#i made tommy's father an asshole im so sorry

[dearharriet]

Whatever; Steve Harrington 🌓

summary: they say you’ll meet every person in your life twice. the second time you meet steve, you’re in college, and he’s very different from what you remember.

word count: 3.2K

warnings: fem!r, mentions + content of previous bullying, ex-bully!steve, alcohol consumption, some unresolved emotions, angst, hurt/comfort

a/n: i swear im alive i’m just stupidly busy. hope y’all like this one xxx

You circled back to Steve so quickly that a lick of embarrassment flamed at your cheeks, but really, you couldn’t have stopped it. His presence was fascinating, and like a passerby can’t look away from a car accident, you couldn’t resist inspecting Steve.

The house was very dark and humid, crowded with people that went to your university, and people who didn’t. Steve, for example, who had appeared—now for a second time—seemingly out of nowhere. Two weeks ago you’d spotted him at a party across town that a scene band threw, but he’d disappeared before you could talk to him. Tonight, he wasn’t so lucky.

To your relief, he received your sudden presence very gracefully, almost sheepishly. He was bowing his head and his broad shoulders shrunk together carefully. You wanted to say something very bold, something to grab his attention like fancy meeting you here, but the totality of your unfamiliarity made you hesitate.

“Where’ve you been?” you shouted instead, hugging your chest to feign casualness. It sounded, you realized, like you were inquiring as to where he’d been five minutes ago, not indefinitely post-graduation. Steve didn’t seem to mind.

“Hawkins,” he replied, matter-of-fact. “You?”

“Hawkins?” you repeated, ignoring his courtesy. “That’s not like you.” In truth, you probably knew very little about what would be like him and what would not, so you tacked on, “Not to be presumptuous or anything, sorry.”

In school, you and Steve saw very much of each other yet spoke next to never. In the spring of your sophomore year, Tommy Hagan’s father made him walk about the neighborhood and offer to mow lawns for money—something about growing hair on his chest, forming a sense of responsibility—and your mother had just broken her wrist, so she gave him a five dollar bill every Saturday for three months to help out. Tommy was awful at it, and he loathed you, and when you returned to school in September he’d dragged Carol and Steve with him into his loathing.

One day, you couldn’t recall what date—or even what month—but you remembered the three of them had come to find you after classes were done after you’d stayed late. You missed a question on some test, or there was something about a project, whatever. You knew it was late because the halls were empty, and your recollection of that relied heavily on the memory of Carol’s chilling laugh echoing down them, which you never forgot.

“God, Tommy, you’re sadistic.”

They prowled closer, just around the bend. Tommy and Carol were chortling and you could imagine them hanging all over each other the way that they often did. Steve cut in abrasively, something frenetic in his tone.

“I’m telling you, she’s not here, man.”

Steve’s voice bounced down the corridor and sounded back, like radar pinging around and around, detecting movement.

“Relax, Harrington, what’s the rush?”

“Rachel’s waitin’ on me, that’s what,” Steve replied. “And I still gotta drop you two assholes off.”

“Your gal-pal can wait, Steve,” Carol sneered, and you thought her voice was edged with something sharper than exasperation. “Besides, this’ll be fun.”

They turned the corner, and you realized then that it was likely you they were looking for, and it was suddenly too late to turn and hide. You froze, bag heavy on your shoulder and damp starting to form on your brow.

“Ah-ha! Just the girl we wanted to see,” Tommy sang, his voice already lilting meanly. You took a step back, wondering if they’d really chase you if you bolted. Carol had heeled boots on, and you were certain Tommy and Steve wouldn’t hunt down a girl no matter how twisted they were. A guy, sure, but you?

It didn’t matter, because you didn’t run, which you could only blame on yourself and your tendency to petrify under pressure. Anything you chose seemed the worst option, which made the logical solution to do nothing.

“She looks about ready to run,” Carol peered as they came closer, which was very astute for her, all things considered.

“Yeah, maybe.” Tommy grinned. “You wanna play, goodie-two-shoes? Me ‘n Steve’ll give you a head start.”

In retrospect, the roles of Tommy and Carol and Steve, and even you, are played by their fully grown versions. Of course you all looked very young, sounded very young—being fifteen at the time—but it all comes back as if it happened yesterday. It’s warped by everything that happened after.

“Yeah, why don’t you just get it over with, save us all a little time?” Steve picked, his expression almost bored.

You pressed your lips together. Carol stepped behind you, prodding at your bag, and you recoiled, backing closer to the lockers.

“Nah, she’s too chicken-shit,” she hissed, and then ripped your bag from your arms. When you lunged for her, Tommy pushed you back into the metal wall of lockers, and your shoulder blade landed hard on a dial-lock.

“Jesus H Christ, Tommy,” Steve laughed awkwardly, “could you have pushed her any harder?”

“Whatever, man,” Tommy waved him off, watching as Carol dug through your satchel. “You’re soft.”

Steve’s features tightened then, all of a sudden like a switch had been flipped. He took his hand out of his hair and strode over to Carol, taking your bag and emptying its contents onto the linoleum. Notebooks and pens, highlighters and, embarrassingly, a heap of pads, all washed over the floor. Carol had your journal in her hands and Steve took that too, discarding it with everything else.

“I’m fuckin’ tired of this shit,” he muttered, “let’s go.”

“Boo,” Carol complained, “what a wet blanket.”

“Yeah, why don’t you stay here with the teachers’ pet,” Tommy gibed, gesturing at you, “since you both love being L-A-M-E.”

He spelled the word out, holding a backwards L on his forehead that Carol copied.

“Yeah, and who’s gonna drive you home, Tommy?” Steve challenged. Tommy clenched his jaw, rolling his eyes petulantly. Carol’s hip popped as she dropped her hand, lips smacking. “That's what I thought.”

Steve brushed past them then, properly regal and entitled, and they followed him begrudgingly, swapping resentful glances until you couldn’t see them anymore.

In the minutes it took to gather your things back into your bag, you couldn’t resist the cloudy thought that Steve dumping your bag felt like a mercy. In the company of many rabider dogs, his offense was almost magnanimous, and, despite it being your things, felt more targeted at Tommy and Carol than at you. On your way home you decided that that was stupid, and that you were likely feeding into a fantasy that would eventually hurt you.

It wasn’t until after graduation that you realized they were bullying you. At the time it obviously hadn’t felt friendly, but you’d been so fictile then that you assumed most of the blame. When your mind changed, the word bullying alone felt too childish to bear, so you decided it was fine and that you were over it.

Standing before you at the party, Steve was folded in on himself. The memory juxtaposed so coarsely against how he looked now.

“Not like me?” he repeated.

“I just mean,” you continued, “I would’ve thought you’d go to school. Here in Chicago, maybe. I don't know. Indi, at the least.”

He shook his head, cradling his damp beer can closer.

“Yeah, well, I'm not smart like you,” he answered. “I didn’t really get accepted anywhere.”

Steve’s cheeks pinked with embarrassment, but he didn’t look all that dejected. You were sure that was the nicest thing he’d ever said to you, and the added element of self-depreciation threw you off-kilter.

“You still talk with Carol and Tommy and stuff?” It wasn’t much of a question, but Steve looked profoundly confused.

“What? No, I um—“ He licked his lips, looking down. “They ditched me when Hargrove came into town. You don’t remember?”

“Oh,” you said. “No, I must’ve missed that.”

“Yeah, that’s uh. S’ probably for the best. You shouldn’t have been caught up with us anyways.” It sounded like an apology, though not direct enough for you to accept in any way.

“Well it’s not like I never saw Tommy H. and Carol again,” you said, admittedly sour. “I figured you were off with Nancy or whatever. Where is she anyways?”

“Nancy?” You nodded. Shrugging, Steve said, “I wouldn’t know. We broke up in 1984.”

“Oh,” you jolted , “sorry about that.”

“Nah, don’t be.” He looked very sorry about it himself, like he was still wishing it away.

“Well, I am. I always thought you two would get married or something. She seemed like she knew how to keep you in line.”

Steve smiled softly, vaguely.

“Yeah, Nancy’s like that.”

His sentence ended there and didn’t pick back up, and you felt terribly anxious about what to say next. As often as you denied it, you did want to see people from school again, if only to show them they didn’t win. You wanted to happen upon Steve The Hair Harrington, or Tommy H. or Carol Perkins or anyone at all just to affirm that, yes, you were doing significantly better than they expected you to. You wore shoes with heels and makeup and you were just like them, only you could writhe in shameless glory because you were never a prick.

“So what do you do? No school?”

Steve leaned closer then, apprehensive as he brought his mouth to your ear.

“D’you wanna talk outside?” He asked, and then pulled back to gauge your expression. “I can’t hear very well,” he explained, some level of shame coloring him. You nodded tolerantly, following him out to the porch.

It was clear and cold in the Chicago suburbs, like a freshly opened bottle of coke, and you could see Orion’s Belt. You had on a white leather jacket that kept you just warm enough.

“You seem to like it better here,” Steve observed. Your earlier question stood forgotten from the journey outside.

“In a way,” you agreed.

“People are nicer?”

You pinched your brows thoughtfully.

“I wouldn’t say nicer, no.” Fiddling with your jewelry, you looked at the sky. “People have been rude to me here before, but it’s…it isn’t like Hawkins.” You swallowed a freezing breath, wondering if Steve was really standing next to you. “I can leave at any time if it gets to be too much. Or, like, tell them to fuck off if I wanted to. In high school I just had to sit there and take it, and then come back the next day for more.”

Blowing out a stiff laugh, you looked back to Steve. His eyes were downcast, face crumpled, and it looked like he would eat his own mouth before he said a word in response. It was painfully silent, so silent that the wind and your racing heart played a spoilt song together at Steve’s inattentive audience.

Your face felt warm with humiliation. Conversation had grown on you, or so you thought, enough that you wouldn’t become carried away into overzealous speeches to people who didn’t care. You cleared your throat uncomfortably, frowning.

“Do you like Chicago?” You asked Steve, and it turned brittle in the air, like a wisp of ash from a fire.

“I’m so sorry,” his aggrieved response came, and it carved your chest open to hear, in a way. It was something you imagined, a moment you craved, a fantasy you knew would never occur. Now that it had, you felt a million miles away, like he’d said some magic word and hypnotized you, stealing your present mind and leaving you cavernous and vulnerable.

“It’s really okay, Steve,” you said hoarsely. “We were kids, and you were as stuck as I was.”

“I was not,” he sternly denied.

“Sure you were,” you insisted, “it was eat or be eaten. I can’t blame you for not wanting to be picked on.”

“Because I would have died from being unliked,” he retorted sarcastically. You gave him a look as if to say that’s not fair, but you knew he was right. It would have been a different kind of unlike for him. If he’d forfeited his social standing, all of the cruelty and indifference he got would have been directly his decision, and his courage would have been gratifying enough to sustain him.

“Well,” you stammered persistently, “I still think you’re okay. I forgive you.”

“Look, I’m—“ Steve huffed, scrubbing at his hair anxiously. “I’m not trying to fish for compliments. Really. I just have this terrible feeling that you convinced yourself that it’s okay, what all happened in school. But it’s not okay. It’s not.”

He looked into your eyes hotly, a wild turn to his features, and you felt oddly nauseous. You looked at your shoes to avoid his stare, slim heeled boots that all the pretty girls wore in school, and you wondered how you’d feel about those girls if you’d never slipped them on, never had a guy take you home because you looked so good in them.

“What do you want me to do, then?” you asked.

Steve was silent for a moment.

“Whatever you feel,” he replied, “what I want is besides the point.”

“Not to me,” you mumbled, and then regretted it instantly. You pulled your jacket tight around you and shivered, said: “I don’t know what to do.”

A tear tracked hot and shameful down your cheek, dancing with the porch light and the stars and Steve’s eyes. You felt like the whole world was watching you flounder and choke like a fish on a dock. You sucked in, and air stole down your throat in three distinct parts, stuttering and painful.

Steve reached for you then, taking your arm into his grip and crushing you to his chest. Through teary eyes you could spy into the house where the party still thundered. It looked shockingly vibrant and warm inside, a world away from your moment with Steve on the frigid veranda. He was holding your head gently and rubbing at your back, and you could only think of how much you’d been craving this. How you’d yearned over intellectual conversations and counseling sessions for something as real as this moment, here, with Steve. He knew you better than anyone inside, anyone in Chicago, even, and you could not fathom how that had happened.

Pressing into him, you sniffled pitifully and hid your face.

“Sorry for crying,” you said, “I really didn’t want to.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Steve said, for the second time that night. You liked the way he said it, with a soft sternness that left no room for argument. He even went on further to say: “It’s okay if you want to cry some more.”

You rubbed his sleek jacket between your fingers and looked at him.

“You won’t tell anyone?”

Steve laughed, and you knew then that he wouldn’t, like you knew he wasn’t laughing at your expense.

“Who am I gonna tell?” he asked genuinely. You thought about it.

“Tommy or…” Steve shook his head. “No, right, you said that.”

You pretended to think some more, but you had nothing. You said, “I don’t know,” and then expected Steve to give you a name, like you were playing a guessing game and you’d lost. Instead, he drew his arms tighter around your shoulders, so that your chin was trapped on his chest as you looked up at him.

“I won’t tell a soul if that’s what you want,” he admitted, a shiny frond of his hair escaping the fray to sway between you two. “I think I’d do whatever you asked, actually.”

He seemed very affronted by that fact, as if he was only discovering it as he told you, right then.

“Would you—” You licked your lips. Looked at Steve’s. Asked: “Would you kiss me?”

“Yeah,” Steve breathed, “‘course.”

He kissed you then, acerbic ale transferring from his lips to yours. The stray hair caught between your foreheads, doing what your noses could not and flattening. Steve’s hands held you firmly, at the back of your neck and on your upper arm, and it made you shudder. He was kissing you dizzy—not nearly the first you’d ever had, but certainly the first that felt worthwhile, the first that felt good and right and deserved.

As you pulled away shyly, Steve kept his eyes closed, his jaw working and his breath uneven.

“Steve?” you called.

“Hm?”

“Did I do something wrong?”

Steve hummed negatively, tapping his forehead back onto yours and finally blinking his eyes open.

“No, sorry,” he whispered.

“Don’t be sorry.” You smiled, and Steve grinned knowingly, like he could tell he’d be hearing that a hundred times a week from then on. You asked him what he was thinking and he fiddled with your jacket collar nervously.

