#slow hands by neil whatever his name is

[mostlymaudlin]

would you still love me if i was a worm?

ive always wanted to manufacture a situation where andrew gets to ask neil this bc i just think he deserves to be a ridiculous bf who seeks validation in silly, petty ways <3 and i think I’ve finally got something — it’s def silly but that’s the point lmfao

Andrew wakes when Neil gets up to pee.

“Sorry,” Neil whispers, brushing his knuckles against the back of Andrew’s hand as he slips out of their bed.

Andrew doesn’t bother trying to fall back asleep immediately. He’ll just wake up again when Neil returns. Instead, he pulls his phone from under the pillow and scrolls through iFunny, staring blearily at memes that do not live up to the app’s name and fighting sleep.

By the time Neil gets back, Andrew has lost the ability to move his heavy thumb, his eyes drooping as he stares at a pixelated screenshot of a screenshot of a Tweet posted to Facebook. Neil takes the phone out of his lax grip, turning off the screen and shoving it back under the pillows.

“Go to sleep,” Neil whispers. Andrew opens one eye to glare at him. He would still be sleeping if Neil hadn’t chugged a whole can of seltzer water right before bed and damned them both. Unfortunately for Andrew, the act of looking at Neil in his rumpled, tired state only makes his chest go tight in that angry, riotous way that only Neil can inspire in him. He shifts closer to Neil, pushing at his shoulder until Neil gets the message and rolls onto his side. Andrew presses up against Neil’s back, shoving his face into his bedhead and inhaling deeply. One arm wraps tightly around Neil’s waist, the other wiggles underneath the pillow they now share. Andrew throws a knee over Neil’s thigh for good measure. Neil sighs happily, resting his palm over the back of Andrew’s hand where it rests on his chest.

The lure of sleep threatens to pull him back under, but the meme he’d been staring at is still burned into the backs of his eyelids.

“Hey,” Andrew murmurs into Neil’s hair. Neil hums in acknowledgment. “Would you still love me if I was a worm?”

Neil stiffens for a second, and it takes a beat for Andrew to register that they don’t really use that word. They talked about it once, a few years ago. Neither of them have anything against it, but agreed it felt shallow. Andrew thinks the word sometimes, when his brain is too lazy to be specific about what exactly Neil stirs in him. It doesn’t really matter. It’s just a word. He presses a kiss to Neil’s shoulder, and Neil relaxes immediately.

“I don’t know,” Neil says. “Why would you be a worm? How would I even know who you were?”

“You’re supposed to say yes,” Andrew says, squeezing in reprimand. “That your feelings for me transcend species.”

“Okay, well, mine don’t,” Neil says. “Worms are gross.”

In a flash of irritation, Andrew releases Neil and rolls back to his own side of the bed.

“Andrew,” Neil says, sitting up. “You can’t seriously be upset about this.”

“I can do whatever I want,” Andrew says.

“I mean, yeah,” Neil says, interrupted by a yawn. “But you’re not a worm. And I do love you.”

Andrew wrinkles his nose, flopping onto his back. “That’s gross.”

Neil huffs. He reaches a hand toward Andrew, waiting for Andrew to roll his eyes and nod before running his fingers through Andrew’s hair.

“It’s true,” Neil says. “And also based on reality.”

“Whatever,” Andrew says, he catches Neil’s wrist and tugs. “Come here.”

They resume their earlier position. When they finally settle, the slow, steady rhythm of Neil’s chest rising and falling has Andrew’s consciousness slipping. He jolts a bit when Neil speaks again.

“Would you love me if I was a worm?”

“Yes,” Andrew says, even though Neil is so annoying that Andrew should squeeze him until he pops.

“What would that even look like?” Neil asks. “Would you kiss my worm body?”

“I’d put you in a little worm enclosure,” Andrew murmurs, eyes closed. “I’d get you good worm food and toys, and keep you in a room where you could see Exy games on TV.“

“Oh,” Neil says. “That’s really nice, actually.”

“Mmhmmm.”

“I’d do that too,” Neil says, yawning again. “But different. I’ll think about it more tomorrow.”

Andrew doesn’t really care anymore. He’s warm, and he’s human, he’s holding a warm and human Neil. Sleep finally pulls him back under.

[ninyard]

Maybe one way to do the Nathaniel/Neil thing would be to have him hearing everyone calling him Nathaniel when they’re really calling him Neil? Like similar to the effect they use when characters hear things a bit distorted and fuzzy, then we hear it switch to Neil and suddenly everything is clearer? Though that would put a weird filter on everything in the hotel scene but it could be restricted to names I guess idek

i could see that!! but that would still only be from the hotel though, right? does anyone in Baltimore call him Neil other than the team? but i can see it working. like a swirling glitchy kind of sound. like until Andrew calls him Neil his name isn't clear.

I could see it being set up earlier in the show in a flashback through a little tic that differentiates Neil from Nathaniel. When Neil gets back from the nest, the camera pov is from his perspective for most of it, or all we see are tiny details, his bandages, his hands, the view out Wymack's car window, until we get to the line where Wymack says "he sounds like him, but he doesnt look like him" or whatever and then Neil looks in the mirror and we smash cut back to him with his father before he ran away.

we can tell in his body language that he's trying to be his father's son. he does something, a deep breath, a raise in his shoulders, and something like a kubrick stare at himself with that signature Wesninski smile.

A season or two later we're in the car with Lola, and he looks at his hands, he traces the outline of a key into his thumb and then he does the same thing. A deep breath, movement in his shoulders and then that slow, creeping Nathaniel smile on his lips. and that's the end of that episode. there's a shift in his demeanor, even as hes pleading and yelling in pain, just something that paints him different.

(imagine the gifsets y'all. all for the game parallels: s2e08 | s3e06. nathaniel vs neil. can you see it? can you???)

[vykio]

The game is flash fic Saturday and @merceyca and @billdenbrough and I spun a wheel with these reverse trope prompts. I got dating my enemy's sibling and jane pitched jeremy and neil and I have many thoughts on their potential dynamic HAHA but here's a little AU type thing about it—which I added to LOOL it is now 800 words and some change

“I don’t hate Neil,” Jeremy says, which must be as unconvincing as it sounds if the flat look Cat gives him is any indication. The thing is, he doesn’t, really, because Jeremy thinks hate is an emotion that takes far too much energy, and Neil hasn’t technically done anything to him that would warrant hating him. “I don’t. He and I just…”

“Do whatever the opposite of getting along like a house on fire is?” Cat says casually. She rolls her shoulder back then lifts the sleeveless cup of her dress again with a sigh. It’s been making her uncomfortable all night and it’s the only thing she can do to bear it. She hadn’t chosen to wear the dress tonight but her mother hadn’t given her a choice. Jeremy gives her a sheepish look, wishing he could do something for her, and she waves it off. 

Next to her, Laila shakes her head. She puts one of every buffet option she wants on her own plate, and everything she thinks she’ll like on Cat and Jeremy’s plates, for them to taste first. “More like Jeremy is the house and Nathaniel is the looming forest fire that lights him up,” Laila suggests. Her side-eye is extremely judgemental, which Jeremy thinks is unfair and untrue. Jeremy is always polite first when they’re forced into interaction, and Neil is often aloof or not secretive about the contempt he holds for Jeremy—and Jeremy can’t pinpoint when in the last year Neil became this way.

("Is Neil mad at me?" Jeremy asks Jean once, after an awkward greeting with Neil in their living room. It had  been stilted, but Neil's gaze on him had been intense, as if he'd been waiting for Jeremy to mess up—something. Jeremy wracks his brain to see where he might've misstepped with Neil, but then Jean turns towards him abruptly, bumping chest to chest and knocking him out of his thoughts.

"Hey," Jeremy says, surprised, then "Hey," more suave, with a flirtatious grin. "You don't have to bump into me to get my attention anymore."

Jean rolls his eyes and mumbles, "I've never done that." He exhales, his eyes doing a slow scan of Jeremy's face before he speaks again. "He is not mad at you. He's just weird. I will tell him to be—" Jean waves his hand, searching for words. He settles on, "—less weird."

Jeremy lets out a nervous laugh because he doesn’t know what else to say to that. Though Jean apparently followed through on his promise because now Neil is more careful about being openly wary of Jeremy where Jean can see him.)

“Neil,” Jeremy says to Laila automatically, as Neil has spent much time telling them he prefers the shorter name. 

“And you know what?” Cat spins the spoon in the air once, as if it might draw her thoughts up more clearly. She points at him with the spoon when she lands on what she wants to say. “I don’t even know the full extent of the beef you have with him.”

Before Jeremy can tell her he doesn’t either, there’s commotion at the door that steals their attention. They turn to find a swarm of bodies greeting the Moreau business moguls as they arrive at the charity event with their two children in tow. Jeremy smiles and waves at Jean when he spots him, and Jeremy can see from here how he lights up. Jean is halfway to him when he gets accosted by another guest. That leaves Neil clear in his line of sight. Neil stares so Jeremy stares back, and Jeremy refuses to look away first. Jeremy lifts his hand to wave stiffly at Neil, who rolls his eyes at him, and Jeremy doesn’t hold on to emotions like irritation but they do flare up when someone is being rude. Neil turns away before Jeremy’s fake smile could falter, but he lets it slip when Neil slinks into the crowd.

“We don’t have beef,” Jeremy says lightly, picking up a spoon and gently moving the food around it so it doesn't spill over the edges of his plate. Jeremy considers adding that he’s a vegetarian and he’s not freaking scared of his boyfriend’s brother, but if 3OH!3 makes their way into the conversation, Laila might scream, which would set Cat off screeching with delight, and then they’d have a real scene on their hands and maybe more ammunition for Neil to hate him. “I have a feeling he just hates anyone who talks to Jean.”

“No, it’s just you,” Cat insists, leaning into him. “He has nice, long-winded conversations with me about Animal Crossing and how much he hates this bitch-ass falcon on his island.”

“He talks to me like a normal person,” Laila adds.

Jeremy gasps, “Traitors,” just to be dramatic, and when Cat grins at him wickedly, he grins back.

[tearsnfearsdude]

Shout at the Devil (Part 1)

Billy was feeling good despite being located in the middle of bumfuck nowhere aka Hawkins, Indiana. He didn't exactly plan to spend the last of his teenage years somewhere like this, but nothing ever really went the way he planned it anyway - curiosity of one Neil Hargrove. So, even though he was cursed being stuck in a house with his bitch of a little sister, Max, Susan, and his dad; he was determined to have his fun.

That's how he found himself here. At some chick named Tina's Halloween party, being followed around like a pack leader by the guys he'd stolen off Harrington, the former King. It hadn't been too difficult, after all, it was almost as if Steve hadn't even been trying to keep them but whatever. He had a good buzz going after doing the keg stand outside (and however many refills he'd had on a red solo cup), the leather of his jacket sticking to his sweaty, tan skin despite it being somewhere in the 40's tonight. He'd caught glimpses of Steve across the room over the past half an hour, eyeing his "costume" before lighting up a cigarette, taking a puff before making his way over. It doesn't take long to find himself face-to-face with the other boy, their eyes burning holes into each other's skulls. Tommy was standing somewhere behind Billy, a little too close, and he barely noticed how Steve's girl, Nancy, had rolled her eyes and walked off, muttering about their macho bullshit under her breath.

It was a bit of a blur after that, both of them blending into the crowd for the next couple of hours before Billy found himself laid out upstairs. He'd wanted to get away from the party for a bit, a bit of quiet to soothe his throbbing brain, but that was interrupted yet again when the door swung open, and he heard the sound of footsteps halting in the doorway.

He's slow to turn his head, his scowl spreading into a nasty smirk when he spots none other than Harrington, eyes puffy and red like he'd been crying not too long ago. This could be the fun he was looking for.

"Harrington," He practically purrs. "What're you doing here, pretty boy?"

However, he tenses a bit when instead of an outright answer, Steve kicks the door closed behind him and stalks over, stepping up to the bed and standing between Billy's spread legs where they lay over the edge of the bed. What the hell, he thinks, making a move to sit up before he's roughly shoved back down. Steve's hands grip his wrists tightly, enough to make him wince before he squirms, a breath catching in his throat.

"You want me."

"Wh-What?" Billy chokes out, his blue eyes widening before he hastily looks away from the intense gaze of Steve.

"You want me, don't pretend you don't," Steve repeats, eyes never leaving Billy. "The way you look at me, it's not normal. Guys don't...they don't look at each other like that."

Billy gulps but yanks his wrists from Steve's grip to sit up, using one boot-clad foot to shove him back. If he was about to get bashed or some shit, he wasn't just going to take it. He's been through that shit before. Hell, he's got to deal with it on a daily basis. He wasn't about to let some pansy boy add to his life's torture when he had more than enough on his plate already.

"Hey, if you're gonna hit me or somethin', fucking do it already," He spits, eyes narrowing as he stares up at Steve.

"Hit- huh?" Steve asks, looking genuinely confused by the words before he shakes his head. "What? No, that's not-...that's not what I was doing. Okay, what I said came out a-a little bit wrong, I guess," He rambles, running a hand through his hair and pushing it back.

Billy simply looks at him, raising an eyebrow. "Then what the fuck were you gettin' at, man? You can't just...imply that shit and be done with it, y'know?" He adds gruffly, rolling his shoulders and sniffing once.

Steve opens and closes his mouth a few times, reminding Billy of a fish out of water. It's almost enough to get a chuckle out of him but he holds it back, getting a little annoyed with his continuous fumbling. He nearly tells him to fuck off, moving to stand on his unsteady legs but finds himself being surprised again because Steve is pushing him down again and suddenly covering his lips with his own.

What the fuck?

[desire-mona]

dead poets society chars but i assign them random things ive seen happen on the internet / random videos or posts i remember (not based on anything it is genuinely at random):

neil - tony crynight's fnaf animation series which i dont entirely remember the plot of but i'll try to describe. so basically its fake mangle lore to say that mangle is the way they are (all broken and shit) because Mangle kissed Foxy and Chica got jealous so she took a Machete to Mangle to Mangled them. and then the gang tries to save mangle or whatever

todd - fluffle puff, someones pink fluffy mlp oc who was in lesbians with chrysalis (i think thats her name, i never watched mlp). mosy notably known for the animation to pink fluffy unicorns dancing on rainbows. also the creator is a pedophile i think

charlie - sorrow tv and his entire existence. sorrow tv was a youtuber who made videos reading out reddit videos in silly voices. there was a whole posse of youtubers who did this, and he was the most popular just bc his voice acting was rly good. i still watch him every couple months even tho he hasnt posted since 2021.

cameron - does bruno mars is gay? i think about cameron man door hand hook car door every day, so i obviously need to point to my third favourite silly trying to be serious sentence. most ppl know this from game grumps but im not linking a game grumps video on here. rumour come out!

knox - venturiantale, the youtube channel usually consisting of 4? siblings playing gmod together usually. the channel itself was ran by this guy named jordan i think? and his siblings has their own channels. i knew them best for their fnaf gmod videos and their fanmail videos. turns out they were all very christian? and the whole family was abusive and way deep into said christianity if i remember correctly, one of the siblings who left first made a video on it. the venturiantale channel hasnt posted in like 2 yrs and the slow death was kinda sad to see bc he (jordan) blamed it all on The Algorithm.

meeks - that one nagito komaeda kinnie back in Whenever it was cutting off their finger to. i guess prove that they were a nagito kinnie frfr? if u dont know danganronpa lore then nagito gets his hand cut off and replaced with junko enoshima's hand because sheeeee got... executed? i wont lie i dont remember this part of the games story sorry. but essentially that one person was like I Gotta Do That........ anyway im jk the audio was faked and nothing actually happened + the person is fine LAWL

pitts - the key of awesome's parody of tiktok by kesha called glitter puke. theres no lore to this the key of awesome is / was ? a silly little song parody channel. this video was made in 2010 and it kinda shows in some moments but other than that it holds up. just checked and the key of awesome is Not still going, it ended 6 years ago and the last video was actually rly good and genuine

keating - onma island is buried a treasure chest. ok so basically mr beast made a video talking abt a private island and he buried. a treasure chest for a viewer to find. during the video he said "on my island is buried a treasure chest" but it sounded like "onma" which this one youtuber (pinely) found rly funny. it became an inside joke with his friends (one of whom got a tattoo) which then became a lowkey meme. mr beast even tweeted it so. good lord thats a lot of links sorry there isnt a know your meme page or anything

chris - i dont have any links for this one sorry, im just gonna tell the story and u have to believe me when i say i swear it happened (its very a believable fandom story im sure you will). so back when the genshin impact was still in its fairly early days (late 2020-early 2021) the phrase "hear me out" to refer to characters n stuff started becoming popular I THINK at the same time. so people in the genshin fandom were like hear me out with increasingly more heinous shit. started with characters, then npcs, then enemies, then bosses, then weapons, the stamina bar at one point, etc. a lot of these were jokes or straight up bait but back then (maybe now too - i havent been part of the genshin fandom for a LONG time) people took bait far more often than they didnt. so it became a "genshin fandom bad" gotcha to point out That One stamina bar post.

ginny - $300 junko enoshima wig! sorry for double dipping with danganronpa it was just the first fandom i actually started like. on purpose noting fandom happenings with + a lot of shit happens in that fandom. this one cosplayer who at the time was called snowthesaltqueen / badguyincorporated started selling pre-made (and styled) junko enoshima cosplay wigs for $300. which WOULD be fair (i think? idk how cosplay commissions work) if said wig was styled well or quality at all, but what was ACTUALLY provided was a rly basic wig base and few clips with no note or no nothing, and rly flat. like on purpose. like that was "the styling". also you may recognise this cosplayer for 1) getting in trouble when they did a cosplay photoshoot (danganronpa cosplay funnily enough) in a graveyard, posing ON a gravestone. 2) KILLING SOMEONE. they were screwing around with a firearm and fake pointing it at someone and then they accidentally shot them.

i could do this forever like actually. i have SO many internet stories in my brain its actually bad.

