#Clear jar storage

[bobochen-3344-blog]

3D Imperial Royal crown Cotton Ear Bud Pad Jar Ceramic Bathroom Storage Holder

[luminiamore]

SWEET.

sugar daddy nanami kento x black hyperfem reader

warnings: brat tamer nami, super duper big arms actually, spoiled reader, he’s a bit mean, he’s such a man omg, public sex, squirting, creampie, you'll almost get caught, mirror sex

masterlist

“Excuse me, Sir? Is this seat taken?”

A sweet voice interrupts Nanami’s focus on the book in his lap, The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath. The train's movements cause his body to sway slightly. He holds in a breath, really not in the mood to speak, but he's a gentleman. So, he looks up anyway.

He doesn't feel disappointed, actually the opposite. He's never seen anyone as beautiful as you. Your brown skin is smooth and clear, and your lips are glossed and full, with a slight pout. The makeup you put on was such a compliment to your face that it made you look like.. a doll. With eyes that made him seem like your salvation, you stared down at him.

Where did you come from?

“I’m sorry to bother you! It’s just- I’ve been trying to find a seat for a few minutes, and my feet are starting to really hurt. God, I should’ve never worn heels.”

You’re talking to him. He quickly comes to the realization that staring at your moving lips would make him appear creepy. Your voice was a little.. distracting. He clears his throat as he catches his lips quip up in amusement,

“It’s not taken. Please, sit.” You're walking towards the seat near the window, following his hips as they adjust to allow you to pass in front of him. Your clothes were... to say it bluntly, provocative. Your skirt was pink. He found that cute. But it was short, way too short to be worn out in public.

As you leaned down to prevent hitting the overhead storage area, his eyes caught the fat brown pussy lips poking out from the sides of your panties. Who the fuck let you go out like that?

You were wearing a strapless top that was also pink. The word 'BRAT,' which was printed in a bold white color, caught his attention. Hm, is that so?

You sit down, and now the blond man is hyper-fixating on your plush thighs pressing next to his. He’s interrupted by your sweet voice again, “Thank you, Sir. You’re too kind!”

He attempts to offer a smile, but he observes that your face is already buried in your phone, and your medium-length French tip nails echo a tapping sound. Well, now that won’t do. He wants your eyes on him again, your attention on him again. So he decides to speak,

“You headed somewhere important?” He acknowledges that this isn't the most ideal thing to ask a beautiful lady, especially during a train ride. His thoughts were running wild, and he was desperately trying to come up with something to say to you. He hopes you don't overthink it, but you look like the ditzy type.

You stop your typing and look up with your mind in thought, “Hmm, not really,” Your eyes turn to him and his cock twitches.

“I’m just going to meet up with some friends at the mall. The amount of walking I’m about to do is going to kill me but I can’t really do nothing since my car’s in the shop.”

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

Nanami observes that you have no filter or awareness that you may be talking too much. Either that, or you're so self-confident that you don't care. Regardless of what it is, he discovers that it is something he enjoys. He has the opportunity to ask more questions and hear your voice in his ears for just a moment longer.

You sit up straight, and now... Your body is facing him. And now he can see the nipple piercings that are pressing through your top. Nanami grits his teeth and forces his eyes to look at your wide ones.

Were you doing this on purpose? You have to be, but when he looks into your eyes, he finds no evidence of any alternate motives. That, or you were good at being coy.

“Well, somebody crashed into it when it was parked. And it was so bad, there was a weird creaking sound every time I drove! So now it’s in the shop, and it’s staying there.” You’re pouting again. And Nanami finds that he doesn’t like that hopeless look on your face. He has a burning desire to fix it, to alleviate any problems you're facing.

His voice grows soft and tender as he gazes into you, “It’s staying there?”

“I haven’t paid for the fix yet. So, the mechanic guy won’t give it t’me.” You shift in your seat. As you browse through your photos, he watches as you click on a picture of a pink Mercedes with its rear end completely broken. The color didn't catch him by surprise; in fact, he was more amused than anything.

“I see. Is there a reason you haven’t paid yet?”

Your brows furrow, and your head drops slightly as a sign of embarrassment. He thinks you're so cute. Nanami wonders if you have a job. You don’t look like the type to raise your perfectly manicured nails, and if you were his, he would never let you.

“Well... I’m in between jobs right now. My daddy won’t lend me any more money, and he told me yesterday, ‘You spend too much, and I can’t keep paying for your expensive shit.’”

Your bubbly, soft tone gets higher in pitch as you try to imitate your father's voice. You pivot and grasp Nanami's massive bicep through his blue dress shirt with your fingers. You notice a slight flush of your cheeks as you shift your eyes to where you grabbed it. He's so big that both your hands can barely wrap around the entirety of it.

Your eyes look up at him, “And y’know I get it! But ever since he got his new girlfriend, she’s been telling him these things. He never felt this way before!”

Your hand is covered by his, his veiny and large hand. You seemed really shaken up by this, and he can’t stand it. Someone as beautiful and perfect as you should not have to suffer like that. He wants to make your life easier; he wants you not to be bothered by such trivial matters.

As one hand raises your chin, his finger softly moves back and forth. His warmth makes the hairs on your skin prickle. “I’m very sorry about that, sweetheart. Would paying for your fix make you feel better? I can get a car to take you to your friends as well.”

You gasp and immediately shake your head, “Oh no, sir! I couldn’t ask you to do that. I-I mean, you’re a strang-”

“Kento, my name is Kento. And don’t be silly. I have more than enough to spend.”

“But-”

“No buts, sweetheart. I just met you, but I don’t like seeing a frown on that pretty face. Let me take care of your troubles the best I can.”

That day, you left the train with his number, and he left with your name. His generosity didn't end there. Kento started paying for a lot of your stuff, and eventually, he sent you money every day, making it such a habit that he just gave you one of his black cards. He would only ask for your company as compensation. There's nothing sexual about this, in fact.

Kento would go above and beyond to spend time with you, even leaving his job in the middle of the day to care for you. During your shopping sprees, he would hold your bags while you ramble about your week as you walked into another store. When you came to him crying about your dad's girlfriend not giving you a break, he decided to buy you your own apartment. It goes without saying that he pays for both your rent and all of your utilities. He would take you out for dinner and treat you to the finest high-end places because he knows that's what you deserve. The finest, and only the finest.

Nanami takes pride in the amount of self-control he has. Almost nothing gets under his skin.. but you. You and the short skirts you wear. You and your tight outfits. You and the way you bend down in front of him, exposing your pink lace panties. He tries to keep his eyes away, but he sometimes feels as if you're doing this on purpose. You must be.

And the truth is, you were. Nanami was the most attractive man you ever had the pleasure of seeing. Not only that, but his company has become something you've come to love. Ever since you met him on that crowded train, you've had lewd thoughts about him. Thoughts of him feigning a sex attack, thoughts of him bending you over and drilling his cock into you. You wanted him so badly, but he refused to do anything with you. It was making you crazy.

But you didn't know how to directly say that you want him to fuck your brains out. You opted for giving him hints, bending over in front of him, brushing against his thighs. Once, you managed to sit on his lap while he cooked you dinner at his home. He never moved, never did anything except keep his hands on your hips. That was enough to make you wet.

On a Tuesday afternoon at Japan's biggest mall, Nanami reached his limit. Your mini white heels were clacking on the tile floor as you entered the Victoria's Secret store, looking for the newest Valentine's Day set. This isn't his first time going shopping with you for lingerie, so he's not bothered in the slightest. Picking up the set and asking him to judge how it looks on you is what surprises him. You've never done that before.

“Please Nami, I have a date tomorrow and I’m hoping I can show him!”

A date? What the fuck do you have a date for?

The situation confuses Nanami. Antsy. Annoyed. He has a sense of jealousy. He can tell. You were his. Only his. You don't need a sluggish, limp-dick man who probably couldn't find your g-spot spot. You needed a man. You needed him. What advantage does your date have over him? What can your date do that he doesn't currently do for you? Are you insane?

He is unaware that you don't actually have a date. You were lying and trying to get him to react once more. You are the epitome of a brat. Kento doesn’t like brats. He breaks them.

You flick your pretty eyelashes at the 6'4 man who stares down at you with an unamused expression on his face. You’re pouting again, and Nanami really hates that he says yes to you. When you look at him like that, he can't say no. It's so hard to say no, but he's tired. Tired of the way you rile him up, he's sure that you're just hoping for a reaction from him. He has to put an end to this.

“..Lead the way, sweetheart.”

You're too occupied with other sets to notice that his voice becomes deeper when he speaks.

Nanami doesn't go into the dressing room with you. He planned to wait on the small, bright pink benches outside. Your angelic voice called out to him to help you with the zipper on a corset, ruining his plan. He loves helping you. It actually makes his day when he makes yours easier in any way. So, he agrees.

His breath hitsched when he pulls back the curtain. Oh fuck. You were... In red panties, the stockings lie softly on your thighs. While staring in the mirror, your brown skin is visible to him, and the corset is loosely hanging off your shoulders. You are a sight to behold—a sight of beauty, delight, and sweetness.

He creeps up on you slowly as though he doesn't want to frighten you. The moment he pulls both ends of the top together, you release a cute gasp. The zipper's faint sound as it rises makes you shiver when his hands brush against you. Once he's finished, his hands rest on your waist, your warmth radiating onto him. His voice, grave and breathless, causes you to catch your breath when he speaks,

“This is what y’re wearing? For your.. date?”

You hum and turn your body side to side to look at how the set fits on you.

“Uhuh! Y’think he’ll like it?” He tilts his head and observes your ass moving slightly with every move you make.

“Hm. What reaction do you suppose you’ll get out him?”

His fingertips can be felt on the panty line as he plays with it and pulls the band. You leap when it snaps itself back to your skin. His other hand is reaching in front of you and grazing your pussy

“Something like this?” The lace that clings to your pussy is grasped by his big hand, and you let out a pathetic whimper at the sight of it. You’re dripping. It wasn't your stupid date that caused this, it was all because of him. You succumb to his grip, and, of course, he steadies you.

“K-Ken?” Your voice squeaks out.

He pays no attention to you and only looks at the slick on his fingers when he moves away from your cunt. You're seeing all this through the mirror, watching his every move. Despite having dreamed about this moment every night, you still feel a little nervous. His expression in the mirror seems... upset.

“Y’know, sweetheart, I am tired.” His hands slowly take the panties off of you, allowing them to fall to your heels on the floor.

“Tired of how you tease me.”

He spreads your folds out from under you, letting the moisture drip all over his palm as he slides up and down. He groans when you emit the most adorable moan right next to his ear. God, you were so precious. He wanted you all to himself.

He scoffs, “A date. The hell do you need a date for? Y’need someone to fuck you, is that it? Someone to teach you some manners?” He slid his two thick fingers into your wet mound, scolding you when you let out a dirty mewl.

“Quiet sweetheart, bad girls don’t get to make a sound.”

He pushes them in deeper, immediately finding your spongy, and presses into it repeatedly. You tremble in his arms, pressing your hands to muffle your moans.

He murmurs to you, battling against the squelching noise your pussy is making. Your knees are buckling, but there's another hand pressing on your stomach to keep you upright and amplify the pressure you're feeling in your stomach. “I treat you so good. I buy you whatever you want, I make sure you’re always eating good. And yet you still insist on being a brat.”

He seethes in your ear, watching your pretty eyes roll back in the mirror. Kento feels that your loudness is causing you to forget you're in public. At this point, he doesn't care much. Throughout all of this, Kento is pulling down his zipper, freeing his hard dick from his boxers.

“It’s okay, baby, I’m gonna fuck you. Gonna fuck you so hard you forget all about that stupid date.” He stops finger-fucking you and leaves your sopping cunt suddenly, causing you to whimper at the loss.

Without warning, he plunges his fat cock deep into you and immediately presses his hand on your mouth to stop you from screaming. Your body falls back against him, leaving you drooling against his palm. It was too much, but you loved it. Had you known it would result in this, you would have done this a long time ago. Your body felt stuffed as he sucked his length in and out of you, observing how your pussy creams every time it disappeared inside.

Kento thinks you're perfect. Every aspect of your being is perfect. The way you squeezed around him almost made him forget that this was your punishment. Shit, you felt so good that he doesn't even want to carry on with the punishment anymore.

“There you go, sweetheart. Shh, just take it.”

You whine against his palm, your eyes barely open as this man is practically splitting you in half. You were both pouring your juices onto the floor, creating a small puddle below you. “Fuck. Such a messy girl.”

Your haze and pleasure make it impossible for you to hear footsteps coming near you and Kento. But he did, and he figures... It's a good idea to torment you a bit. So he speeds up his pace, letting the music drown out the light papping sound his thrusts and balls are making on your clit. If it's even possible.

“Miss? Is everything alright? D’you need any help?”

Your surprise is evident when your mind recognizes the voice of one of the employees. Fuck. No.

Nanami whispers into your ear, low enough for only you to hear, “Better answer her, sweet girl. Wouldn’t want her to suspect anything, hm?”

He’s so mean. Speaking is not an option when he's drilling into you like a madman. Fuck, could the poor lady even hear the noise? You're shaking, and you really can't help the yelp you let out every time his cock gets buried so deep inside of you. You rapidly nod against his hand, desperately attempting to do anything for him to keep fucking you like this. His hand slowly descends from your lips and grasps your covered tits in the corset, never once halting his pace inside you.

“Miss?” She speaks again, and you answer quickly so she can leave,

“I-I’m okay! Still- Ah! t-trying the s-set on.”

Nanami thinks you’re so cute as you try to keep your voice steady, chuckling to himself when you moan out in between your words. He thinks it's unfortunate when you're forced to speak again due to the lady's persistent pestering.

“..Are you sure? You don’t sound-”

“Yes! E-Everything’s f-fine, I’ll be r-right out!” You cut her off, your mind still reeling from the strong blows that Nanami never ceases to give you.

You faintly hear her muttering an 'Okay' before her heels recede into the crowded store. In all honesty, you believe you're starting to hear colors now. He was fucking you so good, and when you feel that familiar fire pit burning in your lower abdomen, you know what's coming. Or, in this case, who’s coming. You.

Nanami knows it, too, because your cunt just squeezed twice as hard on him. It’s practically pulsing open and close. You’re trying to fucking milk him.

“Good job, sweetheart. Y’gonna be my good girl from now on?” His hand doesn't even bother to cover your mouth anymore. Instead, his fingers reach down to your pulsating clit and start rubbing in tight circles. You forcefully bite your lip to prevent screaming out, savoring the metallic taste of blood on your tongue.

Nanami knows that if you let go of your lips right now, you're going to attract attention. He doesn't want that type of distraction at the moment, so he's not too upset about your quick nod as a response. He doesn't even think you know what he's saying, too drunk from the sensation of his cock to think about anything else other than that. Even so, you're saying yes. You, indeed, are perfect.

“Think you deserve to cum? I think you do, you were so good earlier talking to that lady. So cum, sweetheart. Make a mess f’me, yeah?”

That you definitely heard. It seems your pussy did, too, because she doesn't hesitate to squirt all over the floor. The mirror was being sprayed with your overflowing juices. Throughout it all, he was intensely watching you through the mirror, observing the face you make when you cum. It was so beautiful. The way your brows scrunch, and your eyes roll back, almost into your skull. The sight was enough for him to conceal his groans in your silk press, cumming so deeply inside of you that you thought it reached your womb.

Heavy breathing was all that could be heard under the faint music buzzing through the speakers. As Nanami slips out of you, you let out a whimper and gaze into the now-wet mirror, watching as he crouches down to where both he and your fluids are dripping out of you. You hear him mutter a curse under his breath, shivering when he runs his finger through your slightly gaping cum stuffed hole.

He lifts his finger, slipping it into his mouth to taste the aftermath of your.. lovemaking. He can detect some of your juices and his own. He only utters one word when he releases his finger with a pop,

“Sweet.”

He rises, gathers your clothes, and pockets the panties you wore when you initially came into the store. He believes that letting you confront people with his cum dripping down your thighs is an appropriate punishment. He pauses when he recalls something, “That date of yours tomorrow? Cancel it.”

Oh right! You didn't let him know that there wasn't a date.

“Kento?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“…I lied about having a date.”

Nanami freezes. His hands hold your skirt by your knees, and his eyes immediately catch yours in the mirror. He chuckles and shakes his head in astonishment when he realizes that this was your plan all along.

Despite not saying much, he whispers in a raspy voice,

“Brat.”

tags🏷️: @hatake05 @thickbihhwitdagapp

[mobbu-min]

☆ yummy in my tummy ☆

part two

a/n i swear everytime im about to play love and deepspace, the app needs another update. my phone storage can't keep up T0T anyways, i'm not that far in but xavier is my fave. he lowkey reminds me of silver haha. rafayel is a close second tho

includes: all of octavinelle, scarabia + pomefiore

tw mentions of eating disorder

want more? check out part one!

Octavinelle <3

⋆ Perhaps the last dorm that you want to know about your skills. But alas, your heart is vast, so even shady seamen deserves some delicious home cooked meals/treats!

⋆ How about making some extra cash? Is what Azul says after taking a bit. He does mean it. Not only would Monstro Lounge gain some more popularity after news of the Ramshackle Perfect’s home made meals/treats were being served, but he gets to spend time with you without giving his feelings away? A win-win if you asked him. As we all know, Azul does suffer from an eating disorder, as much as he tries to deny it, but somehow your cooking/baking doesn’t upset him at all. If anything, he gets so lost in the flavors that he doesn’t realize that his stomach is full and plate empty. Should he be concerned? Disgusted with himself? Lots of negative emotions begin to swell up, but when he glances at you, fully expecting the worst, he’s met with your proud smile. Happiness practically radiating off your being. And suddenly, Azul doesn’t mind the feeling of a full stomach as long as you look at him like that again.

⋆ Jade finds himself coming to you more often to ask for tips on how to cook mushrooms in different ways. Heck, he even encourages you to come out mushroom hunting with him. He’s fascinated by the way you work, seeing you mix different spices and ingredients together inspires him to do the same. He enjoys getting a glimpse at a third world, your world. It reminds him that the universe is truely a big, fascinating place. He is touched that your first thought was to bring him food, don’t worry he’ll repay the favor.

⋆ Your food is the only thing to get Floyd out of his moods! Once he smells the delicious scent of your meals/sweets, he instantly goes back to being silly and goofy! He will pester the living daylights out of you to make his favorite foods. You will know no peace! Floyd always makes his distaste clear. He’s an honest guy, what can he say? So it’s a big achievement that your food gets the Floyd pass. He will glare at anyone that dares to come near his food. This is his food, not theirs! Floyd’s a good cook himself, so like Jade, if he’s feeling particularly chummy, you might be gifted with his own unique concoction.

