#Mike wants to sleep and gloom

[chloesimaginationthings]

Mike VS Vanessa in the FNAF movie

#myart #chloesimagination #doodles #mike schmidt #vanessa fnaf #vanessa afton #fnaf foxy #golden freddy #fnaf #fnaf movie #fnaf fanart #five nights at freddy's #they both dealing with their issues in different ways #Mike wants to sleep and gloom #while Vanessa wants to party #I love them both the besties ever

[jadeylovesmarvelxo]

You and Eddie get into an argument about the girl he's giving guitar lessons too. Angst, misunderstandings and bad communication ensues.

Warnings. Mdni. 18+ only, angst. Miscommunication and misunderstandings. Idiots in love. Jealousy.

💞

You and Eddie had been together for a few months and up until this point you had never had a cross word.

He had been giving some girl guitar lessons, her name was Britney and she was gorgeous, amazingly cool and hilarious.

Tonight you had walked in on them laughing together and looking all cosy. Something in you kinda broke inside, it was ridiculous because you knew Eddie would never cheat, but you still felt your stomach bottom out.

Hearing Eddie gush about Britney and how metal she was and was like a rockstar on the guitar didn't help either.

You weren't proud of it but you were quiet and a little less warmer than you'd usually be and when Britney made excuses to leave, you were left wracked with guilt.

Eddie had rounded on you asking ''Why were you being such a bitch?" and that had made you even more pissed and the argument ensued.

"I'm sorry that walking in on my boyfriend looking so fucking cosy with someone else put me in a bad mood" you bite back at him and Eddie's big brown eyes darken in rage.

"You're being fucking ridiculous right now you know that?" it hurt hearing Eddie say that and you lashed out without thinking about what you were saying.

"Oh so I'm ridiculous because I hate seeing some girl make gooey eyes at my boyfriend, I'm such a bad girlfriend for being a little bit wary" Eddie shakes his head and the temperature in the room turns colder.

"Or it's obvious that you don't fucking trust me. So if you don't trust me then what's the fucking point?" your breath hitches and there's a deep pit of gloom and dread, in your stomach.

"Are you breaking up with me?" you whimper and want to take back everything you said, tell him that of course you trust him but you're so stunned, your heart is breaking.

Without another word you storm out before Eddie can confirm your worst fears.

❤️

Instead of going home you go straight to Nancy's who immediately digs out some ice cream and let's you cry out all the heartache, you both stay up most of the night but end up crashing around 5am.

Nancy is ready up and getting ready for school, you have the worst headache and just want to sleep a little longer so she leaves you to sleep, brings you up some pancakes and freshly squeezed orange juice that Mrs Wheeler kindly made up for you.

In return you help her around the house, trying anything to take your mind of your heartache about Eddie.

When Nancy comes back home she gently explains that Eddie has been calling you and is worried that you haven't answered.

"I think you need to listen to what he has to say honey, he looks a wreck, I think he's driving Mike and the rest of the kids here after Hellfire so if you want to wait"

Nervously you nod and try to calm your anxious mind that Eddie is going to break up with you for good.

By the time that you hear Eddie's van and he's parked outside, you're on tenterhooks. Eddie looks like he's barely slept, his hair is messier than usual and he has the saddest look in his beautiful brown eyes.

That look makes you want to burst into tears there and then. You hate that you're the cause.

"Sweetheart, I'm so sorry, his voice is rougher than normal, his hands are shaking and you reach out to steady them.

"I'm sorry too Eddie. I was a bitch and rude and of course I trust you, I trust you with my life and I hate that I made you think otherwise" his eyes fill with pain and he swallows.

"I shouldn't have called you a bitch. I've been a mess since you left and I was worried as shit when you weren't answering your phone, Mike told me you stayed here last night with Nance so I knew I would come here as soon as I could"

The tension slowly begins to leave your body and you feel soothed as Eddie pulls you in his arms

"Also Britney has just started dating Gareth, she was learning guitar to impress him and I was teaching her how to play his favourite song."

Fuck. "I'm so sorry Eddie" he softens and kisses your forehead.

"Even if she was interested I don't care. I'm not interested in her. How could you think I'd want her or anyone when I already have the most amazing, beautiful princess"

A warm fluttery feeling pools in your belly and you cuddle into Eddie and peer at him sadly.

"I just got insecure when you talked about how badass Britney was on the guitar and how metal she was" Eddie strokes your cheek and you melt into his touch.

"I'm sorry sweetheart. I didn't realise that was bothering you. Honestly yeah she's metal and pretty badass at the guitar but she's not you. She's not the one I'm head over heels in love with. You are"

"Oh" well shit, you'd definitely fucked up and misread everything. This is the first time Eddie has said I love you. It's a big deal for him, you know that and it is for you too.

"I'd never cheat on you or hurt you princess, I'm so in love with you" Tears roll down your cheeks and you kiss him fiercely.

"I love you too Eddie, I should have tried better at communicating with you" You sigh and cuddle into him, feeling calmer than you have in days.

"We both should learn to communicate better" he corrects you and you nod. It feels like a weight has been lifted of you.

"I really should apologise to Britney too" he hums in agreement.

"She thinks your really cool by the way and she put up with me constantly gushing about you"

Shit. Yeah you definitely have to apologise. In fact you make that your next mission first thing on Monday morning.

For now you were just going to bask in Eddie's love for a little while.

Britney as it turns out is a total sweetheart about the whole thing when you speak to her first thing on Monday and excitedly tells you about her dates with Gareth and how she played him the song Eddie taught her.

Not only do you gain the start of a friendship with Britney but you and Eddie are more in love than ever.

🫶

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson angst #angst to fluff #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson

[catierambles]

Alternate Instincts Ch.12

Pairing: The Rogue’s Gallery (Geralt, Syverson, Mike, August Walker, Walter Marshall) x Stephanie Daniels (OFC)

WC: 1109

Warnings: smut

The next morning, she approached Sy's room door, a mug of coffee in her hand. Easing it open, she peered through the gloom until she saw him still sprawled in bed on his back, his sheets to his hips with an arm over his eyes. Given how low his sheets were, she pretty much guessed he liked to sleep in the nude.

“Sy?” She asked and he hummed at her, but didn't otherwise respond. “I brought you coffee.” He just hummed again and she went to the bed, setting the mug down on the bedside table and sitting down sideways, the mattress dipping under her weight. “I made pancakes and there's still a bunch left, but the way Walter was digging into them, I'd hurry up if you wanted any.”

“M'good.” He mumbled and rubbing at his face and beard as his arm dropped from his eyes, blinking heavily with sigh.

“You'd think a former Army Captain would be a morning person.”

“I was a mornin' person when I was in the Army because I didn't have a choice.” He said, “Now I got one.”

“Fair enough.” She said with a soft chuckle.

“Mikey already up?” Sy asked, “I usually gotta pull him out bed by his ankle or else the boy will sleep all day.”

“I got him up by ripping the blankets off him.” She said and he snorted, his eyes closed.

“That'll do it.” He said and she leaned over, laying her head on his chest.

“You're handsome.” She said and he chuckled.

“Thank you.”

“I mean, really handsome. Like, goddamn so handsome.” She said and he chuckled again, his hand laying on her hair. “I like your nose.”

“My nose?”

“You have a very nice nose.” She said, “It's strong, but in a good way, not in the way that people usually use the term to describe someone and they're trying to be polite.”

“Well, I'm glad you like my nose.” He said with a smile, “I like your...everythin'.”

“You're only saying that because I'm your Mate.”

“Babe, if I didn't, you wouldn't be my Mate.” Sy said, “It ain't just my wolf whose attention you grabbed. I hadta take notice too. You bein' my Mate was just the cherry on top. Like I told you, it's always gonna be you." Shifting up slightly, she kissed him, feeling his hand cradle the back of her head. “You taste like pancakes.” He pulled her back when she tried to pull away, taking her lips in a kiss of his own and her hand laid on his chest, nails moving through the layer of hair covering his skin. The feeling of fur made her shiver and she slid her hand down to his stomach, his breath catching as he broke the kiss. “Close the door.” He let her get up and she went over to the door, closing it and heading back to the bed, his eyes on her as she pulled her shirt over her head and pushed her shorts down her legs, stepping out of them.

Sitting on the bed again, her hand slid under the sheet, her fingers wrapping around him and starting to stroke slowly. He quickly grew hard, filling her palm and he shuddered, his head falling back against the pillows.

“You're so big.” She whispered, moving up to press her lips to his neck and he swallowed heavily, his hips twitching up into her hand.

“Fuck, baby, you don't know what you do to me.”

“I can guess.” She said and nipped at his skin with her teeth, squeezing him gently and driving a gasp from his lips.

“Need you.” He said, “Fuck I need you.” He pulled her up into a kiss, wrapping his hands around her waist and turning them over so he was above her. “I need my Mate.”

“Yes Sy.” She sighed as his fingers delved between her legs, two pushing inside her and starting to pump lazily as his thumb worked at her clit.

“So warm, baby, so soft.” He whispered, his lips moving over her neck, “Gettin' so wet for me.” Her body responded to him so easily, so quickly, just like it did with the others, far quicker than any man she's been with before she met them. She didn't know if it was because they were all sinfully good looking, or if it was because they were her Mates, but right now, as Sy aligned himself, she didn't care.

“Fuck!” She gasped as he started pushing into her and he paused.

“M'I hurtin' ya?”

“No!” She said, “It feels good, it feels so good.” He resumed easing into her, a groan shaking his chest as she took him. His soft grunts against her neck as he moved made her cling to him, her legs wrapped around his waist.

“Fuck, Steph.” He growled and she heard fabric tear but paid it no mind. Gathering her in his arms, he rolled them so she was above him and she sat up on his hips, moving against him as he rocked up into her. His nails were sharp claws as she entwined their fingers, pushing against him as she rode him. She didn't even hear the door, didn't even know someone had come into the room until gentle fingers turned her jaw, soft lips taking hers in a kiss.

“He taking care of you, love?” Walter asked and she nodded.

“Join in or fuck off.” Sy growled and there was a pause before Walter gave a snort, pulling off his clothes and kneeling on the bed behind her, Sy making room for him.

“Lean back.” He whispered in her ear and she leaned back against his chest. Her eyes closed as she felt his fingers between her legs, circling her clit as Sy continued to move inside her.

“Almost—almost—” She came with a cry, pushing down flush against him as she pulsed around him.

“Fuck!” He exclaimed, taking his hands from hers to hold her hips, pumping up into her a few more times before he released with a snarl. “Shit.” He said breathing heavily, his hands running up and down her thighs. “You never heard of knockin'?”

“I did.” Walter said with a snort, “A few times.”

“She's fuckin' perfect, Walt.” He said, relaxing against the bed and her hands smoothed over his sides.

“I hope you can go again, love.” Walter said against her ear, his hands sliding over her stomach. “Because now it's my turn.”

“You guys are going to kill me.” She said, “Death by orgasm.” They both just gave low chuckles, the promise in the sounds making her lower stomach clench.

#henry cavill #captain syverson #walter marshall #august walker #hellraiser mike #geralt of rivia #alternate instincts

[butternuggets-blog]

Prompt: Teenagers scare the living shit out of me

For @adarafaelbarba 's "The Show Must Go On" song lyrics prompt list, and @leftenantjopson 😊

SAS Rogue Heroes Highschool AU

'He's quiet in his room' Mr Sadler looked up at the ceiling and sipped his cup of tea.

His wife looked up from her sausage roll and smiled. 'He was down at the post office earlier, picking up packages. He's ordered such a lot of stuff, I shouldn't wonder he'll be unpacking for while.'

'And there's his drill' Mr Sadler frowned thoughtfully at the high-pitched whine. 'What is that boy building up there?'

Mrs Sadler shrugged. 'Heaven knows.'

Noises continued to happen for the rest of the day, pausing only when Mike came down for dinner. He had black dusting his fingertips - 'Wash your hands please, dear' - and a paint streaked on one pant leg, but his parents didn't push him for answers.

'Could I go camping in the woods next week please?'

'I thought your friends were all scattering for the summer holidays?' Mrs Sadler raised an eyebrow.

Mike nodded. 'They are.'

'Well, please be careful dear, and do let us know when you are leaving. Oh, and remember to keep your mobile phone charged!'

'Of course, Mum.'

Mr Sadler waited until his wife had gone into the kitchen for a second helping of desert and leaned across the table towards his son.

'Is all that-' he jerked his chin up towards the ceiling, '- for the trip?'

Mike nodded, grinning.

'Don't get caught' said Mr Sadler, with a wink.

________________________________________________________________

Marc Halévy squinted at the map in the dying sunlight. He knew where the campsite was, he just...couldn't find it.

'Here.' Grapes leaned over, flashlight in hand, and tapped the black dot they were supposed to be hiking towards.

'Merci,' Halévy folded the map and pushed it back into the side pocket of his backpack. 'I do not want to sleep alone out here.'

'You're not alone,' Grapes nudged him gently with his elbow. 'You have me.'

Halévy chuckled and nudged him back as they continued walking down the dirt track. They were an hour behind their friends; the bus had broken down and although they had run as fast as they could to the meet-up point everyone was long gone. They had accidentally double-backed on themselves twice, but they had found the correct hiking path eventually.

The sun passed below the horizon and they put on their headlamps, huddling closer against the sounds of the night. A low-flying owl startled them when it swooped past after a mouse. The wind suddenly picked up, stirring the trees and causing the shadows to flicker ominously across the track; by the time they reached the second-to-last hill before the campsite Grapes had tripped on three fallen branches and Halévy had put his foot into a muddy puddle.