[zakkusufae]

Meeting Neil Newbon at Megacon Orlando. 2/3/24

Here's my fan account of meeting Neil. You are welcome to repost with credit. But I ask you not to repost the photo I share. Thank you!

Truthfully, this will have some personal information but I need to share in order to explain why this convention trip meant so much.

Frankly, when I heard Neil was going to be at Megacon Orlando, I immediately told my sister about it, and we impulsively planned it in less than three weeks.

I, along with my sister, always admired his work since Detroit Become Human but only recently found out about the community and other things such as Twitch.

However, I have trauma in regard to being in new places. I also struggle with a disability as well as other things. I have cerebral palsy. (The easiest way I can explain it is that my brain is slow in sending messages to my body, my legs specifically.) Because the con was so crowded, I needed to use my wheelchair. I had never done things like autographs or photo ops. It was all new to me.

Originally, we had our autographs scheduled on Friday but moved them to Saturday when we heard he was going to be delayed. When Saturday came around, my sister and I were surprised to discover we could use the ADA line. (Again, we’d never done this before) The line alternated between regular and ADA in order to remain fair, which I appreciated.

I was really nervous as I got up to the table as I’m sure many of us were and then I was greeted with the warmest “Hi, how are you? I’m Neil it’s nice to meet you,” as he shook our hands. He asked what our names were and such and then he asked what I wanted written on the Astarion print I had bought the day before. I had to repeat it for him because I’m guessing it was one he hadn’t written much.

We gave him our gifts after my sister had gotten her autograph. And I was ready to roll away as I felt I was keeping the line, but he literally came around the table and asked, “May I give you a hug?”I accepted, but I was so nervous, and due to my condition, I tend to avoid being touched as I can get stiff. It was very gentle. And what touched me the most I think was that he offered. I'm not used to that at all.

Later, during the photo op, the kindness remained. He asked if he should come down lower for the photo or stand, and I just said whatever you’re comfortable with. He came lower anyway.

The whole gesture was really kind and in a weird way I felt seen? It’s difficult to explain. But basically, it was a very touching experience. I’m glossing over a lot, but these small things meant so much. I cried after everything sank in... He was really considerate even when I thought I was being a burden to everyone in line. It was a gift, really, and I won’t forget it.

I think of this interaction as bringing awareness. I can't speak for everyone who struggles with a disability but regardless, I think sharing it would be helpful. But there's one thing I want to mention before I end this. The quote I chose was, "I want to know what the world sees when it looks at me." Because I hope someday people can see more to me than my limitations, and I feel I'm worth that much.

We're all survivors in some way. Survivors in grief, illness, and other things, but in a way, we're all surviving as we live. Each day is a challenge, and sometimes it really feels awful, but despite that, it's worth it. And I'd like to try living.

I hope you enjoyed reading it. ♡ And to Neil, I know you probably won't ever read this, but thank you so much.

[cowgurrrl]

So This Is Love

Pairing: rockstar!joel miller x actress!reader

Author’s note: this came to me in a fever dream

Summary: A Beach Day [1.5k]

Warnings: time jump kinda (Sam is 17 and the girls are 13), me giving Dina and Jesse last names (Caradonna and Pierce) because Neil Druckman couldn’t, Lucy is Tommy and Maria’s daughter 🥸, family life, fluff

If there's one thing you've realized about your family, it's that they love nothing more than a beach day. Sam will almost immediately ask when you're going to the beach when temperatures get past the eighties. His follow-up question is always, "And can Penelope's family come with us?" Because it can never just be a Miller beach day, it has to be a Miller-Hernandez-Garcia-Long-Caradonna-Pierce beach day. As the kids have gotten older and your lives more hectic, it's nice to have a chance to get away every once in a while. Sarah, Ethan, and Isaac will drive in from Sacramento, and Ellie, Dina, Jesse, and JJ will meet you guys there since they don't live far from you, Joel, and the kids. Joel and Ryan inevitably become pack mules because they refuse to let you or Carolina carry anything, and you've both learned not to argue with them. 

That's what today has consisted of. You, Sarah, Carolina, and Maria sit in the sand as you watch your husbands unload beach chairs, towels, coolers, sand castle molds, and more. It took Sam all of ten seconds to break into Fun Uncle Mode and start a game of football with Isaac and JJ, Penelope, and Lucy joining the boys. Elizabeth, Victoria, Sophia, and Violet sit in a circle with supplies to make bracelets and whatever books they're reading at their feet, gossiping just out of earshot of their uncool parents. Ellie, Dina, and Jesse have given up on arguing with Joel about helping to unpack and have settled on wading through the water, splashing each other when they're not looking. They make a sweet little family. Unconventional, sure, but loving and amazing, nevertheless.

Once the Hernandez-Miller-Long boys unload all their stuff, they join the football game Sam started, in which nobody keeps score because they're all laughing too hard. It's fun to watch Joel and Tommy play on separate teams, the sibling rivalry coming out just enough to entertain you and Maria. You would think Joel would slow down or get tired faster than he used to, but something about the summer sunshine makes him twenty-five years old again. He goes from playing football and playfully tackling Isaac to teaching JJ how to surf, holding his hands as they stand on the board together, to bounding over to Ellie in the waves, picking her up, and throwing her in the water. "Mom!" She complains when she breaches the surface with a big smile. She laughs when you throw up your hands to let her know you can't control him. 

All the moms end up running around with sunscreen, water, and snacks to make sure nobody gets neglected, no matter who they actually belong to. You once joked with Carolina that, at this point, you basically have a commune of parents who take care of all the kids. Jesse will send birthday cards and money to the twins on their birthday. When Elizabeth got too drunk at a college party, she called you instead of her parents. Not because she didn't trust them but because she knew you'd pick up the phone even though it was two in the morning. And when Sarah gave birth to Isaac, you, Lucia, Maria, Carolina, Ellie, and Dina descended upon her home to take care of the laundry and dishes, prepare food, and ensure Sarah and Ethan slept. It's like having a huge family without the drama or strained relationships. 

After Joel has all but run himself ragged and the sun is casting purple and golden rays across the sky, he pulls you onto his lap, and you sit with him as you watch your kids. Ellie, Dina, Jesse, and JJ sit nearby, munching on sandwiches and listening to JJ's latest science fair project about space. Sarah and Ethan build sand castles with Isaac, and Ryan, Carolina, and Victoria nap together in a too-small beach chair. The only ones still up and being rowdy are Sam, Penny, and the twins. Sam is trying to teach Penny how to throw a baseball, and the twins are surfing along the coastline. The sound of the waves and the heat from Joel's body makes you sleepy as you rest against his chest, his hand drawing patterns into your thigh. 

"D'you have fun today?" He asks quietly as he kisses your temple. 

"I always have fun at the beach with you."

"Cheesy," he shakes his head, and you slap his chest. "You can't even get mad at me 'cause you know that was cheesy."

"You married me for my cheesiness."

"No, I married you for the money. Obviously." He says, and you laugh. Penelope and Sam's laughter overlaps yours, and you both turn to see them leaning against each other with big smiles. Sam's eyes twinkle familiarly in the sunset as he looks at Penny again, holding up his baseball.

"Be serious about this! When I go pro, you're gonna be the one to throw out the first pitch!" He urges, and she rolls her eyes.

"If you go pro, you'll have much bigger things to worry about than me throwing out the first pitch." She teases, and he raises his eyebrows, hiding the baseball behind his back and stepping into her. You'd have to be fucking blind not to see the way they flirt with each other. 

"Oh, yeah? Like what?" 

"Like controlling your roid rage."

"I'll have you know I've never done steroids in my life!"

"You're still young, Miller. I give it three years."

"You think that little of me?" He asks and collapses to the sand dramatically when she nods. You laugh, and Joel adjusts so your ear is by his mouth.

"They remind me of us." He whispers, and you furrow your brows as you face him. He smiles sleepily and reaches out to push your hair out of your face.

"How so?" 

"Other than the fact she just called him 'Miller,'" he says, and you smile. "'M not sure. He just... seems lighter around her. And they're always together. They have their own little language and dynamic. Not to mention, anyone with eyes in a twenty-mile radius can see how hopelessly in love he is with that girl."

"I thought you married me for my money."

"I mean, that was a plus, but I married you 'cause I couldn't imagine spendin' another moment without you as my partner and 'cause I wanted to be with you every day," he says as he kisses your jaw. "'Cause I was and still am hopelessly in love with you." You take a deep breath as you wrap your arm around his shoulders and lean back to look at him in all his sunburnt nose, heavy, happy-eyed glory. 

He's aged in the years since you've been together. His hair is a little more gray than brown, and the crow's feet at the corners of his eyes have deepened through late-night feeds, early-morning school drop-offs, tours, movies, albums, everything. You've aged too. You're not the same twenty-something you were when you met Joel, but you love this version of yourself. You love this version of your marriage and family and can't wait to see what joy the next version will bring you. You lean down and kiss him. He tastes like sea salt and beer and him. His beard scratches your face, but his hands on your skin are soft and heavy. You remember an old song from the original Cinderella film. She hums it after meeting her Prince Charming and goes home utterly in love with him. You swear, if this moment were a shot from a movie, that song would play over this moment.

"Cheesy." You mumble against his lips.

"Oh, that was cheesy?" He asks, and you hum. In one movement, he secures you in his arms and stands. You squeal and hold onto him for dear life as he starts walking through the sand. "I'll show you cheesy." 

"Joel!" You yell as he walks into the cold water and dunks the both of you under within two seconds. You don't see or hear it happen through the salt water in your eyes and your laughter, but your family rushes into the water after you—all of them. Ryan picks up Carolina, Ethan picks up Sarah, Jesse, and Dina work together to grab Ellie, and Sam picks up Penny, and they all run into the water. The kids follow suit, and before you realize it, all your favorite people are in the water with you, laughing and smiling as they cling to each other amidst the waves. Sophia jumps on Joel's back, and he goes underwater with all three of you as the sun sets overhead and the moon slowly appears over the cliffs. You're shaking from the cold and clinging to Joel, but you can't stop smiling. There's no place you'd rather be than here, freezing in the water with your family as the sun sets on another perfect Miller-Hernandez-Garcia-Long-Caradonna-Pierce beach day.

[excelsi-or]

summoned (pt. 1)

hi everyone! it's been a g e s, but we're back! i've been travelling since about May, and definitely thought editing this story wasn't going to take as long as it did. anywho, this is the demon fic that i teased a while back. kinda different from anything else i've put out before. it's inspired by Good Omens by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett, definitely a book worth reading if you haven't yet. let me know what you all think :)

pairing: lee jihoon (woozi) x fem OC/fem reader

w.c. 2.5k (i'm not sure what i'd classify this as tbh. silly, maybe?)

"You want what?"

"A venti and medium–" The rest of what Jeonghan says gets garbled as he speaks. Not from lack of phone connection, but just because she has no idea what he's going on about.

As she stands in line, her eyes skim over the menu in a vain attempt to find anything similar to what she'd heard Jeonghan say. When she reaches the front of the line, she's still clueless.

So, she tries to sound out the garble in the hopes that this barista can translate.

"Venti and me–I mean, grande, fructi paemoni–nope, pomegranate?"

Before she can see if the man has been able to understand anything she said, she feels all the air sucked out of her lungs. Sound disappears and she thinks she's passed out. When she gasps for air, she looks around to get her bearings.

Time seems to have slowed, not stopped.

Her brow furrows, as she tries to gauge if she's had some sort of early life stroke. On a whim, she turns, about to walk out of the place. But she jumps back at the man dressed in a suit now present in front of her. He has dark hair with an undercut, his hair silky. His skin is fair; his body toned, at least based on the way he fills out the suit. But it's his eyes that catch her attention. They're black, seemingly catching no light.

And then he opens his mouth to speak, and she notices the sharpness of his canines.

Vampire?

"Hello, human. Thank you for summoning me." The man's tone is flat, as if he's tired of giving this speech. "I am not a genie. If you ask anything of me, you must give me your soul in exchange."

The furrow in her brow deepens. "Soul? So, you're not a vampire."

If the blackness of his eyes could get blacker, they do. "I am a demon. You have summoned me."

"You're a what?" She juts her thumb back in the direction of the barista. "I was ordering a drink. I wasn't summoning anything. I was literally about to leave, because I thought I was having a stroke!" She lets out a long breath to reign in her hysteria. "I didn't summon you."

The demon looks confused. When she blinks, there's suddenly a piece of paper in his hand. He recites her name, the time, the date; all of which she agrees is correct. Then the demon recites what she said and she holds a hand up to stop him.

"I did not say–what did you say I said?"

"Veni ad me, fructus daemonium."

"I definitely didn't say that. I said something like venti and medium--grande, fuck, Jeonghan oppa's order. I think he wanted some pomegranate fruit something."

The demon stares in disbelief. "So, you didn't summon me."

"God, no. Wait, can I say 'God' in front of you?" She shakes her head, likely stopping herself from rambling than deciding whether 'God' is appropriate in front of a demon. "Regardless, I didn't summon you. And I don't need to trade my soul for anything."

The demon huffs. His dark eyes go over her once and then to a pocket watch. "Look, I have a--what do you humans call it--a quota of sorts. A quota that needs to be filled this millennium."

"What?"

"Human, I have a quota to fill. A certain number of souls to collect. And it has been a very slow start this millennium." The demon snorts. "Fewer young souls are being given up and He prefers the young ones."

"Sorry, Mr. Demon, I really did not mean to call on you or summon you or whatever." She looks back at the café, where one woman has finally put her cup down and a man has finished pressing the period key on his keyboard. "Have you slowed time for everyone? I don't want to be late for my creative meeting."

The demon tilts his head. "There's nothing you want that you would trade your soul for?"

"No, not really."

"A lover who can't be yours, oodles of money," the demon's perfect brows furrow, blinking a couple times, "fame, eternal youth?"

"I'm… pretty content right now." She swears his eyes turn green; she takes a step back. "Seriously, Mr. Demon, there's nothing I want to trade for my soul."

"Call me…" It's his turn to look around the café for inspiration. His eyes catch sight of the barista's name tag. "Call me Jihoon."

"Uh… you can't just leave?"

The demon's expression deadpans. She thought the expression he'd greeted her with was his deadpan expression. This is a bit more horrifying. "I can't just go back to Him and say 'oh, she dialled the wrong number'."

"I can't just have you following me around," she protests. "Won't you ruin my chances of getting into Heaven or something? Being reborn or whatever happens when you die?"

This makes the demon–Jihoon–chuckle. "If you believe in any of those things, human, then I would assume you assume that the beings or forces that control those things are always watching."

"I… don't know if I understand what that means, but whatever. Mr. Demon, you can't–"

A guttural voice replaces Jihoon's bored tone, and he glows red. "Don't tell me what to do, human."

Another step back.

The two of them stare each other down. She knows that a demon probably doesn't need to blink, and she'll lose whatever stare down this is. And he's told her he won't leave.

"Okay. Fine. Stay. But, Jihoon," she winces at the name, doesn't suit his demon image, "you better be visible to everyone. I'm not going to let you con me into giving you my soul to stop people thinking I'm crazy."

Jihoon blinks in surprise. He hadn't thought of that. "Fine, human. I'll be visible."

"And you can't wear the suit. I only have one friend who wears a suit and he's a lawyer. You're probably not going to go off and finish a law degree."

Jihoon's eyes narrow, and now, she's sure they turn green. "Then, what," he pauses, "do you expect," pause, "me to wear?" This silky voice is more threatening than that demon voice he'd used before.

