#nah i'd cause trauma

[aldermos]

this is so out of left field mb 😭

[queers-gambit]

What Goes Around, Comes Around

prompt: ( requested ) Billy's known for his temper and being obsessed with his pretty little girlfriend - which gets her severely injured by his past transgressions.

pairing: Billy Hargrove x female!cheerleader!reader reader and Billy are both 18+, seniors in high school

word count: 6.7k+

fandom masterlist: Stranger Things

note: you're a liar if you didn't immediately start singing Justin Timberlake's "What Goes Around... Comes Around".

warnings: remember there are different responses to trauma! some people shut down, stop talking; others jabber and chatter nervously. reader is the latter. we got angst, we got literal hurt and comfort, established relationship. term "going postal" is used, cursing, technically underage drinking, not edited, author mildly gave up at the end. triggering content: depictions of physical violence, depictions of injury and blood, depiction of abuse, violent plots, Billy's girl gets physically assaulted (but it's minimally detailed).

DO NOT read if this content can potentially trigger you. you are NOT missing anything, you will miss NOTHING by skipping this, but i do try to keep the details as neutral as possible. again, prioritize yourself, mental health, and emotional state - this ain't worth the read if it's gonna upset you, i promise. author loves you all

"That's fucking her, I swear to God."

"You sure?"

"100%. That's Billy's little bitch he's obsessed with."

The three guys smirked at one another, eyeing you across the living room as you giggled and drank with a few friends in adorable, fashion forward outfits. Someone started a game of beer pong, you on the sidelines to cheer, giving them a full-show of your form.

"She's hot," Jake mused. "I can see why he keeps her so close."

"Nah, not tonight," Lawrence frowned, "heard they got in some huge fight at school. Like, she walked home and he sped off in his car."

"Hm, heard he's ridiculously protective of her... She must've really pissed him off," the third boy, Steven, nodded. "So, he's not here tonight?"

"Doubt it," Jake nodded.

"Go find out," Steven advised. "There, the basketball bros - one of them would know. Or a cheerleader," he eyed the crowd. "Chrissy's over there, Brittany's beside her - they'd be the best bet in my mind."

"We seriously considering this?" Lawrence asked with a small, nervous chuckle. "I mean, it's kinda crazy, isn't it? We're gonna send Billy Hargrove a message by roughing up his girl? There's not some better way?"

"I'd love to hear it," Steven scoffed. "Billy's too comfortable at the top of the school, broke my fucking nose and deviated Jake's septum. Didn't he fuck your sister the first week he was here, Lawrence?"

"I mean - "

"Broke her fucking heart, didn't he?" Jake tacked on.

"Well, yeah," Lawrence sighed, shrugging.

"You tell me, dude, was that shit fair?"

"No," Lawrence looked down.

"So, yeah, I know, it's bad to hit a lady - but what about my boot? Huh?" Steven smirked, nodding. "Go find out what you can. Last thing we need is Billy walkin' in the party, right?"

Jake nodded with enthusiasm, leaving Lawrence behind. He hesistated but then did as Steven asked; asking the present basketball team members if Billy gave indication he was coming. The cheerleaders assured he wouldn't dare show up when you were there after a very public fight, and if he did, it would be to cause another scene.

So, after reporting back to Steven, a plan was formed. Lawrence didn't seem fully on board, but in an effort to save his own skin, he went along with what Jake and Steven were plotting - even if that meant roughing up a woman. Something his mama and grandmama vehemently taught him not to do...

Something churned in his stomach when he heard how the two lads were nearly foaming at the mouth to get their revenge. So, he casually went to grab another drink - pausing where a few of your friends were. "Oi," he whispered, earning their attention.

"Hey, Law," Chrissy smiled.

"Hey, Chris," he sniffled, glancing around. "Listen, uh, you seen Billy 'round?"

"No? Why?"

"Hmm, just, uh... Heard his girl was all upset, thought maybe her drinking all that much was a bad idea without him around."

"Oh," Chrissy blinked, looking up at her boyfriend, Jason, as he approached the group with two drinks in hand. "I didn't think about it like that, Law."

"What's wrong?" Jason asked.

"No, nothing, Lawrence just pointed out how shitty it is to drink without someone watching your back," she pouted.

He nodded, "You lose your friends, man?"

"No, just tryna look out," Lawrence shrugged. "Few girls here drinking a lot, not a lot of defenses 'round them."

Jason frowned, "That's kinda their man's job, isn't it?"

"What if their man isn't here?"

"I'm gonna be right back," Chrissy smiled, parting ways with her girlfriend in tow - and when Law looked, they were using the kitchen telephone. He prayed they were phoning the Hargrove residence.

Lawrence sighed in slight relief and nodded to Jason; the white boy just nodding back silently and letting the other athlete pass him by to head back for Jake and Steven. He grabbed an unopened beer on his way to maintain appearances.

"Hey, we got it," Jake smirked at the third boy, "she just went outside, we should move now."

"Huh?" Law mumbled.

"C'mon," Steven growled, pushing off the mantle and stalking for the backdoors to follow your retreating form.

"Wait, what're we doing?" Law asked, trying to keep up with the drunken, elongated strides of the two dickheads he called 'friends'. "Hey! Guys, c'mon - what's going on?"

"Just - shut up, pussy boy, let's go, fuckin' keep up," Steven sneered, shoving the glass door out of his way and nearly cracking it.

Outside, the in-ground pool was alight with multicolored lights. There were teenagers littered all around the pool deck; some lounging and some standing, all drinking. There was a kegstand in play, ping pong table hosting another game of Beer Pong, and the thick stench of cigarette smoke in the air.

"She's over there," Jake pointed, their sights turning to see you leaning over to huff on your cigarette while Tammy May Flipsen lit the end of it. Your smile was genuine as you thanked her, just stepping two feet away to gaze up at the stars - a perfect time to strike.

The alcohol in everyone's system made them slow, vulnerable, and downright stupid; leaving Steven and Jake the opportunity to seize either of your arms and literally rush you around the corner of the house without anyone intervening.

Once in the remote side yard, the sickening plan commenced.

Lawrence could barely approach, managing to watch with tears in his eyes as the noises of the party masked the noises of pain you emitted; two nearly full-grown men took out their anger towards your boyfriend on you. You cried, begged for reprieve, sounded so confused and broken that it shattered Lawrence's heart - briefly thinking what if someone did this to his sister...

That made him spring into action. "Hey! No! No, this ain't right! Get off her!" Lawrence barked, shoving the two away from your body on the ground. "That's enough - back off - fuck is wrong with you!?"

"What the fuck do you think you're doing!?" Steven demanded.

"Bitch has it coming!"

"What? You fuckin' her, too? Got you pussy whipped like Billy Boy?"

"Just fuck off, beating on a girl!" Lawrence snapped, but it was a huge mistake. Jake and Steven shared a single look before launching at the third boy, beating him as they had you - but much harder. He swore he earned a concussion, their heels stomping his neck, collarbones, wrists, ribs, ankles; exactly the same as they did to you.

"Tryna defend her now!?" Jake heaved, giving a swift kick to Lawrence's kidney. "Huh? You're so scared of Billy but you're gonna mess with his girl?" He laughed. "She must have a magic cunt or something!"

"You're so fucking pathetic, you have to beat up a girl!?" Law shot right back, earning a swift kick to the jaw from the lad that used to play soccer (or American fútbol). "Huh? Two on one? Such big men, aren't yah?" He sneered again, spitting blood to the side.

"Leave it," Steven halted Jake when he charged again, "they're both pretty fucked."

"Well, that dumbass should learn a lesson 'bout interfering!"

"Law's learned - he has, bro, and if he wants, he can learn again," Steven spat on Lawrence's form, Jake doing the same to you - both eventually stalking away like bored toddlers walking away from broken toys.

Slowly, Lawrence grunted as he pulled himself up to sit against the side of the house. "Fuck's sake," he whispered, wiping his eyes and wincing when he felt the sore skin - trailing a finger up, wincing again when he discovered split skin above his eyebrow. "Ohhhh, fuuuuck," Law drawled when you slowly peaked up from your fetal position on the ground. "Hey, hey, you all right? Stupid question," he hissed in pain when he moved to try and assist you.

You cried out when his grip laid on you, but powered through to let him help you sit against the house, too. "Holy shit," you whispered, blood dribbling from your mouth; teeth feeling loose, a headache already assaulting you, and cuts stinging in the bitter night.

"I'm so sorry."

"N-No, you - it would've been so much worse if you hadn't..." You trailed off, sniffling, "You didn't have t'jump in, you got hurt 'cause of me."

"You got hurt 'cause of Billy," Lawrence frowned.

"Huh?"

"That's why they're so pissed off," Lawrence explained, spitting more blood to the side; his jeans stained with mud, blood, and grass. "Billy got their asses few weeks ago, they're still pissed... I heard them," he deflected smoothly, "talkin' about teaching Billy a lesson through you. Didn't feel right, but I should've stopped them so much sooner. I-I'm sorry I didn't do more, Y/N."

"You did more than anyone else," you whimpered, drawing your knees into your chest to lock your arms around them. "I don't even know them, they go to our school?"

"We're all in AP History with Snyder."

You paused to nod absently, not even bothering to try and recall any interactions you might've had with Steven and Jake. Instead, you eyed your savior, mumbling, "You're Lawrence, right?"

"Yeah," he breathed.

"Your sister's... Cara? Sarah? No, no," you paused to think, his frown deepening as you seemed so nice and authentic. "Your sister's name is Natalie, right?"

"Yeah," he half-smiled. "You know her?"

"She's a sweetheart, has those cute glasses? Yeah, I like her; she just joined cheer, right?"

"Yeah, that's her."

You eyed him for a moment, ignoring the blood dripping off you both from the beat down; then whispered with a sniffle, "Is that why you helped? 'Cause your sister's on the cheer squad, too?"

"No," he replied instantly, sounding quiet (like you), "I'd like to believe if I saw something I know is wrong... I'd be the type of person to step in, try to stop it."

"You did tonight."

"I should've done more a lot sooner."

"You could've been really hurt, Law."

"Like you?"

"I'm just - look, two guys? Beatin' on me? Yeah," you scoffed, wiping blood from your split lip, "like I ever stood a chance. But you didn't have t'do all that, they wanted Billy, found me instead. You could've walked away, but instead, you jumped in, and you could've been really hurt. That wouldn't help anyone."

"I'm still sorry..."

You sniffled, but before you could respond, you heard footsteps thundering over the lawn; a voice shouting your name in frantic, panicked little outbursts. Looking up, you caught sight of a black leather jacket and unruly blonde curls, frowning deeper. "Oh, fuck," you whispered, withdrawing into yourself, "oh, no, no, not now. Not now, Goddamnit. Think I can make a run for it to the street before he sees me?" You asked Law quietly, nearly hissing your whisper.

"Ain't that Billy?" Law asked, finger pointed.

"He can't see me," you rushed in a panic, eyes wide and tears welling. "Lawrence, he can't!"

"Why?"

"He'll go on a fucking rampage, Lawrence! Ever heard going postal? Yeah, Bee gives that shit new meaning."

"They'd deserve whatever Billy wants t'do," Law frowned, tensing up when Billy had turned, caught sight of you two, and made an angry beeline for you in the grass. "U-Uh, Billy's approaching," he warned you as your boyfriend arrived, trying to pull back to give privacy, but wincing in pain that made him stop.

"The fuck is going - ? Oh, my fuckin' God," Billy trailed off, then whispered when he saw you huddled on the ground; your dress in tatters. Your head was bowed, knees drawn in, refusing to meet his eyes; making your leather-clad boyfriend lower himself to a knee. "Baby? Hey, look at me, sweet girl, lemme see... C'mon, baby, please, look at me."

You only sniffled.

"It was Jake and Steven," Lawrence told Billy, trying to find his feet; falling over and just giving up.

"Hell happened to you, man?"

Lawrence frowned, looking nervous, but your voice answered, "He saved me, Bee. Jumped in, took some of the beating."

Billy looked between you and Lawrence, but focused on you - seeing the injuries to your face and chest in full light. "Oh, my God," he breathed, looking you over in shock. Those pink, pillowy lips you adored licking and sucking on were parted in shock.

You half-smiled, "Think you pissed a few of the wrong guys off."

"Jesus Christ, sweet girl. What happened? Tell me, please, before I start making assumptions," he demanded, reaching for your cheek - making you recoil hard enough that your head banged on the house supporting your exhausted body. "Hey, hey," he whispered, looking physically wounded by your action, "'s just me, baby, it's just me, it's Bee, I'm not gonna hurt you. C'mon, sweetheart, lemme help you."

You sniffled, letting him reach for you again and caress your cheek so he could direct your head left and right; giving him a full view of your injuries that continued to weep. He stiffened as he took note of a new cut or bruise upon every new sweep of his eyes, his anger skyrocketing with every passing moment.

"It hurts," you whimpered. "Apparently, you beat the shit outta those guys weeks ago - guess they were waiting for an opening to strike back."

"You don't deserve this," he growled angrily. "Fuck - look at you! Goddamnit, I'm so sorry, princess, this is my fault. All my fucking fault, shit," he hissed, looking close to tears, "I put you here, I'm so sorry, baby."

"Got Lawrence his ass beat, too," you pouted.

"Sorry about this, man," Billy instantly offered the other boy, who was practically slumped over in the grass. He still managed to give a thumbs up. "But, uh, thank you for stepping in. You know, not a whole lotta people would."

"Nah, it was the right thing to do," Law frowned, waving him off.

"You said Jake and Steven did this?"

"Mhm," Law nodded. "Jake Chastain and Steven Barton."

"Yeah, I know 'em," Billy shook his head, "and I'll fuckin' kill 'em - "

"Can we get cleaned up first? Before we go murdering high school jocks?" You pouted in pain.

"Hey, man. You got a friend here or something? Someone to help us?" Billy asked Lawrence, still caressing your face with his thumb sweeping the apple of your cheek.

"My sister's 'round, yeah..."

"Want me to grab her?" Billy offered awkwardly.

"I'd actually appreciate it," Law whispered. "Gotta get home, yeah?"

"Yeah, man. Stay here, I'll grab her," Billy agreed. "What's her name?"

"Natalie, she's a cheerleader. Um... Y-You dated her beginning of the year?"

"I remember," he sighed, standing to his feet. He told you earnestly, almost sweetly, "I'll be fast."

But the thing is, you knew Billy all too well by now. "Wait, no," you gasped, trying to stand, "Bee, don't!" It was too late, he was already gone by the time you and Lawrence stumbled out from hiding; just in time to watch Billy point Natalie towards where you and her brother were. Then, he turned and surged up to an unsuspecting Jake and Steven; launching an all-out brawl against the two.

Neither of them stood a chance when Billy was THIS angry. Nobody did. In fact, if Jason, Tommy H., and two other guys hadn't pulled him back, surely, there'd be a lot more than a couple of broken bones. However, when Billy told the other basketball players in a spit-flying rage that these two cowards had attacked his girlfriend (a few turning back to get a look at you), it launched a new, mutual anger. Chrissy and a few other cheerleaders wanted to step in when the "fight" (more like attack) started again, but when they saw you, Lawrence, and Natalie, nobody said a single word. Nobody interfered. Nobody interrupted, and luckily, nobody else joined in...

Before Jake and Steven could lose their lives or sustain serious injury that would result in any arrests, Billy was pulled back by Lawrence - of all people. "Hey, hey," the beaten boy barked, "hey, man, chill - chill! These guys deserve it, yeah, I fucking know, but look, hey!" He grabbed Billy's shoulders to prevent him from turning back for the fray. "Hey! Your girl needs you, man. She needs you more than these bozos. C'mon, you can't go to jail over this shit, right? Right? How mad you gonna be if you get bagged 'cause of these jackasses?"

This seemed to force Billy back to reality and out of his homicidal rage. A few dudes who played football stepped in to hoist the unconscious jocks over their shoulders just to leave them on the curb a couple houses down the street.

Billy raced back to you.

Chrissy and Natalie were helping wipe blood from your skin and hair; clothes damaged, ripped, stained, beyond repair, and another cheerleader was holding a bag of frozen peas to your head as you leaned on her stomach. He slid his jacket from his shoulders, easing you off the girl's belly to leave it around your trembling form and then taking the girl's spot, supporting your body as you were tended to.

Eventually, Chrissy sighed, "I think that's the best we're gonna get you, honey. You want us to come over in the mornings? Help you get dressed and do your make-up?"

"No offense, but I don't think that's necessary... It's not like what happened is a secret," Natalie whispered, looking you over.

"Make-up might irritate the injuries," the other girl offered softly. "But it might cover some of those bruises, I just would avoid the cuts."

"I'm okay, girls, but thank you," you assured softly. "Bee's here t'help."

"Yeah, taking you straight to the hospital," he decided stiffly from behind you.

"What?"

"Think I'm not gonna get you checked out after this? Two men attacked you, I gotta make sure ain't shit's seriously wrong, baby. Don't fight me on this, please."

Billy's mind was warped with memories of sitting in ER's and other clinics with his mother nursing a broken wrist or damaged eye socket. His father's anger had always been a temperamental switch, something Billy felt he always had to outdo. Being in the hospital with you felt too similar, another bolt of rage zinging through his blood; hating the idea that you were the victim, and like his mother, he wasn't able to protect you.

Unlike his mother, this situation was directly his fault. He didn't even remember why he beat the shit outta Steven and Jake all those weeks ago, but whatever the reason, it cost him now. Cost you both.

The party continued inside the house, but Billy walked around the side yard, down to the front, then towards the street full of parked cars with you secure in his arms. After getting you settled safely in the passenger seat of his Camaro, Billy rightened and shut the door; seeing Lawrence and Natalie approaching their own car, the bag of peas now held to his jaw and cheek.

His sister was under his arm, helping him hobble. Billy gulped, realizing Lawrence was beat to hell, too, and if he hadn't jumped in, Lord only knew what state you'd be in now. When the two men caught one another's eye, Billy offered a nod of respect and thanks; the other lad returning it as if to say he was welcome. Billy raced for the driver's door, sliding in, and without turning any music on, drove off towards the hospital.

You were grumpy to be there, but one look at you had the medical staff moving at a quickened pace to help you; offering speedy aid. You were cleaned and cared for; questions regarding the level of assault making you nervous, but you answered honestly that two classmates had jumped you at a party. This meant the police were called; tears in your eyes and down your cheeks when you had to tell Chief Hopper (a close family friend) exactly what happened.

Billy provided their assailant’s full names and promised they wouldn't be in the best shape when (slash if) the two were found.

After hearing your story and writing the names down from Billy, Hopper sighed in empathy, "Kid... Don't admit t'anything."

"I'm not, I'm just making a casual note," Billy countered. "You know, people don't take too kindly to people hittin' a woman. Less so when she's drunk, alone, and they fuckin' stomp on her - "

"All right," Hopper tried to halt his built up anger. "Let's just take a breath here - "

"Uh, Chief?" His deputy interrupted. "Them boys? Uh, a... Jake Chastain and Steven Barton? They were just wheeled in from an ambulance."

"Interesting," Hopper noted, sparing Billy a small look. "From where?"

"A neighbor called them in, said there's a party few houses from her on Hawthorne."

Jim Hopper sighed and turned to you and Billy with his hands on his hips. His face was passively angry. "Sound familiar?" He asked, tongue sweeping over his teeth.

"Yes," you answered for you both, "that's where it happened, Chief."

His eyes softened when he looked back at you. "All right," he nodded, looking to his partner. "Go stand by their room, keep an eye - I'll be there in a second, but the victims made a positive ID. Doc's will treat 'em and we'll book 'em." When left alone, Hopper took a suspicious look around the hospital floor before sliding the curtains shut around your bed; moving to your other side, removing his hat, and kneeling. "Listen, kid," he whispered, taking your hand softly, "I got a daughter at home, too, and if anyone - and I mean, anyone - laid a hand on her the way you were tonight, I'd burn this town to the fucking ground."

Billy snorted in amusement, "Know the feeling."

Hopper nodded, "So believe me when I say, I need to know, off the record, what really happened tonight. Your father will need to know that I am doing everything to help - but I need to know the truth."

"I don't know what to tell you, Hopper," you frowned, matching his quiet tone, "I've told you what I know. I was a few drinks in, stepped outside t'smoke, and that's when they grabbed me, took me t'the side yard, and started wailing on me. I dropped, they kept goin', that's when this other boy stepped in. He got beat up pretty good, too, but he helped get them away. Billy showed up, we came here - "

"I hit them," Billy interrupted, making you squeak lightly. Hopper just laid his other hand over yours so he cocooned it; glancing around the under skirts of the curtains to make sure you remained alone.

Then he asked, "When?"

"After I made sure Y/N was okay," Billy explained, petting a hand over the back of your head; never looking away from Hopper. "I found her friend's sister, made sure someone knew where they were, and then I hit them... And I didn't stop hitting them."

"Kid - "

"Some teammates pulled me off, don't worry - it could've been so much worse. But when the others found out what they did to my girl?" He hissed quietly, "They took matters into their own hands by themselves, sir. My girl was attacked, I couldn't let that just slide, Chief, I hope you understand."

Hopper sighed, "Well, I can't condone the violence, but since it was a group effort, be a helluva lot more paperwork bringing you in versus those two who started it."

Billy nodded absently, your free hand laying over Hopper's to stack. "Did you call my dad?" You asked nervously.

"Not yet," he frowned. "I gotta check on the suspects, but I can after."

"Could you not? For me, please?" You sniffled. "He'll just worry and would get all pissy 'cause his trip has to be cut - "

"He's not home?" Hopper asked in earnest confusion with knitted brows.

Your head shook, "Chicago for the week."

"He left eight days ago," Billy snipped.

"Bee," you reprimanded sharply.

