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smurphyse · 2 years ago

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Lead Paint & Salt Air | Spencer Reid

Smurph's Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Part 1 of Routine Maintenance

Warnings: mentions of Diana's death (not explicit), mini-PTSD flashback for Spencer, Spencer's horny and lonely, also cranky.

Summary: After two years on the road, Spencer breaks down in Thunderbird, California. In only a few hours he meets some of the most eclectic townspeople of his life when all he wants is some peace and quiet.

(Note: Because of the nature of this fic, being inspired by one of my favorite bands, the chapters will be a bit longer than usual to fit with the vibe of the song they're named after <3)

After he was released from Milburn, Spencer’s mother passed in her sleep. It was blessedly quick and painless for her, and though it tore him apart he was grateful at least for that. Finally, Spencer had nothing pressing tying him to D.C., and he followed Gideon’s lead so many years later. Buying a Jeep and taking to the road, Spencer lived out of a suitcase as he’d done for years.

Instead of searching for serial killers, he began a long search for himself.

For two years now, he’d asked miles of pavement and yellow dashed paint who he was. He questioned the night sky and the morning sun over countless towns and cities. He’d even asked the mountaintops and hillsides, and yet he had found no answer.

Spencer started drinking again. It seemed the thing to do in shitty motel rooms and dive bars, putting on a few pounds with each greasy dish that accompanied his bourbon. The bags under his eyes were no longer from a lack of sleep - though he still didn’t get much because of the nightmares - but instead they stained his skin from the exhaustion of that ever-present question in his mind.

Is this who I am now?

Am I broken? Am I beyond salvation? Am I as worthless and lonely as I feel every single fucking day?

It all started when he tried to strangle a pregnant Cat Adams in an interrogation room. He slid down the cold concrete wall in a prison too much like the one he’d been released from when it first erupted through his brain like a bullet. One question led to another… and another and another, but they always started with that one.

Is this who I am now?

At this point, he was sure he’d never find the answer. Instead, he’d contented himself with wandering, exploring all that America currently had to offer. One day he’d move internationally, maybe go back to Paris where he’d spent time with his mother.

He’d happened upon Thunderbird, California early that morning. Worried he was lost forever in the Cali wilderness, Spencer followed the rising sun through winding forest roads as it streamed through the trees. After a few hours cautiously eyeing the offshutes of paths and trails, he finally burst into civilization.

It was a tiny beach town. A handful of buildings littered the main street, string lights connecting them along with the wind-blown piles of sand scattering along the road. Houses haphazardly were plopped along the varying hills that hid it from the outside world, but it was beautiful.

The shops on the main strip were brightly painted, handmade signs reading Billy’s Bait and Go!, Sue Says Sew, and Gil’s Grocery proudly proclaiming strangely named stores that gave little question for what they did to service the town. Spencer had yet to spot a normal chair on the porches outside- they were all either beach chairs or porch swings swaying in the light breeze.

Sunday was the Fourth of July, and the town was in full patriotic mode. Red, white, and blue windmills and flags sprung up from nearly every lawn. A fireworks stand was smack dab in the middle of a roundabout in the center of town, with a few people hurrying across the curved road to it. A man in an oversized Uncle Sam hat handed out sparklers to the kids, smiling wider than the sun.

Spencer spent the morning in the town diner, Bean There, looking out the large window as the small town came to life. It was apparently known for its local coffee. Spencer had to admit it was good, on the top ten list he’d tried in his travels. Though the best coffee had been found in a China Town shop in lower Indiana, which he was loath to admit.

He sat in a booth in the corner, people watching as the crowds picked up and petered out. All sorts of people filtered through the door as they used the diner as a waystation before heading out to the rest of their days. In a town of less than five hundred, any outsider was noticed immediately, and Spencer was no different. Nearly every person who came in eyeballed his Jeep on the way through the door and squinted at Spencer before ordering. He didn’t mind, he was used to being the outsider, had been his whole life.

He picked at a plate of waffles and bacon, holding a book loosely in one hand as he enjoyed the morning sunlight through the window. His waitress, Michelle, had given him a side-eye after his first hour, unsure what to make of him. He simply tipped her early, going with a twenty-five percent tip of what he’d already ordered. She was much more amenable after that, mostly leaving him alone but checking in periodically with a smile and a refill.

His hair was still long. He had refused to cut it, even after JJ's insistence over video chats. He liked it, especially liked these new trends of men finally getting to put their hair in a bun. He liked the look, and had been enamored with the Nordic styles he read of in his youth, braiding and intricate knots decorated with silver and beads. He missed those days in Earth’s history.

He wore a pair of jeans and a purple flannel shirt with his boots. Though he often preferred suits, this style had appealed to him greatly in his early days on the road. He’d been called a “hipster” more times than he cared to admit, but he felt strong in his fashion choices. He knew he looked good, and Spencer had long since gotten used to the beard. Shaving on the road was hard and without the dress code constrictions of the BAU, he was happy to grow it out.

“Hey, Honey!” Michelle chuckled from behind the counter as the front door swung open. It chimed in greeting as two people stepped through and into the cool air-conditioned building. Spencer tried not to stare at the woman, but he’d spent a good long time on the road and it had been a while… and she was gorgeous.

Her hair poofed around her shoulders, eyes alight with an animated excitement. Copper toned muscles peeked out of a tank top and tight jeans, a red flannel tied around her hips as she sauntered into the diner. She had her arm looped around an older man’s waist, who hugged her tightly back before letting go as they approached the counter.

He had a clearly visible Ranger tattoo on his bicep, both of which were bigger than Spencer’s head. With his slicked back salt and pepper curls and giant frame, Spencer knew he wanted nothing to do with being on that man’s bad side.

“Mornin’, Chelle,” she smiled, easing into the stool across from the waitress. The man stood behind her with his hands on her shoulders, looking curiously around the diner as many patrons had that morning. His gaze landed on Spencer, who quickly glanced out the window to avoid his hard stare. "How's it going?"

“Oh, you know how it goes- a flirt here, a proposal there,” Michelle jokingly lamented as she pulled two mugs out from under the bar. She snagged the carafe from the coffee maker and filled them before sliding them across the counter.

“Oof,” the man chuckled heartily, finally tearing his dark eyes from Spencer and to her. “Sounds exhausting.”

“You joke all you want, Rose Delgado,” Michelle scolded, her playful smirk turning to a hard glare. She pointed at him, “I am a catch and everyone here knows it.”

Rose held up his hands in defeat, “My bad, Chelle. You’re absolutely right. If I were a few years younger I’d try for your hand too.”

“Who says you can’t?” she quipped with a wink, and Rose went bright red.

He dragged an awkward hand across the back of his neck and laughed, "Huh, well, I think Mattie May might have a problem with that."

The women laughed along with him, and Michelle tapped the counter lightly with her fingers, "I'll put your usual in. Extra powdered sugar, right, Honey?"

The girl referred to now forever in Spencer's brain as Honey nodded, licking her lips. "It's gonna be a long day, Chelle. Give me as much coke as you got."

Rose smacked the top of her head in jest, and Honey looked up to stick her tongue out at him. She glanced over at Spencer as he slid out of the booth, and even as he made his way over to the counter to pay she never averted her gaze. A gold ring was tied to a string necklace around her neck, and it was all Spencer had not to follow it to where the pendant rested between her boobs.

"You drive that Jeep outside?" Rose grumbled as he approached. Michelle came back up to the counter as Spencer tugged his wallet out of his pocket.

He handed her more than enough for his meal and another tip, then nodded, "Yeah, that's mine."

"Your axle is about to crack. You should get it looked at."

"I'll do that," Spencer replied politely. He was used to strangers telling him things he didn't really need to do by now. They often took one look at him and deemed him an academic, which wasn't wrong, but to them it usually meant he couldn't take care of things himself.

"Here's your change, baby," Michelle interrupted, reaching across the counter with a ten in one hand and a to-go cup of joe in the other. Rose stared at him, as did Honey, but Spencer just shook his head at the waitress.

"Keep it. Thanks for letting me keep your booth for a few hours."

He swept up the cup, gave her a nod and turned on his heel out the door. She laughed to herself and shouted after him, "Come back soon!

"Boy tips real good," he heard her just before the door closed behind him. "He can live in that booth if he wants."

Spencer smiled to himself as he hopped in the jeep. This was a nice town, but he'd been through a lot of nice towns. He had to keep moving, searching, coming up with a reason for leaving his friends behind to worry about him.

He decided to see the beach before going back through the trees. He wanted to see Oregon, but his phone didn't work so well in these isolated parts of the state so he'd have to buy a map somewhere. He made note of the lone gas station in town, then followed the signs to the sand.

It was early, but there were people in the water. Spencer wasn't much for swimming, so he parked his jeep in the small lot and pulled a blanket out of the back. He found a secluded spot on a hill, unfurled the blanket and sat down. He took off his flannel and shoes, leaning back to enjoy the view.

The sounds of shrieking laughter and the waves lulled him into complacency as he sipped his coffee. The sun was hot, but not too bad for this early in the morning. Unlike DC, this area wasn't humid, and the soft winds off the water cooled his skin.

Is this who I am now? Popped into his mind, always at the worst times. Once upon a time, he was a strong and capable man, an elite FBI agent always willing to go the extra mile. Now, even sitting here exhausted him. Speaking to the townsfolk at the counter exhausted him, and all he wanted to do was have a drink and go to sleep.

Is this who I am now? He wondered. Am I the guy who has nowhere to go and nowhere to be except the road, running far away from my past and the pain that follows?

He supposed so. Being out here hurt less than sitting in his empty apartment, looking into the void of his missing heart and wondering just when exactly his life passed him by. He always thought he’d have a family, kids and a wife by now. He thought he’d have a house and people to depend on him, that he’d love and they’d never wonder if it was out of obligation or a bond from trauma like it had been with the BAU.

Sure, they called him every week or so, just to see if he was okay. Their voices were always laced with concern, but a dripping tiredness of having to worry about the kid. Spencer hadn’t been a kid in a long time, and with each new trauma their babying of him became just another weight added to his shoulders. Another reason to prove himself.

It never worked.

Deciding it was time to go, time to run away again, Spencer dragged himself away from the beach and its false allure of peacefulness. He rolled up the blanket and put it back in its usual spot in the back of the jeep, put his coffee in the cupholder and he was off again.

Coming up the bend from the beach, he spotted a pothole one second too late. The back wheel slammed into it with a loud crunch, and before he knew it the back of the jeep collapsed into the sand-dusted street.

“Oh, goddamnit,” he grunted, punching the passenger seat in irritation.

Spencer pulled his phone out of his pocket, and sure enough he had zero reception. He groaned and let his head fall back on the headrest, his eyes shutting. Sucking in a deep breath, Spencer counted to five before letting it go.

“Yer axle’s cracked!” a voice came from the side, and when Spencer opened his eyes he spotted a beat up truck next to him on the road. It had cans dangling from the sides on old fishing line and other random trash piled up in the back, a boat hitched to the back of it.

An old grizzled man leaned heavily out the window, pointing at the back of the jeep and nodding, “Yep, y’ain’t goin’ nowhere, son.”

“Yeah,” Spencer snapped, furrowing his brows at him. “I noticed.”

“Ain’t no need to take a tone with me, boy,” the man grumbled. He pointed a gnarled finger at Spencer that shook in the air. “I’mma help you.”

Spencer didn’t have a lot of faith that his twisted tree limb of a man was going to be much help to him, so he waved his cell phone at him. “I’m sorry. Can I borrow your phone so I can call a tow truck?”

The man frowned with an exaggerated bottom lip and shook his head animatedly, “I ain’t got one of them things! Ya think I want brain cancer or somethin’?”

“Uhm… no?” Spencer began, but he cut him off with a beckoning hand.

“No. I don’t,” the man nodded firmly. “C’mon, I’ll take ya up to Rose’s place.”

Spencer groaned internally at the name he’d heard this morning. It was the same squinting old man who told him the axle was about to crack in the first place. Then he brightened up at the thought of getting to see Honey and her tight tank top again.

“I ain’t got all day, son. I’m busy, y’see,” the man called, breaking through his thoughts. Spencer nodded to himself and turned off the jeep before getting out and snagging his suitcase from the back seat.

He rounded the truck only to open the creaky door and find almost an entire carton of cigarette packs littering the floorboards, along with a variety of loose tools and nails. Spencer climbed into the cab and closed the door behind him, setting the suitcase on his lap. It was a travel size, just big enough for a week’s worth of clothes and shoes. He kept his toiletries in another bag in the back of his car.

“Thanks for the ride,” he said softly. “Sorry for snapping. It’s been a bit of a day for me.”

The man chuckled, a little choked huffing sound from deep in his throat. “It’s been a bit of a day for everyone, son. It’s only nine in the mornin’!”

Deciding it was better to scoff in his mind and not at this weird stranger driving him through town, Spencer nodded. The brightly colored shops passed them by as the man drove at a snail’s pace, stopping for the allotted three seconds at each stop sign and never using his blinker.

“Name’s Nell, by the by,” the old man declared suddenly, jerking Spencer out of his reverie of the town. “Not that you asked. What’s yer story, son?”

“Uh, I’m Spencer,” he said slowly. Awkwardly. “I’m just traveling.”

“That’s a sheht story. No pizzazz, no flare. Ain’t you got stories where yer from?”

How do you like dead mutilated bodies? He wondered. Spencer laughed quietly and made sure to stare straight ahead. Nell’s eyes flicked quickly to his each time he looked over, and the truck veered with them.

“I’m not much of a storyteller, Nell.”

“Shame,” Nell muttered, his top lip twitching as he seemed to think very hard about that. “Puppy dog eyes like that, you could get a peach and a half to follow you home if you could string a good yarn.”

Spencer struggled to follow that metaphor, so he just gave a noncommittal hum. The thought of a man who looked like Nell referring to a woman as a ‘peach’ left a bad taste in his mouth.

"You ever been this way up before?"

"Nope. Just passing through on my way to Oregon."

"Ah, sheht," Nell grumbled. He slapped the steering wheel and pointed at nothing. "Oregon ain't got nothin' on Thundabird! I came here after 'Nam and never looked back!"

Spencer thanked God that Rossi didn't talk like this, not that fighting in Vietnam caused mushmouth, but he was getting irritated.

"Lotsa people round here just showed up. Never left. It's a town of strays, y’know? Might find somethin' purty and never wanna leave like I did."

"Oh yeah?" Spencer asked, not really paying much attention. He gazed longingly out the window and decided he could have walked faster than Nell drove.

"Met my Bernie and never could leave. She’s purtier than a seagull at sunset, I swear it.”

“You have any kids?”

“Nah, she’s small. Not much more’n me can fit in there most of the time.”

Spencer made a face and turned to him, disgusted, “What?”

Nell leaned forward and rubbed a hand across the dash of his nasty truck, “She’s small, but she’s a beaut! All I ever needed.”

Thankfully, they finally made their way up to the diner. Delgado’s lay catty corner to it, right next to a small inn called The Thunderbird Inn. Spencer got the hell out of Bernie as fast as he could and waved a hand to Nell. “Thanks for the ride, Nell. It’s been a trip.”

“Anytime, son!” Nell chuckled manically, and it was all Spencer had not to grimace. He pulled out of the small driveway slower than molasses, almost hit a stop sign, then rumbled down the street.

Spencer took a steadying breath and shook his head before going into the mechanic's shop. A small reception area stood in the front, the smell of grease and exhaust puffing in from the door leading through the garage. There was a window in front of a desk where a small woman sat in a headscarf. She wore a brightly colored floral shirt, her braids piled high above her head as she gave him a small wave.

"How ya doing, baby?" she asked with an easy grin. The tension in Spencer's shoulders from talking to Nell eased in just one look at that smile. There was also something about an older black lady calling him ‘baby’ in a soft voice that made him feel better for some reason.

"Uhm, my car broke down," Spencer said, pointing behind him.

She nodded, "I'm Mattie May. Rose told me you might be making your way here."

"Oh, he did, did he?" Spencer snarked, rolling his eyes.

"Don't take it personal," Mattie May hushed. She stood and rounded the corner, then waved for him to follow. "Man's got a sixth sense about cars. In fact, I first met him when I broke down on the side of the road outside of town."

Spencer followed Mattie May behind the counter and into a small kitchen area. He eyeballed the fridge as she puttered around. Pictures of Rose, Mattie May, and Honey littered the front. Some had group photos with a few of the eclectic townsfolk he'd run into already, others with people he didn't know.

"He asked me to dinner before fixing my car. I fell head over heels and never looked back. Moved here a few months later." She pulled out a fresh pot of coffee and poured him some in a brightly colored mug with flowers on it, then one for herself. "You take sugar, baby?"

"Lots of it," he muttered, leaning down to look at more of the photographs. "This town's like the Bermuda triangle, huh?"

"For lost souls… yeah, I guess it is," she said softly. Her skin glimmered under the fluorescent lighting, dark and beautiful against the bright purples and pinks of her shirt and beaming smile. "You lost?"

Spencer stood up sharply, suddenly rocked with defensiveness. He shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged. "How long do you think the repairs will take?"

Mattie May clicked her teeth and sighed, then handed him the mug. "Rose will have to tell you that. If he doesn't have the parts you can stay at the inn. I'll have Honey make you up a room."

Spencer took a sip. It was fantastic, obviously from the same beans the diner used. "Is she your daughter? I saw her with Rose at the diner."

"We've definitely taken to her like she is. Another stray that showed up a while back and never wanted to leave."

"Do people who come here ever leave?" he snarked, flashing her a look.

"People land where they need to. Sometimes that's here."

"I'd like to get the hell out of here as fast as possible. No offense."

Mattie May smirked at him and leaned against the counter, "None taken."

"Axle cracked, huh?" a familiar deep voice came from behind them. Spencer looked to find Rose leaning over the front counter and watching him expectantly.

"Right in half."

"Hmmm," he grunted, nodding to himself. "I'll send out Rico."

"The man's got somewhere to be, Rose," Mattie May said, waving her cup at her husband. "How long will it take to repair?"

Rose pushed himself off the counter with a sigh. He ran a hand over his face as he ambled slowly into the small kitchen, then shrugged. "I don't have that model in stock as nobody in town drives it. Could take a month for the parts to come in."

"A month?" Spencer asked sharply. He set the cup down harder on the counter than he meant to, and it hit with a clatter. "I can't sit around here for a month."

“Or more.” Rose shrugged, "UPS only comes through here once a month by boat. It's too hard to get through the mountains."

"Where you off to in such a hurry?" Mattie May asked softly. She set a comforting hand on his shoulder and gave him a soft squeeze. "If you gotta be somewhere soon, I'm sure we can find you a ride."

Spencer rubbed the back of his neck roughly in irritation. "Nowhere. I just don't like sitting in one place too long."

"You some sorta drifter?" Rose asked, eyeing him with a hard glare. Spencer was sure he looked the part with his old flannel, messy hair, beard and battered boots, but he didn’t like the thought after his previous line of work.

Spencer glared right back, his jaw set tightly. Mattie May blew out a breath and gave him another squeeze before letting her hand fall from his shoulder. “It might do you good to sit still for a while, then. C’mon, baby, I’ll take you over to Honey and we’ll get you a room.”

