#like maybe if there had been a tiny thing at some point where Billy is alone with Steve and has a look of realization- | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

shieldofiron · 3 months ago

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Vibe Check

Part 13: No Sleep Til Hawkins

Part 13, Also on Ao3 here and tumblr here

Billy gives up on sleep around 3 am. He’s pretty sure his will to pretend he’s asleep tires out just about the same time as Munson’s girlfriend because it’s silent for once.

He rolls on his side, watching Steve sleep. Steve had babbled nervously right up to the point of sleep and past it, his nonsense mumbles finally petering out.

He knows Steve is nervous, but for fuck’s sake, so is he. At least Steve isn’t dealing with heartbreak on top of that.

Billy sits up and rubs his eyes, conceding defeat. There’s no way he’s going to get any sleep, so he might as well be productive.

He slides out of bed and grabs his backpack before quietly slipping out. It’s not really due for a few days but he has an American Lit paper and it beats lying there in the dark ignoring screams and counting all the tiny fractures in his heart.

The house is quiet. Some of the brothers haven’t even come home from the parties. Billy is hoping when they do they’ll all head up to bed and ignore him in the lounge.

He doesn’t want to see anybody when it feels like he’s lived several lives since this morning. At this point he’s just feral, hardly human. It hurts, the ache in his chest. At the same time though, there’s such a bittersweet relief. Steve knows, and what’s more, Billy wasn’t crazy. They do have chemistry, even if Steve can’t see it.

But he can’t keep turning it around in his head, especially while he’s still tipsy. He has to get out of this headspace.

On the way to the lounge he decides to swing by the kitchens for a snack and maybe a gatorade. The cooks are seasoned frat professionals and they tend to have at least a few things prepared Saturday night in advance. Sometimes it’s overly healthy, but that works for him.

Billy flips on the light and nearly jumps out of his skin when he sees what looks like a black cloaked figure. Christ, maybe he’s dreaming.

The figure turns from where it’s hunched over a bowl of bananas, mouth full.

“Christ, Munson,�� Billy drops his backpack and covers his face with his hands. “I thought you were the fuckin’ hat man.”

Munson smiles around his banana, “So’ry.”

Billy lets his shoulders fall, “No worries. Though I wish you would actually lay off the potassium. Christ, my ears would thank you for a cramp some nights.”

“Why?”

“Because, man… we gotta sleep sometimes,” Billy rolls his eyes and flops down in the seat next to Munson’s.

Eddie turns beet red. “You… can hear us?”

Billy remembers too late that he and Steve had more or less agreed to not talk about Munson’s girlfriend. Argyle had been weirdly adamant about leaving him be. ‘Don’t rush the dude, that’s just not your business,’ were Argyle’s exact words.

“Whoops,” Billy cringes a bit. “But… I mean come on, man. Your girlfriend screams like she’s getting murdered. And it’s almost every night. Of course we noticed.”

Munson lets out a noise like a rat caught in a trap and hunches into the collar of his fluffy black robe. He looks chalky pale, like he got caught by a cop.

“And I mean, hey, good on you, dude. Like I’m pretty sure you’re having the kind of sex only lesbians have.” Then Billy remembers Carver and nervousness creeps in. “Not that… jeez, not in like a gross homophobic way.”

“Lesbians?” Munsons squeezes the remaining banana in his hands into a pulp.

“Christ.” Billy gives up and sags against the counter. “It’s been a really weird night, man. I just… I was just trying to make a joke about your girlfriend. Nothing weird.”

Munson blinks with those big brown doe eyes. “My girlfriend?”

“Yeah, but I really meant no offense by it, I swear.” Billy held up his hands.

Munson stares at him a beat, and then he lets out the tiniest nervous giggle. “Girlfriend.”

Then he full on laughs, throwing his head back.

“Oh, or… not girlfriend?” Billy frowns. “I guess.”

Munson still laughs, harder and more full bodied.

“Well now this is just mean, Munson. If this is how you treat a lady, I’ll go up there and steal her for myself.” Billy licks his lower lip.

Munson’s hand shoots out and he grabs Billy, smearing bananas all over Billy’s arm. “Do. Not.”

Billy winces, yanking his arm away, and reaches for a paper towel to wipe his hand off.

“She’s like… really classy.” Munson says sheepishly. “She’d be mortified you heard her in my room. Please don’t.”

“I wasn’t really gonna wake a chick up who you left in bed.” Billy rolls his eyes. “What kind of guy do you take me for?”

Munson shrugs. “Same kind as me, that’s why I don’t want you to piss her off. I’m serious.”

Billy tosses the slimy paper towel on the counter and crosses his arms. “So she’s classy. What is she? Tri Delt?”

Munson sighs. “No.”

“Zeta?”

“No!”

“Don’t tell me she’s one of your theater friends?” Billy frowns.

“Hargrove, stop.”

