to Tomura with your head on his shoulder, letting the goofy Pokémon music lull you into a doze. It’s a weirdly relaxing image. You find yourself swallowing a yawn. “Sorry –”

“Go to sleep. If you don’t you’ll be slow, and then you’ll have to stay the extra day.” Tomura sounds annoyed, but he sounds annoyed any time you have to end an interaction before he wants it to end, so you’re used to it. What you’re not used to is what he says next. “If you have one of your nightmares, don’t just lay there doing that weird shivering thing. Call me.”

You lie there for a moment, stunned. You’ve never mentioned the nightmares to him. You never breathed a word. “How did you know?”

“I know what sounds you make in your sleep. When you’re having a nightmare they’re wrong.” Tomura’s quiet for a moment. “Don’t just lay there. Call.”

Your throat feels tight. “Okay.”

Tomura hangs up. You pull your headphones out of your ears, set your phone down on the nightstand, and squeeze your eyes shut. You don’t need to cry. There’s no reason why your eyes should well up.

You’re in your parents’ house. It’s a new house, but it feels the same as the old house. Even though your parents listen now. Even though they care about what’s going on in your life – for their own reasons, sure, but they care – your family is still the same way it’s always been. Quiet. Distant. Sterile. Your parents have seemed happier the last few times you’ve seen them. You’ve never admitted it out loud, to anyone, but you think they’ve been happier since you moved out, because you moved out. And that was okay with you. The last time you went back to visit, it was fine.

It’s not fine anymore – not because they’re different, but because you are. You remember Tomura saying once that he didn’t care about being alone before, but he does now. You didn’t let yourself care about the way your family was before, but you can’t stop yourself from caring now, because now you know how it feels to actually belong somewhere. You belong at your house. You’re wanted at your house. You make someone happy by being there. Somebody misses you when you’re gone, tells you to hurry back, tells you to call if you’ve had a nightmare. There’s probably something fucked up about the fact that the only person you’ve ever felt at home with isn’t even human. But you know what it means to feel at home now. Being away from that is hard. Harder than you want to handle.

You scramble for your phone, and it starts ringing in your hand. Tomura’s contact, with its stupid heart. You jam your headphones into your ears and accept the call, and for a moment you and Tomura are just talking over each other. The gist of it is pretty clear, though. You were about to call him, just when he decided to call you. “Um –”

“Stay on the phone while you’re sleeping. That way I’ll hear. And I can wake you up.”

Your heart lifts even though it shouldn’t. “How are you going to wake me up?”

You picture Tomura shrugging. “I’ll just yell.”

“Don’t yell.” The only thing that would be worse than having one of your nightmares is waking up from one to the sound of Tomura hollering in your ear. “If you hear me start to have one, hang up the phone and call me back. I’ll hear it ringing and it’ll wake me up.”

“Yelling is faster.”

“And it’s scarier,” you say. “You’d know if you slept.”

“Ghosts can’t.” Tomura’s quiet for a moment. “I wish we could.”

That strikes you as weird. It strikes you as weird any time Tomura talks about wanting to do one of the few human things materialized ghosts can’t do. “Why?”

Tomura doesn’t answer. “Fine. I won’t yell. Go to sleep.”

“Tomura –”

“Go to sleep,” Tomura says again. If you try to talk anymore, he’ll just ignore you. You hear Phantom snoring in the background and tell yourself that it’s time to sleep. You shut your eyes.

Somehow knowing that Tomura’s there on the other end of the line, knowing that he’ll wake you up if you start having one of your nightmares of the world between, helps you fall asleep. You think you hear Tomura whisper something as you drift off, but there’s no way you heard him right. It has to be a dream. At least it’s a better dream than the ones you’ve been having lately.

[simon-x-billy]

Simon x Billy

Chapter 11: What is my hand doing?

[Gif not mine]

Prompt: Secret relationship reveal

Masterlist || ao3 || start || prev || next wip!

RECAP: When last we left our lovers, Simon was still stuck in Brooklyn for career purposes, but at least he got to tell his besties that he is A. on a panel at Comic Con for reasons; B. moving to Italy; and C. talking to someone there. That would be Billy, but the besties think it’s Billie — so that’s fun. Billy, on the other hand, has not been told about Simon’s decision to move. But at least he finally has been told when Simon is coming back to see him — in two days. Today is not that day. Tomorrow is. Until then, the pair are inventively and intuitively making use of technology to come together again. But before we can get to that, the plot thickens/deepens/moves forward. TW: Phone sex written by someone who has never had it. If this is a hideously awful embarrassment to phone sex-havers everywhere, please leave a comment, DM, whatever. Why should they have bad phone sex when they can have better phone sex? Seriously, I ask you.

Chapter 11: What is my hand doing?

———/Simon/———

Ugh, Brooklyn. (Blasphemer! I’m calling myself out and I am a-shamed.) But it's true. Brooklyn is ugh to me right now. At least the wait is almost over. Kelly finally arranged to have me sent back to Italy tomorrow night. Like a- Well, like whatever kinds of objects get sent back to Italy.

Wait.

I rewind that thought back to where I said ‘tomorrow night,’ and this time think it with a bullhorn. TOMORROW NIGHT! Hallefrickinlujah.

The fear is that she’s probably made all the arrangements necessary to have me air dropped from a moving helicopter to get back at me for announcing I’m abandoning Brooklyn. She is truly angry at me. It became particularly apparent when I asked for help with the real estate stuff. That might have been exactly the wrong thing to ask for her help with. This will require a fitting gesture of my undying admiration, and my amazement at her next level ability to put up with me. She levels up every time I breathe in her general direction.

I’m calling Billy without even realizing it.

“Hey, man,” Billy answers. “Howeyeh?” I can hear him smiling.

“Do you have plans tonight?” I ask. “Beyond sleeping, I mean.”

“Just sleepin,” Billy replies with curiosity. I can hear him yawn at the other end and it feels endearing in my stomach. Which is weird, but pleasant. “What did you have in mind?” I can hear his smile change to a sly smirk all the way from Italy.

“I want to fall asleep listening to you fall asleep,” I admit, and immediately die of cringe. Hello, creeper. It’s too late, and I can’t take it back.

“Now, see, yeh can’t just go round sayin beautiful stuff of that sort. It’s unfair, that’s what it is. Say it again.”

“I want us to fall asleep together,” I repeat. “Even if we can’t exactly be together when we do it.”

Billy makes a noncommittal sound. “Time difference is a heartless bitch, Simon. How early can yeh manage fallin asleep?”

“Well,” I pause in frustration cuz I hadn’t thought about that at all in my internal fantasy of hearing him sleep. (Creepy? Romantic? Romantically creepy? Don’t know, don’t care.)

I offer an alternative. “Wake up just for me, then go back to sleep?”

Billy snorts right about the time I realize that that’s actually kind of a tall ask. And again, possibly creepy. Or romantically creepy. “Am I creepy? Or romantically creepy?”

“It’s more romantically presumptuous, really. But I’m setting my alarm, nonetheless. Now let me alone so I can finish prepping the zeppole. Hot pillows of sweetness sent by the Lord himself.”

“Like my own hot pillows of sweetness?” I giggle. I’m giggling.

“Er,” Billy begins. After a moment’s consideration, he clears his throat. “You bake?”

———/Billy/———

“Will yeh be wantin a tour guide and a driver for Pompeii, then?” I ask the pair before me, tryin not to yawn into the late afternoon sun as I count out the change for their beach chair rental. No less than 70, if they’re a day.

“Why? You think we can’t find our way ourselves without them? We’re more than capable, young man,” says the missus. I can see she’s just windin up for a tongue lashing. Grumpy in the mornings, could be.

Grumpy.

I head her off at the pass, picking up the beach bar’s ancient phone with a finger poised to dial. “Not in the least, not in the least. But I guarantee you’ll get more out of it with a guide to show you all the secret corners, peek inside the archaeologists’ tents, tell yeh the local lore and the wisdom of the ages.”

She relaxes. Guaranteed it was the ‘wisdom of the ages’ bit what did it.

“Ah, go on. Let me call the front desk. They’ll arrange for everything.”

“I can arrange for everything my-” she begins, pugnacious as ever.

“Martha,” the man says softly with his hand on his wife’s back. “Let the boy do his job.”

Bright eyes, big smile, Delaney. Simon would be proud of my Guest Services face, and then demand I’m lying about never attending theatre school. I hmmm inaudibly to myself.

Shocked am I, the whole thing is managed entire without another objection, and the mulish Martha and her man are sat there happily installed on their beach loungers.

Oh, Lord. Here comes trouble. “It’s to be that sort of day, is it?” I grumble.

At the very least, I have fair warnin as I can hear the trouble comin. The soft tinkle of bells at her toes announces her arrival. “Well if it isn’t the lovely and mysterious Sabina. Docked the barge, have yeh.” Land ho.

“It’s Billy, isn’t it.” Not a question. Lovely.

“More a ‘he’ than an ‘it.’” Get your pronouns right, miss.

She doesn’t deign to acknowledge my comment. I’m to be ‘it,’ then. Is she offensive on purpose, or does it just come naturally? Perhaps she’s simply gifted that way.

“To what do I owe the honor, my dear?”

“Instructions,” she says with a coolness that verges on frostbite. “For a party next Saturday night. You will come out to the boat as my guest,” she informs me, and tips her head to the side as she gauges my reaction.

Is she- I mean, she wouldn’t be- askin me out? Never.

“Bring Simon as your +1.”

“He’s the +1?”

“You be the +1 if you like that position better.” Her monstrously oversized sun hat casts shadows across her tip to toe, straw letting through tiny, bright dots of light that shift as she shifts. Just as the day I made her cheerful acquaintance.

Has it really only been two weeks? Really? That can’t be right.

“Greta will text Kelly the details, technicalities, all that,” she informs me. Kelly is Simon’s PA, so I’m assumin Greta’s her own.

“Kelly? You know Kelly.”

“Of course. She’s Kelly. People know this about her.” She waves away the question as if it’s both beneath her and boring.

“Sabina, has anyone ever described you as a piece of work? I’m meaning a work of art, acourse.”

She lowers her sunglasses and without cracking the slightest smile, winks at me. Well fuck me sideways.

“How did you know?” I ask, takin my opportunity where I find it. “It’s been botherin me ever since your show. You well knew the party was at a pan club. Why us? Tellin the two of us to come. What did you see in Simon and me that told you somethin would happen?”

Ignoring my question, she floats onto a barstool and flips her curtain of glossy, black hair behind one tanned shoulder.

I put back on my Guest Services face. “Something to drink? Might enjoy an espresso, biscotti,” I offer.

“No. I will not eat,” she informs me.

“Then what can I do for yeh, my dear?”

“Come next weekend. Another birthday party. They happen every year,” she says, lackadaisically. “The house. The boat. You know how it is.”

“Do I?”

“Maybe you don’t.”

She never answered my question, and I’m of a mind to persist. “We’ll consider it, if yeh answer me. Why did you tell us about your show in Naples? What did you see in the pair of us? How could you have known, when even we didn’t?”

“Billy.” She places her hand over mine. I use wiping down the bar as a reason to casually free it again. Watching my reaction over her absurdly large sunglasses, she gloats almost imperceptibly. “Make me a bellini.”

Sabina taps her fingernails on the bar top and takes the opportunity to study me as I pull out the peach purée. I add the sparkling prosecco and place the drink in front of her, giving her an arched eye caterpillar.

She tips her head toward me and says, “All right. I’ll tell you. Simon, you know he’s from New York.”

I nod.

