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swaps55 · 4 years ago

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Eulogia

With MELE imminent, sharing a scene I wrote a long time ago, in which Kaidan Alenko mourns Ashley Williams after Virmire, and discovers he isn’t mourning alone.

From here.

The cargo bay was quiet when the elevator doors opened. Most of the crew had dispersed to the Citadel, leaving Kaidan mercifully alone in the cavernous space. Slowly he made his way towards the lockers, the scar tissue and healing sinews in his abdomen like a knot that someone had doused with gasoline and set on fire.

But still healing.

(This is it. This is how I’m going to die.)

Kaidan exhaled.

If he closed his eyes he could still see the numbers in his HUD, always hovering right above zero, a perpetuating terminus never quite reached, never quite avoided.

When he reached the lockers he stopped, hand halfway to the one marked, Williams, A.

If he went by the book this should be Gladstone’s job. There was no reason it shouldn’t be Gladstone’s job.

(You know it’s the right choice.)

But it wasn’t Gladstone’s job.

The click of the locker door echoed loud enough that he flinched before drawing in a deep breath and pulling it all the way open. She hadn’t lied about her uniforms. Every shirt hung crisp and straight on its hanger, in sharp contrast to the chaotic pile of belongings tossed heedlessly on the ground below it. The pile was so impressive he was actually afraid to take anything out, for fear it would cause an outright avalanche. In spite of himself he shook his head and smiled a little.

“Somehow this is exactly what I expected from you,” he said under his breath. He heard a creak behind him and whipped his head around, heart rate thudding as though he expected to find her peering over his shoulder, arms crossed, eyebrow raised. A flush crept up the back of his neck.

Of course there was nothing. Ashley was dead.

His gripped the locker door until his knuckles whitened, leaned his forehead briefly against it. The metal felt cool and hard against his skin. He swallowed once. Twice.

Eventually he straightened with a sigh, tugging at his uniform and rolling his shoulder, as though he could somehow shake Ashley off like working out a crick in his neck. By the time his fingers brushed the cloth of her fatigues their subtle quiver had been swallowed up by the hard-earned discipline he’d practiced so diligently ever since Jump Zero.

(Kaidan Alenko. Always looking for the sure thing. Everything needs to be perfectly defined and spelled out for you, doesn’t it? Sometimes the unknown can be a little exciting, too.)

A static spark stung his finger as he emptied the hangers. He jerked his hand back, muttering, used to the burn, never the timing. Slowly he reached back in, painstakingly folding each shirt with precision he hadn’t employed since Basic.

(You find a wrinkle in my uniform and I’ll clean your pistol for a month.)

He made each crease razor sharp. Not a wrinkle to be found.

Once the clothing had been stored, he began taking apart the pile she had accumulated in her locker. Datapads with poetry. She liked Cummings and Yeats, Plath and Elizabeth Bishop. He remembered Joker saying something about Heinlein. Kaidan hadn’t intended to look through them, but shortly he found himself cross-legged on the floor, skimming through lines and verses. It was easy to tell her favorites – she’d annotated them heavily. Underlined phrases, personal reflections. In some cases she’d made notes that he didn’t understand, such as the one beside a line from a poem by Elizabeth Browning that simply read, Josh, and in parenthesis (the little shit).

She also had a copy of the Bible, which gave him pause. It wasn’t a datapad either but an actual book, pages dog-eared, corners bent and turned down, small makeshift bookmarks such as scraps of paper, paper clips, even a hair tie, sticking out at all angles. Like the datapads it was covered in notes, but all of these handwritten, in scripts of multiple hands. Some tiny and neat, others broad and flowing. Though he didn’t think he’d ever seen a sample of Ashley’s handwriting he immediately found one he thought had to be hers – small but hurried, with the occasional loopy flourish. It tended to start out neat, but quickly deteriorated when her hand couldn’t keep up with her thoughts, until it was nearly illegible.

The inside cover contained four handwritten paragraphs, each in a different script that he recognized from the subsequent pages. Each a note from parent to child, passing the heirloom on with messages of faith and love. Four generations of Williams, right there on one page.

Kaidan ran his fingers across the script, tracing the shallow grooves the pen made against the paper. General David Williams, of Shanxi infamy, bequeathing it to his son Matthew Williams, with a note.

Our faith is our legacy. We keep to it and carry on, no matter the cost. And when that task is difficult, remember those who’ve walked a harder road with lesser reward. We are blessed. I am blessed. Because I have you.

Serviceman Williams then wrote to his daughter, There’s a great wide universe out there waiting for you. I hope you explore it to the fullest. If you ever get lost, look here and see if you can’t find your way. Remember, kiddo. Ad aspera per astra.

Kaidan’s hands loosened, allowing the book’s spine to droop. A few pages whispered past his thumb. The hair tie bookmark fell out, ghosting to the floor without fanfare.

He snatched it up with a hot flash of guilt and held it aloft. What page did it come from? What place had he lost? How important had it been?

He didn’t know.

There was so much he didn’t know. So much he’d never learn.

He stared at the hair tie. Nothing more than a simple strip of dark blue elastic, still twined with a few strands of long, dark brown hair. She probably had a few dozen just like it. She’d worn two in her hair, at all times. One to pull it back into a ponytail, one to wrap around the thick twist of her bun and secure it in place. Usually she kept a third around her wrist, just for emergencies.

But they were never enough to hold back those few stubborn, errant strands that inevitably pulled free to waft about her face.

Moisture burned the corner of his eyes. His fingers curled around the small token, and he put his newly formed fist to his mouth to stifle the sound brewing in his throat. One choked sob got through before he swallowed the rest back, chest aching from the effort. He wicked a thumb across his eyes, hastily tucked the hair tie back between the pages and set the book aside.

This wasn’t his. The grief and memories trapped within the Bible’s covers were for her family, not for him.

But it shouldn’t be for anyone. It should be his things exposed to the harsh light of the cargo bay, meticulously sorted and stored, itemized on a manifest and marked for shipping back to Vancouver, care of Marc and Lora Alenko.

His throat tightened, hitching breath loud against the silent backdrop of the cargo bay. Not even the sound of the engines to provide some white noise.

Nothing like this would be found among his own belongings. He spoke to his folks a couple of times a year. Hadn’t been back to Vancouver in almost three. When he did it tended to be strained small talk and careful avoidance of anything to do with the mutated eezo nodes lurking under his skin. He’d actually thought running off to the Alliance might help. Follow in his father’s footstep. Give them something in common. That, of course, and he’d had nowhere else to go.

Would his own family have mourned him the way Ashley Williams’ would mourn her?

Would she?

Stop.

He raked a hand through his hair, fingers eventually coming to rest against his forehead. His head felt heavy. Too heavy to hold up, like a lead weight.

(They’re more important. We’re as good as dead up here anyway.)

He wondered who would inherit the Bible now that Ashley was gone. One of her sisters, maybe. Sisters who probably had yet to learn about what had happened down on Virmire.

(Kaidan, what the hell are you doing?)

(This bomb is going off! No matter what.)

No matter what. 0.00. He’d been ready for it. Ready for anything. Except Shepard’s hand, grabbing him by the arm.

Further down in the pile he found smaller items. Toiletries. A stuffed hanar, of all things. A bottle of liquor she must have picked up on Noveria.

(Just for the record, I’d look damn good in a dress.)

He swallowed against a lump in his throat, chest constricting. He could see her so clearly, standing at the railing in Port Hanshan, alternating between slouching and gripping the rail with her hands and leaning back on her heels.

(I’m not most people.)

No. She hadn’t been.

He found some packing material for the liquor. It was scotch, an asari brand, maybe purchased to share with Liara. Why it hadn’t been drunk he couldn’t say. Maybe she just ran out of time.

Next was a holo album containing a few photos. People he didn’t recognize. A woman that looked too much like her not to be her mother. A young girl with a grin he recognized from those brief moments in the comm room. Before…

Stop!

Kaidan put the holo aside, then rested his elbows on his knees and put his head in his hands. Took a deep breath in. Let it out slow. Clamped his eyes shut. For a moment, everything shook. His hands. The air in his lungs. His skin felt hot, but prickled with gooseflesh.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Eventually he opened his eyes. Went back to the pile. Finish it, marine. Don’t leave her hanging.

In all her possessions were scant, just what she’d been able to obtain or accumulate since they’d picked her up on Eden Prime. In fact, how the Bible and holo album had even managed to catch up with her struck him as a bit of a mystery.

But when he got to the bottom of the pile his hand froze, mouth dry as a shock of white hot cold strummed the length of his spine, numbness dulling his fingers until they felt thick and clumsy.

It shouldn’t have surprised him. After all, she’d died in her combat gear. Not her fatigues. Of course they would be here.

This time no amount of discipline could overcome his shaking hands as he picked one up and turned it over in his palms.

A neon green boot with matching laces, so bright they nearly glowed in the dim light of the cargo bay.

His gut clenched, chest so tight he couldn’t breathe, the edges of his vision blurring until something hot and wet spilled over onto his cheeks.

(Come on.)

(Whoa, where are we going? Anderson said to wait here.)

(Come on, LT. Think we’ll ever get to poke around here again? Live a little.)

Only he hadn’t. She’d been right there. Right there. And he hadn’t.

(Tell me you haven’t thought about this.)

(Thinking’s not the same as doing. Maybe, once all this is behind us…)

He dropped the boot, back slamming against the lockers as he buried his head in his hands, the grief that he’d stored down deep in his chest ever since that timer reached zero breaching the damn in a flood of hot tears. He wept himself hollow, hot, swollen and aching, exhaustion creeping in until he felt it laying heavily over his skin, behind his eyes, in the pit of his stomach. Then he just sat silent, eyes red and heavy, arms resting on his knees.

A hulking shape appeared above him. Had he not felt so drained he might have cared more about discovering he hadn’t been alone after all. But when Wrex’s red, horny crest came into view he met the krogan’s fierce stare without shame. Whatever the krogan had to say, he was beyond giving a damn.

“She was a warrior worth mourning,” Wrex said.

Kaidan straightened his posture with mild surprise, but said nothing.

“Shepard chose his companions well. Even those I at first didn’t give him credit for.” He offered a scaly hand, which Kaidan accepted warily. Wrex hauled him effortlessly to his feet, and gave him a brusque nod.

“You are krantt.”

Kaidan wasn’t sure how to respond, but Wrex saved him the trouble by ambling away without further comment. The krogan had been nearly invisible since their return from Virmire. After finding him here Kaidan wasn’t even sure if he’d even left the ship.

He hadn’t considered the possibility that a krogan might mourn a human soldier. But Ashley…had that effect on people.

With a wipe of his eyes Kaidan began piling Ashley’s things into a crate. Once the locker was empty he sealed it, then closed the crate up as well and entered it into the ship’s inventory for the requisitions offer to offload and send to her family. By the time he finished, his grief had been replaced by grim, dogged resolve.

We’re coming for you, Saren. May God help you, you bastard.

#mass effect #kaidan alenko #ashley williams #ashley x kaidan #not quite willenko #but almost #my fic #me legendary countdown #i'm so used to writing in present tense #that reading my own stuff in past tense is WEIRD

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steveusesfaberge · 6 years ago

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3AM Talks

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Hargrove!Reader

Request: Hi!! Could you possibly do a Hargrove!Reader, where she’s Billy’s twin and Neil, hurts her one night and billy comes home after being out to find the scene and he loses it and he takes reader out to steve(whom she’s secretly dating) and tells Steve that she’s staying there whilst his parents are out and they’re both like “how the fuck do you know?” AND just super fluffy and angsty and ahhh

Summary: Y/N finds herself in charge of watching Max...except, Max is missing... By the time Billy gets home...the damage is already done. His father had never been an understanding person. Hargrove takes his sister to (begrudgingly) the one person he knows for sure will take them in. Her not-so-secret boyfriend...Steve Harrington. Billy and Steve end up have a..nice, long chat...

Type/Style: Requested, Imagine, female pronouns

Warning(s): Abusive father, violent-beginning, cursing, angst, a protective Billy-goat...

Word Count: 8,800+

a/n: Here it is! Finally!!! :D Thank you all for sticking with me! <3 Coming up are Steve Requests (I did not forget them, do not worry! :) )

It’s a bit longer than I thought...but I figure a topic like this deserves more time to be explained.

I live for Steve & Billy interactions! -- Sorry if this wasn’t what you all expected...I tried to make it as realistic as possible...without making it too long...<3

Next is a Billy fic - one that someone requested, and I’ll be doing it happily!

Sunsets Back Home & Some Steve requests as well! Hopefully getting them all out tomorrow or in the next few days! :D

I hope you like my take on the request! <3

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Y/N hummed to herself, the faint sound of Crazy For You by Madonna filled the hollows of her room. The walls were simple - the same tan coloring that Max’s and Billy’s rooms were. Unlike her brother’s innuendo posters of half-naked women, cars, and motorcycles (all of which, these bare women, were probably riding) - Y/N had band posters and a few (dressed) models scattering her four walls of space.

Her vanity mirror was placed in the corner of her room, across from her small desk. She remembered helping Max with simple things such as straightening her hair or even doing playful-one-time makeovers...(Billy had been dragged into it once...but Y/N had to promise no one would know about it and Max wasn’t allowed to see her big brother look like a complete softcock).

Y/N was sprawled out on her bed; Vogue magazine advertised before her on the sheets as she pondered if she could pull the looks these beauts did. She’d one time asked her brother if she’d be able to make Vogue - to which he responded with a snicker (the ass he was) hell no, Y/N/N. She’d roll her eyes, the running joke being well we’re twins, so looks like you ain’t makin’ it big either, B.

Normally, she and Billy would be hanging out...it was a Thursday night and she and her brother always did something fun on Thursdays (usually that involved just sitting around, swapping music and talking - but sometimes they went for late-night drives or paired up to find a party to crash...and Hargroves knew how to party...that was for sure). Time spent with Billy was time well spent, in her opinion.

But not tonight, he mentioned something about a date (which was code for one-night stand). I’ll be back, kid. Is what he’d told her, stopping by her room on his way out, leaning on her doorframe (like the ‘cool kid he was’, or as she said ‘like the fingerprint leaving asshole he was’). She’d frowned. Where are you going? Billy rolled his eyes, scratching his neck as he lazily watched her from across the way. I got a date. Sighing, she waved him off with a scrunched up nose. That’s fucking disgusting - ew, no! Billy don’t wiggle your eyebrows...get out - get out! Goodbye, Billy! He only laughed, saluting her before he continued down the hall. The thud of the front door and the piercing rev of his engine marking his departure.

She wanted to catch a movie - Back To The Future had come out and she was itching to see it...Y/N supposed she could wait another time. For now, she judged the too-skinny, too-perfect figures and welcomed her radio as a white-noise. Maybe she’d give Steve a call...was he babysitting tonight?

Her door was abruptly slammed open, giving her a heart attack on the spot - her hands fumbling with the booklet. Her y/c/e eyes snapped up, her body shocked rigid as she spotted Neil. Letting out a slow breath, she sat up, Vogue in hand as she fidgeted with the pages.

“You need something, sir?” She asked, remembering Billy who constantly told her to always stay calm, be relaxed, and act as civil as possible (even if he didn’t listen to his own advice...always being arrogant, sarcastic, and short with the man their father was...Do as I say, kid, not as I do).

Neil scanned her room as if searching for an imperfection to bring to light. Y/N only waited in a choked buzz of Bowie’s Let’s Dance, thankful that there was something else sounding off other than her own heartbeat. The tension in the room was suffocating...absolutely terrifying. When he found none, he spoke (she could almost taste his disappointment).

“Me and Susan are going out. You and your brother are going to watch Max,” He was fixing his coat’s collar and Y/N bit her lip for a moment, tapping her pointer on the magazine’s cover.

Clearing her throat, Y/N grabbed his attention,” Billy’s not home.” It felt like playing a game of chicken in the streets...which car was going to pull away first? Or...would there be a brutal accident to deal with? Would one car be worse off than the other? Y/N wasn’t sure who was winning and who was losing, all she knew, was that this game was not fun.

“You’ll be watching Maxine then, got that?” Y/N nodded. Her father raised his eyebrows - waiting for a proper response. Her mouth felt dry. “Yes, sir.”

They were gone after Susan gave a soft wave passing by, her father not giving a second thought of her as he left. The door banging shut behind him. She could breathe again...how did Billy do this? He spoke more to Neil than she did, always taking the initiative into his own hands...time and time again.

Standing up, Y/N forced her legs to work with her after that soul shaker of an interaction. Walking down the hall to Max’s room, she knocked on the door with her right hand; four raps. When there was a heartbeat of silence she wondered if Max heard her. She tried again.

Silence.

“Hey, Riding Hood? You in there?” She asked, bouncing on the balls of her heels as she waited - wanting to finish the section of Tips & Tricks For Flawless Skin - maybe she and Steve could have a spa-day...He happened to like facemasks, believe it or not (but had an odd tendency of eating the cucumbers for your eyes...). The white door was never opened, so she sighed, turning the doorknob herself.

“Hey - Maxie, did you hear me?” Y/N’s words trailed off, crashing to the floor along with her heart. The room was empty. The only sign of recent inhabitance was the open window and the absence of a familiar skateboard...

