#I’m a Chicago resident

[tariah23]

I hope I get to work at this location again. The residents are all so sweet about the managers (one of them kept on offering me treats as they were all running around and setting up the decorations for Halloween for the old ppl and children 🥺) and the main property manager said that I was a delight and that he’ll leave a good word for me with my agency 😭! Everyone was so nice to me and all of the old ppl kept on coming up to the front desk and talking to me 😭. So cute…

[we-re-always-alright]

absolutely SEETHING reading comments about pizza and delivery in the city (Chicago) on tumblr dot com I cannot handle it

[theonion]

Wishing to dispose of the empty plastic container, and failing to spot a recycling bin nearby, an estimated 30 million Americans asked themselves Monday how bad throwing away a single bottle of water could really be.

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” thought Maine native Sheila Hodge, echoing the exact sentiments of Chicago-area resident Phillip Ragowski, recent Florida transplant Margaret Lowery, and Kansas City business owner Brian McMillan, as they tossed the polyethylene terephthalate object into an awaiting trash can. “It’s just one bottle. And I’m usually pretty good about this sort of thing.”

“Not a big deal,” continued roughly one-tenth of the nation’s population. Full Story

[notbecauseofvictories]

Last post, I promise, but I do think it’s good and important to see local art (defining that term as broadly as possible) but in my experience you have to put up with the little kick of embarrassment you feel witnessing something too earnest, a little clumsy, not polished within an inch of its life or in step with prevailing trends.

I’m thinking of the dance performances I saw this weekend, but also last week’s street festival, where I watched short films and walked through local art exhibits; I’m thinking about Chicago’s outsider art museum, and even the elaborately decorated (ostensibly tacky) yards I see in rural Illinois, but South Carolina and Tennessee before that, and Michigan before that. Maybe I should cast an even broader net: my aunt’s cross stitch, my grand-aunt’s horrible poetry; the art they display at the nearby retirement community and the halfway house too, which comes from the residents.

If you’re not used to leaving space for that little kick, you might turn away or scoff at all this small, fumbling art. But I think there’s value in forcing yourself to look beyond that initial stab of secondhand embarrassment---to actually appreciate the art in front of you as an expression of something deeply human. You don’t have to think it’s objectively good, or even subjectively good. You don’t have to pretend that a local woman with a talent for oils is the next [INSERT FAMOUS ARTIST HERE]. But I do think you have to appreciate it, because otherwise there is no entrance into making art yourself.

And that, more than anything, is worth preserving.

[ikeuluvr]

KISS ME THRU THE PHONE || Nishimura Riki

synopsis - surviving months on end without you while he’s touring is the equivalent of torture for bf!ni-ki, but thankfully facetime exists…

idol!ni-ki x reader / established relationship - fluff + teeny bit of angst / warnings: none! / word count: ~1k

part of ikeuluvr’s song series ᵔᴗᵔ — works inspired by songs! requests are open for other songs + anything else you would like to see from me <3

Ni-ki loves the rush of performing more than anything in the world. Standing on stage in dozens of different countries—looking out at the faces of his fans while some of them cheer, some laugh, dance, or even cry. The sound of everyone screaming his name makes him feel like the luckiest man alive. He dreads leaving the stage each night; watching the lights of the crowd slowly disappear as the screens close in front of him, giving him one less thing to look forward to. However, the one thing he knows he can always count on is speaking to you at the end of the night.

As much as Ni-ki adores touring, a small glint of guilt always resides in his heart each time he has to leave you for months at a time. Each goodbye is never easier as you go from having him sitting in front of you to propping up your phone screen at the table with him on a call. The time difference was nothing enjoyable either, the both of you waking up at the crack of dawn or going to sleep obnoxiously late depending on where Ni-ki is to make sure you have a chance to speak to each other that day.

As tonight marks week five out of six of being apart, Ni-ki feels especially restless wishing nothing more than for you to be in his arms as he sleeps his exhaustion off tonight. Once he’s driven back to the hotel, he doesn’t waste any time to say good night to his members before trudging to his room and throwing himself onto the bed. He pulls out his phone and speeds to click your contact to start a FaceTime call. Letting out a sigh, he stares at his tired face on his screen until it’s replaced with yours.

“Hi beautiful,” he hums, a smile plastering on his face as all of the energy he lost suddenly rushes back into his body, “I miss you.”

“Hi Riks, I miss you so much too!” you respond excitedly as you get comfortable on your couch, the sunlight peeking through your curtains while the moonlight peeks through Ni-ki’s, “How was the show tonight? I saw clips on social media, you guys were on fire.”

Ni-ki lets out an endeared chuckle at how adorable you are—the way you always keep track of every performance makes his heart flutter, “It was really really good! I love the Chicago crowd, they’re amazing. They were so loud tonight I could barely hear myself sing even with my monitors in.”

You flash a smile, listening intently as he speaks, his eyes sparkling with each word, “Aww I’m glad, it’s what you guys deserve,” you say, “I wish I could’ve been there. It looked so fun.”

“Yeah… me too,” Ni-ki answered, his tone dropping softly as the pain of missing you starts to hit again, “I keep wanting to look for you in the crowd until I remember you’re not here.”

A frown takes over your face as Ni-ki’s voice gets solemn, your heart slowly breaking at the way his face immediately drops, “Honey… only one more week, right? Only one more week and then we can spend every night cuddling in bed again while I kiss you all over your pretty face,” I grin, trying to cheer him up a little bit.

Ni-ki lets out a laugh as a pink blush covers his cheeks, “I’ll be counting down the week by the minute, don’t worry,” he hums before pausing, a smirk drawn on his face, “Do you think you could drop of of university to start touring with me?”

“Well! No…” you laugh, “Probably not the best idea sweetie, but good question.”

“I’m kidding, I wouldn’t let you do that even if you wanted to,” Ni-ki smiles, “But I really do wish you could be here with me every night. I love my job, but I love you so much more and I just-” he lets out a defeated sigh, “I wish I could bring you along and triple the joy I feel on tour by having you in the crowd each night.” His face falls again, a mix of irritation and heartache quickly filling his voice.

You tilt your head with a pout as Ni-ki’s eyes leave the screen to look somewhere else, the pained look on his face killing you inside, “I know Riki… I wish more than anything I could be with you too. In the future when things are a little different, we’ll travel the world together, hm? I’ll make you my cute little tour guide in every country,” you snicker with a smile, trying to bring him out of his melancholic state.

He lets out a snort at your response, playfully rolling his eyes, “Okay babe, I promise to be your cute and very handsome tour guide in the future,” Ni-ki retorts, letting out a long breath, “Hey love, can you give me a kiss?”

You quirk an eyebrow at his request thinking the jet lag may be getting to him at an exponential level and pause for a second to think of how to respond, “Ummm… I would love to baby, but there’s kind of an obstacle in the way if you haven’t noticed.”

“No, no I know, I’m not stupid I promise,” he chuckles, “But I miss you, I miss you, I really wanna kiss you…”

“And how are you expecting me to do this, Riks?”

“Baby, kiss me thru the phone,” Ni-ki says in a shy whisper, a tiny smirk tugging at the corner of his lips making you smile and flush a rosy pink, “Come on… I know you want to.”

“You’re so ridiculous, you know that?” you laugh, absolutely smitten with your boyfriend on the other end of the line, “But fine… I’ll kiss you thru the phone babe.”

Ni-ki lets out a giggle as he cheeses a boxy smile, quickly bringing the phone closer to his face and planting a kiss to his phone camera just as excitedly as if it were your actual lips he was kissing. You do the same with a lovesick grin painted on your face, pulling away a few seconds later to see the same adoring smile on Ni-ki’s lips, “We get to do that but for real in 7 days you know…” you remind him with a playful smile.

“Can’t wait baby… see you then.”

masterlist

[steveslevis]

‘tis the damn season

AUTUMN

chapter contents/warnings: exes to whatever the hell this is, a little bit of smut, angst, weed and alcohol use, mutual pining, steve is an idiot and is afraid of commitment </3, barely proofread (sowwy)

w/c: 5.3k

The first big frost of the season blankets the town of Hawkins when you arrive on Wednesday night, the bits of ice glittering on the orange and brown leaves making the barren streets seem less intimidating as you make your way through your hometown for the first time in months. 

There’s a sense of anticipation and dread that fills your stomach while navigating the streets you know so well, knowing you’re going to be asked the same mundane questions about college in the big city a thousand times over during the next three weeks. You know that’s not the only thing filling you with dread for the weeks to come, but keep telling yourself that’s all you have to worry about — right?

The first evening you arrive in town is jam-packed, since your friends insisted on having a so-called “Friends-giving-mas” as the night that you arrived, due to your anticipated absence on the aforementioned Christmas. You spend a few hours with your mom and dad before leaving, enlisting your mom to help you make some cookies for the party, promising you’d leave her and your dad some behind. 

The clock hits 7 p.m. and you’re finally finished getting ready, having just thrown on a red velvet, long sleeved dress that hit just above your knees and your best black boots, Robin had requested everyone to look their best so she could take photos with her new camera throughout the party. You grabbed your secret santa gift and jacket, checking yourself in the mirror one last time before leaving your room. 

“Alright, I’m leaving.” you call out as you bound down the stairs and into the kitchen.

“Don’t forget your cookies, sweetheart! They’re on the table.” she replied from her place next to your dad on the couch, watching some rom-com while he was dozing beside her, “if you need us to come pick you up, we will.”

You let out a laugh at her remark, knowing that you were only walking to the next house over on the road, so picking you up would be ridiculous. 

“Oh, I think I’ll manage just fine.” you joke in return while grabbing the plate of cookies, “love you guys!”

—————————

The outside of the Harrington’s house is gleefully lit with warm string lights, wreaths already adorning the front windows and main door to the house in anticipation of Christmas in a few weeks. You always admired the way their house looked during the holidays, but knew it was only a cheery facade to hide the dysfunction that lay within the halls of the residence.

You knew the family all too well, having grown up next to Steve your entire life. You were the same age as him, grew up attending all the same parties as him, but ran in completely different circles than him — well, up until your senior year of high school at least. 

Long story short, being best friends with Robin led to you ultimately becoming so-called friends with Steve Harrington as well. The two of you had what you now called a stupid summer fling before you left for Chicago in August, but the rest was history. The two of you had agreed to stay civil and not let the remnants of any unresolved feelings come between your friendship and the rest of the friend group.

So here you were, knocking on Steve Harrington’s front door on a random Wednesday in late November, cookies in hand as you stood there, shivering. You faintly hear Robin say that she would get the door, then hear footsteps pad towards the entrance. 

You’re greeted by your best friend with the strongest hug you swear you’ve ever experienced, and you feel like you might not ever be let go if she has anything to say about it.

“Oh my god! I missed you so much.” Robin exclaims, the widest grin on her face as she grabs for your hand, “everyone’s in here, we’re just waiting on Nance and Jonathan then we’ll be ready to eat but come in! I have so much to tell you about everything you don’t even know—” 

You follow behind her wordlessly, smiling to yourself as she rambles on about college applications and band and Vickie — who just so happened to be in the kitchen helping finish making the mashed potatoes so you had to be quiet — and everything that she can think to fit in a conversation to catch her best friend up on after months without. She leads you to the dining room after dropping off the cookies, where you hear two familiar voices having a very passionate conversation. 

“I’m telling you, man, I’m cursed—“

“You’re not cursed, Harrington. I’m telling you, you’re just looking in the wrong place for love.” Eddie retorts to his frustrated friend, rolling his eyes at him.