'I knew packing three pairs of socks was a good idea,' Halévy said cheerfully, untying his boots while he held onto Grapes' shoulder for support. 'André said I was being ridiculous-'

They froze as the screech ripped through the trees.

It was way too loud to be far away. It sounded inhuman but unlike any animal Halévy had ever heard before, with a sharp quality that hurt his ears.

He scanned the woods desperately for the source of the noise.

Nothing.

No, not nothing.

Two glowing red eyes were looking at him through the gloom. They were attached to a body that was at least six foot tall, but all other details of its appearance were lost in the gloom.

Then it opened a pair of wings as wide as Halévy's mother's car and screeched again.

'AAAAAHHHHHH!!!'

Halévy took off running, pulling Grapes along behind him. He lost his loose boot immediately but didn't slow down, leaving the shoe abandoned on the track as he ran for his life.

#sas rogue heroes #writing prompt #mike sadler #marc halévy #sas rogue heroes grapes

[ktwritesstuff]

Nebraska (a stranger things fanfic)

Title: Nebraska Fandom: Stranger Things Rating: Explicit Characters & Pairings: Steve Harrington x Max Mayfield (future!fic) Word Count: ~2,000 Summary: When Steve had dreamed of a cross-country roadtrip, this wasn’t what he had in mind.  Dark!fic. Unbeta'd. May God have mercy on my soul.

Notes: Be forewarned, this has been called the most depressing smut ever.  The world is ending and Max & Steve are the last ones left. Why would I ship Max with Steve when Lucas is literally right there? Truly there is no excuse for this...Title and lyrics from Bruce Springsteen's "Nebraska." Tropes & Content Warnings: age difference, angst, character death, first time, hurt-comfort, p-in-v, trauma-bonding, unprotected sex

I can't say that I'm sorry / For the things that we done At least for a little while, sir, me and her we had us some fun

Vecna had burrowed into Max’s psyche like a virus, lying dormant and biding his time.  Somehow she had fought her way free of him, but it was too late.  Their homes destroyed, their families gone, they did the only thing they could: they ran.  Nowhere in particular; all they knew was they had to keep moving.  Hopper and Joyce stayed behind with El for one last Hail Mary. Mike begged to stay with her, but El wouldn’t have it.  

They didn’t know what happened, but it couldn’t have been good.  Once Hawkins fell, it didn’t take long for the darkness rooted there to infect the rest of the country.

They lost Nancy first.  Vecna wanted her–that bastard–to make her pay, but she was strong and defiant until her last breath.  After that was Lucas–too brave and too in love for his own good.   

Years passed and their numbers continued to dwindle.  Steve still had nightmares about the look on Robin’s face, begging him not to let her go, something on the other side of the gate pulling, tearing, ripping until she went slack in his arms and Dustin had to drag him away.  

Sweet Dustin–after a week delirious with fever, despite force-feeding him the last of the meds that they had hoarded–had succumbed to an infected bite.  It nearly broke Steve–he spent three days in bed, not sleeping, refusing to eat.  The sound of Max stumbling around the RV–determined to keep herself fed and warm and alive despite everything they had suffered–finally broke the spell.  

She couldn’t see and although she had recovered from her injuries better than anyone could have expected, she’d always walk with a limp and couldn’t move fast or very far without stopping.  It was just the two of them now, and Steve realized if he gave up, he’d be taking her with him and he couldn’t do that–not ever.  So he did what he always did; he got back up.       

They had run out of gas just west of Lincoln, but nestled like spoons with the windows sealed and the curtains drawn over the little cubbyhole bed of the RV, swaddled in moth-eaten blankets and the warmest clothes they could scavenge, the cold was almost bearable. 

Though there wasn’t much difference now between the day and the night, a soft purple light on the horizon signaled that somewhere, impossibly, the sun was rising and setting despite the shadow and gloom that covered everything.  It had been three days and although they were both losing hope, in the morning Steve would drag himself out of bed and go out in search of a petrol station or abandoned farmhouse that might still have enough fuel to get them moving again.

Steve woke from his fitful sleep as Max turned over on the thin mattress to face him.  He figured she must have been cold and hugged her into him.  

Max’s hands creeped over his arms and chest.  He didn’t mind, supposing she was just reassuring herself that he was still here and whole.  Max touched his face, her fingers moving feather-light across his cheek, his jaw, his chin.  Once she had found his lips, she leaned in, softly pressing her mouth to his.  Steve blinked, fully awake.

“Hey,” he said softly, not wanting to startle or upset her.  “What are you doing?”

“I want you,” she said, her voice shaking.  “I want you to touch me.”

Steve was surprised and not surprised. Back when they were both kids, he had suspected Max harbored a little puppy crush on him—the kind that never would have come to anything if their lives had turned out the way they were supposed to. 

“Max,” he sighed, reaching for her hands as they tried to loop around his waist.  “You know that’s not a good idea.”

“I haven’t bled in months, so I’m pretty sure the baby factory is closed if that’s what you’re worried about,” she protested.  

It was, but it wasn’t the only hang-up he had with what she was proposing.

“Max–it’s not that simple.”

“I know I’m not the one you want,” she said.  “But you can pretend; I don’t care.”

“It’s not that,” he said.  “It’s not.  You’re just–”

He almost said ‘just a kid,’ but that wouldn’t be true.  He could feel the soft swell of her small breasts pressed against him, the jut of her pelvic bones and the slight curve of her hips.  She wasn’t a child anymore, but a young woman–at least 20–which made him…he didn’t want to think about it.

“My responsibility.”

A fat tear dropped from the corner of her eye and pooled at the bridge of her nose and he gently wiped it away.  

“Please,” she pleaded, so desperately it broke his heart.  “I don’t want to die a virgin.”

“You’re not going to die,” he snapped, holding her head in his hands.  She couldn’t see him, but he needed her to know he believed what he was saying.  “I’m not going to let that happen.”

He remembered the horror, when Will’s mind had finally broken.  How scared Max was that she would be next to lose the endless struggle against Vecna’s hold over her.  Steve told her that she wouldn’t; she wouldn’t lose, because she was stronger.  It wasn’t Will’s fault–he had been through too much, held out longer than anyone had the right to ask of him–but girls were stronger.  They had to be.  Like Nancy.  Like El.  And Robin, too, but they were all gone now.    

“We are both going to die,” she said.  “Maybe not today.  Maybe not tomorrow, but soon.  And when we do, it won’t be your fault.  None of it; you did everything you could to keep us safe.  To keep me safe.”

For the first time, Steve was glad she couldn’t see his face as his expression crumpled, but he was sure she could feel him shaking as he stifled a sob rising in his chest.

“But I need you to do this for me.  Please.”

Her voice was strong and assuring now.  She really was all grown up. 

“Okay,” he relented finally, wiping his eyes and taking a moment to catch his breath.  

“But you gotta let me do it right,” Steve explained.  “Kiss you and touch you and make sure you’re ready.  It’s not supposed to hurt; that’s just bullshit propaganda guys spread so they don’t have to put the work in to make a girl feel good.”

“Yes,” Max nodded. 

“Okay,” Steve’s breath hitched.  “If you change your mind just say the word and I’ll stop.”

He took her waist in his hands.  She was so thin–they both were–and Steve lamented all the times he had given up ice cream, pizza, burgers, and fries for the sake of his vanity.  He swore if he ever got the chance, he was going to get fat and not give a damn what anyone had to say about it. 

Steve kissed her, gentle pecks at first, open mouthed no tongue, then more deeply.  He moved his hands down her body, across her backside, sliding one leg between hers and hitching her thigh over his hip.  Max sighed, relaxing into him.  He worried at first he had lost his touch, but it really was like riding a bicycle.

He stroked her thighs, her breasts, her neck–all the places he could remember girls liked to be touched–and Max seemed to mirror his movements.  Her hands moved across his chest, and arms; she ran her fingers through his hair.  It felt good to be touched so gently and carefully.  

“I’m going to get on top of you.”

Max shucked off her tattered sweater and he eased her onto her back.  Steve guided her thighs apart and knelt between her legs.  

He tucked his fingers under the waistband of her panties.  

“I’m going to take these off,” he said.  

Max nodded her ascent, and he slid her threadbare underwear down her thighs as she drew her knees up to shimmy them off the rest of the way.  She had pale scars on her arms and legs from surgeries to set the bones with screws and pins.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, reaching out to brush a strand of hair off her face.  “Really fucking beautiful.”

Max smiled, but it never quite reached her eyes the way it used to.

“I mean that,” he said, bowing his head to kiss the space between her collarbones at the hollow of her throat.

He wondered what image of himself she held in her mind—comforted by the fact that the last time she had laid eyes on him he had been a better version of himself. Before he had gotten so pale and his eyes had gone dull and his hair had lost its shine. 

But laid out in their bed, trusting him, wanting him, she was still as beautiful as ever.  It made him feel like his old self, like there was still something to hope for, even if it was just to give her a moment of pleasure.  To make her feel desired; to make her feel loved.

“Do you ever touch yourself?”  Steve asked.  

“I used to,” Max said.

“Show me how,” he said.  “Show me what feels good.”

Max bit her lip, moving one hand down, fingers brushing through the wiry hair covering her mons, through her inner lips stroking up and down.

“Can I touch you now?” he asked.

“Yes,” she panted.  

Steve slipped one hand between her legs, taking up the firm up and down strokes over her clit.  She was wet, but not wet enough.  

“What else do you want me to do?” he asked.  

“Kiss my neck,” she said.

Steve obliged, leaning over to press his mouth against her throat, across her collarbones and chest.  Max ran her hands through his hair, kissing the crown of his head, his temples, anywhere she could reach.  Still stroking her clit, he could tell the thick dew of her entrance making things slippier.  

“I’m going to put my fingers inside you,” he said.  “Tell me if it’s too much.”

Max moaned and nodded, clinging to his neck.  

Steve slid a finger into her, stopping two knuckles deep at the first hint of resistance.  Max spread her legs a little wider as he traced small circles against her inner walls until he felt her relax a little more.  He pressed a little further, curling his finger up and inward until Max gasped.  That was the spot–a little hard to reach, tucked away in the curve of her pelvic bone, but he could make it work.

He drew his finger out, adding another, scissoring them just a little as he massaged her from the inside.  Max sighed and arched her back into him.  She gripped his shoulder hard, her eyes were pressed closed and her mouth hung slightly open.

Steve withdrew his fingers, sliding them up and down her folds before adding a third, pressing them into her while circling her clit with his thumb. Max whimpered and wet her lips, taking slow, deep breaths.  

“I need you to come for me before I put my cock in you,” Steve said.  “Can you do that for me?”

Max nodded.  “I think so.”     

He kissed her again, soft and slow, still massaging her with long firm strokes.  Max squeezed her thighs into him with a gasp and let her head fall back against the mattress.  

“That’s my good girl,” Steve said, stroking her hair.  “Tell me how it feels.”

“Good,” Max sighed.  “Like waves…pulsing.”

“Do you want to keep going?” 

“Yes.”

Steve sat up, peeling his shirt off and pulling down his shorts.

“I’m getting undressed, okay?”

Max reached up, placing her hands on his bare chest and he shuddered.  She combed her fingers through the hair on his chest–God, when had he started to go gray.  Steve held her hand over his heart, reaching down with the other to stroke himself.

He couldn’t even remember the last time he had masturbated–let alone finished.  He couldn’t think about sex without remembering Nancy–a vision of her at the end springing into his mind unbidden.

Steve squeezed Max’s hand a little harder, grounding himself in the warmth and softness of her skin.  She was here; she was real and she wanted him.  

Max ran her fingers down his ribs, across his stomach, following the path of his happy trail to his half-hard cock.  

“Let me do it,” she said.  “Please.”

“You can do anything you want.”  

Steve slid his hand down her arm as she gripped him gently, running her hand up and down his shaft.  Her thumb slid across the tip, wiping away a droplet of precum and stroking the taught band of tissue on the underside of his shaft.  

“Is that good?”

Steve cleared his throat.  

“Yeah, that’s good.”   

He bowed over her, supporting his weight on his arms.

“I’m gonna start to press into you,” he explained.  “You gotta tell me if it hurts.  We don’t have to stop, we just gotta make sure you’re relaxed enough, okay.  You promise?”

“Yes,” Max nodded.

Steve positioned himself at her entrance, pressing in just the tip.  Max gasped, digging her fingers into his shoulders.  Steve froze.  

“I’m okay,” Max said after a few deep breaths.  “I’m okay.”

Steve drew back slightly before pressing in a little deeper, a few quick, shallow strokes, before pressing into her all the way.  Max whimpered, drawing him closer.  

He continued, following each series of short, teasing strokes with deeper and deeper thrusts until Max arched into him, nearly keening.  He could feel her walls pressing in around him.  Steve moaned, nearly losing himself in the sensation. 

“I’m close,” he warned.

Max squeezed her knees into his sides.  He tried to pull away but she only gripped him tighter.

“Max, let go,” he said, trying to press her thigh away with his hand.  “I gotta pull–”

Steve came inside her with a wave of relief.  He could feel her inner walls contracting around him–it should have felt good, but he couldn’t shake the sense of icy dread settling over him.  Max stretched out under him, languid and relaxed.  He rolled over, panting, and covered his face with his hand.  Beside him, Max sighed in satisfaction.

“I have to pee,” she announced at length.

Max climbed over him, drawing the bed curtains and feeling her way down to the door.  Technically there was a toilet in the back, but it was such a bitch to maintain they mostly used the space for storage now.  Steve sat up, still in a daze, to watch the top of her head through the sliver of exposed window.

