#but then again neil might spiral and not want to get the face to face confirmation that andrew doesn’t want him anymore so

[crazy-fangirl2524]

If you ask me to leave I will

Neil Josten picked up his phone as soon as he saw that it was Andrew.

“-stay. I don’t want you here anymore. Leave, run, like you always do.”

Neil’s entire world crashed. A screaming static rang in his ears and through it he heard the click of the phone call ended by Andrew. A phone, his phone, the phone that Andrew got Neil, clattered onto the floor and Neil went down with it, his legs giving out. Oxygen couldn’t reach his lungs because his lungs had collapsed within him, suffocating his heart while his ribs crushed it simultaneously.

Neil allowed himself just a second on the floor, heart bleeding out and then he pulled himself up so quick that his vision whitened. His duffel bag was packed before he even registered it, it took everything in Neil to leave the keys. Neil could not afford to linger, to look back, to even think for a second why and what did he do wrong. Maybe Andrew realised what a danger he was to his family. With the trials of Nathan going on right now and his ties to the mafia, it made sense. Neil had always been a liability and danger to everyone around him. Look at how his mother had turned out, and Seth and-

Neil stifled any remaining thoughts because if he even hesitated for a second he would not be able to make it out of the door and he could not stay when Andrew did not want him here anymore.

Andrew opened the door before Neil could reach for it. Neil was a greedy bastard because he allowed himself one last look that he would burn to his memory, a small diminishing candle that hopefully could keep him alive on his run. The thought of how Andrew and the foxes would be safe.

Andrew was frowning, his eyebrows furrowing that there was a wrinkle between his eyebrows and some tiny ones on his forehead, his lips were thinned and displease, probably annoyed that Neil was still here when Andrew had already told him to leave.

“I’m sorry, I’m going now.” Neil could not tear his eyes away from Andrew’s face. The silky blond hair tousled from the wind outside, molten gold eyes that was more precious and hard than anything else in the world, that could hold up even Neil’s most fucked up baggage and thoughts. Neil would cherished the time he had with Andrew instead of being greedy that they did not have more.

“Where,”

“Away,” Andrew looked even more tensed now, he had crossed his arms over his chest and he seemed to be blocking the door now. Neil couldn’t complain, whatever bought him more seconds with Andrew would be worth anything.

“Why,” that made Neil paused. Why would Andrew ask when Andrew was the one to ask Neil to leave in the first place. Neil looked more closely and realised how tensed Andrew looked, and not in an annoyed way. Andrew’s eyes looked the same way as when Neil had nightmares, concern for Neil.

“You told me to go,” Neil’s voice sounded ragged even to his own ears. He sounded pathetic and hurt and he cringed from it.

“I never did.” Now Andrew looked angry, the familiar rage settled Neil just a bit.

“You called me and told me to leave and run like I always do,” Neil voice cracked at the word always.

It took Andrew only a few seconds to piece everything together.

“I was talking to Bear.”

Now it was Neil’s turn to be confused, “Who?”

“The stray dog on campus,”

Neil’s lungs expanded and he could finally breath since the phone call. He didn’t even realise how tight he was holding the straps of his duffel bag until he let it dropped and his fingers started to cramp.

“Oh,” the relief must be apparent on his face and then the belated familiar panic attack came but the same steady hand clamped the back of his neck as well.

Neil and Andrew sunk onto the floor and Andrew shoved Neil’s face onto his shoulder. Neil began to laugh hysterically, I can stay I can stay Andrew never asked me to leave, were the only things running through his mind even though his chest was breaking and burning and his hands were shaking and sweating. The grounding hand on his neck was the only thing tethering him to the world and the only thing that made sense and got him to breath through the broken pieces of his body that had turned onto flight mode since the phone call.

Slowly, pieces of his body settled back and his breathing was almost normal. Exhaustion settled in and finally, Neil noticed that his hands had clamped onto Andrew’s hoodie, no his own hoodie, the bright number 10 on Andrew’s back. Finally, Neil pulled slightly away, still close enough that he could smell Andrew’s familiar cologne. He looked up and was met with Andrew’s angry glare. It made Neil smiled.

“I can’t believe you butt dialled me.”

Andrew’s biting hands and lips were the only answer and it was more than enough.

#idk idk I was reading some what if like the other thought they were cheating or sth and then I thought of this #and this is worse than cheating because like idk like imagine Neil actually thought Andrew ask him to leave like #I strongly believe if Andrew ever accidentally told Neil that and doesn’t found out before Neil was on the plane neil josten will disappear #and Andrew will never ever be able to find Neil josten ever again #now I wanna write an au to this where Andrew didn’t stop Neil in time and neil had already left the continent i wonder what Andrew will thin #especially if it’s obvious that Neil left by himslef and not a kidnapp because his duffel bag will be gone #the angst potential #I mean this miscommunication is super unlikely but WHAT IF #I mean realistically neil will realsie this is unlike Andrew because Andrew will tell him in person instead of on the phone #so hopefully if Andrew ever butt dial neil and said the wrong things then neil will confront him and find him #but then again neil might spiral and not want to get the face to face confirmation that andrew doesn’t want him anymore so #boom this little snippet #oops sorry guys #aftg #all for the game #tfc #the foxhole court #aftg series #aftg fandom #andrew minyard #neil josten #aftg incorrect quotes #andrew joseph minyard #aftg fanfiction #aftg fanfic #aftg fic #aftg headcanon #aftg hc #tfc fanfic #tfc fanfiction

[ellewritesandrants]

I was inspired to write some insecure Billy and Steve afraid that the other would leave so here you go!

Billy’s just so used to being left behind or abandoned that he expects it which is why it’s odd for him that Steve sometimes looks at Billy as if he’s the one who’ll be leaving. Sometimes, Steve gets into these moods where he just pulls Billy into his arms and drags them either to the couch or their bed, clinging onto the blond so tightly almost as if he was begging the blond not to go.

Billy was bewildered because, if anything, it should be Steve who should want to go. Billy was a mess, even before this whole thing with the Mindflayer and that just made it all so much worse. Before, Billy could hide behind muscles and charisma and now, he was a shell of his former self, spooked at the weirdest things and incapable of looking at himself in the mirror.

It had been a wonder for Billy to wake up in a hospital bed, with Steve’s hand tightly gripping his not only because he’d thought he was going to die when he faced that monster but because he’d thought Steve had replaced him with Robin before he found out that Robin was a lesbian. Billy had fought, not only for his sister and her friends but also to protect Steve because he didn’t ever want to hurt Steve again after that awful night at the Byers where his paternal trauma was triggered.

When Billy had woken up, it was Steve’s hand that kept him grounded. It was Steve’s stories that filled his day. It was Steve’s presence that made him want to keep living so it didn’t make any sense why Steve would even worry about Billy leaving. Didn’t he know that Billy was sure thing for him but that he was too good for Billy?

Not only did Steve open up his heart and also his home to Billy but the brunet had taken care of him, dealt with him through the ups and downs of his recovery. Even through the moments he’d wished he’d died, Steve had been his rock keeping him grounded. Sure, Billy was recovered now according to the hospital but he could never go back to being the same person he used to be.

Billy hadn’t even been able to get behind the wheel of his baby yet. It had been fully restored months ago, just waiting for him to make the engine purr but even just being inside the car stirred up memories of the monster that controlled him and he hasn’t been able to get himself to move past it, relying on Steve mostly for rides if not walking to build up the stamina he’s lost. He could never stay out too late or go anywhere near Brimborn or the Holloway’s house. It brought up bad memories and sent him spiralling.

Even the thought of touching a person had reviled him for a long time after waking up, with Steve and El being the only ones he didn’t hate touching. Max was the first one he forced himself to familiarize with again, after promising his little sister that he would take this second chance to be a better brother. He’d eventually forced himself to do the same to Max’s friends and Susan since he didn’t want anything to do with the Billy who killed dozens of innocent people and he wanted to at least try to be someone Steve deserved.

Steve often told him that he was surprised by how insecure Billy really was and how amazing he was to have recovered so quickly but Billy didn’t really think he was all that amazing. If he was, he wouldn’t have killed all of those innocent people. He wouldn’t have had his father killed after the government scientists realized Neil was abusive and therefore, a threat to extinguish in order to keep their new subject. If he was as amazing as Steve thought he was, there might even still be a chance he deserved Steve.

The truth however, would always hurt. Billy didn’t deserve Steve. Steve deserved happiness. Steve deserved love. Steve deserved everything good in the world and there was absolutely no was Billy could ever give that to him, even before he became the wreck he was today. Steve deserved someone whole who could give him the big family he’s always wanted and someone he truly loved. Steve deserved better than him and while Nancy Wheeler wasn’t all that better because she cheated on Steve, Steve loves her and Steve deserves the opportunity to love who he really wants without the baggage of Billy.

That was why Billy had jumped on Mrs. Byer’s offer to take him with them when they moved to California. It would allow Steve to pursue the person he really wants while giving Billy enough space to lick his wounds. It wasn’t Billy leaving Steve. It was Billy giving Steve the chance to be happy and that’s why he didn’t get why this argument was even taking place.

“You’re going with the Byers to California? Why, Billy? I thought you were happy here.”

“I am!”

“Then why are you leaving?”

Billy wanted to lie and make up some excuse about him needing space or sunlight to recover but he couldn’t do that, not to Steve.

“Because you’re not happy with me here.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, baby?”

“You didn’t think I’d notice? Stevie, you only really ever smile and laugh around your friends. You make jokes with them and you play around and you get to be a teenager with them. The minute you’re with me, you’re stuck taking care of me.”

“Because I want to, baby. Don’t you realize that?”

Steve tried to reach out but Billy only moved further away. Billy scoffed.

“You’re just saying that. Look, Steve, you deserve to be happy and I think you’d be happier without me here.”

“What? That’s complete and utter bullshit.”

“No, it’s not. I’m a mess, Stevie. I’m a shell of my former self. I weigh probably 140 pounds soaking wet, I’m covered with scars and I get triggered by the simplest things. I’m dead weight, extra baggage. I didn’t deserve you back then and I definitely don’t deserve you now. You deserve someone who’ll make you happy.”

“And that’s you, baby.”

“Don’t lie to me. Everyone and their mother knows that it’s Nancy.”

“Nancy? Where the hell did you get that from?”

“I saw you and her the other day and I know she’s the first person you ever loved. She can give you the big family you want and don’t even try to tell me that you don’t want that. With me gone, you can get her back and be happy.”

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath before he took Billy’s hands in his.

“Fuck, darling, you’ve got it all wrong, okay? Nancy wanted to meet up because she wanted to say goodbye. She’s going with the Byers too since she got into the same college as Jonathan. And as for the big family, yes I won’t lie, I do want that but the 6 shitheads we’re usually in charge of are more than enough for me right now. I do want to eventually adopt some kids or even have some of my own but I can do that with you.”

“But you don’t have to!”

“Why not, sweetheart? I want to do it with you.”

“I don’t deserve you, Steve.”

“Stop trying to tell me what I deserve. Why are you trying so hard to leave me?”

Billy couldn’t stop the tears from falling.

“Because I don’t want you to regret me. I don’t want you to waste the next how many years taking care of me and eventually getting sick of me before you finally realize you deserve better than me.”

I don’t want you to leave me like my mother did.

“Fuck, baby, if anything, you deserve better than me.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, Steve?”

“I lied to you and hit you first that night. Everything could have probably been avoided had I told you the truth earlier. Our fight, your posession, everything. It’s all my fault for not telling you. Hell, I was the one who wanted to keep us a secret from everyone until you were possessed by the Mindflayer and that’s why I didn’t know what was happening until I saw you at the mall. You deserve better than my fuck ups.”

It was Billy’s turn to hold Steve’s hands in his.

“Fuck, Stevie, it’s not your fault. You didn’t know about my dad back then and we don’t know if my knowing would have changed anything. You were the only reason I bothered to live when I woke up. Every single part of me hurt but the look of relief on your face kept me motivated to keep going because I wanted to keep seeing you even if it would be the last time. You take care of me better than I take care of myself and you’re so patient and understanding with me. It’s not your fault, babe. I didn’t even know you blamed yourself for this, Stevie. It’s not your fault.”

“If you say so. Y-You do know I didn’t date you out of some misplaced sense of guilt, right? I’m here because I want to be, because I love waking up in the morning holding you. I love messing around in the kitchen with you. I love being able to take care of you and spoil you the way you deserve. I love you, Billy and I know I don’t say it enough but I love you.”

“I love you too, Stevie.”

“Does that mean you’ll stay?”

Steve looked so hopeful that Billy didn’t have it in him to leave. If Steve wanted him here, Steve would have him. As long as Billy was wanted by Steve, Billy was willing to fight the voices in his head that told him he wasn’t enough.

“I guess so. I’m sorry for trying to leave, Stevie. I promise I didn’t want to. It’s just, I thought you needed me to.”

Steve pulled Billy in for an all encompassing hug and Billy melted into his lover’s embrace.

“Don’t ever try to leave for my sake again. Now you know that I both need and want you in my life and as long as you’re willing to stay, I’m willing to have you here with me.”

Billy couldn’t help himself.

“Even if it means forever?”

“Even if it means forever. You’ve got me whipped, Hargrove and I don’t ever want to be free.”

Billy groaned.

“You’re such a sap, Harrington.”

“Ah, but I’m your sap.”

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove au #harringrove #steve harrington #billy deserved better #billy hargrove deserved better #billy x steve #ellewritesandrants #billy hargrove redemption #billy hargrove angst #harringrove angst #harringrove fic #s3 au #billy hargrove needs a hug

[neutron-stars-collision]

The Art of Inversion

Neil x Reader

Chapter 21 - Losing My Religion

Masterlist; Chapter 20

Summary: After Tallinn, you use the opportunity and visit Neil’s apartment. What you find there, only increases the confusion, just as the pieces are set for the endgame.

Warnings: Swearing; angst.

Author’s Notes: This was a challenge, and it’s a little different too, a breather before the real fun begins... or something. After this we move onto the icebreaker... (and things). I’ll shut up now, hope you’ll enjoy and all kind of feedback are greatly welcomed! 

The clean up after TP’s little accident on the highway was difficult. And tiring. By the time you have dealt with the mess and could call it a day, you wanted nothing but to sleep. And also disappear from the face of the Earth. That second thing was rather tricky to achieve. Unfortunately. You had to settle for the slightly awkward space given by the rest of the team and the fact that you were bound to return to London the next day. That was something. Even if it meant having to debate whether those damned keys were to be used.

The journey back was uneventful. Only Wheeler seemed capable of talking to you without looking as though she has been trapped in some metaphorical web of ineptitude that the others got caught in. That was alright. At least she knew how that conversation in the container went. Her company was good enough to keep you from going insane for the time being.

The moment the car arrived at the London quarters, you practically bolted out through the door. Eager to finally have your own space to reflect, cry, and try to move on after the unimaginable. But it was not exactly meant to be given…

“Y/N, wait!” Ives’ voice rung out through the reception hall as you skidded down the corridor.

Crap.

“Yeah?” cautiously, you stopped in your tracks, facing the squad leader.

Making the mistake of glancing at the reception desk, you met Anna’s watchful gaze. Of course. Even though you knew she had no clue about anything that transpired between you and Neil, it still felt like a painful reminder.

“I…uh...” the hesitation in Ives’ voice made you frown, “I just got this, and I’m not sure…” he passed you his phone with a strange expression on his face.

A text from TP. Just like the ones you received before. Right… This one had a familiarly succinct form: “Invert for eight days with the army from tomorrow. Then get to Trondheim, awaiting further instructions”

“Is this from him?” you looked up to see the blue eyes boring into yours with confusion.

“Yeah, it must be” you nodded and handed him back the phone.

At that exact moment, you got a text as well. Hurriedly you took out the device and read the message:

“Invert along with Ives and the rest”.

Short and simple. Yet not at all. Without a word, you showed your companion the text message and stifled a heavy sigh. Inversion. Eight days. Trondheim. That most likely confirmed your worst fears. The end of it all was near, and you were needed there. You, Neil, and everyone else still had their parts to play in the most important of showdowns.

“So, I guess we’re going back” you could feel Ives’ inquisitive stare on you “Just like they are” he added, awaiting a response.

Meeting Neil after those eight upcoming days sounded like a nightmare. Because a week was never enough to fall out of love. Or to even attempt it. You were a lost cause.

“…yep” nodding halfheartedly, you could feel another weight settle on your shoulders.

“Excited?” the intensity of Ives’ look convinced you towards his intentions.

Evidently, he tried to get a clue towards your state, probably assessing whether you could endanger the mission in any way. Despite everything, you were a professional. A Tenet agent. That had to come before any personal issues you might have had. Forcing a smile, you met his gaze with sincerity.

“Not really” a shrug completed the response.

But it was enough as he grinned back and squeezed your shoulder reassuringly.

“It’s alright. Have today off and be ready tomorrow morning,” he ordered with a feigned sternness.

“Aye aye, sir” you saluted, enjoying the laugh it prompted.

Maybe not everything was utterly shit.

“Your edge is still intact, I see,” he commented once the laughter died down.

“At least something is then” you grimaced slightly and walked off with a wave.

A day off. What could one possibly do with something like that after everything? The set of keys in your pocket felt heavy for something that small. And insignificant (in theory).

*** It took you one hour of staring at the wall, a thirty-minute-long shower, and two coffees to decide to make use of the keys. After all, what was the harm? It was a way of spending the idle hours. And maybe to understand him a little better. Even if it was too late to save anything. You wanted to know him. To know his mind and heart. You dug out the note with the address Ives gave you and typed it into the maps app. Your hands were shaking the whole journey. Even though it was not far, it turned out to be challenging. Often you were catching yourself glancing at the phone, expecting him to call or text as he always did.  But then you remembered, making the nerves come to the surface again. You wondered whether it was because of the absolute wreckage your relationship became or because you were unable to contact him in any way. Walking the streets leading to Neil’s apartment, you realised that it was probably both. You missed him. Simple as that. And equally complicated at the same time.

Google maps led you to an old docking space transformed into posh loft spaces in two store buildings of dark red brick. The residential area was completed with a large parking lot (full of rather good cars), making the first question of the day pop into your head: Did Neil have a private car? Something that unimportant yet entirely mundane only made you realise how little you knew of his life. But this was exactly why you came here. The second thought was something you always knew yet never took time to ponder on: the fact that he undeniably had money. It did not matter, of course. Just another fact that could as a trigger for the intrusive ideas to appear.

Ignoring the spiraling thoughts, you made your way to the indicated building, keying in the code at the door and following the stairs to the second floor. The apartment door no 4 looked like any other you have passed on the way. Turning the key in the lock, you took a deep breath, gathering courage for god knows what. Perhaps just being alone with everything that had to do with Neil… The door opened soundlessly. Faint daylight from the corridor fell onto the furniture and objects gathered in the hall, helping your eyes adjust to the darkness. You closed the door and locked it. The least you could have wanted was for someone to break in on your watch. Now that would have made him hate you. If he didn’t already, that is. Taking off the shoes, you scanned the hall. Hooks with various jackets and coats on the wall. Including a slightly weathered leather one that perked your interest. With fingers ghosting the material, you were unable to block the images of Neil wearing it. That was enough to make you blush and curse out loud. That won’t help with getting over him. As though that was even possible.

Next, your eyes landed on the shoes rack in the corner showing off Neil’s questionable taste in footwear. You grimaced when spotting another pair of brogues (that would have to go… if there was any future for you) and then smiled involuntarily at something as casual as old converse on the top shelf of the rack. So, he could dress more… normally. Interesting.

The rest of the space was filled with a large mirror and a cupboard full of random objects such as spare lightbulbs, shoe care products, and cleaning supplies. On top of that cupboard, there was a succulent (practical, you had to admit), a desk calendar, and a small notepad filled with Neil’s writing. The contents ranged from shopping lists to quantum physics, making you grin fondly when looking through the pages. The latest entry was written down in haste and barely eligible. What you deciphered made your heart stumble for the first time that day. It seemed like Neil was planning to invite you over after Tallinn, prepare dinner, and apparently do all that ‘he wanted to for a while’. Brilliant. The notepad fell from your hands as the implications dawned on you. He wanted to set everything straight, to talk and potentially tell you important things… But now, it did not matter. There was no post-Estonia. Just you alone in his cold, darkened apartment, full of doubts, regrets, and worries.

Shivering from both the chill and the anxiety, you ventured into the living room. It was an open space with a large leather sofa, TV, record player with shelves full of albums and vinyls. There were also bookcases filled to the brim and a dining table for four. Once your gaze fell onto the black piano in the corner, you did a double-take. Obviously, Neil was musically talented. All those times when he has been desperate to annoy you by singing various corny love songs in public were an indisputable example. A moment like that from Tallinn flashed before your eyes…

You and Neil sat in a restaurant on one of the ‘dates’ you had managed to fit into the schedule before TP arrived in Estonia. Cozied up in the corner on a comfortable sofa, you felt perfectly at peace. Instead of taking the seat opposite, Neil got as close as it was possible without raising eyebrows of the fine clientele. You were chatting about everything and nothing, occasionally taking sips of the coffees and letting your hands rest on each other’s knees. Other times they would be interlocked on the table between the plates, showing to the world that this was no platonic meetup. Using the natural break in the conversation, you finished the remains of your latte and watched as Neil focused on the radio somewhere in the background. By this point, you should have known better, but still, the second he started singing took you by surprise.

