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1engele · 4 years ago

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daybreak | sal fisher x fem!reader - 4. questions

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[warnings: cursing, smoking, death mention, sexual discussion, drug mention]

"every mile further, there's a part of me that slips away."

—

At lunch, you and Sal eventually locate the group's spot in the cafeteria. It felt almost like a walk of shame as the two of you approached and cautiously sat down at the table.

Todd, Ashley, and Larry all turn their heads toward you both. Normally, they'd most likely greet you as if nothing was wrong—which, to their knowledge, nothing was—but this time they were hesitant in saying anything. You could only guess they'd caught the wave as soon as you'd both sat down.

Larry looked calmer than he did in the car. You hoped Ashley and Todd talked him down.

"Alright, something's weird," Ashley's suspicious eyes flitted between you and Sal. "What happened?"

Sal looked you in the eye, before returning his gaze to Ash. "Nothing, we-"

You should have let Sal lie about it, but the fact he still wanted to be selfless and keep the peace made you angry on his behalf and was enough to make you cut in. "Something happened in class that pissed Travis off. In the hall, he fucking cuffed Sal in the face."

Larry jerks forward in his seat. You take advantage of his shock to keep speaking. "His shirt had blood all over it. That's why I gave him my sweater."

"What the fuck?" Ashley's eyes were wide, her entire expression forming into something furious. "We need to report him."

"No, we don't," Sal shakes his head. "It makes things worse. It wasn't even that bad. The blood was superficial. It didn't even take more than a minute for her-" he looks to you, clears his throat, and corrects himself. You guess he doesn't want any questions being asked about what happened in the girl's bathroom. "-for me to clean it up."

Todd swallows a bite of his sandwich and speaks up. "Sal may be right. It would make things worse. That doesn't mean it's justified, though—no matter what Travis is going through at home."

"You know what is justified?" Larry is seething in his spot. "Him getting his shit beat. When the day's over, I'm taking him behind the school and knocking the lights out of his fucking head."

Sal inhales beside you.

"Yeah—that's not going to do anything," you breathe. You feel the blue-haired boy shift beside you—like he'd turned his head your way. "I actually spoke to him on the first day of school."

Ashley's eyebrows fly up. "What? What did he say?"

"We were all in the hallway," you began to explain, slowly and steadily. "I'd seen him giving Sal weird looks earlier in class—and at that moment, he seemed off, too—just standing there at the far end of the hall."

You paused. "I don't know. I've seen it before. It was like he was gearing himself up to walk over and say something. So I took it upon myself to beat him to it. I went over, asked him what he was planning on doing—told him to pick his battles. He almost went over anyway, but I put my hand on him and told him how that wouldn't end well."

You swallowed and glanced around anxiously. "He looked at me, scoffed, and walked away."

Your hand raises to your neck. You absentmindedly drag your knuckles over your throat—a nervous habit. "I hope I didn't make things worse. If I'd known that maybe that was the reason he was pissed off today I wouldn't have done anything."

Sal hadn't looked away from you the entire time you'd been speaking. Carefully, he shifts in his seat to face you and starts: "No," he shakes his head. "He would have hit me anyway. What you said didn't make him do that. It's about what happened in class."

He glanced over the table before meeting your eyes again. "He's jealous. I think he wishes he had something like we- he wishes he had a friend. That's all. So don't blame yourself for Travis' actions like you caused them when all you were trying to do was defend me."

Tears form but you blink them away quickly. Something flashes behind Sal's eyes and he looks as if he's going to say something to console you but someone's speaking before he can. You look away first, settling your eyes on the table.

"What happened in class?" Ashley asks, slowly reaching for her bag of chips.

Sal's eyebrows twitch downward. "Nothing. I tried giving Y/N another answer and Mrs. Packerton gave us detention. That made Travis mad, for some reason."

Larry lets out a bittersweet laugh. "As funny as Mrs. Packerton giving you detention is-"

Sal rolls his eyes in your peripheral vision.

"-why would that make Travis mad? It's not like he's a goody-two-shoes. He barely gets by in school."

Sal shrugs. "Who knows. I really don't care what he thinks, anyway."

Larry is beside himself with frustration. You can tell it. He's tense and his jaw is hard. You know he's ready to get up and talk to the other side of the cafeteria and beat the fuck out of Travis but he knows he can't—because Sal doesn't want that.

"If I were you, I would have killed him already," Larry mutters. "Don't know how you do it, dude. I don't think you aren't capable of it."

The boy beside you falters. "I don't care about what he says to me. It's really about what he says to other people. When he started saying shit to Y/N—I, uh- I'll admit, I did sort of feel like hurting him."

Your heart skips a beat. Immediately after this happens, you feel like slapping yourself in the face for letting your hormones get the better of you.

You watch the rest of the table exchange glances you would've missed—had you blinked—before Ashley speaks. "Whatever. I just don't get why he lets his anger out on somebody who's done nothing to him."

After that, the conversation steadily drifts into something more lighthearted. Larry makes fun of you and Sal for getting detention for something you nearly got caught for the previous day. Todd recites facts about medieval times and Ashley for some reason thinks that it's hilarious and laughs.

You enjoy the rest of lunch, despite the earlier topic.

You've come to realize this school absolutely does not give a shit. You and Sal are accepted into detention without any further notice for your parents. As far as you know, the faculty hadn't contacted nor your mother or Sal's parents.

"Let me call my dad," Sal mumbles, as you both approach the door to detention. "When I'm not home in time he always thinks something bad's happened to me, haha."

He pulls his phone out of his back pocket and flips it open.

"I'd call my mom, but I don't think she'd care," you laugh. It isn't bitter, really—you just couldn't care less. "From how you turned out, I bet your mom is really cool."

Sal looks up from his phone. "Thank you. Uh, yeah. She was good to me."

You falter at the 'was' and ask a question even though you shouldn't have. "Are your parents separated, Sal?"

He falters, waves the phone in his hand a little. "My mother, ah- is dead, Y/N."

Dread plunges to the bottom of your gut like a heavy rock and weighs your insides down. You feel like the biggest idiot known to the world—and you feel even stupider now that you can't muster the words up to apologize to him.

Eventually, you collect yourself—only to spiral yourself downward into further shame.

"Sal, I am so sorry," you breathe. "I should have caught on sooner."

He seems almost surprised concerning your sincerity, eyebrows raising and his eyes widening. Sal quickly raises his hands and waves them, his demeanor appearing distraught. "No! No, don't feel bad. There's no way you could've known. I don't talk about family much."

You breathe in slowly. "I'm such a horrible person. Here I am, complaining about calling my mother, and.."

He blinks down at you sincerely, glances both ways down the hall, and returns his gaze to you, and speaks: "Do you want to just get out of here?"

Your head jerks upward. You swallow the saliva that had pooled in your mouth and fumble for a response. "What do you mean?"

Sal breathily laughs. "We'll get in a lot of trouble for this—but you only live once, right?" He shifts his weight and takes a step closer to you. "Let's just ditch the detention. Me and you."

Your heart jumps. "Don't you have really good grades? Sal, what if-"

"That doesn't matter," he blurts. You meet his eyes. The blue in them cast something familiar onto you—exhaustion. Numbness. The want to feel, the want to be exhilarated.

You don't know this boy very well—but you see something of yourself in him. A person who's kept between the lives most of their life, but they're just itching to break through that wall.

Sal is bored. He's sad. And he wants the thrill.

"Let's do it."

You and Sal both escape the school in a matter of a few minutes. Leaving involved a lot of unnecessary running and giggling and navigating through halls—but you make it out and breathe in the crisp, autumn air. It further dries your parched throat and rustles your hair.

"Wow," Sal breathes, beside you, as you both stand with feet firmly planted on the concrete. You're a few yards away from the school, enough distance between you and the building to where you can feel comfortable. "Never done anything like that before."

You laugh. "We ditched detention, Sal. We didn't run from the law."

"To my standards, we may as well have." He meets your eyes, the breeze blowing past his blue hair. "What do you want to do next?"

You take Sal to a playground. It takes a little while of absentminded walking and searching for something to appear, but eventually your eyes catch on that swing set and you can't resist.

"Come on!" You grin and run towards it.

He laughs behind you, and follows you a little less excitedly, taking his time with walking.

You sit side by side. You dig the toe of your shoe into the ground and push yourself into a steady rock, back and forth. The chains squeak which each movement of the swing.

"Hey, Sal?"

He looks over at you, his hair rustling with the autumn breeze. The more you look at it, the more jarring the contrast becomes—the blue against the backdrop of orange and red trees and the dull sky. "Yeah?"

"Wanna play 20 questions?"

Sal blinks toward you. He brings his hands up to grip the chains attached to his swing. "Sure."

"Okay. Just one rule-"

"Don't ask for your bra size?"

You laugh. "No. If you really want to know, it's-"

He waves a hand hurriedly. You notice the strain in his voice when he replies. "I was just kidding. What's the rule?"

"No boring questions. That's it."

Sal chuckles. "I'm a boring person, so I can't really promise that."

No, you're not, you thought.

"Prove me wrong. You go first."

"Favorite color?"

You chuckle, kicking dirt up from the ground as you push yourself into a steady rock, back and forth. "Wow. What a question. Uh... I don't know. There's a lot of great colors." You glance toward him, shivering as a gust of wind brushes your clothed shoulders. "Blue."

He inclines his head toward you. "It's your turn, now."

You pause. "I'll ask you the same thing. What's your favorite color?"

"Yellow. If you could choose a way to die, how would you? Old age or something peaceful doesn't count."

The abruptness of the shift in topic makes you laugh. "I'd like to be struck by lightning."

He peers at you curiously. "Why?"

"Does that count as one of your questions?"

Sal fingers at the chains of his swing. "Yeah, sure."

You shrug your shoulders, sucking your front teeth behind your lips. "I don't know, honestly. I'd like to know how it feels. It would probably just feel like fire, and it would fucking hurt—but wouldn't it be kind of cool? Have you seen a photo of someone after being struck by lightning?"

He giggles, lifts a foot and presses the bottom of his shoe against the other one. "Does that count as one of your questions?"

"Shut up. Have you?"

"No. What's it look like?"

You grin. "It's like.. tree roots. Or a branch with leaves on it—but it's a scar. You'd have to see it to understand."

Sal looks as though he's about to say something else—probably tease you for your strange fixation on lightning strike victims—but you beat him to the punch. "My turn. What's your favorite song?"

"Memories and Dreams, Sanity's Fall."

You raise your eyebrows. "Metal? Well, now that I think about it, you seem the type."

"Larry actually introduced me to it. I didn't really listen to anything before I met him. Alright, I'll ask you the same question. Favorite song?"

"Wonderwall, Oasis."

"That one's pretty recent," he hums, pauses, and thinks about it. "Yeah. That sounds like you. I like it."

You smile shyly. "It's not metal, sorry. Can we still be friends?"

Sal exhales through his nose amusedly. "No. You don't like the same music genre as me. Friendship over."

You laugh. "Well, I never said I didn't like metal. Anyway, my question is.. when's your birthday?"

"December 20th."

Your eyebrows raise. "Holy shit. You're nearly a Jesus baby."

Sal chuckles. "I'm far from being the second coming. It's 5 days off, anyway."

That makes him a Sagittarius. You're pretty familiar with the general traits of the zodiac signs—personality traits, physical traits, sexual tendencies—like a lot of teenagers nowadays.

Well, if he's true to the zodiac, he has a high sex drive.

Your face feels hot. You're a creep, your brain says.

A few questions pass by. He asks about your birthday, you ask him his favorite movie, etc. You're nearing the end of the game, and it's been a decent amount of time. It feels almost too soon when the sun begins to drift down in the sky.

"Alright, my turn," you say after you've answered the question Sal had just asked you.

"Shoot."

"Are you a virgin?"

A tense moment passes, and you seriously regret asking. All you can hear is your heart thrumming in your ears and your blood rushing towards it and through all of you.

He meets your eyes evenly. "Yeah. Obviously."

"I don't believe you," you reply, immediately.

His eyebrows raise. "Why not?"

You hope he can't hear your pulse. "Because. You answered that way too smoothly."

"That makes no sense. If I were lying, I wouldn't have been as cool about it."

You narrow your eyes. "That's not just it, though. Why hasn't someone fucked you?"

If the abruptness of your question shocked you, it certainly shocked him. Sal laughed loudly like he was in disbelief—swaying his head away from you. His knuckles grow white around the swing chains.

His head turns back and his eyes meet yours straight on. "What are you trying to say?"

"Oh my god," you slapped a hand over your mouth. "I sounded so ignorant just now. Sorry. I'm not shaming you—that would make me a hypocrite. I'm a virgin too."

Sal huffs out another laugh, breathily this time. "No, I didn't think you were being ignorant. That's not what I was asking you."

You pause. "Then.." You plant your feet on the ground and stop the sway the swing is in. The sun continues to drop further down in the sky, and it's golden light warms your face.

You look away from him, your heart beating against your ribs. "Hey, I have an idea."

When you turned your head Sal's way, his attention was already on you. "Yeah?"

"You said that you drive, right?"

"Yeah. Not legally. But I can drive. Why do you ask?"

You grin.

By the time you've arrived at the apartments, the sun has fully dropped out of the sky and the heavens were completely black—save for the full moon and the speckles of bright stars. This is one of the things you love about Nockfell—it's so far out. The lack of air pollution and chemicals below the clouds made the celestial bodies out there so much clearer.

"My dad's going to kill me," Sal muttered, as he forced his personal key into the door to his apartment.

"Hey, Sal, you know we don't have to-"

His head turns to you. "I never said that. I want to."

Sal pulls the key out and slowly turns the knob beneath his long fingers. Instead of easing the door at a steady pace, he holds on tighter to the knob and pushes it open quickly. For a moment, you almost scolded him for his recklessness—until you realized he'd done this so the door wouldn't whine on its hinges.

"Have you snuck in or out before?" You ask him, voice low as you watch him lean down to take his shoes off before he enters the apartment. "Why are you doing that?"

"These floorboards are shit. They creak under the carpet. Wait here."

He leaves his cornflower blue sneakers at the foot of the door and walks inside. You watch the back of his head as his figure disappears into the darkness of the room. Sure enough, he was right. His feet only emanate soft pats against the carpet and don't disturb the wood beneath—because he's only wearing socks. You hear the sound of keys before he returns to you.

"You didn't answer my question," you murmur with a teasing lilt, as he slides the door back into its place in the frame. He locks it back and turns to you.

"Not like this. I especially haven't stolen his car."

You laugh. "I hope I'm not becoming a bad influence on you. We've already ditched detention today.."

"Yeah, but that was my idea," he reminds you.

"I guess you're right. Do you think your dad will be mad at you?"

You loom over him as he forces his feet back into his sneakers. "Honestly? Probably. I've never done anything like that before. Getting detention is one thing, but leaving the school before actually attending it is something else entirely."

The both of you enter the elevator instead of going down the stairs. It's late, this complex is shit, and the stairwell wouldn't be lit.

Somehow, it hadn't crossed either of your minds that taking this elevator so late wouldn't be exactly wise either, but you'd stepped inside of the compartment anyways.

You stepped to Sal's left and watched him press the button for the first floor with his knuckle. As soon as he'd done that, and the elevator doors had slid closed, the singular light that illuminated the compartment flicked off and the both of you stood in abrupt darkness.

"Holy shit!" You exclaimed, jutting yourself into Sal's side and grasping the material of your sweater that he wore. "I'm sorry, but what the fuck? Did it just break?"

"No," he laughed, shifting his weight towards you. "It always does that in the night. I think it's to conserve power so the elevator doesn't break altogether."

You let go of him, embarrassment fluttering in your gut. You weren't sure whether to feel relief as you felt the elevator make it's descent downward. "I mean.. shouldn't there be a sign? I don't know.. that says something like.."

"'You aren't about to plummet to your death, the building's just really old?'" Sal finished your sentence for you and chuckled. "Yeah. If someone had a heart attack, they could sue. But the guy that runs this place is really old and doesn't really have family—so that would just be sad."

You're close enough to him to where you can feel him shrug. "There's an awful lot about this place that's rundown and weird and honestly sketchy, but Addison doesn't care. For instance, the college kids that live in 301? They spend all of their free time doing coke and heroin."

Your eyebrows raise into your hairline as you listen along.

"They're super nice people, and I don't mean to be rude at all, but god, you can smell the body rot inside of that apartment. It's really sad."

You look to him. "You've.. been inside of there," It wasn't a question—more of a statement.

"Yeah. I did coke with them once or twice."

You get whiplash, that's how fast your head whips toward him. "Sal," you breathe. "I don't mean to sound overbearing, but please don't do that. Ever again."

He huffs, but not of frustration. It's of resignation and understanding and shame. "I.. I'll admit it to you, Y/N, that shit is a lot more addictive than it's made out to be. I'm not going to tell you how I felt because I don't want to make it out to be enticing—but I can understand why they're addicts. I'd only done it a few times and it felt like any time I wasn't doing it I itched for it. Eventually, I got busier with school and other things—so after a while, I.. guess I sort of forgot."

You hear him turn his head to look at you. You barely make out his prosthetic face in the black. "I'll smoke cigarettes with you, Y/N, but I'll never introduce you to something like cocaine. By the way you reacted when I told you I'd done it, I hope you won't do it yourself."

You meet his eyes amidst the darkness. "You know, Sal," your gaze wanders to the elevator doors. The compartment shutters as it reaches its destination on the ground floor. Your fingers brush his with purpose. "I know of a lot better feelings that don't come from drugs."

Your heartbeat sounds like gushing blood in your ears. You feel his burning blue eyes on the back of your head.

At the same time as you're stepping out of the elevator, you've stepped into something else.

#sally face #sally face x reader #sal fisher x reader

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platypanthewriter · 4 years ago

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The Devil Looks After His Own (Ch.1)

Little Steve Harrington is so lonely he tries summoning a demon with a ritual advertised on TV--but luckily, it doesn't work, and a buff, non-human nanny hired by his mom shows up minutes later. Years later, they're best friends, and Steve still doesn't know the truth. For @magniloquent-raven!

When his dad finally locked him out of the office, Steve spent the morning sitting in the hallway playing with his Legos. When his stomach growled, he knocked quietly, and his dad’s voice on the phone continued, so he went in the kitchen to forage. He found Cheez-its, and olives, and a tightly wrapped triangle of gooey cheese that tasted good in the middle, but had gross, chalky skin, so he licked the middle out and stuffed the rest down the side of the garbage.

He walked back into the front room and flipped the TV on, just to make some noise. “In the future,” came the syrupy voice of the man on the screen, “—we’ll have robots to be our helper-friends!” He chuckled to himself, leaning back in his leather chair, and folding his arms on his huge wooden desk. “But that doesn’t work for us now, I hear you say.”

The camera zoomed out, and he waved to a woman with curly hair and long fangs, sitting on the edge of his desk. She was wearing way less clothes than the man was, and Steve frowned, wondering whether she was cold. “Our summoning spells are assembled by real lawyers, and airtight!” the man said, and the woman nodded, smiling, and holding up a picture with a lot of numbers and lines. Steve squinted at it guiltily—he’d seen the man’s ads before, and he mostly remembered the picture, probably.

The helper-friend lady looked nice, he thought.

“Too good to be true? We even include offerings! Bat eyes, tears of the innocent—” he said, smiling and holding up jars, as ‘ethically sourced from internment facilities’ scrolled across the screen.

Steve frowned around, and then grabbed his LEGO 1969 Chevrolet Camaro Z/28, the most complex set he owned.

“Honey,” the man told the woman on screen, and she opened a can of soda, and poured it over her own head, still smiling. “Perfectly compliant,” he said. “And just wait, there’s more! Any purchase comes with a matching, complimentary summoning sigil for a protective home guardian! Just drip a drop of fluid—” he winked at the camera, and it showed something red splashing across the page, as his voice suddenly screamed “Augh-no! Don’t—”

Steve had already grabbed the remote and hit the fifteen-second replay, and began drawing out the picture. He hit it again and again, coloring in different colors, and wishing people in commercials didn’t always yell. He drew the circle carefully with a piece of thread from the long fringe on a throw-blanket he wasn’t allowed to mess up, then folded it carefully again, grimacing. He colored in the crosses with a different color so it looked nicer, and drew the little castle wall-looking-bit. He added a horse.

When it came time to drip fluid on it, he clicked the TV off, and got a juice box from the fridge, figuring apple juice was way less gross than blood, and it wouldn’t ruin his picture.

Steve stared at the picture, holding the juice box, and thinking. He imagined not eating alone. He imagined the nice lady smiling at his Legos—maybe she’d like the castle set, he thought, like in her picture. He’d just summon her for a little, he thought—just a few minutes, enough to make them both a PB&J.

His stomach growled—again—and he frowned at his dad’s office door, sighed, plonked the Camaro in the middle of the picture, and squeezed the juice box to spray over it all.

Nothing happened. Steve stared at the picture for a long moment, his eyes welling up with tears, and then kicked the couch. It felt like his foot broke from the impact, and he spun around in a circle, muttering a lot of words he wasn’t allowed to say in the house. He hopped into the kitchen, sniffling, and got out the peanut butter, jam, and a spoon—but instead of getting the bread, he sat on the floor in front of the sink.

He felt a sinking sensation of guilt as he stuck the spoon right into first the jam, and then the peanut butter, sticking the whole spoonful straight in his mouth and licking it off. Once he’d licked the spoon, he stuck it back in the jar, his heart pounding. The peanut butter was crunchy and salty, and the strawberry jam was stickily sweet. He wondered whether his mom would check the bread and know, and cried harder as he chewed, hugging his knees.

The floor in the front room creaked, and he startled so hard the spoon jabbed hard between his upper molars. He scrambled to his feet, fumbling the lids back on the jam and the peanut butter and shoving them under the sink, his heart thudding in his chest, but nobody came in.

The couch squeaked softly, and Steve edged to the doorway, the big spoon hanging forgotten from his mouth, to see a tall man with horns and no clothes at all lying across the couch, right up against the forbidden throw blanket. He raised his eyebrows—they had shiny jewelry in them—and breathed out smoke, indoors, as he looked up at Steve.

He then yelped and scrambled to fall with a thud over the back of the couch. “The fff—what are you doing here, kid,” came his voice, from behind the couch. “Where the—where on earth are your parents?!”

“Unhm,” said Steve, who hadn’t ever seen a man wear so much jewelry before, and wondered how much it hurt to have jewelry in your dick. He took the spoon out of his mouth. “Uh. Dad—dad is—in there,” he pointed vaguely toward his dad’s office, his eyes still fixed on the horns sticking up past the back of the couch. “Do...do you want me to...get him?”

The naked man popped up behind the couch again, looking kind of mad, and Steve stepped further back, watching the golden chains and jewels glint in the light from the window. “...you look very pretty,” Steve said politely, and the man groaned, grabbing the blanket as he stood, and wrapping it around his waist like a towel.

“Why the—why are you here,” he hissed, and Steve swallowed.

“I’ll go in my room,” he tried to say, but it came out kind of a weird whisper, and he realized he was starting to cry again, so he turned away, and the man scrambled from behind the couch.

“Wait! Kid,” he said, and Steve stopped to see him step and spin kind of gracefully around the glass coffee table without catching the blanket on it. All his nails were pointed, and painted black. “I’m sorry—” he cut off, staring down at Steve’s picture, and the LEGO 1969 Chevrolet Camaro Z/28.

“...what’s this,” he asked, like maybe he was mad again, and Steve wondered, suddenly, whether his mom had forgotten to lock the door, and the man was a naked burglar, looking for clothes to steal.

“I wanted to meet the TV lady,” Steve admitted, trying to take it, but the man snatched it up. “Um, are you—are you a burglar?”

“Am I—” the man glared at him—his eyes looked like fire, weirdly, the blue fire on the stove—but he didn’t look mad at Steve, yet, so Steve just bit his lips together. “...you drew this?” the horny man asked, more quietly, and Steve nodded. “Why?” he asked, and Steve knew he was in trouble—even if the man wasn’t supposed to be there, grownups always told each other when Steve did something dumb, like steal the TV man’s picture, which was the point Steve realized he was a stealer, a thief, like on TV. America’s Most Wanted, he thought, his heart pounding.

“Why draw this?” the man asked softly, crouching down, and Steve sniffled again, wiping his eyes.

“He said a friend would come,” he admitted, wondering whether kids had their own jail, or whether he’d be in the one with all the guys from movies, who chased teenagers with chainsaws and knives.

“You wanted a friend?” the man asked, but even softer, and Steve nodded, clenching his fingers in the sides of his pants.

“I didn’t mean to steal it,” he whispered. “I won’t do it again.”

“...okay,” the man said. “Don’t—don’t cry, it’s okay, are—are you okay?” he held his hands up like he was gonna touch Steve’s shoulders, then crossed his arms, frowning.

“I’m okay,” Steve nodded, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “...are, um,” he asked, cautiously, “—are you supposed to be...in here?”

“Uhhh,” said the man. “Definitely not naked, right?” he laughed, kinda nervously, Steve thought, and he snapped his fingers. The throw blanket turned into shiny fringed pants.

“Ohhh,” Steve whispered, impressed. “How’d you do that?”

“Oh,” the man said, grimacing. “Um, let’s talk about you summoning demons, okay?”

“...okay,” Steve nodded, sighing, but then a thought occurred to him. “Uh, do you want a PB&J?”

As they ate, the man spread Steve’s picture on the table, with the LEGO 1969 Chevrolet Camaro Z/28.

“So this is a circle to summon the demon Belial,” he said, low but kind of intense, like Steve was in trouble, but mostly he looked sort of worried.

Steve swallowed his bite of sandwich. “...it’s not exactly the same,” he pointed out, a little sulkily. “I added a horse.”

“...so you did,” said the man, turning it to look. “...look, summoning demons is very dangerous—”

“My dad says there aren’t bad demon summoners,” Steve told him. “He says there are bad plumbers, and bad strippers, but if you’re talking to somebody, and they summoned a demon, they must be good at it, because you’re talking to them, and—and he was on TV—”

“Strippers,” said the man weakly, and Steve realized he was being rude to his guest.