“Does Eden know her? I bet she-”

Munson grabs at him again, looking wild. “Hargrove, listen. Don’t talk to anyone about this, ok?” She’s like… not that kind of girl. She’s classy, ok? Rich and like… going places. She doesn’t want this. You haven’t told anyone already, have you?”

“No. I mean, Steve knows, obviously. And honestly I would ask Patrick and Matt across the hall. I assume Carver.” Billy shrugs with one shoulder. “Argyle told us to, like, protect your privacy or whatever?”

Eddie just nodded vaguely, looking only marginally less unhinged. His hair was mussed, and there was a rapidly developing hickey high on his chest.

“What’s with all the secrecy, anyway?” Billy gasped, and then grinned, “Is she a professor?”

“No, Jesus. She’s just… way the fuck out of my league. Like stratospherically out of my league.” Munson shakes his head and lets go of Billy’s shoulder.

“How stratospheric?”

“Super stratospheric. Like… Buzz Aldrin couldn’t land her.”

Billy whistled. “I have to know.”

Munson sighs. “Look, I’m eating bananas at 3 am. I’m a fucking loser. She’s sleeping to get to her 8 am and she has like a 4.5 GPA and her parents paid for a room in the library or something like that. I can’t talk about it because I’m just… a pressure reliever.”

Billy raises his brows.

Munson doesn’t miss the implication. “Yeah pretty much. I guess I just have slightly more functions than a vibrator.”

Billy grabs a banana for himself, because all the banana talk was making him hungry. “But you’ve been going on like a year now.”

“Ten months, two and a half weeks, three days and well… three hours.”

Billy tries to raise his brows even more but he doesn’t have any room.

Munson leans against the counter and rubs the back of his neck. “Being in l-love with her is one of my many functions.”

Billy almost feels like he could cry. Which is stupid. It’s silly. “That’s sad as fuck, dude.”

Munson sighs, slumping a little more. “Yeah, but what are you gonna do?”

“I dunno what you’re gonna do. I’m gonna sympathize.” Billy says.

“You too?”

“Yeah. At least you’re actually fucking your girl.” Billy mutters.

Eddie shakes his head, hair flopping. “Yeah. Been there too, big time.”

Billy peels his banana, “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Same girl, too,” Munson says with a sad little flop of his bangs. “Got me wrapped around my finger since… God. Forever.”

Billy shook his head. “Damn. You, me, and Carver gotta go out sometime.”

“C-Carver?”

Billy nods. “Yeah. He was just telling me about his dating troubles. I’m sure you’ve heard at least some of it.”

“Oh. Right.” Munson nods back almost absently, looking kind of pale again.

“But, hey. You’re fucking your dream girl!” Billy pats Munson’s shoulder uncertainly. “Bring her a banana! Woo her ass, I dunno. She’s gotta be into you at least a little.”

“You think?” Munson looks so innocent like Billy hasn’t heard him do the least classy things ever to his classy girl.

“Your one year anniversary is coming up? I dunno. Don’t take advice from me, I don’t notice anything, apparently.” Billy sighs, leaning forward on his elbows and taking a bite. “It’s been a really weird fuckin’ night, so seriously don’t take my advice.”

Eddie nods slightly, frowning in confusion.

Billy wants to burst into tears or something like that. He thought telling Steve would just end the world, and now the world is apparently still spinning. Munson’s in tragic love too.

Coming out once doesn’t make coming out again any easier. So he resists the impulse to dump the whole sordid tale on Munson, even if he kind of wants to. Because Steve just came out. Billy can’t ruin this time with his own stupid hopeless feelings.

So instead he takes another bite and gets up to grab a gatorade from the fridge, shoving it into the pocket of his sweat shorts.

“Sorry, man, I’m tired. Just rambling. If you ever want to talk about your girl, I’m here for ya, ok?” Billy says.

“Thanks. Uh… you too. You know, if you ever…” Munson peters out, gesturing weakly.

Billy cackles and it comes out way too forced, but he commits to it anyway. “Well, you know me. I have 99 bitches but not one’s a problem.”

Eddie laughs a little, toying with the messy banana peel nervously.

Billy pats Munson on the shoulder and walks back to his room without a second thought, fully leaving his backpack behind. He was supposed to go downstairs.

But Steve is asleep so peacefully. Billy stands at the door and just stares. Steve always sleeps splayed out like a starfish, one of his feet dangling over the side of the bed. Tonight he has his mouth open, drooling slightly.

Billy has kissed that mouth. He wishes he could go back in time and slow that moment down forever.

Steve was still the worst person to fall in love with, the most unforgivable. And now it would be even harder because Steve had said it so strongly tonight. They would only ever be friends.

Billy wants so badly for anything to be different. He wishes suddenly he’d gone to any other school, anywhere else on earth. He wants to be in Eddie’s place because surely it would be better to be something than nothing at all.