Mattie May steered him around Rose and out the front door. A loud boom! Made him jerk away from her and flinch from the sound. A few errant pop pop pops followed, and when he heard her soft laughter he looked up to see kids lighting fireworks in the street.

His vision dragged, his blood pounded in his ears as he tried to convince himself he was fine. He wasn’t being blown up, and he wasn’t at Everett Lynch’s home. Mattie May’s voice ripped him sharply to the present as she called to them.

“Y’all go somewhere else and do that! People are tryin’ to work!”

Their shoulders deflated and they nodded, “Yes, Mrs. Delgado!”

She shook her head and chuckled, turning back to Spencer. He stared at the charred spot on the pavement where the firecrackers had erupted, chest heaving as the acrid scent of burnt embers flooded his nose.

“You okay, baby?”

Spencer found himself turning toward her kind voice, his eyes wet and suddenly more tired than he’d been in months. “Yeah. I’m… I’m not a big fan of the fourth of July.”

“The firecrackers?” she asked. He nodded. “Did you serve?”

“Uh, no ma’am.” He didn’t want to tell her anything about the FBI. Since leaving, Spencer hadn’t told anyone that he used to be an agent. What he’d become was too shameful.

“Holly Henson isn’t much for it either since he came back from Iraq, neither is Rose. I bought them some noise canceling headphones for this time of year. I have an extra pair.”

“I'll keep that in mind. Thanks."

She led him into the front of The Thunderbird Inn, where Honey sat behind the reception desk with a young man Spencer hadn't met yet. He was tall and about her age, near thirty, leaning over the counter and smirking at her. His easy going grin and good looks reminded him of Luke, as did his dark closely cropped hair.

"I'm serious, Honey. It'll be fun."

Honey lounged in a roller chair and crossed her hands behind her head, "I'm not going to the bar on the fourth. I'll end up having Lionel and Ritchie pawing all over me and looking down my shirt."

The man peeked a little further over and grinned, "I'd tell you to wear a different shirt, but I can't exactly blame them for trying to sneak a peek."

Honey sat up sharply and slapped at him, and he jumped back with a mad laugh. She looked over his shoulder and her eyes brightened as she saw Spencer. "Axle cracked, huh, big tipper?"

Spencer squinted at her and nodded. Mattie May laughed and put a hand on his shoulder, "He needs a room for the night, Honey. Rico, Rose is lookin' for you. You gotta go tow this young man's car."

She turned to him, "I never caught your name."

"Spencer. Spencer Reid."

Rico eyed him the way Rose and every other person in this town seemed to, "Your axle cracked?"

Spencer sighed in pure exasperation. “Yes.”

Rico glanced back at Honey, who shrugged and made a face. He made his way toward the door, watching Spencer. His shoulder bumped Spencer's as he passed and then he was gone, Mattie May following closely behind.

"I got Room 4 open, Mr. Reid," Honey said playfully as Spencer glared out the door where Rico went. He looked up to see her dangling an ancient key attached to a little green tag with the inn name on it. "Follow me."

Spencer followed her and her tight jeans down a hallway to the left. The inn was a big square, two levels, with only a handful of rooms on the first floor. Honey took him to the center where the rooms met in the middle of the curved hallway. A door across from his had a sign on it that read Management on the front in faded gilded lettering and a doorbell on the side.

"Dinner’s at six. I'll bring you a plate," she said absentmindedly as she fiddled with the door. She clasped the handle and tugged up as she turned the lock. "Door sticks, and there's a patio out back where we usually have a bonfire this time of year. If it's too loud, let me know."

The door opened with a crack, and she pushed it open for him to step inside. The room was small and airy, wide broad windows that had a view of the far off ocean and palm trees. Spencer spotted boats and people in the water as he stepped up to them to look out. The tulle cottony curtains swayed with the breeze through the cracked door, and without much thought Spencer shut and locked it.

The bedspread was a bright sky blue with matching pillows. The walls were painted off-white, with pictures of the beach and the town plastered all over, much like Mattie May’s fridge and the reception areas of both businesses. Spencer dug into his pocket as he looked around with hardly disguised disdain and pulled out his wallet. He handed his credit card to Honey, but she just stared at him.

“Don’t you need this?”

“First night’s on Lionel. He was supposed to fix that pothole weeks ago.”

Spencer squinted at her, “How do you know I hit a pothole?”

She smiled, wide and bright. “Saw you drive toward the beach. Townspeople know to avoid it.”

“Good to know,” he grumbled, stuffing his card back into his wallet. “Is there a phone I can use?”

“Mmm, most people here don’t have cell phones. Providers don’t get great service around here, but there’s a landline on the nightstand.”

Spencer nodded, looking to where she pointed. “Internet?”

Honey laughed, but when she saw him watching her sternly she stopped. “Oh, you’re serious. There’s Collie’s Cafe down the street. It’s dial-up but it’ll get you what you need for a dime every ten minutes.”

“God this place really is the Bermuda Triangle,” he groaned, rubbing his face roughly with his hands. “Does everyone have a weird name here?”

Honey put her hands on her hips and made a face, “Who’s got a weird name?”

Spencer just glared.

Honey broke out into a creeping slow smile and nodded to herself. “You’re not a lot of fun, are you, Mr. Reid?”

“You can call me Spencer.”

“Hmm,” she hummed. She tapped her jaw and watched him, “This is a nickname kinda town. You stay here long enough and you’ll get one too.”

“I hope to God that doesn’t happen,” he said irritably. “If Honey’s not your real name, do you mind if I ask what it is?” “Y/N,” she replied with a grin. “Call me that and we’ll have a problem.”

“I don’t want any problems, Honey,” Spencer snarked back. “I just want to leave Margaritaville and go to Oregon.”

Honey bit her lip and smiled before turning on her heel and walking toward the door. She lingered for a moment with her hand on the knob, obviously chewing on something in her mind. Sucking in a breath, she glanced his way once more and said in a soft voice, “Maybe your problem is that you can’t enjoy where you’re at, Spencer. Maybe you should take a breather.”

Before he could angrily reply, she closed the door behind her. It didn’t fit in the frame well, and he heard her little grunt as she pulled up on the knob to latch it shut. Shaking his head and letting out a pained breath, Spencer hoisted his suitcase up and tossed it on the bed, grateful to be alone again. He plopped down next to it, elbows on his knees as he looked around, and that question popped into his head again.

Is this who I am now?

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Notes: PLEASE tell me what you think... this series is so close to my heart. What do you think of the townspeople we've met so far? Reader/Honey? Sad!Spencer??

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suuho · 1 year ago

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What you said about festivals is so true. They are super risky and super expensive. I looked into attending Hallyu in London when Chen was announced to be there but the 'cheap' seats were also 180 pounds with decent view ones even more expensive and alongside a flight to London and finding accomedations there it was just entirely too much money to just see this one guy for less than half an hour. Like I can somehow justify that for a full concert maybe (even though every non kpop concert I have ever been to was a lot cheaper than that!) but for a festival where he could drop out and then I would be stuck with all that money wasted and most likely no way to resell a ticket again. Nah I hate it I really do. Especially coming out of a pandemic where we still have idols catching covid and then having to cancel appearances can you imagine taking the whole risk of a festival only for your fave not to show up at all when it was already ridiculously overpriced for the amount of stage time they would be having? And you not being elligble for a refund when the festival still happens just without the reason why you wanted to go. Absolutely awful. Give us tours. If a tour gets postponed or cancelled cause the touring artist can't come i get my money back so I mind that way less. And if you have to give us tiny venues fine but then give us more than Paris London. Like Portugal or Poland exist too. We can't cram all of continental europe into one Paris venue if the Paris venue has a 6k capacity limit. The less stops you give the bigger the venues you should offer to accomedate for all the fans arriving from other countries who cannot afford to fly to Asia or America but will jump at the chance of seeing their faves somewhere that is more reachable and affordable for them to go to. I remember attending Music Bank in Berlin and it was packed with people even coming from the northern parts of Africa because EXO showing up in Berlin was the closest they had ever been to them at that point in time.

Sorry this got away from me a little I hope it is still understandable tho

yeah, that’s pretty much it! like, i went to mik festival last year for junmyeon and pentagon, and i would have probably gone for either of those artists alone but was lucky enough that my two ults were part of the line up. the thing is, thought, billie was part of that line up as well and they had to cancel their appearance like A DAY PRIOR or something. it was so ridiculously short notice and i met people in the queue who were there to hand out billie freebies because they only came to see them. like, it’s just so crazy risky and it’s honestly the worst.

and like stated before, the matter of the fact is that kfans have WAY more leverage than european fans because what do they care if we don’t show up to one (1) festival? that will just show them that there is no demand and we won’t get anything anymore. while i do agree that we should be more organized, i think it would simply help more to directly message companies or in some other way to signal that european stans, for example, are very much interested in tours and more dates. because withholding our money is one thing, but that on the other hand shows that there is ZERO interest and that will just backfire.

it’s tricky. because on one hand, we don’t get much of anything so of course we jump at the chance to go and see an artist, but on the other hand we want more than that and we don’t have as much leverage as kfans. and, additionally, the european market is simply not a focus point right now, not for most companies anyways.

#i agree with you. the whole mik thing cost me as much as one proper vacation #like it’s ridiculous #ask #anon

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camaro-and-smokes · 2 years ago

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Dream a Little Dream of Me

Chapter 14: Crash! Boom! Bang

Details for this chapter: Rating: Explicit Warnings: no warnings Characters: Steve Harrington, Billy Hargrove Tags: Angst, some smut, possessive Steve Harrington. See all tags etc for the whole story on AO3.

Summary: Steve's all heartbroken for Billy being so far away. And realizing that maybe he shouldn't have let Billy go alone.

Links to other chapters on tumblr in chapter 1 >>

Read on AO3 >>

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Steve buried himself in work while Billy was gone. He told himself that it was because he wanted to use this extra time well, but in reality, it was to keep himself from falling apart. Billy being so far away felt like someone had cut his left arm off. He could function, but nothing was the same. It was scary how soon he had gotten so attached to someone. He had never felt like this towards anyone else. But with Billy everything was just right. And he knew Billy felt the same.

To ease his longing, Steve spent time in the room behind the kitchen where Billy's things, books, some furniture he wanted to move with him, and the rest of his wardrobe were waiting for him to come back. They had decided to turn the room into a library room and it would also be Billy's workspace.

Being in the room felt like he was closer to Billy because everything in it smelled like him.

He had noticed it the day after all of the things had been moved in. He'd supervised the move himself, and just closed the door afterwards, not giving it another thought. When he walked into the room the following day, the smell had taken him back to their very first night together in an instant.

Billy moaning his name, riding on his lap, on the verge of coming. Sheen of sweat on his skin after being edged for...Steve didn't remember how long anymore. The loose strands of hair that had escaped from his bun plastered to his forehead and to his cheek, lipstick smudged in the corner of his mouth, tiny flakes of mascara shed under his eyes, and black streaks from his eyeliner on his cheeks where the tears had fell earlier when he had come so hard that he had cried.

Billy had looked imperfect in the most perfect of ways, all the perfection from earlier, one he'd no doubt worked hard to achieve with immaculate make-up and all kinds of skincare and hair products and careful selection of clothes, ruined by Steve fucking his brains out. Billy wanted him to do it, submitted to him again and again. They'd had the perfect dynamic from the beginning. To Steve, Billy had looked more beautiful then than at any point since learning of him being the one from his dreams.

And when Billy had come with the most beautiful o-face Steve had ever seen on anyone and spilled his cum on Steve's stomach as if marking him, he remembered thinking this is it, I've found the one. This the person I want to grow old with. I want no one else. I'll be faithful to him, cherish him, love him, marry him, have a family with him.

All of this was why Billy being in Europe was so damn hard. Steve didn't want them to be apart. He wanted to be close to Billy and share everything with him. Yes, Billy was absolutely free to do anything he wanted, even travel to the other side of the world without him if he so chose to. Steve wouldn't stop him from doing so, ever. He was a vouched believer of 'If you love someone, set them free'.

He would just be in pain until Billy came back.

Steve had just come home from the office, unusually early, when his phone rang. It was Billy. "Hello gorgeous! How's Europe?" "Still on the other side of the world than where you are," came Billy's quiet answer. "Don't remind me. I'm counting the days until..." "Baby, I want to come home," Billy interrupted Steve. Steve smiled. “I won’t lie, your words are music to my ears.” He frowned. ”But just yesterday, you said that you were having such a good time, and you were happy to be there." Billy said nothing, but Steve could hear him sniffling. "Baby, what's wrong?" he asked, concerned. "I...um..." Billy started, but his voice cracked. Steve heard more sniffling. "Billy, you're worrying me. Did something happen? I told Rob to call me if something went wrong, but I haven't heard of him." "It's not...it's-it's nothing like that. I, uh...I just..." Billy stuttered. Steve had suddenly a terrible feeling that something he had been afraid would happen, had happened. He tried to brush the thought away. "Baby, it's ok, you don't have to explain. I'll send the plane..." "I want to come home on the next available flight." That surprised Steve, and also made him freak out a bit. "Billy, what's going on? Are you sure you're alright?" Billy blew his nose. "I...yeah, I'm ok. Just, uh...got really homesick suddenly." “Ok...” Steve said hesitantly. ”Hey, you never have to ask a permission to come home. Do you already have a ticket or…”

Steve was interrupted by Billy suddenly letting out a sob and speaking to someone else, someone who was probably on the other side of a door, because Steve could hear only a muffled voice. "I'm not interested. Just...go away," Billy said to them. Then he paused to listen. Billy let out a laugh. "That is a sad, sad last try and I'm not going to listen to it anymore. Just fucking go!" Billy shouted.

After a while of silence, Billy returned to the phone. He barely held back another sob. "Sor-sorry," he stuttered. Hearing Billy sob so miserably broke Steve's heart. But the words he had said to that someone else burned in his ears, and dark thoughts flooded his head. “Billy, I love you. We can fix anything that's happened,” he said gently. Billy let out a deep breath. ”Nothing happened.”

Steve stiffened, and he had to walk to the living room and sit down on one of the couches. He sighed and rubbed his face with his hand. “Billy, I'm going to ask you a question,” he said slowly, “and I want you to be honest with me.” He paused. ”Can you please do that?" Billy just sniffled on the other end. "Billy. Can you please do that?" Steve asked again. "Yes," Billy whispered after a while.

Steve took a slow, deep breath. "Does what happened have anything to do with Eddie?" Billy took a deep breath and let out a sob. Steve clenched his teeth. "I need you to say it. Please." After a moment of silence, Billy replied: "Yes."

Steve grimaced. Hearing the confirmation felt like someone had pushed an ice cold dagger straight through his heart. He squeezed his thigh with his other hand so hard that his nails dug into it painfully. He had known ever since meeting Eddie that something was not right between him and Billy, and he should've trusted that gut feeling from the start. "Billy," he started, and his voice shook from anger, "anything that happened..." "Nothing happened, I swear..." Billy cried. Steve shook of anger. "Billy!" he snapped, louder and tighter than he had ever spoken to Billy before. In the other end Billy fell silent. Even his sobs were gone. "Listen to me. I'm going to say this only once. You hear me?" Steve continued with the tight tone. "Yes," Billy finally whispered.

"I'll get you a ticket for the next flight. Rob will make sure you get on it," Steve said in a softer tone. "I love you and whatever happened, we can work it out." He paused. "But I need you to be on that plane. I don't want any stories about getting stuck in traffic, or being late at the gate, or whatever else reason you might have for missing the flight. You will walk to the airport if that's how you'll make it on time. When I send you the flight details, you'll leave for the airport even if it means you'll wait there until tomorrow evening. I need you to come home and you are going to do it on that flight. Do you understand?" Billy swallowed audibly. “Yes.”

Hearing Billy say it, Steve felt relieved and was overwhelmed by his own emotions. “Billy, you do not know how much I love you. You've made me the happiest man on Earth by letting me be your man, by wanting me—hell, just by having me. I worship the ground under your feet and I would move mountains for you. Because of all that, you're free to do whatever you want to and make choices that make you happy. I want you to be happy, because seeing you happy makes me happy.” He paused and drew in a breath. “But if you're not on that flight...I have no option but to make my own conclusions about what choice you've made. Do you understand?” “I do,” Billy replied barely audibly. “I will be on it.” Steve let out a deep breath. “Thank you,” he whispered. "Yeah," Billy said quietly. Steve smiled faintly. “I'll call you when I get the ticket. It shouldn't take long.”

Billy threw his phone on the bed and buried his face into his hands. He couldn't help but to cry, again. He messed a good thing up – again. He should've known it wouldn't take much for Steve to figure out he hadn't told him everything about his history with Eddie. Steve must've known the moment Eddie walked into the penthouse. Steve wouldn't be where he was in life if he was stupid and oblivious to what happened around him. Not to mention with someone he loved. He should've been open about it earlier. All this might've been avoided then. Or if he just hadn't left at all and just stayed at home with Steve, where he belonged.

From now on he would sort this out and tell Steve everything, and in the future not keep any secrets from him, and hope that Steve would still want to be with him despite everything.

When his head cleared and the tears finally stopped pooling in his eyes, Billy took a shower and started packing. Rob had already packed, so they packed Billy's things together . Half an hour later Billy's phone pinged with the flight details, and Steve called to ensure he got everything he needed for the flight. Billy would fly out at nine am next morning and wouldn't look back at his history with someone else ever again.

In the early morning hours Billy's phone bleeped. He hadn't been able to sleep properly anyway, so he turned and grabbed the phone from the night stand, thinking it might be Steve.

He looked at the images on the screen, but they didn't make any sense to him. He knew what was going on in them, but with whom was the baffling part. He sat upright, and scrolled through them again and again. Slowly what they were was starting to hit home. "Is this a fucking joke?" he said out loud.

He jumped out of the bed, and stormed to the corridor and towards Eddie's room. He banged his door furiously, not caring even a bit if anyone else in the whole fucking hotel woke up to it. "Open the fucking door Munson! If this is your doing I'm going to gut you alive!"

