#Neighbour Riffs

[rastronomicals]

8:54 AM EST March 8, 2024:

Surfer Blood - "Neighbour Riffs" From the album Astro Coast (January 19, 2010)

Last song scrobbled from iTunes at Last.fm

[butchviking]

woaagh did u guys know its fun to be bad at things.... found a big secret in life here

[jensettermandu]

A.D.I.D.A.S - huh yunjin

(All Day, I Dream About Sex)

genre; smut

pairing; desperate!yunjin x mean!fem reader

content; degrading, humiliation, yunjin being turned on by Y/n being mean, slightly perverted yunjin (lowkey simps for reader and is down bad), some breast play, cunnilingus (giving and receiving reader), fingering, some praising, spitting, choking, breath-play, a bit of thigh slapping, dom!reader/sub!yunjin

synopsis; yunjin's exams are coming up and among spending hours studying, her new neighbor seems to be a noisy metal-head who blasts music from morning to night. whenever she doesn't blast music, she's shredding on the guitar. yunjin is losing her mind after being ridiculed every time she's asked if she can tone it down, the frustrations getting the best of her. although, the guitarist knows just what is needed to help her relax.

wc; 8.8k+

masterlist

She tried to ignore it at first, to just deal with it and pretend that the noise didn’t exist. When that didn’t work she tried to put on headphones and blast her music, but it made it hard to focus. 

Yunjin’s new neighbour had a thing for loud music.

She wouldn’t mind it at all because she loved music, she even played instruments, but this wasn’t her genre of music.

The lyrics were vulgar or dark, straight angst. The sounds were pure noise in her ears and she couldn’t phantom who willingly listened to distorted electric guitar riffs, pounding drums or vigorous vocals.

It was safe to say that Yunjin hadn’t managed to become a fan of nu-metal or any other of the metal subgenres. 

If her neighbour wasn’t blasting music, they were seemingly playing it themselves on an electric guitar. She was starting to wonder if she was the only one bothered by this, but at the same time, she lived on the top floor which was mostly empty.

With exams coming up, the girl was already on the brink of a breakdown and was tense. Now a neighbour she had never seen with her eyes was blasting music every time she tried to study which was all the time. She had opted for libraries and cafés but they didn’t compare to sitting in the comfort of her home. 

Despite it making her feel like a nag and not something she wanted to be she found herself leaving the apartment to finally try and convince her neighbour to agree to tone it down. Just the thoughts were making her skin crawl because she had always been a person who liked music and didn’t get bothered by someone else. She minded her business and lived on with her life.

She closed her door and took what were three steps to reach the door where music was sounding muffled from the other side. With a hand running through her hair, she sighed and knocked at last–

And again.

Once again.

A frustrated sigh left her lips as she wasn’t sure what she had been expecting as the person on the other side didn’t even hear her knocking. This time she banged on the door, it was hurting her knuckles at this point as they were bright red by now.

The music got turned down and she knocked one last time before flailing her hand and dropping it to her side while she waited for the door to open. She was praying for it to be someone kind and not an asshole. The girl had no clue what to expect because she could have a perceived idea about who was on the other side, but she decided against it.

Her heart picked up when the girl who was just an inch taller opened the door. 

It just had to be the campus mean girl she had been avoiding at all costs because despite her slim figure she was sure the girl could swallow her whole. 

Y/n Y/l/n who was the lead guitarist in a band was in a whole different division compared to Yunjin.

“Who are you?”

It made the redhead's lips part as she felt insulted after having most of her classes with the dark-haired girl for the past year.

“Neighbour–I’m your neighbour.” She stated, gathering her words that withered. This had been the closest she’d been to the girl–no, the closest was when she once sat right beside her in English. God, how was she the only one to remember? 

The scent of vanilla was still the same, the girl was dressed in low-waisted jeans, a cropped tight shirt, star tattoos going right beside her hip bones that were protruding, her nose pierced, the same went to her belly button and when she glanced at her lips that moved she could see the silver bell on her tongue.

“Okay?” Y/n asked, somewhere between confused and maybe weirded out over why the girl was knocking on her door.

 Why was she being so rude? That was all Yunjin could think about.

Or maybe Yunjin was being sensitive because her tensed self was on the brink of losing her sanity and now her new neighbour was a metal-blasting asshole. 

She shifted on her feet, the slightly taller girl leaning her weight against the door frame.

“I just wanted to ask if you could maybe–the music, you know.”

“I don’t know,” her tone was bored, monotone and lifeless as her eyes stared at the ginger, slept in eye shadow, dressed in grunge with the same makeup style.

Despite these being waters Yunjin had never tested, the girl was undeniably hot. It was like a morbid curiosity. Yunjin was scared of Y/n but also intrigued and curious about the girl. She wanted to touch but also hide.

“It’s kind of loud and I am trying to study, but the noise makes it hard.”

Y/n held onto the door frame and leaned forward, coming closer to the girl who tried to stand her ground. On the inside, she was shaking with how nervous she was, crumbling under Y/n’s cold stare and resting bitch face.

“I take offence, noise is a genre of its own and not all metal is noise, and not all noise is metal.” Yunjin pursed her lips at the haughty smirk on Y/n’s lips and she had a feeling the girl was only trying to mock her, to get her angry, to just mess with her. 

“Sorry for offending you, but I have exams coming up and I don’t want to listen to someone screaming shove it, or being cut up and then fucked up.” It did work because she felt her temper grow short and all she wanted was to get it over.

“You just went from hot to less hot by not liking Deftones or Slipknot.”

“What–” She was somewhat stunned to hear that the girl found her hot, but she didn’t get to put in another word when the door shut in front of her face. Before she knew it the music started to pound once again.

All the girl could do was complain to her friends over the phone while being on the verge of tears because of the stress and her neighbour being hot, but also mean and it had bruised her ego when she got called less hot for not liking whatever bands she had mentioned. 

Instead of heading home the next day she stayed in the college library to study and would just walk home late. 

It wasn’t long until her peace was disturbed by the loud steps echoing through the library and she looked up from her laptop after hours. Her eyes scanned around her and at last, she spotted none other than Y/n and the band she played in. She averted her gaze back to her things when those intense eyes caught hers staring, but she still did a subtle glance to do damage control and see if she had been caught–

Why was Y/n heading her way? She was growing nervous and anxious once again.

Yunjin tried her best to look as occupied as possible, but it wasn’t long until the lead guitarist pulled out a chair. The chair creaked along the wooden floor and Yunjin winced, looking up at Y/n who sat down in front of her.

“What’re you doing here?” She asked as she slumped back in the chair while crossing her arms. The girl played with her pierced tongue as she raised her eyebrows at the girl across from her.

“I study here.” 

“You do?” Y/n asked, surprise lacing her tone and Yunjin couldn’t determine if she was serious or not when they had so many classes together.

She didn’t get to reply because Y/n was full of herself. “You sure you’re not following me?” 

Her lips pursed into a forced smile at the dark-haired girl who licked her plump lips that were glistening with lip gloss. The ginger cursed God for letting a self-entitled asshole be hot.

“Are you serious?” Yunjin asked in disbelief, heaving a sigh at the annoyance the girl was causing her. Y/n nodded with wide eyes, looking dead serious about the whole thing.

“We have the same classes, you always sit at the back and see everyone–”

“Oh, so…You’re stalking me?” The urge to drill Y/n’s head through each shelf of books was strong.

“I am not.” She hissed, utterly annoyed with how confident Y/n was to even utter those words. The more she would try to explain or defend herself the more like a stalker she would look like.

Y/n rolled her eyes and planted her palms on the wooden table as she stood up. Yunjin quickly averted her eyes away from the girl’s cleavage as she had a spaghetti strap top on. God, Y/n knew what she was doing from how that smirk was right back. The ginger was sure she had caught her looking further down than what her eyes were.

“I’m just kidding, carrot top, no need to get offended, but no I haven’t noticed you before which I guess is somewhat of a bummer.” Now Yunjin was offended, but Y/n was already leaving her behind as she walked through the library. She was offended but was also fighting the way she felt flustered at the somewhat flirty remark from the mean girl. 

She had just been called Carrot Top, BUT Y/n also said that it was a bummer she hadn’t noticed her before.

Yunjin hated Y/n, but she was also so riveting that she found herself thinking about her a bit more that day and the day after.

“Could you please turn it off or at least tone it down for an hour or two, please,” she found herself begging her neighbour. Yunjin wasn’t sure if it was because she wanted to see the girl again and maybe receive a backhanded compliment once again or to be able to study. It was probably both as the girl stood leaning towards her as she held herself with both hands on either frame of the door. 

“Look how cute—” Y/n started and Yunjin waited for what she would say next. “You’re pathetically begging me.” She took it as an insult and a compliment because somewhere along those lines she had been called cute in one way or another by one of the hottest and most sought-after girls on college grounds. Y/n was the type to crush a guy’s ego and spirit and make girls flash their breasts at their concerts that were attended by quite a huge crowd at a live club. 

Around 500-700 people which wasn’t bad at all.

Maybe there was something wrong with Yunjin’s ears if there were so many people enjoying metal.

“Y/n—” She cut herself off as the name just slipped her lips even if they hadn’t officially introduced each other.

“Kind of expected my stalker to know my name. Do you even live here? Or do you pretend and are waiting for an opportunity to one day break into my apartment and do whatever pervy things you’ve been imagining?” Yunjin’s ears were burning hot at the girl’s words and now her mind trailed off to those pervy things because they were mentioned, but she quickly got back on track. At least she tried because they were still swimming in her head as she stared at the girl in front of her while being somewhere between drowning and getting out of the imagining. 

“Everyone knows your name.” 

“I know.” It made the girl roll her eyes at how confident she still was. “What’s your name?” It somewhat caught the ginger off guard. It didn’t seem likely for Y/n to ask for her name if she had been nothing but mean. The last thing she seemed to care about would be her name yet she was asking about it.

“What do you need my name for?” She asked with raised eyebrows, but it didn’t make the girl’s confidence falter.

“Well, it’s either you tell it or I call you Carrot Top.”

“Yunjin.” It was an easy choice.

“Nice to meet you Yunjin.” With that the door slammed closed once again and a few seconds after the music started to blast again.

“No, literally turn your music off or…” She trailed off, looking for what she would do if the metalhead wouldn’t turn off the music. Her brain racked for things as she found herself right outside Y/n’s door again. At this point, she just mostly wanted to look at the girl she had unfortunately grown infatuated with despite barely knowing her and only seeing her at college from afar. Y/n barely spared her a glance, but somehow that made it better. It made her feel less guilty for what she had done. Eye contact would have been difficult.

“Or?” Y/n prompted, wanting to know what would happen if she didn’t turn down her music. The only person who had been complaining was Yunjin, but she assumed that it was because the apartment next to hers was empty and the other was occupied by a deaf elderly woman. 

“I don’t know, but just turn it off,” Yunjin exclaimed, the frustrations getting the best of her as she was ready to get into a verbal fight with the girl. There were so many reasons to be frustrated in the end. 

“You’re angry today, aren’t you?” Y/n only questioned, further fueling the girl who looked like she was on the verge of blowing up. She found it amusing, and she was somewhat baffled by how she had missed the girl completely in her classes, but at the same time, the girl was far from the person she was right now in classes. She didn’t seem like the type to knock on doors and lose her shit. 

“Yes, I am and it’s all your fault.” She blamed the girl right away who had been getting on her nerves since she woke up this Saturday because of Y/n playing electric guitar.

“What’s your problem?” 

“You are my problem.”

“Why is that?” Yunjin groaned at the questions she was being asked.

“Because you move in here, blast your music, refuse to tone it down, you call me carrot top, then you give me these backhanded compliments which you shouldn’t because you are too hot to be flirting with just anyone because everyone will hope that you are serious and–”

“I am serious though. You are hot, but you would be even hotter if you liked my favourite bands and were less of a freak.” Y/n didn’t even blink or stutter when she said those words- Yunjin bit her tongue while blinking her eyes and staring at Y/n.

“I’m sorry but I hate your bands, whatever they are.”

“But you like me?” Yunjin’s eyes went wide at the question from the vixen in front of her.

“No, I hate you for being a jerk.” 

“Okay, but you do find me hot, so we have mutual feelings.”

It made her more than flustered as the heat ran to her cheeks. “That’s–” Yunjin wanted to continue and argue about the music as she was frustrated and taking out her frustrations on Y/n seemed like a great option. Y/n had a quicker tongue as she cut her off once again. 

“You know, guitar players are quite good at using their fingers and you look like my newest one, so, would you mind if I played you to find out how good you sound?” The abominable words made Yunjin’s lips part as something still twisted in her stomach and the heat shot south instead of north because the thoughts were stronger than Y/n’s horrible pickup line.

“I hate you.” Y/n leaned closer as she held onto the door frame, this was the closest they had been as their faces were a few mere inches apart. “How about you take it all out in my bed? You can be as loud as you want because my neighbour who complains about noise isn’t home.” It wasn’t hard to figure out that she meant Yunjin when she said those words.

The ginger was fighting all her urges.

The door slammed closed once again and this time it wasn’t in front of Yunjin’s face but behind her as Y/n pushed her into her door. It was followed by a gasp and the vixen’s slender hands with those long fingers found their way to her ass as she gripped it.

At last, she got to taste Y/n’s plump lips after watching those haughty and teasing smiles grace them. It was her first time kissing someone with a pierced tongue and Yunjin found herself eagerly sucking Y/n’s tongue into her mouth. That was enough to draw out a moan from the back of Y/n’s throat, the ring clanking against teeth before she swirled her tongue around it, toying with it.

Y/n chuckled at the eagerness of the ginger, her fingers digging into the flesh of the girl’s ass, squeezing and pushing her more into the door. 

“You’re so needy, aren’t you? Have you been imagining me fucking you?” Y/n’s voice dropped an octave, clouded with lust as she pulled away from Yunjin’s plump lips. A string of saliva followed and the guitarist leaned in and licked it off of her lips. The action made heat shoot through the girl’s body, running straight to her clit. It was making her crumble and slowly lose this composure she had tried to put on to not show how needy she truly was for the girl.

She tangled her fingers in Y/n’s dark hair, her head falling back against the door to give her the space she needed to kiss along her neck. “You’re so fucking full of yourself,” Yunjin grumbled as the guitarist was cocky, but it was doing unimaginable things to her arousal.  

“You’re about to be just as full of me as I am,” Y/n said with a chuckle at the words. The action made Yunjin moan when her ass got smacked and a knee got placed right between her thighs. Y/n pressed into her heated cunt that was throbbing with need and the ginger wanted nothing more than to orgasm and hope for all these frustrations to go away that were caused by her sexy neighbour and godforsaken exams. 

Teeth dug into her juncture, hand running from her ass and up under her oversized shirt–only now realising that she wasn’t exactly dressed in a flattering way. She was in a pair of sweats and a shirt for comfort and she could feel Y/n smirk against her skin as she sucked right at her pulse because she had no bra on either. The girl still had her specs on as she had been in the middle of studying.

Yunjin’s hips started gyrating, grinding herself against the knee between her thighs as she couldn’t control it. The need was overwhelming and her clit was throbbing painfully. Small gasps started falling from her, bliss overtaking as she closed her eyes with her lips parted.

Y/n cupped the breast in her hand, slowly starting to knead it while getting a hold of the stiff bud. It elicited a whiny moan from the ginger when she tugged on it and the vixen pulled away from her neck which was shiny with spit and bite marks. The girl was lost, completely, fucking herself on her knee as Y/n helped guide her hips by her ass where her fingers were digging into the soft flesh. 

“Fuck–I want to come, Y/n.” 

“How bad do you want it?” She asked, pressing harder with her knee and watching the way it made the girl crumble as her hands fell to Y/n’s shirt, gripping it desperately. Her clit rubbed against her through the layers of clothes, the pressure tingling in her body as each second she grew more desperate. It made her humping sloppier, messier and needier to chase her high.

“So bad,” the girl whined out, light moans left her mouth. The heat was building up and the tension in her stomach grew. Y/n watched the frown cover the girl who tensed up, her jaw falling slack. “Oh fuck, so close–” That was all Y/n needed to know. 

“Not bad enough.” She said, clicking her tongue as she pulled her knee away from between the girl’s thighs who let out a cry at the frustrations that got ten times worse now. All that tension went away and the only thing left was that painful pulsating of her clit. 

“What?” Yunjin let out, her voice cracked in the process as it had been in a high pitch just as she was about to reach her peak. The ginger pushed her head up and her eyes were glossed over, looking at Y/n who licked her lips. 

“I said, you don’t seem to want it bad enough.” 

Yunjin looked over Y/n, her eyes trailing the girl’s lanky body with her chest heaving, still leaning against the door with Y/n’s hands not on her body anymore. The vixen ran a hand through her dark hair that was more messy after she had been tugging on it, a glint of mischief in her eyes and Yunjin’s stomach was doing flips because of how needy she was, but also how hot Y/n was. 

She wanted to get fucked.

Not just fucked.

But fucked by Y/n.

Right now. 

“Please,” she pleaded, her eyes going docile to add to it.

“Please?” Y/n questioned.

“Please fuck me, eat me out, or finger me, just please do something. I want you to fuck my pussy until I orgasm.” The words flew out so quickly that she had no clue that they did. There was no shame behind them and the only thing to show that she had some shame left in her was the tint that covered her cheeks.

“That’s pathetic,” Y/n commented and Yunjin was slowly losing it more and more as she couldn’t figure out what the girl wanted her to do anymore. 

Why was getting her pussy eaten out by the lead so difficult?

“I like it,” well…

Maybe it wasn’t that hard.

Boney fingers bunched up her loose t-shirt and Yunjin was being dragged through the apartment she had assumed would look completely different as it was light in the living room and kitchen. Her preconceptions had been off–

That was until she was dragged into the room where the walls were covered in banners of what Yunjin assumed were album covers, bands, and their logos. On the wall were three electric Fender guitars hung up, one black, one white, and one pastel pink (?). 

“Watch the pedals.” She almost tripped but got roughly pulled by her shirt, threads snapping in it to avoid stepping onto the board with pedals. It still left her stumbling over other wires as nothing was put away and it was messy. 

“Jesus,” she complained and was pushed down to sit on the bed. 

“Shut up.” 

“Wha–” The girl was caught off guard, Y/n was already pushing her down on the bed and getting on top of her. Her specs got removed in the process and discarded to the side. Those same slender fingers cupped her jaw and her eyes closed at the lips that came right back onto hers. They tasted like strawberries and she found herself sucking on Y/n’s bottom lip, her hands gripping onto the slim thighs that were on each side of her body. The whole room held the scent of that strong vanilla and she was drowning in the bedsheets. 

She tugged on Y/n’s bottom lip before she let go to catch her breath, panting for air under the girl who removed her shirt, revealing a black lacy bra that wasn’t leaving anything to the imagination. The shirt fell with a thud and Yunjin pushed herself up onto her elbows. Her eyes took in Y/n’s slim body as she couldn’t know if she would ever see it this way again. 

“It’s a shame you don’t come to our concerts, maybe we would’ve done this much sooner.” Y/n slyly said as she grabbed the hem of Yunjin’s loose shirt and helped her pull it over her head. She bit her lower lip at the supple breasts, her two buds stiff.

“I already said that I don’t like—”

“Maybe my tongue can change your mind.” Y/n cut her off while pushing her down by the shoulder. It was mouth-watering and Yunjin craned her neck, biting her lower lip at the way Y/n glanced up at her just a mere inch away from her chest. It shot heat to her clit and her hips bucked, earning a breathless chuckle from Y/n, the air making her whine when it hit her sensitive nipple. 

Her head fell back, hands trying to grip the girl’s low-waisted jeans but they weren’t baggy enough and it only let her nails dig into them. It was electrifying how Y/n toyed with her nipple, pulling it into her mouth, flicking at it and pressing the hard piercing against it before sucking. Small moans and whimpers slipped past her plump and parted lips, Y/n’s tongue warm and slick as she coated her breasts with her saliva, leaving it to get cold when she moved from one spot to another.

Y/n moved to the other breast after wetting the first one, making it easier to tease it with her fingers. The ginger kept pressing her chest into her face, hips bucking into hers and Y/n’s hips moved, pressing her clothed heat against Yunjin’s. 

“Fuck,” she breathed out, getting lost in the bliss Y/n created as she played with her chest. Sucking on the soft flesh, tugging on her nipples, twisting and dragging teeth over them, biting softly and leaving the buds more swollen and her chest glistening. It was hard to focus on anything when Y/n’s jeans were pressing through her sweats and grinding down on her cunt, dragging up and down and pressing into her clit every upstroke. It was making Yunjin’s toes curl and throat run dry. 

Y/n moved down, kissing down her cleavage, sucking the middle and down to her underboob, making sure to suck on the skin there too. She licked a long stripe along the underside of her right boob before sucking on it, simultaneously she flicked at her other nipple and it earned her a high cry of pain with a mix of pleasure. 

“Want me to fuck you with my mouth?” Y/n questioned, mumbling against her stomach as she kissed down the skin while Yunjin was heaving under her. Her nipples aching after the treatment, wanting more of it, but also wanting Y/n’s mouth on her cunt.

Yunjin was almost embarrassed. She wanted nothing more than for Y/n to go down on her because she was leaking wet. She was quite sure it would soon be visible through her grey sweats if the lead wouldn’t remove them and slurp all her juices up. There was tension between her thighs, it had been there for a while and she wanted Y/n to do something about it. 

“I want your mouth to eat me out.”

“Want me to eat you out like you’re a whore or a good girl?” Y/n questioned and Yunjin whimpered at the words that sent heat over her whole body. Her pussy was throbbing uncomfortably and Y/n was kissing just above the hem of her sweats, sitting between her legs that were spread wide for her. The guitarist hummed and cupped the girl’s heat, pressing right where she needed her with the pad of her palm, feeling hips push and subtly hump against her. The girl twisted the sheets in her fingers. “Which one are you for me?” She asked further and watched the shaky sigh that Yunjin released.

“Think you might be a whore the way you begged me to fuck you, how you’ve been coming over complaining all while imaging how it would feel to get fucked by me.” The vixen teased, rubbing the pad of her thumb against the warmth, it was enough to make the thighs quiver. 

“I don’t fantasise about you.” Yunjin defended and Y/n removed her hand from her covered pussy. She sat back on her heels and wrapped her fingers around the hem of her sweats. 

“The walls are thin, cutie.” Y/n teased and caught the way Yunjin’s eyes widened at the words as she had taught that the only reason why she heard Y/n’s music was because she blasted it so loudly. 

“Once.” To her defence, she had been tired and horny and Y/n had just gotten on her nerves by slamming a door in her face while also giving her backhanded compliments. 

Okay, she had started crushing and was desperate despite Y/n being mean to her. It left Y/n running on her mind, her pussy suddenly was wet, and she found herself in her bedroom fucking herself while thinking and “mumbling” about Y/n and what she wanted.

This was far from who the girl was, but somehow she just forgot about dignity around the Y/n.

“Still doing it–” Y/n concluded, tongue out and playing with the corner of her lip as she slowly started to pull the sweats down. The ginger lifted her hips, feeling her underwear slowly peel off of her sticky cunt. Y/n threw them off her bed, letting them fall onto the floor. Her smile wasn’t disappearing as she looked at Yunjin’s wet cunt that was glistening with juices. The vixen leaned forward, seeing how embarrassed the girl looked, her hand fell beside her head, her right coming between the younger’s legs.

The moan came right away when cold fingers ran through her folds, spreading them together with her sticky mess, only making it that much worse. She could feel it run down her ass and onto the sheets. “So desperate, such a fucking perv, fucking yourself, moaning my name and thinking about me. Should I get a restraining order?” Yunjin couldn’t comprehend it, but there was just something so hot about Y/n being so mean to her, humiliating her and degrading her. 

The guitarist was very well aware of it when the girl bucked her hips at the words. Her eyes faded in bliss, losing focus and lids hooded with fingers twisting the duvet. “Come on, tell me how bad of a whore you are. Aren’t you embarrassed?” Y/n ushered, the sounds slowly occupying the room as her middle finger teased the clenching hole, barely dipping it in before she circled the greedy and sopping entrance where everything was leaking out.