Or is this better. Maybe now he can finally accept-

“B’lly?” Steve still has his eyes closed. “Close th’ door.”

Billy freezes for a moment, before shutting the door gently, plunging the room back into semi-darkness.

By the light of the streetlamp outside and the Frat’s shitty old alarm clock, he can just make out Steve scooting over and raising the blankets on his bed.

“C’mon,” He says.

Billy thinks of what Munson said as he crawls in next to Steve. He tosses the gatorade across the room and settles next to that warm body he knows all too well. Steve pulls up the fuzzy blanket that his mom bought him for Hanukkah last year, the one that smells like weed and Steve. The bed feels scorching hot, and Steve’s long limbs immediately lash around Billy, holding him with the perfect tightness. Steve presses his chest to Billy’s back and sighs, his minty-beer breath brushing the back of Billy’s neck. Billy’s skin prickles everywhere they touch, with almost the same sting as embarrassment.

That this is just one of his many functions. That in some ways he should let go, but he was meant to love Steve like this. Maybe he couldn’t have helped it.

Steve hums. “Promise. N’thing will change, right? We won’t be weird?”

Billy feels like he’s shattered, held together by Steve’s limbs, squeezing tight.

“Yeah,” He says, ignoring the tears that get squeezed free.

#billy hargrove #steve harrington #billy x steve #shieldofiron #harringrove #Harringrove #Billy Hargrove #Steve Harrington #Billy x Steve #Steve x Billy #my writing #frat boy au #vibe check au harringrove #background munver #eddie munson

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ducktracy · 2 months ago

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I’ve been listening to Jim Cummings’ podcast and he pointed out that a lot of VAs don’t like how WB refuses to commit to a regular full time cast for the Looney Tunes unlike Disney where if you’re cast as one of Mickey and Friends you basically have a guaranteed gig for life barring some exceptions (Mickey having a different VA for the Paul Rudish Mickey cartoons and the Chip ‘n Dale movie)

I saw a theory somewhere that WB doesn’t want another Mel Blanc - because they don’t want another VA with enough star power to demand higher wages. And I think third theory has some merit especially since Mel was training his son Noel to be his successor and apart from a handful of “Tiny Toons” episodes he never took his dad’s place

@digamma-f-wau asked: I'm not sure how true this is, but one thing I've heard relating to the post-Mel Looney Tunes voice actors is that all of the regular VAs have to reaudition for each new project, which results in the VAs varying from project to project; see how Bugs Bunny's VA often oscillated between Jeff Bergman, Greg Burson, Billy West, and Joe Alaskey. Heck, the fact that Bergen nigh-consistently lands the role as Porky is actually pretty unusual.

(context)

YEAH, i was just going to parrot what Digamma said here (thanks and hi Digamma!!) i forget where i've heard it (likely the pig himself) but i know Bob Bergen for instance had to/still has to reaudition--his audition for the original Space Jam was reading Hamlet's soliloquy in Porky's voice which i would've PAID to hear. i don't really have much to add on here other than i do agree it's pretty ridiculous, but i guess makes for interesting history! i was just made aware of this the other day, i've heard Billy West do Bugs, Elmer (and i wish he'd do him more... best Fudd past Arthur Q Bryan, bar none), and Porky, but Billy West DAFFY is a very new one to me

youtube

this does also make me think about how Joe Alaskey voiced Bugs and Daffy in the Laff Riot pilot... i wish they kept him :') Jeff Bergman does a pretty solid Bugs, at times a bit too bored sounding for my tastes but i understand the consistency in casting him. not a very big fan of his Daffy, though i was impressed hearing his voice for the duck in some of his stuff for the '90s. feel like some 2010s productions had issues with people like Bergman and Dee Bradley Baker (WHO I LOVE. and i actually really love his Daffy in a twisted way. i love his Daffy as a fan of SpongeBob who has heard and CONTINUES TO HEAR his voice in like, every third incidental on the show, and i hear an amalgam of those incidentals of his voice for Daffy--his duck is great if you're a fan of Baker himself as an actor, but maybe not so much on the merits of a specifically Daffy voice) whose voices for the duck kinda sound like "just some guy with shades of a lisp".

this also just made me remember that Rob Paulsen voiced Porky in the first episode of Animaniacs which is... a choice. the refusal for consistency is very odd and puzzling, but it does make fascinating history

#(I LOVE PAULSEN but he's also like DBB in that you ALWAYS know it's him when doing the voice. there is nothing in his portrayal of Porky #that suggests Porky at All)#randomnessoffiction #digamma-f-wau #asks

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billyharringson · 1 year ago

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Prompt: "work boots" + any ship with Billy. Free interpretation.

You know I had to go with NSFW Harringrove for this one.

Over the years Steve had accepted a lot of things about himself and his life. Some had been good things, like finally accepting his sexuality. Some had been more painful, like accepting that his parents love was entirely conditional, and that he often didn't meet those conditions.

