#Watson Plush

[e--q]

The Game is Afoot

(Snoopy Soft Toys inspired by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's famous detective Sherlock Holmes and his companion Dr Watson)

~ Happy Birthday Sherlock Holmes ~

[dailyspiderplush]

Spider-Plush in the comics.

1978's Spidey Super Stories #33, Peter and MJ go to a carnival and Peter uses his powers to cheat at the games and win a shit ton of prizes.

[nuclearmime]

I don't know a single thing about Vtubers but I love this one's design 🔎

[abigailbozarthart]

Nessie and Watson from Apex Legends. Charity comission.

[timmydraker]

There were a lot of hypocrital things about Tim’s parents, as with most living beings. A lot of these things weren’t all that important and usually just came with out of touch rich folk, like the expensive of things and service expectations.

But one thing that really affected Tim was their opinions of material things.

His entire life growing up was filled with as ‘modern’ designs as they could find and all minimalistic. White walls, marble tiles and counters everywhere, abstract art that could be made by a two year old and most importantly, no clutter.

Except of course for all of their artefacts that just ‘didn’t count’.

Tim’s room was the same. He was allowed toys of course, but only ones that would assist his intelligence growth and hand eye coordination. If it didn’t benefit in him getting smarter and more productive quicker, it wasn’t allowed. It also had to be either white, grey or beige coloured.

Needles to say, when Tim saw his class mates with teddies and toys and all kinds of things, he was often left with a sense of imposter syndrome.

When he got his camera that went away for a while, at least until he was told he couldn’t actually print any out because they would shut he left in a box and take up space. The idea that they could be placed upon the fridge or walls just didn’t occur to them at all.

Then when he was eleven and well on his way to living a life only hearing about how smart he was for his age, he had to hide in a dumpster lest he be attacked by Two Face’s goons.

That’s where he found a teddy bear with a missing arm and gross stains all over it.

It was the beta things Tim had ever had. Despite the guck and gunk, it was soft and smooth and the most treasured thing he had touched since his camera.

He hid Watson, named after the most beloved partner to the smartest man alive, from his parents for years. He stitched up his arm, washed him three times, and stuffed a floral scented car smeller inside him.

Naturally after Watson came more, though it took him time to pluck the courage to do so.

Sabrina the white cat plush came into his home four months later, soon joined by Salam the black cat plush just a week later when he felt Sabrina was lonely.

It was never about anything more than the comfort at first, the joy of having something so innocent and childish that he never got to have, but as he got treated with kindness from friends at school and heroes and bats, it became a sort of rebellion.

By the time he lost his mother he had nineteen plushies and teddies hidden away under his bed.

When he lost his father and officially moved into the manner, he had twenty four.

When he moved out he decided he didn’t have to hide them anymore even though he knew full well that Dick had plushies and some of the others and no one cared. Something about it just felt so… personal. It wasn’t for anyone else.

So, when he gets his apartment that’s more like a penthouse, it’s easy for him to have a decoy office and a real one.

A real one that had half of its floor made up of a sunken lounge lined with soft carpet and filled to the brims and over with teddies.

It’s only logical for him to buy thirty six more to make it full after all.

He doesn’t tell anyone about them even though he had a list of all their names on the wall of the room, nor does he feel as if it’s some kind of age regression or something similar.

It’s just… a hobby that soothes some of his problems with his parents.

At least, nobody knew about it until he let his team come over and suddenly found a super boy plushies at his bedroom door.

[mekandwljd]

silly little plushies(actually,they were sealed with glue..)

Then i will made 4th(!) plush Watson. Maybe i will post it here

(and just messing around)

[pinksugarscrub]

Starstruck

Hobie Brown x fem! musician! reader

Recap: Yuri’s too busy when you come back to scold you. So the rest of your shift goes smoothly. Your mind drifting to the boy every once in a while. A small smile on your lips. The phone rings and your bliss is broken. You hold your breath as insult after insult hits your ear through the receiver. You feel like an idiot. The boy’s pretty face fading into obscurity. You blink back tears as you talk with the real Miguel O'Hara. What a shitty night.

Part(s): Prologue, 1, ???