“I’m Steve,” he said. “What’s your name?”

“...Bel,” said the man, then, hurriedly, “Bill?”

“My mom likes Billy Idol. And Billy Joel,” Steve suggested, and the man nodded.

“That’s a normal name that I definitely have,” he nodded, grimacing, “—Billy, I’m Billy.”

Steve considered this.

“Are you listening, though? About demon-summoning? Even a lot of adults have a hard time with it—” Billy started again, holding Steve’s LEGO 1969 Chevrolet Camaro Z/28 to his chest like it was a present for him.

“The guy on TV said it was for a helper friend,” Steve told him, feeling a little guilty, but really not too much, since it hadn’t even worked.

“Steve,” Billy said, pressing his hands together over his mouth. The chain hooking his earring to the ring in his lip swayed and made a bell sound, and Steve stared at it, then remembered to nod. “Okay,” Billy said. “Could you promise me you won’t try to summon any more demons?”

“My dad says—” Steve started, again, but he cut off guiltily as Billy slumped back in his chair, groaning.

“Look,” Billy tried again, rubbing his face. “Summoning demons isn’t like inviting somebody over, okay? They have to come. Now imagine if someone called you up to—” he frowned down at himself, biting his lips with pointed teeth, and cleared his throat. “Uh,” he said, swallowing, and snapped his fingers with both hands—and all the jewelry vanished. Even his cool horns were gone, Steve realized, and he had clothes on, a little tiny black shirt that showed his belly button, and shiny plastic-y silver pants.

It was disappointing, but Steve looked into Billy’s flameless eyes and blunt-toothed smile and politely said “...you still look nice...I guess.” Billy snorted a laugh. “...I’ve never seen pants like that,” Steve offered, and Billy frowned down.

“What’s wrong with them?” he asked, then shook his head. “No, wait. Okay. What if you don’t want to go somewhere—”

“People make me go places all the time,” Steve said darkly, remembering the week before, when his mom had drug him in for a haircut that made him look like G.I. Joe. He rubbed his still-fuzzy head, glowering.

“Uh,” Billy said, trying not to smile, but spinning the tires on the LEGO 1969 Chevrolet Camaro Z/28, and Steve was a little proud that he liked it so much. “Okay, a stranger. What if a stranger makes you go somewhere you don’t want to go?”

“That’s kidnapping,” Steve said, breathlessly, his eyes huge, and Billy pointed the LEGO 1969 Chevrolet Camaro Z/28 at him.

“Yes. When you summon a demon, you’re kidnapping them, okay? And they can’t leave unless you let them go.”

“But the man on the TV said—” Steve whispered, then stopped, remembering how he’d made the almost-naked woman pour soda on her own head. Steve covered his mouth, suddenly realizing she might not have wanted to be almost-naked, maybe the man had taken her clothes off, like Steve with a doll. “Oh no,” he whispered. “I’m so glad it didn’t work!”

“Ah, yeeeah,” Billy said, grimacing.

“Um,” said Steve, reaching a hand over to retrieve his prize LEGO kit, and Billy snatched it back. Steve narrowed his eyes. “You were looking for my parents, but my dad didn’t say you were coming over, are you my mom’s friend?”

Billy winced, grimacing. “Where is she?”

“She’s at work,” Steve told him. “Daycare is too expensive, so over the summer I have to be good.”

“Wait, are there any grownups here?!” Billy asked, looking horrified, and Steve nodded, pointing down the hall again.

“My dad. He locks the door.”

“...What if you drown in the bathtub, or try to eat your own fingers, or something,” Billy breathed, and Steve glared at him.

“I’m not little,” he hissed, sliding forward in his chair a little, so his toes reached the floor. “I’m not a baby.”

“You don’t need a friend, you need a nanny,” said the recently smoking, horned, pierced and tattooed man before him. “And that’s, uh, that’s why your mom sent me.”

“...did she really send you?” Steve asked, narrowing his eyes, and Billy crossed his arms on the table, hugging Steve’s LEGO 1969 Chevrolet Camaro Z/28 against his chest.

“Yeah. Yeah, she did,” he said defiantly, and Steve relaxed a little, because Billy sounded like a teenager, just a bigger kid, really. “She said to put less peanut butter and jelly in your sandwiches,” he pointed to Steve’s overflowing PB&J-bread-burrito, looking smug, “—and just make another sandwich.”

Steve gasped, staring at him, and feeling absolutely betrayed. “You tricked me! Why’d you let me make it!”

“It’s okay, I won’t tell,” Billy said, and Steve’s heart was won.

Billy won it further when he scooted his plate aside to admire the LEGO 1969 Chevrolet Camaro Z/28, and Steve drug him back to his room to show him the kits he had. “Come on,” he said, excited and rude, and Billy slowed way down, grimacing, and flickering back to his pretty bejeweled self, with horns.

“How about you ask if I wanna do things,” he said stiffly, slowing almost to a stop, and smoking more around the eyes.

“Oh, yeah,” Steve nodded. “Sorry. Can I show you my room?”

“Or maybe, ‘Hey, Billy, want to see my room,’” Billy suggested, taking a deep breath.

“Okay,” Steve nodded. “Want to see my room?”

“Sure,” Billy nodded, relaxing like it was some big relief.

It occurred to Steve maybe it was. “Sorry,” he said quickly. “I’ll be polite, I won’t get you fired.”

“Um, yeah,” Billy laughed, shaking his head. “Maybe don’t, uh, order me around.”

“Yeah,” Steve nodded, thinking hard about it, so he’d remember. “I won’t say ‘Billy, pick me upOOF—” he wheezed, as Billy yanked him into the air with one arm around his waist. “Sorry,” Steve wheezed, his feet kicking. “I-I’ll say Billy would you, sorry—”

“Shit! Damn it, I mean, uh, sorry,” Billy said, grimacing, and sat Steve back on his feet, straightening his clothes.

“I’ll remember,” Steve told him, wide-eyed, and then, because Billy looked guilty, “It’s okay.”

He tried hard to remember, and he usually did, because Billy got all tense and weird if Steve forgot, like he was trying to move underwater, and Steve had to yell “If you want! If you want!” as Billy grimly bit into the crunchy, burned eggs Steve had made.

“That was disgusting,” Billy told him, that time, and Steve couldn’t stop laughing, waving his hands.

“Okay, okay, can I—can I just tell you you can ignore me? I won’t tell, you can just—just do things if you want to—”

“...you sure about that?” Billy asked, snorting softly, like Steve might be kidding, and Steve nodded frantically.

“Yeah! Yes! Don’t, um, don’t eat any more eggshells, I’m sorry!”

“...okay,” Billy said, smiling down at him. “When am I not supposed to listen?”

“Uh,” said Steve, blinking at him. “I mean. You should—you should always listen—”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Billy said, rolling his eyes.

“No, you should!” Steve told him, grabbing Billy’s hand and tugging it. “What if something’s gonna hit you in the head? You should listen,” he nodded, thinking about it. “But once you listen, you should decide what you want to do.”

“What if I wanted to...eat you?” Billy asked him, reaching down to tickle Steve’s stomach, and Steve yelped, giggling.

“You won’t eat me,” Steve told him, leaning into Billy, to give him a hug. “You’re nice.”

Billy sighed, and hugged him back, tightly.

Billy was better at some things than other people, like clothes, Steve thought, because Billy was always pointing people’s outfits out, and explaining how they weren’t as good at picking them. He wasn’t as good at other things, though. Steve sat down one night to heated-up pasta sauce over Cheerios, and he didn’t want to say anything, but he was pretty sure that wasn’t right. Billy gave Steve’s mom a glass of water that was completely frozen because she said she wanted it iced, and when Steve’s dad told Billy to make burgers, Billy didn’t buy buns, or tomatoes, or anything, and he threw the meat in the pan until it caught fire.

Steve was pretty sure none of it was a joke, because Billy frowned between the glass and Steve’s mom, and grimaced over the burgers after Steve’s dad stomped away, and Steve caught him whispering into the phone to the neighbor, hiding half in the fridge like nobody was gonna notice it was open.

“Billy,” he whispered, and Billy jumped, as Steve crouched down next to him. The breeze from the inside of the fridge was nice, but it hardened all Steve’s suspicions, because no grown-up had ever left the fridge open, he was pretty sure.

“Yeah,” Billy muttered back, guiltily.

“...how old’re you,” Steve asked, and Billy flinched.

“Older than you,” he shot back, and that Steve was willing to give him, because Billy wasn’t human, and some things lived different amounts of time, like trees.

“Are you a kid too?” Steve asked, and Billy glared at him.

“No,” he said defiantly, and Steve nodded slowly, raising his eyebrows, until Billy groaned, deflating, sitting against the edge of the fridge and letting his legs sprawl out across the floor. “Look, I’m trying—”

“I won’t tell,” Steve said, reaching out and squeezing Billy’s hand. “I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

“...teenager...maybe,” Billy admitted, grimacing.

“Okay,” Steve said, nodding. “Billy,” he said, trying to sound like a parent, or a teacher, and Billy’s shoulders hunched. “You need to tell me you need help,” Steve said, putting his hands on his hips. “I can help with things like human food.”

“You are human food,” Billy said, fondly, yanking Steve into a hug.

Most of the people that did magic like Billy ate kids occasionally, Steve found out, as he was reading his Dictionary of the Magic Realms that night under the covers, by flashlight. Maybe they were mean kids, Steve thought, or maybe Billy was just way nicer. “Are you a fairy?” he asked the next morning, and Billy laughed.

“Depends on what you mean,” he said, grinning over. “Is that slang for—”

“Can you fly,” Steve interrupted, because that seemed the most important, and Billy cocked his head.

“...actually, I probably could,” he said, considering. “Not like you mean, though. I don’t have secret butterfly wings, or anything.”

“Oh,” Steve said, because he'd been privately imagining Billy as they’d first met, with the jewelry and the horns and wings, and it seemed to fit.

“...do you want me to have wings?” Billy asked, sitting aside the dish he was drying, and bending down sideways to try and meet Steve’s eyes. “I can change form—”

“No!” Steve told him, waving his hands. “No, I know you like looking like...that.”

“...that,” Billy said, raising his eyebrows as he looked down at himself. “You saying I need to do better?”

“You’re just—normal,” Steve said quickly. “Instead of pretty.”

“Instead of,” Billy growled.

“I mean,” Steve yelped, waving his hands. “Pretty with all the jewelry! And the horns.”

“I was gonna say,” Billy said, reddening. “If you’re saying I’m not pretty—”

“Of course you’re pretty,” Steve said, rolling his eyes and sighing, but grinning, too. He patted Billy’s shoulder.

“Well,” Billy said, clearing his throat, and turning back to the dishes. “All right, then.”

A few days later, Billy was moving the kettle off the flame for hot chocolate, and a big gout of steam belched up over his arm, which shimmered into all over scales. Steve yelped and grabbed him, yanking him over to the sink, and ran water over it, all the while panicking.

“Billy, are you a mermaid?!” he asked, spraying Billy’s arm, and trying not to cry. “Are you a mermaid, are you okay, are hot things bad for mermaids—”

“I’m okay,” Billy told him, turning off the water, and hugging him close. “I’m not a mermaid, Stevie, I’m not hurt.”

“O-okay,” Steve gasped, grabbing Billy’s arm to run his fingers over it. “You—you’re okay,” he whispered, leaning into Billy’s hugs. “...are you a...lizard? Or a snake?”

“Nope, not exactly,” Billy said, snorting a laugh, and Steve groaned.

The rest of my Harringrove works

#Harringrove #Demon!Billy #Summoner!Steve #Unintentionally??#Kind of?!#BFFs #Kid!fic #Comedy

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mourntheantagonist · 4 years ago

Text

Please Don’t Jump (it’s Christmas)

tw; suicide attempt(s) and implied/referenced child abuse

read on ao3

“Another year’s over, the snow starts to fall.

Just like you would if you ended it all.”

It’s Christmas time in Hawkins. The Hargrove’s first in the new town. The new home. Billy wasn’t exactly prepared for just how different this year would be. Christmas morning is just him, his father, and Susan. Max lucking out and fucking off to spend the holidays with her Dad in California. While Billy is stuck alone in the house that doesn’t feel like a home. With a Dad that doesn’t feel like a parent. Feels more like a guard. It’s a prison. Six inch deep snow blockade surrounding the house requiring chained up tires if you wanted to go anywhere. Sun blocked by gray clouds. Breath visible against the cold air. It wasn’t California. It wasn’t his home. It was an icy Hell.

Susan tried her best to maintain the usual festivities, but she was clearly upset by not spending the day with her daughter. Believing her ex-husband to be out there corrupting her daughter. Teaching her masculinity and independence. She thinks that’s wrong. It’s bullshit. Billy hopes Max never comes back from California. At least one of them would make it out.

It’s a quiet and boring fucking day to say the least. Past Christmases were spent hopping from house to house. Their blended family resulting in many visitations to random families that you’d only see twice a year around the holidays. Billy only ever liked going to Susan’s brother's house. His son who was just a year older than him actually proving to be pretty fucking cool. Evenings spent out on the back patio smoking a joint, much to each of their respective father’s disappointment.

But that didn’t happen this year. Only being in the shithole for two months they didn’t know anybody. No family nearby. Left to their own devices and Susan’s shitty cooking. It was lonely. The dinner table is quiet. Sounds of cutlery clinking against the nice plates that were reserved for special occasions. His father sitting across from him, waiting patiently for Billy to do something so he could get his fists dirty.

It was lonely.

“But tonight’s not the night.

If only you’d answer my calls.”

Steve was alone. Completely and utterly alone. His house is empty and bare of decoration. The snow outside his house and the music on the radio being the only indication that it was Christmas at all.

He got a letter in the mail. A store-bought Christmas card that looked to have come from the same stack they send to all their colleagues. No additional message. Just signed ‘Mom and Dad’ with two hundred dollars inside.

He felt like just a name on a checklist. Not like he mattered. But maybe he should just be grateful they even remembered. They didn’t even call. The only person to wish Steve a merry Christmas this year was the guy behind the counter at the gas station. He must be having a lonely Christmas too.

Steve holed up in his room, working his way through a case of cheap beer trying to make himself feel warm inside despite the shivering outside temperatures. Numbing the pain and forgetting the fact that his parents won’t answer the phone. He eats a two day old turkey sandwich and calls it his Christmas dinner. No point in making a whole turkey for just himself to eat alone. Even if he knew how to make a turkey.

Last year he spent Christmas with the Wheelers. Years prior spent with Tommy H. and his family. This was the first Christmas Steve spent truly and utterly alone. He didn’t have Tommy or Nancy anymore. He didn’t really have anyone but Dustin, who was off in Chicago for the holidays.

Nancy had Jonathan. Tommy had Carol. Steve had nobody. But who’s surprised?

Nobody would care if he disappeared. Swallowed up by the deep snow.

He was just a name on a checklist.

An afterthought.

Forgotten.

He calls his parents one last time. A glimmer of hope that they’ll pick up.

But all he gets is ringing.

“Please pick up now.”

They got in a fight. If you could even call it that. More so Neil didn’t appreciate Billy’s nonexistent attitude and made it known with an open handed slap to his cheek. The skin breaking upon impact. Neil told him to get out and not come back until morning. His instructions were to ‘find another ungrateful queer to take you in’.

He left without hesitation. Getting into his car underdressed for the weather. Cranking the heat as high as it would go to end the teeth chattering. He just drove. Bumpy along snowy paths. Slower than his preferred speed. He just drove. Nowhere to go.

He turns down an unfamiliar road. It’s dark and there looks to be no sign of life near. Just trees upon trees covered in snow. Maybe he’ll get lost out there. Maybe the car will shut off. He’s heard freezing to death is peaceful.

But the car powers through over rough and tractionless terrain until it stumbles upon headlights in the distance. There’s a clearing up ahead where the car is parked. There’s a figure sitting on the hood. He doesn’t recognize them until he’s parked beside them.

“Harrington?”

“Oh no, another Christmas alone.

I would talk you down,

if you would answer your phone.”

“Not thinking of jumping are you?” Billy asks, it’s only supposed to be a joke.

But Steve doesn’t answer, which is concerning. He’s not answering the question and he’s at the quarry by himself at ten pm. Billy counts three beer cans scattered in the snow below. Steve is crying and staring at the frozen over water that is just a few steps away.

“You know they say it’ll only break bones if you jump in the water from here. You think it’ll work better when it’s frozen over?” He says it so bluntly. Like he expects Billy to cheer him on as he lets himself walk over the edge.

“Shut the fuck up Harrington.”

Steve gives him a determined look before he downs the rest of his beer and tosses the empty can over his shoulder. He doesn’t move his eyes from where they’re staring into Billy’s soul. Tear-stained with frozen lashes. He’s been out here for a while. He doesn’t remove eye contact as he takes a step forward, no longer resting on the hood of his car.

He looks away as he takes the second step. Back towards the cliff in front of him. Just a mere four feet separating him and the drop off.

“This isn’t fucking funny Harrington.”

He takes another step. This stride longer than the first two.

“Please,”

Billy grabs him hard by the shoulder before he can take another step forward.

“Let go of me.” He says it calmly. But he still struggles against Billy’s hold on him. But Billy’s grip is strong on him. His feet are planted deep in the snow. He’s not going anywhere. And neither is Steve.

“Don’t,”

“Let me go!” He cries this time. He’s pleading with Billy in between sobs. “Let me go, let me go, let me go!” He’s sobbing. Hot tears dripping down and melting the snow beneath him. Fighting as hard as he can against Billy’s grip.

Billy pulls him towards him and away from the cliffs edge. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, just allowing basic instinct to take over.

He pulls Steve close. Arms wrapped tightly around him leaving him immobile. Steve is warm against him. In all the chaos Billy hadn’t noticed how cold he had gotten. Steve sobs into his jacket. A combination of snot and tears soaking the denim.

Steve is slamming a free fist into Billy’s chest as hard as he can. Whispering demands to free him. To just leave him alone. Billy squeezes tighter.

After about a minute of struggling against him Steve collapses to the ground bringing Billy down with him, knees buried in the snow.

Billy doesn’t recognize the weight of the situation until that point. He just stopped Steve Harrington from killing himself. He forcefully dragged him away from the literal edge.

“Let’s get you home.”

“Jump.”

Steve is silent the whole ride to his house. He failed at most things, why did he think this would have been any different? To make matters worse it’s fucking Billy Hargrove who manhandled him off the ledge. He definitely didn’t care about Steve. Probably just wanted to be the person to do the deed. Steve would probably let him at this point.

Billy holds him up as they walk in through the front doors of his house. Steve must be borderline hypothermic. His finger tips are still blue and absent of all feeling.

Billy guides him to his room and Steve just lets him do what he wants to him. No more energy to fight back. His last attempt proved unsuccessful.

Billy sits him down on the bed. Neither of them have said a word yet. Billy is shaking as he rummages through Steve’s drawers, unsure if it’s due to him still being freezing or the nerves and adrenaline from what just happened. What the fuck just happened?

He picks out a pair of pajama pants and a tshirt and tosses them to Steve. Wordless instruction to change. Steve however, makes no attempt to move.

“You going to make me dress you?” Billy asks. The first words he’s said to Steve since the breakdown at the quarry.

Steve still doesn’t move. Just stares intently at the floor. Physically and mentally numb.

Billy sighs as he moves toward Steve and begins by pulling his jacket off of him. Steve is cold to the touch. His arms are limp as he removes them from each sleeve. He pulls Steve’s sweater over his head. It crunched as it has been wet and frozen from the snow.

Steve starts to shiver as the article is removed from him and he is left bare chested. Billy grabs the blanket from the foot of the bed and tosses it over his shoulders.

Steve moves for the first time to grip the blanket and wrap it around himself completely. Billy gets onto his knees and unbuttons Steve’s jeans. Both boys try to ignore the awkward tension in the room as Billy’s hands graze too closely to his dick. He lowers the zipper with careful hands and pulls his jeans down his legs by the waist band. Pulling off his shoes without unlacing them before pulling the jeans over his ankles.

Quickly he puts the picked out clothing on Steve. His eyes are still fixated on the pattern of the wooden floor below him. Memorizing each marking in each plank. Avoiding Billy’s gaze as best he can.

He has to be in some kind of dream. Or a nightmare. Because why else would Billy Hargrove be helping him out. So tenderly undressing him and acting so caring. So human. It’s not normal behavior.

Steve is right. It’s not. Billy could see himself just a couple months ago seeing Steve standing on that edge and just driving away. Leaving him be and not giving a shit about his death being on his conscience.

But tonight? It was different. The drive over he had those same thoughts in his head. It would be so much easier if he just died out there. Easier for him and everybody else.

But then he sees it. Sees that same pain inside of him eating at someone else that they’ve too reached that conclusion. And it freaks him out.

Because Billy doesn’t want to die. The thought is nice, but it’s also terrifying. He just needs someone to talk him down from that cliff. So does Steve.

Once the clothes are on Steve lays down on the bed and buries his face into the pillow. Billy just stands there, unsure whether it’s okay just to leave him like that.

“Stay.” It’s muffled under the pillow, but he definitely just asked Billy to stay. “Please.” This time he looks up at Billy with teary eyes. No use in shame now. He moves over, opening up a space on the bed for Billy.

And Billy doesn’t have anywhere to go. And he’s freezing and he’s exhausted and he doesn’t want to find that Steve died because he left.

So he crawls into the bed and lays down beside Steve, who clutches his jacket and pulls him in close to him and starts to sob again. Billy doesn’t know what to do so he just rubs his hands up and down Steve’s back until he eventually cries himself to sleep. Billy doesn’t fall asleep. Too focused on keeping this broken boy safe like it’s his responsibility. And he hates that. That soft feeling he’s letting creep through. The buried feelings rising to the surface he desperately wants to push back down.

When Steve wakes up in the morning, Billy is gone.

There’s a sticky note on the nightstand.

‘Merry Christmas Steve. Don’t kill yourself.’

“Another year’s over, you’re spent on the floor.

You burn all the pictures you hang from your door.”

Billy’s only been out of the hospital for a month once Christmas finally rolls around. Living at home has proven to be a worse Hell than the upside down. His father is constantly on his case about being lazy by laying around all day. Constantly threatening to kick him out on the streets. And that was hardly the worst of it.

Billy being gravely injured did not halt Neil’s abuse. It only aggravated it more. Plus the fear of leaving marks became less worrisome as Billy was not only bed ridden and wouldn’t be seeing anyone, but he was already so scarred up from the Mindflayer that nobody would even bat an eye anyway. His body was free real estate.

He stopped caring about whether or not Max was aware of everything. Billy was no longer a child. Nobody would care even if she told. Neil didn’t bother being quiet, sometimes didn’t bother taking it into another room. Disciplining Billy in his own unique way right before Max’s eyes.

Max would yell at first. Tell him to stop. To stop hurting Billy. But it just made things worse. Eventually she stopped. Stopped yelling at Neil and started yelling at Billy. Telling him he has to get out. That he has to fight back. It was a ridiculous idea.

“Don’t be stupid, Max.” Is all he’d say before locking her out of his room.

Christmas evening is when it all hits the fan.

“You’ve got family and friends,

But you don’t really talk anymore.”

Steve isn’t alone this Christmas. Not necessarily. The Henderson’s invited him over for a Christmas brunch before they headed off to Chicago for the rest of the day. It was nice. She even sent him home with a casserole for him to heat up for dinner. It was probably one of the best Christmases he’s had in a long while, which is really depressing when you think about it hard enough.

Steve can’t stop thinking about last Christmas all day. How he was too close to that cliff and Billy Hargrove had been the one to pull him away. Had been the one to dress and undress him in his number state. Had been the one to lay next to him in his bed while he sobbed into his shirt. Until he fell asleep.

And then they never spoke of it. It got to a point that Steve half convinced himself it was a dream. But it wasn’t. Because a dream couldn’t have conjured that note on his nightstand. The note he ashamedly taped to his mirror as a reminder. A reminder that someone out there cared if he lived or died. Even if that someone was Billy fucking Hargrove.

He never figured out why exactly Billy was put at the quarry that night. He vaguely remembers a cut on his cheek, but not much else. Figures he must have gotten into a fight, it’s Billy after all.

He’s sitting at his dining room table eating up the microwaved casserole and thinking about how Billy is doing this Christmas. The guy nearly died and Max had mentioned one time or another that their home life wasn’t exactly spectacular. Not the place for a speedy recovery.

He’s not expecting his phone to ring this year. His parents never called anyway. That’s why the sound causes him to jump and drop his fork onto the plate below.

He’s not expecting to hear Max’s voice on the other end of the line.

“Steve. It’s Billy. He- he left, and he’s hurt, a-and it’s cold out and he doesn’t have his car… he’ll die out there.”

Steve shushes Max into the phone. He can hear her sniffles over the receiver.

“It’s okay. Relax. I’ll go find him okay? I promise.”

“Don’t bring him home. Take him to yours. Promise me.”

“I promise Max.”

Steve hangs up the phone and drives straight for the quarry.

“Just like last year.”

Steve is there before Billy. Which, albeit, makes sense considering Billy is traveling by foot. But Steve is waiting just a little longer than he’d hoped and starts to get concerned that Billy has died somewhere out in the snow.

The traveling figure in the distance shouldn’t calm his nerves as much as it does. Because he knows exactly why Billy came here. When Billy gets closer to him and he can see him better he gets nervous again.

Billy is covered in fresh bruises and cuts. Bruises and cuts that had to have occurred in the safety of his own home. He remembers that the Hargrove home is not a safe space.

“Oh no, another Christmas alone.

I would talk you down,

if you would answer your phone.”

“What are you doing here pretty boy?”

“I should be asking you the same thing.”

Steve digs his heel into the snow, contemplating.

“Max called my house.”

“How’d you know I’d come here?” Billy asks, curious.