He found a rag that was still mostly clean and wiped the sweat from his face and chest, waiting for Max to come back inside.  She felt her way up the steps with practiced ease; finding the curtains with one hand and feeling for the mattress with the other.  Her hand landed on his thigh.

“You’re letting all the warm air out,” she warned.  

“I wish you hadn’t done that,” he said, draping a thin blanket over her shoulders.  

Max frowned.

“I’m sorry,” she said.  “I didn’t mean to–I got excited.  Please don’t be mad.”

“I’m not mad, I’m scared,” he said.  “If anything happened to you, because of me–”

“Nothing’s going to happen,” Max said, climbing onto his lap, holding his head in her hand.  “Not from this…one good thing.  Don’t we deserve one good thing?”

She leaned in, her nose bumping against his chin before she pressed her forehead to his.  He rubbed her back and arms; Max rubbed her nose against his cheek. 

"You forgive me?"

“You'll freeze if I let you go to bed wet,” he said. He tried to sound stern, but with Max's weight on his lap and her arms around his neck he felt more at-ease than he had in weeks.  

“It won’t happen again,” she said.

“Again?” he said.  

“We are going to do it again,” she said.  “I hope.”

Steve smiled in spite of himself, stroking her face.

“Let’s just get some rest.”    

#steve harrington x max mayfield #steve harrington smut #max mayfield smut #stranger things fanfic coming soon #stranger things smut #dark!fic #rairpair #stranger things rarepairs

[floralwritings]

I'll steal your honey like I stole your bike

eddie would hate the beastie boys with a passion. doesn’t get what they’re all about.

they’re not the good kind of loud

he would say, twisting the knob on the radio in his van one night, changing the station. after hellfire club one night, you decide to take a cruise before coming back to eddie’s. a huff leaves your lips as he again switches to one of the many mixtapes scattered around the vehicle, all of his making. you just wanna hear them uninterrupted once. your thoughts subside as his hand meets your knee, brushing along your leg as he turns into his trailer.

is someone jealous, munson?

 a knowing smirk playing at the corners of your mouth as you take in his narrowed eyes and bottom lip in between his teeth.

i’m not jealous, just don't like you thinking about another guy’s lyrics, that's all.

You feel your eyes hit the back of your head as his eyes look between the headlights shining on the trailer in front of you, and his right hand still on the gear shift. Your hand covers his and slowly brings it to your lips for a quick kiss.

you musicians are too serious.ya know, Mike D kinda has your head shape

now it’s his turn to roll his eyes as your laughter fills the van. 

c’mon lets get you inside before you start beatboxing princess

as quick as a flash he’s leaving a kiss on your forehead and slamming the door before running around the van and opening yours. Putting down his leather jacket on the floor as to not get your shoes dirty. He lowers to one knee bowing and offering his arms out to help you out of the van.

city Slickers would never be so hospitable.

he offers as you step over his leather jacket and he returns to full height. He then shakes off the jacket, making sure no grass clippings or leaves stayed on it and then drapes it around your shoulders, pulling you in closer as you both make your way to the lit up door.

they’re offensive to gay people, i mean think about how Robyn feels

thumbing through records, his chest to your back, eyes scanning the albums covers as his hair fall on your shoulder. No Sleep Till Brooklyn plays over the loud speaker in Sam Goody to your delight and to eddie’s dismay.

Girls is Robyn’s favorite song right now. you would know that if you expanded your music taste beyond the doom and gloom

his lips land on your neck as his eyes roll around his head.

you love the doom and gloom baby

his ringed fingers holding your waist catch your eye as they fall from the categories in front of you.

i do. i just think it might be nice to add to it. that’s all.

your eyes light up when you see the B section in big black letters. your hand slips into his as you drag him down the aisle.

they’re what you're choosing to spend your paycheck on?

Whenever you want to put them on he always groans which makes you have to hold his head in your hands while kissing all over his face and thumbing at his unruly sideburns.

okay okay okay

as he goes to put the cassette into the sputtering boom box on the dark brown dresser that has assorted sleeves and pant legs hanging out of the draws, a smile graces his lips as he turns his head and kisses the space in between your thumb and pointer finger. a content hum sounding from your chest as you feel his warm lips make contact and the familiar record scratch opening of the album.

you know i’d only put up with those punks for you right?

his tepid brown eyes meet yours, a sincerity in them that makes you want to look away.

i know loverboy

#eddie munson #eddie x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things reader insert #stranger things fanfiction

[brittanagirlcrush]

New York Lights

New York Lights

Brittany

Brittany sighs as she wakes up with a shiver. When she had fallen asleep, Santana was lying next to her but she's not there now. She'd thought they'd gotten over that particular hurdle. Santana had agreed to share the bed with her in New York but the sheets were cold so it's not like she just got up to use the bathroom.

Raising up on her elbows, Brittany squints through the gloom trying to see where Santana landed. She can hear the soft snuffles and snores of the other girls; can see Zizes sprawled on the other bed; Rachel, Tina, and Mercedes looking like a Tetris board on the floor; Quinn curled up in a chair. Just beyond Quinn, tucked into a corner between the chair and the wall, there's a light and the faint sound of a pen scratching against paper. Brittany moves her head slightly and sees Santana. She's furiously scribbling and scratching out and scribbling some more. Her forehead scrunches as she reads whatever it is she's written. She nods; satisfied with what she's read.

Santana tears the top sheet off and begins copying from the first page to the second. Her movements are precise and methodical; like she's trying to disguise her handwriting. Once she's done she tears that sheet off, folds it, and tucks it into the kangaroo pocket of her hoodie. She tears off two more sheets and sets one next to her then proceeds to shred both the original copy of whatever she's written and the other, blank, page. She puts all the carefully and thoroughly shredded paper onto the full, blank, page and then carefully crumples it up. She puts the crumpled ball of shredded paper into her pocket and stands up. Brittany closes her eyes to slits and watches as Santana grabs a key card and exits the room.

XOXOXOXOXO

Santana

Santana had awoken with a bunch of words in her head and couldn't fall back to sleep. They taunted her; they just wouldn't leave her alone. She had slipped carefully out of the bed she had agreed to share with Brittany, found a pencil and a notepad, and slipped into a dark corner where the light from her flashlight app wouldn't bother anyone.

In less than half-an-hour she'd gotten all the words out of her head and onto the page. Ten minutes after that she had them organized into some semblance of coherent thought. It was good. She knew it was. She carefully re-wrote it all in block letters on a fresh page then destroyed the evidence of the original. The evidence went into her pocket along with the re-write.

Quietly, she stood up and grabbed a key card, sparing a quick glance at Brittany who was still peacefully sleeping. She nodded; with a little luck, Brittany would never know she'd left.

She walked out the door and down the hall toward Mr. Schue's room. As she passed by the vending area she tossed the crumpled evidence ball into the trash there and continued on her way. She hesitated; could she trust Mr. Schue? Sighing, she realized she didn't have much of a choice so she knocked.

“Santana? Is everything okay?” Mr. Schue's face was a study in concern.

“Yeah. Um...fine. Here,” she thrust the paper at him, eyes glued to the floor, and rushing her words. “If you decide to use this I don't want anyone to know I wrote it. I just...I marked a couple of things...the parts I want me and Britt to sing, please.”

Mr. Schue unfolded the page. “Santana, this is really good. Are you sure you don't want anyone to know?”

Panic flooded through her and she snapped her eyes up to his face. “NO! I mean...please, Mr. Schue...”

Mr. Schue's eyes softened. “Okay, Santana, if that's what you want. This is really good and I think we've found our group number.” He smiled at her.

A shy smiled graced her lips. “Thanks, Mr. Schue. I figure Britt and Mike can put together some simple choreography. I mean, since we don't have much time.”

Mr. Schue nodded. “Go on back to bed; tomorrow is going to be a long day.”

Santana nodded and turned around, heading back to her own room. She could feel Mr. Schue watching her so she turned and waved as she unlocked her door and went back in. She took a deep breath. Well, it was done. She swallowed hard and suddenly felt nauseated. 'Oh, God, what did I do? What if everyone knows? What if they figure it out?' She took several deep breaths, went into the bathroom, and got a drink of water. 'It's fine. It'll be okay. No one is gonna figure it out.' Even if they do, they won't say anything. She's Santana freakin' Lopez; nobody wants to feel the sting of her tongue.

Calmer, she went back into the bedroom and looked at the bed she was sharing with Brittany. She couldn't believe she'd agreed to that; and she was worried a song would tip them off? She shook her head at her own folly and quietly slipped back into the bed, careful to not wake Brittany. Brittany rolled over in her sleep and wrapped an arm around Santana's waist, pulling her close. Santana froze for a moment, panicked, then took a deep breath and relaxed into Brittany's arms. Sleep claimed her almost immediately.

XOXOXOXOXO

Brittany

Twenty minutes later, Santana slipped back in the room. She heard Santana go into the bathroom; heard the water run. Then Santana came back into the room and carefully slipped back into their bed. Brittany smiled in the dark; they had made progress. She rolled over (pretending she was asleep, of course) and put an arm around Santana's waist, pulling the smaller girl closer to her. She was rewarded when Santana stiffened for a moment then relaxed into the embrace with a sigh. It wasn't long before both girls were sound asleep.

XOXOXOXOX

The plane ride was too quiet; Brittany couldn't say anything to Santana then but they were sitting together and Brittany grabbed Santana's hand under the blanket, giving it a squeeze. Santana looked at her and smiled softly, squeezing back and lying her head on Brittany's shoulder.

Once they reached Columbus and transferred to a bus that would take them back to Lima, Brittany dragged Santana toward the back so they could be a little apart from the rest of the New Directions. It was late, everyone was tired and irritable, and Brittany wanted to talk to Santana. The bus was louder than the plane so she was sure they wouldn't be overheard.

“The song was beautiful, San,” she whispered softly, “did you mean it?”

Santana smiled softly because of course Brittany knew. She laid her head on Brittany's shoulder and whispered, “every word, Britt, every word.”

Brittany smiled and rested her head against Santana's. Baby steps. She could wait.

#my fics #brittana fic

[tsugarubecker]

Bridging the Gap

Chapter 2 is now up on ao3! :)

Also below the cut. Enjoy!

Chapter 2

His nose, his mouth, his ears - it’s everywhere, everywhere - filling him up with roiling, slimy, infiltrating cold and dread. And anger. So much anger.

Get out, he begs in his mind. Get out!!

He no longer exists. Just the anger anger anger. The cold. It’s inside him, it’s touching him everywhere, he wants to be sick but can’t, it won’t go away go away go away—

“—go away go away go away—“

“Will!”

He’s shaken awake. He sits bolt upright, drenched in sweat, gasping.

“It’s okay! It’s okay. It’s okay, you’re safe. It’s me. It’s Mike. You’re safe.” Mike is grasping his shoulder, sitting next to him on the edge of the bed. Even in the darkness of Will’s room it’s clear his face is pale. He looks shaken.

“…Mike?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s me. It’s okay.”

“Oh my god. I’m sorry. I was… I was having a nightmare, I—“

“I know,” Mike says, still grasping Will’s shoulder. “I… I heard you.”

For a moment they sit in silence. Will’s heart rate is through the roof, but it’s slowing down.

After another second of silence Mike seems to notice his hand on Will’s shoulder. He softly pulls it away, looks awkwardly off to the side. “Is it… how do you feel now?”

“…Okay.” Will whispers. He wraps his arms around his knees, lies his cheek down and closes his eyes. “Headache-y, I guess.”

“Mm.” Mike hums.

A beat.

“…Was it… about… y’know. The upside down?”

Eyes still closed, cheek still to knees, Will nods at an awkward angle.

Mike sees it anyway. “Was it… I mean, it was just a memory, right?”

“I think so.” Will murmurs. Some of the feeling of the nightmare comes back as he thinks about Mike’s question. He shivers, turns his face and puts his nose between his knees. Tells the comforter in a muffled voice, “I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“Sorry.” Mike mumbles.

I do want to talk to you, though, Will longs to say. I miss you so much. Instead he says to the bedspread, “it’s okay. Thanks for coming in to check on me.”

“Course.” Mike mutters, or at least Will thinks he does. The word is quiet, sounds almost more directed at himself.

There’s another silent moment during which Will fervently wishes to either sink through the bed into the upside down where the real Mike Wheeler, his best friend who always sleeps in the same room when they have sleepovers and who would never take his hand off his shoulder before he knew he was definitely okay, must be stuck - or he wishes to throw himself sobbing into the arms of this Mike Wheeler. He’s not sure which he wants more and he settles for doing nothing.

“Do you, uh. Um.” Will can hear Mike cough a little to clear his throat. His voice sounds strained. Will thinks his heart rate must not be back to normal yet, either. “Do you want me to, uh… should I, like… do you want me to grab my stuff?” He finishes lamely.

Will finally dislodges his eye sockets from his kneecaps. He looks up and sees stars instead of Mike. (Not that that’s anything new.) “Huh? Your stuff?” His brain is mush from the day, the crying, the nightmare.

“My, uh. Y’know.” Mike rubs the back of his neck with one hand, looking away, then gestures vaguely with the other hand. “Sleeping bag and… maybe couch cushions and stuff.”

“Oh.” Will says, as the pieces fall into place. “No, I’m… that’s okay, Mike. I’m okay,” he finds himself saying. His heart starts to pound again. What am I saying what am I saying what am I saying wait wait wait—

“Oh, o-okay. I just thought, uh, in case you have another nightmare, you know. But uh, if you’re sure.”