Running a hand through her hair, Y/N exited the room - calling her little sister’s name as she briskly walked to the kitchen...to the living room...and back to Max’s.

Y/N could feel a creeping terror in her throat and she wondered where Max could’ve gone. Mike’s? El’s? The Byers’? She was back in her own bedroom - pacing the carpet swiftly. The radio had been turned off so she could think and she was listening to the rhythm of blood coursing through her veins like her favorite song.

She didn’t have a car...couldn’t afford it - besides, Billy always took her wherever she needed...Y/N hadn’t needed a car up until this point. Not even when she needed to sneak out...Steve had his own car...a simple park down the block and no one would know who she was with, and where. Saying that...this was bad.

It hadn’t been the first time Max left without as much as a trace... Most times, she was back before anyone knew she was gone...other times...Billy paid for it (He tried his best to keep Y/N’s skin as flawless as Vogue’s stupid lures...he’d joke even with a busted lip that she needed to keep her skin healthy...so she can show their asses up one day!).

But that was when it was the both of them watching her...Billy wasn’t here now, it was eight o’clock...he wouldn’t be back till later...her father would be back in two hours tops - leaving her only one-hundred-twenty minutes to find Mayfield.

She quickly crossed the bedroom - exiting, and walking to the living room. She picked up the house phone and dialed the Wheelers’ number. Y/N was nervously curling the cord around her thumb and index finger, biting her lip as her eyes subconsciously kept flickering to the front door. The other line was dead for some time...she wondered if anyone was home...maybe the kids were caught up playing DnD - but then wouldn’t Karen or Ted answer for them?

There was a slight pause, a seeming hiccup - and then a voice.

“Hello? Who’s calling?” Y/N sighed, thanking her stars.

“Hey, Mrs. Wheeler - I was wondering if Max was over, it’s Y/N.” she explained while listening intently (pretending Billy and her didn’t make fun of Karen for flirting with him at the pool...That’s gross, B! -- Yeah, but it’s so funny how easy it is, Y/N!).

“Max? - Oh, the little redhead! No - haven’t seen her-- have you seen my son, by chance?” Y/N sighed, realizing Karen was in a similar situation.

She quickly mumbled a no, I’m sorry, before hanging up and biting at the skin of her cheek. “No need to worry,” she told herself softly,” Call Hopper!”

Long story short, no one picked up. She assumed El was out - probably with the party, God knows where, and Jim was probably down at the station working... The last-ditch effort she had was the Byers’. As she began punching in their house number - she stopped - remembering their phone hadn’t been working for some time...something with the kids accidentally knocking it off the wall - all Y/N knew, was that Steve had warned them not to do it (That’s all you said to stop them, Steve? -- Welll...no...I said a few other things...-- You’re useless, Harrington!) - whatever it was - but they’d done it anyway and...now the Byers’ receiver didn’t work.

Glancing at the clock mounted on the wall entering the kitchen, she saw that she had roughly an hour and thirty-six minutes...that was enough time to walk to the Byers’ and back...right? Riding a bike was out of the question, she didn’t have one and she didn’t have time to just...go buy a brand new bike either...so walking it was.

Billy had always been a good brother. In his own way, he cared (even for Max, who claimed that Hargrove couldn’t give two shits about the air I breathe as long as it's not his). Billy would always look out for both his sisters - in ways they’d never notice. He was subtle like that.

Like the times he’d scare twerps off from bothering the party...it seemed that Hargrove could be rather intimidating - especially if you were a fourteen-year-old who liked to bully his step-sister and her nerdy buds.

Or when Billy would purposefully stay up late - knowing that Y/N was upset, or maybe something was wrong; waiting for her to come knocking on his door at eleven o’clock...asking if he was still awake...

Y/N had learned, through eighteen-years of knowing Billy, he’d always be there for them...no matter what. Support them through hardships, celebrate with them through victories, and holding their hands when they were scared. He may not...always show it...but...he was doing his best - and that’s all anyone ever asked for; could ever ask for.

Y/N had halfway ran, halfway walked to the Byers - tired beyond all hell when she got there, her calfs burning. Knocking on the door obnoxiously, she waited impatiently; how much time had passed? Twenty-five minutes? Thirty-five? She wasn’t sure. It couldn’t have taken long...right?

Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang--

The door was yanked open. There stood Joyce, eyes wide and a clear confusion and worry crossing her features as she took in the girl in her doorway. It was just coming nine and she hadn’t been expecting anyone...certainly not Y/N Hargrove.

“Are you okay, sweetie? Do you need something?” The mother asked quickly.

Y/N shook her head, y/c/e eyes desperate as she tugged at her y/c/h locks. “M-Max, I’m looking for Max -- is she here?”

Joyce crossed her arms, shaking her head,” No, sweetie. She left a little while ago - said she was going home.” Thank, God...

“Why did so--,” “Oh, no, ma’am! Don’t worry! I-I was just...I was...I thought she was here...turns out - she’s not...and...and she’s at home.”

Y/N’s happiness slowly melted away as she realized Max was home...alone. Max was home alone.

“I’m s-sorry for bothering you, Joyce! But I can’t stay t-to talk! I-I need to go!”

Running home was not fun. It was not easy. It was not what Y/N wanted to be doing at nine o’clock on a Thursday night. She was sweaty, exhausted, and scared. Y/N was panted hard, her legs screaming, as her street now came into view - date night was always two hours...two hours...she could be home, and act like nothing ever happened...everything would be fine...until it wasn’t.

Her father’s car was parked out front. Slowing beside it, she felt tears well up in her eyes. How long had it been there? When did they get back? Was Max home? Did they realize Max was gone? Did he realize she was gone? Which she Y/N was referring to...Y/N didn’t even know herself...either way; she was still in trouble.

She’d never been so hesitant to open the front door - the porch light wasn’t on - so maybe they weren’t expecting anyone home...but...that was just Y/N trying to comfort her raging nerves. They knew Billy was out; even then, the light was off. Neil never turned it on - claiming it was a waste of money to have it burning all night.

Y/N opened the door. It was unlocked. Had she left it unlocked? She couldn’t remember. Her house keys were in her pockets, but that didn’t mean she necessarily used them in her haste to find Max...

The lights in the house were all off...a good sign...a very good sign (she’d shut them off when she left). That’s how she took the sign anyway. The door clicked shut with a soft sound, and she inched her way down the hall. She checked Max’s room...not having to open the door as she could make out the faint glow (of what she thought to be) Max’s desk lamp casting orange underneath the doorway. Then, Y/N walked past her closed room - to Billy’s...his door was wide open and was empty. It was only nine-forty-three (which she checked while walking back to her room - stopping in the kitchen) and the house was completely still.

She didn’t like how quiet it was...but...maybe that was a good thing.

But didn’t they say; good things never last long?

She turned her doorknob and pushed the opening to reveal her room. The lights were off, save for the tickle of silver moonlight from her window. Stretching a handout, she flicked her light switch on. Her hand shot up to her mouth as she muffled a scream of surprise.

Her father was seated on her bed. He didn’t look happy.

“I-I can e---,” “Max was home alone, Y/N.” his words dug into her, slow and menacing.

“I-I didn’t--,” “I thought I told you to watch her, Y/N?” She felt small...so, so small.

“I-I know, sir - and I-I w--,” “Then tell me, why did I come home, to find your little sister, home alone...” He was standing, and at this moment, Y/N wondered over and over (like every time this happened) how Billy did it.

She couldn’t sell Max out now...if she told him Max had snuck out - Neil might get angry at her...yet, Y/N knew he always blamed the sitter...even if this was the one exception - she wasn’t going to risk it. She’d cover for Max...because...that’s what Billy would do.

“I’m s-sorry, sir.” She whispered, the fear stopping her from crying out like she wanted to do. The fear tore at her, leaving Y/N helpless and stunned like a deer in headlights. Very harsh, powerful headlights.

Neil shook his head, wiping his hand over his face, dragging it along his chin as he watched the girl still frozen in the doorway. “Come here, Y/N.” Her body didn’t move, every sense in her telling her to run...run...run...

“Y/N. Come. Here.” Like a game of Simon Says, not wanting to lose - and the commanding word being Y/N...her feet drug her forward. She stood with an arm’s length between them...but that was all he needed.

Crack.

He’d struck her across the face, her head snapping to the side at the impact. She’d expected it...but...she never could prepare herself for it. She wished Billy was here, he’d know what to do...God, she wished Billy was here...

Her chin was seized roughly, Neil forcing her to look him in the eyes, his free hand clutching her wrist tightly. She bit her lip, trying not to look weak...not to give in.

“I thought we talked about this, Y/N...what did we talk about? What do I tell you and Billy all the time?” He hissed, his fingers digging bruises into her jaw and forearm.

Her eyes welled with tears and she was thankful for the dim lighting, saving her from looking the man in the eyes and seeing the monster that lived under her bed, that ran to her closet whenever she had Billy check for her as he’d done growing up...The monster always showed up when it was most unwanted...

She was thankful Neil couldn’t see her eyes. Y/N’s y/c/e eyes were filled with fear. Filled with anxiety and a stormy glaze that could only describe this; I knew this was coming...she left...but I won’t sell her secret to you...not the devil...no... If she’d learned one thing from her brother - it was that hell was never a pretty place to be...and sometimes, it was closer than you’d think...but despite that - you never made a deal with Lucifer.

“What did we talk about? Answer. Me.” Her arm was splintering in pain, his grasp so firm she wasn’t sure blood could find her fingertips anymore. She’d turn away from him, but he held her jaw so tensely she was scared to breathe.

The number of times their father will drill into them...Respect and responsibility. Until they learned that - until he was satisfied by it - then they could rest easy. But Y/N knew...she knew the devil never played fair. No matter what she did, or what she said - she’d never hold an ace hidden up her sleeve. Not like him.

“R-Respect. A-And responsibility,” she gritted out, her lips barely moving to produce the words. Panic, frustration, and hatred keeping her mouth locked in place.

Another strike to her face, her cheek stung and she could feel the making of a bruise find her nerve ends, but she refused to cry.

“Respect a-and responsibility, sir.” Y/N repeated while trying to pull away from her father.

“Don’t.” His hand holding hers whipped up and then down, throwing her to the floor with an immense thrust. Y/N moved to stand, but a sharp pain to her side had other plans.

It rained down like a hurricane and she could only wish for it to stop. Biting back her pain, she tried protecting her head and neck - Billy taught her that.

“We went over this, Y/N!” He yelled - fists, boots, and words flying as he gave into his anger. She wondered how much her body could take before she gave up. Billy would be strong...Good God...where was Billy?

From the moment she walked in, she could tell Neil had been drinking a little - his breath smelt of dead dreams and alcohol. She assumed it came with dinner...or, for his own enjoyment...it was hard to think while her body rippled with agony.

She tried zoning it out...all of it. The beating, her father, his words...she focused on her brother, Max being safe, the party, Steve...yeah...Harrington had taken her on a lovely date the other night - he’d taken her out to the cinema, and then they’d picked all the kids up for dinner...Y/N had ended up with milkshake on her shirt (thanks to Lucas and Dustin) and Steve had offered her his jacket...it was still a fond memory - the party was like a family to her...a better family she knew than her own kin to be...

She didn’t know when it stopped, or if it would never stop...all she could see were swimming images of whom she loved until she couldn’t feel anything anymore. Everything went numb...but...maybe it was better this way.

Billy had just gotten home. It was well past one and he knew for a fact, that Susan and Neil were asleep. They were never up this late - so he’d never have to worry about getting laid in on for being out at an hour like this.

His car parked outside, he entered the house as noiselessly as silence itself. He walked down the hallway hesitantly, but the faint sound of his father’s snoring was enough to ease him to walk normally.

“Y/N? You up?” He was standing at her door. It was cracked open, the lights off. That didn’t mean she was asleep - there had been plenty of times he’d find her awake, just sitting in the dark; listening to a soft hum of her stereo...except the radio had been turned off and the only noise was the lull of night muffled by the house.

He pushed the door open, the dim touch of moonlight having him squint to see her laying on the floor. Billy rolled his eyes. Dumbass probably fell asleep - had she been reading or something again? Nonetheless, he walked over, gently leaning down to pick her up.

She didn’t even react to his arms lifting her; Y/N felt like deadweight - but it didn’t bother him. She seemed tired. He was carefully walking her to the bed, making sure she wouldn’t stir - and she didn’t...and it was now that he questioned if she were a heavy sleeper or not...Billy couldn’t remember.

He settled her down, and when he moved to cover her with the comforter - he noticed something by her nose. It was like a dark line - a streak almost. Billy used the palm of his hand to rub it away. He leaned to the lamp on her nightstand, and when it clicked on, he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t feel his heart in his chest anymore...

Black and blues littered her arms, her face was swollen and an ugly handprint was nestled on her right side, her nose was bleeding, her bottom lip was busted...he was sure if he lifted her shirt - he’d only be met with a terribly splotchy rendition of the night sky.

“Fuck, fuck, fucking hell,” he cursed, touching her shoulder gently - attempting to shake her awake. “Y/N? -- Kid? Wake up, c’mon -- it’s okay now...you’ll be okay now...it’s me...it’s Billy.”

She only groaned, a whimper escaping her at his touch - his hand jerking away like he’d encountered something hot. It seemed everything hurt...

“Y/N - please wake up, I...I need to know...what happened,” Billy knew what happened...but he needed to know how bad it was...she only moaned, a painful noise, swelled eyes not opening. He needed to know if he’d be sending a demon back to the gates of hell right now...he could live with murder...

Damnit. He slammed his hand to the headboard. His anger tickling his neck red as he thought horrible thoughts...he’d kill the bastard, he’d fucking kill him. Billy wanted to yell, he wanted to scream, but he also wanted to cry. Why’d he go out? For some stupid fuck? Why had he left her alone? Why had he left her alone? Why? Why? Why?

He’d left her...it was Thursday, for fuck's sake...it was supposed to be their night...and he’d ditched that for an easy hit and run... Billy felt like a fool. This was all his damn fault. If he’d been here, he could’ve helped her....he...he could’ve done something for her...anything...he’d have been taken the--

The low murmur of his name drew his attention, and he fell down to his knees - grabbing her hand softly in his own. He was shaking. “Y-Y/N -- it’s okay...it’s me...It’s Billy,” the blond repeated, pulling her hand up to touch his cheek, letting her know it was him; the warmth of his skin. His presence heavy as he watched her frail figure.

“H-How was your...d-date?” When she asked him that, Billy almost didn’t know what she was talking about. He shook his head and moved to pick her up - scared by the sounds of someone walking around the house.

“It was shitty,” he grumbled, easily carrying her out the door, out the house, and into his car. Her breathing was troubled - like it hurt to do so...and God, did it hurt BIlly to watch her in so much pain...

“Wh-What’s happening, B?” She asked softly, throat dry, head splitting with pain.

Billy didn’t answer her. Only held her hand as he drove...drove fast down the road.

Steve had been asleep. Why wouldn’t he be? It was one-thirty-one in the morning and it had been a Thursday night. He liked to have stayed up late, talking to his girlfriend on the phone - but Harrington knew Thursdays were reserved for Billy (even if Steve pouted...Y/N never traded those nights for anything). So, instead he figured he’d catch up on well-deserved rest - the kids had been dragging him around recently like a doll and he wasn’t sure how well his body was doing. He didn’t get paid enough - well, he didn’t get paid at all.

To be woken up by a brash hammering, he thought maybe it was just a dream...but then the sound of his name being called - along with Harrington! Get your fucking ass out here or I’ll break this goddamn door down, shithead! - was not a dream.

The brunette was groggy as he trucked down the steps, a pair of plaid boxers covering his lower body with a loose hanging T-shirt adorning his chest. His parents were out of town for work and he had the house all to himself (another reason he wanted to spent the night with Y/N - but it was Billy and her Thursday night...and she religiously scheduled it every week).

“What the hell...?” he groaned, swinging the door open to reveal a blurred figure.

Rubbing his eyes - Steve realized who it was, and suddenly his unstyled hair didn’t seem so important (because yes, he’d thought about fixing it before answering the door...he hadn’t had his priorities figured out yet, okay?! How was he supposed to know the importance?).

“H-Hargrove--,” “Move.” Billy shoved his way into the nice home - heading straight for the living room...carrying Y/N with him like a fragile piece of art. Steve raced to turn the lights on, still not understanding why the Hargroves were here - until he saw the state his girlfriend was in. (He didn’t even have time to think about how Hargrove knew exactly, where he lived...)

“W-What the fuck happened to her?” He asked, crouching down to Y/N’s level, a hand coming up to brush some y/c/h strands from her bruised face.

Billy was quiet for a moment, wiping his forehead with his shirt. “Our father.” That was all he had to say for Steve to understand...he’d been together with Y/N for...well...coming five months? He’d met her in school - fresh out of Cali...the three siblings had been the talk of the small town (especially the supposed party animal and his drop-dead-gorgeous sister).

It was love at first sight - for Harrington at least. He had tried acting cool...but that backfired as soon as he realized just how perfect Y/N was. A pretty smile, sweet laugh, delicious-smelling hair, smooth, sun-kissed skin, and to tie it all together - she came with an overbearing little bow of Billy Hargrove...

