#or the god damn south park community reminding me of just how kind it is

[sp-growingpains]

A quick reminder for my lovelies doomscrolling, you are okay. You will be okay. We will survive this just as we have many times before. The voice of the people should not be crushed under the weight of the people in power who want to inflict that despair.

It's love that makes us. Whoever holds this seat does not change you. Does not take away the sunrise. It does not take away the tired touch of a lover, no matter what the media may tell you. Your right to love should never be questioned, and I stand with you. I'll carry you if you can't walk right now so that you're here and you can do the same for another.

I wish I had the ability to write something with stronger words, but these come from the heart. This comes from a woman who is so fucking tired of watching their friends live in fear. It comes from a human who loves her fellow man. I truly believe in the good of people. We as humans have something that nothing else in this world has. We have such a beautiful ability to love. To express it and accept it in such a way that no other creature can.

Call me naive for this. Ignore this post if you must. But nothing has ever been achieved by being silent. No lives can be saved and told they're cared for by sitting on the sidelines.

Fight. Struggle. Breathe.

I love you.

[krreader]

EXO reacting to you, a foreign idol, receiving hate after your relationship went public.

pairing: exo x foreign idol!reader fandom: exo warnings: language ; racism genre: angst ; fluff word count: 1.5k+

a/n: I wish the reality were a lot different, but with jongdae having received so much backlash.. god I just hope people will leave them all alone and let them love in peace.

kim minseok

Concerts were supposed to be a fun time for both idols, as well as fans.

But seeing stuff like this always made Minseok regret his career choices.

All he could do was stare at the racist sign that a fan was holding up in disbelief, maybe even a little bit of sadness and disappointment that one of his fans was behaving like so.

His band members must have seen his reaction, Junmyeon, as the leader instantly nodding towards the fan and a manager handled the rest from there.

She was gone, but what she had written on that sign was branded in his memory.

“You okay?” you asked later that night when you joined him in bed.

Minseok opened his mouth and looked at you, but then he closed it again and smiled, shaking his head a little, “Just tired.”

This wasn't something that you needed to know. He wanted to protect you from that world of hate as much as possible.

kim junmyeon

Junmyeon was so busy bowing to the artists that passed him that he didn't even notice your band being among them at first.

But the moment his eyes landed on you, his smile instantly widened.

PDA wasn't exactly something you could do here and you both knew it, neither of you was this stupid.

But the smile that Junmyeon had only reserved for you seemed to be enough to start a shit-storm online.

“Why is he only smiling at her like that? It's disgusting.”

“Does she think she's special or something? Somebody remind her that she's not.”

“Can she just go back to where she came from? It’s annoying me.”

Were just examples of hatefulness spread in online forums and the likes. But Junmyeon made sure that you wouldn't read them.

Right after the award show, he and you decided to – instead of going to the after-party – go straight home and just enjoy some alone time together.. without your phones.

You knew he was looking out for you when every time you wanted to check your messages, he pulled you closer and kissed you instead and every time you’d ask why, he’d just laugh and tell you that he couldn’t get enough of you.

And well.. his strategy worked.

zhang yixing

Yixing must have thought that with him barely being a part of EXO's promotions anymore, that fans would lay off of him and you.

Maybe give him a pass and let him live and love in peace.

That's why he brought you to the film premiere as his date, because he truly thought it would be fine.

But damn, fans were viscous. 

The moment he and you stepped out of the car, they were screaming at you to get back to where you came from and it was.. a mess, to say the least.

Nevertheless, Yixing was proud to have you by his side and every chance he got for an interview, he mentioned it, wanting to show these “fans” that their racism wouldn't change his opinion on you in the slightest and that it was absolutely not appropriate here or anywhere else.

But he knew that this night wasn't easy for you, even if you smiled throughout the entire time and he was glad when it was finally over again and you were back home in the safety of your own four walls. There, he could at last wrap his arms around you and hold you close as you were finally allowed to shed a few tears.

