#neil this is all your fault (affectionate)

[ineffablemossy]

(original non-crack theory below because I got carried away while writing this)

Hear me out:

Chene = oak tree

Vel = old french word for the hood you put on the bird in falconry

Nightingales live in broadleaf woodland LIKE OAK TREES (also scrubland to be accurate about it)

Nightingale predators, like most small birds, include various mammals and LARGER BIRDS OF PREY (e.g. some falcons, buzzards etc.)

Oaks + falcons = no nightingales

Make of that what you will fandom

Alternatively (the reason I started this post lol):

For a minute I thought ooh this is a reference to a comic book artist! Aaaand then realised the spelling is out by one letter...

But for the sake of amusement. There was a Belgian comic book author named Fernand Cheneval (1918-1991) who was very active during the post-war period. He wrote 'heroic' stories, including in Tintin.

Not gonna link to the work because I'm not well versed in it and know that plenty of comics of that time (like Tintin) have outdated and problematic depictions in them, particularly around race. But you can google his name if you like.

My thoughts were perhaps it's a reference to an author, as Neil is also a comic book author himself ofc. But maybe not, sadly the spelling is not quite the same.

FWIW there's no way Crowley actually got this bottle from the local restaurant. It's far too old, so must have been miracled. Maybe next season we'll get a minisode set in 1938, en France peutetre?

The wine that Crowley drinks after the "I know what you are" convo with Nina is a 1938 Chenevel Rouge.

Chenevel Rouge.... if you rearrange the letters you can spell these words: urgence he love.

Urgence is an archaic form of urgency.

Is this something is this a ✨️Clue✨️ or am I losing it send crepes send help.

(Chenevel Rouge also sounds slightly like evil red dog in French.)

[bananakeiky]

This isn't about Hoyo I just needed to vomit some AFTG thoughts into a public space and I just finished ToS and I'm rabid. I have no idea how many of y'all even read this series but spoilers. And trigger warnings. Anyways.

Okay what the fuck ever the thing about ToS isn't just about of the extra trigger warnings and things that made me wanna throw up and cry at the same time. It's about how horribly, tragically awful it is that Jean is full of so much love. He always has been. It's not just haha what a pansexual no. Jean craves affection so fucking much. He's weak to pretty people and devastated by kind people. He clung to Kevin. He clung to Renee. He even clung to Thea, who affectionately called him Paris as he trailed her like a little duckling. He spits and rages and claws at them all, calling them every rabid name in the dictionary and beyond. He has a laundry list of insults for Neil, who freed him, one of the only people he truly trusts. It's just that he never expects it back. He never wants it back because it hurts so much worse when it's gone. People hurt him when it's gone. He says "I can take it" and "this is normal" because he would burn if he couldn't.

This is why he rejects the Trojans. Every "don't you see" and "why do you look away" is well-meaning but twice as hurtful because accepting it would mean Jean didn't hurt because he deserved it. Without that crutch it means he suffered for nothing. He hurt for nothing. Accepting it would mean that Jean would have to open up and fully comprehend the absolute horrors that were done not just to his life but to his personhood. To him. He was a child and a victim and he deserved to be saved and he wasn't. Not until it was too late. All of those years after being sold by his parents, yearning, aching to be loved by somebody and used as a toy and a scapegoat in return by anyone who touched him. Love is painful. Trust is painful. And Jean will love and love and love until it kills him and he knows it.

But this is why Kevin sent him to the Trojans. They may not understand survival and suffering the way the Foxes do, but they're genuine. They may be misguided with some of their efforts and need to take time learning how Jean works but they try and try and keep trying. They understand their own faults and healthy coping mechanisms and how to treat your worst enemies with respect. Hell, nearly the entirety of Jeremy's inner circle are in queer relationships with each other except for himself because he's too busy thinking about other people to work on that. This is what Jean needs to learn, that people can give without asking for anything in return. That people can be selfless and care for one another without ulterior motives. That love can be healthy and beautiful and not cruel.

And listen. I've been rooting for Jerejean for eight goddamn years. You have no idea how hard I fell when I realized that the ship that embodies the entire idea of healing, self-growth, and respect had been actualized and it's everything I ever wanted and more. The fact that Jeremy helps Jean buy his very first possession. The fact that he's so protective of Jean and thinks he's more important than exy, that Jean will be his success story. When he holds his hands and begs him to open up and backs off when Jean needs space, but never leaves and never gives up. How he spends so much time organizing people and schedules and events just so Jean can feel safe walking around campus. He never pushes too hard, but he never stops pushing. He's so patient. He wants Jean. He wants him so bad, but more than that, he wants Jean to love himself above all else. He's there when Jean has a panic attack at the pool, and sticks around as close as he can after Jean gets attacked. He stays up by the door all night when Jean goes out with Neil to an unknown location. All of this on top of revitalizing the Trojans, dealing with his shit family and the shittier rumors, having to train Jean out of killing his team and teaching his team to trust Jean in return.

Even after all of that his number one priority is always Jean, his head is filled with Jean, making the world comfortable and safe for Jean. It's making sure all of his friends know Jean. Never letting Jean be alone. Getting another twin bed so he can room with him. Always correcting himself, slowing down and speeding up so he can match Jean's pace. Fucking Barkbark. And yes, Renee could have done this too. She was the right person, and yes, the wrong time. But Jeremy found Jean at the right time, a time where he would dedicate everything to Jean. And if Jean one day turns around and wants to give that back, he'll be there, but he'll be just as happy knowing Jean is going to be okay.

ToS is a story about healing. It's about growth and battling the consequences of a life you did not choose. It's about unfairness. It's about what happens after a tragedy, and how to cope with yourself as much as you cope with the outside world. It's about becoming. It's about demons. It's about loyalty. It's about love. It's not about romance. Not yet. But it's about a romance that couldn't exist without it. It's setting up a story about someone who learns to accept that, tragically, he deserves to be treated like a human being. With love. And that he can still have it. That it's right there, waiting for him, when he's ready. He just has to reach out and take it.

[imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl]

A Light in the Darkness {Part 04 of 07}

Pairing: Eddie Munson X Hargrove!twinsister Reader

Chapter word count: 1.6 K

Summary: After Billy died, you got stuck in a dark place, where you didn't have to deal with your feelings. Your friends don't know what to do but to drag you away from the many fights you pick. And life was dragging itself, an agonizing day after the other... Until Eddie Munson broke through the very high walls you built around yourself.

<- Previous part (03)

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{Stranger Things Masterlist}

Gentle Touch

The doorbell rang and you knew immediately who was. He had to be on time, you think, checking the clock.

You had a change of heart in the afternoon, telling Maxine to get in touch with Eddie to let him know you wouldn't be going to any party. But she said no, there was a huge argument - as usual -, and here you are, forced by a kid to dress up for a stupid party.

When you leave your room, there's that odd feeling as you pass through Billy's bedroom. His things are still in there, you couldn't throw them away or donate them, the reason why Susan suggested you all moved to another house. Might be unhealthy for you, she once said, living here. But you can't. First, Neil is forced by the law to pay for this house, and second, you can't leave it all behind. The last memories of your brother, alive and breathing.

“Oh my!” Susan exclaims when she sees you coming from the hall. ��You look absolutely gorgeous!”

Looking down at yourself and then back at her, you offer a small smile. “Thanks.” The outfit was hand-picked by Maxine. The dress, sparkly black with pink details, has thin straps, which you covered by a very feminine, beige leather jacket. The red lipstick brings out the blue in your eyes, and Max also helped you style your hair in waves, letting the dark strawberry locks roll down your shoulders and back. “All Maxine's doing, I must confess.”

“You look fabulous.” The girl says, a bright smile on her lips. Eddie, who stands next to her near the couch, has his eyes set on you. And... A weird expression on his face. “Right, Eddie?”

Max elbows him, and the guy clears his throat, nodding. “Have you lost your tongue, Munson?” You ask, wondering if this heat crawling over your cheeks means that you're blushing. God, you hope not.

“Yeah. I mean no.” He steps closer, glancing at both Maxine and Susan before walking over to you. “You look... Stunning. Like, you always do but really, this time...” His voice fades as his eyes move through your body, a dazed look on his face.

“Go now, before the poor boy passes out,” Susan says, touching your arm affectionately. “I'm happy to see you going out again, (Y/N). Have fun, alright?” It feels like she wants to hug you, but as usual, Susan keeps her distance. She blames herself for what happened, you know it, but you also know it wasn't her fault. After the marriage, Neil acted like a good father before her eyes. It took a year for her to be pulled into the mess.

Three years into the marriage, Neil started hitting her too, every once in a while. It wasn't as often as you and Billy, but if she crossed him, she'd pay for it. So, you're not that different, you think.

But it doesn't matter now, with Neil God knows where and you heading to a party. “Alright.” Sighing, you head to the door, car keys in hand.

“Hey, I...” Eddie mutters, jogging a little until he's next to you. “I came with the van.”

“Sorry, Munson, but that won't happen,” You say, swinging the keys in front of his face. “Do you even know how fast this baby can go?”

“I'm not sure I wanna find out.”

“You don't have to. I know.” Shrugging, you make the way to your car, getting into the passenger seat. “Don't get me wrong.” You say when he's seated by your side. “But driving is one of the few things I still find joy in life.”

“Well, I'd let you drive the van if that's the problem.”

For some reason, that makes you chuckle. “My car is also one of the few things I still find joy in.” With that, you speed off, not minding the seatbelt.

On the way to Olivia's, Eddie keeps the small talk. Maybe it's on purpose, the way he avoids anything delicate or dangerous. Maybe not. Whatever reason, you just go with it. Nothing wrong with being a normal girl for one night. Or pretending to be.

Olivia's house is lit up. There are Christmas lights all over, and the music is loud. You're already singing along when you park the car over the lawn, with two others. “Kinda rude, don't you think?” Eddie comments as you turn the ignition off.

“It's already ruined. One more car won't matter.” Checking your face in the mirror, you get out. “Let's go surprise some people.”

The front door is open, and the people hanging on the porch are the first victims of the night. They look at you, eyes going wide, and when they see Eddie, their mouths go almost as wide as their eyes. You being here is shocking enough for them, but seeing you here with Eddie Munson? D&D roleplay game leader Eddie Munson? They're dumbfounded.

As you move inside, through the living room, and into the kitchen to grab yourself a soda can, many eyes move with you. It makes you smile, a quick, fading smile, but still, an improvement. “I don't think they're happy to see me,” Eddie says on your ear as you take some sips from your can.

“So what? If they don't they can place a formal complaint.”

“Complain to whom?”

Smirking, you look at him. “To me.” You simply say. “I'll give you fifty bucks if anyone in this party dares to say anything about me bringing you.”

Eddie looks around, leaning against the kitchen island. “Jason might. If he's even here.”

“He wouldn't. And he isn't.” Jerking your head to the living room, you take his arm. “Let's go. I need to find Olivia and then dance.”

“You? Dancing?” He yells above the music.

“Well, since I'm already here.”

It's hard to find Olivia in the ever-growing crowd, but you manage to corner her in the upstairs hall. The girl's face lights up, and she pulls you into a tight hug.

“I can't believe you came!” She shouts, not letting go of you. “I had no hopes at all.”

“I didn't bring any gifts.” You mutter, pulling away gently, embarrassed. It's your friend's birthday party and buying her a gift didn't even cross your mind. “I'll buy you something tomorrow.”

“No, no. Having you here, finally out to have some fun is the best gift I could ever have.” The honesty in her voice has you controlling yourself not to cry.

“I don't even know what to say, Livie.”

“Don't say anything. Grab your date and let's dance.” She takes your hand, you take Eddie's, and you let her guide you back to the living room.

For the next hours, you dance. Without a damn worry in the word, you dance to every song. With Olivia, and with Eddie too. You don't think much, you just focus on this moment. Eddie is a great dancer, you're impressed to find, and you're also perplexed to find that you don't mind Eddie's hand on you, not one bit. He feels warm and gentle, and many times during the night you're actually chasing his touch. He seems eager to give it to you. And if you could, you would make it last forever.

It's very late when you're seated in the backyard, playing chess with some random guy you don't know. By now, only the closest friends of Livie's are here. You don't know how to play it, but neither does the other guy, so the two of you are just doing as other people tell you to.

But you're tired. It'd been a fight to keep your eyes open, and you feel like you'll pass out any moment now. “As much as I enjoyed the party,” Eddie says, a hand on your waist. “I'm on the verge of falling asleep.”

No, he isn't. Looking at him, you furrow your eyebrows, getting up with him. “We should get going.” You say, realizing he's doing this for you. “Thanks, Livie. See you on Monday.”

“See you, (Y/N). Thank you again for coming.” Another hug, and off you go.

On the way to your car, rubbing your eyes, you feel as heavy as a mountain. “(Y/N),” Eddie calls. “I know you love it, but let me drive. Your eyes are closing.”

He's right. “Shit.” Throwing him the keys, you head to the passenger seat. You hate being in the passenger seat. “I'm up for...” Making a pause, you quickly make the calculations. “Eighty hours? Yeah, something like that.” And you let yourself fall on the seat.

“What?” Eddie sounds serious, and it snaps you awake. “You can't do this. Lack of sleep is-”

“I know, Eddie. Just drive before I take the keys from you.” Running a hand through your hair, you lie back, a hand covering your eyes. You feel when the car starts moving, but then, you feel nothing at all.

There are stickers on the light pink ceiling, but you can't make up their form, despite the familiarity. A shout makes you shake like a leaf, your guts turning to liquid. When the door is pushed open, so violently that it falls off the hinges, you run to the furthest wall. “I told you,” Neil says, a huge belt in his hand, so pitch black it shines. “I told you, (Y/N).”

“Billy!” You hear yourself yelling, your voice much thinner, smaller, like a child's. “Billy, where are you?!”

“You'll learn to do as I say!” The first blow comes, and your sight becomes red. Even when you close your eyes, you can still see him, the belt snapping against your skin over and over again.

“Billy!” You shout again, over Neil's voice, the cursing and the yelling. “Billy!” But nobody answers your cries, you alone, pain pulsing through your body, as the belt slashes through your skin.

@lovesanimals0000

[ineffable-endearments]

thinkin bout that ask neil got. "why can't aziraphale make the paint stain go away?"

"i would know it was there"

on the surface, it doesn't make sense that it would be any better for crowley to make it go away. aziraphale can't change the fact that he knows the paint stain was there whether he's the one who disappears it or not.

you could suggest there's some magic thing going on. like crowley is 'better' at cleaning. there's no real indication that this is the case; while crowley tends to be tidier by nature, aziraphale acknowledges that he could make it go away, but he would always know it was there.

so the problem is that it was there in the first place.

brian had a really interesting suggestion, which was that maybe aziraphale feels like crowley got them into that situation, so he feels like crowley should be the one to take care of the consequence (the stain). i suspect that aziraphale probably does feel that way - just a little earlier in the episode, he'd been placing the blame for losing the antichrist squarely on crowley, which is why they're here, in this mess. and although i'm sympathetic to all the things crowley was going through that led him to dump the antichrist with the nuns and leave ASAP, i can also understand why aziraphale would feel like it was no fault of his, because hell didn't give him the baby, he didn't even know it was coming, and he had no practical way of finding out they were following the wrong boy.

i know people are internally screaming "no livi, it's obviously just because aziraphale wants crowley to do nice things for him!" i know you're screaming that because it's the same thing i scream internally every time someone tries to find a practical reason for why the stain can't just be miracled away or why aziraphale can't just remove his own chains. but look, what i'm saying is exactly the same thing, just with more history and rationalizing behind it. aziraphale cares about his relationship with crowley, and wants to be reassured that crowley still cares about him, too, so it's more meaningful for crowley to "undo" the situation that he, according to aziraphale, got them into. it's...it's like an apology of sorts. and i think crowley knows this, which is why he shoots aziraphale that distinctive affectionately-exasperated look.

i mean, in a real life situation, if your partner spills something of yours by accident - let's say they tripped and bumped into a table with a glass on it - you probably wouldn't hold a grudge against them for that. mistakes happen. but you'd probably feel much better if they said "oops, sorry, i'll help you clean up" than if they said "oops, you take care of it."

so what "i would know it was there" really means is "i'm hurt that this happened at all." and by removing it, crowley is essentially saying "i'll make it as OK as i can."

[paperbodiesamongthestars]

Promises

He didn't have a lot of friends. That required trust, and trust just wasn’t something Billy Hargrove did. Except with Steve Harrington, apparently. Steve was his friend, which was fine. Billy would have preferred a lot more, but that did not seem particularly likely. Not for lack of trying on Billy's part, honestly. At this point, Billy was so overtly flirty with Steve that he was worried he had overshot genuine interest and was fast approaching the realm of parody. He had spilled his beer on Steve no fewer than four times in the past several months in the hopes that Steve would go to change out of his wet clothes and realize halfway through that just...hanging out in his underwear would be totally fine. Instead, Steve always disappeared into Billy's bedroom, completely at home in Billy's space, and came back wearing Billy's clothes. And that was somehow worse?

And the thing was—the thing was!—Steve clearly wasn’t uninterested. He blushed when Billy teased him. His breath hitched when Billy touched him sometimes. His pupils went wide when Billy stretched or flexed or did that one thing with his tongue. And he didn’t avoid touching Billy, like just about everybody else did, or touch him like he was something fragile or broken. He touched Billy casually all the fucking time. He hugged him when he arrived, and fell asleep against his shoulder, and tucked his feet under Billy’s thigh on the couch, and kissed him on the cheek before he left. He even kissed him on the fucking forehead sometimes, which made Billy feel small and blushy and unbearably cared for.

Billy wondered sometimes if he should just be honest with Steve, but that was tricky, wasn’t it? Because in this particular case, he couldn’t be honest with Steve without betraying a little too much about himself. And it’s not like he had all that many secrets left. Neil was gone and his treatment of Billy was common knowledge, at least among the people who knew what had actually happened at the mall. So, the vast majority of the people Billy actually talked to anymore. It turned out that competent doctors could tell the difference between recent monster trauma and years of physical abuse, and Steve's little group of nerds and their various hangers-on were around enough and had overheard enough to put it together. The fact that Billy was not actually into girls was also common knowledge among that same subset of people, but only because Billy had been in a coma, so he hadn't been able to mention to Eleven that she might not want to share that little tidbit with her friends. Billy wasn’t mad—couldn’t be, not at her—and with Neil gone, he supposed he had a little less to fear on that front. Besides, it wasn’t like he was going to do anything about it, aside from continuing to flirt shamelessly with Steve. So he only really had the one big secret left.