“Wishful thinking.”

Billy steps closer to where Steve is standing. “I’m not going to have to pull you from the ledge again am I?” His voice is deep and slightly pained.

Steve shakes his head.

“Good. Don’t want to be a part of a double suicide. They’ll start to think you’re a fag like me.”

Steve doesn’t know which revelation should shock him more. That Billy is queer or that he’s planning on jumping into the quarry. Steve steps closer to Billy, putting himself in between him and the ledge. This could quickly turn into a murder-suicide of he’s not careful.

“Don’t do that.” Is all Steve says.

“Just leave me alone Harrington. Just making snow angels.”

Steve steps even closer.

“Why should I? You didn’t have the same courtesy for me.”

“That was different.” Billy almost whispers.

“How so?” Steve inches closer, hoping Billy will take a step back. He doesn’t. The two are nearly chest to chest.

“People actually care if you live or die.”

“Max cares. She called me crying. And fuck you. I care too. You fucking saved my life. You expect me to just let you end yours?”

“You hit me with a car.”

“Shut the fuck up Hargrove.”

Billy pushes him away. Hard enough that he steps back, but not hard enough that he goes stumbling over the edge.

“I should have fucking died.”

“Please,”

“Billy stop!” Steve grabs onto Billy like he’d done for him last time. But Billy is so much stronger.

“Billy I promise it’s going to be okay, just don’t do this.” He’s trying to maintain his cool but Billy’s showing no signs of slowing.

“Don’t you dare,”

Steve tackles him to the ground. Showing no remorse for any pain he might’ve caused him because the alternative is worse. Billy’s body is buried in the snow and he’s sobbing beneath the weight of Steve on top of him.

Steve wipes at his tears with his thumb.

“I’m taking you home.”

“No. Please.”

“I’m taking you to my home.”

“Jump.”

Billy is sitting on the couch in Steve’s house wrapped up in the blanket and sipping on hot cocoa. Trying to figure out how he ended up here. Everything that happened at the quarry and before becoming one huge blur brought on by copious amounts of alcohol.

They’re watching a fucking Christmas movie side by side on the couch like nothing even happened. Like they’re friends. Which they’re definitely not.

“Was it your Dad?” Steve asks him when the movie goes to commercial. He’s not afraid of Billy anymore to ask the questions he has.

Billy sees no point in denying it now. He nods his head and takes another big sip of cocoa.

He’s not expecting Steve to take his hand. To rub circles into his palm. Something inside Billy melts at the constant. The warmth receding from his hand into the pit of his stomach.

“And what you said back there, about being… was that true?”

Billy nods again.

“Yeah. I’m a fucking faggot.”

“I’m sorry.” He doesn’t let go of his hand like Billy expects him to. “About your Dad. Not the gay thing. That parts okay.”

“I didn’t ask for your approval.”

“I know. But sometimes it’s nice to have anyway.”

Steve adjusts his hold of Billy’s hand and interlocks their fingers.

“Merry Christmas Billy. Don’t kill yourself.”

“Don’t Jump.”

Note: Hello beautiful person reading this. I know things can feel rough this time of year and I want you to know that you are so incredibly loved. The hardships will pass, even if they feel like they won’t right now. Just keep on breathing because you are so much stronger than you believe you are.

Love, mandi

#harringrove #billy hargrove #stranger things #steve harrington #mandi writes tresh #fanfic #tw: suicide attempt #tw: child abuse

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alias-b · 5 years ago

Text

sins of my youth. 007

Billy Hargrove x OC! Evie Fenny~ Also posted to my AO3

Summary: It was common knowledge that Billy Hargrove hated Hawkins. Hated Cherry Lane. Even loathed the strange girl next door. Evie Fenny wasn’t too fond of the chaotic Cali transfer either. An awful high school tradition sparks a chain of events that changes everything, ultimately bringing two frayed souls together.

A/N: New Year and school is back in session after winter break. Billy starts the grovelling process and observes some new things about Evie. TW: PICA-it's worse. Vomiting. Animal death mention. Student/Teacher relationship in the background. School bullies. Taglist open!!!

Chapter 7: One Bad Kiss Constellation

The first day back to school was uglier than Evie pictured. Fall of snow didn't get them out of classes.

Her stomach was already in knots, but that could have been the shiny things she’d eaten the night before.

Felt like a game. What would pass. What would tie her stomach up. These little trinkets she actually dug for, cleaned with bleach, and stacked on that empty shelf. Organized each item. Admired her display of will and control. Mostly keys and buttons. Couple nuts from a toolbox in their garage.

So far, everything came out. So far. Evie wondered what her insides would look like and tried to slow. Tried despite all the noise.

Calculus was first. Thankfully, she shared it with Heather who was all smiles. Chattering about her surprise mini trip with her parents.

They had it with Tommy and Carol too. All the fucking grins and looks Evie got burned. Tommy peering then shifting to Carol’s ear so she could giggle.

Evie’s pencil snapped within her fist so Heather glanced aside to see the pieces roll away.

“Okay, muscles.” She chuckled, passing a freshly sharpened one over.

“Thanks.”

“So, what’d you do for New Years?” All the scratching of lead on paper was driving Evie insane. Grating like an out of tune orchestra of vibrating strings.

“Just some lame party, the usual.” Evie was rubbing the back of her neck. Eyes glued to the page.

Carol giggled again. Fingernails sunk into the skin of Evie's hairline.

“Don’t know what her problem is.” Heather remarked to herself.

Evie shook her head. Lips pressing with no sound. Trying to focus on the problems along the page and not the ones fizzling in her life. Her desk was pressed into the far right wall next to all the campy posters teachers loved to decorate their rooms in.

About how there's always a silver lining and chase the morning.

Evie rolled her eyes at the thought. Caught sight of a sleek thumbtack there sticking out. Shiny and chrome. Lungs pulsed and she wondered about the weight on her tongue.

Strange how her mouth watered for it.

Two fingers subtly snatched it from the wall when the bell rang.

Second period was usually what she was excited about. English with Bowers and the sly smiles they beamed at each other across the room. Carol always looked between them. Jealous she wasn’t the hot teacher’s pet. She noticed a great deal there.

Evie shared the class with Steve also. And Billy who sat in the next row over just behind her. He stared at Evie, trying to read every twitch and shift of her body. A note hit her desk from Steve.

Brown eyes peered up as if to ask who it was being passed to, but he cocked his chin at her.

Fredrick sat quietly at his desk as they worked separately today. He didn’t see her unfold it.

What’s up with Hargrove? Looks like he’s trying to vaporize you with his laser eyes.

Evie hitched to stop herself from laughing at a picture with a stick figure and a mullet. Lasers blasting out of the eyes. She added some comically large muscles. Cleared her throat and wrote back.

He’s a creep.

Steve quirked a darling smile at her.

Billy saw a flash of stark, bloody red. Harrington made her grin without force.

“Okay, class, let’s see who read the material. Pass your papers up.” Fredrick stood to collect. “I’ll be reading these tonight and- Ah, Mr. Hargrove. Thank you for the scribbling of your Camaro. I hope the essay question is as detailed.”

“Been thinking about upgrading my girl, sir. Say, what do you drive?” Billy tapped his pencil, lazy as can be. “Cool guy, I bet.”

“Just a Plymouth. We muscle cars have to stick together.” Fredrick was pulling stacks of papers from the front. Billy didn’t drop it.

“That orange one? Yeah. I’ve seen it around.” Blue eyes drew to Evie at that. She felt a chill and peered back with a stony expression. “Bet the girlies all line up.”

A few classmates chuckled for their glorious king.

“It gets me from point A to B. That’s all I ask for.” Bowers only laughed.

"I'm sure it does." Billy mused coolly, fingers twisting his ring which caught the light.

The bell blared.

“Alright, class. We’re starting a new unit tomorrow. I hope you all have your Shakespeare hats ready.”

A collective groan sounded.

Evie rushed out to Yearbook with Jonathan, Nancy, and Heather. Only class she had where Seniors and Juniors mixed. Besides lunch if that counted. Got lost in dark rooms so the world couldn’t see her hands shaking.

"Here." Jonathan caught her trying to clip some photos up, fumbling with a stack.

"Thanks," Evie sighed, "too many pages for our losing sports teams, right?"

He chuckled at that.

"My thoughts exactly."

Jonathan went to help Nancy order some drafted pages when Heather crossed over. Eyes on Evie working.

"Something the matter?"

"Bourbon's not doing well. I expected it, but...he's just been with me through all of it. You know?" A frown etched. She didn't want to cry. Heather paused to hug Evie from behind.

"He's our little prince still. I'm sorry."

Her friend shifted out, pressed a smile and went back to work in silence. Groaned because Billy was in half these basketball photos. Alight and intense.

“Hey, I’m going to the library for lunch.” Evie spoke after that bell rang. “I’ll scarf my sandwich on the way.”

Heather observed her again. Watched how Evie avoided her eyes.

“Was...something else going on? I feel like I-”

“No, just missing the break.” Evie flashed her teeth to make it convincing.

She did manage to get half the sandwich down and tossed the rest out. Patted cold water on her cheeks once she was alone in the bathroom as everyone went to lunch. The hallway got quieter and Evie looked at her flushed face. Shuddered and reached for the pin in her pocket. Small. Deft. Dainty.

Stark point. Catching the light.

She washed it with soap. Opened her mouth to stick her tongue out. Cradled it there. Chrome and out of place against pink flesh. Lips closed. The point pressed down into her tongue. Evie winced. Tried to swallow and choked it back into her hand. Saliva dripping.

A spot of red welled. Loud and obscene and horrible. Tasting metal. Shame. Tears pooled.

So she pushed it back in like she’d done with the key to drown the noise out. Evie Fenny wasn’t a fucking quitter.

Swallow. Swallow. Swallow.

It scratched going down. Working around clenching muscles. Pangs fluttered. Fingers grasped the sink to bite a groan back.

Evie thought she heard the little plink of it hitting her stomach. Gasped to breathe. There wasn’t shame anymore, only pride. She powered through it. Had utter control.

Eyes locked with the mirror. Calm. Collected. Not in this body. Rust turned to sweet strawberries and rose petals.

Imagine stabbing something several times until it was beautiful.

Exhale.

** ** **

Carol and her gaggle still kept the laughter up in the cafeteria. She sat upon the table with Tommy next to her. Animated stories kept them hanging upon dripping syllables. Heather couldn’t stand it anymore. Pushed up to cross right over.

“What’s your problem today?” She cocked her hip.

“Oooh.” Carol clicked her glittery nails on the table. “So touchy, sweet pea.”

“What’s your problem with Evie, she didn’t do anything to you?”

“Other than her being a tart for Bowers. Nothing to me. In fact, she provides us with hours of entertainment. Had a hot date with the Keg King.” Carol nodded toward Billy across the way, sitting alone and clicking his lighter. Annoyed, he got up and went to sneak his usual lunch smoke.

“What? What are you talking about?”

“Uh, isn’t Fenny your BFF?” Tina chimed in. “Shouldn’t you know?”

“Aw, that’s so cute, she didn’t tell you.” Tommy added with his crooked smile. “Must be so embarrassed. Poor girl.”

“You have five seconds-”

“I’m gonna tell you.” Carol decided. Finger curling to bring Heather in. “Only because it’s just too good.”

** ** **

Billy got one puff in before Princess Heather Holloway was smacking the cigarette from his fingers. Snarling and bright red to match the cute bow in her hair.

“Hey!”

“Hey yourself, what the fuck?” She pushed Billy clear into the brick wall. Chilled him more than the breeze. A new flutter of snow began to fall with no peace in sight. Her face was flushed cherry with anger. “I know about your little Skirt Safari bullshit! You tricked Evie! You hurt my friend...you’re an asshole.”

Billy just sagged at her. Reached to pluck up his cigarette and got it slapped again. Heather crushed it with her expensive shoe for good measure.

“You had no right to do something so disgusting! Carol and Tommy filled me in.”

His brow lifted.

“...Evie didn’t tell you?”

“The last thing Evie wants is for people to see her in pain, so I know you hurt her bad.” Her arms crossed. “Well?” A cold breath puffed.

“It wasn’t supposed to-”

“You mean, she wasn’t supposed to find out about the bet. You’re so selfish. You’re a selfish little prick. Stay the hell away from my friend.”

She turned and a hand snatched her wrist.

“Heath-”

“What?” She shrugged with some extra ire. Eyes flickering like flames. “I think you’ve done enough.”

Billy let her go, looked elsewhere. No syllables to make her stop fuming. Heather huffed at him and marched back inside to find Evie at her locker. Shoulders dropped.

“Hey…” Heather’s slow approach still gave Evie a fright. Huge doe eyes looking far too somber.

A sigh.

“Who told you?”

“Carol and those jerks.” Heather pressed her lips. “Just scared Hargrove shitless, I think. I’m sorry, I wish you told me. You said you'd tell me things.”

“This thing... It doesn’t matter. He tricked me, whatever.” Evie’s arms went out then dropped. She faced her locker. Toyed with the handle and pressed her book closer. “It was all stupid. For a moment, I thought he… I thought a boy might-”

“He’s a little prick.” Heather turned her friend around.

“We had fun. We danced. I kissed him first. Did Carol tell you that part?” Evie sucked in some air.

"Oh?"

“Yeah, I kissed him and I was going to screw him too. I was gonna go to a motel with Billy Hargrove for New Years and, you know, I...I wanted to. I really wanted him... But, it doesn’t matter. They can talk about it all they like.” She moved to go, slamming her locker shut. “I don’t care. It won’t bother me. It's stupid. All of it.”

“Evie, don’t shut down, please.”

“I’m fine.” Sneakers skidded when Heather stepped in front of her. "Boys like Billy Hargrove don't go for girls like me. He doesn't want me. That's not news."

Evie remembered all the hot bodies jumping around. The crowds and fireworks blasting along with a musical beat. Moments where she'd felt incandescently delighted next to Billy and the lingering of their starry eyes. Like they'd been meant to find each other all this time.

"Getting mad about this is the same as being upset about the pattern of stars. It's pointless." Evie swallowed a thicker lump down.

No, that's what ached. Billy made her believe they could be rewritten. Made her want to defy the stars.

“Let’s hang out this weekend. A no boys party for both of us.” Heather smiled, taking Evie's hand. “He’s not even a boy, Eve, he’s a little prick. Let’s just have some fun. Friday? Sleepover. You pick the first movie.”

“I’m fine, Heath,” the words sounded funny now, “but okay. Sleepover.”

“Good.” A brighter smile crossed so Evie matched it. She let Heather hug her and managed to make it through classes all the way to her free period avoiding Billy’s eyes on her skull. Sneaking out was an art form she’d perfected. Quick steps to her locker and toward the door. Stopping only to see into the theater when stage lights turned rose red.

Evie peeked in. Beamed.

“Mr. B.” She shuffled inside after checking the hallway. "Fredrick."

“I’m alone, Evie, come sit with me.” He patted the table next to the lightboard he was working on. The glow changed to a softer pink. Made it all less menacing. Bathed in blush, she crossed the illumination and scooted up onto the cool surface. Skirt shifting over black tights. “Bad day?”

“Bad start to the year.”

"Classmates? I can always fail them for you." He'd joked.

She smiled, head shaking so he continued.

“They’re intimidated by you, Evie, because you’re too ahead and mature for them. Soon, you'll be out in the world and they'll be left stumbling.” He peeked up behind a pair of glasses. This was old times. Encouragement. Nurturing. “Much like the director of the winter show who asked me to fix this damn thing last minute.”

She giggled then, touching her lips.

“You look pretty in this light. You should wear pink more often, instead of red.” He remarked and she crossed her ankles. Hands gripping the edge.

“Red makes me look and feel older.” Evie asserted herself.

“What about that wet gloss you used to wear in class?” His finger brushed her knee before he was picking up a screwdriver.

“Thought you didn’t like to kiss me with gloss on, you said it was too sticky.”

“I appreciate it more now that I’ve lost it. Just like you, Evie. You were there for me. It's something special to have a person. Don't you think?” He winked. Fredrick Bowers made her laugh and smile. Listened to her and gave back. Most days.

All she longed for was to impress him. Please him. Be enough for someone.

"It's not fair that I cannot kiss you here." He uttered. "Now. I'd like to."

"Just kiss me?" Evie flicked some curls, drew her fingers across her collar so he fixated there.

Played this version of herself that came out around him. This woman in red with cool words. Always game. She bit her lip and he paused to see her again. A smile crossed before they were interrupted.

Evie looked up as the door opened and Carol stood there. A glare already on her pouty face. Fredrick scooted a good few inches from Evie. Quickly.

“Sorry, I just had some questions about the reading. Mr. B.” Carol flashed a smile.

"Of course, Carol. My door is always open. Evie, thank you for the inquires. I'll be getting back with you. Soon."

Evie perked and got up.

“I'll hold you to that... We just finished. Thanks, Mr. B. For all the help.” She seemed all too chipper at Carol going green with envy. The redhead knocked into her shoulder passing, but Evie gripped her bag and went out. Frowned at the snow piling because she’d ridden her bike in.

Still, Evie was stubborn, so she got on and pedaled down the street. Sleet making it more difficult when a fucking Camaro revved down the way behind her. Billy honked once and got ignored. Pulled up in front of her and skidded over which sent Evie into a pile of frosty, dead leaves. Tumbling.

“Hell.” She just laid there until Billy Hargrove was in the line of sight. Craning to see her and utterly stunning against the opal skies. “What’s it going to take for you to leave me alone, huh? Three hundred bucks?” She untwisted from her bike and Billy yanked her up, brushing snow aside until he got smacked off with two heated expressions penetrating.

“You’re screwing Bowers, aren’t you?” He’d hissed it.

Oof.

“You’re delusional.” Evie charged past him. Legs aching as she pushed her bike.

“Max saw you in his car. He’s always looking at you. Is that where you go when you sneak out your window three times a week?”

“No!” Evie swiveled. Breath ghosting.

“But, you’re still fucking him.” Billy slid in front, hands on the bike handles to stop her again. There was a struggle. Her cheeks puffing as she feebly tried to push him back. Teeth clenched.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. Will you just move?” Her entire face scrunched together. All daggers. Slowing, Evie spelled it out for him. Drew closer. “And no one will ever believe you.”

“You think I’m trying to make your life worse, Angel? I just want you to admit it.”

"Admit, what? You have major issues? Fine! Easy! Now move!" She barely got a few inches forward with his muscles buldging. Two immovable objects.

"Open those pretty lips and say it. You're fucking our teacher. I wanna hear it from that mouth." Billy paused, chest shuddering. "You went to him after what I did. I should have stayed with you."

“I don’t owe you any of this. You're obsessed!” She shoved into him. No budging, the boy was made of steel.

“He’s a fucking pedophile. We had those in California too, chica. Maybe they don’t like the term round these parts. You think he's making you feel good, but he's setting you on fire to warm himself. That fuse is creeping, babe.” Billy pushed back until she was sliding toward his car. Slush wetting their shoes.

"You're unbelievable!"

“I’m not looking to tell anyone, got that?" Billy caught her gaze in the teetering. Held it. "I’m just saying you don’t have to do it. Anyone ever tell you that you don't have to do something, Evangeline?"

Evie stopped pushing to stare with bigger eyes as he continued. Expression crestfallen because something resonated.

"Being a good girl has a cost, you do everything people tell you to do until your organs start spilling.”

“I'm not the only one with a front. Fuck you!”

A beat.

“You almost did that night.” Billy cocked his head. "I would have made you moan so pretty. I wanted to." Evie’s mouth dropped before she shoved him into the snow. Bike falling away. He looked thrilled. About to pitch a fucking denim tent. “There you are. I would have fucked you so hard and so good, babe. Bet you even taste like heaven and stardust. Yeah? Fucking hit me.”

“Hit you?” Evie stilled over him. “You’re just trying to make yourself feel better. Fuck off, Billy.” She yanked at her bike again. He puffed there, chest sinking before he shot back up. Newfound vigor.

Growled.

“I’m sorry.”

Even the snow stilled with him. She swerved and saw him crack.

“Evie, I’m fucking sorry, okay? I’m shit at this and I‘m sorry. I’m sorry I took you to that stupid dance and screwed you over. I'm sorry you got hurt. I am sorry, got it!”

“You’re sorry that you got caught.” She pointed.

“I’m not leaving you alone.”

“Listen, Billy,” Evie spun and dropped her bike, “I don’t need anything from you. Nothing. Okay? Just let it go, I really don’t know why you can’t. Be sorry somewhere else. The stars are where they are. Life goes on.”

“Fuck the stars! They're too far away to stop us. I kissed you after midnight. I gave the fucking money away. I wanted out of it and I fucked up. I did. I'd change that, but I wouldn't change the night with you. Hear me? I didn't lie about that much." He strained to catch those brown eyes.

She opened her mouth and closed it quicker. Almost softened.

"I didn't fake that and I was shitty to take you to that place. That fucker Tannen used me to get back at you and I’m fucking sorry about it.” Billy seemed to rage the thoughts out. “You liked it too. The kiss. Don’t pretend you didn’t.”

"If you call that a kiss." Sarcasm seeped out.

"Yeah, I recall us sharing a couple." Billy laughed. Dry and disbelieving. "I was drunk, but I remember every damn second of how you felt."

“You’re not fooling me again.” Evie crushed in on herself, pressed onward. Skidding to go away from Billy Hargrove. What the hell could he possibly want out of this?

“I’ll leave you alone,” Billy sprang forward and grabbed her back wheel, “if you kiss me again and tell me it’s nothing. Just one more. Redo it. Yeah? To hell with the stars, we'll change them.”

She looked in awe at him. Shoulders dropped.

"It wasn't even that good of a kiss."

"Then, what do you have to lose over another bad one?" Billy's head tilted up. Wild as can be. Evie matched it. Both of their curls moving up against the sweep of cold winds. Hungry looks about them. Billy undid her with a damning utter. "Prove me wrong, Angel."

He fucking triple dog dared her.

Evie practically kicked her bike aside, stomped toward him, and grabbed his face to smash their lips together. Billy pounced back with a barely there sound. Shoved Evie into the side of his car.

Another vehicle honked and went around them. Probably too shocked to do much else with teenagers unable to control their hormones in the middle of the road.

Moaning like he was in a porno, Billy made this one count. Hands palmed at her ass, bringing Evie up a few inches. Tongue down her throat near ready to prick himself on the pin she'd swallowed.

She hitched as he pulled her hair to see lush hooded eyes again. But, briefly.

"Yeah?" He twisted those curls around, both of them moaned. Challenge dancing. You like that, Angel? Evie's fingers were clutching at his jacket. A nod followed. She let him trail his tongue against her lips and opened her mouth for it again. Tasted spearmint.

Drunken bodies kept moving and smacking back into his car. Billy even tried to pull her shirt up out of her skirt to touch the flesh underneath. Evie jolted out from him, having not been ravished like that by a boy so unafraid to touch her.

And she shuddered apart. Kept her eyes closed so Billy did too.

It was the only way to prolong this. A softer kiss where their noses brushed after. Foreheads pressing together. Ardent and lovely. Total silence was a thrill. Billy nuzzled his nose into her own again, pulling her body into his. Fingers crept barely under her shirt. Caressed the tender skin. Lungs and hearts needy beyond repair.

Constellations twisting together until a single question dawned. Can I keep you?

Evie quaked for air and saw him. Lashes long and too beautiful. Freckles. Snow falling like confetti. An ache flooded back. The pin pricks in her tongue jabbed. Arms pushed up at him. Felt the thumping in his chest.

Holding his jaw steady, lipstick smeared to damn them both.

“Do you always kiss the same way a thirsty dog laps at water?” She shoved him backwards. A spit trail left their mouths. Red glistened on Billy’s lips and chin. A sleazy grin cracked, tongue wiggling out to taste her still on him. Neither could breathe right.

“Haven’t had complaints.” He gasped for air. “Are you judging my technique?”

“Yeah, it sucks.” Evie puffed with more force. “And I felt nothing. Got it? Nothing. Leave me alone now.”

“You’re a shitty liar.” He watched her swerve.

“And you’re a shitty person!” She wiped her mouth. Billy stopped dead, dropped everything he was feeling to let that pierce him. “I felt nothing! Leave me alone.”

“No.” Billy decided as she plucked her bike up.

“No?"

"You heard me." A child. "No. Nope. Nada."

"But, you just said-”

“I fucking lied and now you know how it’s done.” He went around his car. “Maybe I’m a shitty person, but at least I don’t hate myself enough to lie and screw-”

“Spare me!” Evie screamed over him. Chilling. She got onto her bike and went down a dirt path so Billy couldn’t follow her.

“Fuck.” Billy slammed his car door getting back in. Revved up again, hitting the wheel. “Fuck!”

He’d made it worse.

** ** **

Billy made an attempt to leave Evie Fenny alone. Sorta. Didn’t even stare at her in school. Didn’t bring up Bowers. Pretended he didn’t hear her sneaking out to wherever.

He even tried screwing other girls. Drinking and partying to forget.

Another problem came with that.

He couldn’t keep his shit up. Tried everything. Got into bed with two girls and stayed soft. Pretended he was just too smashed.

All he saw was Evie Fenny looking at him with her huge, sad eyes. It made him furious and he tried to hate her. Tried to jerk himself off and only thought of her lipstick smearing his skin. Her amber perfume drowning his senses. Her body flush against his.

Then, he was coming.

He felt like shit about all of it and that turned to rage. No hate came, it just burnt.

Meanwhile, Evie was lining pins and screws up for her collection. She wrote down every little thing she ate and what came out.

It was supposed to all come out eventually and she'd be there to control it.

She thought of the amethyst gemstone sparkling inside her and wondered how such a thing could make her feel so happy and alive.

Even when her stomach began to ache with little pricks through the day. Even when her appetite was often ruined. Even with she tried again at times to stop it for good. The cravings undid her.

She smiled through the pain just like she was taught. A woman's disposition.

I am fine. This is fine.

