#without a dope beat to step to

[iamleandrawwz]

a high school AU!

[already-taekken]

Yall I'm crying!! I wish Hyuk could've been here so we'd have 4-Vixx but that's ok! I'm sure we'll get to see them all together soon!

P.S. Can Ken STOP making those faces while he's dancing?!? Especially the ones around 2:39?! Because I really can't take it!

[turbohellrealestate]

It’s been a long time…

[ghostcat3000]

Sunday Six (6/9/24)

“Talk later okay?” Even nods. They still don’t move and he thinks that their goodbye should have greater punctuation. There should be a kiss or embrace, a whispered word. Isak looks down and kicks a pebble on the ground in Even’s direction; Even stops it with his foot. Isak laughs softly and finally moves toward the house. 

(from Superstar, a SKAM work-in-progress co-written with @irazor)

[toxicanonymity]

the green

WC: 2.4k... I guess to find a scene, I had to find a world, then I didn't want to trim the fat because I liked it 😔

PAIRING: Ezra x f!reader; ft. others.

A/N: For @iamasaddie's writing challenge 4.0. I got Ezra: Aquarius, (i decided dark) Rave AU. Some of you write Ezra dialogue so well and true to character. That is not my forte and I didn't force it, but he speaks differently than others.

WARNINGS (not exhaustive, read at your own discretion): I8+ stefon voice: "this club has everything." drugs, surrealism, dark atmosphere*, sex cult vibes, public nudity, jacking off, manhandling, cumshot (dubcon), slapping, choking, spitting. Infidelity. You have a daddy. *I'd say "mild" horror but there's a mummified body in passing. A few cameos. It gets weird. unrefined chaos.

FIC ART: Amazing visual by @aurorawritestoescape

Drawing by @romana-after-dark

The Green was the one place your daddy explicitly forbade you from going. He never said why, but you assumed because the club entrance was down in the catacombs.

There were countless urban legends of doped up partiers getting lost, only to be found years later. One was discovered in a remote ossuary curled up with a faded can of New Coke. A picture had circulated – The poor soul’s shrunken legs were bent, knees drawn to their chest, yellow leggings stiffened and soiled under a pink leotard which by then fit like a paper bag.

—

When your friend said that’s where you were headed one night, you tried to convince her into going anywhere else. The problem was, she was obsessed with a DJ at the Green.

“I don’t get it,” she protested. “I know it’s not because you’re scared.”

“I just can't,” you pleaded futilely, and then she caught on when you wouldn’t meet her eyes.

Her jaw clenched, and her nostrils flared. “Let me guess,” she spat. “Because you’re letting a married man control your life.”

“Come on,” you pleaded.

“Billy may be a slut, but he's not married,” she bragged of the DJ.

. . .

An hour later, you and your friend were both high, dancing near the front of the crowd. In the humidity, you took off your bra, leaving a snug, mesh crop top and leather miniskirt. By then about 10% of the crowd was nude or close to it.

A song faded out, and a dense fog began to billow into the crowd. The fog smelled thickly of vegetation and masked some of the body odor you had been inhaling all night. The crowd quietly murmured, and with a few scattered whistles of enthusiasm.

As the fog settled, Billy the DJ put on a soothing binaural beat and introduced his mate, Ezra. As the crowd whistles and cheered, Billy hopped down from the booth and made a bee-line for your friend.

“There she is,” he murmured into her neck and wrapped his arms around her. “Is your friend joining us?”

“No,” she answered without looking at you. “Her daddy wouldn't like that.”

“Oh,” Billy looked you up and down, impressed. “Tell me ‘bout that later, love?” Billy winked at you as she dragged him away, leaving you alone.

–

Ezra stepped onto the stage and commenced with. . . spoken word poetry.

You didn't have the presence of mind for it, but the crowd was captivated. They knew him. As he droned on, some of them dropped to their knees, including a tattooed young man next to you in nothing but a sweatband. On the floor, he bent forward in child’s pose, arms stretched toward Ezra as though in worship. Through the remaining fog, the man’s glow-in-the-dark butt plug caught your eye.

Ezra had a mesmerizing voice. “Yes,” he echoed over the beat, and you found yourself tuning in. “Yes, feel my tongue penetrate you. Feel my words inside you!” You felt him opening something in your chest.

You scanned the crowd. The effect he had on these people was — The back of your neck prickled, and your exposed nipples hardened.

And then, you felt eyes on you. Not just anyone's. Your breath hitched. In the corner of your eye, Ezra was looking right at you. His voice became more tranquil: “I am already inside you.” A zing of pleasure shot through your chest, and a tingling heat spread through your loins. “Be not afraid,” he cooed. “Look at me while I penetrate you.” Your knees felt weak with need. You slowly looked up at him. He was sweating profusely through a worn, gray T-shirt and tactical pants. He dabbed his forehead with his wrist and ran his fingers through a shock of white hair. “yes,” he nodded, not taking his eyes off you. “Let me in deeper, little bird.”

“Let him in,” a few people murmured.

Ezra nodded, and his eyes sparkled as they briefly surveyed the crowd before coming back to you. He allowed a moment of silence, and over the beat, you could hear scattered moans. In your peripheral vision, the guy with the glow-in-the-dark butt plug was sucking cock while jerking himself off.

“Eyes on your god,” Ezra sharply demanded, and your face heated up as your gaze snapped back to him. Your eyes connected and locked together. It felt like you knew him. Like he knew you. You knew each other. You had to.

Ezra wet his lips, and everyone watched as he began to rub himself through his pants, looking right at you. Your eyelashes fluttered at the sight. His presence seized your whole body. Your breaths were shallow. The low beat thumped and hummed, with you in the tightening grip of his gaze.

From behind, you felt the wind of a stranger’s breath on your ear. “it’s okay,” she reassured you. “I’m gonna hold you for him,” the stranger slotted her hands under your arms.

“All over you,” Ezra continued, “the hands of my words, sliding over your skin.” He breathed heavily over the beat. You felt him. Pressure swelled in your depths, and you could hardly keep your eyes open. “Your god’s tongue, tasting the salt of your neck.” You really felt him. Your lips parted, and your clit twitched. “Yes,” Ezra nodded as he slowly rubbed himself, and the thick outline in his pants made you squeeze your thighs. Your body went nearly limp for Ezra's voice, and the stranger held you with your back against her chest. You could feel her nipples through the mesh of your top.

Ezra continued, “Your god’s cock, in the cunt of your soul.” And oh, you felt it deep. He unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, and the crowd cheered and pleaded, “yes, Ezra,” “please, God.” He held his cock in his hand, shapely and majestic.

Desire flooded your body, buzzing and throbbing with the beat of his obscenity. Your mind was full of him and so was your body, it felt. You had room for nothing else. Someone stepped toward the stage, and Ezra let them spit on his dick.

The stranger holding you pushed you forward, bringing you closer to Ezra. Ezra pointed at you with his free hand. As you arrived at the stage, a familiar darkness fell over his eyes, and your heart skipped a beat at the weight of recognition.

You snapped out of the spell. There was something off about this, something wrong about him.

He had someone else's face.

Someone you loved.

Your stomach turned as you stood there beneath Ezra, and he pumped his cock, with the crowd cheering him on. His eyes froze you in place. You willed yourself to move, as though stuck in a nightmare. It was just a bad trip, you told yourself. This wasn't real. It was the drugs.

“It's okay,” the stranger reassured you, and somehow, it helped you breathe easier.

Ezra breathed heavier, and his hungry eyes settled on your chest, making your nipples harden nearly to the point of pain. Goosebumps erupted from your chest and spread over your body.

“The seed of your god,” he panted, chest heaving.

“The seed of our god,” a few voices echoed.

Ezra bit his bottom lip and stroked himself faster.

“Especially for you,” Ezra spoke the words right into your soul, and your body throbbed out of control.

If it was a nightmare, if it was the drugs, you had nothing to lose by surrendering yourself to pleasure.

“Open your mouth,” the stranger urged you. And you did. You opened your mouth and closed your eyes. Ezra's sounds of pleasure became more pronounced. You couldn't be sure how long you stood there with your mouth open. The sound of Ezra growing ever closer to climax had you drawing in a deep breath through your nose and shuddering.

Soon, you smelled his musk and felt the humidity of his loins near your face. He groaned, and a thick rope hit the back of your throat. The warmth and tang of it was too much to bear. You squeezed your eyes tighter shut and saw stars. As your body spasmed, the stranger tried to hold you steady, but the cum that followed went all over your face and chest.

“Good,” Ezra praised when he finished emptying himself onto you. “Good,” he repeated.

The crowd cheered.

You opened your eyes and your body cooled with a wave of guilt. This is what Daddy wanted to protect you from. The spell of another man who bore a striking resemblance to him. You weren't yourself, it was the drugs, you repeated in your mind.

“You okay?” The stranger asked and you nodded.

“Now let them feast,” Ezra concluded and stepped down off the stage, his dick tucked away but his pants unbuttoned. People reached out to touch him as he came through the crowd but kept enough distance that he proceeded coolly, slowly toward the cave entrance.

Soon, you had hands all over you, too. Hands and tongues. People swiping at your skin, licking your face, desperate for a taste of him. You shut your eyes as they drew aftershocks of pleasure from your depths. After a minute, the stranger shooed them away. “Congratulations,” she said, and let you stand on your own.

Meanwhile, Billy and your friend had returned for him to resume his DJ duties. Your friend was dumbstruck by the scene. Billy looked more impressed. “Your first night? Alright, wow,” Billy marveled. “You must be special, love.”

It wasn't lost on you how this annoyed your friend. You pushed past both of them without a word and spotted Ezra's silhouette against the cave wall.

—

Ezra was uncharacteristically silent as you approached, simply taking in the vision of you, disheveled from the touch of strangers, unraveled from his words. He looked pleased with himself.

As you opened your mouth to speak, you hesitated, unsure you wanted to know the answer to your question, or how real this was. You asked him anyway, “What's your last name?” and your heart raced in anticipation.

“I don't have a last name,” he claimed.

“Bullshit. Is it York?”

Ezra drew in a deep breath through his nose and observed your face. “Mmm.” He glanced at the ceiling with a chuckle. “Well heavens, little bird.” His eyes turned regretful. “I surmise you belong to a particular agent of the federal variety.” He raised his eyebrows. “And if my calculation is correct, I sincerely–”

“--Apologize,” A handsome black man with short, greying hair interrupted. In an exaggerated motion, the man pulled up his sleeve to look at his watch. “A little late,” he stated with a glare, punctuated by a pout and raise of his eyebrows. Then, his hand engulfed Ezra’s neck with startling speed and precision. Ezra choked, and the man calmly held firm, beginning to explain, “In approximately 30 seconds, the blood flow to your–”

A different man snatched you by the arm from behind. The grip of his large hand was a familiar, painful comfort. You could feel the bruises forming on your bicep as he physically dragged you away.

