#{ + tattered vans & hair bands || about }

[madelynraemunson]

CALL ME WHAT YOU WANT 𓆩♡𓆪

(Book #1 of the Hellfire Gentlemen's Club series)

strip club owner!eddie x fem!exotic dancer!hargrove!reader

𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐍 𝐀𝐔 18+ ONLY! MINORS DON’T YOU DARE I AM INSIDE YOUR HOME

Chapter 004: The Eddie Stop

Everyone loves a parked car conversation. Eddie’s van is no castle by any means…but do a boss and his employee have to sit that close to each other?

* = somewhat smut

** = smut

↳ chapters: 001, 002*, 003** , 004**, 005 , 006 , 007* , 008**, 009, 010, 011, 012* , 013**, 014** , 015, 016**, 017, 018, 019, 020*

word count: 4.8k

warnings & disclaimers — slow burn, mutual pining, profanities, sexual tension, marijuana use, SO MANY sexual innuendos, foot play, daddy kink, dirty talk, masturbation, touching, rubbing, talks of abuse, trauma, Eddie talking about “Asshole Dad & Dead Mom Club”, suicide, overdose, reader’s trauma becoming her kink i.e slapping/hair pulling/choking, steddie x reader threesome kinda 🤭, sex dream, p in v smut, unprotected sex, deepthroating, double penetration, idk what else I’m missing so here’s a PSA from Murray

_______________𓆩♡𓆪_______________

♡

And then there were two.

“You better stop that thing you’re doing. I’m telling you, I ain’t lying.”

For the owner of a very successful strip club, you would think Eddie had a...fancier car. But there is beauty in humble beginnings. In fact, you can tell a lot about him from the ketchup stain by the window, empty coffee tumblers on the floor that need washing, crinkled up band posters — along with MORE PAPERWORK — and the tattered leather seats held together by the sheer grit of duct tape. A Porsche would just conceal who Eddie Munson is.

And Eddie’s the coolest boss you’ve ever had. In the safest town you’ve ever been in.

“Hawkins gets pretty quiet after 1 AM,” you observe. Despite being the blasted one, it’s you who’s attempting to break the silence.

You glance out the window, watching the scenery of the Bible Belt town you've grown to romanticize flash by like developing film.

“Yeah,” Eddie sighs. “If you’re looking for nightlife, you’ve come to the wrong place.”

Eddie approaches a four way intersection and stops too late. He does it for a short time too, stepping on the gas pedal not even a second later.

He peers over at you to see if you caught it.

“Sorry if I’m being a crazy driver,” Eddie apologizes. “If the street’s empty I’m only stopping for like... a millisecond. If at all.”

You snort. “You’re fine. We call that a ‘California stop’ back home.”

“You wanna see an ‘Eddie stop’?”

You turn to him. He’s just staring at you and smiling, a look of mischief creeping its way to the surface.

“What’s that?”

SLAM. You shoot forward in your seat the moment Eddie’s foot meets the brakes. A surprised gasp from you fills the air while Eddie joins in with a loud cackle. You glare at him, a frantic hand clutched to your chest.

“What the FUCK!”

“That’s an ‘Eddie stop’,” Eddie explains between laughter.

SLAM! He does it again.

“Eddie, stop!” you plead.

“Hey, that’s the spirit!” he chuckles.

You realize his play on words and shove him.

“Ow,” he remarks with sass, hand reaching over to rub where you pushed him. “Feisty.”

"Yeah? Well, don't dish out what you can't handle."

You cross your arms and jokingly turn your torso in the other direction. Eddie is amused at this, proceeding to poke fun at you while he still can.

"Hmm. Hm hm," he laughs with his pursed lips. "For someone who can't hang, you're one to talk."

You’re still intoxicated. Nothing is leaving your system any time soon, it appears.

It all starts to feel like a dream. You thoroughly enjoyed yourself after a fun night out with friends. There is no angry brother waiting for you at home, blowing up your phone until you walk through the door. And now you’re out on a post-curfew rendezvous with someone who is clearly off limits.

You’re living out your rebel dreams, riding into the night with Eddie. What a regular young adult takes for granted is something you’ve always dreamt about. It’s a dream you don’t want to wake up from.

“I can hang. It's just the edibles kicking in late, silly," you bubbly insist.

“Alright,” Eddie surrenders sarcastically. “Alright. Whatever gets you going…silly.”

You two proceed down the long, vacant road, humming along to Creedence Clearwater Revival and breaking the law with more California stops.

"It's a bummer we didn’t get to go bar-hopping,” you say. “That would've been fun.”

Eddie grimaces. “Eh. Drinking makes me feel gross. I’m more of a mary-jane guy if I do say so myself.”

“Clearly,” you jest.

A whole night dedicated to edibles? Hotboxing competitions with the line cook? Bongs and bowls happening to be everywhere this motherfucker tends to be at?

Eddie’s a walking marijuana leaf as far as you're concerned. Governor Holocomb's worst nightmare. You kick at the velvet bag that masked the huge glass bong sitting at your feet.

“I’m surprised they haven’t arrested your ass yet.”

“I’m just as surprised as you are," Eddie admits. "With all the shit I’ve done…”

The road begins to look familiar and you realize it’s because you’re almost back home. Tick, tick, tick, goes the turn signal as Eddie's GPS instructs him to make a left. A sigh escapes you. You don’t want to leave.

You want time to freeze exactly where it's at so you could spend it with the man who has been giving you butterflies — and the ‘fuck me’ eyes — all night long. To your own surprise, confidence overpowers you.

“Eddie,” you sit up. “Do you think you can stay with me for a bit?”

Your boss’s gaze hardens, a look of concern replacing his easy-going, playful demeanor.

“Yeah,” he clears his throat, brows lifting gently in shock. “Yeah... I’ll stay with you."

Eddie makes a turn away from your street and finds a curb to park against. You tap your feet, anxious that he actually followed through. The sound of his tires scraping across the gravel beat against your eardrums as reality sets in. Eddie shifts the gear from Drive to Park before wriggling his keys out from the ignition. The rumbling of the van engine ceases.

Eddie lassos his keys around his thick, long index finger, their jingles piercing through the quiet.

"You feeling alright?”

“Yes,” you confirm. “Just feeling pretty buzzed still.”

“You trying to get more buzzed?” he offers. “Or high?”

You look back over at him. Oh wipe that snarky grin off your face, Munson.

There's a pro to working evening shifts. You can sleep in until it's time to head off to work the next day. Judging by how the night was going, it is far from over. You and Eddie are just getting started.

“It depends...Are you trying to get more high?”

“Is that even a question?”

Before you know it, there's a small tin can with a few nuggets in it in Eddie's hand, followed by a small Altoid case that housed some rolling paper. Eddie places the two on his dash and then leans towards you to grab the bong sitting at your feet.

He undresses it from its cloak. His pride and joy glistens in the moonlight.

“Hello, my darling,” he says to his bong. “You’re so pretty.” Eddie turns to you. “I’ve got nowhere to be, so you bet I’ll be usin’ the hell outta her tonight. No pressure though, Hargrove.”

You shrug. “I'm down to get lit for a bit longer."

"You a joint girl or do you prefer bongs?"

"Either or. Why not both?"

There’s a gleam in his eyes. "I like how you think."

Eddie situates the large bong between his legs, propping it up with his knees. He then reaches for the tin can filled with nuggets. Picking off the bits one by one to accommodate the tiny bowl, he tucks them neatly into the small round outlet. Eddie does it with such ease. Like it's second nature.

Finally, Eddie hovers the lighter over the bowl and gestures for you to inch closer. The placement of the bong remains the same. And judging by the look on Eddie’s face, he doesn’t intend on moving it.

"Ladies first."

So you hoist yourself over across Eddie’s center console and position yourself near his lap. Staring up at Eddie with curious eyes, you ask him,

"Am I good?"

"You're good," Eddie confirms, holding your hair back while you lean over against him. “All yours, babygirl.”

After getting the green light, you bend down further to attach your lips to the mouthpiece of the bong. With the flick of the lighter, Eddie ignites the bowl and you suck in. You and Eddie eye its neck steadily, watching as the chamber fills with smoke.

Eddie slowly starts to remove the bowl. Fear sets in as the bubbles seem to draw on for an eternity. It feels like it'll never end. You're inhaling too much.

When you feel the first kick to your chest, you shoot upwards and exhale. But the smoke got you good. Before you know it, you’re coughing and hacking and grasping for air, clutching onto Eddie’s flannel for support as you try to clear.

"That's right, baby," Eddie soothes you. "Let it out. Clear it, clear it, clear it."

“I’m-” you cough. “I’m t—trying.” A few more good coughs and you’re done. “WOOO.”

Eddie’s laughing at you like it’s cute. The grip he has on your hair loosens and soon your locks fall in front of your face once more. You keep them there to mask your tears. How embarrassing.

"Damn,” he comments. “You choked out.”

Your stomach dances. You think about what he said earlier in the club about his kinks.

"Yeah, I s-sure did-" you choke again, fleshing out your last set of coughs as Eddie pats your back.

The tears trickle down your face as you struggle to self-regulate. You quickly wipe them away.

"You okay?' he asks again, this time gently, sincerely. Angelically. He starts playing with the ends of your hair.

You nod with a sigh of relief. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"You want more, hun? Can you handle more?"

You nod again.

"Yeah," you sniff. "I can handle more."

"Alright," he grins.

Bowing your head down once again, you reattach your lips to the mouthpiece. As you're inhaling, Eddie tilts his head upwards to prevent any smoke from getting in his face. You look up at him.

What a sight, your internal monologue gushes. He must look like this when he's getting a...

"There we go, Shy Girl” he hums. "Just like that..."

————🍃———-

“It’s alright. I said it’s alright. Take anything you want from me. Fly high, little wing.”

“So my driving really doesn’t scare you, huh?”

Eddie is taking ginormous rips out of his bong. You, on the other hand, have settled for rolling joints instead.

“Not nearly as much as my brother,” you shrug. “He drives like a maniac. Him and his stupid Camaro.”

You think about the time you and Billy got into an argument about lunch. Out of all things.

Billy had asked something SO obvious. You couldn’t help but respond sarcastically. He stomped on the gas before you knew it, propelling you both across the residential street at 90 MPH. It was scariest you’ve ever seen him. The first instance where he toyed with both your lives and didn’t seem to care.

You try not to shake in front of Eddie. Luckily, he was too busy laughing to notice.

“A Camaro?” Eddie belts. “That’s just about the douchiest, California Chad type shit I’ve ever heard.”

You agree. “Yeah. Douchey is pretty on brand for someone like Billy.”

You fall silent as you continue to roll. Eddie peers over at you and takes note of your newfound seriousness.

You position your body towards him to ensure him it wasn't something he did, and make sure he knows it by the way you relax your legs across his lap. He inhales abruptly at the extra step you took.

"I take it you guys don't get along."

"Billy and I aren’t exactly on speaking terms at the moment,” you mumble. “Part of why I'm here.”

“Your brother right?” he questions rhetorically.

“Yeah, my twin brother.”

“Oh shit,” Eddie mutters. “So you guys went from being essentially telepathic to... no contact at all.”

“Precisely.”

You glide your tongue up, down, and around along the rolled joint to ensure that it sticks. When it's sealed shut, you set it down to start rolling the next one. Eddie stares at you.

“Fuck…” you hear him mutter.

“Sorry?”

You try to act clueless, but even stoned out of your mind, you know exactly what you're doing.

“Uh, that’s rough,” he shakes his head. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s whatever,” you say. “As much as I love Billy, I just think it’s best we’re not in each other’s lives. We bring out the worst in each other.”

“I can say the same about me and my brothers,” Eddie agrees. “And my dad. They’re always asking me for money. Or for me to be an accomplice for their stupid, dangerous schemes. I got my own shit to handle.”

“And your mom?”

Eddie falls silent.

“She died when I was 14,” his voice softens. “I was the one who found her.”

Your chest aches as you marinate in that very, very familiar wound. It seems like just yesterday you and Billy were in Eddie's shoes.

“I’m so sorry,” you mutter. “Billy found our mom when we were 13. Alcohol poisoning and overdosed on pain killers.”

“Wow…” Eddie is stunned. “OD for mine as well. But heroine. She was an addict. Married her dealer and abuser... my old man.”

"Our dad was abusive too," you sympathize. "Well, is. He's still alive, but he and his new wife up and left when my stepsister turned 16. To who knows where. Billy was her guardian up until her b-day last week.”

You roll your next blunt and lick again. Eddie continues to eye you like a hawk, fixing how he was sitting in the driver's seat as he did.

You continue telling him everything you told your Zoom psychiatrist. Eddie doesn’t seem to mind.

Billy was nice. Now he’s not. Blah blah. Sue, Max’s mom, was Dad’s mistress. The idea of it consumed Mom just as much as Dad’s beatings did. When Billy found her, she was on the bathroom floor surrounded by empty bottles of whiskey and painkillers. Aside from you, Mom was his best friend. His biggest supporter. And Dad took that away.

Eddie’s grazing turns into rubbing. He squeezes your calf.

"Our moms died when we were around the same age," he speaks up, attempting to do the mental math. "That puts us in '08, which is around the time of..."

"The Recession," you finished for him. "Yup. Mom also lost her job which meant she was now fully dependent on our dad."

"She was stuck with that piece of shit no matter what," Eddie huffs. "And no matter where she turned, she wouldn't be safe."

You nod, staring off into the distance. "Billy wanted to go with her.”

Eddie gives you a pained look, sighing deeply as he took it in.

“But I told him I would hate him forever if he dared. So he stayed."

You swallow hard.

“Baby-” Eddie speaks.

"I hate him, still..." you choke back tears. "But I'm glad it's just because I think he's an asshole. He's my whole world."

"But you can't be in each other's lives."

"But we can't be in each other's lives."

"Love from afar kinda thing," Eddie mumbles.

"Exactly," your voice is at a whisper now. "I can never be mad at Mom though, for taking the easy way out. I wouldn't know what the fuck to do if I were in her shoes."

"I'm really sorry, Hargrove." Eddie says. "It seems like you lost more than your mom."

"I'm sorry for your loss too," you reply.

Silence lingers. Eddie continues to touch you. You love how handsy he is tonight. His touch brings you calm. Made you feel looked after. Protected. Cherished.

“I like listening to you talk,” Eddie soothes you.

You smile. “Did we just turn this into a therapy session?”

“Looks like we did,” he chuckles softly. Eddie raises a toast with the foggy, smoked-out bong in his hand. "To the Asshole Dad & Dead Mom Club."

You hold up your lopsided joint.

"To the Asshole Dad & Dead Mom Club," you repeat after him. "And to the brothers we don't speak to anymore."

"Can't forget that shit," he says. "To the brothers we don't speak to anymore."

————🍃————

“I want you so bad, it’s driving me mad.”

The night continues on a lighter, flirtier note.

“What’s your love language?” Eddie asks you.

“Acts of service.”

“Mmm.”

“Not like that.”

“I know, I’m just fucking with you,” Eddie winks. “Makes sense though. I see it.”

“What’s yours?”

“Physical touch.”

You look down at your feet, still laid out across Eddie’s lap. A few moments ago he just wrapped up giving you a foot massage after convincing you that you were free to take your heels off.

“Acts of service as well,” Eddie smiles. “It’s 50/50.”

“I can tell,” you say.

“Yeah? How so?”

You run a foot across Eddie’s thigh, watching in amusement as his blinking quickens. He bites his lip and hums.

“I can just tell,” is what you end up saying.

“You can just tell?” Eddie bites his lip. “No other way of knowing?”

“Nope,” you giggle, gliding your foot to the inner part of his thigh. “Just a wild guess.”

Your feet do a little dance on Eddie. He tries to tickle you but you pull away.

“I think Steve’s is acts of service too,” you add. “And gift giving.”

“Nailed it,” Eddie confirms with a nod. “Harrington loves providing. Daddy Steve.”

He smirks at you when he says that. With the info you retained at Hellfire, it’s impossible to think what he’s saying isn’t an innuendo. Your foot being just inches away from his dick didn’t help the case either.

“Daddy Steve,” you echo him. “Yeah, I can tell he loves taking care of people he cares about.”

“It didn’t always used to be that way,” Eddie points out. “I used to think he was an asshat.”

“Then what happened?”

“Nancy Wheeler happened.”

The mood darkens.

“Damn…” you mutter. “It always boils down to House Mom.”

“Because it’s true,” Eddie insists. “Steve was a self-absorbed prick in high school. Then he dated Wheeler senior year. On and off. Something changed in him, when they were done for good.”

Eddie readjusts himself in his seat. You adjust yourself with him.

“It was like…” he proceeds. “Steve realized that there was more beyond himself and wanted to be a part of this greater good. It wasn’t until he started working at the bowling alley I used to frequent that I realized that he’s a pretty decent guy.”

“Like everything’s one big redemption arc for him,” you state.

“That’s exactly what it is.”

“He worked at the bowling alley?”

“He’s worked everywhere,” Eddie laughs. “Dude had so many side quests and jobs. It’s gotten to the point to where I start to wonder where he hasn’t worked.”

“Hellfire,” you point out.

“Yeah, Hellfire,” Eddie nods. “Kinda wish he did. Maybe then I can get a day off…”

“What would you do on your day off?”

“Take you out to lunch finally.”

Your gazes fixate on each other. Eddie’s cheeks turn a red hue in the moonlight, the streetlight you guys were parked under illuminating it further.

The cheeky grin on his face vanishes quickly, the moment he disengages his eye contact with you.

"Yeah, Steve... Steve's a good guy," Eddie gulps. He stares down at his lap. Touches your legs again. "One of the greatest friends I've ever had in my life."

“Mhm…”

“And now he’s my boyfriend,” he teases you with a wink.

You tsk. “Be for real.”

“Nah, I’m just playing — he’s actually my husband,” he jokes again. “And you’re just a pretty lil thing of his on the side.”

“So you think I’m pretty?”

“That’s what you got from that?”

“Who am I to get in the way of your marriage?”

“It makes things complicated between the three of us, that’s for sure.”

There’s a hint of truth in that sentence. You can tell by the way Eddie refuses to look you in the eyes again. For someone who is intentional with his eye contact, him not wanting to look your way when he says that makes it look suspicious.

Eddie cuts it with the jokes and starts up again.

“But yeah, I think you’re pretty.”

“Thank you, Eddie,” you respond, drawing circles onto his inner thigh now with your feet. You do it slower. Then deeper. Clockwise then counter.

“That’s it.”

Finally, he hoists your legs off of him. To your surprise, it’s Eddie now that’s crawling towards you, closing up the space there was between you two. Now you and him are both just a thumb-width apart, faces lingering. The hunger is back.

You feel Eddie’s warm breath against you.

“I’d say a hell of a lot more about you,” Eddie adds. “But I don’t wanna get in trouble.”

“That’s new,” you quip. “For as long as I’ve known you, you always gave off rebel vibes.”

“I’m trying to be good.”

“You’re failing miserably.”

You both look down at Eddie hand that is now resting at your waist. He laughs through his nose, pulling you closer to him.

“Touché.”

With his available hand, he strokes your hair, tucking a strand behind your ears. His fingers explore your cheek and take a detour to your plump lips, hovering around them as you part them slightly.

“You have no idea how hard I’ve tried to not cross any boundaries tonight,” Eddie admits. “To not get any closer to you.”

“Why not?” you whisper.

"I don't wanna ruin whatever you and Harrington have going on…”

"We're just fuck buddies," you insist. “Swear.”

Steve wouldn’t care. You know he wouldn’t. He was the one who even said that you both should give Eddie a little show. Besides, you already know it’ll be a long while until he’s officially over Nancy.

"Of course," Eddie huffs.

"Why?" you raise an eyebrow as you breathe in his face. "Are you jealous?"

"Well when you sound the way you did this morning, how could I not be?"

There it was.

The confirmation of what you already suspected closes in on you and you feel yourself shrink. Eddie enjoys the sight of it, the sight of Shy Girl growing tense just by the way he speaks to you. His fingers dance up your arm before he starts to rub your back.

“And the way you looked the day you gave Steve that private show…” he strains. “It’s like you were made for me and only me.”

“Eddie…” you moan.

“Do you know what it was like? Hm?” Eddie demands. He’s hot against your cheek now. “Touching myself, getting myself off in the bathroom to the sound of your moans? Knowing full well you were getting your back blown out just a wall over?”

You whimper as he continues to hover, the ache of wanting to be touched and destroyed by him gnawing at your soul.

“Gettin’ all dumb for me already?” Eddie taunts you when you don’t speak. “I haven’t even fucked your brains out yet.”

“Just still a little high that’s all.”

That snaps something back into Eddie. “Oh… right.”

You hear his keys jingle again before Eddie turns them back into the ignition. His headlights flash on and soon he shifts the gears back to drive. Away from the curb and back to your place you go.

Your stomach sinks.

“What are you doing?”

“Not this!” Eddie refuses. “Not when you’re not sober.”

“Eddie!” you start to regret ever saying anything. “Come on, I’m fine. I want you.”

“Yeah, well that’s another thing in my doctrine,” Eddie sighs. “I can’t mess with a lady under the influence. I don’t roll that way.”

He routes his GPS back to your place.

“I hate when you’re respectful,” you joust, crossing your arms in retaliation.

He laughs.

“Don’t worry sweetheart,” he says to you. “Next time you’re at work, I’m gonna be disrespectful as fuck.”

The night ends there and Eddie drops you off. He makes sure you get inside safely before driving away. Sadness sets in as the drugs and alcohol wear off. You drag your feet along as sneak your way into you and Max’s room.

You dream of Eddie that night. Him and Steve.

You’re in a private show room at Hellfire with the two Adonises after your heart. Steve’s destroying your pussy again, ramming into you at an intense speed while Eddie fucks himself into your mouth, his warm, sweet precum mixing with your saliva to fill your mouth to the brim.

A moan escapes you every single time Eddie hits the back of your throat.

“That’s right, baby,” Eddie coos. “Don’t be shy. C’mon, take me.”

You try not to scream as you dig your nails into his skin. Tears are streaming down your face as Eddie and Steve abuse your holes, the stimuli from both nearing you towards your climax.

“Such a good fucking girl,” Steve growls pulling you by your hair. “Taking two cocks at the same time like a champ, hm?”

Eddie releases you from his grip, allowing you to come back up for air. You spit the remnants of him back onto his long and girthy cock, stroking him while you gave your jaw a rest.

“Y-yes,” you choke out, arching your back to maximize the sensation of Steve’s thrusts. “I’m being so good.”

You beg for Steve to fuck you harder. Steve and Eddie look to each other and smirk, pleased that you even want to be challenged.

“Harrington’s got you, don’t you worry,” Eddie assures you. “On your back sweetheart.”

Steve pulls out and lets you use him as support. When you’re on your back, he grabs his cock again, stroking himself before lining himself at your tight little asshole.

“I’m gonna let you know when I go in, babe, okay?” he whispers to you, smothering your neck with kisses.

“Okay,” you nod sheepishly.

Eddie kneels down and lines himself up at your dripping cunt, kissing you on the mouth before inserting himself into you.

You let out a silent gasp as he maneuvers his way in, stretching you out even further than Steve already did.

“Oh my god,” you cry.

“Fuuuck,” Eddie moans, hand flying over your throat to wrap itself around you. “You feel so fucking good, baby.”

Then Steve starts letting himself in. He pumps into you slowly, not proceeding until you start adjusting to his length. You lay there in complete bliss, allowing them both to have their way.

“Good job, angel,” Steve cheers you on. “Being so good for us. So fucking tight…”

The speed of their thrusts are agonizingly slow. You tap them both on the arm to let them know they can speed up. They resist at first, attempting to make sure it’s really want you want.

“Please,” you whine. “I want it now, please.”

Eddie’s gaze turns grim. “Whatever you say.”

SMACK! You whimper as Eddie swats your bouncing tits and pistons into you deeper, faster. Steve meets Eddie where he’s at, picking up the pace from underneath you, holding your hips still for extra leverage.

“SHIT!” you squeal. “Y-yes, yes, right there. Don’t fucking stop!”

Three more pumps and they both hit that special spot. You start to shake as your core tightens. It feels too fucking good.

“Dirty fucking whore,” Eddie spits at you while you cry out in pleasure. “There’s no running away now baby, this is what you wanted.”

Slapping. Biting. Choking. Hair-pulling. Name-calling. Spitting. You wanted it all.

“FUCK!” you wail. “I’m gonna fucking cum. I’m cumming, I’m cumming!”

“Let it out, baby,” Eddie encourages you. “Let it out. Make a mess on both of us, there you go.”

That sentence is enough to send you over the edge. Your core is hot, walls twitching and aching.

“FUCK!” you scream one last time before —

“SIS!”

Max jolts you awake, shaking you by your shoulders.

“What? What?!” you shoot up in the bed.

“Are you okay?” Max pants. “You’re sweating like a pig.”

Now that’s a dream you didn’t ever wanna wake from. Reorienting yourself to your room, you find it hard to believe how real everything felt. You grip onto your sheets to make sure you’re really in your room.

“Yeah, I…” you stammer. “I…had a nightmare.”

“I can tell, you were making all kinds of noise in your sleep.”

Max scurries over to your dresser to retrieve your Hydroflask. She encourages you to hydrate yourself.

“I drank tonight,” you admit after a huge gulp of water. “Probably what caused it.”

“Makes sense,” Max nods, hands on her hips like a concerned mother. “You gonna be alright?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “Just need a breather.”

You grab your phone and use the flashlight feature to navigate to the bathroom. As you’re peeing, you take a look at the two text messages waiting for you.

Steve Harrington 💋

Made it home lol

Sorry,passed out. Goodnight, beautiful ❤️

You text Steve goodnight before making your way over to the next text message. Eddie.

Eddie Boss

Sweet dreams. Silly.

👸

—————————

author’s note: the steddie threesome dream was inspired by this tiktok 🥵 foaming at the mouth tbh. I HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOYED THIS CHAPTER AND THE DREAM THREESOME WITH STEVE & EDDIE! don’t worry, eddie x shy girl irl fuck fest smut is coming. some juicy shit has to go down first before we cross that bridge ;)

tag list: @changemunson , @the-fairy-anon , @ali-r3n , @corrodedcoffincumslut , @bebe07011 , @mmunson86 , @eddiesguitarskills , @chelebelletx , @imonhereforareasonsadly , @eddies-trailer-babe , @hideoutside , @motherfckerrr , @jxpsi , @munson-magic , @lindseyj23 , @sidthedollface2 , @manda-panda-monium , @elvendria

[jakejizzka]

Forbidden - pt. 1

jake kiszka x reader

18+ NSFW

TW: drinking, cheating, slight dom vibe, unprotected sex

I have a lot of ideas for this series so I hope you guys like it!

summary: you go to a concert that turns into a night with you will never forget

You were nervous, you’ve never done anything like this before. It’s not a normal occurrence your favorite band would be playing in your city, so after considering your options of company you ultimately decided to go alone. You convince yourself it will be freeing, and a big step for you to do something like this alone. You were going to make Greta Van Fleet’s arena your bitch tonight.

You finish putting on your outfit, which consists of tight black jeans, a cropped low-cut lace black tank top, and a tattered cream linen button up opened with the ends shredded and sleeves rolled up. You put on your assortment of necklaces and golden hoop earrings. Finishing the look with your pit vipers with the word “JOSH” bedazzled across them in red gemstones.

The makeup you put on for this wasn’t your usual but this was your night to be creative, creating thick lines of black eyeliner and a dark red lipstick. After seeing pictures from their last show, you noticed all of them upping their make up game so you threw on some gold tears as well.

You throw on your ankle boots and grab your keys. Let’s do this.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You get to the venue and the nerves are trying to get the best of you, so you veer to the bathroom for some deep breaths alone in a stall. When you exit, another girl is there with black hair and two blue streaks in the front. She smiles and tells you she loves your Jake outfit. You smile and thank her and laugh as you walk out, not realizing you had done it so obviously. You knew Jake had a girlfriend, they all did actually. Except Josh, and that’s what initially drew you to him as your favorite. At least in your delusions, you could hypothetically stand a chance. You would never admit it, but Jake always seemed to catch your eye but part of you felt guilty…?

You make your way onto the floor and see it’s not as packed as you expected, but the front is definitely full. Making your way over you notice the girl from the bathroom at the barricade, and she waves at you. This was your way in, and you couldn’t thank this kind stranger enough. You scoot through the crowd playing up your friendship with this girl so maybe less people will silently hate you for pushing your way up.

After some small talk with your new acquaintance the arena goes quiet, and then we hear Reason’s For Waiting start echoing around. Suddenly all the nerves in your body have flew out through you into the atmosphere, this is the night you’ve been dreaming of and it’s happening.

Before you know it you hear Josh’s monologue start, and the lights are glowing behind the curtain, suddenly you see their shadows one by one entering the stage and a giant smile spreads across your face.

Then, the curtain dropped.

You were so close the stage lights made you feel like you were glowing, and you watch as the first song played trying to let your eyes adjust. The bass is moving through your chest and you’re screaming the lyrics song after song.

About halfway through you had fully acclimated to your surroundings. Josh is to your left slightly, you were standing on barricade between the middle and Jake’s side. When you decided to move on to take in the next of them, you look at Jake and you swear he was looking back. Deciding you were just wrapped up in the moment, your eyes dance back over to Josh and Danny and keep singing. After another two songs they start playing The Barbarians and the intro guitar solo is coming up, you pan over to Jake and he’s as close as he can get to the edge of the stage. You instinctively lean as far as you can to stare at this man perform magic in front of you. His guitar wails the first note, and he looks up right at you and you swear there’s a smirk on his face. Suddenly your entire body is on fire, the blush consuming your entire face seems to please him because he winks when Josh starts singing and slowly backs up back onto the stage.

You look around sure other people had to of seen what just happened, nobody is phased and you wonder if you’re letting the delusions win again per usual. As if he can read your thoughts, he reappears at the edge of the stage leaning down for the solo at the end of the song and he’s going even harder almost like he doesn’t want you to look away again.

The song comes to an end, with Jake cracking his hand down onto the guitar with a slap, and an apparently necessary glance at you. Your mind is spinning, the gaslighting you are doing to yourself right now is clinical because you know this can’t be real. You know Jake publicly has a long term girlfriend, and nobody else seems to have noticed so why does it feel like he’s making the guitar whine for you and only you right now?

The lights go down after the last song, and they all jog off stage before the encore. You take the few minutes of intermission to collect yourself and ground yourself back to reality, no more delusions. Continuing your chat with the girl next to you, no mention of Jake’s actions were mentioned so you are able to calm down a bit more laughing at yourself. Shots of fireball are being passed around barricade and you gratefully take one.

The crowd roars and you turn around to see the band taking the stage again in the dark. You smile over at your new friend in excitement. Waiting for the lights, security comes out to front the barricade and you see them holding set lists. You know that usually they have security pass these out to avoid any fights breaking out in the front, and you feel excited knowing you’re finally close enough at a show to possibly get one. A tall muscular security member walks over directly in front of you and suddenly you feel bodies pressing on you from all directions, the man reaches to pull your arm far out passed the barricade to ensure the set list goes into your hand specifically.

You smile at his kindness, and wonder what made him choose you but thank him regardless and hold it close to your chest scared of opening it surrounded by everyone. You tuck it into your bra, and grab back onto the rails waiting for lights to blast on.

The lights come on, and they’ve all assumed their positions again with grins. It warms your heart to see your favorite people enjoying their show so much, knowing this arena is filled with people cheering them on. You look to Josh as he’s talking into the microphone and you remember your sunglasses.

Taking them off you start swinging them around out past the rails hoping by some miracle he takes them for the encore. He sees you and shoots you a smile, but continues talking. The next thing you know, the same security guard is taking them from you to hand up and it feels like the floor is going to cave in below you or maybe you’ll float to the ceiling.

But then, you watch the glasses go up to Jake. He thanks the security guard, and looks at you then reads the glasses and rolls his eyes. He looks at you shakes his head and puts them on with a mischievous grin. You look up at him and feel heat flooding your cheeks. Then the song starts, and he’s gone again.

You are feeling a whirlwind of thoughts consume you, irrational, rational, it feels like your mind can’t keep up with the emotions coursing through your body right now. After this last interaction, it’s as if Jake is the only one on this stage. You can’t look away and he seems to know because he doesn’t give you anymore attention the rest of the night almost like he’s playing some game you don’t know about.

You stare on longing for one more glance, and finally you get it. Seconds before the lights cut again and they leave for good, he looks dead at you and gives you a big grin showing his teeth and his eyes were piercing into yours in a way that had you feeling like that fireball shot was actually 5.

Lights cut off, they leave and everyone starts shuffling away. Still stunned and shocked you stand there in a daze for apparently too long because security starts shooing people off the rails and you snap back into reality. Looking around it’s apparent your new friend was here with a group because everyone is gone, and you’re just slowly exiting trying to process what all just happened.

You get back to your car and start loading your bag into the back, and pull out a hoodie to throw on over your revealing top because it’s late now and the temperature has dropped. Sitting down, you crank the car and reach into your shirt and pull out your set list finally safe to look at. Smiling, you open it up and your jaw drops.

There’s a guitar pick taped int the middle of it with Jake’s name on it, and when you go to remove it, you see in small sneaky handwriting there’s a phone number underneath it. There’s no way this is….? Thinking you’re being pranked you grab your cell phone before taking off on the drive, and type in the number to text.

“Whoever this is, this isn’t funny. I don’t know what you think you saw but I don’t appreciate the mocking.”

There’s no immediate response so you close the screen, and throw it in the passenger seat starting your drive home.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You arrive home, and start your way upstairs to your apartment when you feel a buzzing in your pocket.

“If part of you didn’t think it might be me, then why’d you text this number hm?”

Suddenly you forget how to breathe, you almost drop your phone. This isn’t happening, this isn’t…..nope. No way. Not possible

“Prove it.”

You hurry up the stairs and before you even reach the top your phone buzzes again, twice.

“I’m going to try to not let this hurt my feelings, by the way.”

A picture of the JOSH sunglasses sitting on an unfamiliar table follows.

You feel goosebumps start all over your body, and a blush spreading across your cheeks. What….what do you even say? How is this…another buzz comes through.

“I trust you to not share this number with anyone, and in return maybe we can meet up for a little after party of our own?”

A gigantic smile takes over you and as you look down at your phone. You’re not crazy…all of those things really DID happen. He was just so smooth nobody else seemed to catch any of it.

You type back,

“Well…okay. Just tell me when and where. P.S.- Jealous about the glasses still?”

You walk into your apartment and sit your things down plopping onto the couch staring at the conversation waiting for the next message to come through in disbelief.

“Send me your address, and I will come bearing alcohol & gifts. P.S. Yes, very.”

Your better judgment says not to do this, but who else could have taken a picture like that of the glasses you know you made…this is actually happening and that reality is sinking in now.

You send him your address and say nothing else. Looking around your apartment you panic thinking about Jake Fucking Kiszka being in here. The blow off the nervous energy you start rearranging things, cleaning surfaces, lighting candles. You put on your favorite playlist at the moment, making sure it’s not one with any Greta Van Fleet so you don’t look corny as hell. It’s all coming together the best it will, when you hear three tiny knocks at your door.

