#Cheap Dog Backpack

[ms-demeanor]

Due to some stuff brought up in recent posts I believe it is time to once again extol the virtues of Ms-Demeanor's Patented Where Did I Put That Fucking Paper Organizational Binder.

Hello! I am a disorganized adult! This is the system by which I manage my important shit like pink slips for my car and medical records and tax information.

You're going to need:

A 3-Ring Binder

Transparent Sheet Protectors

Notebook dividers (optional but VERY useful)

A backpack (optional)

So the way this system works is you put the sheet protectors into the binder. You can either use the dividers to divide the binder into sections or you can label some of the sheet protectors to make different sections but what you are generally going to do is make sections of the binder labeled things like "taxes" or "vet" or "doctor" and put a few sheet protectors in each section.

Then all of your papers with important information get crammed in that folder. You don't organize them, you don't sort them by date, you don't alphabetize. You put things vaguely relating to taxes into the sheet protectors in the taxes section. You put things relating to cars in the cars section. You don't even attempt to make this readable - you're not using sheet protectors so that you can read each page and keep it legible, you're using sheet protectors because it's a cheap plastic bag that will sit nicely in a binder.

You CAN put stuff into the individual sheet protectors when you get it, but let's be realistic you probably WON'T do that, so just tuck individual papers into the front of the binder until you get to a critical mass of paperwork then take an hour to sit down and sort into categories and put it in the binder once every six months to three years (depending on how frequently you get paperwork). Sometimes these sections will outgrow their original allotted space - since my spouse had a transplant surgery the medical section has had to become its own folder - and that's okay. If you end up with multiple folders just keep them together (this is why the backpack is an option, and one I strongly recommend).

Because yeah, if my organization system relies on opening up a drawer and putting something where it belongs as soon as I get the paper, I will simply not be organized. It's not going to happen. But I can handle a messy stack of paper that sits in one place and grows until it is time to shove it into a binder. I can't organize things for thirty seconds a day every day but I can organize things for an hour once every year or so (maybe two hours every five years when I sort out stuff I don't need like copies of warranties for parts on a car I don't own anymore).

When my mom died she had about fifty pounds of paper files in her office that were neatly organized in a system that didn't make any sense to my dad, my sister, and I. I ended up sorting through those files for twenty hours, tossing out copies of paid invoices from ten years ago and student handbooks from my junior high school. I reduced one filing cabinet, two desk file drawers, and a foot-high stack to a six inch binder that I gave to my dad. My mom died five years ago; two months ago my dad asked me about a medical document and I was able to tell him to go look for it in the medical section of the binder. It was there, because ALL IMPORTANT SHIT GOES IN THE BINDER.

Where is my birth certificate? In the binder. Where is my tax return from 2017? In the binder. Where is the record of my dog's last rabies shot? In the binder. Where are the records for my life insurance? In the binder.

A lot of what people consider "being organized" breaks down to whether or not you can find the specific things that you're looking for. Does my binder look nice? Is it aesthetic? Does it have color-coded tabs and papers all laid out neatly? Absolutely fucking not. But if you ask me where to find a paper I know that I can do so within about five minutes of shuffling through the pile of letter-folded sheets that I pulled out of the appropriate section of the binder.

I've discussed the Where Did I Put that Fucking Paper Binder before, but now it is time to expand that concept to the Backpack of Important Shit.

You likely have Important Shit that does not fit in a binder. Some of my Important Shit that does not fit in a binder is stuff like jewelry and the spare key for my car. Other stuff - the reason I decided to bring this up at all - includes my backup hard drive and packaging (including product key codes) for pretty much all of the software that I own. This is also where I store printed out copies of the recovery codes for most of the online accounts that I have.

There's a lot of weird fiddly shit that we have to have that we might not access all that often. This is the kind of stuff that might end up in junk drawers or under sinks or in disused laptop bags or kicking around under a bunch of papers in a desk drawer.

It doesn't matter so much when that weird fiddly shit is a set of hex keys or a utility knife or a protractor or a copy of a student handbook but it DOES matter when it's something that you might need to put your hands on in a hurry. If your computer crashes, you're not going to want to track down the software in the back of a filing cabinet and the backup drive from somewhere in the bowels of your desk. If you lock your keys in your car you are not going to want to figure out if your spare is in a junk drawer or the old purse where you keep semi-important stuff or the tin on your desk that has buttons and pins and headphone covers. Just put it in the Backpack of Important Shit and when you need it you know where to look.

So anyway, if you are a person who is a minor disaster who has trouble finding important things when you need them please don't think that you have to get your life together and have a nice organized filing cabinet or clear plastic bins full of documents or a neatly divided storage closet where everything from board games to backup drives has its own neatly labeled place. Just assign ONE LOCATION for important shit and start putting the important shit there. It doesn't matter if you have a filing cabinet where you keep old copies of homework and printouts of online orders and family history records - you do not need to keep everything that is file-able in one place and depending on what level of catastrophe you are it might be detrimental to you if you try to do that. It doesn't matter if you have a jewelry box where you keep your collection of gauges and wrist cuffs; if you are going to stress out about where grandma's ring is when you're digging through your collection of cheap earrings and silver pendants then *do not keep grandma's ring or any other Important, Vital, Cannot Be Lost jewelry in with your day-to-day wear*.

I live someplace that has fires. My binder got upgraded to my Backpack of Important Shit when the fires were getting uncomfortably close to the house I was living in and I wanted to have one bag to grab if we had to get out fast. Once I did that, I never took the binder out of the backpack and the backpack has now made three moves with me and has meant that I've had my birth certificate handy when I needed it in the middle of a move between two states, I was able to provide a history of my cholesterol panel going back six years to a visiting nurse, and I was able to give the exact names and contact info of my spouse's previous surgeon to the hospital when I had unexpectedly moved to a new state with three bags and my work computer at the beginning of the pandemic.

Get yourself a backpack of important shit and a folder of where the fuck did i put that paper. It is so much easier to search a backpack for important shit than to go through an entire house and it is so much easier to flip through a binder than it is to dig through a filing cabinet.

Anyway good luck and happy adulting.

[furious-blueberry0]

I really need to understand who, in the fucking seven hells, not only designed this thing and thought it looked good, but also thought that it would have been a gown good enough for the fucking Galactic Senate of the Republic.

It looks so cheap, the symbol of the order looks like one of the patches I have on my backpack, the completely white textureless dress is boring as fuck, the shape of the cloak is atrocious and the material of it looks like an old curtain my grandma had, that was chewed by our dog.

I really don’t get how a serie with 180 million managed to have such cheap quality for literally everything.

Like, where the fuck did those millions go, to the mafia?

Both The Phantom Menace and Attack of the Clones had a budget of 115 million!!!! Just look at the stunning dresses that they made for those movies:

LOOK AT THE DETAILS!! AT THE TEXTURES!!!! AT THE SHAPES!!!!!! LOOK AT THEM.

And now they wanna make me believe that that thing Vernestra is wearing is supposed to be a Senatorial gown???? They could have at least tried to make the style more Jedi-like but no, they needed too much creativity for that I guess...

[karlachismylife]

Spotted || The Queen of the Clan pt.1

I absolutely do think about werewolf/dog shapeshifter Johnny every day, because I am a weak little gorilla and want to cuddle a big doggo, but

What if Soap as a hyena shapeshifter. Cuz their manes look like mohawks and he can keep his precious fluffy hairstyle. He's trotting around with his spots and long black socks on those strong legs, round ears twitching when he hears someone - prey, perhaps? But prey doesn't sound so pretty and cute, doesn't laugh and chirp so sweetly. So he keeps his tail high and hurries to the sound source, to find reader there chatting with other people - all with photocameras and other familiar equipment. You're neither prey, nor threat: just a documentary crew here, probably mainly for the lions.

You spot him immediately, his wary stance catching everyone's attention.

"The tail up so high can mean different things, but it might be a sign of agression. Careful, everybody," one of the specialists warns you, and you nod - you're not stupid, that's clear, but the smile you have on your face is so blissfully ecstatic, almost as if every thought left your brain at the sight of a chonky, bulky hyena investigating your filming sight (to be fair, it's probably his everything else sight). But you're just happy to see your first big animal on this trip, and so close!

"Hi, beautiful," you coo softly, brely a whisper, as you pull your camera up and start taking pictures of him - it takes the hyena only a few moments before it suddenly changes his stance to a more imposing one, puffing out its chest, legs wide apart, mane fuffed up. "Aw, are you posing for me, pretty boy? That's right, you're gonna be a star. I can already picture everyone going crazy for these cute pics..."

You tear your eyes away from him to take a look at what you're getting, not sure if the exposition and other settings are right, but when you adjust them and look back up to try and take another picture, the hyena isn't there. You almost let out a disappointed sigh, when you realize that no one of the crew is moving and their eyes are all glued to you - and then something big, fluffy and warm bumps your hip.

"Oh god," you try not to get startled by the hyena so close. It's even bigger that it seemed from afar, probably will be as tall as you if it stands up on its hind legs. Actually, it might be a girl - those tend to be bigger among spotted hyenas, after all. A formiddable force of nature, a deadly predator - not to be fooled by the public perception.

And it's sniffing at you very loudly, fluttering its round ears and bumping your hip again, like a needy cat with its huge wet eyes, before you finally lower your camera - and it shoves its muzzle into the little screen immediately!

"What, you like these? Give me permission to make you famous?" you chuckle when the hyena lets out somewhat of an approving whine. It bumps its head against your palm, but, glancing at your crew, you decide to withhold from petting the wild animal, after all.

The hyena doesn't look pleased with it. It whines again, paws at you, and then huffs, clearly irritated. Leaving you alone and shaking its head to fluff up its mane again, it sniffs around, trotting around your temporary camp, and heads straight to your backpack - your food inside, sleeping bag rolled neatly and resting against its side. While you try to remember if you have anything there that could cause danger to the curious animal, the hyena sniffs around it, making sure it's definitely yours, and then...

"No, no-no-no, please, don't-" it's too late. Turning around with the smuggest smirk you ever saw on an animal's face, the hyena lines up and sprayes your stuff generously. The smell of boiling cheap soap and something else hits you almost immediately on that short distance. No amount of washing will save you. You stand there, absolutely speechless and bemused, as the hyena bursts out into loud cackling, almost rolling on the ground and the sight of you.

And then a response cuts through the air - one, two, three other voices, interrupting that little spotted shit's fit. It immediately stops giggling, casts you one last look with a grin and then bolts away, to its family pack.

What a start to your filming trip. You'll just have to hope that hyena doesn't bring all its friends to your camp to cause chaos...

Another important thing about spotted hyenas? Their packs are matriarchal :)

Part 1.5 | Part 2

Series masterlist | Main masterlist

[dazednstoned]

Modern Rdr2 hcs:

-Abigail dresses like it's the 2000s (I'm talking miniskirts, low rise jeans, heeled flip flops w the fucking sparkles). She will never change too.

-Charles and Arthur go on dates to those adoption events to pet all the dogs and cats

-the whole gang frequently gathers for family bbqs. Every time someone ends up getting punched, passing out, or storming off

-Abigail puts Jack on one of those backpack leashes for kids (John too if we're being honest)

-Tilly, Karen, and Marybeth do full goodwill, garage sale, and vintage market days. They do not mess around either

-the only thing hosea knows how to do on his phone is play chess

-Sean still can't read in modern time

-john plays guitar and writes really horrible love songs for Abigail

-Javier and john r for sure in a band together, they're pretty good when they sing the songs Javier wrote

-Lenny and Sean co-parent an extremely neglected widgetable

-Arthur listens to facebook reels on full volume in public w no shame. Isaac is mortified every time

-john has various tattoos, half of them are god awful. He definitely got Abigail's name or initials tattooed somewhere and she was livid

-Karen gives herself piercings with a really shitty piercing gun

-arthur and John work together in construction, an auto shop, or in the equestrian field.

-Dutch has a very rigid and lengthy skincare routine

-john uses 2 in 1 shampoo and conditioner, but he says it's 3 in 1 bc it also counts as bodywash

-Tilly is the only one of her family to graduate college (Arthur dropped out of hs when Eliza got pregnant and john never went)

-Hosea is one of those old people you just see walking around the neighborhood at like 8am

-john and Arthur don't wear sunscreen or put on lotion. Abigail sometimes manages to force some sunscreen on John's face before he goes to work tho

-bill refuses to go to gay bars but uses Grindr

-Abigail cuts John and Jack's hair bc she refuses to pay for something she thinks she can do herself (she cannot do it herself)

-Kieran is a hair braiding god. I'm talking French braids, fish tails, you name it.

-john owns a really shitty pick up truck. Jack was either conceived or birthed in the backseat of it (maybe both)

-Sean falls for those free iPhone scams every time

-the only videogame charles plays is stardew valley. He thought it would be relaxing, it wasn't.

-Tilly and Mary Beth are in a book club together

-Abigail is the type of parent to not let her kid play w nerf guns or watch pg13 movies (John is the exact opposite)

-Sadie spends her weekends at rage rooms

-everyone's fridges are covered in drawings Jack made for them

-John, Javier, and Sean game together. Violence always ensues

-dutch does not tip waiters

-john tried to play catch w Jack once and ended up getting hit in the groin by a baseball. He didn't know 4 yr olds could throw that hard

-Abigail and Karen (& sometimes Charles) drink cheap wine together every Sunday and discuss the dumb things their boyfriends did that week

-Lenny and Hosea do the wordle everyday

-Jack is in little league soccer. John sits back drinking a beer as Abigail shouts at the referee

-Abigail got a tramp stamp of a little bow when she was 17 (she regrets it)

-Hosea exclusively sends emails

-Abigail hides John's weed socks bc she doesn't want Jack to see and "fall into a life of drugs" when he's older

-Arthur is a hiking dad through and through. While John is a sit on the couch drinking a beer w his kid in his lap kinda dad

-uncle is the old drunk that lived in the same trailer park as Abigail and John did when Jack was a baby. He kinda just stuck around after

-Miss Molly O'Shea would be a makeup god and u cannot convince me otherwise

I might do a pt 2 late in the future!

[sameschmidtdiffname]

Hey I love your work so much!!

I was thinking of maybe a Mike Schmidt x reader where the reader is all like “I’m not good enough for you, I don’t deserve you” stuff and then like Mike makes it up to the reader to show them that they are more than enough 🫶

Sure, but it's gonna hurt!

Blue Sunrise

Mike Schmidt x Gender Neutral! Reader

Summery: All is well, yet you aren't. A fact that disturbs and irritates you so, even if it shouldn't.

Tags: No use of Y/N, no use of gendered pronouns for Reader, SFW with brief mentions of smut, pre-established relationship, set during the movie but that's honestly not very relevant, hurt/comfort, Reader and Mike both have PTSD, this isn't projection, bed rotting, depression, self-loathing, night terrors/nightmares, panic attacks, sleep deprivation, mentions of medication, lack of self care, slight self-harm (scratching), breakdown, nosebleed.

Notes: *in sonic snapcube dub voice* heyyyyyyyyyyyy what's upppppppppppppp it's meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee (STOP!!)

                     ▪︎◇{¤♧■♧¤}◇▪︎

6:34 A.M.

The dawn is gentle, the sky a soft blue behind the thin, cheap blinds that cover the bedroom window not that far in front of me. If I wanted, I could get up and open the window, revealing the surely beautiful and gorgeous sunrise that waits for me just outside the blinds.

But I don't. And I won't.

Birds sing gently outside, waking up and fliting about here and there. It's my favorite part of the day, quite frankly. When I can, I open the window to allow in the fresh, cool air, moist with the morning dew, unmuffling the bird's songs as I drift off to sleep, my schedule mostly in tune with Mike's for his night shift. Sometimes I manage to stay awake to greet him when he returns home. It's always nice when I do. His smile is lazy, his strides long and slow as he makes his way to the bed, peeling off his work clothes and crawling under the covers with me. Sometimes he'll press himself against me, his lips finding my neck as his hand dives between my thighs, his fingers trained on one goal as he murmurs against my skin how much he's missed me. Sometimes I wake to this.

There's a part of me that wishes he'd do this today just so I wouldn't have to think.

The lock on the front door rattles as someone attempts to insert a key into the hole. It doesn't matter how long he's lived here or how he uses those keys every morning, he still takes a moment to make sure he's using the right one, and on the first try he usually isn't. So it takes him a solid minute to unlock the door and enter the house. If we had dogs, they'd surely drive us insane from his routine. It slightly drives me insane already. But I'm technically not even supposed to be awake, so I never mention it.

When Mike finally enters the house, the first thing I hear after the satisfying break of the doors seal ringing throughout the living room is a deep sigh as Mike's backpack lands in front of the coat rack. He should be quieter about setting it down. I would be. But I think he assumes we should be so deep in sleep it really wouldn't matter, and it honestly doesn't make much noise. Just a slightly dull 'thud' against the thinly carpeted floor.

Next I can hear his car keys land in the bowl they're meant for. Again, he's a bit too loud with it all. At least, while people are sleeping. But it's not really a bother. In a way, I like it. It gives me a routine to memorize, his sounds before he'll trail to our room and come press himself against me.