“Oh yeah? And where should I be looking?” Steve snorts, haphazardly tossing forks, knives and spoons atop the napkin at each seat of the table.

“I’ve been saying ever since what happened this summer, you should be going after — oh shit, Y/N!” Eddie interjects, cutting himself off when you trail in behind Robin.

The metalhead pulls you in for a bear hug, whispering in your ear about how he promises not to ask you boring questions about college like everyone else. As you’re being engulfed in his embrace, you hear the sound of silverware tumbling to the ground from the other side of the table, followed by a string of mumbled curse words from the dropper.

You pull away from Eddie’s hug to look at where the noise is coming from, only to see Steve fumbling with a fork and spoon while trying to stand up from where he was just kneeling. Your gaze lingers on him for a moment too long, taking in everything about him that you told yourself you didn’t miss. Eddie gives you a knowing look and you roll your eyes, knowing that he’s trying to tell you to not make things weird, so you try your best.

“Stevie, how are you?” you call to him while walking around the table, putting on the best oblivious and excited face that you can.

“H-Hey, Y/N.” Steve says, feigning coolness as he pulls you in for a quick hug, nearly stumbling over his words when you use the nickname you always loved to tease him with, “I didn’t know you were coming tonight.” 

His eyes flicker over to Robin momentarily, who shoots him a guilty grin before mouthing ‘sorry’ over your shoulder.

“Yeah, it was kinda last minute on my part, I just so happened to be coming home tonight since my finals were all at the beginning of the week. I kinda forced Rob to tell me when it would be so I could crash it,” you lie, trying to throw the blame on yourself instead of her, “sorry if I messed anything up, I-I’ll lay low and won’t eat if that messes up numbers or something—“

“No!” Steve rushes to retort, shaking his head at you adamantly, “I mean, shit—sorry. No, you’re not messing anything up at all, you know you’re always welcome here.” 

The smile on Steve’s face is genuine as he speaks, but there’s a glint of sadness in his eyes while he scans yours for any sign of hesitancy. You give him a small smile in return, quickly moving your gaze from his to push down that sinking feeling in your chest you know is coming. Your chest aches as you focus your eyes downward, realizing that this night would be a lot harder than you had convinced yourself that it would be. 

“Well!” Robin interjects, interrupting the growing awkward silence filling the air of the dining room where you stood. She reached for your hand while smiling over at you sympathetically, beginning to drag you towards the kitchen as she spoke, “gotta go say hello to everyone else before dinner!”

Your best friend whirled you around to the rest of the guests–which was just Nancy, Jonathan, and Vickie–who were all in the kitchen putting the finishing touches on the meal. 

A slew of awkward questions about Chicago ensued in the moments leading up to and during dinner, but you took them in stride as they distracted you from the bright eyed boy across the table who kept sneaking glances in your direction any chance he got. You explained your major, what you did for work outside of class time, and talked about all the new friends you met in the short few months you’d been gone. You could’ve sworn Steve’s jaw clenched at the mention of a date you went on prior to leaving for break, but you didn’t put too much thought into it. 

Dinner goes by fairly quickly, and then it’s time for Secret Santa gifts in the living room. Robin begged everyone to participate, and even went through the effort of making sure you and Steve didn’t get each other, partly to not ruin the surprise of you being here and partly to diminish any awkwardness that might arise from it. 

You had drawn Jonathan’s name, so you gifted him a few rolls of different camera film. Each person had to guess who their Secret Santa was, but apparently your gift was pretty obvious since he hadn’t been able to find any film like it anywhere near Hawkins, so he guessed you first. 

Your turn rolled around and a small red gift bag was sat in your lap. You immediately knew who your gift was from, halfway from the grin plastered on his face and halfway from the smell lingering from inside the back in your hands. 

“Thank you, Eddie.” you giggle out while pulling out four perfectly rolled blunts from the gift bag, courtesy of the best dealer in Hawkins.

“It’s always a pleasure,” he jabs back, “we can fire one up after presents if you’d like.” 

You nod quickly at him, grinning widely before turning back to the circle where Robin was handing out gifts.

—————————

It’s not long before drinks are flowing and laughter is spilling through the Harrington residence, something that’s happened very few times within those halls. The night seems to go by too quickly, you notice how quickly when you check and it says 11 P.M. already, even though it feels like you’ve only been there a few hours. You’re sitting on the couch with Robin and Vickie, giggling their way through a story about some guy in the Hawkins band, when the sight of the back door sliding open and closed catches your eye. 

You turn your gaze to see Steve stalking into the cold on his own, head turned down as he walks towards one of the ice-slicked pool chairs on the deck. A frown passes over your face as you furrow your brows, excusing yourself from the couple on the couch as you slip outside to follow him with your bottle of wine, one of your newly gifted blunts and a lighter in hand. 

It’s the last thing you should be doing tonight, really. You shouldn’t be following Steve Harrington – the man who was too afraid to say he loved you and too afraid to commit to you – onto the porch. You should’ve stayed inside and drank some more wine with the rest of them and let yourself cut loose for once, but you just couldn’t do it. You just had to talk to him – you weren’t so sure what you wanted to talk about, but you just felt the need to.

“You alright?” was all you could slip out as you closed the sliding glass door, watching the brown haired boy from afar, making sure you weren’t making the wrong decision.

“Yeah–Yeah, just needed a little bit of fresh air.” Steve stammered, eyes widening for only a moment when he notices that it’s you that followed him outside.  

You only hum in response, stepping closer to him as you sense no annoyance or anger in his voice, finding a spot on the chilled pool chair next to his. After setting down the bottle of wine you’d been nursing throughout the night, you took the blunt you’d brought as a peace offering between your fingers and waved it in front of his face.

Steve looked up for a moment, gaze shifting between the blunt between your fingers and your lips that curled up into a mischievous yet friendly smirk. His own lips perked up in a lopsided smile, raising an eyebrow at you when you brought the blunt to your lips, followed by the lighter.

“Would you like to partake?” you joke while puffing smoke through your lips, mixing with the cold puffs of breath coming from Steve’s. 

“I’ll never say no to that,” he retorts, reaching to grab the blunt from your fingers. 

There’s a breath of comfortable silence between the two of you as he inhales, then lets out a long exhale before focusing his gaze back onto the pool in front of him, onto the ice forming on the pool cover as a way to avoid your eyes. 

“So, how’s the Stevie Harrington been faring since I’ve been gone?” you joked after a moment more of the quiet, shoving any nerves down that were threatening to force you to run back inside. 

Awful, utterly dull and extremely depressing, was what Steve wanted to say. 

He wanted to tell you how he fucked up so badly, how he hasn’t been the same since the last time he saw you, how he hasn’t even been able to look at anyone without thinking of you. He wanted to grab you by the cheeks and pull you in for a kiss and never let go. He wanted to scream and tell you how much he regretted ever letting you leave without knowing how he really felt, but he couldn’t now. It was too late, so he just said; “Oh, y’know. I’ve been fine. Just the same shit, different day.”

Steve wanted to kick himself for saying something so lame, something so uninteresting when the most interesting person in the world was sitting right in front of him. 

“Does ‘same shit, different day’ just mean you’re stuck being the same old chauffeur-babysitter you’ve been for the last two years?” you tease, reaching down to grab the bottle of wine at your feet. 

“Yeah, I guess you could say that.” Steve chuckled, giving you a warm smile as he took another puff. 

It only took a few moments to finally break the ice between the two of you, then things fell right back into place, right back into a comfortable normalcy. There was something that put you so at ease being outside with him, being able to talk to him without the looming thought of who would be the first to say “I love you” or who would be the first to leave waving over both of your heads. 

The next hour went by in a breeze, and it seemed the party inside died down by the time the two of you decided to walk back in. Steve closed the sliding glass door behind you two and you noticed only Eddie and Robin were left standing in the living room. Vickie was presumably in the guest bed, where Robin was about to head to. Jonathan and Nancy had left twenty minutes prior, only popping their heads out to say a quick goodbye before driving off.

Robin said a quick goodnight to you before heading up the stairs, along with a promise to see you tomorrow for a girl’s day. Then, it was just you, Eddie and Steve in the living room, Eddie at the couch setting up his bed for the night while the two of you stood in silence by the sliding glass door still. 

“I–I guess I should probably head home for the night,” you say, breaking the silence between the three of you as you start towards your bag and coat on the other side of the room.

“Why don’t you just stay?” Steve interjects a little too loudly, the weed and wine in his system instilling some false confidence in him. “It’s so cold out and I’m sure at this point your parents already think you’re staying anyways.”

You stop on your toes at Steve’s voice, cheeks heating at how interested he sounded in you staying there for the night. It’s not like it was a far and dangerous walk, Steve just wanted an excuse to be around you for longer. You turn around to look at him, then to Eddie, who was giving you a tired smile.

“We can have a sleepover on the couch,” Eddie chuckles, reaching for one of the pillows he was setting out for himself to move it to the other side of the couch for you. 

“I don’t have any clothes,” you suggest, looking down at your velvet dress that would be extremely uncomfortable to sleep in. 

“Oh, I’m sure Stevie has some clothes that you can sleep in!” Eddie says, shooting a smirk in his direction.

“O–Of course I do, I’m sure I still have your favorite pajama pants up there if you want them.” Steve says hurriedly, as if you would change your mind if he didn’t answer quickly enough.

You give the two of them a smile, pretending to contemplate the decision for a moment before nodding. You could’ve sworn you heard Steve let out a breath of relief at your nod, but he turned towards the stairs before you could acknowledge it. Without a word, you follow right behind him up the stairs, slowly realizing the effects of the cherry wine and weed are coming to the surface. 

Steve steps into his bedroom and you follow behind him, a situation the two of you knew all too well. 

—————————

You don’t know what led to this, but there you were, in Steve’s bedroom, him towering over your space on his bed as he pulled you in for a heated kiss. Tongue against teeth, hands against cheeks, legs tangled together, just like they were meant to be. 

This wasn’t supposed to happen, you swore to yourself you wouldn’t come crawling back every time you were in town, but here you were. 

Somehow coming upstairs for a stupid pair of pajamas led to Steve giving you that look of lust and utter desire, led to you becoming a willing participant in his games once again after swearing you would never touch him again, led to you letting him sneak his way into your heart – and pants – yet again. 

Your head is spinning as he kisses you, his lips slotted into yours like they belonged there, a perfect fit. You’re unsure if it’s the wine, the weed or the sheer yearning that’s making you feel like this, but you don’t want it to stop any time soon. 

There’s a gnawing feeling in your stomach when Steve props his knee up on the bed next to your hip, you know you should stop before he gets any further, but the ache between your thighs is outweighing any thought of what would come after he spreads you open. 

Steve groans into your mouth when you pull him closer, fingers intertwining with and tugging the hair at the nape of his neck, and you only smirked against his lips in satisfaction. You knew everything about the boy who was turning to a puddle just from the touch of your fingers. You knew exactly how to make him tick, and him the same for you.

“Fuck,” Steve breathes when he finally pulls away from you, full lips parted as he stares down at you. There’s a twinkle in his eye that you haven’t seen in so long, one you used to mistake for love but now only know to be pure lust. “I–I’m sorry I just, I need–I need you.”

You stare at the desperate, doe-eyed man in front of you for a long moment, mind wandering to a place of fear as you think about what you’re about to do. 

Instead of saying anything in reply, you close the space between the two of you once again, smashing your lips into his in a feverish and bruising kiss. Steve is on you in an instant, gently pushing you back and up on the bed, letting your head fall on his pillows. You can tell by the way he stumbles on his way up to you that he’s intoxicated — on the weed or the wine, or you, you’re not sure — but you soon realize that you are too.

