#AND MIKE IS ON THE OTHER SIDE LOOKING AT THE PAINTING WITH HEARTS FLOATING AROUND HIS HEAD THINKING ABOUT HOW WILL LOVES HIM DKSNDNND

[whynotimtired]

Thinking about how there was like half a day where mike knew it was requited....

[i-ate-the-whole-entire-pie]

Call Me Mother, Chapter One

I languidly drained the last breath from my cigarette, the drag filling my lungs. My garter straps hung down lazily, tickling my thighs, as they awaited their purpose. Music thumped rapidly, and whoops of delight resounded through the hall. The dressing room door swung open; a small, but curvaceous woman behind it.

Her eyebrows were tweezed to perfection, eyes deeply shadowed, eyelashes false and curled into large feathery swoops; her mouth was like a plump strawberry. I’d always harbored a mild curiosity about how it tasted.

“Mary, you’re up in 10 minutes. I want you at the curtain in five," Cristella said, her hispanic accent thick.

“Is that a new corset?” I asked. Cristella turned me around, and yanked the laces of my corset together. Thank god I haven’t needed to breathe for the last 150 years, I thought. I floated a small influence her way. Gentler, please. She complied, unwittingly. They always do.

I don’t normally use my influence on people I like, but I’m far too hungry to risk her pinching me with this corset. I couldn’t forgive myself if I lost control. She was far too kind to die a death that violent.

“It is. This papí chulo I’ve been seeing said he wanted me to wear it for him. Maybe he’ll tip better," she said, carefully pulling the slack out of the lower half of my corset. I placed my hands over my belly, holding everything in place.

“What’s the crowd looking like?” I tucked the ties away. She jutted a hip out, and began counting off on her impeccably manicured fingers.

“The usual crowd. Old Man Carraway, that one divorcee who drinks like a fish. College kids. Oh, there’s also these dudes in silver masks. Low-key kind of demonic. And some weird guy in like, face paint? He’s painted up like a calavera. I figured they came from that concert that was in town. You know, the one that church was protesting? Say they like worship Satan or something?”

“Sounds about right." I bent down to attach my straps to the garters of my stockings.

“They’re probably here for a private room, so I figured I’d put you on now. You’re good at handling the weirdos." Cristella giggled, watching me struggle to get the backs of my stockings attached. She and I broke into fits of giggles, as she chased me in circles, trying to help me attach my stockings.

“Let me get that. Hurry up and get on stage!” she said, giving me a playful smack on the ass. I pranced out of the room, trying to avoid her grasping mitts.

“Hey! No bruising the merchandise!” I giggled, linking arms with her as we strutted backstage, perfectly in step with one another. She grabbed the microphone from Mike the Mic Guy, gave me a wink, and stepped through the curtain.

“Aaaaand we’re back! Now, this next lady I’ve got lined up for you is quite a treat. She’s as pale as cream, thicker than a bowl of oatmeal, and will definitely step on you. Well, she might if you tip well. For legal reasons, we can’t call her “Elvira,” so I guess we’ll settle for… MOTHER! MARY!” That was my cue. I sauntered through the curtain, my hips moving like a figure eight. I moved across the stage, “Lullaby” by the Cure playing. I always chose various genres of rock for my acts. Not that I have anything against the other girls’ music choices… but there’s only so much female rap you can play in one night. As I began to dance, I noticed the group that Cristella had mentioned earlier. They were sitting front and center, near the edge of the stage.

Seven of the masked figures sat around the Painted Man, as I had labeled him. Two of the masked figures seemed effeminate, and the other five seemed more masculine. They all ranged in different shapes and sizes. Maybe the masks are a fetish thing? Cristella did say that they came from a concert… Something about them seemed off. I did a swing around the pole, dropping into a fireman, trying to catch a scent. It was a whirlwind of scents, none of them too out of the ordinary. Except the beefy one. He smelled like midnight. I don’t know how to explain it. What really caught my interest though was the Painted Man. Specifically, his eyes. One of them was grey, the iris almost black. The other eye had a pale, white iris. It suited him, and it was beautiful, in an eerie way. Those eyes looked at me, as I danced around the stage, and they knew me. If I had a working heart still, it would be racing.

As Robert Smith crooned, I descended the stairs of the stage as sensually as one could in Pleaser heels, making my way to the Painted Man. If I wanted to know what these people were, I’d have to get a closer look. The Painted Man patted one of his legs with a gloved hand, and cocked his head to the side. I took the invitation, but not before I teased him. I crouched between his legs, running my hands up his thighs. As I rose, I walked my hands up his thighs, bringing my face closer to his. His breath graced my skin, smelling faintly of licorice. As he leaned in, for what I could only assume was a kiss, I rose again, strutting over to one of the masked beings. It was the smaller of the male ones. I sat in his lap, letting him run his hands over me as I began to grind on his lap. His growing erection told me I was going to have a busy night.

“Your boss is a little too eager," I whispered, getting a good whiff of him. He smelled faintly of smoke. I put my hands on his chest, trying to keep my balance. No heartbeat.

“What makes you think he’s my boss?” The being asked petulantly. He grabbed onto my waist, as he began to grind with me. I moved his hand to the small of my back, and leaned back in a dip. The being ran his other hand over my belly, in between my breasts, and up to my throat, bringing me back up to his masked face.

“You’re the one wearing a uniform." I darted my tongue out to lick my lips. What is he? My mind raced as I tried to run through every supernatural creature I’d ever known. But then I heard it. I barely even understood it. All I picked up was price and one night. It was Ghoulish. The taller female ghoul was asking about what I can only assume was my hourly rate. Most strip clubs in this part of Vegas were just fronts for brothels. However, it’s hard to sell the idea of prostitution to Mid-Western vanilla tourists. So most of my income was made from stripping. I usually had one or two clients I went to bed with a night. It wasn’t very stable, but then again, I had less expenses than the average stripper, considering my “condition."

“Tell your friend my basic hourly rate is $500. My Ghoulish isn’t any good." I stood up, and made my way to the female ghoul’s lap.

“How do you know Ghoulish?” she asked, a bit of surprise in her tone. I bent over in front of her, shaking my ass for her. She put a couple of bills in the waistband of my panties, punching my previous ghoul in the arm. He forked over some cash as well.

“I’m not human. I’ll leave it at that," I said, stuffing the cash into the top of my corset. Dear lord… All hundreds… The female ghoul rubbed my thighs, turning me back around slowly, so as to admire my ass.

“Could we get a room after your number? I think a private dance is in order," she said, in broken Ghoulish. I nodded, and as if on cue, the lights and music began to fade out. As I began to walk back up the stairs to the stage past the Painted Man, his hand darted forward to smack my ass. God, it really is not the night for this shit. My more animalistic nature took over, and before I could stop it, a hiss left my lips. As if of their own accord, my fangs sprung painfully through my gums. I heard a snap, and looked over to see the largest ghoul stand up. He shook his head. Thank god the lights were low. Embarrassed, I covered my mouth, and made my way across the stage.

“What the fuck was that all about?” Mike the Mic Guy asked, handing a mic to Cristella. I still had my hand over my mouth. Cristella looked worried.

“Are you okay Mary? I can get you some tea if you’re keyed up." I shook my head.

“Please get a room ready. The Freak Parade wants a private dance," I said as I walked away, silently cursing myself. Once back in the dressing room, I threw open the mini-fridge I normally kept padlocked. I looked to the last bottle I had left in my stash. Hopefully it hasn’t clotted, I thought, throwing the bottle back. This wouldn’t end my thirst, but it would certainly quell the burning in my throat. You nearly lost it. You need to bag one of these stupid fucks tonight, or else. I hadn’t had a bad case of blood lust in decades, but the combination of winter holidays, my strict schedule, and FOSTA-SESTA had really cut off my food supply.

The door opened, and Cristella came in with a cup of tea. She looked at the flask in her hand and cocked a brow.

“And you didn’t offer to share. What is that? Cuervo? Henny?” she said, reaching for the flask. I shook my head, and put it back in the fridge, closing the padlock.

“It’s cough syrup. I keep it under lock and key because of that bitch Ronnie. She’s not fooling anybody. You ever see how much her hands shake? Too much caffeine? Yeah, right. We all know what the DTs look like." I began changing into a burgundy velvet bra and panty set, pairing it with some burgundy gloves and stockings. Finally, I found a pair of sparkly Loboutins Lydia had left me. My mind rolled back through the streets of Paris to 1991, when Louboutin opened its first salon. Lydia smiled, as I kissed her shin, helping her into the heel. She looked down at me, her eyes full of love, and the corner of her mouth hiding a kiss just for me.

“Yeah, she is pretty suspish. What happened with those weirdos out there?” Cristella interrupted my memory. I shook my head. Are you just imagining your heartache?

“Oh the big guy was just mad because I didn’t get around to him. That’s why I wanted you to get the room. Plus, I might be able to secure a nice check from these guys. They all seemed absolutely randy," I said. Cristella shook her head, giggling. The gloss in my hand made a popping noise, as I pulled the wand from the bottle. It was my favorite flavor, watermelon.

“I can ask one of the boys to sit in, to keep them from getting too handsy," Cristella said. I shook my head. It would only keep me from getting too handsy, I thought to myself. Bless her heart. I could never make a kill here. I loved the crew here far too much. Plus, I didn’t have a coven. No one to protect me when I fucked up. They kicked me out long ago. It’s the main reason I ended up in Vegas, avoiding the sun when I could, doing my best to keep a legal and convenient profession. Where else could get a job with only night shifts, and a never-ending supply of useless assholes no one cared about?

“I’ll be okay Crissy. Even if they do try something, we have a panic button in there. Don’t worry." I gave her a slimy, glossy kiss on the cheek, earning a shriek from her strawberry mouth. She batted at me, narrowly missing me as I bounded out of the room.

As I approached the bigger of our three private rooms, I noticed two of the larger male ghouls standing outside the door. All of the ghouls dressed similarly, including the female ghouls. But I now noticed the alchemical symbols dangling from their belt chains. The shorter one had a quintessence symbol, the other larger one, an earth symbol. The earth one opened the door, and the quintessence one escorted me in.

“Thank you, Aether. Back to the door with you. Come, have a seat. Dewdrop says there is more to you than meets the eye. Let me pour you a glass of wine, cara," a thick, Italian accent beckoned to me. I walked to the ottoman in the middle of the room, where I usually found myself during private dances.

“I don’t drink during work hours, love. Now, what should I call you?” I looked into the mismatched eyes of the Painted Man.

“You can call me Papa. I’m Papa Emeritus, the fourth. My close friends call me Copia, but I suppose we are not quite there yet, sí?” he said, leaning forward to take my chin in his hand. I nodded.

“While I would love to marvel at your undoubtedly exquisite body, There is some business we should take care of first, piccolina. Do you like Type O Negative?” Cue the record scratching. The dreamy look I normally adopt when with my clients evaporated.

“Excuse me?” I whispered. Papa laughed.

“The band, cara. I was going to have you dance for me later. However, you must have a preference."

“I really don’t understand what you mean," I whispered. Papa laughed again, a big booming laugh.

“I know your secret cara. The ghouls told me. One of my predecessors, Papa Nihil, told me if I were to ever come across your kind, I should try to win your allegiance. Your kind have interesting abilities, specifically the power of influence." Of course that’s what he’s after.

“I don’t do that," I said, looking down to avoid his gaze. Papa tsked.

“I think you will. The ghouls say you smell lonely. Where is your famiglia?” He asked. I shook my head. Lydia’s pained screams echoed in my ears, our last moment together wrenching my heart out of my chest decades later.

“We split because of artistic differences," I said softly. Dewdrop and his companions giggled behind me.

“Forcing people to allow you to exsanguinate them for sport is not ‘artistic differences,’” Dewdrop hissed. The other ghouls laughed. Papa shook his head, and raised a hand to silence them.

“Now now, Dewdrop. It is hard to control one’s basic nature. Sí, tesoro? Tell me, how long has it been since your last drink?” He looked at me with concern. I couldn’t meet his eyes. I knew what he saw. Weak, pathetic, useless… The words were like a disgusting mantra, swirling through my mind, angry and acidic.

“Weeks… It’s been weeks," I whispered. He tsked again. I heard the ghouls chatter amongst themselves. Their pity made me feel disgusting, like a child with sweaty, clammy hands, and odorous armpits.

“What if I told you I could offer you a job and a home? A home where you wouldn’t have to hide your nature. A home where you’d never go hungry again?” I looked up at him.

“What kind of job?” I asked. The ghouls laughed again. Papa shot them a glare.

“I would make use of your gifts occasionally. Nobody would get hurt. You would warm my bed whenever I asked. Maybe pick up a trade or two once back with the Clergy. And in turn, you would get protection, and all the blood you could ever need," he said. I finally mustered the courage to look him in the eyes. What do you have to lose? Besides, you’ve done infinitely worse things.

“You swear on your life, nobody will get hurt? Not a single person?” I asked. Papa nodded.

“I’ll do it. I’ll also require a salary as well," I said, extending my hand. Papa nodded, taking my hand in both of his.

“Anything you need, cara. But first, I think you need a drink. And then we will get the night I paid for," he said. He waved his hand towards the door, which the shorter female ghoul scurried to open. I noticed she sported a pocket chain with an air symbol.

“Bring in one of the more rosy siblings, Cumulus. I suspect our new friend will need the sustenance before we get too far into our plans for the night," Cumulus nodded, and shut the door behind her. Papa stood up, and began removing his suit jacket and gloves; rolling up his sleeves. I could see his blue veins pulsating, causing me to become aroused in a way I cannot quite explain. Involuntarily, my pussy throbbed, and my mouth watered.

“Now now, little one. Be patient. Your drink will be here soon enough. But for now, you will seal our little deal with a kiss, so to speak. On your knees," Papa ordered, gesturing to the floor. I slipped from the ottoman to the floor, crawling on all fours to him. His breath hitched as I slid my hands up his thighs. I didn’t break eye contact as I unbuckled his trousers, nor when I reached into his pants to pull out his sizeable cock.

The door opened, and I heard mumbles, as well as a struggle, and a thud. Of course, both my hands and mouth were preoccupied. I watched Papa intently as I sucked him off. His eyes were rolled back, his mouth slack, and his hands threaded into his hair, as he let out an ungodly moan. I kitten licked his frenulum, stroking his shaft, earning another moan. He bucked his hips into my throat. Sit still, I whispered in the back of my mind. Papa grabbed my hair, and pulled me off his cock.

“Never again, my little bat. Continue," he said, grabbing either side of my face as he began to fuck my throat rigourously. Someone behind me cleared their throat. I wasn’t able to look up, due to my current predicament.

“Can’t you see I’m busy, Cirrus? What is it?” Papa let out a grunt, as his cock twitched in my mouth. I began to fellate him with my hands, wrenching more breathy sighs and groans from him. Within seconds, his warm seed was flooding my throat. I heard Dewdrop cheer, and then a slap, which I assumed was a high five. Papa rolled his eyes and smiled, as I dabbed away the bit of cum that had spilled over my bottom lip.

“Just in time. I needed something to wash down all that salt," I stood, and walked over to the person Cumulus and Cirrus stood in front of. It looked like a plumper woman. She was wearing what looked like a nun’s habit, her red ringlets spilling out from under her wimple.

“All for you cara. Come find me when you have finished your meal," Papa walked out, which left me with the ghouls and my prey. Dewdrop, and the other male ghoul, who sported a water symbol, helped the little nun onto the couch.

“You’re going to let me fuck that tight ass later, right? Nearly busted watching you and Copia earlier," Dewdrop said to me, softly enough for just me to hear. I giggled and nodded, batting him away after he began nibbling on my neck. He patted my ass, and began to pull the wimple from the nun’s head.

“I’ve got this. Why don’t you and the rest of the ghouls get started? I’ll be done pretty quickly." Dewdrop nodded.

“C’mon, Rainy. Come play with my cock, while we watch Mary drink," The water ghoul nodded, grabbing Dewdrop’s hand. I turned my attention back to the nun. She began to stir. I pushed back her hair.

“This is going to hurt a little bit. But I will make this quick and painless. You deserve an easy death." The nun, barely awake, nodded, and turned her head. I cradled her head, and brought her throat to my mouth. With a final kiss to her soft, peachy flesh, I sank my teeth into her throat, not letting a single drop of her blood go to waste.

It felt like drinking water after being stuck in a desert for a week. Her blood was sweet, clean, and thick, and it quenched my thirst quickly. Her body began to go limp in my arms, and her skin turned cold. It’s still not enough. I had to force myself to stop. Never drink the last drop. It might just be the last thing you do, my old mentor’s voice reminded me. I let the little nun drop back to the couch, and turned to face the ghouls. Cirrus sat with Cumulus, each with a hand in the other’s pants. Rain was bobbing his head up and down slowly, as Dewdrop played with his hair. Dewdrop looked up at me.

“Hot," he said. Cirrus nodded, and refocused her attention on Cumulus. Rain moaned, causing Dewdrop to hiss. I looked at them all, lust clouding my gaze.

“Make room. It’s my turn," I said. Dewdrop pulled my mouth to his, not fazed one bit by the blood coating my lips. Cirrus began to explore the space between my thighs with her long, gorgeous fingers. Rain held my hair, kissing and nipping at my neck. A girl really could get used to this...

Hours later, after all of the ghouls had had their turn, even the two from the door, I was back in the dressing room. I opened the envelope the earth ghoul, Mountain, had handed me on the way out. My eyes grew like saucers as I counted the money inside. I had only expected eight grand; two hours, eight clients, multiplied by $500. But as I counted, I realized I had 15 grand in my hands. The door opened, breaking my wealth-induced trance. It was Papa.

“If you would really like the job, come to this address in two weeks. Bring only what you must. Put everything else in storage," he said, handing me a card. I was confused.

“Why two weeks?” I asked. Papa smiled.

“Because it’s polite, cara. Don’t forget your letter of resignation."

--------------------------------------------

This is the first thing I've wrote in years! I hope you all enjoy it! A special thanks to @gasolineghuleh for all of their help!

[adoreyou303]

Sweet Creature (H.S. Fic)

A/N: Hey all! So so sorry for the delay in this update... so much has been going on. I’ve been working and there have been wildfires and what not... anyway... here is another chapter! I hope you all enjoy! Let me know what you think!!!

Chapter 7

CW: pregnancy, mentions of adoption

Light blues and pinks, and purples color the skies as the glowing sun sets behind wisps of white clouds. Instead of focusing on her music responsibilities, Melanie slowly sips on a strawberry lemonade. Her latest craving was any and everything strawberry. A fire crackles and burns in a glass fire pit in front of her. A cozy feeling sets in as her hand lazily traces along her belly. Softly, she begins humming through her strawberry-coated lips a melody. Grabbing a pen, she jots down some quick lyrics. A song, fleshed out with instruments and colorful stories, plays out in her mind. Instead of reaching for her phone to record or grabbing her guitar, she watches as the notes paint the sky above her. 

She can’t help but wonder if Harry has written any of his songs like this. It’s uncommon for him to go anywhere without his guitar, so he’s always finding excuses to play songs and strum out new melodies. In this moment of quiet, surrounded by sun and beautiful sky, she thinks of him. She remembers the first time he played his album for her. Sometimes, she’s not sure if she’s inspired or intimidated by him. Whatever it is, she wants to be closer to him. The twinkle in his eyes when he hears music… the crinkle near his eyes as he smiles. What is she thinking? Is this real or is she just hormonal? Once again, the sky fills with notes as her next song begins to take shape. 

With deadlines looming over his head, Harry’s fingers fly over the keyboard on his phone as he walks through the familiar hallways in the studio. Meetings, promo, and more promo have taken up most of the space in his mind, but if there is one thing he can rely on to take his mind off of things, it’s Mel. She texted him earlier begging him to meet her at the studio. Stuffing his phone in his pocket, he feels a tug in his chest as he hears her voice float through the door. It mingles with the soft strokes of a guitar. He doesn’t hear any other instruments, so he assumes she’s recording a track. Waiting for a break in the music, he closes his eyes and tips his head back, listening to her angelic voice. His eyes pop open as he catches a few of the lyrics. She’s singing about love… who is she singing about? Has she met someone? For the first time in a few months, Harry feels a sting in his chest that he can’t quite shake. Grabbing the door handle, he softly opens the door and steps through. 

The second he lays eyes on her, all negative feelings had before vanished. Dressed in a shirt two-sizes too big and a pair of navy sweatpants, he doesn’t think he has ever seen her look so perfect. Her hair is pulled into a messy bun with a few stray strands framing her face. Her eyes are brilliant, shining brighter than ever. His mouth hangs slightly agape as he listens to her finish recording her take. 

“Harry!” she squeals, placing her guitar on the stand. She rips the headphones off and signals him to come in. As soon as he steps foot in the booth, she flings herself at Harry. 

“Hi, love,” he chuckles, holding her close. He can feel the little swell of her belly against his torso. He wants nothing more than to run his hands over it and talk to it, but he has to remind himself they are in public. Even more so, they aren’t together. He shouldn’t overstep. 

“Did you hear it?” she asks, pulling away, but still holding tight to his forearms. 

“The song? I only heard a little. Did you get some inspiration?” he asks, a smile playing on his lips.

“Oh, I think so,” she teases, tapping her fingers against his skin. 

