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jeankluv · 3 months

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But daddy I love him - Gojo Satoru [epilogue]

short series

summary: If there was a phrase that could describe you, it was; good girl. You had been a good girl all your life, following your father's orders and being as modest as possible. You had focused your entire life on being a perfect lady, one who could be a good wife in the future. This is how you had been raised and how you had been instructed. But your whole world was shaken when one warm summer morning, your eyes met the bold, defiant and sharp gaze of a young man with white hair.

tags: +18, female!reader, set in 1700s-1800s, loss of virginity, misogyny language and thinking, oral sex, fingering, innocent oc, unsafe sex, vaginal sex, manipulative, eating disorders, abusive parents, no use of y/n, pregnancy talks

words: 3,6k

notes: so here is the epilogue of this short series that was a gif to everyone that started supporting my works on this app. Finally we close the story of Duke Gojo and angel. I hope everyone enjoys it 💋

ch.01 | ch.02 | ch.03 | ch.04 | ch.05 | epilogue

Jujutsu Kaisen materialist

It had been 8 months since you and Satoru met again. And as soon as Satoru could walk again you got married, it had been a bigger wedding than you had ever imagined, after all Satoru was a duke and a close friend of the prince so it had been something normal. Thanks to the wedding you also learned that Satoru was not as hated as your parents had made you believe, in fact Satoru was extremely loved by everyone.

Regarding your parents, you know that they were stripped of their titles and all their property and sent, along with others, to a prison near the border. Satoru didn't want you to see them, apparently they had completely lost their minds and he didn't consider it safe for you.

Satoru asked you if you wanted to stay with your parents' house, and go there during the summers. But although you will love that landscape and the smell of that place, the memories of those walls were mostly painful.

But those memories had been locked in a box and kept far away. Now you were creating new memories in that place you called home. You had arrived at the Gojo residence in winter and for the first time you had admired the snow. And you also met Megumi, Satoru’s nephew. Although the relationship they both had was more of a father-son relationship, after all Satoru had adopted him and taken care of him since he was 4 years old.

In those 8 months you had managed to feel at home and feel that you belonged to the family. Rose kept telling you how happy you looked, how bright you were again. And you also felt it like that.

Satoru had kept all his promises, from a library that you could never imagine to a summer house where you could enjoy the sea breeze again.

Now summer was starting again and that only brought back memories of how last year you were on the beach reading and a boy with a mysterious smile and sharp gaze approached you. Without knowing very well that that meeting would change everything about you.

“What’s my beautiful wife doing?” You felt how Satoru left wet kisses on your shoulder.

“I was just admiring the view and thinking.” You looked at him with a shiny smile.

“Thinking about what, my love?” He looked at you with the most loving expression.

“About us, about everything that has happened in the last year and how lucky I am.” You kissed him.

“I think I’m the one who is lucky.” He said.

Satoru began to kiss your neck, closing your eyes and pushed your neck back, giving him more space so he could devour you. You could spend years, but you would still be addicted to his kisses and his caresses.

“You know this white dress you are wearing today is driving me crazy.” He said, biting your ear.

“I thought it was cute for our getaway today.” You purred with a smile on your lips.

“Oh definitely it’s cute.” He smiled. “But I bet you look cuter without it.”

You could listen to Satoru say provocative things a thousand and one times and never get used to it. Despite the time, you continued getting nervous and blushing like the first time.

“Satoru…” You put your hand on his chest, feeling his buildup muscles under your hand. “We are on the beach.”

“That makes it even more exciting.” He smirked. “But no one will come, you know that.”

“You can't be satisfied, can you?”

“I will never get enough of you, my angel.” He says, before devouring your mouth again.

Satoru laid you down on the cloth that you had brought to sit on the sand and left a trail of kisses until he reached the cloth that separates your breasts from his lips. With a wicked smile on Satoru's face, he grabbed the hem of your dress and pulled it down, exposing your breasts to his blue eyes.

“So beautiful.” He whispered before introducing your nipple into his mouth and beginning to devour it only as he knew how.

Your back arched and your hands went straight to his hair, where they became tangled in the white hair. With each suck you felt your pussy getting wetter and wetter. You desperately needed Satoru inside of you.

“Satoru…” You moaned. “I need you.”

Satoru separated from you and smiled when he saw your state, disheveled, swollen lips, your nipples completely red and with your legs open, inviting him to enter. Taking off his belt and pulling down his pants, you felt your body react as his cock emerged from his underwear. It was hard, you could see it, very hard.

Satoru lifted your dress and yanked your underwear off, leaving you completely exposed to him. With his hand on his cock, he placed it at your entrance and with a grunt he entered you.

You purred as you felt Satoru fill you and begin to thrust into you. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you reached out, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, needing to feel the warmth of his skin and becoming one with each other.

His warm touch made you melt under his touch. Not only that, you become more desperate for more, wanting all of him to fill you, to kiss you, to adore you with passion. And you could see his hungry eyes, his frenetic pulse and desperate touch. He wanted you as much as you wanted him.

The shockwaves that ran through your body, made tears of pleasure run down your cheeks and inevitably made moans escape from your throat. Which luckily for you were silenced by the noise of the waves crashing against the coast.

Satoru growled your name with each thrust, his voice rough and full of intensity. The sound sent shivers down your spine, a mix of pleasure and anticipation washing over you. His hands, large and possessive, dug into the flesh of your thighs, leaving marks you would probably see the next day.

Every movement was deliberate and powerful, the rhythm relentless and intoxicating. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, the tension in his muscles as he held you, his almost desperate grip on you.

Your mind struggled to keep up with the overwhelming sensations, each one more intense than the last.

Satoru's eyes met yours, his gaze was filled with hunger and that turned you on even more. His breathing became labored, you knew you were both close, you could feel it by the way he was throbbing inside you and the way your body was reacting.

Satoru spoke your name desperately with each of his thrusts, the way he said your name made your heart race even faster, and your breathing quickened with every movement.

His hands grabbed your hips with a possessive intensity, anchoring you against the sand that was under that fabric.

“Satoru.” You breathed, your voice shaking with the overwhelming sensation coursing through your body. His lips found yours again, swallowing your cries with a searing kiss that left you both breathless.

The desperation in his thrusts grew, each one more urgent and insistent than the last. Your nails dug into his skin, leaving marks.

You could feel the spiral of pleasure tightening inside you, his every movement pushing you closer to the edge. His name was a song on your lips, a plea and a prayer.

When your climax finally hit you, it was like a wave crashing over you, sweeping you away in a torrent of bliss. Your cries of ecstasy mixed with Satoru's guttural moans as he followed you to the edge, his release a powerful, consuming force.

Panting and trembling, they held each other, the aftershocks of their passion still coursing through their bodies.

Your chest rose and fell as you felt Satoru fill you. After a few seconds, Satoru pulled out of you and lay down next to you.

“Stop taking that medicine.” You said, still feeling your voice shaky and your body trembling.

Satoru turned to look at you confused. “What?”

You sighed and adjusted your dress back to how it was. “I heard you, with the doctor.” Satoru sat down. “I know you have been taking that medicine to prevent me from getting pregnant. And I know you did it because I was weak when we got married.” You said. “But ever since coming here, I gained weight and got healthier. Satoru, I want us to have a bigger family.”

“Angel…” He held your hand.

“Megumi has been asking me for a sibling you know?” You smiled. “And I really want it.”

“Megumi has said that?”

You nodded happily. “I want Megumi to have a little brother or sister. Don’t you?”

“I…” Satoru sighed and then looked back at you. “Yeah of course I would love that, but… you know how risky pregnancies can be.” Satoru’s eyes reflected concern, agony and fear. “What if…”

“Satoru.” You tried to calm him down. “I know the risks and I know what could happen but I think I’m ready.” You smiled.

Satoru sighed. “We will talk with the doctor and we will see, alright?”

You nodded and hugged him. “I love you.”

He chuckled and smiled back. “I love you too.”

You both hugged each other until the sun started to set down and the temperature of the day started to go down. Satoru picked you up bridal style and between laughter and soft kisses he carried you to the horse to return home. It sounded good, home.

It filled your heart with a warmth that you didn't know you could feel and a longing to return that you had never experienced. Normally you would extend your readings on the beach until the last ray of sunlight disappeared and the stars began to shine.

But at the Gojo residence, when you had to go out to attend to matters like the Duchess you were, you returned home with Satoru, with Megumi, who you could say had become almost like your own son, with Rose, Nanami and the household employees, who had given you affection and love from the first moment.

Entering the large hall you were greeted by several of the employees, including Rose, who had had a special glow for some time and you both knew what it meant.

“Ask the doctor to come tomorrow.” You heard Satoru speak.

“Duchess.” Rose bowed, you were still not used to that title and it still felt weird.

“Rose.” You smiled. “Did Megumi have his dinner?”

She shook her head. “He is waiting for both of you to have dinner together.”

You looked over to Satoru and this one smiled at you. “Let’s have dinner.” He held your hand.

You both walked to the dining room where you found Megumi concentrating on reading a book. Satoru looked at you and you gave him a warm smile.

“Gumi.” You called out to him and he quickly looked up from him to look at you both.

“Mom.” He put the book aside and ran over to you to hug your legs.

You still weren't used to Megumi calling you mom, the first time she said it you were completely paralyzed, not knowing how to respond or act, Megumi noticed that and regretted it but you told him that he did want to call you mom and then you would be very happy. And since then he had called you mom. On the other hand, Satoru was offended, since for years he had been trying to get Megumi to stop calling him simply Gojo, but the little boy didn't want to.

“I’m still offended that you don’t even call me uncle.” Satoru murmured.

You chuckled looking at Megumi. “Just give him time, right Gumi?” Megumi simply hide his face on your dress.

“A little bird told me that you want a brother or sister. But that won’t happen until you call me uncle.” Satoru challenged him and Megumi turned his face away from your dress and looked at him offended.

“Not fair.” He said.

“It is not.” Satoru smirked. “You just have to call me from now on uncle and you might have a sibling.”

“Satoru… you can not do that.” You said to him.

“Why not?” He looked at you with puppy eyes.

“He is a kid, give him time.” You said.

“Dad…”

“Yeah but why call me Gojo when…” Satoru paused and looked at Megumi. “What?”

“I’m not repeating myself.” Megumi walked away.

“Angel, did he just?”

“Yeah.” You smiled at him and noticed how Satoru was getting emotional. “Satoru…”

“Sorry, I just.” He shook his head. “I love you Gumi.” He shouted.

Megumi didn’t turn to look at him or say anything, but you knew that he was just embarrassed. Megumi opened out at you a few days after calling you mom from the first time about how he wanted to call Satoru dad but he was beyond embarrassed to do it. You found that heartwarming and adorable and seeing how they both reacted filled your heart with happiness and love.

The evening passed quickly between laughter, light conversations and Satoru's jokes and Megumi's protests for Satoru to leave him alone. You knew Satoru wasn't going to let go of the fact that Megumi called him dad and you felt a little sorry for him but it was fun to see his pout. Those new memories that you were creating with those new people that you didn't know a year ago filled your entire heart.

The next day the light passed through the curtains of your room, making you open your eyes to find the bed empty and the sheets cold, indicating that Satoru had woken up long before you. With your hips a little sore after your sex session last night, you got up to get ready to meet the doctor on that sunny morning with clear skies. Rose, like every morning I come into your room and help you.

Once ready, you left your bedroom and began to walk through the Gojo family's large house, still not getting used to all the wealth that you saw when you walked through the wide hallways, with their high ceilings and walls covered in ancestral portraits. .

Approaching the entrance you watched as Satoru walked near the large windows, his expression was a mix of concern and determination. Approaching him, you held his hand and gave him a comforting look, seeking for his agitated soul to relax under your touch.

The heavy entrance doors creaked open and the family doctor entered, whose presence attracted attention. Dr. Stone was a middle-aged man, with a kind but serious demeanor.

“Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Gojo.” Dr. Stone greeted with a respectful nod. His voice was calm and reassuring, a stark contrast to the turmoil you felt inside. “I trust you're both okay.”

“Good morning, Dr. Stone.” Satoru responded, his voice was firm despite the tension. “Thanks for coming.”

Walking down a hallway, the three of you entered an office where you could have a more private conversation. The doctor sat across from you, opened his case, and arranged his instruments with practiced precision. “So what was it that you wanted to talk about?”

You both looked at each other and Satoru took a breath. “We want to try to have a child.” You squeezed his hand. “And we wanted to know if my wife, well, if she doesn't run any significant risk by getting pregnant.”

Dr. Stone nodded and began his examination with a gentle, professional touch. After a few minutes he looked at you both and smiled. “There are certain risks, though.” He said he. “With careful monitoring and appropriate measures, I believe a successful pregnancy is within reach. It will require diligence and caution, but I am confident we can manage any complications that may arise.”

Satoru, who had been watching intently, let out a breath that he didn't realize he was holding. “Thank you, Dr. Stone.” He said with relief. “We appreciate his guidance and support.”

The doctor agreed, with an expression of understanding and empathy. “It is my duty and honor to serve this family. We will proceed with care.”

With a final bow, the doctor departs, leaving you and Satoru to digest the information. The room seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief, the tension dissipating like morning mist under the heat of the sun.

“Satoru...” You whispered looking at his expression.

But all the doubts you might have dissipated when you saw how Satoru smiled widely at you. "We could start now, don't you think?"

You rolled your eyes. “Always so needy”

Satoru's eyes, electric and searing, met yours with an intensity that made your heart race. He closed the distance between you in the blink of an eye, and taking hold of your face, he pulled you into a passionate kiss. His lips were insistent, full of desire and passion, wanting to claim your lips as his alone.

The kiss deepened, your tongues tangled in a heated dance, each moment fanning the flames of desire and igniting something fervent inside you. His hands slid from your face to your waist, pulling you closer to him, the heat of his body seeping through the layers of your spring dress. You could feel the hard lines of his muscles, his need for you as palpable as yours.

Without breaking the kiss, Satoru's hands began to work on the zippers of your dress. The fabric gave way under his skillful fingers, sliding down your shoulders until it reached your waist. The cool air of the room sent a shiver down your spine as he collided with your bare skin, but it was quickly replaced by the warmth of his touch as he explored your skin.

With a grunt, Satoru pushed aside the objects cluttering the desk. His strength and urgency left you breathless, your pulse pounding in your ears as he lifted you off the desk.

You moaned softly as his lips moved to your neck, sucking and nipping at the sensitive skin. His hands roamed your body, hiking up your dress until he bunched around your waist, exposing your legs. Each touch sent shivers of pleasure through you, your body arching against his in an invitation for him to continue.

Satoru's fingers found the hem of your underwear, teasing the delicate fabric before sending it somewhere in the room. You clung to his shoulders, your nails digging into his back as you writhed in pleasure, each touch bringing you closer to the edge.

With a final, desperate kiss, Satoru pulled away just enough to throw off his own clothes. Seeing him, naked and magnificent before you, made your heart skip a beat. He moved between your legs, his hands gripping your hips as he aligned himself with you, his eyes locked on yours with a burning intensity.

“You ready?” He whispered, full of need.

You could only nod, your breathing ragged as anticipation tightened within you. Satoru's lips captured yours in a searing kiss as he thrust into you, filling you completely. The sensation was overwhelming, an avalanche of pleasure that made you arch against him, your moans mixing with his moans of satisfaction.

He set a rhythm that was both tender and demanding, each movement taking you higher, the friction of his body against yours igniting sparks of ecstasy. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as you surrendered to the waves of pleasure washing over you. His name was a breathless plea on your lips, a mantra of desire and need.

“Oh my lovely angel.” He said against your ear. “Can’t wait to fill you up with my baby.” You moaned loudly feeling how he grew bigger inside of you.

“Satoru.” Your body moved closer to him, wanting to be touch.

“So needy, my baby.” He said. “You want that right?” You bite your lips as he started to bite the skin of your neck. “You want me to put a baby in you huh?”

“Yes!” You moaned. “Satoru!”

Satoru's pace quickened, his thrusts becoming more urgent, more desperate. With one last thrust your back arched and you felt Satoru come completely inside you. The room that just a few minutes ago had been filled with the sound of your voices agonizing from pleasure and your skin colliding, had now been plunged into a sea of silence that was only interrupted by the soft sound of your breaths mixing, while you searched for it to return to normal.

“You know I love you?” He whispered against your now sweaty skin.

You smiled and touched his hair with love. “And I love you too.” You kissed his hair. “Thank you…”

“For what?” He looked at you with his eyes full of curiosity.

