#but there are often times when i will just. be standing there. for an hour

[onsomenewsht]

Aching legs that often told us it’s all worth it

About when you just win everything and you just want a hug

》 Barcelona Femini x Reader, Leah Williamson x Reader

》 word count: +2k

》 cras amet qui nunquam amavit; quique amavit cras amet [latin verse]: let the one love tomorrow who has never loved, and let the one who has loved love tomorrow

It’d be hypocritical to say you have never imagined this moment, that you have never dreamt of this exact moment. It’d be hypocritical to say that you have never, in the comfort of your bathroom, lifted a bottle of shampoo picturing this very trophy.

But no dream nor bottle of shampoo can remotely come close to how you feel when the referee blows the whistle three times, proclaiming your club the winner of the Champions League.

The legs, which just until a moment ago were close to giving up under the weight of an intense and stressful 90 minutes of running back and forth, suddenly sprint towards the centre of the pitch to join the Blaugrana bubble.

Screams and celebrations in more languages than you can recognise can’t bother you as you know well enough you’re all saying the same thing, you’re all sharing and expressing the same joy.

“Non ci credo!” [I don’t believe this!], Giulia jumps on your back without a care – the excitement to win such a big competition at such a young age fills you with pride.

What a bright future these kids have in front of them.

“Credici, it’s the first of many”

You’re optimistic tonight, it’s the first Champions League for you too after all.

You carry her around the pitch for five good minutes, hugging and cheering with every single teammate you meet in your path. The Italian girl gets dragged away not long after to join the kids’ groups.

You don’t mind it too much, you feel too old to keep up with their endless energy anyway.

For the first time since the end of the game you find yourself looking around, looking for a blonde woman – probably hidden behind a ridiculous hat.

It’s Keira who manages to catch your attention, screaming in that incomprehensible accent of hers right in your ears and dragging you towards the podium.

The trophy ceremony flies in a blur of cheers and confetti, despite your best attempts to savour every single minute of this incredible and historic win.

When, between pictures and out-of-key chants, a moment of apparent calm arrives, and you take advantage of it to look in the stands for your family.

At least the journey was not in vain this time.

The wrinkles around your mom’s mouth are a clear sign she’s been smiling for hours, the watery eyes of your father are the clearest expression of pride you will get from him. You hug them both for as long as they allow you, still reserving your biggest hug for your brother.

No sign of her yet.

“Here I was, thinking I couldn’t be more proud of you”.

You can’t hold back your tears.

After all, he’s your biggest and longest supporter, cheering for you since you used to play with boys double your age and size.

“Shut up and let me hug Andrea”, you say, reaching for your excited nephew.

The attention the toddler gives you is long enough to admire your medal and to kick a couple of times towards the goal when you let him onto the pitch. As soon as he spots Claudia, recently declared his favourite player ever, he sprints in her direction to steal her from Patri. You let him be, there’s Irene with the group of barely-grown-ups.

You don’t hold back a laugh as you see María run out of nowhere, her flag secured in one hand and a contagious smile on her face. You can’t wait to see her play again.

Then the sudden realisation you’re alone hits you hard. You’re alone, not too far away from the middle of the pitch. As much alone someone can be in the middle of a Champions League final celebration, but alone nonetheless.

Around you, teammates and friends and families are gathered in different bubbles, jumping and cheering without much of a care. The stands are filled with Blaugrana colours, singing loud and proud.

For the first time today, you let yourself get carried away by the supporters’ passion, admiring every single corner of the stadium as the privileged spectator of your own story.

You just witnessed a moment in football’s history.

You’d cry if not for the fitted body that crushes into you unexpectedly, bringing you back to the green grass without much effort.

“La poeta!”

“La reina!”

You share with Alexia a hug way more intense and sentimental than what you’re used to. You let emotion overcome you one more time as the captain holds you firmly, large hands caressing your back and keeping you present.

Her eyes are as shining as her all self, this victory means so much more than the obvious for most of you.

“You had to come in and score just like that, celebrate just like that”

“¿Qué puedo decir?” [What can I say?], the blonde shrugs her shoulders, but after years of friendship you can tell when the fine line between being humble and being aware of your own greatness blurs.

Alexia holds your face between her hands, the smirk painted on her lips shifts slightly to a more serious smile.

“Te lo mereces, lo sabes?” [You know you deserve this, right?]

“We all do”

“No, no, you deserve this”, she says firmly, addressing the elephant in the room dressed as the loan that last year broke your confidence.

You were there in Turin, it looked like a twist of fate to be away from Barcelona when they lifted the most beautiful trophy in Europe’s football.

This victory means more to you than what you’re willing to admit, even to yourself.

That’s one of the reasons why you’re still looking for her in the crowd.

“Enough with this mushy stuff, where’s my favourite Putellas?”

“Lo juro, si no dejas de hablar así de mi hermana–” [I swear, if you keep talking like this of my sister–]

“Oh, I was talking about your mom, but now that we’re on it–”

The punch she throws on your arm is light, but the message is clear. You and Alba have too much fun provoking Alexia, who is way overprotective of the both of you to realise that the jokes are only aimed at annoying her.

Feeling called upon, the two women join you with huge smiles on their faces. Eli welcomes you with a motherly hug, somehow sensing the tension on your shoulders.

“¿Qué es esa mala cara?” [Why the long face?]

“She can’t find her girlfriend”

“¡Alba, callate!”

Alexia raises an eyebrow at her sister’s quip, not happy to be let out about this.

She doesn’t know about the situationship you find yourself in. It’s not like you don’t trust the blonde, you do. But you’re aware of the protective tendencies and, on top of everything, you’re a bit scared of the lecture about the importance of being honest with your feelings and all that shit.

She’s too emotionally mature now.

Luckily, Olga comes running to meet you, distracting the captain from any inquisitive question without much effort.

“You’re disgusting”, you say to Alexia, now used to her open smile and carefree attitude whenever her girlfriend is close enough to light up her usually stoic face.

“¡Oy!”

“I wasn’t talking about Olga, I like Olga”, you state, dropping an arm around Alba’s shoulder who immediately joins the joke, “Yeah, lovesick Alexia is scary”

Eli has to intervene, still laughing at her daughter’s expense.

“They’re just jealous”

Olga’s right, you can hide it from everyone but yourself. You’re definitely a little envious of the cute relationship and happiness that seem to follow your friend like a glowing shadow.

You want a love like that too.

Your gaze starts wandering around the pitch once again, hoping to find the person who’s hunting your dreams and nightmares.

You know she’s here, you overheard Keira talking about her before the game.

She’s just not here for you.

Quickly excusing yourself from the Putellas’ family, muttering something about looking for your nephew to relieve anyone who found themselves babysitting, you bid your goodbye.

Before you can get away Alexia hugs you one last time, letting you know you’re not escaping her questions.

You find Andrea easily, entertained as he runs around followed shortly by another child – Mapi.

“Oh, wow, it’s like looking at your future!”, you teasingly nod at Ingrid, who’s way too entranced by the scene.

The Norwegian just grins, holding you as she kisses your forehead, always amused about the height difference. Her silence is loud enough.

Another jolt of jealousy strikes your body, immediately subsided by the reassuring presence of the defender and the loving gaze reserved for the enthusiastic Spanish woman nearby.

You couldn’t hate them even if you wanted to, they’re too beautiful together and you’re too happy for them.

When your nephew finally notices you, he seems to remember you actually are his favourite person. He outruns María, literally jumping between your arms – risking falling on his face just once by tripping over the flag that one of your teammates must have tied around his neck like a cape.

“¡Visca Barça!”

“Your father supports Milan”

“Ser del Barça es el millor que hi ha!”, he states in an impressive Catalan.

“Who taught you that?”

The kid points at Aitana and Jana, both sporting a smug grin all over their faces as they greet you from close by. The latter is lucky you’re feeling merciful enough to not embarrass her in front of her girlfriend.

You can just shake your head and laugh about the situation.

“You can give Keira Spanish lessons”, you say to Andrea as you position him comfortably on your shoulders.

You try to be subtle as you observe all the people on the pitch. If anyone asks, you are simply looking for your brother in the crowd of Blaugrana to return the child to its rightful owner.

Even if your brother is not a gorgeous footballer you can’t get out of your mind.

Of course you find him in a conversation with Keira.

“Tell me more about this high school suspension”, you hear the English midfielder ask.

“Tell her absolutely nothing!”

The chat goes on for a few more minutes, you’re a little ashamed to admit that you’re not listening to a single word as you still look around.

It’s your nephew who brings you back to reality, pulling you by the collar of your medal. You quickly bid your goodbyes to both of them, making sure you can meet again before they have to go back home and you have to be dragged into all the post-final engagements.

“You’re hopeless”

“What?”

“You’re both unbelievable”

“Where is your girlfriend? You’re bearable when Laura is around”

“She’s somewhere with your girlfriend”

At her obvious taunt, your gaze still flies in all the directions your neck humanely allows.

You really are hopeless.

Keira’s laugh is the final nail in the coffin, the only one amused about the situation.

She’s also the one who introduced you to the person you thought would just be a fun night out over a year ago, the person who turned out to be comforting and a constant thought.

The person who makes you realise midair you’re falling in love.

No strings attached though.

“Go to her!”

“She’s not here for me”

“Don’t drag me in, you useless stubborn–”

The blonde has a point, you can’t deny that the mutual friendship is the perfect excuse to find each other in the same places at the same time. The perfect opportunity to see each other again as much as possible without questioning the blurred line between an armless fuck and growing feelings.

Nights of fun soon turned into morning talks in the warmth of a hotel bed, then whole days spent exploring each other’s lives.

If only one of you dares to admit wanting more.

“Ohi, champ!”

As you hear her voice you never turn around so fast in your life, almost injuring yourself from the force with which you move. You don’t even hear Keira bust out laughing at your side.

“Hi”

“Ciao”

What a stupid smile you have on your face, just staring at each other a few steps away.

You’re sweaty and tired from the match and the celebrations, pretty sure your hair is a mess and your legs are on the verge of giving up. Yet she thinks she has never seen you more beautiful.

“Oh, for fuck’ sake, just kiss or whatever”, Keira grabs you both by an arm when neither of you makes any sign of moving, impatiently pushing you closer to the other and leaving, muttering something you’re not sure you want to know.

“Don’t run too far, you still have an interview in Catalan to do”

You don’t hear your friend’s response, you don’t even see her finger up in the air. When Leah laughs every other sound and person fades into the background.

“Can’t wait for that to happen”

“You and any other culés”

A few more moments pass before the blonde adds, “I think congratulations are in order”, pointing to the medal you wear around your neck – suddenly heavier.

“Thank you”, you whisper, lowering your gaze and nervously turning the object over in your hands.

You don’t need to see her, always hyper aware of her presence around you. You feel her approaching and enveloping you in a warm embrace, the hug you’ve been waiting for all day.

You have to admit to yourself it’s the best you’ve received today.

[imaluckygirl]

⭑ cool with you

( enhypen scenario )

synopsis: your boyfriend favorite moments with you when he’s at home.

( 엔하이픈 ) - maknaeline!fem.reader ( hyung ver. ) ; fluff , crack & domestic ୨ৎ back to the bookshelf . . . note : im trying to be more active but school is not letting me *sighs* but ill keep doing my best! hope you enjoy >< ( didnt checked this one so it might have some grammar errors )

sunwoo : karaoke night & a little bonus at the end

he is the type of boyfriend that would rather enjoy spending time having fun with you than cuddling you. i mean, he is affectionate and all, but he likes to see you laugh and show him that big bright smile; that is uniquely yours. that’s why i think he would like to spend his quality time with you doing a karaoke night. snacks and drinks on the table, with a karaoke microphone placed there, and a korean karaoke machine synchronised on the tv. at the living room sunwoo would be waiting for you sat while choosing a song for both of you to sing while you pay for the pizza both of you chose to order. when he sees you walking in the living room and sitting by his side on the couch after placing the pizza on the table, he would kiss gently kiss your cheek and point at the tv, indicating to you that he chose a song already; and if you were down to sing with him.

when you nodded — as you always did because saying no to your boyfriend felt like committing a crime — sunwoo will smile and shake his hands in a fist excitedly. when he clicked on the remote’s control and the song started, he handed you a microphone while you were drinking an iced tea, saying: “stand u-” and when he was about to complete his sentence the lyrics started to turn onto another colour, indicating that the lyrics were being sang already. however, when you saw the lyrics appearing and then slowly fading, you stood up like you assumed sunwoo would shout in a very enthusiastic tone — because he always did — and began to sing with him.

both of you definitely would be swaying to the rhythm while your arms were up following your body as it sway. sunwoo would be laughing so hard if you get a low score after all your dedication and would giggle while he rans away from you; when you threatened him with a pillow. the night ends with a full stomach and with sunwoo gently massaging your face with a face moisturizer and applying a strawberry lip balm onto your lips — that doesn’t last longer than two minutes because he can’t sleep without placing a good night kiss onto your forehead while you kiss him on his lips.

ps: just wanted to mention that he also loves these karaoke nights because he can feel free to be who he is; the real him, without feeling judged and watched by uninvited eyes. ( you make him feel so safe )

jungwon : when you have a tea to tell him; with a plot twist hehe

obs: i feel like, in general, all members would be interested in this conversation lol; but jungwon would be more often — trust me. even though you can think this is something sunwoo would like to do the most with you, it is, but no specifically under such a domestic moment — because i think he would listen to your yapps while both of you are sat on the underground’s sit for an example. but anyway, i’ll stop talking and let you read...

jungwon would often come back home with you telling him about some tea you were waiting for ages hours to tell him, but the most common times this would happen would be when he is laying on bed with you and you suddenly gasp and unconsciously pull him away from hugging your body. “what?! what happened?!” he immediately looks at you with a question mark above his head while your eyes were widen and your mouth open. you were be texting someone frenetically while he was getting even more confused. “WHAT!” you yell, shocked for some reason. “y/n, what happened?” your boyfriend would be sooooo concern, frowning while sitting on bed with you, trying to find out why were you so shocked.

“mingyu and mina just broke up!” you tell your boyfriend after a dramatic pause, while your hand is hiding your open mouth and your eyes still wide open. “WHAT?!’ now he was just as shocked as you. “that’s why i am freaking out!” you justified after you just watched the cutest reaction coming out from him — his eyes widened just like yours and his mouth dropped out of surprise. in a swiftly movement he was following your eyes through your friend group’s chat; and one of your friends was talking about their theory about why they had broken up. “they are saying mina cheated on him.” you commented and jungwon looked at you, nodding. “wah... i can’t believe this...” your boyfriend brushed his hair back with his hand, taking a deep breath. “just last week i was talking with mingyu and he was saying how happy he was because of the engagement ring he bough for her-” “HE DID WHAT?!” “i didn’t tell you? i mean, i thought you knew...”

another time this gossip session would happen is at the kitchen, while he is washing the dishes. imagine jungwon casually washing the remain dishes from yesterday’s dinner and you come downstairs calling him like: “jungwon, jungwon, wonie!”, he would be drying his hands as fast as he can to know what happened to you, and he is relieved you weren’t hurt. “what happened?” “there’s people saying that you cheated on me!” you would tell him, laughing. “WHAT- WHO?”

kiss this baby if you plan to prank him like this because he just can’t sleep thinking that you just heard that he supposedly did something so nasty and disgusting and made you feel hurt/betrayed. whatever, after a hundred times pranking him in the same way, he would quickly get you, but act up just to have your sweet kisses showering his face.

riki : game nights with you & watching films with you

i can think about so many scenarios of riki enjoying his time at home with you; like SO MANY. but i will tell you two of his favorites.

something about game nights with you makes him feel like he is back in japan and like he is fourteen again. he used to play twister or guess who — for an example — with his sisters or at his family dance studio; with his friends. he remembers having so much fun with them, and it makes his heart flutter when he play those games with you — like he is creating a new memory over so many good ones he made in the past while he was in his hometown. talking about riki’s hometown — plus his family —, when it’s an important holiday, your boyfriend’s family invite both of you over, specially when it’s christmas/new years eve. you watch him playing guess who against his little sister while you chat with konon on the sofa before he calls you to help him with questions. or as i mentioned twisters: it would be so funny when his whole family joins. like, not just konon, his little sister, riki, you, some of his friends, but his parents as well. it would be such a good memory him and his family are going to remember with so much affection and love.

another thing i can’t forget to add is how giggly riki gets when just both of you is playing at home ( or at his dorm ). even if it’s a simple uno round he would get all giggly and competitive after he yells “UNO! UNOOOO”. even if you try you always lose and wonder how he can be this good at this dumb card game — ignore the fact that he was a stack of uno cards hidden under his thighs.

now, hear me out, riki can be every loud and playful, but he is very serious and affectionate when it comes to those film nights or movie nights ( whatever ). your boyfriend really enjoys watching films, even before he met you. however, watching films with you hits different. it’s different because he have someone to cuddle, to kiss if there is any boring scene, whisper something — usually what he think will happen at the end or creating a theory and sharing with you —, be vulnerable, and many other motives. and trust me, 100% of chance that he would ask if you are scared of horror movies. and if you are, perfect, that’s the genre he is choosing. just with the thought of you getting scared and holding onto him makes a grown young man blush. you think he is mean, but he’s hopelessly in love with you.