“We know the same people,” she says as if that explains anything.

“And?”

“And from the cafe I saw Simon Lewis sitting in my marina.”

“Your marina?”

She bats the question away. “Of all the times Simon and I have wound up at the same parties, I’ve never seen him look at anyone else the way he looked at you.”

Fuck me.

She continues, “He wanted me to go away, deeply. Who could make Simon want such a thing? So I thought I’d have a little experiment. Nothing outrageous.” She smirks. “You couldn’t take your eyes off him. But he practically pissed a circle around you.”

“Not at all. He spent the whole time dealin with you, my darlin. And if anything, it was me as was sat there doin the pissing. I didn’t much care for the way you spoke to him.”

She laughs low. “Your expression gave you away, you know. The kiss was a test; a simple one.”

“Then what if we hadn’t been, I don’t know, swept up in the whole thing that night?” I challenge her. “What would have happened then?”

“Does it matter? Were you? Swept away? The right music at the right moment can make anything happen.” She dismounts with the tinkling of tiny bells, bellini untouched.

Before she reaches the hotel elevator, Sabina calls back over her shoulder, “Oh and Billy. Dress for Capri.”

Ah. Understood. I take a deep breath. “I’ll do the best I can.”

She nods, and departs without a word.

“Lovely to see you, too,” I mutter.

———/-/———

It’s Wednesday? I thought yesterday was Wednesday. Fuck me, an extra day. Life drags on at a snail’s pace.

Opening photos, I realize Simon’s face was the last shot I took that wasn’t of my genitals. It’s of him in the tunnel, moments before we entered the club. All bold, confident, and full of excitement, with not a clue of the direction the night would take.

When I look at him, I’ve no idea who I am anymore. I’ve never really been that certain to begin with, in all honesty.

For a man without a rudder, I’ve never needed to know who I am. Just all the whos I’m not. Not a father, not a son, not a brother, not a bother.

Alfie tells me I’m the best of friends. Cheers, mate. Nice to hear, but I’m not sure I believe it overmuch. Not when I’ve never stuck round long enough to be a good friend to anyone.

I’m a nomad. And I hate it.

I’ve only just realized that I hate it. Before Italy, before this glorious place, I’d have described my life as Freedom. Carefree, exciting, mind-broadening, instructive, adventuresome, even a right good time. But as I feel all these words strung together in my mind, I realize they’re all empty and meaningless, when it’s clear I’m the one who’s strung together. Like stringing lights about a Christmas tree. Invariably there are big holes crying out to be filled. Gaps with nothin big enough to fill them. That’s me — gaps big enough for a man to fall through. Never to be heard from again.

For certain, not a sole Delaney has ever noticed I’ve gone. Isn’t that just grand. All the times I’ve lived under one roof or another, time done for what? Some stories told over a pint at Christmas. And not the funny kind.

“Remember that cousin Billy?”

“Oh sure’n let me see now. He was the one as had the curly hair, yeah? Nice fella.”

Or the older generation? They might say, “Oh that Billy, he always was such a helpful young man to have round the house when somethin needed seein to. So helpful. Can’t remember the sound of his voice or the colour of his eyes, but he sure was helpful. Cryin shame we never had a good place to put him when it was our turn.” Sure’n that’s what they’d say.

Oh, shit. Must remember to ring Shazza and wish her a happy birthday.

———/-/———

“Vittorio, buongiorno,” I say as I enter his office.

Rosalina has just been to fetch me from the kitchen, where I’d been losing myself in the mundanity of prep work.

Problem is, I’ve also been gettin lost in too many mental images from the weekend. Just couldn’t clear my head. All good, so good.

It was all so good until Simon’s phone lit up like a christmas tree, and everything hit a wall. Just bam! Face first. A wall. (Shaped like a woman named Kelly, presumably somewhere in New York.)

It’s his career, Delaney. Quit thinkin what yer thinkin. It’s just God punching us in the nads with fate, as Simon would surely say.

Thing is, I do feel as though I’ve been punched in the testicles. I do. And I’m not sure what’s makin me feel worse — the testicles or the fact that we said goodbye immediately after my life was rocked on its foundations.

Am I bi? Never figured I was before. Does that mean I’m not? I love makin love to a woman. So, not gay per se. But not entirely straight, neither. How could I be?

So, bi?

Bein bi would explain Simon’s sudden appearance on the short list of people who’ve ever made me come that hard. Does that make me bi?

“Beelee!” The hearty voice of Vittorio greeting me snaps me out of yet another reverie. With that big-loving smile, kisses to the cheeks, an arm round the shoulder, he makes me feel welcome, and he knows how to make me feel useful. Helpful. Good at what I do. And like I contribute to this little family he’s built in his kitchen.

My smile stretches wide. Not just because I feel like smilin, but more because he deserves all the smiles. “Vittorio, you are a gentleman and a scholar.”

He laughs with a boom. “Si, certo!” Yes, obviously.

“Certo,” I agree, and indeed it is obvious. He’s wise, and kind. I hate getting attached. But I’ll hate saying goodbye to Vittorio. Ah, fuck. I’m attached. It’s too late.

“Come, Beelee. You will sit with me,” he says, opening the doors out to his private garden patio, and motioning me past. He picks up a sweating pitcher of the homemade lemonade they call limonata, made and bottled here in one of the orchard’s outbuildings. If sunlight had a taste it would be Vittorio’s limonata.

“Beelee,” he begins, once we’ve settled in. He looks out at the view and sighs. “The year you are with us is coming near to end,” he says with the most marvelous Northern Italian accent. “You are considering this with much thought, yes?” He leans back comfortably and sips his limonata in a motion he’s likely developed over decades in that chair with this view. Quite a place to talk business and no mistake.

His words finally penetrate my addled brain. “Have I thought of movin on?”

“Si,” he nods.

Movin on.

No, I have not been considering with much thought. But maybe I should. He’s right. It’s only a couple months off, innit. I’ve barely kept an eye on the goings-on in the culinary world since I arrived in Sorrento. And that is curious.

It’s curious, as every other country I’ve been I've always seen as a gig. Workin to live, yes acourse, but livin to expand my ability, my craft, my creativity, along those veins. Finding the joy in learning the tempo of life in each place. I have loved almost all of my gigs, and enjoyed the environs as much as time allowed. And yet I’m always counting down the days, weeks, and months, months, weeks, and days, well before the end for each city. Until now.

I love Vittorio. Adore him. Both as a mentor and as a man. He is a good man. Solid. Steady. Fiercely loyal and protective of the hotel family he’s built. He may have been born in the North well away from the water, but after all this time he has come to be a man of the South. Its cliffs, the sea, the vertical living with stairs to get anywhere. This is his home. Yes, he was born in Siena, but he chose to live his life in Sorrento. He chose this place to plant his roots, and settled in to live his best life.

I long to live that dream somethin awful. Some sort of permanence in this temporary life of mine. A life I could build, myself. A place of choice. A family of choice. Finding my tribe. And holding on to them. Holdin on for as long as I’m allowed to keep ‘em.

Vittorio looks at me with those intuitive eyes of his. “Qua cosa? What thing is so bad to make your face is falling?” He pretends his face has fallen to his lap to illustrate. “You are having sadness?”

“I haven’t thought much about leaving, to be honest,” I admit.

“You fall in love with Italia, I think. In you I see this, each day a little more, a little more. I am thinking the thoughts that you I should send to Firenze. You learn to cook in the North. It is, come se dice, how you say, molto bene very good y diferente with the Campania kitchens of us here.”

“Si, si, I’d like to learn the northern cuisine.” I can barely get my mouth to shape my next words. “Before I leave Italy.”

“Si. O posso Venezia. Pero non sera ristauranti che va bene.”

I laugh at such a sweeping statement of negativity from this man. “There are no good restaurants in Venice?”

“If there was good ristaurante, I send you to there. But Roma.” He rolls his r with gusto and passion for the eternal city. RrrrrrrOmmmmma. “Roma? Si, son ristauranti with the goodness I demand for to send you to there.” He nods thoughtfully. “Stefano, si.”

“Stefano Rossi?” Jaysus, good enough?

“O in Toscana, to Rodolfo.”

“Rodo Molinaro?” For serious?

“Si.”

Before I can bleat about these two utter gods of Italian cuisine, he interrupts me. “Or we take you from Italia and make you in France. Parigi - what you are calling Paris? Provence? You stay on the Mediterraneo you try Nice, la Riviara Franca.”

At least the French Riviera is just down the coast. (And that’s my first thought? How close I’d be to here?)

I try to interject, but he continues. “O in Spagna. I am having the very strong thought of Barcellona. O Siviglia. O to where you are calling Switzerland — Lucerne. You like Lucerne?”

“I’ve never-“

“You think with deeply careful thought of these places. I have thought very strong and with time that is long and full of care. These are the places you consider.”

“Vittorio. You are a dear, dear man and I cannot think of a suitable way to show how very much gratitude I have for you.”

“But your face is not a face of a man is happy,” he observes. “You are disappointing with these choices I give you?”

“No! Never, Vittorio. Not ever. I would joyfully live in every one of these cities! Florence, Rome. Paris, Nice. Barcelona, Seville. Lucerne. All of them.” Or none.

————/Simon/————

“I’d be in the air already, but I have to fit in one last fake fight with Kelly before I go. I promised to take her to brunch so we could fake-fight in person.”

“Let me guess, ‘It’s kind of your thing.’ Seems to me I’ve heard that one before,” Billy snarks into the phone. He sighs in defeat. “I can’t believe I’m gonna say this, but I think I’m jealous.”

“Oh yeah? Why? Literally dying to know the answer.”

“How long do I have to wait?” he asks, sounding greedy.

“For what?”

“Before I can have you again,” Billy growls, in a tone he’d surely describe as naughty. Or at least I would describe it as naughty.

“With your moans in my ear, breath hot against my throat,” he continues. See? Naughty.

“Billy.”

“Simon.”

“Billy. What are you doing?”

“Hearing that sound you made when I licked a stripe up your neck, still salty with sweat from the club.” His voice is all gravel, low and rumbly.

“You don’t fight fair,” I whine. But in an appealing, sexy way.

————/Billy/————

I like that impatient sound. “I wish this was your hand,” I say, trying to keep the grin out my voice.

“What? W-what is my hand doing?” I hear Simon swallow at the other end.

“That twist you did — it’s like you read my mind: How to wank Billy Delaney.”

I don’t have my hand anywhere close to my cock. I just love gettin to hear him all flustered.

“Uh, um, Billy? Are you having solo phone sex right now? Is that what you’re doing? Cuz I gotta tell you-“ he breaks off.

“What do you have to tell me, Simon?”

Silence.

“And make it good,” I rumble.

“Jesus Christ, Billy.”

“No, just Billy.”

“Funny,” he responds dryly. Which acourse makes me smile. It’s the combination of exasperation, frustration, and libido all fighting for their turns to spring out his mouth.

“Is it? I thought we were gettin someplace, Simon.” I pitch my voice as low as it will go. “Someplace good.”

He lets out a whimper, then all I hear is rustling. Something clatters on a hard floor. Simon gasps, “Shit!” followed by, “Oh, thank God,” then somethin else falls with a thud. I hear shuffling in the background and angry muttering.

“Simon?”

“Wait, wait, hang on just a-“ I hear a jingling of bells, and then the sound of street traffic. People in conversation getting closer and fading away. Sirens. Loud sirens. I hear the tell-tale sound of his Converse slapping on pavement, accompanied by rapid breathing and some mumbled curses. “Come on come on come on!” I hear him whisper.