“Daddy,” you whimpered. “I'm sorry, I–”

Mr. York didn't speak a word to you until he had you well into the catacombs, away from the club. You could only faintly hear the music start up again. He put you against a cold, rough wall, rolled up the sleeves of his powder blue button-down, and put his hands on his knees as he looked you in the face. His gaze was soft but ominous. It unsettled you.

“I'm sorry, daddy,” tears welled up in your eyes.

Still nothing from him.

His nostrils flared with a deep breath. You'd prefer if he yelled at you, smacked you around. As though reading your tears, he slapped you across the face. Your hand flew up to your cheek instinctively but he swatted it away and simply looked at you as the sting faded. He didn't have to ask the question: What the hell were you doing there?

“I didn't want to come,” you cried. “I didn't wanna–”

“You shouldn't be here,” he stated firmly, and you nodded.

“I know, you said not to come, didn't know it was cause, I didn't know about–”

“Who knows best?” He asked.

“Daddy,” you answered earnestly, “Daddy always does.”

He gave a short nod, then grabbed your jaw and studied each of your eyes. “High off your ass,” he grumbled. Then he sniffed the air. Still firmly holding your jaw, he brought his nose to your cheek, then dragged it down to your neck. There was nothing like your daddy’s touch, even when he was mad. Sometimes especially if he was mad.

He growled and stood upright, bringing his other hand to your neck so he had one hand on your jaw and the other firmly but gently on your throat. He demanded, “What did he do to you?”

“Nothing, he–”

He slightly pressed his finger and thumb into the sides of your neck as a warning, then released them.

“He masturbated and–”

“Did he touch you?”

“No.”

Your daddy brought his face almost to yours, just far enough away to still look in your eyes. When he seemed satisfied that he had the truth, he squeezed your jaw and said, “open.”

You breathed a sigh of relief and opened your mouth. He spat on your tongue and you swallowed it gratefully. His hands released you and he cupped your cheek for a moment before looking back behind himself, getting ready to leave.

“I'm sorry,” you repeated.

“McCall will take care of him,” he muttered.

He pulled you off the wall and led you out of the caves with a firm grip on the back of your neck.

–

In the back of the SUV, Mr. York was sitting on the driver's side, and you were face down sprawled across the whole bench seat. You put your head on his lap, facing his crotch. He laid a hand on your forehead for a minute, but you kept crying and rubbing your face on his pants, and he was tired. He stared out the window, despite that your microskirt had ridden up to where your ass was half covered. “Daddy,” you whined.

“Stop,” he commanded with a spank. Then he squeezed his hand between your legs and your thighs opened for him. He pushed your panties to the side and slid his middle finger into your cunt. “Be quiet.” He wedged his other hand under your cheek and fed you his thumb. He closed his eyes and held you still.

For the rest of the ride, you laid still and drifted off with his finger inside you and his thumb between your lips.

--------

-------

Thank you for reading 💚

[kyberphilosopher]

Pass the Dutchie

Word Count: 7908 Requested: Nah Warning[s]: 4/20 special, so drug and substance abuse, crude language, crude humor, adult themes, not my strongest piece ever probably, long, Billy sticks to character sorry, general fanfiction cringe warnings. When Billy assumes you might sell to him, you get back at him by stealing his stash. But after you realize he's not so unbearable, your relationship with each other, and even yourselves, seems to change.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The summer months came quickly, even quicker than the actual summer. The crisp April morning, tainted with spring rain that left the reek of petrichor hanging in the air for the rest of the day, had given way to a dry and beating heat. Not enough to make you sweat, but enough to fill the school with shorts and skirts over the typical swarm of bell bottoms. You almost felt like you'd missed the memo that day in your own denim jeans, but you were comfortable, and that was what mattered.

You wouldn't miss highschool, you thought, but you might miss senior year. By now, everyone around you had almost completely grown out of bullying. Why continue it? Everyone was about to graduate. You were all adults now. There was no point in nastiness. Mostly, it seemed your class had a fondness for sex and drugs and rock n' roll and not much else. There wasn't much to complain about there. All the popular kids were too wrapped up in all that to harass you at work anymore, or to spread rumors that you were a drug supplier and addict. You're more than thankful for that as you stare at the bouncing, burnt orange basketball being dribbled up the court by Billy Hargrove.

A gust of outside air sweeps through the highschool gymnasium from the double doors to your left. Sunshine leaks through the gap, straining your eyes when you look at it. It makes the rest of the gymnasium appear shadowed in a darker and far more boring grey than it really was. It might've looked exceptionally creepy if it weren't for the few kids such as yourself who decorated the bleachers, and the group of boys playing basketball just a few steps away. The students gave the school a bustling, warm atmosphere that you were more than willing to admit to now that you'd outgrown a lot of your younger angst and cynicism. The air from through the doors smells like your childhood- and something else in the distance.

"Yo, Y/N," a voice from behind you calls.

You let your eyes fall closed in instant exhaustion as you exhale a breath. You already know who it is. "Yeah?" you practically wince.

Ronnie Waters slithers up beside your ear like a snake. You don't hate him- he's funny sometimes. Sometimes. What, with his mousy mullet and sparce beard hairs around his crooked teeth, but mostly he likes just yanking your chain. "Smell that?" he questions, chip breath hitting your nose like a freight train. "Smells like dope outside, man. You gonna celebrate the 20th this year? You selling?"

A common misconception. You'd first smoked pot in the girls bathroom sophomore year and ended up getting busted- without the three other girls who had been smoking the blunt with you. You were quickly labeled as a pothead since then, which snowballed into being a full blown dealer in junior year. Funny how everyone who had previously never spoken a word to you, now threw themselves at your feet for some bud. Sometimes you'd play the prank of handing them a bag of oregano, but for most people, the answer was the same: 'Not selling.'

"I don't sell," you tell Ronnie, not even bothering to look over at him. He still hovers by your side like a bee.

"Come on," Ronnie whines and prods. "I just need some flower for the 20th... please?"

You turn towards him, tone becoming firmer but not angry. "I don't sell."

Ronnie pouts a frog faced frown, mutters a "whatever bro", and slithers away back to his group of snickering friends at the top of the bleachers. Your eyes turn back to the basketball game ahead of you, not really invested, just in time to watch Billy Hargrove dunk a clean one over Steve Harrington's head.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Ronnie Waters wasn't the only one who prodded you for an April 20th deal. Back in the locker room, Connie Rachel tossed her blond curls over her shoulder before batting her eyes and taking a 20 out of her bra. You'd felt bad about rejecting it.

Most seniors had partial days from completing all their required credits early on, leaving little classes in the days for them. You were one of the lucky ones who made the cut, which had honestly helped your fondness for senior year. The freedom you felt hopping in your car, waving a polite and quiet goodbye to your fellow classmates was a dignified one. Ronnie Waters, the little rat face, couldn't take it from you. Your feet pick up the pace as you exit the building, rounding the brick corner, converse to asphalt.

It did feel like summer. The sun, the wind, the scent of rain and flowers. The great boulder that jumped out at you causing you to flinch back.

You stumble a few steps, raising your head to see in front of you. Then your brows crease. It was no brick boulder at all, it was just Billy Hargrove. Well, you supposed that was the same thing. He certainly was a great rock of a man.

You weren't close by any means- you know each other by few interactions and by name. You don't hate him, you don't love him. You've seen him break Tommy's kegstand record and become Keg King, shove freshman to the ground in PE, and charm the teacher out of actually teaching the class through pure flirtation. So, he seemed fine in your book. A very upstanding young man.

"Woah," Billy smiles charmingly- a smile you've seen him use before on others- and an annoyance bubbles in anticipation. "Hey there. Watch where you're goin' much?"

You just want to get to your car. You can see the cherry red paint from here, glistening in the sun. But it won't be so easy. Billy Hargrove was pretty popular. Obeying to highschool politics, you couldn't really be rude to him without him using his influence to tarnish your reputation. In a small town like Hawkins, that was certainly something to consider. When Nancy Wheeler and Steve Harrington had called it quits, he'd plastered her name all over the Hawkins movie theater, complete with profanities. Not only that, but you were fairly unpopular. You didn't have any close friends who could come and save you out of nowhere, or even defend your honor. Now, you weren't hated by any means. But you were a loser. This was just one of the cons of being so.

"I'm just heading to my car," you get out.

Billy looks you up and down, still smirking. You hate it. You could tell what he's thinking from his mouth alone. "Red one, right? The 79'? Nice ride."

So, he's watching you in the parking lot now?

"Thanks."

A minute of silence. A breeze, similar to the gusts in the gymnasium earlier, sweeps through the air. It turns back to spring within the instant, rustling Billy Hargrove's cinnamon brown curls. His eyes light up in the sun like ocean water, rippling and dancing florescently with every movement. He looks nice for a moment, almost boyish with his dimples and muscle tee, still sweaty from the free period gym.

"I heard you might have something I'm looking for," he says. "I was hoping to maybe take it off ya', if ya' catch my drift."

Your eyes flit around the scene. You see the other seniors walking towards their cars ahead of you, pulling out of the parking lot, some disappearing into the trees nearby in walking groups. Did Billy have enough credits to be on a partial schedule? You could've sworn you'd seen him pull out of the parking lot at the same time as yourself a couple times, but he'd been a transfer student. He should've still been catching up technically.

You answer him very calmly, tiredly, monotone. "What's your drift?"

Billy's smile fades, his eyes returning to a wide shape as his face sinks. Another blow from the wind makes his curls dance. His maroon shirt ripples, tanned skin shining. You hadn't seen many men that were quite like him, you realized-whatever you meant by that. When Billy Hargrove doesn't answer you, you question again. "What's your drift, Billy?"

His face is stone, as you're reminded. Billy's tone is a little more annoyed, in his voice and on his face. He must never have been challenged, dared, outright shut down many times in his life. "I wanna buy some dope."

Should you give him a bag of oregano? Tell him you'll come by later and leave it out on his doorstep? Maybe drop a crumb of the real thing in it so it smells just right? You rub your palm up and down the strap of your backpack, thinking. Billy Hargrove sees as you look him up and down. He resembles an angry bull, you the matador. Should you?

"I don't sell," you say, looking down at the pavement under you. "You'd have bought from me already if I did."

You start walking once more, keeping your eyes down. You can hear the younger kids playing in the fields, the other grades practicing soccer, the cars leaving the lot blasting Scorpions and Madonna. Billy says nothing as you shuffle your way past him. He doesn't say anything until you're a few steps up the hill from him.

"I don't believe you!"

You roll your eyes and walk faster, worried suddenly that you may be run down by a familiar Camero.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Billy Hargrove wasn't great, you knew that. But Billy was far, far from the worst. He was cool, you liked him. You wanted to be out of highschool as fast as possible, which kept you from holding grudges or holding hatred. Billy was probably the same way about it at this point. But man, man, oh man- oh, man- did you find yourself wanting to put Billy Hargrove in a room with no windows or doors alone. The little prick really thought he could charm his way into some weed- weed you don't even possess. You've been buying your shit from the super senior Eddie Munson since last summer. It's all based on one nasty rumor.