A hand wanders toward the hem of Steve’s sweater, tugging at it quickly as he pulls away from the bruising kiss. He wastes no time in pulling the cable-knit up and over his head, tossing it to the side while sitting up on his knees to take you the sight of you in. Your skin was hot and your eyes were blown with lust, cheeks flushed and lips parted as you stared up at him.

You’d only been under him for a minute and had completely folded to his touch. You cursed yourself for letting your inhibitions crumble so quickly, but another part of you didn’t actually care, the same part of you that wanted to claim him as yours forever. 

Steve’s eyes trailed over you, from your cheeks to the low neckline of your dress, over the curve of your hips, ending on your thighs spread on either side of his knees. The crushed velvet of your skirt bunched where your leg met your hip, letting the fabric ride up enough for Steve to see exactly what he was searching for. 

He sucked in a breath at the sight of your white lace underwear beneath, having to hold himself back from diving in right that second.

“You’re so beautiful,” he groaned, hands tracing over your hip bones while lowering his lips to yours once again.

A moan falls from your lips as his meet yours, his knee coming up between your thighs, creating friction against your core.

“Fuck—Stevie,” you say, choking back a pitiful whine while grinding against his thigh desperately, “please, I need you.”

You swear you hear Steve nearly choke at your words, three words he’d been dying to hear from you for months. 

“I know, I know, baby.” he coos at you, trying to keep his cool as he strains against his pants, “I’ll take care of you.”

You nod feverishly as he leans down to pepper kisses along your neck, taking his sweet time while trying not to get drunk off the scent of you.

“This—This doesn’t mean anyth—this doesn’t change anything,” he stammers between kisses, peering up at you as he speaks, “we can still stay close—keep being friends after this.”

You hum in agreement, ignoring the dread building in your gut as you do. You want to be more than friends, you want to scream at him until he admits that he loves you too. But he nearly said it doesn’t mean anything, so you’re convinced he wants nothing to do with you after tonight, nothing but a friend to laugh with and a pretty face to fuck on every break from college. 

You push the thoughts from your mind, focusing on the boy in front of you as his hands begin to massage your inner thighs, inching closer and closer to your core with every circle. Steve chuckles lowly as you let out a whine of anticipation, teasing you silently as he gives in to your desires.

Steve knows your body like he knows his own, so what comes after pulling off your dress is nearly second nature to him. One large hand trails to the waistband of your underwear while the other reaches for your breast, nipple peaked from the exposure to the cold air conditioning. You moan in surprise when he wastes no time in putting his mouth to work on your other nipple, tugging your underwear down your legs simultaneously. 

His fingers immediately fall to your core once you’re free of the underwear, fingertips circling the bundle of nerves at the top as you let out another whimper. 

His moves are careful but quick, he knows you want to waste no more time, and you’ll whine about his teasing if he doesn’t act soon. 

He’s out of his boxers in an instant, one hand keeping contact with your clit as he situates himself above you.

“You look so good like this, sweetheart.” Steve says, voice low as his eyes raked over your body, “so pretty spread out for me, all fucked out for me even though I’ve barely touched you.”

“Stevie…” you whimper, reaching a hand up to him, but he pulls from your reach with a smirk across his face.

“Tell me what you want from me,” he says, leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek as he lines himself up with your slick, teasing the tip against you slowly.

“I—I need you, Steve.” you beg, cheeks flushing at the admittance, “I need you to fuck me, please.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely.” he retorts with a smirk, sliding into you with ease.

You both let out a low moan as he bottoms out, filling you in a way you haven’t felt in a long time. You forgot how thick he was in the time you’d been gone, your body wasn’t used to the stretch of his cock inside you, but it still felt like he was meant to be there. Like he was the only one who could make you feel this way.

And you were right, nobody could make you feel that way. Nobody else could touch you and make you fall apart in less than five minutes like he could. Nobody else could get you so riled up over a few praises thrown in with some condescension (which you embarrassingly loved too much) like he could. Nobody could hold off from cumming long enough to give you three orgasms before getting one of their own like he could. 

Nobody did it like he could.

This doesn’t mean anything you repeat in your mind, clinging to his arm like your life depended on it after the two of you calmed your breathing and cleaned up. You weren’t sure if you were repeating those words to convince yourself or to ease your own mind about what just went down, but you knew they stung your heart more than any fighting words the two of you had ever exchanged.

“I missed this, cuddling with you, holdin’ you like this.” was all he slurred out against your hair, pressing a sleepy kiss into the crown of your head.

“Yeah, me too.” you mumble in return, accepting the warmth of his embrace as sleep finally took you in, ignoring the gnawing pain growing in your chest.

—————————

The spice of Steve’s cologne mixes with the familiar scent of his room, filling your senses when you wake, nearly sending you into a panic. You sit upright in the bed, turning to face the boy you claimed you wanted nothing to do with romantically just a few hours ago. Steve is sleeping peacefully next to you, plush lips parted and brows furrowed as he subconsciously pouts about the loss of your touch. The alarm clock behind him read 2:03 A.M., meaning you hadn’t been out for too long, but long enough to sober you up somehow. 

Shit. Shit. Shit. I gotta get out of here. Is all you can think as you stumble out from under the comforter, knowing you would never live it down if anyone found you’d slept in his bed, especially with your limbs entangled like they just were. You quickly dress in the clothes you’d originally come into the bedroom to fetch, and snuck out of the bedroom without a sound. 

Before making it to the living room, you turned toward the dimly lit kitchen for a glass of water. What you weren’t expecting to be faced with in the kitchen was Eddie, but there he was, leaning against the counter with disheveled hair that probably mirrored your own. 

“What a night so far, huh?” he jokes as you shoot him a knowing glare while trudging across the tiled floor. 

“Don’t even start with me, Munson.” you warn, absentmindedly reaching your hand up to the cabinet for a glass while shaking your head.

“Woah, don’t get that attitude with me! I didn’t say anything,” he laughs, setting his own glass into the sink, “but that also doesn’t mean I didn’t hear anything.”

“You did not,” you snap back, eyes wide and cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he gives you a shit-eating grin, “there’s no way you heard anything because nothing happened.”

“You’ve always been such a bad liar, Y/N.” Eddie laughs, stepping out of the kitchen to walk towards the living room where the two of you would be sleeping. 

A sigh escapes your lips when Eddie leaves, letting you be alone with your thoughts finally. There was an ache in your chest that wasn’t going away any time soon, and it was in that moment that you wondered if you would ever be able to get over Steve Harrington, or if you would be in a continuous cycle of hurt and comfort for the rest of your damned life.

You collected your thoughts as you downed a glass of water, throwing back two ibuprofens with the last chug for good measure, before finding your way back to the living room. Eddie was on his side on the long side of the L-shaped couch, leaving the shorter side for you to sleep on. His eyes were closed as you laid down with your feet next to his own, but you knew he wasn’t asleep yet. 

“I won’t tell anyone, I promise.” you heard through the darkness after turning off the table lamp once you were settled.

“I know.” you sigh in return, staring up at the ceiling that was only lit by the streetlights flowing in from outside. “I just don’t want to live like this forever, I–I can’t keep being the secret that Steve is too embarrassed to talk about.”

“He’s not embarrassed of you,” Eddie said, voice barely above a whisper, just loud enough for you to hear, “he’s just afraid of fucking everything up even more than he already has.”

If only he could say that to my face, then maybe I’d believe it, you thought to yourself, chest tightening at just the thought of the brown-eyed boy who was fast asleep upstairs. 

You don’t reply to Eddie, unsure of what to say back, unsure of what you could squeak out without breaking down. 

“Goodnight, Eds,” is all you say in return, though you know you won’t be getting any sleep. 

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

—————————

After falling asleep for all of fifty minutes around 5 in the morning, you decided you had to leave. 

The entirety of the almost four hours you laid on Steve’s couch consisted of staring at the ceiling and fighting off tears while thinking about how you regretted everything you said and did over the last twelve hours. 

Coming to the Harrington house was a mistake, even stepping foot back in Hawkins was feeling like a mistake at this point. 

The only words repeating in your mind were This doesn’t mean anything. This doesn’t mean anything. This doesn’t mean anything.

You eventually had enough of the self-loathing and inability to sleep, so it was time to go. It was time to hastily change out of the pajamas that smelled too much like the boy you loved too hard, and time to go collapse in your own bed. There was no telling if you’d actually fall asleep once you made it there, but that was beside the point.

It was when you finally made it back to your parent’s house, to your childhood bedroom, that you swore that you wouldn’t see Steve Harrington again for the rest of Thanksgiving break, and hopefully would avoid seeing him again for a long while, for the sake of saving yourself from another heartbreak.

---------

tags: @carinacassiopeiae

[t1red-twilight]

secrecy

content/warnings: gn!reader, fluff, suggestive content, mdni, cursing

notes: i’m on ao3 now too! my username is t1red_twilight over there:)

word count: 1.3k

masterlist d. w. masterlist

dean was practically eating you alive. both hands were on your face, his form leaning into yours. his tongue practically cradled yours; he was gentle but by no means hesitant.

you walked backwards as far as you could until the backs of your knees hit the bed. somewhere in the outskirts of chicago was where you resided, and sam was out doing…something. the two of you figured you had at least an hour to yourselves.

and thus brought dean kissing you like a starved man. one of his hands crawled up your shirt and sat on your mid-back, and he lowered you onto the hotel bed. at this, he crawled up on top of you.

similar to a predator, he crawled upward. even though he’d never admit it, dean thrived in giving. and, in bed, this translated into being the biggest caretaker you’d ever had. even when you were on top he always made sure that you were taken care of.

he finally reached your mouth. he pulled your lower lip between his teeth and grinned. one of his hands slid between your body and the mattress to pull your body flush against his.

you exhaled contentedly and wrapped your arms as far at they could around his broad, broad shoulders. you dug your nails in slightly; this illicited the response you desired from him. he gasped out slightly, and you pulled him in tighter.

with his free hand, he nudged one of yours off of his back. then, he grasped it and interlaced your fingers with his own. he pushed your conjoined hands next to your head. his lips travelled to your jawline and he placed several open-mouthed kisses there. when he began to bite gently, you tapped his back and he looked up at you. “everything alright?” he asked, his brow knit together.

your hand still on his back trailed up to his hairline and you carded your fingers through his hair. “mhm, i’m great,” you leaned in to kiss him. “i just don’t want anyone to see anything, that’s all.” you kissed him once more, not pulling away this time.

he murmured against your lips, “yeah, of course.” he tugged the neckline of your shirt downward, peering up at you. his eyes were akin to a pleading dog. “this alright?” he asked as his thumb prodded an area of your chest.

you nodded, “my shirt’ll cover that.” he didn’t need any more permission from you; he dove into the skin of your chest immediately.

suddenly, you heard the crunch of the gravel outside the motel room. “dean,” you muttered, the phrase slightly broken up from your uneven breaths. “dean,“ you said, louder this time. he hummed in response, not willing to stop sucking purple bruises lovingly into your skin (all for him to gaze upon later, proud of his work as if it should be framed). “i think sam’s back.”

dean kissed up your chest and the column of your throat, up to land on your mouth and continue kissing you there. “dean,” you borderline begged. the urgency in your voice immediately made him pull away. he leaned his forehead against the crook of your neck and sighed. too soon. it was all over too soon.

he rolled onto his back next to you, and you both straightened your clothing and hair. sure enough, sam’s key clattered in the door and he stepped into the room. sam began to rattle on about something that he had found, but all you could do was steal glances at dean; all dean did was smile coyly when he felt your gaze.

