#nah i'd cause trauma

[aldermos]

this is so out of left field mb 😭

[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.

[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

[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

[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

[murdermitties]

I love that drawing of swift and bright! Do you have anything more on that au or is it just for the designs? Cause 'hunting dog au' is a really cool name and I'd love to know more about it

Thank you!

And nah there isn't anything to it really, just got a few separate thoughts that lead to one conjoined idea— thinking how it made sense that the snake rock dogs were hunting dogs cuz they actually have the prey drive to hunt anything that runs, thinking "oh bright and swift are the same colours as the dogs I grew up with" and finally Brighthound and Swiftcur (cur is another word for mutt) are badass names

Which is how most of my aus are born tbh

But I guess on the top of my head I can think about events and divergences for the au

Tiger does end up killing Blue

He'd brought the dogs to the clans a little earlier as a very poorly thought out backup plan

So now they're his problem, and since he's already given them Runningwind (in this au at least) they're already associating cats with food

Anyway with Swift being Longs apprentice and Bright being Whites (a follower and a good friend), Tiger decides they can get an early assessment (fucked logic but mans not too bright lbh)

Bright and Swift get send to hunt near snakerock something no one thought was a bad idea

They get mauled and found by Cloud, Fire and Long, still alive

Tiger says their survival was a reward by starclan and they shall be gifted names the fit such a memorable event Hound and Cur

They're completely fucked up after the event, but buy into the whole "you survived for a reason" Tiger is spewing, cuz kids gotta deal with trauma ya kno

Further than that idk

[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😭.

[chronicallyuniconic]

Do doctors exist simply to torment? What the fuck just happened😖

I cannot believe the fucking telephone appointment I've just had. It was setup a couple of weeks ago under "medication review" but didn't specify what medication they'd be reviewing. A simple medication review. I've done it 1000 times, usually with a pharmacist.

This time, a doctor/pharmacist/receptionist I don't know, I've never heard or seen before calls (even tho it's from the surgery number), "I'm ringing about your med review" I ask him to clarify which ones as I wasn't told. One of them is my migraine tablet(M), the other my asthma inhaler(A).

"How long have you been on M?" "You can't be on M anymore as they (are known to) impact your asthma" I explained I'd been on them for a long while and have not had any asthma problems because of them. I explained what does flare my asthma. Then he says "well if M are causing wheezing..." No I said, they don't cause wheezing, I've had no problems despite you saying they impact my asthma." He responds with, "How do you know its asthma, what if you DON'T have asthma?" is this guy taking the piss? I look at my phone to make sure I am actually speaking to the fucking surgery I'm registered with.

Like... I get inhalers every month, before covid I go to asthma clinic every year (because you have to), I had to have my tonsils removed as a child because they stopped me breathing & tonsilitis always made asthma flare. It's been there since childhood (thanks for the prenatal cigarettes mam). And all of a sudden my old ass is having to explain to what is basically a stranger on my phone, about my own asthma. This guy is sat there with my medical notes for fucks sake. I say to him "sorry are you actually questioning whether or not I have asthma something I've had my whole life?"

He goes back to his original point. "you can't have M anymore because of asthma" so I ask how to manage migraines without M. He offers another medication i can't take because they make you sleepy, and I already take meds that do that. If he'd looked...."oh they make you sleepy do they," talking to himself" well yes you would be quite zonked out so let's not do that one then"

He offers another medication used for "blood pressure." High, low? Who fucking knows? I told him about my BP problems for him to say "well let's see how you get on with it or give us a ring back" not even caring or failing to understand the frequency and severity of which I faint. Again, read my notes.

I'm waiting for a Neurology appointment I explain, as I have been having frequent seizures. "and what have they said about migraines?" IM WAITING FOR THE APPOINTMENT ASSHOLE. "oh yes, I see that here now, seizures, yes."

He goes back to asthma. I am just dying to get off the phone, I want this conversation to end. I am beyond livid. Multiple times he actually questioned diagnoses that are on his damn screen or didn't even bother to look at. He's prescribed something I didn't even hear the name of because I wanted to launch my phone, that I can "pick up" from reception. My guy, I am bed/housebound. Again, if he only read the notes.