“i’m not letting you choose a film never again!” you would tell him with a pouty face as you sigh; while walking out of the cinema’s room holding your boyfriend’s hand. riki would most definitely laugh at you and mock at your jumpscares; oorrrr he would laugh, kiss your cheek and then proceed to cup them with his hands — while cocking his head down because of the weight difference — and say: “okay, i’m not letting my baby watch any other scary movie.” you squint your eyes, not trusting on him, but he pouts. “i’m being serious!” “okay...” — he wasn’t being serious.

© imaluckygirl , originals .ᐟ 24.

taglist : @jakesangel . . .

[ghoulfuckersincorporated]

Had a terribly great thought! The Ghoul and reader traveling together. She's a brat but loyal as a dog to that man. They get into a pretty bad fight and she storms off and he's too proud to follow after her, struggling with coming to terms that he's actually soft for her even though he's mean as hell. She finds him some days later, with her tail tucked between her legs. He's not surprised, comparing her to a female dog often. 👀 still, he's going to make sure she's sorry. Lots of groveling on her part, maybe some face slapping, boot licking, he gets off, she doesn't. Ends with her in his lap. Hair petting and praise for coming back to who she belongs to.

As A Dog

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Female Reader

Word Count: 7,085

Warnings: smut (18+), DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, Jealous!Cooper, canon-typical violence, intimacy issues, angst, insecurity, slightly fucked conceptions of love and loyalty, pet play-ish activity, hard drug use, forced intoxication, shotgunning, slapping, boot licking, oral sex (male receiving), face fucking, rough sex, riding, cannibalistic thoughts, orgasm denial (female), breeding kink, creampie.

Notes: I had several pieces in line in front of this one and then this prompt reached through my screen, sunk its teeth into my brain, and shook me until this came out. It really is a terribly great thought. Tagging heavy, since the themes/Cooper's mentality may be triggering for some. It is what it says on the can, folks.

I dunno what unholy demon you've unleashed on me here, Anon. But bless you for it. Another Coop POV because I have a problem. Thanks for the patience on this one; I've been doing some admin stuff the last few days, including setting up an AO3 that you can find here, where I'll be uploading all the long-form stuff. Enjoy!

Cooper's trigger finger was itchier today than it had been for a long time.

He was fully aware that he'd never be able to stop every man left in the world from talking to his little vaultie companion, but boy, he sure would love to try. On an average day, he struggled to hold his tongue as she drove away her own sun-baked suitors, standing silently aside until called up to defend her, no matter how badly he wanted to reduce whomever was bothering her to nothing.

Today was a worse-than-average day, and the girl wasn't helping anything, herself.

"Are you gonna be ready to go any time soon, princess?" he asked her acerbically as she passed by him for the millionth time, tossing his current cigarette down to the ground.

He'd intended to stop at this shitty little settlement, little more than a dingy bighorner ranch at first glance, for a few minutes at most, just long enough to unload some things and check to see if they had any vials on hand. Here it was, nearly four hours of glad-handing and chit-chatting and unnecessary gun repairs later, and he was still leaning against the same crumbing wall, still angrily smoking. She was pushing it.

"Oh, be patient." she shot back, rolling her eyes as she turned to saunter back to the little ramshackle counter. "I'm waiting for my gun back and I was having a nice chat with the mechanic. Try to be pleasant for five minutes, would you?"

She was so full of shit, he thought as he snuffed the still-glowing smoke butt out beneath the toe of his boot with just a little more force than necessary. Typically, she shied away from male attention at her most demure, refusing to acknowledge most advances, playing innocent, playing dumb. The big doe eyes and soft voice didn't hurt on that front, but usually didn't deter the more steadfast predators.

He preferred the days where she had a little extra spitfire, when she told them clearly and loudly to fuck off, no doubt emboldened by having the rather intimidating ghoul hanging over her shoulder, silently encouraging her as she did it. In the past, she had proven that she wasn't above evoking his capacity for violence as a threat when the desert trash was persistent, and it gave him a thrill he couldn't identify, one that ruminated deep in his gut.

That same gut feeling was burning him now, eating a hole in his patience as he watched her listening attentively to the third scrawny young man who'd approached her as she waited around the repair hutch to yap her ear off. She nodded and smiled politely, even laughed from time to time (the sound of which made him want to shoot he kid between the eyes just for that), but kept a respectful distance. Clearly, she'd finally learned that the sort of over-friendliness that she'd been raised with in the vaults could be read differently up here. The young buck, however, continued to try and dance into her space as he spoke animatedly, and, eventually, she reached out and quickly touched his chest.

The old cowboy was stomping across the sand to her before he was even aware he was moving.

His logical brain could see very clearly what had happened: the boy had advanced into her space for the half-dozenth time and she'd put her palm out to gently rebuke him, distracting him from the rejection with a laugh at whatever he'd said. But that part of his brain was rather quiet after a long afternoon of watching her rather blatantly flirt with the asshole she was having repair her plasma pistol (something that she would typically have him do, since it wouldn't cost her anything, and he almost certainly could do with equal or superior adequacy), and letting every other little piss-ant farmhand in the next mile radius chat her up.

"We're hitting the road in five. Get your shit and let's go." he hissed to her, ignoring the little scowl she shot him as he interrupted her newest conversation with the willowy, greasy mechanic, who was sliding her her pistol back across the knotted wood of the semi-exposed countertop. Flashing him that brilliant smile, the one that he wanted to be only for him, she checked the thing over before tucking it back into the holster she kept on her hip, pushing a stash of caps in a metal tin back his way. The old cowboy watched with inflamed indignation as the fucker opened the box, dug out a massive handful, and tucked them back into her hands, letting his own linger across her skin as he placed them back into her palms.

Frankly, he was impressed he was able to let her drop the things back into her bag before he grabbed her by the arm, none too gently, and wordlessly began to yank her back down the road, back in the direction they'd originally been heading in. He could've shoved the damn things in himself and just dragged her along; it wasn't like he was unfamiliar with where she put them. The long, sleepless nights could be boring, and early on, he'd been curious enough about her to nose through her things once or thrice. That, like this, had been quite illuminating.

"Oh, you're being such a prick today!" she yelled, yanking at his grip in an attempt to free herself. He humored her, dropping her arm and turning to face her, unpleasantly surprised as the last farmhand she'd been chatting with, the one she'd touched, came running up.

"Hey, leave her alone!" he yelled. Or, he would have, if he'd had a chance to finish.

The sound of Cooper's rifle butt cracking into the kid's face was incredibly satisfying, collapsing him into a limp, useless pile on the ground, deep crimson pooling around where he lie face-down in the dirt. The girl didn't scream, probably surprised that he hadn't outright shot him, but her hands did fly to her mouth in a quick moment of silent shock before she kneeled to quickly check his pulse, rolling his ugly mug to face the sun. Blood poured from his obviously broken nose, leaving the old ghoul wiping at his face to cover the smirk it sent twitching across his lips.

"What did you do that for?!" she demanded, frustration clear in her voice.

"Oh, my apologies, sweetheart. Your little boyfriend there was trying to join a party he wasn't invited to." he replied, though she was clearly ignoring him in favor of turning the boy onto his side and examining him.

His little companion let out a huff, casting a look between the body on the ground and the little cluster of buildings they'd just left. After a moment, she grabbed him by the fabric of his shirt the best she could and began to drag him back towards where he'd come from. The ghoul watched her pull him about five feet, red and huffing by the time she made it there, rolling his eyes deeply.

"Leave him. He'll be fine."

"He won't be if no one comes over to collect him soon, and you know it." she snarled, and her tone sent him seething, snatching the kid up over his shoulder like a sack of spuds and stomping ahead of her, depositing him unceremoniously against the ranch's handmade sign before yanking her along with him once again.

"Y'know, if you'd have just gotten in and out like I told you, that wouldn't have happened." he said eventually, dropping her arm once more.

"Oh, fuck you!" she hissed. "I was trying to see if I could talk him down on the price. And sometimes people know useful things, you know!" she yelled, exasperation clear in her tone as she threw her arms up in the air.

She pretended to be ignorant, but clearly knew what he was upset about before he specified. Interesting.

"Oh, I'm sure. Y'know, I'd wondered how long it was gonna take you to start sellin' that little ass of yours. Figured it would be for something nicer than a pistol repair or some bad intel, at least." he sneered. He could feel himself slipping further from rationality.

"What are you talking about? It wasn't even like that!" she insisted, an edge of something more worrisome creeping into her voice.

"Quit playin' dumb, doll. You make it seem too easy." he said, watching her entire face light up bright red in frustration. She was tersely quiet for a minute, the gears in her head clearly turning hard and fast as she worked to contain herself and formulate a response at the same time.

"I'm sick of you getting pissed off and treating me like I'm the stupidest person you've ever met." she spat, eventually, madder than he'd ever seen her. "I'm sorry that I haven't spent enough bitter fucking years walking around the desert and killing things and being an asshole to know everything like you do, Coop. I'm sorry I still have human emotions and desires. My sincerest fucking apologies."

That was it: the argument had officially become about...something else.

Honestly, he'd assumed that she was going to leave him a few days back, when they'd stayed in a rare hotel room waiting for a bad dust storm to settle, the little thing getting just a tad too tipsy on some whiskey he'd given her before trying to kiss him. He'd rebuffed her, though not as gently as he wished he had, and, feeling bold, she'd pushed back with surprising fervor, basically demanding to know why he wouldn't kiss her more, why he wouldn't sleep with her.

True, he felt closer to her than he'd felt to anyone or anything in a long while, and he thought she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, but, as embarrassing as it was, the idea of being expected to perform sexually so suddenly made him feel a seizing sense of panic that he wasn't sure he'd ever felt before.

What he'd wanted to say was "I care about you so much, but I'm not sure I'm ready to take that step." Instead, what had come out was "Why are you buggin' me about this? I said no. Fuck off." followed by him storming out to spend several hours smoking in the decrepit, junk-walled-in parking lot.

When he'd returned, she'd been asleep, her poor face tear-swollen and red. He'd waited for her to rouse and hash it out with him, but she'd slept through the night, and, the next morning, didn't bring it up or seem amenable to discussing it. She hadn't seemed angry, necessarily, perhaps a little sad, but in the few days that had passed since, she had definitely been colder, poutier than usual.

It seemed, to him, that she was punishing him now for not doing what she'd wanted, and it was pissing him off.

It didn't matter that he hadn't fucked her yet, that he didn't feel ready to expose the most vulnerable parts of him, inside and out, so openly. She was his; she belonged to him and she knew it as much as he did. The fact that she was even still traveling with him after all this time, after what happened at the hotel that night, was proof. She proved it every single time she came back from one of her little stomp-offs every time he ticked her off, lacking the wherewithal to ever even move fully out of sight before slinking down to pout awhile, inevitably peeking out from whatever she was hiding behind to see if he was still there. Despite her lack of proper training, she was a loyal little bitch.

The fact that she suddenly didn't want to act accordingly sat entirely wrong in his mind, wriggled under his skin like when his stash ran low.

"All's I'm saying, princess," he growled, throwing out the nickname he knew she loathed once more, "is that you're too fucking friendly for your own good, and you shouldn't be shocked when it gets people hurt."

"Why would you give a shit who I'm friendly to, anyway?" she spat, suddenly pushing her way right into his bubble and sending him baring his teeth.

"I wouldn't. Didn't I made that clear enough the other night?"

He knew that this particular barb would hurt her, but he genuinely didn't expect what she did next.

"Alright, then." she said; her voice was trembling noticeably, as was her lower lip. With that, she snatched her backpack up from the ground, jammed her arms into the straps, turned, and began to walk back towards the way they'd come from. He watched her silently, waiting for her to duck back into the ranch, but she didn't; instead, she kept walking, as long as he could watch her, until she disappeared over the hill that fed into the horizon.

The old man watched her go, dumbfounded as she actually continued to walk instead of stopping as she always did. For a while, he hung around, waiting for her to come huffing back, but she still hadn't by the time the sun had fully sunk out of the sky. Eventually, he resumed moving himself, stopping after about a mile in their original planned direction, settling down for a grating night of looking out over the road at every little noise.

She'd never even looked back. He couldn't shake that thought from his mind as he sat there resting overnight. It was basically the only thought he had for hours, plaguing him as he puffed his inhaler and watched the world around him brighten with the rising sun.

When the next day started in full, he'd resolved to hit the road, to resume his travels as he would be resuming his existence before the girl had come along. Compared to how long he'd been exploring the desert solo, she'd been but a brief blip in his life, and there was no reason to fret so much over where she'd gone or what could happen to her without him around.

For some reason, he only covered about half the ground he would typically cover on a day like this, and he found himself beyond unreasonably frustrated...with himself. Nothing about the conditions was slowing him down; he didn't run into more trouble than usual, and he was fine on supplies, vials, but for some reason he found himself hypervigilant, looking for any excuse to move up high and scan the road with his binoculars.

By the time it was too dark to safely continue, he was seething once again, but at his weakness, at his cowardice. After he chose a tucked away little corner to settle down in for a few hours, he quite literally couldn't dig into his stash fast enough, doing line after line, hit after hit of whatever he had on him, until the horrible pain he felt behind his breastbone melted away into a familiar, soothing numbness.

But his numb mind liked to wander, and soon he found himself thinking about the softness of her voice, her skin, her lips against his that night...

And, quickly, he was back to pain and anger, but an irrational anger fueled by a far-more than reasonable dose of basically every kind of stimulant known to Wasteland man. This pain, too, was chased away with more and more chems, until he was so fucked up that he could barely keep his eyes focused and open.

She truly did plague him now, just as she had all the months she'd traveled with him. She plagued his thoughts at all points in the day, plagued his worries about the future, and even as he attempted to snort and huff himself free of the thought of her, she plagued him, dancing up along beside him in a quiet, stalking creep, watching him daintily from the end of the rotted log he sagged himself on, his back wedged against the large rock cluster behind him. At some point, he'd tugged his gloves off and shucked them somewhere nearby, leaving him feeling quite naked as his hands fretted with themselves absentmindedly. Against his will, he thought about running them through her hair like he'd wanted to for so long, and the unpleasant flip his stomach did made him sigh.

"I'm sorry." came a voice on the breeze, so much like hers. The visions of her were persistent, annoyingly so, the one staring hauntingly at him from the side really starting to unsettle him. He was no stranger to visual and auditory hallucinations when he was this far gone, but she was so solid-looking out of the corner of his eye, watching him so close. Judging him and what a fuck-up he was.

He squeezed his eyes shut hard, willing her away, willing himself to go back a few days and redo this entire thing differently.

"Aren't you...gonna say anything?" came the soft, timid voice once more, this time from beside him. Firmer, realer.

He narrowed his eyes in her ghostly direction, focusing as best as he could on her blurry, swimming visage.