“For that day, for coming to me while reading and making me fall in love with you, for everything Satoru.” You smiled.

He shook his head and cupped your face with cherish and love. “I should be the one thanking you angel.” He smiled. “You don’t know how you change my life. I love you so much.”

And both of your lips connected in a sweet kiss full of love, understanding and commitment for one another. You were grateful for going out that day to read on the beach, for looking at those blue eyes, for going out to the back garden despite the warnings, for your heart, your body and your soul reacting to him. You were grateful that man was yours and you were hers.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Extra scene

You watched as Satoru whipped his tears away and Megumi looked at him with a weird expression, you wanted to laugh about the scene but your body was too exhausted to make a single movement, even for a simple laugh.

“You are going to scare her with that face.” Megumi said.

Satoru, still crying, shook his head. “Gumi, I can't help it. Look at your sister, she is so small.”

Megumi looked at her and nodded in agreement. “She is cute. Thankfully she looks like mom and not you.”

Satoru gasped offended and looked at you. “Did you hear that?” You hummed in response and Satoru walked towards you. “How are you feeling, my angel?” He sat down next to you.

“A bit tired.” You smiled. “But… she is finally here with us.”

“She is.” Satoru looked over to where your newborn baby girl was. “You did a great job.” He held your hand. “Thank you.”

Heavily you approached him and kissed him. “Thanks to you Satoru. I love you."

Satoru smiled. “How lucky I am that a woman as amazing as you wants to spend the rest of her life with me. I love you too my angel.” He whispered and kissed you again.

The kiss was interrupted by some small cries and you both smiled, realizing the new stage that awaited you.

Final note: thank you for the love and support ❤️ I have another Gojo fic called Birdie if you want to check it out, also a new Geto fic called The forgotten boy

🏷️: @catobsessedlady @zoeyflower @lavender-hvze @slashersgirlypop @tinydonkeysforlife @oddball08 @tttttttf @crybabytoru @fccxxxcvvx @augustine13028 @alwaysfreakingout @storacy

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37sommz-archive · 5 months

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✼. THRU SPACE 'N TIME | PROFILE.

Born in Gold Coast, Australia on December 23, 1999, Michaela Sommers was introduced to the world of motorsports from a early age. Her father, Tobias, and his younger brother, Travis Sommers, were avid Formula racing fans who idolized the likes of Senna, Schumacher, and Lauda. The motorsports bug skipped over Sommers' older sister, Samantha, before biting her at the mere age of six. By her ninth birthday, Michaela was competing in karting championships along the Australian east coast.

Despite her natural aptitude for racing, Michaela recalls facing discrimination for both her race and gender quite early on while karting. Despite the negativity that would swirl around her reputation, the young driver would win her first national championship at the age of twelve with plenty of rumors circling concerning her future in the sport. Sommers would attempt to enter her first international competition, but was barred from entry after her father lost his job in the summer of 2012.

Without much hope, Michaela would step back from racing for nearly six months before eventually deciding to join her uncle who had moved to England after his marriage just years prior. Travis then became Michaela's manager, working endlessly to ensure his niece would be able to continue climbing the karting ladder. Shortly after her move to England, her uncle would connect with Australian F1 driver Mark Webber who would travel to watch her race in a regional competition in 2013. Stunned by her potential, Webber helped the young girl to catch the attention of a racing team competing in the Ginetta Junior Championship alongside future McLaren teammate Lando Norris. Sommers' transition to racing cars would prove successful, securing a junior championship at just 14 years old.

Sommers would continue working through the ranks, receiving extensive media attention and comparisons to Lewis Hamilton as a teenager. Spending one year at the Formula 3 level, Michaela would race for British team Jagonya Ayam in 2015 finishing fifth in the championship and second in the rookie cup, both below Charles Leclerc. Her performance would catch the attention of Italian team Prema Racing who signed her to development for higher formulae alongside Pierre Gasly for the 2016 season.

Despite an average result, ending her rookie season in sixth place, Prema would resign the Australian who would be simultaneously be selected to join the Ferrari driver development program for the 2017 season. That same year, Sommers would wrap up her Formula 2 season in second place, once again behind Charles Leclerc.

Eventually, Michaela would finally secure a Formula 2 championship in 2018 while signing on as a reserve driver for Ferrari. Her official Formula One debut came after Sommers signed on to be Alfa Romeo's second-seat driver for the 2019 season, securing one-point in her debut race before finishing her rookie season in eighth place.

✹.⠀⠀،،⠀THE BASICS.

birth name: michaela jeanette sommers alias: mickey sommers date of birth: december 23, 1999 zodiac sign: capricorn hometown: gold coast, australia ethnicity: australian & xhosa nationality: australian, south african languages: english, italian weight: 121 lbs (55 kg) height: 5'7" (169 cm) dominant hand: left family: tobias sommers, miriam sommers, samantha sommers faceclaim: tinara westbrook

✹.⠀⠀،،⠀THE FORMULA CAREER.

01. GINETTA JUNIOR CHAMPIONSHIP (2014). ✼.⠀team: jhr developments ✼.⠀number: #72 ✼.⠀teammates: alex sedgwick, dan zelos, jamie chadwick, senna proctor ✼.⠀highest race finish: 1st (x7) ✼.⠀championship standing: 1st

02. FORMULA THREE (2015). ✼.⠀team: jagonya ayam ✼.⠀number: #54 ✼.⠀teammates: gustavo menezes, ryan tveter ✼.⠀highest race finish: 1st (x1) ✼.⠀championship standing: 5th

03. GP2 SERIES (2016). ✼.⠀team: prema racing ✼.⠀number: #20 ✼.⠀teammates: pierre gasly ✼.⠀highest race finish: 1st (x3) ✼.⠀championship standing: 6th

04. FORMULA TWO (2017). ✼.⠀team: prema racing ✼.⠀number: #2 ✼.⠀teammates: charles leclerc ✼.⠀highest race finish: 1st (x5) ✼.⠀championship standing: 2nd

05. FORMULA TWO (2018). ✼.⠀team: prema racing ✼.⠀number: #3 ✼.⠀teammates: nyck de vries ✼.⠀highest race finish: 1st (x7) ✼.⠀championship standing: 1st

06. FORMULA ONE (2019). ✼.⠀team: alfa romeo racing ✼.⠀number: #37 ✼.⠀teammates: kimi raikkonen ✼.⠀highest race finish: 4th (x1) ✼.⠀championship standing: 7th

07. FORMULA ONE (2020). ✼.⠀team: alfa romeo racing ✼.⠀number: #37 ✼.⠀teammates: kimi raikkonen ✼.⠀highest race finish: 3rd (x2) ✼.⠀championship standing: 7th

08. FORMULA ONE (2021). ✼.⠀team: mclaren ✼.⠀number: #37 ✼.⠀teammates: lando norris ✼.⠀highest race finish: 1st (x1) ✼.⠀championship standing: 4th

09. FORMULA ONE (2022). ✼.⠀team: mclaren ✼.⠀number: #37 ✼.⠀teammates: lando norris ✼.⠀highest race finish: 1st (x2) ✼.⠀championship standing: 4th

10. FORMULA ONE (2023). ✼.⠀team: aston martin ✼.⠀number: #37 ✼.⠀teammates: fernando alonso ✼.⠀highest race finish: 2nd (x7) ✼.⠀championship standing: 3rd

✼. view:⠀navigation page⠀⸻⠀join the taglist⠀⸻⠀request.

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zepskies · 1 day

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Podcast Interview With Idling in the Impala: "Y/N and Let Y/N…"

Here we go! Sandra and Kasey, the lovely hosts of @idlingintheimpalapodcast — the podcast for all things SPN and fanfiction — invited me on the pod for an interview…

We chatted about Dean Winchester and Jensen Ackles’ early roles, the best and worst seasons of SPN, the joys and pains of writing Soldier Boy, and much, much more.

That’s right, there be some hot takes coming in this convo, and I had an absolute blast with these two! (And like I said in Sunday's announcement, I’m also putting my name and my voice out there for the first time! 😆)

So if any of that sounds interesting, feel free to dive in!

(**Important Note: Just to preface, we recorded this back in June, so it was before I posted certain stories or even started developing Lost on You. It was also when Tumblr activity/engagement was going through a spring/summer slowdown lol.

Links to all the fics and podfics we mentioned are at the end of this post.)

Have a listen: ⤵️

youtube

Interview Timestamps –

(Plus fic recs, SPN writer shoutouts, and more!)

1:44 – Who’s your guy: Sam or Dean?

3:35 – Getting into Supernatural for the first time (and seeing “Deanisms” in Jensen’s early roles).

10:15 – We debate the best and worst seasons of SPN: talking Mary Winchester, the British MOL, MOC Dean vs. Demon Dean, Chuck/God villainy, “jump the shark” moments, and that ending.

30:29 – Favorite SPN characters besides Sam and Dean.

32:34 – Writing fanfiction, joining Tumblr, and writing reader inserts vs. OCs.

38:05 – To “Y/N” or not “Y/N,” and the power of 2nd person. (**Disclaimer: Despite my hot take on this, I’ve loved a lot of stories by authors who use Y/N in reader insert stories.

Also, if I’m remembering the book You and its characters incorrectly forgive me, it’s been like 5 years since I read it lol.)

51:00 – Favorite fanfic tropes in romance, the joys and challenges of writing Soldier Boy (AKA: the Original Asshole), and attempting to humanize Ben in Break Me Down.

Shoutout to @deans-spinster-witch always for giving me the inspiration to write BMD. 💚

Why We Love The Boys – A review of Supes Ain’t Always Heroes

1:07:57 – Engaging with readers, tips on increasing engagement, optimizing your Tumblr blog, writing schedules and processes, and incorporating reader feedback into stories.

1:26:38 – Sandra graciously narrated Midnight Espresso (Dean Winchester x Plus-sized Latina!Reader). We chat about what sparked the idea for the ME-verse, self-representation in fanfic, feeding Dean, loving Dean, and writing about culture and ethnicity in the fandom space.

1:38:26 – Chatting about the inspirations behind Smoke Eater, a firefighter!Dean AU; law enforcement procedurals, House MD, and researching for stories.

1:44:30 – Which Jackles character is the easiest or most fun to write?

1:47:39 – The challenges of writing Sam vs. Dean.

1:53:15 – Shoutouts! To some of my favorite SPN authors. I could only remember a few people off the top of my head (stupid me), but I love all of you!!

@waynes-multiverse @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior @luci-in-trenchcoats @rizlowwritessortof @waywardxwords

@deanwinchesterswitch @deanbrainrotwritings @deanwritings @spnbabe67 @thatonewriter15

@justagirlinafandomworld @kaleldobrev @artyandink @princessmisery666 @wayward-dreamer (– and many more.)

2:00:40 – How I came up with my username.

2:05:04 – Kasey’s Secret Question…

2:07:38 – Advice to fanfic writers and creatives for inspiration and/or wisdom.

2:16:35 – Sandra and Kasey’s lovely outro: self-representation in fandom, escapism, diverse voices, and more. (“Reach out a hand. Touch somebody. …Not like that.”)

📖 Fics Mentioned:

Sandra: @talltalesandbedtimestories -

Some Sunny Day Series – Dean Winchester x OFC - (I'm in the process of reading this entire series and it's been a joy to read! 💜)

Past Due – Dean Winchester x Reader

The Iceman Cometh – Dean Winchester x Reader

Cowboy Canter (Original Fiction) – Inspired by cowboyish Dean/Jensen.

Kasey: @sam-is-my-safe-word -

English Cottage-verse – Sam Winchester x Reader (I've read it and it's fantastic! 💜)

(K)not for sale – Soldier Boy x Dean Winchester

Alex (Zep/Me) -

Break Me Down – Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Reader

Midnight Espresso (& the Series Masterlist) – Dean Winchester x Plus-sized Latina!Reader

Dream With Me – Dean Winchester x Plus-sized Latina!Reader

Smoke Eater – Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Every Second Counts – Russell Shaw x F. Reader

🎙️ Stories/Podfics Sandra has narrated for me:

Podfic Playlist

And please remember to check out all the other awesome interviews, narrated podfics, and fun topics covered by Sandra and Kasey on the Idling in the Impala Podcast!

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mostlysignssomeportents · 5 months

Text

Rosemary Kirstein’s “The Steerswoman”

I'm touring my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me TONIGHT (May 4) in VANCOUVER, then onto Tartu, Estonia, and beyond!

For decades, scammy "book doctors" and vanity presses spun a tale about how Big Publishing was too conservative and risk-averse for really really adventurous books, and the only way to get your visionary work published was to pay them to fill your garage with badly printed books that you'd spend the rest of your life trying to get other people to read:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/07/04/self-publishing/

Like all successful grifts, this one worked because it wasn't entirely untrue. No, mainstream publishing isn't filled with corporate gatekeepers who relish the idea of keeping your brilliance from reaching its audience.

But.

But editors sometimes make bad calls. They reject books because of quirks of taste, or fleeting inattentiveness, or personal bias. In a healthy publishing industry – one with dozens of equal-sized presses, all commanding roughly comparable market-share, good books would never slip through the cracks. One publisher's misstep would be another's opportunity.

But after decades of mergers, the population of major publishers has dwindled to a mere Big Five (it was almost four, but the DOJ blocked Penguin Random House's acquisition of Simon & Schuster):

https://www.justice.gov/opa/pr/justice-department-sues-block-penguin-random-house-s-acquisition-rival-publisher-simon

This means that some good books definitely can't find a home in Big Publishing. If you miss with five editors, you can exhaust all your chances with the Big Five.

There's a second tier of great publishers, from data-driven juggernauts like Sourcebooks to boutique presses like Verso and Beacon Press, who publish wonderful books and are very good to their authors (I've published with four of the Big Five and half a dozen of the smaller publishers).

But even with these we-try-harder boutique publishers in the mix, there's a lot of space for amazing books that just don't fit with a "trad" publisher's program. These books are often labors of love by their creators, and that love is reciprocated by their readers. You can have my unbelievably gigantic Little Nemo in Slumberland collection when you pry my cold, dead fingers off of it:

https://memex.craphound.com/2006/09/25/gigantic-little-nemo-book-does-justice-to-the-loveliest-comic-ever/

And don't even think of asking to borrow my copy of Jack Womack's Flying Saucers are Real!:

https://memex.craphound.com/2016/10/03/flying-saucers-are-real-anthology-of-the-lost-saucer-craze/

I will forever cherish my Crad Kilodney chapbooks:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/19/crad-kilodney-was-an-outlier/#intermediation

Then there's last year's surprise smash hit, Shift Happens, a two-volume, 750-page slipcased book recounting the history of the keyboard. I own one. It's fantastic:

https://glennf.medium.com/how-we-crowdfunded-750-000-for-a-giant-book-about-keyboard-history-c30e24c4022e

Then there's the whole world of indie Kindle books pitched at incredibly voracious communities of readers, especially the very long tail of very niche sub-sub-genres radiating off the woefully imprecise category of "paranormal romance." These books are landing at precisely the right spot for their readers, despite some genuinely weird behind-the-scenes feuds between their writers:

https://www.theverge.com/2018/7/16/17566276/cockygate-amazon-kindle-unlimited-algorithm-self-published-romance-novel-cabal

But as Sturgeon's Law has it: "90% of everything is shit." Having read slush – the pile of unsolicited manuscripts sent to publishers – I can tell you that a vast number of books get rejected from trad publishers because they aren't good books. I say this without intending any disparagement towards their authors and the creative impulses that drive them. But a publisher's job isn't merely to be good to writers – it's to serve readers, by introducing them to works they are apt to enjoy.

The vast majority of books that publishers pass on are not books that you will want to read, so it follows that the vast majority of self-published work that is offered on self-serve platforms like Kindle or pitched by hopeful writers at street fairs and book festivals is just not very good.

But sometimes you find someone's independent book and it's brilliant, and you get the double thrill of falling in love with a book and of fishing a glittering needle out of an unimaginably gigantic haystack.

(If you want to read an author who beautifully expresses the wonder of finding an obscure, self-published book that's full of unsuspected brilliance, try Daniel Pinkwater, whose Alan Mendelsohn, The Boy From Mars is eleven kinds of brilliant, but is also a marvelous tale of the wonders of weird used book stores with titles like KLONG! You Are a Pickle!):

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alan_Mendelsohn,_the_Boy_from_Mars

I also write books, and I am, in fact, presently in the midst of a long book-tour for my novel The Bezzle. Last month, I did an event in Cambridge, Mass with Randall "XKCD" Munroe that went great. We had a full house, and even after the venue caught fire (really!), everyone followed us across the street to another building, up five flights of stairs, and into another auditorium where we wrapped up the gig:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ulnlSRbH80Y

Afterwards, our hosts from Harvard Berkman-Klein took us to a campus pizza joint/tiki bar for dinner and drinks, and we had a great chat about a great many things. Naturally, we talked about books we loved, and Randall said, "Hey, have you ever read Rosemary Kirstein's Steerswoman novels?"