Billy Hargrove was smart enough to see that certainly. Yet, he chose not to for his own ideas. He knows it is a nasty rumor but plays into it anyway. Why? Because he wants to? Because he has to? Neither? Both? Maybe you should've knocked that smile right off his face. Once for thinking you'd be easily manipulated, and twice for really accusing you of dealing.

No, perhaps not.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The next day was smoother. Air conditioning wouldn't be brought into schools for another few years, making the school hot and stuffy, but the library was so empty it was cooler. You spent your free period there instead of the gym, doing nothing of great importance. The joint you had in your car at lunch break was mostly faded from your system. With 4/20 right around the corner, you would need more. It was in- what? A week? The nug you had sitting in a carefully wrapped napkin in the cup holder was a rather small nug.

Eddie would have a sale. You knew that much at least. Of course, that's what you're thinking of when you see him standing by your locker.

Not Eddie, of course. His hair is too light, arms too thick, body too tall. Eddie would never carry such a natural and tired smugness to his face. As soon as you see Billy leaning against it, you feel your heart drop to your stomach. An odd anxiety washes over you, one you're not quite familiar with. But Billy hasn't seen you yet- you could turn around and walk away. You can wait it out in your car and circle back for your things.

You don't do that.

"Locker," you only say to Billy after he notices you approaching. That's all you need to say apparently, as he slides his back from its position against your metal box.

"You're a charmer, aren't you?" Billy says sarcastically, a bored expression on his face. "Very chatty."

You open the door and slide your backpack from your person, twisting it around so you can switch out a few books and grab your jacket and keys. "What do you need Billy?" you ask tiredly, wrapping your oversized hunting jacket around your shoulders and adjusting the hood.

He looks you up and down, but not lustfully. Just observantly. Judgmentally, somewhere in there. Billy's eyebrows are creased in a dull annoyance you recognize on him. He is the stone man you think of. You wonder, are his lips always so ever so slightly pursed when he's thinking? Or is that just the natural, bitchy look of his face? His handsome doll face. "Can I help you?" you repeat.

Billy's ocean blue eyes land back on yours. Through the dark eyebrows, they create a strong contrast. "I wanted to apologize for yesterday," the boy drawls out. But... he feels genuine. "Maybe I was a little too aggressive. With the 20th coming up I think it's easy to understand why I might be a lil' antsy."

You blink.

"Walk out to m' car with me. I'll treat you to a sesh."

You blink again, harder this time. Then you blink again, slightly faster. Billy's lips are in a thin and serious line. You realize, somewhere in the moment, that he has this disposition with you because you saw through his guise of charisma. He saw he couldn't get in your pants and let that way go. This must be the realest Billy's been to anyone since he arrived at Hawkins high.

Your fingers find the door of the locker, close, and lock it. Then you follow Billy, you slightly behind him at his side, to his car. The air smells like leaves and grass. "You're not stopping at your locker?"

Billy's tone is slightly more exasperated than usual. "Why would I?"

You say nothing.

Through the parking lot, you catch a few stares. Billy was just so popular- you should've known you'd see at least one pair of girls giggling. You watch as he unlocks his car- a blue 79' Chevrolet Camero, and the two of you bend inside in unison. Even your doors close at the same time.

Billy Hargrove's car smells like a mix of several, but very recognizable, smells. A musky cologne, the familiar stench of weed, cigarettes... sweat? Must've been old workout clothes littered somewhere in the car.

Billy Hargrove's head rolls over to you, the back of his pretty mullet getting mussed against the headrest.

"Nice car," you offer dryly.

Billy is still stone, offering no reaction to your words. "I apologize for yesterday. Open the glovebox."

An apathetic sounding apology directly followed by an order. How charming.

Still, curiosity overpowers everything else. Your hands do as the man says, undoing the glovebox and letting it fall open. It's stuffed to the brim inside, random papers spilling all over your feet. A single loose cigarette joins them. "Pick that up," Billy Hargrove tells you, though he doesn't sound so stern or demanding just then.

"The papers?" You begin to gather a few of them up- just a few statements about the vehicle and math papers that must've never found their way to the teacher.

"Nah," Billy gestures towards the white and orange cylinder. "Just the cig'."

You're slightly flabbergasted, but quickly muffle the feeling with, indeed, leaving the papers on the floor and instead offering him the cig between two fingers. Billy slips it into his mouth and lets it hang towards the side, as you're sure he's done a thousand times over already. "There's a lil' plastic baggie in there," Billy continues. "Get it."

Turning attention back towards the glovebox, you root around for a second or two before finding it. Instantly, you know what's inside. Pulling it out into the light only confirms your suspicions, if you could even call it that. You're careful to keep it low and out of sight through the windows, deciding to sit it on the surface between you two.

The bag has to contain two 1/8's, minimum. Inside, the bag does little to contain the stench of the dope, which is somehow strong enough to make you feel a little buzzed just looking at it. Most of the nugs inside are a dark green- but there's more colors than just that. Lime green, deep purple that's practically black. When Billy Hargrove picks up his bag of goodies after a classic man-spits-loogie-out-the-car-window move, the nug he picks out is a forest green with tiny orange veins running up it, spreading all around.

"Having a sesh?" you question, somewhat quietly, all while keeping your eyes fixated on the nug.

"Yeah," Billy rolls the nugget over in his fingers. His eyes are stuck on it too, making him sound just as far away as you are. "If that's cool?"

You mutter a response with only half a thought to it. "Reeks like shit."

Billy Hargrove's nostrils flare, and he rolls his head along with his eyes back over to you. It's brief, however, as he quickly rolls them back ahead. With his right hand, he leans forward to snatch a pack of rolling papers from the dashboard. "Fuck outta my car then," he mumbles.

Your reply is immediate: "No."

Billy Hargrove's mouth curves up into a smile as he scoffs. "Alright," he starts, his voice devoid of all anger. "Hold this. Now, this is the shit from California. All kinds of stuff up there."

He gives you the nugget, and takes the cigarette from his lips to place behind his left ear instead. You inspect the weed yourself now, noticing a faint sparkle from somewhere deep within it. The stench is certainly... potent. Being so close certainly can't help it. But there's something else you can smell too. Something fruity?

"Had no idea," you say.

"Here, you crush that up while I roll."

Your eyes switch from the dope in your hand to Billy in the drivers seat. Your brows crease slightly in shock and confusion as you look at him, and you realize in the back of your head that this is the closest you've ever been to each other. You know he's noticing your face- he has to. Something about that throws you off. Something about Billy Hargrove specifically noticing it- having this moment in his memory forever- makes the sides of your face feel hot. "You don't have a grinder?" you ask in disbelief.

Billy's orbs flicker between your own. His face is back to something like grumpiness again. "You talkin' about that little twisty thing?"

"Y... yeah?" you say. "It makes crushing up weed way easier. It catches the kief?"

Billy Hargrove somewhat resembles an agitated bull about to charge. You can see the gears twisting in his brain, however, and you know what he's thinking. He thinks you're playing a prank on him, or trying to make him look stupid. "I'm not shitting you," you say quickly.

With an annoyed breath he turns back to the paper in his hands. It goes quiet, uncomfortably so, so you turn back towards the nugget too. You take a paper that fell from the glovebox from the floor- an old science quiz that he'd managed to score a 79% on- and wrap it over the nugget. It's not the biggest nug you've seen, but it's more than enough for one joint split between the two of you. You simply begin smashing it carefully inside the paper, then opening it to pick out any loose pieces of stem.

It's once you've practically finished the task that you hear Billy's gruff voice from beside you. "You think you're so smart, huh?"

What?

You turn to him, catching the humored smile on his face as he continues rolling. He's shaking his head slightly all the while.

You're not upset. On the contrary, you're relaxed. You let the paper, now swarmed with little weed crumbs all piled messily towards the center, sit gentle on your lap as you lean back. "Not really."

Billy Hargrove does pause for a second, so fast you would've missed it with a blink, but you see it. "Could've fooled me," he mutters. Then he gestures for the substance in your lap. "Here."

You pick up the paper gently, with two hands, the way a child might hold a dinner plate. Billy Hargrove meticulously picks the crumbs between his two fingers, lips slightly pursed and brows furrowed in concentration, and lays it in the dip of the rolling paper.

"Promise it's not laced?" you whisper out hoarsely.

Billy freezes again, before a smirk takes up on his mouth. He turns to you, eyes wide, and leans forward. Although his hands are filled, he still finds a way to wiggle his fingers at you. "Oh, scared?"

Your face drops into sarcasm. Really? your face asks him. "You think so?"

Billy Hargrove turns back to the joint, and finishes packing after a few seconds. "Clearly," he snarks. He rolls his head back over to you, face suddenly very, very pretty. "You want the first hit?"

"If you're actually offering," you decide slowly.

Billy passes the joint to you as you reach into your pants pocket for a lighter. With a bit of wiggling, you manage to pull it from the fabric. "Here, I'll light," he says. So, you switch hands. Billy giving you the joint, you giving Billy the lighter. Billy fucking Hargrove.

With one final suspicious glance around the parking lot, you place the joint between your lips eagerly before leaning down. You can practically taste the hemp on your tongue. Billy Hargrove follows suit, leaning down out of sight of the windows and flicking the lighter to life.

"It's pretty strong shit," he tells you as his hand wanes closer toward the paper. You pray he doesn't decide to blue ball you right in that moment and fall back into typical Billy Hargrove fashion, and he doesn't. The end of the joint lights up orange and yellow, dancing and sparkling right before your eyes. The inhale is smokey and sudden, hitting the back of your throat like a train. You can only take it for two seconds before squeezing your eyes shut, at which point Billy grabs the joint right from your mouth.

You feel it fill your lungs, stilling yourself before letting it expel from you. It comes out through your mouth in a gentle stream, and when your eyes turn to Billy, smoke is pouring from his nose for a second longer than yours. Then you both lean back into the seats of the car.

Billy dips his head down and stares out into the parking lot before reaching down and rolling the window up. He glances to check if yours is closed before bringing the joint to his mouth again.

You watch him inhale. Already, you feel your eyes fall half lidded. You're certain the turning of your head is ungodly slow, more snail like than anything. But you don't care about that. You're watching Billy Hargrove's adam's apple bob once with the inhale, then your eyes wander up to his jaw. His nose shape isn't half ugly. Well, actually now that you're here, it's sort of cute. Has his hair always been so curly?

Billy Hargrove breathes this hit out of his nose again, eyes falling closed. He lets his head fall back against the car seat so that his face is pointed towards the roof, relaxed but still Billy.

Cautiously, your fingers dance towards the smoking joint still in his hand that rests on his lap. It's the closest you've been to physical contact with him, which would surely end in you getting your shit rocked if you make one wrong move, so you're sure to move slow. Almost comedically slow.

