#straight fucking lies from the people who want to lynch you

[explanationpoint]

…

[rappaccini]

... i'm gonna ramble about orphan black and eugenics for a sec because oh man did these writers know exactly what the fuck they were cooking with when they wrote this show.

so first of all, neolution is essentially a cult revolving around advancing eugenics started by a crazy old rich british racist who thought poverty was genetic, wrote a bigass book all about it, and got his ass killed in the jungle because he wanted to play great white hunter there. it was revived by a bunch of rich white science students at cambridge and is spearheaded by a texan billionaire grifter who cosplays as an 1800s lord on his private island full of test subjects and uses experimental therapies to enhance his health, who fooled them and some of the most powerful people in the world so well that they invested billions into him and his eugenics experiments (... like inserting tech into people's brains).

just look at the material.

mathieson, the figurehead of neolution, fetishizes the 1800s so much that he makes his houseguests dress up in victorian outfits, surrounds himself with women he plays against each other, plays wagner on repeat (you know, the composer whose work was the third reich's soundtrack and was literally played in concentration camps? whose daughter married a racialist?), and encourages his followers to study up on "managing reproduction in feeble-minded populations."

he uses aicha's illness to make a lab rat of her and lies about healing her as his scientists slowly watch her die and harvest her genetic material. tuskeegee anyone?

yanis's developmental issues are used to demonize him into a literal 'monster' who is locked up, hunted on the island, and shot to death like old yeller.

major neolutionist aldous leekie is a german man whose ideal human has white hair and a single white eye. so... light hair and light eyes. hm.

neolution is largely made up of white scientists and foot soldiers and employs poc but never lets them into leadership positions

neolution very quickly disposes of evie cho and marian bowles, the only women of color of significance within the organization.

henrik johanssen's prolethean offshoot of neolution straight-up allies itself with white supremecists like his old militia buddy and splits off right during the conservative christian attacks on reproductive tech

the neolution split consisting of whether to expand further into biology or big tech.

germline editing in infants is neolution's new big push, and babies with deformities at brightborn are euthanized

the use of women of color as naive surrogates to carry both brightborn babies and sarah and helena. they have no idea what they're pregnant with, are constantly prodded by scientists, and have no legal right to the children.

sarah and helena's mother in particular was sourced from apartheid south africa.

"brightborn" is basically a literal translation of the word "eugenics"

the cold river institute where ethan duncan worked after the explosion is devoted to creating the 'most perfect baby', and clearly based on the cold springs harbor eugenics office

the control of women's reproductive freedom:

->the clones are intentionally prevented from reproducing because of fears about not being able to control the outcome (... and yet rachel grows up with a complex about infertility because it's still being held against her).

->helena's eggs are harvested against her will and she's coerced into agreeing to pregnancy by henrik.

->sarah is threatened with an oophorectomy and a new unwanted pregnancy when she's being held by dyad.

->the brightborn women have no idea what they're actually signing onto, have no legal right to their embryos, if their babies are born less than perfect, they'll be euthanized, and a pregnant woman who escapes is lynched by brightborn agents so it has nothing to do with Protecting The Children.

->and kira, who hasn't even had a period yet and is only eight years old, is being plied with hormones so her eggs can be implanted into surrogates who have no idea what their fetuses are being used for.

->most of the clones' own mothers don't even know their ivf is being tampered with.

->the castor boys only exist to strip reproductive freedom from women.

... even the incest is a part of it: the way susan duncan sexually abuses ira, who is basically her son. how henrik johanssen inseminates his daughter with one of his embryos. how seth and rudy like to rape women together, assault krystal and attempt to do the same to sarah and helena, their biological twin sisters. how rachel duncan keeps getting drawn to predatory father figures (including ferdinand, who plays daddy kink with her, and mathieson, who feels like he's about to do something gross to her every time they're in the same room, and has watched her touch herself in the shower). how the new stem cell line for the ledas is created through fertilizing rachel's egg with ira's sperm.

delphine is quickly revealed to be sleeping with eugenicist leekie in s1, explicitly calls herself a eugenicist and confirms she's proud of it in season 2, climbs the ladder in season 3, and is actively working with mathieson on his life extension treatments in 5. cosima is constantly being tempted into joining neolution through their intimate relationship. each woman is literally in bed with the idea that eugenics could benefit her and has to pull away. delphine's attempt to be the Good Eugenicist Who Protects Her Subjects immediately backfires when it leads to her using her power for petty revenge, a total breakdown of trust between her and cosima, being disposed of the second she's not useful anymore, and essentially being held captive and forced to dress up as a bride and stroke mathieson's ego for her own survival. (... much like rachel). it's a giant metaphor for white women's flirtation with eugenics. girls get up.

it's eugenics.

when it comes to the clones themselves it is not a coincidence that neolution's pathway to 'creating a better human being' through manipulating the lin28a gene to produce enhanced healing and disease/aging resistance only bothered to focus on cloning white people. eugenics doesn't want to save and genetically enhance the human race, it wants to save and genetically enhance wealthy, able-bodied white people.

and the clones are the way they intend to do it.

the end goal of the castor boys is creating a bioweapon used to eliminate 'undesirable' genetic stock from the population through being inserted into society to spread a sexually transmitted infection that renders women infertile at best (and may eventually become the respiratory illness that kills the clones). so, a way to commit genocide by forcibly sterilizing the women in a chosen population through using rape as a weapon of war. it's a way to terrorize and trigger an internal collapse within their communities, because on top of causing an infertility crisis, you have to add onto that the internal trauma and external stigma of being a rape victim that would sow even further discord.

the leda girls went through a greater evolution in purpose. they probably started as the extra clones that were proof of concept of human cloning's viability for female subjects, but especially of the sti the males carry-- which the ledas were intentionally given and never treated for. (yes ethan duncan says they didn't want a reproducing prototype, but given that virginia coady was participating in the research at this time since castor and leda hadn't split yet, i get the sense that another idea was in the mix-- and it was allowing the disease to propagate to observe how it'd affect women before the castors were old enough to spread it themselves.) in the meantime the ledas were repurposed as a study on human behavior under variation.*

*but only the behavior of mostly-western white women born into families wealthy enough to afford ivf treatments or expensive adoptions (with the occasional exception for poor women, like miriam johnson, who was implanted in a known alcoholic, probably not-so-coincidentally ended up on the street, and was murdered for dissection). the behavior study is extremely flawed... unless you consider it's of the behavior of the kind of people eugenics wants to prioritize. poc and non-western nations are excluded by design. wealthy women and poor women are used as lab rats are prioritized by design.

then, following the discovery of helena and sarah's fertility, and the excitement about forcibly impregnating them to study their offspring, the purpose of the new proposed leda generation evolved to using them as vessels to observe illness and infection and test experimental medicines and treatments, and to use advanced technology to better administer these medicines and monitor the subjects. no more illusion of freedom, as rachel duncan put it, because eugenics has nothing to do with setting women free and it always views them as vessels. the leda women's purpose is the next step in the eugenics master plan: once the 'undesirables' are eliminated or sterilized, you go about extending the lives of the 'chosen' people-- by creating more generations of them, and by enhancing the quality of life of those who already exist through exploiting the bodies of fertile white women.

(and you even use technology to better surveil those vessels, like mathieson observing rachel through her glass eye. no more human monitors, but only because you can watch her far more efficiently through your computer monitor. no more illusion of freedom, because now the infrastructure's in place to control them without needing to trick them into consenting to it. neolution would indeed, never let a clone have any true autonomy over her treatment, and rachel's 'special vantage point' in the end does not make her exempt from the experiment in the ways she thinks it does. rachel, like cosima and delphine-- like any white women in a white supremecist movement-- has a place in the structure, but no actual power and the special treatment is only an illusion to keep her compliant.)

and finally, with kira manning (and the twins), the offspring of a fecund clone whose lin28a gene is working as hoped, they arrive at their end goal: a limitless source of stem cells which can be continually harvested and donated to people who need or want them. the total lack of concern about the ethics of keeping a child in a laboratory, harvesting an eight-year-old girl's eggs and using them to impregnate 1300ish naive surrogates to create that supply of stem cells for their top brass's use, and then using that eight-year-old girl to study deep tissue recovery (aka: they're going to carve up a child's body to watch her heal. or not.) should be expected. they might be calling her their 'new eve' but she's meat, just like her aunts and uncles.

(... honestly i think ob misstepped by not making kira biracial. the show's lack of diversity in its main cast is maybe its one great shortcoming considering just how light years ahead it was in all its other writing. though the clones all had to be white because they're a eugenics experiment, and so did many supporting characters given their associations with institutions implicitly tied to racial hierarchy, kira, cal and probably felix all definitely should've been poc to balance that out a bit more, and especially to open a discussion on the mistreatment of women of color during the construction of eugenics and medical science-- like anarcha and henrietta lacks.)

[platypanthewriter]

Strangest Chapter 11

chapter 1/chapter 2/chapter 3/chapter 4/chapter 5/chapter 6/chapter 7/chapter 8/chapter 9/chapter 10/ .../Chapter 12

(But really I’d recommend reading it on Ao3 under peterqpan, scrolling through it on Tumblr sounds crazymaking.  Thanks so much @tbehartoo​ and @perfectfestivalalienfish​!) 

After the accidentally-romantic reveal of Steve’s ceramic monstrosity, Billy was distracted in gym, until Steve leaned in to whisper “Can’t believe you’re ignoring my balls, Hargrove.”

“Believe me, I’m not,” Billy muttered back, his jaw working. He stumbled back into their gym teacher, his eyes fixed on Steve’s mouth, and Steve grinned at him, and licked his lips.

The next time they passed each other, Steve leaned to whisper “What kinda attention am I gonna get for a good present, Hargrove?”

“I dunno, I haven’t seen one yet,” Billy hissed back, and then, “Don’t diss Denise, asshole. I’ll pound your ass into— jesus christ,” he spun on his heel, neck flushed, and stomped off directly through the melee around the basketball hoop, elbowing his way to the locker rooms. By the time Steve got there, Billy was showered and clothed, leaning to talk to Tommy as Steve ducked into the showers.

When he got out, Billy was lying on his back on the bench, eyeing the water running down Steve’s legs, and Steve wanted to kiss him. He firmed his lips and determination, and decided to stay after school to work on a better Valentine’s Day present—Denise had been a joke, he ranted in his head, he could do better if he was trying—

Steve told Eleven this, when she popped up at his elbow in the locker room—right after he shrieked, scrambling for a towel. She surveyed the locker room with narrowed eyes, and more of the highschool boys screamed than would admit to it later, covering their dicks. As most of the class dove behind lockers, she allowed Steve to fling Billy’s towel over her head and shove her back towards the door. “So...if you’re busy, we can borrow Billy, right?” she asked, through the towel.

Billy was laughing his ass off, since he’d had pants on already, and his junk wasn’t vulnerable to the critical eye of a middle-school girl. “No cats,” he called over.

“You can keep him,” Steve muttered, shoving her out the door. When he stalked back in, Billy grinned at him, pointedly rubbing his thumb along his own inner elbow, where the Sharpie heart was, with the messy H+H.

Steve felt his cheeks heat. “Shut up.”

“Be honest about your feeblings, Harrington,” Billy whispered back, staggering as Steve thudded their shoulders together, yanking his jeans up over his briefs.

“Here?! I think we’d get expelled,” Steve whispered back, and Billy licked his lips, snickering.

“I’m your favorite,” Billy breathed in his ear, and Steve swiveled to face his locker, eyes wide as he popped a boner. Not now, he told his dick, straining against his pants, later, just wait until after school, I’ll get my fingers in his hair and pull him close, and when his knees start to get noodly with my mouth on his neck, we can fuck on the kitchen floor—

“Harrington,” Billy repeated, elbowing him, and Steve cleared his throat, rubbing his face. His cheeks were hot.

“Yeah, yes, I’m here,” he swallowed, “—here, right here.”

Billy squinted at him, halfway into a sweatshirt, so his biceps flexed against the fabric, and his chest and abs gleamed in the florescent lights of the locker room. He zipped it up. “...you sure?”

“Very very here, at school,” Steve muttered, staring into his locker again. “Very here where I can’t, uh. What?”

“You like me as much as Tommy, right,” Billy cocked his head, leaning in to murmur, “—what if I hit him, you gonna throw me out, or—”

“Wait, what?” Steve kept his eyes on Billy’s face, listening, instead of tracking the trickle of water from his wet hair down his neck and along his collarbone. “What’s going on?”

“He’s, uh,” Billy leaned back against the lockers, surveying the room with a too-wide grin. “—he’s thinking one of us is gonna spread it around I—I let him—we screwed, y’know. Says he’s not like me, he’s—he says he’s gonna tell everyone I’m a fag, that’s why I’m sniffing around Steve Harrington—”

“Christ.”

“I’m gonna feed him his own molars.” Billy rolled his shoulders. “Before he gets me drug behind some redneck meathead’s truck—”

“Holy shit,” Steve breathed, wanting to spin his bat around his hand. He took a deep breath. “Okay, okay,” he whispered. “Okay, we can’t—we can’t kill him, we—we can’t murder him, Hargrove, we can’t. We can’t—we can’t just—just murder him, even if—”

“Jesus,” Billy whispered, glancing around. “Ssh!”

“We—we’d probably get caught,” Steve told Billy, grabbing his hands and squeezing them. “We’d—we’d get caught, mustard, uh, mustard pie, we’d—we’d definitely go to jail, we can’t kill him.”

“I didn’t say murder,” Billy hissed back, wide-eyed. “I said I was gonna punch his face, Harrington—”

“Okay,” Steve nodded, squeezing Billy’s hands so hard he winced. “Okay. Okay, god damn it. Damn, damn, damn damn it—”

“Holy helicopters,” Billy muttered, straight-faced, and Steve choked on a snort, and started coughing.

“Oh my god I love you,” he groaned into his hand, ignoring Billy suddenly closer, warm against his side. “Okay. Okay, wait, no.” Steve yanked his shirt on, got some of it in his mouth, and Billy yanked it down, leaning in.

Billy slid his hand up Steve’s side, hot and callused, and Steve shoved it down and away, trying to refocus his brain on Billy’s words. “I need to do something,” Billy hissed. “He’s gonna tell everybody I’m queer, your majesty.” His eyes were red. “You don’t need to—none of that shit’s gonna get on you—”

“No, jussec.” Steve set his shoulders, did a mental check of his anatomy, and decided he could turn around without everybody knowing he got hard when Billy Hargrove growled in his ear. “It’s—just—just a—just hold off, okay. I’ll—I won’t kill him. I’ll talk to him.”

“Talk to him?! Harrington,” Billy growled, grabbing his wrist, and Steve held still, feeling his bones grind together. They were starting to draw attention, so he asked the guy across the bench about his new shoes, and found out way more about Adidas Micropacers than he’d ever wanted to know, but the conversation kept going when he backed out. Billy let go of his wrist, but leaned close. “Your majesty. Whaddaya mean talk to him, talk to me, come on,” he said under his breath.

“I’ll handle it,” Steve whispered back, nodding and grinning at another kid showing off his sneakers. He watched Tommy fixing his hair, and tried to remember his past friend’s class schedule.

“Just a little worried about getting lynched, probably by the people in this room,” Billy hissed, as Steve started to walk away.

Steve bit his lips, turning back to pretend to check inside his locker. “Look. Dickhead,” he tried, and Billy covered a snort, swallowing. Steve tried to grin confidently. “Trespasser. Wait a sec, just—just wait a minute, let me—let me try something. We can’t kill him,” Steve sighed, and Billy’s jaw clenched.

“I wasn’t trying to kill him,” he hissed back.

“You beat him up, he’ll just get mad! Besides, you start throwing punches, they’ll call your dad—get him down here—”

Billy shrugged. His hands shook, and he clenched them in fists, laughing. “Win some, lose some—at least you won’t go to jail, Jesus H. Christ—”

“No, no—I—I, uh, you won’t, uh, he won’t, okay, babe, Ha-Hargrove, just—just gimme a minute, I—I’m not—if this doesn’t work we—I—I’ll hold him down. We’ll just kill him. You can—you can use my bat.”

Billy snorted, side-eyeing him. “...good use for it.” He rubbed his face, and nodded, tilting backto lean against the lockers. His knuckles were white on his forearms again, his nails digging into the sleeves of Steve’s sweatshirt against the hearts Steve had drawn up his arm. “As you fucking command, my leige. I hope your plan’s better than ‘murder’.”

Steve rolled his eyes, and jogged out of the locker room after Tommy, dropping an arm around his shoulders.

“Hey there,” Tommy grinned at him, his gaze dropping to Steve’s mouth and back up in a way Steve remembered, but hadn’t really registered before.

Steve smiled—it was easier to smile around Tommy than it was to remember what Tommy was like, and always had been—and tried to decide how to start.

“Hargrove get all shook up and remember who your real friends are?” Tommy elbowed Steve, then hailed Carol out of the crowd.

“He’s a friend,” Steve tried.

“Bet he didn’t tell you about the other night,” Tommy glanced up sideways, his jaw clenched, “—when we tried to get you to party.”

“He doesn’t remember most of it,” Steve blurted, and his stomach sank at Tommy’s widening grin. “Look, I know what happened, and, uh—”

“I bet you don’t,” Tommy hissed, glancing around. Carol came out of her class, but saw them and leaned against the wall, disentangling an earring from her hair. Tommy jerked away from Steve to walk backwards towards her. “Bet he didn’t tell you who he wanted to fuck.”

“He—he said—”

“Hate to break it to you,” Tommy’s voice rose, “—Billy Hargrove wants y—”

“I still talk to Carol’s sister,” Steve hissed at him. “Remember? She had a story about a party you guys left. When I was visiting my mom in Boston.”

“What?” Tommy stopped in the middle of the hallway, staring at him.

“Remember finding the keys in a backhoe? And a joyride?” Steve narrowed his eyes, as Tommy snorted a laugh. Steve lowered his voice. “—I know what happened with Billy, okay—”

Tommy’s freckles stood out as he paled. “No, you—you wouldn’t be—he lied,” he laughed shakily. “He must’ve, he’s a fucking liar— ”

“What?! He—he didn’t have to,” Steve raised his eyebrows, “—he called me, I picked him up. I was in there while you assholes were in the shower—”

Tommy’s breath caught, and his eyes got shiny, and Steve knew that look—from Billy smashing a plate in his face at the Byers’, but also from years of knowing Tommy, and he waved his hands, open palmed.

“I don’t care! I don’t care, I don’t care, but don’t—don’t try and—don’t say it was all Hargrove’s fault, it wasn’t—”

“You don’t...care,” Tommy took a deep breath, shoulders relaxing, then punched Steve’s arm. “The fuck do you mean, you don’t care, you moron, you still don’t get what I—why the hell did he call you, didn’t he kick your ass? You his bitch now?” he hissed, and Steve bit his lips.

“Yeah. No, I’m not—” Steve felt his cheeks warming, and cleared his throat. “He—he did that,” Steve kept nodding, running his fingers through his hair, “—he did, he beat me up. Yeah. So did you, asswipe. But. Um, if—if you try and—and tell everyone he—that he’s—”

“He’s a goddamn—”

Steve cut him off, clenching his fists. “If you tell people he did something to— to you, if you—if you say it’s—if you say it was all Billy, I—I won’t keep your secrets. Anymore.”

“...what,” Tommy choked.

“Any of them,” Steve emphasized, flailing his hands. “I know some shit. They try you now, you might get tried as an adult. You could go to actual prison, dude.”

“I will end you,” Tommy hissed, sputtering with rage, “I will end you and your fag friend—you—”

Steve flinched, but held his ground. “Bullshit. I won’t—I won’t say anything unless you...do,” he frowned, thinking through it, “—but...I think—I think between you, and Hargrove, and me,” he swallowed, “—I think—I think I’m who people will listen to here at school. If you—if you try to tell them. That. And—and you know Sheriff Hopper will hear me out, when I tell him who took the backhoe. Took it for a spin when they were putting in the new parking lot. You crashed the backhoe into the sheriff station that night, remember? I can’t—don’t quite remember how many thousands of dollars in damage that was, d’you?”

Tommy stepped closer, laughing. “And what, you’re gonna sell me out for the queer? Shouldn’t you be thinking about what I could do...Pussington?” Tommy growled, and Steve blinked at him, then snorted a laugh.

“I’ve fought scarier shit than you, Tommy Hagen,” he hissed. “I could walk over and use the pay phone right now. Call the police here. Don’t drop the soap when you get sent to prison , right? Because Billy’s the one who’s queer.”

“God, you’re dumb,” Tommy sneered, but he was staring at Steve’s face, wet-eyed. “You don’t even make sense. I can just see you on the witness stand.”

“Oh, you want me to do it?” Steve asked, setting his shoulders to turn away.

Tommy yelled “Fuck you, no!”, and Steve turned back to see him glaring, fists clenched. “I’ll leave your boyfriend alone,” he hissed.

Steve nodded, his jaw hurting as his teeth ground together, and he shoved by, walking as fast as he could back to the locker room.

Billy was still there, lying along a bench, and Steve wished everyone else had left, so he could crawl up between Billy’s knees, and flop on his chest. He kicked out and nudged Billy’s shoulder, instead. “You ready yet?”

“You gonna hold him down for me to punch?” Billy asked, without opening his eyes.

“No, I, uh.” Steve crouched down to whisper, hugging his knees. “I told him I know way too much shit about him for him to go mouthing off.”

“...you blackmailed him?!” Billy turned his head to stare over.

“Noooo,” Steve considered, “—yeah? I guess?”

“Is anybody looking?” Billy whispered back.

Steve frowned around, then shook his head, and Billy grabbed him by the nape of his neck and yanked him into a deep, soft kiss. Steve flailed his hands, teetering on the balls of his feet, then dropped to a kneel, and slid his thumb along Billy’s cheek.

Billy pulled back, licking his lips, and sat up. “Shit,” he rolled his shoulders, “I can’t really owe you more...everything.”

“...you don’t owe me anything,” Steve huffed a laugh, grimacing at a sudden memory of the way the world had wobbled around him, after days awake. How he’d heard Billy’s yelling from outside while he was lying on the floor of the shower, hoping the hot water would bake him to sleep. “My—my brain’s busted too. You…” he laughed, shaking his head.

“I what?” Billy kept his voice low, but they were drowned out anyway by some guys in the other corner having a pushup contest.

Steve cleared his throat, feeling the edges of the tile dig into his knees, and breathing in the stale smell of gym clothes, and towels that never quite dried. “You saved me. Too. I couldn’t—”

“How the hell—”

“I can’t sleep,” Steve snorted, shrugging, and keeping his eyes on the floor. “And then you showed up. Couldn’t—I wasn’t—eating, a lot, just because I couldn’t—I was so goddamn tired. I don’t know, it...”

Billy was quiet for a long few seconds, but when Steve risked a glance up, he had that expressionless face he got when something reminded him of his dad.

“Sorry—sorry, I’m—”

Billy shoved him, and Steve caught himself against a locker, laughing, and a little off-balance. Billy crossed his arms. “You’re not being dumb, if that’s what you’re gonna say.”

“Just making us miss lunch,” Steve tried, feeling something relax between his shoulders. He brushed himself off, getting to his feet, and let Billy drag him down to sit on the bench. Billy mouthed up under Steve’s ear, kissing open-mouthed up his neck. “Hope nobody’s looking,” Steve told him, leaning into it.

“They’re all being morons behind like five rows of lockers,” Billy whispered back, sliding an arm around Steve’s shoulders, and grabbing at Steve’s jeans with the other. “Lemme cheer you up,” he breathed against Steve’s jaw, biting along it, and Steve nearly choked on his own spit as Billy yanked his fly open and reached into his briefs, releasing the pressure on Steve’s suddenly shatteringly hard cock, and sliding a callused thumb over the wet slit in the tip. “They’re going to lunch,” Billy whispered. “No reason they’d come over here.”

“Christ,” Steve muttered, muffling his gasps against Billy’s sweatshirted shoulder, and clenching his fingers in the fabric. “Le-let me get you—” he whispered, sliding his hand down Billy’s stomach.

“Not the one crying in the locker room, Stevie,” Billy laughed, pushing the tight circle of his thumb and forefinger over Steve’s dick. Steve rolled his head against Billy’s shoulder, trying not to make a noise, and squirmed closer, his brain whiting out things like reciprocation, or witnesses, or dignity, as he faintly registered his own voice begging when Billy took his hand away for a second, returning it wetter. “Go ahead, they left,” Billy whispered in his ear, squeezing him closer until Steve was half in his lap.

“Prettiest trespasser,” Steve realized he was mumbling, along with even more nonsensical things like “—pie, sweet—sweet pie, mustard asshole pie—”, “fuck, fuck, fuck,” and, when Billy pulled away to lick his hand again, in an attempt to be more complimentary, “—nighty—knightliest nighty knight—”—but Billy’s hand was firm and a little rough against his hot skin, and Billy’s shoulders were shaking with laughter, so Steve didn’t care. He went still with a grunt, breathing smoke, cologne, and Billy, and just lay there, feeling sweat trickle down the back of his neck.

“There is so much wrong with you,” Billy muttered against his temple. “Knighty-knight? Seriously?”

“My hero,” Steve mumbled, opening one eye to assess the damage. Billy’d caught the mess in a paper towel. “...you planned that,” he realized, laughing.

“Malice aforethought,” Billy said, and Steve blinked muzzily. “Premeditation. First degree handjobbing. That’d just get me expelled, though, probably, your dirty talk’s gonna get you shot.”

“Mmm,” Steve hummed. “He called me ‘Pussington,’ he muttered. “Tommy. Sounds like ‘Puss in Boots’ more than—”

Billy cackled against his neck, then pulled him closer, and Steve felt his face heat. He let himself take a deep breath, curling a little against Billy, and Billy waited, and didn’t mention the time, or their stomachs growling.

After what seemed like hours, but not long enough, Steve pulled away, clenching his fingers on the bench and laughing. “Shit,” he said, looking at the lockers to avoid looking at Billy, after clinging to him like a koala. His breathing was even, which was a relief, even if he felt a little...shaky, threatening his oldest friend with jail. Because I’ve got so many, he thought, laughing again, and Billy leaned forward to frown into his face.

“Harrington,” he whispered. “D’I break you?”

Steve started giggling, and couldn’t stop.

Billy hung around, hunched in Steve’s sweatshirt, for the rest of the day. He was leaning across from Steve’s locker after third period, but vanished when Steve turned around. He was at the drinking fountain outside the open door of geometry, and Steve missed half the lesson, watching him bend over the faucet, and watching the stream of water fill his mouth and run off his chin.

Just when Steve thought he was free, in Typing 1, he glanced out the window and realized Billy Hargrove was sunning himself outside along the top of Steve’s parent’s BMW, sweatshirt unbuttoned, his tanning-bed-tan shining as his hair ruffled in the breeze.

Steve muffled his laughter, squeezing his thighs together as his dick woke up again. “Go back to sleep,” he growled at it, under his breath. Nancy shot him a glance, then looked out the window, and choked on a snort.

“What’s he doing?” she whispered, her elbow brushing his as she clacked away at the electric typewriter.

Being beautiful, Steve didn’t say. “Messing with me,” he muttered, which was equally true. “He hasn’t left me alone since El showed him, uh,” he squinted, trying to remember. “Nadine?”

“Denise!” Nancy muffled another snort, snickering. “Oh, lord, Steve, it’s so hideous.”

“He likes it!” Steve hissed back, feeling his cheeks heat. “He has awful taste!”

“He doesn’t,” she said, shooting a grin over, and his lungs clenched at the fondness in it even as she hissed, “Keep typing, why don’t you.”

He set his jaw, and pounded out All work and no play makes Steve a dull boy, one-fingered. “How’s Jonathan,” he asked petulantly.

“Oh, Steve,” she sighed. “Now you’ve got, uh, Billy, I can’t—listen, this goes no farther,” she angled her body towards him, dropping her voice to nearly inaudible.

“What?!” he whispered back, and she glanced around, holding her finger over her mouth.

“Ssh! Steve, I can’t tell anyone—things. I would have told Barb—”

Steve nodded, wincing.

She covered her mouth, looking around the extremely loud typing class. Her voice was nearly drowned out by the clacking keys, and Steve leaned closer. “Steve, when he’s about to come, he looks like he’s going to sneeze. He makes all these faces, Steve—”

Steve whooped with laughter, tears springing to his eyes, and nearly fell out of his seat as Nancy smacked his arm and shoulder, giggling herself.

“Shut up, shut up!” she hissed. “Don’t tell anyone!”

“I—I won’t,” he gasped, wiping his eyes. “Jesus. Who the hell would I even—”

“Like Tommy?” she hissed, raising her eyebrows, and he cleared his throat.

“Actually,” he said, tearing out the page he’d ruined, and typing away at his assignment with two fingers, “—Tommy, uh, he said he’d. Um, d’you remember when somebody took a joyride on the backhoe at the sheriff’s station?”

She snorted, glancing over. “...everybody remembers that, they had to redo half the road.”

“Yeah, uh, Tommy kinda...found out about Billy, he said he’d tell, just, everyone—”

“Found out Billy what?!” Nancy stared at the side of his head. “That he beat you up, or—?”

“Everybody keeps saying that, I got some hits in—” he grumbled, feeling his face heat.

“Wait, what? He found out about—” she lowered her voice to a hiss, glancing around, “—found out about you and Billy?”

Steve opened his mouth, and just breathed, then bit his lips. He couldn’t...quite...tell Nancy about Billy’s wild King Kong banana orgy, after what had happened in the locker room—and he wasn’t sure whether the sudden urge to hit something was directed at Tommy, for the bruises he’d left, or Billy, for getting bored and supplementing his sex-diet with jungle fruit, or the world at large, for making him keep a secret for somebody as awful as Tommy Hagen. “Uh, about—about, um, Billy. He—I, uh, I think he was kinda...drunk, and he’s—he’s—”

“He’s what, Steve?!” she whispered back, wide-eyed.

“He’s kind of gay,” Steve hissed back, through gritted teeth. “He was kinda gay at Tommy Hagen.”

“Oh my god, Steve,” she dropped her voice even lower, and reached over to squeeze his wrist. “He has to be careful.”

“He said he’d tell everyone—Tommy said,” Steve tried to explain, feeling like he was picking his way across a trapped floor, as he tried to avoid saying what Billy’d actually done. Tiptoing across the temple tiles like Indiana Jones, doing his best to keep the world from falling away around him. Not that Nancy’d say anything, he thought, but he remembered Billy’s shaking hands. I gotta get used to remembering what are my secrets to tell. “I, uh. Told him I’d tell Hopper it was him. Tommy. Joyriding in the backhoe. He spills about Billy, he’ll have to pay for all that. He’s not gonna—I won’t be telling him...things. Tommy.”

“That’s…” Nancy trailed off, and he narrowed his eyes at her, suspecting she was trying not to say “wonderful news”.

“I know, jesus,” he hissed at her, whacking at the typewriter keys with more force. “He’s bullshit, I get it, we were both—”

“No, uh,” she bit her lips, thumping her stack of typed pages to straighten them. “That’s not—it’s just, I mean. Yeah, he probably wasn’t a great friend. But now we both lost our best friends—” she flailed her arms, and he ducked, “—in this whole mess of bullshit. It—it sucks balls.”

He grinned at her, and she set her jaw. “It’s not funny, Steve. And—and don’t—don’t tell Dustin. Or Billy,” she narrowed her eyes. “You better not tell anyone! Jonathan’s never dated before, I’ll—it’s not his fault, Steve, he’s trying— ”

“How could you make me keep this secret,” he leaned his face in his hand, shoulders shaking with snickers.

“I had to tell someone,” she hissed. “He closes one eye, Steve! I can’t—”

Steve nearly fell out of his seat laughing, and she elbowed him over and over until he started to feel bruised.

“Shut up,” she muttered, wiping her own eyes as she tried to stop giggling. “Jesus.”

“Holy crap, what have you told him about me,” Steve hissed back, still laughing, but shuddering a little at the thought.

“Nothing! I’m dating him, I’m not going to compare and contrast, Steve, god. But—but you’ve—you’re—” she narrowed her eyes through the window at Billy, who’d finally huddled against the cold and zipped up the sweatshirt. “—you—”

“We’re—we’re friends. Uh. Just friends, now,” he supplied, the words feeling odd, and a little sad in his mouth. She hummed, frowning at her typewriter, and he glanced at Billy, thinking he might not have ever gotten to know him, if Nancy hadn’t lost her shit at that party. It was a weird thought, and Steve stared out the window, thinking of his house empty of Billy’s shoes, beer cans, lingering cigarette smoke, and the warm weight pressed against his back when he least expected it. No more slow kisses up his neck when he was stuck in his own head.

Nancy nudged him, and he pulled himself back from watching Billy tug at his earring.

“I meant, uh, we—me and you, we get to be friends now,” he tried, and she bit back a smile. “We can talk about boys now,” he pushed further, wrinkling his nose. “If...if you want? I, uh. I think I might be better at picking boyfriends than being one.”

“Maybe you needed the practise run,” Nancy followed his gaze so both of them were watching Billy, who’d given up on pin-up poses, and was trying to keep his textbook, binder, and pile of flashcards from blowing around in the January wind. “I think...I think maybe we both needed the practise run. But—I have to tell someone besides Barb, you know?”

“Yeah. Wait. What?” he turned his frown back to her.

She took a shaky sigh, digging into her backpack. She tossed a sandwich baggie of goldfish crackers on the desk between them, and then pulled out a composition book. She held it, white-knuckled, for a long second, then shoved it at him.

Steve accepted it—after digging for a handful of goldfish crackers—and opened the first page, propping it on his knee. In capital letters, it just said “I MISS YOU”.

“I—I sort of—tell Barb everything,” Nancy bit her lips, taking a slow breath through her nose. Her eyes shone. “It’s—it’s like this huge letter about everything I couldn’t—after she—there’s so much I want to tell her, Steve, so much has happened—”

“Uh,” he stared at it, reluctant to turn the page, and Nancy grabbed it back.

“Shut up,” she muttered. “I know it’s dumb.”

“N-no,” he blurted. “No, it’s not, it’s not dumb.” He wondered whether he should remind her about their assignment, but hers looked finished. I can finish mine later, he promised himself. “Uh, sorry I—it’s not dumb, I just don’t—when you’re sad I just—I don’t know what to—how can I, uh—”

She laughed, swallowing, and closed her eyes. “I—I thought I’d just—fill this. Write until I use all the pages, and the—and the margins, and the inside covers—” she made a soft, horrible gulping sound, and Steve’s nails dug into his palms with the urge to grab her, like he would have if they’d still been dating, and squeeze her thin shoulders. “I—I thought maybe I’d—feel better. Once—Once I say. Everything. Tell her everything. And then bury it. I—we—there wasn’t a body, I couldn’t bring her back to bury— I couldn’t even say what I wanted at her funeral—I can bury my bullshit letter instead— ”

“We can do that,” he said quickly, glad the typewriters were loud enough to drown them out. “We—we can say, uh, we can say—say things, write her letters? Find—find a nice spot? Bury, um, bury things, letters?”

“She didn’t have any other friends,” Nancy stared ahead, her eyes shining.

“I can write her a letter,” were the words that fell out of his mouth, like he could even remember more of Barbra Holland than a vague shape at Nancy’s elbow. “I can—I can thank her for being a good friend, anyway. To, um, you. To my friend Nancy?”

“Sh-she—she really was,” Nancy’s shoulders shook with a sob, and for the first and probably the last time, Steve wished Jonathan Byers was around to do— something, whatever it was he did that made Nancy less sad. Maybe it was worth the awful sex.

In the heat of the moment, Steve felt he’d easily trade his skill at orgasms with whatever made Nancy stop— stop looking so pinched around the eyes, and start teasing him again over Billy Hargrove.

She took a shaky breath, pressing her face to the back of her hand. “I—I was—I was nervous coming to your house, the—that night, the night she—in your—in your pool —to the party, your party, and she wanted to have my back—”

If Jonathan Byers couldn’t show up, Steve wished Billy would, remembering him explaining things to Will and El in IHOP, until Will relaxed, and smiled, and got brave enough to ask questions. “I—I’ll have your back,” Steve tried. “Now. I will. Um, she, uh, we can thank her for having your back. We can—”

He tried to remember what people did at funerals other than wear scratchy suits as Nancy nodded, rubbing her eyes with her fingers, then rubbing her wet face with her wrists. He clenched his fingers harder in his jeans. “Uh, flowers? We can—I’ll get flowers, did she have a favorite song? I have a boombox. I have batteries for it, I can get batteries for it—um, Billy, Billy will have a good idea,” he trailed off, trying to think what it could be, with Billy outside, instead of by Steve’s elbow where he belonged. “He’ll have a good idea, he’ll—he always has a good idea—”

Nancy snorted, smiling at him, but her eyes were red. Her voice was high and shaky. “Ye-yeah. Thank you. Thanks. Y-you’ll be a good best friend, Steve.”

Out the window, Billy was holding his textbook and homework, his pencil poised, but he was staring at them.

He met them in the hall outside typing class, leaning against the bank of lockers. His gaze flicked from Steve’s face, to Nancy’s, then dropped to their hands. Steve scooted away from her, then reached through the press of people and prodded her shoulder with two fingers. He beckoned her to follow him over to Billy.

“Harrington,” Billy crossed his arms, watching them. His cheeks and lips were pink with cold, and Steve wanted to kiss them, brush the melted snowflakes out of Billy’s hair, and rub the muscles of Billy’s arms through the sleeves of Steve’s own borrowed sweatshirt, feeling his boyfriend shiver, and hugging him close. Billy’s voice was flat as he said, “Wheeler,” and Steve jumped, jarred from his fantasy.

Steve opened his mouth to tell Billy that Nancy had practically admitted he was better in bed than Jonathan, and then stopped and thought for once, about how that would hit Billy’s brain. He lowered his voice. “Remember I told you about Barb, uh, Barbra Holland, Nancy’s friend, the monsters got her?”

“...I guess,” Billy had his gaze fixed on Nancy’s face, eyes narrowed.

“She wants to hold a funeral,” Steve started, but Billy’s glare didn’t shift. “Nancy does, uh, and I’m going, because I knew her, and Jonathan didn’t, because he’s not cool, and he makes these faces when—”

“Don’t you dare,” Nancy hissed.

“Wait, what,” Billy glanced at Steve, still keeping a wary eye on Nancy.

“Probably her boyfriend will still be there, because she’ll be sad, but I’m her friend so I’m going too—” Steve babbled, hoping someone else would talk.

“What,” Billy said flatly.

“Help,” Steve hissed, widening his eyes. “Help us, um.”

Nancy started snickering for no reason, and Billy’s frown darkened. “He panicked when I started to cry,” she snorted, rubbing her eyes. “He wants you to fix it.”

“What?!” Billy snorted, coughing.

“What do people do at funerals,” Steve hissed, glancing at Nancy again, and she snorted wetly, covered her nose, and dug in her backpack before yanking out a kleenex and blowing hard.

“Sexy,” Billy muttered, and Steve elbowed him. Billy glanced between them again, raising his eyebrows. “That’s what all that cozy whispering was about?”

Steve made a face. “Also she had goldfish crackers?”

“We were just talking,” Nancy said, laughing and wiping her eyes again “—and then I lost my shit. Sorry.”

“She had a whole cow about how much better I am at picking boyfriends than she is,” Steve waggled his eyebrows. Nancy elbowed him, and Billy’s snorted, his eyes narrowed as he glanced between them.

“Thought you were dumping my ass and leaving me with Denise.”

Steve shook his head, holding his hands up. “We know she makes weird faces.”

“It’s not her fault she has thirty-nine eyes!” Billy laughed, hugging himself in Steve’s sweatshirt. Steve wished he could hug his boyfriend, right there in the highschool hallway, but had to settle for his sweatshirt doing it. Billy didn’t seem to notice as Steve reached out, then yanked his hands back and stuck them in his pockets. Billy was still grinning about his awful gift. He leaned in, digging his chin into Steve’s shoulder and whispering, “Ask your buddy Dustin why his pockets are full of googly eyes, seems questionable to me—”

“Steve and I were talking about boys,” Nancy snorted, then sniffled, rubbing her nose and rummaging in her purse until she found another kleenex.

“Swapping stories,” Steve grinned, watching Billy’s head cock warily. He dropped his voice to a whisper. “My boy’s always sexy. He just melts against me. Like pizza cheese, y’know, in Little Caesar’s ads, it sort of—it sort of droops—”

Billy went as glowing red as the tail lights on his Camaro, and growled, as Nancy leaned into the lockers in a gale of laughter.

“Shut the hell up, Harrington,” Billy muttered, rubbing his face.

“Sexy Little Caesar’s boyfriend?!” Nancy wheezed. “Steve, that’s not sexy at all—”

“Or on lasagna. Or Velveeta, it’s—it’s all fluid, you know,” said Steve, trying to explain. “Um, ‘hot, fresh, and ready to go?’” he suggested, relying on Pizza Hut for his words, but they both turned away, Nancy pounding her fist on a locker, cackling and wiping tears, and Billy stomping off down the hall. Steve glared at Nancy. “Don’t you tell anyone either.”

“Oh no,” Nancy gasped. “I—I’m telling Barb. Oh my god, she’d have loved that. She kept telling me you were a moron—”

“Hey!” Steve pointed a finger at her. “She—she may be—she shouldn’t have said it!”

“I won’t tell anyone else you described your boyfriend as sexy mozzarella,” she snickered, blowing her nose. “But I am telling her that, aloud, at her funeral. Oh my god, I needed that. You better go find him.”

“Everyone likes pizza!” Steve yelled, stomping away after Billy.

As he walked around the corner, Billy grabbed him around the waist from behind and lifted him. Steve yelled and swore, wriggling and laughing. He tried to squirm enough to make Billy drop him, kicking wildly, then finally made a big show of bending his upper body over Billy’s arms to kick his leg up and retie his shoe, while Billy staggered and swore, leaning away to balance his weight and shaking with laughter. Finally, Billy sat him on his feet in an empty hallway, spun him around, and stuck his thumb in the fly of Steve’s pants, pressing close and panting in his ear.

Steve looked back the way they came and saw a girl from his class: Robin Buckley. She was staring.

Billy felt him freeze, and pulled back, eyes narrowed. “What?” When he started to look around, Steve panicked and grabbed his head, wanting to save some unrelated girl from being fed her own molars. He pressed their lips together, humming as Billy huffed a laugh.

Crisis somewhat averted, Steve told himself sternly to track her down later, before letting himself lean into Billy again. He rubbed his thumb over Billy’s moustache, pressing into its scratchiness, and licking into Billy’s hot mouth, then pushed him back, taking deep breaths through his nose. “Christ, gonna come in my pants,” he whispered, laughing.

“That’s fine,” Billy’s grin widened.

“It’s not! It’s not fine, it’s grody—” Steve panted, pushing back at Billy’s hands and shoulders as his boyfriend tried to wriggle closer, like an octopus.

“Come on my tongue,” Billy whispered.

“There’s no time, I gave you to El!” Steve hissed, holding his forearms up defensively. “She’ll show up again! You agreed! You’re hers and Max’s today!” His shoulderblades thudded against the lockers.

“When do I get my reward for following orders, your majesty,” Billy whispered, pulling Steve’s forearms close, so he could kiss along the soft inner side.

“Sometimes knights have duties,” Steve whispered back. “For the, uh, the kingdom.”

“And I’m your best knight,” Billy snorted, running his hands up Steve’s sides. “Gotta help the civilians. Do my quests, make you proud.”

“Mmmn,” Steve lost his train of thought, leaning into Billy’s chest, and sliding his arms around his neck. “Best knight.”

“Now Tommy’s been, what,” Billy laughed against his mouth, hugging him until Steve’s muscles went loose, and his bones felt like they’d creak. “Unshielded?”

“Dis-sworded?” Steve supplied muzzily, into another pause between kissing, his brain narrowing its world to Billy’s tongue. “God, love you, mustard...dipshit...cupcake,” he mumbled, then frowned, coming back to earth as Billy’s shoulders shook with laughter. “Shut up, dickhead. Wait, Tommy wasn’t ever my knight.”

“Thought he beat up Jonathan Byers for you,” Billy whispered, sliding both arms around Steve’s waist again, and lifting him off the ground.

“No,” Steve mumbled, half-listening as he tried to clamp his legs around Billy’s waist, but missed distractedly as he ran his hands up Billy’s neck, cupping the back of his head and licking into his mouth.

Billy pulled back to talk, and Steve huffed. “But he tried to get you over to his house. That time. With Carol,” Billy panted, searching Steve’s face.

Steve kicked, gasping as his lungs got squashed. “Holy shit,” he wheezed, laughing. “You—you’re—are you jealous?”

“No,” Billy whispered, suddenly interested in kissing again.

Steve pulled back from Billy’s mouth after just one more kiss. “Are you jealous of Tommy and Nancy,” he whispered, beaming.

“Fuck you,” Billy mumbled, biting gently up his neck.

Steve let his eyes close, forgetting about Robin, and El, and the extremely public hallway they were standing in. His face was so hot it felt tingly, and Billy’s arms were strong and gentle, holding him up. The world started to spin, a little, and he kicked his feet back, crossing them against his butt to curve his whole body against Billy’s.

“Can’t—can’t breathe, Knight,” he had to admit, finally, and Billy sat him back on his feet.

