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steddielations · 6 months

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Flight of Icarus Character List

Lore Part 1 | Part 2

- Eddie Munson: Our boy is 18 years old, lives alone in his dad's house with Wayne checking in on him. By 1984, he's the lead singer and guitarist of Corroded Coffin and the DM for Hellfire. He's known as Freak King at school, and Munson Junior around town, he hates both. His grades are bad, but the only trouble he gets in at school is getting blamed for fights with jocks that he doesn't start or win. He works as a barback at the Hideout where his band plays sometimes. His status as town pariah due to his dad's criminal reputation and being an outcast deeply affects him. He wants nothing more than to escape that image, even if he's trading it for a different image. The story kicks off when he gets a chance to chase a record deal in California and teams up with his dad to get the money to move.

- Al Munson: Eddie’s dad, he comes in and out of Eddie's life. He's been abandoning Eddie alone/with Wayne for long stretches since Eddie was a child. Al's very charismatic and has even made Jim Hopper laugh. He uses that "Munson Magic" to manipulate everyone around him, he's a conman and career criminal. He taught Eddie guitar, but also taught Eddie to jack cars at age 10 and only sees Eddie as his little minion. He comes back to town, claiming he's fresh out of a prison stint in Colorado with a debt he needs to repay, and enlists Eddie into helping him rob a truck carrying drugs from his former boss. He leaves details out of the story that blow up in their faces. In the end, he leaves again when Eddie needs him most.

- Wayne Munson: Eddie’s uncle, factory job guy and the best caregiver as we all predicted. Wayne’s a quiet guy, very emotionally reserved too. Eddie says he’s never even heard Wayne yell, he’s non-confrontational. He doesn’t like Al, says nothing even when Al tries to instigate an argument. He deeply cares for Eddie. Eddie is very stubbornly independent, so used to being on his own because of Al, and Wayne tries to respect his boundaries while also being concerned, as Eddie gets very prickly about it. He tries his best to keep Eddie from getting roped in with Al, but overall he lets Eddie make his own decisions. He seems like he wants to just bundle Eddie in a hug at times, but they're not to that point yet in the book. In the end, Al's scheme gets their house burned down, so Wayne permanently takes Eddie in. He shapes Eddie by telling him he’s not his dad and to stop caring what people think and not to put himself in a box. Some nice tidbits: Wayne has a green thumb, reads Gardener’s Weekly magazine and goes to a bar called the Attic on Fridays.

- Ronnie Ecker: Eddie’s childhood best friend. She lives with her grandma in the trailer park. Her father passed away and her mother is implied mentally unstable. She meets Eddie when they’re 8. She’s described as tall, taller than Eddie since they were kids, always wearing a corduroy hat, and people mistake them for siblings. She’s the first drummer of cc. Ronnie and Eddie formed the band specifically because they had to do the middle school talent show. Then Gareth becomes the drummer when she graduates. She’s also in Hellfire, wants to go to law school and has a full ride scholarship to NYU. She’s sort of implied aro/ace after Eddie tries to kiss her when they’re 13, she says it’s not just Eddie, she doesn’t think she’ll ever have a crush on anyone. Ronnie is perceptive and smart and she teases Eddie a lot but they’re very protective of each other. Eddie gets blackmailed by Principal Higgins into dropping out when he threatens to jeopardize Ronnie's scholarship. Eddie never tells Ronnie this, even when they have a fight about him choosing to end Hellfire because Higgins convinced him his friends would be better off. This causes them to leave off on vague terms when she goes to NYU.

- Dougie Teague: This could possibly be unnamed freak from the show, but there’s an age discrepancy because he’s the same age as Ronnie and Eddie in the books and it says he graduates. So he would have to fail senior year twice along with Eddie to still be in high school in the show as unnamed freak. Dougie is the backup cc guitar player, whereas unnamed freak played bass in the show. Dougie is brash and blurts things out. He lives where Eddie calls the nice side of town and they rehearse in his garage. Dougie’s mom is not fond of Eddie but lets them practice there. Dougie’s dad is an HVAC truck guy.

- Jeff (no last name): Jeff is a sophomore and the bass player for CC, whereas in the show he plays guitar. Jeff comes across as reserved compared to Eddie and Ronnie. He played D&D with his older brothers before joining Hellfire. Eddie says Jeff knows more about bass than him. Jeff is ‘the nice one’ and generally nervous and anxious. He’s reasonable but he looks up to Eddie and buys into what Eddie says about the band getting a deal even if it’s unrealistic. Jeff is awkward around girls, wants to do good in school and he’s afraid of getting in trouble. The owner of the Hideout bar lets the band split a beer and Jeff is nervous the whole time. Also, when Eddie screws up, Jeff is the first to forgive him.

- Gareth (no last name): Gareth takes on the role of Eddie’s first sheep, whereas everyone else are Eddie’s friends, Gareth is like the little kid he’s fond of. Gareth is a freshman, there’s a whole scene of Eddie helping him create a D&D character. He’s hotheaded and a target for bullies. Eddie sticks up for him a couple times, and once, Gareth barrels in shrieking and throwing windmill punches to stop Eddie from getting jumped by Tommy H and crew, which results in Gareth going to the hospital with a fractured wrist.

- Rick Lipton (Reefer Rick): Rick is a very typical laid back stoner character. He's around 35, described as a giant soft guy with big smiling eyes and friendly face, wearing a Smokey the Bear shirt, and not what Eddie expected from a drug dealer. His house is also not what Eddie expected, being pretty clean compared to Eddie's teenage inhabited space. Eddie meets Rick through his dad, who has screwed Rick over in the past and this makes Rick unwilling to be the buyer of what they're going to steal off the drug truck. Eddie however puts on his best "Munson Magic" and convinces Rick. Rick is impressed and calls him Munson Junior, which Eddie hates. He goes back to Rick at the end of the book, needing money and a job. Rick gets him started dealing.

- Elizabeth Munson (maiden name Franklin): Eddie’s mom, he's a certified mama's boy. She doesn't appear in the book, Eddie says she got sick and passed away when he was around 6. She's originally from Memphis, Tennessee, where she met Al and they moved to Hawkins when she was 19, they got married March 12th, 1966. She loved Eddie's dad but Eddie says Al was always leaving her to go off on schemes. She passed her love of music onto Eddie. Her favorite was Chicago blues, Eddie didn't understand why until she passed and he started to feel it in his bones too. Eddie remembers dancing with her to Muddy Waters' "Rollin' Stone" and when the song comes on in the truck while he's doing business with Al, it makes him tear up. He recalls this memory several times, it seems like it’s his happiest memory. He says "When Elizabeth Munson was happy, the whole entire world was happy." His biggest connection to his mom was through her music. Then when Al's scheme goes wrong, the people he screwed over show up and burn down their house in an act of revenge. Eddie almost gets killed trying to save his mom's records, but they burn.

- Paige Warner: Paige is a junior scout at WR Music. She's not described beyond having freckles, chin-length dark hair and dark eyes. She has a younger brother on the Hawkins baseball team. At the Hideout, she sees Eddie's band playing and he chalks up the courage to talk to her. (He's squeaky and blushy, no game) Paige is in town for her grandmother's funeral, she remembers Eddie from the middle school talent show, though she is two years older. She likes his band because they're "real". She returns another night and Eddie (after some bad news that makes him desperate to chase his future) propositions her to get them a record deal. She's insulted, having told Eddie that guys use her for that reason, but they agree to work together. Paige pays for the studio time for cc to record the demo tape. In the meantime, Paige meets Al and Eddie is beside himself the entire time, not wanting her to find out the dirty work they're doing to fund his future. Then, Paige's boss only likes Eddie, and when she delivers this news, Eddie expresses that he doesn't want to ditch his band, but she says this will benefit both of them. So he agrees and it's implied they start hooking up, never making things official. She leaves for California and he's supposed to go later for his audition and stay with her. This doesn't happen, Eddie's heist with Al lands him temporarily in jail, and over a heated phone call, things end between them. It's implied that Paige pays his bail but never speaks to him again.

- Tommy Hayes: It's debatable whether this is supposed to be Tommy H from the show, whether his last name was always Hagan or if that was a fanon thing. Given his proximity to the jocks and being bitter that Steve has changed since dating Nancy, it's supposed to be Tommy H from the show. He's extremely violent in the book, which doesn't track so much with Tommy in the show, who's more of a shit-talker lackey. This Tommy bullies Eddie for being poor, a freak, and the son of a criminal. He bullies the whole Hellfire club and beats Eddie up on two occasions, punches Ronnie (accidentally?) when she tries to protect Gareth, and puts Gareth in the hospital. He faces no repercussions because the Principal is on his side, as Tommy's family is influential and rich.

- Principal Higgins: The principal of Hawkins High. Eddie is justified for wanting to flip him off in the show. Higgins has a ton of favoritism toward the kids from well off influential families, like jocks and preppy students, and always takes their side even when Eddie (and friends) are the ones bruised and beaten. He's a Bible thumper and hates Hellfire and also hates Eddie because he's a Munson, considers him a rotten apple that poisons the bunch. He wants Eddie to drop out to rid the school of the Hellfire club. After the brawl between the jocks and Hellfire, Higgins convinces Eddie that it's his fault his friends are considered freaks and get bullied. He blackmails Eddie into dropping out by threatening to jeopardize Ronnie's scholarship to NYU. Eddie eventually comes to his senses and finds his fire again when everything falls through. He gets re-enrolled in school and turns things around by blackmailing Higgins. At this point, he knows Higgins buys drugs from Reefer Rick, and uses that information to force Higgins to let Hellfire continue and leave him and his friends alone.

- Officer Moore: A Hawkins cop who has it out for Eddie. He's described as having a blond buzz cut, a square jaw, Superman level All-American looks. He has a growing mid-forties beer gut. He pulls Eddie and Ronnie over in Eddie's van, Eddie sasses the shit out of him since apparently he pulls Eddie over a lot trying to find reasons to arrest him, just because he's a Munson. But he has to let them go.

- CJ and Toby: These are two goons that worked with Al under the same boss, Charlie Greene, one of the biggest drug kingpins in Oregon. They are transporting the truck with the drugs that Al enlists Eddie to help him rob. Eddie and Al successfully rob the truck, but CJ and Toby show up to their house days later. While holding Eddie and Al at gunpoint looking for the drugs, It's revealed that Al didn't owe money because he borrowed it, he stole it because he got greedy. Eddie was under the impression that he was saving his dad from enforcers that would come to collect the debt eventually, not helping him steal more from them. Al wasn't in prison like he told Eddie, he was living large as Charlie Greene's right hand man, never sending Eddie a dime. At this point, Eddie and Al have already sold the stolen drugs to Reefer Rick, so Al turns over the 15 grand of money to CJ and Toby. They think it's settled, but CJ decides to set the house on fire too, since Al embarrassed them with the boss. The only reason they don't kill Eddie and Al is because Officer Moore shows up, having been following Eddie. Instead, CJ shoots Officer Moore in the leg and then he and Toby flee. Eddie immediately goes to help the officer (despite hating Moore) while Al is telling Eddie to come on so they can run. Eddie feels like its their fault Moore was shot and won't leave him, Al says he didn't realize Eddie was this much of a fool. Eddie tries to get him to stay because he needs him, but Al leaves him anyway and Eddie is devastated and numb. He's arrested when cops show up.

- Jim Hopper: Hopper brings Eddie a cup of water and talks to him while he's in lockup for the night. He calls Eddie "Junior" but Eddie's too numb at that point to care. He says they know that Eddie tried to help Moore, but he's being held for arson because of the house, until he makes bail. Hopper is really trying to give Eddie a break, knowing he helped Moore, and talks a bit about Eddie's dad. He says something cryptic about knowing Al in school and how every time something went down, Al was usually at the center. Hopper does Eddie a favor and lets him use the phone in his office, where Eddie calls Paige. Hours later, Hopper tells him he made bail and that Wayne is there to get him.

- Chrissy Cunningham: Eddie remembers Chrissy from the talent show. Eddie's dad was supposed to be there, but didn't show up, meanwhile Chrissy is disappointed that her mom did show up. A lot like the show, it's minimal but Chrissy is sweet with troubled undertones. Eddie's surprised she even talks to him, but she's nice and says she'd cheer for him if his dad didn't show. Fast forward to high school, when the jocks are giving Eddie flack, Chrissy tries to get them to stop. Then they try to lie to the principal and say Eddie was bothering Chrissy. Chrissy says it's a lie but Jason quickly silences her.

- Bev: The owner of the Hideout bar. She's a very no nonsense drill sergeant kind of lady. She keeps Eddie humble, calls him Junior despite him asking her not to, always tells him to get a haircut and doesn't like his band at all, though she lets them play there as part of the exchange for Eddie working there. The stage is just some rickety wood that her late husband built. It's implied she had something to do with his death. She's strict and doesn't give anything out for free, only Al is able to charm her out of a free pitcher of beer when he's celebrating Eddie (temporarily) dropping out of school, which stuns Eddie. When Eddie quits the job chasing his California dream, she admits she'll miss their band and that's that.

- Janice: Principal Higgins secretary who equally hates Eddie and favors jocks and preppy students. She wears coke bottle glasses that magnify her eyes and has a fanatical obsession with purple.

- Stan: A junior member of Hellfire who had to sneak around his parents to go to meetings by pretending to be at algebra tutoring, as they consider D&D to be Satanic. When his parents find out, they write a letter to the school, condemning Hellfire club and saying they sent Stan to a church program to cleanse him. Higgins shows Eddie this letter to make him feel guilty and responsible.

-Nicole Summers and Cass Finnigan: These girlies are mentioned in one sentence but I don't know where else to put this info. Eddie implies these are the two other hookups he had before Paige, once in grade ten and once senior year, saying that he could tell they were only doing it for the dare of getting with the freak. Though, he wasn't looking to be anybody's boyfriend. He compares them to Paige, who he feels like genuinely likes him

- Steve Harrington: He doesn't actually appear in the book but his balls get a mention so he's going on the list. The only thing to note is that Steve doesn't approve of any freshman getting beat up, to the point where the jocks do it behind his back and Jason Carver is worried about him finding out. Tommy says Steve doesn't have any balls since dating Nancy Wheeler. Eddie defends Steve's balls, saying Tommy can't talk about someone else having no balls when he gets his kicks beating up freshman.

- Will and Jonathan Byers: At the end of the book, in a record shop, Will and Jonathan walk in. Eddie recognizes Will from his missing posters and recalls the events where Will had a funeral yet somehow was found alive. Jonathan goes to the back for a certain record, and while Will is alone, Eddie watches as a few younger jocks come into the store and start hounding him, calling him zombie boy. Eddie takes up for him, goads the jocks and gets them to take it out on him, takes a baseball to the chest and they leave. Eddie tells Will that Zombie Boy is metal as shit and Jonathan thanks Eddie when he comes back. Eddie offers Jonathan weed and says Jonathan is way too offended by the question for someone with his haircut. This whole interaction solidifies Eddie's new sense of purpose, collecting and protecting sheep.

- Granny Ecker: Ronnie's grandmother. She's not a big part of the story at all but she lives in the trailer park too. She's a wooden spoon wielding grandma character. Eddie calls her Granny too and she worries about Wayne and makes Eddie bring him casseroles and stuff. it's just cute so I'm including it.

#characters and their parts in the story technically #i tried to make this where reading to the end gives you all the plot too #eddie munson #flight of icarus #steddie #< for the one steve mention hehe #steve harrington #stranger things #wayne munson #al munson #will byers #jonathan byers #jim hopper #ronnie ecker #gareth emerson #jeff stranger things #mp

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youryurigoddess · 4 months

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A nightingale sang in the London Blitz

When exactly was that certain night, the night Aziraphale and Crowley met — and spoke for the first time in 79 years in the midst of the London Blitz?

And what’s the deal with the nightingale’s song, really?

Grab something to drink and we’ll look for some Clues below.

The night they met

The Blitz, short for Blitzkrieg (literally: flash war) was a German aerial bombing campaign on British cities in the WW2, spanning between 7 September 1940 and 10 May 1941. The Luftwaffe attacks were carried out almost non stop, with great intensity meant to force a capitulation and similarly strong impact on British life and culture at the time.

Starting on 7 September 1940, London as the capital city was bombed for nearly 60 consecutive nights. More than one million London houses were destroyed or damaged, and more than 20,000 civilians were killed, half of the total victims of this campaign.

The night of 29 December 1940 saw the most ferocity, becoming what is now known as the Second Great Fire of London. The opening shot of the S2 1941 minisode is a direct reference to recordings of that event, with the miraculously saved St Paul’s Cathedral in the upper left corner.

The actual raid lasted between 06:15 and 09:45 PM, but its aftermath continued for days. The old and dense architecture of this particular part of the city turned into a flaming inferno larger than the Great Fire of 1666. Multiple buildings, including churches, were destroyed in just one night by over 100,000 bombs.

Incendiary bombs fell also on St Dunstan-in-the-East church that night, the real-life location of this scene as intended by Neil. It was gutted and again claimed by fire in one of the last air rides on 10 May, when the bomb destroyed the nave and roof and blew out the stained glass windows. The ruins survived to this day as a memorial park to the Blitz.

Such a delightfully Crowley thing to do: saving a bag of books with a demonic miracle adding to the biggest catastrophe for the publishing and book trade in years. 5 million volumes were lost, multiple bookshops and publishing houses destroyed in the December 29th raid alone.

Even without this context, judging by the seemingly unending night, overwhelming cold and darkness, broken heating at the theatre, and seasonal clothing (like Aziraphale and Crowley’s extremely nice winter coats), it’s rather clear that it was the very beginning of the year 1941.

Everything suggests that Aziraphale and Crowley’s Blitz reunion happened exactly 1900 years after their meeting in Rome — which, according to the script book, took place between 1 and 24 January 41 (Crowley was right: emperor Caligula was a mad tyrant and didn't need any additional tempting; there's a reason why he was murdered by his closest advisors, including members of his Praetorian Guard, on 24 January 41).

Interestingly, both events involved a role reversal in their otherwise stable dynamic, with Aziraphale spontaneously taking the lead instead of letting the demon be the one to do all the tempting and saving, and ended with a toast.

The S2 Easter Egg with the nuns of the Chattering Order of St Beryl playing table tennis at the theatre suggests that the Blitz meeting happened on a Tuesday afternoon, which doesn’t match any of the above mentioned days, but sets the in-universe date for 7 January 1941 or later.

The Chattering Order of Saint Beryl is under a vow to emulate Saint Beryl at all times, except on Tuesday afternoons, for half an hour, when the nuns are permitted to shut up, and, if they wish, to play table tennis.

The nightingale

January means one thing: absolutely no migratory birds in Europe yet. They’re blissfully wintering in the warm sun of Northern Africa at the time. But, ironically, when the real nightingales flew off, a certain song about them suddenly gained popularity in the West End of London.

It might be a shock, but A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square wasn’t a hit from the start — even though its creators, Eric Maschwitz and Manning Sherwin, were certainly established in their work at this point. The song was written in the then-small French fishing village of Le Lavandou shortly before the outbreak of the Second World War with first performance in the summer of 1939 in a local bar, where the melody was played on piano by the composer Manning Sherwin with the help of the resident saxophonist. Maschwitz sang his lyrics while holding a glass of wine, but nobody seemed impressed. It took time and a small miracle to change that.

Next year, the 23-year-old actress Judy Campbell had planned to perform a monologue of Dorothy Parker’s in the upcoming Eric Maschwitz revue „New Faces”. But somehow the script had been mislaid and, much to her horror, replaced with the song A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square. She had never professed to be a singer but even so, she gathered her courage and went out onto the moonlit set dressed in a white ball gown. Her heartfelt rendition of the now evocative ballad captured the audience’s imagination and catapulted her West End career to stardom.