“I'm so sorry,” he kept whispering into your hair, “I love you so much, never forget it.”

byun baekhyun

“Are you even able to communicate?” one of the interviewers asked Baekhyun after the topic of you and him having started dating came up.

And the question caught him off guard because, “You've.. talked with her.. lots of times before? And she spoke.. perfect Korean?”

“Well, yeah, but it's just.. she's not Korean.”

It was so stupid and everyone in the room knew it. Some of his band members snorted, others even started laughing, while Baekhyun just really didn't know what else to say to this.

“I think you handled it well,” you said later that night when you sat down next to him on the couch, “They just want gossip and they'll do anything to get it.”

“I just wish they'd stop disregarding you so much just because you’re not Korean.”

“My confidence is a lot bigger than they think,” you smiled and kissed his forehead, “I'll be fine, babe. You don’t have to worry about me,”

He pulled you into his arms with a sigh and held you there until the world felt like a better place again.

kim jongdae

Jongdae put down his phone with a heavy sigh after having read yet another headline that was so similar to all the ones before.

“South Korean idol Kim Jongdae dating foreign idol (Y/N) and fans aren't happy about it.”

It was a Korean article and people knew, even by his name alone, that Jongdae was Korean, but they still had to emphasize it.. because you weren't. And that was apparently an issue.

“How are you?” he texted you later.

“I'm okay, don't worry about me,” you replied only a few minutes later.

“But I am worrying. Don't read the articles, okay?”

“I'm fine, Jongdae, really. Media can suck my non-existing dick.”

After reading that line, Jongdae immediately started to smile and nod to himself.

You were right.

The media could sick his dick too.

park chanyeol

“What are you doing?” Chanyeol leaned down to press a kiss against the back of your head, his eyebrows furrowing when you were watching one of his music videos.

“Nothing..”

But from the way your voice sounded and the fact that your shoulders were slumped when you walked into the kitchen, it really didn't look like nothing.

So he followed you and pestered you for as long as it took for you to finally tell him what was bothering you.

“People keep comparing us to you guys. Saying that we have fewer views and that we're less popular and that it's all my fault.”

“(Y/N), they're just jealous.”

“I know.. but our relationship.. it's ruining my group's image, Chanyeol. These girls have worked so hard and it's..-” you let out a heavy sigh and shook your head.

“Hey,” he took a step closer and grabbed your chin to make you look at him, “Nobody is ruining anything, especially not you. You are an essential part of your group and without you, they'd lose an important puzzle piece.”

He must have known that you were hinting at leaving the group, but that wasn't something that Chanyeol would stand by and just watch. You had worked hard too.. and he wouldn't let you stop now just because some jealous idiots thought they had the power to destroy your life.

do kyungsoo

“I'm sure the situation isn't easy for you,” his new make-up artist said as she was doing the finishing touches on his face, “In regards to (Y/N), I mean.”

He didn't want to talk about it, but he appreciated her concern, so he said: “Thank you.”

“It's not easy when someone clings to you so hard that you can't get rid of them. I've been there.. but you'll escape the relationship eventually.”

That had him stare at her with confusion, “Wait... what?”

“I heard foreigners are extremely clingy... that's probably why.”

Needless to say, she had her job for exactly one day.

Kyungsoo wouldn't work with a racist, especially not one that disrespected his girlfriend like that.

kim jongin

They were doing a fan sign right now, the first one after Jongin's and your relationship got exposed.

He had been incredibly nervous beforehand, but so far, everyone was nothing but kind to him. Nobody had even mentioned you.

Until one fan came up.

“Don't you think you should find someone like yourself?”

Jongin stopped writing on her album momentarily, his eyes still on his writing, but then he continued with his signature with a smile, “She is like myself. An idol. An artist.”

“But she's a foreigner. She's not really like us.”

Jongin clenched his jaw, then looked up with a sweet, but very fake smile, “She's a human being. A very kind one. I hope that can be respected.”

The girl would have liked nothing more than to argue with him about this, but the manager ushered her to keep going and Jongin was with the next fan that was a lot nicer than the one before.