“Ey! I’m walkin here!” he says loudly, away from the phone. Followed swiftly by an angry, “Yeah, fuck you too, buddy,” under his breath. I feel as though I’m listening to every film about New York ever made.

“Hang on, just a sec,” he huffs faintly, as if the phone isn’t at his ear. I hear the jingling of keys. Everything he does is suddenly amplified, all with a strange, hollow ambience. A few loud, echoing footsteps later, and again I hear the sound of keys scraping into a lock.

“Where are you?” I ask.

“Closer to my bed than I was five minutes ago,” Simon answers. “Not there yet.”

“Where were you five minutes ago?” This is pure gold.

“The bodega on the corner.”

“Serious?” I laugh. “Why’d you turn round?”

“Fuck you, Billy.”

“Not yet.”

I hear him trip over something. The phone clearly just went thud on carpet, and I hear a distant voice, swearing, “Where are you, fucking bastard.” His voice gets closer and closer. “Oh thank fucking Christ. I thought I broke my phone. Oh my sweet baby, an angel at one ear, a devil at the other.” He pauses as he shuffles whatever’s in his hands. “Billy? You still there?”

“Oh, I’m here, Simon.”

“Ok, start talking dirty again.”

I blink.

And we’re both laughing. “I like that you make me laugh,” I tell him.

“I like that you talk dirty. Can we go back to that please?”

“You tell me yours, I’ll tell you mine?” I tease.

“What does that even mean?”

“Where are you, Simon?”

“Standing at the base of my bed.”

“Naked yet?”

He chokes, “What?”

“Just wonderin. Set the scene for me, Simon.”

“Theatre school, I’m telling you, theatre school.”

“You’re thinking about theatre school at a time like this.”

“Not even a little, when you sound like this. Jesus, Billy.”

“Where are you now?” I keep my voice fluid.

“Oh! Um, not where I was a minute ago the last time you asked. No, not still there,” he says.

“Naked yet?” It all started out as a gag, but I’ve become increasingly invested in his answers.

“Shoe-less. But I’m working on it.”

“Let me hear you take off your shirt.”

“Okaaay. How?” he asks in confusion. “Shirts aren’t loud. Am I supposed to rip it?”

“You like the shirt? Cos I want to hear all the buttons popping off.”

I didn’t think he’d do it, but I clearly hear the sound of buttons set free, pinging off every surface.

“Button fly again tonight?” I ask, thinking back to how easily his jeans came undone with just a flick of his hand.

“Not tonight.”

“Let me hear the zipper when you pull it down.” I hum as I hear the zzzzzz.

“Did you hear it?” he asks, voice turning gruff.

“I didn’t think I would, but that was hot.” I thought I was teasing, but now I know I’m not. “Let me hear the material slide down your legs. Slowly, Simon. Don’t rush it.”

His phone amplifies the rustle of fabric sliding over skin as though my ear is right there. My eyes slip shut. I can picture the material being pulled slowly over his hips, revealing the V of his muscles there, then catching on the swell of his arse. Sliding over that magnificent arse. Fuck, when he runs, I bet it bounces. And the image makes me groan.

“Mmm, that sounded good,” Simon nearly purrs. He’s gone from 1 to purring in under 3 seconds. “Did it feel good, Billy?”

“Yer man’s got game then, has he?” I challenge him.

“You haven’t answered my question, have you, Billy.”

“Is the secret just to work my name into every sentence? Cos I’ll be honest with yous. It’s doin it for me.” I need more than this. Without preamble I switch us to FaceTime.

“Rude!” he squawks.

“Are you offended, Simon?” I set up the angle for him to watch. He’s gone silent. Turns out I’m clothed enough for some suspenseful stripping of my own. His face is priceless.

————/Simon/————

Merp.

—————/Billy/—————

I watch as his eyes go dark, and his expression turns unselfconscious. Hungry.

I’m more’n likely to show him whatever he wants to see, though it can be hard to actually ask for it. “What and where, Simon?”

“Mmhm that sounds nice,” he says absently.

“Nice.” That’s not what I’ve been goin for. Seems his thoughts are a mite preoccupied. “Do you know what I want to do to you the minute I see you?” I challenge.

“Um. No?”

“I am going to strip you bare after Customs if you stop for any reason except to walk straight to me.”

“You’ll be there at the airport?”

“And I will strip you bare. Right there at Customs. Don’t test me, Simon. After you’ve landed? If I see yeh doing anything?” I prompt him.

“I’ll come straight to you,” he says on a whisper.

“That’s right you will. And the moment we reach the car, I’ll press you against it, undo your jeans, and wrap my hand round you, with just enough firm pressure.”

He whimpers.

“What do you like, Simon? Tell me and I’ll give it to you.”

“What I-“ His eyes go blank. “Merp.”

So I continue. “Then I’ll tell you what I want from you when I get you back to the hotel.”

He whimpers again.

“I want you to strip me slowly, make me impatient. Because I’ll be dying to have you fast. I’ll have been waiting for you, wantin to take you in that tiny car, wanting to feel all of you, and lay you down. But-“

“But she’s too small,” he whispers, getting into it a bit more.

“I’d bend you over the bonnet, but you won’t let me.”

“I won’t?”

“No Simon, you won’t. You’ll tell me the fuckin luggage can wait, and you’ll drag me to your room.”

“I’ll be dragging you?” he asks, sounding confused.

“Just go with it. You’re breaking my flow.”

“Sorry,” he whispers with a grimace.

“Shhh.”

“Ok.”

“Shhh. Hear me. I’ll want to drag you to bed instantly, but you won’t let me. You tell me to slow down. Take my time.”

“Take your time? We’ve gone a whole week without each other. How much more time will we need? Are we even naked yet?”

“Shhh, Simon. See it. See me in agony, desperate for every second I can have with you again. I’ll start at one end of your body and work my way to the other. Those runner’s legs, God. All that skin up, up, following my hands with my lips, lettin the hair slide across my mouth between kisses. Show me where my lips are, Simon.”

His breath catches. “Jesus, Billy.”

“Do you want to see how close my mouth will be? I’ll show you. Watch where I start, Simon, just here. See me.”

He lets out a high puff of air. His breath rate has picked up. So has mine.

“I’ll stop and kiss here.” I circle the spot. “I want my mouth on you, Simon. The soft, warm spot behind your knee you’ve never thought about until I became the first person to tongue you there. Or here,” I whisper, drawing my hand up my inner thigh. I have one thought and one thought only: get this next shot right.

I bring the camera round, laying back to give him the long view up my body.

“Mmmfm, you have a wet spot in your briefs,” he says in a huskier voice. He’s finally getting out of his own way.

“Do you know why, Simon?”

“Why?”

“Because all I can think about is running my lips over all of this skin,” and I draw my fingers slowly up to where my thighs meet. He lets out a high breath. “Show me, Simon. Show me where my lips are.”

The image on the screen swings wildly around, showing bits of lightly furred leg, the color of his sheets, confusing body hair, and the paint on the ceiling. He grunts as he repositions himself. Suddenly, the image is swinging around to show me the path up his knee and I get an eyeful of the long view he’s giving me.

“Mmmmm, do you know what I see, Simon?” All that flesh leadin to the sight of a cock and balls from below, snug in a pair of boxer briefs, lookin monstrous huge from this vantage point.

“Yes,” he breathes. “Yes, I know ex’ex’exactly what that l’looks like.”

“Draw your hand up the inside of your thigh for me. Let me watch it, your phone followin behind the whole way up.” I give him an example to inspire him. “Tell me when to stop, Simon.”

A high moan escapes him. “W’when do you want to stop?”

“Never.”

He groans. “Take off your briefs, Billy,” he instructs me, feeling bolder. “Now.”

I smile to myself. That’s the spirit.

“For you, anything, Simon.” And I realize I actually mean that. I probably would do just about anything he told me to.

“You liked that, didn’t you?” he asks me. “The wet spot just got bigger.” He sounds terribly proud of himself, and continues with more confidence. “Oh shit, your cock just got bigger, too. God, I can see the tip peeking out of your waistband.”

I steadily reveal every millimeter until he can see the full head. “Oh God. Billy.”

“I want you naked and fucking your hand, Simon, now. Let me watch.”

Simon whines.

“Naked, Simon. Then hand.”

Again, his high puffs of breath turn into a whine. But the moment I fist my cock, Simon’s voice drops two registers — as if he knows this is the moment we really get started. He’s saying, “I want to see the tip poke out of your fist, see you drawing the hood back as you stroke.”

“Fuck yes, Simon.”

“Closer,” he demands.

I moan at the thought that he wants to see it up closer. That an eyeful doesn’t send him runnin for covers. But no, he’s enjoying being in control.

“What does your other hand really want to be doing?” Simon rumbles. “When it’s not holding the phone, what’s it holding? Or fondling? Or sliding over. Show me, Billy. Show me what you do when you’re alone.” It’s a command, not a request.

I let out a long stuttering breath. “Simon, I think you might be quite good at this. Given some more practice,” I say, as I try in vain to get my phone under control. I need a place to prop it so I can use both hands. Finally, driven by the agony of frustration, I set the phone against a pillow at the right angle and kneel with knees spread wide.

“Oh fuck shit fuck,” comes straining out of him, and he’s fully stroking himself in earnest. “Nhhhh, Jesus Billy.”

What’s he on about? I look down at myself and visualize the view from that angle. Oh God. “You, too,” I grind out. “Want to see you too.”

He gives me what I want. Lord, that is a filthy fuckin sight from that angle. My hips punch my cock through my fist and I cradle my balls.

“Fuck yes,” he moans. I look down and find just how much precome I’m dripping. I hitch my hips closer to the camera and splay my legs wider. “Oh Jesus Billy fuck,” he gasps at the sight.

“Show me,” I tell him. He takes a screenshot and turns the phone round to show me. “Show me on you, Simon.”

“Oh, right,” he breathes.

“Faster,” I tell him. “Let me hear you.”

“What makes you come, Billy? Mmmmmfffwant to see it up close,” he groans.

I reframe the phone, but the sight from this distance has got to be brutal.

“Oh Jesus, Billy,” he huffs, then “Oh God,” comes out with an urgent tone. I’m flyin in and out my fist, yet somehow he can see it all.

“No, don’t stop,” I complain as his hand stutters to a stand still. He puts the phone down on the bed below him, and squats just over it. It’s an intense view. “Oh God, Simon. That is obscene.”

“Now you,” he instructs. “I want to see both hands better.”

I try to angle more carefully so he can see more cock and less balls.

“Oh fuck,” he says in surprise. “Right there, yes. No, too far, bring it back, bring it back - stop! Perfect. Show me.”

“That’s,” I grate out, “my line.” Oh God, I feel the sensation begin to build. “Simon- Si’ nhhhh, I’m- are you-“ I can’t think.

“Yes,” he grates out, followed by a strained, “Fuuuuuck!” I’m glad he’s as close as I am. I want to see him tip over the edge while he’s watchin me do the same.

I’m fucking panting, every breath I force out comes back in gasps. “Oh God yes,” I whisper. “Simon.”

“Me, too, me, too, oh fuck yes fuck. B’Billy?”

The look on his face is all shock and awe, then all I can see filling the screen is the head of his cock pulsing spurts of come landing somewhere outside the frame.

Ho shit. Fuck fuck fuck, the heat blooms throughout my body in warning. “Oh God, fuck Simon, fuuu, can you see? I want you- watch-“ I call out nonsense. I can only focus on the rush I feel throughout my body. I come in full view of the phone and my knees buckle.