"Huh. Didn't know that was really you."

When had she arrived, exactly? Fuck, he was dangerously gone if she'd been able to sneak up on him like that.

She frowned at that, leaning close and sizing him up with worrying eyes. Gingerly, she placed her palm on the back of his bare hand.

"Jeez, Cooper. How fucked up are you?" she asked, her tone sincere, almost apologetic.

Her glaring worry burned into him as judgment, harsh and stinging, and he struck out in response, yanking his hand away.

"Mind your fuckin' business." he slurred, forcing himself to sit up straight enough to point his full anger in her direction, growing with each passing moment. "Think you're better'n me? Hmm?"

He'd fully expected this to ignite another yelling match between the two of them, but she didn't scream back; instead, she quietly dropped her head, avoiding his eyes as she gazed around where he'd chosen to bed down. Truly, he was quite impressed she'd managed to find him at all, let alone in the dark. Turns out he was rubbing off on her even more than he'd thought. The idea left him bitter.

A big part of the anger he felt, the ugliest, most violent part, was the Jet; he knew this. The stuff had gotten him into more than his share of scuffles through the years, making him even meaner than usual, his sharp tongue exact and piercing. However, beneath the amphetamine fog, there was a nugget of true bitterness, an open wound of insecurity that pained him into lashing out when she tried to come close. He'd lashed out in such a way that night at the hotel, despite how hard he'd tried to hold back his sour words.

There was a fear there that he'd felt before, but never so strongly as when he'd watched her disappear over that hill. If she'd tried to leave over that relatively small argument, when would she try to leave again? He wasn't a pleasant man to be around, even when he actually tried to be, a lot of the time. Hell, he wasn't even pleasant to look at; if he'd been a giant prick in his old life, at the very least, he had been handsome.

Increasingly, since she'd come into his life, he tried to reach deep, deep into himself and pull out whatever remained of the old him, the one who was kind and hopeful and actually knew how to talk to women, but the process was infinitely more difficult and painful than he'd imagined.

She clearly wanted and needed intimacy from him, on more than one front, and the pressure of feeling like he couldn't give her what she needed was increasingly getting to him in a way that embarrassed him more than he could possibly say (not that he'd ever say it out loud). Centuries of time had passed, and yet, here he was, still dealing with the same anxieties and feelings of inadequacy that he had before, just dressed up in a new, uglier face.

When would he finally succeed in pushing her away, in frightening her away from him 'for her own good'? The walls around him had never failed him before, for better or worse.

Things were quiet between them as she fidgeted in her spot, the tension of an inescapable conversation in the air, but the desert's constant score, the hiss of sand across corroded asphalt, the soft rattle of the wind in the rocky hills, played on. His muddled ears played tricks on him, making him hear murmurs and distant gunshots and the crack of his rifle butt into that farmhand's face, but he tuned them out, focusing on her steadying, but increasingly heavy breathing, his eyes unable to leave her mouth..

He let himself drink in the fact that she really was there, sat on her knees in the dirt before him and already begging him for his forgiveness, for his acceptance; corporeal, flesh and blood and her sweet smell and that wet, warm place between her legs. Only in his drug-induced private fantasies had he felt it, but he knew he wanted to bury himself there, as deep as possible, and never let her pull away.

"I really am sorry, Coop." she whispered, those big, round eyes brimming with big, wet tears. It wasn't difficult to see her sincerity, even as he struggled to focus. But that hot coal of bitter anger still smoldered in his gut; not replaced by the lust he felt, but fed by it.

Slowly, his own movements labored under the weight of too many substances, he reached out and ran the thumb of his sullied glove along her smooth, smooth cheek. Smearing the trail of wetness there until he was tracing the outline of those pouty lips, he pushed it into her mouth.

"Prove it."

She let out a pitiful little retch, though whether it was from the taste of the incredibly filthy material, or because he was shoving her tongue back in her throat and gagging her with it, he didn't know. What he did know was that the sound made his cock twitch, which was already more blatant sexual desire than he'd felt in ages.

"How?" she asked, wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand as he pulled his own away. The wetness that trailed from his thumb, from her lips, made him feel feverish, and he quickly knotted his hand into the thick, soft hair at the back of her head, yanking her so close that their noses would've been touching, had he still had one. When her wide eyes met his, not so much as a sound escaping her lips at the sensation in her scalp, he finally gave in and harshly mashed his mouth to hers, swallowing the sigh that escaped her as he did.

Cooper was unsure how long they kissed, how long he plundered her swollen, eager mouth with his tongue before she stumbled onto her knees, pulling back slightly to pull air into her lungs. As she hovered there, eyes closed as she attempted to gather herself, he dug deep into the pocket of his duster and withdrew a Jet container, giving it a shake to prime it as she righted her breathing. Once she was steady once more, he cupped the back of her head again, bringing her to him and lifting it to her mouth. There was hesitation in her eyes, then disgust as the chem filled her lungs. It touched him with a twinge of amusement, knowing how badly the stuff tasted, watching her retch harder than before. He let her cough for a few seconds, allowing her a few half-cocked breaths of air before shoving the thing back between her lips and holding it down even longer.

By the time she managed to stop sputtering and drooling, he'd had a hit of his inhaler and started stroking his increasingly hard cock through his pants, watching her closely as she raised her now bleary, glassy eyes towards him. He waited for her to mouth off, to complain, to remark on anything that had happened, but instead, she sat there, unmoving, waiting for his instructions. She was the picture of obedience, but nevertheless, he could still see that glint of outrage behind her gaze, waiting to argue with him the moment she sensed an opportunity.

It pissed him off more than he thought possible, and, before he could even think to stop himself, he lashed out and slapped her across the face, the blow landing squarely in the center of her cheek and making her head turn away from him slightly. Surprising him again, she didn't make a sound, but she also didn't correct her head to look back at him.

Pulling a long drag off of the Jet inhaler himself, he held it deep in his lungs as he grabbed her by her long hair to kiss her again, exhaling the stuff right down into her lungs. She kissed him back until she choked on the sensation, leaning away to spew and cough more.

"Wanna prove you're sorry?" he hissed, his brain buzzing with the fresh hit as she leaned against his knee. "Clean my boots, vaultie. Show a little humility for once in your life."

His words were mean, meaner than he should be right now, but she didn't seem to register their full weight as she struggled to focus her eyes on the boots in question. When she lifted those dark, glassy pools back to his, he could see she knew what he meant, a heavy blush staining her cheeks and neck. Of course she knew what he meant; she was a smart girl, and her brain worked so much like his, even if she wouldn't freely admit it.

She looked up at him so dreamily through those thick lashes, though whether it was real affection in her eyes or simply the haze from all the Jet he'd forced down into her lungs, he couldn't tell.

In truth, his boots weren't as filthy as they could've been, as he'd cleaned the farmhand's blood off of them the night she'd taken off to get rid of the smell. But it wasn't about cleanliness; no, she'd humiliated him, her and her spoiled, entitled vault-dweller attitude, when she ran off, and he wanted to see her humiliate herself a little in kind.

The woman kneeling before him didn't hesitate as much as he'd thought she would, the red outline of his palm and fingers seeming to glow on her cheek in the dying firelight as she cast a vaguely-seeing glance around her, measuring her space before pulling herself into a sort of downward dog position, her round ass in the air as her marred cheek rested softly on the sandy ground. There was a moment of quiet tension as she seemed to study it, planning her approach before rather timidly leaning forward and running her tongue along the side, swiping a clean stripe across the tarnished black material from ball to toe. She gagged at first, likely from the dryness of the dust, but, again, she didn't complain.

He didn't have to tell her to clean the other boot; she did it with no prompting as soon as the first was finished, gagging less as she ran her pretty pink tongue all along the sullied, scuffed leather, and he couldn't believe how much it turned him on while equally failing to quell his indignation, his disappointment. Before she'd really finished her work, he yanked her up by her hair again; this time, she let out a slight yelp of surprise as he dropped her onto her ass, gesturing to her shabby, scavenged armor with one hand as the other began to wrestle his ammo belt, then his actual belt, open.

"Take that shit off."

Again, she did as he asked with only a moment's pause, placing all the little pieces of boiled leather and metal off to the side, her eyes flitting to him for a heartbeat before she proceeded with the rest of her clothes, quickly exposing herself completely. He could see her well in the moonlight, but not as well as he'd have liked, leaving her standing there, vulnerable and shivering ever-so-slightly as he took a good, long look at her. He was painfully hard at this point, desperate to have at least some minor relief from the confines of his trousers, but he was also uncharacteristically nervous at the idea of exposing himself to her this way. Beckoning her forward, he used her distraction as she kneeled once more to pull his cock free, grateful for the darkness and her weaker eyes.

"Suck me." he growled.

While he wasn't exactly pleased at how entirely fucked up he'd been going into this, he was sort of grateful that he couldn't feel almost anything with any vivid detail across the expanse of his body; the visual of her wrapping her dainty little fingers around him and obediently leaning down to take him into her mouth alone would have been enough to finish him if he'd have been able to feel her properly.

The way she went about it also seemed to indicate she wasn't entirely experienced, simply sliding her mouth down over his cock and setting to finding a pace that she could handle, as everything was surely spinning for her. For a while, he let her do so, fingers knotting into her hair again, before his patience wore thin and he began to push her head downwards, the sound of her gagging once more sending a thrill up his spine. Even with the numbness from the most recent hit seeping through him, he wasn't able to keep it up long before he yanked her back, taking in the drool hanging down from her swollen lips.

Cooper gave his spit-slicked cock a few firm tugs, hissing from between his worn teeth at her as he sat back, making room for her on his lap.

"Now get up here and show me you know who you belong to."

She didn't even look towards her bag, towards the condoms he knew she kept tucked deep inside her little toiletry pocket, as she quickly and sloppily pulled herself up into his lap. A part of him knew that he'd have stopped her if she did try to put one on him.

He tried so hard to not think of Barb as the pretty young thing on top of him began to sink down and envelop his cock in her heat, tried so hard to not feel guilty for giving himself to another, and he failed miserably. She felt heavenly, tighter and warmer and sweeter than he could've ever imagined, and he hated himself for how much he loved it, for how alive it made him feel when for so long he'd simply been existing. The choked noise that left his dry throat as the aching head of him fully breached her wasn't a sob, but he wouldn't have known what to call it.

It must've seemed to her, he thought, that he was forcing her to do all the work out of anger, wanting her to fully prove that she wanted him, that she was his; this was true, but he was also terrified, deep down, of how he would react if he allowed himself to freely touch her the way he wanted. He feared he would literally rip her limb from limb in his intoxicated state, sink his teeth into her pillowy flesh until it bled, tear a chunk off of her and swallow it so that she could be part of him forever.

He couldn't tell if the way she huffed and whimpered her way down his length was because she was high and hypersensitive or because she'd never been with a man this way before. That thought was quickly and harshly banished from his brain, however, his hands finding the plush fat of her hips, fingertips digging hard into the soft, supple flesh.

"Good pup." he breathed out when he eventually felt her ass rest on his thighs, fully sheathing him inside her.

The whimper she let out in response, her tight little clasp quivering around him as she clumsily reached out and braced her hands on his shoulders, made him throb hard, leaving him at least slightly grateful for his intoxication once again. If his numbed brain and body had been able to feel her fully, he knew he would've absolutely shot his load already.

Cooper struggled to stay still as she moved experimentally on top of him, lifting and lowering and grinding herself a few different ways before she found a rhythm that made him let out a throaty moan, the ghost of a smile flashing across her sleepy face as she rode away at him for a while.

What he really wanted, deep beneath all the unwanted feelings and unanswered questions about things he didn't want to think about right now, was to knock her up. For so long now he'd thought of her as his, and now that he'd claimed her, he wanted nothing more than to see her round and full to the brim of him. He wanted her to need him, to be completely dependent on him to provide for her and keep her safe.

He wanted her too vulnerable to get away from him.

On top of him, her movements were rapidly losing all coordination as her glossy, heavy eyelids drifted shut, her head nodding violently as she struggled to maintain her pace. He'd given her too much for someone who didn't use regularly, someone her size, and she was crashing out, falling asleep against her will right there. Poor thing.

He slapped her again, the sound ringing out across the vast, empty desert, watching closely as she startled back into a fully upright posture, her hips stilling for a moment before slowly beginning to churn again, her gaze unfocused.

"Mmm." she murmured groggily, leaning forward and placing her forehead against his shoulder, her arms winding around his neck as she tried her best to keep in some sort of motion.

This gesture, the way she cuddled up to him and sought comfort, support from him, even after the way he'd treated her, the fact that he'd literally just slapped her awake, was the only thing she'd done thus far that truly quelled the ugly, raging anger inside him.

"Thought this stuff was s'posed to wake you up." she sighed into the crook of his neck. She was entering the peak of her high, her body pitifully liquid against his chest as she clearly struggled to stay upright.

Personally, Cooper was reaching the un-fun part of his comedown, where everything started to feel grating and the mind began to uncloud, providing an increasingly painful level of clarity, but the senses remained muddled in a way that provided more discomfort than relief.

"Usually does. You had too much, baby." he responded, the mild chastisement in his tone doing a poor job of hiding the guilt behind it. His naked hands stroked reverently at her back, at the long, wind-swept hair that flowed down it, mindful to hold her so that she wouldn't lilt too far to one side as he attempted to soothe her.

Familiar with the unpleasant swimming sensation too much Jet could give you, he let her relax fully against him, the small sigh she let out one of gratitude as her whole body sagged even further. But she didn't stop grinding against him, probably out of some sort of pleasure for herself, he figured as he could feel her greedy insides tugging around him. He hid his grin again, this time in the crook of her neck as his hands found her hips once more, easily lifting her a few inches before dropping her down again, bouncing her on his cock as she rested.

Things went on like that for a spell, him bobbing and rocking her naked, lax body on top of his as she curled up on his shoulder, cooing and nodding off from time to time. As his high wore off, the sensitivity in his body was returning, and it made her feel more and more overwhelming as he continued to fuck her, her hot, wet little cunt leaking all over him as he continued to use her body to get himself off.

She seemed to be more conscious now than before, though barely, jostled awake by the increasing force of his thrusts up into her, bare breasts heaving with the movement. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to trace his lips down her chest, sealing them around her puffy, erect nipple and swiping his tongue along her slightly salty flesh. In response, her arms tightened around his neck, holding him on her breast as she clenched around him hard.

"Cooper." she whimpered, and that single little sound pushed him right into what felt like the most powerful orgasm he'd ever had, his fingers digging into her hips far too hard as he dropped her full weight onto him, grinding her down onto his cock and yanking her against him. His head dropped back, dead weight as he let out a feral snarl, tapering off into a throaty moan.

As he throbbed his gift up inside her, she squirmed at the feeling, tucking her bright red face into the side of his neck in what read as slight embarrassment, giving little huffs and whimpers as he continued to fill her. Another, smaller wave of guilt nagged at him as she clung to him, as he held her as close as he possibly could, struggling to regain control of his breathing; even if she'd had sex before, she'd never done this.

He held her as long as she could tolerate, her grip around him loosening slowly as she moved closer to real sleep. His girl was exhausted through and through, lightly snoozing against his chest.

For a few minutes, he let her rest uninterrupted, scanning her over to assess how badly he'd fucked up. She seemed fairly intact, though certainly more bruised than before. Eventually, he went digging into her bag, knowing (hoping) that she would have Radaway somewhere, and letting out a small sigh of relief when he found some jammed into the bottom.

Only one dose; he would have to find her more, and soon. This would be enough to see her through the next day, though, and he was pleasantly surprised to note that she wasn't showing even minor signs of radiation sickness as he found a vein in her arm, starting up the intravenous line to administer the thick, yellowed solution. Surprisingly, she didn't rouse fully when he slid the included needle into place, but she did begin to stir and groan mildly as the stuff began to effuse. Dimly, he remembered being given it when he'd been in the service, and how shitty it could make you feel.

Softly, he stroked her cheek with the backs of his bare knuckles before setting to jabbing her with a Stimpak from his bag around where she'd stuck some staples in her belly, making a note to ask her what had given her the several inches-long laceration he saw there.