You almost yelp in surprise and jump up, cautiously moving to the door. Looking out the peep hole you see a smug Jake Kiszka staring right into it. Holy. Fucking. Shit. His linen pants and black tee shirt are fit against his body perfectly, he has his hair pulled back and those god forsaken sunglasses.

Your hand is shaking and you unlock the door and crack it open and stare with your jaw open. He chuckles and slides his hand in the small opening you’ve allowed then says “So can I come in? Or are you trying to get me caught already?” he gestures to the openness of your parking lot with cars pulling in and out. You stare at his deep warm brown eyes for a moment getting lost.

You snap into reality and open the door all the way and just mumble “yeah sorry..um”. He walks in and sets the liquor he brought on your coffee table and then you see him take a deep breath before turning around to face you.

He stands a little awkwardly but still confident in your living room.

“So are you going to tell me your name now? Or just stand there with your mouth open because I can work with that too…up to you” He winks at you. It takes your brain a moment to catch up to the flirty joke.

“Oh um, yeah I’m y/n. Hi.” You try to keep your jaw attached to your face and act normal, softly laughing.

“I know you’re probably confused as fuck right now why Jake Kiszka is standing in your apartment right?” you nod in response to his statement. He looks at you for a moment, seeming hesitant then you see the hesitation fade in his eyes.

He smirks, “Well the bad news is I don’t have an explanation for you. Besides the fact I couldn’t keep my eyes off you all night tonight. You really truly almost made me mess up a few of my solos, so thanks for that.” He rolls his eyes at you with a smile, almost seeming like he’s the nervous one now.

You start stuttering, “I thought……you have…..don’t you……you are..with..”

He cuts you off, pressing his finger to your mouth and moving in closer to you. He gets so close, you can smell him now and it makes you blush, it’s a mix of rum and a warm vanilla with sweat. He takes off his sunglasses finally, I mean it’s almost midnight for christ sakes anyway.

“I know you don’t owe me anything y/n, but please don’t make me think about it. About her. I need this, if you’ll allow me to have it…” He trails off and stares at you with warm amber colored eyes, and you can see there’s something in there you can’t place. Maybe it’s a hint of vulnerability. Whatever it is, it makes you let your guard down and smile at him.

“Okay so, I won’t ask too many questions I guess. What are we drinking?” You head to the kitchen to grab some glasses. On the way there your mind is spinning.

You hear a sigh of relief come from the living room and a quiet “I brought options since I don’t know you really…yet anyway” you sense the smile in his voice at the last two words.

You walk out with two glasses analyzing the options and your eyes widen at the vodka. “Oh great, my favorite. I actually don’t even like fireball you know…” You say with a smirk.

This gets a laugh out of him and the mood is lifted instantly, his laugh makes your heart flutter in your chest. His shoulders relax a bit and he gives you a soft smile. He pours you both your drinks and you go to sit on the couch, while he makes himself at home going through your vinyl collection. His hand stops on The Battle at Garden’s Gate, and he looks over at you with the dumbest grin and you roll your eyes.

Chuckling he makes his way over to you, and sits down beside you on the couch resting a hand on your thigh.

“Listen, y/n I know that you know…I have my girlfriend. But things just…..” he trails off “Things aren’t great…for me..right now…for us…and I just felt something watching you tonight I haven’t felt in awhile. I needed to see you to see if….you’d want to help me out with these…feelings..to see if you think I’m crazy or if you felt it too maybe.” He looks into your eyes hoping you understand his scattered thoughts, and you do.

You nod, and without much thought just vodka confidence you lean in to him and whisper in his ear “I’ll help you with any kind of feelings you need me to Jake”.

He visibly shivers at your breath going down his neck, and something in his eyes darkens. “Tell me at any point if you want me to stop or leave or anything and I will, okay?”

“Okay” you smile, knowing that’s the last thing that’s going to happen.

“Okay” he repeats biting his lip staring at yours. He leans in and presses his lips to yours and you can feel him melt against you.

You move your hand up his neck and reach back to the hair tie in his hair pulling it out letting his hair go. He smiles against the kiss when you do this, your new found confidence clearly impressing him.

With his hair down now, you run your hands up into it and give it a gentle tug wondering if he’ll notice. A small groan from his throat is his response, and he pushes his tongue against your lips begging to be let in. You lick his lips back, and soon your tongues are dancing in and out of each other’s mouths with heavy breaths.

You pull away, and look at him taking in his beautiful hair and beautiful face for a second and he raises and eyebrow at you. “I was going to see if you want to go to my bedroom?” you ask trying to hide your blushing.

“Oh, y/n that’s exactly why I came here darling” he grins at you and tucks your hair behind your ear. He stands up and reaches out for your hand in a dramatic Jake-esque instagram picture way that makes you roll your eyes into the back of your skull. You grab his hand and he starts laughing.

“Lead the way princess” he whispers.

You led him down the hallway to your bedroom and before you’ve even fully walked into the room your being pressed against the wall and he’s kissing you like his life depends on it. The darkness in his eyes is on full blast when you look at him, and his lips twitch up in the corner before diving into your neck covering it in kisses and bites.

Without realizing it you’re letting out whimpers with each bite, and it’s driving him insane. He growls when he says “Fuck you sound so pretty, darling” and that sends a full body shiver through you.

He lifts you off the wall onto his waist and carries you over to the bed laying you down carefully. He’s looking down at you like he hasn’t eaten in weeks, and you’re the only meal in sight. Slowly, he leans down over you and places another deep kiss on your lips.

He moves down beside your ear, and whispers “After tonight, you’re not going to be able to look at any of my brothers ever again, not the way you’ll look at me.”

A moan escapes out past your lips and it surprises you, sending a blush down your body. He smiles like a predator showing its teeth to its prey.

His hands are everywhere, he’s touching over your body frantically small groans coming from his chest the whole time, “God I needed this, you have no idea y/n”

You run a hand through his hair while he’s working his hand up your shirt, and you whisper “You can use me to meet your needs anytime, sir” and then the most heavenly reverberating moan comes from his mouth.

He starts undressing you as quickly as his hands let him, heavily breathing out “beautiful” and “unbelievable” and other praises the whole time. Once you’re fully naked, exposed to him, he stands up to undress himself and just stares at you with eyes full of wonder and lust. Once he’s completely naked you gasp, involuntarily, at just how truly beautiful this man is. He looks up through his hair smiling, before climbing back over you.

With him on top of you, you can feel his heartbeat racing and his pupils are blown wide open. You see how much he needs this so you ask, “Could you lay down for a second and I can take care of you a little bit..if you’d like that?”

His eyes flutter for a moment and a smirk grows on his face as he lays down on his back he says “I would fucking love that, you have no idea. God you’re perfect.”

You move to hover over him straddling his lap, every movement you make gaining grunts and moans from him. You start kissing his neck making sure to take your time so he can enjoy this as much as you can tell he needs to.

You lick from his neck down to his chest and then finally to his stomach. God is it perfect, so soft and so completely Jake. You couldn’t have dreamed you’d ever be seeing it with your own two eyes this way. You place kisses all over his stomach, making your way to his hips placing gentle bites at both of them. He bites his lips and you swear you hear a little whimper come out.

You waste no more time, and lick down his entire length stunned at the size. You swirl your tongue around his head, and his hips start moving up begging for more.

You take all of him into your mouth, moaning onto him. His hand travels down and grabs a handful of your hair.

Pulling the fistful of hair tighter he says, “That’s it baby, good girl.”

His praise encourages you and you sink down feeling him fill the back of your throat. The moan that comes out of him in reaction is heavenly. You want to hear it over and over.

He starts thrusting his hips up into you, taking control but you can tell he’s still holding back trying to be gentle with you.

The grip in your hair gets tighter and the sting sends a shiver through you. God he looks so perfect right now. His eyes closed, biting his lip moaning sweet praises.

Suddenly he’s slips himself out of your mouth, and he’s positioned you on your hands and knees.

“I’m hoping you will see me again soon, and I want to really take my time with you over and over.” He leans down into your ear and whispers, “but I need you right fucking now, so will you be a good girl for me and let me fuck you?”

Hearing him talk to you that way makes you start aching and throbbing for him. “Please Jake, yes.”

He grabs your hair again, and you feel him teasing you with his head spreading your wetness all over himself. “Please, what?” He growls out.

“Yes, sir. Please. I need it.”

That sends him plunging into you hard, and his hands grip onto your hips with force. His pace is brutal in the best imaginable way and your vision starts blurring from the pleasure building up in you already.

Without missing a stroke he sends his hand flying down to smack your ass, the sting makes you whimper and then another wave of pleasure crashes down.

He’s already losing the battle he’s putting up to last longer and he is wincing fighting back the release coming. “F-fuck baby, I think I’m close already. God.”

You feel it building in you as well, a tightness creeping through all your muscles “Let go sir, for me?” And next thing you know he’s going even harder, sending himself crashing over the edge of his orgasm into you. Your own following right behind him, you scream out his name at the force of his last stroke.

After a riding through it together, he collapses onto your back and pulls you close. He places a soft kiss on your forehead, and just whispers “Thank you y/n, thank you…”

Once you both catch your breath and lay there for a few minutes kissing and still touching you hear something on the floor buzzing.

His eyes grow wide and he jumps up to grab his phone.

“Fuck!” He starts pacing and getting dressed in the process. He looks at you with regretful eyes, as he answers the phone.

“Hey baby, what’s up?”

Silence, while you hear a woman on the other end. His eyes never leave yours and you know he’s not hearing a word she’s saying.

“Hey, sweetie can I call you when I get back on the bus? It’s hard to hear right now I’m out with the boys.”

After a few moments, he hangs up and silently finishes getting dressed then helping you do the same.

“I’m so sorry y/n, you don’t deserve that right after….after that. It was so amazing, and I’m just sorry that happened.”

Unknown to him, it didn’t seem to phase you for some reason. Did part of you…even like it? Being his secret?…you notice him staring at you waiting for a response so you just shake your head.

“It’s fine Jake…i uh, I get it.”

His eyes are soft as he grabs your chin placing another kiss on your lips. “If I text you, will you still answer? I need to see you again.” His eyes are big, almost begging.

You smile at him and reply, “Just let me know when and where Jakey, I’ll be there for you.”

After some probably inappropriate jokes and flirty remarks he walks to your front door holding your hand. He turns before opening it, and it looks like he has more to say but he doesn’t. He just places a hand on the side of your head gently and kisses your forehead.

He turns, and walks out your door. And you’re left stunned, trying to grasp what the fuck kind of night you just had. You should feel guilty, or maybe sad after that phone call….but all you can do is smile and wonder when he will text you again.

You start to drift off to sleep, and you see your phone light up with one notification. A single text from Jake that just reads,

“Thank you”

You smile and let the exhaustion take you, and drift off reliving your night in your head.

[readyforthegarden]

Silver Springs - Part One

Pairing: Sam Kiszka x Original Female Character

Synopsis: The year was 1976, the season was summer. The days were hot and the nights were hotter. Music was the best it had ever been, especially rock music. Sam Kiszka has been riding the high of being in one of the top bands on the scene, but when his bands tour is accompanied by another up-and-coming band, with a lead singer that gets on his very last nerve, will everything come crashing down or will they end up making music that changes the world?

Warnings: Mentions of drug use, misogyny typical of the 1970s, 18+ only, Minors DNI

WC: 2712

🎶 🎶 🎶

“What is it like, being on top?” Sam smirked at the question, dragging his hand across his forehead in the hot sun as sweat beaded against his tanned skin. He held back a laugh at the obvious innuendo, leaning against the warm brick of the building.

“It’s a crazy feeling,” Sam answered the interviewer, who was holding a microphone out to him with a slightly shaking hand. “I never thought in a million years our music would reach so many people. We’re just some kids from the suburbs of Michigan, so to be at this level is insane.”

“You’re turning into hometown heroes, really.” the interviewer replied, chuckling at his moniker. “Record sales are at an all time high, you’re at the top of the charts, do you have any advice for any kids back home in their garages, trying to be the next Greta Van Fleet?”

“Yeah, don’t try to be the next Greta Van Fleet.” Sam grinned. “Be yourselves, write what speaks to you, play what sounds good to you. As long as you’re yourself you’ll go far.” They wrapped up the interview and Sam parted from the young man, starting his journey back to his bus across the parking lot. He pulled a cigarette out of the pack in the front pocket of his half buttoned shirt, slipping a lighter from his jeans pocket and lighting it.

“Hey, you’re Sam Kiszka, right?” Sam squinted in the sun, turning and seeing a young woman walking fast to catch up to his long stride.

“I am.” he replied. “If you want an autograph, I’m afraid I don’t have a pen. If you wanna shag, there’s a line forming over on the other side of the venue.”

“I don’t want either of those things, thank you though.” the girl scoffed lightly, slowing down now that she was beside him. “I’m actually a musician, a singer-songwriter, and I was wondering if you’d look over a few of my songs? I really dig the music you make, and it’d mean a lot.” Sam stopped with a sigh, turning to the girl. Her light, sandy brown hair was frizzed from the humidity, unkempt waves looking like she slept with her hair wet and the window open while tossing and turning. 

Her wide hazel eyes blinked up at him, and Sam glanced down, seeing her clutching a worn, tattered journal in her hands. She wore overalls with patches on the wide legged knees. They hung loosely on her and were faded, the t-shirt underneath short and snug to her body, making them clear signs of hand-me-downs or thrift finds.

“I guess,” Sam sighed, holding out his hand. The girl opened the book in her hands, flipping through the pages before handing it over to Sam. The page Sam looked down on was scribbled all over, words etched out, messy writing across the lines. A few spots were discolored, spots where maybe some water, possibly even tears had spilled over. His eyes scanned the lyrics, keeping a blank face as the young woman bit her lip nervously, ruffling her hair, a smattering of bracelets clattering along her wrist and forearm as she moved. 

Sam flipped through a few more pages before snapping the book shut, looking over to her. He thought carefully about what he wanted to say. The words she had written were good, and he couldn’t help the artistic jealousy that bubbled up in his chest that he never thought of stringing them together himself.

“What’s your name, kid?”

“Brandy.” she responded. “Brandy Lawson.”

“Well, Brandy Lawson,” Sam held up the book in front of him. “I wouldn’t quit your day job. You’ve got some potential, but nothing big in here. No one wants to hear a woman whining about her broken heart.” he watched Brandy’s eyes dim, her cheeks turning pink as she rolled her shoulders back against the blow to her ego.

“I appreciate the honesty.” Brandy reached out, taking her book back from Sam. “Really, thank you.” Sam felt a small twist in his gut, guilt setting in at crushing the girls’ dreams. He ran a hand through his brown, shoulder length hair with a sigh.

“Listen, it’s nothing personal,” he shrugged. He wanted to continue but couldn’t find decent enough words to tell her he thought her words were shit.

“No, no it’s not.” Brandy shook her head, clutching the journal to her chest again, a new spark in her eyes. “Thank you for your opinion, Mr. Kiszka. Have a good show.” she began to move away and Sam reached out, placing a large hand on her shoulder.

“Do you want an autograph or something?” he offered, trying to take the edge off the conversation. Brandy turned, smiling at him with a shake of her head.

“No. But you’ll be wanting mine one day.” she replied, so self-assured Sam was taken aback by the confidence. “See you around, Kiszka.”

Sam watched her walk away across the venue parking lot, the heels of her boots thunking against the pavement. She propelled herself with enough force the wind blew her hair back around her as she went. Something in him felt an inkling of admiration and a pang of annoyance at her sudden conviction.

“Hey, you coming to sound check?” Sam looked to his left, seeing his brother Jake ushering flagging him down. He and the rest of the band were heading inside the venue now. Sam nodded, jogging over to him. “What kept you so long? The magazine guy left a while ago.”

“Just some fan, wanted me to give advice on their songwriting.” Sam replied, waving his hand in front of him like Brandy had been an annoying fly buzzing around his head for the few minutes they interacted.

“Were they any good?” Jake asked curiously. Sam huffed out a laugh, holding open the stage door as his brother shuffled in.

“Just some school-kid drivel.” Sam shrugged.

“Aw, you mean like what you used to write?” Josh, Sam’s eldest brother wrapped an arm around Sam’s shoulder, using his knuckles to give him a playful noogie to the side of his head. 

“Knock it off,” Sam pushed Josh off of him gently. 

“We all have to start somewhere, Sammy.” Josh reminded him. 

“Well, she seems to think I’ll be asking for her autograph one day,” Sam rolled his eyes. “So she must think she’s ahead of the game.” He followed his brothers onto the stage, taking place at his microphone as a roadie handed him his guitar.

“Who knows, maybe we’ll even be opening for her.” Jake joked into his mic, making the other men laugh. That was the last they had spoken of it, and the last Sam thought of Brandy Lawson for a very long while.

Until she stormed back into his life, a new name, a new band, and fiery attitude. 

🎶 🎶 🎶

“Los Angeles are you ready for a night of love and rock and roll?!” the crowd in the Troubadour roared. “My name is Harlow, and with me are the Blue Jean Babies. And we’re here tonight to make sweet love to you through music and leave you wanting more.” a few wolf whistles echoed through the room as Harlow gripped her microphone stand, bringing her body towards it. The bell sleeves of her dress fell back towards her elbows and she shook her shaggy bangs out of her face, licking her lips before beginning to sing.

“It’s a little crowded tonight.” Jake groaned, worming his way through the crowd to the bar, nodding at a few people who recognized him.

“You were the one who wanted to come.” Sam laughed back, finally resting against the sticky bar as his brother ordered them beers.

“Yeah, well I heard this band is really something.” Jake turned, handing a tepid, sweating amber bottle to his younger brother. “They’ve been blowing up the charts, and the label is thinking of having them on tour with us.”

“You mean the tour we’re about to go on in a little less than a month?” Sam was wide-eyed. “Who dropped out?”

“I guess one of the openers, one of their wives just had a baby and she’s threatening divorce if he doesn’t stay home with them since he was gone most of the pregnancy.” Jake shrugged. “It’s bullshit, but if you love the woman you do what you have to.”

“Happy wife, happy life and all that, yeah?” Sam chuckled as he took a sip of his own beer. He could never imagine himself kowtowing to anyone like that. No one was going to keep him from being on the road and living out his dream. If he was going to be with someone, they had to understand that music was the most important thing to him.

“More like he’ll have to pay out the ass in spousal and child support.” Jake rolled his eyes. Sam laughed loudly before having a few dirty looks thrown his way for interrupting the show. He smiled sheepishly and put a finger to his lips, promising to keep quiet with a wink. He turned his attention to the stage, allowing himself to focus on the music. 

The woman singing was vaguely familiar, he’d probably seen her out and about in the LA scene. It was a small circle, no matter how many new faces moved to the city of Angels, so he was sure he’d met her at some party somewhere. Maybe they’d shared a joint or a bump. Maybe a beer. 

“She’s pretty good, huh?” Jake leaned over to Sam, yelling over the music. 

“Yeah, she’s all right.” Sam sniffed. He watched the singer on stage as she danced around, singing and banging a tambourine against the heel of her hand. Her hair flew around her wildly as she spun, and Sam couldn’t help to smirk at her free movements, they reminded him of his eldest brother in a way, and how he would move on stage during Jake’s guitar solos. “I think they’d fit in nicely as openers.”

“Yeah?” Jake quirked an eyebrow over at Sam, watching his eyes carefully. The singer was now leaning down, smiling as she interacted with concert-goers. She had a wrist laden with bangles and beaded bracelets, and Jake caught the small smirk on Sam’s face as he watched the singer slip a few off and put them over the hand of a fan who was reaching out before standing back up and continuing the show. When the band left the stage, Jake patted Sam on the shoulder, and they moved to go backstage.

As they approached the green room, they heard loud laughter, the clinking of bottles and energetic talking between bandmates, and Sam felt the energy inside him prick up. There was something so contagious about a post-show high, and he could tell Jake was feeling it too as they rounded the corner into the room. It took a few minutes of the chaos to settle down as they joined the party, and someone stopped to notice them.

“Woah,” a young man stopped when he saw Jake and Sam, his lips still glistening from the pull from the bottle of Jack Daniels he held in his hand. His mustache was barely grown in enough to collect any droplets and he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth as he stared in awe. “You’re…you’re Jake and Sam Kiskza.”

“Yeah, we are.” Jake chuckled, reaching a hand out. The young man switched the booze to his other hand and shook Jake’s outstretched hand, before shaking Sam’s as well. “We came out to see the show, you guys are good.”

“No shit!” the man grinned. “I’m Billy, I’m the guitarist. It’s an honor to meet you guys, I’ve looked up to your guitar playing since I heard your first record.”

“Appreciate that, man.” Jake grinned. “Are the rest of your bandmates here?”

“Yeah!” Billy turned, putting his hand on another man’s shoulder and getting his attention, whispering to him before gathering a few others around. “Where’s Harlow?”

“I’m right here.” they turned around again, and parted, making room for the leading lady of the night to join. It took him a few moments, but up close, all it took was a few moments, and the glimmer of gold in those hazel eyes for him to fully recognize her. His memory pulled up the scene in a parking lot where he’d essentially told her she was a talentless hack. “Hello boys.”

“Hi, I’m Jake,” Jake reached out his hand to her with a smile. She took it gently, squeezing his fingertips and holding his hand in hers for a few moments, telling him how nice it was to meet him before letting go. She turned to Sam, a smirk tugging at the corner of her smile. 

“And, you are?” Sam felt his cheeks prickle with heat flushed with embarrassment that she would pretend she had no clue who he was in front of everyone, in front of his own brother. All the while her eyes glimmered with recognition. He swallowed down his pride and put on a smile, taking her hand and instead of letting her feel like she had control like she did with Jake’s, as she squeezed his fingertips he brought the back of her hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to it as he kept eye contact, smiling as he lowered her hand. Her eyes narrowed slightly and he felt his chest swell at her reaction.

“Samuel.” he replied. “But you can call me Sam.” he tossed in a wink for good effort, her cheeks turning pink from it.

“Well, to what do we owe the honor of a visit from you both?” Harlow tore her eyes from Sam, glancing back to Jake. 

“We just wanted to come check out the potential new openers for our next tour.” Jake grinned. It took a moment for what he said to sink in, and the band began jumping around excited.

“What, for real?!” Billy exclaimed, and Jake nodded. 

“We don’t know for sure, but they told us you guys were in the running, and we thought it’d be a good idea to check you guys out when we saw you were playing tonight.” Sam offered. 

“It was a really good show,” Jake chimed in, smiling. “Reminded me a bit of us when we were first getting crowd attention, feeding off of it. I’m definitely putting my name behind you guys for our openers.”

“And what about you, Sam?” Harlow’s gaze was back to him, the question leaving her lips and cutting through to him sharply. “Did you like the show?”

“It was very entertaining.” Sam replied coolly to her challenge. “You guys are up on my list, for sure.” Harlow kept her eyes on him as the rest of the Blue Jean Babies celebrated behind her. After a few moments more, they were called to their bus to start the next leg of their journey to the next city, and had to begin packing up. 

“It was great to meet you all, hopefully we’ll see you soon.” Jake told them all as he and Sam headed for the door.

“Hopefully very soon.” Harlow agreed, shooting him a charming smile. “Have a good night Jake. You too, Sam.”

“Goodnight, Harlow.” Sam replied, meeting her eyes one more time before wishing everyone else a goodnight too. 

“I really liked them.” Jake turned to Sam as they walked out of the building. Most of the concert-goers had left, only a few stragglers smoking or drinking at their cars. “They seem really cool and they genuinely are excited about music.”

“Yeah, they’re pretty cool.” Jake smirked at Sam’s blaise response. 

“You seemed to have a connection with that Harlow chick.” Jake nudged his little brother in the ribs with his own elbow. “Are we going to have to worry about some hanky-panky if we bring them on tour?”

“Not at all,” Sam rolled his eyes. “If anything, she has an attitude that’s annoying to me.”

“Well, if they come on tour with us, maybe it’ll humble her a little bit.” Jake shrugged, getting into his car. Sam climbed into the passenger seat, thinking of all the ways he could humble Brandy “Harlow” Lawson.

Taglist: @joshsindigostreak @ascendingtostardust @sammysprincess @sammykiszkamyass @belovedsamuel @sunfl0wer-power @indigo-starcatcher @sammyscherub @earthlysorrows @lvnterninthenight @allieisacrybaby @losfacedevil @xserenax-13 @sarakay-gvf @shutupdevvie @myownparadise96 @watchingovergvff @gretavanfleetposts @sacredthefran @josiee-gvf @joshkiszkatoothgap @madneedshelp @gardensgatedaisy @kkdarling @demonrat444 @writingcold @dannyandthekiszkas @lightmylove-gvf @tearsofbri @paleshadow-ofadragon @happy-harpy-stuff @like-a-woman-in-a-dream @starshine-wagner @objectsinspvce @josh-iamyour-mama @mountain-in-springtime @cal-a-bungaa @capturethechaos @jankandjonch @gvfpal @allybjt @hippievanfleet @weightofbrokenbells @joshkiszkasbadussy @malany-gvf @ruby0antlers @samofthedawn @sacredjake @aim4thedoublee @diditallforyouu @gvfmarge @highladyofasgard @sammysvanfeet @gold-mines-melting @earthgrlsreasy @mountain-in-springtime @forcebond301 @stardust-and-shadows @llightmyllovee @gretavangroupie @comesofarsomehow @starcatcherkiszka @indigofallingsky

[oh-bonerline]

Kiss prompts? Don't mind if I do.

How about 9 (…in public) or 22 (…in a rush of adrenaline).

Okay! I kind of rolled both into one! And I set it after tonight's show with "People" and Matty's shirt getting completely destroyed. Hope you enjoy!

**

With the song still shaking his bones, the crowd still ringing in his ears, his shirt still tattered and (just barely) hanging from his shoulders, he comes off stage. His lungs ache. His throat is raw. He tastes blood in his mouth. He does this day in and day out, goes out there and pours most of himself out on the stage. But something about performing “People” always makes him feel young again, alive again, awake again. There is something primal about it. Something cathartic and cleansing, unfettered and wild. 

He isn’t looking where he’s going. He isn’t paying attention to much of anything. He’s a little bit blinded by the stage lights and more than a little bit deaf. So he walks right into something firm and big and warm.

He walks right into a pair of arms that are strong and hold him up and pull him in. He walks right into a mouth that presses against his and is somehow insistent and gentle and desperate and restrained, all at the same time. He walks right into Ross and they kiss without thinking about it. They kiss like two kids at a hardcore show, still feeling the bass and drums in their fucking brain stems, rewiring them, making them hungry for each other, even as the band walks off and the house lights come on. 

They kiss like they used to sometimes after their early gigs. When the crowds were smaller but the energy was huge. When all of the songs were new. When every gig was their best yet. When fame was something strange and novel to them. When there were girls waiting outside for them, waiting for him mostly, and Ross would pull him off stage and into the van or into the toilets and kiss him like he was laying claim to Matty. He would say, “I wanted you first,” with Matty’s face in his hands and Matty’s spit on his bottom lip. And Matty would nod dumbly, not at all sure what he really wanted. He just wanted to be kissed again, to be kissed by Ross again. 

Ross is tearing the rest of his shirt off of him. The sound of the silk ripping makes Matty bite down hard on Ross’ bottom lip, his tongue coming out quickly to soothe it. Ross’ hands grasp and pull until the shirt falls away, leaving all of Matty’s skin exposed. Matty’s hands go up to Ross’ hair, pulling it out of its already loose bun and pushing his fingers through it. The sound Ross makes when he pulls hard on his hair makes Matty arch his body closer and deepen a kiss that he thought was already as deep as it could get. He should know by now: There is always deeper, always closer, always more with Ross.

They pull apart for a second. Ross has the shirt in his hands–nothing but a very expensive ball of fabric at this point–and he’s looking at Matty with his lips parted and red where Matty’s teeth had been. His chin burns from Ross’ beard and he has the sudden urge to shove the shirt in his mouth and fuck him right here, right now. 

Instead he takes the shirt from Ross’ hands and lets it fall to the ground. He kisses Ross again–a messy kiss with mouths open and teeth knocking. Everything misaligned and desperately seeking. His tongue licking at Ross’ beard until it finds the heat of his mouth. Once their mouths and bodies are lined up exactly right, they stay there, pressing and pressing. He wants to scream into Ross’ mouth, but he doesn’t have the voice for it now so he hums and grips Ross’ shirt like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. And Ross has his hands on Matty’s back, callused fingers on his spine, trailing up to his neck, into his curls, and back down again where they disappear beneath the waistband of his pants. Matty gives a small, hoarse groan when one of Ross’ fingers dips even lower, but then Ross’ hand is retreating, going back up again and coming to rest on his waist. 

Matty decides to keep kissing Ross until the thrumming in his body calms down. Until things go quiet and he can see again and hear again and stand on his own again. Never mind that kissing Ross has added an entirely new layer of thrumming to his body. Never mind that kissing Ross has made his legs impossibly weak and incapable of holding him up at all. Maybe he’ll just never stop kissing Ross. Maybe he shouldn’t have to. 

It doesn’t occur to either of them that they aren’t hidden away in the toilet or the long gone van or anywhere else now. They’re off to the side and halfway behind some equipment but they aren’t really hiding at all. There are various festival workers walking around them, politely averting their eyes. There is Hann looking at his phone and then up at them and then back at his phone as he goes about his own business. There are still fans out there on the field, coming down from their own highs. 

Nothing occurs to either of them except for their mouths and bodies. Except for the singular, present moment. And then the next one. The now and the now and the now.

[shichey97]

Long Live TW: eddie still dies

“Can you read it again, Mama?” my son asked, looking up at me with big brown eyes that belonged to his dad as I kissed his head. I did that every night no matter what had happened that day.

“Again? Don’t you get tired of hearing the story?” I ask with a smile. “No. It’s like Dad is here.” He says as he does every night that he asks me to read the story.

I grab the tattered handbound book and smile as I run my hand over the faded face on the cover. It was a picture of my only love that I took when I was younger. Eddie was shirtless and looking at me behind the camera. My father had spent money on a fancy camera for me which allowed me to take the picture in black and white. 

He had a peaceful look on his face as he stared at me behind the camera. I remembered that day as if it was yesterday. I had been wearing his vest and my panties while I danced around his room as if I had owned the place and we weren't on the edge of our lives being ruined. I cleared my throat, shaking my head slightly as I ignored the familiar ache in her chest when I thought about that day.

“Mama. Are you ok?” He asks as he watches my back. I quickly got my emotions in check and nodded.

“Of course. Just admiring your dad’s face.” I sat on his bed with him. “Ready for the most metal love story in the history of love stories?” I ask with a soft giggle. I always asked that and always giggled.

Once he confirmed that he was ready I started reading.         Chapter 1: The Meeting

She didn’t know my way around Hawkins yet and thanks to her father’s constant moving around she was 20 and still in senior year which embarrassed her.

She was looking up at shop signs as she tried to find the record store she was sure every town had. She definitely didn’t mean to slam into someone’s chest as she looked up.

“I’m so sorry. I should watch where I’m going.” she said as she looked up and met the warmest brown eyes she had ever seen before.

“No need to be sorry.” He said with a smile on his pink lips, “I’m Eddie. Resident freak of Hawkins.” He says with a grin. He’s very proud of that title it seems.

She introduces herself with a smile as she shakes his head, “Then I’m going to be friends with you cause I’m a freak too, Eddie.” Her eyes never left him as she spoke. She was already enamored with him.

“It’s nice to meet you, sweetheart.” he said with a grin as he looked at her. His curly hair was long and frizzy. It looked like he spent hours perfecting the messy look. 

She chuckled softly as she looked up at him, “Your eyes are beautiful.” she said and smiled more when he flushed.

“Ma’am we just met and you’re already flirting. How flattering.” He teases with a grin, “Your eyes are beautiful too. Can I help you find something?”

“I’m looking for the record store. I’m trying to find a metal group I haven’t heard of before.” She said sighing heavily.

He grinned at that and nods, “I have a tape that might interest you. They’re a local band that I recorded at one of their practices.” He said before pointing to his van, “Wait here I’ll go get it.”

“Ok.” She says nodding before watching him go to the old van parked a few spots down from where they stood. He was gone for a moment before he came back hair bouncing around his shoulders as he did so.

“Here you go.” He says with a grin handing it over to her. He looked intrigued to see her reaction to it, “My number is on it so you can call me after you listen to it and you can tell me what you think.”

“Are you their manager or something?” she asked with a soft smirk on her lips as she looked up at him.

“Something like that.” He said as he folded his arms over his chest and tilted his head slightly with a grin.

“Well…I have time if you want to see a live reaction.” She said with a smirk. She just didn’t want to let Eddie leave honestly. Something about him filled her with a warm, comfortable, and safe feeling.

Eddie hummed and looked at his watch, “I have time. I can lead you to a place where you can turn it up.” He said as he watched her face. He’d tell her later what he was feeling at that moment.

“How about you drive and I’ll ride shotgun? We can use my car.” she said, holding out the keys with a head tilt.

He chuckled and took her keys with a nod. “Lead the way, sweetheart.” he says and follows her to her car. It was a black 67 Shelby mustang gt500 with white racing stripes which had Eddie whistling low. “I don’t know if I can drive sensibly in her.” Eddie said, shaking his head as he looked at her and opened her door. “Don’t get caught and be safe about it.” she chuckled and climbed in, ejecting the tape that was already in there to put the other one in.

Eddie climbed in with a laugh and started the car with a cheer. This was a car he would’ve loved to have before the band became a thing, but he loved his van. He pulled out carefully before he put it into gear and drove off heading for the old quarry road.

“I’m gonna play it now.” She warned before pressing play and turning it up. Her face broke into a grin as she read ‘Corroded Coffin’ on the case as the first chords strike. She headbanged slightly along to the music while Eddie tapped his fingers to the music.

He parked on the old quarry road when the 4th and final song came on and watched her face as she listened to it. She turned to him when it was over.

“Well. What did you think?” he asked, sounding nervous as he looked at her.

“They’re amazing! I can’t believe they haven’t gotten a record deal yet.” she said with a smile. She truly believed her words and her excitement was obvious. “Do they have any more songs?”

“They’re always working on more so they will soon.” He nodded, “The singer is a hard worker after all.”

“They don’t seem like something Hawkins would support. I mean I’ve only been here 3 days, but the looks I get from loud music and fast driving tells me all I need to know about this town.”

“If you wanted an accepting town you picked the wrong one.” He said, shaking his head slightly. “What are you doing here anyway?” He asked with a head tilt.

“My dad’s a scientist at the labs. I’ve got to go to high school tomorrow.” She said as she leaned back and put her feet on the dash.

“Are you a teacher’s aide or…” Eddie asked, causing her to chuckle and shake her head.

“I wish, but no I’m a student in my senior year at 20 years old.” she said before pointing a finger at him, “Do not laugh at me, Eddie.”

“Sweetheart I wouldn’t dare laugh. I’m 21 and a senior so don’t worry.” He said, shaking his head slightly. “Higgins is an ass, but I know how to handle him.”

“Want to share some words of wisdom for me?” she asked, looking at him with a small smile and a head tilt.