(I hadn't.)

"They're incredible. All these different people kept recommending them to me, and they kept telling me that I would love them, but they wouldn't tell me what they were about because there's this huge riddle in them that's super fun to figure out for yourself:"

https://www.rosemarykirstein.com/the-books/

"The books were published in the eighties by Del Ray, and the cover of the first one had a huge spoiler on it. But the author got the rights back and she's self-published it" (WARNING: the following link has a HUGE SPOILER!):

https://www.rosemarykirstein.com/2010/12/the-difference/

"I got it and it was pretty rough-looking, but the book was so good. I can't tell you what it was about, but I think you'll really like it!"

How could I resist a pitch like that? So I ordered a copy:

https://bookshop.org/p/books/the-steerswoman-rosemary-kirstein/7900759

Holy moly is this a good novel! And yeah, there's a super interesting puzzle in it that I won't even hint at, except to say that even the book's genre is a riddle that you'll have enormous great fun solving.

Randall wasn't kidding about the book's package. The type looks to be default Microsoft fonts, the spine is printed slightly off-register, the typesetting has lots of gonks, and it's just got that semi-disposable feel of a print-on-demand title.

Without Randall's recommendation, I never would have even read this book closely enough to notice the glowing cover endorsement from Jo Walton, nor the fact that it was included in Damien Broderick and Paul Di Filippo's "101 Best Science Fiction Novels 1985-2010."

But I finished reading the first volume just a few minutes ago and I instantly ordered the next three in the series (it's planned for seven volumes, and the author says she plans on finishing it – I can't wait).

This book is such an unexpected marvel, a stunner of a novel filled with brilliant world-building, deft characterizations, a hard-driving plot and a bunch of great surprises. The fact that such a remarkable tale comes in such an unremarkable package makes it even more of a treasure, like a geode: unremarkable on the outside, a glittering blaze within.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/04/the-wulf/#underground-fave

#pluralistic

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rainforestakiie · 7 days

Text

Priest Adam x Devil/King of Hell Lucifer part 05

The Imp

@inubaki this is the end of the Imp! for now anyway. i might write one last part, but this is the end of the story i had in mind? i hope you enjoyed it!

‘A Priest observing that one of fathers in his charge seems to be heavily distracted by something no one else can see. Father Adam had come to them young, an unwanted fourth child to a Nobel family hoping to gain the church’s favor. Life is hard for Adam whim continues to wait for his family to return for him, growing into despair until one day he suddenly improves. He claims he’s spoken to an angel. And, to his credit, does give information far beyond what any child should know. But the older Adam gets, the more distracted he becomes. More happy, but conflicted. Till one day he disappears.'

The Imp (Priest Adam x Devil/King of Hell Lucifer) = Part 01. Part 02. Part 03. Part 04. Part 05

"Luci?"

Adam's voice trembled, reverberating through the oppressive blackness of the basement like a lost whisper seeking solace. Time had stretched thin, an endless stretch since his last descent into this forsaken place. As his eyes adjusted to the murky gloom, memories surfaced with a disconcerting clarity, flashing images of a once familiar space now enshrouded in eerie desolation. His vision wavered, like shadows dancing in the periphery, distorting the memory of the basement's former allure—a place now forgotten and forsaken.

The basement was an oppressive cavern, its walls seemingly closing in as Adam's footsteps echoed with a hollow finality. He shuffled forward, his breath hitching in his throat. The air was thick, laden with an acrid stench that clung to the walls like an unspoken secret.

A decrepit bookshelf, weathered and bent, loomed at the end of the room, its once-gleaming surface now obscured by a thick layer of dust. Shelves, arranged with unsettling precision, displayed an assortment of grotesque curiosities—jars filled with preserved meat, suspended in a nauseating, gelatinous fluid that seemed to pulse with a life of its own.

The basement opened into a claustrophobic chamber; its dimensions obscured by the oppressive shadows cast by flickering candlelight. Murals, painted with eerie and writhing designs, seemed to twist and coil, their colours shifting in the erratic glow. The centre of the chamber was dominated by a solitary, dust-covered table, upon which lay ancient parchment—a relic from another era.

A mannequin stood as the table's centrepiece, draped in an ethereal, snow-white gown that cascaded like a ghostly waterfall. The fabric, once pristine, was now marred by malevolent apple-like patterns and disturbing, petal-like embellishments that seemed to shiver and shift with a sinister intent. The dress's neckline was adorned with feather-like designs, and a spectral veil, hanging like a death shroud, obscured the mannequin’s face, trailing to the floor like a mournful wail.

In stark contrast, behind the mannequin, two vases overflowed with real purple and white roses, their vibrant hues a jarring contrast to the lifeless blossoms that filled the rest of the room.

The memory was vibrant. Adam practically expected to witness it again…

A sense of foreboding washed over Adam as he rounded the sharp corner, his skin crawling with unease. His oversized sweater clung to him like a shroud as he peered around the bend. His breath caught in his throat, his heart leaping into his chest in a frantic rhythm. Before him lay a grotesque tableau—a sea of candles, their wax dripped and congealed, forming grotesque stalactites that clung to the walls like malignant growths. A solitary black candle burned with a sickly, wavering flame, placed ominously in front of the mannequin.

Adam’s knees buckled, his eyes widening in horror. The mannequin was no longer adorned in its haunting bridal dress; instead, it stood in ghastly nudity. Its head was missing, and it bore six twisted, unnervingly lifelike arms protruding grotesquely from its torso. The sight was horrifying, a nightmarish distortion of something once innocent. Blood, dark and glistening, dripped slowly from the bottom of the mannequin, pooling beneath it like a macabre offering.

"L-Luci?" Adam’s voice broke, barely more than a breathless whisper as terror gripped him.

He took an involuntary step back, his eyes fixed in horror as the mannequin’s dismembered arms began to move. Each limb rose and fell with a slow, deliberate motion, accompanied by a sickening, wet squelch that seemed to echo from the depths of Adam’s soul.

His face turned ashen, and he staggered back, seeking refuge behind the corner of the wall. His hands flew to his face, trying to shield himself from the abomination before him. Tremors racked his body, each shudder a testament to the profound fear that had taken hold of him.

Adam took a step back, a visceral chill creeping up his spine as the unsettling sound of bones snapping and cracking filled the air like the macabre symphony of a forgotten graveyard. His breath hitched, a strangled gasp escaping his lips as his senses were overwhelmed by the rising tide of dread. Desperate to escape the nightmarish scene, he turned sharply, his mind racing with only one thought—escape.

But what lay before him was not the familiar stretch of the basement or the comforting presence of the dumbwaiter he had hoped for. Instead, he faced a pair of imposing double wooden doors, their surfaces intricately adorned with stained glass. The fragmented patterns and twisted designs in the glass seemed to writhe and pulse, mocking his desperate need for escape with their ominous beauty.

His heart leaped into his throat, pounding against his ribcage with the force of a trapped animal. Adam stumbled forward in shock, his hands instinctively reaching out to grasp the cold, carved wood of the doors. Panic surged through him as he pushed against them, his fingers clawing desperately for purchase. But the doors, heavy and unforgiving, refused to budge. He felt the weight of his own terror dragging him down, his attempts to steady himself failing as the reality of his situation crashed down upon him.

In a disorienting blur, Adam tumbled through the doors, his body colliding with the cold floor beyond. The world spun around him, the once-distant sounds of cracking bones now an oppressive cacophony filling the space. He lay there, dazed and breathless, the harsh light of an unknown source casting sharp, jagged shadows across the room. Each flicker of light seemed to twist and writhe, amplifying the creeping dread that clung to the edges of his vision.

The room he found himself in was a chilling contrast to the basement's grim decor. The walls were lined with oppressive, dark wood panelling, and the air was thick with a musty, oppressive weight. Shadows danced along the walls, moving with a life of their own as if mocking his futile attempt to escape. The oppressive silence that followed was a stark reminder of his isolation, each heartbeat echoing louder in his ears as he struggled to rise, his hands trembling uncontrollably.

Adam's mind raced, struggling to make sense of his surroundings as he slowly pushed himself to his feet. The fear that had been a distant, abstract terror now surged forward with crushing intensity, pressing down on him with every breath he took. His eyes darted around the room, seeking any sign of an exit or an explanation for the nightmarish transformation of what had once been a seemingly normal basement. But the room offered no answers, only the eerie promise of further horrors yet to be revealed.

The double doors creaked open, and Adam was met with a sight that both mesmerized and horrified him. Before him lay the interior of a church unlike any he had ever known. The grandeur of the space was overwhelming, an eerie contrast to the grim basement he had just fled.

He found himself standing on the threshold of what could only be described as a grotesque parody of a wedding. His bare feet, chilled by the cold marble floor, touched a long carpet that undulated in dark crimson and jet black, stretching all the way up the aisle to an altar that seemed to beckon with malevolent intent. The carpet, an unsettling blend of blood and shadow, drew a stark line through the room, leading to the place where vows of eternal love were supposed to be exchanged.

Rows of wooden stools, dark and polished, flanked the carpet on either side. Black rose petals were scattered across the floor, their inky colour creating a stark contrast against the immaculate white of the petals. The scent of decay mixed with the fragrance of the roses, adding a sickly sweetness to the already oppressive atmosphere.

The church's interior was vast and imposing, a cathedral of nightmares that dwarfed anything Adam had ever encountered. Pillars of deep, blood-red stone lined the walkway, their surfaces veined with patterns that seemed to writhe in the dim light. Above them, towering stained-glass windows depicted a horrific transformation: an angel falling from the heavens into a world engulfed in flames. The angel's once serene visage twisted with each successive window, becoming increasingly monstrous and grotesque, its fall depicted with a cruel artistry that sent shivers down Adam’s spine.

A gasp escaped Adam's lips as he tried to retreat, but the double doors slammed shut with a deafening thud, locking him in. The sound reverberated through the vast chamber, leaving his ears ringing and his heart racing in terror. His legs, trembling uncontrollably, buckled beneath him as he stumbled forward, unable to tear his eyes away from the horrific spectacle that unfolded before him.

At the top of the aisle, Adam’s emerald eyes darted nervously from side to side. The wooden stools, once intended for a congregation of joyous witnesses, were now occupied by shadowy figures. These mannequins, draped in dark, tattered garments, were seated in every spot, their features obscured by shadows. They stared blankly ahead, their presence an unsettling reminder of the perverse ceremony that was about to take place.

The sight of the shadowy mannequins, seated in eerie silence, filled the church with an air of sinister anticipation. Their vacant eyes and silent stillness were a grotesque mockery of the usual warmth and joy associated with weddings. The oppressive silence was broken only by the faint rustling of the black rose petals, carried by a draft that seemed to whisper dark secrets.

Adam's heart pounded in his chest as he struggled to process the horror around him. The altar at the end of the aisle, where the bride and groom were meant to stand, was now adorned with sinister symbols etched into the stone. The once-sacred space had been twisted into a macabre stage, and Adam felt a cold sweat break out across his skin.

The oppressive beauty of the church, with its blend of romantic and horrific elements, seemed to close in on him. The juxtaposition of the elegant, yet malevolent, surroundings left him paralyzed with fear. His mind raced with frantic thoughts as he realized he was trapped, forced to bear witness to a nightmare that blended the sacred with the sinister, the romantic with the repulsive.

As Adam stood paralyzed at the top of the aisle, his mind reeling from the grotesque spectacle around him, a sudden and jarring shift occurred. Without warning, a bouquet of black roses appeared in his hands. The flowers, their petals an abyssal black, seemed to absorb the dim light that filled the church, creating an unsettling contrast against the stark white of the scattered petals on the floor.

Adam's fingers curled instinctively around the bouquet, his grip tightening as if seeking some tangible anchor in the midst of the chaos. His gaze, drawn upward by a magnetic force, was pulled to the ceiling where a pentagram was etched into the stone. The symbol, sinister and arcane, seemed to pulse with a malevolent energy, casting eerie shadows that flickered and danced with each tremor of the church's dim lighting.

A sudden jolt of recognition snapped Adam from his trance. He turned sharply, his heart skipping a beat as he saw a figure standing near the altar. It was a nun, her habit dark and ethereal, blending almost seamlessly with the surrounding shadows. She moved with a deliberate grace, her presence both solemn and eerie. Before Adam could fully comprehend the situation, the nun extended a hand toward him, her eyes locked with his in a piercing gaze.

"Emily!" Adam's voice broke the oppressive silence, the name escaping his lips in a desperate gasp. His eyes widened with hope and fear as he tried to follow her. He staggered forward, his feet stumbling over the carpet, his heart pounding with a frantic urgency.

But the nun’s figure seemed to dissolve into the rows of shadowy mannequins. She vanished into the sea of lifeless forms, her presence retreating into the eerie congregation of seated figures. The once-prominent figure of Emily seemed to dissolve into the darkness, leaving Adam alone with the chilling emptiness of the church.

He stood frozen before the walkway, the bouquet of black roses still clutched tightly in his trembling hands. The grandeur and malevolence of the church pressed in around him, the sight of the mannequins, their blank stares fixed in haunting silence, amplifying his sense of isolation. The pentagram above him seemed to mock his confusion, its dark symbolism an unspoken promise of deeper horrors yet to come.

The aisle stretched before him, a sinister path leading to an altar that promised nothing but darkness and dread. Adam’s gaze flickered helplessly from the dark, imposing altar to the rows of mannequins that seemed to silently watch him with their soulless eyes. The oppressive beauty of the church, combined with the vanished figure of Emily, left him in a state of paralyzed horror, each beat of his heart echoing with the dread of what was to come.

"No..." Adam whispered shakily, his voice barely more than a breath against the oppressive silence that filled the church.

He stumbled backward, his legs unsteady beneath him, until his back hit the cold surface of the double doors. Panic surged through him as the haunting melody of 'Here Comes the Bride' began to echo through the church, distorted and slow, as if played from some otherworldly source. The notes crawled under his skin, filling him with a dread that made his heart hammer wildly in his chest.

"No, no, no, no," he muttered frantically, his voice rising as he spun around to face the doors.

The bouquet of black roses slipped from his fingers, scattering across the floor like dark, wilting remnants of a dream gone horribly wrong. He didn’t care. His hands flew to the shiny doorknobs, gripping them so hard his knuckles turned white. He twisted and pulled, trying desperately to force them open, but they wouldn’t budge, not even an inch. It was as if the doors had fused with the very walls, sealing him inside this nightmare.

Then, a soft touch—a feather-light brush against his shoulder—made Adam freeze, his whole body stiffening as cold prickles erupted along his skin. His emerald eyes widened in terror; his breath caught in his throat. Every instinct screamed at him to run, but he couldn’t. Slowly, almost mechanically, he turned, biting back the cry that rose in his throat.

"No!" Adam bellowed, his voice cracking the silence like a whip.

The entire church seemed to freeze, as if someone had pressed the pause button on reality itself. The music stopped mid-note, the flickering candlelight stilled, even the suffocating weight of the air seemed to hold its breath.

"No! I won’t— I won’t do this!" Adam’s voice wavered, his hands trembling at his sides. "I don’t want to do this! I don’t want to marry you, Luci!"

Standing before him, mere feet away, was a figure both familiar and foreign—a twisted reflection of someone Adam had once known. Luci, but not Luci. His presence dominated the space, a strange mixture of elegance and terror that made Adam’s stomach churn.

Dressed not in the ghostly white suit Adam once imagined, Luci now stood in a sleek black suit, the fabric so dark it seemed to swallow the light around it. A deep blue vest peeked from beneath his jacket, a colour that shimmered like midnight waters. Luci’s platinum blonde hair, unnaturally smooth and perfect, framed a face that was eerily enchanting—too perfect to be human.

His alabaster skin glowed with an ethereal light; his cheeks touched with a rosy hue that felt more like a painter’s deliberate stroke than something real. But it was his eyes that made Adam’s blood run cold. One gold, the other ruby, both gleamed with an almost playful malevolence. They were beautiful—horrifically beautiful—and they locked onto Adam with an intensity that made him feel utterly exposed.