“Fuck, I am, but I just want to get fucked by you at least once, Y/n.” She whined, admitting to having the hots for her new neighbour that she had found herself perving over in her head. “I’m sorry, it just happened,” she continued to whine, on the verge of tears at how embarrassing it was for her, but at the same time, it was making her cunt throb more while it was toyed with by the slender fingers she had imagined before this. Yet Y/n wasn’t touching her where she wanted her. 

“You’re not sorry, I just know you will go home and continue fucking yourself while thinking of me. Tell me what you thought about when fucking yourself.” 

“Your fingers deep inside me ‘cause your hands are so fucking–” She choked, two fingers stretching her hole as they slowly pushed in. Y/n watched how her lips parted, tilting her head to admire the girl better. The hands that could shred on a guitar were slender, veiny and had long fingers–she no longer had to imagine what they could reach. Y/n pushed knuckle-deep into the girl and slowly started to pump the clenching hole while curving up and caressing her g-spot. The sopping sounds her pussy was producing was shameful because of how wet Y/n was able to make her with just some words and touching. 

They barely knew each other, but Yunjin was already giving up her dignity for the vixen.

“How you would play with my clit,” her back arched when Y/n pressed the pad of her thumb against her clit, pressing against it, slowly circling it and letting Yunjin fuck herself against her. “I wanted your hands around my neck and your spit in my mouth for being so fucking bad and thinking about fucking you when I barely know you.” Y/n bit her lower lip, her fingers being squeezed as Yunjin was getting turned on by her own words. All those things she had fantasised about came right back to her mind and left her uncontrollably pulsating from the inside.

She sat back on her heels, hand running over the ginger's stomach and between her breasts until she reached her slim neck. Yunjin moaned louder at how perfectly they wrapped around her throat, slowly stopping the air that was flowing to her head. Her hands quickly grasped at Y/n’s wrist, unable to stop the grinding of her hips, the squelching sounds filled the room, and her moans grew strained as there was only a small amount of oxygen getting to her.

“Y/n…” She strained out, nails digging into the wrist as her eyes rolled back. The sounds muffled. 

“Open your mouth wide if you want to take a breath, needy slut.” Y/n ordered and the girl gasped as she opened her mouth. The band member leaned over, fingers speeding up in her cunt and making Yunjin plant her feet down and raise her knees to press more into her. Despite barely being able to see, all the pleasure, it was overwhelmingly good while also barely being able to comprehend what was going on. Y/n fucking her like a toy with her fingers, choking her, ordering her, and spitting in her mouth while her pussy was letting out sopping sounds just how she had wanted it to look. 

Her tongue stuck out, and the spit landed right on it, warm and spreading over it. The hand on her throat let go and she barely managed to take a breath when Y/n used her hand to force her mouth closed. “Fucking swallow before you try anything else.” And she did just that, swallowing the spit that had lingered on her tongue, it felt like a reward to have Y/n spit in her mouth. 

“Good, live your dream.” Y/n teased and ran her thumb over Yunjin’s wet lips, and tugged down on her plump bottom lip. She gestured with her head to the girl who was barely present as she was moaning and squirming under her, but she got the memo. Yunjin sucked the thumb into her mouth as Y/n pushed until she reached her knuckle, it was close to making her gag and Y/n started to pull out. Her cheeks hollowed and let go with a pop before another whimper left her. 

“Please, make me come, I want it so much, please.” She begged and Y/n pulled her fingers out of her sopping hole that had a warm and snug grip on her. Yunjin wanted to whine and complain but stopped when Y/n moved down and got on her stomach. 

She did not wait as she had come face to face with the pink and wet pussy. The girl held her legs spread wide, pulling them even further apart and inviting Y/n to start eating her out. Her raised to watch when she would do it, wanting to see her pussy get eaten. To see the look on Y/n’s face of how big of a mess she made her because she had been thinking about this.

Her tongue came out, flat and dragging up her slit, parting the swollen lips of the girl’s puffy pussy. It made her hum at the taste and she went right back down to tease her hole and gather more of the juices onto her tongue.

Her head dropped at the feeling. “Fuck, you feel so good,” Yunjin’s hand flew to Y/n’s hair, eagerly pushing her head into her pussy. The piercing dragged along her slit, adding a new sensation of the barbell that circled her clit and made her hips raise. Y/n wrapped her slim arm around the girl’s thigh, gripping the flesh between her fingers, kneading it while drowning in Yunjin’s sopping pussy.

Those plump lips wrapped around her swollen clit, tugging on it before she suckled. It made Yunjin whimper, her legs quivering around Y/n’s head and she moved her leg over her shoulder, her heel digging into Y/n’s spine as her hips humped at her face. The tongue firmly flicked, pressing the piercing against it before going right back to flicking in a way that was making Yunjin writhe into the sheets. Her moans grew gradually louder, sounding more needy and strained with every hard flick against her swollen slick bud. The pink nerves were sensitive and slowly brought her to the edge because of the muscle that was toying with it.

“Oh God, so good, your tongue is so fucking good.” She whined out a moan.

The lead guitarist nuzzled her face into the girl's cunt, her fingers coming right back to the clasping hole that she pushed into. Y/n pressed them right on her g-spot, applying just the right amount of pressure to make the girl under her spasm. Yunjin was losing her mind over how well Y/n was working on her pussy. The tension was quickly growing in her stomach, pushing it all down and she was right on the edge again. Her breathing grew quicker and deeper, each moan more breathy if not breathless at times.

Y/n grazed her teeth over it and put her tongue flat against it, letting Yunjin fuck herself against her, the piercing moving over the clit. Her hair was being tugged on, the heel digging deeper into her spine from how the girl was pushing her sticky cunt into her face. She sucked the clit back in between her lips, tongue stiff and working hard against the bud, doing quick flicks that Yunjin could feel spread through her whole body as each nerve was being sparked with light.

“I’m gonna come!” She cried out, body tensing up, her back arched off the bed and her vision washed over with black as she lost control over her voice.

Y/n looked up at the girl from between her legs, lips tugging at how loud the girl was who clasped around her fingers, holding them in a chokehold while her walls thudded just like her clit. Her voice strained and her thighs were shaking, making Y/n slap the flesh and grasp at it. It only fueled Yunjin’s orgasm who was fucking Y/n’s mouth herself at this point with the way her hips were stuttering into her mouth. It landed her Y/n’s palm against her thigh once again, much harsher and the pain stung right through it and to her overstimulated bundle of nerves.

Slowly her moans died down and all that was left was the sounds of her trying to catch her breath. Her eyes closed and her hands covered her face at how lost she felt. Her body slowly relaxed into the bed, trying to figure out how she ended up here to begin with all while Y/n was still between her legs. It was making it hard to focus on anything else besides the tongue.

She pulled her lips away from the sensitive bud that was making the girl’s legs spasm every time she touched it. Her fingers slowly pulled out and she leaned down, licking everything up, cleaning the mess she made. It was bringing back the soft whimpers and gasps as her tongue worked at the pussy with kittenish licks. 

“Fuck.” She exclaimed when Y/n slapped her thigh once again with a grumble and she shakily removed her leg that had been wrapped securely around her. Her eyes followed Y/n who sat up, her chin and nose glistening with her wetness and all Yunjin’s shame was gone as the sight made her thighs clench again.

The ginger was about to sit up only to get shoved back down. Y/n gave her that pompous smile as her hands reached behind her back. “Time to pay back for making your perverted fantasies come true. Or is eating me out one of them too?” Her breath hitched when the lacy bra unclasped and Y/n let it fall down her shoulder before throwing it to the side. The vixen revealed her small and perky breasts to Yunjin, her nipples hard and Yunjin was slowly going into overdrive. Her pussy was still going through aftershocks yet her clit was throbbing at the view of Y/n naked and her words.

“Please, ride my face.” Y/n let out a breathless chuckle at the request, running a hand through her dark hair. The naked girl on her bed had lost all shame, begging for her fantasies to come true. 

“Have you imagined me riding your face, using your mouth to get off?” 

“Fuck, yes I have and I just want to taste you, Y/n.” The girl had already imagined what the guitarist would taste like on her tongue while grinding down on her face. She just wanted Y/n right on top of her, using her like the needy whore that she was for being used after imaging it. To just be her fuck toy, to pleasure her and get her pussy fucked until it was raw. 

Her eyes were eager on Y/n who got off of the bed. 

“You can taste me.” She worked her belt, unbuckling it before she unbuttoned the low-waisted jeans.

Yunjin pushed herself further up the bed, eyeing Y/n who removed her bottoms and underwear. Never did she think she would get to see Y/n naked, or even get fucked by her. The vixen did not look like the kind to bring someone like Yunjin to bed, but maybe that was her thing. Coming off as completely riveting to people who were opposites to her.

“You’re going to eat me out like a good little pussy eater because you want me so bad.” Y/n’s voice was humid as she spoke while getting on the bed. Her eyes set on Yunjin who felt like prey and she wanted nothing more than to be one. The vixen’s slim body was like a cat the way she crawled over to her.

“I want to taste you, be good and eat you whenever you want me to.” She licked her lips, and her eyes fell onto Y/n’s heat when the girl straddled her chest and Yunjin grabbed hold of her protruding hips. She looked like she would start shaking if Y/n wouldn’t let her get a taste. Her fingers ran over the tattoos that went along her skin, tracing the stars but her eyes were stuck to the pink pussy that was waiting for her mouth. It made her one hand run down between them, trailing her skin.

“That’s what perverts like you want, you dream about having sex with me all day and get off on these thoughts. Not many have the chance to live through it.” Y/n tangled a hand in the orange hair, threading her fingers through it and Yunjin looked up at her to meet her eyes. It made her thighs clench to see Y/n looking down at her. “Do it well and I will let you eat me out again, might even fuck you more times than just today.” That was more than motivation for Yunjin who used her arm to pull Y/n right over to her mouth.

A light moan fell from Y/n’s lips and Yunjin moaned right after when she ran her tongue over the slit. Her hand was busy between her legs, playing with her clit to the sounds Y/n was making, to her taste, and to having her ride on top of her. It was all turning her on so much more than she already was as she had only been able to imagine what Y/n would sound like in bed. 

Y/n gripped the headboard of the bed, moving her hips into Yunjin’s face who was eating her out like her life depended on it. The moans slipped out of her mouth at how good it felt to have the girl’s slick tongue slide between her folds, teasing her clenching hole and her nose stimulating her clit. All she had to do was slightly move her hips while the girl greedily did the rest, slurping at her like she was starved.

Yunjin moved her hand down from Y/n’s hip and to her plump ass, kneading her cheek in her hand. Her mouth lapped at her pussy, taking in everything she could get while her nose continuously rubbed at the clit. The girl had her eyes on Y/n though who had her head thrown back while arching, unable to look away while she worked with her mouth on her cunt. She continued to fuck herself while doing so, her hips bucking into her fingers as she was sensitive. It was like watching an erotic scene in Yunjin’s eyes who was fucking herself and Y/n as she was unable to not fuck herself at the sight.

“You’re doing so good, fuck you’re a good fucking whore, aren’t you?” Yunjin moaned in response, pressing her nose harder against Y/n’s clit who continued to fuck her face. Her nails digging in the firm flesh of her ass, tongue probing at her hole. The sounds filled the whole room, Yunjin’s tongue lapping at the wet cunt, Y/n moaning and whimpering with each move of her hips that were perfectly grinding against Yunjin’s face. The younger girl was taking it all, letting it smear over her mouth and chin, wanting to be covered in Y/n’s mess.

“I want you to come on my face,” she mumbled as she momentarily pulled away. Her voice quivered as she could feel herself about to orgasm once again.

“It’s all for you, fucking cumdump. All you’re good for is being a freak that eats pussy.” Yunjin cried out at the words that shot right to her poor clit that she had gotten abused by Y/n and couldn’t help but abuse herself too. She was too needy. 

“Call me a perverted freak, Y/n.” She begged, her eyes closed this time.

“You’re nothing but a perverted freak–Oh God, but you eat pussy so well.” Those backhanded compliments sent Yunjin to her edge. 

Y/n’s thighs trembled, her nails digging into the girl’s scalp as she let out a long and light moan as her back arched and her hips stuttered into Yunjin’s face. Her orgasm washed over her while Yunjin was going through her own, her thighs clasped around her hand while Y/n’s were squeezing her head. The pulling on her hair only added to all the pleasure. 

She only stopped toying with her clit when Y/n came down from her peak, slowly stopping the movement of her hips. However, she held the girl in place by holding onto her orange hair. 

“Fuck, clean my mess for me too,” Y/n said and bit her lower lip as she looked down at Yunjin who worked her tongue, her jaw slowly going sore as she did her best to clean up every little trace of the slick left. The vixen looked over her shoulder, catching the hand that snuck out from between Yunjin’s trembling thighs. 

“Did you fuck yourself?”

She hummed and Y/n lifted her hips, looking at Yunjin whose nose, chin, and plump lips were glistening with her slickness. It was photo-worthy as the girl looked like she had been fucked for hours multiple times from how satisfied she was with what she got. It was as if the smallest drop of water would satisfy her thirst and Y/n realised how big of a freak the girl was. It was hot, to say the least.

The guitarist moved off of her and got off the bed while Yunjin was gathering herself. 

Had she just fucked her mean, but hot neighbour? 

Yes.

Did she regret it?

No.

She would gladly go through this again because it was much better than she had imagined. 

Her pussy was still throbbing and her perverted fantasies about her mean neighbour had come true. Whatever judgement she thought she would get, Y/n didn’t give, but instead gave in to Yunjin’s desires for her. 

Her eyes scanned the room one last time, the blinds were down, it was dimly lit and more on the messy side, but not dirty as it smelled of sex and vanilla now. She at last looked at the ceiling after being so lost in the pleasure her eyes squinting as her specs were discarded.

Only now seeing the graffiti on the girl’s ceiling right above the bed in black which read;

“A.D.I.D.A.S?” She confusedly questioned as it seemed random. 

Y/n rolled her eyes while rummaging through her wardrobe. “You’re so lame.”

“What?” Yunjin still had no clue what it meant, however she knew that Y/n found her lame. At least she found her hot and fucked her so it didn’t matter. The more lame Y/n found her, the more Yunjin got off. The ginger quickly got up from the bed after getting back the feeling in her jelly legs. Quickly trying to gather her clothes and put them on all while looking at Y/n who was picking out clothes from her wardrobe, some falling out and landing on the floor in a pile.

“Nothing, I have to get ready for the concert tonight. You could come, bring a friend.” Y/n threw the invite out there while grabbing a towel and covering herself with it as she had to shower before. She at last turned to look at Yunjin who had just pulled her shirt over her head, fumbling with her bottoms.

“None of my friends listen to your band's type of music.” The girl mumbled. However, Y/n’s tongue did make her rethink and want to try and listen to the music.

“Those are my underwear and are you sure?” Y/n pointed out with that almost malicious grin as she bit her lower lip. Her siren-like eyes set on Yunjin who held the black lace in her hand while pulling on her sweats.

“Sorry–” She blushed and was about to put them back as it was genuinely by accident as they had somehow tangled themselves up with her clothes, but she was stopped.

“You can keep them.” Y/n shrugged out, wanting to see if the girl would do it or not. It was hot to see someone be this down for her as it had happened before, but Yunjin was down bad bad.

Yunjin was hesitant as she looked at the lacy pair of used underwear in her hold. It would stay between them in the end. “I’m sure.” She replied, quickly stuffing them in her pocket and reaching for the specs that she put back on. It wouldn’t hurt to maybe get off with them in her hold if Y/n got to find out about her fantasies either way. She cleared her throat, her cheeks burning at the way Y/n was looking at her and she wasn’t sure when she became so thrown off the rails. The vixen stood leaning against the wardrobe, phone in hand.

“So…you’re not friends with Chaewon?” She curiously asked as she had seen the two girls together multiple times, but it looked like they maybe didn’t tell each other everything when Yunjin creased her eyebrows in confusion.

“Chaewon? How do you know Chaewon?”

“You can see yourself out, carrot top,” Y/n replied instead while walking towards the bedroom door to get to the bathroom. She did look back at the girl who seemed baffled, giving her a sly grin and wink before the speakers started to blast more metal and Yunjin was left to see herself out.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

the girl next door 1

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, manipulation, chronic illness, noncon/dubcon, coercion, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: A new neighbour moves in and upends your already disarrayed life.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself.

This lewk but silverfox

“Mom, we should get going,” you say as you check your bag.

Your mother sits at the table. It’s cluttered as always. You can see her inhaler amid the mess. Wait, there’s another one. You cross the kitchen, only two steps, and grab both inhalers. You feel the subtle difference between them.

You take both, putting the full one back in the medicine cabinet and the other in the disposal bin. The doctor said the inhalent would help with your mother’s dopamine levels, balances her out a little, but the new treatment only seems to be another symptom of her disease. She hates doing it, she hates all of it, but you can’t blame her for that.

“We can’t be late for the consultation. We’ll be waiting another six months,” you come back to the kitchen.

She looks at you as she wobbles slightly. The tremor is more prominent than before. Each day you notice it more. All the little things changing about her. She’s a bit slower, her words don’t come easy or always clearly, and her mood grows grimmer and grimmer. So does yours.

You grab your purse and the keys. You’ll clean up when you get home. It doesn’t take very long for living to pile up though. Especially when you’re the only one to keep it in order.

Your mother grips the table and stands up. Getting her dressed was a battle already won. Her posture is slightly crooked as she shuffles around the table, “I’m moving.”

You step back, waiting patiently for her to round the table. She grumbles. Your mother was never bright and bubbly but ever since her diagnosis, she’s lost any glimmer of warmth. It’s like she’s living in a fog, just slowly wading through.

You walk down the hall ahead of her and pick out your shoes from the rack. As you kneel to tie your sneakers, she leans on the wall and slides her feet into the orthotic flats. She’s not very old yet. Neither of you expected her to decline so quickly.

You stand and open the door. You back up though the screen door and hold it for her. Her steps get a bit smoother the more she moves around. The permanent scowl sinks into the lines of her face as she comes out onto the porch. You lock the door behind her as she grunts and leans on the railing, stamping down each step to the walkway.

You follow behind her. That’s another problem. The lawn. The old mower broke. You haven’t been able to replace it.

As you trail your mother to the car, she swats you away. Sometimes you try too much for her. You know she must feel helpless. You back up as she sits heavily in the passenger seat and your eyes skim around the neighbourhood. The white sign on the lawn next to yours catches your eye.

You remember the finely dressed woman, her very image on the sign, and how she grimaced at the weeds and grass. If she’s going to sell the property, the neighbours shouldn’t be living in a jungle. You heard her say as much over the phone as she paced back and forth on the porch.

You mother pulls the door shut but it doesn’t click. You give it an extra push to secure it and round the hood. You get in the car and turn the key, rolling down the windows as the early summer morning crowds the tight space. Your mother mutters and wipes her forehead with a shaky hand.

“Let’s just go,” she sneers, “waste of my time...” she bends her arm over the open window, her fingers quivering, “damn doctors said it enough. Nothing they can do. Charlatans.”

“Mom,” you chide gently, “the surgery could help. If you qualify--”

“I heard ya last night,” she snaps. “Just drive.”

You nod and snap your mouth shut. You shift into reverse and back out of the drive. You know better than to talk too much. Your mother never liked hearing anything she didn’t want to hear. Facts are just an attack on her.

You steer down the street slowly, following the curve of the suburban street. The green lawns and white picket fences are palatial at first glance. It’s a 1950s fever dream implanted in the twenty-first century.

Your house is the black stain on an otherwise pristine canvas. The HOA must curse your grandmother for her leaving a perfectly nice home to a pair of beatnicks. You don’t blame them. You’re the puzzle piece that doesn’t fit, leaving a gaping hole in the picture.

The radio crackles on and you wince. Your mother struggles to turn the knob and the volume pendulums up and down. You reach to help her and she smacks your hand, only softly as she has little strength behind it. You retract and grip the wheel, listening to buzzing struggle of her unsteady. You just hope the appointment goes well.

🏠

Your mother hasn’t said much since the appointment. That worries you. What should be good news is just another dark cloud over her.

She sits as she often does; half-reclined in the chair by the window, watching the neighbourhood just outside the pane. She’s just a resentful of the picture-perfect neighbours as she if of everything else. As she is of you.

You tidy the kitchen table as the unsaid dangles in the air. You know better than to bring it up. She barely acknowledged it when the doctor said it. She’s a good candidate for surgery but it isn’t a cure. It will help with the symptoms but not stop them altogether. It’s not good enough for her but it might just be her only hope of relief, even if temporary.

“Bring me a coke,” your mother calls through and you hear the hollow tin clatter of an empty can.

You bring the dirty dishes to the sink and set them beside it. You go to the fridge to grab a red branded can and let the door shut on its own. As you enter the living room, your mother sits forward, the recliner snapping forward with her weight. She leans on and elbow as she squints through the window and cranes over the armrest.

You pick up the old can and put the new one on the small table by the chair. She sits back and takes the Coke, trembling as she struggles to crack the tab. You know better than to help her. The curl in her lip warns you better.

“Someone’s looking at the place next door,” she says.

“Oh?” You move behind her chair and try to the next house. You can only really see the edge of the porch from here. You could open the side window but that would give more than a view of the siding and might be too obvious. “New neighbours.”

“Eh, if it sells. Could do better without these stuck-up prissy bitches running around measuring grass,” she growls of the Home Owners’ Association.

You nod. She’s right. You’ve had to deal with that nosy blonde too many times.

“We’ll see,” she mutters as she finally gets the can open and slurps. “Just hope it’s not another bitch.”

You cross your arms and step closer to the window. You sense movement just beyond your vision and the realtor in her pantsuit comes down the front steps of the neighbouring house. She turns back to face someone you can’t see and speaks to him. Their words are garbled by the barrier of window and wall.

The woman smiles and spins to strut down to the sidewalk. A man follows after, a slow stroll in his long legs. He turns to face the house again and puts his hands in his pockets as he looks up at the facade. His eyes narrow as he considers it.

His gray hair is streaked with remnants of its former blond. If it wasn’t for the colour of his locks, you might not have guessed his age. He’s tall and his shoulders are broad. He’s built finely for any era.

Your mother leans forward again, “heh, lookie there,” she slurs.

She leers through the window as you stare blankly out. A new neighbour just means another person to complain about the lawn; or another person for your mother to complain about. The man pivots on his sole and pauses, his gaze set in your direction. You don’t think he can see you, not with how the sun reflects off the square panes. He stalls for just a moment before he turns complete, striding up towards the realtor.

You back up and retreat toward the kitchen. You mother hums as she continues to snoop through the window. The recliner squeaks beneath her as she shifts in the seat.

“Bit old for a family man,” she tuts.

[fleet-of-fiction]

Jake Kiszka x Narrator & Sam Kiszka x OC.

Chapter One

Summary: The Jones Family are new additions to the sleepy community of Beech Run. A tight knit scattering of rural houses, where everyone knows everyone. Deeply religious and overbearingly strict, the daughters of the family are kept under lock & key by a fanatical Father and submissive Mother. They watch from bedroom windows as their neighbours, The Kiszkas, draw intense curiosity and desire to be free. Madness of youth , hope & obsession collide to bring the danger of forbidden love to poetic ends. (Era A/U)

A/N: I want to dedicate this fic to all my beautiful friends who have loved and supported me through what could only be described as a difficult time. Their belief in me as a person, who tries to be good even though I'm prone to making hellish mistakes, has been unwavering and as such I wanted to create a piece of writing that I felt they would enjoy and immerse themselves in. So, this ones for you @writingcold @sanguinebats @thewritingbeforesunrise @takenbythemadness @edgingthedarkness @katuschka @lvnterninthenight @its-interesting-van-kleep @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @gretavangroupie and everyone else who has been with me on this journey.

Warnings: Religious trauma. Parental trauma. Intense emotions including desire, obsession, grief and yearning. Loss of virginity. Explicit sexual activity. Heavy praise kink. Severe edging. Oral sex m/f. Fingering. Masturbation. Dirty filth talk.

Summer 1984

The Kiszka's were like catching that scent of freshly cut grass on warm summer air. Nostalgic for something I'd never had. Books that I dare not open because my love for the cover meant that I was too afraid to start something I knew I'd never be able to put down. They were Sunday morning distractions, like I'd never known a day without putting my hand to glass and letting their chaos drift in through the open window.

The first time I saw them I didn't know the sound of laughter could make my heart want to die. The sort of rambunctious envy I felt was a thief to any joy I might have found, standing in the dust as I carried boxes into the new house. Theirs was a summer of freedom. And mine was like trying to find solace in the darkness.