“Well if you don’t mind being bullied and labeled a freak then you could stick with me and my group.” He spoke in a low tone as he spoke about being bullied and labeled a freak.

“I already told you they’ll call me a freak anyway. I might as well have good company while I graduate this year. I can even help you graduate. We can do it together.” she said while holding her hand out to the curly haired man. “Deal?”

He stared at her hand before shaking it, “Deal. Welcome to Hellfire, sweetheart. You’re in for a treat.”

[fohfox-blog]

~INTRODUCTION~

sitting on the edge of a high rise roof with a full moon overhead, a full bic lighter always on hand, too many pairs of vans scattered around the bottom of the closet, rings left behind on wrists from brand new hair ties, the scent of the last cigarette smoked still lingering on lips.

new york’s very own fox foster was spotted on broadway street in cadmium yellow/tidepool vans mix & match sk8-his . your resemblance to jack mulhern is unreal . according to tmz , you just had your twenty- first birthday bash . while living in nyc ,  you’ve been labeled as being reticent , but also adventurous . i guess being a pisces explains that . 3 things that would paint a better picture of you would be sitting on the edge of a high rise roof with a full moon overhead, a full bic lighter always on hand, too many pairs of vans scattered around the bottom of the closet . & ( cis male & he/him  )

Sup y’all! I’m PJ, 20 years old, and I use he/him pronouns! My timezone is EST, New York babeyy! Some possibly interesting stuff about me is that I work at an aquarium and I’ve gone cage diving with sharks. Other than that, I’m pretty boring, so here’s my boy Fox! I promise he’s a lot more interesting.

Fox was born to rich parents, something most would be grateful for. His father has a lumber company and his mother is an actress. He never saw them much growing up but that was fine because he didn’t care much for them anyway. Cold, sure, but they were more like absent roommates than parental figures.

If he could fight one person on this Earth, it would be his father without a second thought. There’s a lot of suppressed anger towards him, mostly because he’s just a giant turd. Never really cared about Fox, or his mother, or anything besides his money.

Fox is used to being in the spotlight because of his mother but it’s never been something that he enjoyed. To the public, he looks kinda like a douche. Rarely smiling, hoodie up, head down. He became fairly known for flipping the paps off and has almost gotten physical with them more than once. As someone who thoroughly enjoys his privacy, there’s nothing that’ll tick him off more than seeing the flash of a fancy camera.

He did fairly decent in high school, not that anyone noticed, but it was enough for him to graduate early and earn a college scholarship. Majoring in forestry and fire management, he wants to one day fuck off into the middle of the woods with a husband.

Speaking of husbands, my boy is gay. Like full, 100% gay as fuck. But also so deep into the closet that he found that lamp in Narnia. He’s afraid to come out because of the media’s reaction and also, his turd of a dad will have a meltdown. So for now, until he can get out of the city and the spotlight, he’ll play straight.

Even though his parents give him an insane weekly allowance, Fox still likes to work. Until he can go elsewhere, he’s using his fire management skills with the fire department. So far, he absolutely loves it. Minus having to borrow other people’s urine because hey, he’s a pothead.

Fox loves being fucked up. Drunk, high, whatever. However he won’t go into work unless he’s sober because it’s a dangerous job. Not only his life would be on the line, but his coworkers and civilians as well.

He’s honestly a sweet dude who just wants to live a peaceful life out of view of the entire world. He may not be totally open with people but he enjoys helping others out and going on insane adventures. He’s the type of dude to try to ride on the top of the Subway or climb out on the Statue of Liberty’s torch.

Okay I think that’s enough, right? I’m gunna throw some wanted connections out there now.

A best friend! Someone who has been around him for years and knows that he’s not just the dick everyone sees through the camera.

An enemy? He’s generally pretty chill but it’s also not hard to tick him off.

A crush or friend with benefits? Sneaking around and trying to make sure they don’t get caught, fuck my boy up!

Literally all of the connections. I want them all!

OKAY now I’m done. If you want to plot just give this a like and I’ll slip into your DMs;) or you can find me on discord @ pjnfluff#3272 !

[helpwhatsthis]

the start (E.M.)

1982-1983

love divides pt.1 series masterlist

eddie munson x hopper! reader

“if we can’t go on, to survive the tide, love divides.” - separate way (worlds apart), journey (1983)

word count: 18k

this was a lot to edit, so there are probably mistakes! sorry!

warnings: ANGST!!! weed, alcohol, nicotine, language, vomit, attempted s.a., NO SMUT (obviously), bi eddie, hints at bi reader, litterally the sadest things i’ve ever written, both eddie and reader are underage in part one! let me know if there are any big ones i missed! this part does not have a happy ending! 

"can i please come in?" her voice is soft, so much so that he can barely hear her over the rain pounding on the trailer. 

1986:

she's drenched, makeup running messily down her puffy red face, and he wonders what's tears and what's raindrops. what the hell y/n? he knows he should be pissed, tell her to get fucked and just forget she was ever here. but he doesn't. he wraps his arm tightly around her and is astounded that after all this time she melts into him. 

"what the fuck happened to you sweetheart?" 

1982: 

it's your first day of freshman year, and while everyone else in your class is dying to get in the lunchroom and make friends with the upperclassmen, you are heading to the parking lot with a tattered copy of the scarlet letter that you had to practically beg the librarian for.

jonathan had left your side before first period had even started and you'd been running through the motions ever since. god you fucking hated the first day of school. but after three and a half hours of hell, you were finally getting some peace and quiet.

maybe.

"that other seat taken?" a voice rings through the formerly silent lot and you visibly flinch with annoyance. you look up and see a boy leaning on a van and looking at you with raised eyebrows. 

"uhm-" you start, not sure how to tell him to go fuck himself without being rude.

"i was only asking to be polite, it was my spot first, but I'll share." he states simply and you nod, looking back down at your book. 

you're looking at the pages for a minute at least, not really reading but too worried about looking back up at him. 

his hair isn't long, but definitely not trimmed or taken care of. he's wearing a t-shirt for a band you've never heard of and it leaves his long pale arms on display. 

"i'm eddie by the way." he breaks the tension and you sigh in relief, "eddie munson" he clarifies. when he hold his hand out, you shake it without hesitation. 

" y/n hopper." you reply and his eyes get wide. his hand stops moving and he grins.

"like, the chief hopper?" he asks and you nod in frustration. this was the same response you'd been getting all damn day. 

"that must be…" awesome, cool, interesting! were a few of the phrases you'd heard today before they inevitably started talking about him being a deadbeat drunk when they thought you weren't listening. 

"- a drag" he finishes and you're caught off guard at his bluntness. so much so that you can't suppress the small laugh that chokes its way up. 

"yeah, actually" you nod and give another small giggle. what the fuck was that sound? you scold yourself while he nods.

"I'm assuming you're a freshman?" he questions and you nod, to which he snorts. 

"Ah, well then, welcome to the shit show." he smiles and you break out into a fit of laughter that he matches. 

"I'm a junior, 16" he says, before you even have the chance to ask and you're quick to reply.

"I'm 14." you answer and he grimaced. you raise your brows for an explanation.

"shitty age for me" he shrugs and you respond with a silent 'oh'. 

you spend another twenty minutes talking to him before the bell rings, and even then he's showing you to your next class. it was the first one you haven't been late to all day. 

//

"what do you know about the munsons?" you ask your dad timidly. he'd insisted that you have dinner together to celebrate your first day of high school, much to your dismay. 

"which one? wayne or-" he starts and you quickly cut him off.

"eddie" you state simply and he looks up at you from his plate of spaghetti. 

"uh, got into some minor trouble in middle school for stealing and vandalism. but we kinda let it go after his dad ran out and left him with his uncle." 

you're nodding, trying not to seem too interested as you lazily move the noodles around your plate. 

"why?" he asks and you feel your chest tighten. 

"dunno" you shrug and hope it'll be the end of your conversation.

"you hear something?" hopper asks, continuing to eat.

"i met him, actually" you shrug and try to ignore the way he tenses.

 "is that a problem?" you ask after a few moments of silence. he starts to shake his head and your shoulders slump in relief. 

"no, of course not. just be careful y'know?" he looks at you, awaiting your answer but you continue to look at him confused. 

"he comes from a long line of violent weirdos, y/n. i'm not saying you have to hate him. just don't get too close." he explains and you're nodding quickly.

"you understand?" he prompts and you quickly agree. 

"i won't." you hum, continuing to eat.

but you do. 

\\

it's been three weeks since you first met eddie. you'd spent every lunch together either at the picnic table or in his van. 

you learned he's in a band, his dad left when he was fourteen, his mom when he was seven, he lived in the trailer park with his uncle wayne, and he smoked a fuck ton of weed. 

oh yeah, and his friends despise you.

it's a thursday, hopper is supposed to pick you up on thursdays because it's his day off. but it's been a little over twenty minutes since the last bell and you're huddled under the awning to hide from the rain. 

eddie is standing beside you, even though you told him he could go just about every five minutes since his friends had left. they'd been rolling their eyes at the way he insisted on staying with you until your dad arrived. 

he checks his watch and sighs. just as you're about to tell him to go again. that you'll wait a little longer or walk, he pulls your hood onto your head and trudges out into the rain holding your wrist. 

"what the shit!" you shriek when the rain starts thumping on your shoulders. 

"It's been half an hour, i'm taking you home." he explains as you both run up the hill to the parking lot, his hand still holding your arm. 

"you really don't have t-" a yelp escapes you as your feet give way to the mud under them. shit shit shit. you think, but eddie turns quickly and catches you by your elbows before you can hit the ground. 

he pulls you up and puts his arm around your shoulders, yours going around his back as he continues to trek up the hill. 

"shit, you're so helpless." he huffs in mild annoyance and your stomach drops. 

"am not" you protest as he unlocks the passenger side door and quickly ushers you in before running to the other side. 

"sure princess." he rolls his eyes and shuts his door. your stomach flips.

the first few minutes of the car ride are silent, not the comfortable relaxing kind you normally share with him. it's awkward, you've never been in the front seat, let alone while he's driving. 

"thank you for the ride." you finally whisper and he nods nonchalantly. you shut your eyes in frustration. shit please say something. 

he seems to pick up on your tension, like he always does, and reaches to turn up the radio. 

"oh hell yeah!" he shouts as the first cords of cherry bomb filter through the speakers. he turns the nob until the beats cause a small sting in your ears. 

when he starts dramatically drumming on the steering wheel you let out a small giggle. he turns his gaze to you questioningly. 

"you like the runaways?" you ask and he freezes, a small flush of embarrassment runs up his cheeks. 

"if you tell anyone, I'll kill you." he threatens and you start laughing. his own chuckled follow suite. "i'm serious!" he yells. 

when you don't answer, he reaches one hand over and starts to tickle your ribs. 

"i won't, i won't." you promise just as he swerves, you hold out your pinkie to him. he grins and he locks it with his own. 

the rest of the short car ride is spent singing and laughing, you almost wish you lived farther away. 

the rain has died down to a light mist, and just as eddie pulls up to your trailer your dad steps out of his bronco. shit.

you hadn't exactly told your dad you'd been spending so much time with eddie, opting to lie and say your weekends and lunches were spent with robin or johnathan. 

when eddie stops the van, hopper waits patiently for him to roll down the window. 

"heyy, chief hopper." eddies’ voice cracks as the words leave his mouth and you're digging your nails into your palm.

this is going to end so badly.

"thank you for bringing my daughter home, had some trouble at the station and couldn't be there on time." 

his words leave you in shock because holy shit why isn't he yelling at you? 

"of course, didn't wanna just leave her there." he laughs and hopper nods. 

"everything okay?" you ask and he huffs. 

"yeah, mrs driscoll just having another one of her fits." he says sadly, causing you and eddie to nod. 

"well uh, thanks again for the ride eddie." you smile awkwardly at him and he salutes you.

you're standing on the porch with your dad, watching eddie pull behind the trees down the long driveway when he finally speaks.

"well that's an interesting development." he scoffs and makes his way inside. shit.

//

he actually hadn't been mad once he found out you and eddie weren't dating. he knew wayne, knew he wasn't such a bad guy. he also thought eddie seemed nice enough to let you continue to hang around with him.

you were excited to tell eddie just how nerve wracking the whole experience had been as you march up to his van when the lunch bell rings. 

"of course you can come with, I just don't wanna watch you play babysitter all night." carter, one of eddies best friends, snaps crudely.

"what do you mean?" eddie asks defensively. you know it wrong to stand here and listen, but you were interested in where this was going. 

"he means don't bring that stupid freshie." donnie, a junior in your freshman math class, speaks up.

"yeah man, it's a drag. i don't even know why you hang out with her. she's a kid." says carter 

"and a cops’ daughter" donnie adds.

"she's chill, and fun to hang out with when i'm sick of you assholes." eddies explanation makes you stomach twist and your heart beat faster. 

"oh what the fuck ever, if you're gonna bone her then just do it already."  donnie exclaims.

"dude no, it's not fucking like that." he's quick to defend himself. "i don't see her like that… it's not like that at all." he sounds desperate for them to believe it. 

"sure man"

"fine, i'll tell her i have shit to do today." he promises them. 

"damn straight" carter replies, "we're gonna head out before she gets here" 

"why?" eddie asks softly.

"she's annoying as shit, man" donnie explains. you expect eddie to reply in your defense, to stick up for you. 

but he doesn't.

"i mean, i guess." his voice sounds guilty, but you don't even notice it over the way your blood begins to pound in your ears. 

you don't wait to hear anymore, turning around and hurrying back down towards the doors. 

you don't want to face any of your friends like this, moments away from tears. why do i care so much?  but you have no idea. no clue why it's so important what eddie and his friends think of you. 

you'd never had this feeling before. not when robins band friends called you weird, or when people called you a freak for hanging out with johnathan. not even when nancy told barb she should stop being friends with you. 

nancy fucking wheeler, who wasn't shit anyway. and you never gave a shit what she thought of you. 

so why did eddies opinion matter so much to you?

the tears start to fall just as you push open the doors of the empty gym. why does it feel like this? 

you hide under the bleachers and pull your knees to your chest. you try to breath, force yourself to be calm, but a sob rips from your throat. and when it does, the lights flicker. 

\\

it's been 2 days, a little over 48 hours since you last heard his voice. you'd sat with barb and nancy at lunch, and tonight you were going to robins’ after school. 

it was better than sulking in your room alone.

"so why are you coming to mine and not sitting outside eddies band practice." she seems genuinely curious, after spending the whole walk to the park complaining about her new marching band group. the "odd squad" made up of dash, kate, and milton.

"just wanted to hang out with you instead." your shrug is unconvincing and she tosses her bike down exasperatedly next to the swings. 

"that's bullshit." she states matter-of-factly. you know she’s right, but even worse, she knows she's right. she almost always is. "spill, now."

you plop down dramatically on a swing and groan. 

"his friends don't like me." is a simple statement, and coming from anyone else it would be completely reasonable. 

her eyes get wide as she sits in the swing next to you. she brought me here to interrogate me on purpose. the two of you always came to the park when you wanted to vent about your lives. 

"since when do you care about that?" she seems genuinely perplexed, me too. 

"no idea." you stare at the ground in front of you, lightly swaying your feet.

"wow, this is heartbreaking." she giggles, sarcasm laced into her tone. your eyes shoot up, glaring daggers at her. if looks could kill. 

"excuse me?" there's a bite in your voice, why are you being so defensive? 

"it's been like two weeks and you're in love with him." there's a bright smile on her face and humor behind her eyes. 

panic starts to build in your chest because, no, what the hell?

"no, absolutely not." your words come out in a rush and she smirks.

"first, no okay, just no. second, he's two years older than me. third, it's been three weeks. fourth, we're just friends." you can barely hear yourself speak, and you have no idea how robin catches any of it. 

"right, sure thing." she rolls he eyes and you let out a small 'hmph'. i don't like eddie.

right?

//

you didn't. you were adamant on the fact that you did not have any crush on eddie whatsoever. 

"where the shit have you been?" his voice rings out above the crowd fighting their way into the cafeteria. 

he grips your shoulder and spins you around, your heart already thumping harder in your chest. 

an excitement washes over you just by seeing him, just by a moment of his voice. 

nope, you're mad. remember?

"sorry, thought i'd give you a break from my annoying as shit-ness." there's more sarcasm in the single sentence than you think you've ever used in your life. and you were raised by jim hopper. 

his face morphs from confusion to guilt as he processes your words. 

it's been three days since he talked to you, two since he came to school excited to show you his first ever tattoo, and one since he realized there's probably something wrong.

after he had the realization on the drive home from carol's, which he'd never admit to anyone, it had consumed him. 

he hadn't heard of anything happening to your dad, so he'd crossed that out quickly. there also hadn't been any defieling news on the friends you'd told him about. 

he'd also never admit to anyone that he was fucking worried about you. 

“look it wasn’t like that princess.” he looks nerve wracked, something you’re not used to seeing on him. “i didn’t mean that, just wanted them to leave it alone.” he reasons, his eyes pleading. there’s a small pout to his features; he looks genuinely upset. 

goddamn him and his stupid face. 

“i’m still mad, but i don’t think i can stand another second of nancy staring at steve.” his eyes lighten up. “let’s go, i’m hungry.” 

you start walking to the doors that lead to the parking lot, not giving him a second look. he’s following behind you though, not missing a beat. 

you nearly puke on the blankets beneath you after taking a bite of your sandwich, spitting it out the door. 

“what’s wrong with it?” eddie asks across from you. 

“it’s supposed to be ham, but robins mom made it.” you explain, chucking it into the grass. he raises his eyebrows at you in question. “she’s a hippie.” you clarify. he starts laughing hysterically. 

“she must love you, being a cops’ daughter and all.” you laugh, recalling the way she’d gasped when you’d introduced yourself to her for the first time. 

“she feels bad for me.” you chuckle and eddie nods. it’s quiet for a moment; there's no sound except the breeze rustling the trees in the distance. 

“he likes you by the way.” you state offhandedly. “my dad.” 

“really?” the shock is evident on his face, a pretzel nearly falling from his mouth. 

“yeah, once he found out we weren’t dating.” you explain. “thinks you’re respectful or something.” you muse, causing his snort. 

“never thought the chief of police would find me respectful.” he says in disbelief and you agree. 

he shows you his new tattoo, playfully threatening to kick you out of the van when you tell him it looks like the bats from the intro to scooby-doo. within the thirty minute span, it’s as if the past three days hadn’t happened. 

you can barely remember what it feels like to be mad at him when he smiles at you like that. 

\\

it’s been almost four months since you met eddie. the two of you had spent nearly everyday with one another. 

it stopped being a shock to hopper to come home from a late night of work, seeing eddie sitting on the couch looking at the tv without really seeing it, you asleep on his lap. 

he’d started teaching you how to play guitar, taken you to your first party on halloween, and even had begun forcing his friends to include you. 

the last few months had been so good, you’d all but stopped hearing the droning thoughts of hawkins residents as you drifted to sleep. it’s was easier to keep others' thoughts out when he was playing with your hair. 

“i should probably go, it’s getting late.” he thinks out loud, patting your ankle that’s spayed across his thighs. 

“isn’t your heat out at home?” you ask, your voice groggy. he smiles at your concern and shrugs. 

“it’s not a big deal hun.” he shakes his head, trying to get you to lay back down and stop worrying. 

“just stay here for the night, kid.” your dad offers, finishing the can of beer in his hand. 

“oh no, i couldn’t impose.” he says quickly, but hopper shakes his head. 

“eddie it’s freezing.” you try to persuade, but he’s not having it. 

before he can act though, your dad is up. he grabs eddies keys off the counter and starts to walk toward his room. 

“pull the spare mattress from under your bed for him.” he instructs, and you're heading towards your room in seconds. 

you pull the mattress out just as he walks in; he’s rolling his eyes as you throw blankets and pillows onto it.

“thank you, brat.” he beams, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. 

oh yeah, one more thing. you had fallen inexplicably in love with him. something you had finally admitted to yourself on halloween night. 

you had been high, about to throw up, and he’d left to take you home. even though he was having a good time, even though his friends and the people he was dealing to were pissed, even though you know he probably didn’t want to. 

you’d been sitting in the passenger seat, head lulling against the window, when the song ‘eddie my love’ started playing on the radio. you’d gasped, which quickly turned into a fit of giggles when he rolled his eyes. 

but singing the lyrics made it feel all too real all of a sudden. you’d jerked your door open and threw up. 

“shit sweetheart, are you okay?” he’d panicked, while you sat hunched, trying to breathe. 

“you left me last september to return to me before long, but all i do is cry myself to sleep, eddie since you’ve been gone.” 

he’d carried you in the house to bed, giving you a mint and a glass of water. 

“just sleep it off, princess. you’ll feel better in the morning.” he promised. he’d stayed with you all night, rubbing your scalp and quieting the little cries you made in your sleep. 

1983:

it’s january now, the fuzzy lining of eddies’ big jean jacket protecting you from the bite of the wind. 

you’re walking around a mall in kentucky with eddie, donnie, carter, and carters’ girlfriend, olivia. she actually seemed to like you in the short amount of time you’d gotten to know her. 

“c’mon!” she gasps, grabbing your hand and pulling you over to a rack of prom dresses. you sit on a bench and watch her look through them, holding the ones she liked so she could try them on.  

“oh my god, this would look so pretty on you.” she gawks, pulling one out. 

“i can’t go to prom, i’m a freshman.” you remind her, trying to keep the embarrassment out of your voice as you speak to the senior. 

“you can go if you’re invited.” she explains and you laugh. 

“yeah but what are the odds of-”

“i’ll take you.” eddies’ voice cuts off your own from behind you. he comes up and hands you a slushy. 

he can’t be serious. you think; the look on the other boys' faces show that they’re thinking it too. you’d never voluntarily put on a dress in your life. but as you look at the dress, something in you wants it. you can’t help but think the dark green fabric would complement your pale features. 

“really?” you ask shyly, taking a sip of the liquid sugar to hide the hope on your face. 

“duh, who else would go to prom with me.” he shrugs nonchalantly, looking at the dress in olivias’ hands. 

“here, i’ll help you try it on.” she smiles, taking your hand and leading you to the dressing room. 

the dress fits you like a glove, and she spins you to look in the mirror. holy shit. you feel so fucking pretty. 

her chin rests on your shoulder, a cheshire grin on her face. 

“you’re getting it.” he decides, grabbing your elbow and pulling you out the door. “boys! come here!.” 

they all turn to look at you; your whole body heats up in embarrassment. when eddies’ eyes land on your figure, he smirks and starts clapping. 

“you like it?” he asks, looking at you softly. you nod shyly and the goofiest smile breaks out onto his face. “looks like you’re going to prom.” 

you’re going to prom with eddie munson. 

you spend all the money hopper gave you for the day, and another fifteen from eddie buying the dress and green converse to match. olivia had wanted you to get heels, but eddie had scolded her. 

“one step at a time.” he chided, sensing your worry. 

you're in the passenger seat on the way home, much to donnies’ annoyance. 

“and now, the new hit single by journey: separate ways.” the radio host announces and you reach to turn it up. 

“they’ve been playing this damn song nonstop for the past two weeks.” carter groans. you know it’s true, you’ve heard it nearly once everyday since it came out. but you never tire of it. 

“i like it.” you defend and eddie smiles lightly. 

“you would.” donnie says sarcastically, followed by a loud ‘ow’ as olivia kicks him. 

when you walk in the door of the trailer, your dad is rushing around to get dressed. 

“what’s wrong?” you ask, grip on the shoe box tightening. eddie’s standing behind you, holding your dress wrapped in plastic. 

“forgot i had a date tonight.” he explains, then freezes mid-step. “what the hell is that?” he asks, pointing at eddie. 

“a prom dress…” you trail meekly. the anxiety quickly fades though when a bright smile stretches across his face. “you’re going to prom?” he muses. you nod and he chuckles. “and you’re wearing a dress?” he asks in disbelief. 

“yeah.” you reply softly. he looks up at eddie, whos nodding with a smirk. 

“good job.” he laughs, patting eddie on the arm. 

“what?” you say, confusion lacing your voice. 

“just never thought that would be your thing.” he shrugs. “what was i doing?” 

“your date.” eddie reminds him and he jerks into action.

“i can go to robins for the night.” you offer and he shakes his head. 

“no, you don’t have to do that.” he insists. eddie interjects. 

“you can stay with me if you want.” eddie suggests, looking at hopper for approval. 

“i mean you can if you want.” he answers. “but you don’t have to.” 

“i’ll put these away and get a bag.” you tell eddie quickly.

you’d been to eddies’ before, but never really long enough to look around. now, you're standing in front of a small sliver of his wall he’d devoted to postcards. he’s laying on his bed, head hanging off the end with a cigarette between his lips. 

“they’re from my aunt, well ex-aunt.” he explains, blowing smoke from his nose. “after her and my uncle got a divorce she started traveling a lot, and when my dad left she started sending me them.” the tone of his voice makes your chest tight. 

“that’s so sweet.” you hum back, trying to keep the topic away from his dad. he’d only ever told you about him in depth one time, during which he’d started crying. 

“yeah, she’s so nice. if she comes up in the spring i’ll introduce you to her.” you turn and smile at him, nodding softly. when you reach for the cigarette in his hand he jerks it away quickly. 

“no ma’am, weed is one thing. i’m not getting you started on these too.” he protests. 

“but you do it.” you argue back and he rolls his eyes.

“that’s because i have no regard for my own personal well being.” he responds, and it’s your turn to roll your eyes. “i don’t give a shit about what happens to me.” he shrugs. 

“i do.” you state; he grins. 

“fine.” he breathes out more smoke before sitting up and putting it out in the ashtray on his nightstand. “happy?” 

“a little.” you giggle and he does too. 

he reaches for the guitar at the end of his bed and pats his thigh when he settles back in place. you make your way to him, sitting on his lap facing away from him. you place your fingers on the cords without needing his guidance. you start strumming the notes of a song he’d taught you; he chucks softly. you can feel the vibrations of his laugh against your back.

“you're getting better.” he praises; your face grows warm. he places his chin on your shoulder as you continue to play. you fumble a few times, cursing slightly under your breath. he’d mutter a soft ‘s’okay’ before urging you to continue. 

when the tips of your fingers are red from the rough cords, he pulls the instrument from your grip and leans to put it back in place. when he’s done, he flops down on the bed, pulling you with him. 

your legs are tangled together, his arms around your waist. when his nose brushes the back of your neck you release a shaky breath. you lay there with him in silence, hoping to god he can’t hear how loud your heart is beating. 

even through your inner panic, it’s nice. it’s so relaxing to be in his arms. he invades every part of your senses. the only grounding you have is the weight of his arm across your body. 

“should probably go to bed.” he hums into your hair. you nod softly in agreement, beginning to crawl to the head of his bed. 

//

the fluorescents burn your eyes as they focus on the paper in front of you. the scraping of metal on linoleum pulls your eyes up to the doctor sitting across from you. 

“you’re excelling, y/n” he states. it should make you feel better, but it doesn’t. “you’re smarter than the others.” you shrug.

something isn’t right, you have a strange sense of deja vu. ‘i’ve lived this before.’ your mind rings. you look down at your hands, so pale the skin is practically translucent. 

“hell, you’re smarter than most fully grown adults.” he explains further. you look back at the photo in front of you. “that’s why we want you to do this.” 

“do what?” you ask timidly, mind fuzzy. 

“this man, he’s trying to bring down everything we’ve worked to build. he won’t hurt a child though. if he breaks in, we need you to be the one to kill him.” 

you stare intensely at the photo, an i.d. photo of an nypd officer. 

“no.” the statement is simple; his face screws up in disappointment. 

“y/n-” he starts.

“no, i won’t do it.” you protest. the lights flicker and he shakes his head. 

there’s a harsh crackling behind you and you instinctively wince. 

“don’t make it harder than it has to be.” he threatens. you lean forward, glaring into his eyes. 

“no.” your small voice comes out as a growl. 

but now you're screaming, begging the hash electricity burning your back to just stop. it doesn’t it never does. 

you’re pulled from your sleep by your own scream. eddie is up in less than a second, pulling you up and examining your figure. 

your whole body is shaking, tears running down your face. 

“oh baby, come here it’s okay.” he tries to shush your sobs as he pulls you up into his chest. you can barely breath, your airway constricting with every attempt. “it’s okay, it was just a nightmare.” 

there’s fear in his voice, but you can’t even feel bad with the way your lower back is throbbing. you continue to gasp for breath in his chest, fingers gripping tightly to his shirt. your tears have created a large wet spot on his shirt, but he doesn’t care. 

“it’s okay princess, you’re here with me. you’re safe here with me.” he coos, hands running up and down your back. when his fingertips brush the spot that’s burning you give a sharp cry that has him jerking his hand back. you continue to cry and he lifts the hem of your shirt in confusion. 

he can see your skin is darkly flushed, little scars littering the area. he experimentally runs the tip of his pinky over one. it’s puffy and pushing away from the rest of your skin. you let out another loud whine, body jerking away from the contact. 

“i’m sorry, i’m sorry honey.” he apologizes profusely, dropping the fabric in his hand and going back to comforting you. 

you sit in his arms for nearly half an hour. you’re still trembling and you’ve barely stopped crying when you pull your head back to look at him. his head tilts to the side, examining you with concern like a puppy. 

“i’m really sorry.” you croak out with embarrassment. 

“no, it’s okay princess.” he promises. he sees that you’re covered in sweat and still slightly shaking. “let me get you some water.” 

he begins to pull away, but you hold him tighter and cry out again. a jar full of weed on his nightstand shatters, causing you both to gasp and grip one another. you watch it, something distant in your eyes that fills him with worry. after a moment, both of his hands find the hem of your damp shirt again. 

“can i?” he whispers, eyes meeting your own briefly. you finally notice the wetness clinging to you uncomfortably. you nod solemnly, lifting your arms. 

he pulls the garment off slowly, trying not to hurt you. he tosses the shirt to the floor and looks back at you, sitting in his lap in only your bra and sleep shorts. an ache fills his chest. he wishes he could just make your shaking stop, even for a second. 

he pulls you back down into a lying position, one hand cradling your head in his chest while the other rubs small circles on your back below your bra strap. even with distance, he can feel an intense heat radiating from the red part below. 

“you’re always safe with me princess.” he breathes as your eyes flutter shut, falling into a peaceful sleep. 

when you wake again, there's streams of sunlight leaking in through the window. eddies’ arms are still tightly wrapped around you, your nose is pressed to his chest. you breathe in deeply, inhaling a scent that’s purely him.

you try to pull away, muscles protesting with an ache that’s begging you to stay in bed. his arms tighten, pulling you back in. his eyes open just enough to see what you’re doing. 

“gotta pee.” you whisper, not wanting to pull him out of his sleepy daze. he barely nods, arm lifting to allow your movement. you slowly exit the covers and try not to wake him any further. he’s already out again by the time you reach down to pick up one of his shirts from the floor. 

your shoulder blades pop, body screaming for the movement to stop as you pull the clothing over your head. there’s a painful pressure in the small of your back that makes your legs wobbly and hard to walk on. 

when you get done washing your hands you glance at yourself in the mirror. you’re taken back by how exhausted you look. there are dark bags under your eyes, the skin raw from crying. your eyes themselves are bloodshot. your skin seems washed out, hair greasy from dried sweat. 

there’s a burning in your side, causing you to pull the tee up to see your ribs. the barcode tattooed there is puffy and raw, looking almost fresh. you know rationally that it’s not, that it’s been there for as long as you can remember. 

your eyes must be playing tricks on you; because when you look back up you can only think that you look younger. sicker. weaker.  you squeeze your eyes shut and try to ward off the tears. 

after a moment you huff and begin your trek back to his room. you don’t want him to see you like this, but the idea of being by yourself- away from him- for a second longer threatens to drown you in panic. in false loneliness. because you know you’re never alone now. now that he’s with you everyday. 

when you enter his room, he’s sitting against his headboard with a cigarette between his lips. a warmth fills your chest; it shadows the sluggishness and exhaustion in your bones. 

“watch the glass.” he calls a moment too late. you hiss, more from shock than pain as the shards pierce your skin. he reaches and pulls you into the bed, tutting softly.

he shakes his head as he examines your foot. he’s got it in his lap as he pulls the glass from it. 

“what are we gonna do with you.” he laughs. you roll your eyes and look away. you can’t keep looking at your blood on his fingertips. 

after he’s assured that your foot is okay and the glass is cleaned up, he’s got you laying in his lap on the couch. ‘the texas chainsaw massacre’ plays on the tv; he’s got his chin propped on the top of your head as he watches. 

“you wanna talk about it?” he whispers, trying not to wake his uncle who’s asleep in the other room. 

yes. you want to curl up and cry and tell him how terrified you were to be back in that place. you want so badly to tell him everything. you know you owe him an explanation for scaring the shit out of him the night before. 

but you can’t. 

“not really.” you murmur. your heart clenches, begging you to be honest with him. his hand snakes out, reaching to squeeze your own. 

“okay.” he mumbles into your hair, pressing a soft kiss to the back of your head. 

you spend the rest of the day there with him. he never pushes you to talk, just comforting you in a way only he can. 

\\

“this is so stupid.” you laugh. he’s in the water below you, dopey smile splayed on his features. february 14th is far too early to be swimming, even in a heated pool. 

“that’s what makes it fun.” he insists. 

after carter and olivia got back from their valentines date they had called and insisted that you, eddie, and donnie come over and make use of carters’ big empty house. olivia is wrapped up in carters arms in the water, donnie behind you smoking a blunt while eddie tries to convince you to get in. 

“come on princess, it’ll be fun.” he promises; you can’t deny that the steam rolling off the water he’s submerged in looks much more inviting than the winter air prickling your face. 

“get in or i’ll push you.” donnie threatens. eddies’ persuasive smile turns into a glare. 

“don’t you fucking dare.” he defends. 

“fuck it.” you shrug, beginning to unbutton your jeans. you shuck them off your legs, wincing at the cold as you throw them onto a pool chair. eddie whoops and starts clapping. you bite your lip and muster the courage to pull your sweater over your head. 

before you can talk yourself out of it, you jump in. the heat immediately envelops your skin. when you come back up eddie is laughing, the hearty sound creating a warmth in your chest that has nothing to do with the water. 

you blink the chlorine out of your eyes, only for eddie to splash you. 

“asshole!” you squeal, beginning to fling water at him. you’re laughing and splashing each other for a few minutes before he swims up behind you and wraps his arms around you. 

“god, you’re freezing.” he whispers, nose brushing under your ear. you standing there in his arms for a few moments, basking in the heat of his skin. 

he sways you lightly. your eyes flutter shut, the now cold droplets run down your cheeks from your lashes. a ghost of his breath fans over your shoulder. it’s almost easy to forget that anyone but the two of you exist. 

“the two of you are so adorable.” olivia beams. you know it’s the alcohol in her system and carter sucking on her neck, but you love the way she says it. the two of  you. love what it implies. 

“isn’t she though?” eddie laughs, starting to tickle you. his fingers dancing across your ribs causing you to wriggle out of his grip. but he’s stronger than you, or you let him think he is, as he holds you in place. 