Here's how it was: Billy Hargrove, at the time that he was impaled by a massive interdimensional flesh monster, did not have a whole lot to live for. He had a shitty father and a mother who had fucked off quite a while back and a stepsister who had not yet given up on him for some reason, but who was also probably better off without him. He had a hopeless crush on a gorgeous, oblivious straight boy; several delightful mental images of that same straight boy in a frankly pornographic sailor outfit that he somehow had to wear for work; and treasured memories of California, but not quite enough money or guts to fuck off back to the beach where he came from, with or without Steve Harrington. All of that stuff was good, and it got Billy through the day sometimes, but none of it was actually something to live for. Steve Harrington in that sailor outfit came the closest, but Billy was never going to get to take it off of him, so what was the fucking point?

And Billy knew, even though he didn't exactly remember it, that it had gotten pretty bad for him a few times as he was recovering. Like, 'they were sure they were going to lose him' bad. And people had said a lot of fucking stupid things to him, both while he was in the hospital and after he got out, about fate and love and redemption. About holding on for the sake of the people you cared about. About not knowing what you had until you lost it. About how he must feel so lucky to be alive. And Billy hated all of it so fucking much. He wasn't alive because he had had some big epiphany about how precious life was, or because fate had spared him, or because he thought anyone on the planet would spend more than about thirty seconds being sad if he died. What he did have, what had actually kept him going when it got bad, were these...well, they weren’t anywhere close to clear enough to be called memories.

They came from that long, hazy period when his body was gradually knitting itself back together. When the boundary between being asleep and being awake hadn't seemed real at all. When he had almost no visual memories, aside from brief flashes of fluorescent lights or the shadows of people moving around above him. He had a handful of half-remembered phrases in various voices: Max whispering sorry, El whispering I won't tell. And these...other sentences. These promises, in Steve Harrington’s low, husky voice.

Billy was in no way certain that they were real. He didn't know how much of anything from that time was real. What they were was meaningful, which made it fucking impossible to talk about them. Unlike all the bullshit about fate and family and redemption, they had helped him. Had helped a lot, actually. Had given him something tangible to live for when it would have been so much easier to just let it all slip away. But that was the other thing--they weren't exactly things that Steve Harrington would actually, conceivably say to him. They were things he would have killed to hear from Steve, would still kill to hear from Steve, but Steve was sweet. Goofy, affectionate, kind. Unfailingly supportive. An invaluable friend throughout Billy's recovery. An invaluable friend who consistently, gracefully deflected Billy’s obvious flirting. It hardly seemed possible that he had said those things, and Billy really didn’t want to find out that he hadn’t. It was too awful to contemplate. Because, shit, they still kept him going sometimes, a year and a half later.

The first one came to him from far away, like he was hearing it from the bottom of a well. “I swear to God, Billy, if you make it through this I’ll let you choke on my dick whenever you feel like it.” So, like, there was a fair amount to unpack there. First of all, Steve almost never actually called him Billy, even now. And secondly, literally everything else about that sentence. It wasn't possible that it was real. Billy had to have made it up, given himself a fucking reason not to move toward the light or whatever. And if that had been the only one, he would have dismissed it as an obvious fabrication of his own mind without a second thought. But it wasn’t.

The second one was a little clearer, though all of them were maddeningly hazy. Had he actually felt Steve’s breath against the shell of his ear while he'd said it? It was impossible to say. “Hey gorgeous, hang in there, ok? Wouldn’t want you to die before I get the chance to fuck you so hard you forget your own goddamn name.” It was true—he absolutely did not want to die before that happened. That one had gotten him through some bleak nights, even after he woke up. He still got half hard every time he thought about it.

The next one was maybe Billy’s favorite. Although, honestly they were all his favorite. He wasn't sure he had ever treasured anything more. The third time, he was almost sure he could feel the warmth radiating off of Steve’s body as Steve leaned in next to his ear. “Come on, tiger, you gotta get through this so you can show me absolutely everything you can do with that tongue.” A little less filthy, maybe, but no less motivating. He did want to do that, very much. He had thought about it quite a bit while he was in the hospital. He still thought about it just about every time Steve came over to his apartment, which was often.

The fourth one changed it up a bit. “We’re going to sit there on the sand and watch the sun set over the ocean, and I’m going to make you cream your swim trunks right there on the beach.” And goddamn, that was quite the mental image. Fuck a bunch of holding on for the people you cared about; that was worth living for.

The fifth one was ragged, a little desperate. “You can’t die, baby. I’ve never let anybody put their dick in me before, and you have to live so you can do it.” That one came with the gentle sensation of a hand in his, the phantom press of lips to his temple. He was pretty sure he woke up just a few days after that one. And rightfully fucking so, honestly.

So yeah. He still had the one secret. And there was no fucking way to talk about it without revealing way too much about himself. So he didn't talk about it, and he was never going to talk about it, and he was going to go to his grave not knowing if any of it was real, and he was going to be fine with that because there weren't any other options. Until Steve slipped up.

It was far too early on a Saturday morning. Steve had arrived at an even more ungodly hour and had dragged Billy out of bed for some weekend trip. He wouldn't say where they were going, but he promised it was going to be great, and Billy could sleep in the car, and they were going to have the time of their lives. So Billy was slouched grumpily in the passenger seat, nursing an enormous coffee and periodically glaring at everything out the window for having the audacity to exist at this hour. He didn't glare at Steve. All of this was Steve's fault, but Billy couldn't be mad at him when he looked all sleepy and his hair was a mess and he was wearing his fucking glasses instead of his usual contacts. Billy couldn't be mad at him under any other circumstances either, but he deliberately didn't think too much about that, so it was fine.  

Billy watched out of the corner of his eye as Steve sipped his own coffee and stifled a yawn. Steve had spent the first half hour of the drive not talking at all, but the coffee was apparently kicking in, so now he was trying to get Billy excited about his mystery plan.

“Come on, tiger, you’re going to love it,” he finally said. Billy wasn’t fully awake, so it took a second for it to land. Come on, tiger. When it did, Billy’s head snapped up, eyes wide. It could easily have been a coincidence; Steve would have been fine if he had just played it off, but that's not what happened. When Billy looked up, Steve was staring intently out the windshield, resolutely not looking at him. But his shoulders were creeping up around his ears and his face had gone scarlet. Billy felt a grin spreading across his face. Suddenly, he was on top of the goddamn world; this was shaping up to be the best day of his life. He stared at Steve’s profile for a long moment as the flush from his face spread down his neck. The atmosphere in the car was electric. Billy took a deep breath and tried to get himself under control. Steve's entire demeanor had hope beating wildly in his chest, but there was still room for this to end in disappointment.

“Absolutely everything, huh?” Billy said it quietly, carefully, deliberately, and then he held his breath. Steve made a strangled noise in the back of his throat, and Billy felt giddy. Steve had been right--they had only been on the road for forty minutes, but Billy was already having the time of his life on this trip. Steve didn't say anything, but after a few long moments of silence, he pulled the car over onto the shoulder. After he carefully put the car in park and turned it off, he dropped his forehead to the steering wheel. He didn't lift his head when he spoke.

“I didn't think you remembered," he said slowly. Billy didn't say anything and after a moment, Steve gave a little sigh and continued, still talking mostly to the floor. "The first time, it was a fucking Hail Mary. You were declining fast and nothing was working, and I just...I had a hunch. So I waited until everyone else had left the room and I tried it." Billy was absolutely delighted picturing it, Steve flushed bright red, leaning down to whisper stuff about his dick into Billy's ear. "They kicked me out right after that, at about four am. They told me to go home and get some rest, and to be prepared for bad news. But when I got back to the hospital a few hours later, you were doing better.” Steve cleared his throat. “Apparently you started improving shortly after I left. I told myself it was probably a fucking coincidence, but part of me thought that maybe it had actually worked." He huffed out a laugh. "I could barely fucking believe that you weren’t dead; it was bad. And then a couple of weeks later, it got bad again. So I tried it again. And you started doing better again. And then it was like this secret that we had. That I had,” Steve corrected himself. He sat up and dropped his head back against the headrest, but he still wouldn't look at Billy. He stared out the windshield instead. His  face was still bright red. “And then you actually woke up. I didn’t know if you remembered any of it, and I didn’t want to be the kind of person who would come onto you while you were in a fucking coma and then act like you owed me something afterwards, so I kept my mouth shut.”

"Steve," Billy said softly. Steve rubbed his hands over his face.

"I'm sorry," he said, and Billy stopped breathing for a second.

"Don't," he said quietly. They sat in silence for a long moment, and then Billy decided that he had to know what exactly Steve was apologizing for. “Did you...” he started to ask, but he found that he couldn’t finish the sentence. Steve glanced at him and his face softened before his eyes shied away again.

“Mean it? Yes. Fuck yes. Every word.”

“Then what the fuck, Steve?” Billy had been beyond obvious for months. Steve sighed. His hands came back up to his face, and then he sat up straighter and squared his shoulders.

“You just...you went through something so awful, and it was like...your world got so small. You were trapped in the hospital, and now you're trapped in Hawkins until they clear you to leave." Steve glanced over again, and his voice got smaller. "I just...I really wanted you, but I didn't want you to do something you'd regret just because I was there, you know? And I still don't want you to feel trapped into something just because you can't leave this goddamn town. I would never want you to be with me just because you don't have any other choices."

Ok, so there was plenty to unpack there, and all of it was wrong. Except the part where Steve said he wanted Billy--that part was the best thing he had ever heard. Well, the sixth best thing he'd ever heard. There was a silence while Billy thought about what he wanted to say. He took a breath to psych himself up.

"The first thing you should probably know is that I was into you well before any of the Mindflayer stuff even happened. So there's that." Billy cleared his throat, watching Steve out of the corner of his eye. "And the second thing you should know is that I got cleared to leave Hawkins over a month ago." Steve's head whipped around, wide eyes on Billy's face.

"Then why..." Steve trailed off. Billy had considered leaving, but only briefly. He wanted to go back to the beach, he did, but not by himself. Not anymore.

"Steve," Billy said again, giving Steve a look. "You know why." After all, Billy had been the opposite of subtle about it. Steve just stared at him, eyes going impossibly wider as Billy deliberately took off his seatbelt and moved into Steve's space. "But fine, if you need me to spell it out, I'm definitely not in this car with you right now because I don't have any other options."

He leaned in and pressed his lips to Steve's. Steve responded immediately and enthusiastically, and something that had still been wound tight in Billy's chest eased. By the time they broke apart to breathe, Billy was practically in Steve's lap, both of his hands up under Steve's shirt. Steve had one hand at Billy's lower back and the other buried in his curls. They sat panting a little, their foreheads pressed together. Billy smiled wickedly.

"I would just like to point out that you made a lot of promises about what was going to happen if I didn't die, Harrington, and I held up my end of the bargain." Steve's answering smile was bright and just a little cocky.

"I'm looking forward to keeping every single one of those promises, Hargrove. We can start as soon as we get where we're going." Billy frowned at him.

"I survived being impaled by a giant flesh monster because you promised me--"

"My giant flesh monster?" Steve cut in, cracking up halfway through. Billy snorted, but did not further dignify that with a response.

"As I was saying," he said instead, "I am alive today because you have a really nice dick and a filthy mouth, and I have been waiting on both of them for months, and I am definitely not waiting three more hours to get started." He punctuated this declaration by reaching for the top button of Steve's pants. He had it and the next two buttons open before Steve reached out to stop him.

"Billy," he hissed, "we are parked on the side of the highway! We are not doing this here. Literally anyone could look over at any time and get a fantastic view of exactly what we're doing." Steve had a point, but Billy didn't have to like it.

He sighed and kissed Steve one more time, hard, before he reluctantly clambered back over to the passenger seat.

"Fine," he said. "We can compromise." He leaned over and grabbed Steve's wrist to look at his watch. Then he smiled at Steve, sharp and a little predatory. "I'm going to start sucking your dick in twenty minutes, if not before. We're still in fucking Indiana, so that should give you plenty of time to find some deserted back road somewhere." Steve was already starting the car.

He grinned over at Billy as he pulled back into traffic and made his way to the next exit.

"So you're going to start at the top and work your way through them, huh?"

"Maybe. We'll just have to see," Billy said. He paused. "I gotta say, pretty boy, I'm legitimately fuckin' impressed. I didn't know you had it in you." Steve smirked at him.

“Hey, give me some credit. I knew you well enough to know that if I had mentioned feelings, or called it making love, you would have immediately chosen the sweet embrace of death.” Billy laughed along with Steve because Steve was right: at one point, Billy absolutely would have done that.

Not anymore, though. Not if it was Steve. But he wasn't about to just blurt that out, so. He could still have one secret. For now, anyway.

[niksixx]

Patience

~The final part!! Thank you for reading and supporting this mini series. I hope you enjoy part 5.~

Pairing: Axl Rose/Vince Neil x Female Reader 

A/N: Reblog so others can see! 

*Picture is NOT mine. Found on Google. Credit to the owner!*

Tag list: @littlemisscare-all @curly-hudson @julessworldd @madamsixx @headlight-queen @metalheartofgold @ginny-baker-sixx @mickmarstookmyheart @gunsngunners @bex-tothe-rescue

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s raining again, and the weather outside matches your mood. Dark gray clouds cover the sky, and lightning strikes every so often. It’s one of the colder days in California, and you tug the sleeves of your sweater down to cover your wrists.

Vince hasn’t spoken to you in two days, and you haven’t heard from Axl since your boyfriend threatened him out of your house. You spent that day scrubbing the icing from the kitchen, tears sliding down your cheeks as Vince screamed at you the whole time. He left that night to visit a bar with Nikki, leaving you to cry softly in your bed. He didn’t return until the next morning.  

Two days later, your lips still tingle from the kiss you and Axl shared. It was the first time in weeks you’d felt something. Something good. Something wholesome. The tenderness in the kiss kept you wanting more, wanting to feel his lips on yours again.

In your heart, there’s conflicting feelings. And no one is there for guidance. Whatever Axl feels for you is strong. It could be love, and you’re not sure if you feel the same thing.

Of course, all three of the Mötley boys would listen to you ramble about your troubles, but none of them were experts in the dating scene. None of them had been in love before, with the exception of Tommy, but he fell in love with every woman he laid eyes on.

There’s an ache in your heart as you sit by the television, thinking back on the past three years you spent with Vince. Times that you hid in the shadows away from paparazzi. Times where you watched music award ceremonies on television, a pain in your heart knowing that you’d never be on Vince’s arm congratulating him. What kind of a relationship was that?

Even in the privacy of your own home, Vince struggled to love you and care for you. He wasn’t affectionate by nature. He’d greet you with small little pecks on your cheeks or lips, and his sex drive was usually through the roof, but being intimate with Vince felt anything other than intimate. It felt like a chore, and you were bored within ten minutes. With Vince, there was no cuddling or showering after sex, no confessions of love. It was hard to be open and honest with him about your wants and needs, because half of the time he seemed uninterested, or played you off as needy, clingy. It hurt, especially because you’d do anything for him. Mick had always said you deserved better. And Axl had said it too. When were you going to believe it?

There’s faint footsteps behind you as your eyes are glued to the TV, catching the last bit of a Skid Row music video. They were good, sure, but nothing compared to Motley Crue or even Guns N’ Roses.

There’s a change of scenery on the TV that makes you blink twice. It’s a live video, currently happening right at that moment, as Axl and his bandmates settle themselves into stools in an empty studio.

“Get them off my screen,” Vince calls from behind you. He sits at the dining room table, beer bottle suffocating in his grasp.

You don’t even pay him much mind. “You can leave if you don’t like it. I’m keeping it on.”

Surprisingly, he doesn’t fight back, but you hear him mumble a few curse words under his breath. The last words out of his mouth sound like a defeated “I give the fuck up with you.”

On screen, Axl is handed a microphone as more are distributed to the rest of the band. Tilting your head slightly, you drink in his appearance, obsessed with the way he presents himself. He’s more casual today, with both a bandana and a hat on his head, a short sleeve white shirt that shows off his unique tattoos, and tight leather pants that shouldn’t look as good on him as they do.

“This was a spur of the moment type of thing,” he says shyly, rubbing a palm on his thigh. Nervous habit.  “We wrote this song in about two hours a few nights ago and the reason I was eager to play it today...is because I wrote it for a woman who I’ve been shamelessly in love with since I was sixteen years old.”

Something in the air shifts. Slack mouthed, you sit up straight as you turn up the volume. The sound of a chair scratching against the floor has goosebumps littering your skin, and before you know it Vince is standing beside you, gritting his teeth. He takes a long swig of the alcohol, wiping his lips with the back of his hand, before setting his jaw, folding his tanned arms across the front of his black muscle tee.

“So Y/N, if by some miracle you’re watching this right now, I want you to know that you were the only person on my mind as we wrote this song. It is solely, purely, for you.”

“Along with all the other love songs he’s written,” Izzy deadpans.

Vince’s eyes burn into the side of your head, but all your attention is directed toward the television as Axl begins to hum a soft tune.

~~~

It’s almost as if you forget how to breathe. It’s an easy process, in and out, in and out, but you struggle with something so simple as the song ends.

Vince hasn’t moved. His face is still visibly flushed, knuckles the palest shade of white as his hand still grips his beer, but he stands completely frozen, eyes boring into the television screen.

You shift uncomfortably on the sofa, pushing your feet deeper into the back of the couch underneath you, reaching out to place a gentle hand on your fuming boyfriend’s elbow. He pulls away, uninterested, and he sips the remaining liquid in the bottle.

“Vinnie…”

“The dude just doesn’t listen,” The laugh that falls from his lips is anything but humorous. It’s empty and dark. There’s an edge to his low voice, and while it’s not angry, it’s...cool. Even. It frightens you. “How many times do I have to tell him to stay away from you? How many different fucking ways can he come up with to get your attention?”

“Vince I had no idea he was going to do something like this.”

But hell, if it wasn’t the most romantic thing a man has ever done for you. He’d broadcasted to the world his raw feelings and emotions, and there was something so sexy about a man who wasn’t afraid to be vulnerable and knew what, or who, he wanted. And the song, so sweet and meaningful, confirmed your suspicions. Axl Rose, the little boy from the playground, the man who sang his heart out on live TV, was in love with you.

Vince shakes his head, clapping a closed fist into an open palm. “This is your fault, you know.”

You blink, standing from the couch, folding your arms over the oversized green sweater. “My fault?”

He takes a step forward, but this time you don’t back down. “You let him back in your life. For seven years you’ve been fine without him, but all of a sudden you meet him one day on the street and decide you apparently can’t live without him? Bullshit.”

“He was my best friend!”

“And I’m your boyfriend!” Vince shouts back. He takes another step forward, nose to nose, and with the strength you gather from your very core, you shove him out of your face.

“You’re nothing!”

The anger in your voice shocks you, startling Vince. He stumbles against the dining room chair, holding onto the arm to regain his balance.

The air between you sizzles with resentment as Vince licks his lips, chewing on the skin. You're both breathing heavily, neither one backing down. “What did you say to me?”

And everything you've been feeling for the last few years comes out in a wave. “I can’t be with you anymore, Vince. I can’t be with someone who is so controlling of my life. I can’t be with someone who would rather please his record label than his girlfriend. I have been waiting for you to wake up for three years now and realize that I deserve better than what you’re giving me.”

“What the fuck have I done that is so bad, huh?” Vince yells, throwing up his arms. “Tell me. Because I sure as shit don’t know.”

It’s hopeless.

He’s hopeless.

And there’s nothing else you can do besides give up.