It was precisely 11 April 1940 at the Comedy Theatre in Panton Street and the revue itself proved to be a great success — not only it kept playing two performances nightly through the Blitz, but also returned the next year. And the still operating Comedy Theatre is mere five minutes on foot from the Windmill Theatre, where Aziraphale performed in 1941, and not much longer from his bookshop.

Now, most Good Omens meta analyses focus on Vera Lynn’s version of the song from 5 June 1940, but it didn’t get much attention until autumn, specifically 15 November, when Glenn Miller and his orchestra published another recording. And Glenn Miller himself is a huge point of reference in Good Omens 2.

According to the official commentary the infamous credits scene is establishing Aziraphale and Crowley’s final resolve for the next season using the same narrative device The Glenn Miller Story (1954) does in its most crucial scene. It starts with the tune (and audio in general) totally flat, then adds a piano on one side, and gradually becomes fully multidimensional. The Good Omens credits not only emulate the same sound effect, but bring it to the visual side of the narrative by literally combining the individual perspectives of the two characters together. Even though they’re physically apart, their resolve — and love to each other — brings them even closer than before. Aziraphale smiles not because he’s being brainwashed, but because he knows exactly what to do next.

Some of you might have noticed that Tori Amos’s performance for Good Omens is actually a slightly shortened version of Miller’s recording — much less sorrowful than Vera Lynn’s full lyrics that include i.a. this bridge:

The dawn came stealing up

All gold and blue

To interrupt our rendez-vous

I still remember how you smiled and said

Was that a dream or was it true?

Which is a huge hint when it comes to what we can expect from the main romantic plot line in the Good Omens series. The original song introduces an element of the doubt — it seems like there was no nightingale at all, only the mirage woven by the singer clearly intoxicated with love, much like Aziraphale and Crowley for the length of the last six episodes. Crowley’s comment in the season finale might allude to that interpretation, stating that there are no nightingales — never have been. It was all a dream. But the version we’re working with here is short and sweet, and devoid of that doubt. In the Good Omens universe angels were actually dining at the Ritz, the streets were truly paved with stars (or will be shown as such in the next season), and a nightingale really sang in Berkeley Square, as the omniscient, omnipresent, and omnipotent narrator, God Herself, had shown us.

All in all, it’s not an accident that the “modern” swing ballad activating Aziraphale’s memory and opening the 1941 minisode is the Moonlight Serenade by Glenn Miller. It’s a track naturally associated with A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square when it comes to music style and the sentiment in the lyrics.

But why the sudden popularity? In the great uncertainty and hardship of the Blitz, A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square provided solace and escapism for listeners, offering a glimpse of hope and love amidst the darkness of war. It became a universal anthem of resilience and a reminder of the power of love transcending difficulties. By January 1941 the whole city knew this tune by heart, including a certain West End aficionado with a cabinet full of theatre programs in his bookshop. Thanks to Maggie’s grandmother, he most probably had a record at hand to play during his spontaneous wine night with Crowley. We can only suspect the details, but it was was mutually established as their song exactly at that time or soon afterwards. Pretty sure we will see a third installment of that minisode for many, many reasons, but especially because of this “several days in 1941” answer by Neil:

The Man Hunt

In 1941 A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square gained even more popularity as the romantic theme of the Fritz Lang’s newest film Man Hunt. The 1939 story by Geoffrey Household first appeared under the title “Rogue Male” as a serial in the Atlantic Monthly Magazine where it received widespread comment, soon becoming a world-wide phenomenon in novel form. Its premise criticizes Britain's pre-war policy of appeasement with Germany, ready to sacrifice its own innocent citizens to the tentative status quo. Sounds a bit like Heaven's politics, right?

Yes, I'm trying to make you watch old movies again — like all the other classics, Man Hunt (1941) is easily available on YouTube and other streaming websites.

The next part will include spoilers, so scroll down to the next picture if you prefer to avoid them.

The plot of the movie seems simple enough: the tall, dark, and handsome Alan Thorndike, who nearly assassinates Hitler, narrowly escapes Germany and back in London continues to evade the Nazi agents sent after him with the help of a young trench-clad “seamstress” named Jerry, bridging the class divide and becoming unlikely friends-partners-romantic interests. It doesn’t end well though.

Jerry's small London apartment serves as a hideout for Alan when he was being followed by Nazis, similarly to how Aziraphale's bookshop is a safe haven for both Crowley and Gabriel in S2. She helps the man navigate the streets and eventually out of London — by sacrificing herself and getting forcefully separated from him by a patrolling policeman. The last time they see each other, Alan watches Jerry look back at him yearningly and disappear in the fog, followed by the elderly officer.

Unfortunately in the next scene we learn that the latter is a Nazi collaborator and helps the agents apprehend Jerry in her own flat. Staying loyal to her love and uncooperative, she’s ultimately thrown out of a window to her death, but posthumously saves Alan once again — through the arrow-shaped hatpin he gifted her earlier that is presented to him as the evidence of her off-screen fate.

Long story short, thanks to Jerry’s sacrifice Alan not only survives, but is able to join the war that broke out in the meantime and go back to Germany, armed with a rifle and a final resolve to end what he started, no matter how long will it take. The justice will be served and the dictator will pay with his life for his sins.

I wouldn’t be myself without mentioning that the main villain has a Roman chariot statue similar to the one in Aziraphale’s bookshop, an antique sculpture of St Sebastian (well-known as the gayest Catholic Saint) foreshadowing his demise, and a chess set symbolizing the titular manhunt/game of tag with the protagonist.

Aziraphale’s song

Will Aziraphale sacrifice himself as well? Or has he already? If his coin magic trick can be any indicator, we should expect at least a shadow of a danger touching the angel’s wings soon.

Let’s sum up the 1941 events from Aziraphale’s perspective: the very first time they’ve interacted after almost a century, Crowley actively sabotaged his entire existence twice by stepping onto a holy ground and by being outed by agents of Hell, both on the very same night and both because of his undying dedication to the angel. That’s enough of a reason not only for performing an apology dance, but also maintaining a careful distance for Crowley’s sake for the next 26 years. Only when he heard that his idiot was planning to rob a church, he gave up since he “can't have him risking his life”.

That’s when Crowley, sitting in a car parked right under his bookshop, offered him a ride. It wasn’t even subtle anymore. It was supposed to be a date, this time both of them understood it. But Aziraphale wouldn’t risk Crowley’s safety for his own happiness, especially not when he can name his feelings towards him and knows that they are reciprocated — the biggest lesson he learnt back in 1941.

So he did what he’s best at, he cut Crowley off again, but this time with a promise of catching up to his speed at some point. Buddy Holly’s Everyday, which was originally planned to play afterwards instead of the Good Omens theme, adds additional context here:

No, thank you. Oh, don’t look so disappointed. Perhaps one day we could... I don't know… Go for a picnic. Dine at the Ritz.

Aziraphale, carefully looking around and feeling observed through the whole conversation in the Bentley, consciously used the “Dine at the Ritz” line from A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square, from their song, as a code only the two of them understand. Not as a suggestion to go out for a meal, but a promise. A hope for the privilege of being openly in love and together — maybe someday, not now, when it’s too dangerous — even if it leads to a bad ending.

Fast forward to 2023 when for one dreadful moment Crowley’s “No nightingales” robbed Aziraphale even of that semblance of hope. He looked away, unable to stop his tears anymore. Only their kiss helped him pull himself together and make sure that a nightingale did sing the last time he turned — just like in their song — this time without a smile, as a goodbye.

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augustjustice · 8 months

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Sharing Smokes Outside the Snow Ball

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It's the Winter of 1999, and Steve Harrington and Eddie Munson are standing outside the Hawkins Middle School Snow Ball, sharing a smoke.

Eddie can't believe he's back here, the whole thing feeling nearly as surreal as that nightmare, wayward Spring Break over ten years ago. He'd barely made it out of that hell hole alive, Steve himself practically having to hold Eddie together as they made their way from Forest Hill to Hawkins Memorial Hospital.

Spring had turned into summer, sweltering and oppressive as Eddie slowly, painfully healed.

There had been bright spots, though. Watching Lucas and Erica squabble during the one-shot campaign he had cooked up just for the party that June. Evenings out beside the Harrington's temperature controlled pool, beer bottle sweating in his hand as he traded a joint back and forth between Argyle and Jonathan, the sound of Robin's cackle loud and bright as she managed to hipcheck Steve into the pool. Steve's own blinding smile--a longtime feature of Eddie's secret high school fantasies--being turned on him the first time he made it from the front doors of the physical therapy clinic to the passenger side of his BMW, without needing any help at all.

But then summer had ended, and Eddie, finally back together again like a character out of a children's nursery rhyme, had packed up his van and headed straight to Chicago, not looking back.

Sure, there'd been post cards sent, phone calls to Dustin and the other Hellfire brats, promises to see everyone soon. Promises that Eddie couldn't keep, even if he wanted to.

Not when he didn't dare set foot in Hawkins, not ever again.

Then, over a decade into his second life as a struggling guitarist by night, record shop employee by day, his cousin Brooke had landed on his doorstep, looking too tired and too young all at once, a bruise around her eye. Behind her, her eleven year old son was studying the apartment hall's tiling.

"I left him." Eddie didn't need an explanation for that one. Her good-for-nothing husband, Nash. "Jake won't be any trouble, he just...needs a place to stay, while I get back on my feet. Somewhere his daddy can't find him. Just for a little while."

Eddie thought of his Mama. And then he called Wayne.

"Shit, Uncle Wayne, I--don't know what to do."

"Come on home now, boy," Wayne said, easy as anything, like Eddie had left only yesterday. "Come on back home."

So Eddie had.

That had been six months ago. And now he was standing in the aforementioned middle school parking lot with Steve 'the Hair' Harrington, while their kids--and wasn't that just a fucking head trip and a half--danced the night away.

"I keep half expecting Click to round the corner screaming my name," Eddie admits as he gives Steve a light. "Remember junior year, I sold to you in the alley behind the gym? Old bat nearly got me that time."

"Remember? I literally had to shove that joint down the front of my shorts, dude," Steve admits, which draws a snort out of Eddie to match his own chuckle. "Most of the guys on the basketball team couldn't move half as fast as you did that day. You practically vanished into the woods before she even made it to the stadium. Totally shoulda gone out for the track team, Eds."

Eddie clutches his chest, as though he's been shot. "Don't speak such blasphemy to me, Harrington."

"Yeah, well, you can quit worrying. Pretty sure she finally retired," Steve tells him, taking a long drag before he's passing the cigarette back to Eddie, even that brief touch enough to send sparks of electricity up Eddie's arm. Then he shoots Eddie that charming, infamous Harrington smile, boyish and cocky, the one that says he's used to getting exactly what he wants. "Even if she's not, I'm head of the PTA. If Higgins tries anything, I'll just threaten not to bring cupcakes to the next bake sale."

"Harrington, my hero," Eddie fakes a swoon, collapsing for a brief second against Steve's shoulder, an excuse to get close.

The theatrics get no rise out of Steve beyond an amused smirk. Even after all these years, he's still used to Eddie's antics, it seems.

"You know, it was total déjà vu," he nods to the middle school gymnasium, all decked out in blue and white, "dropping Sam off here."

Though he's actually gotten to know the Harrington offspring in person since he's been back, Eddie had received the rundown from Dustin and the others on Steve's journey to dadhood in their scattered calls over the years.

The December after Eddie had left, Steve had met a girl, taken her out on a few dates, and accidentally gotten her pregnant.

With Samantha, a name Dustin had proudly persuaded Steve into as the little girl's godfather. Every bit as adorable, now that Eddie had seen her, as the gushing picture the party had painted for him, all big blue eyes and wavy chestnut hair just like her father's.

Steve had gotten down on one knee long before she was born, determined to tie the knot and do right by her mother nearly as soon as he'd heard the news.

The pair had been divorced not even two years later.

"I don't think they were ever really in love," Dustin had informed Eddie one sunny afternoon impromptu of nothing, as always blunt in his honesty. "But you know what Steve is like. He's a hopeless romantic."

Eddie didn't, not exactly. But he's gotten enough glimpses, both back in '86 and much more recently, that he's starting to put the picture together.

Steve draws Eddie out of that particular reverie with another bright laugh. And then he's recounting the memory of Dustin's hair, done up in the infamous Harrington 'do, as Steve pulled up in front of the '84 Snow Ball playing chaperone in his trusty Beemer, long since traded in for the much more affordable sedan he's driving now.

"I demand photographic evidence, Harrington," Eddie insists, smile crooked, that distracting dimple appearing in his right cheek, "you can't conjure up an image like that and then not fork over the goods."

"Hey, man, talk to Dustin. Mrs. Henderson took like...a million pictures that night," Steve laughs.

But he's already mentally going through the album tucked away on a bookcase back at home, positive he's got his own photo to show for it. It'll make for a nice excuse to invite Eddie over for dinner one night.

The subject turns then to their own checkered experiences with school dances.

"Class of '85, baby! That's when they made your 'King Steve' title official," Eddie crows, teasing as he taps Steve once on the nose.

Steve goes a bit cross-eyed, following the movement of his finger.

"Yeah, well, talk about a total let-down of a night. I didn't even bring a date," Steve admits, tone blasé. The truth is, his entire senior year had been something of a disappointed trudge towards graduation, a walk he had taken mostly alone. There had been bright spots--the little band of miscreants he'd fallen into babysitting, for one--but they had all been far outside the walls of Hawkins High. "I'm guessing you weren't around for that? Not really your scene, especially with the Munson Doctrine's strict rules about 'forced conforming.'"

He puts Eddie's words in deliberate air quotes, his turn to give him a teasing smile.

"You're wrong about that one, big boy. I saw them, adorning your glorious locks with the crown." That mischievous smile is back. "We're not that old, dude, don't tell me you already forgot the whole 'prom streaking' incident?"

Eddie shoots him a loaded, deliberate look.

"Wait a minute, wait a minute." Shaking his head with a laugh, Steve waves his arms in front of him, like he's calling a time out. "You've gotta be fucking kidding me. That was you?"

"The one and only. What can I say, Jeff and Gareth dared me. Besides, by that point," Eddie shrugs casually, "I already knew I didn't have a shot at graduating anyway, so. Thought I'd close out the year with a bang."

"You've seriously never considered doing anything halfway in your life, have you, Munson?" Steve asks, giving Eddie's shoulder an almost exasperated nudge, smile fond in spite of himself.

"Absolutely not, Stevie boy. Life's too short. Where's the fun in playing it safe?"

Eddie swings into Steve's space, then, dark eyes sparkling. Goading and flirtatious. Just like when they were teenagers, thrown together in the worst of circumstances but making the best of it, before time and pain and trauma put all that distance between them.

And if Steve's eyes drop down to Eddie's lips as they share air, slow enough it can't be anything but deliberate, and their fingers brush just a tad too intimately the next time they trade the cigarette back and forth...well. They've got a lot of lost time--and shared smokes in school parking lots--to make up for.

#stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #my writing #my stuff #my things #i watched the end of season 2 for the umpteenth time this evening #remembered i always wanted a steddie scene parallel to the jopper smoking scene outside the snow ball #and then wrote this in a fevered haze over the past two hours #so apologies for any mistakes and messiness

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the-kr8tor · 4 months

Note

Happy fluffy Friday!! Can I request the Hobie and the reader having to take Billie and Ramona to run errands?

Thank you!

S'cute!! Thank you for requesting, hope you like it 🫶

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 1.6k

Tags: no use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, Dad! Hobie, Mom! Reader, Billie and Ramona AU, Twin AU, cw food mentions, FLUFF

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“Crisps me up, Mac” Hobie's hand is reaching behind him, fingers flexing for the twin's snack, his eyes fixated on the road ahead.

The sedan rattles as it hits a speed bump. It's been the Brown family car since the girls were born. Hobie traded his old band van for it so the girls would have somewhere to comfortably sit from the hospital. You still remember the day you brought them home, Hobie practiced with a doll weeks before so he knows how to work a car seat even before they arrived. He's now an expert in handling the contraption.

The seats still smell like baby powder, under the powdery fragrance lies the cheesy aroma of their snack that has made you crack open the window a smidge.

Billie slaps her dad's hand away, the bag crinkles in her tiny hands. “Not crisps, dad! They're cheesy pretzels!”

You watch the interaction in the rearview mirror with a smile. Mona giggles next to her sister, their car seats full of stickers they got from family and their dad. Both girls are still in their gymnastics leotards, oversized shirts and jackets over the sparkly spandex. They look absolutely adorable, you just want to reach behind to squeeze their cheeks but you fight the indulgence.

“Alright, pretzel me up you gremlin. It's payment for driving you” He doesn't relent, a teasing smile on his lips.

“We're almost there, dad” despite her disapproval, Billie still gives him a handful of cheesy pretzels.

Hobie gobbles it up in one bite, reaching behind again to wipe his hand clean on Billie's shirt. She squeals, laughing and kicking at his hand. Her tiny shoe falls off, thudding softly on the car floor.

“Daddy’s driving, Bee!” Mona grabs her sister by the arm. “Mum, stop them”

“Okay, that's enough, you two can goof off in the store.”

Hobie sticks his tongue out at the rearview mirror, Billie does the same, her scrunched face making you laugh.

Hobie's cheesy coated hand slyly snakes to yours, locking your hand in place.

You give him the stink eye. He laughs, bringing your hand closer to him, pressing a quick kiss on your knuckles.

“What? You've got wet wipes with you right?” He says in-between chuckles.

You only stare at him with your eyes narrowed, pretending to be annoyed as you feel the stickiness of the cheese on your palm. Good thing you actually have those wipes.

Hobie parks the car, it makes a rumbling sound as he turns off the ignition.

“Blinky sounds like he's hungry” Mona comments, the twins dubbed the car ‘blinky’ since they could talk, but it's only making it hard for you and Hobie to finally get the car replaced.

“Yeah, he's hungry for some petrol.” Hobie unclips his seatbelt before unclipping yours and stealing a kiss right under your nose.

“Hey,” you beam at him, “I'll get you later, you'll see”

“Lookin' forward to it” he gets out of the car with a smile that could rival the sun.

Hobie gets Billie out of her car seat, pausing to put her shoe back on, he makes the signature dad groan when he lifts her up.

“You smell like cheese, mac. Maybe we should switch you to cheese and Mona could have mac instead, huh?” He looks at Billie like she's the most precious cheese coated jewel in the world.

“Okay! If Mon says yes.”

They both look at you and Mona. You're just about releasing her, having a harder time than Hobie with the car seat.

Ramona looks at them with a pout. “Mum can't get me out again”

“You need help, love?” Hobie asks.

“Nope,” you curse whoever made the straps so complicated for your hands. “Anddd got it!”

“In record time too” he teases, taking each girls' backpacks from the floor with ease. Show off.

“Good job, mummy” Mona murmurs, placing a cheese filled kiss to your forehead.

“Thank you, baby”

With each girl in tow, you place them both in a cart. You and Hobie quickly learned that letting them roam isn't such a good idea when either girl suddenly wanders around, because for sure the other would follow.

The wheels squeak, the handle of the grocery cart is cold against your palms. Hobie, who has the foresight, takes the cart from you, looping his arm around yours so he's still technically holding your hand without taking his hands off the precious cart that holds his babies. And at the same time shielding you from the wretched cold.

“Daddy, cereal!” In some twin telepathy, both girls yell the exact same thing.

“We'll get to that aisle, thing one and two. We still need to get other stuff first, yeah?” He bends at the waist to wipe a powder of cheese on Mona's cheek.

She scrunches her nose. “Thank you, dad”

“So polite,” he looks at her like she hung the stars, all cheese and stardust. “Where'd you get that from huh?”