The girl was pretty when she smiled. I thought, perhaps, in some other life she and I could have been friends. Sometimes I imagined it, that she would knock on our door and ask for me by name. A delusion I centred within myself whenever I saw her ride by on the yellow push bike that was always leaning against their porch steps. The boys weren't like that, though. No part of me could imagine myself in that wild entanglement. Fires and swearing, ripping their shirts off in the midday heat to wrestle in the dirt. Guitars littering their garage door, riffs that drifted in on the wind making me want to rise from the doldrums.

It just wasn't like that for us. Any hope that I'd carried into Beech Run was dashed the moment my Father shook hands with the patriarch of our neighbours, and immediately insisted that we weren't to go near those people. Godless and bohemian. Without decency. Without enough fear of a faceless, impalpable being that seemed to rule over nobody save for us.

He was a pastor and we paid for that dearly. With our curfews and our diligence and our punishments if we didn't honour God precisely how we should. I stopped believing that an almighty power would have chosen this life for me a long time ago, but nothing felt more certain until we moved to Beech Run. Only the devil would have put us next to the Kiszka's.

"They're so pretty."

Jolene was sitting on the windowsill, playing with her hair as she admired them. She had that faraway look in her eye that most girls had when they were seventeen. Romanticising them, giving them entirely fictionalised morals and wondering what her name would sound like on their lips.

"Come away from the window." I warned, the torture of it something I had already decided I would not endure all summer.

She would bite down on her lip and sway against the glass. Insufferable. Lost in a sea of their sweaty bodies tearing across the front lawn, having water fights and jam sessions in the garage. All the things we were denied. She and I, lumbered with reading lists and prayer groups that made me want to rip out my immortal soul and offer it to the highest bidder.

"The tall one, he looks as if he might sweep you off your feet. He keeps tucking his hair behind his ear, I think I'd like to do that for him."

No good would come of it. I could see the whispering angels and demons perched on my sister's shoulders. Consorting with her. The fathomless ages of young girls who had come before her in their tragic echoes, doomed to desire and the shadow of a breaking heart hanging above her head.

"Come." I encouraged, "Sit and read with me a while. And then shall we see if Ben will take us into town?"

The freedoms allowed to our brother were tantamount to our lack of it. He was the eldest and therefore had the privileges of that. He was male, and existed in a world that Jolene and I did not encompass. Sometimes he would take pity on us and drive us into town to get an ice cream or watch a movie. Sometimes he would be cruel and drive there without even telling us.

"I'm fine here." She sighed, and I suspected she wanted them to see her.

I was far too practical to follow her into that folly of romance. I thought myself immune to it, happy to just read about it in books that would remove me from my present circumstances. Something which had made me a target, previously, for underhand comments as I walked down the school halls or sat in the library just turning pages.

"Fine, until you send yourself silly with all this nonsense." I sighed, putting my book aside and shimmying to the end of my bed.

"I want to know what it feels like, don't you?" She was a dreamer, a conjurer of a fate I could already feel the chill of spilling down my back. "To be taken for a ride in a car, and have them open the door for you. And kiss you goodnight, making you feel like you're the prettiest thing they ever saw. Don't you want that, Bonnie?"

If I had ever wanted it, the moment had passed. Perhaps I was hopeful once, but then hope could be so easily dashed. My sister was beautiful in an uncommon way. Simple and understated, the sort of beauty that was caught at the right angle and once perceived, it was devastating. With long auburn waves and a set of dreamy blue eyes, she had lips that were full and round in complete contrast to what I had to offer.

"No." I replied without hesitation. "I don't want deal with any foolishness, least of all from a man. Don't we put up with enough of that from our own dear brother?"

She rolled her eyes in contention. "It's not the same, and you know it's not. Brothers are nuisances. In the same way Dads are."

With that, I couldn't disagree. Ours was a formidable creature who liked to keep us so pure it was as if any man would contaminate us by breathing the same air. Something which had begun to take it's toll. I had given up, and Jolene was merely awaiting her chance to break all the rules.

"Oh, but not these boys." She sang, returning her gaze to the frivolities unfolding across the street. "These boys are handsome and good. I just know that they are sweet and kind and up close I bet they have all these little nuances that only stand to make them even more handsome."

She would walk into a pit of fire if it promised to love her and adore her. Willing to walk to her heart break like ascending to the gallows with a smile upon her face and would willingly do it all over and over again just for a taste of something like passion. A part of me envied her.

"Maybe you're right." I agreed, deciding it might be worth a peek. "Maybe they are handsome and good. And maybe they will take you riding in a car and kiss you goodnight. But that doesn't change the fact that Dad would never allow it."

There were three of them. The elder of the twins was a lithe and charismatic thing. With a mop of curls and a penchant for wearing his pants low enough that my Dad had balked at the sight of him upon introductions. The younger twin was a little more reserved, hiding behind a curtain of long dark hair. His smile was entirely unexpected just by looking at the depth and darkness of his eyes. Neither of which were mirrored in their younger brother, who had all the hope and exuberance of a puppy dog that hadn't been trained on how to behave around company.

And Jolene was right. They were so infuriatingly pretty. All three of them with the same magnetic curse that had drawn my attention whether I wanted it to or no. I was no better than she, leaning my hand against the glass so that I might see them better. Rolling my tongue around in my mouth as I tried to appear calm.

"I'll jump out of a thousand windows before I ever let Daddy tell me who I can or cannot love."

I believed her. There was something in the way she stared out of that window that made me truly believe she would never let such a thing come between her and her desires. And as I looked down at the object of her affection, he saw me for the very first time.

Shirtless and sweaty, his hair wet and slicked back. He raised a hand to his brow and stared directly into our bedroom window. His brother, coming to see what had distracted him, followed his line of vision. Raising his hand, the two of them drenched and flushed pink as they stood at the end of their driveway regarding us. And we, against our better judgement, stared back.

I often stood in front of the mirror alone, wondering how I might be regarded by another. It was a terrible thing to be young and have innocence imposed. I would trail my fingers down my breasts and imagine that the handsome boy who had peered into my window was standing in the darkness behind me.

I couldn't see him. He wasn't a perfect image. His face was blurred from the distance of where he'd stood in my memories of that day. But it was him that I summoned whenever I touched myself. There was no other who came to mind. It was always the younger twin, the one with the long hair who had dared to stand and watch.

Perhaps it was his boldness that had made him stay with me. There was something bookish about his demeanour, like he'd been written by a woman for other women to fantasise about. Simply by standing there in the summer heat, taking note of me. Like I wasn't a ghost, after all.

"Open the door, Bonnie."

His voice ran through me like the prickle of a stinging nettle against flesh. To hear it whilst I stood there, naked, made my skin crawl.

"Just a second." I replied, pulling on my robe and hurrying to obey.

My Father was on the other side, standing there with a sourness that questioned precisely why I had been in the bathroom quite as long as I had. He would ask if I had been partaking in a sin, but at the same time he wouldn't speak it into existence. He simply cleared his throat and nodded at me.

"Your Mother and I were thinking, for the service this coming Sunday, that you and your sister would like to say a few words about how welcoming our flock have been since we arrived here."

His suggestion drew an audible sigh of disappointment. That I would be expected to stand in front of our neighbours and peers as if I were somehow grateful felt like a deception in the house of God. I could imagine their faces, thinking us good little Christian girls and what perfect examples of the lord's word. A credit to our loving Father. And our Mother, who would sit there in her perpetual silence and allow it to unfold without so much as an uttering against it.

"Of course." I replied obediently, "As you wish, Daddy."

He nodded his approval, clenching his jaw as if he'd anticipated a different response.

"I'd like the congregation to see what lovely girls we have." He mused, the grey flecked moustache that sat above his upper lip twitching. "They need to see that their pastor is the head of a good, solid foundation."

I had already agreed to his demand. There was no requirement for him to stand there and justify it any further. I was consciously aware of my state of undress, and felt it necessary to continue to nod my agreement as I scurried back to my room.

"Oh, and Bonnie?" He caught my arm, firm but not enough to cause pain. "Please make sure your sister stays away from the window tonight."

He would feel superior and I would feel beholden to it. As I smiled and nodded, as if I somehow held the reigns of my sister's deeds. He was smug and I was left wondering how he even knew that she'd been standing there.

"Yes, Daddy." I muttered, knowing it would have been futile to try and convince him otherwise.

She was feigning sleep as I came into the room. Making rudimentary noises and shuffling about as if in dream. I dressed quickly and quietly and it wasn't until I had switched off my lamp and laid my head down that she decided to end her performance.

"Bonnie?"

I flicked the lamp back on. "Yes?"

"Do you think Daddy will let us go to down to the creek this summer? I heard the Kiszka's talking about it outside. They said there was going to be a heat wave and all the kids from Beech Run and the next town over would be heading there. I sure would like to go."

There was an effervescent hope in her voice. That somehow, if she could only say it out loud, it might make it come true. I ruminated on the right way to tell her I couldn't see it being a possibility, not wanting to shatter her dreams entirely.

"Perhaps, if Ben is there escort us, there might be a chance." I offered, knowing that our brother had no intention of escorting us anywhere during his first summer in a new place with all the freedoms and folly of a youth that was extended to him.

She was leaning on her palm. Playing with a thread on her pillow case, her mouth all smushed up as she contemplated what I'd said.

"I just want to be like all the other girls." She sighed, before turning over and signalling the end of her part in our conversation.

"Dad wants us to say a few words at service this Sunday." I told her, plunging the room back into darkness, "Maybe we'll tell them all how he keeps us here like prisoners."

I heard a small, almost indiscernible titter from Jolene's side of the room. But I let her be. Sinking into my bed sheets and trying to imagine I time where I'd ever been satisfied.

He was there, again. Standing in the darkness. Haunting me. His imperfect face just beyond where I could see, the shape of him calling out to me. A set of deep set brown eyes appraised me, squinting through sunlight to get a better look at me. And I replayed it over and over until it was scratched into my memory like an old cassette that had worn it's self down to white noise.

I just wanted to know his name.

It was a Thursday evening. When the wall clock in the kitchen stopped. Summer rain began to fall. My Mother lost her most treasured thimble whilst sewing a set of curtains in the chair by the front window. And my Father was berating us for a less than exuberant attempt at writing a speech for the up coming church service.

He had us standing there like sentinels. Brushing his disappointment over us as if we were his canvas. I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck begin to prickle, a deep rooted need to protect my little sister from this sort of tirade starting to bubble away beneath the surface.

"I don't feel your gratitude, Jolene." He scorned, scrunching her script up in his hands like it was a tissue he'd used to blow his nose. "Try something a little more heart felt."

She was on the verge of tears. I could see them welling up in the corners of her eyes. I looked over at my Mother and felt a sense of abandonment whilst she was still in the room as she searched for the thimble she had lost. Silently willing her to step in, to say something. Anything.

"We'll have something appropriate drawn up by Sunday." I assured him, waiting to be dismissed.

His dominance was always at it's most ferocious when I dared to even tread into defiance. Sometimes I wondered if he took pleasure in it. The way Jolene trembled beneath his word and I tried and fought in vain to protect her. I wasn't the one prone to rebellion and yet it felt as if I always took the brunt simply because I always tucked Jolene behind me, safely squirrelling her away from his overbearing eye.

"See that you do." He simply replied, waving a cursory hand that allowed us to leave.

I heard my Mother rejoice as the lost thimble was found. My heart sinking that this was her biggest joy. That she had barely taken note of her daughters and our pain and the way we were slowly sinking into oblivion. Why was I even trying to obey?

Perhaps I closed my bedroom door a little more aggressively than I'd intended. It caused the pictures on my wall to shudder. The bottle of perfume on my nightstand rolled over. And Jolene fell into her pillows, leaving the stains of tears in the folds of fabric.

"They'd never convict him a court of law because he doesn't beat us." She sobbed, screaming silently into blankets.

Perhaps he would have if the marks would've been translucent. I often wondered if my Dad had ever thought about beating us into submission. Sometimes the bloody veins in the whites of his eyes and the tiny speck of spit in the corner of his mouth as he raged at us made me wonder if he curled his fist up at just the right moment if he would strike.

"I thought, when we moved here, that things might be different." I dared to wonder, "But if anything, he's worse."

Jolene's face was all blotchy and pink. Sodden with tears and her hair stuck to her wet cheeks.

"He knows, Bonnie." She sniffed. "He knows that if we were given half the chance we'd be across the street. With those boys."

Would it have been so bad? To have known a summer of love? I was eighteen years old. Never been kissed. Never been taken on a date and had a door opened for me. I had tried so hard to ignore it, but I could no longer look away from it. The way I'd been spending more time on it, touching myself and imagining him in the place of my own hand.

"You don't care, anyway." She added, with a little more malice. "You don't want any of it. You're always trying to stop me from looking at them. You're always burying your head in a book, as if that will help."

Perhaps I deserved that. I didn't dare tell her that I'd had a change of heart, of late. That my usual stance had begun to shift. Where once I'd thought the wanting had passed, it had started to become an insatiable curiosity. Even my waking thoughts were plagued by it.

"That's not true." I confessed, laying a careful hand in her hair. "I'm sorry if I ever made you feel alone in this. I promise, you're not."

Her nose wrinkled as she looked at me. As if seeing me for the first time. Allied in our awakening interest in the boys across the street.

"I can't stop thinking about him, Bonnie. Every night before I sleep and every morning when I wake up. I wish I could wash him out of my mind. But he's there, all the time, looking up at our window."

"I know, I know..." I soothed, "I've tried to forget that they exist, too."

I'd forgotten to draw our blinds. In our haste to appease our ever demanding Father, I'd left the curtains open too. From the corner of my eye I noticed a light flicker on outside, drawing my attention. I turned and took note of the Kiszka house, the glowing square in the upstairs left quarter was like a beacon against the rural darkness of our street.

"Look." I said, waiting for my sister to follow my gaze.

It was the elder of the twins who appeared. A towel sat snugly around his waist as he ruffled another through his hair. He was lean and perfectly cut, not dissimilar to his counterpart. I felt a sudden shame at watching him, but there seemed to be no care for his close proximity to the window.

He was talking to someone. His mouth moving in soft intervals, as if engaging in a conversation we could not hear. I was enthralled, nonetheless. Wondering what he was talking about. Who he was talking to. He carefully ran his hands through his curls, making sure they were perfectly sculpted. His stomach taught and his arms raised above his head, but it was only inquisitiveness that made me continue to look.

I felt nothing until he appeared. Tossing his brother a clean t-shirt. Doing nothing of value. Padding around and making me feel like the most detestable of voyeurs.

"He's the one, isn't he?" Jolene asked softly, taking note of my how my breath hitched as he appeared. "We can't just pretend like this isn't happening."

"They don't even know we exist." I dismissed her, forcing myself to look away.

"That's not true." She replied fluidly, her voice rising like a song. "We were introduced when we first moved here. They've seen us watching them. Even if it's the only thing they know, it's that we exist."

I wanted so badly for it to be true. I watched him stand there poetically in the window, talking to his brother and running a hand through his long hair. Casual. No care within the world for him. And I envied not only the fact that I couldn't be close to him, but also that I ached to be him.

I didn't settle at all that night. Fretting, feeling as if I held all the anguish in the world in the pit of my stomach. Jolene had nodded off as soon as the light across the street went out. But I continued to stare at the void a while longer. Silent tears streaking my cheek, the salt on my lips like a bitter reminder that it was all I could do to let it out.

I could see my reflection in the glass. A spiritual spectre that didn't have a voice. I stood there in my white linen night gown, ruffled at the sleeves and thought myself truly a ghost. The window was cold to the touch. The night was cool and calm whilst within me raged a tempest.

I didn't want to go to bed and lay down and have my thoughts ruin me. It would have been nightmares that came to me, ones about being locked in a cage. And so I stood there, in the window I had promised not to let my sister stare out of.

That warm glow from across the street reignited. It almost made me flinch. The way the darkness was all consuming, and then there it was. The light on in the room upstairs. I held my breath, as if somehow they'd be able to hear me. Lip trembling as he reappeared, this time alone. A look of forlorn sadness in his face as he went to pull the curtains closed.

He thought he could see something. He thought himself mad as he peered out further, squinting into the darkness as he caught the sight of me. It was in my mind to turn and disregard him, but I was rooted to the spot. Afraid that if I moved I would never feel again the way I felt right then in that moment.

I knew that he could see me. Certain as I knew that he was watching me right back. I could feel the pull of my heart strings dragging it down, into a flurry that churned my stomach like butter. He stood there, his forearm against the glass as he rested his head against it. Staring at me as if he couldn't quite believe I was real.

And then he raised his hand and waved. And I, inexplicably, waved back.

I sat in the choir loft as parishioners began to filter in. Gripping my insincere little speech in my hand, the paper felt as heavy as granite as I turned it in my hands.

I'd barely slept. Keeping vigil the past two nights, waiting for Jake to appear. That was his name. So graciously given to me, scrawled on a piece of paper as we exchanged messages from our respective windows.

It felt like poetry in motion. The first time he held up a crude scribble and asked for my name. It felt like I had been truly seen. I'd hastily scrambled for a pen and a notebook, holding it against the glass whilst he nodded his understanding. Waiting with my heart beating a muffled drum within my chest as he wrote something back.

He asked me why we never came to the creek. Why we never seemed to linger in the wide open spaces all around us. Why we were always in town with our brother. He seemed intrigued. Telling me about his passion for his guitar through page after page of rushed sentences.

The last of which had told me to wait for him in the choir loft before Sunday service.

Only a fool would have agreed to this. To sit there in my Sunday best, knees clicking together in consuming nerves of what I was about to do. Keeping a watchful eye on my Father as he stood at the podium and graciously welcomed his congregation. I'd never seen Jake or his family at church on any Sunday since we'd moved there. I questioned why he'd asked me to wait for him up in the rafters, but not enough to stop myself from agreeing to it.

"Bonnie?"

I clutched the hem of my skirt, knuckles white and my cheeks pale as I swallowed hard. He slid into the seat behind me. Graciously foregoing the seat beside me, I kept my eyes focused forward and felt as if I might melt into the very grain of the wooden pews. He leaned forward, resting elbows on the back of my pew, his breath warm and silken against the curve of my neck.

"Jake." I replied, my mouth suddenly ravenously dry.

What did I even anticipate that the pay off of this risk would be? Just to feel my own heart beating so wildly in my chest that I thought, perhaps, that I might pass out? To have a moment of stolen sin? I could smell the soap he'd used to wash with that very morning and the hint of coffee and toothpaste in the warmth of his breath. Was this ever going to be enough?

"You don't know how long I've wanted to talk to you." He confessed in hushed tones that forced me to close my eyes against the sincerity of the words. "Ever since you moved here. You've been somewhat of an enigma."

Nobody had ever spoken to me like that before. With careless want and an honesty that threatened to choke me. I could feel my palms grow sweaty, a compelling heat rising in my cheeks.

"We're not allowed to talk to boys." I replied earnestly, opening my eyes to a reality I did not want nor could I any longer tolerate.

He scoffed at the insinuation that he was a boy. "I'm twenty years old, I'm hardly that."

There was an innocent playfulness in the way he chased his brothers around their front yard. Their boyish natures belying their true age. I envied more than ever that they'd been granted that. Feeling naïve that I could have ever considered him a mere boy. Now that he was sitting so close to me, I could feel the urge to sin like effervescence bubbling off his skin. Something only men could feel.

"Forgive me." I faltered, bowing my head in solemn regret that I had been so fruitless in my estimation.

But he didn't berate me. "Oh, you're a caged little bird aren't you?"

If I could have let myself cry, he'd have witnessed a dam bursting. I sat there twisting my skirt, almost ripping the paper against it, letting hatred and regret and desire course through my veins. I hoped, more than anything I'd ever hoped for before, that he couldn't see the anguish.

"Are you ridiculing me?" I dared to ask, turning my head ever so slightly to catch him in my periphery.

I could see his lips parted as he lingered at my ear.

"No, never that." He reassured. "But I've seen the way he keeps you behind glass. I've seen you standing at the window watching us. And I tortured myself wondering if you knew that we had been watching you, too."

My breath stilled. "We?"

He boldly leaned a little further forward. Joining me in my gaze as I stared down at the growing crowd below. His chin almost rested on my shoulder, his hair almost brushed against my cheek. I couldn't stand it, the close proximity and the way I felt as if I couldn't move an inch.

"My brother Sam, and I." He confirmed. "He thinks your sister is damn near the prettiest little thing he's ever seen. But I told him no, that's not true. There's more grace and beauty in the older sister. She is where my mind runs to when I look towards your house."

To consider that he had thought of me made the centre of my chest begin to throb with a yearning I had never endured before. It filled that empty space between my ribs. Aching to crawl out and consume the rest of my body. I could scarcely breathe. My hand instinctively dropped the hem of my skirt and flew to my collar bone. Resting there as I tried to calm my beating heart.

"I didn't think you knew we even existed." I whispered, letting his confidence shine down on me, a part of me feeling fearless enough to make these confessions.

"On the contrary." He replied, sweeping his breath across my cheek bone, quite unintentionally as he lingered close to me. " I've thought of you often ever since you arrived. Wondering if you were ever going to make friends with my sister so that I could have the opportunity to talk to you. It was the greatest disappointment when we realised it wasn't meant to be."

His dream had been mine. The two of us worlds apart, and yet staggeringly close. Wanting the same wants. Needing the same needs. Laying his head down each night with that same blurred image of me that I had kept of him, too. God had finally answered my prayers.

"There is nothing more that I want that that." I replied wistfully, "But he would never allow it. We'd be punished. Called wicked. Or worse."

Jake shook his head and slinked back, taking away the heat of his body and leaving me cold.

"There's nothing wicked about the desire for connection." He surmised, tucking his hair behind his ear and pulling out a cigarette from his shirt breast pocket. Putting it between his lips for later. "You tell that air headed brother of yours to bring you down to the creek tomorrow."

"Ok." I replied quietly, feeling the essence of hope leave with him as he scurried away.

He didn't linger. I couldn't see his face in the crowd as I stood at the podium. He'd slipped out as easily as he'd slipped in, and I was grateful. I didn't want him to see me up there. Making a breath full of lies for ears that would have listened to any old garbage I could have come up with.

It was all I could think about as I talked about how the sanctity of strong family values held our bonds with God together. Something about honouring thy Father. As I pictured Jake sitting behind me, hot breath on my skin and the scent of his cologne still in the air I breathed. If I was wicked, I was already going to hell.

Ben was sitting in the car, his arm draped casually over the back of the passenger seat. His hair was neatly combed to the side, his shirt tucked into his slacks as he checked his teeth in the rear view mirror.

"We don't want to go into town today." Jolene complained, slumping into the back seat with a pout that she would never let our Dad ever see. "Why can't you just take us to the creek?"

He turned and pointed an ominous finger. I was inclined to bat it out of my way as I slipped in beside Jolene. Knowing she wasn't going to take no for an answer.

"You're going to town. I got a date with Harriet Dinsmore. I've been trying to pin her down for weeks. So don't start with all this going to the damn creek nonsense." He spat, carefully running a palm down the perfectly sculpted slicked hair that made him look uncannily like our Dad.

Jake had been unflinchingly correct in his estimation of our brother. For Ben, life meant never having to use much intelligence. He would fly off the back of our Fathers coat tails. No doubt becoming a pastor himself. Not for God but for the glory of it. But whilst he still held the keys to the car in his hands, I'd be smart.

"Oh, come on." I rallied, "You don't want your little sisters moping around while you try to court a pretty girl. We're better off at the creek. You can pick us up after."

I caught him roll his eyes in the mirror. "You would have me lie to Dad?"

Jolene popped her bubble gum, smirking as she stared out of the window over towards the Kiszka's house.

"It's only a lie if you tell Dad you're taking us into town with you. Has he asked where you're taking us?"

She knew there'd be a presumption made. But would use the semantics to her advantage. I felt a cool sense of pride in her, exchanging a knowing look as Ben rolled the thought around in his tiny little mind.

"Harriet Dinsmore? Isn't she the girl who works at the ice cream place?" I feigned interest. "She sure is pretty."

All it took was a few soft words about her hair. Her eyes. The way she served ice cream so deftly. She never spilled a drop. I wondered if he'd been so pliant before, if we'd had opportunities missed because we were so afraid of what our Father might do if he found out.