She tries to brush it off by breaking eye contact. There's a guy in the corner of the café that catches her eye. The man is dressed in a denim jacket with a hoodie underneath, plain jeans, and Converse. She nods at the stranger.

"I'm a demon, not a… a college student." If demons could spit venom, this one would.

"Well, I'm also not a college student, Mr. Demon, but that's what guys I know wear."

In a blink, he's dressed in a red hoodie, black denim and black Converse. "Any other requests?"

Best not to push her luck. "No."

Suddenly, she feels a burst of air go through her lungs and the familiar thrum of the café fills her ears again. It's almost too loud now. She turns to the barista and he's reciting her order.

"I think you're asking for a venti and grande very berry hibiscus?"

She waves her phone over the card reader. "Sure."

This barista, non-demon Jihoon smiles at her. "Great. And the name?"

When she arrives on time to her creative meeting, she slides the drinks across the table to Jeonghan and Seungcheol. She collapses into the seat next to Jeonghan, who addresses the problem she’d nearly forgotten on her rush over.

“Who’s the new guy?” he asks.

She grimaces and looks over at Jihoon standing by the door. The demon stands with his arms crossed over his chest, clearly unhappy to be here.

“That’s,” she clears her throat, “Jihoon. He’s…” She studies the demon, who isn’t inclined to help her come up with a lie. Jeonghan, Seungcheol, and Hansol all wait for her to fill in the connection. “He’s my friend that’s visiting. One of my brother’s friends… that came to the city.” This lie eases the knot in her chest, but why is he here? “He doesn’t know the city very well yet, so I… I said that I would take him on a tour after the meeting.”

Her three friends take a second to process this information, before Seungcheol breaks out into a smile. He leans forward on his elbows, so he can look past Hansol at Jihoon. “Hi, nice to meet you. I’m Seungcheol. This is Hansol. That’s Jeonghan.”

Hansol, who is sat across from her, waves in Jihoon’s direction. When he makes eye contact with her, she notices the very slight furrow in his brow.

She shakes her head in response to his unasked question.

Jeonghan doesn’t notice the exchange; if he does, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he begins the meeting and jumps right into the collaborative contract that she and Hansol are working on. They’re collaborating on a large mural in the city, and the city has just provided feedback on the loose design.

Seungcheol, Hansol’s manager, jots down notes for Hansol.

“So, they want less colour? Why did they choose Hansol then?” Seungcheol shakes his head as he writes.

“They want three colours only,” Jeonghan explains. “Preferably the primary colours in their colour palette.”

“My line work can’t be coloured in with three colours,” she says. “There are skin tones.”

Hansol raises his hand and turns his sketchbook towards the group. He tends to multitask during meetings, which is why Seungcheol takes his notes. “I can just adjust my design. We might not be able to do 3 colours only, because I still want the depth to come through. But I agree, we should keep the skin tones. The whole point of the mural is diversity, and that should be real.”

She looks to Jeonghan. “Can you get them to compromise on skin tone and maybe 6 colours instead of 3?”

Jeonghan makes a note of it in his notebook and then moves onto the next slide.

By the time the meeting ends, Jihoon has his eyes closed, arms still crossed, as he leans against the wall.

“Is he okay?” Jeonghan asks as they collect their things together.

“Uhm, yes, I think so.” She slings her tote bag over her shoulder. “We’ll redo the thumbnails, so that they can choose which set they prefer.”

“They were asking for an earlier deadline, but I told them that would be unlikely with all the things they asked you and Hansol to change.”

Hansol finishes chatting with Seungcheol and motions with his head towards the door. “I’ll walk you home.”

“Oh, that’s–” Hansol’s eyes dart to Jihoon, and she understands the offer. “Right. Sure, okay. That’d be great.”

She wonders if she can just leave Jihoon behind. Do demons actually sleep?

When she meets Hansol at the door, she asks him how his comic is coming along. She says nothing to Jihoon and they walk right out of the room.

Hansol shrugs, glancing at Jihoon, but saying nothing about it. “Seungkwan said he doesn’t like where the story is going.”

“Yeah, but that’s because you’re making it dark,” she snorts. She readjusts her bag. “And you know how Seungkwan is about dark stuff.”

Hansol nods. He presses the call button for the elevator. “I guess that’s true.”

She knows what Hansol’s thinking. “He’ll catch up.”

Sure enough, Jihoon saunters their way.

Hansol reaches for her hand and gives it a squeeze. The elevator door slides open and she squeezes Hansol’s hand back twice.

One initial squeeze asks if you’re okay.

One back means yes; two means unsure; a tight squeeze is no.

Hansol frowns at her, but she can’t explain. While Jihoon hasn’t seemed particularly threatening, he’s still a demon.

Periodically on their walk to the subway, she glances back at Jihoon. The demon keeps his distance, but always seems to have her in his sightline.

When they reach the turnstiles, this is the first time she waits for Jihoon to catch up.

“You need a ticket,” she tells him.

Jihoon nods, refraining from rolling his eyes. “I have it sorted.”

She assumes he’ll do some blinky magic that the turnstile will miss. That is, until she and Hansol have passed through, and suddenly the guard manning the booth comes running around. The two of them turn and see a man holding Jihoon by the arm.

“Sir, you need to pay to get in here.”

The red glow begins to pulsate around Jihoon, so she quickly intervenes. “Sorry, he’s a friend of mine that’s visiting. I think he got confused.” She glances at Jihoon, whose gaze is just as steely. 

Okay, earthly solutions only. Her mind runs as quickly as possible.

“Can I pay you for his admission? We’re only going a few stops.”

The guard glares at Jihoon, but when he turns to her, his expression softens. When she smiles, his face relaxes further. “I’ll let the others know. Where are you getting off?”

When he stalks back to his booth, eyeing Jihoon, she tugs once on Jihoon’s denim jacket. It’s warm to the touch. “Come on, Demon. We gotta go.”

Jihoon’s head snaps down to look at her. “Either put a ‘mister’ in front of that or call me Jihoon.”

She pauses to consider her response. Provoke the demon or let it be.

“Jihoon, when you tell me you have things sorted, please, keep it sorted.”

Jihoon looks as if he’s about to argue, but she cuts him off. Her voice is low, so only he can hear. “If you wanted to take my soul, you would have taken it from me already. So, either I need to willingly give it to you or you need to kill me.”

Jihoon’s expression hardens, but he pulls away.

“Now, come on.”

She catches Hansol’s arm and drags him after her.

“Do you have a boyfriend I don’t know about?” Hansol frowns.

“He is not my boyfriend.”

Hansol checks over his shoulder. The icy stare isn’t directed at him, so he wonders if she’s aware of the look. “Can he hear me?”

“Assume yes.”

“Can you tell me what’s going on?”

“Even if I could explain, you wouldn’t believe me.”

He scoffs. “Do you realize who you’re talking to?”

“That’s how unbelievable it is.”

Hansol lifts an eyebrow, his hand reaching for a bar as the train lurches forward. “Well, now I’m more intrigued.”

“When I figure out how to tell you, I will.”

Hansol catches her fingers and gives her hand one squeeze.

She lets out a breath and squeezes back once.

part 2

[foundtherightwords]

The Quiet Chaos - Chapter 4

Pairing: Billy Knight (Lethal White/Strike) x OFC

Summary: After a bad breakup throws her carefully-planned life into disarray, Esme has sworn off dating forever. However, when she forms an unexpected connection with a young man named Billy, who's dealing with his own struggles, Esme is forced to face the truth: sometimes you can't plan for love.  

Warnings: mental health issues, angst, slow-burn, developing relationship, dysfunctional family, some violence (non-graphic), some smut (non-explicit)

Chapter warning: discussions of mental illness (so sorry if I got anything wrong)

Chapter word count: 4.9k

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3

Chapter 4 - First Date(s)

It's strange, how putting a label on a relationship can change its nature. If Esme had been nervous about hanging out with Billy before, when they were not-dating, then she agonized about their "official" date now, wondering what to do, where to go, what to wear. It was so excruciating that she almost regretted asking Billy out. She should've just let their relationship progress naturally. But it was too late for that now.

Thinking back, Esme realized she'd never had to take the initiative on a first date. Her first boyfriend, Marco, was part of her friend group in school, so they just did a lot of the same things and went to the same places; she never had to decide anything. After Marco decided to take a gap year and completely ghosted her, he was followed by a string of casual dates, where she just went along with whatever her dates suggested. And then she met Neil during her third year in uni, and that was that.

Billy, on the other hand, was happy to defer to her, and now, for the first time in a long time, Esme found her suggestions being listened to and accepted. It was rather a heady experience.

She thought it best to stay in the area that they were both familiar with, but even then, the choices were overwhelming. In the end, she decided on an Indian restaurant she'd once eaten at, not far from the clinic. It was the safest bet. The food was good, there was something for everybody, and the atmosphere was cozy and homey, nothing to make one nervous.

Still, Esme couldn't stop her heart from hammering that Friday night, when she entered the restaurant with its colorful glass lamps swinging from the ceiling, their rainbow rays reflected on the walls, and the soft twang of sitar from the speakers. It was warm inside the restaurant, much too warm, and she started to regret her choice of a sky blue dress, afraid she was going to sweat and the sweat stains were going to show. But then the warm, spicy smell of food hit her, and her nervousness was temporarily forgotten as her stomach growled. She had hardly eaten anything that day, partly from nerves, but mostly from wanting to save room for the delicious fare.

She saw Billy seated at a table by the window and approached him. There were already some poppadoms and an array of dips in front of him, and he was so busy fiddling with them that he didn't notice her until she was quite near. Fumbling, he stood up and immediately knocked over the bowl of lime pickles. "Shit," he muttered to himself, then "Sorry," to Esme.

Esme smiled at him. It made her feel better, knowing that he was nervous too.

"You look nice," he said. She thanked him and smiled again, though with some uncertainty this time. She wished she could say the same to him. Although he had put on a clean pair of jeans and a nicer shirt than his usual tee-and-hoodie, there was something rather unkempt about him, different from his general scruffiness. The sunken, almost feverish look in his eyes didn't help either.

"I'm not late, am I?" she asked, though she knew she was not.

"No, I was early. I asked them not to bring out the poppadoms right away but they still did, and now they've gone kind of soft—I wonder if they would warm them—have you ever had a poppadom and cheese sandwich?"

In the few months they'd known each other, that was perhaps the most he had ever spoken to her in one go. "Uh, no, can't say that I have," she replied, slightly bemused.

"It's great. You get some old poppadom, warm it up in the oven, put in some cheese—something sharp, like Cheddar, was best—Double Gloucester was good too—why do they call it Double Gloucester? Is it bigger than the Single?—you let it melt a little, then some mango chutney, it's almost like jam—where is that waitress?!"

He was talking brightly and excitedly, but far too much and too fast. The prickle in Esme's stomach was back, and it was not from hunger. To calm herself, she picked up a piece of poppadom, only to realize Billy had almost crushed them into oblivion.

"When I was leftover—no, I mean when I was a kid, we would have leftover poppadoms from Indian the previous night, and I'd have poppadom and cheese for lunch," he continued. The waitress arrived just then, interrupting Billy's discourse on the superiority of a poppadom-cheese sandwich. Perhaps that was why he looked almost irritated when the waitress asked if they were ready to order, and barely glanced at the proffered menu. Esme ordered extra poppadoms, chicken madras, and rice. For a moment, she tried to remember how spicy the madras was and wondered if it was wise to eat something so strongly flavored on a first date. But if we both eat it, we'll cancel each other out anyway, she thought, and blushed when she realized the implication of that. To hide her embarrassment, she asked Billy if he wanted to share some bhindi bhaji. He didn't appear to be listening. His eyes were fixed on the rainbow patterns made by the lamps on the wall, like one hypnotized.

"Billy?"

With difficulty, he tore his eyes away from the light and started ordering a ton of food, in the same rapid-fire speech. The waitress couldn't write down his order fast enough. Esme kept quiet out of politeness, but once the waitress was gone, she turned to Billy and said teasingly, "Hungry, are we?"

"Sure am." He grinned at her. "We never had a lot of Indian when I was a kid," he said, picking up his story as if there was no interruption at all. "If you want decent Indian—go to Faringdon or Wantage. In our village, there was only this one curry place, and I remembered it was horrible. They would just add curry powder into some unidentified meat stew and call it a curry. Us kids used to tell all sorts of horror stories about what was really in that stew. Jimmy once told me it was dog meat—"

"Who's Jimmy?"

This time, she was sure he deliberately ignored her question. "How's Angua?" he said.

"She's fine, she's settling in—"

"You left her at home?" he interrupted her.

"She'll be all right for a few hours."

"But we might be at it all night!"

As soon as those words were out of his mouth, Billy looked horrified.

Esme raised an eyebrow.

"Please tell me that's a joke about how long it'll take us to eat all that food you've just ordered and not what I think it is," she said in an icy voice that her younger siblings all knew very well.

"I'm sorry!" Billy said through the fingers clamped over his mouth. "I'm so sorry! I didn't—I don't—I didn't mean to say that!"

"Then what did you mean to say?"

Billy looked at her with such despair in his eyes that Esme's anger was almost forgotten.

"I—I have something to tell you," he said.

"What?" She steeled herself for the worst and returned his gaze with a hard, unblinking stare that wouldn't look out of place on a certain stern old witch that was her namesake. On the inside, though, she was screaming. Oh please, please don't reveal some sort of awful secret. My self-esteem can't take another blow.

"I have this—condition." He took a deep breath.

Condition? What kind of condition?! Is that code for "I'm actually a terrible human being and this is my excuse"?

"I have schizoaffective disorder," he said, his earlier excitement gone, his shoulders slumped in misery.

It was so unexpected that for a moment, all Esme felt was a sense of anticlimactic relief. But then came confusion and concern. She wasn't familiar with mental illnesses. She had her share of anxiety, of course, and some of her friends from veterinary school had struggled with depression, but that was normal for anyone in the medical field. All she heard was "schizo", and her mind immediately went to schizophrenia. Probably there was a difference, but she didn't know what, and didn't feel like asking, for fear of stressing Billy out even more. Suddenly it all made sense, his tic, his jumpiness, his slight paranoia, his mentions of therapist and medications.

"Please say something," he said miserably.

Esme floundered for words. She felt sorry for him, but she didn't know enough about his condition to talk about it. In the end, she settled for honesty. "I'm sorry, but I don't know what to say," she said, trying to sound as kind as possible.

"I usually have it under control, but what with the stress and the excitement of the date, I got hypomanic," he explained, then immediately added, "I'm not blaming you!" His hands reached across the table for hers, but he appeared to think better of it and drew them back again, keeping them twisted in his lap. "I'm just—I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner—I was going to, I meant to, I really did. But I—I didn't want to frighten you away—" His words were running together again. His right hand started its tic-like movement to tap his nose and chest, but he slammed it on the table, so hard Esme was afraid he was going to knock over the rest of the dip. Several heads in the restaurant turned toward them. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Esme looked at his usually strong and capable hand, now trembling on the table, and it wrung her heart. Whatever it was that he was going through, it was not his fault. That much she knew. She put her hand over his. "It's OK," she said. It was all she could think of to say at the moment, but that seemed enough for Billy. His trembling ceased, and his breathing slowed.

Just then, the waitress arrived with their food. Esme turned to her with an apologetic look. "So sorry to bother you, but I'm not feeling very well. Could we have this as a takeaway?"

After seeing Billy safely back to his flat in East Ham, laden down with his takeaway boxes ("I'll be eating Indian for a week," he said with a sad, sheepish smile), Esme returned to her own flat. Mentally and emotionally, she was exhausted and just wanted to curl up in bed, but she was still starving—it's funny how your body still functions and craves sustenance, even when your mind doesn't. Eating an entire curry was too much for her though, so she just nibbled on some poppadoms. Then, without really thinking about it, she rummaged in her fridge and found some Cheddar to go with it. He was right, it was delicious. It was like eating cheese with very crispy crackers.

But the thought of Billy squeezed her heart again. Unable to sleep, she looked up his condition and soon fell down a rabbit hole of websites and blogs and forums about mental illnesses. Unfamiliar, unsettling phrases jumped out at her. Psychosis. Hallucinations. Delusions. Paranoia. Mood disorder. At first, it was only her bad luck that she lamented —she had finally found someone she liked, someone kind and considerate, and he turned out to have a mental illness.

Hang on, her voice of conscience piped up. He is still kind and considerate. His mental illness doesn't define him. It's a part of him, but not all of him. The more she read about Billy's condition, the less she thought about herself, and the sorrier for him she felt. How he must be struggling, and how difficult it must be for him, to build up the courage to just talk to her. And she knew that he didn't want her pity. He wanted her understanding and her support. But could she give it to him?

