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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 1 year

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North To The Future [Chapter 10: Scar Tissue]

The year is 1999. You are just beginning your veterinary practice in Juneau, Alaska. Aegon is a mysterious, troubled newcomer to town. You kind of hate him. You are also kind of obsessed with him. Falling for him might legitimately ruin your life…but can you help it? Oh, and there’s a serial killer on the loose known only as the Ice Fisher.

Chapter warnings: Language, alcoholism, addiction, murder, discussions of sex, and you don’t get any plot hints this time you just have to read and suffer and yes there will be ANGSTTTTT!!!!

Word count: 6.2k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

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You’ve counted the scars on his chest until you know them by heart. There are twelve exactly, which feels significant; it’s the last week of the twelfth month of 1999, it’s the end, it’s the beginning. You read them with your eyes and your fingertips and your lips, these knots of corporal memory that form a constellation, not the shape of a hero—Hercules, Orion, Perseus, Achilles—but the footprints of ghosts.

The Juneau magnet has joined the rest of his collection, places he blew into like a storm and then abandoned, wreckage in his wake, downed trees and snapped powerlines and shingles ripped from roofs, finally at peace in his absence and yet somehow less. There is a jar on top of the refrigerator that already has your half of the money for the San Diego trip squirreled away in it. Aegon puts in a little at a time—a quarter here, a five-dollar bill there—and yet there’s never any doubt that he’s committed to it. It’s the same way he is with you. There are no grand gestures, no expensive gifts or intoxicating declarations. There are only small, feather-light moments as faint as the lines in your palm. You could stack up a million of them and they would never feel heavy. They would never feel like a cage.

Aegon is an open door, and together you are a dream: whispers and guitar strings, tangled sheets and refracted light, snow falling soundlessly beyond frosted windows, fog so thick it erases the stars.

~~~~~~~~~~

“How dare you,” Heather says when you enter Caribou Crossings. It’s Wednesday, December 29th. She’s sitting cross-legged on the floor and surrounded by boxes, an island in a sea of Juneau-themed souvenirs. “You float in here on a cloud while I’m sad, single, all alone in the world except for these hideous snow globes.” She holds one aloft for emphasis. “Why would anyone want a snow globe with a salmon in it? A salmon?”

You smile. You smile a lot these days. “Tragic.”

“No pets in need of your medical expertise?”

“Not really. Ms. Larson’s box turtle had a shell fracture, but now I’m free until 2:30.”

“How’s the making Cobainbies going?”

“No babies,” you insist. “Not of any variety.” Aegon as a father, as a husband? The prospect is horrifying. When you’re reminded of this—of the impossibility of a future beyond the next three months—you try to bury it like…well, like a body in a lake; each time it surfaces, you tie another stone around its ankle and sink it back down into the darkness.

“Is that what cracked Trent’s already less-than-impressive brain? You and Aegon?”

“Trent doesn’t know about Aegon. He just thinks we’re taking things slow. Honestly, I tried to break up with him about a week ago and…he got scary.”

Heather puts down the salmon snow globe and looks at you. “What did he do?”

“The same thing he did at the bar the other night. He was like…aggressive. Intimidating. But also apologetic and oblivious. It’s really disorienting. It’s hard for me to figure out if he’s…” What’s the right word? Dangerous. But you’re not sure if you can say that to Heather. “Seriously angry. I don’t want him to go all Stone Cold Steve Austin on Aegon.” Or me.

“That moron,” Heather sighs. “I’m so sorry. I’ll talk to him.”

“Uh, don’t do that.”

“No, it’s fine, I know how to put it in a way he’ll understand.” She stands, hands on her hips. “It’s just…you know…when Trent played football, if he was bored or pissed off he could run around and tackle people and knock them unconscious, and that’s how he learned to deal with things. And now he doesn’t have that anymore. He’s got friends and hobbies and a job, but I don’t think he knows what comes next. That happens to everyone, right? We all wake up one day and realize we’re adults and we’re supposed to have life figured out but we just…don’t. Trent’s a dumbass, and he needs to leave you alone if that’s what you want, and I’ll make it happen. But I don’t think he would ever intentionally hurt somebody.”

“I hope not,” you say softly.

Heather smirks. “So, are you enjoying all the super kinky sex with that Greek boy? Has he bent you into a pretzel fifty different ways? Has he dislocated your hips yet?”

“It’s not really like that,” you tell her. “It’s intense, but it’s…I don’t know. Different.”

The truth dawns on her, sunlight sparkling on waves. “When he leaves, you want to go with him.”

“Yes, but I can’t.”

“Why not? They need vets everywhere.”

“There’s more to it than that.”

“Look, obviously I don’t want you to leave. I’d be freaking heartbroken. Those four years of vet school were bad enough, and I always knew you were coming back. But if you feel like there’s something else out there that you need to experience…” She gestures vaguely, meaning the world beyond Juneau. ��I would want you to have that chance. And then maybe you could end up back here one day knowing that this is really what you need after all.”

You shake your head, watching flurries wheel through the frigid wind outside. “My parents would be devastated. I don’t have any siblings, there’s nobody else, there’s just me. And Aegon…” He’s been running for six years and he’ll never stop. “He’s not the type to settle down.”

“Maybe he’ll get the whole alcoholic homeless rockstar thing out of his system and be totally normal by the time he hits thirty,” Heather says hopefully.

You can see it in a flash too sudden to hide from yourself: a house by the beach, white-blond children chasing Sunfyre around the backyard, golden-sun days and hot chocolate at night, cooking in the kitchen together like your parents always do. Aegon wouldn’t even have to work. I could still be a vet and he could take care of the kids and perform in some local rock band once or twice a week...and we could all be happy. You can’t believe that—not for more than a few reckless seconds, anyway—but you need to kill this conversation before it kills you. “Sure, maybe.”

“We should do something fun,” Heather pivots cheerfully. “While Aegon’s still here. While you both are. It’s the start of a new millennium, bitch! If we were characters on Friends or Buffy or whatever, we would be doing something fun and glamorous. We wouldn’t be sitting here in grandma sweaters surrounded by boxes of salmon snow globes.”

You laugh, although you are admittedly partial to grandma sweaters. “What do you want, a New Year’s Eve party? Flutes of champagne, glitter and fireworks? People making out at midnight?”

She grins. “That’s exactly what I want.”

“I could probably make that happen, actually,” you realize. “My parents keep bringing up the idea of having people over. They love any excuse to ply guests with food and rock music. I said I just wanted to watch ABC 2000 Today with them and Aegon.”

“Great! You can still watch ABC 2000 Today, just with thirty of your closest friends.”

“You are well aware that I possess, at the absolute maximum, like four friends.”

“Everyone is friends with everyone on New Year’s Eve. And guess what?”

“What?”

Heather’s face is determined, insolent, fierce. “We’re not going to invite Trent.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“New Year’s Eve?” Aegon echoes doubtfully. You’re curled up on the couch together watching the X-Files, Sunfyre sprawled across your lap, your head on Aegon’s bare chest; he has one hand in your hair, the other holding a rum and Coke. He doses himself with it like morphine, but he is far from drunk. He’s seemed better since he almost drowned. You wonder if it reminded him that alive is something he enjoys being.

“Yeah. My parents are so excited about it. They’re trying to plan a menu, but my dad has literally fifteen different appetizers he wants to make.”

“Sounds like he’s handling retirement well.”

“He likes to stay busy.” You sit up to look at Aegon. The light of the television flickers on his face, but his eyes are glassy and far away. As far as Miami? As far as six years ago? “So? What do you think?”

“About what?”

“The New Year’s Eve party, obviously.”

He shrugs, sips his rum and Coke, licks his lips slowly. Then he comes back to you, a moon growing full again after starving away. “Totally, Appletini. Let’s do it.”

“Yay!” You are shocked by your own enthusiasm; it’s very unlike you. Sunfyre’s tail thumps against the couch in approval. You turn Aegon’s face and kiss him, feeling the strange barely-there smile of his lips on yours. “And Trent won’t even be there, so we don’t have to be subtle about anything. We can hang out together, dance, cuddle, feed each other Swedish meatballs on cute little toothpicks…”

“Sneak up to your bedroom while everyone else is busy watching the countdown in Times Square…”

You giggle, settling against Aegon’s chest again, nestling into him. He’s warm and pliable and fits with you like the interwoven opalescent threads of the Northern Lights. His free hand pulls you closer; the ice cubes in his glass clink. The jar on top of the refrigerator gets fuller each day. “Everything is falling into place. Everything is going to be perfect.”

“Perfect,” Aegon agrees; but you can hear that he’s far away again.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Bitch,” Heather gasps when she sees you, awed and incredulous. She’s carrying a massive tray of miniature quiches: smoked salmon, ham and cheddar, crab and tomato. “Bitchhhhh!”

You’re wearing a red dress you bought for a winter formal during vet school and haven’t touched since. You went with a sweet soulful boy from Iowa who you felt absolutely nothing for. He would have made a good husband, you realize now; he would have come home every night and helped the kids with their math homework and spent his weekends fixing fences and grilling steaks. You wonder if people like that are born without any darkness in them, or if they just learn to drain it from their veins like poisoned blood. You wonder if there is some reservoir of malignant self-destruction in everyone just waiting to breach the levees. “I look okay?”

“You look delicious. You look sinfully slutty. I wish I was into women, that’s how good you look.”

“Thanks, Heather.” You have lingerie on to match. You’re red all the way down: satin, lace, blood. You’re even wearing strappy crimson heels. It’s something you can’t stop thinking about: Aegon slipping every layer off of you later. You take the tray of quiches and beckon Heather inside.

The house is decorated—to a truly excessive degree—with balloons, banners, and confetti. Welcome, 2000! one banner reads. We hope the Y2K bug doesn’t destroy civilization! Your mom and dad are frenetically readying appetizers in the kitchen. When they finish each dish, you bring it out to the dining room table: deviled eggs, crab dip and toast points, ham salad sandwiches, stuffed jalapeno peppers, chicken liver mousse crostini, reindeer sausages, bacon-wrapped scallops, Swedish meatballs, homemade Rice Krispies Treats, Tongass Forest Cookies, a towering Baked Alaska. There are chilled bottles of wine, beer, and champagne, beads of condensation snaking down the glass. The ABC 2000 Today special is on tv, but guests are only half-watching. Your dad’s newest Red Hot Chili Peppers album is spinning on the record player; to you, their songs sound like California, or at least what you imagine California to be. The plucky guitar notes of Scar Tissue tiptoe through the house like footsteps in sand.

There are people in the dining room, people in the living room, people huddled in their parkas and smoking cigarettes around the crackling firepit in the backyard. They’re talking about 2000, of course, and the presidential election next year, and the Olympics, and the internet, and their own mundane tribulations: knee replacements, gallbladder removals, hyperactive grandchildren, marriages and divorces. But they’re talking about the Ice Fisher too.

“Who do you think it could be?” you hear Dale asking some of his bowling league buddies on the other side of the living room. They’re all broad, bearded men in flannel and jeans, guzzling beers and weather-beaten by their work as fishermen, loggers, oil riggers. “Ex-military? Some drifter? Someone just not right in the head? You know, I saw this 60 Minutes episode about a brain disease—what was it called, Earl? CTZ? CTE?—and athletes can get it from having concussions all the time. Boxers and football players and such. You think something like that could make someone violent…?”

Heather is working her way through a gargantuan portion of crab dip. Kimmie and Brad are practically mounting each other on your parents’ couch. Beside them, Joyce is grimacing as she tries to lose herself in a fantast novel with a mostly-naked cowboy on the front cover. She only smiles when Rob brings her a plate of appetizers. You’re on your third glass of bubbly, festive champagne. You keep glancing at the front door.

“They have to catch him soon, right?” Kimmie says in between sloppy kisses: loud smacking noises, lots of tongue. “I mean, he’s killed five people. Five! That’s so many!”

Joyce flips a page. “The police called in the FBI. That’s got to lead to a breakthrough soon.”

“I hope so.” Kimmie shudders. “It’s constant now…I worry when I go out to check the mail, when I put gas in my Land Cruiser, when I’m carrying groceries into the house…I feel like he could be anywhere. Like he’s lurking in every shadowy corner just waiting to grab me.”

“I think you’re safe,” Rob says with a smirk, amused but grim. “No one who goes to Ursa Minor gets killed. Have you guys noticed that? None of the victims had ever been to the bar as far as I know. The Ice Fisher must do his stalking in a different part of town.”

“Weird coincidence,” Joyce mutters.

“Guess I need to start going to Ursa Minor,” Brad says, grinning. “I could use some good luck.” Kimmie squeals with laughter as he paws at her, greedy and frivolous. You think: Please don’t leave body fluids on the couch, please don’t leave body fluids on the couch, please don’t leave body fluids on the couch…

“Why are the Bee Gees on tv?” Heather complains. “Who wanted that?”

Kimmie asks you: “Can Brad and I borrow your bedroom?”

“No, Kimmie.”

“Not the bed. Just the room. We’ll put a towel down on the floor.”

“Boundaries, Kimmie,” you plead.