~~~

You fight for two hours. Screaming, crying, followed by more screaming and crying. It’s exhausting. Somehow, after pointing out everything Vince has done to you, or what he hasn’t done, he convinces himself he’s never been the problem. And that’s when you realize he’s never going to change.

Your phone has buzzed four times in those two hours, but whoever it was would have to wait. There was too much going on, your head was spinning, skin sweating, heart beating wildly. You were on the brink of ending your relationship after wasting three years of your life trying to convince yourself the man, who was currently nestled in the couch nursing another beer, loved you.

Letting out a defeated sigh, your feet drag against the wooden floor as they carry you to your room. There’s a small duffel bag under the bed and you grab it, fishing out some clothes and stuffing it into the bag. Grabbing a few of your necessary toiletries, you shove them in the side pockets as Vince watches from the doorway.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m not staying here. I’ll go stay at Lei’s or maybe my parents or hell maybe even Mick will let me stay over, but I’m not staying here.”

“We still have a lot to talk about.”

The closet door slams closed as your blood boils. “No, Vince. We have nothing to talk about. Not anymore.”

You zip up the duffel and heave it to the living room, slipping on a pair of beat up Chuck Taylors. You pace the house for your keys, Vince following, watching your every move.

“I love you.”

You stop abruptly, spinning around, sucking in shallow breaths of air. No way. No fucking way was he going to manipulate you into staying. Not with those three goddamn words you longed to hear after such a long time.

“You don’t even know what love is, Vince.”

“Kiss me and I’ll show you.”

You find the keys to your car on the kitchen counter, snagging them from the tile. “I’m not kissing you, Vince. Never again.”

“Why not?”

“Because there’s nothing left!” Heaving the duffel onto your shoulder, you grab your phone and slide it into the side of the bag. “Fuck, at least with Axl I felt something!”

Vince freezes, veins popping out from his forehead. Fidgeting with the hem of your sweater, your mouth dries as you mentally scold yourself for the slip of the tongue.

“He...kissed you?” And for the first time in his life, Vince looks almost...upset. “And you kissed him back?”

Drumming your fingers on your jean clad thigh, you rub your palms against the fabric, wiping off the sweat. “Um…”

“Did you kiss him back?” Vince asks, emphasizing each word. “Yes or no?”

You can’t bring yourself to say it. So you don’t.

But no answer is always an answer.

In a flash, Vince is flying out the door, and you’re following just behind him. He throws open the door to his car, turning the key in the ignition, and fishes his phone from his jeans pockets, quickly dialing before holding it to his ear. “Sixx, what’s the address to Slash’s apartment? He still lives with the rest of ‘em, right?”

All the blood rushes to your cheeks when you realize what Vince is about to do. Throwing yourself at him, you try to pry the phone from his ear, but he stiffarms you, keeping you from the phone. “Don’t worry about what I’m going to do, man. Just tell me the damn address, I know you know it. You did coke with the guy for fucks sake.”  

“Vince, please don’t do this.”