“Just about you. In Chicago and everything. Where that puts us.” Steve scrunched his face in a sort of wince like that might upset you. “I mean, not that there has to be an us at all—if that’s not what you want, or if I’m getting ahead of myself.”

He says the last bit like a question, like a request. Like: Please say I’m not getting ahead of myself?

“No, I wouldn’t say you are,” you assured him. “I didn’t even think about the distance. Does it bother you?”

“Yeah,” Steve said without hesitation, but a small abashed smile played on his lips. “But I meant what I said, whatever you say goes. Whatever you want me to do.”

You looked him over, from the tallest strand of his styled hair down to where your chests met, taking in his moles and the fibers of his shirt.

“Do you have anyone at home that you’d miss?” you asked, and Steve’s face said everything, even as he shook his head stubbornly.

“Baby, whatever you want. Ask me to move up and I will.”

Smiling, you kissed him curiously, the feeling so novel and thrilling. His responding squeeze on your arm shot through you to your very center.

“I still have my family in Hawkins,” you told him dazedly. “I go home every holiday. We can visit. And it’s only a year and half before I graduate, and then we can figure something new out.”

Steve smiled dryly, perhaps anticipating a different answer, but ultimately you knew it’d be best not to rush anything. You were content, all of the excitement and adrenaline seeping from your body and making you feel soft around the edges. You shivered a touch, and Steve rocked you both to and fro.

“Do you wanna go back inside,” he asked, his mouth on your hairline. You shook your head, stuffing your face in the junction of his neck and shoulder.

“Can we stay here just a little longer?” you pleaded.

“‘Course we can,” Steve granted, soothing his fingers through your hair. “Whatever you want.”

+

thank u for reading xx

masterlist

[decodedlvr]

the band-aid to my wounds

Older!Eddie Munson x naive!Fem reader - eventual twins Steve Harrington x reader x Kurt Kunckle series| pt 1 | pt 2 | pt 3 … TBC

Summary: After stumbling into an old barn after being stranded by your freshly new ex boyfriend, you wake up strangely in a room..that isn't yours..

warnings: talks of cheating, abuse, angst, slight stockholm syndrome at a glance, anxiety, childhood trauma, parent problems; daddy issues, eventual smut, cursing, drinking, smoking, perviness, slight dub-con, miscommunications, blood mention

word count: idk? 1k?

June 12th, 1988 the roads were closed off.

I have no idea why im still together with this asshole, why am i so stupid? oh because id do anything for people to love and not leave me. Looking at him now..hands beating the steering wheel, veins popping through his temples..not to mention his breath. Ashton my oh so loving, narcissist, no good boyfriend. We've been together for 6 years, basically high school sweethearts. Went from flirty glaces, to lab partners, to collage students with an alcohol addiction. Mainly his addiction...he got me started on it.

Ashton basically took me in with his fatherly like protectiveness when we first got together. He was walking me to my front door after a bowling date he asked me out to my sophomore year, of course i said yes.; until the front door opened. Uh oh, dads home; Bill. The moment the door opened i watched my father tackle Ashton to the ground without so much as a reason screaming words like "get off my property, boys like you should be dead in a gutter, ill kill you"...

Lets just say that date night was a bit too eventful for my liking.

My dad always had a problem with Ashton because he went to highschool with his father. Ashtons dad was a bully back in the day, made my dads life a living hell.. took everything away from him. the girl, the looks, the job..

Dave, Ashtons father, was caught making out with Shannon, my dads ex lover but also first love. Dave knew he had the upper hand when it came to getting the things he wanted. Hell, Shannon seduced him into it. Shannon was only with my dad for the money. Got knocked up but gave him the baby and ran away to be with his dad. As you can see I am that baby now today.

I made a promise to Ashton after sneaking him to my bedroom window that same night cleaning his wounds; that it was me and him against the world. He knew about me and my parents relationship. How my step-mother only has good things to say about me in a room full of people, but how she degrades me behind closed doors. How my dads drinking problem gave him alcohol poisoning, twice' and about his anger problems. You'd think being in a household that is always loud would help you shape up to loud sounds in the future. Boy was that theory proven wrong.

anytime someone yells or raises their tone, you're immediately in fight or flight response. tense..anxious. You hate going to basketball games just for that reason. Its uncomfortable.. and he knew that, but apparently in this moment, he didn't give a fuck-

"Did you hear me??" Ashton says impatiently. "No im sorry, i cant hear when you mumble.." you reply

you also hated when people uttered things under their breath.

dad does that shit.

"Don't be smart with me y/n, ill leave you right here,right now in the middle of the fucking road

"Yeah whatever Ashton, just stop talking to me and drive" feeling the breaks pull forward and in a flash he was out of the drivers seat, and already pulling you out of the passenger-

"WHAT THE FUCK" i yell- what the fuck are you doing Ashton?”

“Shut up!” he smacks me. Your eyes widen in more shock than fear over anything. “Did you j-just hit me?” i ask with a scratched voice--

“I told you more than once not to back talk me didnt i?”

“i didn’t.. it was once and i stopped ashton”-

-“You’ve done it all goddamn night, accusing me of cheating, clinging onto me when i ran into Tommy, i told you to give me some fucking space --i interrupt him.

“YOU did cheat on me you asshole!! That bitch was fucking bragging about it in the bathroom”—

“Do you really think after what 4 years-“6 actually“ i say pissing him off further. he looks at you angrily

He sighs. “Do you really think after years of being together, i would do that to you?” he say looking down at the ground sadly; making you instatly regret your words

“..no-no of course not i just thou”-

-“You thought wrong! he snaps-I would never do that to you baby..y/n?” he says letting go of the grip on my arms, caressing my cheek-“..I know you get a little confused sometimes, its okay come here” he says pulling you into a deep hug

“..im sorry ash”-

“shh” he coos.

“I really thought—what the fuck is that?” you shove him away

“Y-you piece of shit!!” you pull around back collar piece of his shirt up to his face; showing him the peach colored lipstick stain

“Are you fucking serious Ashton?” his eyes widen and stomach drops when he sees the prominent evidence of his past events—

“B-baby look-“

“No! fuck you were done!”

He grabs me closer, “No we fucking arent- ive gave you everything! he starts shouting making you flinch

P-please stop yelling at me! you plea tears rolling down your face

“Just—here” he opens the car door “just get back in and ill explain on the way”—

“No.” you shove past him running and crying

“Y/N come back here!. its too dark—

“ i dont care leave me alone!”

“Y/n theres crazy people out here..!”

you stop in your tracks, turning back to say- “You’re the crazy person!”

he laughs. “Oh im crazy? Ill show you fuckin crazy”—he says marching over to the drivers side of the car starting it back up—mumbling ill show you a fucking crazy person babe—and he spees off

you cant believe he actually just left you.. standing here.

“ASSHOLE!” you shout regulardess if hes still there or not, turning back around to walk down the cold empty road

are you fuckig kidding me?

wow he fooled me

how didnt i see this before

did he love me?

he says he does

then why did he leave me..

fucking jerk!!

The long 7 mile walk with a head full of shitty thoughts walk you to a sun burnt orange barn.

you're exhausted. your hearts broken. your feet hurt. its too dark to keep walking

"I mean i could crash here right?" you say already walking towards the musky building

hay bells, chickens, tools. looks already owned

you dont care you just need a place to rest you head for a bit.

stinks in here. muttering to yourself, opening and shutting the barn door behind you.

perfect you say spotting an old rocking chair..and yard sale signs?

does somebody live here?

you're too exhausted to think any more tonight

this'll do. taking your jacket off to use as a prop pillow, climbing into the chair almost immediately drifting off.

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

whats that smell? smells like bacon?

bacon? your eyes are still shut but you can sense a different environment around you. Fluttering your eyes open.. a clock? pictures? what?-jumping up at the sound of a shoe

"WHO ARE YOU?" your already in flight or fight mode

"Whoa whoa its okay, im the owner of the barn i found you in”.

is he lying?

"YOU'RE LYING!" you look around in a panic

"Sweetheart if i was lying, how come i specifically found you in my rocking chair, you must of been tired, i got my buddy who also runs the farm to scoop you up and bring you to our guest bedroom, couldn't just leave a woman out in the open like that.. especially at night"

your stomach knots when he calls you sweetheart.

okay maybe he harmless, just very kindly harmless?

"Here" he throws his arm out, "I'm Eddie, Eddie Munson."

- - is this interesting so far? lmk- -

reblogs appreciated:>

[jordiestardust]

Wet Part 2

Find Part One: here

Summary: Steve is dedicated to making things right with you, though he doesnt realize he wants to emerge as more than friends

Warnings: Cursing, use of y/n, implied f reader ( if i messed up w prnouns, same as last time PLS LET ME KNOW), unedited, shitty ending, fighting, alcohol use, unedited asf

———————————

“Okay. We need to talk” Steve had a stern look on his face as he spoke to the girl in front of him.

“Do we though?” Not only was she making him nervous, but she was making the task impossibly difficult for him.

“Yes. I want to start with saying im so-“

“Youre sorry? Really Harrington, thats bullshit you just want to get in my pants” She said, oh so obviously holding back a laugh.

“Robin i swear to god.” Okay, In his defense, Robin did basically force him to participate in this practice argument with him.

“What? You we’re kind of a slut last time you saw her.” Ouch.. he thought. But it was true. Steve most definitely had not been known for his great reputation at ‘boyfriend’.

He was going to suggest that they try again, but before he could speak there was a slight tap on her window before Margo came tumbling into the room.

“BIRDIE! And Steve,” She glared over at him, “I think i left my drumsticks here yesterday, have you seen them? We kind of have a gig at Tommy Hagens pool party and the drummer just might need her drumsticks. Itd be kind of hard to back up Y/ns vocals if i didnt have them, I mean shes really good and has great projection, but she needs something to-“ If it wasnt obvious, Margo and Robin have the same rambling habit.

“Desk, ill be ready in a few. You going to Hagens party too Steven?” Robin asked, hopping off of her bed to help the latter in her search. She knew of Steves history of the boy, but she also knew that he wanted to be financially stable when he was older; and Steves father had made it pretty clear that if Steve cut off his connections, hed be left in the dust for real this time.

“Stop ‘full naming’ me asshole. But yeah I kinda have to. Didnt know you guys had a gig there, though .”

“Must’ve slipped my mind.,” Margo shrugged, but her and Robin gave each other a look that low key freaked Steve out, “Just hurry and go get ready and uh remember what we talked about. Thank you for m’ sticks Birdie, Im out.” Margo kissed Robin on the cheek, and crawled back out of the window less than elegantly. Who was going to tell her Robins parents were out on a couples retreat this week, and that there was no need to crawl out of the window? Not him thats for sure- No fucking way willingly hed sit through another five minutes of their sickening cuteness.

“You should go now too Dingus, party remember? Go get dressed, pick me up in an hour. Well go, have fun, get drunk, talk to Y/n/n. You know like in the good old days” She smiled, like she was up to something, pushing him out of the room slightly.

“The good old days? Really?” Steve was mildly unamused, but left the house all the same. Maybe getting a drink or two in him wouldnt be all that bad, Tommys parties were usually unorganized and chaotic, so he might not even run into Y/n. You know, when shes not on the big ass stage he knows Tommy rented, “just for her.”

———————————————————————

“Margs have you seen my glasses?” You called down from the stage, while Margo maneuvered herself around the few people that arrived early, in search of a beer, or like a caprisun or something. She had range.

“Gave em to Ajax” She yelled, still searching. Before you could turn around and look for the bassist, the glasses flew at you like a paper airplane. You were just barely able to catch them.

“Told you i could throw them up there, you immature ass.” Ajax muttered to Jonathan.

“I wasnt doubting you, dickwad. It was a statement.” Jonathan seemed to enjoy going to the parties where there would be a band playing, especially yours. Anyone else would think he just goes to get a glimpse up your skirt, but to anyone that knew him, it was clear he wanted practice for his future job of photographing rock bands. It was a diverse group of people you hung out with, really.

“Hey Henderson!” You looked up to see Tommy Hagen, the one throwing this party, waving at you from atop the diving board. Once you two made eye contact, he tried- really tried- to impress you with a jump. And it wouldve worked, if when he was about to jump in, a football didnt hit him in the ribs.

“OH SHIT-“ You exclaimed through a laugh, still glad to see that Tommy was able to resurface without needing CPR from Jason Carver.

“Oops-“ Ajax mumbled, as he and Jonathan slinked away together, laughing under their breaths. You shook your head in amusement, before placing the glasses on your head, and bending down to finish setting up the amps.

In no way were you into Tommy Hagen. He was an asshole, and it was pretty obvious that he thought of you as an accomplishment to add to his mental trophy case. Though, itd been a while since someone tried to impress you like that. Not who I wanted to have jumped into a 8 foot pool for me today. You thought, nearly laughing out loud at your own thoughts. HAH, scratch that. I bet he doesnt even remember we dated.

————————————————————————

“We’re late because of you, i hope you know that” Steve mumbled at the girl who was currently holding onto his arm for dear life. Robin enjoyed coming to these things sure, but she needed someone to hold onto in these crowds.

“Its not my fault, I swear. It was in my little green notebook except i think i left it in my overalls at my dad’s house, but the overalls were in my closet at my moms house so i was really really confused and then you came and i didn’t- HEY MARGO! Later Dingus.” Robins rant this time was about how they were thirty minutes late because she couldnt find the paper she wrote Margos favorite color down on. Sickening cuteness, he thought to himself.

Steve looked over at the stage that had been set up in the Hagens massive backyard, to see Ajax up there tuning his bass guitar, and Margo was off somewhere with Robin, but he couldnt see you anywhere. You know, until he did.

You were off by the punch bowl, looking slightly uncomfortable, in the way that nobody but someone whos memorized the way you smile when youre happy would notice. With Tommy Hagen.

—————————————

“Oh yeah, I mean, I leave sometime next week, so i dont think ill be able to make it.” You murmured, slightly annoyed that he wasnt getting the hint. Or that he didnt want to.

“Oh well thats alright princess,” you winced slightly at the nickname, “We can move it to tomorrow if youre free.” He smiled widely, raising his eyebrows as he waited for your response. Before you could turn him down, he spoke again. “Well look who showed, Steve Harrington, everybody. Did you know he was gonna be here princess? I didnt think hed actually show, you know hes kind of a wuss.” Tommy spoke loudly as Steve approached him, in an attempt to draw a crowd. One that worked.

“Oh come on, Tommy knock it off.” You said, trying to dissipate the situation before anyone did anything stupid. Steve and Tommy didnt have the greatest track record when it came to these things.