"Hey," Hopper squeezed your hand, "it's okay, you're over 18, I don't have to call him. But El and I are gonna drop by later with dinners and to check on you, her little friend, too, probably. You know, the, uh... The little red head?"

"Max?" You asked.

"Yeah, her. Nice girl."

"She's Billy's step-sister," you snickered, wincing when your broken ribs protested.

"You should rest," Hopper bid, "and thank you for being honest," he stood to his feet while nodding at Billy. "Tell you what, I won't report you starting the fight - technically... It'll be reported as a randomized group effort after they were caught assaulting Y/N."

Billy nodded, too shocked for words as Hopper patted your hand, placed his hat on, and exited the little curtained room. "Wow," your boyfriend breathed. "Since when are you friends with the Chief of Police?"

"He and my dad go way back," you eased.

"All cops like him?"

"Fuck no, you know that." After a beat, you reached for his hand to lace your fingers with him, "Hey," you bid, "I-I'm really sorry."

"Baby, just - don't even start - "

"No, for earlier, for our fight," you interrupted, "and for feeling petty enough to go to the party alone when I know you don't like that... For drinking, not being more aware like you taught me. I didn't use the buddy-system when I went t'smoke, it was a major fuck-up, I know, but I'm just sorry. I feel like I've disappointed you or something - "

"No, hey, sweet girl," he rushed, sitting on the edge of the gurney to stare at you directly, "don't you ever feel that way - you didn't do nothing wrong. Hear me? You didn't put yourself in this position, you didn't deserve what happened, you didn't - no, just," he sighed deeply, "you didn't do any of this, sweetheart. Okay? If anything... If anything, this is my fucking fault and I'm the one who is so sorry."

Your head shook, but Billy continued,

"They did this to you because of me." Tears filled those sweet baby blues. "Because I don't have a hold of my temper - I fucked them up, so, they fucked you up. This is my fault, I'm so sorry. But look, hey, I'll fix this, okay? I swear to God - I'm gonna fix this."

"The cops got 'em, we don't have t'do anything else," you mumbled. "You don't have to do anything else, Billy."

"Maybe not, but I can't let this go - look at you," a single tear dripped. "Fucking look at you, my sweet girl. In the fucking hospital 'cause of me - I can't - this ain't right. I gotta make it right."

You couldn't answer because a technician was arriving to take you for a CT, MRI, and X-Ray - all of those scans that would tell them what was going on internally. Hopper was seen outside the two boy's rooms - Billy following your bed closely as you where wheeled away. Every scan or test he could remain close for, he was; stepping back when needed, but being sucked right back to your side when able.

By the end of the night, you were released into Billy's care because all patients with head injuries had to have some kind of chaperone, and a few floors up, Steven and Jake were being handcuffed to their hospital beds by Hopper.

"Real lucky I wasn't there when you hit her," Jim Hopper seethed quietly, tightening the cuff on Jake to an uncomfortable grip. "Your parents would need money for your funerals - not bail," he offered one single more glare before leaving the next shift of deputies on duty. He sped all the way home and held Eleven in a suffocating hug.

Turns out, you sustained decent injuries from that night.

A (cleanly) broken ankle. Six different broken ribs. Split lip that required two stitches. Stitched earlobes from where piercings were ripped out. Severely bruised collarbones, bordering on broken. One blackened eye. Along with other generic bruises and cuts, more seemingly discovered as the days drug by slowly.

Billy was ready to mow down anyone in his way at any point, but his only ability to get through the school day was that he saw you everyday afterward. He dropped whatever sport and / or club that held his interest, collecting coursework you missed, then driving Max and "Jane" Hopper to your place. He would've lashed out if this was any other situation, but because you asked him to behave and bring you the materials you needed, he did. He played nice.

The two assailants, Steven and Jake, had been arrested by Jim Hopper. They apparently had a rough ride to the station, but that wasn't here or there. What they did to you was far worse that nobody batted a single lash when the two were brought in the station for booking, looking freshly beat up and bloodied. A judge also rejected their bail.

Billy brought you whatever work you missed during your recovery at home, most teachers shocked to see him so diligent in showing up and making the collections. He didn't understand whatever the teachers told him about the work, but you did - and it was fascinating to him, watching you work or study. He usually sat by your window to smoke, but on the occasion, you asked for a toke and wouldn't care about where the smoke blew. So, as weeks passed, he stopped specifically going over to your window; just leaving it open for ventilation so he could remain at your side.

Anything you needed, he got. He did. He gave you. Guilt was one helluva motivator and Billy was chalked-full; so, he did the only thing he knew he could, being acts of service.

You were laid up, it made sense. He could bring you into the shower, get naked himself and help you bathe. He could carry you downstairs, cook for you, help out around the house by keeping it clean because he knew it stressed you out. He would collect the mail, water plants, do dishes, just turned into a househusband that made your stomach and cheeks feel all warm and fuzzy. Never did you think Billy had the ability to be domestic, but here he was, in your great-grandmother's kitchen, wearing a stained apron while trying to bake cookies while you worked on a physics project.

"Hey, Bee?"

"What's wrong?" He asked instantly, setting the hot tray to the stove.

"No, hey, calm down," you smiled with a small laugh. "I was just wondering... You know, like... What's gotten into you?"

"Huh?"

"You know what I mean," you huffed, setting your pencil down. "You literally haven't let me out of your sight except when you're at school."

He shrugged, "You need help."

"You don't ask if I do."

"I don't need to ask when I can just see it."

"Billy."

He sighed and begrudgingly scraped cookies off the hot tray to rest on the cooling sheets. "Your dad asked me to stay close," he offered.

"Bullshit."

"No, really," Billy insisted. "He's in and out with work, so, he asked me to stick around, just in case."

"Okay, fine, but it's more than that. Billy, tell me the truth, baby, please. It's not a bad thing, I'm just curious what's really going on."

"I'm just... I'm just nervous, you know?"

Your head cocked, "Why's that?"

"Look what happened to you," he chuckled ruefully. "All fucked up, can't even go t'school until your ribs are healed - all 'cause of me. 'Cause I fucked up and went too far - "

"William," you snapped, making his wide, shocked eyes meet yours. "I'm not gonna listen to this anymore. Okay? I know you're sorry, you tell me everyday, andI know you're feeling guilty, but this isn't your fault, you're not the one who put hands on me - "

You flinched when he lobbed the cookie tray into the sink, causing a ruckus, his voice yelling over the noise, "FOR FUCK'S SAKE!"

"William!"

"I'm trying to protect you!" He yelled, tears swelling when he whipped around to face you. "I-I don't know what else to do! Look, okay, say what you fucking want, but the truth is, those two assholes came at you 'cause of me. Okay? 'Cause I had to be myself and beat the shit outta them 3 months ago, they never forgave - they didn't forget. I put you in this situation, that now? Now, yeah!" He laughed without humor. "Yeah! I'm fucking nervous leaving you alone! Fuck knows what could happen to you, and who's to say there aren't more people out there just waiting for this kinda opportunity! Baby!" He rushed for you at the kitchen table, your mouth sewn shut in shock as he found his knees in front of you and took both your hands in his. "Baby, listen to me. You're the only thing - no, I'm serious!" He insisted when you looked ready to protest this sentiment you've heard before. "You're the only thing I fucking care about, that I want to protect, and they all know it - I don't exactly hide it. I love you so fucking much, they'd do this again - they'd fucking hurt you to get to me and that idea just..." He sighed, looking lost.

You pulled a hand free to instantly caress his cheek, turning his attention upward until his eyes met yours. "Billy," you whispered, "baby, nobody's after us. This was just a freak accident, this was a fluke, okay? You're worried anyone else is gonna come at me, at us, but I know nobody else is that fucking stupid. They wouldn't test you, and Jake and Steven took advantage of an already bad situation. Okay? We had a fight - which was pretty public. So, people knew we were at odds, and when I showed up at that party alone, started drinking, it was their perfect opportunity to strike."

"You can't say that, we don't know if anyone else is gonna test us," he sniffled. "I've made a lot of mistakes... Pissed a lot of people off. One of them might've grown a pair."

"Okay," you relented, "then I guess we're gonna have to stick together, you know... So you can keep me safe, right?"

He chuckled dryly, "I'm trying, princess."

"Well, we can work out a better way - one that doesn't run you into the fucking ground, Billy, Jesus," you searched his face. "Are you sleeping? At all?"

"'Course I am - "

"Don't lie to me."

He sighed, deflating a little, "I sleep... Only when I stay here."

"Billy, you stay only a couple nights a week when Daddy's home."

"I know."

"So, you basically only sleep when Daddy's out of town and you stay here?" You squeaked, watching him nod; pouting and feeling your own guilt brew. "Baby... Look, can we just agree that this isn't either of our faults? Right? Yeah? If I'm not allowed to think this was my fault, you aren't either."

"I was the one they wanted t'hurt," he shook his head. "They did this 'cause of me, sweetheart, how can you be so - so - fuck! So fucking understanding a-and forgiving?"

"Because I love you," you answered like it was common knowledge, even giving a small giggle.

"That doesn't... But that doesn't even - "

"What? Mean anything? Bee, it means everything," you smiled at him. "I love you, so, when you make mistakes, I forgive you - even though there's nothing you've done. I mean," you winced slightly, "sure, maybe we could reduce the kids you bully or beat up, you know, limit the enemies we might make. And this is something that can be redeemed, can't it?"

He stared at you from the floor, slowly deflating, "Can it? I've fucked up so much, doll, I don't think I deserve whatever forgiveness you wanna give me."

"You can't keep beating yourself up," you snipped. "Hey? Hear me? Look, it happened - it fucking sucked, but it happened and it's fucking over. We both need one another to help move on, okay? So, I need you back, Bee, I need my man back because we need to get through this together. You don't get to sulk in your guilt, I don't get to stew in my regret, we need to help each other out of this."

Billy sniffled, "How? How do we move on when you've still got stitches in your lip?"

"They'll dissolve in a few days," you shrugged meekly. "We move on together, okay? Maybe you pick up basketball again, try to distract yourself. Billy, we need some normalcy again, right? You know?"

"Doll, being away from you makes me feel like my lungs are gonna pop," he shook his head. "I'm afraid something might happen if I'm not there, it's fucking scary after finding you in your own blood."

"Then I'll be at every practice," you eased. "You can drive me to and from school, then you know where I am - you'll know I'm safe."

Billy stared at you a moment, fully dropping to the floor as his energy finally drained. He ran a hand through his hair, rustling the curls, admitting in a soft voice, "I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to not feel so guilty, how to move forward."

"There's no playbook," you agreed. "Guess it means we gotta figure it out ourselves, but again, we do it together. C'mere," you sighed, lowering yourself to the floor with your booted ankle held out.

"No, don't - "

"Fuck off, I'm not totally unable to do shit," you grunted, adjusting yourself and reaching for him. "Come here, please, I wanna hold you! Been cuddling me this whole time, lemme be the big spoon, please."

"Just told me to fuck off, sweetheart, kinda sending some mixed signals, aren't'cha?" He chuckled, turning so his back was to your chest; leaning so you supported him in his slump. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart," he muttered, holding the arm around his collarbones. "I really - if I knew this was gonna happen, I'd never of fought them."

"I know, and I forgive you," you whispered in his ear. "But we can't keep doing this back and forth, okay? I forgive you, Billy, no more apologies."

He sighed, "Yeah... All right..."

"Steven and Jake are arrested, we won't have t'see them again. Hopper will make sure of that," you smirked against the shell of his ear. "And the doctors said I should be good to return to school next week, but I'm out of cheer and everything."

He groaned, "Just something else I've fucked up for you."

"Oh, please, I love the time off," you teased. "Gives me all the time I need to watch my man on the court, huh?" He half-chuckled at your words. "You know I'm ahead in all my classes now, too? Teaching myself at home is far superior than the teacher's bitching at us for eight hours."

"You're gonna love college, baby," he chuckled, the two of you lulling into a comfortable silence. You held him tightly, nuzzled into his neck; both sitting in your emotions, trying to navigate a way out.

"We good?" You whispered.

"We're good," Billy agreed, just as soft. "No more apologies... Try to have less guilt. But you're gonna let me stay close, right?"

"I want you clinging to me so hard, I can't fucking breathe," you smirked. "And if Daddy really asked you to stick around, then you're welcome to stay here longer, even if he's here... Where I can have you close to me," you whispered, licking the skin under his ear. He stiffened.

"No - you better not," he squirmed when you licked again, adding a little teeth in a scrape.

"Billy," you pouted. "It's been weeks!"

"You're still hurt," he argued, turning on the floor to look at you. "I'm not gonna be responsible for breaking another of your ribs 'cause we were horny."

"I'm doing so much better, though!"

"Tell you what," he smirked. "Next business trip of your dad's, I'll fuck you all weekend - wherever you want, however you want."

"He has one in two weeks."

"Mhm, and you have a check up before he leaves."

You eyed him for a moment, "When did you become responsible?"

"I've always been."

"No, this is new. You're remembering dates and my doctor appointments and my dad's work schedule."

"Maybe I just like taking care of you," he whispered against your lips with a growing smirk. After pecking you lips, he quipped, "So, shut up and let me."

"Yes, sir."

requesting rules and masterlist

Stranger Things masterlist

[hairmetal666]

Never in a million years did Steve Harrington think he'd be standing in the drama club room in front of Eddie the Freak--who's sitting on a goddamn throne with his full lips pulled into a smug grin--asking to be taught how to play Dorks and Goblins. Yet, here he is, face a burning shade of crimson, as he explains for the sixth time what, exactly, he needs.

"Munson, it's not that hard. Henderson wants me to play in the--the game thingy they're doing when Will is home for a visit."

"Yeah, Harrington, and I stop listening every time you call it a game thingy. You obviously don't care about this at all, so why should I waste my time helping you?"

Steve rolls his eyes. "What if I pay you?"

Munson's face goes through a complicated series of changes before falling into a neutral mask, no smirk or teasing smile to be found. "You'll pay me to teach you dnd? Are you fucking kidding?"

"No?' Steve draws a hand through his hair, watches as Munson's dark eyes track the movement. "I thought you might help me out cause those kids never shut-up about you, but I'm willing to put money on it."

"Huh," Eddie says. He steeples his fingers under his chin. "Maybe I misjudged you, Harrington."

Steve lets himself smile at this. "I don't think you did. I don't give a shit about this game."

"Didn't take you for one to have a bunch of nerdy child friends."

"I'm their babysitter," he says, realizes immediately it was a mistake.

Eddie cackles until it turns into a full-bodied laugh, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. "You are something else, Harrington," he manages.

For his part, Steve hopes Munson hasn't noticed how bright red his face is. "Does that mean you'll help me?"

"I guess," he rolls his eyes. "But if you're just screwing around, I'm out."

"No, yeah, totally," Steve nods too hard, sends his hair cascading into his face. "Sounds good. How much?"

"Huh?" Eddie tilts his face up, giving Steve a perfect view of the smattering of faint freckles across the bridge of his nose.

"I said I'd pay you. What's the going rate for dnd lessons?"

"Oh, nah, free of charge, Harrington. Henderson would eat me alive if he knew I made you pay."

The smile they share is soft, tentative, and Steve doesn't notice the swathes of pink decorating Eddie's pale cheekbones.

---

They meet up in the drama room after the last bell. Eddie is waiting on the throne with his feet propped on the table, sipping a Mt. Dew. His eyes widen when Steve walks into the room.

"You're on time," he says.

Steve scoffs. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Eddie shrugs, sets his feet on the floor. "Just wasn't aware that the King put a lot of stock in punctuality."

"C'mon, man, I'm trying not to be that guy, and I'm definitely not king of anything. Unless maybe it's Family Video, but even then, that's Robin."

"You're kind of weird, Harrington, you know that?" Eddie's dimples bracket his smile. The sight does weird things in Steve's chest.

"I've been told, yeah." Steve smiles back. "Where do we start?"

They start with dice, with a character sheet.

"Chaotic-good human Paladin?" Eddie asks.

He shrugs. "That's what Dustin keeps screaming at me. I got no idea what any of it means."

"That's not entirely true," Eddie says. "You've kept up with me so far."

"Yeah, that's you. Dustin rambles and then accuses me of not listening when it's over my head. When he goes on long enough, I start to get a headache right here," Steve rubs the spot between his eyes.

"That kid," Eddie says with the right combination of affection and frustration. "I don't know, you seem to have picked up on some of the stuff he said. You have a solid idea on gameplay, at least. I'd say you're doing pretty good."

"Thanks," Steve laughs. "No migraine yet, so that's a point in your favor."

"Migraines?"

"Head trauma."

"Byers?"

"And Hargrove."

"That was Hargrove?" Eddie asks.

"Hit me in the head with a plate."

"What the fuck."

"He was pissed that Max was friends with Lucas. He came after them. I couldn't just let him--I think he would've killed Lucas."

Eddie nods, hands fiddling with a die. "No wonder those kids love you," he says.

"We've been through some shit together."

"Guess it makes more sense why you wanted to learn dnd."

"As much as it pains me to admit," Steve rolls his eyes. "I love to make those little shitheads happy."

"Well, based on the way they talk about you, you succeed."

"You too, you know?" Steve offers. "All I've heard about the last three months is 'Eddie's so cool,' 'Hellfire's so fun.'"

"Jealous?" Eddie laughs.

"Completely," Steve admits.

"Don't worry, Harrington, I'll make a nerd out of you yet."

---

They meetup after school every day they can over the next two weeks. At first, Steve is surprised that he doesn't really mind spending so much time with Munson, that he actually, kind of, has fun. And the more time they spend together, the more Eddie infiltrates his space. Leans into Steve's side as they sit next to each other, brushes their hands together, hovers over his shoulder, faces nearly touching, as he checks stuff on Steve's character sheet.

It makes Steve feel--well, it makes him think of what it would be like to run his fingers through the soft gloss of Eddie's curls; wonders what that plump mouth would be like pressed against his own; can't stop thinking about if Eddie is as vocal in bed as he is everywhere else. He knows he also likes guys, has for a while, but he's never in his life wanted someone this viscerally; so much he can feel the ache of it in his teeth.

It's the last day before the campaign for Will, and Steve is fucking sad. He thinks maybe Eddie is too. He's at least quieter than normal, explanations not at their usual fever pitch. An hour before they usually call it quits, he claps his hands together (too gently, too unlike himself), says, "That's it, Harrington. You're not going to be more ready than this."

"Right," Steve says. Can't help his eyes from darting over Eddie's face, aching to know what he's thinking. "You'll be there tomorrow?"

Eddie bends his head over his notebooks. "Nah, I don't need to intrude."

"But--"

"It's okay, Stevie. I get that it's family only." He looks like he really means it, but his eyes are sad, don't shine like they should.

Steve doesn't know what to say to that, just nods, and then there's nothing else. They stare at each other for a few very long, quiet seconds, before Eddie says, "I'll see you around, Harrington."

"Right, yeah. You too." And he walks out of the drama room with the heaviest heart he thinks he's ever had.

---

Steve thinks he won't miss Eddie. That if he doesn't dwell on those hours spent with Eddie, learning dnd, that the missing will go away.

It doesn't.

Which is how he finds himself back at the high school on Wednesday, standing in front of the drama room door, willing himself to go inside. Eddie's on the throne, the typical notebooks and binders and Mt. Dew cans clustered around him, but he's not engrossed in imagining up a new campaign for Hellfire. No, his head is in his hands, knees drawn up to his chest.

"Eddie?" Steve asks.

His head pops up, and even in the low light, Steve notices the silvery tracks of tears down his cheeks.

"Steve! What are you--" he hastily wipes at his face with his shirt sleeve. "What are you doing here?"

Steve's acting only on instinct, crossing the room and dropping to his knees, taking Eddie's jaw between his palms, thumbing away the wetness on his cheeks.

"Did someone hurt you?" he asks.

Eddie's laugh is wet. "Nah, Harrington. I only have myself to blame for this one."

"Can I do anything?"

"Are you trying to kill me?"

"Sorry?"

"You, Steve Harrington, kind and compassionate? Learn dnd to make your little nerd friends happy? Who are you?"

"I'm just me, man," Steve blushes. "But, uh, I came to thank you." He's still holding Eddie's face in his hands, can't help but notice the way he flushes, how his dark eyes dart away from Steve's.

"I really liked hanging out with you," Steve says. This close to Eddie, his mind doesn't quite feel like his own. All he can think of is big eyes, soft curls, full lips.

"Yo--you did?"

"So much," Steve whispers. He doesn't quite remember moving, but now their foreheads are pressed together, warm breath mingling, lips almost, almost touching.

"I liked it too," Eddie breathes. After a few seconds, he laughs. "Knew I'd make a nerd out of you, Harrington."

"Shut-up," Steve laughs.

"Make me," Eddie says, and it's just that easy. Steve crosses the space still separating them, presses his mouth against Eddie's.

The kiss is slow, exploratory, the gentle discovery of how they fit together, the promise of all the things they can do in the future, all the pleasure they can bring.

"I'm not a nerd," Steve says when they part.

"No, you're right. You're like a nerd by marriage. Nerd-in-law," Eddie giggles. His eyes are bright, face pink, the most beautiful thing Steve has ever seen.

"Shut-up," Steve giggles right back.

Eddie raises an eyebrow, the dare obvious, and Steve doesn't hesitate to kiss him again.

"You wanna get out of here?" Steve asks when they part, significantly more breathless, jeans significantly tighter, than when he arrived.

"You're gonna have to role persuasion for that, Stevie," Eddie smirks.

[randomsloredrops]

Random's Lore Drops - Canon Fall but in past tense Sans

Y'know, It'd be funny if I made a post about an Undertale AU character that I originally believed in the fanon version (mainly just the being edgy version). So, uh...