He was just glad that you hadn't been here to listen to what she had said.

oh sehun

“Hey, I just wanted to call you,” Sehun smiled as he accepted your call, but when he could hear you cry, he instantly froze, “What happened?”

“Are you sure this is good, Sehun? I don't think anyone approves.”

“What do you mean?” he furrowed his eyebrows and quickly hurried into an empty corridor where he could speak to you in peace.

“The fans.. your fans, they all.. hate me.”

Sehun let out a heavy sigh and closed his eyes for a moment.

So you had read all the nasty comments.

“(Y/N), don't read them. The people that write these things are not in their right state of mind. These people don't matter.”

Of course, it was easier for Sehun to just say these things as he was not the victim in this situation, at least not directly. But he still felt for you, of course he did, he loved you. All he could do was be there for you and continuously tell you and show you just how much you meant to him.

Your nationality didn't change that, despite what other people seemed to think

[nerdy-flower]

@sinunamor here it is! This is part 1 of a 3-part headcanon I’ve had for a while, I really hope you like it! Sorry it took forever ;^;

Hugo knows change has come to roost when Ernest's dinnertime debriefs turn from reluctant, barely-there details to soap-opera recaps with all the accompanying comedy and tragedy.

“-and I didn't even know this, but Mackenzie told me later, that they were dating before he even dumped Emily, which is like- come <i>on,</i> dude. Did you look at all your options and pick the douchiest possible one?”

“That is very selfish,” Hugo says, frowning around a mouthful of chicken. “I always thought Pat was a nice young man.”

“So did I!” Ernest snorts, stabbing at his rice and sending some spilling over the side. “He's literally the only reason I've been hanging out with the theatre kids. The rest of them are so-”

Damien cuts in as Ernest briefly flails, searching for a word. “Dramatic?”

“Weak,” Ernest pulls a face, seemingly physically pained by the quality of the dad-joke, while Damien appears rather pleased with himself, chuckling into his hand. “Anyway, so Mackenzie said that Pat told her he was just going to keep it on the downlow, basically, until summer because Emily's moving, right? It won't be as awkward then. Except I guess they kind of forgot that their Insta accounts aren't private? So now everyone knows, and Emily has to stage manage her ex-boyfriend while he has a romantic subplot with her former rugby teammate. Because that's not going to go terribly at all.”

“Good heavens,” Damien replies after a moment, dabbing his lips with a cloth napkin. “I don't recall any tales so tangled from my youth, but then, perhaps I've repressed all that nonsense.”

“Didn't they get voted 'cutest couple' in the yearbook?” Hugo cringes as Ernest enthusiastically nods, kindly not answering with his mouth full. “Oh god, and that just went to the printers- No wonder Ms. Lee had aspirin with her lunch today.”

“Yeah, it's all like ten levels of stupid,” Ernest grumbles, not even distracted by Duchess' damp nose nudging at his lap. “I swear, I'm gonna have like no friends by graduation because I can't deal with everybody acting like they've found their soulmate and then dumping them in two weeks. No one our age is gonna get married until our thirties, anyway, shit's expensive.”

“Language,” Hugo chimes in, met with the usual roll of the eyes and offended huff.

“One's youth can be rather fraught and strained,” Damien adds with a knowing grimace, their cutlery clinking audibly against their plates in the quiet coziness of Hugo's dining room. “But you'll find people who don't engage with those sorts of theatrics. And besides, those who do will soon grow out of it.”

“Yeah right, I've heard that one before,” Ernest scoffs, returning to his food. He's quiet for the rest of the meal, and their walk through the park at dusk, Duchess and her boy running ahead. Damien's fingers find Hugo's after sending a quick check-in text to Lucien, and he feels a tentative kind of bliss run through him in the warmth of the setting sun.