“Shut it, Hagen. Youre making her uncomfortable, knock it the hell off.” Steve said sternly, stopping a few feet from Tommy.

“Oh and you would know? I mean you guys dated for what a few months, before you dropped her for little miss perfect. Come on man you barely even know the girl, let alone what makes her uncomfortable. Hell i bet you dont even know what makes her comfortable, you know what really riles her up. Do ya Harr-“

Oh my fucking god.

“STOP GUYS STOP WHAT THE HELL- STEVE GET OFF OF HIM WHAT THE FUCK” You were yelling before you could even process what was going on. Steve was beating the absolute shit out of Tommy.

“DINGUS GET OFF OF HIM JESUS CHRIST” Now Robin was joined in on your yelling, along with the majority of the partygoers chanting ‘Fight Fight Fight’ or the occasional ‘Beat his ass Tommy’ and ‘Fuck him up Harrington.’

What the hell did he think he was trying to accomplish here

It wasnt long before the fight was broken up, Steve winning by a long shot, though he was definitely fucked up. You couldnt help the pang of pride you felt for him in your chest though, because according to Dustin filling you in on everything you missed upside down wise, this was the first fight hes won against a human since Starcourt.

It was still a pain in the ass to drag him to your car.

————————————-

Steve woke up to the soft sound of strumming in the next room over. He wasnt really sure of what the hell was going on, until he tried to stand up, and was hit with a horrible pounding in his head, and suddenly all his wounds felt fresh again. Though, technically they were still fresh . It had only been forty five minutes.

He kept a hand on his head, because he felt it was the only thing keeping him from passing out, and padded his way out of his room and into the guest room.

There, he found you singing.

‘You adored me before, oh my good looking boy.’ You sung, softly strumming, while still blissfully unaware Steve had woken up.

You were still wearing the makeup from earlier, purples and navy blues covering your face, to match the bands theme. Your hair was still styled like how it was in the video from the other day. You looked beautiful. Even if you were so clearly stressed out by Steves actions.

‘The skyline falls as I try to make sense of it AGH-“ Now you were aware of his presence. Steve winced at the loud noise, and you apologized quietly, placing your guitar on the guest bed.

“Did i wake you up?” You asked looking up at him as he stood against the door frame, still cradling his head with one hand.

“No, no, you didnt. Woke up on m’ own” He mumbled.

“Good. Now i get to me mad. What the hell were you thinking earlier Steve. That was fucking stupid, Tommy couldve gotten seriously injured, and so could you.” You scolded, grabbing his wrist harshly and dragged him to the bathroom.

“He was being a dick, he deserved it.” He said, as you pushed him against the counter until he got the hint to sit down.

“Move your legs really quick… And youve been a total dick recently, I havent beat the shit out of you.” You reached under the sink for the first aid kit, before standing back up and placing it on the counter next to Steves thigh.

“What do you mean Ive been a dick?” His eyebrows scrunched together when you started laughing. Because of course hed been a dick. Itd been four years, and he was still ignoring you like a twelve year old.

“Okay, okay, that was my bad. I have been a dick.”

“Clearly.” You smiled sweetly at him, before using the towel youd wet as you spoke to wipe the dry blood off of his face.

“Can I ask you something, Steve?”

“Yeah. Go ahead” He was thinking you were just going to ask what he was thinking when he hit Tommy, or something along those lines. Definitely not,

“Why did you break up with me?” He looked at you, straight into your eyes. He could tell, just by looking at you, that you were just curious. No tears, no annoyance, just pure curiosity.

“Honestly?,” You nodded slowly, “I couldnt deal. I mean I wasn’t exactly boyfriend of the century back then. You made me feel.. Light? In a way. Like I didnt have to worry about graduating, or getting a shitty job working for my dad, hell or even what people thought about me. I mean, my girlfriend was going to be a rockstar, “He smiled at you, “But i couldnt go through with it. None of it. I guess I was scared, and Nancy was the safest option, you know? Little miss perfect, is that was Tommy said? Yeah thats what I thought back then too. Its stupid i know, but it was safe.” Steve was looking at you, and the small smile on your face, and he couldnt help but laugh a little. “What-“ He laughed a little more, causing you to join in.

“Wait can i- sorry- Can i clean your cuts first? So you dont double hate me after this?” You said through a fit of laughter, reaching for the first aid kit again.

“Yeah, yeah go ahead.” He said, calming down a little in anticipation for the pain.

“Sorry sorry sorry-“ You said as he hissed in pain, eyes closed, with his head leaning into your hand.

“Its all good. ‘S all goodd” He said, looking up at you once more.

“Anyway. I was laughing because youre a total fucking idiot, Steve Harrington. I mean you just beat up Tommy Hagen at his own party, halfway through one of my gigs. Youre still best friends with my little brother, despite avoiding me for the last four years, and youve yet to try and embarrass me for writing songs about you. Youve changed Steve. Its freaky, if im being honest”

“You write songs about me?” He asked. Robin had told him that youd done it before, but he always just assumed they were old songs. From before.

“.. You didnt know?” Now your once curious, calm features, were nothing but pure panic.

“No?? I thought maybe youd met someone in LA, you know?”

“And it doesnt bother you? Like at all”

“I mean i kinda wish you told me, then i couldve asked this three years ago,” He chuckled lowly, grabbing the wrist of the hand that was holding his face lightly, “Can i, uh, could i ki-“ Before he could finish, he was cut off by your lips pressing against his. It tasted like your chapstick, strawberry flavored just as he remembered, and the punch from earlier, still tinged with a but of alcohol. You pulled away for air after a few moments, and the shocked look on Steves face kinda freaked you out.

“Sorry- Shouldnt have cut you off. Thats like, thats my ba-“ This time he cut you off, cupping your cheeks and lightly pulling you toward him.

“Dont be sorry. I should be sorry, I was going to start with sorry, but Robin said it would sound insincere or whatever” He murmured against your lips, causing you to laugh a little.

“I mean you were the one who suggested we kiss- Come on Steve, be better” You scolded mockingly.

“Yeah, yeah. But uh maybe we should tell her and Margo to stop, like plotting either our demise or our like borderline reconciliation-“ He laughed a bit, because it was so, so obvious that was their main goal in life then.

“Borderline? You are really bad at this, Harrington.” You laughed some more, placing a light kiss to his nose.

“Oh shut up, I know you missed me” He said, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Definitely”

a/n: not my best work but im still getting used to writing fanfic again, so im getting there 😭 post’s might be a little infrequent because cheer szn is starting agaim, but i am accepting requests, so if u have any lmkk🫶🏾 i write for steve, eddie, ethan landry, and robin rn (currently hyperfixated on stranger things and scream rn lmaoo)

[vincess-princess]

(And here finally goes my hogwarts au. The description below is for the whole fic, in the future I’ll be posting charters without it)

Title: Magic of insanity

Author: arnold-layne

Fandom: Harry Potter universe, Motley Crue, occasionally Guns N’ Roses, W.A.S.P., Led Zeppelin and some other bands

Characters: Nikki Sixx, Tommy Lee, Vince Neil, Mick Mars, Blackie Lawless, Jimmy Page, etc.

Genre: slash

Rating: Adult content (specifically for some episodes which I’ll mark)

Warning: contains ust, angst, descriptions of violence, underage, obscene language

Description: Nikki Sixx is a sixth-year Hogwarts student with unhealthy high interest in Dark Arts, sex and weed and unhealthy low interest in studying. At first the new school year seems to him just as usual as all previous years had been, but oh, how mistaken he is...

Charter 1.

Word count: 1548

Putting on heels was a mistake, realised Nikki, standing in front of a subway entrance and looking hopelessly at the endless stairs leading under the ground. Not that he hadn’t faced this obstacle before - when you are a London lower-class misfit, subway is usually the only mean of transportation you can afford, - but he definitely didn’t have to carry a huge and hella heavy trunk with him then. The opportunity of calling a taxi was still tempting, but he remembered that if he wasted his money now, he would have nothing left for the trip to Hogsmeade, and shrugged the thought off. Then Nikki tightened his grip on a trunk’s handle and started his long journey down.

There were a few free seats in the train, but after Nikki noticed that not a single one of them was near some pretty girl or guy, he preferred to remain on his feet. As always, he’s got his share of sidelong glances and scowls, but now he wasn’t sure if it was because of his appearance or an enormously huge trunk with something obviously moving inside… oh shit, his igneous lizards must have found their way out of the jar, he realised. He gotta put them back, or his clothes will turn into ashes by the time he arrives to Hogwarts, thought Nikki with horror. Or at least start smelling like smoke, which was no good either.

Once a woman’s voice announced his station, Nikki hurried out of the train only to realise that the stairs down wasn’t even an problem comparing to what he had to face now – the way up.

Ten minutes later, sweaty and out of breath, he finally reached King’s Cross and slipped through the barrier after some family with a visibly shaking first-year whom his parents had almost to carry through the wall because he refused to walk with his own feet. When you were his age you were no better, reminded Nikki himself, but still couldn’t help chuckling. He wasn’t that confused and scared first-year anymore; he was surrounded by wizards, young and old, weirdly dressed or almost indistinguishable from Muggles, and that – that finally was what he really belonged to. Almost nobody stared at him now, assuming, maybe, that he just mistook men’s clothing shop with women’s. It can happen with anybody, though, these Muggles have such weird fashion!

He noticed Tommy almost instantly, for he was towering over the crowd, having almost reached 6’ at his incomplete fifteen years. The boy’s gonna be taller then Nikki in the future, thought he with slight annoyance, but when Tommy noticed him and waved enthusiastically, all his annoyance disappeared. Nikki pushed his way through the crowd, using his trunk as a ram, and only when he approached him, he realised that Tommy was not alone here – of course, his family had come to see him off, just like all normal families do.

Even though they’ve been friends for about four years by now, it was the first time he met Tommy’s family. His mother, as he expected, was thin and beautiful, even after having two kids and god-knows-how-many miscarriages, and Nikki caught himself on not a very friendly thought that he would fuck her if he had a chance. Well, it was no wonder, she was Miss Greece once, remembered he. His sister Athena, a shy fourth-year girl, took after her mother and in the future was going to become just as beautiful. But now she was just a clumsy teenager with acne problems, and only her long wavy hair, just a little longer than Tommy’s, gave that away.

And there was his father. He looked strangely small near his son, and Nikki had to remind himself that 5’9’’ for a man is not that bad, but that didn’t give Tommy any advantage. They wore almost identical suits, but Tommy looked in it so awkwardly that it was obvious he’s been forced to wear it, whereas his father wore it with dignity, even loftiness; Tommy’s hair, even in ponytail, looked like a mop, whereas his father’s haircut looked so neat you couldn’t find a hair sticking out even if you tried; Tommy, always being the tallest, used to slouch a lot, and his father’s proud posture could belong to a member of a royal family. Nikki disliked him immediately.

“Mum, father, - said Tommy with tense, his eyes fixed on him, looking both anxious and hopeful, - meet Nikki”

The moment of shocked silence followed. Tommy’s mother raised her eyebrows in astonishment, and it was noticeable that only her manners prevented her from openly staring at him; however, she nodded gracefully and said amazingly polite, not giving away her emotions even at slightest, “Nice to meet you, Nikki”. He smiled warmly to her as an answer.

“So that’s the young gentleman who Thomas calls his best friend” said his father, squinting his eyes contemptuously and somehow managing to look down upon Nikki, even being a few inches shorter. But even his icy, disdainful tone didn’t manage to make Nikki feel diminished – in fact, it did otherwise, because now he was going to act as ill-behaved as he could, throwing away all that was left from his almost non-existent manners. He caught Tommy’s eye and winked almost unnoticeably – don’t worry, it’ll be alright. “Or should I say «young lady»?” his father continued sarcastically, obviously referring to Nikki’s four inches high heels. Putting them on definitely weren’t a mistake.

“I’m sorry that me wearing heels makes you question my sex” said Nikki, on purpose distorting his slight American accent to an almost unrecognizable level. “But nobody before you had a problem with that” he wasn’t even trying to hide mocking intonations in his voice, “mr. Lee”. Tommy glanced at him with both admiration and fear written on his face.

Mr. Lee’s face whitened with rage. “Well, all these people must have been not of a smart kind” he managed to keep his voice calm when he answered. “I’m quite surprised that you were placed in such honorable house as Slytherin. It seems the Sorting Hat does make mistakes sometimes”.

“Oh, I don’t think so”, Nikki pretended not to notice the hint. “I’m sure it suits me just right”.

“Then, sadly, Slytherin is not what it used to be back in my days” said mr. Lee, pursing his lips. “Anyway, I shall get to the point now, as the train leaves in ten minutes. Thomas is on his fifth year now, which means he’s going to pass his Ordinary Wizarding Level examinations this year. I do hope his results will live up to his family’s standards, but, considering how poor they were before, he’ll have to work hard. I’ve already arranged with some of the teachers, who I happen to know personally, that they’ll take care of him, so there’s only one problem remained: your so-called friendship”

Tommy winced behind mr. Lee’s back. This definitely wasn’t the first time he had to listen to all this - and if mr. Lee decided to talk to Nikki personally, then all these attempts obviously were in vain.

“I’m not going to mention how destructive, scandalous and disreputable I consider it to be…” mr. Lee went on, but Nikki interrupted him.

“You just did that”

“Did what?” mr. Lee was slightly confused, maybe more because he didn’t expect that someone would actually dare to interrupt him than because he forgot what he just said.

“Mentioned that. About our terrible, destructive… how’d you say? – disreputable - friendship. Very nice description indeed, I’ve heard worse”

“How dare you…” started mr. Lee indignantly, but at that moment Hogwarts Express whistled, signaling that there were only five minutes left before departure, and he had to put off the rant about Nikki’s bad manners. “Alright, we don’t have much time left. Thomas, Athena, get on the train now, and I shall have a quick word with mr. Feranna”

Tommy gave him a supporting look and took both his and Nikki’s trunks to get on the train which seemed to irritate his father a lot, though he had to hold back his opinion on that.

“It’s not Feranna anymore” said Nikki “it’s Sixx”

“Nevermind. Well, I’ve heard you’re quite good in certain school subjects so I hope you’re smart enough to understand the importance of my words. I ask you kindly and politely to leave my son alone once and for all. Your friendship does only bad for him, he doesn’t study, doesn’t think of his future, of his family’s honour, even of his inheritance, which is unacceptable. If you back off him, I’ll be quite grateful and maybe even drop a hint to some high-ranking wizards in the Ministry about one gifted student from Slytherin… if not, I shall warn you that I’ll have to take certain actions”

The train whistled one more time. Somebody shouted “Hurry up!”, but Nikki took his time to answer.