The rocking recliner creeks softly as he sits in it, lazily undoing the laces on his boots before he tosses them towards the coat rack. And next he'll duck his head into the fridge I'm sure and look for the leftovers I put into a big bowl for him to warm up - which he won't, because he's a psychopath who likes cold food. - and then when my alarm goes off, he'll come to wake me up, rising from the old couch where he's very quietly reading his book while he eats and do whatever he has to do to prevent me from slipping back into sleep. He's very good at that job. Especially when he uses his tongue.

But today there's a break in the routine. Today, his footsteps are padding towards our room, the door quietly opening as he slips in. I can hear him let out a soft sigh as he tugs on his hoodie, pulling it off and then discarding of his jeans, which muffle the clack of his belt buckle as he slips them off. Left in his undershirt and boxers, he crosses the room to open the blinds and the window, letting in the fresh air and leaning against the thin windowstill for a moment. Now, I can see him.

He looks rested, a little more than he should for having just finished a night shift. I keep telling him he's going to get fired, but he always wiggles his way out of that conversation. The bags usually under his eyes aren't too deep this morning, which while problematic is relieving. His skin is pale blue from the dawns light that pours into the room. His dark curls are more thick on the top of his head, clumped together from him not brushing them after his shower. He must've used too much conditioner, because his hair also looks thicker than it usually does. The breeze blows his oversized pale blue shirt against his chest as he leans forward, allowing his eyes to close as he takes in a deep breath. It feels like an overly private moment. Like I've intruded by watching him. I don't see him like this much when he isn't alone. When he's with me or Abby, he's alert. Somewhat on guard. It's like he's watching us to make sure we're okay. He's too used to things falling apart in an instant. But when he's alone, physically or emotionally, the walls crumble away to reveal a man who enjoys peace. Who smiles softly as he bends down low, resting his chin upon his arms, letting the dawn greet him and being the supposed first in the house to greet the dawn. And I feel like a stalker for watching him. A scene that feels as if I've stolen what will now only exist deep in my mind for when I want to remember one of the few times he has truly ever looked at peace with the world. It's a scene out of a painting. As private as a prayer. I should grant him more privacy, but I don't. In a captivated and enchanted way, I can't.

I'd never tell him this, but in this moment he looks like his mother. And not in the sense of him being her son. No, based off of the few photos I've seen of her in more private, intimate instances, like when she was holding a very small Mike on her lap on his second birthday, or when Mike's father had stolen a photo during their honeymoon when she wasn't looking, Mike looks just like her. Quiet, serene, not hiding anything from anyone because there's no need. At this moment it is just him and the gentle, late winter breeze that makes my nose begin to sting. He's beautiful. Just like she was.

The moment comes to an end, and now it is just a moment that exists only within my mind as his eyes open. The blue dawn brings out the green in his eyes that's usually hidden by artificial light that overpowers the amber, turning them mostly black in some instances. That's the color I thought they were until I saw him in proper daylight. His long lashes bat once, twice in an almost sleepy manner as he shifts his focus, now turning his head to look at me. I shut my eyes quickly, my canines biting into my tongue to force myself to keep a straight face. But it's too late. We made eye contact, even if it was only for a second, and now he knows I'm awake.

"Sweetheart?" He whispers softly, his voice low and slightly gravelly in the way it always is. His 's' and 't's just a tad sharp, clear as always when he speaks. I hear the floor groan as he pads towards me.

I don't speak. I'm not supposed to be awake. I should be asleep, he would rather I was asleep. I tried to be asleep.

He stops in front of me, I can hear the floor groan louder as he crouches in front of me. He's trying to decide if I'm awake or not, if maybe he'd been tricked into thinking we made eye contact. But something convinces him he hasn't, and the bed sinks as he places a hand upon the mattress to support his weight while he kisses my temple.

"Hi," he whispers against my skin, placing another kiss just above the curve of my brow. "Good morning." He places another kiss on the space between my brows, his lips now trailing up to the middle of my forehead. "You look so pretty like this."

Like what? My skin shining with oil, my nose dirty, my body heavy from not having moved?

Something makes him pause when his lips find my cheek. He keeps his lips pressed against my skin for a moment before he pulls away, licking his lips as he looks closer at me.

"Hey," he whispers softly, a finger finding my chin. "Open your eyes."

I don't want to. When I do he'll instantly know what I've been doing, and I don't want to handle it. I don't want to deal with it.

His hand slips under my head, between my cheek and my pillow.

"Sweetheart, your pillow's wet," he says in quiet surprise. "Open your eyes, talk to me."

Hesitatingly, I obey. Cracking my eyes open and trying not to reveal how horrid the dryness in them feels after allowing them rest for a few moments after keeping them open for what could have been hours at this point. Mike's face is inches from mine, his brows furrowed in concern as his eyes scan for other obvious signs of distress.

"Hi," I croak in a tired, unused voice as I try to pretend all is well. Mike unfortunately knows better.

"What happened?" He asks concerningly, taking in the tone he does whenever Abby is upset, fretting over me like I'm an injured child as both of his hands cup my face, his lips finding what he's confirmed are thin, itchy and salty tear tracks, placing several, feather-light kisses along them.

"Nothing," I answer honestly, my voice still cracking. "I'm fine."

"Your eyes are red, baby," he says softly, pulling away to look at me again while his body inches closer. "You look like you've been crying for hours."

Ha. I wish. If I had been, maybe I'd feel better about everything. But instead, I've been lying here since Abby went to bed, feeling numb and dead internally as I willed myself to be upset about anything. Work, bills, the color of the walls. I'd succeeded maybe twice, little tears streaming down my face for a minute or two. But then they would stop, and it would feel as though I couldn't cry. Really cry. Like there was some emotional, maybe physical block preventing me from just truly letting all of my emotions out in a possibly hysterical fit. One that would mean I could connect to my humanity. I don't know what's wrong with me. So, instead I just say "I haven't cried."

Mike opens his mouth to call bullshit, but his brow furrows tighter as he thinks. "What's wrong?" He asks again, now lifting my head to allow one arm to slip underneath so I can lay upon it.

"Nothing," I answer again, truly unsure of what to say. "I'm really okay."

And I am. Work is fine, I am fine. Friends are fine. I don't have entitlement to be upset.

"Is it another episode?" Mike asks softly, now pulling his body onto the bed to lie next to me, fully committed to being partner of the year over here. Ugh. Great.

"No," I answer quickly, averting my gaze. Mike's hand cups my cheek, his body cool compared to mine. I'm soaked in sweat from sleeping - read: laying motionless on the bed since 9:30. - in too warm of clothes in too warm of a room under too warm of blankets. I probably stink. Meanwhile the morning air makes Mike feel refreshing. He's perfect. I'm a mess.

"It's okay if it is," Mike says softly. "It's nothing to be ashamed of if-"

"I'm not having an episode," I say firmly, cutting him off as though it will solidify my statement more than his if I finish mine first. "I'm just not."

I don't pretend to be perfect. I'm not, and I never will be. I know that's okay. I know episodes happen, and that I'll be okay. I've been so much better lately on my new schedule. I'm working, I'm happy.

I have absolutely no good reason to be in the midst of a depression episode. One where the memories won't leave my mind, where I can't sleep, can't think about anything but the past. It plays in my head over and over again, and I can't stop it. Even though I try. I read, I journal, I bathe. But I don't feel real. People don't feel real. Mike is disorienting in the sense that he is the only thing that truly feels real. Where the pale color of the sheets seems hypnotic, his slightly tan skin contrasts to remind me this place really does exist. The furniture and details of the room seem as real as something from a video game, renderings that aren't as realistic as they could be that blend into the wall more as you look. Flat. Nothing. But the freckles on his nose are real. Strikingly real. Overly real. It's as though someone took their time to place each one, carefully deciding their color, their opacity, their placement. I want and love each one, but at this moment they slightly torture me by drawing me into a comforting trap.

"I haven't had an episode in over a month, I'm better," I attempt to say in a firm, solid voice. But I'm too tired, too worn out. My chest burns both from anxiety induced heartburn and how shallow my breathing has been for the past several hours. Mike looks sad, and I hate that. Deeply.

"You have been doing better," he says softly, like a reassuring parent. "I've seen that. And I'm so proud of you."

But I still have this. I'm still like this. I still can't have people wrap their arms around me from behind because I'm instantly taken back to when it would end in me collapsed on the ground, panting, crying, calling out for help that just wouldn't come. I still can't wear shirts with too tight of collars because it always end with me half naked, ripping the shirt off while hyperventilating. That was how I had to tell Mike. For our first Christmas together he bought me this beautiful turtleneck, knowing I liked the style but didn't own many. A dark evergreen color, affordable but a lovely tight-knit material, I adored the thing. But the moment the shirt was over my head, the neck felt like a hand suffocating me, and though I tried to tolerate it fie as long as I could, it only took one casual graze of his hand along my back to send me reeling into a corner, hyperventilating, sobbing, blubbering like a terrified child as I clawed at my neck while he tried to get it off of me.

'I'm so proud of you.' The statement feels like a backhanded reward. It feels as though I'm an idiotic child who just can't learn their ABC's or basic fundamental math. It feels like I'm a small toddler surrounded by adults looking at me full of pity in their eyes while they think 'well, you'll never be normal by any means. But maybe one day if you're lucky, you'll work in a Subway.' But they don't tell me this. They just praise me for existing. 'You woke up today! You put on clothes today! You didn't kill yourself!' It makes me want to scream. Yes, even at him. I want to grab him by his shirt and scream until my voice is shattered 'don't praise me for the bare minimum! I'm not a child!'

But I know he's not. I know he feels the same way when he slips back in progress as well. There was a solid month last year where Mike's insurance refused to pay for his sleep medication due to some paperwork slip and such, something they eventually realized was a complete blip on their end. But that month was hell for Mike, who could barely sleep well even with the medication. His easy smirks were replaced with cracked lips, skin raw from constant biting. His eyes were filled with paranoia from lack of sleep, and worse were the night terrors. Mike didn't even know he was still capable of having them, usually sedated by his meds well enough that if there was a nightmare, he just stayed asleep. At worst he'd wake up in a haze, maybe a very short yelp if anything. But without his meds, it was screaming. Constant screaming. There were nights he would wake after only an hour and he'd start, his voice shrill and reverberating off the walls as he thrashed in the bed. You couldn't console him, touch made him worse. When it happened, you simply had to leave the room and pray he would be okay. The episode could last anywhere from five minutes to an hour, and you would know it was over when all you could hear was broken sobbing, quiet and childlike in nature. Then I would return to the room, and there he'd be. Sometimes wrapped in blankets, sometimes his shirt torn off of himself. Usually sitting either in the dark corner of the room or on the floor of our closet. Red, angry marks would trail along his skin from clawing at himself with his uneven nails, some of them being actual cuts he'd managed in his terror. I'd carefully clean his cuts with cotton balls and hydrogen peroxide while he silently stared ahead, too ashamed to speak or make eye contact with me. And too terrified to sleep again.

Sleep deprivation didn't help, either. One day I saw him with a Redbull stuck in his hand, seemingly never empty despite how much he drank from it. At first I thought it was one, than I realized it was three, then I realized I didn't really know what number he was on. It was surprising how well he could take the new, unusual load of caffeine that tastes sickly sweet without so much as a twitch of an eyebrow. I didn't realize he was trying to starve off sleep until the next morning when his leg was bouncing a mile a minute and he was snapping at every little thing. That day he had a breakdown over dropping an unpeeled onion. And that's when it slipped out.

I didn't judge him. I was terrified for him, but I didn't judge him. And I could tell the same was true for him when I would have my slips, though mine looked different. Mine looked like a lack of self care and rotting in our bed, staring pointlessly ahead until he would lift me off the bed and carefully guide me to a warm bath, where he'd gently wash my skin with a soft rag like I was a newborn while I stared ahead at nothing. At this point we had learned to tell the oncoming signs of each others episodes, and how to starve them off. And if we couldn't, how to help each other through them.

Usually, I don't mind. But today, it hurts. It all hurts.

"Have you eaten?" Mike asks me gently, his thumb gliding over my cheekbone as he wraps me in his embrace, careful of where he places his hands on my person. Like I'm a bomb.

I don't want to be treated like this anymore.

"Yes," I sigh in an irritated voice, like it's the most inconvenient thing he should ask me such a question. But I haven't. I feel empty and yet too full at the same time, and guilt pounds behind my left eye with the ferocity of a headache that I can't just mother myself.

Mike doesn't believe me. He'll pretend he does, but the press of his lips betray him as he takes a deep breath in like he's trying to tell what wire to cut next.

"Would you like to have breakfast with me?" He asks softly, his thumb still stroking just below the raw corner of my eye. It burns. All of it.

'No,' I snap in my head. But I just tighten my jaw and press my own lips together.

"I'm not really hungry, but thank you," I say in a tight voice. Now he's going to pretend that's okay, and he'll go get his breakfast. Then he'll pretend he can't finish it all, joke lightly and say I gave him too big of a portion even though he eats like he's still a growing teenager, and offer me little bites as he "tries" to finish the rest, then eventually trick me into finishing it. He isn't slick, and I'm not a child.

"Hey," he says in a light whisper. "I was thinking maybe we could go out today? All three of us? Or I could call Max, see if she'll watch Abs for a little bit so we can get away?"

Distraction. Cute. I don't need it.

"That could be nice," I admit through half gritted teeth, not meeting his eyes. "Where to?"

"Anywhere," he says too quickly, obviously relieved to have a straw to grasp at. "Your choice."

Guilt twists in my chest like an alien creature settled in my lungs, burning as it begins to slither its way towards my throat to suffocate me on its wrath. He doesn't need to do this. Can't he see how well I'm doing?

"How was work?" He asks me in an attempt to keep me talking. Mike doesn't like silence, not like this. Not really any time. There's always noise throughout the house, whether it's a show on in the background or white noise from his cassette player. He can't stand silence. Especially from people.

"Work was..." Fine? The usual? Non-eventful?

"Good," I decide. Mike presses his lips together again. Stop doing that.

"Yeah?" He asks in a slightly tight voice.

"Yeah," I confirm in a tighter voice.

"You didn't... call out or anything?"

My bottom left back molar feels like it might snap from how tight my jaw is. "Why?" I ask, venom unintentionally creeping in.

"Just asking," he says quickly.

"Why?" I press harder, wanting to know who told on me. Abby hasn't even had the chance to speak with him.

'It's because he knows your patterns,' I think. 'He's trying to gage how serious this is.'

"Maybe we could go out for breakfast? We can wait until Abby wakes up, go get some Waffle Hous-"

"I'm not having an episode," I snap quickly, more harsh than I intended. My tone makes him flinch slightly, his eyes shutting for a moment as he takes another breath in. Now I'm scared he'll pull away.

"We... don't have to talk about this right now," he says softly, opening his eyes again and wrapping his arm around me tighter. "Let's just focus on breakfast."

The guilt pounds in my kidneys, which are sore since I haven't left the bed since I laid down after putting Abby to sleep, but I did have a full water bottle around 3:00 in the morning. It's not Mike's fault I backtracked. He's just trying to be nice. I'm the asshole here.

"I'm sorry," I say in a small voice, dropping my gaze and biting my tongue between my canines again to stop the tears that are now willing to come freely to burn my eyes during such an inappropriate moment.

"It's okay," Mike says softly, placing a kiss on my forehead. "Don't even think about it."

'Don't even think about the fact he's just trying to be a decent person and you can't even say 'thank you,'' a grating voice in my head chides me. 'What, you're too good for a free meal?'

"I'm sorry," I repeat softer, my nails digging into my wrist that I'm holding to keep control over myself. Mike's hand is searching for mine, ready to pry it away to prevent me from doing what I need to to prevent the waterworks.

"Hey." Stop with the 'hey's. "I said it's alright, you're okay."

It's all bad. Everything's bad, and it's not going to get better. I keep thinking I'll get better, I keep thinking I'll be okay. But every two steps forward is one step back and I can't keep doing this redundant bullshit for the rest of my life. Am I going to be 40 at the office Christmas party sneaking off to freak out in the bathroom because something triggered me and I just can't get a grip on things? Am I even going to make it to 40?

Mike is comforting me, cradling my head to his chest and rocking me back and forth. And his shirt is wet. I don't like that his shirt is wet, it should be dry. Why is it fucking wet?

"It's okay," he's whispering in my hair while horrid choking sounds come from somewhere around us. Maybe the other room? "You're alright, it's okay."

I'm aware it's alright, I'm aware it's okay. Why are you wet? Why does my head hurt?

"I can't- sleep," my voice chokes out between guttural sobs, my face pressed into his chest. "It's all nightmares."

Oh. Shit. That's me. The wetness, I did that. My bad.

"I know, it's okay. How long?" Mike asks softly. What, are you gonna call my therapist?

"A week," I moan into his chest. My ribs expand with each recycled breath I steal from against his chest, and I can feel him trying to gently tug me away so I can get one with fresh, cold air instead. I don't let him. My lungs burn more. "They just won't stop."

"It's okay, it's only temporary," he says softly, his hand pushing away some of the blanket to relieve me of the boiling warmth underneath. The cold air is refreshing against my skin, even through my clothes are soaked with stinking sweat.

"No, it's not!" I cry hysterically into his chest. "They don't go away. None of it goes away. I want it to go away!"

He's nodding, rubbing circles on my back as I grip his shirt hard enough it may stretch.

"It'll get better. It did for awhile," he reminds me.

