#from here I was thinking that tommy has begun to reach his limit and the water turns just a bit hotter. tommy begins to get

[thebleedingeffect]

On god I wish I could talk to someone rn in order to iron out some details of my fic but it is one: so so very late, two: am sleepy, three: this fic is fucking haunting me cause there's several ways I can do this and I'm gonna fucking explode

[loverhymeswith]

How do we feel about a one shot with “Dress” with a little smut here and there😏

Only Bought This Dress So You Could Take It Off

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x F!Reader

Summary: Written for The Taylor Swift Tapes: Tommy Shelby - based on ”Dress”

Word Count: 2.2K

Warnings: 18+ only, minors dni. Smut. Not beta-read.

A/N: Thank you so much, Anon. I love this song and I was hoping someone might request it!

“Your hands are shaking, love.”

The sound of Tommy’s deep voice tears you away from the paperwork in your lap, a handful of important documents that require your signature - ostensibly, the only reason for your presence here tonight.

“I didn’t think they were ever going to leave.” You glance across the dimly lit office, towards the doorway through which Polly, Michael and Arthur have finally disappeared. 

Like your hands, there’s an audible tremor to the words as they leave your painted lips. Business with the Shelby family often seems to be a drawn-out affair, with evenings like this proving to be a lesson in patience. What could have been a fifteen-minute meeting has stretched out into the early hours of the morning. 

But finally, the two of you are alone.

Tommy offers you a cigarette across the desk, but you decline, choosing to watch instead as he lights his own. The brief glow of the flame illuminates the sharp angles of his face, his expression remaining calm. Neutral. It never fails to amaze you - the apparent ease with which he maintains the illusion of control. 

“It’s killing you that much, eh? The anticipation?” The twitch of his jaw confirms your growing suspicion. He’s finding this amusing. 

“It’s been hours, Tom.” You scowl, shifting in your seat and pressing your thighs together. A woman’s patience has its limits. 

Tommy takes a long drag of his cigarette. When the smoke clears, his blue eyes are fixed on you. “And it will be worth the wait.”

“Is that a promise?”

The ghost of a grin flickers across his face, alarming in its rarity. He really should smile more often. Thomas Shelby has always been an undeniably handsome man, but when he smiles he is devastating. 

“Are you going to sign them anytime soon?” He nods to the documents clutched in your hands. Right. Now he’s waiting on you.

Without hesitation, you reach over for his pen and hastily scrawl your name along the first dotted line. 

It had been a curious twist of fate that had seen the Shelby family thrust back into your life almost twelve months ago. When your ailing uncle with no children of his own had granted you joint power of attorney over his growing liquor empire, you hadn’t expected to find yourself returning to your hometown of Birmingham, let alone landing directly in the path of your childhood best friend.

Six years had passed since the last time you had seen Tommy Shelby on the streets of Small Heath - six long years since the outbreak of The Great War. The conflict had irrevocably changed a lot of things; Tommy and his brothers were no exception, the horrors they had witnessed and wrought turning them into shadows - demons - of their former selves. 

But when you first found yourself standing before Tommy in his shiny new office on Watery Lane, it quickly became apparent that no amount of time or turmoil could quell the stirring of desire that had begun to blossom between the two of you in the months prior to him leaving for France.

No distance could erase the mark his friendship had left on you, an invisible tattoo.

By all accounts, it was nothing short of a miracle that had brought the two of you back together, and if this was simply borrowed time, neither of you planned on letting it go to waste.

“All done,” you declare, dropping the paperwork onto the desk with a small smile.

Tommy gathers the documents towards him before leaning over to pluck the pen from your grasp, his fingers lingering for a beat too long against your own. As he swiftly countersigns the agreements, cigarette poised between his plump lips, your pulse quickens. 

Hopefully, this is the last distraction of the evening.

With excruciating care and clearly testing the bounds of your patience, Tommy shuffles the paperwork, straightening the pages before sliding them into a leather bound folder and locking it away in his drawer. 

“Now that business has been taken care of…” He rises slowly, extinguishing his cigarette in the expensive bronze ashtray. “...we can attend to more important matters.”

“What did you have in mind?” You fight to hide the excitement in your voice, equally resisting the urge to stare at his muscular thighs as he rounds the desk to stand before you, hands resting casually in his pockets. 

You’d hate to give him any more satisfaction when you’re already confident he knows just what effect he’s having on you; the master of planning and strategy, indeed.

“That’s a pretty dress,” Tommy observes roughly, blue eyes dipping leisurely to the swell of your chest. 

Before you can respond, he offers a hand to pull you to your feet and proceeds to twirl you around, gaining an even better view of the dress in question. It had been a calculated purchase on your part and so far, the expensive silk number seems to be well worth the investment. 

Apparently pleased by every angle, Tommy stops you abruptly when your back is turned to him, silently stepping closer until you find yourself pressed up against his chest. A large hand lands on your waist, keeping you anchored against him - inescapable, not that you would ever want to try.

As he inclines his head to whisper into your ear, his warm breath tickles your cheek. “But I thought that I might take it off.” 

Your own breath hitches, your blood turning to molten desire as the reality of his words sinks in. “I was hoping you would say that,” you admit as his other hand begins to trail a warm path from your wrist, up to your shoulder, eventually reaching the edge of your satin sleeve. Ever so gently, he tugs it down.

“Here?” You struggle to hide your surprise, biting your lip as his mouth brushes over your exposed skin. With privacy so important to the two of you, Tommy usually takes great care to ensure you won’t be disturbed - a suite at The Midland Hotel, or at least a locked bedroom. “What if they come back?”

“They won’t,” he mutters into the crook of your neck.

“But Polly-”

The sound of your name, murmured softly into the shell of your ear cuts you off, and it’s as if everything else simply stops. 

Time stands still. 

The fear of reproval should either family find out about the two of you fades away as Tommy’s capable fingers slide to the fastenings of your dress. 

“We’ve waited long enough,” he reminds you.

Despite this, Tommy still takes his time undressing you; a small part of you is grateful. After all, you really like this outfit, and it wouldn’t be the first time he’d destroyed articles of clothing in his haste to get the two of you naked. Buttons torn from blouses and shredded stockings, his passion in the bedroom more than matching the power of his machinations in the boardroom.

After helping you step out of the dress, he turns you around, lips parting as his eyes dance over every inch of your bare body. His pupils are blown wide with lust. Along with his quiet confidence, his reaction is more than enough to chase away any lingering doubt about being so exposed here in his office.

With his attention still focused firmly in your direction, his hands rise to the dark straps of his shoulder holster but you step forwards and take his hand, effectively stopping him in his tracks. 

“I’ll do it,” you tell him, a soft smile tugging at your lips. Because two can most assuredly play at this game. 

Tommy stands perfectly still as your fingers brush along the corded muscle of his biceps, sliding the leather straps of the holster over the sleeves of his crisp white cotton shirt before discarding the item on his desk. 

One down…

A muscle in Tommy’s jaw ticks as you meet his eye again, before giving his waistcoat equally attentive treatment. You can feel the beat of his heart, pounding furiously within his chest. A thrill runs through you to know that your touch has this kind of effect on such a man.

Two down…

Once his waistcoat has fallen to the floor, you make a start on the buttons of his shirt, but Tommy growls, grabbing your wrists. 

“Enough.”

It seems his patience has finally run out.

Without warning, he lurches forwards, sweeping the contents of his desk to the floor. 

Before you can even begin to anticipate what comes next, he lifts you by the waist, depositing you unceremoniously onto the edge of the now-empty desk. You gasp as he swiftly parts your thighs, placing himself between them and pressing the hard length of his body into that sweet spot at your centre.

“Tommy,” you moan, shifting your hips in the pursuit of much needed friction.

Countering the rough and sudden behaviour of just moments earlier, Tommy releases your waist and his hands rise to cup your jaw, thumbs stroking your cheeks as he gently tilts your head towards him. 

“No more waiting.” 

He punctuates the command with a claiming kiss, the kind of kiss that ignites the smouldering desire beneath your bare skin until every cell in your body is keenly attuned to his presence, his own desire evident as you continue to rock against him.

“No more waiting,” you agree, muttering the words against his mouth without breaking the kiss, sharp teeth grazing his lips. At the same time, you reach for his belt buckle, fingers fumbling to free him from the confines of his slacks.

Once he’s stripped from the waist down with only his half-buttoned shirt still remaining, Tommy splays a hand across your lower back, the heat of him a burning brand against your sensitive skin. Meanwhile, you clutch his broad shoulders for support, readying yourself for what comes next. 

With his other hand, he lines himself up against your core. 

Tommy doesn’t waste another second - not another word -  before he’s breaching your slick entrance, burying himself to the hilt in a single thrust. His name is torn from your lips, this time in the form of a strangled cry, but he dips his head, quietening you with another kiss. 

It’s a brief reprieve, though. Just long enough for you to relax around him, to catch your breath. Because he knows better than to be patient and gentle now - knows that, just like him, you enjoy the pressure. That you crave the burn as he stretches you to your limit and beyond, over and over again until you lose yourself to pleasure, until you find yourself hurtling towards your release.

In the amber light of the office - darker now since the lamp clattered to the floor - Tommy’s skin is flushed, his ocean blue eyes almost black. But not once does his intense gaze waver as he fucks you over the desk. Like he’s afraid that if he looks away you might vanish - that this might all have been a dream.

Overwhelmed by both his attention and the way he angles his hips to hit that sweet spot deep inside, you rapidly find yourself shattering around him.

As always, he doesn’t let you fall too hard, holding you close as you ride out the wave of your climax.

“I’ve been thinking,” Tommy grunts suddenly, his pace finally faltering as he smooths a strand of hair from your sweat-slick brow. 

“Should I be worried?” you pant, struggling to focus on his words. The room is still spinning. You're drunk on him.

Ignoring your teasing question, he presses his lips against your breast, driving his hips deeper one final time as he spills inside you. 

“I’ve finally woken up,” he rasps. 

It’s so unlike Tommy to speak in riddles that you find yourself tensing beneath him. Roughly, you grab his face, forcing him to look at you. “What are you talking about, Tom?”

He stills, lowering his head until your brows are touching. There isn’t an inch of space between you and when he speaks, his voice is hoarse. “You're the only person who knows me - who believes in me. In my worst times, you see the best in me. And even with my worst lies…you always see the truth in me.”

Concerned, you pull back from him. Clearly, his sex-addled brain is not functioning correctly. “Tommy, what are you-” 

“I love you.”

Silence fills the room. It’s so unexpected, his admission, that you freeze. Imaginary walls fracture like glass around you. 

When this thing between you and Tommy started up months ago, there had been an unspoken agreement that it could be nothing more than lust. An added benefit of your business transactions. Your family history, not to mention the relationship between your two companies, is far too complicated for anything more. 

Love was never part of the deal.

But as much as you might want to believe that he’s simply not thinking straight - that he’s as intoxicated by your body as you are by his, you realise he is right. You see the hope - the truth - reflected back at you in those beautiful blue eyes.

Tommy Shelby has fallen in love with you.

Even if you wanted to, there's nothing you can do about it.

Tommy Taglist: @a-reader-and-a-writer @crysxtal @simpforbuckyb @shynovelist @amberpanda99 @globetrotter28 @iammrsrogers @dragonsondragons @butterfly-lover @sunshineyourethebesttime @that-sarcastic-writer @iwantmyredvelvetcupcake @breezy2and2freezy @fia-thefirst @dreamy-caramel @trixie23

[cdroloisms]

originally i just wanted dream to recover, preferably in the syndicate. but after today's quackity lore? he deserves to fuck shit up for a bit. let him get his revenge. tommy got his revenge on dream, techno got his revenge on l'manberg, dream deserves to get revenge on quackity and sam! then he can recover after that lol

(context: ask was sent on march 16th and i am very. very late.)

but YEAH !! logic brain says revenge bad and cycle of violence will continue BUT emotion brain wants c!dream to go crazy go stupid !! go beat them up honey we’ll be here with juice boxes and fruit snacks when you’re done <3 

i wrote this while looping casino royale by derivakat for (checks time) something like 12 hours straight so uhh,,, yeah LMAO have some of c!dream going apeshit bc honestly he deserves it (/hj)

tw: implied torture, abuse, mentioned injuries, suicide, murder, explosions, death, violence, dark portrayals of c!dream, c!quackity, and c!sam, emotional distress, prison arc, pandora’s vault

Sam is uneasy long before he enters Las Nevadas - Quackity’s terse, serious-sounding string of texts he’d woken up to had sent his heart racing before the country even came into sight, and he’s pretty sure the pit in the middle of his gut since Dream escaped a week ago won’t disappear until the prisoner is either jailed or dead at his feet. Still, the city hardly does his anxiety any favors - each step within its limits feels a bit more like walking to his own death, the silent storefronts and looming, boarded up casino seeming to watch his every move, making him pick up his pace to move a little faster and avoid their judging gazes.