“Alright, let’s hear it then.” 

Harry bobs his head to the music, pinching his lower lip between his index finger and thumb. As the song comes to an end, Melanie nervously looks toward her best friend for any type of response. 

“Well?” she questions. He stands up and engulfs her in a hug. 

“You’re incredible. I love it,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to her head. This sent a shock through her heart. 

“I’m so glad you love it, but you know what I would love even more?” she blinks up at him. 

“What can I get you now?” he sighs. Externally, he plays annoyed, but he would do anything for Melanie. He would never get tired of fetching her things. 

“Strawberries and peanut butter,” she says, turning back towards her guitar.

“Strawberries and peanut butter? Together?” he asks.

“You can bring them separate,” she shrugs. 

“Whatever you want, darling,” he laughs, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “I’ll be back.” 

Melanie continues recording, tweaking and retouching her song. When Harry returns, there are more people in the studio. He can tell Melanie’s is on edge by the way she squeezes her eyes shut, lashes disappearing beneath her eyelids. Between recording sessions, Harry lets himself into the booth with her snack. 

“Alright?” he asks, handing her the bag. 

“Yeah, just a little nervous,” she answers, gesturing towards the glass separating them from the rest of the team. “I’ll be better once I eat these bad boys.” 

He watches with slight disgust as she dips the sweet fruit into the sticky substance. 

“How could you do that to such a superior fruit?” he questions. 

“Mmm, this… these hit the spot,” she moans, gobbling down her snack. Shaking his head with a stupid smile on his face, he walks back out to listen to her finish up the session. 

Harry makes conversation with the sound technicians and others on Mel’s team while she continues to eat. 

“Is she eating peanut butter and strawberries?” Jonah, Mel’s sound tech, asks, confused. 

“Yes, she is,” Harry confirms. A pit forms in his stomach, hoping they wouldn’t press any further.

“Yesterday she was drinking a strawberry milkshake with chocolate mint patties,” Mike, another sound tech, chimes in. 

“That is definitely not that weird. I’ve had worse when I was in Jamaica,” Harry chuckles, remembering the severe case of munchies when Mitch offered him a few too many mushrooms at once. He pushes the memory away, keeping track of the conversation and chiming in when he needs to. She definitely can’t keep it a secret much longer. 

At the end of a long studio session, Harry wraps her jacket around her shoulders. 

“How’re you feeling lately?” he asks gently, eyeing her for any kind of reaction.

“Not bad,” she replies, tugging her coat closer to her body. Scanning around for any extra ears, Harry pulls her close. So close, he can smell the faint scent of strawberries and peanut butter mixing with her natural scent. 

“They’re noticing,” he says quietly. He feels her stiffen beneath his touch. Her eyes fall toward her stomach then the ground. 

“Did someone say something?” she asks, suddenly feeling panic rise in her throat. 

“They were commenting on your recent choice of snacks.”

“What does that have to do with anything? People eat weird things all the time,” she snaps. Taken aback by her sudden shift in mood, Harry raises his hands in defeat. 

“I’m sorry. I know you’re just trying to look out for me. I appreciate it,” she murmurs, brushing a few stray hairs away from his face. His hands subconsciously find her hips, rubbing slow, soothing circles. Letting go of a breath she didn’t know she was holding, she relaxes into his touch. 

“How can I help?” he murmurs against her hair. Together, they hold each other in silence. A soft swaying causes her too-big shirt to ruffle against her skin. His large hands slowly make their way underneath her shirt, resting on the skin of her lower back. She could almost cry with relief the pressure his warm hands bring to her aching back. He notices the way her breath hitches as he kneads his fingers across the tense muscles, focusing particularly on spots that leave her melting further into his chest. 

“Dinner?” she suggests.

“Let’s go then.” But, neither one of them are keen on moving. They are just fine where they are, in each other’s arms. Eventually, Melanie pulls away, cheeks burning and eyes cast downward. They walk toward the door, hands intertwined, swinging with childlike innocence. 

“Have you thought of any names?” Harry asks, trying to break the silence. 

“No, why would I?” she shrugs. 

“You can’t just refer to them as ‘it’ forever. You have to call it something.”

“Whoever adopts him or her will give them a name,” she says quietly.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you can’t give them your own name, if you want.”

“I don’t even know if it’s a boy or a girl,” she sighs, dropping her friend’s hand to open the door. 

“How ‘bout Peanut, then?”

“Peanut? You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, come on. You eat peanut butter like your life depends on it. I think it’s safe to say your child will love peanuts,” he laughs, ruffling her hair. 

“What do you think? Are you a little Peanut?” she asks her belly, still hidden by an abundance of fabric. “I think the answer is Thai food.”

“Peanut it is,” Harry rolls his eyes, mentally reminding himself of her favorite Thai dish, peanut chicken. 

The two continue to walk, hand in hand, discussing their dinner plans while Jeff shuts off the lights in his office for the night. He sees Mel and Harry about to walk out the double doors when he overhears a part of conversation he was perhaps not meant to hear. He watches Harry pull the young, up and coming star into his side and press a kiss to her head. It’s well known that Harry is an affectionate person, especially toward Melanie, but something seems different. He seems more protective, more loving, more attached. What is going on between the two? Have they started dating? Different bets were placed as soon as Mel and Harry started working together, but it’s unlike the two to not communicate. Especially Harry, who is very vocal about emotional and mental health. Jeff leaves the studio that night with a strange sense of determination to figure out what’s going on with his client and the girl he views as his own daughter. 

The following day, Jeff calls for an all-teams session to hear progress on both Melanie and Harry’s tracks. They’ve presented different things, but he wants the teams to hear the songs. It always helps to have extra ears. At least, that’s what Jeff said was going on. He was actually going to try to find out what the hell is going on with Mel and Harry. 

After everyone is in the studio, Jeff calls everyone’s attention.

“Thank you for coming in on short notice. I appreciate you all. There’s actually been a change of plans. Instead of playing songs, I want to talk. As you all know, Sarah and Mitch announced exciting news at our company dinner. We’re pleased for you both, but I think there is something more pressing on our minds right now.” At this, he turns his gaze to Melanie. Hot under his stare, she shifts uncomfortably, looking for some type of reassurance from Harry. He nudges her knee with his, but keeps his hands knotted in his lap. “Mel, what’s going on? You’ve fainted at a concert, you’re barely keeping up with your deadlines, which is unlike you… Are you sick? Please, just tell us. We want to help,” Jeff pleads. 

For a second, Jeff feels a pang of guilt ripple through his chest. He isn’t her dad nor her manager. She isn’t obligated to tell him anything. All is silent in the room while thoughts churn in Melanie’s mind. Harry’s head slowly turns towards her. 

“I’m pregnant,” she whispers.

“Sorry?” Jeff questions, hoping he heard her incorrectly.

“I know you heard me,” she mumbles. Pulling the sleeves of her hoodie over her hands and taking a deep breath, she stands on shaky legs. Harry reaches up to steady her, but she pushes his hands away. 

“The reason I’ve been… well, the way I’ve been is because I’m pregnant,” she announces, nervously fiddling with the strings of her hoodie. She avoids the looks of confusion slowly turning to looks of sympathy and horror. A sudden sniffle pulls her out of her trance. When she looks up, she sees Sarah trying to hide a cascade of tears falling from her eyes. She mutters a soft “excuse me,” to the person next to her before rushing from the room. Heads turn as they watch Mitch follow after his girl. Melanie quickly turns her head back to meet Harry’s confused eyes. What has she done?

[lu-undy]

Chapter 95 - SBT

Here it is!

"And you make sure that you let it simmer just a bit more, unless you like the vegetables to have a bit of an extra crunch." Lucien put a lid on the saucepan.

"Ooh, I see…! How does Micky like it?" Caroline adjusted her glasses.

"It depends on his mood, sometimes, when I find him cheerful, I make it crunchy. If he is in a more calm set of mind, then I let it simmer an extra few minutes." 

"Ah, I get it… Thank you, Lu'." 

"Oh…?" Lucien blushed when Caroline used his nickname. She went to the tip of her toes and pinched his cheek. 

"Ooh, blushy are we?" 

"You should ask your son." Lucien chuckled. 

"Ha, will do." Caroline turned to grab a kettle. "Tea or coffee?" 

"Whatever you prefer." 

"Tea, then. Mike and Micky will be a couple more hours I think, we can talk freely." 

"Ah, I see. Let me help you." 

Lucien now knew where the sugar was, the cups, the tray, and he helped himself in Caroline's kitchen to ready it all. 

"Aw, you're such a dear, thank you." 

"Non, thank you for being so welcoming and supportive. I say this from Mundy and myself, if I may." 

The water was boiling and Caroline poured it in the porcelain, hand-painted kettle that she had placed on the tray. She added some biscuits and Lucien took it all to bring it on the coffee table. They both took a seat on the sofa and waited for the tea to brew. 

"Well, Lucien… I will be honest with you. I did not want to show you or Micky much of what I was feeling or thinking. Of course the news of you being together uh… shook me. I went back home and kept thinking about it, couldn't really sleep."

"Oh… Do you wish to talk about it?" 

Caroline sighed and looked hesitant.

"I don't know if I should… or can actually, I don't want to make you uncomfortable." 

"Please, Caroline." Lucien put a hand on her shoulder. "Tell me." 

She looked at his eyes and soon understood why her son had chosen that man. There was something in him, in his voice, his gaze; something inviting and kind. 

"I just… How does it work?" 

"What do you mean?" He asked. 

"How did he… fall in love with you? See, I'm really trying to understand but I've never fallen in love with another sheila…?"

"I cannot answer your question on how he fell in love with me, but I can give you my side of the story."

Caroline nodded and took a sip. 

"When I realised that I caught… feelings for Mundy, I first denied them. I was sent here on a mission, I shall carry it out and face the consequences of it all." He paused and looked at her. "Do you mind if I smoke?" 

"No, go ahead. Mike likes to have his pipe from time to time too." 

"Ah, thanks." Lucien lit one of his menthol cigarettes and gently blew the smoke away. "It was a waitress in a diner I used to go to who saw my feelings for him first."

"W-really?" 

"Oui." Lucien chuckled and nodded. "I originally used her as an easy and unsuspicious way to get information about the people of this city and the geography. She is now looking up to me as if I had raised her."

"Oh…"

"Her name is Victoria, she is about to get married and… Well, she foolishly trusts me to walk her down the aisle."

"I don't think she is foolish, Lucien. I think you have more empathy than you let on. But carry on…" 

Lucien waited for the pink on his cheeks to dissolve to resume his story. 

"She saw an old spy fall in love, which was enough to convince me that either I had become useless at my job, or her feminine intuition was particularly sharp."

"Which one was it?"

"A bit of both, I suppose." They exchanged a chuckle. "But they kept on… annoying me, those feelings. I tried to brush them off but something crept up on me everytime I did." 

"What was it?"

"The thought that it was my last chance at having something with someone, a semblance of… maybe not love but… comfort, at least. I know this is extremely selfish." Lucien looked away. "I apologise… It sounds like I saw your son only as a means to find my own little slice of happiness. But I can assure you that even though the temptation was strong, I did not yield to it. Mundy showed me so much empathy and compassion, since the first day we met…! It remained carved in my memory." 

"What d'you mean?" 

"The first day I met him, we were in this hangar and he was looking for his alligators. He… talked to them, as he would other people, tried to bring them comfort while they were locked up in tight crates. I was left wondering if he had lost his mind. But non, I saw him talking to them and sliding his hand on the crates as if it was the poor beast's back. And then I heard the alligator's response. They whined and it sounded like their own version of a cry. It struck me like lightning that day. That man was as gifted for sharpshooting as he was with animals." 

"Yeah, that's my Micky alright…" 

"To find a man with one gift is exceptional, but with two…?" Lucien shook his head. "Non, I had to know more about that man. So my professional curiosity tickled me, with a side of profound admiration for his skills. He never knew it of course."

"He never knew what? The curiosity you had about him?"

"Non, the admiration." Lucien answered and took another drag of his cigarette. "Caroline, I have been in the war and I have seen snipers. None of them would match him, none in a million years of intense training."

"Mike taught him how to hunt when he wasn't bigger than a rifle." Caroline said. "And he liked it. He didn't like it for the killing, he liked it like a hobby; a hobby that gets you food on the table."

"I understand." Lucien nodded. "And then came the numerous sides of his character that I saw in him, one of which was his determination, or rather his loyalty to both you and Mike, despite the fact that you had passed a long time ago. I thought only I was stupid enough to not have moved on ten years after losing my loved ones, but non. Mundy was in the same state of mind."

Caroline smiled, albeit sadly. 

"His honesty, his trust… I fell for his character until one day I… Hm, I don't know how I shall phrase this to you…"

"Go ahead, don't be shy." 

Lucien lowered his head. 

"I saw him… bathing."

"Oh…" Caroline's eyebrows jumped. 

"Non, non, I-I didn't see much, it was the night, he was far away in the lake and I was on the shore…"

"He washed himself in front of you?"

"He didn't exactly know that I was there -"

"You creep!"

"Non! I was there to have a chat with him for what we needed to do, I… I just happened to catch him at a rather… delicate moment."

"Ah…"

"But that night," Lucien took a drag of his cigarette. "I couldn't take my eyes off of his silhouette. There he was, in the calm water of the lake, and his silhouette was drawn by the slim light of the moon, a line of white just tracing his contour. No painting compared to the beauty that I saw that day. To anyone else, it was a homeless man washing himself in the most crude and primitive way. To me, it was a man whose heart was closer to the animals than to the rest of us, taking a bath in the way that we were all intended to."

Lucien raised his eyes to Caroline. 

"You have a handsome son. Where others find him old, tired, tanned by the sun, scruffy, maybe even dirty….! I see a strong and compassionate man whose external beauty is nothing compared to what his heart holds." Lucien shook the cigarette in the ashtray. 

"You're one to talk, eh? You could get any sheila you want!" 

"I could, but I don't want any other women in my life. There will always only be Marie. And I thought it would be the end of the story for me, until I met Mundy. He broke my heart, made it burst, tore it apart, mutilated it in all ways possible until I understood that… I was wrong. I had been terribly wrong. He did not hurt my heart. He made it more… alive! And if I had managed to feel all those emotions, it was only because my heart had in fact healed." Lucien looked at his open palms. "I had healed and my heart was ready to love again."

"Nah," Caroline shook her index finger. "You weren't ready to love, you were already lovin' him." 

"You are right." He nodded. 

"How did you know that he also liked… y'know, not only sheilas…"

"Ah, well, back in the days when he didn't know that the spy and the singer were one and the same, I told him about my, uhm, somewhat open-minded preferences. He answered that it was the same for him." 

"Ah, I see." She nodded. "Still… Uhm… Sorry if that's weird or rude but…"

"Please, go ahead." 

"Don't you find it odd?" 

"I don't find it as odd as I find it unusual. It is uncommon in this day and age for two men to share their days. But remember that in all days and ages, however strict the upbringing or system of values was, there has always been men who shared their days together."

"It's true… I just… There's something else now if I'm being honest." She nervously pushed a lock of her short hair behind her ear.

"Oui?" 

She started fidgeting with her fingers and her eyes darted everywhere but on Lucien's.

"I'm… You've had a son, right?" 

"Oui." 

"Did you… I mean, I don't mean it to offend you but… Did you raise him?" 

"Oui, as much as I could while I was with him." 

"Well then you might understand what I'm feeling." Lucien wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "I… I feel like it's… it might be the way we raised him?" 

"What do you mean?" He gently asked. 

"The fact that he, uh… He likes blokes too… Maybe it's me, maybe I did somethin' wrong…?"

"There is as much wrong in the way that you brought him up as in the way he is now, which is nothing. If anything, you like men too, non?" He smiled.

"Yeah, but…"

"I know what you feel." Lucien said. "When Jérémy passed, I felt that I passed with him. My family name, me, my whole being is forfeit. Why are we here on Earth if not to pass on something…?"

"Yeah…" 

"I am sorry we will not give you grandchildren of our own, and I understand the pain that you feel. I… I would have loved having children, especially now that I am not a spy anymore and there is no danger floating above my head."

There was a long pause and Lucien crushed his cigarette butt in the ashtray. 

"Do not blame yourself. First, you have nothing to feel guilt, remorse or regret about. You have raised a man to become a model for the entire human race. He is kind, selfless and as brave as a human being can be. I do not say this lightly, I have been in conflicts, I have seen the most bloody war history has yet known for us Europeans. Your son is braver than most men who wear medals." 

"Because he likes a man?" 

"Non, because of who he is, his personality. He put you and Mike before himself all his life." Lucien explained. "He even… Well, before he told you the truth in person, he went to the cemetery."

Caroline adjusted her glasses.

"He then told you and Mike about it all, all he had been through, everything he had been holding back in his own self for the past four decades or so."

"Oh…" 

"And he argued with Mike. It brought him to his knees and to tears."

"He what?" She asked, unsure of what she should understand. 

"He could hear him beyond the grave. He could hear his disappointment but still faced it, for the sake of telling you both the truth. You count to him much more than what words could express, Caroline."

"My poor baby…" She put her cup back on the tray. 

"It was heartbreaking to see him, a grown and strong man, falling to his knees at the sight of his disappointed father… who was only there in his mind. That, Caroline, is what you can take immense pride in." She raised her eyes to him. "Never have I seen a son so dedicated and faithful to his parents. He has always put your well-being before his own, even beyond the grave."

Caroline took a deep breath to help her process and digest what Lucien had just told her. It took her a moment, during which Lucien remained silent.

“Hold on… He went to our graves and...?”

“Oui, he told you and Mike about his relationship with me and could hear and see both your reactions.”

She frowned.

“Can I ask… Uhm… Did he visit us often?"

Lucien sighed. 

"He spent ten years paralysed, Caroline, paralysed and eaten out by regret and guilt." 

"Ah… I see…" 

Silence fell for a while. 

"You are still trying to wrap your head around it?" Lucien asked and she nodded, frowning still. "You should not."

"What? Why?" She asked. 

"Because, as we say in French, le coeur a ses raisons que la raison ignore. The heart has reasons that reason itself cannot understand. You are trying to understand love with your brain. This is not how it works."

She looked up to him and sighed. 

"If you think about Mike," Lucien started again. "The reasons you love him only make sense to your heart. Oui, you may say that there are objective reasons why you love him, but they are merely pretexts, empty, shell words to try and convince someone else that you like him because in your own intimate heart, you don't love him with your head first. You love him with everything else first and then comes the head. Oui, he is strong, reliable, confident, amongst other things. But countless other people are, and you do not love them like you do him. There is something else with him, something that you head cannot mold into words because your head does not comprehend it. It comes from here." Lucien tapped his chest. "And the language used here is foreign to what this can understand." He pointed at his head. 

"I guess I get it…" Caroline's shoulders sank. 

"But you are disappointed that your head does not, hm?" 

"Yeah… I wish I could."

"You do understand it Caroline. You love Mike the same way that Mundy loves me and vice versa."

"Yeah, I think I get it." She looked up to him and smiled. "More than that, I'm happy that Micky is happy with you. I've never seen him smile so much before." 

"He does have a uniquely beautiful smile indeed." Lucien nodded with a loving grin. "Seeing a smile is always a blessing, but from someone who endured a difficult life for so long, it only makes it more precious."

"Look at you, eh, all mushy, blushy and dreamy eyes…!" She chuckled. 

"Well, what can I say…? You know what I think of him." 

"Yeah, I do… Oh?" 

There was a knock at the door. 

"Who's that?" Caroline asked as she stood up. 

"Who d'you think?" 

She opened the door to Mike and Mundy. 

"Hey guys…!" Hugs were exchanged and both men entered the house. 

"Ooh, we came right on time for tea, Micky, eh?" Mike said. 

"Yeah, we brought some cake, Mum, here…"

"Oh, that's perfect. Lucien, dear, can you bring two more cups?" 

"Of course." 

They all gathered in the living-room. Mike and Caroline took the sofa while Mundy sat on the armchair with Lucien on the armrest. 

"We can squeeze on the sofa, Lucien." Mike said. "Micky, c'mere and leave the armchair for your friend." 

"Nah, they're fine." Caroline said. "Here, Mike, that's your tea and your slice of cake. Lucien, here, pass this on to Micky, I put both your slices on the same plate, is that alright?"

Mundy blushed. 

"Parfait, Caroline, merci." 

[Perfect, Caroline, thank you.]

Lucien took the plate and put it on his thigh for both Mundy and him to dig in. 

"Mh! That's a really good one!" Caroline commented on the chocolate cake. 

"Not as good as yours, Mum." Mundy answered. 

"Aw, sweetie… But yeah, not bad at all, and not too sweet either, eh?" She added. 

"Does that mean I can get another slice after dinner?" Mike asked. 

"Depends…!" She teased. 

"On what?" 

"If you behave!" 

"See, Micky? See what your Mum makes me go through…? See the power of this sheila?"

"Oh c'mon, Dad, she's tryin' to watch out for your health…"

"Well, there's doctors for that, eh?"

"Yeah, Mike, and the doctor said watch out for sugar…!" Caroline said.

"Bah, my sugar's fine…" Mike answered and raised his eyes from the cake to his son. "See, Micky, find yourself a sheila who lets you eat cake and who doesn't listen to the nonsense doctors blabber about."