‘Pretty woman I don't believe you, you're not the truth No one could look as good as you, mercy’

His gaze settled on you without that mercy, awaiting a response. His lips curled into a deadly smirk, making the matters worse. For a moment, you wanted to ignore him, to deny him the satisfaction. But the way he stared, enunciating the song lyrics with precision and aiming them at you, triggered the familiar desire to stake your claim. To make him (and everyone else) understand that he was yours. Especially with a voice that beautiful and eyes that looked at you with boundless affection.

‘Pretty woman that you look lovely as can be Are you lonely just like me’

It was the cheesy growl at the end of that stanza that did it. Combined with the huskiness of Neil’s voice and his hand appearing on your thigh underneath the table, it was enough to convince you to shut him up the best way you knew. You leaned in, placing your palm on the inside of his thigh, just close enough to remind him. Capturing his lips in a kiss, you did not have to wait long for Neil to invite you closer. You began the intimate dance, getting lost in the moment entirely. With him being in public did not matter. Especially not when he was giving you everything he could on a silver plate. Those days every kiss threatened to evolve into a full make-out session as you tried to get ever closer to him. That is why when you heard an awkward cough followed by “Miss, Sir, I’m sorry, but I need to ask you to leave” you could only start laughing. That was two days before your walk, which ended in the alley. The rest was history.

Shaking your head slightly, you let go of the memory. Has it gotten even colder? Shivering, you spotted a sweater draped on the side of the sofa. Crossing the space, you glanced at the instrument that caught your attention. A simple black Kawai piano with a Chopin music score opened on the fallboard and the stool underneath. If there even was a future, you wanted to hear him play something. You could almost picture it. Those long, elegant fingers on the black and white keys, hitting every note with perfection and the flourish he applied to every single task. His gaze focused. Golden hair falling into his eyes carelessly. Lips parted, tongue poking out in concentration. He was bound to be a sight as usual.

Ignoring the waking up flutters that always accompanied every thought about Neil, you picked up the sweater. It was the colour of dark red wine, simple and yet sophisticated in its simplicity. Cashmere. He really is posh. Giving in to the sudden whimsy, you breathed in the smell. That was a mistake. The moment Neil’s essence overwhelmed your senses, you felt a surge of feelings. The musky scent, the hints of bergamot and lavender that always brought comfort. Before you could second guess everything, you put the sweater on, letting the smell envelope you like his hugs always did. It was another thing that you missed. The ability to rest within his strong embrace, safe and wanted. The feeling of his arms cradling you with care. Without the solidity beneath your hands, it was hard to remember how it felt. The sweater had to do. You rolled up the sleeves and approached the large window, drawing back the curtains to see the view and let in light. The sight certainly was not disappointing with the lookout on the Thames and the docking ships. The area looked peaceful, like the place you could want to go out on walks and spend the rest of your life… No, stop. That was a dangerous line of thinking. After all, you only came here to satisfy the curiosity. And because you could, with nothing left to lose. Well, maybe apart from your sanity.

With the day shedding some light onto the furniture and objects in the room, you could more closely assess the type of person Neil was. The décor was rather posh (nothing surprising there) with leather, dark wood, and refined fabrics gracing the space. But upon a closer look, you could see the hints of Neil’s personality shining through the bounds of the stereotypes. It was visible in the chaos of the little details. Billy Idol album discarded on the CD player making you smile. The dying plants on the windowsill. The opened book on the coffee table right next to a bar of chocolate and some bullets. What even… 

Looking around the space, you could easily picture him there. It was like entering a museum of Neil’s life and heart, and you were just a mere visitor. A trespasser even though you had the keys. Lost in the thoughts, you approached the bookshelves, looking over the titles. Young and Freedman’s University Physics with Modern Physics with a worn-out spine and a library stamp on the title page (a theft?). Griffith’s Introduction to Quantum Mechanics with scribbles on the margins, making your head hurt. More Quantum Mechanics but only getting increasingly complex. Spacetime and Geometry. In between the textbooks, there were classics of English and American literature, proving your theory that Neil knew the canon well. All those quotations had to come from somewhere… You looked over the further titles relating to the nuclear area of Physics and relativity of time, only to be thrown out of the moment when your eyes landed on a photograph in a wooden frame. A grinning young man with warm brown eyes and curly dark hair sat on the bench in the park. Alex. Picking up the photo, you took a closer look, feeling inexplicable heaviness in your chest. He looked just like Neil described him – an essence of goodness and understanding. The lump in our throat was strange. He still loved Alex that was a fact and something you took for granted. For a second, you wondered whether you could ever be half that important to him. But that was selfish. And wrong.

Swallowing hard, you put down the frame, focusing on another one nearby. In that photo, you recognized everyone. Ives with slightly longer hair grinning widely, next to him Wheeler with her practical bun and amused eyes, TP relaxed like always when in the company of friends. And then… You would recognize those eyes and sharp jaw anywhere, but… He’s not naturally blonde? You stared at the man who was undoubtedly Neil but with light brown hair, just as messy as usual. Interesting. You did suspect he dyed the hair but still having confirmation was unexpected. Staring a little longer at the photo, you already knew that it did not matter. He was a work of art, full stop. The rest of the photos depicted the Tenet crew, apart from the one you assumed was a family snapshot from years ago. Two happy boys with mundane looking parents and a Labrador retriever (Charlie!). Upon a closer look, you could tell that Neil got his blue eyes after his mother and the smile after his father. It was an interesting discovery. Other objects littering the shelves included postcards, trinkets from travels, and a strange collection of obscure coins. Also, more notebooks with Neil’s equations and theories and music scores. There was no order, just fate, and fancy. Just like him.

Wandering into the kitchen, running your fingertips over various instruments and surfaces, you wanted to soak in the atmosphere of the apartment. So far, the new information was almost overwhelming. But also fascinating in the fact that you already felt like you knew him better. Glancing at the fridge in passing, you froze. Among the cheap promotional magnets and old shopping notes attached to it, there was a rather familiar writing visible. A note you made Anna pass to him many weeks ago. “I’ll be at the shooting range. Meet you for dinner after 5” signed with your initials for practicality. Why has he kept it? It did not make sense. You forgot about the existence of something that inconsequential, yet here it was. Kept in place with a blaring orange magnet from Sainsbury’s. Suddenly feeling a little faint with the implications of the moment, you poured tap water into the glass and sat down on the stool by the kitchen island. You could still remember Anna’s offended stare when you gave her the note with the instruction to pass it to Neil later. That memory triggered another one, much more recent…

In the days leading up to Tallinn, you went out with Neil for a lunch and walk under the guise of planning the logistics of your journey. Sure, there was some planning being done over the tea and sandwiches. But there was also a lot of hand-holding, kissing, and gazing shamelessly. It was during those days, and then the idle hours in the safe house, that you have allowed yourself to love him. The feelings were there for months (most likely), but only after Oslo and the candid conversations in your room, you felt more at ease with them. So far, that PDA was not all that terrifying. And so, when you came back to the London quarters that afternoon, your fingers intertwined, you only realised how it looked like from the outside when Neil tugged you in the direction of Anna’s desk.

“What are you doing?” you hissed, hoping the woman was too busy to see you.

“I told you, need to get that ID sorted,” he explained, matching your conspiratorial tone, completely oblivious to your struggles.

“Yeah, but…” you raised your joined hands as if to show him the issue.

Neil grinned, waving his free hand dismissively.

“Oh, don’t worry about that. It’s not like that’s against the rules” ending the sentence, he took the final step separating you from the desk.

Great. Plastering on the most pleasant of smiles, you met Anna’s accusatory glare. You could not blame her.

“Anna, hi” Neil’s bright grin got met with a cold face of stone.

You vividly remembered that first day at Tenet, when you were filling in the paperwork, observing him flirt with the woman behind the desk. Back then, you were baffled by her reaction, the fluttering of eyelashes and lovesick smiles. Now you wondered how you got to that point and why you were seemingly luckier than she could ever be.

“Yes?”

“My ID is expiring soon. Was wondering if you could give me the form for the new one?” Neil’s chirpy tone made you hide a smile by looking at the floor “I want to get this sorted for after we’re back” he added, with that hopeful gaze barely anyone could ever say no to.

Anna was not any different.

“Naturally,” she spared you a final spiteful look before turning around to use the computer.

Glancing around the empty lobby, you hoped to survive the rest of the encounter without any additional awkwardness. But Neil had other plans. He stepped in closer, nose brushing over your ear, tearing down any illusions about the nature of your relationship. You stifled a sigh when his lips placed a small kiss over your temple.

“Shall we go to yours after this?” the whisper complemented with a ghost of his fingers on the side of your neck made you shiver.

“Maybe…” you cast a wary glance at Anna, but her back was turned.

Thankfully.

“I thought we could resume the planning…” upon the suggestive tone, you turned to meet his gaze.

Surely enough, the playful sparks were there. And the smirk too. Of course. Planning, in this case, most likely meant more cuddling… and potentially kissing. His hands getting accustomed to your body, leaving countless promises for the future. The thoughts alone made you blush. Before Neil could get any closer, Anna’s voice interrupted the moment:

“Here’s your form,” nothing but ice and fury.

So, she must have noticed…

“Thanks” the polite nod made you snicker.

During the next few terribly long minutes, you did your best to avoid looking at the other woman. Or at Neil. Your gaze roamed over the ceiling, the walls, and the floor. Reading the same fire evacuation instructions for the fifth time, you felt a gentle touch on your arm:

“Can I put down your details as my emergency contact?” you looked up straight into those inquisitive blue eyes “I’ve had Ives the last two years, but I think you’re a more accurate option these days,” he explained as though it was obvious.

Emergency contact? You always assumed those were for best friends and spouses. You were not sure which fitted the criteria.  

“How so?” blurting out the only viable question, you met his perplexed gaze.

“… because I’m with you and not with him” the bluntness of the reply made your heart stumble.

“Right”

Of course, you agreed. As a ‘thank you’ that afternoon, Neil kissed you until there was barely any breath left for either of you. Now you missed the feeling of being that desired.

And yet, that stupid note was right there, in your eyes a bright red spot that you could not ignore. Because surely, he must have cared at some point? You finished the remains of water and washed the glass. Then, just for the sake of a distraction, you went through the kitchen cupboards. Nothing surprising. Appliances that looked barely used. Canned food every Brit would be expected to have. The amounts of frozen meals in the lower fridge compartments confirmed another thesis - Neil did not like cooking. That was fair not everyone could be Jamie Oliver. Not that you would prefer him. Certainly not. Shaking your head at the ridiculousness of the thoughts, you opened another cabinet. Wine and glasses, triggering the memory from your date night in Oslo. The way Neil tried to emulate his swank further by pretending to be a sommelier, making you laugh with his fake French accent and sparse knowledge. Upon the efforts to name something else than tannins (that Sauvignon Blanc had little of), you stepped in, shutting him up with a fingertip tracing the outline of his lips, collecting a stray droplet of wine. And then licking your finger clean, much to his shock. The strange snapshot from one of the most eventful nights in your life was a good cue to leave the kitchen and trod down the corridor.

You stepped into the bathroom, curiously glancing at the contents of the cupboards and around the sink. Nothing remarkable. Giving in to the temptation, you sprayed the cologne he used on your wrist and inhaled deeply. Closing the bathroom door, your eyes landed on the room at the end of the corridor. Neil’s bedroom. Involuntarily, you felt a shiver run down your spine. Bedrooms were always a sacred space. The most private of places in the house. The stage set for life’s crucial events. Love, life, and tragedy all began to play out (and end) in there. If there was a room closest to the heart of the owner, it would be the bedroom and its contents. With a shaky hand, you pressed down the handle and opened the door. The interior was almost too mundane. The bed with dark grey covers and decorative pillows. Some artworks on the walls and drawn curtains, forcing you to turn on the ceiling lamp. A small bedside table with a night light and books. A walk-in closet with the sliding doors partly opened. That was what drew you in first, crossing the space you peered inside. Only to be overwhelmed with that Neil smell that made sure to make your heart rate pick up. Gently, you ran your fingers over the suit jackets and sweaters hanged on the rails. He had a multitude of those, in different colours. Eyeing a suit in dark blue, you could imagine how it would bring out his eyes. There were a few sweaters in different shades of green, confirming the suspicions that he liked the colour. Further along, you found a drawer with ties of various patterns, making you grin at one olive green with Labradors on it. Now that was a classic Neil accessory.

Just when you were about to end the ‘snooping’ your gaze landed on a more casual part of the wardrobe. Jeans folded on the shelves, t-shirts, and polos. Even a jean jacket somewhere in the back. In the drawer, you found socks with questionable patterns, only increasing the fondness you felt for the owner of such an eclectic wardrobe. And then you made the mistake of letting your curiosity get ahead of you. Another drawer. Underwear. Your face got warm as you slammed it shut. Enough. Thinking about that could lead to the dangerous territory you would rather not venture out to. At least not when alone in his apartment, overwhelmed with memories and feelings. There would be time for this too later… Hopefully.

Sliding the doors shut, you took in the room again. The pile of books on the bedside table caught your attention. Gingerly, you sat down on the bed, doing your best not to think about the specifics of that moment. You, alone in his bedroom. This was certainly not how you expected to end up in there for the first time. But that too was beyond the point. Sighing, you picked up the stack of books only to drop them onto the covers with hands shaking. You would recognize the cover everywhere. Your favourite book. The exact copy you had last seen in Oslo when you gave it to Neil. That memory was rather unforgettable…

Hanging out in the hotel room, waiting for Mahir and TP to come back from a small errand, you did your best to ignore Neil’s piercing gaze from across space. That was the day after your careless dancing and that evening’s developments when he asked you out. Just before the mission. And Neil was staring, shamelessly so. It was getting on your nerves.

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” putting down the itinerary, you broke the silence and faced him.

The satisfied smile was enough to make you groan. He knew exactly what he was doing, as though waiting for the moment to strike when you were alone.

“Actually not, no” the grin widened as he shrugged nonchalantly “Plus you’re quite the sight. As usual” propping his chin on his hand, he kept on gazing.

The bastard was impossible.

“Jesus…” sighing, you rummaged in the bag at your feet “Do you want a book or something?” you took out a worn-out paperback “Because all that staring makes me want to…” trailing off, you met his inquisitive glare.

Want to kiss him. For starters. But he need not know that.

“What? Tell me” Neil spread his legs casually, leaning back in the armchair. An object of pure poise. And the challenge, aimed at you only. That was Neil at the top of his game, sure of what he wanted and how to get it. But you were not going to give it to him easily.

“Better not” the slight shock in his eyes gave you confidence “If yesterday taught me anything, it’s that your ego is big enough” offering him a sly smirk, you took a sip of the water.

When you looked up again, Neil was staring at you with an exaggerated pained expression on his face.

“I’m wounded” he put the hand over his heart like the drama queen that he was.

Scoffing, you laughed at the spectacle. Two could play the game.

“Good,” the offended whine only increased the satisfaction “So do you want that book?” you picked up the paperback, showing it to him “I’ve got my favourite one with me. Could kill some time”

“Yes, please” he got up and crossed the room, taking the book from you “I’ll have a chance to see what’s in that head of yours” Neil leaned down to your level and kissed you on the forehead “Apart from the desire for me, of course” he added, once he moved out of your reach once again.

Fucking hell.

“Neil”

At least there were some fun memories to come back to, you thought, looking through the copy you borrowed Neil. Then you noticed another thing. Under your book, there was another one of the same title. Brand new. Pages filled with Neil’s scribbles on the margins and underlined passages, highlighting the exact same quotations that made this book become your favourite. My god. The realization hit you with a gasp and a shiver. He read it. And not only that, but he also tried to understand you through something you held so dear. Reading the notes he made, you knew he was listening to every word you said. No matter the moment, the stage of your ‘relationship’, evidently, he cared enough to be interested in your thoughts and feelings. You were holding the proof in your hands. In some margin notes, Neil even referred to you using your initials, pointing out why it could resonate with you so much. The more you read, the more it felt like you have encountered his diary, in some form. That would be it when it comes to getting over. Putting down the books, your head was spinning. Too much.

You needed food. And sleep. It was at that moment that you decided to stay. It got late enough to make the journey back inconvenient. And everything was right here. Feeling like Goldilocks personified, you made use of Neil’s frozen food assortment and put on the music. Once you got over the initial shock of the afternoon, it was almost too easy to pretend that Tallinn never happened. That you were still alright. That he still potentially loved you. With the somewhat soothing sounds of Billy Idol and The Darkness, you went over Neil’s notebooks with equations. You understood nothing but the possibility to read his notes and theories was as comforting as it could get. Then, feeling your eyelids get heavy, you cleaned up and moved to the bedroom. Lying down in Neil’s bed felt like sacrilege. But the moment your head rested on the pillow and you inhaled the scent, it was all excused. At least in your eyes. Giving in to the foolish daydreams, you could almost imagine him next to you. The warmth and comfort the cuddles always provided. But you were alone, still wearing that sweater that smelled too good to be given up. It had to be enough. You fell asleep thinking about those damned blue eyes and the man that took the ownership of your heart for good.

*** Upon waking up in the cold apartment the next morning, you wanted nothing but to leave as soon as possible. In the daylight, with dreams of happiness haunting every corner of your mind, the feeling of loneliness was more persistent. You made sure to get rid of any signs of your intrusion, cleaned the kitchen, and made the bed. The only keepsake you could not deny yourself was the cashmere sweater that you stuffed into the bag. Even if he would not want anything to do with you, you could give it back along with the keys. Surely he would understand… right? After everything that you found in his flat, nothing seemed certain anymore.

You made it back to the HQs with just enough time to shower and pack for the next week of sitting in the inversion chambers in the sealed off part of the complex. That did not sound good as it meant more time with too many people in the cramped quarters. You had enough of that at this point. But then that was the prize of getting the most incredible of jobs. That and getting your heart broken. Again.

You joined the rest of the army by the larger turnstile, used purely for long-term inversion, instead of training. Accepting friendly nods from both Ives and Wheeler, you took your place in the queue. No one knew exactly what the purpose of this was. Just that you were supposed to go back eight days and then travel to the Norwegian coastline, awaiting instructions. The intuition that was rarely wrong told you that you were in the endgame from this point onwards.

And so, the next week was restricted to trying not to lose your sanity locked within the four walls. The only escape from the small room was the kitchen (always full of people that wanted to know too much), bathroom (that always had lines of people waiting by the door), and the small courtyard, where you could not step out without the oxygen tank and a mask. Overall, it was not the most pleasant of experiences. Especially when most days you wanted to curl up in bed and contemplate the mess that your life became. And to marinate in pain that became a constant companion. The sweater could only help so much. Accompanied with nerves and worry, you felt objectively shit and did everything to preserve the solitude. That is how you found yourself in the small kitchen at 2 am, eating toasties and drinking tea. Earlier the compound was too busy, and you preferred starving than facing the others. Only with everyone asleep, you could catch up on the meals missed. Well, almost everyone…

“How are you doing?” a voice interrupted your brooding.

You turned in the seat only to see Wheeler enter the room with a small smile on her face. Her you could tolerate, as an exemption.

“Bad” the candid answer seemed only appropriate “But I don’t mind the company, so please… stay” you added upon her hesitation.

She just nodded and proceeded to make a cup of tea. The silence stretched, but for once, it was rather pleasant. Finally, she finished the task and took the seat opposite you, giving you a quick once-over. You knew what she saw. Tangled hair, reddened eyes from lack of sleep, and hours of tears. The sweater that became the only comfort in those early morning moments when nothing seemed real and yet everything was too much.

“Is the sweater his?” she asked plainly, and you could only nod.

At this stage, surely, nothing was bound to surprise her.

“Yeah… Maybe it’s silly, but I took it from his place just to have something… tangible” you explained, consciously running your fingers over the material. Instead of judgement, you got a smile in return.

“No, I understand” Wheeler took a sip from the mug before asking, “Did the apartment give you any answers?”

You have not shared the story with anyone, unable to process it all even in the quiet of your mind. But maybe this was a chance to let it out…

“Mostly whiplash,” you let out a bitter laugh “It’s like… he cares… or cared,” you stumbled over the tense “But then in Tallinn after the shoot-out, he just closed off completely, and I don’t know why” raising your hands in defeat, you planted on your face on the table.

Anything goes. After a moment of utter frustration, you met Wheeler’s inquisitive eyes again. She did not seem bothered by your antics. Just a little concerned by the picture you were painting.

“Maybe it’s trauma” the seriousness of her expression made you think.

You did consider that option. But even knowing what happened with Alex, his reaction seemed too violent. You were alive, and yet he was trying to push you away. Plus, that way of thinking implied something else. Something you did not dare consider.

“That would mean he… loved me” getting the words out was a challenge “And I don’t think he does” you stared at the table, giving in to the thoughts once again “Whatever is going to happen now, I think I need space. Some distance. Trying to get over this won’t work otherwise”

Formulating the feelings that were overwhelming your heart and mind felt somehow relieving. Even if the prospects were anything but good.

“Is that what you want? To let him go?” the straightforward attitude of your companion was helpful.

“I don’t know,” sighing, you met her gaze, “I want… him, but if he doesn’t feel the same then…” with reddened cheeks, you let the sentence trail off.

She would understand, you were sure of that. And, if the slightly suspicious look in Wheeler’s eyes was anything to go by, she had her ideas about the topic.

“You should probably try talking to him again” she spoke after a few minutes of silence.

“Last time that ended terribly,” you replied, arching your eyebrows, begging her to remember how bad that container conversation went.