“Fine,” she relents, sulking. Kimmie is wearing a glittery white dress and looks very, very young; her eyes are large and blameless, and her hair is secured in two voluminous pigtails. There’s a rhinestone crown on her head that reads Happy New Year! “Is Aegon on his way?”

“Oh yeah, he’ll be here any minute.” You steal another glimpse of the front door, but there are no consequent knocks. You check the clock on the wall. 10:30 p.m.

“He’s driving?” Heather says around a mouthful of crab dip, thin eyebrows raised. “He never drives.” Because he’s always drinking, she kindly leaves out.

“He told me he wanted to this morning. He’s been picking up extra shifts at work on whatever boats need another man. Holiday pay is double and we’re saving up for a trip to San Diego, you know.” There are polite—skeptical? pitying?—murmurs of agreement. “He didn’t know when he would get off, so he said I should focus on preparing for the party here and he would head over as soon as he had time to shower and walk Sunfyre. Anyway, he was on a boat all day and I was here helping to make deviled eggs until my hands felt like they were going to fall off.”

“Huh. I hope he’s not passed out in a ditch somewhere.”

“He’s not,” you say, a little more harshly than you mean to. He’s been getting better.

There is a knock at the door, and the closest person—Mark Morehouse from the pawn shop—opens it. It’s not Aegon. It’s Trent. He’s carrying a cheesecake the size of a Pekingese.

“Oh no,” Heather breathes. Kimmie, Joyce, and Rob frown down at their drinks.

“Hey, Trent!” Brad says, blithely unaware of the shift in mood.

Trent, wearing a very stately black button-up shirt, matching blazer, and khaki pants, looks around the room. He sees you, mouths wow, and then gives a tentative wave. He doesn’t come anywhere close to you. He puts his cheesecake on the dining room table and then goes to join Gary and Matt by the record player. Your mom and dad soon appear to greet him, resting their hands on his massive shoulders, asking about how his parents are doing and whether he’s had any luck with the Forest Service. Trent tells them that he finally got an interview that’s scheduled for next week. They reply with congratulations, casting you furtive, appraising glances. Did you invite him? Their eyes say. Do you want him here?

“Do you want me to get rid of him?” Heather asks you. “I didn’t tell him about the party, I swear. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Of course she wouldn’t; but Juneau is too small for secrets, that feels more true every day. Heather didn’t need to tell Trent, and neither did your parents. Maybe he heard about it through Matt or Gary, or he eavesdropped on a conversation in the Foodland, or someone mentioned it to his parents and they suggested he go without knowing he wasn’t supposed to be in attendance. However it happened doesn’t matter. The damage is done.

Heather’s question reverberates in your skull. Do you want me to get rid of him? “No,” you say. “Not yet, anyway. I don’t want to cause a scene in front of everyone.” Everyone but Aegon, you think, and you wouldn’t call yourself concerned yet but you are growing annoyed, little by little like how a clock ticks towards a new hour.

Joyce sniffs. “Hopefully he stays over there.”

And Trent does keep his distance. Now Dale is congratulating him about his interview. “That’s a great sign, Trent, a really great sign! Getting your foot in the door is the hardest part. I’ll call over and put in a good word for you. I still have a bunch of stuff from when I worked as a park ranger…boots, compasses, trekking poles, snowshoes…I’ll bring a box over for you.”

“Aw, Dale!” Trent appears to be genuinely touched. “Thanks, bro! You’re the best!”

“Sorry, what’s wrong with Trent?” Brad asks, brow crinkled, one arm slung around Kimmie. “Did I miss something?”

“He’s just a little obsessed with our gorgeous crimson hostess,” Heather explains, gesturing to you. “Obsessed in a pushy, idiotic, not-flattering way.”

Rob adds: “And he occasionally turns into the Hulk.”

“Maybe Trent’s the Ice Fisher,” Brad whispers conspiratorially, and then bursts out laughing. Everyone joins him except you. You can’t really blame them. Trent is a local hero: a football star, a reliable employee, the son of a normal and respected family, the wearer of his mane of lustrous hair, the object of countless women’s affection, the man who dragged Aegon out of the channel when he nearly drowned. A few mutilated Taco Bell tables aren’t going to change that. An occasional verbal outburst—and from a former athlete no less, fiery and forceful by necessity and thus swiftly forgiven, like a champion thoroughbred prone to biting—isn’t going to change that.

But they haven’t seen everything I have. They haven’t felt it.

You stand. “I’m going to go call Aegon.”

Upstairs in your bedroom, you assess your reflection in the mirror lined with photographs: the past and the future, friends and family and that magazine cutout of the Ford Mustang convertible barreling down the Pacific Coast Highway. You touch up your hair and makeup, then admire your dress. It occurs to you that almost everyone downstairs is wearing black or white or silver, cold wintery colors, New Year’s colors. You are the only one in red. When you got ready hours ago, you had felt powerful and sensual and elegant. You had imagined disappearing with Aegon into this room just after midnight, his hands skating up your thighs as cheers and toasts rumble through the floor. Now, when you imagine your exclamation-point red dress in a sea of cool, sleek shades of darkness and light, it strikes you as perhaps trying too hard. Desperate, even.

You pick up the phone on your nightstand and dial Aegon’s number. The line is busy.

Who would he be talking to? you wonder, perplexed. Everyone he knows is here.

You can’t drive over to pick him up; not until some of the champagne leaves your system, anyway. And you could never ask someone else to take you. You have no idea what you’ll find when you get there. You hang up the phone and stare down at it for a while.

So this is what it felt like. All those nights when Mom was waiting for Jesse to come home and he never did, all those times they had plans that he forgot. She’d be sitting on the couch or at the dining room table trying not to lose her mind as the hours crept by, and the whole time he’d be off getting wasted somewhere.

You physically shake your head to chase the vision away.

Aegon is going to be here. He has to be here. He’s been getting better.

“No luck?” Heather asks when you reappear downstairs, trying to sound neutral. You know she’s not actually neutral. You know exactly what she’s thinking.

“I’m sure he’ll be on his way soon.” You plop down on the couch next to Joyce and gaze at the television without really seeing it. You are vaguely aware of the entertainers flitting in and out of the little black box: Neil Diamond, Faith Hill, Enrique Iglesias, Billy Joel, Barry Manilow, NSYNC, Christina Aguilera, Aerosmith. Around you, the party rolls on. You chat less and less and consume only water. You’re losing your appetite, and you want to be able to drive by the time midnight strikes. It’s 11:00, and then 11:15, and then 11:30, and eventually 11:45. More Juneau residents filter in, but none of them are Aegon.

“You okay, ladybug?” your dad asks as he moseys by the couch, and you send him away with a peppy affirmation and a too-wide smile. Your mom tries next, with similar results. They know you aren’t okay, but they can’t say anything about it. Neither can Heather or Kimmie or Joyce. You become a blip on a hectic radar, an island in the South Pacific so small the rest of the world flies over it without even looking down. The house is hot and teeming with bodies: friends and lovers laughing together, touching each other, chatting, kissing lips and throats and cheeks. The living room suddenly feels like it’s on fire, like there’s searing smoke pouring into your lungs. You tell your friends you’re going to the bathroom so they’ll leave you alone, and then you squeeze through the crowd and flee out into the backyard, which is blessedly empty. Everyone else has crammed inside to watch the tv as the clock nears midnight. No one wants to miss the ball drop. You couldn’t care less.

You plod through the snow in your ridiculous red heels until you reach the firepit, and you stand there glaring into the blaze with your bare arms wrapped around you. There is light snow falling, but you don’t even feel cold. You feel like you’re burning from the inside out, like you’ve swallowed the same flames that are dancing across your face.

He’s not going to show up, you are certain now. He’s really not going to. And he knew that all along, which is why he didn’t want me to drive him.

You feel furious, you feel ruined, but most of all you just feel stupid. You’ve heard this story before. You were a part of it, you were built by it. And yet somehow you thought you could change the ending.

Wind howls through the evergreen trees, and now you are cold. You clutch yourself tighter, shivering viciously and covered in goosebumps. You’re stuck out here; there are tears spilling down your cheeks, black trails of mascara that will scream to anyone who sees you that you’ve been crying. Crying over Aegon. Crying over some fucking alcoholic loser who stood me up.

Of course, you don’t actually think he’s a loser. That’s the problem. Everyone seems to understand exactly who he is but you.

You hear the back door of the house swing open, and there are heavy footsteps crunching through the snow. You sniffle, trying to wipe the tears from your face with your fingers. You imagine that you’re only making it worse: stained foundation, smudged eyeliner, lip gloss worn away. You expect to see your dad when you turn around, but you don’t. You see Trent.

“Don’t freak out,” he says, and holds out your parka to you from several feet away. “I’m not trying to annoy you. I just saw you run outside and figured you might need this.”

“Did anyone else see me?”

“I don’t think so.”

You grab the parka from him, yank it on, and zip it shut. You sniffle some more, mopping tears from your face. The stars and moon are almost fully obscured by clouds; the only light in the world is fire. After a while, you ask Trent: “What did Heather tell you?”

“She said that you are a mature, responsible, logical person, and that if I want to have any shot with you at all then I have to be the same way. And she was totally right. Losing my temper is immature, being jealous is immature. So now I’m giving you the space that you asked for. I get it now. I’m not going to try to tell you what you want. You’re too smart for that. You have to decide what you want for yourself.”

I’ve already decided, and I chose wrong. I chose so, so, disastrously wrong. “I appreciate that, Trent,” you say in a hoarse whisper.

He turns around to go back inside, then hesitates. “Look, I’m glad that you and Aegon are friends now. He’s not a bad guy. But he’s…I mean, he’s a mess, you know? And he’s always going to be a mess. And you can’t expect him to not be a mess. I’m sorry if he ruined something for you tonight. I know your family has sort of temporarily adopted him, and I know you like to fix things. But sometimes there are no bolts to tighten or nails to hammer in. Sometimes people just are who they are.”

You consider Trent, a mirage of bitter cold and firelight. He shrugs, offers a sheepish half-smile, flips his hair, and then retreats inside the house. Minutes later, as you try to choke back sobs under blind stars, you hear cheers and applause when the new millennium arrives.

As car doors slam and guests rummage through piles of coats, you slip mostly unnoticed into the kitchen. You pour yourself a full glass of water, drink all of it, and then make for your purse where your Jeep keys are stashed. You are intercepted in the dining room by your parents and Heather. You try to hide your face, but there’s no point. You are as clear as glass under the yellowish artificial light.

“Oh, ladybug, are you okay?” Your mom engulfs you in a warm, comforting hug that is also constraining. I have to try to find Aegon. I have to confront him. Not who I want him to be, but who he really is.

“I’m fine, Mom. I’m fine. I’ll be back in like a half hour, and then I’ll help you clean up the house.”

“The house!” your dad bellows, barking out a laugh of disbelief. “We aren’t worried about the house! What can we do, ladybug? Is there anything we can do?”

“No, really, I can handle it.”

“You can’t go anywhere alone,” Heather says. “It’s dark, it’s super late.” The other fact hangs in the air like snowflakes. The Ice Fisher might be out there somewhere, just waiting to snatch you off the sidewalk and sink you into a lake.

“It’s just across town, it’s a ten-minute drive, it’s not a big deal.”

“You can’t go out alone,” your dad insists, looking gratefully at Heather. Your mom nods along. “I’m sorry, but if something happened to you, we’d never be able to forgive ourselves.”

“I’ll go,” Heather says. “I think I’ve had too much champaign to drive, but I can ride along and walk you inside.”

“That’s completely unnecessary. I have my bear mace.”

“Then I’ll wait in the Jeep!” Heather throws up her hands, exasperated. “Look, bitch, one way or another someone is going with you. I’ll make sure you get up to his apartment—that’s where you’re going, right? I think we all know that’s where you’re going—and then I’ll wait for you. I’ll wait five minutes, I’ll wait five hours, I really don’t care how long it takes but there is no fucking way you’re driving off into the night alone.”

You aren’t leaving this house without a chaperone. That’s pretty obvious. Aegon doesn’t care where I am or who I’m with. He didn’t even care enough to call and say he wouldn’t be here. “Fine. Okay. But we’re leaving right now.”

You grab your purse and Heather follows you out to the Jeep, struggling to keep up. “I would not have guessed you could move so efficiently in heels,” she puffs, climbing into the passenger’s seat. You tear out of the driveway, tires chomping on salt and ice and snow. Heather tries to make conversation. You don’t quite ignore her; it’s more like you don’t hear her at all. You hear the wind and the snow and the blood rushing in your ears. You hear the shrieking hollowness left by what could have been.

You park under the streetlight outside Aegon’s apartment building, murky luminescence flooding the cabin of your Jeep. Heather sees the inky tears on your face…and she sees the rage too: raw, brutal, razor-sharp rage. “Well, Jesus Christ, don’t kill him or anything.”

You don’t reply. You venture out into the savage cold, your heels leaving deep punctures in the ice-coated snow like stab wounds.

Upstairs, Aegon’s apartment door is locked. You can’t hear anything on the other side. And as you rattle the key he gave you into the jagged slit of the knob, you feel a dark premonition sinking in: a pebble through waves, a body into the depths. There is an instinctual warning that hums from your skin all the way down to your bone marrow.

There is no coming back from this moment. It’s like balancing on a ledge. There is something terrible here that I will never be able to unsee, to undiscover.