“As you wish, my King,” he whispered back, stepping back to look Steve over—he grinned as he assessed the tightness of Steve’s pants like an asshole, then leaned in again for one more close-mouthed kiss.

Steve laughed, unable to stop smiling. “You’re jealous. Want me all to yourself.”

“Nah,” Billy rubbed his thumb up Steve’s cheek, and yanked his head around by the earlobe. Steve yelled, flailing. “I can just get another one,” Billy whispered. “King Harringtons. On sale today. K-Mart Special.”

“No you can’t,” Steve grabbed Billy’s shirt, spinning him to smack up against a locker, and leaning close again for a messy kiss. He could feel Billy breathing against his chest. “You’re jealous. You—you’d—” Steve trailed off, watching Billy bare his teeth. “You—what the hell are you pissed for,” he whispered. “You went off and screwed Tommy, don’t be pissed at me —”

“I’m not jealous,” Billy snarled back. “I’m the only one who even pays attention to you, aren’t I, and I could get somebody else in—in a heartbeat—”

Steve took a sharp breath, wondering why he had to go and push things. “Right, yeah,” he said, slamming his hand into the locker next to Billy, who flinched. “Shit,” Steve groaned, stepping back. “Sorry, shit. The hell was I thinking. I’m too goddamn clingy, right? You’re just trying—trying to—” he stepped back a few steps and smacked another locker across the hall—the bang was satisfying—and Billy grabbed his wrist, digging his thumb in bruisingly tight.

“You gonna start hitting?” he asked, smiling his widest. “You don’t get to do that.”

“I hit the locker,” Steve hissed, yanking his arm, and Billy stepped closer.

“You don’t get to hit me,” Billy whispered, and Steve winced at the feel of fingernails. “You—you can’t pull that shit, Harrington.”

“I wasn’t gonna,” Steve tried to yank away again, feeling worse. “Screw you, I hit a locker —”

“After all that shit you said,” Billy said evenly, his smile and his eyes wide the way they went when he might do anything. “I’m a person, remember?”

“I remember,” Steve swallowed again against the burning in his throat and eyes, planting his feet to try and squirm away. “I wasn’t—”

“You change your mind?” Billy asked softly, and Steve did want to hit him, then.

“Let me go,” he hissed. “I wasn’t going to hit you, christ. I was hitting the fucking locker.” Billy let go and stepped back, and Steve spun to slam his fist into the locker again. His little finger was starting to go numb, and he wondered how other people—really awful people, some of them, like Billy’s dad—found people that loved them and trusted them and paid attention. He inhaled, and it made kind of a wet gasping noise. “Jesus,” he whispered. “Just—just g-go home.”

“Screw you,” Billy muttered, and Steve opened his mouth to growl back, when his gaze caught on Billy’s nails digging into his sleeve over where Steve had drawn the hearts.

“Fucking— stop ,” he hissed, grabbing Billy’s fingers, and forcing them to unbend. They were cold. “You’re gonna give yourself bruises. Stop it, dickhead— quit—”

“Quit what,” Billy snarled back, and Steve stared down at the hand he’d grabbed, then let go and stomped across the hall to kick somebody else’s locker.

“Screw you,” Steve muttered. “Fine, go the hell home.” He hunched his shoulders as Billy stepped closer, and banged his fist on the locker he’d just kicked. “Piss off.”

“The hell do you want me to say,” Billy asked, and Steve shut his eyes, and banged the locker again.

“Nothing,” Steve hissed. “I don’t want you to say anything, I—you can—you can go to hell—” Billy came up behind him, and Steve squeezed his eyes shut. They were stinging. He felt a touch on his arm, and flinched into the lockers, swallowing a few times to clear his throat of the bullshit trying to climb out of it. “It’s fine,” he forced out. “Just. Piss off. Go home. I’ll—I’ll get myself—together.” He opened his eyes, parting his lips in a smile, to see Billy standing close, frowning, so Steve was sandwiched between him and the lockers.

“Wha—” Billy started, and Steve smacked a hand over Billy’s mouth, then sidestepped, laughing.

He took a few steps down the hall before he managed to stop himself. “Just go,” he said, realizing he had his hands up between he and Billy, and lowering them. “It’s fine, it’s nothing, jesus—”

“What in the hell—” Billy stepped closer again, and Steve didn’t lunge to cover his mouth, or cover his own ears, or run away.

He kept smiling. “Max and El are probably looking for you.”

“...no,” Billy said, holding his hands out. “Come here, Harrington.”

“What,” Steve laughed, his sinuses burning as his vision went a little blurry. He blinked his eyes clear as Billy’s glare went thunderous.

“I’m not gonna chase you down, get your ass over here.”

“Why?” Steve asked, crossing his arms, uncrossing them, and touching his hair. It was fine. He thought fixedly about the project he was gonna start in ceramics. Probably it was dumb to make Billy something nice. Something with Steve’s feeblings just emblazoned over it. “Just go, jesus.”

“Harrington—” Billy sighed, and Steve’s stomach clenched.

“Sorry,” he grated out. “Sorry, I’ll get it together—” he cut off, raising his arms defensively as Billy walked close enough to grab him by the front of his pants and yank him in for a kiss. His hands were warm and gentle cradling Steve’s face, and Steve let himself be pulled in. “What—” he whispered, but Billy cut him off, tilting Steve’s head to get deeper into his mouth. “Mmf,” Steve tried next, slowly lowering his hands to where his sweatshirt stretched over Billy’s biceps.

“Two for flinching,” Billy told him, kissing him again. “Ssh,” Billy whispered, glancing around, and then pushing them both—slowly, and mostly by kissing Steve—across the hall again and into the bathroom. He stopped to check under the doors, and then grabbed Steve’s hand, and yanked him into the biggest stall. “Okay,” he said, “—go on.”

“...want me to try giving a blow job?” Steve asked, rubbing his eyes. “I mean. You let me jack you off, I wanna—”

Billy opened his mouth, cocked his head, and narrowed his eyes. “Shut up. Shit, that’s not —I’m not supposed to —to try and blow you when you’re pissed —what the fuck, Harrington—”

“I’m just trying to change the subject,” Steve gritted out. “You like blow jobs. Everybody likes blow jobs—”

“I mean,” Billy snorted, slowly nudging Steve against the wall, “—dicks like ‘em—”

“Everybody does, it’s just not called a blow job always,” Steve argued, feeling smart, as Billy kissed him again. It felt like Billy was laughing.

“S’ true—” Steve muttered, and Billy laughed harder, and yanked him closer, so Steve’s head was pressed against Billy’s shoulder, and Steve’s body was squeezed in Billy’s arms.

“Shut up, jesus,” he whispered, his earring tickling Steve’s neck. “What’s your problem.”

The thing was, Steve thought, there wasn’t one. He was freaking out for no reason—he knew his bullshit annoyed people, and everything Billy’d said was true. “Sorry,” he breathed. It was easier, in the heat of Billy squishing him against the wall.

“What do you want me to—”

“Nothing,” Steve cut him off. “Christ. Jesus. I’m gonna do better this time, and shut the hell up before I—”

“What,” Billy whispered, and Steve shook his head, smiling, and didn’t say before I ruin everything.

Billy pulled back, his jaw clenched. “I’ll get it out of you.” Steve choked on a laugh, clenching his fingers on Billy’s arms, and Billy stared into his eyes, thinking. “I could do what you did,” he whispered. “Get you so horny you’re dripping and then make you talk.”

“Oh shit, no,” Steve snickered harder, shaking his head. “No, don’t. I wouldn’t even—I wouldn’t be able to think enough.”

“That’s kind of the point,” Billy said against his mouth, and Steve’s heart started pounding.

“No, no, don’t, I really—I can’t even—” Steve tried to squirm away, every breath of Billy’s resonating with his dick. “I can’t tell you if I can’t make words!”

“Mmm,” Billy hummed thoughtfully, leaning in for another kiss. “You really want to hear I’m jealous of—of Tommy? That what you want me to say?”

“You’re not, though,” Steve shrugged.

“...Nancy, then,” Billy cleared his throat. “I keep waiting to hear you say you’re—that—that I’m not—that you took a better offer.”

“Fuck you,” Steve told him, sighing. “What the hell am I gonna do when you two actually talk and you—you start talking— elves or something and forget all about me.”

“...you’re jealous of me talking to Nancy Wheeler,” Billy said, with the vague tone of someone reading an incomprehensible line in English class.

“You’re both perfect,” Steve told him, grabbing him close, and Billy started laughing so hard he staggered.

“Oh my god, you are so fucking dumb,” he wheezed, and Steve licked his lips, pressed them to Billy’s neck, and blew to make the loudest fart noise he could. Billy yelped, shoving weakly at him, and Steve did it again. Finally, Billy got his hands over Steve’s mouth, and used his body weight to hold them there while he rubbed tears off onto his arms. “If you think I’m perfect you’re blind and stupid. Holy jesus,” he whispered.

It wasn’t that funny, Steve thought indignantly. “You’re perfect. You —you’re—you are. Sometimes. Most of the time! You —you’re better, you don’t—”

Billy kept snickering, like an asshole. “You’d run off with your queen in a second, your majesty,” he whispered, grinning. “She’ll whistle one day. She’ll just — crook her finger, and you’ll go.”

“Would not,” said Steve, automatically, but he considered. “I don’t…” He narrowed his eyes at the wall of the bathroom stall, where someone had written that the principal worshipped Satin. He thought about how his plans had always included Nancy, and how hers never seemed to include him.

What would it be like, he wondered, if she knocked on my door. ‘Follow me to the city,’ she’d say. ‘You can hold down the apartment, I can go to college. Someday I’ll have an important job— which was where it fell apart, because it would be something like war journalism, and she’d always be gone. He sighed, imagining the Dear Steve letter. ‘Dear Steve, I’ve gone to expose nuclear testing on smuggled baby alligators in Belgium, and...found love.’ Steve shook his head. “No. No, it’s —no. ”

“Whaddaya mean no,” Billy laughed. “You just sat there and imagined it.”

“Yeah, imagined it blowing up in my face. I want to —” Steve stopped, looking away from Billy’s eyes and down, until Billy started jerking Steve’s head up and around, trying to meet his eyes again. Steve laughed, and bit his lip.

“What d’you want, Harrington?” Billy asked.

“...wanna wait and see if you send me letters,” Steve told him, shrugging. “I —I guess. Once you leave.”

“Oh, I’m gonna,” Billy’s breath caught, and he pressed his hands to Steve’s cheeks, squishing them. “But you’re lying to both of us if you think you wouldn’t drop me—”

“Billy,” Steve said, muffledly through the fishface Billy was giving him, and grabbing Billy’s hands as he startled. “Billy Hargrove. I—I’d pick you.”

“Don’t bullshit me—”

“Pay attention,” Steve hissed. “Hargrove. Fuckface...trespasser. I’d pick you.” Billy shook his head, smirking, and Steve grabbed it by the curls, pressing their foreheads together to hold Billy’s gaze. “If I have to watch somebody leave, I’d still want you.”

“Shit,” Billy said hoarsely, trying to laugh. “I’ll come back, I wouldn’t—I wouldn’t leave leave, you—you can’t get rid of me if you—if you don’t tell me to go.”

“Like I would,” Steve snorted. “If —if Nancy just—just walked in here, I mean, not here here,” he paused, his eyes focusing on the wall of the men’s bathroom, “—but y’know, if—if she said she’d changed, she—she wanted me back…”

“You’d go,” Billy shrugged.

“No, Nancy can’t—she doesn’t want—this.”

“She’s got shitty taste, then,” Billy growled, and Steve laughed, leaning to bury his face under Billy’s ear.

“No, I mean—she doesn’t want—” he sighed. “She sure doesn’t wanna drag me to the bathroom and grill me on what’s wrong. She’s got—things to do. Important stuff.”

“Her loss,” Billy shrugged, and Steve snorted wetly. Billy’s breaths sounded as catchy and uneven as his did, he realized, and squeezed him closer.

“Promise I wouldn’t go,” he mumbled.

“Promise Denise,” Billy hissed, growling over Steve’s bursting into semi-hysterical giggles. “Denise needs both her dads,” Billy whispered, his eyes brimming as Steve laughed and cried.

“You’re so weird,” he whispered. “So fucking glad you —not the rest of it—but I’m, uh. I’m so goddamn glad you ended up at my house.”

“You brought me home in a trunk,” Billy told him, sniffling, and frowning down to yank at Steve’s belt buckle.

“What if I hadn’t,” Steve asked, watching Billy fumble. “Maybe—maybe something else. Maybe you’d have kissed me in the locker room. Always trying to shove me around in there—why you always trying to jump me in bathrooms, you’re so — ”

“Maybe you’d have kissed me somewhere, fucking...Pussington,” Billy growled, undoing Steve’s belt, and laughing as the denim over Steve’s dick twitched against his hands. He ran his fingers up and down Steve’s fly.

“Jesus,” Steve whispered.

“Fuck me,” Billy whispered back. “I want this monster in me.”

“...you called it fun-size,” Steve hissed back, and Billy started giggling again, burying his face in Steve’s neck. “We’re in a bathroom, the floor is sticky —”

“I don’t wanna wait,” Billy told him, kissing him so enthusiastically Steve’s head thudded back against the wall. “You—you said—want me over Wheeler —”

“I know what I said,” Steve said, trying to sound strict, but he couldn’t help grinning. “ Want me to blow you? You always—”

“No, fuck my ass,” Billy ordered, leaning close, so Steve could feel the hard line of Billy’s cock pressing against his.

“...there’s no—it’ll hurt, knight, it—”

“Who cares,” Billy whispered, yanking the buttons open on Steve’s fly.

“Me!” Steve hissed, grabbing his wrists. “I care! Christ!”

“S’my ass,” Billy argued, looking pouty, and Steve snorted.

“S’my dick, wouldn’t feel good for me either—”

“Coward,” Billy said, frowning down. “Okay, okay—” he yanked at his own pants, hopping on one foot, and Steve started sniggering. He grabbed Billy’s face and pulled him in for a kiss, nearly knocking them both over when Billy tripped over the leg of his pants. “MMPH,” Billy yelped. “Shit. Okay. Just—uh, just—”

His face felt hot against Steve’s hands, and he realized the red was creeping clear down Billy’s chest where the sweatshirt hung open. “What?” Steve asked, his eyes lingering on Billy’s briefs, where a wet stain was spreading where the elastic strained over his cock.

“I’m gonna turn around,” Billy muttered, “—and—”

“No—” Steve repeated, running his hands along the elastic band of Billy’s Fruit of the Looms. “No, seriously, I’m not—”

“I’ll squeeze my legs together,” said Billy, with gritted teeth, his face flaming hot.

“Holy shit,” Steve whispered, his hips bucking against Billy’s hip as he turned around. “What—is—is that any good for you—”

“Just fuck me,” Billy hissed, bracing his hands against the wall, and Steve stepped close behind him, reaching down to yank his skivvies down, and then push Billy’s down over the warm muscley roundness of his ass. Billy yanked until his dick was freed, then braced himself again, and Steve buried his face in Billy’s shoulder, taking a deep breath.

“Can’t see how this is good for you,” he whispered against Billy’s neck, feeling him shiver.

“It’s not unless you get moving,” Billy snarled, then choked out a gasp as Steve slid his hand around to grab him by the cock.

“Just...between your thighs, then,” Steve whispered, rubbing some pre-come around the top of his dick, then frowning down, and licking his hand just in case.

“Come on,” Billy whispered. “Come on, come on, do me.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Steve nodded pointlessly, aimed, and pressed into the tight space between Billy’s muscled thighs. “Oh god, that’s good,” he mumbled against Billy’s shoulder, and he laughed.

“Shut up and move,” Billy muttered, since Steve was mostly clinging and muttering bullshit endearments.

“God,” Steve whispered, reaching around again. “Don’t fall, b-babe, uh, cookie.”

“Billy whe-when we’re fucking,” Billy told him, groaning as Steve tried to steady himself between his hips smacking Billy’s butt, his dick sandwiched in the heat of Billy’s thighs—it was slippery enough, he thought, flushing almost as red as Billy was—and dragging his fist up and down Billy’s dick.

“Billy,” Steve said against his ear, and Billy swallowed a moan, letting his head fall forward to thunk against the wall. “Billy Hargrove.”

“Nng,” Billy grunted.

“L-love you, Billy Hargrove,” Steve told him, and he whined, his shoulders flinching forward. Steve kissed the place where his shoulder joined his neck, feeling him shudder. “Love you, Billy.”

Billy came all over his fingers, and Steve started laughing, because of course Billy’s legs bent, and of course they collapsed to the floor of the highschool bathroom.

Steve let them tip sideways, pulling Billy close to slow their fall and ignoring the weird chemical smell as his jaw smushed against the tiles. Billy was swearing under his breath, squirming around, and Steve summoned enough brain to scoot back. “Ssh,” he whispered, snickering, with tears in his eyes. “Don’t break my dick.”

“Where you going, asshole,” Billy hissed, rolling over to lay half on top of Steve’s chest. He grabbed Steve’s cock, stroking it, and Steve bucked up against him, muttering just...noises, really.

He came to himself panting against Billy’s shoulder. “Mmnm,” he said, wondering whether they could just sleep on the floor, and wash their faces for class the next morning.

“...you really jealous?” Billy asked, at the ceiling, like he’d been thinking a while.

Steve groaned, tucking hair out of his eyes.

“Y’know I’d...fucking kill them—anyone—and step on their corpses to get to you,” Billy told the ceiling, and Steve started laughing again.

“S’not a bit creepy,” he said, his voice weirdly deep in his ears.

“Not sure wanting to kill Tommy Hagen is creepy at all,” Billy commented, rolling his head for a kiss. “I mean, that’s normal, right, anybody would—”

“Think I’ve got toilet paper stuck to my leg,” Steve whispered.

“I guess you wouldn’t know normal if it bit you on the ass,” Billy told him, and Steve hefted himself up the couple of inches for another kiss.

“Means I get you, though,” he mumbled, dropping to rest his face on Billy’s chest again. It went from warm to hot, and Steve grinned, rubbing his face in chest hair and muscle.

“Shut up, you’re such a freak,” Billy muttered, and pressed more kisses to Steve’s hair. “Tommy Hagen, seriously? You’re jealous of Tommy Hagen? That’s you being a moron.”

“Mmn,” Steve was sort of listening, so he politely made a noise.

“Just went over to Carol’s ‘cause I broke your door,” Billy said. “Thought you’d be pissed. Thought you’d—” he took a slow breath, swallowing. “An-anyway, I didn’t think you’d just...pick me up. Carry me on your back. Thought I’d have to, uh, bribe my way back in.”

“...you saying you got me a present?” Steve asked, waking up a little, and Billy squeezed him.

“I’m saying I didn’t care where I went, jesus. Could have been the gas station. Not running around on you with Exxon, either.”

You might, Steve thought, snorting, but he scooted closer. His shoes squeaked against the wet tile by the toilet. “We’re gonna stink,” he sighed.

“You saying you wanna go shower together?” Billy breathed against Steve’s temple, and Steve started sniggering.

“I mean, yeah,” he whispered back, grinning so hard his cheeks felt tired. “But probably we should like...go. You’re making your sister wait. And El.”

“And they’re important to my liege,” Billy groaned.

“They’re kinda violent when they’re pissed off,” Steve whispered back, and Billy started snickering into Steve’s hair. Steve grinned up at the dripping cracks in the ceiling, letting his eyes fall shut. “ I’ll—just—just take the car. Take it. Get the girls, whatever they want. I need to—better present. Than Denise.”

“No present’s better than Denise,” Billy’s grin went smirky, but he saluted Steve’s eyeroll, and once they managed to get upright, sauntered off with his hands in the pockets of Steve’s stolen sweatshirt.

Steve adjusted himself in his jeans, wishing he wasn’t quite so...sticky, and walked a bit awkwardly off to his locker, when he was grabbed for the second time that day.

“What?!” Robin flailed her arms, hissing. “What was that?!”

“There you are,” Steve hissed, then stopped dead, realizing he hadn’t thought up any kind of plan. “...nothing?” he answered, like a genius, smoothing his hair where Billy’d run his fingers through it. “Uh, what? What was...what.”

She stared at him. “I saw you, dingus.”

“No, you didn’t. Saw what?”

“How are you alive, you are so dumb,” she muttered, spinning away, then back. “That was—you were—” she clasped her hands together, taking a deep breath through her nose, and started to snicker. “You—that’s your cover? ‘What was what?’ You—that’s what you’re gonna say?”

Steve’s high from Billy’s kisses was gone, and he was trying not to imagine Billy’s reaction to someone seeing them. His stomach clenched. “Look, don’t, nothing—nothing was—your—it’s none of your business, jesus.”

“What?!” she cackled, her eyes widening. “Christ. You’re just gonna make out at school and ignore it when—what if—what if your pal Tommy sees you? He’s gonna—”

“I blackmailed him,” Steve folded his arms, leaning back against the locker. “I have dirt on him, he’s not gonna squeal—”

“You what?!” she squealed herself, leaning one arm to steady herself against the locker as she sniggered so hard she shook. “Have you been watching gangster movies?”

“Shut up! You didn’t see anything—”

“I sure did,” she made a face, shuddering. “Believe me, I would not have imagined you and Hargrove playing tonsil hockey, but it’s a nightmare I’ll take to the grave—”

“Shut up,” he hissed, swallowing. His throat felt dry. “I—you can’t tell anyone. I’ll say you’re lying. You’ll be that liar girl, I’ll—”

“God, I don’t want to remember it, let alone describe it,” she pretended to gag, melodramatically doubling over with her fingers in her throat. “Gag me, Steve. Gag me with a spoon.”

Steve wrinkled his nose. “Great. Don’t tell anyone, and we’ll stay the hell away from each other.” He remembered wondering how people in his classes would react to finding out he was maybe-sort-of-gay, and he kind of wanted to punch her in the face. “Or I—I’ll get gay cooties on you.”

She turned to stare. “I don’t care about that, dipshit, I care I almost saw two entire penises when I was just trying to leave class. Here I thought I’d go to my grave without getting close to one of those—” she stuck her tongue out, flapping her hand at the wrist, her voice distorted by the face she was making, “—gross floppy baby injectors, and there they were—”

“What,” he stopped, arms up in a flail, but still. “Wait. What?”

“I’m not going to tell anyone, Steve Harrington,” she told him, rolling her eyes. “Besides, somebody else is going to figure you out, like, instantly, nothing to do with me.” She turned to stalk away, then spun on her heel to face him again. “But what the hell is wrong with you?! You don’t even—can’t you make some excuse and get the keys to the gym equipment room?! You can’t make out during class, when people aren’t wandering around?! Instead you’re sucking face right after the bell rings? I had to tell two different people there was a sewage leak down that hall, dumbass.”

Steve blinked at her. “Th—that’s a good idea. I didn’t—thanks, man.”

“I didn’t want them to have to see the gross sight I had to,” she narrowed her eyes at him. “Can’t you tell people you’re study buddies or something? Before I have to see more of Billy Hargrove’s hard-on in his jeans,” she shuddered, and Steve laughed.

“Somebody doesn’t think he’s hot?”

She took a deep breath, her eyes flicking to his face. “Yeah...no. Why would I.”

“I mean, he is,” he shrugged. “Anyway, thanks. Really. I got, uh, threatened today, kind of. I thought—thanks.”

She stilled. “You what,” she asked, her voice weirdly raspy.

“Uh, somebody figured us out, said he’d, y’know, tell everyone. I know.” Steve rolled his shoulders uncomfortably.

“What the shit,” she whispered. “And you—you’re—the same day?! You just—”

“Look, shut up, I’m not used to it yet,” he hissed back. “I forget he’s a secret, okay?!”

“You moron,” she whispered. “What’d you—are you—”

“I blackmailed him, uh, the guy, Tommy,” Steve whispered back, weirdly proud. “He won’t tell anyone.”

“Jesus, what a prick.” She took a deep breath, and blew through her cheeks. “Tommy Goddamn Hagen, huh. Good thing I wasn’t gonna tell anybody anyway.”

“Phew,” he laughed, grinning at her. “I wasn’t—I can’t even—was just, y’know, going to ask you not to, like, tell. Everyone.” He shrugged. Robin narrowed her eyes at him, watching as he kicked at the linoleum. His shoe squeaked. “Thanks for being cool,” he told her, feeling a little bit warm knowing there were people at school that wouldn’t treat him like he had leprosy. “I guess not everybody’s going to hate me.”

“Jesus,” she whispered, rubbing her face. “I—shut up, okay, I wasn’t—I’m not that—”

“It’s just nice,” Steve shrugged. “Bil—I, uh, I didn’t know how, um, I guess it can get pretty bad, it’s nice to—”

“Yes!” Robin hissed. “Yes, it can! Oh my god, shut up. Why are you—you don’t know me!”

“I do now,” Steve told her, grinning, but he watched her clench her hands in frustration, and recognized someone who wished he’d leave. “Sorry. Thanks. Sorry,” he smiled automatically, and turned away.

“Ugh,” she groaned.

“Thanks,” he called over his shoulder again. “I’m glad it was you!”

“Auuuugh,” she yelled after him. “Stop talking about it, you moron! Somebody could hear you!”

He couldn’t resist turning to face her, walking backwards down the hall and stage-whispering, “Now I know it’s safe to tell you, we can talk about boys.”

“I don’t want to talk about boys!” Robin screamed, soft and wheezily in the back of her throat.

“You know you want to,” Steve whisper-shouted back, waggling his eyebrows, and she smacked her own face. “Nancy and I are friends now,” he told her, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Gonna have all the gossip, right here, don’t change that channel!”

“Nancy Wheeler doesn’t have gossip,” she hissed back, “Nancy Wheeler has—she has flashcards, shut up, dipshit—”

“We’re gonna do all those—those things that—makeovers,” he said, unable to think of anything else. “Sleepovers. Talking about boyfriends.”

“Kill me first,” Robin replied, through gritted teeth. “I will puke, I swear to god.”

“I have all the locker room dirt on everybody,” Steve said, clapping his hands together as he realized. “I know how big—”

“Eugh!” she actually shouted over him. “Gross! I do not want to know! I don’t want to know what Tommy Hagen’s dick is like, holy shit!”

“Yeah, I kinda wish I didn’t either,” Steve said, reflecting, but Robin was on a tear.

“I don’t want to—I don’t even—I wouldn’t think Billy Hargrove was hot unless his name was spelled with an -ie,” she said through clenched teeth, and he mouthed the letters, frowning into space. “Like. If he was named Wilhelmina, Steve.”

“That’s an awful name,” he turned to frown at her doubtfully. “And—and it’s for girls, I think.”

“The penny drops,” she said crisply, which made no sense, but he ignored that, turning her disgust in his head against her insistence she didn’t have a problem with his gay cooties.

“You’re a lesbian,” he whispered, pointing, and she clapped her hand to her face. Steve thought. “I thought I was the only one at school! We were. The only queer people, at school. There’s, uh, there’s a kid, but he’s a middle-schooler. And Barbra Holland, maybe? She and Nancy watched some weird movies.”

“How do you know what kind of...ugh, y’know what, I’m going home,” Robin sighed. “Try not to get expelled, I guess?”

“I won’t tell anyone,” he said quickly, feeling the urge to lift his hand to pinky-swear. He snickered. “We should have a secret handshake.”

“You better not tell anyone,” she hissed back, but she looked relieved too, and they stood there for long awkward seconds before she spun and stomped off. “I still don’t like you!” she shouted back, and he bit back a grin.

Once he’d talked to the ceramics teacher, he sat down with his headphones and the potter’s wheel, trying to dig his fingers into the heavy wetness of the clay enough to bring up a thin edge, but not so much they went through. About the point it started to look like a deep cat dish instead of an ashtray, he realized there were knees facing his, and he shook his head to knock his headphones down to his shoulders, instead of getting clay on them.

The lovely and intelligent Nancy Wheeler had her chin on her hands, and her elbows on her knees, watching him spin the clay.

“Hi,” he said, suddenly wanting to fix his hair, and clenching his hands so he didn’t put streaks of clay in it.

“What’s that gonna be?”

“...I dunno,” he said, which was a lie, probably. “I might screw it up.” Which was true.

“I think I see it,” she cocked her head as he used his fingertips to draw it up taller, “—with Billy. I thought you might—need help, y’know. Sorry.”

“What?!” He blinked at her, letting the wheel slow to a stop.

“I see it now. He was freaking out, when you just—ran out of the library, that time. Mike said he’s been really good to Will, and Eleven. I mean, if he pulls any shit with you we should absolutely tie him to train tracks. But.”

“That’s very...evil of you.” Steve stared at her, wide-eyed.

She rolled her eyes, and waved a hand. “His dad too, obviously.”

Steve snorted, choking. “Obviously.” He pulled his clay cylinder up a little taller and thinner, his face warm. The clay had lines where he’d pressed too hard, almost giving it segments. “...argh, this is my third try, and it’s still not straight.”

“...neither are you,” she replied, levelly, and he nearly smashed it, flailing.

“Nancy,” he growled at her, and she shrugged, watching him wet his hands and try to even it out.

She followed him around as he sliced it off the wheel with wire, took it to a table, and sculpted a handle. When he got to rolling more clay out, and cutting a little plaque to press letters into, she came and leaned over his shoulder, and he flushed as he inhaled her shampoo. “...that looks good, actually,” she murmured in his ear, and he winced away. She wandered back around the table to drop onto the stool across from him.

“‘Actually’?!” he muttered, and she snorted. “Sorry I was a shitty boyfriend,” he told the little letters he was painstakingly carving.

“Mm.” She shrugged. “I mean, I was kinda shitty, too, there at the end.”

He opened his mouth, automatically, to tell her she was perfect and amazing, then shut it again. He bit his lips, frowning down, then blew air through his cheeks, and carefully peeled up the little clay plaque shape to press on the crosshatched side of his cylinder.

“We’re getting better at it,” she said, looking it over, and then reached across and prodded his shoulder. “That’s sweet, Steve.”

“Eugh,” he sighed, leaning his face on the table. “Hope he thinks so.”

She groaned. “He liked Denise, Steve.”

“How come everybody knows my dumb vase’s name,” he mumbled into his arms, and she laughed.

“I hear everything. Little bird told me you might need a ride.”

Steve lifted his head, frowning at her. “...what?”

“He took your car, right?”

“I think Eleven took him,” Steve defended Billy, and Nancy grinned at him, nudging his elbow.

“Yeah, in your car.”

“Who knows where they’ll end up,” Steve sighed. He tried not to think about kissing Billy Hargrove in the bathroom at the IHOP. “Uh, she keeps making him take her for waffles.” Billy’d flinched back when he walked in the IHOP bathroom, he thought, leaning his face in his arms again. How did I not stop and think about that.

Nancy got up and leaned against the table. “And it’s snowing again, so you need a ride. Thanks, Nancy. You’re such a good friend, Nancy.”

He looked up, and quailed under the weight of her raised eyebrows. “Thanks. Who’s the little bird?”

“Billy,” she said, raising her eyebrows. “Or rather, he was asking how long Max and Eleven needed, and Eleven asked what I was doing after school.”

“Sorry,” Steve snickered, imagining Billy’s expression. “I could’ve walked.”

She shrugged. “I’m still here.”

Once he finished, and put his Valentine’s Day present to Billy on a rack to dry, they wandered out to Nancy’s mom’s car. As she checked the mirrors, and put on her seatbelt, Steve took a deep breath, couldn’t decide what to say, and sat there with his cheeks inflated like a chipmunk’s, squinting at the dashboard.

“...what are you doing,” she laughed.

“I, um. You know Robin Buckley?”

Nancy frowned at him, then at the rearview mirror to back out of the parking spot. “Yeeeah?”

“She, uh, she saw me and Billy. Earlier.”

“So?”

“Uh, we were, uh, she knows.” He leaned around to shove his bag in the back seat.

“...need me to go —talk to her?” Nancy asked, in a low voice, and Steve scrambled back up, wondering why he knew so many people willing to commit murder in his name.

“No! No! It’s, uh, it’s fine. She doesn’t like dick. I mean, she likes tits, you know. I mean, she’s like us. Billy and me. She’s queer. She, uh, she won’t tell anybody. Shit! I can’t tell you that, the whole point was—auuuugh,” he groaned, leaning his seat back to add some drama to it. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you that, don’t tell her I told you—”

“Oh!” Nancy blinked. “Is she?! I thought…” She frowned, pulling around a gaggle of freshmen in jerseys wandering through the parking lot.

“What?” Steve tried to get the seat to click back upright, and fell backwards again, his leg kicking up in the air.

“I thought she had a thing for you. She used to glare at us all the time.” Nancy rolled her eyes and groaned, slowing to a top again, and Steve wondered who else was blocking traffic out of the highschool parking lot.

“Did she? Weird.” Steve squinted at the roof of the car, and then remembered something. “Anyway, she won’t say anything. And I need advice. On blow jobs.”

The brakes squawked as Nancy stared over, Nancy opening her mouth to answer, but something banged at the window, and he sat up to see Lucas’ little sister glaring at them.

“Holy shit,” Nancy muttered, groaning. “Just don’t bite it off, you’ll get the hang of it, oh my god—” she hissed, leaning across his legs to roll the window down.

“There’s got to be more to it than that,” Steve muttered back, as Erica Sinclair stuck her face in the car.

“I fell asleep first period and got detention,” she yawned. “Marcenia Lyle Alberga snuck out again last night. Tomika and me were out until four this morning. And I missed the bus, and then I fell asleep in detention again...”

“You...what?” Nancy asked, looking lost. “Who?”

“Her friend’s cat sneaks out,” Steve translated.

“She doesn’t like the old Shireman house,” Erica told them, yanking the handle of Nancy’s car door and yawning again. “Lemme in. I missed the bus, I need a ride.”

“Sorry,” Steve said to Nancy, unable to stop his beaming grin. “She’s, uh, Billy’s kid now, I guess? Can we give her a ride?”

“Billy’s,” Nancy repeated, squinting at him, then Erica, and leaning behind Steve’s seat to unlock the door. Once they were all inside, she asked, “Isn’t the old Shireman place haunted, or something?”

“Yeah, Tommy and Carol and I used to…” Steve trailed off, his brain wandering back to being friends with Tommy Hagen, and getting high to run around screaming and giggling in the “haunted house”. “We used to...go there,” he finished, folding his arms.

“It’s creepy out there,” Erica said, leaning between their seats. “We’re not supposed to go, the floor’s falling in, but Marcenia’s just a kitten.”

“A mean one,” Steve snorted, and Erica snorted.

“She’s a killer. She can’t fight snow, though. I mean, she’d try. ”

Steve snickered, and they ended up explaining the afternoon Billy’d played Great White Hunter to Marcenia the Jungle Cat. He was dying to tell Nancy about El’s confusion over Hopper’s lousy sex talk, and trailed off, thinking it wouldn’t be so bad, really, life with Nancy as a friend.

As Nancy obeyed every traffic law, exactly at the speed limit, Steve saw Robin Buckley under the overhang of the gas station, hopping around as she knocked snow out of one of her shoes. She sighed, pulled it back on with a disgusted expression, hunched her shoulders, and walked on, just as some melting snow toppled off the edge and smacked into the back of her head and down the back of her collar. She yelled and flailed, dropping her bag, and fell on her butt in the snow, then threw her head back and yelled at the sky.

“Wait!” Steve yelled at Nancy, rolling his window down to stick his head out. “Hey! Oy! Robin Barclay!”

“Buckley,” Nancy corrected.

“Buckley!” Steve called, and Robin squinted over out of the pile of snow she’d landed in, her eyes flat with despair.

“What,” she glared over. “Qu-uh. Uh,” she glanced at Nancy, turning red, and her glower darkened. “Steve Harrington?” Ice dripped from the slush on her head down along her ear, and he heard both Nancy and Erica shudder.

“Can we give her a ride?” he asked Nancy, who was shaking her head slowly in bewilderment, eyes wide. “Please?”

“Sure, of course,” she said, turning up the heat and scrambling behind her to unlock the door. Erica scooted to one side.

“This is your fault,” was Robin’s first shivering line after she climbed in. “I missed the bus after, uh, running into you.”

“You’re another one of Steve’s friends?” Erica asked, eyes narrowed consideringly, and Steve yelled “Stop kidnapping my friends! No kidnapping!” back at her as Nancy hit the gas.

“I’m very resistant to being kidnapped,” Robin said, sniffling and shivering.

“Unstoppable force, immovable object,” Erica whispered, studying Robin as they drove.

“No,” Steve told her emphatically.

Robin studied Steve and Nancy. “I thought you two broke up,” she said, exaggeratedly innocent, and glared meaningfully at Steve when he turned around to stare at her.

“We did,” Nancy told her, checking her side mirror. “Steve’s my best friend now. He got a battlefield promotion.”

Robin sat back, nodding, and Steve laughed so hard he choked.

Billy’s car was out of the garage and blocking the drive, for some reason, with Steve’s behind it. Steve frowned at it, then raised his eyebrows at Nancy, who narrowed her eyes at him, then got out of the car and walked around as he disentangled his bag from the seatbelt and slammed the door.

“What,” she hissed. “You were making faces.”

“There’s gotta be more than “don’t bite it off,” he hissed back. “Come on!”

She made an offended gaspy noise, her mouth dropping open. “You’ve had blow jobs!” she squeaked back, flailing her arms. “You know more than me! I don’t even have a dick!”

“How do you not choke?” he asked, thinking hard.

“You just do!” she growled back, her face flaming red. “You’re putting a—a big—a thing down your—where you breathe, Steve, how do you think lungs work—oh my god—”

“Ohhhh,” Steve nodded, and she screamed into her hands.

“If you keep asking me for sex advice I’m gonna suggest you pull your mouth off real loud and sing ‘Pop Goes The Weasel,’” she snarled, and Steve started laughing, blushing nearly as hard as she was at the awkwardness of grilling his ex-girlfriend on blow jobs.

“I know it’s weird,” he laughed, wiping his eyes. “I know, I know, I got nobody else to ask, though, Nance, come on!”

She bit her lips together, glaring, then sighed. “...try, uh. Try, um, humming,” she squeaked.

“Humming,” he stared.

“Shut up, never mind!” she groaned, hiding her face.

“No, no, no no no!” he ran around to block her as she turned back to the car. “No, go on, tell me! Tell me, tell me!”

She sighed, smiling tensely at him. “God, Steve. You’re so—argh.”

“I am, I am,” he agreed, “—tell me your secrets, teach me, like, cock karate—”

“Oh my god,” she moaned.

“Do I need to wash cars,” he asked, miming circular hand movements, and she shoved him, laughing.

“We were, y’know, listening to music,” she mumbled, flushing even redder, “—and uh, I was um, y’know, kind of—kind of singing, humming—”

“Ew,” Steve said, waving her onward as he tried not to imagine the soundtrack of Jonathan’s approaching penis. “Yeah, go on—”

“It’s-nice-try-it!” she squeaked, all one noise, and ducked by him to dive into the car. He waved, but she bent close around the steering wheel as Erica ran around to take shotgun.

Steve crept in the front door to the caterwauling sounds of a circular saw.

The door to the garage from the kitchen was open, and his parent’s stuff—the stacks of boxed seventies clothes and albums he’d called and asked about, that they’d told him to throw out, that he felt weird throwing out, like there wouldn’t be anything of theirs left in the house if he threw the boxes out—had been pushed off to the side. Billy and Eleven were leaning over a long thin piece of wood trim balanced across the seats of two of the kitchen chairs. Billy had a foot on it, holding it secure across the seats, and Eleven had the saw, which she turned off, and carefully lowered to the floor.

“Angle’s perfect,” Billy told her, thumbing the edge, and she beamed at him. He bent over some more wood, but Steve’s brain was less aware of the wood, and more aware of his boyfriend’s ass in tight jeans.

Steve nearly stepped on Max, watching Billy, then blinked down to realize she was sitting in the doorway with her butt on the kitchen floor and her feet on the stair into the garage, glaring up at him and holding a plastic binder with shiny pages.

“Hey, moron, stop drooling,” she whispered. “It’s nasty.”

“What’re they doing?” he crouched to ask, watching El steeple her fingers thoughtfully at her nose, listening to Billy’s explanation of the different grits of sandpaper.

“He says he broke your door,” Max raised her eyebrows with all the judgement of Steve’s second-grade teacher, and he ducked his head.

“Wasn’t on purpose, he thought I was—I don’t know,” he muttered back at her. “He didn’t mean it.”

“That’s creepy, Steve,” she hissed back, flipping a page, and studying it intently. “He knows what he’s doing.” Through the reflection of the florescent lights of the garage, Steve couldn’t see what she was looking at, but he thought he and Max weren’t quite to the point where he could lean into her space.

“I mean,” Steve squinted, considering, and dropped to sit more comfortably next to her in the doorway, his legs sprawled into the garage. He remembered Billy drunk, throwing beer bottles at his house, and crying over his mom. “I mean, not—not always, not really. He, uh—”

“Don’t give me that shit,” she sighed. “Don’t let him get all, y’know, ‘Sorry, honey, you know I’ve got a temper,’ Steve, jesus. Bet he never breaks his own stuff.”

“Wait, what?” Steve drew his eyes away from Billy, who was smiling down at El marking length on a shorter piece of trim with a steel square. “He doesn’t break my stuff. Except the door. Did he break your stuff?”

She tensed, flipping another page, and holding both sides of the binder with white knuckles. “Maybe. Maybe I’m good at pattern recognition, Steve. He tell you not to make him mad? You being careful?”

Steve stared at the side of her head, then swung to face her, unable to focus while his eyes were full of Billy’s ass. “Max, you okay? Is—is everything okay?”

“Yeah, sure,” she snorted a laugh, rubbing her eyes with her wrist, and flipping another page. She studied it carefully.

“Max, did—did Billy say that to you? Did he—”

“No, he never—he— he says it. To my mom.”

Steve processed for a second, feeling like he was a dysfunctional blender. There were big things floating around out there he was fairly sure he didn’t understand, but he could manage the little pieces, sometimes, blend them into a whole that made sense. “Neil told your mom,” he translated, and Max swallowed, biting her lips together. “Neil...told your mom not to make him mad. Right?”

She shook her head. “He—he didn’t mean—like he gets with Billy. She wouldn’t—he wouldn’t get mad like that— just at Billy, he wouldn’t—he wouldn’t—”

“Billy told you what his mom said,” Steve felt like his engine was grinding, but he kept guessing, since Max kept pausing after each line. Maybe she doesn’t like what she put together, he thought. She’s seeing whether I get the same thing. “That Neil was...that he scared her.”

“Billy said he hit his mom,” Max grated out, and Steve cocked his head, trying to parse the language of the Hargrove siblings.

“Billy said his dad hit his mom,” he suggested, his eyes narrowed in thought, and Max made a weird hiccup noise, muffling it in the cuff of her sweatshirt. She closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. Steve bit his lips together, and tried again. “...and his dad told your mom not to make him angry.” Like the Hulk, he thought, imagining Neil Hargrove tearing the house apart.

Max flipped another page, and bent to frown at it from inches away as Steve waited.

“What have you got there?” he finally asked, since apparently the conversation was over, and El and Billy were still busy. Max tipped the binder towards him with a tense smile.

Steve crouched. “...is that...is that Billy’s photo album? That’s Billy, oh jesus. Oh my god.” He muffled his wide-eyed mumbling with his hands, staring at child-Billy’s round cheeks.

“Shut up, he looks like a moron,” Max hissed back, flipping the page, as Billy and Eleven laid out more pieces of wood. “Look at their hair! And he definitely doesn’t want you seeing him in that sweater vest.”

Steve flipped it back and eyed the brown, orange, red, and off-white sweater vest—it was definitely ugly, and his time spent winding yarn for Ms. Williams meant he could accurately peg it as basically a sandwich of two enormous crocheted potholders, one front, one back, with straps sewn on. “Oh, god,” he mumbled through his hand. “Did he, like...make that himself?” He tried not to think about Neil’s fingers digging into Billy’s shoulder in the posed picture, or the way Billy was leaning away, into his mom.

“I think there was an aunt...or a grandma...Maybe we should blow up that picture and stick it on the bulletin board at school,” Max grinned, laughing shakily.

“Look at his fat little cheeks,” Steve whispered. “Oh no, look, he was surfing and he fell in the water.”

“Look how many pictures there are of him dragging his board out of the water,” Max snickered. “Like, one of him actually surfing. He looks like a drowned rat.”

From listening to Billy’s mom, Steve didn’t doubt either that she was as delighted by photos of him falling off surfboards as staying on, or that she ever let him live it down. “His mom calls him her Land Turtle,” he told her, and Max clapped a hand over her mouth, muffling a snicker. “Oh no,” Steve hissed, elbowing her. “Look, Santa photos.”

Max stared at them for a long moment, then looked up at Steve, biting back a huge grin. Her eyes still shone wet, but she looked gleeful. “Steve. Steve,” she whispered in a high voice, drowned out by Billy showing El a box of finishing nails. “Steve,” she wheezed. “He was afraid of Santa. Look. Every picture. Oh my god.”

Billy’s mom looked thin, and paler than she had, and Steve tried to focus on her broad grin. “Those are amazing sweaters,” he whispered back, between his fingers, trying not to crack up aloud over toddler-Billy’s horrified eyes on Santa in every picture. In one, he was tilted sideways, wailing in his red-and-white striped sweater with the knitted green bowtie and matching mustard-yellow knitted overalls.