#harringrove #harringrove fanfiction #billy hargrove #steve harrington #billy hargrove redemption #billy x steve #steve x billy #harringrove angst #dream a little dream of me #suometar writes

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coldest-blood · 5 months ago

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oh no im having opinions again.

you all really love to make wild assumptions about her life based on the tiny tiny crumbs of information we do have and then act like those assumptions are obvious, god given fact.

to start: i could go on an entire rant about violins and how much they cost, but i'll just say that your comment about her "insanely expensive antique violin" leads me to believe that you're operating under some skewed assumptions about the world of classical music, too. the short version is: most professional classical musicians do not make very much money. to quote a short article on the subject from the Guardian that goes into a bit more detail, "it's a different story for most professional musicians, half of whom earn less than £20,000 a year from music [...] £30,000 is a common starting point for a professional instrument. So musicians scrabble to raise funds through colleges, trusts and charities, who allocate limited grants to young musicians whose careers seem likely to flourish." and if Emilie herself is to be believed (which is far from a given, i realize), she has previously claimed that most of her musical education was funded via scholarship. and certainly, Indiana University, which she attended, does seem to have a very robust scholarship program, with their website claiming that over 80% of their students receive some form of financial aid.

but ok, let's say she did grow up wealthy. which btw we don't actually know. that IS an assumption you're making. i'm not saying she definitely didn't, in fact i'll even grant you that it's quite likely she did, what with all the horseback riding, but really neither of us know for sure. but let's say she did. it's still very clear that she cut off most if not all contact with her family sometime in the early 2000s. she has also talked about being on the edge of homelessness during the time she was writing Opheliac. granted, as mentioned, it's not always easy to take her word for anything. but is there actually any reason to doubt that?

like, yeah, she worked with Courtney Love. she was flown out to France for the initial recording sessions, and thereafter toured with the band for a few months. but that's probably the beginning and end of any money she made from the whole thing (assuming absolutely anyone at all made any money from the tour; touring is infamously unprofitable at any level of fame). it's not very common for backing musicians to receive royalties from the albums or songs they work on (as in, it pretty much never happens). but okay, assuming, unlikely though it is, Emilie had some kind of deal worked out whereby she was being paid royalties for appearing on the album. well the problem with that is that she didn't: most, if not all, of those original recording sessions were eventually scrapped by producers during the absolute shit show that was the making of that album. so even if America's Sweetheart HADN'T been a total flop of an album (it was), and even if Emilie did have some kind of deal worked out where she got paid some kind of royalties (she almost certainly did not), it's not like there would have been much in it for her anyway. even Courtney Love herself claims to have made absolutely nothing from the album, and was basically destitute immediately following its release.

but maybe what you're objecting to is more just her being in Courtney's orbit, being accustomed to "that kind of lifestyle". well, according to Emilie, it was pretty miserable. she mostly recounts it as being completely terrifying, actually, and talks about "being exposed to some truly frightening and volatile situations", and having to pee into bottles so Courtney could pass drug tests. i mean, if you know anything about what Courtney was publicly like during that time, I don't find this difficult to believe at all (see the rolling stone article linked in the previous paragraph).

and then there's Billy Corgan. honestly it's difficult now to parse the exact timeline of events, but they dated for between several months to a year at the maximum. and yes, she has spoken about living in his mansion for a while. but um. you know. she was also being psychologically tortured???? did we forget about that part?????? like yeah, i guess she did live in the lap of luxury while she was there. if we're putting the. you know. abusive relationship aside. do we have any reason to think that she got any money out of that situation once she finally left? other than being paid for the work she did for one song on his absolute failure of an album, which possibly came out after they had already broken up, not especially.

yes, you could make the argument that working so closely with such big stars so early on in her career probably did a lot for her in terms of connections and publicity, and i would probably agree with you! but if we're going to believe even half of what she has said about it, it was also clearly a very harrowing and traumatic time. and all of that happened over the course of two years, the beginning of 2004 to late 2005. that was all over a year before Opheliac was released. is there any reason to believe it's impossible that she seriously struggled to make ends meet during that time? connections and publicity or not, having just gotten out of an abusive relationship with one of the most famous musicians in the entire world is probably not a great starting place for rekindling your solo career. (i understand i'm also making some assumptions here, but it also seems pretty obvious to me that there's a reason she's never mentioned Corgan by name when it comes to Opheliac and the songs on that album that are otherwise overtly about him and their relationship specifically).

and none of this is even mentioning the fact that um. she has pretty famously been fucking institutionalized. possibly more than once. now, perhaps you aren't American, in which case this would understandably not have crossed your mind, but in the US, healthcare, specifically mental healthcare, and especially inpatient mental healthcare, is fucking EXPENSIVE. the average cost varies a lot depending on what state you're in, which hosptial you end up at, etc., but it's generally going to be somewhere between several hundred and several thousand dollars PER DAY. and yes, they're going to bill you even if it's treatment you didn't consent to. and that's not even considering the cost of day to day mental healthcare, things like prescription drugs, psychiatrist visits, therapy.... once again, the point of this whole response is not to prove you're wrong. you could be right, for all i know! but for all you know, she may very well have incurred several thousand dollars of medical debt during an already incredibly unstable period of her life.

my point is this: the idea that she has "nearly always been financially comfortable" is just as likely to be wild bullshit as it is to be accurate. and you don't actually know. i feel like culturally people in general are starting to move away from the "starving artist" stereotype, because it seems to me more and more, people who aren't artists assume that anyone who can make it as a working creative must be absolutely loaded. but the reality, most of the time, is that it's hard work to make it as an artist, and just because someone is successful doesn't mean it didn't take an enormous amount of effort to get there.

now, don't get me wrong, i'm definitely not here to defend the drop shipping nonsense. i'll be first in line to admit that in more recent years, she's made some seriously frustrating and disappointing decisions. but like. what on earth do the collaborations she briefly participated in literally 20 years ago have to do with any financial situation she's been in since? and since when is it a crime to want to live in new york? like, correct me if i'm wrong, but despite your claim that she "pushed the drop shipped merch so hard to find her upper crust manhattan lifestyle", i'm pretty sure she moved to new york before all the drop shipping started. and even if she has made some questionable decisions to maintain that lifestyle, that's a far cry from proving that she's never once experienced true financial hardship.

i don't personally recall her ever claiming to "make less money than all her fans", but this whole thing does brings to mind a quote from Melora Creager, of the band Rasputina, who also notably played on stage during the final Nirvana tour very early in her career: "People think that if they’ve heard of you and you’re famous that you have money and are fine. But I’m just a weird little woman out here making my stuff, and that’s all I have."

honestly i'm not even sure what the point of this confession is, other than to point out that she has not financially struggled for every single moment of her existence, and may well, at various times, even have had access to a certain amount of financial privilege. but so what? it kind of sounds to me like perhaps you're just kind of jealous of the life she has now. but then, i could be completely wrong! after all, i don't know your life either.

She clearly grew up fairly well off (raising 5 kids in Malibu isn’t cheap, not to mention her insanely expensive antique violin, private music school and horseback riding) and was close to wealth frequently in her career (touring with Courtney Love, dating Billy Corgan, etc) so it doesn’t surprise me she claimed to make less money than all her fans. When you’ve nearly always been financially comfortable, even being middle class feels like poverty. It also doesn’t surprise me she pushed the drop shipped merch so hard to find her upper crust manhattan lifestyle with Marc.

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knucklescum · 2 years ago

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Motel Room - Billy Butcher x fem!Reader (The Boys)

Pairing: Billy Butcher x fem!reader (The Boys)

Word Count: 1719

Warnings: Swearing, implied smut (i was too pussy to actually write it lmao), ONE BED FIC!!! also you wear one of his shirts…

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

This wasn’t the first time this had happened. Last time, it had been with Hughie. The time before, M.M.

And now here you were, stood in the doorway of yet another shitty motel room as Billy fucking Butcher threw his bag onto the bed.

The bed. Singular.

You don’t even attempt to hide your annoyance as you shut the door, letting out a loud sigh.

“Come on, love.” he says, turning to you as he shimmies out of his coat. “I’m not that bad, am I?”

A scoff escapes your lips as you drop your duffle bag onto the desk, shaking your head as you remove your hoodie.

You fold your jumper up, placing it gently over the back of the desk chair as Butcher falls onto the mattress with a content hum.

“Not so fast, dickhead.” you say, your voice a dry laugh. “I’ll help you make a ‘lil bed on the floor.”

You lean over him, not even attempting to catch his eyes as you snatch up one of the pillows, throwing it onto the floor.

“I’m sure your coat will work as a blanket,” you say, tilting your head innocently, although your smirk tells Butcher all he needs to know.

“What,” he starts, sitting up on the edge of the mattress as you lean against the wall. “- makes you think I’m giving up this bed, sweetheart?”

He tilts his own head, mocking you with a similar shit-eating grin to your own.

“M.M gave me the bed. So did Hughie, you know,” you pause. “Like gentlemen?”

“Oh I’m the gentlest of them all, love. I’ll even give you a little cuddle if you fancy,” he smirks, nodding his head at you.

“Get fucked,” you whisper, quickly arming yourself with your jumper and launching it at his head.

To your dismay, he catches it with no problem, throwing it to the floor alongside the pillow.

“Now hang on a second, princess,” Butcher says, bringing a hand to his chin in faux confusion before pointing a finger at you. “Hughie told me you two shared the bed?”

Of course he did.

“Well, yeah,” you sigh. “I wasn’t going to let him sleep on the floor now, was I? He’s fragile.”

Butcher can’t help the small chuckle that slips out of his mouth before his face hardens again.

“So why am I sleeping on the floor?”

“Because you’re a cunt,” you say, flippant as you turn back to your bag, rummaging for your wallet. “I’m going to get a snack.”

“Grab me a-” you slam the door shut, ignoring Butcher and whatever request he may have had.

The cold night air was refreshing. You had spent an awfully long time just staring at the vending machine, any excuse to get away from that warm, tiny room where Butcher was, maybe, waiting for you.

In fairness, the vending machine was in serious need of a restock: the only things left were a singular packet of skittles and a redbull.

“Fuck it,” you whisper to yourself as you input the code for the skittles, and then the redbull before finding the perfect spot on the side of the building for a good lean. Maybe it was the result of some kind of long forgotten trauma, or just a part of your being, but you’d always found that a nice, cold wall always brought you back to reality.

You cracked the can open, your back flat against the wall as you took a sip of the drink.

To this day, you weren’t entirely sure why being alone with Butcher made you so tense. The two of you met just after Becca went missing, when Butcher started his ‘mission’. From day one, he’d got under your skin - his snide remarks, his nicknames, the way he treated the other guys. But there was another side to him that, albeit unintentionally, he had let slip from time to time. He was genuinely funny, weirdly sweet - especially to you and Hughie, and he always had your back.

And you couldn’t deny the fact that you’d felt his eyes on you, occasionally. When you’d get out of the shower in the hideout wrapped in a towel, on hot days when you’d stroll out of your ‘room’ (a flimsily curtained off section of the basement) in just an oversized shirt. You were certain that you’d caught him watching you, but you know he would never admit it.

Quickly, you down the last of your energy drink before tossing the can into the bin, making your way back to the room.

You’ve barely shut the door when Butcher jumps up from the bed, a wash of worry across his face before he quickly replaces it with his usual teasing expression.

“What were you doing out there? Foraging for a kitkat?” he asks.

In the time you were gone he’d removed his boots and folded your jumper back on to the chair, as well as returned the pillow back to its spot on the bed.

“This is all they had,” you say, throwing the bag of skittles vaguely in his direction as you tuck your wallet back into your bag.

He lets out a sigh as he opens the packet, immediately tipping half of the contents into his mouth.

“Save me some, asshole!” you exclaim.

After your internal battle at the vending machine, you give into your exhaustion and flop yourself on the bed, spread like a starfish directly in the centre. Pulling your eyes closed, you hear Butcher shuffle around the room and - is he undressing?

“Butcher, what the f-” you shout in a whisper, sitting up and keeping your eyes on his face, afraid to move your eyes anywhere else, just in case.

“What? Can’t a man change into his fucking jim-jams in peace?” he utters back to you, his voice a breath louder than yours.

“Jim-jams?” you mock. “Jesus christ, Butch.”

“If I’m going to be squished into this bed with you, I at least want to be fuckin’ comfortable,” he says, raising his hands in defence.

“There’s always the floor.”

“Fuck off, sweetheart,” he says, turning his back to you to pull his pyjamas on.

When the two of you eventually look back to each other, it’s hard to stop your eyes from roaming over the entirety of his body. He’s ditched his shirt all together, donning only a pair of baggy, plaid bottoms.

“What?” he says as he returns to the bed, pushing your limbs out of the way as he parks himself on top of the duvet. “I saw Hughie’s, thought they looked quite nice.” He turns to face you, a questioning smirk on his face. “Is that alright with you?”

You nod your head before resting it back onto the pillow, sinking into the mattress as you become increasingly more aware of just how close you are to the man.

The two of you remain in your weirdly comfortable silence, your breaths becoming softer as you start to relax.

That is, until Butcher interrupts you.

“You’re sleeping in jeans?” he scoffs. “Get your fucking PJs on, love.”

You bring your hand to your face, rubbing your forehead before you sit up, swinging your legs over the side of the bed and pushing yourself up onto your feet.

“You had your shoes on in the bed too? Mad fucking woman,” he utters, shaking his head as he watches you cross the room to your bag.

“I’m tired, alright? Fuck off,” you sigh.

Holding yourself up on the desk, you slide out of your trainers before turning your back to Butcher.

You feel around in your bag for a top to wear to bed, your hand meeting the soft material of one shirt in particular.

Shit.

Ignoring the feeling of the imminent questioning, you wrestle the shirt out of your bag, placing it on the side before removing your own top. Despite facing away from him, you can feel Butcher’s eyes on your bare back as you undo your bra, a small, satisfied hum escaping your lips as your tits fall freely.

Of course, he can’t see your front, but you’re sure he’s imagining.

Quickly, you pull the shirt over yourself, beginning to fasten the buttons when you hear Butcher’s breath hitch.

“Is that my shirt?” he says, his voice low.

“It’s comfy,” you shrug, shuffling out of your jeans before turning back to face him.

“I’m well aware,” he whispers.

Your eyes meet his almost instantly, his pupils large and dark, remaining focused on yours with each step you make closer to the bed. Closer to him.

He shuffles slightly closer to his edge of the bed, so much so that your skin doesn’t even brush his as you crawl back into the bed.

“I’m not going to bite you, Butcher,” you laugh, nodding your head for him to scoot closer. “Come on, you’re going to fall off the bed.”

He nods in response, moving maybe half a centimetre closer before stopping again.

“Jesus fucking christ, you can touch me, Butcher,” you sigh, making yourself comfortable on your side of the mattress.

“I don’t want to hurt you, (y/n).”

“Oh.”

You and Butcher were very obviously not on the same page.

Your mind starts to race. He wants to touch you? Wait, fuck - he said your name! How long has he wanted this? Do you want this? Of course you do. You’ve wanted this for a while.

“You have no idea how much I want you, sweetheart,” he whispers. “I-I’m always thinking about you. It’s stupid, I know. You’re you and I’m, well, I’m a fucking state-”

You cut off his ramblings with your lips on his. There’s no sparks, no fireworks, but fuck it feels so right.

He kisses back instantly, scooting closer to you, your chest brushing against his. A few seconds pass before he pulls away from you, a never ending distance between you once again.

“Sweetheart, I can’t. I’m too old - you’re too young to be messing about with someone like me,” he whispers, his dark eyes boring into yours.

“Stop denying yourself,” you utter. “You’re Billy fucking Butcher.”

In an instant, his lips return to their place on yours, his beard a soothing scratch on your face.

“You’re fucking right I am.”

#billy butcher x reader #billy butcher #butcher #billy butcher the boys #butcher the boys #the boys #amazon the boys #one bed #billy butcher one bed #wearing billy butcher's shirt #billy butcher shirt #karl urban #boys #one bed fic

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theladycarpathia · 2 years ago

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Harringrove week day 1: Right where you left me

Steve doesn’t bother looking up when the door to the classroom opens. He knows who it is.

“Didn’t expect you to be at prom,” he says, staring up at the ceiling. He’s lying flat on his back on one of the tables, not caring if it creases his suit or not. He’s already taken off his jacket and slung it over the back of the chair. His parents aren’t around to take pictures, or to straighten his tie, or even notice when he stumbles in the door at 2 am.

Hell, they didn’t even do any of that at his own prom.

“Wouldn’t expect it to be your scene either,” Billy Hargrove says, closing the door behind him and shutting them in darkness once again. Steve hadn’t bothered with any of the lights, figuring that someone is less likely to find him and turf him out that way. He’s definitely not meant to be in here.

“Came as Robin’s date,” Steve explains, because there’s no fucking way he’d do this for anyone else. He left high school and going back after the fact is just pathetic. “And she’s busy.”

With her tongue down Vickie’s throat in the back of the auditorium, which was the whole point. Steve was only ever a distraction, just enough that when Robin vanished halfway in, no one would really question it. Judging by the flasks hidden in suit pockets and tiny clutches, no one is going to notice much of anything.

“You could go home,” Billy suggests, not without reason. Vickie could give Robin a ride, or Nancy and Jonathan at a push. Steve doesn’t need to be here. But he doesn’t want to go home to an empty house either. Where he can sit in the dark with a bottle of his father’s scotch and think about all the things he was meant to have. The things he wants. The life he’s never going to get.

“Nah,” Steve says, watching the dark mass that is Billy wind his way through the tables. He’d spotted Billy a few times in the milling crowds: at the punch bowl, dancing with Heather. Steve had had to take a breath and turn his head away. No good can come from going down that rabbit hole. “Got nothing better to do.” Billy snorts and hauls himself up onto the table next to Steve’s.

“King Steve not got a date for Saturday night?” he asks, but any of the bite that would have been there a year ago is missing. Without Neil, Billy just doesn’t have any of the same edges.

“I did,” Steve says to the ceiling. Even in the dark, he can’t bring himself to look at Billy. “She’s busy.”

“I don’t mean little miss band geek,” Billy says wearily, swinging his legs over the edge of the table. He lies back, taking up a similar position to Steve. Steve momentarily wishes that the tables were closer, that he might be able to feel some of the warmth from Billy’s body. “Someone you actually like.”

Steve inhales, and stops short when he doesn’t find the right words.

“I don’t have anyone I like,” he lies. Because he had liked some of them - statistically, after dating every available girl in Hawkins, he was bound to like some of them. The problem was that it wasn’t enough.

“Maybe you’ve dated every eligible girl in town,” Billy smirks, echoing Steve’s line of thought. “You’ll have to start all over again.”

Steve makes a face. Once you’ve been on three dates, had sex and then never called her again, he’s not likely to get a second chance.

“What about you and Heather?” Steve asks, because he has to know. “Big romance there or is it a summer fling until she heads off to college?”

“We’re not dating,” Billy says shortly. Something eases in Steve’s chest.

“She got dumped a few weeks before prom. There wasn’t anyone else available and I didn’t have a date.” A car drives past the window, headlights briefly lighting up the room. Steve can see the line of Billy’s jaw, the soft curve of his bottom lip, before the beam is gone. Steve sighs and turns his head back to the ceiling. Only trouble lies that way in thinking too long of Billy Hargrove’s mouth.

“So you weren’t going to come otherwise?” Steve asks, and Billy snorts loudly.

“I’m not a prom kind of person, Steve-o,” Billy says, stretching his arms above his head. “But if I could piss off Aaron Samuels, then I figured that might be worth an evening of my time.”

“Yeah, that sounds more like you,” Steve agrees. It’s Billy’s favorite pastime. Being an asshole.

Billy grunts, one hand dangling off the edge of the table. Long, thick fingers, a scar winding its way around one knuckle. Steve’s never asked about it. He doesn’t ask about anything that might bring up Neil, or California.

“What would you be doing?” Steve asks, because he knows that his own options were ‘empty house and blackout drunk.’ Most of his friends are here, and although he knows that Dustin and the others wouldn’t mind him crashing the Wheelers’ basement, he feels like he still has some standards.

“Fucking anything else,” Billy grunts and pulls himself up. “Man, small towns. All the fucking same. Hay bales and proms and hoedowns.” Steve gives a surprised snort of laughter.

“You’ve lived here for like two years now? How is your idea of Hawkins that fucked up?”