What is it? What the hell is it? That Aegon’s drunk? Would that really be so out of character, so inconceivable?

Maybe he’s with another woman. Maybe he’s already left Juneau. Maybe he’s dead.

You open the door; and in the silent florescent light of the kitchen, the first thing you notice is that the jar on top of the refrigerator is gone. Then you spot it: it’s open and sideways on the countertop, and it’s empty. Sunfyre lies on the kitchen’s tile floor with his scarred muzzle resting on his paws. He whimpers, large dark eyes troubled.

“Aegon?” you say. You step inside, your red heels clicking on the scuffed wood. You close the door behind you. Your eyes scan the dimly-lit room—guitar, bed, lifeless television, phone he left off the hook, couch—until you find him. He is a pale, crumpled figure on the floor. “Aegon?!”

You rush to him, dropping to your knees so hard you bruise them. He groans when you roll him over onto his back, so he’s not dead. He’s half-dressed: red leather pants, combat boots, gold chain necklace, no shirt. When you lift your hand from him, blood stains your palm.

“What—?”

And then you see the stripe of maroon dripping down from the crook of his left elbow. There’s a bloodied needle on the floor beside him, a lighter, a spoon. There’s a small transparent baggie half-filled with white powder.

Aegon blinks at you through his tangled hair, pulling himself upright with great effort. Everything about him is heavy, hazy, like trying to run through water. He doesn’t seem aware of the blood. It’s in his hair, you realize; and there’s a smear on his neck, a splattering on his bare chest. “What are you so dressed up for?”

You can’t answer him. You’re so full of horror and rage that if you open your mouth you might start screaming and never stop.

“Oh,” Aegon remembers listlessly. “Party.”

“I watched the door all night like an idiot, like some desperate little kid”—waiting for their father to come home—“and the whole time you were here shooting up.”

He gazes at you, but from a distance, like he’s looking up from the bottom of the ocean and you’re the shadow of a ship. His voice is slow and muddled. “Yeah.”

“And I guess that’s where all the money went. The money for the San Diego trip.”

“Yeah.”

“How fucking dare you,” you hiss. You grab the baggie off the floor.

Aegon’s hand darts out and closes around your wrist. “No—!”

You rip your arm away from him. “This is heroin, right?” You catch a fistful of his hair and yank his head back so you can check his eyes. Aegon flinches and yelps, but he doesn’t struggle. His eyes are bloodshot, his pupils pinpricks in an ocean of deep blue. “How fucking dare you,” you say again. “How fucking dare you.”

You take the baggie to the kitchen sink, shove it down into the drain, turn on the garbage disposal. You run water down the drain until any trace of it is gone. When you return to Aegon, he’s watching you with those dazed, other-world eyes. He’s still slumped over on the floor; he doesn’t seem to be able to stand. He keeps trying to and flopping over.

“If you’re so mad then hit me,” he says. “Just hit me. Just fucking hit me.”

“Why did you have to come here?” you ask, wrenching the question out of you like extracting a molar or a bullet. Fresh tears brim in your eyes; embers kindle in your throat. You think of how hundreds of years ago doctors believed that you could bleed a patient to rid them of poison or disease, and you wonder how much of yourself you would have to spill into a bowl to forget Aegon. You wonder if your mom has ever forgotten a single thing about Jesse: his voice, his fingertips, the way his hair fell across his face. “If you were just going to make me want something that was never possible, if you were just going to show me what it felt like to be real and then take it away, what was the point? What was the goddamn point? Why did you have to come here and ruin my life?”

“You didn’t like your life before I showed up and you won’t like it when I’m gone.”

“I hate you,” you choke out.

Aegon’s jaw falls open. He can’t believe you said it. Neither can you.

“I want you to leave,” you tell him. “Tomorrow when you sober up I want you to pack your things and get on a plane and leave Juneau like you left everywhere else. I don’t want to know where you go next. I don’t want to know anything about you. I never want to see you again.”

“No.” You can’t tell if it’s defiance or denial or confusion. You don’t stay to argue with him.

You go to the apartment door, open it, and call to Sunfyre: “Come on, buddy.” He rockets off the tiles and trots over, tail wagging cautiously.

“Hey, hey, you can’t take my dog!” Aegon shouts, dragging himself towards you. His hands and knees thump against the wooden floor.

“Yes I can. You can’t be trusted with him. You don’t deserve him.”

“Please don’t,” Aegon whispers huskily. “Don’t take him away. Please.”

You twist his apartment key off your keyring and pitch it at him. It strikes his shoulder and ricochets off, clattering across the floor. He looks at it, not understanding. It’s a dead language, it’s an ancient rune he can’t read. Or maybe he just doesn’t want to. “Goodbye, Aegon.”

You slam the door, fly down the building staircase, break into the cold all-consuming darkness with Sunfyre on your heels like a shadow made of gold.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon ii #aegon x you #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x y/n #aegon x reader #aegon targaryen x you #aegon targaryen ii #aegon targaryen ii x reader #aegon ii x you #aegon ii x reader

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thesolarangel · 4 months

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A touch of cinnamon and spice

Chapter 5 (final)

summary: Just a long, smutty epilogue with some very soft winter fluff!

2.427 words · Rated: EXPLICIT · Please read the updated tags on AO3!

Read on AO3 here

Chapter 5 · 19th December 1987

“It’s snowing!”

Steve’s voice had woken Eddie up and he felt the mattress under him dip in.

“Let’s go outside!” He sounded excited like a little kid.

Eddie just mumbled into the pillow, not yet fully awake. He glanced over to the alarm clock: 6:37 am.

“Baby, it’s too early…” he let out a soft sigh. “If I had known my boyfriend would be such an early bird…” He turned onto his other side and pulled the blanket over himself.

But when he didn’t hear Steve answer, he peeked up from under the blanket to see if something was wrong. Steve was standing by the foot of the bed, in the middle of putting on his pants, staring at Eddie with a surprised, but delighted expression.

“Boyfriend?”

“Yeah… uuh, I know we haven’t talked about that yet, is that not–OOF!” But Steve had already thrown himself back onto the bed and was kissing Eddie.

…

After a soft make-out session that left both of them giggling and smiling from ear to ear, Steve still wanted to go outside.

It had snowed a lot the previous night and dense snowflakes were still falling as they walked onto the campus court, the snow crunching loudly under their feet. Eddie loved that sound.

The snow was sticky and thick, the perfect kind of snow for building a snowman. Steve started rolling big snow globes and stacked them on top of each other. Eddie helped and quickly gathered sticks and pebbles for the mouth, eyes and nose.

Steve put both of his hands on his hips and grinned proudly at his accomplishment. Big snowflakes landed on his long lashes and melted on his rosy cheeks. Eddie couldn’t stop staring at him.

His boyfriend.

He had never met a more beautiful, kind, fun person and in the cold it was making Eddie feel immensely warm, heart pounding in his chest.

“What?” Steve noticed he had been staring and looked at Eddie, a curious smile curling his lips.

“Nothing,” Eddie smirked. He bent down to gather a fistful of snow into his hand. Once Steve knew what he was doing, he formed a snowball himself while stepping backwards to gain some distance.

They threw their snowballs at the same time, Steve’s hit Eddie in the chest and Eddie’s missed by a long shot.

“Heyyy!” Eddie complained, but Steve just shot him a challenging grin.

They laughed, ran around and threw snowballs at each until they were out of breath.

Steve, the former high school sports pro, hit Eddie many times, whereas Eddie’s attempts mostly missed, but he wasn’t going to let that slide.

“Revenge!” He yelled as he lunged towards Steve, both arms open, a crazy grin on his face.

All Steve could do was shout “Eddie, no!” but Eddie was already tackling him into the snow with himself on top.

“Eddie, YES!”

Both of them laughed, lying in the snow, their hair and clothes wet, cheeks red and their breaths visible in the cold.

Overwhelmed with happiness and uncontrollably grinning, Eddie then pulled Steve into a soft kiss, smiling against his lips.

…

Giggling and trying not to trip over discarded jackets and shoes on the floor, Eddie let Steve maneuver them to the bed without breaking their kiss. His soft lips danced around Eddie’s in a slow and passionate way that pulled on Eddie’s heartstrings. He felt like his heart might burst out of his chest and he needed to be closer to Steve so badly.

Steve took his time with undressing Eddie. He peeled his clothes away slowly, caressing and kissing every newly uncovered patch of bare skin.

Eddie shivered under his touch. He let out small gasps and sighs as Steve explored his body. Steve was so gentle and savored him like they were about to part for months.

He kissed the pale flesh of his shoulders, and scattered a few kisses over his tattooed chest and his stomach until he reached Eddie’s boxers. Steve pulled them down and began to kiss Eddie’s thighs while caressing his butt with his broad hands, ignoring his half-hard cock until Eddie whimpered with impatience.

“Stevie, please… I need you”, he begged.

Steve came up to capture Eddie’s mouth in a hungry kiss. Eddie wrapped his arms around him immediately and kissed back with equal enthusiasm. Steve’s hand wandered into his hair and when he broke the kiss, both of them were breathing heavily. Steve’s warm hazel eyes were gazing into the depths of Eddie’s big brown doe eyes with so much affection.

“Are we really doing this?” Steve whispered, a smile curling his lips.

“If you want to, yeah”, Eddie smiled back.

“You know I do”, Steve laughed.

“Awesome!” Eddie grinned giddily and lifted Steve’s shirt to pull it over his head. “Now let’s get rid of this!”

Eddie made short work with Steve’s shirt and pants, then he kissed along Steve’s soft stomach, down the alluring trail of dark hair to the rim of his boxers. He grazed his lips over Steve’s obvious bulge, making him gasp. Mouthing at his hard length through the cotton, Eddie teased him further, nudging at his cockhead with his tongue where Steve was already leaking through the fabric. He breathed in Steve’s wonderful scent and listened to the little noises he made.

When he finally pulled down Steve’s boxers to reveal his perfect pink cock, Eddie let out a pleased groan.

“Finally, it’s just you and me, big boy.”

“Are you talking to my dick?” Steve let out a huffed laugh.

“Shhh…”

Eddie licked one big stripe from Steve’s balls along his length to the glistening head, making Steve exclaim in pleasure.

“Fuuuuuck, Eds!”

He felt a hand slide into his hair, tugging it behind his ear. He looked up and their eyes met. Steve gazed at him through his long lashes, cheeks flushed, plush lips open. Eddie stared back at him with dark eyes and he grinned to himself. Steve wanted to watch. And if Steve wanted a show, he would give him a hell of a show.

Eyes fixed on Steve’s, Eddie went to work by wrapping his wet lips around Steve’s cockhead and licking gently over the sensitive glands with his expert tongue.

With one hand, Eddie stroked his hard shaft and with the other, he began massaging Steve’s hairy firm balls. He took all of Steve in, his taste, scent, feeling, noises while burning this moment into his brain. Steve made the neediest sounds while being sucked off, Eddie couldn’t get enough of hearing his trembling voice through all of the sloppy, wet sounds he was making. His own cock was hard and leaking, begging for attention, but Eddie ignored it.

He took Steve deep into the heat of his mouth once more, when Steve’s hand was suddenly pulling Eddie’s hair and he yelped.

“Eddie, Eds – stop!”

Eddie stopped immediately, his lips leaving Steve’s cock with a wet pop. “What’s wrong, baby? Are you okay?” he asked with a worried expression.

“You’re just a little too good at this, I don’t wanna come like this…” Steve admitted, his chest was heaving, but he was smiling at Eddie.

Eddie was relieved to hear that and raised a brow suggestively. “How do you wanna come, baby?”

“I… I wanna fuck you, is that okay?” Steve asked hopefully.

Eddie moaned as he let the image of being bent over and fucked by Steve take shape in his mind.

“Yes, please, Stevie…” Eddie came up to give his boyfriend a wet kiss on the lips. “I want you inside me”, he whispered into his ear in a low voice, making Steve blush furiously.

“It’s …um, it’s just that I’ve only ever been on the receiving end…”

“I’m gonna talk you through it, sweetheart.” Eddie kissed his cheek and then dropped onto the bed next to him. “Lube and condoms are in the drawer,” he said and winked at Steve.

Only a few minutes later, Eddie was a writhing mess submitted to Steve’s control, praising and encouraging him.

“You – you’re doing great, oh god, Stevie…”

“You like it?” Steve beamed at him and Eddie swore it was the cutest thing he’d ever seen. This sweet, considerate boy was so determined to make him feel good, it made Eddie’s heart race and his dick harder, if that was even possible at this point.

“I do, baby, but not as much as I’ll love taking your cock…” Eddie declared with a needy moan and it took all of his iron will not to come on Steve’s fingers alone. “Give me another, please?”

Steve pulled out to coat his fingers in more lube and then proceeded with three fingers. Eddie let out a long moan as Steve pushed in carefully.

“I’m ready, baby, please… I need you inside me”, Eddie was begging now.

Steve fumbled with the condom wrapper, but his hands were too slick from the lube, and it slipped from his grip.

“Dammit”, he cursed and blushed with embarrassment.