She hadn't been in a lot of relationships—just two long enough to be called serious, plus a handful of casual dates—but all of them have turned out disappointing, so she knew what it was like to put so much faith into someone, only for them to let you down. How much that hurt. And from what she'd been reading about it, Billy's condition was a tough one to deal with. It would be terrible if she made him a promise and couldn't keep it.

At times like these, Esme wished she had a close friend with whom she could confide everything. But she had always been a loner. Most of her friends from uni were busy with their own lives now, and she'd never been close enough with any of them to talk about things like this. As for her family... Her parents would just say vaguely "It's your life, darling, we trust your judgment" and go back to whatever their latest projects were. Dad was making a pool house for frogs out of glass, and Mum was writing a story about frogs building a pool house, probably. Her younger siblings might have cheered her on when she broke up with Neil, who they declared a snob and a half, but they would also remind her that she was the sensible one in the family, and therefore must make the sensible choice. Which, in this case, meant not getting into a relationship with someone struggling with a mental illness. Besides, they were not that kind of family. Oh, they were certainly friendly, even affectionate with each other, and her parents always encouraged Esme and her siblings to express themselves, but when it came to personal feelings, you'd better sort that out on your own, love.

Esme looked around at her living room with its perfect white walls and perfectly arranged furniture, and sighed. She'd always valued order in her life. It was one of the reasons she'd gone out with Neil. One of the reasons she studied science and medicine and became a vet. It wasn't teenage rebellion (in fact, her parents had been quite supportive.) It was to give her life some sense of order and control, after the chaos of being dragged from pillar to post by her parents throughout most of her childhood. And now, with Billy, she was facing another kind of chaos, chaos of the unknown, and she wasn't sure she could handle it.

More chaos than Neil's infidelity? More chaos than how your life has turned out in the past seven months? She recalled Billy's sweet eyes and warm smiles, how he calmed her down, paradoxically enough, how she could nerd out with him, without being afraid of getting mocked or laughed at, how she felt more sure of herself around him. Would that be enough? Would that be enough for her to stay with him and face these unknown things? And would that be enough to silence her insecurities?

The next day was Saturday. Esme went to the rescue center as usual, wistfully remembering how she and Billy had agreed on a Friday night date just in case it turned out disastrous, so they could have another go on Saturday, when they met to walk the dogs. But Billy didn't show up.

"Where's Billy?" Priya asked, while Esme was attaching the leashes to the dogs and trying in vain to fend off their excited jumps. Angua sat patiently to the side, waiting.

"He's—um, not feeling well." Which was technically the truth. She hadn't checked in with him since the previous night, but she imagined he would want some space. And then, because she had been turning the matter over in her head until it was as battered as one of the dogs' chew toys, she blurted out, "Priya, do you know anything about schizoaffective disorder?"

Priya shrugged. "Not much. Why'd you ask?"

Esme bent over the dogs again to hide her flush. She didn't want to go around revealing Billy's condition to people. "A friend of mine just got diagnosed, and I was wondering how I could help, that's all," she mumbled, hoping Priya wouldn't put two and two together.

"Oh, I'm sorry. That's rough," Priya said. "It's good that you want to help though, most people wouldn't even bother." Her words pricked at Esme's conscience. "It's like with the disabled dogs, you know," Priya continued.

Esme protested, with a shocked laugh, "A person with mental illness was not a dog, Priya!"

"I know. I'm just saying, most people won't adopt those dogs because they're disabled, but they're still lovely creatures, you know? And if we don't give them a chance, who would?"

Those words were still playing in loops in Esme's mind when she returned home that evening. If we don't give them a chance, who would? She wondered whether it was she who was giving Billy a chance, or the other way around.

She mulled over the matter for another day, reading some more first-hand accounts of people with the condition and their struggles with dating and relationships. Then, when she came into work that Monday evening and realized she actually missed Billy, her mind was made up.

She gave him a call. He picked up immediately, as if he was waiting by the phone.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

"I'm alright," he said. "A bit calmer, now. I think it wasn't just the date, but the stress of keeping this a secret from you—"

"I'm sorry if I made you feel like you have to keep it a secret."

"No, no, it's not your fault, it's—it's just not something I want to go round advertising, you know?"

"I understand," she said quietly. And she did. She might not know what it was like to live with a mental illness, but she knew what it was like to be judged, to be pitied, for things that were out of her control. She'd had enough of that after the end of her engagement. Then she asked, "Can we talk?"

"We are talking." She could hear the slight smile in his voice, and it cheered her up to know she could still make him smile.

"Not on the phone." This was too important to discuss on the phone. "Can I come by your flat tomorrow? Or do you want to go somewhere else?"

Billy took a moment to answer. "It's OK, you can come by. I'm taking a few days off work anyway."

"We can go somewhere else, if that's too stressful for you."

"No. 's fine. I'll see you tomorrow."

Esme had been by Billy's flat a few times but never gone in. It was on a residential street lined with terraced houses and a few blocks of converted flats, some with tiny, neglected gardens out front, but most were just bordered by squares of concrete and stacked with garbage bins. While her own street was not exactly Belgravia, it always made Esme sad to know Billy lived in such a depressing place.

The inside was not much better. It was a tiny two-room flat, but the lack of furniture made it seem bigger. In the front room, which doubled as the living room and bedroom, there was a sofa bed, a TV stand that held no TV, only a CD player and a stack of audiobook CDs, and a rickety table. The other room, which was the kitchen/dining room, was equally spartan, with a small fridge, a hot plate, a toaster oven, a table and two chairs. The windows were covered with Venetian blinds, and the walls were empty, but Esme sensed that unlike her pristine flat, the emptiness was not by choice. There was no personal touch, no memento or decoration, unless one counted the blocks and slabs of wood of all shapes and sizes that were currently scattered on every available surface of both rooms.

"Sorry for the mess," Billy said awkwardly, sweeping some wood chips off of the sofa. "The charlady took the week off."

Clearly, it was a joke to make her feel more at ease. Esme smiled, and he visibly relaxed. "What are those?" she asked, pointing at the pieces of wood, which had all been carved or cut in some way, but didn't really resemble anything.

"There's going to be an exhibition at the studio, wood carvings and sculptures and things," he explained. "All of the apprentices are encouraged to enter. Last week, I kind of went mad"—he said the word evenly, without any hint of hesitation or self-consciousness—"and came up with loads of ideas, but I couldn't concentrate enough to actually carry one out. I get like that sometimes, when I'm bad. I have all these grandiose plans... A few years ago, I even—" But he cut himself off and said no more.

Esme wondered, again, as she had all weekend, if this was a bad idea. Billy did seem a little better compared to last Friday. His eyes were still sunken, but the feverish look in them was gone, and though he still fiddled with his hands, he moved more steadily. But there was still so much about him she didn't know, so much she couldn't prepare herself for.

She sat down on the sofa, Angua taking her now-customary place by Esme's side. "I brought you some food," she said, opening her tote. "You must be sick of Indian food by now. There're sausage rolls in there, some salad, and mini Bakewell tarts. Made those myself," she added, with a modest grin.

Billy remained standing, looking at her with a mixture of tenderness and mistrust, as though he still wasn't sure of her intentions. "You didn't have to do that," he said.

"I know. I just like to bake when I'm nervous."

"What do you have to be nervous about?"

Esme had prepared a whole speech about how she would like to continue seeing him, how she was willing to learn about his condition, and how she would always be there for him as long as he took care of himself first, but now, as she went over it in her head, it sounded so... rehearsed. Detached. Disingenuous. So she simply took Billy's hand, pulled him down onto the sofa next to her, and wrapped both of her hands around his.

"I've thought about what you told me," she said, "and I don't mind."

Happiness and doubt chase each other across Billy's face. Happiness won, and remained. "Honest?" he asked.

"Yes." She squeezed his hand. "But you have to talk to me. Tell me when you're feeling unwell or uncomfortable. Don't keep things from me. Promise?"

"Promise."

Another awkward pause. Esme wasn't sure if she should kiss him now or not. She was never any good at timing when it came to physical intimacy. But Billy solved her dilemma by throwing his arms around her. "Thank you," he said, his voice choked. She let herself melt into the hug and felt him relax as well.

An impatient whine from Angua, probably due to the enticing smell of the sausage rolls, reminded Esme. "We should eat, before the food gets cold," she said to Billy.

"I was hoping our first proper date would be a little more romantic than this," he said apologetically.

"I've been on worse first dates than this," Esme said, smiling. "Really, it didn't matter."

But something just occurred to Billy, and his face lit up. "How do you feel about a night picnic?"

"This isn't another symptom of your hypomania, was it?" Esme asked as Billy led her up the stairs of the tube station, down another residential street, and into a back lane that ran between allotments. It was late autumn, and already there was a bite in the air, signaling winter to come. Most of the crops had been harvested, but some rows of winter vegetables remained, and the greenhouses and poly tunnels gave the place a homey, rustic look.

"No. I told you, this allotment belongs to Jacob"—Jacob was his boss at the woodworking studio, the kindly Father Christmas-lookalike Esme had met the day she went there to find Billy—"and he lets me come here sometimes. He even gave me the key." He stopped in front of a particularly large greenhouse, which took up almost an entire allotment, and pulled a key out of his pocket to demonstrate. He unlocked the greenhouse and walked in. Angua happily followed him, and, after a moment's hesitation, Esme did as well.

Billy fumbled with some sort of switch in the corner, and strings of fairy lights twinkled to life along the greenhouse's ceiling. Esme blinked in amazement. She was standing in what appeared to be a tropical paradise. Shelves lined either side of the greenhouse, stacked with terracotta pots full of colorful orchids and lilies. Tall ferns were placed here and there amongst the blooms, their fronds almost reaching the ceiling, the fairy lights glimmering amongst them like fireflies. More orchids and ferns and air plants hung from the ceiling. A small bench was placed at the far end, between the shelves, just wide enough for two people.

"Do you help Jacob with any of these?" Esme asked, gesturing at the flowers.

"Don't have much of a green thumb," Billy shrugged. "I made the shelves though."

Esme sat down on the bench and opened the bag of food. Billy squeezed in next to her. "Sorry," he said to Angua, who was forced to stay on the ground, for there was no room left.

After the chill of the autumn air outside, the warmth of the greenhouse was delicious. As they sat and ate and talked, Esme decided to reconsider her idea of a first date. It didn't have to be perfect. This wasn't perfect. The bench was damp, the sausage rolls had gone cold, the salad was limp, and the Bakewell tarts were slightly burned. But it didn't matter, because they were enjoying each other's company, and that was all that mattered. She'd put too much pressure on herself, too much planning, too much second-guessing. That was the problem. She should let her hair down a little, as her younger siblings often said. Don't think, just do.

She glanced at Billy. He seemed to have unwound as well. He was leaning against the back of the bench, talking about his woodworking with an enthusiasm she'd never seen from him before, completely different from his manic ranting at the restaurant the other day. Were those the fairy lights reflected in his eyes, or were his eyes actually sparkling? Esme had always found brown eyes rather dull, but looking at Billy's eyes, framed by long, curling lashes, she could have sworn they could change color, going from a dark brown, almost black, to a warm chocolate, to a bright amber, depending on the light and his mood. They were glowing now, and Esme felt she could get lost in them.

Then he turned to her, and her heart lurched.

"So Jacob lets you come here whenever you want?" she asked, trying to regain her composure. "That's very kind of him."

"Yeah. When I'm—bad, or just want to be alone, all these flowers and plants calm me down."

"So why not go to a park, or a botanic garden?"

"It's safer here," he said. Esme nodded, embarrassed that she didn't think of it. Of course. If Billy was having an episode, the last thing he'd want to do was to go to some public place.

"And what does he say about you bringing girls here?"

Billy gasped. "I've never—I don't—" Then he saw Esme's lips quirk up in a grin, and he grinned too. "You're teasing me, aren't you?"

"I mean it," she said, still grinning. "If you haven't brought other girls here, you should start. Because it's working."

"What's working?" he asked, gazing at her with those mesmerizing eyes.

This would be another moment for a kiss, right? Right?

Don't think, just do.

Esme leaned over and kissed him, by way of answering. His lips were soft, and his beard tickled, the unfamiliar sensation making her laugh. Billy smiled as well, and their teeth knocked together, making Esme laugh harder.

"What's funny?" Billy asked, his lips hovering over hers.

"Nothing. Sorry. I just realized I've never kissed anyone with a beard before."

"You want me to shave?" 

"Maybe later—no, I'm joking! I don't mind the beard."

And to prove it, she kissed him again, still laughing. Billy moved into that laugh, pressing his mouth more firmly against hers, while his hands found their way to her back, holding her close.

She believed they would've stayed like that for much longer if Angua hadn't jumped up between them and demanded their attention. They turned to the dog, both fussing over her, trying to apologize for neglecting her, but unable to stay away for long, they returned to find each other's lips, again and again.

"Wanna go home?" Billy whispered, as they drew apart for the third time.

She pressed her forehead to his, so his eyes filled her vision. "Yes," she said.

Chapter 5

A/N: Poppadoms and Cheddar are really good, actually.

"Don't think, just do" is NOT a Top Gun: Maverick reference! It's a line from Snow Patrol's "You Could Be Happy". I only realized it was in Top Gun: Maverick after I finished the fic and looked it up.

And lastly, yes, I did give one of Eddie's lines (with a bit of modification to make it more British) to Billy. Just a little Easter egg for all the JQ fans out there :)

Taglist: @quinnypixie, @accidentalslag, @etherealglimmer (as always, if you want to be added to the taglist, just let me know!)

[drabbles-mc]

Go Ask Mom

Natalie Berzatto & Neil Fak

Warnings: 18+, language, talks of pregnancy & morning sickness (no sickness depicted)

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: Every day i think about the fact that Matty Matheson is the member of the cast who Actually Cooks and yet we never see Fak doing things in the kitchen

The Bear Taglist: @garbinge @hausofmamadas @darqchilddaydreamz @withmyteeth @ashlingnarcos @narcolini @justreblogginfics @fromirkwood (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

Fak sighed as he got out of his car, muttering under his breath to himself as he swung the door shut and locked it. “Go ask Mom, then, they said,” he mumbled, walking up the short strip leading to the front door of the house. “Like I won’t go ask Mom. I’ll ask. I’ll ask and she’ll actually say yes to me.” He huffed, straightening his shoulders just slightly as he prepared to knock on the door. “Go ask Mom,” he repeated under his breath.

He knocked on the door and waited a moment. When he didn’t hear any movement on the other side of the door, he knocked again. More silence. He sighed, looking over at the driveway where Natalie’s car was parked.

“Nat!” he called out. “I know you’re home! You left your car out!”

Natalie was lying on the couch, awake but regrettably so. She’d been awake before he started yelling, before he knocked. She’d been awake before his car had even rolled to a stop outside her house. That was the problem. She was awake. She’d been awake all night and all day the day before. Brief snippets of rest with her eyes closed that never lasted more than ten minutes at a clip didn’t count.

The next time she heard him yell, a full Natalie that time instead of just Nat, she knew that he wasn’t going to go away. She saw it coming. When she ignored all of the calls from Richie and Carmy, and the subsequent texts telling her to answer their calls, she knew that someone was bound to show up. At least it was Fak. She had that going for her, at least.

“Alright!” she yelled as she slowly started to maneuver herself off the couch. “I’m coming!”

She could hear him still talking on the other side of the door. He was halfway through another drawn-out, sing-songy repetition of her name when she pulled the door open. She didn’t try to smile, didn’t try to hide how exhausted she was. Luckily, she was too tired to do all that much yelling. She leaned against the side of the open door, eyes heavy but eyebrows raised nonetheless as she looked at Fak.

“Yes?”

“They said you weren’t answering your phone,” he said, gesturing over his shoulder at his car, like Richie and Carmy were sitting in there even though they weren’t.

“That’s because I wasn’t. Because I was ignoring them.”

He smiled. “You didn’t ignore me.”

She managed a smile in return. “I could never ignore you, sweetheart.”

He nodded towards her house. “Can I come in?”

She took a deep breath, hesitating even though she knew that she wasn’t going to turn him away. Carefully pushing herself off the door and upright, she stepped back so that he could step into the house. “Come on—it’s cold.”

Fak walked in and shut the door behind them. He looked around as he followed Natalie through the house to the kitchen. She was moving slowly, uncomfortably, but anyone would’ve been slow and uncomfortable if they were as pregnant as she was.

“How bad is it?” she asked when she came to a stop, leaning back against the counter in the kitchen, hands bracing against it as she tried to find some modicum of relief.

Confusion made him furrow his brows. “How bad is—”

“Whatever it is that Richie and Carmy have been calling me about. And texting me about. And sending you over here about.”

