#featuring tiny socks and ruby

[lemnnshark]

"Quince is a gray she-cat with amber eyes."

[bizaar]

Endless Summer ✧

Part 4: Dead Man's Party

Cruel Summer Masterlist

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pairing: eddie munson x afab!reader

warnings: sexual content (18+ minors dni), fluff, horny-loser!Eddie, brief descriptions of sexual fantasies, bullying, mentions of parental abuse, mentions of drug and alcohol use, boys being gross, swearing, and so, so SO much pining

word count: 23k

a/n: once again, if anyone knows the original creator of the gif below, please let me know so I can tag them, I’ve had these on my laptop for over a year and I’ve lost all my credits!!

Dreams are weird. 

Here he stands in the vacuum of a white and foggy nothing, with absolutely no context as to how he ended up there or what he is even supposed to be doing, and yet Eddie is oblivious to the fact that there is anything amiss. 

This is normal, and more to the point this is where he is meant to be, standing out in the middle of this nothing which is slowly revealing itself to be the side of the road, despite a complete and total lack of distinguishing features to establish it as such.

He gets the faintest suggestion of a feeling that he is waiting for something, but before he can stop to ask himself what for, a voice fills the air. 

“Eddie!”

Of course, he knows instantly who is calling – there are only a handful of people who so casually address him by his first name (the vast majority of his peers electing to stick to his last name or some mean-spirited nickname).

Fewer still of that small grouping happen to be of the fairer sex, but even if he didn’t immediately know, who else’s voice would he be hearing out here in the misty mire of his dreams?

 It is music to his ears, and when he turns to look, there you are, already rolling down the window of a sleek car that is most certainly not your dented, soup green Toyota Corolla. 

That’s normal. 

“Hiya Sweetness…” he says, grinning and, even in a dream, hyper conscious of trying not to sound too thrilled that you just so happened to happen upon him in this void of nothing by the side of the so-called-road – what are the odds? 

“Where are you headed?” You ask, leaning seductively over the car door and giving him full vantage of the tiny red bikini you’re wearing – somehow, you’re suddenly also in a pool. You’re in a car, but you’re in a pool. 

And that’s still completely normal too. 

“Home,” Eddie says, gesturing down the long stretch of nary a thing with a long sweep of his arm, “That-a-way.” 

You smile, pink tongue poking through the lines of your teeth, and you lick your lips long and slow. Vaguely, he can’t help but get the sense that Moving in Stereo is playing somewhere in the distance. 

“You want a ride?” You purr, pushing your tits up and looking not so much like yourself as you do an amalgamation of half a hundred different pinups and playmates who have kept Eddie’s company over the years.

“Sure,”

The answer pleases you immensely and the atmosphere grows thick with the heady weight of your approval. 

Your teeth shine in pearly lines behind ruby red lips as you jerk your chin up and bat your eyes all pretty. 

“Hop in and I’ll suck your cock,” —

THUMP THUMP THUMP. 

The banging on Eddie’s bedroom door rattles it in its frame, lancing through his bleary subconscious and startling him into waking. 

The bubble of his dream pops with a fizzle, and just like that, you and the unknowable side of the road are replaced with the socked in atmosphere of a filthy bedroom and a gruff middle aged voice speaking at him through layers of warped hollow core. 

And just when things were starting to get good — ain’t that just the way. 

Lying face down in the rumpled sheets of his unmade bed, Eddie opens his eyes to the real world, and any lingering essence of the dream immediately begins to fade, replaced instead by the voice of his uncle and a sharp rattling door handle. 

“Get up, Ed!” Wayne calls. 

Eddie imagines it is meant to be the warning of an impending entrance, a gentlemanly way of telling him to make himself decent before anyone has to witness (or be witnessed in) any untoward morning actions.

It wouldn’t be the first time he’s been caught jerking off when he’s supposed to be getting ready for school. 

“No fuckoff,” Eddie moans, burying his face into the pillow and squeezing his eyes shut until he sees stars, willing them to take the shape of nondescript pool-cars and bodies in tiny bikinis — it’s not working, and now the door is creaking open.

“You better get your ass up if you wanna have time to shower,”  

He pulls the pillow over his head and whines out a moody complaint. 

“Five more minutes,” Eddie huffs, not caring about showers or school or whatever other bullshit reason Wayne has decided it’s so important he get up right this very moment. 

The man couldn’t be more urgent if the goddamn house was on fire.

“I’m not gonna tell you again,” Wayne says without any real tooth behind the threat.  

If his eyes were open, Eddie would have rolled them. 

In the bad old days, his father wouldn’t have bothered with such a luxury. Al Munson would have told his son once, and if he failed to heed that warning, a very rude awakening was sure to follow, one which varied in levels of violence depending on the old man’s mood and whether or not he’d started drinking yet. 

Eddie is no stranger to waking under a flipped mattress or splash of cold water (or warm beer). Sometimes, he can even still feel the burning of the cigarette his father stubbed out on the bottom of his foot when he failed to get out of bed on the first morning of the eighth grade, but these days he can rest easy knowing his uncle hasn’t got the same penchant for that kind of insanity.

He just likes to stand in doorways and offer cryptic prophecies like he thinks he’s the old man on the mountain or something.   

“She’s gonna be here any minute,” Wayne stresses.

And Eddie has got no earthly idea what kind of bizarre empty threat that is supposed to be — until he remembers the G rated source material behind his dream. 

The reason he was standing on that very real stretch of side road as your little green car came rolling up at precisely the right moment. More importantly, he remembers the plans you made after. The van is dead and he’s catching a ride with you to school today. 

“Oh, shit!”  

He is only vaguely aware of the sound of his uncle retreating and muttering to himself, something to the tune of “oh, sure, now it’s oh shit.” 

When he reaches for his Kmart Special digital alarm clock, which isn’t worth its weight in batteries, Eddie puts a fist into its winking face and punches it clear off his nightstand. Then, he upends himself over the side of the mattress and goes spilling out onto the floor as he leans over to reach for it. 

Lying upside down in a jumbled heap of pillows and blankets, he smashes buttons until the device creaks in his hand and winks off.

“Come on you — fucker!” 

It’s only when he gives it a hot-tempered shake that it comes back on and reveals the terrible truth.

It’s 7:22, and the returning memory of the previous afternoon’s coordination sends him into a blind panic.

You very clearly told him that you would be back at 7:30, leaning out your car window (and most certainly not offering to suck his cock) after you’d dropped him off. 

“How’s that sound?” you asked.

And because he’s the most insufferable human being on the planet, he gave you a sleazy, shit-eating grin and said, “Like a hot date.” 

The van is temperamental on a good day, but it had been acting up from the moment he turned the keys over that morning. Every couple of weeks it gets the notion in its head that it’s going to flirt with going to that great big used car lot in the sky, and every couple of weeks Eddie forces it to limp home where it can sit for a few days and think about what it’s done, but it’s more or less reliable. 

So it’s no wonder he went about the rest of his day with nary a thought in that head so stuffed up with yearning and dirty dishes and Shakespearean bullshit that it would leave him stranded on the side of the road. 

Now, he has eight minutes to pull his shit together before he’s expected to resume his sudden tenancy to your passenger seat. You’re on your way – ETA any minute, so says his uncle – and it sends him into a flurry of movement.

When he checks the clock again hoping maybe he read it wrong the first time, he is alarmed to find that it’s already been a full minute since he last looked. 

“Oh, shit! — shitshitshit!”

Why, oh why, today of all days, did he have to sleep in?

After a moment of aimless scrambling and trying to remember how to function, so recently removed from dreamland, he hears the familiar thumping cadence of his uncle’s gait coming back down the hall and Eddie feels the phantom throbbing of cigarette burns, bringing with them the consequences of a call unheeded. 

He can almost hear his father slurring “I’m only gonna tell you once,” and Eddie’s heart rockets up into his throat as he thrashes to free himself of the tangle of blankets. 

Wayne is still coming down the hall, and Eddie tries to read the man’s mood just by the familiar thump thump thumping – can footsteps sound angry? A traumatic childhood tells him, yes, they most certainly can.  

“I’m up!” Eddie shouts, standing up with enough velocity to very briefly strike him with the bends, dizziness sending dark spots exploding across his vision, “I’m up, I’m getting dressed!”

He whirls in useless circles and teeters hard to the left as his head swells and swims, hoping the suggestion of frantic movement will deter his uncle from rushing him any more than he already is.

“Fantastic,” Wayne deadpans from the doorway where he stands watching the frenetic display, “Alright with you if I take a piss?”

Oh. He’s about to tell the man to do whatever he wants, then he makes a move for the adjacent room and Eddie remembers all the things he still has to do. 

“No! Waitwait no don’t I gotta get in there! I gotta–” he shouts in a garbled rush as he flies past his uncle and slips in to the bathroom, shutting the door in the man’s face and flipping on the light.  

He’s got his toothbrush in one hand and a stick of deodorant in the other before Wayne can even protest the shortstop.

“Well, what the hell am I supposed to do?” he demands, voice cutting through the wooden barrier like a crash of thunder.

“I’ll be right out!” Eddie promises around his toothbrush, with a cloud of minty drool oozing down over his chin to drip into the sink.

On the other side of warped hollow core, he hears his uncle retreat back down the hall, grumbling, but he’s already sunk into a haze of brushing and reciting force of habit lines of poetry.

Some kids learn to say the alphabet while they brush, others do it to the tune of Happy Birthday. When Eddie was a kid, his mother had him brushing to the tones of Edgar Allen Poe, and even after all this time, he still can’t shake the habit.

Once upon a midnight dreary,  while I pondered weak and weary, over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore… 

But Poe is nothing if not just another long-winded Eddie, one with no remorse for this one who happens to be pressed for time, so he elects to go for the abridged version. The ghosts are just going to have to forgive him for that.

He brushes and spits, and rinses, all with those gloomy stanzas running endlessly through his head.  

While I nodded nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, as of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door… 

Thump thump thump.

…quoth the raven – 

“Can you get the door?” Eddie calls, and hears the vaguest hint of a disgruntled rumbling as his uncle heaves himself up from the Laz-E boy. 

Half a second later, there comes the telltale sound of the front door creaking open, followed very quickly by your voice, and Eddie’s stomach does a cartoon flip-flop and screams an incoherent exclamation – you’re here! 

And it’s only then that he notices how he can see all his tattoos and his nipples and his belly button staring back at him in the mirror. 

You’re here and he’s not dressed. 

“Oh, my God!” 

He’s still standing there in his goddamn undies, separated from you by only the shortest distance imaginable, and now he’s spinning in those useless circles again, half-naked and desperately looking for something to cover his shame.

Eddie’s never spent a moment of his life wishing for something as frivolous as a bathrobe, and yet, as he attempts to decide if it’s more scandalous to wrap a towel around his waist or simply live his boxershort truth, he’d give his right nut to be that fancy.

The cold comes rushing in as he eases the door half an inch open and attempts to evaluate the situation, crouching low and listening intently (as if making himself smaller is somehow going to make him less naked). 

Eddie hears you greet his uncle from two rooms over. 

“Good morning, Mr. Munson,” you say, and he winces.

Because he knows Wayne does not abide being called anything but his name, and he prays to any higher power that may be watching that the man is suddenly and miraculously cured of his hideous tendency toward being an insufferable twat. 

“Wayne,” his uncle says gruffly – Thank you, God – followed quickly by the muffled sounds of further conversation and the heavy thunk of the door being shut. 

“Yer that friend of Ed’s, right?” Wayne’s voice comes floating down the hall. “The one from the bar?” 

Of course he had to say it like that. 

Never mind everything else Eddie told him about you after he got home that night last week — no, you’re just his friend from the bar. 

“Yep, that’s me,” you say with no small amount of humor tinging your voice. 

“Heard you had to rescue him from the side of the road—” Wayne starts.

“That’s not what happened,” Eddie shouts, instantly forgetting that he is meant to be listening in secret.  

The last thing he needs is to draw attention to himself in his undressed state, but he can’t just sit there and let his uncle embarrass him like that, not in front of you. 

Of course, there’s nothing overtly embarrassing about the notion that you rescued him, only the way Wayne insists on saying it. 

The van died, Eddie started to walk, you came along and offered him a ride. Nothing more, nothing less. Of course, he failed to be anywhere even remotely that casual about it when he had to explain the lack of his van to Wayne later that evening, and therein lies the problem.

Wayne knows Eddie likes you, even if neither of them have overtly broached the subject.

And of course, now that he’s been discovered lurking, Eddie knows he can’t linger, so he moves as quick as he can. He is a pale flash of skin in the dark, scrambling the distance between the hall bath and his bedroom, a few steps made frighteningly unnavigable by his stunning lack of clothing. 

Eddie briefly glimpses you as he goes, standing politely in the living room with your hands laced behind your back as you turn and take in the ramshackle decor of Casa Munson.

He wishes he’d had time to clean, but since he already used what little time he had lying in, chasing his sickly-sweet dreams, he’s just going to have to live with the state of things as they currently are… and hope that there is nothing too seriously embarrassing lying out, waiting to scandalize you.

He doesn’t need a rerun of what happened with the pinup in his locker. 

“Hiya Sweetheart!” he calls, daring one second more before he slips into the velvet dark of his room.

“Oh — hi! Good morning!” Eddie hears you say distantly, and the acknowledgment causes his insides to flutter and bloom with sunshine lollipops and rainbows.

Having a crush is so fucking embarrassing, and Wayne is more than happy to exploit that.

“Oh, goddammit — you still ain’t got pants on?” He calls. 

You giggle distantly, and Eddie slams his bedroom door. 

The clothes scattered to every odd corner of his room are what he would refer to as “more or less clean” … which is to say, not. Normally, that would be fine, but fine is simply not good enough if it means sharing the sealed proximity of your compact little car, especially when he didn’t have time to shower. 

Suddenly, Eddie is wildly paranoid that he’s radiating a particularly heinous funk that is going to send you running for the hills. That’s never been something he’s been particularly concerned about, and it’s wildly disconcerting.

After all, what is a group of guys if not a raucous cloud of sweat and body odor and farts? That’s just one of those things – a gen-u-ine fact of life. Guys don’t give a shit about that kind of stuff, they barely even notice it if not to laugh, but girls? 

Girls care. 

Some of the far more precious members of the sex tend toward offense by that kind of stuff, and while Eddie has no clue as to your disposition, no amount of sniff testing garners any answer about whether or not he stinks. 

All Eddie can smell is his room, and his room smells like it always does – like weed and dirty clothes and the underlying guff of something harsher. It does nothing to instill confidence in him as he begins the hectic process of dressing.

He zips his jeans and reaches over to punch the strip vent at the top of his window in the hope that a little fresh air might shine some light on the emergency at hand. He is tragically disappointed to find no change, save for the November cold ekeing in and flash-freezing him with goosebumps. 

Eddie doesn’t know what to do. 

He can’t go out to ask Wayne for his opinion on the matter, not with you standing there and not with his pack-a-day sense of smell (or lack thereof). Then again, even if he dared to pose such a vulnerable question as “do I stink?” while standing in the presence of the object of his undying affections (regardless of what Wayne knows about that) the only answer he would be sure to receive is a resounding “to high heaven”, regardless of the truth. 

So, Eddie resorts to a seldom-used plan B: cologne, and lots of it.

If he can’t smell good naturally, he’ll douse himself in the stuff and hope for some kind of miraculous happy medium.

“Hurry it up, Ed,” Wayne calls from down the hall, and it presses him into action. 

Don’t rush me! He wants to howl, but he’s worried that doing so will make him sound far too much like some whiny little freak who slept in past his carpool date (ding ding ding, you are correct sir), so he swallows the intention and leaps across his mattress to ease the door open.

“I’ll be out in two minutes, I swear,” he calls down the hall, doing his best to tear his room apart as quietly as possible as he begins searching for the half-empty bottle of cologne he’d received as a Christmas present a few years back. 

In the other room, Wayne makes a harsh sound, something like a grunt twisted out of shape by the first rattling of a smoker’s cough.

“Where’ve I heard that one before,” he mumbles, undoubtedly to you. 

Eddie doesn’t have time to worry about whatever conversation is sure to follow such an aside, or whether Wayne has already gone and whipped out the baby pictures. 

The thought is terrifying – and here’s one where Ed took off all his clothes to run in the neighbor’s sprinklers, just look at the rash he’s got on his little butt – NO NO NO NO NO NO NO! 

He needs to get out there, he needs to get you out of here, and he needs to find that bottle yesterday, but he has no idea where to start looking.  

He hasn’t seen it in months – years even – and he barely even remembers if it was something halfway decent or just run-of-the-mill bargain bin trash. 

Then again, Eddie distinctly remembers one instance at the Hideout of a sloppy-drunk middle-aged woman leaning over the bar and pulling him forward by the front of his shirt while he was wearing it. She batted her eyelashes and told him he smelled nice, and sure, she was just trying to get laid, but a compliment’s a compliment, and those are hard to come by for a guy like him in a town like this.

Naturally, even with his dresser drawers upended onto his bedroom floor, Eddie can’t find the bottle of dollar store cologne, and he’s well beyond out of time.

So, he reverts to Plan C, which is to tear an insert for a fragrance called Sex Bomb out from between the sticky pages of a well-loved Hustler magazine (the original home of his since discarded locker playmate). 

He gives himself half a dozen paper cuts rubbing it across the length of his chest and under both arms before throwing on the closest shirt within reach, which just so happens to be an old Hellfire Club t-shirt with a greasy pizza stain on the front. 

He barely has half a moment to try and look at himself in the mirror around Sweetheart before Wayne is shouting down the hall again.

“You’re gonna be late!” he calls, with long emphasis on the “late”, because what he really means is he’s going to make you late, and you’re just too polite to say anything about it.

No time to change, he’s just going to have to live with the stain. Eddie doesn’t even bother tying his shoes before he shrugs into his jacket and heads for the door. 

Then, at the very last second, he stops short as he remembers your tattered copy of Dune sitting on his bedside table. He contemplates returning it and the precious contents scrawled across its pages, then spies the dusty paperback sitting on his floor, wedged beneath the stumpy, broken leg of his desk. It’s an easy choice to make 

Eddie drops to his knees and relieves it of its terrestrial duty, then watches blankly as the bench lists and sends everything piled high on its flattop crashing to the floor.

Whoops. 

“…Everything okay in there?” Your voice comes filtering down the hall. 

“Yep,”

He makes a mental note to clean it up later (never) as he tucks the book into the back pocket of his jeans and whips his door open. 

Wayne is back in the Laz-E boy when Eddie finally emerges, and you’re perched on the edge of the couch with your hands tucked neatly into your lap. 

He’s relieved to see that, despite the morning grump, Wayne at least had the decency to offer you a seat. More importantly, Eddie is relieved to find the conspicuous lack of the family photo album spread out between you. 

Which means no baby pictures – Thank fucking Christ. 

“Hi,” you chirp when he arrives, jumping to your feet and crossing in front of Wayne and the television with an apologetic smile.

Before Eddie can reciprocate the greeting, your eyes flit down and your brows jump.

“Uh-oh,” you say, and drop into a graceful crouch to take his laces in hand and – his heart throbs in his chest and he flashes a panicked look at Wayne – you take the time to carefully tie his shoes. First one, and then the other. 

And has anyone ever been treated with such purposeful care? Such reverence? 

Oh my God oh my God oh my GOD.

He’s so not normal about anything happening here – this flagrant act of decency, perpetuated so easily and without a single prompting instance. You, fixing something simply because you noticed it was out of place. 

Something far too big for so small a gesture begins to swell and throb in the space behind his lungs and Eddie feels an unbearable heat blooming across his face as the television vomits a muted stream of morning show prattle to back your benevolent care. 

His heart is beating itself into concussion against the prison bars of his ribs by the time you come back up to meet him. 

“There,” you say with a shy, satisfied smile, “Now you’re perfect.”

It hits him like a fist to the gut and leaves him genuinely winded. In the grand scheme of things, those three little words do more to wreck Eddie than your dreamland doppelganger’s proposition ever could. 

Whatever happens, however the chips may fall and whether you ever make it past this moment – this beautiful, perfect, bizarre fucking moment – this tiny little nothing (it’s everything, you’re everything) will be enough to sustain Eddie for the rest of his life.   

A thousand miles away and to his immediate right, he hears his uncle release a slow breath as salt and pepper brows climb toward his receding hairline.

“Whoa,” Wayne mutters as he bears accidental witness to something that feels unbearably important, and Eddie hopes to God that you don’t notice the way he’s turned feverish, suddenly sweating underneath all his layers.

“Ready to go?” you ask.

He nods a stupid rubber up and down and lurches to the left to whip the door open and hold it for you. 

“Let’s hit it,” he says.

Your car keys jingle as you duck down under his arm and slip back out into the world, the invisible ticking clock of arrival bearing down on you, though not so much that you forget your manners.  

“Oh — bye, Wayne,” you call over your shoulder as you start down the steps, “Nice seeing you again!”

Before he commits to following you out, Eddie whips around to give his uncle one last giddy look - did you see? Did you hear what she said? Can you believe any of the magic you just witnessed?! – grinning so widely he can feel the muscles in his cheeks creaking as they pull nearly past their limit. His face could tear off at the seams, and he wouldn’t give one hot shit about it, because now he’s perfect. 

You said that – you actually said that — so it must be true.

Wayne just shakes his head, already flipping through the pages of the latest issue of American Gardener Magazine.   

“Have him home before dark,” he calls, and even that kernel of irreverence is not enough to put a damper on Eddie’s euphoria, despite the way it twists a chord of bewildering embarrassment in his midsection.

He shuts the door with a slam, clears the steps in one mighty leap, and feels the vicious stab of pins and needles exploding in his knees when he lands and breaks into a short jog to keep pace with you.

Thank God the van is such a clunky piece of shit – imagine the scenario where he didn’t get to receive this gift of a morning, where you didn’t pull over to the side of the road to rescue him from his relatively short walk home and kindly offer to drive him to school. Just imagine.

He can’t, he won’t, he refuses – he really hurt himself jumping off the steps like that.  

“How’d you sleep?” Eddie asks, trying not to limp under the duress of his knees demanding to know why he is the way he is, and feeling his heart palpitate when you stop at the driver’s side door to look back at him.

Despite the chaos of the previous two minutes, it feels so incredibly correct seeing you like this. You’re familiar as childhood, fresh-faced and bright-eyed, first thing in the morning like you’ve carpooled every day of your lives since you were kids – imagine that. 

“Good,” you tell him, smiling secretly as he meets your gaze over the top of your little green car – you open the driver’s side door with a pop, and you tease him, “Wayne says you slept in,”

Eddie scoffs, and mirrors your action, sliding easily into your passenger seat – falling into, more like – and knocking his head on the door frame as he does. Ouch. 

He’s not used to riding in vehicles he doesn’t have to climb up into. 

“Wayne says a lot of things,” Eddie winces, thankful as his blundering goes unnoticed.   

You pull your door shut with a hard thunk and when Eddie does the same, it seals you in together. For a moment, he’s overwhelmed to be so completely blanketed in the aura of you. 

Your space, your car, your perfume – he’s losing his mind and he hopes beyond hope that it all lingers in his clothes and hair for days to come, just so he can revisit this moment in the cold blue hours of the impending mornings he is doomed to spend without you.  

Before he can settle too far into the despair of that future, Eddie lifts up to fish the book out from where it’s been sandwiched between the seat and his back pocket and angles it toward you.

“Candygram.” 

“Oh!” You say, taking it and looking it over, “Oh…what’s this?” 

“A book,”

You scoff, and somehow you manage to make the sound lighthearted and kindly. 

“Thank you, Captain Obvious, I can see it’s a book…” 

Eddie pulls his shoulders up defensively.

“I just thought it might be up your alley.” He stays facing forward as he says it — casual, calm, cool — but can’t help but steal a sidelong glance in your direction to try and gauge your reaction, “Y’know, since you seem to like sci-fi and all…” when his explanation goes without a response, he reaches over to tap the cover, “Heinlein’s a good place to start. He’s pretty much king of the genre,”

You turn the book over in your hands and hold it up so you can see the worn, lined cover to The Moon is a Harsh Mistress – no title has ever sounded so unbearably trashy until this very moment.

Much to Eddie’s patent glee, you bite your lower lip in an attempt to stifle a smile when you open the cover and see his fourth-grade chicken scratch etched into the title page – Properetey of Eddie Munson.

A relic from the days before the word “property” had come across his vocab sheet, and back when Eddie Munson was still just a little boy with a ninth-grade reading level who couldn’t spell and lived in a three-bedroom house with two whole parents. 

Go figure.  

He’s not even embarrassed to share that with you – mostly because he’s glad you like his little gift, but also because it buys him a little more time with your private annotations. If sharing a peek into the murky lens of days bygone is the price for such a private intimacy, he’ll happily pay it.

A mind’s eye for a mind’s eye.  

Satisfied, you lay the mass-market paperback on the dashboard for later and twist your key in the ignition. 

The engine turns over with a gentle rumble — a strident contrast to the phlegmy, hacking roar he gets from the van — and suddenly, butterflies are replaced with gut-wrenching nausea as the radio kicks on and Eddie is forced to endure hearing a miserable three seconds of Crazy Little Thing Called Love. 

He yelps – actually yelps – and slaps the dial over to the next station, which delivers nothing but blessed static.

It fills the car and sets his hair standing on end, and he tries not to look too conspicuously guilty of anything as he begins to feel the heat of your startled gaze on the side of his face.

“Everything okay?” 

“Yeah… about that…” he begins lamely, trying with everything in his power not to think about that scorching, tumultuous summer or how goddamn strong Stacey Keats’s thighs were, squeezing around his neck and shoulders while she attempted to suffocate him. “... I got nothing, sorry.” 

You blink back at him, wide-eyed but ultimately forgiving of such an act of sudden spastic violence.

You regard him with a cautious smile, “…No Freddie for Eddie, huh?”

“Uh… hah, no. I mean … just not that song.”  

“Fair enough,”

It’s already in his head though, and Eddie is just about ready to spend the rest of his day buffeted with trauma flashbacks of losing his virginity when you pull the gear shift into reverse, and put your hand on the back of his headrest as you twist around to back out.

Thrust into such intimate proximity – this close, he swears he can see the individual hairs of your lashes, curled up so perfectly to kiss your shadowed lids – he forgets there ever was such a person with stunningly muscular thighs named Stacey Keats. 

It’s just you and him and this cloyingly sweet atmosphere, seeping into every fiber of his being. Eddie tries not to stare at you too intently and knows he is failing miserably when he watches you flatten your lips against what he imagines can only be a smile.  

“You smell good,” You say softly, and he barely hears you over the roaring of his blood thundering through his veins.

He thinks he manages to force out a choked “thanks” but he can’t be sure with how quickly his senses are abandoning him. 

It occurs too late that he ought to return the compliment. Your perfume is in his sinuses now, with the faintest undertone of shampoo and something sweeter, which he can only imagine must be the natural smell of your flesh. It comes together in a stupefying combination that turns his tongue fat and fills his mouth with saliva as it envelopes him in a sickly sweet embrace.

Eddie has to grit his teeth just to keep his head above water. He knows if he isn’t careful, and if he lets it overwhelm him, he’s in danger of doing something insane like telling you he loves you.   

Being a person is a particular sort of agony, he is coming to learn.  

You aren’t even touching him, and still he feels the ache of your hand’s absence when you take it back from the headrest to take hold of the steering wheel — he can’t really be that starved for touch, can he? He’s not actually that pathetic… 

“You can put something else on if you want,” you say, gesturing to the well in the passenger’s side as you complete your three-point turn and begin the long, bumpy trek back up the drive to catch the turn off to Kerley Avenue.  

Yes please, anything to distract from the way his heart is beating itself senseless against his ribs. 

Eddie surges forward to fish a rectangular box out from where it’s been stashed beneath his seat and flips up the hard vinyl lid, revealing a collection of cassette tapes – your music. 

“Ah ha!” he cries, unable to separate the total and abject weirdness bubbling up alongside his mounting excitement, “Avast ye, me hearties! Ex marks the spot – buried tray-sure!”

In the apparent inability to function normally, Eddie’s subconscious inexplicably turns pirate, which is utterly mortifying and something that – to his knowledge – has never happened before.

Maybe he’ll get lucky and it will be nothing more than the first signs of an inoperable brain tumor and not just his painful inability to be normal, but beside him, you do your best to swallow an undainty snort of laughter and fail miserably. Thankfully it is not a mean sound, then again Eddie is not entirely sure you’re capable of such a thing.

It helps to alleviate some of the humiliation of the previous moment as with hungry, waggling fingers, he peels back the curtain to take one more coveted peek into your secret world. 

For a long few moments, neither of you speak, but he can feel you trying to split your attention between him and the road as he takes steady, focused inventory of your taste in music. 

It’s all more or less what he would have expected – a lot of 70s rock, some pop, some disco. There are a few surprises in there, like the Alan Parsons Project and Supertramp, but Eddie sits pleased with the run-of-the-mill presence of Fleetwood Mac, Bowie, and Kate Bush.

For as much as you continue to surprise him every time you spend any amount of time together, there is a strange comfort in knowing that you’re not actually all that hard to pin down. You like exactly what he expects you to like, and somehow that makes it feel easier to know you. 

When he sits in silent regard of your tapes for too long, you start to fidget, and when the silence persists even after that, he can sense a tangible nervousness leaching out of you, clouding the atmosphere like blood in water.

“Just… try not to judge me too hard, okay?” you finally say, “I’ve been told my taste is…hmm… eclectic?”

It comes tumbling out of your mouth like a dirty word you’re shy about using and Eddie bites the inside of his lip to try and temper the wicked little smile forming there. 

“That’s not always a compliment,” he hums, imagining the fights you must have with your shitty friends over what to play and, more than likely, losing out over their preferences — it’s Belinda Carlisle over Pink Floyd, every day of the week, and how you must suffer for it. 

“Believe me, I know.” You say, “I mean, try explaining to your PTA treasurer mother why you’re listening to a band called Judas Priest –”

“Judas Priest!” he shouts, a little too loud for such an enclosed space. 

He didn’t mean to say it like that, but how else is he supposed to react when you hit him with such a ridiculous concept?

The reaction makes you jump, and suddenly you’re staring back at him in owlish surprise — he almost feels bad about that, even as he begins to laugh.  

“What?” you ask.

“Please. Now you’re just trying to impress me,”

Your brows furrow over your pretty eyes, making a crease between them, and Eddie has to resist the urge to smooth it out with his thumb. 

“No, I’m not,” you say. 

He calls your bluff. 

“You do not listen to Judas Priest,”

“Yes I do,”

“No, Sweetheart, you don’t, and that’s totally cool! But let’s just be honest with each other here.”

“How dare you.” You gasp, feigning complete and abject offense, “You don’t think I can rock out?”

Eddie snorts, because no, actually, he doesn’t. You, all sweetness and sugar (with a mother in the PTA – because that absolutely tracks, he bets you were a girl scout too) headbanging and growling out the chorus to Exciter like you think you’re Joan Jett or something? 

Absolutely not, and your mouth falls open as you come to realize this fact. 

“You don’t!” You gasp, “Well excuse me, Mr. Rockstar, but I thought I was supposed to be Corroded Coffin’s biggest fan! What happened to that, huh?” 

“Listen,” Eddie starts with a diplomatic hand, “I’m sure you think you’re hard, listening to all that bubblegum shit they play on the radio — Twisted Sister and Def Leppard, am I right?”

You set your jaw and your face flushes with the faintest hint of pretty, indignant color. 

“So what?” You press, 

“So, I’m just saying, there’s metal and then there’s metal.” He continues, “Maybe you’ve got a little Zeppelin on your rotation, and I’ll even buy the occasional foray into AC/DC, but Judas Priest? Come on, Babe — don’t kid a kidder.”

He’s testing the waters with that sneaky little term of endearment, that’s for sure, and with the way you’re sitting there gawping at him, Eddie is almost sorry he tried it. 

Maybe he’s read the room wrong and getting a little too familiar too fast, but maybe you’re trying a little too hard to convince him of something that is so blatantly untrue it’s laughable.   

Your face twists into a mask of genuine annoyance then, and Eddie can’t help but fixate on how much attention you’re putting into glaring at him and not watching the road – it makes his insides squirm with repressed nerves and latent images of cars in ditches. 

How he ever managed to let you start this car when neither of you is wearing your seatbelt is beyond him – he guesses he’s just that sick with the fever of you – and he’s suddenly kicking himself for so blatantly antagonizing you. It’s all fun and games until you’re upside down on the side of the road.

“Next…” Eddie starts, casually reaching over your head to snag the belt, pull it across your lap, and buckle it into place. “...you’re gonna tell me you listen to Iron Maiden,” 

“I do listen to Iron Maiden!” You cry, head snapping back to the front and swatting his hand away. 

Eddie snorts out a scoff.

“You’re such a liar,” 

“And you, Eddie Munson,” you begin. “Are an unbelievable snob.”

It forces a startled bark of laughter out of him, once again too loud for the enclosed space – that’s a first. He’s been accused of a lot of things, but never of snobbery.

“Prove me wrong,” he says, grinning wickedly and leaning dangerously far into your space.

Your seatbelt doesn’t let you get far, but you rise to his challenge anyway, and suddenly you’re nose to nose.

“I will!” you insist, “Keep looking, Smart Guy, since you’re so damn sure – go on. All the way to the back.” 

Ever eager to please, Eddie resumes his inventory with renewed interest, rapidly flipping through the likes of Elton John, the BeeGees, ABBA, John Denver, and half a dozen other bands, none of which are even remotely within the vicinity of what you so calumnously claim to listen to. 

On and on, he is greeted with the top forty of this decade and the last: Tears for Fears, Loggins and Messina, Queen, The Clash, Dusty Springfield, The Go-Go’s, Jefferson Starship, Paul Simon, Duran Duran, ELO, KC and the Sunshine Band – the list is neverending. 

The further he goes, the surer he gets, shaking his head and chuckling smugly to himself. 

He’s so right, and you’re so busted. 

“There’s no way you listen to–” and then, like happening on a unicorn, he finds it. 

Stuck in at the far back between Mötley Crüe and (lo and behold) Iron Maiden, is the Screaming for Vengence album, on glorious cassette tape. 

Buried treasure.

All further taunting immediately dies on his tongue as he suddenly gets a very good taste of his own foot. 

“HA!” you shout, and it rings loudly in his ears, “I told you!” 

You snatch the tape from his hand when he holds it up and immediately feed it into the player. After a moment of mechanical whirring, the car fills with the introductory riff of You Got Another Thing Coming, and Eddie is stunned – truly stunned. 

Judas fucking Priest. 

“Oh, my God,” he says, “How is this possible? How did I not know you were cool?”

“Because you’re a snob!” You punch him in the shoulder and it’s not half as startling as the way you bloom before his eyes, “And I’m a stunningly mysterious creature with many secrets to behold!” 

While both of those facts are inarguably true, Eddie has never seen you so excited. Who knew riling you up was the key to opening the door to your life? It stirs a dangerously mischievous urge in him as he tucks that revelation into his back pocket for later. 

Still, he’s never wanted to know more about someone than he does right now. Eddie is ravenous to know everything there is to know about you, and he’s trying so desperately to be cool about it.  

“I’m serious — how’d you get into Judas Priest? Girls like you don’t listen to music like this.” 

You grin.

“A snob and a chauvinist. You’re oh-for-two there, Buddy-Boy — but if you must know…?”

“I must,” 

You cast a sultry sidelong glance at him and Eddie is instantly shot full of holes. 

“I was exposed at a very young and impressionable age,”

Which means someone sat you down and picked out a song special for you, knowing you’d love them before you even knew you had the proclivity for metal in you. Eddie is suddenly so incredibly jealous, that he feels like he could burst. What a devastatingly intimate thing to have missed out on – how he wishes that could have been him, young and dumb and unlocking something so important in you as an entire genre of music. 

It’s not fair that he’s had to wait this long to get to know you, and that he’s missed out on years of having a friend like you. He suddenly can’t believe he went so long not knowing what he was missing.

“Who did this to you? Tell me everything,” Eddie pleads, “The suspense is literally killing me.”

You bite back a grin and turn your attention to the road as you explain. 

“You went to Hawkins Middle, right?” You ask, and he nods, electing to say nothing about what a hellish experience it was, smack dab in the middle of the single parent, Alan Munson days, “Remember how they used to do a talent show and everyone had to participate for good sportsmanship or whatever?” 

And then, something begins to tickle the back of Eddie’s brain, something far too good to be true.

“Sure do.” He says, trying not to sound too excited about what he suddenly thinks he knows.

He tells himself he doesn’t know exactly what you’re about to say, (because he doesn’t want to get his hopes up) but suddenly he’s leaning into your space again, hanging on your every word, and despite his better judgment warning him to temper his expectations, he knows exactly what you’re about to say.

And it is too good to be true.

“So, most people would just pull some bogus thing together and call it talent, because they had to, right? But then, there was this group of kids who just woke up and decided they were gonna put together a fully functioning metal band for the show…”

Holy shit holy shit holy shit–

“...and they weren’t good, but it was crazy, because of all the things they could possibly play, they get up there and whip out Exciter like that’s a totally normal thing to happen at a middle school talent show–”

Eddie’s mouth falls open as he is bombarded with memories of the earliest days of Corroded Coffin, those first practices in the Hawkins Middle music room, back when the band was him, Jeff, Doug Teague, and Ronnie Ecker. 

Talk about a blast from the past – what a fucking trip.

“You’re kidding,”

“I’m totally serious. Bunch of twelve year olds playing in a Judas Priest cover band,” you say, like it’s the funniest thing anyone has ever heard.  

Eddie bites back the urge to correct you (Corroded Coffin is not a cover band, they are a band that happens to do covers) and he keeps waiting for the punchline, for the other shoe to drop, but you’re still just going on and on like you’re blissfully ignorant of what exactly you’re confessing to him, here on this random Friday at 7:40 in the morning. 

You continue with a casual wave of your hands, daring to release the steering wheel just long enough to get your point across.

“Anyway, it’s like I said – young and impressionable. But it sort’ve blew my mind, and I’ve been listening to them ever since– in secret, of course, because, girls like me don’t listen to music like that,” You say, making a point to drop your voice in abject mockery of him. 

For half a moment Eddie can’t tell if you’re joking, telling him all this as if he doesn’t know exactly what you’re talking about, and as if he wasn’t the one getting pulled off stage for playing Exciter at his middle school talent show. 

And then it hits him. You don’t know. 

Oh, my God. He can’t believe this. He cannot believe you don’t know. How can you not know?

“Dude… that was me.” he says, unable to keep it to himself for another second, “That was me!”

You give him a dubious, sidelong glance as you reach the intersection and roll to a stop.

For a moment, you don’t speak, you just stare, eyes narrowed, brows furrowed, jaw set in a quizzical press. 

“...shut up,” you say slowly, and yet you don’t outright reject the notion, the way he had earlier with you. 

Eddie doubles down, and he knows he’s talking too fast, too loud, but his blood is pounding with the revelation that you’ve been in each other’s orbit – affected each other – for much longer than twelve measly months. 

“That was my band! That was Corroded Coffin! We got together and learned to play Exciter in like, two weeks, and we were awful and nobody clapped!”

Your eyes go wide as realization hits you like a brick, and then you gasp.

“Oh, my God, I remember that!” you shout, “Nobody clapped! Eddie! That was you!?”

There he goes grinning his face off again. 

“That was me!” He shouts, “I made you cool!” 

And then you scream. It is a loud, giddy thing that fills Eddie’s chest cavity with a bright, uproarious, infectious joy that wells so big so suddenly, his ribs crack open and it floods the car in a matter of moments.

For a second, you’re both insane with it, shouting and laughing and talking over one another as you slap and pull at each other’s jackets, capering and cajoling like you’re the oldest, closest, best of friends that ever were and ever will be.