“what the hell is that?” you’re all pulled from your laughter by donnies’ question. your gaze follows his finger to your ribs, eddie moving your arm to do the same. his eyes find the dark splotch, face contorting in confusion. 

under any other circumstances you’d be panicking. eddies’ frame so close to your own keeps the feeling at bay. his fingers brush the inked skin, head tilting softly in examination. 

“dunno.” you lie “had it all my life.” 

“tattooed as a baby? that’s fuckin rad.” carter laughs, causing you and eddie to chuckle while oliva slaps his shoulder. 

“guy, it’s snowing.” donnie intejects again. 

once you’re inside, carter and olivia are fumbling up the stairs. donnie calls a quick goodbye as eddie tosses you your backpack. 

“go change.” he mumbles as the front door closes. when you exit the bathroom, he’s sitting in front of the fireplace. you make your way to him quickly, prying your way under the blanket wrapped around him. he’s shirtless, a pair of sweatpants hanging low on his hips. 

“shit, babydoll. your fucking lips are blue.” he cries out in concern, thumb trailing across the bottom one. 

“i’m okay, really.” you promise. he pulls you into his lap, heated skin warming you. 

you sit with him in silence; eyes fixed on the flames before you. it’s peaceful. you don’t know when you fell into this routine of ignoring the way he makes your heart beat faster every time he’s near. it was hellish to pretend you didn’t have feelings for him, but it was normal for you by now. the squeaking from the floor above you pulls you out of your daze. 

“oh god!” eddie groans. you start to laugh hysterically. 

“ew.” you choke out between giggles. 

“your poor baby ears.” he huffs. he clasps his hands over your ears, which only makes you laugh harder. “keep it down up there!” he shouts. 

when the sounds finally stop, he reaches for the pack of cigarettes from his bag. he takes a long drag once it’s lit. there’s a fluttering in your stomach as he lets the smoke pour from his nose. you try to ignore it by making a keening sound and reaching for his hand. he holds it out of your reach. 

“just this once.” he warns, slotting the stick between your fingers. you inhale ignoring the horrid tastes as the smoke burns your lungs. your whole body feels weightless when you exhale. you lay your head back on his shoulder, it seems too heavy for you to hold on your own. 

“light headed?” he quizzes. you know you’re nodding, but you can’t feel it. “i’m such a terrible influence.” he says amusedly. he leans forward to take a drag through the filter that you’re still holding. his lips brush your finger and your stomach gives another small jolt. 

“i can’t wait to get the hell out of here.” he hums, a distance in his eyes. 

“what do you mean?” you whisper back. 

“hawkins.” he clarifies. he looks out the window toward the snowy backyard. “go somewhere it’s warm. just me and my guitar and whoever the hell is lucky enough to come with me.” there’s a sadness in his tone. you don’t dwell on it, choosing to take another hit instead. “let’s run away.” 

“right now?” you playfully ask. he laughs, nose brushing the start of your cheekbone as he puffs out a cloud of smoke. 

“how about this?” he starts. “for your next birthday, i’ll take you anywhere you want to go. you’ll be sixteen and i’ll be almost eighteen. we can do anything you want.” you turn to look at him, nose bumping his own. 

“that sounds perfect.” you grin. you wonder what it would be like to close the minute distance between your mouths. 

“better than the skateboard i got you this year?” you recall the morning he’d showed up at your house with the shiny board in hand. school had been closed for snow and he’d spent the whole day in the empty parking lot with you while you taught yourself how to ride it. when the cold had finally been too much for the both of you, he’d brought you home and cleaned up your scraped knees. 

“definitely.” you reply. a lazy smile adorns his face as he nods. 

“guess now we have to.” nothing has ever sounded better to you. 

“i love you.” you whisper, chest tight. the three seconds of silence feel like three billion years. 

“i love you too, kiddo.” he laughs. kiddo, that fucking stings. but you smile, he loves you too. “i think you’re my best friend actually.” 

you don’t understand, you’re my everything eddie. you want to protest. 

“you’re mine, hands down.” you shrug back. 

“better fuckin be.” he chuckles, finishing the ciggarett and throwing the stub into the fire. 

// 

“it’s gonna hurt, sweetheart.” eddies’ voice pulls you from your thoughts. you’re splayed out of donnies’ uncles’ couch. your shirt is pulled up, pants pulled down just enough to expose your hip bone. eddie is trying to talk you down while donnies uncle, james, prepares the needle. he’s squatting on the floor at the end of the couch, face over yours while he speaks.  

“i know.” you breath. he smiles down at you with sympathy. 

“it’s not too late to opt out.” he reminds, hand reaching for yours. 

“alright, you ready?” james asks. you give a shaky nod. 

“you can’t fucking tell your dad about this.” donnie says angrily. eddie glares at him. 

“i know.” you repeat. james holds the small paper you’d given him up to the light. 

“you drew this?” he asks, turning the image towards yours and eddies line of vision. it’s a small sketch of an open switchblade. you give a small nod and a polite smile. 

“it’s gonna be so bitchin.” eddie grins. 

the buzz fills your ears as the tattoo gun comes to life. james glances up at you, to which you nod in confirmation. when the needle meets your skin your face screws up in a small wince. eddie presses a kiss to your forehead. 

“contact is made, people.” james calls out, beginning to move the instrument. olivia claps from carters’ lap.  

once it’s moving it’s not so bad. you’ve definitely had worse. the room is quiet, soft sounds from whatever was on tv and the buzzing filling the space. every so often your skin would snag on the needle and pull, eddie softly squeezing your hand for comfort. you have no idea how long you sit like that, watching the ink make home on your flesh. 

“okay, this next layer is going to hurt worse. after that it’ll be done though.” james warns. eddies soft brown eyes meet your own. 

“i got you.” he whispers, fingers lacing into yours. when the needle meets the raw flesh again, you let out a small whine. eddies’ face contorts in displeasure. olivia comes into your sight, leaning down to whisper something in eddies’ ear while pointing at the spot on your hip. he nods softly. 

“hold on tight, going over the bone bump.” james informs. you dig your teeth into your bottom lip in preparation. you give a small gasp when the needle hits the spot. you’re not given time to register the pain though; because eddies’ lips are pressing into your own. 

you’re in complete shock, body both tensing and relaxing at the same time. he tastes like beer and whatever candy he’d had been in his mouth. there’s also another thing, something you can’t quite place that’s so purely him. his knuckles lightly rub the underside of your jaw. 

“all done.” james says triumphantly. eddies’ mouth releases from your own, a small string of saliva on his lips. he licks it away as his eyes travel to your new tattoo. your head is spinning, breathing irregular. 

what the fuck just happened? 

\\

“we should go as rogue and gambit for halloween this year.” his voice pulls you from absentmindedly playing with the hem of your pajama bottoms. 

“aren’t they like… a thing?” you ask meekly. you know they are, and you want to scream ‘god yes!’ immediately. 

“well, yeah. but it could be fun.” he suggests. 

“yeah.” you nod, going back to playing with the hem of your pants. you hadn’t really spoken a lot since you left james’ today, and he was starting to worry. 

“if they’re bothering it, you should take them off.” he instructs. you nod and begin to pull the fabric down your legs. 

“it itches.” you mumble. 

“i think i have something for that.” he says, reaching to open the drawer of his nightstand. 

“should it be bruised?” you ask. he turns back to you, a small tin in hand. 

“ones on a bone usually do.” he informs, pulling the lid off. “lemme see.” 

he applies the gel-like substance to your skin softly, careful not to press too hard. 

“i hope it didn’t hurt you too bad.” he whispers, rubbing his fingers on his shirt and tossing the tin toward your backpack. 

“eh, kinda liked it.” you shrug. he chuckles

“little masochist.” he laughs, ruffling your hair. “i’m uh… sorry if i made you uncomfortable today.” he whispers. his voice is barely loud enough for you to hear. your heart starts to beat faster. you really don’t want to talk about it. 

“it’s okay. just startled me.” you state. his eyes meet yours, something guilty behind them. 

“was that your first kiss?” he asks somberly. embarrassment floods your being, tinting your cheeks pink. you nod shyly. “oh god, honey i’m so sorry.” he hides his face in his hands. 

“it’s okay, really.” you say, maybe a bit too quickly. “it could have been worse, i could have had it with some random asshole that i’d break up with one day.” you urge, attempting to pull his hands from his face. 

“i guess, but i just took it from you and i didn’t even ask and-” he begins to ramble. 

“eddie, it’s okayyy.” you practically whine. “at least i got it over with, and i don’t have to worry about being laughed at for being bad my first time.” 

“oh you’re definitely not bad at it.” he states, peering out from between his fingers. your jaw drops in shock, eyes widening. “that sounded so much worse!” he shouts, throwing himself face down on the bed dramatically. 

“no no no, eddieee” you laugh, attempting to roll him over. “it’s okay, eds. i swear.” it comes out as a pout. 

“really?” he asks, peeking at you. you nod, awkward smile on your face. he sits up, fully looking at you. “you promise you’re not mad?” an idea pops into your head. 

don’t you fucking do it! the logical part of your brain screams. you don’t listen to it as you lean forward and press your lips to his. he gives a small gasp as you slot your mouth against his. this time he tastes like weed and grape juice, but still completely eddie. just as you’re about to pull away, his hands come up and stroke your jaw. he leans into you gently, kissing back. nope, this can’t be happening, it's too much. you pull back, panting slightly. 

“see, i promise i’m not mad.” you choke out. a fake smile makes its way to your face, praying your nerves don’t show through. he laughs.

“was this your plan? get me stoned and get kissing lessons?” he continues to snicker. 

“don’t be a dick.” you groan, lightly kicking his knee. 

“y’know what scratch what i said. you could use some practice.” he says sarcastically. you groan again, throwing yourself back into his pillows. it’s silent for a moment. why in the fucking fuck did you just do that? you sigh, slinging your arm to cover your face. “what’s wrong?” he breathes, fingers rubbing your knee. 

“now i’m worried i made you mad.” the words sound strangled leaving your lips. he laughs, resentment seating itself in your limbs. 

“i’m not.” he says. you can feel the bed dipping as he crawls toward you. “it’s okay, friends kiss all the time.” his fingers wrap around your wrist, putting your face in view. 

“really?” you continue to pout. he nods, soft smile gracing his features. “i don’t think olivia would be happy to hear you’re kissing her boyfriend.” you tease, trying to ease your own tension. he breaks out into a fit of laughter. 

“carter? maybe. donnie?-” he trails off.

“definitely not.” you finish. you both look at each other, fighting (and failing) to keep from wheezing. “wait-” you freeze. his word finally set in your brain. he can see the realization cross your face. 

you can see him start to panic. the cute smile you love leaves his face and his hands start to shake. 

“i don’t- i mean i didn’t i-” he gasps, trying to find his words. 

“no eddie it’s okay.” you try to reach out for him, but he pulls away from you. tears prick at his water line. 

“y/n, please-” he sobs, biting the inside of his cheek. his eyes won’t meet yours; his trembling getting worse. 

“it’s okay, i swear i won’t tell anyone.” you plead, reaching for him again. he lets you embrace him, but he’s tense in your arms and you feel so fucking bad. “i just didn’t know that you-” he nods, his tears soaking your shoulder. you sit like that for a moment, rocking him softly and letting him cry. “so… is it just guys or like?” don’t be selfish! your mind screams. 

“n-no.” he stutters into the skin above your shirt collar. “god, you probably think i’m so disgusting.” another sob leaves his throat; his arms grip you tighter. 

“no eddie, of course not.” you whisper into his ear, hands going to run through his hair. “i get it, everyone is hot sometimes.” you shrug. “nothing like that could ever make me think less of you.” you can feel his body slump in relief. “now if you told me you liked donnie or steve harrington or some shit i’d probably think you’re gross.” he pulls back, a small gasp leaving his lips as he dramatically throws his hands against his chest.

“you don’t like steve harringtons’ magnificent hair?” he says if false bewilderment. his face is red, eyes puffy and still leaking tears. “how dare you? god are you even female?” he asks accusingly. you giggle. 

“nah, yours is far better since you decided to let it grow out.” you hum, reaching to run your fingers through the fluff behind his ear. he grins, a real smile that puts one on your face as well. 

“you think?” he asks, glancing at your hand as you continue to play with the soft tuft. 

“oh yeah.” you muse, softly thumbing the tears off his cheeks. he leans into your touch, his eyes fluttering shut. “i’m sorry if i scared you.” he shakes his head. 

“i’ve never told anyone before.” he whispers. 

//

“stop worrying, you look perfect.” olivia chides, resting her chin on your shoulder. the green dress is hugging your frame, hair and makeup (done by olivia and her mom) done perfectly. “eddie is gonna think you look so pretty.” he smirks. 

since the night you’d slept over at her house, she’d been relentless in her comments about you and eddie. the boys were downstairs in the kitchen, arguing over pizza while the two of you arranged her floor to accommodate five people. her parents were away on a vacation, so the group had practically lived there the whole week of spring break. 

“you need to tell him that you like him before i leave for college and don’t get to see it!” she’d said, throwing a pillow at you. 

“he’s my best friend. it’s not like that.” you had argued. she’d simply rolled her eyes and huffed out a ‘sure’ in response. 

“come on, let’s get this over with.” you groan, beginning to exit the bathroom. when you step into the foyer of the living room, you immediately spot eddie, donnie, and carter standing with the dads while carters’ and olivias’ moms prepare the camera. donnies’ dad is nowhere to be found, even though he’d promised he’d be here. 

“we’re ready!” olivia calls, smiling brightly from beside you. everyones’ gaze perks up immediately. when eddies’ eyes land on you, his face softens and the slightest side smile plays on his lips. 

after nearly a half hour of being directed around for pictures, you’re finally given the okay to leave. as you’re getting ready to load in the van, donnie begins to argue with you. eddie is too lost in conversation with hopper to notice. 

“donnie, she’s his date so she’s going to sit in the passenger seat.” carter groans, obviously annoyed as he waits for his mother to stop fawning over his girlfriend. 

“why the shit do you always get the front seat?” he snaps, puffing his chest out. 

“because i’m eddies’ goddamn favorite!” you respond matter-of-factly. 

“language children!” carters’ dad shouts. eddie quickly comes to unlock the door, ushering you into the van. 

“this is fucking bullshit.” donnie whispers under his breath and truges to get in the back with carter and olivia. eddie turns back to you with a smile. 

“just because you know you’re my favorite doesn’t mean you should rub it in everyones’ face.” he playfully scolds. 

it’d been nearly two hours since then, two hours of laughing and giggling with eddie. you’d been making fun of peoples’ hair, dresses and makeup nearly non-stop. he’s dancing sillily with you to ‘don’t you want me’ by the human league and you feel like you’re on top of the world. for the past couple weeks you had been dreading prom; but you were actually having fun. the music suddenly cuts off’ turning to something slow. he grimaces. 

“do you have any idea how to slow dance?” he asks, putting his hands on your waist. his soft grip makes your skin tingle. 

“a little, my grandpa taught me the first time i met him.” you whisper back. you don’t think you could speak any louder without your voice faltering. 

“good.” he laughs, guiding your hands to his shoulders. “because i have no idea; so i need you to teach me.” nerves fill your stomach. you nod shyly, beginning to slowly sway his movements. 

without the loud and energetic music you suddenly feel much more on display. everything feels much more open and intense, especially with his gaze on you. there are people, couples, dancing together on every side of you. it suddenly feels wrong for you to be here. anxiety makes your limbs tingly and your body unbalanced. but eddie’s there with comforting words and soft touches, like he always is. his fingers grasp your chin and pull your face to look at his own. 

“don’t worry about them. they don’t matter.” he breathes. his deep brown eyes feel like they’re looking into your soul as the hushed words leave his mouth. “no one matters but us.” 

his words make you smile and bury your face into his chest. a light headed feeling washes over you, better than any high you’ve ever had. 

how did he get you this way? it seemed that in the nine months you’d know him, your whole world had changed. how long had it been since you’d talked to jonathan? or robin? how long had it been since you’d spent a full twenty-four hours without eddie by your side? how long had it been since the name ‘freak’ stopped burning your chest when it was yelled at you in the hallway?  and most importantly, how long had it been since you’d had a single coherent thought about a human being that wasn’t him? 

these questions rattle your thoughts to the point they almost become deafening. but when eddies’ lips place a small kiss to the top of your head, you realize you don’t care. 

you look up into his eyes again. the lights strung up around the ceiling reflected in his irises. 

you don’t care in the slightest. 

because it doesn’t matter as much as he does. you’d give up every single friend you’ve ever had, get called any awful name in existence, and lose any moment of alone time for the rest of your life if it means they all get to be spent with him. you would give anything to stay this way with him forever. but nothing lasts forever. 

“hey eddie!” olivias’ voice captures both of your attention. “do you have any weed in the van?” she asks quietly. 

“or your flask?” carter furthers hopefully. eddie looks down at you momentarily before nodding at them.

“i’ve got something better.” he smirks, leaning you all out of the gym. 

once in the van, he pulls up the hide-away seat to reveal the biggest bag of weed you’ve ever seen, a bottle of vodka, and two cases of beer. 

“god, you’re the fucking best!” carter shouts. his hand slaps eddies shoulder in approval before reaching for a beer. 

nearly three hours later, you’re laying on the top of the van staring at the stars. you’re parked in the hess’ field on the outskirts of town, the other three dropped off long ago. the glass bottle is nearly empty and the second blunt is almost burnt out. 

you can’t bring yourself to form a thought, the numbing lightness too much to complete the action. the chilly night air of spring pricks your arms, but you barely notice as you stare at the sky. the galaxy is so beautiful, but eddies’ eyes are still my favorite. 

“you wanna go swimming?” he asks suddenly, pulling you from your daze. 

“why is that your first suggestion every time you get stoned?” you giggle. 

“because it’s fun, duh!” he states obviously, rolling his eyes. “c’mon, we’re going.” he decides. he jumps off the roof, quickly pulling you down into the damp grass. 

“where the hell are we going to swim at?” you slur, following as he pulls you along. 

the dew wets your bare feet as you walk on shaky legs. you giggle at the way they shine in the moonlight. he shushes you, pointing down the hill. after a second of squinting, and nearly falling, you can see the small pond he’s gesturing to. 

on the trek there you slide nearly seven times, eddie barely being able to hold you up himself. once you reach the waters edge he quickly begins pulling off his clothes, you reach for your own zipper and whine. 

“wait! eddie i’m not wearing a bra under my dress!” the realization nearly brings tears to your eyes in your cross faded state. 

“it’s not a big deal, y/n. it’s just me.” he shrugs, finally down to his boxers. you shrug. 

“then help me with my zipper.” you whimper out. he clumsily makes his way behind you, knuckles running along the soft skin of your back as he pulls the zipper all the way down. you shudder at the touch, letting the dress slide off your body. the breeze hit the exposed skin of your chest, making you hiss and back into him. he wraps his arms around you and softly guides you into the water. 

you’re too far gone to feel self-conscious about being practically naked as he begins to splash you. it’s nearly twenty minutes of laughter and playing like children before you’re in his arms again. 

your arms are around his neck, chest pressed against his own while your head lays on his shoulder. 

“eddie?” you whisper, breaking the peaceful silence. he hums back, and you can see the way his neck flexes while producing the sound. “can i kiss you?” you ask, barely audible. 

“of course.” he slurs. in less than a second, your lips are molded to his. you don’t even think about what you’re doing as your fingers lace into his hair. the slight tug to his scalp has his teeth sinking into your bottom lip. you whine into his mouth at the contact of teeth to flesh. 

when you pull back, you’re both panting. you momentarily admire him before moving your lips to his neck and sucking softly. he moans, head falling back as his fingers dig into the skin of your waist. his sounds only spur you on as you nip at his pulse point. 

“jesus christ, princess.” he huffs. you kiss the small bruise you created lightly. 

“eddie, please.” you whimper, preening your whole body into him. his hand trails up slowly, pausing to look at you. 

“it’s okay?” he manages, fingers so close and yet too far from the skin of your breasts.

“please!” you cry out, and he doesn’t wait. he needs the flesh softly and you moan into the skin of his neck. 

he quickly slots his knee between your thighs and you squeal at the pressure it puts there. you move your hips softly. 

“oh god, eddie!” you whimper, biting at the skin of his jaw. he groans when your knee bumps his crotch. 

“shit, y/n!” he moans back. but suddenly his whole being freezes. his hands pull away from your chest and he stops bouncing his leg. “y/n…” his voice trails, as if he’s just realized who he’s actually with. “oh god y/n-” he breathes, hands coming up to cup your face. you’re staring back at him, confusion on your usually soft features. “no, no, no…” he gasps, a tear runs down his cheek as his thumbs stroke your own. 

“eddie? what’s wrong?” you ask desperately. more tears run down his face. 

“i’m so fucking sorry.” he cries. your mind is too foggy to understand why he’s apologizing. “i almost- oh god!” he sobs, wrapping you tightly in a hug. 

“why did we stop? was i bad?” you ask, anxiety starts creeping up your spine. 

“no honey.” he whispers in your ear. “it’s not like that at all.” his grip on you tightens, almost as if he’s trying to ground himself with his hold. “we just can’t do that.” 

“why?” you ask, almost innocently. you pull back to peer up at him. he’s crying heavily, face puffy and eyes red. 

“because you don’t want this, and it’s not right.” he states. 

“no, eddie i do want this! i swear!” you protest, tears of your own start to surface upon his rejection. 

“no. no, sweetheart you don’t. you’re drunk, and high. and if i let you do this then you’ll wake up in the morning and hate me.” he rambles. “you’ll resent me until we can’t even be friends anymore. i can’t take advantage of you like this!” he tries to reason, his own sobriety coming back to him faster and faster each second. 

“you don’t want me?” you cry, the tears finally breach your waterline and cascade down your face. he shakes his head. 

“it’s not like that-” he tries, but a loud cry cuts him off. for a moment, he can’t tell if the sound came from you or him. as your body goes limp in his hold, he realizes it’s you. “shit.” he huffs, lifting your body up to carry you. 

you continue to sob the whole way back to the van, his own tears dripping from his face and falling onto your back. when he lays you down in the back, you sob and reach for him again. he comes back with one of his shirts and a pair of boxers he kept for emergencies. once the shirt is covering your naked top, he reaches for your underwear. 

“i’m gonna change these, okay?” he manages to gasp out between his own sobs. he pulls the damp material away quickly, replacing it with his dry boxers, all while staring at the ceiling of the van. 

he looks back down at you to see that you’re still crying, body trembling as you lay limp on the floor. you notice his gaze and reach out for him, he leans over you and pushes the damp hair from your face. 

“i love you, eddie.” you choke out. he squeezes his eyes shut, resisting the urge to get sick. 

“i love you too, y/n.” he whispers back. once he pulls a light blanket over you, it doesn’t take you more than a few minutes to cry yourself to sleep. 

he’s still crying himself as he walks back to get your clothes. when he sees the fabric of your dress lying by the water, he can’t hold back anymore and finally throws up in the grass. 

“fucking god.” he chokes, pressing his hands agaisnt his aching chest. 

he has no idea how long he sits in the drivers’ seat, hugging his knees to his chest and crying. he even prays, he fucking prays, even though he doesn’t believe in god that you won’t remember any of it in the moring. he wishes that he could forget it too, but he knows he’s not that lucky. 

\\

it’s the last day of school, nearly a week after prom night when olivia finally musters up the courage to ask eddie what has been bothering him. 

he’d been pushing away from everyone. gone were the sarcastic quips and funny remarks, they’d been replaced with stony silence and panicked breathing anytime you got too close. to say that everyone was worried would be an understatement, well except donnie, who claimed there didn’t seem to be anything wrong with him. 

the breaking point had been last night, when you’d suggested to eddie that you all have a big sleepover and go to school hungover today. and he’d told you no. 

no. a word that eddie close to never used with you. 

later, you’d called her crying. you’d been terrified than he was mad at you, and you had no idea what you could have even done wrong. 

the morning after prom he’d barely been able to look at you. after you’d hugged him goodbye and thanked him for a fun night; he’d driven until he physically couldn’t take it anymore and thrown up on the side of the road. he quickly lost count of how many times he did that within the next forty-eight hours. 

then, the most hellish school week of your life had started. your eyes had begun to look more sunken and face gaunt with the nightmare you’d had without him by your side. olivia was fucking tired of it. 

“what the fuck is your problem?” she snapped, plopping down in the seat in front of his. he glances up at her, then to the study hall teacher who’s nearly passed out. 

“what are you talking about?” there’s an edge of agitation in his voice, one that seemed to be becoming more and more familiar. he doesn’t even give her the courtesy of looking at her as he speaks, going back to doodling in his notebook. 

“you know damn-well what i’m talking about.” she rips the book from his reach. he shakes his head, crossing his arms over his chest as he sits back and pretends to be looking out the window. “what. happened. after. prom?” she growls, anger bubbling in her stomach. 

“nothing.” he whispers, rolling his eyes. her scoff makes him flinch. 

“then why are you acting like such a little bitch?” she bites, but when he glances back at her, she can see tears in his eyes. “eddie?” she tests, voice softening minutely. a shaky sigh leaves his lips as he squeezes his eyes shut. 

“do you have one of your makeup wipes?” he asks. her brows furrow. 

“why do you-” she trails, but he grabs her hand and begins to pull her from the classroom. 

when they finally reach the unused, dingey girls bathroom she can finally tell just how wrong something is. he’s trembling and blinking tears from his eyes. without hesitation, she hands him one of the small towelettes from her bag. as he runs it along his neck, she sees tiny, nearly faded bruises begin to appear. 

“so what? you got a girlfriend and didn’t want to tell us?” she assumes. he bites his lip and shakes his head. 

“y/n gave me these.” he chokes. she can feel her heart plummet from her chest to the pit of her stomach, and still manages to choke on the sensation. “we were both fucking drunk, and she-” his voice cracks as he rolls the wetness from his eyes. “and i almost fucking let her.” it doesn’t work, and tears begin to fall. he also can’t remember how many times he’s cried in the past six days. 

“but you didn’t, eddie even if you wanted to you didn’t and that’s-” she starts to ramble, but his shout cuts her off. 

“i don’t fucking want to!” his aggression makes her wince. “it’s not- we’re not-” he tries, and the words fail him. “it’s not like that.” he whimpers sadly, maybe because he’s starting to realize it’s not true. 

she can’t help it, it doesn’t matter how mad she was at him fifteen minutes ago; she wraps her arms tightly around him as he cries. 

“she doesn’t remember, if that helps.” she whispers, beginning to run her fingers through his hair. he nods, sniffing softly. “but right now… you’re scaring her eddie. she thinks she’s done something wrong- that you don’t want her anymore- that you’re embarrassed of her. which, let's face it, that’s ridiculous because i don’t think you’ve been embarrassed about anything since like the sixth grade.” 

so he’d agreed to go to the end of school party that night, albeit reluctantly. he’d been making an effort to talk to you, to touch you without feeling sick all night. he was so fucking greatful you didn’t ask what had been wrong; he didn’t think he could take that. by his third beer, things had started to feel easier, less forced. 

but all nerves, all reluctance, all anxiety goes away the moment tommy h thinks he has the right to fucking touch you. you’re dancing to some abba song with a thoroughly wasted carter when tommy comes up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist. eddie is standing by donnie, watching you with a small smile while he holds olivias’ drink. he can see the way you gasp, attempting to pull away. he can also see that carter is too far gone to notice what’s happening. 

even years later, if someone had asked him what had come over him that night, he probably still wouldn’t be able to explain it. he slams the solo cup down and stomps his away toward you, just in time to hear you cry out from tommys’ tight grip. 

“tommy, stop!” you whimper, and it’s as if someone injected gasoline into his veins and dropped a match in his lungs. he rips you from tommys’ grip and into his own, he can feel more than hear the way you gasp as you make contact with his chest. the moment you realize it’s him though, you fingers fist his shirt and you snuggle closer. 

“aw, come on munson! there’s enough of her for both of us.” tommy chuckles. you squint your eyes shut and attempt to move impossibly closer to eddie. 

“if you ever fucking touch her again, i’ll knock your goddamn teeth out.” the growl in his voice surprises all three of you. he sounds scary. his tone makes tommys’ eyes get wide and you gasp again. 

it was that night that eddie realized things weren’t going to be easy anymore. you weren’t a little girl, and the threat of being the cheifs’ daughter didn’t scare people anymore. you were fifteen, and being around people like eddie made you susceptible to all kinds. he knew that realistically you weren’t helpless, that you could fight for yourself if you needed to, but you shouldn’t have to. you should never have to, and he’s going to make damn sure that you don’t. he promises himself that he’s never going to push you away, or leave you lonely again. 

there’s a lot of things for you to fear at the age of fifteen, but he swears he’ll never be one of them again. 

//

you’re lying against eddies chest watching ‘alien’ while he sips a beer, it’d kind of become your nightly routine in the past three weeks since school let out. you’d go out for the day, swimming, shopping, or even just driving around, then come home and eat dinner while watching whatever horror movie he’d rented. 

you’d barely been home, practically living at eddies’. neither wayne nor your dad seemed to mind. wayne was happy you got eddie out of the house, and hopper was happy you had someone to spend time with. wayne also liked that you made dinner some nights, home-cooked meals were not something he and eddie were used to, and he adored the way you attempted to teach eddie how to cook. 

the music is tense as the xenomorph watches bret from the rafters of the ship, and just as it’s about to pounce- the trailer door slams open. you and eddie both scream, grabbing each others hands. 

“what the fuck dude!” eddie yells at a teary eyed carter. 

“olivia broke up with me.” he sobs. you sit up, opening your arms for him and whispering a soft ‘oh honey’ that’s got eddies’ chest burning as carter cries into the crook of your neck. 

“i’m sorry man, what happened?” he asks, awkwardly rubbing his shoulder. 

“i don’t even know!” he cries, grip on your (eddies) shirt tight. “she said she has feelings for someone else of some shit!” 

it takes nearly two hours to convince carter to go to bed, but the moment you’re sure he’s out, you’re flying down the hall and toward the phone. eddie watches from behind you, lips pulled into an angry line as you dial the number of olivias’ house. 

“hello?” the tone of her voice has you glancing over at the clock, two in the morning?

“okay, what the actual hell?” you growl. eddies’ brows rise in shock at the tone of your voice. the line is silent for a long moment, only furthering your anger. “i mean you guys were fine like what? two days ago?” 

“yeah, i mean it’s crazy what you and eddie miss when you guys just disappear.” she snaps back. you’re livid by now, squeezing the phone so hard your knuckles turn white. eddies’ fingers softly run over your own, pulling the phone from your hand. his back is against your chest, and you’re leaning up so you can still hear her words. “look, i just wanted to tell him and get it over with. it’s better than lying to him and telling him i still love him!” she defends quickly. 

“i mean, i guess.” eddie shrugs. “it’s gonna make going to college together pretty awkward though.” she huffs. 

“i told him i still wanted to be friends.” she whispers, “it’s not like i want him out of my life completely, i just have feelings for someone else now.” you scoff, walking over and throwing yourself on the couch. they talk for a few more minutes before eddie places the phone back in its place, leaning his forehead against the wall. 

“what else did she say?” you ask, taking in his tired demeanor. 

“doesn’t matter.” he hums, but he’s tense as he sits down beside you. 

“god, we leave them alone for forty-eight hours and they fall apart.” you laugh, throwing your head back in exasperation. he chuckles along, hand squeezing your knee. 

“i think summer just got a lot less fun.” he says sadly. 

\\

“c’mon doll, it’s four days. i think you’ll live without me for four days.” he jokes, trying to lighten the mood; it doesn’t work. 

“maybe if i had someone else to talk to! carter and donnie are camping all week, eds!” you whine. you’re laid out on his bed while he finishes packing his bag, continuing your week long whining since he told you he was leaving. 

every summer, eddie and wayne went on a trip upstate to stay with one of waynes’ friend to see an annual car show. you’d been dreading it since he told you about it. four days when he would be miles away, having fun with one of his childhood friends while you stayed here, in shitty little hawkins. you’re dread had only increased when you found out donnie and carter were going to be gone all week on a camping trip. 

eddie was the only one who had spoken to olivia since her and carter broke up. he huffs, flopping down in the bed beside you and putting a tape on your chest. 

“what’s this?” you ask softly, seeing the words ‘your mix’ in eddies’ messy handwriting. 

“mixtape.” he states, speech muffled by his face being pressed into the bed. “for when you miss me.” he furthers, finally looking up at you. you swear your heart fucking melts at his words. you coo happily, wrapping your arms around him to hide your inevitable blush. 

but the longer you sit, the more your chest tugs, because he’s going to be gone. for four whole days. 

the longest amount of time you’ve spent apart since you met him. 

“i’m gonna miss you so much.” you whimper, before you can think better of it. 

“aww, baby.” he laughs, sitting up to look at you. baby. the word rings in your ears. he squeezes your cheeks together, contorting your pout. “here.” he whispers, beginning to tug his ring off his finger. he slots it onto your own and you let out a small gasp. 

“eddie i can’t take this! it’s your-” 

“my moms.” he finishes and you nod, looking up at him in confusion. “and it’s the only things of hers that i have, so i need you to take care of it for me while i’m gone. it’ll give you something to do.” 

“eds, i can’t” you try to argue, but he doesn’t let you. 

and that’s how you end up standing on your doorstep, playing softly with the ring on your finger as eddies’ van drives down the road, wayne dozing off in the passenger seat. after hopper had left for work, you’d laid in your bed for hours reading ‘the shining’ and constantly replaying the tape eddie had given you. 

it’s nearly three in the morning when the phone finally rings. you drop the cold potato wedges you were about to shove in your mouth and practically run to it, hoppers tired laugh sounding behind you. 

“hello?” you ask hopefully into the receiver. 

“hey loverboy! your girl picked up!” an unknown voice shouts. your heart beats faster. your girl? “he’s on his way, i’ve heard so much about you by the way. he literally will not shut the fuc-”

“give me that!” you hear eddie yell, followed by shuffling and laughing. “hi y/n.” he sighs happily into the phone. your grin, a small giggle leaving your lips.

“hi… loverboy.” you hum mockingly. he groans. “what’s all that about?” you ask slyly, trying to ignore the way the flutter in your chest makes your lungs tighten. 

“wayne told everyone that you’re my girlfriend.” he huffs, the air of annoyance in his voice makes your face drop a little. “i’ve been teased non-stop ever since.” 

“aw, i’m sorry.” you giggle. 

“no you’re not, shithead. you’re enjoying my pain.” 

“only a little.” you muse back. you hear a laugh somewhere on the other end of the phone. 

“i’m going to bed kiddo, don’t stay on the phone too late.” hopper informs, pressing a kiss to the back of your head and patting your shoulder. 

“night, hop!” eddie shouts, causing hopper to chuckle. 

“goodnight, munson!” he shouts back before padding down the hall. 

“so how was your day, sweet girl?” eddie asks, and you hear another snicker followed by a loud ‘ow!’.  

“pretty good.” you state, sitting on the floor with your back to the wall. “almost done with my book, and i listened to the tape.” 

“what? miss me already?” he asks teasingly. you roll your eyes. 