This however, he wasn't sure what category of acceptance this fell into. If he was even going to accept it that was.

He'd learnt a lot about kinks and fetishes since getting together with Billy. It was hard not to, especially since his boyfriend just seemed to pull them out of him. They didn't have a lock on the bottom drawer of the bedside cabinet in their bedroom because they were worried that their friends were going to stumble upon their messy socks. It had gotten to the point where Steve didn't really even blink when he stumbled upon something new that got him all hot and bothered.

But for some reason, the fact that he was now painfully hard in his jeans just at the sight of Billy working on his car was really getting to him. Because it wasn't the fact that his boyfriend was shirtless and covered in grease, wasn't the fact that he'd opted to wear his old, tiny gym shorts and basically nothing else as he bent over the bonnet for all to see. Those things were very welcome additions to his Sunday morning.

No, the thing that Steve just couldn't take his eyes off for some goddamn reason, were Billy's work boots. His old, chunky safety boots that he wore on a day-to-day basis whilst at the mechanic's shop. Maybe it was because they were usually accompanied by a baggy jumpsuit that Steve hadn't yet noticed how they somehow highlighted just how thick his baby was.

The way they cut off just above his ankles, making his already juicy legs look just that little bit thicker, it was really doing something to him. They also somehow made Billy look shorter, which was nonsense as they actually gave him another inch or so. Not that it mattered, they both used the small height difference between them in a lot of their play, so it was only adding to Steve's insane horniness levels.

"You need something princess?" Billy asked, still bent over the engine of the Camaro, smirking at his boyfriend over his shoulder.

Steve flushed at being caught out, shaking his head quickly. "Just wondering if you wanted a drink or anything." He replied, leaning against the door jamb, hoping that Billy hadn't already noticed the bulge in his jeans.

Billy finally stood up straight, his cocky smirk not wavering as he slammed the hood closed. "Pretty sure I'm not the thirsty one here Bambi." He nodded at Steve's crotch. "Gimme 10 minutes to shower and I can help you with that if you want, pretty boy."

Steve really wanted to say something about Billy not needing a shower if they were just going to get sweaty anyway, but he really didn’t want to get grease and oil all over their furniture so instead he grabbed the lube from their bedroom and sat back down in the living room. He fished himself out of his jeans, fisting his cock loosely as he waited.

Billy was true to his word and Steve could hear his heavy steps as he came downstairs. Which was odd because Billy was usually very light footed. He got his answer a few seconds later though as Billy came to stand in front of him, in nothing but those beat up old work boots.

Steve blinked up at Billy’s grinning face, swallowing loudly as he rested back against the sofa. “How did you know?” He asked, still stroking himself absently.

“We’ve been together for nearly five years, Stevie.” Billy replied, resting one hand on his cocked hip. “And while I know my little shorts get you going, you’ve never been ashamed of it before.”

“I’m not...” Steve trailed off, looking away. “I don’t think I'm ashamed... just surprised is all.”

Billy climbed onto his lap, turning his chin until Steve was looking at him. “Well, you wanna try it out anyway? I’m happy to get fucked in nothing but Site boots if it gets your motor running.”

Steve felt his heart swelling, along with his cock. The fact that Billy was always so accepting of his kinks, so willing to try new things if it resulted in Steve’s happiness, it only made him love him more. “My baby.” He whispered, pulling Billy in for a deep kiss. “My sweet baby.”

Billy rolled his hips forward, moaning into Steve’s mouth. “I... I already prepped myself.” He said, his pants devolving into a squeak when Steve tossed him onto the sofa and crawled between his legs.

“Yeah?” Steve breathed, pressing inside with one, hard thrust. “You got yourself ready for me, sweetheart? Such a good boy.” He grabbed Billy by the ankles, thumbs brushing over the soft leather of his boots as he began to roll his hips.

Billy hummed in response, gripping the arm of the sofa, panting into his bicep as he began to stroke himself in time with Steve’s thrusts. “Always.” He said, the word ending with a choked off moan. “Always ready for you, p-pretty boy.” He arched his back as Steve tagged his prostate again and again.

Letting Billy’s ankles rest against his shoulders, Steve dove forward, knowing that Billy was flexible enough to take it as he practically folded him in half. “I love you.” He said, the words tickling against Billy’s lips. “I love you.” The declaration fell from him on repeat until he sunk inside one final time with a groan, swallowing Billy’s responding moan as his boyfriend clenched around him, coming seconds later.

Steve slumped forward, Billy’s legs falling from his shoulders to rest at his waist as he caught his breath. “Thank you, baby.”

“Anything for you Stevie, you know that don’t you?” Billy asked, stroking through Steve’s hair. “And besides, that was hot. If you want to bring these into the bedroom again then I'm down.”

Steve laughed, jostling Billy as he did so. “I might have to take you up on that, sweetheart.”