It’s disgusting and it’s wonderful.

While you’re too busy playing to notice, the light changes, and two sharp beeps from the impatient driver idling behind your giddy shenanigans alerts you to the green. You don’t stop talking, even as you flip your indicator and take the turn that will begin the final stretch to school.

You’re still laughing and breathless when you pull into the parking lot, which is already flooded with cars and bodies and the everyday flurry of pre-bell action, none of which you notice because you’re both too busy battering each other in questions – do you remember this, did you see that, were you there when so and so did this that and the other.

Come to find out, you haven’t just been in orbit of one another. You’ve been right fucking there. All your lives, you’ve been each other’s unknowing shadow, and Eddie can’t stand knowing that you were so close and he was too stupid to notice you there until you were staring him in the face.

He’s completely out of his mind with the giddy atmosphere in this car – if he were thinking rationally, he might crack the window just so he can try to breathe, but you’ve got him full force now, completely unfiltered and unfettered.

It occurs to him distantly that most people never get to experience this much of him, he doesn’t often get the chance to be so unabashedly himself, and he might want to dial it back a bit, just to save a little face. But it’s intoxicating to be so completely seen and to have his energy matched, and now that he’s started, he can’t stop. 

“Did you see us play at the winter show in ‘81?” He asks, pulling his knee up and twisting in his seat to face you as you shift your car into park and pull the break. 

“No,” you say, almost apologetically. “I was tragically still sequestered to Hawkins Middle…”

And Eddie was a bright and shiny Freshman at Hawkins High, steeped in that happy little limbo between escaping his father and having his heart curb stomped into the pavement.

“...why, what happened in ‘81?” 

“Aww, man!” He starts, “You missed out, it was awesome. We got pulled off stage and everyone got put on academic probation for Satanic Ideations,”

Finger quotes don’t even begin to cover all the drama that went along with that and the untoward allegations he has long since stopped trying to beat. 

Your eyes go wide. 

“Is that how all that Satan stuff started?” You wonder aloud, “I remember when people started saying that, but I never knew why. I always thought it was just too much Dateline or something,” 

“Yeah, that coupled with all my Dad’s shit and a heavy dose of Iron Maiden in the ninth grade, and here you find me. Eddie Munson: Satanic Freak.” 

He drops his voice to a theatrical cadence and gestures widely as he says it, fully intending to give himself a fix of your laughter, but your response is surprisingly muted. 

Your brows pinch briefly before smoothing over again, and you hum thoughtfully, dropping your gaze to stare pensively into space as you settle back into your seat.

For a moment, the silence is unbearable, and when you finally speak, Eddie has to try and breathe out as quietly as he can so as not to be caught holding his breath. 

“…well,” you begin, “For what it’s worth – I never bought in to all that,”

It might have been startling were he capable of being startled by anything you have to say about him anymore. After this morning’s onslaught, what’s one more little kindness to come tumbling from your lips?

“No?” Eddie asks, crossing his arms over his knee and dropping his chin down to rest there, “You’re not subscribed to the Hawkins Christian Coalition?”

You pull a face. 

“You’re not scary enough to be a Satanist, even with all those tattoos and chains and everything you do to try and look tough.” Your gaze flits back to him, “You don’t scare me,”

Eddie’s heart crawls up into his throat and begins to throb there, threatening to strangle him with every solid beat. He’s been hoping you feel that way, but it’s been a long time since he learned not to hope for things.   

“Not even a little?” He asks, voice dropping to a muted timber as the atmosphere suddenly becomes unbearably charged with intimacy. 

You shake your head. 

“How come?”

Then, you stick him to the spot with a shy quirk of your lips. 

“Because I’ve seen you in your underwear,” you say innocently, and his guts seize.

What was that he was saying about not being shocked? 

Eddie’s mind goes blank and his mouth falls open – and here he thought he was being so stealthy. You erupt into a fit of infectious laughter, and what is he if not powerless but to laugh right along with you? 

It’s bizarre, sitting here like this, with his head buzzing and the muscles in his face and abdomen aching from laughing so hard. He can’t stop, every time he thinks he’s coming down, you break into another fit of giggles and pull him right back over that cliff again. 

He’s never felt higher than he does right now, and it takes a long, long time to touch back down again.  

“Man — where the hell did you come from?” Eddie asks when he finally manages to catch a breath, “How come I don’t remember you from back in middle school?”

“I don’t know,” you tease reaching out to tug at the frayed strings lining the hole in the knee of his jeans – he has to resist the urge to take your hand, “Maybe you were already too cool and famous to notice little ol’ me,"

Eddie can’t tell if you’re making fun of him, and with what you say next, he finds that he doesn't expressly care.

“I feel like we would’ve been friends if we knew each other back then,” you say, “Back in middle school? It could’ve just been this — you ‘n me — all the time, and none of that other bullshit. Us against the world… I think that would’ve been better…”

And have truer ever been spoken? You're right. It would have been better to live in that far-off universe where this was his reality and his days were filled with mornings like this one, laughing and shouting and loving instead of bracing for impact and dreaming for something better.

Eddie tries to imagine how your friendship would have softened a hundred different blows from a hundred different hurts, how different so many things would have been, and his heart throbs for what he didn’t realize he was missing.

Of course, then again, if you’d been his friend back in those days, it would have put you in the path of his father, and if only for that reason, Eddie is so incredibly glad he never knew you until now. 

Wayne has got that wild penchant for embarrassing him, sure, but he’s harmless. The same can not be said for Al, who was always more of the “search and destroy” type than the “you wanna see some baby pictures?” kind of Dad. 

He wouldn’t have been able to sit by and just let Eddie have you. He would have ruined it, and by extension, ruined you, and Eddie can’t even think about that. He won’t, so he focuses on you here and now, sitting so pretty with your face curled into that soft, wistful smile, saying all the right things to break his heart in the best possible way. 

He has to clear his throat to keep his voice steady. 

“Yeah,” he says unevenly, and if you notice the change, you don’t show it. “Me too… I've been thinking about that a lot actually…”

“You have?”

Eddie pulls his shoulders up in his best approximation of a casual shrug, even though nothing about this feels at all casual.

"Why? Is that weird or something?"

"No, it's not weird," you tell him, "...you're kind of a big softie, you know that? Under all that armor?"

You reach out to tug at the collar of his jacket and Eddie huffs out a breath, averting his gaze so that you won't see his eyes sparkle with the wonder of being seen.

"Yeah, but don't tell anybody," he says, "I've got a reputation to manage,"

You hum out a gentle laugh and shake your head, looking almost secretive, sitting there and smiling for no reason save the atmosphere and such a fond, shared sentiment. 

Suddenly all Eddie wants to do is squish your face between his hands and tell you how much you matter to him, how important this all is, and how it’s gonna last forever in his heart of hearts. 

In a hundred years, no one will remember that either of you existed, but he’ll always remember the way you dropped down to tie his shoe, and the ease with which you spoke when you offered a kindness you could not have possibly known would break him into a hundred thousand pieces. He imagines those pieces radiating out in a shockwave through time and space, embedding themselves in the fabric of the universe where they’ll live on indefinitely. 

Fueled by that thought alone, Eddie can’t help himself. He’s starting to learn that he is greedy for your innermost thoughts, and he desperately wants to be let in.  

He knocks your knee with his, and it feels so devastatingly intimate it threatens to make him blush.  

“What’re you thinkin’ about?” He asks – the school bell will be ringing any minute now, but he’s going to use every second of that time, if it’s the last thing he does. 

Your shoulders jump.

“All the fun I missed out on,” You hum, and it hits him like a fist to the gut, “...I mean, just imagine all the time I could’ve spent hanging out with Uncle Wayne,”

Eddie rolls his eyes, but even that is not enough to dampen his affection for you, not entirely. 

“He’s a shithead, but he’s not so bad when you get to know him,” he says. 

“I like him,” you say, “I think he’s nice.”

It’s another little kindness you have no idea he needs so badly. They're still a family, Eddie and Wayne, as odd a couple as they may be, and it is such a relief to hear that you like his little broken family.

Eddie blooms under the approval he didn't realize he was looking for.

"Oh," he says, "You do?"

“Yeah," You say, smiling sweetly, "He said he was gonna show me your baby pictures next time I come over,”

Eddie frowns.

You have a funny little way of undercutting sincerity like that – maybe because you’re scared to be too vulnerable for too long – and he can’t stand how endearing it is. 

Maybe it’s because he feels the exact same way, and maybe it’s because of how his affection for you is growing faster than he can manage it.

Even just in the time it has taken to get from his driveway to this parking spot, his fondness for you has swelled exponentially. He'd offer you his heart if you asked for it, and the thought is terrifying, because of how easily (and how badly) you could hurt him if you chose to.

He doesn't think you will, because he likes to hope that you feel the same about him (you like his family, why would you want to hurt him after that?) Still, you will not be seeing those pictures, under pain of torture and death.

He’ll burn his house down before that happens.    

“Congratulations,” Eddie says, grinning, “You’re officially banned from the house,”  

You laugh out loud, and for half a second he thinks all that madness is about to kick up again, but then, your smile drops and all the levity goes out of you as your gaze shifts to the right, just over his shoulder.

The shift in mood is jarring enough to draw his attention, and when he turns to follow, he sees it too – Carol Perkins, making a beeline for the little green Toyota.

“Well, shit.” He says, insides squirming with anticipation of the sudden and violent death of this moment. His moment.  

You sigh, and Eddie watches with no small amount of despair as you begin fumbling with your keys and your seatbelt and anything else you can get your hands on. 

Show’s over, everybody out of the pool. 

“… I guess she’s still pissed…” you say. 

Still, because Carol had been your original passenger the previous afternoon before you deigned to swoop in and replace her with Eddie. She’d sat with her arms crossed and her lips curling as you traded greetings and the initial back and forth that led to the events of this morning, and she made no effort to hide how against the ride-giving she was.  

Before Eddie could pull the handle (or try and navigate getting into your two-door car with Carol sitting so summarily opposed to such an action) she slapped the doorlock into position, like someone’s snotty brat kid throwing a public tantrum.

“I’m so fucking serious.” She hissed, “If you let him into this car, I will get out and walk.”

You leveled her with a dangerous look then, the likes of which Eddie had not yet seen grace your features, and it made his insides squirm. 

“Then get out and walk.” You said through your teeth, and the silence that followed was unbearably weighted.   

Presented with two options – get out or make room – Carol lost her shit (as seems to be her standard operating procedure.)

“— you fucking psycho! You’re gonna feel so bad for me when I get fucking murdered on some backroad—” she snarled, and then, like fate, the Harrington wagon whipped past, and in half a second, Tommy Hagan and Steve Harrington were there to bear witness to the first step to something Eddie can only hope for – that you would once again choose to swap your shitty friends for someone like him (not just someone like him, but him exactly).

He supposes you’re both going to hear all about it as soon as you break the vacuum seal of this car. 

He is hit then with the sudden and desperate urge to beg you not to do it – maybe you don’t have to go to school today. Maybe you can just drive somewhere and keep talking and laughing and never let this moment end and forget the law of the land and which sides you both stand on.

Maybe you can just stay together like this forever.

Awful lot of maybes for a ten minute drive to school. 

The rush of cold morning air is sobering in the worst way when Eddie pops his door handle and steps up out of your car and the perfect little biosphere of your aura. 

You appear on the other side a moment later and shield your eyes against the sun. 

“You want me to distract her so you can make a run for it?” he asks.  

The corner of your mouth twitches in a humorless smile. 

“Funny, I was about to ask you the same thing,” 

He can already hear the beginning rattle of Carol’s tirade like poison daggers hurled at his back – undoubtedly meant for you. He might have done something to try and shield you from that, but he’s still loopy from the giddiness of everything that just happened in the car, so he snorts out a burst of laughter. 

He’s still smiling stupidly when Carol arrives. 

“What, is this just gonna be a thing now?” she says, “You’re suddenly a packaged deal?” 

“Nice to see you too, Carol—” Eddie tries, mustering as much sleazy charm as he can manage.

“Shut up.” she snaps like a slap to the face, coming to a short stop at his side, “Are you coming tonight or what?”

Of all the questions someone like Carol has ever posed to someone like him, this one leaves him a little more than dumbfounded. 

“ Come again?” 

Carol’s features pinch with the prelude of a rage she quickly swallows.

“To the party, Dipshit.” She drawls.

Eddie looks to you, for assistance as much as in expectation of the same kind of droll, sarcastic response you’ve been giving all morning, and is almost shocked to watch when the color drains from your face instead. 

He wants to laugh about it, he wants you to put him at ease by doing just such a thing, but with the low autumn sun reflecting the faded color of your car into your face, you suddenly look like you’re going to be sick, and Eddie can only respond in kind.  

“What party?” He asks slowly, feeling the corners of his mouth begin to tremble with the prelude to some terrible revelation like he is about to realize this has all been some hideously mean joke.

“Nothing,” you say quickly, “Don’t worry about it,” 

But he is. He’s violently worried about whatever it is he’s missing out on here, and it’s twisting him up bad enough to move him toward panic. 

Eddie hates that Carol is the one to voice those exact concerns. 

“What do you mean don’t worry about it?” She snarls, “We talked about this—”

“Carol—” you warn, slipping back into that dark and dangerous look you’d adopted the afternoon before, “Shut the fuck up.”

Her eyes go wide and she recoils – actually recoils – like you’d reached out with the words and slapped her across the face. Eddie wonders when you last spoke to her so directly, if ever, and the air begins to bubble with the impending row.

He has half a mind to excuse himself because in the wake of the ongoing conversation, he suddenly doesn’t feel so steady on his feet, but Eddie can’t resist the sense of duty he is saddled with to stick close by, in case you need him to pull you out of the fire. 

“Did you even ask him?” Carol demands.

You set your jaw and breathe out hard through your nose, gaze flitting briefly over from where you are busy boring holes into your so-called best friend to regard Eddie with a strange, guilty look.

“Can we talk about this later?” You ask, and he doesn’t know why, but it hits him like a fist to the gut. 

The first inkling of wretched rejection lays prickly fingers at the nape of his neck, and despite the roots he puts down, that sick sense of vertigo intensifies. 

“You didn’t, did you?” Carol says. 

When you remain silent she rolls her eyes and grinds out an aggravated snarl. 

“Jesus Christ, I have to do everything around here.” She says, then turns over to regard him with a droll, uninterested look, and Eddie’s mouth goes dry, “She's having a party tonight, and she was supposed to invite you, but I guess she chickened out — anyway, you should be there,”

Hurt feelings are blood in the water to someone like Carol Perkins, and Eddie does his best to swallow them down as he struggles to pull his armor into place. He tells himself doesn’t care. He doesn’t care that you’re having a party and didn’t invite him, and he doesn’t care what that suggests. 

“...Why should I be there?” He asks, trying his best to mimic Carol’s apathetic tone and feeling his voice quaver. 

He doesn’t care. Really he doesn’t, so why does it hurt so bad to think you don’t want him around with all your other friends?

Overlooking the obvious reasons – your friends are terrible, he has no interest in socializing with them, they have no interest in socializing with him – he suddenly can’t stop his head from spinning with a hundred different ugly little suggestions.  

“God, you’re really that stupid, aren’t you? You’ve been trying to get into her pants, right? That’s what this whole thing is about? So bring your stash tonight and see what happens,” Carol shrugs, “Who knows, maybe you’ll get lucky.” 

The silence that follows is shockingly loud and Eddie feels it screaming in his ears, telling him that this is the other shoe dropping, this is what it’s been all about – all of it.

You’ve just been using him to pass the time while your friends are away, the minute they come back you’ll drop him – Stacey’s friends are back and their mean, cackling laughter is so loud, it draws everyone’s attention. Everyone is turning to stare, everyone is watching the Freak get his heart broken.   

“We’re just friends…” he says flatly, trying not to look at you as he does and cringing under how hideously false it sounds. 

It’s easier to lean on the lie and make it feel like truth in moments so vulnerable as this. He wishes you would say something, and yet he’s not sure he could stand to hear whatever it is you might have to say, because what if you agree?

After everything you’ve been through in the last few weeks, over the last half hour? He’s not sure he could endure that, it might break him. 

Carol just rolls her eyes. 

“So, what? You’ve never heard of friends with benefits?” She says, “And if you’re her friend, then you’re my friend too, and if we’re all gonna be friends now, I don’t see why we all shouldn’t benefit,” 

She’s said the word too many times and it’s been whittled down to a blade that stabs Eddie in the chest with every violent utterance. 

“What is your problem?” You demand a thousand miles away and to Eddie’s immediate left.

He doesn’t know when you came around to his side of the car, but suddenly you’re standing next to him, and he is busy grappling with the powerful urge to step away from you if only to try and protect himself.

Carol ignores you and holds him trapped in her gaze like a snake hypnotizing its prey.  

“You come to the party and bring weed,” She says, “She’ll open those little legs for you, and at the end of the night, everybody will be happy. What’s the problem here?” 

“Carol!” You cry, but with such a hideous truth hanging between you, it’s too little too late. 

He’s never swung so hard from euphoria into unhappiness – it’s a violent startling sensation that leaves Eddie feeling like he’s swaying. 

This is why he doesn’t let himself get his hopes up. This is why he stays in his own goddamn lane and minds his own goddamn business.

Eddie feels like he’s going to be sick. 

I thought you said you loved me… 

In the distance, the bell begins to ring and the parking lot steadily begins to empty. Carol gives you one last parting look before turning those viciously saccharine-sweet eyes on him, and Eddie feels something inside of him crumble. 

“Bye Eddie, see you tonight,” She calls in a malicious sing-song, skipping away. 

You linger where she leaves you, watching her disappear into the steadily thinning crowd.

For a long time, neither of you speak. The air feels very thin, and suddenly Eddie can’t catch his breath. Something deeply recessed in him urges him to run. Something small and vulnerable, familiar as childhood and in desperate need of protection, something he’s suddenly so sorry he ever considered offering to you. 

“...Eddie, I’m so sorry.” You begin, “That was… I don’t know what that was–”

“You talked about it, huh?” 

“No! No, not like that …” You insist, and then you pull a guilty face and drop your eyes to your sneakers, “I mean, technically we did. She brought it up, but it wasn’t like that, I swear. I don’t even want to have this stupid party.”

He’s heard enough. Never mind that his feelings are hurt you didn’t invite him in the first place, but to find out everything has been hurtling toward the inevitable way it always plays out? A sleazy hand on his thigh, bashful batting eyelashes, and a loaded confession of “...I don’t have any cash on me,”

Eddie Munson is easy. Eddie Munson trades weed for head. 

No need to stand on ceremony and take the whole beating if he doesn’t have to. Eddie turns on stiff legs and starts back across the parking lot, headed for the safety of the trees and leaving you standing there as the late bell brings to chime. 

“Eddie, don’t go–” You call, and he flexes his fingers against the buzzing static suddenly burning in his palms – his vision blurs and his chest fills with something black and angry,  “I’m sorry!”

He doesn’t care, and he spends the rest of the morning in misery.

For lack of anywhere else to go – and because he refuses to slink home with tears on his lashes and his tail between his legs after the way he left, just to have Wayne utter the dreaded curse of “told you so,” – Eddie hoofs it out to where he left the van parked on the shoulder the afternoon before.

He shuts himself up in the back and lays curled on his side in the dark, counting down from a thousand and doing everything in his power not to think about how perfectly wonderful the morning had been until it wasn’t, and how perfectly wretched everything is now. It hurts so badly he can barely breathe, and he hates hates hates just so he doesn’t have to feel that hurt. 

Eddie hates how tightly around your finger he’d let himself get coiled, he hates how vulnerable that’s left him feeling, and he hates how stupid he was – what was he thinking giving his heart over like that?

He should know better, but this time was supposed to be different. 

That’s how it always works, though, isn’t it? The world lulls him into a false sense of security, and just when he’s let his walls drop, just when he deludes himself into thinking he’s finally getting something made special for him, it pulls the rug out and he cracks his head open on the pavement. He doesn’t know why he’s still so surprised every time it happens, except that you were supposed to be different.

Everyone told him you were different.   

You weren’t supposed to hurt him like that, and yet he knew you had the capacity for it. He knew he needed to proceed with caution (isn’t that exactly what Wayne told him that night after he got home from the Hideout, brimming with butterflies and positively glowing in the aftermath of you?) – and still he let you do it anyway. 

Eddie thumps his head against the floor of the van hard enough to send a burst of dull muted color flashing across his eyes, and when it still doesn’t banish the image of you from his mind, he does it again, and again, and again.

Stupid stupid stupid stupid…

He allows himself to wallow in that patent despair until the steadily rising sun makes it too hot to remain closed up any longer. And even then, all he does is shrug out of his jacket and resume his miserable solitude with his head in his hands. 

Back to his regularly scheduled programming, whatever that means. He’s not going to that party, that’s for sure, and the next few weeks are going to be miserable because of it. 

He’s going to have to avoid you and all your shitty little friends, and he’s also going to have to endure all the whispering and staring and snickering behind his back, ramped up to eleven because he dared to rise above his station and court somebody so hopelessly out of his league. 

Worse of all is how he’s going to have to avoid his friends, who are all going to want to know with wide-eyed horror how this could have happened? How could it not? And why is everyone acting so surprised that it did?

It’s not like that, I swear, your voice pipes up from somewhere in the back of his mind, somewhere he’s going to have a very hard time extracting you from, I’m sorry! You call, I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry– 

And despite his best efforts, Eddie believes you. Everything that happened this morning, the week before at the Hideout, and the week earlier at the picnic table not so far from here – all of that matters. He can’t discount that, no matter how hard he tries to shield himself from the hurt it makes him feel now. 

People don’t just look at each other the way you look at him when it doesn’t matter, they don’t say each other’s names the way you say his or perform act upon endless act of necessary kindness as a means to justify a sticky little end. He has to believe it matters, and after everything you’ve done for him, he has to at least give you the benefit of the doubt, even if at the end of the day he’s reading the room wrong, and you only want to be his friend. 

Somehow, the notion hurts worse than the idea that you’ve only been paying attention to him to hook your friends up with free weed, which he tells himself you’re not. That would be too outlandishly cruel, and even despite that nagging little call, begging him to defend himself from such a hideous possibility, Eddie has to believe you want to be his friend.   

“Fuck!” he grinds out, scrubbing his hands over his face until his skin begins to burn, “God dammit,” 

He doesn’t want to be your friend. He wants so badly to matter more to you than that, but Eddie never gets the things he wants, so he decides that he can swallow his pride and be your friend, even if it makes him miserable. 

He’ll put himself on the back burner if that’s what it takes to be near you, and he’ll go to your stupid party tonight, even if he’s not actually invited.   

——————————————————————————————————

When you told him his place was on your way to school, he didn’t expressly believe you, but Eddie never imagined you’d be coming all the way down from the top of Cornwallis and doubling back again just to pick him up. Awful long way to commute for just a hookup. 

He’s busy trying to calculate how much gas money he owes you as he hops down from the van – back in action, two hundred dollars and a full afternoon spent under the hood later – and slams the door, stuffing a plastic bag of substance into his back pocket. 

It’s a meager haul, he didn’t have time to hit up Rick on top of everything else he had to do just to work himself up to coming here tonight, but Eddie figures it’s not going to kill these assholes to share. 

Anyway, he’s not here for them. He’s here, because he’s taking a chance that it’s worth trusting you, and trusting himself that it will in fact be worth his while to step out of his comfort zone.

Only this is very far out of that little green zone. 

Eddie hates parties.    

Your house is what would typically be an unassuming home built in the tract style of the 60s and 70s, similar enough to the one across the street to be from the same catalog, if not nearly identical. Tonight, however, it is a beacon of activity you can sense a mile away. 

Eddie imagines it must look worlds different when it isn’t teeming with wildlife and thrumming with the base and drumline of the overloud music playing within.

As he crosses your front lawn, he tries not to get caught imagining the alternate universe where he’s coming to your house for the first time under entirely different circumstances — dinner with your parents.

He brings flowers and wears nice clothes and does all the right things to make that good impression which has always eluded him. In spite of the odds stacked against him, at the end of the night your father shakes his hand and your mother tells him he simply must come back for Christmas, and you walk him out to the van, wrapped in a conspiratorial huddle as you tell him how well he did, how your father doesn’t approve of anyone, and how he just got finished telling you what a fine young man he is.

It’s an outlandish flight of fancy, sure, but it’s all he’s got to bolster him as two meatheads come spilling out of your front door and down your steps, entangled in the throes of testosterone and budding alcoholism. 

Eddie steps over them and pays no mind to the couple busy playing tonsil hockey on your front porch as he slips through the front door and into the house. Your house. Not the way he wants to be seeing it for the first time, but beggars can’t be choosers. 

He’s barely over the threshold and already his skin has begun to buzz – this better be worth it, because he’s missing Hellfire Club for this, and Keith already tore him a new asshole for daring to bow out of the session. Eddie knows he can’t kick him out of the club for missing one game, but the consequences will be dire. 

He’ll probably kill his character off in some deeply insignificant way and make him spectate through the rest of the campaign, and Eddie will sit there and take that disrespect because there are more important things happening tonight than fighting the Thessalhydra.

D&D will still be there for him next week, but if he doesn’t play his cards right tonight, you may not be, and that’s not a chance he’s willing to take.    

Eddie makes his way through the party, through the violent, seething throng of co-eds actively making bad decisions, and tries to take in the place through the haze of teenage mayhem.

He wants to say your house is nice, but who could honestly tell through all the mess? He wonders idly who among this group of maniacs is going to have the presence of mind to stay after and help you clean this up, but the thought is quickly forced out of his head by wave after overstimulating wave of noise. 

He can hardly think for how loud it is.

In an attempt to get his bearings, Eddie makes his way to the kitchen, which he learned very early on during nights and weekends like this, is always a good place to center oneself amid such chaos.

The kitchen is typically the center of a home and a safe space at a house party because it’s where the losers tend to congregate – the people who don’t know how they got invited and have no idea what they’re doing here. For some odd reason, Eddie hopes it's where you'll be too.

If he's lucky, maybe he can coax you out into a quieter space to try and smooth things over before he has to have any of your terrible friends inflicted upon him.

Color him wildly disappointed then to find Tina and Carol, standing over an electric red bowl of something into which they’re upending bottles of vodka and gin.

Jesus Christ, Eddie manages to make himself think with no small amount of effort (because the kitchen has provided no respite to the noise) They’re gonna kill somebody. 

He is halfway through making a mental note to warn you to steer clear of the witch's brew of instant inebriation, wherever you may be, when your friends finally notice him. 

“Omigod hi!” Carol screeches, too loud and over-friendly to be sober, it puts him immediately on edge, “I didn’t think you were coming after that stunning little tantrum you threw earlier.”

“Well, what did you expect?” Tina starts, leering at him and sending a shock of chills crawling up Eddie’s spine, “When stray dogs get a whiff of good pussy, they come running,”

It’s not the most intricately crafted insult he’s ever heard, though Eddie imagines that has something to do with the booze. 

Still, his insides heave when the pair erupt into a fit of mean, tittering laughter. He breathes a deeply agitated sigh and waits for them to stop. He’s not going to leave, no matter how badly he wants to, because he’s here to make things right. 

That’s all that matters to him. 

When he doesn’t react, the humor very quickly goes out of them, and Carol sticks him to the spot with daggers in her eyes. 

“Well? Did you bring your shit or what?” she slurs. 

Or what is a good question, but Eddie’s long since learned that it’s better if he keeps his mouth shut in situations like this. Wordlessly, he reaches into his back pocket and produces the bag of contraband, and both girls react with immediate disappointment.

“That’s it?” Carol says, snatching the bag from his hand. 

“It’s not like you gave me a lot of notice,” Eddie presses. “You’re lucky I even had that,”

Carol makes a phlegmy sound of disgust in the hollow of her throat and rolls her eyes. Then, Tina produces a crisp twenty-dollar bill and snaps it at him, like he should be wildly impressed by such an amount.

Never mind that what he just handed over is easily worth double that, he’s not going to argue — he can always count on getting robbed blind at these functions — now, he just wants to see you.  

Eddie swallows any dirty feelings attempting to rise in him over what the transaction suggests – he brings weed and you get laid – and crumples the bill in his fist, focusing on the way it folds as he dares to ask where you are. 

“Whatever – she’s probably in her room sulking,” Carol says with a dismissive gesture, saying something under her breath that sounds a little too close to “fucking loser” as she turns her attention back to the electric red caldron bubbling over with poison and the promise of bad decisions.

He can't tell if she's talking about him or you.

“Which one is her room?” Eddie asks, and Tina’s eyes flash with malignant glee.

“And wouldn’t you just love to know?” she says, grinning, and he doesn’t know why it feels like being lied to.

It’s not as if either of them were ever going to take him by the hand and lead him to you. In their eyes, he is only here for one reason, and now that the transaction is complete, he’s on his own. 

He doesn’t know why he expected anything less. 

As Eddie turns back toward the party and readies himself for what is promising to be an exhaustive search – the house is not that big, but good God if it isn’t filled beyond capacity – he gets stuck on the suggestion of faded lines etched into the door jamb.

Beside each tick in the wood, there are clearly written heights and age definitions by year. He can’t help but reach out and run a fond, reverent hand over the gentle care taken to keep track of your life and wishes someone would have thought to do the same for him.

“Why are you just standing there?” Tina snaps, “She’s waiting for you.”

Eddie fails to suppress a flinch as he takes his hand back. He gives her one last parting look, one which is met with sneering, smirking disdain, then steps down into the living room.

“Be gentle with her,” she calls as he starts back into the house, “It’s her first time!”

They erupt into more of that mean laughter, and Eddie has to bite the inside of his cheek until he tastes blood just to endure it.

Of course he’s heard that rumor, and talk of your inexperience has ramped up increasingly as people have begun to notice the pair of you dancing around each other, but he can’t help but think of how you would be mortified to know they’d just offered the secret to him. It was not theirs to tell.   

Still, he takes hold of the knife of that last parting gift and carefully removes it from his back, tucking it away where it will remain safe with him, forever if need be.  

It’s a lot of trial and error to finally happen upon the right door, and Eddie has the misfortune of walking in on not one, but two pairs of writhing bodies in various states of undress, going at each other like the world is ending – one in what he imagines is your parent's bedroom, and the other in the hall bath. 

Sure, maybe he ought to have started with the door covered in plastic butterfly decals, but isn’t there a saying about judging books by their covers?

Anyway, how is he supposed to know which room is yours? He’s never been to your house before now, and the music is inordinately loud, too loud to think straight.

Usually, that’s not something that bothers him, usually he likes that, but Eddie doesn’t usually spend his Friday nights socked into a singular space with everybody who hates his guts, and it’s all come together to knock him woefully off kilter. 

Then, as if the punctuate the thought, someone shouts something unintelligible and the room erupts into laughter – something about nerds or freaks or any of the other infinite hurled insults that batter Eddie daily, and he is reminded, once again, that he is missing Hellfire for this.

He knocks and presses his ear to the door to try and scan for any kind of life within, beneath the thrumming of the music – if somebody doesn’t turn the noise down, they’re going to blow the speakers. 

“Go away!” Your voice comes shouting through layers of distance and solid core. 

Bingo. 

Normally, he might have done you the courtesy of heeding such a warning, but tonight he doesn’t dare.

All the things Eddie has to say to you are best not done through a wooden barrier, especially surrounded by so many intently listening ears, so he takes a chance – and a breath. He twists the knob and lets himself in. 

The atmosphere in your room is instantly better than the rest of the house, and it is thankfully much quieter in here.

Like finally closing the lid on something, Eddie is relieved to find that he can finally hear himself think again as he shuts the door and braces his back against it.  

You respond to the intrusion on your sanctuary by pushing up from where you’ve been lying on the bed with a pillow over your head and hurling it across the room

“This room is off —oh, Eddie!” you yelp, curling your lips inward and instantly losing steam the moment you clap your eyes on him. 

The pillow strikes the wall beside him with middling force, and he watches it slide flaccidly to the floor.

“Hiya Sweetheart,” Eddie offers, forcing himself to try and sound casual as he says it, “Sorry I’m late,”

You don't respond, you just sit there staring back at him with wide-eyed wonder, and he is struck with a sudden bolt of unbearable shame for having ever doubted you.

He wants to tell you he missed you, but he swallows that intention because it's only been twelve hours, and he's not trying to look that pathetic in front of you, even if he still feels a little sore about the way you left things that morning.  

Eddie clears his throat and reaches up to pull at his neck, making a show of looking around your room and trying to hide the rush of nerves he is suddenly feeling.   

“So, this is where you’ve been hiding, huh?” He’s in your bedroom — oh, my God — he’s actually in your bedroom. 

He is a visitor from Mars, taking his first look at the scenery of a brand-new world, and he’s not too shy to admit that it is thrilling.

It’s just as bad as it was back in your car, only dialed up to eleven, because this is the hub, the mothership, your den of secrets, and Eddie is desperate to take in as much of it as he can as quickly as possible, in case you really mean it and are about to kick him out.

Posters, pictures, books, stuffed animals, bed sheets, pillows, trinkets, clothes – you you you yOU YOU.

He has to make himself stop and breathe because if he keeps going like this, he’s in danger of keeling over right there on your bedroom floor. And wouldn’t that be the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to him?

In the distance, the party rages on, separated by layers of wood and plaster and paint, and Danny Elfman begins to wail “Oh I think you like it, like it, being told what to do…”

He can’t help but wonder who among that crowd would be so bold as to put on Oingo Boingo, and he almost says something about it, but when he notices how small and fragile you look, sitting there, tucked in among your pillows, the notion goes out of him.

He doesn’t want to tease you, but under the circumstances and the lingering miasma of his hurt feelings, he doesn’t know how else to interact with you.

“You know, I’ve been looking all over for you,” he starts slowly, venturing a step forward into your domain and watching you with careful, unblinking eyes as if you were a venomous snake, poised to bite. 

“You have?” you gulp.

Eddie nods, moving closer. 

“Yeah, weird move to invite someone to a party then disappear,” he says, then shrugs, “But what do I know? Maybe that’s what all the cool kids are doing these days.”

The attempt to stir something from you goes over like a lead balloon, and you remain where you are, watching him with wide, unblinking eyes. 

“I can’t believe you’re here,” you say, and unlike Carol, you sound genuinely stunned about that.

Still, it puts the gentle fear of rejection in him and Eddie has to put down roots to keep himself from retreating a step.  

“...should I not be?” He asks, and you surge forward.

“No! No, I’m so happy you’re here–” You start, scrambling toward the end of the bed as if you’re suddenly desperate to be near him before second-guessing the act. It sends another flurry of mixed feelings tearing through his body. 

“ …I looked for you …” You say, dropping your eyes bashfully, “After school.” 

Eddie makes a thoughtful sound and tries not to picture you sitting in the parking lot, long after it has emptied out, waiting for him to show up. Of course you would want to drive him home, even after the fight you’d had (if you could even call it that) because you’re just that nice.

He hates to have disappointed you like that, and it makes him feel all the worse about the way he reacted and all the nasty little thoughts he spent the day wallowing in.

Before he can even think to verbalize any of that, you explode. 

“Eddie, I’m so sorry! All those things Carol said? I promise you, that’s not what I want out of this,”

“...out of what?” he asks after a moment of silence, because his feelings are still hurt and he can’t help but poke that bruise just a little.  

“Out of this,” You stress, gesturing between you, “You and me. I wanna be your friend. I promise I’m not trying to use you for anything. I just want to be your friend,”

He feels the corner of his mouth twitch and contemplates how best to navigate the new waters of your relationship/friendship/whatever this thing is between you, especially now that he knows you’re a virgin. Frustratingly, it paints every one of your previous interactions in a new light, despite how he's been telling himself that it doesn't matter.  

Eddie wishes that information could have made its way to him through you, just so that he could have been a little more cautious with his actions – his flirting – but he never gets the things he wants, he just rolls with the punches. 

And the only way he knows how to roll with this situation is to poke fun at it. 

“So, you mean you haven’t been waiting in here all night, consumed with lust and just dying to see if I’ll show up?” 

Another swing and a miss. 

It was supposed to make you laugh – a throwback to the good part of the morning – but all you do is sink forward to rest your head miserably in your hands. You make a terribly melancholy sound and your shoulders heave, and after a moment, Eddie realizes with a bright burst of panic that you are quietly trying not to cry.  

Oh, shit.

It’s paralyzing in the worst way, and he feels instantly awful. He came here to make things right, and what does he do? Open his mouth and spit poison all over the room – that Munson Magic, funneled through his warped lens. 

Eddie has to remind himself for the hundredth time since he decided to come tonight that he isn’t mad at you. He’s taking a chance that you were just as stunned by Carol’s behavior that morning as he was, and he’s sinking down on the end of your bed, exercising the utmost caution with every one of his glacial movements. 

Your shoulders tremble with the effort of holding something in as you take a deep, watery breath and force it out through your fingers, and Eddie’s fingers twitch with the urge to put his hand on your back. He doesn’t dare, because with the lingering effects of the venom he hadn’t realized was still coursing through his veins, he’s afraid he doesn’t know how to be gentle with you. 

A long and sticky silence blooms between you as you both wait for the other to speak – someone in the next room screams, the house erupts with muted laughter, and Oingo Boingo continues to push your speakers to their limit.

“… I’m sorry about the way I acted this morning,” Eddie finally says, taking yet another chance at being unflinchingly honest and quietly marveling at how brave he suddenly is, “I guess I got my hopes up for something, and got my feelings hurt, and instead of facing it I walked away. I do that… when the going gets tough, I get going … but I want you to know that I wish I’d stuck around…”

When he looks, you’ve sat up, and you’re blinking back at him with a look of utter horror. 

“You’re sorry?” You yelp, eyes flooded with tears, “No, I’m the one who should be sorry! If I thought for one second something like that was going to happen…? I would’ve… I wouldn’t have… I don’t know. I would have done things differently.”

He pulls his shoulders up and can’t make himself tell you that the feeling is mutual. It would have been nice to have you stand up for him, but he understands what it’s like to be paralyzed by a moment, so he forgives you for that, even if he isn’t ready to verbalize it.  

“I know,” he mutters, tracing a loose spiral into the rumpled fabric of your quilt. 

“I’m so sorry, truly and deeply, from the depths of my soul. I’m sorry and I’m mortified, and I totally understand if you never want to see me again,”

Eddie sighs.

“Sweetheart, I wouldn’t be here if I felt that way,” he says, “I don’t make a habit of showing up for people I don’t want to see – I’ve usually got more self-respect than that…” Of course, that brings to mind all the times he’s done exactly that, and he feels himself pulling a face at the blatant contradiction, “…usually…”  

Another one of those silences settles over you, and you sit together listening to the thrumming static of a sound system being pushed to its impending doom.   

“Why are you being so nice to me?” You ask, looking miserable as you shift to pull your knees up and hug them to your chest.

He can hardly stand how small and sad you look – nothing like that should ever grace your features, and Eddie moves before he can stop himself, reaching out to pinch your cheek between his forefinger and thumb.

“’Cause you’re a freaky little weirdo with bad friends and I feel sorry for you,”

Funny how that’s the joke that finally lands.

You laugh, a soft, watery thing, which comes burbling out of you on a burst of breath as you jerk out of his touch. He is instantly lesser without the searing press of your flesh – even so innocently as that – but finally, Eddie feels some of the weight of the earlier day lift from his heart.

Even with the party raging on behind you, the atmosphere feels almost as good as it did that morning, with the pair of you socked into your car and losing your minds together.

Somehow, it makes everything that happened between then and now simultaneously worse and a little less significant, and Eddie is tired of thinking about it, so he puts the matter to bed.    

“Look,” He starts, “Carol is a gaping asshole, alright? Everybody knows that, so let’s stop pretending this isn’t old news and move on with our goddamn lives. Let’s go back to the good part.” He’s moving again before he can stop himself and grips you by the shoulder, “We’re friends now, aren’t we?”