I was fuelled by that simple demand. That we get our air head brother to bring us to the creek. For what purpose, I didn't care. But I knew that if I didn't try I would reek of regret. And once Ben agreed to take us, I felt a sense of accomplishment that I'd never managed before.

Jolene was ratified in her excitement. Staring out of the window, beholden to a freedom so rarely afforded to us. We were given fair warning, of course, to keep to ourselves and not talk to any interested boys. To be on our best behaviour and not give him him any cause to have to tell Dad where we had been.

I did wonder what went through his mind as he dropped us at the side of the road, where the gate that lead down to creek stood open against a rickety old fence. I could hear voices in the distance. Jovial ones. And suddenly I was stricken with the stupidity of what we were about to do.

"Did he really say that?" Jolene asked, pulling down her little linen shorts and pulling fingers through her loose curls. "Did Sam Kiszka really say that I was damn near the prettiest thing he'd ever seen?"

If not for her, then for who? I set aside my reservations. Flattened down the pleat in my sun dress and pulled down the edge of my hat. I would make a fool of myself if it meant that she got to have just five minutes talking to the boy she liked. No more standing at the window wondering.

"That's what I hear." I replied, taking her hand as we sauntered through the gate and down the incline of the field towards the river bank at the bottom.

The tall grass weaved between my bare legs. Brandishing sleek little kisses against my inner thighs. The tips almost brushed against my crotch, each step like a feather dancing against my flesh. And it did not serve me well. I could see him standing on the embankment. Shirtless and long hair blowing in the warm breeze. I felt my stomach tie itself in knots over the sight of him, feeling as if the grass itself was inviting me to arousal as I walked towards him.

"Are you nervous?" Jolene asked, her hand still clutched firmly in the curl of my own. "I'm real nervous."

"Just stay close by." I soothed, "Don't leave my side, and we'll be just fine."

There were pockets of people dotted up and down the tree lined incline. Some were splashing around in the creek bed, where it met a wide opening that created a shallow pool, others were bathing in the sunshine. An array of colourful bathing suits on display. It was hot. The sort of hot where everything felt sticky and wet. There were balls and frisbee's being tossed around. Music playing from a boom box hanging from a broken tree branch. Beers sitting in coolers. Cigarettes and a sense that perhaps I'd bitten off more than I was willing to chew.

They were all there. All three of them and their sister, sitting in folding chairs and on blankets dotted around the clearing next to the water. There were a few faces I didn't recognise, too. Friends, no doubt. I didn't know where to look. It felt as if perhaps we were intruding, on account of the fact we weren't dressed appropriately for the occasion. We didn't even own bathing suits. It was apparent that we'd made a mistake.

Everyone was staring at us. Eyes boring into us as we approached. Jolene's hand squeezed mine. A silent plea for whatever we had walked into to stop feeling like a trap. Why did it feel as if I was feeding not only her, but myself to the wolves? They appraised us like creatures who belonged in a zoo. Eyes widened and sun shades slipped down their noses to get a better look at the Jones sisters.

"You came." Jake said breezily, greeting us at the edge of his little pocket. "I didn't think you would."

It was still in my mind to turn around and head back. But there was something in the way he wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand that made me willing to stay.

"You said to come." I hedged, every inch of me burning from the curious stares.

He was wearing a pair of denim shorts, cut at the knee. With a waist band so low I could make out the edge of whatever he had on underneath. With his body on unapologetic display, I didn't know where to politely look. There was only his eyes that could have accepted my gaze appropriately. And they were so intense I could feel myself wanting to back off.

"I did." He agreed, "And here you are. Let's get you introduced."

We accepted the seats we were offered. But declined the beers. Jolene sheepishly grinned as names were thrown at us and I tried so hard to commit them to memory. There was the Kiszka's; Jake, Josh, Sam and Ronnie. Danny Wagner and another friend from school, Lewis Dinsmore. Who's poor sister was stuck on a date with our unbearable brother. I was grateful for it, regardless. It provided an initial talking point which ingratiated us into the group, enabling me to calm my nerves as I sat there trying to act as if I didn't feel like a duck out of water.

"So, Bonnie. Are you a senior or did you graduate?" Ronnie Kiszka asked, hands on her hips as she supped on a bottle of beer and eyed the length of my dress.

"Umm, I graduated." I replied, "At our last school, in Ohio."

"So, what's the plan? College?" She continued, her questions posed innocently enough. But I felt like I was under the microscope. "I'm going to Michigan State in the fall."

"Oh, that's great." I tried to keep my voice steady and casual. "I'd love to go to college, but I'm needed at home to help my Mom."

Josh was sitting on a blanket, resting on his palms with his chin tilted up towards the sky. Languishing in a similar state of undress as his brother.

"Oh, is she sick or something?" He asked, pushing his shades up into his mess of curls as he looked over at me.

"No." I replied, looking down into my lap. "No, nothing like that..."

Jolene was more than happy to answer their questions. The intrusion didn't seem to phase her, she lapped up the attention like a neglected pup as I sat there wondering what they must have thought of us. Uncomfortable at the idea of it. Of them knowing our Dad would keep us at home rather that receiving a college education. That we were supposed to be somewhere else, and I wondered if any of them would know to keep our being there under wraps.

I couldn't hide my disdain. I smiled and nodded where required, but offered nothing in the way of conversation. I sat in the shadows whilst my sister took the reigns. Her desire to be part of something beyond our house was being fed to bursting and I could see the colour rise in her cheeks the more they enquired. Especially when Sam addressed her directly, their eyes finding each other in undeniable attraction. And all I could do was witness it unfold, hoping that my silence wasn't being mistaken for ill manners.

"You wanna get out of here?"

I looked up. Jake was standing at my feet, his hand extended for me to take.

"I probably shouldn't leave Jolene." I fretted, seeing how much she didn't need me.

"Probably shouldn't." He echoed, keeping his hand firmly offered. "Or is it because you're afraid of what might happen if you do?"

He'd been so kind. So humble. Introducing us to his friends and family. Like we weren't the spectacle we'd been when we first arrived. He'd been hospitable. Making jokes and including us in them. He'd made me laugh. Not just a giggle, but from my belly upwards. Making me radiate a smile that had been hidden for so long I hadn't even known I could smile like that.

"Afraid, of what?" I asked, although I suspected it was what he'd wanted.

He didn't say it out loud. There was only a hint of it in the way he curled his fingers up and urged me to go with him. I thought, perhaps, that he could see my uncertainty etched there in my face as I tried to fit in. All the things I wouldn't confess to. That I was afraid I'd spend my whole life never knowing what it truly felt like to be adored. Afraid that I'd always be a vessel for thoughts and feelings that would never be allowed to be expressed. Afraid that I'd never get to explore what it meant to be a woman. Fears that seemed to go unspoken. And yet, he heard me.

Jolene was sat with her chair practically on top of Sam's. Their heads bowed together in a conversation nobody else was invited to. I could see his hand edging towards coming to rest upon her knee, but he kept graciously stopping himself. Peering into her eyes instead, letting her ramble on about nothing in particular. Enchanted by her. And she, in turn, seemed entirely smitten with him. Blushing every time he tucked his hair behind his ear. Every time he threw his head back and let out the most infectious laugh I'd ever heard. He was being gentle with her.

"Come on." Jake said, "I know a spot we can go to."

Nobody seemed to care as he took one of the blankets and began to lead me away. Jolene looked over, silently watching as he took my hand. Too afraid that if she made a comment she would break the spell between her and Sam. I tried not to think too hard about it, grateful that people had finally gotten bored with our presence.

I would have let him take me anywhere. It felt like a sonnet that hadn't been written yet. The way he held my hand so casually, leading me back into the tall grass. All I could do was watch the way his hair moved in the breeze. Dancing against his flexing shoulder blades. His hips moving gracefully as he stepped between the long blades, blanket tucked under his free arm. The afternoon sun was beating down so hard, my cheeks began to burn. Grateful when he finally led me to a shaded area of tree's a little further down the creek where nobody else had bothered to venture.

I watched him as he laid the blanket down, flattening the grass and making sure we were shrouded by it. Inviting me to sit with him, the sound of flowing water and leaves moving in the dull wind as our soundtrack.

"You ever just lay in the grass and look up at the clouds?" He asked, rolling onto his back and placing arms behind his head.

I wrapped the hem of my dress around my knee's, conscious of the breeze as I laid down beside him. Through the canopy of the tree's around us, I could see wisps of cloud moving slowly against the brilliant blue.

"Not since I was a little kid." I replied, trying to remember the last time I'd done anything quite like this.

He was quiet for a brief moment. But it didn't feel like it needed to be filled.

"I hope you didn't get in any trouble yesterday. I don't think anyone saw me talking to you." He said, pulling out a small bottle of something honey coloured out of his pocket. "Sometimes people can't see what's happening right under their noses."

There was a flash of something in his grin as he lifted his head to take a swig, offering me some before dashing it onto the blanket at his side when I declined. I liked the way his side profile looked as I turned my head to look at him. There was something about the way his nose pointed at the tip, the way his mouth had the most enigmatic curl at the corners. It was obvious that he hadn't brushed his hair that day, but it didn't matter. It only served to suit him well.

I started to feel as if I could climb on top of him. The way he laid there, the muscles in his arms flexed as he laid them behind his head. I'd never been close enough to ever drink him in. I tried to commit to memory all the little nuances that were entirely him, knowing that I'd think of him later in more detail than I ever had before. It made me nervous.

"Clever." I surmised, impressed by his critical thinking. "Do you often do things right under people's noses?"

He smirked and turned his head, knocking me off my steady perch and into a panicked mess as his eyes met mine. I didn't dare look away. I didn't want to make the obviousness of my gaze even more obvious. I hoped that he couldn't tell I could hear the great whoosh of my own pulse when he looked at me. But I suspected that he did, letting his eyes fall down the rest of my body before coiling back up.

"Not everything." He damn near whispered, leaning up to rest on his forearm. "Some things I prefer to do where no one else can see."

It was getting hotter. The air felt warm in my lungs as I breathed. Even in the shade, it was sticky and sweltering. My dress was becoming increasingly drenched, beads of sweat pooling between my breasts. He was glistening in the sun light, his neck saturated as sweat ran down the peak of his adam's apple. Both of us tangibly giving in to the impetuous heat.

"Like what?" I asked, reaching for the bottle to quench a dry thirst that was forming in my mouth.

It tasted like fire. Did nothing to alleviate the dryness, only served to almost choke me and make me cough. Much to his delight as he placed a hand to my back and waited until I'd composed myself before offering his arm for me to lay against as I sank back down.

"Wouldn't want your Daddy catching us here, like this. Would you?" He asked, the sweat of his arm sliding against the back of my neck. "Wouldn't want anyone catching us here like this. I like being here, with you, just the two of us."

The weight of what was transpiring between us almost felt too heavy to bear. I could feel it, travelling up and down my body in waves of undulated panic and arousal. He wouldn't stop staring at me. Making it harder for me to deny myself.

"I like it too." I confessed quietly, allowing him to curl his arm up, making me inch closer to his face.

All the hours of wonder couldn't have stood up to the reality of him. The sweet and gentle nature of him coveting me, with nothing more than a simple gaze and the support of his arm beneath me. He made no attempt to touch me further, and I almost felt like begging him would have ruined the moment.

"Don't you get lonely up there sometimes?" He asked, grazing his bottom lip between perfectly set teeth. "I see your face sometimes and I can't stand the way you look so sad."

Oh, he'd noticed. My heart soared and broke all at once. That he had known not only that I existed, but taken the time to notice my mood made me feel as if our lives were not merely shadows.

"Not lonely." I shrugged, settling on a different word. "Perhaps, sometimes, it's a little melancholy."

He wrinkled his nose and thought about it. Reaching for a blade of grass behind him and ripping it from the ground in order to satisfy his need to keep his hands busy.

"If you were mine I'd never want to see anything but a smile on that pretty face of yours forever more." He said, running the blade of grass against my cheek playfully.

I shrank away. The sensation of it too intimate for me to appropriately deal with. I giggled, but my unease was there in the way my eyes couldn't settle back on him.

"I'm sorry." He apologised, throwing down the grass and trying to settle the vibe between us back into something a little more innocent.

But it was too late. I could feel a familiar throb begin to beat away between my thighs. Latent misery in being unable to satisfy my desires kept me tethered to the blanket, unable to confess that I wanted him to do it again.

"Don't be sorry." Was all I could say, a little more passionately than I'd intended. "I'm just...well, I'm no good at this sort of thing."

He seemed to go quiet all over again. Looking down at our bodies side by side. Swallowing so hard I could see his throat flex. Like he, too, was lost in a sea of words he so desperately wanted to say but couldn't.

"You're not like the other girls." He gulped, pointing out one of my deepest flaws. "I don't want you to be like the other girls. They aren't worth the risk like you are."

How could he have known my worth? Beneath that starry eyed exterior, was he just as nervous as I was? It seemed to me that he could scarcely hold himself back as his eyes moved between my lips and my gaze. Flitting up and down as if in conflict.

"All I've ever wanted was to be like the other girls." I sighed, noticing for the first time that he had moved closer. "Other girls get to be taken out on dates and have doors opened for them. And have goodnight kisses."

The subtle shake of his head intimated that none of that mattered.

"Other girls don't write their name for me in notes I can only see from my window." He said earnestly. "Other girls don't drive me crazy every time I see them come out of their front door on a Sunday morning wearing those pretty little dresses."

I felt like I'd fallen asleep and I'd woken in a dream. I could smell the liquor on his breath he lingered so close. The heat of the day dissipating as the heat of his body took over.

"Other girls don't make me write songs for them, before I've ever even spoken to them..." He stopped, right before his lips would trespass against mine.

"You...wrote a song...for me?" I breathed into his mouth, fingertips digging into the blanket folds at either side of my stilled body.

"For a good Christian girl, you sure do make me feel damned." He posed, speaking with his lips a feather light touch away from mine. "Damned to write songs for a girl I can't ever have."

Was it not enough that I dwelled beneath his touch? Whatever madness made him think he could not have me, I wished for such a fallacy to be gone from his mind. If God had put the attraction that was so palpably clear between us within our hearts, why would God punish us for acting upon it?

True. I was a little apprehensive. Not for the punishment of God, but from a Father who truly believed his word and actions stemmed directly from the all seeing eye above. But, like Jake had already so pointedly said, we were here alone. Just the two of us. No other man nor God in sight.

"Have me." I whispered.

I heard him hold in his breath. Already so close to my mouth, all he had to do was let it happen. Nobody was ever free from temptation, and I was sordidly aware of my need to walk directly into it's aching path.

If God truly did exist somewhere between this mortal coil and the thereafter, I believed that he would not blindly lead me to be tempted beyond my ability. That I may be able to endure it. My spirit and my body in unison for the very first time.

"You would hate me if I did." He whispered back, "I'm wicked, Bonnie. So much more wicked than you could ever imagine."

I didn't believe that anyone quite so beautiful as him could ever truly be wicked. Perhaps wicked in the ways that only brought pleasure, if you were so inclined to allow yourself to enter into that sort of thing.

Was I? That sort of person? He was only two years older than me but exuded an experience which far surpassed mine. Even with his boyish charm and child like nature, he was a man nonetheless. A man that held me in his arms on a hot summer day with the wind chiming through the leaves above us and the softness of the ever trickling water as it ran over rock and earth.

Heaven.

"I ache to know wickedness." I pleaded, feeling insanity wash over me as he still refused to kiss me. "It's not for anyone else to decide."

That one sentence brought him to his conclusion. I could see it there as his brow knitted together delicately, his gaze intensifying.

"You don't know what you've done."

Perhaps not. But I didn't have space for regret. Not when he let our worlds collide. At first, there was nothing but the gentle feel of his lips as they brushed against mine. Softly venturing, exploring what depths he could take with me. A solemn pull back as he checked in with me, I could feel his hand against my balmy cheek. Alabaster turning pink as the blood began to pump harder in my veins. I was breathless without even having to move.

When he'd ascertained that I wanted it, he returned to me. Pressing his lips against mine a little harder. Letting his head tilt to the side, our noses pressed flush into each others cheeks.

I don't know what it was that I expected. Certainly not the rush of adrenaline as he opened his mouth. Nor the moisture gathering between my legs that was certainly not due to the weather as I felt the slippery tip of his tongue converge into my mouth. It was soft and slow, only brushing against mine with subtle intimation that he wanted more.

I suspected that this was purposeful. Nobody had watched us as closely as he had and not drawn the conclusion that I had never been kissed before. I suspected that he knew this was my first time. And he treated it as such. Sweeping his thumb against my cheek bone, letting me whimper softly into his mouth as he pulled away only to slake his hand around the back of my neck and pull me up into an embrace that had more meaning behind it.

And then he stopped. Forehead rested against mine, breathless and lips drenched in each other. He didn't let me go, clutched me harder in fact. Made me wonder if patience truly was a virtue.

"I have thought about this moment over and over." He swallowed, kissing me again so briefly I barely had time to reciprocate before he'd pulled away again. "And always, I'm painfully aware of your virginity. I don't want to hurt you, Bonnie."

Maybe it was the heat. Maybe it was something else. I let my knees unfold, the hem of my dress crawling up my thighs. Immediately I was aware of just how tightly I'd been clenching them, my body immediately softening in his grasp.

"Take it." I offered. "It is yours."

He would have it. Retrieving his senses at the shock of such a thing, he ran a gentle palm down my stomach and his hand came to rest at my waist.

"You're not a good Christian girl at all, are you?" He ventured, kissing me with a little more fervence.

Although the presumption was made based on my willingness to part with my virginity and give it up to him, I knew I'd been a sinner for far longer than I cared to admit. My thoughts had been impure before we moved to Beech Run. The levels of depravity increasing ever since Jake had made his presence known. I wasn't a good Christian girl at all. Not behind closed doors. Not anywhere where thoughts were free.

"I've committed all manner of sins in my mind." I replied honestly, my tongue lilting against my teeth, prepared for another kiss. "Wouldn't you? If you couldn't do anything? Have anything?! Wouldn't you imagine what it felt like?"

"Oh, I would." He replied, licking into my mouth with all the urgency of a man who had been granted his greatest wish. "But I don't want you to imagine anymore. I want to give you everything you've ever wanted."

He laid me back down. Sinfully slow. Taking in the sight of me, hair fanned out on the blanket and my lips swollen. My breasts sitting comfortably beneath a modest neckline, my sun dress being something I would have worn to church. Wondering if he felt the same fear that I did.

"Give it to me, then." There it was, that little beg that had been threatening to spill out of my mouth ever since he'd put the blanket down.

His hand travelled further south. Parting my knees. He ripped another blade of grass and settled it between his thumb and index. Teasing it above my face in the air, making me nuzzle into his chest as I tried to run from it.

But he didn't run it against my cheek. I soon realised it was for a far more nefarious purpose. I dared to peek out from his embrace. A look of total devotion there as he swept the blade up my inner thigh. The almost breath like touch of it reminded me of how it had felt as I'd walked towards him. I held my breath. My dress sat just below where my underwear could be seen, everything else on display. And he unashamedly caressed me, using the blade as his guide.

"Soft little babygirl." He crooned, "It'd be almost cruel to ruin you."

I didn't need his protection from it. The inflection of annoyance at his suggestion that my virginity was something I wanted to keep was hard to hide. My expressions betraying me as I looked up at him.

"Lucky for you, I can be cruel." He added, marking his territory on my heart. "Would you like me to be cruel?"

"If the devil so wishes." I replied, "I fear I'm already ruined by my own intrusive thoughts."

The tip of the blade ran down the fabric which sat between it and my naked flesh. At it's most vulnerable spot.

"You don't have to be virtuous with me. Not anymore." He promised, "I'm not your Daddy."

It was clear invitation to step into my desires.

"Tell me I'm a good girl, Jake." I needed it. "You can be as cruel as you like, just tell me I'm good."

I don't know why I needed to hear it. Maybe there was a part of me that still dwelled in the church where I needed to be holy in order to exist.

His eyes widened at my demand. Staring at me, like I was Jesus on the cross and he had come to worship. He let the blade of grass go. Preferring to run his hand up my thigh instead. I shuddered. Let my lip curl into my teeth. Never taking my eyes off him as he brushed a fingertip against my moist crotch.

"Such a good fucking girl." Partnered with the curse word, his praise left me bound to him. "Does my good little girl want to get fucked?"

The abruptness of his question left me open mouthed. I wasn't shocked because it offended me, I was shocked because the answer was an unequivocable yes. They way he claimed me with that one, solitary use of the word my left me dizzy. Of course I was his. And all I could do was nod my consent.

"You tell me you're innocent and beg to get fucked with the same mouth." He breathed against my lips, hooking a solitary finger around the fabric of my panties, his knuckle brushing against my slit. "That's my extra specially good girl, isn't it?"

He was playing with me. Strumming me like his guitar, like a song written just about me. Pulling down my underwear until they sat at my knees, I was completely at his whim.

"I'm not going to fuck you, though." He said softly, raking those same calloused fingertips that had held my face as he kissed me through the sodden valley of my pussy lips. "Not yet."

I knew it was futile to beg. Not when he so gently and pliantly planed his fingers down the edges of what I could tolerate. He would bring me to the brink and tell me it was what I needed. Dancing with the devil, my sinful thoughts brought to light. I'd never been happier than I was right there on that blanket in the tall grass. In the shade of the grove of tree's that surrounded us, in the hottest summer I'd ever recall.

"You're so fucking beautiful." He said, leaning back into a kiss that was now familiar, his tongue edging into my mouth enough to send a flood onto his fingertips. "You tempt me so..."

"Anything, Jake." I breathed, "Anything you want, just tell me what to do."

He softly ran the pad of his thumb over my aching, swollen clitoris. I moaned, let my eyes close, turned my face away in fear that I would look ridiculous to him. I'd never dared to venture to that part of myself before. Letting the throb ebb and flow whenever I was aroused, never allowing myself a moment to indulge in it.

"Pull my zipper down." He instructed, rutting his hip into my side. "It's kinda uncomfortable down there."

In the furore of him touching me, I'd failed to notice his maddening bulge. I felt foolish and girlish, stupid for not realising he was aroused too. My hand wasted no time in releasing him. Pulling down his zipper and opening the button of his denim shorts. I didn't dare put my hand inside, still feeling a little trepidation of touching him back. But the relief was there as he eyes rolled back, grateful just to be free of the constraints against his hard on.

"I want so badly to sink my fingers inside you and ruin this pretty little pink thing." He murmured against my ear. "Tell me it's ok. Tell me I can feel you from the inside."

I couldn't bear it. The need to be penetrated coupled with the fear of whatever pain might accompany it. But he was too beautiful to deny. The tip of his nose pressed against my cheek, his breath warm and like fire.

"I'm ready." I replied, even if my mind had not been quite up to speed with my body, I still would have let him have his way.

Not simply because of the way he turned me on. But the way he made me feel so cherished whilst doing it.

"Relax for me, sweet girl." He whispered, lips pecking kisses against my temple, hands opening my thighs a little wider. "Just let me take care of you."

The sting of a single digit cast aspersions throughout my body. He was slow in his intention, hissing back a soft moan as he let it slide all the way to his knuckle. I fought against my body's responses to cry out in pain. It hurt. But everything else was a welcome distraction. His voice. His scent. The feel of his body next to mine. All of it.

"Look at you." He praised, railing his kisses back down to my mouth. "The goodest of all girls."

He began to slowly pull it back, savouring the way my mouth opened at the sensation of him sliding it back inside. He didn't attempt to add more fingers, or ruin me the way he'd promised. He simply enjoyed the way I felt. The way I showed him my devotion in simpering moans and errant panting. His middle finger buried deep inside, palm pressed against my wet clit. Completely at his mercy.

"You've bewitched me, Bonnie." He confessed in soft whispers, "With your tight little innocent pussy. And that fucking smile, I can't stay away from you..."

No church girl could ever do witchcraft any justice. But I believed him.

"Then don't" I urged, not knowing what it would mean when the time would come for us to pick up this blanket and leave.

"Never..." He buried his tongue into my mouth, venturing deeper than he had before. "Will you cum for me, pretty little sweet thing?"

I didn't know what he meant. And I wouldn't spoil whatever spell I had managed to weave by asking him. If I were a flower I could feel my petals begin to wilt and fall. How could I tell him that I didn't know what he asked of me? I didn't want him to stop until I was completely deflowered. And whatever it was that he meant by cum, I hoped that I could do it for him.