Rolling to my back and still panting, I try to remember my name and country of origin. But “Simon,” is the only word I can find.

————/-/————

Masterlist || ao3 || start || prev || next wip!

————/-/————

[da-rulah]

Get to know your fic writer asks: (it was really difficult to pick the questions since I wanna ask you all of them lol). But, for now - 4, 8, 11, 13, 18, 22, and 64.

Thank you so much for asking! Aww if only I could answer them all for you 😂

4: Where do you find inspiration for new ideas?

Simplest answer; I daydream a lot… But a lot of them come from the ghost lore itself or lyrics/song titles, a lot of them are just picking off experience, some are from requests I get that spiral out of control in my brain… 😅

8: Do you prefer the beginning, middle or end of a story?

That really depends on the plot, but there’s something very satisfying about reaching the end of a fic, knowing I’ve completed it and executed my plan always makes me feel good! The beginning can be really exciting to write because you’re setting up the story and you have all these ideas and this inspiration and motivation to get into the storyline. The middle is the hardest to write, because you have point A and you need to get to point B, but you need to figure out how to get there, if that makes sense?

But every fic is different and I enjoy writing every part of it, but long answer cut short? I think I love reaching the end the most. It’s so satisfying and i love the feedback on a completed storyline 🥹

11: Link your three fav fics right now

I’m assuming this means of my own writing, since the asks are directed at fic writers so here’s my 3 favourites:

Confessional - Cardinal Copia x f!reader

Rituale Septem - Terzo x f!reader

The Mayor’s Daughter - Mary Goore x f!reader (Ongoing)

13: What’s a common writing tip you almost always follow?

Plan, plan, plan! I always set out my start, middle and end at the very least and make sure I know where I’m heading so I don’t get off track. Sometimes the plan changes in favour of a better idea halfway through, but at least I will have those guidelines. My next fic is already planned chapter by chapter in depth, I just need to name the chapters and get to writing it! But I need to finished The Mayor’s Daughter first…

18: Do you title your fics before, during, or after the writing process? How do you come up with titles?

Usually before or during the planning phase, unless I get sent a request that gets out of hand… then the title comes later 😂 I usually come up with them based on songs or phrases, maybe a play on words or something? Most of the time it’s inspired by a phrase or significant moment in the fic itself. It’s hard to say how, they’re always inspired differently! But the titles for me always need to be relevant to a key moment or something.

22: Are there certain types of writing you won’t do? (style, pov, genre, tropes, etc)

I don’t want to limit myself here to be honest… there’s some kinks I’m uncomfortable with and some dead dove stuff I’m uncomfortable with that I won’t ever write but other than that? Not really.

64: Something you love to see in smut

PLOT. Oh god, I am a sucker for porn with plot. This is why most of my fics end up so bloody long! I can’t help myself, I like building connections, creating storylines… it just makes the smut so much better in my opinion. Give me angst or fluff or emotion or SOMETHING. I’ll eat it up. And as a plus size Queen myself, I do love a good plus size fic. We know the ministry is a body positive space, after all… 🤭

LIST OF QUESTIONS HERE 🖤

ASK BOX HERE 🖤

[finchinmoria]

So I got an idea for an Adar fic featuring an original male character that just would not let go, so I started writing it down. I’ve now outlined 11 chapters and have written a considerable bit of the first three chapters. I’ve only ever written fic for myself or shared it only with a few friends, but I think Adar has the power to take my AO3 posting virginity. At least, at this point, I’ve decided I really want to finish the fic and post it.

I’ve had tremendous health issues the past year that have interfered with my creative life, and I almost didn’t start writing this story down, but oh, am I glad I did. I have not experienced such joy creating in quite a long time, and it is such a salve to all the stressful things in my life right now.

I have to say though, in writing for Adar the most embarrassing thing to admit is that it’s a cozy romance. Extreme fluff. We’re talking like, a scene in a pumpkin patch level of fluff. Don’t get me wrong, I have been licking up every bit of Adar smut in the AO3 tags but it’s just not the story I want to write atm. Besides, fluff is kind of its own smut if you know what I mean. (Fluff girlies [gn] unite.)

All this to say I don’t know when I’ll start posting the story. I go in for surgery in two days. I’ll be in the hospital around 4 weeks recovering and doing IV treatments then another 3-ish weeks of at home recovery and rehab. I know I’ll have bad days but I will also be getting better and have good days, too. Plus the extended medical leave from my Day Job will give me time to focus on stuff I actually want to do. (Like write tooth rottingly sweet Adar m/m fanfic, thanks much.)

Whatever happens I’m looking forward to writing this fic and in a genuinely not overdramatic way, the next chapter of my life. This is the healing power of stories and characters. Life doesn’t stop and fandoms don’t exist in little snow globes separate from real life. They hold our hands on too-short work breaks and early morning rushes, in waiting rooms and even hospital beds.

I’m not deep into fandom but I’ve been having so much fun seeing post from the Adar brigade and many have given me such a warm welcome. I’m so glad to be here, with all the smutty, fluffy, tender, after dark moments that our favorite character has brought us. I just wanted to write something to show my appreciation, and encourage future me on the darker days.

[claire-elvisgirl]

BLOODY TRIANGLE pt. 1

Summary: You, Elvis and his old Master. A love story beyond time. In this chapter, you and Elvis meet for the first time and the connection between you two starts to ignite.

Warnings (about all the story): 18+, vampire stuff (something is made up), mention of bites and blood, fight, fluff, sex

Word Cunt: 1689

He didn’t know how much time passed since he ran away, but after many years of slavery, he was at last free…

Memphis, 2024

11 pm…

It was a cold and cloudy night and you were on your way home after a party with your friends. Your home wasn’t so far and you decided to take a walk to sober up. You weren’t used to drink too much, but that night things went differently and you crossed the line. You were walking straight home, looking down, when suddenly you bumped into something…or someone?! A deep voice surprised you: “Hey! Watch where ya goin’ lil’ one!”

You stepped back and apologised: “Ooww…oh my God, I…I’m sorry…” but you couldn’t finish. You looked up and you saw the most wonderful guy you had ever lay eyes upon. He was incredibly tall and he wore a black and red suit that immediately caught your eyes. He helped you to stand and he talked again in a deep and sweet voice: “It’s okay, ya don’t have to be sorry, just be careful…ya shouldn’t walk alone at night time!”

You tried to fix your clothes and you grabbed back your purse: “You’re right…I…I was going home!”

He was still there looking at you, almost worried: “D’ya have anyone to walk ya home?” he asked.

“N-no, but…it’s not far from here…” you stuttered with a little smile. He held out his hand to you: “May I walk ya home then? Ya seem a little confused…”

You kept staring at him, focusing mainly on his blue eyes and you felt almost hypnotised: “I…would you really do that?”

“Of course! And besides, it would be a shame if anything happened to a pretty lil’ thing like ya!” he replied with a smile. You grabbed his hand and you felt his strong grip wrapping around yours. You couldn’t help but notice how soft his skin was. He began to walk, still holding your hand: “So…what’s your name dear?”

“I…I’m y/n!” you answered. He kept walking tightening the grip on your hand, like he was afraid to let you go. “Y/n uh?” he smiled “A pretty name for a pretty girl”

You smiled back: “Thank you…aaand what’s yours?”

He stopped for a while: “My name? Oh well…my friends just call me Elvis…and would ya wanna hear another secret about me?” he leaned in and whispered in your ear: “I’m actually a vampire!”

You pulled back from him and you laughed, thinking that he was just joking: “Oh yeah…a real vampire…should I be scared of you?”

He grinned playfully: “Yeah, ya should definitely keep that in mind!”

After a while, you reached your home. All the time he stayed with you, you were enchanted by his voice and you almost couldn’t remember how you met him, just five minutes before. You were about to get inside when you saw him still there. He wasn’t willing to go. You got back to him: “Well…thank you for the company, it’s been very nice talking to you!”

He smiled: “Can I…can I have your number? Just in case…”

You were intrigued by him, but not to the point of giving him your number, not so soon at least: “Well, you know where I live so…my number won’t be necessary!”

He frowns: “Fair enough. I’ll just see ya around then and who knows…maybe someday you’ll let me even bite ya!” he replied as he turned his back to leave.

“Wait…were you serious about that vampire thing?!” you asked still thinking he was joking.

He stopped and he raised his eyebrow: “I certainly was. Do ya doubt me?”

“Oh no no…of course not, I mean…it’s normal to meet a vampire in the middle of the night, isn’t it!?” you laughed, still thinking he was joking.

He answered seriously: “Well, it depends on where you live, I suppose. Now, do ya want a lil’ proof?”

“Of course…a vampire…” you smiled and you walked to the door. He watched you go, before he stopped and decided to do something risky: “Hey y/n!”

“Yes?” you turned back to him.

He took a deep breath: “I do bite! Really!”

You smiled: “I’m sure you do!”

“Why don’t ya let me bite ya then? Just for a little bit…”

You lose your patience: “Look…are you into some strange sexual practice?! Because, let me tell you…this is the first time someone tries to charm me pretending he’s a vampire!” you laughed again.

“What? I’m not pretending…I…”

“Look, you’re a very nice guy and if you want to hang out with me you don’t have to pretend to be someone you’re not…” you handed him a piece of paper “here’s my number. Call me if you wanna see me again, but please…no more vampire stuff, you don’t need it to conquer a girl!”

He took the piece of paper in his hand and stared at it for a moment: “But I’m serious about everything!”

“Sure…” you turned your back on him and you walked to your doorstep.

He yelled at you: “I really am a vampire…and one day you’ll find out!” he walked off feeling hurt by your lack of belief.

You turned the key and opened the door: “A vampire...what a weird guy!” you looked at him walking away, then you closed the door and went upstairs to your bedroom. While he walked home, he was still thinking about you. He tried to shake those thoughts from his head, but he just kept remembering your cute laugh and your eyes. You couldn’t sleep either. You were awake in your bed, reading vampire facts from your phone. Then your eyes felt heavy and you turned off the lights: “Yes…really weird!”

He was still walking around in the night, thinking about you. Then suddenly a strange feeling hit him and he ran back to your house. As he stood in front of your door, he felt the urge to come in and see you again. He touched the knob on the door and it turned a bit. He was using his powers to get to you. As he entered the house, he looked around and smelled the air, like he was looking for something. And he was. He was looking for you. He followed your scent to your bedroom. He slowly opened the door and he peeked inside to see you sleeping peacefully. He walked in, but you didn’t even notice, as his steps were light as a feather. He stood in front of your bed and he whispered: “My beautiful angel…”

He felt his heart skipping a beat as he watched you lay there. You looked so innocent and peaceful. Your hair was spread across the pillow, your lips slightly parted. He walked closer to the bed and he kneeled down next to it, just staring at you. He reached out a hand and gently caressed your cheek, making sure not to wake you up. Then he sat on the side of the bed and he laid down beside you. His face was very close to your neck. He held his breath, preparing himself to bite. He opened his mouth and slowly sank his fangs into your flesh. You moaned lightly, but his bite was so soft that you didn’t even wake up. Your skin tasted sweet, like honey. Your blood was warm and juicy. He pulled back, afraid he might get too carried away. He looked at you and at the two tiny puncture marks he left. He gave you a tender kiss on your forehead and he vanished in the night. The morning after you woke up with a terrible headache. Your neck hurt. He went to the bathroom and you looked in the mirror. As you saw your reflection, you gasped: “What the hell…”

You saw your neck with the marks of his bite. You could feel the sweeling from where his fangs sank in and one of them was still red. You couldn’t believe your eyes; he was telling the truth and the worst thing of all was the fact that he did that in secret, as you didn’t even notice. You were so unsure of what to think, that you just stood there at your reflection. After a while you went back to your bedroom and you sat down on your bed. You had no idea what to think, but the thought of him coming back filled you with fear and excitement at the same time. In that moment your phone rang. It was an unknown number. You took the phone and you picked up: “Hello…?”