“Let me help you”, Eddie sat up and took the condom wrapper from Steve’s hand. With skilled hands he opened the wrapper and gently fit the condom on Steve’s achingly hard cock. He pumped him a few times, making Steve utter a broken and needy sound.

“Go ahead, big boy”, Eddie purred and laid down comfortably on his back, legs spread and arms stretched out towards Steve to invite him in. Steve positioned himself over Eddie and took hold of his right hand. Eddie sighed a little when Steve laced their fingers together, it was such an intimate gesture, Eddie was laying there fully naked in a most vulnerable state and he was blushing.

Steve pushed inside carefully while gazing deeply into his boyfriend’s eyes.

Once he was fully inside, he let out a long moan and his eyes fluttered shut as he concentrated on not blowing his load right then and there.

“You're so hot around me, Eds”, he groaned, his face was red and his eyes were heavy with lust as he stayed still to let Eddie adjust to his girth.

“You feel so good, oh my god”, Eddie moaned unrestrained, gripping Steve’s hand tighter. “Move, please… slowly, okay?”

Steve gave him a few experimental thrusts. A needy whine slipped past Eddie’s lips when he started to build up a steady pace, eyes still fixed on his boyfriend watching his every reaction.

“Is this okay?” Steve asked.

“Fuck yes, more than okay, baby, you’re doing so great”, Eddie babbled on.

Encouraged by Eddie’s praise, Steve fucked into him a little harder. He quickly found Eddie’s prostate, forcing a lewd sound out of his mouth when he drove into that exact spot.

“More…” Eddie begged beneath him. He was trembling not only from the physical pleasure, but from his intense feelings of affection for Steve, his unyielding gaze and the soft intimacy with which he fucked him. Eddie had never felt like this before.

Steve let go of Eddie’s hand to grip his waist with both hands and slammed into him once more. Both of them were panting and close to the edge.

Eddie’s cock was bouncing against his own stomach with every thrust. He wrapped his hand around it and pumped himself mercilessly until he was spilling all over his own stomach.

After another few rough thrusts Steve came hard, falling over the edge with a satisfied groan.

“You’re incredible, Stevie, you know that?” Eddie beamed at him and Steve smiled back. “Come here” Eddie stretched out a hand and pulled him into a soft kiss.

Eddie reluctantly let go of Steve so he could get rid of the condom. Steve came back with a warm washcloth and cleaned both of them up before getting back into bed with Eddie.

With Eddie as the big spoon and his lips still on Steve’s neck where he was kissing him before, they fell asleep cuddling…

… a week later: December 25th 1987

Christmas Day approached a lot faster than expected and all of them were about to go home to their families. Eddie was getting a ride with Jonathan, since his family lived close to where Uncle Wayne lived in Indiana. Steve had his own car and would drive Robin and Nancy home as well.

“This is for you”, Eddie held out his hand. They were standing at the trunk of Jonathan’s car, ready to leave.

Steve took the tape from his hand. It read “For Stevie” with a little heart on it. “You made me a mixtape!” Steve exclaimed happily.

“Gonna convert you into a full blown metalhead, I thought you would have guessed that by now” Eddie joked, giving him a wide grin. “You said you liked the Metallica song I played for you… so I put that one on there and a few others…”

“Thank you so much…” Steve’s gaze was soft and he glanced at Eddie’s lips as if he was going to kiss him.

Eddie gently grabbed the collar of Steve’s coat and pulled him closer. Steve wrapped his arms around Eddie’s waist and looked at him, expectantly. When Eddie finally closed the last few inches of distance between them by sealing their lips in a soft kiss, Steve sighed against his mouth and kissed back longingly.

Eddie poured his heart into that kiss. They were going to see each other again in just a week, but right now, when his chest was so full of affection and his hands were clutching Steve’s jacket, he didn’t want to let him go.

When Steve broke the kiss, Eddie leaned towards him, trying to follow Steve’s lips, but then he opened his eyes and saw Steve look at him lovingly.

“Call me a lot, okay?” Eddie whispered and rested his forehead against Steve’s.

“Of course I will, baby,” Steve smiled.

“I’ll miss you”, Eddie confessed.

“I’ll miss you, too.” And with that Steve pulled him into a firm hug and Eddie nuzzled his face into the crook of his neck and breathed in his cinnamon-y and woodsy scent. Their embrace lasted several heartbeats long and Steve stroked his hand over Eddie’s back.

They would have stood there, hugging, for a while if Jonathan hadn’t called them.

“Alright, lovebirds, let’s go, my mom is expecting me for dinner!” Jonathan yelled from the car. He had cranked down the window and stuck his head out.

Eddie gave Steve one last kiss, squeezed his hand, got into the car and hoped the next few days would go by in a heartbeat…

THE END.

And HERE is some cute winter-Steddie fanart that goes perfectly with my scene, thanks so much for the inspiration @fernandesart ❤️

here is the mixtape that Eddie made for Steve:

tag list: @starlady66 @fenharel-enaste @queenmeriadoc @elronds-pointy-ears @hbyrde36 @hammity-hammer @corrodedbisexual @spoookysix @rozzieroos @cranberrymoons

devider by @firefly-graphics and @cafekitsune

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tomorrowwegethealthy · 22 days

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I have 6 days left in la until I leave for a month and I'm trying to savor every last second. this will be the longest I haven't seen m*** since we got back together, and ended again. so it feels like a fresh start, but scary of course. I was thinking back to January when I was newly single and I spent 2 weeks with my ex crush. it's crazy how those weeks were pure bliss. I felt soooo me. the first time in a long time, maybe ever. like I really grew into myself. I felt like I was fully occupying my body.

there was an afternoon when we were back in la where he stopped by my apartment to nap with me. I fell asleep in his arms while grouper played in the other room. I woke up to him kissing me with that perfect shade of blue after sunset coming in through my window, and the candles were so orange on his skin and I could see all his tattoos perfectly for the first time. when he left I felt like I was high. I wanted to cry because life was so perfect. and a few minutes later my sister called to tell me my dad had died. she didn't say it but I knew. I asked her not to say the words because I had to go to April's birthday dinner in a few hours and I didn't want to ruin her day. But I already felt it when I was in that perfect sleep. the next morning I heard the words and learned he had actually died a week prior, when I was having my perfect week in arizona. and I realized I had felt so blissed because I felt him in me. I had never felt so light in my life, I wish you could understand. it's a feeling I've lost since. but I think back on that time in January like an angel snow globe.

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gib-mir-gift · 15 days

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making an oc list here cuz i keep forgetting my own fictional people

Julius - manisfestation of depression, anxiety, eating disorders, intrustive thoughts, and just generally everything wrong with me. favourite drawing is of it sitting in a window and waving.

Maximus - julius brother. same routine different font. favourite drawing is of him puppeteering me while singing 'gehenna' by slipknot.

Johannes - the child of krampus. basically krampus jr but a major stoner. favourite drawing is of them smoking while studying a snow globe.

Amsterdam - johannes asshole cat. the soul of their best friend (who was a human named Virgo that died) was moved into his cats body to live on. the cat body got fucked up tho so hes obviously not a normal pet cat. favourite drawing is of his soul moving from his human body to the cat body.

Melodic - think venom meets an alternate from 'the mandela catelogue' (though i created it before i knew what venom was + before tmc came out). way too many teeth, communicates via low hums that sort of mimic human singing. favourite drawing is of it crouching in a door frame.

Brennan Walker - the cringefail loser that melodic loves putting through situations n circumstances n such. think paul matthews from tgwdlm but worse in ways that nmt couldnt even begin to comprehend. favourite drawing is of him lifeless on the floor while melodic looks at him like a kid looking at a bug under a rock.

Flatline - what brennan turns into when melodic finally gets bored. favourite drawing is its existential crisis/joy overload at what its become and the torture from melodic being over.

ZebraSpider - spidersona. deaf trans woman. she can jump over pretty much any building, and her fighting style mimics an aerial silk performance. favourite drawing is of her beating the absolute fuck out of her nemesis.

Mister Formid - zebraspiders nemesis. supernatural ability to control peoples stress levels (can make you feel calm, nervous, euphoric, pure dread, etc etc) just by looking at them. favourite drawing is him getting the absolute fuck beat out of him by zebraspider.

Matthew 'Keys' Köhler - ghostbusters oc. blind in one eye, tattoo sleeve of keys, slut gay autistic enby (they/he) that joined between gb1 and gb2. best friend is winston. faceclaim is ayre gross. favourite drawing is of them sucking face with peter.

Elija Zeddemore - another ghostbusters oc. winstons younger brother, aroace king, plays chess with egon a lot. best friends with janine. faceclaim is corey dorris. favourite drawing is of him unimpressed by winston covered in exploded stay puft marshmallow man.

Umberella - a birman 'cats' oc. best friends with plato and admetus. his human family moved to the area of the junkyard then abandoned him when moving back. he doesnt care cuz he likes the jellicles infinitely more than them. favourite drawing is of him trying to slut it out for skimble during the jellicle ball ('trying' cuz skimble is immune to his flirting).

Dugal Jones - pronounced 'doo-gull'. i am cringe but i am free cuz i made this maggotsona to be craigs kid. sampler that also plays bass in their spare time. the most goat/sheep themed lil dude you have ever seen in your life. favourite drawing is of them being taught how to play piano by clown.

Ae'ito - 'avatar' oc. ometicaya hunter. part of tsu'teys close friend group (before tsu'tey died) then became a close friend of mo'at, norm, and max after the clan moved to the mountains. favourite drawing is of her braiding the hair of norms new avatar.

Fernweh - my fursona. black, red, yellow, and a very light burgandy coloured sabertooth dog (i have yet to decide the type of dog but their canine features tend to be very german shephard). favourite drawing is of them in a crop top that says "fat men are hot".

i have like 20 other furry ocs that i am entirely too lazy to include here so all youre getting is my fursona lmao

#oc list #kurlys rants

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freeuselandonorris · 9 months

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7, 24, 32 for the writer ask!

writing asks!!!

annoyingly i filled most of this out and then tumblr ate my answers SO take two!

What is your deepest joy about writing?

so this isn’t joy, per se, but i had a conversation with @lost-decade recently where i mentioned that i think a lot of my attraction to writing comes from the fact that i am, at heart, a horrible little control freak (positively unheard of in kink community etc etc) and thus it is very satisfying to me on a deep lizard brain level to put characters in situations and then make those situations conform to my wishes. my writing output always goes up dramatically when i am feeling overwhelmed or uncertain in life and i think this is a big part of it.

but also, i am a person who gets obsessed with things! i am all or nothing! i get obsessed with people (or rather their public personas, fourth wall and all that) and media and scenarios and kinks and tiny little details and big philosophical concepts. writing lets me poke at all those things. picture me like gollum holding a snow globe, shaking it up over and over again to watch how the flakes fall.

24. How much prep work do you put into your stories? What does that look like for you? Do you enjoy this part or do you just want to get on with it?

i’ll talk about fic first as that’s what people on here know me for writing-wise. the answer here is: it depends! for my slutty little one-shots i tend to do very little research; stuff like crosstown traffic or a lot like life are largely unplanned or inspired by one real-life event that sparks an idea (although i guess you could say i researched the njoy plug in a lot like life in the sense that i own one lmao).

with longer fics, particularly RPF, i LOVE fitting my fic timelines into real-life events. this is particularly satisfying with motorsport RPF because the races give the year a very particular and easy-to-research structure. so for longer fics like there was always warmth between us i watched a ton of youtube videos and clips of max and daniel for both timeline inspiration and characterisation (although honestly i read that fic back the other day and my dialogue for them is so generic at times gjrskjfs), plus i wrote it relatively soon after the season itself.

with the toto/christian sequel to all the blood runs hot before it’s cold i’m working on, i wrote myself some notes of what themes i want to explore, plus a timeline of last season so that i could tie those themes into the arc of the season, like so:

i probably won’t use all those notes in the final piece, but it gives me a structure to work from.

for original writing, again it depends. for short stories and poetry i tend to free write for a bit beforehand until something appears from the ether that i can use as a starting point. for my novel-in-progress, when i wrote the first draft i basically did…maybe a page of planning? this was a bad idea. it was a mess. i resisted planning for ages but eventually i had to admit that for long-form pieces i cannot adequately structure my writing without one. so i went back and wrote a very elaborate plan using the six-arc story structure, which allows for much more freedom than a traditional ‘save the cat’ style beat sheet. highly recommend. i try not to do too much research beforehand (which is hard given i’m writing a novel about AI, something i have very little practical knowledge of!) because i just get bogged down and end up procrastinating.

jeez, that was an essay.

32. What is a line from a poem/novel/fanfic etc that you return to from time and time again? How did you find it? What does it mean to you?

oh lol there are SO MANY. i have a few of them tattooed on me. let me answer all three of those with the first example that comes to mind:

for poem, ‘turning and turning in the widening gyre / the falcon cannot hear the falconer’ from the second coming by wb yeats haunts me. the whole poem haunts me, actually, for reasons that should be obvious upon reading. but those lines utterly terrify me.