“Mummy” Mona doesn't miss a beat. You snicker from the side.

“Fair enough,” he shrugs, the girls giggle at their dad making a funny face.

You seize the opportunity in the empty soup aisle. Kissing the corner of his lips, you smile into the quick peck.

“Had to do it or your face will get stuck like that.”

“Got me good, gorgeous” he grins, his eyes crinkling happily at the corners. “Would you still love me if my face stays forever like this?” Hobie makes the face again, the girls guffaw like it's the best comedy special ever.

You whisper, “that's what the mask is for, Spiderman”

“So rude, I can't believe you've done this, in front of our children too.” He feigns hurt, clutching at his chest. “I hope Mona didn't get that from you”

You fake a gasp.

The girls fully know their father's antics and how you two weirdly flirt with each other. Billie impatiently taps Hobie's hand while Mona yawns from her seat.

“Let's go, Mon’s sleepy” Billie's tapping gets faster with every heart filled stare you throw at each other. “Stop with the kissy faces! We're tired!”

“Alright, alright! How impatient, you know you got that from your dad” you wink at Billie.

—

“One only, choose wisely” Hobie holds up two different boxes of sugar filled cereal in front of the girls.

You watch as their eyes flick from one pink box to a brown box with a bunny mascot on it. It's like they're watching a tennis match.

They converse amongst themselves, the council of cereal you and Hobie once called.

“This is going to take a while, d’you want to get the detergent while the council's deliberating? I'll stay here with them and be the referee.”

“Sure, tell me their reasoning this time” you squeeze his bicep, smooching his jaw.

“‘course. No stopovers at the candle aisle!” he half yells while you're walking away.

You give him a thumbs up, winking at him.

“Your mum's definitely going to sniff some candles.”

“We got it, dad! We want the chocolate–” Billie starts.

“Strawberry one–what?” Mona continues.

Hobie has a thought to just buy both boxes, but he doesn't want them to get spoiled too much. So he lets them argue, huffing out air when they get particularly catty with each other. He's definitely gonna have to be a referee.

—

You carry Billie right at the end of the register, her eyes are bright and curious while watching the cashier scan the items incredibly fast. She holds onto your hand as you face her towards what appears to her as the greatest show ever. She's getting heavier and heavier but you'll be damned if you stop carrying your daughters. Even if it means breaking your back.

Snuggling close to her neck, she giggles, her bubble jacket crinkles as you rub your chin atop her shoulder.

“Mum!”

“Okay, okay I'll stop, for a kiss?” you face your cheek to her side. She places a sticky kiss, leaning away with a smack of lips. “Thank you”

“You're welcome” she gets back to observing the laser, her eyes transfixed, ears perking at every beep.

You watch as Mona sneaks a chocolate bar to the lineup, she barely reaches the top of the counter, trying her best not to get noticed by her dad, her eyes flicking from him to you. He notices alright, but Hobie lets it slide, he even sneaks his own candy bar for Billie. You pretend you do not see. They deserve the treat, you both think, just for making huge progress with their cartwheels during class.

While Hobie places the groceries in the trunk, you place both girls in their car seats securely.

“What do you guys want for dinner?” You ask as you lock Billie's seatbelt in place.

“I want spaghetti” Mona yawns in the middle of her sentence.

Billie nods, fighting to keep her eyes closed. “With extra meatballs please”

“Okay, will you help mum and dad like last time?” They slowly nod, rubbing at their sleepy eyes.

They jump slightly when Hobie closes the trunk, “sorry” you hear his muffled apology.

Driving home was much quieter, both girls are sleeping soundly in their car seats, head lolling to the side. Mona embraces her blanket even asleep while Billie’s foot twitches.

“They even sleep like you,” you softly say.

“Hmm? What do you mean? You sleep like that too. Your foot twitches like that”

“And you cuddle me like that”

“Told you, we'd make a perfect blend”

“Yeah, they're perfect” you lean to the side to kiss his cheek, careful not to mess up his driving.

He hums, wishing to kiss you back. Maybe he can pull over real quick to kiss you properly this time.

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ryeriy · 1 month

Text

shout! | daniel ricciardo

-> summary: daniel goes to his first bills game with the reader

-> pairings: daniel ricciardo x bills fan (fem)!reader

-> request: Can I request that the reader and Danny are dating and she's a bills fan and takes him to a bills game bc he's also a fan??

-> a/n: as a bills fan, I literally love this idea and most definitely will do it! Also this is a shorter one but it's really cute or at least I think so. The second half is rushed and really bad because I did more detail into the first part 😭

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"Does this look good?" Y/n said, pulling the jersey over her head and her hoodie. Daniel looked at her and laughed at her struggle.

It's "off" season for Daniel, even though there's always off-track training to do. His last race was a few weeks ago and he was now enjoying his time with his girlfriend at a football game.

"It looks fine, honey."

He helped her pull the jersey over her head as she was struggling. It was a bit big on her but it kept her warm. Daniel had a wide smile on his face.

"You enjoy your surprise?"

"Is that even a question?"

She let out a laugh as she looked at him smiling. There was no doubt that he wasn't enjoying his time. Y/n and Daniel were at their first Buffalo Bills game together. Daniel was so excited when she surprised him with tickets. Now here they were, in a very crowded parking lot with thousands of strangers and people who call themselves the 'Bills Mafia'. Most of them were drinking alcohol, playing games, or simply just having fun.

It's very cold in the small town of New York. Both of them were bundled up with layers of clothing. Under both of their jerseys was a sweatshirt and additional shirts underneath. She adjusted the hat on his head and kissed him on the cheek. He softly smiled at her.

"You know, this was a great idea, I love you so much," Daniel smiled widely.

"And I love you so much," she replied. Seeing his smile she couldn't help but smile too.

After getting to experience pre-game tailgating with locals, they both decided to head into the stadium. It was beautiful weather, the sun was about to set and it was cold. Exactly how it should be in New York in November.

They navigated their way through the crowd swerving and dodging bumping into people trying to get to their seats.

"Wow..." they both said as they looked around the stadium and up into the sky. Y/n and Daniel were shocked at the moment.

Both of them pulled out their phones and took pictures of their surroundings and of each other too. Y/n recorded a video and panned the camera to Daniel, "You enjoying the surprise, Danny?"

She knew it was a dumb question but it was quite funny to see his wide smile looking at her camera. "Very much!" He exclaimed as he laughed himself.

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The game was 23-15 in the fourth quarter with five minutes remaining, the Bills were winning and the stadium was full of cheers and clapping. Daniel and Y/n were both screaming and laughing along with all of the thousands of people that were surrounding them. This whole experience felt like a fever dream to them.

It was visibly dark now and the only lighting was the bright lights above their heads. With the end nearing, it only started to get louder and louder.

Daniel and Y/n were next to each other yelling, clapping, screaming, and shouting for their team.

"Touchdown!!!!"

Those words were being projected onto the jumbo tron as the famous 'shout' song. The crowd filled with ayy ayy ayy. It was such a fun experience to be in right now. Neither of them would trade it for the world.

With 1 minute remaining, everyone started celebrating and cheering. Daniel turned towards y/n and gently grabbed her face, turning it towards him. He crashed his lips against hers and they kissed. A celebratory kiss.

"I love you so much for this, thank you," he said as he smiled at her.

"I love you too," she replied to him as she smiled.

The Bills won the game and everyone was happy. Y/n and Daniel were holding hands and cheering with the other thousands of people in the stadium. Neither of them will ever forget this experience.

#ryeriy #ryeriys blog #f1 #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #ryleespage #daniel riccardo x reader #daniel ricciardo #buffalo bills

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eddiemunsons-missingnipple · 1 year

Text

Mr. Munson

Pairings: Older! Eddie Munson x younger fem!reader

Summary: You made a new friend at work, and she invites you over to spend the weekend with her. Her father takes a liking to you, and you find yourself giving him a helping hand late one night.

Warnings Eddie is in his 40s. The reader is in her 20s. Unprotected sex. Back riding (Is that a thing? idk I'm needy)

Not proof read ignore any mistakes

18+ minors do not enter.

Eddie and his daughter have always been close it was just the two of them since she was just a few days old. Her mother, who was also his fiancé decided to pack up in the middle of the night and leave them. There was no explanation why or how to fix things. He tried being the best dad he could for Chelsea. He worked hard, and sometimes he'd even have to bring her with him some days.

Eddie was determined to give his daughter a struggle free life. He was going to become successful no matter what he had to do to get there. Eventually, he did get there when he opened up a mechanic shop in town. Then, eventually, his own record store as well. He became an entrepreneur and made his own schedule.

His daughter never missed out on anything except having a mother in her life. That's one thing Eddie just couldn't succeed in. He tried dating around and having girlfriends. Only bringing them around his baby girl when he felt like it was getting serious. Just his luck, though they never stuck around too, long.

After a while, he gave up only doing casual dating and a hook ups here and there. Eddie being single meant him and his daughter grew a bond he wished others got to have. She was funny and sarcastic, just like him. They both had a twisted sense of humor, so some people got offended when they would hear them go back and forth.

Eddie wouldn't trade it for the world, though. This is why he also has trouble letting her go. He insisted she still live with him while going to college and working. Using the excuse that she should save up her money and move out when she's financially stable. When Chelsea finally got a new job in town and made a friend just a few years older, he didn't think anything of it until when he finally met you.

"Hey, dad, can my friend from work spend the night? " Chelsea asked as she was tossing her bag on the couch.

"You know you're an adult. You don't have to ask permission?" He said, not looking up as he was preparing them dinner. "Yeah, I know, but it's still polite to ask." He smirks when he hears her sarcastic tone while entering the kitchen.

"When is she coming over?"

"This weekend after she gets out of class."

Nodding his head and tossing the knife he used to chop onions in the sink. "That's fine, no boys, though." his daughter rolls her eyes at him. Even though she's an adult, now he's still weary of men in her life. He can be a tad bit over protective, but his heart is in the right place.

That weekend, after you got out of class, you practically ran to your friends car. You can't remember the last time you were this excited for a sleepover. You felt like a teenager all over again. Tossing your bags in the back seat, you jump in, squealing with excitement.

"I can't wait to just have a girls' weekend. I'm so sick of college, " you sigh, throwing your head back into the seat.

Chelsea just laughed at you turning the radio up a little bit. Sleeping with sirens plays softly through the speakers as you both ride through the neighborhood with the windows down. "Hey, my dad will probably be home, but don't worry, he's not like weird or anything. He's cool." Chelsea said over the music playing. Looking over at her, you nod your okay and go back to listening to the music.

Arriving to the Munson residents, you notice a few motorcycles parked in the driveway and a muscle car next to them. Honestly, from what Chelsea has said about her dad, you'd never guess he'd live out in this preppy suburban neighborhood.

They lived in one of those big mcmansions with fountain in the front yard. You felt a little out of place now being here. Chelsea always told you her dad made good money and made sure she had a better life than he did. He spoiled her rotten, and she wasn't afraid to admit it. You never grew up like she did. It was just you and your mom.

Your friend nudges you from your thoughts and pulls you through the front door. Kicking your shoes off to the side. Taking a look around your surroundings, you notice tons of pictures on the walls. Some of just Chelsea as a baby with a curly haired man. You assume that's her dad since he's in almost all of her baby pictures. There were some of him playing with a band on stage, too. He looked like such a fun and energetic guy. You can see why Chelsea loved him so much and always said what a great dad he was to her.

"Dad, are you home?" Chelsea yells in the foyer walking towards the kitchen.

"I'm in here sweet pea" He called back to her.

She motions for you to follow her, and your heart begins to race a little. "Dad this is my friend from work." She said introducing you.

He looks up from his magazine and stares for a moment too long. He licks his lips and extends his arm, going in for a handshake.

"Nice to meet you, sweetheart." He said, looking deeply into your eyes.

"Nice to meet you too, Mr. Munson" you say clearing you throat.

You don't know what it was, but something about the way he's looking at you made you feel funny. Funny in a good way like butterflies in your stomach. After removing your hand from his and introducing yourself, his eyes never once left you. Chelsea finally spoke up, telling you two would be going to her room now. Giving an okay and eyes still lingering on you, taking in every curve on your body, waved you both a goodbye.

"Well, that was not as awkward as I thought it was gonna be" Chelsea said flopping back on her bed.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I don't usually bring friends over often," Chelsea confessed to you.

Eddie had left his magazine behind and headed upstairs, wanting to ask you guys if takeout is alright for dinner. He was really just using it as an excuse to get another look at you, though. He stopped at the door and listened to your conversation. He felt bad for it he had never eavesdropped on his daughter before. He just wanted to hear if maybe you were talking about him.

"If I'm being honest, I think my dad likes you," he heard his daughters muffled voice through the door.

"What makes you think that?" You laugh awkwardly.

"Oh, please, I saw how he was looking at you.

Oh my god, I just had a thought. What if you became my stepmom?" Chelsea kept going on and on.

You look at her with a shocked expression, shaking your head at her being ridiculous.

"I'm like, almost your age chells." You told her trying to act like you didn't want that.

"No listen, that would be so cool you being my stop mom. I've never had one before, and you're my best friend it's a win-win situation." She said, her voice perking up more.

"Yeah, until I like have to bang him"

"Oh please, so what l mean yeah, it would be a little awko taco at first, but I'll get over it. Besides, he needs to get some," she said, laughing at her own joke.

"Chelsea, I really don't want to talk about me banging your dad with you," you told her, hoping to change the conversation.

Eddie slowly backs away from the door and sneaks back downstairs. He wasn't offended by what his daughter was saying. That was her sense of humor, and he loved it.

Later that night, you try to sneak downstairs for a glass of water. Going to open the cabinet, the kitchen light suddenly cuts on, causing you to jump. Turning around quickly to see who's behind you, you see him. He's standing with arms crossed over his bare tattooed chest. Leaning against the wall, he's giving you that look again.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Munson if I woke you."

He doesn't say anything back he's just staring at you with a smirk slowly creeping up on his face.

"It's okay, sweetheart. I was already awake. I'm having some back pain." He finally spoke up.

He moves away from the wall and slowly makes his way to stand in front of you."Do I make you nervous?" He whispers in your ear. Moving to look back at your face, you don't say anything. You just nod your head, yes, which earns you a soft chuckle from the older man. He rubs his scruffy beard and backs away to sit at the counter.

"There is nothing to be nervous about."

You still don't move from the place you've been standing in. You finally speak up trying to ease the tension in the room.

"Why is your back hurting? Did you pull something?"

He looks up at you with a smile. He jesters for you to get closer to him. "Can you help me with something?"

"Sure." You say as he grabs your hand, gently leading you down a dark hallway. He opens his door and motions for you to enter first.

Noticing this is his bedroom, you turn quickly to face him. He told his hands up, showing you he means no harm. "I was just wondering if you could rub my back is all." He said, sitting at the edge of his king-sized bed.

"Um, okay, what do you want me to do?" You aks him nervously.

He gets up and gets some massage oil from his large black dresser. He tosses it to you and goes to lay on his stomach. You move slowly and sit on the side of his bed, almost hanging off. "It would be better if you kinda straddle my back," nodding okay. You move to straddle his back, cursing yourself for wearing a night gown.

"Squirt some oil all over my back and pay close attention to my shoulders, sweetheart"

You pour a little too much of the oil on his back and begin to knead his tense muscles. Eddie, let's out low groan and shifts slightly, making his back put some added pressure on your clothed cunt. You continue kneading his shoulders and in between his shoulder blades.

Eddie moans loud at your skilled fingers, easing his tense muscles. His back is so slippery from the oil that it's hard to steady yourself on him without sliding around. The more you move around on him, the more your aching cunt begs for more. The way he's moaning is going right to your core, and you're thankful he won't notice the wet patch on your panties.

He lifts his hips and flexes his muscles underneath you. You bite your lip to stifle a moan at the friction. "You okay back there?" his voice makes you jump. "Im okay," you say a little too quickly. He smiles to himself, knowing exactly what's going on back there. He speaks up again,

"Take your panties off" he says with his low husky voice.

"What? Um, I don't think -" You try to argue, but he cuts you off. "Take them off and take care of yourself while you take care of me,"

He commands while reaching back and patting your thigh. You do as you're told and remove them, lowering your core against him. "Put more oil down, sweetheart, so you can glide around." He bites his lip, and you begin to pour more oil down his back.

The feeling makes him groan louder, and he jerks his hips back against you, causing you to whimper. Your needy pussy is practically crying out for you to grind on him. Spreading your legs a little wider so you can be closer to him. You begin to slowly move your hips in a circular motion on his back. Grinding yourself on him giving your aching pussy exactly what it needs.

Your breathing is becoming shallow, and you start moving back and forth against him a little harder. He shifts ever so slightly while you grind yourself on him, causing more friction on your pussy. Throwing your head back, you let out a loud moan while you use his back to get you off.

You begin to rock and back forth faster the wet slick noise of your wet pussy and oil mixing together makes Eddie's cock painfully hard. He can feel your thighs flex and squeeze at his sides. He can tell you're getting close. "Come on baby, use me, go faster."

"That's a good girl." You move to lean back and rest your hands on his ass. Grinding down harder on him, you feel a tightness in your core beginning to build.

"Mmmm, I'm gonna getting close, Mr. Munson" You moan out, voice sounding so needy.

"That's okay baby come on me. let your pussy soak my back" You move to lean forward gripping his shoulders as you grind down on him. You can feel it building up more, and you're getting closer to your release. You begin to practically bounce on him until your legs start to shake and your eyes roll to the back of your head.

You bend forward, pressing your fourhead to the back of his neck crying out for him. You try to continue grinding on him to help ride out your orgasm. "Fuuuuck, I'm coming." You say finally collapsing and rolling off him. Your clit is pulsing at the intensity of your orgasm.

Eddie turns over to check on you and taps your cheek lightly with the palm of his hand. "You with me, baby?" Your eyes slowly open, and you look him in the eyes. He smiles down at you and shifts up on his knees. He starts to take off his sweat pants, stopping for a moment. "Is this okay? "Do you want to continue?" He asks you with genuine concern.

"Please fuck me I need you." Biting your lower lip.

He grins wide and grips his thick cock in his hands. You move to sit up a bit and remove your night gown, licking your lips when you see drops of precum leaking from his angry pink tip. You lay back down, and Eddie moves to position himself between your legs. He rubs the head of his cock at your tight entrance and curses under his breath.

He slowly sinks himself inside you inch by inch slowly spreading you open around him. Both of you throw your heads back, letting out a soft groan. "Fuck" He whispers to himself. Moving, he leans over you, hooking your leg over his arm while the other is his around his waist. He starts pulling in and out of you painfully slow. You move your head to the side, and Eddie takes the opportunity to attack the soft flesh on your throat.

He starts thrusting into you faster, making your tits bounce in his face. He bends down, capturing one of your nipples in his mouth sucking hard. He bites down a little, making you scream out. His cock is pumping into you so hard and you swear you've never felt this full before in your life. Looking you down you try to see him fucking into you.

"Does my girl wanna watch herself get fucked?" He said in your ear before nipping at it.

"Yes, please,"

He laughs, and let's go of your leg moving to kneel on the bed. He takes the back of your head and holds it steady so you can watch his cock spread your pussy open. "You like that, huh?" All you could do was moan in response. Eddie begins fucking you hard and you swear you can see his cock buldge in your stomach. That tight feeling in your core is returning, and you know you won't last much longer.

"Please make me come again. I'm so close. Please, Mr. Muson"

He moves his hand from your head to play with your clit. He rubs your sensitive bud in tight circles until you start squirming under him.

"You're so wet and so fucking tight" He said clenching his teeth.

He begins to rub your clit faster and your pussy clenches around him. Eddie throws his head back at the feeling of you around him. He doesn't stop playing with your bundle of nerves between your legs until it has you shaking beneath him. Your second orgasm washes over you so intensely that you claw at his back.