When the man feels the joint ease out of his grasp, his eyes snap open with a breath. Billy's blue orbs roll down to see your hand greedily try to snag it from his own, but he just lets it happen. He doesn't even look like he's going to rock your shit. Not even one little punch. His hand simply loosens until you pull the jay away for yourself.

"Light."

Billy side eyes you somewhat as he lifts the lighter up to the joint for you once more. "Good shit, right?" he lulls, face and eyes empty of emotion. He looks grumpy again.

You nod lazily, closing your eyes and taking your second hit. It's more bearable this time, and you manage to inhale for three seconds instead of two. You hold it for a moment in your lungs before letting it go, breathing out through your nose and mouth. "Can't remember the last time I hotboxed," you manage to drawl, though you immediately forget doing so. You're almost confused when Billy Hargrove responds.

"I probably do it..." he swallows and lets his eyes close again. "Probably every day."

"You're stronger than me."

"My tolerance is probably fuckin' crazy," Billy says as his eyes peel open. "My hit."

You pass it back to him.

"So you got any plans for the 20th?" he asks, and suddenly you're moved at the contribution he gives to continue the conversation.

You shrug. "Smoke."

Billy nods his head with a smirk, mid hit. "Yeah, that's the plan," he says after breathing out. "You gonna have any special deals that day? Any, uh, discounts?"

Your brows crease as much as they can through lazy senses, which isn't a lot at all. "I told you I don't sell."

Billy's eyes flicker between your own for a moment- again you can see the gears turn inside him. "You were serious about that?"

You nod. "Yeah, I'm not a dealer."

Billy Hargrove's eyes look you up and down for a second, again so missably quick, pretty and blue and distracting. (Distracting? How strong is this strain?) "So where'd you get your shit from then."

"Eddie Munson."

Billy's face splits into loud humor. Eyes light up, go big, mouth scoffing in disbelief. "The super senior?! You're fuckin' with me."

You playfully throw up your palms in mock surrender. "He has good stuff."

"But isn't that guy like, fuckin' crazy? He's always playin' that dumb nerd shit."

"He's pretty nice to me," you offer. "But, dude, he never plays Kill Em' All if we smoke?"

Billy takes the joint right from your hand, just how you did to him. His dark brows furrow much easier than yours as his eyes fall to you once more. "The Metallica piece?"

You nod.

"You're shittin'."

You shake your head.

"Jesus," Billy puts the joint in his mouth and holds the lighter to it. "What a fuckin' loser."

You can't help it. Really, you can't. Billy's words aren't that funny- probably aren't funny at all- but the laugh that escapes the back of your throat comes out in a scoff-snort combo that causes even Billy Hargrove to remove the joint prematurely to cough out smoke.

It's a nice moment. You don't find yourself resenting him or judging him and if he's doing so to you, you can't feel it. At all. You're just two idiots getting high in the car, being idiots high in the car. Billy's presence is welcomed by you, shockingly enough. It shocks you twice over- once, because it's Billy Hargrove. Twice, because for the first time in a while, you feel like you might just have a friend. Just for the moment- just for the moment.

"Ah, shit," you hear Billy break. "Fuckin' idiot."

You pull yourself a little closer to the present (as much as you possibly can as your body seemingly floats to the sky), and turn your eyes out the windshield. Through the hazy white mist that's settled in the car, you can make out a large and annoying figure by the name of Tommy, waving his arms over his head and grinning like a dull fish. His girlfriend, Carol, follows a few steps behind him, similar smile plastered to her face as her brown curls bounce.

"Damn," Billy Hargrove's face drops. "Just when I was startin' to enjoy it." He moves to open the door, and that's when you say something that makes him falter and look back to you.

"I gotta take off anyway."

Billy can't decide between taking a step forward or taking a step back it seems, almost like he's glitching. The boy leans down, turns his head to you. If you hadn't just smoked with him, you might not be able to tell he was high. His eyes aren't red, just pulled into that sarcastic, grumpy, pursed lipped look he's always wearing. "You sure?"

You shrug. "Yeah, don't worry about it."

Billy holds your eyes for a second more, jaw clenching. He decides not to say anything, however, and closes- a soft slam, really- his door closed. You watch him strut out to greet Tommy and Carol as Tommy points to you in the passengers seat with a grin you just loathe.

Quickly, you gather your backpack up from the floor. Out of courtesy, you find yourself quickly and inexplicably pulling the papers on the floor into a stack to place back in the glovebox. You click it closed without thinking, turning to leave when you stop.

The baggie still sits in the cupholder. Unattended, California bred and strong. You know how dumb it would be to take. You're not stupid enough to steal from Billy fucking Hargrove. But a few nuggets? Billy wouldn't notice. Especially not now, high off his ass, talking it up with Tommy about probably fucking nothing.

So, a nug or two wouldn't hurt...

Your brain convinces you you're a ninja. You swipe two medium sized nuggets, one dark green and one light, and cram them deep into your pocket. You're sure to zip the bag back into place to avoid suspicion as a rain of confetti seemingly falls around you.

The guilt is already washing over you somewhat, but it's deep, deep down inside. You almost can't even recognize it. You open the car door, sling your backpack over your shoulder, and watch the smoke ooze from the vehicle like a thick cloud. You must look like Zeus right now.

After the door closes, you're quick to walk away. Luckily, the lot is small, and you can see your car from here. Your foggy brain almost forgets about Tommy and Carol, who can somehow still see you even through your fast pace. "Hey!" Carol calls. "Hey, I'm talking to you!"

You just walk faster and keep your head down. You feel two things just then- Carol's laughter filling the air, and Billy Hargrove's eyes on your back.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Much to your own surprise, you do not grind up and smoke those two nuggets that night. Nor do you do so the day after, or the day after that. You highly consider it on the third day, though Billy Hargrove manages to completely deter your mind from it.

He doesn't do anything outright ruining- oh no. Billy just so happened to hold eye contact with you in the lunch line after rolling his eyes at something. It only lasts two, maybe three seconds. But it's enough to turn you off from smoking his-your- weed.

On day five, two days before the 20th, Billy Hargrove receives a test back in math that makes the right corner of his lips twitch up. You know, because you watch him very carefully from your corner of the room.

Billy tries to disguise it, of course. The man of rock and stone is always cautious to keep up appearances. Always frowning, always angry, always too good for something. But whatever he got on that test was, and is, worth more than that little mask. In your head, Billy Hargrove is proud of himself. He worked hard for something and he got a reward for it. Just like you, just like the people you admire, just like everyone else on the planet.

And you stole from him.

On day six, you find, once again, that Billy Hargrove has made himself at home against your locker. Again, you do not run away. From deep, deep in you, you're almost happy to see him. Almost.

"Billy," you greet flatly. The boy once again slides away from your locker so that you can open it, sly as a fox.

"Y/N," Billy greets back. He watches your face as you trade some books and binders, packing your bag to go home. You might be worried about him confronting you about his missing nuggets if you didn't know any better. No, Billy Hargrove was a hot headed bull. If he had noticed, he would've said something by now. Hell, you'd probably have a broken arm or something. "Still planning on smokin' tomorrow?"

God, don't bring it up. "Yeah, hoping to." You close the locker and clutch your jacket in your arms. Billy walks in time with you, neither of you acknowledging the accidental bumping of shoulders that's brought about through the crowded hallway. "Why do you ask?"

Billy Hargrove doesn't look at you. He looks straight ahead, almost as if he's in pain from what he's about to say. He looks like this is some great task for him, saying whatever he's about to say. Taller than you, you watch his sullen eyes as he speaks. "Was wonderin' if you wanted to smoke in the car again."

Your brows crease for a split second. "Tomorrow?"

"Yeah."

The sun illuminates you both as you walk through the open doors and out the side exit of Hawkins High. The spring breeze dances with the summer air gloriously. "Any particular reason you're asking me and not Tommy?"

Billy wastes no time in responding. "Tommy's a fuckin' idiot."

The laugh almost spills out of your mouth, but you manage to catch it with a cough. "Oh, okay. Yeah, he is."

Your walking slows as you approach your car, which catches the glint of the bright, bright sun. Billy turns to you, watching with his usual casual swagger as you fumble to get your keys out. "So you in?"

I stole your weed! you want to blurt out. I stole it and I actually feel kind of bad about it!

Instead, you glance down at your shoes, instantly giving away your poker face. "Oh, uh, maybe."

Something washes over Billy's face, but only for a second of a second. Maybe not even. Disappointment? Whatever it is, it's replaced by his usual expression. Pursed lips, unimpressed eyes, and the feeling that he's cursing you in his brain. "Well," he glances around the parking lot. The sun bounces off of him too, but in a way that looks better than it does on your car. It looks like it's meant to bounce off of him. "Let me know. You've got a phone book." And then he's already walking away with his back to you before you can say anything more.

You don't like watching him go. Sure, Billy's ass did look fantastic in the jeans he typically wore, but it did little to negate the odd feeling of despair and loneliness you suddenly felt. But Billy Hargrove wasn't your friend. He wasn't anything- you weren't anything to him. He just wanted weed out of you anyway. Ironic, considering.

It was true, you could always look up Billy's last name in your home phone book and come clean. You think about this as you seat yourself in your car, which feels and smells like a microwave from the oncoming heat. You knew you should really just call him. Just take your beating and get on with it.

But there was a little voice in your brain that said otherwise. It was that voice that gave you the idea.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Billy Hargrove lived on 4819 Cherry Lane, in a little pale house. It was cute, only one story. Very family friendly. It looked like his mother had taken a great bit of care in taking care of the family's plants, which bloomed in shades of poppy red and cherry blossom pink in the bushes right outside. You felt some guilt in thinking that Billy didn't deserve this.

It looked too juxtaposing compared to him, even in the dark of night. It looked too quaint, too warm and nurtured. But you knew better. Even though you're about to commit breaking and entering- or preferably just entering- you know better. There's something in that house that hardened Billy Hargrove. His mother? His father? Something buried deep under his bed? Whatever it was, now wasn't the time to poke.

The leaves crunch under your shoes with every step, but the hum of the cicadas drowns it out for the most part. You round the house so you're at the right side, relieved that all the lights are off. You can see through the little half sliding window, covered in dust and pollen, that it leads to an empty hallway with more pale walls.

There's no doubt in your mind. You're already committed. One hand on the window and another against the house's siding for support, you push the window apart. It comes off easier than expected, wheezing from friction as you slowly ease the panel open. No going back, there is still no doubt in your mind. Returning Billy's weed is the best thing you could do for him. And would you look at that- can anyone really call it breaking and entering if you haven't broken anything?

Both palms clasping the edge of the window, you vault yourself up and over. Exiting the summer night air and entering the Hargrove home comes faster than expected, but your shoes touch down nonetheless. You'd say it feels like a dream, but it's too fast to be a dream. The wooden floors are too solid, and the smell of Billy is too strong.

Billy Hargrove's bedroom isn't far from the window you climbed through. It's a few steps forward from your position down the hallway and then to the left. You expect to see the door closed, probably locked, which was why you'd brought two long and thin hairpins to pick it open, but the door is open. Every single light in the house is off, and Billy Hargrove's room is dark.