Mundy choked on his cake, coughing repeatedly. Lucien hit his back to help him. 

"Mike!" Caroline said. 

"What? What did I do this time?"

She glared at him and the old man quieted down until his son caught his breath. 

"Drink some, Mundy…" Lucien gave him his cup and the poor Aussie wiped his tears before he obeyed. 

"Oh… Gosh…" 

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, thanks, luv'."

Caroline and Lucien's eyes snapped wide. 

"What did you just call him?" Mike asked and Mundy realised what his tongue had let slip out of his mouth without his full consent. 

Caroline and Lucien exchanged an apprehensive glance before she saw the Frenchman take the plate of cake and put it on the coffee table. Mundy lowered his head and his breath accelerated. 

"Micky…?" Mike insisted. 

"You… Ya heard me." Mundy admitted, his head still lowered. 

[talkfastromance4]

Running Back to You-- Luke Hemmings (wwii au)

Not quite sure what this is, but I felt it within me and I had to write it out. After watching 1917 and Dunkirk, plus Memorial Day and listening to “I am a Poor Wayfaring Stranger” this sprung to life. I’ve been in a writing funk and this helped me out of it, I guess so yeah, might not be good. 

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: graphic violence, mentions of blood and injury, indicated smut(very slight), bombings, gunshots, war mentions, WWII references

Masterlist

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. *copyright is listed below*

• • • •

He awakes with a jolt. In a manner of seconds his mind plays back a reel of his dream that he’s desperate to cling onto. It’s of you. 

In this dream you’re walking along the boardwalk, a pretty pink dress with a pretty pink cloud of candy floss between your fingers. The sky is a clear robin’s egg blue, no cloud in sight. Shrieks of laughter from children still echoes in his ears but he’s chasing after you. He was about to spin you around so you’d smack into his chest, your eyes alight with giddiness as he would lower his lips to yours, tasting the sweetness of the candy floss. 

The bomb that went off from the German aircraft disrupted his dream and his space of peace. Peace is hard to come by in this war, any moment of solace is treasured. Luke has been robbed of his.

The aftereffects of the bombs are always the same; frightened shouts from other men, rapid gunfire blasting into the night sky as if they created the holes for the stars and yells of agony from the wounded. Wrong place at the right time.

They’re all in the wrong place right now. Luke hugs his rifle closer to his chest, it knocks his dog tags together. He clutches them with his other hand desperately, he can feel the flying rate of his heart beneath his dirt covered fingers. Sweat tickles his upper lip, his nose is running and the safety of his dream--and his girl--are well gone now. 

He looks to his left, Michael, a friend he’s made in the last seven months reflects the same face of terror and alertness back at him. His helmet is askew and there’s dirt on his face mixed with his sweat. Their eyes ask a silent question, how long will this last?

“How long was I out?” Luke croaks. His throat is dry as sand, voice cracking from lack of water.  Clearing it won’t help, will only burn more.

“Two hours, maybe,” Michael rasps back. He licks his lips then winces, the salt from his sweat and copper taste from his blood taints his tongue. “You seemed out. What were you seeing?”

“My girl from back home,” Luke’s response is quick. He could talk about you all day; he thinks of you every minute. You’re the only thing keeping him sane during this horrific war. 

“She a pretty bird?”

“The prettiest,” Luke smiles then shifts his gun against a large rock. He digs into his many pockets, but the photo of you is always over his heart. He holds it up for Michael to inspect, the edges are a little worn, but your smile is radiant. 

“She is a looker,” Michael nods then flips it over to read your little note. “‘Come back to me my love.’ She sure loves ya, huh?”

“Yeah, I got lucky,” Luke grins taking the photo back. “Fancied her all through school and I finally plucked up the courage to ask her to the dance. Been together ever since.”

“I didn’t see a rock on those pretty fingers of hers.”

“I’m going to give her one when I go back home,” Luke nods affirmatively. “And we’ll live on the seaside by the boardwalk.”

“My girl’s—”

“GET DOWN!”

Michael and Luke scramble into position, fetal position with hands locked behind their heads just as another bomb fell. This one was closer, dirt, rocks and other debris scattered over their backs. Luke is aware of all the yelling, wails of pain and orders shouted in roll call of their troops, but he’s also fixated on you.

**

Luke’s boots squelch through the mud as he and Michael near the small town they’re set to liberate, to search for survivors and to take down any enemy. A nice family on the outskirts of town on a farm were very hospitable to them as soon as they saw the patches on their shoulders.

They aren’t the enemy.

Luke sang with them, the first time he’s had a guitar in his hands since he was with you on the eve of his departure. It was a bittersweet moment, enjoying the young children dancing and frolicking on the wooden floor while images of you and him dancing that night flashed across his mind.

With it being his last night, the sense of urgency was heightened and soon Luke was undoing the white buttons of your dress while your nimble fingers worked on his belt. It was the first time the two of you did anything like that, bodies trembling, breathing ragged. Your love was sealed with heated kisses.

“You never finished telling me about your girl,” Luke says, averting his eyes from the broken windows of shops. Blackened paint from the swastika’s drip down on the red bricks, papers scatter along the cobblestone road.

“Not to offend but my girl is a bombshell,” Michael grins, and Luke smiles back. Their friendship continues to grow the more they go through, Michael is always cracking jokes even in this dark time.

“What’s she like?”

Luke listens to Michael rattle off everything about his girl. How her hair is the softest thing he’s ever felt, her cheeks are always pink, and she smells of lilac all the time. They always share a milkshake at their favorite diner that has the best burger and fries.

“You and your girl should come with us when we’re back,” Michael adds nudging Luke in the shoulder.

“She’d like that,” Luke nods. “In her last letter, she told me she’s been wanting nothing to eat but fries and a strawberry shake.”

“What do you—”

Luke and Michael are blasted apart. Luke goes flying backwards, his back hitting the rough brick of a building, some of it tumbles onto his chest and knocks his helmet. Shouts from his other men are faint, the sound of the blast must have damaged his hearing slightly.

Through the smoke and floating papers, he searches for Michael who is flat on the ground. A small pool of blood forming by his head that is now bare of his helmet, his arms splayed on either side of him.

“Michael!” Luke screams and crawls his way off the sidewalk to his injured friend. Shots are going on all around him, the attacker has been taken down.

Luke is coughing through the smoke, his eyes watering and as he looks down at his friend, he sees the source of the blood. Michael’s left eye was hit with shrapnel or part of the grenade, rendering him unconscious as the wound bled.

Luke’s own hands are bloody and dirty as he searches for a pulse and finds a faint one, then he tries to find something to wrap his head in. The small knapsack the farm family filled with bread and cheese was made from a large handkerchief.

The bread and cheese tumbles to the soot covered ground as Luke rips the fabric into longer pieces. Michael groans when Luke dresses his head with the fabric, the blood blooms on the white cloth instantly, as if a poppy bursting free.

“Mike! Can you hear me? Talk to me,” Luke spits urgently and tightens the makeshift bandage over his friend’s eye. “Come on, tell me about your girl and the milkshakes. What’s her favorite?”

“V-vanilla,” Michael chokes out, he tries to open his other eye.

“Vanilla? Can’t believe your bird likes plain flavors,” Luke tries to joke with his friend, and it works. Michael’s lips curve slightly.

“Says it . . . reminds . . . of me.”

“Because of your hair? She’s funny, I can’t wait to meet her. Can you sit and stand?” Luke helps lift Michael up just as another soldier comes to their aid. He helps hobble Michael to shelter where the other troops have assembled.

“I’ll get the medic over, he can clean the wound,” the young man who helped with Michael says.

Luke holds Michael’s hand as his face continues to redden from the blast and his own blood. The medic, Calum Hood, gets to work immediately when he comes by.

“Keep him talking, he may go into shock, but he seems strong,” Hood instructs popping open his first aid kit.

“What else can you tell me about her?” Luke asks hastily. Michael’s bright green eye zeroes in on Luke, which makes Luke suck in a breath. Such a bright color while his face is dirty and bloody.

“I can smell her lilacs, Luke,” Michael sighs. “So pretty.”

“I bet they are,” Luke nods.

Calum hood glances at Luke when he removes the handkerchief. There’s a big gouge where Michael’s left eye should be. Michael squeezes Luke’s hand.

“It’s gone, isn’t it?” Michael licks his chapped lips.

“Mich—”

“It’s fine. Rather my eye than my life, eh? Reckon I’m still better lookin’ than you,” he jokes then flinches when Hood pours alcohol on the wound.

“You’re right about that,” Luke smiles. “I better watch out, you might steal my girl from me.”

“That’s just the beast in me.”

**

Luke and Michael are silent on their trip back home.

The medical officer Hood recommended that Michael stay behind while the rest of the troop liberated a small encampment of a Gestapo Officer that was in high ranks. Michael refused and persisted that he won’t stay behind. He signed on to help and defend and he will do it with one eye.

As soon as their troop marched onto the land of the officer, they heard a series of gunshots. Luke and Michael reached the house first, so they witnessed the horror first. In the study, the Officer and his family lay sprawled on their now stained wooden floor; the gun in the Officer’s hand as he drowned in a river of his family’s blood.

There were about fifty prisoners kept in the basement and in makeshift barracks in the backyard. All of them were ghosts, malnourished, dirty and filled with terror. One of them cried into Luke’s chest while the other soldiers coaxed the others out of hiding. One of their men spoke fluent German, his name is Ashton Irwin and he assured the prisoners that they will be safe now. They won’t be hurt.

The horrific sights hang dauntingly between Luke and Michael as they rode back to the Army hospital in France. The pair were never apart except when Michael was in surgery to repair the damage around his eye. Michael was asked if he’d like a glass eye, but the thought was mortifying so he opted for an eye patch.

Both clung to each other on the boat ride home and woke each other up on the train as they had the same nightmares. Nightmares of what they went through, of what they saw. Luke clutched your picture tightly against his chest, he stared at your face in the moonlight as the train rattled on.

Luke is tired. His feet are tired yet he’s aching to be near you again. He pulls his dog tags from his pocket that now has a diamond ring looped on the chain. Michael helped him pick it out while they were in France. He can’t wait to come home to you.

“She’s going to say yes, stop over thinking,” Michael tells him while the train pulls into the station. They both jump when a man bangs on the window, a gleeful smile on his face as he congratulated them for being home. “I wish it was just us on the platform.”

“Me too,” Luke replies grimly.

While they were at the hospital in France, one of your letters was forwarded to him. You wrote of your fear and worry for him, that you haven’t heard from him in weeks. You confessed your love every other line and Luke wished he could hold you, assure you that he’s almost home.

It’s been almost a year that he’s been gone. Each step of his boots was away from you, but they were also running back to you. Luke notices the tremble in Michael’s hands, an after effect from his accident but it’s been heightened from nerves.

“She’ll be happy you’re alive,” Luke assures him. Michael nods robotically. He’s nervous what his girl will say about his eye.

The two get off the train together, both searching for their loves. Being taller than nearly everyone helps, and Luke finally spots you near a pillar next to a bench. Without a second thought, he abandons Michael (for now) and pushes through the crowd of families being reunited, forcing his feet to move faster to you.

You’re already crying by the time he reaches you, his arms encasing you tightly as he breathes you in. You’re both grasping each other securely, whispering ‘I love you’ in each other’s ears. All his woes seem to disappear the longer he’s in your arms and he pulls away to plant a kiss on your lips.

“I have something for you,” he rushes out and reaches for his dog tags.

“I have something for you, too. I—Luke!” you gasp when he dangles the ring in front of you. You kiss him quickly in response, hoping he’ll understand that you mean yes. He slips it on your finger while it’s still looped on his necklace.

“What’s your—”

A small baby’s cry makes him freeze, then he finally takes in your surroundings. There’s a black baby carriage to the left of you, a pink blanket peeking out. Luke’s eyes widen as he looks between you and the carriage.

“There’s someone who’s been waiting to meet you,” you tell him. You slip your hand in his leading him to the carriage.

Luke collapses onto the bench, staring at the most beautiful baby he’s ever seen in his life. He grasps the edge of the carriage as the baby girl stares up at him, she has your eyes. You lift her from the carriage, carefully placing her in Luke’s awaiting arms. Tears fill his eyes as he kisses his daughter’s head, then you sit next to him and he holds his whole world in his arms.

“I’ve been running back to you,” he whispers to his girls.

• • • •

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[bowieandqueen11]

Sisters Slay / Nancy Wheeler Imagine

Request: Hi :D Can I request a Stranger things oneshot? Being besties with Nancy Wheeler and fighting the evil together (or something like that) thank you❤  

Sorry this took so long love! <3

Warning: some strong language!

Please help me keep writing by commenting!

Hanging it from its hook, you place it right underneath the star at the top.

Your fingers un-entangle themselves from the flashing red, blue and green fairy lights that gleam in your eyes and fill the darkening living room with an uncomfortably dim glow. Taking a step back, you tilt your head, eyes glancing over the bristling branches to admire your hard work.

‘Are you sure this trip wire is going to work?’

‘No, but do we have a choice? That lighter fluid we left on the hallway carpet isn’t going to do the trick by itself.’

‘Is that why you have that, Nanc?’

‘It’s just a precaution Y/n. We’re going to get this monster, and then we’re going to get Will. We will get your brother back, Y/n.’

‘I know Nancy, and I want him back too. But I don’t want you taken in his place.’

It took Nancy even less time than you expected to open up the bear trap and place it on the living room floor. She ran scrambling across the living room, her fingers twitching eagerly as she lightly bit her bottom lip, bumping her hip against the flowery chair in the corner before kneeling down next to the box laying crashed on the floor and picking up another batch of your mother’s christmas lights. She bolts past you, her boots jumping lightly over the nails hammered into the floorboards to start screwing them into the lines of wires that zigzag like chains above your head.

‘We can do this, Y/n. ’

You don't just see the bulb flicker above her ponytail as she turns to look at you, you hear it too. As the two of you are cast into brief spells of darkness it crackles, or perhaps it's more of a buzz, the kind of screeching pain you only would expect to hear in the depths of somewhere cold and evil. Nancy’s eyes widen as she comes over to stand by you, hand grabbing your wrist before she tucks her back next to yours, revelling in the slight comfort that she wasn’t alone in this. If she was going, she was going down fighting with her best friend.

All you could think, as her fingers grabbed yours, was that Will had gone through all this alone.

A string of curses unraveled from your tongue, like lights unfurling, as the two of you strain to listen. For a moment, all that could be heard in the Byer household was golden silence; darkness was suffocating the walls, stopped only by the short pants of frightened breathe the two of you tried to keep in. Grabbing your bat, you almost choke on your breath as the slapped paint on the walls your mother had tossed up began to sparkle in your eye.

R. U. N.

‘It’s here, Nancy, it’s here.’

‘Shh!’

You could hear Nancy gulp as the two of you swung around slowly, the lights above starting to illuminate the furniture you had spent your childhood on in dirty greens and reds, every step you took being matched by a rattling noise that you weren’t sure was your heart... or it. 

Before you can make a noise, Nancy has yelled, pushing you to the side and firing a shot at the large, looming shape that screams out from the entryway. You couldn’t quite make out the darkness, as you climbed back onto your elbows, wincing at the knock you had gotten on your head on the way down. As you peered out, trying to disassociate the sound of the screeches from your Nancy, the black blob in the room was not a colour, it was nothing. A void.

‘Shit!’

Flinging up to your feet and running towards it, courage you had gained from Nancy ablaze, you manage to dodge a swing from it's massive claws, but it struck your side and you tumbled once again head first into the wall. You could hear nothing: all was silenced, the yells, the hisses of the creature, the gunshots, all inaudible. All you could do was feel. Feel the cold ground pressed against your form, the heat from the pain, the thick goo leaking onto your leg that you hoped was from one of your traps the Demagorgon had fell in.

That you were winning. That Nancy was safe. That Will would come home again and your mom would stop being so sad and so angry all the time.

A choked cry forced itself up your throat, as you let the darkness overcome you.

Before you could float away, though, it was as if a fist of orange flame had decided to punch it's way out of the room. Smoke and fire rushed out. Thousands of pieces of glass and steel from the Christmas lights hanging haphazardly above fell like snow, a deadly rainfall, showering down. An otherworldly sound, shrill and deafening erupted as Nancy grabbed onto your arm and grabbed you behind the sofa, using her body to shield you from the flames that licked at the creatures skin as it stumbled backwards into the bear trap, its cries only getting louder.

And then it was gone, and you were left with the wreckage.

Senses sharpened with adrenaline, Nancy held her breath, straining to hear with every ounce of her concentration as her forearm held you against the arm rest of your sofa. Cool air whispered through the cracked window she pointed her gun at, the last few flames dwindling down into embers on the carpet you had always hated, the both of you jumping and nearly knocking each other down as Will’s record player suddenly whirred to life in his room. 

All that was left was the warped shapes that the stars made against the blackness, and the soft tones of the Clash against the Hawkins’ night.

Nancy grabs onto your cheeks, a little blood splattered on her own, but the look of desperation and fear in her eyes as she tilts your head forward and checks you over stops you from commenting.

‘Shit, Y/n, are you alright?’

‘I should be asking you that. Thanks, Nanc. For all of this. For saving me. I couldn’t have done any of this without you.’

‘Hey, you’ll always be there for me, and I’ll always be there for you, right? What else are sisters for.’

She holds up her pinkie, which you gladly take with your own, allowing a tired smile to perk up your lips.

‘Sisters.’

‘You sure do beat Mike.’

[just-jordie-things]

What Happened 27 Years Later (alternate ending) - Richie Tozier

word count: 4025 warnings: swearing, death/gore summary: an alternate ending to a fic that ended in death and pain, that can hopefully be a cheesy way to make u feel better from all that angst :)) + original fic

___

The ground began to shake as the orbs were completely submerged inside the pyramid, and (y/n) pressed her face completely against Richie’s chest, holding him tightly and fearfully.  She wasn’t sure what was happening, or when it was safe to look.

But things settled down, the winds stopped, the ground stilled, and slowly, everyone cautiously peeked their eyes open.

Mike was quick to slam the lid over the pyramid, trapping the deadlights inside.

“We did it?” Bill breathed out, unsurely.

“It’s gone?” Richie asked.  “Just like that?”

“We did it,” Mike said, a tired grin tugging on his lips.  “We did it, we trapped the lights”

Everyone seemed to smile, and let out sighs of relief.

(y/n) pulled away from Richie only to reach up and eagerly press her lips against his, hands splaying across his cheeks, and grinning even wider as she pulled away.  He took her in his arms, lifting her off the ground as he hugged her enthusiastically.

“We fucking did it!”  He cheered, even spinning the girl around before setting her back down.

Their moment was short lived, as they were soon joined by Pennywise, who mocked their efforts at defeating him, and released the deadlights from the pyramid.  And if that wasn’t enough to make their fear settle in their bones again, he grew about a hundred feet, taking on the leg form of a monstrous spider, and chased them amongst the rocks with crazed laughter.

Richie haphazardly reached out for (y/n), and pulled her with him behind a tall rock that should keep them out of It’s view for a few moments, which was all he needed.

“Listen to me, are you listening to me? Listen,” Richie instructed hastily.  “We dont- we don’t have much time-”

“What?” (y/n) said, urging him to hurry up before Pennywise rounded the corner and was able to see them.

“First chance you get, you run the fuck out of here-”

“Richie no-!”

“Promise me, fucking- swear to me, that if you get the chance you fucking book it, okay?” He pleaded, but she shook her head back and forth, tears welling in her eyes as Richie continued to beg her.  “Swear to me- do it (y/n) swear”

“I- I can’t” She whimpered.

“You can, please, please.  If you stil love me just- just fucking promise me you’ll get the hell out of here, and get safe,” She cried harder, a small gasp departing her lips as her throat burned with tears.  “I need you to be safe, okay?”

He peered around the rock, seeing Pennywise nearing where they were hiding, and then turned quickly back to (y/n).

“Richie I can’t leave- I’m not leaving you again,” She wept, tears flowing down her cheeks.  “Please don’t make me-”

“I’ll be there with you as soon as I can,” He promised, cupping her cheeks in his hands.  “I swear it, alright? I just need you to swear to me you’ll get out of here”

“Rich” She cried, squeezing her eyes shut tight, and for a mere second relished in the feeling of the pads of his thumbs swiping away her tears.

“Do you understand me?” He spoke after a moment, and she nodded, albeit reluctantly.

Her sad eyes met his, and they alone told him everything that she needed him to know.  He gave her a bittersweet smile, before drawing her face in close for him to press his lips in the space between her eyes.

“I love you,” He murmured before pulling away.  Just as she opened her mouth to speak, Richie could see that It was even closer, and he pushed her away from him.  “Now go!”

She let out a cry as she was forced out of his hold, and the tears started up again as she made a bee-line towards the entrance of the cave they’d come in through.

She made it through the passing just before It was able to spot her, and hid under the rock as she watched It pass, and Richie ran from his hiding spot to another.

Her hands had been shaking, and she couldn’t get herself to move, even though at this point, she probably would get away.  But looking at the Losers, her friends, all running about the cave and trying to hide before It could grab them and terrorize them, she couldn’t go through with it.

Her eyes caught Richie’s, who began to shake his head, already knowing what she was thinking.  She gave him a sad smile, and realized she wasn’t shaking anymore.

She wasn’t afraid.