“I shall say” answered he finally, “that it’s only Tommy’s business who to be friends with, not mine and definitely not yours. And it’s only up to Tommy to decide, what’s more important to him: friendship or your O.W.L.s and your shitty inheritance. See ya, mr. Lee” and he jumped into the train that already started to move.

[karsonisnot]

A New Family.

It has been about three months since tommy had gotten close to schlatt, Sam, and Charlie. Really the catalyst for all of this was Shalott breaking the news that he was, in fact, Tubbos father. 

During this time, they all moved in close together, and really got to know each other. Shlatt started his recovery from his addictions During all of this, and he became kinda like a father figure to them all surprisingly enough

He walked on the prime path, remembering the one time they were all at Schlatt's house while he was slightly drunk, giving life advice. In fact he was so in his own thoughts that he didn't see his actual father right in front of him.

"Tommy."

He looked up to see philza, staring him down. He was clearly not happy for some reason, and Tommy immediately got nervous.

"Uh… hi Phil. Whats… what's going on." He says, laughing nervously.

"What's going on is that I've heard your getting close to… certain people."

"Uhhh, okay? Why does it matt-"

"What's up with the pin?"

Tommy looked down at his red jacket, and looked at the tiny pin on it. Schlatt gave it to him, an exact copy of the little schlattcoin pin he sometimes wears on the collar of his shirts. 

"Oh yeah, the pin schlatt gave me."

"What the actual fuck, and your wearing it?!"

Tommy looked at his father, who had gotten slightly closer.

"I...I mean yeah? He's actually pretty chill n-"

"HES A FUCKING POLITCAL TERRORIST."

"Wha- hes a nice guy now, whats ur fuckin issue man?!"

Philza got even closer, too close for comfort. Tommy Tommy gave a slight side glance just to break eye contact, but swore he saw someone move in the shadows, making him more nervous.

"I don't want you to be around him." Philza said, coldly.

"Wh-what? No. Why do you even fucking care, you haven't even had a conversation with me in fuckin months?!"

"Because he's dangerous!!"

"Excuse me?! You fuckin blew up a country with me in it, don't talk to me about dan-"

He was cut off the image of a man with long pink hair jumping from a tree. He hadn't even realized techno was even there. Before he could react though, wilbur was at his side, with a fucking knife.

"What the absolute fuck is happening." Tommy said, backing up.

"Toms. If your a friend of schlatt, your an enemy of us." Philza said.

Tommy was stunned. Yes his family had been complete assholes to him, but to kill him? Not only that, their motivations fucking sucked.

"What, fucking why! I haven't even seen you in forever. I don't even want any beef anymore!"

"Well, can't have beef if you're dead." Techno said, and then charged.

Tommy dove out of the way, not ready for a fight. Techno turned on his heels, running towards him. He also heard what was most likely wilbur behind him. He was dead.

But, all of a sudden, techno got knocked in the head by a bottle, so hard it broke.

Tommy didn't have time to see who it was, and rolled out of the way of a knife coming down on him. Tommy saw the knife hit the ground and heard wilbur cuss loudly, immediately before he heard a voice behind him.

"Don't move wilbur."

He looked in the direction of the voice, to see Sam standing there, aiming a bow directly at wil. He looked in the direction where techno got hit, and saw jschlatt. And techno very much about to overpower him. 

Seemingly out of nowhere, Charlie appeared, and hit techno with an arrow. Causing him to back off. Immediately Tommy noticed that techno wasn't wearing any armour for some reason. Maybe thought it was going to be an easy fight. 

"What the absolute fuck do you three think your fucking doing?!" Schlatt said, holding the broken jack Daniels bottle. 

"Well, this is interesting." Phil said, being protected by techno.

"Tommy. What prompted this." Sam said, still concentrating on wilbur.

"I don't know! I just… they… they fucking jumped me… for making friends with schlatt."

All of a sudden, schlatt looked at phil, gripping the bottle tighter.

"You motherfucker." 

"Right, because you're the upholder of morals yourself, schlatt." Phil responded.

"At least I'm not ambushing my own son in the middle of the night for existing."

Sam all of a sudden, sam let the string of the bow go, hitting Wilbur in the head, instantly killing him. And reloaded, pointing at philza.

"Give me one reason not to shoot you right now, and leave techno to get beat to death by a bottle."

"Well, because then you'll be killing Tommy's precious family."

All of a sudden, rage fumed in tommy. He realized something after that sentence. And being with this group of people after the past three months, he felt less… alone. He felt at home. Like… like… he has a family. And for Philza to use the blood he was born into against him. He… he felt attacked.

"Your not fucking precious to me at all you bitch."

"What the fuck are you-"

"NO, YOU LISTEN TO ME FUCKER." Tommy raged at Philza's backlash. "You… you have caused me nothing but pain. You have been nothing but against me since the beginning. You've… you've been the worst father ever. Blowing up the country I care about, making me feel small, being a bitch to me. Im… done with it. I'm done with you. I'm done with all of you. I never want you in my life again."

"Tommy, don't be irrational. Where else are going to go to… were your fucking family." Philza said, backing up a tiny bit.

"No. Fuck no. You were never my family. In fact, I don't need you a lot at all. In fact, schlatt

… schlatt has been more of a dad to me then you ever were in the last three months. And unlike techno and wilbur, sam and Charlie have only ever come to my defense and have been… been like brothers to me. If I dare say it… they are my family now. Hell, they are always here for me! While you've done nothing but… but neglect me."

Philza stood stunned. Techno lowered his sword. 

"Im… did… did you really just disown… us?! Philza said, now shaky. 

"Yes… yes I did."

They all went silent for a second. Charlie now at schlatters side, who was looking at tommy, slightly shocked. Sam still trained on the older man behind techno. 

"You should leave." Charlie said, finally speaking.

"Yeah. Or i'll put an arrow between your eyes." Sam said. 

Techno looked at Philza, who only nodded, and they both took off, knowing this wasn't a fight worth getting into with their current lack of gear.

Sam lowered his bow, and walked towards tommy. Schlatt and Charlie both lowered their defenses, Schlatt dropping the bottle. 

"Tommy… im." Schlatt said, walking towards him.

"I know… i probably messed up… im sorry, I shouldn't have said yall were my… family."

"What, no. Don't be ridiculous." Schlatt said, pulling Tommy into a hug. "You're always welcome into my home… my family."

All of a sudden, Tommy felt a sudden relief… and… happiness.

"Hell, you two, get your asses over here." He motioned to Charlie and Sam, while still holding Tommy in a half hug.

Charlie and Sam stood next to them, Charlie standing on schlatters side, getting slatts free arm around his shoulder. Sam on Tommy's side, getting schlatters hand halfway on his shoulder.

"You know what. I have an actual son, tubbo. However, I am aware that all of you don't really have a family, and you wanna know that, that isn't fair. I've seen how you three get along, and I can see the brotherly bond you all have. After tonight, I feel like maybe, just maybe, it's time to expand my family a little bit. So how about this. I'm your new dad. Even if it's not official, I can and will always be here for you. Like a father should. And I have no doubt in my mind after tonight that you will be like brothers to each other."

"...you know what, hell yes." Charlie said. "I am 100% in."

"Fuck yeah brother, I am so in." Sam said.

"So… what do you say tommy, are we your new family… dare I say your new SBI?"

Tommy looked at Schlatt, already knowing his answer.

"Absolutely. Let's fuckin do this."

Sam took Tommy into a headlock out of excitement. After he let go, and they all had their laugh and little celebration, they made their way back to their houses. The new family, ready to face whatever may come.

[trailerparkflower]

Borderline personality disorder + Steve Harrington?...

So I was thinking about how Steve acts in relationships, researched dependency from the partner and then found a lot of info about BPD, wich made me think what many of the disorder symptoms are very fitting to Steve and explains some things in his behaviour. Lets starts, guys!

Promiscuity.

All his teen life Steve been slutting around probably too scared for serious relationships (because its better that way, no one will leave him if he leaves them first), all charming and needy and touch-starved, calming down his desire for attention and affection. 

Unstable relationships/idealization of the partner, lack of boundares.

Then he settled in the realationships with Nancy (who are brave and smart and oh, so stable), which turned out pretty much unhealthy from both of the sides, and Steve became so depended on his her to the point of breaking up his bounds with everyone else( including his probably childhood best friend Tommy) except her and planning all his life to revolve around Nancy.

Fear of abandoment, frantic efforts to avoid being alone.

He fears what Nancy will abandon him so much what he becomes even more clingy and needy, while she gains even more control in relationships and becomes a “top dog” (from Joe words). In ST1 we also see how insecure and  jealous Steve was to Jonathan, his dramatic reaction on John and Nacny hug, jumping in conclusions without any evidences. He even breaks Jonathan camera in the begining just out of his “insecurity” (again, based on Joe interview), fear what Nancy and Jonathan have better understanding of each other. In other words, he afraid what Nacny will leave him for someone else and he will stay alone again. Steve Harrington canonically has big abandoment issues, probably cased by neglecting parents.

Needing attention+validation

Idk if I even should comment it. We all know what King Steve persona was build for getting attention, admiration and validation from others, know how much time Steve spends on his looks and hair, how pleased he is when Tommy and Carol have all eyes on him. When he doesnt get compliments from Nancy, he pouts and praises himself on his own because he needs that.... “see, a ninja”; “make sure you wont forget this pretty face”, ect. You ask me, Steve has the biggest praise kink in all Hawkins.

Inability to regulate emotion, difficultes with anger controlling. Impulsivity.

Steve is one yelling bitch. He is a soft boy, but when he gets really upset and angry, he becomes mean and yelly and acts without thinking. He tears apart his own essay because Nancy couldnt help him with it, he pouts, storms of the rooms, screams at people. 

Getting upset easily + habit of blocking out intense painful emotions.

If you ask Steve how he doing, he probably will smile and say “peachy!”. Not because everything is really peachy, but because Steve prefers to ignore his own problems and things what makes him sad and pretend what everything is perfectly alright. He asks Nancy go to the movie and “pretend everything is normal for a few hours.”, says what his parents totally gave him hell for drinking beer but “who cares, screw them” and changes the theme. Tommy screams “run away, Stevie boy, like you always do!”, wich suggest us what Steve has a tendentions to avoid confrontations and stressful situations. He once again says Nancy go to the party and pretend to be normal teens in ST2 when she voices her concerns, and we see what ignoring problems and pretending is Steves constant coping mechanism for stress fear and sadness.

Distorted self-image.

Steves sense of self also seems to be instable and based on how people around him see him, like with Tommy he was a school bad boy, with Nancy he became a good guy, with Dustin he became a total soft dork as we see in ST3 trailer. He is unsure about his own goals, he doesnt knows who he is and who he wants to be, like wich job he prefers and what he likes to do in his life generally. Tending to base his own self on his relationships with other people, he gets complitely lost in the end of ST2 when Nancy is no longer with him.

Self-harm, self-desctuctive behaviour. Self damaging acts as drinking, drugs, vandalism.

Steve smokes, drinks, gets into the fights he cant win. Stands near Tommy when he writes about Nancy the slut and Jonathan the creep, runs away from cops. I would even say what his fight with Jonathan was quite maschostic, because Steve rilled him up and then barely protected himself and almost didnt resisted when Jonathan pushed him to the ground and started to punch non stop. Tbh for me it seemed like if Steve was so upset what he wanted some physical pain to blur his emotional one.

Dissociation, "zoning out"

Sometimes if you pay enough attention, you see Steve standing/sitting here with blank empty face. Usually it happens in stressful events, when he has some free time by himself. He also gets slow time to time, like hes habing hard time to concentrate. Cant be sure, but its does seems like zoning out. Im think there was even some parody video where people noticed what Steve sometimes gets blank faced and slow in the middle of the talk.

Paranoidal ideas, anixety, nervousness

Oh, this one is easy. You honestly wont find another ST character who is so full of anixety. He is fidgety, he hugs himself in a self-defense manner, he makes himself look smaller than he is, he constantly has the deer in the highlights look on his face, he cant think and act straight when he meets the Upside Down monster first time, so Jonathan even has to grab his hand and yank him to run. We also see how Steve is afraid of the goverment in the ST2, I would say its paranoidal behaviour-its seems like he does think what they are constantly being watched. Says what they will destroy their lives and families and changes the theme what Nancy wants to discuss.

In ST1 he is also ridiculously scared what his parents, dad especially, will find out what he drunk some beer, he gets so scared of this idea what he even calls Nancy and asks not to mention that to the cops, says what his parents will “Murder him”. 

In ST2 he is also pretty freaked out by Billy, in basketball scene when he is pushed down and Billy holds his hand you can see what Steve is trembling and looks like he is going to cry. Im not joking guys, just rewatch the scene....Poor guy just cant have a rest!

Presistent feelings of emptiness & guilt

“I'm sorry? What the hell am I sorry for?”

No matter is he guilty or not, if Steve having a conflict with someone, most of the times he will feel guilty and be sorry, as we see in the show. He wants to apologize to Jonathan for telling him means things, saying, “I just wanna be good, make things right”, buys him new camera (and giving it to Nancy, not presenting it to Jonathan himself.), cleans local theatre, he says sorry to Nancy, calls himself a jerk, a shitty boyfriend (wich is kinda downgrading himself), wanting to bring her roses and say how sorry he is again. Dustin also easily kind of guilt trips (”you promised to protect us”)  him to protect the party in the tonnels, while Steve clearly was against the whole thing, and feeling really unwell after getting his ass beaten by Billy.

Learning disability/scool problems. BPD can make it difficult for them to control the focus of their attention, to concentrate.

Steve plays it cool and pretends unbothered, but he actually tries hard to learn stuff. Even in ST1 we see in his room, what his table is covered by various homework papers. Its been shown what Steve having a hard time with study, what he is eager to be useful but not the smartest guy around, from his really chaotic essay and getting C-, to the Nazis comment. Its seems like he has some learning disability and doesnt even knows about it himself.

 Its also a known hinted fact what Steve doesnt have a good relationships with his parents, especially with strict father, he even calls him a “grade A asshole”. By their absence in the series, when we saw all the main character families, Steve remains all alone in big house, wich makes us think about how neglecting they are. The thing is, “people with BPD  have been found to be significantly more likely to having been abused by parents.”