“It’s just like that,” Billy mutters churlishly, pulling his legs up and folding them under him. “I half expected cow tipping.”

Steve keeps his mouth shut. Some stories don’t need to be told.

“So...you’re still going?” he asks, the words feeling like thorns in his throat. He thinks he shouldn’t have asked. He can deal with not knowing. He can just go about his life, going to shifts at Family Video and arguing with Robin and ferrying the kids around, and not knowing that Billy is gone until it’s too late and he overhears some old biddies gossiping about how that nice boy from the community pool just vanished into the night.

It would hurt, sure. But it would be easier than feeling that he was waiting for the ax to drop down onto his head at any second.

Silence.

“Yeah,” Billy says finally, voice barely carrying in the few feet between him and Steve. “Yeah, I’m still going.”

Steve closes his eyes. It was never going to change. Billy’s never going to be the kind of person happy with a small town like this. He was never going to stay.

“Max will miss you,” he says instead, because it’s easier than what he wants to say. It’s true anyway: Max and Billy have this weird relationship going that is more arguing than anything else but he knows her. Knows that she looks up to Billy, needs him at her back.

“I’ll miss the little shit too,” Billy says, and there’s enough of a dip in his voice that Steve knows that it’s true. “But maybe in a few years, she can come join me.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, weakly. Max misses California too, but it’s not the same. Billy needs it like air, like the whole damn state is a wound in his side that needs healing over by salt water and surfers.

Billy sighs suddenly and jumps down off the table. The sound of his shoes hitting the floor is jarring in the silence.

“I’d better…” he says, jabbing a thumb at the door. There’s still the faint beat of music in the distance, their vanishing going unnoticed by anyone else. Once upon a time, Steve would have ruled court at dances like these. Turns out the guy who took his crown took his heart too. “Heather is probably looking for me.”

“Don’t put out on a first date,” Steve says, still staring skywards. There’s a missing ceiling tile here somewhere: he used to see it every day in this class, when he wasn’t staring at Sabrina Rizzo’s legs.

“I’m not that easy, Harrington,” Billy retorts and Steve swallows. No, he’s not.

“Have fun,” he says, a clear dismissal. He doesn’t look, even as he hears Billy walk away, sees the light as the door is opened onto the main hallway.

“Steve?” Billy asks, hand still on the door handle. Steve turns his head and feels his heart begin to race as he sees Billy in the dim light: long legs in black, white shirt unbuttoned down to his collar bones, suit jacket slung over one arm. He remembers the taste of peppermint, the faint smell of cookies and a fresh layer of snow. The warm light of the Byers house mere feet behind him and the cold, deep expanse of the woods in front of him. There’s cigarette smoke on the wind, Billy in a long, dark coat leaning against a tree.

He remembers the softness of Billy’s mouth. How cold he’d felt after Billy pulled away.

“I can’t,” Billy says, the words coming out in a tangled rush. Like he thinks he owes Steve some explanation, like Steve hasn’t known for the longest time. “I can’t. Not here. It’s a small town and…if my dad ever found out…If he ever found out, he’d kill us both.”

“I know,” Steve says quietly. It’s why - five months later - he has never pushed Billy. Never asked for anything after that brief, perfect kiss.

“I’m just tired of being afraid, Steve,” Billy says miserably, and then the door drops shut behind him, once again leaving Steve behind.

#harringroveweek #harringroveweek 2022 #harringrove #Billy Hargrove #Steve Harrington #prompt: mrs click's classroom #sorry #it's kind of sad #I wrote this prompt last #and wanted them to suffer #idiots in love #pining #neil left but Billy's still afraid #he won't risk steve #afraid of neil #and being caught #Robin's having a great prom though #harringrove harvest

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therealmilfdennys · 2 years ago

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Wait hey haha it's me so like. Like. Eddie sucking Steve off for the first time and gets his throat fucked and cries about it /pos? Maybe Steve is a little freaked but Eddie just keeps going until he cums, tears and all?

Of course I am in love with these boys we JUSt talked about this (sort of) and I kind of want to write another version where Billy is involved lol.

Anyway! CW: Crying, oral, tiny tiny bit of facefucking lol, Eddie having a gay panic, Steve being a good bro and letting Eddie suck the soul out of his dick, tiny bit of a dumbification if you squint. Eddie having a crush on his bestie. Slight? ST4 spoilers? I mean kind of?

Minors Do NOT interact I do not want to be sued.

If you had asked Eddie Munson where he’d be a year from now, a year ago. His answer would be California or New York, living it up where the pot was legal and the music was loud and he was the farthest away from Hawkins he could get. He would NOT have said, on his knees for Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington in his shitty trailer. That would be insane.

However, fighting a multidimensional being, and giant bats with mouths for faces and almost fucking dying, changes your point of view on certain things in life. So he and Steve had started hanging out more, a week of fighting for their lives trauma bonded them. They had similar scars too, which Eddie was enamoured with. They compared them sometimes, the pot smoke lingering in the air from their earlier joint. It lowered their inhibitions just enough to make them brave. Made Eddie brave enough to look at Steve like that without being scared he’d be found out, his fingers tracing the bite marks on the brunettes torso. “Metal.” He’d call them, his lips quirking up in a silly way. The pot loosened Steve up, made him less insecure. He’d gotten a little thicker since highschool, put on the chub he’d only managed to keep off with rigid basketball practice. He had a thousand yard stare, eyes zeroed in on where Eddies fingers rubbed against his skin, soft little giggles pouring out of him at the tingley feeling it made.

So yeah, they’d been spending a lot of time together, like….a lot of time together. Who could blame them though, they were the only ones who knew the pain of the bats’ bites and they were..better together. Eddie was more docile, less strung up and jittery, and Steve was less snarky and sullen. They brought out the best in eachother and found theyhonestly had a lot in common.

Which is why Eddie’s fingers are shaking where their gripping his thighs, butt to his heels in front of Steve Harrington on the floor. Steve Harrington who is laid out on the couch like some fucking fancy oil painting in that museum he drove Eddie and Robin to last month. Steve Harrington who is puffing smoke like a fucking train engine, a lazy little smile on his lips. He knows Eddie is nervous, he knows Eddie hasnt done this before, its the conversation that led them here.

“Never done that before, never given never received.” Eddie had giggled out around a mouthful of smoke. “Really? Never?” Steve was suddenly serious, brows pitched down and lips curled up in a little frown. Eddie shakes his head, not catching that Steve is suddenly solemn till he has the joint taken from his fingers.

“Want me to teach you?”

Eddie is refusing to meet Steve’s eyes, picking at the little thread that’s peaking from the worn hem of his sweats. His tongue feels thick, he’s a little sweaty. He didn’t know how Steve could sit there so calm, looking like a fuckin’ God splayed out on Eddie’s shitty little couch, it just wasn’t fair. How pretty Steve looked. How downright unbothered he seemed by this whole fucking situation. A logical part of Eddie’s brain was trying to get through that Steve was definately more than a little nervous. The guy had never been with a dude before, Eddie had a least kissed a couple.

“C’mon man we don’t have to, I just wanted to help.” Steve says suddenly, leaning forward a bit to see Eddie better. The other’s eyes widened, and he looked up quickly, which was a bad idea because Steve is so close and he smells so fucking good and he looks so kissable right now it makes Eddie’s head hurt. “Nah, nah I want to. Just can’t believe I have Steve Harrington offering up his dick to lil ole me.” He deflects, voice shakey and a fake little smirk playing at his lips. He bats his eyes to try and make it more believable. He knows Steve sees right through him. The older boy rolls his eyes in unending fondness, huffing quietly. “Just do it man, not gonna bother me if you take your time.” He winked, laying back and settling into the cushions more.

Eddie wallowed thickly, nodding and scooting a bit closer, eyes roving over the skin of Steve’s exposed legs unapologeticaly. He dropped a iss to the skin there, shakey hands coming to drag oh so slow up to Steves hips, making the boys breath hitch a bit. Eddie pressed his nose into Steve’s clothed hip, letting out a shakey sigh at Steve’s smell. “You fuckin smell good everywhere dude, what the fuck.” He almost whined, leaving little open mouth kisses at the hem of his friends boxers. Steve let out a breathless little giggle, runnning a hand through his hair. “Showers do that, Munson.” He teased with absolutely no mirth, voice absurdly warm. If Eddie were thinking straight he’d probably over analyze it, but he was in no state to think about anything other than the soft fuzzy trail of hair leading into Steve’s grey boxers. “Can I…Can I take em off now?” He murmured, sounding way to nervous for Steve’s liking, though he hummed in affirmation anywway, lifting his hips to help Eddie tug the cloth down. When the shorts are off Eddie had to take just a second to stare. He never cared about the rumors of Steve’s cock, he knew people said it was big obviously, he wasn’t deaf. He just didnt care. He wished he’d listened to rumors more. Steve was fucking thick, so heavy it floppedto the sideand rested against his hip bone. Dark and flushed and tanned like the rest of him. Eddie’s tongue rested against his top lip, eyes wide and cheeks flushed. “Shit, Steve.” He breathed out, breath making Steve shiver a bit. The older boy was a little red in the cheeks, biting at his lip. “Hah…yeah, sorry. Bout that.” He mumbled, watching as Eddie tentatively dragged a finger up the underside and over the tip, making a little whiney noise when pre dribbled out. “Fuck..you’re damned pretty Stevie.” He mumbled, mesmerized with the way his friends cock jumped at the praise. He took hold of it, hand gentle and cool against the skin, making Steve grunt pleasantly. Eddie dragged his thumb over the tip, trying to work himself up for a taste. He spared a glance up at Steve, who was watching Eddie’s hand pump slowly his eyes hooded, teeth digging into his lip. Eddie leaned forward slow, lips falling open to take the tip into his mouth. Salty and warm and fuckin heavy on his tongue, making him keen in the back of his throat. Steves hips twitched slightly, and one look up had Eddie fucking melting in his spot. Steve was trying so hard not to move, wanted Eddie to be comfortable and feel good and enjoy himself. Poor boys eyes were squeezed shut under thick furrowed eyebrows, desperate not to move. Eddie drags his tongue over the tip and takes down a bit more before pulling up with a slurp sound that should gross him out but instead makes him shudder pleasantly. He keeps a hand wrapped around the thickness in front of him, looks up at Steve with big eyes, a little grin plastered to his lips. Cheeky.

“You can like, move you know? S’about you anyways, show me what feels good or whatever.” He mumbles, busying himself with kissing at Steves cock to distract himself from what he’s offering. Steve whines, reaching down to thread scarred fingers through Eddie’s hair, pullit into a shitty halfway ponytail. “Fuck, just, do what you were doin’ before, spits good, helps.” He mumbles out, too high and horny to give a shit about finishing sentances. Eddie nods, dragging his tongue from root to tip before taking Steve intohis mouth again. He could get drunk off of the taste, the smell, the fuckin feel. Steve’s not quite pulling on his hair, but his grip is fuckin tight when Eddie takes him deeper in his mouth. “Fuck tha’s good Eds, just gonna. Just hit me or somethin’, kay?” He mutters, tugging Eddie’s head up by his hair and pushing him down again. Eddie let out a sick little sound from his throat, whiimpering at the twinge from his hair, eyes squeezing shut and jaw falling slack. He could barely think and they’d just fucking started. He was so screwed.

Steve groaned softly from above him, making him look up and whimper in question. His hands gripping at the meat of Steve’s thighs, his throat making little schick shick shick noises. He’s so hard he hurts but this is what he hasnt let himself want for the past few months. Desperate for Steve to just fuckin use his mouth, started to imagine it and then stopped himself so many times. Steve is whining, Eddie registers this slowly, eyes hazy from where he looks up at his friend. Steve’s cock is in his throat now, and he gags, tears springing to his eyes. He reminds himself to breathe in through his nose, squeezing hiseyes shut with little tears dripping to his chin.

He can’t believe he’s crying over Steve Harrington’s cock. What fucking time loop did he fall into. He’s making little whimpery, pathetic noises, clawing at Steve’s thighs, fucking up into the air in some desperate attempt for friction. He’s pulled off of Steve by his hair before he can register it. “Wha’s happenin’. Why’d ya stop.” He whined out, voice a little fucked out and rough. Steve his leaning into his face, and Eddie’s watery eyes fight to focus on the worried eyes boring into his. “You’re cryin’ Eds, told you to stop me if I hurt you asshole.” He mumbled, loosening his grip on Eddie’s hair. Eddie’s whining and leaning his head into Steve’s hands, shaking it gently. “Nuh uh, didn’t hurt Stevie. So fuckin good, didn’t want you to stop baby.” He whimpered, leaning to take the tip back into his mouth and suckling gently. Steve groans, deep in his chest, tugging at Eddie’s hair in shock, bucking his hips gently, making Eddie gag loud and moan against the fullness in his mouth. “Sorry, sorry Eddie didn’t mean to.” Steve gasps out, trying to lift the other boy off again, so so worried. Eddie groans against the cock in his throat, taking Steve to the root and gagging through it, whimpering delightfully at the fuzy feeling in his head as the blood rushes there. Steve lets out little whimpery sounds, fucking his hips up into Eddie’s mouth, the most disgusting sounds he’s ever heard making him shiver and want more. “Gunna cum, Eds, fuck. Fuck, cmon. C’mon m’so close.” He whimpered, wrapping his fist in Eddie’s hair and pumping his hips a bit harder. Eddie moans loud against Steve, and that’s what fucking undoes him. Steve cums with these beuatiful sounds, Eddie gagging and pulling off as rope after rope of cum spill into his mouth and over his chin. He pumps Steve through it, making his own little whines and thrusting into nothing. “So fuckin’ pretty Stevie, felt so good. Thank you, fuck, thank you.” He croaks, a pretty fucked out grin on his cheeks. Eddie’s nothing short of debauched, drool and tears and cum all over his face, his cheek leaning against Steves hairy thigh as he strokes him into oversensitivity, hazy and a little cock drunk. “C-Cmon Eds, gotta stop dude s’sensitive. Cm’up here.” He mumbles, pulling Eddie and up onto the couch. Eddie goes willingly, huffing a moan when his crotch rubs against Steve’s hip. “Good? Feel okay?” Steve hums, doe eyed and more than concerned. “Haven’t done that in a while, sorry for the mess.” He murmurs, only a little embarassed as he wipes his cum from Eddies cheeks and chin with his discarded shirt. Eddie grins lazily, head lolling to lean against the back cushions of the couch. “Was fuckin’ perfect Stevie, felt great, seriously.” He grunts, and this is the most docile Steve has ever seen him. Steve wipes himself off, and notices Eddie’s hard on shockingly late. “Fuck dude I’m sorry I didn’t even think- D’you want help with that?” He frowns, fingers slipping into the waist band of Eddie’s pants and Eddie is so glad he forgot boxers this afternoon. “Uh..Uh yeah.” He whispers, watching Steve’s fingers play in his happy trail. “If you wanna, I’m not fuckin stoppin you.” He mutters, looking at Steve with needy eyes, lip tugged between his teeth. They were in for a quite a talk in the morning, but that was for after Steve had made Eddie cum twice his his hands and then his mouth.

#Steddie Nation #Steddie #Steve Harrington x Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson smut #Steve Harrington #Steve Harrignton smut #they're gay and in love #this is the dirtiest thing i've written and shared i WILL get worse #If you want a part two lmk i'm up for it #stranger things #robin buckley mention #i love these boys i think they had so much potential #eddie survived in this one

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aggravatetheaxe · 3 years ago

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Hey! Saw your post and saw you said you were upsettie spaghetti so I wanted to cheer you up!

Slashers who stop everything they’re doing because their “My S/O needs me” senses are tingling and go to their rescue to comfort their angry s/o?

I was hoping to come up with A way for you to get your emotions out through your writing- 😅

Hope you feel better! 🖤

I've never done a post in this style before so hopefully I do okay! I think I covered pretty much all the slashers I write for so far (I didn't do Billy Lenz because I still need to read the novelization). I may have gone way overboard, so if I do these in the future, I'll probably just pick a few instead of doing the whole roster 😅 (or you can pick for me). But doing this much work did distract me!

Above the cut:

Bo Sinclair

Vincent Sinclair

Lester Sinclair

Included below the cut:

Michael Myers (OG)

Jason Voorhees

Leslie Vernon

Thomas Hewitt

Bubba Sawyer

Brahms Heelshire

Erik ("The Phantom")

Deacon Billings (OC Ghostface)

Courtney Dwayne Delmont (OC slasher)

Kathleen Montgomery (OC slasher)

Masterlist

***

Bo Sinclair

Despite being autistic, Bo is very in tune with peoples auras and body language. He has to be to manipulate and deceive people with any modicum of success. He's trained himself when it comes to these things; even besides masking or manipulation, he needed to be keenly aware of when his parents were in Bad Moods so he could either avoid them or prepare himself.

The mood he's probably best at when it comes to this, for those reasons, is anger. He can smell anger a mile away. So if you're fuming, you better believe he notices.

At first he's annoyed and will demand to know what your problem is. He's not a very tolerant person, and he can be a bit of a hypocrite. He's allowed to have big, messy feelings, but when it comes to others having big, messy feelings ... he's not so comfortable with that. He gets overwhelmed.

Once he realizes that this is more than an attitude problem, he'll take it much more seriously. And assuming you're not mad at him, he'll want the rundown on the whole situation from beginning to end. He wants all the dirt.

He'll let you rant, and honestly, he'd think you being this angry (when it's not directed at him, but even still sometimes) is kind of sexy. And don't expect him to shut his mouth, either; he'll be ranting right along with you, affirming you and insulting whomever/whatever you're angry about.

He doesn't wanna cuddle. He genuinely thinks you can't cuddle anger away. He'll put on some loud-ass music and let you vent your frustration however you prefer. Maybe suggest a long drive down to the lake or into town or just ... picking a direction and going. He has fantasies of running away from his anger sometimes. He knows how it is.

Depending on what you're angry about, it could definitely get to the point where he's angrier about the situation than you are. And if it really hurt you, he will not let it go as long as he lives. The best he will ever do is maintain a grudging neutrality or distance from the person/situation that made you angry.

He's very protective. If you're angry at someone you need to maintain a relationship with, you're going to have to keep an eye on Bo to make sure he doesn't deliver revenge for you behind your back. If it's something he can solve, he'll do it, so if you don't want him running his mouth, watch him.

Vincent Sinclair

Vincent is in the same boat as Bo when it comes to sensing auras, though his handle on body language and facial expressions is not as keenly honed. While Vincent was not physically abused as brutally or as often as Bo, this wasn't because of some sterling quality he had that Bo lacked. He was always The Good One because he saw what his parents did to The Bad One and knew he needed to protect himself. He tried not to do anything that might provoke his parents.

You can feel anger before a fight like you smell ozone before a storm. Vincent is attuned to the feeling not just because of his parents but because of Bo's temper, too. Because of this, like Bo, he can very accurately sense anger in particular.

His initial reaction is to observe you, gauging if you need time to cool off. If you need space, Vincent is the Sinclair for you. He's used to being quiet and deflecting and riding out anger.

However, once he realizes that your anger is not directed at him or isn't explosive enough to become a problem for him, he's concerned. Rather than asking what happened, he will ask if you're okay, and leave it up to you whether you'll tell him about it or not.