He remembered when Billy had shown up at the Byers’ house just last year - asking for his sisters...claiming a little bird told him they were with him; Steve had been trying to persuade the children to calm down and just let the starting team do their job (it hadn’t worked out).

Billy had seen Max’s head peek out and he’d already had Steve on the ground before he could justify himself. I thought I told you to stay away from my sister, Harrington? He’d given Lucas the same treatment...it had only gone downhill from there... Ending with Y/N offering to stay there with Billy for a little while, coming to help them later. She said I can’t leave him here like this...he’s my brother, Harrington... (Steve liked that idea better anyway, kept her away from the trouble).

So, when Steve had finally gotten the courage to ask Y/N out...he hadn’t been surprised when she turned him down. It only had him fight harder to prove his worth and after a torturously slow convincing...she’d finally broken...five months later and counting...and she was still by his side.

Steve had always been a bit of a worry-wart, he couldn’t help it - he watched six headass kids twenty-four-seven...it was in his blood now. “I-I’ll get the first-aid kit,” he quickly mumbled, leaving Billy to stand by his sister - a savage glint in his eyes that Harrington didn’t feel comfortable being around (they weren’t best friends after all, and Steve was sure if Billy had the chance - he’d skin him like a jack-rabbit...).

Returning within seconds, he gently lifted Y/N’s head, her slight hum all he needed to feel more relieved. “H-Hey...how you doing?” He offered weakly, placing her head back down in his lap as he balanced the kit on the armrest.

“B-Billy?” Steve shook his head, pulling a clean cloth to her face, dabbing the blood from her nose. “It’s Steve, hun.”

Y/N’s eyes were barely open, she frowned with a wince. “I’m here, kid...I’m here.” Billy’s gruff tone was enough to have her relax into Harrington’s touch without having to worry for her brother. Steve’s eyebrows furrowing, it made him sick to think she even had to worry about Billy like that.

“Hargrove - you wanna grab something in the freezer for me, like ice or whatever?” Steve asked, eyes focused on the bruises along Y/N’s cheeks. His heart was twisting, all he wanted was to cuddle her and take away all her pain...instead, he resolved on playing nurse for now.

Billy gave a curt nod, his boots fading into the kitchen. Steve took the small moment of isolation to press a gentle kiss to Y/N’s forehead. The y/c/h haired girl only looked puzzled after a half-smile tossed in his direction.

Steve was mumbling an apology as he applied disinfectant to her cut forehead, when she spoke,” W-Why am I here?” He was about to ask what she meant - Harrington figured she was here because Billy didn’t like the idea of keeping her in an unsafe environment in the state she was in...when he halted. Hand hovering over her brows.

Why did Billy bring Y/N here? There were so many other places to take her - Steve’s house couldn’t have been his first thought...and yet, as Billy walked back in, ice pack in hand...it felt like it had been.

Hargrove took a seat in the armchair nearest the couch Y/N was laid across, his elbows resting on his knees as he hid his mouth in his hands. Steve was staring at the curly-blond and Billy’s blue eyes dodged up to meet his brown ones.

“What?” Was all Billy charged while leaning back, his hands falling to his lap as he squirmed with the rings on his fingers.

Steve shook his head, breathing nothing, before looking down to his girlfriend. Billy...didn’t know...did he? No...they’d been cautious about it - meticulous and secretive - it’d been the most planning he’d ever done in his entire life...and he’d fought demodogs before...

Sure, Hargrove had the knowledge of mutual friendship between his sister and The Hair - they spent time with the party and so that was expected, being the only teens each other’s age. But, as far as Steve knew; they promised not to tell him...not yet anyway. He’d specifically told Y/N he didn’t care who she dated (it was her life after all) but God forbid it, kid - you better not end up fawning over that shithead, Harrington. No sister of mine is gonna sling it with the ex-King of Hawkins.

The distaste from one another stemmed thick and deep; Hargrove didn’t like Harrington, Harrington didn’t like Hargrove... Hiding their relationship was something that came with dating Hargrove’s beloved sister - Steve didn’t mind (much). He figured Billy would rip him a new one if he ever found out. Probably feed him to the Upside Down...or worse (What’s worse than that, Harrington? -- Being feed to Billy).

There had to be another reason Billy had taken Y/N here...and unless it was brought up in the short conversations of rival men - Steve wasn’t going to give Billy the ammunition to do shoot Steve in his own foot.

“More bruises...?” Y/N grumbled, hands skimming the ghosts of what he assumed were blooming blemishes along her stomach, back, chest...and well... her entire torso...

Steve nodded, licking his lips, his mouth dry as he ran a hand through her hair. It didn’t make him feel so hot to see the love of his life so...broken. He felt useless.

“Take your shirt off, Y/N/N so I can see what we’re dealing with,” Harrington decided, helping her sit up.

“Let it hang around your neck, kid,” Billy’s stern tone cut in, and Steve choked on his spit - Billy had been so quiet he forgot Hargrove was there.

Steve only nodded. He figured it’d be easier than taking it fully off anyway. Billy’s burning gaze didn’t help though - did he think Steve would try something? Wow...makes you feel great...Steve had some decency.

Y/N had difficulties getting her arms through their proper holes; so Steve gingerly helped her - trying not to do it for her, while also trying not to touch her for too long, on top of trying to well....help her. Billy was not making this easy.

Once the T-shirt was around her neck, hanging loosely (a pleased Billy following as it hung covering her chest, presumably what he wanted - only causing Steve to roll his eyes. He wanted to say - You know how many times I’ve seen her naked? Screw that - you know how many times I’ve undressed her? But he didn’t think he’d be safe to do so...).

“Oh, Y/N....” Steve muttered softly, biting his lip as his eyes filled with guilt. Her back was to him, and the litter of blue, black, purple, and yellow was like a child’s poorly done finger-painting. Streaks here and there, uneven and messy. Lifting his left hand, he warily brushed the skin; it was hot...feverish hot.

“I-I know...” she answered with a choked sob, her hands flying to cover her mouth. Billy was looking away from her, his eyes blinking away anger (he wasn’t about to let Harrington’s ass see him cry). “I’ll get more ice.”

Billy stood up swiftly and left the room - a slow string of curses finding him - Steve swore Hargrove thumped a fist to his kitchen counter...was Billy aware how much granite cost?

“Come here, my love,” he whispered, tugging her back into his chest. He swung his leg up to rest on the sofa, bordering where she sat as if his limb were a railing to keep her from falling.

Y/N leaned back, crying softly into his chest (it didn’t help that doing so was causing her abdomen hell). “Shhhh, it’s okay now...I’ve got you, babygirl...I’ve got you.” Y/N found solace in Steve’s words, gripping the thin material of his shirt she listened to the fast beating of his heart...

Bu-dum, bu-dum, bu-dum, bu-dum...

“I-I’m sorry...y-you have to s-see me like this,” she apologized, which only had Steve sink lower, drawing her as close as humanly possible.

He shook his head against hers as he rested his chin atop her. “No, no, no! Don’t you dare say you’re sorry, darling...this...is not your fault. It never is.” He kissed her hair tenderly and felt his own eyes well up (he refused to cry...he didn’t need Hargrove seeing him as a total softie - and Steve needed to be strong for his girl right now...).

“I-It’s so late-e though...y-you must’ve b-been asl--,” He tilted her head back, hating the way he could almost fit his hand in the same spots as the growing bruises on her jaw. He hated how the print of Neil was still glowing.

He gently shared a kiss with Y/N - forgetting Billy was in the kitchen...he could always deal with that later. She needed to know he was there...really there. Always.

“You, are the most beautiful creature...ever, and I don’t ever want you to say you’re sorry...for-r --,” he paused licking his lips and rubbing his nose to hers,”- for that bastard’s mistakes. You’re too good for that, you don’t deserve that, babygirl.” Steve would never blame her, not for anything. Certainly not this...She was like a flower - a flower that Harrington kept and cherished in his garden of gold.

He took care of it; watering it with hugs and kisses (sometimes drowning her in them...but he found that her particular type thrived on excessive gestures like so). He made sure she was healthy - always getting enough sunlight - making sure she shone that brilliant smile of hers...outdoing any star he’d ever seen...Steve made sure she could always call his garden home...that even if she had nowhere to go - he’d receive her with open, consoling arms.

Steve only hummed softly, Y/N entangled in his arms, their legs entwined as he threaded his fingers through her hair, holding her head close to his heart. He whispered sweet nothings and means of okay to her...and eventually, she gave in...Y/N fell asleep there in his arms and he’d never have it any other way.

“God, you’re such a fucking sap, Harrington,” Steve’s neck hairs stood on end - Billy was standing in the archway that connected the kitchen to the living room. Steve told himself that maybe he hadn’t heard Billy right - or hoped that Billy hadn’t heard him right...

The muscular boy walked over, handing Steve frozen peas, mumbling something about how it’d do better than the lousy packs in Harrington’s freezer.

Steve nodded, moving slowly to take it from the brother - not wanting to disturb Y/N’s sleeping form. He pressed the cold bag to her exposed back, he felt her tense up, before easing back into him.

“She um...she kinda just fell asleep on me,” he explained while avoiding eye contact with the blond. Billy took his original seat - the armchair, but this time, he wasn’t fidgeting or staring at the floor. His blue eyes were fixed on the girl.

Clearing his throat awkwardly - Steve readjusted the bag, he was sure to help sooth these marks it would end up taking more than one bag of frozen veggies to make an impact.

“How long?” Brown eyes flickered up, meeting blue.

“For?” Steve asked confused, though tried to sound as casual as possible. There weren’t very many times he and Hargrove were in one another’s company...this was the first they’d not been at each other’s throats...

Billy rolled his eyes, scratching at his neck. “How long have you been in love with her?” No beating around the bush, it seemed.

“I-I, uh, well,” Steve’s face flushed pink. The soft lighting of the numerous lamps already bathed him in orange...hopefully hiding the blush well enough. His eyes glanced to the clock by the fireplace...two-twenty-seven. God, it’s too fucking early for this bullshit....he’s really gonna do this to me? -- His sister’s half-naked on top of me...passed out -- and he’s really gonna do this to me?

Billy chuckled, though Steve didn’t see amusement reach his eyes...it was almost a forced laugh (like he was mocking Harrington). “You do love her? Don’t you, Harrington?” Steve could only nod, unsure if the answer should be yes or no...he could see both ending terribly as it was.

“God, and here I thought you were more of a man than this, Pretty Boy,” Billy scoffed, shaking his head as he reclined into the cushion of the seat.

“Since I met her,” Steve suddenly mumbled, his eyes set on the slow rise and fall of breath from Y/N. The hand not holding the frozen packet, circling her waist to keep her in place.

Billy observed his movements as if examining an opponent on the court....looking for a bluff, a flaw, a weak advantage. Hargrove thought he found it without having to try...and it was sitting in Steve’s lap - cuddled close to his chest. “Speak up, Harrington.” He grunted.

“The first day I met her,” Steve repeated, his voice steadier than before...louder than before...the sudden wave of confidence was found when he realized...it didn't matter what Billy thought...Steve loved Y/N...and she loved him. That’s all the reassurance he needed, and he remembered it with each breath she took.

“I fell in love when I saw her,” Steve confessed, his voice softening at the memory. “I-I think she was walking to find you, actually - it was after school one day...she’d asked me where the boy’s locker room was,” he chuckled to himself, hand running through her y/c/h locks. “I had been dying to meet these Hargrove twins for weeks now...but...I guess...I’d never had the pleasure of being formally introduced.”

“It...it was like watching a movie. She was walking down the hall, in my direction...and she said hi to me...nothing much. Enough to keep me coming back, y’know?... To want more.” Billy was quiet as Steve spoke, letting him ramble for as long as he wanted - Hargrove was trying to prove a point that he wasn’t sure blockhead could see just yet (that he knew about their relationship but getting Harrington to spill his guts out was even better).

“Then, I remember walking with her - I had to grab my gym bag anyway, and she had the prettiest laugh. I don’t remember what I said, but I remember the feeling of pride...-- Like, I’d done something really good...”

“She said I was nice - she said she liked my hair and - you know, that sent me over the moon,” Steve was laughing softly, trying not to move too much with Y/N’s head rested on his chest.

“I love her, Billy,” he told while glancing the brother’s way - his silence had been a bit mortifying...but Steve didn’t want Hargrove to think he’d actually been terrified to hear what he had to say. “I love her and I know you don’t like it - but...I can’t change how I feel.”

A few minutes passed by, and neither spoke again. Billy had gotten up, exchanging the now thawed peas for a fresh pack of them (mumbling something about the Harringtons’ having too many frozen vegetables). Roughly fifteen minutes of eerie stillness was carried between them - Billy had an arm bent at the elbow, holding his face up. His other hand tapping his jean covered thigh.

Steve was keeping himself occupied with moving the makeshift ice pack around, looking out for missed cuts (which there were a few) and treating them accordingly. Y/N was still propped between his legs, using him as a pillow - her hands rested around his waist peacefully locking him down.

“She loves you a lot, you know.” The suddenness of Billy’s low tone startled the brunette. He had thought that because it’d been quiet for so long...their conversation had long been shut down.

Steve gave a short closed-mouth smile. “You think so?” Harrington asked while shifting the pack to rest on Y/N’s shoulder.

“We have thin walls at home, Harrington. I hear her talking to you for hours on the phone,” Billy noted while shaking his head at the thought. “Did you know our houselines are all connected?” Hargrove was clearly messing with Steve - as if indicating he’d snuck on calls with them...it was a joke...but...coming from Billy - Steve was slow to react.

Steve sighed. “So you know then?” Billy shrugged. “Give or take, I know enough to realize she’s been seeing you for more than a month.”

The curly-blond chuckled. “I know my sister, Harrington. There’s no reason for her to be going on walks a seven o’clock. It’s not like we have a dog.”

“Maybe you’re not as dense as I thought,” Steve jabbed. Billy only grunted in response, not laughing, but not taking too much offense to his words.

Hargrove rolled his lower lip between his thumb and forefinger before saying,” You know - telling me wouldn’t have done anything.”

“You’re saying my head wouldn’t have been on your wall? Like a trophy?” Steve snorted while rolling his eyes,” Yeah - okay.”

“Don’t get pissy with me, Harrington. You’re the one who went behind my back, screwing my sister, amigo.” Billy had him there.

Steve swallowed a sarcastic bite and answered honestly instead,” We were scared you’d not approve--” “Because just doing it anyway helps your case” “--so we just decided to wait till the right moment...” Steve pretended not to hear Billy’s sardonic interruption.

“Was this the moment you were looking for, Harrington?” Billy’s voice didn’t hold its usual arrogant demeanor. He sounded as if he were genuinely trying to talk to Steve. At least there was that much going for Harrington.

“What, you mean at three-am, sitting in my living room - your sister not even conscious for the talk?” he concluded,” No...it wasn’t exactly the ideal moment.” Billy chuckled at that, and Steve joined him. They surely weren’t friends...no...but...they could understand one another and that made all the difference.

“Take care of her, Harrington.”

Billy understood that Steve loved Y/N as much as he did. He cared for her like he did, and only wanted the best for her. Hargrove could see the way Steve looked at her, and it was like she were the only person in the room. The only smile that mattered, the only mind that counted.

Sure, Billy didn’t exactly like Harrington...but he could get over that (for now) because the dipshit somehow made her happy. Steve could make Y/N smile when Billy wasn’t there to do it himself...so he thanked the brunette for that. He thought his sister deserved the world - more than the world really, but if Steve was the only thing the universe had to offer...and that only thing that Y/N wanted from the universe... Billy could understand.

“I will.”

It wasn’t much different for Harrington. He knew that Billy loved Y/N - may be more than he did...they’d always have a bond that Steve would envy. Y/N never stopped talking about her ‘big brother Billy - the coolest guy she knows, the strongest guy she knows, etc’. Steve felt like he knew Billy better than Billy knew...and yet, here they were - sitting roughly half a room apart - the only thing tying them to civility being a girl whom they both loved.

Sure, Steve didn’t exactly like Hargrove...but he could get over that (for now) because he knew no matter what he did or said; Billy would always be her big brother who made her happy. Billy would protect her when Steve couldn’t, and maybe that’s why it was so hard for Billy right now...because he hadn’t been there at all for his sister when she needed him most...and Harrington wondered if it was eating away at Billy’s conscious.

He’d always been so hard to read - whether cross or content - it all looked generally the same (Steve had told Y/N that once and she’d laughed, saying you just had to know the tells...for example when Billy’s nervous - he usually gets antsy and fidgety). Either way, the pain would always be the same... Steve could understand.

“Just because you’re dating my sister - doesn’t make us buddy-buddy, Harrington,” Billy clarified, a wicked half-smirk finding his lips.

Steve rolled his eyes, brushing the hair from Y/N’s face. “I know - it’s not like I’d want to be friends with you anyway...I can only stand one Hargrove at a time.” Before Billy could say anything (he was going to warn Steve that a certain y/c/h haired girl was not asleep...and had been up for quite some time...), Harrington sputtered a sound of shock as he was jabbed in the side.

“Dumbass,” Y/N grumbled, scooting closer to his side.