A deep voice came from the phone: “Hello sweety, did you like my lil’ surprise?”

He was talking to you with a sweet and relaxed tone, but you yelled at him: “You!? What have you done to me?”

“Don’t worry baby…I just took a quick lil’ taste…I doubt ya see much effects from that…” he replied.

You were furious: “How dare you…”

“It’s just an honest night of work for a vampire like me…but don’t worry, I’ll come back for more…ya taste delicious, ya know?!”

You yelled at him: “Forget it! Forget my number, forget about me, I don’t wanna see you ever again!” and you hung up, throwing your phone on the bed. After a while, it buzzed. You saw a text message from him:

“We’ll meet again and I’m sure you’ll let me drink more from ya!”

You blocked the number, but another message came in:

“Blockin’ my number only delays the inevitable!”

You kept blocking the number, but the messages kept arriving:

“I’ll stop at nothing to have ya!”

Then, a couple of days later, his tone changed:

“I’m sorry for what I said…I didn’t mean to send ya all those creepy messages. Can ya forgive me?”

You ignored him, but other sweet messages came in:

“I promise I won’t bite ya again! I beg ya, I can’t have ya hate me, I’m sorry!”

You grabbed the phone and you wrote back: “Forgiven!”

Nothing more. He read your message and he smiled sweetly at the phone. He wrote again:

“D’ya think ya might wanna see me again?”

“Idk...maybe!”

[heytheredeann]

20 questions for fic writers

I was tagged by @cha-melodius, thank you! <3<3

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

439! The plan is posting two more tonight so hopefull that will soon be 441 LOL.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

939,623! Almost a million yay!

3. What fandoms do you write for?

At the moment mostly TMFU, I have been getting into writing Banana Fish fic too, and I write for The Witcher, though less frequently than TMFU.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Stretch (Buck/Eddie+Christopher, 911, 3x02 AU)

Everywhere I'm looking now, I'm surrounded by your embrace (Harvey/Mike, Suits, soulmates AU)

I held your hand as you shook in the middle of the night (Geralt/Jaskier, The Witcher, 1x06 fix-it)

Leave it unspoken (Harvey/Mike, Suits, a serial killer on the loose AU looool I had forgotten about this one)

Concession (Geralt/Jaskier, The Witcher, Geralt likes being the little spoon fic)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yesssss, I'm like constantly behind and sometimes I answer months late, but I love answering because 1) comments make me so happy and I want the readers who took the time to let me know they enjoyed the fic to KNOW THAT, 2) talking about fics is SO much fun, I think that discussing things in the comments is the best part of posting.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

LOOOOOOOOOOOL filter for MCD on my Ao3 and take your pick. But I'd go with either Forever is the sweetest con (Napoleon/Illya/Gaby, TMFU) because the story is told backwards, so you start with post-MCD and end pre-MCD, so the ending is happy but. well. the happiness is gone already and you know it LOL, or maybe Meaner than my demons, colder than this home (Napoleon/Illya/Gaby, TMFU), purely because generally speaking when I play with MCD I kill just one of them off and leave the other two to pick up the pieces, but here there's just Napoleon left, so. probably worse than the others LOL.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Sooo, I tend to write one-shots, and I HAVE written fluffy fics, but I think I'll go with Something gets lost from a safe distance (Napoleon/Illya, TMFU) because it's part of a three-part series that's all emotional hurt/comfort, and then it ends with fluffy kissing so.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Eh, it has happened, I think it's inevitable if you have been doing this for long enough LOL.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Nope.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Not usually, I did write a TMFU/Supernatural crossover though LOL.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I’m aware of.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yesss, more than once and it's always extremely flattering that someone would want to go through all that effort <3

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Nope.

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Right now I feel particularly strongly about the TMFU OT3 but like. I love so many.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I HAVE MULTIPLE LONGFICS SITTING IN MY DRAFTS DAMMIT. I just never want to post longfics unless I have either a first draft for every chapter or at the very least an extremely detailed outline for every chapter, which means that I end up always posting one-shots LOL. Two notable mentions among these longfics are a "Napoleon gets amnesia and bullshits his way through it to avoid telling anyone because he has trust issues" fic and an AU with Illya as a ghost that's a whole angsty mess. help me.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Eeeeeeeh the emotions I'd say. Or I HOPE so, since that's pretty much 80% of my writing loooool Also there a lot of lines of dialogue that I come up with that I unironically like.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Plots for one, I just tend to write snapshots with no real plot most of the time, and action. I don't LIKE writing it, which means I can never tell if it's boring or if I'm just projecting, and I tend to avoid it. ...also romance/attraction/getting-together. My aroace ass never knows what is believable romance and what are just tv show tropes that are not actually real LOL.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I generally don't do it and keep to the language of the narration, just clarifying "X says in German" if there's a change of language. I write limited third POV, so I just see it as "filtering" everything through the lens of the person that we are seeing the perspective of. If I'm writing from Gaby's POV, for instance (she's German but fluent in English), I feel like TECHNICALLY the narration should be in German, so by writing in English I have already chosen a filter that is not 100% accurate. But that's the filter I'm going with, so English is the language that Gaby is communicating to the reader in, so everything should be communicated through English lens: if she's talking to someone in English, I will just write the lines with no specifications, if she's talking in German I still write in English and write "in German" in the narration, and if someone speaks a language she doesn't know I don't write the actual dialogue because she doesn't understand it, so the reader doesn't get to see it either.

I hope this makes some sort of sense LOOOOOL, I don't really mind any way I've seen this done, but this is how I prefer to go about it.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

The Fallen book series. LOL.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

Evil question, go directly to jail, do not collect 100$. This answer will absolutely change every five minutes, but right now I'm particularly feeling Souvenir from a life left behind (Napoleon/Illya, TMFU), just a tiny dissolution of UNCLE fic with Napoleon angsting.

.

Tagging: @imgoingtofreakoutnow @ikeepwatchinghelicopters @thetamehistorian @huggiebird @deducitetemporacarmen @set-phasers-to-whump @cherryjuicegf @geralt-of-vengerberg and anyone else who hasn't done this yet and wants to play <3

[klbwriting]

The Jason Todd Anomaly

Chapter 11: Fuck Off Dick

Pairing: Jason Todd x female!Reader

Warnings: just some arguing, Dick is being a dick

Summary: Jason and Y/N are recovering when they receive an invitation they can’t refuse

All Other Chapters

Jason groaned as he tried to move.  Every part of his body felt like it was bruised.  He hadn't been this beat up in a long time honestly, mostly just keeping people out of his territory, maybe getting into a scuffle with Penguin or Two-Face, nothing like last night.  He tried to sit up but felt an arm on his chest.  He looked down, remembering that he had fallen asleep with Y/N next to him.  He was able to turn his head and saw her still asleep.  She looked like hell and he could imagine he wore similar coloring.  

"Everything hurtssss..." Y/N said, extending the 's' longer than needed.  Jason chuckled but moaned, his ribs must have been at least bruised.  He thought she would pull away, try to get up, but instead she scooted closer.  He was still in his armor so he barely felt her head on his chest but just seeing it there and his heart started beating faster.  What the fuck?  It never did that.  He had thought he was going to resist her but somehow that seemed stupid now.  She had hinted last night that she had feelings for him.  She had almost died.  How could he not try to be with her when she seemed to want to be with him?  

"Well, how was your first night as a member of the Bat Family?" Stephanie asked, bounding up the loft stairs carrying a tray with herbal tea, some breakfast, and pain meds.  Y/N groaned and sat up slowly.  Jason sat up quicker, making him wince, but he set the pillows up so Y/N could lean on them and not the cold headboard.  She looked at him and smiled and in rare form, he gave her a smile back.  Then he looked to Stephanie, who was smiling from ear to ear.  The tray was set over Y/N's lap and she downed the meds with some tea, not caring how it burned.  Jason did the same.

"It fucking sucked, I hate this family," Y/N said.  "Count me out of Thanksgiving."  Steph clapped.  "Thank you, tell the others thank you from me too, I appreciate all the help."  The young Robin nodded and left the wounded alone to eat breakfast.  "She brought us pancakes but its after 2PM."

"This is normal breakfast time here," Jason said.  "Normally I'm making the pancakes, Tim must have done these ones, they're overcooked."  Y/N stared for a moment.  "What?  I can cook."  She smiled at him and ate more food.  Jason watched her for a moment  before saying what he had been dreaming while unconscious.  "You killed Harley."  Y/N swallowed what was in her mouth, considering her next words.  

"Yes, I killed her," she said.  "Anyone else have a hand in your death?"  Jason shook his head.  "Good, my Jason Todd revenge killings list is checked off, now to move onto those fucking bird freaks."  She sat back a bit, finished eating.  Jason moved the tray to the floor, glad the pain meds were starting to take some affect.  He needed to get up, get a shower, and tell the others about their escapade the previous evening.  

"Thank you for killing her," he said.  "Do you want to shower first or let me?"  She turned to look at him, smirking.

"I want to make a joke about showering together but I don't want to laugh right now," she said, blushing a little.  Jason chuckled and groaned, ya, the pain meds weren't that good yet.  "Go shower, you probably want to get out of all that bullet-proof shit."  He nodded.  "I'm going to walk around a little bit, my legs are aching."  

"Don't leave the tower, please," he instructed.  She nodded and assured him she wasn't going anywhere for awhile.  The drugs were here, so where else would she go?  Jason went to his bathroom and stripped down, turning on the hot water.  He climbed in and let the water cleanse him of not only the blood and muck of the previous evening but of the drive for revenge against Harley.  It was now time for a new creed of vengeance.  He was planning an owl hunt.  

Y/N wandered down the stairs to the main area of the tower.  There was a wall of guns, another full of screens and lab equipment, and another had the kitchen area.  Tim was cleaning up the area, Damian was at the table, feet propped up, reading what looked like an old Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue.  Alfred and Stephanie were no where to be seen, and Dick was watching the screens, studying what was clearly camera footage from the Monarch the previous evening.  Y/N walked over slowly, watching with him.  Damn, her takedown of Harley was awesome.

"So you have cameras at all the hideouts of crime lords?" she asked.  Dick looked at her, eyes full of annoyance.  O guess he wasn't a fan of hers anymore, boo-fucking-hoo.  

"Jason has the cameras, keeps track of things, I'm guessing so he can plan blackmail or to somehow intimidate them," he said.  "You're a killer."  

"That I am," she said without remorse.  "She was one of the reasons Jason died, I'm glad she's dead."  Dick shook his head.  "He's your brother..."

"He's never really been a brother, not like the others have," he said.  She glared at him.  "What?  He doesn't stand for anything Bruce did, that we do.  He's reckless, and angry, and murderous.  He's no better than Harley and her ilk."

"If I had the energy to punch the shit out of you right now I would," Y/N snarled.  Dick looked at her surprised.  "What?  Did you think you listing off Jason's flaws would make me agree with your self-righteous ass?  No, fuck off Dick.  Batman, Bruce Wayne, whatever, thought he was such a good guy, locking up all those psychos from the city in Arkham, but what good really did he do?  He was working for 25 years in this city and its still a cesspool of violence and trash.  Maybe if he would have taken out a few of those villains things would have been different.  Jason understood that.  Probably why Bruce stood aside and let Joker kill him.  He knew Jason was right..."