Silently- and bravely- you peak your head into the room. Again, you expect to maybe see him in a limp heap on the bed, but yet again, it's empty. Better for you, you suppose. Easier to get in and out unnoticed.

You see the Metallica poster by his bed, the laundry shoved into the corner of the room. You see the plain blue curtains with the little tiny hole burnt into the fabric, the unmade bed, the bottles of cologne and hair product and combs. You see the closet, hastily left open. Even with the lights off, you see it all. You see Billy Hargrove's life.

It moves something inside of you. You're not sure why. But then you only use it as an incentive to not be weird, to not be a creep anymore then you've made yourself into. Hastily, eyes already adjusting to the dark, you pull the two nuggets of Billy Hargrove's strong California weed- one light green and one dark- and quickly walk over to the boys bedside table. There's nowhere to leave it organically really, so you opt for just placing it by the little table lamp. Not sure what Billy Hargrove has that for, you can't imagine he's doing much reading before bed.

And then it's done. The weed you stole is returned. All is well.

You back away slowly, almost as if the nuggets were cursed objects in a horror movie. Then you turn around, practically flying back down the hallway and launching yourself back through the window with ease. Maybe it's the anxiety, or the adrenaline, but you're quick as a cat and silent as a mouse. Your shoes crunch the grass once more and you feel the warm nights breeze caress your face, protecting you from any danger. You turn around and slide the window back shut until you hear the hissing turns into a final click.

Your shoulders soften, and you turn away from the house. The crickets are loud tonight, you realize, and the cicadas. They tell you that you did the right thing. They tell you that you did it out of something good instead of fear. It's enough.

When you come back to the front of the house, you expect to see the same emptiness you'd seen before. The street, some trees, the darkness and the moon. But you're met with the opposite.

Billy Hargrove stares at you. He leans against his blue car parked on the street right outside 4819 Cherry Lane. Cigarette in hand, he raises it to his lips and takes a drag, but his eyes never-not once- stray from your own. They're just piercing into yours yet again, daring you.

You are so fucked.

Billy takes the cigarette from his lips and breathes the air out. He reaches a finger out to you and pulls it back towards him in a 'come here' motion.

All you want to do is run away before he beats your skull into the dirt and breaks your arm. But if you imagine he's leaning against your locker instead of his car in the dead of night, suddenly it's not so scary. You swallow, and begin towards him.

When you're finally there, right in front of him, Billy's the one to speak first. His voice is low, but his face isn't outright fuming. You can't tell if that's better or worse. Billy Hargrove plotting doesn't exactly sit right with you, but you're not sure how much experience he has in that realm anyway.

"You broke into my house?"

"No. I didn't break anything."

Billy holds your stare. His face is the stone man once again. "You're funny," he says, in a tone that makes you believe you're not really all that funny at all. The pretty brunette takes another hit. From this close up, you realize it's not a cigarette at all, but a blunt. A skinny one sure, but the smell and shape is more than familiar. "What are you doin' in my house, L/N?"

Nope, don't say a word, your brain says. You obey. "Just browsing."

"Browsing?" Billy deadpans.

"Browsing."

It's silent. His blue eyes flicker back and forth between your own, digging out the truth. He'll find it sooner or later, you know that for sure. "You know, I've had some crazy girls do some crazy things for my attention," Billy Hargrove starts. "But this might just be the craziest."

The word slips out before you can control it. "Gross."

Of course, it wasn't gross. Billy accusing you of wanting his attention? It was half true. Maybe you cared for him just a little. You mean, he'd been sort of welcoming to you, hadn't he? That day in the car? And yesterday, at your locker?

There's another minute of silence. Billy Hargrove's eyes are still dancing between yours, and you're still holding it. There's no anxious pit in your stomach. There's no desire to take a step away. If he swings, he swings.

Instead, he says, "Want a hit?"

Your brows furrow in confusion. "I- I mean, yeah?"

"Take it." Billy takes a short hit himself before practically cramming the joint in your hand. "It's 4/20."

You observe the jay carefully, twisting it around in your fingers as your eyes scan it. It's not laced or poisoned, at least, given that it looks like Billy's been puffing on the thing for a while. But there's no reason at all for him to share with you. He did, after all, just catch you in a blatantly illegal act on his property. Simply informing you that it's April 20th isn't enough.

"You really want to smoke with me that bad?" you ask, tone genuine as you hesitantly raise it to your own mouth.

Billy shrugs.

"Thought you'd be more pissed," you only say instead. Then you accept your fate, inhaling the still light cherry.

It's much easier on your throat than the other time, not as harsh. It fills your lungs with peace, sucking up any last remnants of anxiety that might've lingered. When you open your eyes, Billy Hargrove is just as pretty as he was before you closed them. With all that effort going into his appearance, you guess he'd have to be. But Billy Hargrove probably would've been pretty no matter what. If he kept his hair long or short, messy or tamed, skin tanned or pale. Oddly enough, you really believed that. You really, truly did.

You pass the joint back to Billy. "Where's your parents?"

Billy shrugs once more, this time mid hit. "Hell if I know," he replies. "Vacation, I think? Little brat's off at a friends house til Sunday. Place is all mine."

His tone is easing up already, which you think to take as a good sign. When you open your hand, Billy passes the joint back to you with no hesitation. "Lucky," you offer back, taking your hit.

"Gonna need to light it again soon," the boy says. "Got a light here."

Sure enough, Billy produces a little metal lighter from his back pocket. Different from the one he used before, but smoother on the flame. He raises it up to the blunt, and you eye him for a moment before leaning in.

This hit is better than the last few. You want to smile after this one. "How'd you even know I was here?"

Billy Hargrove crosses his arms and settles back into his lean. "Divine providence," he drawls with a roll of his eyes.

"Don't be fuckin' lame."

"I'm sorry?" Billy's dark eyebrow quips up attentively. "Who just broke into who's house?"

You smirk a little- just a smug little twitch that you find you can't help. Whether it be the bud or the conversation, you stifle it best you can to no avail. "I already told you I didn't break anything."

"Mm," Billy hums. His face is full of sarcastic disbelief as he snatches the jay right out of your hand so fast, it burns the tip of your finger.

"I promise. I'd never."

Billy takes his hit. Both of his eyebrows raise in thought before he makes a point to blow the smoke in the exact direction of your face. Immediately, your eyes flutter close at the impact, which rivals that of a brick wall. Even your nose twitches at the force. "You think I'm going to trust the word of a criminal?"

You look at Billy Hargrove. Curly taupe hair. Big, blue, dollface eyes framed by perfectly full brows. A cute button nose. Tanned skin basking in the summer anticipation. He wasn't so bad, you supposed.

You can't help but dip your head as you smile, shaking your head as you find yourself growing shy.

Unknown to you, Billy smiles a little too, before raising the joint back to his lips and inhaling.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

I HAVEN'T POSTED IN YEARS LMFAOOOOO. Hope everyone's doing well. This is just a little treat for you guys for the holiday if you celebrate. If not, just enjoy Billy. I actually kinda liked this pairing. I'd make a part 2, and I actually mean that. I do intend on getting back into posting but I need to do it at my own pace. I'm gonna close requests again so I don't get overwhelmed and just move slow. I am, as always, apologetic for any spelling errors I may have missed, and grammar errors, and I apologize if this at all feels rushed even though I've been working on it for the whole week. Sorta felt like I had to speed it up at the end since there is a word or paragraph cap on tumblr and i was getting hella nervous about hitting it. Anyway, stay safe, take care.

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FIC: Among the Weak and The Wicked, Chapter 8: Lords and Ladies Week

in the words of Timbaland, it's been a long time, shouldn't have left you/without a dope beat to step to (step to), so here's Chapter 8 of the fourth installment of my Gilded Age AU, Among the Weak and the Wicked! please note that this chapter is the one where I change the rating, in a plea for your love and horny attention. link and excerpt below!

Chapter 8: Lords and Ladies Week

It took all Jane’s scraped-together solemnity to keep from snickering as Lord Clangley—tall, thin, stooped; his words forced out in a wobbling, plummy wheeze—described his pleasure at young Arthur’s appointment to the peerage, and how proud Lady Margaret had looked on the dais. She had to work to suppress her mirth not only at the clear mix-up, but at the idea that Lady Margaret could possibly have looked at her husband with anything other than disdain.

see you next time!

[lightofraye]

Aaliyah - Try Again

It's been a long time (Long time) We shouldn't have left you (Left you) Without a dope beat to step to Step to, step to, step to (Step) Step to, step to, freaky-freaky It's been a long time (Time) We shouldn't have left you (Left you) Without a dope beat to step to Step to, step to, step to (Step) Step to, freaky-freaky-freaky Baby girl, uh What would you do to get to me? What would you say to have your way? Would you give up or try again? If I hesitate to let you in Now would you be yourself or play a role? Tell all the boys or keep it low? If I say no, would you turn away? Or play me off or would you stay? Oh And if at first you don't succeed (Oh) Then dust yourself off and try again You can dust it off and try again, try again 'Cause if at first you don't succeed You can dust it off and try again Dust yourself off and try again, try again Again, again

I'm into you, you into me But I can't let it go so easily Not 'til I see what this could be Could be eternity or just a week But, yo, our chemistry is off the chain It's perfect now, but will it change? This ain't a yes, this ain't a no Just do your thing We'll see how we go And if at first you don't succeed (Oh, yeah) Then dust yourself off and try again (Again) You can dust it off and try again, try again (Yeah) 'Cause if at first you don't succeed (Ooh) You can dust it off and try again (Try again) Dust yourself off and try again (Yeah), try again Again, again So, you don't wanna throw it all away I might be shy on the first date What about the next date? Huh (Huh), huh (Huh) Huh (Huh), huh (Oh) I said, you don't wanna throw it all away (Away) I might be buggin' on the first date What about the next date? (Date) Huh (Huh), huh (Huh) Huh (Huh), huh (Oh) And if at first you don't succeed Then dust yourself off and try again You can dust it off and try again, try again 'Cause if at first you don't succeed You can dust it off and try again Dust yourself off and try again, try again Again, again And if at first you don't succeed (Uh, yeah) Then dust yourself off (Uh) and try again (You can) You can dust it off and try again, try again (Again) 'Cause if at first you don't succeed (Ooh) You can dust it off and try again (Again) Dust yourself off and try again (Yeah), try again Again, again And if at first you don't succeed (No) Then dust yourself off and try again (Yeah) You can dust it off and try again, try again (Yeah) 'Cause if at first you don't succeed (Baby) You can dust it off (Hey) and try again (Yeah) Dust yourself off and try again, try again Again, again It's been a long time (Time) We shouldn't have left you (Left you) Without a dope beat to step to Step to, step to, step to (Step) Step to, step to, step to (Freaky) It's been a long time (Time) We shouldn't have left you (Left you) Without a dope beat to step to Step to, step to, step to Step to, step to, step to (Freaky-freaky) And if at first you don't succeed Then dust yourself off and try again You can dust it off and try again, try again 'Cause if at first you don't succeed You can dust it off and try again Dust yourself off and try again, try again Again, again It's been a long time (Time) We shouldn't have left you (Left you) Without a dope beat to step to Step to, step to, step to, what? Step to, step to, freaky-freaky (Whoa) It's been a long time (Time) We shouldn't have left you (Left you) Without a dope beat to step to Step to, step to, step to, what? Step to, step to, freaky-freaky (We out) One mo' again The new millennium, baby And we out, you guess who it is

[x-heesy]

Hell y Ass! V5

Step on the gas, I'm ready to fly

This is my break dance, this is my slam dank

I'm not like your idol, boy

What's the bottom? Where's the vibe? It's not yours, so pass it on

There's no pump on the beats (What's happening, god damn?)