for novel, again there’s hundreds but the one that first came to mind was ‘you can always count on a murderer for a fancy prose style’ from lolita by vladimir nabokov. lolita is one of the books i’ve re-read the most because it is a complete masterpiece, and this line embodies that to me. it’s clever, it’s funny, it’s defensive, it slides in a fantastically important plot point in the shape of a joke. amazing.

from fic, this is maybe a random example but the first one i thought of was this line from darkest little paradise (F1, pierre/charles) by heroics: 'Charles clutches him for another moment, squeezes the back of Pierre’s neck, resists the urge to drop to his knees right here and let Pierre do whatever he wants with Charles’s soft body.' i don’t know what it is about it, something about ‘soft body’. it’s just a line that has really stuck with me as a beautiful example of a dynamic (both in the relationship sense and, a bit, in the kink sense) described with such restraint.

eta: fuck at risk of making this post even more unnecessarily long i just realised i would be utterly remiss not to mention ‘She wants to know where this moral fortitude was when he had her flat on her back in that dark little cottage. Wonders if he had to fuck her to find it. If she has to always be the one to pay for it.’ from @widespindriftgaze’s astonishing taskmaster RPF masterpiece broke both early and late (part 2 in a series), which i have never managed to read without crying.

thank you for asking! ❤️

from this writing asks post. i love shit like this (as you can see from how fuckin long this got); please feel free to ask more if you're reading this!

#ask meme #fic meta

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charmsandtealeaves · 1 year

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Year in review:

In 2022 (mostly the second half let’s be real) I committed myself to rejoining fandom and creating/sharing content (even if I wasn’t always happy with it). Looking back I think I’ve actually achieved a lot, which was a genuine surprise for me totaling it all up! Especially considering the fact that this year I became a mum for the first time.

AO3 Profile

Let’s start with some AO3 STATS (as of 27/12/22):

User Subscriptions: 17 Kudos: 878 Comment Threads: 98 Bookmarks: 155 Subscriptions: 123 Word Count: 87,634 Hits: 9,946

Now it’s Time for an AO3/Tumblr Breakdown:

Jilychallenges:

September, November, December Advent Calendar (1, 2, 3)

Jilytoberfest:

31 prompts completed. Masterlist.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry prompted fics (Discord *Became Ministry of Magic):

Justice Departed (One-shot, Tonks Muggle Crime AU) Let the Dam Break (Remus Lupin Drabble)

Ministry of Magic (Discord) prompted fics:

Dear Evans (Jily) Chocolate & Aftershave (Wolfstar) Pumpkin Problems (Jily) Pretty But Potent (Jily) Fairy Lights (Jily) Just Drink (Jily) Benji Begone (Jily) Need a Lift? (Jily) Sleeping Sweaters (Wolfstar) Poor Pumpkin Planning (Jily) Tattoo the Moon (Wolfstar) Movie Night (Marauders + Co Drabble) Adrift (Jily) Nicking Notes (Jily) Nightmares (Wolfstar) That Grin (Jily) Happy Halloween (Sirius Raising Harry fluff) Holidays Aren’t Always Happy (Marauders Drabble) Sea Glass (Bill Weasley Drabble) Who Needs Reindeer? (Harry Potter Drabble, Humour/fluff) One More Sleep (Wolfstar Raising Harry) You’re a Mean One, Mr. Filch (Filch Drabble)

Completed fics from last year:

Snow Globe (Christmas Fic, Multichapter, Muggle Au, Jily)

Ongoing:

Justice Departed- Cold Case (Tonks Muggle Crime AU, Multichapter expansion, 2/6 posted) Brown Boots & Breakfast Bagels (Jily, Muggle fake dating AU, Multichapter 7/? posted)

#charms library #charms 2022 year in review #jilychallenge #jilytoberfest #MOM Monthlies #jily #wolfstar #sirius raising harry #wolfstar raising harry #drabbles #masterlists

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allthingsfook · 1 year

Note

keeping this on anon to know your unbiased opinion

hi, i’m [insert name here] ;) (she/her). i’m like 5’2, on the petite side but kinda curvy, and i’m in my mid-20s. i have long blonde hair, blue eyes, and a beauty mark on the right corner of my mouth above my lip. i have four tattoos, five soon, with 3 of them having meaning and one being kinda on a whim, and only up to my doubles on piercings.

my hobbies are music, dance, anything nature related, collecting things (i collect snow globes and stickers, science-y shit, history shit, reading, and travel. i’m currently taking a year and a half off of school between my undergrad and masters to travel and enjoy this time in my life. when i go back i’ll enter a masters program for athletic training where i will hopefully work for a pro-team someday. i’ve thought about teaching at a dance studio recently because i used to dance and i love it (and miss it dearly).

about my zodiac… i’m a taurus sun, scorpio moon, aquarius rising, aries mercury, gemini venus and scorpio mars… i’m an astrology bitch lol. i definitely think i fit my chart. i am very loyal, reliable and honest. i am not one to sugar coat things and would rather face issues head on. i am also extremely protective of the people i love and would go to bat for them any day. and of course being mostly fixed i am very stubborn, but i can be pretty spontaneous too! my love language is quality time and physical touch. i also have a tendency to make things for those i love.

some extras: i am a vat of useless, but (usually) interesting knowledge. i did choir for 6 years and danced for about the same. i love harry potter, marvel, lord of the rings, star trek, etc. i love basically all kinds of music. i’m kinda like the ‘dad’ friend, ya know, the one who always drives, fixes things, usually has a game plan and good sense of direction. when i was young i taught myself how to play the organ. i’m randomly crafty. i have pretty good intuition, and can usually read people pretty well. lastly, i can be very loud, i’m not always, but when i need to be heard, i will be lol

sorry this was long hehe can’t wait :)

Ahhhh, awesome! I love getting anon ones to see if it’s accurate 🤩

I ship you with…

Danny ☺️

I don’t usually touch too much on physical appearance because these men are so much deeper than that, but I do usually talk about tattoos. As for Danny, I think he low key would like a girl with tattoos. He’d be so curious about whether it hurts or not and ask you about the meaning behind them. I feel like he’d expect everyone to have a story and sentimental value, but when you tell him about the one being on a whim he’d kinda like the idea. Overtime, his appeal to them would turn from curiosity to attraction. He’d often express you how sexy you’d look with more.

Danny seems like he was a kid who collected things as well, so he’d totally understand your affinity for collecting. The first time he brings you home to meet his family, he’d certainly take you to the huge Christmas store in Frakenmuth to get you a unique snow globe 😇 And he’d always come bearing gifts when he gets home from tour. Don’t imagine him in a local store, picking stuff up that reminds him of you. He’s supplying your trinket needs 😂

Danny would support you in taking time away from school, realizing it can be extremely exhausting. He’d encourage you to travel, experiment, and relax in the mean time. Maybe even invite you on tour for a week! When you decide you are ready to head back for your masters, he’d be so proud of you. He’d definitely talk you up and brag to others 😏 Going for athletic training would peak his interest when you first meet. He’d question about that with genuine curiosity, which makes you feel special and appreciated. Inevitably, that conversation would segway to golf ⛳️ Hopefully you have at least the slightest interesting in it to coexist with Danny 😁 You’d definitely walk into the living room to see him polishing his clubs on the coffee table one day!

Let’s see if I can do the astrology compatibility justice here *cracks knuckles* You being a Taurus not only means you’d jive with the twins, but also have a strong bond with Daniel. Capricorns and Taurus’ have a extremely trusting foundation to their relationships. Capricorns have little desire to lie, which makes Taurus’ feel safe. Both signs are typically on the same page about being discreet about the relationship. Not necessarily hiding it, but enjoying it for who matters most…. EACH OTHER!!! This is quite important because of Danny’s status; key to both of your mental health. Capricorns are notorious for never knowing when they need a break. Living the lifestyle he does, it’s easy for everything to stack up. You would have to help Danny identify that for himself. Running away from his work isn’t always an option, so experimenting with relaxation techniques when you are together will help him make them a habit on the road. Not only will it help him decompress, it will remind him of you 🤍 Due to your sign’s characteristics, Danny would admire your charisma, good taste, stability, and the way you present yourself. Because of his work schedule, your support, accommodation, and affection would solidify his love for you.

Moving on, Danny would come to appreciate and love your “useless” knowledge and the timing in which you decide to use it 😂 I think you and Danny would bond over a lot of your interests. He’s definitely a Marvel and LOTR guy! Most definitely will have an annual marathon of both! It’s a huge must to love all music as Danny is always dabbling with many genres. He’d introduce you to all sorts of artists to which you’ll come to love not only because they are good, but because they remind you of him when he’s away. Danny would love the fact you are a self made organist of sorts 😂 Most of the boys taught themselves the plethora of instruments they play, so they will understand the discipline and commitment it took to learn that at such a young age. Danny would beg you to play for him once in a while ✨

I hope this is ship is pretty head on for you! Please let me know, I love to hear so or if not too! 💕

#greta van fleet #gvf #peaceful army #starcatcher #gvf ships #ships #gvf moodboard #moodboard #greta van fluff #gvf imagine #danny gvf #danny wagner #daniel robert wagner #daniel jean louise marie wagner

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nedlittle · 2 years

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Top 5 MCR songs? Also, top 5 Gerard Way Looks?

beginning to think i didn't think this through because i have so much love in my heart that choosing favourite songs feels illegal. they're all my favourite (except for blood which I think is hilarious as a concept but would never voluntarily listen to it) however

vampires will never hurt you - they immediately peaked with this one i genuinely think it's in top 3 songs they've ever written on sheer technical creativity. the first 30 seconds send a spike of pure adrenaline through my body. i could lift a bus if vampires was playing in the bg. absolutely deranged choice for a first single yet absolutely in character for them. love that half the songs off bullets don't even feel like songs that are verse > chorus > verse > chorus > bridge > chorus. they're just stories set against the sicknastiest guitar you've ever heard. but vampires in particular feels like everyone is performing until they pass out the energy doesn't flag for half a second. perfect song. i could listen to it every day and not get tired of it

boy division - iconic from start to finish. the amount of time tourists walked in one me going absolutely sicko mode to this one on slow days is at LEAST 3. love how tongue-in-cheek the lyrics are wrt to legacy and image love that i have listened to this song approximately 4000 times since mid-july and yet i do not know half the lyrics bc someone will not enunciate. putting it after foundations on setlists is such a fun choice because it really doesn't give you a second to breathe. going straight from the healing and awe and resilience of being told to fix your heart IMMEDIATELY into IFALLMYENEMIESTHREWAPARTY--

the foundations of decay - i know i'm prone to exaggeration and hyperbole but this one is dead fucking serious. the first time i listened to foundations i was like oh wow new music! and i liked it well enough but didn't seek it out or really think about it that much the first few times i heard it and then during the summer i saw some fanart and thought oh hm maybe i should give foundations another listen and that time i heard "you must fix your heart" clear as a fucking bell like a bolt of lightning clean through down to the centre of me right when i was experiencing such intense existential dread about turning 25--an age i never thought i'd reach--and not having a stable job or future that i thought i would lay down and die from it. you must fix your heart!! and you must build an altar where it swells!! i just had such a profound experience hearing that lyric and i listened to just the bridge over and over again for a week until i could hear it like static in my ears even when it wasn't playing. you must fix your heart. if i remember and get over my fear of appointments i'm going to get this tattooed on my human body. i mean this forever.

mama - do not need to explain this one. ray toro i would fight god for you thank you for taking a dare to write a rock polka 100% seriously and as a result transgenderizing millions of people across the globe on a daily basis. also up there in top 3 songs they've ever written. screaming YOU SHOULD HAVE RAISED A BABY GIRL I SHOULD HAVE BEEN A BETTER SON with thousands of people would both fix me and make me worse. LIZA MINNELLI is there

our lady of sorrows - the childhood catholicism really jumped out with this one but in my defense stand up fucking tall don't let them see your back and take my fucking hand and never be afraid again. gay-ass epic of gilgamesh-ass punk song. i know the point is that it's short but also i wish it were 10 minutes long

okay jesus christ we're putting the looks under a read more because i'm going to end up writing a phd thesis on each of them and the good people who followed me for other things shouldn't have to scroll 10 km uphill in the snow to see other posts

i am limiting these looks to recent tour fits because otherwise we will be here for the next 7 years and i will end up burning all the hair off my scalp in another bad dye job SO let's watch me get embarrassing

gerard of arc

protestants invented the rapture so they could describe mcr. we knew this one was coming the only question was when a joan outfit was coming and boy howdy did they deliver. i don't know if this one would have been as impactful if there wasn't already a mini-joan canon within their discography but because there have been years and years of build up to gerard going full joan, waking up and seeing this was pure vindication. also helps that i'm a big fan of the og joan fit at voodoofest in 2008 (2007?). love the change from the red skirt that's often associated with joan (especially in millais' painting) to a red cape so that instead it's chainmail all the way down. also there's something so striking about a chainmail gown. apart from the arm braces and the piece at the breastbone there's no real armour, even regular textiles that look like armour--i mean, practicality. you don't wanna pass out midway through na na na. also the BLOOD post-stake joan and the big ass buckle boots! i'm so glad someone got a visual on the boots bc the shoes often make or break an outfit for me and i was trying to figure out wtf they had underrneath the gown without sounding like a perv. the little joan sticker on his wizard noise tower. saints for girls. give this bitch a sword. if i talk about this too long i will be fully insane. moving on

2. high school english teacher who you homoerotically imprinted on but specifically with the jacket + glasses

feel like i do not need to explain this one. best they've ever looked unironically. it was all over for me the second i saw the pearl bracelet. the day after this happened i went to the heterosexual wedding of a high school friend in what i can only describe as a slightly more masc version of this fit which was likened by my friends to both a dead victorian child and a medieval knight. this look was my lockscreen until joan happened and genuinely my life has not known a single moment of peace since. i am not exaggerating when i say that on nights i knew there was a show i had trouble sleeping because i was tormented by the idea of gerard way out in public wearing a cunty little outfit. one night i genuinely woke up in a cold sweat and the first coherent thought was "what if an outfit happened" because i am Extremely Normal. i invented a brand new emotion looking at this and that emotion is 'gender horny' and no i do not know what that means. someone needs to take me out back and old yeller me i can't keep living like this. next

3. cheergate original flavour

i wasn't following the tour rabidly or having Hot Kit Emo Summer yet so the morning after cheergate og i was innocently scrolling through tumblr, saw fanart, and went wait. WAIT. and then mine eyes were blessed by images and the little gay people in my phone going from awe to horniness back to awe at breakneck speed. if this hadn't been on my day off i'm not sure how i would have coped. you think i would have been able to balance a cashbox in the wake of cheergate? i can barely do that under normal circumstances. sometimes gender is a horseshoe that swings back around to you with someone else's euphoria, sometimes it's contagious like laughter. the delicately puffed sleeves are what does me in specifically. puffed sleeves pristine white sneakers tiny little socks smooth ass legs. if i think for more than three minutes about the possibility of the cheerleading dress being the defining outfit of the return era i immediately get a tension headache. there are kids who got into mcr during the break up and this is going to be THEIR gerard....i need to put my head into a blender.