You nod, and he gives you a gentle shake for good measure – your secrets are safe with him. You’re important to him. You matter to him, and he hopes beyond desperate screaming hope that you feel the same.  

“So, let’s just be friends,” Eddie says, and you surprise him by surging forward to throw your arms around his neck.

“Thank you,” you say into his jacket, hugging him tight, and he is woefully unprepared to accept such a sudden burst of affection.  

He cannot be this starved for touch. He refuses to be that pathetic, and yet he’s fighting every screaming instinct he has to constrict you in his arms and bury his face in your hair, because Eddie doesn’t remember the last time someone hugged him. 

He’d forgotten how good it feels to be held, to be wanted, and part of him isn’t sure he’s ever really known the feeling. It’s a frighteningly somber thought to have at a house party on a Friday night, and yet as you continue to hold him, his heart is suddenly in his throat and that insane urge to confess his feelings is sitting on his tongue like a hot burning coal. 

The idea of opening his ribcage and giving you his heart is suddenly so tantalizing that Eddie can feel his resolve slipping – he doesn’t want to be your friend, he wants to matter to you, he wants it so bad sitting there on your bed wrapped up in your embrace, that he feels insane with it.

Thankfully before he goes doing anything too foolish, he can hear his uncle’s voice of reason warning him to “proceed with caution and leave room for Jesus” (the second part less serious than the first), so Eddie clears his throat and gives you a neighborly pat on the back, like something Wayne would have done.

It makes him feel stupid, he knows he should have just hugged you, but despite his best efforts, when you release him, he watches you rock back on your knees and feels you take his heart with you.

Just like this morning after you’d deigned to so charitably tie his shoelaces, Eddie is suddenly unbearably warm under all his denim and leather.

You scrub your hands across your face to try and banish any lingering wetness on your cheeks and offer him a weak smile, happily changing the subject as something immeasurably charged threatens to pass between you, and he shrugs out of his jacket as quickly and casually as he can, desperately hoping that you don’t notice if he’s blushing. 

“How bad is it out there?” you ask, scrunching your features as if you’re afraid to ask.

Eddie sucks a breath in through his teeth and contemplates lying to you, just to spare you the hard truth – it’s a disaster, the house is a lost cause, there’s no hope in ever getting it clean again, you’re going to have to move.

“You’re gonna want to burn your parent’s sheets,” he says diplomatically, “Seriously.”

It takes you a moment to pick up what he’s putting down, but when you do, your eyes go wide and your shoulders drop. 

Somebody is having sex in your parent’s bed (and in your hall bath, but that’s neither here nor there).   

“Oh, my God—” you moan, “Who?”

He feels his face screw up as his subconscious unhelpfully drums up the image of the frenzied bunnyfucking he’d walked in on in your parents' bedroom, and he sucks his teeth. 

“You know, I never quite mastered the art of identifying people by their bare asses…”

You scoff, but you’re clearly too pressed to see the humor in it – maybe in a few days, when the heat has died down. Then again, maybe in a few years when no one remembers they ever even went to a party up at your place.

Eddie will remember, if only because this moment and the press of your arms around his neck has been seared into the back of his mind, but nobody cares what the town Freak remembers, and there is a quiet comfort in that. 

“You should also know that your speakers are this close to going the way of the dodo,” he says, jerking his thumb over his shoulder, “I mean, listen, I know you’re eclectic and all, but I’m guessing those are probably your Dad’s and if he’s anything like mine – which, for your sake, I hope to God he’s not – you’re gonna catch a whole lotta hell for killing a nice sound system like that with Oingo Boingo.” 

Your lips quirk shyly.

“I can’t take credit for that,” you say, “It’s Jonathan Byers’s tape – he let me borrow it,” 

Eddie can feel himself pulling a face, try as he might to remain neutral about the idea of you trading music with somebody else – with Jonathan Byers. And after that beautiful moment you had this morning? 

Maybe he is reading the room wrong, and he’s just the next name on your roster as you make your charitable rounds with all the social misfits of Hawkins.

It’s a terrible feeling, one that wells up so suddenly that Eddie has to jump up from the end of your bed, just to try and get away from it and the image of you picking up Jonathan Byers for school and tying Jonathan Byers’s sneakers and laughing and playing and—

“Jonathan, huh…” he huffs, jealousy driving him three steps forward to knock haplessly into your dresser, where he immediately begins aimlessly picking up and putting down all the little trinkets he disturbed with such a frantic movement, “What’s that about?”

In the attached mirror, Eddie sees your shoulders jump innocently.

“Nothing. Sometimes we hang out,”

He plays at making a little porcelain horse canter across your dresser and tries not to feel the twinge of nausea those four words spike through his midsection.

Sometimes you hang out.

Boy Howdy, he sure hates hearing that, and he hopes to God he never comes up so casually in Jonathan’s presence.

“…and he just… gives you tapes?” he forces himself to say, not actually wanting to know what he’s really asking you.

This time, the subtext is not so murky that you don’t pick up on it. 

“Yeah.” You say slowly, lips twitching, “So, what?”

Eddie pulls his shoulders up.

“So nothing, it’s just … if I’d known you were in the market for trade-sies, I woulda brought you something good to listen to… not this bizarro new wave shit.” He says, gesturing to the bowels of the house where Grey Matter is still inexplicably playing.  

You narrow your eyes at him when he turns to face you.

“���Is that you being a vicious snob again, or are you seriously getting jealous right now?”

It’s a ridiculous notion, one which Eddie is offended to have thrust upon him.

“Me? Jealous? Not a chance,” He lies, like a lying liar, “Also, how dare you? I don’t get jealous,”

You bite your lip in a failed attempt to stifle the slow smile creeping up across your face, and for reasons he cannot explain, it makes him feel suddenly and painfully shy.  

Okay, he’s jealous, so what? He’s jealous that you’re out here trading cassettes with someone else. Big deal. It’s not like he went out on a limb giving you that book or anything or that he imagined you were having a special moment when he was looking through all your music earlier.

It’s not like he’s so desperate for your approval and your attention that he came all the way out to this stupid party, even though he’s been suffering what felt very much like the prelude to heartbreak all afternoon.

It’s not like he’s missing Hellfire Club or that he spent the better part of an hour trying to get Garreth on the phone just so he could get your home address, and it’s not like he ransacked the emergency fund Wayne keeps to get the van working so he could be here, standing in your bedroom with you looking right through all his bullshit.   

It’s not like he’s in love with you, or anything so mortifying as that. No, nothing like that at all.

“Quit lookin’ at me like that,” Eddie says, dropping his gaze in a desperate attempt at self-preservation – he immediately clocks the faintest suggestion of a teddy bear hidden beneath your bed, and his bloodstream fizzes with unbridled affection.

“Like what?” you ask softly and the sensation intensifies. 

“Like you’re so smart and can read my thoughts.” Eddie hums, feeling hideously vulnerable as he snags a kinky lock of his hair and drags it across his face – hiding, “Anyway, what do I care about who you’re dating? Not my business – not my circus, not my monkeys,”

The next three seconds of silence are the longest anyone has ever experienced in the history of life on Earth, of that he is certain.

“…I’m not dating Jonathan Byers.”

When he finally musters the courage to drag his eyes up from the stuffed animal peering up at him from beneath your bed skirt, Eddie gives you a long, hard look and tries like hell to decide if he thinks there is a “but” coming swiftly down the line.

He waits and he looks at you, and you just keep looking right back at him until the standoff starts to feel something similar to “home free”.   

“You’re not?” He finally asks.

The corners of your mouth begin to curl, and you continue to hold his gaze.

“No,” you say,  

“Okay, good.” 

“Why’s that good?” 

“Don’t worry about that,” he says, flopping back down onto your bed with enough purposeful force to jostle you, “You lied to me, by the way.”

“When?” You ask.

“Yesterday, when you said my place was on your way to school.”

Your brows jump up toward your hairline and you adopt the guilty look of someone caught red-handed. You had said that, before you promised to come back and get him that morning – you said “it’s no trouble, I can swing by and get you – it’s on my way, any way,”, so who’s the lying liar now?

You take a deep breath in through your teeth, hold it, and force the words out on your exhale. 

“Okay, so maybe it’s not exactly on the way…”

Eddie levels you with an unimpressed look.

“Sweetheart…”  

It’s way out of the way – driving past and doubling back, adding fifteen minutes to your commute on top of how late he was already running out of the way. 

Far enough out of the way that you can’t even pretend it isn’t.

Your lips curl sheepishly as you pull your shoulders up to your ears. 

“I mean… can you blame mel?” 

It makes him feel unbearably smug and paints the rose-tinted memories of that morning in a brand-new cherry-flavored haze.

Eddie’s heart thumps against his ribs and he hums thoughtfully, trying to play cool, despite feeling the exact opposite about how hard you campaigned just to come and get him this morning. 

“So… I guess that means you kinda like me, huh?” He tries – you flush and quickly pull a pillow into your lap, averting your gaze.

“Who says?” you ask.

He could keep pushing it, if he were feeling mean. And he is, because he wants to see a little more of that pretty color bleed into your face, but doing that would mean putting himself further on the line than he already is, because what if you turn the question back on him? 

No, he’s not that brave.  

“You sure ask a lot of questions for a girl hiding out at her own party,” Eddie says, plucking at a string hanging from a seam in your comforter and trying with everything in his limited power not to get too hung up on the fact that he’s lying across your bed.

How many times has he imagined doing this in how many different ways? Even so platonically as this?

It’s just another one of those things that is oh-so-casual, suddenly second nature, like he’s been doing it every day of your lives.  

First, he’s riding in your car and flipping through your cassettes, and now he’s in your room, lying on your bed, with his head propped up on one hand, and there you are, sitting close enough that he could reach out and touch you if he so dared – does he dare?

No, probably not. You’re not there yet, despite the hug and all the previous touching.

Somewhere to his left, he’s vaguely aware of hearing you groan in disgust.

“Please don’t call it that.” You say, heaving out an aggravated sigh and burying your face in your hands, “This is not my party,”

Eddie reaches down to snag the fluffy ear of your stuffed bear from where he can see it peeking out from under the bed.

He brings it back up for air and props it between you, half out of decency because he’s just realized that you’re wearing a skirt and he can see the faintest suggestion of your pink panties peeking back at him from where you’re sitting cross-legged.

“Go on, Sweetheart,” He says thickly, “Tell it to the bear.”

Self control, he tells himself, averting his eyes. Self preservation. Self destruction, as his eyes flit down to steal another peek, and when he gets home? Self care.  

You shift forward to snatch the teddy up, unfolding your legs to stretch out demurely in front of you, and placing it reverently beside you in the pillows. Eddie is struck blind with a powerful sense of relief mixed with disappointment, and the faintest pang of jealousy, because that’s where he wants to be.

“It’s just not fair.”

Tell me about it. He thinks, trying not to frown at the bear from where it sits leaning against your hip and grinning back at him.

Bastard.

“They all decided they were allowed to come and hold me hostage in my own home just because my parents are out of town, and they can’t imagine not throwing one of these shitty house parties every week.” You say, “I don’t even know most of the people out there, and the ones I do don’t even like me. Nobody likes me, Eddie…”

He’s listening, he swears he is, but he’s also looking at your legs, stretched out and crossed so daintily alongside him. He traces a line in the comforter beside them because he’s not bold enough to do so along the expanse of your skin. 

“Aww c’mon,” He says, “Somebody here likes you…”

The comment goes largely unnoticed, and the bear keeps grinning at his failed attempt at flirting with you.

Loser, it taunts.

You’re thankfully too distracted by the fires of your indignation to notice when Eddie drags it down by its foot and whips it back under the bed.

Stay down there, Fucker. He thinks as you continue, practically frothing at the mouth as you go, oblivious to all that is happening around you. 

The genie is out of the bottle, and she is – evidently – fucking pissed.  

“I don’t know why I even bothered. I told them I didn’t want them coming here, but nobody cares about what I want. This whole thing was some great big ploy to get Steve Harrington to come down from his throne but he’s not even here because he’s off playing pretend that he’s this nice guy so he can get into Nancy Wheeler’s pants and somehow that’s my fault, because everything is my fault, right? It’s my fault Steve didn’t come to this stupid party and it’s my fault that they’re all cannibalizing each other trying to get his attention. It’s so fucking pathetic.”

Of course it is, but the last thing Eddie expected from tonight was to receive such a titanic info dump on the current state of affairs of the inner circle, and it’s all he can do just to try and keep up.

“Hold on… who are we talking about – Carol or Tina?” Eddie asks, “Or Tommy?”

He needs to make sure he gets all the details right for when he tells the guys about this later – Adam is gonna love this, goddamn gossip hound that he is.  

“Does it matter?” You deadpan, “They’re all the same – all they do is sit around fighting over whose turn it is to gargle Steve’s balls,”

Eddie’s brain lights up in a hundred different places with a hundred different images, most of which involve exactly what you just described (which he is trying not to picture). The rest involve you and himself recast in those leading roles and he feels his temperature steadily begin to increase. 

“Wow.” he chokes and clears his throat in a futile attempt at banishing the image as he is unceremoniously reminded of the dream that had been so tragically cut short. Hop in and I’ll suck your cock– he has to shift to try and conceal the way all that thinking has started to affect him, “…You–uh– you really just said that.”

As the fires of your anger begin to dwindle and fade, the air of your tirade settles, and Eddie watches as you begin to realize everything you just said.  

“...sorry, that was a lot.” You mumble, “I guess I’m upset,”

“You’re my goddamn hero is what you are — hey, you wanna do me a favor and go repeat all of that to the room? I’d love to see Carol’s head spin around.” Another swing and a miss, “So, all of that being said… let me ask you this – if you’re so miserable, why do you stay friends with them?”

“I mean… how would I even begin to make new friends? Who’s gonna wanna hang out with me after Carol’s finished with me.” 

Eddie drums a muffled beat out over your comforter and after a moment of contemplative silence, volunteers himself for the task with a tantalizing wag of his fingers. 

You huff out a watery sigh of laughter and shake your head, reaching out to crush his hand in your fist.

“You don’t count.” You say, and Eddie might have taken genuine offense to such a notion if he wasn’t so fixated on your sudden point of contact.

“Babygirl, I’m the only one who counts.” He presses, flexing his fingers to steeple them with yours.

Much to his patent dismay, you take your hand back, and he pushes up, folding his legs and sitting upright because what he has to say next has to be done with his chest. 

“Hear me out, okay? Because this might sound a little crazy…” He starts, “What if you just … stopped hanging out with them?”

You glare back at him, but Eddie doesn’t really think your ire is meant for him.

“As if Carol’s gonna let me go quietly like that–”

“Fuck Carol–” He spits, he’s so sick of hearing about Carol fucking Perkins he could break something – he won’t, but he could, “You’re really gonna spend time sitting around thinking about her after all the shit she’s pulled? Just the shit she’s pulled today? Grow a little spine there, Sweetness, it’ll do you some good.” 

“It’s not that easy—” You whine, and Eddie doubles down, rising up on his knees and snatching your desperate, flailing hands out of the air.

“Yes, it is,” He says, holding your wrists together, “It actually is.”

You heave a world-weary sigh that has no business coming off of you.

“Eddie–”

“What are you so scared of? She’s bad for you, Sweetheart – I know you know that. Cut her out before she kills you.”

You grind out a desperate sound and just like that, your head is in your hands again – you double over, leaning far into his space, and this time he’s powerless to stop from resting a hand on your back because he knows.

He knows life is hard enough with bad friends but with no friends…? He’s been there, and it’s a miserable existence he wouldn’t wish on anyone, especially not you, but he cannot stand by and watch you suffering at the hands of the worst people he knows. Not when there’s something that can be done about it. 

Eddie might suggest that he’s got a whole group of friends who would be happy to have you (maybe) but things are starting to get a little too heavy for his liking.

The atmosphere is filling up and getting hard to breathe, so Eddie pivots and pulls your hands away from your face – because since you’re touching now, apparently he’s just going for it, every chance he gets.

Cool.   

“Come on. Look at me.” He says gently, and slowly, you unfold yourself to meet his gaze, “How long have you been friends… ten years?”

You nod.

“And d’you really wanna waste another ten years feeling like that just because starting over is … is what? Scary?” Eddie doesn’t wait for you to answer, “Of course you don’t. Carol had her chance to be nice and fun, and she blew it, okay? She decided she’d rather be the wicked bitch of the mid-west, and now she can fuck off back to Oz, ‘cause — hey, look at me — I’m your best friend now, okay? I’m your best friend… and I’m gonna warn you now, Sweetheart, I’m not good at sharing.”  

You give him a look, one that says ha-ha very funny, and Eddie almost takes genuine offense to it.

“It’s so funny how you think I’m kidding. Just wait, you’re gonna wake up tomorrow and it’s gonna say Property of Eddie Munson tattooed across your forehead,”

“Just make sure you spell it right this time,” you say, and this time, Eddie does not think that kind of irreverent undercutting is very funny. 

“Gee, thanks,” he huffs, watching you settle back into your pillows, “I’m only tryin’ to save your life here.” 

You giggle, but he can tell you’re not convinced, and it’s driving him a little crazier than he expected something like this might. Maybe that’s because it feels a little too much like he just asked you to choose him over Carol and you’re leaning steadily toward no. 

 “This is nuts,” Eddie says, shifting up to settle over you – he leans with one hand braced on the mattress over your hip and stares down at you, laying there nestled in among your pillows, “You’re really gonna make me beg?” 

“I’m thinking about it,” you hum, and he feels that unpleasant skittery feeling threatening to return, so Eddie shifts away, preparing to vacate the spot on your bed, but you snag him before he can get very far.

 “Alright, I’m just kidding… don’t go.” You say, taking a fist full of his shirt and holding him to the spot, “I’m done with Carol.”

He twists back to look at you, and when you don’t show any immediate signs of teasing, he shifts around to lean over you again, caging you in with both hands this time. 

“For good?” he asks.

You nod. 

“For good.”

“And you’re gonna come hang out with me instead, right?” Eddie stresses, “You’re gonna sit with me at lunch and trade tapes and books with me and not Jonathan Byers,”

“I knew it!” You gasp, pushing up into his chest and shoving him away – before he can protest, you slip off the side of your bed and plant yourself on the floor, “You are so goddamn jealous.”

“I’m just trying to make sure we’re on the same page here, Sweetheart.”

“No, you’re just trying to boss me around,” you huff, crossing your arms and sitting with your back to the mattress, tucked in between your bed and dresser with your knees pulled up. 

And Eddie, unable to stomach such a separation, slides down to follow you.

He settles in beside you, hip to hip, and watches you with no small amount of amusement as you try to play mad at him.

“I told you I don’t like sharing.” Eddie says, nudging you with his shoulder, “Not with Carol, and not with Jonathan.”

You roll your eyes. 

“...If you must know…?” you start, gaze sliding sideways as you wait for him to give you the expected follow-up.

“I must,”

“Those interactions begin and end with me babysitting his brother. Nothing more, nothing less.” 

And isn’t that the tastiest little morsel of forbidden knowledge he’s ever had the pleasure of learning? Eddie knows he’s grinning at you, and he’s trying not to leer, but holy wow.

“You’re a babysitter?” He gasps, trying not to make it sound too sleazy as he stretches the word and holds it in his teeth. “Cool. Tell me everything.”

It makes sense in a wet-dream fantasy sort of way, like the version of you leaning out of the car and licking your lips on the other side of his raunchy little REM cycle.

You give him another one of those looks, and it opens up a path of clairvoyance between you. Eddie’s not blind to what other guys would say – what kind of fantasies that knowledge would set minds belonging to the likes of Tommy Hagan and his cadre of meatheads to spinning.

And he knows what you’re going to say – you’re getting ready to head him off at the pass. To assure him that it’s not nearly as sexy and glamorous as what trashy teenage slashers would lead him to believe, and Eddie would remind you that he’s not, and never has been, like the other guys – the seven seconds in heaven he just spent looking up your skirt not-withstanding.

“There’s nothing to tell,”  you say. “It pays the bills,”

Eddie scoffs, trying and failing not to stack up the world of difference between your home and his. He bets your place is nice, when it’s not full of screaming hormonal assholes, a lot nicer than a rusty doublewide on the wrong side of town.

“What bills have you got living in a nice place like this, huh?”

You’re not rich, by any stretch of the word – Eddie can tell that just based on the car you drive and your Crate & Barrel catalogue of a living room – but you’re not struggling either. He doesn’t imagine your parents spending much time deciding whether it’s better to shop for groceries or pay that month's power bill, and you seem to know that as you twist over and give him a strange, pensive look.

“See that box over there?”

You turn his direction to a circular blue tin sitting on the far end of your dresser, tucked in between a music box and – Eddie is immensely pleased to see – his tattered copy of The Moon is a Harsh Mistress.

Even from here, he can see that there is already a bookmark tucked into its pages, and it makes him feel unbearably smug to have been right about that – he knows what you like.     

Eddie lifts up and uses the motion as an excuse to put a cheeky hand on your knee, reaching over to fetch it for you and watching keenly as he settles back in against you.

Visions of loose sewing supplies dance in his head as you pop the lid, and you reveal a treasure of rolled, stacked, and waded-up bills, crammed into every nook and cranny of the Royal Danish cookie tin.

Money. A whole lotta money.

“Ho’mama!” He says, immediately reaching over to take his very own fistful of dollars, “— what’d you do, rob a bank?”

Eddie opens his hand and lets all the presidents rain back into their little tin hideaway, and you make a harsh sound in the back of your throat.

“More like stash every dollar I’ve made since I was thirteen.” you say matter of factly, “This is my George Bailey fund,”

It's startling to hear that name come tumbling out of your mouth, like the clanging of a bell. It sends him catapulting back into a sepia-toned memory, standing on a chair to peer into the top drawer of his mother’s dresser, and hearing her tell him the same thing about her own meager stash of bills, much smaller than yours.

“Someday,” she’d said, pulling him close – distantly, Eddie can still feel the vibrations of her gentle Tenessee drawl, moving through his body as she spoke the same words then that come slipping through your lips now.

“… I’m gettin’ out of this crummy town and I’m gonna see the world,” you say, affecting your best transatlantic accent, putting in all the right inflections at the right places and blowing Eddie’s brains clear out of his skull.

They’re plastered all over your bed and the back wall, that ooey-gooey grey matter, of that he is certain because you’re shrinking further and further into yourself with every moment of silence that passes between you.

What are the odds that you would have the same thought, the same intention – he is only vaguely aware of the look he must be giving you, if only because of how you grow suddenly sheepish under it.

“…Jimmy Stewart?” You try, “It’s a Wonderful Life?”

Eddie blinks hard to try and disperse the haze of his two lives colliding with such a violent cacophony, and when it lingers, he shakes his head – he knows. Of course he knows, how many times has he watched that movie with and without his mother? Enough to know that he’d throw a lasso around the moon for you if you asked.

He’d pull it down so you could swallow it, and the moonbeams would shoot out of your fingers and toes, and the ends of your hair. Even if not that,  he’s seen it certainly enough times not to have to have the concept of George Bailey and Bedford Falls explained to him.   

“No,” He says too late, “I mean – yes. Yeah, I’ve seen the movie, I’ve just…” he doesn’t know what to say, he’s literally speechless, so he takes a page out of your book and cuts that vulnerability off at the knees before it can settle, “…I’ve never seen such a terrible impression,”

You snort, and the money disappears as you slap the cover of the tin back into place.

“That’s mean.” You say, setting your life savings on the floor beside you.  

Eddie crosses his arms over his knees and after a breath of sullen silence, shifts over to lean against you.

“You started it,”

For a long moment, neither of you speaks as the atmosphere grows once again heavy and super-charged with that high Eddie’s been chasing since the morning.

You reach out to trace the burnished ridges of his rings, and before he realizes what’s happening, you tentatively lace your fingers with his.  

He holds his breath and lets you take his hand, still sitting so close to you, and a pensive silence falls over the room. You sit side by side, holding hands, and Eddie wonders if he could have even imagined something like this happening this morning when he slid into your passenger seat, so blissfully happy that you’d deigned to stoop so low to even tie his shoes.

And now you’re holding his hand.

The music is still playing in the other room loud enough to rattle the walls of your bedroom with each thrum of the bass, but neither of you seems to notice anymore.

It might as well have been your own individual heartbeats for all you know.

“Eddie…?” you say thickly.

“Hmm,”

“…Can I ask you something?”

He can feel you looking at him, and when he turns, your eyes flit down to his lips. 

Oh boy. 

Behind his teeth, his tongue grows restless, and he can’t stop it from darting out to swipe across his lower lip. He watches the faintest tinge of a blush spread across your cheeks as he does it and sees just how hard you have to work to drag your eyes back up. 

You like him. He doesn’t know why he keeps convincing himself that you don’t when you’re sitting here like this staring at him like that. 

Eddie nods, and you get caught on a shallow, stuttering breath as you try to inhale.  

“Promise you won’t laugh?” you ask.

“I won’t.”

Your brows come together over your eyes, and you suddenly look so sincere, he can’t help but feel a pang of violent remorse for every time he’s ever even thought about teasing you.

“You have to promise.”  

“I promise.” Eddie makes the sign of an x across the left side of his chest. “Hope to die.” 

You breathe out, long and slow, and flex your jaw as you hold him in your gaze.

“I don’t want you to die, I just wanted to know if…” you trail off, take a deep breath, “Would you kiss me?” 

It hits him like a brick to the face and for half a second, Eddie forgets how to breathe. He swallows hard against the way his throat has gone so suddenly dry and feels his life flashing before his eyes rather than really seeing it. He’s too blind to see it – his vision has gone spotty with a headrush, and it takes every single ounce of his self-control not to sway under the force of it.  

“You want…” he starts, and finds that when his voice fails him, he has to start again, “You want me to kiss you?”  

You nod.

Oh.

That’s what he was hoping you’d say, but Eddie spends a lot of time hoping for a lot of things that never end up happening, so it’s not what he expected you to say. And despite all the time he’s spent sitting around fantasizing about this exact moment – about the way you’d bat your lashes and lick your lips before giving him a soft, slow smile –  he doesn’t know what to say.

His functionality for speech has abandoned him entirely, so he just hums out this weird, pensive noise that is caught halfway between a giddy laugh and a desperately wanting whine.

For half a blinding second, he’s afraid it’s going to scare you off – because what the fuck was that?! – but your brows come down, and your lips twist up, and the next thing he knows, you’re laughing.

He’s laughing too. Because you want him to kiss you.   

You haven’t even been Amigos Oficial for twelve hours and here you are blowing past those barriers at the speed of light.

Life is so wonderful and weird sometimes.  

You want him to kiss you. You, want him. Genuinely and truly.  

Eddie’s mind is clawing at the planes of his skull, screaming desperately for release, and his heart…? Well, that fucker’s stopped beating all together. It’s dead on arrival.

You’re suddenly so close, closer than you’ve been all day, closer enough that he’s suffocating in the sweet, cloying scent of your perfume and your shampoo and your skin.

You smell so good that it kickstarts his salivary glands, and he has to swallow down the sudden excess of spit in his mouth.

“Eddie…?”

“Okay.” he says unevenly, “I mean — yes. I’ll… I’ll kiss you … uh…” he clears his throat, “When?”

You suck in a sharp breath and hold it and pull your shoulders up to your ears as you scrunch your features in that specific little way Eddie so desperately loves.

“I’m free now?” you offer, and – CLEAR – Eddie’s heart leaps back to life, bruising itself on his ribs and punching a breath out of him.

It’s violent, and it hurts a little in all the best ways, and it takes him a moment to learn how to work his brain again.    

“Oh – right – um … o-okay.” He says.

And then, he watches something indiscernible flash across your eyes in the wake of such a hesitation and you immediately begin to backpedal.

“I’m sorry, you don’t have to,” You say quickly, and isn’t that the worst thing anyone has ever said? “If that was totally off base…? If you don’t want to–”

“No! No, I do – I want to.”

“Do you?” you ask, so painfully hopeful it makes his insides throb with an unabashed wanting he is powerless to ignore. 

“Yeah… actually… I really do.” He says, growing shy again and swallowing it for his own sake, “…been thinkin about it for a while now.” 

“Oh – you have, have you?” You giggle, grinning as you tilt your head sideways to press your shoulder to your ear. “...okay, good.”

Eddie shifts further into your space and braces a hand on the floor at your hip.

“Great.”

Your gaze flits down, and you bite your lower lip to try and get control of the smile that is steadily growing wider and threatening to split your face in half. Like always, you fail miserably, and nose to nose, you can’t stop yourself from looking. Eyes up, then down again.  

“Excellent.” You purr. 

Eddie takes your face in hand and watches your eyes flutter shut as he tilts forward. He can feel your breath fanning his face in gentle, anxious puffs, and he savors this moment. The anticipation of the next step – the deep breath before the plunge. 

“Fan-tastic,” he whispers, gently knocking foreheads with you and breathing in your sigh as the tension reaches a boiling point. 

For over a year, this is all he’s wanted, all he’s thought about, and now that it’s here, he’s almost afraid to go forward with it. Not because he’s worried it won’t be everything he’s imagined and more, but only because, somehow, Eddie knows once he does this, there’s no going back.

There is a tangible fear that comes with that, despite the urgency he feels, imploring him to hurry up and kiss you already. He wants nothing more than to do exactly that, but he can’t help but linger in these final moments before his life changes forever.

He wants you to look at him when he does it, and bear witness to that change because after you, he’s never going to be the same again. He hopes you like the person you make out of him because people have been careless enough to mold him before and they haven’t always liked the results.  

Eddie thumbs the hollow beneath your eye, as if to banish an imaginary teardrop, and gently nudges your head back. He watches you, and he waits, hearing the way your breathing hitches as your lips part. After a moment, your eyes flit open curiously, bathing him in the warm glow of your attention, and only then is he ready to kiss you. 

BOOM.

Your bedroom door bangs loudly against the wall as it comes flying open, and Eddie has never been on his feet faster.

Shot full of adrenaline, his fingers twitch at his sides in anticipation of being told to “put his hands up”. But instead of the cops and your parents and a whole host of other authority figures ready to crucify him for deigning to drag you down to his depths, it’s just Carol standing there, leaning against your doorway, looking far too pleased and much more sober than she was the last time he saw her. 

“Hands to yourselves, Perverts,” She drawls, “There are underaged people in the audience.”   

Eddie’s got no idea what the hell that is supposed to mean, he only knows that if he doesn’t manage to regulate his heartbeat, he’s actually going to keel over and pass out.

And then, a high, squeaky voice cries your name, and suddenly you’re shouting right back.

“—Dustin!” You squawk, twisting around to peer across your bed at the smaller body that has appeared in your doorway, “What are you doing here?!”

The boy, who cannot be any older than twelve, has no front teeth and stands there furiously lisping back at you.

“What are you doing?!” he fires back, “What the hell is going on here? And who the hell is that?”

You ignore all three of his high-pitched questions in favor of one of your own.

“How many times have I told you – you have to knock!” you stress, and Eddie is half convinced that no one has ever spoken with such authority, even he feels chagrined about it.

Sometime, in the last few minutes, the party ended with a fizzle, rather than a bang, but neither of you has seemed to notice this with everything else currently going on. 

“Yeah Kiddo, you almost got an eyeful of something you could never unsee,” Carol stresses, leering across the room at Eddie, who suddenly has no idea what to do with his hands. 

“Is that your little brother?” He asks.

It feels like a stupid question to be asking, considering he’s fairly sure you don’t have any siblings, but then again, what does he know except that he's panicking and he doesn’t think he’s ever been so embarrassed in his life.

“No,” You huff, “That’s just the kid I babysit.”

“Just?!” the kid – Dustin, evidently – shouts.

Eddie looks at you, then at him, then back at you, and while he’s no expert on people’s younger siblings, he’s fairly certain he’s missing something.

“I thought you said you babysat Jonathan’s brother.” He says, offering you his hand as you begin to stand.

“I do,” you huff, putting your fingers in his and letting him pull you up, “But mostly I babysit this little shit.”

“LITTLE SHIT?!” He’s gone so red he’s almost purple now. “That’s it, this is over – right now!” 

He turns on his heel and storms back into the hall. 

“Dustin—” you call, to no avail.

“Right! Now!” He reiterates and disappears into the house.  

“What’s that mean?” Eddie asks.

Beside him, you breathe out hard through your nose and your shoulders drop.

“He’s gonna tell on me.” 

It’s almost funny, in a wholly bizarre, completely bewildering sort of way. 

If either of you were paying better attention to the rest of the house, and the sudden and conspicuous lack of music, or overall chatter, you might have noticed that something is suddenly very different about the front room.

“Oh, by the way,” Carol starts once the kid is gone, eyeing her manicure and still looking far too much like a cat in cream for Eddie’s comfort, “You should know, somebody called the cops.”

“What?!” You yelp.

“Yeah, I don’t know – something about somebody bringing drugs? You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, Eddie?” she purrs, and behind her, he gets the first glimpse of flashing red and blue lights, painting the room through your front windows. “Anyway, they’re looking for you.” 

His stomach bottoms out, and just like that, there goes the other shoe. That’s what this was all about, the real reason Carol wanted him here so badly tonight. 

He doesn’t know if she called them or if it was one of your neighbors, but here is the Hawkins PD, coming to break up a party and cart him off to jail if he doesn’t get out of here right now.  

Before he can even begin to form a plan of escape, you seize Eddie by the front of his shirt and drag him around to your bedroom window. “You have to go!” 

“Oh, brother,” Carol sighs, “What kind of chivalrous bullshit–”

You force the window up in its frame with a deafening shriek, and the cool autumn air comes rushing in, clearing the air and Eddie’s mind of everything that just happened in the last two minutes.

“Go now!” 

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s out your window and gone the second his feet his the grass, and suddenly this all feels a lot more familiar than he’s happy with. Leaving a party out some side window and hitting the breeze while the Hawkins PD descends is pretty much par for the course for these little get togethers.

Except this time, there is the added bonus of being able to hear you distantly arguing with Carol – you accusing her of putting in the call, and her stridently defending herself against such a hideous (and likely true) accusation.

Beyond all of that he sees Jim Hopper, marching up your front lawn and into your house while his deputies try in vain to catch all the stray fishies pouring out of your home in droves. If Carol is telling the truth – which, to be fair, it is highly plausible that she is not – the chief of police is entering your house with the sole intention of rooting him out, and when he doesn’t find him, when he hears the talk about where Eddie’s been all evening, it’s going to be pretty easy to surmise what happened.  

You’re gonna take a lot of heat for what you just did for him, and he doesn’t know if you realize that.

How many little selfless acts can you perform for him without a second thought? And how can Eddie stand here and take it without doing something to repay you?

He has to do something, but what can he do? 

Well, it occurs to him that he can do exactly what you just asked him to do, as would only be right. 

But that’s crazy, right? He doesn’t have time for that kind of ooey-gooey “lasso the moon” nonsense when he ought to be long gone by now. The last thing he needs is to get caught and spend the night in jail, waiting for Wayne to get off shift and bail him out.

He doesn’t need to be running from the cops, either – he’s got a pair of handcuffs nailed to his bedroom wall to remind him of exactly that – but it occurs to Eddie that he can’t just leave, not without thanking you. Not without saying goodbye.

What kind of friend would he be if he did that? Certainly not your best friend, and certainly not more. 

He’s stupid, he’s foolish, he’s taking his life into his hands — he’s skirting back across the grass and hitting your windowsill with a muted thump.

When Eddie pops up, you’re still standing there, too preoccupied with fending off Carol to notice him looking in. The coast is clear, for now, so if he’s gonna do this, he better do it fast.

He reaches up to tug at the hem of your sleeve, and your name is out of his mouth before he has time to think better of it. You turn, and brace your hands on the windowsill to lean out and look down at him with wide, confused eyes.

“Eddie,” You gasp, “What are you still doing here? You gotta—”

He lifts up on his toes and kisses you. It’s only a quick, chaste brush of the lips to the corner of your mouth – he calculated wrong and misaimed – but it’s enough to send an electric shock ripping through both of your bodies. You freeze and go rigid, and behind you, Carol snorts out her disgust.

“Oh, fucking gross—” she gags.   

When Eddie drops back down his face is on fire, but he doesn’t wait to see what happens next.

He turns and runs, leaving you standing there, hanging halfway out your bedroom window as the first inkling of the police chief’s voice comes booming through the house.

“Okay – party’s over!” Jim Hopper shouts as Eddie escapes into the night, grinning wildly and laughing because, despite his better judgment, he’s pretty goddamn sure he's in love love love, and he’s home free. 

[edgelord-battle-bracket]

scourge propaganda:

his design. he's a black cat with a white paw and a collar with actual dog teeth sticking out of it, as well as dog claws/teeth that act as claw caps to be more dangerous

his backstory. he's the youngest of three kittens, his older siblings socks and ruby having bullied him relentlessly for his small size

he was not originally named scourge, but tiny. he only said his name was scourge because a street cat asked him

he spent his entire life seeking revenge on one cat that scratched him up, and ended up killing him nine times over with a single blow

he calls the group of cats he leads bloodclan. BLOODCLAN.

he is the protagonist's half-brother, and he dies while fighting him

he doesn't go to cat heaven or cat hell bc hes a cat atheist

there are probably hundreds of amvs and animatics and pmvs and maps about scourge and theyre all extremely edgy. i can and will get a list of the best ones: you're going down (still in development, but storyboarded), the closer map, and pirate scourge (technically an au w/ ravenpaw, but still), to name a few

there are countless edgy animation memes featuring him

practically invented the split screen drawing, with one side being him as tiny and the other being him as scourge

when killing tigerstar and taking his nine lives, he traumatizes the battle cats in front of him. yknow, the ones that constantly are fighting and dying from horrible injuries or illness

is shipped with another evil cat, ashfur. need i say more about that

he ran away from home because his siblings lied to him about what would happen if he didnt get adopted, and got bullied by street cats before claiming to have killed a dog

has caused permanent damage to my psyche

his legacy still continues through the books even though he died in the first arc- there are still bloodclan cats who still have teeth in their collars

all in all, you should vote scourge. and if my reasons didnt convince you, then how about the fact that im autistic. did u think abt that huh

Something to consider folks

[talesofmuscles]

THE TRAINER

Series: Sculpting Wellness

Real Name: [Unknown]

Other Nickname: The Gym Bro, Lifting Buddy, Charming Model, The Funny Friend (by The Bear), Horny Idiot (by The Sculptor)

Career: Owner of the Go-Go Gym

Appearance:

Height: Around 6’2 to 6’4

Weight: Around 200lbs to 235lbs

Body Type: Hunk

Hair Color: Blond

Body Hair: Short hair, well-trimmed beard and faint layer of body hair

Eyes color: Green (normal), neon red (using power)

Work Uniform: Red tank top, black shorts, socks, sneakers and a cap with the gym logo on it

Normal Clothes: Shirt, shorts, socks, sneakers and cap

Position: Needy, Submissive Power Bottom

Power: Musk Smoke

Appearance: A faint cloud of red smoke

Property: Allow The Trainer to charm and take away features (I.E muscle size, height, weight, fat, etc….) from the people who inhale the smoke

Effects: Extreme horniness, increases in vigor, being more aggressive and dominate

Downside: Inability to think independently, extreme need to dominate someone else, The Trainer cannot give back the things he drained

Limitation: The Trainer smoke effectiveness is based on his body heat and sweat (the hotter he is the more smoke he can produce)

Likes:

Showing off his body

Helping other people with their body goals

Using his power to help those with weight problem

Getting all the attentions

The Bear’s outgoing personality and openness

Dislikes:

Gym bullies

Wearing clothes that cover too much of his body

Being alone

Being ignored

The Sculptor’s attitude

Backstory:

As a stereotypical gym bro, he is obsessed to get that perfect body. He would sacrifice everything just to lose a bit of fat, gain a bit more muscle mass or getting a tiny bit taller. This obsession soon crashes down as he cannot possibly maintain his habit for a long time. During his recover and self-reflection, he received a gift. A power that transform his body into a muscular model anyone would envy for. Of course, he realized that there are flaws but is happy with the body he has. With the enlightenment of not achieving perfection, he want to use his power to help other to reach their goals without harming themselves.