Something collided distantly. Two arrows through the same heart. Spitting blood everywhere.

One night, Evie wasn’t sneaking out.

Billy still heard her scratching around the side of the house. Couldn’t help peeking to see her dragging a shovel. Holding a painted square under one arm. She set a decorated shoe box aside and started digging a hole just at the back corner of her house. Struggling to break ice and snow. Head bowed so wet curls covered her chilled face.

He opened his window.

“Hey.”

“Go away.” She sniffled. Crying.

Billy hadn’t heard or seen her cry. Not even over him and what he did. Not for anything. The sound jarred him, he thought she might have been holding in laughter.

Blue eyes drew to the box again and he realized it. Bourbon. The strange cat hadn’t been spying on him lately.

“Please,” she turned her neck to barely peer at him through red rimmed eyes, “just go away.” Evie wiped her nose and let a fresh sprinkling of snow melt on her cheeks. She still looked pretty there, utterly fatigued. Wispy, wet curls framing her splotchy expression.

"You took good care of him." Was all he said. Evie turned back. Shoulders lifting.

Billy did the only thing he could do for once.

He left Evie alone.

Listened to her hum and dig to bury the beloved cat. Billy didn’t see Evie stuff a handful of soil into her pocket and go back inside to her empty house because her mother was always out with friends or working. She went to the phone in her bedroom. Luckily, Evie got her own line two Christmases ago. She dialed.

“Hello?” Her prince.

“Can I come over?” Evie sniffled. “Bourbon died.”

“Who?”

“My cat.” Dark eyes narrowed before she started to pick at some peeling wallpaper. “You remember?” She talked about the little ball of fuzz all the time.

“Oh, that’s unfortunate, Evie.” Fredrick sighed for her. “I’m not sure after what happened last weekend. I still think you need time.”

She spazzed out as the teenagers say.

“I just...wasn’t comfortable doing that. The ropes freaked me out, I can’t explain it.” She shook her head. "I can try again, can I come over?"

"So, now I'm just pushing you into it? Don't make me the bad guy, Evie, I won't be that. I'm here for you, but I want to go at your pace. You know that."

"No, no, you're not pushing," came the protest, "I can do it. I'll try. I just wanna see you. I need to be touched." That sentiment got her welling again.

“Evie, it’s like you don’t trust me to look after you.” He replied in a clinical sort of way. “I’m risking everything to be with you."

"I know."

He said it often.

"You couldn't stop crying," he sniffled like he might weep over it, "you make me feel so helpless at times. Do you realize that?"

"I"m sorry..." Evie crushed into the phone as he made it about him. His needs. His inability to keep her happy. That was her fault.

"Too often, I think your head is just up in the clouds. These nightmares you have and the way you press into the wall when you sleep. Like you don't want me to touch you. And last week, dear, you just...wouldn't stop crying."

"I promise I won't cry anymore." She's promised her mother that as well in silence. "I swear. I'll stop."

"This fixation on your little poems. We used to have adult conversations about the future. It's like a part of you is locked away. You don't want me to touch it. What’s the matter with you?”

“Songs.” Evie replied flatter.

“What?”

“They’re songs, not poems.”

“I just mean, you should be more practical."

"I don't know what's wrong with me." Evie decided at last. Clutching the phone cord in her shaken fist. Haunted. "I can't stop."

She didn't know if she wanted to. This cycle that was eating her.

"I got back into this because I wanted you. I see a future with us. Do you want me just as bad? Think on it. I'll give you the time. When you're ready, I'm here.” Bowers advised. He wanted her to want him so bad. “We’ll talk another day. Next weekend maybe.”

"Fredrick, please-"

The line cut.

She'd been too needy, he like that on his terms. Liked when she crawled and when she needed him so bad. When she gave into everything he desired without a fuss. Fredrick wanted Evie, but he wanted a specific version of Evie. The bouncy girls on television game for anything, who had every answer. Fizzling emotions unsettled him. They were childish. But, he wanted her lips to be glossy and pink. Wanted her to be an adult woman in a spring breaking teen's body.

You'd think he was still married to his uptight wife and fucking the damn babysitter.

Evie set the phone down. Stuffed a handful of dirt into her lips. Smothered herself with it. Gritty, it stuck to her teeth like an Oreo cookie. Tiny stones shifted as she tried to swallow too much at once. She got another handful in before her gag reflex choked her. Feet scrambled to puke brown and bile into the toilet.

The Lego she ate earlier came up too. Found it helping Claudia and Dustin clear their basement. Shiny and blue.

Her stomach curdled. A few tears squeezed before she was scooping that up. Slippery with acidic bile. Pushing it back into her mouth. With her throat raw, it hurt worse the second time but it went down.

Control. She was in total control. That’s what she told herself. Curled up next to the toilet. Scalp heating while her lips hung slack.

“Nothing is the matter with me.” Evie told herself because stopping meant that thudding ache in her chest would glow all neon and rose red.

** ** **

Billy wasn’t going to leave Evie alone. He decided that after a wet dream one morning. These things were not to be taken lightly by teenage boys.

I’m sorry. It didn't cut it. Actions, that’s what Susan advised, not that he’d admit prying advice from his chirpy stepmother. Vague as can be, Billy hung out in the kitchen doorway dropping rough hints.

Maxine was more blunt when Susan asked her later.

“Oh, yeah, he’s totally crushing on Evie and he messed it all up.” She said between the lazy crunching of salty chips.

“That’s what I thought.” Susan sighed. An hour of Billy barking and hiding around the doorway told Susan that much. She was young once.

“But, he did something. She’s mad at him.”

“Well, Neil works late tomorrow, I asked Billy if he’d take me to Mona’s salon. She wanted me to go out with her friends. A dessert and wine thing she likes to host.”

“Did you tell Neil?” Max was fixing a wheel on her skateboard and snacking. Poor thing wasn't getting use with all the snow fall. Susan only smiled.

“Would you like to go get your hair done?”

“Ick.” Max cringed at the thought of those huge rollers and hairspray.

“Max.” Susan replied carefully. “Evie works tomorrow, doesn’t she? Saturday.”

She got the idea with her eyes lighting up.

“Oh!” Max blew air out her lips. “Just this once, then.”

“That’s my girl.” Susan figured if Billy was convinced it was all her idea, the day would go smoother.

** ** **

Something else Billy Hargrove learned about Mona was her hair changed with the seasons. Locks big and bold but now a strawberry blonde. A head start for spring despite it still being January.

Evie peered up at reception and noticeably, her face fell.

Susan figured whatever happened had to be bad. She’d never seen such a reaction from a teenage girl to her drop dead gorgeous stepson. Hell, Billy Hargrove could bat his lashes and have eggs dropping in every uterus within a fifty mile radius.

Might have been why Neil preferred to lock him in his room like he was the dirty tomcat about to impregnate all the neighborhood strays. Although, Neil had a list of reasons for how he treated Billy. None of them valid.

Mona went right for Max. Squished her cheeks in smelling of lavender hand cream.

“I’m so glad y’all are here! Maxie, I promise I won’t shock you. Just a wash and freshen. Make your hair nice and bouncy. It’ll shine. I always say: the higher the hair, the closer to God.” Mona took Susan’s hand. “C’mon over here. My new girl, Shelby, will get you started too. Little pampering does everyone good.”

“Hey.” Evie piped up, twirling a pen around. She’d eaten the cap an hour ago. Not much for chewing. Always up to the task of swallowing whole because she was a big girl.

Big girls sucked it up and swallowed.

Billy thought to go back to his car. Swayed on his feet there looking around at all the plants.

Actions.

They speak louder than words. Billy was a screamer.

“Miss Mona, I was thinking we could… Uh, for me.”

“You want a wash too, Billy?” She perked, hair bobbing as her little platforms clicked excitedly. “Come, come, sit down. Evie can get you shampooed to start.”

Evie’s entire body locked. Billy smirked at her, but noticed an opportunity reach her eyes. The pen stabbed back into a cup. Lips spread in a devious way. He saw horns spring out of her big curls.

Fuck, she looked hot though.

It drove him wild. Evie with a fire behind her eyes. All plush curves and lingering allure. That amber perfume melted him.

“I’d be so happy to help.” She gripped Billy’s leather bomber and jerked him into a chair. He had a semi at this point. "Get comfy."

Hell, the girl was plotting a murder with that smoldering expression. Still, Billy was game because she was giving him attention. His tongue swept pink lips. Peachy skin glowing.

There was something off about Evie too. This sunken manner like her energy had been sapped. The slightest dark circles under brown eyes. Skirt Safari was barely three weeks ago. He removed his jacket when Mona reached for it to hang it with Max’s and Susan’s.

Dead boy walking.

Max snickered from her chair across the way. She and Susan sat with little floral capes, already getting their pampering. Evie moved Billy’s hair and pulled a lilac cape around his neck.

“Ack!”

“Oh? Too tight. My bad.” She snapped a button. “Put your head back. Into the sink now.”

Billy thought to pray for mercy, tilted back into the porcelain. He asked for this. The sink went on. Ice.

“Too cold?”

“Nope.” Teeth chattered. Evie had that devilish look still. Decided to make it warmer. Lifted the nozzle and hit his face.

And Billy took it. Sputtering.

“Oh, so sorry…” Her tongue clicked. Didn’t even try to sound sincere.

“Just a little water. No big deal.”

Her bottom lip pouted. She sprayed his face again. Billy snickered through the coughing, fists held the chair tight.

“You’re fucking waterboarding me, Fenny.” He'd spat, blinking rapidly.

“What?” Evie paused then kept spraying him as he tried to reply.

“You’re-”

“I’m, what?” She came off and Billy snorted before the water splashed again.

“Ngh-ffff- ”

“Can’t hear you, Billy.” Evie caught Max losing it across the way.

The boy took all the torment like a champ so she let up. He didn’t even snap when she pulled his hair shampooing it.

“I like it rough, Angel.” Billy hissed at her fingers pulling so she sprayed him again. Made him buck like a mad feline. He seemed to almost love it. This was foreplay to him.

“Creep. Don’t pitch a tent in that cape.” Evie stuffed a towel in his face. Smiled cheerfully. All syrup. “We're done, mommy.”

“Let’s see what I can do for these curls, Billy.” Mona let Claudia work on Susan while her new hire took over for Maxine. “I hope Evie gave you a good start.”

She certainly revved his motor, but he wasn't going to tell her mother that.

“So nice. I feel even more relaxed now.” Billy twitched a stressed smile. Earned himself a few good boy points.

Evie cracked a grin at him, arms crossing before she went back to reception. Unbelievable.

Mona had Billy chattering about his car and school and how he'd just turned eighteen in December. Life was coming his way. Evie took to doodling song lyrics in no order and tapped her pen. Mona either talked Billy into hair curlers or just started doing it. Which was another bout of amusement.

And Billy stared at Evie the entire time. Even when she made it a point to face away. Sat on the stool with her legs crossed, leaning forward to jot her little lyrics down. Susan swept her eyes between them.

Both relentlessly stubborn.

“Mona, I’ve been wanting to repay you back for the dinner this month. How about tomorrow? Our place this time.” Came her voice when a hair dryer shut off.

“We’ll bring the dessert.” Fingers played with Billy’s curls. Reminded him of his mother. Fluffed some life into them. He decided this salon was better than the places he used to go.

Music played, songs changing as time continued. Evie decided her luck couldn’t get any worse when Carol’s red hair appeared in her line of sight. Walking with her little friend group without Tommy. Likely headed to the nail place down the block.

Carol spotted Evie behind glass and whispered something that had her friends howling before they went.

“Bitches.” Billy sauntered up behind her. Golden hair sparkling.

“As if you had nothing to do with that.” Evie smacked her notebook shut. Sat straighter as he shook his locks out. Curls shining with lift. Like the sun just kissed them.

“How do I look?” One brow rose. Teasing.

“The same.” Gorgeous.

“Lunch?”

“Already ate.” Evie’s lips pressed when she said that. They spoke out of earshot under the music. Not noticing the glances on them.

“Guess I’ll still be seeing you for dinner tomorrow.” Billy counted some bills out. Snatched a pen and scribbled a note on a single. Dropped the money on the counter and pushed the one he’d written on into her pocket. She lifted an arm and glared, but let him. “We'll do this again some time. The back and forth. I pull your hair and you pull mine."

"Unlikely."

"Hm. Invest in waterproof red lipstick. Don't they have waterproof makeup now? Looks better on you than on me." His voice dropped.

"Wow. Cocky now, are you?"

"I just think it'll take us a lot of tries to get to a bad kiss. Don't you, Evie?" He replied pointedly, leaning over to speak in that low baritone. Pure amber honey.

"I think you're in denial, Billy. Gotta put pride aside." Evie bit her tongue and turned away. Loathed the blush glittering her cheeks.

"Takes one to know. I’ll wait for Max in the car. Need a smoke. See you around, Angel.” Billy swayed off after grabbing his coat. Out into the cold.

Evie put his money in their register and plucked the dollar out.

“Sorry. -A shithead.”

Billy had even gone out of his way to draw a little frowny face with a tear. Evie caught him looking at her from his car and rolled her eyes, stuffing the bill away.

Tried not to smile. Failed.

“Billy doesn’t do this kind of thing.” Max appeared a bit later. Glowy and red. Vibrant. “Just...so you know.”

“It shows.” Evie sighed out her nose. Watched Max say bye to her mother since she was staying with Mona before hurrying out into the Camaro. One rev and it skidded off. Snow flurries falling in its wake.

“She seemed mad,” Max had said in the car, “but, maybe less mad.”

“It was a big fuck up. She’ll be mad a long time.”

“And that bothers you.”

“No.” Billy flicked his cigarette out the window. Watched his sister’s lips press before he scoffed. “Max, I did something evil. You understand? Evie wants fuck all to do with me.”

And he couldn't throw her from his thoughts.

“What did you do?” Max leaned in to press the subject. “Just tell me.”

The gist of it came out by the time they parked at Cherry Lane.

Max just blinked at him. Flared. Billy cut the engine and paused, glancing at her.

“Why do boys do this to girls?” She asked, fists clenched in her lap. Rigid and puffy. “I don’t understand. Are my friends going to be like you when they get older?”

“No, Max, they’re not. I’m a piece of shit.” His shoulders came up.

“And you didn’t have to be… Keep groveling, you owe Evie that much.” She slammed the door when she got out. Expected to get barked at and slowed because he made no move. Just flicked his lighter open and closed there. Blue eyes on the steering wheel.

Exhaling into the frost, Max came around the car and jerked Billy’s door open.

“You suck at this. She doesn’t want you to do this self-deprecating game where you play the asshole victim. She wants a real apology.”

“I don’t know what the fuck she wants me to say anymore.”

“Maybe you don’t have to say anything to her.” Max paused. “Those girls and people at school, they’re mean to her. Aren't they? You’re the Keg King. Are you really going to let that happen?”

“They’re just fucking assholes, ignore them.”

“Easy for you to say being popular. What happened to Evie during the dance has been happening to her through all of high school. Don’t you see that? If you really cared, you’d do something to stop it.” The door shut on Billy before he could reply.