4. cunt dragula/count fagula

99% perfect recreation of bela lugosi in dracula 1931 HELLO?? (1% imperfect because the tailcoat is cut weirdly high both for a beat-by-beat recreation and 1930s evening wear in general and i cannot stop looking at it) i love this one bc it's just so Fun and the details are so theatre kid-y that i am reduced to self-recognition through the other. tinted hair gel. white foundation. drawn-on eyebrows. the way the cape swishes. we love to have fun here this one looked so fun to wear. even though i am not a big fan of dracula 1931 i am Not Immune to dracula 1931. glad there was a gud evening 9 years in the making :)

5. pool boy at the vampire mansion

fully-fledged character in 6 words. pool boy at the vampire mansion is like a mother to me. this falls into the category of outfits that i have deemed in my Big Spreadsheet of Tour Outfits (i am extremely mentally healthy thank you for asking) 'camp counsellor fits'. looks EXTREMELY comfy and even though it's so simple, everything works together so well even the clear face mask which i always forget exists. i love you tiniest shorts on planet earth. i love you crooked hand-lettered t-shirt handmade with love. i love you black converse. i would say more about this but the thing about living with your parents at 25 is that if my mother comes upstairs to drag me to the dinner table she will see me being extremely abnormal about gerard way online.

bonus points to: nurse (made me reread hanif abdurraqib's extremely wonderful black parade essay also gave me insane emotions re: my own concepts of health and chronic pain lol), lil ghostie (my close personal friend :^)), fruit bat drag queen (newark 1, would have been #4 if not for dracula)

#ari i am so sorry because you did ask for this but also you did not ask for THIS #every day of my life i am waiting for someone to ask my opinions on american rock band my chemical romance and today i am vindicated #standuptragicomedy #answered #mcr #long post #who will take one for the team and ask me my top 5 joan paintings i want to see redrawn with gerard #(this is a trap you do not want to do this)

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middleearthpixie · 2 years

Text

Good Trouble ~ Chapter Two

Durin’s Garage AU - Good Trouble ~ Part 2

Modern Spin on The Hobbit

Summary: When your car breaks down, there is only one garage in town - Durin’s Garage and Engine Repairs. And sometimes, they do more than just tune your engine, check your oil, and top off your fluids…

Everyone in town knows Durin’s Garage and Engine Repairs is THE place to go when your car needs work, and everyone knows that Dwalin Fundinson is to be avoided outside of the garage. He’s an ace mechanic, but trouble otherwise.

The morning after holds a few surprises, and not all of them are pleasant…

Pairing: Modern!Dwalin x reader

Warning: Some foreplay

Word Count: 4k

Tag List: @tschrist1 @i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea @linasofia @fizzyxcustard @legolasbadass @kibleedibleedoo @xxbyimm @arrthurpendragon @exhausted-humxn-being @rachel1959 @laurfilijames @sketch-and-write-lover @sherala007 @enchantzz @knitastically @notlostgnome @myselfandfantasy @ggfamert @medusas-hairband @guardianofrivendell @jotink78

If you'd like to be added or removed from my tag list, please let me know.

Dwalin snored.

And not soft snores, either. He lay on his back, almost growling like a contented bear and you wondered if his neighbors heard him. You thought they might have heard you both earlier, because at one point, something hit the other side of the wall, but you decided you’d rather think of it as a mouse in the wall or something else. You hadn’t meant to be that loud, but damn, Dwalin had some mad skills and a wonderful, seemingly insatiable fondness for going down on you, and you’d have to be batshit crazy to turn that down.

But now all was quiet. You lay cozy and warm between midnight blue sheets that were softer than any sheets you’d ever felt against your bare skin, with the thick, fluffy blue and gray comforter, tugged almost to your ear. From your position, you had a perfect view through the large picture window along the far wall. Snow continued to fall, small flakes swirling past the glass to give the illusion of being in a snow globe. The wind howled every now and then, and a hint of a draft leaked around the windowpane, but you didn’t mind. After all, you were cozy.

You still hadn’t seen whether or not his cock was inked. The room remained dark, so any shadow was just that—a shadow. Still, you wondered. The thought of a tattoo needle in such a sensitive place both impressed and horrified you. Did he have a kink for pain? Because if so, he made no mention of it. The closest you’d gotten to feeling any pain was when he caught a handful of your hair and tugged to kiss his way down your bowed neck. Otherwise, he was every bit the gentle, tender lover. Again, such a far cry from the image he presented to the world. You’d never known a man could be so gentle, really. It was a welcome change. A very welcome change.

Kissing seemed to be one of his favorite parts of foreplay. Long, slow, soft, deep kisses that made your head spin and your blood almost bubble like a pot of boiling water. He kissed you everywhere from your head to the soles of your feet and all points in between.

But, the most romantic and most erotic thing he did? He murmured something to you in a tongue you didn’t understand, and did so as he neared climax, growling the words in your ear as he came hard inside you. You had no idea what he’d said, but they sounded harshly beautiful and you made a mental note to ask him in the morning.

You shifted, rolling onto your side, away from the window. The room was too dark to make out much detail beyond his sleeping shadow, but that didn’t stop you. Besides, you already knew what he looked like. He was handsome. He was fierce. He looked as if he could bench press a Buick, rip out the engine and toss it somewhere, and take a grown man apart with his bare hands.

And you knew those hands were as gentle as they were fierce.

The snoring ceased and Dwalin stirred, lifting his head to murmur, “Something wrong, love?”

You shivered at the rumbling endearment. No one ever called you love before and you liked how it sounded falling from his sleepy lips. “Not at all.”

The sheets and comforter rustled softy as he shifted onto his side and his hand came to rest in the curve of your waist. “So, why’re ye awake at—” he lifted his head to peer at the clock on the bedside table table behind you—“nearly four in the morning?”

“I was watching the snow.”

“Ye were watching the snow.” His fingers skimmed lightly toward your ribs, then back down toward your hip. “If you want to leave, you can.”

Your belly did a strange flip. “Do you want me to leave?”

“What? No!” His hand slipped down over the small of your back now. “No, I don’t, but I didn’t… that is, ye didn’t… well, what I mean is—”

You leaned in to quiet him with a light kiss, whispering, “Shhh…” as your lips pressed his. Pulling back, you added, “I’m warm and I’m comfy and I like it here. It’s cozy here.”

“Cozy?”

You inched closed to him, sliding an arm about his middle. “Cozy.” Although it was dark, you peered up at him. “Do you have to work tomorrow?”

He nodded. “Noon to close. Do ye?”

“No. I’m off tomorrow.”

“I’m done by eight. Maybe we can do something?”

You smiled, tucking your head against him. “Something like this?”

A low chuckle rumbled to his lips. “I was thinking more like something like going out somewhere.”

His fingertips sweeping lightly along your back made your eyelids heavy and a heavy drowsiness creep over you. Smothering a yawn, you managed to murmur, “I like the thought of out somewhere, too.”

“Good.” He kissed the top of your head. “Now, go to sleep.”

When you opened your eyes, brilliant, dazzling sunlight spilled into the room, bounced across the carpet, sprung across the bed. Dwalin slept soundly beside you, quiet now, face down, with the covers pulled only halfway up his back.

You slipped from the bed, then remembered your clothes were scattered about his living room. You stood up, then remembered the wide window and the curtains drawn back and held in place with braided silver cord. If anyone was outside and happened to look up, they might be treated to a show. Wonderful.

With that in mind, you sprinted across the room, snagged the hoodie draped over the chair in the corner, and wriggled into it. As it dropped over your head, the scent of something clean and sporty teased your nose. Cologne? Soap? Either way, you liked it.

The heat had yet to kick on and the bare, hardwood floor was still cold as you skittered across it to the hallway. As you caught sight of the trail of clothing that started just inside the door and wound into the living room, and moved to scoop up everything to dump on the sofa.

Your stomach growled, but you didn’t want food. Caffeine. You needed caffeine, would kill for coffee. Maybe you’d find some in the kitchen, so you braced yourself for bare feet on ceramic tile, and wound your way there.

The kitchen was tiny—room enough for one person, only—with what looked like new appliances, butcher block counter and small breakfast bar, and a backsplash of Pacific blue tile. A Keurig machine stood on the small square of butcher block between the stove and the refrigerator. You powered it up, then went in search of coffee pods.

They were in a steel mesh organizer in the drawer below the machine, cups were in the cabinet above and you tugged open the right hand door of the upright refrigerator and peered in. A half gallon of milk. A quart of half-and-half (thank you, God!) Eggs. Six amber bottles of Shock Top Belgian White lined the back of the top shelf.

You didn’t know how Dwalin took his coffee, or even if he drank it, so when you brewed the second cup, you left it black. You found sugar, added it and half-and-half to yours and carried both cups back to the bedroom.

He was just waking up, his eyes just wider than slits as he sat up, and rubbed his face with both hands. As he lowered them, his gaze alit on her and he smiled. “Looks good on ye.”

His burr did such odd things to you. His voice was low and gravelly, and that accent only made it sexier. His Rs rolled off it tongue as if they were oiled, and that, whispered in your ear as he crushed you against him? Enough to make your body warmer now.

“My things are all still out there,” you gesture to the living room with your head, and held out the cup of black coffee. “I know your beer order. This one is a mystery to me.”

He took the cup. “It’s perfect the way it is.”

You sank onto the bed alongside him. “I’m glad you’re awake. It’s almost ten and I wasn’t sure if I should wake you or not.”

“I usually wake on my own.” He sipped from his mug, then lowered it. “Are ye hungry? I have to go shopping, but I think I’ve something in the pantry.”

“I don’t eat breakfast most mornings. The thought of food when I first wake up… ugh…”

“No one was expecting ye home last eve, where they?”

You shook your head. “I live alone.”

“So, no one is expecting ye home now, either, are they?”

A sly grin accompanied his words as he reached out and took your cup from your hands to set on his bedside table. He drew you toward him, easing an arm about you as he lay back against the pillows, pulling you over him.

“I probably should not answer that,” you said as his hands skimmed along your back, beneath his hoodie, which was far too big on you.

He smiled and you realized then how few times you’d actually ever seen him smile. He normally looked ready to take someone apart, and while the others laughed and joked with one another, he always seemed to be on alert, as if his main job outside the garage was to look after the others.

But now, seeing him like this, you felt more than a little guilty for believing some of the unkind rumors about him. He was far more gentle than those rumors would have you believe, and mare more generous as well. You’d never known any man like him, and while your past wasn’t exactly littered with men, you’d been with enough to know he was different.

“Where are ye?” His voice was soft, his hands going still at the small of your back.

“I just… I don’t usually do this, you know?”

His eyes widened. “Ye mean to tell me ye were a virgin?”

“Funny.” You made a face at him. “No, I don’t normally just go home with a guy and jump into bed with him.”

His hands slid beneath the hoodie once more. “So why did ye agree to stay with me?”

“I like you. And I was curious.”

He arched one dark brow. “Curious?”

“Women speculate about you, you know,” you shifted off him, stretching out beside him, and let your fingers wander through the silver-tipped hair curling away from his muscled chest. “They ask me about you all the time.”

“About me? Not the Durins?”

“Well, them, too, but you’d be amazed how many are interested in what makes you tick, Mr. Fundinson. And yet, you don’t look twice at them. Why?”

“I had my eye on a cute bartender.”

“Dwalin, I’m serious.”