(Art by THE Underfella themselves)

This is the Canon Underfell design, by Fella.

(Before we get started, here's canonfell brother relationship so i can cut away some of the lore that's already explained right here.)

I'll be going from the oldest post I can find from Fella, to the newest lore post I can find. Numero uno consists of...

Canon Fell Sans' sneakers. More specifically, why the hell does he wear them instead of slippers? Just design choice? Or maybe it's because he's not allowed to? Nah. According to Fella themselves, "he likes the squeaky sound it makes because everyone hates it". So basically, he likes to squeak the shoes on the floor like he's on a basketball court.

Second post, why the hell does mf sweat so damn much? Well, first reason, he starts to sweat when he's angry. Second reason, because of the Sick Ass Jacket™️ that he got from making Grillby laugh. I mean, have you seen how thick it is? I'd be sweating too.

Random post I had to find, how did Sans get his jacket? Well, it's obvious of course, I said it before. He made Grillby laugh (unintentionally), and when you make Grillby laugh in Underfell, he gives you a smaller version of his coat. Now Sans is kitted with Sick Ass Jacket™️ and was forced to dress better, wearing said Sick Ass Jacket™️, a turtleneck, a gold chain (that's usually under said turtleneck), basketball shorts, and squeaky squeaky.

Third (lore relevant) post, the brothers dynamic. They DON'T hate eachother. On the fucking contrary. They both care for eachother, and don't really express it all too well. Brother relationship post HERE.

Fourth post, he's got 5 rings. 5 sick ass (not trademarked) rings, and the reason he can wear them is because he uses his magic so they don't fall off. From Fella themselves, the reason he has them on is because "the guy wants to flex so hard he’s constantly using his powers to keep them there. He doesn’t even think about it, he has so much power to spare he might as well “live” a little." So yeah, he uses his magic to keep wearing his rings cause he can.

Fifth post? Sans canonically CAN ball (so can Frisk, but Frisk is scarier)

Sixth, he's capable of opening his mouth. But it's usually when he's in battle, otherwise it won't ever open, because he's never under enough stress to have enough power for such.

Seventh, mf's eye is always glowing, no matter what. Mainly because he's had so much stress and emotional trauma, his magic is piled up, so his magic sorta does some wacky shit, like make his coat look cool.

Eighth, an almighty lore post by Fella, explaining how Sans awoke his powers and also how Papyrus got scar. Long story short, Gaster went missing, Sans was to take the blame, his punishment was Asgore crushing his skull, Paps retaliated, got hired and had his skull scratched through for a scar, and Sans got pissed off and woke his magic.

Ninth (nineth? idfk) semi-unrelated one is that Sans is the ONLY character not directly affiliated with Asgore who wears red and gold.

The rest I find from a canonfell wiki. Such as, he likes mustard and relish more than ketchup, and prefers knock-knock jokes to puns. Supposedly one of his more favorite drinks is a green martini, either appletini or honey dew martini, with larger quantities being a margarita

oh shit there's an official ask about sans hates women underfell (or technically a nod to it), which then displays that "i sans underfell love woimen", by the very words of sans underfell himself. REAL!

Oh yeah, he canonically sells chimichangas instead of hotdogs. His provider is not the store, but instead Papyrus. And according to this wiki, he gave Papyrus a hang-in-there cat poster as a joke, and Papyrus hung it up on the wall.

anyways thats all the lore i will feed you and that the wiki has fed me. goodbye.

[puraiuddo]

༺JazzProwl Fic Recs༻

— brought to you by puraiuddo -

This is by all means not a complete list of banger JP fics! It's my personal favorites—those fics that lodged themselves in my brain for one reason or another and never left.

Hopefully this list satisfies at least some of the sudden influx of interest for JP fics (and given how well rec'ing a fic turned out last time...) But, nah for real, not to make rec'ing fics fake deep or anything, but I think the fandom would be a better place if people were more unapologetically enthusiastic about fics and less afraid to interact with authors. So if you use this list to find some fics you have to promise to leave some unhinged comments! ٩("•̀ᴗ•́")و ̑̑

But before I start, I want to acknowledge the prevalence of potentially stereotypical depictions of Jazz in regards to his speech (❞), criminal/violent/sexual characterization (▾), or backstory/origins (⟲) in the JP/TF fandom. I've attempted to flag fics with the corresponding symbols above, because I'd like to recognize those problems while still rec'ing for a variety of other fantastic qualities. That said, I'm not infallible so please use your own discretion.

I've also tagged fics with "hiatus" if it's been a while between updates, but the author hasn't made a comment—these fics are especially important to interact with, b/c you never know if the author stopped posting b/c they weren't getting any reviews!

Now, without further adieu...

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༺JazzProwl-centric༻

Mistakes on Mistakes Until— by jabberish

『oneshot - ao3 - Words: 280,212 - Alt-War AU』

Ricochet's got a bad case of conscience and he's pretty sure it's about to get him killed. (aka I think I've read every defection/ex-Con au and now I'm forced to make my own. Jazz-centric.)

* (づ ᴗ _ ᴗ)づ♡ The crème de la crème of JP fics. I really can't properly articulate the sheer amount of love and respect I have for MOMU other than that if you haven't read it, your life is worse for it. Go read it. Then read it again. Now. (I've read it 4 times. No, I'm not joking) I love all the fics on this list dearly, but MOMU holds a very special place in my heart. Flawless characterization, flawless dynamics, flawless plot, one-of-a-kind writing style... it's got it all. Of note: I've not flagged it despite its premise, because it will expertly subvert your expectations and you need to read it to understand. Bonus: it's got a lot of well-deserved fanart!

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Untitled Series by Need2Scream

『(2/?) - ffn - Words: 158,064 - War AU - hiatus』

Where the Lonely Ones Roam - 116,327

"Say you have a little faith in me. Just close your eyes and let me lead. Follow me home. Need to have a little trust in me. Just close your eyes and let me lead. Follow me home. To where the lonely ones roam." Eventual Prowl/Jazz

Spark - 41,737 - hiatus

"Chase you deep into the unknown. In my dark, in my dark, you're the Spark."/ "Roam with me, come down to where all of the others fell. Get lost, in the dark to find yourself. Just remember what I said, 'cause it isn't over yet."/SEQUEL to Where the Lonely Ones Roam

*It's not clear by the summary, but the series is essentially about Jazz and Prowl's developing relationship as they overcome war-related trauma, intermingled with a spectacular amount of original lore. See the author's ffn bio for a rundown. The originality and attention to detail in the world building in this AU is awe-inspiring. There are 2 fics in the JP series, but the author has a bunch of other Gen fics set in the same AU and another on ao3. Bonus: some of the Gen fics are Jazz & Prowl-centric and can be read as romantic!

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Crime in Crystals Series by Aard_Rinn

『(7/?) - ao3 - Words: 258,030 - Crime/Hitman AU - hiatus - ▾ ⟲』

The Hitman - 6,942 - pt 1

Prowl is the last clean cop in Praxus, the final flickering light in the darkness. There are plenty of people who would like to see him snuffed.

2. The Clarification, 3. The Kill, 4. The Capture, 5. The Prime, 6. The Talk, 7. The Chase 8. TBD

*The main plot is broken into 7 separate fics, but it's all one continuous story. Read the whole thing! It's on my all time favorites. It's thrilling, tremendously action packed, and the character dynamics are some of my favorites. It's also hysterical and wholesome and I've reread it a stupid amount of times. Bonus: it's got fanart + there are 5 extra fics, including a Jazz-centric prequel, in the same AU.

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War Eternal Series by Hearts of Eternity

『(3/4) - ffn - 2m? idk it's insane - Bayverse War AU - discontinued - ▾ ❞ ⟲』

Where You and I Collide - 362,090 - prequel

Separately, Jazz and Prowl are like forces of nature- they are uncompromising and uncontrollable. But what becomes of their natures when these two unstoppable forces collide? Will one break the other, or will they both be stronger for it?

As We Come Together - 485,586 - pt 2 - Gen

While the surviving Autobots begin to flock to Earth in response to Optimus' call, trying to find a new home on the strange organic planet called Earth, some unfortunate bots are beginning to realize the price of war may have been too high. Sequel to Time

May We Never Let Go - 408,409 - pt 3 - Gen - d/c

Hell literally lies in wait above Earth as the Cybertronians and Earthlings coexist uneasily, rattled by every attack the Fallen and his master launch on them. With new evil rising, the powers that be on Earth and beyond are gearing up for war.

1. As We Come Together, prequel 2: Surface of the Sun

*Long, convoluted explanation coming up given that this series is obviously a whole different beast compared to likely any other fanfic series you or I have ever encountered in our lives... b/c the author is just superhuman or smth idk...

The series is officially listed as 4 parts (WYaIC, WTWHL, AWCT, MWNLG). Where You and I Collide is the JP-centric prequel to the other 3 Gen fics (that have substantial background JP). WTWHL is technically part 1 of the series, but it's sorta more character-focused ficlets than a continuous story... which is why I didn't specifically list it as a rec even if that makes things more confusing... (ᵕ¬ᴗ¬) Also the author didn't list Surface of the Sun as part of the series, but it's a direct prequel (like WYaIC) starring the Lambo twins and it's... oh it's so good... absolutely shatters my heart that it's been d/c'd.

I've not listed an exact world count, b/c if you want to read every bit of the AU with all its prequels and offshoots (which I would highly recommend and have done)... I'm not gonna do the math for you, sorry. The main 4-part story is ~1.7m+ which I realize is frankly insane and extraordinarily intimidating, but it is so sooo sooooo worth it. The author has created their own fully fleshed out TF world with its own lore and characters and the time and effort they've put into is mind-boggling .

Anywho, despite ultimately being d/c'd, the series is still tremendously readable and nothing about JP is left feeling unbearably unfinished. I also happened to track down the lovely author and beg for a summary of the ending, b/c I'm a bit of a freak and they very kindly provided it so if not knowing how a fic ends bothers you/prevents you from reading, you have the option of getting closure even if you can't have it written out.

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Fathomless by Sroloc_Elbisivni

『oneshot - ao3 - Words: 19,949 - Fantasy AU - complete』

Jazz is drowning on dry land on the other side of the world. Once upon a time, before Jazz was born, the Rust Sea covered a swathe of Cybertron bigger than the territory of any city-state except Iacon. The sea had been more powerful than any engine besides the one at the heart of the planet itself, big enough to swallow a metrotitan in its depths, the birthplace of storms. Thing is, none of that was Jazz. He doesn’t remember those days, before he was himself, except in his dreams. And his dreams are terrifying.

*This fic makes me feel some type of way... it gives me shivers. It's so eerie and the premise is so unique. It's also beautifully bittersweet, which is a hard concept to pull off.

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The Judge by SilenceoftheLlamas

『oneshot - ao3 - Words: 107,653 - Alt-War AU』

Prowl’s got a secret, and he’d rather be dead in the ground before he let anyone find out about it. Jazz’s got one too, but he’s not as good at hiding it. Prowl is a secret superhero, Jazz is a secret fanboy who doesn’t know that he works with the guy. By night Prowl is the virtuous hero The Judge, but by day he’s just an unassuming tactical officer.

*Jazz and Prowl are sorta painfully adorable in this fic and the JP is so sweet it makes my teeth hurt. Plus it's got a really fun premise with lots of shenanigans.

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Black on White on Black Series by pipermca

『(3/?) - ao3 - Words: 86,248 - fix-it, War AU - complete』

Anamnesis - 31,097 - pt 1

When Jazz and his team are lost on a mission, Prowl has to carry on alone. But a discovery a thousand vorn later could turn his life upside down again.

2. The Ghost of the Howling Plains, 3. Pulling Strings

*Super interesting sorta-kinda-fix-it fic and/or explanation for the events and characterizations in IDW. There are 3 stories in the main JP plot line. Bonus: there's 2 "Extras" fics for cut scenes from the main fics.

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Crystal Ghosts Series by Rizobact

『(2/2) - ao3 - Words: 85,688 - Fantasy AU - complete - ⟲』

Enduring as Crystal - 40,517 - pt 1

There were a lot of reasons Prowl visited the library. He never knew the most important one was waiting for him in the garden behind it.

Eternal as Love - 45,171 - pt 2

Prowl promised he would help Jazz, the ghost of the crystal chapel in the garden behind Praxus' central library. He just couldn't anticipate what shape that help would wind up taking.

*Another super unique premise! I love a good historical mystery and the imagery is specularly evocative! And I'm a sucker for the trope... which I can't reveal, because of spoilers.

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Untitled Series by Vaeru

『(2/2) - ffn - Words: 10,766 - War AU - complete - ❞』

Descant - 7,925 - pt 2

G1/Jux compliant. Requiem sequel. Prowl doubted that his desired image of Respected Superior Officer came across very well with a half-scrapped mech clinging to his hand, but he loomed as best as he was able and glared.

*Requiem is Jazz-centric and I'd say more of a prequel to Descant than Descant is a sequel to Requiem... if that makes any sense. Regardless of how you view it or what order you read it, it's fucking brutal. (-‿-“) Bonus: author also wrote another really great fic called Transformers: Juxtaposition which is Lambo twin-centric and OC-centric, but perhaps one of the only OC fics that I've ever enjoyed.

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Domino Milkshake by SilenceoftheLlamas

『oneshot - (1/?) - ao3 - Words: 24,886 - War AU - complete - ❞』

Jazz drunkenly pretends that he's dating Prowl. Only he isn't, and the mech is right behind him.

*It's a fake dating AU... what more can I say? I love the the begrudging developing romance and the meddling friends. Bonus: it's got fanart!

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Hunter's Spark by WandersUnderStarlight

『oneshot - ao3 - Words: 43,645 - Alt-War AU - ❞』

Jazz disobeys orders to abandon the ruins of Praxus and runs into one of the Senate's dirty secrets.

*This author also has a few more JP fics that I enjoy like An Offer He Can't Refuse and Long Patrol. I gotta offer aisclaimer though: the fics are... fairly cliche and a bit OOC. Hunter's Spark is much more tame than the other two, though. They're all sorta a guilty pleasure of mine, because it's fun to enjoy Prowl being a bit of a BAMF and Jazz being a bit of a damsel on occasion even if objectively I understand why it's not everyone's cup of tea. ("￣▽￣";)ゞ But the author definitely deserves credit for creative and entertaining premises and a really nice writing style!

༺☆★☆★☆★-ˋˏ ♫ ♡ 𓆩𓆪 ˎˊ-★☆ ★☆★☆༻

༺General༻

Little Brother by Meiza

『oneshot - ffn - Words: 64,542 - War AU - discontinued』

Prowl is infamous for being a logical, nigh emotionaless thinker who's better at battle calculations than interpersonal relationships. How he was roped into taking care of the last survivor of Praxus is anyone's guess.

*Prowl & Bluestreak centric, but Jazz has a solid amount of screentime. The subplot is pre-relationship, co-parenting JazzProwl and it's cute as hell. It's not 'officially' discontinued, but it hasn't been updated since 2010... so... At least it doesn't end in a cliffhanger. (╥﹏╥|||)

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Things We Don't Tell Humans by SineadRivka

『oneshot - ao3 - Words: 363,057 - Bayverse War AU - complete』

This was a first for us Autobots; never before have we come in contact with a species like these humans, so eerily similar to our own race and twice as tenacious as Sparklings. The question was, how far can we trust the humans with our culture? Some things have translated between cultures without much effort. Other subjects, however…

*Please note the tags! Also... I'll be honest that I mostly skip to the JP parts and main plot points in this fic as it's about a very ensemble cast and I'm not interested in TF humans ... so I can't entirely vouch for the integrity of the whole thing. (￢ω￢;)

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Echoes of Messatine by MlleMusketeer

『oneshot - ao3 - Words: 303,863 - Alt-War AU - complete - ▾ 』

Cybertron hurtles toward war, and only a handful of mecha see it. Not Megatron, whose inflammatory writings gain him agonizing attention from those on high. Not Ratchet, the Iacon Medical Center’s most prized practitioner, whose Dead-End clinic remains the worst-guarded secret on Cybertron. Not Overlord, whose iron hold over Cybertron’s underworld is beginning to falter. Not Orion Pax, whose concern over the sudden silence of one of his favorite writers drives him to take up his hero’s pen. Not Terminus, who only wants to survive. But Trepan and Senator Shockwave both know well what’s coming. One aims to use a defiant miner’s fall to crush the aspirations of the masses. The other wants to use that miner’s triumph to ignite them. Neither much cares about Megatron himself, or his ultimate survival. Therein lies their fatal error.

*Not clear from the summary, but the premise is essentially "what if Megatron got the matrix instead of OP" and how their pre-war lives would have to pan out for them to ultimately switch roles. Just a really fascinating, supremely well-done "what-if" fic, but also probably the weirdest one to put on this particular list, b/c JP turns into megatron/JP at the very, very end... but... I just kinda ignore that development since it happens in like almost literally in the last chapter and you can def read it as friendship up until that point... (¬⤙¬ ᵕ)

༺☓○☓○☓○☓○-ˋˏ ♫ ♡ 𓆩𓆪 ˎˊ-☓○☓○☓○☓○༻

༺Mature༻

*listen... don't @ me. They're definitely saucy, but they're not explicit. Yada, yada... hey minors, don't read these! ...But we all know you will so just don't talk to me or anyone else about it, cool? Cool. (☞ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)☞

Intermission by crabapplered

『oneshot - ao3 - Words: 5,049 - War AU - complete - ▾』

As the war stretched on for interminable vorn, Prowl found himself faced time and again with the mounting stress of his position. Many of those times he was forced to face alone, the gear grinding stress sending him to Ratchet for system overhauls and forced defrags. But every so often he'd be fortunate enough to have Jazz on hand, and when he did, well, it didn't take much. Pressing Jazz up against the wall, cramming him into corners, pinning him facedown over Prowl's desk. It didn't matter as long he could keep Jazz still.

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Audition by crabapplered

『oneshot - ao3 - Words: 12,783 - War AU - complete - ▾』

If one were to be delicate, one would say that Jazz and Prowl are incompatible. The blunt truth? 'You just lie there with this blank expression on your face,' he'd been told by his last partner. Signal had stayed longer then most, willing to try since Prowl was so obviously doing his best, interfacing to please his partner and give him what Prowl himself disliked. In the end, though, it hadn't worked. 'You don't like me touching you, you don't like the mess, you don't even like the overload, and half the time I swear you're running economic simulations in your CPU you look that bored. I don't want that. I don't want you miserable, and I don't want me miserable, either.' So why can't Prowl stop wishing?

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That's all, folks.

ദ്ദി(｡•̀ω-)✧ ~Happy reading!

and for the shit tumblr search/tag system, i offer: #jazzprowl #jazzprowl recs #jazz x prowl #jazzprowl fic recs #jazzprowl fanfic recs #tansformers fic recs #tf jazzprowl #tf fic recs

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

Am I the asshole for cutting off a mutual for threatening suicide?

I know it sounds bad, but please bear with me.

I stumbled across somebody on Tumblr who shared the same obscure interests as me, and we became mutuals pretty quickly. We hardly interacted outside of liking each other's posts sometimes, which seems to be par for the course for Tumblr mutuals. I had a Discord server with my partners and me in it and we decided to invite them to it in an attempt to be closer friends.

Things were okay for a while, but I noticed a few red flags right off the bat. They'd had a bad experience with their last group of friends and vented about it a lot - that in and of itself is fine, but it got to a point where it was all they would talk about. The vent channel in the server was completely occupied by them, and neither me nor my partners felt comfortable venting there ourselves. Alongside this venting about their old friends, they would continuously insinuate we would be just like them, and would leave them just like their old friends did. Again, I don't have a problem with people asking for reassurance, but this was CONSTANT. When I say it was all they would talk about, I mean it. That kind of mistrust in their supposed friends was mentally draining and made me feel like they didn't value our friendship.

And now we get to the threatening suicide part. This person was very clearly mentally ill, needed help, and lived in an unsupportive home. I had all the sympathy in the world for them, and still hope they manage to get out of it. However, if we did not respond to the constant venting in our Discord server, they would go on Twitter and Tumblr and talk about how everyone was ignoring them, and they were going to kill themselves. Several times. This happened a few times before I approached them and asked them kindly not to vague post about me, as I have "trauma" (put in quotes because the vague posting was not the root cause of it) surrounding people pretending to be my friend and shit-talking me in vague posts. They apologized, and agreed to try and cut down on doing it.

But it didn't stop. A week would pass, and they would go right back to it. Their suicide threats were made near daily, and while I don't mind talking someone down from suicide, being expected to do it every single day was taking a massive toll on my mental health.

Eventually, my partners and I decided we weren't cut out to be friends with this person. A message was sent to the Discord server, explaining we made a collective decision that we were not a good match, and that we'd be deleting the server. Cue the final breakdown - as soon as they saw the message, they started to freak out, threatening to kill themselves, begging not to leave them, saying they'd be alone without us, etc. The server was deleted and they moved to my partner's DMs, still threatening suicide and generally being nasty.

After blocking them on socmed, things were quiet for a while. Occasionally, they will send me or my partners asks telling them they're going to kill themselves and how they just want to "make things right" between us. Obviously these threats are empty. The last one they sent me was on Roblox of all things because I'd blocked them everywhere else.

So, am I the asshole? Should I have continued to stay in this friendship and tried harder to make it work?

What are these acronyms?

[dont-offend-the-bees]

Oh, Lonely Bones, Have You Forgotten? Chapter One

First DBDA multichapter, yay! let's hope I finish it 😅 Nah should be fine, I already know exactly what happens, just gotta get it on the page! The ending will be happy, but there WILL be angst along the way, please heed the tags/warnings!