Stuck in his head as he is, it’s not until he’s halfway to the meeting place that he realizes how eerily quiet the place is - Las Nevadas has yet to be a particularly busy country with the casino yet to open and their recruits usually doing their own thing in the meantime, but still there’s usually at least one of them lingering on the city grounds, between Fundy’s work on his yacht and Foolish’s construction and whatever Slime does, usually involving an immense amount of following Quackity’s every move. The city as it right now feels much more like when it had been no more than a secret of his and Quackity, months spent with just the two of them working to make Big Q’s vision a reality. There’s something uniquely unnerving about it, like stepping into a ghost town, and Sam’s unease only grows.

“Sam!” Quackity calls from the base of the casino - Sam shades his eyes from the sun as he jogs over. Even from this far, it’s clear Q is displeased - his lips are flat in a small frown, skin taut from where the corner of his mouth is pulling at his scar. His tie is slightly askew and shirt rumpled - he looks disheveled, eyebrows narrowed irritatedly as he taps at something on his communicator. Sam smiles slightly, hollow.

“Hello Quackity,” he responds simply, drawing his trident and bringing it to his side. “You said we needed to meet?”

“Yeah,” Quackity’s voice is distracted, and he mumbles a curse as he jams his finger particularly hard against the communicator screen. “What is up with everyone today? They sent me these- weird fucking messages  and then we get here and nobody’s here-”

“Who?” Sam’s lips press together. “You mean like- Fundy? Or Foolish?” They seem to be the ones that Quackity got messages from most frequently, if he remembers right. He doesn’t know for sure - usually, Quackity handles the social side of managing Las Nevadas.

“Fundy, Purpled, Foolish, Slime-” Quackity makes a vague, affronted noise. “All of them! Where the hell are they?”

Sam pauses.

“Q, when did Slime learn to use a communicator?”

“That’s the green one, right?” Both of them freeze, whirling around to the voice behind them, seeing nothing but the empty, arched doorway of the still-locked casino. “Naïve. Easy to fool.” The voice pauses, barks a sharp, quiet laugh. “Made my job easy, at least.”

The voice is familiar- too familiar. Sam doesn’t think he’ll ever get that cadence out of his head, not after months after months spent in the prison, hearing it in every possible tone and form. Quackity’s shoulders are hunched up to his ears, teeth bared in a snarl.

“Dream- I fucking swear- where the hell are you?”

“Aw, not so brave when the other person can actually fight back, are we?” Dream’s voice is lilting, mocking, and Sam’s hands tighten on the trident. “Fine, I’ll show myself. I’m not like you- no need to extend this game any longer than necessary.”

Dream slinks out from the shadows, wearing all black and covered in netherite armor, seeming fiddling with a small, grey thing in one hand. HIs stance is wide, torso pulled close to the ground - instead of a mask, his outfit includes a hooded black cloak that pulls down over his face, barely offering a glimpse of his eye glaring from underneath it.

“I’m giving you three seconds to tell me why the hell you’re in my country,” Quackity growls, sword forming in his hand, blade still crusted over with old blood, “And I’ll make your death half as painful as it’ll be otherwise.”

Dream laughs, high-pitched and unstable. “Please- what are you gonna do with that thing?” Quackity stalks forward with a low, wordless yell and Sam only barely manages to snag him back by the wrist.

“Watch it, Q,” Sam mutters, looking closer. Sure enough, there’s a faint, reddish haze rising from Dream’s body, only barely visible, interspersed with some lighter blue wisps. Strength and Speed. “He’s got potions.”

“Outmatched, aren’t we?” Dream cocks his head to the side, a tight-lipped smile visible under the hood’s shadow. “What a shame. I was hoping for a good fight.”

Quackity curses at him, loudly, but mullishly stays in place instead of lashing out like earlier, and Sam hisses a small sigh of relief. He looks back over at Dream - under the sun, he looks worse than ever, armor doing little to hide the gaunt edge of his face, limbs skinny and shaking. His hands tremble, wrists kept close together, as he continues to move the thing within them from hand to hand, small and grey and smooth from what he can tell in flashes between scarred and calloused fingers. He’s still favoring his left side slightly, but his eyes are cold and clear as they follow his every movement, clearly lucid and intelligent. Unfortunately for them, Dream is the best of fighters at the worst of times, and he has no doubt that with potions on his side and themselves relatively unprepared for battle, any fight with him won’t go particularly well.

Negotiation it is, then. “Why are you here, Dream?” If they stall long enough, then the rest of the server can come to back them up, and then even Dream won’t be able to fight back for long. He and Quackity can figure out what to do with him once he’s safely back under their control - for now, they have to play things safe. He pulls out his communicator carefully with one hand, trying to avoid drawing attention to his movements. “I doubt you’re here for a housewarming visit.”

Dream waves his hand slightly. “Something like that-” he bares his teeth in a small smile. “How about a housewarming gift, instead?”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Quackity bites, aggressive in a way that speaks of how threatened he feels, and the pit in Sam’s stomach only grows. Dream’s eye seems to glow as he turns and presses his hands to the nearby wall; when he pulls them back, there’s a stone button fastened on the quartz.

“Say, Quackity,” Dream’s voice is too light to be anything but forced levity, rolling his shoulders back to try and hide the way his entire body has begun to shake even more violently than before. “How much TNT do you suppose it took for Wilbur to blow up L’manburg?”

Sam gasps, low and harsh through his teeth, a quiet, breathless no falling from his lips. Quackity’s head shakes, eyes widening in fury and denial.

“No- no what the fuck did you do- Dream what the absolute fuck did you do-”

“Eleven stacks of TNT, to blow up that country to kingdom come.” Dream laughs, directing his wild, manic expression to look them in the eye. “The amount of TNT hooked up to this thing is ten times that.”

“You’re a liar-” Quackity rushes forward, sword raised, “I’m going to fucking kill you-”

Sam grabs him, again, ignoring his yells to look at Dream, who’s still standing, seemingly unruffled, one hand hovering over the button that’ll spell doom for them all.

“That’ll kill all of us,” he tries to reason, panic clawing up his lungs, “You’re on your last life. You can’t-”

“And what, Warden, makes you think I give a single goddamn fuck about that?” Dream’s voice cracks, slightly, and for a moment Sam almost thinks he’ll break, that he can press the point until the other backs down - but Dream is nothing if not stubborn, and within seconds he’s composed himself again, looking at them with a determined set to his jaw that Sam recognizes well enough from Quackity’s visits to know that he won’t back down. “Everyone else is far away from here. I made sure of that. It’s just you, and Quackity, and me, and I’m pressing this button if it’s the last thing I do. Call it a parting shot, will you?”

Sam pulls at Quackity, wrist still locked in his grip. “Q, we have to leave.”

“I’m not letting him destroy this place Sam, are you out of your fucking mind? This- Las Nevadas- it’s everything- I’m not letting him take this place from me not again-”

“He’s going to kill us all, Quackity,” he throws a water bucket at his feet, charging up his trident. The sign taunts him at the edges of the city borders, far too far away for any of them to even hope to reach. “We have to go now-”

“Say your goodbyes,” Dream taunts, and there’s a quiet click. Sam smells the faint, smoky smell of redstone being activated, hears a hum growing in volume from the ground beneath him. He looks over to Dream, who has a hand pressing the button to the wall, fever-bright eyes wide and wet as he stares at his own hand before shutting them with a soft, almost serene smile. “And see you in hell.”

The world goes white.

[Dream was blown up by Dream.]

[Quackity was blown up by Dream.]

[awesamdude was blown up by Dream.]

[glitteryhellhole]

Doc being Doc 3/?

In which Doc prescribes medical marijuana to 10K.

Fandom: Z nation Word count: approx 1000 Warnings: Nightmares. and weed. My blog is 18+ so interact at your own discretion

Parts 1 and 2 (this series is basically just one-shots)

He wakes with a jolt, gasping a breath that smells and tastes of danger. There's one here. The Z crawls towards him, reaching out to grab. Its face comes into view, rotten flesh peeling from the dislocated jaw.

“Tommy...”

He kicks, reaching for his gun, flailing in the darkness. But he's rooted to the ground.

“You didn't do it...” It- he- is close enough now to spray specks of blood from his gaping mouth as he rasps. “You promised... Tommy...” A filthy clawed hand smothers his face, he can't breathe.

“Dad!”

He wakes for real this time, the hand covering his mouth his own. 10K shudders and sits upright, feeling cold sweat.

“Hey.” A torch light shines in his direction. “It's me”

Doc.

10K steadies his breath as he looks around; they're in a barn which is part of a commune-turned-survivor camp. The residents, mostly children and elderly, had been happy to provide food and supplies in exchange for a couple days' manual labour.

“Same dream?” Doc asks quietly. “That's at least four nights in a row now.”

10K can't remember the last time he managed to get real rest, and he's been volunteering for night watch as a distraction,  but his aim has begun to suffer. Tonight though, Doc is on duty, and the radio is quietly serenading him.

“I can't make it stop,” he mumbles, looking at the crescent moon nail marks on his palms. “Its stupid. But it won't go away.”

Doc drapes an arm over his shoulder. “Nothing stupid about it kid, we've experienced some pretty messed up shit.”

Glancing around the barn, 10K breathes a sigh of relief that he didn't wake everyone else up by yelling this time. Whatever Doc says, its still embarrassing.

“You need to relax a bit, get some proper shut-eye.” Doc pulls something from his shirt pocket. “How 'bout it?”

10K squints at the joint. His Dad always said that drugs were for rockstars and communists. But if he can't sleep then he can't shoot.

“I guess so.” He sighs.

Doc lights the joint, takes a puff, and then passes it over. “It's not too different to a cig. You wanna take a breath first, and then sort of suck in, so it goes down into your lungs.”

10K gingerly takes the joint and breathes in, then sucks- and splutters.

“Not like that!”

“Argh, its up my nose.” He steels himself then tries again, and this time he inhales properly. It tastes like burned cheese.

“Give it a minute before you take another, this isn't beginner strength.” Doc takes back the joint and hits a few times in quick succession as he studies 10K's face.

Oh. There it is.

A wave of calm descends on him like a gentle trickle of hot water, his muscles unclenching.

“I think its working,” he mumbles, and is surprised by how his voice sounds.

“Sounds like it.” Doc hands him the joint and brings the radio closer, turning it up just slightly. “Our good pal Citizen Z is running through the best of Dire Straits. Best band to come out of Britain. The Beatles are overrated.”

10K inhales another mouthful of weed, feeling the endorphin rush. “Beetles are quite tasty actually.”

He's actually heard Doc mention the band before, but it doesn't matter because he just made a joke and its really, really funny.

He's trying so hard not to laugh too loud that he drops ash onto his lap. “Ow!”

“Careful!” Doc quickly takes back the joint and flicks off the ash. “Oh yeah, that reminds me. Don't ever smoke this stuff naked. Easy to drop off with it in your hand, then next thing y'know you're roasting your chestnuts.”

10K winces and crosses his legs.

“Man, that nudist commune was one of the best places I ever lived. Had to leave for the winter though.”

Everything's fuzzy now, but in a pleasant way. 10K leans back against the corrugated metal wall and lets his eyes close, listening to the music.

“You wanna talk about it, kid?”

“What, being naked?”

“The nightmares I mean.” The light is dim but it looks like Doc's blowing smoke rings.

10K remembers how it starts differently each time, but always ends up with the corpse that used to be his Father coming for him, hungry and accusational. The lurching twist in the pit of his stomach comes as usual but its definitely less pronounced.

“I don't think it matters right now.” He takes one more hit, and starts to feel like he's floating on a cushion of air. Citizen Z's smooth voice emanating from the radio is a gentle breeze, softly nudging his cloud across the sky.

“Whatever time zone you're in, I want to wish you a safe and calm evening. Especially to my good friends Operation Bitemark. Here's one more record to see you off.”

Even though he doesn't recognise the music, 10K is comforted by it. Doc's singing along very quietly next to him as he takes the last toke. Faint sounds of the others breathing slowly and deeply in their sleep. Safe and calm indeed.

A joke occurs to him and its gone again before he can articulate it but its so hilarious that he has to shove his fist in his mouth again, this time to suppress hysteria rather than screams.

“What's so funny?” asks Doc.

“I...” 10K wheezes as he hold in the laughter. “I can't remember.”

“Okay. That's about where you want to be.” Doc picks up 10K's blanket and drapes it over him. “Feelin' sleepy now?”

10K becomes aware that while the rest of him feels feather-light, his eyelids are incredibly heavy. He nods and lets himself slip sideways to lie down.