***

Hugo's deep-down, etched-on-his-bones love for his job keeps him motivated through all the obnoxious students, righteously indignant parents, and illogical funding cuts, but he does keep a small, hate-fuelled torch burning for outdoor supervision. It's especially hard not to envision his student loan payments going up in smoke while breaking up fights, confiscating cigarettes, or discovering another hopelessly unoriginal piece of lewd graffiti.

Today has been blissfully quiet, if blanketed by damp warmth. He wipes sweat from his brow as he continues his circle around the middle school building. A new fast food joint had recently opened down the street and the promise of buy-one-get-one fries had draw most of the troublemakers away. With the bell approaching, he turns to head in and spots a familiar orange hoodie near the emergency exit ramp behind the library and sighs. No one is ever up to anything good behind the library.

He's still a good thirty feet away, obscured by the parked rustbucket cars in the student lot when he glimpses a shock of pink hair attached to one of his Comp Lit students from Ernest's grade. Tahereh is her name and she's giggling, along with his son, and leaning in awfully close- Nope.

Nope, nope, nope. He turns on his heel and walks away as quickly and quietly as he can. His son deserves privacy, and he had mentioned being paired on a geography project with that girl-

Hugo blows out a sigh, purposefully forgetting the follies of his own adolescence before he gets himself worked up over nothing.

***

A lengthy text conversation with Nick is an unusual relief. He would have preferred to do it by phone, but the man is in England of all places on a work trip. Besides, it's a little more private should Ernest come strolling in.

HV: You're sure you're okay with me taking the helm on this one?

NH: Oh yeah, I'm not worried. You're better at this kinda stuff than I am.

NH: I'll be home in a couple days so I can run recon if things go south lol

Hugo does manage to chuckle at that. Nick instructs him to break a leg and says he's turning in but to text if need be. A lengthy message pops in from Damien, having been Hugo's confidante the previous day, reminding him that his own similar chat with Lucien a few years prior was awkward at the time, but went a long way in maintaining good communication. As well as reassurance that Hugo is a wonderful father with no reason to doubt himself, and this is another prime example of it.

The usual expressions of affection at the close never fail to make Hugo smile. He types a slightly longer than necessary reply and pushes his glasses up. With a silent pep talk, he heads upstairs. It's not like he's going in blind. They've had plenty of very open talks since Ernest was small. About bodies and boundaries and babies. This topic isn't inherently uncomfortable, it's on him to shake that mindset.

Ernest's room is in its usual disarray, but he beckons him in quickly and takes his earbuds out. Flat on his back with his tablet held overhead. As good a start as any.

He assumes the best non-threatening parental figure pose, sitting on the edge of the bed with his elbows on his knees. Ernest is way too clever to fall for the small-talk nonsense so he skips to the point. “I hope you're not upset by this, but I saw you and Tahereh behind the school last-”

“What the hell?” Ernest bites back, anger narrowing his eyes as he drops his tablet and sits up fully. “You're spying on me now?”

“Of course not!” Hugo answers, quick and even with hands held up. “I was on yard duty, I turned right around. The only reason I'm bringing it up is-”

“She's not my girlfriend,” Ernest spits back, blushing and running hot. He draws his knees up and hugs them, a habit leftover from his toddling years. “We just kissed because we're cool like that. It was whatever. Don't make a big deal out of it.”

“I'm not, I promise,” Hugo says, confused and not entirely convinced but trying not to let on. “But say you did find someone you liked and wanted to start dating them, your Pop and I wouldn't be opposed at all. I only wanted to check in with you about er, safety and-”

“Oh my god,” Ernest covers his face, dragging the last word out into a strangled note of exasperation. “I've had sex ed like five times already, I don't need this. Please just shut up.”

Hugo decides admonishing him via their no 'shut up' rule would only make things worse. “I know you have all the basics covered. I just need you to know that you can always come to me or Pop for anything, okay? Don't ever feel embarrassed.” He reaches into his shirt pocket, takes a deep breath, and removes the small cardboard container, pushing it across the comforter towards his son. “And if you need these at any point, don't-”

“Oh my god, no,” Ernest's scowl deepens, the blush creeping down his neck as he explodes in frustration. “No, no, <i>no</i>! I'm never gonna need those, so just get the hell out of here!”