WARNINGS: This fic references or directly addresses traumas from the characters' pasts. So that's of course bullying, abuse, homophobia, hate crimes, death etc. There's also a very, very brief reference to a possibly creepy teacher eyeing up Edwin (more on that in the end notes), but nothing comes of it, it's just part of the tapestry of his shitty school experiences. Death, loneliness, abandonment, touch starvation, along with morbid things like burials and bodies and bones are core themes of this fic. The ending will be happy eventually but we WILL have a sad ride to get there. So please be aware of that before reading.

I'd like to shout out my bestie kieren-fucking-walker/electricteatime for the absolutely banger headcanon about Charles sometimes manifesting his trauma by getting really cold/his breath misting. It's such a visually cool and emotionally rich idea and the show SHOULD have done it. Chapter one is 6.6k. Chapters 2/3 coming soon (hopefully). Also on Ao3 (need to be signed in to read)

~

“I don’t like this, mate,” Charles muttered.

“No,” Edwin agreed, gravely. “Nor do I.”

Frankly, taking this case was probably an unwise decision. The meagre payment offered by the sickly-looking ghost of the old groundskeeper would fall far, far short of the emotional cost of the expedition. And yet when Edwin had looked over to Charles and met his eyes, there had been no doubt, no hesitation. Perhaps it was the notion of unfinished business; that mysterious force that compelled ghosts to sites of personal trauma as sirens compelled sailors to the unforgiving rocks. Perhaps they were both mere gluttons for punishment.

Either way, they were here now. It was with heavy hearts and wary eyes that on the evening of June twenty-sixth, Edwin and Charles – along with Crystal – set foot once more on the grounds of St. Hilarion's School for Boys.

"So what are we looking for, exactly?" asked Crystal, ever practical. She'd been inordinately serious today, clear-headed and straightforward. Taking pains to rein in her more combustible tendencies. She'd also been casting worried glances at him and Charles all day. Edwin was trying to take the gesture in the spirit in which it was intended. Even if it did make him feel like a mad old maid, half-expected to succumb to hysterics at the drop of a hat.

"We've no way to know for sure," said Edwin. His eyes flickered to the imposing main doors, then upwards, scanning each storey window by window. It was well past lights out, but a single lamp glowed through from the third floor, east wing. The dorms. Most likely the night steward, on the listen for boys up and about and causing mischief. In Edwin's short and tragic experience, such staff were not the most effective of deterrents. Still, best avoided. They didn't want to call attention to themselves.

He flipped to his notes from their client interview. "The groundskeeper reported a low, continuous droning sound, along with unease, malaise, and a sense of being... 'called' to."

"Any words? Phrases?" asked Charles. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet like a boxer. His tension was audible as well as visible – Edwin could hear the subtle clenching of his jaw where it clipped his words. "No spooky voices whispering 'come to the cellar?'"

"No, nothing so helpful as that, I'm afraid."

"So what's the plan?"

"We begin searching for causes or disturbances in a methodical fashion," said Edwin, putting his notebook away. "I suggest we leave bedrooms and dormitories for last, to minimise the risk of interruptions. Crystal, you'd best wait outside until we call you. If anyone wakes you're more likely to be seen; not to mention liable to stand out. This is a boys' school, after all."

Crystal looked unhappy about it, but for once didn't rush to argue his logic. "I don't know. Are you guys gonna be... you know...?"

"We'll be fine, Crys," said Charles, giving her a strained smile and a pat on the shoulder. "Got each other, don't we?"

"Yeah – in the place you both got killed," she said. "You really shouldn't be back here."

Edwin rather agreed with her. And yet, undeniably, he still felt that strange, morbid draw that had coaxed him into accepting the case. There was a mystery afoot, and he and Charles would answer the call. "We'll be quite alright, I'm sure. With any luck, this will be a flying visit. Back in two shakes of a lamb's tail. Charles, have you the torches?"

"Yeah, just a tick." Charles crouched down and riffled through his backpack, disappearing up to the shoulder in its daunting expanse. "Better be careful with them, eh? Try not to flash 'em about too much, make anyone come looking."

"Agreed. For empty rooms only – we'll switch them off at the first sign of footsteps."

"Here we go." Charles handed the two stout electric torches up to Edwin. "Oh! Got something else, too." He dove back in, and re-emerged holding three black plastic blocks. He passed one each to Edwin and Crystal with a grin. "So we can stay in touch with Crystal – and each other, 'case we get split up."

Edwin sincerely hoped such a thing wouldn't come to pass. But he inspected the device with curiosity, its buttons and mesh panel and its little protruding antenna. "Oh. This is one of those... portable radio contraptions."

"Walkie talkies," Charles corrected. He held down the yellow button on his device and a babble of static erupted from the speaker. "Hold the button to talk, yeah?" His voice rattled out through Edwin and Crystal's handsets.

"We gotta get you guys cellphones," Crystal muttered.

"Excellent idea, Charles," said Edwin, ignoring her comment. "But I'd advise against using these except in cases of emergency. The noise could alert people to our presence."

Charles gave a lax salute, and tucked his handset into his coat.

"I really don't like you guys going in there alone," said Crystal, crossing her arms.

"I know," said Charles. "But you get it, yeah?"

A moment of tense silence passed between the three of them; the school looming at their back like a slumbering monster. Inside that building lay several dorms full of teenage boys. Different boys than from Charles and Edwin's times, but alike in breeding, in privilege and temperament. Those boys had tormented Edwin for his mannerisms, and beaten Charles to death for daring to do the right thing – undoubtedly, his parentage had also factored into their violent recourse.

None of them stated their precise fears out loud. The fear of what could transpire if a lone, dark-skinned teenage girl were to find herself in the belly of this particular beast in the dead of night. Even one with considerable psychic powers and two ghost bodyguards at her disposal. No one said a word, but the possibilities hung over their heads like a dark cloud nonetheless.

Perhaps it was an ungenerous thought, to imagine a school full of modern boys could devolve so abruptly into The Lord of the Flies. But Edwin wasn't prepared to roll those dice with his friend's safety. Against his own better judgement, he'd grown... fond of Crystal Palace. He shouldn't like to see her hurt, or killed. In fact, at the risk of sounding overly sentimental, he'd be most perturbed by such a thing.

Crystal sighed. "Yeah. Fine. I get it. Just..." She lurched forward and wrapped her arms around Charles, tightly. "Be careful. Okay?"

"I'm always careful!" he lied, a smile in his voice. It didn't match his face which, thankfully, was hidden from her view in her hair. But Edwin could see it; Charles' careful mask, knocked askew.

He averted his eyes.

Crystal snorted. "Great. Thanks. Makes me feel way better." She broke away from Charles and looked at Edwin, who took a reflexive step back. "I know, I know – no hugs," she said with a roll of her eyes. She compromised by giving his upper arm a firm squeeze instead. "Don't die. Again."

"We'll do our level best," said Edwin, patting the back of her hand briskly. "Now, we really must away – while we have the night on our side."

"There's some pretty dense trees off that way," said Crystal, gesturing. "I'm gonna wait there, should be easy to stay out of sight – hopefully it's close enough to stay in walkie range."

Charles stiffened. "The trees... near the lake?"

"Uh. Yeah, why?"

Edwin watched him closely.

Charles shook his head. "Nah, don't matter. Just – stay safe, yeah?"

"You too." She looked between them. "Hey... look after each other. Okay?"

Charles glanced at Edwin, and his posture softened. "Yeah," he said, with the shadow of a gentle smile. "Always do."

That assurance, at least, was not a lie.

~

"Charles, we're wasting time," Edwin hissed. Honestly – five minutes into their investigation and they hadn't even made it inside the building, yet! "We can simply walk through this door and bypass the lock altogether."

Charles didn't spare him a glance, preoccupied as he was squatting on the doorstep with his lockpicks across his knee. He'd been faffing with the old iron lock on the main doors to no avail for some time. "Yeah, but what if we've gotta call Crystal in to help us out right quick? Dunno if her psychic powers stretch to door hypnotism." He tossed Edwin a cheeky grin. "Only polite to open doors for ladies, innit?"

Edwin, unable to argue the logic or the etiquette, settled for squeezing his fists together and lurking discontentedly. So far he'd not heard the droning the groundskeeper had spoken of, nor felt any ominous supernatural feelings. At least, he assumed he hadn't. But it was a mite hard to focus on anything besides his own anxiety at being back in this place after so many years. Hard to differentiate between personal discomfort and something more sinister.

The lock gave a promising click, and Charles grinned. "Abracadabra."

Edwin stopped his hand when it went to turn the handle. "Best not. We mustn’t announce ourselves."

"Yeah. Yeah, good point." Charles straightened up, tucking his lockpicks away. "So. Hop right on through, then?"

"Indeed."

Charles' jaw gave a nervous tic. "...On three?"

"...Yes. yes, on three." Edwin braced himself. "One..."

"Two..." said Charles, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"Three!"

Their voices joined on the final count; and together they stepped through the ancient, unyielding oak, and into the hall within.

"Oh," Edwin exhaled, taking in the great hall with darting eyes.

"Huh," said Charles, squinting. "Thought it would look... different."

"You took the words right out of my mouth."

The entry hall had changed very little from Edwin's day – and by extension Charles'. Evidently, money and care had been put into the upkeep of the place; Edwin had spotted a plaque on the outside labelling it a registered building. Biggest change to speak of was the burgundy carpet now covering the floor; to protect the old boards from the footfall of thundering teenage boys, no doubt. Other changes were limited to minor modern conveniences. A plastic hand sanitiser dispenser beside the door. A corkboard papered over with glossy flyers for local sports and after school clubs. They surely must have updated the lighting, as well, but he and Charles weren't to benefit at this time for obvious reasons.

The familiarity was unsettling, to say the least. Like stepping back through the decades, into a time he'd gladly leave behind for good. Edwin cleared his throat, and straightened his jacket. "Well. I suppose we must set to. We're wasting the night."

"Where d'you wanna start?"

Edwin pulled out his notebook. He had notes and sketches in there based upon the floor plan that Crystal had sourced via her miraculous internet. Though he suspected he wouldn't need them. Already the sprawling skeleton of this old haunt was reassembling itself in his mind's eye. "It is as I said. We'll scour the lower levels, then work our way up." He furrowed his brow. "Strictly speaking, we should have started lower. This is the first floor, thanks to the stairs outside the main doors – the ground floor is below us, but it's mostly utilities. Kitchens, laundry, storage. Still, we shouldn't rule out that something of import could be down there."

"Easily solved." Charles got down on his knee and stooped, until he could press his forehead to the floor. Then he kept pressing forward, bent double with his backside in the air, and his incorporeal head bobbed through the carpet. Like an ostrich in the sand.

"Laundry room," he called, voice muffled by carpet and floorboards. "No one there. Should be safe to drop right through."

With a fond smile at Charles' bobbing back end, Edwin steepled his fingers. "A quick detour, then," he said, and hopped neatly through the floor and into the room below.

~

An unnecessary detour, as it turned out. But attention to detail was a key part of any detective's toolbox. After scouring the warren of utilities, they rejoined the first floor via a small service staircase between the kitchen and the mess hall.

"Ugh," said Charles, wrinkling his nose as he investigated the new (since Edwin's time) glass-fronted serving station. "Can't believe the last thing I ever ate was school dinner. Didn't even finish it, it was that rank.

Edwin blinked at him, pausing in his inspection of the head table. "You were permitted to leave food on your plate? They excused you?"

"...I mean. Yeah?"

"Goodness," Edwin chuckled, shaking his head. "What a liberal time you lived in."

"Not that liberal, mate. Got beaten to death, remember?"

Edwin smirked. "Perhaps if you'd been disallowed from leaving until you'd cleared your plate, you might not have found yourself in the wrong place at the wrong time."

His deadpan achieved the desired effect. Charles laughed, a bright spot in the dreary gloom. "Right. Brills. Bob back in time and tell myself to choke down the sweetcorn, then."

"Wise course of action."

"Right." Charles lifted the lid of a pot that someone had forgotten to clear away, and mock-gagged. "Nope. Not worth it. I'll take death, cheers."

~

The dining hall turned up nothing. Nor did any of the offices, lounges and staff rooms. Their exploration of the first floor came and went with no discoveries or fanfare, and soon it came time to move on. To the central staircase, and the second floor where the majority of the classrooms presided.

Edwin felt his apprehension mounting with every step. Two floors of fruitless searching was starting to irk and unsettle him. He longed for something decisive; a supernatural feeling, an apparition, even a blood-curdling scream. It felt worse to worry incessantly with no stimulus, unable to prove there was anything amiss outside of his own childish fears.

"They've replaced the blackboards," Edwin commented upon entering the first room. Craving a discovery, a distraction, anything.

"Oh. Yeah, I remember – they started switching them out my last year here. Headmaster was mad about these shiny new things. Probably got whiteboards in every room, now." Charles squinted at the plastic panel with its chunky black frame. "These ones look different to what I remember, mind."

"What do you write on them with?"

"Pens. Special pens, like."

"Hm. Probably for the best. Chalk dust was bothersome. I always developed the most wretched cough when it was my turn to beat the erasers." Edwin found the pens attached to the board and picked one up. "Let's see. No lid..." He tried an experimental scribble. "And not a drop of ink. Dry as a bone." He eyed the branding on the whiteboard's frame, sceptical. "Smart Board, indeed."

"Don't think there's anything in here. Unless we're looking for something sucks the ink out of whiteboard markers." Charles took the pen from Edwin's hand, turning it over and inspecting it. "What d'you think? Some sort of ink vampire?" he said, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "Don't see any fang punctures."

"I hardly think an ink vampire is what we're looking for," said Edwin, activating his torch and sweeping it in a wide arc. The abandoned classroom came into hazy, yellow-tinged relief under his beam. This had once been his English room, many decades ago. Save for the impractical board, it remained largely unchanged – although the wooden chairs had been replaced with ones of metal and plastic. The bookshelves at the back of the room remained in situ; the thick, leather-bound volumes of Edwin's time supplanted by new editions with glossy cardboard covers.

Edwin hadn't much cared for his English lessons. He was good at them, of course, and he loved reading. Since escaping hell, he'd revisited a number of the books he'd once studied. But his heart had always sunk whenever he was called on to stand before the board and read aloud for the class. The snickers and guffaws of the other boys, the mean-spirited whispers and unsubtle name-calling. The nancy boy's, the Mary Ann's, and far worse when teacher's back was turned. God forbid he was asked to read a sonnet.

The sting of the memory hadn't faded with time, but had taken on some light and shade in the wake of his travails in hell. In the jeering blur of faces, he could imagine Simon's swimming into focus. Was that mockery in his eyes, or pity? Recognition? And was he really the only one? The only other boy in that room who'd wanted to reach out to Edwin, and felt compelled to push him away instead?

How many of them had passed through this room, like living ghosts, lost to time and to shame?

A cold, iron fist of grief clutched him by the throat. So tangible it damn near bowled him over. He caught himself on a desk, lest he lose his grip on the physical plain and plummet through the very floor.

"Edwin?!" Charles was beside him in an instant, hand on Edwin's back. "Edwin, what's the matter?"

Edwin screwed his eyes shut, shaking his head. Trying in vain to dislodge the ice that had seized upon his very soul, but it held him fast. He shivered, and Charles rubbed his back as if Edwin could feel it; as if he could coax the warmth back into a dead, frozen thing.

"There's... there's something wrong," Edwin bit out – alarmed at the resistance he faced. It felt like he had to force the words through chattering teeth. "Do you feel it?"

Charles hesitated, before exhaling a shuddering breath. "Thought it was just me," he said quietly. "Y'know. How I get."

Ghosts were beings of trauma – and dying of hypothermia was fairly traumatic, to say the least. Charles couldn't feel warmth anymore, but he could certainly feel cold; and in times of distress it seemed to shroud him, clouding his speech in icy vapour.

A small pang of guilt pierced Edwin like a thorn; perhaps Charles had already been feeling the chill for some time, and hadn't deemed it worth a mention.

"No. No, it's not just you," said Edwin, reaching back to pat Charles on the arm with a hand that felt like a block of ice. "It's not just you at all."

Charles gave a lopsided, flimsy smile. "Dead comforting, mate. Come on, let's get you up. There we go."

With Charles' support, Edwin managed to regain his footing, but the feeling remained. It had settled upon his essence like a dense snowfall; all-shrouding, all-permeating. Chilling him to the figurative marrow.

"D'you think this is it? What that bloke was on about?" asked Charles, jerking his shoulders, rubbing his arms.

"Struggling to see what else it could be. Although he said nothing about a sense of cold..." Edwin rubbed his head, trying to think past the immediate, intense discomfort. An image came to mind, unbidden, of Niko across from him at a café table. The drinking straw dropping from her lips, her entire face crumpling as she clutched her head and cried out "brain freeze!". Had he any inkling of how distressing the sensation was, he might've said something more consolatory than he had at the time.

The secondary knife of grief at recalling her face twisted itself deep in his back, pressing so hard on his shoulders his knees nearly buckled.

"Well," he said, strained. "At least we know we're not on a wild goose chase. There's definitely something here." He rubbed his gloved hands together. A peculiarly vivid, instinctual muscle memory, leftover from the days when cold wasn't a distant memory. "We must continue the search. Let us check the desks while we're in here."

Charles gave a sharp nod, his face drawn, the first phantom wisps of breath creeping from his lips. Normally, Edwin would have offered his own coat to fend off the psychic, psychosomatic chill by now. But with Edwin likewise affected, it felt like any attempt to shrug out of the garment would be met by cracking and splintering. Spectral wool rendered asunder by devouring ice. For the first time, they were each as incapacitated as the other. Not a drop of warmth between their two dead, insubstantial forms to make a dent in the frost.

But their hands found one another, nonetheless. And it did make him feel better, warmer, even only infinitesimally.

There was something to be said for the placebo effect.

~

It was a long shot, hoping they might happen across some kind of obvious cursed artefact or hex doll in a pupil's desk in the first classroom they searched. Still, best to leave no stone unturned. In they end they had to concede that whatever it was they were looking for, they weren't going to find it in the English room.

They passed through the other classrooms in a similar fashion. Each presenting them with no evidence, but an abundance of unwelcome memories. The maths room, where Edwin had acquired a small scar on his jaw from a compass flung in his direction. The geography room, where he'd once been soundly caned for a book he'd 'defaced' – while the real culprits got off scot-free, of course. The old history study, where he'd often sought refuge of an evening. Where he'd tried to focus on the kindliness of the professor; and not on the unreadable, uncomfortable way he would sometimes sit and watch Edwin from across the room. Like he knew something about him. Like he had half a mind to bid him come closer.

The feeling, such as it was, seemed to bear down on them with every room checked, every memory unearthed. By the time they reached the stairs to the third floor, they were both near panting from exertion; wading through the empty corridors with all the ease of stomping through snow drifts.

"If it isn't even down here, what's it gonna be like when we're closer?" asked Charles, blowing on his hands and stomping his feet. He looked pale and peaky, his words and breaths escaping in ragged puffs of phantom condensation.

Edwin was faring no better. He felt tight in the chest, frayed in the nerves. The chill had penetrated so very deep, he had begun to hear it; like a cutting wind, like ice creaking under foot. Like a crackling, throbbing drone in the back of his consciousness.

There were two more floors of this wretched place left to investigate, and already he felt crushed under the avalanche of ill feeling and dreadful recollections. He was tired of dredging up things he'd worked for decades to put behind him. Tired of wading through this viscous mire of magic and memory. He wanted to leave. He wanted to be back at the agency, where it was calm and safe and the walls were imbued with a kinder history. He wanted to find whatever was causing this disturbance at once, and put this damnable case behind them!

He about-turned to face the end of the corridor – and there was the mirror. An ancient thing, ornate frame carved from finest mahogany. He remembered it well. A hundred years it must have stood there. More than a hundred – it had already been old in Edwin's time. It had survived well, save for a small patch of woodworm damage in the lower right corner. Edwin used to stand in front of it, sometimes, when the other boys were outside shooting clay pigeons or playing rugby. Used to gaze, forlorn, at his own reflection; wondering if there was a way to be anything but what he was.

There was no reflection now, of course. He'd seen his reflection only once in the last thirty-odd years; on his return to hell, his introduction to Lady Despair. He'd seen himself a hundred years on from this mirror, marred by filth and bloody gouges. So different to how he remembered. And yet still, always and forever, the same frightened little boy. Trapped and miserable; searching for a way out.

Don't... Don't...

A whisper on the gale, barely intelligible as words. Was the call coming from himself? Or from the thing they sought? It was impossible to know, but whatever it was, it was crying from the back of his soul. Clawing out, grasping for him with icy fingers of terror and desolation.

"Edwin?"

Charles' voice seemed to fade behind the whisper. Behind the steadily growing cacophony of creaking wood and shuddering glass. If this was real after all, and not just a trick of the mind, then this thing, whatever it was, could bring the entire blasted building tumbling down.

Edwin held his hand out to the mirror, no coherent thought behind the action. It was where he needed to be. Reaching out, reaching in, making contact with the space behind and between.

"Take me," he breathed. "Take me to the root of this."

"Edwin," Charles' voice came from far away. "Edwin, stop! You dunno what you're bloody walking into!"

No. He didn't know. But he needed to. He needed to find the cause, the catalyst, the beating heart under the floorboards. Needed to find the source of that cry – needed to know that it was external, and not a result of his own mind coming undone in this foul place. He reached to the mirror, through the mirror. Rigid glass parted for his fingers with a gentle ripple; the softly broken surface of a still pond. Calm waters, a silky embrace.

And then it gripped him tight, and dragged him under.

~

He was distantly aware of Charles' panicked cries, but they were cut off in moments as the mirror's surface froze over behind him.