"Anything...anything you want." I moaned, louder, arching my back to feel his fingertips deeper.

"That's it, oh, you're close..." He said, curling his finger up inside me, in a beckoning motion that almost sent me over the precipice. "You'll know when you get there, my little Ingenué."

His use of another language was unexpected. And his face said it all as I bashfully smiled into another insatiable kiss. He was right, though. I did know when I arrived. There was nothing about it that was anything I could have expected. With no knowledge that such a thing even existed, I was ebbed towards it like I was blind and seeing for the very first time.

At first it was like a muffled song I could hear from another room. The melody was there, I just couldn't pick up the lyrics. All I could see was those beautiful, deep brown eyes of his with the dark circles beneath watching me in wonder as it cascaded over me. The song no longer muffled, the crescendo of a great symphony in my eyes as I finished against his palm. The way he looked so satisfied letting me know that I'd done good.

"Ssssh...sssshhh..." He soothed, "It's ok sweet girl, I promise...it's ok."

I didn't know that there were tears falling down my cheeks until I tasted the salt of them on my lips. The sweet relief of something I hadn't known I'd needed filling me up from the soul upwards. He slipped his finger out and pulled up my panties, making sure that I wasn't hurt.

"I feel so foolish..." I cried, "How could you want me? When I'm like this?"

"It's because of this that I want you." He reassured me, grabbing the length of his aching cock beneath his boxer shorts and adjusting himself to a more comfortable position. "Don't you get it? It turns me on. The thought of nobody before me. That you'd be mine, entirely. And I can promise you here and now, I will protect you no matter the cost."

I couldn't wrap my head around what the cost might be. Only the way he didn't expect me to touch him back in that moment. He started to soften eventually as we laid there together, his hand running gentle strokes through my hair as I calmed. And he tucked himself away, promising that he would save it for another time.

The afternoon was growing late as we packed up and sorrowfully left our quiet little spot. The grass where we had laid all flattened in the perfect shape of where our blanket had been. A sorry reminder that the moment had fleetingly passed. I kept catching his eye as he tucked it underneath his arm, and he reached out to take my hand again.

"What now?" I asked.

"I don't know." He replied, with equal sadness. "But something tells me it'll be worth it."

We walked back in contemplative silence. Content just to be together a few more moments until it would be cruelly snatched from us. I could see that some of the crowds had already begun to disperse as we headed towards the plunge pool. A little less heavy on the noise. I could see Josh and Danny standing by their little group, deep in conversation whilst Ronnie packed up the boom box and cooler. Lewis was idly folding chairs, stacking them up ready to be carried back to the road.

"Where the fuck did you guys go?" Josh asked, watching us approach hand in hand. "Was about to send out a search party. We might have to, if Sam and Jolene don't get back here soon."

I had no concept of the time. I could feel the coolness of late afternoon on my skin, where once it had burned. The sun was still beating down as earnestly as it had been, but it was a little further towards the west.

"Shit, what time is it?" I asked, bile rising in my throat as I began to wonder if Ben was waiting for us up by the gate.

"It's a quarter to six." Josh replied, shaking his wrist as he checked his watch. "Why?"

I let go of Jakes hand. Circling the area for a visual of my missing sister. I couldn't see her anywhere.

"No, no this can't be happening...Ben will be here to pick us up in fifteen minutes..." I panicked, visibly shaking as I ran down towards the creek edge.

I called out her name. But there was no reply.

To be Continued...

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@caprisunsister @thewritingbeforesunrise @takenbythemadness @katuschka @its-interesting-van-kleep @lvnterninthenight @writingcold @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @edgingthedarkness @velveteencatch @lyndz2names @nina-23-45 @itsafullmoon @vikingisthenewsexy @char289

[storiesbyrhi]

Witch!Reader x Bat/Vampire!Eddie Munson Series Masterlist The Grimoire The Timeline

Warnings: canon typical violence, horror genre typical violence/some infrequent gore, swearing, animal death, no beta, death in childbirth (mentioned, not described), abusive parents, suicide, warnings updated each chapter.

Synopsis: No witch has stepped foot in Hawkins since 1845, but when Vecna opens the ground and poisons the town, a voice begins to call to you. Have you been brought back to this cursed place to heal the townspeople’s wounds, to save a hexed bat that always finds its way to you, or to redefine your history with a reunion 150 years in the making?

Chapter Summary: Before death. 3170 words.

1986

Led Zeppelin.

Talking Heads.

Public Enemy.

The Grateful Dead.

Brian Eno.

The Clash.

Metallica.

New Order.

N.W.A.

The Cure.

Tori Amos.

Black Sabbath.

Cat Stevens.

Patti Smith.

Fleetwood Mac.

There were a lot of cassettes in your car. Eddie looked through them with interest. Some were store bought, their original sleeves intact, and some were mix tapes you’d made yourself.

“This is the more modern stuff. It’s easy to fall behind when you live so many lifetimes. So, I try to update what I’m listening to every decade. This is mostly 1970s and 80s,” you told him.

“Where shall we begin?”

“With hair like yours… Metallica?”

Key turned in the ignition, you ran the car and pushed the cassette into the player. Fight Fire with Fire began, the first few bars melodic and calm. Then, it kicked in. Eddie flinched at the noise, surprised but not alarmed.

He leaned forward, like he was trying to decode something hidden deep within the music. Slowly, a wide grin crept across his face. He snapped to face you. “What is this?” he demanded in pure delight.

“This is music,” you replied with a casual shrug. “Specifically, this type is called metal,”

“I like it.”

Eddie looked like he was going to cry when For Whom the Bells Tolls played. Like the guitar riff and gothic sound effects were going to heal the undead body he lived in. Fade to Black made the vampire melt into his seat. He laughed then held a hand out to you. You took it, letting him thread his fingers through yours.

“I do not know what happened to me. But if it was the only path I could have taken to being here in this… car… with you and this music, then I am glad I took it,” Eddie said, closing his eyes before you could respond with expression or word.

You watched him for a moment. Something about him like this – relaxed, weird, beautiful – made you want to squeeze him. Dig your nails in. Bite to test for firmness. It was muscle memory, you realised. Your mind didn’t know Eddie, didn’t remember him, but your body acted as though she’d been by his side forever. It was too easy.

“Since we’re already in the car, should we go get you some more appropriate clothes? Maybe some other supplies too?”

One of the large neighbouring towns had a Walmart that had just been built, and it boasted 24/7 opening hours.

Eddie opened his eyes and cocked his head. “Little witch, are you attempting to court me?”

You laughed. “Are you asking me if I’m asking you on a date?”

“A date,” Eddie repeated. He was a quick study. “Little witch, are you asking me on a date?”

He expected you to blush or groan with denial. The anticipation of your reaction was written all over his face. You’d not play into his trap so easily. Instead, you shrugged and casually replied, “What if I am?”

Eddie couldn’t control his face entirely; his eyebrows shot up and he smiled. “Then ask,”

“Eddie the unhexed, my mortal enemy, will you accompany me on a date to Walmart?”

…

1587

At the age of twenty, Edward felt old. Although he had only graduated from his teenage years days earlier, as he stood on The Lion’s deck face to face with the Atlantic Ocean, he was weary.

His mother had died in childbirth, which was not uncommon. The world hadn’t begun to record statistics on such occurrences, but all things averaged, eighteen of every hundred women would perish before the birth day of their baby was done. Likely, it was much more.

Edward’s father looked at him like he was the murder weapon of his wife, life-taking and constantly reflecting a bloody image back at him. He treated his son worse. Not as a loaded pistol or sharpened axe, but as a contagion. The plague or measles. Typhoid or smallpox. Something that elicited disgust, a disease to rid himself of at the very first chance.

Edward was sold to a farmer at age seven, destined to a life of hard labour and loneliness.

However, Edward was a fighter. He fought the conditions of his gory birth. The miserable childhood. And the farmer’s distrust of him around his daughter, Lizzy.

He didn’t have eyes for Lizzy. He kept his head down, tended to the animals, worked the land, and waited to be released from his workman’s contract. For eleven years, the farmer underfed Edward. He staved off malnutrition through the kindness of the farmer’s wife, the only person the farmer treated worse than Edward.

He was beaten and broken in, the subject of the farmer’s displaced rage at not fathering any sons of his own.

On the morning of his eighteenth birthday, Edward stood at his post expectedly. The contract was done. He had earned his freedom. Perhaps there would be an offer of legitimate farm work, which Edward would decline regardless. Perhaps a parting gift of a letter of recommendation. Perhaps simply a nod of acknowledgment. But nothing came.

He knew better than to go inside the family house, but by mid-morning, Edward couldn’t shake the feeling something was wrong. Slowly, quietly, he crept in. Lizzy had grown up and left the farm, but there still should have been the noise of the wife.

The quiet was worse in some rooms than others. Edward followed the silence to the study.

The farmer was sitting in the corner of the room, curled up as if he weren’t the God-fearing iron-fisted master of the house. His rifle was held under his chin, ready for suicide.

The wife was sprawled out on the floor, eyes open and fixed on the ceiling, bleeding from somewhere Edward could not immediately see.

“Is she dead?” the farmer asked.

 Edward didn’t move.

“This is your fault, boy… Look what you made me do.”

It didn’t matter that it wasn’t Edward’s fault. A second dead mother would haunt him.

The gun went off, Edward flinched, half expecting to feel the bullet pierce through his body. His eyes were screwed shut and he was terrified to open them. He stood in the void of unknown for an entire minute. He counted the seconds in his head, one… two…, while he tried to imagine how he could have been the catalyst for the violence.

The sight of the farmer, face torn off and entirely limp, was seared onto the lens’ of Edward’s eyes forever.

On the desk was the contract signed when he was seven. His father’s signature had faded, the sign of cheap ink. Other documents were strewn around, including some that indicated to Edward that it was a possibility the farmer had no intention of honouring the contract’s end.

Among the papers, Edward found the key to the safe that was hidden beneath the staircase. Inside was what he considered to be a small fortune, but to the farmer it was pocket money. Edward took the cash, knowing he was incriminating himself, and returned to his post. He slung his one bag over his shoulder, took a horse, and never returned.

For days, weeks, and months after, Edward sat on the cusp of calm, always expecting to be hunted down and hung for a double murder. After a year, he slipped from the cusp and into a sense of normalcy.  

Edward found work in Plymouth, the port city home to enough taverns and underground establishments that he could choose between the kitchens or the brawling rings. He could butcher a pig as easily as he could take a punch. Ultimately, he earned the most when he picked up the lute and made music.

Despite landing on his feet, Edward lived in solitude, afraid that any woman he loved would meet an early death, and any man he trusted would turn on him for no reason. He went by the name Wayne, simultaneously distancing himself from his past while tying himself to it. Edward had only met his Uncle Wayne once. He had come for him when he was four, claiming that he could care better for his sister’s son than Edward’s father ever could.

When Edward was free from the farm, he considered trying to find Uncle Wayne. His father has ensured he knew nothing of the man though. He wouldn’t have known where to begin. Taking his name was all he could do.

For two years, Edward eavesdropped on the comings and goings of sailors, pirates, and kingsmen. In June of 1586, he heard of the return of ships from somewhere over the sea. They had run out of provisions. The attempt to colonise had been a failure. Next year. That’s what he had heard. Next year, they’d try again.

Edward felt, for the first time in his entire life, that he knew where he should go. The Lion’s manifest read Wayne Munson, birth 1567, and set sale on May 8 1587 with Governor White at the helm.

Sea travel was horrific. Edward was violently ill with motion sickness, his skin itched as the salt water dried on him, and he spent more time picking splinters out from under his nails than doing almost anything else. When, after two and a half months at sea, The Lion dropped anchor on the east coast of what would be come to known as North America, Edward could have kissed the earth. However, he was trying to maintain a low profile.

That is exactly how he came to learn that the violence he had been running from was an unstoppable force. In all his hope, Edward had underestimated the British’s capacity for it. When weapons were thrust into his hands at the turning of a war against the Native people of the land, Edward swallowed the stomach bile that had burst its way up into his mouth.

His mother’s death weighed heavily on him. The farmer’s wife too. Edward wasn’t a passivist, he had earned coin by beating men bloody, but he was not a killer. Certainly, he would not unjustly kill.

He thought maybe he could lie to the kingsmen, weave a story of priesthood. Here, in this new place, he would bring the holy word of God. A task the Queen herself would find more than noble. A task that could not begin with red on his ledger.

Alas, a colony of only a hundred would rely on each other. He had not the economic or social currency to show weakness. So, he fought.

Edward volunteered for any role that would take him out of the offensive lines. He went on reconnaissance trips and kept watch as others slept. He learned how to offer the most basic of medical aid, and how to sneak away from action without being missed.

It was on one of these secret trips that Edward came across a Native American who looked equally as surprised to see him. Edward had wandered off into the woodland that surrounded the colony, his weapon slung lazily over his shoulder, and his attention on the strange mushrooms growing along the forest floor.

The two men saw each other at the same time and froze in almost mirror positions.

Edward watched the man’s eyes flick to the weapon, then back to his face. He could tell he was reading him. Assessing what kind of White man Edward was. Slowly, Edward opened his hands and held them up, palms showing in a sign of submission.

“Peace,” Edward said softly.

The man took a step forward, a steely expression held firm. Edward tried not to flinch, instead offering a nod. The man came closer and closer until he could really see him. Neither of them wanted to cause the other harm. Edward knew that his individual intentions were irrelevant. He was part of a brutal regime.

In the distance, a gunshot echoed, startling both men. They ran in opposite directions, like two same-sided magnets repelling apart.

Edward told nobody of the encounter.

Just over a month later, the colonists were in a tense sort of truce with the Native Americans, but their resources were diminishing faster than they could be regenerated. They moved up the coast while the British fleet prepared to leave for England.

“If this is to be a true settlement, not a failure like Lane’s, we need provisions,” Edward listened to one of the colonists beg Governor White. It was a town meeting of sorts. “Return home. Tell them it was a mistake to come without a proper show of force. We need help.”

The fleet disappeared over the horizon near the end of August.

Within days, the knocking began.

Knock, knock.

When the sun set, a low mist would bleed out from the woodland. It came over the ocean, crossing the beach to get to the colony. Somewhere deep within it, something knocked twice, as if at a door asking for entry. They knocked on the hour, every hour until sunrise.

Knock, knock.

At first, the colony responded with a British stiff upper lip. They ignored it. They swallowed their fear. Then, when the cause for concern couldn’t be contained, they blamed the Native Americans. Except, it wasn’t how the Native Americans operated, and they hadn’t seen anyone but their own since the ships left.

Paranoia and dread set in. Superstition followed.

“What ungodly force has come for us?”

“Could it be the witches? They’re all over this land, you know!”

Edward listened to the unraveling of the people around him, but never offered his own theories or fears. Instead, one night, when the mist came in and the colony locked itself away, Edward found higher ground and watched. The mist was alive. There was simply no other conclusion to draw. It moved too quickly and appeared to have no relationship with the weather. It had a purpose. It licked around the settlement like it was hunting for something. Someone. Anyone.

Knock, knock.

Come morning, the colony’s livestock were slaughtered. Edward had stayed up all night, but he hadn’t seen it happen.  There had been no devils in the mist.

Knock, knock.

The children cried and the women kept themselves busy with work. The men burned the animals’ bodies, too afraid to eat any of the meat.

Knock, knock.

The next night, Edward took his perch again. And the next. And the next. Until, a week later, they came from the darkness.

He knew that they wanted to be seen. They knocked on doors, rapped knuckles on axes left in stumps. They knocked on trees and rocks, riding the fog in.

Edward saw them and there was nothing to be done about that. He saw their human forms wear human clothes but make inhuman movements. He saw them dancing, dragging animal carcasses behind them like royal capes. He saw them, and they saw him.

The colony was ripped apart. Men, women, and children all treated with equal brutality. Edward stayed positioned in his higher ground perch, witnessing evil while he held his breath and tried not to scream. Bodies limp like rag dolls. Blood drip drip dripping into buckets when neighbours were hung from trees. Horror. Carnage. Damnation.

It almost felt like mercy, Edward thought, the moment the warmth bloomed across his neck and down his chest. He stumbled as he stood from his hiding spot. The vampire was watching him curiously. Edward held a useless hand over the bite. It was mercy that he hadn’t seen the monster coming. He hadn’t felt the pain of the injury. He could just die, easily, simply, finally.

The vampire’s face broke out into a gleeful smile, its teeth off-white and sharp.

“Filius,” it hissed. Son.

The vampires had come for misery, mostly, but they had been watching the colony. They had watched the violence leveled at the Native Americans. They picked out their favourites, like children at a petting zoo. Favourites would be turned.

Edward had never been anyone’s favourite anything, until then.

When he dropped to his knees, the vampire was crouching before him. It reached out and patted Edward, watching his skin’s colour fade. Then, it pushed him onto the ground, leering over him.

Edward could feel himself dying. It was a strange sort of fading, unlike falling asleep, and nothing like he’d have expected. His senses were somehow still sharp. The sounds of the colony being bled and burnt. The smell of death and fire. He could see it all then, when the vampire bit down hard on its own wrist, tearing a gaping wound.

“Pótó,” it said to him.

Edward didn’t understand Latin, but he knew what it was saying. Drink. He held his lips together tightly. He would not follow at the heels of a monster. Whatever it wanted with him, he would not abide.

At first, Edward’s resistance amused the vampire. It let its blood drip and dribble onto his face. It grew bored quickly, clutching Edward’s head in its hands, its nails digging in, ready to pry his jaw open.

It was a blur. A weapon. Not enough to kill a vampire, but enough to send it tumbling away from Edward’s body. He felt strong arms wrap under him, pulling him up. Someone was dragging him away, yelling in a language he didn’t understand. There was fire, arrows dipped in it. Then, there was blackness.

Edward dreamed one last time.

The mist, it had still set itself upon the colony, but it wasn’t vampires. It was the witches. They looked like his mother and the farmer’s wife. Like the girl who could carry more pints at once than anyone else in the bar. Like the kid who lived on the streets that Edward would spare more money for than he could really afford.

The witches came with spells to heal and potions that tasted like warm honey, and reminded him of something he couldn’t place. They told stories to the children and baked enchanted bread with the women. For the men, there was nothing, but they watched from the sidelines with humility.

When Edward woke, the magic was gone.

He roared in pain, shooting up and panicking when his body was entirely out of his control, raging in agony, thrashing. Hands held him down, a voice doing its best to soothe him. It wasn’t enough.

Edward’s body felt hollow, like all his organs had shrivelled up, the blood lost through the septic wound in his neck. And, like any bones left inside him had shrunk too, turned brittle and too small to let him move as he wished. His flesh burned as if he’d been roasted on a spit. Everything was pain. There was nothing else.

It took only minutes for Edward to collapse again. He was vaguely aware of his own consciousness. Vaguely able to tell he was in some sort of cave or tree hollow. Something naturally formed and sheltered. Vaguely aware of a face he recognised hovering above him. As hands tried to stop the bleeding, Edward’s eyes closed.

End Note: For the anon that suggested it - 1986 Eddie listening to metal for the first time.

A huge thank you to @jo-harrington, who models exactly what it means to be a thoughtful writer. You help me navigate the writing world.

So... Did you ever think you'd get an Eddie origin story?

Fic Taglist:  @paranoidmunson  @idkidknemore @paprikaquinn @stardustworlds @loz-brooke @wyverntatty @vintagehellfire @dark-academia-slut @scarletwitchwhore @becks1002 @mrsdollardog @heyndrix @luceneraium @rosaline-black @devilinthepalemoonlite @goldencherriess @iamwhisperingstars @wiltedwonderland @blueywrites @breezybeesposts @jadehowlettthewolf @spikesvamp79 @foreveranexpatsposts @tortoiseshellspells @wingedpeachjudgegiant @stardustmunson @live-love-be-unique @fangirling-4-ever @reanimated-alice @b-irock @gh0stlybunnie @myown-worstenemy-2003 @woozzz @cyberxlust @hiscrimsonangel @buckysbarne @m00nlight101 @word-wytch @spicysix @briasnow-blog @goth-cowgirl-03

All Eddie Taglist: @solomons-finest-rum @ruinedbythehobbit @sweetpeapod @thorfemmes  @corrodedhawkins @grungegrrrl @lilzabob  @averagemisfit03 @ches-86 @ilovecupcakesandtea @onehotgreasymechanic @hazydespair @mel-the-fangirl @eddies-hid3out @siren-lungs @aheadfullofsteverogers @hiscrimsonangel

[me-sploh-rada-imas]

jance, 7 😌

hi💜thank you for sending me the prompt i suggested you send me because you inspired me when we were talking about them!! they always somehow end up 500x softer than i originally intend them to be when i write them so uh idk how this happened but yeah.

the prompt is a kiss to shut them up, which i also posted to ao3 here

For as long as they’ve known each other, Nace has always suspected that Jan somehow exists in a different dimension. It’s not that he’s careless or lazy; he just seems to operate on a different time scale from all the rest of them that doesn’t translate easily into the real world, despite Nace’s best efforts at learning his language. Whenever the band are making plans together, they always have to give Jan at least a half hour buffer if they want any hope of him arriving on time. It’s such a big problem that, for particularly important events, one of them has to be placed on ‘Jan watch’ to ensure that they can’t lose him. Nace has come to appreciate the importance of this job on another level now that he’s become Jan’s designated minder rather than Jure or Kris. 

It’s not just an important consideration when scheduling band events; Nace also has to be mindful of Jan’s wonky internal clock when they spend time together in a more personal capacity. The first time he invited Jan over for dinner several months ago, the meal he’d prepared had already begun to get cold by the time Jan showed up. Nace can’t hold this forgetfulness against Jan when it’s such an intrinsic part of him. He suspects that it’s a side effect of being a genius that the rest of the band have simply learnt to live with. Nace himself is slowly figuring out how to work around it; he’s started texting Jan a reminder of the event an hour in advance, he’s created a shared calendar in the hopes that Jan will check it more regularly, he convinces Jan to spend the night at his before any particularly important occasions. It’s not foolproof, but it’s certainly helped coordinate their lives more effectively than any measures the rest of the band have tried.

Jan is bad enough at remembering when he has to leave the house, but he’s hopeless at recalling when he’s offered to host instead. Nace has shown up multiple times on Jan’s doorstep to a disgruntled and still half-asleep Jan with the excuse that he lost track of time in the early hours and overslept. Nace has yet to come up with a solution to this problem, but he has plenty of time to think it over in the next few months as Eurovision approaches. Jan is certainly much better at remembering that the rest of the band exists when he has to share a hotel room with one of them.

It’s snowing heavily when Nace pulls up in front of Jan’s place and he takes out his phone to send him a message. As beautiful as this weather is, he’d prefer not stand outside in the freezing cold for half an hour if Jan has forgotten that he’s invited Nace over for lunch today. He’d also rather not pique the interest of the neighbours, who surely have noticed by now that Nace frequently shows up without the rest of the band accompanying him. It’s not exactly suspicious behaviour, but he knows that Jan would rather be as surreptitious as possible and not broadcast their budding relationship to his neighbourhood. Luckily, Jan answers Nace’s message within a few minutes, and Nace pulls on his winter clothing, gets out of his car, and hurries across Jan’s driveway to his front door.

Nace must have inadvertently interrupted a jamming session because when Jan answers the door, he still has an acoustic guitar in his hand. He’s clearly wide awake and well-rested, and he smiles brightly at the sight of Nace.

“Good morning, Mr Jordan,” he says cheekily.

“Good morning to you too, Mr Peteh,” Nace laughs, and steps forward to get out of the snow and the cold. 

Jan has other ideas. He blocks the doorway by propping his guitar up with an elbow against his chest and begins to play the opening riff of A Sem Ti Povedal. Nace is being serenaded by Jan, and suddenly there’s something tight in his chest that’s making it hard to breathe, and it’s not just the minus-ten-degree air outside. It’s wildly romantic considering that Jan is not usually one for grand gestures such as this, and it’s also embarrassingly public, even if the only possible observers are Jan’s neighbours. No one is out with the weather as bad as it is, but Nace still feels unbearably self-conscious, and he bundles Jan inside and closes the front door swiftly behind him. Jan is still playing and looking at Nace in a way that makes him feel raw and desperate. They’ve never said they love each other before, but this feels like the kind of moment in which Nace won’t be able to hold his tongue for much longer, and it’s not that he’s unsure of how Jan feels about him, he’s just terrified of scaring him off when he’s become one of the best things in his life. He’s overwhelmingly hot in his outdoor clothes in Jan’s warm house, and he tears off his hat and scarf but it doesn’t help the commotion in his brain, and Nace is suddenly desperate to shut Jan up before he says or does something he regrets.