Max went up into the house, left him to stew on that until he followed her inside. Away from the snow and Evie’s penetrating eyes that were beginning to haunt him.

~~~~

Tensions are just shooting all directions with these two dorks. Thank you all so much for reading! Feel free to chat or ask about the taglist!!

TAGGED: @80sbxtch @nottherightseason @orxhidshavana @alagalaska @alongcamedolly @kellyk-chan @billy--hargroves

#billy hargrove #Billy hargrove x oc #Billy Hargrove imagine #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove fanfic #Stranger things #mine #writing #somy #billy x angel

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repeating-sounds · 4 years ago

Text

Stark Raving, inspired by Allen Ginsberg

I watch as the greatest spirits of my generation are broken by designer politics, raving angry misinformed, festering on message boards and back alley chatrooms with less information than ever before, swallowing facts and figures like roughage and unable to choke out a meaning or pathway from here to there, angelheaded progressives with ideals as unattainable as a babbling tower, scratching the midnight sky from the safety of their apartment cosigned by mom and dad who don’t know their stick and pokes and secret revolutions, revolted by violence and yet unseeing of it, coming of age in a time where agelessness is the mode and the means of destruction soak into the membranes of all people, chanting:

burn, loot, dismember, destroy, defund, detox, decry and defame,

contorted cancellations of fortunes and freedom and Most Importantly voices silenced by the swinging hammers of the Dorsey-Zuckerburg Ministry of Truth,

Who wanted to speak and be heard on campuses and in classrooms,

Who wanted to hold the noses of the police and the politicians to their dirty words and sinfulness,

Who wanted to wage war against the class above them,

Shooting pop guns at armored men in all directions, stray bullets whizzing by babies and bastards and Bumbling Fools,

Smug smiles from the Trumps and the Biden’s and the AOC’s of the world, teeth gleaming with the blood of their respective constituencies.

A progressive votes for a pair writhing in racist policy and wretched money politics who prop up prisons and evade environmental change,

A conservative votes for a conspiratory conman with hands in All the Wrong Places grabbing money from Peoples Parties and Pussy from Prostitutes and Pagent Participants

Marijuana smoke daydreams in the bathroom between classes or a bong rip in a living room of a friend who hasn’t left the house in days, wondering and wandering through three am streets after a light night fuck with a stranger singing the same tune in a bar just past the new highway that wasn’t meant to go through town until a time or two ago, streetlights raging and skaters sending skateboards under the wheels of the suburban masses, Karens clucking cancer towards those of different

skin color ethnicity race nationality background upbringing

these things mean nothing and everything in 2021 where the fighting is about what’s outside and not in am i a man am i a rapist am i a member of progressivity. Is it bad to be a democrat, i know its bad to be a republican, thank God and Allah and Set and Charon that im neither, though Independent just means Industrial Idiot whose centrism or cynicism or simplicity makes it hard to talk tough politics

Where radicalness is next to Godliness, even though God swings from a telephone pole Gadaffi’d and bleeding and starving as churches with broken windows look like Capital Buildings, aflame with bullets and bravado and turmoil and tumult that somersaults my stomach like a bad egg sandwich chunking on the floor,

Where Long Island Rail hums to life in the morning with masked marauders who come to gentrify the great streets of places where gangs used to meet and terrify townsfolk living in a glorified garbage dump, an island at sea afloat in the misery to broke to B . I . E because to them buying means dying and renting means relenting from the slant that is the Cycle of Poverty, which is harder to break than the chains of an enslaved mistress or a rolling Sisyphus, syphilitic rantings of a man Stark Raving Mad at the thought of bending the knee to the great capitalist tree that branches out, directing and subjecting and protecting me from being

Me, free, smiling and open and poor and landless and cold in the snow

Thank you Authoritarian pigs you keep me safe at night though i still lock my doors,

And the two stocks rising fastest are bullets and schedule one substances that still get millions of minorities locked up to lift fingers for free and labor for laughs only to be released decades later,

Stark Raving Cold to the world and unaccepting of the place they left and the palace they returned to, full of shine and electric crackling under the skin of an iphone,

Our poor eyes, we’ll all need glasses from the constant screen time i feel sick writing this staring at the cruel white eggshell colors on my Personal Home Computer complete with a home theater and a home office and games and brochures and books and madness and music and if we inundate ourselves enough maybe we wont scream maybe we wont faint maybe we wont remember that this was all sold to us and we ate every bite and smiled and said “more please” and that maybe our kids wont hate us for being As Irresponsible as the Baby Boom we sought to destroy by not having kids, by saving the failed marriages our parents murdered by not saying Vows Of Matrimony but if we kill the jobs and we kill the families and we kill the hope then what’s left?

#poetry #poem #writing #prose #allen ginsberg #culture #today #society #amwriting #thoughts

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eddiesasspbrak · 5 years ago

Text

“About what you said back there...”

Prompt inspired by one line of dialogue. Warning for homophobic language and bullying.

Also on AO3

Eddie is targeted by bullies and Richie steps in to save him.

3k+ words. Oneshot

Once again, Eddie Kaspbrak found himself cornered by a group of bullies who were determined to ruin his day. Not that his day was going great to begin with. He’d forgotten his homework on his desk in his room. For every single class. Endlessly he was lectured about not having his homework, class after class, hour after hour. He’d stayed up late the night before to get it all done too so he was exhausted. He’d dozed off in algebra only to have Bill throw at eraser at his head before the teacher saw.

He’d decided to spend his lunch napping in the only place he was likely not to be disturbed. There was a corner under the bleachers, not far from where the smokers hid, where it was shadowed from the sun. It was the perfect dark place when the weather was nice. That’s where Eddie went, hoping to get a bit of sleep before his afternoon classes. Of course, as soon as he settled into the corner against the cold chain-link fence, he was met with unwanted company.

“Well, look who it is.”

Eddie’s eyes shot open at the sound of the voice. He knew this voice. Luke, football player, stereotypical bully rich guy jock. Pathetic really. He acted like he’d stepped out of an actual teen movie from the 80s and it was almost embarrassing to watch. Small guys like Eddie were just the kind of person he enjoyed pushing around. His goons, Rob and Steve, are standing behind him, smiling like assholes.

“Afternoon fellas. What can I do for you?” Eddie hoped they just called him a loser and moved along. He really didn’t have the energy for this right now.

“You’re in our spot.” Luke said, crossing his arms over his chest, trying to look menacing.

Ok, that was bullshit. Eddie and his friends napped there all the time and never once saw them around. They didn’t smoke either so it’s not like they were hanging out farther down and saw them. Eddie wondered why they’d chosen to claim this spot, which had been theirs for so long. He had to really weigh whether or not he wanted to argue with them and potentially get his ass kicked in the process. If he did get beat up, his mom would come get him and that would be great, but then she’d take him to the hospital so not so great. Not worth the trouble.

“Sorry. Wasn’t aware this was your spot.” He said flatly, standing up and grabbing his bag off the ground. “Guess I’ll go fuck myself. Assholes.” He said under his breath. They were really not meant to hear that.

“What was that?” Luke asked, taking a step closer.

“Nothing.” Eddie said quickly, trying to walk past them.

Before he made it, Rob and Steve stepped in his path. Eddie stopped in his tracks before crashing into them and sighed. He really didn’t need this. Why couldn’t he just bite his tongue and walk away? He didn’t tell any of his friends where he was going either. One of the dumbest choices he’d made that day.

“Sounded like he called us a mean name.” Steve said, backing Eddie back against the fence.

“That’s what I heard.” Rob agreed.

“Look, I just wanted a place to nap. I’ll leave, you can have the spot and I won’t come back.” Eddie said, putting his hands up.

Rob pulled his backpack from his fingers and threw it into the dirt a few feet away. Steve’s hand came down heavy on his shoulder, making him jump and also cringe because his hands were probably filthy. Luke came to stand between them, in front of Eddie.

“I think you owe us an apology.” Luke said.

“I’m sorry.” Eddie really hated them, but he also didn’t want to get hurt.

Luke twisted his fist in the front of Eddie’s shirt and lifted him up with it, the cold metal of the fence scraping against his exposed lower back. Eddie prayed to whoever was listening that they’d just threaten him, scare him, and then leave him alone. He kept his mouth shut, hoping he wouldn’t antagonize them any further.

“I didn’t hear you.” Luke said, close to this face.

“I-I’m sorry.” Eddie gripped Luke’s wrist tightly as he dangled there. God, why did he have to be so little?

“I don’t think I believe you.”

Eddie knew that he wasn’t going to get out of this anytime soon. Why did he even get out of bed this morning? He could have played sick and his mom would have immediately called the school and let him stay home to rest. He wondered what they were going to do to him, going to make him do. In the past they’d taped him to a wall, his friends finding him later and carefully ripping all the tape off to get him down. They’d made him eat a sandwich they first rubbed in the dirt. It was disgusting and gritty and he for sure puked afterward with Bill rubbing his back. He’d been socked in the stomach more times then he could count, given wedgies that literally ripped his underwear and locked in lockers at least once a week.

He was ready to accept his fate when he heard what, at the moment, was the equivalent of an angel’s choir. His name, loud and clear and enough to take the attention off of Eddie for a second.

“Eddie. You ok?” Richie asked as he approached.

“Hey, Rich. I’m not doing so great.” He said with a half smile.

“I can see why. You’ve got some trash stuck to the front of your shirt.”

Luke released Eddie, dropping him into the dirt. Eddie landed on his butt, groaning at the sharp pain that radiated up his spine. The attention of the three bullies was now on Richie.

“What the fuck did you say, Tozier?” Luke asked, angry.

“I think I said you’re human garbage. Though the human part may be a bit of a stretch.” Richie grinned, his hands in his pockets, relaxed like they were having a casual conversation.

“You think you’re funny?” Luke left Eddie on the ground and walked toward Richie with Steve at his side. Rob stayed behind with Eddie, ready to beat him at Luke’s signal.

Richie shrugged. “Yea. I do. So does Eddie.”

Eddie’s smile immediately fell when Rob looked down at him. Of course, he was smiling at Richie’s words. His self-appointed protector always made him laugh and smile, especially when he was coming to his defense and putting down assholes. The fact that he was in love with him was only part of it.

“I was just going to kick your boyfriend’s ass, but I guess I’ll have to kick yours too.” Luke said, grabbing one side of Richie’s open button up shirt.

“He’s not my boyfriend.” Eddie chimed in, on reflex.

“You’re not laying a hand on him.” Richie said at the same time.

“Yea, how are you going to stop me?”

“I’d fight until I’m bloody and dying on the street before I’d let you hurt him.” Richie said defiantly, leaning in close to Luke’s face. “You’re the human equivalent of dog shit. Pathetic. You think you’re some big shot football star who’s going places. You’re going to live in this town the rest of your life, a future gas station attendant waiting to happen.”

“I’m going to pound your ass into the ground, Tozier.”

Richie’s face split into a crooked grin. “Kinky.” He said just before Luke’s fist collided with the side of his face.

Richie lurched to the side with the force, falling to the ground. Luke followed him down and landed another punch along his jaw. Eddie tried to stand and go to his friend, but Rob put a hand to his chest and shoved him back down against the fence. He could only watch in horror as Richie was punch for a third time, his hands on Luke’s shoulders trying to push him off.

As if answering Eddie’s prayers, the cheerleading coach, who’d been walking nearby, heard him yell out and saw what was unfolding under the bleachers. She called out to them, told them to stop as she made her way to opening a few feet away. Steve grabbed Luke by the back of his shirt and pulled him up.

“We gotta go, man.” He said. Cliché as ever.

Luke stood and looked down at Richie. “Fucking fag.” He said before motioning for his friends to follow him as they rushed off.

Richie flipped them off, remaining on the ground. Eddie scrambled on his hands and knees over to Richie, not caring that he was getting dirty in the process. His glasses had fallen off, his left eye already swelling, a cut along his cheekbone. His nose was bleeding though didn’t seem to be broken and his lip was split. Eddie didn’t think three of four hits could do so much damage. He grabbed Richie’s glasses, glad to find they hadn’t been broken, and handed them to him.

“Shit, Richie. Are you alright?” Eddie asked, instinctively reaching to touch his face but stopping himself.

“I feel like my head is about to split open but otherwise ok.” Richie laughed before wincing, the act of smiling pulling at his split lip.

The cheerleading coach had gone after the three bullies and Eddie hoped that she saw their faces. Eddie stood, offering a hand to Richie to help him to his feet. His face was a bloody mess and he needed to put ice on his eye to help with the swelling. Eddie looked like he was close to crying and Richie didn’t want him to get to that point.

“I’m ok, Eds. Chicks like scars, right?” He asked with a small smile, careful of his lip this time.

“I think they’re more impressed when you actually fight back.” Eddie said, sniffling.

Richie’s smile widened as he reached out and ruffled Eddie’s hair. “I could probably use some of your expert care, Dr. K. Want to fix me up?”

Eddie rolled his eyes, shoving his hand away and grabbing his backpack, which was now filthy. “Anyone at your house right now?”

“No. Why? Are you planning to skip?”

“Might as well. I don’t feel like being here anyway.”

“Picking fights with bullies, skipping class, what’s happened to my innocent little spaghetti?”

“Shut the fuck up. Do you want me to fix you up or not?”

Richie wiped the blood dripping from his nose with the back of his hand and followed after Eddie. His house wasn’t far by bike and they were there in less than ten minutes, Richie unlocking the door for them. He called out into the empty house, just to be sure that both of his parents were out. He got no response, so they ventured in.

“Where is your first aid kit?” Eddie asked, going straight to the kitchen.

“Uh…bathroom maybe?” Richie guessed.

He headed to the bathroom while Eddie rifled through the freezer. Richie was sure he’d seen a first aid kit somewhere before, he just wasn’t sure where his mom kept it. Looking under the sink, he found a small white box with a red cross on it near the very back.

“How do you not have an icepack in here?” Eddie called from the kitchen.

“I don’t think we’ve ever really used one.” Richie said, entering the room behind him with the first aid kit.

“This will have to do.” Eddie said, grabbing a small bag of frozen vegetable and turning to face Richie. His eyes fell to the small box in Richie’s hand. “You’re kidding right? That’s your first aid kit? It’s tiny. There’s no way it’s going to have everything we need.”

“I mean, don’t we just need some bandages?”

Eddie rolled his eyes and scoffed. “You don’t know anything.” He grabbed a dish towel from a drawer and wet the corner of it in the sink before instructing Richie to sit at the kitchen table.

Eddie pulled a chair up in front of Richie and sat, opening the small box and sighing at the contents. Inside was a box of bandages, a roll of gauze, and thankfully some antiseptic spray. Richie took his glasses off and set them on the table, pressing the bag of frozen veggies to this left eye. Eddie set to work using the wet towel to clean the dirt and drying blood from his face. Richie could barely see him, but he could still make out the way his tongue poked out of his mouth while he focused.

When he was satisfied that everything was clean enough, Eddie grabbed the antiseptic spray and sprayed it onto a clean corner of the towel, not wanting to spray it that close to Richie’s eye. He dabbed the cut on his cheek with the towel and Richie hissed at the sting.

“Don’t be such a baby.” Eddie said softly.

“Your bedside manner is terrible, Dr. K.” Richie responded with a small smile.

“Shut up.” Eddie said as he very lightly dabbed Richie’s lip where it was split. He couldn’t do much for it, but he could disinfect it. He tried not to focus too much on the fact that he was touching Richie’s lips. They’d never had any problem being close to one another, Richie had for sure kissed his cheeks before. It was no wonder everyone thought they were dating. Eddie denied it whenever it was brought up because it wasn’t true, but that didn’t mean he didn’t wish it were. Richie didn’t even bother denying it anymore.

“Alright, it’s not perfect. It would have been better if you’d had some butterfly closures, but this Flintstones bandage will have to do instead.” Eddie said, sticking the bandage to his cheek.

“Feels better already.” Richie slumped back against his chair, still holding the veggie bag to his eye.

Eddie began cleaning up, standing to throw the garbage away. Richie watched the blurry blob of color that was Eddie as he moved around the room.

“They didn’t hurt you, right?” Richie asked.

“No. They didn’t get the chance before you showed up.” Eddie said, keeping his back to Richie as he washed his hands at the sink.

“Good.”

“You shouldn’t have intervened. You wouldn’t have gotten hurt if you’d stayed out of it.”

“Better me than you.”

Eddie’s cheeks warmed at that and he was suddenly glad that Richie still had his glasses off. Of course he was glad that Richie had shown up when he did, but he couldn’t help but feel responsible for his injuries. He only said what he did in his quest to keep Eddie safe. He loved him for it, but he wanted to keep him safe too.

“Hey…about what you said back there…” Eddie said, finally turning back to look at him.

“Which part?” Richie grinned. “I say so much it’s hard for me to keep track. They don’t call me Trashmouth for nothing.”

“When you said…you would fight until you were dying in the street to protect me. Did you mean that?”

Richie’s smile grew soft, trembled a bit at the corners of his mouth like he was struggling to hold it in place. “Yea. I meant it.”

“Why? Why do you always put my safety above your own?”

“I’d die if anything happened to you, so it’s better to die making sure nothing does.”

Eddie didn’t know what to say to that. He’d never felt so loved as he did in that moment and he wanted nothing more than to let him know how he felt. Emotion welled up in his chest, up his throat and to his lips before he could even think about it.

“Don’t be stupid. I’d die if anything happened to you too.” He said, tears in his eyes. “I love you, Richie.”

Richie’s smile returned. “I know, Eds. I love you too.” He set the bag of veggies aside and slid his glasses onto his face. As soon as he could see, he was met with the sight of Eddie, covering his mouth with one hand, tears spilling down his cheeks, his other hand tangled in the bottom of his shirt.

He opened his arms, signaling without words for the other boy to come to him. Eddie crossed the room quickly, collapsing against Richie and wrapping his arms around his shoulders in a hug. Richie’s arms came down around his middle as he pulled him down onto his lap.

“How about, next time we fight together and neither of us has to die?” Richie suggested.

Eddie nodded against his shoulder. “We need a better first aid kit though.” He sniffled.

Richie breathed out a laugh. “Sure thing, Dr. K.”

Eddie leaned back and cupped Richie’s face with one hand, his thumb bumping the Flintstones bandage. He was so stupidly perfect, even with his face all banged up and bruised. Pushing his glasses up, Eddie planted a kiss to the side of his eye where the bruise was starting to form.

“I told you, scars are hot.” Richie grinned.

“It’s a bruise. Not a scar. Dumbass.”

“Just as effective.”

“Can I kiss you?”

Richie’s mouth snapped shut, the dopey grin gone. “Yea. Yes. Absolutely.”

“What about your lip?” Eddie asked, nudging the corner of Richie’s mouth with his thumb near where it was split.

“It’s fine. Kisses are supposed to make injuries better, right?”

Eddie smile and rolled his eyes, leaning down to connect their mouths. The kiss was innocent, soft, just testing the waters. Eddie let his hands rest against Richie’s chest, the other’s hands holding tight to his hips, keeping him on his lap. Not that Eddie was planning to go anywhere any time soon. Feeling more comfortable now, they decided to experiment, their lips moving together. Richie winced, making Eddie pull away.

“Did that hurt?” Eddie asked, eyeing his lip.

“Worth it.” Richie said with a grin, pulling Eddie back in for a hug.

#Reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #It #it (2017)#it (2019)#Ro writes

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mdelpin · 5 years ago

Text

Unwinding

Winter Holiday Event 2020 Prompt(s): First and Feast Pairing(s): Mafuyama, pre-slash Akiharu AO3

Summary: Mafuyu notices the tension between Akihiko and Haruki and tries to help them resolve it by planning an outing for the band at the park.

It had been a beautiful sunny day when they had left the studio, the kind that made you want to stop at a convenience store for snacks and then head to the nearest park for a picnic. A warm breeze was blowing, and Mafuyu was reasonably sure he could talk Ritsuka into coming, but he wasn’t quite sure how to convince Akihiko and Haruki to join them.

Mafuyu didn’t know what had happened between Haruki and Akihiko to cause the tension he’d seen for the last few days. But it was becoming more pronounced with every passing day. Since Haruki had shown up with his new haircut, he and Akihiko’s sound just wouldn’t sync up at all, and although Mafuyu didn’t want to bring attention to the situation, it was making him nervous.

He knew something was wrong, but not what, and that feeling made him uneasy. Ever since Yuuki had died, his own feelings had become muted and confusing, but he had become hyper-aware of everyone else’s, and any pronounced change made him anxious.

It was something he had to work on for himself. Not every argument was going to be the final one, but the pain was still fresh, and the fear that it might happen again was overwhelming.

Just as he was getting ready to suggest the outing, some kids walked by holding kites in their hands, talking excitedly about going to the park. When Mafuyu looked back at his friends, half expecting to find Akihiko making a snide comment, he saw something unexpected.

Ritsuka was staring after the kids, the longing in his eyes unmistakable, and that gave Mafuyu an even better idea. “Would you like to fly kites too?”

Ritsuka pretended not to care, it was almost cute how hard he tried to seem unaffected by the question, but Mafuyu could still see the yearning, and he wanted nothing more than to give him this one simple thing. Before he could say anything, Akihiko immediately began to tease his boyfriend.

“Don’t tell me Uecchi never learned how.”

“My parents both worked. They didn’t have time to teach us stuff like that,” Ritsuka scowled, and his jaw tightened, “Besides, it’s not like I even care.”

Mafuyu could not believe his luck when Haruki spoke up, “I used to love flying kites as a kid, I can’t even remember the last time I did something like that. We should go, there are usually vendors at the park.’

He smiled at Ritsuka and patted him on his shoulder, “Come on, Uenoyama, I will not only buy you one, but I’ll also teach you how to fly it.”

“Should we stop at the convenience store and get some food?” Mafuyu asked.

Ritsuka immediately perked up at the mention of food, and so Mafuyu’s plan came together with barely any effort on his part. It took them about ten minutes to buy enough food and drinks for a small army, and off they went, Haruki explaining to Ritsuka what they were going to be doing while Mafuyu hung back in silence with Akihiko.

Haruki ended up buying Mafuyu a kite as well, leaving Akihiko with all the food and instructions to find them a spot for their picnic. To Mafuyu’s surprise, he accepted without complaint. They spent a fun afternoon flying kites, laughing when Ritsuka managed to tangle his in a tree. He looked so sad both Mafuyu and Haruki offered theirs as a replacement.

Ritsuka was actually smiling, and Mafuyu couldn’t help but feel its effect. It was so rare to see his boyfriend relax and enjoy something that wasn’t directly related to music. And he realized with a start that he had managed to do a first with his boyfriend, something he had only ever managed with Yuuki. Although if he thought about it, they had already shared a few firsts.

Soon Haruki hung back smoking one of his cigarettes, content to watch them but making no move to join Akihiko.

Ritsuka turned to him, his smile still as full as before, “Thank you for this, it was really fun.”

“You should thank Haruki, he’s the one who bought it for you,” Mafuyu reminded him.

“Should we go find Akihiko? I’m kind of hungry.”

Mafuyu agreed, looking at Haruki out of the corner of his eye to see how he reacted to the suggestion, but the bassist said nothing. He walked back to Ritsuka to teach him how to bring down the kite without ripping it. After a few scoldings from Haruki about being gentler, they were on their way.

They found Akihiko sprawled on the ground, having fallen asleep as he waited. They sat around him and began opening cans of soda, the noise waking up Akihiko.

“Did you enjoy yourselves?” Akihiko asked as he took out food items and passed them out.

“Mhmm,” Ritsuka managed as he took a gigantic bite from his sandwich.

There was an awkward silence after that. It was Haruki who always chattered, and without his example to follow, they sat quietly. Mafuyu began to feel anxious again, and before he even thought about what he was doing, he threw a chip at Ritsuka.

His boyfriend scowled at him, and Mafuyu threw the next one at Haruki, curious to see his reaction. Haruki began to lecture him about making a mess until a piece of fruit smacked his chest. They both looked to see who had thrown it, only to see Ritsuka smirking at them.

This created a chain reaction, with Akihiko joining in before long until even Haruki was taking part in the impromptu food fight. Food went everywhere they could get it. Soon they had escalated, shaking their cans and spraying each other with their drinks. Their laughs rang loud and true, and Mafuyu found he could breathe easier.

It wasn’t a fix by any means, but at least for now, a small chink had been made. The rest of the work would have to come from Akihiko and Haruki.

A/N: I came up with this after reading @cloverdreams entry this morning. Thanks for the inspiration!

#given #fanfiction #mafuyama #winter2020 #holiday event #givenfanfics #prompt: first #prompt: feast #sort of akiharu

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kileyrose-2003 · 5 years ago

Text

Dan Torrance x Fem! Reader

This smutty request was submitted by @oneirnaut Might be a little different then you imagined but I hope u enjoy.

You always knew you were different from the time you were little. You could tell the future and have conversations entirely in your head with people if you wanted to but you couldn't. You never met anyone who had the same abilities as you and nobody understood you.

Your siblings would make remarks as to how you were weird or your parents would just ignore you because they were afraid for you. Or of you. Sometimes you couldn't tell.

It was a lonely gift another person until you met Dan seven years ago. He certainly wasn't in a good spot when you met him but it didn't matter to you. It was the first time you met someone didn't make you feel lonely or question your sanity.

At first he was confused to how you figured it out but it wasn't hard for you to put two and two together between the things he did at the hospice while you were at work to the first time you went to his apartment and seen the little blackboard messages on his wall.

It was an unorthodox friendship that your parents didn't approve of but their opinion didn't matter to you. You helped him heal and you healed from him and to you, that was a beautiful thing.

Overtime you grew closer to him. Hell, you loved the man but that was something you told yourself you'd never express verbally or through your shine and he told himself the same thing.

While you were a woman, you still were much younger than him and he never thought it would work out between your family and your age gap.

It was your day off and you and Dan were at a local place pizza place getting dinner together at an off time. He was acting like himself but today he just felt..different.

"So how's your little pen pal?" You asked quietly, holding a forkful of pasta up to your lips. "She's alright. She tried explaining this RWBY stuff to me I don't get. The one girl has blue hair or something."

You giggled and shook your head. "It's an anime, Dan. I think it came out a little after or before I graduated nursing school."

"Because I remember what happened so clearly 5 or 6 years ago. I don't know. When I was growing up it Bugs Bunny. All simple stuff."

You rolled your eyes. "Okay gramps." You joked and Dan rolled his eyes. "Gramps? Next thing I know you're going to be calling me as Abra calls it, a boomer. Does that mean I get the respect you would give to your elders?"

"Dan, stop it." You smacked the back of his hand playfully. "If I didn't like you, I wouldn't tease you."

"Well could you like me a little less than?" Knowing Dan, you knew he was kidding but his words came off semi snappy.

"Maybe I will." You mused and ate in silence for a few moments. "Good." He wiped his mouth with his napkin. "Okay snippy." You snapped.

(Well if you seen what I did, you'd be snippy too.)

You over heard the thought and Dan cringed. Yep, definitely wasn't supposed to hear that one.

"What's bothering you?" He narrowed his brows. "Nothing..I'm fine. Just a long day at work the past few night."

"Don't give me that bullshit, Dan. You and I both knew it was a semi easy night and I know what you're trying to do with that look on your face."

"It's not exactly something I can talk about in public." He wouldn't meet your eye.

(I know you want your privacy and I respect that but just know I'm here for you.)

"I know it's just..I can't drag you into this." Dan rubbed his face. "Is it something with family or-"

"No..well..maybe..Damn it Y/n! Can't you just it go?" He actually yelled at you and people stared.

You blushed out of embarrassment and looked at the people in the restaurant. "Hi! Take a picture. It might last longer."

"Y/n." He scolded. "Don't you Y/n me. You started it." You knew you sounded like a child but he was being pissy.

"You're being ridiculous." He whispered venomously. "No, you are. It's seven years ans you won't talk to me about somethings and all I want to do is help you."

Your waiter came over to your table. "Is everything okay?" You nodded and handed her a wad of cash. "I was just getting to go. This is for the check. Any change is yours."

You stood up from the table and Dan sighed. "Y/n come on..Y/n, I'm sorry." You started to walk away. "Don't talk to me Dan, please. I need some space."

"But Y/n I didn't mean it like that." He chased you outside to your car. "It's too late for that. I'll see you tomorrow." You got in your car and slammed the door in Dan's face.

"Y/n.." You ignored him and pulled away. Dan sighed ran his fingers through his hair. "Damn me."

Meanwhile as you were driving down the road you felt a presence in the back of your car. "You know, Doc might not be the best at expressing emotions but he does care about you."

You tensed and looked into your back seats and found a woman sitting back there. "..you're Dan's mom aren't you?"