Severed from the material plain, Edwin tumbled into freefall. Through that familiar trans-dimensional space behind the reflection; but it didn't feel familiar anymore. It felt tumultuous, violent. He toppled through the in-between space like Alice down the rabbit hole; twisted and turned, tossed from current to savage current. Beaten and battered from all sides by vigorous currents of nothing and everything and not-quite-almost-something. All the time followed by that whispering in his mind, growing in frequency and fervency: Don't. Don't. Don't leave...

And then he was through. Spat out without ceremony, without so much as a by-your-leave. He barely caught himself as he staggered back into the world – a cloud of thick, grey dust erupting under his skittering feet.

"Edwin?!"

Ah, there was Charles again. But he sounded different – smaller, further away, tinny. It took longer than Edwin would care to admit to realise he was hearing him through the walkie-talkie in his pocket.

"Edwin, where the fuck are you? The bloody mirror closed up behind you!"

Edwin fumbled for the device – an uphill struggle, with frozen fingers and a brain yet to cease spinning. It was even colder here, wherever here was. Sub-human temperatures. Had Edwin any blood, it would have flash-frozen in his veins. "Charles," he gasped, as he clumsily depressed the transmit button. "Charles, I'm here. I'm in one piece."

He released the button. Shortly afterwards, a static-clouded echo of Charles' incredulous laughter cut through the speaker.

"Oh, you fucking bastard," Charles blurted, with feeling. "You just went for it! You... you absolute wanker. We're meant to stick together, yeah? Fuck. Tell me where you are. What's it look like?"

"I'm..." Edwin blinked through the dust and dark, eyes adjusting. He didn't want to chance the torch until he knew for sure that he was alone. He squinted at the lines and surfaces illuminated by the feeble moonlight through the dirt-encrusted window. Piles of assorted dross and clutter, caked with dust. Ropes, shelves, broken chairs, ratty sports equipment and bedding...

Oh.

"Oh." He pressed the button. "Charles, I'm – I'm in the attic. The attic."

Charles' short, shocked breath whistled over the line. "Shit. Really?"

"Quite positive." He straightened up from his awkward stance, but couldn't find it in himself to dust off his coat. He moved stiffly, sluggishly; frozen down to his very ectoplasm. "Why would it bring me here...?"

"Edwin? Edwin, listen to me – just stay put, yeah?" Charles implored, his voice punctuated by hollow thumping. No doubt he was throwing himself up the stairs with reckless speed. "I'm coming to get you, I'm gonna leg it, just – don't move!"

"Don't wake up the entire school," Edwin countered, through chattering teeth. He received no response, so he put away the device with shaking hands and took stock of the situation. The space, like much of the school, had barely changed in the years since he'd last seen it. None of the clutter had been removed, only added to. New objects – including the large, cracked mirror Edwin had stumbled through – lay propped against the old. The only distinction between the two lay in the differing thickness of the covering dust.

He was alone, as far as he could tell. No people, no ghosts that he could see. But he didn't feel alone. He felt, in that sinking stone of dread in his stomach, that there was something else here. Something cold and desperate and far, far more lonely than he, and it was crying out to him. Tugging at his sleeve like a child. It wasn't a voice, as such, but it was a plea. It wanted him closer. It wanted him.

Don't move. Charles said not to move.

But his neck nonetheless craned of its own volition. Drawn towards the needling drone that he could neither hear not not hear. The sonorous buzz that cried out look at me look at me see me please see me. It seemed to grab him by the jaw and force his gaze over, over, to that same miserable pile of boxes and blankets where he'd once read Charles Rowland to his rest. No. No, not to the boxes or the blankets.

To the trunk.

He recalled it, dimly. The large black trunk with its brass clasps and corners. He'd perched atop it as he'd read to Charles. It still had his scrounged selection of dusty comics balanced on the lid.

The cry was coming from inside, he was certain of it.

Don't move. Don't move.

The floorboards groaned under his footsteps. He felt heavier, here. More tethered to the physical realm. To the strange call that gripped him by the collar and demanded he come closer, closer still. To the leather and wood under his gloved hands as he ran them over the chest, fingers trembling on the clasps.

Up close, the drone was no longer a drone. Had never been a drone. It was a rattle. A dry, endless rattle.

Wait for Charles. Please. Just wait for Charles.

Brass clicked. Leather creaked.

The trunk opened.

~

"Edwin?!"

Charles barrelled through the wall at speed, eyes wild, cricket bat brandished. He skidded to a halt that was near cartoonish; just before his momentum could carry him right across the small attic space and through the opposite wall.

It might have been amusing – were Edwin not currently beset by the notion that he may never laugh again so long as he continued to exist.

"Edwin?" Charles hollered. "Where are you?"

"I'm here." Edwin's voice was small, fragile despite his best efforts. He was struggling to support it.

Charles spun on his heel and dashed to Edwin's side. "Edwin! You scared the shit out of me! What're you thinking, blinking out on your own like that?!"

"I had a hunch. At least, I think I did..." He looked up – when had he sat down on the floor...? – and drank in the sight of Charles. He looked a bit like he might want to wallop Edwin with his cricket bat. Edwin had never seen a sweeter sight. "I'm sorry. You're right. I wasn't thinking."

Charles huffed, his face softened. "You? Not thinking?" Charles hunkered down beside him, bat across his knees, hand reaching out to palm across Edwin's shoulders. "What's going on with you, mate? I mean, I feel it too, but... it's really getting you, innit?"

"Yes," Edwin exhaled, voice shaking. "And I believe I know why."

"You found something?" Chales leaned in closer. "What? What did you find?"

Edwin closed his eyes, and slowly lifted the lid of the trunk once more. "Myself. In a manner of speaking."

He waited, focusing on the darkness behind his eyelids. He'd already seen the contents of the trunk, and he had no desire to see it again. No matter how mournful its cries to be seen.

A moment of silence passed, and then Charles swore, voice cracking around the expletive. "Oh, fuck. Edwin. Mate, I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry."

The weight lifted from Edwin's hand as Charles took hold of the lid of the trunk. Edwin gratefully relinquished it.

"Did you know these were up here?" asked Charles. He sounded close to tears, close enough that Edwin almost opened his eyes to look. He couldn't bring himself to, in the end.

Edwin shook his head. "I wasn't even aware they still existed. When that demon took me, it felt like... like my entire being crumbled into nothing. There couldn't have been anything left. I was sure of it..."

"Are we sure they're..." Charles cleared his throat. "Um..."

"Mine? Yes. It's... difficult to explain, but I can... feel them." Edwin held up his hand, and even through his glove he felt an answering prickle in his palm. "Like they're trying to... pull me back in. Like they've been waiting for me."

"Have they just been here all this time?"

"My death was labelled a disappearance. No remains. So... yes. I fear so." He breathed out a ragged sigh, turning his head to Charles before he risked opening his eyes. "Whoever's responsible likely sequestered them up here at the earliest opportunity."

Charle visibly blanched. "So these were here? When we – when I...?"

"When you died. Yes." Out of the corner of his eye, a sickening blot of ivory white. He kept his gaze resolute, fixed on Charles and only Charles. "I suppose they were."

They sat in silence, staring; Edwin at Charles, Charles at the wretched horror they'd unearthed. Edwin found himself, for once, quite speechless. One's thoughts tended to scatter, when faced with the grim sight of one's own withered bones. Tucked out of sight and out of mind, piled into a trunk in an attic and forgotten like a former child's abandoned toys.

Charles sniffed, shrugging his shoulders sharply. "We can't just leave them here," he said, adamant. "We – we need to take them, yeah? Leave 'em on the coppers' doorstep, prove what happened here."

Edwin shook his head. "I disappeared in nineteen sixteen, Charles. Without a trace. The very definition of a cold case. I know there's been significant advancements in the forensic sciences, but even if they were to glean some evidence, what would they compare it to? What in the world is there left to connect these bones to me?"

"They'll find something."

"Next to impossible."

"Don't you want people to know, Edwin?" Charles burst out, turning to look at him at last. There was rage burning in his eyes, his voice straining under the force of it. Not rage at Edwin, he didn't think. Just at the situation, at the unfairness of it. Frustration bubbling over. "You said it yourself; no one ever solved our cases. You could be the first. Show everyone what goes on here, tear this fucking place down."

"And if nothing gets done, Charles?" Edwin snapped back. "We don’t trust the police for good reason. If we hand this new evidence to the them on a silver platter and they bury it again, what then?"

He regretted his outburst in an instant when Charles fell silent. Guilty, grief-stricken. It was a horrible expression on his face, far worse than the anger, and Edwin immediately despised himself for putting it there.

Edwin sighed. He couldn't look Charles in the eye. But he could reach out, tentatively nudge his hand with the back of his own. A little bit of the ugly rift healed when Charles accepted the olive branch without question. He wrapped his fingers around Edwin's and squeezed – for all the good it did them.

"My parents are long gone, Charles," said Edwin, when he'd gathered himself. He kept his eyes trained on Charles' thumb, and the way it traced small circles on the back of Edwin's hand. With their gloves in the way, Edwin could almost pretend that was the only reason he couldn't feel the gesture. "Every relative I ever knew, everyone who could possibly miss me. And the boys who did this..."

He thought of the massacre that preceded his own abduction. Thought of Simon, rotting in that dingy pocket of hell, textbook pages tarred with tears and blood.

Edwin closed his eyes. "Everyone who could've been punished for this has been. I've... I've no more closure to gain."

The truth of the statement came as a surprise even to him, but he couldn't deny it. Everyone who would have cared to know what happened was long, long gone. The best he could hope for was a black mark on the school's record, a curious obituary in the local news.

Charles huffed, but he didn't argue again. "Alright. Alright, mate." He extracted his hand from Edwin's to put it on his neck, just briefly. Just holding his face a moment, almost as he had on that very long staircase some months ago. He cracked a barely-there smile. "It's your bones, innit? Your rules."

Edwin returned it, weak, but grateful. Too exhausted even to think about their proximity, about the intimacy of the gesture. He hadn't a single thought except for how dearly he'd like to sink into it and let Charles carry him, now. Let him take over, just for a little while.

"We can't just leave 'em here, though," said Charles, with a glance daring Edwin to argue.

"No," Edwin agreed, somewhat feeble. He didn't want to look at them; and yet, paradoxically, he'd never wanted to look at anything more. He looked at Charles instead, drawing comfort from his familiar countenance. "No, I suppose we can't."

Charles stared into the trunk a moment longer, a soft, ethereal glow playing on his fine features. Why the bones seemed to be possessed of their own faint light, Edwin couldn't possibly begin to guess. Nor could he guess why they'd altered the spectral temperature so drastically. Or why the chill had alleviated somewhat, the very moment he'd opened the box and looked upon them. Under Charles' gaze, the thaw was even more profound. Edwin could almost be fooled into thinking himself warm.

Upon looking away from the bones, Charles met Edwin's gaze. And he held it, steady as a rock, as he pulled his hand from Edwin's neck and reached into his own coat. A burst of static broke the silence.

"Crystal," said Charles, holding the walkie talkie up to his face. "Crystal, you hear me? Over."

"Yeah, Charles, I hear you," came her voice – the signal was weak, but stable enough. "And you don't actually have to say 'over'."

"What? 'Course I do, that's the whole point of – actually? Doesn't matter right now. Crys, need you to do us a favour. Go home."

"What–?!"

"Back to the office, I mean," he rushed out. "Run back and dig out that other mirror from the spare room. The proper big one, should be buried somewhere. Probably under the surfboards."

"You guys have surfboards...?" She made a noise of indignation. "Wait, and a spare room?! I slept on that stupid couch for two weeks!"

"Have a go at us later, yeah? Just – right now, please, go dig it out, and put it in the office, alright? Please, Crys." He scanned the trunk with his eyes. "Somewhere with lots of space in front."

"Ugh, fine. But Charles – what's going on?"

"We found what we were looking for." He closed his eyes, and then the trunk – and Edwin wondered if he, too, could hear the plaintive cry in the back of his mind when he fastened the clasps, committing the bones once more to darkness. "And we've got something important to shift. Over and out."

~

Reeeaaally hope you liked it! Any thoughts? I'm still in the process of pulling together the rest of the story, but I think it'll probs be 3 chapters overall, could really use the motivation to get the tricky second chapter into shape! Some commentary! - not much Crystal in this chapter but I promise more of her in 2/3! - writing them bobbing through floors and things was SO fun, I get that it adds a whole load of special effects they need to budget for but I think the show should have more fun with them walking through walls lmao - the weird history professor is kind of inspired by Hector from the History Boys. Which, if you've never seen it, is a play/movie about a bunch of boys whose favourite teacher is also, well, kind of a fucking creep. It's sort of a dark comedy and honestly just really interesting with the way it depicts this bizarre relationship, the way this person in these teens' lives is objectively doing something Shitty to them but he's still their favourite because he also supports them and inspires them and makes learning fun and, in Posner's case, makes him feel less alone in his queerness. I didn't put him in to imply that in the canon of this fic, Edwin has actually been sexually abused - but the Hector-type character slotted rather neatly into the strange culture of this setting and this era. It just added another little layer of tragedy I couldn't resist. Another queer person in Edwin's immediate vicinity, warped by the repression and loneliness of the time into another potential abuser/antagonist, and unfortunately irresistible despite the red flags. - as mentioned in the intro notes, s/o to Ande for the Charles' misty breath idea! It wasn't originally gonna feature in this fic but then it slotted in so perfectly I had to borrow it! Everyone say thank you Ande for immediately coming up with the most banger headcanons like 5mins into joining the fandom. - I know the popular headcanon is ghosts can't feel stuff but CAN feel other ghosts, and while I generally subscribe to that it doesn't fit this fic for Reasons. Bear with me! - the bones in the attic is from the comics. I haven't actually read the main DBDA comics, but I've read the issue of Sandman they initially appear in. I'm assuming the show isn't doing the bones in the attic, since it looks like Edwin disappeared completely and all the boys who sacrificed him got killed, but it had such delicious angst potential I wanted to do my own take on how it could work in the show and that's basically what kicked off this fic! The ideas have been developing as I write though and the shape has changed a lot from my initial idea! Anyway, that's enough out of me, I've babbled enough today 😅 But I hope you liked this, please consider dropping us a comment if you did! Or come talk to m, honestly, I'm just excited about these guys and wanna yap xD Hopefully get the next chapter out in the next couple of weeks or so, but chapter 2 is probs gonna be the most awkward one bc it's the one where my ideas need to most work to string together! Until next time! 💛

[chronicallyblyrie]

TMAGP thursday!!! Episode 13 thoughts and spoilers below

-already an episode named futures is ominous to me somehow???

-OH MY GOD THIS IS ADORABLEEEE

-yessss Sam trauma dumping in the first date

-THATS WHO JACK IS?? Okay that makes more sense that she just has a kid but I for some reason was expecting this to just be a weird brother or something that somehow made her wake up on the side of the freeway?? Seriously why did she wake up on the side of a freeway

-oh! Alice has dead parents good to know. Hope that won't get exploited to cause emotional damages later!

-soooo hold in that case JUST HAPPENED THEN?? Bonzo attacked that place after Gwen went there?? That's what I'm getting from Gwen "party causing" it.

-managing bad guys?? WHAT DOES THIS MEEEEAN does managing mean making them go attack random places bro????

-this is so confusing Lena what kind of operation is this 😭

-okay cool case angry guy about finances??

-honestly yeah if I got 100,000 I'd call it quits too take that shit and RUN

-bruh nah nah you just said you were gonna quit it

-nah because I don't even know what categoru of fears hurting yourself for thousands of dollars falls under

-HAHAHA WHAT WAIT WAIT HE DECIDED TO JUMP OFF A CLIFF FOR A MILLION DOLLARS AND THEN INSULTED EVERYONE HE EVER KNEW AND GETTING PEOPLE ON TWITTER TO HATE HIM?? THIS MAN WANTED ALL ODDS AGAINST HIM

-"was this really worth it?" Apparently to you yes

-you're not gonna be rich after those medical bills bro

-dude you fucked around and found out you aren't getting your money

-oh hello creature in the phone

-awwww no alice don't be sad please

-oh okay that is uh an interesting threat thanks alice

-yeah they're definitely real lmao sorry to break it to you

-Alice let him be a PROTAGONIST GOD DAMN

Okay well that was interesting thanks for reading this weeks TMAGP thursday thoughts

[hailthegodsong]

OUR LOVE IS BORN

Masterlist

Chapter 11 ~ Barbeque

Content Warnings: toxic behaviour, jealousy, gaslighting, manipulation, alcohol as a form of relief, sexually coercive behaviour, relationship pressure/ sexual pressure, controlling behaviour, arguing, yelling, forceful kissing/ sexual behaviours, physical altercations/ domestic violence, bruising, injury due to violence, shock, mentions of car accidents, long last injury due to car accidents, past trauma, descriptions of severe injuries and surgical operations.

THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS POTENTIALLY TRIGGERING AND INTENSE CONTENT INCLUDING VIOLENCE IN A RELATIONSHIP AS WELL AS EMOTIONAL ABUSE/ MANIPULATION. PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION !!!

The sun beamed into my squinted eyes as Josh and I plodded down the unkept pathways of Frankenmuths' town centre.

"Want my hat?" Josh asked, peering down at me struggling to see through the burning rays of sunlight.

"Mm, nah I'll be alright," I replied, knowing that Josh would be squinting into the same sun I was if he abandoned his navy cap.

But he didn't waste a second before slotting the cap onto my head. I smiled meekly, offering him a thanks as we continued walking down the street.

Josh had pointed me towards what felt like every retail and hospitality store in the area in search of a job, and my legs were beginning to feel like jelly as we continued.

The responses had been mixed. Some places were enthusiastic, offering me the exciting news that they were hiring, while others merely passed my resume back into my hands, giving me no more than a 'sorry, we aren't interested'.

Apart from the small intervals of job hunting, the day had been full of laughter and I was grateful for Josh's inability to keep quiet, leaving me happy and smiling each time I stepped into a store.

He waited outside each storefront for me patiently as I handed my resumes in, giving me space to pitch myself independently, offering me a bright encouraging smile before I entered and after I stepped out.

"How did it go?" he asked, energetically.

"Ehh, I'm not sure. The girl said she would take it to her manager for me. But I don't really mind if I don't get a word back from them. I wouldn't particularly like to work there anyways," I explained, peering back at the dingy diner we were walking away from.

Despite hoping for a nice, calm and enjoyable job, I decided to try every store we came across, just in case. No point in being picky if nobody was going to call back.

"Yeah, I don't know how I'd feel about you working there either," Josh commented with a grimace, causing me to smile. "Alright, looks like next up we have Scarlett's Books, it's a little book store. 'S the only one in town so it's very niche, I think you'll like it."

I let out a hum of appreciation as we approached the small store on the corner of the street. It was made out of almost entirely deep, oak wood, and a quiet hum of music drifted out of the front doors.

"Oh, and they sell vinyl in there too. Second-hand stuff," Josh smiled, one hand shoved into his pocket and the other in a tight thumbs up. "Good luck!!" He beamed.

"Thanks," I said back, stepping into the small store. It smelt faintly of lingering incense, and I let my eyes scan over the crowded bookshelves. Stacks upon stacks of unsorted packaged books and boxes were piled at the back of the store messily, and most customers I noticed were lingering by the front of the store where the books were stacked neatly on the shelves.

"Hello dear, can I help you with anything?" a croaky voice asked, and I turned to see an old man standing behind the register. His long white hair was fluffy around the weakened skin of his face, creases sinking in as he smiled warmly at me.

"Hi, I'm Layla, I was just wondering if you might have any job positions opening up at the moment, or if I could hand my resume in for future reference?" I spoke, keeping my voice quiet to match the volume of the area.

His eyes lightened up and he brought two hands gently together in a quiet clap.

"Oh, you're an angel! My lovely wife is very sick," he said meekly. "I was going to close up shop in the next few months. I can't keep running it - I needn't leave Scarlett alone another day longer," he explained, his hands waving in gestures, and his eyes boring into mine intensity.

"Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that," I consoled. "I would be happy to help in any way I can," I offered, knowing that if this kind old man asked me to, I would work here for free.

"Oh, wonderful. Just so wonderful. When can you start?" he asked, and my eyes widened.

"I-uh, I can start next week!" I said excitedly. Was this really happening?

"Perfect, perfect," he praised, stepping slowly around the counter and reaching his hand out to shake with mine.

I took his frail hand and shook it gently, and he sent me a large smile.

"W-what hours can you work dear?" he asked, voice a bit wobbly with age.

I thought for a moment, "Uhh, I have school until three in the afternoon most days so I can do after three, give or take tens minutes for me to walk here. And then I'm pretty much free at any point on the weekends," I answered, giving him a wide range of available times to scope which ones worked best for him.

"Okay, wonderful. Bertha has an in-home carer on... hm, let me think," he pondered.

I waited, mildly awkwardly as he looked up the ceiling in thought, wracking his brain for his answer.

Still in thought, he wandered back round to his desk and peered at a piece of paper through the spectacles that hung low on the bridge of his nose. "Ah yes, the carer is in on Wednesday, Thursday and Friday. Do you think you could work after school on the Monday and Tuesday? And maybe take one of the weekend shifts a week?"

I smiled, "I can absolutely do that. I can give you my phone number if you like. That way we can coordinate shifts and other things like that?"

"Yes that would be perfect," he agreed, "Though, you'll have to mind me, I'm not the best at technological things."

I laughed, "That's alright, I'll give you a call later on today, all you'll need to do is press answer."

We exchanged phone numbers, and with another heartfelt thank you, I left the store with a big smile on my face.

Josh was kicking rocks around the pavement with his hands clasped behind his back when I walked out.

At the sound of my arrival, he looked up at me and immediately smiled at the sight of the huge smile on my face.

"Now what does that smile mean Missy?" he teased, causing me to giggle.