Suddenly Max yanked the album back to squint close, and Steve waited, then leaned his head down to try and see her face. “Huh,” she said, lifting her head, and pushing the album back toward him. “Leia there on the Halloween page,” she pointed. “His mom—does that—there on her arms, and her neck, do those look like bruises to you?”

Steve, staring at what had to be tiny Billy wedged in an awful R2-D2 costume made mostly of tinfoil, beaming up at the Leia from under—for some reason—a superhero-type mask, had to blink a few times to register Max’s voice. “Wha?”

“Do those look like bruises,” Max hissed. “Billy says he used to hit his mom—”

“Billy hit his mom?” Steve stared at her, then Billy, still stuck in their second conversation about family photos, where four-year-old Billy Hargrove was wearing potholders like they were clothes.

Max shook her head. “No, stupid, he hit Billy’s mom, Neil did. Billy says. Billy says—Billy says she was scared, she thought—there was an insurance thing—” she swallowed, the shine to her eyes no longer delighted. “I’m—I just—he doesn’t deserve him, nobody does, but just ‘cause he hits Billy doesn’t mean he’d hurt—”

Steve listened, really noticing for the first time that Max and Billy never called Neil Hargrove anything—not ‘dad’, or his name, just ‘he’. It was confusing for onlookers, who weren’t always thinking about the man, but Max and Billy always seemed to understand each other.

“I thought I’d check his pictures,” Max closed her eyes, taking a deep breath through her nose, and when she looked back down at the photos, her eyes were drier. “See if—if he was right, and she—she looks—she’s really scared, Steve.”

“I was there when she told Billy,” Steve told Max, who pressed her knuckles to her mouth, making a muffled gulping noise.

“He’s gonna hurt my mom,” she whispered, taking a shaky breath. “Shit, Steve, he’s gonna—he’s gonna hurt my mom, it was true, those are bruises, he’s gonna—”

Steve realized the tools had gone silent, and looked up to see Billy, thin-lipped and pink-cheeked, glancing from the album, to Steve, to Max.

El followed his gaze, frowned hard, and sat the saw down. She walked over, and wedged herself between Max and Steve on the stair into the garage. “What happened?” El asked, sounding like she was doing the psychic equivalent of cracking her knuckles to ready herself for a fight.

Max shook her head, pressing her knuckles to her mouth.

Steve let himself be pushed aside, walking over to put an arm around Billy and kiss his ear. “Just found a picture of my new favorite robot,” he whispered, and Billy snorted, tense against him. “Why was R2-D2 wearing a mask,” Steve asked, and Billy rolled his eyes.

“Shut up, I was like seven, I didn’t know how to make a costume. Why the hell is Max showing you my fatass baby pictures?”

“She, um,” Steve stumbled, divided between wanting to answer, not wanting to admit Max didn’t believe Billy’s warnings, and mostly wanting a time-travel car to go back and pick up the chubby little curly-haired R2-D2 in his terrible tinfoil costume, give him hot chocolate, and keep him the hell away from Neil Hargrove. “You seriously calling R2-D2 fat?”

“What is going on,” asked El, narrowing her eyes at Steve’s arm around Billy, and tucking her own around Max.

“He hurt Billy’s mom, and he hurt Billy, and he’s gonna hurt my mom,” Max said, her voice gravelly with suppressed tears. “He hurts people, and he’s—” she took a few rapid breaths, and bit her lips together until they went white.

Eleven took Max’s hand, turning to face her. “We won’t let him.”

Billy swallowed, his jaw working.

“Hopper,” Steve said, squeezing Billy’s shoulders. “Hopper can—talk to Hopper, El, take Max to tell him—”

“He—he could be doing something—I need to get home,” Max stood, and nearly fell, trying to spin without watching the stair. She staggered, swearing in a high, broken voice.

Eleven caught her by the elbows. “Max,” she said slowly clearly, and Max’s head jerked up to frown at her, as Eleven waved a hand at the milk crates of old records and exploded them. Billy and Steve both yelled, diving for the floor as vinyl shrapnel rained down, and it snowed bits of cardboard. “We won’t let him,” Eleven said, bringing her hand back to squeeze Max’s, then lifting it to wipe a dribble of blood from her nose.

“Holy shit,” Max whispered, wiping her eyes. “Okay. Yeah. We can—we can threaten him, or something.”

“Or something,” El repeated darkly. “I saw a movie where they dropped a house on somebody.”

“C-can you do that?” Max snorted wetly, snickering probably half with stress, and half imagining Neil’s shoes sticking out from under a foundation like he was the Wicked Witch of the East.

El narrowed her eyes. “Do you want me to?”

“Holy shit,” Max started cackling through her tears, stumbling to sit down on the stair to the kitchen.

“Holy shit,” Billy echoed, staring at the mess, as Steve sighed and grabbed the broom. “What the fuck,” he whispered. “Luke fucking Skywalker.”

Steve had mostly forgotten Billy didn’t know about El. Of course that’s how he’d find out about Eleven, he thought, rubbing his face, and scrabbling at his hair. Billy knew every other detail of his stupid life. Of course he couldn’t find out when she lifted a toy spaceship. No, my boyfriend, that I promised to—to tell things—finds out El can move stuff with her mind when she explodes something four feet away and threatens to drop a house on his dad. “Babe,” he tried, turning to Billy. “Hey, dickhead, cupcake.”

Billy was staring at El—or past her, it was hard to tell. His hands were shaking. “You knew about this,” he whispered. “You—you said you wanted me safe, and then you sent me out with a—a fucking dark jedi. Lucky she didn’t explode my skull when I kicked Max under the table. Holy crap.”

“Shit, no, she—she wouldn’t hurt you,” Steve stared at him, then Eleven, who was watching Max take deep, shaky breaths.

“No wonder you wanted to check me over,” Billy whispered, sitting down on one of the chairs he’d been using as a sawhorse. “After you made me take them for waffles. How’d Billy do? She explode my brain?”

“No, no—” Steve argued, his stomach clenching as he remembered fearing exactly that, when Eleven climbed into Billy’s car while Dustin and Max drug him into a classroom for their intervention. He reached out, and Billy flinched, then laughed, baring his teeth.

“Any other big secrets, Steve?”

“No,” Steve shook his head frantically, hoping there weren’t. He couldn’t think of any, but then he’d never even thought to pull Eleven aside, and ask whether he could tell Billy. Some of the vinyl was melted to the floor, and Steve kicked at it.

“Do you want me to come home with you?” Eleven asked Max, and Steve tried to put Billy on hold with his hand and derail that situation.

“Wait, no, Eleven,” he called over. “Remember, I mean, you can’t—nobody can see your powers,” he said, wincing as Billy scrambled away. “They could take you away from Hopper, nobody can—”

She nodded. “It would look like an accident.”

Billy staggered over to sit down against the racks holding Steve’s backstock of marshmallows. “Holy hell fucking balls shit,” he mumbled, taking deep breaths in his steepled hands.

“I still need a ride home,” Max said grimly, and El nodded, taking a deep breath.

“Wait, wait, wait, no,” Steve dropped the broom, waving his hands. “Do you—do you really think you need to do anything, like, tonight?”

“He’s gonna hurt my mom, Steve,” Max hissed, and El nodded, crossing her arms.

“Whoa, whoa,” Steve waved his hands, glancing at Billy. “I mean, hell with Neil Hargrove, but come up with a plan. What if he tells someone about El? Talk to Hopper, think up—come up with a way that doesn’t—I mean, save Max’s mom, but make sure everybody’s safe, okay.”

“Everybody except him,” Max growled.

El considered Steve for a long moment, then nodded. “I will help you,” she told Max, nodding firmly.

“Jesus fucking christ hell,” Billy muttered, shoving past Max and out of the garage. His feet pounded up the stairs.

“I need to go home,” Max told Steve. “I need to tell her.”

“She’s still at work, isn’t she?! Don’t do anything,” Steve ordered the two girls. “Anything, I mean it. I have to—Billy didn’t know, I need to go and—”

“He didn’t know?” El asked, blinking from Steve, to Max, to the ceiling. “Why? You didn’t want Billy to know?”

“I didn’t know if you’d want him to know!” Steve told her, trying not to yell. “Now he’s pissed as hell, I have to go talk to him, just—El. Tell me you’d never hurt Billy. You wouldn’t hurt him.”

Eleven cocked her head, turning to Max. “...what did Billy do?” she asked, and Max gulped a laugh, shaking her head.

“Shit,” Steve rubbed his face. “I have to go talk to him, don’t do anything—”

Max sniffled, rubbing her nose. “You better gimme a ride by five, okay. I—I’ll just have El sh-show me how to use all the power tools. Practice for cutting his head off . Unsupervised with the power tools,” she emphasized casually, like a jackass, and Steve yelled incoherently and ran upstairs. As he turned onto the landing, he heard the slide lock on Billy's door catch, and stopped, one foot still in the air. Gravity happened, and he flailed his arms, put both feet on the ground, and turned to lean over the railing, leaning his face in his hands.

“The hell are you doing, Harrington,” Billy’s voice came through the door.

“What?!” Steve yelped, spinning in place. “Nothing! I forgot. I’m sorry.”

“I could hear you chasing me,” Billy said through the door, sounding amused, in the way he did before he set something on fire. “And the floor is creaking. What now, Harrington?”

“Uh,” Steve mumbled, grimacing. “You want me to fuck off?”

He could hear Billy take a long breath, and blow air out through his cheeks. “...what do you want?”

“I just—” Steve swallowed, dropping to sit on the floor. He took a deep breath to continue. “I just—I’m—shit. I’m so sorry, jesus. I’m—I can’t—I can’t believe I didn’t ask Eleven if I could tell you. I got...I forgot I didn’t tell you everything.”

“All your little shitheads got superpowers?” Billy asked, laughing. “Yeah. That actually snaps a lot of shit into place, Steve.” Steve flinched at his name, and wondered why, swallowing again.

“No,” he answered. “No, it’s, um, it’s just El. She’s, uh. Eleven’s what the lab was making,” Steve told him, dropping to press his cheek to the floor, and sigh under the door at Billy’s bare toes clenched in in the carpet. “I didn’t—I mean, it wasn’t my secret. We got talked to by the FBI, she—she could get taken away from Hopper, they—”

“Don’t give me that shit,” Billy said, dropping to sit crosslegged. His fingers drummed against the carpet. “Who the hell would I tell. You told me about the—about the goddamn blue bodybuilder bananas. I can—I can still smell the burning records, Steve.”

“El hurting you wasn’t—it wasn’t a plan,” Steve growled, trying not to yell. “You think—you think I’d get you away from your dad and just—just throw you—why would I want you to scare a little kid until she killed you, Hargrove, hon—honey mustard. Jesus.”

Through the gap in the door, Steve could see Billy picking at the carpet, and twitching his toes. “...just might blow up my head if I, like, took her by surprise.”

“She wouldn’t kill you for startling her,” Steve said, rolling his eyes, then bit his lips as he remembered Dustin talking about El straight-up murdering the people with guns. “She, uh, she’s never hurt anyone...accidentally, um, I don’t think.”

“You don’t think,” Billy laughed. “I’m filled with confidence.”

“I’m sorry, christ,” Steve whispered. “I didn’t even—”

“Don’t get pissed at me—” Billy’s voice cracked, and he kicked the door.

“No, I’m not—” Steve rolled onto his back staring at the ceiling. “Christ. I didn’t...I’m not—I did, I thought about it, I—I should’ve warned you. Kept you away from her. Sorry I—sorry I didn’t—sorry I suck,” he groaned into his hands. “Damn it.”

The floor creaked, and Billy’s voice got louder. “God, I’m such a moron,” Billy told Steve, the floor creaking by his door. “All this time, I thought—you didn’t trust me at all, did you. Never forgot I was Billy Fucking Hargrove for a second. You just knew little Ellie Hopper didn’t have to tell her sheriff dad I needed putting down. She didn’t need help from anybody, she could twist my head off my goddamn neck, right? I step out of line, she’d take care of it, right, Steve?”

“Sorry,” Steve said again. “I, um.”

“That’s why you’d let me take Max and her for waffles, right, but the second Will shows up you start acting like I’m—I’m the Zodiac killer, christ. Screw you.”

“I didn’t—you’re nice to El, there was no—”

“Why the fuck have you been pretending to give a shit about me,” Billy yelled through the door. It shuddered with a loud THUD on the other side, then creaked in its frame as Billy’s voice dropped to almost a whisper. “You knew—you knew she could do that. You knew she’d—do that—for Max, you—you knew—” Steve was silent, grimacing, and wondering what he could say. He jumped as the door thumped again in its frame, and Billy snarled, “Did you fucking leave.”

“No! I’m—I’m sorry,” Steve told him, scooting closer. “I-I’m here, I didn’t—you just, uh, you locked the door.”

“Like you couldn’t bust this shitty lock off in a second. Like Eleven couldn’t rip it off its hinges, right? Make me fucking bleed from—from the eyes probably,” his voice shook with anger, fear, or a combination of both, and Steve didn’t point out the door wouldn’t protect him.

“What? No, you—you locked the door,” Steve flailed at it. “If you want me in there, you gotta open it up, I—I’m not gonna break your door down, I’m not—I’m not the fucking trespasser here—I didn’t mean that to—shit, forget I said that, don’t leave, I’m talking bullshit, tell—tell me what to do, Hargrove. Kings have—they have advisors, or something, right, tell me—”

“Advisors get all the goddamn information,” Billy hissed back.

“I’m sorry,” Steve said again, groaning. “I’m so fucking sorry, I should—I should have known you—”

“Known I’d what, fly off the fucking handle?” The door thudded in its frame again, and Steve flinched back. “Right,” Billy whispered, “—I’m crazy, aren’t I, I’m acting insane right now, my brain doesn’t fucking work, I’m stupid, I’m losing my shit over nothing—” Billy’s laugh was wetter than Max’s.

“No!” Steve squirmed across the floor, closer to Billy’s locked door. “No, not—no, you’re—”

“Am I nuts?” Billy asked, his voice shaking. “Your royal majesty,” he laughed. “G-go on. Tell me to shut up and open the door. Wasn’t to lock you out, right? It’s not for that, that’s not—that’s not what you said to do—”

The lock clicked, like he had his hand on it, and Steve scrabbled at his hair. “N-no, wait, wait. Hargrove. Wait, I don’t—it’s—it’s your room, you can lock the door, you can lock it, it’s—it’s okay, you can lock the door—”

“Yell at me some more,” Billy said, laughing unsteadily. “I’ll open it. I’m opening it, jesus. Tell me I’m fucking nuts. Tell me to open up, King Harrington. I know I’m the asshole, I’m wrong, right? I’m—I’m wrong, somehow. Harrington,” he whispered, “—you—you keep—you go through so much shit for me, this is—this is my fault, right, you wouldn’t—”

“No, no, wait, Hargrove, listen—” Steve caught his breath as he recognized the metallic scrape of the lock sliding open. “Stop—”

A loud thump rattled the door in its frame. “It wasn’t even a big deal, right, I am, I’m acting insane. Jesus, I’m so dumb sometimes, I’m fucking crazy— I don’t know what to—let’s forget it,” Billy said thickly, turning the doorknob enough to click it unlocked. “Sorry,” he gritted out. “Y-you can come in if you want. We can—”

“No! No, no, no,” Steve yelped, scrambling to lie on his stomach on the floor, and slide his fingers under the door. He held it shut. He stared under the gap at Billy’s feet. “No! Be—don’t try and—babe—shit—you’re mad, you should be mad! You should be pissed, okay, be pissed, be—be fucking pissed as hell—okay—”

Billy was quiet for several seconds. “...okay,” he repeated softly, sniffling. “Whatcha doing, Harrington...you trying to fit under the door?”

“Fuck you, just—just—lock the door,” Steve told him. “Lock the door, babe. Don’t unlock the door until you wanna let me in, okay. Knight. Remember you’re pissed at me. I’m bullshit sometimes, okay. You’re pissed off.”

“Royal command,” Billy whispered, dropping so he was lying on the floor, one eye facing Steve through the gap underneath.

“You’re supposed to be mad,” Steve said again, and Billy laughed, a tear running out the side of his eye and dropping into the carpet. Steve scrambled for words. “I didn’t mean—I didn’t think—”

“I mean. You usually don’t,” Billy laughed hoarsely, and Steve wedged more of himself under the door, ignoring it scraping what felt like half the skin off his wrists, to brush the tips of his fingers against Billy’s toes. Billy jerked away, then grabbed Steve’s fingers in his cold, sweaty ones.

“No, I mean it, I’m a moron,” Steve hissed, pissed at himself, even if Billy wasn’t. “I know—with my bat,” Steve pointed at Billy under the door, and Billy laughed again. Steve squinted with concentration. “You had to—you had to know all about the bat, so you could figure out whether you were safe. I couldn’t just say you were safe. I had to tell you everything about the bat, so—so you could—decide.”

“Except about El,” Billy said, and Steve swallowed.

“Except about El,” he agreed, sighing. “I—I almost did, I—you asked if I was gonna lie, she’s—it’s a big secret—I-I’m sor—I’m so sorry. Honey-mustard. Hargrove. I’m—I’m so fucking sorry. I just—there was a lot happening, and—I should have made sure you were okay. First. First before anything.”

After what felt like a long silence, when Steve was starting to tense up again, Billy whispered, “You—you said you fucking forgot.” He rolled onto his back, shaking with laughter. “Did you seriously just— completely forget to tell me. Harrington. You did, didn’t you.”

“No! No, kind of,” Steve groaned again, into his arms, catching Billy’s half-hysterical snickering. “I thought—I mean, I freaked out that first time, when Dustin drug me off and you drove off with El in your car, but then—I mean, you were okay, nothing happened! I’m a fucking moron—”

“You’re so dumb,” Billy whispered, grinning under the door. “Holy shit. How could you—okay, I-I’ll open the door. I’m opening the door.”

“You don’t have to,” Steve told him, grimacing.

“Can’t lock you out in your own house,” Billy said, sounding weirdly flat. “S’not what that lock’s for, is it. It’s not—it’s not to st—” he took a shaky breath, swallowing. “It’s not to stop you,” he whispered, his fingers shaking in Steve’s.

“It’ll work!” Steve yelped. “It’ll stop me, it’s a sturdy door, right? The lock’s little but um, it’s uh, it’s latched! You’re safe from me in there!”

“Harrington, what are you gonna do when I open this door,” Billy asked, and Steve had the horrifying suspicion he was crying. “I won’t lock it again, I swear, jesus, please,” he mumbled, his words hitching, and Steve squeezed his hands harder.

“I—” Steve fumbled his words, trying to think of a way to prove he wasn’t angry, while also wanting to burn Neil Hargrove at the stake. “I’m not mad,” he said, trying to keep his voice soft. “I’m not mad, baby, you can lock the door, you can lock me out anytime—” He’d lost Billy for a while again, he realized, listening to the nonsensical mumbles and apologies on the other side of the door, and running his thumbs over Billy’s clenched fingers, so he just kept saying it was okay, and he wasn’t mad.

After what felt like the longest eleven minutes of Steve’s life—as he talked, he was staring at the watch on his wrist, wedged half under the door—Billy took a long shuddering breath.

“You back with me, Hargrove?” Steve whispered, his throat raw.

“...think so,” Billy whispered back. “I was...I was gonna open the door,” he said. “I won’t lock it again,” he promised, and Steve gave his now well-practiced speech.

“You can lock that door anytime,” he told Billy. “You can lock it for no reason, okay. I won’t be mad, you can lock your door.”

“I’m allowed to be crazy,” Billy laughed uncertainly.

“I don’t know if it’s crazy,” Steve told him, frowning under the door, but deciding not to bring up Neil Hargrove. “But you can lock the door, people lock doors, that’s what locks are for, dick—honey,” he said, changing his insult at the last minute, and ignoring Billy’s snickers and whispers of “Dick honey! I’m your dick honey.” “Billy Hargrove,” Steve whispered. “You can lock me out, I still love you—”

Billy choked, curling up on the floor around Steve’s fingers. “...okay.”

“Love you so much,” Steve told him, ignoring the heat in his cheeks. “Love works through doors, okay, I can wait ‘til you come out, jesus. It’s fine.”

“You’re such an asshole,” Billy laughed, crying. “Fuck you, stop making me—bawl, okay, jesus, you prick, christ. Fucking... hate how much I love you.”

“Yeah, I know,” Steve laughed, his eyes tearing up with relief, and the pain of his scraped knuckles wedged under the door.

“You’re really not pissed I locked you out,” Billy asked again, trying to sound casual.

“I showed you that lock,” Steve told him, trying not to sound pissed.

“Yeah, because—for if—if he comes, you wanna rescue me,” Billy laughed. “Protect what’s yours. Not supposed to lock you out.”

Feeling the exhaustion of another trip around the monopoly board, without passing Go, and without collecting $200, Steve closed his eyes and tried not to groan. “You can lock this door whenever you want,” he said for what sounded like the ninetieth time.

“Yeah,” Billy breathed, and they lay there, on opposite sides of the door, for nearly another five minutes. “...you pretending not to be pissed,” Billy hissed finally. “You—are you—I’ll open up and you’ll be mad as hell, you—you’ll—” he trailed off into sharp breaths, and Steve tried to squirm closer.

“Not gonna lie to you,” he said, and felt Billy’s fingers twitch. “I’m not, honey-mustard, I’ll tell you if I’m mad.” Billy took another long shaky breath, and Steve screwed his face up in thought, kicking his feet so they thudded lightly against the railing of the stairs. “...look, I could open the door,” he whispered, and Billy was silent. “You already unlocked it,” Steve reminded him. “All I’d have to do is turn the knob. But—”

“But what?” Billy asked.

“I don’t think you’re ready yet,” Steve told him. “I’m gonna let you open your door, okay?”

“God, I’m so crazy,” Billy sighed, muffled by the carpet.

“I think you’re just, y’know,” Steve flunked talking as usual, “—you think, um, you think stuff will happen that maybe...happened before. That’s, uh, that’s smart, actually. That’s smart.”

“I should trust you,” Billy groaned. “Shit.”

“I mean, I guess,” Steve made a face. “I just kind of...fucked up. Big. I didn’t—you have to be careful, I mean, you—” he groaned too, trying to fit the words together.

“Not with you,” Billy argued.

“No, with—with me, too, you have to be careful, you’re really important,” Steve huffed, his hackles rising as Billy started laughing again on the other side of the door. “You are! Steve hissed. “You’re so important, you’re the most important, and I’m really—I’m so shitty at this, you have to—you have to help me—”

“Oh my god,” Billy wheezed, and Steve opened his mouth to keep arguing, then blinked as Billy reached out to push Steve’s pointer finger back under the door.

“This lil’ piggy’s gonna get stomped, Harrington,” Billy whispered through the gap, and Steve snickered as Billy’s fingers lifted each of his and prodded them under the door, then stuck his own middle fingers under at Steve.

Steve laughed and rubbed his wrists, rolling onto his back.

Billy’s face disappeared from the gap, replaced by his hand, then his foot, and the sound of a door opening across carpet.

Steve pushed himself to his feet, and then got an armful of Billy Hargrove, breathing unsteadily against his shoulder, and yanking at the fly of his pants.

“Fucking moron,” Bily whispered, trying to unbutton Steve’s jeans as Steve tried to push his hands away.

“Max—Max and El,” he gasped. “They’re right downstairs, we can’t—”

“Sure we can,” Billy whispered against his mouth, and Steve grabbed his hands.

“Okay, but I’m the one apologizing, right,” Steve changed tactics, trying not to grin. “You didn’t screw up. I screwed up.” Billy’s eyes narrowed, then widened as Steve grabbed him by the fly, whispering. “Lemme choke on your dick.” As he’d expected, Billy froze, frowning at him, and Steve seized the opportunity to squeeze him until his bones creaked.

“Not sure how much you’re gonna like that when you’re sober,” Billy hissed in his ear, rocking their hips together.

With the hot pressure on his dick, Steve couldn’t think of an argument other than the truth. “I was,” he whispered, sliding a hand under Billy’s sweatshirt and up his warm side, feeling his muscles work. “I was—I was sober, cake, um, cake pie. I dumped the whiskey out. Didn’t drink it.”

“What,” Billy asked hoarsely.

“Sorry I lied,” Steve buried his face in Billy’s neck, dragging messy kisses over his collarbones. “Shouldn’t lie to you, I mean it, I—I’ll stop, but—but I knew you were freaked, didn’t wanna—didn’t wanna do some dumb drunk thing—” he bit gently under Billy’s jaw, and felt him shudder.

“You goddamn liar,” Billy breathed, grabbing the ass of Steve’s jeans with both hands.

“Sorry for that too,” Steve whispered, and Billy groaned melodramatically in his ear. “Am I out of the doghouse?” Steve asked, and Billy snorted.

“No, you are not,” Billy said, his gaze flicking uncertainly over Steve’s face. “I’m gonna make you work for it—”

“Oh, I can work for it,” Steve told him, his grin way too wide, he suspected, to look seductive at all.

“What the hell are you two doing up there?!” Max yelled, and they both started.

“Okay,” Steve said, tucking his laugh against Billy’s neck. “I’m gonna suck your dick. With feeblings.”

“Jesus christ,” Billy muttered back, relaxing against him. “Just a minute,” he shouted downstairs, and Max stomped away. “...El might actually come up and ask what we’re doing in a minute,” he groaned, sliding his arms around Steve’s waist to sway together, and muttering a string of profanity into his shoulder.

Steve rubbed his back, trying to remember the intense cold-shower effect El had had on his half-chub earlier, when she’d stomped into the locker room wanting Billy to teach Max to use tools. The idea of her throwing the bedroom door open as Steve tried to negotiate his first real blowjob didn’t sound appealing.

After standing there a while, Steve’s adrenaline bubble started merging with the relief of Billy choosing to trust him after he’d fucked up again, and he wanted to move— run, or dance Billy around, or carry him somewhere, listening to him yell, and kissing his hot blushing face. “Later tonight. I got blowjob tips from Nancy. But we should probably go back downstairs,” he whispered, rubbing his thumb across Billy’s tear-sticky cheek.

“Holy jesus. Is that—is that what you were talking about? Giving blowjobs?” Billy asked, his laugh warming Steve’s neck.

“Sort of,” Steve hedged, wishing Nancy hadn’t wanted him to keep secrets. “She decided to start telling me all the weird shit she used to tell Barb, and I’m not supposed to tell anybody, and—” he remembered Nancy shaking with laughter over Jonathan’s sex habits, and tried to smother his vindictive glee, “—I really, really want to tell you Nancy’s secrets, I swear.”

“Why the hell would I want to know any of that,” Billy slumped against him with a contented sigh.

“It’s hilarious,” Steve hissed. “Being friends with a girl is annoying.”

“You poor baby,” Billy snorted.

“She wants to check in all the time! She likes you,” Steve said, remembering abruptly, and Billy burst into a fit of snickering against his neck.

“She does, huh.”

“She does! She said you were all freaked out when I ran out of the library.”

“...Harrington,” Billy said, pulling back to narrow his eyes at Steve’s face. “I—”

“We should probably go downstairs,” Steve interrupted, his face heating as he remembered Billy knew he’d run off to cry. Like the five-year-old birthday boy, he thought, with a self-directed smirk, when he realizes everybody in the class just came because he’s got a pool. “Sorry I was acting like—an idiot. More of an idiot,” Steve shrugged. “We should go down.”

Billy opened his mouth, closed it, then pulled Steve’s face into a kiss that was warm and salty with tears. After a few seconds of hot breath and slick tongue that left Steve harder in his pants than ever, his sweaty hands clutching at Billy’s biceps, Billy pulled back. “You saying I should stop hiding from a little girl,” he asked, grinning, and Steve swallowed a couple times, gathering himself to speak.

“El’s pretty scary,” Steve rasped, “—they’re gonna start using the chainsaw or something, though—”

“You have a chainsaw?” Billy interrupted.

“Maybe?!” Steve stepped back to throw his hands in the air. “I didn’t know we had a circular saw!”

“We need a ride,” El’s voice carried up the stairs.

“Are your—” parents? Steve thought, and stalled out, “—are your uh, your adults even off work yet? Thought you were helping Billy fix my door,” Steve called back, leaning over the railing to look downstairs, and reaching back to squeeze Billy’s hand.

“...we should finish that first,” El said, after a second, and Billy turned him around and leaned in for one more kiss before squeezing his hand back and pulling away to jog down the stairs after Eleven.

Max was waiting at the foot of the stairs when Steve came down. She looked him up and down, then rolled her eyes, her shoulders lowering a little from their angry hunch.

“Hey, Max, uh,” Steve said, then stopped, thinking.

“What, did you run out of batteries?” she asked dryly.

“No, shut up. You know—you can still bring your mom here, if you need to, ever. Or call us, if you need help. We can—we can come pick you up, you and her. Anytime.”

“...Billy gonna second that?” she asked, and Steve considered.

“Yeah. Yeah, he said he’d help me out if my kids needed it. He offered. I mean, he might not stand between you and his dad—”

“No, he’s—he’s done that. Done something just as—just as I was—got himself hit.”

“...that’s…” Steve trailed off, unable to say it was good, Billy getting himself hurt.

“Weird is what that was, because usually he’s a total shithead,” Max hissed. “Which I didn’t tell El. And I won’t—” She stopped.

Because he’s your brother, Steve thought, then wondered whether it was just basic decency in Max, not wanting to hurt anyone if she could help it. Anyone but monsters, like Neil Hargrove.

“...El wants you both to come to the Byers’ for waffles,” she reported, sighing. “Soon. Every damn time anybody’s upset she wants waffles.”

“D’you want him there?” Steve asked, suspecting she didn’t.

“I don’t care,” Max sighed, setting her jaw, and frowning towards the garage. “If he keeps acting like a goddamn human being instead of an asshole. I think El wants to ask him about his mom.”

That will go great, Steve thought, wincing.

“Guess I better help them fix the door,” Max said, unmoving.

“You didn’t break it,” Steve told her, wandering over to the hot chocolate cupboard.

“I wanted to see his photo albums. Check his story, you know, so I lied,” she said, “...kind of.”

“You...lied,” he glanced back, eyebrows raised, before realizing he needed to get more marshmallows out of the garage, which would mean walking out on Max wanting to talk, which...didn’t seem like the right thing to do. He sighed.

“He won’t let me take shop. I signed up for shop and now I’m in home economics,” Max groaned, and Steve rewound the sentence in his head and substituted Neil in for he . “I told El, and said I wanted to talk to Billy, and she said Billy takes shop, since he’s a boy— and next thing I know, he’s waiting for us in your car after school. Trying to tell me how to use a saw. Billy fucking Hargrove, Shop Teacher—and of course Eleven’s having fun.” She squinted towards the garage. “I just wanted to see that photo album.”

“...want some hot chocolate?” Steve asked, feeling a keen empathy for El, and her urge to stuff waffles in the face of anyone having a problem.

“No,” Max said, burying her face in her arms. “Yeah. Damn it. Do I have to—I have to stop hating him now?! Just like that?” She snapped in the air, growling. “Because that asshole’s been beating his face in since he was like—” she held her hand flat a couple feet from the floor, glaring at Steve. “—that high? How come my mom had to fall for him. How come he can’t die of a heart attack. HEY MISTER GOD, THIS IS MAX,” she yelled suddenly, at the ceiling. “FIX YOUR SHIT.”

Steve was cracking up, leaning against the cupboard. “You tell him,” he held up a mug in a toast, and Max snorted.

“Listen to him in there,” she said, glaring at the table, and Steve leaned to listen to Billy laughing, and explaining something about the latch. “Being some rad older brother. You know, that’s what I thought I was getting. Will Byers loves him, musta asked me to invite him like twelve times. He got a cat out of a fucking tree, Steve, did he get brain trauma on your watch?!”

Steve thought about how tense Billy’d been, the afternoon Max had come over to learn to bake bread. Neil hadn’t helped, that morning, or calling that night, but Billy’d been a mass of barbed wire all afternoon.

“You finding the meaning of life in that cocoa mix?” Max asked, and Steve jumped, realizing he was staring into the jar.

“Yeah, kinda,” he leaned to look deeper, humming exaggerated noises like a Muppet, and she snorted, watching him spoon mix into mugs. “Nah. I, uh, I think he...I think maybe you make him nervous.”

“I make him nervous?!” Max smacked her hands on the table. “I make him nervous?! What in the hell kind of—”

“No, shush, I just mean—like I remember the floaty thingies, in the tunnels, you know,” he told her, waggling his fingers to indicate the wispy substance that had clogged their lungs, and ignoring Max biting back a grin. “In the snow, I—I can freak out a little. It’s not—it’s not the snow’s fault, snow never ate my friends—” Max snorted another laugh, but she was listening. “You haven’t...done anything, but you were—you were there, while things were happening, I think—”

“I remind him of home,” she said, chewing her lip. “Maybe. Gross.”

“Maybe,” he shrugged, but when he glanced over again, she looked like she was thinking hard.

“He could still not be a dipshit,” she muttered at her mug, and Steve nodded, sighing.

“You—you can bring him for waffles,” she decided. “Will can just have him, I don’t care. He can be Will and Eleven’s brother, I don’t give a shit.”

Steve opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. “I’m, uh, I’m pretty good at. Things.”

“Not English, apparently,” Max narrowed her eyes. “The hell does that mean?”

“Nothing,” he shrugged, turning back to turn off the kettle, and add the hot water to their mugs.

“You really want to be my brother?” she asked, sounding amused, and he turned to glare, but her eyes were kinda wider than her usual wary glower. “I mean, you—you said that, when you—when you wanted me to get him out of the house, but—”

“I’d be better at it than Billy,” he pointed out, and she tried to talk and laugh at the same time, and choked.

“Yeah,” she laughed, wiping her eyes. “Yeah, uh, you—you really would. Uh. I dunno. Do I really need a brother, right, I mean. I, um. I have some—friends. Now.”

“If you need one,” he said, keeping his tone cheerful, and ignoring her red face as she groaned into her sleeves. “Or just, y’know, want one. I can put Dustin down as a reference.” He turned back to the hot chocolate.

He gave Max the rest of the marshmallows, and sat her mug in front of her, watching her eyes well up as she looked at the little Garfield cartoon about spiders on the mug.

“Thanks, Steve,” she rasped, and he clinked their mugs together.

Next chapter

[platypan]

Strangest: finally an update!

Strangest: chapter 1/chapter 2/chapter 3/chapter 4/chapter 5/chapter 6/chapter 7/chapter 8/chapter 9/chapter 10/  But really I’d recommend reading it on Ao3 under peterqpan, scrolling through it on Tumblr sounds crazymaking

After the accidentally-romantic reveal of Steve’s ceramic monstrosity, Billy was distracted in gym, until Steve leaned in to whisper “Can’t believe you’re ignoring my balls, Hargrove.”

“Believe me, I’m not,” Billy muttered back, his jaw working. He stumbled back into their gym teacher, his eyes fixed on Steve’s mouth, and Steve grinned at him, and licked his lips.

The next time they passed each other, Steve leaned to whisper “What kinda attention am I gonna get for a good present, Hargrove?”

“I dunno, I haven’t seen one yet,” Billy hissed back, and then, “Don’t diss Denise, asshole. I’ll pound your ass into— jesus christ,” he spun on his heel, neck flushed, and stomped off directly through the melee around the basketball hoop, elbowing his way to the locker rooms. By the time Steve got there, Billy was showered and clothed, leaning to talk to Tommy as Steve ducked into the showers.

When he got out, Billy was lying on his back on the bench, eyeing the water running down Steve’s legs, and Steve wanted to kiss him. He firmed his lips and determination, and decided to stay after school to work on a better Valentine’s Day present—Denise had been a joke, he ranted in his head, he could do better if he was trying—

Steve told Eleven this, when she popped up at his elbow in the locker room—right after he shrieked, scrambling for a towel. She surveyed the locker room with narrowed eyes, and more of the highschool boys screamed than would admit to it later, covering their dicks. As most of the class dove behind lockers, she allowed Steve to fling Billy’s towel over her head and shove her back towards the door. “So...if you’re busy, we can borrow Billy, right?” she asked, through the towel.

Billy was laughing his ass off, since he’d had pants on already, and his junk wasn’t vulnerable to the critical eye of a middle-school girl. “No cats,” he called over.

“You can keep him,” Steve muttered, shoving her out the door. When he stalked back in, Billy grinned at him, pointedly rubbing his thumb along his own inner elbow, where the Sharpie heart was, with the messy H+H.

Steve felt his cheeks heat. “Shut up.”

“Be honest about your feeblings, Harrington,” Billy whispered back, staggering as Steve thudded their shoulders together, yanking his jeans up over his briefs.

“Here?! I think we’d get expelled,” Steve whispered back, and Billy licked his lips, snickering.

“I’m your favorite,” Billy breathed in his ear, and Steve swiveled to face his locker, eyes wide as he popped a boner. Not now, he told his dick, straining against his pants, later, just wait until after school, I’ll get my fingers in his hair and pull him close, and when his knees start to get noodly with my mouth on his neck, we can fuck on the kitchen floor—

“Harrington,” Billy repeated, elbowing him, and Steve cleared his throat, rubbing his face. His cheeks were hot.

“Yeah, yes, I’m here,” he swallowed, “—here, right here.”

Billy squinted at him, halfway into a sweatshirt, so his biceps flexed against the fabric, and his chest and abs gleamed in the florescent lights of the locker room. He zipped it up. “...you sure?”

“Very very here, at school,” Steve muttered, staring into his locker again. “Very here where I can’t, uh. What?”

“You like me as much as Tommy, right,” Billy cocked his head, leaning in to murmur, “—what if I hit him, you gonna throw me out, or—”

“Wait, what?” Steve kept his eyes on Billy’s face, listening, instead of tracking the trickle of water from his wet hair down his neck and along his collarbone. “What’s going on?”

“He’s, uh,” Billy leaned back against the lockers, surveying the room with a too-wide grin. “—he’s thinking one of us is gonna spread it around I—I let him—we screwed, y’know. Says he’s not like me, he’s—he says he’s gonna tell everyone I’m a fag, that’s why I’m sniffing around Steve Harrington—”

“Christ.”

“I’m gonna feed him his own molars.” Billy rolled his shoulders. “Before he gets me drug behind some redneck meathead’s truck—”

“Holy shit,” Steve breathed, wanting to spin his bat around his hand. He took a deep breath. “Okay, okay,” he whispered. “Okay, we can’t—we can’t kill him, we—we can’t murder him, Hargrove, we can’t. We can’t—we can’t just—just murder him, even if—”

“Jesus,” Billy whispered, glancing around. “Ssh!”

“We—we’d probably get caught,” Steve told Billy, grabbing his hands and squeezing them. “We’d—we’d get caught, mustard, uh, mustard pie, we’d—we’d definitely go to jail, we can’t kill him.”

“I didn’t say murder,” Billy hissed back, wide-eyed. “I said I was gonna punch his face, Harrington—”

“Okay,” Steve nodded, squeezing Billy’s hands so hard he winced. “Okay. Okay, god damn it. Damn, damn, damn damn it—”

“Holy helicopters,” Billy muttered, straight-faced, and Steve choked on a snort, and started coughing.

“Oh my god I love you,” he groaned into his hand, ignoring Billy suddenly closer, warm against his side. “Okay. Okay, wait, no.” Steve yanked his shirt on, got some of it in his mouth, and Billy yanked it down, leaning in.

Billy slid his hand up Steve’s side, hot and callused, and Steve shoved it down and away, trying to refocus his brain on Billy’s words. “I need to do something,” Billy hissed. “He’s gonna tell everybody I’m queer, your majesty.” His eyes were red. “You don’t need to—none of that shit’s gonna get on you—”

“No, jussec.” Steve set his shoulders, did a mental check of his anatomy, and decided he could turn around without everybody knowing he got hard when Billy Hargrove growled in his ear. “It’s—just—just a—just hold off, okay. I’ll—I won’t kill him. I’ll talk to him.”

“Talk to him?! Harrington,” Billy growled, grabbing his wrist, and Steve held still, feeling his bones grind together. They were starting to draw attention, so he asked the guy across the bench about his new shoes, and found out way more about Adidas Micropacers than he’d ever wanted to know, but the conversation kept going when he backed out. Billy let go of his wrist, but leaned close. “Your majesty. Whaddaya mean talk to him, talk to me, come on,” he said under his breath.

“I’ll handle it,” Steve whispered back, nodding and grinning at another kid showing off his sneakers. He watched Tommy fixing his hair, and tried to remember his past friend’s class schedule.

“Just a little worried about getting lynched, probably by the people in this room,” Billy hissed, as Steve started to walk away.

Steve bit his lips, turning back to pretend to check inside his locker. “Look. Dickhead,” he tried, and Billy covered a snort, swallowing. Steve tried to grin confidently. “Trespasser. Wait a sec, just—just wait a minute, let me—let me try something. We can’t kill him,” Steve sighed, and Billy’s jaw clenched.

“I wasn’t trying to kill him,” he hissed back.

“You beat him up, he’ll just get mad! Besides, you start throwing punches, they’ll call your dad—get him down here—”

Billy shrugged. His hands shook, and he clenched them in fists, laughing. “Win some, lose some—at least you won’t go to jail, Jesus H. Christ—”

“No, no—I—I, uh, you won’t, uh, he won’t, okay, babe, Ha-Hargrove, just—just gimme a minute, I—I’m not—if this doesn’t work we—I—I’ll hold him down. We’ll just kill him. You can—you can use my bat.”

Billy snorted, side-eyeing him. “...good use for it.” He rubbed his face, and nodded, tilting backto lean against the lockers. His knuckles were white on his forearms again, his nails digging into the sleeves of Steve’s sweatshirt against the hearts Steve had drawn up his arm. “As you fucking command, my leige. I hope your plan’s better than ‘murder’.”

Steve rolled his eyes, and jogged out of the locker room after Tommy, dropping an arm around his shoulders.

“Hey there,” Tommy grinned at him, his gaze dropping to Steve’s mouth and back up in a way Steve remembered, but hadn’t really registered before.

Steve smiled—it was easier to smile around Tommy than it was to remember what Tommy was like, and always had been—and tried to decide how to start.

“Hargrove get all shook up and remember who your real friends are?” Tommy elbowed Steve, then hailed Carol out of the crowd.

“He’s a friend,” Steve tried.

“Bet he didn’t tell you about the other night,” Tommy glanced up sideways, his jaw clenched, “—when we tried to get you to party.”

“He doesn’t remember most of it,” Steve blurted, and his stomach sank at Tommy’s widening grin. “Look, I know what happened, and, uh—”

“I bet you don’t,” Tommy hissed, glancing around. Carol came out of her class, but saw them and leaned against the wall, disentangling an earring from her hair. Tommy jerked away from Steve to walk backwards towards her. “Bet he didn’t tell you who he wanted to fuck.”

“He—he said—”

“Hate to break it to you,” Tommy’s voice rose, “—Billy Hargrove wants y—”

“I still talk to Carol’s sister,” Steve hissed at him. “Remember? She had a story about a party you guys left. When I was visiting my mom in Boston.”

“What?” Tommy stopped in the middle of the hallway, staring at him.

“Remember finding the keys in a backhoe? And a joyride?” Steve narrowed his eyes, as Tommy snorted a laugh. Steve lowered his voice. “—I know what happened with Billy, okay—”

Tommy’s freckles stood out as he paled. “No, you—you wouldn’t be—he lied,” he laughed shakily. “He must’ve, he’s a fucking liar— ”

“What?! He—he didn’t have to,” Steve raised his eyebrows, “—he called me, I picked him up. I was in there while you assholes were in the shower—”

Tommy’s breath caught, and his eyes got shiny, and Steve knew that look—from Billy smashing a plate in his face at the Byers’, but also from years of knowing Tommy, and he waved his hands, open palmed.

“I don’t care! I don’t care, I don’t care, but don’t—don’t try and—don’t say it was all Hargrove’s fault, it wasn’t—”

“You don’t...care,” Tommy took a deep breath, shoulders relaxing, then punched Steve’s arm. “The fuck do you mean, you don’t care, you moron, you still don’t get what I—why the hell did he call you, didn’t he kick your ass? You his bitch now?” he hissed, and Steve bit his lips.

“Yeah. No, I’m not—” Steve felt his cheeks warming, and cleared his throat. “He—he did that,” Steve kept nodding, running his fingers through his hair, “—he did, he beat me up. Yeah. So did you, asswipe. But. Um, if—if you try and—and tell everyone he—that he’s—”

“He’s a goddamn—”

Steve cut him off, clenching his fists. “If you tell people he did something to— to you, if you—if you say it’s—if you say it was all Billy, I—I won’t keep your secrets. Anymore.”

“...what,” Tommy choked.

“Any of them,” Steve emphasized, flailing his hands. “I know some shit. They try you now, you might get tried as an adult. You could go to actual prison, dude.”

“I will end you,” Tommy hissed, sputtering with rage, “I will end you and your fag friend—you—”

Steve flinched, but held his ground. “Bullshit. I won’t—I won’t say anything unless you...do,” he frowned, thinking through it, “—but...I think—I think between you, and Hargrove, and me,” he swallowed, “—I think—I think I’m who people will listen to here at school. If you—if you try to tell them. That. And—and you know Sheriff Hopper will hear me out, when I tell him who took the backhoe. Took it for a spin when they were putting in the new parking lot. You crashed the backhoe into the sheriff station that night, remember? I can’t—don’t quite remember how many thousands of dollars in damage that was, d’you?”