“I know,” Wheeler patted your shoulder reassuringly, “But I also know that sometimes Neil needs a proper kick in the ass before he sees what’s right in front of him” she got up and went to the sink, picking up both of your dishes.

With the soothing soundtrack of the washing, you could feel almost sleepy. If it was not for that never-ending chatter of your thoughts.

“If you say so…” you murmured when she turned the tap off.

“Go to sleep. It’s just two days more of this torture” giving you a final smile, Wheeler left the kitchen.

You could survive two days. After that? Who knows. But it had to be alright.

#tenet #neil tenet #neil tenet x reader #neil x reader #neil tenet imagine #neil tenet fanfic #tenet fanfic #robert pattinson #the art of inversion

[boilyerheid]

15. “Just say yes.” for that hickeytozer AU with the makeup, please?

Sol reads the flyer slipped under his door as if it's a taunt. A cruel little I know something you don't want other people to know. He's relieved he got to it before his roommate noticed the gaudy slip of paper sitting on the dingy carpet (because Edward has a boyfriend, yeah, but he's quiet about it. Not hiding it but not shoving it in anyone's face - one of the lads, like. not a fucking pansy wearing makeup), and waits anxiously until he can corner Neil between class and training when they won't be missed.

"What the fuck is this?" He shoves the ratty little bastard into the nearest supply closet, thankful that the campus sports centre is furnished with an unending number of the damn things and this one doesn't hold anything they'll need for football. Neil watches him from where he's landed against a stack of cracked judo mats, looking a lot steadier than Sol feels as he brandishes the crumpled invitation with as much vitriol as he can muster.

"It's a flyer, Sol. I know the academic requirements in this shithole are minimal, but-" Sol's hand viciously twisted in the front of his shirt cuts Hickey off with a squeak. Sol's jaw is set hard enough to start giving him a headache (like a man, he's handling this exactly like the kind of man his dad is, and doesn't that say a lot), and Neil starts talking as he stares him down. "It's just a meetup. Thought you might be interested."

"And why the fuck would I be interested in that?" Trans, nonbinary, and marginalised genders, the flyer said in a cheery script, questioning folks welcome! It did something very weird to Sol's stomach when he read it, sent him into a spiral between anger and anxiety that he's not sure he's pulled himself out of yet. He's not a-. He's just-. He's not. "Bit of bleeding eyeliner doesn't mean I'm... You said you weren't fucking making fun of me."

"I'm not making fun of you," Neil's face twists quizzically and he does that thing again, moves like he's certain Sol's not going to smack him for it, and reaches up to set his slight hand under the hinge of Sol's stubbly jaw. Sol doesn't know how he feels about not being feared when he's trying to put the fear into someone, especially doesn't know how the fuck he feels when Neil softens his voice to speak again. "Hey, angel, I'm not. I just think-"

Sol shoves him back into the mats and steps away in a flash of panic, because when he talks like that Hickey somehow makes him feel so... small. And he likes it, and it's the last thing he should like, because he's a big, tough lad and that's a good thing, it's what he's born to be, so that's how he is.

"Stop doing that! Stop talking to me like I'm-" he spits, chest suddenly heaving for a lack of air in the close little room. He wants to punch something, he wants to run a hundred miles away from here, he wants Neil to touch him like he's delicate again so badly he could puke. And he does want to puke now, gripped with a crushing doom because he knows he can't put this genie back in the bottle, now he's realised he wants to be treated like a lass he can't...

"Shit, okay, sit yourself down before you fall." Sol is vaguely aware of Neil talking, but it seems very far away from the terrifying spiral inside his head.

He's stuck inside himself for a long while then, feeling like he's dying and overcome with a deluge of images crashing over each other - his sister's lip gloss, the eyeshadow palette hidden in the bottom of his sock drawer, his lipstick on the corner of Neil's mouth in their dingy bathroom. His dad's disappointed face, his mum's disgust, the rest of the team laughing at him for being such a...

"I think you should go," Neil says quietly, when Sol's out the other side and breathing almost steadily with his head on the lad's whippet-thin shoulder. They've both missed training by now. Sol's not sure he could face being told to man up by the coach today, anyway. "It might help."

"Nothing to help with," Sol mumbles, very aware of the fact he feels like a wrung-out sponge and that Neil's had his arm around him for the past god knows how long. The soft, rhythmic rub of his thumb on Sol's shoulder is far more comforting than it should be, especially when he's got nothing to be falling apart over.

"Just say yes, eh? I'll go with, if you want." Neil drops a kiss to his hair, far too bloody familiar for whatever the hell they have going on here, but it makes Sol feel smaller, cared for, and he's run out of space to deny that he likes that after this evening's display. "Me ex runs it, Sol. I'm really not making fun."

Sol makes a noncommittal sound in way of answer, and Neil scoffs quietly like he's caught between annoyance and affection. It makes Sol feel a bit better sitting in the stuffy supply room, like they're getting back onto the familiar ground of giving each other shit, but then Neil mutters something playful about bloody women never make up their mind, and suddenly Sol's sobbing into his mate's shoulder without being able to find a single word as to why.

Shit. Maybe he'd better go and see what this group are all about. Just to shut Neil up, he tells himself, even as the lad strokes his hair and tells him that things going to be okay where Sol's soaking his shirt. Be a bit hard to humiliate himself more at this rate, anyway, what would a little investigation hurt?

#the terror fic #solomon tozer #cornelius hickey #hickey/tozer #tozer x hickey #modern au #nonbinary tozer #cw: panic attack #sol my precious baby you'll get there!!! #all the gender feels tonight for sol #prompts

[nyctolovian]

Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens) Additional Tags: Religious Discussion, Forgiveness, Guilt, Religious Guilt, Fallen Angels, Fallen Angel Aziraphale (Good Omens), (sort of?), Self-Hatred, Self-Esteem Issues, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt, Post-Canon, Post not-pocalypse, Canon Compliant, Coping, Warning: somewhat critical of god

Summary: When Aziraphale and Crowley's wings turn the same grey, Aziraphale does not take it well and begins to fear that he might be Falling with a capital F. Crowley finds his angel in a crushing spiral into immense self-blame and guilt, desperately seeking God's forgiveness.

"Heya, angel!” Crowley announced as he swung the door to the bookshop open. “I’ve got some really important stuff to discuss. Urgently. So could you maybe, um, close shop early today?” 

Aziraphale, who was shelving some books, twirled round to face Crowley, already lighting up with glee at the sound of his voice. “Well, of course!” he said, placing the books down on the stool beside himself. He’d always liked having an excuse for closing early so it was lovely to have his favourite one walking right through the doors on a Monday afternoon. “What exactly would you like to discuss?”

With a snap of Crowley’s fingers, the door was miraculously locked and the open/close card was flipped. “Here’s not good,” he replied, extra fidgety today as he eased his weight on one leg and then the other. “Upstairs maybe?”

The smile on Aziraphale’s face slowly slipped as he was ushered up the stairs to his living quarters. “Oh dear… Is something the matter?”

Crowley audibly winced. “Upstairs first, alright?”

Aziraphale let out a noise of confusion but allowed himself to be guided upstairs. Crowley pushed him to sit on the bed that miraculously appeared just a couple weeks after the Almost-pocalypse. He set his fists atop his knees and looked up at Crowley, who removed his sunglasses. 

“I need you to take out your wings,” he said. 

“Pardon?”

Of course, Crowley caught the tension in the angel’s voice and said calmly, “Your wings. I’d like to check something.”

Aziraphale nodded. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Slowly, he drew his wings out into their dimensional plane. He felt his back grow heavy with a comfortable weight and his wings, slightly stiff from disuse, stretched the aches out of itself. 

When he opened his eyes again, Crowley was looking at his wings. His eyebrows raised as he muttered, “Yup. I figured.”

Aziraphale frowned as he curled his wings forward. His jaw fell when instead of the pure white wings he was used to, mottled grey wings came into view. “Wh-What is this?” he cried. Then, his mind did a twist and he looked at Crowley anxiously. “What about yours?” he said, standing up and holding Crowley’s arms. 

“Calm down,” he said, gently pulling Aziraphale’s hands away. Then, he took his own wings out as well, and they were no longer pitch black either, and were instead the same mottled grey as Aziraphale’s. “A bit of a shame, honestly. I’ve always liked black,” Crowley joked. “We’re really on our own side, aren’t we?” Like a gentleman asking for a dance, he held a hand out towards Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale, however, flinched away. “I’ve clearly done something wrong.”

Crowley frowned. “What could you have possibly done wrong, angel?”

“I-I don’t know,” Aziraphale admitted as he paced around the bedroom. “But I must have done something that warranted this change.”

“I changed too, didn’t I?” Crowley said, stretching his own grey wing out. “We have the same wings.”

“Yes, but it’s different, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, frustration building. “If my wings are turning grey, then it must mean I’m…” A shiver ran down his spine as he looked up at Crowley with imploring blue eyes. “Could it be… that I am Falling?”

“What?!”

Aziraphale wrung his hands and his gaze fell to the wooden flooring. “That’s the only reasonable explanation, isn’t it? This is… a sign that I’m Falling. F-For going against one of God’s plans, perhaps.”

“Yeah,” Crowley said, rolling his eyes. “And I’m getting back in heaven’s favour. I’m being forgiven. Lovely.” He sighed. "Listen, you're not Falling. I know what that's like and this isn't it. God's a lot crueler than this."

"M-maybe She's giving me a second chance."

Crowley pulled a face of doubt. "Are we really talking about the same God?" He sighed. "Besides, even if you really are falling—which you aren't—it ain't that bad honestly. I quite like being a demon sometimes. For one, black wings are much cooler than white ones."

"But I don't want to fall! I like being an angel!" Aziraphale exclaimed. He took a deep breath as he clenched and unclenched his hands. “I… I need to do something. Seek forgiveness. Make up for my mistake. My wings are only turning grey so I’m clearly being given a chance to redeem myself, right?”

Worry set into Crowley’s features firmly now. “Since when do we care about what heaven thinks anyway? They tried to murder you with hellfire!”

“That was just Gabriel and those angels,” Aziraphale argued. “I just… I want to do right by the Lord.”

“You saw how She didn’t care about Earth, didn’t you? Whole bloody apocalypse just for the stupid war.”

“It probably was within God’s ineffable plan for the apocalypse to be stopped.”

Crowley threw his hands up. “God,” he said, “didn’t stop anything. We did!” He sighed, trying to reign in the rage that he knew was trickling into his voice. He lowered his voice into something gentle again as he reached for Aziraphale. “Angel–”

“Don’t!” Aziraphale said, snatching his hand back. “Don’t call me that!” His anger instantaneously melted, however, upon seeing hurt flashing across Crowley’s golden eyes. “I need some time by myself,” he said. “Can you give me that?”

Crowley’s eyes wobbled with hesitation. Finally, he said, “Sure, angel.”

***

Crowley gave Aziraphale a full day before popping by again to check on him. The first worrying sign had been how the shop was closed, despite it being only barely noon. As much as Aziraphale liked closing early, he usually stayed open till at least 2pm just so he could say that the shop had been open.

Crowley had also noticed that the books Aziraphale had left on the stool were still sitting there, untouched. He cursed under his breath and dashed up the stairs to the living quarters. He was somewhat relieved to see the angel at his worktable. Too busy muttering to himself, he hadn’t noticed Crowley enter at all. 

Cautiously, Crowley walked to his side. Atop the table were copious amounts of notes and several different volumes of the Bible. Concerned, Crowley placed a hand on his shoulder, and Aziraphale jerked back. 

“Ah,” he exhaled. He flusteredly smiled at Crowley as he adjusted his reading glasses. “You’ve come just in time, my dear. It seems that I need your opinion on this matter.” He picked up a notebook from under a pile of papers, flipped to a bookmarked page and continued, “Do you think it’s that time I used that miracle to reserve that last remaining pancake two days ago? It was really quite a frivolous miracle, and perhaps that was the last straw.” 

“Wait,” Crowley said, his hand returning to Aziraphale’s shoulder, this time firm. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“Why my wings turned grey of course!”

Crowley gestured to the mess of a table. “And what does all this have anything to do with it?”

“I’m trying to figure out what exactly I did wrong that upset God and turned my wings grey.” Aziraphale sighed and dug up another notebook, which he opened to a dog-eared page. “I was also thinking perhaps… Well, maybe the punishment was only just issued yesterday and it wasn’t actually for something recent. I’m also thinking maybe it was about that time in 1367 when I poured–”

“1367?!” Crowley exclaimed. He grabbed one of the papers off the table and read it. “578 AD?! Wh-” He looked at Aziraphale, brimming with concern. “Why are you going so far back?”

“Because I’ve been doing so much wrong!” Aziraphale cried, twisting the ring on his pinky. “They… My indiscretions. They began since God knows when. I’ve been doing so much wrong since… since the beginning of time, I believe. I don’t even know if giving away that flaming sword had actually been the right thing.” His hands were shaking with torment. "I'm such a terrible angel."

The demon's heart damn near broke in two at the sight of his angel in this state. He looked at the mess of paper and books in disbelief. He shook his head. "This is just too much, angel," he pleaded. "You shouldn't be made to list down every single thing you did in the past six thousand years and made to… to analyse it all."

"I didn't want to entertain the possibility but…" Aziraphale's voice was soft, distraught, vulnerable, like a child asking their parents to check under the bed for monsters. "But… what if it's everything, Crowley? How could I seek forgiveness from God if it's just… everything?" He squeezed his eyes shut. "I don't know how I…"

Crowley leaned in closer. There was a vice around his chest, clamping down and hurting him. Why must his angel suffer like this? What has he ever done to deserve this pain? This crushing guilt? “They’re mistakes. Everyone makes mistakes, all sorts of them. We just do better next time, right?”

"But I shouldn't be making mistakes! I'm an angel. I'm meant to do good." Aziraphale pushed Crowley away and picked up his pen and notebook again. "I need to find out what it was that I've done wrong. Otherwise, it'd be terribly insincere to apologise without even knowing what I'm apologising for, isn't it?"

Crowley ripped the pen and notebook out of Aziraphale's hand. "If the Almighty wants an apology, She'd better get down here and explain what She's so bloody upset about!"

Aziraphale slammed the table. "She shouldn't have to! I'm an angel. I ought to know." 

"No! It's just unfair. God and Her ineffable plans, moving in mysterious ways and playing ridiculous card games we don't know the rules to in the dark.” He walked in a tight circle, running a hand through his hair, before turning to face Aziraphale again. “How could we be expected to know? Even now, I still don't even know why I got tossed down into a pool of hot boiling sulfur because She never bothered to explain anything! Six thousand years and still no explanation whatsoever!"

Aziraphale flinched, and Crowley felt a pang of guilt. 

Lowering his voice, he said, “Look, God hasn’t explained anything then, and She isn’t starting anytime soon. Okay?”

Plucking his reading glasses from his face and closing his eyes to massage his nose bridge, Aziraphale said, “I want to do right by Her. Why is that so hard?” 

Crowley sagged. It hurt him terribly to see his angel so distraught, so frantic, so helpless.

“Perhaps…” Aziraphale breathed. “Perhaps, I’m not worthy of it.”

A beat.

"I forgive you," the demon whispered.

Aziraphale's eyes flew open and he stared at Crowley, eyebrows tightly knitted. "You forgive me?" he bit out. At the silence, his brow furrowed further with fury. "You can't do that. Take that back."

"I forgive you," he repeated.

"What are you forgiving me for?" Aziraphale yelled. 

"All the wrongs you did. Everything. I forgive you."

"You can’t!" he insisted. 

“Why not?”

Aziraphale glared in silence.

"You're not made to carry six thousand years worth of self-blame and guilt. You're a good angel, even if God doesn't recognise that."

"But I want to do right by Her," Aziraphale said, tears welling up in his eyes. "I just… I want Her to forgive me. If I knew what exactly I did wrong, maybe…" His breath hitched, words stuck upon his throat.

Crowley knelt down and held his angel's face. He was trembling so hard Crowley feared that if he let go, he'd simply shatter and crumble apart. 

"I just want to do the right thing," Aziraphale said. "It used to be so straightforward. If it was as God intended, what I was doing couldn’t possibly be wrong. But now…" He looked up at the ceiling, as though willing the wetness of his eyes to disappear, but a tear had already spilled out and rolled down his cheek, damping Crowley's fingers. Then, a couple more followed, like beads of a snapped bracelet. He relented and sagged in his seat. “I don’t know.”

Crowley used his thumb to wipe the tears away but they continued to fall uncontrollably and he couldn't catch them all.

Aziraphale's voice was thick with tears when he spoke and his bottom lip wobbled with grief. "I don't know what's the right thing anymore. I don't know if I've ever done anything right," he said, placing his hands over Crowley’s and pulling them away from his face. “I feel like I've done everything wrong but I don't know who to seek forgiveness from.”

Crowley turned his hands slowly to grasp Aziraphale’s. “You haven’t done everything wrong, I promise. Maybe some things. But we all mess up sometimes. We don't have it all figured out most of the time and that's okay," he said. "We're trying our best to correct what we can, and that's enough." 

Aziraphale looked at Crowley, clinging to his words like a lifeline. Gently, Crowley squeezed his hands.

"Forgive yourself, angel. You don’t need to carry this six-thousand-year weight. And I can't bear to see you hating and hurting yourself like this, please."

When Aziraphale leaned forward, Crowley let go and allowed him to fall slowly into his arms. Aziraphale pressed his face to Crowley's shoulder, just as silent sobs began to shake his being.  He pulled their hands close to his chest and squeezed. Crowley squeezed back. 

Pressing closer still, Aziraphale muttered into Crowley's shirt, "I’m never going to get anything else from upstairs anymore, am I? We only have what we give ourselves now. We’ll have to figure things out by ourselves." 

Crowley hummed.

“We really are on our own, aren't we? Just the two of us.”

"Yeah. Us two, on the same side. Grey wings on both our backs. Could be fun.”

That got a short laugh from Aziraphale, and tension trickled out of him. "If you say so, my dear."

#good omens #aziraphale #crowley #ineffable partners #good omens fic #fanfic #aziracrow #my writing

[whats-rambled-rambled]

stuck in stories - I’ll be around

Neil x Reader

summary: aftermath of a panic attack

+ song: Garret Kato - I’ll be around (acoustic)

warnings: mentions of nightmares, panic attacks and loss

author’s note: Thank you so much for this request, dear anon, I feel like that was an important gap in their story to fill. And that’s why I decided to keep the song as the title of this one.

(As I am quite terrible at comforting others myself, I can just hope Neil did a better job than I ever could.)

This is basically chapter 5.5 from Stuck in Reverse series, so if you want to know a backstory behind this one-shot, you should consider reading at least chapters  4 and 5.

But even without that, there is plenty of softness here for you to enjoy.

A penny for your thoughts?

___

Another sleepless night.

It was different this time though. To be fair, how could you sleep after what had happened? 

You didn’t have enough time to process the events of last night. A part of you was scared it might have been yet another dream; your brain’s twisted attempt to make amends for the nightmare which made you spiral into a panic attack in the van. 

The fire flickering in the blue eyes. Neil’s forehead pressed to yours. His arms wrapped around you tightly, not willing to let you go ever again. That kiss. And how both of you had lost yourselves in that moment. 

You smiled as your legs carried you to the spot you’d watched the sunset from the day before. You would know for sure later. Right then you were too tired to think, but too afraid to fall asleep, so there you were at the cliffs again, just before dawn. You rolled out your sleeping bag on the ground and sat down, watching the fading stars as the sky became brighter with every minute.

When the first rays of sunshine were about to reach the mountaintops at the other side of the valley, you heard footsteps.

“Tea?”

You scoffed, glancing over your shoulder. 

Of course.

“Thank you, but how did you know where to find me?” you asked, reaching for a thermal cup.

“Had a feeling,” Neil shrugged, his lips curled in a knowing smirk. “Scoot over.”

You moved to the side, allowing him to kneel on the sleeping bag right next to you. 

Your eyes met as each of you tried to find answers in one another - was it all true? Or was it just a moment of weakness? 

Dumbasses.

When you both realized how mutual those doubts were, you started laughing.

“Oh, come here,” Neil grinned as he leaned your way, kissing you softly and sealing your new reality.

You chuckled against his lips, blinking away happy tears that made their way to the corner of your eyes. Your heart was singing in your chest. Neil wrapped one arm around your shoulders, shifting into a more comfortable position beside you as he pulled you closer. 

You took a sip from your cup, snuggling to his side. “Why did you choose tea over coffee though?” 

“I thought you may want to sleep for a few hours when we get back to the camp,” he said and gave you a warm smile. “You haven’t slept tonight, have you?”

You sighed. 

Neil’s hand was slowly rubbing your arm. “That’s what I thought,” he hummed. “So when I asked you if those sleepless nights happen often…?”

You could feel your body getting tense, and that was enough to let him know that you hadn’t been honest with him back then. Even though it made sense at that time - you’d just met after a decade of not talking to each other, and it hadn’t seemed like a proper occasion to unload all your problems on him. Still, you were embarrassed he caught you on a lie that easily.

“I just didn’t want you to worry,” you mumbled, fastening your gaze on your laps.

“I know,” said Neil, setting his cup aside. He put his hand under your chin and lifted it gently so he could look at your face. “But I worry when I don’t know what is going on with you. Especially if I can clearly see that something bothers you.” He placed a small kiss on your forehead and his eyes lit up. “It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it. Try telling me that you’re fine or it’s nothing though, and I will toss you from that cliff,” he said as the corner of his lips twitched into a half-smile.