He fists a hand in the collar of Jan’s shirt and tugs him in to kiss him hard. Jan’s fingers stall against the strings and he drops his pick as he reaches up to cup the back of Nace’s head with one hand and pull him in closer. The guitar is still between them and Nace fumblingly removes it from Jan’s grasp and sets it on the floor against the wall without breaking the kiss, leaving him free to move further into Jan’s personal space.

They’re panting when they break away, and Jan looks down at his empty left hand as though he hadn’t registered Nace taking his guitar away from him.

“Didn’t you like my playing?” Jan asks breathlessly.

“I loved it,” Nace says and laughs. The forbidden words are on the tip of his tongue and he has to take a moment to hold them back before he can continue. “No one’s ever serenaded me before.”

Jan kisses him again then, brief but hot, and Nace chases Jan’s lips futilely when he pulls away.

“You don’t know what you’ve got yourself in for,” Jan says. “Soon you’ll be wishing you’ll never have to hear me play ever again.”

“Absolutely not,” Nace protests. “It’s definitely a perk of dating you if you play for me like that.”

“I’m always playing for you,” Jan says sincerely, though he seems a little surprised to have said it. “I love you.”

Nace’s heart skips a beat and he pulls back so he can properly look Jan in the face. If he felt hot and bothered before, it doesn’t hold a candle to how he feels right now. There’s no air left in his lungs to say anything, and even if there were, he suddenly feels as though he’s forgotten how to speak. Jan is smiling a little nervously at him and Nace realises that he’s been staring at Jan, speechless, for far too long.

“I love you too,” Nace chokes out past the lump in his throat, and then he’s kissing Jan again fiercely, unrelentingly, like he doesn’t know how to stop, all lunch plans forgotten.

[pokemon-xxy]

Now that we're all older and hotter and more bisexual (or at least I am), could we try to reunite Katharine Isabelle and Kris Lemche for another movie? The Last Casino is an old favourite but those characters are young enough to be my kids now. I'm not picky but I have a few ideas:

Isabelle could really work a "plausibly deniable town witch" vibe in a faux-fantasy, sort of in the vein of The Good Witch or L'Arracheuse de Temps. Lemche is either the only person in town who believes she's really a witch, or the only person in town who doesn't.

I don't even like Stephen King but I sincerely think they would crush a new adaptation of The Shining (or a legally distinct riff on it).

Les Liaisons Dangereuses but set in modern Montréal, they're both obnoxious cutthroat tech industry transplants who are ultimately ruined by the local francophones they fetishize.

Literally anything, I'm not even joking that I would start watching the worst kinds of copaganda if these two were partner detectives.

I'm envisioning Kris Lemche as like a college professor type, who we're supposed to believe is set up for a midlife crisis and a manic pixie dream girl arc à la every bad screenwriter's self-insert schlock starring Paul Giamatti, but he turns out to be a normal and boring dude with a happy marriage that just looks sullen and strained to outside onlookers, much the same way the Addams Family is misunderstood by their neighbours.

[paperbackribs]

A Tarnished Copper Boy (4)

Previous | Next Last chapter, Dustin warned Steve against changing the timeline and Steve disappeared in front of Eddie's eyes.

(fair warning: this is a long chapter)

Chapter 4: By His Bootstraps

The opening riff of The Sentinel is precise and full of weight before it falls into a metallic cascade that softly thunders through the trailer. Eddie taps a restless foot along with the ferocious drumming as he sits at the desk in his darkening bedroom. Contemplatively unwrapping its box, he reflects on the grey figurine in his hand.

The plastic monster from the D&D universe is a newly bought demogorgon. Two leering baboon heads perch above a torso that explodes with four sinuous, tentacle-like limbs, and a forked tail snakes behind the body. Tracing its snarling fangs, Eddie broodingly thinks about a young boy defending an older one.

The song ends and Eddie flips the cassette over to the B-side, keeping the volume lowered in respect for their neighbour, Catherine. She had stopped by with a buttermilk pie and the request for one weekend without a headache before she heads out to her evening shift at the hospital.

Wayne had pushed Eddie aside, all aw shucks and I’ll make sure he will and oh, no, we couldn’t accept pie when we’re in the wrong. But Eddie had already stolen away with the treat and perched himself at the kitchen counter, fork deep in the smooth and tangy filling while he gleefully watched his normally impassive uncle stumble over his words.

Catherine has a brash sort of loveliness with her auburn curls and a sharp gleam to her eyes that Eddie respects. Despite the gift to sweeten her request, there had been a sensibly tart tone to what essentially amounted to a command. She had been dressed in her usual practical pants and jacket with low-heeled flats, but the combination of it all obviously does something for his uncle.

Really, Eddie had said later to a faintly flushed Wayne, he should thank him for playing his music so loudly. Wayne had just harrumphed and walked away, not willing to talk about his obvious crush.

Yet, despite the lowered volume, Halford’s muted vocals still soar, reaching and shredding sharp talons into the air, pulling the listener to him with relentless energy. It matches Eddie’s mood. Thinking of a guardian, standing defiantly against an impending darkness inevitable to his future, some event full of death that sends its soldier falling back in time.

Eddie sighs at himself in frustration, tilting back in the chair and throwing his bare feet up on the desk. It’s been a whole month since Steve disappeared from within his closed van, and he can’t stop thinking about him.

His fixation evident in the piled notebooks next to his crossed ankles, full of scribbled lyrics and character ideas for a new campaign. One haunted by battles thick with smoke and screaming demogorgons while a distant hero stands tall, sworn to avenge but condemned to hell.

He scratches at a small tab of plastic on the miniature’s bulging leg that hasn’t come away clean. Eddie should be writing his essay on the illusion of wealth and the decay of the American Dream in the 1920s, but it holds little interest compared to the figurine in his hand. Wondering whether it’s an accurate representation of the creature that Steve has apparently fought and won against, with a bat studded full of nails of all the insane things.

It's such a down and dirty idea for a weapon. A chaotic and deadly contrast against the preppy senior Eddie is peripherally aware of at school. Who knew that the sneaky clean basketball captain and former swimming co-captain was capable of wielding a weapon crafted for maximum fear and brutality?

It’s sort of hot.

Eddie’s musings are abruptly shattered by a thud of impact followed by an unmistakable groan. His head snaps towards the direction of his door and Eddie nearly falls over his chair in his rush to get up.

Scrambling through the doorway he spies Steve sprawled out on the carpet, face down and in the same spot as last time. Rolling over, legs akimbo, he blankly stares up at the ceiling before Eddie eventually makes a noise that has him tilting his head up. He wryly smiles, “Surprise.”

“Steve!” Eddie rushes over, his hand already stretching to help him up. He gratefully takes it, groaning again quietly as Eddie pulls back and stumbles a little at his unexpected strength.

For a beat, Eddie can only see the flecks of gold in Steve’s dark eyes, not the plain brown he had thought in the shadows of the Henderson home.

The long lashes around those eyes flutter a moment before Steve takes a step backwards, and he shakily laughs. “Thanks, man. That is not a smooth landing the second time round, either.”

“Where have you been?” Eddie asks, scanning Steve to make sure he’s not bleeding or broken from the fall. Oddly, he looks unchanged from when he’d seen him last. The same mud-splattered pants and boots, brown leather jacket over a hard, tactical vest, and even the dirt on his forehead and jaw are in an identical shape and place.

Steve laughs again, but it sounds unsteady. He falls back onto the couch, looking up at Eddie with vulnerability hinted at the corner of his mouth. “Could I get a water or something? I don’t think I’ve had anything to eat or drink for hours. It’s all catching up on me.”

Eddie steps back towards the kitchen, “Yeah, man. You want a sandwich as well?” He roots around the fridge and cupboards, “Uh, looks like it’ll have to be a PB&J. That okay? Not allergic or anything are you?”

Steve’s head is against the back of the couch, looking up at the ceiling for guidance again. Eddie feels an echo, a reminder of being captivated by that long stretch of skin last time too. “Yeah, that’s fine," he says, "PB&J sounds great.”

Eddie brings over the makeshift meal and Steve downs the water in one go before wolfing down the sandwich. He brings over another round and Steve takes it a bit more slowly this time, sipping the water and nibbling on the bread.

He looks Eddie up and down, noting his bare feet, blue plaid boxers, and Eddie’s black sleeping shirt, “Shit. You didn’t just come back from driving me to Dustin’s, did you.” He looks towards the slats open over the window, the light of the afternoon fading into a quiet darkness. An obvious contrast to the bright daylight that had washed over Steve the last time Eddie had seen him.

Eddie frowns, sitting on the brown couch and making sure that a few inches separate the two of them, “That was a month ago.”

Steve just nods grimly, a tendon in his jaw flexing as he processes the time that has passed.

“Steve?” Eddie reaches a tentative hand out to him, touching his wrist gently. Afraid to spook him, but it seems to wake Steve from his reverie, and he lets out a hoarse, humourless sound, “I was just in the van. So, I guess, good for me? I’m not going backwards at least.”

Weeks had passed for Eddie while Steve experienced seconds, if anything at all, but he’s right in at least one thing. “It’s good though, going forward. Do you think you’ll hang around this time?”

Steve quirks a sardonic eyebrow and Eddie flushes as he remembers that Steve knows just as much about time travel as Eddie does. Namely, what the pipsqueak had told them last time.

“Maybe? I don’t even know if this is good or bad. It’s just, I feel like I’ve come back from war and—” He squeezes his eyes tight, and Eddie hears him mutter something sounding suspiciously like ‘butterflies.’

Eddie decides that it might be best to redirect him from thoughts that aren’t going to help right now. “You want a shower? I can give you a change of clothes.”

Steve lets out a heartfelt moan, mouth falling open and eyes fluttering close. “I could kiss you, that’s a great fucking idea.”

Eddie’s cheeks flare hotly, and he hurriedly stands to move past Steve before the other guy can see the incriminating red on his face. He has no business watching Steve make a veritable o-face. “This way,” he calls, pointing to the bathroom door before heading to his bedroom, “Just leave your shit on the floor and I’ll put down something for you to wear by the door.”

The rumble of the shower starts, and Eddie steadfastly ignores the conjured image of a wet and soapy Steve in favour of finding fresh clothes for him to change into.

They’d been in the living area long enough for the album’s B-side to nearly finish, the deep roiling beat of Heavy Duty pulsates through the room, the singer growling that he knows you like it hot, that you love to writhe and sweat.

Eddie reaches over and firmly slaps the stop button. Not helping to keep his thoughts clean. Ha.

Steve is clearly going through a rough time right now and he doesn’t need Eddie lusting after him like some deviant when what he likely needs himself is a pause button as he experiences time travel hell.

Eddie is listlessly tidying his desk when Steve walks through the bedroom door, hair damp but otherwise clean and dry. He looks up from organising the small paint pots for his miniatures, in order of rainbow, and realises his miscalculation. The borrowed navy sweats leave little imagination to the thickness of Steve’s thighs or the soft bulge between his legs, and the faded Dio t-shirt stretched across his broad chest is likewise tight around firm biceps.

But it is the unfurling tendril of possessiveness that surprises Eddie, the image of a freshly showered, attractive man in his clothes unravelling an unexpected thrill in his gut. That Steve looks soft and a little sleepy only makes the unexpected feeling dig deeper somehow.

Eddie swallows around the pool of spit that gathered in his mouth and motions towards the bed, “You look really tired, man. You want to have a nap or something?” And immediately understands that if seeing Steve in his clothes is enough to make him unsteady then seeing Steve in his bed is going to absolutely wreck him.

“I’ll just wait outside,” he hastens to add, not even waiting to hear Steve agree.

“Wait,” Steve grabs his hand before he flies away. “Stay?” His eyes are worn and a hint of fear shimmers underneath. “This is really scary,” he admits. “I don’t know what’s going on and I don’t know when I’ll suddenly disappear. Maybe I’ll just disappear for good? It’d be nice if there was someone familiar around. Plus,” he adds with a weary grin, “You were probably busy before I intruded.” He peers around Eddie to nod at the desk that he'd been standing next to.

Eddie hears an echo of disappear for good and thinks that maybe he wants to watch over Steve while he sleeps too, make sure that he doesn’t pop out of existence under Eddie’s nose.

He banishes the nervousness bound to be in his tone with a business-like clearing of his throat. “Yeah. Yeah, that’d be fine. I was actually about to paint my demogorgon — a miniature, not a real one. Obviously. Because I don’t even know what that’s about, but Dustin said something?”

Steve’s blink is slow and edged with creeping exhaustion, “Yeah, that would have been just last year for him. Wow.” He shakes his head and the low lamp of the bedside table reveals hidden hues in the strands of his hair, a tawny richness suited to a golden crown. But Steve’s head seems to hang too heavily for such an unwieldy responsibility right now, and it doesn’t quite suit Eddie’s image of this version of Steve.

Steve moves with deliberate slowness, lowering himself onto the messy, turn-downed sheets while the old mattress creaks. He rolls onto his back, shifting to find the right position before quietly asking, “Have you spoken to him again?”

Eddie wanders back to his desk and straddles the chair. It lets out a small squeak in protest at the sudden weight. “No, you said not to. So, we haven’t. Avoided that side of town to be honest, just in case.”

Steve blows out a breath of relief, “Good, that’s good. Thank you. I haven’t even had a chance to think this through, but he scared me with that butterfly stuff.” The lids of his eyes become heavier, dropping close over fading eyes. “But I don’t want you to get hurt either,” he murmurs before falling asleep.

Eddie should look away, but he can’t just yet. Maybe a little worried that Steve will disappear and maybe just because he’s lovely to look at.

There’s no doubting the appropriateness of his royal moniker, Eddie thinks, as his eyes trace across that straight and sturdy nose, its regal line adding to the sculptured architecture of his face. But it’s his long, dark eyelashes that belie the untouchable strength that being a king denotes.

They cast delicate shadows over thin skin smudged with exhaustion. Each lash hints at another layer of mystery to this boy in Eddie’s bed, whose square face is a warm canvas affectionately kissed with small moles, like delicate constellations scattered across the night sky. Eddie always liked staring up into the night.

He sighs, turning back to his desk and adjusting its lamp so that the light shines further away from Steve. Perhaps it’s time he started on that essay.

---

It feels like hours later, and Eddie must have fallen asleep at his desk because his neck is painfully bent, forehead pressed against a notepad and a warm, wet patch spreads beneath his open mouth. A broad hand presses through his thin shirt to gently shake his shoulder, “Eddie, hey Eddie, wake up man.”

“Mrmph,” Eddie unpeels his forehead from the paper and lets his head fall back, looking upside down at a sleep-creased Steve. He snorts, he can see right up through his nostrils. Steve’s eyes crinkle with affection, “Yeah, you’re out of it. Come on, you’re coming to bed.”

Eddie tries to shake the crust from his brain, the wisps of foggy sleep still sliding in and around his head, “You take the bed. Need it.”

Steve huffs out a laugh, winds an arm around Eddie’s shoulders, and hauls him up. Eddie flops over Steve, nuzzling into the warmth of the crook between his neck and shoulder, “Mrmph,” he repeats unintelligently. “Uh huh,” Steve agrees.

“So, this is what it’s like on the other side,” he further muses, humour clear in his voice while he manoeuvres Eddie onto the bed. Steve settles onto the right side, which he had been sleeping on, and pulls the covers over the both of them, “We can share tonight. You’re gonna snap your neck if you stay at the desk.”

Eddie’s eyes are already shut, and he only has a second or two to think that there’s something he should object to before he’s out like a light.

---

It’s the morning light seeping through the curtains that eventually stirs Eddie, the sharpness of it piercing the dark behind his eyelids and waking him from the cocoon of sleep. The trill of a bird calling forth the day is interrupted by a slamming car door and raised voices, Eddie groans and nestles further into the hard pillow below his cheek.

The pillow rumbles with suppressed laughter and Eddie gradually becomes aware that underneath him is the broad chest of a man with an accompanying arm cradling his shoulder. The gentle strokes along his back, rhythmic and comforting, speak to a quiet intimacy lingering in the air.

The feeling is reassuring and makes Eddie even more reluctant to properly wake. He nuzzles deeper into the warmth, savouring the scent that surrounds him. It carries the familiar fragrance of his own washing powder but intertwined with another, more masculine musk, foreign yet inviting.

The strangeness of it has Eddie blinking further awake, a sudden cold wash rushing through him as he becomes horrifyingly sure that he had crawled into bed with Steve in the middle of the night and then crawled all over Steve this morning. Eddie’s eyes fly wide open, and he scrambles back from him.

Would have fallen over the edge too if Steve hadn’t quickly reached out and grabbed him, holding firmly onto his arms while Eddie uselessly tries to gesture with them. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to!” Christ, is Steve going to punch him or something?

“It’s okay. Hey — stop,” Steve shakes him a little since Eddie’s on the verge of a panic attack because he’d been snuggling Steve Harrington and he doesn’t remember when he’d slithered into bed with him, but he must have and now Steve’s going to think that he’s some pervert who’s drooling all over him.

Which, yeah, okay, he has done that a little, but it’s not like he wants Steve to think he’s taking advantage of his situation.

“Eddie, it’s okay. It was just a little cuddling, it’s fine,” Steve’s eyes are wide with concern, flickering over the fear that is surely writ large over Eddie’s face.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie repeats. “I don’t remember getting into bed with you.”

“You didn’t,” Steve assures him. “I moved you. I woke up and you were dead to the world, passed out over the desk. There’s enough room, but I didn’t realise it would freak you out. I’m sorry.”

He grimaces, “I didn’t think about how you might feel waking up with a strange guy in your bed, I’m sorry. Really.” He raps his knuckles against his head while making a sound like hollow wood being tapped, “Not a lot going on up here and sometimes I act before I think.”

Eddie exhales a shaky breath, Steve put them in bed together. Not Eddie. He can work with that. “It’s okay,” he says, but he’s not certain how sure his smile is, and he needs to try and style this out, so he accompanies it with a light-hearted wink. “You’re a great cuddler.”

Steve's cheeks pinken and he scrubs his hand through his hair, “That’s one thing I can offer, at least.”

Eddie very casually rolls out of the bed, picking his way towards the bathroom, “Not the way I hear it from the ladies, Casanova.”

He hears a snort behind him followed by a muttering too low to catch, but Eddie’s fairly sure he’s walking out with his dignity intact, which is more than he thought he would at the outset of that heart-stopping moment. Fuck, Steve smells good and damn it, he had been nice to cuddle.

Before Eddie freaked out.

He rubs at his chest, his heart starting to slow down. Really, he should take this as a win. Snuggling a pretty boy is not the worst way to wake up. And when said pretty boy doesn’t seem to mind sharing a bed, albeit out of pity for Eddie’s poor neck than any sort of attraction, well that’s not too bad either.

He takes a piss before quietly making a couple of bowls of Honey Crunch. It’s getting late in the morning and Wayne is asleep on the sofa bed. A steady drone of snoring emanates from under the rolled covers, covering the man like a burrito. Eddie idly wonders whether Catherine would mind having two blankets in bed, rather than sharing.

He tries to be quiet because, while Wayne is pretty good at filtering out sounds after years of this arrangement, Eddie still wants to respect his space as much as possible. The old man had taken him in when he was a shivering mess, all coltish limbs and terrified in the face of the unknown. Wayne had taken one look at him and had declared that Eddie needed his space in their home, a place to make his own.

It had made Eddie more secure than he had ever thought to understand at that moment. After all, Wayne’s unlikely to kick him out when he has a room designated especially for Eddie. So, he tries to pay him back where he can, money for utilities and silence in his sleeping area.

Steve is flipping through a book as Eddie edges the door open and closed, juggling the bowls over for Steve to grab. He places the book back on the bedside table beside a small mound of pens and digs into his cereal, “Thanks, I’m starving.”

Eddie decides that retreat is the better part of valour and settles on his desk chair rather than risking the bed. He raises one knobby knee to his chin and contemplatively eats his breakfast. “I see you found my new Heinlein collection,” he nods towards the book Steve had put aside.

On its cover, two naked figures are roughly shaded in, framed by sharply dissecting lines while a cloud forms in the background. It has a blooming red centre.

Steve looks down at it, “Ah, yes. The exploding asshole collection of short stories.”

Eddie spits out a spray of milk as he honest to goodness lets out a loud guffaw. The cloud with its red middle point, shooting out straight lines, does look like an exploding asshole now that it’s been pointed out.

Steve grins, seemingly pleased with himself.

Eddie snickers while wiping his chin clean, “Yes, well, other than the unfortunate cover design, I got it because of you actually. The second story, By His Bootstraps, has a time travel plot like the one Dustin mentioned.”

“Yeah?” Steve frowns down at it as if it could contain real explosives, “Any butterflies in this one?”

“Nah, it’s sort of the opposite. Like whatever you do, whether it’s in the past or the future, it's inevitable. A fixed point in time that can’t be changed no matter how much you struggle against it.”

“Struggle?” Steve asks uneasily.

“Yeah, Bob, the protagonist, he goes back and forth in time while coming across these pricks.” Eddie traces the edge of his bowl with the spoon before dropping it into the sweetened milk. “One guy who tries to get him into trouble with petty pranks and another who’s a boss sort of guy from the way far out future.”

Eddie snorts, “Even calls himself Diktor — get it, dictator. Anyway, Bob’s just trying to survive as he goes back-and-forth in time, but the more he tries to change what’s happening the more obvious it is that every event has already happened.”

Steve shakes his head, holding up a hand, “Wait, I don’t get it.”

Eddie hums, thinking about how to explain it as he places his bowl to the side. Holding his hands in the air like it's a circular clock, he positions his finger up at midnight. “So Diktor is a chief of the future, has slave ladies and everything." He moves his finger to the imaginary six, neatly sectioning it in half. "And he tricks Bob into going through a time portal and sort of steers him towards decisions that Bob didn’t intend. With me so far?”

Steve nods with furrowed eyebrows, concentrating on Eddie's hands.

“Right. And Bob resists because he doesn’t like how Diktor’s manipulating him." Eddie slides his finger around to just before midnight, hovering in a wagging motion like it's waiting to move forward. "He hates it so much that he travels to the future ten years before Diktor himself arrives so that he can become the boss. Because, if he's in charge, then Diktor can't mess with him anymore."

Triumphantly, Eddie slides his finger back into the original midnight position. "But by doing that Bob actually becomes Diktor — which is the name for chief in the future-world’s language.”

“Shit!” Steve’s mouth hangs open and Eddie nods excitedly, dropping his pretend clock. “Yeah, what a fucking plot twist. So, Bob is destined to turn into Diktor who will inevitably harass his past self so he can once more — become Diktor. It’s a loop and there’s no origin because they just keep going around and around in an eternal circle.”

Steve pales and Eddie reigns in his excitement, reminded of Steve’s reaction to the Bradbury theory. This is all very real to Steve, not just a thought experiment as Eddie had first allowed himself to think of it.

“So,” Steve begins, “I could reach 1986 and then just start falling again until I meet you last month, going to the beginning of a loop.”

His head falls into his hands, and he continues to say, muffled, “I might forget everything and start all over again. Or maybe, it'll be weirder than that. Maybe I’ll just get older and older while still hitting the floor of your trailer. Then they’ll be like fifty of me everywhere and I’ll never escape, I’ll just be the boy in a never-ending fall, in the wrong time—”

“Hey, Steve, hey.” Eddie shoves off his seat and hastens onto the bed, crawling until he’s hovering over Steve, hands outstretched but unsure what to do with them.

Steve peeks up at Eddie through his hands, his voice full of anguish, “You don’t get it, Eddie. I’m not clever enough to work this out. I’m either going to step on a bug and he’s going to win, and everyone is going to die or we do win, great, but I’m stuck falling onto your floor for the rest of my life.” He laughs hysterically, “Either option is pretty fucking grim.”

Eddie looks down at Steve, scared and looking a hairsbreadth away from losing his mind and thinks fuck it. He scoops Steve into his arms, drawing his head down onto his chest. Steve immediately circles his arms around Eddie, a tight band pulling them together. He can’t hear it, but from the slight shuddering of his shoulders and the wetness starting to soak through his shirt, he knows that Steve is silently crying.