He hesitated, though, when he moved to give her a dose of Med-X he'd dug out from the depths of his saddlebag. Most of the Wasteland's mind-rotting and pain-soothing substances were on the table for him, and in great amounts, but he hated the way the opiate made him sluggish and sleepy, reducing his accuracy in a fight significantly. The pain relief it provided wasn't worth it if he ended up dead anyway.

Smoothskins loved it, though, so he usually kept a few syringes on him for bartering purposes. Never did he think he'd be happy to give so much of his stash away for free.

He knew she must be hurting, or, she would be when she woke up, whenever that was. But he was hesitant to give her anything else, both for fear of how she would react, and, somewhat selfishly, because he knew a proper dose would make her sleep even longer, and he was desperate to actually get to speak with her again.

If she asked for the stuff, he'd give it to her. But...tomorrow. After they'd gotten a chance to discuss everything that had happened with cooler, more sober heads. After he was sure she wouldn't wake up in the morning and hate him for what he'd done to her.

His fingers played softly in her mussed hair as the indigo cover of night faded into the periwinkle of twilight, washing her nearly grey in his arms. She slept hard awhile, undisturbed until the awkward angle of her neck made him gently resettle her into a more comfortable-seeming position, letting her slip down until she was curled up in a ball on her side in his lap, her head supported in the crook of his elbow. Lying this way, he'd have to hold her up while she slept, but he found himself strangely excited at the prospect.

"M'sorry I ran away." she murmured suddenly after a long period of silence, readjusting herself in his lap to curl closer.

"I know, kid. I forgive you." he replied after a moment of hesitation, the words soft and strange as they formed on his lips. He petted her hair as gently as he could manage. "Did a good job findin' your way back to me, pup. Proud of you."

"Mmm. Please don't be mad at me." she echoed his own thoughts softly, so slurred as she finally began into unconsciousness that it was barely intelligible, her face buried in his side.

"I'm not." he said, fully, completely honest for once in his long life. He let his eyelids rest, his hand on his gun, ready to stop anyone who would try to ruin this quiet moment under the fading stars. "I promise. Now, get some sleep, pup. I know you came a long way today."

She sighed at that, as if to say "You have no idea." before flopping loosely into his arms, and was snoring lightly within a minute. He allowed himself a small smile at this, at how earnest and adorable she was.

"Good girl." he murmured.

[2kmps]

FATHOMLESS

eldritch detective x reader | 2.1k | mdni

synopsis; everyone claims that the esteemed detective arsené is the best detective in watt city. the problem is that you've never seen him in the precinct before and he has no face.

story warnings; implied dubcon, smoking, drinking, brief mentions of body gore. this is an extremely fictitious take on detective work, y'all. don't take it seriously. a bit trippy in some spots, very nebulous explanation on arsené's existence. not proofread.

a/n: more about arsené at the end. if you enjoyed pls reblog! if enough folks show interest, I'd love to consider a longfic for him!

Everyone at the precinct called him Detective Arsené, but they never said anything about his face.

It was simply that there wasn't one there, not that you were able to discern in any instance you'd seen him wandering the floor. You'd blamed the long hours, the glowing blue screens and useless eye predictions and corporate greed and mixing alcohol with allergy medicine before you finally accepted what you were seeing was real, yet no one else noticed it apart from you.

“What's wrong with his face?” you'd ask anyone with the time to spare to listen.

“Who? Arsené?” they'd laugh, whether in disbelief that you were speaking about Watt City’s genius detective in such a fashion, or that they thought you were the funniest person in the office. “What are you talking about? He's always looked like that! Lay off the booze, yeah?”

Those responses had never been satisfactory enough, going as far to set you ill at ease for the remainder of your shift, sufficiently distracting you from furthering your workload because your mind always came back to the detective and his non-existent face.

“He looks pretty normal to me,” said a senior member in your division, an older man you'd come to know as forthright and virtuous with a history showing that integrity. He had taken eyes off his computer screen, set aside his bifocals and pinched the high-point between his brows. “What's this about, really? I've worked with Arsené for years. You know that. He's been here since before I started. Good guy, hard worker. Drinks too much, though. Just like someone else I know.”

But, this was the first time you’d heard from this man that he had worked with Arsené, let alone acknowledged his existence at all. There was no reason for him to lie; he had spoken without inflection, warily, almost accusatory towards the end when he spoke about the alcohol.

“Detective Arsené? Well, I think he's really handsome. He just has that look about him, y'know?” The next person you questioned was a junior at the precinct, a pretty woman with silky black hair and long, blunt nails she used the tips of to clack away on her keyboard. “I've heard he has a really specific type, though. I've also never seen him take anyone out, or take a partner on cases, now that I think about it. Isn't he just a stand-up guy? I'd say he's the sort to bring home to mom and dad, but I hear he's got a drinking problem. Why do all the hot ones have vices like that?”

She particularly enjoyed her gossip, especially if it involved the detectives at the precinct; you were positive she'd never mentioned Arsené before now. As smart as she was, she didn't look below the surface very often when it came to men, so for her to say nothing at all of the detective’s smooth face was mystifying.

After that, you started paying attention to Arsené in a way you convinced yourself was discreet: Slowly peeking your eyes above your computer screen to observe his movements across the floor. Always in motion, he stalked around the place with undaunted familiarity, maneuvering the razored corners of desks and blockades from doors and walls, and languidly sidestepped the oncoming traffic of bodies in such a way that seemed premeditated. Practiced. Repeated.

This staunch dedication of yours lasted well over a week before anything came of it, and then one morning you found him waiting in your seat, teetering a bloated manila folder on a thigh while bouncing it impatiently. A very real sensation of unease took hold of the back of your neck, like a cold hand stroking lightly at the downy hairs there until they stood straight.

You thought about pretending you hadn't seen him, swiveling around, and leaving in a burst of urgency. It'd be easy to call in to say you had a personal emergency or became suddenly, very viscously ill and wouldn't be able to handle staring at a screen for twelve hours. No one would ask questions because you were exemplary, always on time, and seldom took time off as you couldn't afford to do so.

Arsené’s head slanting sideways and the waxy, flat face pointing directly towards you prevented you from acting on that impulse, however. He gestured you over with a lethargic wave, though the jitteriness in his leg seemed to worsen from impatience into sheer excitability.

“Clocked in early, aren't you? You have quite the habit of doing that, I've noticed.” He greeted, voice simultaneously undefinable and velvety. It wasn't so deep that you felt like it was gravelly or reverberated in the same way a baritone would, but there was a heftiness to it that weighted in your mind, as if it were possible for someone to reach through all your blood, tissue, and bone and press down directly on your brain. “I've seen you come in a few times, hours before anyone else. And you know what I think? I think, ‘That’s the kind of person who keeps a place like this running. That's the kind of person we want here in this precinct. That's the type of person who believes in the work that we do and who I’d want as my partner’.”

As much as you wanted to get away from the horrid sight before you, the no-face and potent voice wriggling around the wrinkles in your brain, you couldn't bring yourself to do so just yet. Not while you had questions you couldn't find answers to, not while you needed to sedate yourself at night because they ruthlessly endangered your dreams and were thieves of peaceful slumber.

“I've never met you before,” you said, giving a cordial handshake when he had offered it to you. The skin of his palm was warm and humanlike, though his grip was all wrong and entirely too firm. You didn't convey this to him, though. “I've seen you around, though. Were you transferred from a different department or precinct? Everyone says you've been around for a long time, but I find it hard to believe I've noticed.”

“Oh? Well, they'd be right.” Arsené said, finally releasing your hand to take up the thick folder. “I've always been there, and I'm always here. Now, that aside, I've cleared it with the Chief and I'd like you to help me on a case that I'm stuck on. If I've read right, you're the most recent person who's looked through everything to update the records, correct?”

“Probably.” You didn't move when he rolled up another chair from a desk nearby. “I'm a Recorder. It's my job to go through files and periodically update them. I'm not qualified to help detectives on their cases, though. You'd need to speak to the Chief about getting an Assistant for that.”

“Ah, didn't you hear me? That's all been handled. Sit down. Sit down.” He waved you close, then took you by the arm to sit you in the chair next to him. “We have a lot to cover. I think we should start from the beginning and work our way through the evidence list, and then the interrogation tapes. After that, it'd be a good idea to revisit the site of the crime. Don't worry about clearances, I've got everything we need.”

It wasn't often that you saw the inside of the precinct after that day as Arsené particularly enjoyed his busywork and bringing you along for it. Most days you simply operated as a Field Recorder by transcribing statements into the handheld device provided by the precinct to maintain a digital trail. The work wasn't especially difficult, but it did take a level of skill and technological literacy to be able to do effectively, more so to be the sort allowed to tail after a detective on his cases and still maintain an overall ninety-eight percent accuracy.

Despite your job dictating it as such, Arsené never allowed you to fade into the background or stand around as a fancy accessory to go with his title. Oftentimes, he utilized you as his sole confidant as he worked through evidence and suspects, waiting in revered silence for you to offer your insight (however weak it actually was), and afterwards only let you bask in a glow of confidence through streams of unending praise.

“Egads! Eureka! Genius! How is it that it never occurred to me that way? Truly, you're spectacular! You're divine! Who knows how long I’d be running around in circles if I didn't have you as my partner.” They were all slightly variating compliments, though essentially all the same at the core and all very untrue.

You'd never forgotten about the things your colleagues had said about him, of his unrivaled prowess and veneration as the best detective Watt City had ever come to witness. He didn't need you. He had never needed you to solve a case, so you had learned to take his praise in the same vein as you did the silky-haired woman’s comments on men: uninspired and shallow.

When your disinterest became palpable, he seemed to only rely on you more as though he couldn't stand to be burdened with the idea of a rift. He had started calling you late at night about cases, going as far to come knocking at your door and walking inside reeking of stale smoke and a haze of booze, neither of which you could comprehend as possible considering he had no face.

“I just don't get it. I just don't get it! Where am I going wrong?!” He said so wretchedly, sides of his head cradled in his hands that were tucked between his legs. “This case, it’s getting to me. It's getting under my skin. I can't figure it out. Have I finally met my match? Have I finally been defeated? You! You’ve got to help me. It can't end like this.”

For all his dramatics, there was something obscenely cruel behind his words. Perhaps he thought you wouldn't have caught onto it because you simply a Field Recorder, just a person at the end of the day.

“Why haven't you mentioned anything about the victim? You're acting like they don't exist, Arsené. Is this about solving the crime so they get justice and the family gets closure, or for your reputation?” you asked.

He immediately stopped complaining and jolted upright, taken by surprise like he had realized this oversight and wasn't sure how to navigate around it. On that glossy slate of a face, one you knew was piercing deep into you despite a lack of hollow sockets and rolling gelatinous orbs within, you could tell he was now thinking of an answer.

“Neither,” was the answer he gave you. “It's neither of those. Come here. Sit down and talk to me for a while. I can't go home like this.”

The pitying part of you usually won in those moments where Arsené presented himself as his weakest. There was a part of you that believed he was taking advantage of your feeble-heart, your kindness, your blind generosity because at his worst, he'd find a way to strip you down and fuck you.

At least, that's what you assumed happened. You never really could remember as the memory was pitch black, his body was unfathomable above yours, but you were sure you felt his cock penetrating you, his hands desperately fondling your flesh and fat like there was too much to touch yet too little time to feel it all. He said things to you inside your head, words that you couldn’t seem to piece together yet ignited the tension between your legs, lit your skin on fire, and delivered lewd, high-pitched sounds to his ears that he reveled in.

He never left you a mess and he never spoke about those times after they happened. Since you were never sure of them yourself, they suffered the same indifference as his praise and the days simply moved onward in a similar way.

“Another case solved!” Arsené cheered, lifting a stout mug in the air for you to reciprocate with the long stem of your wine glass. It was a fragile tinkling sound, a gentle vibration up your fingers and into your wrist as you toasted his success. “I couldn't have done it without you, my beloved partner! If it's you and I, I could do this forever.”

You swirled the liquid inside; a light and dry, raspberry and vaguely earthy smell wafted up your nostrils before you tasted it and let your cheeks pucker. As you drank, you watched as Arsené lifted the stout towards the expanse of taut, clear skin that should've been his face, and saw liquid inside empty into nowhere.

a/n; so, some folks might remember arsené from my last blog, but back then he was just a concept. I haven't really started a deep dive into this character just yet, but the story ideas I have for him currently are pretty fucking wild and trippy.

"eldritch" isn't quite an applicable term for what he is, but it's the closest thing I can compare him to without giving everything away.

what does he actually look like? no one really knows. I didn't touch on it here in this fic, but typically, mc wouldn't know how to describe his appearance at all aside from having "no face". they can get glimpses of his skintone or hair, but immediately forget what those features of him when they look away. he's quite, literally, unfathomable lmao.

is he good or bad? that depends on the situation and context. the technical answer is that he is moralless in the sense that they have no reason to exist for him. he is above them, and below them. he is motivated by things he wants and acts on it whether that's "good" or "bad" on an alignment chart, he'd probably fall chaotic neutral, but not really evil.

does he love the mc? oh, yeah, he does.

anyway, yeah. he's a pretty fun concept to explore and I'd love to explore him more. let me know your thoughts!!

[my-darling-boy]

Have you had any ✨Ghost Experiences✨ in Scotland yet? Meet any new ghosts???

Ohhhh plenty, but far too many to list without going off on a ramble haha

We’ve done many overnights in castles and old buildings up and down the UK with a team of investigators which has led to really neat experiences, some of them absolutely poignant. I think my favourite interaction has been with a sweetheart of a young seaman called William aboard the RRS Discovery docked in Dundee, also the best K2 session I’ve ever had was there. But yeah, various castles, historic buildings, manors, prisons, etc with some really fascinating results.

I do like how it’s also putting the mediumship to the test which is something I still don’t really like bringing up in general to people but I have apparently shocked investigators/employees at these places with describing events, people, and other things with detail that is not even public or only known privately by people who frequent that location. Nearly all locations I’ve never been to and make a point not to read up on them before I go, which makes these instances more compelling? I often don’t even know the significance of what I’m (sheepishly) describing only to be told I just described a specific thing that happened in a room when there’s no way I could know about said thing. One of the best instances of this was on the RRS Discovery when trailing behind the group in the lower decks, I stopped suddenly. It felt as though something SMACKED very hard and very sudden right where I was standing, someone had lost their life in this very spot. I thought with the boilers around perhaps someone had been hit somehow and died or maybe fallen from the above platform and hit their head on the metal below but was told there were no known records of someone dying in that room and that the platforms didn’t exist at the time. I was perplexed by this as I was 100% sure something had happened there but I just ignored it, maybe I was wrong. We get up to the top deck finally and are told about a boy who, in 1901, tragically fell from the crows nest and died. The investigator and I suddenly realised I had been standing directly below the spot he would have hit on the upper deck when he fell. Another would be a nice young man I’d encountered at a private castle who seemed to be wearing some sort of chainmail and white tunic, followed me around for most of the night, and at one point I picked up on a story about a strange looking gold disc with all these markings on it on the alter in the chapel which he immediately told me not to ask about and refused to elaborate more, I had no idea why he was so adamant about this. I later learned after enquiry the castle historians have documented the place being used by the Templars and it’s a private fact at this location that the Templars have buried artefacts beneath the castle they are working to recover… most notably, beneath the chapel. I’d be talking for ages if I described the other occurrences, but that’s one I’ll always remember!

All and all, I do actually recommend doing it, even if you don’t believe in the stuff, because you get entire historic locations basically all to yourself, at night, which is cooler. I once sat for nearly an hour in a 200 year old jail on the floor, in the dark, at 2 AM, just chilling. On free roam while everyone is usually at base, I’ve been able to explore places by myself, in the dark, opening doors to rooms not even shown to us, panning my torch to old paintings and artefacts in basements to attics and bedrooms and so much more. I’ve sat alone in century old ships and played sea shanties which echoed hauntingly down the passageways. Sprawled out in the pews of medieval chapels in the pitch dark, wandered dark castle corridors alone, sometimes I’ll sing out old songs and just listen to it drift out through the halls and rooms. You feel like some character in a novel, it’s quite a liminal space! Like all these places where so many other people came before you, where people lived and died, sometimes even right where you’re sitting, and you’re able to lay out on the stones in the dark with it all and just feel connected to it yk?