Your pedants are running somewhere

How did you want to play this without talent?

You're like a local under, I'm like a local hunter

Fuck the innovators here

Every club I'm in will be a bit crowded

You say: You are not true. Give them bravado

But I'm so true that I'll wipe you the fuck out. (I'm a fighter)

The fighter is death

I would push through your armor

I would drag you into the compartment

Everyone says that I'm dirty, but the dirtiest one is the cleanest

We will be crushed by the beat, we will fall from orbit

On the slabs of the world that burn constantly when one is not sleeping

Every predator recognizes the style, bitches know what type I am

No, a careless person hanging around here with music, which for me seems like

Doping! What's going on at the party, boy?

It's not your fault, it's us who let the flesh go

Grinds the bones again doping (doping,) doping (doping)

Doping! What's going on at the party, boy?

It's not your fault, it's us who let the flesh go

Grinds the bones again doping (doping,) doping (doping)

Doping! What's going on at the party, boy?

It's not your fault, it's us who let the flesh go

Grinds the bones again doping (doping,) doping (doping)

Doping! What's going on at the party, boy?

It's not your fault, it's us who let the flesh go

Grinds the bones again doping (doping,) doping (doping)

Where are you as a pro?

Show me the style, what will be the profit

I don't want to bullshit, but if the guys are suckers

I'll fuck anyone worse than Loki

Bitches pick me up here and there

But I'm running from the radar deep into the core

It's like you've got us mixed up, you fucking succubus

Come on, check, I’m getting trouble with FrutoNyan

Hey, I'm no stranger to grinding this out

Soon I will be in you like a catheter

Where do they get chicks from such as diligent

I pulled out my dick, exhale of course

Proceed without hesitation

Here I am gentle only for you

You wanted to see me without clothes

I want to see you skip between

(A-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!)

Doping! What's going on at the party, boy?

It's not your fault, it's us who let the flesh go

Grinds the bones again doping (doping,) doping (doping)

Doping! What's going on at the party, boy?

It's not your fault, it's us who let the flesh go

Grinds the bones again doping (doping,) doping (doping)

Doping! What's going on at the party, boy?

It's not your fault, it's us who let the flesh go

Grinds the bones again doping (doping,) doping (doping)

Doping! What's going on at the party, boy?

It's not your fault, it's us who let the flesh go

Grinds the bones again doping (doping,) doping (doping) @bethanythestrange @bigbonzo @seanisnothing

Doping by RAM

Mothatrucking peace in the Ukraine 🇺🇦

[ginza-division]

Alternative Rap Battle (Last Judgment Ver.)

Bring the Beat!

[Masa:]

The sun shines down on black evil. No matter the day or night, they won't win against the light.

My goal is to see a new world, one without sin. Where all beings, big and small, can live happily therein.

But some simple and foolish sheep don't yet understand. Worse still, there are some that seek to stop my master plan.

Here and now, I'll say, that you won't win. All will fall, especially the foolish simpleton known as Raiden!

Mayhem and upheaval, Hypnosis Mic! A rivalry of champions, Alternative Battle!

Throw us some ill beats, DJ Sparks fly off the desperation! We cram into these rhymes!

This is no exhibition, it’s a historic battle! The format is ruthless, this otherworldly magic!

We’re greedy, east, west, south, north! Till we take it all, we’ll throw these insults!

Take or get taken, there’s no time to hold a grudge.

Are you game for more? Do you want more!

[Eiji:]

Technology is needed to make the world progress. We must push forward, there's no time for stress!

A new highlight, an invention, or anything at all, that's what we have to have to continue to stand tall!

In my lab, every day, I'm constantly working around any bugs or fools that seek to bring me down!

I've no time for things that are not relevant. And a prime example is the fool, Revenan†!

Run and gun, Hypnosis Mic! Violently valorous rhyme power, alternative rap!

Connect these dope beats, DJ! Quickly snatching it up for real, and stuffing it full!

One for the treble, two for the bass! Painful brats may die but the flow never will!

This battle of rhymes is karmic retribution! Till we take it all, we’ll throw these insults!

Take or get taken, there’s no time to hold a grudge.

Are you game for more? Do you want more?

[Oki:]

Just one small step is all I need to make the entire damn world bow down before me!

I don't really care about your like or dislike. All I care about is you watching while I wrestle this mic!

I stand tall above you all, and no I won't fall! The sky is my domain, it's where I made my claim!

Before it's over, you'll acknowledge my status! The unstoppable titan, I am ATLAS!!

Mayhem and upheaval, Hypnosis Mic! A rivalry of champions, Alternative Battle!

Throw us some ill beats, DJ Sparks fly off the desperation!

We cram into these rhymes! This is no exhibition, it’s a historic battle! The format is ruthless, this otherworldly magic!

We’re greedy, east, west, south, north. Till we take it all, we’ll throw these insults.

Run and gun, Hypnosis Mic! Violently valorous rhyme power, alternative rap.

Connect these dope beats, DJ Quickly snatching it up for real, and stuffing it full!

One for the treble, two for the bass. Painful brats may die but the flow never will.

This battle of rhymes is karmic retribution. Till we take it all, we’ll throw these insults.

Take or get taken, there’s no time to hold a grudge.

Are you game for more? Do you want more?

[monty-glasses-roxy]

👀

I'm assuming this is for what I've been up to in designing Pizzaplex areas and stuff. If I'm wrong, feel free to ask again

SO

I've mostly been working in Roxy Raceway cause of all the construction stuff. It seemed a good place to start but I have some ideas for other areas that I just haven't gotten to yet

I started with the lobby first. That little space in the atrium with all the screens and whatever. Well, without the screens and construction stuff, I've made the back wall a light blue, with canyons and desert scenery painted onto it, complete with little white clouds. All of that is behind the big Roxy Raceway sign. On the wall that had the 3D canyony decorations already built onto it, I've removed the red that was in the archway and carried the painted canyon scenery over to it as well. The only difference between the middle of that arch and the back wall is that I also put the sun on there. There also seemed to be another arch coming off of the wall to connect to a pillar on the floor so I completed that as well. The floor there is now checkered black and purple, with a few more hilly looking patches of canyon decor and a seating area by the stairs and hallway from Fazerblast. There's red and checkered patterns on the last two walls with a little pattern I quite like, and you know the big black archway over the door in the Raceway? That's now been copied into the lobby. There's one on the door into the raceway and one on the exit into the atrium. Last thing to note is there's a road that connects the two archways. It's black with yellow stripes down the centre.

That road goes through the hallway into the Raceway, and connects to the now completed road in there as well. The hall itself looks like a tunnel with colourful lights all the way through. I dunno if the flooring in the Raceway was meant to be designed like a road, but it is now and I think it looks dope personally. There's also a road by the stands that looks a bit awkward that goes into another of those arches and connects the road in the salon area with the steps down from the stands.

The salon hasn't changed much visually yet. I plan to complete the walls and have them be the same pattern of dark blue all the way around, and to extend the canyon decor up the wall above the door to the atrium. Haven't got that far yet though. The most interesting thing I've done so far though? WELL

Behind the salon itself, there's that big, hollow hill. There's a red door in it on the side of the Raceway entrance, and a blocked off entrance on the opposite side. What I've done is removed the barricade on that side and made it an open archway where the road goes all the way through to the wall at the back. It's like a cavern in there with lanterns and painted scenery on the wall on that back wall to make it look like the road continues. More interestingly, the door on the other side of the hill, now leads in a cave system. It's a play area themed on twisting and winding tunnels, with a few seating areas, ball pits, play sets, slides, and two windows down onto the road, with another one overlooking a play area.

What else is in there? Well, behind some checkered flags is a little crawl space, just big enough for a certain animatronic to clamber through. On the other side, is a very short hallway that leads to a door. On the other side of that door? Roxy's secret den. The canyon decor doesn't make it inside, with the exception of some parts of the ceiling and floor. There's rugs and scraps of carpets for a floor, big beanbags, a beat up arcade cabinet, and whatever random shit she could squirrel away in there. It could be bigger, but she unkowingly interrupted construction in order to claim it as hers, but it's not the smallest space she could have gotten by far.

Now, something a little less interesting than the cool salon tunnels, that fenced in area by the entrance to the Raceway from the lobby? The one inbetween the sign-up booth and the stands? Well, I've turned the empty space behind that red wall into a restaurant, with two smaller archways leading in and out to that area. It's a cosy little place in there, with bricks and wood panelling, soft, colourful lighting and a non-alcoholic bar set up. Roxy's original room is there two next to the kitchen. It's small, but full of beanbags and stuff with a couch and table, an arcade cabinet, a desk with a mirror, some steps onto a little overhang with more comfy stuff on it, and the place is full of fairylights and stuff. The idea of it is to sell merch, sure, but its primarily used for more chill hangouts with one kid or a small group of them. It's particularly useful when parents are late to a pick up or when a kid is upset and on their own and needs some space from the loud racetrack noises and what not. It's got two little windows on one side that look out to a little kids play area and a small section of the seating area. Speaking of seating, there's tables and chairs on both sides of the arches, which is what that fenced in construction area by the Raceway lobby entrance is now. There's also arcade cabinets and claw machines dotted around and some shelving by the play area where they stuck a random assortment of objects like books that wouldn't sell in Kids Cove, some plushies, toys, whatever. It's sorta the corner kids fuck around in until their food is ready.

I still have a LOT to do in the Raceway. I've cleared 90% of the construction stuff away so it's just the actual building left to do now. This post is already long though so I will save my plans and intentions for the next poor soul that enters my inbox wanting to hear about it lmao

Oh for the record, I'm building this in that Minecraft replica I posted about a while ago, so if anyone wants to see what I've done um. Well you need to take some of the decor with a grain of salt there's only so much I can do. I will be using this as reference for all future pizzaplex stuff though I'm not joking even slightly when I say it's quite possibly the most detailed and faithful recreation of anything I've ever seen it's actually insane

[darlingl-19]

There was nothing reassuring about this boxing club. The looks of those present could intimidate anyone. The music loud hurt Eva’s ears.