Word Count: 2,013

~

Gwendolyn Stacy, your best friend since middle school and you have a dinky friendship bracelet to prove it. You told her everything and I mean everything but for some odd reason you felt too ashamed to even mention what’s his face. So instead you turned to the only other person you shared your life with and that was Mary Jane Watson, better known as MJ. 

“Motherf-”

“Language,” you sigh. Stuffing another spoonful of ice cream into your mouth. Your eyes following Mary Jane as she shuffles across the room. Two different shades of purple fabric in her perfectly manicured fingers.

“Sorry,” she grumbles. Rolling her eyes as she bites her tongue. It was pretty irritating how calm you were being after spilling your guts out to her earlier. There are even still tear stains on your cheeks. “But aren’t you mad? I mean come on (y/n), that was pretty messed up.”

“I never said I wasn’t mad,” you mumble. Sticking your spoon back into the tub when you notice Spider-man strutting up to you. His striped tail brushing against your ankle as he waited patiently for you to lift him up. 

The tabby purrs as soon as you place him into your lap. Gently scratching his chin to distract yourself from MJ’s stare. The anger swirling behind her eyes diminishes when she realizes how deeply this has affected you. “So, what do you feel?”

Your face scrunches up as you try to come up with a proper answer. Anything that makes you seem like less of a crybaby. “I don’t know…I just…” you sigh again,“I just feel really stupid.”

“But it wasn’t your fault,” she retorts.

“It was my fault MJ!” Your voice wavering as you lean back into the soft and plush pillows of her bed. Holding Spider-man closer to your chest and burying your nose into his fur. Effectively muffling your words. “I let some dumb guy distract me and Yuri had to pay for my mistake…”

“Is that what you’re worried about?” MJ huffs. Placing her hands on her hips as she eyes you. “Yuri? You know she can handle anything anyone throws at her. She’s practically a soldier.”

“I know, I know,” you whine. “He just- he played me ok!?” Sniffling as you held Spider-man above you. “Right?”

Spider-man blinks. 

“See? Even he agrees!”

MJ rolls her eyes again. You seem to bring it out in her. “Ok fine, you’re an idiot and you deserved what you got.”

You gasp, cradling spider-man to your chest. “Mary Jane Watson!”

She quirks her eyebrows up while shrugging her shoulders. Going back to sifting through her dresser for pearl beads and tiny sequins. “What is it about this guy that has you so twisted? I mean, this isn’t the first time you’ve fumbled a guy.”

“Thank you very much for that,” you deadpanned. “This greatly improves my already low self esteem and twisted? What is this 1984?”

It’s MJ’s turn to be appalled as she tosses a pillow over your head. “Will you shut up about that! I’m only a few years older than you.” She huffs as she smacks another pillow over your head after you pull the previous one away from your face. 

“What was that senior citizen? I can’t hear you over the deafening sound of my self loathing.”

She groans as she smacks you once more. “Stop avoiding me and answer my question already.” 

You sigh as you sink down onto the floor. Dramatically of course. Your daily visits wouldn’t be complete without a dose of insanity. 

It takes you a few moments to collect yourself and finally decide to say what’s been on your mind. Your fingers digging into your palms. “Do you remember the story of how my parents met?”

MJ hums, taking a seat beside you but not without carefully adjusting her skirt. Sitting elegantly as she brushed her hand through your hair which cause Spider-Man to get jealous and saunter over again. “Of course. He saw her from across the room at a venue he was performing at. They instantly felt a connection and he spent weeks trying to find her after only knowing her name.”

You follow along with her explanation. Mouthing word for word considering you had memorized your parent’s love story by heart. 

“So this has something to do with you being a hopeless romantic?”

“Do you want me to tell you or not?” You snap. MJ puts her hands up in mock surrender.

You sigh again as you stare up at the ceiling. “My mom told me it was his smile that caught her. I never really understood why until…” You cough and clear your throat as you close your eyes. Cringing as you felt your cheeks heat up. “He had a nice smile.”

MJ’s eyes soften. “I see…” 

“I just…” You rub your hands over your face. Sprawling out like a starfish or in this case, a puddle. “I kind of let the idea of the same thing happening to me get to my head. It was different.”