“always.” you whisper. 

it’s nearly three the next afternoon when you finally decide to get out of the house and stop feeling bad for yourself. it was actually pretty nice, skating down the road with the summer breeze against your face. your headphones are on your ears, blaring ‘edge of seventeen’ to block out all thought, because they all seem to be about eddie. or, the lack thereof, the constant reminder that he’s hours away. 

you’re pulling snacks off the shelf at the convenience store as the song changes to ‘jessies’ girl’ making you hum happily. but the happiness quickly turns to anxiety when you round the corner and see olivia arguing with the guy behind the counter. 

“c’mon dude! it’s three damn dollars” she exclaims, throwing her arms up as you pull the headphones from your ears. you pull the cash from your pocket, are you really going to do this? you haven’t talked to her in like a month. you shake your head, pulling three dollars out and slamming them on the counter. her eyes get wide, face softening when she sees you.

“y/n, honey, you don’t have to.” she protests. 

“ring her up.” you snap, glaring at the worker. 

“wait, no-” she gasps, but the register is already dinging and you smirk. 

“don’t sweat it, you can just drive me home.” you smile, laying your snacks on the counter. she rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. 

“you’re a brat.” she beams, ruffling your hair. 

surprisingly enough, it’s not awkward as you sit in the passenger seat of her car, singing your heart out to ‘bad reputation’. 

“god, you hang out with eddie too much.” she laughs, turning the music slightly. you scowl, but continue singing anyway. “you wanna come stay at my place tonight?” she asks shyly. “it’s just- i know he’s out of town and i don’t know, it could be fun. but you totally don’t have to-” she starts to ramble. is she nervous right now? 

“yeah, sure.” you agree and she nods, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth. olivia is never nervous. 

you’re in your room shoving clothes in a bag when you hear her coo softly. you turn and see her looking at the assortment of things tacked to your walls. 

“aw, this is so cute!” she chuckles, running her fingers over a polaroid of you lying in eddies’ lap and flipping off the camera, or more so carter who was behind it. 

it feels good to be out, somewhere that’s not your house, eddies’, or bennys’ with your dad. she’s got a nearly empty wine bottle in her lap, giggling like an idiot. 

“okay, so let’s talk business.” she laughs, passing it to you. you tilt your head at her in confusion, cigarette dangling from your lips. “you and eddie-” she says slyly, biting her lip. 

“oh god!” you groan, falling back into her pillows as ‘the chain’ filters though her room. you get lost in the voice of stevie nicks and begin to shake your head. “there’s nothing to talk about.” you lie. 

“oh whatever y/n! you’re totally in love with him!” she shouts. you shut your eyes and huff out a cloud of smoke. 

“utterly.” you whisper. her jaw drops, a small gasp leaving her lips. you sit up on your elbows to look at her, and a grin breaks onto her face.

“holy shit!” she screams. “holy shit, oh my god!” she begins to bounce in her seat. “you have to tell him y/n!” you feel tears begin to well in your eyes. 

“just because i am doesn’t mean he is.” you whisper again, voice cracking at the mere thought. a pitiful frown pulls her cheeks down suddenly. 

“oh, sweetheart.” she reaches out to hug you. “he definitely is.” you scoff. “i can see it in the way he looks at you. you’re the only one who's allowed to touch the radio, that he shares food with, that gets to touch his guitar- i mean you have matching stick-and-pokes of gods’ sake!” 

“in not that simple!” you whine, “it’s just not like that with us.” a tear runs down your face. 

“wait-” she grabs you hand and begins to examine it. “is that?” her jaw falls slack again. 

“his moms’ ring.” you nod; she laughs in disbelief. 

“jesus christ, you’re practically married.” she beams, but you only shrug. 

hours later, you’re asleep in the floor while she talks on the phone.

“babe-” she interrupts eddie, glancing back at you. “i’m starting to feel bad.” she whispers. 

“why?” eddie asks softly. 

“we’re going to break this girls poor fucking heart if she finds out-” she looks sadly at the ring on your finger. 

“no one is going to find out. what are you even talking about? why would y/n care?” he asks and she clamps her eyes shut. 

“i just think she’ll be upset that we didn’t tell her.” she lies straight through her teeth, guilt swarming in her chest. 

\\

a pounding at your front door wakes you, causing you to groan. you fumble your way to the door, cursing pissily as you throw it open. all your anger diminishes when you see eddie rocking back and forth, hands behind his back. 

“eddie!” you scream, throwing your body toward his own. his arms don’t wrap around you, and you pull back, confused. 

“i have a surprise for you.” he smirks, hands still hidden from view. “well, a few. but the most important one comes first.” 

“the anticipation is killing me.” you say dramtically, but you’re not able to force the stupid grin off your face. 

he pulls his hands out to reveal what must be the tiniest kitten you’ve ever seen. you gasp, hands immediately reaching for it. he lays it gently into them, and your heart nearly shatters at the tiny cry it lets out. 

“oh my god.” you gasp again, “eddie it’s so tiny!” he laughs, finally wrapping his arms around you as you cradle the small animal to your chest. 

“promise not to love her more than me.” he laughs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. you melt into his touch, releasing a soft sigh. god, these past four days have been the longest of my fucking life. the kitten croaks from between you. 

“i’ll try.” you laugh, holding her up to look at her. her all black fur is fluffed out, tiny tuffs sticking up from her ears. 

“she has to be bottle fed, but i got the stuff for that on the way here.” he informs as you begin to tug him into the trailer. “just found her. on the fire escape of all places.” he laughs, flopping down onto your bed. 

“aw, poor baby.” you hum, laying her down on his stomach as you crawl in bed beside him. you sit in content silence, both of you petting the small creature.

“i missed you.” he whispers, pulling you from your daze. he looks so fucking tired. you lean forward, moving some hair from his forehead. 

“i missed you too.” you admit, pressing a soft kiss to his nose. his eyes flutter shut and he sighs, wrapping his arm around your waist. 

“it’s good to be home.” he mumbles, thumb stroking your cheek bone. the kitten emits a small cry from the spot she crawled to on his chest, causing you both to giggle. “what are you gonna name her?” 

“how about ororo?” you ask, looking into her small cloudy gray eyes. 

“like munroe? like storm?” he laughs when you nod. “oh my god you have been reading them!” he beams, sitting up and nearly dropping ororo. 

“yeah, you were right. they’re pretty cool.” you hum, rolling your eyes as he shakes your shoulders in excitement. 

“now we have to go as rogue and gambit! and we can bring ororo!” he laughs, picking her up to talk to her. 

he doesn’t leave your house for the next two days, not that you mind. he’d slept a lot the first day, much to your insistence when he’d told you he’d drove all through the night and came over as soon as he’d gotten home. he’d helped you feed ororo, napped, told you about his trip, napped again, and then given you your other surprises: a fleetwood mac record, a coffee mug with wildflowers printed on it, and a sketchbook. you’re lying on the couch with him, watching some show your dad had told him about when the phone rings. 

“hey, you wanna hang out with me, donnie, and olivia tonight?” you hear carters’ voice through the line. since when were they talking again? you look back at eddie, who’s carrying on a one-sided conversation with ororo. 

“i don’t know if i can get eds off the couch for that long.” you laugh, causing his head to snap up and scowl at you. 

“stop hoarding him!” you hear donnie shout over the line. 

so that’s how you end up walking up to carters’ front door, eddies’ arms slung over your shoulder as you carry a mewing ororo in your arms. 

“she’s too little to leave by herself.” eddie had insisted, shoving the small bottle into his bag. 

“oh my god!” olivia yells, running off the porch to meet you when she sees the feline clutched to your chest. 

all of you are sat in a circle, passing around a joint while eddie attempts to feed ororo. olivia and carter are surprisingly civil with one another. 

“she doing okay?” you ask eddie, reaching over to pet the top of her head. he only nods, clearly concentrating, tongue poking out slightly. 

“aw, it’s like you two have a baby now.” olivia giggles. you blush slightly when carter hums in agreement. donnie only rolls his eyes and glances around the room. 

“closest thing i’ll ever have to one.” eddie states, pulling the empty bottle from her mouth and setting it on the floor. 

“you don’t want babies?” olivia gasps, hands flying to her chest dramatically. eddie shakes his head, mumbling a quick ‘nope’ while handing the sleepy kitten to you. “what if your wife wants them?” she asks, causing him to laugh.

“not getting married either.” he shrugs, taking a hit. olivia looks horrified. “i don’t need a certificate to tell me how much i love someone.” 

“that’s sweet.” you hum.

“that’s stupid.” olivia snaps at the same time. 

“anyway-” carter interrupts, not wanting it to turn into a debate. “are we going to kats’ end of the summer party?” 

“obviously.” donnie chirps. eddie groans and throws his head back. 

“do we have to?” he whines, looking over at you. 

“yes, you do.” olivia intejects before you can answer. “it’s the last high school party carter and i will have before we leave for college.” 

a somber mood takes over, like it’s suddenly dawning on everyone that in a few weeks they won't be here anymore. 

“that’s fucking depressing.” donnie states. 

// 

“holy fuck! you look so hot!” olivia screams. you’re in a tight black slip dress with a mesh red t-shirt underneath, all of which formerly belonged to her. she’d given you practically her whole wardrobe while packing up her childhood bedroom. an experience which had been full of tears, even eddie had almost cried while pulling photos from her wall. 

eddie’s in a tight red tee and black jeans to match you, and the thought makes your stomach flutter. 

“do you have it?” she whispers in your ear, carefully not to let the three boys in front of you hear. you nod, pulling the flooded up piece of paper from the pocket of your black jean jacket. she beams, “he’s gonna tell you he loves you too. and then i’ll have completed my goal of getting you two together and can leave happily.” you simply roll your eyes, too nervous to think about it any longer. 

it’s been two and a half hours since then and you’re well buzzed. your cup sloshes sound as you search for eddie in the sea of people. you can’t find him anywhere, and you’re starting to feel claustrophobic. 

“found him.” donnie says, coming up to you and grabbing your wrist. he leads you up the stairs and into a small bedroom. you glance around, noticing it’s empty. 

“he’s not in here-” you whimper, but when you turn around donnie is shutting the door. “what are you-” you start, but you’re interrupted by him smashing his lips onto yours. you gasp, shoving him back by his shoulders. “what the fuck was that?” you shout. 

“finally gonna have you all to myself while he’s off screwing that whore.” he growls, shoving you back onto the bed. you attempt to stand up, but he pushes down hard on your chest causing you to cough. he begins to climb over you and you panic. 

“no stop!” you all but scream, but he just laughs. you feel sick, mind fuzzy and moving too fast to comprehend. 

“what’s this?” he asks coyly, picking up the paper that’s fallen from your pocket. 

“wait!” you try to reach for it; he smacks your hand away and begins to read it. 

“oh my god-” he laughs, looking up at your terrified expression. “so you’ll fuck eddie but you won’t fuck me?” he asks annoyedly. 

“it’s not like th-” you attempt to speak, but he grabs your neck and holds you down. your brain runs on auto as you reach up and claw at his face. even though you draw blood, it doesn’t seem to phase him. “no!” you shriek as he reaches for your tights. 

“what the fuck is going on in here?” carter yells, throwing open the door. donnies hand comes off your throat and you begin to gasp for breath. 

“help me.” you cry out. carters’ face turns from one of confusion to complete rage. 

“get the fuck off of her!” he yells, running to help you off the bed. he stands you up on trembling legs, and you notice for the first time that you’re sobbing. “are you okay?” he asks softly, turning your face to look at him. all you can do is fall into him, letting the sobs fall freely. 

“fuck you, you’re gonna get what you fuckign deserve when eddie finds out.” carter screams at him.

“he’s too busy for that.” donnie laughs angrily as carter helps you walk out. 

even with him leading you, the walk outside feels like miles. when eddies’ van is in sight, you finally feel like you can breathe again. you don’t hesitate, immediately dropping carters hand and running to it. 

“oh eddie-” you cry, pulling open the back door. but you feel your heart stop as it opens. 

olivia is sucking on eddies neck, hands down the front of his jeans. when he sees you, his jaw drops. you can feel bile starting to rise in your throat. 

“fucking seriously, dude?” carter shouts, something broken in his voice. olivia throws herself off eddies’ lap. 

“why are you crying, babydoll?” eddie asks, and the name makes you finally throw up in the grass. 

the next few minutes happen in a blur, olivia holds your hair back as carters’ fist lands on eddies’ cheek. the harsh sound only makes you throw up again. you hardly notice them fighting over the sound of your own head throbbing. 

“shit, eddie stop! he’s had enough!” olivia screams, running up to them. you look up to see a few people are starting to come over. donnies grabs eddie and pulls him off carters’ limp frame on the grass. 

“i think you’re gonna want to see this.” he laughs, handing eddie something. you don’t realize it’s your note to eddie until he’s looking up at you, confusion and sadness on his face. fuck. 

“tell him how you got it.” carter croaks, coughing up blood as he tries to stand. eddies eyes trail to donnie, a stream of blood running from under his eye. donnie starts to back away from him. 

“how’d you fucking get this from her?” he growls, but donnie doesn’t answer. all eyes are on you, but you can’t bring yourself to answer. 

“he tried to fuck her.” carter snaps crudely, his words make you gag again. 

“oh baby-” eddie whispers. 

“he what?” a deep voice shouts. and there he is. chief jim hopper stands, full uniform. your whole body relaxes. 

“dad-” you whimper softly. 

“get you asses in these fucking cruisers now.” he yells, officers powell and callahan guide donnie, carter, and oliva toward their cars. 

“can you stand honey?” eddie asks, hands on your shoulders. you almost reach out for him to take you into his arms, but you spot the bruises on his neck. you don’t even think about it as you reach up and slap him hard across the face. hopper jerks you back quickly.

“get in the car.” hopper instructs. eddies’ lips tremble, tears filling his eyes as he begins to walk to the bronco. 

the car ride is silent, occasionally broken by a soft cry from you or eddie. you feel numb, nothing but a deep ache in your chest. how could it all go wrong so quickly? the car comes to a stop before the station. 

“can you do this?” hopper asks, hand resting on your knee. you exhale shakily. 

“no one’s gonna blame you if you can’t, y/n.” eddie whispers, reaching up to touch your shoulder. you nod, leaning into his touch. 

“i can do it.” you whisper softly. 

your sitting in the lobby, olivia in front of you. eddie’s cuffed to the other desk, holding an ice pack against his face, carter mirroring his actions on the opposite side. no one speaks as your dad come up to kneel beside you. 

“he admitted it.” he tells you, hand coming up to stroke your arm. “do you want to press charges for attempted rape?” he asks sadly, voice cracking. 

“oh god.” olivia cries, hiding her face in her hands. you can’t force your eyes away from the wood in front of you, much less speak. 

“y/n?” eddie asks. officer callahan shushes him. you look up and see tears in his eyes, and reality comes crashing down on you. hopper pulls you into his arms as you begin to sob again. 

“yeah, yeah i do.” you choke out. eddie squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head as tears roll down his cheeks again. 

as flo takes pictures of your bruising, olivia and carters are questioned. then finally eddie. you sit in the lobby, lonely even though flow is at her desk typing and officer callahan and powell sit with carter and olivia outside. 

“he needs to talk to you.” hopper whispers, sitting in the seat on the other side of the table. 

on trembling legs, you make your way to your dads office. eddie is cuffed to the chair, not looking at you. 

“eddie-” you whisper softly. 

“we’re done.” he states simply. your chest tightens. “after tonight, after you walk out that door… your not gonna talk to me anymore. we’re not going to hang out. not going to be friends. it’s done.” he finally looks at you, face bloody, eyes red. 

“please don’t say that.” you beg. he shakes his head. “eddie, i love you.” you whimper, but you can’t cry. it hurts too much to even cry. 

“i promised your dad that i wouldn’t hurt you anymore, and that means leaving.” 

“you can only hurt me by leaving. you’re the best thing i’ve ever had, eddie please don’t leave me.” you beg desperately. “eddie, i’m so in love with you.”

“i’m not.” he states, without missing a beat. 

there it is. 

the words you never wanted to hear. 

they make you feel like the world is falling from beneath your feet. 

“no-” you whisper. 

“i’m sorry.” he says back. “but i can’t do this to you. you and me just don’t work that way, and i can’t keep stringing you along like this.”

“eddie-” 

“i love you, but not the way you want. y/n, i really do. i need you to know that, but this has to end.” 

and with that, you storm out of the room, out of the station. you slam your fist into the pillar by the sentence. it splits your knuckles, but you don’t even feel it. you can’t feel anything but the deep emptiness in your chest. 

hopper exits the station, guiding you back to the car. he buckles your seat belt for you, because once you sit, you suddenly can’t move. all of your limbs feel too heavy. so heavy that you feel like you could just sink into the earth and never stop. 

and the scariest part- you can’t think. can’t make a single thought enter your mind.  

the dark woods surround the road, the car. you stare at them, wishing you could disappear into them and never come back out again. the radio plays softly, but you don’t even notice it. 

“i know what it’s like-” hopper finally says. you look over at him. “i know what it’s like to fall in love with someone… just for it all to be ripped away from you.” you blink at him, dumbfoundely. 

“i always thought i was cursed, and i guess i passed it on to you. i know that it feels like you’re dying, like you’re all alone, like your whole world is falling apart. but you’re not alone. you have to remember that, because i also know that you may not be my biological daughter but you’re so damn much like me, and i need you to not do something stupid about those feelings like i did.” 

“i love him so much.” you cry. 

“i know, i know baby. he wanted me to give you this.” he holds that stupid fucking paper out to you. you open it, and begin to read the word you wrote only a few days ago. words that you wrote with so much love, hope, happiness, lightness. 

hey eds, i know this is stupid. but i’m writing all the things i’m too scared to tell you, which is stupid because i know once you read this you’ll tell me i have no reason to ever be scared of you. anyway, here it goes:

i was so lost before i found you. i had no idea who i wanted to be, what i wanted to do with my life. then you walked into it, and now it’s like the ideas had been there the whole time. i can’t wait to see what adventures we make together eddie. you made me feel like a real person. i’ve learned so much about myself in the past year. 

but the most important thing i’ve learned is that it takes me approximately four days to fall in love, and about four months to realize it. 

i couldn’t see myself spending every day of the rest of my life with anyone, until i met you. i love you eds’, so fucking much. 

-your favorite shithead, y/n. 

the words bounce around in your skull, enough tears running down your face to fill an ocean. you hold the paper up to the open window, and let the wind rip it from your fingers. 

your eyes settle back in front of you, staring out at the dark road as the curse of loneliness that seems to consume hawkins sucks you in too. so you reach to turn up the radio- 

“feelin’ that it's gone, could change your mind. if we can’t go on, to survive the tide, love divides. someday, love will find you. break those chains that bind you. one night will remind you, how we touched and went our separate ways. if he ever hurts you, true love won’t desert you. you know i still love you, though we touched and went our separate ways-”

tags: @kik51199​  @lynnsthoughts​ @multifandom-loser​ @naughty-koala07​ @httpsunflowers​ @munson-burner​ @shinydixon​ @aereth​ @yoyoanaria​ @madhatterweasley​ 

[dearestdaffodils]

Stranger Things series rewrite headcanons pt.3

Eddie LOVES to read. He won’t tell anyone but 9 times out of 10, he has a book tucked into the pocket of his jeans (think Jess Mariano from Gilmore Girls)

In the same vein of Eddie and Jess Mariano being variants of each other, Eddie likes to give the reader old tattered annotated copies of his favorite books. One time the reader finds him working on one and he looks so precious with his hair tied back in a messy bun and his tongue poking out between his lips as he concentrates on scribbling in the worn book

Steve really enjoys the reader’s presence. He’ll invite her over when he feels lonely just so they can coexist in the same space and he doesn’t feel so alone 

The gang has game nights at the reader’s trailer. Max and El are way too competitive, in Eddie’s opinion but he’s just a sore loser

They play a game of Uno that ends with Steve and Robin in tears, Max and El doing a victory dance on a table, Eddie sitting in a corner screaming “JESUS H CHRIST”, Nancy and Mike sitting calmly on the couch, Lucas and Erica playing an entirety different game, and Will filming the whole thing with his camera 

It may have taken Robin longer than average to walk but she more than makes up for it now. Robin is a speed walker through and through. And she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it. She starts walking and just takes off. She once ended up three blocks ahead of Nancy and the reader before she even noticed they weren’t with her anymore 

There was a point in time where Dustin, Lucas, Mike, and Will were convinced they could be a boy band. The reader was their biggest (and only supporter) 

Eddie once got his nose pierced but it got infected so he had to let it close up 

Eddie shakes his hair like a wet dog whenever it’s wet. It doesn’t matter if he just got out of the shower or just went swimming, he’s gonna shake 

The reader constantly refers to Eddie as her hooligan boyfriend 

Eddie plays with fidget toys

Eddie goes through a phase of really liking Vikings. He thinks they were pretty metal

Whenever the reader makes Eddie flustered, he turns into Bambi; all limbs and none of them work properly 

Eddie makes the reader her own version of his jean vest with her favorite band or artist on the back

Joyce gave the reader a key to her house after two weeks of knowing the reader. She just trusts her that much

Joyce also gives the reader a video camera for Christmas one year so the reader can make home movies because Joyce says she’ll “want to remember her chosen family forever”

The reader is the only person Erica likes right away. Erica watches the reader verbally destroy some basketball players and immediately goes “yep, she passes the test”

Eddie has horrible handwriting but still insists on leaving the reader cute notes

Steve once went to Eddie for girl advice and Eddie’s response to Steve asking how he got the reader to go out with him was “I still have no idea, dude. I actually think she asked me out.”

Eddie’s guilty pleasure song is Old Time Rock & Roll from Risky Business. He does the slide thing in his trailer every time he listens to it (I love this scene so much)

The reader calls Eddie “Edwina” instead of “Edward” once when she’s upset with him. They never speak of it again

Eddie is many things but he is always a gentleman. Once when he was little, he got in trouble for pulling a girl’s hair at school and his uncle gave him a long speech about always being a gentleman and Eddie takes it to heart. He knows uncle Wayne would be disappointed if he wasn’t a gentleman

One time after fighting monsters, the reader falls asleep in the back of Eddie’s van. Eddie then takes it upon himself to put a mattress and blankets in the back for the next time she falls asleep

Eddie loves dogs. He sees a dog and will literally drop to his knees to pet it, even talking to it in a baby voice

Eddie doesn’t believe in love at first sight. He does, however, believe in soulmates

Eddie makes a point to write a super long note in the reader’s yearbook every year, reminding her of all their fun memories and how much he loves her. The year she graduates, he fills two whole pages

taglist:

@wayfaring----stranger​ @themarvelousbee​ @mochas-rambles​ @efvyqrs​ @10minutesofscreentime​ @allie-mcginn​ @poguebaby @short-potato​ @wh0re4harrington​ @jinxed-jk​ @seggsyswagger @nothanksdidntask @tenkomybeloved​

@byebyebikinisss​ @hellfirebabes​ ​

[patternscolorsflowers]

PATCHES

Patterns_Colors_Flowers

———————————————————

Summary:

Eddie and his Uncle Wayne bond over coffee, sewing, and the trials of being yourself in a difficult world.

———————————————————

It was just after two o’clock in the morning, and Wayne Munson stood, slouched over the cluttered counter of the dimly lit kitchen, patiently waiting for his coffee to brew. He’d put in a long fourteen hours at work, and although he’d been at it for years, it never got any easier, especially as the years marched forward and he found himself growing older. But like all such arduous tasks, it had to be done, and sometimes there were small rewards that such hard work reaped.

It wasn’t often that Wayne took the opportunity to spoil Eddie, and truth be told, he rarely had the resources to do so, but whenever a paycheck with a nice bonus from overtime pay rolled in, he liked to do something nice for his nephew. Usually it was something modest, a new poster or tapestry for his room, maybe a record or cassette tape of one of the many bands he liked. But, when finances allowed, and if Eddie kept his promises to work hard in school and keep his grades up, sometimes the gift was extra special.

That night Eddie was a few towns over with friends, attending a long-awaited Black Sabbath concert, courtesy of uncle Wayne. — Eddie wasn’t exactly the best student, but the few occasions where he really did give his all to his academics were when his uncle voiced concern about his efforts. The ‘C’ he’d received in English this year was hard-earned, indeed, and as long as Eddie was working hard and keeping his promises, Wayne was happy.

Just as the last few drips of coffee blipped down into the glass pot, the unmistakable glare of the headlights on his nephew’s van glinted through the partially shaded windows of the old trailer. Instinctively, he grabbed two mugs from the hanging rack over head.

The familiar creak of the van’s rusty old door, followed by an audible ‘slam’ pierced through the hushed early morning atmosphere, Wayne poured coffee into each mug in preparation. Just the faintest splash of milk for him, and ironically for his nephew, a lover of all things dark, three heaping spoonfuls of sugar and an almost even coffee to milk ratio. ‘You can hardly call it coffee at that point!’ Wayne would often joke.

Almost as if on cue, Eddie sauntered in, all smiles. Face glistening with sweat from the high-energy of the show, wisps of dark, curly hair clinging to it, and the tattered sleeves of his trusty leather jacket casually rolled up to his elbows; clearly still riding that post-concert high and far too wired to even entertain the possibility of sleep. Perhaps coffee was a little counterintuitive?

“Hey uncle Wayne! Just gettin’ back?” Eddie asked, flopping down on the sofa. His uncle nodded once in response. “Hey kiddo, so how was it?” Wayne yawned, sitting the mugs down on the coffee table, he gently lowered himself onto the well-worn surface alongside his nephew. “In a word: AAAMAZING! Spectacular, transcendent, phenomenal, mar—“ “Jesus Ed, I get it! You had a good time, no need to regurgitate the damn dictionary.” Wayne smirked, gently blowing tufts of billowing steam away from the coffee. Eddie chuckled in response, forcefully clinking his mug against Wayne’s, nearly spilling some of the piping hot beverage, much to his annoyance.

With so much milk in his coffee, Eddie was able to chug down the comforting drink fairly quickly, Wayne grimaced at his obnoxiously guttural swallowing noises. Gently he slapped Eddie’s shoulder. “Slow down, boy, ain’t no one gonna take it from ya!” Eddie wiped his mouth against his shirt sleeve and laughed. “Sorry! Hey! I almost forgot, I brought a few things back!” Eddie grinned excitedly. “Hoooh boy.” Wayne nodded and rolled his eyes sarcastically, seemingly in-the-know of exactly what was coming.

Eddie swung his patchy black backpack up onto the coffee table and playfully imitated a drum roll against the worn wooden surface. “First up! I had to snag something for my favorite uncle…” Eddie reached deep into the bag, hand emerging clasped tightly to a sleek black mug with Black Sabbath’s 1986 tour schedule and an admittedly grainy image of the band and its logo emblazoned on the ceramic surface. Wayne examined it closely, turning it around gingerly in his work-weathered hands to get a proper view of all sides. He nodded approvingly, another fine addition to the apparently endlessly growing collection.

He glanced over to the right of his seated position, across the room stood an open cabinet and a hanging rack positively bursting with mugs, most of which had been gifted to him by his admittedly hapless nephew over the years. — He didn’t have the heart to tell him that a home of two, with very few guests in between, only needed so many mugs. Especially when he turned his head to the left and took notice of Eddie’s proud, goofy grin. If anything at all, he was glad that the young man was at least thoughtful.

Reaching over, Wayne ruffled Eddie’s dark curls. “Aye, cut it out man, stop!” Eddie laughed, playfully swatting the hand away. “I hope you came away with somethin’ for yourself, too?” Wayne remarked, reclining back further onto the couch as he lit a cigarette with a flick of his lighter. Eddie clapped his hands together exuberantly. “I am so glad you asked, dear Lord Munson!” He beamed, pulling a small paper bag from his backpack.

“Lemme guess? More patches for your lil’ boy scout jacket, there?” Wayne smirked, downing another gulp from his mug. Eddie dumped the contents of the bag onto the coffee table; indeed, a trio of patches from the concert. “Alright. Grab my kit and we’ll get to work.” He ordered gruffly. Eddie smiled and jumped up eagerly like an excited little boy and made a mad dash for the tiny closet adjacent to the kitchen. Wayne smiled and shook his head, Eddie was certainly a character, and thankfully easy to please.

Eddie rummaged through the top shelves of the small storage area until his long, painted fingers made contact with a familiar old shoebox, mostly held together by layers of duct tape, these days. It certainly wasn’t what one pictured when they envisioned a ‘sewing kit,’ but it did the job well enough for uncle Wayne, a man who was both resourceful and a lover of simplicity. “Found it!” Eddie called out.

Sitting the battered old box on the coffee table, Eddie slid out of his denim vest, practically throwing the garment into his uncle’s lap. “Hey! Hey! Hey! Can’t you let me enjoy ONE smoke before throwin’ your dirty work in my lap? Literally!” He griped through an exhale of acrid smoke, but Eddie didn’t seem to acknowledge the complaint.

Wayne took a long deep drag from his cigarette before extinguishing the small remainder in the green glass ashtray before him. “Y’know, you should really learn to do this yourself, sometime. Your old uncle’s not gonna be around forever to keep patchin’ up all your shit. Now, where d’you want ‘em?” As usual with his nephew, he padded his already gently delivered criticisms.

Eddie picked up the first patch; a simple black and white circle with Black Sabbath’s logo and the year 1986 carefully stitched onto its surface. “You can put this little beauty…here! Right over my heart.” Eddie simpered, jokingly holding his clasped hands to his chest. Wayne rolled his eyes and held out a hand. “Thread.” He ordered simply, like a surgeon demanding his next tool. Eddie placed a spool of black thread and a pack of needles in his uncle’s hand and watched his every move with great interest.

He’d seen his uncle do this countless times over the years, and yet it always intrigued him. From patching his secondhand clothes as a rambunctious child, to sewing patches onto his battle vest as a young adult, watching Wayne’s thick, calloused fingers deftly thread the tricky needle on his first try, and effortlessly maneuver the fragile instrument, melding the two fabrics together was never rendered boring.

With seemingly mechanized precision, he finished stitching the first patch into place and held the vest up for judgement, though Eddie never critiqued his uncle’s handiwork. He simply offered a thumbs up and grabbed the next one. A tricky patch to sew for sure, this one featured a red electric guitar, and some obscure music business’ logo. He’d only bought it due to the striking similarity to his own beloved instrument. Wayne widened his eyes and nodded a few times, examining the die-cut shape. “Welp, I never turn down a challenge. Red.” “Righto!” Eddie swapped the black spool in his uncle’s hand for a bright red one, with lightning-fast readiness. Before Wayne could even ask, Eddie pointed to a perfectly sized gap between a trio of patches next to one of the vest’s pockets.

Eddie sat on the edge of the coffee table, opposite of Wayne, unknowingly leaning in closer every few seconds, enraptured once again, not only by his uncle’s skill, but also somehow moved by the amount of slowed, gentle care he took to adhere the oddly shaped patch just-so. “Hey, tables are for glasses, not asses, ‘siddown!” The older of the two criticized, breaking his concentration long enough to notice Eddie hovering over him. The young man chuckled and swiveled off of the table and landed back on the couch, jostling Wayne’s steady hands. He paused long enough to stare at his nephew with sternly pursed lips. “Sorry.” Eddie surrendered, holding his hands up as he backed off. — He couldn’t really remember a time where uncle Wayne was TRULY cross with him. He never really yelled, and he certainly never hit him, nor did he have to. He’d just sit back and give that knowing glance of warning, and Eddie’d shape up in an instant.

Eddie glanced up at the clock above the tiny kitchen table, it was nearing three o’clock in the morning. He then glanced back at his uncle; over half a day spent at a tough and thankless job, only to be burdened with a frivolous and time-consuming task almost as soon as he walked through the door…and every time it occurred, he endeavored without complaint. Truth be told, Wayne liked these moments.

He’d never married, never had kids, and until Eddie became a somewhat permanent fixture in his humble home, his days were dull and predictable: Shower, coffee, pack a quick lunch, work, dinner, maybe a beer and a little TV, sleep. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. — These days, that schedule was now peppered through with ‘Eddie-isms.’ The cramped trailer was full of music (even if he didn’t always like what was playing), laughter, bookish talks about fantastical concepts beyond his comprehension, and the earliest of early mornings, sewing patches onto the wannabe rockstar’s so-called ‘battle vest.’ And he quietly adored every second.

“Okayyy, I think we’re golden.” Wayne grumbled, adjusting his hunched back, again, Eddie eyed the work with impressed gratitude. “Just one more, you said?” He asked, cracking his knuckles, wanting to keep the efficient momentum going. “Yeah…” Eddie paused and bit his lip a little, his usual over-the-top demeanor noticeably squashed. “Somethin’ wrong, darlin’?” Wayne asked. Sensing a conversation break coming, he pushed the vest aside to light another cigarette.

Eddie held out the third patch, refusing to make eye contact with his uncle, as if ashamed of something. Wayne took it and held it up to the dim table side lamp; it was a small rectangle rainbow. He squinted at it a bit and looked at Eddie, hoping for some elaboration. “What’s uh—“ “It���s a flag. I uh…I actually learned about it, from a friend, you-you remember Robin, right?” Eddie fidgeted with his fingers, Wayne nodded, giving his full attention to the clearly uncomfortable conversation. “It’s…it’s a symbol I guess, for people like…people like Robin and me…y’know…’freaks’, i-in ‘that’ way.” Eddie’s cheeks burned hot under the self-inflicted pressure, waiting for a response. A reaction. Anything.

Uncle Wayne sat the patch on the coffee table and reached over to Eddie, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Huh. Welp, I didn’t know there was a whole symbol for that sorta thing, but…it sounds like you’re findin’ your people, you’ve grown up a lot since you wound up on my doorstep…And you’re not a freak Ed…or your friend, neither. Not everybody understands it, God knows your sorry folks didn’t, but y’know you ain’t the first person ‘like that,’ you ain’t gonna be the last.” His gruff voice managed to exude some form of comforting encouragement. On reflex, Eddie looked up to meet his gaze, softly placing a hand on his. His uncle’s hand was hard, even under his ever-so-slightly calloused fingers. But the hardness from leisurely activities like playing guitar didn’t really compare to the stout hardness of hands accustomed to decades of labor. And yet it was the warmest, most gentle hand he’d ever felt. “Shit, that’s cold.” Wayne remarked, Eddie pulled his hand away sharply. “All them rings, best not be hangin’ around any large magnets, or you can kiss your rockstar future goodbye!” He chuckled, smiling as he garnered a smile from Eddie. Uncle Wayne was always good at finding ways to bounce back during hard times. Making people feel better.

“Hey.” Wayne raised Eddie’s chin to meet his gaze, studying his large dark eyes, still rather childlike in their appearance of constant bewilderment. “Don’t let this world change you, you understand me, boy?” He asked. Eddie nodded as best he could with his uncle’s hand under his chin. Wayne pulled the hand back and patted Eddie’s cheek. “Good.” He muttered to himself, sitting his wasting cigarette against the edge of the ashtray.