Hugo feels the wrinkles crease on his face as he struggles to say the right thing. Had the divorce put him off the idea of relationships entirely? God, he's too young to be thinking that way, isn't he? “I just want you to have these in case, you know, you meet someone and you want-”

“I don't 'want,' I never have and I'm never going to!” Ernest throws his hands up, eyes still flashing. “I'm a fucking freak, are you happy now? Get <i>out!</i>”

Hugo does not, merely stills as Ernest mashes his face into his knees, actually vibrating from anger, sadness, or both. It nearly does him in, there's nothing that hurts him more than seeing his son in pain. Thankfully, he had said just enough for the puzzle pieces to snap together in Hugo's head.

When the boy's breathing evens out, Hugo dares to inch closer, the mattress sagging with his weight. “Ernest, you're not a freak. There's lots of asexual people in the world and-”

“Name one.” The snappish tone is muffled by denim and knobby knees.

“Well, I mean, I don't know any personally,” Hugo says, rubbing the back of his neck. “But they do exist, they're not unicorns.”

“Unicorns don't exist? This entire day sucks.” They both laugh hesitantly at that, a sigh resounding from under the orange hoodie. “Mrs. Finn said in health that people who say they're asexual are just dealing with like, trauma or whatever. We're all driven to make more people, so it makes no sense scientifically.”

Hugo silently counts to three in his head. “Have you ever been hurt?”

That finally picks his head up, glaring at his father again. “No!”

“Then clearly that's not true. Ca- Mrs. Finn is sadly misinformed.” And would be told as much, without directly mentioning Ernest. Seniority be damned, he was going to have words with the Board that's what it takes. He manages a small smile for Ernest. “If sex is only about reproduction, how do you account for gay people?”

“Gay people can still like- do what's necessary to make a kid.” Ernest waves a hand towards himself. “C'est voila, or whatever.”

Hugo snort-laughs at that, he does admire his son's wit even in serious moments. “Well, so can ace people. There's lots of ways to make a family.” Ernest merely grumbles in reply and looks away. “And- I know it really doesn't seem that way sometimes, but there's a lot more to relationships than the physical bits. They're important to some people, but not everyone, and not in the same way.”

Ernest stays resolutely silent, staring at a fraying movie poster on the wall. “You will find someone who loves you, mijo. It might take time, but you'll find them.”

“Yeah, when I'm finally old enough to join Virgin4Virgin dot net.” Ernest only slightly resists his dad's chastising ruffle of his hair, glancing down at the box of condoms with moderate disgust. “Can you throw those out and we pretend this never happened?”

“I'll put them in the bathroom cupboard. I'm not saying you will, but if you ever did want to be with someone that way-” Hugo tucks the box in his pocket as Ernest's pained groan cuts him off. “Listen, this could have been much worse. Before I went to my first party, your Abuela made me sit at the dining room table and wouldn't let me leave until I correctly put a condom on a banana.”

“You're lying,” Ernest replies blankly, only for his eyes to bug out at Hugo's unfailing stare. “You're serious? Oh my god, that's- I can't believe Abuela is capable of such savagery.”

“You don't know the half of it,” Hugo chuckles darkly, then carefully touches Ernest's shoulder. “Hey, I'm really glad you told me. I won't tell Pop, that's your conversation to have with him.”

“Thanks,” Ernest glances down, frowning and fidgeting in place. “Can I like, go now? I promised Carmensita I'd help her set up for open mic night.”

Hugo smiles stiffly, moving out of his son's way. “Yeah, you can go now. Text me when you're there, alright?”

Ernest makes a non-committal noise and hurries down the stairs, drawing the attention of Duchess. Hugo shuts the bedroom door behind him with a small sigh.