“Oh!” Recognition flooded Fak’s face at first, then relief. “That. Right.” He pulled an envelope out of the back pocket of his pants, then pulled the forms from the envelope. He handed them over as he spoke. “They said you had to sign off on these. Tax stuff. They said the rep—”

“Fuck,” she groaned with a knowing nod. “The rep is coming today. Shit. Right.” Pushing herself away from the counter she started to leave, “Let me grab a pen so I can—”

“Here,” he said as he reached into the pocket of his shirt, pulling out a pen.

Fak hadn’t done it to be funny or amusing, but Natalie still found herself smiling nonetheless. He always had something for everyone when they needed it. She took the pen from his hand, still smiling.

“Thank you, my love.” She turned, taking the pages that she needed to sign off on out of the envelope and smoothing them out on the counter. She knew what they were but she still gave them another once-over just to be safe. Taking the pen in her other hand, she started to put her signature down. When she got to the B in Berzatto, though, she let the pen drop on the counter as she leaned, palms flat against the surface. She shut her eyes tight as she grit out a quiet, “Fuck.”

Fak’s eyes widened. “What?”

She shook her head, wanting to wave him off but not wanting to throw off the balance and support of bracing herself against the counter. “Nothing, nothing. I just don’t get how I can feel like I wanna throw up when I haven’t been able to fucking eat anything.”

He waited for the look of pain on her face to subside. When she started finishing her signature, he asked, “Want me to make you something? I can—”

“That’s very sweet,” she said as she flipped to the next page of the document, “but I got it. I just,” she blew out a puff of air, “need to find something that I won’t absolutely hate when I inevitably see it again.”

Fak was shaking his head as he made his way past her. “I’ll make you something.”

“Neil—”

“I got it! I fix things, remember?”

She looked at him for a moment, exhausted but smiling. On a better day she could have won the argument, but as it was, she was just going to let him do whatever it was he had set his mind to. “Alright.”

She was about to tell him that if he needed help finding anything, to just ask, but he was already opening up all the cabinet doors in search of whatever it was that he needed. She was too tired to try and stop him, so instead she just finished initialing and signing what she needed to and tucked it all back in the envelope. She held onto it for the time being, not wanting it to become a casualty of whatever was about to take place in her kitchen.

Too tired and far too pregnant to stand close and look over his shoulder, Natalie found the closest chair and plopped down there instead. She watched from the far counter as he shuffled around, gathering up ingredients and utensils. It was amusing to her to see the difference in the way that he moved through the kitchen versus most everyone else at the restaurant, everyone else in her family. There was no tension, no real urgency. He didn’t look ready to snap at the slightest inconvenience. He was smiling as he got all of his things, a small smile Natalie was fairly certain he didn’t even realize he had on his face. Once he turned the stove on, she heard him start to hum and she couldn’t help laughing. When he looked over to ask what was going on, she simply waved for him to continue.

After a couple minutes, Natalie got up and grabbed herself a glass of water. She noticed the way that Fak stopped what he was doing. Resting her hand on his shoulder, she prompted him to continue. “Don’t let me stop you, my love.” She watched him as he nodded and went back to cooking, and she was smiling to herself as she got her water and went back to her seat. Once she was sitting again, she asked, “Do you talk while you cook?”

He looked over at her, hands still maneuvering the knife he was holding with precision that Natalie hadn’t exactly been expecting. “Do I talk while I’m cooking? I mean I guess.” He shrugged and let his gaze move back to the task at hand. “Usually just to Ralph—they don’t say much back.”

Natalie laughed before taking a sip of her water. “Probably not.”

“Why?”

She shrugged. “Just wondering. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you cook.”

He laughed. “Not like you guys ever really need anyone else in the kitchen.”

“Also not like you really want to be in the kitchen with my brother,” she said with a knowing grin.

Fak smiled but he didn’t confirm or deny her statement.

“What is this, anyway?” Natalie asked curiously as she gestured to the pot on the stove.

“Somethin’ good,” he replied with a grin.

“Good enough to not make me throw it all up five minutes after I eat it?”

“Yes.” He said it about as confidently as she’d ever heard him say anything before.

She wanted to ask him more about it, and more about him and cooking in general, but she didn’t. Instead she let the conversation drift to other topics—mostly things about the restaurant, but he did check in and ask about the baby and the nursery and if she and Pete needed any help with it. She appreciated it, but between Pete and Cicero, there was nothing left unbuilt or undecorated. She wished that someone else had been around to witness the two of them trying to do any of it together, someone who could share in her amusement.

It didn’t take him terribly long to pull it all together, but she noticed the way that even in that span of time, both her phone and his were vibrating and dinging with missed texts and calls from Carmy and Richie. At least Richie hadn’t resorted once more to his War Dialing technique, because then Natalie would’ve had to block his number, and it had been a long time since the last time she had to do that.

One of them called again as Fak was looking in cabinets for a bowl for Natalie, and this time he actually answered it. “What? I’m here! I’m at Nat’s.”

She could only hear his half of the conversation, but that was more than enough to get the gist of what was going on.

“There is no need to yell like that!” Fak argued as he ladled soup into the bowl, phone pinned between his shoulder and his ear. “I will be there before the guy. I always get there! It always gets done. You tell me to do these things and I do them. I always do them. Yes. Yes. Yes okay, bye.”

Natalie had a knowing smile on her face as Fak set the bowl down in front of her. “So? How’s Carmy?”

Fak smiled, having learned to let Carmy and Richie’s tempers and comments roll of his shoulders a long time ago. “I think he thinks I got lost on my way here.”

Part of Natalie was expecting Fak to stand there and watch her, see her reaction to what he’d made. Instead, though, he turned and went to start cleaning up everything that he’d taken out. He covered the pot on the stove with a lid, something to help keep it warm since there was enough for seconds if she ended up wanting them. After that, he started to put the extra ingredients away, put the dishes in the sink so that he could wash them. Natalie watched him for a moment before returning her attention to the food in front of her. She didn’t know what her hopes or expectations were, and that was largely due to the fact that lately no matter how good or bad the food was she couldn’t ever keep it down. She shrugged to herself, a here goes nothing gesture, and gave herself a spoonful.

Her eyes widened, pleasantly surprised. “Neil, honey,” she ate another spoonful, “this is actually really fucking great.”

He looked over his shoulder at her, temporarily diverting his attention from the dishes that he was washing. He had a wide smile on his face. “Yeah?”

“Yes, oh my god.” She laughed. “I can’t believe it. All this time?”

He didn’t say anything, but he did laugh as he went back to finishing the dishes, allowing Natalie to finish eating in peace. By the time that he was done with that, she was done eating. All the time of being unable to keep anything down catching up to her all at once, and she just hoped that she wasn’t going to regret it.

“So?” Fak asked when he finally walked back over to where Natalie was sitting. “Do I need to grab a bucket for you to puke in or?”

Natalie laughed and shook her head. “I think I’m actually, surprisingly, okay.” She paused, resting her hands on her stomach. “Where did you learn that?”

“You don’t get this many Fak’s without a lot of morning sickness,” he joked, although it was completely true.

Natalie laughed and nodded. “That makes sense.” She saw that he was about to say something else when his phone buzzed again. She gave him an easy out. “Go ahead, before they both come kicking down my door looking for you.”

Fak laughed as he walked over and gave her a hug. He gently patted the back of her head like he did to his cats as he said, “Feel better.”

She smiled, shaking her head at his actions. “Thank you, my love.”

He pulled away from her and started to make his way back towards the front door to leave. Natalie let him get a few strides away before she called after him. “Neil?”

“Yeah?”

“I think you might’ve forgotten something, sweetheart.” She waited for him to turn around and face her before holding up the envelope that he’d come over with.

His eyes widened as he backtracked back over to her. “Right! Right.”

He gave her another brief hug and a goodbye and then scurried off to head back to the restaurant. Natalie shook her head as she watched him disappear back out of the house. She was still smiling, running her hands over her stomach when she heard the sound of his car starting and pulling away from her house.

[girljpg]

i warched good omens season 2

i have a lot to say that doesn't really amount to anything so i'm gonna start typing at random

i liked the romantic vibe of the season and all the cute flashbacks. the dialogue between the leads was appropriately trusting and sweet. they really leaned into showing how they rely on each other. i also like that the conflict was pretty small in scale compared to season 1. it's not armageddon, but there were still some stakes if you include all the humans that almost died. although.... heaven and hell seem to know exactly where crowley and aziraphale are... yes, they fooled them at the end of s1, but wouldn't they idk. try other means? why didn't they get their names erased from the book of life earlier if that was something higher up angels could do? whatever

i like that there were real actual gay characters (lesbians even! who looked like real people!) even though I was worried they were getting together too fast, the reveal towards the end that they were going to move slow felt realistic. but them having to talk crowley into confessing his feelings felt ripped straight from a fanfiction. the lesbians comparing themselves to aziraphale and crowley was a bit on the nose. many moments did in fact feel like fanfiction. the dancing together, the "I need you!", the "We can just be us." all of that was cute and probably something i would've written idk could you do any better??? i am not immune to fluff. but also, that's a grown man. does it not take agency away from the character to have his relationship explained to him? and then they had the gall to not even show us this conversation. ideally he would've come to a conclusion about his feelings on his own-- perhaps after seeing gabe and beez fuck off to alpha centauri and going huh. i guess you can just do that. or even just through way of flashback-- oh no wait. all of the flashbacks were from aziraphale's point of view for some reason. why didn't azi get any realizations? you know michael sheen would've ate

the "i was wrong dance" well here's the thing i did clap

I thought the set of the street in london with all the little shops looked nice although there were always so so many extras walking around. is london really that crowded?

i thought they kind of wasted muriel's character. she seems to disappear for a long time before the plot calls for her to conveniently be there. i know she's meant to be a bit dim but surely she noticed 70 demons walking down the street.... ALSO i thought the book crowley handed her was going to be good omens but it. was not

looooved shax loved new beelzebub. who else. idk everyone was really giving it their all. megatron showed up for all of two episodes i think but was pivotal for the ending. what are you doing neil. gabriel is also doing. things. they wasted jon hamm as well by making him a frustrating himbo. one of the only scenes i liked with him was crowley yelling at him for trying to kill aziraphale in s1 and then trying to jump out a window and then calling crowley nice. but that whole bit felt more like a crowley scene than a gabe scene. he does get a mug with his name on it tho and hypocritically falls in love with the fly lady so all is forgiven.

i'm gonna be real with you all.. the way they filmed the kiss felt awkward. the way the camera swings around and crowley grabs him felt very....... rehearsed? a little unnatural, i think. the way crowley LUNGES. idk i need to rewatch the last ten minutes again. and it went on so long. we got like three of four angles on it like whoah. but the reaction face we got out of michael sheen. mamma mia

"I forgive you." asdejgkasdgahdgdfs when i say i paused the ep for extended laughter lmfaoooooo. clutching a wine bottle to my chest and cheering. this fucken guy. babygirl is distraught for all of about ten seconds before it's time to start the new job. i did start yelling at my screen after that point. he had no right to look crowley dead in the eye across the street and not run back to him. COWARRD. i understand why he did it but COWARD. why, after sooo long, would you think crowley would jump for joy to be an angel again... i watched all eight minutes of the credits certain that there was going to be more but nope. catch ya next time for the second coming (of jesus?? <- does not know things about the bible)

so i was pretty satisfied with that watch. i wish the season was longer than 6 episodes but tbh they had to make this story from nothing and it shows in the romcom hijinks and threadbare mystery. but it was fun and went by quickly. then i check on the fandom and they're, get this, upset for some reason about this ending. there's no pleasing some fans i guess. good job neil you've pissed off the people who wanted them to kiss AND the people who didn't want them to kiss, bravo! hopefully in a month or so everyone will cool down about it. and if not well. plenty of fanfic fodder until season 3. not that i read good omens fanfic, but it'll be there. just be happy there was a kiss alright!!!!!!?!!!1

(i just know we're going to get a flood of people calling aziraphale a big meanie and crowley a poor little scrimbly blimbo meow meow who got rejected. booooo stop that right now)

[astragreenwoode]

The Spitfire Curse - Chapter Two

Previous: Chapter One • Next: Chapter Three • Masterlist • AO3 Version

Rating: Explicit(18+ ONLY)

Pairings:  Billy Hargrove x Fem!OC

Warnings: Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-Con, Canon-Typical Violence, Graphic Descriptions of Violence, Non-specified Mental Illness, Self-Harm, Drug Use, Hypersexuality, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms

Genre: Adventure, Thriller, Horror, Slow-Burn Romance, Angst, Hurt/Comfort. Smut, Fluff, Slight Canon-Divergence, Fix-it fic

And a special thanks to my beta-reader @take-everything-you-can! Thank you so much for all your feedback and ideas, love!

Chapter Two: Aren't You Supposed To Burn If You're A Star?

Word Count: 8275

Chapter Warnings: Disembodied Voices, Self-Deprecating Talk, Anxiety, Implied Trauma, Language, Slight Smut, Confusion, Gaslighting, Blackouts, Hypersexual Behaviors and Thoughts

Chapter Summary: Maeven remembers the first time she realized she and Billy could become 'family' as Neil sneaks his way into her mother's heart. The morning of the school tour, she wakes up and discovers she doesn't remember all that happened the night before.

April 1984

The first time I met Neil was last November. It was the first time my mom invited him over for dinner. It was more of a ‘date night’ thing, so Max and I stayed out of the way after Mom forced us to shake his hand. We spent the rest of the night in my room, gossiping about how we thought Neil would run away in one of our famous blanket forts with Nutmeg.

At this point, Billy and I had been sneaking around for six months. All I knew about his dad was that his name was Neil and he was a piece of shit. It crossed my mind that his Neil and my mom’s Neil were one and the same, but it would be a big and unlikely coincidence. When he said he had a son, I wasn’t picturing Billy. Max and I envisioned him as a preppy football kid, a carbon copy of his father. As soon as I found out his last name was ‘Hargrove,’ I freaked out and friend-zoned Billy the next day. He wasn’t very happy about it but understood. We started things up again between us after he saved me on New Year's.

My parents divorced pretty much immediately after I yelled at them that fateful day in February. Shortly after that, Dad took Lucy and Bullet and high-tailed it to San Francisco. Max and I only saw him once a month, on second-rate holidays, and for a few extended trips during the summer. He would come to see us whenever he was back in San Diego for work. Those were the times Mom couldn’t come up with a reason for us not to go see him.

Mom was still around, of course, but it was different now that dad was out of the picture. She’d always been blurry around the edges, but it was worse after they separated. She was there for us in a sort of thin, floaty way, like she was drifting away from us and we couldn’t hold onto her. My mom barely spent any time in her craft room, anymore; something she used to do every day. It felt kind of tragically magical, the way her personality got swept up in whatever new guy she was dating.

First, there was Donnie, who was on disability for his back and need my mom to be his mother for a while. Then there was Vic from St. Louis. That was really the only interesting thing about him. Gus had heterochromia; one green eye and one blue one. Ivan picked his teeth with a switchblade on our couch. They all came and went in a flash. Max and I never really minded them. They were friendly or goofy towards us. After the honeymoon phase, their true colors came out; they were either in debt, had major codependency issues, living in their cars, or constantly winding up drunk in a county jail cell. They always left, and if they didn’t, Mom kicked them out. We never got attached to them. We knew better than that; none of them could hold a candle to our dad.

Neil was different. Neil was the only one of Mom’s recent boyfriends who had brought flowers to their date. He complimented her cooking, saying it was the best meatloaf he had ever tasted. They spent the rest of the night drinking wine while listening to records in the living room.

He and Mom met at the bank, where she was a teller and he was a security guard, slowly moving up to management since he was friends with the boss. He told Mom she looked like an old-timey framed painting or Sleeping Beauty as she stood behind the glass, handing out lollipops to the kids and deposit slips to their parents. It seemed romantic, but Max found it gross; “Sleeping Beauty’s in a coma, and a painting doesn’t do any interesting shit. They both just sit there and look pretty.”

At the time, I just praised her for her keen sense of observation, and for how smart she was. I know now that I should’ve taken that comment more seriously. It didn’t occur to me that Neil saw my mom as something he could own.

The night Neil finally introduced us to Billy was a chilly April evening. He took us to Fort Fun; known for its go-kart track, arcade, mini golf course, and jungle gym. It was the kind of place guys like Neil wouldn’t be caught dead in. Dad used to take us there to celebrate the last day of school. Later, Max found out he took us there because he wanted to impress us, to make us think he was fun.

To be fair, Max and I ended up having a good time that evening. I needed a way to loosen up; a way to escape the mess my life spiraled into the last three months and a way to distract me from where I would be in a week's time.