“Thanks Doc.” He murmurs. Maybe it doesn't actually come out, because he's asleep the moment his cheek rests on his arm. But he's sure that Doc knows he means it.

The only thing he dreams of is being a cloud floating in the warm blue sky.

----Note:  Whether using drugs for medical or recreational purposes, please remember to stay safe and know your limits. 

[mobius-prime]

237. Sonic the Hedgehog #169

Order from Chaos (Part Two): The Great Harmony

Writer: Ian Flynn Pencils: Tracy Yardley! Colors: Jason Jensen

Sonic races ahead through the nanite city, still searching for his father and Tails. He finds his father lying on the ground some distance ahead, and Jules informs him that with Tails delivered to A.D.A.M., he's been ordered to self-destruct, but since A.D.A.M. forgot to actually give him a time limit he's set himself to fall apart in about forty years, plenty of time for Sonic to free him from A.D.A.M.'s control. With his father relatively safe for the moment, Sonic presses on to the spire, where A.D.A.M. has begun to use the power of Shadow and Tails to draw every Chaos Emerald in the universe to him. Time to sound off! The green emeralds are of course from Mobius. The cyan emeralds are from Weeet, Car-heem's home planet from StH#23. The blue emeralds are from the Xorda's home planet, and the red, as we saw during Tossed in Space, from Thoraxia. The purple ones are from Teragosa 6, that utopian planet that E.V.E. ate in StH#128, and, from the same issue, the yellow ones are from the star that E.V.E. threw herself into afterward. And finally, the gray ones are from none other than Argentum, the Bem homeworld where Tails' parents still reside! Man, awfully convenient that every single variety of Chaos Emerald in the universe happens to come from places that Sonic has either visited or had some connection with, huh? With all the emeralds collected, they swirl around A.D.A.M.'s spire in multicolored loops - but he realizes that there's one emerald that still eludes his reach.

Well, but of course! It wouldn't be a Sonic canon without the Master Emerald, right? How interesting that Finitevus has shown himself to Locke, though… Sonic finally arrives on the scene, and A.D.A.M. reveals to him that Tommy is still alive under all the nanites, and fully conscious. Ah, so an "and I must scream" kind of situation, huh? Eggman is furious now that he's no longer directly cowering under A.D.A.M.'s gaze, and disowns A.D.A.M. as his son, leading A.D.A.M. to reveal his true reason for doing all of this: because he wants his daddy to love him. That's it. Seriously. He got Eggman to kill M because he felt he might love her more than him, as well. All this comes down to daddy issues. Sonic even lampshades just how ridiculous this is, that even Shadow doesn't angst like this. Sonic tries to attack A.D.A.M., but A.D.A.M. briefly lifts the nanites away from Tommy's head, revealing Tommy inside looking very disoriented and pained. Sonic hesitates to attack him, unwilling to hurt his friend to get to A.D.A.M., which of course, gives A.D.A.M. an opening to knock him aside. Eggman actually helps Sonic back to his feet, telling him to keep A.D.A.M. busy until his Egg Fleet can get here to blast him to bits. Sonic, however, not wanting Tommy to end up hurt, decides to turn things up a notch and go for the very tempting Giant Tower of Chaos Emeralds for a power-up.

While Super Sonic and Super A.D.A.M. start battling it out in the air, Eggman releases Shadow and Tails from their pods, with them having by now been forced into their Super and Turbo forms respectively by the power of so many nearby emeralds. Turbo Tails, realizing that he hasn't yet fulfilled his prophecy after all, recognizes that this is the Great Harmony and enlists Shadow's help to open a portal to a parallel zone to send the Chaos Emeralds there to safety, away from here.

Something special indeed! It's quite creative, actually, that Ian found a way to turn such a throwaway "Chosen One" thing into an actual plot device to help him with his clean-up detail. A.D.A.M. is furious at the loss of the gems, and Sonic tries to get him to let Tommy go and give up, but A.D.A.M. refuses… until the nanites around Tommy's head melt away, with Tommy having been finally able to wrest back control for a second. Sonic is overjoyed, but Tommy tells him that he won't have control for long, and apologizes for being so much trouble, as well as thanking Sonic for his kindness. The Egg Fleet arrives, and Tommy forces A.D.A.M. to fly towards it. Sonic tries to stop him, but it's too late, and the cannons fire, vaporizing both Tommy and A.D.A.M. in an instant. Sonic loses his Super form and floats to the ground, rather morbidly holding what's left of his friend in one hand.

Awww. Apparently Ian's decision to kill off Tommy here was because he wasn't a particularly popular character, and while I'll agree that he was kind of one-dimensional and uninteresting in his first few appearances, I had grown to like him as part of the team. At least in the end, he got to be a true hero, and took A.D.A.M. with him.

…for a Friend

Writer: Ian Flynn Pencils: Steven Butler Colors: Aimee Ray

I know it's not listed in my credits here, but Kenders actually inked and lettered for this story! I mentioned in his final issue as a writer than there was one more story he had involvement with, and this is it - as far as I've been able to find, he wasn't involved with any other stories from here on out. So I suppose, in a way, this is truly our final goodbye to Kenders!

Mighty, Ray, and Espio have all journeyed out to the former site of Charmy's home, the Golden Hive Colony, in search of any information on his family's whereabouts, with Vector providing assistance over the radio from Knothole. Mighty and Ray are mostly staying outside as lookouts, while Espio, with his superior stealth skills, sneaks into the giant structure that once housed the colony, but which has now been repurposed into one of Eggman's many bases. It's worth noting that up until now, Ray hasn't been a very well fleshed out character at all, but under Ian's writership he actually gains a pretty significant stutter. I'm not sure if the implication is meant to be that he just naturally stutters, or if his trauma led him to develop one, but either way, it's a small character detail that I appreciate. Anyway, Espio sneaks in, getting information on the location of the base's main computer from one terrified robot, and once he takes out the robots using said computer for Solitaire, Nicole helps him hack into it.

I love this. I think this is the first time the comic - or any Sonic canon, actually - has ever really gone into Eggman's reasons behind what he does. In most canons he is shown to genuinely value family to some degree, as he idolizes his grandfather and in the comics specifically likes to keep Snively close. That said, he is a sadist at heart, and someone being a blood relative is not enough for him to decide not to torture and murder them, as we saw with the disaster with the Overlanders in Robotropolis some time ago. Therefore, with most of his family gone, and Snively having some level of immunity as an underling, he finds his enjoyment in not only hurting the Mobians and other Overlanders that he's at war with, but in ensuring that even his own forces can be terrified of him. This is backed up by what Nicole finds in the computer's database.

With that, Espio sets the base to blow up and escapes before he's caught in it, much to Mighty and Ray's relief. He dodges their questions about why he destroyed it at first, until he curtly explains that since Eggman hurt his friend, he decided to hurt him back. Thus, the Golden Hive Colony is gone, but at least there's hope for some survivors to be found sometime in the future.

[kloolass-larspawn]

Complete Union - Chapter 6

The Ceremony

     The room went quiet as Lattice stood up with her violin and began playing music.  P walked down the aisle first with a pillow that had two klay strips on it.  When the little toddler reached Hoborg and Tommynaut, Klaymen and Vivianna started making their way down the aisle as well, followed by Klaus and Kittynaut.  Once everyone had taken their places at the alter, Lattice changed the song and everyone but Kruithne stood up and looked to the back of the room as Ottoborg and Yvonne began to make their way to alter.

     Tommynaut’s jaw dropped at the sight of Yvonne and said “Wow!” under his breath.  Yvonne looked at Tommynaut and started giggling quietly in excitement, unable to stop herself.  All the nervousness the two felt before had melted away almost instantly, and all that was left was the pure adoration, love and unbridled excitement for each other and for what was about to happen.  Once they arrived at the alter, Ottoborg lifted Yvonne’s veil over her head and gave her a light kiss on her brow before he took his seat.  Hoborg cleared his throat and Lattice finished her song.

     “May everyone please be seated.” he announced.  Everyone that was standing sat down and gave their complete focus to the front.  The ceremony had begun.

     “Family, friends and fellows of the Neverhood, Ixen and beyond.  We are gathered here today to bare witness to the beginnings of this eternal bond between Yvonne Theremin and Tomas Oliver Naut.  These two have found a deep love for each other that goes beyond any regular companionship.  This love proves that, despite one’s beliefs and practices, a mutual understanding can indeed be reached, and could even become something more if both parties allowed.” Hoborg looked to Yvonne as she handed her bouquet to Viv.  “Yvonne, your vows please.” Yvonne nodded and took Tommynaut’s hands in her own as she looked into his eyes.

     “Tom,” she started, “I vow to always listen to you when you need to vent.  I vow to be a shoulder for you to cry on when others push you to your limit and you couldn’t do anything else.  I vow to always be there for you, because I know... all too well how awful it is to be alone and in pain... in an unknown place with no where to go and... no one to turn to... A-and I vow to always love and support you, because even if you don’t believe it... you deserve all the good things this universe has to offer.” Yvonne had teared up and was weeping quietly.  Tommynaut smiled to her warmly and gently wiped her tears away.  She took a deep breath and smiled to him.  Hoborg nodded and turned to the groom.

     “Tommynaut, your vows please.” he said.  Tommyanut nodded and cupped his hand on her cheek to look into her now glistening eyes.

     “Yvonne,” he started, “I vow to make you happy when you feel scared or sad.  I vow to always be here for you when you need to be in a quiet place, be it to concentrate for the next performance or to cool off from an argument with a customer... But most of all, I vow to help you feel safe.  A-after everything you’ve been through, you deserve the happiness and joy one finds in a safe haven.” He took Yvonne’s hands into his own and held them close to his heart.  “It’s what I found in you when I first came here, and I want to be the same for you no matter what, because I love you, Yvonne.  And I vow to love you always.” Ottoborg and Kruithne sniffed.  Yvonne teared up again and laughed quietly.

     “You forgot your vows, didn’t you?” she asked with a smile.  Tommynaut’s expression dropped and he sunk his head before he nodded.  The room laughed a little and Yvonne brushed his cheek.  “Don’t worry about it.  I forgot my vows too.” The room laughed again as Tommynaut looked at her.  They soon joined the laughter quietly and Hoborg chuckled.

     “Those vows were truly genuine to the both of you, then.” Hoborg said, then turned to P.  “The bands, please.” P lifted up the pillow and he took one of the strips.  He then gave it to Tommynaut.  “Tommynaut, I need you to take this band and tie it to Yvonne’s arm.”  Tommynaut nodded and took the band as Yvonne held out her left arm.  He place the band just above her elbow and Hoborg nodded.  “Repeat after me.  Yvonne.”

     “Yvonne.”

     “With this band, I tie on my devotion.”

     “With this band, I tie on my devotion.”

     “I tie on my commitment.”

     “I tie on my commitment.”

     “And I tie on my promise to you.”

     “And I tie on my promise to you.”

     “To be by your side.”

     “To be by your side.”

     “Until the final star novas.”

     “Until the final star novas.” Tommynaut finished tying the band and tucked the ends under the knot, which looked like the symbol for infinity.  Yvonne’s face was sore from smiling so much, but she couldn’t stop.  She started crying and he brushed her tears away again as he started tearing up himself.  Hoborg took the second strip and gave it to Yvonne.

     “Yvonne, I need you to take this band and tie it to Tommynaut’s arm.” he said.  She didn’t take the strip right away as she was still wiping her tears away without ruining the makeup too much.  Hoborg turned his head to her.  “Are you alright?” Yvonne laughed and sniffed as Tommynaut rolled up his left sleeve.

     “I’m fine! I-I’m just really excited.” The bride hugged the groom and whimpered.  “I love you so much, Tommy!” The room awwed.  Ottoborg blew his nose and Kruithne hugged Walter.

     “That’s so sweet!” Kruithne squeaked quietly. Walter hugged her back and kissed her.  Yvonne eventually calmed down and let go of Tommynaut.  She took the band from Hoborg and Tommynaut held his arm out for her to place it just above his elbow.

     “Repeat after me.” Hoborg started.  “Tommynaut.”

     “Tommynaut.”

     “With this band, I tie on my devotion.”

     “With this band, I tie on my devotion.”

     “I tie on my commitment.”

     “I tie on my commitment.”

     “And I tie on my promise to you.”

     “And I tie on my promise to you.”

     “To be by your side.”

     “To be by your side.”

     “Until the final star novas.”

     “Until the final star novas.” Yvonne’s hands were shaking the whole time as she finished tying the knot and tucked the ends underneath like Tommynaut did.  She couldn’t stop herself from laughing and crying at the same time, and soon he was the same.  Hoborg chuckled and the couple held each other’s hands.  He first turned to the groom.