Scarabia <3

⋆ Scarabia is known to have the best food in the school! So it was a little jarring when you decided to give them some of your homemade food. But you really have nothing to worry about when it comes to these too.

⋆ You thought you were going to go blind with how bright Kalim's smile was. It truly could rival the sun. Because of the trust between you and Kalim, he devours it within seconds. Practically buzzing in excitement as the flavors touch his tongue. He’s not joking when he says that it’s as good as Jamil’s food. He wants to throw a party where you and Jamil have a cook off! But also just to show off your amazing cooking. You’re going to have to politely tell him that might be too much for you. Or that you only cook for special people! (subtle flirting hehe) And well Kalim is Kalim so it’s like a 50/50 chance that it won’t fly over his head. But in the case that it doesn’t, Kalim gets all warm and flustered. You know how some people get cuteness aggression and just want to squeeze said cuteness, well that’s Kalim. Instantly you're in his arms while he exclaims how much he loves you!

⋆ Jamil gave you the weirdest look, thinking that you wanted something from him. But alas! You did it out of the goodness of your heart. After getting over his initial suspicion, Jamil is incredibly thankful! I get a feeling that between everything that Jamil has to handle, he tends to eat very little most days. Just enough to get him to bedtime. So when you popped out of thin air with food, but not just any food his favorite, Jamil is touched. Though just because he’s touched, that doesn’t mean he won’t critique it! Internally of course, unless you ask. I would like to say that this would lead to cooking dates, but Jamil gives me the impression that he doesn’t like others in the kitchen while he works. Though he’s willing to try it out for you! Omg, if you make him food from the Scalding Sands, he just might tear up (lol, probably not but that’s a funny thought) but he will be incredibly touched!

Pomefiore <3

⋆ A tricky dorm to cook/bake for. A life or death situation! You must satisfy the Queen’s tastes or else you’ll face everlasting sleep! OoooOOoooooOOOoooo

⋆ Your greatest foe, the Queen herself! Does your food satisfy the Queen’s strict diet? ………partially. Listen, Vil holds himself to high regards and keeps a stern eye on his calories and where those calories come from. And while yes, you are going the right path, you also took some side quests on the way. In other words, you were like 74% to getting Vil’s approval. But fear not! For Vil is more than willing to take you under his wing! Though, Vil’s not a chef himself, so he’ll guide you in the ways of his diets. As long as you keep those in mind, Vil finds himself thoroughly enjoying anything you make him. He enjoys foods that are light on the stomach with plenty of nourishment. Vil will oftentimes find himself thinking about your food. His stomach growling in hunger. He appreciates it whenever you show up with homemade snacks. Vil will oftentimes submerge himself in his work, whether that be new roles, schoolwork or guiding his dorm mates, and forget to eat. So knowing that you're always thinking of him and coming to check up on him makes him feel all mushy and gooey inside. Goodness, the effects you have on him.

⋆ C’est délicieux! Anything and everything you give Rook is eaten with fervor. Truly enjoying and savoring every bite! For how could he let anything go to waste? You put your heart and soul into it, it would be wrong not to enjoy it with his own heart and soul. His appetite is never quenched when it comes to your food. He consumes your food with such earnestness that it's hard not to get all flustered. The compliments are never ending when it comes to him. Rook could (and has) write poetry off the delicious taste of your food. Sweet, yet a little off putting. Will jump at any occasion to speak about your food, and by extension you. Eveytime he sees you with a bag or box, Rook is skipping towards you with a little tune to each step.

⋆ Nothing could beat his Meemaw’s apple pie, but Epel supposes that yours come to a close second. Your food is the only thing Vil will turn a blind eye to, which Epel takes as an opportunity to slyly (not really) suggest new recipes for you to try. Honestly, Epel really likes your food! He gets all flustered whenever you pop with food for him. At first he was a little insulted that you made him food, thinking you were insulting his masculinity or something by babying him. But after your very honest words (and a reprimanding from Vil and Leona for making you sad), Epel understands that it was just you trying to show him that you cared for him. I can see Epel going to Jack and asking ‘Is someone giving you food manly?’ and Jack, who happened to overhear Leona telling Ruggie, casually responds with, ‘My mom always makes my dad food, so yeah…” And Epel’s all like, ‘Well damn, if Jack looks like that then his dad must be super macho.’ or something like that. Needless to say, Epel has never hit someone so hard before over food. (rip grim and ace)

[mooncatgirl]

18+

Daryl Dixon x f!Reader

Summary: Daryl and y/n go on a supply run

cw: smut, cursing, mentions of weed

(This is my first time writing in about 5 years... be kind)

(Daryl's pov) It was late at night and I could not sleep, not with her so close.

It was earlier that day that y/n and I had left the group at the prison for a supply run. It was a routine I would never get tired of. Driving my motorcycle around the barren streets with her soft hands wrapped around my waist. The way her thighs grasped me. We'd scan our surroundings looking for something, any sign of supplies. Today we had found a desolate grocery store with little food left. We walked among the shelves, shoving anything that we could find into our bags. She walked close beside me, our arms brushing every so often.

She reached for a jar of peanut butter and looked at me with a warm smirk as she placed it in my bag.

"I know you like that," she said. My mouth hung agape at the seemingly innocent words that came from her. I snapped out of it when a walker turned the corner and it was face to face with the girl. She quickly grabbed the thick knife stuffed in her belt and stabbed it in the head as she had so many times before. The blood splattered across her face and somehow it only made her look better.

I am sick.

"Thanks," I murmured. She looked at me with a smile, "Not anything you couldn't have done." She replied.

"For the peanut butter," I said. I couldn't look her in the eyes for more than a second. Her gaze made me nervous, made me weak.

"No problem" she said as she began down the next aisle. "I'm pretty sure the first time I saw you smile was when we found some in that weird factory." she chuckled. She remembered.

I mentally smacked myself for being so happy over an act so small. It's just peanut butter.

"You mean the one with all the puzzles?" I asked. We had found ourselves trapped in the factory that day. The outside dark and surrounded by walkers. We had spent all night talking as we put together a bunch of puzzles we had found in a storage room.

"Mhm" her eyes lit up as she scanned my face. She looked to the window on our right. "Sun will set soon. Should we find a place to sleep?" she asked.

"Saw a house about two miles west from here. Looked small but safe." I recalled.

"Lead the way," she said.

_____________________________________________

Once we had cleared the shack we began to settle in. Y/n lit a few candles she had found lying around as I barricaded the door with a nearby dresser. I watched as she removed her plaid flannel in the warm hue of the light. Her arms looked so soft, I admired her as she walked over to the bed. The way her jeans hugged her round ass, her thighs. Her calves.

Jesus how long had I been staring? She watched me from the bed with a confused look on her face.

"Don' mind sleeping on the floor," I broke the silence, avoiding her gaze once more.

"I don't mind you sleeping in the bed," she said, tilting her head. Fuck. She slowly moved to the side as I walked over slowly with my head down. Why would I say no?

I sat on the edge of the bed and began to take off my boots as she adjusted the thick black blanket and began to lay down.

I laid beside her, my back against the headboard as she laid still. I was scared to look at her in fear that she'd be looking back. Fear that if I did I would once more get lost in the awe of her face. Fear she'd catch me.

"What do you miss most from before?" her soft voice said quietly.

"Wha" I grunted. Why is she asking me this? Why does she care?

"From before all this. What do you miss?" she asked, her body still facing me completely as she laid on her side.

"I don' know" I whispered. I really didn't. Nothing from now was different from how it was to me. In both times I've just wandered aimlessly, survived. The only difference is now I have a community. Something to desire. Someone to yearn.

"Really you can't think of anything?" she asked half shocked.

"Not really. Maybe weed." I said with a smirk as I looked down on her.

And there it was, that gaze. That way her eyes fixed on me. My face felt flushed as I smirked to myself.

"Damn it you stole mine" she smiled to herself as she turned to lay on her back, breaking eye contact. I watched as she did so. I couldn't help but notice as her chest moved up and down from her breathing. Her nipples barely peering through the fabric of her white t-shirt.

"Goodnight Daryl" she hummed as she turned her back to me and rested her arm underneath the pillow below her.

"G'night" I muttered. I stayed still, my eyes glued to her body. The way the blanket upon her clung to her curves. The way her legs shifted back and forth as she began to drift to sleep. The way her lips curled into a slight smile, similar to a cats, as she finally was asleep.

God she was beautiful. God am I pathetic.

____________________________________________

(Your pov) "Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck" You moaned fervishly as he rammed into you repeatedly. His head buried in your neck as your nails dug into the muscle of his back. He grunted lowly as he continued pounding into you. Your legs wrapped around his waist as his cock continued plunging into you. "Please Daryl" you moaned as your body filled with ecstasy.

Slowly you opened your eyes, observing your surroundings as you calmly woke. It was only a dream. Your eyes fell upon the legs of the man beside you. They moved across his long body. You laid still as you admired the shape of his arms. The definition alone making you sigh lowly as you imagined them wrapped around your torso. You looked up to his face to see he was already looking at you. His gaze softened as a smirk tugged at his lips. You smiled back, trying to ignore the happenings of your mind moments before.

You maintained eye contact, beginning to wonder if this too was a dream. There's no way he hadn't looked away yet- as he had so many times before. You grew concerned.

"What?" you whispered. Was something wrong? Had something happened while you were asleep? Was he trying to give you a signal?

You relaxed as his smile grew and his eyebrows raised into a smug look. "You have a nice dream?"

Your heart sank as you looked at him confusedly. How had he known? "What are you talking about?" you asked in hopes he knew less than you thought.

"You talk in your sleep" he whispered as his body turned to you. "You say things," he paused, biting his lip ever so slightly, "You moan things" His eyes flickered across your face as he lifted his large hand to gently move a strand of hair from your face. You observed his face, looking for a sign that he was joking. That this wasn't real. But as he moved his head in front of yours and his thumb rubbed gently over your cheek, you knew it was. He leaned, kissing you softly as his hand cradled your head, slowly moving to the back of your neck.

You kissed him hungrily. You couldn't believe this was really happening, but you were so glad it was. Your hands cupped his face as he deepened the kiss, his other hand moving below your shirt to grasp at the skin. His grip was strong, like he was never going to let you go. You'd be okay with that.

Quickly the kiss became ever so passionate, as he shoved his tongue into your mouth, you moaned at the feeling. His hands moved up and down your body before he began to unbutton the buckle of your jeans. He fumbled with the zipper before pushing them down your legs, you hurriedly kicked them off before moving on top of him. You straddled his waist and grinded down onto his clothed cock. The roughness of the jeans making a pleasurable friction atop your clit.

You continued to push down on him back and forth. His hand explored your body harshly before you began to pull your shirt off. His hands followed yours like a shadow as you lifted it up, meeting your hands and pulling off your shirt himself. His hands immediately went to your back, pulling your chest to his. Holding you tightly as you broke the kiss for air. In that moment his mouth flew to your breast, your skin. He wanted to breathe you in. He kissed and bit at your skin while his hand traveled down to your covered pussy.

"Fuck" he murmured at the contact to your wet panties. You needed him. He slowly began pushing at your clit before beginning to press circles into it. You moaned at the pressure, slowly beginning to tug at his shirt. You fervently tugged at the bottom of his black tee, he lifted it over his head and threw it somewhere into the dark. He moaned as you continued to press into his hand, your weight heavy on his hard cock.

He bit at your neck while his free hand groped your ass in his lap. He was sloppy, hungry. The noises he was making were something you had never heard from him before. They were so pathetic and raw. He was affected by your every move, your every sound.

He continued rubbing you in an erratic circle, faster and harder. Your head rolled back as your jaw hung open, you let out a pornographic moan. Your eyes squeezed shut and you began gripping at his shoulder for balance. Suddenly he stopped his movement before grabbing your torso with his arms you loved so dearly before putting you on your back. You perched your legs and let your thighs surround the man in-between as he quickly removed his belt and unbuttoned his pants before leaning down to pull your right leg over his shoulder.

He softly placed kisses on the plump skin of your calf before pulling your damp panties off of you. The cool air startled you. "Daryl," you whispered out of breath. "Please"

You pulled at his pants with your hands, begging him to take them off. You felt empty. You wanted him to stuff you completely. He got his pants off as quickly as he could, not wanting to leave from between your legs any longer than he had to. Once he got his pants off he quickly removed his boxers as well. His dick sprung to his stomach, veiny and red, practically pleading. Out of pure instinct and lust you spit on your hand and reached for it. Mixing your spit with the wetness of his precum you began palming it slowly as his eyebrows furrowed, he slowly hovered over you, whimpering at the contact.

You made out heavily as he slowly began to trail his dick down all the way to your throbbing pussy. Aching for him. He slipped it up and down your wetness, slowly grazing. You moaned frustratingly at the agonizing need for him. He leaned down to kiss you softly and began slowly pushing inside. You moaned hungrily into the kiss as he kept pushing his long cock into your tight hole. He continued whining into your mouth is head falling to your chest once he was fully inside, peering down at the view of him stuffed inside. He stopped for a moment letting you adjust to him. He looked upon you, his eyes filled with lust and want.

Slowly he began moving into you, his dick hitting spots you could never reach. You moaned in pure pleasure as he picked up his pace. He held you tightly, fucking up into you.

"Oh fuck" you sighed. He pressed his hand onto your stomach, pressing into you. Your eyes squeezed shut as he continued pounding into you. Your fingers grasped at his back as his head dropped to your shoulder. Fucking you mercilessly. He moaned into your neck, a number of curses falling from his lips.

Your legs pulled him in by his waist, his hands holding you right where he wanted you. He filled you so deeply you didn't know if you could bare him ever leaving your warmth. You moaned endlessly as he kept at his pace. Before you knew it your back was arching as you ass pressed into the mattress. Your mouth agape your orgasm flooded over you and he guided you through every wave. "Fuck Daryl Fuck" you screamed as you squeezed his bicep, riding out your high.

"So fucking pretty" he groaned as he began slowing his pace as you came down. Your pussy ached as he slowly pulled his dripping cock out of your hole. He held his cock in his hand as he pumped his load onto your stomach. His head flew back in a soft moan as he came. You whimpered as his warm cum landed on your skin.

Slowly he leaned down to lay beside you, his leg draped over yours. You looked over to him, still catching your breath. He kissed your shoulder softly and got up to grab his boxers from where they were laying beside him and slowly wiped your stomach clean. You watched in awe as he pulled the blanket over the two of you completely, wrapping his arms around you before pulling you in to lay atop his chest. You soaked him in, breathing in his scent.

"G'night" he whispered, kissing the top of your head.

[jigeuminunbich]

cherie amour | han dongmin (taesan)

synopsis in which dongmin finds himself falling head over heels for the regular that comes into his job (at a vintage record shop) every afternoon.

genre college!au, fem!reader, s2ls (strangers to lovers), and fluff

warnings halfway proofread ngl, kinda has a princess & the pauper vibe (reader is quite privileged & goes to an elite college), quite a few awkward pauses and bashful stares, and dongmin can’t flirt for the life of him

word count 2k

a/n first ff out of the neo realm, hope you all enjoy!

track-list my cherie amour x stevie wonder, can i call you rose? x thee sacred souls, and all i do is think of you x the jackson 5

A bead of sweat trickled down the side of Dongmin’s face. The rickety fan his boss had found from storage was doing absolutely nothing to shield him from the wrath of the summer heat— and the fact he refused to turn on the air conditioning wasn’t helping him in the slightest either.

Despite feeling like he had been transported to the sixth circle of hell, Dongmin didn’t mind his job, it had actually been a juvenile dream of his to work in a place much like this. Somewhere with artifacts filled with history, antique furniture and decor, a devoted community of customers— and surely, that’s what he got following being hired for this position.

But he definitely wasn’t expecting to be overworked as one of the few underlings for his incompetent boss who had inherited the place and having to endure the smell of what could only be described as vintage.

The continuous buzzing of the fan that whirred beside Dongmin’s propped, beat-up sneakers was muffled for a brief moment as in came one of the meager reasons he decided to put up with his job— only, even.

You.

Following the chime on the door, a wave of heat entered the record shop but you graciously came with it, so Dongmin couldn’t really complain. You greeted him with a smile as he hurriedly straightened in his seat and adjusted his posture stiffly. The smile was returned to the best of his abilities, but he’s sure it came off wonky and jarring.

Silently, you waltzed around the shop. It wasn’t very big, and he’s positive you’ve walked each aisle at least a few dozen times but it still had you coming back every other afternoon.

It was ritualistic for you to stumble into the small-scale record shop nestled between an antique boutique and a genuine crystal shop— Dongmin had become hip to this months ago when he had first began working here. Though, it was obvious to him that you had been doing this a lot longer than his time, judging by the way you interacted with veteran staff and even that dense boss of his.

You were around his age, clear from the cardigan you wore that was proudly embroidered in fancy cursive of what he discovered was your home school— the elite college that rivaled his. It had been an initial thought of his that maybe you were an alum and just liked the comfort that the sweater offered but after miraculously seeing you at a rival game between your two schools’ football teams— he knew for sure that you were close in age.

Unfortunately for him, those were the only details he had found on you. Alleged things about you floated around between his coworkers and to his own ears but he ignored them for solid truth. The truth was, you were clearly a devout music lover from a realm he didn’t know of, a school he could only dream of attending, and a lifestyle he had absolutely no experience in.

“Anything new that you recommend?” At the arriose sound of your voice, Dongmin came to a realization that he had been staring at you for far too long.

Under your curious gaze, he stilled. Nearly forgetting to breathe over the fact you were speaking to him. Another fact he had come to realize, is that you enjoyed your solitude. It wasn’t often that you spoke to him outside of your purchase of a vinyl or the rare CD. But when you did, Dongmin always fell into the same trap as if it was happening for the first time again.

“I—uh— what’s your genre?” He knew this already. You had an affinity for 60s music— he came to conclude from the dozen of vinyls he had previously rung up for you.

You hummed, glancing to the spotty ceiling as you contemplated. “I always go for oldies. Anything recent that you like?” As you asked this, you drew closer to the counter where Dongmin was quickly breaking out into a cold sweat over the fact you were verily nearing closer to him.

Your eyes didn’t waver from him, it was clear that you were genuinely interested in his own opinion.

“Well, I don’t listen to too much recent stuff myself, actually.” He managed to respond, not having the capacity to filter his honesty.

Now opposite of him by the counter, you giggled. Dongmin swore his heart skipped a beat, or two for that matter.

“Well, I guess you’re no help then?” Your voice lilted with humor, your head tilting.

“Heh. No, I guess not…” To Dongmin, he was sure your bout of conversation would end here. You would choose something along the lines of your usual, get rung up with some sort of small talk, and go on about your day while he finished out his shift wallowing about how he wished he could’ve said more to you.