"But I'm back here. I always end up back here. I was doing so good!" I sob, feeling the wetness on his shirt begin to slightly thicken, probably due to snot. I try to sniff it back into my sinuses, but I think that just draws his attention to the new fluid he's covered in.

"That's okay. You'll do even better next time. And if you don't, that's okay too." Don't say what I think you're going to say. Do not. Michael, I'm serious, don't- "I'm still proud of you."

Fuck. Ooooooff!

This is the real release of my emotions. Now I'm gasping, choking, sobbing, making horrible sounds that sound like a European ambulance siren wailing through the streets to announce someone's dying on the way to the hospital. My head throbs with the pain from the heavy crying, and I may give myself a nosebleed from the passion of it all. And Mike, his patience thick and durable, just holds me through it all. Letting me soak his shirt, dirty his skin, grab at him blindly while I wail like a spoiled child, just repeating the phrase over again. 'Proud.' What pride. What honor to be had at such a breakdown. Yes, very understandable.

"I should be better," I sob into his chest. "You deserve better."

"What?" He laughs lightly, and at first it feels mocking, but then he's pulling my head away fron my soaked enclosure and his eyes are so gentle for a moment I know the light laughter is simply from surprise. Then his eyes widen and he's back in parent mode.

"Don't leave me. Don't leave me!" I choke out while gripping his shirt. At first he thinks I'm talking about our relationship, then he realizes I'm not letting him pull away.

"Sweetheart, you're bleeding," he gently explains. "Let me wipe your face. I just need tissues. I'm not even leaving the bed."

But that's too much. Let me bleed, let my head throb, let this headache take the vision away in my eye from how bad it hurts. Let anything happen so long as I can stay in this moment. Don't break the spell. Don't let me go numb again.

"Don't leave me," I cry pathetically, my eyes all scrunched together in the same manner as wailing infants, my grip on his shirt not breaking. Sure enough, there on the wet spot of his shirt is a dark stain of blood that should hopefully come out if we wash it fast enough.

"Let me do that," I'm saying as I try to peel off his shirt now. "Let me wash it."

He's gently guiding my hands away. "Don't worry about it," he says gently, kissing my hands and wrists like they might break even from the delicate graze of his lips. "Let me take care of you."

He does this all the time. He always takes care of me. I should do more. Be more. For him.

"You deserve better," I choke out, feeling like I may suffocate from the tears. Mike's brows furrow in concern, and he grips my chin very carefully as he makes me meet his eyes.

"Hey, no. Get that out of your head, it's all okay," he tells me softly, staring at me like if he can't verbally convince me, his hard stare will do the trick. "I don't want to hear you talk like that."

"I should be better," I repeat, my crying lessening slightly as I try to hold eye contact.

"You're getting better," he reminds me. "This is the happiest I've seen you since we met. You'll get back to that. Hell, you could feel the same way tonight. It's okay. Take a day off. We all need one, even normal people," he says softly, stroking my hair as he kisses my forehead. "Can you just let me take care of you in the meantime?"

No. Go away, let me rot.

"We can still go out for breakfast," he offers gently. "I can still call Max, or we can all stay in. I'll set up a nest in the living room so you can watch TV. Works you like that?"

Stop. Stop being nice to me, stop trying to make me feel better. It all just feels awful. I don't want this guilt, someone takes it away.

Mike must sense my overwhelmed emotions, because he places another kiss on my forehead before asking if he can clean my face again, and this time I say yes. He pulls away, which is still upsetting but less so. I don't make a deal out of it this time at least. He opens a drawer, searching for wipes and pulling them out before turning back to me.

"Do you want to sit up?" He asks gently. I bite my tongue to prevent another mocking thought directed towards me and nod. Bones crack as I do, my kidneys hurt worse. But at least I finally moved.

Tears still streak down my face as Mike wipes away the snot and blood, his large hand gently cupping my face as he does. There's a soft smile on his face, though I'm not particularly sure why. And when he's done, he runs his thumb along my bottom lip before placing his own lips on top of mine. They're chapped, one spot raw from excessive biting. But there's still some leftover chapstick on them, and it tastes like grapefruit.

I tug on his shirt, one hand sneaking under it to feel his cool skin underneath. He gently takes my wrist once more, then pulls away. A silent rejection. He knows that I'm just looking for a distraction from my emotions, and in a moment he'll offer a much healthier one. He does discard the shirt, leaving his chest bare, but only so that he doesn't smear my fluids back onto me as he pulls me in for another embrace.

"We'll be okay," he promises. "Everything will be okay."

"What if it's not?" I ask in a quiet, strained voice.

"Then it'll be okay later. You can take time to not be okay," he says.

There's a short silence before either of us speak. And when I hear his voice hitch in the way it does when he's about to say something, Abby's alarm rings crystal clear in her room. Then the sound of a truck rattles by on the road in front of the house. Birds continue to sing. And my pours feel so clogged I'm sure my skin will be lashing out for days.

But it'll all be okay.

                             ¤▪︎{♧}▪︎¤

"Can we have some fluff to reco-" no. Suffer.

Taglist:

@cassiecasluciluce @gh0u1ishly @joshhutchersons-slut @schmidtsbimbo @sugarevans @wompwompwomp57 @jhutchissupercool @laurrrelise. Thank you for your support pookies!!! <3

               •▪︎Masterlist▪︎•

[talesofesther]

all that love ever taught me

Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Eddie has loved you for a long while, he just doesn't have what it takes to tell you, and that might just be his downfall.

Requested by @stiegasaw: Could you do something with Eddie as a secret admirer?

A/N: This one is written in a bit of a different style than what I normally do, but I think it turned out okay, do let me know. Also, exclusively from Eddie's pov (a very lovesick Eddie, might I add) <3.

Masterlist

Eddie Munson despised cliches.

He hated when movies threw in that overly done love story, where against all odds, the guy gets the girl in the end. It was overused and too far away from reality, more often than not making him roll his eyes at his TV to a movie he was enjoying before all the mushy stuff started.

He couldn't stand it because they always made it look like the real world was a sea of roses, which was so so far from the truth.

Eddie hated cliches, because ultimately, he was living the biggest of them all. Except in his scenario, a happy ending was nowhere to be seen.

The tragedy started after the first time Eddie failed to graduate, Jason was giving him shit about it right on the first day back, making a show with his peers about how much of a failure Eddie was. And that's when you came crashing into his life — his personal angel, he liked to think — strutting up beside Eddie with your doc martens and a faded Bon Jovi shirt, talking all sweet about how Jason alone managed to lose the last game of basketball for the school's team. It shut the jock up and sent a cupid's arrow right through Eddie's chest; who acted like a massive weirdo and was too flustered to say anything to you. Safe to say he was kinda glad for being held back after discovering you'd be sharing his classes.

And now, six months later and a lot of wishful glances combined with leaping hearts, Eddie found himself head over heels in love with the girl who defended him once. But he couldn't be blamed, no one stands up for Eddie Munson, and when you also smile at him from the other side of the classroom and take an extra set of notes whenever he misses a class, he was bound to become every single cliche he said to hate.

_

Monday morning started out with shy rays of sun peeking over grey clouds, making the steadily falling droplets of rain shine. It was precisely the kind of morning that got Eddie wanting to turn around in his bed and continue sleeping. But he couldn't, an annoying chemistry assignment said so.

Hawkins High's parking lot was more packed than usual, leaving Eddie to park his van a little further than he'd like. He huffed in disdain when he plucked the key from the ignition, putting on his hoodie in a cheap attempt to not get soaked.

Water splashed around his sneakers as Eddie ran towards the school's doors, backpack bouncing on his back.

He stopped just short of reaching the roof, his feet coming to a halt when his gaze landed on you, who stood beside the glass doors he was trying to reach, shaking the rain from your umbrella.

Eddie felt a single drop of water running down his forehead, and then another, and one more; his hair shining as more and more raindrops clung to it. It happened most of the time, a small part of him froze whenever he was presented with the possibility of having a moment with you. Something inside him kept saying; 'what do you want with someone like her? Someone so astronomically out of your league? You'll just weird her out eventually'. Even if you were nothing but kind, always making an effort to talk with him, he still hesitated.

"Eddie, man," Gareth's voice snapped Eddie's mind back to reality, "what the hell are you doing? You're getting soaked." The boy stood on the sidewalk, under the small roof of the brick wall, frowning and shaking his head at Eddie.

"Just zoned out." Eddie waved a dismissive hand at him, walking under the roof and out of the rain. He pushed back his hoodie, shaking his head as a dog would to get rid of the raindrops.

Gareth scoffed, "yeah right, and I'm looking at the reason why," he pointedly shot a glance in your direction with a smirk, earning himself a shove in the shoulder from Eddie that only made him laugh harder.

_

There were rare times in which Eddie would consider himself lucky. Having your locker just three doors away from his, was one of those times.

Eddie took his time separating his books, gently swinging the metal door back and forth and creating a melody with the rusty hinges and the click of his rings.

Your laughter made his ears perk up. Not so subtly, he peeked from behind the locker's door. His fingers fumbled with the little notebook he had in his hands, anticipation building in his stomach.

A soft chuckle escaped you, resonating through the school's hallway and making Eddie smile. He watched as you carefully picked up the note, as your eyes crinkled with a smile of your own once you read it.

With messy handwriting — messier than normal, considering his nerves — Eddie had slipped the first anonymous note inside your locker just barely a month ago. For the sole purpose of him hearing a conversation between you and one of your friends, where you were saying how you felt a little weird in your new jacket, like everyone was looking at you. And Eddie simply couldn't let it pass, because it was a light blue leather jacket that had rendered him breathless for a moment, and he needed you to know. So he wrote;

For what's worth, I think your look is pretty metal. Which in my humble opinion, is the most beautiful there is.

It got you biting your lip to contain the smile, holding onto the small note as if it was a diamond ring.

Eddie got pretty addicted to the sight, so every once in a while, he'd pour little bits of his affection in a note and slip it into your locker.

Too late, he realized you had closed said locker and were now making your way to him.

He subconsciously straightened his posture, hastily shoving his black little notebook into his back pocket.

"Hey, Eddie." You held onto his locker door, fingers dangerously close to his own.

Eddie cleared his throat, his thumb barely grazed the skin of your hand before he pulled away. "Y/N, to what do I owe the honor?"

You chuckled and swatted at his arm. For a moment, your lips parted, and it looked like you wanted to say something else, before the words faded and you settled for; "I took some extra notes in our last class, Mr. Anderson usually gives us a few minutes to catch up before his tests, you can take them if you'd like." You extended the paper to him, with the neat handwriting Eddie was all too familiar with.

"Shit, you're an angel, sweetheart," the pet name slipped past his lips like butter, as if it was routine, as if you were his to call. His locker door shut with a loud bump of metal against metal, eyes fixed on yours to see how much damage his loose tongue had caused.

There was a reason for the way he felt so drawn to you, Eddie figured, maybe if he was bold enough, he'd test fate.

You smirked, eyelashes kissing the corner of your eyes, touch as sweet as honey and as warm as the sun when your fingers closed around the cuff of his hoodie. "Come on, don't wanna be late, he's not exactly kind in that matter," you fell into step beside Eddie, hooking your pinkie with his, "you'd know, right?"

He would know, Eddie was once ten minutes late for that class and had the door slammed in his face. That was the last thing he could think about though, with the way his heart was threatening to beat out of his chest. Your skin was soft against his guitar-scarred fingertips. He loved the feeling, it numbed any and all other senses.

_

When the last bell of the day rang, sending eager students home, the rain was even worse than it was in the morning. Eddie was glad the classes were over, he'd happily stay in his room for the whole rest of the day; lights out, cigarette hanging from his lips as he mindlessly strummed his guitar with the sounds of rain hitting the roof.

Just as he walked out of the school doors, Eddie found you, your back was pressed to the brick wall as droplets of rain collected on your boots — courtesy of the ridiculously small roof from outside — you held your backpack straps with one hand and your umbrella with the other, wisps of loose hair following the same path the cold wind set. Eddie could see the goosebumps on the naked skin of your arms, he wanted to pull you close, or at least give you his hoodie.

"I thought it would get better, but I think it just got worse," Eddie chuckled, looking up at the dark clouds with a grimace.

"Oh yeah," you glanced at him and then up as well, "perfect weather to stay at home though, isn't it?"

Selfishly, Eddie thought of hot chocolate; of his comfy worn couch, and a cheesy movie on his TV. He thought of sweaters and fluffy blankets; of pouring the sweet hot drink in two mugs, and bringing one of them to you.

"Sure is," Eddie stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans, averting his eyes, a ghost of a smile on his lips for the dream that could never be.

He didn't see your smile, or how you looked at him like he held the moon and stars at his fingertips. He did feel your shoulder bumping into his. You had moved closer, now pressed to him under the small roof.

"Are you waiting for someone?" Eddie asked, blinking down at you when tiny raindrops flew on his cheeks.

"Not really," you huffed, raising your umbrella, "I'm kind of on my own."

"What? In this?" He raised his eyebrows, jutting a thumb towards the pouring rain as if you hadn't noticed it.

You just shrugged, "I was gonna wait it out a bit."

"You're gonna wait forever." He pursed his lips, not thinking much about his next words, "let me give you a ride."

"No, Eddie, it's okay, I don't wanna bother-"

"You could never."

Eddie blamed it on the heavy rain when he clasped your hand in his, running with you to the school's parking lot and to his van. The end of his jeans got soaked as he stepped in the puddles and strands of hair started clinging to his wet cheeks and forehead, but he didn't care, you were laughing and holding tight onto his hand and it was the prettiest thing he had ever seen.

A few drops of water were running down the bridge of your nose and to your chin when you threw yourself on the passenger's seat, Eddie following close behind and slamming shut the driver's door.

Eddie gripped tight the steering wheel, the last bits of laughter dying on his lips. He was a little breathless, from the running or from having you in his van, he didn't know. "Where to, angel?"

The sound of raindrops hitting the metal roof was muffled because of the closed windows, making the rain seem much more tender than it was. You let go of your backpack, letting it rest on your feet as you wiped away the raindrops stuck to your eyelashes.

You leaned closer before answering, one hand coming up to brush away strands of hair caught in Eddie's lips.

Any coherent thoughts slipped from his mind when your fingertips touched his cheek, as you slowly tamed his curls behind his ear so you could see his eyes clearly. As simple as it was, it felt intimate in a way Eddie had never been with anyone else, making his body fill with goosebumps from head to toe. The naive side of him wanted it to mean something.

Only once you pulled away, that Eddie could look at you, pupils blown wide and hoping you couldn't see the pink on his cheeks.

"I'll guide you." Was all you said.

Eddie drove out of the school's parking lot with ease, making sure to keep well under the speed limit as he followed your directions.

Somewhere along the way, the silence started to become a bit too loud. Eddie fumbled with his radio a bit, until you startled him by saying, quite animatedly, that you loved this song.

"This one?" He asked, gaze moving between you and the radio. It was a Judas Priest song, one Eddie knows all too well, but didn't expect you to like.

"Yeah, I usually blast it on my player whenever I have to clean the house, until my mom tells me to turn it down," you mumbled the last part.

Eddie chuckled, chancing another glance your way before turning up the volume just a smidge. "I like it too. I uh- I've even played it once, with my band."

You turned to him, eyes twinkling with excitement, "you have a band?"

Eddie had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep focused, knuckles turning white around the steering because oh how you drive him mad in the best possible way. "I do, yeah, we usually play at The Hideout for a few drunks who are there to watch. It's not much but, it's something already."

"Oh, this is me," you quickly pointed at your house, causing Eddie to slam the breaks abruptly.

The house was pretty, he didn't even realize he had entered one of the nicest neighborhoods in town. It was easy to be around you, to get wrapped up in the warmth of your presence; it was easy to forget why he kept you at arm's length in the first place.

You had good grades and popular friends, a nice house, parents with well-paid jobs, and a promising future. You'd no doubt be leaving for college as soon as you graduate, leaving Hawkins behind, leaving Eddie. Because that's exactly what fits in with you, something better than this town, better than him. At least that's the excuse Eddie chose to tell himself to avoid another loss.

"Eddie this is so awesome," you finally continued, "when I was younger I sometimes wanted to have a band too. You know, travel the world, play for different people."

"Yeah well, I'm about as close to doing that as you are," Eddie smirked, turning off his van and slumping back in his seat, feeling rather drunk in the way your perfume got trapped in the stuffy van.

"Bullshit, you can play. Me and instruments definitely don't see eye to eye." You picked up your backpack, hugging it to your chest and making no effort to leave, even though you were right in front of your house.

I can teach you, if you'd like. Is what Eddie wanted to say, he could feel the words pushing against his throat and forming a lump there. Or maybe; you should come see us play sometime.

He couldn't bring himself to say it.

You waited for just a second longer before thanking him and saying goodbye, as if you were asking him to do something, anything that would tell you what this dance between you two was.

Eddie watched you run from his van and to your porch, waiting until you were safely inside your home and he was left alone with just the low tune of the radio.

As he drove to his trailer, something felt missing. Every time he turned to look at the passenger's seat the hollowness in his chest deepened. He felt like a coward for losing his chance, one he would probably not have again.

The rain was falling heavily, making the radio stutter in its play. Eddie fiddled with the buttons until all he heard was static, he punched the steering wheel, almost knocking the old thing out of place, before heaving out a frustrated sigh and slumping back in his seat.