     “Tomas Oliver Naut,” he started, “Do you take Yvonne to be your soul’s eternal partner, through fate’s curses and blessings, through time’s blind march forward into the unknown reaches of space, until your bodies fade and become stardust?” Tommynaut nodded.

     “I do.” His voice cracked and tears slowly started streaming down his face.  Yvonne wiped his tears away as Hoborg turned to her.

     “Yvonne Theremin,” he started again, “Do you take Tommynaut to be your soul’s eternal partner, through fate’s curses and blessings, through time’s blind march forward into the unknown reaches of space, until your bodies fade and become stardust?”

     “I do!” Yvonne cheered, making herself and Tommynaut laugh.  Hoborg lifted his head to the crowd.

     “If anyone is opposed to this union, please speak now, or forever hold your tongue.” he announced.  The room was quiet, safe from the couple’s laughter.  Hoborg nodded.  “Then by the power entrusted to me, in the witness of all of you here today, and by the blessing of Quater’s good will, I pronounce this union complete.  The couple may seal this newfound bond with a kiss.”

     Yvonne leapt into Tommynaut’s arms and kissed him.  Tommynaut caught her and dipped her down as he kissed back.  The room erupted into applause and the bridesmaids and groomsmen cheered and whistled as the couple held each other.  They stopped kissing and Yvonne’s face was bright red and full of happy surprise.

     “Oh my Quater, Tom, where did that come from!?” she laughed as she cupped her new husband’s face.  Tommynaut smiled as he lifted her back up to her feet.

     “Eight long years of waiting for this exact moment.” he answered with a sigh.  He took her hand and gave it a much lighter kiss.  “Too much?”

     “No, I just didn’t think you had it in you! You really know how to make a girl swoon!” Yvonne answered, then chuckled.  “Think you can do that again in our private time?” she asked with a wink.  Tommynaut’s face went red.

     “I’ll... uhh... I’ll keep that in mind.” he stammered, smiling shyly.  She giggled and took his arm as they turned to the cheering crowd.  Tommynaut turned his head to his new wife as Viv gave back her bouquet.  “I love you, Yvonne.” Yvonne smiled and turned her head to look back up at him.

     “I love you too, Tommynaut.” she said, and rested her head on his shoulder.  Lattice stood up and started playing her violin again and the couple made their way backup the aisle followed by the bridesmaids and groomsmen.

     Hoborg took a deep breath and announced loudly and clearly above the crowd’s cheers and applause:

     “Congratulations to the joined eternal spirits of Mister and Missis Naut Theremin!”

[your-iron-lung]

No Shade in the Shadow of the Cross 8

AKA ‘Knock Knock Knock’; available to read on A03 HERE

Story Synopsis:  Some weird low-key occult parties start popping up that Steve can’t in good conscience ignore and takes it upon himself to investigate. Billy gets caught up in the consequences of his meddling, and isn’t it funny? For all the strange things the Upside Down has thrown his way, it’s werewolves that Steve has trouble accepting exist.

Chapter Word Count: 7213

Pairings: Eventual Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington

Genre: Supernatural/Drama/Horror-ish

Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7

Next Chapter: 9

Notes: i dedicate this chapter to my boyfriend, who cleaned out the hole in my finger after my moms dog accidentally bit me. told me i needed stitches then slapped a bandaid on it. guess im a werewolf now awowooooooo

"He's doing it again."

There was a bitterness harbored in Nancy's voice that made Steve look up from the abysmal slop he'd been picking through on his food tray. The tenseness with which she squared her jaw made him frown, and he followed her stern gaze to where she held it, directed towards something over his shoulder.

Turning his head to see what she was referring to, Steve felt he already had a pretty good idea about what it was he was going to see, and, true enough, sitting three tables behind them sat Billy Hargrove and a group of his old friends. Instead of taking part in any of the conversations Tommy was trying to start, Billy was steadfastly ignoring him in favor of staring openly at Steve. Suppressing the slightest of shivers, Steve sighed and turned back around to his food with a resigned expression.

"Yep, he sure is," he said dryly. "Nothing I can do about it."

In the two weeks since the attack, Billy had gone through a series of shifts in demeanor when it came to interacting with Steve. When he'd first returned to school, he'd ignored him outright with a stubborn sense of determination, but his dismissal of him quickly flipped and turned into an obsession that was so prominent, people- or Nancy, at least- had begun to take notice. At any given time, if Billy happened to be in any relative proximity to Steve, he wouldn't be able to keep his eyes off of him, and although people had started to talk about it, their words did little to deter him.

Nothing stopped him from staring at Steve, and the attention was beginning to make his skin crawl.

But whatever it was Billy was doing, as long as it didn't get physical, Steve found he couldn't find the energy to care. He was still nursing his wounds, and had to worry about finding a job or something so he could pay his father back for ruining the BMW, and on top of that heap of responsibilities, there was the looming threat of finals, and while he was trying to manage all of those things as best he could, the simple fact that they hadn't yet found the creature that attacked him weighed heavily on his mind.

He had nightmares about it; about it descending from the trees in a heap of vicious limbs that lashed out at him, cutting his flesh to the bone- nightmares where he hadn't acted fast enough to be able to prevent Billy from bleeding out and, and instead had to hold him in his arms while his blood ran out of him, leaving him pale and gasping as the snow turned crimson around them. Hell, he still had nightmares about the fucking demodogs, so if Billy wanted to stare at him, fine. He had more important things to worry about, though he did have to admit that he found Billy's behaviour odd.

Was he staring at him because he realized that Steve had literally saved his life and was now thinking of a way to repay him somehow? He could start by replacing the car seat he'd nearly bled to death in, if that was the case, so he could cross that worry off his list. Or was his interest in Steve fueled by something more sinister, like a desire to seek revenge for belittling him somehow, despite the fact that Steve had done his damnedest to dispel any emasculating rumours that had surfaced after the incident? The last thing he wanted was for their bad blood to start flooding the school's hallways for everyone to slosh around in.

Nancy didn't bother lowering her voice when she spoke, and despite the general ambient tone of conversation that the lunchroom carried, Jonathan overheard what she'd said, and as he came to sit down beside her, setting his brown paper lunch bag onto their table, he looked at her for a confused moment before asking, "Who's doing what?"

He looked curiously between them as he began to unpack his lunch, setting a sandwich and a piece of fruit aside while Steve breathed out another sigh and tried to shrug off the eyes he could feel boring into his back.

"It's Billy," Nancy said when Steve declined to answer. "He's staring at Steve again."

Looking annoyed, Nancy let out a little huff and finally diverted her eyes away from where Billy was sitting to give Jonathan a small smile in greeting. Despite his growing annoyance with the situation, Steve managed to find some amusement in the fact that Nancy was more bothered by Billy's behaviour than he was. It showed she still cared about him somewhat, and that was one of the few good things he felt he had left.

"Why do you think he's been doing that?" Jonathan asked as he unwrapped the plastic surrounding his sandwich. His sunken eyes looked across the lunchroom for a moment to get a look at their subject of conversation before focusing back on his tablemates.

"Who knows with that guy," Steve commented indifferently, shrugging as he stabbed a fork into the meaty portion of his meal. "As long as he stays the fuck away from me, I don't care what he does."

"Even if you don't care, I don't like it." Nancy's eyes flicked briefly back to where Billy was sitting before taking a bite of lunch. Beside her, Johnathan had grown silent, eating his food contemplatively. "It doesn't feel right. It's almost like he's planning some kind of revenge scheme."

"Well you'd think if he was angry with you he'd have done something about it by now," Jonathan said, directing his statement towards Steve as he swallowed down a bite of food. A small smear of mayo streaked across his upper lip. "So far he's shown himself to be the kind of guy who acts immediately on his feelings, you know?"

"Oh, believe me, I know," Steve replied, unable to keep the slow drawl of sarcasm out of his tone, memories of nearly being beaten to death surfacing in his mind. Despite his reluctance to credit Jonathan with a good idea, he knew that he was probably right. If Billy had some sort of beef with him, he'd definitely have taken it up with him before now.

Besides that, whenever Steve noticed him staring and returned the look, he never really thought that Billy looked angry with him. He looked more lost than anything. Confused, even. He never even seemed to realize that Steve was staring back.

"Well if he's not thinking of ways to kill you, then what is he doing?" Using a napkin, Nancy reached out and wiped away the mayo on Jonathan's face, earning a timid smile from him in thanks. "He's been giving you weird looks all week."

"Hadn't noticed," Steve murmured sarcastically.

Nancy didn't appreciate the tone with which Steve spoke, but didn't press the issue beyond giving him a reproachful look. As their conversation died off, they ate in silence, offering Steve a chance to run through a mental list of who was hiring in the area, and what places he could reasonably send in an application, but having no prior experience with working, well, anywhere, left his options sorely limited. The places that would probably hire him were the places he had no desire to work at, but at the end of the day, what was it his dad was always telling him? 'Beggars can't be choosers'.

"The more I think about it," Jonathan said, stirring Steve from his thoughts, "the more I think it looks like he's trying to figure out how to approach you."

"What?" Steve shook his head in a way that he knew made his hair look good and laughed.

"What makes you think that?" Nancy asked.

Jonathan shrugged, looking down when Steve laughed. He picked at the crust on his sandwich as he spoke, peeling bits of brown bread away as he said, "The way he's been staring at Steve kind of reminds me of... me. Like, before I got to know you guys; back when I was on the outside looking in, sort of."

"Jonathan-" Nancy started, a sympathetic look creasing her brow.

The bell that signaled the end of their lunch period rang before anything more could be said. As they stood up and prepared to discard their trays and trash, Steve cast a look back to where Billy had been sitting. The boy was gone, though; lost in the transitional migration crowd as their peers began to make their way back to class.

Even if Steve wanted nothing more to do with him, he couldn't deny the fact that he'd been bonded to him in some regard when they'd both survived the 'bear' attack. If Billy had something to say to him, he'd listen, sure, but Steve wasn't going to be the one to initiate that conversation.

They hadn't even spoken since Steve had last seen him at the hospital, and that particular conversation had been weird enough to the point where he'd decided to give Billy the widest social berth he possibly could.

Whatever Billy wanted to talk about, he'd have to come to Steve first.

Coming back to school hadn't been easy for Steve; his injuries were so incredibly less severe than Billy's that he hadn't needed to take time off, but he wished he'd been allowed to. His writing hand was constantly sore because of all the numerous stitches running up his arm, and with the amount of last minute note taking he'd been doing in preparations for finals, he was half-afraid he was going to pop a few open as a result, but at least returning so soon had given him the opportunity to pretend everything was normal, and the more time that passed that allowed him to think that, the more Steve was inclined to believe that it really had just been a bear.

A mange-ridden, rabid, larger-than-your-average bear, sure, but it was better than the alternative; it was better than the unknown.

Despite his feeble self-assurances that carried him through his school days, he couldn't deny that he held an absurd amount of trepidation when it came to the simple task of opening his locker.

The last thing he wanted was to ruin his fragile psyche by finding more notes stuffed into his locker. But as the days went by and he hadn't yet found another invitation, he allowed himself to grow comfortable in the thought that the whole ordeal was behind him, and would remain as nothing more than another traumatic memory he'd just have to learn to live with.

He could manage that much. Or at least, he hoped he could.

The note that fluttered out of his locker then as he opened it threw his newly reconstructed confidence to the breeze. Steve stared after the offending piece of paper as it fell to the floor, already feeling a slight panic start to build up in his chest. The fear that the note had something to do with the woodland parties blinded him to the fact that this shred of paper was different from the invitations he'd received before.

Printed on fine cardstock that likely would have impressed a businessman like his father with its weight, the note that came fluttering from Steve's locker was the exact opposite of what he feared it was. This was a literal scrap of college-ruled paper, torn from a notebook and folded over itself lazily.

He turned away from the note lying on the floor and closed his locker quickly. He almost walked away without picking it up, and would have, too, if he hadn't caught Billy's eye at that precise moment.

Leaning against a row of lockers further down the hall, Billy was watching him, giving Steve reason to pause. Imperceptibly, Billy broke the stare between them and nodded once to the note Steve had left on the ground. 'Pick it up', he seemed to say.

Steve squinted at him, unsure of what his motives were. Driven by curiosity, he turned back to where he'd left the note and hesitantly bent down to grab it. Relief replaced that slight feeling of panic when he realized that the note wasn't like the invitations he'd received in the past. He turned back to Billy, only to find that he'd moved on. Crinkling the piece of paper in his fist briefly, Steve stepped back to his locker and unfolded the note.

'I need to show you something.

Meet me in the parking lot.'

Despite the fact that it hadn't been signed by anyone, the note had undoubtedly been written by Billy. Anybody else would have just asked to speak with him in person.

Tucking the note into his jeans pocket, Steve sighed miserably as he made his way through the hall, an uneasy feeling about the direction his afternoon was taking settling into his gut.