“What’s your genre, then,” you squinted momentarily to double-check his nametag. “Dongmin?”

For a moment, Dongmin had forgotten his name was his own. You watched him blink at you for a few beats before visibly collecting himself.

“Me? Well, I like rock— like Nirvana and My Chemical Romance. But I like easy listening stuff too…”

You nodded, “I assumed just as much.”

Dongmin’s eyebrows shot up into his fringe, eyes wide with surprise. “Really?”

An endeared smile etched onto your lips instantly. “Yeah, every time you’re here they’re always playing over the speakers. But I hear the Carpenters every now and then, too. You have good taste.”

Dongmin fought the flattered expression that attempted to spread across his features, clearing his throat in an effort to swallow his excitement. “Thanks.”

You nodded, a silence floating in the air as you two both seemed to wait for the other to carry on the conversation. With the atmosphere starting to feel cramped, you open your mouth to ease the awkwardness but Dongmin thankfully beats you to it.

“We—uhm— actually just get in some new vinyls that I think you might like…”

You visibly perk up at this. “Did you?”

Dongmin nods, his tone coming off a bit hesitant. “Well, you get a rotation of the same artists, I noticed…”

Your laughter eases the weight on his shoulders, he finds himself smiling fondly as you nod your head in agreement. “No, yeah, I do. I guess I’m quite predictable,”

Dongmin shrugs. “There’s nothing wrong with that. I think your music taste is good too.”

You find yourself smoothing a hand over your jacket, flattered. “Thank you,”

“No problem.”

You both lock eyes for a beat longer than expected, your own being the ones to flit elsewhere as could feel the flutter of butterflies swarm in the base of your belly. Dongmin’s gaze on you is only interrupted when you clear your throat before speaking again.

“Did you want to show them to me?”

“Oh! Yeah, sorry,” As if he had been split from a trance, Dongmin lurches back into reality to begin leading you towards a dusty corner of the shop.

A giggle leaves you as you follow close behind. “No worries.”

It’s safe to say Dongmin did not fabricate that the new selections would be to your liking. You find yourself rifling through the crate carefully, multiple familiar artists’ cover arts calling your name. Dongmin can’t help but admire you as you work your way through the vinyls with pure amazement in your eyes.

“Anything catch your eye?” He gestures toward the basket that you were leisurely searching through.

Your gaze shifts upwards to where Dongmin is standing, sheepishly remembering that he was there. “A lot. I’m supposed to be on a budget for stuff like this but— Oh my god! I’ve been looking for this,” you excitedly pull out a yellowed Lesley Gore vinyl.

Dongmin’s amused laughter catches your attention and you roll your eyes at him before shaking your head. “Damn, why’d you have to know me so well?”

“Heh. I can get you a discount, if you’re interested?” Dongmin approaches you, delivering his sentence carefully to test your reaction.

You jerk away in surprise, shocked that Dongmin would even offer to do that for you. But you can tell he’s genuine as he watches you intently awaiting your response. “No, no. I just need to practice some self-control…”

“You sure? I can’t promise that old guy won’t buy up all the Marvin Gaye in here…” You follow his hands as they skim the top of the distressed and begrimed vinyls, almost like a hypnosis.

A huff leaves you, the memories of your elder competition that most likely had no idea was your competition coming to mind. “Shit— you’re right. Okay, fine. I’ll indulge myself just this once.”

You decide to humor Dongmin and yourself, picking through the crate again to remove several LPs that caught your attention. Dongmin nods, finding confidence in being able to bond with you. After you make your final decision, you both head back over to the counter to finalize your transaction.

“You didn’t have to do this, y’know. I’m sure this is actually against the rules…”

“Nah. It’s fine my boss does it all the time for customers he likes too—“ Dongmin realizes his slip of tongue a little too late, his expression reminding you of a deer in the headlights.

“Really now?” You muse.

“Uh—yeah,” Dongmin coughs. “That’s your total…”

Your eyebrows jump instinctively at the outcome, gladly digging around in your bag for your card. “Damn. I’m glad you like me because inflation is killing me right now, here,”

Dongmin accepts your payment and you don’t miss the way he avoids your eyes bashfully. When everything is squared away, your hefty bag in hand, he decides he’s capable of addressing you head on.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you around then?” He visibly forces out, internally hoping it comes across as natural (he doesn’t).

You nod automatically but have a sudden train of thought that you decide to take a chance and verbalize. “Actually… do you get off any time soon?”

The boy across from you is clearly stunned at the inquiry, blinking at you a couple times before answering. “Uh— in about an hour, actually…”

“Cool. I’ll be at the café across the street, if you don’t have anything to do that is… I feel like it’s only right that I repay you…” The last of your sentence trails off as you feel you’re rambling on, but Dongmin couldn’t have looked more interested in you.

“No! I mean, I don’t have anything to do— I’m free, yeah.” Dongmin shuffles, setting himself in a pose that he hoped conveyed how nonchalant he wanted to be but was clearly failing to do so.

You find yourself amused with his antics— a bit flattered as well. “Alright then, see you in an hour?” He nods intently while he watches you back away from the till.

“An hour it is.” He affirms, returning the wave you spare him before the shop’s door chimes again. Promptly, your warmth leaves him to the humidity of the shop. But he holds his pose knowing he’ll be engulfed in it once more.

© jigueminunbich ‘24

[togenabi]

apothecary diaries

vinsmoke sanji (opla) x fem!reader

♡—you need peppermint for a salve you're making, but sanji bought all of it, and that's seriously not fair.

word count♡— 3.7k

genre♡— fluff

content notes♡— opla sanji, afab!reader runs an apothecary and likes to make things, inaccurate chemistry for the sake of the story, mentions of flames in bottles, please do not do that, no use of y/n, not fully proofread

also on♡— ao3

author's note♡— I love sanji sm he makes me cry. might be first in a series, but we'll see. please enjoy. xoxo, belle.

The third time a pirate entered your shop, you genuinely considered closing up early today.

You level him with a stare despite the man being twice your size. You cut him off before he can get a word out.

“No, I don't have anything that works against people made of rubber.” Crossing your arms over your chest, you gesture to the rest of your wares. “Now, are you going to get anything else? Or should you be on your way?”

He leaves, disgruntled, but without a fight.

A huff escapes your lips. The nerve of these people.

Ever since that outrageous bounty for that new pirate came along, suddenly every pirate and pirate hunter in the East Blue was gearing up to chase after him. All the poisons that were gathering dust in your storage were cleared out within days of those posters showing up.

It was good berry at first, but they got more aggressive, and started demanding more of everything. More doses than you were comfortable handing out. More dangerous poisons that could kill everyone in the room if the seal loosens by even a crack.

You took up this apothecary business because you wanted to help people. It wasn't exactly your dream to become a poison dealer.

The shop bell rings again. Thankfully, this time it's one of your elderly neighbors and not a pirate seeking poison.

The old lady smiles at you, the sides of her eyes crinkling. “You seem to be quite busy these days, dear.”

“If only they were paying customers like you, Ma'am.” You pick up a box of loose tea from the shelf, already knowing her usual order.

She gasps in concern. “Oh my, did they steal from you?”

“Only my time.” You grimace slightly, remembering how many pirates barged in last week.

“Would you like some honey with this? We have fresh jars from today's shipment.” You offer as you tally her order.

The lady hums in agreement. “Yes, I think some honey would be lovely.”

During slow days like these, you like to tinker with new recipes to sell. On a desk at the very back of the shop, obscured by thick curtains, is your beloved workstation.

You review your notes from the previous day. You'll need to get some peppermint for the healing salve you're developing. Taking a small jar of the experimental paste, you test a small amount on your hand.

Indeed, it needs more peppermint. Maybe you should use extract instead of crushed leaves next time, so that the texture is smoother.

The problem arises when your go-to herb supplier says he's run out of peppermint.

“Please tell me you're kidding.” You groan, looking down at your sadly empty whicker basket.

“M’sorry, lass.” The vendor shrugs, not looking very sorry at all. “You just missed the guy who bought everything. I promise I'll get you your peppermint next week, though.”

Resigned, you sigh, reading through the rest of your shopping list. The salve, at least, can wait a week as it's still a work in progress. The rest of your list, however, are crucial ingredients for your usual bestsellers.

“Fancy looking lad. He asked about spices. Told him to go to the shops down by the river.”

Your stomach drops. Everything else you need are sold by those shops.

Mentally cursing that vendor, you run as fast as your feet can take you. You're not letting some tourist get the better of you when it comes to ingredients.

You reach the river in record time. You'd feel proud if you didn't feel winded. Even so, you scan the road for anyone matching the tourist's description.

There doesn't seem to be anyone remotely fancy around. Triumphant, you go on with your shopping.

You begin to feel better as you cross more things off your list. You've almost forgotten about the peppermint incident, if only you didn't suddenly smell so much of it pass by.

A tall blond man walks by, clearly doing a lot of shopping based on the boxes of supplies he's carrying. The scent of peppermint hits you again. In a paper bag, at the very top of the boxes, you spot bunches of those leaves you've been so desperate for.

You can only clench your jaw in frustration and frown at the back of his head. He purchases a large amount of meat and fish in the next stall, and you gather that he must be some sort of chef. No normal person buys so much meat that the shopkeep offers to deliver everything. But that's what happens to this fancy looking lad. He must not be normal then.

“Yes, my ship's in the docks. You can't miss it, thank you so much for your help.” He smiles. His blue eyes wander the stall, then travel to the next stall over, where you are.

There's a moment of surprise when he finds you already looking at him, but his expression changes instantly into a suave one. It almost makes you want to back away, but you stand your ground when he approaches.

“Aren’t you stunning? I was feeling tired, but your pretty face woke me right up.”

You turn away, pointedly ignoring him. He can't flirt with you while smelling like peppermint. It's just not fair.

“Sorry for the hold up, lass. What's it you need?” The shopkeep you were waiting for shows up just in time. You continue to not pay the blond beside you any attention.

“Cinnamon and salt, please.” You respond. “Pink, if you have any.”

“I'll have the same, good sir.” Fancy pants says. “Though, my salt doesn't need to be pink.”

As the shopkeep rummages through his supplies, the blond continues to speak to you. Why does he keep speaking to you?

“Pink salt is lovely to look at, same as you,” He begins, “But other than the color, there really isn't a difference to normal salt, isn't there?”

He shrugs, his broad shoulder shifting his suit jacket slightly. “You're paying extra for the same result. It's all the same when you cook it.”

“I'm not using it for cooking.” Is your only response.

The shopkeep returns before the stranger can reply. “Here's the salt for you's.” He hands you a bag of pink rock salt, and the stranger a bag of regular salt.

The dread from the peppermint vendor returns when you realize the shopkeep is holding only one bag of cinnamon. He pats it and says, “I could split it so you both get half.”

“I was here first.” You insist desperately. “Sell it to me.”

“...My hands are tied here, lad.” The shopkeep sells you the cinnamon, and it's quickly tucked into your basket when you get your hands on it. The stranger doesn't barter for it. Good.

And with that, you cross out cinnamon and salt from your shopping list. You were able to get everything except the peppermint, which stays neat and legible at the very top of the list.

You crumple the paper and toss it into a nearby bin before making your way back to your shop.

“Are you on your way to get some peppermint?” How did the stranger catch up with you so quickly?

“No.” No matter how much you wish you were.

You try to walk faster, but his pace is steady even with a large box under one arm and several others tied up with twine held in his other hand.

“But it was on your list.” He seems to be very interested in your dealings. Is he always this dedicated when he flirts?

You cross the bridge that arches over the river together. The townsfolk who recognize you and not the man next to you begin to whisper amongst themselves.

It takes everything in you to resist rolling your eyes. After a week of pirates, you suspect your shop will be full of gossiping neighbors soon.

“A certain someone bought all the best peppermint today.” Of course the scent of it wafts over you again as you say so.

“Ah.” Understanding dawns on his face. “I see, I'm sorry if that inconvenienced you.”

It was your turn to shrug. You were about to say that it was okay, but then remember that you wouldn't be able to complete your salve until next week.

You pout before you can help it. “Did you really have to buy all of it?”

He breathes out a laugh. “I normally wouldn't, but my friends tend to have endless appetites. It always pays to have plenty of supplies.”

Even in the middle of the bustling street, a certain group of strangers stand out. They're gathered outside the tavern. You don't know any of them, but you recognize one of them as that infamous new pirate with the exorbitant bounty on his head.

“Speaking of my friends...” The blond trails off, nodding towards that particular group.

You just about stop in your tracks. He's with them? He's a pirate?

Okay. A rich, flirtatious tourist you could deal with. A random pirate crew? You would probably still be fine.

But the crew with the highest bounty in all the East Blue? That's just asking for trouble to happen.

While the stranger is distracted by his friends, you slip into an inconspicuous alleyway. You'd have to go a little further around to reach your shop, but that's alright as long as you avoid those Straw Hat pirates.

Luck seems to not be on your side, though. Because fancy pants shows up to your shop later that evening.

He grins. “You didn't tell me crossing that bridge together meant something. I would have talked about something more romantic than peppermint if I knew.”

Of course, word travels fast in a small town. You should have known someone would tell him. And that he would be able to find you easily if he wanted.

“How does the legend go, again?” He asks teasingly. “If two people cross the bridge together on the day they meet... Theirs souls are bound.”

“It's a myth.” You dismiss his charming grin and try to ignore him.

He leans his elbows on the counter that separates you. He's hunched down, but still towers over you somehow.

“It's romantic. And I'm glad it happened to us.” He smiles. “May I at least know the name of the person my soul is now bound to? Mine's Sanji.”

“Well, Sanji. Are you going to buy something?” You ask and avoid giving him your name.

Sanji, surprisingly, nods. He grabs two cans of your special handmade tea and a large jar of honey.

“I'll buy these,” He places the items on the counter. “And give you this.” He holds out several sprigs of peppermint. You blink at him in surprise.

“...Thank you.” You gingerly take it, and carefully set it to the side.

You're silent while you ring up his order. It's when you're taking out a paper bag for him that you finally cave and reveal your name.

The smile that blooms on Sanji's face isn't how you expected it would be. You expected him to look arrogant, to look proud that he was able to sway you like he did other women before.

But he looks at you sweetly, dimples showing and eyes sparkling. You wordlessly hand over the paper bag.

“A pleasure, darling.”

You would have thought that would be the last time you saw Sanji. But, be it luckily or unfortunately, he finds you the next day with the rest of the Straw Hats tagging along.

Only this time, they seem to be on the run.

You hold open the door for the Straw Hats and, one after another, they flood into your shop. Sanji smiles and says something about your hair, but you can't process the words with his friends scattering to hide.

“Sanji, what the fuck?”

“I know, I know, love. I'm sorry we had to reunite like this. We just need to lay low for a bit.” He reassures you, caressing your shoulders as he does.

“I'll make it up to you! I'll cook you a romantic, candlelit dinner.”

You frown at him, unimpressed.

Sanji kisses his teeth and sighs. “I'll give you the rest of the peppermint.”

You perk up instantly. “Deal. You can all hide in my workstation.”

“Hi, I'm Luffy!” Their captain greets you jovially. “That's Zoro,” Luffy points to the swordsman. “Nami,” The woman. “And Usopp.” The one hiding under your counter.

“Of course, you know Sanji already, being soulmates and all.”

You trip on nothing, and Sanji grabs your hand to steady you. You glare. He just smiles.

“Your shop is really cool!” Luffy exclaims, looking at all the trinkets on the shelf.

“Thanks.” You say dryly, pushing the curtain partition aside. You lead them to the back of the shop.

“Make yourselves at home.” You wave a hand towards the couch and some chairs around your desk. They should be fine here as long as they don't need to stay the night.

Through the gaps in the window blinds, flashlights and shadows stream into the room. There seems to be an active search party out for these guys. You suddenly can't believe you agreed to this for peppermint.

Zoro, whose three earrings glint in the light, shifts to scratch at his chest. You spot bandages from the gap in his shirt.

You grab the small jar of salve from your desk and toss it to him. He catches it, but looks from the jar to you and back, confused.

“It's a healing salve I made. It should help soothe your skin.” You explain.

The swordsman still looks unsure, but opens the jar anyway. Zoro sniffs its contents, and tries putting a small amount on his chest.

You beam at him, unable to help feeling proud at how his shoulders visibly relax after using it.

“Thanks.” Zoro says simply.

“No problem.” You nod back, still smiling.

Luffy looks at the jar as if it's a miraculous cure-for-all. “That's amazing.”

“It smells really good, too.” Usopp says, sniffing at the air around Zoro.

“Do you sell that here?” Nami asks.

“I will, once I make more.” You answer. You never realized how uplifting it was to share your work with new people.

Subconsciously, you turn to Sanji. But, why is he frowning? You follow your gaze to find he's looking at the jar in Zoro's hand.

Before you can ask him if anything is wrong, Luffy bursts out excitedly, "You're a doctor! You should join our crew!"

You wince. “No, I'm a chemist.”

“Cool!” Luffy's enthusiasm does not wane. “So you can heal, right?”

You're about to correct him before they assume things out of your pay grade when Usopp claps his hands in realization.

“She's even better than a doctor!” Usopp insists. “She makes the medicine that the doctors give out!”

Just as you were about to interfere with how much they were overestimating your skills, the shop bell rings. You turn to the clock. Shit, you should have locked up twenty minutes ago.

You meet everyone's eyes and they all nod, understanding that they need to be quiet. You switch off the lights in the back room for good measure.

The customer is a pirate you've never seen before. He looks angry, glaring at every possible hiding spot in your shop. Particularly the room you just came from.

You're careful to completely shut the curtain behind you.

“How can I help you, sir?” You put on your best customer service smile. “I was just about to close the shop, but if it's urgent, I'll help you find what you need.”

The pirate grunts. He's not buying what you're selling at all.

“Perhaps some calming tea? You look like a refined gentleman who would enjoy this.” You hold up a can of tea as if that will help you seem less suspicious.

“What's behind the curtain?” He points behind you accusingly.

“My work area, where I make all the fine products you see before you.”

Stomping forward, he seems to have had enough of your stalling. Fine.

Just as he's about to bash his fist down onto your counter, you grab a suspicious looking dark jar. You hold it up threateningly.

“The hell is that?!” The pirate snarls.

“Haven't you heard? I'm the go-to poison dealer in all the East Blue.” You bluff. “A whiff of this, and you'll sink like a rock, my friend.”

He freezes, but glares at you more fiercely. You pretend to twist the lid.

“Y-you'll kill yourself too, then!” He barks back. “Let's see your bullshit poison then.”

“Oh, but that's what makes me so brilliant.” You grin, laying the act on thick. “I'm immune to all the poisons I make.”

Your hand settles ominously on the lid. “Shall we test who survives?”