Tommy stepped closer, laughing. “And what, you’re gonna sell me out for the queer? Shouldn’t you be thinking about what I could do...Pussington?” Tommy growled, and Steve blinked at him, then snorted a laugh.

“I’ve fought scarier shit than you, Tommy Hagen,” he hissed. “I could walk over and use the pay phone right now. Call the police here. Don’t drop the soap when you get sent to prison , right? Because Billy’s the one who’s queer.”

“God, you’re dumb,” Tommy sneered, but he was staring at Steve’s face, wet-eyed. “You don’t even make sense. I can just see you on the witness stand.”

“Oh, you want me to do it?” Steve asked, setting his shoulders to turn away.

Tommy yelled “Fuck you, no!”, and Steve turned back to see him glaring, fists clenched. “I’ll leave your boyfriend alone,” he hissed.

Steve nodded, his jaw hurting as his teeth ground together, and he shoved by, walking as fast as he could back to the locker room.

Billy was still there, lying along a bench, and Steve wished everyone else had left, so he could crawl up between Billy’s knees, and flop on his chest. He kicked out and nudged Billy’s shoulder, instead. “You ready yet?”

“You gonna hold him down for me to punch?” Billy asked, without opening his eyes.

“No, I, uh.” Steve crouched down to whisper, hugging his knees. “I told him I know way too much shit about him for him to go mouthing off.”

“...you blackmailed him?!” Billy turned his head to stare over.

“Noooo,” Steve considered, “—yeah? I guess?”

“Is anybody looking?” Billy whispered back.

Steve frowned around, then shook his head, and Billy grabbed him by the nape of his neck and yanked him into a deep, soft kiss. Steve flailed his hands, teetering on the balls of his feet, then dropped to a kneel, and slid his thumb along Billy’s cheek.

Billy pulled back, licking his lips, and sat up. “Shit,” he rolled his shoulders, “I can’t really owe you more...everything.”

“...you don’t owe me anything,” Steve huffed a laugh, grimacing at a sudden memory of the way the world had wobbled around him, after days awake. How he’d heard Billy’s yelling from outside while he was lying on the floor of the shower, hoping the hot water would bake him to sleep. “My—my brain’s busted too. You…” he laughed, shaking his head.

“I what?” Billy kept his voice low, but they were drowned out anyway by some guys in the other corner having a pushup contest.

Steve cleared his throat, feeling the edges of the tile dig into his knees, and breathing in the stale smell of gym clothes, and towels that never quite dried. “You saved me. Too. I couldn’t—”

“How the hell—”

“I can’t sleep,” Steve snorted, shrugging, and keeping his eyes on the floor. “And then you showed up. Couldn’t—I wasn’t—eating, a lot, just because I couldn’t—I was so goddamn tired. I don’t know, it...”

Billy was quiet for a long few seconds, but when Steve risked a glance up, he had that expressionless face he got when something reminded him of his dad.

“Sorry—sorry, I’m—”

Billy shoved him, and Steve caught himself against a locker, laughing, and a little off-balance. Billy crossed his arms. “You’re not being dumb, if that’s what you’re gonna say.”

“Just making us miss lunch,” Steve tried, feeling something relax between his shoulders. He brushed himself off, getting to his feet, and let Billy drag him down to sit on the bench. Billy mouthed up under Steve’s ear, kissing open-mouthed up his neck. “Hope nobody’s looking,” Steve told him, leaning into it.

“They’re all being morons behind like five rows of lockers,” Billy whispered back, sliding an arm around Steve’s shoulders, and grabbing at Steve’s jeans with the other. “Lemme cheer you up,” he breathed against Steve’s jaw, biting along it, and Steve nearly choked on his own spit as Billy yanked his fly open and reached into his briefs, releasing the pressure on Steve’s suddenly shatteringly hard cock, and sliding a callused thumb over the wet slit in the tip. “They’re going to lunch,” Billy whispered. “No reason they’d come over here.”

“Christ,” Steve muttered, muffling his gasps against Billy’s sweatshirted shoulder, and clenching his fingers in the fabric. “Le-let me get you—” he whispered, sliding his hand down Billy’s stomach.

“Not the one crying in the locker room, Stevie,” Billy laughed, pushing the tight circle of his thumb and forefinger over Steve’s dick. Steve rolled his head against Billy’s shoulder, trying not to make a noise, and squirmed closer, his brain whiting out things like reciprocation, or witnesses, or dignity, as he faintly registered his own voice begging when Billy took his hand away for a second, returning it wetter. “Go ahead, they left,” Billy whispered in his ear, squeezing him closer until Steve was half in his lap.

“Prettiest trespasser,” Steve realized he was mumbling, along with even more nonsensical things like “—pie, sweet—sweet pie, mustard asshole pie—”, “fuck, fuck, fuck,” and, when Billy pulled away to lick his hand again, in an attempt to be more complimentary, “—nighty—knightliest nighty knight—”—but Billy’s hand was firm and a little rough against his hot skin, and Billy’s shoulders were shaking with laughter, so Steve didn’t care. He went still with a grunt, breathing smoke, cologne, and Billy, and just lay there, feeling sweat trickle down the back of his neck.

“There is so much wrong with you,” Billy muttered against his temple. “Knighty-knight? Seriously?”

“My hero,” Steve mumbled, opening one eye to assess the damage. Billy’d caught the mess in a paper towel. “...you planned that,” he realized, laughing.

“Malice aforethought,” Billy said, and Steve blinked muzzily. “Premeditation. First degree handjobbing. That’d just get me expelled, though, probably, your dirty talk’s gonna get you shot.”

“Mmm,” Steve hummed. “He called me ‘Pussington,’ he muttered. “Tommy. Sounds like ‘Puss in Boots’ more than—”

Billy cackled against his neck, then pulled him closer, and Steve felt his face heat. He let himself take a deep breath, curling a little against Billy, and Billy waited, and didn’t mention the time, or their stomachs growling.

After what seemed like hours, but not long enough, Steve pulled away, clenching his fingers on the bench and laughing. “Shit,” he said, looking at the lockers to avoid looking at Billy, after clinging to him like a koala. His breathing was even, which was a relief, even if he felt a little...shaky, threatening his oldest friend with jail. Because I’ve got so many, he thought, laughing again, and Billy leaned forward to frown into his face.

“Harrington,” he whispered. “D’I break you?”

Steve started giggling, and couldn’t stop.

Billy hung around, hunched in Steve’s sweatshirt, for the rest of the day. He was leaning across from Steve’s locker after third period, but vanished when Steve turned around. He was at the drinking fountain outside the open door of geometry, and Steve missed half the lesson, watching him bend over the faucet, and watching the stream of water fill his mouth and run off his chin.

Just when Steve thought he was free, in Typing 1, he glanced out the window and realized Billy Hargrove was sunning himself outside along the top of Steve’s parent’s BMW, sweatshirt unbuttoned, his tanning-bed-tan shining as his hair ruffled in the breeze.

Steve muffled his laughter, squeezing his thighs together as his dick woke up again. “Go back to sleep,” he growled at it, under his breath. Nancy shot him a glance, then looked out the window, and choked on a snort.

“What’s he doing?” she whispered, her elbow brushing his as she clacked away at the electric typewriter.

Being beautiful, Steve didn’t say. “Messing with me,” he muttered, which was equally true. “He hasn’t left me alone since El showed him, uh,” he squinted, trying to remember. “Nadine?”

“Denise!” Nancy muffled another snort, snickering. “Oh, lord, Steve, it’s so hideous.”

“He likes it!” Steve hissed back, feeling his cheeks heat. “He has awful taste!”

“He doesn’t,” she said, shooting a grin over, and his lungs clenched at the fondness in it even as she hissed, “Keep typing, why don’t you.”

He set his jaw, and pounded out All work and no play makes Steve a dull boy, one-fingered. “How’s Jonathan,” he asked petulantly.

“Oh, Steve,” she sighed. “Now you’ve got, uh, Billy, I can’t—listen, this goes no farther,” she angled her body towards him, dropping her voice to nearly inaudible.

“What?!” he whispered back, and she glanced around, holding her finger over her mouth.

“Ssh! Steve, I can’t tell anyone—things. I would have told Barb—”

Steve nodded, wincing.

She covered her mouth, looking around the extremely loud typing class. Her voice was nearly drowned out by the clacking keys, and Steve leaned closer. “Steve, when he’s about to come, he looks like he’s going to sneeze. He makes all these faces, Steve—”

Steve whooped with laughter, tears springing to his eyes, and nearly fell out of his seat as Nancy smacked his arm and shoulder, giggling herself.

“Shut up, shut up!” she hissed. “Don’t tell anyone!”

“I—I won’t,” he gasped, wiping his eyes. “Jesus. Who the hell would I even—”

“Like Tommy?” she hissed, raising her eyebrows, and he cleared his throat.

“Actually,” he said, tearing out the page he’d ruined, and typing away at his assignment with two fingers, “—Tommy, uh, he said he’d. Um, d’you remember when somebody took a joyride on the backhoe at the sheriff’s station?”

She snorted, glancing over. “...everybody remembers that, they had to redo half the road.”

“Yeah, uh, Tommy kinda...found out about Billy, he said he’d tell, just, everyone—”

“Found out Billy what?!” Nancy stared at the side of his head. “That he beat you up, or—?”

“Everybody keeps saying that, I got some hits in—” he grumbled, feeling his face heat.

“Wait, what? He found out about—” she lowered her voice to a hiss, glancing around, “—found out about you and Billy?”

Steve opened his mouth, and just breathed, then bit his lips. He couldn’t...quite...tell Nancy about Billy’s wild King Kong banana orgy, after what had happened in the locker room—and he wasn’t sure whether the sudden urge to hit something was directed at Tommy, for the bruises he’d left, or Billy, for getting bored and supplementing his sex-diet with jungle fruit, or the world at large, for making him keep a secret for somebody as awful as Tommy Hagen. “Uh, about—about, um, Billy. He—I, uh, I think he was kinda...drunk, and he’s—he’s—”

“He’s what, Steve?!” she whispered back, wide-eyed.

“He’s kind of gay,” Steve hissed back, through gritted teeth. “He was kinda gay at Tommy Hagen.”

“Oh my god, Steve,” she dropped her voice even lower, and reached over to squeeze his wrist. “He has to be careful.”

“He said he’d tell everyone—Tommy said,” Steve tried to explain, feeling like he was picking his way across a trapped floor, as he tried to avoid saying what Billy’d actually done. Tiptoing across the temple tiles like Indiana Jones, doing his best to keep the world from falling away around him. Not that Nancy’d say anything, he thought, but he remembered Billy’s shaking hands. I gotta get used to remembering what are my secrets to tell. “I, uh. Told him I’d tell Hopper it was him. Tommy. Joyriding in the backhoe. He spills about Billy, he’ll have to pay for all that. He’s not gonna—I won’t be telling him...things. Tommy.”

“That’s…” Nancy trailed off, and he narrowed his eyes at her, suspecting she was trying not to say “wonderful news”.

“I know, jesus,” he hissed at her, whacking at the typewriter keys with more force. “He’s bullshit, I get it, we were both—”

“No, uh,” she bit her lips, thumping her stack of typed pages to straighten them. “That’s not—it’s just, I mean. Yeah, he probably wasn’t a great friend. But now we both lost our best friends—” she flailed her arms, and he ducked, “—in this whole mess of bullshit. It—it sucks balls.”

He grinned at her, and she set her jaw. “It’s not funny, Steve. And—and don’t—don’t tell Dustin. Or Billy,” she narrowed her eyes. “You better not tell anyone! Jonathan’s never dated before, I’ll—it’s not his fault, Steve, he’s trying— ”

“How could you make me keep this secret,” he leaned his face in his hand, shoulders shaking with snickers.

“I had to tell someone,” she hissed. “He closes one eye, Steve! I can’t—”

Steve nearly fell out of his seat laughing, and she elbowed him over and over until he started to feel bruised.

“Shut up,” she muttered, wiping her own eyes as she tried to stop giggling. “Jesus.”

“Holy crap, what have you told him about me,” Steve hissed back, still laughing, but shuddering a little at the thought.

“Nothing! I’m dating him, I’m not going to compare and contrast, Steve, god. But—but you’ve—you’re—” she narrowed her eyes through the window at Billy, who’d finally huddled against the cold and zipped up the sweatshirt. “—you—”

“We’re—we’re friends. Uh. Just friends, now,” he supplied, the words feeling odd, and a little sad in his mouth. She hummed, frowning at her typewriter, and he glanced at Billy, thinking he might not have ever gotten to know him, if Nancy hadn’t lost her shit at that party. It was a weird thought, and Steve stared out the window, thinking of his house empty of Billy’s shoes, beer cans, lingering cigarette smoke, and the warm weight pressed against his back when he least expected it. No more slow kisses up his neck when he was stuck in his own head.

Nancy nudged him, and he pulled himself back from watching Billy tug at his earring.

“I meant, uh, we—me and you, we get to be friends now,” he tried, and she bit back a smile. “We can talk about boys now,” he pushed further, wrinkling his nose. “If...if you want? I, uh. I think I might be better at picking boyfriends than being one.”

“Maybe you needed the practise run,” Nancy followed his gaze so both of them were watching Billy, who’d given up on pin-up poses, and was trying to keep his textbook, binder, and pile of flashcards from blowing around in the January wind. “I think...I think maybe we both needed the practise run. But—I have to tell someone besides Barb, you know?”

“Yeah. Wait. What?” he turned his frown back to her.

She took a shaky sigh, digging into her backpack. She tossed a sandwich baggie of goldfish crackers on the desk between them, and then pulled out a composition book. She held it, white-knuckled, for a long second, then shoved it at him.

Steve accepted it—after digging for a handful of goldfish crackers—and opened the first page, propping it on his knee. In capital letters, it just said “I MISS YOU”.

“I—I sort of—tell Barb everything,” Nancy bit her lips, taking a slow breath through her nose. Her eyes shone. “It’s—it’s like this huge letter about everything I couldn’t—after she—there’s so much I want to tell her, Steve, so much has happened—”

“Uh,” he stared at it, reluctant to turn the page, and Nancy grabbed it back.

“Shut up,” she muttered. “I know it’s dumb.”

“N-no,” he blurted. “No, it’s not, it’s not dumb.” He wondered whether he should remind her about their assignment, but hers looked finished. I can finish mine later, he promised himself. “Uh, sorry I—it’s not dumb, I just don’t—when you’re sad I just—I don’t know what to—how can I, uh—”

She laughed, swallowing, and closed her eyes. “I—I thought I’d just—fill this. Write until I use all the pages, and the—and the margins, and the inside covers—” she made a soft, horrible gulping sound, and Steve’s nails dug into his palms with the urge to grab her, like he would have if they’d still been dating, and squeeze her thin shoulders. “I—I thought maybe I’d—feel better. Once—Once I say. Everything. Tell her everything. And then bury it. I—we—there wasn’t a body, I couldn’t bring her back to bury— I couldn’t even say what I wanted at her funeral—I can bury my bullshit letter instead— ”

“We can do that,” he said quickly, glad the typewriters were loud enough to drown them out. “We—we can say, uh, we can say—say things, write her letters? Find—find a nice spot? Bury, um, bury things, letters?”

“She didn’t have any other friends,” Nancy stared ahead, her eyes shining.

“I can write her a letter,” were the words that fell out of his mouth, like he could even remember more of Barbra Holland than a vague shape at Nancy’s elbow. “I can—I can thank her for being a good friend, anyway. To, um, you. To my friend Nancy?”

“Sh-she—she really was,” Nancy’s shoulders shook with a sob, and for the first and probably the last time, Steve wished Jonathan Byers was around to do— something, whatever it was he did that made Nancy less sad. Maybe it was worth the awful sex.

In the heat of the moment, Steve felt he’d easily trade his skill at orgasms with whatever made Nancy stop— stop looking so pinched around the eyes, and start teasing him again over Billy Hargrove.

She took a shaky breath, pressing her face to the back of her hand. “I—I was—I was nervous coming to your house, the—that night, the night she—in your—in your pool —to the party, your party, and she wanted to have my back—”

If Jonathan Byers couldn’t show up, Steve wished Billy would, remembering him explaining things to Will and El in IHOP, until Will relaxed, and smiled, and got brave enough to ask questions. “I—I’ll have your back,” Steve tried. “Now. I will. Um, she, uh, we can thank her for having your back. We can—”

He tried to remember what people did at funerals other than wear scratchy suits as Nancy nodded, rubbing her eyes with her fingers, then rubbing her wet face with her wrists. He clenched his fingers harder in his jeans. “Uh, flowers? We can—I’ll get flowers, did she have a favorite song? I have a boombox. I have batteries for it, I can get batteries for it—um, Billy, Billy will have a good idea,” he trailed off, trying to think what it could be, with Billy outside, instead of by Steve’s elbow where he belonged. “He’ll have a good idea, he’ll—he always has a good idea—”

Nancy snorted, smiling at him, but her eyes were red. Her voice was high and shaky. “Ye-yeah. Thank you. Thanks. Y-you’ll be a good best friend, Steve.”

Out the window, Billy was holding his textbook and homework, his pencil poised, but he was staring at them.

He met them in the hall outside typing class, leaning against the bank of lockers. His gaze flicked from Steve’s face, to Nancy’s, then dropped to their hands. Steve scooted away from her, then reached through the press of people and prodded her shoulder with two fingers. He beckoned her to follow him over to Billy.

“Harrington,” Billy crossed his arms, watching them. His cheeks and lips were pink with cold, and Steve wanted to kiss them, brush the melted snowflakes out of Billy’s hair, and rub the muscles of Billy’s arms through the sleeves of Steve’s own borrowed sweatshirt, feeling his boyfriend shiver, and hugging him close. Billy’s voice was flat as he said, “Wheeler,” and Steve jumped, jarred from his fantasy.

Steve opened his mouth to tell Billy that Nancy had practically admitted he was better in bed than Jonathan, and then stopped and thought for once, about how that would hit Billy’s brain. He lowered his voice. “Remember I told you about Barb, uh, Barbra Holland, Nancy’s friend, the monsters got her?”

“...I guess,” Billy had his gaze fixed on Nancy’s face, eyes narrowed.

“She wants to hold a funeral,” Steve started, but Billy’s glare didn’t shift. “Nancy does, uh, and I’m going, because I knew her, and Jonathan didn’t, because he’s not cool, and he makes these faces when—”

“Don’t you dare,” Nancy hissed.

“Wait, what,” Billy glanced at Steve, still keeping a wary eye on Nancy.

“Probably her boyfriend will still be there, because she’ll be sad, but I’m her friend so I’m going too—” Steve babbled, hoping someone else would talk.

“What,” Billy said flatly.

“Help,” Steve hissed, widening his eyes. “Help us, um.”

Nancy started snickering for no reason, and Billy’s frown darkened. “He panicked when I started to cry,” she snorted, rubbing her eyes. “He wants you to fix it.”

“What?!” Billy snorted, coughing.

“What do people do at funerals,” Steve hissed, glancing at Nancy again, and she snorted wetly, covered her nose, and dug in her backpack before yanking out a kleenex and blowing hard.

“Sexy,” Billy muttered, and Steve elbowed him. Billy glanced between them again, raising his eyebrows. “That’s what all that cozy whispering was about?”

Steve made a face. “Also she had goldfish crackers?”

“We were just talking,” Nancy said, laughing and wiping her eyes again “—and then I lost my shit. Sorry.”

“She had a whole cow about how much better I am at picking boyfriends than she is,” Steve waggled his eyebrows. Nancy elbowed him, and Billy’s snorted, his eyes narrowed as he glanced between them.

“Thought you were dumping my ass and leaving me with Denise.”

Steve shook his head, holding his hands up. “We know she makes weird faces.”

“It’s not her fault she has thirty-nine eyes!” Billy laughed, hugging himself in Steve’s sweatshirt. Steve wished he could hug his boyfriend, right there in the highschool hallway, but had to settle for his sweatshirt doing it. Billy didn’t seem to notice as Steve reached out, then yanked his hands back and stuck them in his pockets. Billy was still grinning about his awful gift. He leaned in, digging his chin into Steve’s shoulder and whispering, “Ask your buddy Dustin why his pockets are full of googly eyes, seems questionable to me—”

“Steve and I were talking about boys,” Nancy snorted, then sniffled, rubbing her nose and rummaging in her purse until she found another kleenex.

“Swapping stories,” Steve grinned, watching Billy’s head cock warily. He dropped his voice to a whisper. “My boy’s always sexy. He just melts against me. Like pizza cheese, y’know, in Little Caesar’s ads, it sort of—it sort of droops—”

Billy went as glowing red as the tail lights on his Camaro, and growled, as Nancy leaned into the lockers in a gale of laughter.

“Shut the hell up, Harrington,” Billy muttered, rubbing his face.

“Sexy Little Caesar’s boyfriend?!” Nancy wheezed. “Steve, that’s not sexy at all—”

“Or on lasagna. Or Velveeta, it’s—it’s all fluid, you know,” said Steve, trying to explain. “Um, ‘hot, fresh, and ready to go?’” he suggested, relying on Pizza Hut for his words, but they both turned away, Nancy pounding her fist on a locker, cackling and wiping tears, and Billy stomping off down the hall. Steve glared at Nancy. “Don’t you tell anyone either.”

“Oh no,” Nancy gasped. “I—I’m telling Barb. Oh my god, she’d have loved that. She kept telling me you were a moron—”

“Hey!” Steve pointed a finger at her. “She—she may be—she shouldn’t have said it!”

“I won’t tell anyone else you described your boyfriend as sexy mozzarella,” she snickered, blowing her nose. “But I am telling her that, aloud, at her funeral. Oh my god, I needed that. You better go find him.”

“Everyone likes pizza!” Steve yelled, stomping away after Billy.

As he walked around the corner, Billy grabbed him around the waist from behind and lifted him. Steve yelled and swore, wriggling and laughing. He tried to squirm enough to make Billy drop him, kicking wildly, then finally made a big show of bending his upper body over Billy’s arms to kick his leg up and retie his shoe, while Billy staggered and swore, leaning away to balance his weight and shaking with laughter. Finally, Billy sat him on his feet in an empty hallway, spun him around, and stuck his thumb in the fly of Steve’s pants, pressing close and panting in his ear.

Steve looked back the way they came and saw a girl from his class: Robin Buckley. She was staring.

Billy felt him freeze, and pulled back, eyes narrowed. “What?” When he started to look around, Steve panicked and grabbed his head, wanting to save some unrelated girl from being fed her own molars. He pressed their lips together, humming as Billy huffed a laugh.

Crisis somewhat averted, Steve told himself sternly to track her down later, before letting himself lean into Billy again. He rubbed his thumb over Billy’s moustache, pressing into its scratchiness, and licking into Billy’s hot mouth, then pushed him back, taking deep breaths through his nose. “Christ, gonna come in my pants,” he whispered, laughing.

“That’s fine,” Billy’s grin widened.

“It’s not! It’s not fine, it’s grody—” Steve panted, pushing back at Billy’s hands and shoulders as his boyfriend tried to wriggle closer, like an octopus.

“Come on my tongue,” Billy whispered.

“There’s no time, I gave you to El!” Steve hissed, holding his forearms up defensively. “She’ll show up again! You agreed! You’re hers and Max’s today!” His shoulderblades thudded against the lockers.

“When do I get my reward for following orders, your majesty,” Billy whispered, pulling Steve’s forearms close, so he could kiss along the soft inner side.

“Sometimes knights have duties,” Steve whispered back. “For the, uh, the kingdom.”

“And I’m your best knight,” Billy snorted, running his hands up Steve’s sides. “Gotta help the civilians. Do my quests, make you proud.”

“Mmmn,” Steve lost his train of thought, leaning into Billy’s chest, and sliding his arms around his neck. “Best knight.”

“Now Tommy’s been, what,” Billy laughed against his mouth, hugging him until Steve’s muscles went loose, and his bones felt like they’d creak. “Unshielded?”

“Dis-sworded?” Steve supplied muzzily, into another pause between kissing, his brain narrowing its world to Billy’s tongue. “God, love you, mustard...dipshit...cupcake,” he mumbled, then frowned, coming back to earth as Billy’s shoulders shook with laughter. “Shut up, dickhead. Wait, Tommy wasn’t ever my knight.”

“Thought he beat up Jonathan Byers for you,” Billy whispered, sliding both arms around Steve’s waist again, and lifting him off the ground.

“No,” Steve mumbled, half-listening as he tried to clamp his legs around Billy’s waist, but missed distractedly as he ran his hands up Billy’s neck, cupping the back of his head and licking into his mouth.

Billy pulled back to talk, and Steve huffed. “But he tried to get you over to his house. That time. With Carol,” Billy panted, searching Steve’s face.

Steve kicked, gasping as his lungs got squashed. “Holy shit,” he wheezed, laughing. “You—you’re—are you jealous?”

“No,” Billy whispered, suddenly interested in kissing again.

Steve pulled back from Billy’s mouth after just one more kiss. “Are you jealous of Tommy and Nancy,” he whispered, beaming.

“Fuck you,” Billy mumbled, biting gently up his neck.

Steve let his eyes close, forgetting about Robin, and El, and the extremely public hallway they were standing in. His face was so hot it felt tingly, and Billy’s arms were strong and gentle, holding him up. The world started to spin, a little, and he kicked his feet back, crossing them against his butt to curve his whole body against Billy’s.

“Can’t—can’t breathe, Knight,” he had to admit, finally, and Billy sat him back on his feet.

“As you wish, my King,” he whispered back, stepping back to look Steve over—he grinned as he assessed the tightness of Steve’s pants like an asshole, then leaned in again for one more close-mouthed kiss.

Steve laughed, unable to stop smiling. “You’re jealous. Want me all to yourself.”

“Nah,” Billy rubbed his thumb up Steve’s cheek, and yanked his head around by the earlobe. Steve yelled, flailing. “I can just get another one,” Billy whispered. “King Harringtons. On sale today. K-Mart Special.”

“No you can’t,” Steve grabbed Billy’s shirt, spinning him to smack up against a locker, and leaning close again for a messy kiss. He could feel Billy breathing against his chest. “You’re jealous. You—you’d—” Steve trailed off, watching Billy bare his teeth. “You—what the hell are you pissed for,” he whispered. “You went off and screwed Tommy, don’t be pissed at me —”

“I’m not jealous,” Billy snarled back. “I’m the only one who even pays attention to you, aren’t I, and I could get somebody else in—in a heartbeat—”

Steve took a sharp breath, wondering why he had to go and push things. “Right, yeah,” he said, slamming his hand into the locker next to Billy, who flinched. “Shit,” Steve groaned, stepping back. “Sorry, shit. The hell was I thinking. I’m too goddamn clingy, right? You’re just trying—trying to—” he stepped back a few steps and smacked another locker across the hall—the bang was satisfying—and Billy grabbed his wrist, digging his thumb in bruisingly tight.

“You gonna start hitting?” he asked, smiling his widest. “You don’t get to do that.”

“I hit the locker,” Steve hissed, yanking his arm, and Billy stepped closer.

“You don’t get to hit me,” Billy whispered, and Steve winced at the feel of fingernails. “You—you can’t pull that shit, Harrington.”

“I wasn’t gonna,” Steve tried to yank away again, feeling worse. “Screw you, I hit a locker —”

“After all that shit you said,” Billy said evenly, his smile and his eyes wide the way they went when he might do anything. “I’m a person, remember?”

“I remember,” Steve swallowed again against the burning in his throat and eyes, planting his feet to try and squirm away. “I wasn’t—”

“You change your mind?” Billy asked softly, and Steve did want to hit him, then.

“Let me go,” he hissed. “I wasn’t going to hit you, christ. I was hitting the fucking locker.” Billy let go and stepped back, and Steve spun to slam his fist into the locker again. His little finger was starting to go numb, and he wondered how other people—really awful people, some of them, like Billy’s dad—found people that loved them and trusted them and paid attention. He inhaled, and it made kind of a wet gasping noise. “Jesus,” he whispered. “Just—just g-go home.”

“Screw you,” Billy muttered, and Steve opened his mouth to growl back, when his gaze caught on Billy’s nails digging into his sleeve over where Steve had drawn the hearts.

“Fucking— stop ,” he hissed, grabbing Billy’s fingers, and forcing them to unbend. They were cold. “You’re gonna give yourself bruises. Stop it, dickhead— quit—”

“Quit what,” Billy snarled back, and Steve stared down at the hand he’d grabbed, then let go and stomped across the hall to kick somebody else’s locker.

“Screw you,” Steve muttered. “Fine, go the hell home.” He hunched his shoulders as Billy stepped closer, and banged his fist on the locker he’d just kicked. “Piss off.”

“The hell do you want me to say,” Billy asked, and Steve shut his eyes, and banged the locker again.

“Nothing,” Steve hissed. “I don’t want you to say anything, I—you can—you can go to hell—” Billy came up behind him, and Steve squeezed his eyes shut. They were stinging. He felt a touch on his arm, and flinched into the lockers, swallowing a few times to clear his throat of the bullshit trying to climb out of it. “It’s fine,” he forced out. “Just. Piss off. Go home. I’ll—I’ll get myself—together.” He opened his eyes, parting his lips in a smile, to see Billy standing close, frowning, so Steve was sandwiched between him and the lockers.

“Wha—” Billy started, and Steve smacked a hand over Billy’s mouth, then sidestepped, laughing.

He took a few steps down the hall before he managed to stop himself. “Just go,” he said, realizing he had his hands up between he and Billy, and lowering them. “It’s fine, it’s nothing, jesus—”

“What in the hell—” Billy stepped closer again, and Steve didn’t lunge to cover his mouth, or cover his own ears, or run away.

He kept smiling. “Max and El are probably looking for you.”

“...no,” Billy said, holding his hands out. “Come here, Harrington.”

“What,” Steve laughed, his sinuses burning as his vision went a little blurry. He blinked his eyes clear as Billy’s glare went thunderous.

“I’m not gonna chase you down, get your ass over here.”

“Why?” Steve asked, crossing his arms, uncrossing them, and touching his hair. It was fine. He thought fixedly about the project he was gonna start in ceramics. Probably it was dumb to make Billy something nice. Something with Steve’s feeblings just emblazoned over it. “Just go, jesus.”

“Harrington—” Billy sighed, and Steve’s stomach clenched.

“Sorry,” he grated out. “Sorry, I’ll get it together—” he cut off, raising his arms defensively as Billy walked close enough to grab him by the front of his pants and yank him in for a kiss. His hands were warm and gentle cradling Steve’s face, and Steve let himself be pulled in. “What—” he whispered, but Billy cut him off, tilting Steve’s head to get deeper into his mouth. “Mmf,” Steve tried next, slowly lowering his hands to where his sweatshirt stretched over Billy’s biceps.

“Two for flinching,” Billy told him, kissing him again. “Ssh,” Billy whispered, glancing around, and then pushing them both—slowly, and mostly by kissing Steve—across the hall again and into the bathroom. He stopped to check under the doors, and then grabbed Steve’s hand, and yanked him into the biggest stall. “Okay,” he said, “—go on.”

“...want me to try giving a blow job?” Steve asked, rubbing his eyes. “I mean. You let me jack you off, I wanna—”

Billy opened his mouth, cocked his head, and narrowed his eyes. “Shut up. Shit, that’s not —I’m not supposed to —to try and blow you when you’re pissed —what the fuck, Harrington—”

“I’m just trying to change the subject,” Steve gritted out. “You like blow jobs. Everybody likes blow jobs—”

“I mean,” Billy snorted, slowly nudging Steve against the wall, “—dicks like ‘em—”

“Everybody does, it’s just not called a blow job always,” Steve argued, feeling smart, as Billy kissed him again. It felt like Billy was laughing.

“S’ true—” Steve muttered, and Billy laughed harder, and yanked him closer, so Steve’s head was pressed against Billy’s shoulder, and Steve’s body was squeezed in Billy’s arms.

“Shut up, jesus,” he whispered, his earring tickling Steve’s neck. “What’s your problem.”

The thing was, Steve thought, there wasn’t one. He was freaking out for no reason—he knew his bullshit annoyed people, and everything Billy’d said was true. “Sorry,” he breathed. It was easier, in the heat of Billy squishing him against the wall.

“What do you want me to—”

“Nothing,” Steve cut him off. “Christ. Jesus. I’m gonna do better this time, and shut the hell up before I—”

“What,” Billy whispered, and Steve shook his head, smiling, and didn’t say before I ruin everything.

Billy pulled back, his jaw clenched. “I’ll get it out of you.” Steve choked on a laugh, clenching his fingers on Billy’s arms, and Billy stared into his eyes, thinking. “I could do what you did,” he whispered. “Get you so horny you’re dripping and then make you talk.”

“Oh shit, no,” Steve snickered harder, shaking his head. “No, don’t. I wouldn’t even—I wouldn’t be able to think enough.”

“That’s kind of the point,” Billy said against his mouth, and Steve’s heart started pounding.

“No, no, don’t, I really—I can’t even—” Steve tried to squirm away, every breath of Billy’s resonating with his dick. “I can’t tell you if I can’t make words!”

“Mmm,” Billy hummed thoughtfully, leaning in for another kiss. “You really want to hear I’m jealous of—of Tommy? That what you want me to say?”

“You’re not, though,” Steve shrugged.

“...Nancy, then,” Billy cleared his throat. “I keep waiting to hear you say you’re—that—that I’m not—that you took a better offer.”

“Fuck you,” Steve told him, sighing. “What the hell am I gonna do when you two actually talk and you—you start talking— elves or something and forget all about me.”

“...you’re jealous of me talking to Nancy Wheeler,” Billy said, with the vague tone of someone reading an incomprehensible line in English class.

“You’re both perfect,” Steve told him, grabbing him close, and Billy started laughing so hard he staggered.

“Oh my god, you are so fucking dumb,” he wheezed, and Steve licked his lips, pressed them to Billy’s neck, and blew to make the loudest fart noise he could. Billy yelped, shoving weakly at him, and Steve did it again. Finally, Billy got his hands over Steve’s mouth, and used his body weight to hold them there while he rubbed tears off onto his arms. “If you think I’m perfect you’re blind and stupid. Holy jesus,” he whispered.

It wasn’t that funny, Steve thought indignantly. “You’re perfect. You —you’re—you are. Sometimes. Most of the time! You —you’re better, you don’t—”

Billy kept snickering, like an asshole. “You’d run off with your queen in a second, your majesty,” he whispered, grinning. “She’ll whistle one day. She’ll just — crook her finger, and you’ll go.”

“Would not,” said Steve, automatically, but he considered. “I don’t…” He narrowed his eyes at the wall of the bathroom stall, where someone had written that the principal worshipped Satin. He thought about how his plans had always included Nancy, and how hers never seemed to include him.

What would it be like, he wondered, if she knocked on my door. ‘Follow me to the city,’ she’d say. ‘You can hold down the apartment, I can go to college. Someday I’ll have an important job— which was where it fell apart, because it would be something like war journalism, and she’d always be gone. He sighed, imagining the Dear Steve letter. ‘Dear Steve, I’ve gone to expose nuclear testing on smuggled baby alligators in Belgium, and...found love.’ Steve shook his head. “No. No, it’s —no. ”

“Whaddaya mean no,” Billy laughed. “You just sat there and imagined it.”

“Yeah, imagined it blowing up in my face. I want to —” Steve stopped, looking away from Billy’s eyes and down, until Billy started jerking Steve’s head up and around, trying to meet his eyes again. Steve laughed, and bit his lip.

“What d’you want, Harrington?” Billy asked.

“...wanna wait and see if you send me letters,” Steve told him, shrugging. “I —I guess. Once you leave.”

“Oh, I’m gonna,” Billy’s breath caught, and he pressed his hands to Steve’s cheeks, squishing them. “But you’re lying to both of us if you think you wouldn’t drop me—”

“Billy,” Steve said, muffledly through the fishface Billy was giving him, and grabbing Billy’s hands as he startled. “Billy Hargrove. I—I’d pick you.”

“Don’t bullshit me—”

“Pay attention,” Steve hissed. “Hargrove. Fuckface...trespasser. I’d pick you.” Billy shook his head, smirking, and Steve grabbed it by the curls, pressing their foreheads together to hold Billy’s gaze. “If I have to watch somebody leave, I’d still want you.”

“Shit,” Billy said hoarsely, trying to laugh. “I’ll come back, I wouldn’t—I wouldn’t leave leave, you—you can’t get rid of me if you—if you don’t tell me to go.”

“Like I would,” Steve snorted. “If —if Nancy just—just walked in here, I mean, not here here,” he paused, his eyes focusing on the wall of the men’s bathroom, “—but y’know, if—if she said she’d changed, she—she wanted me back…”

“You’d go,” Billy shrugged.

“No, Nancy can’t—she doesn’t want—this.”

“She’s got shitty taste, then,” Billy growled, and Steve laughed, leaning to bury his face under Billy’s ear.

“No, I mean—she doesn’t want—” he sighed. “She sure doesn’t wanna drag me to the bathroom and grill me on what’s wrong. She’s got—things to do. Important stuff.”

“Her loss,” Billy shrugged, and Steve snorted wetly. Billy’s breaths sounded as catchy and uneven as his did, he realized, and squeezed him closer.

“Promise I wouldn’t go,” he mumbled.

“Promise Denise,” Billy hissed, growling over Steve’s bursting into semi-hysterical giggles. “Denise needs both her dads,” Billy whispered, his eyes brimming as Steve laughed and cried.

“You’re so weird,” he whispered. “So fucking glad you —not the rest of it—but I’m, uh. I’m so goddamn glad you ended up at my house.”

“You brought me home in a trunk,” Billy told him, sniffling, and frowning down to yank at Steve’s belt buckle.

“What if I hadn’t,” Steve asked, watching Billy fumble. “Maybe—maybe something else. Maybe you’d have kissed me in the locker room. Always trying to shove me around in there—why you always trying to jump me in bathrooms, you’re so — ”

“Maybe you’d have kissed me somewhere, fucking...Pussington,” Billy growled, undoing Steve’s belt, and laughing as the denim over Steve’s dick twitched against his hands. He ran his fingers up and down Steve’s fly.

“Jesus,” Steve whispered.

“Fuck me,” Billy whispered back. “I want this monster in me.”

“...you called it fun-size,” Steve hissed back, and Billy started giggling again, burying his face in Steve’s neck. “We’re in a bathroom, the floor is sticky —”

“I don’t wanna wait,” Billy told him, kissing him so enthusiastically Steve’s head thudded back against the wall. “You—you said—want me over Wheeler —”

“I know what I said,” Steve said, trying to sound strict, but he couldn’t help grinning. “ Want me to blow you? You always—”

“No, fuck my ass,” Billy ordered, leaning close, so Steve could feel the hard line of Billy’s cock pressing against his.

“...there’s no—it’ll hurt, knight, it—”

“Who cares,” Billy whispered, yanking the buttons open on Steve’s fly.

“Me!” Steve hissed, grabbing his wrists. “I care! Christ!”

“S’my ass,” Billy argued, looking pouty, and Steve snorted.

“S’my dick, wouldn’t feel good for me either—”

“Coward,” Billy said, frowning down. “Okay, okay—” he yanked at his own pants, hopping on one foot, and Steve started sniggering. He grabbed Billy’s face and pulled him in for a kiss, nearly knocking them both over when Billy tripped over the leg of his pants. “MMPH,” Billy yelped. “Shit. Okay. Just—uh, just—”

His face felt hot against Steve’s hands, and he realized the red was creeping clear down Billy’s chest where the sweatshirt hung open. “What?” Steve asked, his eyes lingering on Billy’s briefs, where a wet stain was spreading where the elastic strained over his cock.

“I’m gonna turn around,” Billy muttered, “—and—”

“No—” Steve repeated, running his hands along the elastic band of Billy’s Fruit of the Looms. “No, seriously, I’m not—”

“I’ll squeeze my legs together,” said Billy, with gritted teeth, his face flaming hot.

“Holy shit,” Steve whispered, his hips bucking against Billy’s hip as he turned around. “What—is—is that any good for you—”

“Just fuck me,” Billy hissed, bracing his hands against the wall, and Steve stepped close behind him, reaching down to yank his skivvies down, and then push Billy’s down over the warm muscley roundness of his ass. Billy yanked until his dick was freed, then braced himself again, and Steve buried his face in Billy’s shoulder, taking a deep breath.

“Can’t see how this is good for you,” he whispered against Billy’s neck, feeling him shiver.

“It’s not unless you get moving,” Billy snarled, then choked out a gasp as Steve slid his hand around to grab him by the cock.

“Just...between your thighs, then,” Steve whispered, rubbing some pre-come around the top of his dick, then frowning down, and licking his hand just in case.

“Come on,” Billy whispered. “Come on, come on, do me.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Steve nodded pointlessly, aimed, and pressed into the tight space between Billy’s muscled thighs. “Oh god, that’s good,” he mumbled against Billy’s shoulder, and he laughed.

“Shut up and move,” Billy muttered, since Steve was mostly clinging and muttering bullshit endearments.

“God,” Steve whispered, reaching around again. “Don’t fall, b-babe, uh, cookie.”

“Billy whe-when we’re fucking,” Billy told him, groaning as Steve tried to steady himself between his hips smacking Billy’s butt, his dick sandwiched in the heat of Billy’s thighs—it was slippery enough, he thought, flushing almost as red as Billy was—and dragging his fist up and down Billy’s dick.

“Billy,” Steve said against his ear, and Billy swallowed a moan, letting his head fall forward to thunk against the wall. “Billy Hargrove.”

“Nng,” Billy grunted.

“L-love you, Billy Hargrove,” Steve told him, and he whined, his shoulders flinching forward. Steve kissed the place where his shoulder joined his neck, feeling him shudder. “Love you, Billy.”

Billy came all over his fingers, and Steve started laughing, because of course Billy’s legs bent, and of course they collapsed to the floor of the highschool bathroom.

Steve let them tip sideways, pulling Billy close to slow their fall and ignoring the weird chemical smell as his jaw smushed against the tiles. Billy was swearing under his breath, squirming around, and Steve summoned enough brain to scoot back. “Ssh,” he whispered, snickering, with tears in his eyes. “Don’t break my dick.”

“Where you going, asshole,” Billy hissed, rolling over to lay half on top of Steve’s chest. He grabbed Steve’s cock, stroking it, and Steve bucked up against him, muttering just...noises, really.

He came to himself panting against Billy’s shoulder. “Mmnm,” he said, wondering whether they could just sleep on the floor, and wash their faces for class the next morning.

“...you really jealous?” Billy asked, at the ceiling, like he’d been thinking a while.

Steve groaned, tucking hair out of his eyes.

“Y’know I’d...fucking kill them—anyone—and step on their corpses to get to you,” Billy told the ceiling, and Steve started laughing again.

“S’not a bit creepy,” he said, his voice weirdly deep in his ears.

“Not sure wanting to kill Tommy Hagen is creepy at all,” Billy commented, rolling his head for a kiss. “I mean, that’s normal, right, anybody would—”

“Think I’ve got toilet paper stuck to my leg,” Steve whispered.

“I guess you wouldn’t know normal if it bit you on the ass,” Billy told him, and Steve hefted himself up the couple of inches for another kiss.

“Means I get you, though,” he mumbled, dropping to rest his face on Billy’s chest again. It went from warm to hot, and Steve grinned, rubbing his face in chest hair and muscle.

“Shut up, you’re such a freak,” Billy muttered, and pressed more kisses to Steve’s hair. “Tommy Hagen, seriously? You’re jealous of Tommy Hagen? That’s you being a moron.”

“Mmn,” Steve was sort of listening, so he politely made a noise.

“Just went over to Carol’s ‘cause I broke your door,” Billy said. “Thought you’d be pissed. Thought you’d—” he took a slow breath, swallowing. “An-anyway, I didn’t think you’d just...pick me up. Carry me on your back. Thought I’d have to, uh, bribe my way back in.”

“...you saying you got me a present?” Steve asked, waking up a little, and Billy squeezed him.

“I’m saying I didn’t care where I went, jesus. Could have been the gas station. Not running around on you with Exxon, either.”

You might, Steve thought, snorting, but he scooted closer. His shoes squeaked against the wet tile by the toilet. “We’re gonna stink,” he sighed.

“You saying you wanna go shower together?” Billy breathed against Steve’s temple, and Steve started sniggering.

“I mean, yeah,” he whispered back, grinning so hard his cheeks felt tired. “But probably we should like...go. You’re making your sister wait. And El.”

“And they’re important to my liege,” Billy groaned.

“They’re kinda violent when they’re pissed off,” Steve whispered back, and Billy started snickering into Steve’s hair. Steve grinned up at the dripping cracks in the ceiling, letting his eyes fall shut. “ I’ll—just—just take the car. Take it. Get the girls, whatever they want. I need to—better present. Than Denise.”

“No present’s better than Denise,” Billy’s grin went smirky, but he saluted Steve’s eyeroll, and once they managed to get upright, sauntered off with his hands in the pockets of Steve’s stolen sweatshirt.