Richie shook his head again, waving his arms around in an ‘x’ sort of motion, desperate for her to listen to him.  To turn around and start running.

‘I’m sorry’ she mouthed, and wiggled out of the crevice.

“(y/n)! No!” The scream Richie let out echoed over the sounds of Pennywise’s snapping jaws and clattering crab-like legs.

She wasn’t afraid, but he certainly was.

She scaled up to a cliffside that was jutted out from the cave’s wall, collecting as many rocks as she could and beginning to throw them with all the force she could muster.

And if their lives weren’t at stake, he would be proud and cheering her on as she began to launch rocks at It.  But instead, his heart was beating erratically with fear as he watched her do something so reckless.

Nevertheless, he ran up to her, and joined her in pelting the monster with the largest rocks they could lift.

“You’re stupid! You’re insane!” He yelled at her, but she just gave him a wide grin, and shrugged her shoulders, before heaving up a rather large rock, swinging low so she could throw it as high as she could.  It landed with a loud ‘thunk’ ‘crack’ against Pennywise’s skull, and he screeched as the area began to crack, blood pooling upwards.

“Well where do you think I picked it up from?” (y/n) asked teasingly, hands dropping to her knees as she bent over and heaved.

She only had a moment to catch her breath before Pennywise whirled around, and the small moment of victory was gone in an instant.

It’s large crooked leg knocked her off the cliffside she stood on, and sent her tumbling down to the ground below.  Richie shrieked, scurrying to get down to her, but in his haste his eyes went upwards, landing on the blue circling orbs, and he was trapped in the deadlights.

(y/n) pushed herself up on shaky arms, spitting out blood and wiping haphazardly at her mouth to get the excess blood off her lips.  As she got up, her eyes caught Richie, floating above her, staring with dull eyes at whatever Mike had told them not to look at.

“Richie!” She screamed, and despite her legs feeling like jelly, she shoved herself upwards and ran towards him, hoping if she jumped high enough, she could grab his leg and pull him down to her.  “Richie! Come on!” She pleaded, eyes welling with tears as she tried, and failed, over and over again to grab onto him.

“(y/n)! Look out!” Eddie blared, just in time, as It came running towards her, reaching greedy hands down towards her body.

“Come on toots,” It’s voice was deranged and she hated the way her special nickname sounded coming out of it’s clown painted mouth.  “Don’t you wanna float with your lover?”

She scrambled away as quickly as she could, but It was so close behind her, she was bound to be snatched right up.

“Help!” She screamed, begging her legs to move faster, but sure enough, a large hand wrapped around her torso and picked her up like she was a doll.  

She screamed, throwing her fists against the back of Pennywise’s gloved hand, as though it could cause any damage anyways.  The higher he pulled her upwards to his face, the more she realized she didn’t actually want him to let go of her.  A fall at this height was bound to kill her.  So eventually, she stopped hitting his hand, and instead clutched onto the silk glove to keep her secure.

“You’ve caused quite some trouble” It spoke angrily, leaning in close so she could see it’s bright orange eyes.

“There are other ways to make him feel small!” Mike shouted.  “You have to make It feel small!”

Her eyes darted from the man on the ground, back up to the large figure that held her captive in it’s hand.

“I’m not afraid of you,” She declared, voice clear, and candid.  For a moment, she swore It’s face twitched with a wince.  “You’re just a clown.  You’re not fucking scary.  And I’m not scared of you!”

It snarled, baring it’s endless rows of razor sharp teeth as it roared right at her face.  She screamed, suddenly very afraid that this was how she died, that she’d be just another one of it’s snack-turned-victims.

But just as she thought she was going to be thrown into It’s mouth like a potato chip, the roaring ceased, as a long metal spear had been thrown into it’s exposed throat, ripping through to the otherside.

Her eyes widened at the gruesome sight, and It stumbled backwards, dropping her body in the process.  She screamed as she fell, but was silenced as soon as she hit the ground.

“Oh my- fuck! (y/n)!” Eddie ran over to her, helping her sit up and make sure she hadn’t hit her head too hard.  “Did you see that!? Did you see what I just fucking did!?” He cheered for himself, but his voice was merely a distant echo in (y/n’s) ears.

“Wh- what about Richie?” She mumbled, rubbing her head as she looked over to see him falling from where he was floating.  “Is he- oh my god”

Her legs shook, so much so that she kept on tripping and falling as she made her way over to where Richie laid, and eventually her knees completely gave out, and she collapsed at his side.

“R-Richie?” She shook him, afraid to see his eyes shut as he laid there, almost lifelessly.  “Richie!?” She yelled now, grasping the material of his shirt in her hands as tears built up and burned her eyes.

He gasped, head shooting up for a moment before falling back down against the rock.  He took in deep breaths and stared at her with wide eyes, not sure what had just happened that had knocked him out.

“You’re okay, you’re okay?” She repeated herself, hands moving rather quickly over his face, both comforting him and inspecting for any blood or injuries.

“Yeah, I’m alright,” He wheezed, and (y/n) took his face in her hands, a cry of relief coming from her throat.  She was smiling, but still crying.  “You gotta stop crying today toots, I don’t have the time to kiss all those tears away” He teased, and pushed himself to sit up on shaky arms.

“Shut the fuck up” She whimpered happily, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him to sit up the rest of the way so she could hug him as tightly as possible.  

Her hands grasping at his hair, and then his shoulders, and then the back of his shirt, anything she could hold.  Richie buried his face in the crook of her neck, arms encircling her torso and squeezing her tight against him.

“God, Rich,” She mumbled, pulling away from him to look at his face.  His glasses were a bit cracked, and there was a nasty bruise along his cheek, a little bit of blood trickling down his forehead from his hairline.  “You look like shit” She giggled, carefully wiping away the blood with her thumb.

“Yeah yeah, real hot coming from you” Richie said, silently counting the cuts and bruises littered over (y/n’s) face.  The cut from Bowers, a bruise at her temple, a slightly blackening eye, bloody nose, split lip, she was a mess.

It hurt to smile, but she couldn’t help it.  One of her hands shakily racing to place her palm against his cheek.  The expression on her face something that made Richie want to both cry and hold her in his arms for as long as possible.

“Richie…” She mumbled.  “I-”

The world stuttered in it’s timeline, it had to have, because what happened next, Richie was certain it was in slow motion.

A large claw protruded through (y/n’s) chest, making her words stutter to a stop, and slowly, she bowed her head down to see that it was, in fact, It’s razor sharp leg.  Impaled clean through her back.

“(y/n)!” Richie’s scream was blood curling, but all she could hear in that moment was white noise, eyes trained on the wound in her chest.  She was frozen in fear, and the realization that she was going to die here hit her like a truck on the highway.

Her chest suddenly felt very warm, and as It retracted the claw that had pierced through her whole body, she realized it was because of the fresh blood streaming out of her body, dampening her clothes in a soggy red.

Richie’s hands were fumbling over the wound as Pennywise’s claw was retracted, and the other Loser’s were screaming insults at it to finish the job.  Meanwhile, Richie carefully laid (y/n) down over his lap so she’d be more comfortable.

“(y/n), no… no no no, sweetheart, hey,” Richie cooed quietly, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill over.  “Hey it’s alright, you’re alright, we’ll get you out of here real soon-”

“Richie,” She whimpered, taking his bloody hand away from her face, and intertwining his fingers with hers.  “Listen to me”

Her voice was small, but she needed him to stop his rambling so he could hear her.

“Listen- listen,” She mumbled, gathering what little strength she had to squeeze his hand.  “It’s okay”

“No-! No, no it isn’t it’s not fucking okay-”

“Richie,” She cried, one tear rolling down her bloody cheek.  “I’m okay, I’m gonna be okay,” She was lying through her teeth, just trying to calm him down even if it was just for a moment.  “You’ll be okay”

He shook his head, tears falling freely now, but he didn’t cut her off.

Thi couldn’t be happening, not now, not after he just got her back.  He just got her back, last night.  And they’d had a wonderful time together, they clicked just like they had back then.  He’d gotten to kiss her again, hold her again, love her again, how could this happen? How could she be ripped away from him so soon? This wasn’t fair this wasn’t fair this wasn’t-

“I love you,” She whimpered quietly, sad to even say it, given the circumstances, but she knew she had to.  For both of their sakes.  “Okay? I love you, I always did, okay?”

I told you ro run, why didn’t you run away? Why didn’t you listen?

It wasn’t fair.  But there was no changing it, there was no way for him to fix it, and that’s what broke him the most.

There was no saving her.

“Okay,” Richie mumbled back.  The finality of their situation could be heard in the one word he spoke.  It was a goodbye.  Holding her hand tightly in his, and his free hand stroking her hair out of her face to keep it from getting stained with blood, he nodded his head a bit down at her.  “Okay.  I know, toots”

It was quiet for a minute as she tried to hold back her tears, for him.  SHe could feel her heart slowing, and most of her body had gone numb in shock.  All she could really feel was Richie’s hand tightly holding hers.  She hoped that when the time came, he’d let go.  Begged whoever was up there to help him let go.

“Hey,” Richie called softly, hastily wiping at his wet eyes with the back of his hand.  “(y/n) (y/l/n)”

“Richie Tozier?” She replied weakly, confused.

“Will you marry me?”

The question was so soft, she almost didn’t catch it.

A cry left her lips as she nodded, unable to hide her tears from him any longer.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” She mumbled.  “Yeah, I’ll marry you”

Her whimpers broke his heart, but he smiled gently down at her nonetheless.

“Alright then toots,” He whispered, and stroked her hair back again so he could lean down to her, and kiss her forehead with a featherlight touch.  

She closed her eyes at the action, and they both missed Pennywise being shrunken down into dust.  Too wrapped up in one another to even realize he was gone.

“Rest easy, baby” Richie said quietly, his nose pressed into the crown of her head, and his eyes squeezing shut tightly, too afraid to look at her as she took her last breath.  “I love you so fucking much”

When he finally pulled away, he knew her eyes wouldn’t open again.

The girl stirred in her sleep, frustrated that she’d woken up, seeing as the sun wasn’t up yet, so it was definitely the middle of the night.

With a small groan, she rolled over and settled back into her pillows, willing her body to get just a few more hours of sleep.

Just as she started to drift off again, there was a swift kick against her leg, followed by a small whimper.  Which must’ve been what woke her up in the first place.

She sat up, rubbing her eyes to get the groggy feeling to go away.

Looking down at the man in her bed, it was clear that he was having a nightmare.  His whole body was shaking, legs sporadically twitching under the covers, hands clutching his pillow in a death grip, and tears were streaming down his face.

“Hey,” She murmured, softly placing her hand on his shoulder and shaking him.  “Wake up, Rich, wake up”

She yawned in between shakes, and then got a little more forceful in her movements, seeing as he was still whimpering and kicking.

“Richie!” She called a bit louder, shaking his shoulders with both hands, and finally, he shot upwards in bed, panting heavily, and looking at her with crazed eyes.

She gave him a moment to catch his breath and come to his senses, before gently touching her hand to his cheek.

“Baby, you alright?” She murmured as softly as she could, not wanting him to be sent into a frenzy of sensory overload.  She’d known him long enough to know that after a nightmare, he was almost hypersensitive.

He nodded, leaning his cheek further into the warmth of her touch.

“Yeah,” He breathed out, taking her hand and pulling it towards his mouth to press a kiss into her palm.  “Just a nightmare”

(y/n’s) brows cinched together with concern, and she shuffled to sit closer to him on the mattress.

“You wanna talk about it?” She offered, placing her other hand on his opposite cheek too, thumbs rhythmically caressing his cheekbones.

He ducked his head for a moment, processing what had happened in the dream.  It was so dark, so vivid, as if it had actually happened.

“It was- uh-” He coughed and took a deep breath before continuing.  “When we were in Derry,” He told her, and she nodded, understanding those kinds of nightmares all too well.  “In the caves, I couldn’t- I couldn’t save you”

His voice broke at the end of his words, and (y/n) felt a tug on her heartstrings at the pain he’d clearly gone through emotionally.

“Oh, Richie,” She hummed, leaning forward, brushing her lips over his cheek before hugging him close.  Her nose buried into the crook of his neck.  “Baby,” She added a few moments later, once she’d felt him relax in her hold.  “You did save me,”

She pulled away, taking his face in her hands again, smiling at him.

“You saved my life Richie, you pushed me out of the way, remember?” She told him, and he nodded shakily.

He had done that.  He had pushed her out of the way before Pennywise could make a move on her life.  They’d gotten out of Derry alive, and they’d started their lives over, together.  He was with (y/n) right now, in their apartment in New York.  Everything was fine, everyone was fine.

“I’m alive because of you,” She whispered, and kissed the tip of his nose adorably.  “I know the nightmares are rough, honey, but look, I’m right here”

Richie’s arms encircled her waist, and pulled her to straddle over his lap.

“I do love having you in my bed” He said teasingly, and (y/n) grinned at him, knowing he was going to be alright to go back to sleep soon.

“Well, get used to it baby” She replied, tapping her left ring finger against his cheek.

Richie’s hand reached up to the back of her neck, pulling her downwards to slant his lips against hers.  (y/n) melted against him for a longing moment, before he pulled away and took her left hand from his face, admiring the ring on her finger before kissing her knuckles as well.

“I love you so much” He said, looking back up into her eyes.

“And I love you more than that,” She replied cheesily, giggling before peppering kisses over his face.  “You feeling better yet?”

“Almost, can you kiss a little lower?” Richie replied, and she gave him a playful glare and a shake of her head at his antics.

(y/n) wiggled off his lap, and pulled his body down to lay back in bed with her.

“Come on idiot, I’m tired,” She told him tangling her legs with his and snuggling into his chest.  “Cuddle me” She whined, and Richie chuckled before wrapping his arms around her again

As (y/n) tucked her head against his collarbone under his chin, Richie’s eyes wandered to the table against the bed.  On it were his glasses, the cup of water that (y/n) only took two drinks of, and a framed photograph.

It was taken a few months ago, at a party the Losers had thrown for themselves to celebrate life in general.  Being alive was something they became much more grateful for.

In it, Richie was sat on Bill’s fancy velvet couch, his arm wrapped around (y/n), who straddled over his lap.  They were grinning at once another, and clinking their beer bottles in cheers to their engagement.

(y/n’s) free hand was against his cheek, fingers curling into his hair while her thumb had been swiping across his cheekbone lovingly.  Anyone could tell from this photo alone just how in love they were.

Ben had taken it, as a sort of surprise wedding gift, since the original picture from their childhood had burned up as a sacrifice.

Richie loved that picture.

“I love you toots” He mumbled down into his wife’s hair, before pressing hips lips against her head, and lingering there for a few moments.

(y/n) sighed contently, tilting her head back just enough to place a few small kisses against the bottom of his jaw.  With the last one, she smacked her lips dramatically.  Eyes twinkling up towards his.

“I love you more” She told him, chastely kissing his lips, only for him to pull her back in for a longer, much more satisfying kiss.

When they pulled apart, (y/n) nuzzled her face back against Richie’s collarbone, already drifting off in his arms.

“Yeah, well I love you most.  So.  I win”

“Beep beep” (y/n) mumbled half-consciously.

“You can’t ‘beep beep’ my proclamation of love” He muttered.

“Jus’ did”

“That’s not how it- (y/n/n)? (y/n) wake up we need to talk about the beep beep rules” Richie nudged her, but she just groaned softly, far too tired to entertain him right now.

When he finally started to fall asleep, certain that (y/n) had long passed out, she mumbled softly,

“I love you the most though”

___

xoxo ~ jordie

[myhockeyworld87]

Choices - Tyler Seguin/Jamie Benn - Part 1

Alright, here is the new series I’ve been promising. So remember the books,(and now they have apps) where you chose your own adventure? Well it’s kind of like that. I’m going to try and post this every Wednesday; I will then wait 48 hours for people to vote and tell me how the next part should go. You can do this by commenting in the notes or shooting me a message in my Ask Me Anything box if you want to be anonymous. This is either going to be a great idea I had or really dumb. I guess we will see….haha. I just thought it would be a fun way to be a little more active with everyone. I may give it an extra day since this is the first part. Anyway feedback is appreciated. It will jump from different points of views as well.

Word Count: 1630

POV: Tyler

Song Inspiration: Dreamer by Kari Kimmel

Warnings:  None

Notes: So full disclosure, I used to sing in a band for years and sometimes when I listen to those songs again; I get inspired to write. This one totally made me think of a love triangle and who better than Tyler and Jamie. Hope you guys like this. Peace, Love and Hugs Y’All!

It was somewhat exciting to finally meet the woman who had captured Jamie’s attention. She was all he seemed to talk about these days; and from the sounds of it she was really something special. So when he came to you with the idea that you two double date tonight; you had no problem saying yes. It wasn’t like you had someone special in your life, just a regular that you called on from time to time; though she liked to claim she was your girlfriend. As long as you got what you needed, and she kept you off her social sites; you saw no harm in the moniker.

Walking into the quaint little lounge with Kathleen, you saw Jamie seated at a table close to the front. Jamie’s girl was new to the area, moving here for a job; though she had a gig singing at a club from time to time. Tonight being one of those nights. “Hey guys,” Jamie greeted you. “It’s good to see you again Kathleen.” Luckily Kathleen wasn’t too bright and missed the side eye Jamie gave you. He kept insisting the doe-eyed girl was bad news; vaguely you wondered if he was right. “(Y/N) is up shortly, then after her set, she’ll join us.”

“Do you think you could get any closer to the stage Chubbs? I don’t think I can see anything from here.” You had to give him a hard time. It was easy to tell he was in love.

“Whatever Segs. Try not to be an ass tonight.”

A waitress came by and took your drink orders, Jamie knowing her name; since he’d become a regular here. “What me an ass? Never.” Mockingly you put your hand to your heart; as if Jamie’s accusations hurt you. “In all honesty I’m anxious to meet this woman, who you can’t seem to stop talking about.”

“I can’t wait for you to meet her. I’m sure you’re going to love her just like I do.” Kathleen faked coughed; as if to draw attention to herself. Jamie was right you really needed to cut the poor girl loose; she was only a plus one, here to be silent and look pretty, that was all.

The lights dimmed then, a spotlight focused on an empty piano on stage; drawing the attention of the audience. Slowly band members came in focus, before a figure hidden in shadows made their way onto the stage. At that moment you could only see her hourglass figure; something that appealed to your masculine nature. As she took the seat at the piano, the details of her face came into focus; they were details that were familiar to you. It was only her profile but you would swear on a stack of bibles you knew that face; it haunted you in your dreams. Notes floated to your brain, as her fingers deftly moved over the keys. It was a sad melody, one you didn’t recognize; but then her voice broke through the fog in your brain.

Used to laugh aloud when you’re around,

now your far away

Can’t even hear me

Every other word you said to me

As I fell asleep

Are now, just fading whispers

I can’t remember

I believe we were in this together

Giving everything for a chance at forever

It all started rushing back to you. Two summers ago in Toronto, you’d met her at some boating party; she’d been a guest of a friend and had immediately captured your attention. The two of you had flirted wildly, and it wasn’t a surprise to anyone when you took her home that night to your downtown apartment. From there it had been one passionate night after another. She was a fire that wouldn’t quit burning inside you; nor did you want it to die. She would work during the day and you would train; but every night was spent together. To say that you fell fast and hard, would be an understatement; you fell madly in love with her days after knowing her. It was as if you couldn’t get enough of her.

I’m a dreamer, who should’ve known better

And I thought you had a dream here too.

I’m a dreamer, who should’ve known better

Cause now I have to live, have to live

In this dream without you.

On the weekends, you took her to your house on the lake; where at night you would lay out on a blanket and look at all the stars. She told you all her dreams, and you’d confided yours in turn. She’d always had a passion for singing, and she had the voice of an angel; though it didn’t pay the bills. So, instead she sang for fun. She would sing in the shower, until you joined her and then instead of a melody filling the room, it was her moans; you could still hear them. Though now her voice was filled with sadness, as the song in the present continued.

With every other word you made me yours,

With every wish you breathed, and every promise.

How did ya read my mind, tell me every line that I longed to hear,

Well you were so convincing, but you left me empty.

I remember when we were both so naive,

And now you’re telling me that you never believed.

The two of you would make love for hours. Then you’d lay in bed, holding her in your arms; as you whispered how you never wanted to let her go. How you wanted to spend the rest of your life with her. All those words had been true then, you believed them as much as she did. You had painted a beautiful picture of the two of you; happily married, kids running around the house. It was what you both wanted; even thought that’s where you were headed.

When did it all become too much

And couldn’t you fight a little harder for us.

You traded dreams for reality, and promises you couldn’t keep

And nothing was the way it seemed.

The words resonated in your brain. How did things go wrong? You’d made her promises of love, of a life filled with forever. But then you’d gone back to Dallas, and all those promises got thrown out the door in one night, when you’d let too much alcohol get the best of you. You’d woken up with some random chick draped across you. Vaguely, you remembered rushing out of the room and calling (Y/N), though it was too late. Mike Stud, had captured your little tryst on Instagram; the thirty seconds did more damage than you could’ve ever thought. She didn’t answer the phone for two days, and when she did, she told you to go to hell; and so you did. Drinking and partying, trying to forget the one woman you wanted to spend your life with. Until now, now you were sitting front row, while she sang what was undoubtedly a song about the two of you.