"You keep your opinion of Bruce in your head or else..." Dick moved closer to her, face livid.  

"Or what Dick?" Jason said, walking over to them.  Tim and Damian were watching now, wondering if they were going to have to stop another fight between their older brothers.  

"She doesn't respect us, or Bruce," Dick said.  "She is blinded by bloodlust just like you, we are supposed to be better than the bad guys."  Jason shook his head.  

"You are an idiot, being better than them means they win, because they can come back over and over and over until this city is cut up, in pieces, and secret societies start taking it back for themselves," he said.  Dick stepped back, confused.  "Ya, we need to have a chat about what actually happened last night.  The Monarch wasn't our first stop."  Jason glanced back at Y/N.  "Go shower, I'll tell them about what happened.  I left some clothes for you in the bathroom, I'm sure they don't fit, but its all I could do."  Y/N smiled at him.

"You'd be surprised, I'm sure they fit better than you think," she said.  She reached out and gently took his hand, squeezing it gently, before heading back up to the loft.  Jason turned back to Dick, glaring before going to the kitchen table and sitting down.  Tim, Damian, and Dick all joined him and he told them what had happened.  He explained the court, they're offer to him, the killing tunnel, and his best guess where that place even was.  He wasn't entirely sure.  They sat in silence for a long time after that before all producing a feather from their pockets.  

"We've been wondering what these were about," Tim said.  "Also...this arrived before you guys got here last night.  And we each received one also."  He slid a box across the table to Jason.  He untied the bow and opened the fancy package.  Inside was an invitation and a mask, black and red, made to cover his forehead and eyes but leave his mouth exposed.  He frowned, opening the invitation.  

Mr Todd, You are cordially invited to a fundraiser for the GCPD To be held at the newly acquired Gotham City Hotel Friday the 13th beginning at 9PM.   No need to RSVP, you will attend The Court

"Those fuckers don't give up do they?" he grumbled.  Tim slid another box forward.  

"This one is for Y/N," he said.  Jason glared at the offending package before opening it.  Inside was a smaller mask, more feminine, and it was black and red, matching his.  They had matched her to him, marking her as a target with him.  Shit.  Maybe he should try to resist his feelings, resist her.  But she would be so angry, what right did he have to pull away from her when she would need him and his help?  He needed her as much as she needed him, they would have to get through this together because there was no other way.  

"We're going to this fundraiser and we will back you up Jason, you and Y/N," Tim said.  "Right you two?" he continued, throwing pointed looks to Dick and Damian.  Damian shrugged while Dick just stared at Jason for awhile before nodding.  Damian stood up and looked at the other three before asking,

"Who's going to tell Y/N she has to find a dress for a party?"

[thaliaisalesbian]

i get myself twisted in threads

Chapter 15: i tell you that i think i'm falling

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 16

“Will is staying the night. Jonathan should also stay the night.” Hopper is going to kill him. He’s dead.

“You’re not dating Will, El.” Steve tries to explain. She just thinks that since she’s got someone staying over, he should also have someone staying over.

“El, I have work in the morning.” Jonathan saves him. “I’d have to get up, like, super early and go home and change, so it doesn’t make sense for me to stay the night. Besides, I’m sure you don’t want me interrupting your reading time.”

Steve’s not sure he wants reading time tonight, honestly. Nancy had read them a few chapters of her old copy of Anne of Green Gables—one time, when she’d been sick, Steve had come over and tried to read some of it to her. Since then, they’d taken turns with it, at least until they broke up.

That had been good, but their surprise—it wasn’t the cookies, which were good, and would have been just fine as his surprise.

No, what they gave him, sitting in the car right before they left the park to drop Nancy off for her church dinner, is something he never would have expected them to even know he liked.

Carol’s the only person who's ever known about this. It’s something they shared when before Tommy, and then after Tommy, usually when Tommy was being a dick.

He doesn’t even know how they got some of these. Steve doesn’t want to know how long it took them to collect them all, and then organize them like this for him.

They’d had to make this all by hand. For him, at such short notice.

Steve can’t even figure out how they made the cover so thick, it’s almost like a published cookbook.

Nancy and Jonathan alternated recipes, and there’s a Polaroid of the finished product—he’s pretty sure some of the dishes are Mrs. Henderson’s—in the corner of the final page of each one.

He doesn’t recognize the cursive on the front: Knead for Sweets.

It’s so cheesy, and it’s so nice and well-thought out. He wants to spend the next month going through each recipe, making them until he can get them perfect.

He wants to know how in the world Nancy and Jonathan knew that while he likes cooking just fine, he loves baking. He can’t bake right now—Hopper and El won’t let him, and he could work with the space limitations but he might run out of pots and pans.

He wants to spend the night flipping through the recipes, seeing how many they’d been able to collect.

He’s glad they waited until they got to the car to give it to him; as soon as he realized what they’d done, he’d almost started crying.

It’s just so much effort, and time, to get the whole thing together. To get people to agree to give up family recipes, and then to write them out all, and take pictures of each dish.

“Yes, but you can be part of the reading, too.” El says, staring Jonathan down. “And you can get up early. You can just share the bed with Steve, like Will is sharing mine.”

“El, what are Hopper’s rules about you and Mike?” Jonathan asks.

“We have to leave the door open three inches. He cannot stay the night in my room, even though Will can.”

“What do you think the rules are for me, Nancy, and Steve, since we’re dating?”

“You are older.”

“That doesn’t mean the rules don’t apply. It’s true that some rules don’t apply because we’re older, but those ones do. It’s okay, El, really.”

“Fine.” El glares at Jonathan the whole time he’s leaving, not even looking away like Will does when he kisses Steve goodbye.

“El, that wasn’t very nice.”

“Well, he should want to stay with you! He likes you and he should want to stay here, no matter what Hop says.”

“El, just because he left doesn’t mean he didn’t want to stay.” Will tells her. “Besides, wouldn’t the bed be crowded with four of us? We’ve still got to read our book.”

“It would, but that is okay. We will be fine.”

“Would Steve be fine? He’s still healing.”

“Oh.” El looks at him again. “I am sorry, Steve. But he made you happy today, and I wanted him to stay and make you happy again.”

She’s not wrong about that, but she’s also not supposed to know that.

“El, what did we say about watching me?”

“You did not make any rules for weekends.”

“We’ll do that tomorrow, then. It’s bedtime.”

“It’s like, nine!” Will’s face screws up in the same way Jonathan’s does when he’s protesting. “That’s too early, we’re not little kids!”

“You’re right. You’re babies.”

“Steve!”

But El’s already headed to her room to change, so Will won’t have any ground to stand on much longer.

“Go get ready for bed, kiddo.”

“I’m not a baby!”

“A tall toddler, then.”

“Steeeeve!” It’s a tone he’s much more used to hearing from Dustin, but god it is fun to mess with these kids a little. He can’t be the nice babysitter all the time, he has to keep them on their toes, or they’ll start to think they can boss him around and get whatever they want.

(They can, but he can’t let them know that. They have to figure it out for themselves.)

Steve puts Knead for Sweets away before the kids come in to read. He’s not hiding it, not really, he just wants to keep it nice.

And if he wants to keep the wonder of the whole thing to himself for a while, then that’s for him to know.

finish on ao3 or continue reading

Jonathan can’t pretend he hasn’t noticed that the kids have picked up on the way he, Nancy, and Steve have been acting around each other. Will and El are the only ones they’ve actually told, but there are going to be questions from the others soon enough.

“Hello, Jonathan.” He won’t lie and say it doesn’t make him jump. That’s been one of El’s favorite things lately. Mostly with him and Nancy.

Okay, it’s only with him and Nancy.

“What’s up, El?”

“When are you going to take Steve somewhere again?”

Well, they’re going to a drive-in movie tonight, because Jonathan knows that Steve is still anxious about being seen around town. 

“Tonight, why?” She stares at him for a minute.

“If you make him sad again, you can’t take him places anymore.”

“Make him sad? What do you mean?” Steve hadn’t seemed sad at all after their first date; sure, he’d cried a little when they gave him the cookbook, but he’d said he was happy with it.

“He was upset, after you left.”

“El, what are you telling Jonathan?”

“He is not allowed to make you sad.” El doesn’t look at Steve. He’s walking a little more now, opting only to use his crutches on bad days.

“He didn’t make me sad, El. The recipe book he and Nancy made for me was a really nice and thoughtful thing to do, and it made me happy.”

“But then he left.”

“Yes, he did, but not because he wanted to leave. I was a little sad about that, maybe, but he can’t not go to work.”

“You don’t go to work.”

“I can barely walk, El, of course I don’t go to work.”

And Steve has never needed a job in the way Jonathan has, but that’s not something they need to explain to El right now.

“Where are you going?”

“El, no spying on us.” Steve says. “I know you like to check in, but not tonight, okay? Nancy, Jonathan, and I are trying to have some alone time.”

“Ew.” She crinkles up her nose. “Max says alone time is code for ‘things you don’t want kids to know about.’”

“Not always, but if it makes you stop checking in, then sure.” Steve finally gets over to Jonathan. “What time are we picking Nance up?”

“We’ve got about an hour.”

“So we could surprise her with slushies?”

“Yeah, if you want.”

“Nice.” Kissing Steve isn’t like kissing Nancy, not that he’d expected it to be, but it’s still good. Between the two of them, Jonathan thinks he can learn about the type of kisses that bring people to write so many poems about romantic love.

Still, it doesn’t mean he’s about to start writing poems or anything. He’ll stick with his camera and the darkroom.

He’s got some pictures to show Steve and Nancy today, too. He’d gotten these done as fast as he could, but it’d still taken longer than he would have liked. And he’s still got more to do.

It’s too bad that it’s going to be too dark for pictures at the drive-in. Otherwise, Jonathan could probably get a few good ones.

“Do you know if El has said anything to other kids?”

“About us dating? I don’t think so, but I haven’t asked. Pretty sure Mike would have already thrown a fit about it, he hated me for a while. Pretty sure it’s because he thought I was taking Nancy away from him. What was she saying to you, anyway?”

“I’m pretty sure she was trying to give me a shovel talk, actually.”

“She’s been like that lately.”

“Well, aren’t you and Hopper making plans to move you back to your house?”

“More like fighting over it. I don’t think Hopper wants me going back at all, especially not when I’m on crutches. I’d be fine now, honestly. I can get around well enough and I’ve handled crutches in my house before.”

“What, you don’t want to spend more time with El? What about your story time?”

“I’ll miss it, but I don’t want to keep taking up Hopper’s bed when I really don’t need it. He won’t let me sleep on the couch, though.”

“Mom wouldn’t mind if you spent the night at ours.” Jonathan offers. “And Will won’t tattle, either.”

“I know he won’t.” Steve puts his hand on his knee for a second. “I don’t know. I just… it feels unfair that I get to spend the night with you and Nance doesn’t, you know?”

“She’s not gonna mind, Steve. It’ll happen.” And it’s not like Nancy and Jonathan haven’t spent time alone together since they all started dating, though it’s much easier for them than it is for Jonathan and Steve. “We could ask if it would make you feel better.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Steve’s hand doesn’t move until they stop for slushies, but he doesn’t say anything else, and Jonathan’s left to wonder if maybe Steve’s been feeling left out, or jealous, and what he and Nancy can do to fix that.

“What type of slushie do you want?” He asks, instead of what he wants to say. Jonathan knows Nancy’s—cherry, which always tastes ridiculously sweet to him—and he hasn’t decided what he’s going to get himself yet.