"He gave me the job on the spot!" I beamed.

Josh's hands flew to my shoulders, grasping them tightly as he shook me around, "No way! Fuck yeah, Layla that's awesome!"

"Thank you! And thank you for showing me around all the places today, I probably would have only found half of them and missed out on the rest," I laughed.

"Ahh you don't give yourself enough credit," he waved a dismissive hand through the air, "I'm very proud of you."

Josh walked me home and we said our goodbyes outside the front of my house, as we organised the right time to meet for their gig. They were performing as openers for the biggest crowd they had ever done.

We decided I should wait for him outside my house at four, giving us enough time to drive to the venue, and then for the boys to set up for the show.

Once I made my way back inside, I messaged Adam to see if he wanted to FaceTime while I chose an outfit for the concert, missing his presence over the weekend.

As I was shuffling through my drawers for a belt that would match a pair of jeans on my bed, my phone rang.

I hopped over to it to see an incoming FaceTime from Adam.

"Hellooo," I greeted, propping the phone up onto my vanity and admiring as his handsome face came into view. He seemed to be lying in bed as he smiled at me through the screen.

"Hey," he replied.

I walked back over to my dresser to continue my hunt for a belt. "Watcha doing? I thought you were busy today?" I asked, feeling slightly upset over the fact that he had told me he was too busy to see me, yet he was lounging in bed.

"Just waiting for Oli to text me back," he cleared his throat, "And I am busy. Just got back from practice."

I felt guilty at my accusations, "Oh right, sorry. How was practice?" I asked.

"Eh, it was alright," he replied plainly.

"A-hah!" I exclaimed, pulling the long, red belt I was in search of out of my dresser.

I wandered over to my bed and put the belt up against the pair of jeans. "What do you think? Reckon these go together or is the red too much?" I asked, lifting the jeans up against my body to show him.

He hummed in thought, "I don't know. Yeah, maybe a bit much. But like, it doesn't look bad."

I frowned at the comment and returned to my dresser to find something new.

"What are you getting ready for anyways?" he asked.

"I'm going to the show my friends are playing in Saginaw, remember?"

"Ohh, yeah I remember. Joshua right?" he asked.

I laughed a bit, "Josh, yeah. And his brothers, and their friend," I explained.

"Ah right. Who are the brothers again?"

I tensed at the question, wondering if he knew of Jake and Oliver's hatred for one another. Surely Oliver wouldn't have told Adam about what went down on their porch, otherwise Oliver risked exposing his true colours.

"Um, Jake and Sam. Sam's a few years younger than us though."

"Right, right," he said in faux natural, "Jake... Kiszka?"

I cleared my throat, "Yeah."

Discomfort slid into my body at his silence, and I quickly pulled out the first belt I could find to redirect the conversation.

"What about this one?" I asked, holding them up against me again.

He stared for a moment, scratching the back of his neck. "M' not sure. You gotta try 'em on so I can make a fair judgement," he offered with a smirk.

"Uh, okay," I said apprehensively, taking myself and the jeans out of the camera's range and stripping my pants to the floor.

"Oh come onn," he complained, and I faltered confusedly.

I laughed in uncertainty, "What?"

I watched from a distance as he wiped a hand down his face, "Ugh, I don't know. You don't gotta go out of frame to change. I am your boyfriend, in case you forgot," he said, and I struggled to decipher whether the tone in his tone stemmed from humour or true annoyance.

Uncomfortably, I shimmied my jeans on quickly, bucking the belt before walking back into frame. "I know you're my boyfriend," I said, unknowing of anything else to say.

He huffed, "Yeah that looks nice," he said disinterestedly.

Was I being prudish for not changing in front of him? I was trying my hardest to be as good for him as he was to me, yet I never felt as if I was doing enough.

My mind wandered to the argument I had with Josh a while ago. His anger was directed at my actions of being closed off, and unable to open up. Maybe that was my flaw. Was I being irritating for not letting people in, making them feel unwanted or disliked?

I shook my head to rid it of the thoughts, pocketing the idea to think about another time.

"Oh! I was going to tell you, we're having a barbecue at my house next weekend and Dad said I could invite anyone I want. It's on Saturday evening, can you make it?" I asked.

"Yeah, that sounds fun, who else are you inviting?" he asked, sitting up.

"Probably not too many people. The boys next door are coming, and Aanya said she could come too," I explained.

"Who's Aanya again?" he asked, and I huffed.

"Really? She's like my only friend, Adam. How do you not know that?" I asked, letting a light laugh trace my words to soften them.

"Ah, sorry, sorry. I just forgot. But yeah, sounds fun, I'll come for sure."

"Okay, cool."

"Blue top for sure would be better," Adam commented as I held up an off-white halter top against a blue singlet in the mirror.

"Really? I feel like it'll be too much blue with the jeans," I commented.

"Nah, brings out your eyes," he flirted, and I raised a brow. I wasn't going to correct him that my eyes were in fact green and looked nothing like blue.

"Okay, I'll wear the blue one then."

We spent another couple of minutes on the phone, chatting mindlessly about menial things until Adam had to go as Oliver had arrived. The thought of Oliver so casually existing in my social circles made me cringe, but I knew that if Adam was happy, then so was I.

I plodded down the stairs after planning the outfit for the night, hunger dragging my feet straight to the kitchen.

I rifled through the fridge, pulling out condiments and ingredients to make myself a quick wrap, and when I turned to see my mum sitting at the kitchen island I jumped.

"Hey, you scared me," I joked. "When did you get in?"

Mum shrugged naturally, reading from a fashion magazine and sipping from a cup of tea, "Oh only about an hour ago. Where are you going?" she questioned, glancing at my attire.

"Josh, Jake and Sam, you know the boys next door?" I asked and she nodded, "They're in a band with their friend, they're playing at Saginaw tonight so I'm going to watch."

"Hmm, sounds fun," she said with a smile. "Has your Dad told you about the barbecue next weekend?" she asked.

"Yeah!" I answered excitedly. "It'll be really fun. You're um... you're coming right?" I asked.

"Yes, I'm inviting my new work colleagues too so should be nice to connect with everyone outside of work."

"Mmm, I bet," I commented, feeling a bloom of happiness in my chest at the first civil interaction I had had with Mum for an excessively long time. "I'm making myself a chicken wrap, you want one?" I offered.

She pondered my offer for a moment before agreeing, and I happily made us both a late lunch, melting into the conversation.

I had missed this. Missed talking to my mum. It felt just like it had before I got into the accident. Everything after that had been tossed and shaken and utterly ruined, and I feared it would never go back to the way it was before. I would never go back to the way it was before.

But moments like these restored my confidence. Reconnecting with the people I loved and having positive conversations was something I had and always would cherish.

Josh knocked on the front door at exactly 4:58, and I was utterly impressed by his punctuality. The drive was short, and Josh explained to me that the rest of the boys were driving with their parents, which was why we were alone in the car.

I had thankfully been able to drive stress-free, ignoring the persistent thoughts that reminded me of the last time we drove to Saginaw, forcing myself to calm down and enjoy myself.

Once we arrived at the venue, the venue staff placed lanyards over our necks and led us down a set of winding concrete corridors into a small, cozy room.

The room had two large leather couches with a worn, wooden coffee table in the centre. The table was already cluttered with drinks, guitar picks, wires, papers and more, and paired with the wallpaper which was peeling off, the room had a messy grungy feel to it.

We got comfortable on the soft leather, and soon the rest of the boys came through from their dressing rooms as they were dressed in their concert clothes.

It was still surreal for me to be in such a professional environment. The mere fact that the boys were waiting in a green room, and had their own dressing rooms was insane.

We all hung out in the room for a while, the boys helping themselves to beverages, while I picked on the assortment of snacks they had scattered over the table.

The main act soon joined us, and though it wasn't a band I was familiar with, I felt just as excited to meet them as the boys when I saw the way their eyes lit up as they introduced themselves.

I tried to follow along as they discussed music and band talk, most of which was completely foreign to me.

Though clearly exhilarated and excited, Josh constantly referred back to me during conversations. Whether it be through a look to see if I was paying attention, or his words which included me in whichever topic they were discussing, he never failed to help me feel included, especially in an environment where I fit in the least.

Eventually, the opening band left to prepare for their set, and we enjoyed our remaining time in the green room. I could feel that nerves were high, though none of the boys wanted to voice it, almost out of fear that it would make it come true. As if ignoring the nerves would make them go away.

I noticed the way Danny constantly ran his hands nervously through his hair, and how Sammy wiped his sweaty palms on his pants constantly. Josh, although a chatty person, was talking even more than usual, as if he too was fighting off the nerves of the biggest show they'd ever had to do. Jake on the other hand was talking far less than normal, disassociating with a dazed stare at the floor.

I tried to anchor them all, keeping the conversation focused on other things, so as not to hype up the anxious buzz that was already vibrating in the room.

Eventually, the time came for them to get on stage. I followed them as they approached the side of the stage, and we could hear the hum of chatter from the crowd beyond the curtain.

Josh blew out a tight breath and looked at me. "Break a leg!" I told him. He pulled me in for a hug with a nervous smile.

The lights dimmed and the crowd erupted in cheers. None of the boys looked back as they skipped onto the stage, the screaming crowd becoming deafening.

Josh sauntered to the microphone and introduced the band to the crowd with such confidence, that nobody would have guessed nerves were something he had ever felt. The first few songs went by incredibly. All four boys were playing to their absolute potential, and by the volume of the crowd, it was safe to say they were gaining significant attention.

The last couple of songs sounded brilliant too, although Sam slipped over a wire on the stage, earning a laugh from us all, but like a true professional, he got back up and continued playing, never missing a beat.

As the set ended, they all walked off stage, throwing picks and sticks into the crowd as they made their way towards me. They were all coated in a shiny layer of sweat, panting heavily with bright smiles on their faces.

"You guys were insane!" I exclaimed, and they all beamed at me.

"Thanks," Josh panted, pulling me in for a sweaty hug. A crew member bumped into me and I realised we were in the middle of where they were doing their jobs.

"C'mon let's get out of the way and get you guys some water," I suggested, moving back towards the green room.

"Water? I'm getting wasted tonight, baby!" Sam whooped.

"On a Sunday?" Danny pointed out, and I laughed when all of the boys groaned, clearly used to performing live on Fridays and Saturdays.

We all flopped onto the couches, and on cue, Karen and Lori burst through the doors. The main band's management followed behind them, congratulating them on their performance. We all settled onto the couches and the energy in the room turned absolutely wild.

Sam and Danny's eyes widened when the management team pulled out a bottle of champagne, "Rock n' roll doesn't give two shits if you're under 21," he joked, pouring us each a glass. My refusal of the beverage was drowned out by the laughter and noise of the room.

We all cheersed to the boys, and Josh took my glass with his and placed it on the table. I sighed in relief, feeling far safer knowing that he was refusing alcohol since he was driving us home.

"Hey, do you have the time?" Josh asked me, and I realised I hadn't seen my phone since we got here. I fumbled around my pockets, then my bag, before finding it shoved in between couch pillows.

"Uhh it is..." I started, turning my phone on. Forgetting completely about what I had taken my phone out to do, I was immediately distracted by the bombardment of missed text messages and calls. All from Adam.

I scrolled down its expanse and saw the true extent of how desperately he had been trying to contact me.

Remembering where I was, I felt Josh tense beside me and I cringed knowing he was looking at my phone too.

I sprung from my spot, "Sorry, I have to go make a call," I explained, not looking back to see his response as I walked away into an empty hallway.

Before calling him back, I had a read through the messages to gain an understanding of what I was dealing with. All of the messages were clearly sent in anger, reprimanding me for ignoring him.

I quickly hit the call button, waiting as the tone rang once before Adam picked up.

I spoke first, "Adam? What's going on? Are you okay?" I asked, worried as to why he needed me so direly.

His voice responded with a slur, "My God, finally. I thought you'd never call me back. What the hell took you so long? Who're you with?"

I didn't appreciate his tone at all, "Have you been drinking?" I asked.

He ignored my comment, "You know, it's not very nice that my girlfriend is ignoring me to be with a group of guys," he accused.

I scrunched my face in confusion, "What do you mean? You told me you were busy all weekend. I was going to be here with you tonight but you aren't free," I explained, trying to rationalise the situation for him. I was feeling entirely defensive and unfairly accused.

He scoffed, "Just cause I'm busy doesn't mean you gotta be with other guys."

"Adam this is ridiculous. They're my friends. You can't seriously be mad at me for seeing their band play live?"

He was quiet for a moment, "Well why weren't you responding then? I'm your boyfriend I should get more attention than them."

"I left my phone in the green room, I hadn't seen it all night until just now," I explained.

He continued, berating me for neglecting our relationship over the boys, and I began to feel tired of the whole thing. We were going around in circles, both arguing the same points over and over again, with neither of us agreeing with the other.

Finally, he seemed to calm down. "Okay, alright, I get it they're your friends. But you've gotta understand Baby... I get a bit jealous sometimes. I just need you to be conscious of that, makes me insecure otherwise."

What he said made sense, and I appreciated his honesty, "Okay, I understand," I replied, waiting for him to say anything else.

When he said nothing, I couldn't bear the awkward silence.

"...Sorry," I added, quickly regretting the words as I wondered what I was actually sorry for.

"It's alright Baby, I forgive you." My confusion intensified. How had I become the villain in the argument?

I sighed, "What did you need me for anyways?" I asked.

"Oh, nothing in particular. Just got bored at Oli's house and wanted to text you," he said nonchalantly.

"Oh," I replied, feeling let down at his overreaction, seeing as all he wanted me for was to relieve his boredom.

He cleared his throat, "Anyways, I've gotta go now, we're gonna go get some drinks," he said, the slur in his words still present, but the anger and irritation almost completely gone.

"Oh, okay," I replied, "Well stay safe!"

"Yep, bye," he said, ending the call without another moment to spare.

After staring at the floor for another minute and trying to process the whole experience, I made my way back into the green room, trying not to wince at the loud laughter and cheering.

I nibbled on my cheek, taking my seat again beside Josh, and reaching forward for my abandoned glass of champagne on the table.

I tipped back half of the glass and sank back into the couch, flashing Josh a short smile.

"You okay?" he questioned.

"Yep, all good," I responded chirpily, though my tone did not reflect how mentally exhausted I felt.

I knew he noticed my cues and didn't believe me at all, but I ignored it, drinking the rest of my glass and setting it on the table.

The group continued to celebrate up until the main act went onstage. We all watched from the sidelines, and I genuinely believed that the boy's performance was better than whoever this band was.

Maybe I was a little biased though.

The boys enjoyed watching from backstage and not wanting to ruin their fun, I masked my exhaustion with a smile. Thanks to my low tolerance, the drink was keeping me from thinking about the phone call, and I managed to distract myself with whatever stupid things the boys were doing.

Finally, we left the venue, spirits high and smiles big.

Luckily, the lead band's management packed away all of their gear already, so we could head straight home without delay. I could tell the boys were feeling giddy about the special professional treatment, and I reminded them not to let it get to their heads.

I couldn't imagine how Lori and Karen were feeling, as I had only known these boys for four months and the amount of pride I felt was overwhelming. They were full of talent, but we're still humble, loving and kind.

I knew in that moment, as Josh sang his heart out to the car's radio on the way home, that they were going to do great things. I just couldn't wait to see what.

The next week, I began my new job at the bookstore. I fell into the groove of the job with no issues and was quick to begin the mountainous project of sorting the pile of books in the back of the store. Josh occasionally visited me during work, lazing around to give me company when the shop was empty.

I was always busy with organising, sorting or restocking, and the store was never too busy that I was able to call the store a place of solstice for my thoughts.

I soon found out that Josh and Jake's birthday came up on the Wednesday. Unfortunately, neither of the boys wanted to do anything too big, claiming they would be too tired for the road trip to Chicago their parents were taking them on the day after. At my disapproval, they also insisted that the barbecue at my house on the weekend would be celebration enough. So instead, we planned a small movie night at their house, allowing us the chance to give gifts and have fun on their birthday.

I decided not to tell Adam, seeing as he was already feeling jealous of the amount of time I spent with the boys, but keeping the secret made it feel like I was doing something wrong. Doing something that a girlfriend shouldn't do. And maybe that feeling was right.

I had taken a bus to Saginaw to revisit the record shop we had explored before, and picked out a vinyl for Jake and Josh each that I knew they would both like. I then travelled the streets in search of a pair of nice quality hiking boots, as Josh had ripped the sole of his during our hike. The price wasn't pretty, but I was willing to spend the money on the people who had given me more than money could buy.

Feeling like it wasn't enough, I baked a large batch of cookies, which took me almost all night due to the amount I baked. But knowing the boys, I trusted that they would be eaten in a day. I packed the chewy cookies of varying flavours into six large boxes of tupperwear, questioning if maybe I had made a bit too much. On top of the cookies, I made a small portion of fairy bread for Josh, remembering how much he liked them at our picnic.

I had also written Josh and Jake cards and planned to give them to them during school. But the idea was soon ruined when Adam found them sticking out of my bag, and in the midst of anger, tore them up and littered the pieces into the bin. He apologised as soon as he had done it, claiming again that jealousy was something he had always struggled with, and promised he would work on.

As usual, I moved past it. I didn't have time to dwell on his mistakes, and I believed that he would be true to his promises. He was trying to change.

I didn't have time to get them each new cards, so I reluctantly went home with the boys with only my gifts, explaining to them that I had lost them somewhere at school.

We transformed the living room into a maze of cushions, blankets and mattresses, and all settled comfortably on the soft mess to watch Inglorious Bastards, at Josh's request. The aroma of baked goods filled the air as we munched on the cookies I baked, and the boys helped themselves to beers they had stolen from their dad's cooler, despite the fact that it was a Wednesday.

After the movie, Sam, Danny and I gave Josh and Jake their gifts, and Jake and Josh exchanged gifts between themselves too. I was crushed in hugs of gratitude and appreciation by both Josh and Jake when they opened their gifts, accompanied by bright, enthusiastic smiles.

The rest of the week I was busy at home, accompanying Dad on his trips to the shop to buy food and essentials for our barbeque. Dad even went as far as to buy outdoor furniture, claiming that nobody would come if they were forced to stand the whole time. Mum was more present for the week, as she too was busy organising the get-together to be as enjoyable for our guests as it could be, and I enjoyed getting some time alone with her, shopping and planning.

When Saturday rolled around, the sun high and humidity heavy in the air, we began setting up outside. Josh came over in the afternoon to help out, joining me in setting up tables and chairs. He gave me good company for the hot hours of the afternoon, chatting away about his trip to Chicago.

As we set out the last lot of chairs, Josh peered at the empty fire pit near the back of the garden, which had been there since we moved in, squinting at the brightness of the sun.

"Are you guys planning on having a fire?" he asked my dad, who was clearing away sticks and other debris from the grass.

Dad furrowed his brow, "Would be nice, but I have too much on my plate, not enough time to worry about the yard catching on fire," he laughed. "Why? You reckon you could handle one for us?" he asked Josh.

Josh's eyes lit up at the question, and he wiped his palms on the back of his jeans. "Sure! Why not," he said with maybe too much enthusiasm, bounding off to where Dad had discarded the stray sticks and leaves from the garden.

Dad watched him curiously for a moment, likely wondering if he'd just assigned a pyromaniac the responsibility of keeping a fire live for the night.

I spent the rest of the afternoon working slowly, often resting on one of the benches, watching as Josh foraged for the best sticks and logs, setting up the wood in the fire pit with precision and calculation. I sipped on a cold glass of lemonade, basking in the sun and smiling into the feeling of humid sweat coating the back of my neck.

As the sky got darker and the warmth settled into the ground, men and women who introduced themselves as friends or coworkers of my mums showed up. Dad's new golfing friends showed up too, and I was surprised to see Danny with his father, as neither of us had known our Dads had become friends.

The rest of the Kiszka's arrived next, hands full with bottles of champagne, followed by Jake and Sam who were carrying a cooler of what I assumed was more alcohol.

Josh lit the fire once it became sufficiently dark, tending to it delicately and prodding it with a long stick to keep it burning until the larger logs caught fire.

As time went on, more and more people showed up, and I was beginning to wonder if my parents had invited the whole neighbourhood. Friends of Josh, Jake, Sam, Danny and even Ronnie showed up too, some of which I recognised from school, all friendly and fun to talk to.

Soon, the fire was blazing and the chatter was lively. The smell of steaks and sausages were blowing through the garden in the gentle breeze, and I smiled at the sound of drinks clinking together, and laughter between acquaintances.

When Aanya showed up, she brought two friends who were very nice and the four of us stuck together like glue, joking around and laughing together by the food table.

I glanced down at my phone to check the time, seeing that Adam still hadn't shown up thirty minutes after he said he would come. I sent him a message, asking him if he was okay and what time he was planning on arriving.

In the meantime, I could see Josh, Jake, Sam and Danny tentatively refilling the cups of the adults, manipulating their sobriety to get them intoxicated quicker. I laughed at the sight of them walking around like hired event staff, offering drink top-ups.

Eventually, we decided that the adults were slurring enough that we could get away with drinking too. We filed into the house, grabbing the bottles of alcohol the boys had sneakily stolen from their parents, and pouring them into red solo cups.

Thankfully, as the boys and Aanya had brought friends, there were enough of us who weren't adults that we could all have fun of our own. We made our way to the fireplace, bringing chairs around in a circle, and we all found seats next to each other.

I frowned when I looked back at my phone, seeing Adam still hadn't responded.

"Everything alright?" Josh asked me from the chair beside mine. I was sat on a bench, leaving a spot next to me for when Adam finally arrived.

"Yeah all good," I sighed, "Just not sure if Adam is still coming."

Josh frowned too, "Oh, why not?"