Steve’s eyes widened and he stumbled to find his words,” Oh - You’re up...how long have you been up...?” His tone was light, and yet - why was his heart racing so fast? She pushed away his hand holding the pack of frosted peas and sat up with a stifled groan. “Long enough, Harrington,” she looked to her brother sheepishly - he returned the simper, Billy was glad the swelling went down - her face almost looked normal again (and Steve was gaping at the fact that Billy was smiling...like genuinely).

Billy began chuckling shaking his head - the waves of relief and security finding him as Y/N seemed..if not okay...she was at least holding up. He was sure shed be in pain for a few days more, the bruises needing some time to heal. Y/N only giggled, wincing at the ache caused by laughter - whoever said it was the best medicine...was a liar.

The little shit she was...she’d been awake for the last ten minutes or so - sleeping with bruises wasn’t easy...he’d know. She was also a terrible actress - while Steve had been talking, busy with cleaning nicks and cuts, Billy had watched how his sister’s face would momentarily contort at the contact of hydrogen peroxide. Billy was very observant, especially when it came to his little sister...he’d have been lying if he said he had never followed Steve’s BMW back to his house before...he was Billy supposed to know where he was taking his baby sister? (Little? -- Billy, we’re the same age! --But you’re way fucking shorter than me, pipsqueak).

Steve was blushing, very confused, but also glad to see Y/N was feeling a bit better. “I was up long enough to hear that...um...Billy....you know...,” she paused eyes drifting to the floor. “I’m sorry we didn’t tell you earlier...I think Steve would’ve been in the position I am if we’d told you.” Y/N made a grime gesture to her battered body.

Billy clicked his tongue, standing up to stretch his back and neck. “Nah, he wouldn’t look like that,” his low voice droned out as he began walking towards the door (not before placing a kiss to Y/N’s forehead and gently ruffling her hair). “He’d look much worse if I got to him, kid.”

Steve rolled his eyes, his girlfriend laughing as she pressed a hand, hissing, to her side. That’s what you get for making fun of me, she swore he said that under his breath - the intimation of a smirk creeping on Steve’s sweet lips.

“Where’re you going, B?” Y/N asked while watching her brother reach for the doorknob.

“Home. I’m tired and I have work i--,” “Stay.” Both sets of Hargrove eyes turned to watch Steve with a bewildered manner. Billy gave a huff of amusement, be licked his lips, hand running down the side of his face as he raised an eyebrow at Harrington.

“Come again?” He demanded.

Steve ran a hand through his hair, a small uplift of the corner of his lips sealing his attempt at kindness. “You can stay here - guest bedroom’s upstairs. It’s almost three, man. Just spend the night.”

Billy looked conflicted. Pride and logic always had a hard time understanding one another...a constant battle of the mind. He was so used to doing things on his own...taking Harrington’s charity wasn’t exactly an ego boost.

It bordered his whole issue with having Y/N and Harrington be together in the first place... He’d spent his whole life taking care of himself. Of her. Making sure she was always safe, making sure Y/N never got the worst of it. His father was not a good example of a man, and Billy certainly had his rough edges.

He knew that if anyone were to be with his sister, they’d have to be a man worth her time. First meeting Steve, Billy took him as the same old, same old...playboy wanna-be, who drank too much, partied too often, and flirted too quickly...Steve reminded Billy of himself (not the kind of man he wanted Y/N with).

Over time though...it seemed Steve Harrington was hiding behind a mask. Billy had been skeptical, seeing as good things always came with a sharp end...but...he saw how happy Steve made Y/N...the sincere consideration he put into everything...Harrington had become the only exception.

And still...that battle of pride and logic waged on and Billy wasn’t sure of the generous offer of sleeping at the Harrington estate.

“I can take care of m--,” “I know, I know. You’re a big boy - but...it’s more convenient for you to stay here, Billy.” Y/N cut in, squeezing Steve’s hand in hers as a silent signal of her appreciation. She didn’t want Billy going home...not (without her), anyway. She didn’t care what happened to her - as long as Billy was okay...she knew she couldn’t do much, but if this was what she could grant him - then she’d do everything in her power to keep it that way.

“Harrington.” The soft reply was barely heard, following a thank you in the form of a head-nod, but Steve waved in response. “Y-Yeah, any time man.”

Billy’s footsteps were fleeting and soon enough, they were alone. Steve puffed his cheeks out, eyes wide as he looked down to her. “You’re trouble, you know that?” Y/N scoffed, moving to stand up - she was thirsty and water sounded good (or alcohol...).

“Woah, woah - slow down there, tiger -- let me help you,” he shot up, arm around her waist protectively, hand holding hers as he walked her in the direction she pointed. He easily lifted her to sit on the countertop (even though Y/N complained he was being dramatic).

A cold glass of water was handed to her, their fingers touching through the pass. Steve stood between her legs and hesitantly placed his hands on her hips, unsure of what pain may lie there.

“You scared me, babes,” he admitted while resting his head on her shoulder, one of Y/N’s hands combing through his hair, the other holding her cup. “I did?”

“Mhmmm,” Steve hummed, turning his head to look at her, his brown eyes outlining the purple on her jawline. His muscles tensing at the thought of Neil’s hands on her. “I was scared - why wouldn’t I be?”

Y/N shook her head, not wanting to cry again. She placed her drink down, and cupped Steve’s face, lifting his head up, their foreheads pressed together. She closed her eyes, soaking in the scent of a faint shampoo and gentle body wash.

“I’m here, I’m breathing...I’m okay, Steve.” Her thumb rubbed a small circle on his skin and Steve melted into her touch. His arms holding him up, on either side of her as she sat there.

Steve couldn't hold himself back any longer; he tilted his head up, lips meeting hers. The faint taste of copper lingering between their kiss - but he didn’t mind. His body shifting to have Y/N’s front weighted to his, he kissed her, a hand coming to delicately - hold her tender face in his palm.

“I love you, so much, Y/N,” only pulling from the kiss to speak, Steve laughed wistfully. “Don’t cry, darling...you’re way too pretty to cry.”

Y/N shook her head, her hands falling down to hug his neck, he closed his eyes, rubbing her back instinctively. His face in the crook of her neck.

“You think Billy’s okay with this?” she whispered.

Steve tsked, glancing at the clock on the kitchen wall, he clicked his tongue,” I’ll give it till eight before he comes searching for my ass.”

a/n footer: I know this may not be what you expected...but...it turned out sweet..no? I personally love Steve & Billy interactions, like...they’re not friends - but...they’ve both got something worth being civil for... I hope you all enjoy! <3

Sunsets Back Home pt. 2 will be out very soon! <3 Along with some Steve requests~

Tagged: @the-first-breath-of-autumn-air @dazedimagines @danielathedoll @allisjustok @wallflxvver @naomiiiiiiiiiii04 @frnchpy @kimmydespell @editsbyjenny @dazedimagines @novaddictx @mairalynn416 @wefracturedmotivation @truthdaze @xxcxrolinexx @savingprivatecass @emmalbg @timeladygallifrey @the-first-breath-of-autumn-air @billyhargrovescigarette @krystalane @truthdaze @neverlandsoundsgood @friendlyneighbourhoodmercenary @imarockstar145 @foryoubarnes @winchestergirl907 @anniethepanda

Tag list is always open!~

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x hargrove reader #stranger things #stranger things imagine #billy hargrove x reader sibling #billy hargrove #steve harrington x reader angst #max mayfield

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tblpress · 5 years ago

Link

The day before James Spader won an Emmy for his portrayal of Alan Shore, the morally dubious lawyer on “The Practice,” the actor was at the Franklin D. Murphy Sculpture Garden at UCLA, admiring the statues -- especially the female forms. “Look at the beautiful curve of her back, right at the base of her spine,” he said, noticing a dancer at the top of Robert Graham’s “Dance Columns.” “It’s the most perfect curve in nature.” Then Spader felt a breeze and started ambling in the other direction. “I just want to walk into it,” he explained. “Oh, my God, that is nice.”

The sculpture garden, a favorite hideaway of Spader’s, brought out in him a charming mix of formality and earthiness. When Gaston Lachaise’s bronze powerhouse “Standing Woman” caught his eye, the memories rushed out. “My sons, when they were growing up, always enjoyed her rather ample” -- here he used a word not proper for this newspaper but that means “derriere” -- “and her rather ample breasts,” he said. The boys, Sebastian, now 15, and Ellijah, 12, would come here with their scooters. “So you come around,” Spader explained, “and lo and behold, you have that beautiful” -- that word again -- “over there. You can hardly resist scootering by and giving her a poke. She has nice calves too. She’s ample everywhere. She’s spectacular.”

James Spader, network TV star: To anyone familiar with the 44-year-old actor and his work, it sounds almost absurd. With the outre air of highbrow naughtiness and deep but slightly distracted intelligence he’s been known for since his 1989 big-screen breakthrough in “sex, lies, and videotape,” Spader could hardly have cooked up a more improbable career move. And yet starting tonight on “Boston Legal,” the new David E. Kelley show spun off from “The Practice,” TV viewers will get a weekly taste of the actor who has specialized in finding an endearing human side to wealthy school bullies, creepy cocaine dealers and sensuous sadomasochists.

Spader headed toward a section of the UCLA campus blanketed by California sycamores that he and his sons, he said, often climb and swing from. “See that?” he asked, pushing a branch down. “This is a perfect perching spot. I’d do it more aggressively, but there’s people around and it makes them nervous.”

Making people nervous is, of course, a Spader trademark.

“When we first went to the network about James, they shrieked in horror,” Kelley said. “James Spader is not a network face. They didn’t think he was the kind of persona American audiences would want to welcome into the living room on a weekly basis. But once we began to focus on him, he was the only choice. What James does so well is there’s a nucleus to this character that is humane and decent. He manages to let that nucleus shine through even when he’s committing egregious, contemptible acts. You don’t know if you like him or not, but you can’t wait to see him next.”

Kelley hired Spader to play the brilliant agitator whose dirty ways forced the firm of Young, Frutt and Berluti on “The Practice” to close its doors last year, after ABC slashed the show’s budget, forcing Kelley to fire half his cast. Spader, whose most recent television appearance had been a guest spot on “Seinfeld” in 1997, was supposed to play Alan Shore only long enough to shake things up.

“The goal in the beginning was to bring new life to the show, and the luxury we had as storytellers was that we didn’t have to protect the character for the sake of a long series run,” Kelley said. “You can only do so many things with a character that are overtly unlikable and still keep him redeeming and a character that people want to tune into and cheer for. Since we didn’t have that burden, we could swing away with him.”

The high-end firm of Crane, Poole and Schmidt might prove a better fit for Shore, who will be surrounded by other conniving legal eagles, including William Shatner as his boss, Denny Crane, and colleagues played by a cast including Rhona Mitra, Lake Bell, Monica Potter and Mark Valley. Alan Shore, Kelley promised, will “defy this law firm as he defies the conventions of regular characters on television.”

“When we watch James, there’s a lot of unknown complicated stuff in his mind, but we don’t know what that stuff is,” said Steve Shainberg, who directed Spader in “Secretary” (2002). “There’s something very unusual about him we can’t put our finger on, but that makes it more intriguing and exciting -- God help us.”

Yet for all the unpredictability that comes across on screen, Spader’s “Boston Legal” co-stars described him as meticulous, exact and particular on set.

“He’s always looking for the truth of the moment, and he gets fidgety when it’s not there,” said Shatner, who won a guest actor Emmy for his portrayal of Crane on “The Practice.” “He becomes as recalcitrant as a donkey until he can find the right way to deliver a line. He never says a word that doesn’t seem to come from the organic character. That’s because James himself is a little weird. But we love him for it.”

The Un-Brat Pack career

Two days after Spader nabbed the top acting award for a drama series, beating out television heavy hitters James Gandolfini, Martin Sheen, Kiefer Sutherland and Anthony LaPaglia, he was on the “Boston Legal” set at Raleigh Studios in Manhattan Beach. Three episodes of the show were being shot simultaneously, and he had found no time yet to contemplate his win. The Emmy, he said, was tucked away in a corner full of boxes as Spader, who recently separated from his wife, Victoria, waited to move into a new house.

“I was surprised at how quickly I lost the feeling of stunned confusion and ignorant bliss and how quickly it turned into work and pragmatism,” Spader said. “The award doesn’t mean anything to me -- and I don’t mean that in a derogatory sense. I just haven’t had time to go there yet. Even when my older son called to congratulate me, we moved rather swiftly on to the subject of an upcoming concert” -- the Pixies at the Greek Theatre -- “and the best way to score tickets, which is a much more constructive conversation for us.”

Like other actors who started taking shape in the ‘80s, Spader could easily have cultivated a Brat Pack aura. Instead, he went for a more original brand of alienation, playing seemingly WASPY characters with a devious air and an anti-WASPY erotic charge to them. The roles he took in movies such as “White Palace” (1990), “The Music of Chance” (1993), “Stargate” (1994) and “Crash” (1996) didn’t always hit big but always set him apart -- none more so than “Secretary,” in which Spader played E. Edward Grey, a lawyer who draws his self-mutilating young secretary into a joyful S&M; relationship.

“James is very formal and specific and respectful,” said Maggie Gyllenhaal, his costar. “I remember when we shot a five-page scene in which Mr. Grey asks me not to cut myself anymore, James noticed and responded to everything I did: every breath I took, every shift of my gaze, every movement of my hand. His work is very specific.”

And that, according to Camryn Manheim, who starred on “The Practice” for eight years, can be intimidating. “After you saw ‘Secretary,’ wouldn’t you be scared to go on a date with him?” Manheim said, laughing.

“I was scared of him,” she added. “He’s weird and strange and eccentric, and I mean a lot of that in the very best way. He plays all of these sexually charged characters. He looks at you too hard, like he’s got your number. But behind all of that, he’s a very simple man who is very thoughtful and insightful about the world and humanity.”

Confronted with the praise of his colleagues, Spader took a deep breath and looked skeptical. “Maybe this thing they are describing is just obsessive-compulsive. It just seems to be what the job is, to just try and get the right intention of whatever ... you’re saying. Who is to say if whether what you end up tumbling toward is the right place when you’re standing on your feet in the middle of it? I’ve had a lot of fun acting, and that’s been the only reason to continue doing it.”

Spader, who dropped out of the 11th grade to pursue acting in New York, attributes his interest in acting to the love of storytelling he inherited from his family. The son of teachers Todd and Jean Spader, the actor grew up with two sisters on the campus of Phillips Academy, a fancy Massachusetts prep school. “My father was an English teacher and he taught literature and poetry, and my parents would read aloud and my grandparents read aloud,” Spader said. “My grandfather would write stories and we would make up little plays to read and perform during the holidays. There was always a tremendous amount of humor in all the households I spent time in.”

But there were other reasons for wanting to become an actor. “I started doing theater when I started thinking of nothing but girls,” he said. “I can’t imagine that the two don’t relate. I don’t mean to be glib. In sports and in many other areas, girls and boys are separated. But in theater, you’re all mixed in together. How can it get any better than that?”

Being an actor, for Spader, has never been about celebrity. The press tent for interviews with winners at the Emmys came as a surprise and an “indignity,” he said jokingly. When someone at the Governors Ball on Emmy night remarked how rare it is that Spader has succeeded at being famous and simultaneously living a private life, the actor was incredulous.

“I don’t try to be mysterious,” Spader explained later. “I just protect my private life very carefully. I don’t go out a great deal. To see and be seen I could care less about. I don’t go to see movies at big premieres. If I go out, I go to a quiet place for a meal or I might go to listen to live music with a whole lot of people who are more interested in listening to the music than who is sitting next to them at the show.”

His new TV world

Spader may be on his way to television stardom, but he has never followed a television show from beginning to end -- the way he hopes viewers of “Boston Legal” will.

“That’s something I had no concept of,” Spader said. “Working on the show, I was experiencing the same anticipation for what was going to happen from week to week as the people who were watching it. When you do a film, you know what is going to happen to your character from start to finish. I knew very little about Alan Shore at the end of last season, and I still don’t. I like that constant shift because what I like the most about all of this is the telling of the story.”

What he likes the least is the fuss. He refused to hire a stylist for Emmy night, picking out his tuxedo and shoes himself. He did not prepare a speech. When his name was announced, Spader charmed the crowd by complimenting the women in the room: “You’ve all made wonderful choices in shoes and dresses tonight, and you all look absolutely beautiful.”

“I realized I was going to have to put together some sentences quickly and I wasn’t going to be yet another person to make a music joke,” Spader said. “It worked so well when the gentleman from ‘Arrested Development’ made the singing reference, but I knew that that couldn’t be used again, and certainly not by me. I really don’t have any idea what ... I was saying. Certainly, during the course of the four hours that I was there I had spent enough time admiring women’s shoes and dresses and how well they filled them.”

But as offhand as he may be about that trophy, it’s fitting somehow that Spader will be in the rare position of starting his new gig already having won an Emmy for the role. To his surprise as much as anyone’s, the TV gods have smiled on him. “Does anybody have any illusions about the fact that the Emmys come at the beginning of the television season? The timing seems precise to me,” he said. “And I think it’s grand.”