Eddie can feel himself getting closer, too, with every stroke of his cock. The bed squeaking, and the sound of your wet pussy being fucked is the only thing filling your ears. You can feel Eddie's cock twitch inside of you and with a few more powerful strokes he's spilling his cum all inside your velvety walls. He let's out a long, loud moan. you have never before heard a man be this vocal before.

He stills for a moment, catching his breath and slowly pulls out of your sore pussy making his cum leak out. He rolls over onto his back and lets out a breathy laugh rubbing his face. You look over at him, wondering what was so funny.

"Fuck I haven't came that hard in so long." He confessed breaking the silence.

"Me either." You agreed.

He moves and grabs your face, gently giving you a soft and gentle kiss to the lips.

"Does your back feel better, at least? " You asked him shyly.

"Oh sweetheart, my back feels like a million bucks, sweetheart."

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #joseph quinn #eddie munson fanfic #older!eddie #my writing

469 notes · View notes

8-dermestid · 3 months

Text

it's like as if somebody was gripping my throat

relationship: eyeless jack x reader

word count: 6.2k

links: available to read on ao3

warnings: canon-typical violence

M. Eerie National Park is one of the most boring places to work. You hike the trails to make sure nobody is trying to stay after hours, clean up garbage, and befriend the local cryptid.

Nobody knows about that last part except for you.

(like/reblogs are greatly appreciated, requests are open ✷)

“—Shocking news for M. Eerie National Park. Another victim, twenty-one-year-old Penn State student Ryan Sheppard, discovered on the property—”

You dig into your food, tuning out the broadcast as you scarf down your lunch and prepare for work. You rinse your bowl, toss it into the dishwasher, and move into the bedroom to change out of your pajamas and into your uniform. You pull up your cargo pants and pull on a green collared shirt with the M. Eerie National Park logo embroidered on the pocket. After deodorant, you pull on your hiking boots, grab your jacket and bag, and leave towards your car.

She’s a beat-up old thing, but she gets you to and from work without too much trouble. It’s a short, red, rust-damaged Honda Civic. Your car’s engine is strong, and it, other than the external imperfections and duct-taped-on mirror, has treated you well, and you’ve never felt the need to trade up.

(Nor the want, being a park ranger hardly gives you enough money to keep your head above the water, but you love it, and working an office job sounds worse than pulling all your toenails out at once with rusty pliers.)

The car sputters to life, rumbling beneath you in her comfortable and familiar way. You look down at the radio—the clock reads 14:37—you’ll be on time for the start of your shift. The drive isn’t exciting, and you’d take your boring drive over a three-hour drive to the office any day. Your job is so easy, too, a simple routine you follow every day—go in during the afternoon, hike the trails before closing, watch for lost folks and garbage, and close up the park. It’s easy, so easy that your job is almost dull. You walk into the break room, your lunch in your non-dominant hand, and stumble into a meeting.

“Oh. Hey guys.” You hesitate, creeping over to put your food in the fridge. Usually, the break room was empty, and Leslie, your superior in the standard uniform with her beat-up clipboard, was marching back and forth like a drill sergeant.

In the kindest way possible, you hope she retires. She’s been working here for so long and managing everything that she deserves some R-and-R. Leslie is the backbone of the team, and one would have to pry her position from her cold, dead hands (even then, it would still be a fight), but she should consider passing the job to someone else.

You plop down in one of the three empty chairs. Two of your coworkers transferred to another park (quite suddenly, too, no two-week notice or anything). It’s not good, especially considering they were the only other people working your shift.

“Alright, we can wrap up this meeting with a quick problem,” Leslie begins again, waving quietly to you. “Guests have been reporting stolen items more than usual, lots of jackets, gloves, boots, ooh—food, too,” Leslie jots something down on her clipboard, “To be honest, I think people are just misplacing things and blaming it on the wildlife, but if you see anything, just radio me, and I’ll come to help you sort it out.”

You nod. People leave things where they shouldn’t be all the time—you can't count the number of times families wake up with ransacked coolers because they leave them outside unprotected.

Leslie sighs, “And—look—there have been more than a few teens sneaking off into the woods before we close. Please, I don’t want another 24-hour challenge incident on our record. Keep an eye out for them. I mean it.”

Everyone affirms, whether with a nod or a “Yes, Leslie.”

The team filters out of the break room, and one of your coworkers (with wild, dark hair and stickers nearly smothering the Molly on her nametag) bounds to your side like a deer.

“You think it’s a bear?” She asks. She’s practically bouncing off the walls despite Park Ranger being the least thrilling job on the planet.

You shrug. You don’t carry the same energy that Molly does. She is just a wee sixteen-year-old at your side working her first big girl job, and any excitement at this middle-of-nowhere park is a godsend for her.

“Well, it could be a bear. But, I mean, a bear wouldn’t be stealing men’s jackets or boots.” she suggests, “Maybe not a bear, or maybe it’s those kids again… Remember the kids from a few weeks ago?”

Oh. Oh, of course, you remember those kids. Three of them, two girls and some in-between kid, all seventeen and seniors at the local high school (local being the closest high school, which was thirty miles away) that Leslie caught trying to stay overnight for some silly internet challenge. One of them, the in-between kid with the flattest hair you’ve seen in a while, brought an Ouija board because of some weird internet gossip about your park. It was strange—super, duper weird—because the couple (apparently, maybe? You aren’t sure) ditched the third girl to make out under an abandoned deck. Leslie only caught them because the third (a taller, more heavyset girl with colored hair) was terrified of some tall, slender man who scared her on the internet.

“God, don’t remind me.” You finally say. You still remember the three of them yelling at each other, Leslie dragging them out by the collars of their shirts like scruffed cats after they got caught (because one of the girls was a crybaby, their words, not yours).

Leaving the break room and finally feeling the sun this morning, Molly waves you goodbye and starts jogging down her favorite trail. She’s got energy for miles; if she were older and wiser, she could compete with Leslie.

Speaking of, Leslie pats your shoulder. Her grey hair shimmers in the sun, and she, with wrinkles showcasing her long and fulfilling life, smiles down at you.

“Afternoon, kiddo. You doing alright?”

You nod, more focused on the heavy workload you have in front of you.

Leslie pats your back like a coach would to her favorite player, “I know Josh and Ryan quitting hasn’t been easy on you.” Her voice is too solemn for a work transfer, “I’ll be working tonight, too, if that eases you.”

You perk up, half with relief and half because working with Leslie is the best. It’s comforting to have a superior like her around when people start getting wild in the woods; she’s good at grabbing people by the scruff and dragging them out, kicking and hollering.

“You can take care of the Southern Reach, yeah? You’re a big kid—you can handle it.”

You’re more than just a kid, but between her being near retirement age while you are fresh out of college—you are a kid in her eyes. You nod, already unhooking your heavy flashlight from its carabiner.

“That’s the ticket. I’ll take Northern. We’ll meet back up here for closing.”

“No, no, I’ll handle closing.” You persuade, “Come on, Leslie, I can handle closing a big gate. Just handle Northern and go home.”

She debates it, rolling the idea around in her mind before conceding. “Alright, kiddo. Just this once, though.”

At first, with the sun just touching the horizon, your checks go well, and you clean up a few empty beer cans along the southernmost trails. Your trash bag is light, which is a plus. You don’t need to pull your flashlight out until past seven in the evening when the moon peeks out behind you. You find an empty can of soup (chicken-noodle but with star-shaped pasta instead of noodles). The top looks messily cut, as if with a knife, which isn’t at all uncommon.

Except, well, this can has a pull tab disregarded by the previous user. You turn over the can in your palm, examining the shredded metal and paper label, and toss it into the bag with the rest of the trash.

Further, closer to the center of the trails, there is another disemboweled can. You pick up one, the lid is also ripped off, the pull-tab forgotten about, yet this soup can has more than half of it ripped off into a swirly shape, almost like someone was desperate for something to eat. It’s Campbell’s, not Grandma’s cooking.

There’s another can further into the woods, more shredded than the last, with a deep dent in the center; the can was clean, too clean, which is both weird and disgusting. Dogs shouldn’t eat this stuff concentrated—too much sodium.

Another one; there is a streaky, black substance marbling with some soup still sitting at the bottom of the can; another, and more of that black slime. You carefully pick up each one and add it to the bag. The next can has more of that substance—almost too much. The smell is putrid. It burns inside your nose, and you get a whiff of formaldehyde or something that reeks of death.

You keep traveling into the woods, finding more debris and litter, an old chewed-through sleeve, a jacket, and a glove smattered with that syrup-y oil. There’s something wet beneath your palm, and thank the stars you chose to bring your gloves this morning. It’s red, with a black slime marbled in it. It’s sticky between your fingers, and it smells awful. You follow the trail of red and black with your flashlight.

The source is the mangled carcass of a hiker wearing a high-vis vest. You suck in a breath and reach for your walkie-talkie. It’s sickening, and you can’t stop looking at the body as you radio for your superior.

“Leslie? Leslie, you there?” You plead, hands shaking and mind racing. Of all the people you want to pick up, it’s her. She’s been working here since before you were born—maybe she’s found a mutilated person in her time working the trails.

The silence stretches for an eternity until you hear a familiar voice on the other end.

“Hey, I’m here. What’s going on?” She asks.

“Uhm, I don’t know,” You make the mistake of looking at it, at the remnants of a man, at the carcass before you. “I don’t even know what could do something like this.” God, it makes you sick, but you can’t look away.

“Come on, talk to me,” She barks, her voice firm with years of seniority, “What are you seeing? Talk.”

You swallow. “Some hiker got attacked. They’re not responsive,” You mutter into your little plastic lifeline. “I’m off Trapper’s—I don’t know—Christ, I’m going to be sick.”

“...Okay,” Leslie replies quickly, “Are you safe?”

You don’t know the answer to that question. You swallow a lump in your throat as you look frantically for movement in the dark woods. Leslie says something, but you can’t hear it over the sound of your heart hammering away in your ears. You see movement between the trees, the primal part of your brain attempting to identify any immediate danger. Everything is spinning, it reeks of death, and Leslie’s voice is staticky because of the shitty speakers.

“Answer me! Come on, kiddo, where are you?” She shouted, her voice laced with harsh static.

Your flashlight flickers, and you hope whoever ordered these flashlights has something horrible happen to them. Something rustles in the bush. The only thing you have to protect yourself is a bag of loose garbage and your shitty flashlight. Leslie is shouting so loud you can only hear half of her words. Whatever emerges from that bush will eat you alive—you’re sure of it.

The stench of death gets heavier as a figure crawls out from beneath the foliage, wearing a dark hoodie and a blue mask. There’s blood and guts caked under their fingernails, and they look filthy and smell worse. They lock eyes with you and try to stand, stumbling and letting out a near-inhuman cry. You hold your heavy flashlight like a baton—all it’s useful for, considering the lightbulb works when it wants to—as the masked stranger lets out a wheezy breath and crawls towards you.

You grip the flashlight so hard your hands are shaking, taking careful steps back to maintain some distance between both of you. Their approach doesn’t stop. They reach and grab at your leg and pull you to the ground. Your head is spinning as it collides with the damp earth, and you feel two hands digging into your abdomen, sharp nails scratching and attempting to burrow into your stomach. You shout as their ice-cold hands scrape across your body, their claws raking across tender flesh.

You thrash and try to push them away, but they hold you down with one hand and remove their mask with the other.

You always said you’d know what to do if you were in a slasher flick. You always called the protagonists stupid for freezing up in front of certain death, never thinking about what it felt like, knowing you were probably going to die. You look them in the eye—more so what’s left of them, staring into two tar-filled sockets where their eyes would be—and unable to do anything.

You lay back, each breath barely making it in and out of your lungs. They stop, hands still pressed firmly against you. They crane their neck, probably just as surprised as you for simply giving up. They tug your shirt back down, pressing a palm over it and smoothing the fabric with their palm.

It reignites something in you because before either of you can register what’s happening, they’re squealing in pain as you hit them upside the head with your flashlight. You scramble away, pulling yourself to your feet and running blindly to the main trail.

You don’t stop, even after the demonic cries die out under the sound of the beginning storm. You push and push yourself until you nearly collide with Leslie.

“Stars—! Kid, where the hell were you? What the hell happened to you?”

She shines the light across your face, then brushes a leaf from your coat. It’s hard to think about speaking; Leslie knows you’re trying.

“Hey, it’s okay. Come on, I’ll drive you home, kiddo.”

“But the—”

“Don’t worry about it,” She says as softly as she can, “You’ve done all you can do. Anything about you that I should be worried about?”

You pat your abdomen, a few lines of brown blood staining the front. You shake your head, and Leslie holds off on grilling you for details.

✷𓃞 ✷

She drives you home in her big pickup truck (she even went through a drive-thru and got you something to eat on the way home). She pats your back as you dig through the bottom of the bag for scraps.

“Don’t think about coming back tomorrow—Partly because you’ve been through hell tonight—but also because there’s going to be an investigation. Look—take it easy, maybe go see your doctor, don’t come back until at least next Tuesday.”

Leslie pulls over to the side of your street and pulls out a box of cigarettes. “I mean it, take it easy. You do enough work while you’re on the clock; don’t worry about anything—I have people that can cover your shift if you need more time off.”

You nod, gathering your things and walking towards your house, digging your keys from your jacket to escape the rainy weather. You shut the door behind you, and Leslie walks towards her truck, a thin line of smoke trailing behind her.

You open the door, and a warm puff of air welcomes you home. It’s quiet and dark, leaving you on edge from tonight’s incident. Instead of relaxing—like Leslie practically ordered you to—you drop your bag at the front door and book it to your computer. It hums to life, and you punch in your password and open your web browser. Surprisingly, being attacked by a person-shaped thing did not perturb your furious web-searching.

Creature in the woods near me

Masked creature, person that tried to eat me?

Blue man— you hastily hit backspace as Blue Man Group auto-fills in your search bar.

You keep trying outrageous combinations of words, eventually finding a near-defunct blog with a picture of the freaky humanoid that almost killed you.

EYELESS JACK. Well, the name fits. At least you’ve finally got a name for that face. You read through this article, which recounts this woman—a hiker-slash-rock-climber, to be more specific—coming into contact with a human-ish guy. They had a few photos of deep claw wounds that scarred over pale on her dark skin. You jot down the name, continuing to dig into the incident recounted by this woman.

You pause and close all your curtains and turn off all the lights (and you get yourself a drink to keep yourself awake). Sinking into your chair again, you continue the deep dive into this Eyeless Jack fellow, feeling like a detective from some once-popular show that wasn’t that good. You keep searching—jotting down leads for your search—until the sun is peeking over the horizon, and you can hardly keep your eyes open. Eyeless Jack has been around for longer than you first believed—they’ve probably been terrorizing after-dark visitors of your park for years, right under your nose.

Are there more missing-person cases? Did any of your coworkers who quit unexpectedly actually have a reason? God, this journey to the weirdest parts of the internet has left you with more questions than answers.

You look down at the big sticky-note pad you used for notes. It looks like you fell off the deep end with your feverish scrawling, smeared ink, and lots of quick notes about disembowelment, kidney removal, and even cult activity. You think this may need another night of internet excavation to answer those (and inevitably, come up with more, even crazier, questions). Based on a few accounts of unwanted kidney removal in their sleep, you think about getting something to eat—

—and staying as far from your bed as possible.

✷𓃞 ✷

You can’t even eat breakfast without being tempted by your thirst for knowledge; it’s unbearable. You don’t even want to think of spending more than a few days at home. Hopefully, the police hurry up and finish so you can start your investigation.

You quickly rinse and dry your empty dish, filling a glass of water and flopping onto the couch. Surfing channels and finding something mindlessly entertaining will probably take your mind off things.

The news is boring—talking about the recent storm off the southern coast—and some cooking show. A history documentary—about someone you don’t care for—a jewelry channel, another news channel, and a kids’ show.

(Tempting, but no.)

The local news, though not mindless, is entertaining. There’s an over-top camera view of the park. Dozens of police cruisers and K-9 units are parked—and you can see your car, your old, rusty girl in the lot—Cops are infesting every corner of your TV, some moving into the woods toward Trapper’s, others lingering to talk in the view of the helicopter. It cuts to a news anchor recapping the incident from last night. They think it’s a bear attack. Leslie says it was a bear attack. Your coworkers say it was a bear attack, and Wildlife Removal will deal with it.

They don’t know anything—Jack tore into that hiker like a wild animal—and left the poor guy’s insides all over the forest floor.

You don’t stop watching the news until they start talking about the weather, where you only half-listen. There’s going to be a storm tonight. The teams at your job are probably going to try to recover the body and bring it to the morgue before it starts raining.

You turn off the TV after that. You examine your abdomen, five short lines across your belly where their claws made contact. You decide to go to the bathroom to clean and dress them.

“Better to be safe than sorry.” You tell yourself.

After a few cotton balls soaked in alcohol and big bandaids later, everything is clean enough and about as well-dressed as you can, considering your supplies.

There’s not much to do at home, and trying to take your mind off things with your usual hobbies isn’t working. You even try scrolling mindlessly online, but you can’t stop thinking about last night.

Why did they stop—and so suddenly?

You lift your shirt and brush your thumb over the bandaids on your belly, the skin still too hot and tender. Maybe you were just lucky, stupidly lucky. You pick up your home phone and dial Leslie’s number. She at least deserves a warning about what’s out there.

“...What are you doing?”

“Leslie,” there’s some strain in your tone, “Hey, Leslie. How are things?”

“You’re calling about work? You’re supposed to be on vacation.”

Yes. Yes, you are.

“I know, but—Look, it’s about last night. I know you specifically told me not to do any digging, but—”

“Kid,” She cuts you off. You can picture her frustration as she probably rubs at her temples, “Tell me you did not do that.”

Yes. Yes, you did.

She sighs dramatically. “You work too hard—even when I order you to stop thinking about work, you do it anyway.”

“Look, it wasn’t an animal. It was a guy.”

“...What.”

You pull the phone from your ear. You probably do sound crazy. And you will continue to sound crazy when you talk about what you found online from defunct blogs from 1999. No matter how you try to spin it—every time you start talking—you can not come up with the words to explain that the scary internet creature is real. Leslie will not believe you, and who the hell would?

“...Nevermind. I have to go. I have, uhh, laundry in the dryer.” You mutter.

“Well, feel better, and stop going on the internet—you’ll scare yourself out of your skin with stuff people make up for fun,” Leslie sighs, then her voice goes soft, “I mean it. Take care of yourself. We’re thinking of you, kiddo. Oh, and Molly says hi.”

You swallow a lump in your throat. “...Well, let Molly know I said ‘Hi’ back.”

“Will do. Okay, see you next week.”

You hang up.

✷𓃞 ✷

It’s damp. The fallen leaves are starting to rot and turn mushy under their boots. Jack tears through another can with their claws and downs a mixture of soup and soaked-through chicken. They drink, grinding the sinewy chicken and too-soft between their teeth, swallowing harshly and curling up at the taste. Police swarming the woods like ants to fruit has been awful; Jack is tired. Everything burns, they’re tired of running, and they’re still so hungry.

Other foods are necessary to Jack’s diet—they can’t live off meat. They need carbs and stuff—but if Jack has to spend more time seeing faces, they will start digging for their kidneys. They collapse underneath a fallen tree, curling up like a woodlouse. If the police find them, Jack just hopes it’s quick.

They can hear men shouting somewhere nearby with their big, angry dogs.

Jack falls asleep there, eventually, and they don’t know what time it is when they wake up, just that it’s dark out again, and it’s so quiet.