It breaks his heart a little that he’s hiding it so well.

Gingerly and because his spine is starting to ache, Eddie inches down until his back is against the headboard, feet spread out and Steve practically in his lap. He’d only have to move one leg and Steve would be straddling Eddie, but he simply shuffles so that his upper body is stretched out with his head in the crook of Eddie's shoulder. He snuffles a little.

Knowing how embarrassed he feels when he cries, Eddie mildly offers Steve some advice, “My shirt is soft and easily washed, much like a handkerchief. Go at it.” He hears a watery chuckle and Steve suddenly feels less stiff in his arms. He can’t help but smile that he was able to lessen Steve’s tension just a little bit.

Gently, Eddie smooths one hand down Steve’s back, a repetitive motion designed to give simple comfort. Steve’s trembling breathing has ebbed and tears stopped by the time he draws back. His eyes are puffy and nose red, and Eddie lies, “Well, thank fuck something is fair. You can’t be hot all the time.”

Steve chortles, briefly burrowing down into Eddie’s chest and dramatically smearing his nose against the shirt. “I’m always hot, shut up.”

Eddie hums a neutral sound, “You know you’re not alone, right? I’ll help you.” Steve stills in his arms. “If nothing else, I clearly can’t get rid of you.”

This must be the wrong thing to say because Steve becomes rigid once more and he pulls out of Eddie’s arms. Drawing away to sit with his back against the headboard too. Although his face is slightly averted, Eddie can see the downturn to his mouth.

“That’s me. Like a bad smell, hanging around long past where I’m welcome.”

Sometimes Eddie feels allergic to sincerity and his usual knee-jerk reaction is to crack a joke, but he’s not a total idiot and is maybe capable of learning from his mistakes. It's clearly a sore spot that he pressed on while trying to lighten Steve’s mood, so Eddie takes a deep breath and feels out the words before he says them.

“I’m glad,” he says. Steve’s eyes cut to him, unsure and a little suspicious.

“I know we’re not friends right now, but I hope that we are where you come from. Because I think we could be good friends, and maybe friendship usually doesn’t involve time travel and its dire consequences, but I’m willing to brave that because I think you’re probably a good dude, Steve Harrington. Rich, popular guy like you, it sort of flies in the face of the Munson doctrine. But I think you are and, if it’s okay, I’d like to help.”

Steve’s eyes flicker over Eddie’s face like he’s trying to divine his honesty. “You know, you’ve said something similar to me before.”

Eddie smiles smugly, “So, you’re saying I’m consistent.”

“I’m saying that I think I’d like to be your friend too,” he sighs, tipping back his head with his eyes closing, “I for sure don’t have the smarts to work this out though. What do you think I should do?”

“I’m barely passing senior year a second time, man. I don’t think I’m the egghead you’re looking for.”

Steve doesn’t open his eyes, but his voice is disgruntled, “That’s clearly bullshit. I know that a guy who runs his own business—”

Eddie snorts at being called a business owner for dealing a little weed on the side.

Steve ignores him to continue, “—and a school club too is probably resourceful, imaginative and, honestly, if you can corral the little buttheads in Hellfire, you automatically have my respect.”

Eddie is deeply flattered, never having thought to see himself in the way that Steve paints him; the unexpectedness of it causes him to blush a deep crimson colour that he can feel spreading from his cheeks towards his chest.

It’s already a heady feeling, and Steve continues, “You can quote complicated novels that Dustin might one day convince me to read, but I’m not looking forward to. And you’re kind. That counts a lot in my book.”

Eddie looks away from Steve, unable to bear the sincerity on his face and the honesty in his voice. Eddie may not be a bad guy, and he’s a lot better than some of the rich assholes or outright bullies at his school, but it’s another thing to hear someone sincerely lay out all the reasons that they think you’re a smart and good person.

He clears his throat because he’s sure that if he tries to speak first then his voice is going to crack like it hasn’t since he passed the worst woes of puberty. “That’s… thank you.” He says, unable to think clearly but perhaps redirection is called for before he combusts. “Not a time travel expert though. But let’s try pulling this tangle apart.”

Steve looks tired already, but he nods and gestures for Eddie to start them off. “Okay,” he ticks the points on his fingers, “One, you come from a time where something bad happens, but you or your crime-fighting team win the good fight. Two, the Bradbury theory says that you can’t change anything otherwise you may lose said fight and you’ve mentioned that that’s a bad thing.”

Steve watches Eddie, a grave mien hanging over him, his sombreness lending credence to Eddie’s image of him as a soldier at war. “World endingly bad, yes.”

“Third,” Eddie hastily continues, trying to shake off the idea of an event so terrible it can end the world, because he doesn’t think Steve was using hyperbole. “Heinlein’s theory says fuck it, do what you want because you can’t change a thing so you’re going to win no matter what you do.”

“They’re both on the opposite spectrum of what I can choose to do though and it’s not like we know whether either theory is correct, this is all just based on fiction.” Steve pauses, grimacing, “We may not be time travel experts, but there are other people out there who could be. Science people”

“Like Dustin?” Eddie asks, confused at how many smart pipsqueaks there are in Steve’s fellowship. “Do you have like a gaggle of geniuses in your family or something?”

Steve laughs ruefully, “No, though I do babysit a bunch of smart-asses, Dustin being one of them. No, there are these government agents who would probably have something to say about it. But they’ve been the cause of all this more than the solution before. I’m not sure that I can trust them.”

“Good call,” Eddie says, faithful to the anti-establishment. “And if the Bradbury theory holds true then involving the government is a big freaking butterfly.”

“So,” Steve says slowly, “If I do what I want to do and try to save the people who have died in my time, I could be Bob or Diktor, whoever: they die all over again regardless, but—good news—we still win. Or I try to save them and, in doing so, I step on the butterfly: maybe I save them, maybe other people die instead, and we don’t know what happens after that.”

Steve scrubs a hand over his face in frustration, “I have the chance to save people, people who died in horrible ways, and talking this out makes me feel like I think I’m God or something. Deciding who gets to live or die.”

“It’s beyond your feelings though, isn’t it,” Eddie hates to add, but he thinks it needs to be said. “There’s the third outcome: you try to save those people, but they die and even more after that because you didn’t stop the world from ending. That’s what this is about, right? The bad guy you mentioned. You said he’s going to kill everyone. That didn’t sound like a figure of speech.”

Steve’s lips thin like he’s holding back his words and, considering that he’s still on the fence about what he can say or do, Eddie figures that he probably is. “Yeah, it's not just an expression, this has real consequences. I have to go with the butterflies, don’t I? In the end, my strategy should be avoidance because we won the championship and if I change out the players then we might lose this time instead. That’s the worst-case scenario. The best case is that I still let people die, but he’s also beaten and that’s better. It’s better for everyone, but… shit, it still sucks.”

Steve looks so defeated, tired and worn and Eddie can’t help but feel that letting people die is more responsibility than a young man like Steve should be taking on. Eddie reaches out to squeeze his hand, urging him to feel that he’s not alone. He has Eddie, at least for right now. “It does suck. And I’m sorry, I’m so sorry that you go through what you do. But yeah, I think you’re right. You’re gonna have to watch where you step.”

Steve squeezes back, a steady connection between the two of them. “What about you? I don’t have a magic wand to erase your memory, and you now know a lot more than you should.”

Eddie nibbles on his lip while he thinks. He doesn’t feel like his wings have been squashed under a boot, but that’s the point. They won’t know whether his talks with Steve, getting to know him before he should, will change the timeline. But from what Eddie can see at this point, the milk has been spilled and there’s no point in crying over it.

He looks up to share his thoughts and catches Steve quickly averting his eyes away, a light blush spreading over his cheeks.

“There’s nothing we can do about it,” Eddie says, ignoring whatever was going on with Steve. “You probably shouldn’t tell me any big events before they happen, but I know the basic outline. I already know you to a certain extent.”

“So just keep it simple,” Steve ventures.

“Yeah, like I can’t know when we get to be friends,” he winks at Steve who responds with a light laugh. “Or whether I’m involved in all this.” By the way Steve averts his eyes again, Eddie can guess that he is. “I suppose that my place is at least in the firing path since you said the portal is here?”

Steve thinks for a moment, “I don’t think I can tell you much about that either. It’s too close to what we’ve been talking about. But I do get to know you, you’re right. A little bit in the future.” For the first time since they started talking about Bob slash Diktor and his unfortunate time adventures, Steve’s smile brightens.

“And I know that we become friendly in a couple of years,” Eddie adds mischievously.

“Yes, but I’m not saying when,” Steve responds in a similiarly playful manner.

“No,” Eddie agrees mock-solemnly, “Stay on the time tourism’s path and away from prehistoric bugs.”

“I think Dustin said crusti-saurus.”

“Cretaceous.”

“See, I said you were smart,” Steve says with a twinkle in his eye, like he’s joking again but not at Eddie. It stirs something in Eddie’s gut, taking flight and fluttering in his throat. He flops back onto his pillows to escape the inconvenient feeling.

“Well, it seems like it’s actually you who’s stuck with me,” he turns his head to gauge Steve’s reaction but notices a dark maroon patch on his white and blue striped sheets. He reaches out to finger it, dry to the touch. Looking up he asks, “Steve, are you bleeding?”

But Steve’s not there.

Again.

The only trace of him is left in the indent of where he had been sitting against the pillow that had sat between his back and headboard, puffing out as it gradually expands into its original shape. Eddie lays a hand on the mattress; it’s still warm from Steve’s missing body.

If you liked anything, please consider leaving a comment over on Ao3 :-) It would make my day!

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[rastronomicals]

9:23 PM EST January 29, 2023:

Surfer Blood - "Neighbour Riffs" From the album Astro Coast (January 19, 2010)

Last song scrobbled from iTunes at Last.fm

[yourareonlymine]

Step by Step

It was the small little things. You started off touching yourself. What a wondrous feeling! Then you did it again. And again. You would put one finger in, you would put another, you would start to strip as you did it. Pinch your nipples and moan loudly.

Eventually, it simply wasn't enough. Slowly, ever so slowly, you wanted more of this won... wondr... great feeling. How did you spell that long word again? Whatever, it doesn't matter. You now wake up. The day starts off with rubbing your clit. You once touched yourself to your imagination, not anymore. You don't know why, it's just not good enough, or maybe your thinking has just gotten slower.

You touch your nipples. You start to change your clothes. More pinks and less fabric in general. Your stomach is so gor... gorge... It's so pretty! Time to show it off! Mid-riffs are good to show off. You stand and masturbate by your window now. It's good to show off. You're not a person after all, you're just a cum dump. A whorish slut. You're just wank material. Nothing more. No need to think about anything else.

You don't bother with panties (unless it's really pretty and frilly ones! That's a good word: "frilly", it's just as silly and stupid as you are now) anymore. You go to shops with the breeze going past your legs. You struggle to pick out food to eat now. Why is it so hard? What's the point of having so many labels?

Eventually, you open your phone and ring your master. You ask him what you should eat. The bare essentials and something sweet to treat yourself with! You like sweets! Especially pink ones! All silly bimbos like you like sweets!

You go home. Master told you not to cum. To wait for him. Your hips start rocking by themselves as you try to think of what you should do. Think... think... why are you thinking? Can you even think? No. You can only do what men tell you to do.

He said not to cum. You can do that. You can do that. Your fingers go to your pussy. He said not to cum. They start to rub. You close your eyes. He said not to cum. You pinch your nipples. He said not to cum. You speed up and moan. Loud enough for your neighbours to hear. He said not to cum. You scream, your hips lift up as all thoughts are flushed out of your mind.

You came.

Master opens the door and sees the mess you made. He pats your head, leans close and twists your nipples: "You stupid little whore, you couldn't even do one little thing." He belt comes off. "Since you can't think anymore, I'm going to train you like a dog."

[eurovision-revisited]

Eurovision 2004 - Number 43 - Wig Wam - "Crazy Things"

Wig Wam are a band united by their mutual adoration of 1980s hair metal and a burning desire to make it big. Their starting line was in Halden, Norway in 2001. Halden is exceptionally close to Sweden so another influence that seeped into their mental pores, perhaps less noticably, was Melfest and schlager. The result is a glam-metal band playing melodic metal with styling somewhere between Mötley Crüe and Abba. The band's slogan is 'Rock is the new Schälger'

2004 was a big year for Wig Wam. Not only did they make it onto MGP, but they also released their first album 667...The Neighbour of the Beast (no, really). They'd already released a mini-cover album in 2002 with the same name, but this one was full of their own songs, including Crazy Things

It can't be said they haven't learned from their heroes. It starts out with a chugging guitar riff through a verse full of some slightly disturbing images of the obsessively violent and destructive things the lead singer would do in the name of love. The verse is more upbeat and anthemic, yet still filled with a burning obsession to pursue love whatever the cost and whoever is paying it.

Of course the bridge is a guitar solo. It's compulsory.

It's fun, cheer-along stadium rock, that is unintentionally darkly funny, and that I can only compare to Spinal Tap. I know, I know. I can't help but like it. For all their posturing, they seem so innocent!

It was not to be for Wig Wam in 2004, though coming third at MGP is not a result to be sniffed at, especially in their breakout year. As we all know, they'd try again in 2005 with more success, representing Norway at Eurovision and becoming one of the first actual metal acts to ever appear on the Eurovision stage. In their own way, Wig Wam are truly ground-breaking.

Singles, albums and tours followed as well as solo projects and a fanbase with its own name - the Wig Wamaniacs. The band split in 2014 but have reunited on a number of occasions including a long-dreamed of US tour in 2023 and a gig at their spiritual home of the Whisky a Go Go club in Los Angeles

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

the girl next door 37

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, manipulation, chronic illness, noncon/dubcon, coercion, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: A new neighbour moves in and upends your already disarrayed life.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself.

This lewk but silverfox

Steve’s glare follows you out the door. You don’t look back as you flit out with your roll of pencils and sketchbook. Peter stands casually at the bottom of the steps, his camera hanging around his neck. He smiles and you show your teeth. Your cheeks are tight. 

“Hey, you okay?” He asks as he walks behind you. 

“Fine,” you like. 

He reaches around you to open the gate and you lead him out. You turn down the pavement and he comes up next to you as the latch clanks shut behind him. You shrink down as his arms brushes yours. Your steps are wide and stiff as your clothing rubs against your pelvis. 

“You looked sad when you drove by so I thought maybe you’d like to see the frogs again.” He says. 

“Oh?” You peek over at him. 

“Uh, not that you don’t look nice. I like your hair.” He grins. 

“Uh, yeah, Steve... Steve took me to the salon.” 

“That’s really nice of him. Weird, he seemed a bit grumpy.” He remarks as he checks out his camera, walking casually without a glance ahead. 

“Mm, yeah. He was.” 

“But he still took you out for all that?” 

“Yeah...” you drone. “Thanks for stopping by. I... don’t go out much.” 

“Gets kinda lonely by myself. The frog doesn’t always show up, then it’s even lonelier.” He chuckles and you try to. You feel heavy. 

When you get to the bridge, he goes to the railing and works at adjusting his lenses. You perch yourself in the grass, just at the apex of the rise that leads down to the river. You open your sketchbook to new page but don’t bother with your pencils. You don’t feel like drawing. Usually, it’s what helps you calm down but now you can’t even focus. 

Peter snaps photos and points out the tadpoles rippling across the surface. You stare through the water, minnows speckling shadows onto the silt. It’s beautiful and peaceful. It’s a stark contrast to what you know awaits you at home. 

“You sure you’re okay?” Peter asks as he leans on the railing and looks at you. 

You nod and shrug. You can’t lie anymore. You bend your legs and toss your sketchbook beside you. You hang your head and cross your arms over your knees. The bridge creaks as Peter comes around. He lowers himself next to you. 

“Hey, you know, it’s been a while and all but you can talk to me.” He says. “Is it your mom? She bad?” 

“She... she has a nurse now. They take care of her.” 

He exhales softly. “Mm,” he hums thoughtfully. The water babbles gently as he fiddles with his camera. “Is it Steve?” 

You’re silent. Deathly so. Tellingly. You shift and grimace at the burn along your thighs. 

“You uncomfortable or something?” He asks. “You’re fidgeting a lot.” 

It's gnawing at you from the inside. You can't hold it in any longer. You're terrified.

“Peter,” you squeak. “I don’t... I don’t want you to judge me.” 

“Judge you?” He chuckles. “For what?” 

Your eyes glisten and you sniff, leaning your head back. You look at him slowly. “At the salon...” you quick avert your gaze and hunch down again. “They waxed me.” 

“Oh? Yeah, your brows look pretty good.” 

“No, my... my privates.” 

He makes a strange noise, “really? Uh, I think yeah, a lot of girls get that done.” 

“I didn’t-- I didn’t want it. Steve he... he made me.” 

He sighs and sniffs. “Why would he do that?” 

You raise your head and your tears spill out. His brown eyes are warm. You feel fuzzy. 

“He touches me. Says things. Does things.” 

“What?” He hisses. “Oh, god, I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay. I asked for it. I... deserve it but... my mom needs help and he can give it to her.” You sniffle and wipe your nose. 

“You don’t have to stay there. Oh god, you should come back with me. To my Aunt May’s. She remembers you.” He insists. 

You shake your head, “I belong with my mom.” 

He huffs, “you don’t belong there. Not with that. With him.” 

“Please. Please. I can’t leave her. But...” you quaver at the thought in the back of your mind. “I’m scared.” 

“Yeah, well, who wouldn’t be--” 

“Please, just let me talk. And I’m sorry because it’s going to be really strange.” You shake your head and chew your lip. You think of last night and the car ride and all the things Steve promised. You want to hurt him too and you don’t know how else to do so. “Will you do it with me first?” 

He garbles and winces. His breath turns shallow and he looks around, “do what?” 

“Peter.” You touch his arm. “I don’t want it to hurt and I know you’ll be nice.” 

“But... we... it’s a lot.” 

“Oh,” you cover your face. “I told you it’s weird. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I just... I can’t stop him.” 

“Just come with me,” he pleas. 

“I told you, my mom!” You snap. “It’s okay. I’ll... I’ll just... hold my breath.” 

He wallows beside you. A tense silence rises between you, around you, consuming you. You’re embarrassed and you think he is too. You can hear him swallow. 

“I’m... I’ve never done it before either so... I... I’m nervous.” He confesses. You slowly turn to him. 

“Really?” 

“Yeah, I just never got to it, I guess but maybe it’s not so bad knowing that neither of us... have?” His brows squiggle and he pushes his shoulders up. 

You nod, “is that... are you going to do it?” 

He bites his lips and his brown eyes scan around the grass and water. 

“My aunt’s at home right now, we can’t really sneak in so...” 

“It’s okay. We’ll do it here.” 

“Here?” He gurgles. 

“Yeah,” you reach for his hand and stand up slowly, “come on.” 

He blinks widely and gets up. He wiggles his hand free and lifts his camera straps from around his neck. He follows you with his head down. You carefully walk down the incline to the river and dip under the bridge. There’s just enough dirt to stand on. 

“How--?” He asks as he sets the camera on the wooden plank that braces the bridge. 

“It doesn’t have to be romantic.” You unbutton your shorts as you turn your back to him. “I just wanna get it over with.” 

“Hey, woah,” he draws your hand away from the denim and pulls you back towards him. “I don’t want it like that. Let’s take it slow, okay?” 

You look at him pout. “Okay, slow.” 

“Can I... can I kiss you?” He asks. 

“Sure,” you smile without thinking. It doesn’t feel so scary. Not with him. 

He guides you closer and puts your hands on his shoulders. He wraps his arms around you and brushes his nose down yours. His breath tickles you and he presses his lips to yours lightly. He’s shy at first. His tongue darts out then away, then out again. He grows bolder and you let him inside. He groans in surprise and delight. 

You sigh into him and your body relaxes. You slide your arms around his shoulders and cling to him. He kind and warm and nice. You like the taste of him. You like that you can feel his heart racing. You like that his touch makes you tingle that way. 

You can do this. That way when you have to face Steve, you don’t have to be there. Not in your head. No, you’ll just think of Peter and the river and the smell of pollen. 

[madaboutmunson]

Cryptic Cupid - Part 5 (Steve's POV)

Part 1 | Part 4 | Part 6

Sequel to Raspberry Riddle

So this is set in a government-operated hospital after the events of season 4 but everyone is alive

Each part has a different POV, Robin, Steve, or Eddie.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Two days later, Eddie still hasn't spoken to Steve.

Steve swills out his mouth and spits his toothpaste into the sink before looking into the mirror and pressing play on his Walkman, and the guitar riff and punchy rhythm of Eye of the Tiger begins blasting into his ears. Steve puts his hands in a pugilistic stance and throws a few jabs at himself in the mirror to the beat. 

Today was the day. Today Steve Harrington was going to do everything he could to make Eddie so tempted, curious, or annoyed, whatever worked, that he would open that door again. Steve realises that one would typically get ready after a sweaty workout, but today would be different. 

Steve puts on his old basketball shorts, a little snug, but that was intentional and a cropped threadbare A-Team t-shirt. Very snug around the arms, and that was very intentional. The moisturiser he’d applied post-shower made his skin shimmer. Robin had assured him it would make him extra hard to ignore. Next, he drags a comb through the sides of his voluminous hair, even though it is about to be mostly flattened with sweat, and splashes himself with his never fail cologne, Drakkar Noir. Last, he puts on the studded fingerless leather gloves Wayne had given him. Today was his best shot. Robin had armed him with the music and information from Wayne. Wayne had given him a pair of Eddie’s gloves, a member of Corroded Coffin had given him some advice, and yesterday Eddie had softened a little.

Eddie had finally caved and let the band in for the last hour on the first of the two days. Steve liked to think that his inviting them into his room for a game of poker, at Robin's suggestion, had a hand in that.

Jeff and Grant, The rhythm guitarist and bassist, respectively, were pretty quiet but accepted the invite. They felt it would be nicer than sitting in the hallway, at least. The smaller of the three, Gareth, the drummer, crouched on the floor, talking through the tiny gap under the door at Eddie. Even though he hadn't had a reply for hours, he kept trying. Steve understood that. He'd tried it himself when no one was here, except he didn't have all the memories to machine gun under the door as the band did.

"Come on, Gaz. He's not gonna budge. We can still wait and see if he opens the door, just from somewhere more comfortable, yeah? But, Eddie, if you change your mind, we're playing cards with your weird neighbour," Jeff shouted at the door.

Gareth begrudgingly got up and followed Jeff. He pulled up a chair and sat at the table directly opposite Steve, and Robin dealt him in, handing him a bag of jelly bear candies as currency. Steve felt the intense glare, but Gareth said nothing. A few rounds were just card game talk with a raise you two lemon bears or call but nothing much else. That was until Jeff, who seemed the least intense of the four band members, spoke, "Thank you for bringing Eddie back, taking care of him whilst he was a wanted man and keeping him company in here", He said gratefully, looking at Steve and Robin, even though the sentence sounded like he’d rehearsed it numerous times in his mind. "We can't know everything that happened, but we know without you all, he wouldn't be alive."

"Yes, but he also managed to make Eddie shut fucking down and ignore everyone, too," Gareth sniped, making Steve sink a little in his seat. Robin folded her arms and tilted her head at Gareth, who swallowed nervously before putting two green bears into the centre pile.

"No Gareth, do go on. Share with the class why you think this is Steve's fault. I'm absolutely on the edge of my seat for the shower of bullshit you are about to unleash into the world," Robin had used that tone. The one that sounded like her mom. The tone that basically translated her words into throwing the opposition a shovel and advising them to continue digging their own hole.

Gareth did not take his eyes off Steve, "Eddie was fine. He was getting better, and he was happy. One day he was making plans, talking about campaigns, and maybe getting Wayne to bring one of his guitars because he felt inspired. The next, he wouldn't let any of us in. Even Wayne had to negotiate his way in." Gareth's face contorted to frame his ire at Steve, "And the only person that was here was him", Gareth finished, slightly crushing the cards in his hands.