A massive, elaborate black top hat crowned Luci’s head, adorned with a ring of purple roses on the verge of decay, their petals wilting yet somehow holding on to a tragic beauty. Nestled among the flowers was the familiar sight of Basil, the little white snake that always accompanied Luci, now wrapping itself around the hat’s brim, its white scales slowly morphing into a golden hue. The sight was so disturbingly intimate, so familiar, that Adam felt his heart twist painfully in his chest.

Luci’s grin stretched wide, too wide, his sharp teeth glinting in the dim light, as if he could barely contain his amusement. The smile looked like it would tear his face in half. His hooves—cloven and gleaming like polished onyx—clicked rhythmically against the stone floor of the church as he shifted, his posture relaxed yet predatory. He leaned in slightly, his arms crossed behind his back, allowing the shadows around him to darken and grow, curling at his feet like hungry tendrils.

"T-Tell me the truth." Adam’s voice faltered, but he forced himself to stand straight, his knees shaking beneath him. He swallowed thickly, trying to summon courage where none existed.

"Did—did you push Steve?"

Luci's eyes flashed with something primal, a flicker of cruel delight dancing in their mismatched depths. His grin widened even more, impossibly, and a soft, rumbling chuckle escaped his throat, vibrating through the thick air of the church. When he finally spoke, his voice was like velvet, smooth and melodic, each word caressing the air with a beauty that sent a shiver down Adam’s spine. It was the first time Adam had ever heard Luci speak, and it was the most hauntingly beautiful sound he had ever experienced.

"Did I push Steve?" Luci repeated, his voice low, dripping with amusement, the words curling like smoke in the space between them. The question echoed, bouncing off the high arches of the church, making Adam shudder with every syllable.

Adam gasped, stepping back instinctively, his whole-body trembling under the weight of Luci’s voice. It was so gentle, so intoxicating, yet it carried an undercurrent of something dark, something deeply wrong. The shadows around Luci swirled, growing deeper, darker, as if the church itself was bending to his will.

Adam’s breath came in ragged gasps as Luci’s form loomed closer, his golden and ruby eyes gleaming with a satisfaction that sent a cold chill racing through Adam’s veins. He could feel the weight of the truth pressing down on him, suffocating him with its inevitability.

The truth he had been running from was standing before him, grinning with a terrifying, twisted glee.

Adam’s breath came in shallow gasps, his whole-body trembling as he forced himself to face the nightmare standing before him. His legs felt weak, like they might give out at any moment, but he couldn’t stop now. He had to confront Luci, even though every fibre of his being screamed to run. His voice, when it finally emerged, was shaky and barely above a whisper.

“D-Did you try to hurt Steve?” Adam stammered.

His eyes wide, watching as Luci's grin stretched impossibly wider, like the Cheshire Cat from a twisted fairytale. Luci’s mismatched eyes—gold and ruby—sparkled with a dangerous, gleeful light, his sharp teeth gleaming.

“Did I… push Steve?” Luci repeated in mockery, each word dripping with amusement.

He took a step closer, the sound of his hooves clicking against the stone floor like a death knell. Adam gulped, his legs nearly buckling as Luci’s cold, sharp finger traced lightly over his cheek, sending a jolt of fear down his spine. The imp’s touch was both tender and terrifying, a predator toying with its prey.

Adam’s voice broke as he swallowed hard, trying to keep his composure. “The fish… the fish always dying in the church—was that you? The shadows… haunting every corner… the nightmares, the thing in my wardrobe. Was it all you?”

Luci chuckled darkly, his finger trailing down to Adam’s chin, lifting it slightly, forcing their eyes to meet.

“Everything I’ve done,” Luci purred, his voice like silk, “I did for you, Adam.” His words oozed with twisted affection, his eyes glowing with a sick kind of devotion. “I move the world for no one… but I did it for you.”

Adam recoiled slightly, stepping back in a feeble attempt to put some distance between them, but Luci moved closer, his presence overwhelming. Adam’s back hit the cold, unyielding surface of the double doors, but they did not budge. Panic surged through him as Luci loomed ever nearer, his breath ghosting over Adam’s skin.

“D-Did you hurt Emily?” Adam asked, his voice breaking as the weight of the truth began to crush him. “Did you take her sight?”

Luci’s grin split his face wide as he leaned in even closer, his shadow engulfing Adam.

“Emily…” Luci mused, his voice rumbling like thunder, “Aas getting too close. She would have gotten in the way, Adam. I couldn’t let her take you away.”

Adam’s heart pounded violently in his chest as he tried to comprehend the horror of Luci’s words.

“You… you blinded her… you did that to her.” His voice cracked, the betrayal raw in his throat.

“She would have taken you from me,” Luci said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I gave you everything, Adam. A family… a friend… a partner, a husband. Children.”

As Luci spoke, Adam’s gaze darted to the benches, where rows of China dolls sat, clapping their hands and tossing black rose petals over him. The sound of their childish giggles filled the air, making Adam’s skin crawl.

Adam stumbled backward, his feet catching on the edge of the aisle, and he fell onto his backside, grunting as he hit the cold stone floor. His green eyes glistened with unshed tears as he stared at Luci in horror. The imp stepped closer, his hooves echoing ominously in the vast, haunted space.

“I saved you,” Luci whispered, his voice soft but laced with dangerous affection. “I saved you when you were a child, Adam. When they kidnapped you, when they were going to sacrifice you. I brought you here… to keep you safe. Untouched.”

Adam’s mind reeled. His memories of that night were vague, shrouded in darkness, but now they surged back with brutal clarity. Luci had been there. Luci had always been there. His protector… his captor.

Luci’s eyes gleamed with a sickening kind of triumph as he crouched down before Adam, his long fingers reaching out to gently brush a strand of Adam’s thick hair from his face.

“I’ve done everything for you,” he whispered, his breath cold against Adam’s skin. “I want you, Adam. I want your soul. I want you to be mine.”

Adam whimpered, biting his bottom lip as tears welled up in his eyes. The church had fallen deathly silent, as if the very building itself was holding its breath, waiting for his answer. Adam’s heart hammered in his chest as he tried to steady himself. He could feel Luci’s eyes on him, burning with an intensity that made it hard to breathe.

He swallowed hard, meeting Luci’s gaze with trembling resolve.

“Did you hurt Steve?” he repeated, his voice weak but determined. “Did you hurt Emily?”

Luci’s smile faltered for the first time, his golden and ruby eyes narrowing. He slapped his hands onto his knees and stood up with a flourish, mocking Adam’s persistence.

“Why do you care so much about them, Adam?” he sneered. “Why do you care so much about that nun and this church?”

Adam’s legs were shaking as he forced himself to stand, his voice wavering but growing stronger.

“So, you did hurt her,” he said, his voice laced with bitter realization. “You hurt Emily.”

Luci rolled his eyes in exasperation, his lips twisting into a dangerous smirk.

“I had to,” he said coldly. “She was getting too close. If she kept going, she would’ve taken you away from me. I couldn’t let that happen.”

Adam’s breath hitched, his heart breaking as he thought of Emily—kind, caring Emily, who had always been there for him.

“She was my friend,” Adam cried, his voice cracking. “She cared for me!”

Luci huffed, dismissing the pain in Adam’s voice with a wave of his hand.

“She would’ve taken you away,” he repeated, his tone sharp with jealousy. “I couldn’t let you leave the church.”

Adam’s fists clenched at his sides as anger flared in his chest, burning away some of his fear.

“Why?” he demanded, his voice rising. “Why couldn’t I leave?”

Luci’s grin returned, colder this time, his eyes gleaming with possession. “Because you’re mine, Adam. You must become mine in this church.”

Adam scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping his lips despite the fear still gnawing at him. “Why would I ever want to be with you after everything you’ve done? You’ve hurt the people I love. Why would I want to stay with you?”

Luci’s laughter echoed through the church, a sound so chilling it made Adam’s skin crawl. The imp’s smirk twisted into something even darker as he stepped closer, towering over Adam.

“Do you really love them, Adam?” he asked, his voice dripping with condescension. “Do you really love Steve?”

Adam blinked, confused, his voice soft as he answered, “Of course I do. Why wouldn’t I?”

Luci threw his head back, laughing at him, the sound harsh and mocking, cutting through the air like a blade.

Luci's eyes glinted with a sinister light, that unnerving mix of seduction and cruelty flickering within their depths as he studied Adam’s tear-streaked face.

"How could you love something that's not real?" Luci's voice was a velvet whisper.

His lips curling in a twisted grin as he began to circle Adam, slow and predatory. The soft shuffle of Luci's boots on the floor sounded like a snake slithering through the silence. Adam’s heart pounded in his chest, his breath growing shallow.

“What are you talking about?” Adam stammered, eyes darting toward Luci. But Luci was moving too fast, his figure gliding through the shadows like a spectre, impossible to pin down.

Luci’s voice slithered into Adam's ear, a deep, purring growl, “Think about it. Really think.”

He was behind him now, breath hot against Adam’s neck. “Look back at your memories, Adam. Look closely.”

Adam tried to keep track of Luci’s movements, his eyes flicking around the dimly lit room, but Luci was gone—vanished into the gloom. The only figures in sight were the mannequins, their vacant, glassy eyes watching. The China-dolls too, their cold porcelain faces cracked, grinning grotesquely in the flickering candlelight. A sense of suffocating dread coiled around Adam, squeezing his chest as nausea churned in his stomach.

Luci’s words echoed through his mind. Really think... really look...

And so, he did.

He thought of Steve. The bright flash of red hair, that freckled face that always wore a mischievous smile. The way Steve's laughter had filled Emily’s room the first time they met, how Steve’s hand had brushed his, a spark that had ignited something deep inside him. Adam’s brow furrowed as he remembered Steve sharing his bed after that first nightmare, the warmth of his body, the gentle comfort of his presence. How Steve had carefully tied the wardrobe doors shut, keeping the monsters away. He thought of the birthdays, the gifts Steve had given him, the way his heart had leapt with each of those small tokens of affection. His first kiss... it had been Steve. It had to be.

But as Adam replayed the memories, cracks began to appear.

His smile faltered, brows knitting in confusion.

Why hadn’t anyone else ever spoken to Steve?

He remembered the children outside, the nuns... Steve had been with them, but... but had they ever really acknowledged him?

Eveline, Steve’s twin. But Adam had never actually seen them talk. Never seen them in the same room, come to think of it. Steve always claimed to be speaking with Sister Sera... but only ever after storming away. The figure who consoled him... was that really Sister Sera?

Adam’s heart pounded so loudly now it felt like it might burst. Sweat gathered at his temples, and his stomach twisted violently.

He whispered, almost pleading, "No... no, no, no..."

It couldn't be right. Steve was real. He had to be. Steve was his first love, his first friend, his—

A hand touched his elbow.

Adam spun around, and there he was—Steve. Tears welled in Adam’s eyes, and before he could stop himself, he threw his arms around Steve, clutching him tightly. Steve’s embrace was warm, familiar. For a moment, the panic in Adam’s chest melted away.

"Steve..." Adam sobbed, burying his face in Steve's shoulder. "You're real. You’re here."

But then Luci’s voice drifted through the room again, soothing, mocking. "There, there. Don’t cry, Adam. Everything was... necessary."

A cold shiver ran down Adam’s spine. He squinted through the haze of his tears, pulling back just enough to meet Steve’s eyes—only they weren’t the same anymore. Steve’s gentle amber eyes had darkened, shifting into an unnatural shade of ruby and gold. Adam’s stomach dropped. The comforting warmth of Steve’s body began to warp, his hands no longer tender but clawed.

The wide grin on Steve’s face stretched further, too far, revealing rows of sharp, glistening teeth. Adam’s breath hitched as he staggered backward.

"No..." Adam choked, shaking his head as the truth unravelled in front of him.

From behind Steve, something twisted into view—a long, pointed tail, curling like a serpent in the shadows.

"You, see?" Steve's voice, no—Luci’s voice—crooned, rich with satisfaction. "There was no Steve, Adam. There was only ever me."

Adam’s heart shattered, the weight of betrayal crushing him from within. His knees buckled, and he stumbled back as Luci—no longer Steve, but the demonic figure with glowing eyes and that devilish smile—advanced toward him.

Luci’s voice dripped with a perverse sweetness, his blackened claws reaching out. "Your love was real, Adam, but it was always for me. You just didn't know it."

Adam sobbed, raw and broken, "Why? Why would you do this to me?"

Luci’s lips curled into a smile that was both chilling and seductive. "Because I needed you to love me, Adam. To teach you the depths of love... and ensure you would never leave me. I couldn't risk losing you after Emily." His tail flicked behind him, a menacing swish in the dark.

Adam's hands trembled as more tears spilled down his flushed cheeks, each one burning with the sting of betrayal. “So…everything... everything was a lie?”

Luci’s voice softened, almost tender as he cupped Adam's face, forcing their gazes to meet.

"No, my love," he whispered, his eyes gleaming. "It wasn't a lie. Every moment was real. Every touch, every kiss. It was all true..."

He leaned in, his lips brushing Adam's ear. “But it was always me.”

Adam's body had become a shadow of itself, worn down to the bone by the relentless weight of despair. He trembled as he stood, his legs barely holding him up. His muscles, once strong, now felt like wet paper, fragile and numb. His breath was shallow, coming in ragged gasps, his entire being exhausted to the core. His eyes, dim and hollow, stared up at Luci—or whatever Luci was—with a mixture of fear and resignation.

"Who... who are you?" Adam's voice cracked, barely a whisper, as if it was all he had left.

Luci’s eyes glinted, his head tilting to the side in a slow, unnerving motion. A low hum vibrated from deep within his throat, almost melodic, yet tinged with menace. As his head shifted, the sickening sound of skin stretching, snapping, and cracking filled the air, echoing through the desolate church like the crack of thunder.

Adam flinched as six massive wings erupted from Luci’s back—towering, grotesque, and yet achingly beautiful. They were a macabre blend of white and red, streaks of crimson running through the pristine feathers like blood. They stretched wide behind him, impossibly large, casting a haunting shadow that seemed to swallow the light.

Horns sprouted from Luci’s head, jagged and black, curling upward until they rose even higher than the brim of his tall top hat. And then, as if the darkness wasn’t enough, a small golden snake—Basil—slithered lazily around the tip of his horns, its delicate body twisting and coiling as a flame ignited at the centre, casting flickering orange light over Luci’s face. His eyes—once seductive and golden—now burned with an intense, blood-red glow, fully demonic.

Adam’s breath hitched in his throat, his heart racing as he watched eye-like patterns ripple across Luci’s once elegant black suit, blinking at him like something alive, something otherworldly. Each eye seemed to stare directly into Adam’s soul, watching, waiting. His gaze faltered, drifting to the monstrous shadow that stretched from Luci’s form, growing, expanding, until it aligned perfectly with the stained-glass window behind him.

The window depicted an angel—the most beautiful of them all, God's favoured one, the brightest light of Heaven. But Adam’s blood ran cold as realization hit him like a hammer. The glass showed a fallen figure, wings torn and broken, cast down from Heaven’s grace into the fiery abyss below.

Adam stared in horror as the shadow seemed to merge with the image—Luci’s form lined up perfectly with the depiction of the Fallen Archangel. The one who had been banished. The one whose name was whispered in fear and hatred, the one who ruled over the flames that scorched the damned.

Lucifer.

The name hung in Adam’s mind, but his lips trembled, unable to form the word.

Luci—or Lucifer—leaned in close, so close Adam could feel the warmth of his breath against his cold skin. One clawed hand gently cradled Adam’s cheek, the gesture deceptively tender. But behind those glowing eyes was something ancient and terrifying. Luci's smile was a wicked curve, wide and sharp, dripping with satisfaction.

"You already know who I am," Luci whispered, his voice like silk, dark and velvety, wrapping around Adam’s senses, suffocating him in its allure. “Say my name. It’s written upon your soul.”

Adam's lips quivered, his entire body trembling as he tried to speak.

"L... Lucifer..." he finally managed, the name escaping his lips in a weak, broken whisper.

At the sound of his name, Lucifer trembled with delight. A shiver of pleasure ran through him, and his wings fluttered behind him, their crimson edges glowing faintly in the dim light. His clawed hand slid down, taking hold of Adam’s frail hand, his touch both cold and electric. With a slow, deliberate motion, Lucifer lifted Adam to his feet, guiding him with unnatural ease.

“What... what happens now?” Adam’s voice was weak, his question laced with desperation and fear.

