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wardenparker · 3 days

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Hummingbird Has Landed, ch 15

Marcus Pike x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

After the debacle of his failed engagement and relocating to Washington to take charge of his task force, newly minted Special Agent Marcus Pike is ready to get back out into the dating pool once more. A slew of bad dates has him feeling a little down, and he takes an old friend up on an invitation to get away and get his head on straight. Imagine his surprise when he finds not only fresh air, but his soulmate as well - hiding in plain sight but in the unlikeliest of places.

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 10k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: occasional mention of American politics, pregnant character, food/alcohol consumption, mentions of clothing/regulated dressing for occasions, mentions of therapy because we believe in self care here, reader is in a previous relationship, love triangle, reader is mentioned as turning 30 during the course of the story, dom/sub dynamics* Tooth-decaying sweetness, talk of pregnancy/impregnation, unexpected visitor, references to rough sex, possessiveness. Oral sex (female receiving), vaginal sex, unprotected sex. Summary: After almost a year together, you and Marcus celebrate your first Valentine's Day together with a weekend trip away. Notes: We are inching closer to the wedding with every chapter! This week enjoy some sex and romance, Pike style.

Ch1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10 ~ Ch 11 ~ Ch 12 ~ Ch 13 ~ Ch 14

The flight from Dulles to JFK would be shorter, but there’s a certain charm to taking the train. The rhythmic clacking of the wheels on the track is almost romantic and Marcus had secured an entire compartment for you, him and Agent Sellers. Agent Bailey will meet you in New York with a car and to trade off with your other security detail, but for now, it seems like it’s just the two of you in the car. “Hotel first?” Marcus asks, kissing your fingertips and you look out the window at the passing scenery.

“Because you want to drop off our bags or because you want to test out the mattress?” Either way the answer is yes, and you relax in your seat all over again. This idea to go away for a few days for Valentine’s Day had made you feel guilty at first, but you were easy to convince once you remembered that it was around Valentine’s last year that everything has started to happen between you. Now that chaos of finishing the house and moving in together is over with, a couple of days in New York sounded perfect.

"I do need to see if your legs look different on my shoulders in New York than in D.C." he teases, wagging his eyebrows playfully. "Three days of no house details, no work, and all we have to worry about is walking out of our hotel room dressed."

“And making our reservations on time.” With your fingers tangled through his, this time you pull his hand over to kiss his fingers instead. “I may have called in a favor for our dinner tonight.”

"Where are we having dinner?" He had left the dinner reservations up to you, knowing you would have a list of favorite places you would want to go.

"Tonight we're going to see a friend," you hum, leaning into him as much as you can in your seat as the train speeds toward New York. "One of Syd's friends from culinary school opened a restaurant right in the city a couple of years ago and I've just never gotten the chance to go up and try it out. So I called in a favor and got us a reservation for after the theater tonight. Neo is an Italian steakhouse, which sounded right up your alley."

"Nice." He's impressed by the idea of a nice steakhouse that is close to you and Sydney. His hand slides down to your thigh and he squeezes it gently.

"And then tomorrow night..." Your hand over his on your thigh is basically just grounding. Holding you to him and making sure you don't float away on the bliss of having some time off with your fiancé. "Every time we watch FoodTV you get obsessed with watching Alex Guarnaschelli, so I got us a reservation at Butter."

"Really?" His eyes widen in delight and he can't believe that you would go through the trouble for something like that. It's the small things that you notice that makes him feel special. You do so many little things that show him you pay attention to his interests, passing or intense. "That's— wow." He shakes his head. "Thank you."

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” you hum, leaning your head on his shoulder. The train ride was a special treat but now that you’re almost in the city you’re eager for your trip to really begin. “I love you more than anything.”

"I love you too." He leans his own head against yours. "I booked our tickets to the Met." He tells you quickly, knowing you will like that.

“I’m sooooo excited for museum time with my own personal art expert.” He claims he isn’t, but you’ve learned in the last year not to listen to his protests. He practically gives guided tours whenever you go to the Smithsonian together.

He rolls his eyes playfully but he doesn’t naysay. He knows that you look at it as a point of pride almost. “Anything else you want to do? I think it’s a little too cold to take a boat out in Central Park.”

"There are a million museums and historical sites." And you can't wait to explore each and every one of them with him. "It's just too bad it's too early in the year for a ball game."

“We can always make a summer day trip.” Marcus immediately offers. “Maybe the subway series?”

"That would be fun." You perk up instantly at the idea of it. "The MET is tomorrow, so how about we ask the concierge at the hotel what their favorite underrated attraction is for today before the theater?"

“That sounds good.” He agrees. “Something that is kind of off the beaten path sounds fun.”

The last hour of the trip is smooth sailing, and early check-in at your hotel means that you and Marcus are unpacking your suitcases in almost no time. It’s snowy in New York but not in a way that will add up, and it makes the whole thing look quite picturesque from your seventh-floor window.

“Too bad the fireplaces have been closed for years.” Marcus comments. “Couldn’t you imagine curling up next to a fire and watching the snow fall?”

“Next year let’s rent a cabin,” you hum, leaning back in his arms as you look out the window together. “Get snowed in.”

“That sounds like something we can definitely do.” For the suggestion, you deserve a kiss. “Unless you are pregnant. Then I don’t know if I would want to risk it.”

“If I’m pregnant we’ll choose a very easily accessible hotel where we can watch the snow fall instead.” His concern is sweet enough to earn him a kiss in return, and they’re getting longer every time. “Someplace where we can get snacks delivered.”

“Pregnancy cravings.” Marcus practically moons at the idea and he cups your cheeks to kiss you again.

“So…I’ve been thinking about something.” This calls for a face to face conversation, and you turn around in his arms.

“Oh yeah?” He doesn’t think that it’s anything bad, you come to him when something heavy is on your mind. “Tell me what you’ve been thinking, sweetheart.”

The two of you have always agreed that the timing of your lives needed to be a joint conversation, but somehow you don’t think this particular idea is going to need much debating. Not much if any, knowing Marcus. “I think I’d like to stop taking my birth control the day before the wedding,” you tell him, slipping both arms around his waist. “I know it might not happen for us immediately, but I think everything else has fallen into place for us so maybe this might, too.”

Marcus tilts his head, a slow smile spreading over his face and lighting it up. “Yeah? You want to do that?” He asks quietly. “I— I think that’s perfect.” He admits. “As long as you are ready.”

You're glowing as you lean into him, already feeling like you could burst with happiness and pride. "I'd say we should start now but there's no way my wedding dress will fit me if I'm pregnant."

“I want you to be able to drink a toast at our wedding if we can help it.” Marcus admits.

"Especially since you went through all the trouble to pick out good toasting champagne with the wedding planner." It had been an entire conversation of wine pairings and champagne choices that you hadn't understood a word of but watching Marcus get excited about tasting notes had been well worth it.

“I think you will enjoy it. It will go well with our wedding cake.” He reminds you, knowing you are excited for the replica cake the bakery in Boston had fallen over over themselves to agree to bake.

"I'm excited for everything to come together." After so easily picking out bridesmaids' dresses last weekend and even finding a mother of the bride dress at the same shop, the wedding is feeling like everything is really falling into place. "Last things are to pick a place for the rehearsal dinner and to book our honeymoon."

“We’ve had so many ideas for our honeymoon…” he laughs quietly, remembering all the various places you’ve both come up with. “Have we actually decided on where we are going to go?”

"I think we've talked about almost every place on earth," you laugh right along with him. "But no. We haven't decided. I think the last time we talked we said it should be someplace that neither of us have been."

“Maybe we need to make a honeymoon wheel.” Marcus snorts. “Have you seen the trend where a guy will make a restaurant wheel to spin when their girlfriend or wife can’t decide?” He shrugs. “We could do the same thing with our honeymoon ideas.”

“Hotel room crafts.” It’s silly and sweet enough of an idea to make you giggle, and you press more kisses to Marcus’s lips and cheeks. “I don’t know about making a wheel, but we could do slips of paper with destinations on them in the ice bucket instead of a hat.”

“Like a lottery drawing.” He snorts. “That could be fun.”

“I have a notebook in my purse.” Which doesn’t surprise him one bit, but you tug Marcus back into the room from the window. “Grab the ice bucket?”

“In a minute.” He smirks and his hands slide from your waist to your ass. “You remember what I told you I wanted to do on the train?” He coos, leaning in and kissing your neck.

“Mmmmhmm.” A soft moan of approval and agreement sounds from deep in your throat, but you feel like teasing him just a tiny bit. “Something about…shoulders?”

“Your legs, my shoulders.” He grinds his hips against yours, his hardening cock proof of his desire and he smirks. “I need to see if you taste different in New York.”

It is pretty much never difficult to convince either of you when a good time to be intimate has appeared, and you nudge him backward again toward the bed. “Then why are we still wearing clothes?”

“That’s a good question.” He goes willingly and he reaches for the edge of your sweater to pull it up. “You’re wearing far too many of them right now.”

Sweaters, t-shirts, pants, and everything else end up scattered around the room, littering the carpet with evidence of the romance in the air. Marcus has you laid out on your back on the bed in no time and you happily tug him down to you for a kiss when he climbs in with you.

“My gorgeous hummingbird.” His hands slide over your clavicle and he kisses your collar bone gently. Worshipfully. “My love, my soulmate.”

“I love you.” Simple words, but meant with all the feeling in the world as your limbs curl around him and you melt under his kisses.

“I. Love. You. Too.” Every word is punctuated by a kiss. Making sure that he teases and caresses your skin with his lips.

“Baby.” After almost a year together, you and Marcus have no trouble finding the right buttons to push. You know each other’s favorite things, each other’s ticks and hidden kinks. You know Marcus adores being showered in praise just you like him to have a firm hand. The flow of your relationship has been built on respect and trust and mutual admiration. Which has made experimenting and finding the things you enjoy together all the more rewarding.

“What do you need, sweetheart?” Marcus pops his head up, eyes dark and fixed on you. “What do you want me to give you, sweet thing? I’ll give you anything you want, you just have to tell me.”

"Just you, baby." Anything and everything he is will to give you is always what you want. Just him. As much of Marcus as he is willing and able to pour into you any time you have moments to yourself.

“You have me, baby. You’ve got all of me.” He groans, adding to teeth to his kisses as he starts to move down your body.

"All of me." It's so true. And true for both of you. The complete devotion you have to each other is obvious. Lying naked wrapped in each other's arms might be the most honest and most vulnerable you ever are, and there is no one in the world you are more grateful to share that feeling with.

Marcus groans, your words of affirmation and affection always affect him, but none like they do when you are both stripped bare. When there is nothing between you but the air and your beating hearts. He drops a featherlight kiss on your stomach, which will one day hopefully protect his children, and then down to your hip.

"We really need to start asking hotels if they have sound proof rooms," you giggle, already sighing as Marcus moves lower and lower on your body.

"Let them hear." He chuckles, never having a problem with others knowing how satisfied you are. He brings your leg up onto his shoulder as he settles between your thighs and he licks his lips as he parts your folds to expose the sensitive little clit that he will lavish with attention.

The touch of his fingers makes you gasp, but you still chuckle despite yourself and know that you'll hold back more here than you do at home. Having the house finally be finished has been a blessing. "Last thing we need is a sound bite of the First Daughter getting eaten out."

"Then it's a good thing they don't have access to those little videos we've made, isn't it?" He smirks, having enjoyed the clips of sexy scenes both of you had made together and while you were apart to send to each other. They were in a locked file and heavily guarded so no one could get to them.

"Well I don't want you to miss me while you're on a long case," you rationalize, letting out another deep sigh as his finger paints a long stripe along your slit.

"Oh I always miss you." He promises, leaning in and nudging his nose against your clit before he samples a small taste of your essence.

He knows how to make you moan. He knows as well as he knows his own name. And yet the first moment your back lifts off the mattress always takes you by surprise and you have to remind yourself not to squeeze his head too tight between your thighs when they clench with that first feeling of pleasure. "Fuck, baby."

The noises you make are always so fucking sweet. He’s addicted to them, to you. His own groan is sounded into your pussy as his tongue flutters around, sweeping the edges of your folds in a pattern that always makes you whine.

The fingers of one hand twist into his curls and you’re prepared to thank every possible god all over again that Marcus has been growing out his hair. It’s all his own style of course, but you don’t mind having a handle to keep him close as he devours your pussy every chance he gets.

The small whine of pleasure that he gives at the pressure of your hand in his hair is one you thoroughly enjoy and he gives you that sound every time his cock twitches against the bed. Making him even more eager in his task as he flicks his tongue over your soaked hole.

Curses and praise and moans of pleasure fill the room, babble verging on incoherent as Marcus plays you with as much skill as his bass or guitar. It’s the w of pleasure that makes you feel like you’re floating all the way above the mattress. It’s ecstasy, all on the curls and flicks of your soulmate’s tongue.

Marcus has always enjoyed sex, enjoyed giving and receiving pleasure, but there is something incredibly unique about his intimacy with you. There is a fusion of your bodies that match your souls, where your pleasure magnifies his own and he gets lost in it.