Steve adjusted himself in his jeans, wishing he wasn’t quite so...sticky, and walked a bit awkwardly off to his locker, when he was grabbed for the second time that day.

“What?!” Robin flailed her arms, hissing. “What was that?!”

“There you are,” Steve hissed, then stopped dead, realizing he hadn’t thought up any kind of plan. “...nothing?” he answered, like a genius, smoothing his hair where Billy’d run his fingers through it. “Uh, what? What was...what.”

She stared at him. “I saw you, dingus.”

“No, you didn’t. Saw what?”

“How are you alive, you are so dumb,” she muttered, spinning away, then back. “That was—you were—” she clasped her hands together, taking a deep breath through her nose, and started to snicker. “You—that’s your cover? ‘What was what?’ You—that’s what you’re gonna say?”

Steve’s high from Billy’s kisses was gone, and he was trying not to imagine Billy’s reaction to someone seeing them. His stomach clenched. “Look, don’t, nothing—nothing was—your—it’s none of your business, jesus.”

“What?!” she cackled, her eyes widening. “Christ. You’re just gonna make out at school and ignore it when—what if—what if your pal Tommy sees you? He’s gonna—”

“I blackmailed him,” Steve folded his arms, leaning back against the locker. “I have dirt on him, he’s not gonna squeal—”

“You what?!” she squealed herself, leaning one arm to steady herself against the locker as she sniggered so hard she shook. “Have you been watching gangster movies?”

“Shut up! You didn’t see anything—”

“I sure did,” she made a face, shuddering. “Believe me, I would not have imagined you and Hargrove playing tonsil hockey, but it’s a nightmare I’ll take to the grave—”

“Shut up,” he hissed, swallowing. His throat felt dry. “I—you can’t tell anyone. I’ll say you’re lying. You’ll be that liar girl, I’ll—”

“God, I don’t want to remember it, let alone describe it,” she pretended to gag, melodramatically doubling over with her fingers in her throat. “Gag me, Steve. Gag me with a spoon.”

Steve wrinkled his nose. “Great. Don’t tell anyone, and we’ll stay the hell away from each other.” He remembered wondering how people in his classes would react to finding out he was maybe-sort-of-gay, and he kind of wanted to punch her in the face. “Or I—I’ll get gay cooties on you.”

She turned to stare. “I don’t care about that, dipshit, I care I almost saw two entire penises when I was just trying to leave class. Here I thought I’d go to my grave without getting close to one of those—” she stuck her tongue out, flapping her hand at the wrist, her voice distorted by the face she was making, “—gross floppy baby injectors, and there they were—”

“What,” he stopped, arms up in a flail, but still. “Wait. What?”

“I’m not going to tell anyone, Steve Harrington,” she told him, rolling her eyes. “Besides, somebody else is going to figure you out, like, instantly, nothing to do with me.” She turned to stalk away, then spun on her heel to face him again. “But what the hell is wrong with you?! You don’t even—can’t you make some excuse and get the keys to the gym equipment room?! You can’t make out during class, when people aren’t wandering around?! Instead you’re sucking face right after the bell rings? I had to tell two different people there was a sewage leak down that hall, dumbass.”

Steve blinked at her. “Th—that’s a good idea. I didn’t—thanks, man.”

“I didn’t want them to have to see the gross sight I had to,” she narrowed her eyes at him. “Can’t you tell people you’re study buddies or something? Before I have to see more of Billy Hargrove’s hard-on in his jeans,” she shuddered, and Steve laughed.

“Somebody doesn’t think he’s hot?”

She took a deep breath, her eyes flicking to his face. “Yeah...no. Why would I.”

“I mean, he is,” he shrugged. “Anyway, thanks. Really. I got, uh, threatened today, kind of. I thought—thanks.”

She stilled. “You what,” she asked, her voice weirdly raspy.

“Uh, somebody figured us out, said he’d, y’know, tell everyone. I know.” Steve rolled his shoulders uncomfortably.

“What the shit,” she whispered. “And you—you’re—the same day?! You just—”

“Look, shut up, I’m not used to it yet,” he hissed back. “I forget he’s a secret, okay?!”

“You moron,” she whispered. “What’d you—are you—”

“I blackmailed him, uh, the guy, Tommy,” Steve whispered back, weirdly proud. “He won’t tell anyone.”

“Jesus, what a prick.” She took a deep breath, and blew through her cheeks. “Tommy Goddamn Hagen, huh. Good thing I wasn’t gonna tell anybody anyway.”

“Phew,” he laughed, grinning at her. “I wasn’t—I can’t even—was just, y’know, going to ask you not to, like, tell. Everyone.” He shrugged. Robin narrowed her eyes at him, watching as he kicked at the linoleum. His shoe squeaked. “Thanks for being cool,” he told her, feeling a little bit warm knowing there were people at school that wouldn’t treat him like he had leprosy. “I guess not everybody’s going to hate me.”

“Jesus,” she whispered, rubbing her face. “I—shut up, okay, I wasn’t—I’m not that—”

“It’s just nice,” Steve shrugged. “Bil—I, uh, I didn’t know how, um, I guess it can get pretty bad, it’s nice to—”

“Yes!” Robin hissed. “Yes, it can! Oh my god, shut up. Why are you—you don’t know me!”

“I do now,” Steve told her, grinning, but he watched her clench her hands in frustration, and recognized someone who wished he’d leave. “Sorry. Thanks. Sorry,” he smiled automatically, and turned away.

“Ugh,” she groaned.

“Thanks,” he called over his shoulder again. “I’m glad it was you!”

“Auuuugh,” she yelled after him. “Stop talking about it, you moron! Somebody could hear you!”

He couldn’t resist turning to face her, walking backwards down the hall and stage-whispering, “Now I know it’s safe to tell you, we can talk about boys.”

“I don’t want to talk about boys!” Robin screamed, soft and wheezily in the back of her throat.

“You know you want to,” Steve whisper-shouted back, waggling his eyebrows, and she smacked her own face. “Nancy and I are friends now,” he told her, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Gonna have all the gossip, right here, don’t change that channel!”

“Nancy Wheeler doesn’t have gossip,” she hissed back, “Nancy Wheeler has—she has flashcards, shut up, dipshit—”

“We’re gonna do all those—those things that—makeovers,” he said, unable to think of anything else. “Sleepovers. Talking about boyfriends.”

“Kill me first,” Robin replied, through gritted teeth. “I will puke, I swear to god.”

“I have all the locker room dirt on everybody,” Steve said, clapping his hands together as he realized. “I know how big—”

“Eugh!” she actually shouted over him. “Gross! I do not want to know! I don’t want to know what Tommy Hagen’s dick is like, holy shit!”

“Yeah, I kinda wish I didn’t either,” Steve said, reflecting, but Robin was on a tear.

“I don’t want to—I don’t even—I wouldn’t think Billy Hargrove was hot unless his name was spelled with an -ie,” she said through clenched teeth, and he mouthed the letters, frowning into space. “Like. If he was named Wilhelmina, Steve.”

“That’s an awful name,” he turned to frown at her doubtfully. “And—and it’s for girls, I think.”

“The penny drops,” she said crisply, which made no sense, but he ignored that, turning her disgust in his head against her insistence she didn’t have a problem with his gay cooties.

“You’re a lesbian,” he whispered, pointing, and she clapped her hand to her face. Steve thought. “I thought I was the only one at school! We were. The only queer people, at school. There’s, uh, there’s a kid, but he’s a middle-schooler. And Barbra Holland, maybe? She and Nancy watched some weird movies.”

“How do you know what kind of...ugh, y’know what, I’m going home,” Robin sighed. “Try not to get expelled, I guess?”

“I won’t tell anyone,” he said quickly, feeling the urge to lift his hand to pinky-swear. He snickered. “We should have a secret handshake.”

“You better not tell anyone,” she hissed back, but she looked relieved too, and they stood there for long awkward seconds before she spun and stomped off. “I still don’t like you!” she shouted back, and he bit back a grin.

Once he’d talked to the ceramics teacher, he sat down with his headphones and the potter’s wheel, trying to dig his fingers into the heavy wetness of the clay enough to bring up a thin edge, but not so much they went through. About the point it started to look like a deep cat dish instead of an ashtray, he realized there were knees facing his, and he shook his head to knock his headphones down to his shoulders, instead of getting clay on them.

The lovely and intelligent Nancy Wheeler had her chin on her hands, and her elbows on her knees, watching him spin the clay.

“Hi,” he said, suddenly wanting to fix his hair, and clenching his hands so he didn’t put streaks of clay in it.

“What’s that gonna be?”

“...I dunno,” he said, which was a lie, probably. “I might screw it up.” Which was true.

“I think I see it,” she cocked her head as he used his fingertips to draw it up taller, “—with Billy. I thought you might—need help, y’know. Sorry.”

“What?!” He blinked at her, letting the wheel slow to a stop.

“I see it now. He was freaking out, when you just—ran out of the library, that time. Mike said he’s been really good to Will, and Eleven. I mean, if he pulls any shit with you we should absolutely tie him to train tracks. But.”

“That’s very...evil of you.” Steve stared at her, wide-eyed.

She rolled her eyes, and waved a hand. “His dad too, obviously.”

Steve snorted, choking. “Obviously.” He pulled his clay cylinder up a little taller and thinner, his face warm. The clay had lines where he’d pressed too hard, almost giving it segments. “...argh, this is my third try, and it’s still not straight.”

“...neither are you,” she replied, levelly, and he nearly smashed it, flailing.

“Nancy,” he growled at her, and she shrugged, watching him wet his hands and try to even it out.

She followed him around as he sliced it off the wheel with wire, took it to a table, and sculpted a handle. When he got to rolling more clay out, and cutting a little plaque to press letters into, she came and leaned over his shoulder, and he flushed as he inhaled her shampoo. “...that looks good, actually,” she murmured in his ear, and he winced away. She wandered back around the table to drop onto the stool across from him.

“‘Actually’?!” he muttered, and she snorted. “Sorry I was a shitty boyfriend,” he told the little letters he was painstakingly carving.

“Mm.” She shrugged. “I mean, I was kinda shitty, too, there at the end.”

He opened his mouth, automatically, to tell her she was perfect and amazing, then shut it again. He bit his lips, frowning down, then blew air through his cheeks, and carefully peeled up the little clay plaque shape to press on the crosshatched side of his cylinder.

“We’re getting better at it,” she said, looking it over, and then reached across and prodded his shoulder. “That’s sweet, Steve.”

“Eugh,” he sighed, leaning his face on the table. “Hope he thinks so.”

She groaned. “He liked Denise, Steve.”

“How come everybody knows my dumb vase’s name,” he mumbled into his arms, and she laughed.

“I hear everything. Little bird told me you might need a ride.”

Steve lifted his head, frowning at her. “...what?”

“He took your car, right?”

“I think Eleven took him,” Steve defended Billy, and Nancy grinned at him, nudging his elbow.

“Yeah, in your car.”

“Who knows where they’ll end up,” Steve sighed. He tried not to think about kissing Billy Hargrove in the bathroom at the IHOP. “Uh, she keeps making him take her for waffles.” Billy’d flinched back when he walked in the IHOP bathroom, he thought, leaning his face in his arms again. How did I not stop and think about that.

Nancy got up and leaned against the table. “And it’s snowing again, so you need a ride. Thanks, Nancy. You’re such a good friend, Nancy.”

He looked up, and quailed under the weight of her raised eyebrows. “Thanks. Who’s the little bird?”

“Billy,” she said, raising her eyebrows. “Or rather, he was asking how long Max and Eleven needed, and Eleven asked what I was doing after school.”

“Sorry,” Steve snickered, imagining Billy’s expression. “I could’ve walked.”

She shrugged. “I’m still here.”

Once he finished, and put his Valentine’s Day present to Billy on a rack to dry, they wandered out to Nancy’s mom’s car. As she checked the mirrors, and put on her seatbelt, Steve took a deep breath, couldn’t decide what to say, and sat there with his cheeks inflated like a chipmunk’s, squinting at the dashboard.

“...what are you doing,” she laughed.

“I, um. You know Robin Buckley?”

Nancy frowned at him, then at the rearview mirror to back out of the parking spot. “Yeeeah?”

“She, uh, she saw me and Billy. Earlier.”

“So?”

“Uh, we were, uh, she knows.” He leaned around to shove his bag in the back seat.

“...need me to go —talk to her?” Nancy asked, in a low voice, and Steve scrambled back up, wondering why he knew so many people willing to commit murder in his name.

“No! No! It’s, uh, it’s fine. She doesn’t like dick. I mean, she likes tits, you know. I mean, she’s like us. Billy and me. She’s queer. She, uh, she won’t tell anybody. Shit! I can’t tell you that, the whole point was—auuuugh,” he groaned, leaning his seat back to add some drama to it. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you that, don’t tell her I told you—”

“Oh!” Nancy blinked. “Is she?! I thought…” She frowned, pulling around a gaggle of freshmen in jerseys wandering through the parking lot.

“What?” Steve tried to get the seat to click back upright, and fell backwards again, his leg kicking up in the air.

“I thought she had a thing for you. She used to glare at us all the time.” Nancy rolled her eyes and groaned, slowing to a top again, and Steve wondered who else was blocking traffic out of the highschool parking lot.

“Did she? Weird.” Steve squinted at the roof of the car, and then remembered something. “Anyway, she won’t say anything. And I need advice. On blow jobs.”

The brakes squawked as Nancy stared over, Nancy opening her mouth to answer, but something banged at the window, and he sat up to see Lucas’ little sister glaring at them.

“Holy shit,” Nancy muttered, groaning. “Just don’t bite it off, you’ll get the hang of it, oh my god—” she hissed, leaning across his legs to roll the window down.

“There’s got to be more to it than that,” Steve muttered back, as Erica Sinclair stuck her face in the car.

“I fell asleep first period and got detention,” she yawned. “Marcenia Lyle Alberga snuck out again last night. Tomika and me were out until four this morning. And I missed the bus, and then I fell asleep in detention again...”

“You...what?” Nancy asked, looking lost. “Who?”

“Her friend’s cat sneaks out,” Steve translated.

“She doesn’t like the old Shireman house,” Erica told them, yanking the handle of Nancy’s car door and yawning again. “Lemme in. I missed the bus, I need a ride.”

“Sorry,” Steve said to Nancy, unable to stop his beaming grin. “She’s, uh, Billy’s kid now, I guess? Can we give her a ride?”

“Billy’s,” Nancy repeated, squinting at him, then Erica, and leaning behind Steve’s seat to unlock the door. Once they were all inside, she asked, “Isn’t the old Shireman place haunted, or something?”

“Yeah, Tommy and Carol and I used to…” Steve trailed off, his brain wandering back to being friends with Tommy Hagen, and getting high to run around screaming and giggling in the “haunted house”. “We used to...go there,” he finished, folding his arms.

“It’s creepy out there,” Erica said, leaning between their seats. “We’re not supposed to go, the floor’s falling in, but Marcenia’s just a kitten.”

“A mean one,” Steve snorted, and Erica snorted.

“She’s a killer. She can’t fight snow, though. I mean, she’d try. ”

Steve snickered, and they ended up explaining the afternoon Billy’d played Great White Hunter to Marcenia the Jungle Cat. He was dying to tell Nancy about El’s confusion over Hopper’s lousy sex talk, and trailed off, thinking it wouldn’t be so bad, really, life with Nancy as a friend.

As Nancy obeyed every traffic law, exactly at the speed limit, Steve saw Robin Buckley under the overhang of the gas station, hopping around as she knocked snow out of one of her shoes. She sighed, pulled it back on with a disgusted expression, hunched her shoulders, and walked on, just as some melting snow toppled off the edge and smacked into the back of her head and down the back of her collar. She yelled and flailed, dropping her bag, and fell on her butt in the snow, then threw her head back and yelled at the sky.

“Wait!” Steve yelled at Nancy, rolling his window down to stick his head out. “Hey! Oy! Robin Barclay!”

“Buckley,” Nancy corrected.

“Buckley!” Steve called, and Robin squinted over out of the pile of snow she’d landed in, her eyes flat with despair.

“What,” she glared over. “Qu-uh. Uh,” she glanced at Nancy, turning red, and her glower darkened. “Steve Harrington?” Ice dripped from the slush on her head down along her ear, and he heard both Nancy and Erica shudder.

“Can we give her a ride?” he asked Nancy, who was shaking her head slowly in bewilderment, eyes wide. “Please?”

“Sure, of course,” she said, turning up the heat and scrambling behind her to unlock the door. Erica scooted to one side.

“This is your fault,” was Robin’s first shivering line after she climbed in. “I missed the bus after, uh, running into you.”

“You’re another one of Steve’s friends?” Erica asked, eyes narrowed consideringly, and Steve yelled “Stop kidnapping my friends! No kidnapping!” back at her as Nancy hit the gas.

“I’m very resistant to being kidnapped,” Robin said, sniffling and shivering.

“Unstoppable force, immovable object,” Erica whispered, studying Robin as they drove.

“No,” Steve told her emphatically.

Robin studied Steve and Nancy. “I thought you two broke up,” she said, exaggeratedly innocent, and glared meaningfully at Steve when he turned around to stare at her.

“We did,” Nancy told her, checking her side mirror. “Steve’s my best friend now. He got a battlefield promotion.”

Robin sat back, nodding, and Steve laughed so hard he choked.

Billy’s car was out of the garage and blocking the drive, for some reason, with Steve’s behind it. Steve frowned at it, then raised his eyebrows at Nancy, who narrowed her eyes at him, then got out of the car and walked around as he disentangled his bag from the seatbelt and slammed the door.

“What,” she hissed. “You were making faces.”

“There’s gotta be more than “don’t bite it off,” he hissed back. “Come on!”

She made an offended gaspy noise, her mouth dropping open. “You’ve had blow jobs!” she squeaked back, flailing her arms. “You know more than me! I don’t even have a dick!”

“How do you not choke?” he asked, thinking hard.

“You just do!” she growled back, her face flaming red. “You’re putting a—a big—a thing down your—where you breathe, Steve, how do you think lungs work—oh my god—”

“Ohhhh,” Steve nodded, and she screamed into her hands.

“If you keep asking me for sex advice I’m gonna suggest you pull your mouth off real loud and sing ‘Pop Goes The Weasel,’” she snarled, and Steve started laughing, blushing nearly as hard as she was at the awkwardness of grilling his ex-girlfriend on blow jobs.

“I know it’s weird,” he laughed, wiping his eyes. “I know, I know, I got nobody else to ask, though, Nance, come on!”

She bit her lips together, glaring, then sighed. “...try, uh. Try, um, humming,” she squeaked.

“Humming,” he stared.

“Shut up, never mind!” she groaned, hiding her face.

“No, no, no no no!” he ran around to block her as she turned back to the car. “No, go on, tell me! Tell me, tell me!”

She sighed, smiling tensely at him. “God, Steve. You’re so—argh.”

“I am, I am,” he agreed, “—tell me your secrets, teach me, like, cock karate—”

“Oh my god,” she moaned.

“Do I need to wash cars,” he asked, miming circular hand movements, and she shoved him, laughing.

“We were, y’know, listening to music,” she mumbled, flushing even redder, “—and uh, I was um, y’know, kind of—kind of singing, humming—”

“Ew,” Steve said, waving her onward as he tried not to imagine the soundtrack of Jonathan’s approaching penis. “Yeah, go on—”

“It’s-nice-try-it!” she squeaked, all one noise, and ducked by him to dive into the car. He waved, but she bent close around the steering wheel as Erica ran around to take shotgun.

Steve crept in the front door to the caterwauling sounds of a circular saw.

The door to the garage from the kitchen was open, and his parent’s stuff—the stacks of boxed seventies clothes and albums he’d called and asked about, that they’d told him to throw out, that he felt weird throwing out, like there wouldn’t be anything of theirs left in the house if he threw the boxes out—had been pushed off to the side. Billy and Eleven were leaning over a long thin piece of wood trim balanced across the seats of two of the kitchen chairs. Billy had a foot on it, holding it secure across the seats, and Eleven had the saw, which she turned off, and carefully lowered to the floor.

“Angle’s perfect,” Billy told her, thumbing the edge, and she beamed at him. He bent over some more wood, but Steve’s brain was less aware of the wood, and more aware of his boyfriend’s ass in tight jeans.

Steve nearly stepped on Max, watching Billy, then blinked down to realize she was sitting in the doorway with her butt on the kitchen floor and her feet on the stair into the garage, glaring up at him and holding a plastic binder with shiny pages.

“Hey, moron, stop drooling,” she whispered. “It’s nasty.”

“What’re they doing?” he crouched to ask, watching El steeple her fingers thoughtfully at her nose, listening to Billy’s explanation of the different grits of sandpaper.

“He says he broke your door,” Max raised her eyebrows with all the judgement of Steve’s second-grade teacher, and he ducked his head.

“Wasn’t on purpose, he thought I was—I don’t know,” he muttered back at her. “He didn’t mean it.”

“That’s creepy, Steve,” she hissed back, flipping a page, and studying it intently. “He knows what he’s doing.” Through the reflection of the florescent lights of the garage, Steve couldn’t see what she was looking at, but he thought he and Max weren’t quite to the point where he could lean into her space.

“I mean,” Steve squinted, considering, and dropped to sit more comfortably next to her in the doorway, his legs sprawled into the garage. He remembered Billy drunk, throwing beer bottles at his house, and crying over his mom. “I mean, not—not always, not really. He, uh—”

“Don’t give me that shit,” she sighed. “Don’t let him get all, y’know, ‘Sorry, honey, you know I’ve got a temper,’ Steve, jesus. Bet he never breaks his own stuff.”

“Wait, what?” Steve drew his eyes away from Billy, who was smiling down at El marking length on a shorter piece of trim with a steel square. “He doesn’t break my stuff. Except the door. Did he break your stuff?”

She tensed, flipping another page, and holding both sides of the binder with white knuckles. “Maybe. Maybe I’m good at pattern recognition, Steve. He tell you not to make him mad? You being careful?”

Steve stared at the side of her head, then swung to face her, unable to focus while his eyes were full of Billy’s ass. “Max, you okay? Is—is everything okay?”

“Yeah, sure,” she snorted a laugh, rubbing her eyes with her wrist, and flipping another page. She studied it carefully.

“Max, did—did Billy say that to you? Did he—”

“No, he never—he— he says it. To my mom.”

Steve processed for a second, feeling like he was a dysfunctional blender. There were big things floating around out there he was fairly sure he didn’t understand, but he could manage the little pieces, sometimes, blend them into a whole that made sense. “Neil told your mom,” he translated, and Max swallowed, biting her lips together. “Neil...told your mom not to make him mad. Right?”

She shook her head. “He—he didn’t mean—like he gets with Billy. She wouldn’t—he wouldn’t get mad like that— just at Billy, he wouldn’t—he wouldn’t—”

“Billy told you what his mom said,” Steve felt like his engine was grinding, but he kept guessing, since Max kept pausing after each line. Maybe she doesn’t like what she put together, he thought. She’s seeing whether I get the same thing. “That Neil was...that he scared her.”

“Billy said he hit his mom,” Max grated out, and Steve cocked his head, trying to parse the language of the Hargrove siblings.

“Billy said his dad hit his mom,” he suggested, his eyes narrowed in thought, and Max made a weird hiccup noise, muffling it in the cuff of her sweatshirt. She closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. Steve bit his lips together, and tried again. “...and his dad told your mom not to make him angry.” Like the Hulk, he thought, imagining Neil Hargrove tearing the house apart.

Max flipped another page, and bent to frown at it from inches away as Steve waited.

“What have you got there?” he finally asked, since apparently the conversation was over, and El and Billy were still busy. Max tipped the binder towards him with a tense smile.

Steve crouched. “...is that...is that Billy’s photo album? That’s Billy, oh jesus. Oh my god.” He muffled his wide-eyed mumbling with his hands, staring at child-Billy’s round cheeks.

“Shut up, he looks like a moron,” Max hissed back, flipping the page, as Billy and Eleven laid out more pieces of wood. “Look at their hair! And he definitely doesn’t want you seeing him in that sweater vest.”

Steve flipped it back and eyed the brown, orange, red, and off-white sweater vest—it was definitely ugly, and his time spent winding yarn for Ms. Williams meant he could accurately peg it as basically a sandwich of two enormous crocheted potholders, one front, one back, with straps sewn on. “Oh, god,” he mumbled through his hand. “Did he, like...make that himself?” He tried not to think about Neil’s fingers digging into Billy’s shoulder in the posed picture, or the way Billy was leaning away, into his mom.

“I think there was an aunt...or a grandma...Maybe we should blow up that picture and stick it on the bulletin board at school,” Max grinned, laughing shakily.

“Look at his fat little cheeks,” Steve whispered. “Oh no, look, he was surfing and he fell in the water.”

“Look how many pictures there are of him dragging his board out of the water,” Max snickered. “Like, one of him actually surfing. He looks like a drowned rat.”

From listening to Billy’s mom, Steve didn’t doubt either that she was as delighted by photos of him falling off surfboards as staying on, or that she ever let him live it down. “His mom calls him her Land Turtle,” he told her, and Max clapped a hand over her mouth, muffling a snicker. “Oh no,” Steve hissed, elbowing her. “Look, Santa photos.”

Max stared at them for a long moment, then looked up at Steve, biting back a huge grin. Her eyes still shone wet, but she looked gleeful. “Steve. Steve,” she whispered in a high voice, drowned out by Billy showing El a box of finishing nails. “Steve,” she wheezed. “He was afraid of Santa. Look. Every picture. Oh my god.”

Billy’s mom looked thin, and paler than she had, and Steve tried to focus on her broad grin. “Those are amazing sweaters,” he whispered back, between his fingers, trying not to crack up aloud over toddler-Billy’s horrified eyes on Santa in every picture. In one, he was tilted sideways, wailing in his red-and-white striped sweater with the knitted green bowtie and matching mustard-yellow knitted overalls.

Suddenly Max yanked the album back to squint close, and Steve waited, then leaned his head down to try and see her face. “Huh,” she said, lifting her head, and pushing the album back toward him. “Leia there on the Halloween page,” she pointed. “His mom—does that—there on her arms, and her neck, do those look like bruises to you?”

Steve, staring at what had to be tiny Billy wedged in an awful R2-D2 costume made mostly of tinfoil, beaming up at the Leia from under—for some reason—a superhero-type mask, had to blink a few times to register Max’s voice. “Wha?”

“Do those look like bruises,” Max hissed. “Billy says he used to hit his mom—”

“Billy hit his mom?” Steve stared at her, then Billy, still stuck in their second conversation about family photos, where four-year-old Billy Hargrove was wearing potholders like they were clothes.

Max shook her head. “No, stupid, he hit Billy’s mom, Neil did. Billy says. Billy says—Billy says she was scared, she thought—there was an insurance thing—” she swallowed, the shine to her eyes no longer delighted. “I’m—I just—he doesn’t deserve him, nobody does, but just ‘cause he hits Billy doesn’t mean he’d hurt—”

Steve listened, really noticing for the first time that Max and Billy never called Neil Hargrove anything—not ‘dad’, or his name, just ‘he’. It was confusing for onlookers, who weren’t always thinking about the man, but Max and Billy always seemed to understand each other.

“I thought I’d check his pictures,” Max closed her eyes, taking a deep breath through her nose, and when she looked back down at the photos, her eyes were drier. “See if—if he was right, and she—she looks—she’s really scared, Steve.”

“I was there when she told Billy,” Steve told Max, who pressed her knuckles to her mouth, making a muffled gulping noise.

“He’s gonna hurt my mom,” she whispered, taking a shaky breath. “Shit, Steve, he’s gonna—he’s gonna hurt my mom, it was true, those are bruises, he’s gonna—”

Steve realized the tools had gone silent, and looked up to see Billy, thin-lipped and pink-cheeked, glancing from the album, to Steve, to Max.

El followed his gaze, frowned hard, and sat the saw down. She walked over, and wedged herself between Max and Steve on the stair into the garage. “What happened?” El asked, sounding like she was doing the psychic equivalent of cracking her knuckles to ready herself for a fight.

Max shook her head, pressing her knuckles to her mouth.

Steve let himself be pushed aside, walking over to put an arm around Billy and kiss his ear. “Just found a picture of my new favorite robot,” he whispered, and Billy snorted, tense against him. “Why was R2-D2 wearing a mask,” Steve asked, and Billy rolled his eyes.

“Shut up, I was like seven, I didn’t know how to make a costume. Why the hell is Max showing you my fatass baby pictures?”

“She, um,” Steve stumbled, divided between wanting to answer, not wanting to admit Max didn’t believe Billy’s warnings, and mostly wanting a time-travel car to go back and pick up the chubby little curly-haired R2-D2 in his terrible tinfoil costume, give him hot chocolate, and keep him the hell away from Neil Hargrove. “You seriously calling R2-D2 fat?”

“What is going on,” asked El, narrowing her eyes at Steve’s arm around Billy, and tucking her own around Max.

“He hurt Billy’s mom, and he hurt Billy, and he’s gonna hurt my mom,” Max said, her voice gravelly with suppressed tears. “He hurts people, and he’s—” she took a few rapid breaths, and bit her lips together until they went white.

Eleven took Max’s hand, turning to face her. “We won’t let him.”

Billy swallowed, his jaw working.

“Hopper,” Steve said, squeezing Billy’s shoulders. “Hopper can—talk to Hopper, El, take Max to tell him—”

“He—he could be doing something—I need to get home,” Max stood, and nearly fell, trying to spin without watching the stair. She staggered, swearing in a high, broken voice.

Eleven caught her by the elbows. “Max,” she said slowly clearly, and Max’s head jerked up to frown at her, as Eleven waved a hand at the milk crates of old records and exploded them. Billy and Steve both yelled, diving for the floor as vinyl shrapnel rained down, and it snowed bits of cardboard. “We won’t let him,” Eleven said, bringing her hand back to squeeze Max’s, then lifting it to wipe a dribble of blood from her nose.

“Holy shit,” Max whispered, wiping her eyes. “Okay. Yeah. We can—we can threaten him, or something.”

“Or something,” El repeated darkly. “I saw a movie where they dropped a house on somebody.”

“C-can you do that?” Max snorted wetly, snickering probably half with stress, and half imagining Neil’s shoes sticking out from under a foundation like he was the Wicked Witch of the East.

El narrowed her eyes. “Do you want me to?”

“Holy shit,” Max started cackling through her tears, stumbling to sit down on the stair to the kitchen.

“Holy shit,” Billy echoed, staring at the mess, as Steve sighed and grabbed the broom. “What the fuck,” he whispered. “Luke fucking Skywalker.”

Steve had mostly forgotten Billy didn’t know about El. Of course that’s how he’d find out about Eleven, he thought, rubbing his face, and scrabbling at his hair. Billy knew every other detail of his stupid life. Of course he couldn’t find out when she lifted a toy spaceship. No, my boyfriend, that I promised to—to tell things—finds out El can move stuff with her mind when she explodes something four feet away and threatens to drop a house on his dad. “Babe,” he tried, turning to Billy. “Hey, dickhead, cupcake.”

Billy was staring at El—or past her, it was hard to tell. His hands were shaking. “You knew about this,” he whispered. “You—you said you wanted me safe, and then you sent me out with a—a fucking dark jedi. Lucky she didn’t explode my skull when I kicked Max under the table. Holy crap.”

“Shit, no, she—she wouldn’t hurt you,” Steve stared at him, then Eleven, who was watching Max take deep, shaky breaths.

“No wonder you wanted to check me over,” Billy whispered, sitting down on one of the chairs he’d been using as a sawhorse. “After you made me take them for waffles. How’d Billy do? She explode my brain?”

“No, no—” Steve argued, his stomach clenching as he remembered fearing exactly that, when Eleven climbed into Billy’s car while Dustin and Max drug him into a classroom for their intervention. He reached out, and Billy flinched, then laughed, baring his teeth.

“Any other big secrets, Steve?”

“No,” Steve shook his head frantically, hoping there weren’t. He couldn’t think of any, but then he’d never even thought to pull Eleven aside, and ask whether he could tell Billy. Some of the vinyl was melted to the floor, and Steve kicked at it.

“Do you want me to come home with you?” Eleven asked Max, and Steve tried to put Billy on hold with his hand and derail that situation.

“Wait, no, Eleven,” he called over. “Remember, I mean, you can’t—nobody can see your powers,” he said, wincing as Billy scrambled away. “They could take you away from Hopper, nobody can—”

She nodded. “It would look like an accident.”

Billy staggered over to sit down against the racks holding Steve’s backstock of marshmallows. “Holy hell fucking balls shit,” he mumbled, taking deep breaths in his steepled hands.

“I still need a ride home,” Max said grimly, and El nodded, taking a deep breath.

“Wait, wait, wait, no,” Steve dropped the broom, waving his hands. “Do you—do you really think you need to do anything, like, tonight?”

“He’s gonna hurt my mom, Steve,” Max hissed, and El nodded, crossing her arms.

“Whoa, whoa,” Steve waved his hands, glancing at Billy. “I mean, hell with Neil Hargrove, but come up with a plan. What if he tells someone about El? Talk to Hopper, think up—come up with a way that doesn’t—I mean, save Max’s mom, but make sure everybody’s safe, okay.”

“Everybody except him,” Max growled.

El considered Steve for a long moment, then nodded. “I will help you,” she told Max, nodding firmly.

“Jesus fucking christ hell,” Billy muttered, shoving past Max and out of the garage. His feet pounded up the stairs.

“I need to go home,” Max told Steve. “I need to tell her.”

“She’s still at work, isn’t she?! Don’t do anything,” Steve ordered the two girls. “Anything, I mean it. I have to—Billy didn’t know, I need to go and—”

“He didn’t know?” El asked, blinking from Steve, to Max, to the ceiling. “Why? You didn’t want Billy to know?”

“I didn’t know if you’d want him to know!” Steve told her, trying not to yell. “Now he’s pissed as hell, I have to go talk to him, just—El. Tell me you’d never hurt Billy. You wouldn’t hurt him.”

Eleven cocked her head, turning to Max. “...what did Billy do?” she asked, and Max gulped a laugh, shaking her head.

“Shit,” Steve rubbed his face. “I have to go talk to him, don’t do anything—”

Max sniffled, rubbing her nose. “You better gimme a ride by five, okay. I—I’ll just have El sh-show me how to use all the power tools. Practice for cutting his head off . Unsupervised with the power tools,” she emphasized casually, like a jackass, and Steve yelled incoherently and ran upstairs. As he turned onto the landing, he heard the slide lock on Billy's door catch, and stopped, one foot still in the air. Gravity happened, and he flailed his arms, put both feet on the ground, and turned to lean over the railing, leaning his face in his hands.

“The hell are you doing, Harrington,” Billy’s voice came through the door.

“What?!” Steve yelped, spinning in place. “Nothing! I forgot. I’m sorry.”

“I could hear you chasing me,” Billy said through the door, sounding amused, in the way he did before he set something on fire. “And the floor is creaking. What now, Harrington?”

“Uh,” Steve mumbled, grimacing. “You want me to fuck off?”

He could hear Billy take a long breath, and blow air out through his cheeks. “...what do you want?”

“I just—” Steve swallowed, dropping to sit on the floor. He took a deep breath to continue. “I just—I’m—shit. I’m so sorry, jesus. I’m—I can’t—I can’t believe I didn’t ask Eleven if I could tell you. I got...I forgot I didn’t tell you everything.”

“All your little shitheads got superpowers?” Billy asked, laughing. “Yeah. That actually snaps a lot of shit into place, Steve.” Steve flinched at his name, and wondered why, swallowing again.

“No,” he answered. “No, it’s, um, it’s just El. She’s, uh. Eleven’s what the lab was making,” Steve told him, dropping to press his cheek to the floor, and sigh under the door at Billy’s bare toes clenched in in the carpet. “I didn’t—I mean, it wasn’t my secret. We got talked to by the FBI, she—she could get taken away from Hopper, they—”

“Don’t give me that shit,” Billy said, dropping to sit crosslegged. His fingers drummed against the carpet. “Who the hell would I tell. You told me about the—about the goddamn blue bodybuilder bananas. I can—I can still smell the burning records, Steve.”

“El hurting you wasn’t—it wasn’t a plan,” Steve growled, trying not to yell. “You think—you think I’d get you away from your dad and just—just throw you—why would I want you to scare a little kid until she killed you, Hargrove, hon—honey mustard. Jesus.”

Through the gap in the door, Steve could see Billy picking at the carpet, and twitching his toes. “...just might blow up my head if I, like, took her by surprise.”

“She wouldn’t kill you for startling her,” Steve said, rolling his eyes, then bit his lips as he remembered Dustin talking about El straight-up murdering the people with guns. “She, uh, she’s never hurt anyone...accidentally, um, I don’t think.”

“You don’t think,” Billy laughed. “I’m filled with confidence.”

“I’m sorry, christ,” Steve whispered. “I didn’t even—”

“Don’t get pissed at me—” Billy’s voice cracked, and he kicked the door.

“No, I’m not—” Steve rolled onto his back staring at the ceiling. “Christ. I didn’t...I’m not—I did, I thought about it, I—I should’ve warned you. Kept you away from her. Sorry I—sorry I didn’t—sorry I suck,” he groaned into his hands. “Damn it.”

The floor creaked, and Billy’s voice got louder. “God, I’m such a moron,” Billy told Steve, the floor creaking by his door. “All this time, I thought—you didn’t trust me at all, did you. Never forgot I was Billy Fucking Hargrove for a second. You just knew little Ellie Hopper didn’t have to tell her sheriff dad I needed putting down. She didn’t need help from anybody, she could twist my head off my goddamn neck, right? I step out of line, she’d take care of it, right, Steve?”

“Sorry,” Steve said again. “I, um.”

“That’s why you’d let me take Max and her for waffles, right, but the second Will shows up you start acting like I’m—I’m the Zodiac killer, christ. Screw you.”

“I didn’t—you’re nice to El, there was no—”

“Why the fuck have you been pretending to give a shit about me,” Billy yelled through the door. It shuddered with a loud THUD on the other side, then creaked in its frame as Billy’s voice dropped to almost a whisper. “You knew—you knew she could do that. You knew she’d—do that—for Max, you—you knew—” Steve was silent, grimacing, and wondering what he could say. He jumped as the door thumped again in its frame, and Billy snarled, “Did you fucking leave.”

“No! I’m—I’m sorry,” Steve told him, scooting closer. “I-I’m here, I didn’t—you just, uh, you locked the door.”

“Like you couldn’t bust this shitty lock off in a second. Like Eleven couldn’t rip it off its hinges, right? Make me fucking bleed from—from the eyes probably,” his voice shook with anger, fear, or a combination of both, and Steve didn’t point out the door wouldn’t protect him.

“What? No, you—you locked the door,” Steve flailed at it. “If you want me in there, you gotta open it up, I—I’m not gonna break your door down, I’m not—I’m not the fucking trespasser here—I didn’t mean that to—shit, forget I said that, don’t leave, I’m talking bullshit, tell—tell me what to do, Hargrove. Kings have—they have advisors, or something, right, tell me—”

“Advisors get all the goddamn information,” Billy hissed back.

“I’m sorry,” Steve said again, groaning. “I’m so fucking sorry, I should—I should have known you—”

“Known I’d what, fly off the fucking handle?” The door thudded in its frame again, and Steve flinched back. “Right,” Billy whispered, “—I’m crazy, aren’t I, I’m acting insane right now, my brain doesn’t fucking work, I’m stupid, I’m losing my shit over nothing—” Billy’s laugh was wetter than Max’s.

“No!” Steve squirmed across the floor, closer to Billy’s locked door. “No, not—no, you’re—”

“Am I nuts?” Billy asked, his voice shaking. “Your royal majesty,” he laughed. “G-go on. Tell me to shut up and open the door. Wasn’t to lock you out, right? It’s not for that, that’s not—that’s not what you said to do—”

The lock clicked, like he had his hand on it, and Steve scrabbled at his hair. “N-no, wait, wait. Hargrove. Wait, I don’t—it’s—it’s your room, you can lock the door, you can lock it, it’s—it’s okay, you can lock the door—”

“Yell at me some more,” Billy said, laughing unsteadily. “I’ll open it. I’m opening it, jesus. Tell me I’m fucking nuts. Tell me to open up, King Harrington. I know I’m the asshole, I’m wrong, right? I’m—I’m wrong, somehow. Harrington,” he whispered, “—you—you keep—you go through so much shit for me, this is—this is my fault, right, you wouldn’t—”

“No, no, wait, Hargrove, listen—” Steve caught his breath as he recognized the metallic scrape of the lock sliding open. “Stop—”

A loud thump rattled the door in its frame. “It wasn’t even a big deal, right, I am, I’m acting insane. Jesus, I’m so dumb sometimes, I’m fucking crazy— I don’t know what to—let’s forget it,” Billy said thickly, turning the doorknob enough to click it unlocked. “Sorry,” he gritted out. “Y-you can come in if you want. We can—”

“No! No, no, no,” Steve yelped, scrambling to lie on his stomach on the floor, and slide his fingers under the door. He held it shut. He stared under the gap at Billy’s feet. “No! Be—don’t try and—babe—shit—you’re mad, you should be mad! You should be pissed, okay, be pissed, be—be fucking pissed as hell—okay—”

Billy was quiet for several seconds. “...okay,” he repeated softly, sniffling. “Whatcha doing, Harrington...you trying to fit under the door?”

“Fuck you, just—just—lock the door,” Steve told him. “Lock the door, babe. Don’t unlock the door until you wanna let me in, okay. Knight. Remember you’re pissed at me. I’m bullshit sometimes, okay. You’re pissed off.”

“Royal command,” Billy whispered, dropping so he was lying on the floor, one eye facing Steve through the gap underneath.

“You’re supposed to be mad,” Steve said again, and Billy laughed, a tear running out the side of his eye and dropping into the carpet. Steve scrambled for words. “I didn’t mean—I didn’t think—”

“I mean. You usually don’t,” Billy laughed hoarsely, and Steve wedged more of himself under the door, ignoring it scraping what felt like half the skin off his wrists, to brush the tips of his fingers against Billy’s toes. Billy jerked away, then grabbed Steve’s fingers in his cold, sweaty ones.

“No, I mean it, I’m a moron,” Steve hissed, pissed at himself, even if Billy wasn’t. “I know—with my bat,” Steve pointed at Billy under the door, and Billy laughed again. Steve squinted with concentration. “You had to—you had to know all about the bat, so you could figure out whether you were safe. I couldn’t just say you were safe. I had to tell you everything about the bat, so—so you could—decide.”

“Except about El,” Billy said, and Steve swallowed.

“Except about El,” he agreed, sighing. “I—I almost did, I—you asked if I was gonna lie, she’s—it’s a big secret—I-I’m sor—I’m so sorry. Honey-mustard. Hargrove. I’m—I’m so fucking sorry. I just—there was a lot happening, and—I should have made sure you were okay. First. First before anything.”

After what felt like a long silence, when Steve was starting to tense up again, Billy whispered, “You—you said you fucking forgot.” He rolled onto his back, shaking with laughter. “Did you seriously just— completely forget to tell me. Harrington. You did, didn’t you.”

“No! No, kind of,” Steve groaned again, into his arms, catching Billy’s half-hysterical snickering. “I thought—I mean, I freaked out that first time, when Dustin drug me off and you drove off with El in your car, but then—I mean, you were okay, nothing happened! I’m a fucking moron—”

“You’re so dumb,” Billy whispered, grinning under the door. “Holy shit. How could you—okay, I-I’ll open the door. I’m opening the door.”

“You don’t have to,” Steve told him, grimacing.

“Can’t lock you out in your own house,” Billy said, sounding weirdly flat. “S’not what that lock’s for, is it. It’s not—it’s not to st—” he took a shaky breath, swallowing. “It’s not to stop you,” he whispered, his fingers shaking in Steve’s.

“It’ll work!” Steve yelped. “It’ll stop me, it’s a sturdy door, right? The lock’s little but um, it’s uh, it’s latched! You’re safe from me in there!”

“Harrington, what are you gonna do when I open this door,” Billy asked, and Steve had the horrifying suspicion he was crying. “I won’t lock it again, I swear, jesus, please,” he mumbled, his words hitching, and Steve squeezed his hands harder.

“I—” Steve fumbled his words, trying to think of a way to prove he wasn’t angry, while also wanting to burn Neil Hargrove at the stake. “I’m not mad,” he said, trying to keep his voice soft. “I’m not mad, baby, you can lock the door, you can lock me out anytime—” He’d lost Billy for a while again, he realized, listening to the nonsensical mumbles and apologies on the other side of the door, and running his thumbs over Billy’s clenched fingers, so he just kept saying it was okay, and he wasn’t mad.

After what felt like the longest eleven minutes of Steve’s life—as he talked, he was staring at the watch on his wrist, wedged half under the door—Billy took a long shuddering breath.

“You back with me, Hargrove?” Steve whispered, his throat raw.

“...think so,” Billy whispered back. “I was...I was gonna open the door,” he said. “I won’t lock it again,” he promised, and Steve gave his now well-practiced speech.

“You can lock that door anytime,” he told Billy. “You can lock it for no reason, okay. I won’t be mad, you can lock your door.”

“I’m allowed to be crazy,” Billy laughed uncertainly.