#james spader #interview #2004 #james spader quote #la times #boston legal #the practice #alan shore #james spader press #link #article

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la-fille-en-aiguilles · 6 years ago

Text

Half As Good As You (1 / 2)

Jax Teller x Female Reader

A/N: I know i’m late to the party, but I am finally catching up with Sons of Anarchy, also known as one of the greatest shows ever made. I absolutely adore it, for so many reasons (Charlie Hunnam obviously being one of them). Jax Teller is such a promising character, with such an enormous literary potential, I couldn’t resist.

This two-part story is loosely based on Tom Odell’s song “Half As Good As You”.

Please enjoy, feedback is appreciated if you feel like leaving something.

Warnings: a lil’ bit of angst and heartache.

What a spectacular day for murder, you thought, grabbing your Balenciaga bag from the passenger seat right next to you, your cold take-out coffee’s smell still hanging in the confines of your car.

Charming welcomed you back with cloudless, infinite azure and blinding yellow sun, an airplane chalking a line on the canvas of the sky above your head.

Swinging that bag over your shoulder, you let your gaze wander back to the house in front of you; the empty driveway, those colorless roses and the unwelcoming cold blue paint that you never thought you’d see again.

Your sister might have lived in that house now, but the vibe of it hadn’t changed much - it still stank of bleach, burned leather and filthy secrets.

And to think you were to spend a weekend in these walls, where every little detail, everything - reminded you of him.

It felt like it had been ages; all your memories were just some stories someone had told you at some point, with no beginning and no end, pages ripped from old dusty journals for which no one had a care in the world anymore.

You lied, of course, when you told your sister if you’d come down it’d strictly be out of the goodness of the heart. Over the phone, you insisted on not wanting to leave the house before the wedding - that fucking house you hated the most in the entire world, that gas chamber in which you knew you’d have trouble to breathe - because you’d only come to watch her kids, while she gets drunk & partially naked before she ties the knot.

The sound of a roaring engine a few blocks away interrupted your train of thought as shivers ran down your spine, your fingers gripping steering wheel so hard your skin turned white.

Coming to Charming was a mistake.

Leaving the city in the first place was a choice, with which you’d learned to live.

Or so you thought.

Dawns were always the worst.

The subtle shift of light at around five in the morning gave the shit in his room back its color: the deep navy of his crumpled sheets, striking whites, yellows and greens of his underwear, scattered around, and the soft amber of the dresser, with framed pictures on top.

Jax would look at these colors perfect themselves, come out in all of their intensive glory, yet this would never amount to anything - no change in his black-and-white routine.

The rising sun later chose the best angle for its mindful rays, whitening out the faces on those photos. Most of the time, if Jax would let his eyes slip over the paper’s polished surface - accidentally, he kept telling himself - all he saw was perfect squares of bright light, the sun doing the job his brain couldn’t - saving him all the heartache.

The morning would paint his misery a new, less lethargic color as he’d drink his coffee at the bar, surrounded by his brothers, all laughing and talking in hoarse, morning voices. That would shake him up a little, the claws of last night’s dreams letting go some. Those dreams died eventually, but the nightmare of reality went on, and sometimes it was difficult for Jax to tell one from the other.

He didn’t know it yet, but today was going to push his coping mechanisms to a whole new level.

Sitting at the bar, his long fingers wrapped around a big cup of coffee, Jax kept digging holes in the middle of a microwaved cherry pie with a table spoon. He wasn’t hungry, but he knew he had to get some food into him - the day promised to be busy and chaotic, he’d get lucky if he got a chance to eat before dinner.

“Aye, Jackie-boy, any news from Ope?” Jax slowly registered Chibs’ words as the Scot called for his attention, carefully sipping on his steamy tea.

It took a moment for Telford’s words to settle in; retrieving his phone from the side pocket of his sweats, Jax powered the display.

“Yeah, he’s...”

Words stuck in his throat, a lump he tried to push down, swallowing hard. He dropped the phone flat on the bar table, the sound deafening. Inhaling deeply, Jax brought one of his hands up to rub his eyes, his elbow knocking over the cup of lukewarm coffee.

The drops of brownish liquid landed on your face, smiling at him from his phone, with Opie’s kids on either side.

Y/N’s in town. I’m sorry, man, we didn’t think she’d actually show. I’m on my way.

‘He’s on his way.’

Wiping his phone with the white t-shirt he still wore from last night, Jax scrolled down to see if Opie sent more of that stunningly pretty, makeup-free face of yours.

Winston didn’t.

It didn’t really matter, because one look at you had already sent his imagination reeling, his heart twisting in regret while beating ten hundred miles a minute.

You were back in Charming. The idea seemed outrageous, his thoughts even more so.

Maybe, it was a sign. Maybe, this was his past coming around to give him another shot to do this different. Better.

Maybe you two could work the shit out in the end of the day, maybe... maybe you came back for him.

“Hey Prospect, clean this shit up, will you?”

Grabbing his phone from the table, Jax motioned towards the black puddle on the floor once he got Half-Sack’s attention.

Running his fingers through the dirty-blond mane of hair, Teller headed to his room to take a shower, wash those bullshit thoughts away.

That’s all they were. Bullshit.

Your arrival lit a match in his mind, anger consuming him quicker than fire licking at dry paper.

And to what end?

The anger would come and go, leaving not even a fucking hint of solace behind.

So would you.

You never got around to babysitting that evening.

Dua Lipa’s voice blaring from the speakers, you could feel your chest rumble to the rhythm. The place was swarming with people; the bar welcomed a big crowd tonight, and under flickering lights you zeroed in on a face now and again, pacing your evening by the number of people you managed to make out from the human drunken mass.

Donna was having the time of her life as she swayed her hips to the beat. Her cheeks a lovely shade of pink, she laughed at something your friend Chloe said, wrinkles in the corners of her eyes, silent witnesses of her happiness.

Fumbling with your Margarita, you watched your sister closely, trying to convince yourself it was okay. It was Harry she was marrying for God’s sake. That teddy bear of a man that’d kill for her if needed.

And that was exactly what didn’t sit quite well with you.

You threw your head back, finishing your drink in one single gulp. Slamming the glass against the bar, you motioned for the bartender to approach. The young man with a messy man bun flashed you a smile, silently asking what your next choice would be.

“Whiskey on the rocks,” you yelled over the music, leaning over the bar so he could hear you better. Smiling still, the guy nodded, getting to it right away.

You plopped back on your seat, scanning the crowd with your eyes, again, trying to pass the time.

The scene hadn’t changed much since the last time you checked - most of the faces remained the same, the only difference being the cloudiness in people’s stares and sloppiness of their movements.

Yet your eyes narrowed as soon as you caught a young, handsome man staring at you, averting his gaze as soon as you spotted him. You were pretty sure you had never met him, yet something about him felt familiar... and suspicious.

Paying for your whiskey, you slipped off the bar stool, and slowly made your way to Donna.

“I’m going to get some air,’ you screamed into her ear, the beat of the basses making your knees tremble. Donna looked at you for a moment, as if trying to figure out your motives. Then she quickly nodded, lightly squeezing your wrist before letting go.

Gripping your whiskey glass tightly in order not to spill its contents, you made your way through the shifting crowd and into the hallway, slowly but surely.

Just as you walked out from the bar area, you noticed that young man you caught staring before turning around on his heels, following you.

It was a fleeting moment kind of realization, as you noticed Prospect written in bold letters on the back of the kutte the guy was wearing. Immediately you squirmed, pushing your way out of the bar with your elbows, slamming your glass on one of the unoccupied tables as you advanced.

“Shit,” you cursed, your eyes dashing around in search for a place to hide as soon as you reached the hallway.

You were being fucking followed. From the very fucking beginning. And by whom? By the Sons of Fucking Anarchy.

That would definitely up the number of candidates on your list for a well-deserved one night stand.

Thank God they didn’t think of sending someone bigger and meaner-looking, like Tig. Then your chances of getting laid tonight would have been non-existent, with the blue-eyed biker following you around like a shadow... shadow of death.

You froze at the thought, your mind painting the reaper tattoo before your eyes, angry black traits marking Jax’ ripped back.

The Prospect didn’t stay inside with Donna. It’s you he’d been told to follow around.

Clutching both of your fists in a sudden wave of anger that hit you like a speeding train, you muttered obscenities, your chest heaving.

Trying to swim against the current was useless at this point - you couldn’t change the way things were in this town years ago, why jump headfirst into that fight all over again? - yet two could play this game, you thought, Jax fucking Teller.

“Hey there, beautiful,” you were so lost in your thoughts, your eyes drilling a hole in the marble floor, you hadn’t noticed a pair of bright classy purple shoes walk out of the men’s restroom. Your eyes instantly flicked up to face a handsome stranger with deep grey eyes and a three-day black stubble on his razor-sharp cheekbones. The stranger smiled at you warmly, slipping both of his hands in the pockets of his expensive-looking jeans.

Bingo, you thought, mix of liquid courage and adrenaline spilling into your veins.

“Hi,” giving him a half-smile, you threw a quick glance over your shoulder.

Damn Prospect was watching you through the small dirty window in the door.

Grabbing the stranger by the lapels of his leather jacket, you pulled him in, your lips smashing against his.

You couldn’t even register one thing at a time, whirlwind of sensations and puzzle-like thoughts flooding your mind. He smelled of leather, cigarette smoke and musk, a sinful mix so familiar your stomach ached in an overwhelming need to stain yourself with it; steal it, carry it. The only thing stopping you was the absence of an important undernote, something sugary and spicy like oud or patchouli...

You figured it out in a matter of seconds, and even though the detail was bound to ruin everything, you still tried. Tried to fool yourself.

Even though his lips were a little too full for your liking. A little too soft. A little too innocent. A little too different from what you loved.

With your eyes closed, you bit his bottom lip, focusing on the way his rough cheeks felt against the palms of your hands as you cupped his face.

He didn’t bite back. He didn’t grab your hips with his hands, pulling you in closer. He didn’t moan into your mouth.

You didn’t click and that was that.

You still tried.

Holding on to that familiarity of rough beard under your fingertips, his scent completely engulfing you, you thought whether he hollowed his cheeks when he inhaled the smoke. He wasn’t a manual worker - you could tell from the softness of his touch as he positioned one of his hands on the nape of your neck. Exactly, positioned - that was the word. To describe a nearly mechanic movement of those soft little fingers.

Probably ain’t that good with his hands, darlin’ - Jax’ shit-eating grin appeared before your eyes for a millisecond, exactly the time it took for you to try and get a hold of yourself again.

You tried.

Your eyes fluttered open as the stranger rolled his tongue over your bottom lip - a little provocation that made you lose your mind back in the day. This time it felt like an ice-bucket full of water being dumped on the top of your head. It felt invasive, arrogant and wrong. It felt wrong, fault of his lips, his smell, his cheeks... Fault of him not being who you wanted him to be.

The stranger kissed you with his grey eyes open. And it shouldn’t have mattered at all - for all you knew, you’d have never seen him again - but it fucking did; the man you wanted always closed his eyes with your lips on his.

‘Hey, could you...’ you whispered, your lips still touching his. ‘Could you please close your eyes?...’

No answer followed. The stranger moved his head a little, confused look of those grey eyes settling on your face.

You ransacked your mind for something to say that could justify the shitty stunt you pulled; nothing came out. Luckily, the outside world came knocking soon enough.

‘Y/N!’ swinging the door to the bar open, Donna and her flushed and happy face came into view. ‘We’re doing shots, you with us?’

‘Yeah!’ you answered a little too quickly, relief in your voice almost tangible. ‘I’m coming’.

You gave the stranger a sympathetic look before letting go of his jacket.

‘I’m sorry,’ you told him blankly, not sure what kind of emotion he’d expect from you, given the context. ‘It was nice meeting you, uh...’

‘Gabriel’, he filled in, his lips still raw from the kiss you shared.

‘Gabriel,’ you repeated, knowing you’d forget his name the moment you’d turn away. ‘See you around, I guess’.

Just as you left the man with purple shoes behind, following Donna, you noticed the Prospect by the bar. He caught your eyes and gave you an uneasy smile.

For a spy, the guy isn’t exactly hiding, you thought. Biting the inside of your cheeks, you decided to finish what you started for once and headed his way.

Nighttime had always been the time for his demons to come out to play. To bring out the worst in him.

Tonight, however, felt different.

The night was silent, save for the car engines revving miles away from Teller Morrow. Stars dotted the inky sky, their shine so bright they looked like holes in heaven’s floor.

Jax’s mind was clear – not a single stray thought corrupting the peacefulness of the moment. The roof may have trembled under his feet, good old tunes rocking the walls of the club, but he heard none of it, not a single note. Hollowing his cheeks, he took a deep drag of his cigarette ; the smoke eddied coolly down his throat, until he puffed it out slowly – milky white and circular.

This stillness was new to Jax, the feeling of time rolling by in its silent and endless way soothing him. He wallowed in it for a moment ; until the thuds of careful steps reached his ears.

Dumping the cigarette butt over the roof and straight down on the parking lot, Jax watched Opie’s impressive, broad frame block the harvest moon from the view, as he slowly climbed the stairs.

‘If this ain’t the man of the hour,’ Jax said, his lips bearing the semblance of a smile. ‘Tired of enjoying your last days of freedom yet?’

Opie chuckled quietly, making his way to his best friend. He shook his head slightly, taking a seat next to Jax, his eyes immediately drawn to the beauty that was the night sky.

‘I’ve belonged to Donna since forever, man,’ Opie shrugged, moonlight reflecting in his dark eyes. ‘This is just an excuse for boys to enjoy booze and pussy’.

Jax rolled his tongue over his bottom lip before biting on it, smiling knowingly.

‘Yeah,’ he let out, nodding slowly. Fumbling with his cigarettes, he offered one to Ope. Winston gladly accepted, lighting it up.

They sat in a comfortable silence for a while, listening to downtown Charming snore softly in its agitated sleep.

‘Saw you talking to Ima at the bar,’ Opie was first to break the silence, exhaling the smoke. ‘She still carries a torch for you?’

A crooked half-smile graced Jax’ face at the question; he slowly stood up, raising both of his hands and stretching, the hoodie he was wearing rolling up a tad, thus showing toned muscles.

‘Don’t even get me started on this one, man’, Jax shook his head, raising his eyebrows in desperate gesture. ‘She keeps pestering me about that old lady shit…’

Opie whistled, watching Jax lean over the roof barrier, and following him shortly.

‘Ima? An old lady?’ Opie repeated in disbelief, Jax watching him with a blooming smirk. ‘She’s really getting desperate ain’t she?’

Jax let out a booming laugh before staring down into the ground, his thoughts taking him elsewhere.

Comfotable silence settled over the roof again. It were as if the world had stopped, came to a much needed halt, yet both Jax and Opie knew the feeling wouldn’t last.

‘I don’t think I’ll ever get around to what you’re doing, Ope’, Teller suddenly confessed, unblinking, voicing the thoughts that’d been plaguing his mind for what seemed like ages. ‘How am I supposed to ask someone to just open themselves up to the neverending load of shit we’re dealing with on a regular basis? I deal arms, I sell porn, I hurt people. That’s all I’m good for. Who would ever want to be associated with this kind of psycho, huh? Maybe Ima is my end game.’

Jax smiled bitterly, stealing a quick glance at the Teller Morrow sign on his left, even unlit a painful reminder of who he was. Opie grabbed Jax’s shoulder, squeezing it tightly.

‘Bullshit,’ he protested, shoving Jax back a tad unintentionally. He looked Teller right into the eyes, holding that heavy stare of stormy blue orbs for a moment. ‘I know someone who did want that, Jax’, he finally said, letting go of his friend, sadness lacing his words. ‘You’re not asking for a goddamn moon’.

The Vice-President of SAMCRO sneered, biting on the inside of his cheek. Opie knew he took a plunge in dangerous waters with that statement, but he also knew he needed to put this shit Jax’d been going through ever since that fight of yours on the table.

‘Damn straight I am,’ Jax bit back roughly, not even trying not to rise to the bait. ‘That someone you know made sure I was aware of that,’ he spat, his voice dripping with anger.

‘You’re not being fair, man’ Opie stated sternly, taking a step back and shoving both hands into his jeans’ pockets, his eyes never quitting Jax’ face. ‘You both said things you didn’t mean that night. Besides,’ his voice softening up a bit, he continued. ‘Can you really blame her? After what we did to the A.T.F.?’

Jax scoffed, turning his head in Opie’s direction. The fire that anger lit in his eyes wasn’t quite gone yet, its sparks still lingering on the surface of Teller’s irises.

‘Donna didn’t seem to mind,’ he observed spitefully, turning around and leaning on the barrier, folding his hands across his chest, as if protecting his bleeding heart.

‘Donna doesn’t know!’ Opie retorted almost instantly. ‘That’s why I’m still marrying her on Tuesday!’ once the words were out of his mouth, he rubbed one of his hands against his beard, looking away, exasperated. ‘Y/N didn’t tell her shit’, he added quietly.

Gritting his teeth, Jax faced the barrier again, grabbing it with both of his hands. Rocking himself back and forth on his heels, he let out an irritated, rumbling sigh.

There was something in that sound of air pushing its way in between Jax’s lips that made Opie freeze; the fierceness of heartache behind it. Opie watched. He watched Jax’s face, as Teller bit the inside of his bottom lip, shaking his head, lowering his gaze – hiding those glossy baby blues of his.