A wicked gleam shines in his eyes, and you hear Nikki recite the address on the other end of the line. Frantically, you run to your car, throwing open the door, only to see Vince take off down the street.

~~~

When you pull up to the apartment, Vince is quickly climbing the stairs, cracking each knuckle. Grabbing your bag from the passenger’s seat, you stagger out of the car, locking it, before climbing the steps two at a time. “Vince, stop!”

He sprints down the hall, too fast for you as you heave the bag further up your shoulder. You watch as he knocks loud and hard on the door, and when it opens, he forces himself inside the apartment.

You hear Duff’s voice. “What the fuck--.” He peeks his head out, eyes widening when he sees you hobbling over. “Y/N? What is going on?”

By the time you reach the door, Vince has Axl pinned against the wall. From the kitchen, Izzy watches, horrified, as Steven and Slash pull on Vince’s shoulders.

“Stop!” Dropping the duffel by the door, you sprint across the room, pulling the two boys away. The last thing you need is someone getting hurt. “Vince, get off him!”

By some miracle, he lets go.

“You want to tell us what’s going on?” Steven directs to no one in particular, hands on his waist.

“How many times do I need to threaten you, Rose?” Vince asks, nostrils flaring as he glares at the startled redhead. “Because clearly, once wasn’t fucking enough.”

“Vin--.”

“She doesn’t fucking want you,” Vince continues. Axl fidgets under his gaze. “No song, no kiss, and yeah, I fucking know about that, too, will ever make her want you. You’re a pathetic excuse of a man. Your daddy didn’t want you, your step-daddy didn’t want you, and my girlfriend sure as fuck doesn’t want you.”

Your heart stills when Axl’s face falls. His father had always been a touchy subject. Though Axl hadn’t remembered much about his biological dad, there was still trauma hidden deep within as his brain tried to block it out. You were the first person Axl had told about the abuse, as he was a victim of both his biological father and step father.  You were there for him then, and just like you promised all those years ago, you’d be here for him now.

Vince backs away and you seize the advantage, positioning your body between them. Letting an open palm fall behind you, your heart bursts with love when another hand slides into yours.

Vince eyes your entwined hands, letting out a shaky laugh. “You’re kidding me, right?”

“We’re done, Vince. You have hurt me for the very last time, and I will not stand here and let you hurt Axl. I simply won’t. Axl is a good man with a good heart and he always has been. And I know he loves me. He’s proved it,” Glancing back over your shoulder, you offer Axl a smile. His eyes are full of love as he watches you, squeezing your hand encouragingly. “And that’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

There’s nothing Vince can say. He can’t fix it. He can’t change. He’s lost you to a better man, a man that knows what he wants, and how to love someone the way they need to be loved.

He looks around the room, fists balled by his sides. Frowns, narrowed eyes, and bared teeth are directed toward him.

From the kitchen, Izzy is the first one to open his mouth. “You have three seconds to get your ass out that door before I call the police.”

With burning eyes, Vince backs away to the door, keeping his gaze locked on your face. “You’re going to regret this.”

He’s met with a confident shake of your head. “No, I don’t think I will.”

At the door, Duff gives Vince a warning stare. The blonde bassist towers over the scrawny blonde singer, looking even more intimidating in his leather apparel. Vince gives him a look before crossing the threshold, and Duff doesn’t hesitate shutting the door in his face.

Tension leaves your shoulders, the boys in the room letting out loud sighs of relief. You turn, lips turning upward. “I heard the song.”

Axl’s face softens. Sliding his hands around the sides of your neck, he pulls you close, foreheads just barely touching. “I figured. And you should know I meant every word.”

You don’t care that there are four boys watching you.

You don’t care that your eyes are shining with unshed tears.

You don’t care that you just ended a three year relationship.

All you care about is the moment when you push forward and kiss the lips in front of you with a fervent need. Arms circle your waist, pulling you deep as lips kiss you deeper. You cling to Axl’s shirt, never wanting to be apart from him again. But you know in your heart he’ll never let you go.

The warmth of his body dissipates when you pull back for a breath, the tips of your fingers grazing over the angles of his jaw, his cheekbones, and slowly coming back to the outline of his lips. They purse together, gently kissing the soft pads of your skin.

“I don’t want to rush anything,” Axl murmurs, and the butterflies in your stomach flutter at the sincerity in his voice.

“Oh, bullshit,” Duff laughs, leaning against the door. “He’d marry you tomorrow if he could.”

“Lovesick fool,” Slash chuckles in agreement, arm resting on Izzy’s shoulder.

“They’re not entirely wrong,” Axl says with a wink. “But the name of the song is Patience for a reason. We have all the time in the world, sugar.”

“I mean, you waited over seven years already, what’s another seven?” Steven jokes heartily.

Hands sliding around Axl’s neck, you pull him toward you once more. He dips to kiss you, and you savor in the feeling. Yeah, you’ll definitely get used to this.

“According to Izzy, you have a few other songs you wrote for me,” you say with a wiggle of your brows. “What do you say you sing them for me?”

In those perfect gray eyes, there’s nothing but love. And you feel it in your heart that you’re beginning to love him, too.  Maybe you won’t have to be patient after all. Love is natural, and with Axl, you don’t have to force it.

He whisks you away to his room, serenading you as you lie comfortably in his arms. He knows the songs by heart, and each one is unquestionably unique with different tones and melodies.

Turning in his arms, he continues to sing as you gaze at his face. So calm. So peaceful. So breathtakingly beautiful. And you realize now that somewhere in your heart, you had always loved that little boy on the playground.

And you were in love with the man he became.  

[dastardlydandelion]

respice finem

ao3 link

content warnings: referenced violence and abuse

part one link

obligatory irl inspo link

Max keeps pacing up and down the diameter of the room. She stretches her hands over her head and Billy thinks her protective hovering is starting to bug the nurses. They both stayed overnight but Billy’s at least taken a couple breaks. He got himself some Doritos from the vending machine. Borrowed and smoked a cigarette even though he virtually quit a couple years back. Took a short drive to a Kmart up the road and bought Max a change of clothes, supposing he wouldn’t able to get her anything of her own if her home was wrapped in caution tape.

“You wanna go down to the cafeteria, maybe? Get something to eat?”

“Not hungry.”

“Okay…did you know they have a gift shop? Wanna go check it out?”

“No.”

“Do you—“

“I’m not leaving, Billy.” Max’s eyes glitter in a stubborn glower.

“Oh, but maybe you should, sweetheart,” Susan says softly. “You’re getting restless.”

“I’m fine.”

“You should get out of this stuffy room. Go for a stroll, stretch your legs. I would if I could.”

Pure heartbreak flashes across Max’s face and Billy feels his own lurch.

“Oh dear, bad joke.” Susan frowns and flaps her hand, the tube connecting it to the IV pouch swaying gently in the air. “That was in poor taste, I apologize. But I do think you need to get some fresh air, Max. I’ll be fine.”

Max pauses. Her hands come together and she taps her thumbs together as she mulls it over.

“I’d feel better if you stayed here.” Max shifts her gaze to Billy.

“Didn’t plan on going anywhere,” he says honestly. Max is obviously wired and getting more antsy by the minute but Billy is the opposite. He’s wiped out after driving for several hours straight and aching from head to toe after scrapping with his dad.

“…alright,” Max relents after a very long moment. “I’ll be back in fifteen.”

She gently swipes the back of her hand over her mother’s cheek. Susan blinks contentedly and hums in approval as Max trudges off to the door. She leaves. Susan's gaze flickers to Billy and then down. She frowns at the guardrail of the bed and uncertainly pushes at it with her palm.

“What’re you doing, Sue?”

“I don’t need this. I’m not going to roll out of bed.” She continues pushing at the guardrail but her efforts are weak and uncoordinated. Even if she had more power and precision behind her pushes, Billy’s pretty sure these things aren’t designed to be collapsed from the patient’s position.  

“It’s fine, just leave it alone.”

“No,” she refuses, eyes narrowing. “It’s in my way, Billy. It’s separating us.”

Something knocks loose inside his chest. Billy hasn’t seen her in three months. He hadn’t been particularly sure he’d ever see her again.

“Okay, okay, I’ll give it a go. Here.” He sighs out and messes with the thing and after a couple tries and a few silent shrieks from his very sore shoulders, he finally figures out how to get the damn rail lowered, adjusting it accordingly.

“Thank you so much,” Susan breathes. “Now it's easier to do this.”

She stretches out her slender fingers and rests her hand upon his knee. She gives it a couple dulcet pats. Her pinky pokes inside the fraying tear in the denim, soft pad of her fingertip cool against his skin. Billy swallows, wonders how much he is allowed to touch. She wouldn’t be this affectionate with him if she knew.

“It’s my fault Neil found you and Max,” Billy admits, heart pumping guilt like sludge in his veins. “It’s my fault he almost killed you.”

“What?” Susan stares at with owlish eyes.

“I wanted to send Max a gift in the mail,” Billy explains, speaking slowly and plainly. “I hid it under my bed. My dad saw it when he raided my room looking for some shit he thought I stole from him. That’s how he got your address. I tried to stop him, Susan. But I couldn’t…I’m sorry.”

“Oh, Billy.” Susan signs, rubbing her lips together. Her hand travels from his knee to his wrist and she gently pushes up his jacket cuff. Billy doesn’t stop her. He watches her eyes darken at the sight of the bruises.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats.

“You said it was a gift for Max?”

“Yeah…new skateboard.”

“I wish you would’ve just driven over to drop it off. Because if you came over, you would’ve seen how nicely we decorated our little duplex…you could’ve seen my darling little gnomes sipping tea and these delightfully clever novelty magnets Max found for the refrigerator. You could’ve sat on our couch and while it’s a bit worn— we got it secondhand —it’s very comfy. Maybe if you saw how nice everything was and sat in our cushy, comfy couch, you wouldn’t have wanted to leave.”

Billy gapes at her, noncomprehending. He just confessed he’s the reason she almost got killed. That it's his fault his dad literally broke into her home to beat her to death with a wrench. And Susan doesn’t seem angry at all. He knows she's on the good shit, but still. She's not out of it. She heard what he said. Ahd she is frowning but it’s a more fretful expression than anything, dimple between her eyebrows, forehead crinkled in concern.

“I waited for you, Billy.”

Oh.

“We talked about this before you left, Susan,” Billy gently reminds her. “I told you why I chose to stay. Remember?”

“You wanted to protect us,” she murmurs, thumb chary as she rolls it over his bruised wrist. “Me and Max.”

Billy solemnly nods his head.

“Mm…” Susan’s eyes rove the room and then settle back on him as her lips curl into a doleful smile. “How well do you suppose that turned out?”

Billy’s eyes travel along the chest tube to the rectangular drainage unit on the floor, the printed numbers and increments he doesn’t really understand. Glances to her legs elevated on the pillows. The right one was more badly broken. Not badly enough to require surgery, but still too swollen for a hard cast. The swelling in her left went down and Susan got fitted for a cast just a couple hours ago. The dark purple color she picked matches the massive bruise that currently blooms across most of Billy’s back.

“I’m sorry.” He bows again even though it hurts, it hurts, he’s goddamn sore but not as sore as he is sorry. Billy feels the knot tremble in his throat and he is possibly more sorry than he’s ever been anything else in his life. There is a beast in his belly with a thousand guilty eyes and shame in every one of its silent, miserable cries.

“No, no, raise your head. Don’t— it’s not your fault, Billy.” He feels Susan’s hand sweep the fringe from his face in a few quick motions, delicate and deft. “Won’t you look at me?”

Warily, he glances up. Susan’s eyes are misting up as he feels his own stinging again. Shit. Max is going to kill him if he makes her mother cry.

“I am the one who needs to apologize," Susan declares. "For the life of me, I couldn’t convince you to come with us. I failed you.”

“What?” Billy scoffs in disbelief. “No, that’s not on you. I’m stubborn, I’m—“

“I am the adult,” Susan cuts him off, voice sharp even as her hand rests against his cheek lamb gentle. “The real adult, you're barely twenty. You did what you thought was best but I’m older and I knew better, and I couldn’t make you see it. I let you stay, I left you in the lion’s den.”

Billy doesn't really see it that way. He doesn't feel like a child, doesn't want to be treated as one. And he's no longer Neil's legally, albeit he's been nowhere near financially independent. Couldn't work for a long time after that gruesome nightmare turned reality that was the worst fucking Fourth of July ever. Had to fork over all his paychecks to Neil even after he could go back to work— supposedly put toward residual medical bills insurance didn't cover, but hell if Billy truly trusted any excuse Neil could and would hold over his head. In any case, that's not entirely why he stayed with Neil. And staying with Neil wasn't even exactly the same thing as not going with Susan and Max, but abandonment wasn't a factor in the equation at all. He doesn't feel that way, how could Susan think that?

“You left me the address,” Billy pointedly reminds her and he does not let himself crane his face into her touch even though it’s cool and soft and he feels his stomach loosen with this, this featherlight clemency so careful and sweet.

Because of course he knows why he was left the address and it was never so he could mail packages.

“I should’ve grabbed you and dragged you to the car.” Susan doesn’t sound like she’s kidding.

“You could’ve,” Billy breathes and he’s not kidding either. “You’ve seen me get grabbed, Susan. I don’t fight it. Not in the house. Never did…not until he found that address.”

Susan’s thumb brushes away the tear that spills over, unbidden. Billy reaches out and does the same for hers.

“I’m not mad,” he promises in earnest.

“Neither am I. In fact, I’m…” Susan trails off, exhaling heavily as she draws her hand back from his cheek. “I don’t know, Billy. He was going to kill me. Maybe both of us and I could never say that I’m glad that happened because I am not. I am not glad Max had to see and do what she saw and did. I am not glad that at present, I cannot even stand without assistance. But…you’re here. You’re here because of what happened. Because of what happened, Neil…I never have to worry about Neil again. I never, ever have to look over my shoulder worrying about when he will find me because he already did.”

“That’s one way of looking on the bright side, I guess,” Billy mutters, voice hollow.

“Your father has done all the harm he will ever be able to do, to any of us, and now we’re together again. Isn’t there something to be said for that, Billy?”

He swallows thickly, nodding his head as he places his hand on the bed. Susan’s fingers slide over his and that’s how Max finds them when she returns.

“There you are,” Susan welcomes, smiling warmly. “That was a bit longer than fifteen minutes.”

Max freezes. “Did you need me?”

“No, honey, I’m fine. We’re fine. I’m just happy that you took a good break.”

Max visibly relaxes and shuffles over, lightly squeezing her mother’s upper arm. “I saw Neil.”

Billy exchanges a look of shock with Susan.

“Yeah, he had a new guard today and we talked for a couple minutes. Cool lady with a cool name, like some Greek Goddess name. She gave me a dollar for the vending machine and let me in his room.”

“Are you okay?” Susan frowns, worry crossing her features as her lashes flutter.

“Yeah, Mom. Neil doesn’t scare me anymore.” Max leans in and presses another kiss to the crown of her Susan’s head. Billy’s never seen her more affectionate than this, so doting and tender with her injured mother. “It was actually good. To see Neil like that…to know I did that. It confirms it, I guess? I mean not that I didn’t know, because obviously I know I didn't dream or hallucinate what happened, but…”

“Seeing is believing, perhaps?” Susan tilts her head, mussy red tresses shifting over the pillowcase.

“Yeah, like that. Seeing is believing, I guess. I saw the neck brace and the handcuffs and now I’m…well I’m not gonna turn into a badger every time you want me to take a break.” Max’s mouth quirks, expression sobering when she glances to Billy. “Are you gonna see him?”

“I don’t know,” Billy answers. He keeps thinking about it.

Maybe he’d feel better like Max does. Maybe he’d feel worse. He thinks he’d hate himself if he wound up having some scrap of sympathy. He thinks maybe he’d rip the pillow out from under his father’s head and smother the rest of the life out of him. He thinks he would have the opportunity to say everything he’s ever wanted to say but worries that he would not have the words, worries they may dissolve on his tongue with that stern, steely stare that’s shackled him all his life.

“Not yet,” Billy decides at least.

“You look weird,” Max bluntly blurts, scrunching her nose.

“That’s not nice,” Susan protests in mild reproach.

“It’s not mean,” Max counters, shrugs a shoulder as she looks back to Billy. “You okay? Is it hard being in a hospital again?”

Susan too raises a brow.

Billy reflexively lifts a hand to his chest, curls his jacket in his fist until the button presses uncomfortably into his palm. Few things in his life had been more challenging than his hospital stay and it wasn’t even being in pain or sick or weak, then weaker, then stronger and still in pain— it was sterility. It was being cooped up. It was no privacy whatsoever and never the right noises. It was everything being terrible except Max and Susan even if Max and Susan being around constantly was sometimes terrible but never, ever because they were terrible because they genuinely weren’t and— and now they’re all here again with some of the details rearranged.

Billy realizes that’s the hardest part, maybe, that the details are rearranged. Discovers that maybe it is worse to see someone you care about hurt than hurt yourself. He cannot speak but maybe they know, maybe they can read it in his face because then Susan’s reaching up again, brushing gentle fingertips over his scabbed up knuckles until he relaxes the death grip on the jacket balled into his fist.

“If you decide you want to see Neil, I’ll walk you to the door,” Max offers.

“Thanks,” he manages, terse but sincere.

“And if you want to see him, Mom, I’ll—“

“I don’t,” Susan breaks in, vehement and almost nervous, hand retracting from Billy’s and clasping fast to the opposite above her chest, IV tube swinging again. “I don’t, Max, I really, really don’t.”

“Okay,” Max promises her immediately, gingerly draping an arm around her in a reassuring embrace. The closest to a hug she can manage. “You don’t have to. You never, ever have to see him again, Mom. If you don't want to, you don't have to and that's that. I won't let anyone make you.”

Susan’s eyes dart back and forth as she leans into Max as much as she can, releasing a shaky exhale. Billy’s taken his breaks. They finally got Max to take her break. He thinks maybe Susan needs a break too.

“You wanna see what’s on tv, Sue?” he suggests.

‘No news,’ Max mouths at him above her head. Billy blinks knowingly.

“Sure,” Susan agrees, relaxing and shifting a bit as Max lowers her arm. “Um...maybe the animal channel?”

“Yeah, okay. Let’s see what nature is up to.”

[its-nuwanda-baby]

its a bit of a odd pair but maybe some neil x knox?? hcs if you do them or a confession fic 👉👈

confession one shot, coming right up!

A Punch in the Right Direction (Knox x Neil)

Warnings: underaged drinking, language, slight mentions of blood, slight mentions of homophobia (only in the beginning!)

I PROMISE YOU IT’S WAYYY FLUFFIER THAN IT SOUNDS LOLL

when neil befriends a girl at rehearsals, he has no idea that she will single-handedly deliver him his doom... in the form of one, stupidly wasted knox overstreet. chaos ensues. also Todd and Stick are boyfriends because I can, and because that funky lil man will have a place in everything I write (I am but a stick stan account). ENJOY!!! let me know what you think!

Neil Perry had always known he was gay. He knew right when he kissed Charlie in the first grade, on a dare from Pitts, that this was what a crush was supposed to feel like. He accepted early on in life that the world was not kind to people like him. He understood that words like “queer,” “fairy,” and “homo” were names for people like him, and that the sneers of disgust that accompanied them were just part of a package deal. He knew when he started school at Welton Academy that there was the inevitable danger of crushing on roommates and friends, and by his senior year at the all boys school, he was used to the routine of identifying and burying unwanted feelings until they were forgotten. So, when Knox Overstreet had leaned against his doorframe on the first day of school, smirking like an idiot, Neil had no problem identifying the beginnings of a crush bubbling in his chest. He had no problem, when Knox had reached out to shake the hand of Neil’s new (incredibly shy) roommate, pushing down the goofy smile that had threatened to spread on his face at how sweet Knox was being. Neil Perry had a crush on Knox Overstreet, and, given his previous experiences, it was about as scary as a kitten.

He had no problem hiding his disappointment when Knox announced he wouldn’t be at study group that night, even trying to pull him out of his obvious state of disappointment- “anything’s better than Hell-ton hash, Knox…” he had said, with just the perfect amount of nonchalance to make it convincing. Oh well, he thought, at least it would be easier to focus on the trig homework he needed to finish. 

And, when Knox returned, looking like his head was stuck in the atmosphere of Jupiter, Neil had so convincingly feigned his excitement when Knox had announced his infatuation with Chris- “are you crazy? What’s wrong with that?”- when the only thought going through his head had been you idiot, she has a boyfriend. What about me? I’m right here? 

Neil Perry was, for the most part, a good actor. He could play the part of the excited friend, the matchmaker, the hopeless romantic, and he could play them with ease. It was Todd’s fault, really, that everything had begun to unravel. That the feelings became too much to bury. In Neil’s experience, once it was out in the open, there’s no going back. If only Todd wasn’t so damn observant.

The conversation had gone somewhat normal, in the beginning:

“I dunno, Todd… I guess I just don’t understand it! I mean, she has a boyfriend already! If Knox really loves her so much, why isn’t he happy for her?”

“Neil, no offense, but don’t you have more important things to worry about than Knox’s love life?”

“Like?”

“Like, just about everything else? Why is it so important to you, anyways?”

That had shut Neil up. Maybe he wasn’t too good at hiding his feelings, after all. Then, the dreaded question reared its ugly head.

“Do you… like Knox?”

He had never been good at this part, the part where he had to lie about his feelings. Usually, nobody could even tell something was off, and he never even had to think about what to say if someone guessed. Todd was just… different, somehow. Neil knew he was also queer. He had seen Todd holding hands with another boy from their hall, nicknamed Stick. They were a nice couple, and Neil had to bite back his jealousy at seeing what he only wished he could have with Knox. 