***

Carmensita's dad comes with the most fringe benefits by far. Not only are they allowed 'backstage' provided they help out and don't cause trouble (Ernest never has, something about how calm Mat is kinda intimidates him to be honest, it's the ones with the longest fuses that you have to watch out for), they get to enjoy the whole show for free and eat/drink anything leftover at the end of the night. Even if some of the acts are a little weird, it's still way cooler than sitting around watching TV.

“Hugo knows he's picking you up, right?” Lucien asks over the roof of his secondhand car, keys in his hand. “I've got plans after.”

Ernest grins wide. “Man, don't ask him out if you can't even say his name right.”

Lucien somewhat-gently shoves him as they cross the small parking lot. “Hey, have you ever heard about shut the hell up?”

He disappears into the crowd and Ernest soon finds Carmensita. He's been spending way more time with her lately. Girls aren't gross about sex like all his guy friends are now, making “that's what she said” jokes literally every five seconds. She's also one of the last vestiges of sanity in his grade, as off-put by the constant dating drama as he is. They sit in the back kitchen, chatting with the younger, more anxious performers and talking about 'Hamilton' between sets.

“I'm pretty sure I'm gonna listen to the cast album once a week for the rest of my life,” she says, cheek full of Right Said Banana Bread, or whatever it's called this week. “And I'm totally okay with that.”

“Oh, once a week minimum,” Ernest nods eagerly, leaning out to watch some college kid plunk away on an acoustic guitar. Bo-ring. “I would straight up sell my soul to write that good. Like, find me one lyric that doesn't land. One, I dare you.”

“It doesn't exist,” she concurs, picking a crumb out of her front braces. “Oh! You'll never guess who's finally putting out a new album!”

“Who?”

And on and on it goes. Even though the linoleum hurts his butt, chilling with Carmensita is his favourite part of the week. No fighting, no bullshit, just goofs and talking about whatever. She's basically the funniest person he knows, doing an impression of Damien that has him choking on his own spit. It makes him forget everything else. Well, almost.

Once everyone files out, they pick up their brooms and try to clean up quickly while Mat counts the money. He heads into the back to put a bank bag together and leaves them jamming to the music still playing over the speakers.

Ernest stops polishing the counter to the beat, his curiosity getting the best of him. “Hey, 'Sita?”

Carmensita glances up, still doing something between the mashed potato and the tootsie roll while sweeping, not in the least caring about the backlit glass storefront behind her. He wishes he were that cool. “Yeah?”

“Do you think asexuality's like, a thing?”

“Oh yeah, sure,” Carmensita replies, knocking a couple muffin wrappers from beneath a table like she's going for the slapshot. “Why?”

“Eh, no reason.” Ernest shrugs and keep polishing. “Just seems kinda weird to me, is all?”

“Not really though,” Carmensita pushes her pink glasses back up, tucking the broom under her arm to gesture. “It's like that thing in that Bruce Willis superhero movie. If there's someone at one end of the spectrum, there's gotta be someone else at the other end, plus all the people in the middle, right?”

Ernest makes a considering noise, pitching his scrubber into the sink. “Yeah, you're right.”

Mat returns and they lock up, Hugo's car humming in the empty street. Ernest fist-bumps Carmensita as she heads off with her dad. “We're still on for the fair next Saturday right? I'm retaking my skee ball title this year!”

“In your dreams,” she sticks her tongue out and waves to him. “Don't get grounded, okay?”

“I won't!” Ernest grins, turning and shuffling towards the hopefully not-awkward, air-conditioned comfort of his dad's car.

[justjessame]

Babysitting Butcher Chapter 54

We picked up a very worn out Terror from a very worn out set of my parents’ house and headed home in a more relaxed mood.  Our puppy was snoring between us, and Billy shot me a look and I couldn’t handle it, I had to laugh.

“I’m guessing that Terror had an all-nighter,” I managed, thinking about how tired my parents had looked, and how happy they seemed to be getting a night off of puppy sitting duties.  “And he must have gotten a bit -”

“Loud as hell,” Billy chuckled, causing Terror to snort indignantly in his sleep.  “Listen to the little bugger, snorin’ away, like it’s his job.”  He shook his head as he drove us home.  “Are we ordering in?”