You shatter for him as easily as breathing, although in the moment you come apart you’ve replaced panted breaths with an orgasm so intense that your mind goes blank as you sob his name into the bright white afternoon. It’s almost like being at peace, the way he breaks you apart and puts you back together with tender caresses and loving kisses, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Your come down is his favorite part of foreplay. The pliant limbs and pleasure warmed skin. He loves the dazed look in your eyes, as if you are surprised by how good you feel. “Maybe I need another taste.” He murmurs against your lips.

“Babyyy.” You whine and grab his shoulder when he ducks his head like he’s going to travel down your body again. “Don’t you need to see if I ride you just as well in New York?”

He stops, tilts his head as if he is considering that point before he sighs. Making it seem like it’s a big concession on his part. “I think that needs to be explored too.” You love to ride him and he always lets you be in control when you want it, since so often you want him in control.

“It seems very important.” You nod in agreement, grinning lazily to see his eyes light up at the prospect of having your tits in his face while you bounce on him.

He comes back up to kiss you thoroughly before rolling onto his back. His hard cock laying against his stomach as he reaches out and caresses your side. “Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

It’s just teasing, but you straddle his waist and lean over to press a kiss over his heart before shifting back into position. “That’s a very dangerous thing to promise your fiancée.”

“Not at all.” His hands find your waist and he squeezes gently. “I mean every word.”

“Dangerous.” You admonish him again with a tsk, but sink down on his length all the same — making both of you gasp and moan in unison.

Marcus’s eyes flutter closed with a silent prayer of thanks. His fingers digging into your flesh and for a second, he wishes you were already off your birth control. “Fuuuuuuuuck.” He groans when you roll your hips in a little circle and clench down around him.

“Fuck, you always feel so fucking good.” Letting your head fall back makes it feel like he’s gotten all the way up into your throat and your whole body tightens like a bowstring in response.

“That’s because you’re so perfect.” He groans in appreciation, rocking his hips up. “Tightest little cunt I’ve ever fucked.” He flashes a grin and twitches inside you. “Last little cunt I’ll ever fuck too.”

"All yours." As many times as you promise him that, it never diminishes how much you mean it. He has your whole heart for your whole life. "All yours and you're all mine and fuck you have the best cock in the world."

He chuckles, proud of your happiness with his abilities. His hand slides up your neck to cup the back of your head as he drags you down for a kiss.

The rhythm you set is quick but thorough, making sure to rise and fall on every inch of him to swallow his moans in equally thorough kisses.

He loves when you ride him. Your tits bounce and your kisses are greedy, leaving him to touch you how he wants to while you use his cock for your pleasure. “Fuck, baby.” He grunts, twitching when you swivel your hips.

The figure eights you draw in his lap are his favorite. They always have been. They're brilliantly drawn out and exaggerated to leave him groaning and greedy, pawing at you as you bounce on him. It's greedy for both of you in different ways, which is probably why this is one of your favorite positions.

“You’re teasing me.” Marcus huffs, lunging up to capture one tit in his mouth and scrape his teeth over your sensitive nipple.

"You — ah! — love when I tease you." And since he's so good at teasing you back, you don't ever hesitate.

Marcus just groans against your breast and slaps your ass playfully. Rocking you harder on his cock as his mouth works your breast.

It’s the hungry kind of sex where you know you’ll be sticky and sweaty and need a shower after. Where you know Marcus is going to leave teeth marks pebbling your skin. Where you know without a shadow of a doubt that you’ll be achy and feeling him in your theater seat tonight. And it’s exactly the right kind of fierceness for both of you, so you amp up your pace and throw your head back, letting the bliss of it all wash over you. Lovemaking is what you’ll do tonight, with moonlight streaming through the windows and soft touches and whispered promises. This is a deeply cathartic and energizing fuck — the perfect way to start your weekend.

“Fuck.” Marcus hisses and his fingers slide down to find your clit. Sensing the urgency to your pace and knowing how badly he wants to see you fall apart for him before he finds his own release.

Your whine of agreement is high from the added touch. His fingertips are calloused, giving you added friction as well as added tension, and every time you roll your hips you get more pressure and friction. It's stunning, the way he drives you toward the edge of that cliff of pleasure, and your head spins from how close you are.

“That’s it baby, you’re so good to me.” Marcus groans, loving how you just give him everything you’ve got. “So pretty on my cock. You gonna cum for me? You know I want to see it. Cum for me, sweetheart.”

"I'm so close baby." So close that you feel like you're about to fall over onto his chest from the way you're tensing up. Every part of you is tense, right down to the way your greedy cunt is clamping down on his cock.

“That’s it, fuck- you’re so tight.” Marcus hisses, watching you as your hips stutter and your shoulders start to shake. “So good baby, want to feel you.”

"Fuck, fuck, oh my god, Marcus!" The freedom to cry out, even though you joked about volume earlier, isn't lost on you. The way you tense and shatter and cry his name is his favourite music in the world.

He can’t help himself. Lunging up, he presses his lips to yours desperately and rolls you over to keep pistoning his hips and drilling into your spasming walls. Working you higher through your orgasm and chasing his own.

It would be a whole different ballgame if you were already off your birth control, but you still want Marcus to cum inside you. There's no better or more indulgent feeling in the world, so you wrap your legs around his waist and shake with the last waves of your own orgasm knowing that it will bring him toward his own.

“I love you, I love you. I love you.” Marcus begins to chant as his hips rock forward desperately, barely pulling back as he feels his body pull tight.

"I love you." Those words never diminish, especially not when he's driving his hips forward to bury his cock deep inside you, coating your walls with his searing hot release.

He whines your name as he rides out the release of every tense bone in his body. Pouring himself into you as he collapses against you. “Fuck.” He huffs, face buried against your neck and panting softly. “Always.” He murmurs, kissing a damp patch of skin over your pulse.

“Always.” A fact which leaves you breathless and tangled up in each other more often than not. Right now you hold him tight, hanging on to a confessional sigh. “I almost wish I was off my birth control already,” you admit quietly.

“Me too.” He chuckles because the two of you seem to always be so in sync about your goals and desires. “But we know that it would be better to keep to our original timeline.”

"It's a nice dream, though." Your fingers run up his shoulder and through his hair, and the softness in your eyes is pure adoration when your eyes meet again. "And I can't wait for it to come true."

“I know.” He smiles softly as he presses his lips to yours. “You know I’m going to be feral over you.” He warns. “Not going to be able to stop touching you.”

"Oh nooo." The laugh in your voice is as joyous as your smile but you toss a tone of sarcasm into your teasing. "That will be terrible. I just hate when my fiancé, the sexiest man in the whole world, wants to fuck me."

“You might hate sex while you are pregnant.” He huffs, knowing he would hate it, but he would never pressure you to sleep with him if you don’t feel like it. From what he can tell, it’s hard work to grow a human.

"I don't think I will." Of course, you can't be sure. But as you stretch your neck to kiss him again you enjoy the image tucked away in your mind. "I think I'm going to melt in your arms every single time like I already do."

“I love you.” The simple words are more vow than statement, completely true and undeniable. Luckily, the nasty rumors have tapered off and you have been able to enjoy the wedding planning so far.

"I love you, too." It doesn't take much surging to kiss him one more time, and then you're grinning all over again. "Now...how do you feel about naked honeymoon planning?"

“Naked anything with you is good for me.” He jokes. “Unless it’s frying bacon.”

"Aprons when we cook." You quote Sydney with a grin. "I think I can walk. I'll grab the notebook from my purse and we can write down the ideas we're serious about?"

“If you can’t, I’ll grab it for you.” He smirks, a little pleased when you are unsteady on your feet climbing out of the bed after he rolls off of you.

"Why don't you grab the ice bucket, baby?" Your purse is much closer to the bed than anything else, so it barely takes you two shaky steps before you're slumping back onto the mattress with a grin.

“Can’t make it, can you?” He chuckles as he stands up and crosses over to the desk where the ice bucket is located.

"Shut up." A playful little huff and a pout comes from the bed as you stick your tongue out at him. So what if you barely made it? You managed to grab your notebook and a pen and that's what matters. "You fucked me so good I can't walk, be nice."

He winks at you. “I fucked you so good you can’t walk because I’m nice.”

"I love you very much, now come and get back in bed," you stick your tongue out again and pick up your pen. "So what are your top choices. Are we doing top three each or top five?"

“I say we do five.” Marcus suggests, grinning as he saunters back over and plops down beside you with the bucket. “And then we use the bucket idea for the next nine anniversaries.”

"That's actually super cute." So much that it earns him a kiss when he comes and sits back down with you. A sheet of paper from your notebook is torn up into ten strips, and you hand him five. "I'm thinking my top five are Paris, Scotland, Napa Valley, New Zealand..." You grin unapologetically. "And Disney."

He shakes his head, faking a disappointed pout. “No naked honeymoon in Disney.” He grumbles. “We would be banned and then our kids would never forgive us.”

“We can still be naked in the hotel,” you remind him, grinning unapologetically as you drop the last destination into the ice bucket.

“Yeah, yeah.” He swats your thigh gently and sighs. “So I need to pick other destinations, right?”

“That’s the idea.” Being done before him lets you lay back in the pillows and idly stir the slips in the ice bucket while he thinks.

“Okay, okay…” he takes the notepad you’ve left on the bed and writes on the first one. “Ireland.” He shoots you a grin. “It’s different from Scotland.”

“Yes, it is.” You smirk at him, wondering if he’s going to pick places near all of yours.

“Let’s see…” He taps his chin. “Ohhhh Bora Bora would be good.” He scribbles it down. “Fruity alcoholic drinks, and tiny bikinis for you the entire time.”

That earns a grin from you, and you lean over to press a kiss to his shoulder. “Tiny bikinis are a favorite vacation theme for you.”

“It’s as close to naked as I can get you.” He huffs. “Unlessssss…” Marcus flashes you a teasing grin. “We go to one of those nudist resorts. Should I write Hedonism II down?”

“You try explaining that to my mother when she asks for vacation photos,” you snort, knowing that that choice would go over like screen doors on a submarine.

“Yeah…no to Hedonism.” He doesn’t write that, but he pretends to and mimes ripping the sheet out and balling it up. “How about Chile?” He asks, tilting his head curiously. “I’ve always wanted to go to the Atacama Desert or Easter Island.”

“Chile would be gorgeous. It’s too bad we couldn’t bring your bike down with us.” The image makes you hum, and your shoot him a grin. Marcus sitting astride his motorcycle in any setting just does things to you. “We’ll have to rent one when we go.”

“Absolutely.” He has rediscovered his love of having a woman on the back of his bike and often will bring you along if you can get away for a quick drive in the evenings.

“So…Ireland, Bora Bora, Chile,” you prompt him, tucking off your fingers. “Two more.”

“Greece.” Marcus decides and sends you a small smirk. “Rome.” He writes them down as well so they can be added to the trip bucket.

“Alright.” Dropping each slip into the ice bucket and stirring it around, you give it a few shakes for good measure before holding it high above either of your sight lines and angling it toward Marcus. “Go ahead. What’s our honeymoons going to be?”

Marcus grins and takes the bucket from your hands. “Let’s not pick now.” He teases. “Why don’t we pick at the end of our vacation?”

“You live to torture me!” You groan dramatically, dropping the ice bucket between you. “Do you really want to wait?”

“You don’t want to?” He teases, leaning in and kissing you playfully. “I guess we can decide now.” He rolls his eyes and picks the bucket up. “You choose. That way you can’t blame me.”

"Blame he says, as though they aren't all great choices." It calls for blowing a raspberry in his general direction, but you dip your hand into the ice bucket high above your head and swirl your fingers around to snag a single slip of paper. "Here we go," you intone dramatically, pulling the slip open and wiggling it around. "Looks like it's going to beeee..." Flipping the paper up, you grin at him. "Scotland!"

Marcus laughs at the glee on your face, knowing he would be happy going anywhere with you. “A stone cottage in the Scottish highlands where we walk the moors and burrow into each other in front of a roaring fire sounds perfect.” He puts on a thick Scottish accent for the dramatic flair.

"We can see the Highlands and the cities and go all over." Actually having a location picked out makes you giggle with excitement, and you lean over to kiss him before practically jumping out of bed. "Just like we can go explore this city right now. With clothes, of course."

“Now she can walk.” Marcus groans, climbing out of the bed after you. “What do you want to do before Ellis Island?”

"We should check what time the ferry runs." The concierge downstairs had given you a few ideas but ultimately you had decided to take the trip out to Ellis and Liberty Islands. It’s an important piece of American history and Agent Bailey won’t admit to it but she’s excited to look up her family from their crossing. "Why don't we grab a quick lunch? Give ourselves back some of the energy that we just burned off?"

“That sounds perfect.” He agrees, unable to resist grabbing a handful of your ass when you bend down to pick up your clothes. “Build up reserves for tonight.”

It's hardly a surprise when you and Marcus end up in a little café halfway between your hotel and the ferry to Ellis Island, ready to feast on French bistro classics for lunch. It's warm in the picturesque little restaurant and the snow is still falling without collecting on the sidewalk, so it's a picture-perfect winter day in the city.