"What's wrong with you, man?" He asked himself and didn't know the answer. But he cursed his parents, for leaving him with a scarred heart. He cursed Hawkins and that damn school for putting a target on his back. He cursed you, too, for making him fall so easily. Mainly though, he cursed himself.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are very much appreciated. <3

Read Part 2 here

Eddie’s taglist: @milkiane @bookfrog242 @alicefallsintotherabbithole @boooil @science--hoes @cherrypieyourface @tssf-imagines @daph-505 @astream-ofconsciousness @fentyreligion @fantasylovestoryme @justabeautiful-letdown @crazyrapunzel @yessica41 @dancing-hillary @bakugouswh0r3 @hehehehannahthings @jakebasement @zervopoulouu @forverdaydreamer-blog @fromthedt

@oeuryale @mcueveryday @witchbinchstories @call-me-magpie @loveshineslikethesky @luvmybbies @tvserie-s-world @agirlsguidetolove @hallothankmas @ribyourtoplip @sweetpeapod @forsaken-letters @hazydespair @fangirling-4-ever @electric-cabaret @ollyoxenfrees @linkpk88 @twinkofmydreams @paola-carter @masterlistmanic @xceafh @andraimeide @esoltis280

[shinalenecaffeinatedwriter]

GunnTech AU Character's Favorite Animal Headcanon to Little to None Explanation

or it's 2024, my current hyperfixation is @elmushterri 's GunnTech AU and I don't care anymore

Connor: Cats in general (for obvious reasons), but Stray and Feral cats have his whole heart. Almost every time he goes out for a run or whatever he'd bring a backpack with cat food, treats, maybe even cheap water bowls and leave them where he knows there's a ton of strays.

Greg: Geckos, it's Lizards in general but geckos are his obvious Top 1

Amaya: Everyone thinks is Owls (for obvious reasons), they were when she younger, but is currently Moths.

Nori: Crickets since they were young and Maine Coons, he thinks they match his own glamourous style sooo perfectly. They also do the 'leave food for strays' thing with the ninjalinos but incluing dogs, also he swears there's someone else feeding a specific Cat colony and reallyyy wants to meet them. (Of course it's Connor, I'm a sucker for this kind of thing)

Romeo: Ants. His mom definitely helped him do an ant colony in a bottle or a jar and he still has It, upgraded of course, but he keept the original jar.

Luna: Ferrets. Tiny, but mighty. When she was younger it was Moths and Owls.

Cartoka: Rabbits. Will correct anyone who calls them Roddents, they're Lagomorphoes.

Carly: Turtles. Everybody thinks she and Greg bonded at some point because they think their favorites are very similar, but they actually have regular arguments about the topic because Carly thinks 'Amphibians are superior' and has gotten on Greg's nerves once or twice.

Isabella "Octobella": Absolutely loved Octopous prior to GunnTech, because of its intellegence; then in GunnTech she got bullied for that, got the nickname then the transformation happened and started to dispite them (and herself). Later in life she started to redirect that anger towards GunnTech and work on her self-steem, but currently if you ask her she'll respond Shrimps. A Ninjalino asked her and agreed with the Shrimp answer saying they were cool, so she's a little more confident about that liking.

Dylan: He reallyyy wants to say Triceratops, but thinks is too childish so he says Rhinos

An Yu Guō: It's a tie between Iguanas and Dragonflies

Badriya "Bastet": She really thinks any type of feline would be unoriginal, so she goes with Bettles. Except if it's Connor asking, then it's Cheetahs

Rhiannon "Ripp": Wolfs. When she was younger she adored the whole 'Wolfs are solitary, cool and edgy' type of media; but now she's more leaned towards the 'being a pack' idea.

Hywel "Howler": Deers, oddly enough.

Kevin: Pigeons. He really resonates the whole 'all the Pigeons in the US are the decendants of old Messenger Pigeons and were abandon after they were no longer of use and became feral' thing, so he has a lot of respect for them and feeds them seeds, not bread.

Ivan: Polar Bears. He knows it's basic but doesn't care.

Newton: Fireflies.

Lily "Lilyfay": Buterflies and Sea Angels, just because Newton show her a picture and she thought it was super cool and pretty.

Daisy (Ninjalino): Hamsters

Eloide Mecano (Romeo's mom): Frogs and Toads. Not in a 'I want to dissect them' way, in a 'I have large specialized terrariums for each species that I have' and 'I love their skin's texture' kind of way.

Maria Martinez (Connor's mom): Fancy Cat Breeds like Ragdolls, Persians, Bengalis, etc. but NOT Maine coons because She thinks they're 'too much like dogs', she also goes to Cat Shows but doesn't participate. As well as thinking Strays are dirty and dangerous, so Connor has to hides the 'feeding strays and feral' thing (Shut up, I like RomComs)

Kimiko Kobayashi (Amaya's Aunt): Poodles. She grew up with standard poodles, currently has toy poodles and She reallyyy wants to have a Royal-Size at some point. Plus, She participates in Dog Shows; if it's one of 'the Big ones' there's usually a Cat Shows happening in the same place so I imagine Maria and her having coffee together and talking trash about EVERYONE

Grayson Gunn (Greg's Uncle): Gigant Scolopendra

Phinneas Gunn: He denied this multiple times trough his life for various reason, but Koalas

[mysticstarlightduck]

Extra 2.0 OC Favorites!

Some more characters from What Lurks In The Hollow, Zach Taylors and Amy Millihan!

Rules: share photos of your OCs' favorite color, season, shoe choice, weapon, food & drink, clothing style, mode of transportation, animal, pastime, and breakfast and if they're an introvert/ambivert/extrovert then change up any one of the five favorite things categories for the next round. BONUS: Add some music/songs that fit their aesthetic (the songs don't have to be their favorite songs, just fit their vibe)!

Zach Taylors

Favorites:

Color: Graphite black/dark gray

Season: Spring

Shoe Choice: Worn-out black converse studded with metal spikes and chains that were added to it through a DIY

Weapon: Pocket-knife

Food: Cheap diner hamburgers with curly fries

Drink: Vanilla Ice Cream Milkshake

Style: Improvised goth style with dark ripped denim pants, band shirts, studded belts with chains, fingerless gloves with black fish netting, tin rings and black leather vests.

Mode of Transportation: Skateboard

Animals: Geckos and lizards. Has one gecko named Mark, whom he stole from a parked pet store truck.

Pastime: Reading good books by the campfire

Breakfast: White chocolate protein bars

Personality: Ambivert.

Songs:

I'm Alive - Shinedown

Hayloft - Mother Mother

I'm Just A Kid - Simple Plan

Washing Machine Heart - Mitski

Welcome to the black parade! - My Chemical Romance

Amy Millihan

Favorites:

Color: Pastel, especially pastel yellow

Season: Winter

Shoe Choice: Purple sneakers with star patches

Weapon: Baseball bat

Food: Fried chicken wings with barbecue sauce

Drink: Soda

Style: Simple long-sleeved shirts usually under a T-shirt with a fun pattern, thrift shop pants and a backpack

Mode of Transportation: Her creaky old pastel yellow bike

Animal: Both cats and dogs!

Pastime: Watching movies to fall asleep or to have a movie night, when Dylan has the time.

Breakfast: Waffles with chocolate

Personality: Mild extrovert, wary extrovert lol

Songs:

Butterfly Fly Away - Miley Cyrus

Girls Just Wanna Have Fun - Cindy Lauper

Here's to Never Growing Up - Avril Lavigne

One Call Away - Charlie Puth

Fox On The Run - Sweet

Tagging (gently): @sleepy-night-child, @kaylinalexanderbooks, @smol-feralgremlin, @wyked-ao3, @topazadine @littleladymab,

@winterandwords, @eccaiia, @sarahlizziewrites, @illarian-rambling

@agirlandherquill, @anoelleart, @ray-writes-n-shit

@writernopal, @anyablackwood, @unstablewifiaccess, @forthesanityofstorytellers

@i-can-even-burn-salad, @cakeinthevoid @thecomfywriter

@thepeculiarbird, @clairelsonao3, @memento-morri-writes, @starlit-hopes-and-dreams @amaiguri

@cherrychiplip @thecomfywriter @thelovelymachinery

@differentnighttale, @leahnardo-da-veggie

[gay-transformation-stories]

The art of being a good neighbor

Steve and I have been married for 5 years. We loved watching movies together on the couch with a bottle of wine in the evenings. Sexually there was rarely anything going on, we did love each other, but from a purely visual point of view I was never the type of man Steve liked. I worked as an art historian and was of average build and wore glasses. Steve was blond and brown eyes.

Steve rather liked muscular and athletic men. Just like our neighbor Warren, a rude man with a big toned body and an arrogant grin. He was a poser, he liked to show off his body and he was a fitness trainer. Most of the time he was unfriendly and dismissive to us. Still, Steve looked at him as he hadn't looked at me in a long time. I could feel Steve losing interest in me over the years. I was jealous of Warren's body and wanted Steve to look at me the same way. Despite hard training, it was impossible for me to look even remotely as good.

Ever since Warren moved in across the street from us, we've had constant problems with him. He threw garbage at our door, he let his dogs shit on our lawn, and he played loud music all day. I kindly pointed it out to him, but he ignored me.

Steve always looked disappointed because I couldn't get my way. He said nothing, but I could feel his contempt. He thought I was a sissy. I decided to do something. I could no longer watch as I slowly lost respect and love from Steve. I had to show him that I was a man too.

Like every day after work, I came home to see a movie with Steve. Warren's music was on full blast again. I was pissed and wanted to face the situation, I had an idea so I walked over and went to Warren's house and knocked on the door. But nobody opened.

I decided to enter the house. As I entered and walked into the living room I saw Warren sleeping on the couch.

The first thing I noticed again was his extremely well-trained body. He was wearing only sweatpants and a gold chain around his neck. I stopped and looked at him closely, looking for a flaw to make me feel better but I couldn't find anything, Warren's body and face were perfect.

His house had been big and expensive, but you could tell right away that he had no taste and was not an intelligent man either, there were no books, only tit magazines, a huge TV the size of a wall and a tasteless faux leather couch.

The air was filled with the smell of cheap body spray. Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust and the furnishings seemed thrown together.

Warren was shirtless on the couch, snoring loudly. His massive body took up most of the couch and his long muscular legs hung over the end. His pecs were moving up and down in time with his snoring, and I couldn't help but smile. He looked so ridiculous I almost forgot why I envied him.

I caught his foul smell of sweat and was glad I could get out of that disgusting house right away. But first I had to do something. I pulled a book out of my backpack. I had taken it with me just to be safe, without really knowing why. It was an medieval art book with various spells.

I began to recite the spell and the book began to warm up. I felt the magic flow through my body, suddenly the book started to glow and I lost consciousness.

Suddenly I heard the alarm clock ring. I was lying in my own bed, I was tired and wanted to go back to sleep until I remembered what had happened: I was at Warren's house casting the spell... I jumped up and ran to the mirror.

I looked at myself in the mirror, I was in Warren's body now. Suddenly I was masculine, fit, tall and very muscular.

I looked at myself in the mirror and couldn't help but admire my new, perfect body. I tensed my muscles and moved to see what they look like and how well I could control them. I was amazed at how fit and attractive I looked and finally feelt confident and desirable. It was an incredible transformation and I couldn't believe it had really happened.

As I stood in the mirror, I saw an ID card on the dresser. But something was strange, next to my name was not my face to see, but that of Warren, or rather the face that belonged to Warren. We swapped bodies but kept our lives. I was still an art historian and married to Steve, but with the body of a fitness model.

Warren, on the other hand, was still an uneducated, noisy douche bag. However, he was now short and fat. He was still our annoying neighbor who liked to pose topless in the driveway to show off his muscles, only now he didn't have any, just a skinny body.

Sometimes when I come home from work and see Warren washing his junk car in the driveway, I have to smile. Then I stop and like to talk to him about my training plan.

I notice how he secretly examines my body with his eyes and then looks down at himself and I feel the jealousy in him. I explained to him that as an art historian I have a special sense of proportion and beauty and that it is therefore impossible for him to have a body like mine. Then he usually gets angry without knowing how to answer it. He never was a smart guy. I love it when he feels small, so I always stand extra close to him when I'm talking so he has to look up at me. Steve and I laugh at Warren, who we call the "wannabe gangster".

Since the body swap, I've been fucking Steve like an animal every morning and night while he's on all fours in front of me. The fact that Warren was secretly watching us from his house made me horny. There's nothing hotter than gay sex with a body that used to belong to a hot straight man.

The End

[underscar]

THE SCULPTURE & THE SCULPTOR

Pairing: Makima/Female Reader

Summary: The sun was slowly setting on a brisk evening, casting a golden-orange glow over the bustling streets. The air was crisp and cool, signalling the beginning of autumn, and the leaves on the trees had started to turn shades of auburn. You met her that fall evening, and fell in love that October. Warm sunlight elapsed your memories and your love story with Makima and it all felt like a dream, until it erupted into a nightmare. The phrase "separating the artist from the art" is one that dates back long ago. Both the art and the artist can be seen as their own entities; yet, the artist has the control and power to destroy that oeuvre.

CHAINSAW MAN MASTERLIST

A/N: finished this oneshot. was shorter then i expected it to be but that’s alright. as always, i’ve been occupied with school and work and volunteering and just…life.

WORD COUNT // 3209 words

The sun was slowly setting on a brisk evening, casting a golden-orange glow over the bustling streets. The air was crisp and cool, signaling the beginning of autumn, and the leaves on the trees had started to turn shades of auburn.

The streets were packed with people going about their daily business. Groups of students hurried home after their after-school activities and cram school, their backpacks slung over their shoulders and their uniforms crumpled from a long day of studying and play.

Workers in suits walked with purpose, their briefcases in hand, eager to catch the earliest subway home to their families. Their fatigue expressions spoke of long hours spent in the office, but they soldiered on, determined to make it home to their loved ones.

And amidst the sea of people were others, simply out to get their shopping done before the night fully set in. The bright lights of the shops and neon signs illuminated the streets, beckoning shoppers to come in and browse their wares.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the city transformed. The neon signs grew brighter, casting colorful shadows on the pavement. The streets became livelier, with people pouring out of restaurants and bars, ready to enjoy the night ahead. Despite the crowds and noise, there was a sense of peace and harmony in the air.

Tokyo was a city that never slept, but on this fall evening, it seemed to slow down just enough for everyone to take a moment to appreciate the beauty of the changing season.

The multiple chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling of the pet shop also casted a warm, golden glow over the store, giving it an almost magical quality.

The shop was located just a few blocks away from your apartment in the bustling city of Tokyo, and you often found yourself wandering in on lazy evenings to browse the various pet supplies and see the cute cats and dogs. The puppies specifically were your favorite.

Today, you found yourself standing in the soap aisle, surrounded by an array of colorful bottles and containers. You were looking for a special shampoo for your new puppy, a fluffy golden retriever that you had adopted a few weeks ago, disregarding your father's displeasure. The recent adoption makes your dog duo now a trio.

As you scanned the shelves, you noticed a woman with reddish hair knitted in a braid standing a few feet away, examining a bottle of dog shampoo. A brand you recognized. She was dressed in a stylish outfit, a suit that was as sleek as a cats coat, along with a trench coat that didn’t drown her form, yet instead curved it like a cape, all complete with a perfume that smelled so strong, like greek gardens in heaven.

“That brand is rather cheap,” you blurt out. The snobby words escaped your lips unnoticed.

She turned to you with a raised eyebrow, her expression conveying a mix of surprise. “Pardon me?”

You suddenly realized how snobby and rude your comment sounded, that you even spoke at all. You didn't even know this woman, and here you were, making assumptions about her shopping choices. Feeling embarrassed, you cover your face and you quickly tried to backtrack.

“Um - uh, well this is,” you stop yourself from stuttering and clear your throat. “I actually had to return it recently. Both of my retrievers had an…uh,” you lower your voice, “really bad skin infection after using the soup. I just would never recommend it.”

The woman's expression softened slightly, but she still looked a bit guarded. "I understand," she said coolly. “But just because a product is bad doesn’t typically relate to its affordability, does it not?”

You looked down at your purse, feeling shameful. “Ah, slip of the tongue. My apologies. I misspoke.”

As a child of affluent and politically influential parents, you were constantly surrounded by privilege and power. From the lavish parties and exotic vacations to the private schools and exclusive clubs, your life was a far cry from that of the average person. However, despite the obvious perks of your upbringing, you often found yourself feeling like an outsider, rather than fitting in with those around you.

Perhaps it was the fact that you stood out from the crowd with your designer clothes, expensive technology, and sleek cars. Or maybe it was the subtle differences in your upbringing that made you feel out of place, like the way your parents talked about politics over dinner, or the fact that they were always traveling to meet with world leaders and dignitaries. Whatever the reason, you worried that people saw you as snobby or spoiled, simply because of your background. And to be honest, there were times when you felt like those labels were justified, just like now.

The women smiled. “You’re cute.”

Your face instantly burned with embarrassment.

You weren't sure how to respond, and you wondered if she was flirting with you. You looked up shakily from your purse, your eyes then meeting hers. You gasped when you noticed her exotic eyes. They were a striking yellow color, with multiple red rings within them. For a moment, you were mesmerized by their beauty, forgetting your embarrassment and confusion, being hypnotized.