(Blue raspberry. It’s always blue raspberry, even though he pretends he hates it in front of Will.)

“I’ll do cherry cola, I can come in with you, though. And Nance always gets cherry, which is just weird, like who gets just plain cherry? And you’ll probably get blue raspberry or something, which doesn’t even exist. It’s Will’s favorite, though.”

“How did you know that?”

“I take the kids to get slushies sometimes.”

“No, I know that, but how did you know I like blue raspberry?” Will’s old enough now that he’s in on the joke, so that could be it, but Jonathan doesn’t know why Will would be telling Steve about what types of slushies Jonathan likes.

“Wait, did you ask Will? Steve, have you been asking Will what my favorite things are?” Jonathan thinks back to all the times when seemingly random candy bars would show up in his locker or bag, and how Nancy always said it wasn’t her, but it was always on shitty days, so he figured she’d just been hiding it.

“...Maybe.” Steve’s got his good leg pulled up to his face. “I didn’t know how else to talk to you, sometimes. Most of the time, I didn’t have to ask, he’d just say something about it while we were getting other stuff.”

“But you didn’t have to remember it, Steve. You definitely didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to, though.”

“We’re telling Nancy about this.”

“No! No, don’t, she’ll never let me live it down.” Steve’s redder than Jonathan’s ever seen him—he was kind of starting to think that the guy just didn’t blush.

“No, I’m telling her. And I think it’s…” Cute? Sweet? What word should he use here? “Nice, that you remembered all that after Will mentioned it.”

“Can we just go get the slushies now?”

“Yeah.” Somehow, it’s not busy—even on cold days, there’s usually high schoolers here getting slushies as an excuse to meet up with their friends.

When Jonathan sees Hagan in the corner, though, it makes more sense.

“Do I have to talk to him?” Steve’s using his crutches while they’re in the store; it’s not icy on the sidewalks right now, but it’s still wet, so it’s a risk they’re not taking.

“No, I can scare him off.”

“You couldn’t scare off a cat, Byers.” Steve snorts. “But you’ll have your hands full, I can’t really help with the slushies.”

“Just ignore him?”

“I can try, if he even comes over.”

Jonathan doesn’t know what Hagan’s deal is these days—he’s come over a few times, to ask what’s up with Steve, but it’s not like he’s been checking every week, or even every month. From what his mom says, Carol has asked her about Steve every time she comes in, which is a lot more than Hagan has done.

“I’ll take one of those.” Hagan doesn’t just grab it off of the counter, or out of Jonathan’s hand, which is really for the best. “Since Steve can’t, and all.” Steve had moved over to the counter to pay, and probably had gotten them candy, too, since Jonathan was filling the slushies and couldn’t protest.

“Thanks.” Jonathan just hopes that he doesn’t ask Steve anything. Steve knows the basics of what they’ve told everyone, but they haven’t had time (or wanted to, really) to go over everything they’ve said.

“He’s doing better, then? Since he’s out with you?”

“I mean, yeah.”

“I don’t know if he’d want to talk to me.”

Then why did you come over? Jonathan wants to snap, but he doesn’t want to get into a fight with Tommy Hagan today. He doesn’t want to get into any fights today. 

“Is he… is he okay, at least? Is he doing okay?”

“Yeah, he has been.” He’d be shocked if Steve wasn’t having nightmares, but it’s not something he’s brought up with Jonathan or Nancy.

“Jon, you ready?” Steve glances their way, not bothering to look at Hagan.

Jonathan gets a little rush of vindication from that. The guy who has been Steve’s best friend for years, and Steve’s looking at Jonathan instead.

“Yeah.”

“Steve—” Hagan starts. “Can we talk?”

“About what?”

“You went missing again, that’s kind of a big deal.”

“So, you want the gossip. No, then.”

“No, Steve! Are you okay? Have you seen anyone? Do you need somewhere to stay? My mom still adores you, you know.” Hagan only gets quieter with each sentence, matching Steve’s pace as he leads them to the car.

“I’m good, Tommy.” Steve pauses to open the door and stash his crutches, sitting down before he speaks again. “Tell your mom I say hi.”

“That’s it?” Hagan hands over the slushie he’s holding; it’s Nancy’s, not that he needs to know that. “That’s all you have to say to me?”

“What else do you want, dude? You were pretty clear that we weren’t friends anymore. Made it real easy for Hargrove to come after me, from what I remember.”

“I shouldn’t have told him that shit, man, come on—”

“No. You shouldn’t have. And as much as I’m sure you regret it now, you haven’t even tried to apologize for that. If you want a lesson on apologizing, go talk to Carol. I’m sure she’ll help you.” Steve shuts the door in Hagan’s face, and Jonathan kind of wants to cheer.

That’s the Steve he remembers from before the Upside Down, the guy who could tear a person apart with his words. He hadn’t done it often, but damn, is it hot to watch when it’s not being used against him.

Even this much, much milder version of it. The one time Jonathan had seen him do it to someone else, he’d torn into the guy’s insecurities like it was nothing in the middle of the hallway.

He’d been a transfer student from the next town over, and he’d had rumors already. He’d gotten caught once trapping freshmen in the bathroom with him, and Steve had apparently decided that was enough.

Jonathan doesn’t know what happened to him after that.

“Was that too much?” Steve asks, as they leave. “Like, he’s still watching us as we leave.”

“Steve, I don’t know what he told Hargrove, but I’m betting what you said wasn’t enough.”

“I used to be a lot meaner, with a lot less guilt about it.”

“Well, you did grow up with Hagan. And I don’t think you were ever that mean, actually.”

“Jonathan, I smashed your camera. I let Tommy and Carol say and do shit they shouldn’t have gotten away with. Even if I wasn’t doing it myself, I should have stopped them.”

“And you apologized for that, or tried to, like immediately. And you were trying to protect Nancy, it’s not like you broke it because I was taking pictures of trees. That’d be different.” Does Steve still feel bad about that? Jonathan figured they’d been done with that a long time ago. “And come on, Hagan turned on you enough that he was telling Hargrove your secrets, what would have happened if you had stopped them?”

“I don’t know. I don’t want to think about him anymore, though. If I do, it’ll just ruin the whole night.”

“Then we won’t. We can tease Nancy about her terrible choice in slushie flavors, and I can tell her all about how you memorized my favorite candies already.”

“No! You said you wouldn’t!”

“I never said that, you assumed I agreed.” Jonathan winks at him as he pulls into Nancy’s driveway. He doesn’t get a chance to even open his door before Nancy’s halfway to the car.

“Let’s go before my mom decides to chase me. She’s not very happy about the cookies last weekend.”

“Just the cookies, huh?”

“Don’t you start, Steve.” She relaxes a little once she’s in the car, though. “I get the backseat all to myself?”

“Yeah, it’s cause I didn’t want to be near your disgusting all-cherry slushie.” Steve tells her.

“And you got trail mix cause you just love raisins, right?” Jonathan can tell from her tone that Nancy thinks she’s won. She’s probably right, because he’s about to give her a lot more ammo.

“What else is in that bag, Nance?”

“Oh, you let Jonathan pick out his favorites, too!”

“No, Steve got all the snacks while I was filling the slushies. And I’ve never told him any of my favorites.”

“Steve! How long have you been paying that much attention to Jonathan, hmm?” Nancy leans forward between their seats.

Jonathan doesn’t poke fun at them at the same rate they do each other, or even him, but he has to admit that the car ride is a lot more fun this way.

<- 14 16 ->

[hypnostheory]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Howdy, so I was tagged by @kiwiana-writes , @littlemisskittentoes and @affectionatelyrs , who I’d like to thank for being very supportive and friendly. Thanks besties!

1. How many works do you have in Ao3?

So this is changing by the day sometimes lol, right now I’m sitting at 16 fics, 2 are currently unfinished, 5 are chapter fics.

2. What’s your total Ao3 word count?

Again, changing by the day it feels, but 132,329 words so far. That’s about the length of A Tale Of Two Cities.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Right now it’s FirstPrince (Red, White, and Royal Blue), but I have a Good Omens fic and several Homestuck fics.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

1. i hit my peak at seven feet

2. and that’s the way i loved you

3. something good and right and real

4. trouble’s gonna follow where i go

5. wanna know that body like it’s mine

Combined, these fic have 4,089 kudos.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try to reply to every comment, but sometimes it’s a little overwhelming. I absolutely try to respond to all comments that have more than one sentence, but if I miss you I’m sorry and I promise I’m going to get to you at some point!

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Sir we write smut here, this is not a tragic writing space lol. If I had to pick I think then I think you don’t want to know me is going to have one of the sadder endings but even still it’s gonna be happy because I’m not a sad writer lol.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

All of them? I mean, the sappiest ending is somewhere between i hit my peak at seven feet and something good and right and real.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

No, I mean the closest is someone who said my work was like disturbing or somethingbut I think that was actually a compliment???

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

This is like asking the Pope if he’s Catholic lmao. Yes I do, it’s primarily D/s dynamics, and almost always an AU one shot.

10. Do you write crossovers? If so, what’s your craziest one?

I do not. I sometimes put subtle references to other fandoms in my fics, but no crossovers.

11. Have you ever had your fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge, my partner has tho. If someone found out my fic was stolen I’d like to know, but honestly if you see something I’m writing and get inspired by it just write your own version and tag me so I can read it Y’know.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I don’t think so, but I have had someone offer to translate a fic into Chinese. I’m down if anyone wants to, but I only speak English and a moderate level of Spanish so I couldn’t check someone’s work.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

So my partner and I can get very collaborative, and I absolutely run my shit past people before it goes live, but for the most part I’m doing it all by myself.

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Listen I love FirstPrince with all my heart but DaveKat is my first OTP and I’m never letting those fuckers go.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but probably never will?

Hmm, so I want to finish that Good Omens fic I mentioned but honestly that started in a weird time and I’m not sure if it’s got legs. Aside from that I’m trying to finish everything I start! (Or at least everything I publish!)

16. What are your writing strengths?

So from comments, I’d say my prose and my dynamics. I’d agree, I think my style is based in my education in poetry, so I can for sure get colorful. And I really enjoy the politics of a relationship, so I’ll sit there and wax poetics about the nature of soulmates daily and nightly lol. I also just write a lot very fast, so that’s a strength I guess.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Descriptions. I’ll explain emotions to death but explaining how people look is more challenging. I also have issues with finishing things, which I’ve been trying really hard to work on.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

So I’m from Texas, so if it’s Spanish dialogue I’m comfortable. For the main part, I’m not going to write dialogue out word for word if the POV character doesn’t understand what’s being said, which takes out a lot of that issue for me. I think putting a foreign language in a fic is something that can be done very poorly, so I want to avoid that.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Publically? Homestuck. That’s my answer.

20. Favorite fic that you’ve written?

Oh god, having to pick between my own kids basically. i hit my peak at seven feet is so important to me, it’s a very personal story and it really catapulted me back into writing fic. I also love there’s nowhere in the world like, which is the first fic I published in this account and is a really fun work about one of my hyper interests, so if you like 80s theme parks and Homestuck, give it a spin.

I’m tagging anyone who wants to do this, so feel free to blame me and take a spin! But also I’m absolutely tagging @futureseaempress 💖

[inkribbon796]

Egotober 2023 Day 5: Roses are Red, Violets are Blue

Summary: . . . Florida Teen Arrested for Putting Humans in Jars at Florida Zoo

Prompt: Jar

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31

Bing liked humans, they were fun. Some were less fun than others, but on average he liked them.