The pirate scrambles to leave. He's out before you can blink. Without missing a beat, you lock the front door and draw all window blinds down.

You rest your back against the door. Letting out a loud exhale, you almost let yourself slide down to the floor. How long do you have to deal with pirates like that?

Thoughts of yesterday with Sanji at the market fill your thoughts. If only all days could be like that, where the worst of your problems had been a peppermint shortage.

“You guys can come out, now.” You call out to the Straw Hats.

“Uh... Is that really poison?” Usopp asks, staying very far away from the jar.

You laugh, though it comes out airy due to your tiredness. “No, those are just some herbs I left to ferment.”

“How brilliant of you, love.” Sanji is beside you in a few strides. Him and those long legs.

“Was he the one you guys were hiding from?” You ask. The crew members shake their heads.

“No, actually.” Nami says. “We were hiding from a bunch of—”

Your shop explodes.

Sanji is quick to pull you into his arms and shield you from the debris with his own body. For a minute that feels like eternity, you can't hear anything. Your ears are ringing, and dust clouds over all your years of hard work. You sob into Sanji's arms.

“No!” You cry out.

Marines step into the shop, wood planks cracking and glass panels shattering under their feet. There are so many of them. You don't understand. Even if you hid the Straw Hats here, they shouldn't be allowed to destroy private property, right? Right?

“We got a report of illegal poisons in the area.” The leading officer states, his face stoic. “Just our luck that we run into pirates as well.”

You look to the Straw Hats, all of them are positioned to fight, save for Sanji. He's still cradling you protectively.

Taking a shaky deep breath, you lift your hand to rest it on Sanji's arm. He instantly looks down at you, silently asking if you're alright.

You're not yet, and if you're being honest, you'd rather stay in his arms until everything is over. But you nod anyway. Sanji gently lets you go and gets ready to face your new enemies.

“Get them all.”

Chaos breaks, and you run to duck behind a shelf that toppled over. The Straw Hats put up a good fight, but there are just too many Marines. Your eyes find round bottles of herbs scattered around you, and you come up with an idea.

“Guys!” You yell. “Buy me some time!”

“Anything for you, darling.” Sanji winks at you before sending a Marine flying. You gape at his audacity. The rest of them don't even react, but you notice they rotate slightly, surrounding you to keep you from being interrupted.

Grabbing as many of the bottles as you can, you stuff them with shards of wood and more dried leaves. You take rocks from the debris and strike them together.

With a few sparks, the herbs and leaves catch fire. You act fast, throwing the bottles at the Marines.

The bottles shatter, bursting into flames once they hit their mark. The Marines panic and become disoriented, giving the Straw Hats an advantage despite being outnumbered.

Eventually, the Marines run and scatter, leaving only the few bravest of them to fight. The Straw Hats make quick work of them.

When the battle is over, you watch the dust settle over the ruins of your apothecary. It's going to take years to earn enough berry to restore how everything once was. You can't help but feel heartbroken.

Sanji sits down in the rubble next to you, wrapping you in another embrace. You let yourself fall into him.

“We'll help you get everything back. I promise.” He swears, voice slightly muffled into your hair.

“Or, you could come with us! Join our crew!” Nami hits Luffy on the shoulder.

“What? It's true!” Luffy insists. “We need someone like her!”

You pull back from Sanji's embrace to look at him. He doesn't say anything, but something tells you he wishes for you to come with them. The others look at you expectantly as well.

No one speaks to persuade you further. But when you compare this rag-tag team to your ruined apothecary, your answer suddenly feels very clear. If you're to slave away to earn the berry for rebuilding your home, why not spend that time with them?

The back of the shop is less affected, even if the sight is still dreadfully sad. Your notes are thankfully intact, and you're able to find a bag and shove some extra clothes into it. It saddens you that you're so quick to pack up your life, but you'll come back. Someday.

When you return to the others, they're all smiling. Sanji more so, but you should have expected that.

He holds out his hand, and you reach out to take it.

“I change my mind,” You jest. “I'll take that romantic candlelit dinner now.”

Sanji laughs loudly while he guides you to walk over the rubble safely. You catch some of the others laughing too, but they walk a ways ahead you and Sanji.

“Like I said,” He says with his signature grin, “Anything for you, my dear.”

Your mind must be playing tricks on you, because he still smells like peppermint. Now, that's really not fair.

© togenabi 2023 | see here to be added to my taglist ♡

[mrs-nanami]

Women have many belongings. It used to vex Nanami. But it doesn’t anymore.

The first thing to migrate to his home, was your face lotion. He has a face lotion, a perfectly serviceable one, but you insisted on bringing your own. Your routine was important to you, you had told him, and Nanami understood. Routines, rules, structure – these are all things he has always respected, found meaning in. And so, in his bathroom, his drugstore razor, toothbrush, and facewash sat together, lined up like toy soldiers, right next to a luxurious indigo jar of face cream.

The rest of your routine follows shortly: the lilac bottle of mist that smells like aloe, the golden serum that smells like summertime, and the periwinkle tube of your green tea face wash. Your bergamot and sandalwood soap linger on his pillow, and when he can’t smell you on his sheets anymore, longing sits heavy and sticky in his throat.

Your clothes are next. Amidst his practical navy, gray, and blacks, appear pops of warm lilac, royal blue, and torched orange. He doesn’t mind it in the least – it would be entirely unreasonable for him to demand that you stop bringing such colorful clothes in his home, especially when he never really wants you to leave.

When the two of you finally just bite the bullet and put your name on the lease, Nanami imagines that his life will certainly become more colorful. But he doesn’t have the first idea of how many more things will be in his house.

All his life, Nanami has lived quietly, abstemiously. He is a jujutsu sorcerer – while his non-sorcerer peers were learning trigonometry, he was learning how to kill curses and how to die as a soldier dies: with resolve and bravery, to the bitterest end. His life has been fat trimmed from steak, practical solid color towels, plastic storage bins with plenty of clearing near the edge, never packed to capacity. A man who walks on the very edge of life and death doesn’t require more than the necessities. The very few things he indulges in are sensible: good whiskey, grade A rice, custom leather shoes (no broguing) built to take a beating.

You bring in your life to his, and it is completely different. You’re striped linens, fresh flowers, scented candles on every corner. Baby blue drinking glasses shaped like beer cans, artisanal ceramicware made by friends locally. Your life is marked by comfort, simple pleasure, and (dare he say it) the sweetest, most innocent frivolity. He supposes it’s really what he loves most about you, honestly. He’s always tended drawn closer to brighter, bolder personalities: earnest and warm, like Haibara and Itadori, not bombastic and irreverent, like Gojo or Tsukumo. You belong in the same shades of sunlight as Haibara and Itadori, but…tender. Like the dream-like throw of warm, rose tipped dawn that thaws the chill of his lonely apartment.

Now, in the mornings, he doesn’t wake to the desolate silence of a man alone. He wakes to the sound of your fluffy slippers in the kitchen, the smell of dark roast coffee, the sight of your toiletries sitting side by side in the bathroom, cozy and couple-like.

Somewhere between your checker print tea kettle, and the warmth of your body on the sheets, Nanami falls so in love with you that he looks back on his life and wonders how he ever lived, starved of the sun that is you, for so long.

[breelandwalker]

Witchcraft Exercise - Spring Cleaning

There’s a marked tradition of cleaning and airing out the house in the springtime when the weather warms. As you’re dusting and tidying and getting rid of winter stagnation, take some time to do the same with your craft.

Clean and organize your workspace. If you have an altar space or a shelf where you keep bottles and jars and the like, remove everything from the surface and give it a good dusting. Take the opportunity to rearrange things or swap out pieces if it suits you. If you have ritual tools that don’t often get cleaned, check them for signs or rust or wear and give them a bit of love. Repair things that need fixing, if you can. If you have an iron cauldron that you use for fire magic, get a wire brush or some steel wool and gently remove any burnt residue left inside.

Sort through your supplies. If you have lots of candles and crystals and small items laying about, consider getting some small totes or craft organizers to keep things tidy. Divided storage boxes for beads or scrapbooking supplies are great for small items, and shoebox-sized caddies are perfect for taper, chime, and votive candles. Organizing things will make your space easier to navigate and also gives you a proper idea of what you have on hand. Which might help you resist impulse purchases the next time you’re out shopping for witchcraft supplies. While you’re tidying, be sure to discard any rubbish, candle stubs, wax blobs, herb scraps, bits of string, incense bases, and so forth that might be cluttering up the place. 

Discard things that are too old or worn to be useful. Dried plants and seasonings can usually be kept for 1-3 years if they remain in sealed containers. If they have no scent anymore or smell musty or mildewy, discard them and sanitize the container. If you’re using supermarket spices, you can use the expiration date on the container as a guide. Powdered material will likely last longer than whole herbs or cut-and-sifted material. One helpful tip is to put a purchase date on packets or bags of herbs when you buy them, or to put a little date sticker on your jars of herbs when you refill them. (Anyone who’s worked in food service will probably be familiar with the concept of container dating or day-dotting.)

If you make oils or tinctures or suchlike in your practice, check on these as well. Make sure nothing has gone off or lost its’ potency. Day-dotting your potion containers will help with this as well. A simple sticker with the name of the brew and the date it was bottled will help you keep track of your supplies and know when something needs to be tossed and replaced. (You can also print labels with the ingredients and purpose of the brew if you’re feeling super organized.)

Reorganize your books and resources. Review what's there and see if there are any materials that need to be weeded out, donated, or discarded. Remember that as you grow and progress, some things will become obsolete or may show themselves to be unhelpful or inaccurate. It's okay to remove things from your resource library that no longer serve you if you want to make some space on the shelves.

You can also cleanse your workspace and/or components while you’re tidying if you wish. It doesn’t have to be a full clean-slate-everything-must-go cleansing, but it can be helpful to just clear out stagnation or bring in some freshness and vitality.

Happy Witching! 🧼

Want more witchcraft exercises? Check out the masterpost here and visit my shop for spell kits, books, magical powders, and more!

(If you’re enjoying my content, please feel free to drop a little something in the tip jar, tune in to my monthly show Hex Positive on your favorite podcast app, or check out my published works on Amazon or in the Willow Wings Witch Shop. 😊)

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

104/150 with lethal company?

104) I can hear it calling my name

.........

[Y/n], January 29th, [Log 001]

---I'm afraid this will be my last log. So I'm keeping this encrypted.

Everyone's gone, but I'm still here. And I'm terrified. We started on this job as strangers, and we became family. Now I'm all alone because of a stupid mask. A piece of scrap we should've just sold off.

But he thought it would be funny to wear. I don't blame him. He was always a jokester, willing to do anything to turn a frown upside down and make light of our dreary trips. I know he didn't mean to hurt us. He thought it was harmless. Honest to god we thought so too.

Until he started vomiting blood and tried grabbing me. He tore off my helmet, along with my tracker, but I managed to get away. I still don't know how. But I wish I was smarter about it, because I got lost.

Then I heard the ship's engines.

They must've thought I was dead. Or maybe they all died and the autopilot kicked in. I'm not sure. I don't even know the current time. But what I do know is that I'm stuck here now. Possibly forever. I could make an SOS but that monster is still outside. I had to barricade myself in this storage room and wait until it goes away.

It keeps knocking. I can hear it calling my name. But I know it's not him.

To anyone who reads this, don't pick up the porcelain masks. They aren't worth shit. It'll tempt you to put it on. Don't. You'll find better loot elsewhere. If you see anyone already wearing it, kill them. Stun them. Run. Whatever. Just don't let it take you.

And if you see me wearing it, put me out of my misery. I promise I'll understand---

Finishing what would likely be your final log, you sighed and slumped back against the wall, letting the tablet slip from your hands.

You don't know how long you've been stuck here--whether it's been hours or days.

But all you know is that the Masked on the other side of the door hasn't left. It was using your coworker's corpse, mimicking his voice as it pounded on the steel and tried convincing you to let it in, even shattering the window. For some reason it refused to leave you alone, and kept begging and begging until it began screaming unintelligently...

That would go on and on until eventually it would cease, weakly clawing at the door, only to rinse and repeat once it rested its voice.

You were starving, trying your best to ration the jar of pickles you were luckily able to find in this storage room.

Unfortunately, that's as far as your luck will go at this point. They were sour and made you want to vomit every time you ate one. But while you didn't want starvation to take your life, you weren't exactly sure how you really wanted to go out instead.

It sure as hell wasn't gonna be from that bastard who took away your friends.

"It's clear....all clear......come on out....the ship is leaving..leave....out.....COME OUT..!! COME OUT!! COMEOUTCOMEOUT-!!"

With your heart hammering in your chest, you curled up and covered your ears, squeezing both eyes shut. 'Fuck, it's losing its mind again...this is a nightmare..why did I ever take this job?' You tried not to focus on the screams so much, and instead prayed for some kind of miracle.

But in space, would anyone really hear your prayers?

Yet somebody must have, because the screaming abruptly stopped a minute later, being replaced by the sounds of heavy thumping and growling drawing near.

You only knew one other alien creature that made those.

And you knew it was pissed off.

Getting up and backing away from the door, you fearfully clutched a stop sign as you heard a series of terrified shrieks, roars, slamming and crashing sounds....before silence followed, save for the low growls you heard earlier and chewing noises.

Cautiously, you went back over and pushed aside one of the things covering up the window, and the sight on the other side was quite nauseating:

The Thumper was hovering over the Masked's body, teeth covered in blood and flesh as it tore into it, clearly wanting to savor this midnight snack.. But eventually it decided to drag the rest of the corpse away and to another part of the facility, only leaving behind a few shattered fragments of white dirty porcelain.

You couldn't believe it.

You were actually happy that a Thumper, of all things, saved your skin.

But you sure as hell didn't want it coming back for a second lunch. Now was your window of opportunity to get out of here. The adrenaline pumping through your veins was the only reason you were able to grab your loot and book it out of that storage room, being careful not to run into that Thumper again.

At least now you could go outside and (hopefully) send an S.O.S.

[heich0e]

the door closes behind you with a soft click.

it’s intentional on your part; you soften the possibly jarring sound by guiding the door closed on the very tips of your fingers because you know how much the man in front of you values privacy, how he doesn’t particularly like to be disturbed. it’s vaguely miraculous at all that, even after so long, he even told you about this place he likes to come to when he needs a bit of peace and quiet.

and now he’s here for the last time.

levi looks up from the script held in his hand when you step into the room. he’s sitting on an old sofa that had appeared in the old storage room a few seasons into filming, evidently shoved into the cluttered room to clear up space elsewhere at the now familiar studio. he’s in costume, his hair and makeup done, but he’s pulled the bandages that should be covering one of his eyes up to his forehead to clear his field of vision, leaving his grey eyes to freely land upon yours.

you hesitate in the doorway, pressing back against the flat expanse of the door with your hands tucked behind you.

“hi,” you greet him quietly.

“hi,” he replies.

“sorry to bother you.”

levi laughs a little bit, setting his script down upon his knee, splayed to keep the pages open to where he was reviewing. he shoots you a wry look.

“you’d think after all these years you’d have grown out of saying that.”

you smile; a mischievous, surreptitious quirk of your lips. “figured i’d say it again today… for old times’ sake.”

it’s quiet in the little room—it might have been a dressing room once, or something similar, but now it seems to serve mainly as a storage room for old props and equipment that no one at the studio reaches for often enough to keep them close, nor infrequently enough to toss them away. it’s far enough away from the soundstage where the majority of the show is shot (at least when you’re filming on the production lot and not on location) that no one ever really comes here.

well, other than you two.

“last scene’s coming up,” you say, toeing at the tile on the floor idly, your gaze sweeping over the room. “they asked me to come get you.”

asked is slightly generous. the assistant director had mentioned it was time for levi to come down to set, and had likely expected you, as the key-PA, to delegate his retrieval to one of the production assistants working underneath you. 

but, selfishly, you couldn’t pass the opportunity up.

“ah,” levi says, standing from his seat on the old sofa, “guess it’s show time.”

the two of you both stand on opposite sides of the room, but neither of you move. quietly you both survey the little room for one last time. 

“it’s weird, huh?”

you look over at levi, and find his eyes are already on you. 

“what is?” you ask gently. 

levi tucks his script under his arm, rolling his shoulders back like he’s shaking the lingering stiffness from his joints. there’s one window in the little storage room, though it’s half blocked by an old set prop of some sort. it lets in just enough afternoon light into the space that there’s no need to flip on the overhead fluorescent today—though you’ve used it in the past on rainy days or shoots that went late into the night. standing in the sun, with particles of dust catching in the light, you see for the first time the way levi’s changed over the years. 

he’s a little older, but he doesn’t wear his years in any of the ways that matter. upon first glance, his skin is still smooth, his hair still stark black, and his form is still trim and toned thanks to the rigorous training he does to keep in shape for his role. but when you look at him more closely, you see the years that have passed since the production started. see how his temperament has mellowed slightly through the years. see how he’s a little more tired when he moves. see how, in spite of how much it meant to him, he’s ready now to see the project through to the end.

“this,” he answers your question, meeting your gaze. 

years ago, that stare would have been pointed. cold and guarded. 

the years have softened that too.

“the end,” he goes on to explain further.

“it’s been a good run,” you offer, with an only slightly wobbly smile.

levi breathes out a long sigh, but you hear the laugh he’s hiding in it. “yeah, it has.”

your cellphone is buzzing in the pocket of your jeans, and you know they’re waiting for you back down at the set. you’d muted your headset so no one would be able to page you temporarily, and you expect people have begun to figure it out.

levi’s eyes are still on you; warmer than the sun streaming in through the grimy window or the stagnant, uncirculated air that hangs around you in your quiet little room. 

this room has been your sanctuary in many ways. you’ve spent hours with levi in this room over the years. drained countless cups of tea and coffee, shared meals, and stories, and sometimes just sat in silence and enjoyed each others company. your entire relationship with levi, the person not the actor, exists within these four walls.

maybe that’s why you’re so scared to leave it for the last time.

“hey,” levi says, like you’ve voiced the thought aloud. “you remember what i said to you, right?”

you blink, a bit surprised by the sudden seriousness in his tone.

“what do you mean?” you ask him softly.

“i told you i don’t mix work and my personal life.”

your eyes flutter down to your hands where they come to clasp together in front of your hips, and you wring your fingers nervously. you do know that, how could you possibly forget it when it had wrenched your heart out the way that it did? he hadn’t said it to be cruel all those years ago when the two of you had begun to get closer, he was just a man who stuck to his word and his ethics. it was important to him to maintain those values and uphold his own beliefs. you respect that about him, even if it makes your chest ache.

“i know,” you murmur, because you can’t bring yourself to say the words any louder.