“I think it’s safe to say that I will have to have the French onion soup.” Marcus tells you as he looks over the menu. “At least to start. What about you?”

"I think it's going to be a boeuf bourguignon day," you hum, spotting the item on the lunch menu and salivating over it immediately.

“Would you hate me for hurting Thumper if I had the rabbit cassoulet for the main?” He’s grinning and shrugging slightly.

"Not if you won't hate me for having cute little escargot for my first course." The one time he had expressed finding snails cute had obviously stuck with you, and since they're one of your favorite gourmet treats, it's a fair trade.

He huffs in feigned offense and sighs dramatically. “I suppose.” He jokes. “It’s only fair and I know it makes you happy.”

"What do you want to see first at the MET tomorrow?" The café is buzzing around you but you're happy in your little bubble. Just you and Marcus, cuddled together and happily plotting out the rest of your day.

“I’m not picky?” Marcus asks, playing with your fingers. “But Lady with a Parot and Perseus.” He rattles off with a guilty grin.

"Not picky, but two very specific choices." You grin at him, charmed all over again by the beauty and relaxation of the day. Agent Bailey is enjoying herself at a table across the café, also doing her best to relax despite being in the busy city. "Okay, you're on. And I want to track down Madame X."

“The American Wing.” Marcus instantly replies.

"That's my man." Of course he knows, that doesn't surprise you at all.

What does surprise you is the woman walking behind the hostess, currently approaching your table to be seated right next to you. "Vanessa?" Of all the gin joints in all the world, you think ruefully, but it's been so long since you heard from either her or Sam that you're just sort of shell shocked to see her instead of upset or angry about it.

Marcus turns to see the ex that he had hoped to never run into again - even more than Teresa - and wonders what the hell is about to happen. He warily glances behind her and around the smaller café. “This is a surprise.” He intones dryly.

“Just a coincidence.” Vanessa promises. She thanks the hostess and takes a seat, though she wishes there was literally any other table left. “I’m just having a bite after class. Forget I’m here.”

“Class?” That catches Marcus’s attention and he glances over at you to make sure that you are comfortable continuing the conversation. He feels like if there’s a change in the dynamic of your foes, you should learn all you can.

You nod subtly, but Vanessa doesn’t catch it. She’s thanking the waitress for her water. “Class,” she confirms when the waitress is gone. “I’m getting my master’s. I—” she looks between you, her former foes, and shrugs slightly. “A lot has changed.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” There’s no pressure to be applied, but it’s an offer. An olive branch, just like the one extended at the engagement party.

That’s a bit of a sticky question, but Vanessa nods. Her own is far less subtle than yours, as it’s meant to be seen. “I left Sam,” she begins, feeling that that is the most important news. “He was…he was getting out of control. There was never going to be an end to it as long as he had people on his side.”

Marcus squeezes your hand gently, the confirmation of it being on purpose was right there between the lines. “I’m sorry.” He murmurs quietly. “When you said you had discovered your soulmate, it was Sam, wasn’t it?”

“It was.” Vanessa confirms. There’s no reason to beat around the bush after everything that’s happened. “He’s just…he’s not the man he was when I first fell in love with him. Not anymore.”

“Vanessa….” Marcus sighs softly. “What was the root of the issue? We didn’t cheat. Why was Sam so obsessed with hurting us?” He phrases it that way so she doesn’t feel like he’s attacking her, and because he honestly never really imagined Vanessa being the ringleader. Now it seems as if she was a hopeless idealist, blindly following her soulmate down the wrong path.

She sighs, biting her lip slightly, and looking between you both with regret shining in her eyes. "Birdie was supposed to be his ticket to the White House," she admits, although the confession isn't hers to make. "When Marcus appeared on the scene he started getting paranoid, and then...then when you broke up with him? He seemed like he was just taking it a little too hard in the beginning but he started to go down a dark path pretty quickly."

“Did he hurt you?” Marcus’s voice gets soft, his jaw tense at the idea of violence perpetrated against any woman, even one who has wronged him. “Or made threats against Birdie we should know about?”

"No. No, he never would have had the resolve to hurt me physically. And the only threats he made never worked out." Vanessa assures him. "The worst founded one was the engagement party. Whatever you two and your social media team did to get ahead of that, well done."

“You went along with it because he’s your soulmate?” Marcus guesses. “The rumors and the whispers that were being fed from somewhere?”

"I can't exactly defend myself." Vanessa twists in her chair to face you fully, so this conversation can be quiet. "I was jealous."

"Of me...for being with the man you were in love with." You finish her thought without effort, understanding the instinct fully but from the opposite direction. "I was jealous of you. When you were with Marcus. We just...we had things switched around, I guess."

Marcus frowns, never realizing that she had been so involved with her feelings in the brief relationship. “I thought…you were waiting for your soulmate and just having fun with me?”

"I was trying to get over Sam." This is bound to be an uncomfortable conversation of confessions for Vanessa, but she is going to tell the truth. "In a sense you were a rebound for a relationship I never had. And when I realized who my soulmate was I thought everything was finally going to work out the way I wanted. But...that was even more wrong than I ever could have guessed."

“I’m sorry.” Marcus murmurs softly. “I hope that one day, you find the love and happiness you have been searching for.”

"I think I have to love myself first." Vanessa shrugs her shoulders and laughs. "I know that sounds cheesy, but...I started seeing a therapist and I got myself into grad school, and taking control of my own life has been really good for me."

“That’s great.” Marcus assures her, squeezing your hand again and glancing at you. “I can tell you that therapy will be good for you. Doesn’t matter what you’re going through. Sometimes it’s good to just learn how to cope with life.”

"I'm doing my best." Marcus has always been a kind man. It's good to know that that is just who he is, and that Vanessa hadn't been so blinded to people's good natures as to have misjudged him at any point. "I really want to apologize to both of you. Some of the things we did...that I did for him...were truly despicable. If I could take it all back, I would."

It’s not his place to accept an apology, especially when most of the attacks were focused on you. He squeezes your hand again, and defers to you.

"I wish we could have made amends sooner." You tell her, gently squeezing Marcus's hand in return. "But I'm glad that things are looking up for you, Vanessa. And I hope they continue to go in a positive direction. Nobody deserves to be defined by their mistakes when they're trying to better themselves."

It’s a gracious acceptance of the offered apology and so on point for who you are that Marcus wants to kiss you. “I completely agree.” He adds. “You focus on yourself and things will work out for the best.”

"That's very kind of both of you." And probably more than she deserves, but Vanessa isn't going to split hairs when she's stumbled into the chance to move forward. "And very diplomatic. It's...it's very easy to see, from the outside, why you're such a beloved couple." A fact which had made you both difficult to tear down, and is probably why Sam failed so entirely.

“We had some not so diplomatic moments.” Marcus admits, feeling that she is owed some truth as well. “But we aren’t going to punish you for mistakes that you are owning up to and trying to rectify.”

"Thank you." Vanessa half-smiles, looking around the small café, and makes the decision for herself with a small feeling of relief letting her shoulders relax for the first time in longer than she cares to admit. "I should let you enjoy your lunch," she says after a pause, and she stands. "It...was good to run into you. To clear the air."

“Good luck.” He won’t ask her to stay and continue the conversation and neither will you, but he wishes her well as she gathers her things.

"That was...unexpected." You murmur, watching Vanessa cross the street outside quickly, and duck into a pub instead of the little café you're still sitting in.

“Yeah.” Marcus blows out a breath and picks up your other hand. “How do you feel about it?”

"Weirdly...good?" It feels awful to admit, but getting an apology from someone who was actively trying to ruin your life not so long ago feels incredibly settling. "Or at least it feels validating. To know that we weren't crazy in thinking that Sam really was trying to hurt us so actively." It also feels awful to know that you were right about your ex not caring about you during your entire relationship, but that is a separate issue.

He sees the frown and he brings your hands up to kiss them gently. “At least we know now. You know.”

“Knowing is good.” You can agree to that, even as downtrodden as you feel right now. You got out of the relationship, found your soulmate, and are getting married. Everything is falling into place in the best way possible. But the sticky, icky, despicable sensation in your chest at being used isn’t exactly nice. “It still doesn’t feel good, though.”

“No it doesn’t.” He knows that feeling in a sense. Looking back at things objectively, it seemed like Teresa used him to prod Jane along, to pull his buried feelings out of him. “Do you want to go back to the hotel?” He asks softly, hating how your shoulders are rounded and your voice has dipped down.

“No.” This awful feeling will pass, you’ll regain your good humor, and this weekend won’t be ruined by a chance encounter in a restaurant. You won’t let it happen. “Let’s enjoy our lunch.”

He wants to ask if you’re sure, but he doesn’t. Giving you a reassuring smile, he glances towards the waiter. “How about a glass of wine?”

Determined to smile and to not be upset over a relationship that you ended willingly to begin with, you sit up your seat, roll your shoulders back, and turn your eyes back to Marcus. “Something bubbly, I think? We’re on vacation, after all.”

He smiles and nods. “I think that is completely appropriate. And it looks like they have a nice champagne on the menu.”

“Perfect.” You squeeze Marcus’s hand gently, thanking him for sticking with you through the tidal waves of clashing emotions you’re dealing with.

“Not nearly as perfect as you are.” There’s an odd sense of relief to have that chapter firmly closed, at least on Vanessa’s end. “Hopefully nothing else will happen.”

“Fingers crossed.” Huffing a soft laugh, you just shrug your shoulders and get in with ordering your lunch. It does no good to dwell and ruin the time away you have with Marcus. No good at all.

Panting, Marcus stares at the ceiling, nearly giggling at the bubbly, blissed out exhaustion that settles in the very marrow of his body. “Good girl.” He praises. “Good fucking girl.” Your own body is collapsed in a spent heap and he trails his fingers over your spine as you come down from the last, most intense orgasm of the night.

A matching giggle bubbles out of you as you curl into his side, utterly spent and gazing up at him with moony eyes. “Baby…” you laugh again, and half-turn toward him lamely. Your wrists are still bound with the tie he wore out to dinner. “Can I have my hands back?”

“Maybe I like you all bound up for me.” He teases, turning and working on the knots that are now harder than what he had originally tied because of you pulling and tugging on the restraint. Eager to touch him and frustrated by your inability to do so. “Next time I’ll tie you to the bed.”

“We’ll be back in our big four poster at home tomorrow night.” With your hands free, you loop your arms around his neck to kiss him soundly. “I’m already looking forward to it.”

“There’s something about being at home, isn’t there?” He asks, his hand coming up and tenderly caressing your throat where he had held it as he pounded into you. “I wasn’t too rough, was I?”

“Perfect level of rough,” you promise. Experimenting with his more dominant side had turned into a much-loved habit over your year together, and though you don’t get rough every single time you have sex it is definitely something you both enjoy.

“Do you need anything, sweetheart?” He asks. “Water, a rag?” Sometimes you like to keep his cum inside you, sometimes you like to clean up right after. And after every rough session, he likes to dote on you.

“I should say water.” Your eyes gleam with mischief. “But do we have any more wine? That bottle we bought in the Village was amazing.”

He smirks at your cheeky response and leans in to bite your bottom lip. “Sure.” He hums before he is climbing off the bed to get the lovely wine the two of you indulged in before your romp.

Tonight is one of those nights that you both indulged in the fantasy of getting pregnant, and lying in bed with a glass of wine with the sticky slick combination of your cum slowly dripping from your pussy sounds like pure indulgence. Plus you stashed Marcus’s Valentine’s gift in the bedside table, so there’s that too. You grab it now and slip it under your pillow, waiting for him to come back.

Pouring two glasses he turns back to admire your sprawled form as he bites his lip. It’s Valentine’s Day and the two of you have completely indulged today. Now, he needs to give you the gift he had picked out months ago.

“What’s that look for?” You hum, grinning back at him when he returns to your side in bed. “Did you suddenly remember how amazingly lucky I am to have you as my soulmate?”

“More like I remember how lucky I am.” He retorts. “I have a wonderful, sexy woman who indulges my desires and matches them.”

“So I guess we’re both lucky, then.” He hands you your glass and you take a sip, glad that you opted for a white wine tonight so you won’t accidentally ruin the sheets if you get playful. “Happy Valentine’s Day, my love.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day.” He smiles as he leans in to take a kiss from your wine soaked lips. “Have you enjoyed our weekend away?”

“To me it’s been perfect.” There are more kisses for both of you, never able to have enough of tasting or even just being near each other. “Have you enjoyed it too?”

“Hell yes I have.” He promises. “It’s been an incredible weekend, one we needed. No work, just us.”

“I’m just glad we both got through the weekend without any work emergencies.” The inn is in good hands, as Selena has finished her training to become your new manager and she and Malachi are running the place as smoothly as ever between them in your absence.

“Yeah, me too.” He takes a sip of the wine and sighs softly. “Part of me doesn’t want to go back. Just live in the hotel and run away from responsibility.”

“You would miss work pretty soon.” He loves his job, and you know that. It’s a very serious point of pride even though it’s very taxing on him sometimes. “My offer still stands, my love. Whenever you decide to retire from the FBI, you have my full support.”

“I know, and I’m very grateful for your support.” He promises. “It will come eventually, but I’m happy in my career right now and my team is excellent.”