“Neil? You know you can tell me, right?”

“You know the answer to that question already.”

Todd gave a small nod and moved to sit next to Neil, putting an arm around his shoulders.

“You know, I may be the newest addition to this friend group, but I don’t think Chris is the one Knox really wants.”

And before Neil could process the implications of the statement, Stick was at their door, and Todd was waving goodbye to Neil and leaning to kiss his boyfriend hello, and then they were gone.

But, if not Chris, then who? The question haunted his mind for days, and by the end of October, Neil Perry’s crush had grown into quite a bit more, which meant that burying his feelings was about to get a hell of a lot more complicated. Thanks to rehearsals and a new friend, maybe even impossible.

Neil enjoyed rehearsals. He loved watching his fellow actors lose themselves in the performance. He loved listening to the chatter of the tech crew as they discussed backdrops and lighting. He loved the smell of sawdust and paint that lingered in the air and on his clothes. The one thing he never really got the hang of was the talking. Despite being known as a social butterfly at Welton, the mixture of Henley Hall girls and public school kids was a whole new atmosphere for him, and if there’s one thing Neil Perry hated, it was change. So, when the girl who played Hermia walked up and introduced herself, he was so overjoyed at the prospect of a friend that he hadn’t stopped to ponder over the familiarity of her surname. 

“Hey, you look a little lost! I’m Ginny, Ginny Danbury. I play Hermia.”

He had looked up, unsure at first of whether he was the one being addressed. In discovering that he was, his face broke out into the trademark Neil Perry Smile, the one he reserved for his dad and Dr. Nolan. 

“Neil. Perry. I, uh, I play Puck.”

They had shaken hands, he in his crown of twigs, and she in her pink tulle dress, and a friendship was born. 

Two weeks before the performance, she mentioned her older brother. 

“So, I got home last night, and Chet- that’s my brother, by the way- Chet asked me if I had been hooking up with someone. Apparently, he thinks the only valid reason to be out late is if you’re getting laid…”

She had kept talking after that, but Neil had stopped listening. What had Knox said about that girl? Practically engaged… to Chet Danbury. When rehearsal was over that night, Ginny asked Neil a question.

“Would you mind giving me your phone number?”

—

The smell of cheap liquor greeted Knox before he had even opened the door. Charlie’s words rang in his head; you don’t really think she means you’re going with her? He was right, after all… this was Chris’s boyfriend’s house, and he was a guest. His guest. He was really starting to regret passing up a Poets meeting for this, when he could have been cozied up next to Neil in the cave. Neil… with his perfect brown eyes that should be considered national treasures, in Knox’s opinion, and a voice like velvet… Neil, the reason he had even begun pursuing Chris in the first place, as a way to distract him from the true object of his affections. Neil, whose absent-minded, yearning looks were surely reserved for everyone, not just him… keep it together, Knox, tonight is the night you forget about Neil Perry, once and for all.

“Carpe diem, Knoxious… carpe diem.”

He opened the door.

About an hour later, he was wasted. His earlier attempt to get a beer had been sabotaged by two football players who were a little too closely acquainted with the bottles of vodka and whiskey lined up on the counter. Before he knew what was happening, his beer had been replaced by a shot of liquor that smelled exactly like the stuff his sisters used to clean off their nail polish, and he had been affectionately dubbed “Mutt Sanders’ brother” by the shorter of the two jocks, despite his protests of never having met a Mutt Sanders. A few shots later and he was stumbling into the basement, nearly incoherent. What happened after that would surely remain burned into his memory forever, but the most that he could bring himself to tell anyone was that he had somehow ended up on the floor with a bloody nose and a splitting headache.

The full story is a bit more complicated. Knox, intoxicated and feeling brave, had begun his search for Chris in the kitchen, weaving around crowds of people he didn’t know. If he had been sober, he certainly would have been a little less obvious, but Knox Overstreet was a man on a mission, and although the alcohol helped him focus on the task at hand (find Chris, woo Chris, (maybe) hook up with Chris, fall in love with Chris, forget Neil Perry), it certainly didn’t aid him in his attempts at subtlety. By the time he managed to get to the basement, he forgot why he was there.

Neil, Knox, you’re here to find- no, you’re here to FORGET Neil. Find Chris, forget Neil. Find Chris, forget Neil. It was here that Knox began to feel the fourth shot in his legs, and he quickly moved to sit on the couch before they gave out. Cursing his low alcohol tolerance, he began to scope out the crowd in the basement for Chris, when he suddenly became aware of two things at once: the presence of an annoyingly loud couple mid-makeout on his right, and the sleeping presence of Chris Noel on his left. And Knox Overstreet, in a burst of alcohol-infused idiocy, began to stroke her hair, and suddenly it wasn’t Chris on the couch beside him, but Neil. Neil Perry, and he was smiling up at Knox, saying something that Knox couldn’t understand because all he could see was the shape of Neil’s lips, moving ever so slowly towards his, and in that moment, as their lips met, time seemed to slow down, and the voices and music were all combining into a kind of ambient soundtrack- that is, until the distorted voice of Kitchen Jock #1 made its way into Knox’s alcohol-muddled brain, pulling him back to earth in word form.

Chet… CHET, it’s Mutt Sanders’ brother! And he’s feelin’ up YOUR GIRL!

And he wasn’t kissing Neil, he was kissing Chris, and she wasn’t asleep, she was sitting up, asking him what he was doing, and, hell, what was he doing? As he opened his mouth to answer her, he picked up a bright red blur in his peripheral vision, moving towards him.

Next thing he knew, he was on the floor.

—

There was a knock on the door.

“Mr. Perry. You have a phone call.”

“Yessir, I’ll be right there, sir.”

Todd shot him a confused look from where he was sat on the floor with Stick. He and Neil had left the Poets meeting about ten minutes after Charlie showed up with girls and liquor, and Meeks and Pitts had soon followed. The latter two had denied their invites to a study group, which meant they were most definitely making out in their room, so Todd had asked Neil about inviting Stick to work on the Latin conjugation assignment together, to which Neil had happily agreed.

In all honesty, Neil was glad for the phone call. Todd and Stick were so cute together it was nearly maddening, especially when Neil could so easily imagine him and Knox together in the same ways. The gentle brush of their shoulders against one another as Todd checked Stick’s spelling, the way Stick watched Todd’s lips moved as he practiced his pronunciations… to anyone else, it would have been endearing, but to Neil it felt like a lifetime prison sentence. 

Dr. Hager handed him the telephone when he got to the end of the hall, and he nodded a “thank you” before watching the man disappear into his room.

“Hello, this is Neil Perry?”

“Neil, thank goodness you’re there!”

“Ginny?”

“Yes, oh, I’m so sorry to bother you on a Friday night, but there’s been a bit of an… incident…”

Shit. Knox had been at the Danburys’ house. Neil’s blood turned to ice.

“What sort of incident? Is everyone alright?”

“Well, sort of… do you happen to know Knox Overstreet?”

Boy, did he ever…

So that’s how Neil ended up at the Danburys’ house at 10 pm on a Friday night, picking up a bleeding (and incredibly drunk) Knox. Ginny hadn’t been able to tell him what happened, and nobody else got a good look, but the story was that, while an intoxicated Knox had been trying to dance with Chris, Chet noticed and punched him in the nose. Neil believed it. 

So there they were, sitting on the dock near the lake as Neil pressed snow to the bruise that was rapidly forming around Knox’s eye. 

Around 11, Neil deemed Knox sober enough to take back to the dorms without causing suspicion, and they crept up the stairs and down the hall to Neil’s and Todd’s dorm.

Neil softly pushed the door open with his foot to see Todd at his desk, surrounded by crumpled pieces of paper. Upon seeing Knox’s inebriated state and the exhausted look on Neil’s face, he immediately jumped to help Knox out of his coat and tie while Neil guided him to sit on one of the beds.

“Neil! Buddy! How’d you get here?”

Neil and Todd immediately shushed Knox, whose bruised face contorted into a frown.

“Sorryyyy” was the slurred response, given in a sort of whisper-yell smoothie.

“Knoxy, don’t talk. Your nose is still bleeding.” Neil’s voice was dripping in concern, which caused one of Todd’s eyebrows to perk up in his tell-tale “I told you so” smirk. Knox was preoccupied with trying to lick the blood from his nose “to clean it!”, and Neil was trying to get him to sit still. 

After about an hour, Todd had gone to room with Hopkins for the night, to his immense gratitude (drunk Knox was not a character Hopkins was particularly interested in dealing with, and neither Todd nor Neil blamed him one bit). Knox, who had sobered up enough to gain the ability to form coherent sentences (but not a filter) was delighted to fill Neil in on the happenings of the party, to which Neil couldn’t bring an objection from his lips. As annoying as he could be, Neil loved Knox’s ramblings, sober or otherwise.

“And then, I was sitting on the couch and the strangest thing happened! Chris was there, but it wasn’t really Chris! It was you, Neil, can you believe it? You were there!”

Neil hummed in mock surprise, grabbing the cup of water he had gotten from the bathroom and wetting another towel.

“No, Neil, you gotta remember, you kissed me! Well, you almost did…”

Neil froze, almost dropping the water.

“I.. did what?”

“You kissed me, silly! And I thought I was drunk…”

“Knox, I wasn’t at the party… I didn’t kiss you.”

The crushed look on Knox’s face at Neil’s words would have been adorable if it hadn’t been so sad…

“You… didn’t kiss me?” Neil shook his head slowly. “But then, who did I kiss?”

“Knox, Chris’s boyfriend punched your lights out. You were seeing things.”

“But Neil, you don’t get it. That was supposed to be our kiss!”

“Shh, Knox, stop moving so much. Your nose isn’t bleeding anymore, so let’s get you to bed. Can you stand up?”

Knox pouted, pouted, which almost caused Neil to drop dead on the spot, and stood up shakily before giggling and leaning into the wall.

“Nope!” He sang, popping the “p.”

Neil sighed. Knox was wearing jeans and a dress shirt, which meant he was going to be incredibly uncomfortable. Might as well do it now, then at least he won’t remember if anything embarrassing happens…

“Knox, you’re going to be uncomfortable sleeping in that.”

“So strip me, Perry, I’m not afraid,” he said with a drunken attempt at a wink that should not have made Neil’s heart flutter in the way that it did. He sighed and moved to unbutton Knox’s shirt, breathing another sigh of relief when he was met with the sight of a cotton t-shirt underneath. Crisis number one, averted.

“If I hold onto your shoulders, can you get your own pants off?”

“Yyyyyyeup!” It took Knox three tries to find the button on his jeans, but eventually, his clothes were folded neatly on Neil’s desk and Knox was sitting on the bed in just a t-shirt and boxers.

“You know, Neil, it’s your fault I went to that stupid party anyways.”

“Pardon?”

“Your fault, Neil. You and your stupid hair and your stupid face… you’re so stupid and fucking hot and it drives me so insane. It’s your fault I tried so hard to get Chris, and… and it’s your fault that my fucking nose is broken. There, I said it.”

There had only ever been a handful of times where Neil Perry was rendered fully speechless. Usually, it happened when his father said something particularly nasty, or when Todd occasionally worked up the courage to read his original poems at DPS meetings. But nothing could have prepared him for what Knox Overstreet said to him at 11:30pm on that fateful Friday night as he knelt on the floor between his legs.

“Wh-what?”

“You’re so stupid, Neil… I can’t do this anymore.”

And before he could say anything, Knox pulled him in by his tie and captured Neil’s parted lips with alcohol drowned ones of his own.

Neil pushed him away with no hesitation. “Knox, I-“

“Neil, come on… first Chris, now you too?”

“Knox…”

“No, Neil. You always talk, now I’m talking. I’m in love with you, and I thought maybe you might have been in love with me after tonight, but I was wrong and I’m starting to think that maybe going after Chris was a good thing, because she made me forget about you, even if it was just a little bit for a little bit of time. I’m…” Knox went silent as Neil kissed him again, softly.

“Knox, I like you. I like you a lot, actually, but you’re still really drunk and we should wait to talk about this, yeah?”

He stroked Knox’s hair softly, smiling when the other boy nodded and leaned into his touch.

“Okay. I’m gonna get ready for bed now, alright? I’m not leaving, I promise.”

Knox hummed affirmatively, getting under the covers of Neil’s bed.

“Smells like you… smells nice.” He buried his face in Neil’s pillow.

Neil smiled as he turned off the lights and got into Todd’s bed, listening to Knox’s quiet snores until he fell asleep.

—

“Fuck”

Knox opened his eyes, and immediately regretted it when the world exploded, sending shards of light and color into his aching brain. Groaning, he buried his face in his (no, not his,  his was softer?) pillow, wincing at the unexpected throb around his eye. He rolled over, facing the ceiling, moving an arm up to cover his eye when he heard the door open and relaxing immensely when he heard Todd’s voice.

“Morning, Knoxious. You okay?” Todd’s concern was evident, which made Knox feel a lot better. He loved that about Todd, he made up for what he lacked in confidence with an abundance of love and care for other people. Here he was now, handing Knox a bad of ice and a plate of pancakes from the diner he loved in town.

“Stick and I got breakfast this morning, thought you could use a hangover cure. Oh, which reminds me, I also brought you this,” he said, handing Knox a cup of water and a bottle of aspirin. He took everything with a smile, which widened when he saw Todd return it. Todd never smiled, and when he did, it was almost always genuine, and it made Knox feel warm inside to know that he had caused it.

“Where’s- ahem- where’s Neil?” Knox cleared the sleep from his throat and gulped down a couple pills before digging into the pancakes- blueberry. My favorite! Todd knows my favorite!

“Oh, uh, I actually don’t know,” Todd shrugged, furrowing his eyebrows, “He might be down by the dock? He goes there to study sometimes when he’s conflicted.”

Knox nodded, drinking the rest of the water and making quick work of the remaining pancakes.

“I’m gonna go find him. We gotta talk. If you see him, let him know I’m looking for him, alright?”

Knox got out of bed, only slowing for a moment when he realized he wasn’t wearing pants, before grabbing his jeans from their place on Neil’s chair and tugging them on before leaving the room.

Knox Overstreet had shitty hangovers. He had the headaches, the nausea, the fatigue, the dehydration, you name it… but he couldn’t seem to get wasted enough to ever forget anything. Usually, that was a good thing. As Knox marched towards the dock, he couldn’t decide whether he was glad to have the memories of the previous night, or if he wished that they would disappear forever.

His eyes are so fucking pretty. Fuck, how could I ever think I was in love with Chris when he was right here in front of me? 

“Knox? You okay?”

“Mmm. You’re pretty, that’s all.”

He had laughed, then. God, his laugh was like music. His laugh was music.

“You’re pretty too, Knoxy.”

Fuck. It was too much, he was right here, and he had just taken Knox’s shirt off, and he was sitting on the floor between his legs, and it was all too much. 

Carpe fucking Diem.

“You’re so stupid, Neil… I can’t do this anymore.”

Knox was grateful for Neil’s tie in that moment, because it was the one thing tethering him to the mortal world. Neil’s lips felt like home, and he knew it was more than just a drunken kiss. He was made to be kissing Neil, and he felt like he could do it forever.

And then it had ended.

“Knox, I-“

“Fuck.” He cursed at himself, the memory hurting his head worse than the alcohol or the bruise. 

“I like you a lot, actually…”

“You’re pretty drunk still”

“Wait to talk about this, yeah?”

“Knox! Down here!”

Speak of the fucking devil. Neil Perry, looking as beautiful as ever, was sitting on the dock, long legs sprawled out, reading glasses balanced on the tip of his nose. He looked delicious. Knox shoved back those thoughts before they made themselves known on his physical form and waved at Neil, walking towards him.

“Hey, Neil.”

“I’m glad you’re up! How are you? How’s your head?”

“‘M fine, Neil. Really. Thanks to you and Todd.”

As he sat down next to Neil, he couldn’t tell if the look the other boy gave him was a look of concern or of longing.

“The bruise actually looks a lot better. I’ll bet it’s gone completely by Monday.”

Knox tried to hide the way his breath hitched as Neil’s hand moved to cup his cheek, stroking the area around his eye so tenderly it should have been illegal.

“Neil…”

“I know. We need to talk about last night.”

“I shouldn’t have…”

“Actually, I’m… I’m glad you did. Considering you meant it, at least.”

Knox was speechless. He had planned a whole speech out on his way down, only to have all words robbed from him by the flecks of sunlit gold in Neil’s brown eyes. 

I love you

“I did. Mean it, that is… I definitely meant it.”

Jesus Christ, I love you, Neil Perry

“Then you won’t mind if… if I did it again?”

Knox met Neil’s eyes with his own. 

“Not in the slightest.”

Then, he did the same with his lips.

And I love you, Knox Overstreet.

[side-effect-of-the-meds]

When Andrew has a depressive episode that’s worse than Neil’s seen, I hc he makes himself get over his dislike of Bee to go to her (and finally listen to her ofc) so she can give advice on how he can help

Okay so this got a little long and p off-topic and I’m sorry but here. At least you get a kiss at the end :)

Bee’s excitement is palpable but she’s trying her best to contain it. She starts by asking if Neil can identify what might have triggered it and attempt to work from there. The thing is, there isn’t one. Not one that Neil would have known to look for at least. 

It’s incredibly apparent in all of my works that I hc Andrew as secretly insecure about his self-worth, specifically he doesn’t think he’s good enough for Neil. Andrew binds the people he loves to him with pacts and promises. Andrew promised to protect Kevin and Neil from the Moriyamas but now that Riko is gone, they don’t need him anymore. Andrew promised to remain by Aaron’s side so long as neither of them were in romantic relationships. Andrew broke that promise to be with Neil. HE BROKE HIS PROMISE. TO HIS OWN TWIN. TO BE WITH NEIL. It scares him shitless to know that Neil has this power over him. And Neil didn’t even ask for it. Neil wasn’t even trying. Andrew literally put a collar around his own neck and handed the leash to Neil without being asked to. 

So Andrew’s constant inner monologue is just FuckFuckFuckFuck and it’s his own fault. Neil doesn’t need his protection anymore. He can leave anytime he wants and then Andrew will be left broken and alone once more. Sometimes, Andrew will see Matt and Dan or Renee and Allison doing couple things and it hurts. He sees them cuddling and kissing, so unabashedly in love with one another. He sees Nicky and Erik face timing every week and hears them saying goodbye for a whole fifteen minutes before Erik really does have to leave. The worst one, by far, is Aaron and Katelyn’s relationship. Aaron shares 100% of Andrew’s DNA and is just as broken as he is but even he knows how to love like a normal person. 

The trigger itself was Andrew taking a trip down to Redding. Neil had wanted mexican food and the restaurant wasn’t willing to deliver so Andrew went to grab food for him. Parking is hard to find on a Friday night so Andrew parked half a block down from the restaurant and walked. On his way, he passed by the italian restaurant too. Walking by, he glances into the window. What he sees knocks the breath out of his lungs. Seated beside the window is Aaron and Katelyn. They’re sitting opposite one another and holding hands across the table while they feed each other with their free hands. In between bites, Katelyn is talking animatedly about something and Aaron? Aaron has never looked happier in his whole life. In the middle of her talking, he gets up and leans across the table to press a kiss to her forehead. It leaves her a giggling mess and Aaron is smiling wide. 

Hurrying away, Andrew grabs the food and returns to the dorms. Neil is studying so he drops the food on his desk. Neil thanks him without looking up and starts eating. Oof. Andrew feels his chest tighten. Usually, Andrew’s very presence was enough to pry Neil’s attention away from his work. What was different today? The answer is that if Neil doesn’t get his grades up, he’ll have to go extra tutoring. If he gets extra tutoring, that will cut into his time on the court and Kevin won’t have that. Kevin will take away Neil’s time with Andrew so that Neil can spend time on the court and Neil really doesn’t want to give up Andrew for Exy. Of course, Andrew doesn’t know this. 

Instead, he starts to get insecure. Did he do something wrong? Was Neil’s interest in him just a fling? Does Neil really not swing? Andrew goes quiet while he tries to sort it out. He’s wrapped up in his own little world, analyzing his own actions and comparing them to the things that Matt, Renee, Erik, and Aaron do. Maybe he should be more affectionate. So he tries that. He tries to hold Neil only to find that it triggered some long-buried memory. It left him a shaking mess. He tries to hold his hand but Neil’s rough hands remind him of the hand that pinned him to the bed. Andrew starts to think he’s too broken to love. 

Neil doesn’t know this. How the hell would he? Andrew hasn’t said anything. Neil knows that a lot of Andrew’s cues are nonverbal so he searches for physical signs but Andrew’s building new walls to keep him out. Telling Bee as much worries her. She asks if Neil wants to have a joint session but he declines. He needs to learn how to do this on his own. Bee nods. Remembering that Andrew has a hard time speaking, she asks Neil to talk to him about writing things down. Maybe he’d find it easier to communicate if he could put his feelings down on paper. 

And that’s how Neil finds himself wandering the dollar store for a notebook. Taking it home, he decides that he’ll write first. With a deep breath, Neil opens the book and presses his pencil to the first line. He sits there for an hour before realizing he hasn’t written anything. This is a lot harder than he thought it would be. 

It takes another hour before he’s finally got something. It isn’t very much but he thinks is conveys his own thoughts well enough. He leaves the notebook open to the page his letter is on on Andrew’s desk before slipping out to meet Matt. 

Neil knows better than to expect an immediate response but he can’t help but feel his heart sink when he sees the notebook closed on Andrew’s desk. Going up to the roof, he settles beside him and they smoke in silence. 