If you vent, he'll sit and listen patiently, maybe even thoughtfully working on a sculpture while you rant. He's not judgemental and he can be very emotional himself, so you could say the most ridiculous, dramatic things and he wouldn't even bat an eye. Let out all your messy, destructive thoughts and feelings. Just try not to throw or punch anything; that's when he shuts down.

If you decide you just want comfort, or decide you need comfort after ranting, art is his first suggestion. It may seem cold to you at first, that his instinct isn't to hold you or kiss you but rather to redirect you to a project - once you got to know him, however, you'd know that's his most genuine way to show he cares. Redirecting to something creative calms him down more than platitudes ever could, and he wants that for you. He's nonjudgmental about the art you create as well, even if it's objectively terrible. It's not about the quality.

He won't turn you down if you need physical affection, however. His twin is extremely tactile, so it wouldn't be the first time he held someone after a breakdown. He prefers to do this if he's certain you won't lash out physically, but if you were in a really bad way and needed to be touched, he'd do it regardless.

Lester Sinclair

Lester witnessed his parents' anger, but it was usually indirectly; if Bo was the Bad One and Vincent was the Good One, he was the Overlooked One. He's not a perfect person, probably not even a good person, but of the three brothers, he's the most normally socialized. He isn't trained to be tuned into everyone's every shifting mood in order to survive.

It takes Lester a little longer to pick up on your anger than his brothers, but not too much longer. It takes him a couple tries at trying to talk to you or get your attention before he realizes something is really wrong.

His first reaction is to get upset. He soaks up emotions like a little sponge, so he's suddenly cranky, too. He also jumps to conclusions and assumes that you're angry with him, and he does not take rejection well. He might be bitter and passive aggressive. You being angry just makes him want to go in another room and not be around you, and yet at the same time, he wants your reassurances. It's messy and sad.

Once he realizes - either through observing you or through you communicating with him - that you're mad at another person or situation, then he'll feel comfortable enough to approach you and ask you about it. You'll definitely need to reassure him that you're not mad at him though.

If you wanna rant, he'll take you on a long drive and let you vent your heart out to him. He won't be quite as aggressive as Bo, but he'll be on your side, frowning with disapproval, telling you "Ya can't fix stupid." If you want only comfort or need comfort after venting, he feels much more equipped for that. He'll put something relaxing in the VHS or let you play his old Super Nintendo, get you a beer, just let you chill out. And he'll let you win at Doctor Mario.

If the situation is something really serious, you best believe he'll be talking to his brothers about it the second he gets a chance. He may be a sweet guy, but he can be real nasty, and he doesn't fuck around when it comes to you. You might have to keep an eye out to make sure he doesn't tell someone off or punch out someone's lights.

Michael Myers (OG)

In 1978, Michael is not very in tune with any emotions besides fear, and even then he only really understands it in an abstract way, as his condition and upbringing haven't really been conducive to him learning about emotions. Unless you're screaming in terror, have tears running down your face, or are shouting angrily, he really can't read your moods. Without any obvious change to how you normally act or look, there's a huge chance he might just not notice if you're angry. He spends a lot of time in his own little world.

In 2018, even though he's spent over 50 years institutionalized, Michael has had time to take in the world, and he's seen a lot more. He understands fear much more than he did when he was 21, but what he understands most of all is anger. His anger fuels him. He would pick up on yours right away and be curious, though he wouldn't verbalize it.

If you tell him how you feel, he'll take note of it. If he witnesses you doing something destructive because of your anger, he'll simply observe. He would be fascinated with this thing you're doing, because it's not something you normally do, and though he might not notice emotions, he certainly notices routine and pattern. Either way, you'll have to tell him how you feel, because he'll simply watch you otherwise.

One thing that can be said for Michael is that he's a good listener. He may not internalize everything you say, but he will remember what he thinks is important. You may be surprised; he may remember tiny little details that seem inconsequential to you but loom large in his mind.

Unless you were caused serious physical or mental harm, he would not be angry on your behalf. He would, however, do nothing to assuage your anger. He thinks it would be kinda neat and interesting to see you snap. He's not 100% sure why you don't just do it.

In 1978, he won't be much help beyond listening to you, but he would be curious to see what you do to vent your anger. You may find him by your side more often, observing you. He may also want to find and observe the object of your anger, especially if it's a person. In 2018, he would, in his own way, suggest you solve the problem by murdering someone/something. He's insatiable, but killing is the closest he's ever come to satisfaction. You should try it.

Jason Voorhees

Out of all of the slashers, Jason is the most likely to actually literally sense your anger, especially if you're psychically sensitive/powerful like Tina Shepard. I'm talkin'—assuming you have a pre-established relationship—he'll be doing something else and just get this itch that tells him you're out there somewhere, pissed off.

Obviously this is untenable. As long as he's not super busy or Pamela has other plans, Jason will stomp his way through the woods to get back to you, regardless of the urgency of your anger. If Pamela doesn't approve, well, he'll let a little anger go and assume you're okay. If he suspects you may be in danger, though, he's sprinting regardless of what Mom says. There's time for both things, Ma!

The first thing he'll do when he returns to you is scan your dwelling, then you, making sure nothing is broken. At that point, you'd probably be able to sense his confusion even without him signing. Jason doesn't experience emotions quite like a human anymore, and he's quite tactile besides, so a lack of tangible or visible clues as to why you're upset would trip him up for a second.

He doesn't want to comfort you at first, he wants to know what's wrong. He'll listen to you vent only long enough to understand the situation and identify his target. His immediate next move would be to eliminate the problem. You'll definitely have to hold him back, and it may take a bit of convincing. Earthly consequences don't really apply to him.

Before comfort comes blowing off steam, for you and for him. His first choices would be mangling some trees (you can pretend it's for firewood) or skipping/throwing stones into the lake. You're welcome to join him if those things calm you down; watching him get his stone to skip like 11 times on Crystal Lake may make you feel better, at least.

You might hang out there for hours before he suddenly decides it's time to go home. He'll do what he can to make your comfortable or stay out of your way while you make yourself comfortable, then comfort you as you please. His go-to choice is always foot or hand massages.

Leslie Vernon

Leslie is extremely observant and surprisingly analytical given how silly he is in the day to day. His intuition makes it pretty easy for him to read people, but especially you, since you two are so close. Especially-especially if you're his Survivor Girl (gender neutral term of course). You two are in sync, so he knows if something's up. Maybe even before you fully figure it out.

God, you're so hot when you're angry, you really are. He almost wants to let you scream and holler and go nuts. But he prefers you only get angry like that at him, especially if you're his Survivor Girl, so his first move is to comfort you or talk you down to a place where you can be comforted. He'll speak to you calmly and rationally, reassuring you and touching you if you wanna be touched—on your upper arms or shoulders or face, or with one arm around your back.

He doesn't just want to comfort you, though, he wants to calm you down enough that you can tell him what happened. Even if you claim you don't want to talk about it, he will coax it out of you eventually. He's gotta know what got you so upset. It's his business to know everything about you!

Assuming you're angry at someone/something that isn't him, he'll talk it through with you. If you're upset about an argument with someone, he has the capacity to see it from the other side, but ultimately, he's there for you. He'll let you bitch as much as you want, still touching you, and he'll be disgusted and/or disappointed with the situation.

Above all, though, what he wants is to see you smile again. The only worries on your mind should be the ones he comes up with, and man, he's not even halfway done grooming the next batch of unlucky teenagers. He'd pat your face or touch your hair and tell you to cheer up, and probably defuse the situation with a stupid quip or joke. Take you out somewhere fun, maybe.

Once you were cheered up, he'd humbly suggest you solve your problem with a little murder. "I mean, I know killing's not really your thing—you're really good at it, though, a talent! You know that..." Pause, considering you. "You want me to do it? 'Cause I can clear my schedule for the rest of the night." If you decline, he'd be like "Suit yourself" but may or may not still murder whoever upset you. If you agree, he'd be super excited to make a romantic night of it. His mind would be going a million miles an hour planning everything out.

Thomas Hewitt

Tommy knows anger when he sees it. Not only does he have loads of internalized anger, he's been on the receiving end of it plenty. He's far too large to be scared of anyone in a physical sense anymore, but he's been shouted at countless times. To know when to shut up and do as he's told versus arguing back, he's learned to gauge intensity and direction of anger, and he well knows that anger can be redirected to him.

So, he instantly recognizes your mood, but it might be a while before he approaches you. When he does approach, he'll let you decide what to do, whether that's throwing your arms around him or banging your fists on his chest to vent your anger. You won't hurt him.

Eventually, once you're all hugged or cried or screamed out, he'll wrap his arms around you and give you a reassuring squeeze. There's no need to tell Tommy what's wrong—he won't ask unless you're obviously in serious distress or injured—but if you decide to speak, he'll listen, brows drawn tightly the whole time. He's thoughtful about the situation.

If you're mad at someone in his family, there isn't much he can do for you besides comfort you and assure you that whoever upset you—Hoyt, probably—didn't mean what they said. If you were hurt physically, it would be another story, but his family gets in shouting matches all the time.

Rather than offering help, he'd wait for you to request it of him. Whatever you ask, shy of hurting his family, he will do. Murder someone? No problem. Make you some food? You got it. Bring you a blanket? Sure. Give you some quiet alone time? That's fine, too.

If you need to vent, he's got plenty of ways to get out your frustration. Plenty of farm work to do, or you could work on something around the house with him. He might suggest knitting or sewing or some other handicraft you enjoy. It always makes him feel better to buckle down and use his hands for something.

If you're still preoccupied/upset by the time you two bed down, or heaven forbid the next morning, then he starts taking it more seriously. Something that disturbs you for that long is bad news. He'll watch you carefully the next couple days to see how you're doing, waiting for you to need him for something.

Bubba Sawyer

Like Tommy, Bubba has been on the receiving end of anger many, many times, so he's familiar with what it looks and feels like. Despite his size, he's still susceptible to physical violence at the hands of his loved ones, so he's very wary of anger.

However, he doesn't have a female presence in his life like Luda Mae, who expresses her anger through passive aggression—so, he's more used to shouting and screaming. If you aren't prone to screaming and shouting, it might take a little bit for him to realize you're not just sad or upset, you're angry.

Bubba will be over you. He'd give anyone else their space because he'd be afraid of retaliation, but you're his special person, and he's pretty sure you're not going to hurt him. He'll touch your hair, your arms, your wrists; he'll babble as he tries to figure out what's wrong. He just wants to comfort you and let you know everything is all right.

If it's too much or you're overwhelmed and you snap at him, he'll ease back. He'll blubber like a kicked puppy, but he won't give up. He'll still try to comfort you, just in other ways, such as getting you a comfort item or article of clothing, or maybe some food. And boy will he helicopter.

There's no need to tell Bubba what's wrong. In fact, it might be better if you didn't; if it's something he can't fix, it would do nothing but majorly stress him out. If it was one of his family members who upset you, as with Tommy, he wouldn't be able to do much. Even if you were hurt, he's just not in a position to stand up for you. That fact would absolutely kill him, though. He'd end up getting even more upset than you.

He doesn't know what help to offer you beyond comfort, but like Tommy, if you requested something specific, he'd try to carry out your wishes. He'll also try to cheer you up with some music and dancing, or just being silly like you like.

Need to blow off steam? He's got plenty of coping mechanisms! Bubba's idea of a perfect de-stress session is turning up the radio and getting lost in crafts. He's got lots of supplies, mostly to create clothing and accessories, and you're special, so you can have your pick. A drive and the radio might be nice, too. If neither of those appeal to you, he'll try cooking or baking with you. He loves sharing the kitchen with someone.

If none of that works and you're still upset, be prepared, because he's gonna be an anxious mess until you're better.

Brahms Heelshire

Brahms is somewhat familiar with other people's anger. He certainly has a whole fountain of internalized anger brewing just beneath the surface, but that's different. He knows that when Mummy is angry, she yells and cries, and when Daddy is angry, he seethes and stews. The former would be obvious to him, but the latter would take him a few minutes to be quite sure about. You're not acting how you usually do. Are you being stern or are you angry? Are you cross with him?

He does not have a lot of empathy for other people, so if your anger gets in the way of his routine or the attention he wants, he'll be irked, cranky, sad. Not necessarily at you—though that is possible—but the situation in which you find yourselves.

Much like Bo, he's allowed to have big, messy feelings, but it makes him uncomfortable and scared when other people have those feelings. He might even hide from you for a while, especially if you screamed and cried.

Once he realizes something is really wrong and you're not mad at him, however, he'll start thinking of ways to cheer you up so things can go back to normal. He hates having his routine interrupted; he's very particular. And he cares for you, so seeing you in distress is very scary and uncomfortable for him.

He'll start by fetching you something you like—something manageable for him like your favorite juice or a sandwich, or if you have a special item or article of clothing, that. He's quite shy, though, and like I said, he'll probably be hiding, so he'll leave it somewhere he knows you'll find it (on the bed, outside your door, on your desk, etc.)

If that doesn't calm you down and your anger is really getting in the way of his routine, or otherwise making him uncomfortable, he'll finally make an appearance. Very bashful and timid at first, using his little boy voice. "What's wrong, Y/N? Did something bad happen?"

If it's something that can't be helped, he'll suggest you do something together to take your mind off it (most likely something he likes to do). He may even be coaxed into taking a walk around the grounds, though he doesn't like to leave the manor at all, so you'd have to convince him. He prefers quiet playtime, maybe some coloring books or loud music to vent your emotions. It would intrigue him to see someone else use his toys to calm down. As long as you recognized he was being very nice, sharing them.

If it was an argument you had with someone, he would want more information. Are they likely to leave you alone, or will they come to the manor? Will he have to deal with them? Because it's scary, but he'll do it for you.

If, for some reason, none of those things work, he may cry or throw a fit. Either way, he'll be frustrated. Adult Brahms may make an appearance and try to help you in more Adult ways.

Erik

Though he lives five cellars beneath an opera house now, Erik hasn't always been entirely reclusive. Even these days, when he can stomach it, he sometimes goes out to see the world. As a younger man, he observed people's lives and moods with a hungry fascination (that has now mostly been replaced by melancholy and longing and bitter anger). Like several of the other slashers here, he's had to train himself to sense fury to protect himself. He's also incredibly wrathful, so you could call him an expert!

He has a very keenly honed sense when it comes to you specifically, since he's watched you so much. He notices the change in your demeanor immediately.

If you know him as the "Angel of Music," his voice will appear to you once you're alone, asking you what's wrong and assuring you you can confide in him—he will insist you tell him, though. "There are to be no secrets between us, Y/N." He will listen without interjection as you vent your heart out, and when you're done, soothe you. Don't let his calming voice deceive you, though; behind that mirror, he's seething, planning to take matters into his own hands.

If you know him as Erik, he will go to you the second he recognizes the shift in your mood and take you from what you're doing, regardless of your wishes. He'll sit you down, kneeling before you with your hands in his, and gaze into your eyes, imploring you to tell him what's wrong. He'll absolutely allow you physical comfort, but he will also absolutely insist you tell. He'll need reassurance that you're not angry at him, because that thought would break his heart.

He will let you vent however you wish. You could have the most dramatic breakdown ever—throwing things, beating your fists on his chest, wailing—and he wouldn't judge you. He would be awfully concerned, though.

Will be 110% on your side. You are his poor little meow meow. "My poor love, my poor Y/N!" He is beside himself with sympathy for you and you only, and is very offended on your behalf.

He will always suggest music as an outlet for your anger, but he will have taken note of your other hobbies and interests as well. He'll fetch your things for you without being asked, as long as it won't separate him from you for very long. If you'd rather just have comfort, that's fine, too. He could hold your hand and caress your face for hours on end under normal circumstances, so no problem there. He may also suggest a little time on the surface, if you normally live in his home. Fresh air will do you both good, he reasons, and he enjoys spending time with you where others can witness it. It fills him with pride and love.

Otherwise, he's at your service for any other soothing activities you need. A calming bath, some sweets, shopping, anything. Perhaps avoid asking for any sexual contact, however. First of all, being asked directly makes him very skittish and nervous; second of all, his method of love-making (when you can coax him) is very intimate and tender, which may be tedious if you're in an angry mood.

Unless the situation is extremely serious or dire, his first priority is making sure you're soothed. Once that duty is fulfilled, however, he is absolutely angrier about it than you are. If it's not that serious, he won't skip straight to killing, if only because he knows it upsets you. He will definitely be writing an extremely strongly worded letter, however. If someone slighted you seriously, they're getting threatened. If someone hurt you physically, they're meeting the Punjab lasso.

Deacon Billings (OC Ghostface)

Deacon definitely knows when people are angry. His step-mom was a passive-aggressive laundry-folder and his dad was a storming out of the house kinda guy; when the two of them were together, they were all hushed but heated arguments at night when they thought he couldn't hear them, or else extremely embarrassing passive-aggressive arguments in public. Growing up, he found himself around a lot of angry people. And there's no shortage of anger in him, either.

So yeah, Deacon knows when people are pissed, and he knows when people are pissed at him. The thing is, he just thinks it's fucking hilarious. He was that kid that would goad peers and teachers just to be an asshole and had virtually no friends as a result. He's a menace on the internet, too: a horrible troll for no reason, stirring the pot even when he doesn't have a stake in the argument. He's trained himself to find people's weak spots so he can strike at them. He does it to make himself feel more in control of his life and his own anger.

So when you're ticked off, he's gonna notice the change immediately. If you made a vent post on social media, he probably knows you're angry before you even see him. He follows all your social media (even if you don't realize it) and checks it constantly. He'd call you out of curiosity to ask what happened. He's open about his stalking tendencies: "I saw your post, babe, who do I need to stab?"

If you otherwise come home angry, he'll be up on his feet, following you around the house and pestering you, trying to get you to tell him what's wrong. If you try to hug him, he won't push you away, but he'll be distracted, trying to needle answers out of you the whole time.

There's no question in his mind as to whether or not you're angry at him. He just assumes you're not; he has a pretty good handle on how you act when you're angry at him specifically.

He'll let you rant all day if you want. You could talk about the shit that's pissed you off for hours and he'd still listen. Outwardly, he might poke you a bit and play devil's advocate for the other side of the argument, if there is one. This is purely for the purposes of being a little shit.

Internally, he's already going down his pre-murder checklist. If it was someone at work, they're dead. Someone in the neighborhood, dead. Online? It'll take a couple days, but they're dead. Even if you're not angry at anyone in particular, just a situation, he'll find someone to menace. He'd walk through fire for your approval.

He's not good with soft, emotional comfort, so instead he'll try to think of something to help you let off steam. His go-to is something competitive, especially if it involves you chasing each other. A Nerf or water gun war, a PVP game with you on opposite sides. He'll put up a good fight, but you always kick his ass.

Once the immediate situation is addressed and you've ranted your heart out to him, he can't keep his hands off you. "Seeing you all pissed off drives me crazyyyyyy." He's grinning, brown eyes sparkling. "Come onnnnn ... I'll get it off your mind!"

Courtney Dwayne Delmont (OC)

Courtney is a hunter of all manner of game, so he's used to interpreting non-verbal cues and body language—when an animal is in distress, when an animal is about to attack, etc. His grandfather was a very angry man, as well, in a simmering sort of way. He would seethe about something before suddenly delivering one decisive strike. Courtney himself is not a particularly angry man, unless some prey is really giving him a hard time, but he can read your body.