Anyway that still ended up being a ramble HAHA so yeah! I recommend it for both believers and those less inclined because at the end of the day, you’ve basically got several hours of private access to historical locations, at night, no tourists, and sometimes to places the public isn’t allowed at all, and hey maybe something Strange will happen while you’re alone in the darkness.

[peachy-panic]

Companion, pt. 3 (Bonus)

The last little piece of this arc (that was originally supposed to be part of part two)

WARNINGS: Not much. BBU, alcoholic in recovery, anxious animals with a happy ending

Sebastian takes a tentative sip and wrinkles his nose at the burn of carbonation against his throat. 

“They’re an acquired taste,” Sam had warned him when he handed them over on their last visit to the house, “but they help.” He was right on both accounts, unfortunately. The bitter notes, the heavy carbonation, and the acidic tang are meant to mimic the familiar habit of nursing a drink, but without any of the pleasant, warm buzz that comes after. (And without the misery and exhaustion and shame that comes with the next morning, he reminds himself).

Sebastian doesn’t find himself reaching for these alcohol replacement drinks often, but nights are sometimes… difficult. A natural consequence, he supposes, using a glass (or three) of vodka as a sleep aid for several consecutive years.

It will be a cold day in hell before Sebastian can utter aloud that he is proud of himself for much in this life, but he thinks, with this, he has done fairly well. Perhaps he can credit part of that to having the proper motivation enter his life. 

As if on cue, the quiet creak of a door sounds from down the hallway. Sebastian places his can on the counter, an easy smile falling into place, but no footsteps follow. Jaime is good at moving quietly through the house, but Sebastian didn’t realize he had mastered absolute silence. He frowns, but just as he goes to step around the island to check on him, he nearly jumps out of his skin as a black mass of fur jumps onto the countertop, seemingly out of nowhere. 

“Jesus, Bella!” Sebastian whisper-shouts, hand over his heart. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“Merrrr,” she chirps up at him, knocking her tiny paw against the side of his open can, threatening to upturn it all over the floor. 

“Yeah, I don’t think so.” He plucks the drink out of her reach, but as he retracts his hand, Bella nuzzles her head against his wrist. A request for contact. Sebastian’s heart melts a little. “Hey there,” he says, reaching down to pet her properly. She preens at the affection, vibrating softly with a low, steady purr.

Sebastian can’t help but feel proud of their little cat for the impressive adjustment she has made to their home in such a short amount of time. The first couple of nights were… rough. She spent most of the waking hours out of sight, hiding somewhere Jaime and Sebastian couldn’t reach. And though he didn’t voice it out loud, Sebastian could tell that Jaime was affected by her fear. He could see the regret and guilt taking shape in his eyes. 

Sebatian tried to comfort him by bringing up article after article online, assuring them that this behavior was often to be expected when bringing a cat into an unfamiliar home, and that there were measures that could be taken to acclimate them. They took all of them. And slowly, surely, they began to work. 

A few days after they brought her home, Sebastian returned from work to find Jaime sitting on the couch with a preternatural stillness to his form and a stunned look on his face. When Sebastian looked closer, he saw that it wasn’t just a blanket on his lap. Blending into the soft, black fibers was Bella’s sleeping form, curled up on Jaime’s legs. She only stirred briefly at Sebatian’s entrance before standing into an arched-back stretch and making herself at home once again on his lap.  

The smile on Jaime’s face was bright enough to light the whole house. 

“I never thought I’d be a cat person,” Sebastian says, rubbing the back of his knuckles between her ears. “But you’re pretty sweet, huh?”

Inevitably, a familiar itch rises to his eyes, as it does anytime he spends more than a minute in direct contact with Bella. He pinches the bridge of his nose to combat an oncoming sneeze. Extracting his hand from her just long enough to open the cabinet above the sink, he reaches for the bottle of allergy pills he stashed away the day they brought her home. 

Listen. 

There are several internet forums that swear up and down that you can mind-over-matter a cat allergy away given enough time and exposure. Sebastian has done his research. In the meantime, he is perfectly capable of smuggling home a bottle of Claritin once a month and popping pills in secret. Sebastian knew from the moment he saw Jaime staring, enamored, at Bella’s cage at the shelter, that this was one piece of information he could keep to himself. If anything, watching Jaime’s smile on the couch that day had only made Sebastian double down on that conviction. 

He unscrews the cap and shakes one of the small, white pills into his hand. The next sip of alcohol-replacement-drink doesn’t taste any better as it washes it down. Worth it, though. All of it. 

Sebastian casts a glance down the hall, where he knows Jaime’s door will be cracked open so that Bella can come and go as she pleases.

“You make him happy,” he tells her. “How could I not love you for that?” Right on cue, she turns her head to issue a firm love bite to his thumb. “Ouch, you little shit,” he says, but even he can hear the affection bleeding into the words. 

***

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[ataliagold]

Under July Stars That Would Glow Like Sparks

For @astrangersummer week 5 prompt 'fireflies'. Title from I Wonder by Gabe Quinn.

Pairing: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson

Rating: General

W/C: 1242

Tags: Established Steddie, post-Vecna, everyone lives, fluff and minor angst, bittersweet, summer nights, catching fireflies, soft Steve, soft Eddie, Dustin being Dustin

Summary: At the end of summer, Steve and Eddie spend the evening with Dustin on a familiar hill. Soon, they'd have to tell the kid they were about to leave Hawkins, but not tonight. Tonight was for catching fireflies.

___

Eddie cackled, leaping around in the field, doing his utmost to catch fireflies in clasped hands under the moonlight.

Steve sat nearby. A beer beside him, Eddie’s thin hoody rolled up under him, protecting his Levis from the grass. He watched fondly as Eddie scuttled around with all the grace of a newborn deer, clapping his hands together as he tried to catch the little bugs between his fingers.

Dustin was having much more luck with the net, swooping it high in the air and then twisting off the top of it to keep his catch inside it.

“Eddie, you gotta use the torch like I said, remember?” Dustin huffed, net in one hand, the other on his hip – a mirror of the ‘mom’ pose Steve was so often teased about. “Mimic their light pattern, turn the torch on and off, it helps draw them -”

Eddie scoffed, reached out and flicked Dustin on the edge of his cap – why he was still wearing that thing at night time, Steve wasn’t sure.

“Yeah, yeah, Henderson,” Eddie teased. “Just admit you’re inferior at catching them, you gotta use the damn net after all -”

“You haven’t even caught one yet!” Dustin spluttered, indignant.

“I’m integrating myself into their group!” Eddie argued. “They’re just…getting to know me. Just wait, I’ll have that jar full within the hour.”

Steve smiled, chuckled lightly into his beer, took a sip and set it aside again.

They were on the hill where Dustin’s Cerebro had once stood a few years ago. It was long gone now; dismantled by a quiet Dustin with Steve standing off to one side, the kid barely able to look at it after hearing the screams of his friends, the roars of a monster that had sounded from it.

They’d helped save the world from this very spot once.

Now, it was just a hill.

Steve turned away from Eddie and Dustin for a moment. Looked down at the twinkling lights of Hawkins down below, at the little town that was slowly getting back on its feet after enduring literal hell.

They were leaving soon. He and Eddie.

They hadn’t told the kids yet. Steve knew Dustin would take it the hardest, that maybe he wouldn’t fully understand, wouldn’t be able to grasp the fact that Hawkins no longer felt like home for all of them.

Soon, they’d tell them. In the next few days, in fact, now that they were nearly ready to leave. They’d tell them about the apartment in Chicago close to Robin’s college, about the part-time course Steve had been accepted into, about the several promising job listings Eddie had interviews for.

But before that, they’d decided to let them have one last summer.

They’d take the kids to Lover’s Lake, watch as they splashed around and shrieked with laughter, hang back on the side of the shore and shake their heads when the kids asked them to join them in the water.

They’d go for barbeques at the Hopper-Byers house, sip beer with Hopper and Wayne. Steve would sit with the former Chief when he went quiet at the end of the day, when he nursed a cigarette that had long burnt out and watched the kids with a faraway look in his eyes.

They’d help Lucas with his basketball – or rather, Steve would help, flushed and sweaty but happy as he bounced a ball around the court with the boy, gave him tips and encouragement while Eddie sat on the sideline, barely hiding the way he was leering at Steve in his short shorts.

They’d sit with El and Max, Steve doing El’s hair just the way she liked it, sitting quietly in front of the TV while Eddie and Max laughed loudly at whatever terrible horror movie they’d decided on.

They’d have one last campaign, Eddie making it extra special without ever telling the kids why. Steve even joined in briefly, playing the role of a heroic NPC, Eddie making sure to impart all the DM knowledge he could onto Will and Mike.

And, on a clear, warm evening, they’d catch fireflies with Dustin.

“Steeeeeeve,” Eddie called, pulling Steve from his thoughts.

“Yeah?”

“Come help me? I’m not sure these bugs like me after all.”

“I told you!” Dustin said loudly. “If you just use the torch like I suggested, you’d have heaps!”

Steve huffed out a laugh, stood up with a slight wince as the scar tissue on his sides pulled, and dusted dry grass off himself.

He approached Eddie, shaking his head at the way he was swiping at the air. Reaching out, he clasped his larger hands over his boyfriend’s.

“Slowly,” he murmured, guiding Eddie’s hands gently around the nearest little glowing bug. “Don’t scare them, just…gentle.”

Eddie watched, wide-eyed, as Steve gradually squeezed his fingers together, trapping the firefly inside.

His hands shone, warm and orange, and he grinned as he felt the bug zapping about against his palms.

“We got one,” Eddie whispered. “Look, Steve.”

Steve chuckled, kissed the top of Eddie’s head because he couldn’t not. “Yeah, Eds. Dustin, hand us the jar, will you?”

Dustin brought it over, held it up to Eddie’s cupped hands.

Eddie paused. Glanced over at Steve, then back to the jar.

“What are you waiting for?” Dustin asked, raising his eyebrows.

Eddie shifted from foot-to-foot quickly, scrunching his face up, but keeping his hands gentle around the bug. Steve recognized the signs of him being caught in indecisiveness, brought a hand to his lower back.

“Eds?”

“I think I wanna let it go,” Eddie said firmly.

Dustin rolled his eyes. “Seriously? After all that?”

“Hey, it’s my bug,” Eddie shot back. “I can do what I like with it.”

Dustin groaned, stomped away, picked up his net to get back to work.

Once he was out of earshot, Steve stepped in closer to Eddie.

“You ok, Eds?” he whispered, because the other man’s face had fallen a bit as he stared down at the still-trapped bug.

Eddie blinked, and a silent tear tracked down his cheek.

Steve hummed, quiet and soft, reached up to brush it away.

“What’s the matter, baby?”

“I don’t…” Eddie paused, took a breath, started again. “Should we let it go?”

Steve took Eddie’s clasped hands in his again, knew he wasn’t really talking about the bug.

“Do you want to?”

“I think so. But we put so much work in, does it make sense to just…let it leave?”

Steve kissed him. Brief and sweet. “I think it makes all the sense in the world.”

Eddie’s face twitched as the firefly batted against his palm again, seeking an exit.

Slowly, he opened his hands.

The two of them watched as the bug slowly emerged then zapped into the air, their eyes following that small point of light until it faded into the night sky.

Steve took Eddie’s hand, held it tight as they watched Dustin swing his net around, cursing or laughing depending on how successful he was.

Steve would miss that kid. God, he’d miss him.

But he was ready to put Hawkins in his rear-view mirror, ready to wake up next to Eddie every day in a town that wasn’t permanently tainted by so much horror for them both.

He looked at Eddie. Smiled sadly, squeezed his hand tighter.

Together, they lay back in the grass to watch the moon glow down on Hawkins, perhaps for the last time.

___

[cheynovak]

Dreams of a Hunter 

Dean Winchester x F/ reader (Y/N)      

Warnings:  18+ ish? Soft smutty romance? Passion, ...

Side note: English isn’t my first language.       

I didn’t proofread, so I'm sorry for any mistakes.    

*Does not follow the spn storyline * 

Just a little something something... Enjoy!

--  

Y/N is a young witch, although she didn’t know it yet. Her parents adopted her when she was very young, her dreams had always bene vivid, but never as vivid as the last few weeks.  

She shared a house with her friends close to the college they attended, and where one of their classmates was killed. Since the dead of her friend, she had dreams about a man, never seeing his face.  

--   

Y/N had always been plagued by vivid dreams, but lately, they had taken on a peculiar intensity. Each night, fragments of a man she had never met invaded her sleep. His striking green eyes, speckled with warmth, haunted her. His face, adorned with freckles, often appeared in fleeting glimpses. Light brown hair, and the dark brown leather jacket he wore with a weird necklace seemed as familiar as her own reflection. And always, there was the car, a sleek, black, a muscle car that roared like a beast from another world. 

She had tried to ignore it, to dismiss it as nothing more than an overactive imagination. But the dreams persisted, growing clearer, more insistent.  

One night, the dreams took a new turn. She found herself standing on a deserted road, the night sky filled with stars above her. The air was cool, and she shivered slightly, drawing her jacket tighter around her.  

In the distance, she heard the low rumble of an engine. The sound grew louder, closer, until she could see the headlights piercing the darkness. The black car came into view, its presence both threatening and exhilarating. It pulled up beside her, the engine purring before it quieted.  

The driver's window rolled down, unable to see his face in the darkness. "You must be Y/N," he said, his voice a deep, resonant timbre that sent shivers down her spine. She nodded, unable to find her voice. 

Y/N's heart raced. "How do you know my name?" she finally managed to ask. But before Y/N could ask more, the air around them seemed to ripple, and she felt a sudden, overwhelming sense of danger.  

From the shadows, a figure began to emerge, dark, twisted shapes that seemed to be made of smoke. Y/N's breath caught in her throat. She had never seen anything like this before.  

Just when the thing marched towards her, she lifted her hand. 

Y/N jolted awake, her heart pounding in her chest. She was in her own bed, the early morning light filtering through her bedroom window. She took a few deep breaths, trying to steady herself. The dream had felt so real, as if she had truly been standing on that deserted road.  

She sat up, rubbing her eyes. The dreams were becoming more frequent, and this last one had been the most vivid yet. She could still feel the cool night air, hear the rumble of the car’s engine.  

Y/N glanced at the clock. It was still early, but she knew she wouldn't be able to go back to sleep. She got out of bed and made her way to the kitchen, brewing a pot of coffee. As the rich aroma filled the air, she couldn't shake the feeling that the dreams were more than just figments of her imagination. 

A few hours later, her phone buzzed on the counter, startling her. She picked it up and saw a text from her best friend, Emily. 

"Morning! Any more weird dreams?" the message read. Y/N hesitated before typing her response. "Yeah, another one. This time I met him.” Emily's reply was almost instant. “Maybe you’re just dreaming about something you watched?" 

Y/N frowned. She hadn't been watching anything like that recently. In fact, she had been too busy with schoolwork to watch much of anything. “I don't think so. It feels different, like it's trying to tell me something.” 

Y/N couldn't shake the feeling of deja vu as she went about her day.  

The dream lingered in her mind, vivid and persistent. She tried to push it aside, focusing on her work and the plans she had for the evening. Her friends had invited her to the local fair, and she was looking forward to some distraction and fun. 

As the sun dipped below the horizon, Y/N met up with her friends at the fairground. The air was filled with the sounds of laughter, music, and the enticing aromas of fair food. Bright lights from the rides and booths illuminated the night, creating a festive atmosphere. 

For a while, she managed to lose herself in the excitement, laughing and chatting with her friends as they tried their luck at various games and enjoyed the rides. But as they made their way through the crowd, something caught her eye a flash of brown leather disappearing into the throng of people. 