She nodded and smiled. "I'm Wendy. It's nice to finally meet you Y/n." Her voice was soft and gentle. It reminded you of being a little girl all over again and having your own mother speak to you before she realized your "phase" was not going away.

"Nice to meet you too Wendy." You felt a rush of cold air go through you as she ran her fingers through the back of your hair. "Oh yes..I approve. You have a heart of gold."

You gave a tight lipped smile. "Oh no..Dan and I don't have a relationship like that." Wendy just grinned. "Not yet at least."

"Look, I'm not trying to be rude but why are you here?" Wendy lost her smile. "Because you're my only path of communication to him. Danny doesn't think about me anymore. It pains him too."

You thought back to the death flies you seen inside Dan's head and seen them in a flash over Wendy's face. You gripped the steering wheel tighter.

"You got to keep him away from the woman in the hat, honey doll. She's bad news. You're the only one who can keep him from going. He'll listen to you but not to me or even Dick."

"The woman in the hat?" You were so confused. "What hat woman?!" You felt your heart begin to race. "The one who killed that little boy. You know Abra?"

You thought back to Dan's little pen pal and your car began to slant up in the air. "Wendy!" You screamed as the road began to float away from you. The word Redrum was broken into the pavement. "It's okay sweetie..soon you'll see just what exactly I mean." The ground began to vortex and you were flung inside the swirling black hole.

You screamed and eventually landed face first in an old hotel. There were signs on the walls. BLUEBELL CAMPGROUND and OVERLOOK you could clearly see. 'Good old western hospitality.' You noted mentally as the first thing that came to mind and took in the smell of the place of grimaced. You knew it well. Funeral parlor and sickness. 'Like that time I accidentally walked in when Dan was helping Fred Langston cross over and-'

You only had a few more seconds to take in the scenery before you felt a small thud against the top of her head. Then whatever the substance was ran down to your nose. You wiped it off and stared at it. 'Blood.' You had a single second to think before the floor began to shake and what looked like red smoke or some sort of..steam rolled in. It had a face and by God it was horrifying.

You covered your face for a moment and dropped to floor, attempting to shield herself from the scene but then something strong pushed back her hands. Forcing you to look up.

The hardwood began to crack and there was a single word scrawled upon it.

Redrum

"Oh fuck.." Ghostie faces covered in blood flashed in front of your face and you began to cry. The world began to slide again and you fell through the set of floorboards and this time awoke at a wooded area.

We are The True Knot

'Breath Y/n..Breath. It's a just nightmare.'

Or worse. You immediately shut that little voice out of your head and stepped forward. You wanted to go back to her body. Wake up in your bed or your car, screaming bloody murder. At least Dan would be close to you then even if he wasn't physically present. You knew he'd protect you. That was or if you did ever wake up. Because there always was that chance you wouldn't and you'd get stuck here.

What is tied may mever be untied

But something kept pulling you forward. You followed the voices through the dark woods. The smell of embers and smoke entering your nostrils.

We Endure

It all looked so familiar. There were tables everywhere. Almost like the ones in the park you went to when you were little. Except without the chipped paint you were afraid would give you splinters or get into the homemade sandwiches you brought with you so you didn't have to stop at the local gas station to get food.

Your made your way down the beaten path and what was there horrified you. A group of people stood their. Like a chain of paper dolls or snowflakes chanting in some sort of foreign language. Hebrew based maybe?

Either way, it didn't matter to you. The worse part was the body on the green grass. The boy on the ground was 13 to 14 years old. Maybe the same age as Abra.

A cloud of what you thought was campfire smoke was above the group. Next to the body was a woman in a hat. Her hands like bloody gloves and a man with intense eyes. Like a Crow. They all turned to stare at you.

Redrum indeed

Fear coursed through your veins. You wanted to run. Sprint. As far a way as she could but you stood there. Completely frozen. Not able to speak or move.

You would never know which one of them it was that knew your name and called it but that was all it took for you to start running. You could hear some of them laughing. It was sick.They were killers and they certainly weren't people either. They were monsters.

"Wendy! Wendy!" You screeched, hoping either of them could hear you. She sent you to this damn place. She should be able to get you out. Unless it was something else..pulling and dragging you there. You made it half way down the path before you felt a tug on your knotted tresses.

You screamed and immediately fell to your knees. It was the hat woman and you were terrified. She scooped you up in her arms and laughed. You were fucked.

"Let me go!" You kicked at her but she was strong. "Oh no sweetie..no, I won't." Her hand connected with the back of your head and you seen yourself laying on the ground. Blood all over you and the steam floating out of your mouth and Dan in the hotel with fire burning around him, blood running all over his legs.

(GET OUT OF MY HEAD!)

The hat woman blasted away from you and you were flung back to your car, screaming and kicking the whole way.

You felt Wendy's hand running through your hair as you crashed back into your seat and you started sobbing. "Shhh..it's okay. She's gone. You're alright."

"How do I-how do I stop this?" You wiped the tears away from your eyes. "Go to him and tell him what you seen. He'll listen to you. I can't protect him anymore. I leave it to you."

"But what-" Wendy shushed you. "Just go to him." Before you could even respond Wendy was already gone and you were alone. One way or another you had to save him. Whether he liked the way you were going to do it or not.

Later on that night you sat with a very sleep deprived and cranky Dan Torrance. "Are you crazy?!!" He held his hands up defensively. "No, I'm not Y/n. Believe me I don't want to do this as much as you don't want me to."

"If what you're telling me is true, these people are going to fucking kill you. I'm not saying that out of assumption. I'm saying it because I see it. You know too much Dan. They see you at that gravesite with a shovel in your hand, you're fucked."

"I know..I know but Y/n, Abra's right. We can't just let the kids body just sit there and if she's right about all this then I have to protect her from these things. Whatever the fuck they are." Dan rubbed his face.

"Then I'm going with you!" He shook his head. "Like hell you are. Just like you said, they see me and I'm fucked. I'm not dragging you into this whole mess too. You've still got a life to live and time left."

"But how am I supposed to enjoy it when you're not here?" Dan's face went flat. "What?" You ran your fingers through your hair frustratedly. "For God's sakes Dan, I love you."

For a moment there was silence. "Y-you do?" The words were barely a whisper. "Yes! I've loved you since I started my job at the hospice doing clinicals and that was almost 7 years ago. You were a little skittish with me at first but I don't mind because I know you went through alot, even if you won't tell me what it."

The silence continued for a long stretch. "Dan, please just saying something." You begged. "I-i love you too..I didn't think you would reciprocate the feeling though because you're younger than me."

"Dan, I'm 3 years away from being 30 and you're 40. Your age doesn't matter to me. Or your past. I love you for you." You wrapped your arms around his neck and he pulled you close to him, cupping the one side as he leaned forward to kiss you on the lips. His lips felt soft like silk and you melted into his warmth.

"I love you..so so much." He ran his hands up and down your sides. "I love you more." You gasped as he picked you up in his arms and laid you down on his bed.

Dan leaned over top of you and continued to kiss you all over. You ran your fingers through his hair as he made his way down past your chest.

"You're so beautiful." He hummed softly as he examined every inch of you. "I think you're perfect."

He crawled up your body, leaving his face inches away from yours. You caressed his cheek and smiled. "And you're so handsome." He smiled and smashed his lips passionately against yours. It felt like an eternity when he finally pulled away.

"Dan?" You were panting like you ran a marathon afterwards. "Yeah Y/n?" You forced him to look at you. "I want you."

"You're sure this is what you want?" You nodded and he worked his way down your body. You could feel his scarred but soft skinned his hands caressing your stomach as he pulled down your pants.

"Such a gentle man." You murmured softly and ran your hands down his still clothed back, gripping onto his shirt tight as you felt his fingers beginning to move around down there.

"D-dan!" You could hear him grunting from beneath you. "Is that okay?" You nodded feverishly. "It feels so good! Fuck! Faster Dan!"

He began to quicken up the pace. "God you're so tight. I can feel you clamping around my fingers."

"S-sorry." You blushed a little bit and he smiled. "It's fine, babe." He continued to work his magic and you squirmed in pleasure. "Dan I think I'm gonna..gonna cum!"

"Then cum for me." You arched your back as you felt the jolt from the orgasm take over your body. It felt euphoric and you never wanted the sensation to end.

Dan pulled his fingers out from inside you and straddled you. "That felt amazing." You panted as you slowly released your grip on his sheet and took of his shirt.

"I try." He was blushing a little bit, which brought out some of his features more, and you thought it was adorable. He bent down and peppered kisses all over your neck while and you did the same to him.

"I'll be as gentle as possible." He whispered in your ear as he moved painstakingly slow down to your lower area and began to plunge himself inside of you at a steady pace.

You whined and dug your nails into his back. "M-more Dan..Faster! Please!" You begged. He did as you asked hesitantly, making his whole way inside you and you moaned. "Fuck! You feel so good." Dan grunted in reply and moved around inside you. "So tight. Saving yourself for me?"

"Maybe." You tone was lower and raspy. It drove Dan mad. "God you're gorgeous." He quickened his pace. "The most beautiful woman you've ever seen?" You pulled at his hair and kissed him all over. "Fuck yes."

"You're mine, Y/n. I want everyone to know it from now on." Dan's tip hit your spot and you thrust yourself up onto him more. "Yes! Right there Danny. Don't stop!"

"Tell me you'll be mine." He was begging and you took such joy from it, knowing you had him wrapped around your finger. "Only yours, Dan. I swear!" You screamed.

You rode each other for a couple more minutes and you both were getting near the finish point. "Should I pull out?"

You shook your head and nuzzled closely to him, the layers of sweat on the both of you interlacing. "N-no..go for it."

You tensed as you felt his seed entering you and you both came simultaneously. Dan pulled out of you and flopped down next to you on his bed. Holding you tight in his arms as you both attempted to regain control of your breathing.

"I love you so much." You cupped the sides of his face. "I love you too." Dan pressed a kiss to your forehead. Never wanting to ever let you go. "I mean what I said before when I said you're mine."

You smiled softly and nuzzled closely to him. "I'm not letting you go either." You tightened your grip on him, thinking back to everything about Dan everything that Dan told you about the baseball boy.

"I'm afraid for you." You started to tear up. "Because I know it's not going to pleasant and I just got you now and I-i don't want to lose you."

He laced his fingers through your hair. "We go on, Y/n. It might be scary but I'll be okay in the end. It might not be my first choice on how we'd be together forever-" Dan attempted to joke and you glared. "But know that I'd never truly leave you."

You smiled despite the tears in your eyes and clear despair. "Yeah...I guess I wouldn't be." He held your face. "We'll figure it out together, okay? As long as we have each other we'll be fine."

"Okay..I love you, Dan." You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him. "I love you too, Y/n..I love you so much."

#danny torrance #dan torrance #doctor sleep #dr sleep #imagine #x reader #smut #true knot #the true knot #the shining #answered

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localhumanwreckage · 5 years ago

Text

Get to Know Me

Are you a morning or night person?

Morning person

Are you afraid of the dark?

Only outside

Are you an extrovert or introvert?

Introvert

Are you double jointed?

Nope

Are you left or right handed?

Right

Are you more of a tidy person or a messy one?

Messy

Are you usually on time or late?

On time

Are you ticklish?

Yes

Can you roll your tongue?

Yep

Can you ice skate?

I dunno. They closed the ice skating rink years ago and I haven’t skated since I was a kid.

Can you wiggle your ears?

Nope

Coffee or tea?

Neither

Cookies, cake, or doughnuts?

Cookies. Chocolate chip specifically.

Have you ever participated in a talent show?

Yes

Have you ever gone to prom?

Yup

Did you/do you like school?

Hell no

Do you believe in ghosts?

I don’t know

Do you bite your nails?

Yes

Do you consider yourself a good cook?

I mean, I don’t cook much but I’m definitely not a bad cook.

Do you enjoy dancing?

Yes

Do you enjoy DIY or crafts?

Yep

Do you forgive easily?

Yes. Probably too easily.

Do you have a nickname?

Nope

Do you have any allergies?

Nope

Do you have any phobias?

I’m extremely afraid of the supernatural which is odd because I think it’s cool

Do you have any piercings or tattoos?

Just my ears so far

Do you want children?

Yep

Do you have pets?

Yep. A cat named Gallifrey.

Do you have any siblings?

Yes. Two younger brothers.

Do you prefer dogs or cats?

Cats

Do you prefer Mac or PC?

Mac

Do you prefer the beach or the mountains?

The beach

Do you prefer baths or showers?

That’s difficult. Probably baths but only for relaxation purposes.

Do you sing in the shower?

Surprisingly not really

Do you smoke?

Nope

Do you speak more than one language?

Nope. I wish.

Do you still have your wisdom teeth?

I’m a lucky duck who was born without them because I’m a genetic beast.

Do you still watch cartoons?

Yup

Do you/have you played any sports?

Used to play soccer and I did gymnastics for a while but I have since lost all athletic ability.

Does your name have a special meaning?

Sort of. I was named after my mom’s best friend.

Have you ever been hospitalized?

Yes. On numerous occasions. More times than I can count.

Have you ever been on a diet?

Yep

Have you ever been to a concert?

Yep. Three. Unless you count the thing my parents took me to as a kid that had a live Christian band performance. Then it would be four.

Have you ever gone camping?

Yup

Have you ever met any celebrities?

Yep. Amanda Palmer.

Have you ever skipped class?

Nope.

Have you ever won a prize?

Yep.

Have you ever had braces?

No. I need them but there’s no way I’m getting them at this age.

Have you ever broken a bone?

Nope. I did bruise my tailbone walking down steps in stilettos though.

How tall are you?

5’9” Yeah I know. Pretty tall for a girl.

If money were no object what would you buy?

A recording studio and all necessary equipment

If you could live anywhere in the world where would it be?

Probably Sweden man. Sweden is a pretty cool place.

Were you ever a Girl or Boy Scout?

Nope.

What country do you live in?

The good ol’ U.S of A

Did you move a lot as a kid?

Nope. Just twice.

What did you want to be when you were younger?

Man I wanted to be a lot of things. For a while I wanted to be the tooth fairy. I also apparently didn’t eat chicken nuggets for three months because I thought being a vegetarian was a career. True story.

What do you do on a typical Friday night?

Lounge around at home

What is one food that you refuse to eat?

I hate any sort of sea food

What is one thing on your bucket list?

Finally go to a Disney theme park

What is one item you can’t live without?

A guitar

What is your shoe size?

Size 8

What’s one movie you’ve watched repeatedly?

Captain Marvel

Do you have an iPhone or Android?

iPhone

Are you a procrastinator?

Yep

What’s one of your pet peeves?

People not closing doors when they leave

What’s one of your favorite songs?

Face Down by Red Jumpsuit Apparatus

What’s the most expensive thing you own?

My electric guitar. It’s a Danelectro Danoblaster Innuendo. They don’t make them anymore and it’s between 300 and 400 buckaroos. Plus it belonged to John Scalzi. He’s a sci-fi writer who’s currently working on a movie with Tom Hanks. So I imagine it will go up in value.

What’s one thing you can’t leave the house without?

My phone duh

What’s your best physical feature?

I really like my hair

What’s your Chinese zodiac?

Goat

Who’s one of your celebrity crushes?

Tom Holland

What’s your dream car?

I dunno. I’m not really a car person. I’d kinda like an old Volvo Station wagon but with new parts and stuff so it drives well.

What’s your favorite animal?

Dolphins

What’s one of your favorite books?

Gone by Michael Grant

What’s your favorite color?

Red

What’s your favorite dessert?

My mom’s homemade brownies

What’s your favorite drink?

I’m a huge fan of virgin margaritas.

What’s your favorite foreign food?

Churros

What’s your favorite modern technology?

My phone. Specifically the ability to listen to any music, anywhere, anytime.

What’s your favorite hobby?

Making music

What’s one of your favorite movies?

Titanic

What’s your favorite chain restaurant?

Papa Johns

What’s your favorite sandwich?

Just your basic PB&J

What’s your favorite season?

Fall. Spring is pretty but I don’t do heat well.

What’s your favorite book series?

Harry Potter

What’s your favorite TV series?

Doctor Who

What’s your favorite snack?

Popcorn

What’s your favorite sport to watch?

Does Olympic figure skating count?

What’s your favorite breakfast food?

French toast

What’s one of your favorite bands?

Joy Division. I like so many bands though. It’s quite hard to pick one.

What’s your longest relationship so far?

Ten months. But part of that was kinda on again off again.

What’s your lucky number?

Don’t have one

What’s your star sign?

Aries

What’s your sexual orientation?

Pansexual

What color are your eyes?

Brown

What’s your favorite music genre?

Rock. Specifically experimental rock.

What’s your favorite holiday?

Christmas

Have you ever dyed your hair?

Yep. I’ve had it blue, mint green, and blonde. I’ve also had it with purple tips and pink tips.

Who’s your favorite fictional character?

That’s really rough. Probably Hermione Granger.

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bynkii · 6 years ago

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It’s all right there

(originally published on 18 Nov. 2015)

If only you’d look to the side once in a while

Somewhat odd fact: I’ve never been really anywhere outside of the U.S. Not that I’m anti-travel, it just seemed to never work out. I mean, I’ve been to Toronto, spent a summer in Mississauga with my cousin Diane and her family, and technically went near Nassau on a night-time cruise, but I was so obliterated that I don’t know if I left the boat.

I was in the Air Force, but at a B-1B base in the mid-80s to early-90s, and so we didn’t really even start going overseas for air shows and exercises until I was fixing to separate. Then came a marriage and a kid and it kind of just never happened. Which I do think is a shame, but I can’t say I’ve not done anything cool, I just did it all…here.

This came up because I was talking to a good friend of mine, N., who is much smarter and well-traveled than I, (and for a Cali transplant, still understands why Waffle House is amazing.) I was commenting how a mutal acquaintance, who is my age, seems to have just woken up to the reality that non-honkies in the U.S. have very different lives than honkies do. I said I didn’t get how someone could be as well-traveled as he is, (he has literally traveled the globe) and still be so…blind…to the world outside of his somewhat narrow set of interests. This legitimately puzzled me until N. explained it.

She said, (paraphrased) that if you’re traveling on business, to a conference or on a book tour or what have you, that it’s easy. You get off the plane and go to the hotel. Which is probably a Marriot or other chain, and where the club sandwich in Tokyo is exactly like the club sandwich in Des Moines. You are driven to where you need to be when you need to be there, you go out after to a restaurant, maybe a bar that is tourist-friendly, and then back to the hotel. After a few days, home you go. Maybe you take a day for being a tourist, but you’re going to do fairly standard stuff.

You do that enough, and there’s no difference between anywhere.

I can’t argue her point, I literally don’t know, but it struck me as sad. To be somewhere totally different, but wrap yourself in a cocoon of home, like some kind of odd warp bubble.

Because while I’ve never really left the U.S., there’s always been this “walkabout” impulse. I probably got it from my mom, who as a single woman, lived in Tokyo immediately following WWII for some years, (and evidently spent enough time near Hiroshima to come home rather sick for more than a few months), and then in the 50s and 60s, literally traveled everywhere in this country where a train would go. I’ve pictures of her in D.C., at Gettysburg, Monticello, San Francisco, you name it.

In an era where being an independent woman was somewhat frowned upon, she was independent. Mind you, she never learned to drive. This was all public transit and trains.

My dad helped too, he’d been in Japan & Korea in the early 50s, trying not to die during a war, and getting into marvelous trouble in Japan on leaves and furloughs.

One of his better stories, one that fascinated me was about how he and his friends would go to a restaurant in either country, and just blindly order. Whoever got the ugliest dish paid. He thought he was safe when a friend got the squid. Until a WHOLE OCTOPUS, eyes and all, broiled in its own ink was placed in front of him.

That always seemed like the coolest thing: go to a restaurant you’ve never been and just order something. How cool a way to learn new food? Sometimes, you get the octopus, sometimes you get amazing malaysian food. Amazing wins over OMG WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT more than you might think. Food is a great introduction to different cultures.

As I’ve mentioned, I grew up in Miami. My family moved down in 1970, and I didn’t really leave until 1986, when I joined the Air Force. I was there for some shit. Mariel, Liberty City, Murder Capital of the world, Cocaine Cowboys, (I still can’t really watch “Scarface”. Because too much of that movie isn’t some gorefest story, it’s what was happening in my world. There’s not a lot of exaggeration there), all of it.

It’s easy to fall into the tropes. Miami’s a pit, it’s a crimefest, it’s nothing but Cubans. But that’s the saddest way to look at it. Because Miami showed me so many things. ¿Qué Pasa USA? Pastelitos. Pecadillo. A properly made Cuban sangwich. The smell of the wall of ovens baking Cuban bread in an Imperial Supermarket just off 8th Street and Salzedo. The bizarre joy that was the Bed Race. Goombay, where I discovered a host of carribean food and music. Tito Puente. Gloria Estefan before she was Gloria Estefan. Guava. Flan. Materva. The Red Room. The Kitchen. Coconut Grove when there were still more hippies than hipsters. The Friday night Hare Krishna Drum Party in Coconut Grove, where you’d have a hundred people dancing along with the Krishnas and they would just play their asses off. The guy who sold small crabs and palmetto bugs dipped in gold.

It’s actually hard for me to talk about Cuban Culture like it’s some separate thing, because I grew up in it. I’m not Cuban, not even close, but that culture was a part of my youth and my adolescence. It’s not “other people’s” culture. It’s a part of me as much as it can be. You grow up in Miami, your first concert is P-Funk, it’s hard to live in The Honkie Zone™.

Here’s an example of how it affected me. One day, after I’d gotten out of the Air Force, my boss takes me to a Cuban place in Pinellas Park, La Terecita. (AmazingCuban food, BTW.) The waitress seats us, sees we’re a table of superhonkies, and gives us menus. With the food in english. I literally had no idea what any of it was, because you order Cuban food in spanish. What the fuck other language even makes sense? So I ask the waitress, when she returns, “Is there a spanish menu? I don’t know what any of this is in English.”

She looks at me and asks “Where you from?” I tell her Miami, she laughs and says “Okay baby, let me get you the menu.” (If you know what a Cuban accent sounds like, then you get more of the picture.) She comes back with a Spanish one, aka a real one, and at last, I can order my Picadillo y maduros y Materva. Fuck me, english, what use is that?

You also never understand why people are puzzled at children drinking coffee, because you start kids on cafe con leche as soon as they’re off the tit. I mean it. Non-Miamians don’t really get how central Cuban coffee is to life down there. Water is minor, cafecitos are critical.

As a kid in Miami, this was my “community pool”, Venetian Pool. It’s an old limestone quarry converted to a pool. To be able to use the diving boards, you had to swim across the pool without stopping, watched by the lifeguards. That was what turned you from a little kid to a big kid. Swimming is a necessity, because half your elementary school field trips are to the beach. Yeah, yeah, education, starfish, the stingray shuffle. I’m still convinced it was how the teachers wangled free midday beach time. As they should.

Some places brag about how you can watch the sun rise and set over the ocean by just walking a few miles. In Miami, on the highway out to Key Biscayne, you could do that just by turning around. Then there’s Stiltsville, and a not-long drive away, things like Pennekamp and Key West. Along with treasures now gone, like Ocean World, and Miami Marine Stadium, where you could see unlimited hydroplanes, and watch concerts with the stoners on rafts in the middle.

I was also there for https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hurricane_Andrew. My biggest memory of that is just after the hurricane, when shit is still fucked up and Gloria Estefan, who unlike most celebrities, grew up in Miami, and is a hometown girl, holding a benefit in the Orange Bowl, to raise money to help folks out. It’s kind of fucked up, power is still wonky, she is a bit of a sweaty mess, (we all were), and yet there she is, singing “Coming Out of the Dark”, and somehow, everything was going to be okay. Gloria Estefan will always be okay in my book for that.

I don’t think you can grow up with my parents in that town and not look to the side every so often. Or all the time. And it helped me see, not just the bloody obvious truth, like the lives lived different of non-honkies in this country, but all the things.

Like driving between base and town in Grand Forks on highway 2, happy to be off early, (at 2am) and it’s one of those snowstorms where it’s not a blizzard, but the flakes are coming down big, wet and noisy. You can actually hear them hit, and as I come around a curve, there’s this explosion of light, and two two trucks pulling a semi out of the ditch. As Toccata & Fuge in D Minor is blasting in my Civic. Pipe organ version, of course. There is something perfect about that, along with Bach at 2am during another snowfall in the middle of nowhere.

Or another night, same highway, same time of day, only it’s summer, and there’s this flash of light and a roar I only hear because my windows are down, and as I look up, I see a metor blasting through the sky overhead, on fire, big trail of smoke. I pull right the fuck over because if it hits, fuck yeah, i’m gonna get a piece. (No, the obvious downsides didn’t occur to me, because ROCK FROM SPACE.) It burned up completely before it hit, but I got to see it.

You look to the side, and you find things. Like malaysian restuarants in Kansas City. Or how, in Biloxi, just outside of Keesler AFB, if you and your friends go to the same Chinese place enough, and keep ordering “something with beef, something with pork, something with chicken, and surprise us” enough, eventually the family that runs it starts making you the non-gweilo versions of things. Or that there’s a fantastic Dim Sum place not a half-block from the Moscone in S.F., an amazing cajun place in Knob Knoster, MO, and one of the best southern restaurants ever is near Binghampton, NY, (THEO’S4LYFE!)

You see things that other folks miss. Like a tango club performance in Union square, where the guy in his 70s is shaming all the younger men. Because he may be old and slow everywhere else, but he is the Tango grandmaster and the youngin’s best just step back, this is his show.

Walden Pond. It’s not just where Thoreau lived, (with lots of help from his friends. He may have wrote about self-reliance, but he was not so good at practicing it) it’s a place. It’s a swimmin’ hole. Kind of cold, but very beautiful, and a great place to take slow walks with friends. The whaling museum in Peabody. Realizing that on multiple occasions, a pre-fame/pre-Gaiman Amanda Palmer made you milkshakes and sundaes (and she was very good at it.)

You become best friends with everyone in a ten-meter radius at a crawfish festival, because you just can’t suck head, and so you give away heaping plates full of the nasty things to anyone within reach. For this, you get a lot of free beer. Some years later, at Bad Medicine Lake in MN, you gorge on the biggest crawfish you’ve ever seen, (LOBSTER-SIZED) because people up there think they’re gross, and the bottom of the lake is covered with them. It is totally worth the hypothermia you risk, and pissing off a plethora of plastered, pulchritudinous sorority sisters because if they reject crawdads, they can’t be worth your time.

You meet people who aren’t like you, and learn at a young age, just how full of shit you are, and maybe you should fix that. You pick up foul words in multiple languages, (profanity starts both fights and friendships. Often simultaneously.) You learn that the “stripper paying her way through college” isn’t just a trope, and she amazes you both with her pole work and her analysis of pre-Revolutionary War America.

You discover, if you’re open to it, that there are amazing people everywhere in all walks of life, doing all kinds of jobs you aren’t, and they are just fascinating. That there are former adult stars on Twitter who build amazing models of Star Wars ships from metal because that’s what they do, when they aren’t losing their minds over the San Jose Sharks or making beautiful art. They talk about their work too, and that’s even neat because you learn about the behind the scenes stuff. “Inside baseball” is fucking fascinating when it’s about porn. (Ed. note: this person checked out a few years ago. I genuinely miss her, and presence on Twitter.)

You learn that two authors you admire who have become friends have forgotten more about food and culture than you’ll ever know. You learn the history of Switzerland that’s about just how terrifying the Swiss are, “…I’m from Northern Ireland, I don’t do well with unannounced gunfire.”, and that a description of dinner eating between two members of old Russian Royalty can be far, far more…intense than any non-porn writing has a right to. (Seriously, hie thee to wherever you can find them, and read all of “Tales of Old Russia” by Peter Morwood. DESCRIPTIONS OF DINNER SHOULD NOT HAVE THAT EFFECT ON PEOPLE.)

Actually, if you see anything with either Peter or Diane Duane as authors or co-authors, just read it. Trust me on this.

It’s not hard to see the world as it is, good and bad, awesome and terrifying. You don’t even have to leave the country. You just have to look around every so often.

#movedoverfrommedium

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lilibug--xx · 7 years ago

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thankful for you, Bughead holiday fic (au-ish)

So! This is part 1 of a new series I'm writing, Bughead through the holidays 》》》 (merry everything and a happy always)

Starting with Thanksgiving! It's a bit belated, but I figure people will still be willing to read Bughead at Thanksgiving, even if the holiday has passed. And thank you to @bride-of-hobo for the headcanons of Jug's first Thanksgiving, I may have tweaked them a bit, but I hope you'll still enjoy! And @sweaters-and-crowns and @youbuildmeupbeliever for saying you wanted to read a fic like that, because it just inspired me.

Read on ao3, right here.

@strix, thanks for being my beta. I would be the puddle that everyone avoids without you.