It takes almost a week before Neil finally gets a response. Returning home from a shopping trip with Allison, Neil’s heart skips a beat when he finds the notebook on his desk. When he opens it, he understands why it took so long. Half of it has been scribbled out and rewritten. Several whole sheets have been torn out. Andrew’s struggle to write him this letter is apparent. When speaking, it was easy for Andrew to hide his feelings behind his clever tongue but there was no hiding on paper. 

It broke Neil’s heart to see Andrew comparing himself to everyone else. With great care, Neil wrote his response. After some debate, Neil grabbed the notebook and slipped out of the room. Taking it up to the roof, Neil found Andrew waiting for him. Andrew looked at the notebook with apparent disinterest but Neil knew better. 

“I want to read it to you,” Neil said. 

“I’m not illiterate,” Andrew replied. 

“I didn’t say you were.” Neil waited until Andrew looked at him before he spoke again. “Just because I don’t need you to protect me from the Moriyamas doesn’t mean I don’t want you around anymore. Being with you makes me happy. Being with you makes me feel real. When we’re together, I don’t feel like I have to prove anything. When we’re together, I feel like I’m finally good enough. I want you to feel the same way. 

“Just because your not as affectionate as Aaron doesn’t mean your any less than him. I picked you, not him. I picked you in your drugged mania and I picked you in your sober apathy. Do you understand what that means? It means your enough. All the things that you do? They’re enough, Drew. They’re more than enough. 

“I can not undo your past but I want to give you a better future. I can not fix you but I want to help you get better. I don’t want to be your pipe dream anymore. Look at me, Andrew. Touch me. I’m real. I’m real and I’m here and I’m going to stay here until the day you tell me to go. Is that what you want? Do you want me to go?” 

“No,” Andrew whispered. 

“Then stop pushing me away,” Neil insisted. Leaning into Andrew’s space, Neil waited to see if he’d move. Andrew did. He moved closer until their lips were just a hair’s width apart. “You like promises so I’ve got one for you. Promise me you’ll tell me what’s wrong next time.”

“Promise,” Andrew replied before closing the space between them. 

[idkwhoiamanymorebutwtf]

G U Y S

I know I cry a lot about Max, Nikki, and Neil but can I just say that I live for their dynamic? And imma just throw a lot of observations about them here and this may get incoherent but whatever?

1.) They're actually pretty touchy-feely with each other and god I never noticed until recently but like??? They a r e??? Like Neil putting his hand on Max's back in Jermy Fartz. Like how Max grabbed Nikki's hand and d r a g g e d her away from the danger in Night Of The Living Ill. Or how Nikki just kinda clung to Neil when she was sick in the episode Into Town. Or how Nikki grabbed the boys into a hug in the Christmas Special. Even as early as the first episode they were grabbing each other and Max put his arms around the other's shoulders to guide them away. I know a lot of us are like "they aren't really the publicly clingy or affectionate types" but the thing is that they really kinda are. We don't always see it because it's not called attention to all that often but next time you watch an episode that's heavily trio centred count how many times they touch each other casually and you'll see what I mean. For example, I counted four casual grabs and touches in Spooky Island. Which doesn't seem like much. Until you remember the fact that this is a ten minute episode, and that's a touch every 2.5 minutes on average. Which IS a lot. Not to mention how damn close they were. There were quite a few moments where I fully expected them to grab each other or something because they were just completely invading one another's personal space.

Look how close they stand to one another. Compare this to normal conversation distance

When in a conversation generally your attention is locked onto the other person. Generally you'll stand closer to someone if you're talking to them than if you're not. Yet the two images I showed you before are of Max, Nikki, and Neil NOT talking or even really acknowleging one another. Compare that to the screenshot of Nikki actually engaged in conversation with Jasper.

If you thought maybe the former three images were just a perspective issue or something...no. Max, Nikki, and Neil genuinely do stand abnormally close. Look at this picture where Max and Nikki have literally no reason to leave a huge gap from Jasper yet they still do.

And when I said they disreguarded personal space I don't even mean standing this strangely close to each other?!? I mean like when Nikki threw herself two inches away from Max to the point where he jumped back a little. I mean like when Max pointed at Neil and Neil had to move his body a little because he was startled by how close it was. I mean like when Nikki leaned across Neil to jab her finger in Max's personal space, effectively getting abnormally touchy with both of them at the same time. Note that all these observations are from ONE EPISODE that's only ten minutes long! Imagine everything that could be observed if I went out of my way to check how touchy they were in every episode? This is especially impressive if we look at who we're talking about. Max is the type to reject touching from people. He's brushed off or shoved away other's who try to touch him multiple times. But not these two.

2.) Max is a l o t softer with Nikki and Neil than with anyone else. Again, let's take Spooky Island for example. When they discover the torture chamber, Max has absolutely no issues whatsoever telling Jasper the fuck off. He taunted Jasper, who was clearly frightened, going "Oh no! We have to find ghosts and monsters! Remember?!?" And keep in mind he was mocking and yelling here. Then Neil interjects and you know what? Max's tone actually softens. Yeah he still tells Neil that he's wrong. But Max isn't nearly as hostile. He sure as hell didn't mock or taunt Neil. And what's more? Max didn't say one word to Nikki. Yeah when he first walked in he started to tease her but as soon as she made it clear that she was frightened he just completely stopped and turned his attention onto Jasper. And you can see this in a l o t of episodes, not just this one. Max is still a jerk with Nikki and Neil but he doesn't cross the line. He doesn't yell for too long. Max...he doesn't want to hurt them. He doesn't want to see them fail. He doesn't want them angry or god forbid sad. Max may hurt them sometimes but he doesn't fuck with them just for the sake of upsetting them. And especially in early seasons, that's more than can be said for anyone else because he does go out of his way to torment the other's and he's never been as openly apologetic for anything in his life than for the few times he has upset Nikki and Neil. It's also worth noting that Neil is more gentle with Nikki than other's. For example he expects her to ruin his experiments and just gets kinda salty about it after but he clearly forgives her? Max and Neil also forgave her when she betrayed them for Ered in Camp Cool Kidz. Like..immediately. With no bargaining. They were back to hanging out together instantly before Nikki even apologized.

3.) They're always together. I think I made a separate post about this? But it's the truth. They eat together. They sleep in the same tent (actually I'm not sure? Max said in episode 1 "I'll show you to our tent" and they have no issues sneaking out together all the time in the middle of the night- note that they don't all have that much access to technology so coming up with a time to meet up may be hard- implying that Nikki sleeps with them? And there are only two 'beds' I think but doubling up doesn't seem that unlikely for these three? So until proven otherwise I'm assuming they sleep in the same tent). They have DAILY adventures together. Like scheduled. Like they gotta spend it together. In Eggs Benefits Max wanted nothing to do with the adventure yet he followed Nikki and Neil anyway and spent the whole day letting Nikki drag him around despite whining the whole time. In Spooky island both Nikki and Neil want to leave at different points of the episode but they continue to follow Max anyway. These three really do just stick together all the time and maybe they've been branching off a bit more lately but they still spend a hell of a lot of time together? Like most of their time if I'm not mistaken?

4.) Nikki and Neil are...really protective over Max? Like I'm sorry but did you guys see the Foreign Exchange Campers episode? The moment Max decided to team up with someone else they flipped their shit. I mean, Max literally told them it was just so he could win. It was clear he wasn't actually choosing the other campers over Nikki and Neil? Like it's obvious they were still friends? Yet we still got lines like "What about us? We're kinda a thing!", "We dont need you anyway Max! And even if we did, we're just going to pretend we don't in the hopes that you'll be jealous and we won't feel as sad!", "I just can't believe he would ditch us! After all our adventures?!?", and "He looks so happy! At least he's found someone who can make him smile" like, god, they treat this like a breakup or something when Max just wanted to win the contest. Like they knew it wasn't personal. They knew he was just being a jerk and he didn't like the Foreign kids more than them. Yet look at this.

Look at these creeps watching him from the bushes instead of competing!

They were so volatile too? They called Brian "Kim-Chi" despite knowing damn well that Nurf wasn't calling him the right name. Nikki literally yelled "Shut up commie" at Vera. I believe Neil outright told them point blank "Max is OUR friend and you can't have him!".

This isn't the only example of them being defensive about Max (almost to a fault) but it's the biggest one off the top of my head.

5.) They l o v e each other. Nikki saying "You know what else I love about Christmas? You guys (Max and Neil)" or Neil saying "We were so afraid of foreigners taking what we love (Max) that we.." , etc. Like??? They're so very sweet? They really love each other guys and I'm screaming because they're so good? And Max hasn't outright said he loves them but god, we know he does. Like how he "didn't do this camp campbell" but "for you guys (Nikki and Neil)" when he pulled off this difficult convoluted scheme to get the camp back. They love and care about and support one another even with all their issues and it's just so good? And the trio's overall relationship is ignored way too much. Can we just..please..talk about them more? As a trio? Please?

[rogerbriden]

Dreamscape P5

Part 4

“Things really are a bit of a mess aren’t they?”

“...I think so...yes. But I don’t know why,” Roger had his eyes closed. He wasn’t sure why he had answered the unknown voice. It wasn’t exactly familiar to him. But it sounded friendly...calm. Like, maybe he could have heard it once, somewhere.

“Well...that’s how life is sometimes. Things get tangled up and confusing. But it doesn’t last forever. That’s the good thing about it all.”

He furrowed his brows and frowned a little harder before hesitantly opening his eyes to peek.

He was...at the table. In the kitchen, back home. Roger turned his head from side to side. There was the sink, there were the counters, and the fridge with all the magnets and the oven- It was all there.

In front of him was a big plate of cookies next to a kettle full of steaming hot tea, and two teacups set for two people. But there was no one around, only himself.

Immediately Roger reached for a cookie and took a big bite. Sugary, soft, warm...Everything a cookie ought to be (he didn’t care for crunchy ones.)

As soon as he reached for another, before finishing the first no less, he paused, the hairs on his neck standing on end.

There was another man sitting adjacent to him now, sipping at his own cup of tea and running his thumb over a datacron. 

He had blonde hair and wore rectangular shaped glasses and a lab coat. He looked like a doctor, almost like the mean doctor from the hospital that Roger had met before several times prior...but...there was something different. Maybe it was his eyes. They were grey, but they were warm, almost golden.

Before Roger could gobble down the second cookie, he drew his arms in cautiously, holding it close to himself as he eyed the other man suspiciously. Walker always told him to be wary of strangers. Even if they looked like they could be nice people. Because a lot of them weren’t always.

The doctor, for lack of better identifiers, eventually looked up at him and smiled. “It’s all right you know. There’s nothing to worry about, so don’t be afraid.” “What’s your name?” “Liam.” He said, sighing almost but still smiling. “We’ve met once before. Not in person, but you met a part of me technically.” “I did?”

“You’re familiar with Jacquemont, aren’t you?” As if on queue, the little yellow bee-bot came flying over from seemingly nowhere, more than pleased to see Roger.

“Jacque!!” In typical fashion, he yanked the bot right out of the air and held him close (cookie still in hand as well,) Jacque letting out a series of ‘happy noises’ as his antenna bobble blinked rapidly and glowed brightly.

“There see? Best of friends even.” 

Roger looked up towards Liam again, “I still don’t know what you meant when you said that we met before.” As soon as he finished his sentence, he squinted. “...Wait-”

“Are you surprised you remembered what I said only minutes earlier?”

“I-”

“You’ve come far, you know.” “I remembered-” Roger’s eyes darted around almost in a panic. They couldn’t find anywhere to settle at first, until Jacquemont squirmed out of his arms and flew around in circles above him. “But how? Why-” He tried to think about other things.

Some memories came, others refused to. Or maybe because there simply wasn’t anything there.

But the most important ones seemed to still be around. He remembered his room upstairs- all his things and where they were- Walker and Bell and Pepper outside, and the gardens and even the funny looking captain with his green hat and his coat.

And Mara, her too...and Acorn and Walker’s weird yellow friend who was very VERY tall and had a funny metal mouth, and the other Mordesh with the wild dark hair and green eyes who was also kind of mean...

They all weren’t as prominent as the botanist Walker however. 

“I couldn’t really say for certain. Things can change on a whim, without any warning. And sometimes, they change again before you can even figure out what’s what.”

“So...so then- am I better? Am I better now?” Roger asked, sounding distressed.

He knew something was wrong with his head, deep down. Walker wouldn’t always say it- in fact, he never said it at all. But, he knew.

“Well,” Liam adjusted his glasses, "That all depends. Do you want to get better?"

"Well of course. It's not good being sick or...or having something wrong…" Just saying so made him anxious. "So… earlier you- you said we met and then Jacquemont came, are you INSIDE him?"

"There is a small bit of programming, yes. It's gone on for so long without being activated. I left it behind so Walker would always have a piece of me to talk to, to keep him company. But… perhaps it's made him too sad to do so." In turn, Liam also looked sad about it. "I would definitely apologize if I were able."

"Well we should go find him and tell him."

"We? Oh… no… he's already here. You just need to wake up is all. He's been absolutely worried sick about you."

"He has?" The anxiety grew.

From there, whispers began to tickle his ears. They sounded like a muffled voice, but they steadily became louder. Clearer even.

"...don't worry… I'm not going to leave you… it'll be alright… I promise… I'm sorry…"

That was definitely Walker's voice. Roger couldn't tell where it was coming from however. It was like it was coming from...well, all over really.

He looked to Liam helplessly. "Where is he? I don't like this anymore- this isn't home- it just looks like home. I wanna go home, there's nobody here and I don't know why!"

Liam gave him a sympathetic look. "I don't know any more than you do. But, what I can say is this. You really ought to wake up now. He's out there all alone, and he needs you."

Walker's disembodied voice grew more clear. "Everything's going to be fine...we'll go home soon and forget it ever happened-"

They'll forget…

Roger stood up, holding his breath. "If… If I wake up," He wasn't sure how he was going to at this point, "Will I forget everything again? Please.. I don't wanna forget… I'm tired of forgetting… I can't remember anything nice or fun when I'm awake," Tears were welling up in his eyes as he grew more and more upset. "I don't wanna forget…"

"We don't always have a choice in these things I'm afraid. We all do the best we can, and sometimes that has to be enough. At the very least… were you happy?" Liam stood up slowly, as if preparing to send him off whether he wanted it or not.

Roger thought about it, eyes downcast.

Was he happy?

"I-"

Feelings more than vivid memories came back to him. Nice hugs… never being alone...smiles and a few affectionate kisses here and there. The madness of being doomed to live on repeat.

But…

Was he happy?

"...If Walker's there with me then… then…" He swallowed. "...I'm happy. I am. Even if I can't remember it. I want to go back home now… Please?"

Liam smiled sadly at him. "It's time to wake up now."

________

Walker remained slumped over Roger in the early morning hours. He had absolutely refused to be removed from the recovery room, and after a lot of fighting (and convincing from Mara) the staff had decided to leave him there like he wanted. Though he was to be closely monitored, of course. For security reasons.

His eyes were shutting themselves and his vision was swirling and fading in and out. He couldn't keep this up any longer. Days without sleep was taking its toll and never felt so close to metaphorical death. Not even Neil working him constantly drained him this much. That anxiety could never compare to now.

Walker held his head up again weakly to look at Roger, feeling him twitch briefly. Maybe now he would wake up.

Maybe…

Nothing happened.

Again he sank into somewhat of a crumpled heap hovering over the bedside.

He didn't care HOW long it would take. He'd wait until Roger woke up just like he promised. And then they'd go home, just like he said they would.

Even if Roger did just stare off into space...and do nothing else.

The guilt hit him like a truck again, and he laid his head down to cry. Again.

"Why did I do it… I shouldn't have- I should have just said no- they had no idea about anything they were doing-" The new experimental procedures, the new medicines, the new everything.

He was the one who turned Roger into a vegetable. It was his fault. And he could have died on the spot admitting that.

But he was still here. Still alive.

Jacquemont laid nearby on another surface, blooping a few times to signify he was recharged. Slowly and sleepily he hovered into the air before opening his eyes fully and zipping over to the two at the bed. He settled down gently next to Roger then, emitting little "purring" noises as he warmed up. That was new.

"Jacquemont what if he never comes back," Walker asked, or weeped. He wasn't sure.

Jacquemont made a questioning sound before his attention darted back to Roger.

Walker noticed and looked up at him. His eyelids were fluttering and his nose twitched.

"Roger??" Immediately he sat up and leaned in closer, holding his breath.

________

The first things he could see were lights. Faint lights that were blurry, but everything was starting to come back.

His hearing faded back in and he could hear Walker's voice. The feelings in his fingers and everything else came back too, resulting in feeling like he was made of lead, but he could also feel the botanist's hand over both of his much smaller ones.

And a hovering yellow ball off to the side-

Roger stirred some more, fidgeting almost. He wanted to move but found he could hardly do so. Instead he emitted a whine that may have been akin to a chorus of angels for the Mordesh in front of him.

"Oh my g- Roger- Roger it's ok it's ok- lay back- don't worry-"

That was Walker certainly. Pushing him back down gently so he wouldn't move. Why though?

He groggily turned his head to look to the side. This wasn't his bedroom. Where the heck were they? The panic welled up in his chest and he could not contain it. Immediately he choked out a sob.

"Oh no, no no no Roger it's ok, it's ok see?" Walker pulled him into a tight hug, completely smothering him. "It's ok… it's ok… you're ok…" He sounded so relieved, and he felt really hot. Roger couldn't figure out why.

Where the heck were they? And why did he feel absolutely terrible? He hated it. He wanted to go home.

Why was Walker so sad?

Where was he? Why did everything feel like it hurt…

Walker was really, REALLY sad. Or really happy. Roger wasn't too sure.

If only he knew where they were. It didn't smell like home.

He felt sore.

But… Walker was there. That was all that mattered.

[flippyspoon]

I agree so much! I am so in love with the idea of Billy getting Steve in to bed for the first time and Steve feels really weird about it because he’s never done that before and he is asking Billy to promise him he won’t leave him if he does this and Billy promises over and over and in the morning he realizes he isn’t good for Steve or something Neil related and he has to leave a crying Steve who’s sitting there like a kid like “but...but you promised!” And it hurts Billy more than anything

(Oh my gosh, I felt like this anon needed something written and it’s sooo redundant lol. Next thing I write will be different, I swears it!)

An Emergency

Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if the sex hadn’t been so unexpectedly sweet, if Billy had not looked down as he filled Steve, smiling softly with sunshine behind his eyes as if the world’s answers were there between them.

Steve had actually believed the whole bit.It must have been a bit because when Steve woke and, his eyes still shut, could still feel Billy, remembering it all like the happiest dream come tru, he had reached out only to find a cold spot on the bed and looked up to see Billy fully dressed, smoking and staring out the window.

“Billy?”

Billy looked caught out. “Oh. You’re awake.”

“What’re you doing up? S’fucking early,” Steve said, rubbing his eyes, smiling lazily.

“I was thinking, ya know, we uh….I know what I said and last night was real fun but… That’s it. Ya know. Don’t expect shit, I mean. Anyway, I gotta run-”

“What?” Steve was blinking at him.

Billy took a breath. “I’m saying, you’re great in the sack and all, Harrington. But let’s just forget this ever happened?” He grabbed his jacket, patting his pockets for his wallet and cigarettes and lighter and keys. “Okay?”

“But… you said, you said you didn’t want it to be a one time thing. The way you- Billy, don’t fuck with me.”

Billy turned away then. “Yeah well, I wanted to get you into bed, didn’t I? Mission accomplished.” He stubbed cigarette out on Steve’s window sill. “Got King Steve to take it up the ass and now it’s time for me to make my merry way-”

“Fuck you.”

“I’d say don’t take it too hard, but you we both know you can take it pretty hard-”

“You’re a liar,” Steve said, jaw clenched tight, eyes rimmed red now. “You weren’t lying last night, now now you’re fuckin’ lying, you goddamn coward.”

“You tell anybody about this and I’ll kill you,” Billy said quietly, putting on his jacket.

And just like that he was gone.

Steve listened to Billy pound down the stairs and lay back in bed, all the hopes slowly brewing over the last few months now dashed to the wind. Because the two of them had been talking and flirting for a while after Billy had straight up apologized for the fight. None of it had felt like a seduction, like Billy just wanted to fuck Steve Harrington for a notch on his bedpost. Billy had been by turns aggressive then nervous then sweet then skittish, which as far as Steve could tell, was what a dude in love acted like.

He’d felt the same way.

But then Steve had been wrong before.

He must’ve been wrong this time too.

Billy Hargrove had fucked him over twice and now Steve curled up on his side and tried to forget all the sweet kisses and affectionate whispers from the night before.

“Stupid,” Steve whispered around the lump in his throat. “Stupid bullshit…”