During development, Joe Keery and the Duffers spoke about “what kind of family life [Steve] comes from and maybe this girl Nancy is quiet and listens in a way that other people haven't listened to him at this point.”-wich is pretty fitting to the portrayal of “neglecting, denying the validity of childnren thoughts and feelings parents”-that type of the bad parenting what BPD people mostly experenced.

“Parents were also reported to have failed to provide needed protection and to have neglected their child's physical care”, what gaves us the possible reason of Steves constant anixety and running away from the problems issues.

So, while we dont know can it be canon or not, I would say what there is high possibilities what Steve has BPD.

[turtle-steverogers]

"Enough of the excuses" with spalbert. angr bois —f💥⚓️

Angry Bois

warnings: mentions of past abuse, alcohol/alcoholism

editing: no

ship: spalbert

word count: 799 cuz apparently writing’s impossible and my fics are suffering

“Where were you.”

It wasn’t a question.  More of a demand, and Albert pursed his lips, eyes not meeting Spot’s as he crossed the room, shrugging his jacket off and hanging it on a hook.

“Out,” he said, curtly.

“Uh huh,” he could picture Spot crossing his arms, eyebrows raised, “Where.”

There it was again.  That gut churning, demanding tone.

“Why do you need to know everything?” Albert’s head felt heavy and he cursed himself for how many drinks he’d had.  But goddamnit, sometimes he needed a little something to take the edge off.  Well, sometimes was an understatement, but there were a lot worse things he could be doing, right?

“I’m allowed to have my own life outside of you, Sean,” he snapped.

Spot didn’t answer and the room fell silent, save for the buzzing in Albert’s head.  Albert turned around, swaying in place for a moment while the world righted itself.  How drunk was he?  He didn’t feel that bad, but his limbs felt too warm to be normal.

“Goddamnit,” Spot muttered, “God fucking damnit, Albert.”

Albert finally met Spot’s gaze, but flinched and looked back at the ground when he saw the disappointment etched across his face, somehow softening and hardening his features.  He looked as tired as Albert felt.

“I thought you were going to sober up.”

Albert felt biting tendrils of anger lick at his chest, intermixing with intoxication.  His fists curled at his side and he pressed his knuckles to his thighs, willing himself to stay present and not lose control.

“Couldn’t even last one fucking week,” Spot said, his voice low and dangerous.

“I got stressed,” Albert bit out through clenched teeth.

“We all get stressed, Albert!” Spot said, his voice pitching up an octave, “enough of those shit excuses, I’m tired of hearing them!”

“Then what do you wanna hear?” Albert snapped, “That I’m sorry? I’m fucking sorry, then!”

“Fuck apologies,” Spot bit, eyes flaring, “I want promises!  But you’ve made it very clear you can’t keep them.”

“Fuck you!” Albert shouted, all semblance of control leaving him at once, “You don’t understand how fucking hard this is for me!  I did try, but I haven’t a fucking clue how else to deal with my fucked up shit!”

“Listen, you may find this hard to grasp, Sean, but shit takes time.  I know I promised, but this is a really fucking hard thing to do.  I’m bound to fuck up some, I’m bound to fall back on this shit, but I’m trying for you.  The least you could do is try to understand and be helpful.”

Spot’s eyes were blown wide.  Anger still lingered behind the thin veil, but a new emotion had manifested in his expression.  Something akin to guilt.

“Albert, hey,” Spot took a step forward, hand outstretched towards Albert.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” Albert hissed, taking an instinctive step away from him.  He became acutely aware of the tears that had formed in his eyes.  Stupid alcohol.  Always made him more emotional.

Spot nodded and lowered his hand, his jaw shifting as he studied Albert.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “You’re right, I shouldn’t have blown up at you.  That isn’t helping anything.”

Albert scoffed and crossed to the couch, sitting heavily.  Spot sighed and perched himself on the chair across the room.

“I just,” Albert looked up to see Spot leaning forward, hands clasped in front of him.  His lip was worried between his teeth and Albert could practically see the gears in his head turning as he considered how to word his thoughts.

“I’m scared,” Spot admitted, “I’ve seen what alcohol addictions do to people and I-” he cut himself off, shaking his head, “I don’t want you to become what my dad did.”  He subconsciously rubbed at his arm, where Albert knew countless scars from ruthless fights with his father were hidden.

Shame hit his lungs like a truck and he heaved a breath, lowering his head into his hands.  He felt dizzy.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice muffled by his palms, “I’m so sorry, I should have realized how hard this must be for you, too.  Beyond my health.”

“It’s okay,” Spot said, “But we need to work this out.  I love you and I don’t wanna see you hit rock bottom like that.”

“I love you, too,” Albert lifted his head, fixing Spot with a sincere look, “I’m working on it, I swear.”

“That’s all I ask,” Spot said, standing and sitting on the couch next to him, “and I’ll work on being more aware of your situation.”

“Thanks,” Albert said, casting him a lopsided grin, “fucking freaks me out when we talk things out like adults and shit.  It’s so off brand.”

“I know,” Spot said, considering, “Asshole.”

“Much better...ballsack.”

“Ouch.”

“Sucker.”

-

angry bois

thanks for reading, chiefs

hmu to be added to my tag

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[jack-kellys]

“You were my hero.” with jack and crutchie please?

this is literally such a great prompt like I wanted to write it for so long but then like I kinda died in general BUT IM BACK

shout out to @cream--rises for quickly blurting that I should write from crutch’s perspective

————

capeless superman

words: 1340?

warnings: cursing, race instead of crutch is in the refuge au, yeet

————

The street was finally empty; all the newsies practically vanished out of Medda’s theater. No one had looked happy, of course. The whole rally had been a sham. Jack had caved, Jack had sold them out, Jack was a sellout, he was..

Crutchie’s own brother was a sellout.

He tried to block out his anger and replace it with confusion, limping alone down the street he saw Jack turn onto. The burning question of ‘why’ felt branded on his heart, its imprint scalding. Even if Jack told him why he had caved for the money, there was no way Crutchie could ever bring himself to understand it. It just didn’t make sense. That wasn’t Jack.

And he knew Jack.

Jack was the one who gave every hand-me-down he could find to any kid with a hole in their shirt or pants. Jack passed around food from the nuns to the rest of the kids, a big grin on his face in the morning even though Crutch knew he hadn’t slept for a minute the night before. Jack would fight anyone who roughed up one of his kids—he had, Crutchie reminded himself, only the day before; it was only a day before—even if he was one of the worst fighters Crutchie had ever seen.

Jack wasn’t any of the words Spot Conlon had called Jack as he had run the theater, screaming after him those terrible things. That Jack was a coward, and weak and useless, and a traitor—how could Jack Kelly be a traitor? How could Jack Kelly be a traitor?

…Was he?

Crutchie gripped his crutch harder as the thought entered his head. That couldn’t be it. Yes, Crutchie knew, the Santa Fe prospect was often mentioned between the two of them…and maybe the money would cover it…but that had to be just a dream. Every newsie had their own Santa Fe in a way. Finch wanted to be a pitcher one day. Mush wanted to be a real doctor. Henry wanted to make his father’s restaurant into a chain all across the country. It wasn’t any different. Couldn’t be.

Crutch saw the flash of a shadow ahead of him, and without thinking, called out to it.

“You gotta tell me, Jack, right fuckin’ now,” Crutchie cried up the block, watching Jack freeze. After a few moments, Jack retraced his steps, facing Crutchie with tired eyes.

“Tell you what?” Jack said, but it sounded rehearsed.

Crutchie stared harder. “That it didn’t mean nothin’. That you ain’t cavin’, not for just some money—“

“It’s not just some money, Crutch,” Jack interjected. “It’s…enough.”

Crutchie took an involuntary step back. What was he saying? “You’re not leavin’. You’re just not, Jack, that money’s too dirty. It,” Crutchie bit his lip, but continued his words stronger, “that money pays to keep places like the Refuge in business. It pays to keep where Race is hurtin’ in business,” Crutchie choked out.

Crutchie’s other brother, Racetrack, had been dragged to the Refuge just the other day. Actually dragged, too, Crutchie had glimpsed it briefly; Race was out cold thanks to Oscar and lugged into the wagon like he weighed nothing. Like he was nothing.

Jack couldn’t think Race was nothing all of a sudden.

“Crutchie,” Jack whispered, his eyes never leaving the ground. “You knows better than anyone that I gotta get outta here.”

“No,” Crutchie croaked. “This ain’t you, not really. You always think about us first—we always think of each other first.”

“Crutch, I can’t, I—“

“Yes you can!” Crutchie blurted, unintentional emotion trembling in his voice. “Why wouldn’t you. We’re all here, Jack. We ain’t out there. This’s your family, why, why…”

Crutchie scrubbed his eye, looking up at Jack with a small glimmer of hope. There had to be a why, even if he couldn’t figure it himself. Jack always had a reason, if not always a plan. He was an artist; he was full of passion. And though that passion branched into many different areas, Crutchie knew that his newsies were at the heart of it. They had to be. They were all Jack had. They were all any one of them had. At least a third of them would probably be dead without the lodge—Crutchie knew he probably would; he accepted that a long time ago. He was a fighter, sure, but some things were just out of his control.

But Jack was in control. At least, he could have been in control, easily. And yet decided not to, instead turning on his brothers.

“Why?” Jack scoffed. “Why? ‘Cause I don’t wanna any of yous ending up like Racer! I don’t want any more asses beaten so hard into the ground that we’s gotta peel ourselves off’a it! Crutchie, I can’t watch that. I can’t let any ‘a you get...I can’t let you die over this.”

Confusion burned in the back of Crutchie’s throat. “Like we wouldn’t die of starvin’ on the streets with these prices so high or somethin’,” he found himself blurting. “We already got all five boroughs on our side, Jack, a city-side strike could end it, and…”

“No it wouldn’t,” Jack said with force. “Pulitzer don’t give a shit about us, Crutch, he’d keep those prices until we can’t take beatings no more. He thinks this is a war, and he ain’t plannin’ on losin’.”

Something about that struck Crutchie as a little more than strange. A bit personal for just some money. “How...how long didja talk to him?” he asked slowly.

Jack hung his head. “Ain’t gonna lie; it was a while.”

Crutchie stumbled back, incredulous.

“Jack, w-what’d he do to you?”

Jack took a step towards Crutchie, who chose to move back yet again. This wasn’t his Jack. “We just talked, Crutchie,” Jack muttered. “‘S all.”

“It ain’t,” Crutchie could’ve laughed in disbelief. After all this time, Jack still thought Crutchie couldn’t see through him. “You’re lyin’, to me, oh my god. I can’t believe this, I…” Crutchie shook his head, mouth slightly agape.

Jack Kelly was a traitor.

The boy who had never once lied to his face was standing a foot away from him on a street corner in the dark with the guiltiest expression Crutchie had ever seen.

“Crutchie,” Jack was pleading now. What kind of topsy-turvy nightmare was Crutchie living in? “Please. I’m sorry, you gotta know that, but I had to. I had to. I had to do it.”

“No you didn’t,” Crutchie scoffed, a faint ironic smile on his face. This was unbelievable. “No you fucking didn’t. Coulda rejected the money right in front ‘a Spot, shown ‘em all you were on the right side—“

“I’m on your side, Crutch, c’mon—“

“—and instead you cave, man. Caved for those fuckin’ monsters at the top.” Crutchie scrunched his nose slightly. “Jack, I wanna trust ya, but that’s dirty, you know that.”

The look on Jack’s face made Crutchie’s heart sink, but he willed his expression to stay strong; stay strong like he didn’t care that he was losing his brother.

“I’m so sorry, Crutchie,” Jack choked.

“But you ain’t, I mean,” Crutchie let out a bitter laugh, “that wad ‘a cash must feel pretty great in you pocket.” Crutchie’s skin was beginning to crawl just talking to Jack and hearing him flat out lie to him. He had to get out. He couldn’t hide his breakdown for long, and he couldn’t let Jack see that. Especially after the night’s events. “You were my hero, Jacko.” His own voice was too devoid of emotion; it scared him.

“If you’d just let me explain, Crutch, I swear you’d understand,” Jack sounded too desperate, it couldn’t be real, “please, man.”

“Go get your Santa Fe, Jack,” Crutchie muttered, acquiescing to the new reality of Jack’s new backward personality. “We’ll still all be waitin’ here with ours.”

With that, Crutchie adjusted his crutch and turned around, heading back to the lodge, trying to block at Jack’s desperate calls after him, pleading with him to stay, to believe him, to trust him. But Crutchie had to start forcing himself to face the truth.

How could you trust a traitor like Jack Kelly after what he’d done to them?

————

YOWCH get em crutch

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[iamvegorott]

A New Virus Chapter 12

Let Her Go

“Tommy’s gross.” A six-year-old Annalise stated, crossing her arms and puffing out her cheeks. “He likes spiders and spiders are gross.”

“I thought you liked Tommy.” Anti said as he adjusted the camera.

“That we before he tried to give me a spider.” Annalise scrunched up her face in disgust.

“Boys are gross, aren’t they?” Dark said from his chair, lowering the book he had been reading.

“Yeah! They’re all gross!” Annalise declared.

“Now, not all boys are gross.” Anti went over to Dark. “I’m not gross, am I?”

“You’re not a boy, you’re daddy.” Annalise protested.

“Yeah, Anti. You’re daddy.” Dark winked.

“Actually, Ann, you’re right. Boys are gross.” Anti tapped Dark’s nose. “And gross boys don’t get any rewards from daddy.”

“But daddy might get something from papa.” Dark chuckled with a smirk.

“I thought we weren’t supposed to make innuendos in front of the child?” Anti hummed.

“I am doing no such thing.” Dark hummed back and gave Anti a kiss.

“You two are being gross!” Annalise squealed.

“I’ll show you gross, come here, princess.” Anti started going over to Annalise.

“No!” Annalise giggled and took off.

Dark watched as the recording of himself laughed and got up, going over to the camera and turning it off, leaving him to look at a black screen. He glanced at the clock and quickly stood, realizing that he was late.

“Annalise?” He called out, wondering where she was. Did Anti take her to school? Dark saw a piece of paper sitting on the coffee table.

‘Got a ride from Tiana’

She was avoiding him. Great.

“Why do you look shocked?” Anti asked, stepping into the room and only wearing pajama bottoms.

“You should still be in bed.” Dark said, dropping the paper and not facing his husband. Anti was called in for a last minute job last night and has only been home for two hours.

“I have all day to nap.” Anti stated.

“Did you find-”

“We’ll talk about that later.” Anti crossed his arms. “You were an asshole last night.”

“I know.” Dark said.