The Go-Go Gym is a welcoming place for beginner and veterans alike. Every staff members, including The Trainer, would love to help anyone with questions, in need of assistance or jut wanting tips. Everyone here are encourage to work at their own pace. If people are shamed because of their body, The Trainer would gladly humble up the bullies. Every month, a lucky member will receive an exclusive ruby card. The card allows that member to have a whole month having a personalized training session with The Trainer himself. The perk always guarantees success, as proclaimed by The Trainer. Some people may think they can outsmart The Trainer; however, with the alluring smoke, The Trainer would always find a way to get on top of the situation.

[staticscreenwriting]

LOVE LIKE THE MOVIES // BUCKY BARNES // 4

Four - Casablanca

Masterlist

Summary: This is a story of boy meets girl. The boy, Bucky Barnes, finds himself thrown into a world that seems so different from everything he’s ever known. The girl, (Y/N) knows entirely too much about rom-coms and is quite particular about the way she eats her popcorn. Bucky meets (Y/N) a few months after returning to NYC. He knows almost immediately that becoming her friend is inevitable. This is a story of boy meets girl. This is a story about love. (Bucky Barnes x female!Reader // a few spoilers for TFATWS)

“ You dressed up! “

God damnit. He should’ve known. He really should’ve. Sam stands by his side, shit-eating grin splitting his face in two. He should’ve just worn a plain sweater and no one would’ve commented on it.

But then would she look at him with that joyful sparkle in her eyes and that gorgeous smile? Maybe the little dressing up that he did do, and all the teasing comments from Sam, are worth it if means she’ll look at him like that.

“I didn’t dress up.” Doesn’t mean he has to admit it. No now, not ever.

“ Uh, your jeans are cuffed. You’ve never done that!” (Y/N) points out to which Sam chimes in with a loud “that’s what I said!” words dripping with amusement.

“ It’s just my jeans, it’s not a big deal.”

“ And you quiffed your hair!”

Bucky glances towards Sam who stands beside him with the biggest smile any person has ever displayed in all the times humans have walked this earth. His joy at Bucky’s obvious discomfort knowing no boundaries and, if it weren’t at his own expense, Bucky would even find Sam’s amusement quite contagious.

“ You totally did! He totally did! I didn’t even notice. Hi,” he says and shakes (Y/N)’s hand “ I’m Sam.”

“ So nice to meet you, Sam. And you dressed up too! As a sexy Ghostbuster!”

Bucky can basically feel Sam’s ego inflate at those words and he knows, for a fact, he’ll never hear the end of it.

“ That’s right! I am a sexy Ghostbuster. Not a regular one. That’s exactly what I was going for, thank you. Man, I love her already.” Sam says, directed at both, (Y/N) but mostly at Bucky.

“ You look lovely too, by the way,” Sam points out and for the first time since they arrived, Bucky gives himself a moment to take her in entirely. Not just the little things, the twinkle in her eyes, the warm radiance of her smile. Her. All of her.

The blue and white checkered pinafore dress she’s wearing reaches down to her knees, her legs are covered by white knee-high socks and at her feet, a pair of ruby red heels sparkle as the light reflects against them.

She looks beautiful but what really makes Bucky’s heart skip just a tiny fraction of a beat is the fact that he knows who she’s supposed to be and, whether she did it purposefully or not doesn’t matter, he feels included for the first time in so long.

“ You’re Dorothy.” his lips produce words that his brain didn’t sign off on. They just slip out. They hold so much weight that even if he’d acted fast enough, he doesn’t think he would’ve been able to hold them back. They’re so seemingly insignificant but they hold a meaning that Bucky isn’t sure anyone will ever fully comprehend. Steve would’ve but Steve is — not here.

He hopes (Y/N) understands even a small fraction of what it means to him. And when she smiles, he thinks she might.

“ I am. Do you like it?”

“ You look beautiful. “ And she does. She really does.

Sam is grinning away like he’s just heard the best news and Bucky isn’t sure if he prefers this to his outright laughter at his discomfort or not. This smirk seems like some inside joke Bucky doesn’t get. Like Sam knows something he doesn’t.

“ Can I get you guys something to drink? Beers? “

“ That would be great “ Sam replies.

“ Grumpy? “

“ Sure.”

He can’t get drunk, that’s one of the little things the Serum changed about him. It’s not like he’s here to get drunk anyway but to feel the enthusiastic buzz that alcohol can wash through your system, would be nice. He hardly remembers what that felt like.

He’s gonna drink some beer either way though. It gives him the feeling of fitting in, of belonging with the crowd. Even if he knows that’s one big lie. Sometimes you have to lie to yourself to keep your heart from breaking.

Kim isn’t a friend. Not really. She’s a friend of a friend who somehow always tags along whenever (Y/N)’s friend group gets together. She’s never actually invited but she’s always there anyway. Tonight is no exception.

She’s dressed in some kind of last-minute DIY deer costume, one of those that have been popular a few years back on Youtube, and the way she smirks at (Y/N) as she enters the kitchen already makes the metaphorical alarm bells go off in (Y/N)’s head.

“ So, I didn’t know you know celebrities. “

“ What are you talking about, Kim? “

“ Oh, you know! “ Kim announces and slides up next to (Y/N), casually leaning against the kitchen counter. “ Do you think he can do some cool tricks with his metal arm? “

“ Who are you talking about? “

Obviously (Y/N) is well aware of who Kim is talking about. There’s only so many people with metal arms and only one of them finds himself at this very party. Still, she doesn’t give Kim the satisfaction of reacting to her ridiculous comment. Maybe, (Y/N) naively hopes, repeating her question will make Kim realize just how rude and offensive her words really are.

“The winter soldier! Who else. That’s him, isn’t it? “

“ No.”

“ You sure? I’m pretty certain that’s him.”

“ His name is Bucky!” (Y/N) clarifies, fixing Kim with a stare that conveys just how serious this is to her. “ And he is not some kind of circus freak or entertainer or something. He is my friend. “

Kim shrugs her shoulders so casually that it sends shivers of red hot rage through (Y/N)’s body. The audacity of this woman. “ Okay sure but he is the Winter Soldier, right? I don’t know why you’re acting so sensitive right now. Chill, girl.”

“ Fuck you, Kim. You are so disrespectful towards my friend. He’s so sweet and genuine and wonderful and he deserves to be seen for all that he is. He is not here for you to stare at like a caged animal and he sure as hell ain’t here to be reminded of his painful past. If you can’t treat him like a normal person, please leave. “

There’s a look on Kim’s face that (Y/N) hasn’t seen on her before. One of utter disbelief. One that lets her know that this was the last thing Kim was expecting. And for a little moment, a huge wave of triumphant enthusiasm crashes over her.

“ Whatever.” is all Kim replies once the shock has settled. With a pout on her lips, she shuffles out of the kitchen and back into the crowd. (Y/N) can’t tell for sure if she’s leaving but there’s no doubt in her mind that at least she won’t be harassing Bucky anytime soon.

A bitter taste settles on (Y/N) tongue, as she thinks about Kim’s words again. About the sick and twisted thoughts that reduce Bucky to little more than a human animatronic. It’s disgusting and so so sad and she just hopes Bucky hasn’t heard her say those things.

As she steps out of the kitchen and rounds the corner though, her hopes are squashed. There’s the usual pain on his face, the one that’s perpetually etched into his features as Bucky leans against the wall. But mixed in between, there’s something else. A confusing mess of emotions she can’t quite place. She knows though. He’s heard every last word.

“ Robin came over, started talking to Sam about some band I don’t know. Thought I’d come see if you need some help. “

“ Bucky, I — “

“ It’s fine.” He interrupts her. (Y/N) doesn’t think it’s really fine. Sometimes people just get so used to saying they feel fine, they actually start believing it. Only fine is not something you want to feel forever, is it? Fine shouldn’t be a permanent state. Fine should be temporary. A path to good. To great. To happy.

“ You sure? “

“ Yeah. I uh — I appreciate what you said.”

“ Oh sure. And I meant it. You’re my friend and you deserve all the good things life has to offer.”

He doesn’t know if he agrees with that sentiment. No, in fact, he’s sure that he doesn’t agree. While he is free of the pain that bound him to Hydra, he will never be entirely free of the guilt his past has put on him. One, he thinks, makes him undeserving of so many things. Like friends. Like happiness. Like love.

And yet it’s nice to know that other people see in him what he may never see in himself.

“ Now let’s go rescue Sam before Robin ropes him into some kind of wedding preparations.”

She says, hands Bucky a bottle, and then grabs his free hand to pull him towards the other side of the room where Robin, dressed as Jessica Rabbit, gestures around wildly as she talks to Sam.

At first, (Y/N) doesn’t even realize it but then she notices that the hand holding hers feels different. It’s not as soft to the touch as a hand usually is. The glove is warm and smooth under her skin but she wishes she could touch the metal. It’s not some kind of weird, misplaced fetishization or some sensationalism. It’s the fact that the arm is a part of Bucky as much as his eyes or his smile or his perpetual grumpiness. And she wants to know every part of him for they make him who he is, and who he is is wonderful.

3 hours.

It’s been 3 hours since they arrived at the party. 3 hours of music he doesn’t get from artists he doesn’t know. 3 hours of staying painfully sober while everyone around him gets exponentially more drunk. 3 hours of pretending not to notice the looks he’s getting.

3 hours and then it got too much. He’s well aware that this isn’t his time. By all means, he shouldn’t be here. Not like this. Stuck in a body that doesn’t match his actual age. Forever reminded of the fact that he’s not meant to be here. Usually, he tries to ignore that. Tries to learn about new things, tries to understand.

This party puts a mirror right in front of his face though. Makes it painfully obvious that this is not where he belongs.

What a party pooper he is. He’d hate himself. If his old self could see him now, standing alone on a balcony because he didn’t like the music inside. His old self would think of him as a coward. His old self is probably right.

“ Grumpy, what are you doing out here, all by yourself?”

For a second the music from the inside spills through the doors and into the serene night, only to be cut off a second later when (Y/N) steps onto the balcony and closes the door behind her.

“ Are you not having fun? “

“ It’s not that. It’s just —”

Just what? Bucky has no idea how to put it into words. It’s moments like this one where having Steve around would be so helpful. He’d understand and he’d know what to say. Steve always knew what to say. Steve just didn’t know when to shut up.

“ You don’t have to explain yourself to me. Ever.” (Y/N) says and bumps him with her shoulder as she leans against him looking out at the New York skyline.

“ I appreciate it.”

“ I was hoping you’d like my costume,” (Y/N) confesses after a moment. “ I feel like I tell you so much about all these movies you missed out on and I don’t know, maybe it’s silly, but I wanted you to feel in the know for once. Does that make sense? “

Bucky bites his lip for everything he wants to say is not something you tell someone you’ve only just befriended a few weeks ago. Never has he felt the need to spill his heart, with all his sorrows and fears and dreams, to anyone. Not until tonight. But it’s too much to burden her with. He can hardly carry the weight himself. To put it on her would be an awfully selfish thing to do.

So he just nods his head and smiles and he says “thank you” like it doesn’t mean anything when really it means the world.

“ Okay well, since I can’t bring you to the party — “ (Y/N) says and fumbles her phone from her dress pocket “ — I’ll just have to bring the party to you.”

For a moment she just types away on the screen before a familiar tune sounds from the speakers of her phone. A familiar tune, to Bucky. One he remembers dancing to when he was a whole other man.

Glenn Miller’s Moonlight Cocktail fills the air and Bucky’s lips unwillingly lift into a smile.

“ If I remember correctly,” (Y/N) says and reaches out her hand to him “ you owe me a dance.”

Bucky laughs and shakes his head, but grabs a hold of her hand anyway “That’s not how it works. You can’t just say someone owes you something simply because you want it.”

She’s so close now. He can see the lights reflecting in her eyes, can feel her chest lift with every breath she takes.

Here’s the thing about loneliness. After a while, you get used to it. It becomes a part of your life, of yourself, like breathing and sleep. You don’t even realize that you’re missing something. Until one day you’re chest to chest with a beautiful girl who thinks you’re wonderful and worthy of her friendship. And it’s then that you realize how lonely you were and how much it hurts and how much you’ve been missing the touch of another.

“ I’ve always wanted to dance through the night. Ever since I’ve first seen Moulin Rouge in the cinema.” (Y/N) says and they start to slowly but surely sway to the music. It’s tentative steps at first, shy and unsure. Barely there moves but there after all.

Sometimes it’s enough for things to be small. The big moments, the important ones don’t need to be big at all. Some of the most important ones don’t demand a lot of space and yet they take up all the space in your heart.

“ Do you remember your first time seeing a movie at the cinema? “ she asks, looking up at him with her starlight eyes.

It’s not a memory he can recall. It’s one of those that have been lost in the shuffle. Like a sweater you love that’s been lost in the laundry or a picture frame gone missing during a move.

“ I don’t. I do remember my last trip to the cinema though.”

“Yeah? What was it?”

This memory is so vivid, it could’ve happened yesterday. He remembers the old dusty velvet seats. He remembers the propaganda spot shown before the movie, the one that put a feeling in his gut as if he’d just swallowed a sack of bricks, now knowing what was to happen but expecting it. He remembers Ruth Dillinger and her gorgeous blond hair and the way it smelled like soap and flowers. And he remembers the movie.

“ Casablanca. Saw it on a date with a girl.”

“ Aw, you took her on a movie date? Lucky girl. “

“ I don’t know if I’d go that far. I wasn’t half as respectable of a guy back then. Was more interested in sneaking a kiss in the dark than taking her to see a good movie. “

“ Did you do the whole, yawning-arm-around-the-shoulder thing?”

“ Obviously.”

“ Oh, you were just a regular casanova, Mr. Barnes? “

“ For sure. “

New York feels alive with the power of possibility. Of a night being more than a night. Of small moments being big and big moments being so tiny and intimate and small. New York feels alive with emotions. Ones Bucky doesn't understand and couldn’t understand. But either way, he feels happier in that tiny insignificant moment than he had in a long time.

“ I’ve never seen Casablanca.”

At that confession, Bucky pushes away from her a little so he can properly look at her, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“ What? It’s a classic. I have good reasons for not having seen most of your movie recommendations, what’s your excuse? “

She smiles bashfully and shrugs her shoulders “ I really don’t know. I just never got around to it. I feel like it’s such an important movie, it asks for a special occasion. Like seeing it at some fancy cinema or in concert or something. You know? “

Bucky only chuckles before pulling her close for another soft sway around the balcony.

Only the serenity doesn’t last very long as the aggressive drumming of some EDM song penetrates the quiet and Sam steps out onto the balcony.

“ Hi guys, uh — am I interrupting something ?”

“ No, no. That’s alright” (Y/N) exclaims, sounding a little flustered as she pulls away from Bucky and presses pause on her phone, plunging them all in silence.

“ I’m gonna get going in a moment. Need to catch an early flight tomorrow morning. “

“ Aw, so soon? Well okay but it was so nice to meet you Sam. You’re welcome at any future party or just drop in at the diner whenever you’re around.” (Y/N) says and pulls him into a hug.

“ I will don’t worry. Told you, I like you already.”

They share another quick hug before (Y/N) excuses herself to get Sam’s jacket from another room, leaving Sam and Bucky alone on the balcony.

“ Do not say a word!” Bucky orders as he notices yet another grin forming on Sam’s face.

“ I didn’t say anything.”

“ But you want to. I can see it.”

“ What would I possibly say, Buck? That you’ve got it bad? You know that yourself. “

“ It’s not like that.”

“ Okay, if you say so. “ Sam complies and lets another silence fall over them.

That’s until he speaks up yet again “ You dance. Man, I can’t believe it. Hey, can you waltz?”

“ Shut up! “

The party is slowly but surely winding down. A lot of people have left by now.

Some are asleep on the couch. On the floor. Against the wall.

A few are still lingering around, talking in low voices. Slurred words, tired eyes, light hearts.

Bucky tries not to step on anyone as he maneuvers his way around the apartment, trying to find the room where (Y/N) put all the jackets. It’s time for him to go, no matter how much he wants to hold onto the moment. He’s tired and the party is as good as over. And anyway, he hasn’t seen (Y/N) in a while.

“ Psst, Grumpy“

(Y/N) peeks out from behind a door, beckoning him closer. As he steps into the room he’s embraced by a warm amber glow coming from a string of fairy lights that frame one wall.

On her bed, (Y/N) sits and leans against the headboard, balancing a laptop on her legs. The wall behind her is covered in photographs. Some of her, some of people he doesn’t know. There are pictures taken at concerts, theme parks, the beach. She’s smiling in most of them. Happy. Memories of a lifetime forever caught on film.

This, Bucky realizes then, is something he wants. Not right now but eventually. To make memories. Ones that last. Ones that don’t get taken away from him. And someone to make those memories with him.

“ Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you,” Bucky asks as she pats the blanket and he sits down on the bed next to her.

“ I’ve been looking for this movie and I finally found a decent copy we can watch.”

“ Now? “

“ Yes now. It’s supposed to be a really good one. I think you’ll like it. “

Bucky’s tired. He honestly just wants to go home and try to find at least a few hours of sleep. But she does it again, that thing where she smiles and his heart does the weird fluttery thing. And he can’t say no to that. Why would he ever want to say no to that?

So he scoots backward to rest against the headboard as well and his eyes take in the swirly white font on the screen spelling out Casablanca over the black and white image of a map of Africa.

His smile won’t be suppressed anymore. It takes over his face like it belongs right there.

"Thought you were waiting for a special occasion?"

“ I was and I found it. Now, what’s the romantic lesson I can learn from this one? “ (Y/N) asks as her head comes to rest on his right shoulder.

Bucky considers it for a moment, tries to recall exactly what happens. Some details are fuzzy, some lost altogether. But he remembers the core of it all. The love shared between two people.

“ It is about sacrificing the thing you want most in life to make sure the people you love are safe and happy. It’s about putting the one you love above yourself and breaking your own heart in order to keep theirs from breaking. Love is selfless, never selfish. And love is worth it. I think that’s what it’s about. “

“ That’s a lovely sentiment. But so sad too.”

Bucky only nods in agreement and as the title credits roll he wonders if he’ll ever get the chance to really figure out love. To fall for someone and love them so much he’d give up everything to see them happy. Even himself.

Though they call it the city that never sleeps, New York seems to grow tired. It grows calm and quiet and maybe for a second it falls into a slumber in the same way that both Bucky and (Y/N) fall asleep, cuddled up on her bed, while Ingrid Bergman flies away on a plane and Humphry Bogard walks into the black of night.

Bucky hasn’t slept in a bed in months in fear of nightmares and terrors lurking in the dark corner of his mind.

That night he doesn’t have nightmares. In fact that night he dreams. Of slow dancing on a balcony with only the stars bearing witness to the moment. He dreams of red slippers and fairy lights and black and white movies.

That night he doesn’t have nightmares. Only sweet dreams.

Taglist // if you want to be added or taken off just message me :) //:

@zaynzierulez // @je-like-you // @dracoxxyoflam // @jackiehollanderr // @majo240820 // @kay-gilles // @booksb4looksstuff // @jckie94 // @charmed-asylum // @shawnie--jo // @yllwtaxi // @tailsoflightning //@giuliarogers

[ask-rwby-multishipper]

((Response to accidentally deleted dare sent by @kr-xero: “Mass dare—everyone randomly swaps clothes with someone else, even the guys”

For this dare, Jaune, Ren, Sun, Neptune, Flynt, Fox, and Yatsu have been added!

And for the purposes of this skit, everyone has to wear their new outfits for an entire day!))

Name Randomizer (these pairs swap with each other):

Emerald & Penny Flynt & Neo Sun & Pyrrha Ruby & Yang Blake & Nora Yatsu & Elm Cinder & Ren Jaune & Neon Neptune & Coco Ilia & Velvet Ciel & Fox Harriet & Weiss

Team JNPR’s dorm...

Nora: Jaaaaaaune, come on! The mall is gonna be closed soon.

Jaune, from inside the bathroom: I’m not going.

Nora: Jaune, whoever you swapped clothes it, it can’t be that bad. Like, Ren swapped with Cinder, and he actually looks pretty good.

Ren, nodding: Who knew thigh-high socks were so comfortable?

Nora: And I got Blake’s, and can I just say, this bow is cuuuuute.

Jaune: Good for you two. I’m still not going.

Nora: Who did you swap with anyway?

Jaune: Neon.

Nora: ...

Ren: Now we get it.

Nora: So what though? You’ve worn a dress before.

Jaune: Yes, and it was elegant and beautiful. This? This is not elegant at all!

Nora: But Jaune, it’s mall day!

Pyrrha, walking in from the kitchen: Uhm...

Nora, looking over and gasping: Ohhh my gods.

Ren, blushing: Let me guess. Sun?

Pyrrha, chuckling: Indeed. I tried to be as authentic to the original as I could, but I couldn’t quite pull off the, uhm....Sun’s unbuttoned look, without a sports bra underneath.

Nora, slamming her fist against the bathroom door: Jaune get out here, Pyrrha abs! I repeat, Pyrrha abs!

Jaune: So what?! We’ve all seen the Pyrrha abs!

Nora: *gasp* Blasphemy!

Jaune: FINE! *the door swings open, revealing Jaune in a blue crop top and pink skirt* There! Happy?!

Ren: *stifles laughter*

Jaune: Oh fuck, even Ren is laughing?

Nora: Jaune, you look good.

Jaune: Do I? Do I really, Nora? I look good in this?

Nora: Yeah!

Jaune: Then why do I feel so ridiculous?!

Pyrrha: It does show off your more...shapely features...

Jaune: ...Oh.

Nora: The gang’s all here, let’s go to the mall!

Pyrrha: Mall trip!

Nora: Woo!

Jaune: Wait! *getting dragged along by his team* Pyrrha, what was it you said about my shape—?

Blake, Sun, and Neptune hanging out at a downtown Vale cafe...

Blake: Wow, Sun. For once, your titties are concealed.

Sun, proud of his shiny chest plate he got from Pyrrha: I’m cool with it.

Neptune, looking over Coco’s sunglasses and nodding: That skirt really works for you, too.

Sun: Bro, that’s kinda gay.

Neptune: So what if I am?

Blake: Boys, focus.

Neptune, chuckling: On what?

Blake: I dunno. Something besides flirting with each other right in front of my salad.

Sun: You’re just mad because for the first time in your life, your weird knees are showing because you’re wearing Nora’s skirt.

Blake: My knees are not weird, they’re normal!

Sun, glancing under the table: I dunno...

Blake, crossing their legs: Watch it, monkey.

Sun: What?

Neptune: Did you just try to look up their skirt, bro? Not cool.

Sun: If I catch you trying to look up my skirt later, I will snap those glasses in half and tell Coco it was your fault.

Neptune, suddenly terrified: You wouldn’t.

Sun: Try me, bro.

Neptune: But I like having all ten fingers.

Sun: Then you better keep things above sea-level, got it?

Blake: Ha. I get it.

Neptune: Was that a hydrophobia joke?

Sun: Maybe... *reaches towards Neptune’s face* Those shades look a little smudged, lemme get that for you—

Neptune: NO! *smacks his hand away*

Ruby, Weiss, Penny, and Ciel at the arcade...

Ruby: YEAH! HIGH SCORE!

Ciel, tugging on the collar of Fox’s top: You know you can use the mallet to whack the moles, right?

Ruby: Why bother when I can punch them?!

Weiss: Just because you’re dressed like Yang doesn’t mean you have to—

Ruby: H’YAH!

Weiss: Punch...so much. Where’s Penny, by the way?

Penny: I’m behind you.

Weiss: AHH!

Penny, a blanket over her head: My apologies for startling you.

Ciel: Why do you have that blanket over your head? And where did you get it?

Penny: Uhm, the prize counter? And I’m using it to conceal myself. Emerald’s top is very revealing... *whispers* My joints are showing. Even the abdominal ones...

Ruby, taking a break from whacking moles: Here, Penny. *takes off Yang’s jacket* Put this on instead.

Penny, peeking out from under her blanket: Oh, thank you, Ruby. *puts on the jacket instead*

Ciel: How did you get enough tickets to win a blanket like that? That must have cost thousands of tickets.

Penny: The movements of the enemy characters on a lot of these games are really simple. I simply have all of their patterns memorized.

Ciel: Woah, that’s really cool...

Weiss: Not to mention, that combo of Yang’s jacket and Emerald’s jeans is...actually a really stylish look.

Penny: Oh. *poses* You think so?

Ciel: OMG...yeah...

Weiss: *blushes* Oh...

Ruby: *nosebleeds* So cute...

Yang, Flynt, Neon, Elm, and Harriet on their way to one of Neon’s parties...

Neon: Geez, does Jaune Boi not have any fashion sense? The bunny rabbit hoodie is cute, though.

Flynt, tugging on Neo’s top: Man, speak for yourself, I feel like I’m being slowly hugged to death. Seriously, who’s decision was it for me to have to trade with the smallest adult person in the world?

Yang, gesturing widely, doing her best Ruby impression: It’s but the will of the universe.

Flynt: The fuck does that mean? *coughs* For real, one flex and this thing’s gonna be ribbons.

Neon: And then Neo will turn you into ribbons for ruining her outfit.

Flynt: This thing’s stretched to all four corners of fuck by this point. It’s already ruined.

Neon: Oh well, Neo will understand, I’m. *glances back at Elm and Harriet* How are the two newbies feeling?

Elm, in Yatsu’s outfit: Pretty good. Kinda glad I traded with someone...not tiny. Sorry, Flynt.

Flynt: Riiiight.

Harriet, practically glittering in Weiss’ dress: I swear....I hate this.

Yang: Why? It actually works for you.

Harriet: That’s just the thing. I feel so...girly. If one of you makes a joke and I giggle, like, full-on giggle? I’m ripping this dress off and jumping out the nearest window.

Neon: Depending on where this party goes tonight, we might all end up doing that.

Yang: Atlesians are weird...why can’t Weiss be more like you guys?

Team CFVY studying in the library...

Coco: I’ll hand it to Neptune, he doesn’t have the worst sense of style, but... *takes the goggles off her head and glares at them* It’s not great.

Fox, in Ciel’s outfit: I’m certain I look great. Right, guys? I know I feel great.

Coco: Come on, Fox. You know you love it. Though the blue beret on red hair doesn’t quite click.

Fox: How embarrassing...

Coco: Velvet’s feeling herself, it seems.

Velvet, taking selfies: Hey, Ilia’s got good taste. I’m taking advantage.

Yatsu: Didn’t we come here to study? Rather than debate fashion?

Coco: It’s like you don’t even know me.

Cinder, Emerald and Ilia waiting in the hallway...

Cinder: Ugh, Neoooo! *knocks on dorm room door* How long does it take to put on a tux?

Emerald: I’d guess a little while. Lotta buttons.

Ilia: Sh—he did swap with Flynt. He’s probably trying to do his own quick tailor job so he doesn’t look like he’s wearing something insanely huge.

Cinder: Ren’s outfit is big on me and I’m dealing just fine.

Ilia: Yeah, but Neo is, like, a third of Flynt’s size.

Emerald: Why are you staring at me?

Ilia: I’m what?

Emerald: You keep looking at me.

Ilia: Oh. I guess I’m just not used to you wearing a dress.

Emerald, messing with the skirt of Penny’s dress: It does feel kinda weird. But also I feel really cute?

Ilia: You look really cute.

Emerald: Aw, thanks.

Ilia: Huh?

Emerald: You said I look cute.

Ilia: Out loud?

Emerald: Yeah?

Ilia: Oh...

Emerald, chuckling: You look really cute in Vel’s outfit, too.

Ilia: Oh.......

Cinder, interrupting them by banging on the door again: NEO! Come on!

Neo, suddenly whipping the door open, dressed in Flynt’s outfit: *flips the hat onto his new short hair* Ladies.

Cinder: Oh gods...

Ilia: Woah, Neo, you look so cool!

Neo, bowing: Thank you. I try.

Emerald: Did you cut your hair while you were in there?

Neo, shaking his head: Illusions.

Emerald: Oh, riiiight. That must be really useful, being genderfluid.

Neo: It is. Glad to know I.... *glances at Cinder* I can still pull off the masculine look. *winks*

Cinder: Uh-uhm.... *turns and starts walking away* T-Took you long enough, let’s just get going before we lose anymore time...

Emerald: But the movie doesn’t start for a while, we’re good—

Cinder: I said let’s go!

Emerald, looking at Neo: How do you do it?

Neo, shrugging: I honestly don’t know. Cinder’s always been easily flustered.

Ilia: Most obvious thing I’ve heard today.

[stronghours]

THREE QUEENS OF DOMESTICITY

Ava’s husband Reuben, as Ava informed Domme Lux in the unfinished basement beforehand, had only contributed to the collaring ceremony through draping the gaping drywall with swags of lavender gauze and twinkle lights from Christmas, which blistered the fabric in a damp whimsy Lux hadn’t thought the man capable. But then, Ava said, she had never brought a boy into the household before, and she thought it was only fair to respect Reuben’s distance in the matter. Where he was, she didn’t say. Evey, one of the four usual girls, was already naked but for papery hospitality slippers and trying to tame the blank concrete with a shredded mop. She squeezed the handle to a thin, practical breast each time she lost hope. Her clavicle was tense with little red marks.

Ava sat on her own padded stool applying lotion to her arms as she held court with Lux, Celeste and other colleagues regarding the guest list and particulars. She possessed downy Marilyn Monroe skin and her expression was luminous, while Lux, simultaneously underdressed, clammy, and overheated (it was summer, high noon outside, but Halloweentown below) started to feel the depression sink in. She’d chosen to wear a sleeveless mock turtleneck cinched in via a skintight pencil skirt and knee-high chunk pumps, and it all looked charming enough to her when she texted a picture to Jules. Sexual language arts teacher or Lorelai Gilmore season 1-2? She’d typed. But Jules had been AWOL since Thursday and now Lux had no chaperone and no wisdom. Ava didn’t let it go unremarked.

“It’s June,” she informed, like Lux didn’t know. “So, he’s sucking up to his leather daddies and his drag queens, while the rest of us behave like grown-ups. Correct?”

Guests arrived. Lux decided on strategic retreat and glued her spine to a far swampy corner and gradually became happier to have interpreted the dress code on the conservative side. Ava sent out the invite via her personal newsletter, with the esoteric instruction to dress within the modes of business or pleasure and it became clear of the basement filling nobody had made a collective interpretation. Celeste, shivering underneath her partner’s bomber jacket had prevailed on a frail sundress and the man in front of Lux wore a boxy Uniqlo blazer on top and a polyester jockstrap that read PIG BOY in an eternal ring around the waist. His white ass loomed beneath her line of vision, a sobering reality check to Evey and the other girls kneeling like wraiths up front, their smudged outlines harkening more toward Salo than Ava would ever intend.

Candles were lit. Lux could not get rid of the haunted house excess bringing her mood down, even as Ava, up front on her dais and methodically strapping her bagged up new boy onto his striker frame, vamped in a costumy corset of sectional purple brocade (Jules) opera-length latex mittens (Jules) and slick black shoulder plate and hood of indeterminate material (no doubt made by an enemy of Jules), and if Jules himself would ever show up, as promised, Lux could decide what was worse: Ava mixing materials or mixing designers.

But what was worst above all, she already knew, was that three poems had already been read and Ava was reading one still. She read one stanza per one buckle. Her new boy, before being lowered into his body bag, had read one himself to clarify his submission. His face had been beaky and palling. He had flat blue eyes. She liked him much better totally hidden from view and wondered how a hardline heterosexual like Ava could entertain delicate styles in women but such insipid taste in dudes.

A ray of light split the room like a knife and vanished. A couple people moaned, blinded in one eye. The crowd to Lux’s left grunted and spat, ruffled, then parted. She didn’t notice Jules until he had a cold hand behind her neck. Even with walls on both her sides, he found a blind spot.

He stuck his tongue in her ear, knowing full well she couldn’t shout him down in this scenario. “What’s up sugar,” he said, barely acceptably hushed. “How many poems has it been?”

“And the moonrise over the hill,” Ava recited, yanking a new strap, “Rises in tune – to your mind upon my person – to your body upon my person – to your devotion to my person –”

“It’s been this one for a while,” Lux said. She grabbed him and squashed him to her side. You had to meet Jules nuisance per nuisance when he felt energetic, or he’d trample you to death. When he was overbearing, she preferred him coldhearted, and when he was frosty, she preferred him needy. It was wedding season, and he hadn’t had enough brides to wear him out. “What took you so long?”

“Stopped for food. I’ve been up for uh…thirty-six hours.”

PIG BOY’s head turned back fractionally, then he thought better of looking and faced front.

“Wedding?”

“Shereen Allure made the Miss Continental Elite lineup. She got her hooks in me. She needs an evening gown, an interview moment, talent outfit that’ll stay together through the twenty fucking backflips I know she’ll want to do – baby, sweetie, honey, let me just stone you a fucking leotard, but no, she wants everything to sweep the toes. Insanity.” Jules craned his head around PIG BOY’s shoulder, and, seeing the wild look on his face, she wormed her hand underneath his shirt and pinched his ribs before he could think of speaking above sotto voice.

“Work function,” she warned. “Work function!”

“I wouldn’t go to my boss’s wedding,” Jules said, but he shriveled back into her shoulder obediently. “Gross. What’s she wearing?”

“A couple things of yours.”

“Against medical advice.”

Ava’s boy was buckled in midway up his ribs. They had to last to the neck. Somebody close to the front of the house darted forward to re-light the tea candles extinguished in their little glasses, scattered among Ava’s stilts. Lux thought: Suck-up.

“Cocksucker,” Jules hissed into her neck.

Profound is your sacred neck –

Ava claimed.

And affectionate, my lips, on its nape –

The boy in the bag didn’t judder or wince or squirm or move an inch. If Lux hadn’t been around to watch him step inside it, she would have considered him a mannequin. More guests arrived, fashionably late, and she and Jules alternately jostled the roach hotel between her ankles as they bandied to stay upright. PIG BOY had enough of them and forced his way further into crowd.

“What’s his name, anyway?” Jules asked, of bag-boy.

“Shawn. Mark. Uh…Jake.”

“Fucking John Donne up there has a boner for a goddamn Cody.” Jules wiped his nose on her shoulder. “I can’t breathe down here. Come on, ta-ta.”

The basement door opened into a little cairn staircase and led them blinking into the lawn (a lawn!) a black walnut tree dripping with green baubles (a tree!). Jules assisted her over the porch railing (a porch!) and spanked the dust from the seat of her skirt. They entered the gleaming kitchen, already occupied by Ava and Rueben’s straightest friends who, thin-lipped, met their sangrias with unenthusiasm.

“One thing I will say for Ava,” said a woman wearing a mock turtleneck similar to Lux’s own, “She certainly has…flair.”

A man turned to Jules and asked, helplessly, how long these things lasted. The preliminaries, Jules asked, or the mingling, or the primary ceremony, or the potluck or the afterparty? And while he laid out the etiquette Lux stared at the dustless countertops and the seafoam green cabinets, smooth to the touch, and their silver handles and the tile floor and the padded breakfast nook with its stained glass overhead light and the jazzy track lights situated over the looming kitchen island. Lysol lingered underneath the tawny fumes of a candle labeled CARMEL TRUFFLE SUNDAE and the photo pasted to the candle, she was ashamed to say, made her hungry. A kitchen-aide, which Lux had seen featured in some of Ava’s private photoshoots, gleamed, an untouchable ruby atop a mounted wall cabinet.

Jules’s conversation partner said he had tried to muscle through the ceremony but one of Ava’s slaves (the man himself hedged, politely, and referred to her as Ava’s housemaid) had accidentally brushed him with her nude bosom and he thought, well, better safe than sorry and beat it to safer pastures. “I don’t want to get her in trouble,” he claimed. The sangria was doing nothing to free him from this downward spiral of nakedness.

The mock turtleneck woman held the pitcher out to Lux for a sniff. “It’s virgin,” she pronounced, disgusted.

Jules shifted his backpack into the nook. He removed a pair of purple Easy Spirit pumps, a wad of pantyhose cut off at the thigh, two rolls of duct tape, a greasy paper bag from a Vienna Sausage, a Ziplock of loose bronze eyelets, a lacy bridal bralette and ouvert panty set Lux thought she had permanently lost and finally a half-empty bottle of white rum, which he handed around.

“She and Reuben,” the mock turtleneck woman confided, tit for tat, “Had two cash bars at their wedding.”

“I get it’s a private residence,” the man continued, wide eyed, as he tilted the bottle drop by tiny drop into his cup. “But is the nudity like – mandatory?”

“Don’t be shy,” Jules suggested, happy in his eternal revolving door from Bitch to Hostess. “Really tip that bad boy in there.”

The man turned on Lux, aghast. “Mandatory nudity?”

“Jules,” she said. “Bathroom escort, please.”

The floors were fake grey wood and if they’d been in socks, they would have slipped and slid like newborn colts through a framed gauntlet of Ava and Reuben’s documented civilian life. On the right, a picture of Reuben T-posing against the horizon of the Grand Canyon. On the left, Ava’s Reiki Master III certificate from Sat Nam. A family reunion and matching T-shirts (Ava’s side of the family). A newlywed embrace at the foot of an anonymous waterfall in the Upper Peninsula. She’d seen all this before, well acquainted with the ground floor of Ava’s house, but now she wondered if Zach-Cody-Jake-Shawn, petrified below her feet, was feeling the weight of the roof on his chest like she felt.

Jules, on his own agenda, bypassed the bathroom door which was modestly shut and tugged her toward the staircase.

“Oh shush,” she warned preemptively. “We’re not allowed!” They’d never been upstairs before.

“What? They don’t have a bathroom up there?”

“She’ll know,” Lux said as they tiptoed upward. She imagined their footfalls pounding through the ceiling of the basement and Ava, coolly, directing her eyes toward the ceiling and right up Lux’s skirt.

“If you quit being so aware of her, she wouldn’t be aware of you,” Jules counseled.

Every door upstairs was closed, sanded and paper-smooth and plumbed correctly in their jambs. Her apartment had more in common with Ava’s basement. Melancholy prevented her from noticing Jules bypassing the obvious bathroom door where the shadow of a jailed cat paced and opening another. It was Ava’s and Rueben's bedroom.

“Uh-oh,” Jules said. “What an honest mistake.”

 “Stop, stop, stop,” she begged, dancing backward, but the arrested step of somebody entering the downstairs hallway had her shoving him inside. Jules grabbed her wrist before she could slam the door shut in panic and guided it closed himself, soundlessly.

“Somebody’s coming!” She hissed.

           “Nobody’s coming,” he said. “Not upstairs, at least.”

           Next door, the cat mewed piteously.

           The bedroom, to her surprise, held no accoutrements of Ava’s work at the club, not a stocking on the ground or a corset thrown over the back of a chair. The only suggestion of her taste for grandeur Lux recognized was the four-poster bed and the plum carpet. Even the makeup mirror standing up on the desk was just an electric plastic-framed Conair. The same kind Lux, at 14, had hidden underneath her bed.

Jules touched one of the bedposts. “You think she ever spread-eagles ol’ Rueben on these babies?”

Reuben worked in software. He had a crew cut, no distinguishing features, and upper veneers. When grouped together, he referred to all of Ava’s dommes as you kids. Alone, he called Lux Little Lady and Jules Hey, It’s My Man! Before thumping him with lethal force between the shoulder blades. Lux didn’t want to imagine Ava and Reuben fucking in the four-poster bed. But, on contemplation, she realized it was an impossible task.