That feeling was improved upon when he finally stepped outside and saw just how gloomy it was. Wet, half-frozen snowflakes were falling from an overcast sky, creating an uncomfortable slush he had to trudge through to get to the student parking lot. Wind was blowing weakly, occasionally throwing a soggy flurry into his face that he had to wipe away in order to see.

People were peeling out of the lot as quickly as they could, desperate to escape the hideous weather conditions and get somewhere warm. His fingers played with the note in his pocket as he strode through the second-hand mush of winter and made his way to where Billy stood, leaning up against his car feigning nonchalance despite the fact that Steve could see him visibly shivering.

Because of his injury, Billy had taken to wearing his coat half on, half off. The brace that he'd been outfitted with to keep his broken arm in place wouldn't fit in the tight leather sleeve of what must have been his only winter coat. A smarter man would've dressed in layers, Steve thought, and then grinned a little because he himself had dressed in layers. Dress smarter, not harder.

"Wanna tell me what this is about?" he asked as he approached Billy, holding the folded note up for him to see.

"Thought I was being pretty clear when I wrote it."

Billy obviously wasn't in the mood for their typical banter, but Steve wasn't in the mood for being serious. He'd been stewing in serious thoughts all day, and if Billy was going to give him an opening to be an ass, then he was going to take it.

"Well, I mean, this could mean any number of things," he said, opening the note to read it aloud. Billy' looked away with a scowl. "I've only ever gotten notes like these from girls, you know."

"Christ, cut the shit Harrington," Billy said, rolling his eyes. He made to stand up, but was pushed back against the Camaro, a look of surprise overtaking his features as he felt Steve's hand wind itself into his jacket.

"No, you cut the shit, Hargrove!" Steve snapped, his pent-up frustrations boiling over. "You've been staring at me all week like a girl with a crush on me, and now you send me this? What is it you've got to show me? Your fucking dick or some shit? Because believe me pal, I am not interested in whatever kind of fucked up confession this is."

After his outburst, both boys went quiet, each of them stunned into silence after Steve's sudden eruption. Around them, the parking lot was nearly empty, mercifully allowing them a privacy neither of them had thought they'd need to have this conversation.

Realizing he'd had the lapels of Billy's jacket bunched into his hands, he let Billy go and took a step back, running his hand that wasn't wrapped in bandages through his hair.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered to himself, then turned back to Billy, who had yet to say anything. "Well?" Steve snapped. "You got something you need to show me or not?"

A mirthful smile spread across Billy's face when he spoke, a mischievous spark lighting his eye. "Yeah, I do, but it's at my house. Get what I'm saying, Harrington? I'm asking you to come home with me, stud."

Steve stared at him blankly for a moment before breaking away to laugh, sucking in frigid air and snowflakes that melted in his throat. Billy shrugged his jacket back into place, covering his injured arm from the cold.

"You're a real piece of shit, Hargrove," Steve finally said, shaking his head. "Alright, fine. I'll 'come home with you', or whatever, but I swear, if you actually whip your dick out when we get there I'll fucking kill you."

"Relax, asshole, I'm not asking you over for a fucking conjugal visit," Billy drawled, rolling his eyes again. Steve waited for him to elaborate more about what the nature of the visit actually was, but Billy had evidently said all he was going to about the matter.

"You want me to follow you then?" he asked, gesturing towards where his car was parked a few rows over.

"Try to keep up," Billy replied, smirking a little bit as he rounded the front of the Camaro to the driver's side, whereupon he opened the door and slid awkwardly into the seat.

"Don't you have to wait for Max?" Steve asked, speaking loudly as Billy started his car, but he never heard the reply if there was one. Billy began reversing almost immediately, intent on driving out of the lot as fast as he could to make Steve work for it. Breathing out a hasty "Oh, shit," Steve started jogging towards his car so he wouldn't fall too far behind.

Compared to Harrington's house, Billy knew that his own had no way of stacking up against it. Hell, Steve's house had a pool and Billy's didn't even have a second fucking floor. Everyone that lived in Neil Hargrove's house all lived together on the same miserable floor, cramped together by circumstance, and even though Tommy had cast his friendship with Steve aside, that didn't stop him from talking up how awesome the fucking Harrington house was.

It was one of those things he'd had to punch him out for.

All that aside, Billy honestly didn't give a shit about the state of his house; it didn't reflect him or his worth- only his father's, for he had been the one to settle for the shit-heap. Not everyone could be born into their wealth.

Regardless, he averted his eyes away when Steve's eyes wandered up the front of his home, taking stock in its size and the rundown condition it was in after he pulled into the driveway. He didn't comment on the miserable way it sat on its foundation as he stepped out of the car, or of how grimy the windows were as he walked with Billy up the front porch steps, and even stayed quiet when the wooden boards squeaked and groaned with their weight.

As they stepped through the front door, Billy finally had to address the queer feeling he'd been harboring in his stomach as nervousness. Steve looked around their tiny living room, but refrained from saying anything about its size. But oh, how he must have wanted to; Billy could see it written all over his pretty face. The rich fuck wanted to brag about how much better his own house was, he could feel it-

"Nice set up," Steve said instead, gesturing to where Billy had his work-out equipment set out.

Whether he was being sincere or not, Billy couldn't say, but the compliment had done enough to derail his spiraling train of thought.

"Gets the job done," he replied casually, taking his coat off and throwing it over his workout bench.

"I'll say."

"What?"

"You said you had something to show me?" Steve said, frowning a little at the look on Billy's face. "Please don't tell me you took me all the way out here just to fuck with me."

"Who's fucking with who?" Billy said with a hint of a snarl curling his lip. He had to remind himself that he had been the one to initiate this gathering, and had to bite back on some of the anger that had surfaced out of nowhere. Steve didn't say anything in response, allowing Billy time to simmer down enough to point at his TV. "Turn that on."

"You bring me to your house so I can turn your TV on for you?" Steve scoffed, but Billy looked serious. "Fuck you," he said as he stepped across the living room from where he was standing to kneel down and press the power button.

The screen flickered for a moment, struggling to stabilize as the black screen turned grey before sputtering to life, the colour image slowly beginning to materialize on the screen. Steve took a few steps back as he waited for it to come into clarity, not noticing the way Billy had averted his eyes away from the TV. His gaze was, once again, fixed solely on Steve, waiting to catch and gauge his reaction from what he was about to see.

Billy had rented the VHS tape of 'American Werewolf in London' from the store after Max had returned it, intent on showing the creature on the film to Steve, but had been too unsure of how he was meant to accomplish that show him right away. They weren't friends, or even anything remotely close to that, but ever since he'd seen it he'd known he'd have to clue him in on what he'd found out eventually. That, and he had more than just the movie to show him.

As the movie scene that Billy had paused the tape on finally came to light, he felt his injured arm itch, and longed to scratch it.

"What the hell is this," Steve finally said after a moment.

His eyes had grown wide at the sight at the tormented figure of David lying on the floor, face contorted in pain as he was caught in the throes of mid transformation. It was all the affirmation that Billy needed to know that he'd been right.

"Look familiar?" Billy asked, running his tongue along his teeth.

Steve stared at the creature for a second longer before shaking his head. When he turned to Billy, his face no longer looked frightened, but angry.

"No, really, what the fuck is that?" His tone was accusatory, and he was speaking so loudly he might as well have been yelling. "If this is your idea of some kinda fucking joke-"

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Billy snapped back, brow creasing as Steve went into denial. "I figured it out, asshole! The thing that got us in the woods- that thing that nearly ripped my fucking arm off- that's it! Right there on that fucking screen!"

Steve turned away from him to stare at the screen again, eyes running over the details presented to him. It did look remarkably like the creature he'd grown content to believe was a bear: the sparse patches of hair, the elongated canine jaw, and the harrowingly thin frame that carried it all left little to no doubt in his mind that this was it. Whatever 'it' was.

"How did you-" His throat had gone dry with the realization. Steve had to wet his lips before he could speak again. "How did you find this?"

Billy looked at him contemplatively, as one might watch a dog that has tried to bite them in the past but still wanted to pet it. "The rental place by the arcade. It's a movie; Max was watching it."

"A movie?" Steve balked. "So you're saying we were assaulted by a movie monster?"

"A werewolf," Billy said decisively.

The unease Steve had felt building up inside him seemed to vanish in an instant. His body wanted to shake with relief, but he wouldn't let it.

"Holy shit," he said, combing a hand through his hair, stifling a nervous laugh. He took a few steps to the side, pacing in front of the TV. "This is unbelievable."

Billy regarded his shift in demeanor calmly, but with a frown. He reached into the back pocket of his pants and grabbed his pack of cigarettes and pulled one out, setting it to his lips and then lighting it.

"I mean, do you hear yourself? A werewolf? C'mon, man," Steve continued, finally coming to a stop in front of Billy. He shook his head and uttered out another short laugh. "I really thought you were onto something here for a minute, you know? Werewolves aren't real. What did you expect me to do after showing me this? You want me to call Hopper up? Tell him that what he's been looking for all this time is a goddamn movie monster?!"

"Well what's your theory then?" Billy finally replied, sneering around his cigarette, his anger smoldering beneath his skin like the burning end of his cigarette. "If it looks like a werewolf, acts like a werewolf, then fuck, what the hell else could it be?!"

"A bear!" Steve shouted, throwing his arms up in frustration. "Werewolves don't exist, dipshit!"

"Then how do you explain my arm?!" Billy hollered, throwing his cigarette to the floor. He stomped it out angrily before he lifted his injured arm up, struggling to pull the sling up and over his head. Alarmed at the action, Steve stepped in to try and stop him but was roughly shoved away. "If it's not some kind of supernatural piece of shit, then how do you explain your hand?" he hissed, throwing the sling to the floor beside the crumpled filter of his wasted cigarette.

"What about my hand?" Steve asked, speaking levelly as he watched Billy's fingers fumble with the brace, managing to all but tear it free from his arm to drop it to the ground alongside the sling. "Are you fucking insane, Hargrove? What the hell are you doing, man, your arm-"

"My arm is fine."

Billy spoke curtly, practically cutting his own sentence short in his haste to show off what he meant. He peeled the bandages that had been wrapped around his arm away with hasty, scratching motions, and then held his arm up for Steve to see it. Where there should have been sections of stripped off flesh and bruises marking where his arm had been broken, there was instead… nothing. Astonished, Steve saw that there was not a single scratch left on his tanned skin. The mutilation he'd endured was gone.

As if that wasn't evidence enough to prove something supernatural was behind his miraculous recovery, Billy stepped towards his workout station and grabbed up one of his heaviest hand weights. Without so much as a grunt of effort or slight whine of pain, he curled it effortlessly in his arm, ultimately proving that his bones were no longer broken. Steve watched his display with wide eyes, mouth dropping open in confusion, because he'd known for a fact that Billy's injuries had been substantially worse than his own, and to see that his arm was totally healed now was baffling. His own arm still had all of the stitches in it, and throbbed painfully sometimes when he wrote with it for too long.

"Your arm was broken-" he stuttered, unable to fully put words behind his thoughts.

"Yeah. In three places," Billy said morosely, as though he were upset by the fact that it now seemed to be intact and unbroken.

"But then… What the fuck…" Steve whispered, reaching out to touch Billy's bicep to feel for himself if what he was seeing was true. The contact was short lived, as Billy immediately flinched away from his touch with a disgusted look plastered all over his face.

"My hand," Steve said flatly, pulling away without a fuss. "You keep saying it's all fucked up, but I don't see it. What the hell's so wrong with it?"

"No one else sees it- not just you; I've been watching people talk to you like it's normal all goddamn week."

"Tell me what you see, then."

Steve waited patiently, giving Billy enough time to put his thoughts in order. He'd been riled up before, and looked to be struggling with how to best describe what it was he was seeing that no one else could, his eyes focused entirely on Steve's hand.

"It looks diseased," Billy finally said after a moment. "There're these… puncture marks in it that just- look infected."

"Infected," Steve repeated, looking over his hand curiously, turning it forward and back. To him, it still looked fine.

"And it smells, too, like... " Billy sniffed and then immediately wrinkled his nose in disgust. "It smells like the air did that night. Rotten."

"It didn't bite me, though," Steve said, frowning. "My hand wasn't hurt at all."

"No," Billy said quietly. "It didn't, but whatever you saw at that bonfire did."

A chill made the small hairs on his body stand upright as Steve was forced to remember the disembodied wolfs head, picturing it in his mind with vivid clarity. He remembered its teeth sinking into his flesh, poking holes into his skin that had vanished the instant he'd thrown it away in shock. No one had believed him then, but the look on Billy's face said he was willing to believe him now, but Steve wasn't sure if he himself actually believed it anymore.