I’m not sure. No, I am sure. I want you to stay. Please. Please stay. “Um, yeah.” The words fall out of his mouth - he’s not sure where they’re coming from. “I’m fine, Mike. Really.”

Mike gets up from the bed rather suddenly and stiffly. “Okay. Cool. Glad you’re okay.”

Stay. “Yeah.” Will looks up at Mike through the gloom, can’t tell what’s happening on his friend’s face. “Thanks for checking on me.” Stay. Please stay. Please don’t go. I don’t want you to go.

“Mmhmm.” Mike hums in monotone. “Night.” He turns and walks out of the room.

Will sits in the sudden silence and emptiness and fears that both will swallow him whole.

—

Chapter 3

(Also Chapter 1)

#SORRY FOR THE WAY THIS ENDS ALGKMGK #ch 3 - which drops Friday - is twice as long and very soft and will make the pain worth it. I swear lol #bridging the gap #byler #byler fanfic #byler fic #byler fanfiction #byler tumblr #bloomaomori4540 #will and mike #mike and will #mike wheeler i know what you are #will byers is gay #otp: crazy together #otp: you said yes #fic #fanfiction #chapter 2 #ao3

[classicmoviesetc1]

Watch Official Music Videos & Live Concerts

It is hard to replace the beauty of old music these days. The classic rock bands and their concerts have added some remarkable memories for the generations of the yester years! They have paved the way for the new genres of music that many admire these days. What if you can find some live music at concert videos and can re-watch whenever you want? Classic Movies Etc presents the top collection of classic west concert DVD of different bands and performances that have etched a permanent mark in the world of music.

All the DVDs in this collection have been re-mastered to match the output of the latest entertainment units so that you can enjoy a live concert sitting at home. Find your favorite band playing your ever-greensongs and rewind to listen again as many times as you like. Go back to those golden days of your life when you used to listen to your favorite classic west concert DVD.

Dig into our collection and find the best classic west concert DVD to add to your collection or gift them to someone special. If you are a vintage music aficionado, this is the right place to find the best retro music concert DVDs at the best price. Add them to your wish list. Go back to the golden era of music and enjoy.

Prince and the Revolution: Live 1985 Concert

Actors:  Prince and The Revolution

 Format: Dvd

 Language: English,  5.1 Surround Sound

 Run Time: 1hr 56mins

 Region: Region-Free Playable Worldwide

 Extras:  None

 Plot: Prince and the Revolution: Live is a live concert video by Prince and The Revolution. Released after the tour itself was complete, the video is a recording of the March 30, 1985 concert in Syracuse, New York.

Carnegie Hall Salute the Jazz Masters (1994) DVD

Actors: Herbie Hancock, Vanessa Williams, Dee Dee Bridgewater, Betty Carter, Ella Fitzgerald 

 Format: Dvd

 Language: English, Dolby Digital 5.1

 Run Time: 2hr

 Region: All Regions-Playable Worldwide

 Extras:  None

 Plot: The Carnegie Hall gala was part of the 50th birthday party last month for Verve Records, the jazz label founded by music innovator Norman Granz that helped chronicle the careers of such greats as Charlie Parker, Ella Fitzgerald, Oscar Peterson and Lester Young.

Beatlemania

Actors:  David Leon, Mitch Weissman, Tom Teeley

 Format: Dvd

 Language: English, Dolby Digital 5.1

 Run Time: 1hr 26min

 Region: Playable All Regions

 Extras: None

 Plot: Four guys who look and sound moderately like the Beatles play a plethora of Lennon/McCartney classics, while footage of memorable sixties events flashes by.

The Rolling Stones Live at Glastonbury 2013

The Rolling Stones live at Glastonbury Festival, U.K. 2013.  COMPLETE SHOW

This DVD is encoded NTSC Region ALL (playable worldwide).

Runtime:  2h, 11m

Viewer Review:  " The Stones "blew the stage apart" as they "thrilled festival goers," pulling off "one of the greatest rock and roll sets that Glastonbury has ever seen."

 Featured Song Performances:

01 Jumpin' Jack Flash 

02 It's Only Rock And Roll 

03 Paint It Black 

04 Gimme Shelter 

05 Glastonbury Girl 

06 Wild Horses 

07 Doom And Gloom 

08 Can't You Hear Me Knockin' 

09 Honky Tonk Women 

10 You Got The Silver 

11 Happy 

12 Miss You 

13 Midnight Rambler 

14 2000 Light Years 

15 Sympathy For The Devil 

16 Start Me Up 

17 Tumbling Dice 

18 Brown Sugar 

19 You Can't Always Get 

20 (I Can'T Get No) Satisfaction

Beastie Boys Licensed to ILL DVD

Actors: DJ Hurricane, Mike D, Adam Yauch, Adam Horovitz

 Format: Dvd

 Language: English, Dolby Digital

 Run Time: 38mins

 Region: Playable All Regions

 Extras: None

 Plot: A brief video collection from rap's highly influential, pop-culture-spewing white trio, the Beastie Boys (Skills to Pay the Bills and Sabotagefollowed in 1992 and 1994, respectively). Made primarily to capitalize on the overnight success of their platinum-selling album, Licensed to Ill, this compilation captures the Beasties in the obnoxious, frat-boy stage of their career. Brief interludes between the exaggerated, often-humorous videos--"Rhymin' and Stealin'," "Hold It Now, Hit It," "No Sleep 'Til Brooklyn," "She's on It," "She's Crafty," and the megahit single, "Fight for Your Right (to Party)"--show the B-Boys clowning, posturing, drinking, taunting, and partying both onstage and off. For hard-core fans, this collection is essential; for other music fans, it represents an interesting look back at the early, immature persona of a band that later dropped the self-parody shtick and evolved into one of the most important rap acts of the '90s.

[insomniac-dot-ink]

The Invention of Kissing

Would it hurt? Noel had heard of people bumping noses on the way in. She heard of people biting lips and braces scraping skin. She had heard that first kisses often suck.

It could be wet and slimy with too much tongue and not enough person in it. There was a chance she may even feel terribly afterward or want to stop eating or sleeping in the more dramatic versions. She could give into hysterics like an 18th century maiden who was never allowed outside.

It didn’t help that it was her last year in high school.

She had been keeping it a secret for years. Noel was almost eighteen years old and had never been kissed. Sometimes boys would offer to take her to dances or dates or out to the movies and she would consider saying yes-- perhaps the wrong kind of kiss was better than no kiss at all. In the end, she always said no.

Throughout 9th grade and into 10th, she had tried to summon an image of kissing Tristan or Mike or Joey and there just came back a big dull greyness. How their hands would feel or mouth would taste just left her imagination flatlining.

And she would think about flatlining and then she would think about Sandra Oh in her mom’s favorite medical drama, Grey's Anatomy. Then she would be right back to the problem of telling Joey she was too busy to go to any dances this year.

And in the end, she would rather be alone than not herself. Today was not like most days however.

Noel slung her backpack over a shoulder and checked the hallway twice. The lights had been dimmed for the night and left a ghost town-- even the janitors were done for the day. The tall arched windows cast slim moonlight over the lockers and Noel held her breath against the stillness.

The trombones always stayed the latest but they were gone now. The flutes all carpooled together and most of the drumline had left the second they were dismissed. Marching band was out.

Noel adjusted her mellophone over her other shoulder and darted down hall with her head bowed. Her throat was too dry and swallowing repeatedly didn’t seem to be making it any better. Her shoes clattered against the school floors and her heart beat rapidly in her chest. 

She slipped outside at almost a full jog and a chill hit her face. The door clicked as it locked automatically behind her. Noel sucked on her bottom lip and surveyed the back of the school until her eyes landed on the metal bleachers nearby.

A figure was hunched over on the grass behind them with long straight chestnut hair tied back.

Noel was running before she knew what she was doing. The blaring lights of the football field were still on and the air smelled like frost and the mint gum she had been chewing earlier.

Her palms were damp despite the cold and something squeezed painfully in her chest. Was this the wrong thing? It was too late to turn back now as the head swung up and their eyes met through the gloom.

Harriette Jacobs gave her a thoughtful look before bursting into a grin. “Sup.” She said casually with a lift of her chin. She had a thin nose and thin lips. Would that matter? Her eyes were strangely large on her face and she still had the thick marks of color guard makeup smudged along her cheeks. Her flag was discarded off to the side.

She was wearing a dance outfit underneath her puffy black coat that hugged her athlete’s build. “Hey,” Noel nervously shifted from foot to foot. “Hey, Harri.” She tried to mirror the other girls loose tone.

Harri gestured for her. “Well, come down here.” Her voice was always a bit hoarse and lazily slow-- which felt unexpected in a couple ways.

Noel bent like folded paper and her knees went damp against the crunchy frosted grass. “Hi,” she said again as she came down to her level. Noel tried to tuck her hair back, but she remembered it was too short to do that now.

Harri chuckled. “Hi yourself. Greetings. All that.”

Noel flushed two shades darker at the way Harri’s eyes dragged over her. “Are you sure?” Noel blurted out like her thoughts were an indoor cat finally finding an open door.

Harri shifted closer. “I’m the one that should be asking you that.” She tugged on her long straight ponytail. “You’re almost shaking, man.”

“Oh.” Noel inched somewhat closer in the dark. She’d have to bike home soon. She had chem homework to do soon. She had her mom’s dinner to reheat. “Sorry,” she said lamely and Harri shrugged.

“I was just happy there was another gay girl in our year,” she smiled again in a lopsided manner. “It’s cool you came out like that.” Noel looked down at her knees. “Didn’t mean to,” she said without facing her. “I just . . . got angry.” Noel had written a piece on LGBT+ rights in her school newspaper that last week and outed herself in the process.

“It’s hot.” A little flare spiked through Noel’s chest right down to her toes, she bit her bottom lip like a penalty point. “You’re, um, hot. Too.” A long moment passed before Harri tossed her head back and laughed. Noel flushed again. “That was wrong, right? Like, like definitely not it.”

Harri snickered slightly. “It was right, babe.” She said with a grin, “I’m flattered, for real. When I heard you tell everyone at the party you were swearing up and down that you’d definitely kiss someone, what was it?” She tilted her chin further up. “If it kills you?”

Noel flattened her coat down in the hopes less of her would be showing. “I said definitely with a girl, but yes. If it killed me,” she cringed. “Or them.”

Harri shook with laughter. “Alright.”

“Not that I’d do that to you!” She quickly put a hand up. “Uh, scout’s honor.”

“Man, don’t say that.” Harri gave a sneaky grin before pushing her ponytail over one shoulder. Her eyes seemed to crinkle and it turned Noel into pastry dough inside. “I’ve always wanted to die for a good cause.”

Noel made a sound not unlike a squeak. She had reached the squeaking portion of her attempt at a first kiss. 

Harri gave a low whistle, “But for real, I almost had a heart attack when it was me you texted.”

Noel relaxed down onto the ground. She rubbed her nose. “Sorry,” she said again and wished she would stop saying it. Harri snorted. “But you know,” she leaned in closer. “We don’t have to kiss just cause we’re the only gay girls in our class.” She made a wiggling motion with her hands. “There’s more fish in the sea, babe. Promise.” Noel gave a slow, easy smile. “That’s not, um, why I asked you.” She felt the moment rising like a hot water in a kettle. She hovered closer. “You don’t have to like me back or anything,” she said quickly, ripping the band aid off. “I was just . . . I just want to know what it feels like. So I asked.”

Harri’s eyebrows lifted all the way toward her hairline. “Like me? Really?” she drawled. Her eyes drifted to the sky for a moment and Noel watched her breath puff white in the air. “Cool. Yeah, very cool.” She nodded and then they both looked at each other, expectant. Harri’s eyes shone slightly and she cocked her head to the side. “Should I? Or . . . you?” Noel grinned a bit foolishly. “I dunno.” She slid slightly closer. “I’ve never done this before.” “Me neither.” Harri tipped closer and Noel could count her eyelashes at this point, they were long and almost regal. “You nervous?” “Yeah,” Noel said truthfully. She gulped. “Really nervous. But maybe . . . Do you wanna be friends even if it’s, uh, bad?” Harri had always been sleek and fun and known for skipping class. Noel was known for playing the mellophone and writing detailed op eds in the school newspaper.

They had talked, but they hadn’t really talked. Their friend groups mixed in places like marching band, but they didn’t really mix. Today was not like most days, however. “Sure. And do you wanna be more than friends if it’s good?” There was a cheekiness to the way she said it, teasing. And it worked. Noel boiled over. The heat flooded her as she studied the grass for a long moment. “That’s a lot of pressure,” she murmured, self-consciousness toying with the other part of her. The one that ached. “I don’t want to . . . do it badly.” “I don’t think it works like that,” Harri hummed softly. “But I guess we could find out.” 

And maybe it would be bad. Maybe it would be sloppy and gross and wet. Maybe it wouldn’t be like the movies and no music would swell. No one would clap. None of it would matter.

However, Noel leaned in. She closed her eyes. And they met in the middle with her heart squeezing and the whole world capsizing forward.

Warm, warm and alive and pressing in, like a dream. She slotted right there into that corner of heat and movement and another person clutching at her, wanting her, and her wanting right back.

And it felt like the invention of kissing.