You snorted and rolled your eyes. 

At least he wasn’t mad at you.

You took a deep breath and started talking. As the sunlight slowly poured into the valley, you told him about your nightmares. How most of the nights you were forced to face your fallen teammates. About the crippling guilt from not being good enough or prepared enough to save them. And that every time you wanted to apologize for letting them down but you couldn’t.

With every sentence, it was getting harder and harder to breathe. When you started trembling, Neil shifted himself so he could hold you in his arms, his legs framing you on the sides. He took your hands and laced his fingers with yours.

At first, you barely felt any of that. You were too lost in your own head, sharing the memories of the nights when you were too afraid to fall asleep. And how you knew all that sleep deprivation made you prone to repeating your mistakes and risking even more lives. But slowly, with every stroke of Neil’s thumbs on your fingers, with his chest heaving steadily against your back, your breath leveled out; the warmth and safety of his embrace grounding you in the present.

Finally, you ran out of words. You pulled your hands to your chest, nestling inside Neil’s arms. He pecked your shoulder and pressed his cheek to your temple. For the next few moments, you sat in silence; taking in the views, the peacefulness of the early morning, the comfort of being close to each other.

“It’s impossible to prepare for everything, you know. Even if we try, some things will always be out of our hands.”

You sighed. “It doesn’t make it easier.” 

“I know, love,” said Neil softly, nuzzling your hair. “Still, it’s good to have that thought at the back of your mind.”

You nodded, exhaling slowly. Easier said than done. One thing is to know something, the other thing is to feel it, and that’s what you’d been struggling with the most. He was right though, and you appreciated the reminder. 

“What about the panic attacks?”

“They happen from time to time,” you said. “Most of them at night, when my guard is down. That one in the van…,” - you winced at the memory - “God, I can’t remember the last time it happened with people around, probably that’s what made it so much worse.”

“Does every nightmare trigger them?”

You shrugged. “No, not really.”

“What was different, then?”

You hesitated for a moment. Should you tell him? 

“My brain decided to spice it with a little game of what if,” you said bitterly. The image of the blue eyes behind the mask flashed in your mind, making you squeeze Neil’s fingers, still intertwined with yours. 

As if he could sense what was going on in your head, Neil wrapped his arms around you even tighter. “What a jerk,” he huffed into your ear.

“Yeah.”

Neil shifted to your side. As you turned his way, you met his worried eyes.

“I’m so sorry.” A sad smile, combined with his furrowed brows and his lips pressed into a thin line, gave you a hint at how helpless he felt right then. He moved closer and grazed your cheek with his knuckles. “If there is anything I can do…”

“Thank you,” you said softly. “You being there for me-... it means the world.” You brushed a strand of hair from his forehead and gently ran your fingers along his features.  “And you’re helping already.” 

A shade of smile on your face made Neil’s eyes light up. 

Those playful sparks were one of the only things in the whole world able to untie every knot in your stomach in mere seconds. You stifled a chuckle as you caught his gaze lingering on your lips. You tugged at his jacket. A little giggle escaped his mouth just before he kissed you, wiping away all the leftover numbness from your heart.

You stayed on the cliffs for a little while longer. 

On your way back to the camp, Neil got lost in his thoughts.

“How do you know they are judging you?”

That question caught you by surprise. You raised your eyebrows, “What do you mean?”

“Your teammates… How are you so sure? You said they are just standing there.” He tilted his head as studied your expression. “What if it’s not why they are there, and it’s your guilty conscience’s fault you read it that way?”

You opened your mouth to answer but you hesitated. 

It felt as if that one sentence kicked your brain off the rails. 

You weren’t sure if he was right, but for that moment, it was enough to unlock new paths in your mind. 

Neil shrugged lightly and gave you a half-smile.

“Something to think about.”

____

(continue to part 6)

#neil tenet x reader #neil x reader #neil tenet #neil tenet imagine #robert pattinson #stuck in reverse #stuck in stories

[yikesharringrove]

how about billy and steve aren’t able to quarantine together they are at their respective homes. but no neil please he’s dead none of him billy live with his mom and the boys are struggling but they’re trying

so, basically, Billy’s mom took her with him when she left Neil.

-

pwetty boi 🥺👉👈: should we just break up?

The text made Billy’s heart stop.

He knew Steve was being weird on the phone when they talked. Whenever Steve was quiet, it meant bad.

I mean, do you WANT to?

pwetty boi 🥺👉👈: like, no, but would it be easier? do YOU want to?

Of COURSE I don’t want to.

Billy sighed, tossing his phone onto the counter, scrubbing his hands down his face.

“What’s going on, Starfish?” He looked up at his mom with one eye.

“Steve’s being insecure.” She raised an eyebrow. “I just talked to him and now he’s texting me and asking if I want to break up.” They had met in college, both joined the LGBT+ club at Chapman University, ended up working at one of the coffee shops on campus together. They had been together for just about a year, spent almost all their time together.

And then global pandemic forced Steve outta the dorms and back to Indiana while Billy packed up and headed down to his mom’s place in San Diego.

“Why do you think he’s thinking that?”

“Steve’s clingy. He likes being around people, and being touched, like just straight cuddled, and his parents are real shitty, and pretty much ignore the fact that he exists, and me not being around to like, help him out is probably really fucking with him.”

She twisted one of his curls around her finger.

“Would his parents let him come here? He could stay with us.”

“I asked him when all this shit first went down, but they’re like, really freaking out about everything and want him home. It’s the first time they’ve been home for longer six days since Steve was fourteen.” Her jaw dropped.

“Oh my God. Poor Stevie. How could a parent just, just treat their child like that?” Billy licked her hand, made her laugh loudly. He checked his phone, finding a bunch of new texts from Steve.

pwetty boi 🥺👉👈: i’m sorry. i just feel like a chore.

pwetty boi 🥺👉👈: like, i think itd be easier for you

pwetty boi 🥺👉👈: if you dont have to deal with me

pwetty boi 🥺👉👈: im sorry im bothering you

Billy sighed.

“I should probably call him. He’s spiraling pretty hard. Twenty bucks says he hasn’t taken his meds in like, a week.” His mom tried to stifle a laugh, flicking a dish towel at him. He grinned at her while he pressed the call button.

“Hi, Bill.”

“Stevie, take your fuckin’ meds.” Steve huffed into the phone. “You can’t hide from me, Pretty Boy. I know how you get.”

“But I mean, think about it. You wouldn’t have to, to call and check in on me, you could just like, live your life. Date. If you wanted to.”

“We’re in a global pandemic. I’m not gonna go out and date, even if I fuckin’ wanted to break up with you.” He put his face down on the counter. “Now I’m gonna stay right here until you take your fucking meds.”

He could hear Steve stomping around on the line, slamming things around.

“Okay, I fucking took them.”

“Good. Now listen. I love you. I don’t want to break up with you. Even being halfway across the country from you, I’m so fucking happy. And it kills me that I can’t be with you right now, that I can’t hold you and help you, but I’m still here for you.”

“I’m sorry, Bill.” Steve sniffed. “I just, I hate it here. My parents are, are just all up in my shit, and my mom hasn’t let me leave the fucking neighborhood, and I, I’m so stressed out about school, and that I’m bringing you down and I feel like a fucking burden to everyone in my life and I, I” Steve broke down into sobs.

Billy’s heart fucking shattered.

All he wanted was to climb into a shitty dorm bed with Steve, hold him nice and close until he stopped feeling like shit about himself, until he understood that Billy fucking loves him.

“I’m sorry, Honey. I’m sorry I can’t help you. I wish I could do more. I love you. You are not a burden to me. I just, I wanna fucking climb through this phone and drag you home with me.”

“Maybe, maybe I could talk to my mom about, about visiting.” Billy held the phone out to his mom, putting Steve on speaker.

“Mom, tell Steve he can move in with us until it’s safe again.” She laughed lightly, taking the phone.

“Hi, Pumpkin. You are more than welcome here with us. Billy’s has been gardening up a storm. We’ve been giving away tomatoes to all the neighbors.” Steve laughed, it still sounded kinda wet.

“That sounds like heaven, ma’am.” She smiled warmly at Billy.

“Have Starfish send you my phone number, I can speak with your parents if you like. We’ve been very safe here. I’ve been sewing masks and giving them to all our friends as well.”

“I mean, I’ve been so miserable here, maybe, they might let me. I think my dad wouldn’t mind not having to deal with me anymore.” His mom pursed her lips at that. “I asked him for help with one of my classes, because apparently I forgot that he sucks, and he just told me I was an idiot for like, twenty minutes.”

She threw her rag down, her mouth all scrunched up.

“Baby, get the fuck out of that house. Come out here and hang out with me and my mom. We’ll help you with your work and won’t call you shitty names the whole time.”

“I don’t know, I am really fucking stup-”

“If you finish that fucking sentence, I swear to God, Steve.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine. Have your mom call my mom to set up our play date. We can have you quarantine in the guest room for a while after traveling.”

“Okay. Thank you, Bill.”

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

-

Billy was driving slowly through the pick up line.

They had a whole plan of attack. Steve had put on a pair of latex gloves, and would put his bags in the trunk and then sit in the back seat.

Billy was gonna take him home, and he was gonna shower while Billy tossed his traveled in clothes in the laundry.

He saw Steve standing there, his big duffel bag slumped next to his large suitcase.

He was in a mask, but waved giddily at Billy in his mom’s car.

They executed the plan flawlessly, and before they knew it, they were making out in the guest room of Billy’s little house.

His mom knocked on the door.

Steve rolled off of him sheepishly.

“You can come in.”

“Are you sure?” Billy rolled his eyes.

“Yes, I’m sure, Mom.” She winked at him when she came in.

She hugged Steve tight, and Billy’s heart fucking soared as Steve melted into the hug.

“I’m so glad you could come out here. It’s wonderful to meet you.”

She smelled like fresh bread and lilies. Steve loved it.

“It’s nice to meet you as well, Mrs. Hargrove.”

“Oh please, call me Beth.” She pulled away from the hug. “Sweet Thing, come help me set the table. Let Steve get his bearings.” Steve was grinning.

“Billy calls me Sweet Thing.”

“Well, he comes from a long line of nicknamers, so you better get used to it, Sugar.” Billy kissed him on the cheek as he followed his mom out.

Steve still has no idea what Beth said to his mother to convince her to send Steve out to San Diego for the foreseeable future.

But somehow, she had made it work, and he wasn’t gonna be alone, or with cold parents that called him names, wasn’t gonna have to cry himself to sleep, not when he could sneak into Billy’s cozy little room.

He could garden with Billy, and Billy said he’d teach him how to skateboard, take him on bike rides around town.

They would cook, and Billy would help him finish the semester online, and the weather was warm and-

And Billy loved him.

Loved him so much he convinced his parents to let him fly across the country to live with him.

Steve had never been loved like this before.

And he was gonna fucking cherish it.

#this was originally much sadder #but 🤷‍♀️ #another one from way down the req list #steve harrington #billy hargrove #steve harrington x billy hargrove #billy hargrove x steve harrington #harringrove #harringrove fic #harringrove ficlet #harringrove drabble #yikes writes

[passivenovember]

@liglitterbug asked: 

Has anyone asked for 53? (crawling through your window to go get ice cream) yet? Because that screams Harringrove to me and I would LOVE to see your take on it, please! (if you have time/inspiration) <3

a Friend for the End of the World.

Billy’s, like. Halfway through Little Women when Max knocks on his door, and. Okay. It’s not like he slammed his way through the house with a fire itching under his skin and believed for even a second, that.

The world could be his. Just for while. 

He settles roughly, at first, into the Alcott novel. Like a brick hitting the bottom of the sea--slowly, heavy and thick with the inertia of words that ignite something that feels.

Pink.

Inside his belly. Billy doesn’t have the wherewithal to make sense of it so he, just. Clamps his eyebrows around the liquid sunshine in his veins and loses himself in the story. 

After Starcourt the world ends, but. 

It doesn’t sound like the poems said it would. The bang and the whimper and the conclusion that, after things catch on fire and smoke rises with the sun, silence will fall over the Earth. 

Billy remembers waiting for Hawkins to sleep.

Watching Max and Mrs. Byers and. Steve. Landslide all around them to fix what had been swept away by a misjudgment in the Earth’s ability to keep itself from cracking open.

And Billy, he feels like an exposed wire. The center of the universe molding itself around the breath before the curtain falls and the audience leaves, and.

He waits for night to fall.

It never does. The overture is played out of tune, again and again, and the world turns faster than before, the sounds leak from everywhere. All at once, and.

Billy feels. Doesn’t know how to... 

It’s never as simple as asking for silence. For peace. When his mind makes too much noise, or. When he can’t get the sound of Neil coughing up smoke to stop bouncing off the walls. 

The ambiance that comes with. Sharing space, sharing your life with someone, used to be Billy’s favorite in all the world. Back when the incandescence of his mother folding laundry could be heard through the crack in his door while pirate ships bled past the boundary of the page and took him somewhere new. 

Billy likes to think of his life as intermissions between lovers. Before Starcourt he was asleep and now. He’s never waking up again.

Max reading to El, or.

Susan making dinner.

Even Neil flipping through the channels, it. Reminds him of burning cities.

Billy wears earmuffs. Everywhere. The ones that block out the sounds of the earth crying, but. Do nothing at all for the reprise burying itself in his bones. 

Steve brought them to the hospital when Billy wouldn’t stop asking about the end of the world.

So Max knocks on the door. 

And Billy thought he made himself clear. With the nonverbal shit, like. Slamming the front door open and brushing past the dinner table and slamming his door shut.

Locking himself in. He thought it was crystal clear, that. You can’t keep shoveling dirt into the grave without stopping to pray for rain. She pounds on the door again but it’s too loud. Always too much.

“What, Max?” And his voice is softer, these days. To balance out the symphony playing all around him.

“Steve’s here.” She says, and.

The earmuffs don’t actually block anything out. Billy can hear the battery die in the car down the street, and. He can hear Max shuffling on the other side of the door one-two-three, one-two-one, like a waltz. A tiny dancer. 

She has the most. Distinct footprints in the sand. Billy held onto that when he was bleeding on the floor. 

He pads over to the door and tugs it open, wincing at the sharp sting of. 

Soundsoundsound

Hammering against the walls in his head. Billy squints, shielding his eyes. To block the noise as if it were rain. 

“Tell him I’m not home.”

“Your car’s in the driveway, dumb dumb.”

“Well, tell him I’m busy.” Billy moves to close the door, but. Max sticks her foot in the jam. 

Folds her arms and gives him this look, like. He’s supposed to have a big realization about something. About the way he’s acting. Hiding in his room all the time with the blinds pulled taught against the sun. 

You’re acting weird.

He knows. He thinks it’s okay.

Billy shrugs like. Spit it the fuck out. And Max rolls her eyes. Billy can hear the shift of muscle, he can--

“Too busy to see Steve?” She says.

And okay. 

Billy picks up on why that might be weird. He shrugs again--there’s a throbbing, like. The beat of a drum. Just outside, on the lawn, or right at the back of his skull. 

Billy can’t tell and he doesn’t want to know, so.

The door falls shut once more. 

--

Being with Steve is like getting the instruments to play a song instead of just. Wailing out of tune for the audience to throw tomatoes.

He makes everything quiet. Just by running his fingers through Billy’s hair the world is made new. Starts over with a whimper instead of the rest, but. 

Sometimes Billy can’t breathe. 

Or his eyes will close when they’re wide open, and he can’t see anything but snow twirling against a gray sky, or like.

Veins turning black and smoky with rot. Disease and Ice. Barren fields the end-- 

Steve says the Earth has healed itself once more. That the cracks have been mended, and the ground isn’t coming apart under their feet.

So it’s summer.

That’s what Steve says. “It’s summer, baby.” let’s go to the lake. 

Billy looks up from his book. Fifty pages left in Little Women--at least an entire afternoon, once he picks up the second, and. “You want to go to the lake?”

Steve sort of. Rolls onto his side, next to Billy on the quilt Mrs. Harrington made when he was in the hospital. He looks up to the sky, the clouds and the sun. 

Steve has a daisy between his fingers. Billy doesn’t know where it came from, but then Steve is smiling. All soft, like. A stretch of grass just before sunset. He sticks the daisy between the pages of Billy’s book, and. Closes it., takes it away. He sits criss-cross-applesauce until his knees are pressed against Billy’s leg. 

Steve tugs the headphones off, so. 

The sun hits Billy. Burns every part of him. 

“You seem like you need water.” Steve says.

And he is the only person who makes the Earth contract, So Billy tucks his hair behind his ears with shaky fingers. Keeps his hands there, holding his own face until things quiet down. 

He breathes in, sharp and then slow, when the tears start to fall. When Steve reminds him to be gentle with yourself, baby. That’s it.

It takes five minutes for Billy to figure it out.

He needs water, like. A flower whose roots have gone frail. Or a boy who longs for home. Billy opens his eyes to Steve watching him, counting breaths on the watch he had made special.

For Billy, and his.

Bullshit. The panic attacks and the sensory bullshit, and. It’s summer. Billy feels the air get choked from his lungs when Steve takes his pulse, because.

“You go.” He whispers. 

Steve looks up from the watch and then back down again. “You still have ten more breaths, come on.”

“I’m fine.”

“Ten more big ones, okay. Just to be safe.”

“Steve, I’m fine.” Billy smacks the watch down. Away, so. He can. Think. Billy scrubs at his face just the wrong side of too hard. Too abrasive, and there’s a drum beating somewhere down the hill when Steve tries to grab his wrist. 

Again, to. Play nurse Maid. Steve kisses his palm once--twice, and.

“It’s summer.” Billy says. 

Steve winks. “Yeah, it’s beautiful.”

It. Is, Billy thinks. With the smell of Lilac and Honeysuckle. Afternoons that give way to skies full of fireflies and Steve’s hair turning blonde in the afternoon light, it looks. Like a work art, like. A page from a book. 

His favorite in all the world. Billy tugs his hand away from Steve’s lips, tucks his hair behind his ears again, and. Steve looks worried.

Always worried, like. He’s waiting Billy will snap in two. 

“I want you to go to the lake.” He says. Because he’s tired of seeing that look.

Steve blinks wide, owlish eyes at him. “I want us to go, Bills, that’s why--”

Billy shakes his head. Suddenly the drum falls. Silent. Steve sits frozen, suspended in time and space while the symphonies play out of tune. 

“You aren’t my doctor.” Billy says.

“I know--”

“And you aren’t my therapist.”

He expects Steve to. Say something, or stop looking like the ground is splitting open between them, when Billy charges on.

“Or my housekeeper, or any of that shit, Steve. You’re. A twenty year old boy, you should be. Out with your friends for the fourth of July not taking care of your invalid partner who can’t make it through the day without breaking down in tears.”

“I don’t want to be with anyone else.” Steve says, and.

It means now. And it means always.

Billy stands to grab his book. 

--

He leaves his earmuffs on the blanket in the grass. 

Thinks about calling and. Begging Steve to bring them over, drop them off because his head is spiraling rock formations and earthquakes let loose in the heartland. 

After dinner it hurts.

When the fireworks start to explode. Bright light and heat burning a wound into his chest, or a breaking his bones to crumbling dust. Each explosion is like child birth and pulled teeth and gunshot wounds playing a libretto behind his right eyebrow. He tries to read but the snow falls all around him--

“Hey dipshit, we’re going to watch the--” 

Billy doesn’t try to hide the tears, and.

Max doesn’t bring them up. She presses an ice pack to his forehead and wonders if. She should call Steve. Call him home.

Billy wants to say yes.

Wants to call Steve himself, but. “Go have fun, kid.” 

And the wound only grows.

--

He has four pillows on his head when the window slides open. That’s why he doesn’t hear the scattered footfall until there’s a weight on his bed, and a pair of hands rubbing his back.

One hot, one cold. 

He frowns. “Hands are cold as dick.”

Steve chuckles, fingers digging into the muscle of Billy’s neck in a way that has him soft. Huffing against the sheets. “Sorry, I brought Ice cream.”

Billy peeks out from under his fortress to Steve peppering kisses along the base of his skull.

“What time is it?” He grumbles. 

“8:30. Go to sleep.” Steve muffles against Billy’s hair, and.

“How come you’re here?” 

Steve holds out the earmuffs, cherub face scruffy and apologetic and so, so beautiful. “Sorry it took so long, I wanted to give you space, you seemed like. You needed space.” 

He pulls the blanket up around Billy’s shoulders, even as he worms around to sit up. Get a better look, and. Apologize. 

“Look, Stevie--”

“You shouldn’t be sitting with a migraine like that,” He says firmly. “Doc says three glasses of water, two Tylenol, and--”

“Rest, yeah, I.” Billy feels like smiling. For the first time in days, he. Wants to smile. “Thank you.”

Steve nods. Like he’s disappointed. Eyebrows wrinkling as he fiddles with the cracked leather headband. 

Billy looks at the pint of cherry crunch leaking a puddle onto the mattress. “So you brought ice cream, huh?”

Steve shrugs. “Yeah, I mean. What else do you bring after a break up?”

And.

Billy feels like shit. “Steve I didn’t mean that--”

“I know.” He says. Soft, like a confession. “I’ll always dream of you, you know that?” Billy’s heart kicks into overdrive when Steve leans forward, slipping the earmuffs against his head, and.

Putting the world to sleep.