Along with his willingness to write the creature they'd encountered in the woods off as a bear, Steve had written off his experience with the wolf head as just a bad trip, and now Billy was trying to turn it into something else, forcing him to re-examine the trauma as though it was something that had actually happened.

"You can see where it bit me?" Steve asked, speaking slowly and with an air of trepidation. "And you're saying that, what, it's infected now?"

Billy didn't reply right away. There was a strange look on his face as he studied Steve for a moment, his eyes trained on the hand he claimed was injured.

"I wanna try something," he said at last, stepping past Steve and into the narrow hallway that lead to the other rooms tucked away in his house.

Steve followed after him, glancing once back at the image displayed on the screen, wondering if perhaps the idea of a werewolf existing in Hawkins wasn't as far-fetched as he initially thought it was. Walking down the short hallway to where Billy had slipped into the bathroom he shared with Max, Steve took a glance into what could have only been Billy's bedroom.

Beyond it being small, (much, much smaller than even the guest bedroom in his own home), it looked just like what a person might think Billy Hargrove's bedroom would look like. Hot women, a vanity station, and a stereo to blare his music was all a man like Billy could ever need.

"Here," Billy said, stealing Steve's attention away. "Let me see your hand."

"What? Why?" Steve asked hesitantly, holding his hand warily away from where Billy was holding out his own to take it.

"What are you, a fucking child? Just give it here," Billy said impatiently.

Groaning mentally, Steve relinquished his hand. Billy gripped him tightly around the wrist, pulling a face as he drew his hand closer towards him.

"What're you doing-"

"Just hold still."

With his other hand, Billy held a clean ball of cotton and slowly moved it towards Steve's hand, his face pinching up in disgust as he finally rubbed the ball against his skin.

"That hurt you any?" Billy asked as he released his grip over Steve's hand, switching his focus from Steve's skin to the cotton ball he'd just swabbed over it.

"N...no?"

Billy grunted lowly, furrowing his brows as he held the cotton ball up for Steve to see it. "What about this? See anything on this?"

And to his horror, Steve found that he could.

The little ball of cotton had been clean when Billy plucked it out of the package. Steve had seen that, and yet, as he stared at the gruesome mixture of pus and blood on the side Billy had used as a swab, he couldn't help but think for just a second that perhaps it had come like that. No way had that awful mixture actually come from him. The fibers of the ball were stained yellow and bright red, indicating that whatever it was that Billy was able to see on his hand was an open wound. A gruesome, open wound.

"What the hell?" he uttered, mortified by the sight of the cotton ball. He rubbed his hand over the patch of skin Billy had swabbed, but nothing came up on his fingers when he pulled them away. He ignored the way his hands had begun to shake as he inspected the back of his hand uncomprehendingly.

"You see this," Billy said, gesturing to the stained cotton ball, "but you still can't see it on you?" Steve didn't bother replying. "Fuck. Fine, alright, let me see it again."

"Why?" Steve asked, looking over his hands again and again, trying desperately to see what Billy saw and could, evidently, interact with.

"Gotta clean it out." Steve paused with his examination and looked up at Billy who'd gone back to rifling through the things he kept stored behind the sink mirror, sure he'd misheard him. When Billy caught the look of disbelief in Steve's eye he paused, placing a bottle of antiseptic on the rim of the sink. "I know you can't smell it, but I can and it fucking stinks. I can't fucking stand it anymore. If I clean it out, maybe it'll be less, I dunno, putrid."

"I mean, maybe?" Steve could admit that he had no idea if it would make a difference or not, but Billy's logic was sound. "If it'll get you to stop staring at me, have at it, I guess."

Even though Steve knew from experience that nothing Billy did to the wound would physically hurt him, he found himself recoiling out of habit when he poured the antiseptic over the back of his hand. Billy arched a brow at the reaction, but held Steve's hand firmly over the sink as the liquid flowed over his skin. It didn't run off clear.

The tainted antiseptic left murky, bloody streaks that trailed into the basin of the sink as it found its way to the drain. As the bodily fluids left whatever invisible plane they existed on, Steve thought he could catch a faint whiff of whatever smell Billy had been complaining about. A scent of what could have been construed as rotting flesh or a dead animal had begun to take up the small space of the bathroom they stood in, causing him to grimace as Billy began to clean out the wound in earnest. He would have said something witty about how focused Billy appeared to be, using q-tips and cotton swabs to clean out the hidden wound, if not for the strange situation they had both found themselves in.

Instead he watched him quietly, and found himself admiring the way Billy became lost with what he was doing when he decided to really put his mind into behind his work. It was a side of him that Steve had never seen before, and against his better judgement, he found the way Billy furrowed his brow in a way that it wrinkled his forehead kind of... endearing. When he wasn't full of adrenaline and anger, Billy almost came across as personable.

Almost.

"Now who's staring at who?" Steve heard Billy drawl, and he had to blink a few times to draw himself out of his semi-trance.

"Please, don't flatter yourself; I wasn't staring at you," he replied defensively, watching as Billy turned his hand from side to side to make sure he'd gotten all the gunk out of the puncture wounds only he could see. "I was clearly mesmerized by all this shit coming out of my hand."

Billy scoffed, but let the issue drop. Instead of offering up a retort, he said, "You probably need stitches."

This time Steve did yank his hand away from him, pulling it away so quickly it thumped into his chest with a dull thud.

"What the hell Harrington-"

"I am not about to let you put stitches into the imaginary holes in my hand!" He didn't mean to sound so whiny about it, but he couldn't help the way his voice lilted in distress.

"I didn't say I was going to," Billy snapped, his calm demeanor turning into irritation. He cast away the soiled materials he'd been working with in the small bathroom trash can and pushed past Steve into the hallway. "I only said that you probably needed them."

"Yeah, well, what the hell do you know," Steve said, following after him.

Steve continued to hold his hand against his chest as Billy moved into his bedroom. He stepped into the doorway and watched as he made his way to the small, self-constructed vanity and began to rifle through a box of his belongings. Unsure of what it was Billy was looking for, Steve took the time to gaze around his room, eyeing up whatever he could and mentally storing away things he could use to discredit him in future arguments.

"Here," Billy said after a moment, pulling out what looked like a small, self-made first aid kit out of a hidden box. "Gimme your hand again."

"What for?" Steve asked, eyeing the box warily.

"To fucking amputate it, idiot; just give it here." Billy held out his hand expectantly, and rather reluctantly, Steve once again trusted him with the care of his hand.

In the small, inconspicuous first aid kit was an assortment of bandages, gauze, and adhesive tape. Steve didn't ask why he had it; only watched quietly as Billy took out a box of butterfly bandages and began applying them to where the holes in the back of his hand must have been. It looked odd to Steve to see his perfectly fine skin get bunched up underneath the thin, white bandages, but if this was what it took to get rid of the mark (and he was sure, suddenly that it was a marking of sorts), then he'd allow it.

"God, that's gross," Billy mumbled, scrunching his face up before wrapping Steve's hand in the medical tape until the bandages were covered and hidden.

"Gee, thanks," Steve said, examining Billy's handiwork when he was done. He hated to admit it, but he'd done a pretty good job dressing his hand for him.

They stood in the door-frame of Billy's bedroom for a long moment afterwards, neither one of them speaking. The weight of their discovery weighed heavily on each of their minds as they individually wondered about what they ought to do with the information going forward.

"So, I guess I'll tell Hopper-"

"We need to talk about-"

Steve laughed when they spoke at the same time, but Billy only scowled.

"Get the hell out of my room," he said crossly, pushing Steve out of the doorway and into the hall. "I need to show you the rest of that fucking movie."

Steve didn't like the movie. He'd never been a fan of the horror genre- couldn't understand why anyone would be, really-, but the werewolf movie Billy was forcing him to sit through was so violent it was beginning to make his stomach turn.

Worse than the violence, though, was that he had to watch a large portion of the film alone. Not that he was scared to watch it alone, but he definitely would've preferred not to have to watch it by himself in a stranger home. In order to keep up appearances, Billy had left him to re-dress his arm once he'd rewound the movie to a suitable starting point. Steve understood that he couldn't just walk around town with his arm the way it was, but even still, he didn't appreciate having to sit through the horrific movie alone at his insistence.

"Why the hell did you make me watch that," Steve complained once the movie had ended.

Billy had come in around the halfway mark, his arm freshly bandaged and back in its sling. He'd caught Steve cowering on the couch, watching the gorey parts behind the selective censorship of his fingers, and of course he'd laughed at him. He'd taken a seat on his workout bench, leaning against the dumbbell supports and laughed at him for a good five minutes, but at least that instant of humiliation had taken the edge off of the worst of it. Steve had been able to watch the rest of the movie without issue, but he knew he was never going to be able to live that down.

Now that the movie was over, Billy didn't look quite as amused anymore. He was watching the end credits slowly scroll up the screen with a somber, dissociated look. Unsure if he'd heard him or not, Steve was about to repeat himself when Billy finally spoke.

"To make sure you understood what's coming." Confused, Steve could only look at him uncomprehendingly. With a groan, Billy sat up from his hunched over position and turned his eyes away from the screen. "I guess you didn't get to being the 'King' of the hick capital of the world by being smart. Did you pay attention to the movie at all?

"It was a werewolf, Harrington; even you can't deny that now, and you saw what happened to that guy who got bit by one, or did you miss that while you were watching the movie through your fingers?"

"Shut the fuck up," Steve muttered in embarrassment. "It was one part; I watched every other second of the damn movie!"

"Then work it out for me, pretty boy; exercise that tiny little brain of yours for once and show me you're better than all the rest of these inbred Hawkins idiots."

Steve opened his mouth to argue, but saw that Billy wasn't actually trying to initiate an argument. Instead, he was trying to reason with him. He hadn't forced him to watch the movie for his own entertainment, but was instead trying to show him something. There was something obvious Steve was failing to see here, and Billy was trying to open his eyes to it.

Mentally, he recounted everything he could that related to their situation. The bonfire, the attack, the recovery, his conversations earlier that day, the bite on his hand-

The bite.

"It- it didn't bite me," Steve finally said, his eyes going wide in realization as he recalled the conversation they'd shared not two hours ago. Billy's face lit up as Steve's succumbed to the horror the movie had exposed him to. "It didn't bite me, it bit you, so then, you- that makes you-"

Billy grinned at him sardonically, revealing his teeth.

"Guess I really am a monster now."

[onceuponanolicity]

Thank you to everyone who took a chance on this fic. I really do appreciate it.

Chapter is below, or follow the link to Ao3.

Summary:

Felicity is still adjusting to her new school life and her new friends.

Notes:

Thanks to everyone who left reviews on the last chapter and decided to take a chance on this fic.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

            The holidays were the hardest. Felicity missed her old friends terribly, but Sara tried her best to make that a little more bearable, even inviting her to her birthday party. Felicity had to miss it though because her mom decided that the two of them had to get away for a little bit. Felicity had every feeling that it had something to do with the guy that her mom had been seeing but broke it off with right before Hanukah.

            School had been going well. Felicity was beginning to flourish as she found some sort of niche. Sure she was still mercilessly teased for being so young and destroying some of the curves that the teachers created to grade some tests, but she pushed through. Especially with Sara and Michael’s encouragement.

            But it was January when Felicity began to fall into her yearly slump. Every year around the nineteenth, Felicity tended to feel down. It was when her father had left. She was seven the last time she had saw him. To this day Felicity wondered what she had done that had caused him to leave.

            “Hey. You okay?”

            Felicity glanced up and found Oliver Queen standing there holding his lunch tray. She nodded. “I’m fine.” But she ruined that by swiping at the tears that lined her cheeks. She must look like a complete baby.

            Oliver nodded off to the side. “Aren’t you coming to eat with us?” He glanced around the lunch room. “Where’s the kid that you usually hang out with when you’re not eating with us?”

            “He’s out sick today.”

            Oliver studied her and Felicity ducked her head to avoid the direct heat of his eyes. But they raised up quickly enough when her lunch tray disappeared from in front of her.

            “Hey,” Felicity said as he took it from her. “I was eating that.”

            “And you can finish it. Over at the table with us,” he told her in a no nonsense tone. Now it was Felicity’s turn to analyze him. Oliver was always so light-hearted and joking. To hear him so serious was a definite change.

            “I’m not feeling up to eating with someone.” Felicity reached out and tried to grab her tray back from him but he only held it over her head. Easy since he was so much taller than she was. “Please. Give it back.”

            “No.” Oliver turned and walked away with her food. He grinned at her over his shoulder. “You want to eat, you have to eat with us.”

            Felicity sat heavily back on the bench of the table. She debated just letting Oliver keep her food. She had only been nibbling at it anyway. But, her stomach chose that moment to grumble. “Fine.”