I stretched my arms out in front of me, feeling embarrassed by his behaviour, "He said he'd be here like over an hour ago, but he still hasn't texted me back. I'm kind of worried," I explained.

Josh assured me that he would show up eventually, and not to worry. In the meantime, we occupied ourselves with conversing with everyone in the group, and I sent Aanya a pointed look when I noticed she was sitting next to Danny, thigh to thigh.

Another half an hour later Adam arrived, greeting me but saying nothing about the fact that he was two hours late, and wrapping his arms heavily over my back in a hug.

"Hey Doll," he said, taking a seat next to me and throwing his arm over my shoulder.

"Hey, where have you been?" I asked, not angry but confused.

He laughed, but it sounded more like a scoff, "What do you mean?" he asked.

"Well, you're like two hours-"

"Ohh, you drinking coronas? Got any extra for me?" he interrupted, asking Josh when he caught sight of him taking a drink.

Josh's gaze jumped to me momentarily, "Uh, yeah man. They're in the cooler over there," he said, nodding to the esky on the table near us.

Adam patted my side with the hand he had over my shoulder, "Mind getting me one, Baby?" he lifted his arm off me to give me space to get up.

Feeling slightly annoyed at being interrupted and being asked to retrieve his beer for him, I got up silently and grabbed a corona for him.

"Thanks," he said as he took the beer from my hand once I had sat back down.

As the conversation continued, I noticed there were smaller conversations between people who were separate from the main group, and I especially took note that Aanya and Danny were talking animately with one another.

I leant over the arm of the bench to be near Josh, telling him in a low voice to look at Aanya and Danny.

Josh smiled, and nodded, giggling at the sight of them.

"What were you talking to him about?" Adam asked sharply when I pulled back to my seat, resting my weight against his side.

"Aanya and Danny both really like each other. But neither of them know the other does and they're both so nervous about it. It's really cute, look at them," I explained, looking at the way Aanya leaned into Dany as he made her laugh. When I looked back at Adam, he was looking elsewhere, uninterested in what I was saying.

Letting his confusing attitude and behaviour go, I refocused instead on what others in the group were talking about.

Jake was talking enthusiastically about a guitar shop they found in Chicago and the 'absolute gems' he found inside.

"When I'm rich I'm gonna buy that black '61 ES. Was sexy as fuck," he complimented, eyes lost in the memory.

Adam scoffed rudely from beside me, and my face flushed in embarrassment. Luckily nobody around us had heard, but I nudged him in annoyance.

"Adam, stop being rude, these are my friends."

He only rolled his eyes in response.

I folded my arms across my body, feeling hurt by his actions, and tried to involve myself in the rest of the conversation without him.

Adam stared at the screen of his phone for what I could only guess was the next whole hour that went by, only pausing his mindless scrolling to get up and take another beer from the cooler. Luckily I was able to ignore him, falling deep into conversation with one of the girls Aanya brought with her.

"Yeah, you've got to come with us when summer comes around. The water is so refreshing," she said to me, referring to the beaches of Michigan. I smiled brightly at the offer, but before I could respond, Adam spoke.

"Layla doesn't really like the beach though, do you?" Adam stated, with sharpness in his tone.

I almost flinched at his interruption. Why would he say that? The statement wasn't true in any sense and it seemed as if he was pulling me out of every conversation I was trying to have.

"I do, actually," I said sweetly, not wanting to embarrass myself any more in front of the others while trying to show Adam that his attempts to remove me from the conversation were not working.

Thinking he may just be wanting more attention, I tried talking to Adam individually, but he blatantly ignored me, keeping his eyes on his phone, and only offering me one-worded answers. What was his problem?

I then tried to invite him into conversations with others, trying to relate their interests, but he would only huff when I brought up his name.

I became utterly embarrassed. I wasn't sure what he was doing at all, and I could feel the judgement from each and every person sitting around the fire with us when he ended yet another conversation I was having by interrupting, "I thought you hated that stuff."

My ears were flaming hot, and I bounced my leg anxiously. I was mortified. I had no idea what was causing him to act that way, and I began feeling hopeless, as all my ideas to fix his mood proved useless.

After a while of sitting in silence, as I knew that if I opened my mouth Adam would find a way to pull me back out of the discussion, Josh stood from his seat with an exaggerated stretching noise.

"I'm gonna grab myself another beer, anyone want one?" he asked, looking around the group. "Jake?" he added, nodding towards his empty beer bottle.

"No, you're alright, thanks," he responded, before resuming his melodic strumming on the guitar.

"Yeah man, could you grab me another corona?" Adam asked, speaking to Josh for the first time all night, apart from when he asked Josh where the cooler was at the beginning of the night.

Josh looked reluctant, but agreed with a tight smile, wandering off to the cooler. I glanced down at the floor, and was surprised at the amount of empty bottles Adam had consumed in the last few hours, and how able he was to act as sober as me.

Josh returned with Adams's drink, which Adam didn't thank him for, and dropped back into his seat, smiling at me when he caught me looking.

"Here, have some," Adam offered, handing his now open beer to me.

"Ah, no thank you," I politely declined.

He pushed the bottle further into my hands, "C'mon, at least share it with me."

I pulled my hands away, "Um, no, I don't really feel like drinking," I explained, but he didn't understand. He looked at me as if I were offending him. As if declining a drink was the worst thing I could have done.

"Why not? Come on, just a sip then," he pushed, and I laughed nervously at his pushy nature, hoping that nobody around us was watching.

My giggles died down as he took my hand and wrapped my fingers around the bottle, "I really don't want any," I stated.

"For fucks sake, what's wrong with you?" he snapped, his voice still quiet enough that only people who were actively listening could hear, but harsh enough to make me shrink away from him.

I removed his hand that was clutching tightly at my thigh, and crossed my arms and legs, trying to create distance from him.

I was so embarrassed and uncomfortable. He had humiliated me in front of my friends all night and treated me like crap. I took a quick scan around the group to make sure nobody had listened, and thankfully, everyone was looking elsewhere.

The few people directly next to us bore uncomfortable looks, and though they were paying attention to different conversations, I wondered if they were just pretending not to have heard for my sake.

Josh, for example, was clutching his new beer tightly, knuckles going white against the glass. His jaw was tight and lips were pursed as he stared into the flames of the fire before him. I hoped he was truly zoned out, and not struggling with the discomfort of hearing our argument.

Adam didn't waste much time before he leaned in close to my ear and whispered, "Fix your attitude, you're embarrassing me."

Completely over his behaviour, I huffed in annoyance, shrugging Adams off me when I rose from the chair and muttering something along the lines of needing the bathroom.

You didn't have to be smart to read that my actions were annoyed and frustrated, as I hadn't put much effort in maintaining my cool.

I made my way through the yard and up to the house, tucking my hair away from my face and blowing a long breath through my lips. Glancing back at the group by the fire, I was shocked to see Adam trailing behind me. So close in fact, that I got a whiff of his cologne.

I huffed again, "Adam, what are you doing?" I asked, turning back around and speeding through the door and into the house.

He ignored my question, trailing close enough behind me that I could practically feel him breathing down my neck, "What's wrong with you? Why're you in such a mood, huh?"

I scoffed, storming up the stairs to my bedroom, "What's wrong with me? I haven't been able to have fun all night, Adam," I whipped to face him at the landing of the staircase. "You've basically shut down every conversation I've had with anyone all night!"

I turned around again and hastily walked to the entrance of my bedroom.

He looked at me incredulously, "Can you blame me? You're the one who's been flirting with their neighbour all fucking night long," he complained.

I paused, "What? Who?"

He groaned, "Don't play stupid, Layla. He's been tryna' get your attention all night." Not that it made it true, but I knew he was talking about Josh. Because Josh was my friend. And because Adam was incredibly jealous of Josh.

"What?! I've spoken to him like once all night! And it's not like you've been available to talk to, you've been staring at your phone since you got here. You shut me down every time I try and talk to you," I said exasperatedly, waving my hands in front of me for emphasis.

My frustration was fogging my mind, and all I wanted in this moment was for him to leave me alone to my thoughts.

"Even if that were true- which it isn't," he started, and I rolled my eyes. "He's not the only fucking one out there. It's not that hard to talk to literally anyone else for five minutes," he argued, stepping closer to me.

I was struggling to read the expression on his face, as though I was sure mine was furiously frustrated and annoyed, his seemed almost... mischievous? I wondered if maybe he had had too much to drink, and attributed to his apparent flippancy to his lack of sobriety.

I ran a hand down my face, "I have been. I've tried talking to everyone, but you just butt in and cut every conversation off for me," I explained, lowering my voice, trying my hardest to express how I was feeling sensibly.

He stared at me blankly, hands glued to his sides, "That's not true."

I sighed, backing into my bedroom and grabbing the side of the door, "Alright, whatever you say. Can you just... leave me alone for a minute?" I asked.

His eyes widened and it was as if a beaming light was turned on inside his head at the thought that I was shutting him out. He stepped forward, a hand reaching out to take my arm gently.

"Oh, c'mon now. Don't be mad, let's just forget this happened, hey?" he offered, stepping closer and effectively nearing me further into my bedroom as I took backward steps away from him.

Once inside, he looked around my room in awe, eyes catching on my posters and decorations. "Wow, I've never been in here before, it's so pretty," he commented, his words and tone giving me whiplash.

"Thanks," I said plainly, "Can you get out now?"

He ignored me, looking back at my face and reaching a hand up to trace his fingers over the apple of my cheek.

"Seriously, Adam. Get out." I said sternly, stepping away from his touch. My anger was simmering again, and my privacy was feeling extremely invaded.

"C'mon baby, no. Don't be like that. Let's take advantage of being alone for once," he smirked, eyes shutting as he leaned in to kiss me.

My face scrunched up grotesquely as I tried to move out of his hold which was now tightly around my waist.

"Stop it, Adam," I pleaded, placing my hands on his chest to create distance between us.

I wondered if he genuinely couldn't hear me, or if he was ignoring my words as he attached his lips to my neck sloppily, pulling me back to him once again.

"Adam stop!" This time, I pulled away forcefully, shoving his chest to get away from him, "What the hell is wrong with you?!" I shouted once he was a far more appropriate distance from me, sporting the most offended look I had ever seen.

I didn't have the time to process it before it happened, but in what felt like the same time you could form a thought, Adam grabbed my shoulders and thrust me violently backwards in anger.

I stumbled back a step, unable to gather my bearings or register what was happening in enough time to break my fall, before the tender muscle of my lower back caught the edge of my vanity.

I crashed into the piece of furniture violently, nearly falling to my knees at the impact, before adrenaline took hold of my motor function and forced me to grab my desk chair to balance.

Something, which I had assumed was disturbed by my harsh contact with the vanity, fell from the higher shelves, my eyes only catching the movement in time for me to react this time.

I flinched violently, my hands reaching up to protect my head and knees buckling, bringing my body closer to the ground. The item smashed as it made contact with the desk and the sound pierced my ears horrifically.

My eyes were screwed shut in fright, though my brain whizzed and whirled, trying to make sense of what had unfolded in those moments.

"Oh my God Baby, I'm so sorry," I heard through the fuzzy layer of ringing that clouded my ears.

I cracked my eyes open and was startled when Adams's face was directly in front of mine. He reached out to cradle my face, worry written all over his expression, "Are you alright? It didn't get you, did it?" he asked.

I could hardly hear him over my heart which was pounding in my ears. I twisted around slowly with wide eyes, seeing that my favourite candle had fallen from the shelf and shattered atop the desk, leaving a messy trace of broken glass and chunks of wax in its wake.

I turned back to Adam, disbelief and confusion taking hold of my senses. I was well aware that adrenaline was still driving my system.

I was mostly quiet as Adam gushed over me, struggling to hold back my raw emotion, the painful lump in my throat feeling like it was going to choke me.

"I'm so sorry baby, I just- you pushed me so I pushed you back. Did you trip over something? Is that why you fell so hard?" he explained, or tried to explain.

Did I trip over something? No, there wasn't anything on my bedroom floor for me to trip over. But arguing that would be pointless. Adam must've had more strength than he realised, most likely meaning to only push me with as much strength as I had given to him.

His head hung low in shame, and I struggled to see if the red rimming his eyes was from an oncoming set of tears, or his still drunken state.

"Please, please, believe me, baby. I would never try to hurt you, I'm so sorry, it was an accident," he pleaded, holding my arms for stability, his eyes now roaming over my face.

I sighed, still unable to process what had truly happened. My first instinct had always been to forgive though, and I would understand the possibility that he was unaware of his strength compared to mine.

I reached a hand to his cheek, ignoring the tremor in my fingers, and stroked it gently, "It's okay, I forgive you. Can we just forget tonight ever happened? It's been pretty crap for both of us I think," I offered, and his eyes lit up at my words.

"Yes. Yes, of course," he said, kissing my lips quickly and stroking my wild hair flat on the top of my head.

Adam helped me up and aided in straightening my clothes and hair before deeming I looked presentable to join the party below again. There was something so tender about those moments. Complete silence save for my ragged breathing and Adams scattered apologies, as he tended to my physical appearance, as well as my emotional state, as he peppered me with kisses.

He helped me down the stairs with an abundance of attention, holding my hand the whole way through the house and into the yard. He gave me a peck on the cheek before we stepped outside, and despite what had just happened, I could feel the care and generosity through his actions.

I smiled, looking out into the garden, the shake in my hands calming as I listened to the sound of lively chatter and music. Jake was playing some tune from his acoustic, and the adults were laughing drunkenly by the cooker.

Dad stopped us as we made our way past, kissing me on the cheek and wrapping a strong arm around my shoulders.

"How are you enjoying the night Sweets?" he asked.

"Yeah it's been great, you did an awesome job. Everyone's enjoying themselves," I praised, knowing that Dad held high standards of himself for these types of gatherings.

He thanked me, eyes travelling to Adam who was standing beside me awkwardly.

I cleared my throat, "Dad... this is Adam. My boyfriend," I explained, cringing painfully. "Adam, this is my dad."

"Nice to meet you, Sir," Adam greeted, extending his hand to shake.

"Boyfriend, huh?" Dad asked sceptically, before smiling kindly and shaking Adams's hand. "Nice to meet you too, son."

They exchanged light small talk while I stood silently beside them both.

"Alright, well it was nice to meet you, Adam. But you best be treating my girl like royalty, ya hear me?" he joked, barking a laugh.

I tried not to make my discomfort obvious, as my mind flashed with images of being thrown into my vanity desk only minutes earlier.

Adam laughed, seemingly much less affected than I. "Of course, Sir." He wrapped a hand around my waist and kissed my cheek.

"Alright, talk to you later," I said, happy with how the interaction had gone. Dad seemed to like Adam, and I was thrilled.

Our spots were still empty by the fire, so Adam and I reclaimed our seats, melting back into the cushions and letting the sound of Jake's music fill my ears.

Adam must have felt truly guilty about what had happened, as his attitude completely changed. He was smiley, conversational, and I wasn't sure if I had seen his phone once since we sat back down, his hand now occupied with holding my thigh gently.

Surprisingly, he was even conversing with Sammy and Josh, and I sat back quietly watching their interactions happily. I was so glad he was back to normal, allowing me to enjoy the rest of the night peacefully.

Eyes raking over the group of us around the fire, I noticed that Danny and Aanya's seats were empty. Squinting in suspicion, I leaned over to Josh's chair, for what felt like the first time since I had sat back down with Adam.

"Where did Danny and Aanya go?" I asked, ignoring the feeling of Adams's hand tightening on my thigh.

Josh smiled, and I felt comfort at the familiar sight of his face, realising that I'd barely even looked at him since I got back, too afraid to set off another outburst in Adam.

"Danny needed the bathroom," he explained, "And Aanya offered to 'show him where it was'," he joked, using air quotation marks.

I laughed, settling back into my position next to Adam. For the rest of the night, Josh eyed us down, no doubt dying to ask what had happened when we walked away.

As much as I wanted to, I knew it was a bad idea to confide in Josh about something like this. It was clear to me that he was protective of me as his friend, already warning me about what he thought of Adam. There would be no way for me to describe what had happened in a way that didn't sound like he was right.

Once it reached one in the morning, people finally began to file out, yelling their drunken goodbyes before clambering into their taxis and ubers. Mum and Dad had made sure that each individual person whom they'd seen with a beverage was accounted for, being equally as anxious about drunk driving as I.

"Alright," Adam said, stretching his arms up above his head, "I'm gonna head out now."

I smiled as he leaned in to peck my lips. When we parted, he moved his face close to the side of mine, "I'm so sorry, beautiful," he lifted my hand and kissed my knuckles, looking earnestly into my eyes.

"It's okay," I said, smiling at his sweetness, "Bye, get home safe."

I watched him walk away until he was out of sight from the garden and sighed heavily. Josh joined me as I stood aimlessly in the middle of the garden, staring at the fire that was glowing with only its remaining embers. 

"Hey," he said, letting his arm brush against mine to let me know he was there. 

"Hey," I responded tiredly. Looking around, I realised that the Kiszkas had gone home too, leaving only my parents, Josh and I in the garden. "You going home now too?" I asked. 

Josh looked around at the garden, watching as my parents cleared plastic cups from the tables and floor, throwing them into large, black trash bags. 

"I think I'll stay and help clean up. M' not tired yet," he said, "If that's okay with you," he added. 

"Of course it is," I smiled. The night was quiet as we folded the chairs and tables, settling them against the porch for the night. The air had grown cooler, but there was still a heavy and humid weight in the air, and when I looked up at the sky in search of rain clouds, the empty, sparkling sky looked back at me. 

Cicadas chirped in the distance, filling the silence that Josh and I had fallen into as we worked. 

Mum and Dad eventually retired, wishing us a good night and making their way back inside, leaving Josh and I alone in the empty and silent space.

Once we had packed the furniture away, we picked up where my parents left off, sorting garbage into trash bags. Always working in the same spot, Josh and I often reached for the same bottle at the same time, causing us to giggle before falling into comfortable silence again. 

Shamefully, I helped Josh gather the substantial pile of beer bottles that had accumulated on the grass by Adams's chair. He didn't comment on it, didn't make a face, and helped me clean up the mess of the night, the mess of the memories. 

Eventually, we found ourselves seated on the wooden steps of my back porch, sorting through the bins to separate the recycling and waste rubbish. 

Josh cleared his throat, the action sounding louder than usual as I had adapted to the silence of the night. 

"It's a uh, beautiful night, isn't it?" he asked, looking out into the dense trees that conjugated behind our houses. I hummed in response, looking back up to the stars, feeling grateful that I could sit outside at such a late hour without freezing to death as I would have been during winter.

We were silent again for a few more minutes, the only sounds now being the sounds of glass clinking as we discarded them into the rubbish bags, accompanied by the soft sounds of our breathing.

"Did you have a good night?" Josh asked, breaking the silence again. 

I let out a breath and hung my neck sideways to stretch it, "Yeah, it was fun, did y-"

"It didn't really look like it," he interrupted, and I was grateful it was dark enough that he wouldn't see the redness in my face from embarrassment. 

He had read me like a book, because no, I had not had a good night at all. I subconsciously rubbed the tender skin of my lower back, feeling bruising when I touched the spot.

"Sorry," he added, realising that his accusation had put me on the spot. 

"It's okay. You're right, I didn't have that good of a night," I admitted, looking down at my rubbish bag.

"Cause of Adam?" he asked cautiously. I bit my cheek. 

"Yeah, but it's alright. We sorted it all out in the end," I said, memories of holding back tears while Adam apologised and stroked my hair ran through my mind. I was still trying to process and understand what had happened. Not wanting it to plague me any longer, I set the task of unloading the night aside for another day.

"Alright, if you're sure," Josh replied, staring at me cautiously from the corner of his eye. We fell into silence again. 

"Is your... did you hurt yourself or something?" Josh asked, and I tensed at the question, quickly reaching to my lower back to make sure my jacket was covering my skin. When I felt that I was covered up, I looked up to Josh questioningly, wondering what he was talking about. 

He was staring at my leg, and when I followed my gaze, I realised I had been subconsciously rubbing into the aching muscle of my thigh. I hadn't even realised that it had begun to hurt again, and had been massaging the muscle purely out of habit. 

"Oh," I remarked, "No, I'm alright."

"Are you sure? You do it a lot, and... it sometimes looks like you're in pain," he explained, and I sighed. 

"Yeah, I guess. It just gets a bit sore when I'm standing for too long," I answered, knowing exactly where this conversation was going. I felt guilty talking about the accident as it felt like I was trauma dumping on Josh. But considering his eagerness to listen, I knew he would rather me tell him than not, even if it wasn't what I was used to. 

"What do you mean, like the muscle gets sore?" he asks quizzically, clearly trying to understand if there was more to the story or if I was just very unfit.

"Kind of, it's more like the bone that hurts."

He furrowed his brows in confusion, "What do you-"

"My femur shattered in the car crash," I stated bluntly and I saw him tense beside me, his head turning to look at me. "And the only way they could save it without amputating was to put a rod in it. I can still feel it in there... it bothers me every day."

"Fuck," he said.

I felt my anger about the situation fizzle. "I hate it." 

"They didn't take it out once your bone healed?" he asked cautiously. The feeling of his shoulder brushing against mine kept me grounded.

"No. They said they were worried it would re-fracture, which is stupid cause the bone was fully healed in the x-rays," I complained. I was so frustrated. Those incompetent, lazy doctors had likely fucked me up for life.

"Fuck," he sighed again, cracking the knuckle of his index finger against his thumb nervously. "Is it always hurting? Or just when you've been standing too much?" he asked, fear in his eyes at the idea that I was always in pain. 