“I don’t know if it’s crazy,” Steve told him, frowning under the door, but deciding not to bring up Neil Hargrove. “But you can lock the door, people lock doors, that’s what locks are for, dick—honey,” he said, changing his insult at the last minute, and ignoring Billy’s snickers and whispers of “Dick honey! I’m your dick honey.” “Billy Hargrove,” Steve whispered. “You can lock me out, I still love you—”

Billy choked, curling up on the floor around Steve’s fingers. “...okay.”

“Love you so much,” Steve told him, ignoring the heat in his cheeks. “Love works through doors, okay, I can wait ‘til you come out, jesus. It’s fine.”

“You’re such an asshole,” Billy laughed, crying. “Fuck you, stop making me—bawl, okay, jesus, you prick, christ. Fucking... hate how much I love you.”

“Yeah, I know,” Steve laughed, his eyes tearing up with relief, and the pain of his scraped knuckles wedged under the door.

“You’re really not pissed I locked you out,” Billy asked again, trying to sound casual.

“I showed you that lock,” Steve told him, trying not to sound pissed.

“Yeah, because—for if—if he comes, you wanna rescue me,” Billy laughed. “Protect what’s yours. Not supposed to lock you out.”

Feeling the exhaustion of another trip around the monopoly board, without passing Go, and without collecting $200, Steve closed his eyes and tried not to groan. “You can lock this door whenever you want,” he said for what sounded like the ninetieth time.

“Yeah,” Billy breathed, and they lay there, on opposite sides of the door, for nearly another five minutes. “...you pretending not to be pissed,” Billy hissed finally. “You—are you—I’ll open up and you’ll be mad as hell, you—you’ll—” he trailed off into sharp breaths, and Steve tried to squirm closer.

“Not gonna lie to you,” he said, and felt Billy’s fingers twitch. “I’m not, honey-mustard, I’ll tell you if I’m mad.” Billy took another long shaky breath, and Steve screwed his face up in thought, kicking his feet so they thudded lightly against the railing of the stairs. “...look, I could open the door,” he whispered, and Billy was silent. “You already unlocked it,” Steve reminded him. “All I’d have to do is turn the knob. But—”

“But what?” Billy asked.

“I don’t think you’re ready yet,” Steve told him. “I’m gonna let you open your door, okay?”

“God, I’m so crazy,” Billy sighed, muffled by the carpet.

“I think you’re just, y’know,” Steve flunked talking as usual, “—you think, um, you think stuff will happen that maybe...happened before. That’s, uh, that’s smart, actually. That’s smart.”

“I should trust you,” Billy groaned. “Shit.”

“I mean, I guess,” Steve made a face. “I just kind of...fucked up. Big. I didn’t—you have to be careful, I mean, you—” he groaned too, trying to fit the words together.

“Not with you,” Billy argued.

“No, with—with me, too, you have to be careful, you’re really important,” Steve huffed, his hackles rising as Billy started laughing again on the other side of the door. “You are! Steve hissed. “You’re so important, you’re the most important, and I’m really—I’m so shitty at this, you have to—you have to help me—”

“Oh my god,” Billy wheezed, and Steve opened his mouth to keep arguing, then blinked as Billy reached out to push Steve’s pointer finger back under the door.

“This lil’ piggy’s gonna get stomped, Harrington,” Billy whispered through the gap, and Steve snickered as Billy’s fingers lifted each of his and prodded them under the door, then stuck his own middle fingers under at Steve.

Steve laughed and rubbed his wrists, rolling onto his back.

Billy’s face disappeared from the gap, replaced by his hand, then his foot, and the sound of a door opening across carpet.

Steve pushed himself to his feet, and then got an armful of Billy Hargrove, breathing unsteadily against his shoulder, and yanking at the fly of his pants.

“Fucking moron,” Bily whispered, trying to unbutton Steve’s jeans as Steve tried to push his hands away.

“Max—Max and El,” he gasped. “They’re right downstairs, we can’t—”

“Sure we can,” Billy whispered against his mouth, and Steve grabbed his hands.

“Okay, but I’m the one apologizing, right,” Steve changed tactics, trying not to grin. “You didn’t screw up. I screwed up.” Billy’s eyes narrowed, then widened as Steve grabbed him by the fly, whispering. “Lemme choke on your dick.” As he’d expected, Billy froze, frowning at him, and Steve seized the opportunity to squeeze him until his bones creaked.

“Not sure how much you’re gonna like that when you’re sober,” Billy hissed in his ear, rocking their hips together.

With the hot pressure on his dick, Steve couldn’t think of an argument other than the truth. “I was,” he whispered, sliding a hand under Billy’s sweatshirt and up his warm side, feeling his muscles work. “I was—I was sober, cake, um, cake pie. I dumped the whiskey out. Didn’t drink it.”

“What,” Billy asked hoarsely.

“Sorry I lied,” Steve buried his face in Billy’s neck, dragging messy kisses over his collarbones. “Shouldn’t lie to you, I mean it, I—I’ll stop, but—but I knew you were freaked, didn’t wanna—didn’t wanna do some dumb drunk thing—” he bit gently under Billy’s jaw, and felt him shudder.

“You goddamn liar,” Billy breathed, grabbing the ass of Steve’s jeans with both hands.

“Sorry for that too,” Steve whispered, and Billy groaned melodramatically in his ear. “Am I out of the doghouse?” Steve asked, and Billy snorted.

“No, you are not,” Billy said, his gaze flicking uncertainly over Steve’s face. “I’m gonna make you work for it—”

“Oh, I can work for it,” Steve told him, his grin way too wide, he suspected, to look seductive at all.

“What the hell are you two doing up there?!” Max yelled, and they both started.

“Okay,” Steve said, tucking his laugh against Billy’s neck. “I’m gonna suck your dick. With feeblings.”

“Jesus christ,” Billy muttered back, relaxing against him. “Just a minute,” he shouted downstairs, and Max stomped away. “...El might actually come up and ask what we’re doing in a minute,” he groaned, sliding his arms around Steve’s waist to sway together, and muttering a string of profanity into his shoulder.

Steve rubbed his back, trying to remember the intense cold-shower effect El had had on his half-chub earlier, when she’d stomped into the locker room wanting Billy to teach Max to use tools. The idea of her throwing the bedroom door open as Steve tried to negotiate his first real blowjob didn’t sound appealing.

After standing there a while, Steve’s adrenaline bubble started merging with the relief of Billy choosing to trust him after he’d fucked up again, and he wanted to move— run, or dance Billy around, or carry him somewhere, listening to him yell, and kissing his hot blushing face. “Later tonight. I got blowjob tips from Nancy. But we should probably go back downstairs,” he whispered, rubbing his thumb across Billy’s tear-sticky cheek.

“Holy jesus. Is that—is that what you were talking about? Giving blowjobs?” Billy asked, his laugh warming Steve’s neck.

“Sort of,” Steve hedged, wishing Nancy hadn’t wanted him to keep secrets. “She decided to start telling me all the weird shit she used to tell Barb, and I’m not supposed to tell anybody, and—” he remembered Nancy shaking with laughter over Jonathan’s sex habits, and tried to smother his vindictive glee, “—I really, really want to tell you Nancy’s secrets, I swear.”

“Why the hell would I want to know any of that,” Billy slumped against him with a contented sigh.

“It’s hilarious,” Steve hissed. “Being friends with a girl is annoying.”

“You poor baby,” Billy snorted.

“She wants to check in all the time! She likes you,” Steve said, remembering abruptly, and Billy burst into a fit of snickering against his neck.

“She does, huh.”

“She does! She said you were all freaked out when I ran out of the library.”

“...Harrington,” Billy said, pulling back to narrow his eyes at Steve’s face. “I—”

“We should probably go downstairs,” Steve interrupted, his face heating as he remembered Billy knew he’d run off to cry. Like the five-year-old birthday boy, he thought, with a self-directed smirk, when he realizes everybody in the class just came because he’s got a pool. “Sorry I was acting like—an idiot. More of an idiot,” Steve shrugged. “We should go down.”

Billy opened his mouth, closed it, then pulled Steve’s face into a kiss that was warm and salty with tears. After a few seconds of hot breath and slick tongue that left Steve harder in his pants than ever, his sweaty hands clutching at Billy’s biceps, Billy pulled back. “You saying I should stop hiding from a little girl,” he asked, grinning, and Steve swallowed a couple times, gathering himself to speak.

“El’s pretty scary,” Steve rasped, “—they’re gonna start using the chainsaw or something, though—”

“You have a chainsaw?” Billy interrupted.

“Maybe?!” Steve stepped back to throw his hands in the air. “I didn’t know we had a circular saw!”

“We need a ride,” El’s voice carried up the stairs.

“Are your—” parents? Steve thought, and stalled out, “—are your uh, your adults even off work yet? Thought you were helping Billy fix my door,” Steve called back, leaning over the railing to look downstairs, and reaching back to squeeze Billy’s hand.

“...we should finish that first,” El said, after a second, and Billy turned him around and leaned in for one more kiss before squeezing his hand back and pulling away to jog down the stairs after Eleven.

Max was waiting at the foot of the stairs when Steve came down. She looked him up and down, then rolled her eyes, her shoulders lowering a little from their angry hunch.

“Hey, Max, uh,” Steve said, then stopped, thinking.

“What, did you run out of batteries?” she asked dryly.

“No, shut up. You know—you can still bring your mom here, if you need to, ever. Or call us, if you need help. We can—we can come pick you up, you and her. Anytime.”

“...Billy gonna second that?” she asked, and Steve considered.

“Yeah. Yeah, he said he’d help me out if my kids needed it. He offered. I mean, he might not stand between you and his dad—”

“No, he’s—he’s done that. Done something just as—just as I was—got himself hit.”

“...that’s…” Steve trailed off, unable to say it was good, Billy getting himself hurt.

“Weird is what that was, because usually he’s a total shithead,” Max hissed. “Which I didn’t tell El. And I won’t—” She stopped.

Because he’s your brother, Steve thought, then wondered whether it was just basic decency in Max, not wanting to hurt anyone if she could help it. Anyone but monsters, like Neil Hargrove.

“...El wants you both to come to the Byers’ for waffles,” she reported, sighing. “Soon. Every damn time anybody’s upset she wants waffles.”

“D’you want him there?” Steve asked, suspecting she didn’t.

“I don’t care,” Max sighed, setting her jaw, and frowning towards the garage. “If he keeps acting like a goddamn human being instead of an asshole. I think El wants to ask him about his mom.”

That will go great, Steve thought, wincing.

“Guess I better help them fix the door,” Max said, unmoving.

“You didn’t break it,” Steve told her, wandering over to the hot chocolate cupboard.

“I wanted to see his photo albums. Check his story, you know, so I lied,” she said, “...kind of.”

“You...lied,” he glanced back, eyebrows raised, before realizing he needed to get more marshmallows out of the garage, which would mean walking out on Max wanting to talk, which...didn’t seem like the right thing to do. He sighed.

“He won’t let me take shop. I signed up for shop and now I’m in home economics,” Max groaned, and Steve rewound the sentence in his head and substituted Neil in for he . “I told El, and said I wanted to talk to Billy, and she said Billy takes shop, since he’s a boy— and next thing I know, he’s waiting for us in your car after school. Trying to tell me how to use a saw. Billy fucking Hargrove, Shop Teacher—and of course Eleven’s having fun.” She squinted towards the garage. “I just wanted to see that photo album.”

“...want some hot chocolate?” Steve asked, feeling a keen empathy for El, and her urge to stuff waffles in the face of anyone having a problem.

“No,” Max said, burying her face in her arms. “Yeah. Damn it. Do I have to—I have to stop hating him now?! Just like that?” She snapped in the air, growling. “Because that asshole’s been beating his face in since he was like—” she held her hand flat a couple feet from the floor, glaring at Steve. “—that high? How come my mom had to fall for him. How come he can’t die of a heart attack. HEY MISTER GOD, THIS IS MAX,” she yelled suddenly, at the ceiling. “FIX YOUR SHIT.”

Steve was cracking up, leaning against the cupboard. “You tell him,” he held up a mug in a toast, and Max snorted.

“Listen to him in there,” she said, glaring at the table, and Steve leaned to listen to Billy laughing, and explaining something about the latch. “Being some rad older brother. You know, that’s what I thought I was getting. Will Byers loves him, musta asked me to invite him like twelve times. He got a cat out of a fucking tree, Steve, did he get brain trauma on your watch?!”

Steve thought about how tense Billy’d been, the afternoon Max had come over to learn to bake bread. Neil hadn’t helped, that morning, or calling that night, but Billy’d been a mass of barbed wire all afternoon.

“You finding the meaning of life in that cocoa mix?” Max asked, and Steve jumped, realizing he was staring into the jar.

“Yeah, kinda,” he leaned to look deeper, humming exaggerated noises like a Muppet, and she snorted, watching him spoon mix into mugs. “Nah. I, uh, I think he...I think maybe you make him nervous.”

“I make him nervous?!” Max smacked her hands on the table. “I make him nervous?! What in the hell kind of—”

“No, shush, I just mean—like I remember the floaty thingies, in the tunnels, you know,” he told her, waggling his fingers to indicate the wispy substance that had clogged their lungs, and ignoring Max biting back a grin. “In the snow, I—I can freak out a little. It’s not—it’s not the snow’s fault, snow never ate my friends—” Max snorted another laugh, but she was listening. “You haven’t...done anything, but you were—you were there, while things were happening, I think—”

“I remind him of home,” she said, chewing her lip. “Maybe. Gross.”

“Maybe,” he shrugged, but when he glanced over again, she looked like she was thinking hard.

“He could still not be a dipshit,” she muttered at her mug, and Steve nodded, sighing.

“You—you can bring him for waffles,” she decided. “Will can just have him, I don’t care. He can be Will and Eleven’s brother, I don’t give a shit.”

Steve opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. “I’m, uh, I’m pretty good at. Things.”

“Not English, apparently,” Max narrowed her eyes. “The hell does that mean?”

“Nothing,” he shrugged, turning back to turn off the kettle, and add the hot water to their mugs.

“You really want to be my brother?” she asked, sounding amused, and he turned to glare, but her eyes were kinda wider than her usual wary glower. “I mean, you—you said that, when you—when you wanted me to get him out of the house, but—”

“I’d be better at it than Billy,” he pointed out, and she tried to talk and laugh at the same time, and choked.

“Yeah,” she laughed, wiping her eyes. “Yeah, uh, you—you really would. Uh. I dunno. Do I really need a brother, right, I mean. I, um. I have some—friends. Now.”

“If you need one,” he said, keeping his tone cheerful, and ignoring her red face as she groaned into her sleeves. “Or just, y’know, want one. I can put Dustin down as a reference.” He turned back to the hot chocolate.

He gave Max the rest of the marshmallows, and sat her mug in front of her, watching her eyes well up as she looked at the little Garfield cartoon about spiders on the mug.

“Thanks, Steve,” she rasped, and he clinked their mugs together.

[fitzcarmichael]

[ ROSS LYNCH. CIS MALE. HE/HIM. ] [ FITZGERALD “FITZ” CARMICHAEL ] is a [ TWENTY-TWO ] year old [ LIFEGUARD ] at camp reviere. [ HE ] makes me think of [ BLACKED OUT FACES ON A FAMILY PORTRAIT, NEVER BEING ABLE TO WIPE THE RED OF BLOOD OFF YOUR HANDS, THE STARS ALIGNED AGAINST YOU, AND TRYING TO PUT SOMETHING BACK TOGETHER ]. their favorite horror movie is [ THE TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE ] and they remind me of [ MICHAEL AFTON ]. [ filene. 19. pst. she/her. ]

i know i said the last one was the last one but i swear this one is the actual last one,,,i think BUT ANYWAY HOPEFULLY BY NOW YOU GET THE GIST OF THINGS  also this is really bad my apologies THIS IS MY FOURTH ONE MY BRAIN IS BROKEN

trigger warnings: death, murder, this is my most dark one there’s a lot of death so !! watch out

coming from an affluent family, a young fitz always thought he had a good life, he was even a little spoiled. his father was a businessman, a good one too, always having a finger in any big business in their area and doing his part behind the scenes. they weren’t a household name or someone you’d immediately recognize as the carmichael family, but they were more well off than you’d expect.

 a child you never really care to know the details of your parents work, just that they go off to do it and not to bother them if they had to bring any home, you just minded your business and do whatever it was that kept you entertained as a child. his father was always working, but nonetheless they were a perfect nuclear family. his father in his designer suits, his mother a housewife straight out of the 50′s, and he was the eldest of two boys. they were picture perfect, everything the american family could be.

he was a spoiled kid, a brat and a bully even, especially to his younger brother. always giving him wedgies, taking his toys and putting them up in places he couldn’t reach, watching as he tried to reach it and never could, getting all his friends together to scare his brother until he cried. it was all fun and games, the regular cruelty an older sibling played on their younger brother. until it went to far.

he didn’t mean it, it was all for fun, it was all a joke, him and his friends wearing halloween masks as they babysat one night and chased him around the house. they turned all the lights off, kept it pitch black, really wanting to scare him. it worked, in the darkness they could hear his brothers sobs amongst their laughter, waiting to take the masks off and put him to bed after what they considered a prank. there was no accounting for him getting so scared he opened the door and ran into the street for help, no accounting for the car speeding through their neighborhood not expecting a little boy to run right in front of it.

fitz and his friends were stunned, frozen, he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. his friends had to run inside, call the police and call their parents, shaking him as he stood there and stared, screaming at him to call his parents to get home now. none of it felt real, he doesn’t even remember making the call, doesn’t even remember everyone’s reaction when the ambulance came too late. he just remembers waking up and being an only child and being told it was his fault.

their family was in disarray, his father throwing himself further in his work and his mother throwing herself further away from the family. she could hardly stand to look at fitz now, and fitz couldn’t even tell if this behavior was odd from his father or if this is how he always was. he never paid much attention before but he did now, and he couldn’t even tell if this effected him at all.

a year later his mother left them, and their once perfect family was truly broken apart, an empty house with him and his father and fitz just a shell of his former self. he didn’t know where to go from here, what to do or how to act, still stunned by everything that had happened. his father was no help, more like a faceless entity in a designer suit, sitting with him for dinner and placing a hard hand on his shoulder as he left, and fitz didn’t know if that was his way of showing affection or a silent way to put him in his place. maybe it was both. but fitz was quickly learning that the man he shared a bloodline and a house with was a stranger to him.

still, they went on with life like they had to, fitz went to school and grew up always having that guilt over his head, always being known as the boy who caused his brother to die. he became a bit of a loner, wallowing in his emotions and self pity, preferring to spend his nights alone in his cold house.

he grew more suspicious of his father, the late night phone calls he’d make with his office doors locked, his apprehension and denial whenever fitz asked to learn more about his business. he always told him he’d tell him more one day, when he was ready to learn more about what it took to be a real businessman. still, none of that felt genuine, because he didn’t understand what would be so hard for him to understand of owning a convenience store chain amongst the other shops in their town. 

there was something off, he just knew it, and he found out soon enough. his father always disappeared late at night, past any hours any actual business would need any worker for, and fitz was tired of his lies. so he followed him, and when he found out the truth he wished he had kept living in ignorance. 

his father was not a good man, not at all. when he found him he couldn’t hide, not with his shock and disgust, and that moment was the most his father had truly spoken to him and shown actual emotion. his bloody hand resting on fitz’s cheek, telling him “we’re the same, we’ve both done this” and “everything i’ve done has been for you”.

fitz ran, he ran as far as he could straight home. yet again he was shocked, stunned, he couldn’t think or move or do anything. he knew he should call, call 911, do something but he couldn’t do anything. he went to bed and told himself he would in the morning, his brain still not letting him process it all. by the time he woke up his fathers stuff was gone and he knew he was an idiot for not doing anything, for being such a coward. his father was a smart man too, he knew how to get away with something, he knew how to win.

fitz knew the only way to fix this was to do it himself, so he dropped everything and dedicated his life to finding his father. that’s what lead him to camp reverie, he had a percentage in owning it despite not having much to actually do with it, but this was the last place on his long list to go to in hopes of finding something to track his father.

personality & hc’s:

like i said before he’s kind of a loner, but more so in the way he puts that on himself. he’s scared of getting close to people and getting hurt, but he doesn’t completely lack social skills and if someone is nice to him he’ll be nice right back.

he never really cared or wanted to take over after his father, more of a lowkey “fuck the system” type.

he smokes cigarettes way too much, evident by his hollowed out cheeks. he’s also the guy who despite being on a mission brought a shit ton of alcohol and weed. i mean, it helps to get information when someones under the influence.

he’s totally that guy who got high alone in his room every night of high school that’s not much of a headcanon i just have to say that.

wc’s:

fwb or a random hookup

more as a slow burn but someone who eventually becomes his confidant and ally THOUGH IT WOULD BE REALLY HARD FOR HIM TO OPEN UP

i never really had a set place for where he grew up (not in st. genevieve tho) so potentially someone he knows or grew up with or met SOMEHOW

[travllingbunny]

The 100 rewatch: 1x09 Unity Day

This episode was never one of my favorites, but I didn’t dislike it first time around, so I was surprised to which extent I did this time. It’s an important episode that moves the plot along in crucial ways both on the Ark and on the ground, but it has so many of the things I disliked in season 1 (the Jaha/Diana plot – which reaches its climax and ends with this episode, Finn the peacemaker, and the first appearance of Anya – always one of my least favorite characters, who starts the tradition of Grounders being extremely hypocritical in their interactions with the Arkers) or that I’m indifferent to (the very rushed Linctavia romance - the Romeo and Juliet “we just met and we’re already in love” type romance was never my thing, I just don’t find it relatable).

Rating: 6/10

The scenes I liked the best were just the little moments of the Delinquents having fun during the Unity Day celebration. And I don’t mean just the scene where Clarke and Bellamy spend a few minutes eye fucking flirting totally platonically interacting, but also Clarke having fun with a couple of random Delinquents (Fox and Sterling, who are both introduced here) and the start of Jasper’s and Raven’s friendship and him telling her that she now kind of has a family with the Delinquents. And I liked Miller’s snarky remark while watching Jaha’s speech, that he can now try to take credit after the 100 have done the toughest job.

This was the first time we got the backstory of the 12 stations joining, and the unofficial fact that the 13th station was blown up, which the show explored more in S3.

It’s also the first time we hear the “…May we meet again” prayer for the dying, when Kane says it to his mother.

At least the Diana/Jaha conflict is finally over. This is how not to do moral greyness: instead of having sympathy for both sides, I disliked both sides equally, which results in indifference. Diana’s political stance is supposed to be about protecting the working class, but it’s kinda hard to trust that when all her people did in the previous episodes was manipulate one member of the Ark’s working class to do their dirty job and assassinate Jaha and then another one to try to kill the former one. And here they stage a terrorist attack and fail to kill Jaha, again (this guy survived probably more near-deaths during the show than anyone else), but blow up a bunch of innocent people, including children.  And on the other side you have Jaha, with all his oppression, executions and constant lies. But I guess this show loves the “people being total a-holes and destroying everything” plots, like this one.

Something that I always disliked but couldn't put my finger on why, but now I know: Finn’s new role as a peacemaker is just Finn doing Finn things again: he is saying so many things that sound right (peace, we should all get along, stop the cycle of violence etc.) but the way he goes about it is so frustrating and stupid, it’s basically “How not to do pacifism”. 

First, he goes to talk to Lincoln on his own and suggests negotiations – nice, but Lincoln tells him straight up that he has no power to negotiate a truce, and Finn is like “Find someone who can”. What makes him think any of the Grounder leaders will listen to Lincoln? He knows nothing about the Grounder society, so it’s dumb to assume they don’t have a strict hierarchy and act the same as an informal group like the 100. He assumes the thing is already as good as agreed on and that everyone will do exactly as he wants them to, including the Grounders not bringing any weapons, because he said so. Then he tells that to Clarke alone – Lincoln identified her as the leader of the 100; I wonder what Finn would’ve done if Lincoln had thought Bellamy was the leader – and brings it all to her as a done deal, telling her to do as he says, insisting that there should be no weapons, and silencing any arguments to the contrary. 

First off, this is really stupid: there’s nothing unusual about bringing guards to peace negotiations, in fact, I’m pretty sure that’s what leaders always do – and of course the Grounders are going to bring armed guards and backup to the meeting. This shouldn’t have been a surprise. Secondly, how presumptuous is he? Now that I’ve seen S2, everything Finn does looks like an attempt to be a hero and to prove himself as a hero to Clarke specifically and to have her need him, like Raven did on the Ark. 

Clarke, on her part, obviously thinks to herself – the same as she later does during the conversation with Anya – “there’s no use arguing with someone so unreasonable”, and you can see her starting to learn to be sneaky to get things done. So she goes to Bellamy for armed backup, of course. Later, Finn is surprised that, oh look, the Grounder “leader” is coming with armed guards (duh) and is clearly upset when Anya tells Clarke to come to talk to her on the middle of the bridge by herself, not letting Finn come with her. He lost the opportunity to be her knight protector. How do you think you can protect her, Finn, when you didn’t bring any weapons? In fact, not only does Anya come with armed guards, but she has a knife herself, and archers hidden in the trees nearby, including one ready to shoot Clarke any moment. 

Bellamy made a mistake bringing Jasper, the guy who was speared by the Grounders – but having seen S2 and S3, it’s clear that even Abby has no clue about PTSD, so it’s not surprise that Bellamy didn’t. Though he seemed to have learned by S4, when he acted very differently with Riley. Jasper’s PTSD certainly was partly responsible for the way he jumped to the conclusion that the Grounders were going to kill Clarke. I don’t think they were intending to – or they would have done it immediately – but the archer was clearly there to shoot any moment she does anything suspicious, so her life was in danger for sure – it could’ve easily ended up as one of those “I thought he was reaching for a gun” situations.

I love the way Clarke and Bellamy just looked at each other and rolled their eyes at Finn when he started blaming Clarke for bringing up backup and said “All you had to do it trust me”. Geez, Finn, not everything is about your relationship with Clarke. And this didn’t even make sense – she could trust him but still think he was being dumb, he could not vouch for the Grounders, and he was wrong in his expectation they would do what he told them to and come without weapons.

I’ve always found Anya really annoying, and with the info we find out later, it’s even worse, because it’s obvious that everything that came out of her mouth during that meeting was utter BS. I had forgotten that she actually told Clarke: “You’ve started a war you don’t know how to finish”. Really?

Not the last time the Grounders will blame the Arkers for the things they did themselves, or for defending themselves against them. Even more annoying is the fact that some fans take the “you started a war by destroying our village” argument seriously, in spite of the facts that Grounders speared Jasper way before that and engaged in intimidation tactics, that they must have known exactly what the 100 were like for quite some time since 1) at least one person, Lincoln, followed them and noted info about them, and 2) we learn in 1x10 that they had captured and tortured Murphy and that he told them everything. And you have to be extremely stupid to conclude that 100 unarmed kids going around having fun are an invading force, or that their first action would be to blow up a random village, rather than find out more about the Grounders, target their leadership, do anything strategically important. Lexa was not stupid, so I think that she was probably thinking along the same lines as Bellamy was in 1x04 when the crowd was lynching Muprhy – “give people what they want”. People want to blame someone, they want blood for blood, so let’s give them an enemy. 

Anya’s other arguments are even worse:  the Delinquents also supposedly started the war because “you captured and tortured one of ours” – forgetting that they did it right after the Grounders had killed 3 of the Delinquents and were just about to attack and killed more when the fake signal for the acid fog interrupted them. She says she has no reason to make a deal that Clarke cannot guarantee the Ark leadership would observe. True – but we now know that Anya is not the actual leader of the Grounders or even Trikru, so she has no authority to do guarantee the rest would listen, either. The deal was negotiated over a few hours, so I doubt they could have consulted Lexa in Polis (and it’s questionable if even Lexa could guarantee anything, since the clans were not united, and Trikru were at war with the Ice Nation so much of the time). 

And her reply to Clarke’s warning that the soldiers from the Ark would come to destroy them with their technology, “They wouldn’t be the first to try”, seems like empty bragging. That has to be about the Mountain Men, but they never actually tried to destroy the Grounders. Why would they destroy their continuous blood supply? They just wanted to enslave and harvest them, and it doesn’t seem like the Grounders were ever able to do much about it.

Body count: a ton of people from the Ark, but I don’t know the numbers. Dozens of people in the terrorist attack, including Kane’s mother and the cute girl who was giving the speech. Then everyone on the Exodus ship, including Diana, when it crashes – which we now know was caused by Mount Weather. The Mountain Men killed so many Arkers in S1, before they even appeared on screen. (They said before that the Exodus ship can take up to 700 people, so I guess it must have been around that number, or at least a few hundred people?) And Diana’s actions crippled the Ark and it lost power, so she’s responsible for the imminent deaths of a lot of people who remained on the Ark. On the ground, Jasper shot 2 Grounders, but I don’t know if they died.

[cerastes]

So i've read a fair amount of Arthurian literature but I've never seen anything mentioned about Percival wearing a dress? Not that I don't believe it but I'm just curious where you read that

In Perceval, le Conte du Graal (1135).

Percival’s father was King Pellenor, who died in combat. His brothers were Tor, Aglavale, Lamorak, and Dornar, all of who became Knights of the Round Table. His mother Did Not Like This Shit because they all were in danger of dying at any moment, because being a knight in Arthurian mythos was a “you are either Goku and you’ll rock or you are Yamcha and you will die really fast” kind of deal, so Percival’s Mom took him and his sister to live away from civilization, where he learned all sorts of cool Non-Knight shit like crocheting and sewing and basket weaving, and definitely not swords or kite shields. He was also raised as a girl and wore an exquisite silk dress along his sister.

One day, Percival is cooking some amazing stew when he hears some shit outside his Away From Civilization Castle Hidden In The Forest, and whatddya know, it’s some knights, wearing armor, swinging swords, being cool, and Percy’s all like “SWEET, YO MOM LOOK AT THOSE” and P-Diddy’s Mom is like “Aw Fiddlesticks. See, Percy, dear, those are ANGELS, and the only way you’ll ever be one of those is when you DIE”.

But, see, Percival was so ENTHUSED with the idea of being a knight that he goes to his sister and outright asks her to kill him. Reasonable lass as she was, she immediately says “What In the Fuck is wrong With You” and doesn’t, so P-kun is like WHATEVER and sneaks out of the castle to go hang out with them. So he does and he has Presence Concealment B+ because he just sorta eavesdrops on them for a while but then accidentally scares their horses, and the only thing louder than fire truck’s siren in this world is a scared horse, so the knights get prim and proper STARTLED and then they see this kid wearing a dress and are like “U GOOD?” and Paypal is like “I didn’t know ANGEL HORSES could get scared” and they are like “what the fuck dude we are not angels we are KNIGHTS”. So P is like oh! cool! can I be a knight? And Knight-san is like Fuck The Off kid you are 12 and also wearing a dress, you gotta grow up first, get some hair on that chest, then maybe.

So Percival is like YAY OK I WILL so he does his best to grow up, which is not too hard because the passage of time is a constant, PSYCHE, it IS hard because as soon as he got home and told Mom he wanted to be a knight when he grew up, Mom used Panic Ploy and convinced Percival that he was going to be 12 forever, because Percy is not the brightest crayon in the box. This goes on for Four Whole Years and Percival is now 16 but still thinks he’s 12 because his mom sucks, but mostly? ‘Cause he a dumbass.

Now, in Ye Olde Arthurian culture, 16 is the year in which it is socially acceptable to start performing crude neurosurgery with swords and axes on people you dislike. As it would happen, a bad knight storms his Child Castle and flops out his huge knight dong, ready to train it towards P-Diddy’s mom and sister, but P was having None Of That Shit, so he rolls up his silk sleeves and goes to the knight like “Hey, I Contend With That Attitude, Sir”, and the knight is like “you are the ugliest fucking girl I’ve seen in my life, what is wrong with this household”, and see, here’s a thing you gotta know about Percival: His superpower is having IMMENSE RAW POTENTIAL, like this dude is the embodiment of a Magikarp, except, he was already Gyarados by the time he was 16, because he, and I paraphrase, grabbed the evil knight, who is a grown ass man wearing a full set of armor, and just outright chucks him outta the castle, over the wall. No, he didn’t wrestle him or push him, Percival straight up lifted the knight with his mighty 16 year old arms, and threw him, proving once more that when people say that GBF’s or FGO’s take on the Round Table is “too anime”, they are WRONG, they are not anime enough, because Arthurian Mythos is the first shonen franchise in history.

So Percival’s like yaaaay and his mom is like nooooo and he’s like I can be a kniiiiight now I killed a dude and his mom is like haha go to you rooooooom.

So some time passes and then a Cockatrice shows up, so like, for the uninitiated, a Cockatrice is basically a Basilisk Chicken Chimera Fuckhouse that can and will feast on whatever part of your still living body it that hasn’t been petrified it can find. This would USUALLY be a problem, except Percival’s a Strength Main, so he just went, uprooted a whole tree, and speared the fuck outta Deathchicken with it. This kinda convinces Percival that maybe his mom was lying about a lot of things, so he outies outta that household of LIES.

So Percival is hitting the road and happens upon a scrap metal merchant, who has a wagon full of piss ass metal with no use, and Percival is like hey dude do you know where I could sell this priceless dress I have on? And the merchant, whose eyes are dollar $igns, says “WELL I AM A GOOD MAN AND I WILL HAVE MERCY ON YOU, if you give me that dress that could buy three mountains, I will give you this wagon full of shit and the donkey that pull it, KILLER DEAL” and Percy is like “YOU ARE A SAINT” and so he finally does away with the dress and makes a SHIT ASS LVL 1 “ARMOR” out of the scrap metal, and uses the donkey as his trusty steed, EXCEPT HE DOESN’T because the donkey is old and worn out, and he’s too heavy for it, so whatever he WALKS. 

2.8 seconds later, in a town nearby, they arrest the fuck out of the merchant because he HAD to have swindled that dress, no way he had The Ultimate Silk Dress, being a poor fuck as he was, but before they can lynch him, Percy walks in and defends him, saying “Make no mistake, citizens, I am a moron and I did trade it to him legitimately” and thus he does his First Just Knight Action, and that’s how Percival’s dress is important into the making of Gyarados Muscle Kid.

[walsiegirl]

You don't have to answer this question if you don't want to, but it's been bothering my mind quite a bit lately - how did you come to your conclusion in believing Geoffrey to be innocent in his case? I'm not judging or hating, I'm just curious. This is all coming from a fan new to him and his work, who really admires him but is feeling unsure. Again, you don't have to answer if you're not comfortable. I've looked at both sides and I'm just very, very confused as to what the truth really is, so I figured getting an older fan's perspective would help me understand anything I might be missing. Thank you in advance.🙏

Hi Anon! Sorry it took me a while to get back to you, I’ve been away and stuff.

This is a tough one and there honestly isn’t a right or wrong answer; it’s absolutely fine to be unsure and I cannot say one hundred percent he is innocent, nor can I say he is guilty. The way the case was initially reported was unfair to both parties, and they both went through essentially a trial by media, with others jumping in either with their own accusations or opinions, before anything really came to court. From a legal perspective, yes Geoffrey has won his case against the newspaper as there was, to over simplify it, little evidence to the contrary, which was a relief for those of us who have always admired him. But does that mean he hasn’t done anything wrong at all? It’s truly impossible to say.

When I very first heard about the allegations, I was confused, devastated and I wondered if I had got him completely wrong from the start. It’s taken time, reflection, and coming to terms with the fact that even people one admires may fuck up some times (some bigger than others) to help me feel, if not sure about things, then at least able to come to terms with it all to a degree. So straight off, I’m sorry I can’t give you a definitive answer, but I can ramble around the points that are central to the reason I still feel able to enjoy his work and the memories he gave me.

Firstly, I think Geoffrey Rush has enough integrity as a person to own up if he’s fucked up. Again, I’m going on my gut, it’s fine to disagree with me and people will. When presented with the allegations, he denied them, but he also stepped down from any positions of responsibility he felt he should not hold whilst being under scrutiny, and also apologised to former co-stars if he had made them feel uncomfortable with his work methodology. That isn’t him being silent and not acknowledging the problem, it’s taking a stand to start to work through it without being arrogant enough to go on as normal. It’s about starting a discourse.

Rolling on from that, I think the “making co-stars feel uncomfortable/sexually harassing co-stars” is probably the area of contention. I don’t personally feel or believe that Geoff would intentionally go out of his way to demean, oppress or harass people - again I am open to being proved wrong, this is just gut feeling and intuition - but Geoffrey is a naturally cheeky, playful, possibly even controversial character who I could easily see pushing boundaries in professional spheres - perhaps being overly extravagant, overly touchy-feely, overly jokey. This could easily make people feel uncomfortable and harassed. I think sometimes it can be too easy when you’re successful to become complacent and forget that not everyone is onboard with your ways of doing things and ways of being, with your self confidence and ego. A lot of people, myself included, are very good at being polite and tolerating things they find uncomfortable because they’re too worried/scared/tolerant to say otherwise. If you’re faced with an A-list actor who has a lot of clout, then by all means you may feel unable to speak up about feeling uncomfortable or not enjoying the way they treat you or work with you. It’s like being faced with the person at work who has been established at your company for a long time and is being overly familiar with you - do you dare tell the boss their favourite is too much for you? Probably not, you want to keep your job. And this kind of power imbalance may be where the issue lies.

So you are saying the allegations are all true? you’re probably asking now. No but I can easily see where there are lots of grey areas in this debacle rather than two black and white possibilities of guilty and not. Things may have been taken out of context or blown out of proportion - or not, who knows? When you’re acting and in close bodily contact with other people, and in theatre/film/tv this is a constant, there is a high risk you might touch people inappropriately. Was there true harassment in this instance, or were actions misjudged? Were comments said in jest, in humour, in affection misconstrued as creepy and inappropriate, or was that their real intent? When you only have two contrasting views, it’s impossible to know the truth. Also everything an individual experiences is relative - what one person may feel is harassment, the next may think is a funny joke or not even notice. This is where consent and communication come in - it’s important people, particularly those in positions of “power”, check in on their other halves/colleagues/co-stars once in a while to make sure everything is ok. If there isn’t trust and communication, then you end up with dumpster fires like this.

So what else can I ramble about? 

People fuck up. All the time. The difference with being accused of fucking up when you’re an A-list Oscar winner is that the whole world will know about it and lynch you for it, regardless of your guilt, and the internet is very good for spreading information quickly, both truth and lies and everything in between. Though it is fine to hold people to account and question accusations, it’s worth remembering that we all have fucked up in our lives; not all to the same degree, and some things it is utterly fine to not to forgive someone for, but I think one of the reasons I came around about things was that I can think of a few occasions in my life where I have royally fucked up, and if I had been famous I would not have lived it down. As I’m not famous though, the fuck-ups were resolved to a greater or lesser degree and now are mostly forgotten - except by me who can never forgive myself and will think about it until I die. I guess I just realised that I cannot judge because I have been a dick in my time, too. It’s not an excuse, I’m not trying to say that fuck ups are excusable if they have happened, but again there has to be a point where we move on or else we just get stuck feeling suicidal and not being able to recover. The important thing is to make amends and face your mistakes if they have been made. Can we let celebrities fuck up and come back? Depends on the fuck up of course, and sometimes it may be they lose their liberties, they need to regain trust, but sometimes there can be rehabilitation and success again - like Robert Downey Jr.

And though positive past conduct does not mean a person will never do or hasn’t done wrong, a lot of people who have worked with Geoff either as a co-star, or have directed him, etc, have voiced their support for him and enjoyed working with him. On a personal note, I will always have ridiculously positive memories of meeting him and writing to him. It’s a totally different kettle of fish to working professionally with him, of course, but I can’t forget that during the 2000s he used to like to keep a distant eye on the discourse between his fans online; he liked to know if his fans would be at such-and-such an event, and he even brought me a promo book about The Golden Age as a thank you when I dragged my arse down to Norfolk in the UK to see him at an event in 2007; he often felt more friend than celebrity to us. He was polite and curious, asked little questions like what you studied at university, what dog you had, what your username meant. He was exceptionally trusting of us, too.  And I just remember how chill he could be - I remember him texting his wife when a group of us met him in NY after his play there, or he’d step out for a smoke, and you’re like that’s a normal person, he’s checking in with his fam, doing his own thing, but he’s still got time for us. He was always a down to earth, friendly guy, beyond generous with his time and we all as a fan community felt appreciated by him. It was beyond cool. And I can’t forget that kindness, the fact he made me feel that I mattered. His benevolence has naturally garnered much loyalty in me.

And finally I also ask myself, if this was a family member, or a close friend, would I abandon them in bad weather? And the answer is no. Even if they fucked up badly, you help family and friends get through things, you help them rehabilitate, you support them making amends, and support them making reparations to anyone who has been hurt or wronged if need be. When I have fucked up, I haven’t been abandoned; yes reprimanded, yes cowed, but I’ve been given the opportunity to make amends and bounce back.

So long answer is, there is no answer. I have never affirmed or denied his innocence or guilt because I can’t. It has to come down to gut feeling in the end and trying to weigh up the mass of information and misinformation. It’s about invading the professional and private lives of people we probably have no business looking into. It’s about understanding that celebrities are just people, and they can potentially fuck up as badly as we do, but they may also be innocent of accusations like we can be too. It’s accepting that we can’t know any truths unless solid evidence is presented either way. So at present, I will continue to enjoy his films, his tv shows, his legacy, and appreciate everything he ever did for me either directly, or indirectly through his work. But I am also open-minded enough that if any hard evidence ever presented itself to the contrary, there may come a day I need to reappraise my position. But hopefully he is true to his word and to his success in winning his case, and he can work toward recovery and potentially even acting again, though the blow has been great, both to him and his accuser. He may never work again. My greatest fear is that if he is genuinely completely innocent of everything, then he has had the greatest joy in his life taken from him. I try not to dwell on that too much.

I hope that diatribe helps. It’s the elephant in the room that is hard to acknowledge but no one can tell you how to feel about it. It has to come from your own heart and soul. I also appreciate there are many other elements to consider but I can’t possibly cover all bases. It’s probably worth saying that I have been a victim of being groomed by a man so I understand the importance of women or vulnerable peoples having a voice, but that doesn’t necessarily mean every accusation against men is true, either.

[anxiety-trademark]

The week in review:

Raw 10/05 NXT 10/07 NXT UK 10/08 Smackdown 10/09 + Main Event 10/08

Raw:

“This Asuka reign has been spectacular thus far,” d e b a t a b l e

Is Asuka continuing her feud with Zelina? If so, why? If not, why is this 6 woman match happening? Just spinning your wheels some more?

It’s been an interesting experience watching Dana grow throughout the years. Also nice flip by Nattie off of Dana’s headscissors takedown.

Love to see Dana and Mandy matching colors. Tag teams matching gear is my jam. Next is a theme song/name.

Lovely delayed double suplex by Dandy.

Small mistake in Mandy nearly falling over, but I mostly want to compliment the slide her boots did against the mat lmao. That was probably unintended, but looked super smooth.

I actually like Mandy now that she’s not imitating a stripper, but I’d really appreciate it if she could learn new trash talk that isn’t just, “who do you think you are,” repeated ad nauseam.

I don’t watch Main Event, but they should consider having Mandy and Dana wrestle more on there if they don’t already. Those are 2 that can use the consistent practice.

There’s so many minor things Natalya does to keep matches together with greener women. She deserves more respect.

Man these women work incredibly well together. Asuka, Nattie, Dana, Lana, Mandy... so cohesive. Loved that entire ending sequence from the moment Lana and Asuka tagged in. Lana has really increased her speed as well.

I am here to dole out positive praise for the blondes that nobody gives any credit to. Remembering where Dana was in 2016, Lana was in 2017, or even Mandy was in 2018, and seeing them all now? They get my applause. The midcard on Raw is entertaining, sue me. Fun match.

pppfffftttttt love how Zelina just slowly slinks outta the ring like, “yeahhhh have fun with that, this ain’t my fight peace.”

Alright ngl, I am now starting to get sad that Lana is getting rekt nearly every week. rip. First match of the night btw and the commentators are losing their desk lmao.

Does KO have to spell out everything happening in wrestling? Sir I actually pay attention to the stories y’all be telling me. Can I get a condensed version?

“He’s everywhere,” Alexa is creepy and compelling, I’m gonna keep singing her praises til she gives me a reason not to.

I personally just hope Fiend uses new gloves for every new victim, what with covid and all.

“Bury a body together in the woods,” SIR.

I like that Alexa is kept separate from Bray and is solely attached to Fiend. I know that’s going to change, but for now, I like that line being drawn in the sand.

Omg he shed tears. Whew.

Why y’all allergic to showcasing Bianca against people who I fucking recognize lmao.

Again, I know she’s a college graduate. I know she’s smart on some fucking level. Telling me why the sky is blue (cept not really as it just appears that way) AIN’T IT THOUGH.

Put her in a match, that’s where she needs the most work. Jesus.

Oh good we get to hear Nia’s music on the way to the ring. She has the superior theme.

Nia body checking Ruby in the corner. I felt that.

I like Shayna’s joint manipulation, I only wish she’d wear down her opponents before she started in on it, cuz it drastically slows down the pacing of the match. There’s a spot for it if you get the momentum of the match going first, but she almost always just jumps straight into this. 

Ruby getting rekt. What Riott Squad need is a good showing. Not to be damn near demolished. I doubt anyone actually expected them to win this match, but come on.