            Grabbing her book bag, Felicity walked over to where Oliver, Tommy and Sara sat. For some reason Laurel wasn’t there. “You have my lunch.”

            Oliver waved at the seat next to Tommy where her lunch tray sat. “Sit down. We don’t bite.”

            “Speak for yourself, Queen,” Tommy joked and proceeded to chomp at Felicity.

            It drew a smile to Felicity’s face. Probably her first one all day. “Thanks.”

            “Oh. You hear that?” Tommy told the table in a conspiratorial manner. “She doesn’t seem to mind that I bite.” He wagged his eyebrows up and down. “Kinky, Smoak. I like it.”

            Oliver reached across the table and smacked Tommy upside the head. Hard. Causing Tommy to rise and glare at his best friend. Oliver rose too and their eyes threw fire at each other. Felicity had never seen the two fight except in jest. And this was definitely no joke.

            Sara stood and pushed down on Oliver’s shoulder. “Quit it you two or else Felicity is going to leave.”

            Oliver’s eyes hit Felicity’s with the grace of a sledgehammer. “We’re sorry. Sit.”

            Tommy seemed to shake himself before he turned to her. He waved gallantly at the seat next to him. “Please, have a seat. I promise that I, at least, will try to refrain from killing someone in front of you.”

            “Thank you.” Felicity took one last glance around the group who were now settling down before she took her seat.

            Sara plopped a chocolate pudding cup on Felicity’s tray. “You look like you could use it.”

            Oliver swooped in and took it back off and Felicity wondered what he was doing when he placed it back on Sara’s tray with a shake of his head. “You eat it.” He glanced over at Felicity. “What do you want? I’m buying.”

            “Really, you don’t have to.” Felicity pointed at her rice pudding. “I’m fine.”

            “Go grab her some of that chocolate that Mrs. Rollins keeps in the cooler for me,” Tommy told him.

            Oliver nodded and head off. Felicity watched him go and wondered why everyone was being so nice to her. Especially Oliver. Turning to Tommy, Felicity forked a bite of her macaroni and cheese. “You didn’t have to do that.”

            “It’s Swiss chocolate. And Sara’s right. You look like you need it.” Tommy said with a wave of his hand.

            Sara balled up a napkin and threw it at him. “You never share that chocolate.”

            “You never look as upset as Felicity is.”

            “True.” Sara nodded and leaned on the table toward Felicity. “Want to talk about it?”

            “Not really.”

            “Is it Michael?”

            “No.” Felicity shook her head. “It’s about my dad.”

            “Oh.” Sara settled back on her seat. “Well, if you want to talk about it, I’m here. Day or night. Unless you call my house after ten and then my parents will flip out on you.”  

            “That’s true,” Tommy agreed. “And I’m sure if you need a male’s point of view Oliver would more than likely listen,” Tommy volunteered his missing friend with a grin. “Unless you actually want feedback, then he’s not the best choice.”

            “Who’s not the best choice?” Oliver asked as he resumed his seat, handing Felicity a gold colored wrapped candy bar.

            “You,” Tommy told him with a shit-eating grin.

            “Whatever.” Oliver shook his head. “I don’t even want to know.”

            Felicity opened the candy bar reverently and glanced around at everyone. “Who wants a piece?”

            “Me,” Sara chimed up quickly, accepting the piece Felicity handed her.

            “Sara,” Oliver growled. “That’s for Felicity.”

            “I can share,” Felicity told him. “Did you want some?”

            His blue eyes found hers and Felicity paused. It was like being sent out on a riotous sea with nothing but her arms to keep her afloat. “No. I’m fine, Felicity.”  

            She gulped before turning to Tommy. “You?”

            “You and Sara eat it. I’m fine.”

            Felicity nodded and broke off a piece for herself. She lost herself in the richness of the chocolate. Felicity had never had something this good before in her life. She could almost feel her eyes falling to the back of her head as she savored the smoky chocolate square.

            A throat clearing had her regaining her senses. Felicity glanced over at Oliver who shifted on the bench as if trying to get comfortable. “Thank you for this.” Felicity glanced between Oliver and Tommy. “Both of you.”  

            Both boys nodded, but only Oliver seemed uncomfortable. Which had Felicity wondering why.

 OQFSOQFSOQFS

                       “Did you see Felicity today?” Tommy asked a few weeks later.

            Oliver rose up from tying his tennis shoes. “Why? What happened?”

            “Nothing.” Tommy shrugged. “I just haven’t seen her all day. I asked Sara at lunch but she said she hadn’t heard from her. Felicity must be sick or something.” Tommy grabbed gloves from his locker. They had weight training in gym for the next few weeks. “The flu is going around.”

            “You think she has the flu?” Oliver closed both his locker and Tommy’s locking them up. “She seemed fine yesterday.”

            As a matter of fact, Felicity did seem a little out of it the day before. Laurel had even said something later that afternoon when they were being driven home from school. Oliver had been too concerned over his Calculus test scores from earlier in the day than what Laurel had been talking about. But now that Oliver was thinking about it, he realized something had been off about Felicity.

            She hadn’t been near as talkative. Slowly, now that they had known each other for some time, Felicity had begun to act like part of the group, even if it was only part time. There were still a lot of times when Felicity went and joined the group of nerds and Metalheads that congregated during their lunch period off in the back corner. Oliver didn’t understand why when she seemed comfortable enough with him and his friends.

            “What’s the plan for Spring Break?” Tommy asked Oliver as they warmed up. “I was thinking Cancun.”

            Oliver shook his head. “After the Vegas trip, Laurel will be lucky to do much of anything. So, I was thinking maybe that I can convince the Lance Family to take me with them to Coast City for the week.”

            “I bet if you call… What’s his name?” Tommy did a few jumping jacks before he stopped. “Christian. Christian Powell. That’s it. I bet if you have your dad call him, he’d let you use the Penthouse for the week. He’s supposed to be meeting with my dad in Paris around then.”

            “That’s a definite idea,” Oliver agreed.

            Tommy wandered over to one of the weight machines. “Spot me?”

            “Yeah.” Oliver could picture the trip now. He and Laurel could hang out on the beach for the whole week while the rest of the Lance clan did whatever they wanted with the extra money they saved from not having to spend money on a hotel room.

            “Oh, wait.” Tommy shoved the weight bar off and benched a couple of reps before he finished his thoughts. “I think I remember Sara saying something about she was going to see if Felicity and her mom might come with them.”

            “That’s fine. Powell has like seven bedrooms in that place.” Oliver grabbed the bar from Tommy and placed it back.

            “Well, if the whole gang’s going, I want to come.” Tommy said with a twinkle in his eye as he rose. “Though how much mischief we get into is limited with Laurel’s father in the picture.”

            “Limited?” Oliver huffed. “More like none.” Oliver moved around the bench and laid down where Tommy once was. “Half the time, I wonder why he hasn’t put his daughters under constant police protection.”

            Tommy laughed as he handed Oliver the bar. “Probably would if he could get away with it. Complete opposite of Felicity’s mom.”

            Oliver’s eyes shot up to Tommy as the weight bar lay heavy across his chest. “You met her mom?”

            “Yeah.” Tommy smiled. “Nice woman. Felicity is not at all like her.”

            “Felicity’s nice,” Oliver defended his young friend as he shoved the bar up.

            “No. I wasn’t talking about that. Looks wise.” Tommy seemed to stare out into space. “And don’t even get me started on how differently they dress.”

            “How does she dress?” Oliver was confused. How could Felicity’s mom dress so differently? Weren’t all moms pretty much the same?

            “You see Felicity almost every day, you haven’t noticed how she dresses?” Tommy teased.

            Oliver glared up at his friend. “I know how Felicity dresses, you idiot. I meant her mom.”

            “Oh,” Tommy said with a twinkle in his eyes. “I’ll show you when we get back to our lockers. I have a picture. And as my English teacher likes to point out, a picture tells a hundred words.”

            “It’s a thousand, stupid,” Darius “Woodchuck” Woodneath said from next to them. He pushed up his glasses as he glared at the two of them. “How you two Neanderthals survived this far is beyond me.”

            Tommy gave the guy the finger and Oliver laughed. It didn’t matter what the saying was. In fact, Oliver didn’t care. He just wanted to see what the big deal was with Felicity’s mom.

 OQFSOQFSOQFS

             Felicity was steaming mad. First space camp and now this.

            It wasn’t even like her mom had to pay for them to go. Oliver was spotting the whole trip to Coast City for the Lance family and Tommy. And, according to him, he was willing to see to it that Felicity and her mom didn’t have to spend a dime out of pocket for the travel either. The Queen family was allowing everyone to use their family jet to get there. And then Oliver had seen to the accommodations. Everyone was supposed to stay at some sort of massive Penthouse thing that was beyond Felicity’s imagination. And did she mention space camp? Because she had a giant imagination.

            “Baby, I’m so sorry,” Donna said through Felicity’s bedroom door. “If I could get the time off, we’d go.”  

            “Why can’t I just go?” Felicity whined. She hated whining but this seemed appropriate.

            “Because the only adults that are going are Sara’s parents and I don’t want to burden them with another underage child. Especially one your age.”            

             Felicity turned and stuck her tongue out at the door. Sure it was childish and exactly what her mom was referring to, but hey, her mom’s decision was completely unfair. “Fine. But I’m going to hang out in my room all week.”

            “I guess we won’t hit Tech Village then.”

            Felicity silently stomped her foot. Her mom was frustrating. Unlocking her bedroom door, Felicity pulled it open just enough to be able to peek at her mom. “Tech Village is not the same as a trip with Sara but nice try.”

            “I’m sorry, baby.” Her mom reached toward the door, her bracelets tinkling. “I promise to make it up to you.”

            “How?”

            “I don’t know.” Donna’s eyes telegraphed her apology. “But I will, baby. I promise.”

            “Fine.” Felicity slammed the door and ran to her bed. Tears fell down her face the second Felicity managed to pull the pillow over her face. Sometimes she really hated being so smart that all of her friends were so much older than her, because it was making her miss out on so much. One day, though, Felicity was determined that the age difference wasn’t going to stop her from getting to do what she wanted.

 OQFSOQFSOQFS

             “Where’s Felicity?” Oliver asked as he plopped down next to Sara and Laurel on the beach towel they had spread out. “I was surprised she didn’t come.”

            Sara tossed him the sunscreen she had in her hands. “Do my back will you?” She turned her back to him and Oliver complied, still waiting for an answer. “Her mom couldn’t get the time off.”

            Tommy belly flopped on the small space of towel left. “That’s why Felicity didn’t come?”

            Sara nodded. “Her mom didn’t feel right about her coming along with only my parents as chaperones.” Sara nudged Tommy with her foot. “Must be all the bad influences you and Oliver have had over her that made her mom worry about coming along.”

            Tommy rolled over onto his back and folded his arms under his head. “Wasn’t me. I’ve been nothing but good around her mom.” Tommy eyes shot to Oliver’s over Sara’s shoulder. “What about you?”

            “I haven’t met her mom.” Oliver finished quickly with Sara. She seemed to be enjoying his touch way too much. It was making him feel uncomfortable, especially with Laurel right there.

            Laurel pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head and lifted her head from the criminal thriller she was reading. “Why would you? It’s not like we hang out with her or anything? Other than lunch.” Laurel’s last words were punctuated with a glare in her sister’s direction as if blaming her for that.

            “Still it would’ve been nice if she could’ve come,” Tommy lamented. “Oh well. Next time.”

            Oliver glanced over at his friend and wondered what the heck was going on with him. Seriously, what was his interest in Felicity? It seemed his best friend was becoming awfully chummy with her of late. Hanging out with her and Sara even after school ended for the day. Just that week before they left, Tommy had driven the two home at least three times.

            “I’m going to call her,” Sara announced and jerked her tote bag over. She searched through the contents until she found her phone. “This way we can at least tell her that she’s not missing out on anything great.”

            “Sure,” Laurel spoke with sarcasm, “call her from the beach. Why not wait until we are out partying with loud music? That won’t rub it in at all.”            

            Tommy shot up. “We’re going partying? Where?” He looked around the group. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

            Oliver shoved his friend back onto the towel and rolled his eyes. “There’s no party, stupid. Like the Lances would allow us to stay up all night at a party.”

            Tommy scooped up some sand in his hand and slowly poured it on Laurel’s back. She screamed and jumped up glaring at him. “Hey. That’s what you get for teasing me about a party.”          

            “God! I hate you, Thomas Merlyn.” Laurel swiped at the sand and tried to shake it out of her small bikini bottoms. Oliver couldn’t quite keep his eyes away from the skin Laurel exposed as she did. His throat tightening with lust.