Steve sighed and blinked down at the table. In a self-flagellating way, he almost agreed with Gareth. It was his fault. If he hadn't been there helping Eddie with things that only a professional medical expert should be doing with him. None of this would have happened. If he'd just waved good morning at Eddie, congratulated him on sitting up by himself, and gone back into his room to drink his coffee, Eddie would still be fine. He wouldn't say so here. They wouldn't understand. Maybe Robin might, but how could he have possibly just carried on about his day? He wanted to celebrate with Eddie. He wanted to help him reach his goals, push him to get well, support him, learn with him…maybe even learn something about himself on the way? He couldn't have not gone in that room, not for all the glaring stop signs in the world. Maybe he could not have flipped out at the nurse, but it was a situation he hadn't been in before, so he automatically defended and projected. He wasn't mad at the nurse for advising him on what was best for Eddie. He would have held his hands up and apologised in any other circumstances. Unfortunately, he'd been caught with his arms around Eddie. Caught made it sound like he wanted to hide it, like a dirty secret. He didn't want it to be that. Not at all, but it was like Robin said, sometimes the world isn't ready when you are. Whilst Steve felt very ready, and although doing it was terrifying, to take Eddie into his arms that way. To hold him close and tenderly like that, to try to communicate through touch that he wanted more from this and that Eddie would always be safe and supported in his arms. He could take a chance with Steve and not worry about being rejected. However, he was not prepared for someone else to see, not yet, not when it was in such a fragile stage.

Jeff places his two bears in the pot, “Gareth, come on, man. No one is happy Eddie is shutting himself away like this. This isn't the first time Eddie has shut himself away, and it won’t be the last. He always comes around. He just needs his time, that's all. He’s not alone, he has Wayne, and he’s monitored 24/7 here. So there is no need for you to project your frustrations onto Steve here.”

“But he must know what happened. He was here!” Gareth gestured his hands sharply at Steve, raising his voice. “He’s keeping it to himself, so we don't know how to fix it.”

Jeff slammed his hand down on the table, finally getting everyone’s attention, including Gareth’s, “Did you ever think for one second that maybe, Steve here is trying to protect Eddie? Maybe something happened that he isn’t sure everyone knows about, so he isn’t opening his mouth like a fog horn, telling the world about it.” Jeff forced the words through his teeth in annoyance as he blinked hard at Gareth, an action and tone that was so reminiscent of Eddie. Then just like that, Gareth relaxed back in his chair and kept his eyes on his cards for a few rounds. Robin was still silently fuming at Gareth.

Steve just couldn’t take the tension any longer, “Look, I don't know what I did that upset Eddie so much. All I know is he looked in the mirror, saw the scars on his face, and he was so upset that none of us had mentioned it to him. Like, a full rage.” he’d said, looking around the table for reassurance he was doing the right thing in speaking. He got a smile from Robin and Jeff and decided to continue, “I tried to tell him no one cared about a scar because we were so happy he was alive. It didn't matter. But I must have said it wrong, and I should have thought about it from Eddie’s perspective first. He was right when he shouted at me. I probably would feel like he did, you know, feel betrayed that no one told me or that people hid that from me, how the world might see me now. I just didn't think before I spoke, and I’m sorry, not just because you are all pissed with me, but because,” Steve sighed, “I miss Eddie too.” the last part he almost whispered out as Grant folded his cards, and Steve pushed all his gummy bears into the centre of the table. Robin folds and play circled back to Gareth. He moved his cards around in his hands.

“You know, a few years ago, Eddie made us this awesome drawing for one of the posters for our show. It was like us slaying this giant demon with our instruments. It was so fucking rad. So anyway, we were all excited about it and whatever, but when we came to get the posters done, the picture wasn't there. It was just our band name, and it still looked cool, you know, the way he did the letters and stuff, but, er, not as good as the drawing. And I didn’t get why he didn't use it. He said something like he wanted it to stay awesome, so he didn't want to put it on the poster.” Gareth pushed all his bears into the centre “, And I guess I didn't really understand that until now.” and he offered Steve a small smile, and looked back down at this cards, as play passed to Jeff. “Sorry, Steve. Thanks for telling us.” Gareth mumbled, and Robin relaxed in her seat.

In his own strange way, Steve had understood what Gareth had said. Eddie knew that his people would always love who he was and what he did, no matter what, but he needed to figure it out outside of that. The outside world could spoil it, call his drawing lame, or tear it down another way. Maybe he saw the scar the same way? A trivial thing that the people that cared about it wouldn’t bat an eyelid at, but a stranger might react badly to it. Eddie’s anger towards Steve might have been because he hadn't figured out which bit he was part of. Was Steve genuine in his words, or was he being a phoney, as he suspected?

Jeff folded, and the play passed back to Steve, who played his cards against the river to make a Royal Flush. Gareth plays his own with only a pair, “Had to see what you had there, Harrington. Had to make sure you weren’t fakin’,” Gareth had said with a smirk. The next few games at the table were tension free, laughing almost a little too loudly at the audacity of one another’s style of play, and Steve had guessed this was what prompted Wayne to appear leaning in the doorway, arms folded with a big smile on his face.

“Eddie sent me. He was wonderin’ if the Coffin’ boys might wanna come over?” The band scrambled out of their chair at lightning speed to see who could push past Wayne first to see who could win the race to Eddie. Wayne had let them pass but stayed in the doorway, offering Robin and Steve a half smile, and he simply said, “He’ll get there, Sunshine, don’ you worry. Excellent idea, by the way, getting him all jealous like that” Wayne chuckles and turns to walk back into Eddie’s room. 

During the last hour of visiting, Robin and Steve devised a mix tape track list of songs Eddie would like, trying to remember names of bands they’d seen on his vest or the pins on the other band members. As the hour drew to a close and they felt accomplished in their final list that was definitely going to get Eddie out of his room, there was a gentle knock at Steve’s door, “Forgot my soda”, Gareth said, approaching the table again.

“Is he…you know…ok? Don’t answer if you're not allowed to tell me. I know he gets mad if Wayne talks to me about him.” Steve had asked, his heart pounding in his chest with nervous energy.

Gareth looked at him and shouted, “I can’t talk to you about that”, but with his hands, he signalled a smile shape on his face and gave Steve an ok sign too. Though he couldn't reply, Steve tried to send back the most thankful look of relief he could, as Robin silently put her arm around Steve’s shoulder and toucher her forehead to the side of his. Gareth spies the list and frowns, looking curiously at the two of them. Steve quickly scribbled down, Music he likes to make him open his door.  Gareth shook his head and took the pen from Steve, writing He’ll just dance around his room to that. ANNOY HIM!!  Steve looked up at Gareth in surprise, who put his finger to his lips.

Wayne put his head around the door, “Ready, Robin?”

“Yeah, I’m ready” She gave Steve a tight hug and looked him in the eyes, “Try the Iron Maiden tape tomorrow, and I’ll figure out a tape that might be annoying enough to get him to open the door.”

So having already tried his Iron Maiden tape, which, as Gareth predicted, didn't work, it was the turn of the other tape today. Steve was going to start off strong he gets his boom box, places it in the hall facing Eddie’s door, turns the volume all the way up, and presses play.

Jitterbug

Jitterbug

A big smile spreads over Steve’s face. He knows this one. Wham! He sings along and dances to warm up, occasionally peeking around the door to see if Eddie has emerged yet. Nothing. Steve huffs in disappointment and reminds himself how dear the band are to Eddie and how long it had taken them to get Eddie to welcome them back in. Steve continues his workout as usual, only with breathers spent checking around the door for Eddie, but nothing. Nothing when Give it Up by KC and The Sunshine Band plays. Not a groan of annoyance when My Favourite Waste of Time by Owen Paul plays. Not a creak of a door when Open Your Heart by Madonna is echoing down the hall. No thumping or shouting to turn it down when Maniac by Michael Sembello plays. The air is devoid of curses when Take on Me by a-ha pushes Steve through the final set of press-ups. He stands in the doorway, perspiring, hands on hips, out of breath and out of ideas. Finally, the pep rally beat of Mickey by Tony Basil starts up, and Steve almost gives up entirely, cutting his workout short because he’d lost all enthusiasm. That was until he heard the familiar sound of the nurse’s trolley coming down the hall. It was time for his tests. Eddie would have to open the door now. Steve jumps onto the pull-up bar, the fingerless leather mitts allowing for extra grip on the bar, the studs not so helpful but still. The nurse wishes him good morning, and he smiles and nods back, not stopping for anything. The nurse patiently waits for Eddie to open his door whilst Steve fires straight into his pull-up reps. The sweat beading on his forehead as his chin reaches above the bar repeatedly, using all the power he has left in his arms. As the door opens, the song fades out, and the singer of the new one yells out as Steve’s eyes meet Eddie’s.

Shot through the heart

And you're to blame

Darlin', you give love a bad name

It must be seconds, but it feels like forever, and then it happens. Eddie’s swollen eyes trail over Steve with a gulp. Then the nurse steals him away, but the door doesn't close all the way, not by a long shot. Occasionally Steve catches a glimpse of Eddie through the gap, and his eyes draw back to Steve a few times, but he can’t keep this pace up forever. He glances at his watch. He’s nearing the ten-minute mark, and honestly, that's more than he’s ever done. He feels the painful sensation in his arms, but the raspy singer had long since left him, and he was stifling the groans threatening to push through his gritted teeth under the tune of Just Can’t Get Enough by Depeche Mode. Finally, he drops to the floor, flexing his hands, making the gloves creak against themselves. He slumps forward, hands on his thighs, pulling air back into his lungs that felt like burning. Finally, the trolley rattle makes him snap his head back to Eddie’s doorway. 

“I’ll give you ten to catch your breath before we do your tests, Steve.” She says as she pushes her trolley down the hallway. Or at least that's what Steve thinks she said. He just nods because his eyes are firmly fixed on the other man in the opposite doorway, and he can’t move. Steve is frozen with trepidation of making the wrong decision, so he doesn't leap over the trolley like he wants to. Instead, he just breathes and looks into Eddie’s eyes and hopes he can hear the lyrics he can.

If you smiled the walls would fall down

On all the people in this pickup joint

But if you laughed, you'd level this town

Hey, lonely girl, that's just the point

Hey, there you, with the sad face

Come up to my place and live it up

You, beside the dance floor

What do you cry for, let's live it up

Eddie looks back for a while, but way too soon, his eyebrows push together, and he looks down at the floor and shuts the door again. “Eddie!” Steve tries, but there is no answer.

FUCK! That felt like his chance, and he blew it by not doing anything. That could be what Eddie was waiting for, but he couldn't be sure. What if Eddie just didn't like him that way anymore? Maybe he never had? No, there is something here, or at least there was. Steve was sure of it. Before Steve resigns himself to the shower and his own tests, he grabs a piece of paper and writes on it:

Beautiful homes and ruins (8 letters)

He pushes it under Eddie’s door and turns to the clattering of the trolley coming his way again. He nods a greeting at the psychologist as she takes his place at Eddie’s door and waves the nurse ahead of him as they walk into his own room.

[forensicated]

02x09 - Loan Shark

TW: Unauthorised money lending, stereotypical talk about travelers and suicide discussion/depiction circa mid 1980's time of writing/filming.

A large amount of rubble has been dumped in the street by a fly-tipper. The lady demands that Taffy deal with it - now! - Taffy snarkily suggests she hand him a dustpan and brush. One of the council road sweepers has spotted the fly sweeper but he's now in the hospital after being hit by the truck involved.

A woman, Mrs Taylor, reports that her neighbour has been moving heavy furniture at all hours, playing loud music and 'has been sick on my windows'. She reports that the lady "is not 'riff-raff', her husband was a hospital administrator after all", but she's now taken to drink.

A shoplifter, Sharon, played by Michelle 'Cindy Beale' Collins. was stopped by a security guard after slipping a few bits of shopping in her bag without paying before leaving. Jim tries to encourage the security guard to let it slide because the loss is less than £2 and food for her children but she won't hear of it. Sharon protests she hasn't got any money and Jim tells her to say that to the Sergeant when she's being processed.

An adorable little dog has been brought into the front office after the teens who found him couldn't read his name tag. It appears that it's in either Russian or Polish as far as Pete can work out.

Ted asks Bob to to get his relief to keep an eye out for some car thieves and reports CID is so quiet, Roy is looking through holiday brochures. "I'm afraid he's going to ask me to go with him!"

Jim tries to help Sharon calm her toddler who has been screaming for the entire journey. "It's just like home." She sighs, looking around the room. "No sodding furniture."

Charles reports to Bob that there has been a report of an epidemic of commercial flytipping south of the river which has started to spread to Sun Hill. He's had a report from the resident that Taffy dealt with that she didn't see the funny side of his dustpan comment. He isn't taking it further but wants him to remind the troops to remain courteous. He then asks if Bob has any ideas about bringing some colour to the station. Bob is utterly lost so Charles hands him a copy of his 'Swedish report' memo. Flummoxed, Bob suggests that June is a dab hand at flower arranging. Unfortunately when asked it turns out that June knows nothing about flowers.

Bob processes Sharon and asks if she's getting the relevant benefits and if her ex is involved. She says all he did was send a Boots voucher at Christmas. Bob asks where her child allowance book is and she confesses - eventually - that she borrowed £100 and that 'a man' has taken her child allowance book away incase she tried to cheat him. Bob thinks it through and realises, given where Sharon lives, it must be Peg 'Aunty Peg' Miller and her son Bob, the not-so-friendly local loan shark. Sharon insists she's not a waster and that she'll support her kids no matter what, clamming up. Bob asks if a caution can be authorised for Sharon as it's all down to reduced circumstances and a loan shark having taken her benefits. Thankfully it's allowed.

Mrs Taylor, who reported her neighbour earlier has returned with a mirror she says she found hanging in the hallway of their flats with a message written on it in lipstick saying. 'I can't John, I can't." the named man is her husband who, Taylor tells Bob, has passed away.

In the pub, Bob and Roy discuss Peg Miller and her son. Roy is surprised to hear of the son because he sent him down for a long stretch but he's out again and is causing trouble on the estates. He tells him about Sharon and Roy says to nick him but Sharon won't press charges. He says he's passed it on to the DHSS (DWP now) but Roy says they're more interested in the easy win of OAP's earning beer money than loan sharks and won't do anything. Bob thinks about it, especially knowing that Auntie Peg will have been playing on all the vulnerable residents on the estate. He agrees to work with Roy to stop her and her son. He says he'll put Jim on it and they laugh that he'll probably lecture them on philosophy and the meaning of life whilst Miller is kicking his head in.

In the briefing, Bob tells Uniform that the fly typing has escalated and that they've not only had one man run over but another who confronted them had a spade wrapped round his head. Then, to eyerolls, he reminds them about deportment when dealing with members of the public. "That is manners in Welsh, Edwards."

Jim speaks to Bob about the loan shark business. Bob recommends that he doesn't actually mention the words 'loan shark' and to speak to the caretaker on the estate to see if he's heard anything about what's been going on.

Roy has sent down a gift for Bob. "Apparently they're very popular in Sweden."

The relief are very confused by it...

Jim approaches the Hardie Estate, the first I've heard mentioned in the first couple of series that remains in the later ones!

The caretaker isn't available but the Community Center's manager turns up with her toddler daughter moments later. "I just wanted to know if everything's OK..." Jim starts. "On here? You've got to be joking." she drawls, seeing right through him. "What's up?" Jim admits he needs some information and immediately brings up illegal money lending despite Bob telling him not to. It works out however as the manager tells him that most of the people on the estate are in poverty and they can't get credit elsewhere so they have to use illegal money lenders. The local one is Peg Miller who pretends to be on their side and tells them she knows how hard it is at the start of their 'relationship'. They borrow £100 and pay it back £10 a week over 13 weeks. It doesn't seem hard or problematic at the start - even with £30 interest being paid. However, the trick is that Peg doesn't the loan paid off so suggests that she keeps topping it up and loaning more and more for various reasons until it's completely unaffordable. For every thousand pound she lays out, she has £100 coming back in every single week just in interest. She takes their benefit books as insurance and uses intimidation by her son and humiliation if people don't pay. The manager has heard all sorts from the simple being shouted at in shops by Peggy through to being branded, pushed down concrete stairs, their windows broken and furniture stolen. The manager doesn't know of anyone who would speak out against them though.

Mrs Taylor is back to report that her neighbour had a man over who was "not her class at all, when her husband was alive anyway" and that they'd been banging around upstairs and shouting all night. At the same time, a caller reports another illegal fly tipping blocking their culdesac with a dog run over and residents threatened.

Taffy has left his radio in the car whilst he visits a demolition site. The foreman insists his boys would not drop illegally and that they use a legal site that is 5 miles away to unload their wagons.

Jim goes to speak to Sharon at her part-time job in the laundrette. He asks if she's had any trouble or if there have been any signs of breaks in. Sharon is defensive and upset at the interference and tells him that she doesn't know what he's talking about. Jim tells her the agreement Peggy made is unenforceable and she doesn't have to pay it back. If she attended the station he promises that he would help her know her rights. Sharon points out that she has to still live on the estate with her children and that people are already talking about her after seeing the police around her. She's never been in trouble before and she has to protect her children and wants him to get off her back and - if he really wants to help - to go see her husband who is refusing to pay maintenance for their children.

Jim and Bob speak to Roy about the money lending on the estate. Jim thinks it's horrific that the sick, disabled, elderly and poor are forced to go to money lenders to get cash because no one else will help. Some estates have started credit unions in Scotland to fight back. "Socially minded.." Bob smiles at Roy after dismissing Jim. "He's right this time though...." Roy sighs. "For a change..." Roy thinks it's about time he has a word with Auntie Peg.

Bob radios June to request her to visit Mrs Taylor who has rung in sounding hysterical. When June gets there, Taylor's neighbours are comforting her and promising her her husband will arrive soon. Another neighbour takes June inside and shows her that blood is dripping from Mrs Taylor's ceiling from the flat above. June hurries upstairs with the woman as a witness to her breaking in to find that the woman has seemingly committed suicide on the living room floor.

Roy and Ted enter a posh wine bar with Roy looking very uncomfortable. After ordering their drinks - scotch of course - they make their way over to the owner... Peggy 'Auntie Peg' Miller. Peg claims she's just an old fashioned tally girl who lives to look after people and, if she'd moved away when things took an upturn for her club, "who would have got the kiddies their clothes for going back to school, ey?" She doesn't want to let people down. Roy tells her that he's heard she's holding on to benefit books as security. She looks to Ted. "I thought this was friendly?". "As long as it's friendly there's some young tarts on the estate spreading rumours." She says, claiming that she only does good and can't stop people mouthing off but she holds no rumours. She says her son Bob doesn't want any more trouble after being in prison and that it really is a deterrent. Roy tells her he's going to ask the DHSS to run some inquiries about some of the people receiving benefits on the Hardie estate to make sure that it really is going to them "Don't make me laugh, Mr Galloway!" She smirks before, unmoved, Roy walks out. She shouts after him that it's her who has to look after "the poor devils that the DHSS can't be bothered with!"

Pete and Taffy sit in a panda opposite the demolition site. Pete says he reckons that it will be gypsies that are fly-tipping after being paid to get rid of it by the foremen of building/demolition sites.

Mike and June have a look around the flat to see if there's any cvlue why Mrs Taylor's neighbour would have committed suicide, other than the obvious. Dashers holds up a coronation cup and asks where June was. June calls him a cheeky bugger and says she was barely a gleam in her mother's eye. (Trudie would have been almost exactly 18m if it helps you work out June's canon age.) They've found an exercise book of 'Dear John' type stuff and that it's creepy. He says that getting married is a waste of time. June says that it works for some people. "... Didn't work for [the victim]." Dashers says crassly.

Viv reports that Peg's son, 'Freezer Bob' (Played by Duncan Preston) is removing furniture forcibly from the home of an elderly man. Freezer Bob insists everything is under control and it's a personal matter. The man insists that it's his property and he has no right to take it. Freezer Bob says it's an ongoing longstanding agreement between "me and Pop Curtis." A woman on the estate - the manager of the community center - tells Curtis to tell the police what is really going on. Freezer Bob ignores her at first before threatening her and telling her to keep her nose out of it. He insists the property belongs to him. "You got an order?" Pete asks. "A possession order." Without it he has no proof of what he's saying. Curtis snaps at him to put his property back in his kitchen. Pete's not taking any messing so Freezer Bob tells his mate to put it all back and that he'll 'Get his money, Pop!' "When I've got it, cock!" Curtis growls back. Freezer Bob stalks off to go place bets at the races.

Another uncredited extra appearance by Graham Cole as Tony Stamp

The community center manager comes into the station to speak to CID. She, Mrs Hall, tells Roy that she's not scared of the Millers as she has a husband, a father and 2 big brothers on standby to have her back. God love her, she's 5ft nothing with a mouth bigger than she is tall. Everyone needs someone like her! She asks Roy to check up with Sharon because she's really not managing. Roy gets Mike to take her statement and arranges to go with Ted to deal with not-so-sweet-Aunt Peg. Roy is adorable when he says goodbye to Mrs Hall's daughter after thanking her for her help.

Mrs Taylor asks June if she really does have to attend the inquest for her neighbour's suicide. June tells her that she does and then she asks about how she gets her ceiling and carpet cleaned.

Bob's report into the fly-tipping does not make good reading for Charles. There have been 5 more drops, the road sweeper in hospital, the dog that died and a garden wall has been demolished by the truck. It seems to come down to 2 Welsh men who had a dodgy registration. Charles wonders if they're disillusioned miners up to 'get their own back' and suggests Bob check the Merthyr computer with their descriptions. The foremen of the sites won't help because they're still getting rid of their rubbish for cheaper than the official places without the effort of transporting it.

A driver is stopped with a broken tail light and poor tread. He offers to give the police information about the Welsh fly-tippers if they let them go. Given that it's Pete... they do! The driver tells them the pubs that they frequent.

Harriet Thorpe guest starts as 'Tarty Woman' who complains about Roy and Ted seeming to jump the queue when going to see Peggy.

The officers ignore her and ring the doorbell. 'Tarty Woman' tells them there's no one home and they'll tell her that the police called. A neighbour has Sharon in her flat with her when Mike arrives. He identifies himself to the neighbour as police and says they've heard about threats made against Sharon. The neighbour says he's too late and Sharon shouts, from inside, for her to shut up and not tell him. Sharon appears holding her toddler and tells him she's got her child allowance book returned, but her arm is scalded red and she has a tea towel wrapped round it. Freezer Bob has made a visit... Mike apologises and takes her down to casualty to have it checked out. He reports it to Roy and Ted and tells them that he's already asked - she won't inform on them.

The boys watch Peggy make her house to house calls. "All that cash and no one touches her..." "They wouldn't dare. Would you?" Peggy stands outside 'Irene's' house and shouts and makes a scene in front of the neighbours before threatening to send her son around. Ted and Roy have seen enough and they march over to the house, asking Peggy where her son is and what he's done to Sharon. "He's gone too far this time." "Don't believe her, she's a lying little whore." They're adding conspiracy to her charges but Ted promises he'll pretend not to have heard it if she tells them where Freezer Bob is. Threatened with a spell in prison, Peggy tells them that he's at the races and where to find him. "I'll see you later." Ted growls.

The barman of a local pub calls the station, he has a lorry in his car park threatening to drop 20 tonnes of rubble. Pete and Taffy are sent over in the car and Yorkie attends on foot. The truck starts to drop the load as the landlord offers the two men £20 not to. Taffy and Pete make it in time. Taffy goes for the driver who tries to kick him in the face and then rip his head off whilst Pete tackles the oppo who tries to twat him with a spade repeatedly. Taffy clings on as both fall out of the cab but Yorkie makes it in time to grab the man and drag him off Taffy. The landlord then snaps that the boys have made a right mess of it (!!!!) That's thanks for you! "I've got a complaint winging its way in son, your feet won't touch the ground!" he threatens Bob who arrived to see what happened.

Roy and Ted enter the pub and spot Freezer Bob indulging in some illegal gambling. They approach him and arrest him for what he's done to Sharon. None of the men he's shouting to for alibi's step up for him. Not very popular is he!

Pop Curtis tells Jim that Freezer Bob is not very bright and keeps messing up hence getting arrested. He claims that Peggy is twice the man that her son is. She once pulled his false teeth straight out of his mouth once he missed a payment. He won't give a statement because if he does it won't solve anything. There's "Pal Joey" and "Lily Friend." who are nearby who are also illegal money lenders. "Debt doesn't go away, son." he tells Jim.

[pvtchurch]

my neighbours are going to be so annoyed to hear me play the system of a down mind intro bass riff over and over and over and over again