As if in response, the bouquet of black roses that Adam had dropped earlier—fallen, forgotten—suddenly lifted from the cold stone floor. The petals, once scattered, gathered again, the roses reassembling themselves into a perfect bouquet. They hovered in the air beside him, waiting, almost expectantly.

Lucifer’s eyes never left Adam’s as he directed Adam’s trembling hands to take the bouquet, his fingers lingering, brushing against Adam’s skin in a way that sent a shiver down his spine. His other hand came up to caress Adam’s cheek, his thumb stroking the tear-streaked skin as if offering comfort, but his smile betrayed something far darker.

“You will marry me,” Lucifer whispered, his voice like a lover’s promise, but twisted with something sinister. His wings curled around them both, creating a suffocating cocoon.

“You were mine from the very beginning, Adam.” His words dripped with an ancient, terrible truth. “The first man. My soulmate. You were always destined for me.”

Adam’s heart pounded in his chest, but his body felt numb. His mind screamed for him to run, but his legs were frozen, his will erode by exhaustion and fear. The weight of Lucifer’s words crushed him, his fate sealed from the very beginning of time.

The flames from Basil’s tail flickered brighter, casting long shadows over Lucifer’s face as his grin widened, sharp and terrifying. The bouquet of black roses pulsed in Adam’s hand, cold as death itself, but so beautiful it hurt to hold them.

“You belong to me, Adam,” Lucifer whispered, leaning closer until their foreheads touched.

“You always have and this time…nothing will take you away ever again.”

#hazbin hotel #fanfic #adamsapple #lucifer x adam #au #guitarduck #fanficiton #horror #imp

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simply-whump · 8 months

Text

Pit Babe (พิษเบ๊บ) - Whump List

Whumpees : Babe played by Pavel Naret and Charlie played by Pooh Krittin

Synopsis : Charlie wants to be a racecar driver but he doesn't have a racecar of his own. The only solution he comes up with is to make a bizarre agreement with king of the raceway Babe, nicknamed Pit Babe. Even stranger, Babe agrees to help Charlie realise his dream.(MDL)

Genres : Action, Comedy, Romance, Sports, BL

Warning! Possible spoilers below!

Babe

Ep 1 : None

Ep 2 : (04:06) Restrained, slapped twice

Ep 3 : (51:30) Feeling unwell, concern for him, upset — (54:50) Vision swimming a bit

Ep 4 : (03:15) Upset, punching a metal locker with his bare hand — (20:27) Attacked, beaten with metal bars — (26:55) Bruises on his back — (45:39) Issue with the car he’s driving, car explodes with him in it

Ep 5 : (Previous scene continues) (02:15) In a car on fire, explosion, concern for him, helped out of the car, falls to the ground, held, taken into an ambulance — (04:06) Brought into the hospital on a stretcher, groaning in pain — (04:30) In a hospital bed, leg in a splint — (09:09) Looked after — (24:35) Walking with a crutch, almost falls, helped —(30:49) Helped to walk — (41:24) Walking with limp, wincing in pain — (42:57) Realises he lost his super senses

Ep 6 : None

Ep 7 : (17:28) Feeling betrayed, upset — (21:18) Crying — (40:17) Teary-eyed

Ep 8 : (15:14) Hit, kicked, fighting, hit, shot at

Ep 9 : (11:54) Punched — (17:30) Learns a shocking truth, paralysed by some power, kissed against his will, emotional, feeling betrayed, crying — (21:22) Crying, hugged

Ep 10 : (10:20) Worried for Charlie — (12:13) Worried for Charlie, crying, getting his sense back, told Charlie died, devastated, passes out — (17:07) Wakes up, concern for him, crying, headache, devastated by Charlie’s death, hugged by his friends — (25:22) Crying, breaks down in front of Charlie’s grave, helped up — (36:44) Found laying on the ground in his house, completely spaced out, depressed — (39:36) Punched, upset, restrained — (43:58) Hit in the head twice, collapses on the ground, groaning in pain, bleeding, saved

Ep 11 : (01:46) Resting on a couch, given medication, small bandage on his forehead

Ep 12 : (33:19) At gunpoint, fighting, hit — (34:53) Treated — (46:15) Fighting, hit in the head, collapses, bleeding, finds out Charlie is alive

Ep 13 : (01:58) On the ground, bleeding from the head, finds out Charlie is alive, concern for him — (05:28) At gunpoint — (13:10) At gunpoint, hit — (16:30) Shot at, one of his friends dies in his arms (not Charlie), emotional, crying — (29:35) Grieving, crying — (34:33) Confronting his real father, emotional, crying

Charlie

Ep 1 : (07:19) Arm twisted behind his back

Ep 2-3 : None

Ep 4 : (20:40) Hit with metal bars while protecting Babe, arm injured, concern for him — (31:31) Arm in a sling

Ep 5 : (01:52) Worried for Babe

Ep 6 : None

Ep 7 : (26:50) Grabbed by the collar

Ep 8 : (14:48) At gunpoint — (15:26) Hit, bottle smashed on his arm, fighting, concern for him, shot at — (23:11) Checked for bruises, wounds treated

Ep 9 : (19:22) Paralysed, put to sleep, woken up

Ep 10 : (09:40) In a car crash during a race, unconscious — (12:11) Brought to the hospital on a stretcher, concern for him, ambu bag, goes into cardiac arrest, dies? — (23:40) Mourned

Ep 11 : (06:55) Unconscious on a couch, wakes up — (16:21) Walking with a crutch, foot bandaged

Ep 12 : (46:24) Saving Babe, fighting

Ep 13 : (16:30) Shot at

>> More Wump Lists

#pit babe the series #pit babe #asian whump #whump #whump list #pavel naret #pooh krittin #thai bl #thai drama

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anonymousbardd · 6 months

Text

꒰ ☕ ꒱ ┊: Bro's The

Type To...

↳ various x reader

- Just a cute lil sumthin sumthin because I'm bored :3

♯01 ┊: Daniel Park

⿻ "Bro's the type to..."

To Have quality time as a love language.

To Help out with work/homework.

To Help out in the kitchen.

To Surprise you w/ homemade gifts.

To Try and write a poem about you.

To Give you snacks when waiting for something.

To Love you unconditionally 'till the end of time.

To Beat up anyone who harasses you.

⿻┊: Daniel would definitely be the definition of a "perfect boyfriend", although he's human of course, he still keeps secret and doesn't open up too much.

But once he feels really comfortable, he wouldn't have much a problem of telling you how he truly feels, he also has a bit of a habit to run away or hide somewhere when something goes wrong.

He's still gonna come back though, after he stops blaming himself.

♯02┊: Jay Hong

⿻ "Bro's the type to..."

To Spoil you rotten with gifts and surprises.

To Get you flowers on special and non-special occasions.

To Do something for you with no hesitation.

To Go on a hunted house with you even though he's scared.

To Protect you on a rollercoaster, but ends up vomitting after.

To Loose his phone somewhere and ends up finding it in your hands.

To Get lose and ends up being found at a lost and found.

To Dress up his puppies and take them on a little fashion show.

To take you on a date at the dog park.

To Fall asleep in your arms while cuddling little puppies.

⿻┊: Without a doubt Jay tries his best to be the perfect boyfriend, he loves you unconditionally and does everything you ask for, only problem is that he spoils you way too much.

He's got a lot of money, yeah, but your home doesn't have much space, Jat tries to get you a warehouse because of it.

Your parents love him though, he's successful, academically smart, well mannered, according to your parents, he's a "husband material".

♯03┊: Jace Park

⿻ "Bro's the type to..."

To Still crush on you even when married.

To Have matching piercings with you.

To Let you braid his hair.

To Let you put makeup on him.

To hold your bag while shopping, even while complaining about holding your bags, (complains more when you hold them yourself).

To Treat you to dinner even when he's broke.

To Take you on bicycle rides.

To Let you touch his ears while cuddling.

To Tutor you on a subject you find difficult.

To Go on gym dates with you.

To do a detective mini game as a date.

⿻┊: Jace is a simp, it's not really a secret, when he fell, he fell hard, he really likes to be around you and is very talkative.

Would share his interest with detective stuff with you, he definitely watched detective Conan as a child.

Jace loves ya, a lot, he'd be willing to accept no matter what your gender is, he'll be a bit confused at first, but he'll eventually get used to it.

♯04┊: Vin Jin

⿻ "Bro's the type to..."

To Confess to you by rapping.

To Write you a song.

To Act all tough with you but starts to mentally panic when you pretend to cry.

To Say stuff like, "Shut up I hate you," then proceed to do nice things.

To be a tsundere.

To have pillow fights with ya.

To constantly argue with you and won't apologise even if you cry, because he sucks at that.

He'll eventually try to apologise, but it isn't too good of an apology.

⿻┊: Others think that he's a shitty lover, and they're kinda right, but the only thing is, he actually tries.

He doesn't remember anniversaries or any cutesy holidays, but once he realises the occasion he'll try to make a nice present...

He'll rap to you.

But it's the thought that counts, he'll try to make up for it though.

♯005┊: Euntae Lee

⿻ "Bro's the type to..."

To Get lost at the toy section at Walmart.

To play dress up with you.

To take you on a date on build-a-bear.

To pick you flowers from random bushes.

To go on fun carnival dates with you.

To go on the gym with you.

To have fun at the play area at the park.

To bake with you on birthdays.

⿻┊: Vasco is a cutie, he'll definitely do cute couple stuff with you, all wholesome.

He'll also protect you whenever you come across trouble, and if anyone does something bad to you he'll scare them.

#looksim x reader #lookism #lookismoneshot #x reader #lookisim fanfic #fanfic #lookism headcanons #character headcanons

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sparkssys · 4 months

Text

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

|-+-+-+-+-~~sparks system~~-+-+-+-+-|

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Hey there! First of all, if you're here to start drama, fuck off before i know you're here. You don't wanna figure out what I'll do to protect them.

We're a traumaendo system of either 9 or 10, not sure yet!!

Most of our system members are endogenic but we have at least 2 traumagenic headmates.

Quick reference guide:

-💜 : Layla, traumaholder and persecutor (she/they/it)

-✨ : Glee, tulpa (they/she)

-☄️ : Magno, tulpa formed by stress and a breakdown (he/him)

-🫧 : Jake, femboy (he/him)

-🦴 : Sans, introject (he/him)

-syl : Sylvine, the avid gamer (she/her, also lesbian, her side blog is @sylvineslair . She doesn't front much because she gives us a huge headache.)

-carol : Carol

-⭐ : Avery: traumagenic little who just got back from dormancy. Probably the core. We don't know for sure and we don't care enough to figure that out.

There's (i think?) 2 headmates who don't really front in the same way we do, one is a drowser and the other we know nothing about.

More info under the cut!

~+~Useful info~+~

We are very inconsistent with sign-offs. You can just ask who posted what.

We are inconsistent with pronouns and we use i/me/we/us interchangeably. We don't care enough about it to change how we write.

We are autistic and collectively transfem. Some of our headmates aren't comfortable with feminine terms, so when in doubt, just use they/them pronouns.

Please use tone tags.

We no longer have a host, the lines are way too blurred to appoint one and it's an unnecessary label anyways.

We are not endo neutral. We are pro-endo. If you don't like that, leave. I have no patience for anti-endo rethoric and some "neutral" people are so infuriatingly hypocritical. -Layla

DNIs don't work. Don't like me? Block me. I don't have the time to check if you're some asshole crosstagging on my tags, and it's your responsibility to curate your own space, anyways.

After some time in both sides of proship discourse, I have decided I'm okay with people doing whatever. Antis are just toxic haters most of the time that don't even intend to try to help, they just straight up dehumanize and demean people they don't agree with. Y'all suck.

Also after some time in both sides of transID discourse, I've decided I don't actually give a shit about what they identify as and why. If I personally don't fuck with it, I'll block you. You do you and I do me.

-=edit log under the cut=-~please skip

15/05/24 13:32 PM: added tags

17/05/24 12:01 PM: updated the label we use for the system's origin, because it's far more complicated than we thought

17/05/24 12:53 PM: linked to post about Layla's gender and sex

19/05/24 18:02 PM: linked to Layla's stance about anti endos

30/07/24 14:30 PM: Deleted old text and links and prepared it for an update.

30/07/24 14:53 PM: Updated headmate list and basic info about them, added useful info for people interacting.

30/07/24 15:17 PM: Finished updating the post by linking to an informative older post, adding blinkies and userboxes and more information.

30/07/24 15:25 PM: Just realized I'm a persecutor more than a protector. Edited the label. - Layla

08/08/2024 05:59 AM: Cleared up some text that I should've deleted earlier and got lost in the middle of the edit log. Also added further clarification on some older edits.

08/08/2024 06:01 AM: Moved the cut to right above the start of the edit logs to better organize the information flow.

29/08/2024 6:22 PM: Added info on our stances.

29/08/2024 9:27 PM: Updated various information about how we interact with tumblr.

30/08/2024 04:26 AM: Cleaned up some old quirks and outdated text.

02/09/2024 12:35 PM: Linked to a very important post about my situation

#trans #queer #transfem #transgender #endo safe #nonbinary #non binary #anti capitalism #minecraft #stardew valley #undertale #layla sparks

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yoursdeadlynightshade · 5 days

Text

Normal With You - ch 04

One of my most favourite scenes I wrote. (Words 351)

☆

“See you," Regulus whispers when they reach the front door, his voice soft and unguarded—something James is slowly, but undeniably, getting used to.

“Yeah. See you, too," James answers, his nod faint. “Regulus."

Not good-bye. But see you…

Regulus’ lips twitch, his gaze dropping to his feet. James can feel the weight in the silence between them—the way Regulus is pulling at thoughts, trying to piece them together, or maybe struggling to keep them from spilling out.

He doesn’t know. But somehow, James thinks that it’s so important to know.

So James waits, unsure why, but the silence feels fragile, like one wrong move will shatter everything.

“Potter,” Regulus finally calls, and it hits James like a knife being pushed into his heart. There’s something in his tone, something that makes James stop in his tracks, heart suddenly hammering against his ribs.

“Yeah?” James breathes, bracing himself for—he doesn’t even know what.

“When y-you said the other day that you don’t hate me?” Regulus’ voice trembles ever so slightly, the previous confidence and life he has, suddenly long gone.

“Yeah?”

“Did you mean it?”

James swallows, hard. “Hate is a strong word, Regulus. Powerful, too. I don’t think I’ve ever hated anyone in my life." His gaze drops for a second, the unspoken even you hanging between them.

Regulus nods, but it’s small, hesitant. “So, you… you like me, then?”

“I guess,” James' breath catches. “You’re… alright."

Regulus looks away, nodding again, this time more slowly. His voice cracks when he speaks, barely above a whisper. “Well, I—I do, you know."

James blinks. “You… what?”

“I do like you.”

The words land heavy, like stones sinking into deep water.

James feels it—feels everything shift, like something sacred has come undone between them, leaving raw edges that neither of them know how to smooth over.

“I—” James starts, lost in the sudden heaviness of it all. “I have to go, Regulus.”

“I know,” Regulus replies, stepping back just enough for the space between them to feel colder. “I won’t stop you.”

I have to go, Regulus.

I know. I won’t stop you.

#fic : normal with you #jegulus fanfic rec #jegulus fanfic #jegulus fandom #the marauders #jegulus #regulus black #r.a.b #james potter #james potter x regulus black #james x regulus #sirius black #remus lupin #wolfstar

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moonlit-midnight · 1 year

Text

One More Happy Ending

Characters: Azul Ashengrotto, Jade Leech, Floyd Leech.

Genre: Remarriage, Romance, Mild angst.

Summary: In which your sick husband asks you to remarry as his final wish.

Warnings:

Character death in the first part. Reader is a female, has a child with Jade and has long hair.

The wedding setup is inspired by one of my fave movies.

—

“If I would die today, my darling, I would die knowing that your life was my life’s best part. I would remember that you were the heart that kept me alive.”

Hanging your head low, you desperately held back the unshed tears from falling.

You couldn’t look at your husband without crying because looking at him in that state shattered your heart into pieces.

His illness took a toll on him, but despite being on the brink of death, Jade Leech never lost his smile. His dazzling smile that rivaled the shine of the sun was still present.

“I have one last wish. Would you hear me out and fulfill it, my love?”

“What is it, sweetheart?” you got up from the chair, taking the empty space beside him on the hospital bed.

“I wish you all the happiness in the world, so after you move on from my death, I want you to marry Azul.” Jade held your hand, his grip was tight as if his life depended on it. “Once you get married, don’t feel guilty about it.”

He paused briefly, bursting into fits of coughing.