-----------

if you enjoyed the story please consider donating to my Ko-fi 💗 patreon 💗 or checking out one of my books (new book!). They are Sapphic fantasy short story collections. 🥂

#flash fiction #wlw #sapphic #spilled ink #short story #flash fic #lesbian writing #gay story #my work #f/f

[beauregard-s]

Verdigris | Bill Denbrough

Pairing: Bill Denbrough x Reader (18 yo in this one)

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: language, mild hate-to-love trope and mentions of cheating and toxic relationship

A/n: ‘The one with Baseball Player!Bill and the song Verdigris by Gus Dapperton’

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

He can’t stop watching you. 

At the bowling alley on a Friday night. Your arms crossed, a hidden smile on as one of your friends rolls the ball and misses the pins miserably. You probably had a night off, or else you’d be at the arcade trying to tame the thirteen-year-olds that keep fighting over the Pac-Man machine. 

Bill can’t stop staring and it’s annoying beyond belief.

“For fuck’s sake, Bill! Are you playing or not?”

He’s forced to drag his attention away from you under Richie’s hiss only to perceive how everybody is staring at him - except for Ben checking on his shoelaces after tripping on them at least twice already. The looks range from Richie’s pissed one, to Mike, Beverly, and Eddie’s confusion, and laying on Stan’s impassivity.

“I just puh-played two rounds ago, Richie, stop m-mah-messing the order,” he complains, yes, but stepping up and grabbing himself a ball is the same as calling his own bullshit.

His move is absent anyway, only hits three pins because he backs off as soon as the ball leaves his fingers, making room for Ben to go next. Standing more in the back so he can turn his head in your lane’s direction again, all the way across the alley.

Only in time to watch you striking for the second time that night.

Only in time to catch how your eyes automatically fly in his direction right after that.

It’s quick, just a few seconds before you turn away again like at school two - or three? - weeks before, when you shouted out loud in a hallway about how you were cheated on, a thing many girls would hide, never talk about and pray for it to never come up. But you didn’t. When Henry Bowers leaned by your locker and probably tried to slide in some smug explanation, you shut the metal door so loud people around turned their heads and others who didn’t hear it from the first time caught on what was happening as soon as you told him to go ‘get his dick wet with Anna Thompson from now on’.

That being said you stormed out, and your eyes met his because he was frozen in a trance not perceiving at first he was blocking your way.

He couldn’t call you a bully, but nor could he call you an angel. You were Bowers’ girlfriend for quite a while, never messed with him but was never smooth either. You always stood neutral about Bowers tormenting him, almost bored, he noticed. Maybe uncomfortable with the situation if he overthought on that?

Never mattered. Bill recognizes he doesn’t know much about you, never got interested in doing so. Never needed to. You are just y/n, Henry Bowers’ blessed girl - because, thinking about it, yes, someone must be somehow holy to endure that one. Y/n, who he thought that barely minded him but still locked eyes and seemed to flash him a very inconspicuous smile that brought him back to Earth and made him move aside to let you walk into your 6th period class.

Y/n that since then started to hover above him like a little bird of prey, keeping those secretly mischievous eyes on him whenever they shared the room. Driving him insanely curious to find out what all of this is about.

“I swear to God, Big Bill!” Richie cries out in frustration, clapping his hands together in a desperate try to get his attention, “it’s your turn again!”

***

“Homealone again?” Stan asks while buckling up on the driver's seat after leaving the alley almost forcefully when the place closed, Mike’s horn breaking the late-night silence as he leaves to take Ben and Bev home.

“Yeah, for the weekend.” Bill sighs, sinking into the seat and smirking. “Why? Wanna throw a p-party?”

Stan snorts in the dark, turning the keys for the headlights to break through the darkness ahead. “Not after the last one,” he starts the car and leaves while Bill recalls the last party they went to. The party where around 1 am everybody started gossiping about how someone entered a room without knocking and... 

“Y/n l/n, then?”

Bill moves uncomfortably. Of course, the party where everybody found out you were cheated on before you could do it yourself. Stan Uris really sees everything, knows everything, and perceives everything. And also have the gift of smoothly leading people into the point he wants to get to.

“I don’t think so,” Bill says. 

Stan swirls the steering wheel to the left into a quiet street, suffocating another laugh. “So you’re telling me you were not perving on her the whole night.”

“I wasn’t p-puh-p-perving!”

“No!” Stan’s laugh finally comes filled up with irony. “At the bowling alley, at school, whenever she shows up during practices and her great presence disturbs you to the point you miss the pitches… Since she broke up with Bowers, whenever she’s around your mind goes wasted”. Bill grimaces and he goes on. “And judging by tonight, she seems to be at the same place as you are.”

“She’s not at the same p-place as I am because I’m not at any p-place, Stan.” Bill sticks his arm out of the window into the cold breeze, feeling something boiling inside him. That annoyance again. “She’s been teasing me since she broke up with her dear b-boyfriend, it’s all.”

Stan slows down at a crossing, making a snap noise with his tongue. “How convenient, no?” Bill scowls, eyes off the road to look up at his slightly raised brows, and he goes on, “Bowers’ girl gets cheated on and then starts flirting with you, Bill Denbrough. The guy who had his lip split open by those fists more times than we could actually remember.”

“Tell me about it…” Bill’s voice barely comes out as he watches the stores slowly turning into houses with dark windows and faded front porches, trying to smother that burning feeling inside. 

“And you’re playing her game,” Stan adds calmly.

Bill snaps his neck towards the driver's seat again but Stan only shows that same impassivity from earlier, eyes solely on the road. “Don’t tell me you’re not, because you are. I saw it tonight. Besides it, we all know you’re that sucker for unbecoming stuff.”

Bill shakes his head, gnawing on his cheek in bitterness as the car stops in front of a two-floor house and Stan turns the keys, sending them into silence and darkness again, turning on his seat to face a skeptical Bill unclasping his seatbelt harshly.

“I am not. I wanna f-find out what game is she p-playing b-but I’m not playing it myself.”

“Okay,” Stan taps onto the wheel, grinning in his disbelief because he knows Bill well enough to know he may sound like he has his foot down when he’s in fact as unsteady as sand. “But she could put you in big shit trouble, you know?”

Bill gets out of the car, leaning into the window as soon as he closes the door, drawing a cockish grin. “Yeah b-but, again, I’m not playing her game, Stan.”

He assured himself that, even though his mind wanders towards you until he goes to sleep and even though you remain there when he wakes up Saturday morning. 

He’s not playing your game.

But you’ve been testing his limits, slowly getting under his skin somehow with so little effort. Catching his attention when he doesn’t want to give it to you. You’re guaranteed trouble and he hates how you leave him restless whenever you are out of his sight and trouble his mind whenever you are both sharing space.

But he’s not playing your game.

Yet he still finds himself waiting outside the arcade later at night, at a discreet distance with his hands tucked in his jacket’s pockets to keep them from freezing under the fall weather. Bill watches you leading the last kids outta the place, promising an upset little guy they’ll be open early the next day too and turning the sign hanging on the glass door as soon as they leave to warn everyone the place is finally closed. The sweet way you talked to the kid doesn’t match the troublemaker image he painted of you in his mind throughout the day.

He’s not playing the game, but he’s ending it before he goes insane. Being a chess piece is not on his plans. He doesn’t know where you’re going with all of that so he walks into the store, immediately catching your attention.

You’re checking and closing the cashier when the noise makes you look up from behind the counter only to find the surprisingly-not-so-popular pitcher of the Derry High School’s baseball team standing there in between the flashing machines. 

“Hey there, Denbrough,” you say softly, bringing your attention back to the dollar bills. “We’re closed.”

He taps his foot, trying to find the words to say what he wants to say because even though he planned talking to you the whole day, suddenly he feels lost and vulnerable under that nonchalant way of yours. 

“I know, I didn’t come to play.” Bill feels proud of how steady he sounds although he’s clenching his hidden fists. He has the slight impression you are not as confused as you seem when you eye him again. This time deeper. 

“How can I help you then?” 

He thought he had a solid plan, but he doesn’t at all. All he can think of is how did Bowers get you? A straight A’s girl with such sweet talk, pretty face, and bold demeanors. 

“You can help me by stopping m-messing around.” There goes his steadiness through the window, every single drop of it when your lips give him a lopsided smile, closing the cashier and pulling a bunch of keys out of a drawer.

“And what do you mean by messing around?” you walk around the counter and passing by him because even though Bill Denbrough is standing in front of you straight out of a dream in his stupid letterman jacket, a robbery wouldn’t be welcome and you gotta lock the doors and close the curtains. That blocks all the light from the outside, sending both of you into a gloom only lightened by the neon lights around. 

“I mean all the flirting you’re doing.” His voice deepens a tone. “ I want you to stop it.”

He looks adorably anxious, of course. All fidgety when he’s trying to confront you that way but flinching when you turn on your heels to face him, his hands still in his pockets for what? Hide his nervous manners?

Not that you’re that secure yourself with your sped up heart. You wish you had pockets too so you could hide how you poke a cuticle on your thumb.

“I’m not flirting with you,” you say simply. “I know you’d like that, but-“

“You wish, l/n” he hisses and you know you’ve hit a weak spot. Also not that you didn’t know said weak spot exists.

“I know what you’re doing, and I’m not getting in trouble for it.” Bill steps closer, letting his sweaty hands finally fall to his sides. 

“Again, I’m not the one messing around” You see his jaw clench, and go on leaning back against the Donkey Kong machine. “You are.”

Bill snorts and the way he runs his fingers through his auburn hair messing it in frustration makes things to you. Yes, Bill Denbrough in his lettermen jacket is stupid… stupidly hot, even if you hate admitting that.

“I’m n-not-“

“Are you sure?” You defy him, resting your hands on the machine and accidentally hitting the joystick. “So you’re telling me you’ve not been leering me around, casually hanging out with your friends by my locker or… Following my ex-boyfriend around to make sure he’s not coming close to me, Bill?”

Touché. 

You never called him ‘Bill’ before, but thought it would match the soft-turn your voice takes and the little ‘got you’ move you just made. Bill thinks it raises a level. He said he didn’t come to play, but it feels like he did and now he’s losing because you know something you shouldn’t. 

You know last Tuesday he followed Patrick Hockstetter’s car because he saw them harassing you when you were walking home after school. He watched when they pulled over by the sidewalk, Bowers leaning out through the window and saying something that made you argue with him for a while before you kept walking and they drove out. Bill should’ve turned right and drive home, but he turned left and followed them instead, made sure they went home and not after you. 

“I was just trying to m-muh-make sure you were safe,” he reasons but inside he’s recognizing his failure.

Maybe you’ll call him a creeper for that? No, you just bat your eyelashes.

“You really have an unforgiving hero complex.”

“I don’t have a hero complex.”

He does. And maybe an unforgiving crush too because he realizes you’re not the one hovering here. He is. He always thought he never paid attention to you but he did all the time in the deep of his head, dreary by the fact that you ended up with someone like that disgusting jerk.

“A hero complex and a huge neglect towards yourself, apparently” you bicker, the changes in his mind showing briefly in his expression.

“Okay, I m-may be the one m-messing around but you don’t seem like you’re trying to run from it.”

The others have already warned Bill about that, his lack of fear and his broken anti dumbness filter, mainly Beverly, but there he is again. Making dangerous, uncalculated moves, totally improvising his next step to avoid a checkmate from you.

He’s kinda angry, maybe embarrassed, eyes locked on your as he comes closer. You don’t answer because he got a point. From the moment you noticed Bill paying more attention to you after you were publicly free from Henry, you never intended on cutting him off. You fed the fire and now, with his eyes so deep in yours and the smell of his cologne all around you, you let him taste a bit of power to decrease that embarrassment of his. 

“Are you trying to imply that I want you too?” You whisper, no need to talk louder with his chest an inch from yours like that. 

He likes how beautiful you look like that, face shining in verdigris tones flashing from the next machine, the way it turns you into neon pink and back to the blueish-green. He likes how daring you look even if he’s towering over you, inches taller, little knowing how you’re putting on a fight to keep yourself solid and your thoughts in place. Without much success when he leans in and brushes his chapped lips along your soft ones.

“Again, you wish, l/n.”

The previous moves were yours but in a turn, you’re the one getting the final checkmate when you give in and pull him into a kiss. A greedy and heated kiss that showed how you’ve been craving each other. Bill presses against you as he’s trying to challenge the laws of physics, his tongue licking into your mouth as your hands clutch on his thick jacket, feeling his broad shoulders underneath. His hands cup your face, his thumbs gently tracing up your cheekbones in contrast to how roughly his lips take yours, only for a moment before his arms embrace your waist and he smugly slides a large hand into your jeans’ pockets.

He swore himself he wouldn’t play your game, but he feels like he did and just lost it when he leaves your lips and trails the tip of his nose down your neck, feeling how you softly quiver in his arms, breathing in your perfume. Pulling away before everything goes to waste.

“As I said, totally n-not running away from me,” he mutters, leaving you. 

You shake your head slowly, a mazy little smile glued on your lips. “Screw you, Denbrough…” But the words drip out like honey to him as he walks backwards towards the door. 

Bill turns the keys still in the lock behind his back, flashing a cocky grin at you as he pushes the door open. He feels defeated, you do too but somehow none of you regret what just happened in the empty arcade. He can see you don't by the way you look at him as he leaves. It’s not just one of those glances anymore.

He feels defeated, but maybe it will be worth it.

“S-see you later, y/n.”

#bill denbrough #bill denbrough x reader #bill denbrough imagine #bill denbrough fic #bill denbrough fanfic #bill denbrough fanfiction #it #it imagine #it fic #it fanfiction #it fanfic #the losers club #the losers club imagine #the losers club fic #the losers club fanfic #the losers club fanfiction #the losers club x reader #beauregardwrites

[alstanfordart]

Bob’s Nightmare. Scene below.