“well, after today we won’t be working together anymore—”

you freeze, your fingers stilling mid-fidget.

you risk a glance up at him, and you feel your heart swelling with a treacherous hope in your chest. levi’s cheeks are pink, and the corner of his nose is twitching like he’s embarrassed, but he meets your gaze.

“—and i’m sorry for making you wait so long, but if you’re willing to forgive me then I hope you’ll finally let me take you out on a date.”

[magickkate]

Hey there, magical beings! 🌟 Whether you're just starting out or have been on your witchy journey for a while, it's super important to keep safety at the forefront. Here's a comprehensive guide to ensure you brew your potions and cast your spells with care.

Know Your Ingredients Understanding what you’re working with is crucial. Always research every herb, oil, or component thoroughly. Some plants are toxic, especially when ingested or applied to the skin. For example, while belladonna is a classic ingredient in many historical potions, it’s highly toxic and should be avoided unless you have extensive knowledge and experience handling it. Recommendation: Create an ingredient list with detailed notes about each item’s properties, uses, and potential dangers. Use reputable sources and consider consulting an herbalist or experienced witch for guidance.

Proper Storage Proper storage isn't just about neatness; it's about safety. Keep your ingredients in labeled, airtight containers to maintain their potency and prevent contamination. Recommendation: Invest in dark glass jars, which protect contents from light and extend shelf life. Store your supplies in a cool, dry place away from direct sunlight, children, and pets. A well-organized storage system will save you time and prevent dangerous mix-ups.

Safe Mixing Practices Mixing potions and crafting spells should be done in a clean, dedicated space. Cross-contamination can ruin your preparations and pose health risks. Recommendation: Designate a specific area for your magical workings. Use tools and containers reserved exclusively for this purpose. Ensure your workspace is well-ventilated, particularly when dealing with strong-smelling or potentially hazardous substances. Protective gear, like gloves and aprons, can shield you from accidental spills or splashes.

Testing and Application Before you apply any potion to your body, always perform a patch test. This simple step can prevent serious allergic reactions. Recommendation: Apply a small amount of the potion to your inner wrist or elbow and wait 24 hours to check for any adverse reactions. For spells, ensure you understand the energy and intent behind them fully. Misapplied spells can lead to unintended consequences.

Disposal of Unused Potions Improper disposal of magical materials can harm the environment. Recommendation: Dispose of unused or expired potions in a way that respects the earth. Never pour them down the drain. Instead, dilute them significantly and pour them into a garden or yard if they are non-toxic. For toxic materials, follow local hazardous waste disposal guidelines.

Clear Intentions Being specific with your intentions is key to effective and safe spellcasting. Recommendation: Spend time meditating and focusing on what you truly want to achieve before starting any spell. Write down your intention clearly and revisit it throughout the process to stay aligned.

Protective Measures Creating a safe space for your magical work helps protect you from negative energies. Recommendation: Cast a protective circle before starting your spellwork. This can be done through visualization, drawing a physical circle, or using protective herbs and stones. After casting, ground yourself to release any excess energy. Visualization techniques or physical actions like touching the earth can help with this.

Ethical Practices The ethics of magic are personal but crucial. Avoid spells that harm others or infringe on their free will. Recommendation: Reflect on the ethical implications of your magic. If you’re unsure, err on the side of caution. Consider the potential impact of your actions not just on yourself but on others and the environment.

Keep Records Keeping detailed records helps track your progress and learn from your experiences. Recommendation: Maintain a Book of Shadows or a magical journal. Document each spell and potion with its date, ingredients, process, and outcomes. Reviewing these entries can provide insights and help refine your practice.

Understand Consequences Every action has a reaction. Recommendation: Be mindful of the energies you are working with. The principle of cause and effect is strong in magic. Reflect on the potential consequences of your actions before you begin, and be prepared to accept the outcomes.

Continuous Learning Magic is a lifelong learning journey. Recommendation: Stay curious and continually seek knowledge. Attend workshops, read widely, and engage with other practitioners. Sharing knowledge and experiences can greatly enhance your understanding and practice.

Respect Nature Nature is a key element in many magical practices, and respecting it is paramount. Recommendation: Practice sustainable magic. Use ethically sourced materials, avoid over-harvesting plants, and honor the earth. Being mindful of your environmental impact is an integral part of responsible witchcraft.

Seek Guidance Don’t hesitate to ask for help. Recommendation: Build a network of trusted mentors and peers. They can offer support, answer questions, and provide valuable feedback on your practice. Joining a magical community can be incredibly enriching.

Enjoy the Journey Embrace the magical journey with an open heart and a curious mind. Recommendation: Celebrate your successes and learn from your mistakes. Every spell and potion is an opportunity to grow and expand your understanding of the magical world.

[esoteric-chaos]

All-Purpose Banishing Spray

This is from my recent (first video, awful quality) Samhain video on Evergreen Sorcery. It will get rid of all gunk in your space including nasty spirits.

Here is the recipe.

Ingredients

- Distilled Water: 3/4 cup

- Witch Hazel (alcohol-based is best for preservation): 1/4 cup (for solubilizing essential oils as well)

- DRIED Herbs: Pine, Cedar, Rue, Rose and their thorns

- Optional: Essential Oils Can be used in the placement of herbs

- (Optional for storage) Preservative: Optiphen Plus or Geogard ECT (follow manufacturer’s instructions; typically 0.5–1% of the total mixture)

Instructions

1. Infuse the Water: Boil the distilled water, then pour it over the dried herbs in a glass jar. Cover and let it steep until the water cools to room temperature. This creates a strong herbal infusion.

2. Strain the herbs out of the infusion using a fine mesh strainer or cheesecloth to avoid any plant particles in your spray. Make sure the liquid is clear.

3. Combine Ingredients: In a (preferably tinted) spray bottle, add the witch hazel and essential oils (optional) to the strained herbal infusion or just essential oils instead of herbs if you do not have herbal components.

4. Add Preservative: Add the preservative according to the manufacturer's recommended percentage for water-based formulas.

5. Mix and Store: Shake well, label (with date), and store in a cool, dark place and keep out of sunlight.

Tips on Preservatives

- Optiphen (op-tiphen) Plus: Ideal for water-based solutions.

- Geogard ECT: An eco-certified preservative that works well in a range of products.

Cautions:

Please be mindful of pets and other living beings, as certain ingredients, like essential oils, can harm them—it may be best to avoid using these near animals. Note that it’s normal for this mixture to become cloudy or separate over time; however, if you notice an off smell, it’s time to discard it. Also, remember that the oils in the mixture may cause stains on surfaces like bedding.

[dujour13]

Owlcatober 31. Funeral

Fandom: Wrath of the Righteous

Not exactly a funeral but appropriate for today 👻

cw: spooky?

Massive spoilers for the game & secret ending & my sequels Wandering Stars and West Wind.

Also on AO3

Ozone. Chemical solvents. Arcane flame. Metal and lightning. Nothing living in this place, and yet the air felt charged with tension as if holding its breath, suspended in time.

He paused in the corridor to get his bearings. He’d been here before long ago, more than once. Black crusts of demon blood smeared across the floor attested to the last time. Barren walls rippled in the stuttering light of a shattered arcane barrier. Splinters and scorch-marks were all that remained of the door beyond it. Violence wreaked by the fury of Elysium.

To the heart of the laboratory. His rose-gold glow and fresh, floral breeze followed but the darkness behind quickly swallowed them as he passed.

On the ramp leading down, the demonic trap was still active but it could no longer read him. It conjured disjointed, dreamlike tableaux that shifted one into another: beckoning azata under a starry sky; the bowsprit of the Light of Heaven plunging through warm sea-spray; a shady grove of pomegranate and poplar in Kelesh. A slim, horned shadow perched on a rooftop, turning a tender, laughing yellow eye his way. But these surface dreams rapidly gave way to a vision of Golarion flooded with starlight and joy, and finally the sky of his domain clear and unblemished by the darkly burning star.

He kept walking.

The lab stood just as he’d left it: charred husks of demons lying amidst broken glass and spilled chemicals, books just as Nenio discarded them pell-mell on the tables, the projector flickering, the stand where the Lexicon had been placed still illuminated by a bright beam once meant to lure him to it.

Slowly he went around the shelves reading the spines of the books, touching some to absorb their contents, avoiding others, until he came to a mechanism set into the wall. Curious. One they never managed to open. A constant purple light burned in its center. No amount of fiddling seemed to activate it until on impulse he looked straight into it and said, “It’s me.”

And then one of the bookshelves warped into another dimension and opened onto a secret storage room.

His own Elysian glow the only light, within its radius he made out shelf upon shelf of jars, tanks, and oblong metal boxes. He stood breathing the stale air, feeling uncannily afraid of what lay in those containers.

Something flitted past his peripheral vision and he turned sharply, but it was gone. Bone-deep cold and foul moisture clung to him, raising goosebumps even on his divine skin.

Then in the utter silence a whisper as light as a moth wing startled him: “Who is here?”

He peered deeper into the darkness, where a wisp of pale smoke hung between stacked boxes as if hiding itself.

“It’s me,” he said again.

“Oh.” A soft child’s voice, as if from far away. “You grew up.”

He squatted so he was eye-level with it. “Who are you? I can’t remember.”

“You never met us,” the voice sighed. “We only watched and listened. We heard you screaming.”

“You’re a ghost now. Who were you before?”

“I don’t remember. I think I had a momma and papa in a sunny place but maybe I just thought about that to feel warm.”

“You were one of her experiments,” he said, heart rising painfully.

“So were you.”

“Why was I the lucky one?”

“We didn’t think you were lucky. We heard you screaming and screaming. We heard her talking about how you were splitting open and how she had to stop it before it killed the ghost she was trying to sew inside us. That she sewed inside you.”

“She hurt you too, didn’t she?”

“Not long. We died.” It paused. “But you kept screaming.”

All that remained were nightmares pushed to the edges of his consciousness. He didn’t want to remember. It hurt him to think he was not alone. “But you’re still not at peace or you wouldn’t be haunting this place.”

“As long as she lives we will stay. One day she’ll come in here to look for something and we will remind her.”

He said gently, “How about if I do that for you, so you can rest?”

The ghost was silent for a while, a mist drifting across the wall as if trailing a hand on its familiar surface. “All right,” it sighed at last.

He reached out a lightly glowing hand. The mist inched toward it, coyly at first, and then nestling against it, and with his ethereal form he drew the ghost into his arms and cradled it close.

It clung to him, absorbing his warmth. He felt small arms around his neck.

“This should never have happened to us,” he whispered.

“Thank you for coming back.”

“Everything’s all right. Sleep now.”

And with the faintest sigh the mist evaporated in his arms, leaving a rime of frost on the walls as it went.

He stayed squatting on the floor for a few moments, and at last wiped his eyes and stood.

As he exited the storage room he saw her. Hardly a surprise.

“I wonder why you are here,” she said, fixing him with that surgical glare that seemed only to have sharpened since she realized she had succeeded in her experiment.

“There are still things I need to know.” He fixed her right back.

“Then ask.”

“Why did you choose me?”

She flinched very subtly, as she sometimes did when he spoke as if he were only Siavash and not an amalgam of her design. Or her son.

“As you know, you were not the only one I chose, but there were several practical factors that made you a promising subject. You were healthy, a long-lived half-elf with that particular half-breed fissure in your psyche that could be prised open to implant a graft. A stable, average family so that I could easily control variables and keep you safe while I observed your progress. An affinity for chaos that made you a suitable host. And you...” She frowned. “When you collided with my legs in a bookshop in Almas you were carrying a copy of Evocatio Daemonium which I perhaps foolishly took as a sign.”

Desna at work? he wondered. “Why foolishly?”

“When the graft took I ceased searching for a better host, believing in portents and signs like some superstitious Sarkorian. As it turns out, you were too good a host. You absorbed him. You overpowered him. I should have—“

“I won him over. I invited him in. He’s me.”

She smirked humorlessly. “And now, you are an eternal teenager.”

His own smile was not so humorless. “Tell me more about this affinity for chaos.”

“Why?” Always probing.

“There are things I still need to understand,” he repeated vaguely. She already knew about the dark star but perhaps not about this latest development, and although she might willingly help him if he told her, he didn’t want her to have that leverage.

“You know already,” she said. “You discovered on your own that you are div-touched.”

“For some mortals that’s a death sentence. Why not for me?”

“My tests told me little, but they did assure me your soul was stable.”

“You don’t know, in other words. What if my soul isn’t stable after all? What if ascension did something to it?”

She looked at him hard, as if she could see into the structural essence of his stolen divinity. “That is not impossible. Will you allow me to perform a few tests?”

“After what you did? No.”

“If you are referring to the unfortunate series of events with your husband, know that it was not my intention that he try to steal the objects alone. I hoped only to provoke a confrontation with Taurvi so that we could all be rid of her. She is a threat.”

“How about ‘I’m sorry I accidentally condemned your husband to Hell’?”

Her lips tightened. “I did not expect him to be so foolish.”

It wasn’t foolishness. It was love. “And yet it played right into your plan, didn’t it? A nice little experiment to test the full extent of my power. To see what would happen if I... lost control.”

“An unhoped-for opportunity.”

“Well. It sounds like I’m getting neither an apology nor the answers I came for. I have one more thing before I go.”

“And that is?”

“A reminder.” With that he released the cold wind that whirled in his heart. The long, long years of pain and loneliness. The weeping of children torn from their homes and stripped of their humanity, made into experimental subjects and discarded. Left cold and comfortless to die.

She was blown back among her shelves. Sheaves of notes and shattering jars flew at her like a hailstorm. Frost coated the wing she threw up to shield herself. In a flash of angry, Abyssal light she vanished.

[gingermintpepper]

Actually, since it's not going to come up anytime soon and I ended up finalising all of the kids' 'childhood' work-spaces before I finished Apollo's, allow me a moment to talk briefly about what a few of these workrooms look like.

Ares: Snakes, snakes, snakes! One expects his room to be filled with weapons and battle dummies - and those things are certainly in there! - but most of his workroom is essentially a glorified terrarium where he's able to keep track of his little snake friends like the Ismenian and Colchian Dragons. Humid, slightly misty and filled with leafy foliage, still waters and twisting branches, there's shed skin decorating his walls, fangs and skulls mounted like prized weapons, and he even had drawings of his most beloved serpent-children done on the jars and cups he keeps in his room. Hephaestus gives all his dud-weapons and over-wrought metal to Ares for him to practice as roughly as he wants with so Ares also has a lot of unorthodox looking, completely impractical weapons laying around or mounted on his walls. Jars of dragons' teeth and eagle/vulture feathers are on his shelves and he keeps some on hand in his sparring area so he can train against Sown Men when he's testing new weapons or just trying to keep sharp. He also uses the Sown Men to puzzle out formations and battle maneuvers. He has a small rest area in the warmest part of his workroom where he keeps writings about tactics and politics that both Athena and Zeus have compiled along with a few of the scarce preserved texts from Iapetus. He has a dream-charm given to him by his father that's made from Aquila's shed feathers and is meant to keep the phantoms of his battles from haunting him when he rests. Though Ares is supposed to keep it on him at all times, he treasures it too much to risk it becoming undone, so he keeps it safe here.

Hephaestus: Hot and dry one moment and then ice-cold the next, Hephaestus has one of the bigger workspaces. Not to be confused with his forges (which are massive, and at this point are only twofold - his first, more private forge on the banks of Oceanus and the second 'work' forge deep in the belly of Mount Vulcanus where he collaborates with the Cyclops) Hephaestus' workspace is half a storage spot for rare and otherwise unattainable ores, materials and stone and half a place for him to clear his head and recenter himself. It's naturally very cold in Hephaestus' workspace and the layout is labyrinthine with long sprawling hallways that are very dark and lead to wide open rooms that are borderline cavernous in their depth. Fennel torches are on every wall in even intervals and it's very easy to tell what parts of the space are and are not occupied based on which torches are lit. Just as Ares has his Sown Men, Hephaestus has his Golden Handmaidens who assist him in a lot of the busywork of getting around, especially when it comes to lighting the hallway torches or getting materials out from hard to reach areas. His favourite room is the hearth-room which is where he's stored all of Prometheus' old research and work. Considering Prometheus was his teacher, his works are all Hephaestus has left of him and there is still much Prometheus never got the chance to teach him written down in the books. There are also tons of half completed crafts and blueprints scattered about the hearth-room along with some of the assorted jewellry Hephaestus is eternally repairing on the center table for the myriad gods. There's a loom in his hearth-room since he's interested in weaving but he's terrible at it. He can straight stitch just fine though.

Athena: Definitely has the most seemingly chaotic/disorganised workspace on first glance; Athena's space is not so much big as it is tall. The walls are ever-shifting tapestries that Athena weaves from her loom and the rack of her strings travels all across the length of her workspace. She keeps track of all kinds of events this way - meetings, histories, to-do-lists - she weaves all of it and add it to her big tapestry. Along with these, her space is stacked with books, scrolls and tablets with no particular focus. She's a collector of information and she's a voracious reader, intent on learning as much as she can from the mistakes of her predecessors as possible. Just as Ares has Iapetus' old writings and Apollo has Coeus', Athena has Crius' old writings and studies. She inherited some of it naturally but most of it, especially with respect to Crius' constellation mapping and the orientation of the stars are things she requisitioned from Pallas after she conquered him. If one can make sense of all the threads and the thousand-stories sewn into the walls and the stacks and stacks of books and navigate deeper into her workspace, they'll find carefully hung and displayed fabrics and garments and a lot of stone and wood carvings. Mostly likenesses of some of the animals around Olympus like Ares' snakes or Aphrodite's doves, but there are also in-progress models of temples and buildings that she tinkers away at when she's not otherwise occupied. Even deeper into her woven walls is a little klin area where she produces custom pottery when she wants to create in secret, usually for gifts to others.

[storiesbyrhi]

The Cabin in the Woods

Eddie Munson x Reader 11,339 words

Warnings: natural disasters, death/dying (no character death), medical gore, medicinal drug use, use of Y/N but VERY minimal, no beta.

Synopsis: Something is very wrong in Hawkins and Eddie isn’t answering the phone. A story featuring heavy metal concerts, medical attention, mutual pining, and a cabin in the woods.

Author's Note: Follows canon except they do defeat Vecna – whose final act is the ‘earthquake.’ Set primarily in Hopper’s cabin. I used this website as a floorplan reference. We're pretending it's not as trashed as it is in the show.

Part One: Chrissy Cunningham was Dead

Chrissy Cunningham was dead. She was beautiful, with slightly crooked teeth and sparkly eyes. Her face was all over the news on Saturday morning. A small town golden girl was murdered overnight. Eddie wasn’t answering the phone.

The next day the news came straight from Hawkins again. Fred Benson wore glasses and worked on the high school’s newspaper. He was the sole survivor of a tragic car wreck only to die at the hands of, what the reporter called, a serial killer. Eddie wasn’t answering the phone.