Nevertheless, as the woman's stare became apparent, you realized that you had no idea how to respond to her comment. You stammered out a few awkward words, trying to come up with an explanation for your sudden embarrassment, but nothing feasible came out.

She quirked her head. “Also slip of the tongue. Apologies.”

She then stuck out her hand to you. “I’m Makima. You?”

Your lip quivered as you spoke her name. “Makima…”

The moment you told her your name, you had become hers.

You embarked on your relationship the following October, and it was during that same month that you found yourself falling deeply in love accompanied by autumn weather.

“Moving fast in your relationship”—your father spat. He wasn’t wrong, but you were loving every moment and day under Makima.

You and Makima spent countless evenings together, her walking you down the vibrant streets of Tokyo, discovering hidden gems, and indulging in the city's rich culture. She effortlessly unveiled a side of the city that had eluded you in your privileged upbringing. Not only were the experiences enchanting, but it was Makima herself who drew you closer. Her magnetic aura captivated you from the moment you met. Makima's intelligence, wit, and care for dogs made you constantly crave her company. She destroyed your perspective, forced you to question your assumptions, and told you to embrace the beauty of imperfection.

As your relationship deepened, Makima entrusted you with a secret—she was a devil hunter. Although she didn't reveal the specifics of her career, you knew she held a high position and enjoyed the benefits that came with it, evident in her lifestyle and the numerous dogs under her care. She had a contract with a Devil, but she didn't disclose the details of this arrangement, nor did she want you to be involved in her dangerous work. Respectful of her wishes, you refrained from prying for more information.

Instead, Makima had you to stay at home and keep your relationship separate from her professional life. Since you had never worked before and your parents supported your financial needs, it seemed reasonable for you to take on the responsibility of caring for her pack of dog, along with your two, now in Makima's home. After all, she had generously moved you into her house. You willingly embraced this role and followed Makima's instructions, appreciating the opportunity to contribute in your own way while living under her roof.

Thus each day fell into a rhythm.

Mornings arrived with the stirrings of sunlight, coaxing you from slumber. Always when you woke up, you were alone. In the corner of your eye you would see the bathroom light on underneath the door, where you could hear water running. This signalling Makima getting dressed. She always woke up early before you could register her leaving the bed at all. In order to not disturb her, you would use the guest bathroom.

Then, afterwards, you’d go downstairs and start to prepare breakfast for you and the hoard of dogs, their wagging tails adding cheer to the steaming kitchen. Makima however never ate breakfast at home, despite her waking up early enough to eat, she always left for work without doing so. Subsequently, as plates were made, Makima would come downstairs, to the dogs and your excitement.

Makima, adorned in her immaculate devil hunter suit and trench-coat, would depart early for her duties, her presence exuding confidence and purpose. Before leaving, she would grace you with a tender farewell before sealing it with a kiss. "Be good," she would softly utter as she crossed the threshold. To whom those words were directed remained a mystery—once you pondered if they were intended for your exuberant four-legged friends gathered by the doorway or if, in a strange twist, they were meant for you?

Once Makima embarked on her work and you found yourself confined within the walls of her home, the hours stretching ahead, blank canvases awaiting strokes of purpose from the artist—you the canvas. Yet, a familiar pattern emerged as her absence settled in.

Thoughts, ceaseless and unrestrained, flooded your mind, overwhelming you, akin to a tumultuous storm brewing within. Pondering became second nature, almost synonymous with migraines. Your rumination meandered through various facets of you and Makima’s relationship, occasionally interrupted with words of your father.

Primarily, your thoughts gravitated towards Makima—inevitable, for love held you captive in this home. In her presence, the mental restlessness waned, and your mind found solace in the assurance she exuded. Thinking less was effortless when she was near, her mere existence a balm for your turbulent thoughts. She found your thoughts cute, thoughts worried so much for her sake.

Your relationship continued to winter, and winter was cold and bleak.

"I'm scared," you admit, your voice filled with trepidation.

The reality of Makima's career as a devil hunter was something that had taken a toll on you more than you had initially anticipated. At first, you had been intrigued by her strength and determination, admiring her for her ability to face the darkness of the world you lived in head-on. However, as time passed, you began to see the darker side of her world, and it started to affect you in ways I hadn't imagined. Death seemed to linger around Makima like a shadow, both in her professional and personal life.

The constant threat of powerful devils and dangerous missions weighed heavily on her shoulders, and that weight often spilled over into your relationship. The nights when she returned from a particularly gruelling battle, covered in blood and forsaken things, were nights filled with worry and fear from yourself. You couldn't help but imagine the worst and dread the possibility of losing her.

But it wasn't just the physical dangers that troubled you. No, it was the emotional toll of her work. The secrets she had to keep, the compromises she had to make, and the people she had to sacrifice for the greater good of her cause began to gnaw at your conscience. It amazed you how she kept herself so disciplined and stable despite it all. Work, with its constant demands and unpredictable hours, easily seeped into you and Makima’s home life.

There were nights when she would receive urgent phone calls, forcing her to abandon our plans, which she did with ease. Though you would lie if you said it did not leave you feeling neglected and alone. Alone constantly in this home, lost with your anxieties and thoughts.

Makima raises an eyebrow, her expression curious. "Oh. Scared of what, my dear?”

"I'm scared of…losing you, Makima," you confess, your words laced with vulnerability. "Lately, it feels like our relationship isn't a,” the fear of possibly offending her scared you more than anything, “uh, priority to you.” You used that word carefully.

Makima's gaze intensifies as she considers your words. "So, you believe I should reassess my priorities?” she asked. “And you think you’re a priority? Is that what you’re saying?”When she worded it like that you felt awful and belittled.

You stumble over your words. "I... I mean, we're dating, and... I just want to feel like we matter to each other.” You were sheepish, like a school girl.

Makima held her chin high, looking down at you through her long lashes. "Darling, don't be afraid to express yourself. If that's how you feel, I want to understand.”

You let out a shaky sigh, your voice filled with resignation. "I understand you're busy, Makima. I just don't… want you to stress yourself too much." You force yourself to say these words to please her and in a way, end this.

“Good. I’ll make sure not to.”

The winter winds howled and pounded against the windows, rattling the panes and sending shivers down your already tense spine. The room was bathed in the soft, flickering light of the fireplace, its crackling providing a comforting contrast to the harshness of the outside world and the void that was inside this distant home. The room was in a void of silence until Makima broke it.

"Look at me," she states, her eyes fixed on the book placed in her hands.

For some reason, despite your dismay, you do what she says easily and look into her eyes.

In the corner of your eye, you could see a flicker of understanding passing through Makima's eyes as she reaches out to gently touch your hand. "I hear you," she murmurs softly. "I may have been preoccupied, but I assure you, our relationship matters to me."

A glimmer of hope ignites within you as you meet her gaze fully. "Really?"

She nods, her expression sincere.

As you take in her words, a sense of reassurance washes over you. Perhaps, in this moment of honesty and vulnerability, you and Makima could strengthen your love. “I love you,” you say with no thought but with hope.

Before she could respond to your heartfelt declaration, a familiar tone chimed from her phone, interrupting the moment like a cruel déjà vu. You hold in a resigned sigh as Makima swiftly rose from her seat, reaching for her trench coat and draping around her, shielding her from the unforgiving cold that seemed to have no effect on her. It was a stark reminder that her duty called her away once more, leaving you alone and vulnerable to the haunting thoughts that seemed to shadow your every moment.

With the slam of the door, she disappeared into the night, and you watched her silhouette retreat into the darkness, a sense of loneliness creeping in. It was a feeling you had grown accustomed to, a feeling you had faintly hoped would change after the discussion you just had, a recurring ache that accompanied her absence. Once again, you found yourself left alone with your thoughts, the crackling fireplace the only company in this wintry night, its warmth unable to completely dispel the chill that had settled deep within you.

Whining, your pack of dogs circled around your dejected figure, their eyes filled with concern, their tails arched down, dejected.

As you sat there, alone, a whisper escaped your lips, barely audible, “I wonder…if I’ve made a mistake.”

Spring had arrived with its characteristics of humidity and warmth and the scent of freshly brewed coffee, but for you, it brought not the promise of new beginnings but the sting of heartbreak.

You had chosen this place for its cozy ambiance, hoping to find comfort in each other's presence. It had been so long since you both had went on a date, after all, Makima was dedicated to her work, and you spent your whole free time, home alone. But as the conversation grew heavier, the air around you seemed to thicken, and the pleasant background noise became a distant murmur.

Makima's words cut through the serene setting like a bolt of lightning. "Let's end things."

Your heart skipped a beat, and you couldn't believe what you were hearing. The gentle clinking of coffee cups and the chatter of other patrons seemed to fade into the background. Your voice trembled as you choked out a bewildered, "What?"

Makima's expression remained cool and detached, as if the weight of her words held no emotion at all. "Yes," she repeated, her voice devoid of tenderness, she rubbed her chin, as if she hadn’t decided already, "we'll end this...relationship."

Tears welled up in your eyes, but you held them back, not wanting to break down in the middle of the coffee shop. The woman you loved, who had once meant the world to you, now felt distant and unfeeling.

"Consider this a good deed on my part," she continued, her tone as indifferent as ever. "You were an obedient girlfriend, ______. Be proud."

As her words settled in, you felt a sense of betrayal and loss wash over you. The cozy coffee shop had transformed into a backdrop for your heartbreak, the world around you now irrelevant as you grappled with the end of a love that had once seemed unbreakable. Tears welled up in your eyes, and you couldn't contain the rush of emotions any longer. Your hand moved to cover your face, fingers trembling as you tried to hold back the sobs that threatened to escape. The coffee shop around you faded into the background as your grief and sorrow spilled into your trembling hand.

Makima watched you silently, sipping the dark coffee, her gaze unwavering but devoid of any warmth or remorse. In her eyes, this relationship had lost its worth, and she believed that ending it was an act of empathy, sparing you from the emotional decay that had started to seep into your life. Meeting Denji had changed everything for her, and you were left to bear the consequences.

To her, it was a good thing, a release for both of you, though for very different reasons. In her own way, she believed that you had gotten lucky, even if it didn't feel that way in the midst of your heartbreak. She saw it as an act of kindness, despite the undeniable manipulation and use of your emotions. In her eyes, this was her way of sparing you from further deterioration, even if it meant severing the connection that had once meant so much to you.

You knew, deep down, that you would recover from this heartache, that you would eventually find a way to live without Makima. But in that moment, as you wept in the coffee shop, it was hard to see beyond the pain and confusion that had come with the end of a love that had once consumed your heart.

© UNDERSCAR 2023 - All rights are reserved to underscar. Do not repost, copy, change/modify, plagiarize, translate or screenshot my work: this will also include not reposting my writing on other social media platforms and writing platforms.

[owenspets]

Pet Carriers for Dogs: Combining Comfort and Convenience for Your Furry Companion

Pet carriers for dogs are essential tools for ensuring your canine's safety and comfort during travel. Designed with both pet and owner in mind, these carriers come in various styles, including soft-sided, hard-sided, and backpack options, to suit different needs and preferences. They feature well-ventilated interiors, durable materials, and secure closures to keep your dog safe and comfortable on the go. Whether you're heading to the vet, taking a road trip, or flying with your furry friend, a high-quality pet carrier provides peace of mind and convenience, making travel stress-free for both you and your dog. With options that cater to different sizes and breeds, finding the perfect carrier is easy to ensure your pet travels in style and comfort. For more details visit our website www.ownpets.com

[eggcompany]

Starlight Boy

Little Hannibal Lecter, a kid looked over by nanny Will Graham. They go to the park, they eat, they take naps together. However one day Hannibal's parents drink and drive and crash, perishing in the blink of an eye. From then on it's Will and his little Starlight, Hannibal. By the time Hannibal was in highschool he knew he could never want anyone the way he wants Will. He holds out until one day soon after his 19th birthday. Threats of tearing himself apart pushing Will to finally give the boy what he wants. Sex. But what if it makes him finally realized that Hannibal truly really loves him.

“Hannibal, this is your new nanny. Will, this is Hannibal.” Said the modestly dressed older woman as the boy sat at his work desk writing. Standing behind her was a teenaged man, not very tall, wearing a pair of cheap tan slacks, a blue flannel button up, he had thick black rimmed glasses, and had a plain brown canvas backpack on his back. 

“Say hello Hannibal.” The woman prompted and the boy quickly stood up and stuck his hand out, hair gelled back perfectly and nearly like a robot he held his hand out and looked Will dead in the eyes. Will noted he had very beautiful eyes, nearly red. 

“Hello Will, it’s nice to make your acquaintance.” Will smiled and crouched down to shake his hand lightly. The boy had little hands, warm little hands. 

“It’s nice to meet you too Hannibal, I’m glad we’re gonna be friends.” Will answered and the boy nodded and went back to his desk. 

Will had been looking for another job. He already worked at the lab at night, cleaning. He just needed a little bit more a month and he wouldn’t starve, he’d be able to take some days off sometime and rest. 

He found an ad for ‘Nanny needed, experience in childcare, tutoring, and must clean. Trustworthiness will be tested regularly.’ Will had looked into it, sent his resume, talked to the old nanny, talked to the mother, and after a week of background checks and such he had a week to win over the boy. 

Hannibal was an easy boy to take care of. He likes having his hair combed for him but he could do it himself. He likes bubble baths and he doesn’t like being washed, he can wash himself but he likes when Will sits in the bathroom with him and reads books to him. He likes eating fine food from glass only, but he also loves laffy taffy that he ‘sneaks’ from Will’s backpack. He likes being held for a bit before bed, curling up into Will’s side and staying snuggly warm. He likes when Will picks him up from school and they go eat snacks on a bench that oversees the dog park. He likes when Will lets him run around the house in his pajamas, but only when mommy and daddy are away. And he really really really loves Will Graham. 

“Willy! Look, I stacked them all up! Aukštas bokštas!” Will would come over, trying to think of what the Lithuanian word meant. Hannibal was being brought up with three languages, English, Lithuanian, and Danish. Sometimes the little boy would get words all swapped up. ‘ A Tall Tower! ’ Is what the boy had said. 

“Yes! Very very tall, good job Hanni.” Will always called him Hanni when they were alone. He’d gotten chastised when he’d called him ‘Hanni’ in front of his mother. The boy liked when Will called him that. He liked that Will was… different than the other kids he’d met. Will wasn’t very stuck up and he was… free thinking and fun. 

Everything was perfect, fun and happy and Will was getting paid enough he gained weight and bought new shoes. He played with Hanni during the day, and left for work and night classes at six. It was perfect.

------

That was until the day Hannibal lost the last of his family. He’d already lost a sister when she was born, and that day… he lost everyone else. 

“I’m here for the Lecters, I’m their nanny. The boy, Hannibal, where’s the boy, he's my ward” Will said frantically as he ran up to the ER counter. People were rushing around and the nurse looked at him solemnly. 

“I’m sorry sir but that crash caused two casualties. Mrs and Mr Lecter both perished at the time of the crash, I’m so sorry.” The nurse said but Will was confused. He’d just gotten the call from the hospital saying Lecter’s were in a crash. 

“Two? No, there were three. Miss and Mister Lecter and Hannibal. There should be a young boy. He’s six. He’s in kindergarten. He was wearing a pair of shiny black shoes and a cashmere sweater he likes- he likes wearing cotton undershirts. He had on a blue cotton undershirt.” Will explained, he felt dizzy, like he was gonna barf. Or pass out. Or that his heart was gonna stop. 

“Sir there wasn’t a child. Only two adults. No children were brought in from that scene.” The nurse said and Will felt like ice traded places in his veins. 

“No, no, you guys didn’t find him? He’s only a baby! You don’t have him! Fuck! Where is he? Is he still there?” Will said and started to panic as he ran back to his unlocked car. He hadn’t even parked it right but that didn’t matter cause he was already racing to the site. 

Damnit Hanni, where are you? Will thought as he hit his palm against the wheel a few times. He’d dressed the boy for the dinner party before he’d left for class. 

---

Will was frantic as he shoved the key into the door and ran in, turning in circles for a sign. He ran looking for any sign. 

“Hanni! Hanni, come here! Hanni are you here?” Will screamed at the top of his lungs and heard a small thud and ran to the library. The phone was dangling off the desk, the wire holding it just above the carpet. 

“Willy?” Asked Hannibal who was dressed in his little white nighty with his white slippers on and his head covered in a nightcap. 

Will ran to him and fell to his knees to hold the boy in his arms. Will felt tears roll down his cheeks. The baby was okay, the sweet poor little baby was okay. 

“Oh Hanni, I was so worried.” Will said and held Hannibal tightly against his chest. 

“What happened? Why’re you sad?” Hannibal asked and looked at Will’s face. He didn’t like when Will was sad. Hannibal rubbed at the tears rolling down Will’s face, little hands clumsy. 

“Oh Hanni, I’m so so sorry. Mommy and Daddy got in an accident. I’m so sorry sweetheart but they aren’t coming back.” Will said and watched the boy scrunch his eyebrows and cock his head to the side a bit. 

“N-never? Mummy’s never coming back?” Hannibal asked, his hands shaking and his lip quivering. Will shook his head and sat down, crisscross, and pulled the boy into his lap. 

“No Hanni. Mummy’s not coming back.” Will told him and Hannibal grabbed ahold of Will’s button down. Hannibal hiccuped as tears welled up and his nose became leaky. 