@queenoftheclownsme

@theblackrosegoddess

It awoke. Not particularly rested. Its mind had drifted. Drifted back to the Todash, leaving Its material presence hidden beneath the ground, safely stashed away in a dark crevice of the cave. As Its conscious was violently ripped back into Its avatar of Robert Gray, It could feel the wound. No healing. Something had awakened It.

Not healed. Not healed but awake prematurely.

Confused, It staggers up, focusing Its one eye, seeing only black. Hearing creaking sounds and door slamming. Unable to see a few feet in front of It with just a subtle hint of weak light from an unknown source. It begins to walk and as It does, It hears, at the edge of the darkness, children singing;

'Oranges and lemons, say the bells of St. Clement's, you owe me five farthings, say the bells of St. Martin's.'

It pauses in Its steps as It sees a flash of yellow accompanied by giggling.

A boy.

The voice of the child causes unease as another blur of yellow dashes past, before the child appears before It, partially obscured by the shadows save for emerald rain boots stark against the midnight and a speck of light in each iris.

What the Hell is this?

Little Georgie Denbrough in his slick rain coat, skin flaps dangling from his bloody stump as he slowly reveals himself as a gentle sound of thunder and rain drift out from behind him.

The boy approaches, neutral expression, standing before It.

"Why did you kill me?" Georgie asks, his round face pale, his eyes rimmed with dark circles as he gazes up. "I didn't do anything. I just wanted my boat."

Georgie holds out his hand, the paper boat sitting on his tiny fingers, blood starting to seep through and engulf the faded paper.

"It wasn't anything personal kid, I was hungry." Robert growls, lip curling up in disgust and taking a step back from this unwelcome mirage.

Like It needs to justify Itself to this brat. He is what led to Its confrontation with the hated ones. Perhaps had It targeted another child...

But maybe that would have lead to an entirely different group of children targeting It.

Maybe the Final Other intended it that way.

And that boat. That fucking boat is what started the whole mess.

It doesn't pursue this train of thought further, as it enrages It.

There's a shift in Georgie's melancholy demeanor and a creepy grin breaks out as he bends down to place his boat on a thin river of blood that has manifested, suspended a few feet above the ground.

Georgie then steps back, his form breaking apart as it evaporates upwards into the darkness as the now crimson-soaked boat starts to glide along as the singing starts up again;

'When will you pay me? Say the bells at Old Bailey. When I grow rich, say the bells at Shoreditch.'

Robert stares down at the boat as it starts to move, the blood river carrying it along. The boat's route becomes altered as the river begins to flow out, a small wave lifting it through the air. Robert's gaze follows as a red-haired woman appears amid the swirling ruby.

Beverly Marsh.

"Well, aren't you a sight," she smirks, hands perched upon her hips. "Just as bad as the time I stabbed you in the head. Couldn't sleep that one off, huh?"

The little bitch.

Snarling, quill teeth now jetting out his mouth, Robert lunges, only to have her vaporize as he goes to tear at her throat. Her disembodied laugh echoing around him. The blood river drifts off, taking the small boat along as it disappears into the gloom as a cream-colored wooden door appears. It steadily swings open, revealing a bathroom. Robert refrains from coming closer, but the room appears to envelope him, moving on its own.

The steam cloud blanketing the area barely conceals a dark-haired man slouched in a bathtub.

Stanley Uris, head lolling against his shoulder.

Spotting Robert, he sits up as he holds out his wrists, thin slashes appearing and dripping, inking the bath water red and dotting the white porcelain.

"I got to grow up at least." he says.

Robert gives a contemptuous scoff. "You did that to yourself."

"After you came to me." Stan retorts, lowering his arms slowly, staring blankly at Robert, a little half-smile just barely showing. Robert quickly retreats, slamming the door as it dissolves in a puff of thin smoke.

It is growing increasingly uncomfortable. Anxious. It must get out of here, whatever this is.

A dream. A nightmare.

Limbo? Had It been killed while slumbering?

Robert's head darts around as he searches the area, strange clanking sounds and echos vibrate in the distance coupled with a growing forest of giggling children's voices and the baaing of sheep.

'When will that be? Say the bells of Stepney. I do not know, says the great bell at Bow.'

Mike Hanlon comes forth, holding up a photo album. Opening it, there are various photographs of black birds.

"We're all afraid of something-even you." he says as the birds come to life and begin to flap their wings and squawk, emerging from the album's pages in droves, growing larger in size as they fly at Robert, pecking at him, their beady eyes glowing yellow. He ducks down and swats at them, growling as Mike fades into the dark.

As the birds swoop away, another familiar male voice appears.

"What's up clown man!" Richie Tozier jumps out, bat in hands as Robert, startled, stumbles backwards.

Ugh, of all the Losers, It had hated this one the most. The insulting little shit.

Richie continues to swing the bat, the wood making audible swooshing sounds that cut through the air.

Roaring, Robert grabs at the weapon, only to have his hands pass through it, tumbling forward as Richie cackles.

"Hey, no! Sorry no cigar! You know this place is worse than that crack house." he says, as he pauses to adjust his glasses.

Another final voice, immediately recognizable.

"He thrusts his fists against the posts and still insists he sees the ghosts, he thrusts his fists against the posts and still insists he sees the ghosts."

Bill Denbrough steps forth from the tenebrosity, the boat pinched between his fingers.

"You're not real. None of you are. Old age took you back to the weeds long ago." Robert says glaring at him, his one iris starting to spark as Bill approaches.

Save for Mike. All are gone.

Bill smirks. "We're not real enough for you?" he replies, chuckling as an inhaler rolls out beside his feet. Eddie Kaspbrak reaches down to pluck it up, standing alongside Bill.

Raising it to his lips, he halts. "I actually don't need this anymore." Eddie says as he chucks it casually over his shoulder.

Richie moves to stand by them along with Mike and Beverly, with Georgie close behind, followed by Ben Hanscom, who holds up a piece of a large eggshell, black and shiny. Robert's expression drops at the sight, an angry grimace exposing his razor incisors.

Stanley Uris suddenly joins them, that same barely-smile still there. Almost mocking.

Robert glances around at his former adversaries.

"You should have stayed out of it. All of you, had you just kept to your business, let me have what I wanted, Stan and Eds would have lived longer, happier lives. I would have been nothing more than fragments of a forgotten dream. Amnesia is a kindness."

"We forgot, but you haven't forgotten us," Mike offers. "Have you?"

"We're still here," Bill adds, tapping the tip of the paper boat against his temple. "Can't escape that."

The eight are now bordering around him, with more emerging from behind: Candice Swain, Veronica Dell, the drunk Samuel, Colin and Hank Dobson, Esther, Noah Brady, the Muncy family, Julie, the hateful redhead Heather Taggart, Brandon Wilkes, Emily and her mother and the rest of the newest souls he'd claimed on this planet as well as his victims from Derry; the boys from the tunnel, Derek Stuart and James, Henry Bowers, Patrick Hockstetter decked out in his cartoon cat shirt, features chewed, the other two punks from the Bower's gang whose names he couldn't be bothered to remember, their necks bloodied, ripped open. Betty Ripsom, little Victoria, Adrian Mellon and the faces of endless Derry children and adults, some recognizable, some barely a hint of familiarity, many just a passing blip on his existence like pretty Martha and naive Alison. Many he'd used and killed like Tom Rogan, some that survived his Deadlights like Audra Denbrough.

As well as the unfortunate wife of the true Robert Gray, Agnes and their daughter Emma. Scowling and hateful.

Decades upon decades of victims. Many missing limbs, their eyeballs gouged out, blood bubbling from their mouths.

"Why'd you kill me?"

"You ripped my legs off and left my body in a ditch."

"You ate my baby. My only son."

"My father died from a broken heart after I went missing."

"They only found my head with no eyes."

Whispering, talking, with some laughing menacingly, all tinted in dull green-blue as the numbers begin to grow as more appear behind them.

Then a few clear a path, allowing another achingly familiar figure to step into the bleak light.

Mirasal.

She moves to stand before him, bringing her arms up to scissor them across her chest, she gives him a somber scowl.

Robert lowers himself to his knees, keeping his gaze locked with hers as resentment and hatred glimmer within her cerulean disks.

"What was that you told me? That I could trust you?" she says, giving a repulsed head shake.

No. This is not her. Remember that. None of this is real.

Just a dream. It's not real.

Robert hangs his head in his hands. "I don't want to hurt you." he mutters into his palms, his face shooting up at the sound of her chuckling derisively.

"Like I would believe you, you even thought about killing me," she replies. "Or perhaps give me a little scare."

With that, she leaps forward, her mouth unhinging, the blue eyes switching to ebony as she comes at him with her claws out. Robert winces back, covering his face, ducking his head down, only to feel nothing. He gingerly peeks out from beneath his fingers.

She's vanished. But the others, their irises blacking out to mimic that same appearance, still remain. All begin to draw closer, the Loser's Club at the forefront, their hands growing paler, some stained with blood splatter, grabbing at him as they close in, swaying back and forth, becoming more zombie-like.

"Get away from me," Robert rapidly stands, whirling around, panic gripping him as he growls, his one intact pupil now burning bright. "Get away."

"We all float down here, Robert. Float with us. Float with us. " they all cantillate in unison. "Float with us."

"No, no. Leave me alone." Robert drops back down to the ground, cowering, shielding himself from their increasingly grotesque faces, their features shriveling up and dropping to the ground. Their cackles resounding through his skull, magnified.

"You'll float too! You'll float too! You'll float too!"

"No!" Robert shouts, covering his ears as the area begins to spin, the faces around him now blending together. "No! No! No! Please! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

Their laughing abruptly ceases, their fingers no longer grabbing and prodding at him, and all is quiet save for the angelic crooning beginning to rise again;

'Here comes a candle to light you to bed.'

Robert follows the source, coming into view of a tall lithe figure, its slouching back facing him, standing in the center of a circle of light. The air above has red balloons hovering, completely still as Robert approaches, pausing every other step as the being becomes more visible, its ruffled off-white costume beginning to twitch as it turns to face him, bells jingling.

Robert stands facing his favorite form as it gives an empty grin.

What?

"Here comes a candle to light you to bed." Pennywise says as he reaches his elongated gloved fingers to grip the nape of Robert's neck. His eyes are two empty sockets, devoid of any color, his teeth yellowed needles as he brings his ghostly features closer, smooth, almost as if they were set in porcelain. Without warning he slams Robert to the ground, the strings of the balloons suspended above gently blow in response as he straddles him.

"Time to pay the piper, ol' Bob Gray," Pennywise intones as he lowers his teeth, only an inch from Robert's visage of both fear and confusion, the dripping saliva strings cold against his skin. Pennywise traces a bony finger along Robert's nose. "And here comes a chopper to chop off your head! Chip chop chip chop, the last man is dead!" he starts to maniacally cackle.

Squeezing his lids, Robert lets out a roar, fighting to free himself, thrashing beneath his double.

And just like that, the clown and the balloons are gone.

#pennywise #the losers club #it chapter two #fanfiction #fanfiction art #bill skarsgard

[twilitty]

Moonlit ch.3

This is the third chapter in my new fic Moonlit, it will be posted on Tumblr, ao3, and ffnet. New chapters uploaded every two weeks. Message/comment to be added to my tag list.

3.4k words

previous chapter

This chapter was not read over by a beta reader, so if you notice any mistakes please let me know in a private message. If you are interested in reading my chapters early and having a hand in the editing process, please let me know via direct message :)

Charlie arrives home from the new doctors household in odd condition. Bella becomes acquainted with a new friend and gets her first driving lesson.

Chapter Three

There’s something oddly comforting about the loud, thunderous engine of my new truck. It successfully blocks out all the thoughts I hope to escape from, and it does so in a way that does not involve the incessant pattering of rain. In fact, it completely eliminates the sound of rain, a miracle I hadn’t thought possible. I can’t imagine I’ll ever manage to repay Jacob for this gift, it means so much more to me than a couple thousand dollars and a way to get around. It’s my escape. 

Charlie had gotten back from the new doctor's household late last night, his eyes bleary with sleep and arms hanging limp by his sides in what can only be described as a dead mans walk. I was used to the posture he held, all slumped over and distracted, as if he had gone on a three day long bender and returned empty of adrenaline and a will to stay awake. Renee had come home from too many “spa-retreats'' with that same form. Dead mans walk, that’s what her friend had called it when I brought it up. “Dead on the outside but more alive than you’ve ever felt on the inside,” she had explained with a distant smile, “awful to watch but beautiful to live out.” 

It was strange to see my father, the stoic police chief, in that position. Perhaps he enjoyed his time at the new doctors house more than he thought he would, perhaps he enjoyed it enough to come in looking prematurely hungover and drained of energy. I wonder if he was drinking, or dancing, or maybe the new family- I blink my eyes hard, squeezing out all the muted light coming from the kitchen window. Stars dance in front of my vision once I open them again. Don’t think of what Charlie was doing there, I tell myself viciously. Please, I add on as an afterthought, as though my subconscious was privy to social niceties. 

The clock on the microwave reads noon hour and my heart stutters. Charlie is still upstairs, dead asleep. He’s the one that wakes me up in the morning, always dressed and with a cup of coffee. But, no, he’s probably just tired from his long shift yesterday and maybe a little hungover. Only a little. In fact, maybe less than a little, maybe he isn’t hungover at all.