#harringrove #aah I wrote this in literally two hours #I love u sm cherr #Happy new year! #tw: sensory overload

[player-1]

Anyone who’s been in the TMA fandom (or those who understand the bare minimum of the story) know damn well that whatever was going on with Michael D. Stortion and Gabriel/Worker-of-Clay was not just a simple Avatar/Entity partnership. No, in the twisted timeline of the Spiral itself, the Armageddon arms-race pales in comparison to the romantic tragedy subplot those two had long before Jon and Martin were in the picture.

(This is also going to be a long one, and with some MAG 101 spoilers, so buckle on in...)

Here’s what I mean:

Gabriel (or in this case, Gabe) works with Neil Lagorio (Web aligned special-effects dude) in the mid 1900′s on their first movie The Labyrinth of the Minotaur. Unfortunately for him, Gabe quits in 1972 just as the movie was released. 

Not much is known of this time after 1972 up until the dreaded sculpting class in 2004. Speculation-wise, Gabriel might have been corrupted by the Flesh during his movie-making times or earlier before he came into contact with the Spiral.

Reasons: -The Spiral connects with the unraveling of reality, question one’s sanity and eventually “spiraling” into insanity. -The Flesh, in its literal sense, connects to the fear of people or animals being killed for meat; even the appearance of flesh/bone being twisted, bent, or butchered. But it can also connect on a emotional level, such as being viewed weaker than others, mostly relating to a person’s body image. That’s also the reason why the nature of his death is completely unlike the Spiral simply letting him fade out of reality. -Gabriel displays more Flesh-like qualities in his appearance and work up until the end of MAG 126. He doesn’t want people to judge him by appearance alone (even if his entire body is made up of clay) but he makes up for it with his unassuming personality and amazing talent. In a literal sense, he wants to mold himself into the kind of person that gets praised for his clay-making abilities, not just from his creations alone.  

[Enter Ｔｈｅ　Ｄｉｓｔｏｒｔｉｏｎ: Stage Left] Of course, while there’s no evidence on how, when or why the Distortion would target him specifically, but there is one thing. Compared to all the other Spiral avatars and fear-aligned creatures, they all used to be humans in the past. The Spiral by nature is to cast aside their humanity and submit to the nature of insanity. But since most of the Spiral avatars either faded out of existence or just refused to do anything ritual-wise, how was it supposed to create a new world if all they ever do is destroy? It adopts an artist, of course. There’s nothing more chaotic than the struggles of a budding sculptor such as himself. But while that may be a convincing argument for the Spiral to get Gabriel to join the Dark Side, there could be more to convince him that it’s worth following the unknowable being of delusions. Long story short, there was no reason for Gabriel to judge himself so poorly if he knew how to reshape the world to how he sees fit. it would convince him that, like the archangel he’s named after, he could show the world the coming future; twisting the laws of reality so that there’s no room to judge how something should be right or wrong, imaginary or real.  As if they were said from the Lord himself, Gabriel heard the Distortion’s tell him about a new world and finally found inspiration in them.

Then comes the sculpting class.  It’s worth noting that, even with the angel symbolism for Michael and Gabriel, it could be implied that Gabriel is also a goody-two-shoes Christian boy who regularly attends church, as evidence of Michael having knowledge about Mass in MAG 20, assisting the Flesh in driving Father Edwin to cannibalism (so the Flesh and Spiral have an interesting partnership, huh?).  Besides that, this is where Gabriel takes the spotlight. From Deborah’s point of view, he was a strange little man from the beginning; eyes always jutted out of his face, appearing right in someone’s personal space and disappearing just as fast, and of course, his works of clay. (Also a random headcanon just because: Gabriel may be afraid of water, either because his entire body being made of clay, and since you need water to help shape the material, he does not want to get it melded into his own flesh. Could also be the reason why he has short and greasy hair, cause he would practically melt into a puddle if he was unfortunate enough to get wet.) And apart from Deborah and her friends’ growing discomfort over Gabriel in general, he’s just vibing in the back of the class, trying to make a shape for the unknowable form of the Distortion. And the second Deborah inadvertently gives him a break from his artist’s block, he quite literally takes control of the class; switching over the biweekly schedule it was before into every week, and even manipulating the space of the classroom to further support his artistic needs. 

“Ray told us the lesson was ‘faces.’ I put my hand up to say that sculpting faces was probably a bit advanced for where we were in the course, but he shook his head, and said that we were… a lot more talented than we thought. He said the key was that faces were twisted. All faces were twisted on the inside, and all you had to do was reach into the deepest part of yourself and put that twisted on the outside of the clay, and as soon as you can scream you’ll have your own face staring back at you.”  (MAG 126)

This is also the key to the Spiral itself. With Gabriel’s assistance, he will be able to let the spiral to insanity move in reverse, create the physical manifestation of that fear instead of letting it collapse and destroy itself. And in that lesson as well, Gabriel finally creates a fitting image of the Distortion...A door, the physical entrance to insanity itself.

Then comes the final stretch in Sannikov Land, the nonexistent island that was said to exist between the years 2009 and 2011. And as Michael D. Stortion explains in MAG 101, was the perfect place for their ritual, The Great Twisting. After everything Gabriel had done to appease his good “friend”, The Distortion seemed extremely invested in the Worker of Clay at that point. Nevermind the fact that its telling Jon how its identity was stolen away from Michael Shelley by merging with the Distortion, but there’s more to this origin story.

“Michael was protective of the frail old woman he believed her to be. So… so delicate, so forgetful, yet gently wise. He cared for her. He trusted her. And she fed him to me. She made him to destroy our transcendence. And she did not hesitate.” “And it was me they sought to stop. Me and the others of It-Is-Not-What-It-Is. Our Great Twisting. The-Worker-of-Clay had laboured for decades on that contorted, impossible edifice of doors… and stairs… and falsehoods… and smiles. A thousand staring morsels stood, and not one of them believed themselves sane to look upon it. And in the centre, the door that would open to all the places that were never there, was me.“ “Perhaps I should have realised what was happening; seen those two lonely figures approaching me, but I cannot tell you the existential joys of truly… becoming. Of an entireness finally crossing the threshold into your self. So ecstatic was my completeness, I did not even hear my own door creak open.“ “Even sharper than the joy of becoming is the agony of being opened and remade. To have your who torn bloody from your what, and another crudely lashed into its place. To become Michael. And to do so at such a crucial point in our Twisting, in our becoming, well of course it destroyed it. The impossible altar collapsed. The-Worker-of-Clay tore out his veins to dissolve himself in crimson mud. The others of us were cast to all the places that aren’t; some have still not found their way out again...My very existence tied to my pointlessness. Wearing my failure as the very fabric of my being. Reduced once again to feeding on the unsuspecting and confused. That is who I am.“ (MAG 101)

Even if all of this was to explain how the Distortion became the being it is in the series, it’s easy to see how overjoyed it was during the ritual. All that the Spiral ever did was bring the sense of unreality and paranoia unto people for ages, only breaking down the mind until they eventually spiral into oblivion. It wanted to be something, it wanted to make something twisted and nonsensical from the world, to shape the world itself to the nature of insanity. And after all that time, no matter how many avatars it had in its control, Gabriel was the only one who began creating the ritual. Even if it was for an ulterior motive, The Distortion was pretty giddy as Gabriel worked for years on end to create the meaning of insanity; to create something that the Distortion saw as the perfect vessel for itself. And even as it was explaining it, with all these feelings of joy and ecstasy and very human thoughts and emotions, this was before it was forced to become Michael. So much for not being bound by human nature, huh? But it’s pretty ironic that, as the embodiment of delusions, insanity and lies, it never considered the idea of having an avatar that could make something out of that chaos. Even if the Distortion was explaining how Michael-not-Michael Shelley came into being, it also can be interpreted as Michael just yearning for his best Avatar so far.  So instead of “I’m going to tell you my entire backstory.”, it’s more like “I’m going to tell you how a nosy old woman and her idiotic assistant ruined my chances to be with my Avatar of the Decade who may or may not be my boyfriend.”

In conclusion, Gabriel AKA The Worker of Clay AKA Igor with an art degree became the Hands of the Spiral because the nonbinary embodiment of delusion (who is also a door) gave a miserable struggling artist a shot of self-confidence (and a shot out of the Flesh’s control), eventually becoming its #1 Boyfriend Avatar of all time, and is the only person that would make the “hates gender and existence itself” Distortion yearn for years after his tragic death.

Takes notes people, this is what peak performance looks like.

#not kh #tma #the magnus archives #tma spoilers #tma michael #tma gabriel #tma michael shelley #gay shit #shitpost #rant post #text post

[kar3npage]

The Wonder of You

Neil is in complete denial that he is struggling with panic attacks. Andrew thinks that a support animal would be good. They figure it out together.

Read it on ao3 here

“-was a disgrace. What the hell were you thinking out there? Nicky, start focusing on the ball, not Aaron! Allison, too much aggression-”

Neil’s brain was working in overdrive, switching between here and a house in Baltimore, filled with haunted memories. 

“-I don’t know what the hell that was-”

A flash of light reflecting off of a knife blade. Andrews obnoxiously orange jersey in the corner of his eye. His mom shouting, morphing into his dad, and then into Wymack.

He can’t get his eyes to focus properly. He’s trying desperately to focus on Wymacks half-time lecture, but his eyes keep focusing on the space between them.

“Neil-”

He doesn’t think, just acts. Tossing an arm up in front of himself, Neil shrinks into the couch and waits. The waiting is always the worst part, he thinks. The waiting is torture.

Neil’s brain catches up slowly, noticing the horrible silence that pervades the room and Wymacks sad exhaustion as he puts his hands in full view so that Neil can see that they aren’t there to hurt him.

There are always times when the foxes get that desolate look on their face when Neil does something that shows his trauma, but the pity is suffocating this time. For once in his life, he completely forgets about the game and runs out the door into the full but empty parking lot.

He can’t run. His mind is present enough to know that. Nothing could break Andrews trust faster than leaving, and he knows that if he takes one more step into the parking lot his instinct will take over. And Neil knows that once he decides to run, it’s hard to convince himself that it’s safe enough to stop.

He sits down in the center of the parking lot, body shaking and breath coming in quick gasps. He thinks of the appointments that he has begrudgingly been showing up to with Betsy, how she tells him to pay attention to what’s going on around him. 

That would probably work, if he could feel the concrete underneath him or hear anything besides his horrible wheezing. 

It takes him a moment to realize that someone is out there with him, speaking slowly. He startles at first, flinching backwards before recognizing the soothing voice.

“You are Neil Abram Josten, you are at the Foxhole Court playing a game of Exy, because you are a striker,” Andrew says calmly, slowly inching towards Neil. Neil closes his eyes and uses all of his energy to listen to Andrews voice.

After a while, Andrew is right beside but not quite touching Neil, and Neil nods quickly in the hopes that Andrew will touch him, ground him.

Andrew edges closer so that he is between Neils legs, and gently pushes Neils head to rest against his chest. He wishes that he could enjoy this more, but now that the pervading panic has left, he feels empty and cold. Andrew puts one hand protectively around his back and the other tangles itself in Neil's hair. At some point Neil recognizes that Andrew isn’t wearing his equipment anymore. He can’t bring himself to care about the game, it’s too exhausting to even think about standing right now.

They sit there until Neil can feel the pebbles from the concrete digging into his legs and the discomfort of his padding constricting his movement. He sighs and sits up, missing the warmth when Andrew lets his hands fall away. Andrew’s hair is damp from a shower and he’s dressed in his normal clothes. He can hear people starting to stream out of the building on the other side.

They look at each other for a moment before Andrew stands up and offers a hand to Neil. The idea of showering and changing seems daunting, especially since he knows the team will be in the locker room too. He can just imagine the comments that will be going around about him from the new foxes.

However, when they get into the locker room, it’s already empty.

It’s not until they’re standing under the spray in the shower than Andrew speaks up again.

“I did some research,” he says, watching Neil with a tiny furrow between his brows. Neil feels a bit guilty that he’s the one that put that there. He hums to let Andrew know that he is listening. “There are animals that can help with panic attacks. Like dogs.”

Andrew looks intently at Neil, who shakes his head dramatically. “Absolutely not. I don’t need some sort of...of… I don’t need a babysitter.”

Andrew frowns. “They aren’t babysitters, they just help with PTSD.”

Neil scrubs a hand through his hair aggressively. He hasn’t really been using that term. He knows that he has it, knows that there are things in his past that probably no one could go through without getting it, but he refuses to admit it. Betsy has been slowly working him up to it, giving him work books to use and a journal that he has stubbornly left empty on the bedside table. 

“Well, I don’t need that either.” Neil can feel the anxiety build again, so he starts counting in French. Andrew can read his expression, and he lets the subject drop. Neil wishes that the subject hadn’t been introduced to begin with.

Unfortunately, now that it’s been mentioned, Neil just can’t get it out of his head. He is completely exhausted, and guilty for letting the team down by not being able to play the whole last half and for flinching from Wymack again. But Andrews words keep running through his head.

He isn’t sure exactly what it is that has offended him so much with the suggestion. He wonders if maybe Andrew is tired of holding him up all the time. He wonders what it would be like to have something that he was responsible for, like a child. The thought makes him want to vomit. 

He doesn’t sleep that night.

-

Andrew hasn’t been able to stop thinking about Neil. That isn’t unusual, since Neil pops up in his head all the time. This time, he keeps thinking about his denial of his PTSD, and the way he reacted to the suggestion of a support animal.

He had gotten the idea from a movie, strangely enough. A character had an emotional support dog, and Andrew had immediately started researching the steps that it would take to get one for Neil. 

He had made sure that they would be able to keep it in the dorms, checked all of the paperwork that would be necessary, and learned about the training that it would need to be able to help Neil with his panic attacks.

At no point during this process did he think that Neil would react so strongly. Sure, there was always the chance that he would argue against the need, but the poorly concealed panic in his eyes was a different story.

Andrew was still cursing himself for nearly sending Neil into another spiral after the horrible one during the game. 

This morning had been quiet. Kevin was worried about Neil and showed it by snapping at Neil for letting the team down. Neil looked like he was going to throw up his breakfast, and his eyes were shadowed and far away. Yet he still insisted on going to practice, and then class after.

Bee’s office was as warm and welcoming as always. Sunlight glinted off of the glass figurines on her bookshelves, and the room smelt of hot chocolate and some sort of lavender cleaning product.

It was familiar, and Andrew breathed it in while Bee spoke about her day. 

“Is there something that you wanted to speak about in particular today Andrew?” Bee smiled as she passed over the mug of hot chocolate. 

“Neil.”

Bee nods and gets comfortable, waiting for Andrew to find the right words. He has always struggled with choosing his words, since he wants them to be exactly right.

“He had a panic attack yesterday during the game. Wymack scared him during halftime.”

Bee nods and tilts her head while Andrew tries to figure out what he wants to ask her. He doesn’t want to tell Bee more than Neil would be comfortable with, even though Neil had given him to go ahead to say whatever he wanted about him during appointments. 

“I brought up the idea of getting a support animal,” Andrew finally says. “And he did not like that idea.”

“Okay. Did he say anything about why he doesn’t like that idea?”

Andrew shifts. He doesn’t usually have this difficult of a time speaking to Bee, but it’s harder when it’s about Neil. “I almost made him have another panic attack. He said he didn’t want to be babysat.”

Bee nods again. Andrew wonders if she ever has neck issues with all the nodding she does during the day. “Perhaps we could come up with a way to explain what a support animal does, and why you think it would be helpful for him to have one? It sounds like maybe Neil has a different idea of what a support animal would do than you do, so if we can find a way to communicate your idea differently, Neil might accept it.”

They spend the rest of the session coming up with a script for Andrew to broach the topic again. He isn’t entirely convinced that it will work.

-

Neils bad day passes a few days later. He isn’t sure what caused it, or why it lasted so long this time. He can’t help but feel a bit irritated with himself for wallowing for so long. He’s grouchy with Betsy at his next appointment, and she gives him another workbook for him to try. This one has less writing and more space for him to use. It even has spots where it encourages him to doodle. He feels like a child looking at it, and he can’t meet Andrew’s eyes when he meets him at the car after the appointment.

It’s days later before he cracks the workbook open again. He had apologized to Wymack before practice, and he couldn’t get the kind way that Wymack spoke to him out of his mind. 

“I’m not mad, kid. I’m worried about you,” Wymack had said gruffly. He had then told him that if he needed anything, he was there for him. Both of them left the meeting red faced and uncomfortable. It felt like a miracle that Wymack didn’t try to do the half side hug thing that he did when Dan was sad sometimes.

He waits until the dorm is empty before he pulls out the workbook. His homework is sitting beside him so that he can pretend he was working on that instead if anyone comes in. He isn’t sure why it bothers him so much to think of anyone knowing that he was doing this, but his face burns every time he thinks about the book that had been hidden away under his clothes in the drawer.

He reads each paragraph closely, having to take breaks constantly to get his emotions under control. The parts where he can write and draw are easier, and he gets lost in it for a while.

Until Andrew walks in, that is. He doesn’t notice the figure leaning against the door jam at first, and he freezes once he does.

He gives Andrew a look that would be close to a deer in headlights, one hand reaching out to cover the page that he was currently drawing on. Andrew looks more relaxed than he has in ages, and a corner of his mouth twitches up when he sees Neils expression.

“Do you want me to go?” he says. 

Neil blushes and looks down at the book before shaking his head slowly. Andrew grabs his book and climbs onto the bed beside him, getting comfortable before slowly reaching up to touch Neils back. Neil leans back into the touch, and Andrew starts rubbing his back slowly, making sure to keep his gaze completely on his book.

After a while, Neil turns his attention back to the page he was working on, and they sit in the room until Kevin gets back for practice.

-

A week later, Andrew still hasn’t used the script that him and Bee came up with. She asks him about it at every appointment, and just gives him a knowing look every time he admits that he hasn’t brought it up yet.

He is contemplating it again as he walks home from class. The thought derails when he sees Neil standing in the center of the living room when he gets into the dorm. He looks lost, but not the kind that comes after a thought spiral. Andrew is furious at himself when he visibly relaxes when Neil grins at him.

His smile is a bit self-conscious, and he bites his lip as Andrew gets closer. Andrew has the sudden urge to grab Neil and kiss him, but he demonstrates an incredible amount of restraint by just raising an eyebrow in question at Neil.

“Matt and Dan gave me a movie that they thought I should see,” Neil says sheepishly. His whole body is moving slightly, hands fidgeting and foot toeing at the ground. Andrew is constantly fascinated with how much energy Neil has all the time.

He raises his eyebrow again, since that doesn’t actually explain why he is standing in the center of the living room like he doesn’t belong there.

Neil scratches at the back of his neck, a blush rising in his cheeks. “I thought that maybe you would like it. And that you would maybe want to watch it. With me.”

He gapes at Neil for a moment before grabbing the back of his neck and kissing him.

Neils whole face lights up, making Andrews chest hurt.

“Okay,” he tries to say impassively as Neil tugs him down on the beanbag and hands him a blanket and Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough ice cream. He can’t take his eyes off of Neil, who is currently getting comfortable in the other beanbag chair. He’s dragged it over so its right beside Andrew’s, but not touching. Andrew tugs it closer, and Neil grins again. 

He can feel Neils eyes on him through most of the movie, but he lets it go. And he has to admit, the movie is actually very good. He taps a finger along to the music to show Neil that he is enjoying it, and Neil wiggles closer in his chair. 

Andrew texts Kevin to stay out of the room after the movie is done, and completely forgets to bring up the support animal thing again.

-

He can’t ignore it anymore. Two nights later, and he decides that he will absolutely bring up the topic tomorrow morning. Neil has been back to his normal self for a while now, and he would rather discuss this now rather than wait for another bad panic attack or nightmare to hit. He’s running the script through his head when Neil moves in his sleep. Again.

Neil doesn’t normally move in his sleep ever. Something about his mom, Neil had never said specifically, but it makes Andrew feel ridiculously protective every time he thinks about it.

Tonight, Neil has been moving every few minutes.

Without thinking, Andrew brings his hand up to Neils forehead, mumbling his name as he does so. Neil doesn’t wake up, and his forehead practically burns Andrew's hand.

“Neil,” he says again, a bit louder. Kevin groans in his sleep before turning around. Neil doesn’t respond.

Panic wars with concern, and Andrew grabs his phone to call Abby. He stares down at Neil while listening to Abby’s phone ring, hoping that he’ll wake up and be fine before Abby picks up. Also hoping that Abby will pick up and he won’t have to go wake up Aaron to help him.

“Andrew? Is everything okay?” Abby sounds groggy, probably because it’s almost 3 in the morning.

“Neil has a fever. He won’t wake up.”

“Okay, have you taken his temperature?” He can hear the concern in her voice, but it quickly becomes professional as she wakes up.

Andrew doesn’t bother responding, just goes and grabs the thermometer and mutters something to Neil as he gently gives him the thermometer. Neil accepts it in his sleep, but his eyes stay shut.

“103.”

Abby sounds wide awake now. “Okay, I’m going to come over, is that alright? If it was just below that I wouldn’t be too concerned, but I want to make sure that he doesn’t need a more serious treatment.”

Andrews stomach clenches and he nods, despite knowing that Abby can’t see him. He stays on the phone, and she does too. He can hear her car, the radio on quietly as she makes her way to the dorms. 

Andrew hangs up when he hears a knock on the door, and he almost doesn’t want to leave Neil alone while he goes to get the door.

Abby looks tired but alert when she comes in. She’s wearing sweats and a shirt that he suspects may belong to Wymack, her medical bag in hand as she comes in.