On Monday you went to work and listened to people filter through gossip. The girl died at a trailer park. Some drug dealer’s house. Eddie wasn’t answering the phone.

On Tuesday your mother came home and said, “Did you hear? Turns out they found the boy on the road right near that trailer park.” Eddie wasn’t answering the phone.

He wasn’t answering the goddamn phone for four days straight and there were two dead kids from his town, maybe from his trailer park. Eddie was entirely M.I.A. while Fred Benson and Chrissy Cunningham were dead.

Part Two: In a Fairer World

In a fairer world, you would have grown up in the same shitty small town as Eddie Munson. Alas, you were banished to your own equally shitty and small Indianan town. It meant you didn’t have Eddie to keep you company during lunch periods or ask you to the school dance. It meant you remained lonely for most of your teen years. It meant that the only time you got to spend with Eddie was when your paths crossed at metal shows in Indianapolis or Chicago.

It was in the depths of a cold 1984 winter that you and Eddie first officially met. You had seen each other around, noting the presence of another teen that had snuck into the show or club, but you hadn’t ever spoken. Then, on a particularly bitter night, you and Eddie found yourselves in the same hiding spot.

You’d clocked the bouncers of the venue doing periodical laps inside, spot checking IDs. They only bothered when the air was stale and frozen like it was then. Annoyed, you swiped an open jar of maraschino cherries from behind the bar and ducked your way into a small storage room, no bigger than a broom closet.

It was dark but warm. You were pleasantly buzzed and snacking away when the door opened and another body jumped in, bumping into you with a yelp.

“Fuck! Sorry!” Eddie said but made no move to leave the cramped space. You listened to him feel around the door and wall, then the space was illuminated. He turned to look at you.

“Huh,” was all you said at the revelation of there being a light in the room.

“They’re checking IDs,”

“Yeah,” you replied. “That’s… why I’m in ‘ere,”

“Yeah… Um. You want me to go… or…?”

You shook your head no. “How old are you?” you asked.

“Seventeen. Just,” he answered honestly. “You?”

“Sixteen.”

You swapped names and hometowns, then when the coast was clear went your separate ways.

Between ’84 and ’85 you and Eddie danced around each other. Polite nods and manic grins when you slammed into each other in mosh pits. By March of ’85, you became friends. When there was a show, you’d call each other beforehand to plan the night. City meet ups before and 24/7 diner fries after. Something shifted by the end of ’85.  

While you had graduated, Eddie was repeating again. He was still his usual self, but he had pulled away from you a little. It hurt, because you were desperate to see him. It was scary, finishing high school and tumbling into the adult world. You wanted the routine of Eddie and gigs. Also, somewhere along the line your feelings about Eddie had become different than platonic.

Between the hours of phone calls, the hand holding as you ran through crowds together, and the conversations had while sitting on the curb about all the things the future could hold, you fell in love.

You figured it was one sided. If Eddie loved you back, he would have kissed you. He would have said something, even by accident. He wouldn’t have pulled away at all.

By the spring of 1986 you hadn’t seen Eddie in a couple of months. In the rare phone call, he said he was trying his hardest to graduate. There was one class he had to get credits for, even a D would secure him the high school diploma that had alluded him. Like you always did, you offered to help with homework and edit essays and do anything for him, but like always he laughed the offer off, saying that the teachers would be able to tell his own scribblings from your intelligent words.

You hated when Eddie talked shit about himself. Luckily, it wasn’t too often; given his history and current status as his town’s resident freak, he did surprisingly well at the whole self-esteem thing. There were cracks in the facade though. Deep seated ideas about his worth. Self-deprecating jokes. It hurt to know things like that lived somewhere in him while he lived in a place determined to make his life shitty.

Despite knowing just how much Hawkins misunderstood Eddie, and despite hearing the rumours of a trailer park, you still couldn’t believe what you were seeing.

Hiding from parents who were asking when you were going to move out, you had been flicking through television channels on the couch in the basement. The couch was musty, with wet patches that never seemed to dry. The T.V. set was old and staticky. Still, it was better than being upstairs.

You stopped on the news to watch a segment on the violence in the Gulf of Sidra between the U.S. and Libya. There were no American casualties. While you were wondering if there were Libyan deaths, the news anchor was shuffling his papers.

“And now to local news. Small town Indiana has been rocked by another in a series of violent murders. Patrick McKinney brings the body count to three, and with rumours of Satanism, Hawkins, population 13,400, is once again in the spotlight.”

The story played out. A reporter in the field stood outside the boundary lines of Forest Hills Trailer Park. “This is a town all too familiar with murder and mystery,” she said. A photograph of a teenage girl named Barbara. Another of the missing child Will Byers. A mall fire. More deaths. More misery.

Frozen in place, your skin broke out in goosebumps and your mouth went dry. Tears pricked at the edges of your eyes and butterflies scraped their razorblade wings across the lining of your stomach.

“And now, three more deaths can be added to the tally, but what has profoundly shaken this quiet town is the thought of a murderer in their midst.”

It cut to a teenager in a green varsity jacket with a microphone held out to him. “We always knew he would do something like this. Guy’s a total freak,” the teen said.

“And the rumour of Satanism?” asked the reporter, aiming the mic back at the teen.

“Oh, yeah. He listens to that devil music and he’s the leader of a cult. They’re called Hellfire.”

Before your brain had a chance to connect the dots for itself, Eddie’s photo was on the screen. The reporter’s voice was steady and sure as she said, “Edward ‘Eddie’ Munson is a twenty-year-old who attends Hawkins High. He is law enforcement’s prime suspect. The first victim was located inside his residence here at Forest Hills Trailer Park, and a witness claims to have seen Munson in the vicinity of the third victim at the time of their death. Munson lives with his uncle, who has declined an interview.”

Wrapping your arms around yourself, you began to rock back and forth in an attempt to self-sooth. You didn’t register it, but you whimpered as you watched the closing of the news report.

“Are the people of Hawkins cursed? Has the occult been attracted to an already traumatised town? Or is this simply the work of a disturbed young man? Law enforcement is asking all residents of Hawkins and surrounding areas to remain vigilant. Do not approach any suspects. Call your local police department or Crime Stoppers with any information you may have. We will keep you updated on any developments.”

The screen cut back to the news anchor, who moved on to banter with the weatherman. It felt like all the air and sound in the basement had been sucked out in a vacuum. You couldn’t breathe. Your vision was blurry. You were going to puke.

Making it to your bedroom, you threw yourself into your small bathroom and curled up on the cool tiles. There were tears but you weren’t properly crying. Every tiny spark of energy in you was dedicated to figuring out what the absolute fuck you had just seen.

It wasn’t possible, you knew that. Eddie had been generous and sweet since you met him. He was respectful and got pissed when people didn’t observe metal gig etiquette. He pulled people out the mosh when they needed help. He’d bought you more bottles of water than you could count. Eddie was so deeply a lover, not a fighter.

So, no, there wasn’t even a split second where you thought he was guilty. It was simply instantaneous terror for where he was and what would happen once the pitchfork wielding townspeople or the trigger happy cops found him.

A knock on your bedroom door snapped you from your spiraling.

“What?” you yelled.

“What’s with all the door slamming?” your dad’s voice yelled back.

“Nothing. Sorry. Didn’t mean to.”

There was a pause. “You okay?”

You sat up and breathed out. “Yeah. Sorry,”

“Alright…”

It wasn’t until you heard his boots walk down the hall that you got up and moved to the telephone next to your bed. Eddie’s number was still connected, but it rang and rang like it had for days. You tried it all night, but there was no answer.

Sleep came in short restless bursts. The following day you got sent home from work early for crying in the bathroom. You apologised and made up a story about a death in the family, earning you a week off.

After another sleepless night, nobody picking up the phone, and all the catastrophising your brain could do, you thought it couldn’t get any worse.

When you emerged late in the morning for breakfast, you found your parents in the living room watching a breaking news story.

“There’s only twenty-two confirmed casualties so far but it’s… it’s bad here, John,” the corresponded said. They were crossing from what appeared to be some sort of natural disaster.

“Are we sure it was an earthquake?” John from the studio asked.

“That’s what the authorities are saying. Seismologists say 7.4. The townsfolk though, they seem to be asking questions.”

“What happened?” you asked your parents.

“Earthquake hit… Did you feel anything?” your mum replied.

“What do you mean?”

“It was here. Indiana.”

Somehow, you knew.

“I didn’t feel anything… Are we even on bloody tectonic plates?” your dad said.

“That poor town,”

“Something going on there, let me tell you. I was talking to Bill at work. He’s got a cousin out that way. Says the whole place has been swarming with feds, even before this,”

“Because of the murders?” she asked.

“That and everything else.”

The back and forth between your parents was making your blood run cold, you shushed them and turned up the television.

“We’re hearing now that a suspect is in custody for the recent string of murders, but it seems like Hawkins has bigger problems,”

“Yeah, John, the people are banding together to help neighbours out. We’ve seen federal support mobilise quickly. But nobody has forgotten about Eddie Munson and the occult murders,”

“He’s in custody?”

“We can’t confirm if it’s him, but we’ve been assured a suspect has been taken in,”

“Right, and the earthquake - what can people at home do to help?”

A phone number appeared on screen with a call to donate funds to help Hawkins rebuild. The sound of your parents discussing an appropriate amount to give, then finding their credit cards, then calling the number, then being annoyed at joining a queue, became white noise.

Whatever was happening in your brain was all happening on a subconscious level. You were standing still, not a single thought in your mind. Just a shell, waiting for something to come from deeper within yourself to move you.

Suddenly, “I… have to go. I have to go.”

Flying down the hall and into your bedroom, you were throwing random articles of clothing and toiletries into a bag while your parents were still on hold. When you ripped back through the house, your mum noticed the frenzy and started to trail you. Kitchen, fridge, apple, a couple of cans of Dr Pepper. Cupboard, chips. Hallway, keys. You only stopped when your mum yelled your name.

“What?!”

“What are you doing?!”

“I… I have a friend. In Hawkins. I have to go,”

“No, no you don’t. They’ve said not to go. It’s too dangerous. There’s a number you can call to find friends and family,”

“You don’t understand. I have to go. I have to.”

The expression on your mother’s face was fear. Your dad appeared and his was all confusion. For a second you considered saying that the friend was Eddie, but logic reasoned a second later.

“I’m going,” you asserted, holding the keys in your hand tighter and taking a step backwards toward the door. “I’m sorry.” And you bolted out the front door and into your car.

In a fairer world, you would have grown up in the same shitty town as Eddie. In a fairer world, whatever was haunting Hawkins would have never existed. In a fairer world, Eddie would have loved you like you loved him. Alas, the world was unfair in far more ways than you could have even begun to imagine.

Part Two: The Drive to Hawkins

The drive to Hawkins was long and lonely. The route bypassed Indianapolis and looped around to continue to the other side of the state. Despite the authority’s warning, it seemed like hundreds of people were lined up to get into the small town. The roads were at a standstill and you spent the night behind the wheel.

You caught a few hours of sleep before being woken by the horns of the cars behind you. That process repeated itself until almost midday the next day. By the time you hit Hawkins’ welcome sign, you were close to peeing yourself and exhausted beyond belief.

Parked at a playground and barbeque area, went to the toilet, and made an attempt to wash your face and armpits. It was when you were reading a tourist information board that it dawned on you that you had no idea where to start. Looking around, you felt like you were at the epicenter of chaos.

Smoke was still billowing in the sky on the horizon. The sound of sirens was constantly audible. There were cars and people everywhere. If you focused on the noise, you could hear crying. The news was right – Hawkins was a cursed place.

“Okay, okay,” you said to yourself. “Okay.”

If Eddie had been arrested, it was unlikely he would be allowed visitors. At the very least though, you may get some information. If he hadn’t been arrested, if justice had prevailed in the so-called-land of the free, then you could try Forest Hills after.

Normally, going anywhere near a cop shop was a hard no, but for Eddie, you’d do it.

When you got to the closest station, you realised how hard the task in front of you was going to be. You had to park blocks away, walking through crowds of people looking for missing loved ones, and past tents of what you feared were body bags.

“Sorry, excuse me?” you said to someone official-looking woman holding a clipboard. They were trying to answer multiple people’s questions. You waited patiently until it became clear that manners couldn’t co-exist with an environment like that. “I’m looking for someone,”

“Everyone is, honey. Check the board for names. Black one has photos of bodies. Red one is for missing people. You see someone you recognise, bring the photo to me. If they’re already on the red board, nothing more you can do.”

There was a third possibility that you legitimately hadn’t thought of, one worse than being wrongfully arrested. What if Eddie had died in the earthquake?

You started to cry, but you were just one person in a sea of misery. Nobody stopped to see if you were okay. Nobody looked at you like you were being weird in public. You were just another grief-stricken person.

After powerwalking back to your car and throwing yourself into the backseat to curl up, you sobbed for what felt like hours. When you calmed down and poke your head up, only minutes had been spent. Fifteen at most.

You climbed over the centre console to sit back in the driver’s seat. You wound your window down and rummaged through your bag for some tissues. Wetting some with the last of your bottled water, you washed your face.

There were still people everywhere, and you could make out a conversation happening close.

“What do we do now?” a small voice asked.

You glanced at your side mirror and watched as a man and woman embraced.

“I don’t know… They said search parties are being organised over at the school…” the man replied.

“I just want to find her,”

“I know… I know. Me too… Let’s just… Just go there. Heard it’s been set up with food and water too. You need to eat something,”

“I’m not hungry… I just want to find her.” The woman began to cry.

It felt wrong to be listening to their conversation, but there was nowhere to go. You saw the couple begin to walk. The woman seemed frail and the man had a scarf tied around his leg. Even through the mirror’s reflection you could tell he was injured.

“Excuse me!” you called after them, sticking half your body out the window. “Do you need a ride?”

Maybe manners couldn’t function, but humanity certainly could.

The man nodded and did not hesitate as he pulled the woman along and got her into the back seat. He slid in next to her.

“Thank you,”

“Yeah. No worries… Um, where do you need to go?” you asked, playing dumb.

The man directed you to the school. You dropped them off at the front door before driving back down the block in search of somewhere to park. The drive had been silent save for the directions. Every part of you was crying out to ask if they knew Eddie. Did they know where he was? Was he okay?

As you approached the school on foot, you read the signs someone had made out of pieces of plywood and a can of spray paint. Search parties and missing people information were inside the main building. First aid and immediate supplies were inside the gymnasium. Not knowing what to do, you flipped a coin in your head, and walked in the gym.

It felt calmer inside. Cots were set up for the injured. It seemed this was triage for the not mortally wounded. Nobody was screaming in agony. Volunteers were handing out cups of water and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Across the space more volunteers were sorting donations of blankets, toys, and other items. The room was lined with pinboards covered in missing people posters. There were people in fluorescent vests giving orders and answering questions. It had only been about 36-ish hours since the earthquake, but already the operation to help was well underway.

You made your way around to where the donations were being collated and organised. A girl looked up as you approached the table. “Hi! What do you need?” she asked. “We’ve got pillows and blankets. Jackets too?”

“Oh, ah, no. I’m okay… I was actually looking for a friend.” You saw her face drop and her mouth open as if she was trying to work out how to redirect you. Before she could, you said, “Not like, a missing friend. I don’t think he’s missing. I just, um, can’t get a hold of him… So, I was maybe looking for someone that knows him? Like a friend?”

“Oh… Well, it is a small town. Everyone knows everyone. What’s their name?”

You hated that you hesitated. “Eddie… Munson.”

The girl was startled at even his name. There were people around who looked over at the mention of Eddie too.

“Don’t you know what he did?”

“He didn’t hurt anyone,”

“That’s not what everyone says,” she replied, the earlier kindness in her voice entirely gone.

“They’re wrong.”

The girl’s expression fell neutral and she stared at you.

“Do you know where he is? Was he arrested?”

It was clear she was deciding if she wanted to give you the information or not. “No,” she eventually offered. “Everyone reckons he did some freak witchcraft shit to get out of it. Cops say they have the real killer and everything.”

You bit your tongue. Starting a fight in an earthquake crisis centre was not a good look. “Okay, so he should be at home?”

The girl shrugged. Despite her intentions, she had been helpful. You left her without a word more and headed for the exit.

You didn’t get far before someone was yelling after you. At first you didn’t respond, thinking they were calling for someone else. “Hey! Ah, hey, miss?!” But then they said, “You know Eddie?”

Spinning, you took a step towards the guy. He was around your age and had a pretty face. He wore a clean blue sweater and seemed relatively put together considering everything happening around him.

“Is he okay? Do you know where he is?”

The guy looked you up and down conspicuously. “Who are you?”

“Who are you?” you parroted immediately.

“Sorry… It’s just… There’s a lot of people looking for him… Not all, you know-” He shook his hands in a gesture that meant nothing to you. “Not all friendly,”

“Are you his friend? What’s your name,”

“Steve. I’m Steve… I guess, yeah… Yeah, I’d say we’re friends… New friends, but friends. Been through some… stuff together. Really bonds two guys. People! Two… People. Two separate people…”

“Steve? He’s never mentioned a Steve,”

“Yeah, ah, like I said – new friends,” Steve said tilting his head to the side. “You’re not from Hawkins, are you?”

You shook your head. “I see him in Indy. We go to shows together-”

“Oh! Yeah! No, he talked about you… Which, all things considered, it’s gotta mean something. Not a lot of casual conversation in the middle of all this,” he said, motioning to the surrounding chaos. Steve saw your sad eyes, the tiredness written all over your face. The pins on your jacket. The boots. He was sharper than people gave him credit for and was appropriately suspicious of things. There was a feeling though, a flutter of empathy. “Y/N, right?”

“Yes. Please. Is he okay? I need to see him.”

Steve folded his arms across his chest and nodded. “My shift here isn’t over, but I’ll call someone. They can take you to him,”

“Thank you. Yes. Thank you.” You jumped at Steve, holding him in a hug.

He was unprepared and slow to react. “Ah, yeah, yeah. You’re welcome. Just go sit over there somewhere.”

Saying nothing else, just nodding eagerly, you followed Steve’s instructions, walking down the sidewalk to sit near the school’s bike racks.

It took less than two minutes before the sounds of everything started to pin prick at your heart and lungs. Despair and desperation. You wished you had your headphones, a mixtape made by Eddie and sent through the mail to keep you company, but the batteries in your Walkman were long dead after the drive to Hawkins.

Part Three: “Are You Eddie’s Girlfriend?”

“Are you Eddie’s girlfriend?”

Dustin Henderson was exactly how Eddie described. You recognised the boy before he finished turning into the car park on his bike. Even under his Thinking Cap, his hair was trademark. He beamed at you as he came to a stop, asking the question like it wasn’t going to throw you into inner turmoil.