Soon, by which I mean no less than two hours after my initial worry over my fathers condition, he emerges from his bedroom and I can hear his footsteps lead into the bathroom. Good, I think, he’s awake before three in the afternoon. That must count for something. Perhaps- My thoughts, aimlessly trying to convince my subconscious that there is no reason for me to worry about the state of my middle-aged father, are interrupted. 

“Bella?” Charlie calls quietly from the top of the stairs. He sounds like he just woke up from a long night out. Hangover voice is something I am very familiar with, although not from first hand experience. Any solace I had reached seconds ago comes crashing down into a pile at my feet.  

I clear my throat, “Down here!” He comes down, feet stepping lightly on each step so as to barely make a noise. He enters the kitchen with a weary look on his face, as if I’m the one acting out of character. “Yeah?”

“What are you doing up so early?” He asks incredulously. I look at the time in the bottom corner of my computer, nearly two in the afternoon. I look back up at him with my eyebrows pinched. 

“Char- Dad, it’s after noon.” My fathers eyes go wide, the whites showing prominently before squeezing down into a harsh blink. He turns to the microwave and his eyes blink violently again. “Dad?”

He doesn’t say anything, but his hands come together at the top of his head, interlacing over the brown hair he passed onto me. “I- I’m getting to work. I’ll see you for dinner.” He mumbles his words, the syllables pouring out into the air without any order. He retreats back upstairs with little more than a squeak on the floorboards, his eyebrows thick over his eyes with worry. The shower turns on quickly and I look back to my computer screen. I have to do some school work, Charlie is a grown man who can take care of himself. 

I brew him a fresh pot of coffee, putting the creamer out on the counter even though I know he takes it black. 

One of my favourite things about Forks, besides my new truck, is the ever present gloom that seems to permeate any mood you had prior to stepping outdoors. It’s like living in a depressive gothic novel written in nineteenth century England. Obsessively torturing the protagonist with dramatic metaphors and the blatant use of personification with inanimate objects like lampshades and tea kettles. I walk outside and my brain fills with run-on sentences about the state of my personal emotional evolution or the true crime of humanity being the amount of introspection that we would require to understand it. Almost compulsively, I assess my morals and the ethical value of my actions as if the rain draws out my inner philosopher. It’s dramatic and moody and unpleasant to experience. 

Yet, I find myself drawn into this trance of deep inner thought and revel in it.

This is what I am doing when I park outfront of The Diner and walk through the front doors. My mind is occupied with drawn out thoughts that sound closer to Shakespeare than a girl who is barely passing her summer courses. My footfalls seem to almost perfectly fall in tune with my thoughts. I wonder if I’m walking funny, I think suddenly with a pointed look at my awkward steps. This is an issue with spending so much time alone in such a gloomy town; you forget other people exist. I pick up the pace of my footfalls and try to let my legs work naturally, but now that I’m aware of my walking I am incapable of walking naturally and feel like an oaf. 

It is while I am walking like an oaf that someone calls out, “Isabella Swan?” My shoulders tense up to my earlobes and suddenly my feet are capable of walking without direction and almost steer me back through the front doors. Instead, I look up from my rough boots and meet the smile of the girl standing behind the counter cutting the large room in half. I try to ignore the stares of the other patrons. 

The girl standing behind the counter looks to be about twenty and has brown hair just past her shoulders, similar to mine except for the fact that hers is shiny with the indication of product and care. A wave of self consciousness rolls over my shoulders, my dull, limp hair is suddenly as bright as a neon sign in the dead of night. “Bella,” I correct her, forcing myself to step up to the counter. “Everybody calls me Bella.” 

She nods knowingly, as if she’s heard this before but just wanted it confirmed. Another wave of self consciousness crashes over me as the possibility of small town gossip arises. Does everybody already know who I am? I don’t like the thought of Charlie telling the town his eccentric ex-wife's daughter is coming to live with him, even if he said it politely. 

“Yeah, that makes sense. Isabella is kinda a mouthful and takes like three whole syllables just to say it.” She shoots a hand across the laminate countertop and exposes a line of white, straight teeth. “I’m Jessica, not Jess,” She clarifies with a sarcastic eye roll. I take her hand, warm and soft, in my own and give it a polite shake before letting go. “Nobody calls me Jess, it sounds like it’s short for Jessie and when I think Jessie I think either golden retriever or blonde surfer dude and I am so not either of those things.” 

“Jessica’s pretty,” I say with possibly a little too much enthusiasm. I haven’t spoken to someone as bubbly as this girl since Phoenix and I am poorly out of practice. 

“She is, isn’t she?” A male voice calls from my right. It’s as if Jessica had spoken it into existence, because suddenly a blond surfer dude- minus the surfer- is sitting only three stools over. 

“No, no,” my face flames and I quickly raise my hands in surrender. “I meant her name.” Then, looking at Jessica I see she’s chewing on her bottom lip and her dark eyebrows are scrunched down. I wonder if she practiced this expression in the mirror, it looks too perfect to be impromptu. “I mean, not that you aren’t pretty,” I clarify and her eyebrows shoot up as the blonde boy snorts. “I mean-” But Jessica raises a hand to stop me from torturing myself any further and drops the lip from between her teeth. “Listen, Bella, I know what you mean you don’t have to run in circles.” She says it in a way that insinuates I’m not the first person to fall into this situation with her. “You aren’t the first girl I’ve wooed with my tragically good looks.” This is not what I expected. The blonde boy snorts again but it sounds more like incredulity than a laugh. I open my mouth to interject, though I’m not sure what I will say, and Jessica widens her eyes at me. “Bella, girl, I’m joking.” 

My mouth widens into an uncomfortable smile that likely looks closer to a grimace. She shakes her head at me with an expression that reads oh Bella even though we’ve only just met. I get the impression that Jessica is an easy person to be friends with and also decide that I will be coming to The Diner more often. “Now,” She says, “What did you order?” 

I recite my order and she pushes open the swinging doors adorned with old license plates and bumper stickers to retrieve it. 

“I’m Mike.” This is from the blonde boy, and he says it with a small wave that very much so indicates that he has lived in this town his whole life. People in big cities, people in Phoenix, don’t wave like that. It’s too small and kind and friendly, there isn’t enough neutrality for him to be from a big city. He’s inviting me into a conversation with the impression that I want to be invited. Small towns and sickly rom coms are the only places where this happens. 

“Bella,” I respond, although he must already have heard me introduce myself to Jessica earlier. “It’s nice to meet you.” I tack on the last part in a likely failed attempt to come across as if I belong. It’s not that I want to be nice or friendly like Mike, it’s just that this will be far less awkward if I at least try to fit in. 

“Likewise.” We lapse into a comfortable silence, or at least he appears to be comfortable in the silence. I am not. My blood seems to have congealed in my veins and is refusing to pump itself into my heart. Am I getting enough oxygen? Yes, yes, I am getting enough oxygen. I know this, but my body does not know this and so instead of trying to formulate some clever comment I try to level out my breathing and suck in as much as possible without seeming weird. 

Three uneven breaths later and Jessica pushes out of the kitchen doors holding a large brown bag with a receipt stapled to the folded lip. She places it in front of me and I take a deep breath, suddenly grateful that my lungs are working and for the delicious smelling food. “I’ll pay with debit?” I don’t mean for it to sound like a question but it does. I can almost hear my mother scolding me, you need to be more assertive. You get stepped on if you’re too polite. I know she’s right but I ignore her anyway. 

“No need, already paid for,” she says with a wide smile. “The cook says hi.” I take it, then, that the cook is the one who paid for my dinner.

“Oh, really that wasn’t necessary.” I produce my debit card from my pocket, holding it out as if it’s perfect evidence of my ability to pay. “I have money.” 

“If you really wanna make it up to me I can take your number.” Renee would like Jessica, she’s assertive. I shake my head a little but still take out my phone and hand it to her. She punches in her number quickly, perfect nails tapping lightly on the screen before handing it back. Her own phone beeps. “Have a nice night, Bella! Text me whenever.” 

I say goodbye to Mike and he waves kindly, almost immediately afterwards turning to talk to Jessica. They wave as I leave and I can feel the eyes of The Diner on my back as I leave the building and enter my truck. 

It’s almost two days until I get a chance to talk with my mother, and within those days I accomplish more than one would expect of a girl who is so well acquainted with procrastination. Namely, I received a text message from Jessica. We conversed lightly, her with heavy use of emojis and me with improper use of punctuation and perhaps not enough enthusiasm. I know this because almost immediately after I send her my reaction to a movie she watched she calls me. 

“Bella,” she says in a tone that insinuates both exasperation and light humour. “I swear, girl, you are so hard to read.” 

“I know, my grammar-”

“No, no,” she cuts me off. “I mean I have no idea if you even wanna talk to me or not.” I’m shocked into silence, of course I want to talk to her. I enjoy talking to her. It seems I’ve been severely lacking in the friends department and it’s no recent issue. Ever since Phoenix I’ve remained forcibly independent, it’s nice to have people my age to talk to. 

“I- I can use more emojis?” It comes out a question and my mother is back in my head, assertive assertive assertive. Jessica gives a triumphant laugh and I get the impression that this was her goal all along. “Okay, okay, I get it. I’ll try to communicate better.” 

She just laughs and we hang up and continue texting, but not before she informs me that we will have to set up a schedule to meet in person. Apparently even with emojis in my armoury I am “more fun” in person. Who would have thought?

Within the two days before I call my mother I also get my first driving lesson with Jacob Black. He drives over in his fathers old truck, which he can no longer use due to the wheelchair. Jacob informs me of this with a smile that tells me he’s inherited the truck.

He bounces out of the vehicle with a giant grin on his face and his hands clasped excitedly behind his back. I could all but feel the excitement radiating off of him in waves. He had come prepared too, as I later found out, when he inserted a CD into my cars radio system. Soft rock echoed sweetly throughout the cab and Jacob drummed his fingers over his knees. “You gotta love ‘em, right?” He asked redundantly. I nodded, not knowing who I had to love or why, but just enjoying sitting next to him and listening to him talk. 

He walked me through the gear shift. It sticks when you move directly from park to reverse, so I should always pause on drive for a moment first. We practice this in the driveway a few times before taking to the residential streets. We mostly talk during the drive, him giving me all the Rez gossip and me providing him with the meek details of my online school experience and my conversations with Jessica. 

“She’s really nice,” I tell him as the trucks engine growls loudly at the stop light. “Loud, but loud in a nice way.” He nods in the passenger seat as if he completely understands, which I do not find difficult to believe. I wouldn’t be surprised if everybody in town was his friend. 

“Yeah, I know a few people like that.” I’m proven correct. “Like there are just so many things going on inside them they can’t contain it.” I nod absently but my mind shifts to the first part of Jacobs comment. I wonder how many friends he has? I can’t imagine he’s unpopular, or even shy, he’s just too exciting and fun. His smile makes me want to smile. 

“What?” He enunciates slowly with a slow head turn. I look away quickly, my eyes steadily focused on the bumper in front of us. I didn’t mean to stare at him. 

“Nothing.” 

“No, what?” I pull into the next lane, making sure to check over my shoulder twice. Maybe if I don’t pay attention to him, maybe if I just ignore- “Is there something on my face?” 

I look over, baited into meeting his eyes. A big palm runs over his mouth and he pulls it back as if to inspect it for markings. “No,” I assure him. “There’s nothing on your face.” Then, my lips widen as if with a mind of their own, and suddenly I’m grinning. “I mean other than-”

He guffaws out a laugh before I can finish my comment and looks over at me with a smile mirroring my own. “Bella Swan, were you about to make a joke?” I shoot him a half-hearted glare and realize that this is all too easy with him. Jacob is like an overactive puppy, so easy to excite and quick to make you smile. I also realize that I seem to really enjoy the company of this particular overactive puppy. 

“I make jokes plenty of times,” I retort with a quick glance in my rearview mirror. The houses have transitioned into a tree line and the previously residential road boasts a higher speed limit. “You most definitely do not. I remember being kids, you were always the sensible one.” My heart skips and my field of vision narrows to the space above the steering wheel. The road is slick with rain, I doubt I’ll ever see it dry. “You used to ask Charlie to put bandaids in your little backpack, just in case…” his words continue, detailing how mature I was for a first grader. I made decisions way past my age and was the first one to disinfect surface cuts and scrapes. I was the only one to disinfect bloody knees and palms, even though the sight made me sick. “It was like you just had to take care of everybody else.” 

He looks over to me, I can see him in my peripheral vision, but instead of looking back I force my lips into an open smile. I hope it comes across as genuine. “I had a thing for first aid.” It’s a poor response. Anybody could see through my shallow sentence and many people would call me out on it. Tell me that for a girl with such a large vocabulary it’s odd for me to suddenly have nothing to say. For a girl who claims to enjoy this boys company I seem to be going out of my way to deter him from ever calling me again. 

“Take a left up here,” Jacob says and his hand juts out to point at a beaten gravel road. It cuts into the forest at a haggard angle which makes it nearly impossible to maneuver, but I do so with more than minimal effort and release a heavy breath once we are on it. “Okay, now try to merge back onto the road.”

“What?” The odd, and clearly impossible, request pulls me out of my self-pitying thoughts. “Jake-” 

“If you can’t do it that’s fine, just switch seats and I’ll drive.” The devilish glint in his eyes provokes some deep, hidden piece of me that craves competition. 

“You just miss Betty,” I say with perhaps a little too much vindication. He doesn’t seem bothered either way and simply shrugs his large shoulders, the russet skin reflecting the light of another car's headlights as it passes on the main road. 