Eddie watched as he sauntered to the opposite side of the room, examining his impressively stocked hat rack as if he were eyeing a mesmerizing painting in a fine museum. Scanning the rack, he nodded to himself as he procured a dull gray baseball cap with a slightly tattered brim. “This’n looks like it could use a lil’ ‘pop,’ don’tcha think?” He asked, tossing the cap to his nephew. Eddie examined it confusedly. “If you don’t mind, I think I’d like to have this one.” Eddie’s wide-eyed stare clearly revealed that he was processing his uncle’s outlandish request with some difficulty. “You…you uh—“ Wayne nodded. “Yep. For one of my lucky hats. It’s the only one without somethin’ special on it, y’know? It needs a little life. And you’re good at that, breathin’ life into things that’re boring. Makin’ the plain stuff that’s just there a little interesting.” Eddie rubbed the back of his head, trying to distract himself from the flurry of emotions uncomfortably pulsing through him. “Yeah. Yeah, sure, whatever you want.” He stammered.

Wayne gently lowered himself back onto the couch and picked up what was left of his smoldering cigarette, inhaling without missing a beat. True to his word, he sat the old hat in his lap, and held the patch, pinning it to the gray surface, front and center. Edie resumed his quiet duty as well, holding out a spool of gray thread; it wasn’t a perfect match, but it was at least ‘gray.’ “Here.” Wayne said flatly, handing the items over to a rather befuddled looking Eddie.

“I said you need to learn this, and today you’re gonna learn. Sewing’s a life skill, and seein’ as you’re…unlikely to ever have a wife to help you out, I’m gonna teach you. And you picked a good shape to start with, rectangle’s easy. No tricky ins-and-outs or funny shapes. I even pinned it down for you, can’t get easier than that!” Wayne chortled, carefully guiding Eddie through threading the needle. He didn’t quite get it on the first try…or the second, but some people need more tries to get things right…’Kind of like you and high school!’ Wayne joked.

In comfortable silence, Wayne watched his nephew slowly and painstakingly stitch (with an interesting variety of size and distance in his stitches) the rainbow flag to the front of his cap. “And I thinnnnnk, it’s done!” Eddie finished, holding up the cap excitedly, grimacing slightly once he realized it was noticeably more crooked than it was when his uncle had pinned it in place for him, but clearly, he didn’t mind in the slightest. “Looks good, kid. Damn good.” He praised, flopping the hat over onto his balding head. Eddie smiled and stifled a yawn.

Wayne glanced at his watch, it was fast approaching half-past three. “Damn, that the time? I think we best be gettin’ off to bed.” He suggested, smudging out his cigarette. Eddie swiped the sewing supplies off of the edge of the table and into their box, placing the battered, tape-laden lid on top. He traded with Wayne, who handed him his finished vest; Eddie folded it with care and prepared to head off to bed.

“Hey.” Wayne’s tone was warm and comforting, he gently guided Eddie back in his direction and pulled him into a hug. Eddie rested his head comfortably on Wayne’s shoulder, breathing in the scents of sweat and earth on his flannel shirt, and reveling in the comforting touch of Wayne’s hand gently running through his long, dark curls. “You know I love you, kid.” He said softly. “You too.” Eddie replied, patting Wayne’s back. The older man playfully shoved him off. “Now get your ass to bed, I don’t care that it’s three thirty, I don’t wanna walk into you sleepin’ till noon tomorrow!” Wayne smirked, returning the sewing box to the closet. “Yeah, yeah.” Eddie whispered, walking backwards to his bedroom, and disappearing with a gentle close of the door.

Leaning back against the thin wooden panel, Eddie held the vest close, feeling the love and care his uncle had put into stitching every last patch onto the fading denim surface over the past few years. It was his signature article of clothing, but a bit of a secret security blanket as well; Wayne was with him wherever he wore it, and it was quiet, unexpected encounters like this that made him all the more thankful for the first member of the slowly growing family of people who loved and accepted all of him.

[marlahey]

under the same roof part one: a stickler for the rules

a harry styles rpf ratings/warnings: references to stalking behaviour by a peripheral character, too many longing looks in a space too small to contain them, she’s clueless sometimes but we love her notes: surprise surprise! it’s good to be back my friends. as far as OG openings go, part one of utsr probably underwent the least amount of rewrites. the most notable change is sylvia’s age: she’s four-ish, going on five. just makes our lives a little easier in terms of continuity and logic! (please visit the masterlist to find all our other writing because I forgot tumblr is a BITCH and hates external links now. ugh.)  utsr masterlist | part 2 (7.12.2020) 

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• tuesday, 1st february 7:48 pm • In spite of the biting chill outside, it’s about a million degrees in this lobby. You wonder if the heater is broken and if it’s always going to be like this here. The hair escaping your ponytail is pressed flat against the back of your neck, and you’re struggling to balance the crate between your chin and the massive box in your arms.

One of the corners is digging into your gut so you raise a knee to adjust it, but the box slips in your grip and you barely manage to hang on. There’s a faint meow from Chowder’s crate. The doors to the elevator whirr open with a ding and you shuffle inside. “Which floor is it again?” India grunts. The box that she’s carrying is lighter but larger—more cumbersome. It obscures half of her face and the way she’s leaning over can’t be any good for her back. “Eight,” you reply, strained. India stretches an arm out to the keypad, struggling to reach the right number. She misses. “Yeah,” you deadpan, “so press four twice.” The sound of a quiet, stifled chuckle turns your head to the back corner of the elevator. A young man leans against the hardwood of the elevator wall with his hands clasped in front of him. He is tall and lean; silver and gold rings adorn his fingers. His hair is wavy and cocoa brown, as though he used to have a businessman’s haircut but has let it grow out. He’s wearing grey tartan tweed pants and black ward lo Vans. Tattoos poke out of the sleeves of his sweater. It’s an arguably strange ensemble, but he pulls it off well. The man pushes his tortoiseshell glasses up his nose with a thumb, gaze trained on the floor. His lips are still pressed together against a smile that flirts with the corners of his mouth. Only then do you realize you’d been staring. You tear your eyes away as heat nips your cheeks and ears. In your tattered converse, mom jeans, and grubby moving flannel, you feel suddenly small. Chowder moews plaintively, like he needs to remind you of his current status in, on, and surrounded by boxes. “Is it just me,” India murmurs to you as the doors ding open on the second floor, “or did that take… is the lift broken?” “It’s the slowest bloody thing,” the man interjects, like it’s the bane of his existence. “You get used to it.” The elevator jolts to a stop on the fourth floor and the doors peel open in silence. Nobody moves. “Sorry, ” India murmurs. The man just shakes his head. The back of the door to the elevator is a mirror so you’re able to privately relish in the invisible threads of your curiosity that reach out to him. “S’ fine, ” he replies softly. By the time you’ve reached the sixth floor, you’re still peering at the man periodically from beneath your eyelashes. He looks up and holds your stare in the reflection of the doors moments before they part, and a ding sounds again through the small space. He smiles at you, poised, before pushing off the wall and stepping carefully between you and India to the hallway. The doors close once again and you are alone with your friend. She drops her box a few inches and bugs her eyes out at you from over the cardboard lid. “Dibs.” You step forward, laughing, and bump your box into hers. Finally, you reach level eight, pile the last two of your boxes by the front door, collapse on the mattress on your bedroom floor still covered in clear plastic packaging, and order pad thai. • friday, 30th march 7:23 am •

“Hold the elevator!” you call mid-jog, and immediately wince. You need to be better about calling it a lift. You make it through the doors of the lift before they close halfway, but not before noticing an arm outstretched to hold them open for you nonetheless. A cross tattoo and the bottom of an anchor poke out from the sleeve of his suit. It’s black velvet that has a navy lustor in the light. You’re in the same company now as virtually every other morning since you’d moved here—the man with the glasses who noticed you on that first day. You’re pretty sure his name is Harry, unless he’s pinning someone else’s name to his chest every day on a badge beneath red emboldened letters reading, The National Gallery, London. It’s surprising to see him as you get on, however, because he lives below you on the sixth floor. Perhaps he’d forgotten something today and needed to go back up… if this were the case, you’re glad to have caught him by chance. Every so often the cast of characters rotates. Sometimes a stout older man with an emerald green briefcase and a mustache rides down with you on weekdays. A slender woman who is almost always on her headset, hovering by the button pad occasionally makes an appearance. They both live above you. Most mornings, however, are like today. It’s just you and Harry together, without fail, if only for those few measured moments of quiet at sunrise. Perhaps you two are on the same tube schedule. For someone you see so often, you know remarkably little about Harry apart from the observable; he’s not one for small talk, has poor eyesight, and boasts impeccable taste in suits. It occurs to you that you still haven’t had a full conversation with him. You absently wonder if he’s single. You’ve even made progress from polite nods of acknowledgment to a consistent “Good morning,” from him and a nearly unflustered, “Morning,” from you (though realistically speaking, a smile before you’ve had your first cup of coffee is only manageable because India would disown you if she knew that you weren’t taking every opportunity to talk to this stupidly handsome stranger). “Thanks,” you murmur, stepping through the doors Harry’s held open for you. “Sure.” The ride down passes in silence. You can’t work up the nerve to speak until the doors part and Harry gestures for you to exit first, and by then it’s too late. You offer a faint parting smile. But, you reason, there’s always tomorrow. • sunday, 8th april 2:42 pm • The lift stops on the sixth floor in its descent as you look up from your phone. Harry’s voice is audible from the hall as the doors open and it startles you because he’s usually alone. You take a sip of your iced coffee as Harry steps inside, wearing a black knit sweater with pink and orange planets across the front, black jeans, worn leather boots, and wayfarers. In one of his hands, he carries an umbrella and rolled-up reusable grocery bag. In the other—most surprisingly—he holds the tiny hand of a little girl. She’s wearing frog rain boots, rainbow leggings, and a t-shirt that proclaims the future is female. Her dense curls are a shade darker than Harry’s, her eyes are closer to brown than hazel, and her skin is a warmer golden hue—but her smile presses a dimple into her cheek, identical to the one you’ve been staring at for months. He has a kid? Harry pulls her gently inside and she seems disappointed that the button for the ground floor is already lit. “This one pumpkin,” he whispers, pointing at the close doors symbol just beneath. She presses it with a firm clack and beams when the familiar mirrors slide across. “Daddy, can we please, please get bananas?” You almost choke on your cold brew. He has a kid. Is there a ring? Do you see a ring? You’d never noticed him in a wedding band before and he certainly isn’t wearing one now. “Shh, we won’t forget bananas… I wrote it down, remember?” With his free hand, Harry fishes out a folded piece of Hello Kitty paper from his back pocket and holds out her, more than happy to let his child snatch it from him. “Daddy, look at the pretty star!” You almost choke on your coffee again as Harry’s gaze follows his daughter’s waving hand, still gripping the pink, polka-dot paper with cat ears, all the way to the golden star dangling from your neck. “Yes, it’s very nice,” Harry nods down at her, agreeing in a voice that could only be used with a child. “Don’t point, angel… s’not very polite.” He smiles at you, almost apologetic, and gently wraps his hand around hers to lower her outstretched arm. “You have a million stars at home.” The lift stops on the ground floor. You gesture for Harry to exit first, a courtesy he always seems to extend to you, and you melt into a smile as he lifts one corner of his mouth in timid gratitude. He hesitates in the doorway on his way out. “Say goodbye, Sylvia,” he says. He has a dad voice. It makes your stomach flip. Sylvia flashes you those sparkling brown eyes once more and waves, suddenly shy. You wiggle your fingers and she buries her face into her father’s leg. “We’re workin’ on it,” Harry says, like it needs an explanation of some kind. He keeps his tender smile when he glances at you over his shoulder before he and Sylvia disappear out the lobby doors and into the rain, hand in hand. • thursday, 7th june 8:24 am • You’re pinning an earring in as you step into the lift. It stops on the sixth floor and then it’s silent as usual between you, Harry, and the mustached emerald briefcase man. You still haven’t had a complete conversation with either of them, but you hardly mind. It’s gratifying to have a few moments of peace before the triathlon that is your final exams, the gym, then straight into your evening shifts at work. Even though you’re looking forward to drinks tonight with India to celebrate the end of term, you’re weary and your body is stiff. Another sleepless night had come and gone and you’d struggled to cover the bags beneath your eyes with makeup this morning. You frown in your recollection of the nightmare, the same icy stare tormenting you. There is an older man with nearly translucent blue eyes, who you see so often around London that you’re beginning to wonder if he’s a figment of your imagination. Yesterday you’d caught a glimpse of him in the reflection of a shop window on your daily walk home from the tube station. He was staring straight at you, but when you’d spun around to look closer, he had vanished. It had unnerved you so much that you hurried straight home without stopping at the shops for kitty litter. London is a crammed metropolis; at this point it’s likely nothing, but that doesn’t stop you from losing sleep over it. “My daughter has that book,” the man with the emerald briefcase says, pulling you back to earth. You let go of your now fastened earring and hold up the book that was pinned under your arm so that the cover is on display. The Truth About Forever by Sarah Dessen. “This one?” The man hums, continuing, "I’m ashamed to say I don’t even know what it’s about.” “It’s sweet.” Harry’s eyes flash to the book and then your face as you speak. You flip it over and consider the blurb on the back. “A girl sort of accidentally starts working for this catering company one summer while she’s dealing with the loss of her dad.” The stout man brushes over his mustache with his thumb and index finger. “I never knew you were American!” “Oh, yeah,” you laugh softly through a shrug. Harry looks down to the floor and you catch the last second of his smile. “I am.” “What brings you to London then?” asks the older man. “I’m a student at UCL.” “Impressive. What do you study?” “I’m a third year in Law... um, I have a minor in Art History, though.” You peer over at Harry through the reflection of the doors, but he simply pushes his glasses up his nose. You’re startled by the lift’s ding at the ground floor. “Cheers.” The old man nods at you before exiting. “Cheers,” Harry adds like a reflex, stealing a side glance at you before brushing past into the lobby. You could have sworn you’d seen the dimple forming on his cheek to mask a smile. • thursday, 27th september 8:51 pm • You knead the back of your neck with your fingertips and frown toward the ground as you wait for the lift. You don’t usually get home this late but your research advisor needed you to come in a little earlier to your shift this afternoon, and you hadn’t been able to get in a workout until an hour ago. What’s more, readjusting to London’s time zone after spending the month of August back home is taking a toll on your sleep. You sigh and try to relax your shoulders. The first term in your final year at university seems determined to bury you early. You press the auto-lock button on the set of car keys India had loaned you, then once more for good measure. You managed to finagle a guest spot in the garage beneath the building, though it’s your first time using it. It’s eerie and poorly lit down here; you tread lightly into the lift. You’d seen him again today—the blue-eyed man—and by this point it had just been… too often. You had convinced India to let you borrow her car to pick up some archives for your advisor in Ilford forty-five minutes out of your way. It was the first time you’d been to that part of London, and you were still getting used to driving on the other side of the road, so you were already on edge. You remember crossing the street over to a small brook beside the road and when you glanced over your shoulder, he was there in your wake, watching you. It was the middle of the day but you were alone, so you faked a phone call and took an indirect route to the Ilford Historical Society. It was enough to solidify your suspicions that something more serious is happening. On the drive home, you had mentally worked out a time in your schedule to visit the police department and file a report. The lift stops in the lobby on your way up, and your worries from the day promptly evaporate. You smile at your feet as Harry creeps inside the tiny corridor with a very measured, and even gate. Sylvia is passed out, her arms draped loosely around his neck. He’s in a charcoal grey tuxedo tonight and his usual glasses are switched out for contacts. You reach out to press the sixth-floor button, and Harry thanks you with the beginning of a smile. The two of you are stood at the back of the lift together, shoulder to shoulder facing the mirror, so it’s easy to indulge in your gaze toward the small child in his arms. You don’t try to hide the fact that you’re staring the way you might have a few months ago. Even in sleep, Sylvia’s tiny hand clings to the fabric of Harry’s collar. She nuzzles into his neck when the lift jolts upward. Her cheeks are rosy, and she wears a pyjama set covered in primary-colored dinosaurs. Her dark bob of curls—which have grown longer since you’d seen them last—are spread out across his shoulder, and her bloated toddler belly rises and falls against his chest. You smile absently at the short trail of memories you have of Sylvia, but your reverie is interrupted when you notice that Harry is looking directly into your eyes. It makes you do a double take. Could you have imagined it? Is that a blush? Had you embarrassed him? You’re still staring at each other in the reflection when the lift reaches the sixth floor. Your eyes dart to the floor, and you only allow yourself to look up once Harry is stepping out into the hall, well in front of you. He pauses in the doorway to turn around. “Goodnight,” he whispers. “Night.” You hesitate before adding, “Goodnight, Sylvia.” Harry’s smile only grows wider, as though the two of you had shared some fond inside joke. Something catches your eye when you arrive at your floor. You crouch down and pick up a plush kangaroo toy in the corner, flipping it over in your hands. It’s ratty, and has been washed so many times that the pink cotton on its ears is beading. One of the miniature black buttons for its eyes dangles loose, and the synthetic fur is matted. What was once chestnut has faded into a dull, tawny copper. “S.S.,” you read curiously. The initials are stitched in red to the bottom of the kangaroo’s long feet. The sound of the doors closing catches you off guard. You jump to your feet, tucking the small stuffed animal into your purse as you hurry down the hall and fish around in your bag for your keys. • saturday, 6th october 2:31 pm • You step into the lift, fasten in your earbuds, and tap the button on the keypad for the eighth floor. Today marks your third trip to the Ilford Historical Society this week. Soon you’re going to need to ask your advisor for reimbursement to fill India’s tank, but on the bright side you hadn’t seen the man with blue eyes since the first time you’d made the trip…You just hope that this means he’s retreating and not that he’s getting stealthier. You gnaw on the inside of your cheek and increase the volume of your classical playlist by a few notches. A flash of purple, white, and green bolts into the lift as the doors part at the lobby. Sylvia is in a Buzz Lightyear costume today. Harry’s tattooed arm swings through the half-open doors immediately behind her, going for the jet pack wings, but she squeals and escapes his hold. You watch the scene play out like a Tom and Jerry skit with La Traviata in the background as Sylvia darts around the corners of the lift and her father fails to corral her. Harry lunges for her, misses, lunges, misses again, then catches her by the elbow as she screams in laughter, squirming out of his grip. You silently pause your music and press the button for the sixth floor as Harry spreads his feet apart, catching Sylvia in his arms like a goalie as she tries to bowl through the closing doors. It’s fortunate that nobody else is trying to get in. She kicks her legs before adopting that pose children do when they don’t want to be held, and makes a rigid plank with her body. Hair disheveled and glasses sliding down his nose, Harry lurches for the keypad with his daughter wedged under his arm a few seconds after the doors close. “Oh.” He stops in his tracks once he sees the button for his floor is already illuminated. “Thanks.” You flash a quick smile. Harry sets Sylvia down breathlessly and she finds a hiding place behind him, her little arms wrapped around one of his knees. He leans against the back wall of the lift, the smallest backpack you’ve ever seen swinging from one hand with the initials, S.S. reappearing stitched onto one of the straps. You swallow and tug your earbuds out by their chord before slowly crouching down to eye-level with Sylvia. For a moment you look up at Harry because you feel the instinct to ask for permission for some reason, certain your expression is more serious than necessary. He’s frowning but he’s also smiling at you as though to gauge your next move—so are you, to some degree. You shift your eyes back to Sylvia, and reach cautiously into your purse. Sylvia’s eyes widen at the sight of the small kangaroo you retrieve from your bag, her mouth gaping in a tiny, square-toothed grin. It might just as well be Harry beaming at you himself with such a striking resemblance. Both of the kangaroo’s black button eyes are fastened tightly in place now. You make your voice light and ask, “Is this yours?” The sound of a zipper comes from above your head; you glance up to catch Harry pulling another kangaroo out of the backpack. How many kangaroos does she have? He passes the stuffed animal to Sylvia and you see now that it’s quite a bit larger than the one you’d found last week. It’s also different from yours because it has a long white stripe along its front with a wide, empty pouch halfway down its belly. Oh… perhaps it’s just the two. She cautiously approaches you with the larger toy in tow, until you’re close enough to snuggle the joey back into its mother’s pouch. She stumbles backward into Harry’s legs. You sigh in relief before rising to your feet. “Sylvia, can you say thank you?” Harry folds his arms behind his back and leans over to whisper against the top of his daughter’s head, but loud enough for you to hear. Her curls bounce as she bobbles her head in a bashful nod, wrapping an arm around dad’s leg again. “Thank you.” This child, you have to admit, is devastatingly cute. “We tore the flat apart looking for him this weekend,” Harry intones, shaking his head. “Where did you find him?” “In here,” you reply. He makes a noise, like the possibility had only just occurred to him. “Thank you.” “It was the least I could do.” You lean back against the wall opposite them as the lift reaches the sixth floor with a ding and you wave to the two of them on their way out. “Cheers.” Harry nods to you. “Say goodbye, Sylvia.” She gives you a small wave. Harry gently nudges her forward into the hallway with his foot. There is an interim of about ten seconds of quiet before Sylvia is hurtling back into the lift, making a beeline to you, and wrapping her arms around your legs. She beams up at you for the second time with a smile cut-and-pasted from her father. Bubbling laughter overcomes her, and you uncross your legs, unable to help yourself from joining in her smile. “Hello again!” you say, before it occurs to you that you probably shouldn’t be encouraging this behavior. “Vi,” Harry calls from outside the lift. She just giggles and buries her face into your knee. He appears in the quickly closing doorway, one hand keeping it open as he narrows his eyes. There’s something playful in it though, a practiced pretend serious. Your gazes catch and Harry winks, putting a finger to his lips. “Uh oh,” he says, “I think I hear a tickle monster!” Sylvia shrieks, but she’s not faster than her father, who’s crouched low to catch her by the sides, merciless fingers at work until the child instinctively releases you. She laughs and laughs and laughs as he scoops her up into his arms. “So sorry.” Harry’s apology is much less flustered than you would have expected. Sylvia wiggles in his grip, cracking up, euphorically naughty. You simply let out a breathy laugh as they finally both make it out of the lift together. Down the hall, you hear Sylvia’s giggle melt into a screech against gravity; you lean over to catch a glimpse of Harry flipping her upside down on his chest with her belly out, legs flailing back and forward over his shoulder. “Oh, you’re bad. You’re bad.” He does not show his daughter the mercy of waiting until they’re in the privacy of their apartment before the second round of tickling begins. “You’re gonna get Daddy in trouble.” • monday, 8th october 8:23 am • Riding in the lift alone is nice because you don’t have a full-length mirror in your apartment. You brush the cat hair off of the front of your sweater and fix one of the sleeves that had bunched up beneath all your layers. The yarn is a warm, autumnal bay that compliments your thick scarf and the gold buttons of your roomy black overcoat. You hear a ding and your eyes flash up to the floor indicator above the entrance. You almost lose your balance jumping back from your reflection when you see the illuminated number six. The doors separate and Harry steps in beside you, closer than usual. Today he’s in a forest green, double-breasted jumpsuit with faint pinstripes, and you can’t help but find it fitting that he works in an art museum. “Morning,” he murmurs. “Good morning.” You feel something tense pinned to the air between you two. “Did you fix Jojo’s eyes?” Harry asks after a beat, almost accusatory. Your eyes narrow at his reflection in the doors. It takes you a minute to summon to mind what he’s referring to. “Jojo?” He flushes a little, just enough to warm the tips of his ears. “The um—” Harry clears his throat, shaking his head. “He’s… the baby kangaroo.” If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was embarrassed. But as you’ve come to learn, Harry just loves his daughter immensely. “It was nothing,” you reply evenly. Harry lets out a light, almost defensive scoff. “You didn’t have to do that, you know.” “I know.” Part of you wonders if he’s the type to make a fuss over what you’d consider an innocuous gesture. You could see how an unsolicited favor from a stranger might come off as undermining to a young, single parent, come to think of it. The thought that you’d been the cause of Harry’s ire—or even his mild annoyance—makes your chest feel tight. The lift stops on the second floor. A group of three enters in staccato laughter, pulling your attention forward. Harry’s eyes meet yours in the reflection of the doors—just two seconds that maybe you could pretend were an accident—before you both glance away as though you’d been caught. The group leaves ahead of you into the lobby. “I just wanted to do a nice thing, you know. For her.” You’d been staring resolutely ahead in your admission, but dare yourself to glance sideways and look directly at Harry. “And for you, honestly.” You brush past Harry into the lobby without waiting for his usual beckoning you to go ahead, but sense him turn toward you at the last second. You do not look back. • wednesday, 7th november 8:23 am • “Ouch, shit―” You jerk your hand from your pocket, staring in disbelief at the tiny pinprick of blood welled on the tip of your pinky. Returning your hand carefully into your coat, you pull out the red paper flower just as the lift doors ding on the sixth floor and Harry walks in. Sucking on your finger is helping your wound, but consequently draws his smiling, vaguely concerned eyes. “Alright?” he asks. You nod with a little hapless shrug, holding up the offending fake petals with a black button center and protruding silver pin out the back. “Forgot I had this.” It’s only a slightly embarrassing admission. Commonwealth countries mark the day of the Armistice, November eleventh, in a particular, unfamiliar way; India had explained the Poppy Appeal briefly to you last week when the pins had begun to appear all over the city, and you finally had a spare pound coin for the volunteer offering you one yesterday after class. You have a scant three seconds to look at the poppy pinned smartly to the left lapel of Harry’s trench coat before he turns to face forward, but in looking down at the one in your hand, you realize you have no idea how he’s done it. Surely it can’t be that difficult? You frown down at your own jacket. A tentative stab of the pin into the fabric is met with an audible chuckle from the other side of the lift. You flush; Harry’s smiling gently with one corner of his mouth. You try a second time, going at it from a different angle. “You have no idea what you’re doing, do you?” You haven’t had enough coffee yet to justify how warm you’re getting. You shake your head, accepting defeat. “Best let me help you before you hurt yourself again.” Despite his offer, he makes no move to take the poppy until you sheepishly hold it out to him. Neither the mustached, emerald briefcase man nor the headset lady have appeared today, but the space of the lift seems remarkably smaller when Harry gently takes the flower and shuffles forward to get a grip on your coat. An impressive array of rings on each of his hands catches the light. You have no idea what to do besides stand ramrod straight. “Trick is to put the pin through twice so you’re not poking yourself on it all the time,” he explains, his eyebrows pulling together in focus. You watch his chest move as he breathes; the scent of Harry’s cologne wraps around you like an invisible shroud. It occurs to you that this is the longest interaction you’ve had since he noticed your careful restoration of Sylvia’s tiny treasured kangaroo. You wonder how long she’s had the pair of them. You also wonder if Jojo’s eye had been falling loose for a reason―if perhaps Sylvia preferred him a little rough around the edges, and it leads you again down a strange rabbit hole of is Harry upset that you did that? “I hope it’s okay that I fixed Jojo’s eye,” you venture. Harry pauses a moment, then laughs once, which draws you inadvertently closer together. “You’re funny. Which you shouldn’t be when I’m holding something sharp.” You almost stop breathing altogether. “Course it’s okay,” Harry continues without looking up. His nose is now scrunched as he pinches the tough wool. “She loves that thing, and I’m shit with sewing.” His eyes finally flick up to yours, a self-deprecating tilt to his mouth, and you smile tentatively. “Glad I could help.” With that, you’re quiet until he’s done and his concentrated frown relaxes into satisfaction. You watch Harry consider his handiwork, tracing the side of a petal with one of his fingers. “That should do it,” he says, stepping back. Your eyes meet again. You’ve reached the ground floor, but the doors simply sit open. “Looks nice.” He’s talking about the poppy. Your cheeks warm anyway. “Thank you.” Harry smiles slowly, as though he’s trying to pace the expression. “That’s alright.” He turns and ushers you out of the lift. “Have a good day.” “Same to you.” The edges of your poppy flutter as you turn the corner out of the lobby. Don’t turn around. Don’t ruin the moment. Who are you kidding? A quick glance over your shoulder reveals Harry loitering outside the lift, watching you. He starts a little, lifting a hand like he’s going to wave and dragging it over his hair instead. Harry turns abruptly. You almost feel bad for catching him out. You’re too busy walking faster and failing to smother a stupid grin all the way to campus. • thursday, 20th december. 4:11 pm • You’re thankful that everyone else in the parking garage has ruddy cheeks and runny noses from the storm—nobody would be able to tell by looking at you that you’d been crying all afternoon. Just when you thought you’d never see those blue eyes ever again, you’d felt a hand brush against yours on the crowded tube just hours ago. You turned to see whose pinky was resting atop your knuckles as he clutched onto the pole directly above your hand. The fear was immediate and visceral; every follicle of hair above your shoulders prickled, your lips went cold, and you couldn’t get yourself to start breathing again before stumbling back into the chest of some other unsuspecting passenger. How long had he been standing there? You bolted out of the doors the first chance you got, a good seven stops from home. You didn’t think you were followed but of course you couldn’t be sure, so you ducked into a coffee shop instead of jumping straight onto the next train. You used up all your data to call your parents, hardly able to hold your cell phone steady with the sheen of sweat on your palms. The police had no record of such a man you described. He was middle-aged, taller than you could have imagined so close up, and had a deformity or some sort of scarring on his upper lip. You would have recognized him if you stumbled across his photograph, but you’d gone through every headshot on the books within a ten-kilometer radius of London at the police station. You’d lost sleep combing through the online database of sex offenders in your area without any luck. And since you didn’t have a name or a concrete instance of harassment, they could only add the encounter to the file you’d started in October. Once you’d managed to get a hold of India, she immediately came to rescue you from the coffee shop and dropped you off at home. You insisted she pull into the gated underground garage rather than letting you off by the front doors. With a hand on your shoulder, she offered to stay the night. You had declined. There were some days when you swore you were going crazy, but all it took was one last look into his eyes on the tube today for you to know in your gut that he was real, he was watching you, and you were right to be afraid. You hadn’t heard the ding of the lift but you notice when the people around you begin to huddle on. It’s a tight squeeze inside. You sigh when you see that nearly every floor up to ten is illuminated on the keypad. You sneak into a corner by the doors and try to distract yourself by focusing on the overwhelming smell of rain carried into the lift on everyone’s rubber boots. A faint buzzing noise thrums overhead, and the light seems dimmer than usual—one of the bulbs in here must need replacing. The lift comes to a stop at the lobby. Your eyes are on the carpet, but you recognize a familiar pair of black leather boots ambling through the doors. You look up to catch Harry shaking the rain out of his curls with one hand. He licks his lips and scans the lift briefly, only moving from the entrance once he sees you by the keypad. His eyes change, the corner of his lips quirking up. Harry parts a few people to stand in front of you, chest to chest, carrying a box of Legos almost as tall as you, covered in fire trucks and construction vehicles. They’re the bigger, softer type of plastic blocks that come in lighter shades made for toddlers. You didn’t even know they made sets with so many pieces. It doesn’t seem necessary. The thing could be a column. Harry rests the box on the floor against his hip and even more people pack inside behind him, so many that you have to give up your corner spot which was already tight, and sandwich yourself in between Harry and the wall. And why is the person standing directly behind Harry trying to leave a voicemail? The two of you share a small laugh, looking down at your feet and shifting to get comfortable as the lift vibrates into motion against your back. Ding. Level two. Someone to the rear of the lift needs to get to the entrance. In order to let them through, Harry actually has to press up against you and prop his hand on the wall behind your head to avoid crushing you completely. “Sorry,” he says, strained. “It’s fine.” Ding. Level three. The last thing you need is for your heart to race like this after the mess of a day you’ve endured. To make matters worse (or better), Harry is close enough for you to feel the heat radiating off his body. You’re struck by the most staggering urge to just… lean forward a few inches. It would be so nice to bury your face in his sweatshirt, to be engulfed in the embrace of his arms, and to let yourself cry about your afternoon until you feel empty and full at the same time. Ding. Level four. You choose a button on his open black overcoat to stare at, flustered and humiliated by your own sensitivity. If it were any other afternoon you’d be having a field day with this but you’re too much of a coward to look anywhere near his face in your state. A single drop of rain falls from the end of Harry’s chin and lands on your collar. Ding. Level five. Your eyes are dry and puffy, your breathing is still ragged, and you seriously consider holding your breath altogether until you reach the sixth floor. You’d known since the coffee shop that you were going to cry the moment you stepped foot into your apartment tonight, but you hadn’t considered the possibility that it might happen sooner than that. You shake your head. Ridiculous. You look up idly to find that Harry is watching you. His expression seems serious now, oddly focused. You tilt your chin up incrementally. Harry licks his lips. Is anyone looking? How is nobody looking? You take a small breath and Harry’s gaze flashes again to your lips. Your palm brushes the back of his hand, hidden by the toy box, and he tilts his wrist toward you, spreading his fingers just enough to fit the tips of yours between his knuckles. His hand is cool from the rain and yours is warm from the car. How is someone still leaving the same voicemail? There’s space enough now in the lift for him to give you a few inches of distance so why is Harry drawing closer to you? Why is he leaning in? Ding. “It’s you,” you blurt, and swallow before adding more quietly, “This is your floor.” A few people stuff their cellphones back into their pockets, making their way into the hall. Harry clears his throat and leans over to lift the toy box. Your hands fall apart but he reaches out to gently brush the side of your arm in goodbye—unable, it seems, to meet your eyes. You watch him as he turns on his heel to shuffle out behind someone else, carding a hand through his hair. You close your eyes and exhale without a sound. You only open them in time to catch him glancing over his shoulder at you before rounding the corner. Neither of you had smiled. When the lift reaches the eighth floor, you almost forget to step off. You lean on the back of your door and sigh once you’re in your apartment, dropping your keys to the hardwood with a clatter. Alone in the dark, after one of the single most distressing days of your life, you press two clammy palms to your face and laugh—giddy—like a fool. • tuesday, 1st january 2:33 am • You swing your leg inelegantly out of the cab. Your foot slips on the road’s thin polish of ice. The ankle strap of your stiletto comes undone at the clasp as you only just remember that you began taking them off in the back seat. You laugh at yourself, nearly dropping your half-empty bottle of Prosecco, hobbling to the sidewalk through the rain with one shoe in hand. “Thanks—thank you, goodnight!” You wave your shoe in the air as the cab speeds away after having left a fifty-percent tip—it’s half past two on New Year’s Eve for Christ sake—and turn toward your building. Have the doors to the lobby always been this heavy? Perhaps it isn’t the best idea to try and hop back into your shoe while shouldering through the doorway, because you bang your head against one of the large, protruding handles with a metallic thud. “Fuck.” It hurts a little but the jello shots and bottle of Sangiovese you’d guzzled with India earlier are helping. You squint up because the lobby is spinning, and spy the outline of a man facing away from you with his hands in his pockets. He looks over his shoulder as he waits for the lift, lackadaisical. It’s a familiar profile. The half of his face visible to you is in shadow apart from the crescent moon-shaped hollow of his dimple sinking in as he smiles. “Hi,” Harry drawls with a chuckle. You step into your shoe without bothering to fix the ankle strap and wobble over to the lift. All night you had glided so effortlessly in your four additional inches. Now, you feel as though you’re walking a tightrope in flippers. “Hello.” You enunciate too much in your efforts to sound sober. You and Harry look at each other and smile until you laugh, at absolutely nothing at all. There’s no sign of his specs tonight; his hair is sopping, and the shoulders of his burgundy suit are damp. Harry gives you a once over. “You alright?” He’s slurring a little. You bob your head in a nod. “M’good.” The lift dings and you both lurch forward to step between the doors before Harry stumbles backward and gestures for you to go first. You almost fall forward again in your shoes and have to grip the wall on the way in to steady yourself. These need to come off. Harry moves to his usual corner, leaning against the back wall with a hand on either railing and you do the same in the next corner over. You shimmy off your heels to hold them in one hand while balancing your half empty bottle of Prosecco against your hip with the other. The carpet is coarse beneath your bare feet. You take a gulp of wine and the curled silver ribbon around its neck tickles your chin. You and Harry glance sideways at each other at the exact same moment, both of your heads leaning against the back wall of the lift. You have to lean forward and cover your mouth with the hand holding your shoes so you don’t spit out your drink in laughter. It’s not even funny, really. How many times had you both accidentally caught the other staring over the past year in this very room Harry’s chuckle builds into a laugh and the echo of it reminds you of Sylvia the day she’d clung to your legs. You’ve noticed that Harry’s eyes crinkle like hers, too, if he finds something especially funny. The laughter melts and you stretch the arm holding the bottle out to Harry. He looks down at it, then back up at you before taking it gently from your grasp and helping himself to a swig. “You know wha’s not fair? I’ve—” he hiccups. “I’ve got to wear a badge t’work. With my name on it. And I see you everyday—” “Almost,” you correct automatically. “Almost everyday… so you probably know my name.” Harry’s eyes narrow. “Do you know my name?” You nod, a bit delayed. He passes the bottle back to you and you admire the intricate embroidery on the cuffs of his sleeves. “I’ve got a pretty good guess.” “What’s your name?” Harry asks after a beat, rolling his back off the wall to lean on his shoulder and face you. “Charles doesn’t know either.” You tilt your head, frowning a little. “Who’s that?” Harry rests his pointer finger on top of his upper lip. You grin slowly before answering his question. Harry echoes you with an equally slow smile, his voice italicizing the sound of your name. It sounds like he’s saying someone else’s name—a person you’ve never even met. He says it again, like he needs to introduce himself to each letter. Your heart is about the only part of your body able to move quickly. Harry smiles widely. It’s as though every other one he’s given you before had just been practicing for this moment. “Nice to meet you.” You wedge your shoes and Prosecco beneath one arm, taking a step forward with your free hand outstretched. Harry shuffles to meet you halfway in a handshake and the height difference between you feels staggering barefoot. You remember the feeling of his hand in yours when it was hidden by the Lego box. It would be so easy to just shift a little and clasp them together the way you had before. You can smell the memory of whiskey on his breath and see the flush of his cheeks close up. “You look like a disco ball.” You laugh and he releases you, like the sound had awoken his sense of propriety. His eyes take you in again, almost reflecting the shimmer of sequins scattered across the fabric of your dress before he looks back up at you. “Yeah,” you agree, tugging the hem an inch down your bare legs. “My best friend dragged me to some formal thing the other American students were trying to throw together. Really random.” Harry nods so you go on after a pause. “You’re handcuffed to someone and have to finish a bottle of wine, but India and I didn’t coordinate beforehand so we both brought one.” “Seems like fun.” “It certainly was.” You raise the Prosecco and it sloshes up against the neck of the bottle in tiny waves. “And you,” you raise your eyebrows, “look like a Turkish rug.” Harry grins, inclining his head as if that were the highest compliment. “Where’s Sylvia tonight?” His face is full of mock surprise. Harry pats the breast pocket of his jacket before running his hands over the front and back of his trousers. He looks over his shoulders, comically frantic, scanning each corner of the lift until you begin to laugh. Harry smiles wider, a little too pleased with himself. “She’s with her mum and her mum’s fiancé this week—so I guess her, um… soon-to-be other mum… They were having a little gathering at their new place tonight and we did the countdown a few hours early for her.” “How sweet.” Without a second thought, you inch closer and begin reaching for a stray piece of confetti in his hair. You can tell you’re drunk because you indulge a little in combing your fingertips through one of Harry’s curls, though it’s probably subtle enough for him not to notice. He goes very still. “Did—did you press the thing?” Harry stammers, his attention jerking to the keypad. “I didn’ press the thing.” “Oops,” you laugh, and catch a glimpse of yourself in the reflection of the doors as you turn to watch Harry hit the sixth and eighth floor buttons. Though the rain has offset India’s efforts to tame your hair, what surprises you more is the bright-eyed expression on your face. It’s out of character for you to feel this exhilarated over a simple drunken conversation. But something delightedly nervous hums beneath your skin all the same. “Why are you so wet?” you ask as Harry returns from the keypad. A tad closer, you note, than where he’d been standing before. You lean on your shoulder to face him and he slouches a little to meet your height. “Walked home,” Harry replies. Your jaw drops. “In the pouring rain?” “S’like ten minutes—really not bad.” Harry shrugs. “I didn’t mean to get so pissed tonight. My New Year’s resolution was to go a little easy on the booze.” He shakes his head in a chuckle. “I can’t really handle what I used to since the little one came along. M’not much of a drinker anymore.” The lift jumps as you reach the sixth floor and your arm flies out to balance yourself in the same moment that Harry offers both hands to catch you. You clutch his forearm and then immediately let go. “Sorry,” you murmur, taking one last look at him. “Well, goodnight Harry. Happy New Year’s.” The look he is giving you is peculiar—on the verge of resignation, but not quite letting go of all hope. As though the last sober part of him is leaning forward on its elbows, asking if you agree without telling you first what it wants. Harry cranes his neck around to look down the stretch of hallway, his head falling back against the wall with a gentle thump. “You know, New Year’s isn’t really over until you finish all the champagne,” he declares, and you laugh a little in surprise. “Prosecco.” He waves away the correction. “Fine, all the Prosecco.” “New Year’s isn’t over until you get every last piece of confetti out of your hair,” you challenge. Harry raises his eyebrows, looking back to you. If he doesn’t get off soon, the doors are going to close. “New Year’s isn’t over until your shoes come off in the lift,” he shoots back. You burst out in a laugh. “New Year’s isn’t over until you’ve broken your resolution two hours into January.” Harry rolls his eyes. He smirks a little and it’s annoyingly charming in the dim, golden glow of the lift’s broken light. He’s stalling. All at once, you’re acutely aware of the lingering smell of rain and the faint hum of the light fixture overhead. You swear you can hear the echo of that never-ending voicemail from the day you’d slotted your fingers into his like it was a secret, just an arm’s length away from where the two of you stand now. He had tried to kiss you once before and you had stopped him. But now, in this moment, with your heart in your throat, you desperately want him to try again. Harry starts to speak and you don’t wait for him to finish. “Well, New Year’s isn’t over—” “—until you kiss someone at midnight.” You’re hyper aware of your own breathing in the daunting silence that follows. The lift doors seal closed. Harry is close enough for you to see the flecks of hazel in his eyes like sea glass. He floats his hand up as though he’s going to cup your jaw, but traces the tip of his middle finger in a line up your cheek to push back your hair so lightly it tickles. His jaw flexes and just when you swear he isn’t going to, Harry leans in. It’s gradual, as though he’s waiting for you to change your mind, but your heads are tilting and then the tips of your noses brush. If you turn, even minutely, the corner of your mouth will meet his. You can feel your pulse thumping in the side of your neck. It dawns on you that you’re both simply waiting to see who is going to do it. “It’s not midnight,” Harry breathes. “Don’t tell me you’re a stickler for the rules.” The warmth and dew of his laugh grazes your cheek. With that, Harry brushes his mouth against yours. It feels painstakingly tender, like he’s never kissed anybody before. You’re so spellbound that you’re hardly even sure how to reciprocate something so soft. Harry’s bottom lip hovers over the very tip of your cupid’s bow just before he pulls away. Was that even a kiss? The very edges of your mouths had met, but only just. You still feel the tingle of where his lips had been moments ago. You open your eyes and Harry is a few inches away now, looking down at you. His hand is still ghosting the side of your face, like he’s afraid he might break you. When had your own hand slid flat against his chest beneath the lapel of his suit? “Is this a good idea?” you whisper, sliding your hand out to trace one of the round, fabric buttons with your fingertip. He swallows roughly. “Maybe not.” “Okay.” “Okay,” he yields. But neither of you move away. “Maybe this should just stay between us,” you suggest after a beat, heart sinking in your chest. “Well then if it’s just staying between us…” Before you have the chance to inhale, Harry presses his mouth against yours, harder, like he means it this time. His lips are warm and soft as they move with yours. You’re on your toes as one of his hands slides to the back of your neck, the other snaking around your waist to pull you into him. It still isn’t close enough. It’s surreal to be kissing him after a year. How much time had lapsed in total since you’d seen him that first day you moved in? How many mornings had been spent beside each other in silence? You’d spoken through side glances and subdued smiles from opposite corners of a crowded lift more than you ever truly had with words. But this… this feels like threads made up of every intimacy you’ve ever shared in this tiny room pulling you together at last. You pull apart just before the lift dings on the eighth floor. You’re both somewhat winded as you rest your foreheads together, and you release two unintended fistfuls of his jacket. Harry slides his hands down your bare arms to cup your elbows, his thumbs stroking circles in the soft crook of your forearm. “Have some water before you go to sleep.” “I will,” you chuckle. You’re unsure why either of you are speaking so softly, there’s no need. “Goodnight, Harry.” “Goodnight.” He says your name like a promise—like he’s determined to make up for all the days he didn’t get the chance to use it. You didn’t know it could sound like that. “Happy New Year’s.” You smile over your shoulder before padding barefoot into the hall as he reaches out to push the sixth-floor button for the second time. The last thing you’re able to see through the closing doors of the lift is Harry rubbing a thoughtful hand over his stubble, smiling down at his feet. (part two)