Then he knew.

Jax’s anger was nothing but a shield for pain. Empty bravado. Signifying nothing.

Each word coming out of Teller’s mouth was an activated grenade; Jax was a soldier, cornered by his pain, scared, desperate and so damn lonely. Bitterness was his surviving mechanism. Little did he know that those verbal grenades he threw would eventually end up backfiring at him. And then that anger – that shield he carried – would clatter to the ground and the pain would hit him like a tsunami. Choking him. Drowning him.

‘I don’t care,’ Jax finally spoke, facing his best friend again. Strangled emotion seeped out of his words, only confirming what Ope had already knew. ‘If I had to choose between Y/N and that A.T.F.’s wife again, I wouldn’t have done a damn thing differently. I will always choose Y/N.’

Protectiveness rang in Jax’s voice, like bullets falling on the ground. He eyed Opie almost threateningly, daring him to challenge his statement.

Opie nodded slowly, reassuringly. This simple gesture made Jax’s body relax a bit, as he rolled back his shoulders.

‘I know, man,’ Opie spoke calmly. ‘Y/N knows it, too, and she’s grateful, trust me. There was only one way to do it with her getting out alive,’ Winston frowned at the thought, watching the same kind of expression darken Jax’s features. ‘She now lives with the weight of two deaths on her shoulders, for God’s sake, cut her some slack.’

‘She didn’t pull that trigger on the A.T.F. when he came asking about his old lady, Ope,’ Jax rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands tiredly. He clearly did not want to have the same kind of conversation with Ope that he would have with himself in the darkness of the night. ‘I did’, he said, more to himself than to Winston, not even looking at his brother. ‘I killed him.’

Jax vocalized what he’d been telling himself ever since you left, forcing himself to believe that this – he – was the reason you two broke and could never be put together again.

‘Those two deaths are on me,’ he added, hoping his mind would be satisfied with the self-hatred audible in his confession. But it wasn’t. He knew the same thoughts would be back to haunt him in the night all over again.

‘This is on Mayans, Jax, all of it’, Opie tried to counter, watching Jax being submerged with the idea of who he thought he was. The idea that was, of course, complete and utter bullshit. ‘All you did was protecting your family. Protecting the club.’

‘Yeah, whatever’, Jax managed a small smile, almost free of bitterness. ‘It’s over, Ope. It’s done’.

Lowering his head, Jax searched for his cigarettes in his pockets, slapping his palms against the leather of his kutte. Finally finding what he’d been looking for, he took a Zippo lighter from Opie’s stretched hand and lit up the cancer stick.

Hollowing his cheeks, inhaling deeply, Jax raised his eyebrows at Ope, judging from his uneasy expression that he wanted to speak, but weren’t sure how to go about it.

‘You know it ain’t over, man’ Winston finally managed, his voice quiet and hoarse. ‘You still love her’.

The statement made Jax chuckle for some mysterious reason ; he threw his head back, slowly exhaling the smoke as it carressed his lips. Watching Ope with the same amused yet hard expression he learned to master, Jax spread his arms, as wide as they would go.

‘Yeah, well, I guess I’m shit out of luck then, ain’t I?’ a wicked smile grew on his mouth. ‘I’ll just have to find someone half as good as her, and that’s that. Consider myself lucky if I do.’

Opie huffed out a breath, looking away and down at the parking lot, shaking his head. Jax leaned against the roof barrier, taking another deep drag of his cigarette, dropping his gaze.

‘Or,’ Opie broke the silence all of the sudden. ‘You can just talk to her. Work this shit out’.

Jax gave his friend a sideways glance, a ghost of hope settling along the curves of his red lips.

‘She won’t see me, Ope,’ Jax’s words were contradicting his body language. He stood straighter, letting his chest open up as he leaned backfirst onto the barrier. ‘I’m dead to her’.

‘Guess she’s here to visit your grave then,’ Opie smirked, motioning towards the parking lot with a slight movement of his chin.

Jax’s immediate reaction was a deep, skin-creasing frown, his mind a surging perplexity. Opie could literally see the realization dawn on him, the walls he had spent all these years bulding high and deep crumbling at his feet. All it took was one look at you ; one look at that black car that brought you home.

Dread flashing in his blue eyes, excitement creeping up his spine, Jax didn’t even realize he’d been holding his breath for three minutes straight. His heart trying to escape the rattling cage that was his chest, Teller closed his eyes. Anticipation tingling through him like electric current, down to his Nike-cladded feet, he bit his bottom lip, regaining control over his body.

His blue sparkling eyes flashed in the darkness as Opie’s gentle, yet slightly mocking voice cut the tension like a knife :

‘If I were you,’ trying to keep the urge to smile at bay, Winston pursued his lips. ‘I’d hurry downstairs before Ima spots Y/N at the entrance…’

‘Shit !’ Jax hissed, already climbing down the stairs as fast as his feet would take him. In one adrenaline-fuelled jump he leapt towards the entrance door of the club, his brain on fast-forward and his heart skipping several beats at a time at the thought of seeing you…

#sons of anarchy #sons of anarchy imagine #soa imagine #jax teller #jax teller x reader #jax teller imagine #jax teller x you #charlie hunnam #charlie hunnam imagine #soa one shot #jax teller one shot #jax teller angst

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ashleaannya · 5 years ago

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The 2200, Chapter 1

Everything for Kamiya started with a deep breath. She took a deep breath before writing her hit single “Marketplace,” an semi-autobiographical Indy rock ballad about how men (her exes) treated women’s bodies like a grocery store. It was a hit. “It resonated” was how Billboard described her riffs and runs about feeling like, quote, a “man’s meat market”, with no say in how she should be loved. That was five years, two Grammy’s and three tours ago. She still took a deep breath before approaching the microphone, before recording herself in the studio, and before giving her fans the BTS (Behind The Scenes) content her 35 million fans craved—no, demanded.

“Let’s do this,” Kamiya said to her herself, breathing deeply and sitting on the goose feather bed in her presidential hotel suite. She adjusted her DSLR camera to better frame her upper body and flipped the lamps on the hotel suite’s end tables. The tripod creaked with newness as she made the micro-adjustments to get her and her hotel suite backdrop in perfect focus. It was a little dark, but it would fit the mood she was about to create for her fans.

Her phone pinged and vibrated beside her as another thousand comments on her social media rang through. Text messages burst through as people who wanted her money, attention or both made their voices heard in all capital letters, exclamation points and emojis. Without looking away from the camera flip screen, Kamiya reached beside her and powered her phone off. She glanced over at her hotel door, looking at the silk and gold furnishings and designer dresses hanging on a rolling rack. Rows of flowers from athletes, and fellow musicians wanting to sleep with her wilted on a glass dining table designed to seat twelve. No one ever ate there. It was a reservoir for gifts and miscellaneous stuff. She lived in this room now. The floor of this hotel was more her space more than the three homes she paid ghastly mortgages. Kamiya’s eyes lingered on the cream colored double doors, making sure it was locked. What she was about to do would cause her team to beat her door off the antique hinges. By then it would be too late.

The camera’s light flickered and then settled on a bright amber. Kamiya knotted her fingers in her lap seeing the word “REC” blink in the upper corner of the screen. It was time. She had already left written, detailed instructions for her manager, accounting team, design team, social media team, and news outlets she wanted to break the story. The courier would deliver her instructions in exactly one hour. The timing mattered. Her wishes were explicit and once her video aired, the necessary parties would have no choice but to honor her demands. There would be nothing to second-guess. The video especially would be very clear. She practiced how she would do it and even recorded herself doing mock versions of the act to make sure she would not loose her nerve.

“You got this, Miya.”

Kamiya also knew that nothing else “groundbreaking” would be going on in the social media sphere that would distract from her message. The good thing about being connected was other celebrities in her circle and members of famous teams (say a stylists or nanny) told her what dates to avoid. For example, when Kamiya’s second album was set to drop on Sept 1st, a friend of a friend whispered that she should not use that date because TMZ was about to report on an impending divorce. Divorces in her world were common enough, but this divorce was a megachurch pastor and there was digital evidence the break-up of his marriage was due to a transgendered mistress who had a massive social media following. Needless to say, she changed the date. Her album release would have been overshadowed and her release week would have been abysmal. She released a week earlier to the delight of her voracious following and debuted at number one on the Pop charts. The same connections would today make sure her choice went viral. This was her one life. She should get to live her life on her own terms. A tear fell down her cheeks, realizing that her freedom was on the other side of this post. She would have her body back, her mind, her music, her voice. Should she go live instead? That way people knew it was real.

Kamiya jumped up off the bed and grabbed her laptop. She would record both. Just in case.

“Hey guys,” Kamiya said, waving at the screen.

The numbers in her Live Chat jumped from 300 to 3,000 to 2 million instantly. Kamiya swallowed. Her mouth was dry and her hands were damp with sweat. Texts jumped up on the bottom of the screen as her followers flooded the Live Chat with emojis, declarations of love, and sexual comments that would make a porn star blush.

“Whoa, whoa, guys, this is going to be quick so I can’t answer a million questions right now—um, guys, whoa, um, no, no I can’t do a video chat with anyone. Thank you though that went bad last time,” Kamiya said, laughing awkwardly.

She glanced up to make sure her camera was still recording. It was.

“Ok. I have an announcement. I wanted to record it and make it all fancy, but my career started here, right?”

Thumbs up emojis and hearts flooded the screen in unison. She smiled and tears pricked at her eyes, but she coughed and rubbed her eyes into her sleeves. People were commenting about how they had followed her since abandoned building days.

“Wow, that’s a throwback. Um, for those who don’t know, let me explain all of the abandoned buildings comments.”

Kamiya sat up and twisted her long curly extensions in around her fingers. She dug her nails into her spray-tanned legs, leaving pink nail marks. She was already black, but her team told her, going a shade darker would make her skin look even and was the ideal skin tone for her audience.

“Ok. So most of the videos have been deleted because, well, I was fat then.”

That comment was met with encouraging remarks and angry emojis. She felt relieved at that response. Then as if reading her mind, onscreen comments appeared. Some people were proud of her ‘healthy weight loss journey’. This pride flooded the comments. She ignored them. She was thin now with the dimensions of a doll, narrow waist and all. She ate 400 calories per day and had more cosmetic surgeries than a Kardashian. She was discrete about them and timed everything so it looked more believable, but nothing was healthy about her new body.

“Um, yea. I actually started on social media for singing in abandoned buildings with my sister. She would record me singing in old churches and subways and other random places that were technically condemned but had great acoustics. That’s how I build my fan base and YouTube channel. A lot of people think it was from Marketplace, my first single, but I didn’t get attention until after my Abandoned Concerts page went viral or whatever.”

The comments zoomed by so fast she could barely ready them. The emojis were all wide-mouthed shocked faces and then there were demands for her to post the old videos. Kamiya shook her head and laughed. She did not want to see her old body ever again. Kamiya froze seeing a familiar handle enter the Live Chat. It was @Camera_Cat, her sister. She was in the hotel lobby grabbing dinner and would likely be banging on her door at any moment. Everyone knew that Kamiya hated going live so Cat would be giving her the Catrina patent “WTF” face.

“Okay, guys, real quick. I have an announcement,” Kamiya said, straightening her back and lowering her voice. She had to say this seriously or people would think she was playing a game. As you all know, I hate social media and, like, hardly ever post, because—well, let’s keep this all the way real, okay. You guys are trash.”

Question marks and angry and shocked emojis flooded the screen at lightning speed. Kamiya smirked ready to drop every bomb in her arsenal before the grand finale.

“Yes, you are. Half of you lie to yourself and to others every day and will never accomplish your dreams because you are inconsistent and talentless. There. Now you know.”

Kamiya jumped hearing rapid knocking on her hotel room. She pulled her laptop closer and swallowed. She could hear her sister calling her name.

“I don’t care if it hurts your feelings. It’s true. You aren’t loyal to yourself or your dreams so why should I expect you to be loyal to me or care about my mental health. I have done so much and sacrificed so much to make you bastards happy. I’m literally so damn lost right now I barely recognize myself. I hate having you guys around me.”

Some of the comments were consolatory and others were curses and name-calling. Kamiya did not care. She was right and she would show them.

“If half of you were forced to be honest about how jealous you are of my life before you could comment on my posts, you would never hate on me. You hate me because your dreams are dead and your work ethic is trash. Do you have any idea what I go through to be here. I’m supposed to be nice to you hateful bitches when you are all collective trash.”

The banging on the door sounded like thunder. Muffled yelling echoed outside of the room. The voices were getting louder and Kamiya was glad the deadbolt was on because her sister and manager had keys to her room. Well, technically, they could access her room through the hotel app. The app could not work against a deadbolt and an old fashioned chain.

“I’m being honest when I say I hate most of you. I wish you never heard of me. I wish I never shared my music with you. You don’t deserve me. I give so much to you people. You people who are supposed to be the woke generation. I hope you die alone.”

Kamiya sat back and watching as the number of people watching her quadrupled. Screenshots of her and clips of her ‘rant’ would be viral in seconds. She smiled ready for the final blow.

“Effective immediately, my social media is closed. My website is closed. My brands are closed. I am closed. You hear me? You no longer have access to me. You all have officially been fired from being my fans.”

The word ‘no’ with about a hundred Os flooded the screen, followed by side-eye emojis and comments about her going crazy.

“There is one exception,” Kamiya took a deep breath. “Moving forward, I am only accessible to 2200 loyal fans. I will hand select these people. If you look at my main page now, you will see that no one is following me and I am following no one. You will also notice that all of my posts are now gone. In one hour, my page will be private, so get your screen shots now. Yes, I’m talking to you Shade Room.”

The number of people watching her, now exceeding the number of followers she had ever had on any platform. Tears pricked her eyes realizing she finally had their attention. The same question kept popping up: “How do I join the 2200?”

“You don’t join. I choose you.”

Kamiya slammed the laptop closed and fell backward on the overstuffed pillows of her European king bed. Phase one was complete. Now on to phase two.

#writing #creativewriting #writers #writeblr #writing-prompt #excerpt from a story i'll never write #writeaway #story #storytelling

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erraticrandomficwriter · 7 years ago

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This will by second attempt at rewriting my ‘A Supernatural Fic’ (that’s literally the name of it because I can’t think of anything else) Anyway, in case it flops again I’d rather have it disappear into the ether or whatever on here than haunt me on Fanfiction.net. With that said...Here’s the first part of A Supernatural Fic. Enjoy! Or not...Your choice :)

More often than not, people can develop feeling for fictional characters. It can happen with characters in movies, TV shows, and books. The Hunter Diana Brady was no stranger to this. In fact, the love of her life just happened to be a fictional character in the Supernatural book series she stumbled upon during a Hunt. Well, actually, it was more like the book stumbled upon her…And he wasn’t as fictional as she thought he was...

Bay Casey, a fellow Hunter and for all intents and purposes Diana’s sister, opened the door of their motel room with a bit of a grunt. “I hate Demons,” she muttered as she rubbed her ribs where a Demon had gotten a hit in before Diana exorcized it.

Diana followed her into the room and closed the door behind them. “And, what? I love them?” She didn’t actually think that was what Bay was saying, but she enjoyed poking at her sister as often as she could.

Bay scoffed at those words because it was nowhere near what she was getting at. “Do you always have to take things so personally?” If she had looked at Diana when she spoke, she’d have seen that Diana wasn’t being serious.

“Only when it makes that vein in your forehead stick out.” Diana went as far as to start poking at it with laughter.

Bay smacked Diana’s hand away. “You’re almost thirty and you still act like a child.” She felt pretty foolish herself for not realizing Diana was messing with her again. One would think after being in each other’s lives for the past fifteen years or so would make her more in tune to Diana’s antics, but apparently not.

“I’m enjoying the last few childish months of my twenties before becoming a serious thirty-year-old.” Diana mocked Bay’s signature serious expression and plopped down onto the bed. “Anyway, I’m glad this Hunt is over. That Demon was as pain in the ass.”

“And for you that’s quite literal,” Bay chuckled as she pulled off her leather jacket.

Diana rubbed her butt cheek where the Demon kicked her. “Yeah, that’s gonna leave a mark.”

Bay had a feeling where Diana’s mind was going to go next. “I am not going to check out your ass bruise.” She rolled her eyes at Diana’s disappointed pout as she headed for the bathroom but stopped when there was a knock at the door.

“Junior?” Diana asked Bay, thinking it couldn’t be anyone else but Jasper Hawn Jr. – A fellow Hunter, friend, and ally.

Bay shook her head as she grabbed her gun from the table. “He knows better than to show up unannounced.” She went to the window and peeked outside but didn’t see anything.

Ah, yes, that was something the Hunters in Bay’s circle learned early one – Diana herself in included. After this obvious realization, Diana, with her gun in hand, moved to look out the other window but didn’t see anything either.

Bay held her gun at her side as she opened the door but there wasn’t anyone there. What was there was a bulky manila envelope with no writing or anything on it. After a moment’s hesitation she picked it up, looked around again, and closed the door.

Diana took the package from Bay without a word and opened it right up. She wasn’t expecting the item that fell out from it; a book. “Supernatural by Carver Edlund? Why would someone leave this here?”