If you come home angry, he'll stop in the middle of what he's doing and watch you, still and quiet, just confirming his suspicions. If you leave the room he's in to go collapse on the sofa or something, he'll follow you, looming over you and waiting for you to tell him what's wrong. He's patient.

If you want to vent, he'll sit and listen thoughtfully, doing something with his hands while you speak—probably cleaning his gun or some other weapon. He doesn't look at you. He wouldn't demand greater context to the situation but he would ask "Why?" and "Who?" until he understood Enough.

If you want comfort, he'll sprawl on the couch and let you lay on top of him. He'll probably pull a blanket on top of you to try and encourage a nap. If the nap doesn't make you feel better, he's feeding you protein. Do you like homemade jerky?

Sex is also on the table (not literally ... unless). He's found it's a great way to blow off steam, and he's more than happy to make all worries, troubles, and other thoughts go away for a little bit. Expect that to be the rest of your night, though, because he doesn't do quickies.

Generally, he trusts you to handle your own shit, so he would be more focused on you than whatever made you feel the way you do. However, if days passed and you were still angry/upset/sad, or if it plunged you into a breakdown or was an otherwise extremely serious situation ... just give him a target. It's up to you, but if you tell him to take the shot, it'll be quick and clean. If you're unable to make the decision, he'll decide for you without hesitation.

Kathleen Montgomery (OC)

I'm still developing her so this one won't be as in-depth and is subject to change.

Kath makes it her business to know everything about you. Chances are she's seen you explode screaming while stalking you ... chances are, if you've been in a relationship for a while, she's made you explode screaming. She knows what you look like when you're angry. Besides, she's strong for her size, but she often has to take down people who are much bigger and stronger than her; she uses manipulation and trickery to help ease that divide, so she's good at reading people.

Like Deacon, she also monitors all your social media, so if you made a vent post, she already knows you're in a shitty mood before you come home. Unlike Deacon, she doesn't tell you how she knows, so you're left to assume she's just all knowing. Considering her god complex, that works for her.

She'd probably text you to come home, and she expects you to answer. If you're unable to come home, she'll call you to ask what's wrong.

Once you're together, she wants to know everything about the situation. Even as you're speaking, she's already on her phone or laptop, looking up the people involved. Instead of getting mad on your behalf, she laughs. She's a fan of emphasizing how pathetic or weak the opposition is.

She takes your feelings on the subject seriously, but everyone else in the situation? Insects. Not even worthy of your time or concern, let alone hers. You're obviously in the right here (even if you're not). She'll tell you as much, and say some pretty intense, over-the-line things about whomever/whatever you're angry at.

Overall, however, she's calm and collected about the situation. Your bout of anger is a chance to get you to be reckless with her. She'll do your hair and makeup and dress you up nice, then take you out. Fast driving, drinking, baiting people at bars, menacing neighborhoods ... maybe a little killing, if you'd like.

***

Masterlist

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stranger-marauders · 2 years ago

Text

repaired

nineteen: the final plan

chapter summary: Everyone comes together and shares what they've learned about the Mind Flayer, Billy Hargrove, and the Russians.

chapter warnings: language, steve calls himself daddy

word count: 1.9k

series masterlist | masterlist

MIKE HAD EXPLAINED everything to the adults.

"The Mind Flayer. It built this monster in Hawkins, to stop El, to kill her and pave a way into our world."

"And it almost did. That was just one tiny piece of it," Nancy added.

"How big is this thing?" Hopper asked.

"It's big," Jonathan answered. "Thirty feet, at least."

"Yeah. It sorta destroyed your cabin," Lucas said sheepishly. "Sorry."

Kate's mouth fell open. "Guess we don't have to worry about the Russians, then, Steve."

He cleared his throat, wiping his face. "Sorry." Whenever Kate walked away to go sit with her sister, he sighed. "Okay, so, just to be clear, this... this big fleshy spider thing that hurt El, it's some kind of gigantic... weapon?" When Steve looked over to El, he saw Hopper holding her with a bandage across her head and Kate sat next to them, El's legs draped across her. It would've been much more of an adorable sight if El hadn't almost been killed by a meat monster.

"Yes."

"But instead of, like, screws and metal, the Mind Flayer made its weapon... with melted people."

"Yes, exactly," Nancy said.

"Yeah, okay. I—Yeah, I'm just making sure," Steve said, trying his best not to freak out.

"Are we sure this thing is still out there, still alive?" Joyce asked.

"El beat the shit out of it, but, yeah, it's still alive," Max answered.

"But if we close the Gate again—"

"We cut off the brain from the body."

"And kill it," Lucas said. "Theoretically."

Before anyone could say anything else, Murray Bauman entered the food court again, this time with papers in his hand. "Yoo-hoo!" He flailed them around as he walked closer to the group. "Yoo-hoo!" He slammed them down on a table near them, and they all stood somewhat close to it. "Okay, this is what Alexei called 'the hub.' Now, the hub takes us to the vault room."

"Okay, where's the Gate?"

"Right here," Murray said, pointing to it on Alexei's map. While Kate had no idea who Alexei was, she went with it—this Alexei obviously knew more about this thing than any of them did. "I don't know the scale on this, but I think it's fairly close to the vault room, maybe fifty feet or so."

"More like five hundred," Erica said. "What, you're just gonna waltz in there like it's commie Disneyland or something?"

"I'm sorry, who are you?" Murray asked.

"Erica Sinclair. Who are you?"

"Murray... Bauman," he replied. In a way, he almost looked as if he were threatened by the girl.

"Listen, Mr. Bunman, I'm not trying to tell you how to do things, but I've been down in that shithole for twenty-four hours. And with all due respect, you do what this man tells you, you're all gonna die."

"I'm sorry, why is this four-year-old speaking to me?"

"Um, I'm ten, you bald bastard!"

"Erica!" Lucas shouted.

"Just the facts!"

"She's right. You're all gonna die, but you don't have to," Dustin said, getting closer to the map. "Excuse me. Sorry, may I?"

"Please," Murray replied sarcastically.

When Dustin sat down, he pulled the map closer to him. "Okay, see this room here? This is a storage facility." He circled it with a pencil. "There's a hatch in here that feeds into their underground ventilation system." He drew a line that connected to the room where the Gate was located. "That will lead you to the base of the weapon. It's a bit of a maze down there, but between me, Kate, and Erica, we can show you the way."

"You can show us the way?" Hopper asked, somewhat sarcastically.

"Don't worry, Father, you can do all the fighting and the dangerous hero shit, and I'll just be your... navigator," Kate said, looking at Dustin and Erica warningly. She wouldn't let them go down there again, especially not now that the Russians were surely waiting for them. "I'd appreciate the insurance of a gun, though."

At first, Hopper only stared at her in response. There was no way that Hopper, nevermind Steve, would let her go down there again.

It wasn't that they didn't think she could take it. It wasn't that in the slightest. She had obviously led Dustin, Erica, Steve, and Robin (and for the latter two, eventually high versions of them) through the Russian bunker, had at least wounded a few of the soldiers coming after them with a gun she'd stolen, and had even killed a man to rescue Steve and Robin, it didn't matter. If there was a risk that she would get hurt, neither Hopper nor Steve would let her partake in it.

"No," her father finally replied. He shrugged, shaking his head and almost pressing his lips together in an unconvinced smile. "Nope."

It didn't take long for Kate's dad to find a safer alternative.

"Hey, heads up," Hopper said, throwing a walkie to Dustin. "You can navigate, just from someplace safe."

"It's not that simple," Dustin said.

"The signal won't reach," Kate explained.

"Not with this. You need something with a high enough frequency band to relay with the Russians' radio tower. But for that to work, you need someone who has both seen their comms room and has access to a super-powered handcrafted radio tower, one preferably already situated at the highest point in Hawkins. Oh, wait. That's me," Dustin said. "If you want us to navigate, you got us. But we need a head start." Dustin looked to Kate before looking back at Hopper. "And a car."

Hopper had been somewhat hesitant to hand over the keys of the convertible that he'd stolen to his daughter. "Do you guys not have a car here?"

"Nope," Kate said, looking to him expectantly. "Ruskies stole Steven's keys."

"And your car isn't here?"

"If it was, would I be asking you for your keys, dad?"

Hopper sighed, digging in his pocket. "All right, just..." Whenever he trailed off, dangling a set of keys that was not his out to Kate, her eyebrows furrowed together. "It's the yellow convertible outside."

She gave him an even more confused look—what happened to her dad's SUV?

"Look, I'll explain it later, just get going," Hopper emphasized, making Dustin join Steve, Robin, and Erica on the other side of the food court that was closer to the exit.

Before Kate turned on her heels and left with the keys, her face softened. "Please be careful down there."

"I'll be okay," he replied, trying to reassure her. "I've seen a lot worse, remember?"

"Dad," she started, shaking her head. "I've been down there since Tuesday night. We're really lucky we came out alive. Really. They beat the shit out of Steve, a–and they drugged him and Robin, and—"

He chuckled. "Don't worry, kid. I'm not going anywhere."

She hesitated, sighing softly. "I'm serious, Dad. Please. Promise me you'll be safe."

He wrapped his arms around his daughter, bringing in tight for a hug. "I'm coming back, Katie. I promise."

She took in a deep breath, nodding her head. "Just be careful."

When she let go of him, she smiled at him, and Hopper handed her the keys to the convertible. "You stay safe, too, all right, kid?"

She smiled and saluted him off, turning around and throwing the keys to Steve.

Before they walked out the door, Steve turned to Hopper, giving a quick nod to him. Hopper gave him a nod back, showing he knew that Steve would keep his promise that he'd made to him so long ago, even now.

When Steve was told he'd get to drive a 1984 Cadillac Convertible, he thought he was going to scream.

"Oh, man, now this... this is what I'm talkin' about!" he said as he approached the car, walking out of the mall.

"Toddfather?" Robin asked confusedly.

"My dad said the guy's an ass," Kate replied, shrugging slightly. "Seems fitting."

"Oh, screw Todd! Steve's her daddy now."

"Did you just talk about yourself in the third person?" Kate asked, her eyebrows furrowing together as she got into the front seat.

"Did he just call himself daddy?" Erica asked.

"All right, where are we going?" Steve asked, ignoring the two.

"Weathertop," Dustin replied.

"Weather-what?"

"Just drive!"

"Okay, Jesus!" Steve said, starting the car.

He would've loved driving the car even more if it would've been under different circumstances. He liked looking at Kate in the passenger's seat, wind in her hair. He would've even enjoyed the loud music if it wasn't for the imminent danger of the world ending because they didn't get to Dustin's contraption in time. He felt like they'd been driving for forever.

"Jesus, how far is this place, man?" Steve asked.

"Relax, we're almost there," Dustin said.

"Suzie must be pretty special, huh?" Robin asked from the back. "I mean, if you built this thing and lugged it all the way to the middle of nowhere just to talk to her?"

"I mean, nobody's scientifically perfect, but Suzie's about as close to being perfect as any human could possibly be."

"She sounds made-up to me," Erica said. "She sound made-up to you?"

Steve hesitated.

"Why are you hesitating, Steve?"

"I'm... I'm—I'm not! I'm not! I think she sounds real. You know, totally, absolutely real," Steve said unconvincingly.

Kate laughed and shook her head. He definitely didn't believe him.

"Left. Turn left."

"There's not a road here!"

"Turn left now!"

Steve didn't think on it a moment longer before he went straight through a fence.

"Whoa! Henderson, where are we going?"

"Up!" Dustin shouted.

"Oh, Jesus!"

"We're not gonna make it!" Kate shouted.

"Yes, we are. Come on, baby. Come on, baby!" Steve shouted at the car.

When they got stuck in the mud, Kate turned to him with a smile slightly dusting her lips. "I guess the Toddfather has its limitations."

Steve sighed defeatedly and cut off the engine, and the group of five walked uphill to Dustin's Cerebro, where Mike was already calling for them: Scoops Troop. Of course, it had cut out before they could answer, never mind before they heard it at all.

"Bald Eagle, do you copy? Bald Eagle, I repeat, this is Scoops Troop, do you copy?" Dustin called.

"Yes, I copy," Murray said, over the radio.

They all chuckled with relief. Maybe the plan was actually going to work.

"Call sign?"

"Bald Eagle," he replied after a moment or two.

"Please repeat," Dustin said, almost as if he were trying to nag him.

"Bald Eagle. This is Bald Eagle!" the man shouted back, obviously irritated.

Dustin smiled. "Copy that. Good to hear your voice, Bald Eagle. What's your 20?"

"We reached the vent. I'll contact you when I need you. Until then, silence," Murray said calmly.

"Roger that, Bald Eagle. This is Scoops Troop, going radio silent. 10-10, over."

Steve patted Dustin on the back as they navigated their system—their plan was actually going to work this time.

next chapter

taglist: @thatsonezesty13 @cece5298 @thepowerstoner @alovelytardis @coolchick333 @stand-tall-pineapple @littlet-holmes @guichu @cinderellacauseshebroke @blackbirddaredevil23 @mads-weasley @ilovemarauders @pearlstiare @liableperfections @khaylin27 @girlwiththerubyslippers @cyarikaaa

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x hopper!reader #stranger things 3 #steve harrington headcanon #steve harrington x oc #steve harrington series #steve harrington stranger things

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fernweh-writes · 3 years ago

Note

Hi dear, I hope you are doing well ♥ Could you please write headcanon how would slashers react to their s/o having a panic fear of spiders? Like she always freezes or scream when she sees even a really small spider.

(today I freaked out, when I saw the eight-legged monster above my bed and wish I had some big stabby men here, who would save me :) )

Spiders simply have to many legs and to many eyes

-Fern🌿

Slashers X S/O With Arachnophobia

Michael Myers

He simply cannot understand why you’re afraid of spiders. You’re not afraid of a giant man who murders people, but you’re scared of a tiny insect with eight legs? Yeah, okay, makes sense.

The first time he sees you screaming and freaking out over a spider, he thinks that it’s hilarious. Michael has never seen you so scared of anything before. Not even he managed to get that kind of reaction from you when he was considering killing you. It amuses him that you’re so afraid of a bug.

When you scream for him it never fails to freak him out. He thinks that you’re in danger. So when he just sees you pointing at the spider he considers letting you suffer and deal with it on your own.

Once he’s done watching you have your bug breakdown he will kill it for you. It is his job to protect you after all and while he does occasionally enjoy seeing the fear in your eyes, he would much rather you fear him. That small bug is stealing his thunder, so it has got to go.

Bo Sinclair

There is most definitely plenty of spiders in Ambrose. Majority of the places are run down on the inside, which makes them a safe haven for creepy crawlies. So unfortunately for you, there will be plenty of encounters with the eight legged horrors that are spiders.

The first time Bo hears you scream he panics, thinking that you’re in danger. So when he finds you pointing at a spider, it’s safe to say that he is a little bit upset.

At the same time he also finds it endearing and loves that you come running to him to save you. It shows that you trust him to protect you, even from little nuisances.

But still, even though he does think you’re being dramatic he’s quick to squash them. Bo knows that there’s plenty of spiders in Louisiana that could be dangerous and land you in the ER so he’s more than happy to handle them for you.

Be prepared for Bo to give you hell about your fear though. “What are you so scared for darlin’? The thing ain’t but the size of a dime, if that.”

Vincent Sinclair

He spends most of his time in dark, cool tunnels underground. There’s spiders absolutely everywhere in his workshop, Vincent is just used to them at this point.

Vincent does his best to keep you up in the house after the first time a spider crawls over your leg and you loose your mind. That effort lasted about all of one day considering he hates working alone now and misses your presence. Knowing that you want to be with him also doesn’t help his resolve any.

Used to try and save the spiders but eventually gave up. There’s simply to many of them in Ambrose, so saving them just doesn’t do any good.

Luckily, Vincent takes your fear of spiders very seriously. So anytime you call upon him to save you from the eight legged nuisances he is always quick to oblige.

If you interrupt his work though it may annoy him a little bit but he’ll never let you know that. He knows that you can’t help your phobia, but don’t expect him to stick around after he finishes the job. May also get a little bit of an attitude afterwards as well but always ends up apologizing.

Brahms Heelshire

Spiders don’t phase Brahms. He lives in the walls with plenty of them and has more than likely come to appreciate them. Which is very surprising for Brahms. So sometimes he tries to save the spiders and move them outside. Unless he’s been bitten by one.

If Brahms has been bitten by a spider before then it just turns into the two of you freaking out and arguing over who has to kill the spider.

“Be a gentleman, Brahms! You kill the spider.” “No! You kill it, you’re the one being paid!”

If you don’t want to deal with the spiders, all it takes is Malcolm stepping on one for you one time when you started freaking out. Brahms saw you thank him for it and got jealous. Now Brahms is your official protector from creepy crawlies, not Malcolm.

Thomas Hewitt

You’re going to have to get over your fear of spiders if you want to live in the Hewitt house. The old place does a terrible job of keeping the bugs outside so you’ll see them scurrying across the floor pretty frequently.

You know what they say, everything is bigger in Texas. Turns out, the spiders are no exception, so good luck.

Thomas is very busy and handles most of the chores for the family. He doesn’t have the time to run to your rescue every time you see a spider.

When he is with you he won’t hesitate to kill them for you though. Thomas isn’t afraid of people with weapons, why should he be afraid of a small critter with eight legs?

Luda Mae would honestly just look at you like your stupid if you tell her about your fear. Nonetheless any spider she sees it quickly whacked with an old newspaper before you even have a chance to see it.

Billy Loomis

“How come you never scream for me like that, babe?”

Billy thinks it’s absolutely hilarious that you’re afraid of something so small. You can date a murderer but an eight legged bug is where you draw the line?

While he loves to tease you about it, he will still save you from the spiders. What kind of boyfriend would he be if he didn’t? “Ask nicely and I might kill it for you.” “You’ll kill people but not the spider?” “You know what, just for that you can kill it yourself. Have fun!” Or maybe not…

Walks away but circles right back around when he hears you freaking out again. Then he gets dramatic about everything and starts huffing and rolling his eyes at you.

Stu Macher

Much like Billy, Stu teases you but in a less condescending way. Stu keeps his teasing more lighthearted, he just has a tendency to go to far with it from time to time.

Is also very dramatic and makes a whole scene out of killing the spider for you. Acts like he’s your knight in shining armor.

On the bright side, him being a complete dork distracts you from the spider. Unlike some people *cough cough Billy* he doesn’t delay the part where he kills the spider.

However, he does expect payment for saving you and protecting you from the big bad arachnid. It’s okay he accepts cuddles and kisses as a form of payment.

Jesse Cromeans

He has spent to much time on his murder sprees in the Deep South to be scared of spiders. Everyone knows that the south has plenty of deadly spiders and Jesse sin;t fazed by any of them so you can count on him to keep you safe.

There aren’t any spiders in his house either. Jesse has to much money to allow any sort of bugs get anywhere close to his house. Any time you see a spider within the house it’s most likely already dead anyways.

Jesse finds your fear of the bugs cute. It makes you seem so innocent. His sweet kitten isn’t afraid of him or what he does but they’re afraid of a tiny little spider.