“are you two even paying attention?” sam asked exasperatedly.

-

later that evening, you all were investigating the abandoned house that sam had discovered that might hold some remains to salt and burn. your fingers pushed against the bruises that dean had left. the bruises hurt in a very blissful, minute way.

god, you really hoped that you wouldn’t be confined to the backseat of baby tonight. there wasn’t nearly enough room to fully relax.

dean nudged your shoulder as he walked beside you. “head in the clouds?” he teased. there was no way that he didn’t know what you were pondering.

“something like that,” you replied, avoiding his gaze. you smiled a very tiny smile and drew your lip between your teeth. you tapped your hand against his, and grappled his pinkie with your own.

strangely, the front door wasn’t locked, the three of you able to walk in. the entryway of the house was dated, as was expected. dust visibly floated through the air. the house reeked of sometime forgotten, someone forgotten perhaps. there was a set of stairs that led upstairs, and to the right a hallway that had the doorway to the kitchen and the dining room. to the left of the stairs, there was the living room.

you all had split up, to cover as much ground as quickly as possible. sam was on the second floor, and you and dean the ground floor. despite your personal wishes, the two of you were in separate rooms: he in the kitchen and dining room, and you in the living room.

you pulled the neck of your shirt down to look at the damage dean left. damn. they were fairly dark— you’d have to tread lightly so that sam wouldn’t suspect anything. you pulled your shirt up and inspected your surroundings. the room looked like it had hardly been lived in. there was a single ratty couch, a fireplace, and a desk. the only thing that brightened the room was the graffiti that littered the walls.

eventually, you found some paperwork that was scattered askew across the dusty, creaky desk. maybe there was something on a death or a eulogy, anything at all. the first couple of pages were ripped straight from an old newspaper, dated sometime in the mid 1900s.

you began rifling through the desk’s drawers before you even found anything of substance. finally! there was something that listed where the remains you all had needed had been interred. a mausoleum in the nearby cemetery held the remains of the guy that had been causing problems. “dean!” you shouted, “dean, i found something.” there was no response, so you called out his name again. when he didn’t respond, you grabbed the papers you had found and walked out into the entryway.

suddenly, there was a loud resounding crash. it sounded like something shattered, followed by a thud. “dean!” you called out, more urgently. why wasn’t he responding? you picked up pace and went as quickly as you could into the dining room. when you turned the corner, you found dean, lying on his back underneath the archway that connected the kitchen to the dining room. you sped over to him and dropped to your knees.

hunched over, you shook his shoulders slightly. it took a second for dean to come to; his eyelids fluttering open. as you looked into his eyes, his pupils were slightly dilated. you brushed imaginary strands of hair off his forehead and pulled his head to sit atop your knees. “what happened? are you okay?”

dean cleared his throat before he spoke. “i’m good,” he hesitated, “i climbed on that chair to see if there was anything on top of the china cabinet. there wasn’t.” you turned to where he was looking, and sure enough there was a china cabinet and what seemed to be decimated remains of a wooden dining chair.

you chortled. of course, dean would hoist himself up like a toddler looking for the cookie jar on top of the fridge. “well, did you find anything?”

he shook his head no. makes sense; who would keep anything of value there, of all places? dean sat up, but his body was still incredibly close to yours. you looked into his eyes and down at his lips, slowly creeping closer towards him. hand resting on his, you kissed him briefly.

you heard someone fake cough behind you. shit. sam.

“hey guys, uh-“ he cut himself off. “so, how long has this been a thing?”

[bullet-prooflove]

Pears: Carmen "Carmy" Berzatto x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @wabi-sabi1090 @lostinwonderland314 @turtle-cant-communicate @fallout-girl219

Prequel to:

Bubble

Crazy, Stupid, Fucked Up World (NSFW)

Ironically the hellhole that’s stealing Carmen’s fucking soul is the place he falls in love with you. He’s been trying to source cheap organic produce for The Beef ever since he came back to Chicago and he’d found this eco-friendly little urban farm not too far away from the restaurant that’s willing to sell him their seasonal overflow for  next to nothing. It’s a win win because you deplore wastage and he needs the discount.

When you arrive at the back door with his order he has no fucking clue why you’re here because it’s late Christmas Eve and everyone else in the world is sending time with their families. Instead you’re standing in front of him, bundled up in a navy blue hat with a pompom with a matching scarf over your white quilted jacket.

“Christ, get in here.” He says tugging you inside because it’s minus who the fuck knows outside and he’s terrified you’ll freeze to death. “Why the fuck are you out in this? You should be tucked up somewhere warm with your family.”

“Because you asked me to asshole.” You reply, tugging off your hat so that your hair falls loose across your rosy features. “You called me up at stupid o'clock because you wanted pears for some seasonal shit you were trying out.”

“Shit.” He says, taking the box from you, because honestly he thought he dreamt that but now he realises he had another dissociative episode. They’ve starting to happen more and more recently since Mikey’s death. He wakes up and he finds himself doing weird shit, cooking plastic, re-organising the tins in his cupboard so they all face backwards, sorting his recycling into colours.

“Now we’ve ascertained why I’m here.” You say, stripping the gloves from your hands and tucking them into the pockets of your coat. “What are you doing here?”

“Christmas isn’t…” He hesitates because he’s thrown back into that last event, the one where Mikey was still alive, clutching that fork and his mother drove a car through the house. He doesn’t know how to explain something like that to you, someone who’s family isn’t as fucked up and dysfunctional as his is.

“I get it.” You say, your hand coming to rest on his arm and he finds himself staring down at it as your thumb traces lightly over the tattoo that’s etched onto his skin. “Christmas isn’t a great time for me either.”

He can’t remember the last time that someone touched him like this, with such care, such gentleness. Richie’s always clapping a hand on his shoulder, shifting him out of the way but it never feels like this. It doesn’t ignite something in his veins the way that yours does, it doesn’t sent a rush of heat flooding through his system.

“You wanna stay?” He asks you, tilting his head up to meet your gaze. “I’m about to make hot pear cider.”

You have such beautiful eyes, he’s never really noticed until now despite the fact he’s been in your company a handful of times. It’s a brilliant, rich hue that leaves him completely captivated as the edges of your mouth tip up into a smile. His heart palpitates in this chest because that smile, it makes something blossom inside of him, something that Carmen has never felt before in his entire life.

“That depends.” You say, your thumb trailing over the scar that resides alongside his tattoo. “Are you going to feed me too?”

“I’d cook you anything you damn well want.” He finds himself telling you before he captures himself, his cheeks flushing at the boldness of his words.

“Surprise me.” You say and he surprises you both by leaning and kissing you instead.

Your lips feel soft underneath his mouth, he can taste the strawberry lip balm, feel the press of your body against his as your fingers thread through his hair drawing him closer. He moans at the sensation because it’s been such a long time since he’s touched another human being like this and you, you make it feel like his entire body is on fire, like he’s burning from the inside out.

“Fuck, I’m sorry…” He says as he tries to pull away because he shouldn’t have done that, he knows he shouldn’t.

Your hands grip the fabric of his chef’s jacket, pulling him back towards you and he complies because this sensation he has, he wants to chase it, he wants to see where it goes, to hurtle head first into it.

“Don’t be.” You murmur, your fingertips ghosting along his cheek with a tenderness he doesn’t deserve. “We should do it again Carmy.”

Love Carmy? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[befemininenow]

Transition doesn’t happen in one day, nor will you learn everything about makeup in a week either. But just like cocoon that becomes a butterfly, you will become more comfortable with yourself deep into your change.

It’s the second Woman Crush Wednesday and this time, I’m going to talk about trans women crushes. The one in the pic is transgender model Ivanna Rojano Aguilar. Previously an active voice for trans people in Mexico, she currently resides in Chicago living a more personal life. However, she causally posts on her social media accounts once in a while.

She’s been out as trans for over a decade and is a very good example of realistic trans goddess goals. Comparing her pictures from a few years ago to current dates show how much she has self-improved into her ideal look. Honestly, she’s an inspiration of how patience towards becoming a better you can be rewarding.

[campbyler]

i know you guys have a few companion fics planned, and i read through the faq/answered questions and i may be stupid but i couldn’t find anything asking if you specifically have a companion fic planned about the music festival the party went to in chicago (between chapters 1&2 i believe), when mike and will got stuck carpooling together? i’m just curious if that’s something you’re planning on going into further detail about ☺️

i’m so excited for 10.2!!

we either haven’t been asked this before or haven’t been asked it in a Long While so it’s definitely not in our FAQs, don’t worry! we unfortunately don’t have a companion fic planned for this, we just thought having the party go to the eras tour together would be a silly little piece of lore to develop and write in given the premise of the fic and all. the gist of it is that max and el (resident swifties) + lucas (token boyfriend) would have planned to go anyway since the timing of it being during orientation week/weekend ended up working out, and i don’t think it would’ve been very hard to convince the others to go via promises of lower priced tickets and good ol’ fashioned friendship time. the companion fics we have planned are more so to expand on some turning points or important moments in the timeline, because the idea is that the fic should make sense without reading them, but reading them would provide a lot more context and hopefully flesh out our versions of mike and will and their motivations/intentions a lot more. i don’t think that really applies to this piece of lore, but as per ujhe we would be happy to talk about it on here whenever teehee

[tariah23]

It’s almost 8…. I should be getting home at 10 something 😭…

[piratefishmama]

Fake it Till you Make It | Part 13

“Buckley residence”

“Melissa, my second favourite Buckley! Hi, it’s Steve, is Robin there?”

“Oh Steve! Yes, yes one moment, I’ll just—weren’t you on holiday with your parents aaaand—?” he’d been calling Eddie his ‘partner’ for the week leading up to the big holiday. Never dropping any names, but given he’d found a sort of second home at the Buckleys… they were relentless in finding out who he was dating.

Since it’d never be Robin.

He wasn’t falling for it, no matter how deep they’d been into flower power back in the day. If he came out, Robin would end up coming out in solidarity and he knew she wasn’t ready yet so—“Yep, calling from Chicago airport, bit of a time sensitive call” he wasn’t giving it up.

“Oop, I’ll grab her—” there was a scuffle on the line then a quick “ROBIN, STEVE’S ON THE PHONE” another quick scuffle later and suddenly

“Aren’t you supposed to be on a plane right now, Dingus?”

“I’m in Chicago! Just checkin in on my baaaaaby, how’s my little bun today? Any morning sickness yet?”

“Robin!!”

“Mom get off the phone!!”

“Hahaha I’m kidding Melissa! Can I talk to Robbie alone though?”

“Unbelievable, you kids are turning me grey.”

“You’re as beautiful as ever though!” The other line clicked off, and Robin’s snickering laughter was all that remained. “One day she’s gonna stay on just to call my bluff.”

“But that is not today, again, aren’t you supposed to be on a plane? What’s up?”

“…Okay so, hypothetically, if you were fake dating someone you… I dunno… maybe, sorta… click really well with, can laugh with, and maybe sorta like a little, would you—”

“Steven Leopold Harrington do you have a crush on your boyfriend?”

“Fake, fake boyfriend, Robbie, fake. And that isn’t my middle name.”

“You’re not DENYING it! It's not even been a DAY yet, Steve!”

“No, I’m not—well… I’d call it more an interest than a crush, but that’s why I’m calling you, what would you do?”

“Pine uselessly for years, you know this.”