That night, Billy ended up being late to the party. Neil said nothing, but Max and I could tell that he was seething inside. He tried to act like everything was normal, but I noticed how his hands left dents in his foam coke cup. Mom fidgeted with a paper napkin while we awaited Billy’s arrival, folding it up into little squares. Max bounced her leg and I scratched at the scars on my arms as we looked over the menu.

Max passed me a note underneath the table. We used little notebooks that we passed back and forth to send each other silent messages. We had been doing it ever since we were little; ever since she moved into the room adjacent to mine. We would slide the notebooks against the carpet, across to the other’s room, and talk in a way so we wouldn’t wake Mom and Dad. She wrote in her signature red ink; “I bet this is all a big scam. He probably doesn’t even have a son. He probably lives in a basement and eats stray cats.”

I giggled as I wrote back; “This isn’t a horror movie, Max.”

“Either way, let's keep him away from Nutmeg.”

Even though it wasn’t true, I imagined what it would be like if this was a horror movie. Mom would definitely be the first to die. But at least I could sit through this dinner without worrying whether or not the adults knew about my and Billy’s little love affair. Anything was better than watching Neil glare out at the parking lot every two minutes and then smile tightly at my mom.

The four of us were working our way through a game of mini-golf when Billy finally decided to show his face. The engine of his Camaro was so loud that everyone on the course turned to look. He slammed the door shut behind him and walked over to us, cutting straight through the mini-golf course, stepping over a big plastic tortoise and onto the fake green turf.

Neil gave him the sour look he always gave whenever something didn't live up to his unrealistically high standards. "You're late."

Billy just shrugged, not even giving his father a glance.

"Say hello to Maxine and Margaret."

Billy gave Max a slow, cool nod like she was me and we passed each other in the halls. Max smiled, holding her putter by its sweaty rubber handle. 

As much as Max and I hated this whole situation, the only silver lining she saw was getting a big brother. And as awkward as that made things with Billy and me, I wanted that for her. He had been my lifeline, my savior from everything going wrong in my life, especially in these past three months. If he could take care of her while I was blacking out and going insane, I'd gladly welcome him and Neil into the family.

"You go to Newport High, right?"

"Umm, yeah. Hi."

I couldn't deny that it hurt a little when he pretended not to know me, as if he had forgotten that beautiful thing we started last summer.

"You have nothing to be upset about, bitch. You were the one who ended things with him. And he hasn't even touched you since everyone found out what a slut you really are."

I said nothing back to it this time. Anything I would've said wouldn't have made a difference, anyway. It never did.

Later that night, Billy, Max, and I hung out by the skeeball stalls while Neil and Mom walked down the boardwalk together. The very sight of them being gooey at each other was starting to get annoying, and it made me wanna throw up. But she seemed really happy, so I just kept on taking turns with Max as we played skeeball, trying my best to ignore it. 

 Billy leaned his elbows on the railing of the boardwalk, looking out over the go-kart track from where we were above it. He casually balanced a cigarette between his fingers and turned to us as he breathed out the smoke. "So. . .Susan seems like a real buzzkill."

"Ha! You have no idea!" Max practically howled

I shrugged. Mom could be fussy, nervous, and absolutely no fun at all, sometimes. But she was still our mom.

"So, Margaret. . .Maxine. . ."

Unlike me, Max had better coping skills. She tucked her hair behind her ear and tossed the skeeball into the corner cup for a hundred points. The machine under the coin slot whirred and spit out a paper chain of prize tickets."Don't call us that. It's Maeven and Max,” she said, not breaking her eye contact from the game.

Billy glanced back at us with his signature sleepy smile.

"Well then, you've got quite the mouth on you,” he chuckled.

"Yeah, only when people piss us off,” I shot back. It definitely wasn’t the first time we heard it.

"Which seems to happen often with you, Iron Maeven," Billy’s laugh was low and gravelly. Max turned to me, confusion and awe written on her face.

"Iron Maeven?"

"It's. . .what everyone called me back at school."

I didn’t understand the reference until I listened to Iron Maiden for the first time. It was my first introduction to the metal scene; a sub-culture very prominent in California. I quickly became enamored with the genre. The unlikely harmony of music and screaming was probably the only healthy coping mechanism I had to deal with my parent’s divorce. It somehow expressed how the whole ordeal made me feel better than I could ever verbalize.

"You have a badass criminal nickname and you didn't tell me?! That’s so bitchin’, Sis! High-five!" Max exclaimed, holding her hand up. I slapped her hand as I laughed. She had gotten much more fun ever since I taught her how to swear effectively.

"Mad Max and Iron Maeven. All right, then. I can work with that."

Billy’s Camaro sat underneath a streetlamp. Its jet-blue paint job made it look almost like a scaled creature from another world; a monster. I could tell how much Max wanted to reach out and touch it. It was the same look she gave to Dad’s Impala.

As Billy turned away again, he watched the go-karts that zoomed along the tire-lined tracks. Max sent her last skeeball into the one-hundred cup and took the last of her tickets.

"You guys wanna race?" She asked.

Billy snorted and took a drag from his cigarette.

"Why would I wanna screw around with some little go-kart when I know how to drive?"

"Cause it's fun?" I challenged.

"I know how to drive, too,” Max said.

"Sure you do,” Billy rolled his eyes, not even blinking. He tipped his head back and blew out a plume of smoke. He seemed bored underneath the flashing neon lights on the boardwalk, but almost sounded friendly.

Dad taught me how to drive while Max sat in the backseat. He once taught her how to use a clutch in a parking lot of a Jack in the Box. In her eyes, that qualified her as a driver just from observing us. If she drove any way like she drove a go-kart, I’d never allow her behind the wheel.

"I do. As soon as I'm sixteen, I'm gonna get a Barracuda and drive all the way up the coast."

"A 'Cuda, huh? That's a lot of horsepower for a little kid."

"So? I can handle it. I bet I could even drive your car."

Billy stepped closer to Max, leaning down so that he was staring right into her face. He was still smiling.

"Max," he taunted in a sly, singsong voice. "If you think you're getting anywhere near my car, you are extremely mistaken." His smile never faded. He laughed at her again, putting out his cigarette with the toe of her boot.

"What about me?” I counter-offered as I leaned against one of the wooden light posts on the boardwalk. “Do I get driving privileges?"

Billy stepped close to me and leaned himself on his forearm above my head, towering over me. His baby blue orbs were bright, staring back into my ocean-colored ones. I inhaled a whiff of his scent; he smelled both delicious and dangerous like cigarettes and hair products mixed with engine oil. For a moment, I panicked. It seemed like he was about to kiss me right then and there, right in front of my sister. 

But I composed myself as he just said "I'll think about it,” and left me on the edge. I fought the heat between my legs and the urge to go rub one out in the bathroom. Maybe I’d even drag him along with me.

“No fair!”Max whined.

“It's about as fair as it gets, actually,” I laughed, tousling her hair. Billy loomed over us, studying our faces.

“You’re just a kid,” he said again. “But I guess even kids can tell a bitchin’ ride when you see one, right?”

“Sure,” Max replied.

I figured that Billy was just kidding around with us that night. It was just the way guys talked. All the slackers, lowlifes - poor excuses for men our dad hung around at the Black Door Longue down the road from his new place in San Francisco. When they teased Norman Mayfield about his daredevil daughters and teased us about boys and school, they were only playing.

But there was something new in Billy’s demeanor and the way he talked that I didn’t recognize. He looked at me and my sister like we were something to eat. I should’ve bookmarked that moment as a red flag for later, but I was dumb. I was in love with the idea of having him around more often; in love with the idea of love. And Max and I had been dumb enough to believe this was the start of something good. That the Hargroves were here to make our family whole again. Or, at the very least, okay again.

. . .

Maeven was always a heavy sleeper, often too deep in her dreams and unbothered by the world outside her mind. Her parents and sister often had to give her the extra nudge to wake up after becoming too annoyed by the blaring alarm clock that looped one too many times. Even if she had trouble getting to sleep, especially within the past 9 months, she slept like the dead.

This morning was one of those rare occasions where Maeven woke up before her alarm. The last thing she remembered was leaning into Billy's massage before passing out. However, she found her body ached more intensely than the night before; most likely due to the twisted positions she often found herself in while she slept.

It was nothing that a few stretches and a hot shower couldn't take care of. But her hair was mysteriously damp like she already showered the night before. She brushed her nape, not thinking anything of it; it was probably just sweat.

As she roused from her sleep, she felt one of her pillows in between her legs that wasn't there before. It was scrunched up like it was hugged tightly. soaked with her arousal that seeped through her panties. Maeven recalled having a couple of easy orgasms in the midst of her dreamless, dark rest. She also remembered being very scared, filled with dread, but couldn’t pinpoint why, either.

Ever since hitting puberty, she had a tendency to writhe and hump in her sleep, chasing her high in dreamland. It became more uncontrollable after what happened nine months prior. Billy must've put the pillow between her legs before going back to his own room. He was thoughtful like that, in the little ways that made a big difference.

It was a Sunday morning, the birds still singing as the cool wind blew through the open windows of Maeven's room. Maeven and Max used to wake up early every Sunday for their mother. As soon as they both completed their first communion, Susan stopped requiring her daughters’ attendance. Their Mom continued going on her own, but the two sisters got their well-deserved lazy Sunday.

Hawkins High School and Middle School started their classes three weeks ago. It was inconvenient for both Billy and the Mayfield sisters. Billy was forced to move right before his Senior Year of High-School. Max had to leave behind everything she ever knew. Maeven felt like she left half her heart in California, carrying what remained with her to Hawkins. But as long as no one found out she was an 18-year-old Junior, she’d be fine.

Coming to the party late was going to suck. The students were still getting a feel for the new school year but settled into their regular routines of classes and clubs. The blended siblings would have to go through weeks of cramming what they missed at the start of the year; enduring pressuring questions about being the ‘new kid’ and being forced to introduce themselves in each class like they were giving an oral presentation about who they were.

The next couple of days were really going to blow. Neil and Susan had already enrolled their kids the first day they arrived. Today, Billy, Max, and Maeven were going on a tour of the campus before they started classes the following morning. Maeven was the only one interested in the tour, even if she wasn't looking forward to their first day, either. It would be good to get a feel of the campus; have a way to navigate without feeling totally lost on the first day.

As Maeven’s body finally caught up with her brain, she shamelessly contorted her body with her stretches, only satisfied when her back arched and her head hang upside down. Her mind wandered to how she once made fun of her mother for how ridiculous she thought she looked striking her yoga poses. When she collapsed back onto her mattress onto her side, wincing as she felt a sharp pain on her upper-right arm. Maeven lifted the short sleeve of her sleep shirt to inspect, confused by the bandage that she didn’t remember putting on. Taking a look over herself, she saw a few more bandages along both her arms, as well as a couple on her chest.

Maeven slapped herself hard across her cheek, punishing her body and mind for acting without her permission again. She must’ve blacked out last night, or sleepwalked again. There really wasn’t a difference between the two anymore, they both ended up in the same way; with her doing things she later regretted. Whenever she was kicked out of the driver's seat, any number of bad things could happen. Last night, she must’ve cut herself amidst her blacked-out mania. Uncomfortably familiar with this scenario now, Maeven knew what must’ve happened; Billy was forced to patch her up yet again.

“Mae-Mae?”

At the sound of a knock on the door accompanied by her mother’s voice, Maeven instinctively buried herself back under her quilt and pretended to be asleep. Mom didn’t need to know about this. She thought she was getting better.

“Maevey?” Susan asked again, knocking before cracking the door open a smidge and poking her head through.

Maeven put her sleepy mask back on, moving the quilt off her face and letting out a soft moan as if she had just woken up.

“Hey, mom. . .” she mumbled, burying her face into her sheets.

“Hi, sweetie,” Susan smiled, coming over to sit on the foot of her daughter’s bed. “I thought I heard you. You’re up early.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Maeven breathed out, relieved now that her mom seemed to have bought her performance.

Susan Mayfield’s smile was contagious, annoyingly so. It had become more frequent once she married Neil. Maeven could do without her constant positivity since it wasn’t always appropriate, and sometimes even toxic. But seeing her mom happy was better than seeing her in constant misery the way she used to be.

“That’s good. You must be excited, huh?”

“That’s a word for it,” Maeven yawned out, rolling her eyes before closing them. The sun seemed especially bright this morning. Her mom stood up from the bed and asked her daughter before leaving; “Pancakes or waffles?”

Still pretty out of it, Maeven’s brain processed her mom’s words slowly as she looked back up at her.

“Huh?”

“Breakfast, Maevey,” Susan clarified, visibly puzzled at her daughter’s confusion.

“Oh, ummm. . .waffles, please,” she replied, putting on a small smile again.

“Good thing I found which box the waffle iron is in.”

. . .

While showering, Maeven always did her best not to look down at her body as she washed herself. She barely even saw her own naked figure in the mirror anymore. The closest she had ever gotten was looking at herself in her bra and underwear. Even then, she teared up looking at the many small scars that littered her flesh. The only time she felt remotely good about her body is when she was being touched by someone else. When she was touched, when Billy touched her, she no longer felt like a stranger in her own body. The way he simultaneously worshiped and used her made all the scars momentarily disappear, replacing them with tender bites and bruises no one else could see. Just the thought of it made her hand wander down between her legs. . .

Maeven slapped her cheek a couple of times at her impulses as someone barged into the bathroom. She hates herself for even feeling a little bit excited at the thought of being caught like this. The whole concept was so hot to her, but simultaneously sent a violently revolting shiver of shame down her spine.

“Max! What did we say about privacy!?” she shouted as she peeked her head out from behind the curtain. Max rolled her eyes and dramatically groaned, shamelessly pulling down her sleep pants so she could pee.

“There's a curtain separating us, Maevey! Besides, we’re both girls. Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

Maeven chuckled, closing the curtain as she washed the last of the hair products from her head.

“I’m not wearing panties, Squirt. I’m showering.”

“Okay, fine, don’t get your pubes tangled then.”

In an instant, both sisters burst out laughing. Crude jokes had become their preferred pass time once Max finally became a teenager.

“No! Nope! That is so much worse!”

“Girls?” Susan Mayfield probably waited half a second after knocking before opening the door, too curious about the commotion to consider the very concept of privacy.

“Mom! Get out!” Her daughters yelled in unison. She retreated quickly, keeping the door open enough to get her message across.

“Breakfast will be ready in ten minutes.”

“Okay, fine! Just close the door!” Max groaned. 

At the sound of the door locking shut, they relaxed. But just as Maeven lathered up her poof with body wash, Max stood up to flush the toilet as she pulled up her pants.

“Ow! Fuck!” Maeven winced and cowered away at the now boiling water shooting down at her from the showerhead.

“Shit! Sorry!” Max exclaimed. Maeven chuckled as the water now only hit her feet.

“No, no, it’s fine, you didn’t know. Neither did I.”

It really was fine. It hurt, but Maeven didn’t like hearing her baby sister sound so pathetically scared of the potential backlash.

“Won’t happen again.”

“I know, Squirt, but if I have third-degree burns on my ass by the time I’m out of here, you’re dead!”

“Yeah, sure.”

There was quiet for the next couple minutes or so as Max brushed her teeth and Maeven washed her body, her eyes still closed.

“Okay, there, it’s all yours.”

“Bye Max.”

As she stood underneath the showerhead, finally alone, Maeven let the hot water wash away all the pain. Outside, everything felt chaos, out of her control. Being closed off in a shower like this was one of the only times she felt at peace, as if she was safe and warm in the womb again. But it wasn’t perfect. She had no control over the sound in this environment; no way to block out the silence with the mixtapes from her dad on her walkman. This bathroom was too small to fit her boombox anywhere without it being in danger of being tripped on or having water splashed on it. The sound of running water wasn’t enough for Maeven to work with, leaving her brain to run wild without her permission.

“Stupid, fucking insane bitch. You’re a stupid fucking insane bitch, Maeven.”

Even though the voice came from inside her, it wasn’t her own. Whatever or whoever came to invade her head with poison possessed a tone deeper than hers. It was smooth and oddly familiar, but often scratchy and distorted. If she had heard this voice before, Maeven couldn’t for the life of her identify it correctly.

“Yeah. . .well at least I know I’m insane,” she scoffed back as she ran her soaped-up poof around her body, eyes still shut tight. “That makes me better than all the crazy people in denial of their craziness.”

“Really? It sounds worse. Like you’re on a whole new level of crazy.”

Maeven rolled her eyes back into her skull so hard it hurt. There was no winning with this voice. It always had something else to say.

“Shut up.” It was redundant at this point, trying to quiet the voice. It never shut up. It always came back, eventually.

Maeven subconsciously brought one hand to the nape of her neck to feel the bottom of her hair. It was still choppy from when she impulsively cut off her long fiery curls back in February. She never even bothered to have it evened out, even though she cut it every month to keep it from growing. She had been growing it out since she was ten, but it just didn’t feel like her any longer. 