“As long as you’re happy, I’m happy,” you promise him. With Marcus it’s always about support and communication, so having the small check-ins often is key.

“How about you?” He asks. “The inn is becoming even more popular and nearly full every night.”

“It’s nice that we’re not seeing the after affects of the smear campaign anymore.” It seems like the good will from your social media posts surrounding wedding planning has really worked to verse the damage Sam did months ago, and ever since the holidays the inn has been booked solid. “I’ve been thinking about adding an afternoon tea,” you admit, giving him a sheepish look. “Syd’s sous chef is English and French trained and the three of us were thinking about trying out an Italian-inspired tea service for Mother’s Day.”

“Like the tea cakes and sandwiches?” Marcus smirks slightly. “I can see that being a real draw.” He admits. “Older ladies coming in to socialize and then young girls coming in to learn how to take tea. Paninis and cannolis. Cups of tiramisu.”

“Teacups full of individual tiramisu was Syd’s first idea.” It’s sweet to see him get excited and you glow with pride. “I thought it would be nice to give Syd this Mother’s Day off but she came back with a whole new business idea.”

“I think she’s imagining Constance having tea there, with our girls when they are old enough.” Marcus smiles at the thought.

“It’s a beautiful thought.” The dreaminess on his face is obvious, making your heart swell at the promise of growing the family you’re building with this man. Your other half. Your better half. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too.” He promises softly, his own dreams for the future in his eyes. “I have your present, to show you how much.”

“I thought my roses were my present?” In fact, you and Marcus must have given the hotel staff a good chuckle this weekend, because you both ordered a dozen long stem red roses to the hotel room — addressed to each other — that arrived with your breakfast tray with room service this morning.

He gives you a look, one that tells you that you are being ridiculous and moves to his bag to pull out the lovely wrapped gift he had brought for you.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you laugh, sliding his gift out from under your pillow to hand over to him.

He huffs at you, even as a grin tugs at the corners of his mouth. “You should know that roses were going to be your only Valentine’s Day gift.” He hadn’t been expecting anything, and his eyes soften at the sight of a gift for him.

“They weren’t going to be your only gift either,” you tut. But sitting up together in your hotel bed, naked with glasses of wine and hearts utterly full, seems like the perfect time to exchange gifts. “This looks suspiciously like a jewelry box, Agent Pike.”

“I don’t know what you could possibly mean.” Marcus pleads his innocence, even as he smirks.

“Mmhmm.” Giggling to yourself all over again, you nudge Marcus’s package toward him so you can both open them at the same time.

“I need you to open yours first.” He wants to watch your expression and put it on you if you want.

“Very mysterious.” You eye him but obey, pulling open the ribbon on the little wrapped box and tear away the dark red paper to reveal a silver jewelry box — exactly as you suspected. When you remove the lid, a small gasp of surprise and wide eyes come with an open mouth reaction. “Is this…?” The delicate silver necklace inside has a heart pendant hanging from it in the center, but the back clasp is on display in the box: a lock, not a claw.

“A collar.” Marcus nods, watching you seriously as he picks up the small, ornate key and showing it to you. “We’ve talked about it, teasing about it, but I found this and I couldn’t stop thinking about it.”

"Honey, it's beautiful." To the outside observer, the inconspicuous little heart is a sweet token of love from your soulmate. For you and Marcus, it's a next step into the world that you've been exploring together. "I wouldn't have been able to stop thinking about it, either."

“You know you have me, every single part of me, and I have you.” He reaches out and caresses your neck. “This would be between us. Our little secret from the world. My claim on you.”

The little lock on the necklace is meant to be done for you, and you raise your eyes back to Marcus. "Will you do the honors?"

“Do you want to wear my collar, sweetheart?” He asks seriously. “Keeping me close to your heart every day?”

"I really do," you lean across the small expanse to kiss him, just as soft and steadily as the rhythm of your heartbeat. "Even though you're already in my heart every single day. This is just another way to show the whole world."

Marcus hums as you hold out the necklace to him and he carefully unlocks it. “I don’t ever want you to feel like you can’t take it off.” He tells you as he wraps it around your neck and closes the lock to secure it around your neck.

"I know I can always ask you." There are some occasions when it won't be appropriate -- State dinners, your wedding, the fanciest things that you'll do in your lives -- but each and every day of your life the necklace will either go on or off and that means that Marcus will always be with you even when he's away.

Once the necklace is locked around your neck, Marcus leans in and presses his lips to it and your skin gently.

"I feel a bit like I underdid it now," you admit, touching the necklace gently with your fingertips. "But I still hope you like it."

He snorts, not even able to imagine you not putting incredible thought and time into his gift. He picks up the box and shakes it like a kid at Christmas, grinning at you. “Nahhhh, sounds fun.”

"Oh yeah." You snort and wave one hand casually. "I figured Lincoln Logs were the most romantic gift possible."

He laughs and shakes his head as he starts to unwrap the beautiful paper. “Whatever it is, I appreciate you getting me something.” He murmurs. “A lot of women seem to think valentines is only for them.”

"You are the most romantic man on the planet." While he works open the paper you lean back in the pillows and toy with your new necklace. "I couldn't possibly leave you out of the celebration this weekend. That would be awful."

“You would be surprised how often it happens.” He knows you wouldn’t and it makes him appreciate you even more. “Babe….” he freezes when he opens the box and sees the lighter that is nestled into the protective fabric. “Is this— it’s a 1939-45 World War II Trench lighter.” He murmurs, admiring how the patina on the metal is meticulously cared for. “How did you know to get this?”

The awe on his face is enough to tell you that you made the right decision, and you leave a kiss on his cheek with pleasure. "I may have dug in your eBay search history a little," you admit without shame. "Your lighter collection is a point of pride and I know you want to keep growing it."

“I- I love it.” He promises you, leaning in and pressing his lips to yours. “So many of these have been lost or discarded but they all have so many stories ingrained in every flick of the flint.”

"The shop I got it from had a little history of previous owners." The handwritten card is tucked inside the lid of the cigar box, and you nudge Marcus to keep going. "You have to keep unwrapping, though."

“There’s more?” He huffs, rolling his eyes playfully and carefully setting the lighter aside to pull out a box of cigars. “Very nice.”

His smile makes you glow, so happy to see him accepting these shows of love and tokens of affection. "Now that you have a porch to sit out on at night, I thought you should be able to enjoy an indulgence you couldn't have while living in an apartment or the inn."

“That is as long as you don’t hate the smell.” He eyes you, even as he opens the box and pulls out a cigar to smell, groaning at the aroma.

"I called your dad to make sure I got the ones you and he smoke when we're in Texas," you admit. "So I already know I like the smell of these."

“Good.” He chuckles quietly and kisses you again. “You’re perfect, you know that?” He asks. “The universe couldn’t have chosen better.”

"I was just thinking the same about you." Nudging his nose with yours brings a smile to both of your faces. The perfectly contented kind of smile that is somehow both enraptured and at peace all at once. "So I'm very glad we agree."

“That’s why we are soulmates.” He reasons, giddy to be celebrating the holiday with his soulmate, his fiancée and the woman he will spend the rest of his life with.

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

HHL: @haileymorelikestupid @anoverwhelmingdin @storiesofthefandomlovers @missladym1981 @babeincolor @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

My Masterlist!

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Marcus Pike #Marcus Pike x you #Marcus Pike x reader #Marcus Pike x female reader #Marcus Pike x f!reader #The Mentalist #soulmate au #First Daughter reader #Juan Badillo #Graceland #Juan Badillo x f!OC #Juan Badillo x OC #PrincessPike2018 #PikeWedding2018 #WhiteHouseWedding2018

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figsandphiltatos · 1 day

Text

i'm a waste of a woman, but i taste like success

read it on ao3 here!

Story: i'm a waste of a woman, but i taste like success

Chapter: 1/1

Characters: Kipperlilly Copperkettle, Lucy Frostblade, Ruben Hopclap, Mary Ann Skuttle, Ivy Embra, Oisin Hakinvar

Summary:

Kipperlilly Copperkettle has never been great with people. She's worse with friends. Forming an adventuring party is like making friends, but with greater stakes and far less time to consider your options. But, it's also a kind of friend making that has structure. And Kipperlilly can work with structure. -- Inspired by these comments by Brennan Lee Mulligan about Kipperlilly and the formation of the High Five Heroes: "There's an indication there of Kipperlilly's focus because yeah, the High-Five Heroes is sweet, but it's also sort of a indication that Kipperlilly is pushing them towards, for lack of a better word, do we have something that we're about? The Bad Kids get their name because they've all been given detention on the first day and it's connected to their story. Whereas you get the sense from the High-Five Heroes that it's not actually describing anything. It's like the person being like, "Our inside joke is going to be high-fives." And you're like, "Well, everyone high-fives." So there's an indication there, for me at least, that Kipperlily is trying to make a comradery right away that is not actually there. It's not based in something that happened to them."

The lunchroom of the Aguefort Adventuring Academy was bustling with excited freshmen. Students shouted across the large space to friends they recognized, throngs of already-formed cliques chittered with exclusive excitement, and groupings of sorcerers and bards scoped out potential parties that still needed their skill sets. Technically, the formation of adventuring parties wasn’t meant to begin until after lunch, but it was immediately clear that those who waited were most likely to be left out.

A group of kids who clearly all fit the stoner archetype had already gathered around a table, swapping bags of chips and chatting eagerly about systems of control. A few kids hung nervously around the edges of the cafeteria, some on their crystals and others fidgeting nervously as they watched the ruthless game of high school socialization play out in front of them.

There were a few tables with lone freshmen, either texting friends or digging into their food with little care for the scarcity of resources that were friends and party members. Kipperlilly was one such student, but she had her eyes on the prize. She unwrapped the lunch she had carefully packed for herself, and laid out her bullet journal to review her color coded notes while she waited for Lucy.

She hadn’t discussed the plan explicitly with her best friend before their first day—and there was nothing Kipperlilly hated more than not having a plan nailed down—but she had faith in Lucy. She would know that they belonged in a party together, naturally. From there, it would just be a matter of constructing the perfect party around them. That would hardly be a challenge when she’d been planning this out for months. She knew exactly the kinds of party members they would need, and had started her scouting early.

A powerful wizard could make or break a party, and Oisin Hakinvar was a perfect candidate. He had gone with them to Oakshield Middle, though they’d never spoken before. Once, in seventh grade, Kipperlilly had watched him give a presentation on his proud dragon heritage—the exact kind of thing that made a great adventurer.

She had a few ideas for fighters and barbarians, but she’d already watched Nixie Humphries, a human fighter she’d had her eye on, and Fog Marrowthirst, a transfer half-orc barbarian, get snatched up by other adventuring parties. She carefully marked them from her list, bouncing her leg impatiently under the table. She looked up from her notes and craned her neck to look for Lucy when a small, kobold girl with an ax strapped to her back sat down at the table several seats away.

Kipperlilly’s grip tightened on her red pen, but she breathed out slowly through her nose just like the counselor at Oakshield had always suggested she try. Things were not going according to plan, but that didn’t mean all hope was lost.

“I’m saving these seats for my friends, actually.” She flashed an approximation of a friendly smile across the table.

The kobold girl didn’t look up from her device—It wasn’t a crystal, but some kind of childish looking handheld game. Without taking her eyes off of it, the girl reached around to grab a soda out of the pocket of her backpack.

Kipperlilly cleared her throat. “Excuse me?” She said, a bit louder. “I’m waiting for my friends to sit here with me.”

Her future friends, that was. Her adventuring party that she would save the world with time and again. For now, they’d just be getting to know each other, but why waste time with half measures? Their lives would be in each other’s hands. They would share in their glory for the rest of their careers. They would be friends, closer than they could imagine eventually. Calling them anything other than friends felt like a slight against that eventual bond.

It was like the kobold girl wasn’t hearing her at all. Kipperlilly set down her red pen and stood—

“Kip!” Lucy called as she approached. She was dressed in one of her favorite cable knit sweaters, one that she’d only recently reclaimed from Kipperlilly’s theft, and was carrying her tray of creamed corn and cafeteria food.

Keeping pace next to her was Ruben Hopclap. He was wearing cargo shorts and flip flops, smiling in a way that Kipperlilly could only interpret as smug.

“Sorry, Ruben and I got held up in the lunch line,” Lucy slid into the seat across from her. She knew Kipperlilly well enough to know that she was brimming with impatience before more than a word had passed between them. “You want to be in our adventuring party, right? I’m so excited!”

Our adventuring party. As in, Lucy and Ruben’s adventuring party. Heat rose to Kipperlilly’s face. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go at all. It was meant to be our party as in, her and Lucy’s party. Lucy was meant to come find her first. Lunch line or no, why had she sought out Ruben first?

Hot, angry tears closed up the back of her throat but before they could start to prick at her eyes, Kipperlilly inhaled sharply through her nose. Steadily and slowly inwards, hold, then breathe out at the same pace. She dug her fingernails into her palm under the table for good measure.