“Got it, pine uselessly” He could do that. He was doing that already, sort of. He’d watched in squinty eyed rage while a newsstand cashier with a nose ring flirted with his fake boyfriend while he grabbed a drink to down during the wait between flights. It didn’t go anywhere, Eddie barely even noticed, but Steve noticed. Steve noticed everything. “You really should ask Vi—”

“NO. Listen Steve, as the kids would say, you have found an ‘ultimate cheat code’ to asking your crush out, listen closely now, don’t want you to miss it… you’re already dating him!”

“It’s fake though!” Luckily his parents were off showing Eddie a cool mural they found last time they flew through. No chance of them hearing him.

“So?! Just act like it’s real! It’s like a test, you have a week to see if you’re actually growing ooey gooeys for this guy, and at the end of it, you’ll know if you wanna keep him.” Brilliant in theory but one small hiccup

“What if he doesn’t want me at the end of the week?” The fact that he hadn’t had a solid date in forever before the scheme looming over his head and heart like a dark cloud of suffering.

“I will eat my own shoe. Trust me dingus, trust me. He’ll want you, just work that mysterious Harrington Charm I’ve heard so much about. You’re already half-way there, you get to kiss him already.”

“…Okay, it’s gotta be the real stinker shoe though, you know the one.”

“The skunk one?!”

“Yep. The skunk one.”

“But we were gonna use that on—” Kevin, they were gonna hide it in Kevin’s office after he refused every holiday request Robin put in for a month after she, very politely, shot him and his advances down, why they still had it was… a mystery. They kept forgetting to get rid of it. “Fine, the skunk one. I will eat the skunk shoe, that is how confident I am that Eddie will want you, now please go and spend time with your way cooler than you boyfriend before your parents turn him into a normie.”

“Miss you already.”

“Miss you more”

“Miss you most.”

“Hang up.”

“No you han—” she hung up, and Steve couldn’t help but laugh about it knowing that undoubtedly. She’d be laughing on her end too.

The second flight was much easier to get Eddie onto. In fact, after they spent the hour between flights milling around the terminal, Eddie led him down the gangway, hand in hand, demanding he hurry up or “they’ll leave without us, my precious little harlot!!” there was no rush, they were actually first in line at the gate in front of his own parents, whom Eddie beat to the front of the queue, dragging Steve with him, still ribbing him for the mile high club thing.

He was not going to live that down any time soon.

The flight, in theory would give him a lot of time to think though. Nine hours. In seats that were too far apart. His parents in the middle of the cabin in a semi-enclosed pod-like structure comprised of two seats and a desk between them which they both shared to work on some paperwork, and he and Eddie on opposite sides of the plane.

Which sucked. Because he couldn’t hold Eddie’s hand.

He couldn’t make sure Eddie was okay, and that alone really dug into his time to think about things, because his brain was quite stuck on the fact that Eddie was alone on the other side of the cabin likely going through it as the second flight excitement could only last so long, and that just wasn’t okay.

Eddie couldn’t even do anything to pass the time, he’d packed all but one of his notebooks in his checked luggage, Steve was pretty damn sure he'd go insane if he had to just sit there with nothing to do for a whole nine hours.

So, they teamed up. From opposite sides of the cabin, because somehow Eddie just understood what Steve wanted him to do without having to be told.

It took them a joint effort all of one hour into the flight to puppy-dog eye his parents into switching seats with them.

This allowed them to pick at each other’s ‘gourmet’ meals, Eddie stealing several of his steak fries, and Steve stealing both the last bite of his steak, and two of his orange slices, it allowed Eddie to ramble on about the D&D campaign he was plotting to send the kids through when they got back, allowed Steve to subtly plant the idea into Eddie's mind that maybe... maybe he might be interested in seeing what that looked like.

Maybe they could hold the first session at his place when his parents went away again. Plenty of room! He could watch for once, instead of ribbing Dustin for it and purposefully never getting the name of the game right.

All leading to them both settling in their reclining seats, wrapped up in blankets, facing each other's smiling faces, and falling into an incredibly easy food-coma slumber for the remainder of their flight.

Both wishing the seats were just... a little closer.

Part 15

[poppadom0912]

HUUUGE congrats on the 1k!!! You really deserve it ❤️

If possible, I would like to order a 🍮 Jay Halstead + And They Were Roommates trope?

A/N: thank you so much for ordering. I hope it’s to your liking. Please enjoy!!

🍮🍮🍮🍮🍮

Your current living situation was partly out of your control, and it was partly your own fault. You couldn’t blame anyone but yourself to be honest.

Long story short, med school had made you gone broke and your rocky relationship with your family only made your financial hardships even worse.

So when it came to moving closer to your aunt who said she could house you, you weren’t expecting to be reunited with a boy from your past.

Well, not a boy anymore. Jay Halstead was a fully grown man who was somehow fully functioning and had a full-time job. Coincidentally, he too had just moved back to Chicago and was looking for a new home.

So, when you shared your own housing struggles, he was very generous in his offer to move in with him. And it was a very tempting offer as here you were three years later, living in an apartment with the aforementioned man.

A lot of the time, both of you were swamped with work. You were finishing off your residency in trauma surgery and he was just getting comfortable with his new team.

Over the course of three years, both of you were able to reconnect and your childhood acquaintance had now become one of your closest friends. After hard days at work, it was easy to come home and be comfortable, knowing that you could relax and no matter what happened to you, he remained a constant.

Your roommate. That’s what he was and no matter all the teasing you got from your friends, that’s what he was going to remain.

🍮🍮🍮🍮🍮

It was a very busy day at work. It seemed that it might’ve been a full moon because not only was the emergency department filled to the brim, but these accidents were ridiculous and almost unbelievable.

You had been in back-to-back surgeries, barely anytime to yourself before the next patient came rushing in. And unfortunately for the ED, the accidents weren’t stopping soon and now the police were getting involved.

If you saw Jay in passing, rushing to the surgery theatre, then that was a problem for later to figure out if he was working or if he was laying on a gurney half dead.

Two hours later you had your answer. The brunet was in deep discussion with his brother when you finished surgery, and the ED had finally calmed down.

With slumped shoulders, you dragged your feet towards the brothers.

“Hey, how was the surgery?” Will asked. The patient you operated on had initially been his on intake.

“She’s all good. The internal bleeding wasn’t as bad as we thought.” You replied, a tired smile on your face before you turned to the other man.

“What brings you here trouble?” You asked, amusement laced in your words.

Jay rolled his eyes, but you knew it wasn’t true by the smirk on his lips. “Making sure you don’t make a mess like you did this morning.”

You gasped in faux hurt, hand clutching your chest at the accusation and audacity. “Excuse you, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Sureeee.” Jay dragged out, nodding as he sarcastically retorted back.

“No, I won't have this.” You said, scoffing. “Who was the one who cleaned up everything last night after a long shift because someone got called in to work and left the entire apartment in a mess.”

You continued on, proudly naming the messes he made, unaware of how he was looking at you.

“Ugh, how dare you. I’m finishing the last portion of pasta. You can make your own dinner.” You finished after nearly seven minutes, a satisfied smile on your face as you ‘won.’

Without waiting to hear his reply, you walked away, a pep in your step.

“Ew, jay please get a grip.” Will complained when you left, his face screwing up in disgust at the look on his brother's face.

“Reese, on behalf of both of them, I am so sorry you had to see that.” Will apologised to the younger woman who had been there the entire time, her face stuck in its shock at the encounter she just witnessed.

“Why are they?” Reese asked, frozen and unable to finish her sentence.

“They’re roommates Reese.” Will nodded, his face solemn. He had been a witness to this tragic pair for way too long now.

“Just roommates… nothing more?” She asked in disbelief, her eyes stuck on the detective who was still looking at you longingly from afar. If she didn’t know any better, shed call him a creep but this, she had to admit, was kinda cute.

“Unfortunately, they’re just roommates.”

🍮🍮🍮🍮🍮

Your cheeks were hurting from just how much you were laughing. Anymore and you’d have a stomach-ache.

At the sight of Will standing up from besides Jay, you could only fear the worst. Right now, anything could happen.

“I’ve known Y/N for nearly as long as I’ve known Jay. Her mum was close with ours and so we all grew up together and when they both went their own ways after school, no one ever thought they would meet again, let alone move in together.”

“And so, they were roommates.” Will continued, a nostalgic smile on his face as he turned to look at the pair that had caused him so much strife. “Being roommates is what started this relationship and is what caused all of us a lot of grief but after all of our efforts, they finally made it.”

“I’m sure these idiots would’ve made it without out intervention, even if it would’ve taken another three years but Jay’s been embarrassed enough so I won’t say anything more.”

Will held up his glass, “Here’s to the happy couple and to the rest of their lives being roommates.”

Everyone cheered.

[five-rivers]

Daedalus

@regular-dog Hello! I am your holiday truce gifter this year! I hope you enjoy this labyrinth-themed fic. Happy New Year!

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Only three years in, and it was already impossible to tell how big Amity Park was.  Normal methods of surveying didn’t work.  Physical maps were either always right or always wrong, and sometimes both at once.  Driving across the city at a constant speed didn’t help, either.  The outgoing trip and the return trip never seemed to match, and there simply weren’t enough one-way streets in Amity Park for that to be the answer to the problem.  

Asking the residents didn’t help, either.  They couldn’t even agree on how big the city they lived in was.  Some of them acted like Amity Park was the second coming of Chicago, others expressed confusion when Amity Park was referred to as anything but a small town.  

(The census data was almost worse.)

But no matter what version of Amity a particular resident believed they lived in, there were always similarities.  There was always Casper High, and its Ravens, and every student went there, and learned from Mr. Lancer, and heard the rumors about Sydney Poindexter.  There was always the Nasty Burger, and Valerie Gray working one of the many distasteful jobs that the place had to offer.  There was always Amity Park Park, confusingly named and full of even more confusing paths, whether it was a city park or a county park, or something else altogether.

There was always Fentonworks, rising tall and strange from a small, ordinary neighborhood.

There was a heaviness there, around that particular building.  A weight that drew in other things, that twisted.  It was the heart of a labyrinth of streets, of old roads and new, of forest paths and disused hiking trails.  It was the heart of Amity Park.

And it should be said that, at the heart of any labyrinth, there was a monster.  

And it should be said that, at the threshold of every labyrinth, there was a princess.

And it should be said that the one thing that every labyrinth waits for is a hero.  

.  

Samantha Manson wound golden string around her fingers, thinking.  It glowed faintly in the dark of her room, like the thinnest, purest beam of sunlight cast through morning mist and a thick canopy of leaves overhead.  

However, her eyes didn’t linger on it.  Instead, she looked out the window over her– garden– conservatory– greenhouse– private park– the place where she went to grow plants, and be among them, that may or may not have changed in nature and size while she was looking.  Which may or may not have had many natures and sizes.  

She closed her eyes.  Insight was useful, as vital as the blood in her veins and the lightning in her nerves, but it had its drawbacks.  

When she opened them again, a hedge maze stood dark and tempting beneath the light of a moon that should not be full and should not be there and had never been that big, in any case.  The lights of Amity- rising high with skyscrapers or low to the ground and scattered among farmhouses– laid beyond it.  

In her hands, the string hummed, as if it had been held taught and plucked.  A single, clear note filled the air.  

“Do you think it will work?” she asked.  

There shouldn’t have been anyone in her room, and there wasn’t.  But her nearest neighbors could be five miles from the walls of her home or five feet, and she rarely spoke to them.  The distance between friends was greater, but also infinitely less.  