Asa Emory

Asa doesn’t fear spiders, the spiders fear him.

Unlike the other slashers, Asa doesn’t tolerate bug homicide. Any time you find a spider in the house you better let him know so that he can safely get rid of it.

Some times he’ll keep the spiders that find their way into the house. Spiders are his favorite after all and native species are important for the environment.

Sadly, he would use your fear against you if he deems it necessary. As long as you listen to him though, there won’t be any issue.

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okaybutlikeimagine · 3 years ago

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A Father’s Day Triptych

TW: past/referenced child abuse, emotional hurt/comfort, child neglect

(you can find it on AO3 here ♥)

Father’s day in the Hargrove household was always pulled taut with expectations of kindness and submission hanging over Billy’s head.

They didn’t always used to be that way. When he was a kid, Father’s days felt like a reprieve rather than a burden. Billy and his mom would prepare special things- a nice card that would make him laugh, those new fishing poles he’d been eyeing in the big sporting store a town over, a pretty cake with fresh fruit on top from the grocer down the way. His mother went all out. She’d get Billy all excited for it too. The strenuous relationships were softened for a day where they did everything they could to make him happy.

They really did… everything they could just to make him happy. Sometimes Billy still wonders why it had to take so much.

Around Father’s day, his mother would use all her spending money to make his father smile. It usually worked. And for that day, it was so good. It could hardly get better. Grilling and watching stupid baseball games Billy never cared about but would pretend to be interested in, just for him. Fake smiles almost became real. Hot dogs and hamburgers and watermelon always tasted better on those days when his father would put his arm around Billy amicably- when he would laugh at the card and compliment how Billy’s penmanship was getting better every year.

The year that she left was the worst.

The year that she left Billy stopped getting an allowance. He had no money to soften the edges of his father with fresh cakes and fancy presents. He panicked. He stole a stupid fishing keychain from a store and made a card from his school notebook paper. He presented them with shaking hands to his father who seemed glued to the couch, eyes bloodshot, surrounded by beer cans, baseball game so loud Billy’s ears felt sore.

He got a grunt and a lazy eye roll in response. A slurred groan of “your writing is sloppy”. A quieter admission of regret.

He got resentment. Billy was 9 and he knew it was resentment towards his very existence. He slid away to his room. There was no dinner to eat that night as his father passed out on the couch with the TV still on far too loud.

When Susan and Max came into the picture, Billy miraculously found a reason to be happy for it. Suddenly there was pressure taken off of him. He let Max know it too, as Susan encouraged them to go out and “at least get him a card”. They’d lazily look through all the forcibly funny and generic pieces of paper. Max was nervous that first year.

“It’s whatever.” Billy had grunted, looking through ugly green cards with stupid phrases on them. “She’s gonna bang him tonight, he won’t care about a dumb card.”

“Ew.” Max had whined, covering her ears and pouting. Billy couldn’t find it in himself to care.

It was never fun. Billy felt like he was on a leash all day long, obligated to do everything he could for his father just to keep him civil. Susan made a steak, the kids handed over the card, his father remarked how his penmanship was the mark of someone lazy and sloppy (no matter how hard Billy would try to make it as neat as he possibly could), and the day would end. And he could stop thinking about how this man still had a hand in his life.

…

Father’s day in the Hopper household was always bumbling and awkward.

By the time that first one came around, Billy was just beginning to feel less like a burden to the house and more like an addition. He’d found comfort in the space they all shared. They had a sort of routine set between all of them. There was still no second bed for Billy, so he still felt like he was imposing when Hop slept on the couch, but it was a sort of pull out couch by that point and Hop insisted and Billy decided not to pay it too much mind.

And that first Father’s day was just… awkward. Billy had completely forgotten the date- summer had just started for him and days were rolling by in hot and languid and lazy moments of feeling out every new situation. He had just started getting really serious with Steve. Not just touching for the sake of getting off but really starting to need and want each other in ways that scared him. In ways that made him want to keep things how they were- ways that made him scared to change a thing. It was a new and alien feeling for him.

El had inadvertently learned about Father’s day from Mike when he briefly groaned about dinner plans his family had. Billy found that out from El on their drive to the store to pick something up for Hop. She had to convince Billy it was a thing they should do, because Hopper was their father. He did fatherly things for them. He took them in and gave them a roof and food and asked how their days were and wished them goodnight and good morning, however groggily. He made stupid jokes that made them moan and he danced horribly to the old records he kept on their dusty shelf and he was horrible with laundry and he whistled as he did dishes.

He introduced Billy proudly in the grocery store once. It was the weekend after Billy had a really good basketball game that Hop had decided to attend. Hop bragged about it to some friend of his. Billy flushed red and elbowed him and tried his best to escape.

He thought about it every single day.

Billy and El bought a large cheesy balloon, ingredients to make a nice lasagna dinner, and a green and white cake from the bakery. The balloon was more for El. The lasagna was a little burnt. Hop was too nice to say he’d have preferred pie to cake, but he ate it anyway as they sat around the TV and watched whatever program was on. Billy only remembered as he fell slowly into sleep that night. He jolted awake quickly, remembering a sort of far off conversation months ago where Hop had proclaimed confidently that pie was the superior dessert of anything else- yes, even Eggo's with whipped cream and sprinkles. How he admitted cake was never his favorite.

Billy felt shame overcome him as he remembered, pushing himself out of bed and turning to the sofa with the immediate want to apologize for it. He wasn’t sure what came over him.

But instead of sending pleading apologies into the darkness, he just looked towards the sofa with a heavily beating heart and let his eyes adjust. And he thought about all that man had done for the two of them. Thought about how he took in these two stray kids. Thought about how he knew Hop was getting flack for it, because Billy heard the whispers and the snickers and the sneers about Hop running a dog pound. Thought about how he gave up his probably comfier trailer for the rundown cabin, gave up the main bedroom for the dusty spare bed, gave up the dusty spare bed for the couch, gave up parts of his sanity probably…

Billy didn’t wanna apologize anymore. He just whispered a thanks, even though it was hard to push up through his throat and would fall onto sleeping ears.

The Father’s days after that first one got better. They got Joyce, and along with her 2 boys that had their own rocky past with fathers and celebrations of them. Just four kids who feared and resented father figures. It ended up being better than Billy could imagine. It was never quite as awkward as that first Father’s day, but never quite comfortable either. That being said, it was never a bad day. The bar was low, but that didn’t matter. Billy found appreciation for the general ease all the same.

…

Father’s day in the Hargrove-Harrington-”whatever we’re together now and that’s what’s most important” household is filled with guilt and feelings of imposter syndrome.

They don’t celebrate it the first two or so years after they’ve adopted their first child. He’s just a toddler, he doesn’t quite understand yet what it is. And they… they’re still struggling with what it means to be fathers. They’re confident in their rights but they’re not immune to the judgmental voices, always eyeing them oddly when they’re out together with their boy or asking after the mother when they’re out separately. Always looking a little judgmental or harsh when they have to explain why the kid doesn’t look like them- whoever is with him at the time. Or getting looks of pity when the people clearly begin to assume it’s because they couldn’t get pregnant with whatever wife must be at home.

It’s hard to hear. It makes them question everything. If their boy doesn’t know what he’s missing, then there’s no need to explain.

Billy calls Hopper and feels his heart lurch when Hop and Joyce wish him and Steve a happy father’s day. They do it with joy and certainty. As if it belongs to them, too. Billy hangs up the phone and lays in bed for at least half an hour. Steve can’t get through to him.

It’s an odd feeling. A rough feeling. When they adopt their second child, a girl of 9 years old, they know they’re going to have to confront it. Their son begins school that year too. They find out about the day from their friends and television ads and store windows. The children are timid with them- they were adopted as supposed “problem children” from rough homes and tumultuous pasts. Billy and Steve don’t expect anything of them but they’re still not sure how to explain that. They figure ignoring is easier than explaining. Maybe it’ll make it go away.

It doesn’t work well.

And Billy… Billy’s just struggling being a dad. He couldn’t explain the job if he tried. He helps make lunches, he gives timeouts, he buys and subsequently sneaks himself some silly little snack foods when he’s hungry and busy and doesn’t have time to do more than rip open a pouch. He deals with tantrums over vegetables and he wipes mouths with napkins and he sings lullabies in the wrong key and he reads bedtime stories until he himself dozes off in the tiny bed with a small head on his chest and drool pooling onto his shirt.

He’s trying. He gets frustrated at stores. He gets a little hot headed, a little loud. His heart breaks when they cry. He’s straddling the line between being a pushover and a hard-ass. He lays awake at night, staring at the ceiling, dreading ever becoming like Neil. He asks Steve, in the stillness of the night when the darkness acts as the weight of every horrible outcome imaginable, if he’ll follow Neil’s wretched footsteps.

“You’ll never be like him, Billy.”

“How do you know? What if it’s inside me already.”

“It’s not.”

“Maybe it is… maybe I won’t be able to help it.”

He stresses and he struggles and he wants to rip his hair out.

But that first father’s day comes around with their new daughter and newly knowledgeable son. And the two children blunder around the kitchen while their two dads are asleep. And then they wake the two parents up, both teary eyed and breathing heavy, faces full of apology and sorrow, asking for help to clean up the mess.

And Billy and Steve find the kitchen a single step back from full on disaster. There’s juice all over the counter and dripping onto the floor, the cereal box is all soggy from it, the toaster is smoking, a plate is broken on the ground, the fridge is still open. Their daughter pulls on Billy’s pajama pants and holds out her finger that’s bleeding. He gets out of her that she somehow managed to cut it on the butter knife she was using to cut up some fruit.

Steve gets busy cleaning things up. He asks their son to help do smaller things like close the fridge and grab some towels.

Billy takes his daughter’s small soft hand into his large, rough one and plants a kiss on it. It sends something like pure love surging through his heart. He guides her to the bathroom to put a bandaid on it and asks if she’s okay.

“Mmhm.” She nods and his heart softens. She sniffles. “M’sorry. We wanted… wanted to make breakfast and w-wanted to do something nice.”

She sounds like the weight of the world is on her small shoulders. Billy sees himself at 9 years old, doing his damnedest to get anything close to a damn smile out of his father while he sat unresponsive and unamused on the couch.

His heart yearns. It breaks and it pulls and it screams and it shouts. He pulls her in close and hugs her tight and tries to find the right words. Tries to tell her it’s made his entire year. It’s made him feel validated and happy and worth it, like all of that stress is worth it just to know that these two children got up early as hell on a Sunday morning just to surprise their fathers. Just to surprise the two of them. Just to say they thought of them, wanted to give them something, wanted to make them feel special.

“It was nice.” Is all he can croak out through his froggy throat.

“It’s a mess.” She sobs, but he just grips her arms tighter.

“It was wonderful.” He says and he’s crying too. He can’t get the tears to stop. He’s kneeling on the bathroom ground, the two of them crying to each other.

And Billy swears he’ll never get good at the father thing. He has talks with Hop about it, when he’s feeling vulnerable and Hopper’s able to get it out of him. By this point they’ve adopted another child- an older boy, a teenager. He’s rough and he’s jaded. He listens to loud, angry music. He kind of picks on the other two kids, even though he’d jump in front of a bus for either one of them. Hop asks how he likes it.

“He’s a lot like you were, y’know.” Hop tells Billy, who still doesn’t really see it.

Steve doesn’t have as much of a problem with the boy as Billy does. Billy and him just never seem to see eye to eye.

“It’s because you’re the same people.” Hop insists. Steve agrees. Joyce affirms with pity. “You clash.”

They clash hard. They get into yelling matches. Billy never puts a hand on him, but the arguments aren’t exactly great. Billy cries to Steve at night, fear shaking him down to his core, still able to see and hear himself yelling at that boy who fights tooth and nail back with him.

“You’re not a bad person, Billy.”

“Why do I do that shit?” He asks, knowing full well no one but him could ever really know.

It’s not like it’s anything too vitriolic. It’s not like it’s anything really poisonous.

It’s over the fact that he stays out too late at night, and Billy gets worried. It’s the fact that Billy found cigarettes in his room and he knows the bad effects of cigarettes. It’s the fact that he pushed his little brother one day and made him scrape his knee and he needed to learn some boundaries. It’s the fact that he lied about his grades when Billy felt they gave him no reason to do such a thing.

It’s fatherly things. That’s what Hop assures him as Billy cries on the phone with him.

“It’s things I would have done with you.”

Billy never ever knows what to make of that. What to make of what he’d be like now if Hop was his father from the start. If Hop was there from the beginning. If Neil hadn’t made him a monster in his own image.

Billy does his best to get through to him. Get through to his son now because he’s his son now.

Billy feels like the worst, most undeserving father.

As the kids have gotten older, they learned better ways to celebrate father’s day. They learn breakfast in bed isn’t really what the two of them would prefer- a nice lunch and getting to spend some time with them sounds better. A homemade card always goes on the mantle or the fridge with the rest of the collection. A few hugs because those are like treasured gifts in this house with kids who have a history of boundary and trust issues with parental figures.

The older son catches Billy alone in the kitchen.

“Hey.”

“Hi.” Billy replies awkwardly back. The silence is jarring.

“I uh… uhm.” He’s struggling. Billy wants to do something more than just stand here, but he’s not sure what. He doesn’t want to push anything too far. He wants to be good at this.

The boy puts a small, wrapped box on the counter with an envelope underneath and slides it over.

“Happy Father's day.” He mumbles, suddenly fidgeting.

Billy stares at them.

“You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.”

There’s another pause, heavy with all the weight and worry in Billy’s heart. He reaches for the box, rips the paper open easily, lifts up the lid.

“It’s uh… it’s just a couple tapes of some of those… bands you like. And talk about. All the time.” The boy snickers, but it catches in his throat. He’s so nervous. “My friend’s family was getting rid of a bunch of their tapes and I know you’ve got your old tape player still so… uh… yeah.”

It’s a mixed bag of absolute classics. Some tapes he used to have, others he’s always wanted. Zeppelin, Ted Nugent, Def Leppard, Billy Idol, AC/DC, Alice Cooper… his heart skips. He lost a lot of his tapes after all the sudden moves he’s had to make. His eyes start to well.

“I… I don’t know what to say.” Billy pushes out on a whisper.

“Are they any good?”

“They’re… they’re awesome, kid.”

“There’s a card too y’know.” The boy adds, still shuffling nervously.

Billy slips it out from under the box, pulling his finger underneath the flap to open it.

It’s… it’s ridiculous. It’s one of the cheesiest cards Billy’s ever seen. He thinks back to all the stupid, jokey cards he used to pick out with his mother. The joke inside actually makes him laugh, loud and bright.

There’s words written underneath, quite a few scribbled out and then-

Sorry for all the trouble. I think I just don’t like knowing you’re right sometimes… but thank you for everything.

The words are nearly chicken scratch- wobbly letters clearly written with a nervous and shaky hand. The boy is damn near bouncing now, damn near trying to crawl out of his skin with nerves.

It’s the best, prettiest, most wonderful chicken scratch handwriting Billy has ever seen. He can barely see it now through his misty eyes.

“Your… handwriting is really nice.”

The boy scoffs loudly.

“Uh, thanks?” He sounds like he doesn’t believe it. Still, Billy could swear he sees the boy preen, just a little.

“Thank you.” Billy says, fighting back tears, trying like hell to hold himself together. “I’m sorry, too. I don’t… I don’t have to yell at you so much. At all. I’m sorry about it.”

The boy is just staring at him, eyes a little wide and a little shocked. Billy feels his heart lurch. He just wants to be fucking good at this.

“I’m gonna do better.” Billy asserts through a not-so-wobbly-anymore voice

The boy gives a small smile that grows a bit wider. If Billy isn’t absolutely crazy yet, he’d say that the boy’s eyes are getting a bit misty too.

“So are those tapes actually good?” The boy asks, clearing his throat and trying to seem casual. Billy sees more and more of himself in him.

“Hell yeah… do you think I’d have bad taste?”

His son cackles just a bit, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, alright then. Whatever you say.”

There’s a pause. Billy takes the card and tucks it back into the envelope to save for himself- to put in a special place in his and Steve’s room. He then busies himself with shuffling through his tapes before his son says-

“We can… listen to some of them. If you want.”

Billy’s eyes shine with excitement and appreciation.

Listening to the tapes together is wonderful. They rib each other about what songs are better, what voices do and don’t sound the same, what the lyrics are like. They learn more about each other and maybe Billy is finally forced to admit that they’re a lot more alike than he realized.

And Billy starts to feel that maybe… maybe he can finally define what a father really means to him. And father’s days start to feel a bit more like they belong to him, too.

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extremelyblackandwhite · 3 years ago

Text

ascendance - 02

PAIRING: mob!bucky barnes x reader

WARNINGS: violence, dark themes, murder, bleeding, kidnapping, age gap (reader is 23, bucky is 37)

A/N: i am gonna try using the commas as dialogue markers for this work as i’ve gotten a few complaints about my love of the -, so i’m giving it a trial run. don’t be alarmed by it. hope you enjoy it xx

> NEXT CHAPTER | MASTERLIST

Her head was pounding and felt as if some unseen force was squeezing her skull, causing her head to hurt even further but she daren’t open her eyes. She could open them, she was conscious enough to know she could open then but she had them squeezed shut, afraid of what awaited her once she did so. From her senses, she knew she was laying against stone, cold stone and she could hear water drops falling onto the surface, still she daren’t open her eyes. This was all a nightmare, just a nightmare that she was going to wake up from in her very tiny, over expensive, way older New York flat in front of the weirdest scenery someone could have.

The footsteps had her forcefully open her eyes as she scrambled backwards, back hitting a cold wall as her blurry eyes focused on the room. It was dark, almost like a basement yet she couldn’t exactly make it up. The beads of her dress had left marks on her skin yet somehow her wig was still in place. She didn’t know where she was and she hoped this was a really bad joke they played on newcomers. That’s it, a joke. It was just a joke, just hazing on the new kid. She’d gone through hazing a newcomer teasing in old companies, that’s just what it was. Don’t think of the worse, don’t of the worse.

Along with the echoing water drops falling onto the stone floor underwear, echoes of sleeps from above the ceiling started to become the main sound. She curled into a ball, fingers digging into her own skin as she hoped to wake up from this nightmare-like situation she was in. Suddenly, voice and steps was all she could hear, the water drops being drown up by those sounds until the door slammed open.

“WHAT THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH THIS BILLY, HUH” a thick bronx accent was now the only thing that filled the room and she daren’t open her eyes, instead remaining scared on the floor. "DOES THIS FUCKING LOOK LIKE A 40 YEAR OLD WOMAN TO YOU?”

“I, I’m sorry, boss. She was in the dressing room and I thought it was her, I could see her face." she peaked her eyes open, still laying down on the floor, the same floor where four men stood looking down at her. She could barely make out all of their faces, probably a result of fear and adrenaline overpowering her brain yet she could make up one face. One face standing at the right end, with glossy eyes which appeared to be staring nowhere, was familiar to her. "It was a mistake, I’m sorry ... I ... I can go back.”

“ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME, BILLY?” the man who had been yelling before hand, pulled his hand over his own face. “Soldat.”