She peeked into the master bathroom long enough to confirm Ava installed a whirlpool tub. Jules had already thrown open her closet and was sifting through hangers. He stood rumpled in his flip-flops and she was worried his hands would leave marks.      

“She’ll know someone was snooping.”

“Did she ever notice when you and Celeste moved everything in the dungeon three inches to the left on April Fools?”

Lux sat gingerly on the desk chair. The Conair makeup mirror was still lit, and she checked her hairline, her face, her cleavage (she’d been paranoid for two months that she was shrinking) in the mock turtleneck. In a silver stand-frame was a black-and-white of Ava alone, on her wedding day. She posed in black-and-white before a crumbling brick wall, body positioned forward but facing right, absurdly fresh, and nearly sweet-sixteen in a sweetheart neckline and ruffled cap sleeves.

 Jules loomed like a vulture over her shoulder and judged for himself. “Not what I would have picked for her,” He decided.

But Lux couldn’t look away from the picture. Ava, pre-Entrance, pre-homeowner, pre-stable-of-subs, pre-whirlpool tub. In the sterile silence of the bedroom, she had nothing to cloud her thoughts. “Ava always knew,” she announced. “Look at her expression. She knew all along.”

“Knew what?”

“That it was always going to work out. That she was always going to lock this down.”

“Lock what down?”

Lux tried to set the picture frame exactly where she’d left it but couldn’t quite recall. She pushed Jules away from her, annoyed, and tried a different a different route. “Do you think he really loves her?”            

“Reuben?”      

 “No, Zach – Jake – Shawn – whatshisname. In the basement.”

She felt Jules descend into sulky silence, that his magpie-plan of breaking and entering was not rendering hilarious fruit. She heard the bedsprings creak and two little claps as his sandals hit the floor.

“We make fun of her,” Lux insisted. “But she’s got the husband who loves her, and four full-timers cycling in and out of this beautiful house with a beautiful tree and green grass underneath and now this new kid. He wrote her a poem. She can inspire people to do things like that.”

Jules huffed.

Lux prodded: “Remember her interview in the Reader a few Prides ago? She said she owes it all to her Unapologetic Femininity. A successful woman constantly births this psychic potential in observing bodies.”

 “He wrote a shitty villanelle and climbed into a gimp bag in front of twenty-three perverts, so Ava’ll suffocate him with her titties for three years. That’s psychic potential?”

 “And what about Carmen, and Robin, and Deanna, and Evangeline?”

“What about Analise Petro? She split from the coven pretty fucking publicly.”

“Years ago. And she was immature. You and her were the same age.” At that time, Lux hadn’t made the decision if Jules, then a furious little boy-twink, would be nemesis or pal. She’d half-believed Jules poisoned Analise against Ava on purpose.

Jules, blissfully not thirty, ignored her. “Evey is my age,” he claimed.

“Carmen is thirty-six.” Lux, thirty-two, fretted, twisted her fingers. “Think of the responsibility. It’s all in her hands and she just…molds it.”

“Because of her essential femininity? You’re out of your mind.”

Downstairs, the sliding glass door to the backyard rattled. A few hoots of laughter drifted ghostly through the walls. Then the doors rattled twice, and silence seethed.

           “They change until they stay the same,” Jules said, too self-assured for someone sylphing on a strange bedspread with dirty feet. “And they’ll stay until they go away. Right about when Ava stops making them feel safe.”

“With –?”

“With her social nets and her two-story house and her dual income,” Jules said, sitting upright.  He was all the sudden blank-faced, voice poisonous, and she wondered automatically if his mother had been calling him late in the night. “With her sex gear she commissions from me. With the soothing atmosphere that Carmen interior designs, that Robin cleans, and the fucking homemade meals with the kitchen aide that only Deanna knows how to use. And you want me to think she’s this red-hot all-natural Madonna? You know better.”

Jules was rumpled beyond repair. He wore a tank top she’d gifted for his 27th birthday. It had ITALIAN FILLY printed on the front, and already the letters were starting to peel. He glared. Lux questioned the sincerity of his anger, if he only played it up because he noticed she was too sad to dig up anger herself, anger she felt all the time when she was perfectly alone, but she decided she was too pleased being noticed at all. Maybe in half an hour, she’d be happy enough to preen.

She got up and went to him on the bed and he sat up like a human being so she could clap his face in her hands. But he wasn’t done yet.

“She’s only a woman because she’s surrounded by one hundred sycophants who let her be one,” he sneered, and she felt the little muscles in his jaw. “Sisterhood is powerful!”

She slapped him on the mouth, but only a little bit. “What does that make me?” She asked, houseless, sycophant-less, suspicious her only sisters were biological.

“A woman who doesn’t need her yeast infections to remind her that she’s a woman.” He squirmed in her grip, for her enjoyment only, and his face reddened where it usually got red, close to the ears before it began to band his big nose. It was almost enough to make her forget she was only attracted to him when he was worn down to a nub of exhaustion. Usually, he was belly-up on the floor, with one arm thrown over his eyes, and one of his wrists in his carpal tunnel brace. Something about that brace lit her ass on fire. It made her want to pull down the blinds and eat him alive through his armpit. “Are we going to do something horrible to this bedspread or what?”

“Close your eyes.” He had an insane habit of kissing with his eyes open, and even she, the honorable first girl who’d ever fucked him, hadn’t trained him out of it. “Close your eyes,” he countered, and pulled the zipper on the back of her skirt so he could pull out her turtleneck out of her waist. It jammed. They struggled.

“Suck it in,” he ordered thoughtlessly, and the second she pulled in a deep breath she every inch of him sprang, alert, into a frenzy she couldn’t understand. He caught her around the waist and rolled them both off the bed and into the space between the wall and the gap where the bedclothes hung. She was just about to shriek at him when she heard bare feet pat-pat outside the bedroom door. Jules swept her under the bed (you could stack three bodies on top of each other, under there) and followed her himself just as the door opened.

Lux curled into a little ball. Jules elected to lay flat like a tapeworm.

A woman’s voice cooed. Lux waited. Doom squeezed her heart. But the voice wasn’t Ava’s.

“Sugar-pants, sugar-pants,” the voice caroled sweetly.

Then she saw the bare feet tip-tapping over the carpet, and she clocked the voice as Evangeline’s. She had freed the cat from the bathroom, and presumably held it in her arms, sweet-talking it. Lux dared to roll over to face Jules. He pinched his nose shut against a sneeze.

“I know baby, fluffy-baby,” Evey said. The desk chair scraped when she settled down into it. “You don’t like it in there. I know. I know. No huggle-wuggles for baby in there. You’re claustrophobic. So am I! Ugh!”

Evey gagged. She sobbed wretchedly for five whole minutes (Lux counted). The cat’s purr reached torrential volumes of pleasure. Near the end she reached for Jules’s hand, and they lay, foreheads together, too shy to look each other in the eye as Evey opened a drawer somewhere for tissues and was paralyzed by an attack of hiccups. Lux had to put all her muscle into not echoing her in sympathy.

Evey muttered to herself. “I’m claustrophobic, so I can’t let Her put me in the bag. If I can’t go in the bag, then I don’t get a poem.”

Click. Tap. Click. The drawer shutting. The lights of the makeup mirror turning off.

“I don’t get a poem,” Evey asserted. “I don’t get a poem.” And lower – “I’m not allowed to have a poem. I can’t have a poem. Or a tattoo.”

The cat gurgled.

Evey fled, down the hall, where a door slammed. Then, as if to fix the breach of discipline, the door opened again, and was closed so quietly Lux wasn’t sure it was closed at all.

She and Jules waited, then parted and unearthed themselves on either side of the bed. Jules zipped her skirt and together they patted down the bedspread. He had the faraway look in his eye he usually had when he was thinking about pattern-drafting and Lux replayed in her brain Evey’s Ugh! She wondered if one of her clients had ever gone home, away from her, looked in their bathroom mirror, stuck out their tongue and gone Ugh!

“Come on,” Jules said. The cat, abandoned again, eyed him from the desk chair. “Let’s go down and pay our respects to King Tut.”

And to the cat: “What the fuck are you looking at?”

If he’d acted smug at having his cynicism proven, she might have hit him for real. She’d hit him for real – which in their shared experience, meant purely out of anger – twice. The first time he’d deserved it. The second time he punished her, said she hit like a nelly fag and blocked her phone number for a month. Then he reemerged as swiftly as he’d removed himself, but pointedly, with an uncharacteristically physically proximate boyfriend who lasted exactly three months. She considered that his way of informing her she had been on probation.

“I’m lonely,” she said, because that was the problem.

“I’m literally right here, idiot.”

But when they reached the staircase the noise of the swelling party in the kitchen reached their ears. They decided to go down separately, for the sake of modesty, and Jules went first. He kissed her ear, conciliatory, and she watched the high yoke of his shoulders descend until she was alone again.

Who needed it, she thought, the fifteen-dollar candles and the floors constructed so they do not have to be waxed, the fleet of morose women and the sexless men? Years ago, she’d walked into Jules’s squalid, long-gone basement apartment with a frayed leather harness and been shocked at the sight of the missing Analise Petro sleeping on his futon. Split by her own precarious position in Ava’s club at the time, she’d whipped out her phone, as if to rat them both out then and there. Jules never even looked up from the dress form he was taping.

He asked: What do you give a cunt to convince her a community matter is a private matter?

He clipped off the tape with scissors longer than his hand.

A house!

Lux wanted a house. She wanted to jam her hooks into a hunk with big delts, and huge tits, and chain him up under the bed, somebody the opposite of Jules in every way, and she wanted to bake a successful quiche and she wanted, most of all, her and her sisters’ beloved childhood mutt Chessie, who had leapt off the family pontoon one 4th of July weekend on Indian Lake to his idiot death, to be revived and come trotting up the staircase and into her arms, panting with joy, not because he had been resurrected, but because he loved her best of all.

[lukatheselkie]

Helltalia-inc - Space, stars, moon / “You’re better than you think.”

@helltalia-inc

Ahhhhh I had so much fun with this one! I had no idea where I was going when I started it, but I couldn’t be happier now! I’m probably going to write more on this in the future, I love it so much!

I only sort of used the first one, but I think it’s enough to include it?

Pairing: Sweden x Prussia

I have included nonbinary Prussia, along with mute, autistic, and sensory issues Sweden. Human-verse (sort of? You’ll see what I mean)

    It starts with an unexpected encounter. Berwald is washing his plate in the sink when he sees a light streak across the sky. He rushes outside to get a better look at it. He doesn’t slip anything on his feet, because he’s expecting it to be a shooting star. He’s taken by surprise when it falls behind the trees, disappearing into the forest. Fueled by curiosity, he wonders toward the treeline. He knows he shouldn’t go in. Not at night. Not without shoes. Not without something to protect himself. But all of those things seem less important than figuring out what just landed. So he finds himself in the dark forest, looking around for anything out of place. Eventually he finds what he’s searching for, but it’s… Well, it’s underwhelming, to say the least.

    He stumbles over it, actually. It’s so small, he doesn’t notice its existence until he’s on the ground from tripping over it. He stands back up, brushing himself off. He kneels next to the object he tripped over, and furrows his brows. He’s not certain, but it appears to be emitting a faint light. He grabs a stick and pokes at the sphere, but nothing happens besides it rolling away. He glances up at the sky, and determines this is roughly the area he watched it go down. So this tiny sphere must be what he’s looking for. Right? He flips over his hand and positions it closer to the object, testing for heat. Nothing. Against his better judgment, he slips it into the palm of his hand, wrapping his fingers around it tightly. It’s so smooth it’s unnerving. He shakes his head, and makes his way back home.

    Once inside, he changes his clothes, including his socks, then sets the sphere on the counter. He stares unblinking at it for at least a minute, but it only shines back at him. What is the source of that eerie blue glow? Does it have batteries? He can’t seem to make out a seam. It’s definitely man-made though. Nothing is naturally that perfectly spherical. After an hour of trying to figure it out, he shakes his head at himself. He’s had a long day. He’s probably hallucinating! This thing doesn’t actually exist, and he’s been watching his blank counter space for an hour. Still, he grabs the object and takes it to his room. He lays it on his nightstand before curling up under the blankets. Maybe this will all make sense in the morning. It’s late. Or maybe the sphere won’t be there in the morning, and he’ll have to go back to his therapist. He doesn’t have enough energy to focus on any of that right now though. He closes his eyes, and lets sleep overtake him.

~

    When Berwald rolls over and comes face-to-brighter-sphere with the object in the morning, he nearly falls out of bed. He shoves the covers off of himself, and frantically reaches out for his glasses. Once they’re securely on his face, he starts another staring contest with the sphere. It’s changed. For one, it’s slightly larger now. For two, it’s pulsating, which concerns him to no end. For three, it seems to be slightly changing colour? Light blue to medium blue to deep blue to medium blue to light blue to—he shakes his head hard. He should just get rid of this thing before it combusts. He scoops it up, and it beeps at his touch. Of course, this causes him to drop it, and it beeps angrily at him.

    There’s an angry sphere on his bedroom floor. Should he just move? That might be the best thing to do. Still, he can’t help but look at it again. He wonders if maybe dropping it wasn’t the best idea, and picks it up. It beeps once more, then falls silent. Okay. He has a weird, glowing sphere that sort of acts like a baby in his hand. What the hell is he supposed to do with it!?

    Before he can figure that out, it turns green and a… keyboard…(?) appears in the air. No, that’s not quite right. It’s a hologram. But the keys aren’t anything he recognizes. He shakes his head in confusion at the thing. What’s he supposed to do with that? A voice, he thinks, speaks to him through it. He has no idea what is being said. He understands the sigh though! He shouldn’t be as excited about that as he is. Another beep, then the same voice, but in English this time. “Stupid piece of-” They take a deep breath. “No. This is my fault. Don’t blame the technology. Hello? Is anyone there? Can you kindly answer?” Berwald taps one of the keys. “Oh! Good! Someone’s there! Can you hear me?” Again, he taps. “Alllllllright. Can you understand me?” Another tap. “Listen! If you don’t stop that, I’m going to arm this thing!” He doesn’t tap this time. He doesn’t want to risk that. “So you can understand me. Why didn’t you just say so?”

    Normally, this is where Berwald would write that he’s mute and it’s rude to ask someone why they won’t talk, especially in a situation like this, but he doesn’t know if this thing has a receiving camera or not. So, he grabs his phone, navigates to the text-to-speech app he installed for similar encounters, and types in I don’t speak. When it says those words, there’s a soft noise of surprise from the… voice.

    “Oh! Sorry. How rude of me. Everyone here speaks, so I just assumed… Sorry. Really. You’re on Earth, right? What an interesting planet!” Berwald can’t decide if he’s curious or angry. Interesting planet? Indirectly, the voice told him he’s “interesting” for not speaking. He has a feeling that word means something closer to “I’d like to observe” for them. Still, he’ll give them a chance. What do you want? “Oh! Right! That’s easy! I’d like my drone back. Please. You humans say that when you want something, right? Please?” It’s said to be polite. “Ah! Whatever that means. Well? Can I have it back? I was aiming for Mercury.” Berwald’s brows shoot up. “What? Is that not possible?”

    Apparently, this thing does have a receiving camera. Which makes him wonder… Did you watch me sleep? “That’s not an answer to my question.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “I can see I’m not getting an answer until you know. Yes. I watched you sleep. Humans are such interesting creatures! Why’d you take off your face glass thingies to sleep though? Seems like you need them to see. Why not wear them while you sleep, so you can wake up seeing?” The voice obviously knows very little about humans. They break. And no, it’s not possible to give your drone back. I don’t know how to use this thing. The invisible speakers crackle at the heavy sigh the… alien(?) does. “That sucks. I’ll have to come retrieve it myself. Please wait where you are! I’ll be there soon!” And it goes back to being a sphere. One that’s no longer glowing, in fact.

    What, exactly, just happened? He flips the object over and over and over in his hands, trying to find a seam again. Nothing. But obviously there’s one somewhere. A speaker, a camera, a hologram maker, a GPS, and who knows what else is stored in this thing. He should take it to the government. He should throw it back into the forest. Whatever he does, he shouldn’t leave it in his house until the alien comes to retrieve it. But that’s exactly what he does. It’s probably because he’s in shock. He places it back on his nightstand, then continues the day like nothing ever happened. Cook, clean, knit, cook, clean, crochet, cook, cle-

    “HETHAM.” Well that’s not part of his after-dinner cleaning. He dries off his hands and walks out the side door, closest to where he heard the sound. It’s night again; about twenty four hours after first seeing the sphere in the sky, to be exact. There’s a man dangling from his gutter system. He knows immediately this is the alien he spoke to earlier. Berwald wasn’t expecting him to be so attractive. Even upside down, he’s enchanting. His hair is white as snow, his skin only a few shades tanner, and his eyes a shocking ruby red. His facial and body features are decently sculpted as well. He shouldn’t be looking at his guest that way! He should be helping him down! Them? He’s not sure what pronouns an alien that looks like a human man goes by. Anyway, not important! He rushes to aid them, trying to internalize the pain at seeing his expensive gutter system ruined. Once they’re on the ground, upright, they give him the biggest grin he’s ever seen. It makes his cheeks hurt. “Thanks! I think that’s what you use here? I’m very new to Earth customs! Where’s my drone?” Berwald glances at the sky discreetly, looking for some sort of transportation device. “Oh, you won’t see anything. I teleported here! I was meant to appear next to my drone, but I guess I miscalculated.” Berwald scrunches up his nose in distaste. He’s thankful for the miscalculation. Having an alien appear in his room would be too much for him to handle.

    “Hey, why don’t you talk, anyway? I thought only humans that couldn’t hear didn’t speak.” He rubs at his temples; he already has a headache. This is why he lives alone! People are loud. Animals are loud. He’s sensitive to that. His therapist told him he has Hearing Sensory Overload, but it feels like more than that. “Why aren’t you responding? Do you not have that cool speak thingie? Here, I’ll help!” They swipe something from their pocket, and hold it up to Berwald’s forehead.

    “How annoying.” “They’re so loud, it hurts.” “I’m mute. That means I don’t talk, hearing or not.” “God, they’re attractive!” “Damned hot.” His internal voice echoes out all at once. “Enough!” He thinks, hearing it at the same time. “I don’t want your mind-to-speech thing invading my thoughts anymore. Turn it off.” The alien sticks their bottom lip out in a pout, but turns the device off without complaint. Thank you he mouths, signing it at the same time. The alien glances down at his watch, then nods. Probably a universal translator of some sort.

    “You’re welcome! I didn’t know humans could think so many things at once! I guess it makes sense. You’re about as smart as my kind. Though you haven’t even started on a lot of the technology we’ve perfected.” They shrug then walk toward the door Berwald came out, letting themself in. The Swede follows after, deciding he’s going to un-learn English so something like this doesn’t ever happen again.

    “Oh… You live… Modestly.” They grimace at the woodstove in his kitchen. This causes Berwald to bristle. That’s his pride and joy! It’s been in his family for generations! He brought it back from the dead! “Hopefully this is just a little vintage corner!” It is, in fact, not. The rest of his house is similar to his kitchen; outdated but solid. “Oh… Well, at least you’re bound to have a cat or a dog! Most humans do! Come here, kitty kitty kitty! Or puppy! Come here!” Berwald shakes his head slowly at them. “No?” Their shoulders slump. “What a lonely life you must lead.” That makes his stomach twist uncomfortably. He’s not alone! He has his family. Both chosen and blood.

    “Hey. You’re better than you think. You’re worth more than you think. I understand why I lost control of my drone here now. Sometimes, our technology messes up when there’s a lot of sorrow around.” They step toward him with an extended hand, but don’t touch him. “You don’t have to be miserable just because you live in an overwhelming world.” Their words are so earnest, it makes his heart ache. No one’s ever noticed that before. No one’s ever mentioned his punishing himself for being so easily overwhelmed. But this… this stranger immediately knowing? It causes tears to come to his eyes. He wipes at them quickly, but it’s too late. “You don’t have to hide them from me. How long have you been hurting?” That’s a question he doesn’t know the answer to. How long has he been hurting?

~

    Months later, Berwald returns home to his partner Gilbert with a diagnosis for Autism Spectrum Disorder. It’s thanks to them that he was even considered for it. After their customary welcome home hug and a bit of quiet excitement at finally knowing, Berwald settles next to the large fish tank they recently bought together to knit. As he watches the fish chase each other, he’s filled with a warmth he wouldn’t have recognized before Gilbert crashed into his life; quite literally, might he add. It seems both like yesterday and years ago that they teleported into his gutter system and broken the wall he had so carefully constructed over years within a matter of minutes. But it was the first day of many he felt actually seen, instead of glanced over. And Gilbert was always the source of that feeling.

    After he had broken down that day, Gilbert had insisted they stay to help him. Neither of them had expected to fall in love, but they did. Gilbert visits home commonly, but the good thing about having a partner that can teleport anywhere in the universe in an instant is that Berwald never has to go to bed alone. And he always has physical support when he needs it, even if Gilbert is a galaxy away. That’s thanks to the drone that started all of this. He still doesn’t understand it, but at least he can call for Gilbert whenever. He might abuse that power a little too much. He just can’t help it! Gilbert makes him so happy.

   “I made your favourite meal. I knew how anxious you were about this, so I started cooking the moment you left. You do too much for me. It’s about time I paid you back. I love you. So very much.” They nuzzle their nose against Berwald’s ear, then his forehead, then his nose. He rolls his eyes, signs kiss?, and presses his lips to Gilbert’s when they nod. He lets out a contented sigh when they pull away. “Come eat. You can knit and watch the fish later.” They pull him up, and he goes willingly. It’s strange, having someone to share his daily routine with. But it’s definitely not unwelcome, even if it is much different from what it used to be. And ever-changing, for that matter. Life with Gilbert is always a surprise.

[rwbyremnants]

WARNINGS: kink club, petplay, exhibitionism, nyotaimori, hot tub, anal fingering, anal plug, safeword use, fantasizing, fingering, female ejaculation.

=Chapter 5

"And that is why there was a Snap in my story of a very flustered me with a cop car in the background."

Ruby had just been telling Winter the tale of the unfortunate interruption in her last venture with Penny on their way to the club, from start to finish. For a few days, Winter had been eager to find out just what it was all about, but Ruby insisted on keeping the story secret until they next met up at The Clamp. With Ruby's agreement, she set up for a session in public on the upper floor, a scene in public viewing. They opted for her comfort zone, petplay, and nothing all too extreme. Either way, it was a good stepping stone to become more confident in sessions, as they both thought.

And a great way to pick up tips by watching others. Looking around on the ground floor while everyone had their drinks, she was somewhat pleased with the atmosphere again. She never got to truly appreciate it last time, once her uncle had ruined the memory.

"Ahhh," Winter chuckled as they strode past the relatively mundane surroundings of the downstairs bar. "That's good to hear, though; given what you've told me about Penny, I'm glad she's pushing outside her comfort zone. Even if she decides at the end of this that she's still asexual."

"Well, even if it’s not gonna be a regular thing, I'm happy. When it happens, she's really good."

As they approached the stairwell toward the back, Ruby was beginning to grow nervous. Yet again, she would be back among all the strange and wonderful scenes happening above; the various kink plays and displays out for public to see. Who knew what she was going to find – and what she would be, for that matter?

Except that Winter did know what she would be. They both did.

"Glad to hear it. Now, just a reminder… once we enter pass through the door at the top of these stairs, only our safe word will stop me from treating you as Lady. Otherwise, you're my bitch and that's that. Anyone else is entitled to treat you however they want, and you have to respond to them; it's my duty as your owner to keep them from going too far. However, if I can't get to you and they make you feel too unsafe, the universal safe word for the club is 'Red Light' - which you will use in emergencies only. Is that clear?"

"Okay… 'Strawberry' to stop Lady, 'Red Light' to stop everything else; got it. So… I just drop the coat and get started?"

Tonight, Ruby had been wearing her attire all along underneath a long, baggy coat. It was at Winter's request before they attended, to make for a quick entrance in their play and for ease when she was to get out. But up until that point, she hadn't revealed it to Winter just yet.

"You do. We have to sign in, of course." She looked toward the woman, clad in both dark skin and dark smile, sitting behind the desk. "Princess and Lady."

"Very good; I thought we might not see the little one again. She seemed pretty unsure of herself the last time she was here." The smile might have been dark, but it wasn't malicious or mocking. "And do you need to use our coat check for that?"

"U-um… I'm in the gear under this. D-do I need to be upstairs first?" Clearly, she was nervous. Even with the woman's nod of reassurance, it took her swallowing and taking a few breaths in before she finally took of the coat.

And revealed the brand new outfit Winter had got for her. Unlike the old one, this suit was made from better quality material, that felt softer and more natural to the touch; comfortable. Its colour matched that of her hair, with the occasional red striping just like her streaks. But there was another feature that no doubt would have a use later: between the legs, hidden within the fur, was a long zipper that went from below Ruby's belly right to the top of her rear the other side.

"Very nice," the bouncer-slash-registrar observed with a nod of approval. "If you were in character already, I'd pet you myself. And I'll take your coats."

"My Lady's a good girl," Winter said softly as they passed the coat over, a gentle smile on her mouth as she began to remove her own. Winter was decked out in harsher Dom gear this time, complete with dulled metal spikes, shining black leather everywhere, buckles and studs and metal loops, and just enough cleavage so that it couldn't be ignored entirely. She was also wearing stiletto-heeled, open-toed boots that stretched all the way up to mid-thigh, and leather gloves that came up to mid-bicep with the index fingers cut out, so that they vaguely matched the boots after a fashion. The glimpses of flesh were milky-white and inviting, even if in small quantities. The look was completed by silver earrings, bracelets, and a ring with a small diamond in it on the exposed right finger.

"So, how does it start this time? Usually you just say 'begin play'." Ruby slid the last detail she had pulled from her pocket around her neck: a black leather collar made to fit her measurements, a silvery tag dangling from it – with the name “Lady” embedded in it with tiny diamonds, sparkling like stardust. Attached to that, a long chain lead with a leather strap on the end of it for Winter to hold.

"Not necessary," Winter said as she took the leash in her grip. "This time, it's walking in the door that begins play. Though I will want you down on all fours before we go through it, to make for a seamless beginning to the scene. Knee pads on? Oh, and… don't forget your shoes."

"Right… 'Shoes'." But these 'shoes' weren't to wear on her feet. Winter had again provided a pair of gloves for the evening. Padded mittens that matched the outfit, with no thumbs or anything to help hold items. Once they were on, she would be completely helpless to do nothing but obey each command. If she needed something pictured up, she would do it with her mouth. Sliding the knee pads on and the gloves later, she assumed the position on all fours, sitting as politely as possible next to Winter as she waited for her commands.

"Silly pup," Winter laughed as she knelt down. "I actually did mean 'shoes'; I was going to put the gloves on for you." With a quick flick, she took off Ruby's simple boat shoes, revealing toe socks that matched the patterns on the gloves.

"Oh… Heh, sorry." Ruby couldn't help but wriggle her toes once they were free; both to enjoy the freedom from the shoes, and for a small show for Winter. On cue, the Dom cleared her throat and stood up to avoid bothering about that subject at present.

"R-right," she sighed, shouldering the small leather backpack that had their additional supplies. "I care about you very much as a person; I want you to remember that before we go up these stairs and I start treating you like a mutt."

"Okay, right… but…" As Winter laid her hand on the door handle, about to open it, Ruby piped up just before she could go out, still sat patiently. "Is it okay if, like, once we have a room to ourselves, if I mess up… you forgive me?"

That caused Winter to turn and kneel down by her side, cupping her face in the hand not holding her leash. "No, I'm afraid not; unless you use the safe word, we won't be ending the scene until we come back down here. I will scold you if ‘Lady’ needs scolding. But keep in mind, if you do start to feel like you can't continue, we can end the scene. I want you to really get the full experience, fully-committed petplay, but not so much that you feel tortured. Let me know you need a break, and we'll either go upstairs to the private rooms, or to the recovery lounge in the basement." Then she kissed her forehead. "And either way, I'm definitely not going to hold a few mistakes against you once play has ended."

Unable to help herself, Ruby leant forward into the kiss, smiling contentedly. That was a relief, that Winter cared enough to let her know how intense the session would be before it went on, and how deep they were diving. It was going to be her first real session.

And the first taste of what it would be like with another Dom. As much as Ruby didn't want to, that was a step she was thinking of taking as of late; moving on to someone else in order to disregard her romantic feelings for Winter. It would be far easier than telling her the truth, especially when there would be so many consequences or ways it would make their arrangement weird. Just because Penny had given her the green light to date two women didn’t mean she was sure it was the best option; she owed it to herself and to Penny to explore all others before making a decision.

"Okay," Winter breathed, straightening again. "Are you ready to go into 'Lady mode'?"

Rather than answer, she returned her paws to the ground, and instead looked up with her tongue out, imitating a pant. "Arf!"

"Good girl," she whispered. Then, without further ado, she pushed the door open.

The scene room was just as varied and enticing as the last time Ruby had been there. So many things to see! Immediately noticeable was a tan-skinned woman with a blonde ponytail laid out on a table in the center of a room with a multitude of types of sushi arranged artfully all over her nude body, lying perfectly still so as not to disturb a single one. Even as they walked in, a man wearing very sparse leather straps was taking a piece, talking briefly to the girl before popping it in his mouth.

Ruby couldn't explore these many sights as herself; she had to do it as Lady, a dog. If she wanted to walk over to the various scenes, she would have to pull in that that direction and wait until Winter headed there first. Sniffing at the air, she played into the roll straight away, crawling forward toward the tanned woman, like a dog begging for food.

"Lady, behave," Winter warned, not yanking the leash but simply holding it fast when Ruby pulled against it. "Do you want to see the sushi woman? Do you, girl?" She was certainly curious of it, and knew too well that dogs went straight for food. Nodding, she yipped yet again. Winter couldn't help but smile. She was doing so well! "Alright, alright, let's go."

Following along, holding the leash just taut enough that Ruby couldn't dash ahead, she approached. "Do you mind if Lady has one?" she asked the woman.

"Not at all! Take one from my shoulders. They're, uh, about to fall off." It seemed this was probably her first session as well, given how nervous she was, even if she looked like a strong woman. She just managed to look down toward Ruby, who was sniffing around that area, and gave another smile. "Cute suit she's wearing!"

"Lady, down!" Winter hissed, tugging the leash. She never pulled too harshly, much less jerked the chain; only gentle corrections. The correction soon brought Ruby back in line. "Thank you. She's so excitable, I haven't brought her here before." Then she selected one of the small bits, a more Western sushi without fish, looked at Ruby with the bit held aloft, and said, "Open?"

Seeing the piece of sushi Winter held, Lady looked up intently and sat up on her knees, bringing her arms up into a begging stance.

"Open!" Winter repeated in a baby-talk voice, twitching the piece back and forth as she would for a real dog, to make sure she held her attention. As asked, she opened her mouth wide, waiting for Winter. Grinning, she popped it in and cooed, "Good girl!" as she scratched the hair behind her ear, trying her best to avoid disturbing the headband with her ears attached. Then to the "plate" next to her, she asked, "Do you have any pets?"

Chuckling as the pet happily chewed her food, she looked back up to Winter. "Just a Macaw. She's a great alarm clock, but gets super defensive over me if I bring anyone back home. Makes finding a boyfriend very difficult when she keeps biting them!"

"Well, someone's obviously taking good care of you, even if it's not a boyfriend," she observed, looking over the array of perfectly-balanced sushi. "The Macaw didn't do all this!"

Still laughing, she just managed to stop herself before the sushi moved too much. "Afraid not by a boy, though! I had some help from one of the girls. She said she had some time to kill while her boyfriend was getting ready so she helped me out. Long black hair, I think she called herself 'Kitten'?"

Winter's lips pursed as she glanced over the selection, walking slowly alongside the table. "Hmm, I think I'm familiar with 'Kitten', yes. Lady might chase her if we run into her tonight, though." Then she selected one of the nigiri bits balanced on the girl's ankle. "May I?"

"Sure! The sooner it's gone, the sooner I can wander around again. There was a stud around here I might chase when this is over. I got a thing for bears, even if most of the ones here wouldn’t have a thing for me."

But as their conversation continued, Ruby was looking toward the other scenes in the room. There was no sign of Torchwick, the Dom whom her uncle warded away when she first attended. That was a relief – even moreso than Qrow himself being absent.

However, there were a couple toward the back that had caught her eye. A woman with long, black hair, a swath of it swooping in front of one of her eyes. She was currently teasing a silver haired gentleman, who was bound to the shackles on the wall. Running her hands down his body, teasing the well toned abs with one hand, and holding a cat-o-ninetails in the other. That was a much more intense session, Ruby wagered.

"…Dom who could do the job for you," Winter was saying to the plate-woman. "I'll… well, I'll give you the information later; I'm dog-sitting at present." When she turned back to Lady, she said, "Isn't that right?" before noticing that she was distracted. "What is it, girl?"

She was still watching the woman with whom she had just established eye contact. The Dom sent a wink in her direction, seeming to revel in the fact that Ruby was blushing so much in response to it. So much that she barely noticed Winter calling her.

Until the lead was tugged lightly, and she looked up toward Winter again, immediately letting out an "Arf!"

"NOT her," Winter said shortly, glaring across the room herself. She seemed to spend a moment trying to decide something, then smiled down at Ruby and said, "Mommy doesn't like that woman. Does Lady want more sushi?"

That was very odd. Ruby understood her dislike for Torchwick, but not for anyone else in the club. Did she dislike this Dom just because of how much more intensive her play was? Or just because she was looking at Ruby? It seemed like a petty reason, if so. But she could ask about that later, when she wasn't Lady. Finally turning to face Winter properly, she nodded, assuming the begging position again.

"Does Lady like fish?" she asked next; this was at least a yes-or-no question, one that she could answer as a dog. Ruby nodded, continuing the begging position for longer and letting her tongue hang from her mouth. Which the tanned girl also understood, and smiled.

"The tuna rolls are on my stomach. Give her an extra one from me!"

"Of course," Winter laughed, already forgetting her recent displeasure about the Dom across the room in favour of fetching a tuna roll for her pup. Again, she held it just inches from Ruby's face and said, "Open!"

And Ruby did obediently, eagerly accepting the morsel when it was placed into her mouth, and then the second piece. It really was a unique treat to have in the middle of a scene. Of course, Ruby knew all too well, the more intense treats could come later.

Deciding a little praise wouldn't be remiss, Winter knelt down, scrubbing at Ruby's hair and neck with all of her fingertips as she gushed, "My Lady's such a good girl! Yes she is, yes she is!"

From the distance, Ruby could just make out the other Dom rolling her eyes before she returned to the man in the shackles. Their dislike for each other was mutual? What exactly happened between the two to provoke that?

Play now, ask later, she reminded herself, looking to Winter's attentions. Now… what does Zwei do when you do this to him? Remembering quite easily, she squinted her eyes to show her enjoyment, and began to thump one of her feet against the floor. She had no tail to wag, so it was as good as she could get.

That brought about a delighted laugh from both Winter and the plate-woman. Leaning down, she kissed Ruby's cheek and whispered, "Good Lady" so softly that it was a more private praise than the louder words from before. And in another attempt to seem more doglike, she smiled back at her, before leaning in toward her cheek. She couldn't return the favour as a kiss, but could do a dog kiss just as easily. And so let her tongue out slightly, licking her cheek.

This prompted an instant giggle, one both mildly surprised and pleased. "That tickles, Lady!" Then she pinched her cheeks between her thumb and fingers, squishing slightly as a real dog owner would do. "Such a pretty puppy!"

All the while, Ruby could just grin back in response. It was reassuring to hear she was doing a good job, even if her cheeks were being pinched rather firmly in her grip. Once she let go she crawled back slightly, gesturing to explore the rest of the club.

"Alright, alright, we're off. It was nice chatting with you, Robyn," she told the sushi-woman, taking one last California Roll off her left breast for herself.

"You, too! See you around!"

That was the last thing she could call out before they walked away toward the back of the room. The main events seemed to be the sushi woman and the shackled people toward the back, but that left the question; what was happening in the hot tub area? Ruby definitely remembered seeing it before, and when she spotted it again she wandered toward it happily, trying not to pull too hard.

"Alright, alright, be patient," her owner chuckled - and after a particularly strong pull against the lead, she commanded, "Stay!" Such a pull prompted a rather quick yelp from her pet, but she did as commanded, waiting on her hands and knees perfectly still. "You have to let Mommy catch up," she scolded very mildly as she walked up beside her. Then they continued to the hot tub together, only to find…

"Ah, Glynda!" Winter called out with a gentle smile. "Fancy meeting you here!"

Sure enough, there she was in the hot tub. Wearing extremely little, and the vague parts she was wearing were leather; she grinned back toward Winter immediately, distracted from the other few ladies in the tub. "Princess! I didn't think you were coming tonight. Rooster not here with you?"

Winter glanced nervously at Ruby, glad to see her "pet" wasn't looking at her at the moment. The last thing she wanted was to have a discussion about Rooster – especially if she had caught on to who that was the last time they met in the club. "Not tonight. I've brought Lady along for an outing; she needs to stretch her legs, play with others a little. Don't you, Lady?"

"Arf Arf!" Ruby said gleefully, sitting herself down for a moment as she looked up toward Glynda. Who looked down at her startled for a moment, with rather wide eyes, and then back up to Winter. It looked as though she was about to comment on just who Ruby was in relation to Rooster, but smiled instead. "I see. Well, is that all you have planned for the evening, or will you be headed upstairs in a while?"

"We might, if she wants to play up there." Then she patted the side of the hot tub, which had quite a bit of purchase to lean upon. "Up, Lady! I want you to meet Glynda!"

Having to blink for a moment while the command registered, Ruby finally hopped up at the tub, trying her best to maintain the dog like posture as she put her 'paws' on the side of it to support her upright position. And as she leant in, Glynda fussed just under her chin, and then behind the ears very carefully.

"She's doing very well! Is this her first session?"

"Her first in public," Winter said, as if Ruby weren't even there. As if she were a dog who could barely understand a few spare English words. "We've practiced off and on at home, but thought it was time for a true session. And what better place than here?"

"Well, there's not exactly anywhere else you can do it in public. Laws and all that." Glynda was mirroring the attitude as she continued to fuss over her, seeming used to this. It was second nature. Giving a little kiss on the top of her head, she added, "Well the outfit is adorable, and so well made!"

"Isn't it? Much better than the last one I bought her." As she might have with a real dog, Winter bent down and eased Ruby up until all four limbs were perched on the side of the hot tub, a hand remaining on her side to help her keep balance. It seemed she was slightly startled by those actions as she frantically looked back to what Winter was doing, managing to just balance on the edge as she looked between her master and Glynda. "Care to inspect further? Pet elsewhere?"

"Well, I am somewhat curious of a few things… she doesn't mind being petted anywhere, does she? Has a safety word and all that?"

Those words were slightly worrying to Ruby. If she had to check that, what was she going to do?

"I'm not Torchwick," she muttered, and she and Glynda shared a bitter laugh. "No, no, she knows she's expected to play with others. Within reason," she warned the other woman very mildly.

"Oh of course! I just want to explore what this suit is like more than anything."

And with that, there were a pair of hands beginning to fuss over Ruby's body. At first, it was just over her back, where she scratched between her shoulder blades and the down her spine, both actions prompting her foot to lightly thump once again. But the fuss didn't stop there.

"It's such good quality fur…" Glynda complimented, fussing underneath, against Ruby's front. In truth, she really was doing as she stated, inspecting and admiring the suits features, but when that involved petting a few areas over her chest to inspect the fit, it certainly had the 'pooch' blushing rather intensely.