“I know that you love Azul as much as you love me, and he loves you too more than anything.”

Another pause ensued, followed by a weak sigh, then eventually his body went limp and still in your hold.

Minutes later, Dr. Riddle Rosehearts, the doctor in charge who was also your longtime friend rushed inside the ward, his expression heartbroken and crestfallen.

“I pronounce Jade Leech dead. Time of death 10:04 A.M.” He announced tearfully as he pulled you into a consoling hug. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”

After Riddle left, you stared at your deceased husband, allowing your tears to flow freely.

After weeping for a long time, a faint smile embraced your lips as you recalled what Jade told you a week ago.

My darling wife, when I leave this world, I hope you’re here beside me.

I hope I look peaceful with the sun shining down on me.

Indeed, Jade died while you were by his side, looking serene and at peace, as if he never suffered from an illness.

He died in a sun-lit room, his face glowed beautifully beneath the mellow sunlight of the autumn season.

“Thank you for sharing your love and your life with me. You made my dreams come true, and I am forever grateful.” you smiled, brushing one last kiss on his face.

★ —

As you and Azul placed a bouquet of violets in front of Jade’s gravestone, a painful pang struck you like a bullet.

Seven years flew by since you lost Jade, and the heartache was still there.

When he died, you and Azul couldn’t tuck him in your hearts because he couldn’t fit.

He died young, and before his time, so you couldn’t seal him away like that because sealing meant forgetting.

“I loved Jade from the moment I met him. We were like long lost soulmates who finally found each other.” you said softly, gazing at the wide, blue sky.

“He was really a great friend.” Azul chimed in, smiling afterwards.

Despite not moving on from his death, you and your best friend still managed to find new happiness and new beginnings.

You lived a joyful life with your daughter whom you were expecting when Jade passed away.

She was named Daisy, in loving memory of your late husband who always gifted you bouquet of daisies during your dates.

She was born five months after his death, and she was seven years old at the moment.

Daisy was the female version of Jade.

She had the same glimmering mismatched eyes and gorgeous teal hair except hers was wavy, and the way she smiled was exactly like him.

She was a little prankster and mischievous like her uncle Floyd, and she enjoyed teasing you a lot.

She was your light when all hopes were lost, and that’s what you loved about her the most.

★ —

“Uncle Azul!” Daisy clung onto Azul’s leg.

Although the latter was busy baking, he still acknowledged the girl.

“Yes, my little flower?”

“When will I start going to an elite school like NRC?”

“When you turn sixteen.” Azul glanced down at her.

“Hmph, still a long way.” Daisy pouted.

He lifted her in his arms, and with a grin, he smeared a blob of icing on her tiny nose.

“Gee uncle, why do you always smear icing on my nose every time you bake?”

“Because I love you.” The silver haired man smiled, lightly pinching the child’s cheeks.

“And I love you more than mama.” your daughter giggled, putting her small arms around Azul.

“Daisy Leech, how dare you say that!”

They froze upon hearing your voice. They turned around, only to see you glaring at them in a playful manner.

“Oh, hey dear best friend.” Azul grinned.

“Tsk, you and your stupid grin.”

“Uncle’s grin is not stupid!”

“Just kidding.” you chuckled as you stood beside Azul.

While watching him putting icing on the blueberry cake which he usually baked during Sunday mornings, you felt your daughter tugging on your sleeve.

“Mama and uncle Azul, can we sit down for a few minutes? I have something to tell you.”

Upon hearing that, the man set down the icing nozzle as he sat on the floor, and you followed suit.

“Last night someone visited me in my dreams. I think the man was my late father.” said your daughter. “He asked me if uncle Azul is treating us well. I told him yes, and I told him that he makes mama so happy. Father seemed relieved hearing my answer.”

“Uncle Azul, I know it’s not my place to say this, but will you do the honor to marry my mama, and adopt me?” The girl reached for your best friend’s hand, her eyes glistening. “I always considered you a family, but I want us to be a real family.”

It wasn’t shocking hearing such thing from your child, but you didn’t expect that she would bring this topic in the open one day.

“I would be happy to marry your mother and have you as my daughter, but only if your mama is okay with it.” Azul glanced at you, a gentle smile adorning his face.

“Of course I’m okay with it.” you returned the same smile, feeling a new love blooming in the empty space in your heart.

★ —

(Two years later)

Today was supposed to be your another big day, but it was postponed due to a small incident.

Three days ago, you were hanging out with your daughter in your treehouse, and while heading down, you missed a step and fell down.

The treehouse wasn’t high, but it still left you with one twisted ankle.

You weren’t upset, but you were a little sad that your wedding was postponed until you recovered.

Unbeknown to you, your friends already planned everything.

“Rise and shine. You gotta get ready.” Floyd gently shook your sleeping figure awake.

“Get ready for what?” you mumbled before fluttering your eyes open.

“For your wedding.” Floyd leaned forward, a big grin plastered on his face.

“What wedding are you talking about? It’s postponed for a week.”

Floyd could only giggle, looping an arm around your body to help you get up.

Once Floyd was done with your makeup and your other friends helped you dress up, you headed to the wedding venue.

You could swear that your friends were creative.

With a permission granted from the hospital administrators, a makeover was done to the hospital’s cafeteria, turning it into a wonderful wedding hall.

“You guys really did this?” you marveled at the beauty of the place.

“Yeah, and Azul helped too.”

“W-what? He really did?”

“I know that he’s the groom, but it was honestly your man's idea in the first place.” Floyd winked at you.

Thrilled and giddy with excitement, you clamped a hand over your mouth to muffle your squeals.

“You’re one lucky lady.” Floyd remarked, chuckling softly.

★ —

Once all the invited guests arrived, your chosen wedding soundtrack started to play in the background.

Your right hand was in Floyd’s grasp, fingers interlaced, and your other hand was holding tight onto the crutch.

“Scared?” He asked quietly, his thumb brushing your knuckles to calm your nerves.

“Not at all.” you beamed a smile. “Just make sure I won’t fall.”

“You won’t,” Floyd smiled back. “You have me.”

The two of you began walking down the aisle, heads high, and postures calm and relaxed.

You looked beautiful in your simple yet stunning wedding gown, handpicked by Mrs. Leech, your previous mother-in-law.

Your hair was curled, radiating beneath the lights, and a pretty crown of blue daisies sat atop your head.

You teared up when you neared Azul, and you almost cried when you spotted your beloved nine year old daughter in the front row, cheering for you.

“I’m so happy for you, mama.” she said, smiling brightly.

★ —

“Do you, Azul Ashengrotto take (...) to be your lawfully wedded wife, to love her and cherish her to the end of your days?”

Azul looked at you, drowning into your gaze, and your enchanting smile spared him a breath.

“I do.” He exclaimed as he placed the ring on your finger. “From this day forward, I promise you that even when the skies tear apart, even when the sun burns out and the lights go out, I will love you to whatever end awaits us.”

The man who officiated the ceremony turned to you.

“Do you, (...) take Azul Ashengrotto to be your lawfully wedded husband, to love him and cherish him to the end of your days?”

“I do.” you responded, eyes glittering like gemstones. “From this day forward, I vow to share my love, my happiness and my sadness with you. As long as we shall live, I will be here for you, for love and death go together.”

The man announced. “I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

As soon as you and Azul shared a kiss, the room erupted with clapping, gleeful cheers and cheerful squeals.

Some had happy smiles on their faces, and some had tears of joy in their eyes.

It was a heartwarming feeling seeing the guests genuinely happy and excited for you, but what mattered the most at the moment was the two of you.

Under the bright blue skies, you found a home in each other, and you’d never be apart.

For you and Azul, home was never a certain place.

It was anywhere as long as you were together.

219 notes · View notes

pinkrelish · 2 years

Text

𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞.

bestfriend!eddie x fem!reader

✶After a week from Hell, Eddie turns to you for comfort.✶

NSFW — one bed trope, spooning, cuddling, comfort, domestic fluff, calling eddie pet names, sexual tension, heavy angst towards the end, eddie munson needs a hug, 18+ overall for smut, drug/alcohol mention/use

chapter: 11/15 [wc: 8.6k]

↳ part 01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08 / 09 / 10 / 11

AO3

Chapter 11: Two Lost Souls, Crossing

“Hey.”

All your hard work, all your sacrifices; whatever means necessary to ensure the person you held in the highest regard was taken care of; it all paid off. Awake–awake–awake for more hours than four turns of a clock. Pencil lead smudged on the ridges of your calluses. Staring at words in a textbook until they rearranged themselves. Closing your eyes in camera flashes of sleep.

“Are you awake?”

Pain wove its spindly fingers around your knee. You tightened the bandage and fixed your determined gaze ahead, jaw clenched in an immense display of fortitude. No one would know. Ice it, warm it, ice it, warm it. Whatever means necessary to finish the routine. To steel yourself against Coach’s shouting, against Kat’s sideways glance, against your manager who tapped her watch when you were two minutes late. You shouldn’t be at work tonight–Steve could call you at any moment with an update–but tonight was the start of the weekend, and the start of the weekend meant flirting with drunk boys who came to the diner in search of greasy food to serve their rolling stomachs. Boys who dressed like their rich dads. Boys who liked your short uniform, muscular legs, and ditzy facade. Boys who showed their gratitude when you bent over the bartop. Weekends meant eating all your meals for free, straight from the griddle, saving the rolls of money in your pocket for Eddie.

“Can I hold you?”

Dustin called. You walked out of your midterm and submitted your letter of withdrawal to your academic advisor. Kat asked where you were going. Coach chased your car. You drove. You drove. You swallowed pills. You drove. You bartered for fake plates, an ID. You took out the rest of the cash to your name. You drove, bought supplies, rented a car, called the Wheeler’s from a payphone, and spoke to Nancy. You were free. Hallucinating in the haze between sleep and awake. Going, going. Deprived of anything not related to your goal. On top of the world. You could do it all.

“N-Need to hold you.”

Dwelling in the giggly pleasure thrumming in your veins, your boneless body was accepted by the motel bed, head crashing through time and space to be cushioned by the pillow below. Roving the dimension between drunken insomnolence pseudo-euphoria and the sound of Eddie’s shower beating on his skin a few feet away. Eddie. Your perfect Eddie. He was safe. Taken care of. Getting rest tonight for the first time in days, just like you.

I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.

“Mm?” Too much beer lulling you to the edge of a deep slumber–as if you were six feet under, being slowly raised to the surface. “Ed?” You recognized the general pitch of the voice whispering beside your ear, but nothing more. Not the pressure on the side of your face, nor the reason you struggled to fill your lungs. Unrecognizable closeness. Couldn’t be. Not him.

“S-Sorry,” he mumbled from above you. Strands of your hair pulled with his movement, clinging to the shared sticky wetness smearing your cheeks. Hot breath dampening where his mouth trailed, “M’sorry. I–just need to hold you. Just need to hold you.”

Just need to hold you, vibrated the entirety of your back snug against his chest, cradled in his impressive embrace. Face squished on his arm, tilted to meet him, with his forehead bearing down on your cheek, keeping the bridge of his nose locked to the edge of your jaw. One of his hands petted the top of your head in heavy strokes. You weren’t sure which one, confused by the scramble of limbs preventing you from grounding yourself in the already strange context you woke up in.

A far cry from sober, words tumbled from your mouth in a clumsy arrangement, “Baby, mm–what’s wrong?” Either he didn’t hear you, or he wasn’t allayed; repeating he was sorry for touching you. You found one of his sleeve-covered forearms and worked your way up to the meat of his shoulder. “Baby?” The backs of your nails glided over the stubble on his chin, and he responded with a whine.

Twisting in his vice grip, your exploration ended at his temple. Sweeping the fringe stuck to his forehead away from his eyes, continuing to comb the wet waves behind his ear, until your thumb rested in the hollow beside his brow bone, and your fingers curved to his skull, collecting him to the comfort of your body.

The scent of your shampoo roused from his scalp. He was so sweet.

You spoke into the shared air above your entanglement, “It’s okay, Eddie. I’m here. You can hold me.”

And so, he did. With the remainder of his strength, no longer having to put on a brave face in front of his friends, he held you, and shook from a cry.

“It’s okay to hold me,” you slurred through the effects of a 40oz beer, of a caffeine crash, of a cataphor. “Friends can do this. Friends can hold each other. Feels nice, doesn’t it? I’m here, Eddie. You can hold me. I’m here.” He choked on a wet sob of a sentence, question, or word, you weren’t sure. It was hard to understand him. “Babe?”

“Can you–” His volume wavered incredibly high, shot and croaky, and it broke your heart to listen to him fight through it. “–Tell me about a normal day.”

“Like what I do at school?”

He nodded into the crook of your neck, escaping deeper–where the collar of your shirt had been stretched out by accident–shying from your fingers attempting to sooth him. You respected his boundaries, and instead hooked your hands around his forearm pressed over your breasts. “Want to hear you talk,” he said.

Least to say, you rambled, “Since Coach proposed me testing into Elite, my schedule changed. Now I wake up at 4:30 to work on essays, or presentations before going to the gym for morning practice. We start with a run outside, then do vault and floor to get the power exercises out the way when we’re fresh. I go to class after that. I sit in the first row, and make nice with my professors. Hard to believe, but I’m kind of a teacher’s pet. Always volunteering to help them with whatever. Way different than when we were in class together, huh? Sometimes I feel bad for all the teachers we tormented over the years.. Um, after that class I have an hour break before the next one, and evening practice after that. I spend my break at the library doing schoolwork. We have uneven bars and beam at night, then conditioning, or we go over routines and choreography if it’s near a meet. Around 11 I go to work, and come home at 3, unless it’s the weekend.”

“Sleep?”

You caressed small circles along his arm, scrunching his sleeve under the work of your thumbs. “I like taking care of you.” Avoiding his question was all the confirmation he needed.

An involuntary whimper spurned from his taut lips stretched into a silent cry. “You quit school to deal with my bullshit. Work so hard to send m-me money. Pay–ing our bills. I didn’t even call when I could’ve. Did–n’t even write you back–I’m so sorry, I’m so God–fucking–sorry–”

You shushed him, “You can’t blame yourself for not being perfect.”

“You don’t get it–!” No, you guessed you didn’t get it. His guilt was consuming him faster than his mind could parse, expelling stunted sentences too hard to follow. “I ran away. I watched them die and I ran away.”

Wayne discovered Chrissy. Coming home from work, expecting a blast of warm air from the space heater his nephew brought out on chilly nights, was instead greeted by a dead girl crumpled on his floor.

Jason witnessed the same horror and saved his friend’s body from becoming fish food. Swam him to shore, traumatized. Staring out over the calm waters. Holding Patrick. Babbling incoherent prayers.

Eddie withdrew his face from your neck. His exhale sent a ripple of goosebumps over the moisture running to your nape. From the corner of your barely-separated lashes, his complexion appeared sickly under the pale blue hue from the TV, tears gathering in the sunken purplish skin underneath his eyes. “If it were you..” he said, voice jumpy, and brittle. “If I knew someone watched you die and ran away.. I would never forgive them.”

He dropped his hand to the curve of your cheek, dragging his thumb in downward swipes to the corner of your mouth, touching you with undue gentleness despite the ever present shake of underlying rage.

It was the type of affection you put your livelihood on the line for. But finally experiencing it, it was overwhelming in the heat of the moment. Hearing your best friend imply an anger that churned your stomach, stirring a familiar memory of dread in you, all the while, chancing the introduction of the pad of his thumb beyond a place where friends explored.

Paused, you took a breath. His thumb followed the threshold of your bottom lip.

You remembered where you’d seen this anger before.

He wore the same expression when you stood across from him in the parking lot of Starcourt Mall on the evening you returned to Hawkins for the first time in three years.

Eddie hovered above your parted lips, compelling you to meet his unnerving gaze, and he stated evenly, with conviction, “If I knew someone watched you die and left you there, I would hate them.”

Oh, Eddie. Sweet boy. Pushed to his brink and all he could fantasize about was hating another person.

You weren’t so submissive. An undying dynamic: he was the bark, you were the bite.

Motioning to be released, he eased up on his grip over your chest, and watched you grab the corner of the bedsheet, wrap it around your fingers and hold it to him for his approval. It wasn’t a touch. There was a layer between you. It was permitted. But there was no mistaking what this actually was. Especially when he closed his eyes, and leaned into it.