"No, not always. Just hurts when I overdo it, like when I go running, or overuse it any other way. The pain's not the only reason I hate it though, it makes me walk like an idiot too," I added, laughing dryly, but quickly shut up when I remembered the lyrics Josh had written in his room. It seemed he'd already noticed my 'funny' walk. 

For some reason, I didn't feel salty or hurt by those lyrics, as in a way they made me feel beautiful. He had captured something so closely associated with negativity and self-hatred and turned it into art.

"Fuck, I'm sorry. That must be really hard. Fucking sucks that it's still causing you pain."

"It's okay," I said quietly.

We continued sorting through the rubbish, only just realising that we had stopped in the tension of the conversation. 

"Tired?" Josh asked me when I yawned loudly. 

My head shot up worriedly, not wanting the comfort of the night to end. I was utterly exhausted, but I didn't want him to leave. 

"No, not tired at all," I said, shaking my head. 

"Okay," he smiled. 

Once we had sorted the rubbish into bags, I lay back on the deck, my legs hanging off over the steps. Josh joined me, folding his hands over his stomach as we peered up at the stars wordlessly. 

I didn't know which one of us fell asleep first, but we did, both succumbing to the lure of comfort and warmth that we had created in the past hour. 

Tag List ~ @wrldabomination @peaceoftheland @asacredthebread @jessiebronze2 @godly-sinsx @jenniferkiszka @peaceloveandotherstuff

And possibly you too! Interact with this post in any way to be added to the tag list :))

[m-for-musings]

I dumped the tags of my late WIP Wednesday post with musings about writing but I decided to make a separate post to talk about how DIFFERENT I feel writing about certain things now that I'm on my 30s.

I don't know if it's a common experience, but I feel like I am capable of delving into relationship dynamics without making it sound like teenager bickering now, and I couldn't before. Does anyone else feels it? Is it something that comes with the age, or it's simply a normal improvement in writing skills after studying and it could be acquired sooner if I was not lazy?

(speaking of studying narrative, I am lacking in this matter, if anyone has good referrals about romance writing I'm all ears)

Like... I rarely write about older couples. In my teens I was writing about 20-somethings under the narrow, distorted teenager lenses, aplying the teens imaturity issues in grown-up relationships (not that I didn't met adults with the emotional maturity of a teenager, but that's not what I am talking about).

In my early 20s, I got rid of the "love" theme entirely. I wrote YA angst fantasy, horror tales, lots of edgy stuff or plain smut, skipping the relationship part entirely. Character development? Healing? Nah, just angst with trauma dump and some p*rn now and then.

Now on my early 30s, I'm writing a slow burn romance for the first time (and it's a Baldur's Gate 3 fanfiction!) and exploring, also for the first time, the dynamics of two well-estabilished and mature characters (both the equivalent of 40 yo, if I'd make a human-esque equivalent), their approach to each other and most importantly, the process of healing from trauma that was caused to them and they caused each other in the past.

I'm not sure I got to properly depict this process, probably I'll be reading it in the future and I'll rewrite it all, but FOR THE FIRST TIME I see an improvement in my writing, not in the language per se — I know my english sucks and there's a lot of things I write that makes perfect sense in portuguese and spanish but in english it just sounds weird, sorry for that — but in my overall approach to delicate themes is much more empathetic now.

It's wild because I always had that view of "30 yo is too old to do (insert enjoyable thing here)" and now that I'm finally at this age I see that it's the exact opposite — I'm enjoying the things I love much more now. I was so, so dumb back then...

Damn this post took an unexpected turn to a totally unrelated topic. Thanks ADHD brain, I'll end it here.

[late-tothe-party-07]

Rating TMA fears because I'm bored (rating based on how scared I'd be if actively forced to interact with them)

Starting off strong with "The Eye": 3/10

It's actually more of a favorite than a fear. I'm constantly trying to see ways I could implement a similar thing in my books

The Spiral: 6/10

I like this one a lot (cause Michael, and cool color pallet, and funky vibes) but the thought of not being able to tell if I'm losing my mind and time seems to slip through my fingers faster than ever is a bit disturbing ngl

The End: 5/10

Death is a pretty big anxiety of mine, but I cope by just not thinking about it. So even if I was faced with this fear, I'd just try very hard to pretend I wasnt

The Slaughter: 7/10

The insatiable and desolate numbness of everything being dead is more sad than scary, but if I was the one being killed then maybe it'd be more scary.

The Web: 9/10

I wholeheartedly, genuinely, despise feeling in any way, manipulated. So if faced with this, I think I would burn everything and laugh as I burned too.

The Desolation: 4/10

I like fire, even if it was lightless fire. It's just a little guy and also the wax lady Jon met was kinda cool sue me.

The Stranger: 9/10

I don't frick with that living doll type crap! And clowns! Frick those guys. Anything plastic needs to stay fricking dead

The Lonely: 4/10

Ik I would eventually lose my mind with no contact and thus, no reason to be socially acceptable at all, but for a while I'd be chilling. And if I get fog and a boat it's even better

The Vast: 1/10

Oh no! Endless grass! Whatever shall I do *lays down and sleeps* (also Simon Fairchild and I would get along immensely. I'm having tea with that dude and Idc if he kills me later)

The Buried: 6/10

Half of me would just fall asleep (I did it a lot as a kid. Squeeze in somewhere small and knock out) but the other half of me knows if I ever went caving, and pushed, and realized there was no way out.....

Yeah no. No thank you.

The Dark: 7/10

Loved loved loved the Blanket Episode, but I still need a nightlight and I got trauma that usually took place at night lmao. No shadow demons here. Nah.

The Corruption: 8/10

Ive gotten conditioned to not care about messes but if a single bug touches me I am respectfully skinning myself, throwing it in the wash, and dying.

The Flesh: 9/10

*gags* Nope. Cartilage and tendons and skin flapping off just- *gags*

The Hunt: 9/10

An insatiable mindless thing always chasing and nothing. Nothing. Will stop it? Horrifying. Thanks I hate it. The only thing I think will save me is me just laying down and accepting it because that would be no fun for whatever's chasing me

The Extinction: 10/10

I purposely avoid "End Times" posts of any kind cause in 2020 mom would talk nonstop about it, and I went into a paranoid spiral that led to several panic attacks, and I refused to go outside cause I thought people would round us up. So like The End, I usually just avoid thinking about it. Absolutely would not be able to handle lmao

[starfleetwitch]

20 Questions for Writers

Thanks for the tag @technicallywrite

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

13

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

93,749

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Holby City (Berena)

Doctor who / UNIT (Kate Stewart, Sarah Jane Smith, Ace, Tegan and Osgood)

Worst Witch (Miss Hardbroom)

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Still Beating

The Gift

Happy Anniversary

Happy New Year Mrs and Mrs Wolfe

Operation: Steal your girl

5. Do you respond to comments?

I do my very best because I appreciate every single one of them!

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Its probably a toss up between Hush Little Baby , Happy Anniversary and The Ghost of Tomorrow

However, I am on the very CUSP of posting a new fic that even I'm like 'Oh my god... do you just dead ass hate happiness?' 😂

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I'm genuinely looking through my fics like... Omg I really do hate happiness. But alas, it was between The Gift and She's Not You and I feel like She's Not You wins because you technically had to read through trauma before it got there

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not on fics no. I once got hate on artwork though. The commenter said I should be ashamed and what would Elisabeth Sladen's family think about the fact I'd drawn Sarah Jane kissing another woman... Jokes on the commenter though cause Elisabeth Sladen's IRL daughter recently posted the artwork in question on her instagram because she was basically like HECK YEAH, GO FOR IT MUM! 😂

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Me? Write smut? I don't even... I... WHAT IS SMUT?

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I'm currently writing a long ass fic that crosses over with SEVERAL fandoms within the Jemma Redgrave Multiverse just so I can make a 'We don't talk about Bruno' reference

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Nope.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Technically yes but it was never published. I DID illustrate fics for a couple of people though!

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

Berena... with a side order of Kate Stewart just getting her some from anyone and everyone apparently. Womans been through a lot man... she just needs herself some comfort.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

The multiverse fic with the we dont talk about Bruno reference 😂

Nah for real I'm gonna say Still Beating. Bernies been bleeding out on the trauma unit floor for 4 years now, maybe more. Even if I DO get round to finishing it, it wont be what I wanted it to be. I had a lot of avenues to go down with the ex husband being involved in her treatment and recovery and now I've lost a bit of heart in it that I might cut that section out.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Oh. I... don't know. I don't know if I actually have any, I just write.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Sometimes I compare myself to other writers and I get really frustrated when I cant write poetically like them. When I read their work I really FEEL an emotional connection. I read slowly just to savour the words because they're so delicious and I'd LOVE to know how to do write like that.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

If it calls for it... ok? I don't understand the question. I didn't know this was an issue I needed to have thoughts on.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

1998 Worst Witch. I started as I meant to go on. Inflicting trauma on my favs with no real plan to bring them out of it 😂

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

Oh don't make me choose my favourite child! I enjoyed writing Still Beating but I'm gonna say Operation: Steal your girl cause I just had SO MUCH FUN with it and the comments make me believe others also had fun reading it 😂

RIGHT! On to the taggy tags: @akaanonymouth @seahorsepencils @ktlsyrtis @colourmestoked04 @defo-not-sfw

[thetentaclecommander]

20 questions for fic writers

Sures, I'll bite @the-bar-sinister!

1. How many works do you have on AO3? 49 on my TheTentacleCommander main 2 on SerpentineAndWet 1 on SoftTentacledJazz (which I will get back to!) and 1 on Waymaiden Jelecia (shelved for now) so in total: 53

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?  471,114 in total spanning all accounts the huge bulk being under TTC.

3. What fandoms do you write for? Resident Evil. I'm very much a ride or die writer when it comes to fandom longevity lol

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos? Electronic Brawling (the Nem/Reader fic I wrote over a weekend, 322) Tentacles Are -Not- Toys (Until They Are) (the Nem/Jill I wrote over a weekend, 288) To Teach a (b)oy (the femdom Jill/Nem fic I wrote cause I wanted to just be as kinky as possible about it, 138) Need. Excite. Take. (a morning warm up I did for a Tyrantfucker chat, 130) Teaching the Devil (my 'serious' drabble that turned into a longfic/1st part of a myth arc around Nem/Jill and all the whatifs that could happen, 105) *yes, I'm aware the smut is what sells lol*

5. Do you respond to comments? Yes! I love receiving them and answer, especially in depth ones.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Ah, ha haha this one's tough. My main ship (Nemesis/Jill) is in my hands intentionally angsty so many do end on that note. If I had to chose it'd be a tie between After The Fall - Where Nemesis *really* struggles between caring for her and wanting to hurt the absolute fuck out of her. Necromancy - It's hard surreal/dreamy on purpose (also a fic staple of mine) that ends with Nemesis having done all he has to make Jill 'happy' is so deeply unhappy with himself in the end - but still continues to perpetuate the lotus eater world he's crafted for them.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?  Where the wild things... - a really hard surreal dream fic of where Nemmy's head was at halfway through the 3rd arc. He has such an idealized, near childlike hope which is big for a generally angry and resentful creature. He clearly wants the world with Jill, where the chase benefits them both but a lot of the edges - like her own traumas - are shaved off. It's telling his dream was inspired by a children's book about dealing with anger, fear and finding/seeking comfort. But it's happy in the sense he gets that comfort he wanted so badly throughout his creation, and that when he awakens, it's with him now determined to reunite with her and their offspring. (con't after the cut)

8. Do you get hate on fics? Not really? When I was on ff.net I got snippy comments (I was a young babby then) but looking back it was just what we'd call today fanpol wanking to wank. These days I assume ppl are aware what I'm about so if I were to garner hate, I'd just laugh and write Nemmy fucking Jill even harder in unfortunate places. I can always go darker, kids.

9. Do you write smut? *stares at the camera deeply* Yesss? All the smut? They tend to range from soft heartwarming lovemaking, to conflicted should we be doing this, to rapey horrors, just weird monstery shit and then the kink. Just kinky shit all over the place. Very character study leaning.

10. Do you write crossovers?  Nah. I already have a lot in my head just handling one franchise!

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?  Not to my knowledge but with the way I write it's gunna be a pretty fun time in pulling off imitating my voice as I sound high on my own fumes about a decidedly rare pair no one seems to wanna admit liking rofl That and all the formatting hell

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?  Yea! In Russian.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?  Nah, I'm too much of a prima donna to share billing /jk I just don't like collabing unless it's for an rp but I'm also never say never about such things!

14. What’s your all-time favorite ship? *stares even harder at the camera* I...I'm the longest running one trick pony about having a parasitized Tyrant try to not murder with prejudice the most well trained person on the RE cast I make no secret about this :3 Also let me note my other most liked ships I have written on: Weskertine, Creva, and the Ada and Carlos tour. Valenfield ig (I do truly like em but they aren't as exciting to write for in comparison but I indeed do write them sometimes). Note these are for canons, I have loads more favs but they are ocs.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? I have like 15+ wips in my drafts. I don't wanna pick one cause it's just painful to look at them begging to be finished. The ones on my account I have every intent to finish. Mostly because they are related to the AU and it wouldn't make sense if I didn't finish them.

16. What are your writing strengths? The sex lol (and being weird with it). I've been told my imagery and word play in general is stellar.  

17. What are your writing weaknesses? I feel my dialogue could be better and it's where I struggle (unless it's my muses Nem, Jill, Trent and Zeus as they are the ones I've written for the most in fic/rps) so I always try to improve on that always.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? Don't wanna. I tried, hated not knowing if the language was correct (looking at you, Carlos) so just did ye old << >> to imply he's not speaking English.

19. First fandom you wrote for?  Resident Evil. I am nothing if not persistent. (like my first fic was like in 2005-6? I think?)

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?  Again another tie but it's a 3 way *eyebrow wiggle*! A Slumber Recalled, A Devil Held - this was my 'can I do something soft but pained at the same time' fic. It's a revisit of the time they finally after 20+ chapters did the do, and it's from her pov instead. A lot of re contextualizing and 'wow both of these people have baggage and are doing this not out of love but to feel heard and it *hurts*'. Proved to myself that I can write something hard hitting without a single cry of physical pain. St. Valentine - where what was to be a simple Valentine's Day fic became a fun sacrilegious love poem from a very not at all obsessive Tyrant and then had an added chapter of the reverse side of Jill sounding mentally not all there almost fragmented in her feelings towards what this was between them. So much enjoyable word play was had. Necromancy - discussed above but has my brand of word play, leaning on the fourth wall/formatting/surreal and increasing uncomfortable.

------- All my writer mutes, have at! @damadisangue @naerwenia @coiled-dragon @s-dei @lmshady @azulas-daddy-kink @depraveddove @unchartedperils @sweet7simple @goth-automaton @dekujin @katophoenix (If I missed one of ya or you do write also join in :D)

[aita-blorbos]

(FANFIC)

AITA for using my brother's depression against him in an argument?

Okay, I know that sounds bad, but hear me out here. I'm (???M) currently traveling with three of my siblings, who, for the sake of anonymity, I'll refer to as S(???NB), P(???M), and M(???F). It should be noted that among all of us, P is the youngest and M is the eldest~

I won't tell the full story here as it's not too relevant, but to put it simply, P dealt with some serious shit in the past that resulted in him becoming sick, and M dying (she got better) due to his attempt to cross himself out. It should also be mentioned that our "parents" as he decided to call them, though I'd barely refer to them as such, also left the world in a similar way, though their method was more… effective. This was a very, VERY long time ago.

Soo, anyway, we showed up at S's place hoping to pick them up and take them with us on our trip, and that all worked out fine, but we decided to take a rest for a while to get settled. Turns out, get settled was quite the opposite of what we did! M ended up almost passing out from heatstroke, (something I didn't even know we could GET!) says she's felt similar before around water, (her near-death experience was rain-related,) and S tells her that sounds like PTSD. PTSD!!!

I mean, we were all shocked. M tried to ask P some questions about everything but he clammed up and refused to talk about it, though M seems pretty sure he's gotten some sort of trauma as well… Which I guess wouldn't be surprising considering what his end of the bargain was. And, I dunno… I thought I was starting to get over what happened, but with that all out in the open it kinda felt like we were right back to square one, haha~

Aaanyway, just now M confessed to listening to one of our creator's voice memos from long before they died, she found it in S's place, and ended up getting so mad listening to it that she accidentally crushed it in her hand. P is a HUGE nerd, so of course he started complaining about how that's a "important part of history" she destroyed, but personally I don't think they would have said anything worthwhile.

When I said that though, P got MAD. Like, REALLY mad. He accused me of not having the mind to appreciate anything they were saying! Which, of COURSE I don't, unlike HIM I was never a suicidal asshole with a god complex like them! I told him that, then he had the audacity to call us ALL their children, so I kindly reminded him of how they abandoned us and left us to rot. But surely that's fine, right? He's so much like them he could probably understand perfectly!

That shut him up, but then M yelled at me. P gave her PTSD and she's taking HIS side. She's way too forgiving, no way is she gonna have a fair opinion! But when I said that, she accused me of not having the empathy to have one either, as if empathy has anything to do with him being the cause of her DEATH. She— she called me the idiot! I'm not the one trying to fix my shitty little brother that murdered me! But apparently he's made "progress" that I've seen myself, and she's not gonna let being mad get in the way of healing or whatever. She said things are "different" now, said she wasn't gonna stand for the insinuation that she was stupid for wanting to fix things and just stormed off with P.

S was there for the whole thing, and they won't talk to me now. M and P have been gone for a while too, and I'm too mad to chase after them. Personally, I don't think he's made much of an effort at all. Sure he apologized and is less of an ass now than he used to be, but that's never gonna make up for what happened between them— between us! Is there just something about this I'm not seeing here?

[mulletmitsuya]

I actually liked the ending, I just wish it had more material to go along with that. Like I wanted more content!😩Like ngl I was devastated when Tokyo Revengers ended. Imo the characters carry the story rather than the plot itself. Tokyo Revengers is the type of story where I'd be happy if it was a slice of life cuz that's how attached I am to the characters 😳 I also dislike Drakemma, love them individually but I never really cared for them as a ship and quite honestly I get the ick with them 😖 I'd rather have had Mitsuya x Yuzuha get together than those two🫣 the few moments they shared had more impact on me than whatever tf Draken and Emma had going on sorry 😬 But nah Yuzuha JUST had to brozone him😒and have a crush on TAKEMICHI instead 😵‍💫 ( I try to delete that shit off my mind😵)

I think a lot of people who are happy with the ending have this opinion lol. That it wasn't as long as it was supposed to be and I complete agree. I personally hate it but I also choose to enjoy the good parts of it, bad writing aside. Seeing the Bajitrio happy and alive!!! And I get what you mean about the characters carrying the whole thing. I think that's why I was a bit iffy about the ending. The same characters we watched grow and go through the things they did aren't exactly the same people we say. Idk if that makes sense. Every time I say this people rebuttal it with saying "Oh so you want these kids to be traumatized??" and uhm no, that's not what I want. I'm just saying you don't have to remove a characters trauma to like them more. In my opinion.

Tbh I don't think I've ever heard someone say they don't like Drakemma😂. I also didn't care much for it because I thought it was one sided for a while. But it's definitely one of my favs now. The yearning, the angst, the "what could have been". It all really does it for me. I also thought that most Drakemma dislikers didn't like it cause they paired Draken with Mikey. Which I get because I'm a multishipper tbh.I personally don't care for Yuzuha and Mitsuya but I can see the moments you're speaking of. And I've never really cared for her having a crush on Takemitchy. It made sense to me that she had a crush on the guy who basically saved her from an abusive household. I mean I'd be giggling and blushing too😭.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

Am I the asshole for farting on public transport?

I feel a ton of anxiety over this, even though I find it funny.

A while back I messed up my lower abdomen from holding in gas. Not bad enough to give me a hernia, but it likely could cause damage if I hold it in or fight the urge. During the checkup I had for my gut trauma, the doctor told me holding it in at all is not a good idea, and to fart when I have to.

In any case, I try not to stink up a place, especially in public, but sometimes I sneak a fart or two, which I never used to do before the hernia scare.

With this in mind, I had to take a train for 3 hours to visit a group of friends over the new years weekend. On the train home, I was exhausted, and wasn't able to properly let out gas while hanging out with my friends. I'd gone to the bathroom, but it wasn't enough, so I popped a few farts quietly in my seat.

The air conditioning was going pretty well, so I thought I was in the clear. Plus, I only farted twice. I was masking cause public transport after New Year's is gnarly even without covid, so it was hard to smell. Usually, even with a mask, you can smell it, but I couldn't smell anything.

There was an older woman in front of me (maybe 60s?) who kept coughing. I thought she had covid or old person lungs, but at one point, she got up and looked behind her and said, "oh, god". I was pretending I didn't know what she was doing just in case, so I didn't see her face or if she was looking at me. I'm also visibly gay, and get called tons of messed up stuff by strangers, and lowkey thought she was being homophobic at first before remembering I ripped ass lol

The train was practically empty at this point, and had plenty of free seats elsewhere, though it didn't when I'd first boarded, which is why I was behind her. I thought, if she's upset about the stink, couldn't she move a few feet away? It can't be that bad. She kept getting up and pacing back and forth, then sitting back down, so she could always move to a seat not so close if it's cause I'm stinky.

At the end of my trip, she was walking around again. I went to get my bags ready, and she looked at me and asked "do you get off at this station or the next?" I told her this was my stop, and she didn't ask anything else. She took her stuff and left first. I didn't see her for the rest of the ride. She only had one small bag, so it made me more confused why she didn't change seats if she smelled something foul.

When I got home, I let that shit rip and it absolutely stunk way worse than I was expecting. I was surprised as hell, I thought she was overreacting. I've been thinking about it for a while now, and wonder if I should have done something differently.

Am I the asshole for farting in public?

What are these acronyms?