Her other hand ghosted over her pelvis, tracing the large scar above her left ovary in the shape of a heart. It didn’t hurt when she touched it anymore, but it hurt if it was pressed on too hard. That was an improvement. Her periods were still extremely painful, no matter how well her body adjusted to the months of healing from surgery.

Maeven could still remember the exact way it felt when it was carved into her flesh.

“You know you can never wash it away, right?”

“I know. . .”

. . .

A shiver shot down Maeven’s spine as she took her meds at the breakfast table; the combination of eight different kinds of pills left a bitter taste and a horrible feeling. But she needed them to stay together, and she hated that. She was mad that her body and brain couldn’t function like everyone else’s, and that she needed pills to feel normal. It didn’t feel as bad when she took them with food or any drink other than water; the taste distracted her from the grossness of it all. Her mom’s waffles seemed to be the best of those distractions.

Billy slipped his hand under the table and gave Maeven’s hand a comforting and reassuring squeeze at her sign of discomfort.

Meals between the newly-blended family were always awkward, the silence seemingly screaming at them. Max and Maeven both practically inhaled their food, relieved to finally have a familiarly wholesome meal. They had been doing takeout for the past week while waiting for the moving truck and figuring out what goes where. Billy and his dad ate at an acceptable pace. Susan always ate fairly slowly, but would sometimes eat so slowly as if she didn’t deserve what was being served, even if she made it herself; it had been more present since the wedding.

“So. . .you kids excited for tomorrow?”

At the sound of Neil’s voice, Maeven jumped and Billy pulled his hand away from her leg.

“Not really,” Max replied after swallowing her food.

“Nope,” Billy said, bluntly.

“I’m still deciding,” Maven mumbled.

Neil said nothing to them, just laughing as he gave them that same icy stare.

“Ah, I never liked school either. But either way, I expect you kids to be on your best behavior,” he said in between bites of sausage and eggs. “This is a chance for a brand-new start for all of us and we don’t need you making things tougher than it needs to be; especially you, Margaret.”

Maeven wanted to tell him off, to tell him for the umpteenth time that that wasn’t her name. She hated it when people called her that; she said it made her sound like an old lady, which her aunt Margaret on her Dad’s side took playful offense to, It wasn’t like she was wrong. But she didn’t. And it wouldn’t have mattered, anyway. So instead, she just put on the smile she knew Neil wanted from her and said; “Trust me, I’m not looking to start anything. Just gonna try and blend in this year.”

“Oh, please, Maeven. You’ve never blended in,” Billy scoffed, leaning over to playfully shove her arm. He did it a little harder than Maeven would’ve preferred, but she said nothing.

“Yeah,” Max said with a mouthful of waffles, “especially not with that hair."

She leaned over to lightly pulled at her sister’s identical red locks.

“Ow!” Maeven laughed, slapping her hand away before giving Billy a slap on the shoulder. “Okay, I did not come here to be abused while trying to enjoy a delicious meal. You know what they say; no time like the present, guys.”

The kids turned back to their plates, but not before Maeven could return her sister’s tug.

“And it's your hair, too, Squirt."

“Maevey, Max,” Susan spoke up, giving her daughters the eyes she only gave them when she was about to lecture them or ask them to do something for her. “I picked out some outfits for you and laid them on your bed for tomorrow.”

Max dropped her fork and rolled her eyes.

“What?” Maeven looked at her mother

“Yeah, I can dress myself,” Max whined.

“It’ll be your first day in a new school, a new town. I thought you might wanna wear something special.”

“Why?”

Maeven and Max knew they should want to make their mom happy, but they sure as hell weren’t about to show up to their first day at new schools dressed like someone they weren’t.

“Oh, you know. It just seems like such a waste. You girls are gorgeous, but I never see you dress up or try to look nice. And I want you to make a good impression on those kids.”

The idea that they needed to look nice for Hawkins was laughable to Maeven and Max. But they stayed silent. Susan always did this; tried to mold her daughters into something they weren’t, especially since their dad left. Both Mayfield girls hated it. It hurt them to think that their mother didn’t like them the way they already were. Dad would never make them feel like that. But since their mother married Neil, they felt like they had to tolerate it more.

“Promise me you’ll at least take a look, okay?”

The sisters said nothing, finding their half-finished plates suddenly very interesting. They both seethed, Maeven tapping her fingers against the tabletop as Max shook her leg under the table in frustration.

“Girls, answer your mother,” Neil said, not looking up from his breakfast. It wasn’t a question, it was a demand. They knew that by now.

“Alright, Mom.”

“Okay.”

Susan gave the girls and Neil a smile before going back to her meal. But Neil had one more piece of news to report.

“Margaret, before your classes tomorrow, you’ll have to check in with the sheriff’s office this afternoon. You’ll also need to check in with the school counselor before you leave campus tomorrow.”

The words ‘sheriff’ and ‘counselor’ made Maeven’s heart-rate spike. She always had problems with the authorities. It may be surprising since her Dad was in the military, but she was scared of cops; she had a reason to be ever since she was tackled by them in the ninth grade. And she had spent more than enough time with counselors in inpatient treatment for three months. She was tired of being forced to relive her trauma, justifying her behavior, defending herself, and trying to convince people she wasn’t crazy.

“What? What do you mean?”

“Have you really already forgotten? We talked about this last week.”

She didn’t remember that conversation but nodded to her stepdad as if she did.

“Sorry. . .”

“Don’t be sorry. If you were really sorry, you wouldn’t do it.”

Maeven felt Billy rub her knee again under the table. She didn’t say anything after that. She just finished her meal as she snapped her rubberband against her wrist, trying not to think about how hard she’d fuck up her meeting with the cops this afternoon. She just wanted this part of her life over and done with. But she’d push through this; she had help. All she had to do was put up with these weekly meetings with cops and counselors for the next year, and she’d be home-free.

“You always fuck up everything, no matter what. Why would this time be any different?”

Maeven didn’t feel like eating, anymore. Even if she had those on her side who wanted to help her, it was hard to stay positive when you feel like you were a hostage in your own body, a prisoner in your own mind.

“Everyone finished?” Susan asked, standing up from the table. Maeven nearly jumped at the offer to clear the table; anything to escape Neil’s harsh gaze.

“It’s okay, Mom. I got it,” she said, taking her mother’s plate before going for the rest. As everyone left the table, she cringed as Neil passed her with his final words of the morning.

“Good girl.”

“He totally knows about you and Billy. He knows how you let him fuck you in his Camaro like the filthy little whore you are. Once mom goes downhill, he’s coming for you, next.”

“Now everyone get your things together or we’ll be late for the tour,” Susan called out from the living room.

. . .

As Maeven laced on her doc martens, she tightened the lace, one, two, three times on each foot. The bags underneath her eyes were showing no sign of disappearing. No matter how much sleep she had gotten, she always looked exhausted. Eyeliner helped, but she didn’t wanna give boys the wrong idea. She kept her aunt’s evil eye necklace hidden underneath her muted striped sweater. Neil would throw a fit about her being a ‘devil-worshipping-hippe’ otherwise. 

The outfits her mother laid out on her bed for her made her want to throw up; too many bright colors and ruffles. They were shallow Christmas gifts with the best intentions. Susan thought her daughter would look nice in them, but never considered that she wouldn’t like them. Maeven would only wear them at formal events, or mother-daughter date nights to make her happy. But she didn’t feel like she needed to do that, anymore; her mom seemed ignorantly happy, floating.

It was a lot colder today as if someone flipped the switch from ‘summer’ to ‘fall’ with a snap of their fingers. Maeven opted for her long black skirt but still slipped on her fishnet stockings and armlets. She liked the way they made her feel, and how they gripped her skin like a hug. She used to shamelessly wear the stockings underneath skirts and shorts that she got in trouble for at school. The armlets provided her with a distraction; the oddly soothing feeling she got from running her fingers against the netted fabric was a better way to cope than scratching her arms. The idea of ruining them with her bad habits was enough to dissuade her, too.

As Maeven gave herself a look over in the full-length mirror in the corner across her bed, she didn’t notice herself. She felt alright; that was all she felt when she looked in the mirror now. What she was more focused on was the night light that should’ve been plugged in next to the mirror. It had been there since the first night they moved in. Where did it go?

“Are you gonna bring him?”

“What?”

Maeven blinked, forgetting where she was for a moment and what she was supposed to be doing. The disembodied voice seemed to echo throughout her blank bedroom.

“Woodsy’s looking right at you. You gonna bring him with?”

She looked in the mirror again, finally grasping what it was alluding to. Her Woodsy Owl plush laying on her unmade bed, seemingly looking up at Maeven through his reflection in the mirror.

“Today or tomorrow?”

“At all.”

Her dad gave that plush to Maeven on her birthday ten years ago, along with a ‘give a hoot, don’t pollute’ bumper sticker she ended up sticking to the doors of her wardrobe. She had Smokey Bear and Ranger Rick to complete her set of U.S. Forest Service pals. But Woodsy was always her favorite. She had been especially reliant on him these past nine months, bringing him with her to cling to in case a panic attack suddenly came. But she wasn’t going to school then.

“I’m not gonna walk into a new high school with an old toy stuffed into the bottom of my backpack.”

“No. Don’t do that. Not to Woodsy. He’s your friend. You should walk in with him tucked under your arm.”

Maeven was almost eighteen. She graduated from inpatient therapy, she could drive, and she had a bright future ahead of her as long as she kept her shit together. Walking into Hawkins High with a childhood toy would make her the laughingstock of the student body.

As she held the love-worn owl plush in her hands, she couldn’t shake the internal need to bring him with her. But instead, she spoke back, “Why would I do that?”

“So they’d all leave you alone?”

But Maeven didn’t want to be left alone. Well, she did, but this was different. She wanted people to mind their own business and just let her be in peace. But she didn’t want to be alone at Hawkins’ High. As much as she loved Billy, she longed for her own life again.

“I want everyone out and in the cars in two minutes! Come on, let’s go! Chop chop!”

Maeven shot up from her bed at Neil’s voice, stuffing the plush into the bottom of her bag, giving herself a mental slap in shame.

It was ironic that even though her dad was the one in the military, her stepdad was the one with the drill sergeant-like attitude.

. . .

Susan, Neil, and Max piled into the family station wagon with the wooden belt, while Maeven rode along with Billy in his Camaro; the way the family always drove. For some reason, neither of their parents was suspicious or had a problem with it. Out in the open, Billy and Maeven were playful, as if they had actually been brother and sister forever.

No one knew when their attention was pointed elsewhere how much they set each other aflame with desperate kisses and electric touches. They didn’t know how much Maeven loved it when Billy showed her absolutely no mercy, how he dug his thumbs into her hips so hard they would leave bruises as he used all his strength to pound against her cervix. They’d be shocked to discover just how many times he fucked so possessively that she couldn’t remember anything the next day. But Maeven and Billy stopped caring enough to keep count.

Maeven wondered if that was how things went down the night before. It definitely wouldn’t be the first time.

“Go on. Ask him. You know he’s waiting for you to.”

She said nothing back, continuing to bounce her leg as she fiddled with her hands in her lap. But her heart stopped and time seemed to stand still as Billy pinched her skirt, hiking the fabric up her leg until he slipped his fingers under the hem to grip the flesh of her thigh. Maeven’s breath hitched in her throat, as the hum of the Camaro's engine sent a warm purr, mimicking the electricity that suddenly pulsed deep in her tummy. The memories of the time he revved the engine of his car to coax an orgasm from her made her crave another just like it. It was hard to keep her cool when her brain twisted anything and everything to appear sexy.

This is how most of their car trips alone together were spent. They weren’t always sexual, but Billy’s right hand was almost always on a part of Maeven’s body. It was his way of telling her “I’m right here. You’re safe. I promise.”

Maeven had the strong urge to close her thighs shut and wiggle her hips but mustered all the self-control she had within her to stay on task. She moved her hand over Billy’s and asked him: “What happened last night?” 

Billy shifted his focus from the road, blinking away the rush of the high he always got from the feeling of speeding on an open road.

“What?”

“Last night? When you came into my room?”

His expression didn’t change, as if she said nothing and he was still waiting to listen to her. But he did, glancing at her like she was on display.

“You don’t remember?”

“No. I woke up with new cuts, wet hair, and a wet pillow between my legs.”

Billy chuckled out a cloud of smoke as the cigarette hung from his sly smile. When he saw that she wasn’t joking or flirting, he laughed again

“Damn, Dollface, you seriously have no idea?”

Why did he have to play these games with her at the most inconvenient times?

“Tolerating him is the least you could do to thank him for taking care of you,” her internal voice reminded her. Maeven felt that she wasn’t in any position to criticize his quirks. He’d given her the same courtesy in the past.

            "I don't remember cutting myself up or showering. I sure as hell don't remember fucking my pillow,” she recounted, the missing time and context from her blackouts taunting and haunting her. She despised this. She wanted it gone, for it to be over.

“Woah, woah, calm down there, Iron Maeven,” Billy cooed at her, bringing his hand underneath Maeven’s arm to lace their fingers together, rubbing the top of her hand as he rested them atop the clutch. “I was giving you a massage, and you started humping my hand when I got down to your thighs.”

“What?”

“Yeah, you changed your mind and then climbed on top of me and we messed around for a bit. You really don’t remember that?”

That didn’t sound like Maeven. She could get caught up in the heat of the moment, sure. Then again, she apparently did a lot of things that were considered ‘out of character’ during her blackouts. Billy wasn’t the only witness to it. Her parents, sister, and friends saw it happen, too. Maeven would never forgive herself now that Max saw her so unhinged.

“You disgusting little whore. Do you really have that poor self-control?”

“No. . .I don’t.”

“I went to go and use the bathroom and get some water, and when I came back, you were cutting. I gave you one of your chill pills and helped you clean up in the shower. You’re the one who asked me to put the pillow there.”

Everything fit together perfectly. Again, she couldn’t understand why she would do these things. But if she was told a year prior that she’d eventually become a drug, self-harm, and sex addict, Maeven would’ve laughed it off. If there was one thing she learned after her parent’s divorce, it was that nothing ever really went a hundred percent according to plan.

“All you do is take. You take his love for granted and then you mutilate your body to take more of his attention.”

At the feeling over her cheeks wettening with tears, Maeven gave herself another slap across the face. She didn’t deserve to be crying. She did this to herself. As she moved her hand to slap herself again, Billy gripped her wrist to stop her. When he noticed her breathing getting heavier, he let go to lovingly stroke her fiery red locks, cradling her head in his palm.

“Hey, it’s okay. It's okay, Doll. It’s not your fault,” he cooed. “I’m sorry, I should’ve noticed something was wrong.”

Maeven still couldn’t decide if his understanding made her feel better or worse. He was so good to her, and he didn’t deserve for her to drag him down with her.

“No, no. It’s not your fault, either,” she said, wiping her eyes. “You were helping me. I’m sorry you had to do that again.”

Billy tenderly gripped her chin and turned her head to face him.

“I’ll never get tired of taking care of you, Maevey. Y’know that right?”

“He’s lying to you.”

She wanted to agree with it, to protest out loud. But his baby blues almost never failed to put her at ease. So, instead, she just nodded.

“Good. I love you,” he said, turning his attention back to the road. Maeven blinked away the remaining tears in her eyes, slipping her skirt back down as she fidgeted with her gloves

“I love you, too,” she muttered back, but she said it more as a courtesy to herself as if she could convince herself to believe Billy’s words.

“He hates you, you stupid insane bitch. You know he does. He fucking hates you.”

The ride was silent until Hawkins came into view. They figured they’d get used to the long-ish drive, and the fact that their new ‘home’ had more hills and trees than buildings. Today was not that day. But maybe it would come soon. Maeven clutched her backpack in her lap, poking at the softness of her beloved plush toy shoved to the bottom temporarily soothed her nerves.

“By the way, do you know what happened to my night light?”

Maeven wanted to mention it before she forgot again. Billy choked out a smoke-filled laugh before throwing the butt of his cigarette out the window. She wished he’d stop doing that.

“Your what?”

“The light behind my mirror? It was there last night, and now it’s gone,” she said, immediately regretting overexplaining. Billy didn’t like it when she talked to him like that; like he was stupid. He pushed his foot a little harder on the gas, causing Maeven to be pushed back in her seat by the sudden increase in speed.

“You really shouldn’t have that shit, anymore, Maevey, you’re almost eighteen. I didn’t do anything with it. Why would you think that? You’d really think I’d steal from you?”

Maeven’s heart sped up as her leg bounced instinctively. 

“No, no, no. It’s not that.”

“Keep your fucking mouth shut, bitch. Don’t push your luck.”