Tucker looked up from his computer, which sat at his desk, in his own room, in his own house, the light from the moon shining in from the window behind him.  His glasses reflected the pale, bluish light of his computer screen.  The wheels of his desk chair rolled across the carpet of his room - so different from hers - with a squeak.  

“You’re not getting cold feet now,” he said.  It wasn’t so much a question as an exclamation.  

Sam sniffed.  “Of course not.  But I’m not the one taking the biggest risk, am I?”

There was a third room.  This one dark and starry.  The glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to every available surface were normal.  The patterns they were in were not.  Nor were the eyes that stared out from beneath star-spangled bedsheets.  Nor was the moon, gleaming from windows stationed on either side of the bed.

“I’m not sure if it actually matters if it works,” said the owner of those eyes, blinking slowly.  “I mean, if it works the way it’s supposed to work.  We’ll just go back to plan A if it doesn’t.”

“No offense, Danny, but plan A sucked,” said Tucker.  

“How am I not supposed to take offense to that?” whined Danny.  “Plan A is fine.  It’s a normal plan.  I know my city.”  The last was said with a casual but deep possessiveness.

“Plan A wasn’t even really a plan,” said Sam.  “Your plan was to just fly in and find them, never mind all the other things that are happening.”

“That’s not so different from this plan,” protested Danny.  “It’s basically the same.  It’s just the how that’s different.”

“Pretty big how, though,” said Tucker.  “And I thought you liked this plan.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” said Danny.  “I’m just saying, I’m just saying that even if it doesn’t work, we won’t be any worse off than we were at the beginning, before, you know.  The research.”  He pointed vaguely in the direction of his window.  

Somehow, Sam knew that he was, in fact, pointing at the stack of thick books sitting on her desk.  Only, instead of pointing at them across the there-not-there division between their rooms, he was pointing in their true direction, across the streets and forests of Amity Park.  

The covers of the books shouldn’t have been legible in the darkness.  Sam could read them anyway.  Greek mythology.  Sympathetic magic.  Recurrence.  Narrative causality.  Daedalus, Icarus, Theseus, Ariadne, Asterion.

Four days ago, New Athens High School had sent a bus bearing the fourteen members of their track team and their coach to a meet in Elmerton.  On the way back, the driver had made a wrong turn, knifing straight through the heart of Amity.  The bus, the driver, and the coach had come out the other side.  No one knew what had happened to the track team.  

Danny had spent three of those days looking for them.  Amity Park had spent those same three days winding itself more tightly than the ball of string sitting on Sam’s desk.  Whether it was downtown, or the forest, or the suburbs, the part of Amity New Athens’ bus had passed through was a maze.  

A labyrinth.  

They’d thrown themselves into research, then, begging for information from their allies.  Or, rather, from Danny’s allies.  Most of them, with the exception of Dora, were there for him more than for the rest of them.  Pandora was the one who had finally noticed the connections, the links with old stories, the resonance.  

There was a labyrinth.  There were sacrifices.  Other roles–

“Or, if you don’t want to leave it, you could send Tucker in,” said Danny, shrugging slightly.  “If it doesn’t work with just me.  You know.”

Sam’s fingers slipped.  

Sam was the obvious choice for the role of princess.  Danny was the obvious choice for the role of hero.  

He should have been, anyway.  

“Hence why I’m asking if you think it’ll work,” said Sam, sharply.  

“I hope it’ll work.”

Sam huffed.  “Not what I’m asking.”

“It won’t hurt to try.”

“It might,” said Sam.  “The monster dies at the end of the story.  The princess is abandoned.  Even Theseus doesn’t have a happy ending.”

“And we aren’t those characters.  It isn’t as if Tucker is going to cut my head off.”  Again, Danny waved in Tucker’s true direction, rather than across the emptiness of his room.  “We’re the ones making the decisions.  We’re just using the stories for– For narrative clout.  Or however you described it.”

“Danny…”

“It’ll be fine.  I mean,” he looked up at her with those too-bright eyes, the rest of his face black with shadows, “if you’re having second thoughts, it’s fine.  We can try something else.”

“I’m not having second thoughts.”  Sam began to unwind the string from around her fingers, wrapping it around the rest of the ball.  The maze outside her window had become a winding garden path, and the neighbors were once again nearby.  

Tucker cleared his throat.  “First thing in the morning, then?  We ride at dawn and all that?”

“Before dawn would probably be better, honestly,” said Sam.  

Danny sighed.  “I’ll set my alarm clock.”

.

It might have been neater to enter the maze in Sam’s backyard, or to start from the spiraling center that was Fentonworks, but that wasn’t where the bus had disappeared.  The bus had disappeared going through downtown Amity Park.  

Well.  Insofar as the bus had disappeared in any particular location.  And insofar as Amity Park had a downtown.  

The lack of permanence of place made discussing things like this somewhat difficult.  

Still.  At the moment, there was a downtown.  A historical shopping district, as a matter of fact.  As he walked down the sidewalk in the crisp, gray, predawn light, Danny could feel beneath his feet a hum.  The shopping district here was the mainstreet of small town Amity, even as skyscrapers loomed overhead, and the layers felt real enough for Danny to reach out and rub them between his fingers.  

(They weren’t really, but they felt like it.)

He stopped in front of an alley that smelled of cinnamon and sea salt.  Here, the layers parted, and you could slip between them, into the interstices and forbidden places of Amity Park.  

“Is this the place?” asked Tucker.  

“Yeah,” said Danny.  “I think so.”  He motioned them to the mouth of the alley, where they’d be covered by shadows and next to unnoticeable by those who were firmly in any one version of Amity Park.  “Sam?”

She teased out the end of the golden string and cast it towards Danny.  As it flew through the air, it twisted and knotted itself before falling over Danny’s head.  The loops shrunk around his neck, creating a narrow golden collar.  

Danny raised his hand to touch it and made a face.  “It’s tight,” he said.  

“Sorry,” said Sam, glaring at the ball of string as if it had betrayed her.  “I don’t–”

“It’s fine,” said Danny, waving it off.  “Just unexpected.”

“Right,” said Tucker, stepping forward.  “Your sword, Theseus.”  He handed Danny a Fenton invention that had a passing resemblance to a lightsaber.

Danny rolled his eyes and took the small cylinder.  “Thanks.  But don’t call me that.”

“Hey, that’s the story we’re trying to tell.”

“We’ll give it a tug if we run out of string,” said Sam.  

“Mm,” said Danny.  “Well.  Might have to give it more than one.  Don’t let me drag you in.”

Sam snorted.  “What, like you drag us into everything else?”

“Seriously.  Just let me go if I start pulling too hard.”

“No way,” said Tucker.  “We’ll just tie you onto some building or something.”

“I have been known to bring down buildings.”

“Well, don’t,” said Sam.  

“Wow.  No sympathy here, I see.”

“Nope,” said Sam and Tucker together.  

“Now go save the tourists,” said Sam, pushing him forward.

“They’re not really tourists,” said Danny.  But even so, he stepped across the line and into the gap.  

Into the labyrinth.  

.

The in-between spaces of Amity Park did not immediately look like they were the in-between spaces of Amity.  Danny sometimes liked to imagine that they were what Amity Park used to look like, before it became a dozen different, mutually exclusive places.  That had to be impossible, though.  There was too much, too many different things, afterimages and fantasies and illusions.  

People walked on the streets, and cars drove, but they were transparent, projections from the layers of Amity immediately bordering this space.  Sometimes, they walked through each other, not noticing at all.  

Danny still flinched when it looked like cars were about to run into one another, and let out a breath of relief when they instead seemed to phase through each other.  

So he walked.  

He walked, and as he walked, the road began to change.  He began to change.  Facades paled.  Grecian columns reached up the sides of skyscrapers and ranch homes.  Brick turned to marble.  Danny’s t-shirt and jeans slowly, gently, became a chiton and chlamys, trimmed in red.  The Fenton Saber became a sword of green-tinted bronze, strapped to a belt around his waist.  His shoes became sandals, laced up to his knees.  

It wasn’t the first time Danny had worn clothing like this.  He did visit Pandora.  But he’d never worn it in Amity Park.  It was a little embarrassing.  The ancient Greeks’ idea of underwear was… lacking, in Danny’s opinion.  But it wasn’t as if anyone here could see him.  

The act of walking here also felt strange, and Danny couldn’t understand why this was needed.  Not really.  Not the act, not the ritual.  By virtue of his nature, he could duck in and out of anywhere in Amity whenever he wanted.  Mostly.  At least, he could find places to duck in and out whenever he wanted.  

He should have been able to find the missing students without any problem.  

But he hadn’t.  

And he still wasn’t finding them.  There was no pull.  No indication of what direction he should go, what direction he could find them in.  

Danny sighed, and the sky above boiled with stars.  

He looked up, not having expected that, then shrugged and continued to walk.  Things here were strange.

There were words on the walls, now, carved into the marble alongside window displays for cell phones and stationary.  Ἀστερίων, Ἀριάδνη, Θησεύς.  He traced Ἀριάδνη with his fingers.  It sparked gold, the same color as the string around Danny’s neck.  

And then the string flexed.  Pulled.  Spooled forward, winding into a ball in front of Danny.  A short thread was thrown off of the rapidly spinning ball and settled on Danny’s head before solidifying into something heavy and cold.

(Elsewhere, the end of the string tears itself out of Sam’s hand, disappearing into the rift between.)

“Oh,” said Danny.  He bit his lip and closed his eyes, and mentally apologized to his friends for worrying them.  “Theseus was from Athens.  Ariadne wasn’t just rich, she had authority over Crete.  We had the roles wrong.”

(Not that Danny really wanted authority over Amity Park.  That… just wasn’t his thing.  He didn’t want to be in charge.  He just wanted to protect.)

But this meant…  He needed to find one of the New Athens kids and get them to be Theseus.  

He didn’t want to do that.  He was here to rescue them, not to force them to rescue themselves.  And… iIf he could find one of them, couldn’t he find the others?  Finding them was the problem he’d started with.  If he could find them, he could bring them out.  

He stumbled as the section of string wrapped around his throat tightened.  That actually hurt!

Then it loosened and Danny took a deep breath.  

Narrative weight, right.  They were already trying this story.  Changing it or aborting it halfway would have consequences.  Ones that Danny didn’t want to deal with.  

He swallowed.  He couldn’t help but remember that in the story of Theseus and the Minotaur, many people, many Athenians, had died before Theseus had finally defeated the Minotaur.  When it was Danny in the role of Theseus, that hadn’t been a concern.  He was certain he could fight any monster, any ghost in the role of the Minotaur.  

But some random kid from New Athens?  One who had probably never seen a ghost, and who had been stuck here for days?  

That… that he wasn’t at all confident about.  

Sam had been right to be wary of the risks.  It was different, when someone else was facing them.  

He rolled the ball between his hands, feeling it over.  Power thrummed between his fingers, brighter and sharper than before.  A thin stripe of gold ran down the sidewalk, twisting over on itself and turning away from the main street.  

Danny sighed, and started to follow.  

.

Danica was starting to panic.  

One moment, she’d been on the bus, falling asleep after a difficult meet despite how risky it was to fall asleep anywhere near Georgie and his so-called ‘artistic impulses.’  The next thing she knew, she was waking up on a sidewalk in some kind of nightmare city.  A nightmare city full of things that looked almost like people but were transparent and walked right through her as if she weren’t there.  

She didn’t know how long she’d been here, trying to figure out how she’d gotten here, where the bus was, where everything else was, but it felt like hours, at least.  She was starting to get hungry.  