“So am I.” The sheets rustled softly as he came up over you this time. “I don’t look twice at ‘em because I’m not interested. I’ve wanted to ask ye out for months now, and never had the balls to do it.”

“You should have.”

“Aye, I should’ve. But,” he bent to brush your lips with his, “I’ve got ye where I want ye, so, I’d say it worked out just fine regardless.”

With that, he kissed you. His lips were soft and warm and moved almost lazily against yours. Little by little, he came flat against you, his bulk surrounding you, but not crushing you. He slid a hand beneath the hoodie, up along your ribs. The tips of his fingers just barely grazed the bottom of your breast. Your eyes closed.

His cell rang, buzzing as it vibrated across the nightstand. He ignored it, slowly shifting his hips to settle between your legs. The phone stopped ringing and you breathed a sigh of relief as his cock slid teasingly into your heat. Maybe now you’d be able to see if the ink rumor was true.

You parted your legs as he swept a thumb along your nipple. Like his kiss, this motion was also slow, and leisurely, and it sent chills racing through you. It was nice to be with a guy who seemed to actually enjoy foreplay, who seemed to actually enjoy warming you up, priming you to make certain that when you came together, you were absolutely ready for him.

He swept a kiss along your chin, down your throat. Your toes curled as he kissed down between your breasts. You sucked in a sharp breath as he moved over the inner curve of your left breast. Over that nipple. The tip of his tongue—

His phone rang again. He ignored it. It rang a third time and with a low, “Son of a bitch,” he slid off her, explaining, “It’s Thorin’s ring tone. I should take this.”

Disappointment bit into you, but you nodded. “You probably should.”

He snatched up the phone, hit accept, and growled, “What?” He rolled away with a sigh. “It’s not a good time, Thorin. It really isn’t.”

You tucked your arm up under your head, your gaze lingering over the design across his back. It went from shoulder to shoulder, a mix of heavy and thin black lines and gray shading with hints of white and gold highlights and you thought it might be a bird of some sort, but you weren’t sure.

With a low sigh, Dwalin said, “Fine, yes. I’ll be there in half an hour and ye owe me for this. Oh, ye have no idea how ye owe me.”

He tossed down the phone and rolled onto his back with a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry, love, but I have to go in early. Lads got a call about a broken down box truck out on Seven and I’m the only one with a CDL, so it’s up to me to go fetch ‘em.”

“It’s all right. I should get going anyway.”

“Tonight, pick a place for dinner. Just let me know how fancy I have to be and what time to pick you up.”

“On your motorcycle?”

“It’s supposed to be dry.”

“Isn’t it cold?”

He smiled. “Wear a coat.

You bit back a sigh. The thought of getting on a motorcycle terrified you, but you didn’t want to say anything. However, you were also out of excuses as to why he couldn’t ride it, so you drew in a deep breath and said, “I’ve never been on a bike before.”

“Then you’ll be in for a treat.” He sat up and slid to the edge of the bed. “Get your jeans on and I’ll take you out for a quick spin before I have to leave.”

Your belly twisted into a million tiny knots and your mouth went dry. “N-now?”

“Don’t look so scared.” He rose, then bent to kiss you quickly. “You’ll be fine.”

You bit the inside of your cheek as he moved to the dresser and tugged open the top drawer to fish out a pair of red boxer briefs. Some of your apprehension faded for a moment as he stepped into them, for like so many other women, you could absolutely appreciate the sight of a man in a pair of well-fitting boxer briefs. And his were most definitely well-fitting.

The muscles across his shoulders and upper back bunched and then smoothed as he tugged open another drawer to pull out a black long-sleeved tee shirt with the words Durin’s Garage in gold down the sleeves.

With a soft sigh, you rose and skirted him to go retrieve your jeans and the rest of your clothes, and wrinkled your nose at the thought of wearing the same underwear. Commando was far preferable, so you just slid into your jeans.

He emerged from he bedroom in Levi’s that had faded just perfectly, with that black tee shirt tucked into the waist, the sleeves pushed up almost to his elbows. In one hand, he held a matte black, full-face helmet that he held out to you. “It should fit you.”

You eyed it. “Why would you think your helmet would fit me?”

To your surprise, a hint of color rose along his cheekbones. “It’s not mine. I mean, it is mine, but not for me to wear. It’s a woman’s helmet.”

“Oh.” Why did that surprise you? Of course you weren’t the first woman to ride with him. It was silly to think otherwise. But at the same time, you couldn’t help the flash of jealousy, either.

Still, you didn’t want him seeing that stupid side, so you took the helmet, which was far heavier than it looked, and said, “Am I gonna die on this thing?”

He skirted the sofa to the coat closet, tugged the door open, and reached in to pull out a leather jacket. “Do ye think I’ll let something happen to ye?”

His voice was low and growlier than usual, which gave you pause. You certainly hadn’t meant to insult him. “No, of course not.”

“Good. Because I like ye. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t let ye near my bike.” He came around to drop the jacket over your shoulders. It was too big and too heavy, but held a hint of cinnamon—probably from the air itself—so you just shoved your arms into the sleeves and tried not to notice how you probably looked like a little girl wearing her father’s clothes.

Father.

You tried to ignore the warning pang at the thought. No. You are not worrying about him now.

“Are ye all right?” Dwalin moved to stand before you, brows pulled low. “Ye just went pale.”

“I’m scared. I’ve never been on a motorcycle.”

“Ye’ll be fine. Just hold on to me and I’ll do the rest. Trust me, yer as safe with me as ye’d be with yer own kin.”

He should only know.

He bent to brush your lips with his, then said, “Get yer boots on. I have fifteen minutes.”

Down in the parking lot, after stowing your belongings in your car, you swallowed hard when he whisked the tarp from a gleaming black, rather beautiful, Harley-Davidson Softail cruising bike. He rolled it up, tucking it under his arm as he said, “I just have to put this in the basement. I’ll be right back.”

You waited, just staring at the motorcycle that looked so innocent, and then back at your Jeep, which you knew was safe. When he returned, your breath was harder to catch for not only was he wearing a matte black full-face helmet, but your heart raced so hard, you almost feared it would explode.

He straddled the bike. “Hop on.”

You eyeballed the rear foot pegs, and then tugged on the helmet and carefully lifted yourself up to ease into the seat behind him. He started the engine and called over it, “Put yer arms around me, and hold on.”

You did just that, wrapping your arms so tightly about his waist, he let out a chuckle as he revved the engine. “Easy, love. I need to breathe. Not so tight, if it’s all the same to ye.”

“Sorry.”

“Dinna be sorry,” he glanced at you over his shoulder, “just trust me.”

You nodded, then squeezed your eyes shut again as he lifted his feet and gave the engine gas and you eased from the slot as smooth as anything.

The morning air was chilly, but the heavy leather jacket softened your discomfort. As he steered out of the parking lot and on Main Street, you even relaxed your hold on him a little. There was something exhilarating about being on that bike, and maybe it was just because you were with Dwalin and you trusted him completely that he’d not let anything happen to you, but it was also partly the feeling of freedom that came with being there. And by the time he returned to his apartment complex, you were sorry to see the ride end.

The vibration hummed through you still, even after he killed the engine and put the kickstand down. You climbed off, wrestled off the helmet and looked up to find him smiling at you, his helmet in his hand already. “So, what did ye think?”

“I think I’d like to try it again. I liked it.”

“Good.” He climbed off the bike and as you tried to hand him the helmet, he refused it, saying, “Keep it. Toss it in the back of yer Jeep so’s ye have it at the ready. Any time you want to go out, let me know.”

“Thank you.”

He smiled and leaned over to brush your lips with his. “I do have to go now, but I’ll be by later on to pick ye up. Just let me know where ye wish to go.”

“Why don’t you surprise me?”

“Okay, but I’m warnin’ ye, it’s liable to be kind of a dive.”

“I like dive bars. I work in one, remember?”

“How does the Nest sound then?”

“I think it sounds fine.”

“Good. I’ll pick ye up around nine.” His hand came to rest at the small of your back and he walked you back to the Jeep, leaned in, and kissed you just as he’d done last night—slow and deep—and when he broke it, it was to sweep his lips along your cheekbone, toward your ear. “I had a good time last eve, love,” he rumbled, his voice only barley a whisper, “and I look forward to it happening again.”

“Me, too.” You pulled back and climbed up into the driver’s seat. “I’ll see you tonight.”

He winked. “Ye certainly will.”

Your apartment was quiet. So, so very quiet and while you once loved the solitude, now it bothered you. Before spending the night with Dwalin, you’d slept alone forever and while you were used to it, there was something nice about snuggling up to a warm body as well.

Something nice about snuggling up to Dwalin’s warm body. You felt so at ease with him, as if you’d known him forever and were just now realizing you were more than friends. And while you did know him, and had ever since you arrived in town a year earlier, you didn’t know him at all.

Until last night.

The red light on your Tyrannosaurus Landline was blinking. Voicemail. Probably some scammer trying to reach you about your car’s extended warranty, but you listened just the same. And froze at the first message, which had nothing to do at all with warranties or scammers.

“It’s your father,” he said, as if you wouldn’t know the sound of his voice or the number from which he’d called, “and your mother and I have decided this has gone on long enough and it’s time for you to come home. I’m—”

You punched the star key to erase the message and hung up the receiver. Home was the last place you ever wished to be again. Home meant having her father’s business partner’s son foisted upon you and you’d already gone that route once before and had the scars to prove it. You were never going through that again. You only barely survived it the first time.

You were not about to risk a second time.

#The Hobbit #Dwalin #Dwalin Fundinson #Hobbit Fic #Hobbit Fanfic #Fan fiction #The Hobbit fan fiction #AU #Dwalin Fic #Is it hot in here?#Dwalin x reader #Dwalin short fic #modern au #garage au #stay tuned #more to come

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spiderversegf · 1 year

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hello little gay person in my phone. gently shaking u like a snow globe

aaaaaaa!!!!!! (trinkets and confetti and spider-man temporary tattoos scatter out of my inventory)

#💌#🪲#i love you ives

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sunflowerharrington · 2 years

Text

Stitches Volume I

part 002: The Girl With The Number Tattoo

fandom - Stranger Things (2016-)

pairing(s) - Steve Harrington X Fem!Reader, Eddie Munson X Fem!Reader

taglist - @vingtetunmars @dallysnecklace @will-byers-is-my-boyfriend @taecube @quickiesgirl comment on this post or the masterlist to be added or taken off, or you can message me about it <3

warnings - Telekinesis, cardiopulmonary resuscitation (CPR), inhabitants of the upside down, suggestive themes, a section of season 4 episode 1 retold, trailer-gate, near death experience, the ‘vision’ is in italics.

word count - 3.2k

author’s notes - Thank you to everyone for the compliments on chapter one! You guys, I was in literal tears ❤️ Also, not me forgetting to post this on time 😭

“It’s Billy,” he sighed, watching as you paced back and forth on your tip-toes on the ground beneath you, avoiding the black vines and tendrils the best you could. “Billy Hargrove.”

“Billy… Like… Silly? Silly Billy!” Your face lit up, a smile reaching your bright eyes as the spores in the toxic air danced around you like snow in a pretty little snow globe.

Except… this was no snow globe. Though you would much rather be stuck inside a sealed glass cage full of water and styrofoam for the rest of your life than this place. You caught Billy rolling his eyes.

“Yes, silly Billy,” he grumbled, jumping down to meet your level without a second thought.

Though it was the middle of summer, cold seeped through what was left of the gown covering your body, hanging from your shoulders, the riotous sound of alarm bells ringing in your head as Billy stood next to you. Were the bells calling out to you? Telling you which path to take, which direction to go in? Whether to stay put or run for your life, far away from this bat-swarmed trailer? You had no idea.

You looked up into the red skies, clouded with clusters of wispy black clouds, which began to float by as if a gust of wind had picked them up. But as you and Billy had learned, there is no wind here and barely any air, most of it toxic; so you had to think of a game plan fast.

But you had an idea up your tattered, ripped up sleeve.

The bats circled around the trailer in the red sky, and Billy watched in a mix of shock and awe as they began to slowly descend to the ground, more graceful than ever before. Like petals from a cherry blossom tree floating down, they each landed around you on their feet, their pointy tails wagging back and forth.

“I don’t feel the need to choose violence this time,” you stated plainly, as Billy turned to you, mouth hung open, eyes wide.

“You can do that? You did this?” He asked, barely able to form any coherent words, but you could still make out what he was trying to say. “Holy shit.”

“I don’t know how I did that.”

Your eyes travelled over the front of the trailer, the white exterior covered in the dark tendrils and moving vines, and the slimy residue from both. As you drew your hand back down to your side, the bats began crawling towards you, surrounding the both of you, closing in quite quickly.

“Maybe we should take cover?” Billy proposed, gesturing to the trailer before you, who’s door has been slightly cracked open. “I’m still trying to wrap my mind around what just happened. Are you controlling those bats?”

“As if being in an alternate dimension isn’t scary enough?” You chuckled, pulling the door open. “And yes, I think so.”