Jughead had never had a real Thanksgiving before. So, being invited to the Cooper's was a special thing. He wasn't quite sure what to expect but he was willing to figure it out, even if it meant cooking all day with his girlfriend under the watchful eye of Alice.

Jughead had never had a real Thanksgiving before.

His parents (back when they were still together) had never been put together enough to prepare an actual celebratory meal. The one time they had tried to make something resembling a Thanksgiving dinner, it had turned into a disaster.

Gladys had never been much of a cook, FP was actually better of the two. But she was trying, at least — Jughead thought sadly. She had forgotten to let the turkey thaw though, not realizing it had been frozen like a rock before trying to cook it. The stuffing (yeah, the stove top kind) got burnt, the mashed potatoes tasted like the plastic container they came in, the green beans were still crunchy. The pumpkin pie Gladys had bought didn’t even see the table, it had gotten knocked off the counter during his parents screaming match.

He hated when his parents argued in front of his sister.

FP had stormed out the house, Jughead could still hear the slam of the screen door rattling the woodwork, leaving his mother to head back to her bedroom with tears in her eyes. They were each going to retreat to their own vices — drinking and chain smoking, respectively.

Jughead had looked at the small kitchen, a mess with pots and pans, then to his sister — JB had been only five-years-old at the time — and sighed. He made them peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with wonder bread, and they watched the re-run of the Thanksgiving day parade.

Later, when it was just him and FP at the trailer they ate frozen tv dinners with slices of turkey, that were basically lunch meat, covered in syrupy gravy. Last year at Thanksgiving he was still in between places — Archie’s, the trailer, the school, his foster parents. He was floating adrift with nothing to ground him.

So to be invited to the Cooper’s Thanksgiving this year, was making him nervous.

Of course, he had been to their house a thousand times, was familiar with Alice and Hal — but something about spending the holiday with them, felt special.

He didn’t want to mess this up.

When Betty had turned to him last week in the Blue and Gold office, Jughead was momentarily struck by how beautiful she was.

Her hair was up in a bun that day, not her typical curly ponytail. The sun was streaming in through the window, beams of light scattering perfectly through the waves of her golden hair. The Brightness of her cheek would shame those stars as daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven would through the airy region stream so bright that birds would sing, and think it were not night.

Jughead found Shakespeare to be quite inspiring. Somewhat begrudgingly, he admitted, if only to himself, he might be a romantic, after all.

Green eyes were sparkling at him and he realized her perfectly pink lips were moving — speaking.

“— to make them, so you’ll come over early, right?”

“Of course, Betts,” it didn’t really matter what he was agreeing to at this point, he would go anywhere with (and for) Betty Cooper.

“Great! Mom will be so excited. She has been wanting to teach me her pumpkin pie recipe for a while, and I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to have someone else to show, too.”

He couldn’t be sure, but he was about 95% positive he had just agreed to learn how to make a pumpkin pie with Alice Cooper. The thought simultaneously scared and made him extremely happy.

“Yeah, it’ll be... fun,” he grabbed her hand where it was tapping against the top of her laptop. Jughead squeezed gently, lacing their fingers together. The warmth of her smile making his stomach flip delightfully.

“I think it will. Cooking always takes all day, but it’ll worth it when we sit down to eat. Oh Juggie, you’re going to love my cranberry relish.”

The way her eyes lit up when she talked about the dishes they would be having made him want to smile. He could feel his stomach threatening to growl at her detailing the food.

“You don’t have to tease me Betty,” he said coyly, tilting his head and dropping her hand to start working on his article again.

“Juggie,” she chastised, her tongue clicking against the roof of her mouth, smile widening. “Just wait till you see the other dessert choices.”

He had choices?

Am I in earth, in heaven, or in hell? Sleeping or waking? Mad or well-advised?… Maybe he needed to stop reading Shakespeare so late at night.

Jughead had never been to a real Thanksgiving before, but he was glad he had a chance now.

“You’re going to kill me.”

Betty laughed at him, her pretty pink lips turning up into a wider smile. “That is inherently audacious, Juggie.”

Running his hand through his hair, Jughead pulled his beanie on. He looked at himself in the mirror, running his fingers over the edge of his jaw. He had started shaving recently, despite the serious lack of stubble he had. He leaned back satisfied, dropping his hands to the edge of the sink. Dressed in a dark green cable knit sweater and his best pair of jeans, he thought he looked okay. He would forgo the suspenders and flannel today, but couldn’t lose the beanie around Betty’s family just yet.

Blue eyes glanced down to his phone resting on the sink, a message from Betty popping up. He was reminded of the time then, a quarter to ten. Jughead replied to Betty, letting her know he was leaving.

He took one more look in the mirror before turning and heading out of the trailer, sliding his boots on and grabbing his denim jacket.

The air was chilly, but the sun was already shining brightly and casting a pleasant glow of warmth over the town of Riverdale. The layer of silvery, sparkly frost on the grass crunched under Jughead’s combat boots as he walked toward his motorcycle.

His father had all but given it to him last year after everything that had happened with the Jason Blossom murder case, FP’s arrest, and Fred getting shot. Jughead needed a reliable way to get around and learning to ride his dad’s motorcycle had been easier than the truck at the time.

Now, with things back to some semblance of (semi) normal, it had gone unspoken that he would continue riding the bike. Jughead kind of liked it, to be honest, so he didn’t mind.

His favorite part of having the motorcycle was when Betty would ride with him — her arms encircled his waist tightly, her chest pressed against his back, her thighs cradling his. Jughead loved her little intakes of breath against his neck whenever they turned a corner, perhaps a little too sharply.

Pulling on the helmet he always made Betty wear, he strapped it under his chin. He swung his leg over the bike, starting it up and settling down in the seat. Looking over at the trailer, Jughead thought of FP, still asleep on the couch. He had pried the half-full beer bottle from FP’s hand and poured the rest down the sink.

Jughead’s lips were turned down into a frown and he had to shake his head to stop this from souring his mood. Today was going to be a good day.

Kicking off from the ground, Jughead enjoyed the chilly air against his face as he rode to the Cooper’s. It was a short ride, considering Riverdale wasn’t huge, about 10 minutes, before he was parking his bike in front of a big white house in a perfectly quaint neighborhood. He looked next door briefly, wondering when Archie was going to be going to Veronica’s.

He imagined the Lodge’s had someone that cooked their meal for them, so Archie probably wasn’t going to be spending all day cooking with his girlfriend, like Jughead was. But, he was actually excited for this.

Spending time with Betty was perhaps his favorite thing to do. This would be a new experience, some domesticity to their lives they hadn’t had before. A hopefully, pleasant memory with which to associate Thanksgiving with from now on.

As Jughead was walking up the sidewalk, the front door of the house opened.

Betty was bounding through the doorway and down the steps. He barely had time to admire the soft lavender lace dress, or her bare legs before she was jumping into his outstretched arms — helmet falling from his fingers into the grass as he wrapped his arms around Betty’s waist, twirling with her in his arms.

Her face was buried in his neck, Jughead felt her warm lips and hot breath breathing fast against his skin. He tightened his arms around her waist, squeezing her to him and enjoying her warmth soaking through his wind-chilled clothes.

“Juggie, I missed you,” her quiet voice at his ear made his insides melt.

He chuckled, setting her down on her feet. Her arms looped around his neck, and he kept his about her waist. Jughead admired the delicate curl to her golden hair, her rosy cheeks, and bright smile.

“You just saw me yesterday, Betty.”

Not that he didn’t miss her, too — he did. But he liked it when she was a little cross with him. The fire in her eyes lighting his heart aflame.

She tilted her head at him, pinching the skin at the back of his neck lightly. “That was at school, Jug.”

“Ah, I see where you’re going with this.”

Betty raised a brow expectantly. “You do?”

Instead of answering her he dipped his head down, capturing her lips against his. Their eyes fluttered closed, and Jughead pulled his girlfriend in closer against him. He brought one hand up to cup Betty’s cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing against her smooth skin.

Her warm lips against his own cold, chapped ones, was a pleasant thing. Jughead couldn’t help the sigh into her mouth, his hand fisting in the material of her dress at her waist. Tilting his head, he pressed his lips against Betty’s with ardent fervor, soaking in her warmth.

Her hands had slipped underneath his beanie, fingers tugging gently on his hair. Jughead licked the seam of Betty’s lips before he nipped at her bottom one. She parted her lips at his insistence, their kiss turning hot with their breath clouding the air around them.

Betty pulled back from him, leaving their foreheads pressed together. “Juggie, we have to go inside…” She murmured against his lips and he wanted to pout.

Thinking of the flash of skin he saw of her legs before they wrapped themselves around each other, and the thin material of her dress, Jughead relented.

He let Betty drag him up the stairs after one more peck to her lips, with a sullen smile. He left the helmet in the grass, thinking absently, that it would still be there later.

Once inside, Betty prompted him to remove his boots and he did. Noting that when Betty toed off her tasseled slippers that she was wearing a pair of socks with Christmas trees decorating them. He wanted to roll his eyes at his girlfriend's enthusiasm, considering the current holiday was still in process.

Of course, he already had a Christmas present picked out for Betty, but that was beside the point.

Jughead let her guide him into the kitchen after passing and greeting Hal who was in the living room, the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade on the tv.

“Mom, Jug is finally here,” Betty sounded out of breath and mostly excited, her hand squeezing his before she dropped it and walked toward the pantry.

“Good morning, Jughead. Happy Thanksgiving,” Alice had turned around from where she was washing celery at the sink, a genuine smile on her face. It made him pause, not used to seeing her like this. He gave a little wave with a flick of his wrist, digging his other hand in the pocket of his jeans. Jughead’s eyes passed over her pleated skirt and sweater, wondering how in the world his girlfriend’s mother could possibly stand and cook all day in the high heels she was currently wearing.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Mrs. Cooper.”

“Now, Jughead. How many times do I have to tell you — call me Alice, please.”

He grimaced slightly. She had most certainly told him hundreds of times.

“Mom,” Betty gave her a pointed look from where she had returned with two aprons in hand. She threw a grey one to him, which he caught with an outstretched hand, and slung a maroon one around her neck. Jughead followed suit, pulling his around his neck and tying the strings behind his waist.

Betty pulled him to the kitchen table which was all set up with bowls, flour, a rolling pin — the works.

“We’re going to do the pie crusts first, then the pumpkin filling. Mom’s going to be working on the apple pie, too.”

Shit, Alice’s apple pie? She hadn’t made that since the fourth of July. Jughead’s mouth was already watering.

“Yeah, okay. Just show me what to do, boss.”

Betty smiled at him and pushed up the sleeves of her dress, exposing slim wrists. Jughead glanced at the skin of her arms, noting that she never did seem to wear jewelry on her wrists, before doing to the same to his sweater.

“Alright, so pie crust is pretty simple. It’s just flour, salt, butter, shortening, and water. It’s in the combination that makes it good, so…”

Listening attentively to Betty, Jughead learned how to make a pie crust. It was not without staring longingly at her whenever she would go off on a tangent or story, or without pretending not to know what to do so Betty would stop and show him again. Her soft voice doling out instructions that he sometimes ignored in favor of throwing a pinch of flour at her — which ended twice in Alice telling them there would be no “canoodling" in her kitchen.

So, when they had managed to roll out four perfectly acceptable pie crusts, Alice had rewarded them with a handful of marshmallows from the bag set aside for the sweet potatoes.

Jughead shoved his all in his mouth at once (of course) while Betty chewed hers carefully, letting them melt on her tongue. He managed to sneak away a couple from her palm, her swatting his arm away not a deterrent factor in the slightest.

They watched Alice, who had cored, peeled, and sliced a bowl full of apples while they had been making the crust, mix the apples with cinnamon, brown sugar, nutmeg, a bit of salt and some flour. She then made short work of one the crusts, cutting and shaping it into a lattice work of art.

Both Jughead and Betty watched the rapt attention and suddenly Alice was looking up at them expectantly. Jughead felt flustered, straightening up his slouching posture over the chair he was leaning against while Betty folded her hands primly in front of her.

Alice looked to the pan she had lined with one of the crusts, then to her bowl of apples. “Now, I’ll let you two in on a little secret. I add a bit of pumpkin pie spice to the apples, that gives them a little extra kick, and then I use maple syrup to round it out.”

Jughead nodded, watching as she used the can of spice liberally on the apples. Alice had actually turned it upside down to get the last of it out. “There we go,” she piled the apples into the pan, topping them with the syrup. Jughead watched her fingers assemble the top crust.

He had decided that bakers were like artists. Or maybe akin to chemists, was a more apt term.

Next was the pumpkin pies. Jughead and Betty took the two remaining crusts and worked together to place them in their pie pans and flute (he had learned when Alice explained that presentation was key) the edges.

When they were scooping pumpkin out of the cans, Betty begged him not to try a bite of the unsweetened stuff. But Jughead swiped a finger on the edge of the empty can and stuck it in his mouth anyway.

He made a face, wrinkling up his nose as he processed the taste on his tongue. “This just ruined my whole Thanksgiving.”

Betty howled with laughter and Alice rolled her eyes at him, taking the empty cans and cleaning up after them as they worked on the mixture. Now, sweetened condensed milk he could get behind.

“Alright, enough you two. Now, go grab some more pumpkin pie spice and finish this up while I go put together some snacks for lunch.”

Alice waved them towards the pantry in the hall before turning back to the fridge. A hand grabbed his wrist, pulling sharply as Betty all but sprinted (quietly, might he add — he was impressed) toward the walk in cupboard. He had no choice but to follow behind her, trying not to slide in his socks against the hardwood floor.

“Betty what’s blown up your skirt —”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence as his breath left his body when Betty shoved him up against the shelves in the back of the pantry, the items rattling precariously. With wide eyes he stared down at Betty who had her hands bunched up in the front of his sweater, pushing her whole body against him as she licked her lips.

“I’ve been wanting to kiss you so badly, Juggie,” her breath was hot against his neck, her words sending a shiver down his spine.

Jughead wasn’t sure how to respond except to grab her face between his hands and tilt her head up to him, their lips clashing roughly. Betty relaxed immediately, the tension melting out of her in a rush, her hands releasing their hold on his sweater and sliding down the front of his chest until her fingers were peeking under the edge of his sweater and toying with the waist of his jeans.

Betty’s mouth was gentle but demanding and Jughead wanted to grin against her lips. He settled for sliding a hand from her cheek into her hair, tugging on the blonde strands and tilting her head back for him. Her lips parted and he slid his tongue against hers, finding the sweetness from the marshmallows still there. Jughead couldn’t help the need to pull Betty further into him, eliminate all the space between them and be closer closer closer.

He groaned against her mouth, their kiss turning heated and sloppy as they fought against each other. Suddenly, Betty’s hands were everywhere; sliding up his chest, dancing across his sides, raking her blunt nails down his back — and then Jughead was kissing her harder, deeper, with more fervent need that went beyond a hasty makeout session in a kitchen pantry.

Betty was pushing herself up on her tip-toes, fighting the angle of their height difference and gripping onto his shoulders for dear life. Jughead encircled his arms around her waist, pulling her up as she all but melted into his arms. Their breathing was ragged as they parted for air, their lips finding their way back to each other in their desperation for intimacy.

He loved when Betty bit his lower lip, pulling it into her mouth and sucking gently, like she was doing now. Jughead squeezed her waist gently, a hum of appreciation as he leaned back.

Something must have fallen off the shelf, because it hit the floor with a sound that was deafening in the small room filled with their harsh panting breaths. They had sprung apart, looking toward the door, finding the entry empty.

Jughead let out a snort, bending forward and putting his hands on his knees as Betty bit her lip, righting the way her dress had rucked up.

“Well, that was… interesting,” her breathless tone made his fingers itch for her again.

“I’ll say. Who knew cooking would get you so hot? I would have tried that years ago —”

“Juggie,” Betty’s warned. Her stern tone and hands on her hips stopped the words in his throat. Jughead grinned at her though, because it didn’t make it any less true.

“We should probably get back to the kitchen, make sure you’re mom doesn’t have an aneurysm.”

Betty looked towards the shelf with the spices, eyes scanning for the item they needed. Jughead stepped towards her, almost tripping over something on the floor. Looking down, he rolled his eyes.

Jughead bent down to grab the can, “I found it. This is what we knocked off in the midst of our passionate tryst,” he shook the can of pumpkin pie spice at her. Betty grabbed it out of his hands, her cheeks turning a pretty shade of pink.

She was looking at the can, turning it over in her hands. Then she was looking up at him, coyishly, eyes glittering in the low light.

“To be continued.”

Following after her, he wondered just what that implication meant, a trail of heat disappearing underneath the collar of his sweater. Jughead was trying not to think about anything beyond what was appropriate for when Alice was standing a few feet away and Hal not much further in the living room.

Closing his eyes and steeling himself, he adopted his slouchy posture and shuffled up to where Betty was measuring out the spice for the pumpkin pies. Finishing up, they slid them and the apple pie into the oven.

Betty tugged him back toward the kitchen table to sit and glanced at him, a smile at the corner of her lips. She turned back to where Alice had set a plate of cheeses, meats, and crackers in front of them.

Hal came in and loaded up a plate stopping to ask Jughead if he’d ever carved a turkey before.

“No sir, I’ve never really had a Thanksgiving with which to do so.”

The room got quiet then, even Polly who had been yawning, coming in after putting the twins down in their playpen in the living room.

Jughead was starting to sweat, he wanted nothing more than to slink down in his seat and disappear.

Hal clapped him on the shoulder, “Well, son, I’d be happy to show you.”

“That’s great, Hal. Between you and Fred, I’m sure Jughead will go home with some new Thanksgiving traditions,” Alice added, her hand patting his other shoulder.

Suddenly Jughead felt like his ribs were constraining his lungs, tightening around them in a vice — it was getting hard to breathe.

Betty grabbed his hand under the table, lacing their fingers together, squeezing. She leaned into his shoulder and Jughead leaned into her a bit. Taking a few calming breaths, he wiped his free hand on the thigh of jeans.

Jughead managed a smile back, “Thanks Mr. Cooper.”

“So Fred is coming over this year?” Betty asked, her other hand a comforting pressure on his thigh.

“Yes, since Archie is going to the Lodge’s and he didn’t want to impose over there, so, I invited him to eat with us again this year.”

Last year was fuzzy around this time since he and Betty had been broken up for a while. It was right before Jughead started living with his foster family on the Southside when FP was awaiting his formal court trial. A time he didn’t like thinking about.

“Well, that sounds nice. We need someone to help eat all this food,” Polly mentioned, gesturing to the array of ingredients still yet to be assembled on the counter.

Alice had pulled the turkey out of the oven to peak at it. The smell making his stomach grumble, so Jughead reached out for a slice of cheese on the snack plate and nibbling on it.

He leant forward, his lips hovering by Betty’s ear. “This is some gouda cheese,” he whispered.

Her crack of laughter made the other three members of her family stare at them quizzically, but Jughead just grinned.

Morning faded to afternoon and Jughead learned a surprising number of things. About how to make sweet potato casserole, green bean casserole, real mashed potatoes, macaroni and cheese, and deviled eggs. He mostly watched while Betty and Alice and occasionally Polly, did the cooking. Watching Betty make her cranberry relish was the best part, not because of the tart, sugary sweet smell and all the taste tests he got, but the look of concentration on her face and the way she would bite her lip when she was working.

Learning tidbits of Betty’s childhood was endearing, even though she kept complaining for her mom to stop talking. But Jughead was soaking it all in. He had heard some of the stories before, but he loved them all the same. His favorite was of Betty’s first ballet recital — the way Alice described Betty’s costume and her barely contained excitement only to falter onstage in fright. Polly had come out from backstage and danced with her sister through her part. They ended up getting a standing ovation, and thankfully Hal had the whole thing on video — Jughead would be seeking that out at some point.

Jughead did take a break from the kitchen to sit in the living room with the twins, Hal, and Fred who had come over early, pecan pie in hand. They tempted Jughead into a can of beer after a while and he sipped it warily, as if at any moment things were just going to swallow him up and ruin this perfect day.

Soon enough, (after almost 8 hours of cooking) they were setting the table with the Cooper’s special occasion fancy dinnerware set. Hal had called him into the kitchen afterwards and he handed him the electric knife, instructing Jughead in carving the turkey.

After a couple of tries, he got the hang of it. Fred was leaning against the counter, sipping another beer as he laid claim to big section of dark meat that Jughead had just cut. He felt Betty’s eyes on him from where she was carrying plates and bowls of the food they (okay, maybe not so much him, in particular) had slaved over all day. Once the platter was full, Hal stopped him, with plans to finish later.

Hal was separating parts of the turkey and spooning juice over the meat on the platter.

“You ever split the wishbone, Jughead?”

The question caught him off guard and he look to Fred, shaking his head. “Can’t say I have.”

Fred put down his beer and searched the turkey before producing a bone kind of shaped like a Y.

“So, two people grab each end,” he motioned for Jughead to grab the other side of the bone, and when he did, Fred continued, “and you each pull, after making a wish. Whoever gets the bigger piece is the one whose wish is granted.”

“Really? Seems like kind of a strange thing.”

“People have been doing it forever. Trust me, this is better than how they did it in the beginning. So, make your wish.”

Jughead thought this was kind of silly, as he didn’t believe in turkey bones having magical wish granting powers, but, he would humor Fred.

Thinking about what he wanted was kind of hard. There were so many things he could wish for. Deciding to be realistic and not completely selfish, a thought formed on the tip of his tongue. He murmured the words under his breath, locking eyes with Fred as the man nodded at him.

They each pulled on the bone, the snap coming quickly.

“Congrats, Jughead, you won your first wishbone,” Hal had clapped him on the shoulder and Jughead gave a little laugh.

Looking up to Fred, he shrugged his shoulders, “Beginners luck?”

“Just you wait till next year,” Fred pointed his small portion of bone at him, the smile on his face betraying his serious tone.

They laughed, all of them taking turns washing their hands at the sink before filing into the dining room with the last of the food.

Jughead was seated next to Betty, with Alice to his right, one the twins between them at the corner of the table. He glanced across to Fred who smiled at him.

“Alright, Hal, if you would say grace,” Alice gestured to the table, everyone turning to him.

“Right, everyone join hands.”

Jughead hesitated for a moment, but Betty’s hand slipped into his left one and Alice was holding her hand out expectantly toward him. He slipped his hand into the older woman’s, her smile a small comfort and her squeeze even moreso.

“As we bow our heads to pray, we give thanks on this day. From blessings small and big, for our families, and for our friends. We thank you for this wonderful day, for the food before us, and for this time we spend together. Let us not forget those who cannot be here with us today. We give our thanks for those in our hearts and the time we spent with them; and for those not as fortunate on this day. Amen.”

There was a chorus of “amen” and then a small round of applause as Hal looked proud before he rubbed his hands together, “Let’s eat.”

And eat they did.

Jughead was full before they even brought dessert out, but of course he had a small piece of each kind of pie. Three, there were three pies. Plus several types of cookies Alice had baked the day before.

Everyone was full of turkey. Polly had taken the twins upstairs to nap, with Hal and Fred following their example in the living room. Hal reclined in his chair and Fred stretched out on the couch. The football game on tv had just reached half-time, but the two men didn’t notice as they were both snoring.

Betty and Jughead had helped Alice clear the dining table, but then she was shooing them out.

“Go and nap like the others, watch tv, do something else. You two have been a big help today, you can take a break now.”

Betty had turned to Jughead, taking his hand in hers and pulling him from the kitchen without another word. Jughead barely had time to grab the sugar cookie he had been eyeing from the platter before they were running up the stairs.

They found themselves in Betty’s room. Jughead walked over to her bed, laying back on the pink floral bedspread he was rather familiar with. Hearing the lock on her door click into place had him struggling to swallow the last of his sugar cookie.

“Juggie…”

He had nervously swallowed several more times, the look she was fixing him with as she stalked from the door to the bed was making him nervous. Especially since her parents along with Fred were downstairs, while Polly and the twins were in the next room over.

“Betty…” Jughead mimicked her, voice not sounding nearly as confident as he would have liked.

“I’d like to continue from where we left off earlier,” her voice was pleasant and airy as she stepped between his legs. Her hands gripped his shoulders, sliding up to his neck. Betty knocked his beanie from his head, her fingers threading through his hair as she tilted his head back, forcing him to look up at her.

Jughead watched her green eyes tracking his face, the way she bit her lip and the flush coloring her cheeks. She bent down, their lips coming together in a kiss that tasted like Thanksgiving felt.

Bringing his hands up to her hips, Jughead pulled Betty to his lap, guiding her legs to rest on either side of him. He was kissing the hollow under her jaw now, as her hands roamed his back. Jughead slipped his hands under the lace of her dress, ghosting up her thighs until he had reached the edges of her underwear.

Stilling as Betty leant her cheek against his head, he wanted to laugh at the soft sound she just made.

“Did you just yawn?”

“Hmm, maybe?” her voice was sounding sleepy and soft, like it did when he knew she was tired. Rolling his eyes, Jughead pulled back from her, hands moving to her waist as he pulled her to sit in his lap.

“You wanna take a nap?” Jughead asked, watching as her eyes fluttered before closing fully, her head dipping into a nod.

“Alright, let’s lie down, baby.”

Scooting back against the bed, Jughead arranged them against her headboard. Betty’s head falling into his lap as she curled her legs up and murmured for him to play with her hair. Chuckling, he did as she asked (demanded, albeit sweetly).

Jughead supposed if he had to conjure a patronus charm he would think of this memory, of this day.

With Betty’s head in his lap as he leaned against her headboard, their eyes closed. He ran his fingers through her blonde hair, the curl having fallen out hours ago, leaving just subtle waves which his fingers glided through like silk. Betty’s soft hum of appreciation as she nuzzled her nose against his jean covered thigh, like music to his ears. Jughead couldn’t see her expression, with her turned body away from him, but he knew the soft, sleepy smile he loved was dancing across her face.

It had been a good day — a great day. Jughead would always remember the warmth that filled his heart, spilling out and onto his face as Betty and Alice grabbed one of his hands in theirs and they said grace before their meal. The food was great, but it wasn’t what he was thankful for.

Jughead was thankful for lots of things this year, but most of all, he was thankful to have Betty. She was the light of his life, leading him from a path of darkness he had been destined to follow.

As long as he had her, he would have a home; and that was exactly what he had wished when he snapped the wishbone.

fin

#bughead #bughead fanfiction #bughead fandom #betty x jughead #jughead jones #betty cooper #jughead x betty #riverdale fanfiction #bughead fic #bughead fam #Holiday fic #tumblr prompt #Fanfiction #ao3fic #bughead thanksgiving

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luisprada · 7 years ago

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The Most Boring Summer Ever (or, How To Set Your Arm On Fire In 5 Easy Steps)

I wish there were still a bold line separating summer and the rest of the year. School used to go on seemingly without end until one day it just stopped and an extended months-long playtime began. Now summers camouflage into the rest of the year in one large blob of work and responsibility where, in the middle, my inner thighs get sweatier than usual.

No obligations and hardly any adult supervision laid the groundwork for a period devoid of the downers that taint adulthood. Even then, I knew how rare those days of bliss were. Those months satisfied the need for adventure and fun that the school year forced me to suppress. We rode bikes beyond the streets our parents told us we couldn’t cross. We swam during thunderstorms after they told us we’d get struck by lightning if we kept it up, which only made us do it more. We explored the spooky burnt down house at the end of the block. The dread of the looming school year crept as the calendar marched on to the final week of August when classes started up again. Those summers were about discovery, of myself and the world. I never wanted them to end.

They ended the summer I set my arm on fire. All that freedom shit I was romanticizing can, if you’re not careful, lead to being consumed by flames that were kindled by a mix of boredom and stupidity so toxic it requires a HAZMAT suit to approach.