They survive off stolen clothing and soup cans between stays at the manor. Though their vision is gone, Jack still lives with psychosis (one would figure getting their eyes melted with hot tar would prevent visual hallucinations). Eating human flesh, though a taboo solution to their symptoms, allowed Jack to clear their mind and function.

Jack sunk deeper under the heavy log when they heard footsteps and a whining dog.

“I know, boy.” A man says, coughing as the air smells of cigarettes.

Jack’s nose burns at the smell. The dog sniffs at the earth and knocks aside a pile of leaves with its nose, whining and howling. The officer kicks aside the leaves and sighs.

“...Alright,” He says, the metal bits of the dog’s vest clicking together as the dog grows restless, thrashing against it.

The man hunches down, the sound of a plastic bag crinkling in his palm, muttering something to the canine.

“Atta-boy. Come on, Chester, it’s damn creepy out here.” With the tug of the leash, the officer and his canine retreat out of the woods.

When the two are out of earshot, Jack squeezes out from under the log and feels around in the dirt, sniffing the air and only smelling wet earth. Their chest tugs in a sickened sort of way, and they sink back into their hiding place and curl up into a ball. The rain picks up again. Wind howls and thunder crackles in the sky, rattling the earth.

Their new jacket, which they snatched off an unsuspecting hiker, was Jack’s only protection from hypothermia stealing the heat from their digits. Jack breathes into their palms, hot air flowing across their stiff fingers (which Jack promptly stuffed into their underarms to warm them up).

The wind doesn't hesitate to rob Jack’s already-deprived body of what little it has. Jack can’t stop thinking about how hungry they are—and how they see faces melting in their periphery whenever their mind wanders. They pick at the raw edges of their sockets in a measly attempt to soothe. It doesn't work. Nothing works anymore, even when Jack can consume human meat. After only a few hours, Jack’s skin is already itching with the need to keep consuming, to keep eating, to stave off their psychosis by any means necessary. They tug—and tug, and tug, and tug until they’re shaking—at their raw skin, where hardened pitch meets seared flesh and patchy brows. It’s unbearably cold, it’s so fucking cold, and going back to that hellish manor sounds like paradise right about now.

But that’s not an option.

✷𓃞 ✷

Tuesday finally comes around, and you can return to work.

You pack two lunches today. Your bag is just leftovers in a takeaway container (dinner from yesterday), and the other is a sandwich with a few slices of Swiss cheese and meat (far more meat than you’ve ever used at once). It’s got other things on it; you aren't going to give some hungry person—who’s probably been living alone in the wilderness for who knows how long—a boring sandwich. Too bad if they don’t like mayo (Well, you hope they like mayo, lest they rip you in two for the offense of a condiment on real-people food).

You fill your water bottle, grab your keys, and head out the door.

Leslie’s truck is humming outside. Your car is still in the lot at work. You were not in any condition to drive after, and Leslie would not have let that happen. She moves her bags as you climb into the passenger seat. You set down your things on the floor, trying to conceal the second lunch you made.

“...Glad to have you back, got everything?” Leslie asks.

You nod, jingling your keys.

She flicks her turn signal to the left and drives onto the road, turning right onto the main road.

The car is quiet, except for the radio playing old 80s hits, thick with the tension that you almost died the last time you went to work.

“You can work wherever you want today. Molly’s willing to work with your plans. I can imagine not wanting to do trail walks after, well, you know what.”

“I’ll be okay,” You say, ”I’ll do trails today. Not a problem.”

Leslie grips the steering wheel tight. “You’re sure? After you know what, I figured you would want to quit,” She turns left, “I wouldn’t blame you.”

“No. I’m a little shaken up, but I’m okay.” You say, looking out the window.

Leslie makes some noise like she knows you’re lying. Your brush with death should have turned you off from any outdoorsy work, but here you are, making lunches for the thing that tried to rip you open like an orange. Maybe your too-empathetic and hopeful parts hope this sandwich helps them out. Everything you read about them was far from pleasant—Some of it didn’t seem real.

“A mixture of blood and hot tar poured into the eye sockets.” You recall.

This stuff about Eyeless Jack you read felt like fiction, but what you saw that night was real. God, it sends shivers down your spine, makes you feel ill—you don’t know what you would do if put in that scenario (blinded, abandoned, and left to die in the woods with an insatiable hunger for human flesh? Jack has been active for years, all alone, you think, you’re not sure how you would last even half as long).

“...Did they find anything?”

Leslie sighs. “No. But it’s an animal, so it’ll return next time it’s hungry. We’ve got more people on watch. Hopefully, we can get Wilderness Removal or Animal Control on it, maybe kill it if we have to.”

You hope not. Leave the critter that keeps eating people alone; they should just leave a plate of food out.

“Maybe don’t try to hunt down the wild critter-person like an animal.” You think. The rest of the ride is silent. You pull up to the park and see Molly chatting with a guest. She spots you looking out the window and waves, delighted to see you again.

“I wanted to give you this in case anyone tries giving you trouble.”

She passes you a black cylinder that’s roughly four inches tall. The button on top and the spray nozzle tells you it’s pepper spray.

“...Thanks, Leslie.”

“Anytime.”

You pull on your coat and leave your lunch in the fridge, taking the other out. Then, you jog over to your car and abandon the pepper spray in the cup holder; you hope that this choice won’t get you killed tonight, but you need to start on a good foot.

Your day-to-day rhythm comes back to you. You warmed yourself up on the more populated trails, picking up cans and directing folks about. It’s sparse, only seeing small groups unfazed by the recent killings (perhaps through ignorance or a belief that death is beneath them). The dread is heavier when you walk an empty trail that’s usually lively with people, even during the day, when dangers lurking in the bushes are more visible. As the sun creeps across the sky—and lower towards the horizon—fewer and fewer people choose to risk hiking after dark, lest they get disemboweled like the last guy who tried.

By 19:00, it’s empty. There’s nobody around other than you. But you know they’re still out there, listening to your every movement (and every breath and every hitch).

You scan the edge of the woods where they’re probably hiding, carefully stepping over the foliage while you intentionally stray from the carefully manicured path.

The trails are well-kept. The landscaping crew works diligently and takes pride in their work, keeping them free of debris and roots that would make the footpath a challenging terrain. Beyond the edges of the dirt roads, however, the forest is wild; vines writhe and twist along the floor, every plant fighting for sunlight in the undergrowth, with bigger-than-your-head leaves and trees wearing thick coats of creeping ivy. You witness the cycles of life and death within this delicate ecosystem—young trees climb higher and higher, growing larger and larger; insects feast upon the trees, rely on the trees, live and die by the trees; the trees, after centuries of life, die and rot; the lichen and insects feast on the rotting wood and refresh the cycle anew.

It makes you feel small and insignificant, as the world around you lives and dies without even noticing your existence. It’s like being surrounded by other people’s ideas in a museum, thousands of other people, forgotten by time, remembered by their art, or their shoes, or their stories through other people’s mouths.

Your boot slips on slick earth before you can continue your mental spiral about your insignificance as one among billions. Your boots squeal against pulpy mud and you nearly slip down into a strange recess; the earth is slick with that same slime, though it is more grainy and pus-like in texture. You follow the streaks in the muddy ground, where it slips underneath a large, rotten log.

You shine your light underneath, spotting a shivering, cobalt-blue mask underneath layers of jackets and stolen fabrics.

Maybe they’re sleeping, and waking them up (though with the promise of real people food) may upset them enough to maul you like a bear and eat you for lunch instead.

They shift and wiggle into the recess they carved out for themselves, hearing some shuffling outside of their burrowing. They suck in a deep breath through their nose, and the smell of human sears the insides of their lungs like smoke. They hunch a little bit, curling into a more upward sitting position, sniffing the air, inhaling once, twice, then a third time until they have that scent burned into their hindbrain. They can’t stop drooling, salivating at the thought of finally feeling okay again, having something to cut through the smoky, blurry feeling. They hear shuffling, their prey slinking back as they curled forward. They can’t suppress the growl that rumbles in their throat, teeth licked behind the mask. They don’t move like a person in preparation for a chase. Jack slips out of their nook, their body curled forward and arms hanging limp.

Jack reaches up and peels the mask like a second skin, revealing tar-filled sockets that bore down at your scent.

Jack lurches forward like they’re on a leash, sinking their claws into your arm and digging in, etching out five deep grooves, each weeping a stream of blood that makes Jack’s mind run wild. Without thinking entirely, Jack pulls your arm forward and sinks their teeth into your bicep, leaning their body weight against you, knocking you both to the floor. There’s kicking and screaming, high-pitched whining as Jack’s teeth tear through skin and sinew, coating your arm in blood and spit.

You cry out, trying to pull their steel trap of a jaw out of your arm—managing to loosen their upper jaw, and by shoving them away with the heel of your palm, you manage to rip out their lower jaw, too.

They shiver, licking their teeth over and over again. Feral, animalistic delight rattles their whole body; they’re giddy at the taste of your blood, but they hold some restraint at the sound of their name.

Your breathing is frantic, and your heart is hammering in your throat. Jack’s breathing slows, and they quit licking their teeth. You’re not sure where to start. You hold your breath as Jack’s tar-filled sockets bore down into yours. Their breathing is heavy, and there’s saliva dribbling down their chin. You squeeze your arm, your skin clammy with blood and sweat, while Jack stays still above you.

Your mouth is nailed and twisted shut like you’re at the morgue. Jack doesn’t finch as they, strangely again, don’t tear you to shreds like the last guy. You sigh, which comes out as an exasperated laugh, your chest squirming like a bucket of mealworms as Jack’s warm, blood-soaked breath enters your nose. Their hair is long and matted, greasy and cool-brown in color; their skin is a deep gray like the living dead, bulked up by layers of stolen sweaters and pants to keep warm.

“I, uhh…” You start, “I brought you a sandwich if you want it. I didn't know what you liked, so I just put a little bit of ever—”

Jack’s knee presses into your ribcage as they climb over you, feeling around on the ground for your bag. A wheeze rattles from your throat, and they dump your belongings onto the forest floor unceremoniously, sniffing the contents like a tracker hound.

They pinch the bag between their claws, disemboweling the brown paper bag, the contents hitting the floor with a wet thud.

You watch them eat, tearing through plastic and paper with their teeth, eating with no sensibility nor dignity. The sandwich is shoved into their mouth and swallowed in about fifteen seconds, and a crushed bag of potato chips you forgot at the bottom of your bag perishes, too. They crack open the plastic container full of your dinner and hesitate, neck craned in your direction. It takes a few moments to find them, but Jack finds the metal utensils you packed for yourself, showing the container to you.

“Oh, well, yeah. That’s mine. My dinner, I mean. You can have it if you want.”

They shake their head in a fit.

They push it in your direction, a flatly affective expression on the remainder of their face, but their body language pushes your cold leftovers on you with a lot of force. You gingerly take the container from their claws, crack it open, and eat. Jack listens attentively to you, sockets trained on you, on the sound of metal utensils clinking against your mouth, the sound of you swallowing your meal. Their hands squirm and play with the dirt and leaves, excited to share a meal of leftovers with somebody they nearly killed twice. Your arm is throbbing as you carefully feed yourself, your jacket’s sleeve shredded. Hopefully, your emergency fund can cover a trip to the hospital for however many stitches you’ll need, as well as the antibiotics you’ll be taking (or paying for amputation if this gets infected, but you try not to think about that as this demonic forest creature is enraptured by you eating supper with them). You scrape the bottom of the container, not missing a single morsel.

They move their hand under their chin, and you recognize what Jack is doing. You took a few classes in uni, so you pick up on the ASL as soon as their hand collides with the other in a neat thank you.

“Oh! You’re welcome,” You say, “Was it good? I was worried if you liked mayo or not.”

They grin. It’s small, subtle, and hard to do with the tar seared to their skin, but there’s a quiet peek of teeth as they chuckle at being understood. They like mayo.

You laugh, too, exhausted and relieved. After so many restless nights worrying about getting your organs surgically removed in your sleep, you’re looking forward to a restful night after the day you’ve had. At the hospital, because you’re arm is looking pretty ugly.

“Look, I think I have to go.”

They tense up.

“I won’t tell anyone about you, I promise,” You sigh, trying not to look down at your bloody limb, “They’re still looking for you, though, so be careful. If you need food, I can try to sneak you some from Lost & Found.”

Jack pats at their pocket, pulling out an old, beat-up phone. They pass it to you, and you type out your number and put it into a contact.

“I’ll, hopefully, see you soon?”

They shrug. It’s probably for the best that they don’t make any promises. Jack walks into the treeline, eventually disappearing from view.

#can also be read as: domesticating the feral they/them at your job #mewrites #eyeless jack x you #eyeless jack x reader #eyeless jack #creepypasta eyeless jack #creepypasta fanfic #fanfiction #creepypasta #mecreepy #x reader #reader insert #gender neutral reader

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pedge-stuff · 10 months

Note

HC: like if u are dating Pedro he is protective af in public. like the man is so sweet and wholesome but i like to think that if you ever get “harassed” in public or someone tried to record you,bother you, say he can do better than you to you or him he will like get sooo mad. He would barely be able to keep it together idk and like say things that would be unimaginable for normal pedro. (idk like just imagining him yelling or being like pissy and talking back to paparazzi or smothing is just whhwiwjwbwjwowiw to me) but its like sweet af, because it shows how much he cares about you. and that u are everything to him and whateverrrrr 🥺

idea ig idk

hm i will be back !!!! 😌 with more hc!! because this man had taken over me heh 😞

-thankful anon again as always still greatful for marked universe, m/gn content and the new fluffy fic that included oscar and the edibles ooohhhh so cute i melted !!!!!

I love where your head is at. Veered left with this one, hope it went vaguely where you were hoping. Thank you for the rec! :) Come back anytime. piss yellow range rover (pedro pascal x gn/m!reader)

a/n: same vague universe as “marked.” apparently no one comments on this app anymore but they are my favorite so please drop a line!!

tw: gay slur in the middle. trans character, trans writer.

summary: baby's first homophobia

————————————————————————

You’re surprised it took so long, really.

A full month after Pedro’s Tonight Show interview goes viral. After his SNL debut, the following week he spends holed up recovering, his begrudging return to LA for Mando press, and your reunion in the LAX Arrivals driveway two weeks later. Four full weeks— long enough that it no longer gripped teeth into the front of your mind.

Long enough that your guard was down.

Until, of course, some asshole decided he needed to be tastefully homophobic before his morning cup of coffee.

You were midway through your LA morning routine: parting with Pedro in the parking lot of the strip mall that housed his personal trainer, and timing your long run around the surrounding area with the duration of his session, such that you were back to pick up a 2-drink mobile order at Starbucks by the time he emerged.

Your very normal, palatable oat latte was balanced atop his stomach-turning 6 black espresso shots, as you watched Pedro round the corner through the window.

Sweat is beading at his temple, but he is all smiles as he trades you a kiss for his plastic cup.

It still feels like a novelty. Neither of you are usually PDA people, but the sudden lack of secrecy has brought on a second wave of the honeymoon phase. You can just do things like this, now— kiss in Starbucks or hold hands at restaurants or be seen grocery shopping together. You don’t have to take separate Ubers to the same place on date nights.

The sun is shining, your iced latte was made right, your workout is over. There is a whole day in front of you, and a handsome man beside you. A man who holds the Starbucks door for both you and the woman pushing a stroller inside— but only reaches for your hand after.

Things are actually really, really good.

Until you step off the curb:

“That is not the way. Fuckin’ fags.”

Crazy how quickly some guy sipping a green goddamn smoothie can ruin your peace. Two guys, actually, snickering to each other as they unlock their car.

Beside you, Pedro goes incredibly still. He drops your hand.

“What did you just say?”

His friend, chewing on his straw, grins as your stomach turns. A shit-eating grin. “At least it’s kinda straight, right? Dude’s got a pussy.”

They erupt into laughter.

White noise buzzes in your ear; your cheeks flush. “Come on.”

You break away, towards the car, but his feet are rooted to the ground. “Pedro. Come on.”

They are still laughing as they duck behind the tinted windows of a piss yellow Land Rover. Laughing as they close the door.

Laughing as five and a half shots of espresso splatter across their black-tinted windshield, streaking in brown rivulets down the yellow hood.

Pedro turns, finally, and stalks quickly across the lot. You have to jog to keep up. Behind you, the assholes are yelling profanities, but you don’t hear a car door open. Cowards.

The moment he settles into the drivers seat, Pedro pounds a fist on the dashboard. Hard. His fingers curl into a tight grip around the steering wheel, which he clutches like a lifeline as he draws in a handful of ragged breaths.

You can only watch from the passenger seat. Try and ignore the fact that he won’t look at you as he starts the engine and peels out of the lot.

The drive to the Hills is dead silent. Even the radio can read the room.

Silence acts as a breeding ground for your racing thoughts, which multiply like hatching mosquitos. Your ears are still ringing. Buzzing.

It’s your fault— this is a fact. This was his biggest fear, wasn’t it? The backlash? This didn’t happen before he came out. (Before you forced him to come out, though he swears that wasn’t the case. You’d just finally, maybe begun to believe it, after a month. Or not.)

This happened to you, sure. Less so in New York, or LA. It’s almost funny, that you apparently stumbled across two of the only straight people in LA this morning. Shitty people live everywhere.

You’d both disabled the comments section of your instagram for a few days, but by and large, the feedback had been overwhelmingly positive. Until today. It’s different hearing it face-to-face.

Pedro is halfway into the house before you realize you’re home. Slowly unbuckling, you debate leaving the iced latte in the cupholder; the thought of it turns your stomach.

As you greet the dogs by the door, a distracted ‘hello,’ you watch him slip out to the condo balcony. He is clutching a pack of Spirits in a clenched fist.

What are you supposed to do? There is nothing you can do, besides apologize. You pace between the kitchen and living room, chewing on your cuticles, eyes closed. The sweat from your run has now cooled uncomfortably on your skin. An apology won’t be enough, but you don’t have a solution. You can’t take it back. He can’t come un-out.

The balcony door slides open, and Pedro is still silent as he shuffles to the kitchen. He pours a glass of water— out of habit, you assume. Though you never mind, he always washes the taste of tobacco away, after he smokes. Refuses to kiss you until after he’s cleansed his mouth, lest he leave any trace of stale smoke on your lips.

Before you can really register, he has crossed into the living room, and pressed his lips to your own.

He kisses you softly, and then moves to your forehead, eyebrow, temple, along your jaw. Doesn’t go as far as your neck, which he knows you are sensitive to— these kisses are not foreplay. They’re too light, too quiet. Your eyes flutter closed.

Pedro’s chin hooks over the top of your head. His arms wrap around your shoulders. Your cheek presses against the base of his neck.

“I’m sorry,” he says, before weakly clearing his throat. “I don’t know why I did that. I don’t know what came over me.”

“Why are you sorry?” You pick your head up. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry? You… handled that so well, querido. I lost my shit. I have never gotten physical like that before, I don’t know what came over me. I’m not violent. They were just… they can’t say that. It’s not right.”

It is your turn to reach up, place a kiss on the angle of his jaw. “You are not violent. You did not lose your shit.”

“It was a perfectly good coffee,” he pouts.

“We can get another,” you placate, “but I can’t get another you. People are always gonna say shit. It’s kinda nice to have something so good, it makes people mad.”

Pedro chuckles, weakly. “Yeah. I guess.”

“If it’s easier to lay off for a bit, though—“

“Lay off?” His brow furrows.

You rub a hand up and down his arm, lightly. “The PDA, doing public stuff, I dunno. I don’t want you to—“

“Are you joking?” You are given a look of sheer disbelief. “Jesus, no. Isn’t that what they want? You want them to win?”

“It’s not a competition, Pedge. I want you to be safe, and comfortable.”