Bay plucked the book out of Diana’s hand and looked at both the front and back of it. “Never heard of it. It’s probably some nobody author trying to get people to read his stuff. Chuck it.”

“I think I’m gonna read it. I could use some new reading material on our long drives.” Diana flipped through the pages to make sure there wasn’t anything in there before putting it in her bag.

Bay waved her hand in a ‘whatever’ fashion as he headed for the bathroom. “As long as you don’t go all teenage shipping fangirl or whatever on me, I don’t care what you read.”

Diana shuddered at the time in her life she knew Bay was referring to. “Oh, don’t worry, I’m never going to through anything like that Team Jacob phase ever again.”

If Diana did end up shipping one of the main characters with anybody, it was with herself. The Hunter Dean captivated her hook, line, and sinker. As the weeks passed she couldn’t seem to put the books down in her spare time. Yes, books. In every town Diana and Bay went to on a Hunt, she’d find the next book in the series. It was almost like she was meant to read them. Of course, Diana didn’t think of it like that. Not at the time anyway.

At the end of a Werewolf hunt, Diana laid back on their most recent motel room’s bed and read. Even Bay was skimming through them, just to see what the hubbub was about.

“These have got to be written by a Hunter or a retired Hunter or something,” Bay observed as she read one of the Hunting scenes. “The details are too accurate.”

“If that’s the case, you think Dean and Sam are based off real Hunters?” Diana looked away as she asked Bay.

Bay turned the page with a teasing chuckle. “I bet you’d just love that. You’re Dean crazy.”

“If he was a real man I’d jump his bones in a heartbeat.” Diana sighed as she imagined it and returned to the book – the last published book in the series.

All Bay had to say about that was, “Ew.”

Diana just grinned impishly as she read the last sentences. “Well, that’s the end of that. It was fun while it lasted.”

“Good, then maybe you’ll stop fantasizing about fictional guys. You almost hit your teenage fangirl mode.” Bay set the book aside just as there was a knock at the door. She rolled off her bed, grabbed her gun, and checked through the window to see a delivery guy standing there with a package in his hands. Bay made sure her gun was ready to use in case she needed it and opened the door. “Can I help you?”

“I have a package here for Diana,” the young delivery guy answered. “Is there a Diana here?”

Diana came to the door and took the manila package from him. “What is it?”

“I don’t know, lady. I just deliver them – not open them.” He turned around and walked away since his job was done.

Diana hesitantly moved the package around in her hands a bit. “I have the sudden urge to douse this with Holy Water before opening it.”

Bay went to her bag, pulled out the flask of Holy Water, and handed it to Diana. “Have at it.”

Diana popped open the flask, sprinkled some onto it, and when nothing happened she decided to open the package. What Diana pulled out of it made her eyes go wide. “What the hell? How the hell? What?!”

Bay had no idea why the stack of papers Diana pulled out was making her freak for. “What is it?” Diana plucked off the top sheet and thrust it at her. What Bay read, she couldn’t believe. “Hold up…that’s an unpublished manuscript of the next Supernatural book? Bullshit. You’re bullshitting me. This is just one of your pranks.” Bay was starting to doubt that when she saw how pale Diana’s face was. “This is ridiculous.” She took the rest of the papers from Diana and flipped through them to find it really was the next installment of the Supernatural series.

Diana couldn’t wrap her mind around this whatsoever and needed to sit down because of it. She slowly lowered herself onto the edge of the bed and tried to find her words. “How – how?” That was all she could manage to get out when she wanted to ask how the hell an unpublished manuscript got sent to her. She wanted to know who the hell sent out. And how the hell whoever sent it knew her name and knew she was done with the published books. There were a lot of what the hell, who the hell, and how the hells going through her mind at that moment.

Bay was trying to figure this out for herself but she couldn’t. “I got nothing. But we’re not spending the night here. Get your stuff now.” She dropped the papers on the table and went to gather up her things.

Diana got up to do the same but she had something she needed to take care of first. Diana picked up the papers, but them back into the envelope, and was about to put it into her bag but Bay stopped her.

“You’re not seriously going to take those?” Bay thought it was too weird for comfort and didn’t like the idea of it being brought with them.

“Something or someone clearly wants me to keep reading. I want to find out why.” Diana didn’t have a better explanation than that. This was just all too weird, but it was a mystery she wanted to solve – she needed to solve it.

Bay took the papers from Diana and the first few papers ended up falling onto the floor. She bent to pick them up and froze when she saw her name written on one of the sheets. Bay picked it up and started to read. “Bay’s eyes caught sight of her name printed upon the paper, written among the words of the stories she and Diana had been reading for weeks now. She cautiously reached out, picked it up, and began to read the words.”

Bay quickly looked at Diana before going back to the paper. “Bay looked to Diana in hopes of finding an answer in her eyes but found none there. Questions of how, who, and why were running through both their minds. These questions only seemed to grow in number the more Bay read aloud to Diana.” She couldn’t read any more and returned it to the rest of the papers that were now on table and backed away from them.

Diana stared at the manuscript for a few moments before slowing turning to Bay, saying the first thing that came to her mind. “I saw a Doctor Who episode like this once…It didn’t end well.”

Two days later, while waiting for their next assignment in the new state, Bay and Diana sat in their motel room. For those two days neither of them looked at the manuscript. Well, they had looked at it – more like stared at it – but hadn’t actually read it. Now it was sitting on the table…in the center of Diana’s salt-filled hula hoop.

Diana was sitting on the bed with Bay playing poker when out of nowhere she pulled her silver knife from her boot, declaring, “I’m poking it again.”

Bay shot out her hand to keep her there. “Don’t poke it again. Nothing happened the first dozen times you did it. Nothing is going to happen now. I told you, once we finish our next case we are going to track that Carver Edlund person down and get some answers.”

“Why can’t we just do that now?” Diana wanted to know. “Clearly we have some spare time on our hands. So how about I just do a little Google search and see what comes up?”

“This is where we were told to come and wait so this is where we are staying until told otherwise.” Bay made her discards and picked up new ones to continue their poker game.

Diana rolled her eyes at that before returning the knife to her boot. “Fine. But for the record, I think it’s ridiculous.”

“Noted,” Bay answered, despite knowing that what Diana felt about the situation wouldn’t be able change it. “It’s your bet.”

Diana looked at her cards, plopped a few chips in the center and tried to focus on the game, but her eyes kept going back to the manuscript on the table. If she and Bay were in it and they were real…was it possible that Dean and Sam were, too?

It was getting late and since they still hadn’t gotten any word as to what their next case would be, Bay and Diana went to the nearest diner for burgers, shakes, fries and for Diana; pie. Diana had been a pie fiend even before reading the Supernatural books and finding out her beloved Dean character was the same way. This outing was supposed to be like any other…but this time it wasn’t going to be.

After their orders were placed and shakes were served, Diana pulled the manuscript out of her bag to read it.

Bay almost choked on her shake at the sight of it. “You brought it with you? I thought we agreed we weren’t going to read that thing until we knew what was going on.”

“Actually, you agreed to that. I didn’t give my opinion on the subject.” Diana gave Bay a momentary grin before flipping the pages over to where Bay left off and started to read.

Bay put her hand out across the table onto the page to keep Diana from reading it. “Weren’t you the one who said this probably wouldn’t end well?”

“And it probably won’t,” Diana admitted. “But it’s not going to stop me from reading it. This was sent to me for a reason, Bay. No matter who or what sent it to me, they had a specific reason for doing so and I’m going to read until I find out what it is.” She lifted Bay’s hand and moved it to the side so she could get back to the story.

Bay didn’t know what else to say about that so she returned to her shake and hoped this wouldn’t end badly for them.

Dean was driving the impala down route something or other, with Sam talking away in the passenger seat, “This is the third time in two months that some mystery hunters have taken care of the case before we get there. Don’t you think that’s weird?” Sam asked as he looked at Dean.

Dean, too tired, hungry, and honestly a bit...somewhere between frustrated and annoyed with a mix of being impressed about the situation, replied “Coincidence.”

Sam laughed when he heard that come from his brother, “Aren’t you the one that said coincidences don’t just happen coincidentally?”

Dean shot Sam a quick look. “Shut up.” After putting his eyes back on the road he spotted a diner just down the road. “Finally,” he said as he pulled in and parked the impala next to a ‘67 yellow Mustang convertible. As Dean got out of the Impala he said, “Nice car. Hate the color.”

Sam also got out and followed Dean to the Diner’s entrance, “It’s not that bad.” he commented, referring to the Mustang’s color.

As they walked Dean gestured behind him to that car and replied, “It looks like the yellow M&M.”

Sam shook his head with a chuckle and the two went inside.

Before their arrival, Diana slapped the page out of nowhere and asked, “What the update?”, making Bay jump a bit in the process. Without waiting for Bay’s answer, Diana grabbed a French fry and got right to it. “I think there’s something supernatural about this book series, or at least the author.”

“Supernatural, really?” Bay had a hard time believing Diana couldn’t think of a better word than that.

“I was trying to be punny,” Diana answered as she popped a fry into her mouth.

Bay took a fry for herself. “It’s not working.”

Diana shook her head because they were digressing from the point. “Just listen and ignore my apparently horrible puns.”

Bay bopped her head from side to side as she sipped her shake in a ‘okay, go on then’ fashion.

“Thank you.” Diana tapped on the papers. “The writer hasn’t just been writing about Dean and Sam – in this book there’s stuff about us, too, and not just what you read before. And there’s stuff in here about what we’re doing right now.”

Bay really didn’t like where this was going. “I think you should stop reading that right now. Let’s pack up and head back to the farm. We’ll show it to my father and go from there.”

“Not yet,” Diana countered as she came upon the most current part of their story. “Listen to this - After Diana read their part of the story to Bay, Sam and Dean entered the diner and took two seats at the counter. The waitress asked what they wanted, 'Water for now thanks.’ Sam answered. 'Coffee and pie’ Dean replied as always. The waitress informed Dean that the last piece of pie was ordered by the girl in the corner.” Diana gestured to their seat, the booth in the corner and the last piece of pie on her plate.

Bay pulled out some money to pay for the bill. “That better just be a coincidence.”

“Coincidences don’t just happen coincidentally,” Diana countered, quoting Dean from the book.

Before Bay could get out another word, two men entered the diner and took seats at the counter. “Water for now thanks,” said one. “Coffee and pie,” added in the other.

“Sorry, hun, the last piece of pie was ordered by the girl in the corner,” replied the waitress.

Diana and Bay both heard this exchange and while Bay leaned to the side to get a better view, Diana turned around to see who had spoken.

“Coincidences don’t just happen coincidentally.” Okay, not Bay really didn’t want to mess with the book anymore.

Diana pulled her gaze from the two men at the counter – well, pulled it from one in particular, and turned back to face Bay. “I’m not sure if I should be excited or freaked out.”

Bay wasn’t completely sure how she felt herself. “Both?”

Diana nodded in agreement. “Yeah, both. Both is good.”

End part 1

#a supernatural fic #it's back! mwah ha ha #lol #bay casey #diana brady #feel free to ignore

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oodlyenough · 8 years ago

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oodlyenough’s completely inexhaustive list of tftbl fic recs

So I mentioned the other day that because I have read Everything in the Borderlands AO3 tag, I was happy to compile a rec list.

@auraofdawn had specifically asked for Rhys/Sasha and/or gen, but I added some others. I didn’t include any of my own fics, but fwiw I’ve written a number, usually either Rhys/Sasha as the focus or gen with Rhys/Sasha in the background. You can find mine on AO3 under the pen name thirty2flavors.

I wanted to be relatively detailed in the recs, so this is by no means exhaustive even of my personal faves, but it’s a starting point. Here’s a bunch of recs for:

Rhys/Sasha

Gen

Rhys/Fiona

Rhys/Vaughn

WIPs

Rhys/Sasha fics

For Luck by pagerunner 1.4k, teen Author’s summary: Rhys and Sasha share a little private moment before heading off to face the Traveler. Or in other words: Page indulges a few more of her romantic impulses, 'cause these two deserve it. Episode 5 interlude. Notes: I love this author’s stuff and this fic is so damn cute. Great characterization, great prose, adorable missing scene.

Different Worlds by kaletra7 5k, explicit Author summary: She slides the door a little further, and Rhys sees a naked shoulder and then an expanse of fluffy, cream towel. He, very nobly, stops himself from looking too closely, because she’s not holding the towel very tightly and there’s a slit (deliberate or not) that exposes a lot of thigh. There’s something in Sasha’s face that reads like a challenge. Like she’s daring him to approach, the way a predator might wait patiently for its prey to wander curiously into its trap. “Can you come in here for a minute?” Notes: I honestly usually don’t really care for smut because it all kind of bleeds together and sounds the same, but I really liked this piece precisely because it avoids that by giving them both such vivid characterization and by using this as a way to explore their different backgrounds. Sweet and funny and sexy.

i really really really really really really like you by WoodenDuck 1.6k, teen Author’s summary: and I want you. do you want me? do you want me too? - carly rae jepsen, 2015 Notes: Adorable post-Vault first kiss fic. I think this was the first Rhys/Sasha fic I read? Endearingly awkward and believable dialogue from both of them. Plus: bonus art!

(Sasha Hates) Pet Names by melenafrey 4k, teen Author’s summary: Rhys is intent on finding a pet name for Sasha that the both of them can agree on. Sasha is skeptical that one such pet name even exists. Notes: Funny, fluffy and adorable. I like their teasing relationship in this and it’s always nice to see Rhys/Sasha from Sasha’s perspective. I think this is set in some kind of undefined non-Pandora AU.

Bad Egg by WoodenDuck 5k, teen Author’s summary: Rhys thinks about what he wants to do and who he wants to do it for while rolling around in the garbage and eating fried eggs. Set during the Episode 3 road trip. Notes: I love episode 3 road trip fic. A sweet and funny excerpt from the getting-to-know-you stage.

Gen fics

The Pieces We Hide by pagerunner 7k, teen Author’s summary: No matter how many tales they may have told during their time in captivity, Rhys and Fiona didn't tell the Stranger--or each other--everything. Now, on the eve of their mission to rescue Gortys, Rhys decides there's a few more things about going back to Atlas that he wants Fiona to know. Notes: This is probably my favourite Borderlands fic full-stop. Love this piece. Fills in canon I wanted filled in, packs an emotional punch, great characterization, and juuust a couple hints of Rhys/Sasha to make me especially psyched. Love it. Choices and Consequences by pagerunner 5.5k, teen Author’s summary: Rhys might be having second thoughts about getting those ECHO upgrades. And Vaughn might be getting nervous for a whole lot of reasons. It's time for these two to talk it through. Set pre-game, no particular spoilers. Notes: I adore this author’s writing and this is such a good take on Rhys making the questionable decision to get a bunch of cybernetics. Rhys and Vaughn are very well characterized and the prose flows so well.

Interim by MovingPen 2k, general Author’s summary: Raising the Children of Helios was no easy task. Notes: I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about Rhys, Sasha and Fiona after Helios, and not much time thinking about Vaughn, and this fic did it for me. Great character study for Vaughn.

in my skin indigo blue by lucyrne 1.5k, general Author’s summary: Rhys shows off his tattoos to the group to prove that he’s cool. Takes place during the Episode 3 road trip montage. Vaughn isn’t paralyzed because I said so. Implied Rhysha, but mainly a fluffy, comedic gen fic. Notes: Hilarious group shenanigans.

The Pre-Teen’s Guide to Crime by clefairytea 6k, teen Author’s summary: “Fi?” “Mm?” “Are you happy like this?” Fiona turns to look at her, a strange look on her face. As though she’s looking at Sasha for the first time ever, and is surprised by what she sees. “I guess. I mean, I never thought about it. This is just what I am. A smart-alec who steals whatever’s not bolted down." -- Growing up on Pandora is complicated. Growing up on any planet is complicated, but Sasha thinks that most kids don’t grow up forging bank notes and running from the authorities. Notes: I literally haven’t even read this because I took one look and thought “this is going to be good, I am saving it for a rainy day” and uh haven’t gone back yet. (I like to hoard things, alright? My “marked for later” is a mess.) Plus I want to finish my own WIP fic about Sasha and Fiona before reading this But Sasha and Fiona gen!!! My girls!

Of Choices and Their Repercussions by Banji 7k, mature Author’s summary: Hyperion always gets their property back, no matter what or who it is. Alternate events where the team gets apprehended by Hyperion at the Atlas Facility after assembling Gortys (with allusions to the 'Trust Fiona' outcome). Notes: Oh my god please read the author’s tags, this piece so dark, so much body horror and medical trauma/torture. There’s a lot of body horror in the game that kind of skims by unremarked on and this dives right in there and then some and, uh, nothing gets better. Well-written and super effectively skin-crawlingly horrible, if you’re up for it.

Rhys/Fiona

things you said when you thought i was asleep by gortysproject <1k, general Author’s summary: fiona internalises everything until rhys is asleep. Notes: A good look into Fiona’s head and all the stuff she isn’t saying while she and Rhys are with the Stranger.