#billy hargrove #stranger things #fanfic #steve harrington #harringrove

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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?

Smurph's Masterlist | Series Masterlist

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??

CM Forever Tag:

@thedancingcostumeyoungadult @muffin-cup @simplyparker @spencerreidsmommy @hotchandspencearedilfs @gspenc @kbakery @nomajdetective @givemeth @hoshihiime @halloween-is-my-nationality @reidselle @thisiscalmanditsdoctorreid @dreatine @thebloomingeagle @fortheloveofwonderland @theforgottenwinter @parkerreidnorth @reidselle @randomhoex @scargarcia-magshotchner @stitchwrites @pygmygoat-bicyclehelmet @cle13 @aysixdy @elhotchner @directioner5life @elhotchner @loveeee2134 @preciousbabypeter @la-stuffs @stories-you-wont-hear @hotchlover @fortheloveofwonderland @lokiandhisdagger @bellanutellababyyy @dark-night-sky-99 @straightforbuckybutgayfornatasha @maltamurdock @charelletjee @kansas-reid @zephyrmonkey @spencer-reid-wonderland @spencersprettyslut @im-sure-its-fine @tvdstelenaforever @teddylupintonks @lilibet261 @kneelforloki @dirtytissuebox @almostgenerallyalways @whovian378 @cl0udyqu33n @thegettingbyp2 @averagestudent03 @the-sun-died-out @squishycalumxo @sebastiansstanswhore

@louderfortheback @pandabiiissh @calebye

@dottirose @lfaewrites @padsfirewhisky @wheels-upin-thirty @f-me-reid

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lulubelle814 · 2 months ago

Text

The Traveler - Chapter 6

Chapter 7

The Traveler Masterlist

Main Masterlist

When they finally arrived at the village, Hank looked at the tribespeople for a moment. “They said you can stay.”

“What? They didn’t say anything. They didn’t even flinch.” Conrad was confused.

“Well, when you live with them as long as I have, you know what they’re saying when they don’t talk, and to be honest, they don’t actually talk, but I’ve learned to understand what they want to say.” Hank led the group to some newly constructed huts that were just behind his own. They weren’t large. Just big enough for maybe 2 people each. “I’d suggest getting some rest. You look like you’ve been through hell.”

Conrad glanced at Billie then the rest of the group. “I think I can speak for all of us when I say we just want to keep going.”

“I mean, you can. No one’s stopping you, but you won’t get far before exhaustion will get ya, making you easy prey.”

Conrad knew he was right. They were dead on their feet and had already seen some very strange things. He looked at Billie before going into one of the huts. The rest of the group followed and occupied the other huts. It didn’t take her long to realize she would have to double up with ‘him’ and hoped he wouldn’t keep giving her a hard time. Rather than acknowledging her, he laid down, facing the opposite direction.

She sat outside the hut for a while, contemplating the entire situation, unable to sleep. After an hour or two, she went to find Hank, not having to look far.

“How do you know me?” She wanted some answers to everything going on around them, and the only one around who could give her answers (at least ones she could understand) was him.

“They told me. Well, showed me.”

She was extremely confused. “What do you mean?”

He gestured for her to follow and lead her over to the crashed ship she knew was there.

Walking over to one particular section, he waved towards some pictographs. “The Iwis find this ship as their holy temple of some kind, writing both the history of their people as well as things to come.” Pointing to one group of pictographs, he looked at her. “Here. This one is about you.”

Stunned, she moved to look closer. “I don’t understand what any of this says except that,” pointing to one that looked eerily similar to her.

Hank smiled. “That’s how I knew it was you when we found your group. It’s the only thing they’ve ever drawn in here that looks like an actual person.

“So this,“ he gestured to them, “says a stranger from a far off land will be brought to where she belongs. It even shows the tiny statue that’s said to bring her.” Billie opened her bag, pulling out the totem and held it up next to the drawing in disbelief. “I got this from a friend of mine. He told me he thought it was cool and that I’d like it, not that it would send me to another universe.”

“Excuse me?” Conrad interrupted him, his voice full of disbelief. Neither of them heard him come in, and Conrad didn’t want her wandering too far away where he could keep an eye on her. “That’s not possible. You must have drawn that there just now. There’s no way you could know what she looked like, much less that she was coming here.”

He moved to look at it closer, reaching his hand to the wall, but his hand was hit hard by an Iwi before he touched the wall.

“I wouldn’t touch anything in here if I was you. They consider this place sacred. I’m not even allowed.” He pointed to the story. “This has been here since before I arrived. I’ve spent reading the stories on every square inch of this vessel to learn about this place and its people. Over here,” he moved and went to a section on the wall behind them “This is their prophecy about me crashing here. And over here,” he moved to another section back on the other side, “this is where they wrote the story of your group arriving.”