“Ah… We’re friends,”

“That’s what he says but…” He paused to wriggle his eyebrows.

You stood up and brushed grass off your pants. “Where is he?”

“You got a car? It’s too far to go with you on the handlebars.” Dustin smiled when you nodded. He got off his bike and took a long time trying to get it to fit in the back of your car.

As the kid directed you out of the heart of Hawkins, you were relieved that you didn’t have to think of things to say. Dustin had that covered. It started with a question, “So, earthquake, huh?” It was as if he was testing you.

“Yeah? I’m… uh, sorry? That how you hurt your leg? Is, is your house okay?” you replied.

“It wasn’t an earthquake…” He paused to gauge your reaction. You kept your eyes on the road and said nothing. “You know how people say Hawkins is cursed? They’re not entirely wrong.”

He told the story of three boys searching for their fourth. A story of monsters and heroes, love and hope.

“He was just with the wrong person at the wrong time,” Dustin told you, introducing Eddie into lore. “The first person that died, the one that started all this, was Chrissy. You probably saw her on the news. She went to Eddie’s to buy drugs and that’s when he got her.”

There was a foreignness in how Dustin said ‘buy drugs,’ and even with all he had been through, that alone was a reminder of the fact he was just a kid.

“He?”

“Vecna. The bad guy. He killed her and Eddie was there,”

“Right. And everyone thought he did it,”

“Yeah,” Dustin nodded. “Turn left up here. All of this, the ‘earthquake’ and everything, is Vecna.”

You took the left and slowed down, the road unpaved and winding into a wooded area. As Dustin continued to give you directions, adding more fantastical details about Hawkins and his friends, you began to worry more and more.

“Wait, wait. So, if Vecna is, like, dead or whatever… and Eddie has been cleared, why are we driving into the middle of a forest? Why’s Eddie hiding?”

For the first time in the conversation, Dustin seemed like he didn’t want to speak.

“Dustin?”

“Ah…”

“What’s wrong? What happened to him?”

“Can I just say that you’re handling all this very well,”

“Dustin!”

“I mean, it’s a lot,”

“Dustin. What happened to Eddie?”

Dustin sighed, looking out the window and spotting the end of the road up ahead. “He tried to be a hero.”

You glanced at the kid, then rolled to a stop.

“Maybe he should tell you this part,” Dustin said.

When you looked at each other, you could see the trauma Dustin hid behind a quick wit and years of living in flight or fight mode. He deserved a break; you nodded.

“Yeah, alright,”

“He’s pretty beat up. He’s gotta be in more pain than he’ll admit. Maybe… maybe you can help with that,”

“Should he be in a hospital?”

“Yeah, definitely. He made up some crap about how someone more in need deserved the bed.” Dustin frowned.

Cutting the engine, you got out of the car. The sound of Dustin pulling his bike out drew your attention.

“What now?”

“The path is pretty clear. Just follow it up,”

“You’re not coming?”

“Nah. If I’m gone long, Mom will freak out,”

“Can’t blame her… You sure you should ride that far? With your leg, I mean,”

“I’m fine. Stronger than I look, you know. We’ll bring supplies tomorrow morning. Everyone will wanna meet you too.”

Did Eddie really talk about you that much?

“Okay,”

“See ya, Y/N.”

Dustin rode off back the way you’d come. You stood watching until he was completely out of sight and sound. It was eerily quiet in the woods then.

The walk was only a few minutes. The path led to a small structure that didn’t look like a place for a hero at all.

As you climbed the steps to the cabin, you noted all the missing nails and rotten wood. At the door you held a hand up to knock, then hesitated.

Fuck.

You breathed in deeply then knocked, calling out, “Eddie?” in a weird sort of yell-whisper. The sound cut through the serenity of nature, making you cringe. With a shaking hand, you opened the door, pushing it inward, grateful it didn’t squeak with rust.

The place was small. Directly to your left was a bathroom and to your right a kitchenette. A small living room was ahead, with a door open wide on the opposite wall; you could see it was a bedroom, the bed made and most of the floor space taken up by boxes. The final door, adjacent to the kitchen, moved; you watched it open slowly.

From the darkness, Eddie emerged to lean his weight on the doorframe. His hair was tied in a messy bun, and he wore track pants and a long-sleeved flannel shirt that was at least three times too big for him. Part of his face was covered with bandages, and he had deep lines under his eyes that you’d never seen him with, not even when he was his most hungover.

“Y/N?” Eddie’s voice was croaky, his throat dry. He looked confused and dazed. You were the last person he expected to see.

You were across the room and reaching out for him before he could warn you. As soon as you grabbed him, he winced and made the same sound a puppy does when you accidentally step on his tail.

“Sorry! I’m sorry! Sorry. Fuck. Are you okay? Sorry.”

Eddie tried to control the pain, but it kept hold, forcing a contorted expression to linger on his face. You stepped away from him.

“Eddie- I’m- Oh my god,” you breathed out. “What’s happening? What happened? Are you- Fuck.” You didn’t know where to start or what to say. Suddenly, your mouth was moving before you had a chance to censor or edit yourself. “I saw the news. I tried to call but when I couldn’t get a hold of you, I… I freaked out,”

“How-” Eddie tried to ask, but the pain was rolling down his spine.

“Dustin,” you replied. “Um, I was…” Totally and utterly terrified for Eddie. Unable to go on with life without knowing he was safe. No, not just knowing. Seeing him for yourself. “I went to the school, ‘cause it’s all set up as a crisis centre or whatever. I asked someone about you, and a guy named Steve heard. He called Dustin for me. He showed me the way here.”

Eddie managed a small nod. “He outside?”

“No. He had his bike when we met up. We had it in my car and he rode it home. Just us… Should you sit? Back to bed?” you asked, trying to look behind him into the room he’d come from.

Carefully, he turned around and retreated. You followed along behind him, turning the light on as you entered the room. Eddie stood over the bed, and before you could work out how to help, he just let himself fall onto the mattress. He hissed and clenched his teeth, screwing his eyes shut so tightly that it made you shudder.

The single bed was old, low to the ground. You knelt and gently took one of Eddie’s hands. Looking around the room, you began to understand the gravity of the situation.

On the bedside table was a mountain of different medications – antibiotics and painkillers and other things you didn’t recognise. There were bottles of water next to the bed, empty ones thrown about the room. Some evidence of food, but mostly unfinished packets of chips and cookies. Sitting on a table against the opposite wall was a box of medical supplies, and next to that a pile of bloody and gore covered bandages and tissues. The final piece of the puzzle was a bucket under the bed that you couldn’t see into but you guessed was for pee.

“Eddie… When did you last take anything for the pain?”

You thought about what Dustin had said. If Eddie was in more pain than he let on, he probably wasn’t taking a reasonable amount of painkillers.

His eyes fluttered open, and he slowly turned his head to face you. When he glanced at the bedside table, he pulled a face. “Dunno.”

You were confident that it was a significant time ago. “Okay, well, we’re taking some now,”

“M’fine,”

“No. No, you’re not. You’re the least fine I have ever seen anybody in my life. Eddie, whatever happened, this is… insanely fucked. Please, just take some of this and-” A shaky breath in. “And you can tell me what the hell is happening.” 

You studied his face. The patch bandage on Eddie’s face wasn’t a clean white. You could see whatever wound was beneath it was still actively bleeding. He had dirt and grime around his hairline. His lips were chapped badly and now close to him, you could see knots in his hair were matted. Whatever happened forty-eight hours ago when the ‘earthquake’ happened, Eddie still wasn’t clean of it.

His big brown eyes met yours and he gave in, opening his mouth. You put two oxycodone tablets in his mouth. He swallowed them dry.

You sat with him, holding his hand for a little while longer. Eventually, when his breathing had settled into a healthier rhythm and it looked like he’d stopped clenching every muscle in his body, you said, “I’m going to, um, clean up a bit, then when those kick in I’m moving you to the couch out there, or the other bed. You need to get out of this room.”

Eddie made the smallest of nods, and you watched him close his eyes and zone out again.

Turning the light off and leaving the bedroom, you closed the door behind you and leaned your back against it, holding in a sob that was trying to claw its way out your chest. It hadn’t been the reunion you’d pictured. You had no idea what had happened to Eddie, or how hurt he was, but letting your mind try to fill in the blanks was a bad idea.

“Okay,” you said to yourself with a nod.

The cabin wasn’t as bad as you had initially thought. It was old and in need of updating and repairing, but it wasn’t leaking or covered in mould. Finding cleaning supplies under the kitchen sink, you wiped down surfaces and collected all the trash into a bag. It became clear that if Eddie was bedridden, other people were spending a lot of time there. The garbage, the blankets and pillows on the couches, and the dishes drying in a rack told you enough.

The sun was beginning to set as you cooked a vegetable stew. A lot of veggies were in their final days of edibleness, and that way you could put some in the freezer for easy meals later. Later? You caught yourself in the thought; how long did you think you were staying? Did Eddie even want you to be there at all?

You set a bowl of stew down on the old wooden chest that served as a coffee table in front of the couch.

“Eddie,” you called, going back into the bedroom. “I’m turning the light back on… Has the oxy kicked in?”

Eddie looked at you, more lucid than before. You could see his pupils were blown. He shrugged a little, trying to sit up.

“Okay. That’s better than no. Come on. Food’s ready.”

He looked at you like he wasn’t sure you were real. When you held your hands out to him, he took them and let you gently pull him up. He walked slowly, then sat on the couch at equal speed.

You moved the bowl from the table to his lap, checking it wasn’t hot to touch.

“You good?”

Eddie nodded as he looked at the stew, picking up the spoon.

The first thing you did in the bedroom was strip the bed. There was no washing machine in the cabin, so you balled all the linen up in another big garbage bag. Next went all the trash and the bucket under the bed. You swept the floor and wiped down the bedside table and the desk. All the medical supplies found new homes in the bathroom, and you went through the duffle bag of clothes to determine what needed washing and what could be folded neatly onto the desk.

The springtime air was crisp, but you opened the window anyway. With the room airing out, you closed the door to protect the rest of the cabin from the cold.

Eddie had eaten all the stew. It gave you an albeit small but no less real sense of peace. If he could eat, he’d be okay. As you took the bowl to fill again, you spoke.

“Dustin is exactly how you described him, by the way,”

“How was he?” Eddie asked.

“I mean, I don’t know him… but… he was weirdly… chipper? No boundaries? Inappropriate?”

“That’s him… He shouldn’t be riding his bike,”

“His leg?” you guessed.

Eddie nodded. “Yeah,”

“What happened?”

Eddie went quiet, took the second bowl of stew you handed him. He started to eat.

“He told me about everything. Well, not everything everything. Just everything before… Whatever happened to you… But about, um, Vecna? And the upside down. And Chrissy.”

Eddie’s eyes looked for anywhere that wasn’t where you were sat on the couch next to his.

When Eddie thought of you, he thought of heavy metal crowds and cheap beer and being the person he wanted to be. He thought of how you were escapism from the shitty life he had. How you thought he was cool and funny and good enough to be a friend. How you sounded over the phone late at night, all sleepy and cute. How you looked dressed for a gig. Eddie never wanted you to be in Hawkins. He never wanted you to see him in the context of his everyday life.

Of all the fucked up things that had happened over the past week, having that pure, beautiful, escapism taken away from him might be the worse.

“You don’t have to stay and… look after me or whatever,” Eddie said. Although there were some bitter tones in his voice, he mostly sounded sad.

He’d been in and out of consciousness for forty-eight hours. Things slipped from the dreaming into reality. Demobats in the corner of the bedroom. Lightning as the fridge opened. You, holding his hands and making him stew. But you were real, Eddie was only just fully becoming aware of it. He was confused by your presence, and ashamed of what you were seeing.

You were meant to know Eddie at his best and most beautiful. Not this. Not this broken and hollowed-out version.

“I know that… And, um, I know it’s kind of weird for me to just show up. Since we’re not like…”

Eddie looked up, afraid you were about to say that you weren’t friends at all. “It’s not weird.”

You smiled. “I’m just saying I know I don’t have to be here. I mean, we haven’t really talked heaps lately anyway.”

That was on Eddie. He didn’t know how to talk to someone he was falling in love with. Still didn’t.

“But I just… needed to know you were okay. And to tell you I know you’d never do the things the news said you did,” you continued.

He didn’t know what to say. “This is good,” he decided on, holding up the now-empty bowl.

“There’s more. You should let that settle though,”

“When did you get all…” He was going to say ‘parental’ or even ‘maternal’ but had enough cognitive energy to stop. “Uh, good at playing nurse.”

Last time Eddie had seen you, you were shotgunning a warm beer handed to you by the singer of a local metal band in Indi. She had pulled you on stage, impressed to see a girl handling herself amongst the big guys. You’d shotgunned the beer, sprayed half back over the crowd like a fountain, then jumped with reckless abandon onto the pit. It was a far cry from the stew-brewing, soft voiced girl he was looking at.

“If you wanna see nurse, I can do nurse. When did you last shower?”

 At the hospital, they gave him a sponge bath where it was necessary. Before that, well, Lovers Lake probably didn’t count. And after… Eddie had barely set foot in that bathroom. Bare fucking minimum. He picked at his nails, trying not to focus on the black underneath them.

 “Not meant to get the bandages wet,”

“Right… Well, speaking of the bandages. When were they last changed?”

Fuck, Eddie thought. He walked right into that one. “Nancy came yesterday,”

“Is Nancy an actual nurse?”

“No. She’s just, like, really smart. Like… really smart.”

You folded your arms across the chest. “Remember when you said you were fine after you accidentally headbutted the barrier at Sabbath? Then your nose started to bleed later? And it turned out you had a full on concussion?”

Eddie laughed at the memory, but as soon as his chest started to shake, the pain flooded his entire body. He hunched over, whining. He hadn’t laughed since the upside down. It was the most he’d demanded of his body, even if indirectly.

He was incoherent with pain. He couldn’t think straight, couldn’t make sense of his surroundings. Eddie didn’t register you rushing over to him and falling to your knees, hands framing him but not touching him.

“Eddie? Fuck, Eddie. What can I-”

His entire perception was clouded by agony. The tears streamed down his face and hit the wooden floor.

There was nothing you could do but wait. Carefully, you rested your hands on his knees and listened to him do his best to breathe through it.

“I’m going to get more oxy,” you said, standing.

“No!” His voice sounded desperate; desperate enough that you knelt back down. “Shit’s too addictive. I don’t wanna-”

“I know,” you interrupted. “I know. But there’s a big fucking difference between your asshole dad, and you needing to be able to function.”

Eddie tried to sit up straighter, but it hurt too much.

“Come on Teddy Bear.”

It worked. Eddie looked up at you through narrow eyes. Even in immense pain, he couldn’t let it slide. You grinned at him.

“Seriously though. Dustin said you should still be in the hospital. So… If that’s a no, then you’re stuck with me.”

You looked at each other for a moment. There was something in both your gazes that scared the other. Quickly, you moved to go get more painkillers. Eddie took what you gave him.

“So, are we gonna talk about why you won’t shower? ‘Cause you’re the cleanest metalhead I know. This isn’t very you.”

That’s the problem with you being there, Eddie thought. You knew him too well. His freshmen buddies only knew him as their over-the-top DM, a contextual friend. Nancy, Steve, and Robin, well they didn’t know him at all. He let all of them make assumptions to hide the truth. Maybe if Gareth, Jeff, or Gene were there, they’d see through it, but he’d been able to trick the rest of them.

“I… I tried… Soon as they left, soon as I was alone. All I fuckin’ wanted was a hot shower. But…” He took a shaky breath in and out. “Couldn’t stand for more than a minute without feeling like I was gonna pass out. And the water burns. I don’t know if it’s some fucking upside down bullshit magic that makes it hurt worse, but it’s not… not normal… And that fucking mirror. Not saying I was, you know, Adonis, but ah… The scars are gonna be… Gnarly.”

Trust Eddie to reference Greek mythology in the midst of a literal nightmare.

There was one other obvious option. “A bath then? Shallow? So the… ah, cuts? Whatever. So they aren’t submerged. Then a strategically placed washcloth?” It was more query than statement.

The image in his mind had Eddie sitting in the rusty old bathtub. The water would be lukewarm. His muscles wouldn’t let him maneuver enough to properly clean. He’d hardly be able to stretch his arms up to wash his hair.

“Eddie…”

He looked over at you. “Uh… I…”

“I’ll help,” you said then.

“I don’t-”

“You do. If you could do it yourself you would have… We can be adults about this.”

Eddie didn’t want to be an adult about this. He didn’t want to have to make decisions beyond what song to learn on guitar and how best to torture Hellfire Club. He was sick of life or death choices. Although letting you bathe him like a baby wasn’t really life or death, it kinda felt like it.

“Fine,” he resigned, leaning back on the couch and closing his eyes.

“Besides…” You stood up. “It’s not like I haven’t seen you naked before.”

God, he missed levity. You beamed when he grinned and snorted.

“That was this is? Miss me that much?” he joked.

A messy summer night in the city. Too many beers. Not enough weed to chill the buzz. The plan was to sleep in the back of the van, but it felt like an oven. Item by item, you ripped your clothes off in the darkness. It was entirely innocent and definitely because of the alcohol. When you woke up, you’d been only in underwear and Eddie was entirely naked. You couldn’t look each other in the eyes for an hour after.

The cabin’s bathroom was clean. You let the water go through the pipes and drain away for a couple of minutes. ���Good enough,” you muttered to yourself when the water was mostly clear. There was no bubble bath or luxe body wash. You caught yourself looking before you realised it was a stupid act. There was a stack of washcloths, a bar of soap, and a bottle of 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner. It was all brand new, still sealed, and sitting on the edge of the bath.

You frothed the soap under the running water, trying to create some modesty bubbles or milky-toned water. With only a little luck, you went back into the lounge.

“Do you want to wait for the pills to kick in?”

“Nah. They will. Let’s just get this done before Harrington or anyone shows up.”

Eddie took your held out hands and walked with you to the bathroom. He quickly sat on the toilet, not out of breath but something like that.

“Shirt,” you ordered.

The flannel was easy to unbutton. You were dismayed to find he was wearing a very fucking destroyed Hellfire shirt underneath.

When Eddie made a small yelping sound during his attempt to lift his arms. You stopped him.

“I’m just gonna cut it off,”

“No! Didn’t let Wheeler. Not letting you. Do you know how much these cost to print?!”

You huffed. “Who’s Wheeler?”

“Nancy,”

“New rule. Every time me and Nancy agree on something, it means it’s the right thing to do. Besides, it’s all ripped up and there’s blood and whatever fucking else on that. It’s never gonna be wearable,” you argued.