“You probably just got tired of it, finally. If you were that out of it that you can’t remember anything, who knows what else you could’ve done?”

Sure, it was kind of silly and childish, but the night light helped her feel comfortable and safe. She never got tired of that light. It had been in her room since she was an infant. She wanted to say ‘no;’ to tell him that didn’t sound like her. But she couldn’t say that about herself. Maeven couldn’t say anything about herself with confidence, anymore.

“You’re right. You’re right. I’m sorry,” she said. Billy forgave and forgot her little rude outbursts. Maeven didn’t. She never forgot or forgave herself. Her heart continued to beat and her leg continued to bounce as she squeezed the bottom of her backpack. Even though she shouldn’t, she felt the need to punish herself. It all depended on if the day got better or worse. And maybe Billy would get to it before she did.

“You shouldn’t have asked him about it. You pissed him off. You’re gonna have to make it up to him now, y’know? The only reason he’s stayed this long is that he feels sorry for you. And besides, you only really have one thing to give him.”

. . .

A/N: This was more of a filler chapter than anything. I'm still getting a feel for how Maeven's brain is wired and how her trauma affects her everyday life. Don't worry. Next chapter, we'll be diving into meeting all the other characters. As always, I love hearing your thoughts down below!

The Spitfire Curse Taglist:

@yaidothat

Let me know if you'd like to be added!

[puppetoffthehook]

Respect and Responsibility

DO NOT REBLOG

Trigger warnings: child abuse, beatings, mentions of past drug addiction, unsafe situations for a minor, use of f slur

—————

Billy felt hands on him, lifting him from the floor where the drugs had made him pass out and carrying him outside. He can tell by the coolness of the air as the wind blows through the surrounding trees. He hears a car door open and then he’s roughly shoved into the seat. Whatever that shit was that Max got him with was good because he couldn’t stop his head colliding with the window once the door was slammed shut.

The driver’s side door opened and he could hear talking , kind of. Mostly just pieces of conversation.

“Don’t… you driving.”

“… have to… Neil..”

“I’ll tail.. make.. you’re safe.”

Fuck. The blonde might barely be conscious but his father’s name reminds him through the sluggishness that he doesn’t know what time it is and he still hasn’t gotten Max home. His dad and Susan are probably sitting at the table with coffee waiting for them. Susan with that annoying look like somehow she’s fucking worried about him but once the beating starts she’ll just drag Max to her room and pretend she’s blissfully ignorant to the abuse. And his dad.. Fuck.

The car is moving turtle slow and Billy’s finally able to get his eyes open after what feels like an hour but was probably twenty minutes. Max is driving his car. If his dad sees her behind the wheel he’ll be even more pissed.

“Over.” The redhead looks at him in confusion so he repeats, slower so he can get the words out. “Pull.. over.. Max.”

He’d be pissed about her shaking her head and ignoring him if he wasn’t still so sluggish. “No can do, Billy. We have to get home, right? That’s why you came in and threatened my friends, wasn’t if?” Oh fuck her for being mad. She’s not the one who’s gonna get it when they show up to the house and he’s still like this.

“Dad’s.. gonna freak.. you driving.” That’s the least of his problems but it’s definitely a problem. No matter if Neil sees her driving the car or not it’s gonna be bad for him this time. Maybe not to the same level as that night his dad found him kissing his boyfriend at the boardwalk but it’s gonna be bad. And he wont be able to keep Max from witnessing it.

She ignores Billy entirely while he rolls the window down stiffly until he can feel the cold fall air whipping his curls around his face. It helps shock him a bit more awake but he’s still going to be noticeably fucked up when they get home. “Max.. When we get home, go.. to your room. You don’t.. need to see.”

He doesn’t look at her so he doesn’t see the confused look on her face directed toward him between glances at the empty small town road. A few more streets and they’ll be on Cherry Lane. Despite the tranquilizer in his system, Billy can feel that familiar buzzing in his chest. Like a hornet’s nest gearing up for a strike. Sometimes the anticipation of it is worse than the beating itself.

“.. I’ll do what I want. I thought you understood our little agreement.” Oh fuck this kid. If she wants to see the consequences of her actions then so fucking be it. He’s the one who’ll be bloody in the end, not her. Not precious little Maxine who can do so much wrong but never has to suffer for it. Not like him.

“Stick around then. Pop some.. fucking popcorn while you’re at it.. Little bitch.”

Neil is outside when they arrive and it’s then that Billy realizes Steve Harrington was pulling up behind them. Oh this night could only be worse if a cop showed up. Max nearly forgot to put the car in park so Billy flung the gear shift into the right position and climbed out of the passenger seat. He can already feel those cold eyes on him and knows it looks bad.

“Boy, what’s wrong with you? On damn drugs again already?” There’s that quiet fury Neil puts on for guests. “Young man, what exactly is going on? Did my son show up like that to find Maxine?”

Steve, for whatever it’s fucking good for, doesn’t lie. “No, Mr. Hargrove, sir. He came looking for Max and he got in the face of one of the other kids I was watching. I kind of started a fight and-“

“After you lied to my fucking face about her being there.” Billy growled, trying to push through the fading effects of the drug. “You lied about Max being with you, there were drugs in reach of a bunch of twelve and thirteen year olds, and the little bitch dosed me!”

“You were going to kill Steve!”

“He would’ve deserved it for being a fucking p-”Billy didn’t expect his dad to come close and grab him by the collar. He never does anything in front of outsiders.

“I’ve heard enough. Maxine, go to your room. Your mother and I will be discussing a punishment for your little runaway act.” He waited for Max to go inside before turning to Steve. “I apologize for my son. Boy has quite the temper on him; can’t help himself it seems. That being said, I hope there’s a way we can get past this without pressing charges.”

Steve looked like he was trying to piece things together and decided better of it. Good. “Don’t worry, sir. So long as he stays away from me where it’s possible I won’t press charges. I did lie about Max being there and I know Billy was just worried about his sister.”

Billy glared at Steve from behind his father. “As any half-decent brother should be. Have a good night, son.” They watch as Steve turns his car back to the way they came and once the taillights were out of sight Neil dragged his son back into the house. The blonde gasped in pain as his head collided with the wall behind him.

“You are running out of chances, William.” Dread sank in Billy’s stomach like a lead cannon ball. His dad only used his name like that when it was going to be really bad. “All you had to do was watch her for the day and you couldn’t do that. Then I ask you to go find your sister and instead you get in a fight with some other little faggot and you dared to call your sister a bitch.”

His heart was racing now, the drug wearing off and leaving a splitting migraine in its wake. Heart racing, head throbbing, stomach sinking. Suddenly he’s getting thrown into the living room, right into his weight bench and Billy cries out without meaning to when one of the weights hits him hard. His hand is quickly added to the growing list of pain. “Dad, I-”

Neil grabs him by his curls and bashes his son’s head against the metal bars of the weight bench. It feels like his head is splitting and he can feel the wet trail of blood dripping from a new cut on the back of his head. He knows it’s just a flesh wound but the migraine he was already gaining was made worse by the head injury.

“One day this lesson will be taught and you’ll actually learn it. Respect and responsibility are what make a man, William. Until you learn that you’ll always be a useless faggot of a boy.” The belt is already in his hand before he tosses Billy on the floor so he’s on his knees. Funny how it always makes Billy think about Sunday mass when his dad used to force them to go to church. Sermons full of hate claiming to be love. Pain replacing prayer to a God who never cared about Billy Hargrove.

The first strike of the belt is deafening in the stillness of the house and Billy has to bite his lip to avoid crying out again. His pain only makes his father all the more angry and hateful. Strike after strike, the crack of the belt is like a gunshot. When the teen looks toward the hall his stomach sinks impossibly further. Max is standing there with a horrified look on her face. She must’ve wondered what the sounds were and chose to investigate. She never has before so why now?

Billy tries to plead with her by glancing in the direction of her bedroom. He doesn’t want Neil to catch her. Luckily the kid gets it and goes back to her room silently. Neil was too busy beating his back raw to notice his stepdaughter, thankfully. The belt comes down hard over and over until Billy’s back feels like one big open wound and the pain makes his vision swim. Only then does Neil grab the back of his shirt and pull him up off the ground.

His bedroom door is right by the front door so it takes only about ten steps before the man throws him right at his bed. The barely worn off sedative and the pain have made it harder for Billy to coordinate and the teen trips over his own feet and hits his head on the shitty nightstand by his bed. There’s definitely a cut in his eyebrow that’s gonna scar.

“You will stay in this room until I decide otherwise, boy. You will only leave to use the bathroom, eat, or go to school. You are still expected to take Maxine places she wants to go once she’s no longer grounded but you are to come right back here. Is that clear?”

The blonde lifts himself up to lean against his bed, biting down a cry of pain. “Yes, sir.” Once he gets his way Neil leaves and Billy can breathe again. It’s painful and it doesn’t take long before he’s crying, quiet sobs wracking his form until he has no tears left. It takes longer for him to stand and remove his clothes. His favorite shirt has blood on the back which lets him know he’s going to have a few more unnoticed scars. The teen curls up into a ball on his bed and sleeps fitfully for a few hours.

The next day he wakes up feeling awful, his whole body feels like a bruise. He gets up slowly so as to not open any wounds that have started to crust over with blood and goes to take a shower. Except… he can’t open the door. No matter how he tries it stays shut. Panic builds in his chest as Billy beats on the door and calls out for someone to help. The only thing that stops him from trying again is the sound of his father’s work boots approaching. There’s a sound like a gate hook and the teen has to back up to not get hit with the door. To his horror he checks the door and there’s a latch installed on it.

“You’ll be doing exactly as I say from now on, boy.”

[militaryonline]

Uncharted 3 puzzle

I feel this approach can make some of its historical moments fall flat, especially when its central mystery is based on a handful of passages from the Quran. It’s a globe-trotting adventure where you aren’t expected to think too deeply about anything, relishing in the fantastical nature of whatever treasure you happen to be after. No research was done here, or if it was, Naughty Dog decided to fill in the gaps with playful whimsy that wasn’t afraid to poke fun at itself. Not only does this establishment charge £3 for a meal (fish ‘n’ chips obviously) in London of all places, the entire building is populated by clones of Phil Mitchell happy to kick your teeth in at a moment’s notice. When Nathan Drake and his mates descend upon London to marvel at the skyline and walk through rain-drenched streets filled with red phone boxes, its ignorance to realism becomes abundantly clear. Well, it’s all about being sad and serious nowadays, so revisiting this misunderstood masterpiece is a breath of fresh air. Uncharted 3 is still a silly game, drenched in laughable cliches as we travel the world and bumble across stereotypes that speak to Naughty Dog’s knack for not taking itself too seriously. Its thoughtful, considered in its approach to more substantial storytelling, but it never dominates the experience. In a series defined by explosive action and immersive puzzles, Drake’s Deception decides to slow things down and let us bask in the chemistry between Nate and Sully, unboxing how their first moments together would grow into a relationship that will be pushed to its limits later in the campaign. It was groundbreaking at the time, daring to recontextualise our relationship with a character who had already grown iconic in the eyes of many. The opening flashback sequence defines this game’s legacy.

It isn’t overly dour or contemplative like A Thief’s End, while Among Thieves isn’t quite dense enough to hang an entire film upon, not a half-decent one anyway. There’s a reason that Tom Holland and Mark Walhberg’s upcoming adaptation draws from this game more than any other. When he emerges into a sequence of firefights with little need to quench his thirst or regain his sense of place, the dissonance is palpable, but Uncharted 3 is so excellent because it manages to balance its swashbuckling antics with a narrative that is willing to delve a little deeper. It felt like this hero’s final chapter, the sands threatening to swallow him whole as distant mirages seek to break down what few faculties he has left. Roaming the desert after the legendary cargo plane sequence is still burned into my memory. It dares to slowly but surely tear apart Drake’s legacy in a way the fourth game would build upon, drawing doubts amidst the relationships of key characters as we are forced to confront what’s real and what isn’t. Acting as the final entry in the series helmed by Amy Hennig, this sequel is a darker turn on Nolan North’s character. Drake is deceiving someone isn’t he? The cheeky bugger. To its credit, Drake’s Deception does try to tell a more nuanced tale, the clue being in the name. Related: The Good Life Is Deadly Premonition In Tory Britain You can only watch so many lost cities crumble until you need to take a look in the mirror.

It was willing to dissect Nathan Drake as a character, analysing his flaws and problematic relationships in the wake of a life defined by failed treasures. It kept all of the charm, action, and dialogue of its predecessors, but deep down it was a very different game. But along came A Thief’s End, which channelled a similar level of melancholy thanks to the dual directing talents of Bruce Straley and Neil Druckmann. For a number of years it felt destined to be his last, with The Last of Us marking a more mature, introspective type of narrative rollercoaster that saw Naughty Dog change how it made games forever. Putting aside its age, Uncharted 3 remains a fantastic adventure and a fitting conclusion to Nathan Drake’s original trilogy. I'm just trying to exist and vibe in this hellscape. Video games please stop making me feel old. Uncharted 3: Drake’s Deception celebrates its 10th anniversary this week, now if you’ll excuse me I’m going to turn into dust and become one with the Rub' al Khali desert.

[heartfeltflowers-a]

↬ @bottledlies

↬ Emery ringed the bell to Sam’s apartment, and once the door was open smiled largely, holding up the pie and a big bag. “Soooo, yesterday was like really awkward with finding out about Dimitri well--whatever. Sooo I thought it’d be really a great idea to come over and I brought: Pizza, large with extra cheese, Ice creams, hangindaaz trio chocolate salted caramel, dove milk and dark chocolate packs, extra fluffy blankets, and me to cuddle while watching your option between the GROSSEST sappiest RomComs including 27 Dresses, or a TON of horror, including to the not so scary Babadook.” Emery... how did you say all of that without taking a break to speak.

[writer-in-theory]

Billy used to think he simply wasn't cut out to love and be loved.

Every time he tried to get the right words out his throat choked up and his brain shorted out until he was saying something entirely unrelated to what he'd meant to admit. It had taken months after Steve first told him he loved him to return the sentiment, and it never quite got easier after the first.

Ever since he got out from under Neil's foot, the idea of physical touch still burned Billy's chest. It wasn't like he was completely averse to it, even finding comfort in knowing Steve was safely held in his arms. But he still sometimes flinched when a hand come toward him too fast and felt his heart leap if Steve didn't in some way announce himself before wrapping his arms around him.

He was far too used to rationing his money to spend on silly gifts. Even spending on himself send waves of guilt through his chest, like there could be twenty other better things he spent on. Billy hated receiving them too, felt too guilty.

There were too many things he couldn't do, too many ways he couldn't return someone's love in the way they expected or needed.

But fuck, if Billy couldn't provide for the people he loved.

Billy first realized he had a chance at love when Max came to visit him in the hospital, loudly declaring that she was his sister that he saved from an interdimensional monster so she should be allowed to stay beyond visiting hours, and well, Owens couldn't quite refute that one.

He'd never really had a sibling before, but Billy thinks he was always meant to have one. Because when Neil ditched his newly disabled son to be cared for by the Mayfields, he found love for the first time since his mother left.

He found it in taking Max to school every morning so Susan could sleep in after her night shifts, even when the act of pressing on the gas pedal still made his ankle ache. He found it in threatening a freshman named Troy who apparently thought it was cute to harass his sister and her annoying friends. He even found it in his new role as El's babysitter, because apparently she asked for him to come by so many times that Hopper and Joyce decided it would be good for the two of them to heal together—him from his physical injuries and her from, well, whatever the hell was going on with her powers.

And of course, he found it in Steve Harrington.

Billy brought him lunch when he knew Steve would forget, because ever since being interrogated by Russians he'd been forgetting basic ways to take care of himself. He would stay awake until he knew Steve was asleep, holding the other man close and brushing gentle fingertips over closed eyelids until Steve's breathing evened out. It was the only way to keep away the nightmares, he'd found.

Steve would tell him to slow down, would tell him that he didn't need coddling.

"I like taking care of you, pretty boy," Billy would tell him, braiding some of that long hair back off of his face one lazy Sunday morning. "When's the last time someone properly took care of you?"

He knew that answer. He knew it in the empty house, he knew it in the way Steve would carefully direct conversations to be about everyone else because he didn't want the others to worry about him. Billy knew his parents hadn't been around in the way they should, knew Steve spent his high school years so worried about Nancy, and Barb, and the kids that he never once stopped to let anyone take that weight from his shoulders.

But Steve was not Atlas, and Billy could see the scars and bruises that stained those shoulders too clearly.

Billy understood he knew love when he could take some of that weight, when he could watch Steve sleep without a care in the world because the other man knew Billy had taken care of everything if only for a day. It may have taken five months after Steve said it for Billy to say the words aloud, but he'd been telling the man he loved him for far longer.