[ageofevermore]

Unsaid Emily

SUMMARY — and maybe it was the midnight ink on her wrist that tied her to him

WORD COUNT — 1.7k

───── ･ ｡ﾟ☆ﾟ: *. ☽ .* : ☆ﾟ. ─────

They had said goodbye to a child eight years before welcoming the second with shocked and scared hearts. They had promised to do things differently -- to like whatever she liked, watch whatever she watched, and love whatever she loved. They drew no boundary at personal belief when it came to this second child that shadowed the life of Luke, but they made no attempts to forgive and mend the empty spaces in their hearts where they had already done this. They had already gone through first steps, words, and heartbreaks. They had captured Luke’s seventeen years of life in their memory so perfectly watching hers felt faulty. They tried with everything they had to love her as they never loved Luke, but somehow that caused even more of a divide as everything was reminiscent of the deceased first born brunette. 

She had been away at school when his birthday rolled around; for the first time in her seventeen years of pitiful existence she didn’t blow out the candles on a stale chocolate cake. She spent the day away from stories of her brother, and instead  spent it knowing somewhere in the universe he wasn’t being smothered by Mitch and Emily’s persistent opinions. She couldn’t outrun home forever though. An amazing music program in Santa Monica pulled her away from LA for most weeks out of the year, but her mother was persistent that she abandon the dorms and visit home every so often. It was that fear of Luke again. He had instilled so many traumas that even trust with her was unruly and weak. 

She heard the doorbell ring as she was unpacking her pile of homework, the weekend away from school meaning nothing for the multiple classes she was taking weekly. Though the private boarding school was diverse in the makeup of their structured courses, she was still on a tightly wound schedule with instrumental practice and vocals along with mandatory academics like calculus. She hates calculus. She had only started around the corner because she heard the sound of her brother's name roll off of a stranger's tongue. The defined L sound was unmistakable, and partnered with the topic of music, the correlation was undeniable. 

“Yeah. That’s Luke, when he was two.” Mitch explained the picture between the girls grasp, eyes growing damp at the topic of his greatest failure as a parent. Luke was his perfect gift. 

“Do you have any other children?” The girl asked, gently setting the picture frame down and bringing her chocolate eyes up to Mitch’s. The gentleness of her expressions were weighing heavy on the hearts of a family that lived with the memory of Luke on their mind daily. Even with the retelling of his story the only fragment of his existence that she knew, hearing these words hurt.

“A daughter. Lily.” Mitch looked just behind the guest, eyes trailing over his daughter that shared the same midnight toned hair and hard blue eyes as his Luke once had. She stepped past the threshold connecting the foyer to the living room, ignoring the butterflies that spread through her stomach at a certain point across the hardwood. 

“I’m Lily.” She smiled tightly at the girl, hand extended in a polite greeting that was in no way authentic. Her heart was beating her ears, palms collecting sweat at the idea of knowing Luke from somebody else's perspective. 

“Julie.”  The two smiled at each other, both looking equally displaced despite this being Lily’s house, and having been Julie’s personal decision to come. Luke just had that effect on people. His memory made you hurt so deeply that anything other than crying felt wrong. 

“Did I hear the doorbell?” Emily asked, hand softly brushing against Lily’s back. Emily hadn’t even flinched when her child pulled away from the embrace, just accepted what had become routine since implementing the memory and the love of Luke. In remembering one child Mitch and Emily had completely pushed away the other. 

“Mom, this is Julie.” Lily introduced the two, her eyes wandering around the space that suddenly felt so full. She had stood in this same living room for seventeen years prior to the current evening and never had she got the sense of being complete. 

“Hello, Julie.” Emily smiled, looking over the girl standing in their living room with nothing more than a name to her purpose. “Oh, that’s a beautiful sweater.” 

She had never heard her mother speak so freely kindly towards others' clothing. She had woken the same morning, expecting the looks of judgement and unwarranted warnings that band-tees and vans had been the very wardrobe to have taken Luke’s life. 

When she had gotten Sunset Curve tattooed to the flesh of her wrist, binding her life to her brother's memory, they had gone mental. It had been tears of disappointment and pain at the foundation of an argument. They had come around eventually, but only off of the premise that they didn’t want to drive Lily away and watch her face death like Luke did. 

“Thanks. It’s my moms.” Julie looked down at her sweater, fingers softly brushing along the knitted material. By the solemn expression in her eyes, Lily knew that death had been upon her. Nobody bore such a heavy gleam without the persuading of trauma and grief. 

“Julie lives in the house where Luke and the band rehearsed. She was just telling me she found a song that Luke wrote.” Mitch looked down at Julie, all while Lily couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes on her. Looking around the room again, her heart jumped painfully in her chest at the orb of afterlife reflecting from the sun just behind Julie. As she stared into the rainbow colors of the orb, she couldn’t help but feel as though a set of eyes was sharing the encounter with her. 

Blinking away the delusion, Lily’s thumb traced the tattoo on her wrist, her eyes welling with tears. She might have rivaled a ghost all of her childhood, but she missed the soft and tender memories of her brother she didn’t have the heart to relearn. She could love him with everything she had, but never would see ask her parents about his short lived life. 

“It’s a song about a girl named Emily?” 

A tear fell from Lily’s eyes, while warm pools of grief framed the waterline of her blue optics, threatening to spill over at any second. She traced the spot where the orb of afterlife had once floated above the air with streaks of rainbow, but the sun had moved away and stopped casting a spotlight on the space. 

“Emily…” Mitch whispered into the open air of the space, eyes glazing over as he looked down to his wife that had beared two children and loved the first more than anything worldly. “I’m Emily.” She pleaded, although neither she nor Julie knew what she was asking for with her desperation soaked tone. 

“Then I think your son may have written a song for you.” Julie handed over the old and tattered piece of notebook paper that bore the same handwriting as all of Luke’s journals still stashed away in the attic. The same handwriting that lived permanently on her wrist, taking the shape of what his dream had once been. 

“First things first, we start the scene in reverse.” Lily had to shake the thought of music out of her focus, her body so heavily convinced that somewhere in the depths of her home a song was playing softly. The dimension of the vocals she heard was unlike any streaming platform ability, making her wonder if her mother had broken into the vinyls again. 

“All of the lines rehearsed disappeared from my mind when things got loud. One of us running out, I should've turned around, but I had too much pride. No time for goodbyes, didn't get to apologize, pieces of a clock that lies broken. If I could take us back, if I could just do that and write in every empty space the words ‘I love you’ in replace. Then maybe time would not erase me, if you could only know I never let you go, and the words I most regret are the ones I never meant to leave. Unsaid Emily. Silent days, mysteries and mistakes. Who'd be the first to break? I guess we're alike that way. He said, she said, conversations in my head, and that's just where they're gonna stay forever.” 

It was a ringing between her ears that brought the delusion to a standstill. As her fingers curl around her wrist as if to physically grab the midnight ink, the whisper of a voice in her focus becomes too prominent to ignore. 

“If I could take us back, if I could just do that, and write in every empty space the words ‘I love you’ in replace. Then maybe time would not erase me, if you could only know I never let you go, and the words I most regret are the ones I never meant to leave. Unsaid Emily. If I could take us back, if I could just do that, and write in every empty space the words ‘I love you’ in replace, then maybe time would not erase me. If you could only know I never let you go.” She hears the words through herself so clearly, she’s certain the words she can practically feel are the same as what’s written on the page between her mother's fingertips. She doesn’t understand it, but somehow she knows. 

It’s him. Luke. Her big brother. 

Her wrist flashes hot for a second, startling her enough to abandon the tight locked gaze she has on the empty space behind Julie and look down at her reddening skin. “And the words I most regret are the ones I never meant to leave. Unsaid Emily.” 

A cold shock ran through her body in contrast to the searing hot pain circulating her wrist. She sniffled when the last sung Emily sounded through her body, the vibrato sounding so close to her it was paralyzing. When she found her bearings and the jelly like feeling in her legs dispersed to her heart, she looked back up at Julie.  

With one last fleeting glance towards the empty space behind Julie, the sight of a blue-eyed boy looking tearfully beyond herself, calmed the burn in her wrist. She made eye contact with the boy, a name fitting comfortably on her tongue despite the impossibility of it all. 

“Luke…” 

[cowboahhoe]

The Viper - Arthur Morgan x Reader

A quick imagine, could do more parts if you want?

Warnings: mention of abuse

Summary: upon fleeing an abusive relationship, the reader finds themselves being chased by lawmen, bounty hunters and a few members of the Van Der Linde Gang after a night in Valentine.

(gif credits to whoever owns it)

———————————————————

The last few months had been far less than ideal for you. You were on the run from the law, just you and your horse Nellie. You hadn't ever foreseen your life going this way - you had always been for all intents and purposes a good girl. That was until you had met your first husband, Blake. Your birth father had decided that money meant a lot more to him than his only daughters life, so he had sold you to the highest bidder which seemed like an outdated and abusive practice; even in 1899. Blake had money in oil, and used you as arm candy but had no real love or respect for you. You were nothing more than a maid, house wife, punching bag and toy for his sexual pleasures for far too long. One fateful night your fuse had been lit, and you fought back. A shroud of red flooded your body as you pointed his own pistol between his eyes - finally feeling power against the vile man who had held you captive for a year, and you felt no remorse in applying pressure to the trigger.

The next few moments went by in a blur, you had packed a bag with all the money yourself and Blake had around - alongside necessities such as food, and weapons. After packing your loyal horse, you had faded into the night. Leaving Saint Denis, heading west. You knew there would be repercussions for your actions but there was no way to tell just how intense the manhunt would be for you, nor how large the price on your head would be for one small murder. $500 for your return to Saint Denis alive meant that you'd come across your fair share of bounty hunters in your time living off the land; you quickly realised you could only trust yourself, and your horse. This brings us to your lonely (but free) present day.

You sit in the saloon in Valentine nursing a whisky, your third of the evening. You'd been in an around the Valentine area for a few days and knew it was only a matter of time before you had to move along and set up somewhere else. Perhaps Rhodes? Although you quickly shake the thought from your mind - that may just be too close to the scene of the crime. Just as you suckle the final dregs from your glass, you spot a curious group of men walking into the saloon. You daren't take your eyes off of them, memorising every feature behind every person in the group, you want to be able to recall their identities should you need to 'silence' them. One man wore a black hat, black hair slicked with pomade and nearly down to his shoulders. He wore a black coat, and a black vest with a red breast pocket. This man seemed to have an unmatched charisma; this much you could tell simply from the way he stood. This wasn't an innocent man. Then again, who is? Next to him, a slightly smaller, scrawnier gent. With grey hair, and wearing a blue vest this man seemed to have kinder eyes, which may just be part of his play. Finally, a rugged man wearing a black hat, detailed with brown rope - you noted the bullet hole in the rim of the hat. He wore a tattered, dirty blue working shirt, and wore worn black trousers with cotton suspenders tying it all together. Although, with this man you struggle to focus so much on the clothes that cover his broad frame and pay particular attention to his features. Sandy brown hair, a messy - somewhat scratchy looking beard. The beard had a few holes in, which seemed to be due to the placement of some scars; the most prominent of which was on his chin. Then there came those eyes. Even from across the saloon you could tell they were bright blue with a twinge of green. The handsome man simply dipped on his beard whilst the other two men spoke quietly to the group, he didn't seem like the leader of the trio by any means, but it didn't seem that was important.

Just then, blue eyes looks at you and makes eye contact while taking another swig from his beer. For a moment, you're worried he may have recognised you but that fear quickly diminishes when he simply nods his head your way and turns his attention back to his friends. With new found courage, you move toward the bar. Intent on ordering a new beverage when you hear the black haired man pull something from his satchel, and start speaking to the man with grey hair in a hushed tone.

"Hosea, I told you. She's the viper, the one they want in Saint Denis... our boy John was right. We hand her in, it's a good honest days work" the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, as you realise your time in Valentine is over - that and you need to play the next few minutes very wisely.

"I don't know Dutch, doesn't it seem unfair we're using a woman's bounty to help us flee our own misfortunes with the law?" Scrawny replies, suddenly he has become your favourite of the bunch. Blue eyes doesn't chime in at all, but you can feel his eyes on you as you stand at the bar, awaiting a cue to either whip out your pistol or flee the scene.

Adrenaline pumping through your veins, you decide the best solution is to try and slip away whilst the group argue about your fate. You know that they're outlaws, and if there are three outlaws coming after you... then you probably don't stand much of a chance. You make a beeline for the entrance, and whistle for your horse as soon as you reach the open air feeling the eyes of Dutch, Hosea and blue eyes on you as you make your exit. The unmistakable shuffle of boots accompany your exit, and you know that the men are right on your tail - the discussion of your fate seemed to be silence by your exit and only one objective remained. Get her.

You hop on the back of your horse, Nellie. She's an Arabian White and so you prayed that whatever horses this band of thieves had were slower than your girl. In seconds, you were off. You had made a instant decision to head in the direction of Emerald Ranch, hoping to lose them on the way then loop back round and head west toward Strawberry - although admittedly tactic wasn't at the forefront of your mind. Fight or flight had well and truly kicked in and you knew you needed to get away, far away. The thunderous chorus of hooves colliding with the hard ground rung through the night as the three horses chased your dear girl a cross the plains of the heartlands. Admittedly, you should have gone up through Cumberland forest as there was more cover to hide and slip away undetected. Though you had come across bounty hunters, and lawmen you had never come across a group of outlaws intent on handing you in and so the city girl who lived within you shook in her boots, and used instinct and not her brain when plotting which escape route to take.

"We just wanna talk miss" Dutch called in the dark.

"Like fuck you do Mister, I heard y'all talking about taking ma bounty" you curse back; relying a lot on your horses innate sense of direction to guide you through the hills and trying to guide her to help you both disappear. One of the men take a shot at the floor near your horse, probably trying to spook her but being that your horse is tough as nails she barely bats an eyelid.

"C'mon miss we really don't wanna hurt ya" an unfamiliar voice shouts. You realise this must be the man with blue eyes, his rough voice matches his rugged appearance well - although you don't have much time to think about the dreamy mans voice as you hear the whirl of a lasso from behind you.

You duck, and make unpredictable movements on Nellie in order to avoid the grip of the rope around your body. You feel silent panicked tears roll down your cheeks as you realise your luck had run out; not knowing your fate with these three outlaws. Just then, the rope whips itself around you and you're pulled from your seat and thrown against the floor. Your head collided with a rock, making you see stars as your horse comes to a stop and stands beside you as if waiting for you to get back up. She doesn't realise this is likely your final ride. The three men come to a stop, and blue eyes hog ties you with the lasso before turning you onto your back.

All three men stood over you, as you shook and tears leaked from your eyes.

"take me then, I don't regret what I did to him. He deserved it more than anyone I have ever known" I spit with venom.

"My dear, did the countless bounty hunters, lawmen and innocent folk who got in your way deserve the same end?" Dutch replies. Bending his knees to move closer to your face so he is crouched over you as you lay on the dirt staring up at the night sky.

"If someone tried to have you swing for self defence and would you roll over and let them take you? Or would you fight?" You respond. Looking the man right in the eyes. Giving him the coldest look you can muster up while your cheeks are stained with tears. Dutch chuckles, looking up at Hosea and Blue eyes with a jovial expression.

"Darlin' im gonna give you a choice. You can go to Saint Denis and swing, or... you can come join us. We're a group of misfits and outcasts and we're always in need of more guns. You'd have to earn your keep, of course but from what I've heard you've had no issue wrangling an income for yourself."

"Dutch is that really wise? We have plenty of people to feed we could just let the poor lady go?" Blue eyes replies to Dutch. Causing him to whip his head up.

"Enough, Arthur! She can help in ways most of those women back at camp won't, besides - If she outstays her welcome we could always take her on a trip to Saint Denis." He smiles down at you while making his threat.

"I'll go with you." You reply begrudgingly. Whenever you can make it happen, you'll escape their camp. But for now this beats swinging.

"Well then, Arthur would you be so kind as to place this fine lady on the back of your horse?" Dutch says, walking over to his own beautiful steed.

"I have a horse of my own I can ride!" You shout back to him as Arthur removes me from the floor and places you face down on his horse.

"I know, but I don't want to risk you cutting off before meeting everyone and seeing how we do things. I happen to think you'll like it once you're not all tied up" he laughs. Arthur makes sure you're well seated before getting on his horse and coaxing it into moving to follow Dutch and Hosea. You whistle for your own horse who follows behind, with all your belongings.

"I'm sorry about this miss, uh, miss..." Arthur begins. Making it clear he knows you as only your pseudonym of 'the viper'.

"Y/N, just call me Y/N Viper" you respond, already out of breath from the movement of the horse pressing up against your chest and stomach. Compressing you're ability to breathe.

"well miss Viper, we have quite a ride ahead" Arthur replies, you huff in response and Arthur chuckles. Kicking the horse into moving a bit faster so as to catch up with Dutch and Hosea. You glance back at your beautiful horse and watch as loyally follows behind you.

Rolling your eyes, you exhale again.

This is going to be a long night.

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Needless to say I hope you liked this? Can do additional parts if you want, or I mean if you have any ideas please feel free to let me know. I'm not sure how tumblr works so idk comment or message any ideas or recommendations or anything if you feel like it.

ALSO do let me know if you think this is trash because I’d rather know I just was having a touch of fun writing a little bit this evening. I’m also pregnant and my brain is completely useless so I really appreciate feedback 💖

Thanks so much 💖

[theliterateape]

Hell in a Handbasket

By David Himmel

SHE TAKES ONE LAST LONG DRAG FROM HER CIGARETTE. She pushes the smoke past her gleaming teeth and full lips and crushes the thing beneath her boot. Her black coffee has finally cooled to a barely drinkable temperature. She takes a sip as she enters the radio station. Another fucking morning show. This one in San Francisco. It’s still dark out and, between the cigarette and the coffee and all of the whiskey she drank last night, she has the worst morning breath in recorded human history.

She didn’t have time to brush her teeth. She overslept and was rushed out of her hotel room by Gavin the tour manager. The clothes she had worn at last night’s show were strewn across the floor. Gavin threw the jeans and Superman t-shirt at her as she struggled to get her naked body out of bed. She didn’t have to fuss with makeup or her hair; she looks the same at five in the morning in the grips of a hangover as she does at eleven at night when she’s in the grips of stage lights and adoring fans.

Way back before she was famous and had dreams of being interviewed by radio deejays, it didn’t matter what you looked like as much. The listeners couldn’t see you and the deejays looked just barely put together themselves. But today, everything is visual, and if this show is anything like all of the others, they’ll be recording the interview for the radio station’s YouTube page. She hates the beautification and objectification of women in the entertainment industry. However, she sees nothing wrong with not wanting to look like hammered rat shit, which is exactly how she feels. This morning, as she has been most mornings this past year, she’s self-aware enough to be thankful for her easy-to-manage looks.

Gavin makes the introductions in the studio. She smiles her big, brilliant smile—the one that makes men and women fall in love with her—and begins to charm the three morning show hosts.

“Good morning. I’m really happy to be here,” she says into the microphone. Her mouth is dry and it tastes like a circus floor. She reaches for the bottle of water one of the hosts handed her when she walked in. She thinks she should have had a piece of gum instead of that cigarette.

“You’re wearing a Superman t-shirt,” the fatter of the hosts says. “Are you a fan of the comics?”

“This isn’t a Superman t-shirt,” she says. “It’s a Supergirl t-shirt.”

“Hear, hear, sister!” says the woman host.

“And yes, I’m a fan of the comics.”

“For those of you just tuning in, we’ve got Jane Hadley in the studio with us this morning,” the thin host says in a well-rehearsed broadcaster’s voice. “If you’re not familiar with Jane Hadley then you’ve likely been in a coma trapped in a mine shaft for the past year. Her debut album, Hell in a Handbasket, is this year’s runaway hit and iTunes’ most downloaded album ever. Right now, Jane Hadley is a bigger deal than Taylor, Adele and Beyoncé.”

“Combined,” Fat Host says.

“And she’s performing a sold-out show at Decker Hall tonight,” Thin Host continues.

“But don’t worry,” Lady Host says, “if you didn’t get tickets for the show, we’ll be giving a pair away a little later on this morning. And I think—Jane, correct me if I’m wrong—that these tickets also include a backstage meet and greet.”

“They do,” Jane says. “I’ve even got my Selfie-Stick for photos.”

“Did you bring that Selfie-Stick with you this morning?” Fat Host asks. “I’d love to get a photo with you. You have to be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen this early in the morning.”

Jane smiles and laughs a hearty laugh that not even the most high-tech lie detector test could determine its authenticity one way or the other. “I didn’t bring it but I’m sure we’ll find a way to take a photo without it.”

“And you’re going to play a few songs for us this morning, too, right?” Lady Host asks.

“I brought my guitar and will even take requests.”

The three hosts celebrate over this surprise. Thin Host says, “You hear that, K–POP listeners? The beautiful and talented, Goddess of Rock Jane Hadley will be taking your requests for a live, in-studio acoustic session! Don’t go anywhere. You’re listening to the Manic Morning Show on 97.1, K–POP.”

Thin Hosts glances at Fat Host who taps a series of buttons on the control board and clicks a wireless mouse linked to the monitors. A station bump plays followed by a commercial break beginning with an ad for a local diamond dealer. The hosts take their headphones off.

“Do people actually listen this early?” Jane asks as she also removes her headphones.

“Not anymore,” Thin Host says.

“We’ll replay everything with you in the eight o’clock hour,” Lady Host says.

This is not how Jane saw her life. For one thing, she never thought she’d be a smoker. But divorce can promote bad habits as diversions from the heartache. And for another thing, she never thought she’d be divorced at thirty-seven years old, though she was only thirty-five when it all happened, which only makes it worse. She is too young to be divorced and too old to only now find herself at rockstar status. Unfortunately, without the divorce, the fame and fortune—and morning radio show interviews—would have continued to elude her.

Before she was Jane Hadley, the rock ’n’ roll singer/songwriter—the Goddess of Rock, bigger than Taylor, Adele, and Beyoncé combined, she was Jane Hadley, the folk ’n’ roll singer/songwriter who never sold more than a thousand albums and a few hundred t-shirts. Before she had a #1 album flying off the shelves and being downloaded to the Cloud by millions, and an entire merchandising department, she was just a girl who played in a few bands: the Stargazers, Rosie’s Dream Catcher, Jane and the Jaded Cowboys.

None of these were good band names and she knew it. But she liked the music they made. Sweet, folky, only as loud as the all-acoustic gear would allow. All her bands looked the same. Jane played rhythm guitar and sang lead. The lead guitar, keyboard, upright bass and percussion were played by men. This wasn’t intentional, it’s just how things played out. They sounded similar, too, although each incarnation sounded more practiced than the last, a byproduct of age and gig experience.

The Stargazers was her high school band. It lasted long enough to play mostly Simon & Garfunkel covers at a few garage shows and the school’s Battle of the Bands. She formed Rosie’s Dream Catcher in college with her then boyfriend, keyboardist Matt. They recorded one CD of ten original songs. They sold all one hundred copies for two bucks a piece by the time the band, and Jane and Matt, split three years later.

She wonders why they are waxing intellectual about Kurt Cobain and the meaning of “Smells Like Teen Spirit?” She just wants to plug tonight’s show, play a few songs, maybe answer a call and give vague, recycled answers about what inspired her to write the album. Instead, she’s bemoaning about the trappings of fame and denying any intention of making an album that will last the test of time. How Gen X of her. How Fiona Apple of her. How awful of her.

Jane always figured that if success in the music business was ever going to come to her it would have been with Jane and the Jaded Cowboys. It took her a little while to become comfortable with her name being segregated from the band name. She didn’t want to be a Diana Ross or Gloria Estefan but Adam, the guitarist, thought they should capitalize on the gender difference and put their radiant leader out front while her boys backed her up. Adam was a marketing major in college and while he was a gifted guitarist, his real talent was in hype.

Jane and the Jaded Cowboys were prolific. Their songwriting was a science. Jane would come to practice with lyrics ripped from her many tattered Moleskin journals and a tune she thought worked with the words. From there, all five would flesh the thing out until they had a nice little folky pop song. They were a good team and their musical tastes and abilities complemented each other well.

With the freedom provided by quarter-life adulthood, they toured a lot in the sixteen years they were together. They earned fans but none who would bleed for them, really. They played the festivals and a few of the storied concert halls spread throughout the country. They headlined some shows and shared the bill with acts that would go on to the kind of fame and success that Jane and the Jaded Cowboys were chasing but never caught up to.

Because being in the band didn’t pay a livable wage, everyone had real jobs. Jane tended bar at Queen Lizzie, a hipster hotspot in Chicago where the drinks are overpriced and the customers happily overpay. She hated the place and the customers but the money was too good to walk away from. She was able to afford the necessities: instruments, rent, food, clothes, tour van, gas money for the tour van and Moleskin journals. She even managed to save a fair amount and really hack away at her student loans. Not that her degree in art history was worth more than the paper the degree was printed on.

The songs she wrote reflected her life. They featured themes of loneliness, desire, road trips and regret. The songs weren’t bad. But they weren’t great either. Their most popular song among their few loyal fans is called “Photographic Art History.” It’s about wasting time and energy. One critic, writing for an online publication about the lineup of a summer festival in Chicago, described Jane and the Jaded Cowboys as, “a band that makes perfect background music for the perfect lazy day of napping.” On the band’s Facebook page, Adam spun the opinion by posting the review and writing, “IndieRock.com says ‘Jane and the Jaded Cowboys makes perfect music for the perfect day!’”