“Yeah, of course.” Now wasn’t the time to pick a fight, even if she’d picked fights over less before. She had to keep her eye on the goal. “Just, forget my plan, I guess.” She muttered, unable to help herself, and marked a large, red ‘x’ over the names of potential bard candidates for their party. Ruben’s name hadn’t been listed there.

She should have discussed this all with Lucy beforehand. She knew it.

Lucy’s brows pinched together in concern and Ruben huffed out an incredulous breath. They were both familiar with her moods.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know you had a plan.” Lucy reached across the table tentatively, resting a cold hand on Kipperlilly’s. “Can I see the rest? I’m sure you’ve got good ideas.”

Always patient. It wasn’t fair. Sometimes, Kipperlilly could manage to goad Lucy into a fight but it was a vanishingly rare thing the older they got. Something about it made the molten rock in her chest feel heavier.

“Yeah, I had some ideas for who we could ask.” She said, reminding herself that self-pity needed to take a back seat to accomplishing her goal. She’d worked hard to convince her parents to let her attend Aguefort. She’d created a comprehensive, data-backed presentation about the benefits this school could offer that Mumple couldn’t in the first semester of her eighth grade year. A vital part of proving herself right was forming the ideal party. As much as she might have liked to sulk until Lucy had no choice but to admit that she’d been wrong for not seeking her out first, now wasn’t the time.

“Great!” Lucy smiled, pulling the bullet journal toward herself.

Her eyes were such a deep blue that it was hard to tell their color in some lighting, but under the fluorescent cafeteria lights they were easy to see as she turned her careful attention to the pages in front of her. Her focus was always steady and intentional. At sleepovers and study groups, Kipperlilly would often get distracted just watching her read.

“Why are these names crossed out?” She asked, pointing with a long finger to Fog and Nixie’s names.

“They already have a party.”

The corners of Lucy’s lips crept upwards in a soft, amused smile. She looked up from the list and carefully scanned the cafeteria before her eyes landed on the kobold girl sitting only a few seats away.

“Oh, I’m sorry for ignoring you,” She said, “I’m Lucy Frostblade, what’s your name?”

The girl still didn’t look up from her game. Watching Lucy get rebuffed was almost enough to make Kipperlilly properly lose her cool, but Ruben suddenly leaned forward to get a better look.

“Is that a Quokki Pet?” He asked.

Finally, the girl’s head rose. She regarded Ruben with mild interest. “Do you play?”

“I used to have one in middle school, but a teacher took it. My parents wouldn’t buy me a new one.” Now that he mentioned it, Kipperlilly remembered the small handheld game Ruben had clung to for a few months in seventh grade.

He’d been caught checking it during math class and it was confiscated by Mrs. Nikothoe, who even Kipperlilly had to admit was a nightmare of a woman. While she probably couldn’t be blamed for taking away a distraction from a student, she hadn’t even liked Kipperlilly despite all her efforts. So for once she and Ruben had come down on the same side of an issue. It had been a refreshing change of pace, even if it had only lasted an afternoon.

“Lame.” The girl responded shortly and her attention started to turn back toward her game.

Lucy was quick on the draw, though, “You have an ax! Are you a barbarian?”

“Yes.” Mary Ann seemed slightly bothered by the continued distraction, but humored them for now.

Kipperlilly could see where this was going and very much didn’t like it. She tried to signal Lucy to stop, tapping on the bullet journal that was still in front of her. Sure, her first choices were off the table but there had to be better choices than this girl.

“We’re looking for a barbarian for our party. Do you want to join?”

The kobold girl looked between the three of them for a moment. Kipperlilly stared back and tried to imagine her going into a rage—tried to imagine what good a two foot tall barbarian could possibly be. She just prayed that they’d be rejected.

“Sure.” No such luck. “I’m Mary Ann.” And with that, her attention was back on that stupid Quokki game.

“I’m Ruben!”

“Didn’t ask.”

Kipperlilly was staring at Lucy in disbelief when their eyes met again. What was she thinking? This was a disaster. “We need to find Oisin Hakinvar.” She said, gathering up her things. There was no time to waste. She couldn’t possibly let this go any worse than it already had.

“Oisin? From Oakshield?” Lucy asked.

“I haven’t finished my creamed corn!” Ruben complained through a mouth full of the stuff. Kipperlilly shot him a dangerous glare. He did not want to get in her way right now.

Lucy rushed to catch up with Kipperlilly as she shoved her things in her bag and made a beeline out of the cafeteria. Oisin may very well have already been out on the quad, where there was an even more concentrated focus on forming parties. It might have been too late.

“Kip, calm down,” Lucy insisted as they pushed through the front doors of the school together. Ruben and Mary Ann trailed somewhere behind them, the latter with her nose still stuck in her game. “It’ll all work out. There’s no rush.”

But that just wasn’t true. Kipperlilly didn’t have time to argue the point. Stepping onto the school’s quad, she took careful stock of everyone there. Some girls had gathered around one of the many statues of Arthur Aguefort and were giggling to themselves. A few students had gathered around to watch an elven boy show off his magical prowess. Kipperlilly had to dash through his prestidigitation sparks when she spotted a blue, scaly head behind the base of a nearby statue.

Lucy followed after her, apologizing to the elf as she passed. Kipperlilly came to stand in front of Oisin Hakinvar. He was sitting at the base of a statue, eating his lunch with a vaguely familiar wood elf girl. If he had a party already, they were nowhere to be seen. He looked up from his food, pushing up his glasses and frowning thoughtfully at the halfling in front of him.

“Can I help you with something?” He asked.

“Yes,” As she spoke, Lucy and the others caught up behind her. “I’m Kipperlilly Copperkettle. We went to middle school together. I’d like you to be the wizard in our adventuring party.”

“I’m Lucy Frostblade,” Lucy jumped in when Oisin’s hesitation dragged on for a beat too long. “We had history class together last year. I know this is kind of a lot, but you’re really impressive! And we’ve got enough room still for you to join, too, Ivy. Are you a ranger?”

The wood elf girl, Ivy—Kipperlilly noted the shortcomings in her research that she didn’t realize Oisin had someone he wouldn’t join a party without—regarded Lucy with a carefully controlled expression. “Yeah, I am.”

“That’s perfect! I don’t think any of us here are super well versed in the natural world, so you’d be a great help.” Lucy offered a friendly smile, a real one, and Ivy and Oisin exchanged glances.

“Okay, so you all want us, but why should we want to join you?” He asked after a moment.

He was considering it. This was good. Kipperlilly could work with this. “We’re impressive in our own right! I’m a rogue, and one day I’ll be the greatest mastermind Spyre has ever seen. I was in student government in middle school; I was the president of four clubs, and the creator of two of those. I’ve never gotten a grade worse than a B in my life. If you stick with me, you don’t have to worry about failing.” And I’d be the perfect leader, was what she didn't say. “And Lucy is a prodigious cleric of Ruvina. She’s worked some serious miracles—”

“I’ll keep you alive.” Lucy interrupted sheepishly. She wasn’t one for bragging, even if Kipperlilly thought she should have been. “That’s what you really want to hear from a cleric, isn’t it? And this is Ruben, he’s a bard and a genuinely talented musician.”

Ruben flashed a proud grin. “I’ve already figured out how to cast healing word, so you doubly won’t die if you stick with us.” He had no problem bragging.

“And this is Mary Ann, we just met but—”

Mary Ann pulled her ax from her back with the hand that wasn’t holding her game. She dropped it into the soft ground with a satisfying thud. “I’m a barbarian.”

“She’s a barbarian.” Lucy repeated with a grin.

“Nice elevator pitch. Did you practice it?” Ivy asked, and Kipperlilly honestly couldn’t say if she was intentionally being snarky or not.

“Doubly not dying is a pretty tempting offer,” Oisin admitted. “One of my friends in middle school was a worshiper of Ruvina,” he addressed Lucy directly, “Pretty cool stuff—No pun intended.”

Lucy laughed, “Pun appreciated, intentional or not. So, what do you say?”

Again, Oisin and Ivy exchanged some kind of silent communication—Kipperlilly wondered if it was a message spell, or if they really did just have a knack for understanding one another—before either of them spoke.

“Sounds like a plan. Makes it easier that you guys already have all the other members figured out, too.”

Ivy joining the team hadn’t been the plan, either. But Lucy was right that a ranger would be helpful and, even if she seemed mean, she had to be better than Ruben or Mary Ann. A small weight lifted off Kipperlilly’s shoulders as she realized she’d succeeded, at least in her first goal of the day.

She grinned, mostly because she was relieved that this was done, and quickly held up her hand for Lucy to high five. She owed her shared credit, especially for winning Oisin over, even if the improvisation with Mary Ann had been unwelcome.

With a satisfying smack, their hands collided, and Kipperlilly carried on down the line. Ruben seemed confused, but returned her high five nonetheless. Ivy and Oisin seemed equally amused by the offer, but played along. Mary Ann, who was focused entirely on her game, didn’t even look up to see Kipperlilly’s hand hovering in front of her. Kipperlilly paused, and waited, but felt the awkward tension growing the longer she did, and eventually dropped her hand.

“Look at that! We can call ourselves the High-Five Heroes!” She chimed, trying to power through the way Mary Ann’s snub had robbed her of some of her momentum. She’d prepared for this moment, planned out the name.

It had to land.

Kipperlilly had never been great with making friends in the past. Lucy was her best friend mostly because Lucy was a wonderful presence and brought joy and light to her life, but there was certainly an element of the fact that Lucy was her only friend, too. Adventuring parties were all best friends. They were bound by blood and trauma and life debts. This was the perfect opportunity for her to finally get things right. And she intended to; She had meticulously planned exactly how she would.

An awkward silence fell over the group. Ivy looked at Oisin with raised eyebrows and Kipperlilly tried desperately to read into the expression. Maybe awkward was the wrong word, maybe it was awed? She fidgeted aimlessly with her hands, feeling the way sweat collected on her palms.

“Everybody high fives.” Ruben scoffed and Kipperlilly felt her heart drop. This was exactly why he couldn’t be here. He was going to ruin it all, and just to piss her off.

She silently worked her jaw for a moment, trying to grind out any combination of words that would salvage this.

“I think it’s cool!” Lucy came to her rescue, as always. “We’re going to be heroes!”

It seemed that, at the very least, that was a sentiment they could all get behind. Her suggestion might not have been met with the enthusiasm she’d prefer, but Kipperlilly relished her accomplishment as each member of the group signaled their approval. The High Five Heroes weren’t only going to be heroes, they wouldn’t just be friends—they’d be great. She could feel it.

#kipperlilly copperkettle #the rat grinders #lucy frostblade #ruben hopclap #mary ann skuttle #oisin hakinvar #ivy embra #i just. you're not gonna get away for vilifying a teenage girl for her lack of social skills and control freak nature on my watch #i'll literally die for her right to be The Worst #like does she suck?? yeah kinda #is she sinister?? hell no #fhjy spoilers #ig??

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incandescentflower · 3 days

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Things I am still curious about/clamoring for as we keep going with Wandee Goodday in no particular order:

(some things we know will happen, others are mere speculation or what I personally want to see)

-Finding out what happened to Dee's parents. And does it have to do with his flashback he had on the crosswalk? If not, what is that about?

-Finding out what exactly happened to Yak's mother. Is there hinting that Dee's family had an accident related to Yak's mom's death - maybe, maybe not -there were emergency sirens but that could be from heart attack or other acute emergencies - there was no sign of external injuries during that scene, but anyone who watches dramas knows that these kind of coincidences are common to set up conflict

-Getting to know the deal with Yak's father (and step-mother, who is in MDL credits)?

-Finding out who Luke is playing?? I can't even fathom at this point.

-MEETING KAO'S LOVE INTEREST (I will not ask if there will be one and will flip tables if he doesn't get one.) I will die laughing if it is Luke because that seems so weird to me, but shows have surprised me before. Still rooting for you, rando handsome bodyguard.

-More grandma time. We are getting to see her next episode and she needs to hang around more. I want her to become Yak's cool grandma too, no question.

-Taem helping Yak face his feelings. I think Yak already knows pretty well, but I think he thinks Dee doesn't return them so he's better off trying with Taem, which if true, is a little funny because Taem is the one who has clearly given Yak an answer. But that means his whole scheme is pretty safe, actually. He says he doesn't want to risk losing her but he already knows he won't. Dee on the other hand...

-I would specifically love to see Yak confess to Taem and come to fully understand in the process how he doesn't feel for Taem anymore the way he feels for Dee.

-I can't wait for the Thai travel ad episode where Cher and Yei get to go on a couple date with Yak and Dee. Just more Cher and Yei in general, kthanks, show

-I am seated for the moment when Yak realizes that Ter is going after Dee and gets pissed. Yak is one who is so calm that him getting truly angry is something to look forward to with interest. This Yak seems very different from pilot trailer Yak in that regard and I want to see if that holds up. I'd like a little Yak jealousy, but mostly I want to see Yak standing up for Dee because based on how he is characterized I think his biggest problem is going to be that Ter still seems to be jerking Dee around and Yak won't have it.

-I want to know if Dr. Kwan realizes that Ter is a lost cause and steps away? I keep trying to understand what purpose she serves besides being one of only a few significant female characters. She made Ter's claim he liked women seem more plausible for a few episodes, but I hope she gets to have more agency.