She decided to come to him for a very important boxing tournament. She didn’t tell him anything, a little surprise seemed like a good idea.

Many men stared at her like she was the easiest prey, she was searching for him but he’s no we’re to be found. His boxing coach invited her to take a seat. She felt uncomfortable whenever someone stared at her.

When he comes out of the locker room, Eva throws herself in his arms, surprised to see her here, he hesitates a few seconds before hugging her back. He puts a light kiss on her forehead.

-Ethan !

-What are you doing here…? He asked, almost like he didn’t want her to be here.

-I wanted to surprise you !

He kept his emotions for himself but seeing her smile melted his cold heart. As she gently caressed his cheek, his eyes turned from love to pure horror. His father was approaching them and immediately he let go of her. He was terrified of his father.

Without a word, his father pulled him away from Eva, she went beck to her seat. He gave her a begging look, like he begged her to help him. While she waited for him, she heard three men talking about Ethan.

There was a lot of talk about him. “Daddy’s son” “Spoiled brat” “He’s doping to get that level”. That’s too much. Eva went towards the three men looking confident. As she was about to say something, Ethan stood in front of her to protect her. She was an easy target for them.

-Let me talk to them ! She objected as he gently pushed her back to the bench.

This time puppy eyes didn’t work. He was pissed. He let out a deep sigh.

-Don’t make waves with them… It’s important to me this tournament, I’m glad you’re here but please just sit tight and don’t get in trouble.

His father called for him and after a little kiss on the cheek, he ran towards his father. She was upset by the annoyed look he had.

The tournament started almost an hour after her arrival and Ethan finally sat next to her. She put her hand on hers and he rested his head on her shoulder.

She kissed his cheek several times, he giggled but when she tried to kiss him, gently he placed his hand on her mouth, she tried again and he checked that her father wasn’t looking before kissing her.

-Are you ashamed of me ? She asked.

-No Eva…He sighed.

He was only terrified of his father. He didn’t want this man to hurt her, he knew she was about to witness such violence but - before his turn - he tried to make her less upset.

The young man’s first fight was already violent and it’s only a start but he won hands down, he came back to his girlfriend but she headed out. He took off his gloves and followed her, putting on a jacket.

-Why are you so upset, Eva?

-You didn’t kiss me the first time.

He sighed and tried once again to make her feel a little better but in vain. He hugged her, he hugged her like it’s the last time they saw each other. Confused, she let herself be done, hearing his heart beat against her ear had something comforting.

-You drive me crazy with your constant challenges and your dumb fights…

She laughed before she looked up at him.

-You are the most irritating, stubborn, arrogant, annoying, frustrating girl I’ve ever met

Another little giggle and she cling to him like a koala, they laughed until someone’s hand landed on Ethan’s shoulder.

Frightened the young man stepped back, the man payed no attention to Eva but his presence is so menacing, she moves away a little from the father and the son. The look on Ethan’s face was heart breaking, he looked so terrified of the man in front of him.

He took his son inside and signed the young woman to follow them. She did without flinching.

The more the fights happened, the more violent Ethan was. The blood stained the ring and his gloves. Nobody moved. As if they were waiting for the worse but Ethan still won this fight. Here he was, one more fight and he would won the tournament.

He came back to Eva, she wiped the blood on his face. He smiled stupidly as she did to him what seemed to be a lecture. In fact, his ears were ringing too much for him to hear correctly what she was saying.

He hugged her, she caressed her hair while he rested his forehead against her belly. He put his chin against her belly to look at her. Her eyes did not leave him indifferent and his cheeks slightly turned red.

-You’re an addiction… I can’t get you out of my head no matter what I do…

The last fight between Ethan and his best friend Alan. Despite their friendship, the resentments of their first battles were still there and their respective father were not there to appease them.

The atmosphere was electric, Eva was afraid but she did not move. Nobody moved. The two boys fought until the blood flowed from their noses, their mouths. Until they were exhausted. They took off their gloves.

Finally the adults threw themselves on them to separate them, Eva watched this show unable to move. She snapped out of her fear when she sees Ethan lying on the ground.

He couldn’t catch his breath. He asked several times where she was, but no one answered. The more he repeated himself, the more angry he got. He saw her and a smile that only she knew from him, appeared on his face. Yet his eyes were empty. It was like he was another person. He was trying to fight the adults restraining him.

His father took him to the locker room, Eva waited for all adults to have their attention elsewhere before sneaking into the locker room.

Ethan looked at her with a smile on his face. An empty water bottle rolled next to him, his hair and his torso soaked. He’s lying on the cold floor of the locker room.

-oh my love…

His hand - still trembling with adrenaline - reached towards her, she hesitated to take it but under his suppliant gaze, she gave in. Ethan pulled her close to him before he got on top of her.

His cheeks turn red. The blood dripped on her shirt and he wiped his face with the back of his hand. The water dripping from his hair stained her t-shirt. Eva looked at him with a loving look.

He kissed her before hiding his face in the crook her neck. His warm breath makes her shiver. He kissed her neck several times, he took a deep breath that does not leave the young woman without blushing.

She didn’t know what to do, so she just hugged him. He put his hands on Eva’s back, almost against her will she arched her back. She felt him smiling as he kissed her neck.

-I remember how you screamed my name… How you took me so fucking well.. How tight you were… He sighed next to his ear.

Her stomach felt like butterflies, he straightened up to contemplate her. She grabbed his shoulders as if she would lose her balance if she let him get up. He caressed her cheek with his fingertips and then traces the fine lines of her mouth with a softness unknown to both them.

-How you kissed me like you were in desperate need of feeling me inside you, feeling skin on yours and my hands on your trembling body…

Her triumphant smile appeared again. She didn’t know what to say, what to do. She simply admired him. His two colored eyes looking at her with so much lust and yet like she was the most beautiful woman he ever saw.

-I hate myself for loving you, but can’t imagine living without you. This is what it feels like to be helplessly, hopelessly, and irrevocably in love… I love you Eva. He whispered before kissing her, his hands going to places they weren’t supposed to.

She let out a soft moan as he touched her chest. He wanted her. He needed her but it was too risky.

[greatpestilenz]

Hobie’s Request - Hobie x Reader

   I was swingin' 'round our crib, feelin' all antsy, my heart pumpin' like crazy. Today was the day, bro. The day I've been gatherin' up the guts for, the day I was gonna pop the question to Mc. It took me weeks to build up the courage, but deep down, I knew this was the right time. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with 'em, and I couldn't wait any longer to let 'em know.

   As I peeped at the ring box in my hands, my mind started wanderin' to all the prep work I had done. I took a risk, man. Measured Mc's finger while they were snoozin' peacefully next to me in our bed. Risky move, but I couldn't just straight-up ask 'em without givin' away the surprise. So, I did it all sneaky-like, actin' all lovey-dovey, hopin' I didn't mess up their beauty sleep.

   These past few days, I've been dodgin' plans left and right, cancelin' hangouts with the homies. Not 'cause I didn't wanna chill with Mc – nah, it's the opposite. I needed a way to reach out to their crew on the low, get some help with the proposal. I wanted it to be perfect, man. A moment Mc would treasure forever.

   I reached out to their closest homies, spillin' the beans and sharin' my plan. The excitement and willingness they showed, man, it made me even more determined to make this proposal unforgettable. Their crew became my allies in this epic display of love, coordinatin' the perfect spot and makin' it a magical moment. I owe 'em big time.

   But even with all the careful plannin' and support, my nerves were still ragin'. Doubt and anxiety crept in, makin' my hands shake as I gripped that ring box tight. What if Mc said no? What if they weren't ready for this kind of commitment? Those thoughts kept racin' through my mind, threatenin' to dampen the fire I'd built up.

   I took a deep breath, remindin' myself of our journey together. All the memories we made, the laughs and tears we shared. Mc was my rock, my ride-or-die, the one who made my life a million times better. Our love was strong, and I believed it was time for the next step.

   With my determination reignited, I carefully stashed the ring box in my pocket and glanced at the clock. It was showtime, bro. Now or never. My heart, filled with excitement and a little fear, pushed me forward.

   Before steppin' out, I paused for a sec, takin' one last look at the life we built. Our crib, overflowin' with love and good vibes, felt like the perfect backdrop for the start of our forever. I closed my eyes, whispered a silent prayer, hopin' Mc would say yes and this moment would be forever etched in our memories as the beginnin' of our shared future.

   Takin' a deep breath, I stepped out into the world, ready to make my move. It took a long minute to get here, but in my heart, I knew it was worth it. No matter what happened, I was ready to take this leap of faith and declare my love to the person who meant everything to me.

   As I strolled through the busy streets, my mind was buzzin' with thoughts of Mc. Memories of our adventures and how we always had each other's backs flooded my mind, remindin' me that we were meant to be together.

   I reached the carefully picked spot, my nerves cranked up to eleven. It was a dope park, burstin' with colorful flowers and a chill vibe. The stage was set, but I couldn't shake the wave of anxiety washin' over me. I knew the moment I'd been buildin' up to was finally here.

   Takin' another deep breath, I reached into my pocket and felt the ring box safe and sound. The weight of it gave me reassurance, remindin' me of the commitment and love waitin' for Mc's answer. With newfound courage, I pushed myself to take that next step.

   Mc was waitin' for me at our fave spot in the park, clueless 'bout the life-alterin' question I was 'bout to drop. As I got closer, their smile lit up the whole place, easin' the beats of my racin' heart. Just their presence gave me the strength to keep goin'.

   I took their hands in mine, locked eyes with 'em, tryin' to pour all my love and devotion into that look. The words I practiced a million times in my head suddenly felt insufficient, unable to capture the magnitude of what I wanted to say. But sometimes, actions speak louder than words.

   With hands shakin', I slowly pulled the ring box from my pocket, feelin' the weight of our future in that single moment. Mc's eyes widened in surprise, their mouth formin' a perfect "O" of astonishment. Excitement and nerves danced in the air between us as I cracked open the box, revealin' the symbol of my commitment.

   "Mc," I started, my voice tremblin' with emotion, "since the day we crossed paths, you've been my anchor, my partner in crime, and the love of my life. You've shown me what it means to be cherished and supported, and I can't imagine my future without you by my side."

   Tears shimmered in their eyes, and my heart swelled with joy and anticipation. I kept goin', my voice gettin' steadier as I poured out my soul.

   "Mc, will you do me the honor of bein' my partner for life? Will you marry me?"

   Time seemed to freeze as we held our breath, the weight of that question hangin' in the air. The anticipation was killin' me, and I anxiously waited for their answer, prayin' with every fiber of my being that they'd say yes.

   A smile slowly spread across Mc's face, their eyes filled with overwhelming happiness and love. Their voice, full of emotion, whispered, "Yes, a thousand times yes! I wanna spend the rest of my life with you, Hobie."