I’m a dreamer, who should’ve known better;

And I thought you had a dream here too.

I’m a dreamer, who should’ve known better;

Cause now I have to live, have to live in this dream without you.

I should’ve known better.

Oh and I thought you had a dream here too

I’m a dreamer who should’ve known better

because now I have to live have to live in this dream without you.

As the last strands of the melody faded away, you felt a tear slide down your cheek.She didn’t need to live a life without you; you were right here. You could have everything back; only now she was with your best friend. Who when you looked over was beaming with pride, at what you were sure was the love of his life. Anger boiled inside you, it wasn’t fair; Jamie couldn’t be in love with her; not when (Y/N) was yours.

The next thought that jumped into your head, was how in the hell was she with Jamie? Your mind raced back to what Jamie had told you about her. They met at the supermarket of all places, she’d slipped or something; you couldn’t recall the exact details. Distantly you remembered him saying something about her not knowing he played hockey; but he really hadn’t gone into specifics. You searched your mind to try and recall if you’d ever talked about Jamie to (Y/N) two years ago; but you weren’t sure. The two of you had focused solely on each other, not really caring about the outside world. Of course she knew you played hockey for the Dallas Stars; so how did she not connect the dots with Jamie. There were a million questions, swirling around in your head; and only one woman could answer them. Currently, she was up on stage belting out another tune. There was no way you could sit there another second; your heart was beating fast and it felt like you couldn’t breathe. Excusing yourself from the table you got up; walking straight out the door. It took you a full five minutes before you could collect yourself and go inside.

——————————————————————————————————————

Alright, now it’s your turn to make the next choice in the story. Should Tyler:

Walk back inside and go straight back behind stage to confront you.

Walk back inside, sit back down at the table and wait for a better opportunity to talk to you.

Walk back inside and pretend he doesn’t remember you.

Walk away! This was a stupid idea and I should just end this story.

The choice is your. You can send your A, B, C or D answer in the comments or to my Ask Me Anything box if you’d like to remain anonymous.

[andaleduardo]

Late at night when I like who I am, in the dark where I’m finally me

Ao3    wc: 2238

Summary: Richie Tozier thinks he’s prettier at night. Eddie agrees, but for different reasons.

or

Richie is insecure of his looks and Eddie is in love with him.

Richie Tozier is prettier at night.

If he said that out-loud it might get him a few chucks, but it’s no joke to him. He knows it’s true, somehow. It’s a hidden fact that reveals itself to him in small things. When he catches his own reflection on a store window or when he gets the passenger seat in his friends’ cars and can’t help but stare at himself on the side mirror, for example.

See, daylight does little for Richie besides exposing the true self he so much despises.

During the day, the acne weights on his face, which is constantly oily. The color of his skin brightens up to blinding levels and his hair is so dark that the contrast against the sunlight makes the little wiry curls more noticeable, like a cloud made of fuzz settled around his head.

During the day, his bones are too bony and his height is too high, his laugh is too laughable and his jokes are … not. Under the sun his feet are too big, his hands don’t fit on his wrists, his lips crack at the corners because his teeth don’t seem to fit inside. The crook of his nose gets worse, there’s always an eyelash poking at his eyeball and a constant itch everywhere that seems impossible to scratch.

In the day time Richie Tozier is his true self, and he has only one mission. To hide.

So he laughs a little less, tones the jokes down. Stops himself from moving and fidgeting and jumping around when his muscles ache for it. Anything to become more invisible.

Needless to say, by the end of the day Richie misses smiling. Misses feeling good in his own body, fitting in his own shape. He misses being okay.

Those bad times make it almost impossible to remember what it’s like to feel good, but as soon as the sky begins to shift into more colors besides blue, his heart starts beating with purpose and the first genuine smile of the day makes an appearance.

There are so many great things that come along with night time... And all those things can be the same as the ones he does during the day, mundane things, but they shift into some thrilling adventure for Richie.

Like riding a bus and somehow not caring about the other passengers staring at you. Cracking a joke and being sure it’ll be funny, and if it’s not, then it doesn’t bother him. Going outside and not fearing judgment, simply because the dark hides him better.

At night, his skin tone gets softer, bluer, and reflects every piece of light that meets the surface of his body. The acne is never there, no excess oil pools in his pores. Sometimes there’s a layer of sweat due to all the adrenaline that travels his veins between 8 p.m. and the moment he goes to sleep, but it’s okay, Richie thinks. It means he’s finally alive.

At night, the dark curls blend with the dark sky, every strand of hair slowly begins to fit into place. When he passes his fingers through it, he knows he owns every curl with confidence. His bones and muscles slowly relax, fit inside his skin so there’s no more bumps or tension points and he can finally let loose. At night, he falls in love with his height for he can finally tuck his friends under his arms, and place his chin on top of their heads without feeling ashamed of it, of outsiders’ eyes.

His laugh never feels too loud, never feels too much. It becomes contagious and there is nothing more gratifying than sending the ones you love into a fit of giggles that could lull him to sleep.

Under the moonlight, he doesn’t notice the size of his feet because at night, Richie Tozier doesn’t care at all. He jumps around in the street with good company surrounding his steps. He hugs when he craves it and he fidgets when he has to, and no one else there will order him to stop or call him a nuisance.

His lips still crack at the corners, but this time his teeth fit inside. The smiles are the ones behind the cracks, and the laughs are probably to blame, too. But that’s the price of happiness, and Richie takes it gladly. The crook of his nose is probably still there, but it doesn’t seem to bother him a single bit when he catches his reflection. It seems so much smaller, so much his, that he lets it be.

The one thing that seems to stay the exact same are his hands. Even at night, they’re still too big to fit in his wrists, but they always fit perfectly in the hands of Eddie Kaspbrak, and that alone is the best thing he could ever find about himself.

At night, Richie Tozier is less horrible to look at. And he doesn’t know the science behind it, but like he said, the side mirror near the passenger seat of Stan’s car never lies to him. That’s where he finds himself right now. A short ride to the Aladdin with the people he loves most in the world just to go see a shitty movie on a Thursday night.

These plans on school nights are harder to achieve. Most times there’s always someone missing. But not tonight, somehow, all of them came. Mike and Eddie are currently on the backseat, chatting mindlessly while Stan takes the longer route to the Aladdin, Ben’s car following behind. They always take a longer route to whichever destination they chose because, well, driving at night is therapeutic for everyone.

Richie’s mind floats between the soft music Stan always chooses and the friendly chitchat coming from the backseat, but his true attention is on that mirror. He honestly sees someone completely different staring back at him than the person he sees on his own bathroom.

It’s the dark, he thinks. It hides him better.

At that precise moment, Ben’s car drives past Stan’s. All the windows down and Beverly’s screams filling up the empty road.

“You losers!” She calls out. Richie’s heart speeds up.

“Oh, they’re asking for it.” He says to one in particular. But when Stan’s car keeps getting behind, Richie turns to him with an incredulous expression. “What are you waiting for, Stan the Man? It’s a race, speed up!”

“Richie I’m not going to-”

Richie interrupts him by starting to drum both hands on the dashboard, loudly. “GO! GO GO GO!-”

“OKAY! Stop hitting my damn car!” He screams back while pressing down on the accelerator. As if on cue, Eddie and Mike start cheering and clapping their hands on the back of Richie and Stan’s seats. Richie laughs and joins the cheering, feeling complete when Eddie’s hands settle on his shoulders and squeeze affectionately.

    The night goes on too fast for Richie’s liking. Most nights do.

The shitty comedy movie went by in a rush, didn’t get a lot of chucks out of Richie but it was still an amazing hour and a half because he was in the company of his friends. And probably because Eddie held his hand through the whole thing, but Richie tries not to give it a lot of meaning, otherwise he’ll go insane.

The best part comes next, though. None of them want to part for the night, so they drag the moment out. It’s nearly midnight by the time they come out to the Aladdin’s back parking lot, empty as usual. Some of them holding half empty boxes of popcorn, some of them yawning, none of them wanting to leave. Everyone except Bill and Richie sits down on the sidewalk that lines the building.

Richie? He drags Bill by the hands, sending the boy’s popcorn flying, and before anyone sees it coming they’re ballroom dancing in the asphalt, sneakers being scratched by the pavement every time one of them pulls an abrupt move. The others laugh, Mike and Bev start to sing, sort off, classic songs for them to dance to, and Richie fails to notice how intensely he is being observed by one of his best friends.

  Richie Tozier is prettier at night.

If Eddie ever said that out loud, he wouldn’t hear the end of it until the day he died.

He doesn’t exactly know why it happens, it’s not as if Richie becomes more attractive. That’s certainly not it. Richie is beautiful at any time of day and Eddie will take those words down with him to the grave.

It’s more… in the way he acts.

See, during the day, he looks at Richie and sees a boy who is uncomfortable. A boy who tries to tone everything down to please the others. A boy who will shrink into his own body to avoid bumping into people because he loses sense of his size once he’s relaxed and careless. During the day, Eddie Kaspbrak looks at Richie and wonders where his true self went. Wonders why he always looks sad and acts unlike himself and how can he try and make him come back.

During the day, Richie Tozier is not his true self. But Eddie loves him just as deeply.

Sometimes, Eddie wishes he could be braver. Braver enough to show Richie that it’s okay.

If he could, he would place both hands on the sides of Richie’s face, where the acne tends to get worse. And since his hands aren’t big enough to cover the forehead at the same time, maybe he could pull Richie closer and kiss his hairline. He would drag his hands upwards, then, to try and tame those curls and give them love, like they deserve.

If Eddie was braver, he would hold Richie’s hands more often and remind him that they look perfect against his own. He would paint the whole world with Richie’s skin color just to show him it was beautiful, and he would consider telling him that the heavy freckles decorating his whole body are one of the reasons Eddie tunes out in all of his classes. He could spend hours counting all of them and picking out the different tones they take.

If Eddie wasn’t so weak... he would love to touch his nose to Richie’s just to prove him that it doesn’t matter the way it curves, what matters is the way it feels when both of their noses touch. He would place his head under Richie’s chin more frequently because he knows Richie loves it, he knows it makes him change his mind about being too tall and too skinny and too bony to be worthy of physical affection. He’d love to show him otherwise, that his bony elbows and knees can be just as soft as Eddie’s. He’d tell him that he hates when Richie gets hurt but that he would never trade the moments when he gets to put a band-aid on him or the times he gets to curl his hands on his elbows to pull him into a hug.

If Eddie wasn’t so weak, he would try to wipe away all the insecurities Richie has about his mouth by simply kissing him.

But those are many if’s and Eddie came to the conclusion that Richie wasn’t the only one holding back who he truly was. Just like Richie, Eddie feels a little braver at night. Maybe because the world seems to be empty besides the seven of them. Because they almost believe all the evil goes to sleep the same way they should.

Richie Tozier is prettier at night simply because he is himself. And Eddie loves every bit of it.

Loves to watch him from afar and close up. Loves to laugh and giggle at Richie’s funny manners and childish acts because that’s who he is. Loves him now, dipping Bill while they dance and almost banging the boy’s head on the floor, and loves him every other time, even during the day when it hurts to watch him shrink himself into nothing of importance.

There’s a lot to love about him.

Time flies quicker when he gets lost in Richie’s enjoyment, and before he knows it, Eddie and the others are getting into their respective car seats. This time more tired, sleepy but happier. As usual, he sits on the back and spends most of the ride looking into the side mirror because he loves it when Richie admires himself for a bit. He deserves it.

They take the shorter way home, driving slower, with the windows down and the night’s cool air keeping their hairs out of their faces. Stan doesn’t turn the soft music he likes on, they talk. Richie’s voice gets softer when they head home, it always does.

Once they see Ben’s car turning in the opposite direction to drop off Bill, Eddie leans in closer to Richie’s head-rest, almost hitting his head on the inside of the car.

He whispers. “Do you want to spend the night?” Turning his head to somehow look at Eddie, Richie smiles, and this time it reaches his eyes. He nods. Eddie’s lips break into a smile of his own as he pulls back and rests against his seat properly.

Richie Tozier might think he’s prettier at night, but Eddie can’t wait to open his eyes and look at him first thing in the morning.

perma taglist:  @constantreaderfool   @mrs-vh  @eds-trashmouth @girasol-eddie

[redbelles]

@anthropologicalhands​ here you go! thanks for the ask ✨

hilariously, i p. much can’t write unless i have a title in mind? it seems to shape the story as i go, so i typically end up stealing song lyrics as soon as i have an idea, if only to put myself out of my misery. anyway! atla, twd, rdr2, ac: origins, dc, and pitch under the cut!

in our bedroom, after the war

post-series atla zutara au wherein i geek about politics and reconstruction and consequences, and also break zuko into tiny sad pieces before katara gets to smooch him. also there is a dragon.

and wept for break of day

twd au: post-coda, (loosely) inspired by the short story “bullet in the brain”; eventual bethyl

Mass hallucinations, one broadcaster said. String theory. The collective unconscious. Just a whole buncha scared fools, grasping at straws while the world reels, trying to understand something too big and too ugly to ever understand. 

She sits there in the dirt, numb and shaking, hands clenched so tight that her nails bite deep into her palms. She presses harder, carving sharp little crescents into skin that’s not nearly as callused as it should be. 

The world feels like it’s falling away beneath her, spinning out wildly, carrying her someplace foreign and strange. Her skull throbs and aches. There’s no scar on her wrist. Beneath the dirt, her nails are painted cornflower blue, bright and vivid as a summer sky. The dead don’t walk. 

But they did, didn’t they?

I lived it. I remember.

it ain’t no sin

twd au: beth wakes up during her abduction and it gives daryl time to reach the car, and then daryl and beth bang about it

She doesn’t hear the familiar twang of the bow, but when the word chokes off into a gurgle of blood and the graceless thump of a body hitting the ground, she knows.

Daryl comes sprinting out of the darkness, quiet as a hunting cat. The driver’s side door swings open, the cop’s buddy stepping out to try and salvage the situation. Daryl fires, reloads, and fires again, so fast her eyes can’t follow it. She’s so dizzy that it seems like one smooth motion. One breath, just long enough to aim, and then the arrows are gone and Beth and Daryl are alone in the night. The men are dead. 

Good, she thinks fiercely, angry and shaken and still unable to stand. Good. 

He goes straight to the bodies as she finally hauls herself onto the grass, listening as he yanks the bolts free. Three awful squelches; visceral, obscene. She gags again, and then Daryl is there, dropping to his knees beside her. 

“Y’alright?”

late for the sky

rdr2 au: arthur/sadie, set immediately after the massacre at hanging dog ranch

“You didn’t have to stay,” she calls. There’s an ache in her voice he doesn’t know how to parse. 

“Sure.” He leaves it at that, no fuss about letting Freyja rest, about needing to catch his breath, though neither would be a lie. There’s no room for chatter; the air between them is full up with grief.

“Sure?”

No meat on that bone, but he can see her chewing it over all the same, worrying at it. Sadie Adler, shaken. If he held a mirror up to her face, he’s half-afraid he’d see fire. Smoke, ash, the orange blaze of a cabin as it burns to cinders. 

The memory sends a chill skittering down his spine, a cold knife that lodges somewhere near his heart. 

He ain’t the only one held hostage by that particular cruelty. Still knee-deep in the river, Sadie shivers. The water keeps running red around her, blood flaking off her hair and skin, melting into the current, soft as snow.

this loneliness won’t last

rdr2 au: arthur/john/abigail post-game fix it fic

There was heat pouring off John. A droplet of sweat trailing down his cheek. He smelled like salt and sunbaked earth. The thought skimmed through his mind like a water on a pane of glass, crystal clear and out of reach all the same. Then John’s mouth crashed over his, and Arthur had no thought left. 

He couldn’t help himself. He bent into John like a windswept tree, looking for shelter. Looking for relief. John pulled him in, held him close, hands fisted in the worn fabric of Arthur’s shirt. Need kindled in his blood, bright and sharp and burning, and he stiffened. Pulled away. John wouldn’t have it. He pulled him back in, nipped at his mouth, trailed fire over his skin, kissed him like Arthur was his to keep.

He wanted to run and hide. He wanted to stay right where he was and live in this moment forever. But then it was over: John stepped away, breathing hard. His fingers were still wound in Arthur’s shirt. He let go like it hurt. 

“Don’t leave,” he said, staring at Arthur like he could sear the words into him. Make him stay through force of will alone. 

And then he was gone, just like always, just like before.

pieces rendered

ac: origins post-game, post-dlc bayek/aya fix it fic

Amunet, he reminds himself, wincing at the cool bite of aloe against raw skin. It is hard to remember in moments like these, alone in the twilight dimness of the cave mouth, safe from the eyes and ears of those who have only ever known her as a Hidden One. 

She is Aya in his thoughts, sometimes, no matter how well he guards his tongue. When the world slips and the ache of all he’s lost will not subside, that is the name that rises in his heart. Wife, lover, friend. Mother of his child, the woman he once thought would walk beside him in this life and the next. Aya. 

Amunet is the shadow of a wild wind, always blowing away from him. “North,” she told him once, “to set the sea aflame.”

She did. She does. 

Perhaps someday he will come to terms with that.

stolen car

sprawling fic series that explores the batfam universe through the lens of jacy petra todd, the second robin. the bad robin.

She holds a gun to a rapist’s head and presses the muzzle into skin hard enough to leave a mark, hard enough to make the piece of shit kneeling in front of her whimper. 

They’re in a warehouse out by the docks, in the corner of a shadowy park, in some shitty back alley, trash piled up in careless heaps and the rats ignoring them. It’s nothing they haven’t seen before. There’s blood on the ground. There is always blood on the ground. 

“Please,” they say, “please, don’t do this.”

“Come on,” she says, laughing. They hate it when she laughs. The helmet distorts her voice, turning it harsh and metallic, until the sound of it is like a knife under their skin. It is a weapon like any other; she is not afraid to use it. “Beg some more. See where it gets you.”

They cry, or retch, or shake, big tough men learning what it feels like to be powerless. Sometimes they piss themselves, the sharp odor of urine burning against the stink of blood and gunpowder. 

The Bat may rule Gotham, but Crime Alley is the Red Hood’s haunt, and her lines are hard and fast. Everyone in the city knows what happens when you cross them.

“Please,” they say, staring up at her, searching flat red metal for an ounce of mercy. They never meet her eyes. Instead, they look where a mouth should be, and beg, just like she tells them to. “Please, please, I won’t do it again, I’ll never do it again, please!”

The gun doesn’t waver. Gotham beat the softness out of her wayward daughter years before Batman ever found her, before Robin ever fluttered into the Joker’s path, before she seared and burned and screamed her way back to consciousness in the Lazarus Pit. 

“No,” she tells them, voice like a knife, gun steady in her hands—

stone by stone

sequel to no burden that will not float away featuring shitty coffee, former robins being bad at feelings, and the current robin judging them for it

[fire from fire]

[redacted] au where [redacted] dies and [redacted] snaps

She walks through the streets like a reckoning. She does not sing.

with a hawk above you crying

wonder woman fic inspired by emmylou harris’s michelangelo

last night i dreamed about you / i dreamed you lay dying / in a field of thorn and roses / with a hawk above you crying / for the warrior slain in battle / from an arrow driven deep inside you long ago—

Diana finds Antiope, and loses her, and finds her again.

you know the time is now

pitch, mike/ginny, mid-season onward au where they actually have to deal with their feelings

after all the bullshit surrounding the all-star game, mike decides he needs to take a step back, distance himself a bit from the ginny baker madness. so of course the first thing he does after the all-star game is get into a brawl. he can’t even blame it on some sort of convenient rage blackout. he makes a calm, rational decision to follow the fucker up the first base path, and calmly, rationally punches him in the face while ginny watches, stunned, from the mound.

varitek a-rod brawl whomst???

ask me about my wips!

[cuzloki]

I wanted to write something different. So this is kinda different from my other stuff. If you guys like it let,e know and I’ll right more. If you have critiques let me know. Also I know spelling and grammar is not my strong suit so don’t be to hard on me haha. I hope you enjoy reading. ❤️

Everyone has their horror stories about their time in jail.....I mean school, but mine is a bit different. It's not about what was said to me it was about what wasn't said. I was ignored. Cast out by the popular crew and when I was talked to I was treated like a gazelle that had been accidentally put in the lion pen. But what people didn't know was that I have a secret. I'm a werewolf, an alpha werewolf. My best friend Ashton and my boyfriend Robbie are as well. I was born an alpha werewolf. Ashton and I have been friends since we were 2 and let's just say I went through a biting faze at around 4 that turned him into my omega. Then when I was 16, I met Robbie. I was with him for 2 years before I told him about me being a werewolf. Let's just say the idea of being just like me was everything to him. So now there is my little mini pack of 3, including me.

I am a tall blonde with hazel eyes. I'm not the skinniest thing but more muscular. I'm very shy but once you get to know me I can be quite the spit fire. Ashton is tall and muscular with the brightest smile you’ll ever see. He has the deepest green eyes that turn hazel in the right light. His hair is naturally brown but it's dyed black and brushed to the side currently. Robbie is a tall British boy with greenish-blue eyes that you could get lost in. He has brown hair that most of the time is just brushed and left to do its own thing.