“Fuck that!” His exclamation is loud enough to startle Edgar, whose collar jingles as he jumps grumpily off the couch. “I love you. We went through too much shit, to not be able to hold your hand outside a fucking Starbucks.”

Pedro’s hair is a little tousled, cheeks a little flushed. He’s maybe never looked more attractive to you.

“Okay?”

You exhale. “Of course.”

There is a pause, as the morning settles back around you. The sun is still shining, your workouts are still behind you. Plenty of time in the day to walk to a different Starbucks, for another round of drinks. Maybe you’ll hold hands on the way there. You can, if you want to.

Pedro tugs on the collar of his white t-shirt. He grimaces. “Can we shower, though? I think I smell like the ocean.”

You don’t mind.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal one shot #pedro pascal rpf #pedro pascal x male reader #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fluff #the last of us #joel miller x reader #joel miller

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taruusmoon · 6 months

Text

REWRITE THE STARS

Masterlist

BALLERINA TATTER! x RICH OC!

OC: Juliana Choi

Summary: After ending her secret relationship with Taeyoung, Juliana attends the Giselle ballet in which her ex stars, without knowing that it is possibly the last time she will see her.

Warning: angst, bad English, exes to…

˗ ˏ ˋ ♡ ˎˊ ˗

Juliana Velez grew up as a child who lost everything. At the young age of five, her father died, and the following year, her mother remarried a man who took them to live on the other side of the world, far from home. She lost her home, her family, and her last name when her mother's new husband legally adopted her at the age of six, becoming Juliana Choi. There was nothing that really belonged to her, not even her life or her decisions. She grew up studying what her mother wanted, what she commanded, and what she thought was best.

Juliana was barely six years old when her mother decided that she would take ballet lessons. Even though the girl had no interest in dancing, Victoria insisted. Much to her dismay, Juliana traded her afternoons of writing with Professor Park for long, boring ballet classes.

The first day at the ballet academy was chaotic; her teacher was quite old and strict and did not hesitate to whipped her students legs with a ruler that she always carried in her hands. She hated it. Juliana was always sure that she detested ballet; however, when four years later an eight-year-old girl with beautiful eyes appeared in her classes, she began to like it a little.

Kim Taeyoung was a child prodigy in ballet; every time teacher Jung asked her a question or addressed her, the girl raised her head proudly and obeyed her orders. Juliana loved it because she had never met before someone as disciplined and consistent as she was in writing. The girl showed an innate talent for ballet, and in a short time she became the favorite of Mrs. Jung and also of the parents, including Juliana's. At every recital, the girl would get at least one solo, and every time she went on stage, Juliana felt that she hated to dance ballet but loved to watch Taeyoung dance, even though she didn't say so.

But they were not close at first, and it was not until Juliana turned fifteen that things changed, and the two teenagers became inseparable after playing the black swan and the white swan in a play that made them quite popular among the students of the National Ballet Academy. However, their separation was imminent when, two years later, Victoria finally made the decision that Juliana should start focusing on her real studies as heiress to half of her husband's emporium. They remained friends, though the closest of friends.

But one night, on Juliana's twenty-first birthday, things changed.

“Is it weird that I feel like kissing you right now? ” Taeyoung's voice came out in a whisper and was barely understandable to Juliana. The two of them are on Jul's bed, quite dizzy because, in the middle of the party that Juliana's mother organized, they sneaked into the wine room of the older girl's stepfather. “I don't think I should have drunk so much wine.”

“I don't think it's weird because I want to do it too." Juliana took a long breath because, finally, after many years, she could finally express what she felt. “But I don't know if it's the right thing to do, Tata. I don't even think it was right to let you drink alcohol without being of legal age to do it in the first place.”

“Is there ever a time when you stop thinking about doing the right thing?” Tatter reached out and grabbed Juliana's hand and pulled it to her chest, where the girl could feel Taeyoung's heart beating excitedly. “Sometimes you should follow what your heart is trying to explain to you.”

“And what is yours trying to explain?”

“That I like you," the words came out of Taeyoung's mouth without shyness, and Juliana felt her heart start to beat much faster than before. “Bada said that if your heart beats fast when you are with someone, then it means something.”

“So you think you like me because Bada said so? ”She tried to question the girl. “Your heart beats fast every time you dance.”

“And I love to dance. Then that only confirms my theory.”

Juliana sketched a soft smile, not knowing exactly what she should do next. Taeyoung stared at her with a peculiar gleam in her eyes, still holding Juls' hand against her chest, while thinking that it's time for the older one to take the next step because she already did enough that night. For a long time, they have carried that rare relationship between friends and something more, where there were more than friendly frictions, furtive glances that meant something more, and hidden feelings.

“I hate you, Tata" Juliana said softly, leaning back on her elbow quickly and then pressing her lips against Taeyoung's without hesitation.

At first, neither of them moved; both were anxious and a little shy. Although it wasn't the first kiss for either of them, it was the first time they felt so many emotions with a simple kiss. Taeyoung parted her lips and was the first to move her mouth, catching Juliana's lower lip, who is still a little uncomfortable, not knowing what to do. Juliana's hand on Taeyoung's chest is no longer just there; it is now squeezing her pajama shirt tightly. In an attempt to tell her that everything was okay, Taeyoung gently stroked her knuckles. Then Juliana managed to let go, and the kiss became mutual, soft, and intoxicating.

They both know they have a lot to lose because Juliana has a life grounded in her family's customs and her mother already has her life planned, and Taeyoung doesn't even appear as a friend. But still, once they let the feelings come out, they decided that it might be worth a try and that they were going to enjoy it for as long as it lasted.

“Tell me you're not going to forget this tomorrow when we wake up." Taeyoung mumbled against Juliana's mouth “I don't want to forget it.”

“I won't, Tata.”

˗ ˏ ˋ ♡ ˎˊ ˗

Three years later, Taeyoung and Juliana are in the same place, but the situation is totally different. They are not on the older girl's bed sharing their first kiss and with emotions running high; instead, Juliana is standing in front of the window of her room with her arms crossed and her chin trembling from the tears she is trying to hold back. Taeyoung is sitting in the middle of the bed, confused by Juliana's elusive attitude towards her since a week ago.

“Why did you call me so suddenly?” Taeyoung asked after a long silence that made her very nervous. “My practice for Giselle starts in two hours, and the academy is not close…”

“There's something we should talk about, Tatter" Juliana interrupted ignoring the fact that Taeyoung tensed up when she heard her say the nickname she never used with her unless a fight was about to break out.

“You never call me Tatter” the girl stood up and walked slowly towards Juliana. “You can tell me whatever you want, Juls. I don't know what happened these days, but it doesn't matter. If there's something that's bothering you, then we can talk about it, and we'll work it out.”

Taeyoung's words hit deep inside Juliana; unintentionally, her eyes started to fill up with tears that she tried to hold back but couldn't. She wished they could actually talk and solve what was bothering her, but it was impossible because that discomfort had a name, and that was Victoria Choi. Her mother. The person who had discovered them a week ago among the rose bushes in the garden while they were sharing a moment alone had nothing wrong with it, but in the woman's eyes, it had been enough to understand the unlabeled relationship her daughter had with her best friend.

That same night, Victoria decided to confront her eldest daughter about the affair, and even if Juliana tried to deny it at first, she ended up confessing everything to her mother, with the slightest hope that she would understand. But it was quite the opposite, because the woman simply warned her that she would end Taeyoung's career if she did not stay away. And even though her mother didn't have a single piece in her favor to ruin Taeyoung, Eunwon, her stepfather, did.

“Juls…” she tried to speak again, but Juliana turned away with a wet face before she could say anything. “Why are you crying?”

“My mother knows, Tata” she finally muttered with a frown and shining eyes. ”It's over, Taeyoung, I'm sorry.”

“What do you mean it's over?” Tatter felt her hands shaking, and her heart began to pound harder against her chest. “Did you talk to her? You have to explain to her; maybe if I talk to her, then she'll understand" she mumbled, waving his hands under Juliana's bright gaze.

“There's nothing you can tell her to change her mind" Juliana denied, lifting her shoulders. “I've tried everything, and there's nothing we can do.”

“No, there must be something Juliana" she insisted. "This is yours and mine; no one can decide about our feelings or even less about the relationship we have." Suddenly, Taeyoung's eyes started to fill with tears too, but she struggled to hold them back as she tried to find a solution. "Juliana, why don't you say anything? Don't you want to do anything about this?”

“I don't know Taeyoung.”

“What do you mean you don't know?” Taeyoung became desperate when she sees the calm in Juliana's eyes, the girl doesn't answer her question, and then fury invades her body. “Are you telling me that you're going to let your mother define the future of our relationship?” She mutters in disbelief and turns around to turn her back to Juliana in an attempt to prevent her from seeing how disappointed she is.

“It's my mother Taeyoung" Juliana's voice sounds so calm that Tatter's skin crawls. But in reality in her heart she always knew that her relationship with Juliana was not going to last, because at any moment her mother would tell her what to do and Juliana would follow her without hesitation. “You think it's easy Tata, but it's not just my mom, what will we do when everyone ends up realizing it? Your career would be over along with my family, and I can't ruin us for this.”

“So that's it? You're so afraid of facing your family and the world that you find it easier to throw away everything we are” Taeyoung says with a lump in her throat. “We could leave here, get away from what your mother expects you to be, and I could make my career somewhere else. We can rewrite our history, but you're such a coward, you won't do it. You prefer to lose me”

“I’d lose you either way Tata. Everything you say feels impossible.”

Taeyoung bites his tongue and clenches her jaw as hard as she can. She wants to keep talking, to repeat again to Juliana that other people and her family don't matter, but she knows that for the girl, there is no one more important than her mother. Even though the woman won't even appreciate her. Without saying anything, Tatter closes her eyes, taking a long breath. Juliana knows that this is the end of everything, even though she doesn't want to admit it.

“Do you even care about this, Juliana?” The question takes the girl by surprise, and then she hesitates. “Because I'm sure that if you cared, you would try to find a way to solve this. But then you come and talk to me about my career and what people will think when they find out. Shouldn't you have thought about that three years ago? But of course, it's because you never thought this was serious, you knew from the beginning that as soon as your family found out, you were just going to leave me with some stupid excuse. I was such an idiot to think that Juliana Choi with her perfect life, was going to ruin her future for me.”

“It's not like that, Taeyoung, I really tried to fix it, but it's not that simple” Juliana tries to say, but Tatter's hurt look leaves her speechless. She remains silent for a few seconds, not knowing what to say, while tears begin to fall down her cheeks. “We can be friends; after all, before this, we were friends for a long time. I don't want us to stop talking; you are an important part of my life Taeyoung and you know it," she said as she tried to get closer, but Taeyoung denied taking a step back.

“I just don't want to be your friend; I'm sorry, Juliana” she whispered with a shrug, and with nothing more to say, she turned to grab her backpack.

If Juliana had been braver, she would have had stopped Taeyoung when she left her room; she would have told her that she didn't want to be her friend either, but “what if” doesn't exist, and she knows it. With an intense pain in her chest, she lay down on her bed, her hand on her neck, clenching the necklace Taeyoung had given her for her birthday. After a few minutes, Eunbyul walked through the door without knocking, encountering a scene she had expected.

“You look terrible, sis" she said in a soft voice, and then Juliana let out all the sobs she had been holding back.

And so the following week passed. Juliana stayed in her room every day alone with Eunbyul by her side, attending the university in the mornings and coming to her room every noon. She felt nothing; it was as if her body was anesthetized, but every night she cried because her mother again ruined something she wanted, and she had done nothing to stop it. Every day she tried to call Taeyoung but the girl never answered her calls or her texts; it was as if she had disappeared from the face of the earth.

She only saw her again when Taeyoung's face appeared on the banners advertising the Giselle ballet to be performed at the National Theater of Korea. A show her stepfather insisted on attending as a birthday present for Victoria who, even if she hated Juliana's relationship with Taeyoung, still considered the ballerina one of her favorites.

When the night of the show finally arrived, Juliana managed to sneak into the show's dressing room after convincing her old dance teacher, Ms. Jung. Luckily for her the place was a bit empty since most of the dancers were near the stage, except for Taeyoung whom Juliana knew liked to stay alone until the last minute before performing.

“Do you need help with that?” she said as she opened the door and watched Taeyoung try to put Giselle's headdress in her hair.

“What are you doing here?” The girl asked with a frown as she saw Juliana through the dressing table mirror. “I thought you didn't want to see me anymore.”

“I never said I didn't want to see you” she replied taking the headdress from Tatter's hands to place it in the tight bun she was wearing. “Unlike you, who haven't answered any of my calls or messages”

“Bold of you to asume that I wanted to talk to you after everything that happened." Taeyoung stood up and walked to the back to start stretching a bit since Juliana's appearance made her tense up a bit. “I think you said enough that night, Juliana.”

“I think there are still things we can talk about.”

“No Juliana” she spat a little rudely. "There's nothing to talk about anymore, but I'll give you some advice you didn't ask for; I don't think this is the way you should live your life, so take charge of it before you regret it. But I am not the one to decide how you should live. Goodbye Juliana.”

Without another word, Taeyoung walked past Juliana and out of the dressing room, leaving her alone. The former dancer felt as if the girl's words were a farewell and inevitably felt afraid of losing her, even though in reality she didn't even have her anymore. She took a long breath, smoothed the skirt of the long red dress her mother had recommended her to wear, and then left the place with a firm step. She made it as far as the balcony when Giselle's first act began.

“Where were you?” Eunbyul asked her in a whisper to avoid getting dirty looks from her parents. “Bada and Lusher are downstairs with Jessica, they asked me how you were”

“I'll look for them later to say hello” she answered, ignoring the question. Eunbyul understood instantly and decided not to insist any more.

The Giselle ballet was a tragic love story, and it was also Juliana's favorite work. It was the one leading role she always wished to have when she was still dancing, but she never got it because Taeyoung always beat her. But that didn't make her feel bad because, as much as she wanted to be the lead, she also enjoyed seeing the girl as Giselle. Taeyoung had beautiful eyes that managed to express all the pain of a broken heart, like Giselle.

When the second act started, Juliana sat upright on her chair, expectantly watching the Wilis dance which was her favorite part. Minah one of Taeyoung's close friends was in charge of playing Myrtha the ruthless leader of the spirits of the maidens abandoned by their lovers. She couldn't take her eyes off Taeyoung at all times, who danced with energy, giving her the air of youth that Giselle had.

“Taeyoung really has a bright future as a dancer" Juliana heard her mother say as she stood up to applaud when the play finally ended.

Everyone who attended the play stood up and applauded loudly when the dancers came out to bow their thanks. Juliana could not feel anything but proud of Taeyoung who had given an amazing lead role to everyone there. As the curtain closed, people slowly began to file out. Juliana sat back down on her chair as her stepfather was talking to an associate of his company. She didn't know how long she stayed there, but all the time she kept her eyes on the stage in an attempt to relive Taeyoung's performance. Deep down she felt that it was the last time she would see her.

“Your phone is ringing Juliana," her mother's gruff voice interrupted her, making her quickly pull out her phone from the handbag she was carrying. She had five messages from Bada Lee; Taeyoung's best friend.

Bada

Tatter was offered a place at the Royal Opera House in London.

I didn't want to get involved, but this is your last chance.

Juliana answer the phone

Her flight leaves at 9:30 pm

Juliana!

The messages came one after the other twenty minutes ago. Without another second's thought, she stood up, walked past her stepfather and the man she was talking to, and ran down the stairs to the balcony as fast as she could, ignoring the voice of Eunbyul and her mother calling her name. There were still a lot of people among the aisles of the theater, She stopped for a moment among the people to grab the skirt of the long dress and pull it up to her legs so she could run with a little more ease, although the heels she was wearing made it a little difficult for her still.

Once she reached the outside of the venue, she felt anxious as there were a lot of people outside the theater. She tried to locate Taeyoung among the many women walking back and forth; even though the girl had long red hair it seemed impossible to find her. Se walked back and forth in circles hoping to see her but she couldn't find her, possibly Taeyoung had already left home.

”Juls!” she heard at the bottom of the stairs and when she turned her gaze she found Bada calling out to her with an effusive hand.

“Where is Taeyoung?” she asked as soon as she arrived with Bada, Lusher and Jessica.

“She's gone, she took a cab home about ten minutes ago to pick up her bags” Lusher took her hand and pulled her along the sidewalk. ”That's our cab, you take it and leave right now. But don't screw it up Juliana because this is really the only chance you have”

Not knowing what to say, Juliana just nodded and got into the cab. Lusher closed the door to indicate the direction to the driver, who started as soon as he sensed the importance of the matter. During the whole trip, Juliana's chest was rising and falling rapidly. She felt anxious to finally arrive at Taeyoung's apartment, but she felt the minutes passing too slowly. Every now and then, the driver would look at her and repeat that they would be at their destination soon and not to worry since there was not much traffic on the streets. He managed to calm her down a bit and used the remaining fifteen minutes of the trip to think about everything he had to say to Taeyoung. She wanted to apologize for putting her mother's wishes above what they had, to tell her that she loved her, and that she was sorry she hadn't tried a little harder to save their relationship.

Once she was clear on what she wanted to say, she tried to calm down, but the driver's voice telling her that they had arrived at their destination made her nervous again. She paid the man, and without waiting for the change, she got out of the cab and rushed to the apartment building where Taeyoung lived. When she entered, the doorman greeted her as usual and let her in without asking her any questions. Juliana had spent so many days in the apartment that the apartment workers and Taeyoung's neighbors already knew her.

She entered the elevator with shaky legs and gasping for breath as she prayed that Taeyoung was still in the apartment. Once she reached floor three, she stepped out into the hallway and walked as fast as she could, her eyes on the floor, as it was very difficult for her to walk fast. Taeyoung's apartment was just around the corner, and when she finally stood in front of the door, she stood there, her heart pounding anxiously. She put in the code, and seconds later, the lock opened. She grabbed the knob, turning it to open the door.

“Taeyoung” she shouted in the darkness of the room, but no one answered. "Kim Taeyoung!” she shouted again, her voice shaking, but again there was only silence.

She ran to the main room of the apartment, and when she entered, she found nothing. The white sheets were perfectly laid out on the bed; on the dresser, there was no trace of Taeyoung's personal belongings, and when she opened the closet door, she found only the hangers. It was too late; Taeyoung was gone, and she could do nothing to stop her.

Her legs faltered and she slowly fell to her knees, she brought her hand to her chest as she felt an intense pain spread from her throat. At first it was only tears but soon her body shook from the uncontrolled sobs coming from her throat. She laid her head on the bed mattress and berated herself countless times for doing things wrong. She didn't know how long she lay there, but she was so deep in thought that she didn't hear when the door opened. But suddenly, a girl's arms wrapped around her body.

“It’s gonna be okay Juls" Lusher's voice came out in a soft tone lulling her into her arms.

“It hurts Lush"

“I know”

˗ ˏ ˋ ♡ ˎˊ ˗

#SoundCloud #street woman fighter 2 #streetwomanfighter #tatter #swf2 #street woman fighter x reader #tatterxoc #tatter x reader #tatter x oc #swf2 x reader #team bebe

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romanarose · 5 months

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If You Wanna Be Wild: Chapter 5

Co-written with @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction my beloved Fen, who I could not do this without. Thank you for being my emotional sounding board, my dear friend, my wonderful cowriter and helpful beta reader. I adore you.

Javier Peña x Latina!sex worker!informant!Reader x Santiago Garcia

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Summary: Javier, Candy, and Santi kiss and make up. Except Javi and Santi don't kiss. Yet.