“But- but where am I gonna go? Wha’s gonna happen?” Hannibal said through tears and snot and the heaviest of sadness and fear. 

“I'm gonna stay with you. We’re gonna be okay, you’ve still got me. We’re gonna stick together okay? Just like always, me and you.” Will reassured him and rocked back and forth, one hand holding the boy around the middle and the other petting at Hannibal’s soft blonde hair. The little boy started to sob, little body shaking. 

“Don’t leave Willy. Please don’t leave.” Hannibal begged as they both sat together on the cold library floor, crying over parents who were never there anyway. Hannibal was crying for his own loss and Will was crying for the boy who was being left alone just as he was so long ago. 

---

Will was appointed guardian, the Lecter’s will made it that much easier by giving Will power over the assets and the boy. Which helped because for six months and eight days, Hannibal Lecter was a wreck. Six months and eight days is what it took for him to get in counseling, back in school, and for Will to get guardianship and move in fully.  

Hannibal never wanted to let go from Will. He was always hanging onto a pant leg or thrown up on the man’s hip. He often stayed up all night crying or worrying, nightmares rattling through him, so he was usually found sleeping in Will’s lap anytime the man was sat down. 

Will took time away from school and the job. He threw himself into getting Hannibal stable. He brought his things into the Lecter house, he chose the room at the end of the hall, he made it his own. Well, somewhat. 

-----

“Willy?” Said a small voice from the tiny crack in the door. Will woke up and sat up, his hair sticking to his forehead. He felt groggy, his eyelashes stuck to each other. 

“Yeah Han?” Will grumbled and wiped the back of his hand against his eye as he clicked on his yellow lamp. The golden glow from it reached out from his bedside to show where the little boy was standing in the doorway, nighty pulled to one side and his hair a mess. Will looked at him for a moment. Hannibal had stopped wearing his cap claiming they were for babies and he wasn’t a baby anymore. 

“Willy can I um- may I- I had-“ stuttered the small seven year old. He looked down at the floor, hands picking at the front of his nighty. He’d gotten into the habit of picking at one spot near his belly button to the point Will had put little patches on some because the boy had picked a hole all the way through. 

Will sighed and gave a pitiful smile and waved the boy closer. He pulled back his blankets, he was usually too hot to actually get under them. 

“Oh come here Star, you can come lay down with me.” Will said and tapped the side of the large bed that was empty. The boy crept a little closer but looked nervous as he fiddled with the seam on the pocket of his nighty. 

“Are you sure?” Hannibal asked and stood beside the bed. 

He was always nervous when it came to touch. His parents never touched him. His last nanny never touched him. Willy was the only one who did and he did a lot. Will gave him hugs and carried him and ruffled his hair and would put his hand on Hannibal’s shoulder and held his hand when they walked and and well Hannibal still couldn’t ask for it. 

“‘Course Hanni, we all need some contact every once in a while. Especially special little starlights like you!” Will said and smiled as he lifted the boy to lay down next to him. The boy giggled and kicked his feet a bit before he was laid back down next to the man. Hannibal liked Will’s nicknames for him. Star, starlight, those were his favorites. 

Will laid back down and Hannibal curled up closely resting his head on Will's shirt clad chest.

Will wrapped an arm around him and rubbed at the boy's boney back. He didn’t know why Hanni was skinny, or why he wasn’t really growing as much as the other kids. Those kinds of thoughts flooded his mind as he clicked the light off  and Hannibal let his small fingers play with the ribbed fabric of the undershirt’s neck. 

Will kept a smooth, gentle rhythm with his hand on Hannibal’s back but the boy started to sniffle. 

“Mommy never let me sleep in her bed…” Hannibal mumbled and sniffed his nose, Will could feel his shirt getting wet. 

“Sh sh sh, it’s okay Hanni, it’s alright baby. I’m right here and you can always come sleep in my bed. Just try to sleep, Starlight, get some rest, yeah?” Will whispered and kept rubbing the boys back as he sniffled and let out small sobs. Hannibal never really got upset, never let himself lose control like a usual toddler, so his crying was so stressful on him. It was hard to calm him down from it. Except one thing. 

Will sang to him, an old lullaby his mother used to sing him. It was filled with Cajun French that Will never fully picked up but knew enough of. The lullaby hummed deep in his chest. 

Hannibal slowly stopped his sobs and soon was drooling lightly on Will's chest. Will pulled the blankets tightly around them and made sure the boy’s face was uncovered and that he was warm. 

“My special baby, we ain’t goin anywhere, just me and you.” Will whispered and let himself fade to sleep. 

-0-0-0-0-0-

“Cmon Hanni we’re gonna be late! You still gotta get ya shoes on!” Will yelled as he did up his belt that was for some reason in the laundry room. He grabbed Hannibal’s lunch box that the thirteen year old had made himself the night before. 

Hannibal was in eighth grade already. He’d taken half a year to complete third grade so he was caught up with his age group. Will was substitute teaching and working on getting his degree in forensics and taking care of Hannibal and well… It was a lot some mornings. He had to make sure he had everything and that Hannibal had everything. Hannibal had lacrosse and track and cooking classes, and Will had no time to run back home so everything had to be had then . 

“Coming Will, give me a second. I couldn’t find my hair gel.” The boy said as he walked into the entryway and sat down and pulled his little loafers. Will checked his backpack and threw it on his back and then put Hannibal’s lunch box and backpack next to him on the little bench he was sitting on. 

“Well we’ll have to make sure to put it back in your bathroom next time we do my hair.” Will said and smiled at the way Hannibal nodded and grinned at him. Hannibal’s smile was something wonderful to Will. Wolfy and bright. 

Will just looked at him for a moment as he gathered his things and double checked himself in the small mirror by the entry. 

He was nearly as tall as Will. Growing into a handsome young man, even more handsome than his father. Tall and strong and handsome and so helpful and sweet and smart. Such a different boy than the thin little thing he was before yet when Will looked at him he was just the same baby boy. 

“Willy? Why are you crying? Are we that late already? I’m sorry I’ll go get in the c-“ Hannibal said worriedly as he watched his guardian tear up and cry. 

Will pulled him into a hug and kissed his forehead. 

“You’re such a big boy and you’re getting so grown. I remember when you were so small and now you’ve grown into such a handsome young man and I love you so much.” Will said through his tears and hugged Hannibal’s solid strong body tightly before letting him go and holding him at arm's length. 

“Thanks Will, you look very handsome too. I like the scruff” Hannibal said and scratched Will's cheek which just caused more tears. Hannibal giggled and gave him a kiss on the cheek. 

“Oh you evil little boy, stop being so nice.” Will said and playfully shoved the boy’s hand away and headed for the door. 

-0-0-0-0-

Will got sick. Not much after Hannibal started highschool. It started as some nausea and body pain, and then fatigue and vomiting and headaches, and then hallucinations and fever and having to have some help walking. 

Encephalitis. 

Brain scans and many days in the hospital, Hannibal stopping by every evening, and it came down to it. Encephalitis. Take it easy, rest, take your injections, take your pills, and don’t irritate your symptoms. 

Will did most of those! He rested… some. He gave himself his injections, he took his pills. 

But life kept moving. Hannibal had track meets and practice, he played soccer with his friends on the weekend, he had a full schedule. Will had classes but he’d managed to get most of the notes sent to him and he only went in for tests and labs. He cut down on the days he substitute teaches down to once or twice a week. 

----

He fell asleep a lot. Everywhere. And Hannibal, tall, strong Hannibal, always carried him to bed. 

The boy was taller than Will now, much taller. He was broad and strong and smart and loves to cook. Hannibal still took cooking classes, advanced cooking classes at the college now, and he was on honor roll for the third year now that he was a junior. He was the star hurdle jumper on the track team, and did well in long jump. He went to all sorts of cooking courses around the state, often driving himself since Will had lost his license. 

He loved Will. More than anything in the world. He never felt love like it for anyone else. He craved Will. When Will got sick… Hannibal had started having panic attacks, he was nervous, he didn’t want to go to school, he didn’t want to leave the hospital. He wanted to be beside Will taking care of everything. 

When Will got home two years ago Hannibal had… changed. 

He did everything for Will. 

He cooked, cleaned, drove when he could, he went to appointments with Will and took notes, he was everywhere Will was. He carried Will and put him in his bed, when the older man fell asleep elsewhere. He would sit and watch Will sleep sometimes. He would hold Will when he had seizures, he held Will after the seizures, he held Will’s hand every time they walked anywhere. He wanted to crawl into Will’s skin and hold his heart in his hands. He wanted to be more than close with Will. 

-----

Will was like a proud Grandma when it came to Hannibal’s sports. He was always right there, front row, hat on, dressed as nicely as he dressed, backpack sat next to him, shouting for the world to know. 

“Yes! That’s my boy! Woo! Hannibal! Good boy! Good Job!” Will screamed and stood up only to get dizzy and sit back down, fists raised in the air. It was a very important meet, championships for their district. And Hannibal was the best . 

The blonde waved and jogged over to where Will sat, behind the wall. He was sweating like crazy, hair sticking to his forehead in a mess, jersey a shining white and deep blue, school colors, and his shoes still squeaky from being new. 

“I’m so proud! Star, you're so amazing! Tell the boys we’re having a pizza party at the house, I don’t care what you tell the parents, I’ll go along. Doesn’t even matter if you win! Hanni, that was your record! I’m so proud, baby!” Will ranted and Hannibal laughed and leaned his hands on the short wall, catching his breath. Will threw his arms around his boy, not caring if he stank or if he was sweaty. 

“Are you sure? I’ll take care of everything, you’ll need to rest when we get home.” Hannibal said and hugged Will back and kissed his forehead. Will smiled and shook his head, sitting back down taking a drink of his hydration drink. 

“I’ll admit, today’s been hard on me. This was your last event right?” Will asked, he was sweaty too, he hadn’t eaten all day and was feeling a bit fevered. Hannibal smiled knowingly and nodded. 

“Yeah, I just have to wait for medals. Why don’t you go home and call in the pizza? I’ll tell everyone else we’re having a homemade Italian night.” Hannibal suggested and wished Will was back in his arms. His mind raced with how it would feel to kiss the other man right then, kiss him and hold him and touch him and- these shorts show everything he reminded himself and thought of gross stuff like mcdonalds and 7-up. 

“Course. I love you, I’m so proud of you, be careful.” Will said and hugged Hannibal again, kissing him on both cheeks and then the forehead. 

“I love you, Will.” Hannibal said as Will walked away… man he looked good in those jeans…

-----

“Be quiet. Will’s sleeping. Just shut up for a second, lemme put him to bed.” Hannibal snapped quietly at the laughing and joking boys behind him. They’d all come over in the promise of cheap greasy pizza and nasty movies in Hannibal’s room. They were rich kids, cheap pizza was like gold . 

“Okay, mom .” 

“Yeah, alrighty mom ” 

The boys heckled him but kept it quieter as they caught scent of the pizza, bags being slung into the coat closet in the entry hall. 

Hannibal made it to the living room where Will often fell asleep reading his textbooks. Sure enough, Willwas in his chair, curled up under a blanket, book spread on his lap. Hannibal closed the book and sat it on the side table, on the stack that was there already. He then just looked down at Will. His hair was shorter than usual, he just got a haircut a few days ago but it looked so soft… Hannibal indulged himself and let his fingers skim over his hair… but then they drifted down to his rough stubble and the soft crest of his cheek and then across his soft pink lips… Hannibal swallowed thickly as he let his fingers run across Will’s bottom lip. The older man’s mouth was open slightly, breath creasing warming in a smooth rhythm. He pushed that soft bottom lip down, showing Will’s teeth, and pulled his hand back when he felt all the blood rush south, he was wearing a pair of tight pants, he didn’t need to be heckled for a boner. 

Hannibal bent down over Will, wrapping the man in his blanket, and picked him up. One arm under his back, one under his knees, making sure Will’s head laid on his shoulder. It was a practiced thing, he’d carried Will like this a thousand times. It was muscle memory as he made his way up the stairs and into Will’s room. 

“Into bed, sweet Will. Into bed.” Hannibal whispered as he placed Will down on his mattress, blankets tossed over to the side. He pulled the blanket that had bunched up around his waist to lay nicely over him. Over his socked feet all the way up to his neck, over his hands, and made sure his head was on the pillow. 

He just stared at Will. So beautiful. So soft, so sweet, so pretty, so warm… So his. 

“I love you. I do, I love you Will. I want you.” Hannibal whispered to Will who slept on, exhausted from the day. Hannibal sighed and left the room to go celebrate with his friends. 

-----

Will got better. Will gained a little bit of his weight back, he had so much more energy, and he looked incredible. Hannibal was often staring at him, head resting on his fist, drool practically dripping from his mouth. He often stared at Will’s handsome face when he wore his glasses, so focused on doing work or studying or reading. He often stared at Will’s butt, he gained ten pounds and his ass was so plump and practically begging to be bitten into like a ripe peach. And he was very very often staring at Will when he was out doing yard work, something he’d banned Hannibal from doing after he cut his hand with rose clippers. Hannibal would sit in the paved driveway and watch Will. He made the excuse that the sun was good for him but he just wanted to stare at Will as he stretched and sweated and oh wear those little shorts and flip flops and Hannibal would waddle back into the house claiming sunburn or ants and jerk off in the shower. He’d turn the water on, just warm, not hot. He’d be so worked up he’d barely get his pants off and a hand on himself and he’d be ready to bust. 

Just picturing Will, his body, his face, feeling up and down his solid body, kissing his lips, slipping his tongue into Will’s wanton mouth. Imagining how Will would sound as Hannibal fucked him, how he’d beg and whine and whimper sweetly. How Will’s ass would look as he fucked it, how Will’s body would move full of cock, how how- 

“ Will ” Hannibal would moan into the tile and spend the next ten minutes standing under the water thinking how mad Will would be if he knew Hannibal came thinking of him. 

---------

It all came to a head when Will broke up with his bar fling named John and Hannibal had nearly drowned in the school showers because he was blowing two guys at once and they thought it would be funny to turn the shower head to spray over his face. They were Juniors and he was a senior, they assumed he could ‘take it’... He beat them up before he left. 

Neither wanted to talk about why they were sad and pissy. 

Hannibal was huffy in his room, watching all sorts of bad porn and jerking off just to be unsatisfied and then kicking dirty clothes around his floor just to dig under his bed again and look at a pair of Will’s underwear he’d snatched from the laundry room. 

Will was being sad and eating ice cream curled up in the living room watching romcoms and telling himself John was just using him for notes and test answers. Then knowing John wasn’t even in the same classes and crying again. He was so horny and so bad at dating. 

Hannibal just kept going around his loop, trapped, Will moved on but Hannibal couldn’t. He kept feeling more and more edgy and aggressive. He felt like a balloon blown up too far. 

And then he did something irrational. Irrational and irreversible. 

--------

“Hannibal, what are you doing!?” Will yelled as he stared at the boy who was kneeling in the middle of the living room, back to the roaring fireplace. He was kneeling down low, knees spread wide, chest uncovered, his robe flowing around him held up by his arms still being through the sleeves. His chest and shoulders were bare, all the way down his toned torso, down passed the neatly trimmed blonde happy trail, down to his pink cock and the veiny hand that was wrapped around it. His other hand was holding him up from where he’d bent back, head thrown back, exposing his muscular neck. 

Will was in shock. His baby boy. His kiddo, His Starlight. Putting on a goddamn show. 

“Will, I want you. You’re the only person I need. Please Will, the other boys aren’t nice to me they hurt me, they won’t treat me like you do” Hannibal begged as he let his head loll back forward to face Will. It made him feel a bit less confident when he saw Will’s shocked face. 

“What do you mean? What are you doing? Hannibal, we have neighbors!” Will said and rushed around to close the curtains that were thankfully mostly closed. What was Hanni doing? And when did he get so… grown. They had just celebrated his 18th birthday but still when did he get so big and and strong and handsome and since when did he have such… When did he act like this?

“Will, please, please, take care of me. Like you always do…” Hannibal said in a grumbling rolling way with a little innocent smile on his lips and he held his cock in his hand. He was looking at Will over his shoulder and he moved so the back of the robe dropped down to cover nothing . His back and ass on display. Will stared at him and felt a wave of heat hit him. 

“Hannibal we can’t. You shouldn’t do this.” Will said and came up behind the boy and pulled the robe up to cover his back and pulled it closed in front of him. 

“We can’t. You don’t want to.” Will said and Hannibal felt something break in his chest. He slumped, confidence gone, he held the robe closed as his cock softened quickly. He sat down on his butt, crossing his legs and covering himself. He stared at Will who was rubbing his eyes and who let out a loud sigh. He looked like he was so… upset. 

“Take me Will, take me apart, touch me, Will please, please I can’t take another day.” Hannibal begged, shamelessly as tears welled in his eyes, his chest hurt. He felt tears starting to roll down his cheeks and Will turned around with that we-can’t-kill-someone-for-being-rude lecturing kind of look. 

“Hanni-” Will started but Hannibal snapped, yelling. 

“I’ll kill myself. I’ll tear my veins from my flesh, I’ll flay myself open and hang myself up.” Hannibal screamed, opening his arms to show Will his long perfect arms, making his point he stared right into Will’s eyes. 

“Hannibal…” Will said calmly and put his hands out to calm the boy down but Hannibal jerked away, crying loudly, sobs wracking his body. Will felt himself losing his restraint.  Hannibal was his. Since the second he’d seen him, Hannibal was his . 