“He’s a kid, John.” the man who she had spoken with before but whose name she still didn’t know said in a low, tired voice.

"A kid? Well, what the fuck are we gonna do with THAT FUCKING KID THEN?” the John person pointed at her and she almost stumbled back but her body couldn’t move. She knew she could move her body but she seemed paralysed. Her mind was rushing miles and miles an hour but her body was frozen into place. "Tommy, I expected better from you.”

"I thought he had the right chick.” said the man who still hadn’t spoken, shrugging.

The mood seemed to shift with that sentence alone, the carelessness of it turning the room bitter and colder than it already was. John’s jaw tightened, constricted muscles as he looked over to the only familiar man in the room with decisive eyes. The man was almost mechanical, grabbing the revolver stuck to his hip in his right hand before his eyes settled on her. Her heart seemed to stop beating, waves of cold shivers washing all over her as she prepared herself for the worse. However, his gaze darted to the side and hers follow and then ... bang. A thump onto the floor followed by silence and as she looked back to where her gaze had been stuck so, she saw Tommy laid on the ground, gunshot to the head, blood staining his dirty blonde hair, the same blood which had slightly splattered onto her face which merely seemed to further paralyse her.

“Get rid of her. Last thing I need is another loose thread.” John took a handkerchief from his pocket, cleaning whatever blood had splattered onto him as if it were merely water and not the substance which had kept the man who now lied dead on the ground alive.

“She might be valuable.” he still held his gun in hand, seemingly unbothered by what had just happened. What kind of monster does that? “She might know people”

“What do you do?” John turned to her, talking down as if she were a child. She looked around, not entirely sure if she could even manage to make any words come out of her mouth. Her gaze once against settled on the familiar man who mouthed something to her. Lie.

"L-lyric soprano.” she wasn’t lying per say but she knew no chorus girl was valuable and if she wasn’t valuable, her faith was laying on the ground. If she survives, maybe someone can find her, maybe she can run away.

"It’s the New York Opera. The police are gonna be insane running after her and we can use her as a get out of jail free card. Almost like an expensive painting”

John looked her up and down, biting the inside of his cheek and pondering his options but Y/N couldn’t stare or even look at him. Her eyes were instead focused on the gun still being held by the unnamed man, the same gun which had any time could go off and while her hopeful side was willing to survive and get out, the other part of her wondered if it would be a kinder faith.

"Fucking clean this up, Billy.” John sighed before leaving the the room.

She curled up, body shivering as she could wear the body being pulled up the stairs before the door was closed, leaving her alone in the room. Time went by slowly or at least it felt slow to her yet she couldn’t do anything, all she could do is be trapped in her own panic as what once felt like a start became a dead end. Even once she could get up to try and find any creaks and cracks, anything which would translate into an escape option, a sudden wave of disappointment, betrayal and hopelessness would bring her back down and almost pin her to the now blood stained ground. All she could do was look at the ceiling, silent tears rushing down her face and she was back to being paralysed on the ground, the beads of her costume pinching and bruising her skin.

The door opened a few times in a time space which she couldn’t really pinpoint yet she didn’t look at the door, she merely looked at the ceiling trying to imagine that she was somewhere else. Trying she imagine she was anywhere else, anywhere but else in the dark, by her self with dried tears in the corner of her eyes and cheeks, mixing with the dried blood on her cheeks she didn’t have the strength to wipe away while it was fresh. The paralysis soon enough was replaced by numbness as her body shut down, preferring to be asleep than awake as if she was going to wake up in her flat.

Bucky closed the door for what felt like the fifth time, eyeing the untouched sandwich and glass of water which had been laying there for the past 7 hours just a few meters away from where she was laying. He thought about telling her to eat, ordering her even but he guessed she had seen enough and been through enough. Wiping his hand off the dust from the basement, he climbed up the stairs to the main floor. He knew that path like the back of his hand, he’d been there enough times to know how to get there blindfolded. After all, they didn’t call that the burner room for no reason.

“Damn cops won’t get off my back.” John complained as he saw him. “This is what happens when we leave loose ends. Should’ve killed him when I had the fucking chance.”

“They don’t have any evidence.”

“I’m sure when they come into my fucking house and see I have Jenny Lind locked in my basement they’ll love it” he scoffed. “You need to take her out of here before they come snooping.”

“It’s not my mess to clean.” Bucky leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “Ain’t Billy the one with that house in the Hamptons? Ask him, it’s his mess.”

“You think I’m going to trust Billy with my get outta jail card? Fucking idiot can’t even distinguish between a 40 year old and a 20 year old.” he snickered. “You keep her. You gotta flat in Brooklyn, don’t cha? No one’s gonna be looking at you.”

“And wait am I supposed to do with her hm? Handcuff her to my couch and hope she doesn’t scream until whenever?”

“Weren’t you the one who wanted to spare her? I thought you’d learned your lesson from the last time you questioned me.” Bucky looked down at the floor, jaw locked, forehead muscles tense. “Thought so.”

Y/N woke up in a different place and while it was as dark as the basement, she knew it was somewhere else. She could feel herself moving but she herself wasn’t moving. She looked around, trying to look around for any indicators of her she was until she moved her hands up which came into contact with some sort of metal covered by a weird velvet like fabric. Was she in the trunk of a car? Her hand tried to look for the sign light to punch it out just like she had heard in school assemblies so, so many times yet as she finally found it, the car came to a very harsh stop. She held her breathe in, her ears registering footsteps which became louder and louder until the trunk of the car was pulled open. The harsh light hurt her eyes which she squeezed shut only to open them again. The same man from the dressing room stood over the trunk. She curled up against herself but he grabbed her bicep, easily lifting her from the trunk and onto the floor yet maintaining the grip on her bicep.

She was in what looked like a garage, with green blueish lighting and while she could see a big closed door at the end, his grip on her bicep was a silent reminder for her not to try anything. Not only did he tower over her but she was almost sure he probably had a gun with him and she thought not to try. He led her to a lift, making sure she entered before he did. As the doors closed, that feeling of dread in her stomach mixed with the other one she had felt the very first time she saw him yet she daren’t look him in the eye. In all honesty, everything was blurry to her even as she walked into a small flat, the sound of the door behind closed and locked behind her being the only thing she really registered.

The man walked up to his kitchen which was open concept with the living room and grabbed a bottle with amber liquid from the counter, pouring himself what she guessed was whiskey yet she wasn’t the most alcohol knowledgeable person, most of the times she couldn’t even drink milk, much less alcohol.

“You hungry?” he asked in an nonchalant tone as if she were merely a guest in this flat. Y/N looked behind her back to the door. “I would follow you if you tried it.”

“I ... I am not gonna tell anyone.”

“It’s not my choice to make. You try to run and you’re successful and someone will just kill you. Your best choice is to stay put. They don’t like loose ends.” he downed whatever liquid was in the glass, putting it back on the counter. She remained there, not moving from the space between the door and the place where the kitchen began. The man sighed, grabbing a peach from a glass bowl on the counter and placing it just at the end, where it was closest to her. “Eat something, will you?”

“I don’t want to. Thank you.”

“There’s food in the fridge. Suit yourself.”

He left the room to enter one of the other rooms, leaving Y/N all alone in the middle of that room. Escape! Her mind yelled at her and she immediately moved back to the door, trying to push at the handle so it would open but the latched was locked shut. She turned around, looking for anything to jab the lock until she noticed the windows. Her most careful side would have told her not to do it but she had to. She had to escape, she couldn’t stay put. She had been working her whole life for that opportunity, working low paid jobs to pay for tuition at Julliard, not drinking, not dating, not having any lactose so her voice would be good enough, she couldn’t ... she just couldn’t lose that opportunity after putting her whole teenage years at stake just so she could have this opportunity.

Y/N made her way to the window which led to a fire escape but was also locked. She looked over her shoulder to check if he had left the room before she pulled her arm back and to the front, her fist hitting the glass which cracked. She continued punching the glass with all the force she could manage despite the glass burying and cutting her skin until she had broken the window enough too climb out into the fire escape. As she prepared to put her leg over the cracked hole, two arms wrapped around her waist, pushing her back. She whimpered and moved around in the embrace, trying to get free. If only she could get free for a moment she could climb out, she could run away, she could go back to the opera house.

“Stop.” he flushed her tighter to his chest, walking away from the window, away from her possibility of escaping.

It didn’t take long for him to notice she was hurt, her blood falling onto his jacket as he pulled her further and further away. He brought her to the front of the sink, gloved hand lifting the tap up, making a constant stream of cold water come up. Through her constant fighting to get free he managed to get her hand under the water, shards of glass coming out onto the red stained water which whirled onto the drain.

“Let me go.” he elbowed him in the chest but he continuously held her against the side of the sink, fingers rubbing against the top of her palm to unlodge the shards of glass of her skin. “I have to go, please let me go.”

“Calm down.”

“Stop.” she tried to wriggle her wrist off his hold. “I have to go.”

“I promise you that you will go. You stay put, you don’t try to run and in no time you’ll be back doing petty chores for divas.”

“Why should I trust you?” she looked at the sink filled with little shards of glass.

“It’s either that or you’ll end up dead. What other choice do you have?” he stopped forcing her against the sink, leaning against the opposite corner. “Last thing I want is to lock you in a room. So what’s it gonna be?”

“You promise you’ll let me go?”

“You have my word.”

TAGLIST: @lookiamtrying @buckyswillows @blossomslibrary @juliesland @iloveshawnieboi @unmagically @red-head011

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yakumtsaki · 3 years ago

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Welcome, dear readers, to part 1 of the finale to the BackupKingdom2 saga! We’re in our final ambition now, let’s check how Liz’s post-divorce-bloodbath is going..

Oh yes, excellent. Our path to death-achievement-glory has been paved with so many executions that wherever I look I see npcs crying..

..comforting each other..

..and in Agnes' case, coming straight to Liz to.. ask for mercy for the populace I guess?? Bruh. I can't believe we even brought down AGNES, truly this is the saddest kingdom on earth. Amazing job, Liz, you've definitely earned your place in the tyrant hall of fame!

Now a lesser player would be like "oh, maybe we should chill a little on the insane tyrant thing, finish the Pirate/Noble arc cause we've been dragging this war out so the pirates/guildsmen would keep spawning and it should have ended like 20 quests ago" and true, we could just end it, we ran a very effective operation around here, shoutout to MVPs Donius and Bellinda and their 'seductive' legendary traits:

They bedded them and Liz beheaded them, the power of teamwork! So one could say that we should consider raising kingdom morale now because everyone is so depressed but I think, if anything, now is the time to ramp it up and go for some of the other morally questionable achievements! Like Machiavelli said, you should commit all your atrocities at once! What do you think, Liz? Ready to get atrocious?

-OH FUCK YEA, I’M ENRAGED, I DROPPED MY FIDDLE IN THE PIT AND NOW I HAVE TO WAIT FOR THE SERVANT TO GET ME A NEW ONE!! WHY DOES EVERYTHING ALWAYS HAPPEN TO ME >:(

Aw I’m sorry Liz, but I’m sure you the upcoming suffering of your subjects will cheer you up!

-Ok motherfuckers, by order of the Crown aka ME -you hear that Rae?? ME, NOT YOU. God I want to execute you so bad, fucking ingrate, do you remember what rags you were wearing when I hired you??

Let’s get this back on track, Liz.

-Right, so by order of the Crown, Magus Olivia and Spymaster Spainot are given COMPLETE LEGAL IMMUNITY to do whatever the fuck they want in the interest of earning achievements, so don’t you people come crying to me cause I don’t give one tiny chinchilla crap about your health and livelihoods. If you need me for something actually important, I'll be at the gates, executing anyone who doesn't like my fiddle playing.

-Oh man, this folksy peasant hat isn’t protecting my ears enough.

-THOUGHT I WOULDN’T HEAR YOUR LITTLE MURMUR, DID YOU -YOUR MAJESTY NO I ONLY MEANT MY EARS WERE COLD -WELL ALL OF YOUR BODY’S ABOUT TO BE COLD NOW! CONSTABLE, THROW THIS PEASANT IN THE PIT

-Death marker? I hardly know 'er!

So the Constable npc has this little Billy Elliot subplot going, I'm pretty sure he has the 'drunkard' fatal flaw because he was always at the tavern so I had Bellinda try to hire him to perform in one of her plays just to see what would happen and it actually worked, and now he moonlights as an actor! It's cute but it also takes forever for him to come arrest people.

-THEY LOVE ME ❤️😁 -CONSTABLE WHATSYOURNAME, COME OVER HERE AND DO YOUR FUCKING JOB OR YOU'RE NEXT FOR THE PIT

-No one knows what it's like to be the bad man, to be the sad man, when someone dies😢

In the background you can see that Bellinda just got a pregnancy bump, it’s her lovechild with Donius, I for real can’t keep these two apart. Anyway, the time has come..

..to unleash Magus Olivia onto the populace.

-You know what, I'd rather not, this book is finally getting good and I'm sick of cursing peasants, it doesn't even drop their mood that much..

Oh no, Olivia my beloved, we're not cursing them, we're going for the 'Well Done' achievement!

-NO WAY.

WAY.

-Won't I be executed??

You have immunity! You can do whatever you want!! And, AND, once you complete it, because I know it's tiring, I'll give you a magic skeletal parrot as a gift!! Edward got all the materials for it while treasure-hunting, you'd think I'd let him keep it but that's not the kind of shop I'm running here.

-This is my face of pure, childlike happiness!

Good lord, it’s terrifying, please don’t look at me like that.

-Alright, time to roll down my sleeves so they look more sinister and do this thing.

You can do it, Olivia!

-Of course I can, save your reassurance for the flops that need it.

-I.. cast.. INFERNO!

...

-What?

I mean really, those are the words, "I cast inferno"? Can't you say something with more evil magical flair?

-Not when I have to cast it 80 fucking times I can't.

-IT BURNS, IT BURNSSSSS

Oh how the tables have turned, usually it's the witch that gets burned, huhu! Did you hear that, Olivia? Did you like my joke??

-Oh, it's beautiful!

Well it wasn't one of my best-

-Not you, you needy moron, the sight of burning flesh! I can't wait to do this 79 more times!

Alright, so everyone in the tavern has been turned into a chicken nugget, time to get some rest and check in with Spainot!

-Amazing news, Rodolfo, I just got royal permission to unlawfully lock up and interrogate whoever I want for the achievements!!!

-Darling, no offense, but aren't you a bit too shit at your job for that? -WHAT????

-FUCK YOU RODOLFO YOU'RE JUST JEALOUS OF MY SUCCESS -I WISH I WAS JEALOUS OF YOUR SUCCESS, THEN YOU'D BE SUCCESSFUL AND I WOULDN'T BE MARRIED TO A BROKE LOSER

-And then he says the only reason he hasn't dumped me is he doesn't wanna be a rando npc while Batshit Liz is on an execution spree, can you believe this bullshit? How can anyone be so hurtful??

-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA NO NO PLEASE DON'T HAVE THIS CHINCHILLA MAUL ME I'LL GIVE YOU WHATEVER YOU WANT

-How about you give me some marital advice, are you even listening?! Ugh.

That's right, while Olivia is inferno-ing the peasants, I've sicced Spainot on the nobility, specifically all those foreign diplomats that are always hanging in the reception hall, lagging up the place. We're going for the 100 interrogations achievement and we’ve installed a nice spiky torture chair right in the middle of the hall to save time! Now this is how we keep every stratum of society terrified enough to not realize that the person in charge is.. uh.. well you know:

-DANCE TO MY FIDDLE, PIRATE, DANCE!

-I AM!!!!!

-DANCE MORE ENTHUSIASTICALLY. ALL THE WAY TO THE PIT

After a couple days and several locations I feel we’re pretty close to 80 infernos!

I’d say we’ve burned a good 50-60% of the population at this point, everywhere I look I see singed townies-

-so we take this little barbecue to the palace because we’ve ran out of peasants and it’s time to start burning the foreign dignitaries. And it’s a good thing we do, because Olivia meets Nyrexis the Dragon!!!!

Nyrexis is the human form of the dragon from a hilar quest where there’s a dragon in the kingdom and you can either befriend it or slay it, I had Bellinda befriend it:

So if you complete the befriend route of the quest, the human form of the dragon appears in town and is in love with whoever did the quest, in this case Bellinda. I am of course not about to waste Dragonfu on Bellinda’s basic ass, plus I feel Olivia is kind of a dragon with all the people she’s been burning so they have a lot in common!

We dazzle Dragonfu with a coin trick! True magic at work.

-OMG IT WAS BEHIND MY EAR THE WHOLE TIME -I KNOW!

Good God, all of Olivia’s ‘happy’ expressions are terrifying, just don’t smile ever again, you’re too evil for it, you’re gonna scare the dragon away!

Or not!!!!

AWWWWW 🐲❤️🔮

You know what, fuck it, let’s lock it down, when it’s right it’s right!

-Burn stuff with me forever?? -I WILL!!!!

-We are gathered here today, under threat of fiery death, to join two unholy abominations in holy matrimony. Yes, the irony is not lost on me.

AW CONGRATS GUYS <3333 The wizard tower is so small and family un-friendly and Olivia is so unmaternal but come on, like I’m not gonna have her reproduce with a fucking dragon.

Back to Spainot, we’ve hit a slight bump, mainly that this Snordwich lord is proving fucking impossible to torture.

-Um.. Are you enjoying this??? -Sure am, bad boy, but why don’t we take this somewhere more private already?

Wtf, stop sexually harassing the innocent person who’s torturing you! Does no one around here have any sense of humanity anymore??

-Come on, Spainot, throw some flesh-eating rodents at him! -I’M BUILDING UP TO IT, RAE, GAWD. No one likes a back-seat torturer!

-HA, who’s the loser now, Rodolfo? Rodolfo?? RODOLFO

Ya Spai I don’t know how to tell you this, but I’m pretty sure he left while you were interrogating, I haven’t seen him in like 3 days.

-WHAT. So Olivia completes one achievement and gets a dragon wife and a magic skeletal bird and I complete three and get dumped?!

Well what do you want from me, I don’t make the rules!

-YES YOU DO

Can we move on, please? And Olivia had a very rough go of it-

-she got burned in some rando quest and looked positively karma-stricken after, inferno-ing left and right while sporting this look! She deserves a magic bird!

Congrats on your success and 4 kids, Olivia!

-I love this skeleton bird more than I thought it possible to ever love something.

-Gee, thanks mom.

We had leftover bones so here, Spainot, you get a magic bird too.

-A bone parrot is little comfort when you’ve lost the only bone that matters! Why Rodolfo, whyyyyy!!!!!!!!!

Oh I don’t know, probably because you challenged him to duels 3 times a day?

-No, that can’t be it.

Correct me if I’m wrong, but you look like a man who has nothing to live for?

-Yea, I certainly don’t.

So you wouldn’t mind like, jumping into the pit multiple times so you can get the parts we need for the hardest achievement in game aka Legendary Doomsword?

-Rodolfo had one of those too, it was legendary and now that it’s gone I’m doomed!!!

Ok ya ENOUGH metaphors about Rodolfo’s absent penis, although they really are writing themselves. We’ll get him back! If you survive all the pit jumping that is. Join us next time for part 2: Legendary Doomsword!

#tsm

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