Content and warnings for whole fic, not chapter by chapter unless something is added: Sex work, drug trade, some drug use/pressured used, sex workers and the mistreatment/stigma surrounding them specifically in the 70’s (my blog is sex worker positive) but ima put potential dub con depending how you look at it as a sex worker who works with dangerous men, some action surrounding reader and the guys and the drug trade, SMUT HEAVY, corruption kink (were corrupting santi here, he’s young, 25), no loss of virginity tho, threesomes, some slight m/m smut but that’s not the focus here, but as you know this blog is an lgbt blog so I’m always open to gay shit. Talk of war and some PTSD but I won't be going a whole lot into it. Covert/emotional incest in the past, Santi's mommy issues, m/m dynamics, internalized bi/homophobia

For the record, this is a fic that takes place in the drug trade and deals with the darker side of humanity, so anything from Narco's and Triple Frontier is liable to be discussed or mentioned here. This is your warning. This is not a dark fic nor is it centered around dark themes like Leather and Lace or Sunshine Starlight Sweetheart Brightside, but they are open to be talked about.

Reader has a nick name: Candy. Not her real name just what she goes by on her profession. Much of the inspo for this and for the title came from the Bruce Springsteen song “Candy’s room” so check it out for the vibes.

Reader speaks Spanish and has hair. I've decided Candy is just latina bc she's a sex worker in Colombia so this is what I'm doing. Reader also has curly hair and dark skin.

ADDITIONAL WARNINGS!: Santi's panicy trauma response. Nothing crazy he just needs Javi to like him so so bad. Food and eating. SMUT! Fingering, reach around hand job, multiple orgasms, edging, praising, talking you through it, talking HIM through it, more hints at homoerotic subtext.

Thank you as always to my beloved Fen <3 I couldn't do this without your encouragement.

2.5 words

A/N Since I am apparently an incomprehensible writer, please know that the lst smut scene here is not a threesome, it's Javi fingering Candy and Candy flashing back to her giving Santi a reach around handjob. I wanted to compare and contrast the way the two pairs care for and pleasure each other. but it came across as a threesome :(

Support writers! Reblog and comment!

******************************

Santi and Javier had been working in total silence for 4 hours.

As soon as Javi had walked in, Santiago looked up from his paperwork with his large eyes attempting to catch Javier’s but to no avail. Javi ignored him, and continued to ignore him most of the day. He felt bad, he really did, and he missed his friend. It was hard sitting across two desks pushed together, and seeing Santiago right there looking so sad was difficult. Santi was fidgety, unfocused, obviously not paying attention to his work. He’d stare at a page for ages, knee bouncing almost in time to his tapping finger. The boy was going to drive him insane.

Noon hit, and Javi went to lunch, walking down the street to a cart to grab a empañanda. Fuck it, some churros too. His doctor said he needed to start watching his sweets, but it’d been a week. He’d burn off some calories with someone tonight. Not wanting to go back to the office during his lunch hour, Javier walked a few blocks to a small park and parked himself under a tree for some shade as he stuffed his face.

Javier tried to pinpoint exactly what had made him so angry at his young coworker. Maybe part of it is the betrayal. Santi went through his things, his contact information and found one of his girls. His. Candy was his. Javier Peña took pride in protecting his girls, whether or not they were his informants. Helena’s attack had scarred him, the image of her beaten and naked body was something that kept him awake at night. He couldn’t let that happen to Candy. Javi had tried to check in on Helena, knowing the DEA had gotten her a visa to the US, but she wanted no contact with him. Maybe it was the fact: if Santi found his contact information for his girls, and that meant that anyone could. What if it had been a drug lord? Lorea knew the DEA was after him next, what if they had found Candy and brutally raped her like Helena, or killed her?

Javier flicked an ant off his arm.

Maybe it was the fact it felt like he didn’t really know Santi. He called him Pope as a nickname, a call to his church going, the way he was nearly a blushing virgin, he always avoided his eye with topics of sex. The young, naive kid he knew was soliciting prostitutes? It was hard to justify the two pictures in his head.

Maybe it was the fact it was Candy. Candy of all people. Candy was special to him, a favorite and someone he enjoyed seeing even outside of sex.

Or maybe it was that fact it was Santi. His partner, his friend, someone he trusted with his very life and liked working with.

He knew both of them, he knew they would connect. He knew they would enjoy each other's company, he knew they’d treat each other well… How could Candy not want someone like Pope? Some as good as Santiago, as kind, as attractive…

Shaking the thoughts away, Peña gathered up his trash, shoved the rest of his churro in his mouth and returned to the pulpit to sit in silence for another 4 hours. Then he saw Santi.

For the first time that day, Javier got a good look at him when he stepped under the arch of the open doorway and watched the boy as he acted, thinking he wasn’t watched.

Santiago was a fucking mess. He had bags under his eyes, his normally well dressed and ironed shirt was wrinkled and it was evident Santi had not shaved since the start of the weekend a few days ago. Santi’s face was always well groomed, a trim, neat mustache surrounded by freshly shaven cheeks and neck showing off his youthful skin; now he looked older. Tired. Worn out. He hadn’t even worn a tie. Nervous ticks were all over him, but what got Javier was that Santi hadn’t moved.

He hadn’t eaten yet.

All his anger at Santiago melted away, and Javier felt sorry for him.

“Haven't you had enough calories today, Peña?” The lady at the food cart said.

Javier rolled his eyes as he paid the money. “It’s not for me.”

She glanced at his stomach; it was not as flat as it used to be, that’s for sure. “Sure.”

As Javier approached the open door of their shared office again, he made sure to squeak his shoes so Santi knew he was coming before he rounded the corner.

Without looking up, Santi muttered his first words of the day. “You’re late. Your lunch is only an hour, you know that right?”

“I took part of yours, since you didn’t go.”

Santi muttered something about actually doing his work, but Javi knew today had been Santi’s least productive day since starting. He tossed the brown paper on Santi's desk, and at first Santi begins to complain about the grease on his paperwork, but then he opens the bag.

“What’s this?”

“Your lunch.”

Santi looked up to him, his endearing youth still evident despite the disheveled appearance. “You brought me lunch?”

Javi tried to wave him off as he sat down. “Don’t worry about it.”

The younger man stared up at him, mouth hesitating as if he wanted to say something, but then stopping, then starting, then stopping, then- “I’m sorry!” The words begin spilling out of him. “I’m sorry I went through your things, I really really am! I just didn’t want someone random and-

He raised a hand to stop him. “Garcia, stop. Listen…” He shook his hand and leaned against his desk. Santi looked up at him, desperate and wide-eyed, mouth parted. “She was right. I can’t control her… or you. It’s none of my business who you see…” Javi clears his throat. “And you are still seeing her?”

Santiago stood up, frantic still. Javier wasn’t into weed, but he thought Santi needed to have a smoke. “I’ll stop! Just say the word and I’ll stop!”

“No, Garcia, I get it. I know how it is with her, she’s special. Candy’s important.”

“Not as important as you!”

Santiago’s sudden admission shocked Javier. What did he mean by that? Did he mean… no, Santi wasn't like that, right? “What are you talking about?”

“I mean…” His excited edge gave way to anxiety. “I just mean, we’re friends, right? Partners. We have a good thing going right now and I don’t wanna ruin it.”

Oh. “I see.” He couldn’t help feel a little disappointed. “Yeah, we do have a good thing going. Let’s just drop it, alright? I doubt Candy will schedule us on the same day again. We can just pretend it didn’t happen.”

Javier was already moving to sit at his desk as Santi eagerly agreed. “Yes! I- uh, I mean, yeah, perfect.”

Javi snickered a bit. They sat in silence for a moment before Javier decided to bring it up just one more time… “Just… be careful, alright? And treat her good?”

“I do.” Santi was quick to assure. “And I’ll be careful.”

The knock on your door made you immediately nervous. No one just showed up, except Señora Perez bringing leftovers for you… when you peaked through the peephole and saw a nervous looking Javi, you sigh. Dumbass. Annoying dumbass. Annoying dumb who fucked really well and was actually super sweet and you enjoyed his company most days…

“I know you’re home, Candy.” Of course he did.

You open the door, immediately crossing your arms and leaning against the door frame. “What do you want? Santi isn’t here.”

“I know.” He assured you, then held out a rolled up, large poster. “I wanted to…” Apologize? Javi didn’t say he was sorry. Wasn’t the type. “I brought you this.” He held out the rolled up paper.

Tentatively, Javier held out his gift, which you took suspiciously. It was the Audrey Heffburn poster he promised you. “Javi… I thought you’d throw it away after how I yelled at you…” You were touched at how he thought of you, bringing you posters of artists he knew you loved to liven up your apartment.

“Never, querida.” He promised. “And I’m sorry for making a scene in your home, in front of your neighbors.”

You smile softly, relaxing a bit. He was so kind, so handsome… “I forgive you, just mind your business next time, comprende?”

“Comprendo, Candy.”

Your body language eased. “You and Santi kiss and make up?”

Javier couldn’t help but smile a bit at that. “Si, minus the kissing.”

“You’ll get there.” You wink, and make enough room in the doorway. “You wanna come in?”

Of course he did. He always did. And you always wanted him to.

Javi spread you open. After he sat you on his lap, you wrapped your legs around him and as he spread his legs, yours went with it. It was tender, the way he touched you, calloused fingers running the length of your body and taking you apart on his fingers. Whiskers tickled your neck as he nudged, fingers entering you. Filling you. Taking you. You were his.

And Santi was yours.

You played with Santi’s body, controlled it the way Javi controlled you. From behind. He liked it between your legs, that much was obvious. His hands, his cock, his face. He belongs there. Earlier today he had sat there, his ass between your naked legs with your back to your bed frame, Santi’s back to yours. He felt so good like this, his body firm and young and supple in your grasp and god, you loved having him. It’s no wonder Javi loved taking you like this, on his lap.

Javi liked you on his lap, liked you open for him. Your whole body. He loved to feel you clench around him, himself fully dressed and while you were completely naked.

It was different with Santi. Both of you lay bare as you jerked him off. It was vulnerable this way, both of you naked and open to each other. Santi was so vulnerable… you wanted to protect his sweet little heart, to take care of him, hear him whimper and whine just as he did now as you tease him.

You wanted Javier to devour you, to take you fully and leave nothing left, you needed to be consumed by him… and consume you he did. Javi’s mouth left nowhere untraced, your shoulders, your back, your neck, it was all sopping wet with his sloppy kisses, long fingers pumping into you.

Your fingers wrapped around Santi’s cock, swiping over the slit dripping with pre-cum in his excitement for you… That excitement excited you in turn, his enthusiasm to be explored and used… and you were grateful for him. You let him know it.

“Pretty boy, being so fucking good for me.”

“Pretty girl, being so fucking good for me.” Javier praised when you don’t cry out at the little nibble he took at your throat as he applied pressure to your clit. He knew just how to tease you, to build you up so high that your crash would be blinding. “Not yet, baby,” He coaxes you.

“Not yet baby,” You coo at Santi, tightening the base of his cock to stop his orgasm. “Can you wait just a little longer please? I want you to cum so hard, Santiago, want you to fucking explode on my hand.”

“Y-yes,” he agrees, breathy and desperate but so, so good. He was your good boy. “I can do it, Candy, I can.”

You felt up his chest, his pecs, his tight and perfect body as you jerk him. “I know you can, Santi.”

“I know you can, Candy.” Javi growls in your ear, stubble scratching at your face. “Give me one more.”

You whine, over sensitive from two orgasms on his mouth, but no less hungry for another, no less desperate for the sweet release on Javier’s fingers.

“S’too much!” Santi’s hips thrust into yours, his body beginning to writhe just as you had in Javi’s.

“It’s okay, baby, you can do it.” You coo at Santi just as Javi coos at you. Then, you both give your command. “Come for me.”

Your orgasm was blinding, clenching down on Javi so hard you weren’t sure how he could move his fingers, cum dripping out of you and onto your shitty plywood floor.

“Oh, good girl,” Javi praises. “Just feeling that pussy cum, I know it must feel so good, doesn’t it?”

“Feel’s so good, doesn’t it?” After half an hour of edging, Santi cums so hard he choked a sob out and you have to keep one arm wrapped around his slim body to keep him steady. Rops of warm cum spill out of him, covering your hand.

Javier licked his fingers clean of your um. Without so much as a care to his own erection in his jeans, he picks you up and carries you to your bed. You’re sleepy… Why were you so sleepy? Javi didn’t need to ask, finding a night dress and pulling in over you on the bed.

“Javi, let me take care of you.” You ask, tiredly. He simply gets a warm cloth to clean you up.

Sliding out from behind Santi, you make sure to place plenty of pillows under him as he relaxes back. You wash off his cock, then get in the blankets with him.

“What about you?” He asks, soft and sweet and so, so sleepy, his fingers going to the band of your pants, but you stop him.

“Sleep, precious boy.”

“Sleep, baby.” Javi kissed your forehead.

“But you didn’t even get off! C’mon, I’ll just hang my head off the bed-” You’re mostly teasing, smiling up at Javier and giggling, but he stops you.

“Rest.” It’s firmer now. “Consider this an apology.”

“Well can my apology also include you cuddling me.”

Javier smiled at that. “If you insist.”

You laid with Santi as he took a short siesta, finishing his time napping in your bed with you around him, your fingers trailing his perfect body, taking inventory of every scar. He sure had a lot of burns on his arms for a career military boy. Maybe he was a cook in high school. Good boy like him would get a part time job… so responsible. You hoped you were able to help him let go of that responsibility, if only for a little. He deserved to be wild sometimes, even if he had a lot to learn.

Javi held you until you fell asleep, remaining fully clothed and fully closed off to you. When you woke, he was gone and to your relief, he didn’t try to pay you, outside of the poster he hung up for you.

It was the first time you two had done anything that wasn’t transactional.

**************************

Thank you all for your patience, I was, WOW I WAS GOING THROUGH IT LMFAO IT WAS BAD. So I appreciate your patience as I get this out. You probably will not see anything from my as far as fics for like 2 weeks until finals are over since I am writing a fuck ton of essays. HMU in two weeks if you wanna learn about Aimee Semple McPherson or the satanic panic bc i gotta write a min 12 pages on EACH.

Anyway, until then, happy holidays! I hope you all have a wonderful and safe season celebrating any of the variety out there, or just enjoying time off, seeing family, or winter activities!

If you are in any of the horrifically dangerous areas in the world right now, know I am praying for you, and I hope you are safe.

Thank you to Fen, to Mona, to Clem, and all the people in the Oscars House Of Whores discord and the Pedro Pals discord for encouraging my insanity with these three!!! I really love the dynamics before Santi Javi and Candy and love writing this story, even if it takes me forever.

Since I like doing polls....

@runa-falls@lunar-ghoulie @campingwiththecharmings @whatthefishh @persephone-girl @criticalarchitecture @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @beelzebeth87 @pimosworld @millerscoffee @heareball @thatwonderouswoman @poolbo @meveispunk @lovable-liar @millllenniawrites @read-and-wip @missdictatorme @the-fox-den @milkymoon2483 @k-ra @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @rosellacwrites @legendary-pink-dot @dreamingofbucky @axshadows @englandsgray @starsthatwatch @fairlyang @alwaysmicado @theywhowriteandknowthings @casa-boiardi @lostfleurs @ninebluehearts @puglover12 @sub-aro @laiisleitte @itspdameronthings @heareball @comfortlessjoy @csarab615 @calaveramangonda @bit-dodgy-innit @stevngrant @nanfafnan @kirsteng42 @mrsjavierp @nanfafnan @lovable-liar @axshadows @cookielovesbook-akie

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siryouarebeingmocked · 1 month

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Carter and Lovecraft, by Jonathan L. Howard (2015)

I really wanted to like this book.

I've read a few Lovecraft novels and stories, and I liked them. So when I saw this on my friend's bookshelf, I borrowed it, and read it.

Tried to.

The first real fly in the ointment? NYPD protag sees his partner take a 9mm retirement in front of him on a creepy case, and becomes a private detective. Mysterious lawyer shows up at his office one day and says there was a bookstore owner in Providence, Rhode Island, who has been missing and just declared dead.

The protag gets the bookshop. He's not sure why.

Protag goes to the bookshop. Owner's niece, Emily, is there. She's been running the shop alone since the owner vanished, and she co-ran it when he was alive. Also, she's biracial. Would be played by Zoe Kravitz in the movie, he thinks.

Her name is Lovecraft.

As in, she's a descendant of ol' Howard Philips.

She notes the irony; a black-ish "mulatto" descendant of an anti-black racist.

"Okay," I think, as I checked the publication date. "You've gotten that token bit out of the way. Now, can we move on?"

Apparently not.

As protag starts looking into the disappearance and other weird stuff, he decides he needs to get his eye in. So he goes to a gun range, where he needs to sign up for the NRA first

and ends the session by "re-engaging the safety" on his Glock.

Fun fact: stock Glocks don't have manual safeties, AFAIK.

In the next chapter, protag thinks about how he used the gun. He hates the NRA and the whole "gun fetish" thing, but he needs the iron, just in case.

Two strikes. Three if you count the safety thing.

Yes, I know an NYPD cop might be a bit bigoted about the issue, especially considering how his partner died. But it really feels like the writer's opinion.

In fact, let me just-

Yep. The writer is British. This sounds awfully familiar.

It was about this time that I realized something. The protagonist has no traits that aren't directly related to being a cop or detective. Absolutely none.

I don't think we know what he does in his off hours. No friends. Nothing but the job.

Heck, Miss Lovecraft has more personality than him, and she takes up a lot less screen time.

Protag decides to give Lovecraft half the business, so he can become a silent partner. People start dying in physically impossible ways - like the dude who drowned in his dry car in a parking lot - our hero looks into it.

He also ends up learning about a local family, the Waites. Rich, keep to themselves on their own land, been around since before the area was officially settled, apparently.

The local who tells him about all this says the younger ones are oddly attractive. The family has distinctive big eyes.

Anyone remotely familiar with HP Lovecraft just went "Oh, right, they're fishmen. Got it." I've seen this trope done better before, like in the comic Shadowgirls.

Hero looks into the archives, finds records of a racist Town Council rant by an early Waite, back when they were still into trading. Including slaves. Specifically, patriarch Newton Waite went to a council meeting and said black people should serve others, and shouldn't have self-determination.

The archivist intern says it's was "a different time", and that's just how people were back then.

Of course, he adds "People who talk like that now - no pass for them."

End scene.

Like this extremely mainstream, boring opinion is some kind of

In the next scene, protag chats about the fit he had near the Waite place. Learns about another mysterious death. When he chats about it with Emily, he suddenly realizes she's hot.

Then the narration tells us that he was a racist bigot in his teens, though he thought he was being sensible at the time. He now knows he was wrong, but he still feels sparks of it when he reads about some black kid doing some stereotypically black thing, which gives certain white people "a hard-on of righteousness".

And, of course, his time spent walking away from "instinctive racism" means his dating pool opened up. Like Emily Lovecraft, for example.

The most stereotypically black thing would probably be crime. Or being a single mom or deadbeat dad.

Sadly, I know of plenty of black people - from my black majority home country - who fall into one of those categories. Or two. Three if you include "poverty", but we're Developing, so that barely even counts.

Also, this basically came out of nowhere. Not Emily being hot - I mean, look at Zoe Kravitz - but his unsolicited thoughts on racism.

All of these issues have also been issues for many concerned black people. For decades. The 'stereotypically black things' might be bad themselves, not because they make racist white people feel smug.

This is precisely where I closed the book for good. I would've put away the bookmarks, but I needed the page so I could write this rant.

Honestly, writing all this made me realize that I should've given up long before I made it halfway through the book. But I just kept hoping it would get better.

Doing the same well-worn cliches in a modern setting doesn't really make them interesting. Neither do the little 'racism is bad, mmmkay?' bits.

#books #personal #lovecraft #long

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tinyluminaryzombie · 3 months

Text

The Math Problem of TK Strand

...My first foray into writing Lone Star fic! A short missing scene in 1x08 :).