Eddie wasn’t sure why he was fighting so hard for the Hellfire shirt. Maybe something about surviving in it. Maybe something about trying desperately to claw a little of the past back.

“Fine,” he agreed through gritted teeth.

It took a little work with dull scissors, but you got there. Whatever you were expecting Eddie’s injuries to be, it wasn’t that. You were too slow to stop the gasp that escaped from you; Eddie looked up frowning.

“I’m sorry, I just… What the fuck happened?”

Like the patch on his face, the ones scattered across his torso were bleeding through. You sat on the edge of the bath and turned the water off, the bathroom suddenly quiet. Eddie said nothing. You nodded, accepting the silence.

“How’s the pain?” Your voice was barely above a whisper. “‘Cause I think it’s gonna hurt like a bitch to get these off. They look kinda melted to you,”

“Thanks,”

“Sorry! Fuck. Sorry. I just…”

“It’s fine,” Eddie said. “It’s bad. I know it’s bad. It’s whatever… Can you just… Don’t look at me like that?”

You knew what he meant. Eddie hated pity. He hated when people pitied him for his dead mother and shitty father. For living in a one bedroom trailer with his uncle. For repeating high school. For all the things that made the average folk feel awkward. Eddie fucking despised pity.

You nodded. “Yeah. I mean… I don’t feel bad for you at all. Like, Dustin said you tried to be a hero or something? Do some classic Edward Munson Dumb Shit and end up like this, yeah?”

Eddie smiled. “Something like that,”

“Exactly. See? No pity here. Toughen up, kid.”

God, he loved you.

The first bandage – the one across Eddie’s cheek and jaw – came off surprisingly well. You held your expression steady as you worked, absorbing the excess blood and fluid with cotton balls.

The second bandage was covering a neck wound. Your stomach flipped, sick with the thought that it could have killed him. A little deeper and Eddie would have died.

The third wound was collarbone based and the bandage was a lot harder to move. Eddie’s jaw clenched impossibly tight and he was holding his breath.

You remembered when he took you to get your first tattoo. “It helps if you have something to distract you. Music or talking to someone, you know?” Eddie had said.

“Are these… bites?” You’d been almost too afraid to ask, but your brain couldn’t come up with any alternative conversation topics.

“Yeah,” Eddie replied weakly.

Some of the bites were smaller, but most weren’t. Eddie’s chest was more broken skin than not. His left pec was destroyed, and all down his sides were eaten into. Across his stomach bloomed another wound. Even his arms and hands had not escaped the assault.

“Dustin said the plan was to distract the… bats?”

“Demobats,”

“Demobats,” you repeated, the word feeling alien on your tongue. “What went wrong?”

For a couple of seconds, you thought Eddie was going to stay silent, not answering the question. It would have been more than fair. But, he started to speak in a shaky voice.

“We… did… it… Did what we were meant to do, you know? The demobats were away from Creel House. We were on our way out of there. There were… just so many of them. Too many to distract. I went to climb… climb the rope… but…”

Even with a lot of the story filled in by Dustin, you didn’t quite understand the picture Eddie was painting. You had to assume a lot; the rope must have led out of danger? Out of the upside down? Creel House was where Vecna was? You didn’t stop Eddie to ask clarifying questions.

“I just kept seeing Chrissy. In my head. Nobody deserves what happened to her, but she… She came to me for help and I… I kept seeing her and I kept thinking that this was our one shot at killing Vecna. And what if my part was the part that fucked the plan… What if I could actually do more? So, I didn’t climb the rope.”

Eddie thought for a moment, deep in reflection. Had it been worth it?

“I… I went back out there. Figured I could distract them, the bats, some more. Kill some. And I did. Not enough… There was…” Eddie sharply took a gulp of air in. “There were more than before. They were everywhere. I couldn’t see anything, then I… I don’t know.”

He did know. Even running on adrenaline, he could feel each bite. Eddie had locked onto the memory now. It was so vivid in his mind still.

“All the things from there, from the upside down, they’ve got these teeth. Like, hundreds of them. Their faces aren’t faces, they’re just big mouths and the, the lips, or whatever, they open up in every direction, and there are just rows and rows of fucking teeth. Like… a black hole of teeth,”

“Like a lamprey?”

After one fishing trip, Wayne had come home and told Eddie about the ‘vampire tube’ fish – the lamprey. Eddie was obsessed with them for a while after that, finding a book in the school library with a photo, then telling you about them on the phone. Your own public library had the same book, and you could see why a weird little dude like Eddie was so into them.

Eddie looked at you. “Shit… Yeah… Fuck… That but like, a bat…”

“There were dog ones before, right? Dustin said a few years ago there were dog ones,”

“Apparently… and then the human one.”

You tried to imagine a human figure with no face, just flaps of flesh opening to reveal endless teeth. The imagination is powerful, but even yours couldn’t really conjure a picture. Maybe your brain was just trying to protect you from the pure nightmare fuel that description could produce.

“Then they got you?” you asked.

“They got me. But, ah, as they did, they all just fucking dropped from the sky. And it was so quiet until Henderson showed up. I told the little shit to stay where it was safe. But he was there… Did my whole goodbye speech to him, you know? I could… I could feel the blood pooling in all the wrong places. My lungs were swimming in it. I was coughing it up. No way was I gonna live.”

Eddie’s face was as animated as it always was. You weren’t used to it animating terror and agony though. This wasn’t the kind of story Eddie normally told you. Your eyes had welled up with tears and you’d stopped working on removing his bandages.

Eddie’s gaze was fixed on a spot on the bathroom floor. He stared as he spoke. “The others were still setting fire to Vecna. Dustin tried to get there, but he’d messed his leg up pretty good. They found him halfway there, carried him back. Dragged me back. Got me to a hospital,”

“Jesus, Eddie. Why aren’t you still there? It’s been what, a night? Two if you count that night?”

He nodded. “I woke up the next day. They’d given me blood and stitched up the worst of the bites.”

Everyone had tried to keep Eddie in the hospital, but he was refusing a lot of medical care. He hated the accusatory stares and whispers. He couldn’t stand the noise.

There was no point in asking why he wouldn’t stay there. No point in suggesting he went back. Eddie had looked up and seen both those thoughts cross your face.

“I’m fine,” he lied. “Just needed a little blood,”

“Aren’t there like, long-term effects? What about the blood in your lungs? And, like, did you actually die? What if you have brain damage?”

“Not like I was a genius with a 4.0,”

“Eddie,”

“Y/N.” It was quick. Snappy. Your name in a warning tone.

The remainder of the bandages came off, and you mopped up the carnage as best you could. When you were done, Eddie stood, empowered by the painkillers enough to take his own pants off. He stepped into the bath and lowered himself in. It was all somehow both benignly clinical and breathtakingly intimate.

The water came up to his waist, lapping at the lowest of the wounds. You waited until the waves had settled before speaking again.

“I’m gonna wash your hair first,” you told him. He nodded, seeming smaller in the bath. Childlike helplessness.

You left the bathroom briefly to look for tools. There wasn’t a single brush or comb to be found. Returning with only the largest cup you could find, you settled next to the tub.

Lathering Eddie’s hair with the 2-in-1, you tilted his head backwards and rinsed with the help of the cup. As the water ran down his back, Eddie shivered. You repeated the process two more times, the conversation pausing entirely.

When his wild mane is clean, you raked your fingers through it bit by bit, gently pulling knots out. It’s a somewhat successful method, although you’d have to go for rounds two and three when his hair was dry.

“Close your eyes,” you instructed. Eddie complied. “Keep them closed.”

A washcloth was soaked in slick soap and you covered Eddie’s face in the goo. With great delicateness, you cleaned his hair, face, ears, and neck. The soap didn’t burn the bites like you’d both expected, but the coarse washcloth wasn’t exactly pleasant either.

As you descended Eddie’s body, dirt and muck washing down and turning the bath water a hazy brown, you cleaned the wounds. They started to bleed again, not heavily, but enough that by the time you were at his waist, you needed to pull the plug out and re-fill the bath with clean water.

Eddie was acquiescent. The drugs had well and truly kicked in, building on the mild buzz of the first you’d made him take. Even with the washcloth pain, the experience wasn’t as horrific as it could have been, he decided.

When he was finally clean, you sat on the ground next to the tub. The water had a pink hue from the blood, but he’d stopped bleeding.

“You look like you now,”

“Who’d I look like before?” Eddie replied.

“I don’t know. You from a different dimension. A really, really fucking bad one,”

“Guess I kind of am now.”

You said nothing to that. Maybe he was. Maybe you wouldn’t know this Eddie like you knew yours.

Eddie looked down at his chest, then his legs beneath the water. They ached, despite being unharmed by the demobats. He thought about Dustin and his leg. How he jumped through the gate with such disregard for himself, to try to stop Eddie. Save Eddie. Dustin fucking Henderson, man. Suddenly, a new thought-

“What you said about Dustin. Inappropriate or whatever. Did he say something?”

“He said a lot,” you replied.

“But, ah, what exactly was it that-”

A small laugh escaped you, and Eddie’s sentence stopped dead in its tracks. He looked at you.

 “You seem nervous,” you teased. “The kid know one too many secrets or something?” Eddie’s face was expressionless but you could see his mind working overtime to think of something to say. You put him out of his misery with, “He didn’t say anything. He asked something. Like, straight away. Before a ‘hello’ even,”

“Am I gonna have to give him the world’s worst wedgie?”

“I guess it depends on how embarrassed by the question you are.”

Eddie broke eye contact, looked back down at his body. The entire situation was radically out of his control. Might as well add more spice. “What’d he ask?”

“Kid rolls up. Toothy grin. Busted leg. Happy as fucking Larry. First thing out of his mouth – ‘Are you Eddie’s girlfriend?’”

Part Four: The Cabin in the Woods

The cabin in the woods held warmth better than you would have guessed. After letting the bathwater drain yet again, you left Eddie to sit in hot clean water for the third time, then started the fire in the corner of the living room.

“Whose cabin is this?” you called out.

The bathroom had no door, just a curtain to pull across the open frame. Eddie could hear you just fine.

“Hopper’s,”

“That’s… the Chief of Police, right? The one everyone thought was dead? But was in Russia or something?”

“Dustin really gave you the whole story, huh?”

“Kind of. Don’t know how or why he was there… But isn’t he meant to be dead? Nobody’s meant to know about him?”

It was the first time Eddie realised that you might now be in danger. Although not being privy to the truth about Hawkins wasn’t necessarily a guarantee of safety, being included in its secrets definitely bumped up the ‘likely to die a horrible death’ stats. At the very least, you’d be on someone’s watch list now.

“Yeah. He was gonna stay here, but too many people know about it.”

Made sense, you thought. “So, why are you here? The cops aren’t after you anymore. Don’t you want to be with your uncle? Or your friends?”

The small fire was burning bright and the flames licked around the chunk of wood. You stood up, satisfied with your work.

Eddie hadn’t answered, so you walked back to him.

“Think I should get out now,” he said when you appeared. “S’cold,”

“Yeah. Okay. Here.”

Like he had before, Eddie winced as he moved. He stood and helped you wrap a towel around his waist. You draped another over his head. With his fingers threaded through yours, you guided him out of the bath and back onto the couch.

“I’ll do the bandages before you get dressed,” you told him, going to retrieve what you needed.

Before you sat back down, you ruffled his hair in the towel, making sure it was dry enough not to drip everywhere. Taking parts of his hair in the towel and scrunching them, you worked like you’d done it all before.

Next, you coated cotton balls in antiseptic balm and dabbed at each of the wounds, and checked all the stitches. The bites had stopped freely bleeding, with only dots of red and some evidence of gooey serosanguinous drainage. After each was disinfected, you blew gently on the raw skin to cool it down. Goosebumps iced their way across Eddie’s body.

When the fresh bandages were applied, Eddie leaned back into the couch and closed his eyes.

“How do you feel?” you asked.

His immediate reaction was to be sarcastic. It was a defense mechanism, but Eddie reminded himself he didn’t need to defend against anything when he was with you. “Not… good… but, ah, a lot better than before,”

“I’ll take that… I’ll get some clean clothes.”

Eddie pulled on clean boxer shorts and sweatpants while you binned all the old bandages left in the bathroom. Once everything was clean, you returned to the couch. You helped him pull a t-shirt over his head, then sank down next to each other.

The soundscape consisted of the fire and the odd bird call coming from the woods outside. It was late, maybe even close to midnight. Not too far away, the rest of Hawkins was still assessing the damage and counting the dead. But there, in an off-the-grid cabin, the rest of Hawkins didn’t exist.

Eddie reached over and placed his hand palm-up on your leg. You took it and held it tight. All the emotion you’d swallowed since seeing him barely alive bubbled up your throat and out of your mouth in a small sob. Eddie rolled his head to look at you, expression sad.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

You choked out a laugh. “What are you sorry for?”

“I dunno. Making you worry.”

When you tried to let go of Eddie’s hand to clear your face of tears, he wouldn’t budge. You used your free hand, attempting to not let the soft crying turn into anything more.

“I was so worried.”

Eddie nodded. “Yeah… I’m…” As he searched for the words that felt right, his eyes stayed glued to your face. “I’m sorry about… not calling in a while. Not returning your calls,”

“S’okay. You’ve been busy with school and-”

“Nah. Well, yeah. Yeah… But, I…” Fuck it, Eddie thought. He still felt so close to death. He was scared it was something he’d never be able to shake. What did he possibly have to lose? “I got scared. About… you know… You. Like, how I feel about you. Just seemed easier to ignore it than have to… do anything about it… When I say it out loud, it sounds so fucking stupid but… Losing you ‘cause we lost touch would hurt less than if I lost you ‘cause I ruined it by… having a dumb crush or whatever.”

Dumb crush.

A portal between your world and another? Yeah, sure. A girl with superpowers? Yep. Demogorgons and secret armies and lifesaving songs and everything else that had been handed to you that day? Uh-huh, okay. Eddie having a crush on you? Liking you like you liked him? Well, that sounded impossible.

 Unless… it didn’t. Unless it made total sense. Unless it explained so much. Unless it was one small thing the world could give you and Eddie to help balance the scales.

With those big brown eyes, Eddie was finally able to look at you with all the love he had. Warmth spread across his body and he took one step towards peace.

“It…” You shook your head. “It wouldn’t have ruined anything,”

“No?”

“No… ‘Cause…” Poetic was the aim, but exhaustion had steeped your brain in stupid juice. “I’ve got a dumb crush on you too.”

Eddie smiled, soft and kind, only a hint of mischief. “Cool,”

“Cool,”

“So, how much time have we wasted? Being dumb?” he asked.

“Um… Years, probably,”

“Well, fuck.”

You laughed together and sat watching the fire for a long time.

Eddie told you about how he was afraid to be in Hawkins. He was afraid that Wayne’s mates would treat him like the uncle of a killer. Afraid his friends would be hurt, like Gareth had been. Afraid that it wasn’t really, truly over.

You listened, letting him speak and not undermining the feelings with logic or counterarguments. When he was done, you said you understood.

“Can you stay? In Hawkins, I mean. When do you have to go back?” Eddie asked.

“Never, if I don’t want to. Mom and dad want me out. And, it’s not like I’m working a dream job. I could stay… If you wanted me to. To help. Or not. It’s, like… Totally fine-”

“Yes. Stay.”

Another step towards peace.

Maybe, in an unfair and cruel world, where Chrissy Cunningham was dead and you and Eddie had lived miles apart and the drive to Hawkins was long and solitary pain was all Eddie thought he deserved, maybe this – this mutual love, was what you got to make up for it. It wasn’t enough. Of course, it wasn’t. Chrissy and Fred and Patrick deserved to be alive. Steve shouldn’t have had to feel phantom vines around his neck for the rest of his life. Dustin was owed a childhood. Eddie should never have been witch hunted. But, if it had to be like that, then yeah… Maybe you could be Eddie’s girlfriend.

After creating a nest of pillows and blankets in front of the fire, you and Eddie laid down and curled your bodies around each other. He kissed you on the temple, and you listened to his steady heartbeat. For a few perfect hours, everything else faded away while you slept soundly in an ex-cop’s secret little cabin in the woods.  

End Note: I hope you liked this little fix-it fic. Please, let me know what you think! Reblogs are especially appreciated.

All Eddie Taglist: @solomons-finest-rum @ruinedbythehobbit @munsonlives @sweetpeapod @depressooo-expressooo-blog @thorfemmes @hawkins-high @corrodedhawkins @grungegrrrl @lilzabob @mymoonisalways-in-scorpio @averagemisfit03 @ches-86 @ilovecupcakesandtea @onehotgreasymechanic @hazydespair @lacrymosa-24 @mel-the-fangirl

[tricktack]

there's a loneliness in midwest gothic. not from the style itself, but from the assumption that everyone who lives like this must be lonely. empty.

i grew up in a one-room schoolhouse turned into a home. it was called barrens when it was built; the ground was so clay-rich even our apple trees didn't survive after a single winter. even after a hundred years, someone still tried and found the same result as those who named the land. still, day lilies sprung up by the concrete foundation of what used to be the coal storage.

my parents probably knew the name of every single family that lived on that gravel road. i probably tried to sell candles to everyone that was home. a little kid riding a bike with a catalogue crumpled between fingers and handlebars, knocking until someone would give in and answer the door. the prizes for those school fundraisers weren't even worth it, but winning them was.

i went for walks with anyone who would go with me until i was old enough to go by myself. down the road, not towards the highway but towards the creek, there was a house only a few years from falling in on itself. my older sister went with me, past the "no trespassing" sign and into a grove with dead vines, spanish moss, and pink and blue african violets that were the prettiest flowers i had ever seen. sometimes i wonder if those pictures still exist on an old phone somwhere...

there was a time before that house was torn down, the man who owned it was there. he and my dad stood around talking about whatever was new while my mom and i sifted through a falling-down shed on that property that the man just wanted to get rid of. you couldn't see the floor of that shed, it was covered in sea of glass jars, many of them broken. my mom picked through the pieces and handed me unbroken jars so i wouldn't hurt my hands. in my house now there are still old old mason jars, blue and clear, scattered about and finding different purposes. that house's foundation still sits there, but the shed is long gone. i wonder if it was his parents' land, once upon a time.

there's a cattle farm not too terribly far from where i live now that has two old houses on it. one of them is for rent, runs on filtered well water but i wouldn't drink it if you asked me. the man who owns it grew up in that house, and it really hasn't changed that much from the 70's. he offers extra crawfish sometimes. and the other cute little house house right next to the one for rent is small, so small i can't imagine what it was for. hunter lodging, maybe. but it doesn't matter much anymore, it's not in good enough shape anyway. there's a hole in the east side, the siding is peeled back, and you can hear the buzzing of a honey bee hive from far away. no one lodges there anymore, but it's still a home. there's still life. there's still life.