   Relief and pure bliss surged through me as I slipped the ring on Mc's finger, sealin' our commitment in one precious moment. The world around us seemed to fade away as we embraced, the weight of the world liftin' off our shoulders, replaced by the promise of a future overflowin' with love and shared dreams. And for our first romantic gesture as fiances, I kissed that pretty little mouth of theirs. I was overwhelmed with so much emotions, man.

   In that park, surrounded by nature's whispers and the birds' joyful songs, we solidified our bond. The nerves and fears that once ruled me transformed into a deep sense of peace and contentment. From that moment on, our lives would forever be intertwined, and I couldn't wait to jump into this epic journey with the love of my life, Mc.

[dirtyfilthy]

What’s up tumblr?

It’s been a long time. I shouldn’t have left you....

.... without a dope beat to step to.

[sexymultifacetshadowling]

Eonan wasn't the type of person that enjoyed inflicting violence, they never did before and doubted that they would one day. At least not seriously.

A good brawl in a bar isn't the same thing as beating someone until they can't walk. Raiding a ship for their own survival isn't the same as torturing the ship's crew just because you can.

But he understood that everyone does what they need to survive, so he doesn't judge; it's not an easy nor pretty thing, living in Pirate Bay when you ain't got the money to leave it when you want to. Sometimes you have to become someone that eats so you're not eaten.

Eonan just didn't want to do that- to become that.

Their sibling was different. Eorac was harsher, it knew what it wanted, and they took it without remorse. Eorac was the type of guy you didn't want on your side, but wanted less on the other.

If Eonan's weapons was his wit and charm, Eorac's was it's actual weapons.

But they knew their sibling cared for him, in it's weird way. In it's careful and meticulous planing of their day or in it's tearing down of Eonan's fighting until it was perfect or in the almost soft way it would put their hand over his shoulder and tell the room "This is my brother. Behave yourselves around them".

So even when Eorac was like this, angry and scared and aggressive, because something went wrong, and they refuse to talk about it, even though they really fucking should- Eonan takes a deep breath, because he knows that his sibling loves them and doesn't mean it.

"Dude, calm down, it's fine. We'll figure it out like we always do" they say, keeping their hands where Eorac can see them and their voice low and with a slight amount of persuasive charm, "just tell me what's wrong."

"Stop that." Eorac says harshly, "Your fucking tricks don't work on me, I know what you're doing."

It bounces it's leg, ready to snap and attack if they sense anything bad is coming. Even just sitting in their own bed, Eorac looks so on edge and out of place that it makes Eonan's heart ache.

"Fine." They say, propping themselves against the door, "You don't want tricks? That's fine."

Eonan takes a deep breath. Again. Because what else is he supposed to do? They've played this game before.

"I won't fucking move until you stop acting like a prick and tell me what's going on."

"Why do you want to know? You think you can help me?" There's bitterness in Eorac's voice, it drips with sarcasm, "You can't even help yourself. Go back to your fucking music and your dope and leave me alone."

They hate when this happens. They hate that they have to stand there and listen to the person that's literally the definition of a "self-destructive streak" talk about his problems like it knows anything about it.

He hates that it would go there in the first place.

"Stop acting like a child." His voice is calculated, slow, but not angry, because Eonan knows that if he gets angry, it's gonna be worse "If you don't want help, then stop brooding. You're putting yourself in a situation that you don't need to."

Their voice wavers, just a bit, because he's an emotional person, Matra dammit, and they just want Eorac to be fine for once in their life.

"Let me help. I want to help" the please is silent "as your backup if nothing else."

It's kinda weird, to see the face that is the same as yours and somehow so different look at you with such wild eyes. So angry, so sad - so Eorac.

For what it's worth, Eonan can see the second that the sadness almost won, when Eorac's eyebrows twitched just a little and it's lips pressed into a thin line. The second that it almost admitted that they could be helped, if it let them. The second that they almost got his sibling to listen to him.

Alas, it was only for a second.

"Fuck you" it spits, "Get out of my way, I need to do this alone"

Eorac gets up from the bed, grabs it's dagger from the nightstand, and makes it's way to the door with heavy steps.

"I said I won't move until you tell me what's going on." Eonan, now also standing to their full height and slightly taller than their twin (Eorac has terrible posture), keeping his back to the door. "I meant it."

"Move. Now" Eorac it's not joking, they both know it. "I won't tell you twice"

Eonan fucking hates this dance, but he dances anyway.

"No."

Eorac is much stronger than Eonan, always was. When they were younger, Eorac always won every single game or fight that depended on it. But Eonan was faster, no one could ever catch up to him, not even his sibling.

When they fought, really fought, the outcome was always decided within the first seconds: was this going to be a fight that relied on strength and endurance or a fight that relied on dexterity and strategy?

This one was no different, but Eonan had the disadvantage: he couldn't move away from the door, if they did that Eorac was gone.

So when Eorac punched their face, and all they could do was put his arms up to protect it, both knew who won it this time.

Well, at least he would get a good hit in.

Using his left hand to quickly grab Eorac's fist and twist it, Eonan used his right elbow and hit their sibling's jaw.

Eorac grunted and stumbled back, hand holding the side of it's face.

When it looked up, their eyes were simmering with anger - and pride, if you knew how to look for it.

"You're gonna regret that."

(Yeah, yeah, I know) he thought as he saw their sibling's fighting stance (I already do).

Next thing they knew, their stomach exploded with pain. Doubling over from his sibling's hit, Eonan couldn't protect himself from the following punch in the face, that knocked them to the ground, conjuring that familiar metallic taste of blood.

Next was a brutal kick in their left leg, that made him curl into a fetal position - to protect himself or to avoid making their sibling see his pained expression, Eonan couldn't tell you.

Eorac kneeled next to their brother's face, grabbing it carefully - or as carefully as it could - making Eonan look into their eyes.

"I-" it swallowed, as if searching for the right words: 'I'm sorry', 'I told you so' or 'Why do you have to be so fucking stubborn all the time?'

Maybe a mix of all of them, or maybe none.

"I'll buy you a drink when I get back." Then they were gone.

Eonan just laid there, blood pouring from his nose and staining the already dirty floor of the bedroom. Their childhood bedroom, that both he and Eorac spend so much time and money trying to get. So much effort to turn that ugly and cold attic into a place you can live, so many years to get it furnished and make it so that even though it was small, it was theirs and theirs alone, and they shouldn't be fucking fighting in it.

He laid there, and he fucking cried, because they were tired and sore and pissed and no one was around to judge him.

They cried until their chest hurt and the tears began to die in his throat, because sometimes you have got to just let it all out, or you are going to let it consume you until there's nothing left (like Eorac is doin-).

No. Stop it. He is not going there. Not today.

Eonan gets up, finally, and looks at himself in the small cracked mirror they leave above the piano. They look disheveled, sure: his eyeliner is running through his face, a bit of dried blood under their nose and a bruise on the cheek that will definitely turn purple soon; but nothing that washing their face and a little make-up won't fix.

So they do that.

They go to the sink on the floor below, being careful and not letting any of the workers see him before they're clean. The cold water on their face is a blessing, and as he rubs and gets the dried blood out, they began to feel better. They run his now cold hands over the bruises on their stomach and over their scalp, massaging it to try to avoid getting a headache because of the heat of the Bay.

He is getting tired of the braids, maybe he could let their natural hair down for a while (Eorac would be pissed, people can only tell us apart because of the hair difference), the thought delights them.

They are smiling at themselves, thinking of all the ways he could impersonate and annoy his sibling, when a knock came from the door.

"Eonan? You there?" Michaia's voice sounded worried, "I saw the Shadows leave a while back, and you didn't come down."

"I'm fine!" He says quickly, "Be out in just a bit!" They apply their eyeliner messily, - it's part of the charm - then he opens the door with a smile.

"How's the worst hooker in the bay doing today?"

"Better than the third rate prostitute standing in front of me, that's for sure." Michaia says, with mischievous tone in their voice but with worry in their (for now) golden eyes. "You guys had a fight?"

"Yeah, but don't worry about it" Eonan says, cheery and warm all over; there's no use lying to them, and he knows it, but he can at least sooth their worries "Eorac's gonna buy me a drink."

Michaia shifts into a muscular and tall orc, and looks down at him with a lifted eyebrow.

"It's cool. We handled it." His tone it's now quieter, restless, it's a warning, much like their sibling's, that he's begging to avoid this conversation.

Luckily, Michaia doesn't push, they almost never do. Instead, they turn themselves into a small halfling girl and say:

"Let's get you two drinks then, and put it on it's tab."

Eonan smiles, and follows them to the bar on the first floor.

If Eorac comes back 6 hours later, smelling of blood and gunpowder, neither of them mentions it. They also wouldn't mention if Eorac slept against it's brother's back that night, or even if Eonan woke up that morning with a bottle of a very good rum beside his bed.

[batteredwarriorstillstanding]

I could have made that shorter, but to be honest, I am enjoying myself. Certain shit happened...there were clear reasons that it happened, which I was able to explain. Then, once the first round of shit happened, it caused other shit to happen, which had its own set of effects. Straightforward shit. Appreciate it, because that ends soon. I knew that Phoenix was the obvious choice for "New Start Locale," it was not my favorite city, but I liked it and it was cheap, which is always a key positive, particularly when nearly broke and without benefactors of any type. I also decided that it was, quite possibly, time to get sober. Just maybe, I allowed, it'd be conducive to repairing my ruined life.

It went well for a time. I remembered a cheap halfway house where I crashed after being booted from a rehab in Phoenix four years earlier. I sincerely did WANT to quit, and being exposed to, mainly sober people, plus attending AA meetings (but doing nothing else, despite the house requiring much more) was sufficient to pave the way for 4 and a half months of easy sobriety. I got a job, did well, and saved a load of money, which was key,because the house's manager, an unforgettable character named Tommy, decided to make good on his long standing threat to boot me out for refusal to work "steps" whatever those even were, they spoke about them during meetings, but I don't think this improved my grasp much, honestly, and get a "sponsor," which I thought I had effectively lied about and found an old friend to sign my weekly sheet and accept their calls to verify my stepwork. Apparently not, though. It was mid July, 2001. Impressed as I was by my easy sobriety between march and july, i was more stunned by the seamless, thoughtless transition I made back to using within an hour of leaving. I checked into the magical Motel 6, located at 27th ave /indian school in phoenix, which, for a visitor to the city, was an iffy location. For a guy looking for drugs, however, you couldn't beat it. It also served as an ideal spot to sell them, which I, incidentally would need after being too high to attend work and too suspicious of the room's telephone to call in. I was quickly unemployed, but found that, despite prices being deflated, Phoenix was a far more lucrative spot than montana for profitable dealing. Have it on you, someone will ALWAYS track you down to buy it....tbat worked for over a year, until someone tracked me down to rob me of all my dope and most of my cash. I couldn't recover in time to pay the weekly $259 rent, or whatever it was back then, and I was on the street. In Phoenix. In June. I toughened up considerably since that time...and also became much mire accustomed to things just not going my way, in general, but, at THAT time. I was doomed on the streets.