“I can’t take a moment more. I love you Will, I love you, I love you, I need you I can’t can’t take-“ Hannibal broke off sobbing. He looked so defeated, sitting naked on the floor, crying like a baby. Will smiled. 

The older man knelt down and shoved away tears with his thumbs and held Hannibal’s sharp beautiful face in his hands. 

“My little starlight, you evil little boy, you mustn’t do this again. There’s far too many windows. And now you’re mine. No one else’s to see.” Will whispered to Hannibal who’s eyes seemed to be blood red in that moment. 

“Wi-” Hannibal had started but was cut off with a powerful long tongue filled kiss. They both could taste his tears, neither cared much though. Hannibal’s hands caught Will’s neck and pulled him down. 

“I love you.” Hannibal gasped when they pulled away, he meant to pulled Will down and fuck him right there but Will pulled away and pulling Hannibal up to stand, robe opening. 

“Not on this floor, not on a floor, my room, now.” Will said and pulled Hannibal down to kiss him again. Hannibal was getting whiney, hating to wait to have what was finally his. 

“Slow” Hannibal bit out as Will moved to kiss down his jaw. Will pulled back to say something but Hannibal already had him from behind the thighs and was hualing him up to carry him. Will squeaked which made the young man smile a big wolfy grin as he made the memorized walk to Will’s room without stopping their deep kissing, Will’s hands pushing the offensive silk off Hannibal. The blonde let it drop from him the second Will was thrown onto the bed. 

“Hannibal, my star, when did you become so…” Will said as Hannibal crawled up over him on the bed, unbuttoning his shirt and grinding down on his lap. Hannibal looked up at him, breathing heavily, eyes manic and hazed. 

“Such an animal.” Will finished and Hannibal grinned and pulled Will’s belt from its loops, slightly picking up the man for a moment. He let Will wiggle them down his hips before yanking them off, pulling Will’s legs straight up in the air. Will let out a surprised noise as Hannibal shoved his legs apart and leaned back down to kiss him. 

“Mine, Willy, You’re mine.” Hannibal growled as he ground down, his cock covering Will’s completely. The brunette let out a moan as he grabbed at Hannibal’s shoulders and back. Their lips met again, teeth and tongues clashing this time, Hannibal taking over and throwing Will’s legs up, one over his shoulder and the other around his hip. 

“Hanni…” Will whimpered and pushed his hands down to stroke the boy’s heavy hard cock. God that would feel so good inside…

Hannibal was moaning, long and low, right into Will’s neck where he was hiding his face. Will kept on stroking, not even being able to reach the base. 

“Hanni… is this what you want? Me to only touch you like this?” Will asked as he let his thumb run and rub gently at the perfect crown of his star’s cock. 

“Wanna fuck you, wanna, wanna fuck you” Hannibal stumbled through. Will smiled and let his nail lightly graze the fever hot skin, each movement causing Hannibal to let out groans. His little starlight taken apart from prim and proper to begging messy little slut. 

“I’ll let you fuck me. My way only. You little beast.” Will whispered and let go of Hannibal as the boy sat up, eye’s wide, smile playing at the corner of his lips. Will stretched his arms above his head, showing himself off, and squeezed his leg that was around Hannibal’s hip, pushing the boy to thrust against him. Hannibal moaned, lips making a beautiful little O. 

“Willy, please, please, please” Hannibal begged as he thrusted against the older man, cock slipping beside Will’s to rub in the crease of his thigh. Precum tracing lines into Will’s short brown pubes. Will shushed him and tried to straighten his thoughts. 

“Baby, calm down, sit back. Can’t jus fuck me, Star. Gotta get ready.” Will explained and pushed Hannibal’s shoulder so he’d sit up. Hannibal growled and kept thrusting for a moment before Will had his hand in his hair, pulling him back. 

The boy let out a whine and sat back on his heels. He pouted, bottom lip poking out a bit and gave Will the biggest pair of puppy eyes. Will laughed a little bit and reached over to his bedside and dug around for a long moment before finding the probably expired condoms he had and the small thing of lube that he rarely used. He preferred lotion of jerking off, but lube was best for this activity. 

“Do you know how to do this or do you want me to show you?” Will asked as he held up the foil packet and small bottle. Hannibal stared at him and shook his head. He’d never done it to someone else… himself sure sort of and a girl one time but that wasn’t- they weren’t nearly as precious as Will. He’d cut his own hands off if he hurt Will. 

“Lemme see your hands.” Will ordered and Hannibal held them out, palms forward, which made Will giggle as he turned them around to look at Hanni’s nails. Short and smooth. Will held Hannibal’s hand open, fingers spread a little with one hand and popped the top on the bottle, pouring some over his three fingers. 

“Will? I thought you were going to do it…” Hannibal said curiously as he pinched his fingers together just to spread them apart. The lube was thick, cool but warming quickly, and felt oddly like film on his skin. Will huffed and scooted up on the bed, getting into a comfortable position. He wasn’t a young man anymore, he was 37, he could keep up. Just needed to make sure he was in the right spot. 

He laid his head on his pillow, grabbing the other on and shoving it under his hips. He shuffled for a bit and decided he needed more behind him and wadded up his blanket and stuffed it behind him so he was curled up a bit, hips up, shoulders up. 

“You’re beautiful.” Hannibal whispered and watched Will huff and wiggle his shoulders against the blankets. Will looked at him and shook his head. Course his little starlight would say that, of course he’d have the mind to compliment even when his cock was drooling and cherry red. 

“Star? Do you know how to do this?” Will asked, his voice dropping, dragging itself from his throat as he let his hands wander over his own body. One hand staying up at his chest to rub into his chest and pinch and pull lightly at his nipples, the other roaming over his flat stomach, pulling a few times at his cock, and down to handle his balls for a moment before moving lower to run a dry finger over his hole. Hannibal was staring, his eyes focused exactly where Will was circling, he nodded, his eyes not leaving the show. 

“You know you need to be gentle right? You gotta use one finger… then another… then another. So big, I need three. Then you can fuck me.” Will said in a sultry way that had Hannibal’s cock jumping up as he moved in closer so his cock was nearly touching Will’s hole.

Slowly one of his sticky slick fingers started doing circles like Will’s had been and then pushing around and then finally slipping in. All the way in, and rubbing right across Will’s prostate. 

“Fuck! Oh Baby, baby, don’t touch there yet. Don’t don’t turn your fingers up. Keep em straight. Can’t cum more than once, honey. Wanna cum with you. Don’t be rubbing on me like that.” Will panted out, little shivers racing through him. Hannibal nodded, unable to tera his eyes from where he was inside . Even just his finger. He was fingering Will. 

It was slow, Will telling him when to add another, when to speed up, when to spread his fingers, and soon Hannibal was spreading his three fingers inside Will, spreading his rim. 

Hannibal was dizzy, his cock was so hard and had been for so long. And Will was making such amazing sounds, whimpering and panting, his hands leaving their positions playing with himself to hold his legs up and open, gripping behind his knees. 

“No more, fuck me. C’mon baby, fuck me like you wanna.” Will bit out, tears welling in his eyes. He was ready and Hannibal was such a good boy. 

Hannibal hastily rolled the condom on his cock, it was a little uncomfortable because it was a little snug but it wasn’t gonna make him stop. 

He leaned over Will, letting his ankles rest on his shoulders, and guided his cock to Will’s slick messy little hole.  He was barely pressing in, he didn’t wanna hurt Wil-

“You fuck me right now or I’m gonna do it myself.” Will said and grabbed two handfuls of hair on the sides of Hannibal’s head. He had a crazed look in his eyes, and Hannibal couldn’t resist letting himself go, matching that look. 

He slammed into Will, hips slapping the backs of fuzzy thighs. And he didn’t stop. Shoving his face into Will’s warm neck, feeling each one of his moans, he fucked Will like he wanted to. He fucked him hard and fast, grunting and whining, hands sliding under Will’s back, holding him close, lifting him up from the mattress. 

“Star, Star, Hannibal! I’m gunna cum. Oh god, Hanni, good boy, good boy, cmon keep going, baby don;t stop, so close! So close!” Will begged, his hole tightening around Hannibal’s cock. His hand moved to jerk at his own drooling cock as Hannibal, kept thrusting as hard and as fast as he could. 

“Willy, Willy, I love you. I love you Will, I love you.” Hannibal whined as Will moaned out louder and louder, Hannibal was holding on but he felt like he was going to explode before Will came. 

Will pulled his legs to wrap around Hannibal’s waist and pulled him in, yelling out, cock spilling out over his belly. He grabbed onto his boy, who was still fucking him roughly. 

“C-cmon sweetheart, my pretty, precious little star. C’mon baby, cum for me” Will whispered into Hannibal’s ear. He was sweating, hair sticking to his forehead, grunting each time he slammed into Will’s hole, he looked up at Will with wild eyes. 

Will was crying, it was too much, way too much. He smiled and pulled Hannibal down for a kiss. Hannibal let out a little strangled sound as he shoved as far as he could into Will’s body, his hips twitching and his cock jerking where it was deep inside Will’s body. 

Hannibal panted as his arms shook, he dropped down to lay on top of Will, who automatically carded his hands through Hannibal’s blonde hair. 

“Starlight, so good to me. How could I have not noticed? I love you Hannibal.” Will said as he caught his breath and pet down Hannibal’s back and pushed his fingers through his sweaty hair. Hannibal kept holding him, face smushed into his shoulder. 

“Of - ew- ill” Hannibal said into Will’s skin, ‘Love you will’ . Will laughed and kept on petting till Hannibal had his fill and then they went to the bathroom to bathe together. 

-0-0-0-0-0-

“Welcome home Will.” Hannibal said from the kitchen as Will walked through to set his briefcase down and kick his shoes off. 

His hair greying at the edges, his scruff gone grey in patches too. Hannibal found him even more handsome even in his very thick glasses. 

“Hello Star, what are we having for dinner? I’m starved. I worked through lunch.” Will said as he wandered over to his husband, wrapping his arms around Hanni’s middle. 

“You shouldn’t do that Will, you’ll get weak.” Hannibal said, chastising Will for his self neglect. Will nuzzled in between Hannibal’s shoulder blades. 

“You fret on me too much, I had a granola bar and an aspirin.” Will said and let his head rest against the broad strong back in front of him, loving the strong beating of Hannibal’s heart. 

“We’re having long pig and I made fresh gelato. Chocolate with brownie bits, you’re favorite.” Hannibal said and Will groaned, squeezing his love. 

“I love you Hanni” Will said and moved to pull Hannibal down by his neck. 

“I love you too Will, forever.” Hannibal answered and pressed a loving kiss onto Will’s soft lips.

[daryltwdixon]

The Ruins of Us: Chapter 8

Summary: You're getting ready to officially leave for college, when a familiar truck pulls up outside your house. When you go to say goodbye to your best friend, there is more tension than you expected. Flash forward to the immediate aftermath of the explosion, and you stand up to Shane once and for all.

See notes at the end, as they contain spoilers for this chapter.

Warnings: mentions of smut, but still SFW.

You were nervously packing your thrifted backpack with the half used notebooks and pencils from your room, head spinning with the list of things you needed to buy for your first semester at Georgia State University. You were lucky you had some student grants to help you with things like your dorm room costs and buying new bedding for the new bed you’ll have. But the costs of textbooks, extra clothes that weren’t tattered with stains and holes, and --if you found one good and cheap–a laptop were looming over you. You heard a honking outside your front door that pulled you away from your mental list in your head. You zipped up your backpack and hauled it over your shoulder along with the duffel bag with all your other belongings. You were headed out to the bus stop anyway, managing to find a couple bucks under your mom’s mattress while she was out today. You figured you’d find out who was honking outside on your way out. When you opened the front door, you froze in the doorway, half turned around to close it behind you. There was a glossy black truck in your driveway. You slowly brought the door shut behind you. Looking around the street to see if anyone else was nearby, you dropped your things on your porch and walked down to the driver’s side door hesitantly.

“Hey,” Shane says in a hoarse whisper, leaning out the window. 

“Hi,” you say simply back. You stood a few feet away from the car, waiting for him to say something, and he looked lost for words. He pushed his hand through his long black hair that sits piled on top of his head in a neat tousled style. His beard was growing a bit fuller now, and you stopped yourself from trying to think of what it feels like to the touch. The way Shane acted the last time you saw him was still fresh in your memory. You reached up to your neck unconsciously before bringing your hands back down to your sides. 

“Listen…” Shane finally began, “I–I’m sorry. About everything. I was such an asshole, baby. I should’ve known better,” he said nervously, “You are everything to me, Y/N. I hate the way I treated you that night. I haven’t stopped thinking about you. I miss you. I know what I did was wrong and…I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” 

You took a deep breath, processing everything he was saying. On the one hand, you wanted him to feel as hollow as you had the past couple weeks without him. You were glad to hear he’d been hurting from the way he acted the last time. He had left bruises on your skin, but what hurt you the most was that he wouldn’t even listen to you. He completely disregarded your words, let alone how terrible you were feeling that night. But at the same time…god, you’ve missed him too. After a long while, you come to your answer. Your mind is screaming to you that you should’ve said no, but your heart managed to answer first.

“Okay,” you whisper. He looked up with you, his puppy dog brown eyes full of hope.

“Okay? You forgive me?” he said. You nodded with a small smile. 

“I love you, Y/N,” he said, getting out of his truck to hug you tight to him, “you’re everything to me, truly,” he whispered into your hair as he held you against him. He felt warm and muscled under his officer uniform–he must’ve just gotten off of work. You pulled back from him, and looked into his eyes, searching for sincerity.

“You mean it?” you whispered.

“Yeah, of course I do,” he says, reaching down and pulling you for a hard kiss. He captures your mouth possessively, holding your face to his with his large, rough hands. His tongue plunges into your mouth with fervor. You hummed in satisfaction and he pulled you into the truck, sitting you on his lap. As he sat back in the driver’s seat, he ran his rough hands down your arms, making you shiver. You straddled him, knees deep in the seat as he pulled you closer.  “How ‘bout one more time, before you have to go,” he teased, pulling you into him for a few small, wet pecks to your lips.

“I have to get going, I’m going to miss my bus,” you said, your arms around his neck.

“I’ll drive you, I don’t want you on that nasty public bus,” he said with a playful hint to his voice. 

You hesitated. You were planning on seeing Daryl on your way out, to say goodbye. You weren’t moving far, but the chances of you being able to afford bus fare and come back to see him were few and far between. 

“It’s really okay, I don’t mind,” you insisted, pulling your arms away from his neck. You went to press them on his chest but he reached up, holding your arms in place.  “I’ll take you to see ‘em,” he said knowingly. He rubbed his hands down your arms again, comforting you. His voice was quiet and soft. Gentle, even. Your eyes widened in confusion.

“Really?” you asked.

“Yeah, ‘course. But first,” he smiled coyly, “…I’ve missed you,” he said, squeezing your ass in his large hands, making you grind your hips onto him. You toppled forward onto him, his lips finding your neck, kissing and biting you.

“Okay, okay,” you giggled, “make it quick–then I really have to go,” 

“Deal,” he said, grabbing your hair and pulling you further down into his lap.

x

You breathlessly pulled your shirt back down to cover yourself and zipped your shorts up when you climbed out of the truck a few minutes later.

“I gotta go get my bags,” you began, buttoning the last fastening on your shorts, “And I think I forgot something,” you said with a big smile, going up to your house for the last time. You run to haul your bags over your shoulders, dashing inside.

x

You had thought this was a good idea–Shane dropping you by Daryl’s on your way to leave for school. But the closer and closer you got to his house, the faster your heart beated against your chest. As Shane put the truck in park, he pulled your chin to look at him and brought you in for a long kiss before releasing you. 

“Go on, I’ll be right here,” he said gently.

You smiled and pushed open the door with one hand, a cupcake in your left. When Shane offered to give you a ride, you suddenly had remembered you made one vanilla cupcake for today to bring to Daryl. You were going to miss his birthday that weekend, but still wanted him to know you remembered. 

When you shut the truck door behind you, you stopped dead in your tracks. Daryl was perched on his front porch railing, smoking a cigarette. You looked back into the truck to see Shane staring him down now. Had he pulled you in for a kiss because he knew it would be in front of him? Shane wouldn’t be that petty--no. But as you watched their stare down continue, you weren’t so sure.

Daryl wasn’t looking at you as you approached the house, but staring hard at the vehicle in his driveway. When you made your way up onto the porch, he finally turned his head to look at you, his glare still glacial on his face.

“I came to say goodbye,” you said quietly to him. You held out the cupcake to him, “and to say happy early birthday,” he looked down at the cupcake, and back up at you. Without saying anything he just looked back out at the truck, eyes narrowed. 

“Daryl, please,” you plead to him, lowering the cupcake. You don’t know what else to say, so you stood there, just waiting. Daryl brought the last of his cigarette up to his lips, still watching the truck. Once he had let out a long puff of smoke out to the sky, he hopped off the railing, putting the cigarette out on the wood, and walked right past you into his house. He made sure to slam the door behind him, the bones of the house shaking. You stared wide eyed at the door for a long moment, not sure what to do. You felt your face flush with heat, and before you would allow any moisture to gather in your eyes, you sat the cupcake down on the cigarette butt littered table by the door, and ran back out to the truck.

x Flash Forward x

By the time you and Daryl had made it back to your truck, there were pieces of ash and debris falling out of the sky already. He had gotten up off of you once the explosion had made its initial blow, bringing you up to your feet, only to turn and run to the cars at breakneck speed. So now, you’re finally reaching the truck door and swinging open the passenger side as he throws his crossbow and gun in before hopping in himself.