My wolf is a jet black wolf with red eyes signifying the alpha gene. There is a little white patch on my wolfs chest that is white as snow. Ash’s wolf is white with glowing green eyes, which signifies his ability of telekinesis. He can control people and link people together so they can communicate through their minds. Robbie's wolf is jet black like mine with bright blue eyes, signifying his ability to do magic. He has a gene that was unknown to him from a warlock way back in his family tree. So technically he's a hybrid werewolf and warlock.

I get out of my car with a bag of groceries and start walking up the path to my house. It had a farmers porch around the front and is painted egg shell blue. The shingles on the roof are grey with specks of black freckled through them. The two story house stood at the edge of the forest on a dead end street where it is the only house. As my boots clicked on the stone walkway, the door to my house flew open " Hello love., let me grab that for you!" Robbie smiled at me fro. The door and put his hand into the air as a blue glow enveloped my grocery bag and floated towards Robbie. The bag landed I. His arms and he smiled at me as I continued walking up the path with a smirk on my face. "Well, wasn't that just magical." I say sarcastically as Robbie and I walk into the house, him still gripping the bag tightly and let out a little laugh .

We walk into the kitchen after walking through the hall entry way. The grey wash wood floor shined and the grey granite cabin area and stainless steel appliances sparkled as I walked in. "Surprise! I cleaned!" Robbie exclaimed as he set the grocery bag down on the counter and starting taking the various food items out. " You cleaned or you "cleaned" I said with air quotes and he looks over at me biting his lip. "Can't I just get credit for cleaning the place" he laughs as he walks over to me and loops his arms around my waist. "Hmm. Using your magic to get brownie points. I don't know if that's quite fair, Mr.Kay." I giggle as I wrap my arms around his neck. "Oh, you want to talk about fair! How about you making me do the dishes and the laundry?" He smirked as I started to laugh "That wasn't a werewolf thing that was a "I'm your girlfriend so do it" it. There is a difference!" Robbie threw his hands up in surrender and they landed on my hips. He brushed his lips against mine briefly and I pulled him in again to deepen the kiss. Let's just say the kiss was turning more into a make out session when there was a very loud knock on the door and yelling "Can you guys stop and just let me in!" Ashton. "He chooses now to show up on time." Robbie groans as I kiss Robbie one more time and walk to the door. I opened the door and there was look his brown eyes and newly dyed black hair. "Times like these I really hate my werewolf hearing." He mumbled as he walked past me into the house and I closed the door.

The three of us went into the living room and started talking about wolf stuff when I brought up the topic on everyone's mind. The pack. "So I found some more people for our pack boys." I looked at them both. "They are all the big show offs of high school. No one tells them what to do. Until now." I smirk and grab a chip from a nearby bag. "Why do you have to turn out of vengeance? Isn't that gonna backfire?" Ashton says and leans forward in his seat. "No it's gonna make a good pack. Strong obedient wolves that were never told what to do now have a purpose." I say as I look at Robbie "I say alpha picks her omegas. If she wants them, Ash, let her." Robbie stood up for me. I smiled at him and he smiled back. "Ok fine, not like it's my choice.When is this happening?" Ashton asks with his head in his hands. "Tonight’s football practice ends in 20 minutes." I smile as I stand up and grab the bag of chips, heading towards the kitchen. I rolled up the chip bag and placed them in the cabinet when I reached the kitchen. "Let's go boys!" I call as I head outside soon to be joined by my pack of two, soon to be more.

"GO BULLFROGS!" The team shouts as the huddle breaks signaling the end of practice. Robbie, Ash and I sit in the woods watching in wolf form. Robbie and is black fur hiding us from view and Ashton’s white fur blended with the green leaves, no one saw us. A group of 6 boys broke of from the rest of the football team and starting walking along side the woods. I looked at Ashton signaling him to use his powers to bring them into the woods. All the boys were pretty tall except 2 that were rather short. I see the piercing eyes of the boys that made my school life hell not because of what they said but the looks I was given and the lack of things they said. They come into the clearing we were sitting in and I had Robbie to my left and Ashton to my right. The boys froze unable to move or talk thanks to Ashton. All us wolves were mind-linked together so I introduced the great 6. First was Matt. The star of the football team and liked by everyone. A massive jerk but he has puppy dog brown eyes that make every girl weak in the knees. Next is Jack with his blue eyes. He was my crush back years ago and he broke my heart by simply saying no thank you when I said I liked him. Then there was Mike,Jacks best friend, he was nice but he always had that attitude like he was better than everyone else. Finally there was Dylan my first Love, even if he didn't know it. Then Nick who was a crush and I best friend to me at some point. Lastly there was John. He had been my crush in 4th grade and we haven't really talked since. I walked towards the boys , fear clear in their eyes. I shifted back into my human form, my red eyes still glowing. "Hello Boys. Long time no see" I say as I walk towards them. Still under Ashton’s control, they stood in shock and just stared at me. "I know you must be so confused right now. Thinking why us what did we do to deserve this!" I dramatically throw my arms in the air. I laughed as I looked over at one boy in particular. Jack. I walk up to Jack and grabbed his arm. "Interesting what you get yourself into, isn't it?" My eyes started to glow red as I open my mouth and bite down hard on Jack's arm. More than necessary I might add. I feel a hand on my shoulder pulling me back. It was Robbie. "Enough." I let go of Jack’s arm and blood dripped down my face. I use my werewolf speed to run down the line and bite the rest of the boys on the arm then take off, leaving the boys.

After about 20 minutes, Robbie and Ashton returned to my house to find me curled up in a ball on the couch. "I got a little carried away. " I say as I look at Robbie and Ashton. "He hurt you, I get it." Robbie said and Ashton nodded. "Let's call these boys shall we." I say as I got up and went out onto my deck. I howled ,loud ,turning my eyes red. I heard howls in return and knew they were on their way. Within 20 minutes 6 huge wolves stood in front of me. 4 grey and 2 tan. "Let's not be animals, boys" I say as I look at each one of them. Screams filled the air along with cracks and cries as they all turned human again. My howl triggered their first transformation and it hurts bad for the first month or so. The boys were in heaps on the ground. "Why" I knew that cocky voice. Matt. "Why?! Because I could, because I can. Because all the shit you guys put me through I thought I'd repay the favor. Plus I needed more wolves. Let me introduce my beta, Robbie" I pointed to Robbie "and my newly ranked up delta, Ashton"

[dustinhendrsn]

ashes, ashes

mike wheeler/el hopper 2k - read on ao3 a/n: here’s an extremely soft scene set during s3 that I know will be canon-divergent in just a week (can ya’ll BELIEVE) but for now is completely canon-compliant!

“What about the Ferris wheel?” Mike asks as he and El stand in the center of the summer carnival – the Fun Fair, as the mayor called it during his speech earlier in the evening. Night has fallen on the fair’s very first day in Hawkins and now everything is bright and loud and lively. Rainbows of flashing lights shimmer and dance, joyous laughter rings out from the hundreds of people milling around, and the thick, sweet scent of cotton candy and funnel cake wafts through the air. With cicadas buzzing in the trees beyond the fairgrounds and the temperature just the right combination of summer’s heat and evening’s chill, it’s a perfect night.

All of it, though, would be utterly meaningless if not for the girl standing by Mike’s side. He looks over at El – she doesn’t seem to have heard his suggestion about the Ferris wheel at all. Instead she’s gazing wide-eyed around the carnival, absorbing it all bit by bit. Mike’s heart swells just by watching her. It’s almost painful to look at her; she’s so beautiful, always, and especially now, with the rainbow lights dancing over her cheeks and lighting up her eyes. Her sweet, pink lips that Mike will never grow tired of kissing are pulled up in a faint smile as she slowly turns in a circle, awe painted across her face. She’s wearing her hair loose, the soft waves brushing her shoulders, and Mike barely holds himself back from reaching up right then and there and running his hand through it. He remembers just yesterday, when she fell asleep on the couch while they were watching a movie and he was able to take all the time in the world to stroke her hair, hold her delicate hand, softly run his thumb over her knuckles. He marveled for hours at how she was truly there – he hasn’t been able to stop doing this ever since he got her back. She was there with him then, at the lowest lows of last autumn, and she’s here with him now, breathing and living and alive, her golden heart beating and her silver soul glowing.

He loves her. Of this, he’s certain. He loves her more and more with every second that passes, every time their eyes meet, every kiss and every laugh and every word. He just hasn’t had the courage to tell her yet.

A bit of powdered sugar from the funnel cake they shared earlier dusts the corner of her mouth and Mike, unable to help the ache in his heart and the ever-present pull he has towards her, softly brushes it away with his knuckle. She blinks, her priceless attention and her endless, sparkling eyes immediately focusing on him.

“Hey,” he says with a small smile, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. Her cheeks go pink and her smile grows into something radiant and oh, how Mike loves her. Tell her, you idiot. She deserves to know.

“Hi,” she says, her smile no longer as shy as it was when they first got back to each other and started this thing known as a relationship. It was hesitant back then, which Mike thinks was mostly his fault because all he could do was stare at her and wonder if she was real or just a ghost that his grief-stricken mind created for him. But they got past it, partly because El couldn’t stop kissing him whenever she had the chance (definitely notan issue) and because all Mike wanted to do for the rest of eternity was be with her, and he couldn’t do that if they were blushing and awkwardly stammering over their words every time they looked at each other. Of course, sometimes she’ll do something adorable like sliding wildflowers into Mike’s hair or enthusing about her soap operas, or something unbelievable like floating just a few inches off the floor so she can kiss him, and when those things happen, he melts into a clumsy, stuttering idiot. But he’s okay with that, of course he is. He wouldn’t want it any other way. And in any case, things are much smoother and more relaxed now, though Hopper might not be too overjoyed about it.

Mike has found out so much more about love in the last six months than he ever thought he would. You’re fourteen, they say. You can’t be in love so young. If only they knew. If only she knew. Sometimes he thinks he loves her so much he’s going to burn to ashes with the intensity of it.

“Do you wanna go on the Ferris wheel?” he asks her again now, gesturing to the conglomeration of steel and colorful lights and swinging chairs towering nearby. “We’ve still got plenty of tickets left.”

El turns her gaze to it and then grins at him. “Yes, I want to! Yes, yes, yes –” Without wasting any more time, she grabs his hand and starts dragging him towards it. Mike can’t help his laughter at her eagerness – he’s so lucky. So, so lucky.

After a minute in line, the entirety of which El spends talking animatedly to him about the mall trip she and Max have planned tomorrow, Mike gives two tickets to the operator and then he follows El into the red, yellow, and white striped chair waiting for them. It’s a two-person chair, just wide enough for them to sit comfortably but close enough for him to be reassured that she’s still right there next to him. The operator latches the gate once they’re in and the wheel cranks up again, moving clockwise so that all they can see at first, as they ride towards the top, is the crisscrossing internal metal structure of the wheel and then everything directly to their left and right.

“Do they do this every year?” El asks, watching the carnival recede below them.

“Not this one. The new mayor made this up just this year, but usually there’s some kind of Christmas festival or Easter parade,” Mike explains. El turns to look at him, still smiling wide.

“Will you show me them, when they come?”

As if he could say no. As if he would ever refuse her or turn down the chance to spend time with her. “Of course I will.”

She grins again and takes his hand, holding it firmly in her lap as she gazes out at Hawkins while the Ferris wheel takes them higher. Mike can’t keep his eyes off her. They’ve been through so much, come so close to permanent loss. He knows that if something were to happen to her again, he wouldn’t be able to handle it. Where she goes, he will always go, from now on until the end of everything, and he doesn’t care whether their final destination is home or school or the Upside-Down or something darker and farther away. He will not lose her. Maybe that makes him crazy or stupid or hopeless or all three, but as he watches her right now, her hand warm and sure in his, he’s never felt a stronger truth. It’s laced in his bones and running in his veins and carved onto his heart.

Tell her, Mike. Just tell her.

What if he doesn’t get the chance again? What if fate decides to tear them away once more? What if, after tonight, everything falls to pieces and it’s too late? At least she’ll know, he thinks. She has to know.

“Oh, wow,” she breathes, pulling him from his reverie. They’ve stopped at the very top of the wheel and spread out around them is Hawkins, its lights glittering against the night sky. Directly below is the carnival, and then surrounding the fairgrounds is a thick forest with the town lying beyond, all of it cast in a crescent of silver moonlight. It’s an impressive sight but when Mike looks at the wonder on El’s face as she takes it all in, everything else immediately pales in comparison. A multitude of stars and constellations dot the sky, reflecting in her eyes, but all Mike can see is her. She is dazzling, magnificent, ethereal - and she’s his.

“I love it up here,” she says, glancing at him before looking around again. Her smile radiates pure happiness and it echoes deep in Mike’s heart. Ashes, ashes. He’s burning.

“It’s pretty cool, isn’t it?”

She nods, and when the Ferris wheel slides back into motion a few moments later, she turns to him. “Thank you, Mike,” she says gently. She raises her free hand to cup his cheek and he’s frozen, paralyzed by her gaze full of starlight, and then his eyes flicker shut and her lips meet his. He feels her eyelashes flutter against his cheeks and his heart stutters. Everything is golden. She is so soft, so sweet, her kiss full of sunshine and courage and spirit and friendship and time. She holds an entire universe within her – as long as Mike has her, he has the world. She is all he needs and all he will ever want.

He just hopes she feels the same way.

“El…” he whispers once they pull apart, their noses still touching. She opens her eyes, and he has to swallow the lump of emotion in his throat.

“Mike,” she says simply, years of memories contained within his name. Tell her.

The words are right there on his tongue. They’ve been there for months now; never has he doubted them. Saying them will be just like stating a fact: the sky is blue, the sun is a star, Mike Wheeler loves El Hopper with every ounce of his being. It’s an irrefutable truth and there’s no better time than now. He loves her, and he’s pretty sure she loves him, and that’s all there is to it.

He takes a small breath, looking into El’s expectant eyes. “El, I lo–“

A sudden jarring screech sends them flying apart and El’s hand clenches Mike’s almost painfully. They’re nearly to the bottom of the wheel; all that lies in front of them for miles and miles is the dense forest where the sound came from, the colorful fair lights glancing and flashing off the closest trees. The wind picks up out of nowhere, sending the Ferris wheel chairs rocking and the forest rustling and shaking as the gale tears through it. Mike stares into the dark, his heart pounding staccato against his chest, all of his thoughts completely scattered. He looks over at El. She’s unhurt, albeit horrified.

“What was that?” he asks her even though he already knows the answer.

And there it is again, unmistakable and drawing everyone’s attention to the woods: a high-pitched, monstrous howl full of malice and promised vengeance. A cold, dead weight drops into Mike’s stomach, chills streaking up and down his spine.

“It’s here,” El says flatly, her hand tight around Mike’s as her eyes roam the forest, searching for the source. He can feel her rapid pulse where their wrists press together.

Mike shakes his head. It’s too soon. He needs more time with her before the world implodes again. “It can’t be. It can’t.”

“It is.” El looks at him intently, her euphoria from moments ago now gone and replaced with a well of sadness in her eyes. There’s a hardness to her expression, a sense of duty and purpose despite how much she might not want that burden. His throat closes up, his chest packed tight with cotton. This isn’t right. He feels like he’s holding on to a fraying rope about to snap. “We need to go, Mike,” she says.

“I just got you back,” he whispers, his breath ragged. He doesn’t want to accept this at all. He wants to stay in this chair with her forever, content in the knowledge that she’s safe, both of them too high up for things like mortality and loss and pain to touch them.

She cups his face with both hands and he can see in her eyes that even though she doesn’t want to leave either, she’s begging him to understand. “I know, Mike. But we have to go.”

Finally, Mike nods, ashes in his heart. Where she goes, he goes. His love will have to wait. It can’t, but it will.

tagging my mileven crying companions <3

@fatechica @calpurnias @mikewheeler @formerlyjannafaye @ericasinclairs @elshopper @elhoppers @summer-in-hawkins @she-who-the-river-could-not-hold @wheelrs

[baby-daddy-bella]

How about a fic where Henry is being stalked by this chick who's kinda like Patrick and has most likely killed someone before she moved to derry. Like she follows him when he's walking home or sneaking out to hang wit the guys, and one day she sees him getting beat by his dad and decides to kill him because she knows what his life must feel like and she's grown kinda attached to henry. She gets caught by the police and Henry visits her that mental institute place and low key thanks her?

Always Watching

Henry Bowers x reader

Word count: 1,665

A/N: turns out I finished this one first. I hope it’s okay :) I kinda re-invented the thanking part, I hope that’s all good. Enjoy! X

Henry didn’t know her personally, but had heard plenty of rumours floating around concerning her background. He particularly admired the fact that, within only three days of attendance, she had been able to convince every single student and staff member of Derry High School, that she was a dangerous individual—through only the way she spoke, dressed and acted.

He had seen her watching and following him from day two, and had already decided that she was either terrible at hiding—or wanted to be seen by him.

By day five she had caught him sneaking out of his bedroom window in the middle of the night, as she simply stared at him from across the field.

It was safe to say that she creeped the fuck outta Henry Bowers, and the fact that she was yet to say a single word to him made it ten times worse.

For weeks after that he would notice her everywhere—lurking around the junkyard or hiding behind trees that she knew for a fact were on his usual route. All the while, he didn’t even know the girl’s name—yet through her strange behaviour was beginning to believe the strange rumours.

Henry assumed that she must lay low at school, he rarely ever saw her and if he did, she was only watching from afar.

On day 29 she had passed him in the school corridors and seen a distinct, purple and green bruise around his eye socket, knowing full-well that he hadn’t been in any fights for at least two weeks. By day 30 she worked out, through hours of deliberation, what the true origin of Henry’s injury was.

And on the months anniversary of her move to Derry, the girl snuck up to the window of the Bowers’ house and watched the violent events unfold. With every punch, push or kick her anger rapidly increased, and after only ten minutes she had small incisions in the palms of her hands, where her nails had cut through.

The day after that she formulated a plan.

“So what are we doin’ tonight?” Victor asked the other three boys, spreading his arms behind the headrests of the back seats.

“I’m down for whatever.” Patrick shrugged. He was slouched across as much space as humanly possible in the rest of the back of Belch’s car.

“Me too.” Belch said. He was too focussed on the road to yell at Patrick for having his shoes on back of the passenger seat.

“What about you Henry?” Victor asked, looking at the boy sat in the front seat.

Henry shrugged, “I don’t wanna go anywhere.”

Victor and Patrick exchanged a glance, “Why what’s up? It’s Friday night, you don’t wanna have a good time?”

Henry didn’t move and continued to stare at the road ahead, “Need to stay home. Got shit to do.”

With that, the other boys got the message and didn’t question Henry any further. Though none of them had ever exchanged a word on the subject, each had a vague idea of what exactly it was like for Henry at home—what his father was like. They had never understood before how a young boy like Henry could have so much built up anger, but with time they worked it out.

Five minutes of forced conversation and loud rock music later, Belch pulled into the driveway of Henry’s house. As he silently got out of the car, he spied her on the tree-line nearby. He had decided that, once the boys were far enough away, he was going to go and confront her for the first time.

He was stopped in his tracks, however, when Butch came out of the house and yelled to him loudly, “Get your ass here right now boy! You’re late!”

Henry trudged over to his father, unknowingly begging to whatever higher power there was that she was too far away to hear.

“Teacher was bein’ a pain. I’m sorry.” Henry kept his eyes on the ground and spoke quietly.

“I don’t want no excuses. If it happens again, you get your fucking boyfriend to drive you home faster.” Butch spoke with pure aggression and grabbed the collar of his son’s old T-shirt. The girl definitely didn’t like that, but she calmed herself and didn’t move.

Henry looked around to see if she was still there, embarrassed by the common ordeal.

“Who you looking for, huh? Ain’t no one here to protect you.” Henry didn’t answer, but simply looked to the floor again. Butch finally let go of his son’s T-shirt and pointed to the barn on the other side of the small field. “You get over there and stack some bales.”

Henry nodded and sped off across the field without a consideration or argument. Butch grunted and made his way into the house, trudging through to the bathroom, as he mumbled a series of unrecognisable sentences.

With a feeling of fire within her stomach, she knew it was time. Time to do exactly what she had planned. Henry was no where to be seen by now and Belch’s car was long gone.

With an incredibly swift motion, she crept from the tree line and to the porch of the house. She stood with her back to the peeling paint of the house’s outside wall and peered through the window. The lounge was clear and so she made her way inside, stopping abruptly when she heard a noise coming from a room down the small hallway. Realising it had come from behind a thin brown door, she resumed movement and collected a small selection of glass beer bottles from the counter top, as she passed the kitchen. The girl continued to creep towards the room, which cast a dim light around the doorframe. She stood against the wall beside it and waited.

The door burst open only moments later and Butch Bowers clumsily trudged out. She waited for him to walk a couple of steps forward, before smashing one of the bottles over his head. A mixture of beer and glass spread across his hair and the surrounding area, creating a messy compound with his blood, as it ran down the back of his hairy neck.

Butch yelled and turned to her, throwing rapid attempts of punches her way. Only one of them landed, but she was too overcome with adrenaline to even feel it.

“Who the fuck are you?” He yelled, but she had no intention of answering. The girl smashed another of the bottles over Butch’s head, leaving only one left in her other hand. He went sprawling over the dark wooden floor and groaned as he hit it. The man’s head was surrounded by a large pool of dark blood that was growing by the second.