You flattened your palm to cup his cheek, and matched the way his thumb moved in slow strokes starting at the apex of his sharp cheekbone to the allure of his full lips. Calming him. Patting the sheet over his distinct features, from the subtle pinch between his brows, down to spots you knew were dry, just for the luxury of immersing yourself in the warmth of his neck. To detect the expanse of his swallow hitch beneath his pulse. To learn the bliss of his damp hair cascading in stringy curls from behind his ear, gliding over your knuckles, acting as a curtain around your nearly-joined faces.

As his confession sank in, you were inspired to communicate a devotion of your own, “If someone took you away from me.. I’d do everything in my power to get you back.”

His anger vanished. Replaced by something tender.

Residing in dangerous territory, he sniffled while you finished mopping the damp fabric around your clavicle, looking down at you with strange curiosity.

“In time, you’ll forgive yourself,” you encouraged him. In an idyllic world, it was the truth, in reality, you’d traverse Hell hand-in-covered-hand with him regardless. “And whatever happens, I’ll always be there for you. I mean that. Whatever means necessary, I’ll take care of you.”

Although he regained some semblance of composure, his forehead wrinkled upon uttering another apology. “I’m sorry for yelling at you earlier about your future. You’ve done so much for me, sacrificed so much for me, and I yelled at you.”

“It’s okay, baby.”

Taking his time, he traced the outline of your body where he deemed appropriate with a touch so delicate it could be confused for the gossamer beat of a moth's wings, and grabbed above your elbow, wrinkling the oversized cotton t-shirt under his palm. He opened his mouth, and stopped. Gave you a significant squeeze first, and struggled to explain, “I-I sounded like my dad.. I didn’t like it. I didn’t mean to..”

Your neck hurt from the angle you were bent in to watch his eyes study your kind expression. He shifted, sitting up slightly above you, slotting his legs into the hollow your knees created. Trusting the curve of your shoulder with the weight of his chest, relying on you to keep him steady. Eddie acknowledged, “You do everything for me.”

“It’s been a long couple of days, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he groaned.

“We should get some sleep, don’t you think?”

“Apparently the Upside Down is stuck a few years in the past. I saw your trailer across from mine. It was weird.”

You rubbed the underside of his arm where your other hand was wedged. “I think we should sleep, handsome.” The ever-creeping exhaustion you circumvented for months came knocking, and the payment was lofty. “I’m sorry, I can’t stay awake for much longer.”

“Okay,” he whispered, nodding. There may have been a passing thought of a deeper affection developing in the prominent shadow beneath his bottom lip, but his next question was better than any delusion you could ascribe to his pout. The idea he posed was real. “Can I still hold you like this?”

The force of a thousand yeses resonated in your lungs. You strangled them with a friendly smile, resorting to a wall mannered, tempered, “Yeah.”

Arms locked over arms. A considerable embrace. Each breath joining where the small of your back fit to his stomach. Sharing the same pillow. Holding you until the last of his tears dried. Counting the minutes in the patterns he traced along your bicep, in infomercials droning beyond the bond of your two bodies rocking together, in cycles of doors slamming from the other tenants of the motel. Passing red blazes of the digital alarm clock flicking to a new hour in tranquil hums and whispered affirmations.

For you, it could’ve been seconds, you were out the instant he nuzzled himself comfortably to the modest halo of your hair. For him, he knew it was to be hours until he felt relief.

~~~

Roused from sleep, coldness had settled in the pocket of covers surrounding you. Eddie’s additional warmth was missing. You opened your eyes one at a time, squinting from the bloodshot burn. His arm laid outstretched and limp, still trapped beneath your head, palm turned up, and fingers curled towards the ceiling. The room was lit in the dull orange glow of the bathroom light, and flickering tints of a studio audience ‘oohing’ and ‘aahing’ over a knife that could cut through a tin can of peas.

Lifting your face, you were glad to remember he was wearing sleeves due to the dark spot of drool you left behind–but now you wondered, what was he wearing? The article of clothing smelled leagues better than his four day old, twice rinsed, Hellfire shirt.

Making small moans of comfort, you turned over, and in doing so, brought yourself into the crook of his body as he laid on his back. Blankets kicked halfway down the bed. Chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.

There were raised letters on the sweatshirt.

Loopy, and a bit out of it, you put your forefinger to the words and traced their lines idly. You recognized your school’s typography by the second one, but you kept going, wanting to prolong acquainting yourself with his sleek muscles. Feeling their faint contractions when he inhaled deep through his nose, and their softness when he exhaled a long sigh.

“I figured–” You jumped at his voice, and he let out a gentle laugh. “I figured you’d taken enough of my clothes, you wouldn’t mind me taking something of yours.”

Having an impressive capacity for shame, you collected your hands to yourself and peered up at him from the slope of his bicep. His puffy eyes were open to slivers, and he held a lighthearted nature around his mouth as he tucked his chin to grin at you, showing you it was okay. There was nothing to be ashamed of.

You asked, “Did I wake you?”

The smile lines framing either side of lips gave him a sort of devious characteristic–favoring the right side more than left–but his answer lacked the humor he tried to force; remorseful, almost, to disappoint you, “Haven’t been able to fall asleep.”

Your heart wrenched at that. All you wanted was to bring this man comfort.

Perhaps it was spontaneity taking over in the bizarre series of events that brought you two together again, and the mutual understanding in your body language after nearly two decades of friendship, but you listened to your impulses. Or perhaps it was the excitement sending his eyebrows a tic higher when you closed in on his face that had you acting rasher.

“What about this?” you asked. It was an innocent thing; laying your head to rest on the plane between his chest and shoulder, perfectly shaped to cradle your cheek. “Does this help?”

His answer danced across your hair, “Yeah.”

“And if I put my hand here, does that help?” Timid, you broached the newness of your arm wrapped around him, flitting your nervous fingers over the thick sweatshirt, and forming your hand to his waist on the other side. Occupying your entire reach by the boy you fell for long ago.

“Yeah, that helps..” Eddie appeared to be experiencing the same bout of bravery. “Can I put my hand here?” he asked, voice delightfully gravelly even in the absence of sleep.

His demonstration set off a chain of muscles reacting under you. Tilting your cheek up to where you could admire his jawline and chin. Shifting his arm, encompassing the width of your back, and settling his hand on your waist, between your ribs and the rise of your hip. His Adam’s apple edged another rhetorical question from his throat. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah, it’s okay.” Beyond okay.

Hesitant, he put his cheek to the top of your head, testing the position with jumpy uneven pressure before relaxing into it.

It was bliss. Perfection.

Reciprocation.

In an act of profound vulnerability, you threw your leg over his, and he responded in kind, hugging you tight; accepting the consequences of waking up like this, sound of mind, at a later date.

Except.. ‘hugging’ was underemphaiszing the ardency at which he clung to you.

When you lowered your bare leg between his–alighting your every nerve with the tingly sensation of his wispy hair gliding across your smooth skin–he countered in more ways than just turning out his knee to better accommodate your inner thigh. Eddie reveled in the cuddle.

The moment he realized why the covers were rustling, he rolled his lips inward, and made a split decision. He clasped the underside of your arm lounging across his belly and pulled you into him. Rocking you, just the once, into his frame, and constricting his possessive grip on your waist tenfold, ensuring you could not roll away. Allowing you–if not, forcing you–to drape your body over his.

It was as if you were designed to be part of him.

You nestled into all the nooks he created. He ground his cheek into the top of your head with confidence.

Your oversized shirt rode up to immodest levels, but even with your thighs spread and his hip wedged between them, those sorts of indecent thoughts did not cross your mind. This was about you and him, and taking solace in your best friend. Helping each other through a difficult time. You held him, and he held you. He held you until his strength ebbed, and his muscles twitched, and his breathing slowed, and his soft groans increased.

Eddie was a vocal sleeper.

The first moan caught you off guard, humming into your hair. Exhaling a sigh across your scalp. Moving his lips in a murmur on your forehead like a sequence of chaste kisses. His mouth opened and closed in silent conversation, and his scratchy stubble from being unable to shave for days grazed you. You loved knowing these things about him. Less enthused to discover if he was a drooler, but you were willing to suffer finding out first hand.

A new infomercial started, blaring its upbeat tune, and your eyes grew heavy listening to Eddie’s sleep sounds. Another groan from his chest where you had your ear pressed. Deeper, more frequent moans. Harder huffs, swallows, rolls of his tongue. You were drifting asleep when he was jolted awake by his own sudden snore.

You couldn’t help it. You craned to look up at him, and laughed.

Stirring, he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sorry. Can’t really sleep on my back because–yeah–snoring. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you giggled. “Was cute.”

“S’not a compliment when you find everything I do cute, sweetheart,” he grumbled, taking his arm back, and turning over, pulling away enough that your hand hung in the air between your bodies and your leg hit the lonesome sheet.

The shared night of weakness could’ve ended there, in the great expanse of his existence separating from you, you could’ve coped with that.. But it was Eddie who gave you a sign as old as time: he reached under his neck, gathered his frizzy waves, and swept them to his side of the pillow.

You spooned him gladly. Warming the front of your thighs with the back of his, sealing your hips together, brushing your hand over his soft stomach, and nosing into his shoulder blades.

He lazed into you. Placed his naked hand over yours and brought it to the middle of his chest, spreading your fingers to his sternum, and letting go. He whispered into the artificially bright, restless dead of night, “Thank you.. for everything.”

“Told you, Eddie,” you dragged your lips over the sweatshirt stretched across his back, “I’d do anything for you.”

~~~

When Eddie awoke next, he was met with a confusing array of sensations upon rolling over in the motel bed alone. A sight for sore eyes, included.

“Well, good mornin’, handsome.”

Blazing morning sun penetrated the seam of the curtains next to the door, outlining you in a hellacious glow. You stood with one foot resting in the chair behind you, looking down at the table as you poured water into a bowl and stirred with a fork, beating on the sides, sending a puff of powdery dust into the narrow sunbeams. The air was humid and smelled of cooked sugar. Your silhouette clung to the baggy t-shirt you wore, and he knew he shouldn’t stare–morally because you were his friend, but also immorally because he was only wearing boxers beneath the bundle of bedding he collected to his lap. You were impossible to look away from. Domestic and ethereal. A true fantasy he longed for. An intoxicating comfort. Eating cold pizza with one hand, pouring the contents of the bowl into a hot skillet with the other, and grabbing a spatula. Ensuring his needs were met before your own. Affording him rest beyond relaxation.

If your lives were different, would this be a normalcy he could attain? Would he be able to do the same for you?

“You’re a heavy sleeper, you know that? Probably all the loud music you listen to. I couldn’t wake you for shit. But hey, you got plenty of beauty sleep, and it shows.”

You hit him with a radiant smile and he swore his heart stopped. It most definitely didn’t on account of the blood rushing to his cheeks, but he swore it did.

He found his slumber-drunk raspy voice, and asked while sitting up, “What’re you doing?”

“Makin’ us breakf’st,” you replied with a lighthearted crease between your brows and tilted grin. Swallowing, you held up the stiff slice of pizza. “Got hungry waiting for you. Y’know, it’s something I noticed a while back. When I’m in town, I always get the best sleep, and it’s like I remember how fucking hungry and thirsty I am.”

“Gee, I wonder if it’s because you suck at taking care of yourself unless I’m there to remind you.”

You flipped the pancake. Scrape. Splat. Sizzle. “You’re the one who said you’d have breakfast made for me in the morning,” you lilted. He recalled the particular phone conversation and pulled a childish sneer to cover the pang of hurt. He wanted to provide for you like a proper man, but.. now he couldn’t, and it was another painful reminder he may never get the chance to. “Looks like I’m still the one taking care of you, Munson. Gotta pick it up on your end of the deal. Do you still like your eggs scrambled?”

Ouch. Eddie didn’t know what to make of the banter. Back to your usual dynamic? Going to pretend last night didn’t happen? He guessed so, with how hard you refused to make eye contact unless it was fueled by a snarky comeback.

“Over easy, actually,” he corrected you in a gentle tone. You plopped the last pancake on top of the stack, and pried open the cardboard egg carton, cracking a few into the skillet. “So.. You really prepared to be here for a while, huh?”

You gave him a sly glance, and turned off the hotplate. “Don’t tell my RA I had this in my dorm.. Or my roommate that I stole it from her.” Closing the carton, you walked over to the mini fridge to put it away. Which was, of course, next to the chest of drawers, in perfect view of him when you bent over.

Jesus Christ.

He placed his pillow in his lap and made due with the wood headboard supporting his sore back. Oh, how he missed being as mentally exhausted as he was last night, having no libido to speak of, too numbed to speculate if you were wearing shorts, or, much less, underwear.

Definitely no to the shorts. Maybe to the panties. Probably not to the bra.

Goddamn he was a fucking pervert.

To keep himself busy, he grabbed the glass of water you left for him on the nightstand and gulped down the pain relievers beside it.

“Here,” you said, handing him his plate of food. Awkwardly, he accepted it without looking at you, and set it on top of the pillow, focusing his attention on the game show playing on TV. Totally not on your clumsy way of climbing into bed with him. “Oh, great idea!” You copied him by putting your pillow in your lap with your plate, treating it like a romantic breakfast-in-bed tray, and began eating.

Please, God have mercy and take him now before he resurrected a shrine dedicated to the strip of skin your bunched shirt revealed at the crease of your hip and thigh.

Steering his mind to a different subject, Eddie voiced a question he’d been speculating on for months, “Don’t waitresses make shit money? How do you afford to send me so much with your loans and stuff?”

“Maybe I took your advice and started stripping.”

The over easy egg flopped off his fork.

“Eddie, I’m kidding.” He snapped his mouth shut. “But, maybe..” you continued, rocking your head back and forth, “Maybe the diner allows us to pick between a blouse and pants for a uniform, or a dress, and I chose the dress. And maybe I hemmed it a few inches shorter. And maybe from Friday through Sunday all the rich assholes at school like to come in after a night of drinking, and maybe they like it when I drop something in front of their table, or reach for a straw across the bartop, or wear their favorite color.” Flicking your gaze to your disorganized suitcase with the nice lingerie piled between old thrifted tees and hand-me-down jeans from other girls on the gymnastics team, he followed the implication.

Taking forever to cut a triangle into the pancake you were eating, you asked, “Do you think less of me?”

“No, no, it’s..” Hot. Sexy. Drives me fucking wild, babe. “Honorable in my books. Whatever earns you money, sweetheart. I mean, I sell drugs, so..” He raised his shoulders while buzzing his lips. “I’m not exactly the best judge of character here.”

You laughed it off with him. “Yeah, dunno why I was scared to tell you.”

“Never in a million years would I think badly about you..” he trailed off, shaking his head absentmindedly at the TV, using his knuckle to wipe a string of syrup from his chin and sucking the sweet substance off his finger. “Not you. Not after everything you’ve done for me.”

He could tell you were searching his face, but he wasn’t ready to confront you yet.

“You say that like you don’t do the same for me.. Eddie, do you really think you don’t do the same for me?” Your voice was small in comparison to the studio audience screaming to be picked for The Price Is Right.

“Inadequate would be the better way to put it,” he said, slipping into a lower resonance. “Pretty obvious I’m not graduating high school. Never had a real job. Not going anywhere at this point in my life, except for jail.” Almost a repeat of his speech when you dropped him off at his trailer so many months ago, hanging onto the same insecurities. “Can’t do all the things I said I’d do for you.”

The loud ting of your fork clattering on your roommate’s chipped ceramic plate rang in his ears. “Yeah, well, neither of us are following our five-year plan, so, suck it up.” Ignoring his glare, you leaned into his arm, and looked him dead in the eyes as you delivered an endearment straight to his heart, “I’m sorry you’ve ever been made to feel like you’re not good enough, because the sheer fact you think me playing DND with you wasn’t the highlight of my life upsets me more than you know.”

Caught off guard under your precious gaze, he faltered, “You liked playing with us?”

“No greater joy on Earth than watching you work your magic on something you're passionate about.” Feeling silly, you tapped your forehead on his shoulder, and sat up to finish your breakfast. “Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely love listening to you play with your band, but that’s all I can do. Listen. With DND, I actually get to participate in the story you created. Something you sank so much time into researching, planning, and writing.. Plus, I’d be lying if I didn’t admit embarrassing you in front of the guys brings me immense amounts of pleasure.”

“Figures,” he muttered around the pancake mush in his mouth.

“Do you think they’ll let us play in Visitation when I come see you in jail?” He stared vacantly at you through his disheveled hair. You explained, “Dungeons and Dragons. Do you think they’ll let us–?”

“You’d be in jail too, you know that, right?” He pointed to himself. “Fugitive.”

“Oh. Right.”