“You said some dickish things.”

“I know.”

“You made Annalise cry.”

“I know.”

“And you’re an idiot.” Anti waited for a response but didn’t get one. “You’re supposed to say ‘I know, dear’.” Still no response. “Dark.” Anti stepped over so he was in front of Dark now, but Dark’s head was down. “How many times do I have to tell you that she is seventeen. Seventeen-year-olds get crushes and most of them only go as long as their father’s tell them no. If this crush is really nothing and just her trying to get back at daddy, then you need to stop fighting.” Anti cupped Dark’s cheeks and tilted his head up so he would look at him. “She is going to make mistakes. She is going to get hurt. Our job is to be there for her and help her. We can’t protect her from everything.”

“Why not?” Dark asked, taking Anti’s wrists and lowering them. “We’ve been protecting her for over thirteen years. We’re her parents.”

“And as parents, we need to let go. She can’t rely on us for everything. You want her to go to college, right? How is she supposed to go out on her own if she thinks her dads will take care of everything? She’s going to have to get up on her own and go to her classes. She’s going to have to do her assignments. She’s going to need to meet new people and form bonds with them.” Anti shook his head. “Do you think that I want her to be grown? Do you really think that I don’t want her to be that little girl we took in? I still miss the days she called me ‘daddy’, when she would run into our room Christmas morning and bounce on our bed, yelling about how Santa came and that she was a good girl that year.” Anti found himself choking up. “I would love if she was still too short to reach the top cabinet. If she still wore that pink tutu I have hanging in our closet. If she...if she…” Anti began to cry. “Before she knew that she was a killer.” Dark said nothing and hugged Anti. “We have to let go. It fucking sucks, but we have to let go.”

“We do...don’t we?” Dark sighed.

                                                      x~x~x

“Annalise?” Dark said softly as he knocked on the open door, seeing Annalise sitting at her desk and typing away on her laptop.

“Here to insult me some more? Wasn’t last night enough?” Annalise said without looking at Dark, the hurt very clear in her voice.

“I’m sorry, princess.” Dark’s apology made Annalise stop typing. “I…” Dark let out a deep sigh. “I was stupid last night.”

“You were drunk.” Annalise said, still not facing Dark.

“I shouldn’t have said what I said.”

“What was your first clue?” Annalise stood up and went over to her bed, packing up the school supplies she had laying out on it.

“I’ll be honest in saying that I was being cruel because I love you.” Dark walked over to the bed as well.

“Questioning my intelligence and implying that my future child would be a pop-up link is a great way to show that you love me.” Annalise zipped her backpack shut and after a moment of silence she shook her head and sighed. “Although, I wasn’t the nicest either.” She admitted. “And I didn’t even have any booze in me.”

“Teenage years are something.” Dark turned around and leaned against the bed.

“Like you know what it’s like to be a teenager.” Annalise huffed.

“I was around during the seventies.” Dark chuckled. “Let’s just say I’ve had my fair share of idiotic mistakes because of substances.”

“You were a stoner!?” Annalise gasped.

“I will neither confirm nor deny that accusation.” Dark said.

“Was Uncle Wil one?” Annalise asked.

“Your Uncle Wil was something.” Dark laughed.

“Come on! I need details!” Annalise lightly slapped at Dark’s arm. “I’ve heard rumors that he had an afro, please tell me that’s true.”

“Whatever could you mean?” Dark sang.

“No way! He had a ‘fro!? How!?” Annalise started playing with her own hair. “Was his hair still pink? A pink afro? That would be so cool!”

“You should see what your father looked like during his punk phase.” Anti said from the doorway, a large smile on his face and a book in his hands.

“You had a punk phase?” Annalise asked with a laugh.

“He had a tongue piercing and everything.” Anti handed Annalise the book he was holding. “I wish you would have kept that, I would have loved to feel it against my-”

“Dad!” Annalise quickly cut Anti off.

“I wasn’t going to say dick!” Anti protested.

“Why is it that I don’t believe you?” Dark and Annalise said in unison.

“That was scary.” Anti said before opening the book in Annalise’s hands. “And there’s Bubblegum’s afro.” He said as he pointed at a picture.

“You had long hair?” Annalise asked Dark. “And you wore it in a ponytail?”

“It was fashionable at the time.” Dark stated. Annalise just laughed and continued looking through the book, not seeing the sad smiles on Anti’s and Dark’s lips when she reached the photos of herself when she was a lot younger.

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[sweet-xoxo-thatcares]

Song of my life

I hate Jay, but I still think about breaking the moral code just to get them/he back.

I don't like their idiotic, bratty, ass, controlling, wimpy, diary of a stolen boyfriend, terror tactics, microsoft nerdy ass, clymphomaniac (Cliff Huxtable Nymphomaniac), military guerrilla style, bronchitis bitchass who snorrrrrrrttttttttssssss so fucking loud in the morning like a kerosene chemical bomb is stuffed up her fucking nose and into her black, gothic, lights her fingers, witch candles and fake dick complacencies all bundled in for an asshole she can't stop from seeking other people, with their own financial insecurities. But yet you steady roasting me??

I hate that I can't just get up and go get a job today. My ass is literally struggling just to pay attention on an application, then when I get frustrated that I can't find anything I'm even fucking qualified for, I get horribly upset about me not being able to do anything about it an just start wanking off for about 2-3hrs of porn just to get a high because I can't smoke weed anymore, and whenever I can't do that, I go to the store to buy processed food and sweets and pop that I don't need but I need to fulfill this need of a high with a sugar craving, and then I kick back into circulation because then I start thinking about how much of an asshole Jay and Jay gf was and then it repeats all over again.

I think too much.

I sneak drinks from my parents special alcohol because I can't even afford buying me some alcohol enough to drown my poisonous thoughts in. But then it gets worse if I drink too much, because then I think about hurting myself and the ptsd kicks in from my momma, dad, jay, that bitch, and everybody else that ever said any mean, rude, sarcastic, and judging me for not being able to grow up like a proper adult. When the truth is, I don't even want to?

And I mean the type the adult my mother and father became...

The corporate job, that you don't even like going to, but you do it because you gotta pay bills, wash your ass, cook, clean, and pay at restaurants because you wife likes to be dined out and took on trips every so often to feel loved and appreciated. Then there's the kids and their automatic dysfunctions to wanting to chip in or help out. All the while, when you come home, you're so tired and worn the fuck out, you can't even build on the dreams or the projects your ass retired to think about doing outside of work because your wife made you cut your hair and be somebody you weren't before you met her.

That's why I don't like marriage. Because I hate being controlled. But I know I need to if I want to settle down and at least have one freaking kid (which I admit took me a long time to even adjust to the idea of having kids at all, until much recently) because kids need to grow up within the first 8-10yrs with 2 parents to grow up with a secure attachment style. And I'm starting to fear, I don't wanna end up a workaholic like my mom who barely even had enough time for me working all the time to cover the household, and then now my dad is the one taking over that role and I see the difference in my sisters now, the lack of their father being able to emotionally support them, like he used to do with me. Cause when mom wasn't there, he was, and I'm glad he was. But now, I keep thinking that maybe if I didn't feel so fearfully attached to my mother to where I became anxious-avoidant, maybe I would have had a healthier relationships with my more feminine relationships and I wouldn't have started to feel like a low life about her not loving me, kissing me, or hugging me enough as a child, like I needed her to be there. It wasn't just me looking for attention or just whining for no reason, I remember crying to myself at night sometimes because I was afraid to call her to my room to help me. Because she was always at work.

And now you think I'm overthinking, but this is just an example of what my brain starts thinking within a whole hour and I just woke up. And by the way I hate the idea of being a depressed mother, postpartum-depression, my mother had it, but I've seen other mothers with it and how it affected the children to see their mothers sad and they became overpleasing, overworked children who blamed their mother's conditions on the reasons why they can't stop people pleasing and stop being too nice all the time, because they grew up in a southern background with biscuits, rice, and eggs that taught their children to serve and serve the mother and father as part of the household.

Sounds like slavery right?

What bout teamwork, cooperation, fairnesss. Not tyranny.

And that's where the loop starts all over again. Because I just came out of situation/unofficial relationship/bdsm-sex-slaveship/non-giving-a-fuck-cgl/toxicship/friendship that was ran by a tyrannist and a colonist working and then not working me to death, putting me on hold, expecting me to wait without a collar of endearment or commitment, and then getting mad when I leave to go find real love, but then my heart keeps fucking beeping like the little reservation alarms from Outback that HEYYYY BITTCHHHH YOUUUU FEEELLLL SOMMMMEETHHHIMGGGGGG THEERREEEEE FORR AAA REEASSSONNNNNNNNN! FUCKING STUBBORN YOUTH BITCH, YOU'RE IN LOVE WITH THEMMMMM!

And this is when I get into a fight with myself, because it doesn't even fucking matter because clearly the Co-Captain, Jay, doesn't wanna be involved with us, nor do we know if they were actually playing a role to please HITLER or they really are an abusive, retarded, bastard who doesn't deserve shit, because you know why....

YOUU RANNNN AWAAAYYYYYY TOOO AVOIIIIDDD HEARRRING THISSS DUMBB MFFFFF SAY GOODBYE TO YOU IN PERSON AND NOW WE DONT HAVE ANYYY FUCKKKKINGGG CLOOOSSURREEE AND YO ASSS ISSS STIIILLLL GETTINGGG BLOOCCKKKEDDD

And I hate when I delegate with my personalities, yes, I said personalities, but they mostly feel like masks, because it was an imaginary coping mechanism that my young version of me did to adapt to school, my house, my friends in FL, My friends in MS, and then of course my friends here, I'm always changing and customizing myself like a GTA character in the shop, ready to just take a fucking shower and lay in bed alll day to exhaust my engine, because I downloaded too many computer programs and learned too many parts about someone else's vagina that I wasn't just about to get ready to eat and now Im switching as I talk......

See what I mean. I go from writer nostalgic rant, to aggressive, over freak that just wants to get down, get nasty, get drunk, get high, and go see other people so I can just get over this fat jerk, that (we dont know if they even love us, but nancy drew wants a straight up confession not controlled by their institutionalized gf that hawks their phone and their mind everyday. THEY REEEKKKK OF THEIR FUCKING GF INFLUENCESSS. THAT MANIPULATIVE ASSS FUCKIING WHHOOORREEEE), but most obviously (school Ky talking) this person absolutely does not love me or her enough to respect both women, but especially me, as they disrespect me the most, block me to abandon me, an treat me like a sexy can of green beans to eat later in their storage cabinet, so yes they just see you as a casual sex option to go, no longer respects you, your mind, your body or whatever your opinion is.....because their off marrying the wicked witch of the Midwest as we speak....it could be any day now.

(Mad ky) Why the fuck haven't they got married yet? 2yrs is wayyy too fucking long to be engaged to somebody if they're saying they're gonna get married at the courthouse. Like wtfff just do it already, I can't hold this fat ass bitch any longer from running back to this mf house. Like Ky, leave this nigga alone, damn! We can find a finer ass nigga, with a better job, and a better heart, emotionally available to love you and respect you the way that you need to be treated, fuck that mf.

I hate this bitch (Love Ky) but why don't we just go over there and see if they'll talk to us.

HELLLLLL NAAAHHHHH I DONT EVEN FUCKING TRUST THAT HOE AND FUCKING HITLER ASS GF SO FUCKING PETTYY SHE MIGHT EVEN TRY CALLING THE COPS ON YOU CAUSE SHE DONT EVEN LIKE YO ASSS AND SHE FAKKEKKE ASSS FFUCCKKKK LIKE A MF KARENNNN YO

Forget that hoe, we out mf.

We can't even tell this mf that we even moved in between grand rapids and Flint because mom tried to push us down the stairs and had to live with our grandma who don't even want us there so now she keeps making up excuses because she has OCD and likes her house a certain way, her and her only.

Its been a month since I even got into it with her about a fucking hamster, now my ass is still in flint. Not even wanting to go see grandma till I have a fucking job, cause she always yelling at me about stupid little shit and I only got to stay there for a month. She even got on me about some canned collard greens, man do I highly dislike that mf mother too. Sorry, grandma but you a pain in the ass to live with too.

I hate my life rn....

And its so hard to stay positive. My life sounds like a cartoon that I didn't even write. My looney toon ass need a psychiatrist, but I can't even afford therapy until I find a job with actual healthcare insurance.

Cause my first ever therapy session was $188 that I haven't even been able to pay off yet, because a mf aint got no job, Tommy.

Like wtffff

I need a vacation. From my brain. And my body. My family.

Then there's that good ol' American Television called escapissmmmmmmmm

[turtle-steverogers]

fugitives- chap 9

hey guys i finally stowed my shit and yeeted out a chap lol

thanks, as always, to @tommy-boyyy for helping me raise this baby.  im sorry ive been a neglectful father

warnings: vomiting mentions, gunshots/death, race kinda panics, spot’s got a Bad Past. tread lightly

ship: eventual ralbert

editing: actually,,,yes.  wow

word count: 4672 oml

“Save it.  Hotshot, take care of him.  Motherfucker really thinks he can trick the King of Brooklyn.”

“You got it, boss.”

Snarling, Spot turned away, busying himself with lighting a cigarette as a gunshot rang out behind him, followed by the sound of a body hitting the ground.  He tried not to wince, his heart hammering in his chest as he turned around to see the druggie’s body, mangled and bloody on the ground.

Bile threatened to rise in his throat, but he ignored it, retaining his neutral expression as he took another drag of his cigarette, deliberately blowing the smoke in the direction of the body.

“Asshole,” he mumbled, flicking the small bag of oregano next to the guy’s head.

“Ready to go back?” Hotshot asked, slipping his gun back into the waistband of his jeans.

“Mark it first,” Spot snapped, “We’ll leave once you do that.”

Hotshot shifted uncomfortably, prodding the guy’s leg with the toe of his shoe and biting back a gag, “Yeah, okay.”

“Get to work,” Spot waved a hand dismissively, “I’ll keep watch.”

He averted his eyes from the scene and crossed to the mouth of the alleyway, keeping his arms folded as he scanned the streets.  He could hear Hotshot spray painting behind him and at one point, the distinct sound of someone vomiting echoed through the space.  Eventually, Hotshot joined him at his side, hands shaking as he stowed his spray paint can back into his jacket.

They set off back in the direction of Prospect’s base, The Refuge, complete silence ringing between them.  The streets of Brooklyn seemed to darken, taking on a more sullen tone as they approached the tall, seemingly abandoned building.  