Butch made an attempt to get up, giving her the perfect opportunity to smash the final bottle right on the top of his head. She did so with an expression of anger that was notably rare within normal human emotional range.

Butch laid limply on the ground and fell silent for the first time throughout the attack.

Though he showed no signs of breathing, the girl stomped on his heavily damaged head a couple of more times for good measure.

All the while, she had no idea that Mike Hanlon, a local boy, had been travelling past the house on his bike only a couple of minutes before and had heard an abundance of loud noises and yelling. He had changed his usual course and gone straight home to call the police, despite hating both of the inhabitants of the house.

Satisfied with her work, the girl stretched, yawned, and then checked outside for any sign of intrusion. The coast was clear, and so she raided the kitchen to re-energise before her next line of work. There was very little food in the house and most of it was out of date or canned. She settled on a bag of cheese and onion crisps and strolled back to the scene of the crime. Only six crisps in, the front door swung open to reveal Henry. His eyes darted between his father’s corpse and the girl that had been a mystery to him for over a month. His mouth dropped open and so did hers.

“What the fuck.” He said, in a voice that was barely audible. Her shoes and socks were soaked with blood by now and her heart was beating faster with even the sight of Henry.

Flashing blue lights invaded the house through the dirty windows and a loud siren sounded from outside. The girl sighed and walked closer to Henry. He took a step backwards, away from her and onto the porch in front of his own house.

“I did this for you.” Were the only words she said that day, and the only words she had ever said to Henry. Astounded, he moved aside for her to exit the house and watched her walk straight to the police car. She announced to the collection of officers that it was her they were looking for, because she had killed Butch Bowers.

They pinned her to the hood of the car and clamped a pair of cuffs and around her skinny wrists. Henry ran down the steps of his porch and watched, as they took her to the back of the car, relaying the mandatory verse to her.

Henry simply stared at her, then mouthed “Thank you God.” Without even realising. The back door to the first white and blue car was swung open and she was hurled inside.

“I love you!” Henry heard her yell just before the car door was shut. That car then drove away and the officers from the other car ran to Henry.

“Are you okay son?” One of them asked him, as the other three ran inside the house.

Henry didn’t answer, he just stood and stared into space—stunned and in love.

————

Gifs used are not mine—Masterlist in description 

[jodiwalker]

TATBT Recommends: 'The Haunting of Hill House,' AKA, Spooky 'Parenthood'

"Ghosts can be a lot of things: a memory, a daydream... but most times they're just what we want to see."

**This article originally appeared in the TATBT newsletter. No spoilers beyond the first episode!**

Steven Crain uses these words to undermine the idea of "real" ghosts in the earliest moments of this ghost story, immediately establishing himself as The Haunting of Hill House’s skeptical audience surrogate (although I trust that we are all much less of a drag than Steve, while simultaneously being just as hot as him).

Series creator Mike Flanagan then spends the next 10 episodes proving to us and to Steven, in the most frightening ways possible, that just because the ghosts of Hill House can be explained doesn't make them any less real — and no amount of logical explanation can rid Steven or his family of the ghosts that bind them together. Trauma is not logic-bound, and neither are the scars it leaves behind.

The Haunting of Hill House dropped on Netflix a week ago, and while I knew it would be an extremely loose adaptation of Shirley Jackson's fearsome 1959 gothic horror novel of the same name, I surely could not have guessed that the malleable nature of that adaptation would turn this haunted house story into what I've been referring to as...Spooky Parenthood.

And that’s a compliment. Prepare yourself for a gushing recommendation,; although I do discourage you from watching Hill House with the lights off, a full bladder, or in the near vicinity of anything that casts a shadow. The list of things that made me do a double-take, followed by a full 20-second stare down to see if they moved again include: the shadow of a sink faucet, every open door in my house, and the reflection of my own face in the TV when I finally turned Hill House off.

The Haunting of Hill House follows the Crain family at two different points in their lives: the summer when they briefly lived in a gorgeous, super haunted Victorian manor that was "born bad," and then 26 years later when a great tragedy forces them to reckon with the ways in which that house never left them, no matter how long ago they left it. The nonlinear nature of this family story might lend itself more glaringly to a This Is Us comparison, but the thing is...I'm the one making said comparison, and I think Parenthood is a far superior family drama to This Is Us.

And The Haunting of Hill House is, indeed, an excellent family drama. Who knew?! I love a good scare, especially around Halloween, so I set into Hill House expecting to do a little doom, make a little ghost, get scared tonight. All those things happened, but I also found myself crying repeatedly — a reaction to entertainment I both cherish and live in fear of. The cleverness of this series is that Flanagan understands that horror can be doubly horrifying when its rooted in care.

After getting to know the Crain family, you don't just want these people not to be tormented by ghosts because ghosts are the worst; you don't want them not to be tormented by ghosts because you care for them, in that same complicated way they care for each other in the midst of their own grief and tragedy.

The scares of Hill House aren’t just frightening...they’re sad. And surely there is nothing more frightening than despair. So the question remains: can you enjoy watching a series that asks you to repeatedly bare your second-hand soul in a sea of self-reflective human tears? 

Parenthood and The Haunting of Hill House say yes you can, and you will probably love it all the more precisely because of that emotional connection.

With style and empathy, Hill House coaxes viewers into caring for a family who turn away from their shared trauma and mental health at every turn. It makes you care for them so hard, you won't even give up on them when those turns so often reveal floating men in bowler hats and long-haired ladies with disturbing 90-degree angles in their necks.

Because of that time spent cowering under beds and around corners with the terrorized younger Crains, you understand why older Luke would turn to drugs; why Shirley would build up walls so steep no one can get in; why Theo would give so much to her work and so little to herself; why Nell would find the allure of her mother's own mysterious demise irresistible in the wake of numbing personal tragedy; and why Steve...

Well, Steve is just kind of sanctimonious and rude, but he's an eldest child with a superiority complex, and when building a family drama, it's important to depict accurate family dynamics. We need look no further than Adam and Kristina Braverman to know that just because someone is annoying doesn't mean they're not bringing a necessary ingredient to the familial table.

Sorry oldest children. — signed, ME, an endlessly lovable youngest child; a more reliable Crosby, if you will.

Of course, the youngest child in this scenario is Nell, a touch on the unreliable side because at only 6-years-old when her parents moved her to Hill House, she and her twin Luke were most vulnerable the spectral happenings within. A child cannot use logic or happenstance to explain away what's right in front of them — they can only see what's there. It's no surprise that being told what’s right in front of you is actually all in your head could leave psychological scars so lasting they'd lead grown-up Nell to...

Well, you’ll see.

If you don't like horror or earnestness, there's a good chance you won't like The Haunting of Hill House. But if you like even one of those things, this weird hybrid of a series might just sway you into liking the other. To call it "fun" would not exactly be correct on account of all the oppressive grief and sorrow and whatnot. But it thrills in that way only a truly spooky story can, and the family at its center is so thoroughly engaging.

Undoubtedly, life is a far more difficult journey for the Crains than it was for the Bravermans, but I am here to tell you, the healing that awaits them at the end of this battle is worth the fights and frights, if you’re willing to take the trip with them.

Oh that's right — this show is scary as hell and it gets a (mostly) happy ending. A few other helpful things to know going in:

THE CASTING

I've said repeatedly that Flanagan takes his time establishing empathy for the Crain family through recognizable sibling dynamics, and familial grief and devotion, but there is one thing he employs that establishes connection immediately...

The Crains are all smokin’ gorgeous, starting with their parents played by Henry Thomas in a pair of spooky-but-whatever-I'm-into-it blue contacts and Carla Gugino who has been maybe the most beautiful woman in the world for like 20 years running. The woman does not age, she just spawns cute little versions of herself who grow up to be beautiful, haunted adult iterations of herself. And the only thing I like more than a group of unreasonably hot characters...

Is the perfect casting of miniature versions of those characters. Seriously, I know y'all like This Is Us, but eat your fucking heart out Mandy Moore's painted-on wrinkles. The kids in that show are cute and they bear a passing resemblance to their adult counterparts, sure, but look at this:

Elizabeth Reaser (grown-up Shirley) and Lulu Wilson (l'il Shirley and also Camille's ghost sister in Sharp Objects) look...exactly alike??? It is wild. And it just goes on from there...

I've hardly even mentioned Theo, the coolest Crain sibling by far, played by the impossibly gorgeous Kate Siegel in full-size, and by the most prolific child actor of her generation, McKenna Grace, in fun-size.

I have mentioned Steve, but it's worth noting that much of his insufferable adult characteristics are assuaged by the fact that his younger self (Paxton Singleton) is a highly endearing little preteen nugget, and his older self is played by hot ass Michiel Huisman pretending to be a nerd by always carrying around a pair of lucite-framed glasses, but never actually wearing them.

And, oh the twins; these poor, poor twins who have just the most adorable faces, you can almost understand how a ghost would want to get all up in there for a squeeze. Given all these Honey-I-Shrunk-the-Actor magic tricks, it could only be intentional that tiny bespectacled Luke (Julian Hilliard who must have Jacob Tremblay absolutely shaking) grows up to be Oliver Jackson-Cohen who could legitimately play Captain America post-experiment. 

The camera spends a lot of its 10-hour run time zoomed-in on the face of little Nelly (Violet McCraw), so it's a delight every time you're struck once more by how much grown-up Nell (Victoria Pedretti) looks exactly like an enlarged version of her child self...even if every zoom of grown-up Nell is not a delight in and of itself.

That’s from the first episode! It’s not a spoiler, really! You’ll just have to watch!

IT'S THE SUMMER OF 1992

The Mall of America is opening, Ross Perot thinks he should run for President, and the Crain family have just moved to Hill House with intentions of flipping it to make enough money for their "forever home." It's difficult to immediately tell what time period the Crains are in when they move into Hill House because Olivia, the warm but occasionally possessed Crain mother is prone to swanning around the drafty mansion in velvet robes and wedges.

So, sometimes you might feel like it's 1970, but knowing from the beginning that it's 1992 could be helpful to your viewing experience.

The present-day timeline is 26 years later, and this will make it all the more curious as to why they brought in Timothy Hutton to play a 26-years-later Henry Thomas when Timothy Hutton is only 10 years older than Henry Thomas, but...should I just show you the young-and-old Shirley comparison again, and what say we forget all about this misstep??

THIS IS EPISODIC TELEVISION

The first five episodes of Hill House are building blocks, each one told from a different Crain sibling's perspective. I don't normally like to say this because it can make a viewer hyper-aware of their own viewing experience, but you gotta stay vigilant when there are ghouls peeking out from every dark corner anyway, so here goes: Just give it a few episodes! You might not find yourself enthralled in the first one or two, but the build is so enjoyable along the way. Y'know, if you find secondhand suffering and personal terror enjoyable (I doooo).

And once you make it to episode 5 — Nell's episode — you might not shake it for days. I certainly would not recommend watching it right before bedtime or in any sort of rush. I can think of few other entertainment experiences so suspenseful and conclusive; so terrifying and moving all at once.

And that emotional climax makes the perfect entry point to the marathon that is episode 6, which plays out like a stage production in only five continuous shots, the longest one running 17 minutes straight.

And this is where I warn you that some people who have loved the series have not loved the final episode. I am not one of those people because I'm sappy as hell and I love a perfectly tied ribbon around an oozing, molding, rotten, terror-wrapped package.

No, the emotion-heavy resolution of Hill House is not subtle, but family resolutions rarely are. They take time, and work, and they cannot be passive. Deep wounds — cuts that have been kept open for a lifetime — must be healed with intention. The ghosts that have haunted the Crain family for decades haven't disappeared by the time the final credits roll, but acknowledging that they were ever there in the first place is comfort enough.

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[breakmyreddieheart]

(Please Don’t) Say Anything - Ch5

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven

++ Accompanying Playlist ++

Summary: It’s the last days of high school and the Losers are soon to be leaving for university, moving to different parts of the country. Richie is trying to figure out how to tell Eddie how he feels about him, but only ends up making things worse and needs to figure out how to apologize. Bev has a cunning plan, and Richie Tozier gets extra…

Setting: Derry, ME - the summer of 1995

Pairings: Reddie (main), Stenborough (on the side) 

Words: 2300

A/N: Sorry this has taken so long to update! Life and stuff I guess, but this is another chapter that worked out longer than I expected, so the graduation ceremony is going to have to be bumped to its own chapter!

Hope you enjoy reading!

---

Eddie wakes in a haze, drenched in soft white sheets with sunlight glowing around him. A peaceful bliss enshrouds him as his vision clears to find two hazel brown eyes staring back into his own. Richie Tozier leans in to press a soft kiss to his lips, beaming as he does so.

“I love your face first thing in the morning, so sleepy and cute,” Richie mumbles into his mouth. Their legs are intertwined, Richie leaning gently on top of him as he traces a finger up Eddie’s forearm, pausing at the palm and interlocking their fingers.

He can’t remember ever having felt this happy, this peaceful. He wraps his arms around Richie, pulling him into a deep embrace with his face tucking perfectly between neck and collarbone as he takes in the moment.

“I love you Ri--” Eddie whispers as he pulls away, freezing in horror as he sees Richie’s face. Where before his skin had been flushed and freckled, it has now lost all colour, oozing puss and sagging as if melting from his face. Most of his teeth are broken or missing and his tongue lolls too far out of his mouth, dripping saliva onto Eddie’s face.

A white-hot fear creeps from his stomach up through his chest, tightening around his lungs and throat like a creeping vine. He goes to scream but finds no air to do so. Frozen in place, he watches in horror as Richie’s eyes open to reveal piercing yellow orbs, his mouth grimacing into a horrific smile revealing rows of sharp, dripping teeth.

He can’t move. He can’t breathe.

Cracking open Its jaw with a sickening crunch, not-quite-Richie’s head arches back into a screaming laugh - all too familiar to Eddie.

I can’t move. I CAN’T BREATHE.

“wE ALl fLOaT DowN hERe” the deformed Richie cackles as his jaw cracks open, revealing strange orange lights within. Terrible lights...

(the deadlights)

“NO!” Eddie cried, jolting back out of his bed onto the floor knocking his bedside table on the way, sending his lamp, drink, and inhaler crashing down with him.

He lay stunned for a second as he tried to make sense of this nightmare, heart racing and trying to catch his breath. Reaching instinctively for his inhaler, he pressed two firm pumps into his mouth and desperately tried to steady his breathing. As he felt his chest loosen he slumped back on the now-damp floor, tears streaming.

What was that??

His heart still pounding, he tried to shake Richie’s face from his mind as he got ready for what was already bound to be a stressful day.

“Eddie-bear! I hope you’re nearly ready darling,” his mother cawed from the other side of the bedroom door. “I want to leave extra early to make sure I get a good seat. It’s not every day I get to see you graduate, and goodness knows if I’ll be able to make it all the way to California for the next one!”

Sonia was never going to let that one go. While she had come to accept that Eddie was moving away, she still took every opportunity to vocalize her distaste for the idea.

“Sure ma, I won’t be a minute...” he replied carefully, trying to mask the panic still twitching inside of him.

But this was stupid. To get so worked up about seeing Richie again. It had been five weeks since their fight - five weeks of avoiding each other and faking more illnesses than even his mother could dream up. Bill and Stan had tried several attempts to get Eddie to talk about it, but he brushed them off with vague excuses each time. Now, this horrifying image of the not-quite-Richie settled at the back of its mind, perching uncomfortably over the memories of his friend like some foul, black bird holding on just-too-tight with Its rough, calloused talons.

Straightening up his tie, he took a moment to catch his breath as he studied his reflection in the closet mirror. The bags under his eyes were beginning to look like bruises, and his bottom lip was chapped and sore from nervously chewing on it. Truth be told, he looked a mess, but it was better not to keep his mother waiting. All he had to do was turn up, graduate and get home without bumping into Richie. Easy, right?

Right?

***

“I can’t do this, Bevvie...”

Richie was pacing again. Beverly studied him as she sat on the windowsill of his bedroom, carefully blowing cigarette smoke out into the morning air. His hair was a disheveled nest, and he rubbed at the patchy stubble on his cheeks as he paced the little floor-space his modest room had to offer. He clearly hadn’t showered in a few days, and she was fairly convinced that he hadn’t changed out of his PJ bottoms and that ratty old Pink Floyd t-shirt in a while either.

Of all the Losers, she felt like Richie was the only one she could truly read like a book. To the untrained eye, he was a carefree goofball - all jokes and bad impressions. No one could deny he was intelligent either, he excelled at school and finished top of his theatre class - although it was for that reason Beverly knew there was more to Richie Tozier than met the eye. He was a superb actor, and his best role was played out day-to-day for a whole-world audience. But Beverly wasn’t fooled, she could see past the façade to the boy underneath. Just a boy who was scared - so goddamn scared of the future that it was paralyzing. His mother, his education, his sexuality - all things he was so terrified to approach that he buried them so deep that even he himself might be fooled into thinking everything was A-OK.

But Beverly saw through it all, and this morning she could see the cracks in the façade reaching their breaking point.

“Richie, come here,” she said, not unkindly but with authority.

He continued to pace, waving a hand vaguely in Beverly’s direction as he muttered something to himself.

“Richard. Approach.” This time she was louder, and Richie’s gaze snapped to her in surprise.

“Sir, yes sir,” he said, lifting his waving hand to a mock salute. But there was something missing, Beverly sensed. Some conviction that’s absence left the delivery much heavier on the heart. Her boy was hurting bad.

As he approached she pulled him in close, turning to grasp his hips between her knees. She rested her hands on his cheeks and brought him in to kiss him on the forehead. It was a gentle, lingering kiss, and as she pulled away she felt the tension drain from his body as if she had released some invisible pressure gauge on his subconscious. Popping her cigarette in his mouth, she encouraged him to take a drag. He leaned over her to exhale out the window and moved into a silent embrace, resting his chin on her shoulder as she rubbed the small of his back.

This kind of wordless exchange was not uncommon between the two. All of the Losers shared an intimacy that was unusual to outsiders, but Richie and Bev had a special kind of bond that transcended verbal communication. Beverly knew how to calm him down, and right now he sure as shit needed that.

A couple of minutes passed in comfortable silence as Richie finished the rest of the cigarette, careful to blow the smoke out the window. His parents probably knew he smoked, but he was sure they would wig out if they caught him doing it inside the house. Best to be safe.

“Your mom seemed well this morning,” Beverly spoke after a while as Richie stood back upright.

“Yeah, she’s been better this week. Dad didn’t want her to come today, but she insisted she couldn’t miss it.” He stared absently out the window as he spoke as if accessing an area of emotion he could only address from a distance. “Dad says she shouldn’t be over-exerting herself, but I think he’s just ashamed. Ashamed of what people might think.”

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of, Richie,” she said, gently stroking his arm. “People are going to notice eventually, and when they do I can’t imagine they’ll be anything but supportive.”

“That’s just it,” he said, finally making eye contact. “He’s proud. Too proud for the sympathy. Ashamed of his sham of a family, ashamed of his queer, theatrical son. I’m sure he’d up and fucking leave us if he wouldn’t be so ashamed of himself.”

Beverly listened. She knew Wentworth Tozier could be distant, but she couldn’t reconcile the man she knew with the picture Richie painted of him. She couldn’t help but think he was painting from the palette of his own doubt and insecurity. But now wasn’t the best time to address that.

She squeezed his hand as she rose to her feet.

“C’mon sweet, let’s get you showered. You smell like you crawled out of Satan’s asshole, and I just got a noseful.’ Richie cracked a smirk at this and gently flicked her on the nose.

“Thanks, Bevvie, you’re a real charmer you know that?” They laughed together and Richie went to clean himself up. 

The sound of a car approaching caused Bev to pause before lighting her next cigarette. Looking out the window she saw Mike pulling up in his dad’s old pickup.

It was old. Old enough for the sound of the shuddery engine and squeaky brakes to be recognizable from a mile off - if the wind were blowing in the right direction. Will Hanlon had replaced it long ago with a more reliable model that didn’t take quite as much good luck and elbow grease to get started, but Mike had worked all last summer on fixing it up and it was as good as his now. It ran smoother now than it ever had in Mike’s lifetime, even if he did have to pause for a few silent prayers before turning the ignition.

Beverly gave him a coy wave before moving to gather her things. She rapped on the bathroom door a couple of times as she passed.

“Come on Trashmouth, our rides here!”

“I am very naked Beverly,” he called back, “I’m pretty sure they don’t let you graduate naked.”

“Only one way to find out!”

Richie chuckled to himself as he heard Beverly head downstairs to be fussed over some more by his mother. Maggie loved his friends, but he’d been hesitant to bring anyone home since she got so bad. She was in her element today, however, making cookies and squeezing fresh lemonade ready for Beverly when she arrived to get ready. 

Just like she used to do for me and Bill when we were kids... Richie pondered, wondering whether she knew him and his friends had grown up now.

He didn’t want to think about it. That would mean he would have to eventually talk about it, and it would be real, and everyone would see how terribly he’s dealing with it. How badly he’s fucked everything up.

It’s okay, we can salvage this, he thinks to himself as he checks his reflection in the mirror. A quick buzz with an electric razor deals with the stubble, but the eye bags aren’t going anywhere. Not great, but it’ll do. Not like Eddie is even going to look at you anyway...