“You idiot! You absolute idiot! ” he was shouting at you, “the hell were you doin’ in there? You nearly exploded with the whole damn building!” 

He is shaking with rage as he waits for some sort of explanation from you. When you both turn to see Dale and Andrea make it to the RV, he reaches down to turn the key in the ignition. He rests his hand on the wheel, waiting to start moving, and looks over at you expectantly. 

“So did you!” you yell back at him.  “I was only in there ‘cause I was lookin’ for you after I didn’t see you come out with us!” his red face is livid, and spit flying as he yells. You are taken aback, sitting against your seat. With your hesitation, Daryl continues, “What the hell were you even doin? Forget a magazine ‘er somethin? Lip gloss left behind?” He starts moving ahead, behind the rest of the group's cars. His hands are white knuckling the steering wheel.

“Oh screw you, Daryl. I was looking for you , asshole.” you narrow your eyes and point an accusatory finger at him. Now it’s his turn to look stricken, so you continue, "I didn’t see you. I didn’t see anyone when I came out of my room. I had to—" you pause, trying to find the right words, "I couldn’t leave without… knowing for sure where you were." Your voice drops to a whisper. "I just needed to make sure no one else was in there," You end quietly, but with a sense of finality. You know what you really wanted to say, and hope he could read between the lines without making you say it out loud.  “Well don’t do anythin’ like that again,” he says quieter, “ Stupid. It’s stupid to risk your life for me, Y/L/N,” he says even quieter, almost to himself. 

“Back at you, Dixon ,” you say with sarcasm, folding your arms over your chest in annoyance. Rick’s voice suddenly comes over the radio on Channel 40 after a long stretch of silence between the two of you, and you reach down to turn up the volume.

“--gonna pull over here by these houses,” the bad connection breaks up his voice, “--some vehicles we can siphon some gas,” his voice is crackling from the static, but you’re able to make out the important information. Daryl pulls the truck up on the dirt driveway and looks over at you.

“‘m serious, Y/N. Never again.” he says seriously. You almost roll your eyes but think better of it, and just ignore him. Hopping out the passenger side, everyone is grabbing the gas cans, ready to see what they can find from the abandoned vehicles left behind. 

Shane is approaching both you and Daryl, and you stiffen, “We’re gon’ need to ration the gas we can find,” he says with authority to Daryl, “you okay with drivin’ the bike to save gas, we can take what’s left in the truck and use it for the RV?”

Daryl just nods, moving to the bed of his old beaten up truck to start unstrapping the motorcycle. You stand in front of Shane, who has his hands on his hips, looking down at you. 

“Listen Y/N,” he breathes, but you shake your head.

“Let’s just forget about it,” you say, whispering to him and shaking your head, “I don’t want to know what’s going on with you and Lori. It’s not my business,”

“Okay, but I–” he begins, but you hold up a hand, stepping directly in front of him to shield anyone’s prying eyes.

“But if you ever touch me like that again,” you seethe, your eyes filling with fire, “I will not hesitate. I will tell every member of this group what’s goin’ on and what you did. And I happen to know two people who would have a real problem with that information,” 

He stares down at you, his eyes hardening.

“You and me, Shane, whatever this is, whatever it was, is no longer. I can’t do it anymore. You crossed a line. A really fucking big line. I ain’t your ‘plaything’ anymore. I’ve had enough,” you finish, quoting his words from last night. You step away and turn before he can say anything else. Rick is watching the two of you, and when he looks over your shoulder, he nods to Shane, maybe in question, you can’t tell. You don’t care anymore. 

Daryl is sitting on Merle’s bike now, engine roaring to life. He walks it up as he sits, pulling in front of you, cutting off your path. He just shoots his head over his shoulder gently, waving you on. A silent understanding that he was done being mad at you. Without a word, you hop on, and grab him by the sides of his tattered sleeveless shirt. You look over to Shane, who watches Lori and Rick before Dale calls him to get into the RV. So, you have only three vehicles now: the RV, the hatchback, and the bike. You suppose the guys must’ve funneled the fuel they found and conserved what they could from the other two you had to leave behind. Until there was any chance of finding a camp, resources had just become very, very scarce.

You hear the RV start behind you, and Daryl leads the newly minimized caravan ahead to the highway.

Notes: yes I'm annoyed at the MFC too for getting back together with that asshole. But she must! For the plot!! She doesn't know any better! She's never had a father's love! yes it's a short chapter, I was emoshie over Daryl and you, okay??? and can we just have a moment for that pic of young Daryl????

Chapter 9 is here

[seabeck]

FAQ + About (for mobile)

About me: My name is Milli (she/her), 25yrs. I love taking photos of nature and my Subaru. I’m a huge nerd about mushrooms, plants, and skulls. I’ve been hiking ever since I was a little kid and at this point I feel at home in the woods.

I have a flock of chickens, a boyfriend, a dog, and waaay too many house plants

Did you take all the photos on this blog?

Yep, every photo posted here was taken by yours truly unless otherwise noted (very rare).

What camera/lenses do you use? 

My crop sensor/work kit is:

Nikon D7100

10-20mm f/4.5-5.6G VR

Dolica ZX600B103 Tripod

My full frame kit is:

Nikon D850

Sigma 150-600mm f5.6-6.3 

50mm f/1.8 G

60mm f/2.8 ED Macro

Nikon 105mm f/2.8 VR G

17-35mm f2.8 

20mm 1.8 ED sold

Sigma 150-500mm f5.6-6.3  sold

Kenko extension tubes

Raynox 250

Vanguard Alta Pro 263AB (works for macro + everything else)

Filters and other gear:

Hoya circular polarizers + Stop down/up kit

Nikon camera backpack (discontinued)/TARION Camera Backpack

Instax Mini 90

Other cameras I’ve owned:

D50

D200

D3000

D7000

Here’s my lens wish list, some are on there for fun and some I actually want.

What camera gear would you recommend for a beginner?

Before you worry too much about getting the best gear, make sure you learn how to use it first. You could go out and buy the fanciest camera and lenses and still not take good photos because you don’t know how to use your camera or how to “see”. There’s also a saying, “you marry your lenses and date your bodies”. Invest in good lenses, preferably full frame compatible ones in case you ever decide to upgrade to full frame, and get a cheaper body to start. With that out of the way…

If you’re just starting out, I’d recommend getting a refurbished or used camera from the D7100+ line. They’ve come down in price as of late and are pretty solid cameras. Just make sure to check the shutter count.

I’d skip anything from the D3000 & D5000 lines. They’re not bad cameras but they do not have built in autofocus meaning they rely on the lens itself having autofocus. This isn’t horrible but it does limit what lenses you can use (and some of the lenses that won’t autofocus with those cameras are good AND cheap) and that can be confusing for a beginner.

As for a lens, a 50mm f/1.8, or 35mm f/1.8 is a great lens. Both lenses are inexpensive, have good quality glass, and can used for nearly everything. The 18-55mm lens that comes with cameras isn’t bad either. 

I don’t shoot Canon/Sony/whatever else so I can’t give any advice there sorry!

How did you learn to take photos?

LOTS of practice, I first picked up a camera back in 2013. In high school and college I took photography classes but ultimately I didn’t really learn much from them, they started at too basic of a level.

I did learn a lot about photography from taking art classes however. They taught me framing, how to use shadows/light, and movement in a photo (where does your eye travel when you view an image/art piece). My mom is also a professional photojournalist so I picked up some knowledge from her and my grandfather who’s also a published photographer.

How can I take better photos?

Again, lots of practice. Learn what every setting and button on your camera does, try different shooting modes, take the same photo at several different apertures and shutter speeds to see what changes. You can learn a lot from reading articles too but the best way to learn, imo, is by doing. Don’t worry about getting the best gear and the best camera, learn how to take photos first.

Study other photographers photos, and even paintings, and see what you like. Pay attention to directional lines and where your eye travels. Learn how to use Photoshop/Lightroom (just pirate it). Take photos in different weather, lighting, and times of day. 

What programs do you use to edit? What presets/filters do you use?

I use Lightroom and Photoshop Classic along with custom presets that I’ve made for different situations (fog, snow, etc) to process most of my images and then I make minor tweaks. A lot of my presets started as VSCO presets and then I kept the things I liked and changed the things I didn’t.

What is your job?

I’m a real estate photographer specializing in short term rentals. I love it.

Are you related to Eddie Vedder?

Yep, we’re very distantly related. Something like 7th cousins twice removed but I’ve never met him.

Can you add a photo to your print shop?

Sure! Just tell me the name of the photo (or link it if possible, I reuse a lot of names) you want added and I’ll get it up there.

May I use one of your photos?

I’m 100% ok with people using my photos as a reference for drawing/painting, I’d even love to see the result. For anything else, just shoot me an ask beforehand and I’ll let you know. Please do not repost my photos on Tumblr or elsewhere without my permission.

[objecthusbandry]

UNEMPLOYED (the backpack, not me) UPDATE !!!!!!! i took him to the vet before you answered the ask using the little spare money i had on me and they said that he probably has something like gigantism or some hormonal disorder (they wanted to do an analysis to find out what it is but i can't pay that, so i don't know what he has). also, "it" is a he. apparently the local shelter (which i found!!) is full too, so i can't leave him there. not like i would since it's one of those shelters with horrible living conditions and i doubt he could even survive there. an employee there gave me some excess food they had since it's mandatory that they throw them away after some time even if it hasn't gone bad, so now unemployed (the backpack) has food!!

with that said, i don't think it'll last him too long. do you know any cheap food options for backpacks? and i mean CHEAP. i'd feed him normally if i could, but i can't afford to spare any money rn <//3

i'll get to addressing his illness/disorder/whatever he has when i can actually spend money on that.

i recommend getting high-quality food to ensure he's as healthy as he can be once you're able, but in a pinch like this dry dog food should be okay. he won't like it, but it's better than nothing for now

[practically-an-x-man]

I'm late but I got the prompts post!! Ooh I'm a sucker for the talking with your ear on their chest // listening to heartbeat cuddles 👀👀 with Kes and Warren, of course. Dealer's choice.

Ooooh thank you I love them so much!!

Cuddle & Snuggle Prompts

____ Make the Best of It

Word Count: 1.5k Content Warnings: Fluff, established relationship, mentions of insects/cockroaches, one mildly suggestive line ____

Kestrel peered around the hotel room, hands on his hips as he took in the stained bedspread, the discolored wallpaper, the threadbare carpet. He didn't even want to look in the bathroom. He wished he had a charm that would instantly fix this place up, but no such charm existed. A bottle of Lysol would have to do.

"The Knights couldn't have booked us a better hotel?" he muttered, hitching his go-bag onto the spare bed and frowning at a chitinous shape curled legs-up at the base of one of the bedposts. He hoped it was just a beetle. It looked more like a roach. He'd slept in worse places, sure. But he'd also slept in much better places, and maybe it had spoiled him. He missed Warren's cabin back in Connecticut.

"Next closest hotel is fifteen miles down the interstate. When they say rural, they mean rural."

"Ugh. Exactly what I wanted after hours of airport security and crowded flights." Kestrel huffed, rifling through his bag and wondering if it was worth even bothering with the shower. He imagined he'd only end up trading grease for grease - airplane funk for mildewy shower slime. The idea wasn't exactly motivating.

"Didn't you live most of your life on the run?" Warren shot back, plainly teasing.

"And I never once stepped into an airport. Or a skeevy hotel." he said, "I'd rather be a dog sleeping on the side of the road than stay in a place like this."

Warren pursed his lips and took a second look around the room. Despite all his teasing, he didn't seem any more enthused with the situation at hand.

"Yeah, I'm not far from pitching a tent out in the cornfields myself." he agreed, though he set his backpack down by the nightstand and flicked on the bedside lamp. The bulb was yellow and flickering. Kestrel saw the silhouetted corpse of another insect on the inside of the lampshade. Warren grimaced at it, then seemed to shrug it off. "But maybe we'll feel better after a little food. I saw a decent-looking pizza place down the street?"

Kestrel shrugged, deciding to save the shower for when they got back.

"Pizza certainly couldn't hurt."

As it turned out, the situation didn't look quite as bad once he'd gotten a little food in his belly. It still wasn't great, the hotel was still a bacteria-riddled pit and the desk clerk still shot Kestrel a strange look when he walked in, but hunger was one problem now ticked off the list and that made the rest a little easier to deal with. And the pizza was legitimately tasty, as hole-in-the-wall fast food joints went.

The shower helped as well, though the bathroom wasn't much cleaner than the rest of the hotel. Kestrel had made it a point to pack a pair of cheap flip-flops at the bottom of his pack, just so he wouldn't have to touch the bathroom floor with his bare feet, and he inwardly thanked that foresight from the moment he glanced at the shower. But it was hot water and soap and a chance to decompress, and washing off the grime of the day helped tremendously.

Kestrel stepped out of the bathroom, wet flip-flops squeaking against the old hotel floor. She didn't care. The carpet had seen much, much worse, and she didn't want to touch it with her bare feet any more than she wanted the fungus from the bathroom tiles.

Warren was stretched out on what appeared to be the cleaner of the two beds, flicking boredly between TV channels. The television seemed to be the one thing in the whole room that was reasonably high-quality - clear picture, good sound, a wide variety of channels - and Warren finally settled on a channel streaming an Indiana Jones marathon.

Kestrel had let him have the first shower, a selfless action obscuring selfish motives. It meant that she could climb right into bed with him, settle in against his chest, and she wouldn't be pulled away by him needing to get up. The only delays were the time it took to change and braid her hair, and then she fit herself into the best place in the world.

"It's part of the legend of Sankara," Warren mumbled, in time with the movie. He knew every line by heart. They'd been his favorites since he was a kid. "He climbs Mount Kalisa, where he meets Siva, the Hindu god."

As distracted as he seemed, he still leaned over to kiss Kestrel's forehead when she joined him, and rested his arm across her back to pull her close against him. She laid her head over his heart, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat and the comforting rumble of his voice in his chest.

"He told him to go forth and combat evil," he quoted, "And to help him, he gave him five sacred stones with magical properties."

His voice could have been siren-song. It enchanted her, softened the last of the day's stresses until all she could do was melt against him. They could have been anywhere in the world: this cheap hotel, or the cabin she'd learned to call home, even a tent out in the cornfields like he'd so jokingly suggested. It didn't matter.

It seemed impossible, as it so often did, that she'd been content with the untethered life for so long. For how difficult it all had been, how much effort and time spent defying what she'd thought to be the fabric of her being, it was more than worth it in the end.

The Welsh term hiraeth referred to a homesickness for a home one could never again return to. If anything, what Kestrel felt was the opposite. She was home, safer and more comforted than she'd perhaps ever been, and she only wished she'd been daring enough to find that home sooner. It was grief for her past self, for who she'd been before she even knew this present was possible, a wish that she could change the past- though not to grant herself a different present, only to grant herself a little more of it.

So the room didn't matter. The grime, the bugs, the stains, none of that mattered in the end. The only thing that mattered was the person lying beside her, the warmth of his body and the timbre of his voice.

"Out of everywhere I've been, all our travels, this is still my favorite place to be," she murmured. Warren let out a breathy laugh.

"Didn't you say you'd rather sleep on the side of the road like a stray dog than stay here?"

"Not the hotel," Kestrel replied, and set her palm on Warren's chest for emphasis, "Here. With you. It's my favorite place in the world. Feels like home."

His chest rose and fell beneath her cheek as he took in a long breath. It had taken time just for the word home to cross Kestrel's thoughts, let alone her lips, and she knew he took comfort- even pride- from being the one to draw it from her. He'd always worked so hard to make her feel secure with him. He didn't seem to realize he didn't have to. Not anymore. He'd been home to her for a while now, even before she truly realized it.

The bedspread beneath her was itchy, and Kestrel burrowed a little closer to the clean, soft comfort of Warren's t-shirt instead. His chest rumbled with a low hum of contentment, and Kestrel hid her smile against his shirt.

"We should take a vacation," she mumbled, "A real one. Not a trip with the Knights. Somewhere with an ocean."

"Feel like some long walks on the beach, Kes?" Warren replied, with just a touch of warm humor, "I must've missed that on your dating profile."

She laughed into his chest, then turned her head and pressed a kiss to the base of his jaw. Warren ran his thumb down the ridges of her spine, finally letting his palm fall still when he reached the small of her back.

"I mean it, though," she continued, "We could take a vacation. Go somewhere that's not for work... just get a nice hotel, eat some good food, sleep in late..."

"That sounds nice," Warren agreed, "We could use a little time to ourselves. Let's do it."

Kestrel nodded again, still pressed close against his body. There was more of the mission to come - more long days, more dirt and grime and surely a little spilled blood, more nights spent in this grimy hotel room - and it would hardly be easy. These things never were.

But for now, she drifted off to thoughts of a peaceful, sunny Greek villa, to Warren's toned form bare and sun-kissed on some sandy beach, to warm kisses and the cool spray of the ocean against her own freckled, coppery skin, and all was well.