Bounce by bounce, you nodded at each other. Dipping your heads in unison again and again. Eyebrows on the rise. Lips wrested together. You’d swear on your grave he broke first, and he’d swear on his coffin you cracked before he did. Regardless, he snorted, and you released the worst, most witchy cackle, which only made you laugh harder.

Holding his tongue between his teeth, Eddie slouched against the headboard and rolled his head to the side, watching your face scrunch with giggles. Basking in your light. Knowing he granted you this brief happiness. Enamored with the person he would go through great lengths to protect, no matter the cost.

It felt so good to pretend things were normal again, in whatever capacity that meant.

You drank in his appearance. “Why’re you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Dunno,” you offered lamely. “Like.. I dunno. Like you’re way too happy to be holed up in a motel with me, hiding from the Law.”

Smitten. That’s what his expression was, smitten. And he became all too aware you were catching on–catching onto his feelings, cocking your head the longer he went silent, losing the humor on your lips. Suspicious. Peering at him.

Rearranging his face to something neutral, he smothered his inner self from surfacing. “Just like making you laugh, is all.”

“How sweet.” You pinched his arm through the sweatshirt. “Did you want coffee? They have some in the front office. I’ll go get it for you.” You took his empty plate and set it on the table with yours, leaving the chore of washing them for later.

“Coffee sounds good.”

Eddie waited until you were past the mirror to pry his eyes from his dry cuticles, taking a severe interest in what you were grabbing from your suitcase. He sucked in his cheek and chewed it as you chose an outfit, along with a set of burgundy underwear, holding the bra up by the strap in full view of him. And he paid far too much attention to you coming out of the bathroom a few minutes later and tossing your white t-shirt–by itself–in the corner, thus solving his quandary on whether you were wearing anything under it.

“Shoot,” you exhaled, plucking a skinny package out of your suitcase and showing it to him. “I bought you a toothbrush, and forgot to set it out for you. My bad.”

Blinking a few times, the information weaved its way into his brain receptors. He dropped his gaze to the toothbrush, and lingered on it, contemplating his actions last night. “Thanks,” he said, taking his secret to the grave.

“I’ll just put it next to mine.”

“Yep.”

“Be right back with your coffee.”

“Yep.”

You shut the door behind you and he was off to the races.

The matching sweatpants to your sweatshirt splayed obvious in the mess he created when looking for clothes to wear. But as he felt them, he realized the material was too thin. He needed something.. much thicker to aid in keeping him modest. He needed his normal jeans. Even if they were disgusting.

Stepping foot in the bathroom, he looked around, baffled. His clothes weren’t on the floor where he expected them to be. Rags stained with black goop sat in piles. Dirty water splotches dried on every surface. On the countertop were his accessories resting in perfect lines on a towel. Shiny rings, his guitar pick necklace, pants chain, bracelet. He didn’t remember taking them off, but they were there, and they were scrubbed to a polish.

Everything else hung over the shower curtain rod. Washed with bar soap to the best of your ability and dried using the hair dryer dangling from its cord plugged in by the light switch.

His jeans were stiff, stretching over his thighs. He worked his boxers down the legs, and adjusted himself quickly. Button, zipper, next. He grabbed the back collar of the sweatshirt and pulled it over his head, grimacing at the crackling static causing his hair to stand on end.

The Hellfire Club logo stood bright against the dingy white background. His socks, however, fared a worse fate. The fact you even tried to wash them made you a Saint in his eyes.

He dressed himself and looked in the mirror.

A few of the cuts around his neck had begun to heal. Less swollen and red now. Face still puffy–his eyes more so. Probably should’ve shaved before he got into this mess. His mustache was coming in faster than anything else.

Eddie was a different man than he was last week, but he felt normal again. Clean, donning his usual Friday outfit like he belonged in it; not like a costume.

Smoothing his hair down and giving his bangs that perfect messy aesthetic, he brushed his teeth–with his own toothbrush–and turned off the light right as you came back.

“Hey, handsome,” you called out to him casually, placing your thermos on the table. “Didn’t know how much sugar you wanted, so I grabbed a handful. Oh–!” You turned around, seeing him for the first time wandering out of the bathroom. His steps were shy. Clumsy. Cradling his fingers and digging his thumbnail into the joint where his black ring would reside if he were wearing it. Embarrassed to be the subject of your avid grin. “Handsome, indeed.” When his reservation grew awkward, you made finger guns at the table. “Your coffee.”

“You didn’t have to go through the trouble of washing my clothes for me.”

“How many times do I have to tell you I'd do anything for you until you believe me?”

“Yeah, but you woke up early to–”

“Shush,” you dismissed him. “I’m probably going back to sleep anyway. Didn’t really think to bring a deck of cards, or any board games, so unless you want me to recite The Hobbit to you, I’m just gonna watch TV.” Taking off your shoes, you climbed into bed, and snuggled under the covers. Not so discreetly towards the middle of the mattress.

Eddie mumbled a few things to himself–you heard the whistle of his ‘s’s fly past his teeth–and he joined you. Closer to the middle than on his side. Sipping his coffee. Staring holes into the TV. Program after program. Gameshow after talkshow after soap opera. Inching closer, and closer beside you. Submerging into the familiar domain of your body. Plummeting, depending on you.

Sinking.

Drowning.

Swimming.

Able to breathe.

Coffee forgotten. Only your embrace.

————

“Aw, they look so cute,” he mocked.

“Do we have to wake them?” she begged him not to.

Steve removed his hands from his hips and kicked the side of the mattress. “Get up, lovebirds.” Robin gave him a scathing look.

You were the first to frown at their sudden appearance. Screwing your face up with a groan after being disturbed from your precious sleep. Then, you struggled to find the reason why you couldn’t move your head, or the source of the brunette veil stuck to your lashes, invading your mouth on the inhale.

You sputtered. “Eddie, Goddamnit.”

All his nudging in the right direction must’ve worked. Steve watched the scene unfold with sincere affection in spite of his pain. His airy grunt met resistance from the doctored wound on his stomach when you realized your hand was clasped around Eddie’s bicep. His trembling fingers calmed seeing you touch his friend with such gentleness. His racing heart slowed when you shook Eddie’s chest, repeated his name, and he awoke; and his first instinct was to gaze down at you from his slouched position against the pillows as if no one else in the room existed.

The blood splitting Steve’s chapped lips was nothing to consider when his friend’s mouth twitched from nerves into a sheepish grin, and he whispered a lighthearted apology for falling asleep on the girl of his dreams.

Eddie rubbed at the pink spot he earned on his cheek from resting atop your head. “Sorry, didn’t mean to.. Why’d you wake me, sweetheart?” Too enraptured by your proximity, he was oblivious to his surroundings.

“Have an eventful night?” Robin cut in.

Steve opted for more tact, “If you two are decent under there, we can get down to business once the others get here.”

Bristling at the presumption, Eddie recovered from his surprise and sat up. “It’s not what it looks like.”

You were less vocal. Swinging your legs over the side of the bed and shoving your feet into your shoes, cleaning up the chairs for people to sit in later. Hunched with your back facing them, hiding in your task, only interrupting your dispirited efforts when Robin volunteered to help.

Steve, on the other hand, furrowed his eyebrows in a perplexed knot, a bit taken back by his serious–adamant–drop it tone. What was with him when it came to you?

He followed Eddie into the doorway of the bathroom.

“So, uh..” He shrugged his crossed arms. “Not what it looks like, huh?”

“Curiosity piqued, or do you have a habit of butting into other people’s affairs?” Eddie asked without emotion, sliding his rings on unhurriedly. The buzz of the fluorescent lights persisted. The faucet dripped. The hair dryer swayed on its cord. Sensing Steve was not satisfied by his remark, he lifted his gaze to the mirror, and when their eyes met, he crumbled under the pressure of his well intentions.

Regarding the shadows moving along the furthest wall, Eddie jerked his head for Steve to enter and close the door behind him, shutting out the two voices exchanging excited gasps over who-knows-what.

In private, Eddie was substantially more honest and divulging.

“Man to man,” Steve implored in an exhausted sigh.

“Nothing happened.” Eddie struggled to align the snaps on his bracelet, and Steve, without a moment of hesitation, stepped forward and did the clasp for him. “We’re just friends.”

Keeping his voice down, he imparted wisdom, “That’s not how you look at a friend when you wake up next to them, dude.”

“It’s just.. different between us. For the longest time, all we had to rely on was each other, not whatever shit excuses for parents we had. Then she left me for a better life, and now that she’s immolating everything she worked for to be here, I don’t want to make things worse. If you haven’t noticed, bad luck seems to follow me lately. Like a damned Wraith.” Eddie fed his belt through the loops on his jeans, spacing out, staring at nothing as he waded through the scenarios in his head. “I can’t do that to her.”

Though Steve was listening, he couldn’t help but notice Eddie’s habit of wringing his bicep where you were holding him before, savoring the imprint of warmth your hand left behind.

“I think you should tell her.”

“And then what?” Eddie’s hair flared about him as he untucked it from the collar of his leather jacket. “She knows, and then what? I imagine you didn’t magically come up with a fool-proof plan overnight where we defeat Vecna and exonerate my name and we all go back to living our lives without repercussions. I’m done for regardless of what happens here, man. She doesn’t deserve that. It’s better this way. For her.”

Steve reached behind him and turned the knob, cracking open the door and letting your voice flood in from across the room. He said, “Just consider it,” with a small smile and matured kindness in his eyes.

Eddie finished putting on his Reeboks, and walked past the window, spotting Nancy and the kids making their way through the woods in the early afternoon sun.

“Oh, yeah,” Robin added to Eddie, “We took care of your van before coming here, so if we’re a little frazzled, that’s why.” She swung her arms, clapping her fist into her hand. “You ever been in a police chase before? I haven’t until a few hours ago and boy! Was it somethin’.”

“Actually, we have.” Eddie shrugged.

You were quick to douse their bewildered looks. “Well, I wouldn’t call it a chase. More like a crawl. We didn’t hear the sirens because we were playing music too loud.”

“And we were a little high, and thought the lights were pretty, so we didn’t stop.”

“The hell is wrong with you two,” Steve used his ‘disappointed parent’ voice, then softened to whisper for a certain someone to hear as he was passing by, “You two were made for each other.”

Sitting on the appropriate sides of the bed an appropriate distance apart, you and Eddie turned your attention to the opening window, and influx of bodies in the small room.

Nancy threw you the car keys, and as a group, they shared the vague details of the plan they’d come up with while the kids scoured the room for treats, guzzling down a pack of soda and scarfing three entire boxes of Honey Buns to themselves.

You heard their need for a bigger car, their groans for real weapons, and you observed Eddie’s distress when they mentioned going back into the Upside Down, clenching the duvet to his fist.

“Weapons?” he ruminated, deep in thought.

“Guns and stuff,” Nancy said. “Supplies.”

Having the same revelation at the same time, you and Eddie turned to each other, got a little too excited you were on the same page, and both checked your nightstands.

“Bible,” you called out, slamming the drawer closed.

“Yellowpages.” Eddie held up the thick phonebook and flopped it on the bed, thumbing to the ‘W’ section. The rest of the group flocked to him for insight, but your focus was on the thin page trembling in his grip. How he smashed his finger to the advertisement to disguise the shake overtaking his body. His near-constant stammer to his jittery words rising on anxious warbles.

You remained quiet in the wake of dread settling in your stomach.

It didn’t take long for everyone to view Eddie in a new light. Redeemed from a problem child in need of rescuing, to a leader as he used his curious set of skills to rectify their issues one by one. “The trailer park isn’t far from here. If we go through the woods, I can score us a vehicle.”

“I’m starting to learn these woods better than my own house,” Steve muttered.

Max peeled one headphone back, and filled her lungs with a steady breath as she seldom made eye contact with those around her. “So.. We’re splitting into groups, then? I’ll lure out Vecna at the Creel’s house, while you guys go into the Upside Down. Distract the bats, kill Vecna’s body. Whatever.” Treating it as some Sunday afternoon, she raised her shoulder like what she uttered wasn’t a big deal, and made to leave through the window with Lucas in tow, who was trying to convince her to be reasonable.

She was having none of it, and dropped the curtain on his face instead of holding it back for him.

“Well, I guess that’s that,” Steve said pointlessly. He waved his arms at the other kids to follow suit, escorting them like a mother duck into a line. Hanging behind until it was him securing the window pane up for Robin.

You made it all the way to the end of the bed with the intent to follow them before you were blocked.

“Ed?” Your tone had a shade of warning to it. He may not have said anything yet, but you knew what was coming. The evidence etched itself in his wide eyes, in his rigid stance, in his tendons flexing in his throat as his strategic mind struggled to conjure a compelling argument against you coming along.

“You should stay here with the car. Wait by the phone, just in case something goes wrong, or we need something you can get.”

In for the kill, you asked bluntly, “And after Warzone? Hm, Eddie?” You took a step closer to him and sank into your hip, tilting your head to the side, putting him under the scrutiny of your gaze just to watch him squirm. “What team am I on in the Upside Down?”

Robin, thinking quickly, tried to assuage his fears. “She can be a decoy with you and Dustin, she doesn’t have to go with us to Vecna.”

Eddie had a response readied on his tongue, and you invalidated it immediately.

“I seem to recall you saying I’d be a lot of help down there, so why not let me go?”

Seconds passed in the flutter of his lashes, in rapid beats of his heart pounding a visible pulse under his thin shirt, in a different emotion caving in on him. He spoke louder as redness spread to his cheeks, “Can you guys give us a minute?”

Steve grunted a short response and nodded at Robin to leave. He closed the window behind them, crunching leaves and twigs as they walked away.

His nose started running the second water stung your eyes.

You knew what this was as well as he did.

“What the hell, Eddie?” you huffed in disbelief. “You said–”

“I know you don’t care what I want, but I want you to go to Nationals tomorrow and compete.”

“Fucking Christ.” You wouldn’t let them spill. You wouldn’t cry. Even as water fell from behind his hands obscuring his face, and as he stifled a pitiful whimper between his clenched teeth, and as he had the balls to refuse your help; you didn’t show weakness. You couldn’t. Not in front of him. You were the strong one.

Curbing your anger, you rationalized, “I can be of more help in the Upside Down, you know that. I already gave up on–on–on whatever was keeping me away from you. I’m here now, and I want to go with you–”

“No..” He shook his head slowly, sways of rejection side to side. The moment he dropped his hands would haunt you for an eternity. Engraved on the back of your eyelids as you both had to look away, not wanting to see the other in this heartbreaking state. “Y-You can sal-sal–” He choked on the words. Gathered himself. “You can still leave tonight and make it in time. Salvage what you can.”

A fucking nightmare blindsiding you from out of nowhere.

On the verge of losing it, you tightened your lips in several frowns as you worked through the initial reactions in your head. Sorting them. Compartmentalizing them. Jumping your eyebrows at the audacity of his ask. Almost snorting in a humorless effort to find a nanosecond of comfort at the situation.

You dropped everything to be here, and much like the other ghosts residing in your head, he didn’t appreciate the burdens you accepted for the sake of his happiness. His safety. Worked yourself to the brink of sanity for fucking nothing.

Unappreciated. Yeah, that was the perfect word for your life. Over and over again. You went undervalued as a person. Neglected. Thanked in words only. Not touch.

Breadwinner. Champion. Best friend. Fucking idiot.

Remembering his resolution from New Years, you threw it back at him in a renewed sense of calmness, dragging your thumb rhythmically over the outer seam of your jeans to soothe your temper, “Some forever this is.”

“Please,” he begged you not to bring up the past. Wrenching his eyes closed, he confronted you in darkness, “You can’t follow me. Not where I’m going.”

You were about to say some other smart ass remark when he sucked in a breath. Stilled his twitchy fingers. Swallowed, and opened his eyes, releasing the dam of sorrows to flow down his splotchy cheeks. His fringe stuck to the beads of sweat on his pale forehead. He shivered. Had been shivering.

The fear–the truth–grieved in the vast separation of your bodies as you both stood there, staring at each other.

Eddie mourned for you, “You can’t have my future. I won’t let you.”

You cried. He collapsed into himself, sobbing. You cried harder. He asked for forgiveness. You cried more and he didn’t do anything. He remained rooted where he was, drying his face, unable to hold you. “I want it. I want your future. Eddie. I want it.”

He shook his head.

“I’m sorry.”

And he turned away.

“I’ll be okay. I promise.”

And he drew back the curtains.

“Just decoys. I’ll be waiting here when you get back. O-Okay, sweetheart? I’ll be here.”

And he left, shutting the window behind him.

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