Billy and Steve ignored each other for a solid month.

Steve kept his head down and he vaguely knew that Billy was apparently going for some kind of record, attempting to go on a date with every single junior or senior girl at Hawkins High, but he didn’t listen to rumors about Billy and he didn’t look for Billy in the halls, and he kept his eyes on his work in classes they shared because fuck Billy Hargrove.

Act like you don’t care, a little voice said.

For his part, Steve Harrington had not been hard up for a date since the eighth grade.

He went out with Ali, he fooled around with Jeff Lewis’s college freshman sister, he made out with Amy at a party and would’ve slept with her if she hadn’t been so drunk. Steve pulled every move he could think of to get Billy Hargrove out of his head.

It didn’t work at all but to the outside observer Steve Harrington barely even knew who Billy Hargrove was.

Then one night Dustin insisted there was some kind of walkie-talkie emergency.

“I don’t understand why Max needs a new walkie now,” Steve said, even as he drove Dustin down to Old Cherry Road because it was late and he didn’t like the kids biking around by themselves if it was late and the kids knew that and took advantage of the willing chauffeur.

Dustin said, “Because if something happens-”

“Nothing’s happened since November.”

“But if something happens!”

“Okay okay okay.”

Of course, they couldn’t just knock on the door and ask to speak to Max. Because it was too late at night for visitors and anyway Max’s step-dad was considered a hardass by the kids which made Steve wonder but Billy had never talked about his father.

They parked two blocks away and by Steve standards, even as a stealthy Ninja, there was far too much unnecessary sneaking until they reached Max’s window, huddled in the dark.

Dustin tapped on Max’s window and whispered to Steve, “You should patrol the perimeter! But be careful!”

Steve rolled his eyes.

Patrol the perimeter.

That was how he ended up huddled under Billy’s window which might have come to nothing but watching Billy do homework while listening to headphones except that his father was in his room and he had Billy shoved up against the wall.

The window was open just a crack and Steve could hear them. With the lights on inside and the darkness outside, they couldn’t see him through the blinds.

But Steve could see them.

He saw Neil Hargrove backhand his son and casually call him truly awful things and when he calmly left Steve saw Billy sink to the floor and turn his head away.

Oh.

A door slammed and Steve scooted around the corner just as Neil came around to the front of the house and got in his car. Steve caught his breath, flattened against the wood siding as Mr. Hargrove’s truck pulled out of the drive. When Mr. Hargrove was gone he went to Billy’s window and tapped on it.

Billy opened the window and stared at Steve. “The fuck, Harrington. I thought you were some chick.”

“Let me in.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Just let me in,” Steve said, and his heart ached just to speak to Billy again after a month of trying so hard to pretend he didn’t exist. “C’mon.”

Billy opened the window the rest of the way and helped Steve climb inside. Billy was wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt, his hair tied back in a ponytail. He was wearing socks. He looked softer and younger in his own element or maybe that was because having seen what had just happened, Steve was prone to think of him a little differently.

“Dustin brought this walkie-talkie thing for Max,” Steve said. “I came along for that.”

“Oh.” Billy didn’t look like he cared about that. He was rubbing his wrist, looking completely at a loss.

“Um. I saw what just…happened.”

“Yeah.” Billy shrugged as if it were nothing. “So what?”

“So what?”

“Oh, c’mon, Harrington. What is this? You gonna tell me it’s not my fault and I’m a good boy or-”

“We shouldn’t have slept together,” Steve said flatly.

Billy’s mouth went slack and he looked down, defeated. “Ah.”

“I mean. No, I mean we should’ve yeah, but we should’ve done this first.”

“Done what?”

“This,” Steve said softly, and stepped forward to put his arms around Billy.

“Harrington, cut it out,” Billy snapped, attempting to shove him away.

“No.” Steve tightened his grip and Billy fought him and Steve clutched his shoulders and shut his eyes. “No.”

Billy snorted and said, “So this fixes everything?”

“No,” Steve said, hugging Billy, resting his head in the crook of Billy’s neck. “It doesn’t.”

“Then what’s the point, huh?”

“I dunno,” Steve murmured, feeling Billy’s arms go slack. “Maybe nothing. Maybe you need it.”

Billy let Steve embrace him and Steve felt him breathe in and out once, twice, and muscular arms slowly came up around him and held onto Steve. Billy gripped him tighter and tighter as they stood there, just hugging.

“I didn’t want to leave,” Billy whispered. “Felt like ripping my own fucking heart out.”

“That’s okay,” Steve said, and leaned back to smile at him and push an errant curl behind his ear. “I can put it back for ya. Come to my house tonight.”

“Really?” Billy searched his eyes as if looking for a trick. “It’ll be worse when he gets back, I was gonna take off anyway-”

“Yeah, so come to my house tonight,” Steve said firmly, and kissed his cheek and the corner of his mouth.

In the car, Billy sat staring straight ahead as Dustin glared at him from the backseat.

“Steve,” Dustin said.

“It’s fine, Dustin.”

“What is he doing here?”

“He’s staying at my house,” Steve said, as if it were an everyday occurrence.

“At your house!”

“It’s an emergency,” Steve said.

“What kind of emergency?” Dustin said darkly as Billy raised an eyebrow at him in the rearview.

“He needs a hug,” Steve said.

[nekojitachan]

so, I know you're not on prompts, but I suddenly really feel like reading some neil with a british accent, and I already reread your stories, and I am going around asking this from all of my fav authors, so if you're ever in the mood or have the time, could you perhaps bless us w some neil w a british accent and the team losing their shit over it???

Hmm, I wouldn’t say that I don’t take prompts, it’s just I’ve been so busy lately that I haven’t had time to do them? I’m trying to change that (and find a good prompt list to post).

*******

It was the reporter’s fault, Andrew supposed. With the fall semester winding down and the Foxes securing a spot in the spring championship playoffs despite being weighed down by the new rookies, Wymack had informed them at the start of the week that there would be a reporter coming to interview them to help build up some publicity, so everyone had better mind their manners and watch their mouths (that might have been directed at a certain sophomore with a tendency to self-destruct whenever his lips parted and sound came out).

At first Andrew had been a tiny bit bemused with the prospect of spending Thursday’s practice listening to the Foxes go on about how hard they’d worked so far that year and their chances to hold on to the division’s title against the Trojans while everyone waited with baited breath for Neil to spout off his usual bullshit (especially if it meant that Andrew didn’t have to do much more than stand around for once). Kevin was his usual fake smiles and torn between gushing about Knox and Moreau and talking up the Foxes, the rest of the upperclassmen were positive as always about the team - Dan was more poised that year and going on about the ‘legacy’ she was leaving behind as well about how Neil would be a great captain once she was gone.

Nicky was a hyper idiot, the freshmen were still unused to doing any sort of interviews and so Wymack hung around to keep their sessions brief and to the point. Aaron managed (barely) to not come across as a surly asshole, and Matt gushed equally about Dan and Neil in a sickening manner. By the time the earnest young British man from Extreme Exy got to Andrew, all he did was give the reporter a flat look while he was asked questions about his goalkeeping record so far that year, his thoughts on which teams would be in the final three and who was his favorite professional Exy team.

Neil so owed Andrew for him putting up with this ridiculousness.

Of course the Foxes gathered around as if a crowd waiting near the bottom of the gallows when the reporter finally got to Neil. Perhaps the young man knew about Neil’s reputation, perhaps he was a bit rattled after dealing with Aaron and Andrew, but his smile appeared a little wan and the hand holding the recording device trembled a little when he began with his questions - Wymack had insisted that nothing about the Ravens be brought up, but that still left a lot of leeway for Neil to drag people.

“Ah, after a bit of a rough start, the Foxes are now second in the Southeastern district. Do you foresee any difficulties heading into the playoffs?”

It felt as if most of the Foxes were holding their breath as they waited for Neil to respond, as Wymack stared intently at Neil as if he could mentally will the idiot to think before he spoke (Andrew could tell the man that Neil would just come up with more inventive insults then). Neil eyed the tall, dark-haired reporter for a moment before he shrugged. “I won’t lie and say that it won’t be a challenge, not when so many of our players are so new, but we’ve gotten this far so I’m confident that we’ll do a good job.” He smiled as he brushed aside the hair falling onto his face. “We’re Foxes, after all. We do best under adversity.”

“Oh my god,” Pris exhaled, while beside her Michalyn nodded in agreement and Sheena stared on in disbelief. As for the upperclassmen, Dan’s eyes were wide and her mouth agape, Allison was grinning as she jabbed her right elbow into her friend’s side and even Renee appeared surprised. Matt… Matt was gazing at Neil so intently that Andrew felt the strong urge to go over and smack the backliner. Hard. Hard and repeatedly.

“What’s up with the funny accent?” Aaron asked as the reporter, with a slight, puzzled smile on his face, asked Neil another question - that one about what Neil thought about the Trojans’ improved defensive line with Moreau on their team.

“I think we’re going to have a real challenge on our hands when we play them again - we won last year because of them wanting to face us with an even number of players, and now we have a bigger line-up. But we’ve learned a lot, too, so we’ll each bring something new to the court,” Neil said, his British accent growing stronger with each question.

“His mother,” Andrew answered his twin as he gritted his teeth over the Foxes’ ongoing reactions; somehow, Allison had managed to sneak a phone out on court and was filming Neil’s interview while Nicky leaned against an almost drooling Matt as if swooning and fanned himself.

There was another question about their upcoming game against Binghamton, which Neil glanced at a stern-faced Wymack for a moment before giving (for him) a mild answer about how the Foxes intended to continue with their winning streak against the team. Still speaking in that damn accent which made Andrew furious over how their moronic teammates were acting and twitchy with the need to grab a certain idiot and find a quiet spot to ask him ‘yes’ or ‘no’. To keep him from speaking with that accent - well, other than a few choice words.

“I will give you anything for a copy of this vid,” Nicky crooned to Allison, who continued to smirk as if very pleased with herself. “Anything.”

“Hell yes,” Matt agreed with a rough voice as he continued to stare fixated at Neil.

“This is stupid, he just wants all the attention,” Jack sulked, his glare strengthening when Pris, Michalyn and even Sheena shushed him.

The reporter for Extreme Exy paused a moment before he asked another question. “So, are you going to be cheering for Cambridge or Nottingham this weekend?” He waved the recorder around a little. “Ah, your mother’s side of the family is British, right?” When Neil stiffened at the question, he had the sense to pick up on it right away. “Oh, right, I wasn’t supposed-”

“Edinburgh.” Neil’s answer cut through the man’s frantic apology. “I actually favor Edinburgh’s team, though they’ll play this week’s winner.” He managed a half-smile as the reporter recovered and Kevin took to scowling in the distance in blatant disagreement. “Their defense is a work in progress, but their goalies are top notch and their offense incredible.”

“Ah, yes!” The reporter laughed a little as if in agreement. “I’m partial to Manchester myself, so let’s hope those two make it to the finals!”

Wymack stepped in to wrap things up then, which left Neil standing there with an oddly open expression on his face. Before Andrew could move, Nicky and the upperclassmen closed in on the junkie.

“Oh my god, that was amazing!” Nicky exclaimed as he draped his arms around Neil’s shoulders. “How do you do that? Can you do that like, always? That sounds so hot!” It was right then that Andrew had joined them, and he spared no force in slamming his right arm into his cousin’s abdomen. “Ow!”

“Thanks for closing another bet for me,” Allison said as she reached out to tousle Neil’s hair as if she had every right to be so affectionate. “Actually, two, since you got through today without dragging anyone through the mud for once.”

“We had every faith in you,” Renee murmured as she tugged Matt out of Andrew’s way before Andrew could ‘accidentally’ ram his elbow into the tall backliner’s left kidney.

“Well, not Jack, Sheena, Aaron, Nicky and Roy, but there’s always a sucker or two when it comes to bets,” Allison said with evident glee as she held up her phone. “Between them and this little gem, we’re going to enjoy a nice spa weekend or two.” That was directed toward Renee.

Renee dragged the dealer away before something ‘happened’ to her phone, while Nicky left before he earned another hit and Dan had the sense to remove her boyfriend as well, leaving Neil alone with Andrew. “I seem to remember a time when you didn’t want attention,” Andrew remarked as the rest of the Foxes broke apart and began to walk away, practice seemingly over now that the reporter was gone. “Those were the days.” He wouldn’t mention what type of days, though.

Neil shrugged and rubbed at the back of his neck. “I didn’t… it’s habit, I suppose. I used it all the time in Europe unless we were somewhere and spoke French or German. I used it when it was just me and my mum.” His expression was a bit guarded then, since he knew that Andrew didn’t care to hear anything in regards to Mary, to a woman who had fucked up Neil in so many ways and failed to protect her only child. The woman who had abused him even if Neil didn’t readily admit to that fact.

“It’s stupid, don’t do it again,” Andrew told him as he thought about how the Foxes had reacted to it just then.

At first Neil frowned at that, and then he smiled as he stepped forward and brushed his fingers lightly along the hem of Andrew’s oversized goalie jersey. “Don’t do it again, or don’t do it while in public, hmm?” The British accent crept back into his voice as he gazed at Andrew with that almost-smirk on his lips. “I think maybe you like it, just a little. Perhaps you need to hear it again to make up your mind when it’s just the two of us.”

Andrew felt that urge to drag Neil off somewhere private once more, the urge to both kiss him quiet and hear him call out Andrew’s name. “I hate it and you,” he settled on as he shoved his hand in his idiot’s face. “And stop staring.”

Neil laughed as he took a step back. “That’s a ‘yes’.” He hummed a little as they headed toward the locker room. “Okay, later then.”

Andrew shoved him forward, but he didn’t say ‘no’.

*******

Eh… I’m working on keeping things short. ‘Working’. I hope you like it!

Now off for more Ravens Partner….

[dudence-blog]

Dear Dudence for 13 February 2018

Wow, it’s been like a month.  I’d apologize but, honestly, I do think for fun and the time I spend reading, thinking, and writing had to come out of time spent with family, work, or school.  Also, I realized I needed there to be something in the NuPru source which made me go “ugh, that is just wrong.”  Maybe some Stockholm Syndrome has kicked in and I see her point of view on things I used to disagree with, and life is too short for me to get too wrapped around the axle about something written by a lesser advice columnist. So, with the non-apologetic apology it’s off to the letters.

I live in a condo that has a gym, which I frequent. Unfortunately, another gym rat in the building smells very bad. She might not care, or she might not even notice; I’m not sure. But the gym is small, and the stench is so unpleasant that it makes me cut my workout short. (We’re usually the only two there at the same time.) What’s the appropriate way to say something? Or should I just avoid confrontation and file a gentle complaint with the property manager?

Dear How do I Tell?  Do you want a condo war?  Because this is how you get a condo war.  The gym is one of the few parts of modern American life where the natural human funk can be reasonably expected to be tolerated.  I’m also impressed because you’ve managed to make something I thought was pretty sad: religiously working out at the apartment “gym” and make it even sadder.  Religiously working out at the apartment gym, and sharing it with someone who now really resents you.  I get it, some people can really get a good stink going on, or they might wear those fancy moisture-wicking fabrics which need a bit of extra cleaning to get the odor-causing bacteria out, or there might be some cultural differences in personal hygiene, or you could be frequenting the gym to spend 15 minutes on the ellipitcal’s lowest setting while she’s in there for an hour trying to find extra weight to put on the machines because they’re just not enough.  This is a conversation which has a 45-45 shot of either her being shamed into doing something to make her merely-normalish-stink or she goes to the mattresses on you.  The remaining 10% is that she either has a medical issue and she knows she stinks like that, which is why she uses the private gym where she lives and not a real gym, or she’s from France and you’re a racist for suggesting she stinks.

Well, the hard part is over. My boyfriend of two years and I are breaking up. It’s excruciating, because I love living with him. He is clean, polite, funny, a kick-ass cook, and handles conflict well. But that just makes it harder that he’s not very affectionate. He doesn’t share much of himself emotionally, or put his arm around me anymore, or initiate sex. I could almost have dealt with it, but when I told him I needed him to take sex more seriously or it would end the relationship, he didn’t make any changes.

Dear Breakup Lite, I’m really glad that you and your soon-to-be-ex have had such a mature break-up.  I know they’re hard, especially when they’re someone you care about, but when you’re incompatible on something as fundamental as… wait… I’m still reading your letter… wait… what… oh… oh no…. oh nonononononono honey… don’t tell me you… ohhhhhhhhhh.  Sweetie… listen… I really hate to be the one to break this to you, but your ex-boyfriend is going to make some other woman (or man, it’s 2018 afterall) very happy.  But your idea of “I’m going to let him go free to bang other people so he learns how to bang me better” is going to blow up in your face.  

I am a white woman married to a black man. We live in a mainly white town, and I grew up knowing racism was alive and well in our town. I have a few friends left from high school but have abandoned many due to their racist views. One of my friends, “Melissa,” has never said anything overtly racist in my presence, but every single man she has ever dated has been a racist who proudly shared his views on social media. She is now pregnant and is trying to reach out for support, as she is not with the father and doesn’t have many close friends or family. Meanwhile, she recently started dating another guy who posted racist comments on social media last week.

Dear Covert Racism, how hard-up for friends are you that you’ve remained friends with someone you think, covertly, is biased against your husband because of his race and are now trying to figure out how to exploit her desperation for support during a pregnancy where the father of the child has abandoned her to confront her about your your beliefs?  I mean, of all the ways “my racist friend dates racist men and she’s asking me for help,” could go I think I’m most surprised by “how do I explain to her that I think she’s racist?”  Are you going to blow off her request for support unless she recants?  Are you going to support her through her pregnancy regardless of her dating choices?  What sort of saint, or demon, decides “This chick is pregnant with another man’s baby, I’m going to date her,”?  But, you know what, one of my guiding principles as Dudence is that I answer the question asked.  And, to that end, you stop talking to Melissa about the racism of her boyfriends, but about how that makes her look to you.  You talk about how you condemn her boyfriends as racist, but you don’t talk about how you’ve told her that makes it look like she is one too by letting it slide.  Or, in her case, letting is slide in and out and in and out (OH!).  I’m sure the isolated pregnant lady will take your criticism to heart and will handle it with grace, aplomb, and will be thankful for your help.

I was a professional dancer for about six years before I was in a car wreck that ended my career. Since then I have married and now work at a nonprofit. I was contacted by a friend who introduced me to several gifted but underprivileged dance students. I saw myself in their talent and struggles. I have taken a few on as a personal instructor and coach. I do this on my own time and pay for it from my own pocket. When my sister-in-law heard I was teaching, she got it into her head that I should include her 7- and 8-year-old daughters for free because I am family. I told her no over the phone, and then she drove over with the girls in dance gear. I told her no again and refused to let her in the door. She threw a fit and since then has been blasting me over all social media and got the rest of my in-laws on her side.

Dear Private Lessons, your problem is ceding the narrative your sister-in-law.  Well, the root problem is your sister-in-law has an outrageous sense of entitlement, but let’s deal in tactics because it’s easier.  So now you are the selfish monster who isn’t willing to help your own kin while giving yourself freely to strangers.  You have two allies in this fight and it is time you called in whatever favor you have with them.  First, you say you’re close to your mother-in-law, and even if her discussion with you was supporting her daughter, it is a reasonable tone and there is room for discussion with her on it.  Explain to your mother-in-law your reasons for who and why you’re teaching.  If you need to embellish it a bit by over-stating the time commitment you’re making then do so.  Or, and I like this option, figure out how much you’d charge for the lessons you’re providing, increase it by 50% because that is the premium you charge to mix business and family, and then double that because your sister-in-law is a bitch and that’s your “bitch” surcharge, and inform her you’ll happily give your nieces lessons.  Do like Neil Gaiman and charge enough to make it worth your while.  Sorry, I got off on a tangent here.  So, back to your mother-in-law.  What you want to do is at least get her to see reason, understand your position, agree it’s a reasonable stance and that she’ll at least get the rest of the family to back off.  And if she doesn’t come around to your point of view you’re no worse off.  Your other ally, and the one you need to be willing to go nuclear, is your husband.  Is he so far off the grid he’s unable to get internet at all?  Because if he’s not you need to get him into whatever Facebook group your in-laws are using and tell them to shut the fuck up because this situation is not your fault; he supports you completely, and his sister is off the fucking path causing this drama.  