Kevin is still sound asleep as they come into the room. Abby gets his temperature again and starts ordering Andrew around to fetch things. He doesn’t mind, it’s easier to have something to do instead of just standing around waiting for Abby to proclaim that Neil would not survive. 

He knows that’s not what is going to happen, but Andrews mind can’t help but come up with scenarios. 

They finally move Neil into the couch in the living room so that they can open the window to cool off the room and not listen to Kevin snore.

There is a cool cloth on his forehead, and he has opened his eyes a few times. Abby even got him to drink some water and take some medication.

Andrew is hovering like a nervous mother.

It’s nearly 4:30 in the morning and the sun is just starting to come up, softening the sky. Abby and Andrew are watching the news on the lowest volume while Neil sleeps on the couch. Andrew keeps turning around to watch, trying to play it off so that Abby doesn’t notice. Abby most definitely has noticed.

Neil makes a sound in the back of his throat and Andrew whips around. A pair of very blue eyes are looking at him through a haze of medication and fever. 

Abby grabs the thermometer again and kneels down beside him, speaking in a soothing voice. 

“Abby,” Neil says in a slightly slurred voice. He looks young and vulnerable, cocooned in a nest of blankets. Abby hums.

He closes his eyes and mumbles something incomprehensible. Abby is doing her best to encourage him to sit up so he can drink some juice. His eyes are focused on the glass like he’s never seen anything like it before.

“I can’t take care of something,” Neil tells her earnestly. Abby smiles.

“You don’t have to take care of anything, we’re going to take care of you.”

He frowns. “No, I can’t take care of anything. I can’t do that, what if I killed it? Or forgot to feed it?”

Abby turns to look at Andrew, confusion clear on her face. Andrew is starting to see where Neil is going with this.

She finally gets him vaguely upright, and he looks exhausted as he leans against the back of the couch. Andrew reaches forward to tuck the blanket around him and gives Abby a blank stare when she gives him a fond look.

“I don’t want Andrew to get tired of taking care of me,” Neil says, letting his eyes fall closed again. Abby looks bemused, and she rubs his shoulder to get him to drink some more juice. 

“Baby, Andrew will never get tired of that,” she says while looking at Andrew. He can feel his ears burn, and he gives her his best glare. She ignores it completely.

“And I don’t like dogs,” Neil slurs. 

“What do dogs have to do with this?” Abby finally asks. 

“Why don’t you like dogs,” Andrew says to Neil, ignoring her.

Neil’s fever isn’t as bad now, but he looks weak and pitiful as he leans to the side, obviously wanting to lie down again. He shudders a bit and says something that Andrew doesn’t fully catch. He only hears the name ‘Lola’. 

Andrew refuses to regret things, but there is a feeling in his chest that he does not like at all when he thinks of Neil with Lola.

Andrew sits down carefully on the couch, then tugs Neil down to lie his head on his lap. Abby smiles gently and brings the empty glass to the kitchen to give them some space. 

Andrew speaks quietly. He’s not even sure that Neil will remember this later, but he feels the need to comfort him for some odd reason.

“I was thinking,” Andrew says slowly. “And cats are much more our style. They aren’t as high maintenance, so you wouldn’t have to worry about it as much. And they can be trained just as well as dogs can.”

Neil hums as Andrew starts to card his fingers through his hair. “Would they help with panic attacks?”

Andrew can’t avoid the massive feeling of pride over the fact that Neil actually used the term. He’s never used it like that before, never accepted that those times when he felt ‘kind of nervous’, as he used to explain them, could actually be something with medical terminology.

“Yes, they could help with panic attacks.”

Neil nods, his body relaxing back into sleep. 

-

Betsy helps with the paperwork and all of the logistics. Neil has three panic attacks during the whole process. Once when he sees the document that confirms that he has been diagnosed with PTSD, once when they go to visit the cats for the first time, and once on their fifth visit when a cat climbs on his lap.

Neil can’t get over the idea that he could be dangerous to such a small creature, but when he ends up with scratches on his already ruined arms, he decides that they are pretty strong little creatures. 

Andrew doesn’t get irritated a single time. He’s a calming presence, always there. It’s even become a bit of a team exercise, going to visit the cats and volunteering to clean kennels and play.

They eventually end up with a ragdoll cat that has been following Neil around since their first visit, one that Nicky names ‘Sir Fat Cat McCatterson’ on the third trip.

Sir fits in to the dorm seamlessly, and Neil has to admit that the purring and weight of a cat does help with the anxiety. 

On his first bad day after bringing her home she crawls onto his chest and purrs until he has stopped hyperventilating. Andrew comes back from class 20 minutes later to the both of them having a nap on the floor in the sun, and he feels something like pride at Neil for how far he has come.

#all for the game #fanfic #the foxhole court #aftg #tfc #andrew minyard #neil josten #andrei mozalev #andrew minyard/neil josten #betsy dobson #abby winfield #david wymack #coach wymack #soft neil josten #soft andrew minyard #soft andreil #ao3

[hargrove-mayfields]

Through the Lonely Throng

It’s impossible to sleep at night with so much noise.

The woods in Hawkins are filled with it, and from his window in the white house at 5280 Cherry Lane, Billy Hargrove can hear every last screeching katydid and snapping branch and the leaves rustling so loud when the wind blew.

Things were so much different back home in San Francisco, where the sounds of the night were distant and more like white noise. Then he could hear distant cars, their tires smooth on pavement, and the sounds of the ocean if he listened hard enough. He missed that more than anything.

Indiana was so much more, suffocating. The noise overwhelmed him in a way the bustling city life of Cali never had, and he knew that didn’t make a whole lot of sense. But it did to him, in a city that was actually made up of more than middle of nowhere neighborhoods and a few corner stores, he had his room to breathe. There was freedom in having somewhere to hide.

There used to be places to go when he couldn’t stand to be alone or when he needed to be, there was always an escape. He supposed that was why they moved here, so his father could keep better tabs on him, so he wouldn’t have the liberty he did in a developed city.

Now in Hawkins, he was just stuck, all the time, nowhere to go but back home again. Every single day was the same old thing without anything to do, and it was wearing down on him. He missed the life he used to have, missed his friends and the distractions and his fucking mom. Indiana was the last place on earth he wanted to be.

Everytime Billy thought there might be a silver lining, anything at all to look forward to, his hopes were shattered again like glass when you dropped it, only he never seemed to hit the ground. Constantly in a downward spiral since he’d stepped foot in this shithole town, his life had gotten so far out of his own control.

He’d already done so many things he regretted, but the thing was, he felt like he’d been watching from the backseat as it happened. The isolation and torment of the new way he’d been forced to live was breaking him down piece by piece, and everyday he became more and more like his dear old dad.

Staring out the window by his bed, a plume of smoke drifting up towards the twinkling stars from a cigarette between his fingers, he felt so, so uneasy. With himself, for all that he’d done, and the people he’d hurt, with his father, for uprooting him and putting him in this tiny box, deliberately bringing out the nastiest parts of his temper, and fucking Hawkins, for keeping him cornered and taking away everything he ever held dear.

The tears on his cheeks weren’t a surprise, he’d always been a stupidly emotional person, no matter how tough he tried to be. His momma told him that meant he was strong, that any boy who wasn’t afraid to show his emotions was very brave. Look where that got him.

Speaking of his momma, she’d been on his mind a lot lately. The idea that, had she not just drove off without him he wouldn’t be here now, it haunted him. He could’ve been happy, if she’d chosen him, chosen her baby over a life of freedom. She’d said once over the phone that she’d come back when he was older, that you couldn’t run fast enough with an eight year old, but that she wouldn’t forget him.

There’s a few months left until his eighteenth birthday, and he hasn’t heard a word from her since.

So much for dreams of a dramatic rescue, for the hope that his mom would come back for him and swoop him away from the arms of his abuser. Tough shit, kid.

Even if she had stayed, he knows in his heart things wouldn’t be any different. Except for maybe that Neil probably would’ve murdered the both of them by now if complacent little Susan hadn’t come along. Maria Hargrove was a fighter. Susan Mayfield took whatever was coming without complaint. Funny how he hated them both anyways.

Sometimes he thinks about how they’re victims too, how not everything that happens is their fault, but then he remembers the look on his mother’s face as she walked out the front door for the last time, or the way Susan would ignore him when he was injured, going about her day, picking up dishes and folding laundry while he lay on the floor with boot shaped bruises up and down his body. Of his mother’s tone of voice when she picked up the phone after she abandoned her son, or the way Susan would inform on what he’d been doing no matter the consequence just to stay in good graces with her husband.

Like hell did those women deserve it, but did he either?

Was it fair that, since he was just eight years old, he’d been being beaten and battered and abused in every way by anyone and everyone who got close to him? Did the fact that Maria got hit a few times make it okay to subject her son to the daily torture he faces just for existing? Does Susan’s fear excuse turning a blind eye to what she knows her husband does behind closed doors?

But does his own hurt make it okay to bully his step-sister and her friends? No, it doesn’t.

His excuse is that he’s scared.

Scared for Susan, as much as he hates to admit it, that one day Neil will get bored of beating him up and move on to his dainty little wife. Woman like her wouldn’t be able to take his punches, and if she couldn’t stand up for her step son, she definitely wouldn’t stand up for herself.

He’s scared for his friend Tommy, because he’s been seen spending too much time around him, and his dad is getting suspicious. Thinks that just because they hang around each other there must be something going on. Whether it was just regular teenagers up to no good or an accusation of queer shit, either would set his father off, and Tommy would be the target if they didn’t distance themselves a little.

And he’s scared for the Sinclair kid, because Neil has made it very clear that nothing good will come of Max hanging out with him. Billy’s kind of caught in the middle on that one, he doesn’t want Max to think he's the dickhead when his dad is, but he wants her to just keep her distance, be a little more cautious so something bad won’t happen.

Back in California, he’d had a black friend in kindergarten, and as soon as he found out, Neil called the school and had his classes switched just because they’d been too young to get a beating for it. Lucas was fourteen, and if eight was old enough for his own flesh and blood, then that was good enough for Neil to lash out. But they were just rebellious teenagers with no concept of real world consequences, and they were going to get themselves killed.

More than anything, he was scared for Max. He can tell she doesn’t really know what’s happening around her. Susan does her very best to shield her daughter from Neils rage, and that means not telling her about it at all or letting her see it. On Neil’s bad days, Max would still come home talking a mile a minute, pushing him over the edge to a violent fit that his son would have to face, and she’d be none the wiser.

At first, it’d pissed Billy off that she could go home free so often, but by now the fact that she was completely blind to it scared him that one day, she’d be next. Just a few weeks ago he’d had to step into the middle of an argument between his father and step-sister, and got a split in his eyebrow so bad it still hadn’t healed. It was only a matter of time before he didn’t catch it in enough time, and Max’s little safety bubble would pop forever.

But doing his best to keep all of them safe meant doing his worst, and he hated it. What choice did he have when he had to keep Max and Lucas separated and the target on Susan’s back small? How could he do that other than to be strong and mean and just like Neil?

Because, if he had a mean streak himself, that’d threaten his big bad dad, and he’d get his ass beat. Coming home wasted and making a scene, he’d get his ass beat. A call from the school or a concerned parent about that rowdy boy down on Cherry, and he’d get his ass beat. Wash rinse repeat.

Be the worst Billy he could be, and Neil would take it out on him, not on Max who holds hands with black boys, or Tommy who doesn’t even know his best friend’s a queer and just wants to have a friend, or Susan who didn’t know what she was signing up for when she said I do.

Still, making that choice, deciding to take the worst of his father's rage for everyone else and still not seeing an ounce of empathy or concern thrown his way put a bitter taste in his mouth. At this point it was like, why even bother keeping up the sacrifice? Nobody appreciates all the pain he goes through to protect them, why not just be good?

Because it wasn’t just for them.

If Neil knew his son wasn’t manly and brave and cocky and cool like everyone thought he was, Billy was sure he’d already be six feet under. The act had saved his ass on more than one occasion, when tears fell from his eyes and accusations of being a dainty fairy started to fly, the leather jackets and the metalhead music and the fucking cologne on his balls kept Neil from going too far. It was a counterbalance sort of thing, because he could think of nothing else that would stop his dad from lashing out at everyone around him.

He knows how he acts is wrong, but he doesn’t know what else to do, what else could stop Neil. Unless somebody would just grow a pair and put Neils sorry ass in prison, then things wouldn’t have to be this way.

But it was that way, the cops didn’t believe Billy when he was 10 and innocent, let alone now that he’s just some washed up trouble maker, and Neil kept up a pristine reputation among the communities they lived in, so nothing was done about it.

Everyday the line between who he actually was and who he needed to be to survive and to protect those around him from that monster got blurrier and blurrier.

So here he was, listening to the dumb katydids in the trees keeping him awake, chain smoking and reflecting on his choices, some of the most recent and very poor ones sticking out in his mind's eye.

On Halloween, he’d almost killed a bunch of kids just to scare Max. Every night he thought about what would’ve happened if she hadn’t been quick enough pulling the wheel. Getting beat up by your daddy doesn’t excuse that, even if in his head he was just trying to teach Max a lesson.

Then he’d broken her skateboard for talking to Lucas behind his back. That had actually been an accident, but he was still threatening to do it when it broke and he was still screaming at her. For trying to protect her from Neil, he sure did treat her just the same way his father did him.

The icing on the cake was that the same night, he’d lost his cool and totally scared the hell out of everyone. Max is pissed about the skateboard and sneaks out of her room in the middle of the night, he doesn’t notice because she’s like 13, she doesn’t need a babysitter, Neil and Susan find out before he does, and there’s bruises on his back and a sore spot on his cheek and he can’t find the little twerp for the life of him. All her friends' parents have a different answer for where the kids are, and when he finally finds them they’re under the supervision of a random teenager unrelated to any of them in a strangers house.

Now, when they moved here, Susan had been concerned about the area, she’d heard trafficking was bad in the Midwest compared to their sunny California, but Neil had told her it’d be fine. As Billy pushed his way into that house that night, he was pretty damn sure it wasn’t. One of the kids that was supposed to be there was missing, the one who’s house they were in, is just, gone, and he can only think the worst. His thirteen year old sister is being prostituted or some shit and he’s kind of freaking out, and he turns it around on Lucas.

Lucas, who hadn’t done anything wrong but be a kid, but who had been warned about hanging out with Max, and had now gotten her involved in some kiddie porn thing, and Neil was going to kill him and he’s fucking terrified. Then he’s in a fucking fist fight with Steve Harrington, who he’d thought was just the somewhat dopey leader of the basketball team, but was apparently leading whatever the fuck this operation is and lying to him about it.

He wins the fight and he almost kills Steve, thinks he has every reason to if his suspicions are correct, but Max picks up some random syringe, which, again, he’s convinced would only be necessary if they were drugging and selling out these kids, and fucking stabs him with it. He doesn’t remember anything else, but he knows Max has gotten a lot cockier around him and the other kids hated him like, a thousand times more.

There’s still the creeping feeling in the back of his mind that there’s something else going on, but he didn’t want to be like that again. He’d already known he’d crossed the line to being too much like Neil, but that night had really cemented it in his head, and he regretted all of it. A thousand different things could’ve played out, and he’s pretty sure that because of him, the worst of all possible scenarios had occurred, and he wished he could go back.

But he couldn’t, so he tried to apologize, but Max wouldn’t hear it. He’d been halfway through saying he was sorry when she’d opened the car door and stomped away, slamming it shut in his face. That was fair, he deserved that, but he wished so desperately that there was something he could do.

He guessed his problem was just, keeping doing what he knew was wrong until it was too late, and then not knowing how to like, change from that. Just apologizing meant nothing at this point and he knew it, but he hadn’t meant for this to go on for so long. Which also meant he sure as hell didn’t know how to fix it.

It made him feel hopeless, being caught between so many different expectations, especially when he realized that he had set most of them for himself. He was a monster of his own making, and he would have to own up to that before anyone would forgive him.

——

Things never really work out for Billy.

The instant things start to look better, Neil would do something that set his son back to the start of it, and he’d screw things up with Max and her friends all over again like clockwork.

It felt like he would always be trapped alone with the quaintness of Indiana, locked up in the confines of his bedroom, unable to break the cycle of abuse.

He never expects that statement to be as true as it is.

Glass shatters, he panics, tires squeal, he loses control, broken ribs, he can’t breathe. In and out, he can’t remember, chemical burns, his face and his throat and his chest burn like fire, fades to black, what did he do? It hurts, he’s sorry, burning heat, he didn't do it, it hurts. Gun fire, he floors it, fireworks, he wants it to end, seven feet, he was happy, blood on the tiles, he’s not gonna make it.

Billy Hargrove dies on the Fourth of July, 1985.

He doesn’t get the chance to move on, doesn’t get to prove his father wrong, or ever have the chance to live his own life.

There’s no turn around in his young life to get back on the right path and leave behind his trauma, to be better than what his abuser did to him. He’ll never see his mom, or his home or his sister ever again.

He doesn’t have the chance to make it up to Lucas or Susan or Steve or Tommy or Max. Or to escape the mindset he’d been raised into so he could be free and safe and happy again.

Billy’s last words are an apology to his sister. He chokes on his own blood, or maybe not his own, he’s not sure, and he goes out of this world at only 18 years old, a monster of his own making.

#billy hargrove #stranger things #fanfiction #story by ej! #ej writer #also posted on my ao3! #but I learned that apparently external links make your stuff disappear? #so if you wanna read there just search for ej_writer! that’s me!! #yes this is a result of procrastination but at least I’m getting something done #yes this is me venting about the poor handling of an abused teenager on behalf of the writers #what about it #anyways lemme know if y’all liked this!!!

[strangerfictions]

The Fight Part 3

Summary: You are struggling to sleep so both you and Billy go for some coffee and contemplation. 

Warnings: Mentions of Neil but other than that I think it is mostly angst 

A/N: Hey everyone long time no post. AA few of you may know that I am starting to post my work on AO3 before here so that’s why it has been pretty quiet on here. I have been struggling with this part for a while so I restarted it and I am super happy with it. I don’t plan on doing too many more parts because it is taking up a lot of time and I would like to move onto something new now! Anywas hope you enjoy ! 

It was late and you were overthinking again. Something you did often the past couple of months. You didn’t have long left in your senior year and you were starting to question your college applications. You couldn’t help question your ability and put yourself down for silly mistakes you had made throughout the year.

You sigh and throw back the bed covers leaving the warmth of your bed. Walking towards the window you notice Billy’s lights are still on. Not unusual for him to still be up. You walk towards your desk and turn on the lamp which illuminates your room. You walk back towards the window and spot Billy leaning out his window cigarette in hand and smoke escaping into the night. You open the window which causes him to look up towards you. Without thinking, Billy jumps out his window, barefooted, and walks towards you.

As he walks towards you, you can see the smile on his face. Not something you see very often from Billy, but it is always a welcomed sight. Things had been great between you two and you were grateful for that. You had both discussed dating for a long time one night and concluded that keeping it causal would work best for you both for now.

“Hey” You whispers as Billy stops in front of your window

“Hi…unlike you to be up at this time princess” You watch as Billy stubs his cigarette on the wall beside your window.

“Mhmm can’t sleep I keep thinking about college applications” You move slightly expecting Billy to climb over your windowsill.

“I have an idea! Get dressed and meet me at the end of the street” Without any further instruction Billy runs back towards his open window pulling it closed as he climbs in.

You quickly pull on some comfy clothes and write a note to your parents explaining that you went for a walk because you couldn’t sleep. You climb out your window and close it behind you. You look over and see Billy’s light is off. You can’t help but think about what he has planned as you walk toward the end of the street. He isn’t there when you get to the end of the street, so you sit on the curb and wait for him. Within seconds you here is car roar to life and you quickly stand up knowing the speeds he likes to drive. You look up the street and watch as his car comes into view and stops beside you. You open the door and get in.

“So where are you bringing me? Not planning on killing me are you?” You ask while pulling on your seat belt.

“Mhmm well, I’m not going to kill you now am I?” Billy smiles at you knowing how annoying you find his sarcasm sometimes.

“Funny! Seriously it's 4 am where are you bringing me?” You question as you rub your hands together to get a little warmer.

“You will just have to wait and see princess!” You dramatically sigh and fold your arms pretending to be mad that he wouldn’t tell you

“Fine but I’m not happy”

“I’m not happy either having to deal with how annoying you're being but here we are!” You give Billy a knowing look which causes him to burst out laughing.

“Come on! It’s a joke. Lighten up” Billy continues to laugh at your stubbornness as you watch the lights from Hawkins fade into a pitch-black road. Billy’s car the only thing on it.

“Why were you up Billy?” You ask after a few minutes of silence. You look over expecting an answer but all you get is a shoulder shrug

“Great conversation Billy” You say sarcastically

“I just was. I don’t sleep very well wake up at the slightest things. I heard Max get up to get a midnight snack and I have been awake since then. Better conversation for you princess?” Billy sighs as the tension builds in the air.

You both sit in silence as Billy drives you to wherever he is taking you. Ever now and then Billy will sigh and tighten his grip on the steering wheel. Something he does when he is thinking something.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to get like that with you” Billy finally says after a few minutes of silence between you.

“Mhmm okay…you know I’m here for you to talk to, right? It’s not like I’m going to use whatever you tell me against you. I’m here to help that’s what friends do!” You say reaching over and resting your hand on his upper arm.

“Jesus, I know I just…It’s not easy for me to be open with people is all. Can we drop it for now please?” You hum a yes and allow silence to take over the car again. Billy reaches over and turns on a random radio station and allows the soft music to play gently throughout the car.