They entered, voices from other members of Prospect dying down as they walked further in.

Spot sat down at one of the card tables, raising his eyebrows expectantly, “Deal me in.”

Spot dominated several rounds of poker, casually draining everyone of their money.  Another round was just dealt when a knock at the door sounded.  Bumlets placed down his cards and got up, extracting his gun out of his jacket as he did so.  He walked to the door, executing Prospect’s signature knock.

The response knock resonated in return and Bumlets opened the door, gun still raised just in case.  The room collectively relaxed when Trevor, Prospect’s resident spy, walked in.

He nodded his thanks to Bumlets, then crossed to Spot leaning down behind his chair to speak in his ear, “We got a situation.”

Spot furrowed his brow, “What kind of situation?”

Trevor’s eyes flicked around the room, “Alone.”

Spot nodded, putting his cards down and standing.  He motioned for Trevor to follow him up the stairs and into his meeting room, which was adorned with nothing more than a few card tables pushed together.  Spot sat down in one of the chairs that surrounded the table and motioned for Trevor to do the same.

“What’s going on?” Spot demanded as soon as they were settled.

“Empire’s back on their shit,” Trevor bit out, “Traded with me this morning.”

Spot set his jaw, fist clenching on the table, “Do you have any idea who it was?”

“Uhh, didn’t catch his name, but he was a blondie.  Curly hair.”

Spot’s nostrils flared as anger and a concoction of other emotions bubbled in his stomach, “Higgins,” he said, his voice low and dangerous, “Was he alone?”

Trevor shook his head, “Nah, but you know who I’m talking about?”

“Yes,” Spot closed his eyes for a moment, grinding his teeth, “Not your place to ask.”

Trevor looked down, sheepishly, “Sorry, I-”

Spot held up a hand, effectively shutting him up, “Who was he with?”

“Uhh, some ginger.”

“Ginger?” Spot cocked his head, rifling through the members of Empire that he knew of, but no redheads came to mind.

“Yeah, he seemed pretty nervous, too,” Trevor added, “Didn’t do any of the talking.  Seemed to just be along for the ride.”

“Ah,” Spot said, trying to process the new information, “Well, thank you for letting me know,” Trevor sat awkwardly for a moment and Spot scowled, “You can go now.”

Trevor nodded quickly, before standing and hurrying out of the room.

Spot sat back in his chair, propping his feet onto the card table.  He leaned his head back until he was peering at the ceiling, a million thoughts swimming through his mind.  His own trade that morning had been in Queens, not far from Trevor’s shop.  Did that mean that he had been near Race?  Had Race seen him?  

He distantly wondered what would have happened if they had seen each other.  Nothing good, no doubt.  

Maybe a continuation of their last conversation.

A dull pang of regret hit his gut, slowly manifesting throughout his body.  He reached into his pocket, extracting a juiced out lighter.  He ran his thumb over the faded ‘R’ that was engraved on the side.

With a rush of adrenaline, he chucked it across the room, watching as it broke it half once it made contact with the wall.

XXX

“Are you alright?”

Race hung his head, closing his eyes as he held up his hand to knock on the stage door to The Bowery.  

“Yes,” he sighed, knocking, “Leave it.”

Albert grimaced, closing his mouth as Race knocked.  He had barely spoken on the entire journey back to Manhattan.  To say he seemed on edge was an understatement.  His face was still pale and during their entire Uber ride back, Albert could see a shaky hand lingering near his belt, right where his gun was located.  

A chorus of shouts rang out down the street, followed by loud cursing.  It was nothing out of the ordinary for the city, but Race jumped violently, flinching a bit before knocking more desperately.

The door swung open a moment later and the usual precautionary gun pointed out.  Race whined a little and pushed past whoever was on watch duty at that moment.

“Not in the mood, Jojo,” he mumbled, walking in hurriedly and practically sprinting up the stairs in the direction of the bathrooms.

Jojo watched him go, then turned to Albert, concern and confusion written on his face.

Albert raised his hands, shrugging, “I don’t know, bro,” he said, “We ran into Prospect-”

Jojo’s eyes widened and he opened his mouth to say something, but Albert shook his head.

“Well, we didn’t necessarily run into them, but we heard them do a trade near us and they killed some dude.  Race got pretty spooked.”

Jojo nodded, “Yeah, he’s not great ‘round that stuff.”

“Yeah,” Albert said, “I know.  Don’t think it helped that one of the guys was Spot Conlon.”

“What!?” Jojo looked horrified and Albert waved his hand for him to be quiet.

“Shhh,” He hissed, “but yeah.  They didn’t see us, though.  We’re safe.”

Jojo didn’t look convinced, but he dropped the subject anyway, shaking his head as he crossed to the rec room.  Albert followed him awkwardly, pulling out his phone as they walked in.  He busied himself in scrolling through Race’s secret meme account as Jojo perched himself on one of the tables, eyes trained on the TV.

“Ah, there it is.”

Albert looked up, his gaze travelling from Jojo to the TV, where a shot of a crime scene was being filmed.  Sure enough, a covered dead body adorned with the death symbol was located in the alleyway Race and Albert had been beside.  Albert winced, looking away as flashes of Elmer’s body streaked through his mind.  He pursed his lips, blinking rapidly as he focused back in on his phone.  Jojo must have noticed his reaction, because a moment later, the TV turned off.

“Wanna play cards?” He asked lightly, holding up a spare deck.

Albert clicked off his phone, slipping it into his back pocket and commending himself for maintaining steady hands.

He shrugged, “Sure.  Are you gonna be as annoying as Race?”

Jojo laughed, already moving to deal out the cards, “No, I’m actually pleasant to play with.”

Albert chuckled as he sat down, pulling his cards towards himself and propping his elbows onto the table, “Oh, thank god.”

They played several rounds of Rummy, making comfortable conversation as they did so.  Albert felt himself relaxing more in this time with Jojo than he had in all his time in Empire.  Jojo was easy-going and collected.  His calm stature was contagious, momentarily lifting the permanent pit of dread in Albert’s stomach.

But the pit quickly returned when a new voice sounded through the rec room.

“Albert, may I speak with you a moment?”

Albert blew a breath through his nose, trying to dampen the fresh anger that ignited within him as he turned around.

“What, Davey?” he glared, trying to hold his ground against the other man, but Davey seemed entirely unphased, the usual dullness in his eyes as strong as ever.

“Come with me,” he beckoned to Albert, but he made no move to get up.  Davey let out an exasperated sigh, “Just for a minute, then you can go back to whatever you’re doing.”

Albert remained sitting and Davey took a step further into the room, leaning against the wall.

“I need to know the details of what happened in Queens today and Race is not in a position to answer questions about it right now,” He fixed Albert with a pointed look, “and you were the only other person that was there, so I’m asking you.”

“Fine.”

Davey lead him to the entrance room and sat down.  Albert stood a few feet away, hands shoved deep in his pockets as he watched Davey.

“You may sit,” Davey said, linking his hands in front of him.

“Nah,” Albert said, “I’m good.”

Davey studied him for a moment, a judgemental eye scanning his features, “Very well,” he sighed, defeated, “Talk me through what happened today.  Start with the trade.”

Albert rolled his eyes to the ceiling, keeping his gaze aimed upward as he spoke in a monotone voice.

“So, we got to the trade place on time. I think it was a like furniture store or some shit.  Anyway, we made the trade with the guy at the counter-“

“Did you catch a name?” Davey inquired.

“Uhh,” Albert sifted through his memory, trying to recall who they had met with, “Trevor, I think.”

Davey nodded, motioning for him to continue.

“So after we did the trade, we went to some, like, convenience store? And on our way out, we heard shit going down-“

“Shit going down?” Davey pushed, “That’s vague. What specifically did you hear?”

“Shouting, uh, yeah,” Albert said, “Some guy tried to con some Prospect guys I guess. I think I heard ‘em accuse him of tryna give oregano instead of weed,” he paused, thinking, “Idiot move by the way. They don’t even look the same.”

“Albert, continue.”

“Sorry, sorry, anywho,” He shook his head, getting himself back on track, “So one guy, who, by the way, Race later told me was Spot Conlon-“

Davey choked, “Pardon!?”

“Shut up, let me finish,” Albert waved a hand, “He told another dude to ‘take care of him’ and they shot him, so yeah. We ran after that.”

Davey blinked, dumbfounded.  He opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to formulate words, “Did, um, did they see you?”

Albert shook his head, “Didn’t even know we were there,” he said, “only dude who saw us in Queens was the one we traded with.”

Davey seemed satisfied with this answer, “okay, good.”

XXX

Race hurried up the stairs, the world blanking out as he stumbled towards the bathrooms.  The only thing he could hear was his heart hammering in his chest, thudding relentlessly against his rib cage.

He’d kept it together all the way back from Queens, narrowly dodging Albert’s prodding questions and concerned glances.

He was fine.  Really, he was.  He just hadn’t heard a certain, distinguishable Brooklyn accent in a while and he wasn’t necessarily equipped to deal with it.  

Because last time he’d heard that voice, everything had gone to shit.  Last time he’d heard that voice, his sanity was challenged; his morals were compromised.  His life as he knew it was-

He shook his head, willing for the wave of memories to leave his goddamn mind.  Distantly, his knee twanged and he reached down to rub it, his hand grazing over the rough scar underneath his jeans.

“Damnit, Spot,” He muttered as the old wound throbbed with each heartbeat, reminding him painfully of that god-awful day.

He lowered himself to the floor of the bathroom, scooting so that he was leaning against the wall.  He only just remembered to lock the door.  He couldn’t handle anyone intruding right now.  

He closed his eyes, using the hand that wasn’t holding his knee to scratch at his throat.  He knew from experience that this was something he’d just have to ride out.  There was no easy or quick way of dealing with this.

He grit his teeth, trying in vain to keep the more brutal visions out of his brain.  But it wasn’t working.

With a gasp of defeat, he lost himself to his head.  

XXX

“We need to discuss him.”

Jack pointed at Albert as he entered the dining hall.  It was later in the evening and Davey had taken to cooking dinner, which consisted of packaged ramen and fruit snacks.  Cooking was apparently not his forte.

Albert looked up from his bowl, slurping the noodles into his mouth loudly.  He shrunk in his seat slightly, feeling overwhelmed by the new attention that was on him.  He didn’t like being around the other guys without Race.  He felt out of place.

But Race hadn’t reappeared since their return, leaving Albert to mill about solo.  

“What about me?” Albert asked, not managing to keep the nerves out of his voice.

Jack ignored him, keeping his attention on Davey, “Another ‘Less is More” sign popped up today over by Bleecker Street,” he scrubbed an anxious hand down his face, “Whatever Prospect’s planning is in full swing and we needa put a stop to it sooner rather than later, which means-“

“-Albert’s going to have to get in on their game now.” Davey finished.

“Exactly.” Jack slumped down in one of the chairs, stress written in his stature, “But how we’re gonna do that is the real question.”

Albert busied himself back in his food, plucking a fruit snack out of its bag.  As much as he hated being talked about as if he weren’t there, he knew better than to interrupt.

“Hmmm,” Davey tapped his fingers against the table, his eyes wandering as he brainstormed options, “The trouble is, how can we get Spot to trust him? His judgment is much better and he’s much less persuadable than Race.”

Jack clicked his tongue, frustrated, “I know.  That’s the problem.”

“We could have him save good ole Spottie’s life.”

All three of them jumped as Race spoke from the doorway.

“Racer,” Jack exclaimed, “doing okay?”

Race avoided the question, walking further into the room and joining them at the table.  He sat down, kicking his feet up and crossing his arms at his chest, his usual cockiness in full swing.  The faint redness in his eyes was noticeable, but everyone had enough tact to pretend like they didn’t see it.

“Think about it,” Race continued, “We put Conlon in a compromising situation.  Break him down.  Make it hard for him to keep his cool, let alone fight for himself.  Then, bam! Al here swoops in and saves the day,” Race smirked triumphantly, “After that, Spot owes him one.  We frame Albert to be a long time customer of theirs.  Make it seem like he wants in on their gang.  There’s his repayment right there,” when he was met with blank stares he groaned, rolling his eyes dramatically, “Membership to the gang. That’s the repayment, come on guys. Keep up!”

Davey nodded slowly, mulling over Race’s idea, “That’s actually really smart,” he concluded, “But how do we break him down.”

“His dad,” Race said immediately.

Jack looked up, bewildered, “What?”

“His dad was Prospect’s leader before him,” Race said, “Awful guy.  Fucked Spot up a lot-”

“How do you know all this?” Albert interjected.

Race plowed on, only acknowledging Albert’s question in his eyes, which sparked nearly imperceptibly, “He was also targeted by a bunch of guys in the city.  Had a lot of unfinished business and bad ties.  People were after him all the time while he was alive.”

Davey was staring intensely at the table, his fingers drumming faster by the second.  Suddenly, he snapped, his back straightening as the gears in his head seemed to click into place.

“We use Spot as a target of vengeance,” there was a weird excitement in his tone.

Race pointed at him, grinning, “exactly.”

“Now we just need some guys to pose as old enemies,” Jack said,

Race was quiet for a moment, his eyebrows scrunched together, “Uh,” he shook his head, thinking, “I might know some people? Maybe?”

“Okay,” Davey said.  They all stared at Race, waiting for him to continue, “Well, who?”

“Oh, yeah, sorry.  I got distracted,” Race said, sheepishly, “Right, so these two dudes, you might know them, Oscar and Morris Delancey?”

Jack’s eyes widened in recognition at the names, “The two dudes that, like, were arrested a few years back?”

“That’s them,” Race said, “They owe me one for saving their skin from some bulls a while ago.  I could get them on board.”

Davey turned to Albert, “You ready?”

Albert swallowed, sucking in a breath.  Jack, Race, and Davey were all looking at him expectantly and he tried his best to hold down the anticipation that had spread through his limbs.  He could feel adrenaline coursing through his body, spreading like a drug through his veins.  He was really doing this.

“Yeah,” he breathed, “Yeah, I am.”

Race’s beam was the first thing he registered.

XXX

Albert sat at the edge of his bed, half-heartedly shoving clothes into his bag.  The nervous excitement for what would be occurring in less than 24 hours had worn off, leaving him wary.  He had no idea what exactly he was looking for, let alone enough knowledge to recognize clues if he sees them.  

Besides, he had barely assimilated to one branch of gang life.  The thought of having to grasp a whole other gang was jarring.  He sighed, zipping up his bag and slipping his charger into the side pocket.

“Hey, I gotcha something.”