He shook his head, trying to brush off the negative train of thought. 

Positivity, Tozier. Positivity. 

He hadn’t meant to snap at Eddie. He wanted to talk to him. To tell him everything, but every time he felt the words forming they tripped and fell into a stupid joke or sarcastic remark before his brain even registered what his mouth was doing. 

It’s not like Eddie wouldn’t be supportive - quite the opposite... but that’s the problem. If he started talking about it, then he might not stop. He might say everything on his mind, and his feelings for Eddie would break loose in the unfiltered barrage of his thoughts. And then what? Eddie would surely never speak to him again if he knew how he felt about him. Never let him sleep over again, or lay on his bed watching him study. Definitely not pick him up and tease him like he so loved to do. But he’d lose all that soon anyway. After the summer Eddie would be moving away to his new life. He had to say something soon. But how?

Absentmindedly pulling his clothes on, he muttered to himself, practicing ways to broach the subject.

“Eddie, I’m in love with you.” 

No. Too blunt.

“Are you tired? Cause you were running ‘round my head all night - and let’s face it, you’ve got pretty small legs.”

Jesus, no.

“Hey short-stuff, I’ve been in love with you since Grade 6. Please don’t break my heart and leave forever!”

I am so fucked.

Throwing a loose tie around his neck, he grabbed his graduation robes and made his way downstairs. Hopefully Mike would know how to tie this thing properly.

Hopefully Eddie would at least talk to him today.

Hopefully I won’t fuck this up again.

- End of Chapter 5 -

A/N: Will he fuck this up again? Find out next time when I get my act together and bash out another chapter!

Taglist: @richietoaster | @vimra | @wildcardtrip-blog | @starstruck-stargazing  | @noxatn  | @mysterious-fish  | @imnot-reddieforthis  | @fragilenights  | @justanothetfangirl | @tyrror | @angelgoddess13 | @i-believe-in | @cannibalistic-muffins  | @readyeds | @blushingreddie

Send me a message if you want to be on the tag list for Chapter 6!

[royalbluehues]

Join the Promenade

A/N: I had the idea burrowed in the back of my mind for some time now, and omigod its perfect. Everything is perf with Stevie boi. This is also loosely based on Meet me in St. Louis. 

Set in 1902, ‘cuz why not. 

Feedback would be appreciated!

Title: Join the Promenade

Author: royalbluehues

Rating: General

Warnings: None

Pairings: 1900s!Steve Rogers x Reader

“Breath in!” Natasha urged. Your eyes were tearing up as you held on to your bedpost, arms hugging it tightly as she pulled the strings of the whale bone corset. You heard her grunt, and then let you let out a whimper, face contorting into pain as the corset dug in your sides. The force of pulling in opposite directions made the both of you slump forwards and backwards. You knew she had done a well job due to not being able to breathe correctly.

“Now all I have to do is tie it- hold steady once more. If you move, you can undo the lacing.” She stated matter-of-factly.

You nodded, not saying a single word as you felt the her fingers wrap the strings around your torso, tying it into a bow at your back.

“There,” she said, “Now you’re finished. Oh! What wonders it does for one’s figure. You look absolutely elegant!”

You felt a bit dizzy, putting a hand just below your breast, “Nat, I don’t think I’ll be able to pull through with this-”

“Oh, but you must!” Natasha insisted, placing her hands on her hips. She had already donned on her light pink one, moving to your vanity with such ease, you nearly wanted to cry out in frustration at her nonchalant attitude, “I had to begin three years ago and look how easy one can get used to it.”

She had leaned over your velveteen stool, using her fingers to fix the elegant coiffure that sat atop her head. “We have to be a sensation!”

The entire town had been buzzing with excitement for this night to come, and the preparation leading up to tonight had had you wide awake at night.

“Oh, Nat,” you whined, “can’t I be a sensation without the corset?” You moved slowly, your left hand touching the waist of the now more prominent curve of your side as the other held on to your furniture every now and then to insure you would keep yourself upright. The uncomfortable and unfamiliar feeling made you frown as you slowly walked to your chaise lounge.

She ran a finger over a wave indentation, “If there is one night you have to put on airs, it positively is tonight. You’re going to be going against Sharon Carter.”

A small wave of anger made you flash deadly eyes at your friend, “Well, I suppose you reeled me in there. Alright.”

Natasha met eyes with you in the mirror as she smiled triumphantly. She turned to skip to your closet where both your dresses were stored. “I am absolutely, positively thrilled for tonight. I’ve already had James Barnes and Clinton Barton ask to dance with me tonight.”

Why on earth were such things even created? You thought to yourself, sitting unwillingly ramrod straight. “I’m sure your dance card will be filled four times over before the evening is finished.”

Natasha laughed, the sound slightly muffled due to her head poking into your closet, “And so will yours!”

“I would be surprised if I even managed to get two names!” You cried, watching as your red-headed companion held your dresses in the crook of her arms.

“Oh, that’s just a load of nonsense. Darling you have a string of beau's just waiting for you to notice them. Just last Tuesday when we went down to the concert men stopped to gawk at you.”

She laid them out on your bed, humming to herself as excitement sparked in her eyes. “Oh this blue will look radiant against your skin, dear.”

You stood, letting out a little ‘oof’ as the contraction of your insides cried out in wanting release. Like a soldier, you dutifully carried on.

“Do you think? Mother picked it out for me. I thought it was a lovely dress, but I feel the neckline is a bit low,” you pointed pointed to the neck.

Natasha laughed, “It’s the fashion nowadays. My grandmother nearly had spilt her tea when I walked out wearing a similar dress. She thinks this age is too scandalous.”

You chuckled, literally taking your breath away. You picked up Natasha’s dress, eyeing it in envy, “Oh Natasha dear, what an absolute darling thing!”

It was cream, the ruffles falling along the shoulders with an olive green ribboned sash that would be pulled from the back. “It’s to fall just below the shoulders. To accentuate the bosom.”

You both giggled, your thoughts straying from the offensive garment pinching at your waist, instead a blossom of excitement now eating at you. “Natasha, do you suppose that Steve will-” You stopped, biting your lip to suppress your smile.

“Sweep you off your feet and kiss you till the morning sun shines?” Natasha teased, her green eyes crinkling at the edges. “I do. I so very much do.”

You softly hit her, a blush dusting your cheeks. “Let’s hurry, so we can fill out our dance cards before other people get theirs filled.”

You and Natasha packed into the carriage that had come by to pick you up, Samuel Wilson assisting you as he requested to put his name on your card. Smiling at him, you promised that he could take your card the moment you would arrive. It was a nice conversation between the three of you as you sat snugly in the open carriage, Natasha and you sitting side by side to keep warm in the oddly chill summer evening.

Upon arriving to your destination, Samuel had parted ways, seeking out other female guests to fill his name on the empty lines.

You and Natasha spoke of finer things, such as the dresses other female guests wore and the decorations in the ballroom, all while filling out the names from men that came to ask you for dances. They were all well dancers, light on their feet and gracious in their movements. You saved at least three lines for Steve.

Natasha called your name from a table she was hovering over, her hand beckoning you. You stood close to her, following her eyesight were a dance card with a small pencil sat. On top of the pencil was the name Sharon Carter.

“What if we gave her-” Natasha paused, looking around to see if anyone was watching you, she leaned in to whisper into your ear, “-just absolute terrible dancers?”

Your eyes widened as you looked at your friend, her mischievous characteristic gracing her features. “Nat! That’s terrible!”

But the idea was amusing- although deep down inside you, you knew it was absolutely wrong of you, but your impulse had better control of you as your lips upturned in a roguish smile, “It’s a completely naughty idea, and God strike me down, but I’m just as tempted in the idea as you are.”

Natasha quickly swiped the small card on the table, her gloved hand moving quickly as you looked out to see if anyone was coming. “Quickly, now.”

Couples had begun dancing, swirling in merriment as the band played lively tunes as the young held smiles and happiness in their eyes this summer night.

She then straightened up, victory shining through her green eyes as she handed you the card. You raised a hand to cover your mouth, “Mike Johnson, Scott Lang, Wade Wilson,” Your voice strained when you read the name of the most obnoxious and vulgar man you knew, “Oh Nat, you naughty thing. It’s too horrendous to look at.”

“Well it serves her right chasing after Bruce when the entire county knows that he is my beau,” She responded apathetically, “And not to mention she was ogling Steven the other day.”

Your eyebrows shot up, the guilt you were feeling quickly fading away. You were not by any means a competitive person, especially when it came to the admiration of the opposite sex, but what you had felt for Steven was something you never experienced before. The way he could turn your knees into jelly and the way his eyes connected with yours sent your heart into a feverish frenzy.

So would anyone blame you for feeling so petty?

“Oh, there she is now!” Natasha elbowed you as she jutted her chin towards the entrance. Sharon was a lovely girl, her fair hair pinned in a low coiffer, while half of it was let loose. She wore a lavender gown embroidered with little rhinestones along the bottom, shining each time she moved. “She even had the audacity to style her hair as mine!”

Natasha’s stubborn dislike didn’t wear off in the year she knew her, always gossiping to you about what she had done and what she could have done.

She gave you Sharon’s card. “Bruce is over by the refreshments. Will you be alright?”

You nodded, “Of course I will. I’ll just float around until I accidentally bump into Steve.” Natasha smiled happily at your response, wished you all the luck, then turned to walk in line of her awkward admirer.

Sharon was approaching the table with the few cards, and behind her, trailing along, was Steven Grant Rogers. You didn’t notice as Samuel approached you from behind, smiling and speaking about dancing. You had faltered, noticing the way both Sharon and Steve spoke together as they were approaching you.

Your eyes looked down to see the cards that sat in your hand, fury taking over your heart, the fire fueling even more as you glanced back up, catching Steve laugh at something she had said. Sam had called your name, and you turned to him, all of your happiness fleeting in a second. Sam was asking you to go and dance the March with him, but that is when the pair of fair haired people came to intervene.

Your name, being called from the lips of the man that had taken your heart tugged your heartstrings in despair. You turned, painting a smile to your lips as you looked up at him. His eyes were sparkling and blue, hair parted and styled in a fashion that you would have turned into a puddle then and there. His suit was sharp, the bowtie sitting comfortably on his chest.

“Steve!” you greeted, hearing the happy facade in your own voice. “How do you do?”

He was standing all too close to Sharon for your liking. “I’m well thank you. And yourself?”

You nodded, murmuring a quick fine, turning unwillingly to the female by his side. “I see you brought Sharon?” Your voice strained, and you hated yourself for being so obvious.

Sharon smiled nicely at you, outstretching her arm to greet you. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” she said, “I’ve heard such wonderful things from Steven on the way here.”

On the way here?

Jealousy ate at you as you smiled at Steve, the action not meeting your eyes as you did so. “And I’ve heard wonderful things about you as well, from every man I’ve spoken to.”

Sharon’s smile faltered, offense flashing in her eyes before it went away. You relished in the subtle offense you made, the underlying words meaning of the gossip of her being a loose woman.

“Samuel Wilson,” Sharon’s eye lit up, a blush rising on her skin tone- something you failed to notice.

The three greeted one another, but you were too busy thinking of such awful things of Sharon it would have made your mother flush with embarrassment.

You quickly changed the subject, lightening your tone as friends would. “I hope you don’t mind, but Natasha and I took the liberty of filling out your dance card. Yours was the last left, and we didn’t want you to miss out on the thrill of the night before it ends and you not have anyone to dance with.”

Sharon’s eyes looked at you in gratefulness, “That’s too kind of you!”

You handed her her card, and she took it from you, looking up at Steve. “She surely is a keeper Steve.”

You blinked at her in confusion, the atmosphere suddenly becoming off. “Now, I think we’re all grown up, and as grown ups we must speak our minds.” She took your hands in hers, your light blue silk gloved hands tensing in her cream ones. “That is, if I can say it before Steve murders me.”

Steve looked down at her in question, a frown pulling at the edges of his smile.

“If we only would act grown up, Steven here would be spending the evening with you than with me. He was speaking such wonderful things-”

“Sharon,” Steve interrupted her, embarrassment lacing into his voice and his face beet red. Your face had must have looked just as red as his.

“Well it is how you feel about her, is it not?”

All eyes stared at him, waiting for his response. You especially.

Steve fumbled on his words, raising a hand to pull at the collar of his shirt. You were frozen, looking up at him in shock, waiting to hear his response. “Well, yes. Yes it is.”

Your rigid posture melted in relief, a smile spreading across your features as your heart beat quickly inside you. He relaxed under your smile, a crooked grin that took more of your breath away then the corset did.  

Sharon let your hands go, looking up at the presence you had forgotten was witnessing the whole ordeal as well. “And that leaves me partnerless, but so is Sam.”

Sam was over the moon, taking her hand and pulling her next to him, “I don’t mind that.”

But guilt and shame had tugged at your dress, the invisible beings practically scolding you. You downcasted your eyes from the blonde haired man. You pretended to open look at the name of your card, then, “Sharon!”

You supposed this is what you earned. God did strike you down in a rather cruel fashion. “I think I accidentally switched our cards. I know it says my name but I must have confused them when I was writing in the names of your partners-” you handed her your card, “I’m sorry for the confusion.”

She thanked you and walked away with her arm in Sam’s, the card feeling heavy in your palm. Every terrible dancer was now in your line of fate for the evening, and not a single space left for Steve.

“Well how about a dance?” Steve suggested, looking down at you as if you were the most beautiful thing on this planet.

What would have sent you over the moon made you look down in shame. So you fibbed. “I’m sorry Steve, but I fear I accidently forgot to leave space for you. Natasha was writing the names and gave it to me. I didn’t check to look to see if she left any available spaces.”

Steve’s smile turned into a frown, which made you turn even more red. “Well, that’s alright I suppose.” He sounded hurt, and how you prayed a hole would swallow you up.

A shrill voice tore you from this conversation, interrupting Steve before he could continue. Behind you, a short pudgy man stood waiting eagerly, his polished shoes tapping along with the song.

“Where’s Ms. Carter?” He asked you, “I’ve been waiting and the Grand March is about to begin.”

Another wave of regret and self hatred washed over yourself, “There has seem to have been a mistake, Mike,” you replied sulkily, “I confused mine and Ms. Carter’s dance cards, so I will be taking all her dances.” Your eyes filled with tears, “I hope you don’t mind-”

“I don’t mind at all!” He reached over to snatch you from Steve’s side, dragging you along towards the dance floor, leaving a frowning Steve behind you.

Mike had pulled you flush against him, moving off beat with the other dancers. And that’s how you spent the entire evening, not once spotting where Steve had gone. Oh, how you wished you could just drop dead.

Next, Scott Lang took your hand, never once looking up at you, instead his entire concentration focused on your feet. “Sorry.” He would say when he would step on you.

You forgave him, eyes staring off into the distance, every now and then grimacing when he stepped on your toes. Scott Lang was an incredibly nice man, quirky too, but when it came to dancing, all girls repelled from him like the seven plagues of Egypt.

In the duration of your dance, he stepped on you fifteen times, sorry-ied more times than you could count on both hands, and repeatedly stepped on your gown.

Then, when you thought your night couldn’t get any worse, Wade Wilson came to you. You had forgotten all about him, and you nearly burst into tears as he took your hand in his, his other so high up on your back it must have looked like he was ready to smother you.

It was absolutely ridiculous, the way Wade had sung along to Good Bye, My Lady Love while everyone bore witness to the two of you moving in rapid circles when everyone else was swaying at a much slower pace.

Halfway into the song, a few tears escaped your eyes, hating every fiber of your being and for thinking that you were going to allow Sharon to pull through with this.

God had striked down on you indeed.

Your mortification had finally met its limits when Wade began to move your connected hands up and down in a rapid manner. The entire dance floor erupted in laughter and questioning looks.

Wade had noticed you crying before, and wanted only to continue prodding you. When the song had finally ended, you stepped away from Wade and fled to the powder room.

You sat down on one of the benches, burrowing your face into your hands and cried.

The door opened and Natasha’s voice called you, and you looked up at her.

“Natasha, this night has gone just terribly. I couldn’t do it to Sharon. Steve confessed that he fancies me, and I felt just plain awful about what we did,” you rambled, “and I couldn’t let her take the card. She was so amiable, Nat. And I know I can never meet eyes with her or Steve. And the dancers- my goodness. I wished the end of the world would begin-”

“Oh darling!” Nat was quick to quiet you and wipe your tears. She hugged you tightly, “I don’t know why you didn’t just give her your card-”

“Because I couldn’t, Natasha. What we did was wrong, and you know it.”

“But you said Steve confessed how he felt!” Natasha tried to stop you from bursting into tears, “Surely that has to be an amazing feeling! Bruce has been too shy to tell me-”

You wailed and leaned heavily into your red-headed friend, “Oh! And the way he looked at me! He must hate me by now!”

Natasha pulled you away from her, shaking you a bit, “Don’t be foolish. He likes you. Go out and find him. To hell with the other dances, I’ll dance for you myself it means you'll stop crying. I’m so sorry I chose those men. I can’t lie and say I don’t feel guilty.”

You shook your head, standing to walk to the mirror. “You’d hate me too if you had to put up with their antics. Wade Wilson is out of the way, the rest are somewhat fine. The worst is done and over with. I’m sorry for spoiling the evening.”

You dabbed water under your tear stained cheeks, trying best to fix your appearance. The pompadour your hair was in had a few fly aways so you smoothed those down as well.

You sniffled, frowning each time your thoughts lingered on Steve.

“Oh darling! Please stop crying! You’re going to make me cry too!” Natasha stood by you, face red with shame. “I’m so terribly sorry- I truly am.”

You gave her a small smile in the mirror. “Go back out. I’ll be there in a bit.”

She nodded, not sure quite what to do with herself. You stayed behind for a few minutes, waiting until your cheeks had returned to their normal shade and until the whites of your eyes returned to their color as well.

It was a consequence after all, and you must continue to serve it. At least your mother would have been proud of you, if she ever found out about this ordeal.

You opened the door, nearly colliding with another body as you rounded the corner. Hands quickly went to stable you, and you looked up to find Steve.

“Steven,” you whispered, smiling a bit, “I didn’t see you there. My apologies.”

“Natasha had told me you were crying. I came to find you.” You blushed deeply once more, silently cursing Natasha.

“Oh, it’s fine really. I just needed a moment to collect myself is all.” You explained rapidly, eyes widening as you explained everything.

“I would too, if I had to dance with who you danced with,” he lightly teased, a small smile gracing his features.

But, oh, how right it felt to be in Steve’s arms. You two fit like pieces of a puzzle, and onlookers would have commented how adoringly perfect you two would make as a couple.

He looked down at you intensely, thinking hard and you didn’t want him to break away from you. “Do you mean it?” You asked suddenly, “Was it true what Sharon said?”

The tall blonde nodded, “Every word. You’ve been on my mind since the day I met you.”

You blushed, looking away from him, “Well, if I may be so bold, I feel the same way towards you.”

“Well gee!” Steve piped up, relief mixing in his tone, “That’s swell!”

You ducked to bite on your lips, surpressing your smile. But then your shoulders sagged- “Steve, I don’t want to go back out there. If I have to dance with another man who steps on me one more time, I think I’ll scream.”

Steve let out a breathy chuckle, admiring the way your lips puckered in unhappiness. “Natasha told me that you had reserved quite a number of spaces in your original dance card for me.”

You looked up at him, “Original?”

“Natasha also told me what you both did. Said you felt as guilty as a poor sinner in church and that you took the card.”

You pulled away from him, beet red. “I was-I- please don’t think me a terrible person, Steve. Please. I know it was wrong- but I was jealous and feeling spiteful-”

“It would have been wrong if you had given the card despite feeling guilty. You took the card because you knew it was wrong. It’s what a strong moraled person does.”

He took you in his arms again and leaned down to capture his lips with yours. You froze once more, eyes wide observing the male whose eyes were closed. You relaxed, melting into him just before he pulled away.

“Forgive me,” he smiled, “You’re rather tempting.”

Natasha would have teased you for how you squirmed in delight, hiding your face in his shoulder. “Darling, let’s not go back. I don’t think I would be able to handle dancing with another left footed Johnny again.”

He tilted his head back and laugh, “I’m afraid to inform you that I’m just that. James’ tried to teach me a few times, but I just can’t. ‘Fraid I’d step on your feet.”

“You couldn’t be worse than Wade Wilson.”

He led you outside, the small garden illuminated with dangling lights above. There was no one there, save two couples who were off on their own.

“I would like to ask you a question,” Steve said suddenly, slowly, as if tasting the words himself. “As we’ve come to the conclusion on what we feel for one another, I would like to ask your permission to court you.” He then continued, “I don’t have much to offer; with my mother sick and all. But, in a few years, I plan to join the military, and I’d be able to marry you- darling, say you’ll take me.”

He raised your hands, kissing your knuckles. With the biggest smile you’ve ever worn, you nodded vehemently. Tears flooded your eyes, this time with utter joy. “Of course.”

He leaned down again to take your lips, and everything felt so right.

You were a strong believer in events taking place for a reason, and in the end, perhaps, this was meant to happen. You silently thanked Sharon, and you thanked Nat for her ridiculous and petty plan. For nothing would spoiled your evening now, not now.

Blue lace was pressed up against a black suit, and the summer stars above you sighed in relief at your union.

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