Billie and Conrad looked at the drawings. Even though everything was coarsely drawn, they saw a rough depiction of helicopters followed by six stick figures. The story told of a group coming to the island with only a few survivors. and their journey through the island. There were the creatures they had already encountered plus new ones they hadn’t seen yet and then other stick figures joining them on the journey to get off the island which then ended with a helicopter rescue.

While Conrad continued looking through the drawings, Hank pulled Billie back over to the story of her, pointing lower to the ground. “This says that the traveler were brought here to meet both their destiny and the one they’re supposed to be with but will die unless he saves them.”

By this point, Conrad had rejoined them. “And who is this ‘he’ that is supposed to save her? And from what or who?”

Hank shrugged. “It doesn’t say. I didn’t really pay much attention because I thought these ‘predictions’ were all a bunch of hokum. But if you look here, this looks like some kind of prehistoric snake maybe? I don’t know. I haven’t seen anything like it on the island, but that doesn’t mean it’s not there.”

“It’s complete bollocks. That’s what it is. No one can predict the future. It’s just not possible.” He was completely dumbfounded. Here they were, crashed on an impossible island with oversized mammals and animals as well as flora that wants to kill you with someone supposedly from another reality. He started to wonder if he was hit in the head.

“Pinch me,” he said.

“What?”

“Pinch me, please. I need to know if this is real or not.”

Billie acquiesced, pinching him on the arm and seeing him wince in pain as a response. “Ok, fine. I’ll admit I’m not dreaming, but I still don’t believe you.”

“I don’t know what to tell you. I’m just as confused as you are about all this.”

He snatched her bag from her, riffling through it. All he found was her notebook, a picture that looked like a young Billie with what he assumed to be a friend, and then a small rectangular device. He placed the notebook and picture back in her bag but held up the phone. “What is this?”

She didn’t know what to tell him other than the truth. “It’s a phone.”

“It’s not like any phone I’ve seen.” He kept turning it over and over, no numbered buttons to be found.

She took it from him, turned the phone on and showed him the call feature on it. He took it from her, not understanding what he was seeing. Trying to touch the numbers, he saw them pop up but couldn’t feel the hard click when dialing on a regular phone. He thrusted it back at her. “That’s not a telephone. At most, it’s some kind of new calculator.”

She moved to stand next to him so he could see what she would do next. Pulling up her picture folder, she selected one of her and her Aunt Virginia at home and swiped through slowly, showing him other pictures: the guys at the auto shop, a few cars (some of which he recognized), flowers, trees, and then also some selfies. In one of these ‘selfies’ it was easy to see she was at her home, but there was something in the background that disturbed him: framed posters of a man who looked almost exactly like him. Each of them had different titles like Only Lovers Left Alive, Thor, The Night Manager, and Kong: Skull Island.

He gave her a look so cold it could freeze a polar bear then turned around, taking his leave.

Briskly walking back to his hut, he pondered over what he’d just learned, the sketchings of his group, the one of her and that totem. He’d seen it in her hand in that helicopter. One part of his mind told him that this situation was impossible, but logic said that neither she nor Hank were lying. He had followed her when she wandered off and met up with Hank, having heard everything they said and what Hank explained to her.

He was battling an internal war, but what he could not deny was that he continued to harbor affection for this impossible woman that fell into his life.

Conrad kept going through the facts in his head: her name on the manifest, showing her to her bunker, dancing with her, going through an insane storm he knew signals couldn’t get through, encountering Kong, her saving him and then the two kissing. He touched his lips. That kiss. He felt drawn to her like a moth to a flame from the first moment he laid eyes on her, and that kiss felt like nothing he’d ever experienced.

He could not reconcile what he had experienced thus far with what he was feeling. Seeing himself (or at least someone who looked a lot like him), he was disturbed. His mind said to run away, but his heart told him the opposite. His heart told him to run to her and hold her tight. Instead, he stayed where he was, thinking for hours, and music coming from Slivko’s dwelling.

Come down off your throne and leave your body alone

Somebody must change

You are the reason I've been waiting all these years

Somebody holds the key

Well, I'm near the end and I just ain't got the time

And I'm wasted and I can't find my way home

‘How appropriate,’ he thought to himself, listening to the song. He felt it described their situation very well; however, the more he thought about it, he felt there was a deeper meaning to it, at least for him. Slivko continued to play music as it seemed to be helping the group to calm.

Come let me love you

Let me give my life to you

Let me drown in your laughter

Let me die in your arms

Let me lay down beside you

Let me always be with you

Come let me love you

Come love me again

‘One song about logic, the other about love and longing.’ He finally settled himself on the ground, stretching out and using his arm as a pillow while music continued to play well into the night until he fell asleep from exhaustion.