He looked over to see Race hovering at the mouth of his section, one hand behind his back.

The corners of his mouth quirked up, “Ooo, didn’t peg you for a gift-giving kinda guy.”

Race rolled his eyes, taking Albert’s words as an invitation to sit on the foot of his bed, “Shut up, it’s a practical gift.”

Curiously, Albert scooted closer to Race, “What is it?”

Albert’s mouth dropped open as Race placed a switchblade on the sheets of his cot.  The blade itself was a glinting gold color, while the handle had a sleek wooden finish.  His name was embossed on the bottom of the blade, the letters barely visible unless it was held up against light.  As terrifying as it was, it was beautiful.

Albert reached forward, taking the knife in shaking hands.  He turned it over a few times, getting a feel for the weight.  He’d never handled a true weapon before and there was something oddly invigorating about it.  

“I know a guy that does engravings scary quick,” Race admitted, pulling Albert out of his trance, “Thought I’d get you a little something to tie to you us while you’re gone, since we can’t getcha tatted up until you come back…”

The ‘if you come back’ that hung in the air was suffocating and Albert’s gripped tightened around the blade.  He couldn’t let himself go there now.  He was at a point of no return, he may as well go into it with confidence.

“Besides,” Race said, cutting through the tension, “You’ll need something you defend yourself and I don’t have time to get you comfy with a gun.”

Albert looked up at him, flicking closed the knife and stowing it under his pillow, “Thanks, man,” he smiled.

“Yeah,” Race said, “‘Course,” He moved so that he was laying down on the cot, feet still on the floor, “How are you feeling about all this?”

Albert shrugged, mirroring Race’s position, “I don’t know,” he said honestly, “Scared?  I don’t even know what I’m looking for.”

Race glanced at him sideways, “Anything to do with that dumb message they’ve been leaving.”

“Well, obviously,” Albert scoffed, “But what if they’re talking about it and I don’t even realize ‘cause I’m not in on shit.”

Race looked back towards the ceiling, his eyes scanning over the catwalks, “How about this,” he said, “We can meet up somewhere every night and you can tell me everything you heard during the day,” He allowed the words to sink in and Albert considered them.

“How will I even get out of their base or whatever each night?”

“Spot sleeps early,” Race said and Albert could only briefly wonder how he knew that before he kept talking, “and no one notices the fire escape on the third floor in the back.”

The puzzle pieces seemed to fall into place and a chill ran down Albert’s spine, “holy fuck, you were-”

“Don’t.” Race said, his voice low and his eyes harsh as he looked at Albert.

Albert held eye contact for a moment, before giving up, “Right, okay.”

“Anyway,” Race said, his tone lightening again, “we can see if those meet-ups work.  That way, everyone’s on the same page.”

“Okay,” Albert agreed.  This arrangement instilled a strange amount of comfort into him and he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.  Being in Prospect was bound to be one of the hardest things he’d ever have to do, but going through each day knowing he could see someone he’d unironically begun to associate with safety allowed him some solace.

Race smiled, “It’s a plan.”

XXX

The sun was harsh, beating down unceasingly on Albert’s back.  He shifted his backpack strap from one shoulder to the other, grimacing as he felt sweat drip down his neck.  It was weirdly warm for a Winter day, the temperature pushing into the high 50s.  Large crowds of people were outside that day, no doubt taking advantage of the freak heat wave to walk their dogs properly and take their kids out to Central Park.

Albert lingered near the side street in which the plan was supposed to be executed, casually sipping a slurpee as he leaned against the wall.  He was facing away from the street, but his ears were straining to listen for Spot’s distinct voice.  He glanced down at his watch.  3:04.  Six minutes until Spot was to show up, expecting a trade.

Race had stayed at the Bowery, offering Albert nothing more than a quick hug and a good luck banana before he’d rushed off, leaving Albert to deal with his nerves alone.  Jack had traveled with him only as far as the subway station, filling him in on the known members of Prospect along the way.  They’d met the Delancey Brothers at the station, only talking to them briefly before Jack left, leaving them to follow through with the plan.

Albert had subtly slipped into a 7/11 along the way, allowing the Delanceys to walk ahead and prepare for their portion of procedure.  But his drink tasted sour against his tongue as anxiety threatened to engulf him.  He wasn’t ready.

He shook his head, taking another sip.  Yes, he was.  He had to be.

“Who the fuck are you two,” Spot’s thick Brooklyn accent cut into Albert’s perception and he sucked in a breath, inching closer to the side street, “I’m supposed to be trading with some chick.”

“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong, Conlon,” one of the brothers, Oscar maybe? Snarled.

Albert heard a gun cock, “The fuck are you talking about?” Spot snapped.

“See, that little daddy of yours fucked up our lives when he was around,” Morris said, his voice taunting.

“Got our sorry asses arrested,” Oscar added on.

Albert knew this was a lie.  Race told him that they’d gotten arrested for drug possession and vandalism, but it sounded convincing enough.

“And see, we only just got out of jail,” Morris said.

“And we wanted to get some payback.”

“But when we went looking for Papa Conlon we found that, oh no! He was gone.”

“So we figured we’d just go for next of kin.”

Albert had to give them props.  They sounded really fucking creepy.

“What my fucking father did was his business, not mine,” Spot ground out, but Albert didn’t miss the faint tremor in his voice.  Race was right.  He was scared- threatened.

“Oh, we know,” Morris mused, “But I’m sure you deserve this, too.”

The sound of a punch echoed and Albert heard Spot grunt in pain.  It sounded like one of the brothers had gotten his face.

“I don’t know what your fucking problem is.” Spot sounded weak.  Something Albert would have deemed impossible for him.

Spot wasn’t graced with an answer as another punch rang out, followed by the sound of something hitting the ground.  

“Do you miss your daddy?” Oscar growled, “Do you miss him doing the dirty work? Or has the rush of murder grown on you.”

“Stop,” Spot panted, “Please.”

“Begging now, are we?” Morris laughed, “Didn’t know the King of Brooklyn had it in him to beg.”

Another gun cocked and Albert pursed his lips.  This was his cue.

“Please, I’m sorry my dad fucked up,” Spot pleaded, “I’m not him.”

“You keep telling yourself that.”

Albert took a deep breath, steeling himself.  It was now or never.

He rounded the corner, giving himself a running start before he barreled over Oscar, who had his gun pointed at Spot’s face.  Spot was cowering on the ground with hands help up in front of his face, eyes squeezed shut.

Albert fumbled with Oscar for a moment, landing a few hits in before spitting at him, “Get out of here before I call the police.”

Morris and Oscar made a beeline for the streets, leaving Albert alone with Spot.  Albert couldn’t help but be surprised at Spot’s appearance.  He was significantly shorter than he had imagined, sporting a leather jacket similar to Race’s.  He was no doubt well built, his muscles bulging almost obnoxiously through the sleeves.  

The most notable thing about him, though, were the converse he was wearing.  It didn’t seem entirely on brand for a notoriously tough gang leader to be wearing converse and Albert bit back the urge to laugh.

He quickly wiped his hands on his jeans, rubbing off the nervous sweat and dust, before holding it out for Spot.  Spot opened his eyes slowly, staring at Albert cautiously.  He made no move to take his hand and for a scary moment, Albert thought he saw recognition in his eyes.  But it was gone almost as soon as it had appeared.

Spot stood on his own accord and stepped back, clearing his throat, “thanks,” he grunted.

Albert nodded, “No problem,” he swallowed, trying to embody Race’s unwavering and convincing confidence, “You’re Spot Conlon, right?”

Spot’s head whipped up and he reached for his gun, only to let out a frustrated growl when he realized that it was on the ground, several feet away after being knocked out of his hand during the brawl.

“Relax,” Albert said, trying to sound nonchalant, “I’ve just been one of Prospect’s customers for a while.”

“What, and you want some drugs or something?” Spot spat.

“No,” Albert said, lifting his chin defiantly.  He ignored the voices in his head, telling him to run.  Get out of there, “I want in.”

-

wow wild ride this bread is considered gotten

rip druggie sorry bro -whizzy

thanks for reading, chief

hmu to be added to my tag

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[jack-kellys]

this came out of left field but it’s here anyway: i just was wildly pissed off recently and then wrote this. anyway

————

routine

warnings: abuse, injury, blood +descriptions, cursing, vivid feelings ouch, al needs help, please, someone, help this boy, I need to stop hurting him,

words: 1250+

————

He didn’t like admitting it was hard.

It wasn’t like he wanted to normalize it, either, but it felt better than feeling weak. Admitting it was hard would make him instantly lose whatever sick game his life had turned into. If he lost, he knew he would lose himself along with it, drowning in spirals of flashbacks and memories he would do anything to spend the rest of his life in. Anything was better than now.

Anywhere, too, so for once he was glad he had been thrown out.

Al had just been kicked out for the… He wasn’t sure anymore—he was losing count. He had been putting a bandage across Liam’s knee, since the eight-year-old had skinned it walking home from school. Al had seen him while he was selling and tentatively brought him home to fix it up. The apartment was empty, like it should be in the afternoon on a Thursday. But then their father had banged through the door, hours earlier than normal. Granted, Ignacio DaSilva probably thought it was the usual time, since he had been out drinking the entirety of the night before. The thing was that Al had been caught off guard and right in the open, Liam’s legs in his lap as Al gently tended to the cut.

Albert’s father over the years had become an advocate of self-reliance—an extremist, in reality. As evil as it sounded, Ignacio DaSilva believed that his children should help none but themselves, and seethed whenever he saw them show too much affection—weakness—towards each other.

Al’s father lost it, more than usual, a one-sided screaming match breaking out after Al had herded Liam to his room: drunken yelling versus wobbly apologizes. It must have escalated quickly, Al didn’t really remember—his memory was funny that way—but the next thing he knew he was being forcefully thrown onto his fire escape, his head hitting the bars before landing in a heap, being told “not show your Irish-lookin’ ass back here before I want it back here, you shit, you hear me, Aberto?!”

So now Al was moving quickly down the street, breathing hard and refusing to control it. He felt hot, his blood ablaze with an anger that raged so fierce he felt like he couldn’t see more than ten feet in front of him without the rest of his vision blending into a cloudy scarlet color. His ears rang with silence despite the noise of the city around him, burning tears threatening to spill from his eyes. Like he’d let them. No weakness, right? he thought bitterly.

The ironic thought couldn’t help but slightly cement itself in Albert’s brain after hearing it so many times though. He couldn’t be weak. Couldn’t let his brothers down, couldn’t let that fucking bastard get the better of him.

Yet the man’s words always managed to fight for a seat at the table of Al’s psyche. Don’t be weak. Don’t act tough, learn to be it and nothing else. Stop being so gentle. You rely on yourself to survive in this world, Aberto, don’t you want to survive? To live?!

Al veered into a tight alley he wasn’t familiar with. His hard breathing had only quickened its pace, forcing him to get away from his city surroundings. From everything. He couldn’t handle everything. Everything was too fast, mobile, rude, and- and—

This world is ruthless, you gotta be ruthless to live, to just get by. Ruthless, boy, I’m tellin’ you. Listen to me when I’m talkin’ to you. Ruthless to yourself, too, gotta teach yourself ‘fore it gets taught to you, ‘fore it’s too late, or I w—

Al slammed his fist into the wall, senses more in tune to the satisfaction it gave him than the splitting of skin and blood dribbling between his fingers. His expression was tightly drawn, his eyes narrowed to unforgiving slits and his teeth grit together. Ruthless, right?

It doesn’t care who lives or dies—clearly, boy, we’d know—it just goes on without caring about you. It changes you. One moment you’re happy and thankful and soft, and the next, you’re—

Al crashed his other fist against the brick with a strangled yell, squeezing his eyes shut against the moments flying through his thoughts. He couldn’t let himself feel them, couldn’t let himself...feel. He didn’t want to. He felt safer—secure—in the hot red haze that he was contentedly stuck in. Only the hammering of his heart, blood in his ears, knuckles repeatedly scraping brick, was audible, was real. Al had to admit—much to his father’s approval, he thought with a chill—that it felt good to shut everything out but himself. His red surroundings weren’t suffocating, and even if they were, he liked it that way. Al could latch onto his first tangible feeling in days.

It felt fantastic to finally be allowed to be absolutely fucking furious at something.

After shoving everything so far down into his gut, the pressure that built every few weeks was released at last as the raw, violent feeling it was meant to be. Al could feel its power overwhelming him as the emotion evolved into his only thought, his mind blank except for the constant rage. He continued to swing his fists into the wall, hear himself scream every single curse he wished onto his father until his voice was hoarse, feel the boiling hotness run through his body at how much utter hatred was coursing through his blood, how much anger and glee and outrage and infuriation was spinning around and around his brain, Al enjoying every minute of it.

Too soon, the feeling subsided and his mentally-induced trance broke. Al’s punches weakened as he inevitably zeroed in on the excruciating pain in his now mangled hands. His breathing slowed to deep intakes as he realized how lightheaded he felt. His comforting red haze faded away, the city returning to him in one big burst of volume. His anger turned into a memory he already longed to relive.

Al slipped into the lodgehouse an hour later, eyes scanning for Mush, who, when he made eye contact with him, had looked like he’d been looking for Albert. Mush quickly motioned for Albert to follow him into the empty kitchen area.

Al placed his hands on the cool countertop.

“Fix ‘em.”

Mush gave Al’s hands a once-over and sighed, eyes sad rather than alarmed as he pulled out supplies.

“Again, Al?” he whispered rhetorically, lightly dabbing at Al’s knuckles with a wet cloth. “I gotta stop you one ‘a these days.”

A faint amount of red filtered into the edges of Al’s vision. “Just fix ‘em, Meyers,” he growled, then let a short breath out of his nose, letting the color dissipate. “I jus’...ain’t in the mood for talkin’ about it. Sorry.”

Mush only nodded, his expression sympathetic despite his straight face as he disinfected the cuts littering Al’s skin. At least Mush knew not to push him by now.

Mush continued to work in silence, Al’s head a jumble of emotions—he felt guilty for snapping, but mad that Mush had said anything, but sad about what happened, and worried about his brothers, and stressed about what Race would say, and-

He didn’t like admitting that he missed blind rage more than normal feelings. It was so much easier to slip into it and not care about anything else around him; such a nice feeling to forget about the mess of emotions in his heart and just focus on the one burning in the forefront.

So for the umpteenth time, he couldn’t wait to feel it again. At least it was something.

—————

ignacio means fiery in portuguese. excommunicate me from this fandom im so Mean

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