Groaning, you decide to change the subject. Not sure how much more humiliation you could take after admitting to your delusions.

It was hard not to want what your parents had. They were happy, content living in their two bedroom apartment singing songs in the morning and dancing in the evening. Aside from music, you wanted someone special in your life and after letting go of Miles in the name of friendship you were starting to lose hope. Oh, you weren’t supposed to mention that.

“Anyway, any last minute advice? School starts in less than a week,” you sing. Smiling weakly as you lightly punched her shoulder. 

It took everything within MJ not to scold you for avoiding your feelings. She knew first hand what it was like to bottle everything up. She couldn’t understand why you felt the need to do so. You didn’t live with an abusive father who didn’t support your dreams. Your family was ecstatic to send you to Visions, help you achieve your goals. But the more family dinners she was invited to the more she saw what was brewing beneath the surface. She just hoped you would see it sooner rather than later. 

For once, she indulged you and moved along. Sliding down so she was also on her back staring at the same dirty ceiling she gazed at late into the night wondering if she was doing the right thing. Every time you remind her she is.

“It’s not illegal if you don't get caught.”

You choke on your spit. Laughing as you looked over at her in disbelief. “You are a horrible influence.” 

MJ laughs along with you before wrapping her arm around your shoulder and holding you close. “You’re only seventeen once,” she whispers, “enjoy it.” 

There’s a moment of silence as you take in her words. Her face was one you had grown to love. Maybe because you felt like you lost your other best friend in the process of trying to be a good one. Either way, you wouldn’t trade her for the world.

“Noted.”

Your phone buzzes on MJ's bed and within minutes you’re emotionally sober again and heading home for dinner. "You coming?"

"What? And miss movie night?" MJ smiles. Grabbing her jacket and her keys.

Movie nights were spectacular. You would savor the last few days of summer vacation because soon enough you would resume your normal routine as a high school student. Forgetting all about the cute boy with dimples. You guarantee it.

-

Midtown lockers consisted of stickers, graffiti, or lack of creativity. Yours was situated right next to Gwen’s. She dropped the -dolyn of her name after meeting Miles who coined the nickname. Speaking of which, Miles had been infatuated with her since freshman year. Well, your freshman year. He was still in middle school when the universe aka Mr. Harrington who was in charge of the academic decathlon, recruited them. You were excluded per lack of…how do you say? “Intelligence”. Public speaking wasn’t your strong suit.

You became their middle man because they were both hopeless and idiots. 

Ignoring the pain that eventually dulled into an ache. You walked with them, talked with them, and even traded seats with them so they could partner on assignments. Your group grew with the addition of Pavitir sophomore year. Gayatri the next. Which totally didn't make you feel more alone. 

The plan was to meet with everyone before the first bell rang but everyone seemed to be struggling with one thing or another. So for now you were left wandering the halls. Maybe you should learn a new hobby, join a new club? Club Rush wouldn’t be for another month though. 

Were you being ungrateful? Dissatisfied with what you had even though you had everything? Well, minus a boyfriend but that’s not necessarily a need. 

In the end you head to your first class early. Choosing a seat in the back you’re sure Miles will love so he can draw up tags. You and Miles share a statistics class this semester. You chalk it up to him being a genius who doesn’t even have to try too hard to pass. Lucky. 

The class slowly fills and at this point you’re just staring blankly at your desk and worry begins to gnaw at you the closer you get to the bell ringing. Miles is unsurprisingly absent but being late on the first day is a stretch, even for him. You know Mr. Davis and Mrs. Morales wouldn’t have it. 

A loud ring sets your stomach in knots but right as it starts the door swings open and oh no—

You’ve got to be kidding me

Your eyes meet and you want the world to swallow you whole. Out of all of the schools in the State of New York. There is no way he could be here. His address, what was his address? It was almost two districts away right? Right!?

Fuck

Your heart jumps when you come back to reality. He’s walking towards you, toward the only empty seat in the classroom aside from the one right by the door. Out of all the times Miles was late you’ve never wanted to scream at him more but at this point you just want him to be seated next to you. By falling from the ceiling or barreling through the window you don’t care! You would even settle for sitting next to Flash Thompson. The Flash Thompson.