-I want to see Dee going to cheer for Yak at the ringside so badly. Bonus, Dee braiding Yak's hair (or unbraiding) or some wound care. There may have been some foreshadowing of Yak getting more seriously injured like a concussion - they talked about the risks of him going up a weight class and I was like hrm.

-I will be so happy to see Dee going to Yak's graduation. The pilot trailer hammers on Yak not wanting to be a boxer. There's signs that is still a thread in the drama. I think we'll find out more what Yak really wants for his future. I'd love to get more of that in detail and not a broad brush.

We have far to go, but putting this all out there makes me hope that they will do these plot points some justice instead of taking some random turns that are out of character. I'm so interested to see how all these stories unfold.

I will continue to be mulling this so any other speculations, hopes or observations are more than welcome. :)

#wandee goodday #spoilers? maybe?#references to the pilot trailer and other scenes that we have not seen in drama yet I guess #this was all swirling in my brain and I had to get it out

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scarasimplysimping · 2 days

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All In

Part 1 (might be two parts idk)

(⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠)

Summary: A bet is placed to see if you can get the Summa Cum Laude to fall in love with you. (Scaramouche x Reader) (College au)

Contains: Idk. So it's one of those love stories where there's a bet. Hu Tao and Childe are kind of assholes for the sake of this fic, I am SORRY. Reader is also kind of an ass. Ooc. Some plot holes because I don't go to college or drink or smoke. Just roll with it.

(⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠)

2,822 words 15,518 characters

What a stuck-up prick.

That's what you thought of him anyway. He was *the* Summa Cum Laude of your year. He was snobby, self-centered, friendless, and to top it all off, he just so happened to be your partner for your big thesis.

It was not by choice but he had no partner because people were afraid of him and you had no partner because well... people hated you. It wasn't a project that could be done individually either, lest you wanted to die before you graduate.

"He's such a bore." You complain to your friends on the lunch table, Hu Tao, Childe, and Xiao. "I tried to make plans with him, really. I asked if he was free, and you know what he said?" You slammed your hands on the table for dramatic effect.

Hu Tao leaned in closer, strands of her hair falling onto the table, and alarmingly close to Xiao's food, making him scowl as he moved his tray.

"He said," you began, putting up a silly impression of him with a snobby expression. "I don't need bottom feeders like you dragging down my work. I'll handle everything. Pay me if you want."

Childe snorted. Hu Tao doubled over in laughter, mainly because you're impression was so on point.

"God, what a freak." Hu Tao mused as she wiped her tears from her face, she never passed on the opportunity to talk shit about someone she didn't like. Childe agreed with her but he was partly not paying attention. He jabbed his fork into Xiao's food.

"Fucker." Xiao muttered under his breath.

Your silly clique was a ragtag bunch of misfits in their own ways. Hu Tao was your childhood friend who always had something vindictive to say or some storm to stir up. She lived for the drama.

Childe started tagging along around highschool. He was a charming, silver-tongued ginger ball of sunshine, he started developing a negative reputation over time as as somewhat of a satyr, though.

Xiao was above all the petty and immature antics whichever one of you had the gall to cook up. In all honesty, he was only there because his older brother, Zhongli had asked Childe to help him settle in to the college life. Childe owed the man a favor so he dragged the poor emo wherever you guys went and you kind of just got used to his company.

Then there was you, there was one thing that set you far apart from them all.

Money.

They were filthy rich and you, an independent college student, had not a penny to your name after you decided to up and leave your family to follow Hu Tao to college. You didn't really have to work though, your friends pretty much covered most of your college expense as casually as a friend would by you lunch.

"I know I can't really help him, I mean, my grades are dogshit right now but like I don't know how to pay him either," You said, burying your face into your palms.

Childe scoffed. "I don't even think he means it. Plus, it's nothing to worry about. We've got you covered if that greedy little nerd actually demands shit from you."

"Yeah, just let him do everything by himself," He continued "Watch him or something, in case your professor wants updates.."

A small smirk formed upon his lips. "I bet he's not that hard to watch anyway."

You playfully punched him on the shoulder "Gross!"

"You gotta admit he is kinda cute," Hu Tao chided in. "Right, Xiao?"

Xiao shrugged, far too focused on actually having lunch.

Childe snaked an arm over you. "Tell you what, (Y/N). If you can somehow bed the prudish bastard before the end of this semester, I'll fork over some money for this month's rent."

"Hu Tao pays rent."

"I'll fork over some money for anything you want."

"Hmm... I want VIP tickets to La Signora's concert."

"Done~"

"Oh my archons! Like actually?" Hu Tao couldn't tell if you both were serious. "(Y/N), your charm is above average but I don't even know if you can pull this one off."

You roll your eyes." Have faith in me. I bet he's easy."

Hu Tao leans back thoughtfully, a mischievous smirk playing on her face. "Alright, (Y/N). If you manage to pull this off I'll give you a grand.

You gape at her. "Seriously?

"Absolutely."

You know were only entertaining the idea because they had no actual faith you'd pull it off, but to you. This was easy money.

You slowly turn to the brooding emo on the table. "What about you, Xiao?"

His eyes narrowed at you. "What about me?"

"You gonna offer anything?"

He scoffs, groaning internally and being the only one with a moral compass. "Only an asshole would find bets such as these any type of fun."

Childe flicks his wrist dismissevly. "We are assholes."

(⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠)

It was hard enough convincing Scaramouche to work on the project and your (and Hu Tao's) place but now you had to deal with the emanating silence from you both. You've barely ever talked to him but the tension in your room could be cut with a knife, or maybe that was just your imagination.

He was sitting cross legged on your bed, typing away at his laptop with several papers surrounding him. You were sat across from him in the same position, nursing a cigarette in between your fingers.

"Do you want something to eat?" You finally break the silence.

He doesn't look up from the screen as he responds. "What do you have?"

You look to the ceiling, trying to recall what you and Hu Tao had last shoved into the fridge. "Uh... Pesto... Pizza... Dumplings. Probably some leftover vegetables."

"Bring me them all." Talk about shame.

"Alright." You say, putting out the cigarette on your nightstand. You couldn't help but notice the tiny scowl on Scaramouche's face as he glanced at the ashtray.

You come back balancing a bowl of pesto, a bowl of dumplings, and a bowl of salad on a box of pizza. Scaramouche pats on the side of your bed, indicating for you to drop the offerings there.

You light another cigarette as you take your previous seat in front of him.

"The weather is pretty nice today.." A sad attempt at conversation on your end.

Silence

"So... Childe's hosting a party tomorrow night, would you like to come?" You try once more.

Scaramouche still doesn't say anything, he doesn't even look up from the screen.

You blow a puff of smoke on his face. He coughs a bit before glaring at you with cold judging eyes. At least he was actually looking at you now. "I have no time to indulge in that crap."

"You have plenty of time. That thesis isn't due for another month."

"Well not exactly, since I'll be doing the work for both of us."

"Do you have a problem with me?"

"I have a problem with people like you." He glowers.

"People like me?" You raise your eyebrows.

"People who just have everything spoon fed to them by luck or by birthright and take that as a reason to slack off for the rest of their life since everything just magically works out for them." Scaramouche wasn't wrong, you really fucked around and never found out but still, what right did he have to judge you?

"Didn't know you knew me so well." You say, blowing out another puff of smoke but this time it's to the side.

Scaramouche opens his mouth to respond, then closes it once more. You had a point. It was hypocritical of him to listen to judge you based on gossip.

Finally, he speaks after a few minutes of silence.

"I was out of line." It's an apology although he doesn't outright apologize.

"Yeah." You decide to take advantage of his momentary guilt as you inquire about what he's working on. "So, do you mind telling me what you're doing?"

"Well, I'm looking online for research papers related to the topic were studying. I'm taking snippets I find interesting and I'll save them for later to expand on them in our thesis."

Scaramouche speaks a bit more but you're hardly listening. You take this time to really observe his physical appearance. Hu Tao was right; the man was cute. His eyes, his mouth, his lips. If you took a meat cleaver to the center of his skull, you'd have matching halves.

Even his hair looked softer than unicorn fur.

"(Y/N)?" He snaps you out, a displeased expression creeps upon his face upon noticing that you aren't even paying attention.

"Your hair looks softer than unicorn fur," you blurt out.

His eyes widen slightly, and you could've sworn he turned a shade pink before he feigned a disgusted look to save his dignity. "What the hell?"

You caught on immediately. There it was. Scaramouche had a weakness. The Summa Cum Laude, the bridge troll with a big brain and purple hair (as Hu Tao once described him) is someone who gets easily flustered .

"You're kind of cute." You push on.

"Shut the fuck up." His head lowers, he dares not look into your eyes.

"Come to Childe's party with me?" You ask once more.

(⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠)

Scaramouche hated you. He hated your face and your voice and your personality. He hated every single atom you were made up of, but most of all he hated the way you were able to persuade him to come to this stupid party. And for what? Just because you were the first person to ever call him cute? He'd curse you and all your descendants to come.

Childe's party was just a gathering of drunks and trouble makers. His house was practically a mansion that could fit 60% of the university's student population.

He hated the blaring lights and unbelievably loud, repetitive, and distasteful music.

"I hate this!" He has to shout for you to hear.

"I know!"

"I'm going home!"

"You can't! You're my ride home!"

"We walked here, dumbass!" Scaramouche wanted to leave you truly he did but something, wasn't letting him. His moral compass or his growing fondness of you?

Childe finds you, placing an arm around your shoulder. "Hey!" He hands you a shot glass which you graciously accept and down in a couple of seconds, much to Scaramouche's dismay.

Childe pays no attention to your companion until he does a double take and realize it's Scaramouche.

"Holy shit! Is that Scara!?" Childe grins hazily. He was drunk drunk.

Scaramouche does not respond. He is frowning while Childe handed you half a bottle of gin.

You drink it within a couple minutes as you chat with Childe.

Scaramouche stands there, awkward, cranky, and out of place as the only person he's aquatinted with in this party is getting absolutely inebriated.

At some point you don't know when or from where but you get your hands on another shot glass.

"You're not drinking that," Scaramouche states firmly.

"I am." You bring the cup to your lips but Scaramouche is faster, he snatches it from you and lets it fall to the ground.

"What gives!?"

"I'm not carrying your drunk ass home just because you drank away the capability to walk!" He shouts at you.

People are staring now. Is it because of the commotion or because Scaramouche was the last person anyone would expect to see at a party?

Scaramouche didn't like the staring or the attention. "I'm going fucking home." He says, grabbing your wrist and pulling you past the crowd. "So are you."

Childe is left there, impressed. He takes out his cellphone.

To: Hu Tao

She's actually gonna pull it off. Wtf

From: Childe

You stumble and trip as Scaramouche drags you through the night. It was a miracle you could keep up. (It wasn't, he slowed his pace on purpose to match yours but it still wasn't slow enough for your drunken ass.)

"Scara, slow dooown~"

He ignores you until he feels you slip from his grasp, landing with a thud. "What the fuck is wrong with you!? Do you not have the smarts to walk!?" The boy scolds.

You decide to rest your knees a bit as you stay on the ground.

You hear him sigh sharply before crouching in front of you. "Get on."

"What? Like piggyback style?"

"Yes, damnit just get on." His face wasn't facing you and it was dark. Scaramouche was eternally grateful to the archons that you couldn't see the way his ears reddened.

He carries you like that until you're at the front door of your place. Scaramouche gently drops you off. Miraculously not panting. (He wasn't that athletic.)

"Can I trust you enough to tuck yourself in?" The boy asks, his tone was calm this time.

You nod in response.

"Alright." Scaramouche turns his heel to leave.

"Scaramouche." You call out.

He turns back to you, a little too quickly.

You try to take a step towards him except you "accidentally" trip on air and crash onto his chest. He barely moves an inch but his hands instinctively wrap around you. You can see the exact moment he scrunches his nose as well as the moment before that where his cheeks flush.

You'll blame this on alcohol later. You'll also blame alcohol for when you pulled his collar to place a quick peck on his lips.

This was the night Scaramouche nearly passed away.

(⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠)

Scara paced around his room. What the fuck was that? Why the fuck would you do that? His heart still raced as fast as it did when you kissed him.

He replayed the kiss over and over in his mind. Why? Just why? He mussed his hair in frustration as he plopped himself on the bed. If Scaramouche focused enough, he could still feel their lips on his, even if it was just for a fleeting moment.

Why had a drunken asshole decided to take his first kiss? Why was he reacting so weirdly?

And why did he just tuck tail speed walk away right after it happened without saying shit about it?

(Y/N) will probably tell their friends. They'll gossip and laugh at how the smartest person in their program was turned into a blushing, sputtering mess at the mere kiss of some drunk. Some overly confident, obnoxious, attractive drunk who's lips were soft as velvet.

The thought has him reeling. Rolling to the side, Scaramouche pulled a pillow over his head and groaned into it.

"I'm done guessing. What's wrong with you?" His inner monologue was broken by his cyan haired roommate.

"Nothing. Fuck off, Dottore." His words still muffled by the pillow.