And that intensified when she felt a hand dip a little lower. "Oh! The zip goes from front to back. Clever. There's even space for if she wanted a proper plug tail. That's cute."

To help offset the more intimate petting, Winter's hand went into Ruby's hair, caressing her scalp with gentle fingertips. "I did notice that. Thought it would be a sound investment. Also…" She reached down and wormed a finger under the leg hole just below Ruby's buttcheek and tugged. "The material has some elasticity, which you don't typically see when there's fur involved."

"Firm fit and leaves room for things to get a little rough, exciting… You'll have to give me the maker's number; I've been wanting to get back into petplay for a little while."

Much to Ruby's relief, the hands finally left Ruby's body. Breathing quietly to herself, she looked over to Winter, before innocently pawing at her arm to get her attention.

"Of course, of course." But Winter ignored the pawing, at first. Much like any pet owner would when in conversation with another human. "If you and Lady continue to get along, perhaps I'll take you both for a walk in the future. You and I have been meaning to arrange another session for some time now, haven't we?"

"I do like your sessions, you're a good Dom. And… I hate to admit this, but I also rather enjoy it when Rooster is involved. I have a slight weakness for seeing a Dom get overpowered."

The pawing only continued. Whilst it was a reassuring way of showing Ruby was oblivious to the conversation, it seemed to grow all the more needy.

"Everyone has their kinks," she laughed. "At least, everyone here does." Then she bent slightly to look into Ruby's eyes directly. "What is it, Lady? Do you need to do your business? Need a drink of water?"

"Strawberry."

It was whispered very quietly, as though she was ashamed of herself for needing to say it; but that was their safety word. It seemed the intimate petting from Glynda and overall display to the rest of the club was finally taking its toll on her, making her too nervous to continue.

"What is it?" Winter asked in obvious concern.

"N-no, just… I wanna go upstairs now. Not stop completely. Sorry, I just didn’t… know how to…"

Winter's face had gone white when she first heard the word, but after Ruby followed up, she began to breathe again. "Alright. We can go." Trying to suppress her worry, she smiled at Glynda. "Another time? Enjoy your soak, Snowmane."

"Oh, I'm sure these two will help me enjoy it." She looked back toward the other two women in the tub, both of which held up their thumbs in approval.

Now that it was clear they were going to be heading out of view, Ruby hopped back down again, waiting patiently by her side to begin. Even if she had said the word, she would continue up until they were out of sight.

"Come along, Lady," she said, making a couple of kissy noises as she began to walk toward the stairwell to take her up to the private rooms. Soon enough, they were ascending, and Winter was glancing through the windows to see which ones were free.

"Here we are," she sighed, opening one of the doors. "In you go, girl, come on!"

Right away, Ruby 'ran' inside, sparing a couple of stray yips for effect before she was in the room. Once there, she sat herself on the ground, and waited for Winter to close the door…

Before she let out a long, shaky sigh. Sitting herself in a regular, much more human position, she tried to run her hands over her face; only to find they were still in the large plush gloves. So much for that.

"I'm so sorry," she uttered, continuing to take a few breaths. "It just got to be too much, after a while, I mean. Kinda needed a break."

But what Winter said when she turned around wasn't what Ruby had expected. Rather than scolding her outright, or reassuring her, she asked a simple question, delivered in a flat tone. "Don't you trust me?"

"I… what?" For some reason, that struck more fear into her than any scolding could. If those ears were real, they'd be pinned right back. Had she disappointed Winter? "Y-yes… Of course I do."

"I wouldn't have let anything to happen to you down there. You could have just hopped down and tugged me toward the stairs if… I mean, when you used the safeword, I was really scared that you were hurt, okay? Or that I messed up, or…"

"No no, you were doing great!" she reassured, scooting herself toward where Winter stood instead. She had overcompensated for her slight discomfort by the hot tub, and worried her too much. Why was this whole situation so awkward with the addition of her feelings? She would never feel this bad if it was anyone else she let down! Sighing, she looked to the ground. "I didn't know how to do it in character, not without getting scolded; I just needed to get outta there."

Winter took a breath, running her fingers through her own bangs as she allowed her haunted eyes to close. "You're fine… it's fine. Sorry about that, I just, I thought you were really upset down there or something, and I felt worried all the way back up here."

"And I'm really, really sorry," she stressed, still staring toward the ground. This was getting them nowhere; her own feelings for Winter truly were getting in the way of them having a good session, ruining their chances of doing what she intended when they started this whole thing; preparing her for sessions of play. Maybe it was about time she found another Dom. It would certainly make it all a lot easier.

"I'll leave if you want me to," she whispered, about to try and shuffle the gloves off. "I get if you don't wanna finish this session anymore."

"What? Why on earth would I want that? I was just worried that you…" She fell to her knees, sliding her arms around Ruby's back and bringing her in close. "I was just worried about you. But if you're alright, then that's what matters."

The sudden hug stopped Ruby's actions completely. Instead, she froze up, staying perfectly still in Winter's grip. Oh but how good it felt to be there, in a loving, genuine embrace by her. It was something else entirely… Finally she allowed herself the pleasure of hugging her back, snuggling against her rather closely as she did so, trying to clutch with the paws.

After another minute or so, Winter kissed the side of Ruby's head and whispered, "This was a good first session. But you have to learn to put your full trust in your Dom a little more than that, whether it's me or another Dom. During petplay, what they say goes; you can resist as much as a dog would, of course, but in the end you have to remember they are your master." Another brief kiss. "And if you were worried about Glynda… well, I know you don't know her, but you have to trust that I do. Otherwise, I'd never have let her lay a finger on you."

"Okay… I guess I'm still just a newbie to all this." She managed to giggle nervously, finally looking back up to Winter with a brighter expression again. That's what these types of relationships and sessions were all about in the end. Trust. And that trust was something Ruby needed to work on more.

"The goal," Winter went on, in a more businesslike tone and without any of the raw emotion from before, "is for you really to be able to play with others. Obviously, I would not have let Glynda do anything more than she did today; not on your first day out. But, in the future… it wouldn't be uncommon for several other patrons of the Clamp to want to pet you there, at least through your suit. It's expected and seen as part of the game."

"Well, I mean, I could handle petting fine! Normal petting! But then she was suddenly poking around the zipper and mentioning plugs…" Unfortunately she looked down again, and lightly shuddered at the thought. "The nerves just… kinda ganged up on me, y’know? I didn't think anybody would be going that deep but you."

"I understand. So long as you try to learn what will be expected of you in the scene room. Other Doms would be more cross with you for not performing; I'm not cross at all, but I am worried about how they'll scold you if you don't get more comfortable in this role, that's all." However, she was smirking. "As for me going deep… I can definitely handle that."

There was that smirk again. That mischievous smirk that usually meant something exciting was going to be happening very soon. "Go on?"

Still wearing the same expression, she slowly took off the backpack and lowered it to the ground. "You didn't think we'd come up here to shoot the breeze, did you?"

"Oh boy…" Unable to help herself, she bit her lip and flushed red again. This would be the first time they had a session without a drink beforehand, and their first somewhat in public. That was assuming that Winter had left the viewing window open for people to freely glance if they wished. But she told herself that if she let Penny get her off in the car, then this shouldn’t be much worse. Watching patiently as Winter rummaged through the contents, she asked, "What are we trying this evening, then?"

Rather than answer with words, Winter raised her hand to display something Ruby had seen very early on in their time together: a black anal plug with a fluffy black-and-red tail hanging down from it. Yet again, Ruby's eyes snapped open wide. The matching tail, right there. She had managed to escape it their first time together, but this second session…

"Okay, this is gonna be new-new," Ruby felt the need to say, continuing to blush. "I've never even tried a finger up there before…"

"Well, you're not going to be new-new after today." When Ruby winced again, Winter smiled. "In one way or another. I'm going to try working you up to the plug, but if it doesn't happen, that's okay. Still want to try, though; at least get you used to the idea."

"Okay… okay, this is happening." There were a few deep breaths from Ruby as she composed herself again. This was going to be intense! Multiple people had told her anything in that region would feel very different, and far tighter than what she was used to. "Just, one thing. I know you want me to get used to it as a normal session, but…" Nervously, she looked down again. "F-for this, can I, um, drop the dog act? Cause I'll be very… distracted."

"Yeah, I think that's understandable." Then she asked very mildly, not wanting to sway Ruby in either direction, "Would you like a brief cuddle session first, so you're a little more relaxed, or do you want to get right to it?"

Ruby wanted to say “yes”. In fact, if there was the offer to just cuddle for the rest of the evening with Winter rather than continue, she would feel tempted to repeat that beautiful, intimate session between them both, cuddling in bed, falling asleep in each other's arms…

No no no, what are you thinking about that for? she chided herself internally, having to shake her head. You know that'll make things awkward. Winter doesn't do relationships, get that into your head. And with that, she shook her head, smiling briefly.

"Let’s get right into it."

"Good. Now, then… do you want to keep your paws on? I'd like you to, so we can get straight back to play if you get the tail squared away in there." Even as she asked, her hand was trailing down Ruby's stomach, heading toward the zipper.

For a moment, Ruby looked to the paws again. Sure enough with a small flex, she smiled to herself. "They're too cute to take off."

That prompted a genuine grin from the Dom. "They really are cute, and you're cute wearing them." The sound of the zipper cut her off from saying anymore, and she kept it going all the way underneath and back to the suit’s clip-on tail. "Still doing alright?"

Wriggling to part the material slightly where it was now unzipped, she nodded. There wasn't much else she could do other than settle in a comfortable position against her Dom, trusting in her to handle all the details.

"Okay, hmm… settle on your back. I think that would be easier." Winter began to help her ease backward, one hand between her shoulder blades. Eventually she was resting on the ground while raising both her paws yet again into the begging position. It seemed the easiest while Winter was about to prepare her body.

"What does it feel like?" she couldn't help but ask. "If you've ever tried it, I mean."

"Oh, I have, believe me," she chuckled lightly, edging the material open wide as she settled in to tease her. "It's… I don't know how to describe it. More powerful, more… I don't know. Your mind will try to tell you it's hurting, because it's a feeling it's not used to, but if you really focus you'll realize it's not pain you're feeling. Discomfort at its worst, but more typically pleasure."

"Okay, that sounds strange…" As she felt Winter's fingers beginning to touch her skin, she wriggled back and forth again, before settling with her feet against the ground, spread right apart. "Like, I know that for people with dicks, they have a prostate… I just never got what people like us get out of it."

"You'll see." Then she reached into the bag again. "I'm going to get some gloves; it'll make cleanup easier, since I'm also going to use a little flavoured lube. Your butt is going to smell like cherries – literally."

"Flavoured lube? I thought that was just for dildos and stuff! Why would you…" Seemed her sub was going to learn all sorts of things today. Not just what it would feel like to have fingers poking where the sun don't shine. Keeping her legs apart, she tried to look down between them to watch as Winter slid the gloves on. Once her hands were prepared, Winter pulled out the tiny tube of lubricant and smiled over at her.

"Now, this will be cold, of course, but I can hold it between my legs for a minute for you." Which she did immediately, pressing the bottle in between her thighs. "Might not make much difference, but it's worth a shot, right?"

"You just want to put things between your legs or something." But as soon as that came out, Ruby slapped her paws across her mouth, face flushing red yet again. "I'm sorry! When I’m nervous, I don't exactly think before words come out my mouth!"

The smirk was bemused, at least. "I do, but not at the moment. Right now, I want to focus on what's going between your legs." To drive her point home, she began stroking over Ruby's hindcheeks with one hand.

"Eeee-oh…" Beginning to relax, she couldn't help but shudder lightly when hands went over her skin, gliding softly to stimulate her. Allowing her hands to fall again, she returned them to the same begging position. Seemed that aspect of play was going to remain.

"Good… you like that?" Then she took the tube out from her thighs, feeling it had grown very slightly warmer. "Alright, I think we may be ready."

Displaying some dexterity, she managed to unscrew the cap of the lube with the one hand alone, fingers twisting in order to dislodge it. Slowly nodding in agreement, Ruby smiled rather happily to herself, biting her lip to stop any stray moans or faint calls of joy. She watched as Winter slowly prepared two of her fingers, coating them in the dense fluid. It smelled nice even from this distance, just like Winter said.

"Okay…" Again, the hand returned, but this time only a thumb brushed one cheek, in the general area. "I won't begin until you say 'tickle my ass'. It's a silly phrase, I know - but this way, it's only happening when you tell me to do it."

"'Tickle my ass'… wow, really?" she asked jokingly. But in truth, she was already prepared for such actions. Winter was taking such good care to relax and calm her down, why wouldn't she be? With a small smile, she leant back, and repeated the phrase again. "Tickle my ass."

"Your wish is my pleasure, Lady." And without any further delay, Winter pushed one lube-coated fingertip up against Ruby's tightly-puckered opening.

"Hoo! Ohhh, it’s so weird," she panted, letting out a small series of moans in response to the finger attempting to enter her. It really was tight, even though she felt Winter circling the muscle over and over again to try and loosen it.

"Just relax," her Dom said in a low, calming voice as she continued to tease in a slow, lazy circle. "Mmm, I haven't played with an ass this tight in a long time. But I can open it… just you wait and see."

"Mmmfff! Y-you're pretty confident of that, huh?"

But the efforts were working. Gradually, the muscle of her sub was beginning to twitch against the finger trying to make its way inside it, trying to resist opening itself completely to her, but it was somewhat useless. Each twitch was causing it to become even looser.

"Oh… oh that's so…" Strange. Winter was barely penetrating her, but she could feel the tingles going through her body. The barest hints of both pain and pleasure mixed into one, leaving an equally confusing sensation. But one that was rather enjoyable. Keeping back a moan, she asked, "W-was it like this f-for you?"

"Not like this precisely; my backdoor was given a more… sudden and unexpected lesson." Her smile was lopsided now. "Though I did come to appreciate it once I got over the shock."

"O-oh… Right…" When the finger began to press in harder, Ruby found herself wincing. She was still unsure what to make of the whole ordeal. Did she enjoy it? Or was she just putting up with it for Winter's sake? The possibility was both, that she was enjoying it because it was Winter. Had it been anyone else poking there, she probably wouldn't be as accommodating.

But Winter was determined to make this as pleasurable as she could for her sub. Leaning down, she left a soft kiss on the inner thigh, humming loud enough so it could be heard as she did so. Anything to help her accept the finger more readily.

"Y-yeah… Definitely glad I d-dropped the dog act for this," she mused quietly, continuing to bear the treatment of her rear end as it loosened all the more. Again, she was still confused, still unable to comprehend the feeling.

Until the tip slid in further, and she gasped.

"Ooohhh," Winter cooed, letting the finger come to a halt when she heard the little gasp. "I'm inside your ass, Lady. How is it?"

"I-it's…" Eyes shutting rather firmly, she shuddered at the sensation, feeling her muscles spasm against the finger again. "I-it's… so weird."

"In a good way?" Another long, lingering kiss on her thigh, one in which the lips began to knead upon the flesh gratefully, beyond happy to be doing what she was doing.

"In a… I dunno just yet." Yet again there were a few more twitches of her leg, all while she was trying to understand what she was feeling down below. Even as Winter pushed in that bit further, she was still unsure, still quivering.

Glancing down, Winter let out a soft chuckle. "Your body doesn't seem to mind in the slightest. Maybe it's ahead of your brain."

"M-mayb- aaaah!" Even further inside, she felt the fingers prying, opening her up. Winter certainly was patient, given how long it was taking her to grow accustomed to it. And this was just one finger! How much more intense was this going to get with something larger?

But Winter didn't seem to need to progress to anything larger - not just yet. Once the finger was a little deeper in, she began to wiggle it very slightly, just to see what Ruby's reaction might be.

"Mmmfff! H-hah!" That was even stranger than before! Feeling the tip of Winter's finger press against different sections of her inside was really taking its toll, sending yet more tingles through her skin. How could she bear this as often as she claimed? Did Weiss do this? Did Yang?

"Oh, just you wait until we work up to the plug," Winter teased her very mildly. "But… wow, you look like you're really loving this." When Ruby stared at her with wide eyes, she shrugged. "Not in a way you expected; I can see that, too. But I can usually tell who's going to be a butt-slut and who isn't during their first time playing back there. And you, Lady…" Her finger writhed and pushed deeper. "You're just getting started."

Yet another shaky release of breath. A butt-slut? Her? She could never imagine herself asking Penny for this, or any other Dom in the future; but it seemed almost like a requirement for the club. After all, it was something Glynda commented on straight away without even thinking, and likely something everyone took part in no matter what the gender. But was it really what she wanted and enjoyed?

The breathing was so shaky that Winter paused, finger nearly all the way in, and kissed Ruby's leg again. "Relax. Breathe deeper. Let yourself accept it. I promise you, I've had this done to me more times than I can count, and it's all about not fighting it."

"Okay… O-okay…" But she couldn't stop herself! No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't stop the quivering in her breath, the spasming of her muscle against the finger that was invading. Everything felt so unusual, so tight. Even after five minutes of weathering the treatment, Winter's sub was still unsure if she liked this or not.

"Still so tight," Winter observed, biting her lip as she began to slide the finger in and out a little. Clearly, she was surprised that Ruby hadn't loosened up as much as she had been expecting, but was no less determined to make it happen.

"W-winter…" She couldn't help herself. When the finger began to move back and forth inside her, the moan just slid out. Still confused, still concerned of what was happening to her body. There was just so much for her to handle.

Okay, try not to think about it, she attempted to think to herself, biting her lip. If you're still this worried when it's the plug, THEN use the word. For now, just relax, will you?!

In a sing-song voice, Winter began to coo, "Lady, Lady, my little butt-slut…" Then she giggled as she wriggled the finger. It really wasn't moving all that much when it came down to it, but definitely enough that it could not be ignored.

"Hnnn!" Gritting her teeth, she felt her muscles twitch yet again. It truly was too intense for her to ignore, and the teasing was only making it worse. Toes curling in her socks, she asked, "H-how long… Does this take? U-until you try t-the…"

"I could try it now," she assured her. "You've opened up enough, but I didn't think you were ready yet. You're so nervous!" Another kiss on the thigh, this one longer, very tender. "Don't you want to open up for Princess?"

"I-I…" She was still unsure. Although… trying the plug would certainly prove if she really did like it or not, if she were to take something far bigger. Closing her eyes, she nodded gently. "L-let's try now."

Smiling down at her, she whispered, "Okay. Just remember your safe word." Then she eased back, holding the finger inside of her as she reached back to the bag, nipping out the tail.

"Now, this is going to be very sudden, but I'm going to pull my finger out and replace it with the plug, up to the finger's width. See how it's tapered?" She held it up so Ruby could see how it went from a thinner point to a wider bulge. "I'll stop it there for a minute, and then we'll work it further in, widening your ass as we go."

Cheeks flushing red once again, Ruby looked at the plug in her hand. Compared to a finger, it seemed huge. How on earth was she expected to take all of that and leave it there?! How could anyone, even? But she had to try. Even if she didn't end up liking it, she had to try for her partner. Giving a small nod, she held her legs right back for Winter to work her magic.

Nodding to herself, Winter laid the plug on Ruby's thigh. "Hold this for me a moment."

Then she brought up the tube of lube and drizzled just a tiny bit more onto its surface, some drips landing on her leg instead. Having to try and curl the paw around the tail, she secured it in place as best she could. Though yet again, she shuddered when feeling the liquid hitting her inner thigh. It had gotten slightly colder since it was first pressed there. But still, she did as best she could, holding the tail firm.

"There we are," Winter said, using her free hand to lube up the silicon length once she had put the tube back down. "Want to make sure this has as easy a time as possible." Then she picked it up by the base and brought it right up beside the buried finger. "Alright… three, two… one!"

And within just a few quick seconds, the finger was gone, and the tip was pressing against the already-loosened opening.

"H-haaaah!!!" Once more, Ruby's toes were curling in the paw print socks Winter had got for her. It was so much bigger than her finger already, and it had barely even entered her! And it was only going to get bigger, and delve deeper, widening her poor back door. Biting her lip once more, she tried to hold on while Winter pushed it that bit further, paws curling against the ground in an attempt to hang onto something.

"You're okay," she encouraged very gently, pausing when she saw how starkly Ruby was reacting. "I promise your body can take much bigger than this; it's very elastic back there. Especially at your age."

"I-it's so… S-so…" One of her legs was quivering. While the first finger had been bearable, just, this was so much more intense. But Winter wasn't stopping, and continued to push more of it into her body, widening her all the more. And again her breath was continuing to shake, continuing to get nervous. How did people do this on a regular basis?!

Again, Winter paused in the inward advance to turn it very slightly from side to side instead. "Relax your body completely, Lady. We're more than halfway there, just another inch and it will be in, and able to sit comfortably inside you."

But alas, Ruby couldn't. With those few turns, and a tiny bit more widening, she had enough. "S-strawberry!"

Winter spoke in exactly the same tone, as if she were still encouraging Ruby to take more - but what she said was, "Stop right where we are, or take it all the way out?"

Judging by how shaky her breath still was, and by how she was twitching in both her legs and the tight muscle around the object, the answer would come as no surprise. Still, she had to tell Winter herself, so shook her head lightly. "O-out…"

"Alright, taking it out now." Smoothly but quickly, she slid the object free of Ruby's behind.

Finally, she felt herself gradually begin to close back up again. Taking a deep breath, she took a moment to slow her breathing right down to calm herself. While disappointed she couldn't continue further, she could tell her body wasn't ready for such a feat.

"Sorry," she whispered once catching her breath. "I tried. I really tried…"

"You did wonderfully," Winter told her seriously, removing her gloves and laying them by her bag. "I told you I wanted us to try, and that's what we did. You didn't take it all, but you took most of it; that's really good, you know, and nothing to be ashamed of or to apologise for."

"Isn't this like a requirement though? Like a common thing?" she asked, letting her legs down at last as she looked back toward Winter. "Like, aren't pets supposed to have a tail or something? If I can't even do that, how can I-"

"Shhhh," Winter soothed her, petting the insides of her thighs again and pressing her lips against one of Ruby's fleshy cheeks. "We'll try again; it's over for tonight, but not over forever. But you're right, it's typical for pets to use plugs. However, if you tell your Doms you can't do it, they'll respect that - well, if they're a Dom worth a damn." Then she chanced a small smile. "Do you mind if we talk about it for a minute, though?"

For a moment, Ruby just looked in her direction. Either Winter was one in a million, or Ruby had fiercely misjudged the community she was getting involved in. She was so kind, so caring for her needs, and reassured her every step of the way. It was almost beautiful.

She was beautiful.

No, she wouldn't keep thinking about that. Not this evening. Tonight, her goal was to try and find another Dom after their play to avoid such feelings, so she could avoid hurting Winter and Penny. That didn't mean that they couldn't chat though. Nodding, she shuffled herself over instead, leaning against Winter as she sat with her. Sliding an arm around her shoulders, Winter accepted her head under her own, leaning her ear down against her crown.

"You liked that. I could tell. That's not saying you have to do it just because you liked it, or that you were ready for anything more. You're not on an 'anal schedule', so you can't fall behind, now, can you? I'm just telling you what I observed from your physical reactions."

Shuffling back and forth for a moment, Ruby found herself flexing her hind muscles again on instinct. It was strange to have something absent after the time Winter took to open her up, but still just as much a relief. Leaning back further into her, she let one of her hands drop on top of Winter's.

"I still don't know if I liked it," she confessed, shuffling lightly again. "It was so weird. Kinda uncomfortable, kinda hot? But like, I don't know if I could go any further than this."

"You can, I'm sure of it; it's just not something you're used to liking." Winter sighed. "I know I'm going to sound argumentative, and I'm sorry for that, but… chances are that if I don't say anything, you're going to go home, and you're going to drive yourself crazy worrying about whether you liked it or not, and wind up talking yourself out of trying it again for a long time. That's not what I want for my sub. So I'm hoping…" She took a breath, contemplating her words. "I'm hoping that if I can gently encourage you to think about it positively, that you will at least be open to trying it again soon."

"Maybe…" She bit her lip again nervously, looking off into the corner. "I guess that's me with a lot of my kinks. I'm just too scared of exploring them because they’re weird things to like, even if some are probably things I'll never try, anyway."

"I'll never judge you, or your reactions." She smiled pleasantly. "Remember what happened when you squirted on me? Did anything bad happen, anything at all? No. We're both still fine."

For a moment, Ruby was smiling mischievously. While they were talking, they could at least have some fun. "I'll bet I can surprise you with at least one of my kinks."

"I'll bet you can," Winter answered easily enough, rubbing along her arm consolingly. Then she drew back a few inches. "Wait, was that meant to be some kind of challenge?"

Looking up toward her instead, the mischievous smirk only continued. "It can be, if you want me to try and surprise you?"

"Alright, but…" She glanced back at Ruby's behind, then leaned forward. "Let's make the stakes something non-sexual. If I'm surprised, you win. If I'm not, I win. The winner…" Her lips pulled into a wicked little grin. "The winner gets to buy two ice creams of whatever flavor they want, and the loser HAS to eat theirs. No exceptions."

"Wait, so the loser can’t back out of eating the winner’s choice? So like, if you wanted to buy mint, I have to eat it?" It didn't seem a particularly major bet, but enough to pose some sort of a threat, if it meant eating a disgusting flavour. Nodding, she grinned. "Deal."

"See, you made a fatal mistake; you told me which flavor to make you eat. But to even the odds, I'm not particularly fond of anything with nuts." But she was chuckling, sitting back from Ruby. "Alright, what's this fetish you have?"

For a moment, Ruby paused. Was she really about to do this? This was something that Penny didn't even know, and she was about to tell a Dom that wouldn't be her Dom for too much longer. But what did she have to lose? Besides, Winter had proven time and time again she could be trusted.

"Okay, so it has a story to it," she began, making sure she was facing Winter. "So once in school, I got detention from my art teacher. It was nothing major, I just forgot my homework, and I had to stay behind. No one else was there though, just me. It was winter - um, the season, not the you - so the room was a little chilly, and she lit some candles to try and make the place feel warmer, y'know?"

“What kind of crummy school didn’t have adequate heating?” Winter laughed. But the tale wasn't done yet; Ruby continued.

"This teacher is one I kinda had a crush on anyway. She was stern, but fair, and I really, really liked that. I was somewhat distracted anyways, so when she came over to help me…" She shuffled once again, clearly preparing herself for the last part. "She accidentally knocked one of the candles over, and the wax went all over my hand and arms. I dunno why, like it hurt, but it also felt really really good. But that and the fact she did it, was just… yeah."

Winter blinked a few times. "Oh, hot wax? Wow, I… did not figure you for the pain-kink type. Even if wax isn't very high on the-" Then she slapped a hand over her mouth, realizing what she had just admitted.

And Ruby simply grinned intensely. "HAH! Knew that'd surprise you!"

"Damn, really put my foot in it this time," Winter grumbled, folding her arms over her chest. "Very well, I won't back out of our bet; you win."

But in return, Ruby only giggled. The least she could do now that Winter admitted defeat was lean in, giving a small kiss on her cheek. "Well, I think the teacher thing ties into it, too, just to let you know. Then again, I said from the beginning that was a thing of mine."

"Tell me more about this teacher," Winter said as she began to pet Ruby's belly in small, lazy circles. "There's always a specific 'type'. What did she look like? Tall, short, young, old?"

Oh… that feels nice, Ruby thought to herself when her belly was petted, biting her lip very slightly at the sensation. Maybe they weren't going to finish with the plug like she first assumed, but maybe they could still have some fun.

"Well…" She looked toward Winter, eyes half closing. "She was young-ish… wore square shaped glasses. Thin build…"

"Hair colour? Eyes?" She kissed the tip of Ruby's nose. "You don't have to tell me, I'm just curious. Sounds like she really got you wound up."

Leaning in against the hand rubbing her belly, Ruby smiled. "I never really looked at her eyes, past the glasses… too intense. But she had red hair, back in a bun a lot of the time. Really looked more like a librarian than an art teacher."

Humming, Winter rubbed more vigorously, enjoying their gentler interaction now that Ruby's worry had passed. "I almost want her to step on me myself, so I can imagine how much worse you had it in school." Her voice dipped lower. "Did you ever daydream about her?"

"I might have…" The rubbing was having an effect. Each movement was sending heat to her core again. Winter was going the right way about getting her hot under the collar. Literally.

"What do you imagine? Besides the candles, I mean." Rubbing slower, she kissed the side of Ruby's head as she whispered, "Do you want her to punish you? Or just to take a very firm hand to parts of your body?"

"Hmmm…" Relaxing into the hand again, Ruby found herself trying to push up against it, attempting to push it down lower toward the open zipper. "M-maybe both… punishing me is hot, sometimes… but commanding me… Mmmfff…"

"Just telling you what to do to yourself?" Winter persisted, the hand drifting a little lower. She had no problem doing for Ruby what she desired; she had earned that much for being such a good sub and trying to put up with the newness of a plug. "I can get behind that." After a moment, she decided that since this was no longer truly a "session", she could be a little more open. "I… like that a lot, too. When I'm the sub, that is."

It was a rather pleasant treat for Ruby, to learn of the things Winter liked as a sub rather than just her needs as a Dom. She had known Winter preferred to be submissive, especially to men, but never really knew what she enjoyed most. It seemed now, she was willing to say.

"I-I noticed… Your bed…" She continued to talk while Winter was approaching her sex, curious to see if her partner would continue to talk so easily. "The beams are really strong… and there's rings at the top to secure things there?"

Winter smiled in a pleased manner, petting all the lower. "My Lady is so smart!" But she laughed to make it clear she wasn't reinitiating play. "Yes, I had that custom ordered. It's very… useful. You can make use of the rings yourself, if you'd like; I just hadn't brought them up because we've been busy with other matters."

"I think I prefer… what was it you called it? Shibari." But when she felt Winter's fingers hit home, she sighed in delight. At last, she could finally revel in the wonderful sensations, which she did so by pushing her hips up against them.

"But the idea of you there…" She tried to distract herself, even if it was by imagining something else kinky. "Is that what you like best? To be splayed out?"

"Oh yes," Winter sighed, her own voice finally sounding the tiniest bit discomfited. "It's so satisfying, hanging there and being made a spectacle. A little paddling…" Then she laughed. "I'm rambling; you don't want to hear all this."

"Actually…" As she continued to push herself up against the fingers all the more, she had to somehow suppress a moan. The more she imagined Winter in a submissive state, helpless for whoever wanted her, the wetter she was getting. "Actually I do… g-go on… what makes you the craziest?"

Ruby asking after these details was having a side effect; Winter was also sounding more and more as if she would like to have her own needs met. When she was purely in control of Ruby, she seemed to almost have no sexual appetite whatsoever; merely a detached pleasure at watching the younger woman squirm. This, however…

"Mmhhh," Winter sighed, grinding her fingers against her sub's sex even harder. "Oh, there's so many things! I like having my mouth fucked. Being spitroasted, or double-penetrated… I've had all three filled before, but that's been a while, and it was a little much for me personally. Oh, and I like being stepped on, or spat on. Chained up - as you guessed. And I love outfits, not just as a Dom but as a sub, as well."

"Hmmm!" Biting her lip for a moment to prevent her moans becoming all too loudly, Ruby took a moment to take all those mental images in. Shadow figures of men taking the woman who dominated her quite a few evenings. Not just one at a time, some even together. The idea of her being chained up while one man was at the front of her and another at the back.

She couldn't resist, she had to moan out. That mental image was all too satisfying. Why not add a little more? "O-outfits?"

"Well," Winter sighed as she continued stroking along her soft wetness, "You… have seen a few of them by now. The Hogwarts one, the one I'm wearing now. Others hanging in my secret closet. French maid, nurse, gothic lolita, naughty librarian…" She paused, then added, "Or teacher…"

"Hoooooo…" That was the shakiest breath of the evening. Seemed that was having an effect on Ruby that she didn't intend at all. Not only were the moans slightly increasing in volume, but she was quivering once again. Now she couldn't get that image out of her mind… Winter in those square glasses that she loved on that art teacher. Winter commanding her over a desk, helping her out. Winter The Teacher.

"Mmhhh," she sighed gently, her hips shifting from side to side restlessly as she listened to Ruby moaning, watched her writhe beneath her gentle encouragement. "Ohh, have I told you lately how hot you are?"

Already her poor sub was getting close. Imagining such things really did have a major effect on her. With each delicate rub over her folds, she found herself climbing further and further. It must have been what was left over from dealing with the plug.

"In fact… since you seem to like hearing about what I'm like on the bottom…" Winter leaned in, and with a voice full of need, she asked, "How about when you're finished… I let you put that tail in my ass, instead?"

"HHHAAAAAhhh!!!"

It was unexpected, but suddenly Ruby hit her limit. Quivering against the very fingers sliding up and down her folds, she let the tingles of joy travel through her body. Fast, intense waves of pleasure, brought on from all of the teasing and all the imagining of her Dom. The image of her writhing from the intrusion of the tail in her perfect ass was the last straw.

"Yes!" Winter crowed, stroking harder and harder, wringing every second of pleasure from her sub, drawing out her climax as long as she could. "That's a good Lady! Oh, come for me - I love hearing it! It's so exquisite!"

Those last few movements of fingers were enough to cause a few more twitches of her. Once more, the small amount of fluid freed itself from Ruby's sex, splashing against her mistress’s hand again and again as she pushed her climax as far as she could, torturing her poor sex. But oh how good it felt, how good to finally get that release!

There was a pronounced shudder from Winter, and she licked her lips as she felt the spurting up against her. Perfect; she always hoped for a chance to reassure Ruby in this area. In an even more obscenely sexual voice, she said, "More! I want to feel more of you running down my hand! It's… so beautiful, I'm so blessed! Bathe me, my little Lady!"

There was no more to be had. After a few spurts, Ruby's finish was over. She simply couldn't handle any further movements. But what had been done filled her with joy, left her grinning as she laid back against Winter, staring blankly at the ceiling.

GOD this was too good. How was she ever going to give this up to go Dom-hunting?

[ifishouldvanish]

Destiny or Circumstance

Lachlan MacAldonich x Lacey French: Lacey doesn't remember much of what happened last night, nor does she recognize the new ring on her finger. But when she realizes whose bed she's in, she really can't bring herself to mind.

A little something to go with my Big Bang fic, How Do You Sleep?. This covers the morning after their first encounter. It’s... mostly fluff.

RATING: M WORDS: 6,205 A/N: These two are a trainwreck and a half but I love them, okay???

[READ ON AO3]

Lacey arched her back, stretching and blinking her eyes open as she woke. Sunlight managed to peek through the slats of the drawn blinds, which hung from an unfamiliar window.

She furrowed her brows at it.

Where was she?

Rubbing a hand over her face, she lifted her head from the pillow– bringing on her pounding punishment from all the fun she'd clearly had last night.

She grumbled and rolled over, finding her bed companion curled up into a ball with his back to her. He had a messy mop of shoulder-length brown hair, soft and shiny, and wore a heavy bracelet on his–

Lacey threw a hand over her mouth.

Carefully, she crept closer for a better look.

Was it him? Still?

Last night hadn't exactly been her first rodeo, but this would definitely be the first time she wasn't kicked out right after, be it by an overwrought manager or the talent themselves.

Come to think of it, they weren't even in the hotel room anymore. This was… someone's house. Apartment?

Lacey leaned over the man beside her, careful not to wake him. He shifted a little and rolled towards her, hair falling out of his face, and oh yeah. It was definitely him.

She pressed her thighs together, noting the telltale ache between them, and bit down in her lip.

He made a small grunting noise that told her he was beginning to wake up, and her eyes darted around the room, not sure what to do. Sneaking out of bed was her standard morning after protocol, but being in bed with Lachlan MacAldonich was far from standard.

No, no– Lacey French wanted to stay in this bed as long as possible.

Which settled it, then.

She gently laid her hand on his bare chest, and slowly slid it down toward his hips, nudging the sheets out of the way so she could palm his cock.

Lachlan drew a deep breath through his nose, and exhaled slowly. His mouth fell open as she began to work him, and his eyes soon opened too, their gaze fixed blankly on the ceiling.

“Fuck…” he whispered.

“Good morning,” she grinned, straddling back over him.

“Aye,” he scoffed. “Fucking beautiful.” He stared at her for a moment, his features scrunching in mild confusion– but soon there was recognition in his brown eyes, and he smiled. “You…” he pointed a finger lazily, “I remember you…”

“Always nice to make an impression,” she said.

“...Lindsey?” he guessed.

“Nuh-uh,” she smiled, shaking her head and beginning to grind her hips into him.

“Fuck,” he chuckled, throwing his head back. “Ah… fuckin’... Australian broad…?”

“Lacey,” she said, taking mercy on him.

“Lacey,” he repeated with a nod. “I knew that... I knew that. That's… a much better name, actually. I like that.” His eyes wandered over her body appreciatively for a moment, then narrowed somewhere downwards.

Lacey frowned. “What?”

Lachlan scoffed. “Nothing,” he shrugged. “Just ah… hope your husband's not the jealous type.”

She furrowed her brows. “What?”

“Your… husband?”

“What the hell are you talking about? I don't–”

She finally noticed it then. A ring on her finger, with a rock that had to have cost more than she was worth.

“Goes to show where I had my eyes last night,” Lachlan joked. “Usually stay away from the married ones…”

Lacey's face flashed hot. “I wasn't wearing this last night,” she said.

“Oh. Well that explains it,” he mumbled, easily accepting the explanation at its surface.

“No,” she said. “You don't understand. I'm not married. I've never seen this thing before in my life.”

“Oh.”

“Fuck.” Lacey rasped. “Did I– did we?”

Lachlan's eyes bulged as he caught on. He sat up quickly and grabbed her hand so he could take a better look. “...Jesus fuck.”

Lacey pulled away, climbing off of him and looking around for her purse, or more specifically, her phone. She found it on the floor at her side of the bed, and began digging through her texts, choosing to ignore the handful of missed calls from Ruby.

But there it was, at the end of a thread of barely coherent texts– a photo she'd sent at 2:37AM of herself and Lachlan, cheeks flushed from alcohol, posing beside an overtanned man in a cheap suit with too-white teeth– the words Just Married scrawled across the backdrop behind them.

“Holy shit.” Lacey whispered.

“What?”

She climbed across the bed back over to Lachlan, and thrust the screen in his face. “Do you remember this?”

Lachlan stared and blinked owlishly at it, but said nothing.

“You know what?” Lacey said, pulling her phone away and gracelessly hopping out of bed on one leg, “it's probably just... One of those fake ones, you know? Where they just go through the motions and take pictures, but it's not like… Actually legally binding or whatever?” she continued, her voice creeping higher in pitch.

She swiped her clothes off the floor and hurriedly began to dress.

“I mean, seriously– What kind of place would actually marry two drunk-ass motherfuckers who just waltzed in at two in the morning, asking to get married right then and there?” she went on, mouth dry and heart racing. “...Right?”

Lachlan wet his lips, nodding slowly. “Aye, you're probably right, that.”

“Too drunk to marry, but not so drunk they wouldn't take our money,” she muttered, twisting ring around her finger and beginning to pace.

It crossed her mind to take the thing off, but she didn't.

“Look,” Lachlan said, and Lacey spun around, finding him sat up in bed, rubbing his hands over his face. “If we got married– for real, like– we should have a… you know. A…”

“Certificate!” she finished, already starting to rummage through the room.

She could hear Lachlan clumsily dragging himself out of bed and glanced over her shoulder,  watching as he reached for a bottle on his nightstand. He quickly discarded it when he found it was empty.

“I need a fucking drink, if I'm to deal with this shite,” he mumbled, rubbing a hand over his face and shuffling out of the room.

“Yeah. So do I,” Lacey muttered under her breath.

Of all the stupid shit she'd done in her life, this had to take the cake, didn't it?