After about ten minutes Billy pulls off onto a back road eventually coming to a diner. You sit up a little in the seat feeling stiff from the journey.

“This place has the best coffee and pie out there! So, we are going to get some and contemplate our life’s choices” Billy says as he pulls up a little away from the doors and turns the engine off.

You get out of the car and stretch a little while waiting for Billy to get out. Once Billy is out of the car he walks over towards the door and you follow before going inside he takes your hand in his and walks in.

On the outside, the diner looks bland but as soon as you step inside you are greeted by neon lights and the smell of coffee and pie.

“Okay so I have a usual booth and I haven’t not sat there ever and as you can its extremely busy so let’s just go straight to my booth before it is taken” You laugh at Billy’s exaggeration of the diner being busy. Well, maybe he is right. It is busy for 4 am. Two guys are sat at the front drinking coffee together. They look like truckers or something. And other than you, Billy and the waitress that all there is.

Billy practically drags you towards a bright red booth in the back of the diner. You scoot into one side of the booth and he does the same on the opposite side.

“Here’s the menu but I will tell you this…The apple pie here is pretty great so make your decision wisely” Billy says with a smirk as you glance down at the menu in your hand “You make it sound like it’s a life or death decision Billy” You laugh at how ridiculous Billy is being with you.

“It might be for all you know! You never know what could happen. This might just be my alibi for killing you later” You both burst out laughing as the waitress walks towards you.

“Good Morning what can I get you folks this evening?” The waitress asks. She is in her mid-fifties and is wearing a pink and white 50s style dress. Her hair gives away her age more than anything as it begins to grey at the roots.

“I will have a big slice of apple pie and coffee and my dear friend here will have the same!” Billy says glancing over at you to see how you would react to him ordering for you. You watch the ageing waitress take your menus and walk back to the front of the diner to get your order.

“You’re acting weird Billy. You’re not high, are you?” You ask analysing Billy’s facial expression.

“Jesus Y/N, Seriously? No, I’m not high I just enjoy a slice of pie sometimes” Billy huffs and slouches down in the booth

“Okay I don’t see you like this often is all” You say quietly afraid to speak any louder

“Like what?” Billy asks as he picks at his fingernails.

“Happy I guess” You say as Billy glances up from his fingers.

“I guess not. I suppose I should start from the beginning then?” Billy sits up and leans his arms on the table in front of you.

“The reason I was awake tonight was because of Max but not because she woke me up getting a snack.” Billy pauses and sighs deeply fixating on his fingers as he continues to pick at the skin around them. You notice his finger is bleeding and so you reach over and place your hand on his to stop him from pulling at the skin anymore. “I always wake up when I hear her because if I hear her getting up chances are so can Neil and I would rather him hit me than her.” Billy looks up at you as you process what he has said.

“Jesus…”

“Two slices of pie and two cups of coffee…Enjoy!” The waitress places the plates of pie and coffee in front of you both and walks away before you can thank her.

“I don’t want your sympathy Y/N that’s not why I am telling you this. I’m telling you this because I don’t want to get anyone else hurt…especially not you. The reason I haven’t asked you to out on a date is that if he knows he will hurt you and I’m not risking that okay…” Billy’s voice weakens. You pull your hand back to allow him to eat.

“I’m guessing you won’t appreciate me saying I can stick up for myself?” You ask taking a chunk of apple pie on to your fork. Billy looks up towards you taking a bite of apple pie.

“No you’re right I won’t. He is not someone to mess with Y/N and I would prefer not to get you involved so don’t go causing trouble for me! Now you know why I was up I want to know why you were up?” You take a sip of your coffee before answering.

“Fine but just know I’m always here for you Billy whether you like it or not!” You sigh taking another sip from your coffee “I don’t even know what started it but I got into bed and instantly started overthinking everything I have done over the past few months. The fight with Carol and Tommy, everything going on with us and college acceptance. I just went spiraling into a black hole of dread. It’s stupid I know but I just feel so lost with everything right now.” You realise you are slumped over the table and sit back into the booth seat. You feel nervous telling Billy this, but he had just opened up so much to you and you felt you could do the same with him.

“Talk about existential dread Y/N! That’s kind of a lot to be thinking about at once. Have you tried breaking it down into more thinkable chunks?” Billy reaches over to the napkin holder grabbing a napkin and placing it in front of you.

“Here! Write down everything you have been thinking about and that way you can think it through a little clearer.” Billy pushes a pen towards you and watches you as you start to write out a list of things that have been on your mind for the past few weeks

“I genuinely feel like I’m in a therapy session right now! Which I guess is a good thing” You laugh as Billy pretends to be offended.

“Wow, comparing me to a therapist I don’t know how I feel about that.” Billy grins at you as you look up from your list.

“Okay so far I have four things and well I guess I can cross of the you and me thing since you don’t want to date. Unless you want to date in secret. That’s ridiculous though. I guess all I have left is my parents, college and the fight” You say marking out Billy’s name on the napkin. You look up after a second realising Billy hasn’t said anything yet. When you see Billy’s facial expression you can't help but laugh.

“What? Why are you looking at me with that weird face?” You both laugh

“Sorry, just something you said about secret dating. That’s a wild thought” You watch as Billy takes the final bite of pie and pushes his plate away

“What?” He asks crumbs falling from his mouth.

“Are you going to continue that thought or just not expand on it?” You take another bite as Billy takes a large mouthful of coffee

“Right sorry, I just think it’s an odd and fascinating idea. Imagine us trying to date in secret! Ridiculous ” Billy laughs as you think about the possibility.

“I mean it would solve a lot of issues but yeah it’s kind of ridiculous. What do I do with the other three things on this stupid list!” You grab the napkin and crumple it in your hand.

“This is pointless. It’s not like we can both instantly solve the fact that my parents obsess over my life, or the fact that I won’t get into any college I applied to” You shake your head placing it in your hands letting out a frustrated sigh.

“Woah! That was quite the outburst Y/N! I know for a fact that you are going to get into a big college, leave Hawkins behind and start a life wherever you go. You're going to end up with the dream boyfriend who you will eventually settle down with, get married and have kids. The white picket fence…you get what I’m saying. You’re too smart to stay in Hawkins.

“Yeah and that’s what I’m afraid of Billy. I don’t want to go to college, met the dream guy, settle down a month after graduating, getting married, having kids and the white picket fence. That’s not me and I don’t think it ever will be me. College is something I want to do but settling down is just too permanent. I want to be able to explore the world a little before all of that” You feel all previous anxieties wash away as you let out your fears to Billy.

“So that’s what’s been bothering you? Why didn’t you say so? Look no one is forcing you to go to college and settle down immediately. I mean I’m not that great of an example clearly but just do what you want. In twenty years’ time, you will regret it if you don’t.” Billy stops talking to take a mouthful of coffee allowing you to think about what he had said.

Of course, Billy was right, but it didn’t help the unease you felt about the entire thing. You hated the thought of settling down so young, but you hoped that once you moved out of Hawkins things would be different.

“I guess you’re right. I guess I’m a little worried about the consequences of not doing what my parents want me to do.”

“It’s in the future you don’t have to worry about it right now. For all, you know things might be completely different in 24 hours let alone a year or two. If you’re finished let's head out before Neil discovers I’m not in the house.” You watch as Billy shimmies out of the booth stretching as he stands up. You follow suit and stand up felling your legs stiffen. You look at the clock and realise you had been there for almost an hour.

You both walk up to the counter and pay the waitress for your food. Billy offers to pay but you manage to drop a twenty down before he can even slip his hand into his pocket. You both thank the waitress and walk out into the cool air.

“Fuck being the person people expect of you and be the person you want to be. It’s worked out okay for me so far” Billy smiles at you as you open the passenger side door to get into the car.

“Yeah look how well that’s been working out for me Billy! First, we both had an argument, then I get into a punch up with Carol and Tommy and then even though we both like each other we can’t date because your dad is a shitty person. Even though I’m myself my life is still as fucked as ever” You sigh slouching down into the seat. Billy reaches over placing his hand on your knee causing you to look at him.

“Look I get it. Life is shit and all that, but you know you need to find something that keeps you going. For me I have a few things one being my car and as sad and soppy as this may sound, you’re the other thing. You have helped me in more ways than you think, and I thank whoever blessed me with your presence. You know I would drop everything to date you but I’m not risking it Y/N. He is not someone to be messed with and I hope you understand that. I don’t want to risk getting your hurt thanks to my selfishness. You will figure things out and I will be here as your friend to help you out too!” Billy takes his hand off your knee and places it back on the steering wheel turning the key causing the engine to come alive.

“Fine but you better get used to seeing this dinner cause that was some good apple pie and I expect to be brought here regularly!” You both laugh as Billy reverses out of the parking lot.

“Sounds like a deal to me princess!”

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#stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things imagines #stranger things headcanons #billy hargrove #billy hargrove imagines #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove headcanons #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove x plus size reader #billy hargrove x chubby reader #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove fanfictions #billy hargrove fanfics #billy hargrove fan fiction #billy hargrove fanfic #billy hargrove reader insert #billy hargrove fluff #billy hargrove angst #fanfiction #fanfics #fanfic #ben hardy fan fiction #headcanons #headcanon #imagines #fluff #OH THE ANGST #plus size reader #chubby reader

[transgenderer]

Today's sexual escapades

okay so early today a dude I had been talking to for a while (Tam) asks if I want to come over at 6, I say sure. A little while later a dude I've just started talking to on tinder (Neil) asks if I want to hang out Friday, I also say sure. THEN Neil is like "maybe we should hang out in a park today at 2, feel each other out, before we meet up at my place". I hesitantly agree.

 Hanging out with Neil is...awkward. He's dommy, and ripped, and has a huge dick (he keeps talking abt this) but I don't like his face in person. We hang out in a park for like an hour and a half, we kiss some, he feels me up and has me feel him up, but I'm thinking we prob won't meet again. The whole interaction is awkward. 

Okay do flash forward, I go to Tam's place, we talk for like an hour, during which he mentions that the interaction isn't like, a Date, which I take to mean he's not into me sexually. A bit later I ask if he's into me (for clarification), he states his attraction to me and mentions he's been trying hard not to share at my chest. I offer to take off my shirt and bra, he enthusiastically agrees, we talk for another hour or two, I get a little tipsy, he gets a little high, things spiral, he fucks me bareback, then a bit later he's sitting in his computer while I nuzzle his hand, things spiral again and we do some other shit, he ends up coming on my back. I take a shower, we hang out for another half hour or so, I go home cuz its gotten a bit late

some fun facts about tam:

he’s qatari, moved to canada a little less than a year ago

hes never done college, he has a job in...finance? inexplicably. i think i t might be a family connections thing

he hates cooking because he never had to cook until he came to canada, his mom would just make it. so he constantly gets ubereats he cant really afford

sort of unwoke but he means well, also he’s bi so he gets a slide

im feeling very glamorous about all this

[sixxstarrs]

too fast for love (ch. 1)

Summary: Lina was living her life how she wanted to, she was in a band and she had all of the drugs and alcohol she could want. It seemed to be her ideal until Nikki fell into her life and began rearranging things as fast as he would rearrange a hotel room.

Words: 1,885

Warnings: Drugs, alcohol, swearing

Notes: Hey guys! This is my first fic. Please do give feedback and feel free to request to join the tag list! I also write headcanons and oneshots so you can go to my inbox to request some of those as well. I really hope you all like this, I know I really enjoyed writing it. Also, this story takes place around the 1983 era, just for reference!

Tags: (none atm, feel free to request to be added!)

Alcohol was never Lina’s strong suit. Usually it was three shots of vodka and she was good to go… and by that, it means more than past tipsy. Some may call her a light weight, but to Lina it just meant she got to have fun faster, or at least that’s what she would say. Being in a band helped this, as well. Her and her bandmates were practically swimming in free booze, drugs and hookups (for the guys at least.)

Lina’s brown eyes were set on the shot glasses that were being passed around, making the one that reached her, her fifth for the night and she hadn’t even gone on stage yet.

“I’m so fucking nervous.” She whispered to her guitar player, an equally light weight girl whose family had adopted her from Korea at the age of two. With only one look Julie could tell that Lina was visibly drunk but she knew it was inevitable. “I really might piss myself.” Lina sighed and buried her face into her hands. Julie remained silent, a sort of nervous habit of hers. “Who the fuck lets us open for Motley Crue when we’ve only been a band for a year. They’re gonna shit on us.” The rambling continued and at this point it was obvious that Julie definitely had selective hearing.

“Shut the fuck up Lina.” Jack groaned from across their cramped little dressing room that all four members had to share. “You’re stressing me out, this room is so small I literally feel like I’m absorbing your negative energy.” He had both of his drum sticks clenched into one fist, the blunt ends propping his head up. He only earned a noise of complaint in response from Lina.

Jack’s complaint only earned the room about ten minutes of Lina-less silence, save the rhythmic drumming of his sticks and the mindless picking at Eric’s bass. Julie still sat in silence, choosing to read a magazine over practice her guitar.

“Five minutes.” Their manager said through the door, giving it a few heavy knocks that startled the band out of their spiraling.

“Another shot.” Lina began to pour four more shots, passing them around with frantic hands. Without missing a beat she threw back her sixth one for the night and hissed as it went down. Her eyes wandered, watching her members take their shots and Julie finally spoke up.

“We all look hot as hell, we’ve got this okay?” She gripped Lina’s face in her palms, her shot glass still in one of her hands. “Except for you, Eric, you look like you’re about to kick the bucket, but what else is new.” She teased and gently made her way past Lina, leaving the dressing room. Of course, to avoid being left alone with the boys she padded close behind Julie.

The pair of girls went to line up back stage where they knew to wait, the boys filing in soon after. Before Lina knew it she was being thrust onto stage with a microphone and a glass of vodka on ice in her hand. Y’know, as if the six shots before weren’t enough.

Lina’s usual perfect performance was marred into something new for the girl because of the copious amounts of alcohol in her system. If you were to add a couple of lines of cocaine who knows how it would have turned out. It most definitely wasn’t bad, though… It was… Maybe a new creative genius for the singer.

Honestly she couldn’t tell if she was proud of herself or not because she was more focused on stumbling off stage, running to her band’s shared dressing room and doing the couple lines of coke like she had thought about earlier.

“Wait, shit, you guys were sick!” A male’s voice echoed through the hallway in attempt to catch Lina’s attention, interrupting her in her bee line to the nearest bag of coke. She even stumbled a bit due to how fast she had been walking.

“Thanks man, we-” Eric was suddenly cut off by the blond everyone knew to be Vince Neil who had originally called out to Lina and her group.

“You should come over and party with us after this gig. Just follow the crowd.” Vince grinned as he walked by everyone, a certain lanky Tommy Lee following in his footsteps despite being almost a head taller than the other.

“Yeah… We’ll come.” Eric half heartedly called back, earning a small chorus of laughter from Julie and Jack. Lina had already taken off again to rummage through her belongings.

When the other three caught up to Lina she was already making lines on the ratty coffee table that honestly took up most of the space in their dressing room.

“Lemme get in on this.” Julie finally decided to unhinge considering she tried to limit her alcohol intake before the concert, already cleaning one up with her nose and a twenty before anything could be protested, not like Lina would have anyways. Lina followed suit almost as if it were clock work.

“Hey, if you guys want to-” Tommy Lee poked his head in the door but interrupted himself upon seeing the lines in front of the two girls, his eyebrows raising with excitement. “Yo, dude, I’ll pay you back later at the party.” The shirtless man ran over, drumsticks tucked into the waist band of his thin leather pants.

All the band could do was watch Tommy snort a line, try to explain where to meet after the gig, and then run off to join the rest of the Crue. There was a mutual agreement among Lina’s own band that no one exactly knew what to do which is why no complaints were made.

“You’re probably not gonna get that line back.” Jack said to Lina who was already going down for her second, unconcerned. Hell, it was Tommy Lee, she could have given it to worse people.

 Lina wasn’t sure if the party was what she had expected. Sure, her and her band had been on the Rock scene for a little over a year, so they had their fair share of parties, but this, this was different. It took place in a dingy, cramped apartment, half dressed groupies were filling the place, wall to wall, but there was copious amounts of drugs and alcohol. It wasn’t really enough to make up for the amount of girls, but if she was drunk enough, Lina didn’t care.

With that being said, Lina was certainly drunk enough. Jack was no where to be found, probably taking advantage of the immense amount of groupies, Eric was doing the same, but instead of off in someone’s bathroom he had one on each arm. Julie on the other hand was stuck in a corner arguing with some tall guy with black hair that Lina couldn’t quite make out from across the room, and here Lina was, mindlessly chatting with some dark haired groupie who was much more far gone than she was.

“I’ll be right back.” Lina held her hand out and promptly stood up, patting her pocket to make sure she had the one thing she needed. Her bag of cocaine. The last time she had done a line was back stage when Tommy stole one, and of course she hadn’t yet gotten one back.

Lina pushed through the people until she reached the bathroom, opening the door without hesitation. The sight in front of her made her squint her eyes. If she wasn’t mistaken, it was Nikki Sixx, Vince again and two groupies, all waiting while Nikki lined up four ivory slivers. Lina abruptly shut the door and leaned against the wall, her eyes focusing on Nikki’s hands.

“Hey, your drummer stole one from me, so like the proper loan shark I am I’m having to go to friends and family to get paid back.” Lina’s voice cut through the room and the four heads turned to look at her. Vince’s eyes automatically lit up upon seeing the girl.

“Shit I thought y’all didn’t come! Nikki cut her a line.” The blond nudged the bassist who was already pouring some out of the bag, his eyes lingering on the brunette girl.

“We’ve been hiding, pretty sure my guys are taking advantage of the amount of tits that follow your band around.” A small smile curled to the corners of Lina’s rather plump lips, her eyes focusing on Vince. With one glance to Nikki she noticed he was seemingly drilling holes into her forehead. His intense stare was enough to make her glance away before he did.

“And you’re not?” Vince teased her in response, stepping aside to let the two groupies go. At this point Lina had her head laid back against the wall she was propped up on, her eyes barely hanging open.

“I tried, wasn’t as fun as expected.” As she spoke she watched Nikki open the door to the bathroom and urge the two groupies out with a simple nod of his chin. The two girls gave him a small look of offense before trading their own looks between each other and then leaving.

“What the fuck, I was totally trying to fuck the red head.” Vince shot out, doing his line before leaving just as fast as the girls did and of course following their trail. Nikki only closed the door behind the singer, leaning on the opposite wall of Lina. Just as he had done to the two groupies, he gave Lina a small nod of his chin, but this time it was for her to go ahead of him.

“A gentleman.” She teased and bent down, doing her business before returning to her spot. The girl’s dark colored eyes fluttered closed behind her thick, mascara covered lashes, leaving Nikki to his own devices. Despite the drugs it was getting harder and harder for her to keep her eyes open. She was definitely past her limit on the alcohol and she could painfully tell.

The only thing that made her open her eyes was the feeling of pressure between her legs, and when she finally looked she was faced with Nikki who towered over her, his knee pressed between her thighs. Almost instinctively Lina allowed her arms to snake around his neck at their own pace, locking in as he took this as a ‘go.’

His warm lips ghosted his whisky filled breath against the side of her neck, and even though she couldn’t bare to keep her eyes open and her hearing was definitely fading, she thought she heard the door open and close right after, the person swearing when they saw it was ‘occupied.’

“Fuck me, Sixx.” Lina whispered out, the words rather bold even for her, but her voice faded off. The bathroom stayed silent of their voices, until Nikki pulled away to undo his belt buckle and he noticed that Lina’s eyes were seemingly glued shut. Not in a ‘I’m enjoying the moment’ type of way, but as in a ‘I took too many shots and now I need a nap’ type of way.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Nikki hissed in a low voice, his arms wrapping themselves around her frame so he could at least drag her to put her somewhere safe.

#motley crue #nikki sixx imagines #nikki sixx #nikki sixx x reader #motley crue imagines #vince neil #mick mars #tommy lee

[okaybutlikeimagine]

Susan scolding Billy for something and maybe says something in the heat of the moment like ”this is why your dad treat you like this” and Billy says that Neil is not his father. But Billy also feels that its his fault he blames himself for getting beaten. And he runhome to hop and collapse in his arm and stays there for a long time as hop comforts him

Ohmydearme okay i dunno if this is what you were thinking of but i got real angsty thinking about this and made myself wanna cry bc like??

{TW: implied homophobia, implied abuse}

Let’s collectively think about Billy at the grocery store (bc i don’t think i’ll ever get sick of thinking of Billy doing little mundane tasks like grocery shopping) to pick up some random things like milk and a box of pasta or something, when he turns down the dairy aisle and locks eyes w/ a red haired woman he hasn’t seen in months standing at the other end of the walkway.

Susan.

And Billy leaves the aisle immediately bc he’s not about to deal w/ this shit. He doesn’t want to see her and he doesn’t want to handle it. But she fucking follows him, no matter where he’s going she’s peering around corners and looking at him w/ her tired eyes and he’s just gonna leave at this point when she finally bumps into him.

“Oh! Billy! What a surprise. I’m actually glad to run into you.” She says, clearly nervous as she fixes her cardigan absent-mindedly.

Bullshit. You fucking forced this.

“Sorry, can’t say the same.” Billy says with that charming smirk he gives to all of the middle aged mothers in Hawkins, except this one is laced with poison and is aimed at someone who is most definitely immune to it.