"All your ceaseless brooding is keeping me distracted. I suggest you stop whining if you don't want me to give you more reasons to whine."

Silence.

That came out wrong, but it got Scaramouche to shut up so who would complain?

(⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠)

It was a crush. That's what Dottore had said to him. It made jackshit sense though. Why would he like you? You were just someone he perceived as a slacker. It's possibly because you were the only one who ever showed interest in him. He'll probably get over it when he finds someone else to adore, but he couldn't.

Scaramouche was once again working on the thesis, on your bed. He didn't bring up the kiss. Maybe you'd forgotten about it? A small part of him hoped that you didn't though.

Finally, he decides to speak up. "I demand compensation."

You shoot him a confused look.

"What? Don't you remember?" Scaramouche scowls.

"You kissed me..."

"Did I?" You feign innocence.

"Do not make me repeat myself." He orders. "That was my first kiss. I demand some kind of compensation." His cheeks were heating up as it became harder and harder for him to look you in the eyes.

"Oh?" You bring your index finger below your lips in an expression of mock thoughtfulness.

Scaramouche's scowl deepens at your mocking finger below your lips. "Do not toy with me," he warns. "You took something and I want fair repayment."

You chuckle, enjoying his ruffled feathers. " And what is a first kiss worth these days?" Leaning back on your hands, you look him over appraisingly. "I'm not convinced it was really your first. You seemed to know what you were doing..."

His cheeks redden as he scrunches his nose at your audacity. "You're insufferable."

"And yet you enjoyed kissing me." You smirk. "Perhaps you even want more?"

Scaramouche's embarrassment only grows at your bold insinuation. "You presume too much, fool," he bites back, though his resolve seems weakened.

You shrug. "Suit yourself. I was just about to offer a date."

He narrows his eyes at you, as if trying to ascertain if this is some sort of trick. "A date?"

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #scaramouche x reader #kunikuzushi

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iamthedukeofurl · 16 hours

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Discworld is an interesting beast in the age of ACAB. Like, the city watch books are a story about police and the way in which a good police force can help and protect people. Which would make it copoganda. And I'm not going to say that the City Watch books are completely free of copoganda, but they also do something interesting that fairly few stories about heroic police officers do, and I think it has a lot to do with Samuel Vimes. A lot of copoganda stories like, say, Brooklyn 99, are perfectly capable of portraying cops as cruel, bigoted, and greedy, but our central cast of characters are portrayed as good people who want to help their communities. The result is that the bad cops are portrayed as an aberration, while most cops can be assumed to be good people doing a tough job because they want to help protect people from the nebulous evil forces of "Crime". The police are considered to be naturally heroic. Pratchett does something very interesting, which is provide us with Vimes' perspective, and present us with an Unnaturally heroic police force. In Ahnk-Morpork, the natural state of the watch is a gang with extra paperwork. It's the place for people who, at best, just want a steady paycheck and at worst want an excuse to hit people with a truncheon. Rather than be an army defending people from the forces of Crime, the Watch is described as a sort of sleight-of-hand, big burly watchmen in shiny uniforms don't stand around in-case a Crime happens in their vicinity, they stand around to remind people that The Law exists and has teeth. The Watchmen are people, when danger rears it's head, their instinct is to hide and get out of the way. When faced with authority, their instinct is to bow to it out of fear of what it might do to them if they don't. Carrot is a genuine Hero, but his natural heroism is presented as an aberration. Normal Cops don't act like Carrot does. The fact that the Watch ends up acting like a Heroic Police Force is largely due to the leadership of Sam Vimes, but Vimes himself is a microcosm of the Watch. The base state of Sam Vimes would be an alchoholic bully of an officer, one who beats people until they confess to anything because that makes his job easier. Vimes The Hero is a homunculous, an artificial being created by Sam Vimes fighting back all those instincts and FORCING himself to behave as his conscience dictates. Vimes doesn't take bribes or let his officers do the same because, damnit, that sort of thing shouldn't happen, even if doing so would make things a lot easier. Vimes doesn't run towards sounds of screaming because he WANTS to, he forces himself to do so because somebody needs to. It's best summed up in Thud “Quis custodiet ipsos custodes? Your Grace.” “I know that one,” said Vimes. “Who watches the watchmen? Me, Mr. Pessimal.” “Ah, but who watches you, Your Grace?” said the inspector with a brief little smile. “I do that, too. All the time,” said Vimes. “Believe me.”

In the hands of another writer, or another series, this exchange would be weirdly dismissive. To whom should the police be accountable to? Themselves, shut up and trust us. But from Vimes, it's a different story. Vimes DOES constantly watch himself, and he doesn't trust that bastard, he's known him his entire life. The Heroic Police are not a natural state, they're an ideal, and ahnk-morpork only gets anywhere close. Vimes is constantly struggling against his own instincts to take shortcuts, to let things slide, but he forces himself to live up to that ideal and the Watch follows his example. Discworld doesn't propose any solutions to the problems with policing in the real world. We don't have a Sam Vimes to run the NYPD and force them to behave. We don't have a Carrot Ironfounderson. But it's at least a story about detectives and police that I can read without feeling like I'm being sold propaganda about the Thin Blue Line.

#discworld #sam vimes #copoganda

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theladyragnell · 1 day

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☕️ Something you’ve read recently that you want to talk about! (positive/negative/whatever!)

So there's this trend I've been bothered by for a while.

(I am immediately going off-track here.)

I feel like the publishing industry has been beating the drum for quite some time now about main character agency. They need to be driving the story, making the plot happen, they need to grow and change and learn. And I don't disagree! If there's not at least some of that happening, you need a good reason for them to still be the main character.

However, there's a fine line between "this character's choices drive the plot" and "everything is this character's fault" and I've read a few books this year that fall over that line to greater or lesser extents.

The book "Once Upon a K-Prom" by Kat Cho really coalesced this for me. It's a YA romcom whose premise is pretty clearly an escapist fantasy: girl's childhood best friend moved back to Korea, they fell out of touch, he became a k-pop idol, when he's on US tour he comes back to ask her to prom based on a childhood pact as a publicity stunt. She's unpopular, her peers and her family are largely unkind to her or ignore her. It's pretty much the perfect setup for some escapist Cinderella fluff! There are places where she could drive the plot, but instead she is forced to learn, over and over, that the way she's treated is because SHE is pushing other people away, or judging them, or otherwise the agent of her own unhappiness. And yeah, there are situations where that's true, but at a certain point, agency was super outweighed by fault, and I ended the book feeling unhappy, and really sad for any kids who picked this one up looking for escapism.

"Chilling Effect" by Valerie Valdes did this for me too, in different ways! I had other issues with the book I won't go into at the moment, but consistently what drove the plot wasn't the main character's choices, but her mistakes and missteps, and whenever anyone was unkind to her and I was on her side, again I felt like the narrative took pains to make it her fault.

And then there's a whole very weird trend in romance where the heroine (it's always a woman, and usually in f/f romance, I'm not sure I've run into it in a sapphic) is a one-woman disaster zone. Life disasters happen around her! She simply doesn't know how this happens! And there they get the fault without even the agency. That one might be Bella Swan aftereffects, I'm not sure.

Characters can and should make mistakes, I don't dispute that, but it feels to some extent like a lot of books sacrifice escapism (through competency particularly, but also the Cinderella fantasy above) for an agency that isn't even agency at all, but simply the load of responsibility for everything that goes wrong in the story.

#thiswillendwell #answered asks

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ginger-grimm · 3 days

Text

Another year has passed and though most of us live out our Pride all year round, it's officially our month to celebrate (almost). I've attempted this once before and unfortunately became too busy to finish it. This time things will be different. I've had an awful two months and it's time to turn stuff around. So please, join me in making some gifts for each other's OCs once again and make this month even more fun than it already is!

As a disclaimer, because I don't want to get too anxious about it again. I will only post your gift once you've posted one for me! It's happened a few too many times that people sent in either forms that aren't filled out properly or never posted a gift and I let it slide because I'm historically too nice (aka no backbone disease). I don't mean to sound like a nag and if you don't feel like editing you don't have to sign up or anything, that's why I do the polls. Anyways, your gift then you get mine.

The Rules and regulations are simple, but they exist nonetheless, so here they are:

The exchange, for now, is open until July 1st, though I may extend it who knows *Kevin James meme*

You may make 1-2 requests, but hey, I will probably reblog it saying you can make more once no one requests anything *Kevin James meme intensifies*

Please reblog this post to spread some awareness, please. You can like for remembrance but just a like doesn't count (you already know this, I know my 5 regulars who come here every time)!

As aforementioned, this is open to my regular drunks and new patrons alike, so please do not be shy. Think of me as I think of birds, I am more scared of you than you are of me.

Fill out the form linked below and find the password in the form!

Please only send me faceclaims with good quality and plenty of material to use. Also, no cartoon characters. Video game characters are all right if it's motion capture. I'm not trying to discriminate, it can just be really tough for me to find material for cartoons, animes, video games, etc. as I edit by making little video clips first blah blah blah. However, if you slide in my DMs we might be able to discuss some stuff.

Please, please, please fill out all the columns I need and choose at least two gift options. It makes it infinitely easier for me to make something for you. Just remember I can't read minds and it's worse when I can't find anything in your blogs.

Remember the pleases and thank you's, pleases and thank you's make my heart grow fond.

I don't do Harry Potter OCs or Stranger Things OCs and while I don't have a specific list of FCs I don't use, I ask that you do not request anything for overtly problematic actors, thank you!

I accept pretty much any gift in return, it can even be story reviews or playlists for people who don't/can't edit themselves. If it's a story review, please let me know in the form so I know you did as I don't check my accounts every day.

I'm fine with gifts for any of my OCs - my master list as well as the link to my Pinterest is in my pinned post.

Obviously, since this is a Pride exchange, please only send in LGBTQ+ OCs. Gay, lesbian, bi, pan, trans, etc. anything from the LGBTQ community - this excludes kinks and whatnot, obviously.

FOR ANY OTHER QUESTIONS OR CONCERNS FEEL FREE TO SEND ME A MESSAGE AND I WILL TRY TO CLEAR EVERYTHING UP!

SEND IN THE PRIDEFUL FORM HERE, HERE HERE HERE, DO IT HERE, NOWHERE ELSE JUST HERE

TAGLIST: @eddysocs @ocs-supporting-ocs @foxesandmagic @veetlegeuse @decennia @hiddenqveendom @arrthurpendragon @luucypevensie @nikosasaki @noratilney @wordspin-shares @oneirataxia-girl @endless-oc-creations @lucys-chen @andromedalestrange @forchrissy @daughter-of-melpomene @bibaybe

#anna's pride exchange #i get my screw out next week #so i'm trying to stay optimistic about things #i am very tired of my bed after eight weeks

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sharpth1ng · 1 day

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Do you have any tips for writing? Or you just go with the flow and hope for the best

I do have tips yeah, but keep in mind this is just how it works for me, there are probably lots of different approaches that are equally good.

My writing is pretty character driven so that drives a lot of my process.

When I'm writing I want to have a sense of how a character experiences the world, so I ask myself questions like this:

-Are they more cerebral, in their head? Or are they more sensory -How much tolerance do they have for bad things and feelings? -How do they react when something good happens? -Do they celebrate their wins or react with anxiety because winning adds pressure? -Are they embarrassed by compliments or do they take them well? If they're embarrassed do they get flustered or gruff? -Do their outward reactions match the way they feel inside? -Do they lie well? If they do is there anything they can't lie about? -What do they need to feel secure? -What calms them down? -What are their coping mechanisms? Make sure there are some bad ones (I mean that, imo a good character needs real flaws) -Do they speak directly about their feelings or do they talk around things

There's a lot more questions like that that you can ask yourself, and know the answers to those things makes it a lot easier to figure out how they would react to whatever you want to throw at them in the plot. Sometimes a character is going to be resistant to something you want to do and it's worth it to take the time (both IRL and in the plot) to figure out what that character needs to get them to a place where they're ready to react the way you need for the plot point.

Dialogue and Language

Another big thing for me is dialogue, as well as the language you use in general for describing things from a character's perspective. I'm not exactly sure out to describe this exactly, but I'll give an example. Stu uses a lot more casual and shortened language than Billy ('cause, gonna, sayin', ect.), and he's a lot more willing to use goofy slang than Billy is (dope, rad, the bomb).

Both of them use some movie language but Billy uses more- referring to his life plans and experiences as "the plot", referring to his field of view as "the shot", stuff like that.

Billy on the other hand uses slightly more formal, occasionally more dramatic language. He's less likely to use shortened words if he's not actively having sex, and when he swears he's more likely to say fuck than shit. He also refers to a lot more using critical language. Things are stupid, dumb, asinine, ect.

for both of them though I generally try to stick to more common language. Theres lots of fun words in the thesaurus, but if they don't sound like something a 19/20 year old dude would say I'm not going to try to find something else.

Plot

There are different kind of arcs to consider when you're figuring out pacing. For me I try to make sure chapters have an arc- I try to introduce an issue in the start, the characters navigate that through the chapter, and the tension rises toward the end until it comes to a head somehow. In my writing thats often a sex scene or a fight (or both).