Winging It by Claranonn 24k, mature Author’s summary: The Company Man and Con Artist open the Vault of the Traveler thinking their journey together has come to an end. Little do they know just how tied together they're about to become... A series of dialogue-only vignettes exploring Rhys and Fiona's relationship post-game. Notes: I haven’t finished reading this yet, just read a couple chapters before putting it aside to get back to, but the dialogue is funny and I literally can’t think of a ship better suited to “fake married” than Rhys/Fiona. It’s hilarious even to think about. Ready to Suffer, Ready to Hope by meltokio 5k, mature Author’s summary: A collection of complete Rhyiona garbage. Notes: It’s hard to describe but there’s an atmospheric feel to a lot of these that I like a lot. I also like the take on Fiona.

Rhys/Vaughn

Safe as anywhere by queerly_it_is 20k, explicit Author’s summary: Vaughn went through his entire first year and a half of college without going to places like this, except for maybe two or three incredibly awkward attempts to socialise in the first few weeks. He’s been just fine without trying it again since, thanks, but now here he is, for the second night this week, after the two times last week. After whole semesters of literally never leaving the campus. And why? A bright cry of, “You’re here!” flies out from behind the bar once he finally, minus a few compound fractures, reaches the front of the tidal wave of people. The words hit him a split-second before Rhys’ neon grin, and Rhys’ floppy hair, and Rhys’ shirt with the sleeve cut off around his cybernetic arm and the collar stretched down enough to show the beginnings of the tattoos on his chest, the whole handkerchief’s worth of fabric generally clinging obscenely to his body. Right. Notes: The fact that I super enjoyed reading a 20k College AU about a ship that isn’t even my favourite is a good indication of the author’s talent for writing. Really good prose, good characterization, good world-building within the AU, and for once it being a Rhys/Vaughn AU wasn’t an excuse to have no mention of Sasha and Fiona. Hooray!

Taking Back Hope by fleurdeliser, ohnoktcsk, tuesdaysgone 16k, explicit Authors’ summary: The first message comes while he’s in the middle of calibrating the laser on one of his latest guns. He ignores it until he’s done, then straightens, holding out his palm and reading the message that comes up on the holoscreen. ‘Helios remembers and so will you.’ Notes: Rhys/Vaughn is the core relationship here but the whole ensemble shows up and they’re all well written which I really appreciate. Plus kidnapping/rescuing drama, everyone’s fave!

WIPs Down the Skag Hole by ShepardCommander 6.5k, 3 chapters and counting, teen Author’s summary: Rhys and Fiona are gone. Sasha and Vaughn are not. Now the kid sister and the best friend must work together if they ever want to see their sister/friend and best friend/boyfriend(?) ever again and become that which they never thought they would or could-Vault Hunters. Notes: Love this characterization of Sasha in particular, especially immediately after Rhys and Fiona disappear. Action and emotional drama and this fic seems to have gone woefully unnoticed. Should Have Said by spectre_anon 16k, 8 chapters and counting, teen Author’s summary: He should have told her. Could have, anytime... all those opportunities he's shied away from now far beyond his reach... and here he was, hands tight around Fiona's throat while Sasha shrieked in the background. And he couldn't say anything. Couldn't let them know it wasn't him, couldn't tell them he was sorry, that he screwed up... all he could do was scream in his own head while Jack laughed. (Rhys never told Fiona and Sasha about Jack. Now he's paying the price for that mistake.) Notes: All the melodramatic Jack-takes-over-Rhys drama you could want. This is the kind of scenario that I’m more or less happy we didn’t have in the game but also totally eager to explore in fic, and this iteration was a good one. Obviously, angst and tension and melodrama ahoy. Strong characterization for everyone and I think the author does a good job of making the main cast sympathetic even if they are making some poor decisions. Oh pineapples, what have you done?

Not a Maniac by Mindful Wrath -- this one is officially discontinued 25k, 11 chapters and discontinued, rated as teen but imo probably mature Author’s summary: Rhys had expected consequences for turning down Handsome Jack's offer to rule the universe side-by-side. Just . . . not these consequences. Fiona had expected Rhys to double-cross them. Just . . . not like this. Notes: So this one is officially discontinued and I haven’t even actually finished reading all of it yet because knowing it’s discontinued means I’ve been slowly parcelling it out, but I’ve liked what I’ve read, which is maybe 3/4. This is the, uh, extra dark iteration of the “Jack controlling Rhys” ep 4 scenario, so, angst angst angst, but well-characterized gutwrenching angst. The real stand-out in this fic for me was probably the ways Sasha and Fiona were written; they don’t respond identically to things and I loved them both. Various trigger warnings, check the author’s tags on AO3.

#auraofdawn #fic recs #tales from the borderlands #valoscope #i think you were also interested in this lol

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suitcasetales · 5 years ago

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The Ice Cream Chronicles

It wasn’t supposed to happen this year. It was supposed to be biennial. It first happened in 2016. And again in 2018. But now, in 2019 it has happened.

What is “it?” you ask? “It” is Sue visiting us during the Richmond Folk Festival season thus proving that once the Richmond Folk Festival grabs ahold of you, even the most disciplined person cannot escape its grip.

And so she came early enough to have a little fun before it, help with “Site Set-Up“, work hard during the Festival weekend and then have some fun afterwards. I looked at our Facebook posts over the last two and a half weeks and it looks like all we did was have cocktails [well, Janet and Sue did anyway!], eat delicious meals and try out ice cream joints. And that we did. But there was more.

Sue has been to visit us several times so we try to always find things to do that will be new to her and sometimes, even new to us. We kick started this quest with a visit to the rooftop bar at Quirk.

As we anticipated visiting the galleries during First Friday Artwalk, the Inwood sisters enjoyed cocktails and we ate burgers (beef and salmon) and took in the views. We left enough time before the fire dancers of Gallery 5 street performance to patronize Stoplight Gelato Cafe.

The next day, we went to what we consider our home park, Pocahontas State Park, and hiked about 5 miles. (If you are local and haven’t been to PSP lately, finally after miles and miles of exciting new mountain bike trails, there is a new “no bikes allowed” trail that runs alongside the northern bank of the reservoir and can easily be broken down to shorter loop hikes.) We had dinner at Savory Grain before an evening of laughter and entertainment at VaRep with a performance of “A Gentleman’s Guide to Love & Murder.” And dessert? Ice cream at Charm School!

Way back in March, we attended the Folk Festival Team Leader kick-off meeting. That sounds pretty impressive until you consider how much work had already been done on the festival by that time. For those of us who oversee the different volunteer “jobs,” it as a time we began strategizing and brainstorming on how we can fill the 1300 volunteer shifts needed to successfully run and support the Folk Festival. Since then, we attended several more meetings and helped recruit volunteers at the Squirrels All-Star weekend event, the Watermelon Festival and the Pride Festival…..and anytime anyone brought up the Festival.

One of the most interesting volunteer positions is to be part of the Site Set-Up team. Seeing the behind-the-scenes work is fascinating and will make you appreciate the Festival even more....if that is even possible. (You should see the pages and pages of blueprints!) The three of us volunteered Sunday morningfor Site Set-Up and Janet and Sue did another shift Thursday morning. There are plenty of tasks to accomplish, no matter what your skill or strength level.

Beyond Site Set-Up shifts, our week prior to the RFF included attending the always delectable Folk Feast (where one of the dessert selections was Nightingale Ice Cream Sandwiches).

On Wednesday, the final Team Leader meeting is always held on site. At this meeting, we receive our credentials, gather for a Team Leader photo and receive our final instructions and pep talk from Festival Director, Stephen Lecky. I would say it is the calm before the storm but it is usually a pretty intense time as we all have our collective fingers crossed for good weather and a safe and successful weekend and we see how much is left to do on the site. Lastly, on Thursday night, ever since we became Team Leaders, it has been our tradition to bake Pumpkin Cookies which we take to the Festival Operations office on Saturday morning.

The 15th Annual Richmond Folk Festival was a success on every level. Besides a little rain late Sunday afternoon, the weather was perfect. Records were set in donations and beverage sales. We had, by far, the most successful turnout of our volunteers. We are humbled by the faithfulness of returning volunteers and over joyed with the number of new volunteers who showed up, worked hard and said they would be back next year! And three days at the Festival meant three days of ice-cream: two trips to the Gelati Celesti’s truck [grab the pumpkin ginger snap while it is available!] and a visit to a King of Pops cart.

Sue & Ricardo, one of the Bucket Brigade Team Leaders.

Sue was interviewed by WTVR and part of her interview aired.

After an exhausting weekend buoyed by the high of the Festival, I had to work Monday and Tuesday. Monday evening, my Aunt Carol hosted a family dinner with twelve of us enjoying Uncle Ray’s cheesesteaks and lemon pie (not ice cream!) for dessert. It was very nice that everyone adjusted their busy schedules to fit ours and it is always a treat to be in their lovely home in Ashland.

After work Tuesday, with Sue all packed up, we headed east to Virginia Beach. On the way, we stopped for dinner at Pierce’s Pitt Bar-B-Que, introducing Sue to the longstanding tradition of many generations of families headed to Tidewater. By nightfall, we had settled in to a First Landing State Park cabin which would be our home for the next three days.

The forecast was gloomy for Wednesday but we were able to get in a morning hike on the 2.5 mile Osmanthus Trail. It is one of my favorites because it goes through and over swampy areas with cypress and pine trees, cypress knees and atmospheric Spanish Moss. Due to the drought, the swamps were pretty low and besides squirrels, the only wildlife we saw was a small mud snake which Sue spotted (and photographed).

Once we finished our hike, it wasn’t too long before the rain arrived in full force. Our only choice, ha ha, was to go for lunch and a look around at The Historic Cavalier Hotel and Beach Club. Completed in 1927, it underwent a major renovation and reopened in 2018. The lunch prices are very reasonable and we freely walked around the hotel, admiring the lobby, the lounge, the pool and the distillery down in the basement. We valet parked for free and attendants escorted us with umbrellas to and from our vehicle and were tipped accordingly!

A shared dessert at Becca in The Cavalier:

We drove down to Rudee’s Inlet, showing Sue the heart of Virginia Beach (albeit in the rain so we couldn’t walk the Boardwalk or along the beach), and spent some time at First Landing viewing the displays at the Nature and Trail Center and talking with a naturalist there. Back at the cabin, we relaxed a little, showered before meeting friends for dinner at 6.

We first met Carol and Barbara back in the glory days of University of Virginia women’s basketball. We had begun following the team especially to watch Dawn Staley play. We traveled often to Charlottesville, a lot to away games and to the ACC tournament which is how we got to know them and other Wahoo fans. They live in Greene County and are avid birdwatchers and just generally good souls. We dined with them at Hot Tuna but sadly didn’t have time to patronize the ice-cream shop in the same shopping center because we had to hustle to their hotel room to watch Survivor. We were recording it at home but Sue was anxious to see her third consecutive episode. We are pretty certain it was the first time Carol and Barbara had ever watched it!

We woke to bright sunshine Thursday morning but high winds and I worried about the effect the latter would have on our plans for the day. We drove over to the Bay and walked on the beach for half an hour in very stiff winds. We met Barbara and Carol at 10am to take advantage of their skill, passion and expertise to birdwatch along part of the Cape Henry trail.

(Below) Carol and Sue

Tall trees and moderate foliage protected us from the wind and although the sound of the fighter jets training overhead disrupted our conversations at times, the birds seemed to not be bothered by the noises or have learned to adapt to it along with all the residents, human and animal. We saw many more birds than we would have on one of our hikes and loved having B&C there to actually identify them for us. We also came upon a beautifully constructed bald face hornet nest. After a couple of hours, we headed back to our cabin for lunch and for Carol to mark our official bird list.

(Above) A hairy woodpecker. (Below) A bald faced hornet nest.

We bid C&B a fond farewell and then took advantage of the warm sunshine and took a protected hike in First Landing. We were supposed to do a loop trail, combining two rather long trails, including one that was especially nice as it skirted along the shore of Long Creek. However, when we got to where that trail split off, there was a sign stating it was closed. Mad as heck because it had also been closed 18 months ago when we were there, and not wanting to back-track, we kept walking until we could loop back on a more interior trail back to the Trail Center, a total of a little over 8 miles!

After all that exercise, we figured we could have anything we wanted for dinner! We went to Bay Local Eatery not far from the Park and Janet and I both had broiled seafood platters and Sue had Shrimp & Grits (she said it would be her last chance until next year to eat grits!). No ice cream was on the offer but the waitress sold us on the homemade Key lime pie so we split a piece of it and it indeed was delicious.

After a trip to Target for “swimming costumes” since Janet and I both forgot ours, we were back at the Cabin, prepping for and planning our getaway the next morning. We had places to go…..and maybe, if we were lucky, more ice-cream to eat!

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chocolateheal · 6 years ago

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SCOTTSDALE, Ariz. – The adventure sounds like article out of a blur noir brought to life.

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It has every aspect of a acceptable mystery: a socialite who spent her canicule assortment with New York’s best and brightest, a absent painting begin years afterwards in an abrupt place, and — conceivably best conspicuously — a abeyant $15 actor amount tag.

So aback a attenuate Jackson Pollock painting was begin in an Arizona garage, addition out its origins wasn’t aloof about allegory besom strokes. Like any acceptable mystery, apprehension the painting’s history took tracking bottomward the bodies abaft it.

‘God, that looks like a Jackson Pollock’

The abstruseness began with a active L.A. Lakers poster.

When a Scottsdale, Arizona, man was headed to a retirement home, a acquaintance allowance with the move begin the collectible in the barn and appropriate contacting an abettor to adjudge it.

Josh Levine, buyer of the bargain abode who was alleged to attending at the poster, estimated the active Lakers memorabilia would be account about $300. But aback they went to the man’s garage, what they begin could be 50,000 times added valuable.

A accumulating of several avant-garde paintings were amid the man’s accouterments — one of which featured an amalgamation of splatters and swirls agnate to Pollock’s abreast style.

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“As we’re activity through the assemblage and we’re bottomward to this aftermost allotment … I was like, ‘God, that looks like a Jackson Pollock,” Levine told CNN.

The paintings seemed out of place. In a arena area best homes are abounding with acceptable southwest art, the aberrant shapes and abstruse capacity were “really weird,” Levine said.

Levine brought the artwork aback to his office, area it sat for three months. He struggled to acquisition the articulation amid a man from Nebraska and his little accumulating of avant-garde New York art.

The socialite connection

When Levine contacted the owner’s attorney, he bridged the gap amid the Arizona barn and New York’s avant-garde art scene: a half-sister, Jenifer Gordon Cosgriff.

Gordon Cosgriff, a New York socialite, was advised the “black sheep” of the family, Levine said. While the blow of the ancestors ashore to the Midwest, Gordon Cosgriff spent her time abrading amateur in the 1950s with aristocratic associates of the art association on the east coast. She ran in the aforementioned amusing circles as notable art analyzer Clement Greenberg, avant-garde artisan Hazel Guggenheim McKinley … and Jackson Pollock.

Learning about Gordon Cosgriff’s history and relationships was a axis point in Levine’s research. The allotment that had aboriginal seemed evocative of Pollock’s assignment now had a believable affiliation to the artisan himself.

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When Gordon Cosgriff died in the ’90s, her brother arranged up her accouterments — including her art accumulating — and put them in his garage, area they would abide until January 2016.

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But it would booty added to prove the painting’s origins than a claimed affiliation amid Gordon Cosgriff and Pollock.

For about 18 months afterwards apprehension the painting, Levine spent tens of bags of dollars aggravating to accredit the piece.

He fell bottomward a aerial aperture of analysis into Gordon Cosgriff’s life, poring over her belletrist and hiring a clandestine investigator to help. His ultimate goal: to clue Gordon Cosgriff’s area bottomward to a Pollock assuming area she analytic could accept acquired the painting in question.

Once he accepted her appearance at his showings, Levine brought forensics experts into the mix to assay the painting itself.

“All I was absorbed in was, was it accomplished afore Jackson Pollock was dead, afore 1956?” Levine said.

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After analytical the affectionate of acrylic used, the forensics address accepted what Levine had hoped: The painting was acceptable one of Pollock’s missing gouaches, a specific appearance of painting application baptize and a bounden agent, from about 1945 to 1949.

“I absolutely acquainted weightless,” Levine said. “I was absolutely affectionate of afraid I was accepting a agitation advance or something.”

Restoration for a new home

The painting is heavily damaged and needs to be restored, Levine said. The darker, cream-colored swirls throughout the canvas would accept originally been a brighter white.

Levine said the accident comes from the artwork spending years in a abode with abundant smokers, which was not abnormal for the mid-20th aeon aback it would accept resided in Gordon Cosgriff’s home.

Restoration, a action that involves charwoman the painting by duke over a brace of weeks, could amount up to $50,000.

Despite the damage, Levine’s aerial aperture is accepted to pay off. Afterwards actual out of the accessible eye for years, the untitled Pollock allotment will be auctioned off on June 20.

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Bidding starts at $5 million, but Levine expects the final amount tag to be anywhere from $10 actor to $15 actor — far before the estimated $300 amount of the active Lakers poster.

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Untitled 16, Oil by Jackson Pollock (1912-1956, United States) – artists similar to jackson pollock | artists similar to jackson pollock

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