“Come on now, Billy.” Susan’s eyebrows are furrowed, her eyes disapproving but still semi-fearful. Her eyes are always fearful. “I just wanted to talk to you about something.”

And Billy is standing there basically stranded with a row of cheeses on one side and ice cream on the other and this woman in front of him so he just sits in his hip and looks at her expectantly.

She clears her throat.

“I just… wanted to talk to you. Because… well… there’s no real easy way to say this, is there?”

She seems nervous. For a second Billy thinks this is going to turn into something about Neil. A million reasons why this woman would want to talk to him run through his head all at once. They all scare him, until he comes to find this isn’t about anything he was thinking of.

“It’s just, my friends have been telling me that they’ve been… seeing you with a boy. Pretty frequently. Sometimes they say you get rather close to him and… well they’re starting to question my parenting because they know I’ve been your mother for-”

“You’re not my mother.” Billy grinds out and it seems to take Susan aback.

“I- I… well yes, of course not. Of course not.” Her voice is quiet as she says it.

She looks at Billy with that same hint of fear in her eyes. Billy’s stare is stone. Susan continues.

“I just had to tell you that it’s all getting so… well so embarrassing, honestly.”

“Embarrassing?” Billy’s arms are crossed, jaw tight, eyes fixed.

“Yes. You’ve put me in an incredibly embarrassing situation. And I can only think of how embarrassing it must be for Maxine, too.”

Billy’s seeing more red than just Susan’s hair.

“Well Susan, I have good news for you. You’re out of my life now and what I do with the local boys is none of your fucking concern.” He’s smiling something poisonous and harsh that Susan would normally shrink at, and she does for a second, before she puffs herself up.

“That’s absolutely no way for you to speak to me, young man.”

Billy’s going to throw fists at the mozzarella balls next to him. He takes a heavy breath. Susan looks like she’s about to step on a real high fucking horse.

“I just had to tell you that people are starting to talk. They say you... you might be… that thing that your father always said you were.” She’s shaking her head, looking anywhere but Billy for a second. “I’m just showing concern for you, is all. I don’t understand this hostility-”

“Well I can explain it to you. It’s because this is none of your fucking concern. I left for a goddamn reason.”

“Billy, really-”

But Billy isn’t done. He takes a step forward, looking down on her with a stare to melt ice, his gaze completely blinded by the warm rage clouding his mind because he’s fucking pissed and his whole body is shaking and his hands are slowly morphing fists and then he’s growling:

“And it wasn’t to listen to shitty warnings about what your hive-mind, hope-to-be-divorcee friends think of me. I don’t fucking care, so kindly stop talking to me and go grab your low fat cream cheese and your copy of Cosmo and cry yourself to sleep about how your husband doesn’t touch you enough.”

His mind is completely fogged up and racing and it’s not until he’s done talking that he starts to see again. Starts to cool down enough to even register Susan’s face in front of him and it’s one of pure submissive fear. Something he thinks he’s felt before, just by looking at it. Susan has always had fear in her eyes, has never stood up for herself, and Billy is so sure this is going to be another instance bc nothing in his experience has ever proved otherwise. But suddenly her gaze hardens over and she starts breathing harder and she’s huffing like a fucking chain smoker before she says, with venom in her gaze:

“I used to question it, but really it’s no wonder that your father treated you the way he did.”

And in a split-second, Billy’s world freezes over. He’s been stuck with shot of ice. He’s completely frozen solid as he watches Susan’s face once again slip into that fearful submission. He thinks maybe she’s going to be as meek and timid as she always is. It was just a blip and she’s about to start apologizing profusely, like she always does when she makes somebody upset.

But no.

No, she hardens up. She straightens her back. She looks Billy dead in the eye. This is the rock she’s chosen to stand on. This is the comment she’s decided to stick up for. This is the side she’s chosen. It’s this. And it’s against Billy. It’s saying Billy deserved everything she’s seen Neil do to him.

It’s getting hard to see again, but this time it’s blurry instead of red.

“That man is not my fucking father.” is all Billy can muster up.

They stare at each other for a good few seconds before Susan looks to the people who are slowing down near them. Ever concerned about her public image.

“I think you should go now.” She says like she fucking owns the store, like he’s not fucking welcome in this public grocery store.

He wants to fight. Wants to scream and kick and punch and just break something. But he turns on his heels and he leaves with what feels like a storm of emotions trailing him out and he drives back home in a rush of blurry red that honestly inhibits his driving more than alcohol does most times and he’s walking into the cabin and slamming the door behind him and Hop is standing in the kitchen with a mug of something and confused concern in his eyes and a question of: “Billy? What’s wrong?” on his lips and Billy is falling apart.

Unraveling and spiralling and falling falling falling because he sees Neil every time he closes his eyes. He sees that red face and that mouth full of spit and those eyes full of fire at every little thing and he hears himself. Hears what he just said to Susan not 10 minutes ago. Those horrible things that he knows were horrible but he still said them because he’s just looking for attention, just isn’t disciplined enough, needs to learn respect and responsibility and the consequences to his actions.

His vision is too blurry to see anything but angry and red and puffing Neil, looming above him and knocking him down and his knees can’t physically hold him anymore because he’s unraveling, thread by thread unraveling so fast that he falls and lands on something hard but soft, surrounding his torso because he didn’t fall down, he’s fallen into something and it’s rumbling something low and quiet and-

“Billy? Billy, let’s sit down, okay?”

And once he’s seated he realizes it’s Hop. It’s Jim. and the rage is inside of him because fuck he can’t fucking get rid of it, some days it feels like it just fucking lives there and he’s gathering the fabric of Jim’s shirt up in his fists hard and he’s burrowing his face into Jim’s chest and he’s just sobbing. Everything inside of him bubbling out like a soda bottle and the world is black yet blurry and red with that spit filled mouth of anger and he just feels so weak. Weak from crying, weak for crying, weak in his mind and his body and he just stays there. They stay there. For what feels like too long to be real, they stay there.

And Hop holds Billy until he feels the boy’s shoulders relax. Until the grip on his shirt is free. Until he stops hearing the mumbled ramblings of I deserved it I deserved it I deserved it being spoken against his chest.

He asks Billy if he wants to talk about it because he’s learning about this stuff as he goes and he knows sometimes Billy can’t talk. Billy shakes his head no.

They listen to a record and drink some hot chocolate and Billy stops shaking about half an hour before El comes home from hanging out with her friends. She immediately notices his red eyes and his runny nose and asks Billy if he wants to borrow one of her stuffed animals as a sleep buddy. He thanks her and lets her hug him before he heads to bed. Sends Hop a quiet “goodnight” and the smallest smile imaginable before he climbs under his covers. But he doesn’t shake through the night and actually gets some sleep and that’s enough to feel like an accomplishment right now.

#woops i made myself cry #billy hargrove #chief jim hopper #steve harrington #harringrove #steve isn't directly named i just? #stranger things #ask #anonymous #el #eleven hopper #billy hopper #billy gets adopted #hopper is a dad #and he's fucking crying over his son every day #and honestly so am i #susan mayfield #??? #susan hargrove #???? #what's her last name? #i also wanna say i'm not here to bash any characters!!! #i have reasons why i portrayed susan like this i swear #tw homophobia #tw mentions of abuse #it's the 80s and she doesn't seem very close to billy #so i would headcanon her as being embarrassed to talk about or think about gayness #she also seems like a nervous type of person #esp bc of the man she's married to #and i think that she seems on the meek side and so i portrayed her that way

[gluupor]

HEY!! I absolutely worship your fics and your sense of writing/story building is so memorable ahhhhhhh!! Have you ever thought about an andreil Lynburn Legacy AU? or maybe even the Barbie Princess and the Pauper (because barbie is better than the original and that is a fact) with the twinyards being forced to switch places and falling in love with their respective partners....ANYWAYS I LOVE YOUR WRITING AND I HOPE YOU HAVE A GREAT DAY!!

I’ve know nothing about either of those things, but I at least know the premise of Prince and the Pauper, so I tried that. Hope you enjoy!

It was completely unfair, in Andrew’s opinion, that princes in stories always got to go on adventures. Those princes were brave and stalwart and true and never had to do anything they didn’t want to. Unlike Andrew, who had never been allowed to leave the castle and who was made to obey his mother’s every whim. Not by force, no, but by the most powerful incentive of all: disappointment. Because if Andrew did or said something that his mother didn’t like, she’d look at him with sad eyes and he was immediately contrite.

Queen Cassandra was not his real mother; she had taken him in when he was barely old enough to open his eyes, a red, squalling, wrinkled thing. She’d always told him that she took him in out of the goodness of her heart because she was kind and benevolent, but Andrew had once overheard the washerwomen gossiping about the true story when he’d been hidden behind a set of draperies. He was often hidden while in the castle, preferring to spend time by himself in fantasy worlds than playing with his older brother.

The story went like this: King Richard had a wandering eye (which Andrew did not understand; in the portraits of Cass’ late husband his eyes looked normal) and it often found itself wandering to the palace staff, particularly when the palace staff was young and beautiful. Shortly after the King’s untimely death when he was thrown from a horse, one of the young, beautiful chambermaids had found herself in some trouble. She’d brought her newborn babe to petition the Queen for support. The Queen had banished the woman for her insolence, but had taken the baby to raise as her own. She was desperate for a spare Prince, should anything happen to her own son, as she’d only borne stillborn children after his miraculous birth. Her late husband’s bastard child was better than nothing.

Her foresight proved fortuitous, as when Andrew was eleven years old, Prince Drake took a fatal, drunken tumble off one of the castle’s balconies.

Nobody ever questioned why he was so far from his own rooms, up near the playrooms reserved for the castle’s children, at least not out loud. Nobody mourned him very much, either. The only exception was Cass, who grieved for him keenly and whose lips would press together into a thin line if anyone spoke ill of him. For this reason, Prince Drake was almost never spoken of again.

Andrew became heir and he found that being the crown Prince came with more tedious responsibilities and fewer exciting adventures than stories had led him to believe. Especially now that, in his mother’s opinion, he was old enough to wed.

Andrew did not want to get married. He had no interest in the frilly, frivolous Princesses that were sent to visit him from neighbouring kingdoms in an attempt to ensnare his affections. There were two secrets that Andrew kept close, that he would never reveal even upon pain of death. The first was exactly where he had been when Drake had fallen (as if anyone knew that he would be executed for treason and regicide), and the second was that there was no girl on earth who could possibly catch his eye. No, his appreciative gazes were reserved for men, for the strong curves of their shoulders and the sharp lines of their jaws.

He had never acted on it. He’d been flirted with by many people of all genders, but the expression on his mother’s face when men approached him let him know that this wasn’t something she would allow. He could only imagine the depth of her disappointment if she ever found out about the way his thoughts turned.

It was always the same, when he disobeyed.

“Andrew,” she would say, her eyes pained, her tone soft and hurt. “You have hurt me greatly. After all I have done for you, taking you in and raising you and loving you like my own. If not for me, you would be starving in the streets. You own mother didn’t want you, no one wanted you, but I took you in and made you a Prince. After all my kindness, how could you repay me like this?”

And Andrew would hang his head in shame and apologize and beg her to love him again.

Despite knowing what would happen, Andrew still couldn’t make himself be attracted to any of the Princesses. Cass’ impatience was beginning to grow and he knew that his time was running out. He felt surrounded, for the first time in his life he found the castle stifling. He’d never left it but for official trips with his mother. Although he could see the surrounding town, he’d never been there. It suddenly seemed as if the walls were closing in around him; that he was caught in a slowly snapping trap. Soon, he knew, he would be married, no matter how much he didn’t want to be.

One day, following an announcement at breakfast where his mother had informed him that yet another Princess was coming for a visit and this time she expected him to at least pretend to enjoy her company, he found himself rebelling. He dressed himself in his shabbiest clothes (which were still far nicer than most people’s clothes), stuffed a purse of gold coins into his belt, and sneaked out to have an adventure. If he was going to be forced into a life he didn’t want, he was going to have some fun first.

He made his way to the market square, completely overwhelmed. The smells and sounds were far more vibrant and noticeable than he was used to, and there were so many people. All around him, bumping into him, yelling at him, pushing past him. He tried to make himself as small as possible (which was not hard; Cass had always been dismayed by how he had failed to grow into a big, strong man like her real son) to avoid everyone’s notice and conceal his panic.

He thought he had succeeded until the red-haired boy started talking to him.

“Oi, are you all right?” he asked.

Andrew gazed at him without really seeing him; his vision was starting to tunnel.

“Come on, then,” said the boy, gripping Andrew’s sleeve and pulling him along behind him. Andrew almost protested, almost lashed out, because he was the Prince, he wasn’t supposed to be touched, but the boy’s touch was keeping him focused and stopping him from spiralling. He blindly followed in the boy’s wake, not paying attention to where they were going. When they stopped, he found himself on a rooftop.

He breathed in, his sharp fear snapping him out of his panic. He had never liked heights, especially since Drake’s death. He hadn’t expected to be up so high; he didn’t even remember climbing any stairs.

“That’s it,” said the boy. “Breathe in and out slowly; you’re okay now.”

He simply stood and breathed for a while before taking in his surroundings.

The first thing he looked at was the boy. He was probably about the same age as Andrew, though only a little taller. His hair was red and unkempt, his eyes were blue, his skin was brown like a nut, and his wide face was covered in freckles. He was dressed in clothes that were barely more than rags, and he had a salty-fishy odour that meant he spent a lot of time at the docks. He was probably the most beautiful boy Andrew had ever seen, so much more alive and real than the pampered noblemen’s sons that he knew.

“Better now?” he asked Andrew, white teeth flashing as he grinned. “I thought you were going to have a meltdown right there in the square!”

“I am fine,” said Andrew stiffly. Now that his panic was receding, he was very embarrassed.

“I mean, I wouldn’t blame you,” said the boy. “I’ve had more than my fair share of meltdowns.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Neil.”

“Andrew.” He shook the offered hand. Neil’s hand was callused and rough, evidence of manual labour.

“You’re new around here, aren’t you?” said Neil. “I’ve never seen you before. Are you from up at the castle?”

“What makes you say that?”

Neil shrugged. “Well you’re not from around here, not dressed like that.” Andrew looked down at his clothes, noting how much finer they were than Neil’s. He wondered if their quality was the only thing that marked him out as an outsider, or if their style was wrong, too. As Andrew contemplated his sartorial choices, Neil continued chattering, “I assumed you were one of the Prince’s visitors, escaped from the dullness of his royal majesty’s presence,” he grinned.

Andrew was at first affronted by how this commoner was insulting him, but he was smart enough to know not to reveal his identity. “Something like that,” he said.

“Come on, we’d better get down from here before someone notices,” said Neil, leading Andrew back down to the street. Once they were there, he turned and smiled. “Well, it was nice meeting you, Andrew, but my old man’s going to have my hide if I don’t get back to him soon. Maybe we could see each other again sometime?”

Andrew wondered if Neil was flirting with him. He thought he might be and he could feel his whole face turning bright red at the realization. He’d been flirted with plenty, but those people had always wanted Prince Andrew, not him. But Neil didn’t know Prince Andrew; if he was flirting it was because he liked Andrew himself.

“I would like that,” Andrew managed to say despite his tongue feeling like it was too big for his mouth.

“I hang out in the evenings at the Palmetto,” said Neil. “Come find me, if you dare.”

“O… okay,” stuttered Andrew. “I will.”

Neil smiled at him again, and then was gone, somehow disappearing into the crowd between one blink and the next. Andrew put a hand on his head. It was just like a story. He’d met a beautiful boy who had saved him; of course, if he ever told this story to anyone then it would be him saving Neil, but that was neither here nor there. What was important was that it had happened.

It took him five minutes to realize that his purse full of gold was gone. All his joy drained out of him. Of course Neil hadn’t been interested in him, he’d been robbing him. And Andrew had just stood around like a sheltered fool and let him.

His eyes stung, but he was too proud to let any tears fall. Instead, he decided he’d had enough of an adventure and he blindly started heading back to the castle.

Trying to stay off the main thoroughfare, he travelled through less crowded alleys, getting angrier and angrier every step he took. In his anger he blundered into someone, knocking them both over.

He was about to start yelling at the moron who had been in his way until he got a look at the other boy’s face. It was like looking in the mirror: the same hazel eyes, the same blond hair, the same shaped nose, the same mouth, presumably the same stricken expression. Andrew really hoped that he did not look quite so stupid when surprised.

“You…” said the other boy, clearly grasping for words. “You look like me.”

“I do not,” said Andrew haughtily. “I am the crown Prince. If anything, you look like me.”

The boy paled at Andrew’s words. “You’re lying,” he accused. “The crown Prince is a useless spoiled child that is completely under his mother’s thumb. Everybody knows that he never leaves the castle.”

Andrew puffed himself up. “How dare you say such things about me. I will have your head.”

The boy rolled his eyes. “Sure, you’re the crown Prince. And I’m a dragon.”

“I’ll prove it to you,” said Andrew, picking himself up. “Follow me.”

The boy trailed behind him, ridiculing him. Andrew wasn’t quite sure why he was following, except maybe because he expected to see Andrew make a fool of himself. As Andrew confidently retread his path back to the castle, the boy got more and more nervous. He tried to balk, but Andrew dragged him on.

“We shouldn’t be here,” he whispered as Andrew pulled him past the outer wall.

“You doubted me,” said Andrew. “Now, be quiet so no one hears us.”

Andrew had plenty practice moving through the castle so no one noticed him. It was a little more difficult with someone else, but he still managed to get all the way to his rooms without being stopped. The boy looked around with wide eyes.

“Believe me now?” asked Andrew.

“I believe you can sneak into the castle,” said the boy. “That doesn’t prove you’re Prince Andrew.”

Andrew pulled a cord on the wall. “Hide,” he commanded.

The boy ducked behind the curtains as a servant bustled in. “What’ll it be, m’prince?” she asked.

“I would like a cup of hot cocoa.”

“As you say,” she replied, with a curtsy. She left quickly.

“Stay hidden until she leaves again,” Andrew instructed the curtains.

She returned with a tray, which also had several pastries on it, indicating that Andrew’s favourite cook had prepared this for him. He thanked the servant and told her that he didn’t want to be disturbed for the rest of the afternoon.

The boy came out from behind the curtains and stared at Andrew as if he was a new species. “You’re the Prince,” he said stupidly.

“As I said,” replied Andrew. “Who are you?”

“No one,” said the boy. “I mean, my name is Aaron Minyard and I work for the cobbler, but I’m no one. Why do we look the same?”

“I don’t know,” said Andrew honestly.

Aaron started curiously examining Andrew’s room as Andrew drank his cocoa and curiously examined Aaron.

“I can’t believe you live here,” said Aaron in wonder. “I would give anything to live here.”

Which gave Andrew the best idea he’d ever had.

“Do you want to?”

“Do I want to what?”

“Live here,” said Andrew, annoyed that Aaron was being so slow. “For a couple days at least. I have to entertain Princess Katelyn of Vix for the next four days, and I don’t want to. You will do it for me.”

“In exchange for what?”

“In exchange for… because I am your Prince and I told you to.”

Aaron scoffed. “I know that you’re used to everyone just doing as you tell them, but out there in the real world it doesn’t work like that. I can’t take four days off from work!”

“I will do your work for you,” said Andrew, interested in learning more about how the peasants lived.

Aaron stared at him. “You can’t do my work! You don’t know how!”

“So explain it to me,” said Andrew. “There is nothing you can do that I cannot. Tell me everything I need to know and in return I’ll tell you everything you need to know, and we’ll switch places until the Princess is gone.”

Aaron was unable to answer, as he was clearly questioning Andrew’s sanity.

“Oh!” said Andrew, in realization. “And I can track down the liar Neil who stole from me and drag him back to the guards for punishment. I think I will suggest disfigurement. He won’t be able to charm anyone else if his face is no longer pretty.”

That didn’t appear to make Aaron feel better. “You can’t… you can’t do that! You’re supposed to be me! Do you know what happens to people who report to the guards? And how are you going to find this thief anyway?”

“He said that he frequented the Palmetto, whatever that is.”

Aaron paled. “The Foxes hang out there,” he whispered. “No one with any sense goes there.”

“The Foxes?” said Andrew. “The criminals that steal from the crown? My mother has told me about them. Her guards have had no luck finding them. How do you know who they are?”

“I don’t know who they are; no one knows who they are,” said Aaron. “All everyone knows is that they steal from the rich and redistribute the gold, and to stay away from the Palmetto if you don’t want trouble.”

“Excellent,” said Andrew, now getting very excited. “I will infiltrate them and learn their identities.” This was a worthwhile adventure. When he came back, his mother would be so happy and proud of him for discovering the criminals that she was sure to listen when he told her he didn’t want to marry. And Neil, who he was now sure must be one of these Foxes, would learn his lesson about crossing Andrew.

“I don’t know,” said Aaron dubiously. “I’ve heard that what they do makes the lives of the poor easier.”

“No, my mother explained this to me,” said Andrew. “They are making up lies to convince the uneducated that what they are doing is good. The crown looks after the poor. These thieves need to be caught and executed.”

“You’ll never get in the door,” said Aaron. “They have a sixth sense for sniffing out rich men.”

“Sniffing is one of the five senses,” Andrew pointed out. “And I won’t be a rich man. I’ll be you.”

Aaron groaned.

“Relax,” said Andrew, really looking forward to the next few days. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

#aftg #tfc #andreil #andrew minyard #neil josten #aaron minyard #my fic #bits #long #anon #asks