            Oliver closed his eyes and tried his best to regain his composure. Having a hard on in a swimsuit was never a good thing. Having one with your girlfriend’s parents not twenty feet away, even worse. Cleaning his throat, Oliver glanced over at Sara and tried to change the subject. “So, you calling Felicity or not?”

            Sara nodded and began to punch in Felicity’s phone number. She held up a finger to let everyone know that the phone was ringing. “Hey, Felicity.”

            There was a pause and Sara’s smile fell from her face. Oliver’s brow creased. “What’s going on? Is everything okay?”

            “Sorry to hear that, Felicity,” Sara finally said. “But at least Michael showed up, right?”

            “Michael?” Tommy asked as he also became invested in Sara’s conversation. “Is that the guy she’s always hanging out with?”

            Sara nodded at him but held her finger to her lips. “Well, we’ll be back at the end of the week.”

            Tommy grabbed the phone from Sara. “Felicity? What the heck is going on over there? You can tell me because I can be there in four hours.” Whatever she said had Tommy smiling. “Yeah, well you know me. Jet setting is my lifestyle. You say the word and I’ll show you the world, baby doll.”

            Baby doll? Oliver mouthed to his best friend. Tommy shrugged and Oliver fought the urge to reach over and slap his best friend hard enough to knock out a few of his well-maintained teeth.

            “Okay, Donna. Just tell Felicity that if she needs me I can be there,” Tommy said over the phone. “And tell her that I’m sorry that she couldn’t come along.” Tommy glanced over at Oliver and his stomach fell. The look on Tommy’s face spelled doom. “Tell her Oliver only asked about her five times already.”           

            Oliver kicked his best friend hard in the leg. It was sure to leave a bruise, but Tommy deserved it. “Dick head.”

            Sara swiped the phone from Tommy and pressed it to her ear. “Ms. Smoak, is Felicity still there?”

            Oliver didn’t even bother to listen to the rest of Sara’s conversation. He scooped up a handful of sand and flung it at Tommy’s face. “What the hell, man?”

            “Tommy,” Laurel reprimanded and glared down at their friend. Tommy’s ears turned pink, but the smile over his face was far from remorseful. “That wasn’t nice. Oliver hardly said one word about that girl since we left Starling City.”

            “You must have not been listening to the same conversation,” Tommy teased.

            “You know if you are going to be a jerk, you can just fly home.” Laurel leaned down and picked up her book and gathered her things. “No one invited you along anyway.”

            Oliver scrambled up from his seat and helped Laurel with her things. “It’s fine,” Oliver told her but shot Tommy a look that said the two of them were going to talk later. “Let him stew for a while. Let’s go grab some ice cream.”

            Laurel grimaced and rubbed at her stomach. “Uhh,” she groaned. “I can’t. Lately dairy is making me bloat and it’s only a little over a month until prom.” 

            “Can’t have you gaining half a pound,” Sara bemoaned in sarcasm as she threw her phone in her tote bag. “Oliver may never date you again.”

            Laurel’s eyes shot to his in worry. Was she really that concerned? Seriously? Oliver certainly wasn’t. So what if she gained a pound or two before prom? It didn’t seem like that big of a deal to him. “Okay. No ice cream. Let’s just go for a walk.”

            Laurel nodded and smiled. She walked over to her parents and dropped her things off before quickly returning to his side and wrapping an arm around his. “I’m ready when you are.”

            Oliver nodded at Tommy and Sara. “Catch up with you later.”

           OQFSOQFSOQFS

             Felicity hid under her covers and tried to block out the words she had overheard on the phone. Oliver asked about her multiple times. Why?

            Tommy had to have been teasing. Oliver had no reason to even think about her. He had Laurel. Beautiful Laurel. Amazing Laurel.

            It certainly wasn’t because he had a crush on her. Felicity grimaced. Like the one she had on him. Like who wouldn’t have a crush on him? Oliver was gorgeous, rich, sweet and friendly. He hadn’t been anything but nice to her. Just like Tommy had. And Felicity knew without a doubt that Tommy didn’t have a crush on her. In fact she’d bet her entire IQ on it.

            Felicity threw back the covers and stared up at her ceiling. With a deep breath she lay there picturing Oliver at the beach. His blonde hair blowing in the breeze. She could picture the sun glinting off those long locks as he ran his hand through it. A smile on his face as he stared down at the beautiful woman stretched out on the blanket in front of him. A woman who wasn’t Felicity Smoak.

            Taking the covers in her hands, she threw them back over her head. God! She hated being a teenager and she hadn’t even become one yet.

            Notes:

Preview of next chapter:

“Felicity has a date,” Laurel told him as he slid unto the bench next to Felicity. Rising, Laurel wrapped her arms around Oliver’s neck as he set down his tray and kissed him on the cheek. “With who?” Felicity met Oliver’s eyes at his question. She noticed, even if Laurel didn’t, that his jaw ticked. “Michael Loren.” “How cute. The geek squad is finally getting together.” Laurel tugged Oliver down with her and forced Sara to move down.

@almondblossomme @1106angel @miriam1779 @sunshine0977

[terencehawkins]

STONE COMMUTATION, PORTLAND: THINGS ARE GOING WEIMAR

The recent commutation of Roger Stones’ s sentence triggered the usual fruitless speculation about the “strategy” behind it. Generally, the current incumbent of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue is no more capable of thinking beyond today than an Adderall-crazed lab rat desperate for another food pellet. But there is something behind this, and it’s not what the commentariat generally thinks.

LOYALTY? HA!

The immediate, and most obvious, explanation for this politically risky move was that Trump was paying back his loyal consigliere for years of service and, more importantly, keeping his pie-hole shut. Nonsense. On the first point, Trump is famously incapable of loyalty, gratitude, or any other emotion that doesn’t result in cash or an erection. As to the second, Paul Manafort was similarly laconic, yet remains in Federal custody, albeit now on home release.

Hmm. Why the distiction?

THE DIRTY TRICKSTER

Roger Stone has built his latter-day career as a self-professed “dirty trickster.” One stops for a moment to ask why he says so out loud—do spies put “spy” on their business cards?

But leave that aside. Let’s turn for a moment to Stone’s arc. He started out in politics as a Nixon campaign intern—he famously has Tricky Dick tattooed on his back, which no doubt would have proven a point of interest, if not a spooge target, in the showers had he actually begun his sentence—where he carried out some amusing low-grade antics in Nixon’s service. He parlayed that into a career as a K Street lobbyist in the 80’s, where his partner was—what? Paul Manafort. Despite the appeal of these nesting Ukrainian dolls, let’s take a look at the irrelevant, albeit extremely entertaining, interruption in his political career.

in 1996, Stone was a consultant with GOP Senator Robert Dole’s Presidential campaign. That hit a tabloid wall when it was discovered that Stone and his second wife had taken out space in a swingers’ magazine looking for an “exceptional well hung in shape men” for threesomes.

To be clear, Stone was advertising for men to fuck his wife while he watched. While Trump’s GOP may be cool with that, Dole’s wasn’t. Despite frantic deployment of the Trumpian tactic of blame-shifting—Stone claimed that the usual “disgruntled employee” with a “drug problem” had somehow coopered all this up—-his conservative political career appeared to be done. (He finally admitted the truth in 2008.)

Despite his ouster from mainstream politics, Stone’s public malice continued unabated. For example, he organized the celebrated Brooks Brothers Riot that disprupted the 2000 Florida recounts; has been accused of forging the 2004 Killian Memos that called into question W’s military service but, when proved fake, ended Dan Rather’s career; and was involved in the prostitution scandal that ended the political life of New York Governor Elliot Spitzer. And all the while cultivating a public persona as Best Dressed Man of 1939.

GET ME ROGER STONE

Stone’s bizarre and squalid career was famously documented in a 2016 Netflix film, “Get Me Roger Stone.” The burden of the title was, in part, that Stone wanted to be the guy you called when things were totally sideways and the only way out was to stick some dead male escorts in your opponent’s bed. A man’s reach should exceed his grasp, or what’s a heaven for, right?

And that—in part, maybe—is what the commutation signifies. Or so argued GMRS producer Dylan Blank in a recent NYT op-ed.

See, even though he rages and kicks at his campaign staff like Henry VIII in a neurosyphilis seizure, whatever rational part is left of Trump’s brain recognizes that he is in very deep electoral shit. Which shit exposes him not only to the ultimate narcissistic injury of a landslide loss, but worse, the existential threat of post-Presidential prosecution for himself and his family. He just can’t afford to lose. Thus he reasons that in order to prevail in this battle of all against all, he needs the help of the dirtiest dirty trickster he can get—Roger Stone.

Hence the commutation. Trump needs Stone’s help.

But is that all?

BUT WAIT, THERE’S MORE: THE PROUD BOYS

Trump’s reliance on this Homburged freak may be based on something else as well. Since 2016 Stone has cultivated an association with the Proud Boys, a ”Western Chauvinist”—i.e, white nationalist Islamophobe fascist—network of street fighters founded by Gavin McInnes, who in a move whose reasons defy inquiry, sought to refute claims of homophobia by sticking a dildo up his ass in a TV interview. (Click here for images you will not be able to unsee.) The Boys’ initiation includes getting the shit beaten out of them while reciting pop culture trivia and taking a pledge to limit masturbation to once a month—particularly burdensome in view of the rudimentary social lives of most alt.right bros. In addition to these entertainments, the Proud Boys have engaged in a lengthy campaign of public violence and intimidation, including an appearance with their fellow very fine people at Charlottesville in 2017.

Stone’s engagement with the Boys is not merely casual. He is, in fact, an affiliate member, having sworn the Boys’ oath not to apologize for creating modern civilization. (I am not making this up.) In return for the sheen of “respectability” Stone has lent them, the Boys have served as bodyguards, escorting him to and from his frequent judicial hearings and proclaiming his innocence from the courthouse steps. In chorus.

Is it a coincidence that Trump sprang a right wing thug with a following of street-fighting fascists? Incidentally, note the fellow on Stone’s left, in the buttoned-up polo? That black-and-gold shirt is the PB’s unofficial uniform.

CONNECTING THE DOTS

So let’s see. We’ve ruled out gratitude or loyalty as motives for the commutation. What does Trump need from Roger Stone that he can’t get someplace else? His expertise in the political black arts doesn’t pass muster—he’s not the only asshole in Washington, or these days, nor even the biggest. And let’s not forget that Trump is more than willing to recruit aid from shithole countries happy to remake America in their own image. So no, there’s nothing about Stone’s skill set that makes him indispensable. So what does he bring to the table that Trump wants?

Just this weekend, Trump tipped his hand. Deploying masked, anonymous federal troops in unmarked vans to Portland, with the blessing of his lovable roly-poly Interior Minister Barr—who’d previously okayed the use of tear gas against peaceful protesters so Trump could waddle across the street for a photo op— was the warmup for his election day ace in the hole: full on street violence. Weimar style.

Voter suppression has been the centerpiece of GOP election strategy for decades. It’s unavoidable—as "The Wire’s Baltimore mayoral candidate Tommy Carcetti noted, his hopes were slim because “I wake up white in a city that ain’t.” A party of old white men in an increasingly brown country faces an obvious, existential challenge. One it will ultimately lose, of course, but until then, it can eke out a few more good cycles, with their resultant Federalist Society judges, regulatory rollbacks, and hedge funder tax cuts. But only by making damn sure that minorities don’t vote. Especially in swing states.

Previously, the GOP had played what now seems like softball—gerrymandering, closing polling stations in minority districts, sowing confusion as to the election date. But that won’t work this time. Trump’s response to plague and racial crisis and his plummeting polls has thus far been to flounder and howl like a manatee chopped up in the prop. But in the clutch, unconstrained by any respect for norms, terrified by the prospect of post-presidential prosecution, he’s going to toss the GOP playbook and move with the Nazi.

The Brownshirts, or SA, were Hitler’s paramilitary before his 1933 seizure of power. They were beerhall bullies whose job was “security,” ostensibly protected the Nazi leadership at their public events, in reality intimidating its leftist opponents. It played a critical role in the elections of 1928, 1930, and 1932, showing up at the polls to fight Communist supporters and blocking access to voters in left-leaning districts. And of course, after Hitler was securely Fuhrer, they were the principal executors of the Kristallnacht pogrom.

So here’s what’s going to happen. On Election Day, in urban polling places in swing states, Proud Boys are going to show up as “pollwatchers.” And as soon as black and brown people start showing up in numbers, they’re going to start kicking ass. It doesn’t have to happen a lot. It doesn’t have to happen everywhere. But it will do a lot of damage to turnout. And the thing about Election Day is that it’s just one day, and no do-overs, full stop. So whatever damage is done can’t be undone, ever. So a second term secured by street violence can be reversed only by impeachment. And we know how that went.

Think it can’t happen? See below. Especially the last line: “You still think you can control them?”