Taglist: @vbecker10 @eleniblue @msdjsg7 @lovingchoices14 @buttercupcookies-blog @mischief-dream

#james conrad x y/n #james conrad x you #james conrad x reader #james conrad x ofc #james conrad #james conrad x original female character #james conrad x original character #james conrad fanfiction #skull island fanfiction #kong skull island #skull island #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fanfic #twh #tomhiddleston #twhiddleston #the traveler #lulubelle814

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suuho · 2 years ago

Note

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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stever-teller · 13 days ago

Text

Billy clutched the mysterious device in his right hand. He was still waiting in the car with Terry, nervous as ever.

“You fuckin’ ready yet?” Terry asked aggressively. It had been just a few hours since they killed that old man on 39th, where they found the weird gun-thing that Billy now had and was ready to use as a weapon. “You’ve got to get over these nerves, Billy. If you are wanting to roll with me from now on, I need you ready at a moment’s notice. If you’re not ready in sixty seconds, I’ll shoot you dead where you sit.”

Billy, trying to hype himself up, looked down at the….weapon? He still wasn’t entirely sure what he was holding. They were robbing the poor fuck’s apartment when he came home. As soon as he walked in his front door and saw them, he ran for it. Terry ran after him instantly, and was back with him seconds later with a gun to the old man’s head. The old man quickly pulled something out from his coat pocket, and Terry instantly shot him. Terry looked down at what he dropped just after the man’s body hit the floor. “Take his gun,” he said. “You need one now.”

Billy was unsure about the thing when he first picked it up, and he was still unsure about it now. As soon as he had it in his hand, he had begun to feel light-headed. He also thought he was hearing things. Was it his name he was hearing? Billy wasn’t sure. Was this thing moving in his hands? It felt like he was holding onto some sort of bug with hundreds of tiny legs…even though the gun looked solid. He hadn’t had his fix in at least 42 hours. Could the withdrawal be that severe? He wasn’t able to think clearly yet, not since Terry shot the poor old fucker in the temple.

“Let’s fuckin go.” Billy said in a serious tone as he opened the passenger door and exited the car quickly. Billy had rid of his nerves, and he was not going to waste time sitting and thinking things over again.

Terry was sure about this convenience store. He had been scoping it out for a week, apparently, and said the only time he has seen any cops driving around was daybreak. It was now almost 3am in the morning.

“Remember, no holding back. Do what needs to be done. Act now, think later. Let’s get the money and go.” Billy could tell that Terry was nervous as well, he speech was now short, almost a whisper, as they approached the glass doors of the small convenience store. It had begun to rain, and the mid-October chill blew across the empty parking lot.

Before they entered, Billy took note of the people inside that he could now see. There was a heavier-set man in a blue hat and red flannel shirt shopping in what looked like the chip isle. Billy could see the boxes of Slim Jims which sat at the top of the shelf just in front of the man. There was also a kid, maybe fourteen or fifteen, at the counter, paying for a large can of coke. He was unkempt, his hair a mess and his black boots muddy. The clerk was middle aged, with darker skin, salt and pepper hair and a serious look on his face. He did not appreciate such a young customer shopping in his store just at the witching hour. The young ones made him nervous, regardless of time of day.

Terry pushed ahead just as Billy approached the doors, and kicked one open with full force.

“On the ground, mother fuckers!” Terry screamed, gun already drawn and swinging rapidly in multiple directions.

Billy didn’t even have to think. He went straight for the middle-aged worker behind the counter. His nerves were no longer an issue. As soon as he saw the face of the worker, all became clear. A sudden wave of hostility washed over Billy, almost like a hunger. Billy was predator, and this guy was his prey.

Billy pointed the weapon at the employee. The kid buying the coke was just handed his change, a look of absolute terror on his face.

The man behind the counter only stared at Billy coldly, like he was trying to call Billy’s bluff.

“All the money. NOW!” Billy screamed, his voice cracking at the apex of his demand.

But the man only stared with a blank expression. He didn’t seem scared of Billy at all.

“Hey man listen… let’s just…. calm down. Please.” The kid said to Billy. Clearly, the kid bought the look on Billy’s face. A force to not be reckoned with, the kid recognized. A certain energy was in the air; a thick sense of tension. The kid then had an overwhelming feeling of dread fill his heart. He felt that from this moment that he would not make it out of this store.

He closed his eyes and prayed for his mother.

Billy, still pointing the weapon, was staring directly into the eyes of the cashier.

“Fuck you. You wont do it.” The man said in a middle-eastern accent.

“Fucking try me, mister.” Billy said. The gun felt great in his hand now. It was so comfortable. It was like the grip was made just for him, the shape of it filled his hand in such a satisfying way. His whole arm felt like a weapon now, laser-focused on the sorry son-of-a-bitch behind the counter.

Billy heard a sudden scuffling behind him, but he did not break his stare with the cashier.

“Get the fuck back down!” Terry screamed. It was the larger man wearing the hat. He had made a break for it.

A few seconds later, Terry’s pistol erupted inside the small store. Billy heard the man hit the floor and felt the air from his fall, for the man had only fell some feet away from Billy. Terry had killed the man without hesitation.