Her heart skipped a beat. It was the same dark brown leather jacket from her dreams. Without a second thought, she excused herself from her friends and started to follow the figure, weaving through the crowd. 

"Y/N, where are you going?" Emily called after her, but Y/N was already too far ahead, her focus locked on the jacket that seemed to be leading her somewhere. 

She pushed through the mass of fairgoers, the sights and sounds around her fading into the background. She was close now, just a few steps away from the man. But just as she reached out, he turned a corner and vanished from sight. 

Y/N hurried around the corner, only to find herself in a quieter part of the fairground behind the wagons. The bustling crowd was behind her, and the area was dimly lit, casting long shadows. She looked around, frustration and determination mixing in her chest. Just as she turned around, still looking into the dark alley, she bumped into someone. 

Strong hands steadied her as she stumbled back, and she looked up to see those familiar green eyes staring down at her. The freckles, the light brown hair, it was him. The man from her dreams. 

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice deep and concerned. Y/N's mind raced. "I-I'm fine. Sorry, I didn't mean to bump into you." He smiled, and it was like a warm, boyish grin. "No problem. You seemed like you were in a hurry." 

She nodded, still trying to process the situation. "I thought I saw something." The man tilted his head slightly, studying her. "You look familiar. Have we met before?" He flashed a boyish grin.  

Y/N hesitated. "I'm not sure. Maybe?" He chuckled softly. "Well, I'm Dean." Her heart skipped a beat at the name. "I'm Y/N." 

"It's nice to meet you, Y/N," Dean said, his eyes never leaving hers. "What brings you to the fair?" She hesitated, “I’m here with my friends.” Dean looked at her, “So you weren’t following me just now?” Before Y/N could respond, a chill ran down her spine.  

She turned to see shadows moving in the dim light, shapes that didn't belong. Dean noticed them too, his body tensing. The shapes materialized into dark, twisted figures, and Y/N felt a surge of fear. But Dean was already moving, pulling a silver knife from his jacket. The figure lunged at them pushing Dean aside. 

Y/N watched in awe and terror, feeling a strange sense of familiarity. Without thinking, she reached out, focusing on the figure. A pulse of energy shot from her hand, and the creature dissolved into smoke. 

Dean glanced at her, a mixture of surprise and admiration in his eyes. "Looks like you've got some skills," he said, dispatching the last of the creatures. 

Breathing heavily, Y/N looked at her hand, still tingling with energy. "I don't understand any of this." 

He took her hand, and they hurried back towards the bustling part of the fairground. As they rejoined the crowd, Y/N spotted her friends rushing toward her, their faces a mix of concern and curiosity. Emily was the first to reach her, eyes wide with worry. 

"Y/N, where did you go? We were so worried!" Emily exclaimed, her gaze shifting to the man holding Y/N's hand. "And who's this?" Y/N squeezed Dean's hand, drawing strength from his presence. "Emily, this is Dean. I... I ran into him and got a bit sidetracked." 

Dean offered a friendly smile, his green eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief. "Hey, nice to meet you. Sorry for causing any worry. Her friends exchanged glances, clearly intrigued by the handsome stranger. Emily's worry faded, replaced by curiosity.  

"Well, any friend of Y/N's is a friend of ours. You two looked pretty intense back there. Everything okay?" 

Y/N nodded, not entirely sure how to explain what had just happened. "Yeah, everything's fine. Just had to clear up a misunderstanding."  

Emily turned to Y/N as they walked on, “That’s the guy isn’t it?” Y/N hushed her and looked over her shoulder before nodding. “Girl! You failed to mention he looks gooood!”  

Dean noticed the blush on Y/N’s cheeks, smirking proud. With an excited grin Emily turns to Dean. "Hey, why don’t you join us of the annual campfire party tonight? It's a lot of fun. Free drinks, music, dancing. You in?" 

Y/N looked at Dean, who met her gaze with a smile that sent a flutter through her heart. "I'd love to," he replied, his eyes never leaving hers. "Sounds like a good time." 

Emily clapped her hands together. "Great! Let's head over. The spot isn't far from here." 

They walked together to a secluded area near the edge of the fairgrounds where a large campfire was already roaring, surrounded by a circle of friends and acquaintances. The crackling fire cast a warm, inviting glow, and the scent of burning wood mingled with the cool night air. 

As the group settled in, Emily handed out drinks, and soon the sound of laughter and music filled the air. Y/N found herself relaxing, the strange events of the evening momentarily pushed to the back of her mind. 

Dean stayed close to her, their conversations flowing easily. He was charming and attentive, making her laugh with his quick wit and funny stories. As the night went on, they found themselves drawn to the dance area, where a mix of upbeat and slow tunes played from a portable speaker. 

"I’m not much of a dancer," Dean admitted, a hint of sheepishness in his voice. Y/N smiled, her heartwarming at his honesty. "No worries, I’ll make you look good." 

She took his hand and led him to the makeshift dance floor, feeling a surge of excitement. As the music pulsed through the air, she moved against him. Dean followed her lead, his movements tentative at first but growing more confident with each passing moment. 

Y/N felt the heat rising between them as they moved together, their bodies pressed close. She could feel the strength of Dean's arms around her, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat matching hers. The music seemed to fade into the background as they lost themselves in the moment, their movements becoming more fluid and synchronized. 

With each sway of their hips and every brush of their bodies, the tension between them grew palpable. Y/N could feel the electricity crackling in the air, igniting a fire within her that she couldn't ignore. Dean's hands roamed over her back, sending shivers of pleasure down her spine. 

Y/N leaned in closer to Dean, her lips brushing against his ear. "You’re doing great," she murmured, her voice husky with desire. Dean's breath hitched, his grip on her tightening. "Thanks to you," he whispered back, his voice low and husky. 

Heat coursed through Y/N's veins as she lost herself in the sensation of Dean's body against hers. It was as if they were the only two people in the world, caught up in a whirlwind of passion and desire. 

As the song came to an end, they slowly came to a stop, their chests heaving with exertion. Y/N looked up at Dean, her heart pounding in her chest. 

Dean looked into Y/N's eyes with a warmth that sent shivers down her spine. Without a word, he leaned down, his lips meeting hers in a passionate kiss. Y/N melted into his embrace, her hands instinctively finding their way to his shoulders as their lips moved together in a fiery dance. 

Dean deepened the kiss, his tongue slipping past her lips to explore the depths of her mouth. Y/N responded eagerly, the heat between them igniting into a blazing inferno. She felt as if she were being consumed by the intensity of their connection.  

When they finally pulled apart, Y/N's heart was racing, her breath coming in short gasps. Dean's eyes were dark with desire as he looked at her, his hand gently cupping her cheek. 

"Why don’t we go somewhere more private?" he suggested huskily, his voice sending shivers down her spine. 

Without hesitation, Y/N nodded, her mind clouded with a heady mix of anticipation and longing. She didn't question the impulse, didn't stop to consider the consequences. All she knew was that she wanted to be with Dean, to explore this newfound connection with him. 

"Your place?" she suggested, her voice barely above a whisper. Dean's lips curled into a seductive smile. "Sounds perfect."  

When they reached Dean's car, he opened the door for her with a gentlemanly gesture. She climbed in, the anticipation building with each passing moment. Dean slid into the driver's seat beside her, his gaze never leaving hers as he started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot. 

The drive to Dean's place was a blur, the tension between them thick in the air. Y/N's heart raced with excitement as they pulled up to an old motel, but confusion creased her brow. This wasn't what she had expected. She turned to Dean, her eyes searching his face for answers. 

"Dean, why are we here?" she asked, her voice tinged with uncertainty. 

Dean hesitated, his gaze flickering away for a moment before meeting hers again. "I... I'm traveling with my father for his work," he explained, his tone hesitant. "But he's been gone for a few days now, and... and I'm alone here." 

Y/N's confusion deepened. She hadn't known Dean was traveling with his father, and the idea of being alone in an unfamiliar motel with him sent a shiver down her spine. But there was something in Dean's eyes, a vulnerability that tugged at her heartstrings. 

"I understand if you're not comfortable," Dean said quickly, his words rushed. “ We can stay in the car if you want? I just thought... I thought maybe we could have some privacy here." 

Y/N considered his words, her mind racing. She didn't know what to make of this unexpected turn of events, but she trusted Dean. She trusted the connection she felt with him, the undeniable chemistry that had sparked between them from the moment they met. 

With a surge of adrenaline and desire, Y/N and Dean burst through the door of the motel room, their bodies pressed urgently against each other. Their lips met in a heated kiss, hungry and fervent, as they stumbled further into the room. 

There was no time for hesitation or restraint. Their hands moved feverishly, fumbling with buttons and zippers, stripping away layers of clothing with a desperate urgency. Fabric fell to the floor in a chaotic heap, forgotten in the heat of the moment. 

Their bodies collided, skin against skin, as they came together in a passionate embrace. There was an electric current running between them, igniting a fire that consumed every inch of their beings. 

Y/N's senses were overwhelmed by the scent of Dean's cologne, the warmth of his touch, the sound of their ragged breaths mingling in the air. She felt as if she were drowning in a sea of sensation, lost in the ecstasy of their connection. 

Dean's hands roamed over her body, igniting sparks of pleasure with every touch. Y/N arched against him, her heart racing with desire as she surrendered herself to the intoxicating whirlwind of passion. 

Y/N felt his touch slowing down, and when he thrusted softly deep inside her, she felt a soft sting from accepting him, but it was quickly replaced by a wave of pleasure that washed over her. She gasped softly, her body adjusting to the sensation of him.  

Dean paused, his movements gentle and deliberate as he gave her time to adjust. He caressed her cheek tenderly, his eyes filled with concern and adoration. 

"Are you okay?" he murmured, his voice soft with concern. 

Y/N nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. "I'm more than okay," she reassured him, her voice filled with a mix of pleasure and excitement. 

Dean's expression softened, a relieved smile spreading across his face. "Good," he whispered, leaning in to kiss her forehead. With each slow, deliberate movement, Y/N felt herself surrendering to the pleasure of being with Dean.  

In the seclusion of that motel room, Y/N and Dean surrendered themselves to each other completely, lost in a whirlwind of passion.  

--

Please like, share or comment when you liked the story. If you liked this, please check out my masterlist for other stories. It's just a one shot story, won't turn it into a series.

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Exile in Guyville 2 - Glory

+18 ONLY - Minors DNI

Moodboard by @onegirlmanytales

Record shop Eddie Munson x AFAB Reader |8.2K

*Disclaimer* This story is written in second-person POV for reader immersion. I am labeling it an Eddie Munson x Reader fic. Reader is a unique character. They have a shaved head, are physically disabled - sometimes walking with a limp -, tattoos, and piercings. They have a backstory. If you are not interested in a fic written in that way, simply do not read it. Both Eddie and reader are bisexual. Reader is physically disabled and has PTSD. Eddie is bisexual, has PTSD, and chronic pain.

Series Summary: It's 1995 and Eddie is still looking for a home. His nomadic lifestyle as a studio musician for hire has become lonely as he watches his friends move on and start families of their own. The loss of Wayne, and the relationship he forms with an old rocker brings him to a college town where he meets you. Is there room in your life for him?

Chapter Summary: Eddie seeks you out in the hope that you'll come through with your offer to help. This chapter contains sexual content in the form of masturbation.

---

*Beep* *Beep* *Beep*

Your hand shoots out at the sound, groping around your nightstand, only knocking over a candle and a full glass of water for your efforts.

*Beep* *Beep* *Beep*

Fuuuuuucccckkk. Where in the fucking fuck?

*Beep* *Beep* *Beep*

The alarm is screaming through your pitch-black room, and you slowly remember. It’s not on the nightstand anymore. You put your foot in a puddle of cold water and hobble to the other side of your bedroom, slamming a fist down onto the alarm clock, halting the offending sound. Your immediate thought is, go back to bed.

4:25 am. You had fallen asleep sometime after 2:00 when the frat guy from the house next door finally stopped puking outside of your bedroom window. If you had known when you signed your lease that you’d be next to a fraternity, you’d have opted for an upstairs bedroom. You’re seriously considering moving your shit up to occupy one of your roommates’ bedrooms while they’re home for the summer. You can’t do it, though, it feels wrong to intrude in their spaces like that.

You’re slowly starting to remember why you set your alarm for such an ungodly hour. You’re baking and opening this morning. The usual baker was stuck in West Virginia, her car had died while she was trudging through the mountains to head back north. You have no idea how long she’ll be out, but you and your manager are splitting baking duties until her return. You’re her most reliable worker, unfortunately for you.

A blue button-up shirt passes your smell test along with the only pair of jeans you own that don’t have the knees blown out. Yet. Your hamper is overflowing, which you know means you have to get to the laundromat, but god do you want to avoid it as long as possible. You can eek out at least one more day, since tomorrow is a day off, and you won’t need to wear the prescribed “uniform”.

The big house is quiet. It makes the soft hair on your arms stand on end in these early hours with only your still sleep fogged thoughts echoing inside your head. You often wonder what ghosts occupy the space within the walls of the old place. It was hacked to pieces sometime in the 60s and turned into ROTC housing. The upstairs has a wall dividing the hallway in half, once upon a time the boys were on the left and the girls were on the right, with a bathroom at the far end of each hallway. Two big bedrooms on the ground floor, likely for house parents back in the day. Yours is the one next to the kitchen with quick access to the back door. That is all well and good until Mo moves back in. She’s an early riser, and you swear she stands outside of your bedroom door banging pots and pans together on purpose every morning just to aggravate you.

Today, though, you’re alone. And you’re spooked. It happens more often than you’d like, the sense that someone has been in your home when you’re out or late at night when you’re asleep. Rent is cheap, and you can’t afford a place with a lock on a lobby door. It will be better when the halls are once again filled with the sounds of your 7 roommates, as well as all of the random folks that wander in looking for them. You like it, being in this community, this family.

You see the blinking red light on the answering machine set in the “window” cut out of the barrier wall in the upstairs hallway and hit play on your way to the bathroom to brush your teeth and run water over your head.

Mo’s voice rings through the empty space, and it doesn’t settle the eerie feeling in your gut. “Hey bitch. I’m stopping by later with groceries. Mom says you should come spend some time with us this summer, she hates you being alone all the time. Love you, I hope you’re home when I come by. Mwah.”

Mo’s mom loves you and hates your situation. She was friends with your parents before they left. She doesn’t know the whole story, but she knows enough to judge your mom for leaving her barely 18-year-old alone with no financial or emotional support to fend for herself. So, she does what she does best, she feeds you at every opportunity. And you are thankful. So thankful. She didn’t even look at you funny when you showed up with a buzzed head and fresh tattoos a few months ago. She hugged you like you were still the kid that sang in the high school choir with Mo. You suppose you still are that person, but a lot has changed in the last couple of years.

You head back down the stairs, your left leg sends a zing when you hit the first step, so you smack it hard with your fist and keep trudging along. The instinct to hit that aching leg is strong, but never actually eases the pain. Your watch is telling you that it’s 10 til 5:00, and you’ve got to get your ass moving. You run back to your room to grab your keys and wallet, shove them into your pockets, and head out the front door. The coffee shop is just around the corner at the end of your street. It’s perfect for you since you can’t afford to keep the insurance on a car. That’s fine when your roommates are around, but it keeps you stranded in town while they’re gone. You’d give anything to take a ride out to the woods on the outskirts of town. To be able to breathe in the pine scented air and feel the crunch of leaves under your feet. To hike up the hills and look out over the lake and see the ripples of sunshine flash up at you. You miss it.

Your feet hit the uneven sidewalk, dodging any spots that might trip you up. No streetlights in this part of town, which you never understood. It’s mostly college housing in this part of town, shouldn’t the safety of the students that come from all over the country be a priority for the city? The answer, of course, is no, even though your chances of being in trouble on this street far outweigh the possibility than on the side of town where all of the homeowning residents live. There is a clear divide between the locals and the college kids. You would know better than most, you once lived on one of those streets that is lined with single family homes - each with a minivan or station wagon in the garage.