At least Shayna sold the tornado ddt well.

Meh could’ve been a better showing for RS. Kind of disappointing. Liv didn’t even use any offense to break the Kirifuda Clutch, just yelled dramatically af. Tears galore.

Highlight: Seeing Lana/Mandy/Dana improve & work cohesively with veterans in Nattie & Asuka

---

NXT:

Isn’t nxt supposed to be the brand that hides a performer’s weakness? Why does Ember Moon have a mic in the middle of the ring? Have her do a quick interview in the back, or better yet wrestle. Hello??

Don’t thank them, they are your coworkers, and only one of them even said welcome back. sigh.

GIRL I’M SHOCKED THEY LET YOU TALK ON THE MIC TOO like for what reason???

This is why Ember Moon will never be a champion on the main roster jfc. At least she can get away with being nxt champ if she refrains from speaking.

Well damn I was actually interested in Rhea’s promo, thanks a lot Raquel smh.

Io’s like “...nah, I’m good right here.”

Io is a woman of few words, but they are always flawlessly spoken and drenched in logic. Still a huge fan of her as champion.

Storytime. Becky Lynch has named 2 people as potential break out stars that could reach (close to) the heights she has reached. Sonya Deville was one, whom I believe Becky was right on the money with, and Toni Storm was the other. Now I don’t see whatever the hell Becky sees in Toni, but damn it if she was right about Sonya, I want her to be right about Toni as well. So I hope this heel turn actually brings the fire, decent acting, and passable promos from her.

Toni has a swagger you can’t teach; she has an aura and confidence to her. There are just some pieces that have been missing. We’ll see though, I’ll give her a clean slate to win me over.

*The Garganos receive a gift* No.

I kind of like that there’s an unspoken agreement between Raquel and Dakota that Dakota is the star who should win the title, with no lingering feelings of animosity or resentment between them.

Anyway Dakota you lost to Io, plz lol.

*The Garganos see potential in Indi Hartwell* No.

I hate Shotzi’s entrance and dialogue so damn much lmao. She’s so annoying, I’m not sorry. I’ll give her props in the ring where I see fit, but her personality is such a turn off to me.

Such a short match that I have nothing to say about it. Good for Shotzi gaining some momentum. Still waiting to see where Xia Li goes with these losses amounting.

Cool one of the best themes has been changed :/ rip Ember’s og theme.

Sloppy, sloppy attempt at a standing crucifix by Ember. oof.

Ember is short but she can sure jump high, this is true.

Ember plz sell.

Jeeze I nearly forgot how good Ember’s suicide dive is. One of the best, truly.

Great bump onto the floor by Rhea.

Flat landing by Dakota. Bravo. Love how Dakota bumps Rhea’s bench press.

No excuse for Dakota not tagging in when Ember got the tag. Awkward.

Looked more like a modified flatliner rather than a uranage, but sure. 

Love watching Dakota and Rhea work together. They have great chemistry.

LOVE Dakota’s Kairopractor. One of my favorite moves in nxt.

Great save by Raquel, great ddt taken by Raquel.

Sloppy “powerbomb” from Ember to Dakota... that’s a yikes. Ember indeed has ring rust. Eclipse is still a thing of beauty though, so there’s that.

I just want to say, I really like Rhea as a babyface and I hope wwe doesn’t turn her heel when she moves to the MR.

Highlight: Dakota & Rhea working together is always a treat

---

NXT UK:

Tell me why the beginning of Dani’s theme reminded me of White Wedding by Billy Joel? The lack of lighting in her entrance does her song a disservice.

Really like Nina’s theme... irritating how they cut off Amale’s theme so quickly to introduce her, though.

HAHA Xia tried kipping up out of the leg scissors and she got popped on the midsection.

Lovely escape...? Alright well, fill the dead air with meaningless comments I guess. No, don’t pipe in applause for that.

Twisting her arms in reverse and then forward accomplished nothing.

I appreciate Dani’s underrated strength.

Decent reverse suplex by Nina.

Deadweight suplex by Dani. Nice.

Amale is... abysmally green.

Took a beautiful German suplex, though.

Do not like Xia’s finisher.

This match wasn’t a mistake, but man talk about lower card.

Much like I did with Toni Storm, all I see when I look at Piper now, is when she cried during the match with KLR lmao. Round of applause for KLR making all of her opponents cry kekekek.

“[KLR] better watch what she says, or else..” or else what? More of y’all gonna cry in her direction? oof your champ is HEAD AND SHOULDERS above everyone else on that roster, plz.

Sure she’s held the title for a year cuz of the pandemic, but if we remove all of that time UK spent isolated, she should still hold that title for a year minimum. Whenever someone wants to exhibit possessing the full package she has, they can step up. Even on the mic, KLR is untouchable.

Lol y’all can waltz out pissy all you want. I laugh.

“We've got witches that can't cast spells, Valkyries that can't fly, and these two can't even get along long enough to challenge me. And here she is, the worst of them all, the ultimate letdown... a piper that plays to my tune.” LMFAOOO. This is such a good promo, I can’t.

Knowing NXT, they’ll throw them in a battle royal to decide Kay Lee’s next opponent. Should run a tournament though.

KLR makes that title prestigious, goodbye.

Highlight: Fantastic KLR promo

---

Smackdown:

Alright real talk, why did Sasha get a title shot here? Why would Bayley give it to her without a struggle when she damn well knows Sasha could easily be the one to take it from her? When was it even accepted by Bayley?

Tbh I kind of hate this feud unless they’re in the same room/arena together. They work magic together, truly, but all of the inbetween stuff was garbage.

Love how Sasha just wants to beat the crap out of Bayley. Solid stuff.

Lol Bayley goes to leave lololol.

These are some clean counters and roll throughs. Always give props to Sasha for her counters.

See, cool, Sasha and Becky’s hiac match was set up with a chair, too... cept they had a great match for 15 mins and then brawled all over the arena. This could’ve all been set up SO much better. Then again tbf, it doesn’t even make sense for Bayley to accept this match with her to begin with, so I get the intentional dq as quickly as possibly on Bayley’s behalf. Would’ve been better if a gm had set this match up instead.

Great acting by Sasha.

How long til KO just pops Bliss across the face? No I’m kidding, wwe would never do that. Setting fire to someone, on the other hand...

Nothing about this promo felt genuine to me; the delivery was subpar.

When does Alexa receive an upgrade from ‘supportive mistress’ to ‘queen that helps fuck up Fiend’s victims’? I do appreciate them taking their time with her arc, it’s rare to see them do such a slow burn and not drop the ball with it.

Highlight: Sasha’s aggression in the ring

---

*BONUS*

Main Event:

The sheer hatred I have for Peyton’s theme. Awful.

Peyton vs Billie matches reminds me of the type of stuff I used to skip back in the late 2000s.

You watch best friends Sasha/Bayley, and you see some innovative, impactful moves. You watch best friends Becky/Charlotte, and you see 2 people beating the absolute shit out of each other with vitriol. You watch best friends Billie/Peyton, and you see 2 people who are afraid of hurting one another :/

Nice roll through pin by Billie.

Positive: there’s no crowd to boo them.

Just noticed the bottom row of monitors are behind the barricade, and I just want to know why tf they exist lmao.

Oh perfect, the second I began to regret turning this on, it ended. Okay anyway.

---

*NXT shined the brightest. Love how they utilized their women’s division, even if some of it was a hit or miss. Also love seeing Dakota and Rhea work together.

[bazypitchandsimonsnow]

Crossover Day

Rating: T

Genre: Fluff

Word count: 2612

Summary: Baz gets attacked by a raven and meets a strange man.

Read on AO3

Baz

I think I’m reconsidering DC as Snow and my vacation spot. Which is a bit late, since I’m currently standing in the middle of Lincoln Park. We could have gone to Paris or something. But we somehow settled on the American capital, a relatively chilly city with a lot of museums. Not very different from London, where we already live. Yeah, we’ll go to Paris next time.

I’m waiting for Simon now. He’s run off to find some after-lunch before-dinner snack. I’ve decided to wander around this gorgeous park. It’s lovely place, decent sized with trees and a honking huge statue. The sunlight speckles the ground through the leaves. People mill around, laughing and playing. It’s all sort of nice, sort of peaceful.

Then a bird flies straight for my face.

I yell profanities and stumble back, trying to bat the giant raven away from me. It screeches and pecks at my skin.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Chainsaw!” Some American yells. “Get back here, you little shit!”

The bird yells in my face one more time and flies off. It lands on the arm of a very odd man. He looks about my age, but much...rougher. What with the shaved head, muscle tank, and combat boots. His fashion sense reminds me of Aunt Fiona's. His face is all sharp, hardened lines. Stranger still, there’s a hint of a tattoo crawling up his neck. It hooks viciously on his pale skin.

“Why the fuck did you fly away like that?” He growls at the bird, as if it’ll answer him.

Kerah! It caws, then turns to me, making the rough American turn too. He takes a few steps forward.

“Sorry about that,” he says. “She’s been antsy ever since we got here. We’re from out of town.”

“You brought a bird on a trip to DC?” I blurt out. I’m in too much shock to be polite, sue me.

He scowls, blue eyes burning with angry fire. “Yeah. Great observation, dickhead.”

I scoff and roll my eyes. “Well, what I’m really asking is why?”

The man pets the raven’s head almost instinctively. “Because she freaks out even more without me. No different than a dog or something.”

My resolve softens slightly. I kind of understand. Especially considering the way he looks at this bird. I sigh. “Alright. Apology accepted.” I offer my hand like the gentleman I am. “Basilton Pitch. Most people call me Baz. Pleased to meet you.”

He looks at my hand a little apprehensively, almost disgusted. I push it forward a bit more.

“C’mon,” I say. “I don’t bite. Not most of the time, anyways. Depends if you piss me off again.”

The man chuckles. A smile spreads across his face, but there’s nothing kind about it. It’s a smile made for war. He takes my hand. His grip is strong and calloused. And the oddest little jolt goes through my veins. It’s not an emotional response, certainly a physical one. It reminds me of the feeling of magic, but it’s foreign. There’s something strange about it.

“Ronan Lynch,” he says. “And I usually bite right off the bat.”

I laugh myself and give his hand a firm shake. “Pleasure to meet you. Mr. Lynch”

We let go, and Ronan immediately falls on the bench. He spreads his arms and legs out like he owns it. Crowley, he looks like he could take over the world with a single sneer. The infernal raven rests on his shoulder. I sit politely next to him, ankles crossed and hands in my lap.

“What’s a Brit like you doing in DC?” He says gruffly.

“Vacation,” I reply. “Had a hard year at school and decided I needed a break.”

He scoffs. “That’s what school does. Melts your brain and calls it learning. It’s all shit.”

“What an eloquent opinion.” I earn a glare for my deadpan response.

“Not everyone needs school.”

“You’re not in uni?”

“Nope,” he says with another evil smile. “Don’t need it.”

“What do you do then?”

“I’m a farmer.”

I let a loud laugh, head falling back against the bench. I expect Ronan to laugh at his joke along with me but he says nothing. When I look back, he’s looking at me blankly, completely unamused.

“Wait, you’re serious?”

“Yeah. I don’t lie, man.”

“Pfft.” I look out towards the park, crossing my arms. “Everyone lies.”

“Not me.”

He doesn’t elaborate and we fall into silence. Birds chirp, people walk past, the wind whistles in the leaves. Ronan doesn’t say anything. He seems to be comfortable without words. Sort of reminds of Simon’s preference not to speak.

“So what are you doing here?” I ask. “Some sort of American bird convention here in DC?”

Ronan scoffs. “I fucking wish. My best friend is back in town and he wanted to come here. He’s a fucking nerd, likes all the museums and shit. I don’t.”

“Hence why you’re sitting in a park.”

“Yes, ‘hence’, you pretentious shit.”

I chuckle. “Sorry my advanced vocabulary is annoying.”

“Bullshit. You’re not sorry.”

I flick my eyes over to him, and see he’s looking back with a sort of cool resignation. A corner of my lip tugs up.

“You’re right. I’m not.”

He scoffs, but he’s smirk slightly too. “Knew it. You’re just like Gansey.”

“Gansey?”

“Nerd friend. He’s a stuck up ass just like you. You’d like him a lot.”

“Hm. Not so sure about that. Us pretentious arses tend to repel each other. We’re like territorial dogs. My boyfriend’s best friend is one and we bicker endlessly.”

His head turns suddenly, sharp face all scrunched up. “Boyfriend?”

Crap. Well, it’s good to know leather jacket wearing punks with ravens can be homophobic too. I raise a singular eyebrow, keeping my composure. “Yes, boyfriend. Got a problem with that, farmer?”

Surprisingly, he grins, but it’s more amused than evil. “No. It’d be weird if I did though. Considering I’ve got one too.”

Both my brows shoot up to my hairline. Ronan laughs maniacally, enough to make his shoulders shake and Chainsaw flap and caw in protest. “Man, your face, dude,” he gets out between sputtering giggles. "Fucking priceless."

“Oh fuck off,” I mutter. “You were shocked first.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t look like a goddamn deer in the headlights.”

Bit by bit, Ronan controls his breathing. He flicks a laughing tear from his eye, then tilts his head back to look at the sky.

“So what’s your’s like huh?” He says.

I smile, sorting through the best words to summarise Simon Snow. “Reckless, destructive, idiotic, impulsive. Also one of the bravest, most kind, most compassionate people on the planet. So sometimes I don’t understand why in Merl- God’s name he’s with me.”

Ronan chuckles. “Sounds like a real catch.” With that statement, you’d expect sarcasm. But he actually he seems to mean it. I chuckle as well.

“Yeah, he is. How about your’s?”

Lynch sighs, smiling at the sky. There’s an almost dreamy look in his eyes. I’d point it out, if I didn’t fear he’d kill me in some horrific manner for it.

“Mine, well,” he chuckles. “He’s not reckless but he’s also an idiot. He just thinks it through then does dumb shit, usually for a good reason. Stubborn and prideful as fuck too. But he’s actually really smart, also brave, and a lot nicer than he thinks he is. Gotta keep reminding the dipshit of that.”

I tilt my head back like he has, smiling like him too.“Your’s sounds like a catch too.”

“Hell yeah he fucking is.”

We fall back into silence, both staring the clouds above. They swirl and twist across the bright blue sky. It’s sort of nice. Just easy. I think this Ronan Lynch likes it too.

“I don’t usually talk to strangers,” he mutters. “Don’t really like new people.”

“Me neither,” I reply.

“But you’re okay I guess. Got nothing better to do.”

“You’re alright too.”

“Well if that isn’t the most amazing fucking compliment.”

“Hey, it’s the best you’re going to get, Old Macdonald.”

He lifts his head up, throwing me a narrow eyed glare. “Seriously? Old Macdonald?”

I shrug (I’ve picked up the habit from Snow.) “You told me you were a farmer. The jokes write themselves.”

“Well if you aren’t a-”

“Ronan Niall Lynch! Where have you been?!”

Both our heads snap to the left. A weirdly beautiful man in a Harvard sweatshirt and faded jeans is marching towards us. His eyes are pale blue, deep set in his face above impossibly high cheekbones. He’s got unevenly cropped dusty hair and a smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose. And he looks ready to kill Mr. Lynch right where he sits.

“Afternoon, Parrish,” Ronan says with a very large shit eating grin. “What’s up?”

“‘What’s up?’ I’ve been looking for you everywhere. All you texted was ‘in lincoln park’. That’s quite a large area. You couldn’t have been more specific? And this all could’ve been avoided if you bothered to pick up your goddamn phone, and Gan-” He suddenly notices me, blinking confused a few times. “Who are you? Is Ronan bothering you? He does that.”

“Good afternoon,” I start. “I’m-”

“A British dickhead,” Ronan mutters with a smile. I glare viciously.

“It’s actually Baz.” I stand and offer my hand to Mr. Parrish. “Baz Pitch. Mr. Lynch’s raven attacked me and we started chatting from there.”

Parrish’s eyes go wider than humanly possibly. She shakes my hand mechanically, and the same spark as before runs through me again. So there’s something strange about both of these Americans.

“You chatted?” Parrish says to Ronan. “Who are you and what have you done with Ronan Lynch?”

Ronan shrugs. “Dude’s a gay asshole like me. We bonded.”

I smile at him, and he smiles back. Parrish turns back to me, shaking my hand more firmly. “Well then, nice to meet you. I’m Adam Parrish. You must be some sort of miracle worker.”

I chuckle. “No no, nothing like that. Like he said, we’re both gay arseholes. Easy to bond.”

“We were talking about you, actually.” Ronan tugs on Adam’s arm, sending the freckled boy tumbling into his lap with a yelp. He wraps his large arms around his waist, keeping him from standing up. “Comparing boyfriends and all.”

Ronan’s eyes acquire the same dreamy look as before. The raven caws, nuzzling against Parrish's head. It obviously shares the same affection as Lynch. Adam’s face goes bright red. Ronan’s grin gets even more shit eating. I just laugh.

“So this is him?” I say. “The stubborn, smart idiot?”

Adam’s embarrassment goes away, trading it for an annoyed look at Ronan. “You been talkin’ shit about me, Lynch?” There’s the faintest hint of a southern accent in his voice, the ‘g’ slipping off and vowels extending.

“I don’t lie, Parrish, you know that.”

Parrish rolls his eyes and hits Ronan’s chest, but he’s smiling. “Yeah yeah, I know. Now let me up.”

“Fine, if you insist.” Ronan loosens his grip, but plants a kiss on Adam’s still slightly red cheek before letting him stand. That only makes his blush worse.

“We’re done with the Glendower exhibit,” Adam says firmly. “Gansey says it inaccurate, unsurprisingly. Blue and Henry won't stop telling him 'I told you so.' They’re all at an ice cream place now.”

“Did you get Opal ice cream?”

“Of course.”

He groans. “It’s the afternoon. She’s going to be up all fucking night now.”

“Hey, you try to tell her ‘no ice cream’ at an ice cream parlour.”

“Fine,” he grumbles. He turns to me, looking exasperated. “Word of advice, Pitch: don’t have kids. They’re amazing but also the worst.”

I blink stupidly. Ronan can't be that much younger than me. And he has a kid? I feel like this leads to a longer conversation we don’t have time for. “Al...right. I’ll remember that.”

“Good.” Ronan jumps to his feet, one hand shoved into his leather jacket pockets, the other around Adam’s middle. “Now it’s been nice talking but we’ve got to-”

“There you are Baz!”

Adam and Ronan peer over my shoulder. I turn around, and a grin spreads on my face. There’s my idiot boyfriend, in his favourite orange coat and blue jeans, walking towards us with a paper bag in hand, no doubt carrying a cherry related pastry within. Simon puts his arm around me and kisses my jaw before realising there are two other people with us. He looks shocked and quite embarrassed.

“Oh,” he says. “Uh, hi. I-I don’t know you.”

I chuckle, putting my arm around him too. “They’re new...acquaintances, love.” I indicate Ronan. “Meet Ronan Lynch,” then Adam, “and Adam Parrish. Lynch, Parrish, this is the aforementioned boyfriend, Simon Snow.”

“Oh! Hi!” Snow enthusiastically shoves his hand out. “Nice to meet you!”

Ronan chuckles, but he still shakes his hand. “You forgot to mention he was so fucking hyper, Pitch.”

Snow’s brow furrows, turning to look at me curiously. “What did you tell him about me?”

“Only good things, love. I promise.”

“Why don’t I believe you?”

“Well, only true things.” Ronan flashes me a proud grin.

Simon takes Adam’s hand too. “Hi. Sorry if my boyfriend was an arse to you. He does that. Though I have a feeling you’re used to it.” He tilts his head towards Ronan.

Adam nods. “Oh yeah. I definitely am.”

“We have more in common than appearance than.”

Both Ronan and I go wide eyed. Now that he mentions it, yeah, they do look alike. Tanned skin, lots of freckles, blue eyes, light brown hair, and currently matching amused smiles. Lynch and I look at each other simultaneously.

“I think we may share a type, Lynch,” I say flatly.

“Yeah, no shit, Sherlock.”

Adam and Snow laugh loudly. I flick Snow’s ear, and he sticks his tongue out at me. Lynch pinches his boyfriend’s side, making him convulse. It takes a bit for both of them to calm down.

“We should get back to the others, Lynch,” Adam says when he's fully calm. “Gansey will worry.”

Ronan rolls his eyes. “Dick is always worrying.”

“Yeah, because you give him a reason to. So let’s get going.” He looks at Simon and I with a kind smile. “Nice meeting you two. Thanks for babysitting my boyfriend, Mr. Pitch.”

“My pleasure. And it’s Baz, please. If you two ever end up in London, feel free to look at us up. Without the bird, preferably.”

“No promises,” Ronan says, flashing another war smile. Though I should be annoyed, I just smirk back. There's something endearing about his annoying stubbornness.

“We should be off too,” Simon interjects. “Enjoy the ice cream!”

Adam nods. “Will do. Have a nice day.”

“You too.”

We all simultaneously turn and walk in opposite directions. Simon sighs and leans his head on my shoulder. I pull him closer like always.

“Hey, Baz?” he asks, voice low.

“Yes, darling?”

“Did you feel something...weird, when each of them shook your hand? Like magic, but not quite?”

“Actually, yes. You did too?”

He nods vigorously. “Definitely. There’s something, odd about them. I mean, I like them, but there’s something else going on.”

“Agreed.” I turn my head slightly, catching a glimpse of the other two boys walking with their arms around each other. They do look utterly normal at a glance (minus the raven), but I swear there’s something strange. “Maybe we’ll find out, if we see them again.”

“Maybe. Mystery for now, I guess.”

“Yeah,” I say. “They’re definitely more than a bit strange. Nice, but strange.”

Turns out DC was a good vacation pick.

Okay let's pretend this takes place in a universe where Ronan would not just walk away from Baz almost immediately after meeting him. But still, I think Ronan and Baz would get along. They have a lot in common, including their taste in guys :D Also Gansey, Penny, and Baz would get along because they're all nerds and would compare nerd notes.

Fun fact: I actually started the Raven Cycle because I clicked on fan art of Adam thinking it was Simon. Then I found out it wasn't, looked up where it was from, and said, "huh, I should read this series, it sounds cool." Soon I fell down the damaged-boys-and-girl-looking-for-a-Welsh-king rabbit hole :)

Anywho, hope you liked this TRC crossover. Sadly, I don't have time to do WLW, but I probably will publish one on my own later. So stay tuned, Theo will return on December 12th with "stuck together"!

[notroo]

“I like you”

Adam wasn’t sure of what to believe anymore. The beliefs with what he had grown up, the feelings he had thought he had towards certain people. All that was uncertain to him now, it filled his mind with thoughts while confusion invaded his chest. Not even in his most crazy dreams he could tell himself that it all was because of one person, much less that this person carried the name of Ronan Lynch. Ronan wasn’t the type of person who makes you question everything about yourself but the type that makes you feel small besides him because the radiant confidence that he wore like a brilliant armor.

Adam never thought that the one who would make him feel lost inside was going to be Ronan, that was a job he had put the name of Blue on, it seemed life decided to played with him once again.

Adam hated to look like an idiot, even if it wasn’t before someone but something invisible like life. But life had seen his silly since he was eight. Adam always thought that this one would play with him when his life turned really simple and routinary and it needed something to make itself laugh for a little. And then here they were again, life made him fell over his face once more. But unfortunately now, he fell before Ronan’s blue eyes that observed the face of the magician while frowning.

“Parrish, Parrish!” called Ronan who looked at him with both eyebrows together, almost turning into one. Adam blinked a couple times and looked into the Grewaren’s eyes asking him with his what was going on.

“What got your attention about my face, asshole?” smirked devilish.

“Nothing I was just thinking” responded fastly trying to hide the blush in his cheeks.

“About…?”

“About how stupid you are” lied. Ronan’s smile got wider.

“Fuck you”

----------------------

Ronan was filled with secrets, and most of them have come to the light the last few months, but even then Ronan had one more kept inside the most incognite part of his heart and has been locked down by Opal in a box in the middle of the Cabeswater Ronan saw in his dreams. Now he felt it was the time for this secret to come to the light as well, he needed to tell it to someone.

Noah's appearances were inconstant. He didn’t want to tell Gansey for now. That’s why he was heading to Nino’s in his BMW where Blue had an hour and a half more of her shift.

Ronan observed Nino’s glass door a little while until he took courage to go inside, then looked with his eyes the petite figure of Blue who was taking orders of a table filled with Aglionby’s ravens. He waited for her to see him, and when she finally did, Blue looked at him confused followed by a smiled pointing with her head an empty table. Ronan walked to it, sat and waited for her.

Ten minutes later, she appear with a big pepperoni pizza, a glass of coca-cola and a bear.

“Don’t tell Gansey I provided you with alcohol” Blue warned as she sat. Ronan smirked maliciously  

“Believe it or not, he is not my mum” spilled while biting his piece of pizza.

“I don’t think he knows that” Ronan laughed followed by Blue.

Blue could not stop staring at him, both of them had never been very close, rather the opposite, so this surprise appearance of the snake without Gansey, or even Noah or Adam had Blue baffled.

“Is everything okay, Ronan?” asked with honest concern. He looked at her, then the beer. Took it and gave a big sip. This worried Blue even more.

“I needed to take something off my chest” explained looking at his plate.

“By how it sounds, it doesn’t seems it went well when you told Gansey”.

“That’s the thing, I didn’t tell him. At least for now” “that’s why I’m here”. Blue opened her eyes widely. Ronan had chosen her over Gansey or any of the raven boys, to tell her something. That moved her. She stayed silent waiting for him to say something more, but he didn’t and maintained his head low. His hands shaked, other sign that made Blue know this wasn’t a subject he didn’t take seriously, she took his hand and when Ronan looked at her but didn’t move it, Blue smiled. He sighed and whispered it.

“I like Adam” he squinted, and then realized that he had said it too lowly for Blue to have heard it. He opened his eyes and saw that Blue's were wide, but then she sighed in relief and smiled at him.

“For a moment I thought you had destroyed Pig again or something like that” said. Ronan growled desperately.

"Didn’t you hear what I said?" Blue nodded biting her piece of pizza. "Do not you have anything to say about it?".

Blue thought for a second, she had noticed that Adam and him have been strangely spending too much time together lately, more strange was that neither of them had to make a trip to the hospital in their time alone. But it didn’t mean much. Then a question hit her mind: “were these feelings new or have Ronan already had them before she came to the picture?”

“How long?” Ronan sighed.

"Not long after Gansey introduced him to me," Blue whistled, that was a long time.

“What scares you the most, that the person you have feelings for is Adam or that you have to tell Gansey you are gay first?” asked.

Ronan looked straight into her eyes as she took a sip of her coke, he had never thought that she would care so much for him. Apparently he misjudged her again.

"That is Adam, no. Both, I do not know " he admitted.

“You think Gansey knows?”

“I don’t know. I never mentioned it, but I never hid it either” Blue nodded and squeezed his hand.

"I don’t think Gansey will bother, if that's what scares you," she said, "and as for Adam, well first you should tell him." Ronan stabbed her with his eyes. "do not look at me like that, I’m just trying to help." Maybe you'll get a surprise and find out he feels the same. "

"Do not make fun of me, Sargent," he joked, but the seriousness in her eyes made him know that she didn’t “I barely could tell you, and it's you! Imagine Parrish, I think I'd kill him before I said those words" Blue laughed lightly.

"I don’t think you would hurt him even if you wanted to" that hurt him. The fact that she would think he wouldn’t be able to hurt someone, though it could not be compared to the pain that made him feel knowing it was true.

Ronan squeezed her hand and stood up after giving a last sip to his beer and smiled.

"Thanks, shrimp" Blue returned the gesture.

"You're welcome, asshole" Ronan laughed. They struck their fists and he left Nino's with all the elegance and rebellion that characterized him. As his figure disappeared behind the glass door, Blue looked down to lift the tray, her glass and the bottle when saw twenty bucks and laughed.

"Damn asshole" whispered.

-------------------------

That night after talking to Blue, Ronan did not go to Monmouth but to St. Agnes in the hope that Adam hadn’t yet returned from work, but when he finished climbing the stairs and knocked on the door,  it only took Adam a few seconds to open it. He only looked at him a moment before letting him pass. Lately it wasn’t unusual for Ronan to appear unannounced at Adam's door and crash on the floor next to the magician's mattress.

Ronan looked at the table full of books and papers, as always Adam was unveiling to do his homework. Ronan hated that Adam had to go through it because he had a different kind of life than his and Gansey, but that was also one of the things he liked about him.

The silence completely invaded the apartment, and that made Ronan afraid to say something. He lay down in his usual place and looked at the ceiling with his hands trembling and his heart about to come out of his mouth. How could he tell him?

Adam sighed and laid his head on his arms, Ronan watched him, how he wished he could tell him everything was going to be all right and that if there was anyone capable of escaping from Henrietta it was going to be him. But he knew that before he could do it he had to tell him about his feelings for him. Ronan covered his face with his hands. Then sat and sighed.

Adam left the books where they were and went to sit next to Ronan and stared at him.

"Adam?" Ronan asked, feeling his heart leap as fast as a racehorse. Adam took Ronan by the shoulders and kissed him.

Ronan’s whole body lost it’s tense and relaxed. Although he was surprised by the kiss Ronan didn’t waste time in returning it. They kissed gently and roughly, slow and fast, hands moving from neck to arms to waist to cheeks. And they didn’t stop until both went out of breath.

Adam’s ears were light red as well as Ronan’s cheeks.

Both stayed with their eyes shut and forehead against the other’s. Too afraid of what could happen next, if the other would be gone when they did it. But then Adam’s phone rang and the moment broke. Without taking his eyes off Ronan he took his phone clumsily.

“Hey?” asked and when he obtained a response frowned “yeah, he’s here” Ronan had his eyes wide “i don’t know, maybe. You know how he is” added then. “Yup, okay. Bye”.

Ronan waited for Adam to put away his phone and said something, because he didn’t he opened his mouth:

“Who was it?”

“Gansey” said simply “he forgot again he’s not your mom” he joked but it wasn’t follow by any laugh. There was too much tension to do so. There were too many emotions surrounding them. Silence filled the room again turning the two boys crazy, scared of saying a word. Not knowing how to put into words how they felt for the other.

“Adam?” he looked at Ronan wide, it was so strange to hear him calling Adam by his first name. He froze but answered Ronan with a movement of his head after. “I like you” admitted taking the other boy by the hand and putting it into his mouth to kiss it. How much Ronan loved those hands. Adam didn’t do nothing more than taking his face and touch his lips with Ronan’s. Again and again and again.

---------------------------

[notyoavg-bytch]

Aye, I Got Mixed Feelings!

First of all the show started off with three black people!!!! 

We just need to acknowledge that. I knew when I saw three Black people this season was going to be interesting. Networks just recently made it up to two Black people at a time, one male, one female. And as a Black viewer my angle may come across a little different than the average. 

I didn't watch the season Bayleigh was originally on, but I am familiar with her from The Challenge, and ‘she be tripping’ was my conclusion. And no one knew David right? He got voted off before we could. So I was happy initially to get to see what David was about, but quickly learned there was 📣‘NOTHING TO SEE HERE!’

I was hoping and a wishing with Da’vonne, but I think her paranoia is what gets the best of her. Like her intuition antenna is off a little bit, cause that’s where she kept fucking up. With Nicole, she’s clearly a little sneak that relies of her look of innocence to get away with shit. 

And boy oh boy did her little sneak ass get over on Da’vonne. 

I have mixed feelings about it all.

On one end, it’s a game and strategically their games foundation was not solid. Nicole at the end of the day was playing to win money. Da’vonne was playing to make history. Her concept she was playing for was too large for the game she was playing in. At the end of the day in this capitalist system, Big Brother is a reflection of what’s going on in our society. And one thing that is going on is when it comes to doing an honorable thing it looses to THE COIN.  

Additionally, 

Playing to make history

Just cause you have a strong reason doesn't make your game stronger. The people she was playing against, she didn't give them a reason to rally behind her, which she would have needed to win the game. PERIOD. Just cause you have a noble cause doesn't automatically give people reason to support you. 

And also Nicole.... 

Boy she was dirty. She lied to the very end. Game wise, it’s smart. Cause at the end of the day Big Brother is dirty, there's only one winner. Kind of. Da’vonne say I don't want to be calling him a liar and this that and the other if that’s not what it is. And Nicole lied anyway. Nope he flipped, cause it wasn’t me. 😄😄All them fucking pow wows they had, Nicole was just listening in. She like yea... outside of this house I’m down, but in her this shit is intel. That shit is fucked up! 

Why? (The real reason I typed all this...)

I feel like I’m looking the effects of Willie Lynch in 2020 being acted out on Big Brother. The white women, Danny and Nicole, straight divide and conquer the Black people. And because of our preyed upon engrained distrust in each other it was easily picked apart. Da’vonne was not even able to see it, because it’s so ingrained that kind of shit happens all the time, my community of people not trusting each other. And when we think back of living under the control of other people, you got planted snitches all amongst you. The overseers (Tyler- who also was like yea I understand your cause), the people who just snitched everyday(*POC Kevin taking shit back to Danny), loosing faith in the Black man who is emasculated (David and Memphis), etc. That shit is deep rooted and has been tactics white people have been implementing on our community for centuries. And little to David and Da’vonne’s knowledge it was the white woman all along... 

As usual. 

Historically, it was eerie for me to watch. It would be nice that the white people were able to recognize this it would help ease the racial tensions when the gotdamn psychological warfare stops. Until then what has been displayed on national television will continue to divide us. Furthermore these acts show how you don’t have to have owned a slave or been alive at the time, the behavior is what has still been passed on. A part of me was angry, though I’m practical enough to recognize David sucks ass as a player. 

Tyler 

So don’t get it twisted about that bit where he was willing to throw himself on the block because he didn't feel right. That shit was a play to make himself feel better for the bullshit that he did. At the end of the day that shit made him feel better, Christmas or nobody was going to go for that, he got to be the good guy and cleansed of his “sins”(using that loosely). That was very Neptune of him. Cause it makes me think maybe it wasn’t, you cannot really be for sure- Neptune. I personally lean more towards it was bullshit.   

Yes this was a game, but this is all a reflection of life. 

[abarbaricyalp]

Teach Me Something New

(A normal AU in which Adam never got out of the public school system, never met Ronan and Gansey, and could never dare to dream of politics and becomes a teacher instead and Ronan didn’t dream up Opal just...got her. IDK)

Ronan is in a scowling mood. He scowls while Opal runs around his legs. He scowls as he buttons a shirt over his tank top and then unbuttons it again so it just hangs open. He scowls as he tries to find a pair of shoes that aren’t caked in mud. He scowls when he realizes his kid still hasn’t changed out of her stained shirt.

“Opal, I told you to go change,” he says, tugging on an old pair of converse that makes him miss lazy school days with Gansey so much a physical ache erupts in his chest.

It’s not that he doesn’t like  where he is in his life right now. He loves it. He loves the Barns. He loves Opal. He loves farmer’s markets most weekends. Hell, he doesn’t even mind fighting with the school system again with Opal. It’s the part of the school system he never had to deal with that’s really getting him going. He loves Opal but he really doesn’t like kids. Any of them. None of her friends. None of her classmates. Not the shrieking brats at the store. Opal is his and he loves her but that was as far as the love for kids went. And, God, the parents. Ronan’s parents had never been really involved in his schooling. He couldn’t even remember that much that warranted their involvement. Maybe private school would be better for Opal. Certainly better for his nerves. He hated the way the other parents looked at him. He hated their snide comments about how young he was and how old, in relation, Opal was. He hated every single one of them and he hated having to do anything that would put him in close proximity to him. So, yes, he was scowling.

“I wanna match you,” Opal says from where she’s sitting on a chair stacked high with clothes Ronan just hasn’t gotten around to putting up. And it’s true, she’s trying to match him. Ronan’s shirt is a light blue plaid flannel and her shirt is almost the same shade except for where Spaghetti-Os have discolored it to an unnatural orange.

“Well,  you can match me after I do the laundry. We’re going to be late.”

Opal makes a face, her lips going in the most unamused straight line that looks like she took it right off of Ronan’s own face, and then bounces back to her connected room. She comes out a moment later in a navy blue shirt that kind of matches some of the stripes on Ronan���s shirt.

Ronan had finally managed to get dressed and he tugged on Opal’s ponytails. “I thought I told you to behave at school.”

“I do behave!” she objects quickly, looking shocked and just a little bit hurt and a lot a bit indignant.

“I don’t think there has to be mandatory parent teacher meetings for kids who behave,”  he argues just as hotly. He lets go of her pigtails to squeeze her shoulders.

“No, Mr. Parrish set up appointments for everyone! He said so because he knew there were parents like you.” She jabs a finger into Ronan’s stomach and startles a sound out of him.

“Well, I think Mr. Parrish lied so none of you would keep your parents from hearing what little shits you are.”

Opal rolls her eyes and grabs Ronan’s wallet and his keys. “Can we go? You’re going to make us late like you do every morning.”

Ronan rolls his eyes in turn and sticks out his tongue at her. “Have you brushed your teeth?”

“Have you?”

Lightening fast, he reaches out to tickle her sides and sends her shrieking in laughter down the other end of the house and out the door. He ducks into her room to grab the jacket she always wants and her little hat before following her. She’s already tucked herself into his car, dutifully awaiting him to strap in the rest of her car seat. She was small and he was a relatively reckless driver still. Sue him for keeping his kid safe.

Opal prattles on and on about nothing in particular for the entire ride to the school. It’s not a long ride. Most of it is getting away from the Barns and into town. But she manages to cover topics from the goats’ reaction when she read them her weekend reading for class to how she watched the baby pig poop to Mr. Parrish’s dog that he sometimes brings to class after sending out a permission note. Opalis fond of the huge thing. Ronan’s never seen it himself but she says it’s as tall as she is when it’s standing on all its paws and that it has scraggly hair. (“Like the beard you try to grow, Kerah.”) Opal’s a friend to animals everywhere so Ronan’s not totally sold on a giant dog wandering around a school.

Ronan doesn’t know much about Mr. Parrish. Opal likes him well enough but doesn’t talk at length about him. He knows that Mr. Parrish is young-ish, though Opal is about as good with ages as Ronan is with math. If given the chance, she will tell people, confidently, that Gansey is still in high school.  He knows that Mr. Parrish is soft spoken and he has a dog and he lives alone. He knows that he’s kind and smart and that no one is really afraid of him. (This observation because Opal’s first grade teacher was potentially a demon in disguise who hated all of the students according to, well, all the students)

Opal is still talking as Ronan parks the car and got out. Even when he starts unbuckling her and pulling her out of the back seat. She only falls silent when a few of her classmates were walking out the door. Then she presses closer to Ronan and holding onto his leg tightly.

“Opal, I can’t walk like that. Just...hold on.” He unwinds her and then takes her hand, swinging their arms between their bodies until she smiles and then starts to laugh.

“Stop. Stop! You’re gonna rip my arm off.”

“Good. Then you can’t try to take my leg with you everywhere.”

It isn’t hard to find Mr. Parrish’s room. There’s a constant flow of students in and out of the second grade wing and Mr. Parrish’s seems to be the quietest but warmest at the far end of the hall. Ronan’s met Mr. Parrish before. Not been introduced but sat in the same room. During Open House, another required attendance thing, he’d sat in the back of the room, bouncing Opal on his knee and hugging her close because she didn’t feel good but wanted to go to avoid getting in trouble. Gansey had been having a heart attack over some girl he met on campus and so Ronan was a little too preoccupied to pay attention to the quiet man at the front of the room who was having to deal with more problematic parents than Ronan was going to be.

His room hadn’t been quite completed yet. There were signs on the doors that said corny shit like, “Excuse our mess! The children are learning!” to cover up the fact that the second grade wing had only been completed a few days before the year started. It still smelt like new wood and fresh paint and the floors hadn’t been waxed yet.Ronan hadn’t realized how much he’d come to associate waxed floors with a new year. Parrish’s classroom had been mostly boxes at that point. There was a measly reading corner with a bean bag and a few blankets. A few dozen picture books had lined a shelf and a half. Boxes piled up in empty spaces. There had been an activity corner that was just a table with three boxes sat under it. His own desk had had only a few knick-knacks.

Now, the room is cluttered and lived in and warm. There’s faux candles on Parrish’s desk and the window sills. Hundreds of books line his shelves, ranging from little cardboard picture books to the Harry Potter series. The activity center has a treasure chest full of costumes and props and there are little science experiment tables set up. Arts and crafts coat the walls or dry on racks. His desk is still bare of personal effects but there are dozens of little notes and drawings from his students.

And then there’s Mr. Parrish. Ronan didn’t remember Mr. Parrish being so handsome. He was just finishing up with the family in front of them--some snot nosed kid who was playing on a phone while his mother had more tan on her than Ronan could afford to get in a month. (Excluding inheritance and life insurance. He didn’t use it that often, let him live)

Parrish looks like something out of a book. He looks transported from Princess Bride or some steampunk YA novel. He’s beautifully bronzed and his forearms are defined from where they’re visible beneath the rolled sleeves of his baby blue button up. There are a few scars along his skin and his hands are just a little disfigured to suggest a life of work beyond the classroom. His hair is messy but he’s tried to part it somehow. He’s really nicely proportioned. ‘As you wish,’ Ronan wants to say as he sinks to his knees.

Fuck, that’s his kid’s teacher. His kid who isn’t holding onto his hand anymore but running to the teacher to envelope him in a bear hug when he looks up at them and smiles wide and squats down to open his arms to her.

Ronan does not look at the way his dress pants pull tight over his thighs. He busies himself with glaring at the mother who is sneering at him, looking over his casual dress and his youth. Once she’s gone, he turns his attention back to Parrish. He’s looking up at Ronan and, Christ, his eyes look like every type of cliche for gemstone eyes. Ronan’s mouth goes dry and he takes a moment to swallow and try to remember how vocal cords work.

“Mr. Parrish,” he says, stepping forward and holding out a hand. “I’m Ronan Lynch. Opal’s guardian.” it still felt wrong to say father. Not wrong in that he didn’t think he was. Just… It was a difficult situation to explain to people. She didn’t call him dad so he didn’t say he was her father. He’d let her decide how this relationship was going to go. As it was, he thought they were pretty fucking special without dumb ass names to go with it.

“Mr. Lynch, Opal’s very favorable of you.” Adam smiles and Ronan’s heart tries to vacate his chest. Mr. Parrish looks very good hugging Ronan’s kid. Parrish looks very good on his knees…

Goddammit.

“Please, have a seat, Mr. Lynch,” Parrish says, standing up and gesturing to the undersized chair in front of his desk. Opal laughs when Ronan tries to sit on it with little success. She has to climb onto hers a little bit and the difference is hilarious to her.

Parrish looks at home behind the desk and Ronan suddenly wishes he had  Opal in his lap so his hands had something to do rather than pick uselessly at callouses.

“Opal is extremely gifted. I don’t think I’ve ever had a student as eager to learn as her.” Opal preens next to Ronan and then sticks her tongue out at him.

“I told you I wasn’t in trouble.”

Adam smiles at them and Ronan feels like jumping out a window. “How long have you been teaching?”

“About three years now. I was lucky enough to get hired on here as soon as I graduated. It’s technically the school I went to.”

Ronan would rather die on the streets before he went back to Aglionby. This guy must not have much of a life. “Technically?”

“Well, they tore down the building I actually went to school in. It’s part of the bus barn now.”

Ronan only vaguely remembered that happening a few years ago. There were supposedly old tunnels under the school and Ronan had had to remind Gansey that they had a two year old in the next room and mindless fucking off to explore potential holes in the ground was not an option for them anymore.

As if reading his mind--and sometimes Ronan honest to God thought Opal could--she asks, “Were the tunnels real?”

Adam furrows his brow before that brilliant smile takes over. “You  know, I’d tell you…”

“But then I’d have to kill you. I know. I know! You always say that.” She pouts at him and Ronan reaches over to yank on her ponytail.

“Behave.”

“Opal, do you want to go wait in the hallway while I talk to...Ronan about some adult stuff.”

“I’m an adult,” she says petulantly. Ronan is still too fascinated by the way Parrish caught himself from saying, ‘your dad’ to much care what his kid’s saying. Whatever it was, it made Adam smile, something soft and sweet. Ronan was going to set himself on fire.

“Can you go show your classmates how to be an adult out in the hallway?”

Opal takes an irritated breath and slides off the chair and stalks off to the hallway, pulling the door behind her.

“Is something wrong?” Ronan asks after watching his kid disappear into the gaping maw of the world without him. He didn’t like it. It’s why he didn’t watch when he dropped her off in the morning.

“No, no. Opal is a pleasure to have in class.” Ronan snorted but Parrish continued. “It’s just that Opal is...not shy, per se. But she doesn’t interact with the other kids all that much. She’s very confident when she’s answering questions or doing work but as soon as I suggest she ask someone for a color or to give her her scissors back, she gets a scared look in her eyes. Have you noticed it?”

It’s like a sudden and swift shot to his gut. Something reminiscent of his school days, picking fights behind cafes and bars and on dirt roads in the glare of his headlights. He hadn’t thought about Opal potentially being alone when she went to school. Parrish was right. Opal was outgoing and talkative and confident but he’s never really seen her with anyone other than the few friends she occasionally asked to be taken out with. He did remember her saying she and Gracie, Maya, and Sheila weren’t in the same class this year. Shit.