Now I have to wait to see what this is, understand why and if what he was going on about with the M is correct. It feels weird to be suddenly told nah ya can't really be on this now, unless some rules have changed overnight and they're having to cover their tracks.

This guys behaviour and words caused all sorts of medical trauma to surface, that constant battle of not being believed, being second guessed, and this time it's about fucking asthma, you know my INABILITY to breathe. I must somehow be imagining it and not really need an inhaler eh?

The best bit, the cherry on top, the icing on the cake, the bit that lessened my anger and brought me back to the sick joke the world is playing was "we would like to see you about your asthma and inhalers but due to STAFF SICKNESS, it will have to be in the New Year."

They forget that I have chronic fatigue and chronic pain, I'm just left to deal with this shit. Most of the time, I can't because I'm unable. So fed up. I just want to be believed. Heard. Does anyone do their job properly anymore? Do any doctors exist that want to help a patient or is it just fiction for the television?

Exhausted after all this.

[dausy]

I had a follow up doctors appointment yesterday and it was kinda sweet, my husband wanted to go with me. He said he didn't trust me to not tell the truth and then walk out.

I know what its like to work with doctors so I'm always kinda like in my head "mmhmmm..Im sure youre nice" but tbh this is the first doctor who has ever listened to me and actually did tests and offered to do tests and not just tell me Im having anxiety and send me on my way.

that being said everything so far came back normal which is nice. I had a vascular doctor look at my "birthmark" and did an mri to make sure it wasn't elsewhere. In particular I wanted to make sure it wasn't causing my headaches.

and I got put on topamax for migraine prevention. Its a long story and more to it than that but hopefully my stomach will heal and I'll get some headache relief. Funny enough though I took the first dose of topamax last night, I was awake all night, couldn't sleep and I had a headache...she said she'd see me back in a month and the next step would be botox injections.

my husband bought me an oreo shake for being a good girl at the doctor lmao.

I think we are now planning a trip to visit California next month. Weird to think same time last year we were in California as well. My SiL who just graduated nursing school wants to take a beach trip before starting her big girl job and doesn't really want to go by herself. She offered to pay me and my husbands way..nah...cant take money from a 22 year old. My husband has hotel points and we essentially used them to pay for a beach house on the naval base down there. We just need to pay for plane tickets and dog boarding. I got my last ever paycheck from work last friday and I'm already having panic attacks over spending money. We are fine, this is just my childhood trauma speaking. I say we are planning because my husband still has to get the time off approved lmao. But we have the beach house. I stayed an an airforce beachhouse once and it was pretty much like a medical clinic lobby..so don't get too excited thinking its fancy..but it was half the price of hotels in the area. Think we are planning on visiting the zoo and I'd like to see some of the museums they have out there. Dont know yet. I hate airplanes though. Having more anxiety already.

---

for graphical effects heres the illustration I worked on last night. I got an advertisement for a yoga mat competition and I was like "interesting interesting" with no real desire to join it but it got me thinking how would I design a yoga mat and it made me think of those mandalas you usually see and then I realized Id never used that mirror feature before in procreate. So I decided yesterday was the day to learn the mirror feature. This was honestly the hardest thing I've done in a while and then to put that much effort digitally..the real issue was I didn't have a plan other than "make it swirly" but then I realized you can't just..make it swirly...if I hadn't have made perfect eyes and a nose on the immediate first attempt I would have abandoned it. I literally made a bunch of swirls and then had to connect the dots to make some form of sense to the madness. Erase and connect lines and end lines and curse myself for making so many lines. But it turned out ok. I might have entered my digital lineart era. Ive never been one for digital lineart. Like, now that I know...I kinda want to attempt it again.

[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?

[elizaellwrites]

Incorrect Quotes Tag Game

This is my first time playing this, so thank you @rickie-the-storyteller for tagging me in this!

Soft tags for @theimperiumchronicles, @human-still-developing, @verba-writing, @marigoldispeculiar, and @winterandwords

Here is the generator link if you need it!

Here are some incorrect quotes from my characters

Jacob and Roselle

Jacob: If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're impressed. Roselle: But you do know better.

2. Elaine and Ryan

Elaine: I have issues. Ryan: Finally, you admit it! The first step to redemption is accept- Elaine: With you.