You round the corner of the shop on autopilot until you reach the heavy metal back door. That heavy door with, intended to keep the shop secure in the hours between closing and opening. And yet, the face of the shop has a line of glass doors that open to a smoker’s patio. From the patio, you can see all the way through the dining room and into the kitchen, where that metal door stands guard against - nothing. If someone wants to get in, they’ll get in. 

You enter the back door and hang up your bag. You turn the oven on. You start the coffee pots. You flip the switch on the espresso machine. You assemble the froth wand and portafilters. You fill the ice. You fill the creamer pot. You turn on NPR. You put the bagels in the oven. You pour yourself a cup of coffee and smoke a cigarette on the patio while the bagels turn golden brown under the heating elements of the large industrial oven. The streets are still quiet, only one car drives by heading out towards the highway at this early hour. 5 minutes before the shop opens. Rose will come in and you’ll be ready to deal with what the day has to offer.

This morning is going smoothly, despite the lack of sleep. You get along well with Rose. The two of you are friends, at her constant insistence. You had no choice in the matter, resistance was futile. The combination of the two of you always results in maximum tipping from the customers. They love the dynamic you share, gentle verbal jabs back and forth. The entire staff at the coffee shop has become like a family to you, and the shop itself is like your home. You are often found there when you aren't working, sitting in a booth in the corner with a book or your journal. Sometimes, you play chess with the old men that come in every morning. They love you, and you love sitting with them and hearing their stories. It makes you feel less lonely knowing there are people that want to talk to you – actually look forward to it.

When 9:30 rolls around, you’re beyond ready for a break. This is the last day of a seven-day work stretch. You want nothing more than to clock out and take a nap, but you still have four hours left on your shift. A couple of other workers have come in to start before the lunch crowd started trickling in, so at least you can disappear into the kitchen for prep until it’s time to leave. For now, though, you grab a bagel, a cup of coffee, your cigarettes, and your journal and head for the patio. It is hot, but the breeze feels nice, and you want to be in the sunlight for a while.

You let your mind drift at these times, allowing yourself to be completely unaware of your surroundings. It’s one of the few places you feel safe enough to let your mind wander in this way. The walls can come down for a while in these moments, knowing that there are people inside the building behind your back that are watching out for you. So, you wander, you let your mind travel through time and space. You find words that are asking to be written and place them in your sacred book. It’s your only vulnerable place, it’s where you are still a child, where you haven’t been unceremoniously dumped into adulthood with no one making sure you remember to wash behind your ears and fill up your belly at the appropriate times throughout the day.

This is where you are, lost in your mind, letting yourself feel something, when you register a weight on your shoulder. You spin around, pen held up as if it could defend against whatever threat might be at your back, only to find wide, and quite shocked, brown eyes so dark they’re almost black, staring at the pen you have held up at his chest. It’s Eddie.

You had not, in fact, stopped by the record shop like you told him you would 3 days ago. The reasons, and there are reasons, made sense in your head, but you can’t seem to remember any of them now that the two of you are face to face again. Never mind the fact that with him this close, those dark pools on his face threaten to drown you. You drop your pen and motion for him to sit in one movement, giving him a moment to adjust to your sudden change in demeanor.

As he sits, he pulls out a pack of cigarettes from his front pocket. A leather jacket in this heat is not something you would have chosen for yourself, but you keep that to yourself. You reach for your own smokes, Camels, just like Eddie’s, and startle a little at how quickly he brings his lighter to your face before you can even find yours in your pocket. You attempt to ignore the way that particular gesture sends your guts buzzing.

“So, how are you?” Eddie takes a drag of his cigarette while his other hand absentmindedly taps against the wooden octangular table. He’s not really asking how you are. Eddie is here because you offered him help. You can tell by the way he’s fidgeting that he’s ready to bounce right out of his seat. He’s asking because that’s what you do, and he doesn’t want to be rude. You don’t have time for that.

“I’m sorry I didn’t stop by yet -” Eddie begins to protest, but you put your hand up to stop him, “- I swear, I was going to, but I got roped into pulling crazy hours here this week. Our baker’s stranded in West Virginia.” You shrug a little. It’s true, but that’s not the only reason. You also worry about what James may have said about you when you left the tattoo shop the other day. You don’t know Eddie at all, and you hate the thought of being a secret joke that they share.

“You know, I’ve tried coming in twice already to find you,” he’s sheepish, eyes cast down to the table, “I’m surprised no one told you,” his eyes meet yours, and you almost reel back. He’s so sincere, it almost breaks your heart, “I really need help, I’m fucking desperate.”

Under normal circumstances, this kind of behavior from someone you haven’t even had a real conversation with would set your teeth on edge. Something about Eddie sets you at ease, though. Your eyes wander to the scar that starts at his cheek and moves south past the collar of his jacket and wonder on it briefly.

“Well, you’re in luck,” you stub out your smoke and throw back your coffee mug, grimacing at the taste of the cold dregs of coffee left at the bottom, “I’m off tomorrow. I can stop by after my shift today to get the lay of the land, yeah?”

You guess it’s safe to assume you’re hired, considering Eddie’s desperation to seek you out. The bags under his eyes tell you he’s not likely to see this side of 10:00 am very often. This could work out, most weeks you were lucky to get 20 hours of work out of the coffee shop, and you didn’t mind doing bitch work if it means working in a quiet shop that hasn’t even opened yet. Plus, records. (And Eddie) You try not to think too much about how the idea of spending more time with him is a big motivator in you skipping your afternoon nap to get a peek at the condition of the record shop.

“Uh, yeah. Fuck yeah.” His smile brings out laugh lines at the edges of his eyes, a clear indication that he wears a smile often, and you think you want to bring that out in him whenever possible. “You know where it is?”

You’re both up and moving back to the inside of the shop side by side. It’s not lost on you that you’re both a little awkward. You know why you’re being weird, you have a crush on this guy, and you can’t deny it. Maybe he’s picking up on it.

You shake the thought out of your brain, don’t start that, and sneak behind the counter, “Don’t leave yet.” You put your pointer finger in the air to indicate “one minute” and sneak to the back to put your shit away and get your apron. Rose is standing in the storeroom mouthing, “oh my god who is that?” in an exaggerated silent yell. You ignore her and head back to the front.

“What’s your fancy?” You can’t let him leave without coffee, he looks like the walking dead, and you have an appointment with him in a few hours.

--

It’s a little after 1:00 and you’ve got an unhealthy amount of caffeine pumping through your veins as you make your way to the record shop. Dave Mitchell owned it for at least 20 years but sold the space a few months ago so he could retire. You’ve been worried about what might occupy the space and have a real sense of relief knowing it would remain a store full of music. You’re also pleased to see that the Spin More sign still stands above the door and hope that Eddie decides to keep the name. It’s a local landmark.

Before you left the coffee shop, you had promised Rose that you two would get dinner and drinks. It wasn’t an accident that Rose set the schedule so that both of you had the following day off. The plan for tonight is stupid, drunken fun. You both deserve it.

The record store is positioned next to a deli and the smell of bread permeates through the walls. As you enter you spot Eddie on the top step of an a-frame ladder in the center of the store. You see he has a lightbulb in his hand and he’s reaching for a spot above his head. His leather jacket is missing, and you catch sight of a sliver of exposed skin due to the reach of his arms. You see more scars, similar to the ones on his neck, and you wonder to yourself again, just for a moment.

“Knock knock,” you keep your voice level and quiet, trying to avoid startling him. The last thing you want is to have to figure out a way to get him to the hospital. He jumps a little, and you wince. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No worries. Welcome to my humble abode, feel free to look around.” Eddie gives you a wide smile before returning to his task at hand.

You meander through the stacks of boxes, most are open and what you find is an impression collection of records. Like a bee to honey, you’re drawn to a box labeled “shitty punk records.” You’re fingering your way through the collection while Eddie makes his way back to ground level and over to you.

“What do you think?” Eddie opens his arms wide and turns in a circle, presenting the space for your consideration.

“I think you’re gonna have trouble selling records if you don’t take them out of the boxes,” Eddie nods in agreement, and you add, “I’m also deeply offended that you have so many Social D albums in a box labeled ‘shitty punk records’, Eddie.” You give him a disappointed look while holding up their self-titled Social Distortion album.

“Let’s get one thing straight,” Eddie’s moving towards you with a little faux frown on his face. He takes the record out of your hand and puts it back in the box, “just because it’s shitty doesn’t mean it’s not good.” He stares down at you, waiting for a response, and his eyes on you start to make your head feel fuzzy. You want to push him out of your space, but you opt to throw your hands up in defeat instead while taking a step backwards. You’re not willing to go toe to toe with someone that obviously knows his stuff when it comes to music. The collection he has is impressive, you can tell that even without seeing inside every box - never mind the guitars he has set up at the far end of the large space. An image of Eddie on stage with a guitar in hand flashes in your mind, and you shift your feet to steady yourself.

Eddie eyes you and lets out a little satisfied hum at your easy surrender. He crooks his finger at you in a “follow me” gesture and starts making his way across the shop. He set a quick pace, and you can feel your hip tighten as you try to keep up with his long gait. You pat your left leg aggressively, not daring to punch it like you normally would. You’d rather not draw attention to your pain, not with Eddie. Not yet.

He reaches into his small office and grabs a notebook and a pen. Eddie looks back at you with concern in his eyes. Pain recognizing pain. You give him a telepathic warning: Danger Do Not Approach This Subject, and he clears his throat in an attempt to hide the question he almost let slip past his lips.

“Uh, how about you write down when you think you’d like to work. It doesn’t even have to be when I’m around because it’s mostly just organizing that I need help with. I’ve got an apartment upstairs, so I’ll always be close by.”

“That sounds like a threat,” you instinctively take the jab, and it earned a little laugh from Eddie. “I’ll work as much as you let me. I’m at the café about 20 hours a week because there aren’t enough hours to spread around during the summer. I need to be able to afford to eat.”

Eddie nods, and says, “sounds perfect,” and he starts fiddling around in his pocket for his keys. He’s working one off the ring for you, and it hits you that he’s already willing to literally give you the key to his kingdom.

“You’re just going to let me come and go as I please? You don’t even know me.” You aren’t used to anyone trusting you at first sight. Especially not after you started shaving your head. Most people were skeptical, assuming you were a delinquent.

“Yeah, why not?” He’s giving you that crooked grin again, but he can tell you’re not buying it. He scratches the back of his neck and admits, “I’ve been trying to catch you at the coffee shop for the last two days. I told your boss who I was, and she told me you were the most reliable employee she’s ever had. Not exactly typical dirtbag behavior.”

You laugh and point at Eddie’s chest, “Don’t tell anyone, I have a reputation to uphold.”

Eddie pulls a boxcutter out of his back pocket and starts working to open a new box, “I’ve got shelves in the back that need to be set up, and we’re just handwriting labels for genres with a fat sharpie until I figure something else out,” the bicep under his shirt sleeve ripples as he tears at the box, and you feel a little flutter in your chest. Push that away, no, “work when you want. Just lock up before you leave. If you’re here at odd hours, like overnight, just keep the noise to a minimum. I don’t wanna piss off the locals,” he reaches down for a new box before he adds, “If you need anything at all, take the stairs at the side door. First apartment on the left. If I’m not here, I’m probably there. Any questions?”

You have a question, you’ve been dreading it, but it has to be asked, “hey, uh, how do you feel about paying me under the table? Cash?” You can’t meet his eyes, because if he says no you’ll have to reconsider. It’s got to be worth it, and paying taxes on the scraps he’ll likely pay you is not what you have in mind.

“Oh, yeah, no problem,” Eddie’s waving away your concern, as if this was the only arrangement he was considering anyway, “10 bucks an hour fair?”

You can’t believe he’s actually asking if that’s fair, you’re making $6 an hour at the coffee shop, and that’s getting taxed. His features are genuine, though, he wants his offer to be fair, and he wants to hear that you think it is.

“That’s totally fair,” you heave out a little sigh, “It’s more than fair. Reconsider if it ends up costing too much, ok?”

He waves you off again, still tearing open boxes. You realize at this moment that you’ve only seen Eddie in motion. You wonder if he’s always this high energy, in everything that he does, and immediately shut that thought down.

“Alright, yeah, this is great. Thanks, Eddie, I’ll probably be in tomorrow.” You turn on your heel and give him a wave as you head to the door. He’s grinning and waving back goofily.

The afternoon air on the street is more stifling than it was in the morning, but you stick to the shadows on the sidewalk as you make your way to Rose’s apartment. She could take you back to your place so you can get ready for the night. It’s open mic at Dom’s, and you know you’ll be getting roped into it, as always.

You just don’t know that Eddie will be out looking for the local music scene tonight. He wonders if there were any good open mic nights for him to scope out. He’s always on the lookout for any untapped, unknown artists. There’s a special kind of magic that only happens on the small stages you find inside small dive bars on a random weekday night.

--

You walk out of the front door of the shop, leaving Eddie alone in the open space. He sits back on his haunches and watches you move along the sidewalk until you’re out of sight. He immediately feels the loss of your presence, like the life has been sucked out of the room, following you out that door. You’re the first person he’s felt any kind of real connection to since he moved into town, and that was just pure instinct. He doesn’t even know you, but he knows better than to fight against that feeling. His gut isn’t wrong about these things. It knows better than his brain when he’s supposed to get to know someone.

The lease agreement for the shop, as well as the apartment upstairs, has been generous. It helps that he made a personal connection with the previous tenant and agreed to continue to run the business in the same manner that Dave had done for the last 20 years. The landlord is happy to cut Eddie a deal. He already knows the business model works, and Eddie has been in the scene for a while. He knows what he was talking about when it comes to music. As far as the business stuff, the landlord is willing to take him at his word - especially after those first couple of checks cleared with no problem.

Eddie took it as a sign, the whole thing sort of fell into his lap. Gift wrapped with a pretty bow. As soon as he thought about any potential issue with the arrangement, a solution showed up with ease. It’s one of those things that he trusts. Sometimes things just work out, and fighting against it would mean missing out on something important. The first time he came to the city he felt the rightness of it immediately. It felt like home, something that not even Hawkins accomplished for him, despite it continuing to be where so many of his loved ones live. But the vibes in Hawkins have always been off for Eddie, even before he was sucked into Vecna’s web all of those years ago.

Eddie’s mind is on the past, and he’s subconsciously rubbing his old scars. They are zinging, sending sharp pain signals to his brain. This happens sometimes when he forgets to push back - the pain starts to sneak in. Those scars always sit on the wrong side of healed, always a little bit painful and raw. It frustrates him to no end. The pain is always present, and it’s worse when he lets his guard down. Not the kind of pain that stops him in his tracks, it’s a constant aggravation. A drumbeat of aching memories. For some time, Eddie thought he was losing his mind, only to find that Steve’s own scars behave the same way. 

Eddie stands up with a grunt and rubs a hand down his face. He needs a shave, the stubble on his chin at that itchy length that drives him crazy. He needs to get out of his own head. He considers meditation, having skipped it this morning in an effort to catch you while you were in the coffee house. He knows that skipping that practice only makes him antsy, it’s easier for the pain to sneak in. The time he spends in that quiet space is what keeps the panic attacks at bay. 

Eddie feels around in his front pocket for his keys and decides a different type of meditation is in order for today. The sun is shining, and he hasn’t had a chance to ride on the roads that skirted downtown. He knows the terrain changes after a person hits the city limits, and it was past time to see what the area has to offer. An old guy at the coffee house told him about the woods out of town, and Eddie thinks it’s time to check it out.

At the back of the building that houses his business, as well as his new home, sits a small garage. It’s included in the lease agreement, and Eddie counts it as another sign that this is the right place for him. His bike, a ’72 Yamaha CS5, sits pretty in the middle of the space. She was due for the junk heap when Wayne took her off his buddy’s hands. It took Eddie years to rebuild her and make her pretty again, but she’s a beauty now. 