Sure, she may have indulged in a silly fantasy or two when she was younger. That one day she'd meet one of her idols and they'd think the sun shone out of her ass as much she thought it did theirs. That they'd notice her and see something special and worth their while.

But those fantasies usually involved long conversions during which they'd tell her she was interesting and smart and different from everyone else they'd ever met. Not… whatever this mess was.

She was feverishly searching the drawers of his dresser, and that was ridiculous. Who came home drunk and tucked a legal document in with their fucking socks?

She thrust the drawer shut and glanced around the room again. Because if this thing existed, she had to find it. She would find it.

“Ah… Lacey French?”

She stopped her pacing and looked up at the doorway, where Lachlan was standing.

“This looks pretty fuckin’ legitimate to me,” he said, holding up a piece of paper.

Lacey squinted at it from across the room, then rushed over for a closer look. 

State of California Certification of Vital Record County of Los Angeles License and Certificate of Marriage

Dozens of tiny boxes followed, and in one of them was definitely his name, and in another was definitely her name. The date had been stamped at the bottom along with some other numbers and signatures.

She folded her arms over her chest. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

He tossed a shopping bag bearing the chapel's name on the bed, and a handful of brochures and other papers slid out. Without a word, they both began to dig through it all.

  Congratulations on your LEGAL marriage!

Get a great deal on your destination honeymoon!

Thank you for choosing Little Chapel LA!

Top 10 Romantic Spots in Los Angeles

Save on California hotels!

Leave us a review on Yelp!

Get Disneyland discount tickets!

 “The fuck…” she whispered, continuing to rummage through the countless pamphlets, postcards, and coupons.

“Oh. Here's a good one,” Lachlan said.

Lacey scowled and looked up, finding him holding up a coupon for twenty percent off at The Pleasure Chest.

She was ready to smack him before registering the dryness in his tone, and the silly look on his face.

She smiled instead, and laughed– the tight, anxious coil in her belly finally releasing.

This would all be fine.

She'd be laughing herself sick about it one day.

Have another great story to tell at parties.

“I mean, if you don't want it…” he trailed off.

“Wait–” she giggled and plucked it from his hand. “Maybe I wanna buy some nipple clamps for you,” she snorted. “Or a big strap on.”

He reeled back, his eyes wide with horror.

“...I can make jokes too,” she said, and tossed the coupon back on the bed.

“Right,” he nodded, relaxing a little. “Right…”

Lacey's eyes landed on a folder with the words Your Wedding Photos printed on it in a scripty font. She picked it up and held it out to him. “How much do you think they charged us for these?”

Smiling, Lachlan snapped his finger and picked up a brochure with the chapel's pricing information on it.

“Deluxe photo package? ... One hundred twenty-five dollars.” he read, and tossed it back on the bed.

Lacey snorted and opened the folder, a handful of wallet size prints falling out and scattering across the bed and floor.

They'd covered all the classic poses, it seemed.

The awkwardly standing next to each other while smiling stiffly at the camera pose– not at all helped by the fact that the suit jacket they'd thrown on Lachlan was at least two sizes too big for him.

The kissing pose, which might have looked sweet if their tongues weren't already down each other's throats and he wasn't grabbing her ass.

And the laughing pose– herself doubled over with laughter while Lachlan stood behind, smiling with his arms around her waist as if to keep her from falling.

On second thought, her drunk ass probably was falling.

“Aw…,” Lacey said at last, flipping the folder around to show him an 8x10. “They're almost nice.”

A smile crept across his face, and he took the folder from her. “...Aye. Look at that.”

A long strip of paper caught Lacey's eyes, and she plucked it off the bed. “Suit rental…” she read off the receipt, “deluxe ceremony package… deluxe photo package… walk-in surcharge… officiant fee… license fee… LA county license fee… gratuit– Jesus Christ.”

“What?”

Lacey checked the line item again, making sure she'd read it right.

She had.

“Dude, you tipped the officiant three hundred dollars,” she snorted.

“No, I didn't,” he said, rejecting the mere possibility.

Lacey squinted at the small print. “Well, I'm sure as hell not… Amex ending in… 98341,” she read aloud.

“What?”

“But look on the bright side: they gave you a 10% discount for being a California resident. See?” she pointed, “My ring would have cost you–”

Lachlan snatched it from her hands. “The fuck…” He stopped reading and looked at her finger, pointing. “You're taking that off and it's going back.”

“What? S’no big deal!” Lacey laughed. “You just call the credit card company and say it was a fraudulent charge. I do it all the time when I rack up an insane tab. Besides– receipt says all sales are final, and I dunno… I kinda like it!” She said, admiring it again. “Makes me feel classy.”

He shot her a defeated look.

“Check it out–” Lacey said, tossing her hair over her shoulders and righting her posture. With an exaggerated gasp, she clutched her hand to her chest, as though she'd just suffered some horrible offence. “Wait 'til my husband hears about this!”

His features sank into a pained expression, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fucking shite, don't tell me I married a bloody wannabe actress…”

“What?!” Lacey squeaked, actually offended this time. “No!”

A buzzing sound came from somewhere in the room, and their eyes darted to his pair of jeans on the floor.

Lachlan bent down and pulled his phone from one of the pockets. “...s’my manager,” he explained brusquely, taking the call and tucking the device against his shoulder. “Wendel!” he greeted with a cheerfulness the belied their situation. “How's–”

An angry voice cut him off, and he fell silent.

“…No. No, I'm home actually,” he said quietly. After another beat he chuckled, and held the phone to his ear. “Aye, well, I met this… lovely brunette and we decided to ah… take the party back home, if you know what I mean. Look– I'm sorry about skipping out on…” he trailed off, swallowing as the angry voice shouted over him. “No. …No, of course I understand. Listen, I've actually got a bit of a situation, if I'm–” he got interrupted again, and began rubbing the back of his neck. “No no no no!” he laughed. “No, it’s nothing like that! Just ah… Look. C-can I call you back? Wendel? I'll be just a minute, I swear. …Aye. Thanks.”

Lachlan hung up the phone, sighing and tossing it on the bed.

“Well. He's no’ happy,” he mumbled, giving Lacey an apologetic smile.

“Sounds like a prick,” she said.

He scoffed and put his hands on his hips, looking at the mess of papers on the bed with a frown. Lacey watched warily for him to say or do something.

At last, he looked to her and clapped his hands together. “Alright,” he sighed. “Look, I'm… I'm really sorry about all this. You came out to have a good time last night and this– I shouldn't have…” he took a took deep breath. Sighed again. “Why don't you just… make yourself comfortable?” he told her. “Shower, help yourself to the kitchen… And I'll ah… make some phone calls and get us all sorted out, aye?”

Lacey nodded slowly, surprised by how apologetic he was being about the whole thing, how ready he was to accept full responsibility for it. “...Yeah. Yeah, sure. Thanks.”

****

Lachlan was still on the phone when Lacey got out of the shower. Still on the phone after she'd finished getting dressed again, and still on the phone after she'd foraged through his kitchen's very humble offerings.

If she didn't know any better she'd have mistaken it for a clean and tidy kitchen. But his was a bachelor's kitchen– free of any mess because it was never actually used. There was no art to it, no hominess, no character– save for an array of liquor bottles arranged like a shrine on the far counter.

In the den though, things were far more interesting. His guitars were out, displayed on their stands– and Lacey bit down on her lip, resisting the urge to touch. There was an acoustic, and a Les Paul she recognized from concert footage and music videos.

Oh, what was the harm?

It wasn't as though she'd never handled a guitar before.

She picked it up. Not to play, but to check the back.

There the finish was worn through– a mass of scratches from buttons, rivets, and belt buckles that resembled a big tumbleweed, marring the otherwise smooth, glossy clear coat.

This guitar had history, she thought with a smile, before setting it back down and moving onto his record collection.

The shelves spanned an entire wall, and were so tightly packed as to be nearly impossible to browse. She could read titles and artists names off the spines of some of them, but she was determined to see the rest, and began plucking sleeves out one at a time.

Some of her favorites were in there. Some of her not-so-favorites. Things she'd never heard of. Things that surprised her. Things that didn't surprise her at all. Pressings from English bands, which ranged from mildly elusive to virtually nonexistent in the States: Happy Mondays, Inspiral Carpets, the Charlatans’ early stuff before they got picked up by Universal.

Several minutes later, she heard Lachlan's footsteps coming from the bedroom.

“You have a killer collection,” Lacey hollered over her shoulder. She slid another record sleeve out from the shelf and admired the artwork for a moment before pushing it back in.

“Aye, thanks,” he said, coming over.

She slid another one out, quickly recognizing the artwork. “Alice Cooper Band…” she clicked her tongue. “Nice.”

He chuckled, “It's some fuckin’... good music .”

She moved onto the next, and the next, and he must have had the whole discography. She paused at the last of them, and looked over her shoulder at him disapprovingly. “Muscle of Love?”

He shrugged. “Bit of a completionist.”

Lacey narrowed her eyes at him. “Alright…” she accepted slowly, and returned to her browsing.

“Look, I ah… I just got off the phone with the chapel.”

“Yeah?”

“If we want to ah… you know. We've got tae actually file for divorce. Like, properly? Form… FL… one hundred, they said?”

Lacey stopped thumbing through the vinyl, but found herself smiling.

She was married to Lachlan MacAldonich.

Lachlan MacAldonich was her husband.

The same Lachlan MacAldonich whose picture used to be taped inside her locker.

“Since we were just… Absolutely fucking plastered, we should be able to just do an annulment, but ah… we'll need to have some kind of proof to show a judge?”

Lacey's eyes drifted upwards. She was sure she'd have a receipt for enough shots to tranquilize a horse somewhere in her purse, but she thought better of digging for it right now.

“That all sounds like a pain in the ass,” she said and adjusted her purse strap– aiming for nonchalance as she continued to browse his collection.

“Right?”

“I mean… I'm in no hurry,” she shrugged and spun around again, leaning against the shelves. “We can just like… Exchange numbers and get it sorted whenever. Next weekend, next month… next time one of us is trying to get hitched,” she joked.

“Aye. Same here,” he smiled, and Lacey felt her stomach do a ridiculous flip.

She looked down at the floor, rubbing her thumb over the band of the ring still on her finger.

“Ah… had no luck with the credit card company either,” he admitted with a chuckle. “So…”

She nodded and gripped the ring, giving it one last look before pulling it off and handing it to him. “Yeah, I get it. Was worth a shot though, right?” she smiled.

“Was, yeah,” he said– and as he dodged her gaze, Lacey could've sworn he was blushing. “Chapel said they won't take it back, so… probably bring it to the pawn shop. See what I can get for it.”

“Makes sense.”

He put it in his pocket and stared back at her. Lacey waited for him to add something, but he never did.

She reached into her purse for her phone. “Should I send you a text? Or… How do you wanna–”

He blinked and shook his head. “Oh! Right, right. Yeah. Sorry, I just…”

Lacey smiled. “If I didn't know any better, I'd think talking to girls made you nervous.”

He scoffed, and the color in his cheeks deepened. “Just ah… used to having a little more drink in me, is all,” he said, taking out his phone and opening up his contacts. “A lot more drink,” he confessed, and handed it to her.

“Well, you have nothing to worry about,” Lacey said as she typed her information in. “Trust me.”

Lachlan huffed a little laugh through his nose. “Certainly appreciate that,” he said, hiking his brows in acknowledgement. “But no. Just I ah… get a little anxious? From time to time?” he trailed off and shook his head, folding his hands over his chest and putting on a smile. “It's fine, though, ye know?” he shrugged, “I-it's nothing.”

Lacey gave him a long, skeptical look. “There's like, pills for that, you know. Roommate swears by 'em.”

Lachlan's eyes widened. “...Nah,” he decided, scowling and shaking his head. “Nah, did enough pills in the nineties, I'm afraid.”

She smiled. “Yeah, I bet.”

“Uppers, downers…” he bobbed from side to side, “...all arounders,” he joked, winking and making a funny face.

A little giggle escaped her, and Lacey quickly glanced away, scolding herself for it– for acting like some kind of giddy schoolgirl around him. She needed to stay cool.

Squashing her smile away, she smacked her lips and looked back to him. “Crazy times, huh?”

“Aye,” he nodded, “no doubt.”

“We um… must have had a good time last night, though.”

“Looks like it.”

Lacey licked her lips. “Yeah. It does.”

A crooked smile spread across his face, and he tilted his head at her. “Do you…” he trailed off and closed his eyes in thought. “C-can I pour you a drink?” he asked at last, pointing a thumb over his shoulder and toward the kitchen.

Her cheeks grew warm, and she checked the clock on the wall.

She still had some time.

“...I'd like that.”

His smile widened. “Perfect.”

Lacey followed him into the kitchen, leaning against the island while he browsed the collection of bottles on the counter.

“Whisky girl,” he mumbled to himself, remembering at least that much from the night before. “Or would you prefer something else–”

“Oh, no. Whisky’s just fine. My tolerance for anything else is a little–”

“Oh, I hear you,” Lachlan chuckled. “Tequila and I do not get along, that's for certain.” His hand hovered over the bottles hesitantly. “...Jack? Crown?” he asked.

Lacey shrugged. “Surprise me.”

“Tell you what, Lacey–” he wagged his finger, “For you? I'll pour my best,” he said, grabbing a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue.

She fought back a smile. “You… really don't have to.”

“Eh,” he waved her off and opened up one of the cabinets for two glasses. “I mean, we're just married, right? Ought to celebrate.”

Lacey shifted on her feet, drawing closer to him. “You know... you're absolutely right.”

He finished pouring and handed her her drink.

“Fuckin'... cheers,” he said– clinking their glasses and knocking his back without so much as a pause to appreciate the taste of the almost two hundred dollar bottle.

Lacey sipped her own slowly.

“S'good, in’it?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she swallowed, nodded. “Yeah, it is. Thanks.”

“It's a batshit crazy situation, ye know?” he said. “Gettin’ fuckin’ married. But ah… you gotta… gotta see the humor, in a situation like this, I think.”

“Yeah,” she agreed over the rim of her glass. “Could've been a lot worse.”

He snapped a finger at her. “Exactly. And it's far from the worst thing I've ah…” he trailed off and shrugged. “You know.”

She didn't. But she could imagine.

“So um... last night was the last stop?” Lacey asked. “Of the tour?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Back in sweet home, LA.”

“You know, I've always kinda wondered,” she said, “what bands do like… in the time between the end of a tour, and working on the next–”

“Oh, fuck all,” he laughed. “Absolutely fuck all.”

“I guess it's the only time you have to really relax and like, spend time with family, huh? Or do you just like, get a day job for a while?”

“I mean… it depends,” he said. “What kinda contract you're on and all that. How much the label wants you to cavort about in the press circus…how many records they want to squeeze outta you in so many years…”

“Gotcha.”

“God,” he carded a hand through his hair and sighed. “We were on Wen Gray… they wanted six records over ten years.”

Lacey stopped sipping her drink and lurched forward. “Shit.”

“Aye, it's a lot, when you include the…”

“Touring and shit, yeah.”

Lachlan stared off blankly for a moment. “Well,” he shrugged, “they got two records. And a half.”

“How does that um…” she whirled her glass about, “how does that work? When uh, one of the members…”

“Depends if the label thinks things are ‘ salvageable ,’ was the word they used. If they thought we could replace...”

“Oh, fuck no,” Lacey shook her head.

“Yeah. Ye know, it's one thing to lose a guitar or a bass player, but–”

“But still. It's never the same.”

Lachlan hesitated for a moment, then quickly poured himself another shot. Swilled it down and took a deep breath. “Yeah,” he agreed– nodding, tossing his hair out of his face, and squaring his shoulders. “But also like… compilations and all that count towards the contract too?”

“Yeah!” Lacey pointed a finger, “yeah, I read that somewhere. Guys running out their contracts that way. Greatest Hits and Deluxe Editions and shit.”

“Aye. Nowadays they've got clauses about that sort of thing,” he chuckled. “But anyway, ah, the label decided to cut their losses with us. I guess. After…”

“Yeah.”

“People don't realize that, I don't think,” he said. “Just assume we're all… just like these kids in a candy store, with the drugs and shite, parties twenty-four seven... But there's– there's a lot of pressure too, you know? To produce–”

“Yeah, I bet.”

“So you got these guys just like, living in the studio, you know? Having little baggies of coke dropped off because they think, ‘there's no way I can finish this album on time otherwise’?”

A sudden lump formed in Lacey's throat. He was talking about Jed, she knew. Found dead in the recording studio from an overdose.

She swallowed it down hard.

“You have a daughter though, right?” she asked to change the subject. “You think you'll get to spend time with her? Now that you're–”

“Ah… no, ” he stilled. “No, I'm not… in her life. Really.”

Lacey ducked her head and clenched her eyes shut. “Shit, I'm sorry, that's personal. It's none of my–”

“You’re fine.” he dismissed. “But yeah. Haven't seen her since…”

She nodded slowly in understanding, not sure what else to say.

Lachlan rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “I um…” he closed his eyes for a moment, “I was still using? At the time?”

“Yeah. I mean of course you were,” Lacey said. “After… that.”

“So, we decided it was best if I was just out of the picture,” he explained, looking at the floor. “But Catherine's– my ex– she's a smart woman. Real strong and all that. So l mean... I know she's in good hands. It's just… i-it's complicated,” he finished, and took another swig of whisky– this time straight from the bottle.

“Yeah, I get it,” Lacey said, giving him a rueful smile. “My family's kinda fucked up, too. Haven't seen or spoken to my dad since I moved out here.”

His wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked back up, lips parted. “Oh.”

“I mean, that was kinda the whole point, honestly,” Lacey admitted with nervous chuckle. “Was to get away from him.”

Lachlan's eyes fixed steadily into her own, the prolonged contact beginning to feel uncomfortable before he finally cleared his throat. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said softly, blinking his focus away. “Really.”

“Yeah,” Lacey frowned and took a swig of her drink, not really tasting it either this time. “Me too.”

He fumbled with the cap on the whisky bottle for a moment before taking a step back, leaning against the counter and tucking his hands into his pockets.

Lacey counted to five, and picked her glass back up for another sip.

“You know,” he coughed, “part of it was that… we weren't supposed to do a US tour so soon.”

She froze and tilted her head at him.

“In our contract, I mean,” he said. “But Bank Street was doing so well over here, the promoter sent us over. So… a six month Euro tour became… a year and a half world tour.”

“Oh, wow.”

“Yeah. So we were behind on Glass Houses , toured again for that, and then we were behind on our third.”

“That sucks,” Lacey said, finally taking her sip. “You'd think they'd like, give you some leeway when–”

“Oh, no,” he shook his head. “They didn't give a shite.”

She sucked her teeth. “...Bastards.”

They moved onto safer topics after that.

Their favorite albums, their favorite bands–  ribbing each other on their taste for long after Lacey had finished her drink. By the time they were discussing who was worth seeing live and who was better on the record, the space between them had dwindled to a few mere inches– and Lacey's “don't giggle like a schoolgirl at every other word out of his mouth,” ship had long since sailed.

She was recovering from one such bout of giggles when Lachlan's gaze slipped downwards– but it wasn't the floor he was looking at.

“I'll be honest,” he said, his voice suddenly deeper than before, the timbre so different when he was so close. “You have… the sexiest fucking legs, and I would really like to take you back to bed right now.”

Lacey sank her teeth into bottom lip and pressed her thighs together. A hesitant chuckle escaped her as she glanced at the clock on the stove.

“Um… As much as I'd love to… I um, I should probably head home so I can get ready for work, actually.”

Lachlan's expression fell. “Right, right…,” he nodded, pulling away.

“Normally, I'd just um... call in?” she said. “One of my coworkers is this Armenian guy with like, five kids, so he's... kinda my guy when I need someone to cover for me,” Lacey confessed with a little snort. “But uh, I kinda already called in twice this week?” she said, shrinking back guiltily.

Lachlan pulled a funny face at that. “Sounds like you’ve had one hell of a week,” he chuckled, folding his arms over his chest.

“Yeah,” she laughed. “You um– you have my number, though?” she reminded him. “We could… get together again. Sometime.”

“Yeah. Yeah, right.”

“I usually work mid shift, so… I'm free most nights. Like, late nights. If you wanted to–”

“Aye. Definitely,” he nodded. “Definitely wouldn't mind... doing that.”

“Nothing like, serious or anything,” she assured him. “Just, you know. ...Fun?”

“Yeah. Fun, of course” he nodded again. Clasped and rubbed his hands together. “I mean, it really can't get any more serious than married, can it?” he joked.

“Yeah, right?” she snorted and rolled her eyes.

Lachlan leaned over the island on his elbows again, looking up at her with what Lacey could only describe as puppy dog eyes.

“W-w-where did you say you worked?” he asked, tilting his head and drawing closer.

“I didn't,” she answered dryly.

He cracked a smile, and that was definitely a blush on his face.

Lachlan MacAldonich was blushing at her.

She tucked a loose tendril of hair behind her ear. “I um… I just cashier at the pharmacy off 10 and Santa Fe.”

“Oh, yeah,” he nodded. “I think I know it. Across from the ah…” he snapped his fingers, trying to remember.

“The strip club with the–”

“Aye,” he chuckled, “that's the one.”

Lacey narrowed her eyes at him, feeling playful. “Do you... frequent the–?”

“No,” he shook his head and laughed. “No. I mean– I've been. But it's not like–”

“I'm teasing,” she smiled. “But yeah. I should go.”

“No. Sorry, yeah. You've got… work,” he said, pulling away again and gesturing limply toward the front door.

“Rain check?” she asked, slowly brushing her hair off her neck as she strung her purse over her shoulder.

It had the intended effect, and his eyes wandered over her neck. “You know– why don't I… show you out?”

Lacey bit back a smile and shrugged. “Okay.”

“We can take the walk of shame together, eh?” he said, resting his hand on the small of her back.

They made it halfway to the door before Lacey stopped and snorted, earning her a curious look.

“I don't remember how I even got here,” she realized, laughing. “Or where I am.”

It dawned on him too, then, and he chuckled. “Neither do I,” he told her. “But we're in Highland Park.”

“Oh, okay,” she giggled, falling back in step with him. “Yeah, I'm East LA.”

“Well, let's see if I need to call ye a cab,” he said, taking his hand off her back so he could open the door.

They stared blankly at the old, electric blue Camaro parked haphazardly in the driveway.

“That you?” he finally asked.

Lacey snorted. “Yeah, that's me, alright.”

He scoffed and shook his head.

“I don't remember driving at all,” she laughed, stumbling against him and burying her face in his shoulder.

“Hey, I've been there,” he admitted. “Looks like we made it over in one piece, though,” he pat her back. “S’all that matters, right?”

Lacey peeked up at him, letting herself drink in his brown eyes for a moment. An image– fleeting memory– from the night before came to mind, but it just as quickly disappeared. “I… I'm trying to think,” she said, finally tearing away from him and starting down the porch steps. “The last thing I remember… after– oh.” she perked up as it came back to her, bouncing on her toes and turning back around to face him. “I remember!”

He raised his brows. “Do you?”

Lacey flapped a hand in the air, struggling. “I remember… we had sex…”

He nodded slowly, stifling a laugh. “Aye, we sure did.”

“Again, I mean,” she giggled. “At the hotel. And um… you said I was a… daft bird? The most daft bird,” she corrected herself, continuing toward the car. “And I said you were probably into it? Because you needed the crazy to down out everything else?”

They reached the car, and she spun around again. Lachlan narrowed his eyes and tilted his head at her.

“You asked if I was speaking from experience,” she recalled, “and I remember saying… yeah. Because if I– I know that if I ever slow down…”

“...something'll catch up and bite ye in the arse,” he finished.

Lacey smiled. “...Yeah.”

He rubbed a hand over his chin. “Aye. I do remember that now, actually.”

“You know what?” she swat her hand through the air, “I bet the rest of it all will come back to me in a few hours.” She rested her hand on the door handle and paused to look up at him, squinting at the sunlight. “You know. Just a brown out.”

He blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Brown out?” she said again. “Like a blackout, but… you just need something to jog your memory a little bit first?”

“Ah. Well, then perhaps we might be able to piece our night together yet,” he smirked.

“Yeah!” she laughed. “I mean, it must have been a good one, right?”

“Aye. For sure, for sure,” he agreed, checking her out again.

“Anyway,” she shook her head, “yeah. I should… I should get going,” she mumbled, digging her keys out of her bag and pointing them at the door.

“Right,” he nodded. “Well, ah… it was… lovely to meet you. Lacey.”

She stared down at the hand he was offering.

“Yeah,” she smiled, accepting it. “Same here.”

“I'll… be in touch, I guess. About the whole… marriage thing–”

“Yeah,” she laughed, reluctantly letting go of his hand so she could unlock the door.

She climbed into the driver's seat then, and began turning the window crank– lowering it all the way before pulling the door shut.

“Oh–” Lachlan leaned in, folding his arms over the door and poking his head inside. “You know how to get to 110 from here?”

“Um…” Lacey gripped the wheel and pushed against it. “No, actually,” she admitted, slouching. “No idea.”

He wet his lips and smiled. “Well, it's real easy: Just pull out that way,” he pointed, “make a left onto York, and it'll be just about a mile up the road.”

Lacey's eyes drifted upwards as she repeated his directions back in her head, committing them to memory. “...okay. Cool, thanks.”

“I'll… see you around then,” he shrugged, giving the door a finishing pat and pushing away from the car.

“Yeah. Um…” she closed her eyes, hesitating between lingering a moment longer, and starting the car. “Bye– I guess,” she decided with a little wave.

He took a step away from the car, mirroring her awkward wave. “Ah… Drive safe?”

“Yeah. Will do,” Lacey smiled before starting the engine. It roared as she gave it a few pumps of gas, and Lachlan shouted something she couldn't hear.

“What?” she shouted, poking her head out the window.

“Beautiful car,” he hollered back.

“Oh!” she grinned. “Thanks!”

He gave her one last smile, one last nod, and took a few more steps back. As she backed out of the driveway and pulled down the road, Lachlan was still on the porch, waving her off.

And later, as she sat in traffic on 110, Lacey was still smiling.

[thescribesloft]

Jeweler’s Hands: Obsidian

Angsty little baby.

Smart as heck and a little wily, given the crap that’s happened to him in his lifetime.

A little naïve at first, but gains knowledge as he goes.

He’s a Gemeye. He’s well aware of his Gift and so is everyone else. Doesn’t mean he’s confident about it.

Self-depreciative. To the max. Even hates himself. Don’t ask me why.

Has a little gaggle of friends that follow him around like ducklings, though he doesn’t know why.

He’s best friends with the Ruby Heart.

He has long jet black hair with blue tips, but you rarely see the tips because they’re covered in tiny blue beads.

He’s so pale, he could blind you.

His face claim is Kim Myungsoo

Does not do sunlight very well. Blister and boils like a little lobster.

He’s also one of those people that wear socks under his sandals.

Does NOT like his feet and thinks they’re ugly and vainy and doesn’t like people touching them.

His eyes throw everyone off. They are a glowing cobalt blue. They are actually quite terrifying. He’s tried wearing colored disks on his eyes before, but those make them red and itchy.

His necklace is an Obsidian arrowhead with two cobalt glass beads and interspersed with pearls along the band.

He can braid any kind of material. As a male Jeweler, this is unusual, as most males work mainly with raw stones, extracting them from the earth and so forth. Obsidian’s talent is of a far more delicate nature. He also has a gift for restoring and maintaining older jewelry.

His Gift as a Gemeye allows him to see into the future through dreams. They don’t always make sense and people are often symbolized by their name-stone or some other substance they are spiritually connected to.

Obsidian’s best feature is his hands. He has a way to capture attention with his hands. Not only is he gifted in making jewelry, but he also has a wonderful story-telling voice and can sing, though he’s never tried. He is also an accomplished musician, particularly with stringed instruments, though he doesn’t discover this until much later.

He is amazing with children (Go figure, right? Perfect husband material)

He is usually calm and serene, but has a temper that’ll knock the pants off of someone.

[thedarkestmindsfanfiction]

What Have You Done? - Liam Stewart x OC (The Darkest Minds) - Chapter 4

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Tags: @-thatgirloverthere- @neila2001

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Chapter 4

Liam’s P.O.V

“WHY THE HELL DID YOU JUST HIT HER AROUND THE HEAD!” Ruby screamed from the front of the van, still swerving, trying to outrun the League.

“Chubs! Chubs listen okay! I need you to tell me what I need to do now!” I was trying to be calm.

“WHO THE HELL IS SHE?”

“CHUBS! NOT NOW I NEED HER ALIVE!”

I look over at Elise and her pain throbs in my own gut, deep and warm in the worst possible way.  I had no idea how to help her, how to make it all stop.

“Well if you wanted to save her, giving her concussion probably wasn’t the best idea” Chubs continued.

“SHE CAN’T FEEL ANY PAIN IF SHE’S UNCONCIOUS!” I screamed back at him, glancing at Elise for a split second. Zu was beside her, staring in terror at a puddle of blood that was starting to drip onto the floor.

“YOU CAN’T JUST BRING RANDOM PEOPLE BACK HERE AND EXPECT ME TO CLEAN UP THE DAMA-“

“SHE’S NOT RANDOM!” Ruby yelled “One look at his face tells you that Chubs. Just do something!”

Chubs looked at me for a moment, a question appearing on his lips. He started into my eyes, which were brimming with tears and widened in alarm. His features softened. And then his eyes glowed green.

“Okay! Okay! Zu, shut the doors!”. He’d snapped into action. “LIAM! We’re going to need direct pressure perpendicular to the entry, elevation 95 degrees at least, pressure bandage the area, maybe a tourniquet as a last resort– in that order!”

“In English Chubs!” I shouted back, a warning anger in my voice “You’re not making any sense!”

“Fine! Just let me do it!”

“Ruby! How far away are we from them?” I shouted to the front of the van instead.

“Not far enough!”

She kept driving as blood soaked into Elise’s sleeve, radiating outwards. Chubs stripped the fabric away to show the dark hole puncturing her upper arm. The bullet wound was a mess, as if she’d been hit with two different kinds of weapon at once.

Chubs looked at the wound and narrowed his eyes, panicking and gulping loudly.

Elise was in so much pain her complexion was ashen. Her natural golden skin had sunken in tone to something so lifeless it scared me just to look at it.

I grabbed her hand and laced my fingers through her.

“It’s going to be alright darlin’. You’re going to be fine”

“Hey Chubs,” Ruby tried, her voice softer and calmer than I had been “You’ve got this okay? You’re the smartest person I know. Deep down you know what to do,”

But he stepped away, shaking his head

I threw my hands against the side of the van, punching it harder and harder until my fists ached, until every ounce of frustration was out. It was eating me up inside, the guilt, it felt as though someone had their hand in the pit of my stomach squeezing my organs as hard as they could. I only stopped hammering the side of the van when I saw Zu run up beside her. She was pointing at her chest frantically, slamming her hands against her torso, tears appearing in her eyes. I rush over to Elise, calling her name, giving him a little shake, thinking Zu was trying to say she was waking up.

Only she wasn’t.

She was still prodding at her chest, only more vigorously. She was unresponsive. My fingers fumbled across Elise’s lips.

There was no warm breath.

Suddenly my stomach dropped with dread.

I finally understood what Zu was trying to say. I pressed my ear to her chest as Chubs ran beside me.

“NO!” I screamed, shaking her harder. There was no strong steady beat of a heart, all I could find was silence. I even resorted to slapping her face, but it was no use. Her heart had failed and I was slapping emptiness. “Elise!”

Black Betty juddered and slammed to a halt, propelling us all forwards. I watched Ruby throw herself into the back of the van rushing over to us all.

“I’ve got this!” she yelled “Zu! I need your help!”

She pushed me out of the way and pinches Elise’s nose shut, sending me reeling into hysterics.

“It’s CPR idiot!” She tilted her mouth open and blew air into her lungs, Elise’s chest rising and falling again. This seemed to throw Chubs back into it too, who pushed hard down on Elise’s shoulder, applying so much pressure to her arm wound that the sheet he wraps around her becomes crimson within seconds.

“You need to do the same on the leg wound, okay Liam?” he said to me and I nodded, ripping away at the material and pushing down with all my body weight.

I was back in control of myself.

Ruby started to pump over the spot over Elise’s heart with the heels of her hands and at some point, Chubs must have found a needle and thread, because he had started to stich up the hole in her arm. I watched him turn it over, whilst I pushed harder and harder on her leg, and stitch up the exit wound on the opposite side.

There was so much blood. So much blood.

But things suddenly seemed manageable.

“First bullet wound should be okay!” he says to me and I let out a sigh of relief. “You keep her arm elevated and we’ll swap. Wrap a few bandages around it if you can”

“Not now,” Ruby said, letting go of her “Everybody let go of her and stand back. Zu are you ready?”

Tiny little Zu nodded, throwing her gloves over her shoulder, electricity sparking in her palms. We sprung backwards as she pushed her palms into Elise’s chest and she jolted backwards, the current surging through her. And Elise gave a small cough and I was beside her, sweeping strands of hair back from her forehead. Her lashes fluttered open and her eyes met mine.

She looked confused.

Confused but alive.

“Oh, hi Elise, such a lovely introduction” Chubs said in a tone that was anything but friendly, craning over and glaring at her.

“WHAT THE F-“ She was cut off when Chubs wedged a thick pair of socks into her mouth and got back to work with digging around in the leg wound.

Her screams where muffled at least.

Her eyes had frozen over like the surface of winter puddles, robbed of their usual warmth. I knew she was in pain that whole time, but now that it was visible on her face, tears squeezing from the corners of her eyes, I wish it would go away. I knew it was selfish, to not want to physically see her suffer, because she didn’t ask for it. The pain had appeared like a gift she never wanted

“Liam” I think she muttered but it was hard to hear for the material in her mouth. She reached a bloodied, shaking hand towards my cheek and looked at me, properly looked at me.

Then the pain pulled her back under.

Zu had retreated back into a corner and Ruby was helping me wrap her arm up in the closest thing to a bandage we could find.

But Chubs had gone silent. He had gone silent staring at her leg.

“Everything okay Chubs?” I asked calmly.

“There’s erm- there’s no exit wound” he said, looking down at his blood-soaked hands.

“And…”

“And there should be one!” He continued “It means that the bullet must be implanted”

“Okay okay,” I said “Well let’s get it out then. I mean I can do it, you know with my power and I-“

“You don’t want to remove an implanted bullet” Chubs continued as if he hadn’t heard me “It’s almost impossible to find and it might be lodged in a major blood vessel,”

“Fine,” Ruby says, “Then stitch it up with the bullet inside,”

“I can’t do that either. It’s more damage in the long run if we leave it in”

There was a second of silence.

“So we take it out,”

“We can’t take it out Liam! Didn’t you hear me!”

“But we can’t leave it in” Ruby insisted

“Chubs, we can’t do this. Yes or no?” I was pleading in my voice.

“We’ll take it out.” He said, suddenly certain “But you better hope and goddam pray that that bullet isn’t corking up the Niagara Falls of blood loss”

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[fierypen37]

Held Captive XXX

Another chapter ready my friends!

“Gods,” Daenerys said, still shaking with reaction, “How was it possible for Crow Eye to get free from his chains?”

Rakharo skirted the sticky pool of blood still trickling from the ragged wound at Crow Eye’s throat—torn open by Ghost. Both eyes were empty and staring, his face frozen in a rictus of surprise. The direwolf in question fastidiously licked the blood from his lips. Rakharo knelt, lifting Crow Eye’s arm. The wrist was dislocated to free it from the shackle, stiff fingers still clutching the sock knife. The blade was tiny, maybe the length of Daenerys’ index finger, but true, dark steel. At such close range, caught unawares, Crow Eye could have easily killed her had Ghost not intervened.

The thought did not puncture the numb cold wrapped around her. Will it ever end? Daenerys heaved a sigh. It wearied her to very marrow at times. She longed for peace, not this endless bloodshed.    

“This flea was determined to kill you,” Rakharo said, spitting on Crow Eye’s face.

“Someone helped him. Ser Jorah would not leave a man to be questioned without searching him. Gather everyone who touched this man, Taereg who took him from his ship, the man who shackled him, the guard who led him here, the maid who gave him water. I want all of them questioned, blood of my blood,” she said, steel in her tone.

“Yes, khaleesi,” Rakharo said, murder stamped on his features. He clapped his chest in rough salute and loped from the room with a shadowcat’s grace.

“Storm-Son, have one of your Unsullied throw this one into the mining tunnels for the rats,” she said, nudging Crow Eye’s twisted body with one toe.

“As you say, so this one will do,” Storm-Son said. Daenerys marched from the storeroom, Storm-Son trailing behind. Ghost nudged her and Daenerys found a weary smile.

“I didn’t forget to thank you, my friend,” she said, scratching his ruff, “I owe you a side of venison. Perhaps a boar?”

Daenerys made her way down one hall, and then another, at last finding the stairway she wanted, lit by torches set in gold sconces.

“You may stay here, Storm-Son,” she said. A frown creased his hard features, his knuckles white on the haft of his spear.  

“Jelmāzmo, after the maggot tried to--” The effort of arguing one of her commands made him break out in a sweat. The warm brown skin of his face gleamed in the torchlight.

“I am safe with my children, and with Ghost. I need a moment alone. Please,” she said softly. Her soul felt as fragile as an eggshell—she needed time and solitude to reassemble her armor. The torches crackled as Storm-Son considered.

“I wait here,” Storm-Son said. Daenerys nodded.

“Ghost, stay,” Daenerys said, pressing the flat of her hand on the dense fur on Ghost’s chest. She descended a couple steps, and Ghost followed.

“No, Ghost. Stay,” she said more firmly, holding his garnet-red gaze. Turning, she made her way down the steps to the crags where her children slept. Ghost ambled after her. Daenerys shook her head.

“Suit yourself.”

Tyrion told her these were once sky cells similar to the ones in the Eyrie, open-faced with a slight slant toward the sheer drop into the Sunset Sea. Then Jamie had once made the mistake of jumping from a cell into the water as a child. It was hard for Daenerys to picture her father’s killer as a carefree child who jumped from such a height on a dare. Or how the venomous Cersei had wept with fear watching her twin fall.

On any other night, each of her children would enjoy their kills in separate crags. Tonight, they curled on broken marble tiles together, a mountain of scales and tangled wings. Scorched bones littered the floor. Drogon lifted his head, uttering a low clicking growl of greeting. Rhaegal opened one bronze-gold eye, a puff of hot smoky air enveloping her. Viserion stretched his long neck out toward her, butting her gently with his snout. Cream scales gleaming like ivory in the torchlight, Viserion eyed Ghost. Daenerys was struck by the image of dragon and direwolf regarding each other as equals. She waited, poised to command Viserion, but her dragon dismissed Ghost with a hot gust of air.  

“My darlings,” Daenerys breathed, at last letting the tension unwind.

Her knees gave out, the cold seeping through her trousers. Drogon and Rhaegal growled, trying to struggle closer to her, enveloping her in a tangle of hot scales, smoke and love. Daenerys pressed her forehead to Drogon’s neck, hands clutching Rhaegal’s wing. The tears that hovered close washed over her, until she was weeping in great, wracking sobs. Where they touched her children, her tears evaporated in a hiss of steam. Daenerys clutched Drogon until her arms quivered, dragging in deep breaths the sobbing ebbed. She drew a hiccupping breath, feeling wrung out like a dishrag. A gnawing hollowness persisted within, a Jon-shaped emptiness.

Gingerly, she reached for their bond—so terribly delicate still. Garbled images filtered through her mind’s eye, too fast for her to understand, or even discern which of her children gave them. The sea, her fall, pain, something close to a dragon’s fear, pain, pain, the horrible sound of the horn, the cold, cruel sea, blood, Jon’s face. Daenerys flinched, reminded once again of Jon’s absence. She pressed tranquility toward them, murmuring soothing words. Daenerys crooned and rocked and sang a half-forgotten song until the tide quieted into a tranquil loop of thought.  