3. Rachel and Evan

Evan, in the hospital: Will you visit me when I get out? Rachel: Lol nah, I hate graveyards.

4. Ryan and Jacob

Ryan: I got an idea! Jacob: Does it involve breaking the law? Ryan: By now don’t you think that’s a given? Jacob: I was just trying to be optimistic. Ryan: Don’t bother.

5. Amber and Cameron

Cameron: You have an impressive pain tolerance. Amber: Thanks, it's the trauma.

6. Elaine and Eleanor

Elaine: WHOEVER CAUSED THIS MESS IS GOING TO- Eleanor: It was me... Elaine: ...Is going to be forgiven because everyone deserves a second chance.

7. Amber and Jacob

Jacob: I got grounded for a whole week just because I came home late. Amber: Well, you deserved it. I mean, getting everyone's hopes up like that and then showing up again.

8. Ben and Rachel

Ben: Just be yourself. Say something nice. Rachel: Which one? I can't do both.

9. Anna and Jacob

Jacob: So you like cats? Anna: Yeah. Jacob: *tries to impress them by slowly pushing a glass off the table*

10. Elaine and Anna

Anna: You know, when I first met you I thought you were a real bitch. Elaine: What changed your mind? Anna: Oh, I still think you're a bitch. I've just grown to like that about you.

[egg-emperor]

"I love that Eggman is pure evil. If I wanted a nice/peaceful character I'd..." is kind of a false dichotomy, man. Most people aren't arguing he's pure good, just that (despite still being a bad person) he has some good qualities here and there. It's fine to not believe that yourself, I'm not arguing against it. Just that I feel most people aren't making out Eggman to be like Tinker (a good guy), but rather making him out to be like Bowser (a bad guy who's not supposed to be completely bad).

Nah it's not, trust me. Speaking from experience, I've seen a whole bunch of people who specifically say they like him as a character but literally dislike his evil despite that being the main point and defining descriptor of his character as the villain, and want him to be morally gray/a good guy/hardly evil at all as a result and that's just not who game Eggman is.

But they insist he is, that he doesn't know he's evil or doesn't really want to be deep down and has no choice, try to give him excuses or reasons for his evil like trauma to justify his villainy, downplay his cold-hearted acts, and now say that he's becoming a better person because of Frontiers despite the game not actually suggesting this at all.

And these are some of the same who get at me for liking Eggman as evil as he appears and how I write him that way and share my findings in analysis, and that's what I'm specifically referring to in that other post. I'm just questioning it because I don't understand what is so bad or unlikable about the main villain of the series actually being evil.

And again I'm just not a fan of the Eggman and Bowser comparison if it's to say they're alike because they're really not, it just emphasizes how different they are even more to me. Game Bowser isn't as evil as game Eggman. I'm a much newer Mario fan but people more knowledgeable than me have put into words why Bowser is the better guy than Eggman better than I could

But when it comes to Eggman, he causes mass amounts of global destruction, pollution, damage to the environment and wildlife, tried to kill kids as young as six and eight years old, has abusive behaviors that create multiple plot points, and wants to rule the entire world and be the emperor dictator who has power and control over everything and everyone and suppress freedom.

He has no limits known aside from actually destroying the entire planet so he can't rule it and that's not for moral reasons but purely selfish ones. He also isn't genuinely nice and selfless in any capacity, not even in his relationships with his creations and lackeys, which have most often been abusive and caused many to try to betray and escape him.

I know you said you're not trying to argue against it and I'm not trying to argue either but I just want to say that with all that in mind, I just can't understand the Bowser comparison. Eggman has had much more catastrophic impactful acts in the games over him in the games I know of, so the comparison doesn't seem fair. Eggman has the most inherently evil and dangerous intentions.

There are people out there who make him out to be like Tinker as much as there are ones that make him out to be just like Bowser, or at least wish he'd be like both, neither of which I can understand or get behind. Eggman is really that bad, I don't see any solid evidence in any of the games that suggests otherwise when you look at the examples they commonly use in full canon context.

If we were talking about Boom Eggman specifically however, then I could see where people are coming from and it would be more accurate. But game Eggman has never been less than diabolical evil.