“Yeah, I do.”

taglist:

@musingsofvenus​ @maybesandohnos​

#twilight #edward cullen #bella swan #jasper #the twilight saga #carlisle #twilight saga #smeyer #twilight renaissance #2008 #fic #twilight fanfic #twilight fic #jacob and bella hot damn #jacob/bella #jacobxbella #jacob black #bellaxjacob #bella/jacob #moonlit #mine

[neil-neil-orange-peel]

For the writing prompt thing! “Do you even care anymore?” I was thinking Neil and your pick of the group (or all of them! No specific ship, I'm just interested to see what you come up with)

It was raining outside.

Apart from the fact that rain was a real bummer, like, hair-wise, Neil quite liked the rain. Liked the sound of it pattering, banging, hammering against the windows and roof. Well, it usually made its way through the roof, actually – through the roof and into his bedroom. Only his bedroom, of course. That was just how the universe worked.

This rain, however, wasn’t the soothing kind. Neil wanted to say that it was just heavy hail but in truth it sounded more like a herd of elephants charging at the house, about to break through at any moment. It was dark outside so that could have been true, to be fair. How would any of them have even known? The streetlamps were mere blobs of yellow against the raven abyss that Codrington Road had become tonight; their light didn’t so much permeate the blackness as it did punctuate it in small pockets. It was strange, really – Neil hadn’t ever known this area to look so dark. He couldn’t even see the houses on the other side of the street.

Eventually, he stopped trying to and left the window to be pelted in peace.

Cliff knew what hour it was, as Rick probably would have said. Speaking of Rick, the hippie could hear him prattling away upstairs. He could hear Vyvyan too; it sounded like a fight. In fact, why was Neil still downstairs? It was all gloomy and deserted here. Shouldn’t he be in his bedroom? Hadn’t he been in his bedroom? Thinking about it, Neil was sure he recalled climbing that first flight of stairs a couple of hours ago.

“Oh, heavy,” he remarked to no one in particular, “Just my luck to accidentally teleport downstairs in the middle of the night.”

No one answered him, at least not straight away. Mike too had wandered off to the loft some time ago and was doubtless currently drifting through racy dream after racy dream. Neil wished he dreamt sometimes. If he could ever sleep, that was. Though, surely he’d only be granted nightmares if he ever did manage it. That was just his luck.

The hippie sighed and made to move through the drawing room and back up the stairs, back to his room, back to the window and back to the eternal night that was Britain today. A quiet rustling sound and a movement to his right stopped him momentarily. It was just the shadows, most likely, the shadows or SPG hunting around for leftover curry. Still, Neil turned slightly.

Perhaps he should have been afraid – felt that familiar little spike of adrenaline telling him to leg it and quickly. He didn’t.

There was a figure over by the kitchen cupboards fiddling around with the kettle. In the dim lighting, Neil couldn’t make out any specific features… although he could tell this wasn’t a Balowski. They seemed too shy for one of that clan, their movements too fluid.

“Look, man, like, whoever you are – we don’t have anything worth taking…”

Neil wasn’t quite sure why he wasn’t more freaked out over facing a potential burglar by himself. Maybe he just didn’t have the energy to feel afraid anymore. He thought about raising his hands in surrender but was stopped by the mysterious figure spinning around to face him.

Or… hair him.

“Oh, it’s just you,” Neil said, neither relieved nor dismayed.

Petyr nodded, their long hair waving as they did whilst somehow still concealing their face. Then again, it could have been the general gloom doing that this time. The water inside the kettle – which they were holding, along with a cracked mug – sloshed about at the movement.

“Why are you making tea now, man?” Neil asked them.

He found himself wandering over to the table, brow furrowed in mild confusion. Petyr only shrugged in response and turned away from the hippie again, the water sloshing once more.

Neil couldn’t say how much time passed before the fifth resident of the house presented him with a cup of tea. He hoped it wasn’t a ridiculously long amount of time because that would have been a little depressing, even by his standards. Did tea really take so long to make? Neil should have known; he was the only one who made it ever around here. Usually. But now he was stood there in the dark, not making a move to turn the lights on, listening to the quiet work of teamaking, all the while Codrington Road roared around the two of them.

He took the tea from Petyr with a gentle smile. The china didn’t warm his hands. He took a sip. Cold. Strong. Too many tea leaves and not enough heat.

“Thanks, P.”

It was a genuine statement. No, really. Neil couldn’t tell why or how it was happening but it was: someone had made him a cup of tea. Of course he was grateful. There was another rustle as Petyr bent forwards in a strange, twisting bow before beginning to back away. Away, away, away… into the shadows from whence they came. Something like that, anyhow.

The unpleasant sensation of tealeaves on the tongue halted Neil in his drinking, alerting him to the surprising fact that he had finished his cup already. Petyr was still faintly present.

“Do you even care anymore?” he asked them.

No response.

Oh, wait. That had sounded quite abrupt, hadn’t it? That was no way to talk to the person – person? – who had just made you a cup of tea… even if certain other people who would remain nameless like Rick and Vyvyan and Mike had spoken in much coarser terms to Neil after he had done the same. The hippie put the cup down on the table and looked up at Petyr, scrunching his eyes so that he could peer at them ever so slightly better.

“Sorry. I meant, like, you being here. In this house. Do you not care anymore if you don’t know why?” he clarified.

Yet more silence greeted him. Silence and the thundering outdoors.

Neil was about to give up hope of that he might get an answer – he shouldn’t have pushed them when they all knew Petyr hardly ever made themselves known – when he just about saw it. The shaking of their hair; a shake of the head. Then he was alone in the kitchen.

No… they didn’t care.

After this, Neil finally did head off to his room. The fighting from Rick and Vyvyan seemed to have died down to agitated mutters, mutters that were emanating solely from the punk’s bedroom…

Not giving this much thought, the hippie re-entered his own bedroom and sat upon the bed. Not on the windowsill, which was the first time he’d done such for a considerable amount of time. Outside, the street was still dark and furious and his window bore the sharp drizzle streaks of a night long battle against the elements. Dawn, evidently, was still a few hours away. It was the kind of night where you might have feared a horrifying face appearing at your window, Neil idly thought to himself as he slipped under his blankets.

His eyes strayed once more to the blackness and he spotted something indistinct.

There was an elephant charging down Codrington Road.

~~~

Thanks for the ask and sorry it’s been so long since you sent it in! Sorry to the other two who sent prompts in as well (they’re coming, I promise)! To be honest, I’m not too sure where this one came from - I just sort of went with it. XD Sorry if it’s not very good... I haven’t been able to write as much as I’d like recently so this may be a little rusty. Still! The strange appearance of P and lots of Neil for you! I know he’s your fave hehe.

#the young ones #tyo #writing prompts #neil pye #petyr #asks

[nuka-nuke]

Yes hello I would like some Dizzy and Ilya content please 🥺 Anything you'd like to share about them because boy I am simping hard for them both

Betty  🥺❤️ your interest in my ocs gives me life... thank you for the ask! 

Dizzy isn’t exactly a conventional King. Mostly meaning that, he is... really uncool. For most of his life he always felt the need to put on that image of who he thought people wanted him to be, and who he thought they would like. But really deep down, he’s just an awkward mess, which usually resulted in him getting so frustrated with himself that he just comes off as rude, and then led to him starting a fight he couldn’t finish with the wrong person. (but thank god for Duke always being there to save him, am i right)  

Joining the Kings was a huge deal for him. He grew up in Freeside, so he saw the shift from “a whole lotta settlers/tribes in one general area” to “being forced out of your home because a dude with robots tells you to move into the outskirts of the city”. The influx of squatters and new people all crammed into one area made tensions uncomfortably high living in Freeside as a teen, especially with no one there to take control and try to straighten things up and look out for the people who belonged there-- until the King showed up.

Dizzy was obsessed with the ideas the King had and tried for a few years to get the opportunity to join, but he never could quite prove himself well enough-- and he was always a bit too much of a coward to really stand out. It was only after hurling himself into danger for the 10043504th time to try to be impressive and nearly getting himself killed that the King started to actually pay attention to him.

For Ilya, I couldn’t think of a random topic to ramble on, but here is a big long sappy thing I wrote forever ago and never shared?! 

(under the cut, bc it long)

Every relationship Ilya has found herself in since the loss of her husband has had its difficult  moments. The emotional turmoil she experienced has made her reluctant to open up those deep romantic feelings towards someone else ever again, and the one time when she feels as though maybe she can, she runs away. She blamed herself for Nati’s death, and because of this she resisted allowing herself to find true solace in the presence of another person, thinking she didn't deserve the right to move on.

In the early mornings since finding herself in this new life,  as soon as she'd awake her immediate thought is always that she will open her eyes after another 200 year sleep and see that cryopod again, with the corpse of the one she loves lying lifeless inside. In the beginning of her wasteland life, she would wake in a panic from this thought and hope to see Nati there beside her, only to experience the daily realization that none of this was a dream, and he still wouldn’t be coming back. As her time out of the vault turned to months (and the bourbon and med-x helped calm her mind at night), she stopped waking with a fright and instead with more of a stagnant misery that she was still here again. This didn’t stop her from filling the void with the affection of someone who cared more for her than she did of them, though.

In the morning, Piper would always be curled up right behind her with her face buried in her hair when she would wake up, keeping her way too warm with her soft embrace. Birdie would be sleeping as far away on the bed from her as possible, except for maybe holding one of her hands (Germs. Of course. He still never got too used to the touching.). Gage would hold her in a death-grip as if trying to prevent her from fleeing in the night.  

None of these unique personal quirks changed the despair she constantly felt as soon as waking up and the crushing loneliness from missing her husband; that is, until Mike.

Mike was definitely not the type with a delicate and sweet embrace like Piper. Or a squeezing hold like Gage. Or a distant yet mutually understood affection like Birdie. Instead when he'd stay the night at Fizztop with her, in the mornings she would wake to find them just comfortably close, sometimes not even touching, or else with her holding on to him in a way where she felt as if she could protect him. The more weeks he spent with her, the more apparent it became that she no longer constantly woke up in her familiar gloom. For some reason that she really couldn't explain, she would feel a sense of relief seeing him there with her as opposed to the guilt she felt with anyone else. And eventually that relief evolved into a warm and fond longing to have him there always beside her, and a gentle disappointment when he wasn’t.  

For her who had been unable to find any semblance of real comfort in the months since leaving Vault 111 and to this point been unable to calm the pervasive traumatic memories that plagued her mind daily, this feeling, while only a small part of each day, began for the first time to bring her an actual definite happiness.  

#ilya valle #dizzy deeks #my oc #thank you bettyyy!!! #oc asks

[tedsprestonesq]

what Will calls Mike

Mike turns over on the basement floor and stares at Will through the midnight gloom. 

“Will? Are you awake?”

Will makes a tired grunt and then opens his eyes. “Yeah, I’m awake. What’s up?”

Mike’s voice quivers. “Can I tell you something?” 

Will reaches out blindly and finds Mike’s shoulder. He squeezes it gently. “You can tell me anything. I promise.”

Mike smiles unsurely and swallows. “I’m a transsexual.”

Will’s eyes widen from their sleepy squint. He processes for a moment. “Okay,” he says, “so that means you’re a girl?”

Mike nods, and Will’s eyes barely register the movement. “Kinda. I’m a girl and a boy, I think. Is that... okay?”

“Of course it’s okay. You’re just as cu— cool, I mean. You’re just as cool as a girl as you are as a guy.”

Mike giggles. “You think so?”

“Yeah. Thanks for telling me.” He pulls at Mike’s shoulder. “Now can I give you a hug?”

Mike hums in answer. Will scoots across the floor and wraps her in his arms. She nestles her head into his chest and sighs. 

“So do you want me to call you something different?”

“Maybe you could call me ‘she’ sometimes?”

“Just sometimes?”

She nods, rubbing her forehead against his collarbone. “Yeah. Like I said, it’s kind of a both thing, I guess.”

“Okay. Hey, there’s...” Will trails off into a noise that is mostly exhalation and partially a near silent scream. 

“What are you doing?”

“Sorry. I’m— I’m just— See, I—“

“Is everything okay? What’s going on?”

Will kneads his forehead and exhales, trying to steady himself. “I have one more question for you.”

“Go for it.”

“Can I call you my girlfriend?”

Mike lets out a nervous laugh. “What? We’re not—“

Will pulls away from the hug and rolls onto his other side, staring at the wall. “I’m sorry. That was— I’m stupid. I’m so stupid.”

Mike swears under her breath. “No. I’d like that.”

Will looks over his shoulder at her. “What?”

“I’d like to be your girlfriend. And your boyfriend, too. That sounds... perfect. I just didn’t think you liked girls.”

Will rolls over to face Mike’s silhouette. “I just like you, Mike. A lot.”

Mike’s face splits into a wide grin. “I like you too. A lot, a lot.” 

They sit for a moment in their joy, and then Mike says, “Could you hug me again?”

Will bridges the distance again and wraps himself around Mike. She sinks into the gentle weight of Will’s arms and sighs. She notches her head under his chin, face buried in his shoulder, and sleep suddenly doesn’t seem so unattainable. 

Will softly asks, “Mike?” but only her even breathing responds. Will smiles and turns his face down, ever so slightly, to kiss the top of her head. “I love you, Mike,” he whispers, and then he too is headed off to sleep.

#the androgyne writes #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #stranger things #byler #byeler #will byers #mike wheeler #trans mike wheeler #nb mike wheeler #nonbinary mike wheeler #androgynous mike wheeler #coming out #fanfic #fanfiction #my writing