Ghost wormed his way into their midst, offering his own furred warmth. Daenerys curled on the hard pallet of Rhaegal’s curled tail with Ghost at her back. Drogon settled at her head, drawing her beneath the warm, veined tent of his wing. Daenerys slipped off to sleep, surrounded by fire made flesh and a son of the true North, for the moment content.

It was no surprise she dreamt of Jon.

His shy smile, the roughness of his hands, the sweetness of his mouth. His smile was like spring and sunshine.

“What makes you smile so?” she asked him, nestled together in hammock, the wind sighing through the trees.

“You, my love. So beautiful,” he said, cupping the weight of her pregnant belly between them. Joy shivered through her, sharp and bright and glorious. Daenerys pressed her hand wonderingly to her belly, feeling the pulse of life within.

“Jon! Jon, look--”    

“Jelmāzmo. Wake up, my queen,” Storm-Son’s voice shattered the sweet dream into glittering shards. Daenerys nearly wept at the loss of it. She opened bleary eyes, finding her Unsullied captain staring down a snarling Viserion. The sky was the soft grey of predawn, the rasp of the sea a soothing melody. Daenerys staggered up, her back aching at the awkward position. Despite that, she felt rested and at peace.

“Lyks, Viserion,” she said, running a soothing hand along his neck and horns.

“What is it, Storm-Son?”

“Lord Tyrion sent word to find you. Raven scroll from King’s Landing,” he said.

Hope and joy and fear rushed through her in a cresting wave. Jon! Daenerys stamped feeling back into her numbed feet, murmuring love words to her children. Ghost was a warm bulwark at her shoulder. Daenerys tentatively reached for their bond, clinging to the connection as she followed Storm-Son up the flights of stairs to the lord’s rooms. It held, wavering at the edges. Her children’s thought felt muted, their emotions blunted. Satisfied, Daenerys released the link. Some progress had been made at least, and no nosebleeds to worry over.

Storm-Son opened the door and breathless, Daenerys entered the room to find her small council waiting.

“Your Grace, are you--” Ser Jorah began. Daenerys forestalled his words with an impatient gesture.

“I’m fine. What word?” she said, the words whipping out crisp and sharp. She bit back the impulse to snatch the raven scroll from Tyrion’s hand, yearning to touch something he had touched.

“Word from Robb Stark, my queen. He says his men are in position awaiting word from within the city. Duckfield’s intelligence was apparently false. Stark says he has seen no sign of the pretender or his men,” he said.

Daenerys nearly wilted with disappointment, made doubly so by the mention of the pretender. She would have liked to trounce him in battle. She covered it by pouring a measure of watered wine and sipping slowly. The crisp cold soothed her parched throat, sore from the previous days’ screams.

“A disappointment, though no great surprise. Any word from Asha?”

“Yes. She is in command of the garrison at Dragonstone,” Ser Barristan said.

“Tell her I had the pleasure of meeting her uncle. Send the details of the ships we obtained from Euron’s fleet. She will know best how to disseminate them. When we take King’s Landing, we will need precise coordination and timing.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Tyrion said. Conversation ranged to questioning the ironborn captains, the attempted assassination by Euron Crow Eye, his cryptic words about Jon. Ghost, bored with the discussion, stretched out on the carpet and began grooming himself.

“His intent was to rattle you, Your Grace. Tempt you into facing him alone,” Tyrion said, swirling his wine in his cup. Daenerys bit back her irritation at such a pandering comment.

“I know that,” she snapped, “But Euron Greyjoy has been sailing the Sunset Sea for years. How would he know Jon was riding with us?” A contemplative silence answered her.

“Shade of the evening has been known to cause visions, Your Grace. A charlatan such as the Greyjoy could cobble together a tale to suit his purposes,” Lady Melisandre offered, her ruby pulsing at her throat. Daenerys nodded, dissatisfied with the answer.

“Well he’s dead, so we will never know. And Jon is in that foul city all but naked and I cannot--” she broke off, swallowing the terror with some effort. She read sympathy in their eyes and couldn’t muster the will to accept it with grace. She clenched her jaw hard enough to make her teeth hurt.  

“What is our status on the ironborn?” she asked in an appropriately steely tone. Her small council’s relief was palpable as they settled to the task at hand.        

“Those who were in contact with Greyjoy have been detained,” Ser Jorah said. Daenerys nodded.

“Ser Barristan, you and Lady Melisandre question the captains and possible saboteurs. I want answers on who would betray me.”

“As you say, Your Grace,” Melisandre said with a graceful nod.

Discussion then ranged to the raids and drilling of the fighting men, supplies and livestock for the castle and men, the progress of the bunks and stables under construction in the tunnels beneath the Rock for when the true cold came. Silence fell as serving girls bustled in and out, laying out breakfast. The tub stood empty before the fire and Daenerys eyed it with longing.

“We will leave you to rest, Your Grace,” Tyrion said with a grin. Daenerys returned the gesture with genuine affection. Perhaps pampering would go a long way to restoring her peace of mind.

“Bring me any raven scrolls from King’s Landing at once. I spend the remainder of the day touring the castle. Then I intend to spend the evening with my sons otherwise.” Flying and time with her children would hopefully mend their bond.

“Of course,” Tyrion said.

Missandei and her serving ladies drew a bath. Daenerys spent a lovely half hour scrubbing all memory of the previous days from her skin, and another allowing the heat and steam to loosen the knots in her muscles. Clean and dry, clad in a fresh tunic and trousers, she leaned back into Missandei’s gentle, capable hands. Daenerys closed her eyes and watched amber patterns dance, relishing the soft scrape of the comb, the sleek caress of rose oil. Missandei began to sing, in a sweet voice clear as cut crystal.

“A lovely lass of silver hair/a dragon so noble and strong/came to reclaim the home she long thought gone.” Daenerys opened her eyes, seeking Missandei’s amber-brown ones. She wore an expression of embarrassed pleasure, rosy color staining her cheeks. Daenerys smiled, encouraging her to continue. It was quite the task to make a song lyrical in two languages, but as Missandei sang in Valyrian, the syllables flowed like a river of honey. From his place by the fire, Ghost’s tufted ears pricked at the music.

“For upon that cursed iron chair/was a mad lion who made all despair/But then the maiden fair/met the noble wolf there/a union of ice and fire/they say a love of burning dragon’s fire--” Pain pierced her joy at the thought of Jon, a soul-deep longing.

“That’s beautiful, Missandei. I didn’t know you wrote poetry,” Daenerys said.

“A little. Valyrian is a language made for poetry,” she said with a bashful smile.

“I love it. I would be honored to hear more when you wish.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

They chatted of insignificant things like silly girls as Missandei deftly braided and pinned her hair into an intricate pattern.

“Thank you, my friend,” Daenerys said, taking her hand.

“You should rest, Your Grace,” Missandei said, with a fervent squeeze of her captive hand.

“Perhaps later. There is work to be done,” Daenerys said, rising.

“Send a runner to have my silver tacked. I will tour the castle and ride with the next scouting party.”

Riding her silver was a pleasure of marching she missed. The warmth and strength of her mare beneath her, her long, liquid stride, the pleasant tension of long-unused muscles. Ghost enjoyed the run as well. With his size, he could keep pace with the horses with ease. His white coat was easily distinguished amongst the rattling yellowed grasses and brown-striped stone canyons of the West. Rakharo, Kovarro, and Aggo surrounded her, a mixed group of Dothraki and Westerosi ranging behind them. Grey Worm’s Unsullied had reported seeing fires in the hills to the southeast, just beyond Lannisport.

“You have earned another braid, khaleesi. That maggot raised a hand against you,” Kovarro said, nudging his bay even with her silver’s stirrup. Daenerys nodded toward Ghost.

“It was Ghost’s victory, Kovarro. He killed Crow Eye.”

“The wolf is bloodrider also, khaleesi. Bonded to Snow of the Wolf Tent as you are bonded with your dragons. The victory is yours,” Aggo said.

“I owe you gifts for your loyalty, Qoy Qoyi,” she said with a thin smile. Kovarro returned the smile with his own.

“With any luck, we’ll find some of the weaklings to slay.”

The patrol was a quiet one, to Kovarro’s dismay. Riding with her men, amid Rakharo’s jests with the brisk wind and her silver beneath her, the heaviness in her soul lifted. The sun began its trek into the sea in a fiery conflagration of colors as they rode into the Lion’s Mouth. She anticipated a hot supper and an evening spent with her children. Her silver’s unshod hooves clattered on the stone, followed by the Westerosi’s heavier, ringing clop. Daenerys slowed her horse’s prancing with a nudge of rein as Tyrion waddled up at swift clip. Daenerys smile faded.

“What is it, Lord Hand?” Her stomach churned.

“A raven from King’s Landing, Your Grace,” he said, his expression grave. Her silver sensed her unease, tossing her head. Daenerys snatched the parchment from his hand. Her heart leapt up to her throat as she recognized Jon’s square, heavy-handed script, scrawled with some haste.

‘Valar Morghulis. Kingswood, five leagues east of the kingsroad. Come quickly.’

  “I’ll be just outside the door,” Brienne said for the third time. The nerves in Jon’s belly were quelled by a near-manic surge of humor. He bit the inside of his lip to stifle a laugh.

“Give me until the count of one hundred. If I don’t call for you, come in,” Jon said, resting his hand on Longclaw’s pommel. He felt reassured by the weight against his hip. In the scrum of scouring The Red Door tavern for the t others, Pod had meanwhile fetched both Longclaw and Oathkeeper as well a heavy sack of silver. Of Darren, Elmar and Orwen, there was no sign.

Outside Flea Bottom, the city seethed. The Dragonpit now joined the Sept of Baelor in ashes. The wildfire cache in the tunnels beneath the city had detonated, killing an untold number. Fire and Blood. In that, at least, there was a bit of luck. If the Lannisters had questioned soldiers dying on the Street of Steel, they certainly did not have time to ponder it. Every tacksman and goldcloak would be at the Dragonpit dealing with the chaos. Though given the proximity of the Dragonpit to Flea Bottom, Jon supposed his luck was a mixed bag.

The Seven Stars was a nondescript tavern, and Pod led them to an even more nondescript side door with a breathless murmur. His task was to seek the other spies and see what the hell was going on in the city. The window to find Arya or Sansa was slamming closed, and Jon had snatch at the opportunity before it smashed his fingers. Brienne scanned the tavern, empty save for the bartender listlessly swilling grog by the fire.

A solid oak door carved with the signature seven stars opened to reveal a room with barrels of grog lining the walls, furnished with a rickety table. Seated at the table was a slender man maybe a few years older than Jon, with long brown hair hanging dirty and unkempt. He sipped grog from a horn cup. Jon’s eyes raked over him, searching for a hidden crossbow, sniffing for a hint of poison. All he found was a wooden cane leaning against the table. Jon steeled himself at the reminder of Bran.

“I mean you no harm,” the man said, spreading empty palms, “I wouldn’t drag my sorry carcass to this tavern everyday if I did.”

“How do I know you’re the man who sent the letter?” Jon said, rooted to the spot near the door. The man had once been handsome, but hunger had shrunken his flesh close to his bones. His cheekbones looked sharp enough to cut. Green eyes blazed cat-like from his skull.

“Suspicious. That means you’re as smart as you are pretty,” he said, pausing to sip his drink.

“I wrote to Robb Stark of a day by a northern lake. Young Sansa found polished rocks while the boys played in the water, along with little Arya.” Jon frowned at the man’s soft tone. Gods, he hated trusting a stranger. But if this skinny asp had even a hint of where Sansa or Arya were, Jon would throttle him until he was satisfied with his answers. Jon sank into the chair opposite him.

“Tell me everything. Who you are, what you know, and how you know it,” Jon said in an even, steely tone.

“I’ve suffered enough for good faith that I need reassurances before I answer.” Anger simmered in his belly, hot and steady. His fists clenched and unclenched on the table, the knobs of his knuckles whitening.

“What do you want?”

“You’ll take me with you when you leave this godsforsaken city, provide me safe passage north, and two hundred gold dragons for my trouble.”

“Two hundred dragons? Are you mad?”

“A king’s ransom, or a princess’s in this case,” he drawled, eyes steady on Jon’s over the rim of his cup.

“Robb will pay your ransom. Our route out of the city takes strength. We won’t be able to coddle you,” Jon hedged with a significant glance at the cane. The man chuckled, though the hard set of his face spoke of pain, not mirth.  

“I’ve suffered worse, boy.” Jon rankled at the address, but let it slide.

“A deal is struck, on one condition: I verify your information as true and rescue Sansa or Arya. If you speak truly, the agreement stands. If you prove false . . .” Jon let the sentence hang. If he proved false, Robb would cut his head off, if there was anything left of him once Jon was finished. The man’s composed expression didn’t alter. Who was this man? He spoke as a man with some education, accustomed to authority.

“I agree to your terms.”

“Now tell me what you know.” Silence stretched the air taut as the man considered Jon. The simmer in his belly was now a boil. Jon clenched his jaw.

“You love your sister. I had to know. Sansa deserves protection after all she’s suffered.”

“So you know where she is?”

“Yes. She’s in the Vale. The Eyrie specifically.”

“And Arya?”

The man frowned, shaking his head, and one stubborn ember of hope burning in his chest faded to ash.

“I am sorry, Snow. I don’t know where little Arya is. My contacts have been unable to locate her.”  Jon swallowed hard.

“But Sansa. You say she’s been in the Eyrie this whole time? Who--” Jon broke off, a realization dawning.

“Littlefinger. That rat kidnapped her from Joffery’s wedding in the confusion and sailed off to marry Lysa Arryn.”

“Got it in one.” the man toasted Jon with his cup. Jon shook his head, baffled and excited in equal measure. Finally, something to go off of.

“But Lysa is Lady Stark’s own sister. Why would she keep Sansa her prisoner?”

“Lysa’s touched in the head, a murderer, and mealy-mouthed cunt. She’d sell Catelyn Stark’s head if Littlefinger told her to.” Questions multiplied as he spoke with such venom, but Jon stuck to the salient points doggedly.

“How do you know this?”

“I have a friend who ferries letters between Sansa and I. We’ve traded letters since Joffery’s murder.” A crippled, learned man accustomed to power who shared correspondence with Ned Stark’s daughter . . .

“You’re Willas Tyrell,” Jon said, just as Brienne shouldered her way in. The man’s lips curved in a sharp smile, his gaze not breaking Jon’s. He glanced back to find Brienne shut the door behind her, suspicious and hopeful in equal measure.

“Well done, Jon Snow. Guilty as charged. You have your answers.”

Jon grunted in reluctant amusement. The revelation raised more questions than it answered.

“Why all the subterfuge? Your grandmother has declared for Daenerys. If she would risk treason and death for the sake of revenge, she would do that and more in order to free you.”

“My grandmother thought I perished in the sack of Highgarden. In all honesty, I thought I had too--” a crash from beyond the door. Jon and Brienne swiveled toward the door, Willas rising slower. Moments later, Podrick crashed in the room, streaming sweat and breathing like he’d ran a footrace.

“We have to go! We—the others, Elmar, Darren, Orwen, they--” he paused, gulping hungrily for air.

“—I found Darren. He said the goldcloaks were moving the wildfire—spreading it beneath the entire city. Cersei she—she—she’s gone mad! She—”

“Pod, slow down!” Brienne said. The squire took in a calming breath.

“Cersei plans to lure the queen’s forces in, then set the whole city on fire!” Those words delivered in a calm tone did not soften their impact. It struck Jon hard in the gut.

“But the wildfire burned. That means--” Jon said, the realization dawning in a pained flash of green-hued fire.

“They’re dead, Darren too. He died burned half to the seven hells in an alley. He said they set it off to save the city. Goldcloaks saw me, though. We have to move. Now!” Jon glanced at Willas with an arched brow.

“Let’s see how you move.”

[kmomof4]

Fic Rec List 3 of 3 tonight

Since my original post was too long, I had to break it up into 3 posts tonight. Hopefully this works. The whole thing is the definitive list of all my favorite fics. On a scale of 1-10, all of these are rated 11 or higher. A single asterisk next to a fic is a desert island fic that I couldn’t do without. A double asterisk is a #1 all time favorite fic that I reread regularly. All links, Tumblr handle (if I know it), ao3 and/or ff profile, links to fics on ao3 and/or ff, are included.  So settle in for some fabulous reading from this EXTREMELY long list. 

From @whisperofgrace on Tumblr, ao3 and ff I Feel So is a post-Neverland one shot in which Emma is forced to confront her feelings for Killian after seeing him with Ruby. Rated E ao3 and ff.

What Could Have Been is a canon divergent in which everyone is sent back to the EF, but something went wrong and now Killian has to break the curse. Rated M with 25ch. ao3 and ff.

From @itsalostgirlthing on Tumblr, ao3 and ff 10 Things I Hate About Killian Jones is a modern HS AU based on the movie. Victor and Mary Margaret come up with an elaborate scheme to get Victor into Ruby’s good graces by pairing notorious player Killian Jones with loner Emma Swan. Rated T with 11ch. ao3 and ff.

From somethingalltogether on ao3 and Somethingalltogether on ff Accidental Acceptance is a season 3 canon divergent one shot. Killian accepts Pan’s deal. The consequences are devastating. Rated E one shot. ao3 and ff.

To Succeed Is Not to Win is a canon divergent WIP where Hook finally succeeds in getting his revenge. Emma is caught in the aftermath. Rated M with 5ch so far. ao3 and ff.

From @asthewheelwills on Tumblr, fardareismai on ao3 *Let’s Go Steal a One-Time Thing is a CS Leverage fic. A Hacker, a Hitter, a Thief, and a goal. Now all they need is an honest person to show them how to reach it. Rated T with 6ch. First and only part (for the time being) of the series Let’s Go Steal Ourselves a Happy Ending.

From @ashar663 on Tumblr, ashar663 on ao3 and ff Professor Jones is a modern AU where Killian is a professor of Maritime History who falls for his graduate student Emma Swan. Now complete on ff, only 9ch posted on ao3. Rated M.

Through the Hat is a canon divergent from 2X1 Broken. Instead of Emma and Mary Margaret falling through the hat, only Emma does and she lands in the sea where Captain Hook saves her. Rated M WIP with 7ch so far. ao3 and ff.

From @initiala on Tumblr, InitialA on ao3, Initial A on ff Storybrooke Downs Series featuring (in order) Little Bits of Fluff, rated G one shot, ao3 and ff. Grocery Stick, rated G two shot, ao3 and ff, Dark Horse (main fic), rated M with 28ch, ao3 and ff. Fruit of the Alder Tree, rated T one shot, ao3 and ff. Got the Bit Between Your Teeth, rated T one shot, ao3 and ff. The Forest for the Trees, rated M one shot, ao3 and ff. Horse of a Different Color, rated T one shot, ao3 and ff. Get Back on the Horse (That Bucked You), rated E one shot, ao3 and ff. This series is set in the world of Storybook Downs, a prestigious race horse training facility. The one shots give background to and differing perspectives of events in the main fic.

From @victorias-tales on Tumblr, secretless_vicki on ao3, Victoria-Ashlyn on ff All In a Days Work is a modern AU WIP in which Killian is a con man and Emma is the FBI agent intent on bringing him down. Until he scores his biggest con yet by convincing the FBI to hire him and partnering with Emma. Rated M with 6ch so far. ao3 and ff.

From @ripplestitchskein on Tumblr, Ripplestitchskein on ao3 Light of All Lights is a fairytale in 5 parts. What happens when the ship that Killian “Deckhand Hook” Jones is on crashes on the Dark Swan’s island? Contains dark fairy tale elements. Rated E with 5ch.

From @scapeartist on Tumblr, scapeartist on ao3, ScapeArtist on ff Surf and Turf Wars is a modern AU featuring CaptainCharming BroTP. Killian and David are best friends who own different restaurants in the same town. Will a potential for a Michelin Guide critic and 3 star rating come between the two men? Rated G with 4ch. ao3 and ff

From @swanslieutenant on Tumblr, twistedroses on ao3 Star Struck is a modern AU where Emma hits TV star Killian Jones with her car without realizing who he is. Rated T one shot.

A Place in Time is a modern AU where the biggest missing persons case of all time lands in agent Emma Swan’s lap. Thousands of people appear in a flash of white light at a lake in the middle of winter. Some have been missing for decades or even centuries, including a certain pirate, but haven’t aged a day since their disappearance. Rated T WIP with 9ch so far.

From @this-too-too-sullied-flesh on Tumblr, wtvoc on ao3 If One Only Remembers to Turn on the Light is her new AU. Killian sets up his booth at the local farmers market each week, and each week he sees her. This summary in hardly any way accurately summarizes what is going on in the fic. It’s only the original setting and it goes in a very unexpected and fascinating direction. Rated M WIP with 2ch so far.

The Next Wounded Soul is a EF AU where Lieutenant Killian Jones has been wounded in the war against the Dark One. He is attended by a noble woman of the kingdom. Will he ever find her again? Rated E with 12ch.

Theoretically is a modern AU where Killian’s gift to Emma for her 30th birthday is to prove to her that he really is as good as he says he is. Rated E with 4ch.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY LOSER Is a modern AU where Emma mistakenly texts a stranger when wishing an old friend happy birthday. They continue to text and eventually meet. Rated E with 3ch.

Waiting is a canon compliant deleted scene set in season 4. Pirates take, Killian waits. Rated M one shot.

From @sotheylived on Tumblr, sotheylived on ao3 Dare Over Truth is a modern AU where Emma is a tattoo artist who joins her friends, including Killian, for Truth or Dare every week. Killian never turns down a dare, until he does.

From @gingerchangeling on Tumblr and ao3, firechangeling on ff A Darkness for the Light is a EF AU where Princess Emma must give herself to Dark Hook if she has any hope of saving her family and her kingdom. Rated E WIP with 22ch so far. ao3 and ff.

The Disasters series is a series of one shots named after a different natural disaster. All rated E. Includes Tornado, ao3 and ff; Tsunami, ao3 and ff; Landslide, ao3 and ff; and Wildfire ao3 and ff.

From @ohmyodonghue on Tumblr, melissa13 on ao3, Melissa Black13 on ff Dead at Heart is modern vampire AU. When women start being murdered in her small town, Sheriff Emma Swan has to turn to 300yr old vampire Killian Jones for help. Rated M WIP with 8ch so far. ao3 and ff

From @iminwinnipegthatsincanada on Tumblr, BrittJK on ao3 and ff Hit Me With Your Best Shot is a modern AU where Emma and Killian are captains on opposing dodge ball teams. Rated T with 8ch. ao3 and ff

Nothing Beats a Fresh Pair of Socks Out of the Dryer is a rated G one shot where Emma gets a match on her dating app with her biggest celebrity crush Killian Jones. ao3 and ff

From @secret-captain-swan-blog on Tumblr, secret_cs_fics on ao3 Castle on a Hill is a modern day lost princess AU. Rated T WIP with 8ch so far.

From Ice_Cube44 on ao3, IceCube1 on ff To Repair a Heart was her January Joy submission where Killian is a pediatric heart surgeon in the 1950′s and Henry Swan is his patient. Rated T one shot that will eventually get a second part. ao3 and ff.

Message In a Bottle is a modern AU where Killian finds a message in a bottle written almost 20yrs ago. He sets out to find the writer, Emma Swan. Rated T with 5ch. ao3 and ff.

From @stophookingatmeswan on Tumblr, ao3 and ff These Nights Never Seem to Go to Plan is a modern AU where Emma and Killian are both cops. As their lives start to interact professionally, they realize that they’re also drawn together personally. Rated E with 21ch. ao3 and ff.

Forged in Fire is a new multi chapter with 1ch so far. Killian is a master bladesmith and Emma is new on the scene. Rated E.

Guitars and Scarred Hearts is a modern Rock Star!Killian AU. Rated E WIP with 6ch so far.

From @bleebug on Tumblr, bleebug on ao3 ***Every Letter series which includes Every Letter, Every Touch, and Every Letter: Ten Years. EL tells the story of a class project which brings together international pen pals Emma and Killian. They grow up writing to each other. Rated T with 10ch. ET is rated E with 5ch and takes place during various EL chapters. ELTY is a one shot of Emma and Killian’s 10th relationship  anniversary.

From @nowforruin on Tumblr, ao3 and ff The Stars Walk Backwards is a modern AU in which Emma and Killian meet up on the same day every year. Rated M with 4ch. ao3 and ff

The Trouble With Faking It is a modern AU in which Emma is hired by Regina to help improve Hollywood bad boy Killian Jones’s image. Rated E with 26ch. ao3 and ff.

Bar Nights and Christmas Lights is a modern AU where Emma’s most recent one night stand shows up when and where she least expects him. Christmas 2 shot. Rated T. ao3 and ff.

Lost Souls and Rabbit Holes is a modern AU where Ruby decides she’s going to help Killian get back on his feet by hiring him as a bartender at The Rabbit Hole. This is a CS fic. Rated M with 27ch. ao3 and ff.

Seabrooke is a modern AU where Sheriff Emma is caught up in a web of betrayal and treachery that she never would have expected in the tiny town of Seabrooke. Rated M with 21ch. ao3 and ff.

A Change in the Wind is a canon-divergent where Regina enlists Captain Hook to keep Emma Swan from coming to Storybrooke on her 28th birthday. Rated M with 24ch. ao3 and ff.

From misslizanne on ao3 The Joy of Rediscovering You is a modern AU where musician Killian Jones is forced into the care and protection of bodyguard Emma Swan. He remembers her as the employee at the record shop he used to frequent. Can he convince her that he's the same man he was then? Rated M with 4ch.

From @drowned-dreamer on Tumblr, Drowned_dreamer on ao3 and Drowned-dreamer on ff The Ghost and Emma Swan is a modern AU in which single mom Emma Swan falls in love with and buys Misthaven cottage, unaware that a very old and very deceased pirate still lives there. Rated M with 18ch. ao3 and ff.

From YouSaidWho on ao3 Burn is an EF AU featuring CS, OutlawQueen, and TinkFire. Darkness gathers at the edge of the kingdom. What will it take to defeat it? Rated E with 26ch.

From @nothingimpossibleonlyimprobable on Tumblr and ao3, NothingImpossible on ff Secrets and Spies, Truth and Lies is a modern AU where CIA hacker Emma Swan is paired up with MI6 brothers Liam and Killian Jones in a mission to bring down an ex-spy. Rated M with 10ch. ao3 and ff

Mother Tongue is a rated T one shot based on the head canon that Liam and Killian would speak Irish to each other when they were alone.

From @belovedcreation on Tumblr, BelovedCreation on ao3 That’s the Way I Wanna Rock ‘n Roll is a modern AU where Rock Star Killian starts getting death threats. Enter security expert Emma Swan. Rated M with 31ch.

Sparkling is an EF AU. Emma is cursed and her disfigurement guarantees she will never find her True Love. That doesn’t stop her parents from continuing to search. Pirate captain Killian Jones impersonates a prince in order to find gold, he finds True Love instead. Rated G with 18ch.

Ships Passing in the Night is an EF AU. Emma is looking to con the biggest fish in the sea, Captain Hook. But what if he’s been looking for her too? Rated M one shot.

As Seen on TV is a modern AU where Emma and Killian are on a reality TV show. Rated T one shot.

The Best Things Happen When You’re Dancing is a modern AU where Emma and Killian meet up at swing dancing festival. Rated G one shot.

That’s all for tonight. The remaining recs should be up early next week. Thank you all for reading and your patience! Tagging those authors on Tumblr. @whisperofgrace @itsalostgirlthing @asthewheelwills @ashar663 @initiala @victorias-tales @swanslieutenant @ripplestitchskein @scapeartist @this-too-too-sullied-flesh @sotheylived @gingerchangeling @ohmyodonghue @iminwinnipegthatsincanada @secret-captain-swan-blog @stophookingatmeswan @bleebug @nowforruin @drowned-dreamer @nothingimpossibleonlyimprobable @belovedcreation

[gene-zane-strider-blog]

Comfort

Notes: this should have been moxiety more davekat!!! yay!! so i wrote this and now i am 100% stable again. @the90sfreshestdude i wrote this for you fam. i kinda took my own discomfort and put it on karkat... sorry bro ;w;

also can i get a clap for no proofreading?

Warnings: to much fluff tbfh

The moon glistens high above the horizon of the sea, the suns’ now gray tinted light reflecting off the dull blue water. Stars compliment the moon, surrounding the over-sized rock.

You keep your toes in the cold water, the waves sometimes barely touching your ankles. You have your arms wrapped around your legs, keeping them together. It was one of those nights, where Dave, Terezi, Vriska, and John where all hanging out along with you but when Dave showed up everyone was like ‘holy shit it’s the party gangster!’ and you got excluded.

Like normal.

Not to mention they were watching those god-awful horror movies, which freaked you out so much you went to your room after the first movie and cried your eyes out. They were simply too much for you. Maybe it was how every single movie started out with someone dying, or all the jump scares, or maybe it was even how loud Dave turned the TV up until it sounded like a damn movie theater, which you hated. Everything about Dave just being an overall dick and not ever asking what you wanted to do made you angry. It’s the minority vs. the majority. Who’s going to win? Obviously not you. Besides, who in hell would care about some mutant troll who was almost left for dead on Alternia, and after settling down on Earth, was left alone, with the memory of the game and torment he endured?

Defiantly not Strider.

No, no. Dave certainly didn’t go through the awful shit you did. He must have lived in a mansion, with millions of… maids, and butlers, and the most amazing and expensive furniture. He had only the most comfortable bed sheets, the largest bathroom, was homeschooled, and lived in a sparkling queen naure and god damn it you’re crying again.

“KK?” A voice rings out from behind you, making you jump up. Luckily, your tears fall into the waves and slowly lost their red color.

“What do you want?” You question. The ocean was your only friend. You keep on telling Terezi not to invite this douche over but she does it anyway.

Strider sits down beside you, taking off his shoes and socks, dipping his feet in with you. Quickly, you manage to get yourself to man up and stop crying like a wimp. “I want to apologize.”

“Apologize for what?” You speak, resting your chin on your knees and staring at the ocean.

“For… uh, have being such an asshole to you ever since we managed to stabilize on Earth,” Dave sighs. “You know, I’m still kinda traumatized from the game.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” You hiss silently.

“Don’t act like you’ve been trying to cope.”

You look over a little, straining your eyes. Just barely, though. Not to the point where it hurts, but to the point where you have to stop in a couple of minutes. “We’ve all been trying to get our fucking lives together, Dave. Why do you think I decided to live near the ocean? It’s pretty, and it reminds me of the way things used to be. Relaxing and calm. But those days are long gone now, aren’t they? We aren’t ever getting our old lives back, aren’t we? Wouldn’t you want to go back to when you were a wrig- kid?”

Dave looks over. You can see his eyes staring into yours even through his dark shades. “Fuck no dude. My childhood was awful.”

You bring your feet out of the sea and onto the sand. “Wh- what? You didn’t live in a luxurious mansion?”

“Hah! That’s a joke, right?” Dave crosses his arms.

You shake your head and he laughs. “Dude, I lived at the top of a shitty apartment complex and there were puppets everywhere. It was dirty, paint was chipped off, brick was exposed, and bro was hella abusive. It sucked.”

You stare, amazed. Everything you thought was just destroyed just in front of you. Dave’s hair looked lighter in the moon than it did during the day. It was a lot messier than you remember it ever being.

“… oh,” you look back at the sea, slowly extending your legs back in.

“I didn’t come out here just to apologize,” Dave sighs, running his hands through his hair. A slight smile comes to his face. “Heh, it’s really dark out here.”

You notice a bit of hesitation in his voice. “Is something wrong?”

Dave shake his head. “No, it’s just… really dark.”

“Then take off your glasses.”

He remains silent for a split second before popping up. “H-Heh yeah! I should ha- do, that.”

The blonde takes off his sunglasses and hooks them onto his shirt, revealing bright blood-red eyes. They shine like rubies in a flashlight’s glow, a subtle bit of burgundy in certain places.

You end up staring aimlessly at Dave, who eventually notices and looks at you. Both of you two end up in a staring contest unknowingly. Something about him keeps drawing you in, unable to pull away. Your thoughts run rapid, pointing out the small features in Dave’s face. Freckles dot the edges of his eyes and ears, and there is just a tiny bit of a shadow under his eyes, representing the fact that he still isn’t getting quite enough sleep. You haven’t either, but the last time you looked in the mirror, you were pretty sure you didn’t have any noticeable bags. Of course they come with age, but you and the others were still young; your mid-twenties.

Dave eventually scoots a bit closer. He closes the gap between you two ever so slowly, causing your face to heat up a little as he is literally centimeters away from your face. He leans in slowly, and your mind goes on red alert. Holy shit he’s going to k-!

“Boop.” He whispers as he softly touches your nose with his finger. You stare in disgust as a large smirk shoots across his face.

“I fucking hate you, Strider.” You growl.

“You love me.”

“Damn it Strider, I can’t go one second without you ruining me, can I?”

He laughs and slowly pulls you in, touching your lips gently. You fall into the slight grip he keeps on your lips, and you interlock your hand with the one he has on your cheek. He backs up for a millisecond before you go in for another kiss, surprising Dave (a little) and passionately kissing you back, breaking apart a minute later.

You shake your head and let out a small chuckle, looking back at the sea. “God damn it, Dave,” You comment as he laughs- that sweet, sweet sound of joy that he does so often around you.

You’re pretty sure you can get used to it.

[megaphonemonday]

#PickUpPitch prompt fill - not for adults

Thanks so much to @alwayskels​ for sending in your #PickUpPitch letter to Hulu! (And putting in so much work on @pitchstreetteam​!)

I’m gonna let you all read this one for yourselves. Just be aware it is a baby!fic, though you don’t see much of the baby. 

(If you’d like me to write a 1K word fic for a prompt of your own, follow the directions at the end of this post)

read on ao3

Ginny felt like she was on top of the world. It had been so good to be back on the field again—a homecoming of sorts, and she didn’t think it was just her hormones making her feel like that. For her first home start to end in a shut out, to hear the crowd roar as she left the field for the last time, it really was the win that she needed. 

Much as she'd ended up loving her maternity leave, bonding with Ruby and teasing Mike about intruding on his laid back retirement, she had missed the game. And, after a while, her teammates, too.

So, she let herself be buoyed along into the clubhouse, surrounded by her boys and the sweet rush of victory.

They were still whooping as they hit the main hub, spreading out to their lockers. As they went, there was plenty friendly jostling and congratulatory back pats for Ginny. Blip hooked an arm around her neck and grinned down at her, chest puffed out in pride.

"Glad to have you back, G."

"Glad to be back, Cap'n," she returned, hip checking him out of her space.

He pushed her off towards her cubby with a laugh.

Ginny rubbed at her collar bone as she went, wondering if she should pump in her dressing room before going home or just change and get out of here. She didn't really want to keep her driver (or his tiny copilot, who was no doubt overdue for a nap) waiting. Anyway, it hadn't been a very long game, and her breasts didn't feel too heavy. She could probably make it home without leaking breast milk everywhere.

Which Ginny was pretty sure had never been a thought anyone had ever had in the Padres' clubhouse before.

Chuckling to herself, she headed off to change.

When she came out, Ginny was entirely unsurprised to find most of her teammates still in their uniforms, going through a play by play of the game.

"Man, that catch out at the wall was beautiful," gushed Salvi to the team's new left fielder, a young guy named Aaron Simpson.

The guy had just gotten into San Diego a few days ago, straight from AAA, and was still getting his sea legs. He looked down, clearly a little overwhelmed. Ginny couldn't help but smile, remembering what a rush it had been to finally get a real compliment from her teammates after getting called up.

"Thanks," Aaron replied, looking back up bashfully. Then, he nodded over to Ginny, offering her a grin. "Just wanted to do my part. Keep the shutout going for our pitcher."

Ginny nodded back, but didn't get a chance to reply.

"Ginny you were on fire!" crowed Dusty, sprawled out in his swivel chair. "Seven innings and one hit? Too bad you can't come off maternity leave every game."

"Yeah, that's not how pregnancy works," she laughed, shaking her head and heading for the fridge. There was one last thing had to get before she could leave and go home.

Dusty just shrugged and swiveled to Omar, seated next to him. Behind her back, she could hear him slap the infielder on the back.

"Man, you're in charge of pre-game meals from now on. Whatever you put in those smoothies really did the trick. I mean, a shutout against the Dodgers? That's the kind of mojo we need."

There was a chorus of agreement, requests for the recipe as Ginny rummaged through the team fridge. Someone had shoved the bottle of her pumped breast milk all the way to the back. For a heart-stopping moment, she thought it was actually gone. As Omar went through all the stuff he put in the smoothies, denying that he'd added anything special today, a brilliant thought coalesced in Ginny's mind.

Shoving the little bottle into her breast pump case and zipping her backpack closed, Ginny wandered back out to the main room, a frown on her face.

Omar was saying, "Nah, I use this soy milk that I bring from home," which really couldn't be more perfect for her purposes.

"Hey, did anyone move the milk I pumped before the game?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest. "I'm sure I put it in the fridge."

As one, 23 horrified pairs of eyes swiveled to Omar. Omar just blinked, fear blanking out his features. Nervously, his eyes darted to the kitchenette behind Ginny.

"Tell me you didn't," groaned Sonny, a fist raised to his mouth and looking nauseated.

"No. No way. I couldn't've," Omar breathed, though he sounded less certain with each denial.

More than one Padre started to rub at their stomachs uncertainly.

Schooling her voice, Ginny continued, "I mean, I found the bottle in the sink, but why would one of you just dump it out? You guys know I have to feed my kid, right?"

Javanes pushed by her and stood staring in horror at the sink and the blender pitcher sitting in it. "I think I'm gonna be sick," he announced, dashing for the bathroom.

On cue, a rain of dirty socks and more than one jock strap fell on poor Omar. A barrage of groans and disgust followed, the Padres making their displeasure known. Loudly. Butch started to scrub at his tongue, though Ginny was sure the towel he used was more suspect than a smoothie with a little breast milk in it. More than one water bottle was drained, trying to cleanse some palates. Even Blip looked a little queasy, though with twin boys he probably shouldn't have looked so grossed out. Ginny struggled not to break, sternly telling herself to keep her cool.

Omar just looked like he wanted to disappear, sinking lower and lower into his chair. She was going to have to find some way to make it up to him. Maybe a fruit basket...

Just as she was about to cave and tell them all it was just a joke, the double doors of the clubhouse were pushed open, banging against the cinderblock walls.

Three years retired and the man still couldn't resist making an entrance.

"Baker, what is with the hold up?" Mike Lawson demanded, 9-month-old Ruby strapped to his chest and gurgling her agreement.

When the baby laid eyes on her mom, though, her chubby little face lit up and her arms waved, fingers grasping the air. "Mama!"

Ginny jogged over, her prank forgotten. "Hello, baby girl!" she cooed, brushing a hand over her soft head. To Mike, she answered, "Sorry, got caught up in here."

"Why am I not surprised?" Lawson cast a judgmental eye over the crew of groaning, whining Padres—a few were gagging and more were following Javanes to the bathroom, throwing Omar dirty looks as they went—and nodded his understanding. "Do I wanna know what happened to them?"

Ginny studied the scene before them, 24 fully-grown men, many of whom had children of their own, steadily losing their minds at the thought of having ingested some breast milk. She shrugged. They'd survive not knowing the truth for a while longer.

Looking up at Mike, she replied, "Nah. Let's go home."

He shook his head, smiling ruefully like he knew she was full of it, but didn't argue. "Whatever you say, Gin."

"That's right, old man," she laughed, turning her back on her over-dramatic teammates.

Together, they walked out of the clubhouse, leaving the mayhem behind.

It was so good to be back, on the job and with her team, but honestly?

It would be even better to get home.