And in Gainesville he saw all kinds of interesting and fun people. He liked going to school fairs and the schools definitely liked having an actual sentient AI talking to their budding STEM students. He had the names of hundreds and even thousands of budding scientists.

His names.

Bing wanted to see what they would become, what they would do.

One of his names however was causing problems in the city. And Bing only knew that cause this human child, a teenager really, was using something he had given to every name he kept tabs on. A little pin with a minute amount of dead nanites. Unusable, but noticeable.

A little budding eco-terrorist, and a dangerous one. Most of the time, his names resorted to firecrackers or at the most dangerous a pipe bomb.

This one was more dangerous, this one was causing civic engineering damage. They were smart, not just in what they were doing, but in being smart enough not to get caught.

And Google was starting to get interested. He refused to tell Bing why he was so intent on finding this person.

Fourteen hours after he’d called the Egoton branch for help, he got a call.

“Bing, what’s up?” Silver called.

“Finally,” Bing said. “Finished putting out fires?”

There was silence for a bit. “No. We’re fighting Irish and American immigration to get Marvin over here. Fuck Dark, and fuck no one here being able to read aura. What’s the problem? An eco-terrorist?”

“Yeah, one of Gainesville’s brightest is turning to crime to push back against a couple things in the city. And they’re smart enough not to get caught. We’ve been trying to catch this kid for four months.”

“How old is this person supposed to be?” Silver asked.

“Seventeen,” Bing said. “We think. They’re at least in high school.”

“Too young,” Silver said. “Between them and the guy that keeps trying to solve crime over here we might be dealing with a miniature league.”

“Don’t have to, dude,” Bing said.

“What does that mean?” Silver's tone sounded dangerous.

“Google’s interested in them, not Dark, Googs is hella interested.” Bing’s mind was already made up.

“We can’t have children fighting super villains, they’ll die. I’d rather fight against them than have them up against Dark. I lost Iblis, I will not lose anyone else.”

“Iblis wasn’t killed by a villain,” Bing said.

“I’m not arguing this with you. Dark travels down there to talk with some snake kingpin almost monthly. And he can be down there in minutes. I take either nine or three hours depending on where the fuck Egoton is because I sure don’t know where I am right now.”

“I can’t let Google have this kid, I can’t,” Bing said and hung up. Silver tried to call him back but Bing didn’t pick up.

Bing kept ignoring him as he broke apart into nanites and jumped from electrical outlet to outlet until he got to the nearby zoo where the latest situation was.

The eco-terrorist was in the zoo, terrorizing some of the patrons in, what felt like to Bing, the funniest way possible. Three patrons trapped under what looked like giant glass jars, ranting at them.

It was as adorable as it was dangerous. A seventeen-year-old in blue and black biker gear. It was almost enough to make Bing forget about how much damage they’d done.

“How do you like it when something throws things at you?” The teenage future-supervillain told a woman whose jar he was standing on top of. They sounded male-leaning but Bing had been corrected enough times.

“Well,” Bing said as he leaned against one of the jars where a young man was inside of it. Smiling. “Should I make the joke, dude? Or are you going to traumatize these people in a whole new way?”

The teenager almost startled and climbed off it before they could fall off of it. “Bing. You’re early.”

And they landed directly into Bing’s nanites. Nanites surged around them to bind the teen where they stood. Making it look like the top half of a jar.

“Nah, I was going to get you eventually, kid.” Bing said as he took the time to free the civilians and send them off.

Only one of the trapped people tried to beat up the tied and bound teenager.

Bing easily snagged him by the arm and threw him back. “Nah, big guy. You don’t need to pretend to be a man by beating up a tied up teenager.”

And for good measure, Bing audibly and visibly took a picture of his face. That got the guy to run off.

Leaving Bing with the “junior supervillain” on the mostly empty path. “Hey there.”

“I have a right to remain silent and I have a right to a lawyer.” The young villain said.

Bing used his nanites to unclip the kid’s motorcycle helmet. “You sure do.”

“Hey!” The teen said, trying to twist away. But the helmet came off and there was a perfectly normal teenage face.

Bing didn’t even need to start scanning his face. The android knew exactly who this was.

Logan E. Naraj. Honors high school student, and valedictorian at Buchholz High School. He/Him. The most promising of Bing’s names. Perhaps the single smartest student in the entire area, let alone in Gainesville. Maybe in the entire state, even. Not just in grades, Logan was devastatingly intelligent, and his eco-terrorist actions were proving it.

“I knew it had to be you,” Bing said. “You’re one of the only people smart enough to be doing half the stuff you’ve been doing.”

That seemed to disarm Logan a little bit, clearly not expecting a compliment. But he didn’t say anything in kind.

Bing stuck the helmet to Logan’s chest with nanites. Then Bing started taking Logan out of the zoo.

Police met with Bing about halfway towards the entrance. He was placed under arrest, and placed in the back of a cop car. Where Bing followed them closely to the station.

They got Logan into a little holding room, Bing not letting the kid out of his sight. It was only a matter of time before Google tried to sweep in. Bing couldn’t even guess what Google wanted with an actual human, but Logan had yet to actually kill anybody. If Google got involved he would quickly start.

They were waiting for a state lawyer and CPS to come in for Logan. So all they could do, since Logan refused to cooperate, was wait.

One of the investigators came over to Bing.

“Your friend come for him yet?” The officer said.

“No, but that’s probably because the dude knows I’m here,” Bing shrugged.

“Do you know what he wants yet?” The officer was shifting around but Bing didn’t pull up a camera to see it. He just shook his head and they were quiet for a good minute.

Then the officer clearly felt like silence was a bad idea.

“Logan Naraj, glad to finally have a name for what might be a two-year stint in juvie,” the officer said as Logan sat on the couch, Bing refusing to take his eye off him. So the second camera had to come up.

“And not the first Naraj we’ve had in the system, probably won’t be the last time either.” The office was giving Logan a scoffing, dismissive look.

“Why?” Bing asked.

“His older brother is currently serving a five year sentence at Florida Corrections, assault with a deadly weapon. He was sentenced last year. No parents, no surprise really.”

“Hmm, don’t think you should be making comments like that about a kid smart enough to make death rays.” Bing’s synthetic heart gave out a little bit.

The officer didn’t seem convinced but Bing didn’t care, he only had to convince Silver. And Bing was trying to cover every argument Silver had. He needed to keep this kid out of trouble, eternally bench him, and keep him in school.

He was already sending out a couple of emails as he’d been taking Logan to the station. And as he was looking at Logan and hearing this human bad talk him, he got a response from the only person besides Silver that he needed permission from.

“He’s going to be my apprentice,” Bing said.

“Why?” The investigator said.

“Look, either I take him for the Coalition, and he does community service for us, or Google takes him and he builds weapons for Dark and the League. Choose.”

“You said that just Google was interested in him,” the officer said.

“Yeah, and Google works for Dark, if Googs has anything, Dark has it,” Bing said. “And I don’t know if you know what happens in Egoton but Wilford doesn’t stay in jail, now does he?”

Bing waited to go in when the CPS rep and the lawyer had finally gotten in. He let them go in and talk to Logan before Bing walked in without the cops.

He grabbed a chair and turned it so he could lean his arms on the top of the backrest.

“Hey,” Bing smiled. Before the lawyer could make a noise, Bing kept talking. “You don’t have to say a word. You’re probably going back home after this. I just wanted to cut to the point where we make a deal, not waste your time.”

“He doesn’t have to take any kind of deal,” the lawyer said.

“Oh, I know,” Bing said, still smiling. “In fact, I hope he sleeps on it. Decisions need time to make them wisely, and I know Logan here is a smart kid.”

The lawyer glanced at Logan, and Bing let them remind Logan not to say a thing.

Bing pulled out a little card with the Coalition insignia on it and Bing’s contact information. “I want you to personally become my apprentice with the Coalition.”

“You can’t be serious,” The CPS rep said.

“Oh, buddy, I’m very serious,” Bing said. He looked at Logan. “I know Googs has been contacting you, and I know because he was gloating about it. And I don’t want Google anywhere near you, dude. I don’t want Dark near you because anything Google has, belongs to Dark. Dark doesn’t care about anything but himself, that’s just a fact.”

Logan didn’t say anything, but his standoffishness didn’t seem as cold. Which was good.

“So we’re gonna take you home, you’re gonna think on this, and then if you want you call me. And we can start some balls rolling. Get you some more equipment. Have you not go to jail for almost destroying the bridge? Think of it as cutting around juvie and skipping right to community service?”

Logan stayed quiet but Bing could see the gears turning.

Bing smiled and walked out, leaving Logan with the humans, and a smile on Bing’s face.

The police were pissed, no surprise. They’d caught Logan but were unable to arrest him on the spot.

Bing watched CPS take Logan home, where he basically was by himself, and was given instructions not to contact Bing or Google.

The kid didn’t last the night.

Bing stood on his apartment step, to be polite, and waited as Logan answered the door.

“I’m not saying yes,” Logan said as Bing walked in.

“Well, this sure ain’t a no, dude,” Bing smiled as he looked around and basically placed a tracking marker in the place so he could quickly come and go from the place.

“Hey, you like Wendy’s, kid?” Bing said.

The kid just glared at him. “I’m vegetarian.”

“Neat, cool,” Bing smiled at him. “I’ll order something else.”

“You don’t eat human food,” Logan said.

“I mean, I can, but we’ll be talking about this for a while and you’ve been out all night,” Bing said as he sat backwards on a rickety kitchen chair. Leaving the slightly comfier armchair for Logan.

“I’m just allowed to join the Coalition?” Logan asked.

Bing gave Logan a huge smile. “I’m in charge of the South Branch of the Coalition, only Silver and Jackie have any extra say on stuff. I got Jackie’s approval a couple hours ago, and I can convince Silver. Don’t worry. The only thing you’ve got to worry about, little man, is staying in school, and staying out of trouble.”

“You’ve promised change,” Logan said.

“There are a lot of things wrong in this city, and with the country, Lo, you’re taking on the small fry. Normal people. I want bigger, dude. I want to take on people like Dark, people who are stagnating the city.” Bing said as he tried not to lean forward in the chair and break it.

“If I joined, what would I be doing day-to-day?” Logan asked.

“Investigative work, maybe researching various magical and no-magical artifacts, you’ll be in school a lot of the time, there’s no getting around that.” Bing said.

“Okay, if it’s between you and Dark, I guess I don’t have a choice,” Logan said.

Bing stood up and clapped his hands. “Alrighty, then, dude.”

Out of his arm he pulled out something that looked more like a watch then the rest of the Coalition communicators. “To our newest hero. Welcome to the party, my man.”

“Logic,” Logan said.

“That your name?” Bing asked.

“Yes, if I could pick one it would be: Logic,” Logan said.

“Perfect, my dude,” Bing said.

“Where do you stay, or are you allowed to tell me?” Logan asked.

“Hey, I live anywhere with good bandwidth,” Bing said, shrugging. “You need me anywhere, anytime, and I got you.”

“Noted,” Logan said, trying to act normal but Bing wasn’t fooled. Those facial expressions, that heart rate. He cared a lot, that made Bing very happy.

Bing held out his hand. “I can order that food, and then you can get some sleep. You’ve got school tomorrow, after all and we’ll keep talking about Coalition stuff after school.”

“Alright,” Logan said.

So Bing ordered some late night vegetarian Chinese food. Logan ate and then he went to bed, and Bing went to go and officially tell Google to back off from Logan. That he had it under control and Logan got to be theirs without also being Dark’s.