“I thought I’d make dinner,” I could FEEL his eyebrow arch and I had the urge to reach across the car and give him a tiny little love tap in the back of his head.  I could cook, he knew that, I just rarely had the energy or urge.  “We have everything I need to make what I have in mind -”  He shifted and nodded, a smirk appearing on his smug mouth.

“Hot Pockets,” I could swear I heard him confirm to himself.  Oh, keep it up, I thought, Mr. Butcher and your ass would be asking Terror if you can share his fucking kibble.  

We got home in one piece, mostly because I refrained though my massive levels of personal inner Zen to NOT slap the living shit out of the man I love, and I left Billy to try to get Terror interested in walking inside on his own volition.  Good luck, asshole, I thought as I listened to him cajole the still snoring dog.  

I was in the kitchen, a pot of water boiling with pasta on the stove, a clove of garlic minced and waiting for the butter and olive oil to be ready for the next stage in a pan over a medium heat.  I was dicing some pre-cooked chicken breast, a glass of chilled white wine next to me when Billy found me.  

“This is a sight to behold.”  He offered with a smile that would normally have my knickers dampening from the first sound of his growl, but I was NOT in the mood.  And I was holding a very sharp knife.  “What are you making, Ronnie?”  

“Hot Pockets,” I snarled, picking up my glass and taking a sip, before going back to my work. He flinched and I moved from the cutting board to the refrigerator to grab the grape tomatoes and broccoli.  When I stood up, his body’s warmth was pressed against my back.  “I have a meal to prepare, Billy.”  Damn it, why did I sound breathless when I wanted to kick him very hard in his fucking ballsack?  

“And I’ll help,” his hands slid down my arms, teasing gooseflesh to erupt in his wake.  “Since I put my foot all the way in it,” his mouth met the side of my throat, kissing my pulse, feeling that despite how pissed I’d been with his assumption of my dinner plans, I wanted him.  Always.  “Let me.”  He took the tomatoes and broccoli from me, and put them on the island where I’d been working on the chicken. Then he turned me so we were facing one another.  I looked up at him and his brows were furrowed, worry shadowed his features.  “Me and my big mouth -”  

But I didn’t get much of an apology, because his big mouth kissed me senseless, trying without words to make amends.  His arms wrapping around me, holding me tight and urging me to reciprocate, to reassure him that I wasn’t that mad. That I wasn’t mad enough to cut him dead or off from me.  As if I ever could or would.  My fingers were in his hair, around his neck, anywhere that would hold him closer.  

The hissing sound of water on fire pulled us back to the real world.  My pasta.  And I shook my head.  “If dinner burns, and you’re proven right, I’ll -”  I wasn’t sure what I’d do, but I didn’t have to figure it out, because Billy lowered the temperature on the pot burner, and we got back to work, making dinner together.  

After dinner, which didn’t burn, Billy and I sat together and worked out the details of our meeting with Ryan.  I wanted no surprises, none at least that we could control.  

“I have to warn you,” I said leaning into him, because honestly I wanted the comfort of him.  “While the woman, Davos?” He grunted into his beer bottle so I went on, “She’s annoying, but the man is going to make you want to pound him into a puddle of human gore.”  He’d made me want to, and I wasn’t Billy Butcher. I felt him grow still as he held me.  “I’m not saying you can NEVER beat the high holy hell out of him, just not THIS time.”  See? Negotiation.  

“What about him is gonna make me want to beat the snot outta him?” Good question, nice follow-up.  Communication, with words, we’re on track.  “I wanna know what I’m walkin’ into.”

“He’s rude,” I thought back to the first visit.  “He - there’s something off about him.  I can’t put my finger on it.  He knows the role he’s playing, but it’s an ill fit.”  That was it, he wasn’t an agent, but he knew what he was supposed to say and how to act.  He’d reminded Davos about the ID.  He knew he was supposed to pat down visitors.  He patted down above clothes, he kept his hands to himself.  Yet, there was something that screamed, ACTOR.  “He knows the right shit to ask, BUT he doesn’t push back when he isn’t sure.  I tossed back at him when he tried to offer up staying in the room while I met with Ryan, and he caved.”