Looking back on it, I don’t just see the moment I set my arm on fire as a single scene. I see the sequence of events that unfolded over months that led to it.

When I Decided Not To Attend Summer Camp

Boredom is a powerful tool that can lead to creative breakthroughs maybe 2% of the time. The other 98% is guys laughing as they punch each other’s dicks after having exhausted all other entertainment resources. If not for camps, my summers would have been slogs I’d use to later become either a creative genius or a supervillain with a volcano base.

Unlike in movies where kids returned to the same camp every summer, the camps I attended changed every year depending on what my friends and I were into. I begged my mom to pull me out of a Boy Scout camp halfway through. I’m not a fan of Mother Nature’s severe lack of TVs, especially when this camp’s idea of wilderness was a park with 10 trees in the middle of a residential neighborhood across the street from a Best Buy and a Taco Bell. I was in a roller hockey camp where every day I and fellow campers donned all of our pads in the sweltering heat of summer to play a game of chicken against heat-induced delirium. It was like if child abuse was fun for the child. I was in another where we went on field trips every day. Mondays we went to a spring water pool in a beautiful local coral quarry. We bowled on Tuesday, went to an arcade on Wednesdays, and so on. It explains why, for a small stretch in my life, I thought we were rich. The illusion of wealth was shattered the day my mom couldn’t afford the camp fees anymore, which I found out minutes before I hopped on the bus for our weekly laser tag game. I was shuttled off to hang out with the rest of the kids who couldn’t afford the Premium Platinum Plus Executive Level summer camp experience. I got into a 4-on-1 fight within the first hour. Those kids were animals.

By the time I hit middle school, I felt I’d outgrown camps. I was fast approaching adulthood. I should be getting a head start on being a listless loser with no future who sits around all day while his friends are actually doing something with their lives. Rather than spend another summer socializing in the sun, I figured I’d take the first steps into maturity by spending this summer the same way I use any brief instance of free time I manage to scrounge up as an adult – doing as little as humanly possible and basking in every glorious second of it.

When My Family Thought It Wise To Have A Candy Bowl of Lighters In Our Home

My home was a smoker’s paradise. Not a school year went by where at least one teacher or classmate who caught a whiff of me as I walked by didn’t ask if I had been running an illegal gambling ring out of a basement. In fourth grade, a classmate asked if I smoked cigarettes after catching an intense smoky whiff of my Sesame Street book bag. What a dumb question. How did he not notice me enjoying a couple smokes under the monkey bars every day during playtime?

My mom smoked one cigarette a day, just one to unwind after work. My aunt would pop in and out to snatch a smoke at odd intervals like she was an audience favorite sitcom character who’d have to wait for the applause to die down before she delivered her first line. My grandfather knew he was impervious to the Grim Reaper’s touch, so he’d chain smoke to rub Death’s futility in his bony face. To accommodate the smokers, there was always a candy dish filled with lighters and matchboxes somewhere around the house.

I wandered the apartment that summer struggling to find the reason I left the camp life behind. The desire to spend your free time relaxing at home rarely takes into account how little there is to do at home, especially on a weekday. Daytime TV was all soap operas and judge shows. I still can’t watch them without feeling like I’m in a waiting room about to get my braces tightened. I couldn’t rely on my Sega Genesis since the only games I had were Sonic Spinball, where the fusion of Sonic the Hedgehog and pinball into a punny title was the game’s only redeeming quality, and Math Blasters, a game I will never forgive for trying to trick me into liking math. The excitement the technological toys lacked I found in the primitive destructive powers of fire, which could be created with any number of the lighters and matchbooks lying around.

I improvised little fire-based games, like “Melt Plastic Sandwich Bags” where you won by melting clear plastic sandwich bags while trying to not boil my flesh or pass out from the fumes. Another fun one was “Let’s Burn Wooden Kebob Skewers For No Reason.” I was undefeated. Both of these eventually gave birth to a third game called “Try To Hide Signs of My Pyromania From Mom,” which I never won. The lighters were just sitting there, begging me to figure out how to use them to kill time and possibly myself and everyone in the building.

When I Shoplifted A Knock-Off Zippo Lighter From Spencer Gifts

When the boredom became too much to bear, which happened after I ran out of things to set on fire, I’d walk a few blocks to a local mall. I’d make routine stops at Electronics Boutique to gawk at all the non-Math Blasters games I couldn’t afford and then at Sharper Image to sit and groan with sensual pleasure in the massage chair until I was asked to leave. I’d circle the food court collecting free samples of chicken slathered in the traditional sugary chicken sauces of mysterious far-off lands.

No trip was complete without a visit to the Spencer Gifts hidden in the dark corridor at the ass end of the mall. All malls are required by federal law to have at least one Spencer Gifts or be heavily fined. It’s a loadbearing store. Spencer Gifts is where people with bad taste make a pilgrimage to stock up on fake dog poop, edible underwear, and novelty shot glasses emblazoned with fun slogans celebrating alcoholism. Today, it’s mostly filled with people deciding if they should buy a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles snapback flatbrim hat or pay their bills. The placement of this particular Spencer Gifts suggested it was this mall’s greatest shame. In my memory, it looks like the kind of place you suspect launders money for a local crime syndicate. Part of the proceeds of every glow-in-the-dark Jimi Hendrix poster went to buying off a couple cops and a City Councilman.

It was there that I saw it, the object that would save my summer: a knock-off Zippo lighter with a picture of a woman’s ass with a black thong running up the crack. Since anything that could be even vaguely described as porn was hard to come by for at least another year until I finally had internet, anything that showed off a woman’s body was a holy relic worth sacrificing my life to obtain and protect. One day between classes in middle school, some classmates and I came across an issue of Hustler lying on the grass out in the open. There was a woman showing off her vagina right there. How did no one else see this? Were we dehydrated wanderers being deceived by a mirage? We pounced on it at the same time and tried wrestling it from each other’s grasp, titties and pubes flying everywhere. We had to fight for our porn then. There’s only so much scrambled cable TV porn that looks like people are fucking in a Dali painting that a pubescent boy can take. One clear picture of a naughty part is all we asked for, and this knock-off Zippo with a thonged ass delivered that and fire. I was a budding pyromaniac in the throes of puberty and I kind of wanted to have sex with this lighter. But I had no money. The only way to make this truly terrible lighter mine was to steal it.

I cased the joint in the days leading up to the big heist. Their security system was no more than the bored guy in his early 20s working the cash register and hoping he’s not this store’s manager by the time he’s in his early 30s. There wasn’t a camera in sight. No scanners at the entrance. This wasn’t the Ocean’s 11 Bellagio heist. I grabbed it and headed over to the rear corner of the store, as far away from the register as I could get with plenty of aisles and novelty piggy banks shaped like boobs between me and the sole employee. I ripped open the packaging and slid it into my pocket. I probably could’ve told the cashier I was taking it and that he wouldn’t have broken his thousand-yard stare into the void of boredom enough to stop me. But in the moment my heart was racing, my temples were sweating, and my veins were pumping with enough adrenaline to lift an excavator off a baby if need be.

I walked home with the butt lighter in my pocket, terrified, thinking a squadron of waddling mall cops would be hot on my tail. I relaxed when I stepped into my apartment, and more so when I entered my bedroom. I had made it. The knock-off Zippo with a woman’s thonged butt was mine. My boring summer was about to become legendary.

All of this was the beginning of my brief but prolific career as a petty shoplifter. My youthful dabbling in criminality would come to an abrupt and fitting end a few years later when I got caught stealing Sonic Adventure for the Sega Dreamcast from a Target a block from home. When I die, the Grim Reaper will visit me in the form of Sonic the Hedgehog and together we will loop-to-loop over spike pits into the Great Beyond.

When I Ignored My Own Really Good Advice

I’d spent all summer searching for meaning in the boredom. I almost found it in the bowls filled with lighters, and again in the melted sandwich bags, but I wound up having to steal it from a Spencer Gifts. The lighter was the reason I left summer camps behind. It was the discovery of self at the end of a spirit quest. More than anything, it let me set things on fire with a butt.

When I wasn’t fiddling with it, it was never more than an arm’s length away. I’d spark it again and again, so often that I’d go through a bottle of lighter fluid every couple weeks. The cheap plastic gas station lighters in the candy bowls were functionally identical to the butt lighter, except the butt lighter had meaning. I earned the butt lighter. Each flame burned as hot as my desperation to not be so fucking bored because I made the horrible mistake of not going to summer camp. The flame, with its mysterious alluring powers to ruin and purify, became my Savior, and because of it I now totally understand how religion got started in the first place.

One day, I sparked the flint and it wasn’t followed by a flame. Out of fluid. No worries, though – I had some hidden away in my bedroom desk. Zippo-style lighters don’t have an enclosed inner chamber like cheap plastic gas station lighters. They’re filled with cotton stuffing that keeps the wick moist with absorbed lighter fluid. I slid the fluid tank from its casing and flipped it upside down to expose the cotton over the kitchen sink. The stuffing is so absorbent it can be hard to tell when it’s filled. The time between when the fluid peaks over the top of the cotton and when it’s dribbling down your forearm is roughly the same as a single flap of hummingbird’s wings or the length of my attention span. I got lost in thought and the fluid overflowed. It ran down my left forearm, streaming down my elbow. I knew the muscle memory wanted me to give the flint a flick after sliding the tank back in its casing, so I over-prepared by repeating a single mantra to prevent a worst-case scenario:

“DON’T SPARK THE LIGHTER!”

It echoed in my brain. It was my only thought.

“DON’T SPARK THE LIGHTER!”

When I Sparked The Lighter

As I watched the flames race up my left pinky to my elbow in an instant while making that dramatic “WOO-UUF!” sound fire makes in movies (which I can assure you is the sound it actually makes), I remember thinking, “Well, see, now this is pretty rad.” A second later I went into the customary “I’m on fire” panic, but not before I took a second to appreciate how, despite the horror, being on fire makes you feel pretty fucking metal. I wouldn’t suggest it to spice up a dull evening at home or an uneventful cocktail party, but it is a nice change of pace that can liven things up a little.

Stop, Drop, and Roll is an easy to remember tip that could save your life if you’re ever on fire, assuming you remember it. But being on fire really screws with your priorities. So I did not Stop, Drop, and Roll. Instead, I just went with the flow and did whatever my spirit told me to. My spirit was telling me to wave my arm around and scream. It wasn’t really helpful, but it felt right. That’s what really matters when you’re on fire.

The screaming wasn’t from the pain. It was from the shock of being engulfed by flame. I don’t remember the pain. Being on fire is a spectacle just uncommon enough in real life that it only makes sense in a movie, where the hero barbecues a henchman with a flamethrower who flails around screaming before leaping out of a window to splat on the street to end the pain. Something heroic like that. You don’t imagine setting yourself on fire in your kitchen on a Tuesday afternoon. I may have felt pain in the moment, but I was too distracted by being on fire to feel it, if that makes sense.

Something I’ve always marveled at is how, in a moment of desperation, the ghostly spirit of instinct will possess your body to guide it to safety. While my eyes and most sections of my brain were busy trying to comprehend how part of me was on fire, instinct launched my right hand over to the knob on the sink. I twisted the faucet open with a swift spin. In one fluid swipe, my left arm cut through the stream. The momentum swung water spotted with the black ashes of my arm hair across the counter to my right.

The fire was out.

The little wisps of burnt hair smoke I inhaled trying to catch my breath made me want to vomit. There was a defining line of forearm hair that had been scorched away. Hair, hair, ha—BALD. The few hairs that remained had singed tips that smeared into dust. I caught my breath then wiped down the counter. I lit an incense to mask the unmistakable funk of burning me. I pieced the lighter back together and sparked it again.

Yep. It worked.

The hinge on the lighter top snapped off a couple months later. I never used it again. I kept it in my desk for a few years longer as a memento of that time a woman’s ass set me on fire. I didn’t go back to camp the following summer, or ever again. My instinct was right. I had outgrown summer camp. I had chosen the worst way to end that chapter of my life. I hung out with friends and generally tried to spend more time away from places I could accidentally self-immolate in a fit of boredom.

Summer came to a well-earned end a couple weeks later. The hair on my arm had mostly grown back by the time I stepped foot into homeroom for the first time. I didn’t let the lingering summer heat stop me from wearing long-sleeved shirts to hide my arm stubble.

Most school years began with dread. Not this one. For the first and only time in my life, I couldn’t wait to go back. I hated school like it murdered my family and only kept attending so I could destroy it from the inside, but at least it wasn’t so boring that I had to set myself on fire to make it interesting.

#summer #fire #lighter #butt #summer camp

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yuckitup-jwd · 5 years ago

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Fulldeckisms Part 3

One shot short of a chain. (Shot is a section of anchor chain.)

One shot short of a locker. (Shot is ammunition; a locker iswhere it's stored.)

One shrimp short of a barbie.

One side short of a pentagon.

One signature short of a book.

One slate short of a full roof.

One sleeve/button short of a shirt.

One snowflake short of a ski slope.

One sock short of a pair.

One song short of a musical.

One span short of a bridge.

One spoon short of a full set.

One steering wheel / bolt short of a Yugo.

One step short of the attic.

One stick short of a bundle.

One straw short of a bale.

One strawberry short of a quart.

One strike past being called out.

One sub short of a party platter.

One taco/enchilada/chalupa short of a combination/Mexican plate.

One teabag short of a pot.

One tilde short of a full URL.

One tile missing from his space shuttle.

One tile short of a successful re-entry.

One too many lights out in his Christmas tree.

One too many rides on the Zipper.

One tower short of a castle.

One tree short of a hammock.

One vine short of the tree. (For Tarzan types.)

One volt below threshold.

One weight short of a shipwreck.

One word short of a.

One yard short of the hole.

Only occasionally wets himself under pressure.

Only one oar in the water.

Only opens his mouth to change feet.

Only playing with 51 cards.

Only playing with the jokers.

Operating in stand-by mode.

Organizationally impaired.

Ought to have a warning label on his forehead.

Out of his depth in a parking lot puddle.

Out there where the buses don't run.

Outlet isn't grounded.

Over the rainbow.

Overdue for reincarnation.

Overruns above 110 baud.

Paged/swapped out.

Parallel mind, serial world.

Parallel world, serial mind.

Paralyzed from the neck up.

Parents beat him with an ugly stick.

Parked his head and forgot where he left it.

Pedaling real fast, but not getting anywhere.

People around her are at risk of second hand idiocy.

Perfect chassis, bad driver.

Perfect face for Halloween.

Perfect percussionist for an acapella group (duh, duh, duh...)

Perfect training subject for apprentice hypnotists.

Permanently out to lunch.

Permanently rotated 90 degrees from the rest of us.

Phototrophic on a better day.

Pins 2 and 3 (RS-232) permanently connected to ground.

Playing an endgame with a king and no other pieces.

Playing baseball with a rubber bat.

Playing hockey with a warped puck.

Playing Scrabble, but we can't figure out what words he's building.

Plays pinochle with a poker deck.

Plays solitaire... For cash.

Plays tennis with no net and finds it challenging.

Plenty of myelin but not enough neurons.

Plenty of salt in the shaker, but no holes in the cap.

Posts empty articles to the Net, and enjoys rereading them later.

Prefers three left turns to one right turn.

Pressure's up, but there's a slow leak somewhere.

Pretty as 20 miles of bad road.

Produces a zero-length core dump.

Programmed into an infinite loop.

Proud of his lawn mower.

Psycho pneumatic. (Crazy air head.)

Put a lens in each ear and you've got a telescope.

Put on Earth to be an oxygen converter.

Puts a finger in his ear so the draft through his head isn't annoying.

Putting his brain on the edge of a razor blade would be likeputting a pea on a six lane highway.

Qualifies for the mental express line -- five thoughts orless. -- MacNelly

Quotes entire letters/articles as responses and hides her oneline of wisdom in the middle.

Racing fifty yards with a pregnant woman, he'd come in third.

Radio's playing but nobody's listening.

Reading from an empty/blank/unformatted disk.

Reads her newspaper back-to-front.

Reads Homer in the original Greek, but doesn't know Greek.

Ready to check in at the HaHa Hilton.

Ready to join the Anti-Mensa Society.

Receiver is off the hook.

Relatively three-dimensional, as fictional characters go.

Renewable energy source for hot air balloons.

Reposts this list when someone asks for it, but it's an old copy.

Requires retraining after every coffee break.

Reset line is glitching.

Result of a first cousin marriage.

Result of God's experiments to see if humans can functionwithout a brain.

Room for rent, unfurnished.

Roving target for a surface-to-idiot missile.

RS232C brain with a DIN connector.

Running at 300 baud.

Running lights are on but no one's at the helm.

Running on a 286.

Running open. (Old mechanical teletype term.)

Running U.S. appliances on British current.

Runs squares around the competition.

Rusty springs in the mousetrap.

S p a c e d o u t .

Sailboat fuel for brains.

Sailing with a short seabag / a few skivvies short of a seabag.(Contains all of a sailor's possessions including underwear.)

Sat under the ozone hole too long.

Says profound things but no one listens and no harm is done.

Seen it all, done it all, can't remember most of it.

Sending back packets, but the checksums are wrong.

Serving donuts on another planet.

Settled some during shipping and handling.

Seven cans short of a six-pack.

Seven seconds behind, and built to stay that way.

Several nuts over fruitcake minimum.

Sharp, like stone in river. Swift, like tree through forest.

She believes the three great lies.

She can piss standing up, but not much else.

She doesn't suffer from insanity; she enjoys every minute of it.

She fears success, but really has nothing to worry about. -- Thaves

She has reached rock bottom, and has started to dig.

She looks virtually real today.

She only packed half a sandwich.

She only schedules zombie processes.

She put the ding in dingbat.

She runs the gamut of emotions from A to B. -- Dorothy Parker

She sets low personal standards and then consistently fails them.

She sounds reasonable... Must be time to up my medication.

She stopped to think and forgot to start again.

She wears a pony tail to cover up the valve stem.

She worries about the calories licking stamps and envelopes.

She'll be just fine as soon as virtual reality arrives.

She's a screensaver. (Looks good, but useless.)

She's all thumbs.

She's as daft as a brush. (British)

She's running real fast, but toward the wrong goal line.

Shedding a little too much black light.

Short a few cards.

Short-circuited between the earphones.

Should be the poster child for family planning.

Should go far -- and the sooner he starts, the better.

Should have kept his helmet on while riding/playing.

Shouldn't be allowed to breed.

Shouldn't eat nuts -- for her, it's practically cannibalism.

Single-sided, low density.

Sings along with elevator music.

Sinking with a deck full of people; her brain cells can'tfind the lifeboats.

Sitting in the right pew, but the wrong church.

Six-packed seven times. (Volleyball slang: "Six-pack" is tospike someone in the head with a volleyball.)

Skating on the wrong side of the ice.

Skylight leaks a little.

Slept too close to his radium-dial watch.

Slinky's kinked.

Sloppy as a soup sandwich.

Slow as molasses in January.

Slow out of the gate.

Slower than a herd of turtles stampeding through peanut butter.

Smarter than the average bear.

Smoke doesn't make it to the top of his chimney.

So boring, his dreams have Muzak.

So clueless, he could BE God and still be an atheist.

So dim, his psychic carries a flashlight.

So dumb, blondes tell jokes about him.

So dumb, he faxes face up.

So dumb, he puts postage stamps on outgoing faxes.

So dumb, his dog teaches him tricks.

So far gone, hard drugs push him closer to normal.

So fat, people jump over him rather than go around.

So slow, he has to speed up to stop.

So slow, we drive stakes in the ground to measure his progress.

So stupid, he tries to drown fish.

So stupid, mind readers charge her half price.

So stupid, she doesn't go further than Thursday.

So thick, he sticks to pasta.

So ugly, robbers give him their masks to wear.

Sold his car for gas money.

Solid concrete from the eyebrows backwards.

Some Assembly Required.

Some bugs in his software.

Some drink from the fountain of knowledge, but he just gargled.

Some of her inodes have nodded off.

Some pages missing.

Somebody lend her a quarter to buy a clue.

Somebody put a stop payment order on his reality check.

Someday when she's younger, she'll ________.

Someone blew out his pilot light.

Someone else is doing the driving for that boy.

Someone forgot to plant the seed for his brain stem.

Someone let the air out of her lock.

Someone Reverend Spooner would have identified as a shining wit.

Sort of like an inverse Einstein.

Source code is missing a few lines.

Speaks math/FORTRAN better than English.

Spent a decade on the leading edge of drug experimentation.

Stares at frozen juice cans because they say, "concentrate".

Still boots to DOS.

Still sending messages with his secret decoder ring.

Still struggling up the evolutionary ladder.

Still traumatized from the forest fire in "Bambi".

Still trying to figure out opposable thumbs.

Stocksy-babes. (A truly vile British-slang insult.)

Strolling through life with one shoelace untied.

Strong, like bull. Smart, like tractor. Beautiful, like KV-2.(A WWII era Russian tank.)

Stuck on the down escalator of life.

Studied for a blood test -- and failed.

Stumped by anything child-proof.

Subtle as a well-thrown brick.

Subtle as a wet tongue in the ear / kiss from a cow.

Suffers from Clue Deficit Disorder.

Suffers from excessive headspace.

Suffers from link rot. (The process by which hypertext linksbecome obsolete as their sites change or die.)

Suffers from Paralysis by Analysis.

Suffers from permanent rapture of the deep. (Nitrogen narcosis.)

Supports nativist theories that man is formed from clay.

Surfing in Nebraska.

Surfing the Web with a hard-copy terminal. (Does anyoneremember those?)

Suspend switch is jumpered.

Swimming on a cold shot. (Inadequate ejection force for a torpedo.)

Switch is on, but no one's receiving.

Takes her 1.5 hours to watch "60 Minutes".

Takes her an hour to cook minute rice.

Takes his imagination out for a walk and ends up being draggedaround the block by it.

Talking with her is a career-limiting move.

Talking with him is a waste of good bandwidth.

Talks to plants on their own level.

Tall as a post and just as smart.

Team player... No chance he'll develop a personality on his own.

Technically sound, but socially impossible.

Teflon brain -- nothing sticks. -- Lilly Tomlin

Ten to the dozen.

The aliens forget to remove his anal probe.

The bark on her family tree actually involves canines.

The best part of him ran down his mother's legs. -- Jackie Gleason

The butter slipped off his noodle.

The cheese slid off his cracker.

The definitive answer is: Her glass is half empty.

The fan is working but the freon's leaked out.

The fire is going well, but the flue is closed.

The going got weird, and he turned pro.

The heater's plugged in but the rheostat's shot.

The march of his intellect is like that of a crab, backward.-- Peacock

The most rock-hard argument can crash through his airy head andcause only the slightest disturbance in the air currentsthat surround the void that comprises his knowledge.

The only place she's ever invited is outside.

The perfect personality to write software manuals.

The recesses of his mind are always in recess.

The result of years of careful inbreeding.

The sharpest thing he's allowed to play with is a red rubber ball.

The space between his ears powers vacuum pumps.

The spit valve's fallen off his trumpet again.

The twinkle in his eyes is actually the sun shining between his ears.

The two put together have an IQ over 150.

The wheel's spinning but the hamster's dead.

The world's foremost collector of ignorance.

Their family tree is a tumbleweed.

There are great people in the world, but she's not one of them.

There she sits, Finite State Automation at its best.

There's no ice cubes in THAT tray. -- Second City comedy troupe

There's nothing wrong with you that couldn't be cured witha little Prozac and a polo mallet. -- Woody Allen

They had to burn down the school to get her out of third grade.

They must have done a clean boot on him.

They never shut up on his planet.

Thick as a brick / whale omelette.

Thick as pig dung and twice as smelly.

Thinks "Private Enterprise" means owning a personal starship.

Thinks a permutation is a medical procedure.

Thinks at 5 baud.

Thinks cellular phones are carbon-based life forms.

Thinks Cheerios are doughnut seeds.

Thinks E=MC^2 is a rap star.

Thinks everyone else is entitled to his opinion, like it or not.

thinks in lower case & types accordingly

Thinks like a boar hog looks at a wristwatch.

Thinks male zebras are the ones with the black stripes.

Thinks Moby Dick is a kind of venereal disease.

Thinks Taco Bell is where you pay for your phone calls to Mexico.

Thirteen short of a dozen.

Three sigma off the norm.

Three-bag/coyote ugly. (Ask your mommy to explain.)

Throws his rod and reel off the bridge when casting.(I resemble that remark. -- editor)

Tight / waterproof as a fish's sphincter.

Tight as a bull's arse in fly season.

To make him laugh on Saturday, tell him a joke on Wednesday.

Tone arm is down but no music is playing.

Too dumb to be bothered when publicly displaying her ignorance.

Too dumb to know when you're getting smart / playing dumb with him.

Too many bad drugs, not enough good drugs.

Too many birds on her antenna.

Too many jokers and not enough aces in his deck.

Too many stop bits in his transmissions.

Too much yardage between the goal posts.

Too pointless to even be called a pinhead.

Top paddock is full of rocks.

Toys in the attic.

Train of thought derailed / still boarding at thestation / has no caboose.

Traveling faster than light, but left his sneakers behind.

Traveling without a passport/towel.

Tried welding two 2x4s together and burned down his house.

Tries to forward this list to some friends, but instead shipssix copies of it to the editor (groan).

Trips over cordless phones.

Truck can't haul a full load.

Truly believes "neural network" is a new Ted Turner enterprise.

Trying out for the javelin retrieval team.

Tuning in shortwave with a TV antenna.

Two bits short of a word/dollar.

Two degrees off square.

Two inches taller than spherical.

Types 120 words a minute but her keyboard isn't plugged in.

Uglier than a hat full of assholes. (Whatever that means.)

Ugly as a warthog and half as smart.

Unclear which of Newton's three laws of motion keeps his ears apart.

Understands English as well as any parrot.

Used to have a handle on life, but it broke.

Useful as dinosaur repellent.

Useful as passing gas in a spacesuit.

Useful as piss on a forest fire.

Useful as tits on a bullfrog / bull / boar-hog.

Uses all three functional neurons for his best work.

Uses AOL.

Uses his head best for rolling Easter eggs.

Uses his head to keep the rain out of his neck.

Uses thumbtacks to post notes -- on his refrigerator.

Uses two hands to eat with chopsticks.

Using a 1S-2D floppy for brains in a world of hard disks.

Vacancy on the top floor.

Vacuuming linoleum using a deep-pile setting. (Not pickingup anything.)

Vaginally challenged, and preoccupied with the problem.

Validates my inherent mistrust of strangers.

Vegitatum davenportae. (Couch potato.)

Vertically-fornicated mind.

Views mold as a higher life form.

Vowel-buyer. (As on the TV show Wheel of Fortune, when thesolution is already obvious.)

Waiting on a toaster that's not plugged in.

Warning: Objects in her mirror are dumber than they appear.

Warranty expired.

Was assimilated by the Borg.

Was born an acrobat but landed on his head.

Was born when the planets were misaligned.

Was first in line for brains, but ended up holding the door open.

Was left on the Tilt-A-Whirl a bit too long as a baby.

Was napping in the nut pile the day God was cracking nuts.

Wasn't abused as a child, but should have been.

Wasn't fully debugged before being released.

Wasn't strapped in during launch.

Watches "Beavis and Butthead" to learn vocabulary.

Watching programs not listed in TV Guide.

We're all missing cards from our decks -- and different cards, too.

We're all refreshed and challenged by her unique point of view.

Went in for repairs but wasn't tightened with a torque wrench.

Went to the dentist to have his cranial cavity filled.

Whatever kind of look she was going for, she missed.

When a thought crosses her mind, it's a long and lonely journey.

When God said, "Come forth for brains," he came fifth.

When he collects his thoughts, they fit in a verysmall container. -- Bob Thaves

When he was compiled they forgot to #include<smarts.h>/<iq.h>/<charm.h>.

When her window of opportunity opened, she had the shade drawn.

When opportunity knocked, she refused to open the door.

When she dances, she makes the band skip.

When she hauls ass, she has to make two trips.

When she puts on her lipstick, it keeps backing down the tube.-- Kevin Wilson

When she was born the doctor tried to kill her / slapped her mother.

When they handed out brains he got the short end of the stick / wasat the end of the line.

When they said "drain", he thought they said "brain".

Where it says, "Sign here", she writes, "Pisces".

While he was not dumber than an ox, he wasn't any smarter. -- Thurber

Whole lotta choppin', but no chips a flyin'.

Will never get a ticket for speeding.

Wise as the world is flat.

With one more neuron he'd have a synapse.

Won't eat eggs because he believes the "This is your brain" ads.

Works well when under constant supervision and corneredlike a rat in a trap.

Would make an excellent illustration in a proctology textbook.

Would need help to drool.

Would starve to death in a grocery store.

Wouldn't know a tram was up him if the conductor rang hisbell. (Australian)

Wouldn't know ore if it jumped out of the stope and bithim on the ass. (Said of mineral prospectors.)

Wouldn't make any sense if she ever made sense.

Wouldn't recognize a clue if he saw one / you showed himone (labelled "clue").

Wouldn't shout if a shark bit him. (Australianism meaning hewon't buy a round of drinks (shout) in turn.)

You can hardly tell that he's a simulation.

Zero K memory.

#fulldeckisms #nerdjokes #personalityjokes

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