Ronan hadn’t had the best time in school when he was younger. He met Gansey in the sixth grade and after that it smoothed out but he remembered the aching loneliness until his brother would come over and eat with him or some girl would take pity on him and be his partner in class. The idea that the same thing was happening to Opal made it hard to breathe for the sudden and intense pain blooming in his chest.

“Mr. Lynch?” Parrish reaches forward and Ronan instinctively jerks back. Parrish doesn’t look pityingly at him. Instead, Ronan recognizes the realization in his eyes. And...some kind of understanding. “You and she are very similar.”

“What?” Ronan croaks out. His heart is still hammering in his chest and he can’t really concentrate with the lightheadedness that’s suddenly taken over.

“Your facial expressions. She looks just like that when I suggest she talks to other students.”

Ronan clears his throat once, twice, a third time before he reaches up to hide wiping at his eyes with pinching his nose and rubbing his temples. “Uh, no. I’ve never...I’ve never…” It’s a fucking lie though. Opal clings onto him whenever she sees someone at the grocery store. She’d just done it five minutes ago outside the school. Jesus, fuck he hadn’t even noticed. “I’ll talk to her. Um. Yeah. She’s...at home she talks all the time. You can’t make her shut up. But..yeah. She...doesn’t talk to kids when we’re out.” He swallows hard and stands up so quickly the chair topples over behind him.

Parrish stands as well, reaching out as if to steady Ronan. “Mr. Lynch, your daughter is beyond fine. There’s nothing wrong with her at all. I’d say there’s something very special about her.”

Ronan glares at him but then the man’s image blurs and distorts. When it clears again, Ronan can feel tears on his cheeks. “I know she’s special,” he huffs, wiping his cheeks and then squeezing his eyes shut which only lets a few more tears fall. “I don’t need anyone to tell me that.”

He can hear Parrish move from the other side of the desk and he feels an arm around his shoulders. It’s a little awkward and he can tell Adam is kind of tip toeing to do so. “You’re raising her alone, right?” he asks.

Ronan thinks of Matthew baby sitting and Gansey showing up to suddenly steal her away for a weekend of adventure. He thinks of Declan and the nice ass shit that Opal owns because of him. He thinks of all the old ladies at the farmers market who are so enamored with her, Ronan and Opal always leave with a crate full of things they didn’t buy. He thinks of her friends’ moms who are always happy to keep her overnight for a sleepover or grab her from school if Ronan is still stuck at the vet’s office or in the middle of a field somewhere.

But then he thinks about trying to figure out what foods she likes and avoid allergies. He thinks about the way he panics about how much money they might have with the inheritance split between them. He thinks about laying awake at night and staring at the ceiling while he listens to her in the next room. He thinks about how many times he’s made her cry and slam doors when he punishes her. He thinks about the looks they get in public and wonders if Opal sees them too. He thinks about breaking down in hot teachers’ classrooms because his kid talks to the goats more freely than her peers and God, where did he go wrong? He was fucking this kid up. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

“I have help but...yeah, it’s me and her,” he eventually gets out. “And the cows.” He doesn’t know why he says it. It just comes out.

“I think she’s partial to the goats,” Adam answers without missing a beat and Ronan hiccups a small laugh.

“The cows are more helpful.”

Parrish laughs then and Ronan’s ecstatic heart is at war with his dying heart. “Ronan Lynch, you are a good man. And you have a very good child. And I know it can be hard feeling like you’re on your own. Trust me, I know. But your little girl is all the proof that everything you’re doing is right. For her, for you, for the world. I think she’s going to go on to do great things.”

Ronan nodded, not willing to draw out any stupid pessimistic fight. They stay standing like that until Ronan can breathe normally and he pulls away. Parrish squeezes Ronan’s arm and then leans over his desk. Ronan allows himself to look at how his dress pants pull tight over his ass.

“Listen, I know it’s a little unconventional but if you ever need help with anything, anyone Ronan, let me know. This is my number. I answer most of the time unless I’m with the kids.” He smiles that smile and hands over a post it note shaped like a lightening bug. Ronan lets himself draw his fingers over Parrish’s and tries to memorize the beautiful knobs and wrinkles on them by touch alone.

“Even if it’s something as simple as coffee. I know it can be nice to have conversations with adults when you primarily deal with children.” His grin is crooked, pulled to the left side of his face like it’s trying to connect with a pale scar that snakes down from his temple to his cheekbone, detouring to the corner of his eye halfway there. Ronan wants to take him apart at every seam and hear every story as they restitch themselves back together.

“Coffee,” Ronan answers softly, looking at the blocky number. He recognizes it from the grades on Opal’s homework. He nods and bites his lips. “Thank you. It was nice meeting you, Mr. Parrish.”

“Please, call me Adam. Especially when you ask me out.” And, oh, his grin can turn into a smirk that has no business being in a second grade classroom. Ronan Lynch was doomed.

((Damn this one was long. Sorry not sorry. It makes up for yesterday. First time...meeting! Don’t ask me how an eighteen year old acquires a baby and raises it. That’s why I didn’t choose that prompt. If you don’t think Adam Parrish would become a teacher and help kids like him, you’re wrong. And where’s my child Noah you ask? Please be considerate and don’t. My brain was saying future AU for some reason so he was dead in my mind :( ))

[sssssssim]

I did that thing again. Where I re-read a series and took a picture of all the things that caught my eye. Be it funny, surprising, or just things that I forgot...

...from The Raven Cycle. Let’s talk about them. 

This is going to be a long post, with 141 pictures. This is also going to be filled with spoilers. Enjoy :)

I really like this quote. And I remember I named one of my sterek fics after it :)

THIS IS THE FIRST THING NOAH SAYS. LIKE JESUS. FUCKING. CHRIST. I am so mad. Because I remember the first time reading it, half way through the first book, I thought “I don’t think Noah is alive”, and then I thought that it was such a ridiculous thing. But I kept thinking it, and doubting it, and how the hell could I have ever doubted it, considering HE SAID IT FIRST?

I love this a lot, really. Because this species is poisonous is such an interesting way to refer to Ronan. It’s true, but it’s also kinda beautiful, because when I think of a species, I think it needs to be protected. Also, yeah, of course this chapter was Adam’s pov.

Now, what you need to understand is that I love Ronan Lynch. I love him something stupid, really. I fell in love with him later in the series, but this is heartbreaking now. Because at this point, we didn’t know anything. At it says a whole fucking lot about him, about his headspace, considering what he knows right then.

#quote. He’s so old. I know people keep saying that in the book, that Gansey is an old man in a teenager’s body. And it’s mostly a joke, but it’s really not.

Again. This is so funny considering what we find out later in the books. Really, Maggie did so much foreshadowing, it’s ridiculous. Also, Noah knew. He’s always known.

so. much. foreshadowing. it’s frustrating, how much I’ve missed.

I got my sis to read the books. The first thing she told me was “they get so much funnier after they actually meet eachother”.

Blue’s relationship with Ronan is hilarious.

And brilliant, to watch its evolution.

He’s talking about when Adam took the Camaro and went alone to do something with Cabeswater. What’s interesting is how Gansey sees Adam. It’s complicated, sure, but he sees Adam as someone... pure. 

One of the best mother-daughter relationships ever, to be honest.

Oh, how that line hurt me. Probably as much as it hurt Whelk, tbh. Noah wasn’t a character I liked a lot. He was just... there. Until the very end, when I started crying at the chapter written in his pov.

There are so many beautiful quotes in this books. (I tried reading the Shiver series. I gave up halfway through the second book cause it was nowhere near as beautiful as this.)

I connected with Blue a lot in this moment. Cause. Same.

THESE TWO. Love each other a whole lot, so of course they hurt each other a lot, too. At this point, Gansey didn’t understand Adam very well. The conversation is still about the Camaro and Cabeswater thing, I think. And Gansey doesn’t understand. But, to be fair, Adam didn’t really explain it. 

It’s horrific and hilarious, how in the scene of a murder, Gansey thinks about how they’re not allowed to drink alcohol. ... Sorry, an alcoholic beverage. Old man.

That’s a big fat lie, though. Being real. Ha, no.

I can’t remember if this is Blue or Gansey, but either way, it says a lot, about how they just... moved past this information. I feel like Ronan did SUCH A FUCKING MASSIVE THING, with punching Adam’s dad and helping him move out and finding him a place. And yes, it was about Adam, not about Ronan. They friends should have focused on Adam, yes, but they should have realized something about Ronan, too, right then. And I don’t think they did. 

I don’t know about you guys, but when I read this, I fucking screeched. Like Chainsaw. I closed by kindle, took a deep breath. I needed a fucking moment. (Ronan kind of ruined me, in the best ways.)

#quote. Put that in your YA post-apocalyptic novel.

THIS JESUS CHRIST THIS. If there’s one line to define this series, it’s this one.

Ronan and Noah are the bros that, if they lived in student housing, everyone would hate them and stay away from them. Because they’d be the obnoxiously stupid bad boys.

He was so fucking broken. Think about it. THIS is his most dangerous secret. This, not his bff or his brothers finding out he liked boys. Not his brothers finding out he was a dreamer, like their father. But this, the horors of his dreams. 

I WANT TO KNOW MORE ABOUT THE BEGINING. I hope we get flashbacks in the new Ronan series. Also. Flowers. How sweet.

ELEGANT is not a straight term to use in relation to another boy. Also. Dream-Adam was disdainful towards Ronan. Because of course he was, that’s how Ronan saw Adam’s oppinion of Ronan and ouch. It’s the worst thing, having a friend and thinking they don’t like you. It’s even worse when you’re crushing on them.

foreshadowing. damn it. Ronan knew it, but he was too afraid to acknowledge it. 

I need that on a tshirt, Spock.

AMAZING. These five are just... amazing.

DID HE, NOW.

This thing, that Adam does. This heart attack thing. It’s amazing. Intense, man. 

#quote. Beautiful and painfully depressing.

Gansey really did have Adam up on a pedestal. Neither of them realized it.

Seriously. These two. 

What a ridiculous thing to say. ... No. Not really, considering who Blue’s father is. I’m... kinda cyrious, actually. About what the trees dream of.

I also need this on a tshirt. (also, fyi, me doing vodka is always a great idea. Tequila, tho, that’s a horrible idea)

Handome isn’t a straight term to use to describe a boy either, Adam. Savagely handsome is something else entirely. 

Declan knew, JFC. Yeah, ‘his expression tightened’, but he didn’t say anything. He never said anything about Adam-and-Ronan, which gets him bonus points.

That hurts. Gosh, that hurts.

THE BEST WAY A CHARACTER EVER CAME OUT EVER NOTHING WILL EVER TOP THIS IN MY WORLD NOTHING Alec Lightwood’s got nothing on Ronan Lynch. Also, this is one of those things, that I wish I could read for the first time again.

“something warming”. Ronan, you’re ridiculous. THEY’RE BURYING A DEAD PERSON FOR YOU, and you think it’s warming. ... tea is warming, not... that.

, as the Doctor would say.

Gods, these two together. We need more of these two together.

Ronan sees babies of “contents of the baby carriage”. Same, tbh. Same.

I love how Maggie made sure to remind us that they were still, in fact, teenagers. Who thought about sex and who got jealous even though they weren’t supposed to.

#quote

Tru dat. (thinking of Jughead Jones, tbh)

That’s reassuring. (Also, Maggie wrote the adults in this series just as nice as she wrote the teenagers. .... I’m still frustrated about Shiver.)

I need this on a tshirt, as well. I’d like to wear this on a shirt, and the vodka one on a hoodie. At the same time.

BLUE AND NOAH. Gods, they all fell in love with eachother a little bit. Jesus. 

Adam sees himself as so alone, for the longest of time (till Persephone, prolly). It breaks my heart. 

fucking Kavinsky, man. Ronan spends so much of the series being afraid.

It’s hilarious, how Gansey reacts to a Ronan dick pic. GROTESQUE DISPLAY OF NATIONALISM jfc. But, on the other hand, talk about Kavinsky and non-con.

Kavinsky channeling some Percy Jackson. 

Chainsaw is the cutest, though ??!!!

The thing I liked the most about the Grey man was how “seriously” he took himself.

That’s a nice way to say that Ronan faceplanted.

THE THING IS. Ronan had so much fucking potential to be like Kavinsky. Or even worse. I respect him a lot for not turning up like Kavinsky.

Do you think Ronan got some courage from this? From finally coming out to someone? Even if that someone is fucking Kavinsky? ... I really fucking hated Kavinsky. He made me sick to my stomach. Seriously. 

This relationship. Still amazing to watch. Throughout the whole series, really. Also, the fact that it was a draw says a lot. 

And it’s fucking beautiful, because Ronan’s first instinct towars Blue was to hate her (because Adam had a crush on her). Ronan’s second instinct was to hate her (because Gansey liked her). But, still, he didn’t even hesitate. They were at that whole in the cave, I think. When Gansey fell and Blue almost fell. 

They all love eachother so much. So fucking much. I’m certain, that this isn’t an exaggeration on Ronan’s part.

FORESHADOWING. the worst. (this was Adam, by the way, Adam mockingly talking like one of his colleagues, jfc)

YES

THEY WERE ALL IN LOVE WITH ONE ANOTHER

JESUS CHRIST

YES YES YES

YES YES YES YES YES YES

YES THEY WERE

THEY FUCKING WERE

AND IT’S BEAUTIFUL AND HEARTBREAKING AND GLORIOUS AND OUCH

so. fucking. beautifully. said. #quote

THE THING IS. Adam never talked about.... how he realized Ronan was crushing on him. It’s just there, one second. There’s no... transition. At least, we don’t see it. We don’t see Adam slowly realizing and seeing it, that Ronan cares about him. We just kinda see him... accepting it. 

He cares so much =). It’s like that part in the begining, with Gansey (I can’t believe I didn’t take a picture of it, but I still remember it). R: You missed English lit, I thought you were dead in a ditch. G: Did you take notes for me? R: No, I thought you were dead in a ditch.

Lies, Blue. Lies. Also. Who’s willing to bet that Ronan was expecting to hear a ‘yes’?

THE FACT THAT GANSEY LET BLUE DRIVE THE CAMARO

Is... is Henry straight? (or sexual at all). Cause that’s not a really straight thing to say, Henry.

I CANNOT BELIEVE GANSEY SAID THAT. ... thought that. and that he really didn’t think balls. he’s an old man even in his head. 

#QUOTE

NOW ABOUT THAT TV SHOW I can’t wait to see this scene

I don’t know why everyone gets a thrill from Ronan swearing. I mean, yeah, he’s Catholic, but he’s also Irish.

BLUE WAS PRETTY SURE SHE’D HEART THAT SOUND IN THE HALLS OF HER HIGH SCHOOL. I’ve said it before: they’re (still) teenagers

Adam’s self-worth is as rich as his bank account. 

Adam seeing Ronan as a god is just so... okay nice, in terms of their crushes, but also like... intense. Adam is so intense in his feeling towards all of these people. It’s amazing.

THE MAGICIAN IS POWERFUL JESUSFUCKINGCHRIST

ohmygod, Gansey. See? Adam sees Ronan as a god, Gansey has problems with seeing Adam as human.

Ronan, ever the sensible one.

He’s so... complicated.

So this is at Adam’s dad trial. Which Ronan tucked his shirt in for. That’s... sweet. 

I want this on a shirt too. 

Five: Gansey, Ronan, Adam, Noah, Blue. Three: Henry, Gansey, Blue. Adam, Ronan, Opal.

After Persephone died. It’s a... dismissal. “The fuck would I talk about?”. But it’s also kind, and intuitive. Ronan knew what Adam needed: just his presence, not his words.

OKAY SO there was already something happening between Adam and Ronan. But this is how they acted. In the middle of a dangerous situation. Like children. Married couple. Banter. Amazing. 

Same, Ronan. Same. (even though, no)

So is the cake. Also, Ronan pulling Blue back, again, from disaster. Yup. 

So. sweet. good. GOSH.

I, also, took great pains reading this. 

I love these two together the most, I think. He’s a big brother. 

... that’s... putting it mildly. 

heheheheheheehehe

AGAIN. That’s true friendship, right there.

!!! !!! !!! !!!! !!!! !!!! !!!! Gansey is gonna be Adam’s man of honor. And Blue is going to be Ronan’s.

Such a big brother. Asshole of a big brother.

FRIGHTENED, not frightening

Seriously, he’s so fucking intense and dramatic. I kinda love it.

A HEART ATTACK, ADAM? Now, where have I heard that one before? Hm. HM.

I like that a lot. His pupils were pinhole cameras to another world. 

so beautiful it makes me cry.

They know eachother so well. And this, really, is a typical thing. “I don’t wanna ruin our friendship by turning it into something more”. It’s just... extra. Cause it’s Ronan and Adam. 

I wonder, if he learned all of this from Nial. I mean, did they talk about it while Nial was alive? Did he teach Ronan how to work with his dreams? Or did Ronan learn on his own? ... it’s that why he went to Kavinsky? I mean, Ronan said he went to him because he wanted to learn how to take out something big from a dream, but... But. I want to know more. 

I WAS HYPERVENTILATING RIGHT ABOUT NOW

THE THING IS. Ronan dreamt Cabeswater. Adam made a bargain with Cabeswater. Because it accepted him, as the magician. ... of course it did. Because Ronan. dreamt. Cabeswater. 

Ronan never pauses before plunging head first, in order to save the people he cares about. This was a little bit extra, though. Because this was a pool of acid. And because it was Orphan Girl. He cares a lot about her, that much is clear. Again, I wanna know more.

He’s ridiculous. BUT THE THING IS. Every time there’s an awkward, emotional silence, Ronan breaks it with something ridiculous and difuses the tension. It’s pretty smart, tbh. 

And again. 

Dick, out. Literally. Forfuckssake. 

This is flirting. ... in their books, anyway. 

SO. FUCKING. BEAUTIFUL. I. CAN’T. COPE.

a... supernatural beacon, you say?

I want to know what pushed Ronan over the edge. To finally do it. Was it Declan and Matthew leaving? Was it the upcoming apocalypse? Was it the fact that it was his birthday and he deserved something good, for once? Was it something Adam said, or did?

Adam took a plunge too, with/for Ronan. 

F I N A L L Y

They’re adorable now. 

Gansey, finally figuring things out. Good.

That was a pretty good reaction. Considering.

A STRANGE CONSTELLATION, yes

I don’t think I’ll ever forget the way Ronan describes the kiss.

Same, Artemus. Same.

Opal is so cute with Adam. She loves him just as much as Ronan does. 

“Nightmares were real” is a terrifying sentence.

EVERYONE gets a little weak around the knees when they see their dude-crush with a child. I don’t even like children, but when I see a hot dude with a child, I melt into a pile of goo.

Same, Blue. Same.

Every king has his right-hand knight. You’d think it would be Adam. Nope. Adam is Gansey’s consultant. Ronan is Gansey’s knight. And this, btw, if after Aurora died.

THE MOST IMPORTANT THING ABOUT PYNCH. REALLY. I CAN’T EVEN BEGIN TO EXPLAIN.

That’s... That’s... Henry, man. Okay. ... Gansey, you... old. man. 

They’re ridiculous. 

Ronan’s been rubbing off on him.

SO THIS IS THE MOMENT when you realize that Glendower was as important as the notebook in Arrow was. (or the latch?? in Lost, idk, I haven’t watched it). Which is to say. Not at all important. 

What hurt me the most, I think, was that Gansey knew. He knew, all along, since that very first St Patrick’s Eve night, he knew he was gonna die. And he hasn’t said a single word. 

YES YOU DAMN RIGHT ARE. YOUR MAGICIANS. (Gansey’s, ofc)

Just when you thought it couldn’t hurt more... this fucking happens. 

IT WASN’T MUCH OF A CHOICE for fucks sake that hurts me deeply

She’s so sweet, jesus, with Adam. I can’t. How is Ronan gonna handle ALL THE CUTE?

Are we gonna hear more about Velaquez and Mackey and Xi in the Ronan chronicles?

BLUE PETALS. I really want to know more about this dreamer’s early years. And yes, full circle, like a (raven) cycle, YEAH.

SO ABOUT THAT TV SHOW. This was written in Adam’s point of view, and he couldn’t see anything because he was blindfolded. I want to see it. I want to see this, visual, cinematography, music, acting, everything. Because I like to torture myself, obv.

I god without magic is a king. (American Gods starts soon). I would have loved to see more of Persephone and Adam.

Ronan crying hurt me more than Gansey dying.

And, ofc, the last pic of this spam is of Ronan. Because, as I have mentioned, I love him something stupid. I can’t wait for the new books. I hope they’re gonna be as good as these. I’m praying for it. 

[mrmichaelchadler]

Figuring It Out: The Films of Laura Dern

Jennifer Fox (Laura Dern) speaks in voiceover in a half-dazed, half-searching tone, as if slowly bringing herself out of a dream. “The story you are about to see is true … as far as I know.” A documentary filmmaker, she’s used to finding ways to look beyond the surface of what people present about themselves; she’ll have to turn that ability on herself. She remembers herself being and looking older than she was, speaking about a man she calls a lover—despite the fact that he was an adult and she was only 13—with a defensive, forced attempt at nonchalance (raised arms, dismissive pitch) that turns pleading, then incensed when she’s called a “victim,” her voice breaking into a raised whisper, her expression into a furious grimace. “This was important to me, and I’m trying to figure out why … Let me just figure this out for myself.”

“The Tale,” debuting on HBO on May 26, is documentary filmmaker Jennifer Fox’s narrative retelling of her experience, and an emotionally searing look at how people process their abuse. The casting of Dern, one of the most adventurous actresses working today, feels apropos, given the performer’s willingness to walk a constant emotional high-wire act and her recent hot streak that includes, but is not limited to, “Enlightened,” “Wild,” “Big Little Lies,” the “Twin Peaks” revival, and “Star Wars: The Last Jedi.” It’s also an instructive text when looking at Dern’s body of work, a career filled with stories of women who have either experienced or witnessed unbearable trauma and who are trying to find the meaning behind it all.

The daughter of two of New Hollywood’s greatest character actors (Bruce Dern and Diane Ladd), Laura Dern began her career in uncredited roles alongside her mother (“White Lightning,” “Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore”) before emancipating herself at 13 when her mother objected to one of her early credited roles in the teenage punk girl drama “Ladies and Gentlemen, The Fabulous Stains.” Dern’s role as one of the members of the Stains is relatively small (it’s largely Diane Lane’s show), but she makes an impression as being kind and empathetic, expressing genuine sympathy when a band member of another touring group overdoses. Dern’s teenage roles draw on her natural warmth and luminous presence; her performance as the blind Diana in “Mask” in particular sees her displaying an unusual level of openness with Eric Stoltz’s Rocky (born with a rare skull deformity), a willingness to accept him for who he is and stray outside her comfort zone for someone who accepts her.

Straying outside one’s comfort zone is central to Joyce Chopra’s “Smooth Talk” (pictured above), which gave Dern her breakout role as Connie Wyatt, a teenage girl hitting her rebellious years and having a hard time of it with her demanding mother. The first half of the film is a remarkable study of a teenager’s tentative first steps toward sexual exploration, with Dern veering back and forth between being marvelously unaffected (tossed-off delivery and leaning posture around her parents) and exaggerated flirtation, like that of someone who’s both fascinated bt sex and stuck in a childish, mocking view of it. She adopts confidence only to shrink away, puts her full body into a kiss before breaking off, admitting that she’s not used to “feeling … this excited.” 

It’s in the second half, when a greaser (Treat Williams) appears outside when she’s home alone that “Smooth Talk” dives headfirst into that discomfort. Dern’s bashful body language gives way to a menacing, dancelike semi-seduction with Williams, shifting from apparent fun and games to something that’s outright predatory, with her demeanor collapsing collapse into hyperventilative terror. She’s in that uncertain place in between childhood and adulthood, when everyone is trying to define themselves, but there are plenty of men who have their own ideas of who she is and what they want from her. “Smooth Talk” would be an ideal (if grueling) double feature with “The Tale,” a young person’s immediate experience with sexual desire, confusion and abuse paired with an adult’s retrospective understanding of that trauma.

Dern received raves for her work, getting her first of two straight Independent Spirit Award nominations (back when they tried to be more than Oscar predictors); her next would come with a part that would bring her to greatest and most important collaborator. Few directors have brought as much out of Dern as David Lynch, but then, few performers have brought as much out of his characters as Dern, beginning with her role as Sandy in “Blue Velvet.” The archetypical girl next door, Sandy has a kind of unearthly wholesomeness that’s best showcased in her monologue about her dream about “robins of love.” The key to Lynch’s work is his belief that the truly good can coexist with the truly wicked. Dern represents the former, delivering the monologue with a whispered awe and reaching hand gestures that border on evangelical before bringing herself down and finding a way to clarify it to her rapt listener/love interest. Sandy and Jeffrey (Kyle MacLachlan) see some terrible things (including a painful moment of trauma that prompts a distorted look of sorrow that’s distinctly Dern), but she remains unwavering in her belief that her dream of light can conquer darkness and make sense of this strange world (would that Isabella Rossellini’s Dorothy were so lucky). 

Dern teamed with Lynch again for 1990’s “Wild at Heart” (pictured above), playing the far more confidently sensual Lula while retaining the same good-heartedness she brought to “Blue Velvet.” It’s a heightened, deliberately iconic role, with Dern leaping into exaggerated dancing, purring with sexual abandon and leaning just so to express her arousal or satisfaction when talking to or about Nicolas Cage’s Elvis-obsessed Sailor. But Lula is also someone who has experienced great pain—the death of her father, her molestation at the hands of his friend, the murderous rage of her mother (played, in a stroke of casting genius, by her real-life mother, Ladd)—and has come out the other end demonstrating a full-bodied, defiant belief in the all-conquering power of love. The film’s “Wizard of Oz” framing device sometimes comes across as a bit forced, but it’s also another example of how Dern’s characters often tell themselves stories to make sense of their lives and guide them from darkness to light. 

Dern’s early adult roles often deal with characters exploring their sexuality at a time or place where that might put them in jeopardy; that’s certainly the case with Martha Coolidge’s “Rambling Rose,” in which her “borderline nymphomaniac” Rose comes to live with the Hillyer family (father Robert Duvall, mother Ladd and teenage son Lukas Haas) after unspecified trouble with men. Dern brings a blithe, bouncy exuberance and confidence to the role, waltzing down the street knowing that her walk can turn heads and her smile win hearts. But Dern also embodies Rose’s goodness, her sexual escapades being the actions of someone who has an intense and open need to be loved, and to be treated with the kindness that she shows the world but that the world hasn’t been good enough to show her. A scene between her and Duvall after she’s caught in bed with a man sees her not going so far as begging, but rather earnestly presenting herself with all cards on the table, an eyes-wide-open, forward-leaning acknowledgement that “I’m only a human girl person, and I ain’t always perfect.” 

“Rambling Rose” earned Dern her first Oscar nomination and preceded two high-profile supporting roles in 1993. As criminologist Sally Gerber in Clint Eastwood’s beautiful “A Perfect World,” she illustrates the impossible situation that Butch (Kevin Costner) was put in as a troubled child with an abusive father, giving a full picture of his trauma and bringing us to empathize with how he became a criminal. As Ellie Sattler in Steven Spielberg’s “Jurassic Park,” Dern plays the warmer counterpart and partner to Sam Neill’s testier Alan Grant, exuding, intelligence, physical capability and a deeper concern for how easily the park can spiral out of control and the consequences that come with it (she also has the ability as an actress to practically unhinge her jaw in terror when things do go wrong). In a key character moment, she pleads empathetically for John Hammond (Richard Attenborough) to recognize how the people they love may get hurt. Both roles cast her as figures of empathy, finding ways to make sense of the reasons why people cause each other pain while trying to prevent it from happening again.

If “A Perfect World” sees Dern asking us to sympathize with a troubled person, Alexander Payne’s “Citizen Ruth” (pictured above) shows how far that should be extended. Make no mistake: Dern’s pregnant, inhalant-addicted Ruth Stoops is a first-class fuck-up. Dern dives headfirst into making her as gross and unlikable as possible, smearing her mouth with inhalant residue, manipulating the same people who are manipulating her (both sides of the abortion debate attempt to co-opt her case for their agenda), and shouting some truly filthy insults (“suck the shit outta my ass, you fucker!”) with gritted teeth and gusto. Yet the actress still finds something sympathetic in her, her downcast eyes and fidgeting fingers communicating her knowledge that she’s fucked up yet again and is about to be on the receiving end of some real hardship. Ruth may sputter with uncertainty when trying to voice the whys behind her right to choose, but Payne and Dern take her choice, and the pain behind what led her to it, seriously (besides, she said it loud and clear the first time).

Dern’s career slowed down in the late 1990s and early 2000s, something she attributed (more than plausibly) to her guest appearance on “Ellen” as a radiant, openly gay woman that causes Ellen DeGeneres’ character to come out herself. She got her first serious critical attention in years in John Curran’s “We Don’t Live Here Anymore” in 2004. The film, about a two couples (Dern and Mark Ruffalo, Naomi Watts and Peter Krause) whose lives are upended when Ruffalo and Watts begin an affair, is too drifting and one-note to draw much blood, but it comes to life whenever Dern’s enraged, emotionally rangy Terry takes focus. Dern adopts a hunched-over posture for her arguments with Ruffalo, her clenched chin jutting out slightly, to show a woman who’s well aware of how she’s being deceived and whose total dismissal to the role of child caretaker (something she does not take to naturally) looks like it’s almost literally weighing her down. Terry’s agonies in “We Don’t Live Here Anymore” are resolutely ordinary, compared with some of the other characters Dern has played, but they’re no less important to her.

Dern reteamed with David Lynch for the truly deranged “Inland Empire,” in which she plays the actress Nikki Grace, getting the comeback of a lifetime with the role of Susan Blue before her role starts bleeding over into her identity (or something … even more than usual with Lynch, describing what actually happens seems futile and beside-the-point). It’s a tour-de-force performance, alternatively put-upon, ferocious, frightened, and whatever one can call this terrifying face. She’s simultaneously the film’s emotional anchor and its constantly metamorphosing nucleus. “Inland Empire” is, at least partially, about the emotional wringer that performers can put themselves through for a role, and how easy it is to mix up one’s own emotions with their character’s. A monologue in which Nikki’s character (?) describes her trauma and her self-defense in a jaded tone that occasionally sparks into violence is later seen in a theater, the actress observing herself. She’s played a character who has lived through real terror, but we see that the actress herself is living in terror, both at home (her husband is deeply controlling and ambiguously threatening) and at work. Does the actress simply play the part, or is she drawn to roles that bring her to relive (and potentially make peace with) her nightmares?

“Inland Empire,” like most of Lynch’s works, does not put its or its characters’ purpose into words so bluntly; Dern’s next major role is a little more easily (and narrowly) defined, but not uninteresting. The 2008 TV movie “Recount” (pictured above) relives the national trauma of Bush v. Gore, the second-most nightmarish presidential election in recent memory. Largely focused on the tactics employed the official campaign teams of Vice President Al Gore (Kevin Spacey, Denis Leary, Ed Begley Jr.) and Governor George W. Bush (Tom Wilkinson, Bob Balaban), the film also takes time with Florida Secretary of State Katherine Harris (Dern) and her poorly disguised efforts to throw the election to Bush. Dern walks a fine line between humanity and cartoon with Harris, whom she portrays as a zealous, wide-eyed ideologue with exaggerated hair and makeup. But she finds the heart of Harris in her true-believer story about Queen Esther sacrificing herself for “the lovely Jewish people,” evangelizing as if her staking her career on Bush winning the election is for the good of the people. Her self-martyring tone is farcical, but it’s also indicative of how political partisans view their work as de facto for the good of the people and a tool to bring a country together after a moment of bitter division, rather than the actions of further division. 

Many of Dern’s more recent film roles have been smaller, supporting parts, but a few have still been notable. In Paul Thomas Anderson’s “The Master,” she has that same true-believer tone as a rich woman who has taken to the new religion of Lancaster Dodd (Philip Seymour Hoffman). Her student’s passion for something that’s given her life meaning is palpable; so is her shocked pain at being rebuked for questioning how, exactly, it can switch teachings so cavalierly, her body practically crumpling at Dodd’s shout. She’s more unflagging in her optimism as Reese Witherspoon’s mother in “Wild” (her second Oscar-nominated performance). Dern comes across in only a handful of small scenes as a vivacious presence who nonetheless knows perfectly well that she’s lived through hell, smiling through memories of pain because it brought her the most important person in her life. She’s the witness to someone else’s pain in Kelly Reichardt’s masterful “Certain Women,” a lawyer to a man (Jared Harris) who got screwed over when accepting a piddling settlement after a workplace injury but who can no longer be helped because of it. One senses her lived-in frustration as he refuses to listen her (then listens to a male colleague who tells him the same thing), but her genuine empathy for a man who she’s effectively powerless to help is also clear. And as Admiral Holdo in “Star Wars: The Last Jedi,” she commands the screen with a steadfast, unwavering certainty that she’s doing the right thing—any assumption of her incompetence be damned—finally proving herself to be among the bravest and most self-sacrificing heroes in the series.

Still, most of Dern’s best recent work has been on television. The brilliant, unjustly canceled “Enlightened” sees Dern’s personality as embedded into the work as Mike White’s (indeed, the two are credited as co-creators). Amy Jellicoe is another of Dern’s troubled heroines trying to find meaning in their lives, following her nervous breakdown first with a genuine attempt to regain the respect of her colleagues, then by becoming a corporate whistleblower in a move that’s half genuine, half out of bitterness. Amy’s a mess, lashing out at people she (rightly or wrongly) believes have wronged her at one moment, then preaching with a sincere but totally oblivious sense of illumination in the next. What holds Dern’s performance together as Amy whips back and forth between manic highs and deadening lows is an ardent, indefatigable expression that it’s possible for her to do something important with her life and potentially make the world a better place, no matter how crazy that world thinks she is. 

Dern returned to HBO in “Big Little Lies,” with her Renata Klein initially set up as an ostensible villain; Dern tears into the overbearing, bullying aspect of Renata, whether she’s stabbing the air with her hands like a maniac or giving a silent but icy glare, shouting her threats at the top of her lungs or whispering them with quiet menace. But there’s still a beating heart in her, a genuine desire to protect her daughter from pain (whether it’s violence at school or the more everyday hurt of someone skipping her birthday party), and the heartbreak in Dern’s voice when she voices her feeling of utter powerlessness (a control freak’s worst nightmare for minor issues, let alone real pain) is unmistakable. Much of the strength in “Big Little Lies” is its belief that flawed women can ultimately come together, forgive each other and help each other along; Dern’s performance is key to that.

And still, “Big Little Lies” had only the second-best Dern performance on television last year. There’s a nostalgic, near-breathless thrill in Dern’s first appearance as Special Agent Dale Cooper’s long-unseen secretary Diane on “Twin Peaks” (or “Twin Peaks: The Return”), an unmistakable callback to their close connection in “Blue Velvet.” Still, one couldn’t have predicted Dern’s delightfully cynical performance, all long drags on cigarettes and venom-spitting “fuck yous,” a far cry from the mostly upbeat Sandy. But even putting aside the eventual revelation about Diane’s nature, it makes sense after decades of disillusionment following a rape by the man she most trusted. That pain comes through in her reunion with Bad Cooper, her voice breaking, her breath quickening; it’s even clearer in her late-series breakdown, her shield of cynicism giving way to trauma flooding back. Even Diane’s return to normalcy is a pyrrhic and only temporary victory, with a sex scene with MacLachlan’s Good Cooper playing less like a triumph and more like a final, deeply sad shared moment between the two (which Dern somehow conveys largely with her back), one of the show’s many acknowledgements that trauma cannot be erased. 

“The Tale,” then, is instead a look at how one lives with that trauma. Fox’s gradual shift to acknowledging something terrible happened is not an easy journey, nor is it a simple one. The film deals heavily with the tortured self-rationalizations and denials employed by both survivors and abusers, ones both sincerely believed and desperately clung to. The final scene is confrontational without being fully cathartic, Dern’s belated but volcanic outrage a moment of her taking her past back (a real triumph) without any illusion that she has expelled that very pain. If there’s something Dern’s best work shows, it’s there forever; one can only try to make sense of it.

from All Content https://ift.tt/2x1Au7m

[thomdunn]

Let’s Think About This From Comey’s Point-of-View For A Second

The storyteller in me is always interested in what goes on in other people’s heads. There are various cliches about how every villain is a hero in their own story, and I generally think that’s true — both in fiction, and in real life.

And as more and more information comes out about the whole Russia-Trump-Comey-Hillary-Email-Clusterfuck, I think it’s important for us all to remember that these are actual human beings, who, like all of us, are often forced to make decisions with limited time and with even more limited information, and that sometimes, they get it wrong.

(Except for Trump, obviously; he’s little more than a spoiled chaos demonbaby in the middle of his greatest tantrum yet.)

So instead of arguing about conspiracies and fake news and hypocritical firings or whatever petty satisfaction the Internet is feeding on right now, put yourself in Comey’s shoes, circa June 2016.

You’re a registered Republican who has always taken pride in your commitment to the Constitution. You’ve never been ashamed to tell leaders of either major party to go screw themselves, if their actions or words don’t align with what you see as your duty. As far as you’re concerned, inspiring a bi-partisan hatred is generally a good thing, because it makes it easier for you to stay objective in your job. You earn respect through hatred and truth.

This is how you inspire loyalty within the Bureau — but lately, that loyalty has come under question. There are a lot of eager FBI agents championing the Trump train, which is bad for objectivity; you’re also in the middle of investigating the other major presidential candidate, which is even worse for objectivity. (Also, you yourself have never been a big of Secretary Clinton, but you’re trying really hard to get past that.)

And yet, the more you dig into Hillary’s emails, the more the answer stays the same: she’s a 68-year-old woman who doesn’t understand technology, but there’s no proof of malicious intent. Regardless of how much you want to punish her, being shady and stupid is not illegal.

Then the Russia shit REALLY hits the fan.

You’re pretty confident that Michael Flynn is up to something. You know that Trump’s campaign manager is knee-deep in questionable dealings, and that Trump’s lawyers have concerning Russian ties, too. Plus there’s that Russian mob hideout sitting right in Trump Tower you’ve been watching for a while, and maybe, just maybe, there’s something going on with Rosneftand the Russian oil industry—just a few of the reasons why you’ve been casually spying on Trump-related things for years.

And then there’s Vladimir Putin, a famously vicious spymaster with a raging hate-boner against America in general, and the Clintons in particular.

You’re also damn sure that DNC-server-hacker Guccifer 2.0 is Russian, though you’re having a hard time figuring out whether he’s acting alone or on behalf of the FSB and/or Russian government. (although you also know that Russian espionage tactics are intentionally designed to be duplicitous and cast layers of aspersions back around upon themselves in order to leave everyone triple- and quadruple-guessing themselves. Questionable links is what the Russians do, and they’re really really good at it.)

That’s when you learn that Russia is intentionally spreading false propaganda about Attorney General Loretta Lynch’s involvement in the Clinton email investigation — which is nearing its conclusion.

And for which you still really don’t have any proof of malicious intent, which would probably be needed (though not 100% required, I guess) to prosecute.

Even though you also know that a good 1/3 of the country is clamoring for Clinton’s public lynching, with their torches and pitchforks ready to go.

To make matters worse, Bill Clinton and Loretta Lynch just got caught canoodling on an airport runway.

People are already asking questions about this — and they don’t even know yet that you know that the Russians were spreading Fake News about Loretta Lynch’s collusion in the email investigation anyway.

Damn those Russian spies are good. And you, James Comey? You’re fucked. The Russian propaganda game just forced you into a Catch-22. You have to make a choice, but your choices—and available information—are painfully limited. Meanwhile, the clock is still ticking…

Choice #1: Tell the American public, in the middle of one of the most hostile elections in US history, that Russia has meddled in the process.

You can try to explain that you’re still looking into it and that it may or may not have something to do with Trump’s business dealings, or else maybe just people on his campaign team, you’re not sure yet. But the damage would already be done. This would undermine all remaining public faith in the American Democratic process—and you yourself would be to blame. The anti-Clinton animosity would reach a fever pitch, especially when they found out that you were going to recommend against her prosecution for completely unrelated reasons.

From there, the conspiracy theories of Obama’s secret evil Deep State agenda would spiral even further out of control. Between the religious Right (who really love the Russians) and the recent resurgence of militant white supremacist groups infiltrating law enforcement, this would likely push the country on the edge of a second Civil War.

So much for that carefully-cultivated image of objectivity!

Choice #2: Publicly announce the end of the Clinton investigation—with a lengthy preamble caveat to make it clear how much you hate her—while continuing to investigate Russian interference in secret.

People will accuse you of Clintonian collusion, of course, but sometimes you have to take one for the team. Clinton supporters will breath a sigh of relief, while the rabid Clinton-hating conspiracy theorists will continue being rabid Clinton-hating conspiracy theorists. But at least this way you can keep the illusion of American democracy intact, and let the people believe they’re living in a fair and neutral electoral process in a totally free country full of equal opportunity for all.

This is the least worst option. So you take it, and hope for the best.

Unfortunately, the road to hell is paved with good intentions, and your decision leads straight down.

Because just before Election Day, you receive news that your agents have found another stash of missing Clinton emails. Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiit.

This looks bad. You know this looks bad. Again, you also know that you have a lot of Trumpers in the Bureau, and that if you don’t do anything, they’re going to leak the information anyway. You could wait until you’ve actually gone through this new trove of evidence before making an announcement about it, but that could look really bad—especially if Clinton wins the election, which is looking more and more likely every day.

But your duty is to the public, and to the Constitution, so you bite the bullet and decide to write a letter about this recent discovery. A letter which pretty much decides the fate of the election…even though it turned out there was nothing new to investigate after all.

Oops?

But it all works out in the end, Trump gets elected, you casually mention the Russia thing in public, and everyone lives happily ever after. … Right?

Except for the other 20 members of the Trump cabinet who have lied under oath about Russian communications. Except for the alleged Donald Trump pee tape (which is almost certainly untrue, but still hilarious, none of which discounts the other revelations in that dossier). Except for all that Trump emolument stuff which may-or-may-not tie back to that whole Rosneft thing. Et cetera, et cetera.

Either way, you’re still James Comey, and you’re still doing your job as FBI Director, still investigating Russia’s involvement in the whole election process, and still under the impression that you are acting in the best interests of the American people, because that’s your job. So you don’t even mind it when Trump tries to nudge you into dropping the investigation. Or, again, when he throws a giant public tantrum about “Obama” spying on him, when you know—as well as the rest of the intelligence community—that you are literally spying on everyone in America at any given point in time, just to be safe, and that the rules on unmasking incidental surveillance have always been kinda-wishy-washy. (Except in this case, that system is working exactly as it was intended to all along.)

You don’t bother squealing on Trump for trying to obstruct your investigation because it wasn’t really that bad, and would cause an even bigger headache to report to the Department of Justice, making an even bigger enemy out of the vengeful, unhinged bully the White House.

Then he fires you. He doesn’t directly interfere with the process of justice, of course; but you know that he meant to send a message, because you know that he’s a wildly vindictive man with a malicious sense of loyalty.

But at least now the gloves are off.

To be clear: none of this is meant to excuse Comey’s actions, or anything else the professional liars in the intelligence community have recently said or done.

I’ve always viewed the intelligence community as kind of a necessary evil, who tend to do a lot of explicitly bad things for supposedly-good reasons. This is also true of law enforcement—and the FBI fits right in the center of that Venn diagram, and their history has always been shady.

The only point I hope to make is that no matter how conniving, insidious, or righteous they might seem, even high-ranking government officials are still generally people, and susceptible to the same failings as the rest of us.

(Again, except for Demon-Baby-Trump itself.)

There’s a reason that we have an FBI, of course. Just as there’s a reason for the checks-and-balances of the three government branches, and also an independent press, as well as laws to protect whistleblowers that we repeatedly ignore because we don’t think people deserve to know the truth. But the end of the day, we tend to forget that all of these organizations are run by actual human people who are prone to unconscious biases and errors in judgement. And that’s a serious problem.

The Trumpservative media would have you believe that every single member of the DNC and “Mainstream Media” are working directly together, in collusion with Comey, to take down the Trump administration with completely made-up lies about Russia. But all they can do about it is to mock anyone who isn’t anti-anti-Trump rather than grappling with the very real, and very human complications of this entire issue.

Meanwhile, a large swath of the Left is suddenly head-over-heels about shady government bureaucracy and surveillance, which is, erm, not a good look. (Remember, kids: the FBI and CIA are literally paid to lie to you.)

But like a lot of things in this messed up, crazy world, the truth lies somewhere in the middle, in an endless sea of complicated nuance.

James Comey is not “The Hero of the Resistance.” Nor is he the enemy of freedom.

More likely, James Comey is a human being whose former job involved some things that were good, and some things that were bad, and who found himself faced with some difficult decisions that made it even harder for him to stay objective in an increasingly partisan world.

Comey made some bad decisions. The alternatives were even worse.

If you were in the same situation, you probably would have made the same decisions, too. That doesn’t make it right, and doesn’t make it wrong—but it does make it human.