“The way the Mind Flayer controlled me…” He trailed off, shaking his head. You weren’t like the Mind Flayer, and Billy needed to engrave that into his mind the way his full name was being engraved onto a headstone at that very moment.

As you headed inside, something above you caught your eye; a big red slash on the roof with black tendrils surrounding it that wasn’t there when you had fallen onto the roof of the trailer and almost shattered all of your bones into minuscule fragments. You tilted your head to get a better look at it, and as you did you noticed something. The slash looked like it was breathing.

“Was that here the whole time—?”

“I don’t know,” you cut Billy off gently, voice thin, filled with immense dread and fear of your unknown futures.

A smile found its way to the corners of your mouth anyhow, as you and Billy trudged deeper into the trailer, settling on the single bed with a broken headboard in the back room. Your cheeks flushed a brilliant scarlet upon the sight of the headboard, crossing your arms over your chest to give yourself a distraction, and you couldn’t help letting your eyes linger over the pair of metal handcuffs dangling from the wall.

“Maybe a police officer lives here,” you mused, running your fingertips along the cold, metal chains, a stark contrast to the heat of Billy’s skin when you reached out to touch his cheek.

This rhetorical question is what caught Billy’s gaze, his focus travelling up your fingers to the metal clanging against the wall, averting his stare which had been set on a red guitar hanging from the same wall, in front of a small, cracked mirror.

A few moments of comfortable silence passed before he playfully rolled his eyes, shifting his weight on his feet as he walked over to where you were standing, catching the metal in his fingertips, holding your gaze. “I’m not sure a police officer lives here, (Y/N),” he chuckled, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as the laughter bubbled in his chest.

As soon as the short, sweet laugh escaped his plump lips, you were met with the sound of another blood curdling scream coming from outside the walls, and then two voices. One male, one female, both sounded quite young. Young adults, perhaps.

You jumped upon hearing the voices, entering your ears and into your mind, registering these new sounds in your memories. Your breathing stilled for a second too long, but the sensation of a soft hand rubbing the small of your back set your heart racing again. Billy’s brows furrowed as he looked at you, your eyelids closing and opening slowly, your breathing laboured. He lifted one of your arms around his shoulders and helped you sit back down on the bed.

“Thank you,” you whispered, subconsciously holding onto his upper arm as you both listened intently to the voices around you.

“Sorry for the mess. The maid uh… Took a week off.”

“You’re sure you’re actually going to do your homework?”

“You wound me, Chrissy,” the male voice chuckled. “I do my homework every night!”

That was exactly what somebody who didn’t do their homework every night would say. Your ears perked up as Billy’s gravelly voice filled the room, the only sound familiar to you. His eyelids had fluttered shut, leaving his long, perfectly curly lashes to fall in line with his hair that had also fallen over his face. “I remember those voices.”

You furrowed your brows in question as he continued. “Chrissy… Cunningham? Hm, yeah, that’s her name. And the local dealer I forget the name of, but I know his voice. I remember it,” he said, tapping the side of his head. “See? I still have some memories kept safe.”

Before you could stop yourself to listen to the voices up above, curiosity killed the cat, and you asked in a whisper; “Who is Chrissy Cunningham?” But before Billy could answer, you snapped your hand up to stop him, his words shoving themselves back down his throat never to be spoken. “Not now. We need to listen.”

Billy sat back down on the bed next to you without another word, lapsing into silence as you looked around the room, trying to pinpoint where exactly in the trailer they were hiding, or they could be outside. A moment later his eyes widened, his breath stuttering, leaving his stomach to churn and feeling as if an icy grip had wrapped tightly around his heart.

“Word got around that Chrissy would be leaving Hawkins for a year without her boyfriend, Jason. She left only eight months ago, and she’s back now. Does this mean time moves faster here? How long have we been here? Oh my god! Oh my—”

“Billy, it’s still the summer-time. Chrissy’s plans probably got cancelled,” you snapped accidentally. Maybe now was the time that all of your pent-up anger decided to leave your body, since you couldn’t do anything about it for years in the hospital… Or was it a laboratory? You didn’t know.

As usual, Papa lied, and kept secrets from his ‘children’.

“Now shh, we need to focus on their voices. We need to know where we are. Maybe they’re outside the trailer and need our help.” But it wouldn’t be like Chrissy to cancel plans last minute, not without a justifiable reason that would make any sort of sense.

The sound of Chrissy’s voice began to grow louder the more you and Billy listened. She and the boy spoke about their Spanish work for a little bit, and then followed a prolonged silence, until suddenly, a cry straight out of a horror movie emitted from the girl’s throat, followed by the red slash on the roof moving, the pulse and almost breath-like movements quickening. Spores began to fall out of the cut, holding it together, before a bright light shone through it, blinding you for a brief moment. And then a loud thud came.

Billy ran on his bare feet on the carpet and snatched a knife from inside one of the kitchen cupboards, staring at something in the darkness on the other side of the trailer; underneath where the new slash was most prominent. The female-looking figure cowered in the distance, streaks of blonde hair being illuminated by the light above, covering her ears as the male voice grew louder and more guttural, screaming for her to wake up.

“Chrissy, wake up! I don’t like this!”

The lightbulb in the bedroom began to flicker on and off rapidly as you paced back and forth around the room, not being able to get Chrissy’s high-pitched cries to leave the depths of your mind. Billy returned a moment later with the unconscious girl in his arms, carrying her bridal style through the trailer, before lowering her onto the bed.

“‘s okay. ‘s okay. Just breathe,” he whispered in her ear, listening to her laboured gasps for any sign of life. “You’re not dying on me, Chrissy. No, you’re not allowed to do that!”

“She’s dying,” you retorted, sadly, kneeling down next to her. “Something’s taking over her mind somewhere else. It’s like people get trapped here when they’re… Possessed…”

As you trailed off, you gently pressed your index and middle fingertips to the pulse point of her neck, your heart and stomach dropping as you felt her pulse slowing down more and more as the seconds passed. “And she’s not breathing. Why would you tell her to breathe if she’s not breathing?!”

“I don’t know! I’m just panicking and I’m saying whatever’s on my mind!” He shouted, making you roll your eyes and scoff. “Is that a problem for you, (Y/N)?!”

“Your babbling isn’t helping, Billy, but we need to help this girl. It won’t work with just one of us.”

You laid your left hand over the centre of her chest, directly in line with her heart and placed your right hand above your left, using the technique your mentor, Peter, taught you. CPR: Cardiopulmonary resuscitation, he called it, except somebody else had to do the mouth-to-mouth breath transaction. One person couldn’t do both.

“Do you know how to do CPR?” Part of you wished you didn’t ask. Other patients’ minds had been wired to feel happy to ask for help, but something about the thought of Billy kissing another girl changed the way you thought.

Your wires were cut loose.

“I was a lifeguard all summer, of course I know. Do you want me to continue the compressions and you do mouth-to-mouth with her?”

You glared at him, but internally let out a sigh of relief. Billy wouldn’t be kissing this girl after all. “We have no time for stalling, Billy. You do the compressions, I’ll give her the kiss of life, we don’t have much time left,” you scowled, getting up on your feet to move to kneel beside her head.

As Billy got to work, applying pressure and releasing pressure every 0.666 seconds, you made sure to keep count, you leaned down and plugged Chrissy’s nose with your index finger and thumb to stop the air you would be transferring in from releasing, pressing your lips to hers and blowing all of the air you had in your lungs into hers repeatedly.

Every so often you would stop to check her pulse, your tears staining her porcelain skin, feeling nothing for ten or so minutes… until some kind of miracle happened.

You closed your eyes, envisioning Chrissy standing before you with a perfect, cheerleader smile on her pretty face; arms out, running towards you to thank you for saving her life. And it gave you hope.

You took her in your arms in the vision tightly, burying your face in her hair. After a few moments, she looked up at you, eyes glazing over. And she thanked you over and over for saving her life from a monster, squeezing your waist.

But what monster could that be? The Mind Flayer?

After another thirty seconds you felt the vibration of a pulse in her neck, but that didn’t mean you stopped. You would stop giving her air once she opened her eyes and sat up.

“Can you hear me? Wake up, Chrissy!” Your head whipped around to the voice coming from the living room, but nobody was there. As you puffed another breath into her lungs, you racked your brain, trying to come up with a reasonable explanation as to how you could hear this person but you couldn’t see them.

“Come on, it’s okay. One… Two… Three… One… Two… Three…” Billy repeated over and over, and after each three numbers you transferred air from your own lungs into hers. “Come on, kid. Stay with us!”

Chrissy’s pulse was barely there, but it was still a pulse nonetheless, and it gave you another reason to keep going. One being you wouldn’t leave her there for dead.

But when one life is in the process of being brought back, another withers away, piece by piece. Disappearing over a long period of time, but not long enough. Never enough.

You began to feel yourself growing lightheaded, in a hazy daze as Billy slammed one more blow to Chrissy’s chest, and she sat up almost instantly, gasping for breath.

Meanwhile, your mind had clouded; that sensation of falling coming back to you like a nightmare. Your eyesight got dizzy, your lungs dragging you down from the sudden added weight to them. Nothing felt real. And then everything faded to black.

Billy clicked his fingers in front of your face, as if it would have been impossible to gain your attention from waving his hand near you. Your eyes snapped open, watching over Chrissy as she sprawled across the mattress, more angelic than anything you had ever seen before.

You sat back on your haunches with your knees on the cold floor as Chrissy’s hands desperately grasped at your arms, her nails dragging down your skin as Billy cradled her in his own arms.

“You’re safe with us now, Chrissy,” You whispered, as she rapidly nodded while trying to catch her breath. “Safe with us.”

You couldn’t wipe the smile off your face. You closed your eyes for a moment as you tried to stabilize your own breathing, and the darkness that once inhabited your mind when you closed your eyes had vanished, leaving a sky full of twinkling stars. There was something rewarding about the fact that you and a boy you met only ten minutes ago worked together to save this girl’s life.

Chrissy pushed herself up on her elbows to allow more air to circulate in her lungs, with one of Billy’s hands on her back to support her. Her laboured breaths began to calm down as she clung onto your arms, her pink sparkly nails digging into your skin, but you didn’t care. You’d just saved her life.

“Wh… Where am I? Where’s Ed…die?” Chrissy wasn’t quite sure what to say or do other than ask that. One moment she was walking with false confidence into the trailer of the sweetest, most misunderstood man that went to Hawkins High and the next minute she was thrown up against the ceiling, sucked through a tiny gap in the roof before falling back onto the very same floor. It just looked so different this time. “Billy…? What are you doing here?”

“That’s what we’re still trying to figure out. And your preppy ass showing up like this isn’t helping, Chrissy.”

You recognized that tone. You could recognize it from anyone, since that was the tone Papa spoke to you with. Too calm to be angry, too pointed to be a throwaway comment. Billy’s tone had changed. And you didn’t like it.

You tried not to feel angry at his tone towards the un-dead beauty, but that was next to impossible. Would it have been better to leave her for dead and to find her held up by tape and glue to bulletin boards and street lights around Hawkins, trapped in Missing Persons posters? Or would it be better to help her get back to Hawkins with the both of you? That was something Billy should have thought about before opening his mouth.

“Oh leave it out, Hargrove,” you grumbled, pulling Chrissy out of his embrace and into yours, her body trembling in aftershocks of fear as she moved. “With Chrissy’s help we might get out of here faster since she might know where we are once she fully regains consciousness. And remember, you have a second chance at life. Not many people get that, so be grateful!”

Billy rolled his eyes. “I’d rather have anyone else’s life than my own.”

“Well right now you have your own life, so get used to it. Our only priority right now is finding some kind of opening or a door or something to get us out of here,” you said, not meaning to sound as aggressive as you did.

“Do you know how you got here?” You asked, running your fingers through Chrissy’s slightly matted hair, cradling her head to your chest. “It’s okay if you can’t remember, pretty girl, but it would be more helpful if you did.”

She almost screamed in pain as she tried to sit up in the bed with the help of you and Billy, when suddenly, the pain stopped, and she could feel her fingers and toes again.

“That red gash in the ceiling is something new, it wasn’t there when Billy and I got here,” you noted. “You must have fallen through it.”

She moderately remembered what had happened to her; being picked up by Eddie Munson after cheer practice to go to his trailer to study for Mr Nichols’ impossible Spanish exam.

Then all she felt was pain, rip-your-heart-out excruciating pain, and then hearing Eddie’s distant screams for her to wake up from this trance she fell under.

She felt her airways beginning to close up, a large, slimy, gray hand looming over her face. And then it stopped, and she felt herself falling, falling, faster and faster until she hit the ground of the exact same spot she was standing in, except now she wasn’t with Eddie.

It didn’t feel like any of it had happened, but she knew it did, and she thought she didn’t have long left until you and Billy, her saviours, came to her rescue.

Chrissy smiled weakly. “I think I did. But if I fell through it that must mean there’s a way back out through it, right? Is that how this works?”

You hadn’t even noticed that Billy left the room, until he returned with a ladder under his arm, the metal scraping against the bare skin of his ribcage. His chest heaved as he set it down on the ground, taking extra care to not touch anything that moved in case it woke up the Mind Flayer, or whatever else may be lurking in the shadows and depths of this realm.

“Only one way to find out.”

stitches masterlist

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