“We’ve gotta split! Shoot the fucker!” Terry yelled out.

Billy was still staring at the man. They both haven’t moved since the man behind Billy was shot. Once the guy fell dead, the man broke his stare to watch the man die. Billy started to feel a steady pressure in his hand holding the gun. It was almost like it wanted to be used, like it was hungry.

Billy then pulled the trigger, and a shot rang out from his weapon. But instead of a usual gunshot, Billy heard a roar. An animalistic roar that instantly instilled fear. It reminded Billy of the roar of a dying bear, which he had seen on Reddit a few days before. A truly chilling sound.

What Billy saw next, he would never forget.

Some sort of pink fleshy material sprung out of the muzzle of the gun. It almost looked like a thick vine of flesh, with a gaping mouth at the other end. It shot strait to the cashier at bullet speed.

Billy reared his arm in surprise, not really believing what he was seeing. He was ready to pop this man’s head like a melon. His arm movement had no effect on the weapon. What the hell was happening? The vine of flesh then latched itself to the cashier’s head, it’s mouth completely engulfing the man’s face. Billy could see, no… sense, this thing’s teeth sinking into the mans face. Billy could feel it as if this thing was a part of him, and he could feel every part of this man’s face, like it was in the palm of his hand. If his hand had teeth digging into this man’s nose, eyeballs and scalp.

The deep growl Billy could hear was now more of a snarl, like a 500 lb grizzly was in the store with them. “Am I the only one hearing this shit?” Billy thought to himself as he watched the weapon latch harder onto the clerk’s face.

The clerk then instinctively grabbed the weapon, attempting to pry it off his face, screaming in absolute terror while doing so.

Before Billy knew what to do next, the snarling sound grew louder, and Billy felt his heart begin to beat at an accelerated rate. Billy could feel the weapon begin to pick the man straight up in the air by his face. Was this thing really apart of him? Was it using his energy to eat this man’s face off?

The cashier’s body writhed when in the air. Billy and Terry could both hear the man screaming. Billy could feel one of the man’s eyeballs pop, just as if he were squeezing it with his very own hand. The body was raised higher and higher, as if an infinite amount of this….stuff….could come out of this gun and do as it pleased.

The weapon stopped raising the man in the air, his feet about four feet of the ground. Billy could feel his adrenaline building tenfold. In a few seconds, Billy felt like he could have a heart attack then and there. There roaring and snarling only became louder and louder and his heart raced. Billy began to scream. It was just too much to bear. He felt as if his head could explode from the pressure and the noise.

The weapon then lurched the man in the air, and slammed him, head first, onto the counter. The man’s head had exploded, spraying Billy with bits of skull, brain matter and teeth.

Billy couldn’t hear anything for some time after. His ears were ringing and he could keep his eyes open. He felt like he was going to pass out.

Billy, struggling with his restlessness, then witnessed the weapon turn toward the kid. The kid gave out a yelp before the weapon slammed into him, sending him flying toward the soda fountain. The kid disappeared in a hear metal and electrical flashes.

The weapon then stopped, and began to slowly survey the store around it. After about a minute, it started to retract back into itself. As it did so, it made a low growl accompanied by a revolting wet, slippery noise as it retracted back into its original form of the gun.

By the time the weapon was back to it’s original state, Billy had gone unconscious.

Billy had not noticed that Terry was long since gone. He had run away in complete fear after what he had witnessed. He had never seen anybody’s head explode like that. And that thing? What the fuck was it? Was it Billy? Was it the gun? As Terry ran, a few blocks away from the store at this point, he was overcome with a sense of immense dread. He realized that no matter what he did from this point on, he would not escape that moment. It would follow him forever, like a cursed monkey stuck on his back. He began to think about the rest of his life, as he ran. He felt suddenly that none of it mattered in the long run. Who the fuck would remember him? Terry felt suddenly that his whole life, everything he worked for, moral or not, was useless. He was not going to be remembered for anything.

Soon Terry began feel queasy, and stopped to catch his breath on a street corner. There weren’t many people around, and Terry began to cry. His mind went from thinking of the uselessness of his life, to the pointlessness of the human race. He began to think of the stars. Would anybody know humans were here? Would it matter? If what he just witnessed was real, what other horrors existed in the universe? Terry lay on the ground, weeping like a child. It was soon dark. In his depressed state, Terry took out his 9mm handgun. After a brief moment of self reflection, Terry knew what he must do.

Terry put the gun to his temple and pulled the trigger.

Terry’s body would not be discovered until morning. After the police learned of his involvement, he was taken to the coroner’s office for an autopsy. After finding nothing of use to the investigation, his body was cremated.

Nobody come to collect the remains. His ashes were eventually thrown in the garbage.

*****

#writing #lovecrafian

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knucklescum · 3 years ago

Text

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

Text

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 · 3 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

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fernweh-writes · 4 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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