Carlos is a logical man.

He’s methodical in how he cooks, how he works out, how he clears a scene. The incessant need to organize chaos is his birthright.

So, he never dived off cliffs or yelled at his parents or chased after a man. Because Carlos Reyes was logical.

At least, he was. Until green eyes, soft skin, and a rough heart ruined his track record. But there’s a consequence to everything, that had never been clearer. When Carlos screws up, people hurt.

Protocol had failed him. Two hours ago, Carlos had cleared the scene. His lieutenant had even double-checked before letting the 126 in. But it wasn’t enough. Carlos wasn’t enough. Now, TK was lying unconscious in a god-damn hospital bed a few hundred feet from him. Because of him.

After his shift ended, Carlos rushed to the hospital. He furiously grabbed his bag and ran to the Camaro. TK, TK, TK, his mind screamed. His hands shook on the wheel, fear bubbling through red lights, stop signs, and crosswalks. TK, TK, TK. He parked his car, never turning back to ensure he was inside the lines. TK, TK, TK.

Running into the waiting room, Carlos’s thoughts veered dangerously toward internal declarations of love. He stopped short, trading one spiral for another. No one knew except Paul. He was a stranger to the 126. Carlos’s presence might just be a reminder of the scene he failed to clear. No one wanted him here.

“Hey, man,” Paul’s voice brought him back. Carlos looked around the room, finding questioning looks as Paul pulled him into a hug.

“I didn’t think…I don’t want to intrude…” Carlos whispers.

“Carlos. You’re one of us,” Paul said, bringing Carlos to a seat.

Judd broke the silence. “Thanks for coming Carlos. I’m sure TK will appreciate it.”

Carlos offered a weak smile.

Would TK really appreciate it? Would TK blame him? And is what TK wants, Carlos's arms melting into a pleather chair, making small talk with his teammates? Is this casual? Is this cool? Is this logical?

Carlos heard a ragged breath before a hand rested on his shoulder. “Breathe, Carlos. That’s it. TK being here, that’s not your fault. We’ll get through this together.”

#btw part of me wanted it to be paul saying the last part and part of me wanted it to be owen so I left it open #911 lone star rewatch 2024 #911 lone star #911ls #911 ls #carlos reyes #1x08 #911ls s1 #911ls fic

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harrisonstories · 7 months

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So here's something interesting...

The Beatles Derek Taylor Never-Before-Heard Collection of Lost Beatles Recordings: Including the 1967 Kenwood Sessions and John Lennon Private Recordings

This is the track listing from the description:

Tape 1: Unheard Beatles Sgt Pepper Rehearsals from Kenwood late 66 early 67

Run time is 56 minutes, songs include:

Revolution #9, mainly John in many accents, George can be heard, Paul too, Ringo one time, Terry Doran is also heard being interviewed by John, Terry Doran was ‘The Man From The Motor Trade’ on Sgt Pepper, every identical animal sound effect from Good Morning Good Morning is featured throughout, probably pre-dates Pepper and John has the sound effects saved, cockerel, hens, sheep, horse, pigs, cat, dogs etc, the very ones used on Pepper. Sitar drones almost all the way through by George, Piano backdrop also

Track Listing:

That much Control

Monte Carlo rally sound effects Terry Doran is Jack Brabham Formula 1 racer

Cat Feeding Services (Monty Python esque sketch)

A million miles away, John Indian accent Beatles far east tours in 66

Crazy banjo song, JL bellows

I’m aware of the situation monologue

Swing your partners

Lennon.McCartney complaining about the heat

John and George shouting over a very loud backing track

John/Paul counting in 123 testing, JL turns it into a poem.

Dear Prudence very early demo John wrote it way before 1968

British Police are pigs, in an Indian accent

Tape 2: George Harrison With the Bonzo Dog Doo-Dah Band and Jimmy Page.

15 tracks, 59 minutes George with his Thames Valley muso friends, Jimmy Page, Jon Lord, Joe Brown, Sam Brown, Bonzo Dog Doo-Dah band (Neil Innes, Legs Larry Smith, Vivian Stanshall) Alvin Lee, all songs written by the Bonzos and George, all recorded at FP.

Track Listing:

George into talk while playing guitar, introducing a new song

Brazil take 1 written for the Handmade films project Brazil (never went to production)

Brazil take 2

Brazil Take 3

Sooty Goes to Hawaii

Mandalay monologue for handmade films production of the same name

Sooty Goes to Hawaii #2

Sooty Goes to Hawaii #3

Operatic Aria sung by Georges father-in-law and Olivia Harrisons dad Zeke Harrison, I doubt that Olivia has heard this

Bullshot theme song for Handmade films completed production.

Hare Krishna chant by everyone

Chant 2

While my Guitar Gently weeps with Jimmy Page on guitar

Same with Alvin Lee on guitar

if I Needed Someone

Tape 3: George with Bonzo Dog Doo-Dah Band band, all co-written 25.30 mins, 16 tracks

Track Listing:

Intro Legs Larry Smith

Do You Remember

Nothing Ever Changes

Urban Spaceman

Isle of Money (I Love Money)

Can you Groove (George)

There’s a Bright Golden Boil on my Penis

I Like Cesar

Misery Farm

Julie

Danda

When You Gotta Poop

Now You’re Asleep

Telling me The End

Viv Has Gone to Heaven

Mandalay Monologue #2

Tape 4: John Interviews Yoko 1969

Recorded by John in 1969, 45 minutes, John questions Yoko’s motives for being with him, discusses very personal matters, very revealing.

Tape 5: Yoko with Dr. Artur Janov

Yoko’s Primal Scream therapy 1 hr 40 mins, of very personal therapy, Yoko discusses John, music and very personal issues including John’s friendship with George.

Tape 6: “One From The Nursery” Unreleased John Ono Lennon Album

John and Kyoko Cox Tittenhurst Park

Run time is 47 minutes

4 tracks

Lots of John talking and playing acoustic guitar (sounds like his J60E) recorded at Christmas time, Various songs stand out, all written by John & Kyoko

John, I Love You

I Wish You Were my Father.

#john lennon #paul mccartney #george harrison #ringo starr #the beatles #derek taylor #yoko ono #a lot to unpack here

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malebodyexhibit · 1 year

Text

Room 214 (a Next Door Boy tale)

The dude with the fair hair leaned over the rail, looking over the ocean. The lull in the crashing of waves gave way to the sounds of excited beachgoers. He wore a loose tank top colored in an abstraction of the horizon at sunset. The tank top was of the sort to cover less than half his torso. The sleeveless article showed his sun-kissed shoulders, the bulging biceps, and the vascularity of his forearms. The gaping sleeve holes revealed a portion of his pecs and the length of his side. The sculpted obliques of his core slowly contracted with each breath. As his arms, thick and roped with muscle, lay over the railing, a wild shock of armpit hair danced lazily in the breeze. Yet, despite the toned upper body of a surfer, he ass demanded equal, if not all your attention. It filled his board shorts and the fabric clung all to intimately along the creases. It was when he straightened himself that his full presence could be seen below.

His name was Adriano.

I reclined the seat back. The tint of the car window obfuscating myself as I observed him across the parking lot. I pulled out a pocket notebook and wrote some notes. Among the scrawls of details were the start of plans.

Adriano turned towards me, but I reminded myself he doesn’t know me. He hadn’t suspected anything these past weeks. I slid on a pair of sunglasses and shifted in my seat to hide an obvious erection. While the glimpse of his body from behind was hot, his chest was smoldering. From the lip of his tank top collar, wisps of chest hair caught in the sunlight. A line of sweat from his neck trails down and followed his collar bone and down along the crease of his pecs. He started towards the lockers.

I pulled up the collar of my loose tropical print shirt and stepped out into the public.

I followed him. My erection tucked under my belt. I was usually controlled in these matters. My line of work has me around all types. Growing up with a father who loved the bottle had me mask my true feelings. Yet, Adriano was something. He wasn’t your typical hottie. That must be why I was hired to follow him.

A month ago, I received an e-mail. The job was simple: find Adriano, learn his schedule and inner circle of friends, gain access to his residence, and receive further instructions. I was a cat burglar by trade. Don’t expect me to steal the Mona Lisa, but I do well enough not to have a record. Espionage was new however. I managed to find Adriano quickly. I could’ve accessed his shitty studio apartment immediately, but I decided to develop a comprehensive schedule of his before attempting breaking and entering.

Adriano was in the locker area. He had already stripped and was in the process of pulling out a pair of trunks. As I entered, heart thumping, he stood up, clothes in hand, dick flopping out.

“Sorry, dude,” he said. He gave me an apologetic smile. His hand pulling a different pair of board shorts up and his other hand readjusting his package after snaking it back in. Then Adriano shut his locker and headed back out. I couldn’t help but notice the bounce of his member while he went commando.

After he left, I took quick assessment of the space. The structure had a basic shower and an adjoining locker area. For a small fee he rented a spot and it was alfays the same locker. Number 14. There was no one around. I walked over to the locker. I pulled out some delicate tools. In a matter of seconds I managed to lock pick the cheap security.

The locker screeched open. I took out his tank top.

It was the abstract sunset from earlier. It was gradient of violet and magenta hues. In the center was a circle of auburn; an impression of the sun. There were still stains of sweat along the collar. The fabric warmed my hands. I ran my fingers over it. Over where the nape of his neck was. I buried my face in the center of the clothing where I imagined where his chest would be. I breathed in the sweat and pressed my lips over the wet sweat stains. My other hand came along the back where I imagined his back would be. I rubbed myself against the imagined body. My hands tracing the length of cloth, thinking of the curve of his ass. And as I pressed him closer to me, my hand came over my member. I gasped into the shirt, my mouth sucking in his scent. I rubbed my hand against my erection and the sensation grew in intensity as I drowned in his smell. I gasped as I came into my pants and relaxed into a stupor of satisfaction.

I sorted myself out and tossed his shirt back into the locker. I dug around in the locker, finding a myriad of items. I found spare change, receipts, chewing gum, wallet, and Adriano’s apartment keys. Bingo. I was about to turn and leave with the keys in hand when something caught my eye. Condoms. Ribbed for her pleasure. It was stuffed into the faux-leather wallet like spare change. The plastic thin foil was crumpled, but the wrapper read clearly: Magnum. Clearly he thought to highly of himself. But maybe not. I turned the condom in my fingers. The image of his flaccid dick replaying in my mind. I pocketed the condom and tossed the wallet back into the locker. It was stupid, but it was the only way I could pull myself away and back to the task at hand.

I pulled back into the parking lot near the locker building. I had copied Adriano’s keys at a local locksmith and I sent an e-mail to the client about the development. While waiting for a response, I walked back into the locker room. It was busier than before. I slipped past changing men. Most old, some young and toned, but Adriano wasn’t among them. Through the locker’s grill, I dropped in Adriano’s key. And with that, I returned to my car.

After an hour or so, I saw Adriano return to the locker building with a girl. From my observations, Adriano was a ladies’ man who could sweet talk most women back into his apartment. She was a pretty thing, I guess. She had curves, a chest of fake breasts, a horrendous sun tan, and she laid on the seductive charm so thick. She twirled her hair around her fingers, and ran her other fingers up and down Adriano’s abs. With a coy grin, she slipped a finger under his shorts.

Adriano was enjoying this. His face flushed and his eyes widened with arousal. He gave a smile. His chest rose and fell as he pumped himself up, hands at his waist, looking like Superman. They kissed and he combed his fingers through her hair. His free hand curving around her back. When he pulled back from the kiss, he mouthed something in her ear. His lips tickling her ear and she giggled. He shifted and noticed me staring from my car. He must have recognized me, because he gave me a smile and a wink.

My phone chimed with an e-mail notification.

“To ___, thank you for your hard work. It is greatly appreciated. You will be paid for your services, but I am offering greater compensation for another task. Do you accept?”

I responded, “Yes.”

I left Adriano at the beach. The next set of instructions required me to race to his apartment before he arrived. It was so risky, but so profitable. I needed to make a quick stop at the location of a dead drop given to me in the response to my acceptance. The package contained some strange contraptions with a set of instructions. But before I could read them, I needed to be secured at his apartment.

His apartment building was a four-story historic building. It was here I first laid my eyes on him when he went out for his morning run. The client mentioned to me Adriano’s running spots. That’s how Adriano caught his attention. His shirtless running in 5-inch athletic shorts.

Room 214. I unlocked the door and walked in. An aroma of body odor and Axe body spray greeted me. The blinds were closed. I had tried to get visual from the windows before, but I guessed either his frequent hookups or a possible nudist lifestyle (I can dream) caused him to value privacy here. The studio apartment was a mess. Clothes littered the ground. Boxers, pants, shirts, socks. I picked up a gym sock gray with use. I gave it a smell and dropped it from surprise. I didn’t know how to appreciate that smell or wash it from my fingers.

His bed was a futon resting on pellet boards. It didn’t have any bedsheets and there was only wrinkled blankets and a pillow strewn across it. I pressed my hand into it. The bed springs groaned. It smelled equally rank to the room. It got hot during the summer nights. I imagined him twisting around his bed, screwing on his bed, coming on his bed.

I rummaged in his drawers. Aside from his shirts and regular clothing, I browsed his underwear. He collected many brands. Some were worn to the elastic. But I now knew he went commando as well. Then I found his wrapped latex. I toyed with one with mixed arousal and admiration. Finally I tore one open. The gold wrapper glimmering like his fair hair in the sun. I pulled down my pants. I rolled it over my cock. It was snug, but not enough to convince me that I could wear it. I wasn’t fooled. This was only fit for him. I pumped myself at the thought. I sprawled out on his bed, buried my face into the musky smell of his bed. I pulled a dirty sock toward my face, imagining tasting his sweaty body after a workout. “Adriano, Adriano,” I breathed with each pump. I closed my eyes as I came. I slid the condom off my member. The spermicide and lube coating my hand. I rubbed the gross sensation off onto the bed. He wouldn’t notice.

I settled myself deep into his closet. The irony wasn’t lost on me, but it also reminded me of hiding during father’s weekend binge drinking. I was lost in memories when I heard the apartment door jiggle and unlock, then open. A girlish laugh greeted the dark room. The door slammed shut, shaking me loose from a memory.

I heard clothes being tossed onto the bare floor.

“Like what you see?” I heard Adriano say.

“Yeah,” the one-night fling responded. I heard the wet kissing and soft moans. Without seeing what was happening, I only imagined what sounds meant what. The sucking sounds and the deep grunting must be Adriano getting his mind blown. The increasingly loud moans must be the expertise of Adriano in practice. Eventually the sounds cooled down and ended with a grunt from him as he came.

They got dressed in silence with the hook up trying to start up the kissing again, but a hushed whisper and a closing door told me she was gone. Then I heard Adriano throw himself back onto the bed and in a few minutes I heard the soft snores.

I carefully left the closet. The device in my hand from the dead drop. I saw AdrIano in his splendor on the bed. He hadn’t bothered to dress. It was a hot summer night and he was sprawled spread-eagle, face down. I appreciated how his fair hair clung to his sweaty neck. A trail of hair along his back came down to his ass. From his groin I saw his testicles and his shaft peeking from beneath him, just hanging out from underneath him.

I needed to act fast to complete the mission.

Gingerly, I took the device and attached it at points around his head before settling a spiderweb netting on top. I started up a handheld device and once it glowed green I pressed the button.

I’m not sure what I expected. Probably a flash of light or an electric shock, but nothing really happened. I thought I saw Adriano twitch, but it could be a trick of the light.

There was a knock at the door. Just like the directions detailed.

I opened the door, unsure if the device worked or if Adriano would wake up suddenly.

At the door were a couple of men. One was young and didn’t emote. He was stoic despite the situation. He carried a bag and headed straight to Adriano’s body. The other was an older gentleman. He carried himself carefully. He wore a rich-looking peacoat that ill fitted him. He must have known as he took it off and rested it on a nearby chair.

“Greetings, ___,” he said to me. “It’s good to see you. Thank you for all that you’ve done. It mustn’t have been an easy job.”

“It was an alright job,” I said. I glanced toward Adriano who hadn’t moved, but still continued to breathe and snore. The spiderweb netting still wrapped around his head. The other man was tinkering with extra devices and running wires to a laptop.

“No doubt I underestimated you.” He said, smiling. He shuffled over to Adriano, looked around the room, and picked up a sock. “Oh, the joys of being young. Even in filth, the beautiful thrive.”

“What are you planning to do with him?” I asked. Now the other man was fixing wires to the old man, connecting him to the laptop. “Why all this? Why have me collect the schedule and names of his friends?”

“Isn’t it obvious? Adriano is a man I come to love. Ever since I saw him running. I envied his youth and beauty. Of course, he wouldn’t be with someone like me. So I made connections with some entrepreneurs from the Next Door Boy agency. Adriano isn’t a talent. If he was this would have been easier. Instead he selfishly keeps that body for himself. He could be rich but instead lives in squalor. I intend to make his life worth living by living his life for him.”

I was speechless but said nothing as I watched the other man finish his work and eventually I watched as the final switch was flipped and Adriano’s body spasmed and shake on the futon. The old man’s body followed likewise. The only difference was that it was only Adriano who stood up and carefully gazed at his hand in amazement. He ran his hand over his face and down his body. He felt each curve of muscle and each hair on his body. Then he looked up at me and smiled that coy smile.

“It worked!”

The other man had already packed up his devices and started to heft the old man’s body over his shoulder. In a minute the apartment was emptied save the two of us. Adriano, or rather the old man who wore the young surfer’s body, and I stood looking at each other. I tried not to look down at his member.

“So why are you still here?” I said. “I thought you’d have left with… him.” I was at a loss for the lack of names. The situation was surreal.

“I’ll be blunt,” Adriano said. His voice strong and well enunciated. It lacked the surfer drawl and the clipped slang. “This is not exactly legal. Paying you off and paying for that expert costed me a lot. That’s why I had you do that research. I can’t exactly go back to my old life. It doesn’t exist for me anymore. I intend to live here, as him, and remake myself again.” He walked over to his peacoat that hung from the chair. He dropped it over his nude body. The effect was equally ridiculous and arousing. His muscled frame wore the coat well. It followed the slender but toned arms and hugged the tight core. His cock hung openly beneath the coat. He must have realized how ridiculous it was as he started to play with himself. He looked back at me. “I can tell you like this body.”

“He is hot. I mean… you are hot.”

“Yeah. I guess I should get used to calling it my body.” He looked around him at the surfer jock’s apartment. “And my apartment.” Then he looked at me. “And my… friend?”

I laughed. “I don’t think making friends is that easy.”

“It can be. You’re an attractive man. If not a friend, then maybe a warm mouth for my cock?”

He brought me in for a kiss. His strong hands felt my back and grabbed my ass. I stripped off his coat and ran my tongue around his nipple. We fell back onto the futon. I was getting used to the smell of stale sex and sweat. Adriano grabbed my ankles and held them in the air, my ass ready for him. Before he could enter, I slowed him down and reached for a condom from my pocket. It was the condom I taken from Adriano’s locker earlier. He smiled, ripped it open with his teeth, and rolled it on. We both took a moment to appreciate how well his cock filled out the magnum. He thrusted into me and I wrapped my legs around him. He was going harder and harder as if he could barely contain his own strength. He was getting louder as well. He was animalistic in his moans and when he came, he collapsed on top of me. We laid there, basking in exertion.”

“Sorry if I got a little rough. His body feels so strong. I feel everything so powerfully.”

“It’s alright,” I said. And without realizing it, I rested my palm atop Adriano’s chest and listened to his heart pound in my ear.

#possession #male body possession #male takeover #gay male story #straight to gay #mental change #male body swap #body swap #a next door boy tale #next door boy

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