As he takes in the sight of her, he feels a little pang of - what? regret? - at the shiny black seat he custom ordered. A seat for one, and one only. It’s never bothered him before, but right now he’s thinking about how it won’t be possible to put someone else on her back with him. The thought of you holding onto his middle while the wind blows through his hair sent a shiver of pleasure down his spine, but he pushed back at it immediately. No, Eddie, don’t do that, he tells himself. He can’t be letting himself get carried away in the way that he does.

His baby purrs for him when he turns the ignition. He loves the sound of the two-stroke engine, especially because he’ss the one that brought her back to life. She sat at Wayne’s trailer under a tarp while Eddie led his nomadic existence, and he’d spend his time at home lovingly learning every inch of his baby – fixing, replacing, and cleaning every part of her until she could sing for him. She makes the prettiest sounds.

When Wayne finally succumbed to cancer last year, it was a wake-up call for Eddie. He had nowhere to call his home. Hawkins was a cursed place and was colder still with the loss of his only blood relation - his father excluded. His close friends, especially Nancy and Steve, had started seeing the cracks when they talked to him, he had been aimless and lonely. They all had their own families, lives that they had been building for years, and he had his bike and guitar with the occasional romantic endeavor. He rarely talked about those things, but Nancy always seemed to know when they started - and when they inevitably would end. A six sense for Eddie’s aching heart. Eddie never talked to Steve about it, afraid to reopen old wounds.

Steve. He’s coming out soon. He’s the silent business partner. Beth and the kids are taking a trip to see her family, and Steve is using the opportunity to get out of town. Steve’s wife, Beth, loves Eddie like he’s family. She calls him at least once a week to beg him to move back to Hawkins. He’s an uncle to her two kids - the best uncle. Beth, angel that she is, made sure Wayne was well stocked with frozen homemade meals in those last couple of years. Beth loves Eddie, and she knows all about the kind of relationship that Eddie and Steve shared all of those years ago. She doesn’t care, if anything, she counts herself lucky to have him in their lives. Lucky that Steve and Eddie found a way to maintain the love between them, even if there’s that associated pain.

On the city streets, the heat of the day feels oppressive. Eddie didn’t realize it could get this humid here, but the air in his new home with its close proximity to the Great Lakes often made the air in his chest feel heavy. Even on the back of the bike with the wind blowing through his hair, it was too hot - like god was holding a blow dryer up to his face on the highest setting. The further he rides out of town, the more the trees hug the sides of the road creating a protective canopy from the harsh rays of sunlight. He makes a mental note to take this exact ride as often as possible when the leaves start to change. He can imagine the foliage will be stunning. Maybe he’ll have someone to share the view with by then.

He isn’t quite sure where he’s going, but he assumes he’ll come across signs to guide him to his destination at some point. It doesn’t matter, he has no one to answer to, other than himself. He can get a little bit lost. When he sees the sign for the orchard – closed for the season – he knows he’s close. He takes a deep turn around a bend, over a bridge with an old railroad track underneath, and he sees the sign. .5 miles to Towner’s Woods. It’s called Townie’s Woods by the locals, miles of cross-country skiing hills with a neolithic burial ground overlooking a set of lakes.

A few moments after his girl rumbles over soft gravel he sees the entrance. Only one car in the parking lot, yet another testament to the college students exit for the summer. He walks his bike back behind a large brick building. He’s not even really sure if he should be worried about leaving her, but he’s risk averse when it comes to his baby. She leaned against the brick façade that overlooks the train tracks, he kisses his fingers and lays them on the fuel tank. “I’ll be back soon, my love.”

When his feet leave the gravel parking lot and hit the soft path made of dirt and dead leaves, he feels transported to a fantasy world. Everything is soft, rays of sunlight muted by the huge trees in the ancient forest. He comes across several moss-covered structures while he wanders the diverging paths that wind throughout the park, but otherwise nature has her way here. He finds a plaque that tells him he’s about to start up a path that once housed the bones of people that time has forgotten, and he turns away to leave the ghosts and not intrude on their rest.

When he spots a pavilion covered in graffiti with tables and beer cans littered around, he decides to stop. This is the spot. He rests his back on the edge of a table, facing out towards the sparkling lakes. The only disappointment he’s felt since coming to the park is seeing “No Trespassing” signs and a barbed wire fence separating the lakes from people that might try to get close. These lakes provide water for most of the cities in the area, it makes Eddie a little sad to know he won’t be able to swim in them during the heat of the summer.

The air starts to feel stagnant not long after he finds the spot he’s already starting to consider as his. He pulls his hair back into a low bun at the nape of his neck, taking a moment to thank the Eddie who remembered to keep a hair tie in his pants’ pocket earlier. He lets his mind wander back to town and the people he’s met so far. More than a few, he wants to take a moment and see if he could recall their names. The town is a hippy oasis, it seems as if he isn’t the only person to stumble in and stay. The smell of patchouli permeates every storefront he’s visited so far, even the tattoo shop smells of it. He wonders if he might eventually develop an immunity to it, but for now it tickles his nose every time he goes through a front door. The only exception, mercifully, is the record shop. It shares a wall with a deli and the smell of freshly baked bread filled his store and apartment. The smell often leads him next door where Jean, the deli owner, provides most of his meals.

He has no friends in town, not yet. Everyone he’s come across has been friendly, warm, and most of all, interesting. He has his mind set for tonight, he’s scoping the scene around town. He’s bound to come across open mics, it’s Thursday in a college town. Even in the summer, he knows the locals will turn out for live music. He’s hoping to make some connections, and who knows, maybe hear some halfway decent musicians.

His mind wanders while his pen moves across the paper on its own accord for a while, until he knows it was time for meditation. His skin is starting to crawl with sweat, and his eyes are getting tired. The woods have brought him back to himself in a way he hadn’t realized he needed. He finds a spot in the grass, crosses his legs, and starts his deep breaths. He doesn’t say the words out loud today, not wanting to disturb the peaceful setting but allowing them to run through his mind while he begins relaxing each muscle from head to toes. 

Steve once walked in on Eddie’s meditations. It was the last time Eddie had stayed with him and Beth for a visit. Eddie, who couldn’t stop moving, who was always so full of potential energy he practically vibrated, was sitting on the floor in absolute peaceful serenity. Eddie took the time to teach Steve about the practice, but it never resonated with Steve in the same way it had with Eddie. 

When Eddie opens his eyes again, the sun is sitting in the sky at a different angle. It’s time to find his way back to his baby and ride home. His watch says 5:00. That gives him enough time to shower and scavenge for something to eat. His body is weightless while he meanders along the paths back to the parking lot. It’s like that, meditation eases the weight of everything.

Eddie takes his time on the way back into town, moving alongside streets he has yet to travel. The neighborhoods on the edge of town have families. Kids are everywhere, some on bicycles, some chasing each other through yards. He passes an elementary school where there are teenagers on skateboards practicing jumps on curbs that have “No Skateboarding” signs. The closer he gets to his apartment, the more the single-family houses are replaced with large colonials that have been chopped into smaller units. Wooden staircases wind around the outside of the houses with various front doors to separate apartments.

By the time Eddie finally gets his baby back into her bed and covered with her blanket, sweat has soaked his shirt making it cling to his chest. He makes the mistake of lifting an arm to assess the damage done by the heat of the day and recoils. He needs a shower. He needs air conditioning. He needs a smoke and a sandwich.

--

Eddie lets the showerhead run cool, almost too cool, before stepping behind the curtain. The initial shock fades quickly while he stands under the water washing the sweat off of his back. The relief is immediate. He lets his mind go where it’s been asking to go for hours - what happens in the shower stays in the shower. That was a rule he’s always lived by. His gut tightened as he pictured your face. The slope of your neck where he’s been wanting to put his mouth and taste. A voice that was surprisingly sultry, a voice that made his skin warm the first time he heard it. Eddie’s instincts are sharp, and they’ve been screaming at him since the first time he laid eyes on you. You’re too pretty. He shouldn’t have gone looking for you after the tattoo shop encounter. He wanted it too much. He wants you, and that want only seems to be increasing the more time he spends with you. He’s afraid he’ll fall in love with you, and then what? 

He exhales a frustrated groan and turns the tap to warm. He can’t go out until he relieves this frustration. He tries to think about the girls in the Playboy he has on his nightstand. Sitting pretty with their perky tits on display, but it’s no use. When he thinks about your eyes, and the way your lips quirk when you look at him he finds that he’s immediately hard as a rock. It’s no use fighting it, not in the shower, when he can just wash away the guilt once it’s over. With one hand propped against the shower wall, the other fisting his hard cock, it takes no time at all for him to reach his climax. With a whimper, he releases himself against the blue tiles and immediately works to forget that he just came so easily at the thought of your smile. Pathetic.

Eddie steps out and towels himself off. He pulls himself together quickly. He opts for a simple black t-shirt, black jeans, and black Docs. It’s his signature look for a reason, it’s easy to pull off and hard to fuck up. Plus, he thinks he looks pretty in black. His hair routine is simple, Steve taught him how to care for his locks while also making it look like he put no effort into it. He even decides to ring his eyes with liner before heading out into the night. Pretty indeed.

He makes it to the deli just in time for Jean to make him a cold sandwich before she shuts down for the day. He sits at the counter while she does her closing routine and makes conversation. He makes a point to start off on good terms with all of the local business owners. Jean is special. 70 years old and she works every day of the week baking her own bread and making her own soups. Eddie knew he would love her until the day he died the first moment he laid eyes on her. 

Eddie gets up to leave after having his fill and stuffs a couple of bills in the tip jar next to the old cash register. Jean calls out “Have fun, Eddie. You look hot as hell tonight.” 

Eddie’s laugh is loud, he barks it out with his head thrown back. He tries to hide the blush he feels creeping up his neck. “Flattery works on me, Sweetheart,” he says as he runs back across the dining room to leave another dollar bill in the tip jar.

It doesn’t take much wandering for Eddie to be drawn from the street by the sound of music. Not just any music, but acoustic guitar – live music. It’s a tune he doesn’t recognize, probably some folk song, maybe even an original. The bar is smokey and fuller than he expects. Mostly older locals go out to hear their friends play music on a stage rather than in their living room. Eddie heads to the counter to order a beer and introduce himself to the bartender. His smile is contagious, and he makes friends easily, so it was no surprise that the bartender found herself leaning over the counter to carry on a hushed conversation with him. 

“If you want to sign up for a slot, we’ve got a few open.” She holds out a clipboard for Eddie to look over. He has no intention of getting on stage tonight, but he takes the opportunity to scan the names of performers that have already signed up. Your name is right there, and his stomach drops. He clears his throat and slides the clipboard back across the sticky counter.

“Thanks, but I’m happy to observe tonight.” He tells the bartender with a grin. He snakes through the crowd to stand in a corner at the back of the room. He scans the room for you, wondering if it’s a coincidence – the name on the list. He clocks a goth chick at a table close to the stage. She seems out of place, but she’s speaking animatedly to an older couple at the table next to her. He shakes his head, wondering if he would be able to get used to seeing these mixed groups mingling. 

Finally, he sees you. You’re to the right of the stage, talking to the emcee. The gray-haired man reaches behind himself to hand you a battered guitar case. You kiss him on the cheek, and Eddie can read your lips saying an exaggerated “Thank you” to the man. The radio plays loudly in the bar between sets, so Eddie can’t actually hear you, but he watches you tune the battered instrument with practiced ease.

The emcee makes his way onto the stage with a crooked gait and brings his tall frame down to the microphone at the center, “First off tonight, we have a local that I’m pretty sure everyone in this room already knows. Let’s see what she’s got for us tonight. She has the voice of an angel but the tongue of a sailor. Buy her a beer when she’s done and maybe we can convince her to come back up and do an original later.”

Eddie’s initial shock is replaced with a warmth in his chest when he sees you approach the microphone at center stage. “Thank you, Uncle Jack, for those kind words and the use of your baby tonight. I’m going to play a song by an artist I met the last time I was in New York. I won’t have the energy that Ani Difranco has, I assure you, but her music resonates with me. Here we go.”

You step back, take a breath, and your small hands work the strings in a way that makes the entire room grow quiet and take notice. Your fingers move in a complicated dance, and your voice rings out with a surety that Eddie rarely hears at an open mic night. It is clear that you have spent a lot of time on stage. It is clear that you are very comfortable in your own skin in front of an audience. At the sound of your voice, Eddie’s feet are practically nailed to the ground below him. He can barely breathe. His eyes are fixed on your face while you mesmerize him, and everyone else in the room.

“The butter melts out of habit, you know the toast isn’t even warm.

The waitress and man in the plaid shirt play out a scene they’ve played so many times before

I am watching the sun stumble home in the morning from a bar on the east side of town

And the coffee is just water dressed in brown

Beautiful but boring he visited me yesterday

He noticed my fingers and asked me if I could play

I didn’t really care a lot but couldn’t think of a reason why not

I said if you don’t come any closer, I don’t mind if you stay

My thighs have been involved in many accidents and now I can’t get insured

And I don’t need to be lured by you

My cunt is built like a wound that won’t heal and now you don’t have to ask

Cuz, you know how I feel

You know how I feel”

This is when you notice him in the corner. If it wasn’t for the eye contact, Eddie would swear you didn’t know he was there. Not a single note falters while you put yourself into the song. Your talent is more than impressive, but your vulnerability makes him feel almost guilty – as if he, and everyone else in the room, is spying on a very private and intimate moment.

“Art is why I get up in the morning but my definition ends there

You know it doesn’t seem fair that I’m living for something I can’t even define

There you are right there in the meantime

I don’t want to play for you anymore show me what you can do

Tell me what are you here for

I want my old friends

I want my old face

I want my own mind

Fuck this time and place

The butter melts out of habit you know the toast isn’t even warm”

The song ends, and you’re off. Like a bird taking flight. The emcee, Uncle Jack, makes his way to the mic, while you grab the arm of your friend and head swiftly to the bar.

“... will be back later with something original, she promises, unless she drinks too much and forgets. Our next performer…” 

Eddie watches you at the bar doing a shot with your friend, the goth chick he had noticed earlier. Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you move your eyes to find Eddie still watching you from the dark corner with a smile on his face. 

[milkweedman]

bringing two knitting projects and a spinning project to work today. just in case.

[carcarrot]

trying to eat my lunch at work is an olympic sport and brother im going for the gold

[yepthatsacowalright]

"Some of the criticism that has been levelled at Nanette has been directed at this first half, describing it as weak, or not as strong, comparative to the second half of the show. This is neither here nor there for me. It was designed to be comfortable, that was its purpose. If I had loaded the front half with 'belly laughs,' then I don't think the 'gut punch' that came after it would have been nearly as impactful. It would be like going from freezing cold water to boiling hot. Both are extremes and so, on a certain level, the body will not register the second sensation as a shock distinct from the first. But if you were relaxing in a nice warm bath and I came over and tipped a bucket of volcanic lava all over you, that would be a crime. See what I did there? I led you to believe that I was going to make a serious point but instead I did a little dad joke. Shocking!"

Hannah Gadsby, Ten Steps To Nanette

[iloveyoumorethansoup]

So like technically I’m not dating her but yeah I think I do in fact have a girlfriend

[latinokaeya-moving]

everytime. everytime i talk abt finding the whole immortality dilemma a lil funny/Personally trite bc i’ve very desperately wished i was immortal since i was like. 12 years old. i’ve gotten ppl trying to explain why immortality is narratively treated as a bad thing that has many downsides actually as if i haven’t heard the argument of “but you’ll outlive everyone you know🥺” before and just straight up don’t care that much abt it 😭

when i was watching iwtv this weekend w my cousin i brought it up bc obviously vampires r always talking abt the gift/curse of immortality n when i rolled my eyes n jokingly was like immortality rocks actually she very stiffly was like “you just say that bc you haven’t lost someone yet” and like yeah i guess that’s true but also i think you severely underestimate how much i fear my human mortality lol

[protocolseben]

jklkhjhjg

[dan-crimes]

Thinking about how whenever I record those 30 second videos on my Switch I just get to see how fucking slow I am about everything LMAO I mean tbf I am playing a game, I'm allowed to take as much time as I want but WOW half the clip is just me looking at text on the screen for wayy too long