I also try to consider the overarching plot. where do I want my characters to end up by the end of the story and what needs to happen to get them there? I don't like introducing plot elements out of nowhere, so I often try to mention things at least in an offhand way before they become important to the plot.

Practically the way I approach this is to figure out plot milestones. as an example for Debaser we start with a choking encounter that results in both of them having a sexual experience. That leads to an exploration of more power/painplay under the guise that it's not sexual, until they get to the point of having to admit that it sexual.

At that point its a slippery slope, especially after Maureens murder, which is a bonding experience. It sort of continues on that way, but they're all steps that move Billy into a place where he's more willing to let himself do what he actually wants.

I'm sure there's more I could say but this is the most useful advice I can think of right now. Basically know your characters! Know more about them than you think you'll need to to write the story, because you'll be shocked how much of it you can use to fill in blanks in a way that feels genuine.

I hope that helps!

#just sharp things #writing tips #debaser fanfic #ask

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call-me-mrs-winchester · 1 day

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𝐋𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐀 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐤 - 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Original Female Character

Story Summary: In Series Masterlist

Chapter Warnings: Age-Gap. Pining. Fluff. Angry Dean. Injured Sam.

A/N: Check out the Teaser and Prologue if you haven't already. This chapter is more filler but every story has to start off somewhere, and this one starts at the beginning of season 9. Here we go!

Maricela's POV

I nearly dropped my phone at Dean's words. "It's Sam... He's in the hospital."

"What?! Is he okay? What happened?" I pour out my questions in panic.

"He's not doing so good," Dean's voice faintly but audibly cracks. "They're running tests now."

"Where are you?" I jump in my car, ready to have the open road fly underneath my wheels.

"No, Mari, you don't need to come—" He begins, but I quickly reject his effort to be left alone.

"I'm coming whether you like it or not, so you can either tell me now or there's gonna be hell to pay after I track you down."

"You're stubborn, you know that?" He asks rhetorically before caving in. "We're at Linwood Memorial Hospital in Randolph, New York. I'll tell you more when you get here."

"Okay. I'll take a plane out there," I put the pedal to the metal, making my tires squeal as I drove off. "Be there as soon as I can."

"Be careful," Dean mutters.

I can't help but smile at his concern. "Always am."

Dean texted me the room number just shortly after I landed. Once I arrived at the hospital, I raced to the room where the Winchester brothers resided. I stop in front of the open doorway to see Dean, back facing me, sitting beside Sam's unconscious body that lay hooked up to various machines.

Dean peeked over his shoulder, and as soon as our eyes met, he stood from the chair. After shutting the door behind me, I walk into the arms of the older Winchester. I hold on to his jacket like my life depended on it, never wanting to let go. My eyes shut to prevent the tears from spilling as he pulls my body closer. His warmth envelops me with comfort as I nuzzle into his chest. A sigh of relief escapes my lungs, feeling safe for the first time in months.

My serenity gets interrupted when his lips suddenly press against the top of my head. I gaze upwards, stunned at the tiny gesture, only to see how close our faces are. With his large, calloused hand, he gently brushed the hair that concealed my face away. His fingers lightly comb through my hair, triggering a brain orgasm and rendering me useless beneath his touch. I get so lost in his eyes that I barely hear his whisper.

"It's good to see you, Mari."

"You too, Dean," I respond as his hand travels to my neck. His thumb softly strokes my throat. "I've missed you."

He blesses me with a slow, small smile. "I've missed you more, princess."

With his rare affection and added pet name, I'm thankful his arm's secured around my waist, or I would've toppled over already. With detestation, I use every ounce of willpower to pull away from his embrace. With a pained heart, I move around Dean and see my best friend lying unconscious. The monitor announces his steady heartbeat while I take his left hand into mine and use my thumb to caress the back of his palm. Leaning over him, I place a kiss against his stubbled cheek, ignoring the short hairs prickling my chin. Without letting go of his hand, I sit on the edge of his bed.

"Did they tell you a diagnosis yet?" I ask, studying Sam's face.

Dark shadows cast around his eyes while a horizontal cut ran across his right cheekbone. He looked as though the life had been drained from his body.

"No, not yet." Dean settles into the chair he had been sitting in before.

I shift my gaze towards him. "What happened? I thought once he finished the trials, he was going to get better."

He shakes his head. "We were wrong." After quickly glancing at the ground, he meets my eyes again.

"Cas and I... We were retrieving a cupid's bow for the second trial to restore Heaven while Sam prepped Crowley for the final trial to shut the gates of Hell. Metatron and Cas had already killed a Nephilim for the first trial, so I called Kevin for the third. He said he found the angel trials in the tablet, but they weren't anything like Metatron had told. Then, Noami shows up, saying he's been lying. He wasn't trying to fix Heaven—he was trying to destroy it. Cast all angels to earth as revenge for driving him away.

"Then she—she said if Sam completed the trials, he would die. 'The Ultimate Sacrifice.' Castiel took me to Sam before going upstairs to straighten it out. I had walked into the church just before he cured the evil son of a bitch. 'Told Sam the truth, that if he continued, he'd die. But you know Sammy, he didn't care. He wanted to end it, ban the world of demons. Hell, I don't blame him... but when he confessed that his greatest sin was constantly letting me down—thinking I would choose—"

His voice cuts abruptly, attempting to swallow the tears that formed away. His expression tightens, forcing all the muscles in his face to keep its composure as he refuses to give in to his emotions. Seeing him in this rare form tugged at my heart. I let go of Sam and quickly kneel in front of Dean, pulling his body into mine.

"Hey, hey. It's okay." I assure him, rubbing circles on his back. His breathing becomes shallow as I hug his stiff body. "He doesn't think that."

He grabs my arms before pushing himself out of my hold. "But he does. He would've rather die than have to face me for the rest of his life, thinking that he wasn't enough. That I can't trust him, that I would choose anyone or anything, past or present, over him."

Dean shakes his head at the foolish thoughts his brother had believed. "Luckily, I talked him off the edge. We thought the power from the trials had vanished from his body, along with his will to end them. But instead, he hurled over in pain, collapsing to the ground. I practically dragged him to the car while calling out to Cas, but he didn't answer. And that's when it happened; Angels began falling from the sky."

Worried, I inquire, "Have you been able to get a hold of Castiel?" He shook his head, his frustration evident due to our angel friend's silence.

Just then, a knock sounded at the door. Immediately, I stand and add distance between us. I walk to the opposite side of the bed just as the doctor enters the room. He introduces himself while displaying Sam's MRI scans against the X-ray Illuminator. Dean walks over and examines the scans while the doctor finally reads the diagnosis listed on his clipboard.

"The MRI shows massive internal burns affecting many of the major organs. Oxygen to the brain has been severely deprived." Dean uncrosses his arms as he begins to make his way towards me. "The coma is the result of the body doing everything in its limited power to protect itself from further harm."

He walks around me and stands on my left, closest to Sam. He stares at his brother before breathing out, "This wasn't supposed to happen."

"If your brother continues on this trajectory, the machines might keep him alive, but—"

Dean interrupts, "He'll be dead."

The doctor nods. "Technically, yes. I'm afraid so."

"So, there's—there's no recovery? I mean, there's no bounce back. There's no nothing."

"I'm afraid that's in God's hands now." I look up at Dean and watch his head tilt ever so slightly, taken aback by the doctor's remark.

"You're a doctor. You're a medical professional." Oh boy, here we go. "You're trying to tell me that my brother's life is in God's hands? What, is that supposed to be a-a comfort?" Dean questions.

My left arm curls around his bicep while my right hand rests on his forearm for support, a reminder that I was with him in this. When he doesn't seem to have noticed, I gently whisper, "Dean," moving my right hand in his own, wishing to be a calming presence in this nightmare.

"Mr. Dougherty—" the doctor tries speaking, but Dean ignores us both.

"No, God has nothing to do with this equation at all," He shakes with anger as each word becomes louder than the next.

"I didn't mean—" the physician tries again, with no luck. If he only knew the real reason behind Dean's anger.

"That's not good enough!" He shouts, no doubt striking fear into Sam's doctor.

"Hey," I tug on him, forcing Dean to tear his attention away from the man and stare at me. "Why don't we go take a breather?"

His dark eyes search my pleading ones before offering a tiny, unamused nod. I lead him around the bed towards the hallway, thanking the doctor on the way out. Once we were out of the room, I let him go. Dean's face instantly changes from anger to fear as the news sinks in. Just like Sam would, I step up to reassure the older Winchester.

"We'll figure something out, okay? We always do. Everything will be fine—" I begin, but he cuts me off.

"Stop. Not now. I just—I need time to think." He tiredly states before turning away. He stares into the distance, something catching his eye. I follow his gaze and see the sign that caught his attention; 'Chapel.'

"Do you want me to go with you?" I ask softly but get a head shake.

"Just stay with Sam. I'll be back." With that, he heads toward the hospital's safe haven.

I walked back into the room, quietly shutting the door behind the doctor so it was just us two. Planting myself in the chair beside Sam's bed, my eyes grow hot, tears welling up far quicker now that I was alone. With Dean gone, I allow the tears to tumble down my cheek, unbothered to wipe the sorrow away. Hot tears splatter against my jeans while a few run past my chin, finding refuge beneath my shirt. My throat painfully fights the words I force out.

"Please, Sam, stay with us. We'll do whatever we can, but we need you to fight. Please."

I sat up straight, my head no longer resting beside Sam's hand, once I heard the door open. Looking over my shoulder, Dean closes it before making his way around the other side of the bed. I quickly wiped my tear-stained cheeks dry before he could notice.

"I figured out a way to help Sammy." He says, leaning against the cabinets.

I immediately perk up. "What—How?"

"When I was in the chapel, I prayed to Castiel. When I realized he wasn't going to answer, I..." He trails off.

"You what?" I ask warily.

"I decided to make a house call to any angel out there who's willing to help Sam for a favor in return." I tilt my head with dismay, knowing it wasn't the smartest idea but a desperate one. "I know we haven't always seen eye to eye, but that doesn't matter now. Sammy needs healing."

"Do you honestly think someone will show up to help? It hasn't always been sunshine and rainbows, so what makes this time any different? They want us dead, Dean. And you just put an A.P.B out on our heads. We can't even move Sam! We're literally sitting ducks." I could tell he didn't like my input, but it didn't matter. It needed to be said.

"Well, if anyone tries something other than fixing my brother, I'll take care of it." He answers.

"We." I correct. "We'll take care of it."

We lock eyes, and he nods in agreement. Now, to wait and see if any angel will show.

After a while, silence fell between us, and hope diminished with each passing minute. Dean was leaning against the ash wood cabinets, lost in thought, when the door softly opened. An unfamiliar lady walks in, offering a small smile. Dean uncrosses his arms before pushing himself off the counter. He walked near Sam's bed as I stood from my chair, turning to face her.

"Hi," he says eagerly. "I'm just gonna break the ice. Are you an angel?"

She nervously chuckles at his remark. "Sometimes I wish I were. My name is Kim Schortz, and I'm a grief counselor here at the hospital."

"Right. Uh, uh..." He gazes downward in disappointment as he struggles to find an excuse for his direct question. "I'm sorry. I'm just tired."

She flashes him an understanding smile.

"Well, all due respect, but, uh, I'm not grieving—not yet at least, so—" I hear the sadness in his lowered voice, wondering why no angel has come to help.

"I'm afraid as hard as this may be, this might be a good time to talk..." She looks past me and down at Sam before finishing. "About the inevitable."

"Look, I'm sure you're a nice person and that you mean well, but 'inevitable'—that's a fighting word where we come from. There's always a way." I interject.

"And I am a prayerful woman who believes in miracles as much as the next, but I also know how to read an E.E.G. And unless you're telling me you guys have a direct line to those angels that you were looking for—"

"Yeah, no, I uh... guess we don't." Dean interrupts, anguish taking over his features before the realization dawns on him. "But I might have something better."

He chuckles before the first genuine smile displays on his exhausted face. "I got the King of Hell in my trunk."

My eyes widen. "Crowley?" I ask in shock that he hadn't mentioned it before.

He happily strides out of the room. A surge of excitement courses through my body, knowing there could still be a chance, other than angels, to heal Sam.

"Uh, is—is that... I'm sorry. Is that a metaphor?" The confused counselor inquires.

"Sure, sweetie." I pat her shoulder and begin guiding the woman towards the hall.

"We appreciate you stopping by. Please, don't come back. It'd be a shame to waste more of each other's time. Thanks for understanding." I say in the most polite way—given the situation—before closing the door behind her.

I skip over to Sam and pet his hair, smiling at his beautiful, still face. "Don't worry, Sammy. You'll be back soon enough."

Let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist here!

tags: @k-slla @angelbabyyy99 @yvonneeeee @ladysparkles78

(If I missed anyone I'm sorry, please remind me if I did!)

#dean winchester #sam winchester #spn #supernatural #jensen ackles #jared padalecki #fanfic #dean fluff #castiel #dean winchester fanfiction #dean agegap #dean angst #crowley #angels #spn fanfic #spn season 9 #spn 09x01 #dean x ofc

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deathbecomesthem · 2 days

Text

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.

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