She was starting to wonder if she’d gone crazy.  Or if this was what it was like to be dead.  And that was before the buildings started to melt into weird, semi-Greek-Revival messes.  

It was weird here, and she hated it.  She wanted to go home.  She wanted her mom.  She wanted to quit the track team and never have to deal with anything like this ever again.  

“Hello?” called a soft voice.  

She whipped around.  Up until now, this place had been eerily quiet.  

Standing just a few feet from her was a boy, one who could have stepped out of a history textbook.  He was wearing something like a cape, and a Greek-style tunic, white trimmed in red.  Tangled in his hair was a thin, golden circlet.  But the strangest thing about him was the ball of glowing golden string in his hand.  One end of it was wrapped around his neck.  

“You–!” said Danica, suddenly more furious than frightened.  “Did you bring me here?  Why?”

The boy shook his head.  “I didn’t bring you here.  Actually, I’m hoping to help you get out.  You and the rest of your teammates.”  

“They– They’re here, too?  And the coach–?”

“No, just your teammates,” said the boy.  He made a face.  “You guys kind of… Ran into a story.”

“A what?” demanded Danica, incredulous.  She’d also, incidentally, started to back away from the boy.  

“A story.  Have you heard of Theseus and the Minotaur?”

.

“What if I don't want to do this?” asked the girl, after Danny had finished explaining.  “What if I can’t do this?”

Danny stared at her, a bit baffled.  The thing about being a ghost, even half a ghost, the thing about thinking like a ghost… Sometimes it was hard to wrap his head around other perspectives.  Especially when his friends, the only people he really talked to, were just as eager to jump in and help as he was.  

He hadn't wanted to make anyone risk themselves.  He wanted to bring them to safety without that.  He also hadn't expected that anyone would just… not want to help.

“Well, I suppose… I suppose you could follow me until I found one of your classmates who could?” he said.  “Although… I’m not sure if we can do that with this story.  It might be that I have to find someone alone and then they find everyone…  In which case you’d just have to wait for them.  Speaking of which, how long has this been for you?  On the outside, it’s been a few days, but you look a little too good for that.”

“I– What?  Days?  I haven’t been here for days.”

“Not from your perspective, maybe.  Time is weird.  Even without all this…”  He waved his hand, trying to indicate ghost weirdness in general.  “... stuff, even with just the things we can look at scientifically, it’s still relative.  Right now, you’re basically in a dimensional pocket.  Pocket dimension?  Whatever.  The point is, is time running at different rates really that strange, comparatively?  At least, it made it so that you didn’t starve before me and my friends were able to figure this out.”  He raised the ball of golden string, ignoring how the movement pulled on his neck.  “Right?”

The girl gave him a ‘why are you using science-fiction terms in what is clearly a fantasy scenario’ look.  At least, that’s how Danny chose to interpret it.  

He sighed.  “What’s your name, anyway?”

“Danica,” she said, then looked angry at herself and shrugged.  “Or Dani, I guess.”

“Huh, small world,” said Danny.  “That’s my sister’s name, too.”  Not to mention his.  Maybe Theseus’s story wasn’t the only one being echoed, with a coincidence like that.  

The girl continued to stare at him, this time with a ‘why the heck are you bringing that up while I’m having a crisis’ look.  Probably.  Danny tended to make a similar expression from time to time.  Usually when the ghosts he fought started having lovers’ quarrels in the middle of a fight.  

“So,” he said, awkwardly.  “You can come with me, of course, just to… test out what will happen?”

“Oh!” said Danica, suddenly.  “Just– Just give me that!”  She held out her hands for the ball of string.  

Danny beamed, and passed it to her.  It glowed even brighter.

“Now what?” she asked, staring at it nervously.  

“Now, you need this,” Danny said, taking off the sword and holding it out to her, hilt first.  “And then you search for your friends, and when you find them…”  He pinched a length of the string between the finger and thumb of her free hand.  “You follow this back out.”

Danica was much more reluctant to take the sword than the string.  But that was fine.  One of the two was for holding things together, the other was for taking things apart.  Danny knew which was easier, and which he was more comfortable with.  

“That's it.  Remember, it's just the members of your track team, okay?  The coach and the bus driver got out.”

“Okay,” said Danica.  She took a deep, steadying breath.  “Okay.  I can do this.”

Danny nodded encouragingly.  “Yes,” he said, “definitely.”

.

Danny stepped out of the in-between, back into the alley he'd left Sam and Tucker in.  Except, it wasn't an alley anymore, but a thin dirt path between hedges.  

He was immediately tackled.  

“We thought we'd lost you!” said Sam.  Then she pulled back and examined him closely before looking pointedly behind him.  “Where're the track kids?”

Danny rubbed the back of his neck.  “Well.  In the story, Theseus is from Athens, remember?”

Sam groaned.  “They're having to do it themselves?”

“Yeah.  A girl named Danica.  Dani.  Believe it or not.”

“Wow,” said Tucker.  “Really?”

“Really.”

Danny turned to look behind him, tracing the string where it twisted away from reality and into not-space.

Tucker sighed.  “This is going to take a while, isn't it?”

.

It took Danica surprisingly little time to find her teammates.  For all the time she’d spent wandering on her own, after she’d accepted the sword and the string, she’d located everyone in what felt like an hour.  Some of them were even in groups!

The problem was, she found too many of them.  

.

“Mm,” said Danny, still worried.  “Probably.  I hope she doesn’t have to fight anything.”

.

There had been fourteen of them.  She knew there had been fourteen of them, because the coach and the driver had both done headcounts, because of the number of people they were allowed to field in each event at this particular meet, and because she remembered that someone had been sick.  But there were, including her, fifteen kids now huddled in something that aesthetically hovered in-between the Parthenon and a shopping mall.  

She couldn’t remember who had been sick.  No one could.  But everyone wanted to convince her that it wasn’t them.  

Probably because she was the one with the sword.  

.

“I think that if there was anything, it would have gone after Danny when he was searching earlier, right?” asked Sam.  

“Maybe,” said Danny.  “Unless it was scared of me.  I am pretty powerful.”

“And if Danny’s Ariadne in this, he was Ariadne at the beginning,” pointed out Tucker.  “The story was already going.  Ariadne never fought the Minotaur.”

“Astarion,” said Danny.  

“Huh?”

“That’s the Minotaur’s actual name,” said Sam.  She frowned slightly.  “He was Ariadne’s half-brother, you know.”

“Yeah,” said Danny, slowly.  “He was, wasn’t he?”

.

“Listen,” said Danica, trying to mask the shake in her voice, “I’m sorry, but– But based on everything, you aren’t who you say you are.”  

There was nothing she could do about how badly the sword was shaking.  

“I am!” said the girl, who couldn’t be there, because Eliza had taken the one place in the 100 meter, and Jaylynn did the javelin, and Lachandra had done the high jump, and no one remembered her competing at all.  “I really am, I promise!”

It was convincing, her act.  But it had to be an act, it really did.

“Dani,” said Lachandra, “is it really that important?  I mean, if we take her with us?  We just want to get out.”

“But she could eat us,” said Kevin, who was a bit of a mythology buff on top of being a track nerd.  “She could– If this is the Minotaur story–  She’ll try to kill us and then–”

“I won’t!” shouted the girl.  Her eyes– For a moment, they changed color.  Red.  Her teeth were sharp, too.

Danica gritted her teeth and swung the sword down.  

.

Danny caught her wrist, panting.  He’d followed the string back.  

“Wait,” he said, breathless.  “Wait.”

“Where–” said Danica, jerking back.  “Why–?”

Danny turned towards the ‘Minotaur.’  “Hi,” he said, trying to be as nonthreatening as possible.  “You’re one of Vlad’s aren’t you?”

Their face shimmered for a moment, and then– It was like looking into a mirror.  This wasn’t Dani - his Dani, Danielle - but a boy with red eyes.  He wore a chiton like Danny’s, but he looked starved, pale, terrified.  

He nodded.  

“There is,” said Danny, cautiously, “another story about escaping from the labyrinth.  How would you like to be Daedalus?”

.

“What was that?” hissed Danica, as they walked away from… whatever that was.  “Why are you here, now, leading us out, when you couldn’t before?”

“Story is different now,” said Danny, tightly.  “And I was leading you out before.  Just with the string.”

“What if you get lost?” asked Kevin.  

Danny grinned at him.  “I won’t.  He isn’t trying to keep you in anymore.”

“Who isn’t?” asked Danica.  

“Daedalus.  Him.  He just wanted out, I think.  Sorry for– I’m sorry about all of this,” said Danny.  “I didn’t want to get other people involved in Amity Park stuff, and I especially didn’t want to get you involved in family stuff, but…”  He shrugged, then caught sight of an out.  It looked, from this side, like a slightly darker than expected gap between stately white pillars.  “Here we go!  And I think this one is next to the police station, too, so just, you know.  Check yourselves in.”

“Just like that?” asked Danica.  

“Just like that,” said Danny.  “I will need those back, though.”  He nodded at the string and sword.  

“Right,” said Danica.  She shoved both at him.  “I can’t believe– I would have kill that– Whatever– Whoever–”  She stopped, looking very much like she wanted to cry.  

“I’m sorry,” said Danny again, softly.  “But it is over now.”

The New Athens kids walked into the gap and vanished.  

The string dissolved into golden, glittering light and then settled in his hands as a pair of equally golden wings.  Danny laughed.  

“Okay,” he said.  He turned, bouncing a little.  “I get the picture.  I think we can avoid the Icarus problem, being ghosts and all.”

[lovers-tucked-into-a-quiet-cafe]

Chapter 5 [IKYLHT]

~2.4k Words | Series Masterlist | Prev | Next Chapter

-

“Officials are saying a power surge is to blame for an explosion over downtown Chicago last night due to severe winds leaving thousands of residents in the dark…”

“-I still don’t think that was the best they could’ve come up with.”

“Shh, Johnny, I’m trying to hear them.” You mumble with a light slap to the man’s thigh, nodding over to Price and Laswell as they clink glasses.

Simon chuckles from the other side of you as you peer around Soap’s form in an attempt to convince Gaz to relay the conversation word for word. He doesn’t, and part of you regrets not swapping seats with the man beforehand.

Not that you would’ve been able to, what with Simon and Johnny essentially herding you into the bar stool between them. 

Sheepdogs, I swear. 

“Y’know, I think you owe me, Bun.”

Johnny’s voice has a playful edge to it, something you so desperately need after the torture endured in that building. 

Bloody hands trying to find grip on the cables- anything that’d soften your fall down the elevator shaft and allow you to follow him into that half constructed floor full of soldiers and Hassan. 

Bloody hands that found themselves back on their original place, wrapping gauze around Price’s shoulder and pestering Gaz for updates every other minute.

He didn’t have any. You’d opted to try yourself. 

“Soap, please.” 

You can’t help the desperation in your tone. 

He hasn’t answered comms in four minutes. 

Something is wrong. 

“What is your status? Click the transmitter. Something. Anything. Please, Johnny.”

You hear nothing but the soft Chicago wind in return, shaking hand reaching for comms once more.

“Ghost, do you have a visual?”

It takes him a moment to answer, and you can just barely hear his boots ascending the stairwell in steps of two.

“Negative. Adjusting position now.”

You hate it. 

Hate that your view of Ghost is completely blocked from this floor, hate that Johnny isn’t responding to comms, hate that he’s in there alone.

Had this scene not already played out? Had Johnny not already been forced to fend for himself with shivs and rat traps in the streets of Las Almas? 

Why couldn’t they get someone in there with him? Where are the Marines? Where is Gaz? Where is Johnny?