Billy grew quiet, considering what I was saying, because while William Butcher sounded uncouth and rough as fuck, he was far more intelligent than most would give him credit for being.  “A plant?  Or do you think he’s something more than that?”  

I shook my head and sighed, snuggling deeper into his warmth, now that I was fed and content, I was in a far better headspace.  “That’s just it, without an ID?  I haven’t a clue.  I can’t put my finger on WHAT he is.”   “I won’t lay a finger on him,” Billy promised, kissing my temple, making me smile.  “This time.”  Which just made me laugh and turn so I could look up into his face.  “You said -”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I rose up so we were nose to nose.  “Using my words against me, Mr. Butcher,” I brushed our noses and leaned in, tasting the beer on his lips, listening as he put the bottle down and then his hands were sliding up my back and we got back to far more pleasant business.  Us.  

We worked on planning for the second meeting with Ryan during the rest of the week.  MM was on his own mission, looking for anything that bore any passing resemblance to Sage Grove, and Frenchie and Kimiko were trying to find somewhere that they could use as cover to aid us, should something go south during our visitation.  Annie and Hughie were still doing their regular daily thing, a supe and a dupe, as Billy called them, but I would sigh and shake my head, reminding him that everyone had their role.  

There wasn’t an easy way to tell if the chips in Ryan were inhibitors.  There was the obvious, which made Billy as nervous as a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs - a saying my grandfather used to say a lot more than I ever did.

“He would not need to use the most dangerous,” Frenchie was saying, but Billy’s eyes flashed so hard that I had a moment of fear that maybe Ryan was HIS biological son and got that power from the Butcher bloodline.  “I’m only saying that he could use another less destructive one.”  It ended lame, but I understood what he was going for, try a “less cut someone in half” power.  

The day arrived, Sunday again, and Billy and I were on the way to the blandest neighborhood in the history of bland neighborhoods.  As he drove, he pointed out what they’d cut from the drone footage, points that weren’t necessary for intel, but still made no sense for Ryan’s placement.  How the houses all had curtains or blinds, but according to public records, only half the houses were occupied.  The mail services that didn’t come.  The lawn services that weren’t visible.  

“Nothing about this place makes sense, Ronnie.”  He shook his head, glancing around as he drove to the house that Ryan was being kept, since saying he was being raised there was far too kind of a description.  “I saw where Becca lived with him. Vought may have created it from their arses, but it LOOKED real.  THIS?  This don’t pass the smallest sniff test.”  

I concurred.  Nothing about this situation sits well with me.  From the community, if you could call it that, to the house, to the guardians.  Nothing made sense.  There were more issues though then just Ryan’s current predicament, and I had to wonder if Billy had considered it, because I had.  

If we proved what I was so very scared was true, and Ryan WAS in trouble, what was Billy willing to do to get him out of it?  What happens to Ryan?  Where does he go?  What part, in the play that is Ryan’s live action stop-motion film, is the man I love willing to play?

We parked in the blinding sun in front of the house I’d gone inside alone the first time.  Billy had his ID ready, like the good scout he was, and I had mine as well.  Front door, knocking, that bright blue eye, it was all very Deja vu.  

Inside the house, with Billy taking up so much space and air that I felt like the man, that actor who I couldn’t quite place, took a few steps back, I waited for the pat down. It didn’t come.  Not this time.  

“BILLY?”  Ryan’s voice was both loud and almost breathless at the same time, he was in front of us and staring up at Billy like I’d seen so many kids do to - I had to bite my lip.  

He was looking at Billy Butcher like other children look up to supes like Homelander.  My God, what a fucking twist.  And Billy?  Billy was staring over his head, as awkward as Hughie Campbell Junior staring at me as if he wasn’t quite sure what to do with the welcome or the adulation.  Well aren’t we in a pickle?