I have been involved with a man for almost a decade. He is wonderful to me, extremely loving and attentive, and even helps me with projects around the house. We see each other several times a week, vacation together twice a year, and have a great time when we are together. We plan a future together. The problem? He is married. His wife left him for another man, which is when we got involved. She came back after she was dumped by that guy and begged to be taken back. She promised she would be kinder to him and even get a job to help out around the house, but she didn’t. She mainly sits around the house and watches TV. My guy doesn’t kick her out because he has a heart of gold and she literally has no friends and nowhere else to go, and if they divorced she would get half of his net worth. Plus, he obviously has a lot of freedom.

Dear I Should Feel Bad, I don’t think you should feel bad about what you’re doing.  You’re not the one violating wedding vows after all.  I think you should feel a bit bad that you’re getting played like a fiddle.  You want to bang some married dude, you go on with your bad self.  You want to be some guy’s Nobody, you do you.  You want to be Linda Davis to Reba McEntire, it’s a free country.  But you need to do it aware of what you are, and I don’t think you are.  Being independent and self-sufficient doesn’t make you immune to played.  He has not spent 10 years married to this pathetic, friendless, helpless woman out of the kindness of his heart, nor out of fear of losing half his wealth.  Don’t feel bad that you’re someone’s mistress; it’s a position (snicker) with a glorious history.  Feel bad that you don’t recognize that you’re a side piece.

My sister-in-law cannot control her daughter “Ally.” Her father died a few years ago, and since then Ally has made it her mission to make everyone around her as miserable as possible. She started sleeping around at 13, had an abortion at 14, and got pregnant again at 15. She has no clue who the father is. She had the baby, only to abandon him and run away for a month. She has been suspended and failed so many classes that her education level is of a seventh-grader at 16.

Dear Niece my heart breaks at this story.  That there is the teasing possibility of a happy ending, but the knowledge that there are so very, very many ways it can go completely sideways, and it being a story with no villains.  So, let’s go ahead and get to answering your question.  First, you have to accept this might be a situation where you can’t get it through to your husband.  It’s his sister’s daughter; his own blood.  He could very well believe that he can be a moderating influence in Ally’s life, or, at the very least, alleviate some of the burden on his sister by taking some of the stresses she’s feeling off her plate.  So, after you’ve established for yourself whatever boundaries you need, and the consequences for violating them, I really think you only have one course of action.  You need to pull your spousal privilege card and say “no.”  You can make a rational appeal to your husband; Ally is just going to be able to get into different kinds of trouble, you’re not able to give her the support she needs, etc etc, but it’s running into a buzzsaw of a brother wanting to help his sister.  I don’t like that course of action because it’s got a high risk of, undeservedly, making you the bad guy.  But if your husband is otherwise set to do this then I don’t see any other option.  Now, if you’re open to being persuaded that Ally isn’t beyond help then may I suggest your husband goes to his sister and Ally for a bit and see what is going to be involved in taking her in, but in her own environment.  If your husband’s influence is going to be a positive in her life, it will be so whether she’s in her mother’s home or yours.  And, maybe, your husband getting some first-hand experience dealing with her in a guardian way will disabuse him of what he’s capable of offering, or will assuage you that it is a course of action which can work.  Regardless though I think it would be good for all parties involved for you to not write off a grieving child as hopelessly broken at 16.

I got pregnant as a teenager and gave the child up. The child is now grown and knows who I am. We don’t have much of a relationship; his family is his family. But that’s not exactly my problem. When the situation was fresh, I was quite open about it. However, as time has passed, and I’ve moved away from the friends that were close to me when the trauma was occurring, I have less desire to talk about my teen pregnancy and subsequent failure at parenting. As I’ve grown into myself, I’ve decided against starting a family. I haven’t told anyone about the child (now an adult) in almost a decade.  I’m in my late 30s now and am trying to date after taking many years to focus on myself. I’ve moved far away from “home,” started a new career, and am getting to a decent place. The problem is my naked body.

Dear Childless with Stretch Marks, have you tried banging doggy style?  Sorry, that was trite but it really was the first thing that came to mind when you said you don’t like exposing your abdomen during sex.  I’m really shocked that BadPru got through two paragraphs of response to you without once suggesting you see a therapist.  Because, honestly, it sounds like your situation is one where the services of such a professional would be valuable.  A very important part of a generally healthy life is being cut-off to you because of how you feel about something which transpired two decades ago.  This is an issue which calls for the help of someone with skills beyond “Failed Humor Website Founder” or “Dude Whose Muse is Hate-reading a Failed Humor Website Founder”.  You might might find that spending some of your cosmetic surgery money on someone who can help you deal with the emotional issues surrounding your feelings about yourself will go a long way to help you deal with the cosmetic issue the surgery was to address.  

[toldnews-blog]

New Post has been published on https://toldnews.com/technology/entertainment/critics-pick-review-in-ink-a-mephistopheles-named-murdoch-takes-charge/

Critic’s Pick: Review: In ‘Ink,’ a Mephistopheles Named Murdoch Takes Charge

Did you hear the one about the guy who sells his soul to the devil? How about the story in which an entire country does the same thing?

These cautionary tales intersect to highly invigorating effect in James Graham’s “Ink,” which opened on Wednesday night at the Samuel J. Friedman Theater. And don’t worry, uneasy Americans, it’s not about you.

Except that it is.

Directed with vaudevillian flair and firecracker snap by Rupert Goold, “Ink” is set in London, in the gory glory days of a quaint phenomenon: print journalism. The show begins in 1969, with the purchase of a dying newspaper. Old, er, news, right?

On the contrary. Mr. Graham’s account of the resurrection of that paper — into a tabloid behemoth that hypnotizes its readership while forever altering its competition’s DNA — foretells the age of populist media in which we now live and squirm.

As for the Mephistopheles who sets this process into motion, he is still very much alive and reigning over a robust empire that probably reaches into your own home. His name is Rupert Murdoch.

As drawn with Dickensian relish by Bertie Carvel, this Murdoch is indeed a man of wealth and taste, with a surprising touch of the prig. And by artfully tapping into the most primal instincts of those he would have do his bidding, Mr. Carvel’s Murdoch is someone to whom it is all but impossible to say no.

First staged at London’s hit-incubating Almeida Theater in 2017, “Ink” charts Murdoch’s seduction of one Larry Lamb (Jonny Lee Miller), an editor steeped in the old-school values of Fleet Street, then the main artery of British journalism. It is Lamb whom Murdoch, freshly arrived from Australia, chooses to oversee the rebirth of his new purchase, The Sun — a “stuck-up broadsheet,” as he describes it — as a tabloid for the masses.

As embodied by a terrific Mr. Miller, Lamb is a natural-born Faust, the son of a Yorkshire blacksmith itching to join the exclusive club of masthead-topping titans. More than Richard Coyle, who brought a brooding ambivalence to the same part in London, Mr. Miller’s Lamb blazes with ambition and class resentment.

This brusque and sinewy Lamb has no problem standing up to Murdoch’s lion — or rather fox, since Mr. Carvel’s interpretation has a vulpine slyness. But in the memorable, shadow-steeped dialogue between the two men that begins the show, it’s evident that Murdoch knows just what buttons to push to turn Lamb into his avenging puppet.

And so Lamb tears like a juggernaut through the Fleet Street watering holes, nightclubs and even a sauna to recruit the have-not journalists he needs to remake The Sun. Under the terms of Murdoch’s purchase, this metamorphosis must be achieved in alarmingly short order.

The first act of “Ink” abounds in adrenaline. Lamb’s inspirational watchword for his crew is “fun.” We are, after all, at the tail end of the Swinging Sixties. And Mr. Goold and the choreographer Lynne Page turn the cast into a (sometimes literal) conga line, wriggling to an infectious, forward-moving beat that obviates doubts and scruples. (The period music is by Adam Cork.)

It is indeed fun to watch Lamb and his crew brainstorming in meetings about how to best their rivals, while pondering what “people really like.” The answers include television, gossip and sex — obvious, perhaps, but nonetheless waiting to be exploited with a new, unapologetic directness. Factual accuracy becomes secondary.

As Murdoch tells the staff just before the first edition of the revamped Sun goes to press: “You’ve decided to give people what they want. Something so radical — and yet so simple. To hold up a mirror … to ourselves. And to hell with the consequences if we don’t like what we see. It’s who we are.”

Or as Murdoch urges Lamb, “Get the readers to become the storytellers.” He adds, “Isn’t that the real end point of the revolution? When they’re producing their own content themselves?”

Those words might be the credo of any number of latter-day moguls, including Mark Zuckerberg. “Ink” proposes that the sensibility that would generate today’s tidal wave of social media originated with early London-era Murdoch.

At the same time, this production is steeped in a gritty nostalgia for the end of a chapter in journalism. The genius set and costume designer, Bunny Christie, has created a landscape of battered metal desks, stacked into rickety hills and valleys.

Neil Austin’s evocatively seedy lighting is filtered through a curtain of (be warned) cigarette smoke, while Jon Driscoll’s wall-filling projections summon black-and-white pages that seem to smudge before your eyes. The technical minutiae of putting a paper to bed in hot type are conjured with affectionate specificity.

The show’s admonitory bass line, which has been throbbing subliminally since the first scene, becomes louder in the second half. Lamb’s evolving killer instinct is tested in this darker — and heavier — act, when the editorial calls he makes have the potential to ruin lives of those close to him.

These involve the sensational coverage of a kidnapping and The Sun’s introduction of naked “glamour models” to its pages — the notorious, long-lived “Page 3 Girls.” The first of these women is portrayed with an admirable mix of pragmatism and vulnerability by Rana Roy. And if the script wanders into finger-wagging didacticism over her fate, it is not Ms. Roy’s fault.

The largely American, multicast ensemble deploys varyingly confident British accents. But it does well in sustaining the play’s propulsive momentum. Its members include Andrew Durand as an awkward young photographer, David Wilson Barnes as Lamb’s lieutenant and a first-rate Michael Siberry as the gentlemanly rival editor Hugh Cudlipp, the personification of the tottering old regime.

The show’s most potent chemistry is, as it should be, between Mr. Miller’s Lamb, as he becomes increasingly drunk on the thrill of success at all costs, and Mr. Carvel’s exquisitely manipulative Murdoch. Previously seen on Broadway as the demonic headmistress of the musical “Matilda,” Mr. Carvel once again delivers a balletically precise study in power incarnate.

His on-the-bias posture is as dramatically italicized as the affirmative font his editors favor, and his hands slice the air with a conjurer’s commanding strokes. He also knows how to command a camera, as is demonstrated in a simulcast interview with a reactionary BBC pundit, who voices the establishment’s objections to Murdoch’s innovations in journalism.

“Countries reinvent themselves all the time,” Murdoch coolly counters. That evidently holds true on both sides of the Atlantic. In the final scene, Murdoch tells Lamb he’s headed to New York. “I’m thinking about buying a TV network over there,” he says.

Say hello, America, to Fox News, and the populist president — and friend of Mr. Murdoch — it helped usher into office.

[ravenvsfox]

94 + andreil, bless you

94: “Why are you screaming?” (I incorporated another prompt into this, I hope that’s okay!!)

Neil’s phone rings just as he’s coming in from his run, bringing a whole mess of muddy shoes and misted dew in with him. He zeroes in on Andrew tucked into the couch, the hood up on his sweater and his feet bare. Neil bites his lip so he won’t smile, stepping on his heels so the muck and shoes and socks all come halfway off his feet.

He flips his phone open and wanders over to the couch with it pressed to his ear.

“Hello? Matt?”

“Dan!” Dan crows in his ear. “Via Matt’s phone. But we’re both here. Say hi, Matt.”

“Hi Matt,” Matt’s muffled voice comes from somewhere almost out of range and Neil hears Dan deck him.

“Anyway. Brunch?”

Neil climbs onto the couch and Andrew’s feet curl up when Neil’s wet jacket brushes his ankles.

“It’s 9 AM.”

“And?”

“That’s just breakfast.”

“Okay smartass, no fries for you.”

“Can I bring Andrew?” Neil asks, and he watches hazel eyes sweep from the TV to his face. His stomach jumps, senselessly thrilled.

“Oh,” Dan’s saying. Neil can hear the strangeness creeping into her voice like it always does when he mentions Andrew. That little reminder that Neil is in Andrew’s lot first, and he always was.

“Can you bring Andrew?” Andrew says, voice thick from sleep.

“Sure,” Dan decides. “If you don’t think that would be weird.”

“Why would it be weird?” Neil says, knowing perfectly well why it would be weird. Andrew rolls onto his back and his shirt does all sorts of interesting things as he twists.

“Because I hate them,” Andrew says. “And they’re not quite dumb enough to ignore it.”

“I fuckin—” Dan starts, exasperated. “I heard that.”

“He doesn’t hate you,” Neil says. “He just doesn’t care.” He puts one hand under Andrew’s hood, up in his hair. His face is a calm sea, but sometimes Neil feels like he can see his reflection in it. Something mildly pleased and unsettled.

“Well come on down to brunch, then,” Dan says sarcastically.

“Give us ten minutes.”

“You don’t have time for a quickie,” Dan says, and Neil can hear Matt laughing in the background.

“Alright, 40 minutes then.”

Dan groans, and Neil’s mouth twitches. “Just get here before dinner,” she laughs, then hangs up.

Neil lets his phone drop to his lap, and he brushes the hood off of Andrew’s head. “Shower?”

“I showered half an hour ago.”

Neil shrugs, taking it for the dismissal it is, and starts stripping out of his jacket before he’s even reached the bedroom. Wrestling out of damp layers is an ordeal, but once he’s in the shower the steam feels so good that he almost doesn’t notice Andrew clicking the door open.

“I’m picking Kevin up from Wymack’s,” he says, blatantly watching Neil through the fogged-up glass.

“Why is he there?”

Andrew shrugs. “Family bonding,” he offers. “Drinking themselves into an early morning stupor.”

“Have you ever considered, you know, straight answers?” Neil asks, turning towards the spray of the shower so it eats his smile.

“No,” Andrew says, picking one of Neil’s armbands off the countertop and running it between his fingers. He seems to consider for a moment, and then he adds, “hypocrite.”

“What about brunch?” Neil says lightly.

“Wasn’t invited.”

“I invited you,” Neil argues, turning fully around and finding Andrew closer, fabric bunched in his hand.

“I don’t care,” Andrew says. He leans in around the half door and Neil can’t help kissing him, even though he’s still waiting for a proper answer, he’s dripping on Andrew, and there is, technically, a world outside of Andrew’s mouth. “I will go if they pay.”

“I’ll pay,” Neil says quickly. His wet hands are clamped in the collar of Andrew’s hoodie, and he’s vaguely into the way Andrew’s fully clothed and dry and touching him with his mouth and hands and nothing else.

“Fine,” Andrew says. “Half an hour.”

“Okay,” Neil replies. He steals another kiss, catching Andrew’s lip between his teeth until Andrew’s breath hitches and he pushes him back with a hand at his chest. He disappears from the bathroom and Neil half laughs in the echoey shower. He scrubs one hand through his hair and touches the other to his mouth, feeling his pulse in his lips.

_____

He gets down to brunch ten minutes late wearing faded jeans and mismatched socks in his still filthy shoes. Dan takes one look at him and rolls her head back to the ceiling, sighing.

“God, why do you always look like your mom just lost you in a department store,” she says, and Neil frowns. “Please tell me that didn’t actually happen,” she groans.

Neil pulls up a chair and bumps fists with Matt. “She lost me in the subway once. That’s why I have this.” He tugs on his earlobe where there’s a fine scar at the seam where it meets his neck.

“Bit of a downer, buddy,” Matt says cheerfully.

“Dan said to tell her.” Neil shrugs.

“Remember the good ol’ days when you didn’t listen when we asked for information?” Dan asks. “I miss that.”

Matt wrangles her in around her shoulders with an affectionate arm. “No you don’t.”

“I’m happy to go back to not listening,” Neil says, sliding his water glass closer so he can pick it up. “Impose a zero honesty policy.”

“Reenact your first year, you mean? Cute.”

Neil smiles into a sip of water, watching Matt and Dan read off of one menu and jostle each other over when to turn pages.

“Where’s Andrew?” Matt asks.

“On his way,” Neil replies, glancing over photos of lurid yellow egg yolks and elaborate pancake architecture.

“You didn’t come together?” Dan asks.

“Nope. He had an errand to run.” He doesn’t tell them it was Kevin and Wymack related. Dan’s still sore over their relationship, so Neil tries to ignore their family connection almost as much as Kevin used to.

“We uh,” Matt starts. Neil looks up and catches Dan looking guiltily away from him. Something ugly starts to flirt with his good mood.

“What?”

“We actually wanted to talk to you about him.”

Neil’s heart drops. He can already tell its not good by the way Dan’s focused on unrolling her cutlery and Matt’s smiling too directly at Neil. His dewy pleasant morning starts to evaporate.

“We’re… worried.”

“Concerned!” Matt corrects.

“Concerned,” Dan agrees. “We’re concerned that you guys might be rushing things.”

“In what way,” Neil grits. Dan and Matt exchange another look.

“I mean. Both of you have tricky histories,” Matt says. “You’ve had some rough times, and I don’t want you to feel like. Pressured into a relationship because you’ve never had one before.”

Neil puts his menu down. “What are you implying?” he asks stiffly, even though he know. He knows.

“We’re just wondering if you might be a little… intimidated. By Andrew.”

“You think he’s forcing me?”

“No!” Dan says shrilly. “I mean. We just—christ Neil. All we ever see of Andrew is the bruises he leaves on Renee and the way he keeps the monsters in line, and— like, you remember when he nearly choked Allison to death.”

“I remember the way she stepped way out of line, too,” Neil says, feeling his mouth curling of its own volition.

“You’re starting to sound like him,” Matt mutters.

“It’s not that we don’t trust your judgement. It’s just that Andrew has a volatile history, and it’s. It’s not his fault, but. He’s not big on the whole… caring for others thing.”

Neil almost goes to stand, but his feet feel as gummy and useless as his mouth. “Is this a fucking intervention?”

Matt frowns. “No. Hey. No, it’s just a heart to heart. We want to know that you’re not being—“

“What? Abused?”

“Not— Obviously not abu—“ Dan starts.

“I’m going to say this once,” Neil interrupts. “Andrew is the only stable thing I’ve ever had in my life. It’s not an easy fix, or a bad choice. It’s something I want.”

“I get that,” Matt says quietly. “But you can understand why we’d be concerned, Neil. He’s put people in the hospital. He killed his mother.”

“Your definition of mother is different than ours,” Neil says wildly. “And no. I don’t. Of all people, why the hell would you assume Andrew and I would be violent towards each other? Like we haven’t had enough? He asks before he—“ he breaks off, breathing deep and shaky. “He gets permission every time he touches me, and you think he’d, what? Slap me around?”

Dan’s looking at him with the saddest eyes on the planet, but Neil’s gone, he’s halfway to a breakdown, dropped completely off the edge of a cliff he thought was a diving board.

“Andrew is violent like I’m violent. In self defence. To survive. If you think Andrew would ever hurt me, you’re—“ He breaks off. “You’re wrong,” he says thickly. He struggles to heft words over the lump in his throat for a second. “He found me. I’m not explaining every piece of my relationship to you guys. You’re entitled to a lot, but not that much. Andrew is the opposite of a threat to me, and I need you guys to stop treating us like a novelty. We’re not going away.”

“We don’t want you to go away,” Dan says, reaching for Neil.

“You just want him to,” Neil says, dodging her hand. “Right? You just want me to find better. Well I’ll never find better because there isn’t better. You can’t see that because you’re not close enough.”

“I’m sorry, Neil,” Matt says, looking vaguely shellshocked. “We were trying to—“

“Well stop,” Neil says loudly, fists clenching on the tabletop.

“Why are you screaming?”

Neil whips around and finds Andrew slouching in through the rows of tables, one blank face in a sea of furtively glancing families and nervous waitstaff. He fixes on that face like stepping off a skating rink onto solid ground.

“Defending your honour,” Matt says, still looking dazed. Dan slaps his arm like she means it.

Andrew’s gaze slides naturally to Neil, and Neil looks back seriously.

“Apparently brunch had some ulterior motives.”

Andrew tilts a long look at him. “Do you want to go?”

Neil shakes his head, looking back at Dan and Matt. “No. I think we cleared things up.”

Andrew sits without questioning it, sliding in next to Neil and nudging their knees together. It could be an accident with anyone else, but Neil knows it’s a calculated comfort from Andrew. Neil closes his eyes.

“You’re paying,” Andrew says conversationally. Neil opens his eyes to see Andrew looking at Matt, who accepts it with a smile on his face.

“I deserve that.”

“Yeah,” Neil agrees. Matt catches his eye. “Next time you guys want to target us at brunch, at least wait for Andrew to get here. It’s called etiquette.”

Matt’s eyes flicker to Andrew, panicked, and Neil rolls his eyes. “I’m not lying to him.” He turns to Andrew. “They think we’re rushing things.”

Andrew looks at the menu, bored. “I think their opinions are irrelevant.”

“That’s what I said.”

“And a few other choice phrases I can think of,” Dan says, eyeing Neil with a smile starting to play around her mouth again. The tension is still present but it’s quickly draining; like Andrew is the mouth of a funnel, and the rush of hurt feelings is evening out into a trickle.

“It doesn’t matter,” Matt complains. “The problem is solved, can we forget it? Have some nice no strings attached brunch?”

“We never had a problem,” Neil says.

“Speak for yourself,” Andrew says, slapping his menu closed and reaching for the syrup.

Neil’s kind of amused by how much Andrew is participating in this conversation, his knee still jostling Neil’s as he pours syrup into a teaspoon and eats it straight.

Dan eyes him, looking faintly nauseous. “I think we were asking the wrong questions. They clearly have bigger issues.”

“Leave them be,” Matt says, relaxing enough to hug Dan close again, and watch Andrew and Neil with fond eyes. “They’re doing fine.”