I should’ve been there.

I was there. It still didn’t matter. 

I still couldn’t save him. 

“Fuck this.” You mumble, shuffling back onto your feet, eyes already scanning for the emergency staircase. 

I’ll scale the building myself.

Your gun is gone, lost somewhere to the explosion and subsequent shootout. You slide your hand over a spare knife resting on your hip. It’s not much, but it’ll have to do.

“Price, I’m movi-”

“Ghost…” Soap’s voice carries through your earpiece and renders your legs damn near immovable. 

You don’t notice the way your knife slices open the top layer of skin on your palm, instinctually bolting up and towards the stairs as you hear Ghost reply.

Going down two, three, four at a time- shoulder slamming into the wall as you turn each corner and stumble down the staircase- you’re still unable to see any of what’s happening- eyes unblinking and ears straining to hear Johnny’s next words.

“Watch the window-“

“-Bun, c’mon. I remember hearin’ you make a bet with Simon.”

Blinking, you find yourself back in the bar.

Right. That’s right. It’s over. 

It’s all over.

Nodding, more to yourself than to him, you scan the bar and blink the image of it back into the front of your brain. 

You don’t miss the way Simon watches the entire thing. 

You let a semi-genuine smile grace your lips and nudge him back. 

“Which you were not a part of, Sargeant. Direct orders from the captain, in case you forgot. Plus, Si didn’t even agree to put any money on it. No point in betting if there isn’t a cash incentive.”

Glancing around him again, you’re just able to meet Gaz’s eyes as he finally divulges you by mouthing a single word before he’s turning back to Price.

Russians.

“I just think-”

“-Johnny.”

Your tone is what gets him to look up, to pop the bubble he’d created just for you, Simon, and himself. To raise his guard and compartmentalize like he always does. 

You can’t blame the man for wanting normalcy for just a little longer. The chance to sit in a dimly lit pub with his partners, nursing a drink and laughing at how awful the men across the bar are at playing pool.

He doesn’t want another assignment. Not now. Not after all they’d been through. He needed a break, desperately, and he needed to get his mind off of work before it consumed him completely. 

But you can’t. You just can’t slip into that headspace right now. You can’t let your guard down. 

Maybe it was the mission, maybe it was the close-calls, but this inability to just think straight is one you’d only experienced once before. 

You can’t remember when they start- the flashbacks, the shifting from present reality to memory. You only remember the looks of your comrades as they steer you back to the current moment.

Price’s voice cuts into the space, deep and low.

“He’s not new.”

He slides the picture over to Gaz, Soap bracing a hand over your leg as it bounces repeatedly.

You’re nervous.

You can’t tell why. 

You force yourself to stop, to allow Gaz to study the photo without interruption. You hear him shift, pass the photo over to Soap who holds it up for the two of you.

He nods once, reaching past you to hand it to Ghost.

Shaking your head, you whisper to both men beside you.

“I don’t recognize him.”

Their eyes meet past your shoulder, an unspoken conversation.

“Guys?” You whisper again, eyes darting between the pair. 

Still no answer, you look between Price and Kate, the latter looking just as confused as you did.

“Who is he?”

You feel Johnny’s grip on your thigh tighten, hear Simon’s deep inhale as Price turns to answer Kate.

“Makarov.”

-

“Well, this is me. You can just… knock, I guess. If you need anything, I mean.”

The door clicks behind Simon as you shift to stand awkwardly in the corner of your small accommodation. 

His eyes shift over your room, the tiny storage shelf topped with boxes and folders of paperwork you’d need to drop off before the night’s end.

It’s hardly decorated past the beige curtains and yellow lighting that adorned each private room in the barracks. 

You distantly wonder if Simon’s room is any nicer. Probably not, since it’s just a temporary until the flight home.

Better than a motel. 

He nods once, lets out a little hum of acknowledgment before locking eyes with yours.

“You okay, Tapeti?”

“Me? Oh, yeah. Yeah, I’m good. Just need a nap, I think. Maybe some real sleep once the paperwork is done.”

He hums again. 

“Okay. Not what I meant though, love.”

You give a sheepish semi-shrug, a half answer he lets slide with a small sigh. 

“Alright then. Gonna go check on Johnny. You comin’?”

You want to, to go and kick your feet up on Johnny’s lap while he doom-scrolls through social media, but your eyes fall back on the box of papers.

“Oh, uh. No, that’s alright. I’ll swing by later. Really gotta desk-jockey it tonight. Text me if he needs anything?”

“Of course, darling.” He says softly, kissing the top of your head through the mask before sparing you one last glance and slipping out the door.

You sigh out, shuffling over to the storage shelf and grabbing the box before plopping onto the chair with a huff. 

Casualty Report 

Contact Report

Frequency Interference Report

Nuclear, Biological, and Chemical Report

Report

Report

Report

Digging your palms into your eyes, you groan out.

It's been hours, according to both the clock and the ache in your lower back.

“They offered me retirement, why the hell didn’t I take retirement?” Exhaling a deep breath, you whisper to yourself as you neatly pile the paperwork. “I love my job, I love my job, I love my job."

Sliding it off the desk and into the crook of your arm, you make your way through the foreign base, dropping off the paperwork to some higher-up's secretary with a content smile.

Not my problem anymore.

A little more pep in your step, you start making your way back to the barracks, giving Johnny’s door a light knock.

There’s no answer.

You knock again.

Still no answer.

With a small roll of the eyes, you dig for the spare key he slipped into your pocket with a wink, unlocking the door.

You crack it open, knock again and whisper as it quietly creaks.

“I swear Johnny, you’re such a liar- ‘oh I never fall asleep first’. I could practically hear you snoring through the- oh.”

His silhouette is dim but unmistakable. His snores are soft, as they usually are. 

So are Simon’s. 

You turn your head, scan the empty hall once more before really taking in the sight before you.

They’re cute. Snuggled up, cozy under the blanket Johnny will soon kick off, Simon’s head resting over his heart.

It’d be a lot sweeter of a moment if, well… if there was any space for you.

They really are cute together and you know it shouldn’t bother you, but, that was your spot. 

It’d always been that way.

Johnny on his back, you on his left side. 

Closing the door with a soft click, you lock the deadbolt as quiet as you can before making the trek back to your room.

It’s dark, curtains blocking any pale moonlight and the room is still just as fucking beige as before only now it’s a problem. 

The bed is too cold. Too big, too empty, too overwhelming without his body splayed over half of it. 

You don’t bother changing into anything comfier, kicking your boots towards the door and burrowing under the covers.

You look to the pillow on your right.

You shut your eyes.

It’ll be better in the morning.

-

Your descent down the stairwell is rushed, boots clipping the safety grips multiple times and hands flailing to grab the railing beside you.

You find a rifle on the way down, still slightly sticky with the blood of the masked soldier it belonged to. 

You could never be too sure.

It clatters against your tac vest uncomfortably, hitting the back of your legs and threatening to launch you down the stairs completely.

You don’t bare it much mind though, hopping off the last few steps and throwing yourself against the heavy metal door with a grunt.

Side stepping and nearly knocking over the surrounding Chicago police, you weave your way through EMT’s and rescued hostages before your path is abruptly cut short by a dark mass with outstretched arms.

“Slow down, Tapeti, he’s making his way out.”

You allow yourself to remain in the man’s arms but don’t halt your hurried steps.

“Then we can meet him in the stairwell, Simon.” You huff out, only partially regretting the way your words tinge with aggression.

He unhooks the back of the strap, grabbing the rifle with one hand and letting it clatter against the sidewalk, not once breaking stride or faltering in pace. 

You get one hand on the doorknob of the side entrance, readying yourself to slam bone against metal once more.  

You don’t get the chance to though, head on a swivel when you hear a nearby glass door shatter in on itself.

And finally, you see Johnny, tired face holding back a pained smile as he holds the door handle in midair.

“Rabbit-“

“-Johnny.”

You waste no time rushing to him, the impact of your body colliding with his almost knocking you both to the ground. 

You feel his shadow guarding the pair of you from onlookers, offering about ten seconds of privacy before Simon is damn near scruffing the back of your neck as he pulls the pair of you into his chest. 

“Jesus Christ, Johnny. Don’t ever do that again.” You mumble into Simon’s shirt, pawing at Johnny’s tac vest and trying to find a patch of skin that isn’t covered by work.

It’s a difficult task, what with Ghost barely allowing you ample space to expand your ribs as you breathe, but you manage to slip off a glove and warm Johnny’s hands yourself.

You feel him shift to lay his head on Simon’s shoulder, wrapping an arm around the man’s waist as he speaks quietly.

“You okay, Bun?”

“Are you okay, Johnny? We couldn’t get ahold of you, not a single thing through comms, not even static.”

He doesn’t respond.

“Johnny?”

You move to pat his hand but it isn’t there.

“John?”

You look up but he’s gone entirely.

You spin around, cover your arms over your thin shirt no longer protected by two sets of arms.

“Ghost?”

You spin again but you’re entirely alone on the street.

The cops’ red and blue lights still flash, doors wide open.

The back ambulance doors reveal the inside, the space that held the empty gurney that now sits mere feet away from you.

“Simon?”

The wind howls but doesn’t shake the trees.

“Gaz?”

Your ears ring above the silence.

“Price?”

You feel the hairs on your arms stand.

“Santiago?”

You hear a knock.

“Bunny? You in there, hen?”

Shifting your arms, you feel the stickiness of the sheets beneath you.

He knocks again.

Scrambling out of bed, you kick your shoes out of the way of the door and open it hastily.

“Good mornin’, sunshine. We were knockin’ quite a while. Must’ve been pretty knocked out.”

Your shoulders loosen seeing his smile, no longer feeling the urge to curl in on yourself.

“Oh, uh, yeah I guess so. Had kind of a weird dream.”

You feel Simon’s eyes on you, send him a smile as Johnny brushes past you and into the room.

“Anything in particular?”

You turn back to Simon, motion for him to make his way out of the doorway and into the room as you answer his question.

“Not really, mostly just replaying yesterday. Just cataloging, you know the drill.”

Well, except for the part where everyone vanished and left me stranded in the middle of Chicago searching for Santiago.

Guess I was calling out for two ghosts.

“Eh, as long as it wasn’t the weird armadillo one again. God knows what that one’s about. Anyways, you showering before brek, Bun? You stink.” Johnny smooths the duvet over the damp sheets, laying down with a groan and stretching his side.

“Yeah, I’ll make it a quick one. You waiting here?”

You don’t miss the way it comes out, the tinge of vulnerability towards the end of your words.

Neither does Simon.

Johnny lets out a hum, arms above his head and moving to stretch out his other side.

Simon steps forward, untucks the string of your hoodie.

“Shower, Tapeti.”

He sits on the edge of the bed.

“We’ll be here.”

-

<3

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[chambersandfogg]

December 15th, 1928

My dear Mr. Chambers:

Will you come to luncheon on Tuesday, January the first, at half-past noon? As you know, I am currently in residence at The Stevens Hotel here in Chicago and they have a top-rate restaurant.

It feels like an age since we saw each other—you’ll be able to recognize me by my dashing good looks and the dark green of my suit. I imagine I’ll be able to recognize you by the same, though I’m sure your suit will be gray, as it tends to be.

Cordially yours, J. S. Fogg

[a letter received by C.X. Chambers]

[to read the pre-1917 entries, join Atypical Artists and get access to the archive of 24 entries (5,000+ words), as well as ad-free episodes of Atypical's whole catalogue. to receive future monthly missives straight to your inbox, sign up for free here]