Jane hated the hype. But it was the best her band ever got.

And speaking of hype…

“Rolling Stone called you the voice of women of this generation,” Thin Host says. They are back from commercial break. “That seems like it could come with a lot of responsibility. Do you feel responsible to speak for your generation?”

Since Hell in a Handbasket dropped, many critics had echoed Rolling Stone’s claim. Jane used to see herself as a Joni Mitchell type, or Carole King or Carly Simon. Women from a very different generation. And one that isn’t hers. She isn’t even sure which generation the critics are talking about. At thirty-seven years old, she’s no longer part of the youth culture but she’s too young, still, and new to fame, to be a music veteran. And in the entertainment industry, the young and the old were the major markets. Everyone in the middle is white noise. Jane feels that if she’s the voice of any generation right now, it’s the White Noise Generation. But she can’t say that.

“First of all, it’s an insanely flattering thing to say about someone,” Jane answers. “But it’s also an insanely broad generalization and a little presumptuous. I didn’t make this record to be a statement about women or for all women or anything like that. And if we look at music history, we don’t ever really know how representative a musician was or wasn’t to her generation—or his—until the music has had time to mature and that generation, or whatever, has adapted from it in some way.”

“Well, take Kurt Cobain. In a way, your situation is similar to Cobain’s,” Thin Host says. “He was considered the voice of Generation X right out of the gate. And he was dead before his music and his generation really even had a chance to—what did you call it?—mature. But everyone was right. Kurt Cobain was, and still is considered to be, the voice of his generation.”

“So if you don’t already have a heroin addiction, you better get on that,” Fat Host says.

“No, then she’d just be compared to Courtney Love. And no woman wants to be compared to Courtney Love,” Lady Host says.

“Yikes. God no. That’s even worse than being compared to Yoko Ono,” Jane says.

“There are so many awful women in rock ’n’ roll,” Fat Host says.

“You named two,” Jane says. “The awful men in rock ’n’ roll still outweigh us twenty-to-one.”

“And that’s why she wears that t-shirt,” Lady Host says.

They all have a laugh as Jane glances at the clock on the studio wall. She’s booked for an hour. It’s only been eleven minutes. She wants to go back to sleep. The coffee isn’t working. She considers what it would be like if she did start using heroin. It’s cheaper than booze, cigarettes and even coffee. And on the road, it’s often easier to get.

“Okay, I understand that you’re reluctant to accept your influential role in today’s culture,” Thin Host says.

“It’s not a reluctance,” she says.

“A rejection then,” he says.

“No. I mean, they’re just songs.”

“But don’t you want your songs to mean something? Isn’t that what every artist wants?”

“Sure. In a way. This album means what it means to me. I can’t control what it means to anyone else. It’s nice that it’s been so well received. I’m touched that people are finding their own meanings in the songs.”

“So you’re saying that the song, the first single, ‘Onward,’ isn’t symbolic of the woman’s place in today’s society.”

“I think Hemingway said something about the foolishness of trying to include symbols in your work on purpose,” Jane says.

“So no.”

“‘Onward’ is a song about my ex-husband moving out of our apartment and me, a woman, having to make sense of what he, a man, had left behind. If that is perceived as anything other than that—”

“I understood it as a break-up song,” Lady Host says.

“But things can be perceived by any number of people in any number of ways. That’s the great thing about art. Let me ask you guys a question. Since you brought him up, what does ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’ mean to you? What’s that song about?”

“Making trouble,” Thin Host says.

“Cheerleaders,” Fat Host says.

“Disaffected youth,” Lady Host says.

“All I ever think about when I hear that song is deodorant. That song is a deodorant jingle to me. Because when that song came out, I was eleven years old and Teen Spirit was the brand of deodorant I used.”

“Commerce,” Fat Host says. “Cobain is rolling over in his grave.”

“Nah,” Jane says. “He knew damn well what he was doing when he titled that song. He was being funny—Oh crap, can I say the ‘D’ word?”

The hosts laugh. “Yes, ‘damn’ is allowed. ‘Crap,’ is not,” Thin Host says. They laugh some more then he presses on. “Symbols or not, this album is incredible.”

“Thank you.”

“I doubt that you’d call it a concept album.”

“Not in the traditional meaning of concept album, no. I mean, it’s not The Wall. But it was conceived by specific events. There’s a theme.”

“It’s a break up album,” Lady Host says.

“It is indeed a break up album. A break up and all of the, um, crap, that comes with it.”

She knows she sounds like a pedantic blowhard. They are baiting her into it and she is too strung out on exhaustion and weak coffee to resist. She wonders why they are waxing intellectual about Kurt Cobain and the meaning of “Smells Like Teen Spirit?” She just wants to plug tonight’s show, play a few songs, maybe answer a call and give vague, recycled answers about what inspired her to write the album. Instead, she’s bemoaning about the trappings of fame and denying any intention of making an album that will last the test of time. How Gen X of her. How Fiona Apple of her. How awful of her.

But after two weeks of horrendous heartbreak, isolation, and alcoholism, Jane had come to one conclusion: right or not, fuck Keith.

She is saved from falling deeper into these asinine rock critic musings when the hosts go to break again. They’ve cued listeners to call in with questions and requests. The first three callers request “Onward,” to no one’s surprise. Jane pulls her guitar from its case and gives it a gentle tuning. She gets the familiar sinking knot in her stomach as she does.

Her departure from acoustic folk to electric rock was the best way for her to get through the pain of her divorce. It allowed her to turn the deafening sadness into rollicking anger. And every time she plays these songs with an electric guitar and her banging, thrumming, clanging tour band alongside her, she becomes more and more removed from the origin of the source material. She’s healed each night. And in quieter moments in between cities on the bus, when she finds herself descending toward that sadness and regret, she can listen to the album at top volume through her headphones and relive the anger and gravitate toward getting over the goddamn thing.

But there’s no escaping the raw bones of truth when she plays the songs acoustically on radio shows like this. She wanted to bring the band with her and at least have a bigger sound so the songs weren’t so stripped down and she didn’t feel so naked. But her management vetoed it. The fans wanted Jane Hadley naked. And that’s what they were getting. And every time she tunes the guitar to play “Onward,” she is rocketed into a wretched reverie of when she first tuned the guitar to write the song.

Keith had just closed the door of the apartment with his last box of stuff under his arm. It had been the first time they’d seen each other since he asked for a divorce two weeks before and fled to wherever he had been staying. Jane spent those two weeks crying, substituting alcohol and cigarettes for meals, sleeping on the living room floor because she couldn’t bear the thought of sleeping alone in their bed and didn’t feel that she deserved the comfort of the couch. She was emotionally destroyed and she thought it best to destroy herself physically, too.

He said some pretty nasty things when he left. There were accusations of infidelity because she played songs that weren’t about him. He blamed her for his inability to secure a steady and well-paying gig because she was not supportive enough. He called her a manipulator and a user and chastised her for having more friends than he had.

None of these accusations were true and he was clearly taking his own self-loathing out on her. How could someone’s likability make her unlikable? Keith had found a way. The two therapists they had seen every week since getting married eight months before, called it projecting. Keith denied it and Jane believed everything he said.

But after two weeks of horrendous heartbreak, isolation, and alcoholism, Jane had come to one conclusion: right or not, fuck Keith. Watching him leave with a box of his mother’s old stained Tupperware was enough to pull her off of the floor and begin writing music again. “Onward” became Jane’s life’s statement of purpose. And as the first single and the album’s first track, it became the album’s statement of purpose, too. And thus, it became a generation of women’s statement of purpose.

She didn’t even have to write the lyrics down and work them out in her notebook like usual. She just played and sang and it all came together. She scribbled it down once she was done and the song, at first, resembled every other song she had written. Soft, slow, melancholy. She didn’t want that. She wanted something different. Because the same old song hadn’t done her much good for her career or her internal struggle. She didn’t feel soft, slow or melancholy. She felt hard, fast and fucking pissed. She dusted off her electric Gibson and amp and played the song faster and louder. She felt alive again. She felt angry. She felt inspired.

She lit a cigarette and played it again. She recorded it and upon listening back, she heard a voice she didn’t recognize but loved. The chorus made her smile, even though it felt strange on her face.

You took my love And let it burn Scorched and ashen I move onward

✶

SHE MET KEITH LESTINGHOUSE AT A SHOW IN PEORIA, ILLINOIS. He was a videographer and had been hired to document the headlining band, the Dandelions, who a year later would win the Grammy Award for Best New Artist. Keith’s art direction in the documentary was lauded for its grit, the way it “captured the essence of budding rock ’n’ roll success,” according to some well-respected blogger somewhere online.

She found Keith smart and funny, and thought his patchy beard and thin, lanky body made him handsome. He seemed to genuinely like Jane’s music and her band. And he seemed to like her. By the end of their first date, they realized that they had been a match on each other’s online dating profiles.

“Why didn’t you ever send me a message?” she asked him.

“Why didn’t you ever send me one?” he replied.

He was a feminist and she liked that about him, too.

Six months in, they were engaged. Two months after that, they were married. It was a small ceremony held in her parents’ barn at their farm in Dowagiac, Michigan. She wore cowboy boots with her consignment wedding dress, he wore black Chuck Taylor sneakers with his new suit from an online custom clothier. An hour before the wedding, Jane cried all of her makeup away when Keith requested that her father not walk her down the aisle. Well, he didn’t have any family at the wedding, therefore, her father’s obvious presence was her way of rubbing it in that he was an estranged son. Jane conceded. Then Keith decided that it was okay for her dad to walk her down the aisle after all. This was the first crack in the façade of perfection Jane had placed Keith behind. Then, at the reception, Jane and the Jaded Cowboys played a song she wrote just for Keith, just for their wedding. Drunk, he mistook it for a song about some other guy and stormed off into the Dowagiac fields. Jane—the consummate professional—finished the song then ran into the fields after her husband. When she found him, he continued accusing her of infidelity until she managed to convince him otherwise and they screwed right there in rows of soybeans.

He moved into her place. His video equipment crowded and nearly ousted her music equipment. Space in the small Chicago apartment was the crux of their Cold War—Keith acting like Reagan with his finger constantly on he Button and Jane acting as Gorbachev, desperate for some kind of peaceful and reasonable resolution.

Two weeks later, they were in therapy. The only discussion they could have without Keith’s demanding a therapist’s intervention was about what they’d have for dinner. It helped that Keith’s veganism limited their dining options. Keith was a volunteer for Greenpeace and convinced Jane to sell her 1967 Pontiac GTO. It was left to her in her grandfather’s will. It was her grandfather who taught her to play guitar and encouraged her to pursue a career in music. He was a sound tech for bands like the Byrds, Leslie Gore, the Lovin’ Spoonful and even the Beatles once. Anywhere she had to be, Keith told her, she could ride a bike, walk, run or use public transportation, if she must. And that inspired the second song on the album, “Red Meat Wishes and Gasoline Car Dreams.”

You’re sidewalk stalking Good people on God’s green earth I honk and rev my motor And slide back a Quarter Pounder

Still, Jane loved him. But what Jane loved more than Keith was love itself. Though she was never far from her friends or family and had an incredible bond and unwavering trust with her bandmates, Jane feared being alone. Alone in that romantic sense. It was that fear that empowered her to stay with Keith, which left her otherwise powerless. And that’s where “Distracted by Loneliness,” the album’s third song, came from.

Covered in hearts Well wishes from friends and family Their undying love can’t compare to the misery you give to me I’d rather be lonely with you than never alone again

✶

WHEN THEY RETURN FROM THE BREAK, JANE PLAYS “ONWARD.” Fat Host cues up another recorded caller and the conversation they had with her during the break.

“Hi, Jane. I’m Claire. I think you are so talented.”

“Hi, Claire. Thank you.”

“I just broke up with my boyfriend of three years.”

“This ought to be good,” Fat Host says.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Claire,” Jane says.

“No, please, it’s for the best. I was miserable. We both were. Your album inspired me to leave him. Funny thing was, it was his record. He bought the album.”

“Men love her, too,” Thin Host says. “Is there a song you’d like Jane Hadley to play?”

“I’d love to hear ‘Two Week’s Notice,’” says Claire. “I quit my job last week, too. This song inspired me to do that.”

“This song isn’t about quitting a job,” Jane says. “It’s about the abortion I had.” The studio goes quiet—never a good thing in radio. Jane recognizes the silence and quickly readjusts her response. “But, uh, sure thing, Claire. Let me know if you need a reference or anything.”

The recording ends and Lady Host throws her finger at Jane like a stage manager would on the set of a live news show. Jane plays the first chord and sings “Two Week’s Notice.”

It’s not something I am ready for I’m sure neither are you I’ve already got a child I can’t raise two It makes no sense to drag this out It’s the right thing to do I’ve already got a child That child is you

“I’m not really sure how that song would inspire someone to quit their job,” Thin Host says when Jane is done playing. “I bet you get a lot of that. You know, people mistaking the intentions of your songs for something else.”

“Like we were saying earlier, that’s what happens with music and art,” Jane says. “People listen to music in different ways. Claire, I guess, doesn’t listen to the lyrics all that closely. And that’s fine. I just hope she find a new job soon and lands on her feet.”

“Guess you can’t judge a song by its title,” Fat Host says.

“We’re going to take another quick break and we’ll be right back with more music by request from our in-studio guest Jane Hadley, who is performing at Decker Hall tonight and we’ll be giving away that pair of tickets to see her. You’re listening to the Manic Morning Show on 97.1 K–WOW.”

There it is, the missing piece to Jane and Keith’s old fight, his calm condescension. Finding herself in familiar territory, she habitually lights a cigarette in her mouth.

They never take calls live on-air. It’s a recipe for disaster. You could get a Baba Booey or a suicide or someone who just wants to yell “Fuck” on the radio. Answering calls off-air lets the hosts screen and edit the calls for the best possible radio. Fat Host takes the next caller.

“Hi, Jane. Since you’re single, maybe we can hook up after your show tonight. I’m hung.”

Fat Host immediately hangs up on the caller.

“Hey, wait a minute,” Jane says. “Maybe he was cute.”

She’s joking but only a little bit. Among the whiskey and cigarettes, her after-show parties have been filled with men. Lots of men. At least one every night. The show in L.A. had two, the one in Salt Lake had three.

Two more calls, both women, both requesting “Onward.” The third call is a man.

“97.1, Manic Morning Show,” Lady Host says.

“Jane?” the caller asks like he was calling Jane directly and not a San Francisco morning radio show.

“Hi, do you have a request for Jane Hadley?” Lady Host tries again.

“Jane. Are you there?”

“Okay, weirdo, goodbye,” Lady Host says as she signals Fat Host to drop the call.

“Wait,” Jane says. Lady Host looks at Thin Host who nods as a sign to let Jane play this one out. “Keith?”

The three hosts look at each other with confusion before Thin Host chimes in, “Jane, you’ve got a friend here in San Francisco. And a K-WOW listener to boot!”

“Keith is my ex-husband.” The three hosts drop their jaws and sit back in their chairs like they’re ready to watch the unbelievable, certain shit show commence. “Keith, what are you doing?”

“I was listening to the radio and heard you.”

“What are you doing in San Francisco?”

“I’m living with my brother.”

“You have a brother?”

 “I have three brothers.”

“Three!? Why didn’t you ever say anything? Why weren’t they at the wedding?”

“My family is complicated.”

Jane is stunned. She, too, is now sitting with her mouth agape in disbelief. “So you’re living here now?”

“For the moment. There was a job, so…”

“What’s the job?”

“It’s a documentary about San Francisco suicides that don’t take place on the Golden Gate. There’s a large population of suicidals that is overlooked because of the attention that the Bridge gets. It’s tragic. And these people aren’t even polluting the bay when they kill themselves. It’s an important topic.”

Thin Host jumps in again. “So, Keith—Keith, right?—would you like to hear a song by Jane Hadley?” Jane shoots Thin Host a look that says, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Let’s hear that one about abortion again.”

Jane cringes. She is no longer stunned, now she’s pissed. Of course she never told him about the pregnancy. By their third date, it was clear that he had baby fever. Because Keith had such a foul and complicated relationship with his own family, he was desperate to build a new one. And though Jane wasn’t opposed to being a parent someday, she was in no immediate rush, but also knew, deep in her gut, that Keith would make a terrible father. That having a child would provide him with another person to manipulate and break down until nothing was left but a desiccated husk of a human. He would do to his child what his parents did to him and what he had nearly done to Jane.

Jane and the hosts are frozen but the digital phone recorder rolls along.

“Can I hear it? Can I hear the song about you killing my child?”

 “Whoa!” Thin Host says as Fat Host laughs in shock.

“She didn’t kill your child,” Lady Host says. “She’s the mother and she has the right to make any decision she wants related to her body.”

“I agree,” Keith says. “But in the interest of true sexual and gender fairness and whatever, doesn’t the father have a right to know and at least be part of the discussion? When were you pregnant, Jane? Were we married? Because if so, then you absolutely owed me that.”

Lady Host defends her. “She doesn’t owe you anything.”

“No, he’s right,” Jane says. “I probably should have said something. I agonized over telling you about it for two weeks before.”

“Oh, you agonized, did you? That was my child.”

She can hear his special brand of angry panic in his voice. She knows she should have the deejays hang up. But that anger and panic of his was always delicious bait to her. She can’t help herself from engaging. “It wasn’t a child, Keith. And if it had been, it would have been ours. And that, that right there is why I didn’t tell you. I mean, I knew I couldn’t keep it because of your selfishness and controlling impulses. I would have had the abortion twenty minutes after I peed on the stick but I held off, debating if you should be there with me. But I knew that you’d never agree to it and that the idea of it would only lead to this.”

“And what’s this?”

“You accusing me of killing your child.”

Thin Host speaks up. “So Keith, what do you think about the rest of the album?”

“I didn’t know she could play electric guitar.”

There it is, the missing piece to Jane and Keith’s old fight, his calm condescension. Finding herself in familiar territory, she habitually lights a cigarette in her mouth.

“Uh, Jane, you can’t smoke that in here,” Fat Host says.

She exhales a large cloud of smoke emphasizing it with two small rings at the end. “I’ll make you a deal,” she says, “you promise not to air this and I’ll put it out.”

“It’s just that, well, it’s a federal regulation that you can’t smoke inside of buildings. It’s nothing personal. Hell, we all smoke,” Fat Host says.

“Promise me.”

Fat Host looks at Lady Host and Thin Host. Thin Host nods and fat Host says, “Promise.” Jane snuffs the cigarette out on the bottom of her boot. She walks to the small trashcan across the studio, drops the cigarette in and pours a few ounces of coffee on it for safety. She returns back to her microphone and puts her headphones back on.

“What do you want, Keith?” she asks.

Silence.

“Keith? Are you still with us, Keith?” Thin Host asks.

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“What is it you want, Keith?” Thin Host asks again as if Jane’s voice was the problem the first time.

“I want you back,” Keith says.

Jane bursts out in laughter. “Are you fucking kidding me!?” The hosts are shocked. “Sorry,” she says to them.

“It’s okay, we’re not live,” Lady Host says. She leans over to Fat Host and whispers, “Bleep it out.”

“Duh,” Fat Host whispers back.

“I’ve missed you and I have a new therapist out here who says that I’m ready to be in a relationship with you again.”

“Then sue your therapist for malpractice,” Jane says, “because he’s a fucking quack.”

Fat Host holds up his arm to grab attention and says, “We are coming out of break.” He turns on his microphone, does a quick station I.D. and lets the audience know that Jane Hadley is in the studio and that they’ll be back with more from her, then plays music. As he finishes and the red ON-AIR light outside of the studio door turns off, Gavin, Jane’s tour manager storms in.

“I think we’re done here,” he says. Everyone ignores him. This is something he’s used to so he shrinks back out of the studio.

“Jane, I—”

“Shut up, Keith. It’s not happening. But I’ll put your name on the will call list at the door tonight if you want to come see the show.” She looks at Fat Host. “Hang up on him.”

Fat Host again looks around at his co-hosts for a confirmation. They both deny her request. Jane sees this and as Keith begins pleading to her in a breathy panic, she stands up, throws her headphones on the console, walks around to the control board where Fat Host is sitting and rummages around with her eyes for the phone. “Hang up. Where is it? Hang up on him. There’s nothing more to say.” Fat Host uses his bulk to keep her away. “Okay then, I guess you don’t want those backstage tickets to my sold out show tonight for your listeners. I guess you’d rather fuck with me than keep a promise to your listeners. Fine then.”

She walks back around to her guitar and coffee, puts the guitar in its case, throws the nearly empty coffee cup into the trashcan. She lights another cigarette before storming out of the studio, the station, and into the parking lot where Gavin is waiting.

“I need a drink,” she says.

It’s barely past six-thirty in the morning so Gavin suggests hotel room service. Jane agrees. She admits that after a few mini bottles of Dewar’s and Tanqueray she’ll be ready for a nap.

✶         

IN THE HOTEL ROOM, GAVIN SLEEPS IN THE DESK CHAIR WITH HIS FEET PROPPED UP ON THE DESK, a small bottle of gin delicately rests in his curved fingers of his dangling arm. It’s eight-thirty and Jane lays drunk in bed. She’s tuned the nightstand clock radio to 97.1 FM, K–WOW. The idiots are playing the phone call with Keith. They’ve bleeped out her cursing. They’ve edited it to make her seem more erratic than she thought she had been. She’s pissed about it but she knows that this is only going to help her reputation and lead to more album and concert ticket sales.

She fumbles for her phone and calls Keith. After recording Hell in a Handbasket, Jane set out to remove any traces of him from her life. She built a fire in the alley behind her apartment next to the dumpster burning anything associated with their time together. Photos, a pair of his socks she loved to sleep in, the Dandelions t-shirt she bought at the show the night they met, that stupid crystal duck he gave to her on their first Christmas together. She never understood the significance of it. He was so excited to give it to her, so proud of himself that she never bothered to ask him why he thought she might like it. Of course, the crystal duck didn’t burn, so Jane smashed it to pieces with a hammer. The one thing she didn’t do during her Keith purge was delete his contact information from her phone. He answered her call before the first ring finished.

“Come to the show tonight,” she says to him.

“Do you want to get back together?”

“No. But I want to see you. Actually, if you can, come to my hotel right now. I’ll text you the address.”

She hangs up before he can respond and sends the text. She knows she has made a destructive decision and that there is no way any of this will end well. But that’s not what Jane wants. Keith has reopened her wounds as easily as if they’d never healed at all. Jane wants to bask in the familiarity of the disrespect and jealousy and anger that defined their relationship. One more chug of the poison, she tells herself, then she’ll be done. She’ll even delete him from her phone.

Keith texts back that he’s on his way. Jane wakes Gavin up and kicks him out of her room.

“You called Keith, didn’t you?” Gavin asks.

“I’ll see you later,” she says, closing the door in his face.

She picks up her guitar and writes a new song. It comes to her as easily as “Onward” did. Maybe even easier. She realizes that Keith is her muse. The thought of that is a good reason to open another mini bottle of whiskey. Maybe she won’t delete him from her phone. Just in case her creativity ever runs dry.

This is not the type of musician or person she thought she’d be but it’s the one the music industry needs, the one her generation needs—whatever generation that is. And certainly, it is the one she needs to be in order to remain being anything at all.

[fohfox-blog]

~TAG DROP~

{ + scrunched noses & man buns || faceclaim } - faceclaim

{ + tattered vans & hair bands || about } - about / headcanons

{ + mountains & moonshine || aesthetics } - aesthetics

{ + flashing lights & singing sirens || music } - music

{ + onto the next call || tasks } - tasks / answered asks

{ + out of cares || ooc } - out of character

{ + fox & muse } - threads

[kittcns124]

@rosaxlunar //  ♡ ; rosalia & baby!!

It was becoming increasingly difficult for Baby to keep track of time. How long could it have possibly been, really, since she had been so cruelly shoved in the back of an armored van before being dragged into an underground complex by a supercharged werewolf soldier intent on doing whatever it took to get her to talk? How long had it been since she had last seen Raphael, Jane, or Luca? Or - or any of the people she cared about, for that matter? Rosalia, Izzy, Alexander...the only company that Baby had received throughout her captivity involved a rotating band of guards that leered at her from outside of the iron bars she was trapped within, and then - Yadriel. Always Yadriel. The alpha wolf visited her on a daily basis, with only one mission in mind: to find out everything there was to know about Raphael, Luca, and The Inferno.

At first, he went easy on her. His first method of attack had involved a mixture of psychological manipulation and a never-ending stream of threats, but Baby had managed to remain strong and stubborn throughout even the very worst of it; she provided him with no information whatsoever, and that was when the beatings started. Or - had that happened only after they had begun starving her? All she could recall about that particular torture method was that she had damn near laughed in Yadriel’s smug fucking face the moment she realized that he thought denying her of food would have any sort of impact on her decision to keep her mouth shut. She’d starved herself purposely for years, and as far as she was concerned, now was as good a time as any to start up her diet again. The beatings, though, were harder to endure. She was scrappy, and strong from years of pole dancing and pilates, but she wasn’t meant for fighting; there was little that she could do to defend herself against an alpha wolf with a penchant for using his claws.

But still, she didn’t talk, and it was the isolation more than anything else that was driving her insane. By nature, Baby was needy; she required socialization and affection in every way, shape, and form, and without it, every single inch of her body felt as if it was being set on fire. She missed her family, from her surrogate parents to her faux older sisters in the form of Izzy and Rosalia, and - most of all, she missed Luca. She had no way of knowing whether or not he was dead or alive, but the fact that Yadriel was questioning her about him on a regular basis provided her with some hope that he had managed to evade capture. He would - he would come for her, then. He always came for her, and along with him would be Raphael as well. They loved her.

Or - Raphael did, at the very least. But she meant something to Luca too; she just knew it.

In an attempt to either humiliate or demoralize her, Yadriel had decided to forcefully bathe her in front of the lusty, hungry-eyed guards that went out of their way to grope her whenever they could, murmuring something in her ear about how he had plans for her tonight - something that sent a shiver of both fear and disgust up and down the length of the young angel’s spine. With her wrists bound behind her back, he ensured that she was dressed in the tattered clothes she had been wearing for the past week, commenting all the while on the way they contrasted with her freshly-washed skin and hair, before taking her out of her cell and marching her down the hall. Staunchly refusing to tell her where they were going, Baby could only bite down anxiously on her bottom lip as she was led through the dank, dimly-lit halls of the underground facility. 

He hadn’t - forced himself on her. Not yet. He’d beat her bloody, and had violated her in more ways than one, but he hadn’t been inside of her, and Baby had said a silent prayer of thanks because of that every single day. Was that all about to change? The alpha gave nothing away as he dragged her by her bound wrists, and it was only when they arrived at another cell-block that he finally revealed his intentions. He told her that if she wouldn’t talk for her own good, then perhaps seeing the state of one of her friends would be a better incentive. Baby’s eyes widened, and she frantically tried to squirm around within his grasp to ask him what the hell he was talking about, but he moved far too swiftly for her to keep up. He undid the ties around her wrist, unlocked one cell door in particular, and then shoved her harshly inside of it before slamming the iron cage shut once more and walking away back down the hallway they had arrived from. 

“Hello?” She knew that she couldn’t have possibly been alone, and after ensuring that Yadriel’s large, hulking frame had disappeared visibly from her line of sight, Baby turned around shakily, and her eyes widened when she finally realized whose cell she had been shoved inside of. There, just barely illuminated by the dim, sputtering lights outside in the corridor, was - Rosalia. The raven-haired beauty was in no better health than she was, and Baby felt her heart break and shatter within the confines of her chest at the sight of her. Of all the people to potentially be captured by the human government, she had never expected that Rosalia would be one of them.

“Rosa,” she breathed out her name in a pained-sounding rush, and as the young angel’s eyes welled with tears, she moved towards her in an instant, uncaring of the way that her bruised, tormented muscles ached in protest. Without hesitation, she wrapped her arms fiercely around the other dancer’s neck, burying her face in the crook of it and drawing her close. “Rosa, it - it’s me. Baby. Are you alright? How long have you been here for? These bastards, they - they took me the night of the party; I’ve been here ever since. Are you okay? Have they - have they been hurting you?” 

[deathstunt]

evil dead: the musical sentence starters.

'legend has it that it was written by the dark ones.' 

'it was written long ago, when the seas ran red with blood.' 

'the book disappeared.'

'to make the week go quicker, we packed a ton of liquor.' 

'we'll go totally bananas!' 

'spring break vacation is just bling bling.' 

'he's so cute and thin.' 

'that's why i love him!' 

'this will be just like camp, but with a slutty tramp.' 

'in a few hours, you will see me doing the nasty in a tree.' 

'fresh air makes me dizzy.' 

'i'm so his perfect girl.' 

'i came up to this cabin to read and sleep and bake.' 

'hope our headboard rattlin' don't keep your prude ass awake!'

'i don't like cellars.' 

'it's probably just some animal.' 

'that's the stupidest thing i've ever heard of.' 

'what a stupid bitch.' 

'i thought what you said before was stupid, but now that's the stupidest thing i've ever heard.'

'i hated work, it was a bore.' 

'all that changed when you walked through the door.' 

'i have to ask a question to the gods above.' 

'how were we deemed worthy of this perfect love?' 

'how did the perfect girl land a housewares employee?' 

'i could barely focus on my checkout line, your polyester shirt always on my mind.' 

'fantasies took over me.' 

'i'd forget to scan items and give 'em for free.' 

'who cares about blenders when you're right there?' 

'i was the one who was checking you out.' 

'i had a major crush on you.' 

'it must've been fate.' 

'it's better than meeting on elimidate.' 

'stocking the shelves was i thought would be.' 

'that makes this job so groovy.' 

'now, mother always said that whenever you hear a strange, frightening, and potentially life-threatening chant coming from the dark woods that there's only one thing you can do.' 

'don't wake the others and go investigate it alone.' 

'i heard you, i heard you before!'

'why don't you believe?' 

'it won't let us leave.' 

'listen to me!'

'why have you disturbed our sleep?' 

'you will die.' 

'nightmare is before you.' 

'one by one, we're gonna kill you all.' 

'look who's evil now!' 

'sock it to me, baby!' 

'i heard you suckers mocking me.' 

'let's see if you're still laughing when i rip out your fallopian tubes.'

'just try and fuck with me.' 

'if being evil's cool, consider me miles davis.' 

'i'm not one to make false promises.' 

'take her to the bedroom and make sure she's okay.' 

'oh my god, like, look at me!' 

'watch me shove this high heel straight up your love rod.' 

'i'll swallow up your soul without gagging at all.' 

'i'm sexy, i'm cute, and so evil to boot!' 

'i'd kill you with these guns, but i don't think they shoot.' 

'shoot her!' 

'i picked up that skank drunk in a bar three days ago!' 

'what the fuck was that?' 

'your sister has turned into a zombie.' 

'she just ripped my pre-ripped abercrombie!' 

'dude, these hoes been zombified.' 

'i cannot stay here anymore, i'm getting out of here.' 

'i can't take this anymore.' 

'we don't even know if there's a way back.' 

'i'll flag down a van!' 'then we'll leave her.' 

'(name), don't leave me all alone.'

'why don't you just accept your fate?' 

'your life sucks, you know.' 

'you'll be dead with no remorse.' 

'you can even bang a corpse!' 

'i'm not going to join you, never!' 

'you don't want to look beautiful like me?' 

'we'll all have a ball, organize a big pub crawl, and spend sundays at the mall.' 

'you can speak our evil slang.' 

'being evil is divine.' 

'whose laughing now?'

'how do we even know this guy is reliable?' 

'who can be your partner in the two-man luge and can sneak a dead hooker out your hotel room?' 

'who invented the formula for krazy glue?' 

'who was the last man to walk on the moon?' 

'and who coined the phrase 'fo' shizzle my nizzle'?' 

'it was me.' 

'you can trust in me.'

'kill her if you can, lover boy.' 

'how can this be real?' 

'a love to last for sure.' 

'honey, you got real ugly.' 

'i'm not a killer.' 

'to kill a coworker is against company policy.' 

'daddy, i'm home!' 

'this isn't as bad as it looks!'

'we're like that columbia house, ten cd's for a penny club. sooner or later, you'll join us.'

'it'll be like you were killed by some guy who's first name happens to be dawn and you'll be dead by dawn.'

'i'm that guy you see in every horror flick.' 

'you may not remember me.' 

'you wouldn't know my name.' 

'if the hero kills a hundred demons, i'd be the forgettable number thirty nine.' 

'i don't really mean it.' 

'i'm a threat to no one.' 

'you suck!' 

'we've been listening to you talk for the past two minutes.'

'i'm not just some preppy boy toy you can just push around.' 

'i killed that guy already.' 

'how can you be so heartless?' 

'good, bad, i'm the guy with the gun.' 

'are all men from michigan such loud mouth braggarts?'

'he didn't talk too much, but i didn't mind.' 

'i was all set to marry him, but before we could consummate, he was killed.' 

'he also enjoyed playing board games, but he can't sink my battleship now.' 

'they say love is cruel and i believe them.' 

'my hearts always broken.' 

'the men in my life keep getting killed.' 

'i know it seems bad now, it always does.' 

'i think you're exaggerating a touch, sugarbee.' 

'every date i go on ends in demon bloodshed.' 

'now that i've met you, i know you'll soon be dead.'

'do i look like a fucking zombie?' 

'it was a mistake!' 

'what can i do to prove i am sorry?' 

'in the future, i'd appreciate it if you could not fucking stab me.' 

'this hurts like a son of a bitch!' 

'take this cloth and apply pressure to your wound.' 

'bitch, get me somewhere safe.' 

'no one can hurt you here.'

'i'm getting sick of you trying to kill me.' 

'this is my boomstick!' 

'it's got a walnut stock, cobalt blue steel, and a hair trigger.'

'we honor the necronomicon.' 

'in hell, we dance our own special way.' 

'it's just like the time warp, only better!' 

'take a brief moment to acknowledge the band.' 

'can we kill these suckers yet?' 

'can we mutilate these fools?' 

'what are you on, crack?' 

'it's time to fulfill my purpose.' 

'in life, we are born with a destiny.' 

'it's time to accept my calling to go on a ravenous demon-killing spree.' 

'it's time to finally take a stand.' 

'stop talking trash.' 

'it's time for you to say goodbye.' 

'you will die by the saw or the gun.' 

'it's time to rip you to tatters.' 

'you know that i'm right.' 

'i'm not dying tonight.' 

'when i'm in despair, i adjust my hair and make evil pay.' 

'when danger calls, you must have the balls of an ox or a bear or any large mammal.' 

'is that so? i think no.' 

'no, i killed you. you're dead!' 

'we're already dead.' 

'we've died twice before, but we're back for more.' 

'you can't stop the dead.' 

'you can't kill the killed.'

'that is how i saved all of mankind.' 

'we thought you were fucking with us.' 

'we thought you were a lying prick.' 

'it just sounded like, uh, bullshit.' 

'she was going to eat us!' 

'you saved our lives!' 

'you're the baddest motherfucker in this whole strip mall!' 

'who knows who the next victim will be?' 

'you are the man!' 

'we used to fucking hate you and your lying ways.' 

'but now we changed our minds to think you're okay.'