You wouldn't survive an entire school year—your senior year—sitting next to a boy who obviously knows how charming he is and almost had you fired to get his kicks! Who does that? For pizza of all things!?

You pray by some miracle an earthquake hits but instead, you’re answered by the squeak of leather that you would recognize anywhere. You want to cry tears of joy at the sight of the red jordans entering the door followed by a sheepish looking Morales. 

“Mr. Morales, late on the first day.” 

Miles chuckles at the exasperated sigh that leaves your teacher’s lips. Rubbing the back of his neck before he shrugs off his bag. Easily setting it down on the desk beside you after turning in a familiar pink slip of paper that brands you as a troublesome student.

“Einstein said time was relative right?” He smiles but you can see the sweat dripping down his forehead. “Maybe I’m not late, maybe you guys are early.”

You would laugh if it weren’t for the fact you can’t tear your eyes away from the boy from before. He seems to feel the same sentiment except he doesn't look like he's on the verge of a panic attack. He quite easily takes a stride in the other direction. Sitting with an already disinterested look on his expression.

As soon as Miles is done being put under the spotlight you tug him down and his stool makes a loud screech that you opt to ignore and thankfully so does everyone else.

You're S-C-R-E-W-E-D. Screwed.

-

taglist:

@tired-robo-mask , @missshelleyduvall

Beta reader:

@hyperfix-wip

[e--q]

The Game is Afoot - Sherlock Holmes & Dr Watson

~ Happy Birthday Sherlock Holmes ~

(Handmade Soft Toys inspired by Miffy the rabbit in the form of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s famous detective Sherlock Holmes and his companion Dr Watson)

[nyeddleblog]

Unrequited. [Part 3]

Pairing: Andrew! Peter Parker x Fem!Reader; Mary Jane Watson x Fem!Reader. Warnings: Mary Jane Watson, reader has a situationship with MJ and gives her an oral, oral sex (f receiving), reader is a flirt. Summary: You go to MJ's and once you come back home, Peter already has someone over. A/N: Oof, I'm not sure any of you will like this chapter, I'm sorry...

PREVIOUS PART.

Chapter 3: Boundaries.

Mary Jane Watson. Fuck, she was beautiful, a sight for sore eyes, a mess of freckles sprayed over rosy skin, a cascade of copper locks framing a gorgeous face, and she looked so good on the receiving end, too. Her taste, her smell, her voice. It was all too intoxicating.

"Fuck, baby" she'd mumble, chest heaving as she took a hold of your hair, pulling softly, "Right there."

You groaned, making the vibrations travel through her body. MJ squirmed then, and you took firm hold of her hips, pressing your mouth against her pussy, eating her out fervently.

"Oh, god," she whimpered, "I'm so close, honey."

You smirked in response, knowing better than stopping the good work. Your hands traveled from her hips to the rest her body, one stopping right on her lower stomach as you pressed gently, and the other gathering her slickness through her pretty folds, letting her grind herself against your face. You were in heaven.

You pressed two fingers against her entrance, waiting for permission. Mary Jane pulled your hair a bit tighter and that was all you needed. You left a soft kiss on her clit before coming back to licking her exactly how she needed you to, pumping your fingers into her with a steady pace.

"Cum for me, princess" you demanded gently, right when her hips jerked upwards, and she let out a sweet moan that made you smile, "That's it, baby."

Mary gasped, falling backwards against the mattress. You let your fingers slip out of her and softly caress the plush skin of her inner thighs. You left a few chaste kisses on her knee, as you pushed her panties back on their place. 

"That was amazing..." the ginger giggled, not quite used to it. 

"Well, I was just returning the favor" you said in response, resting your cheek on her lower stomach. MJ ran a hand through your hair gently, "Want me to stay the night? I could order something and maybe we could do something else..."

But Mary Jane was getting up, leaving you on the bed like a lost puppy. She made her way to the  bathroom, letting the shower run as she took off the baby tee you hadn't been able to get a hold of. 

"I have rehearsal at nine" she explained mindlessly, checking the water temperature, "So I can't really allow myself a sleepover."

"Nine?" you inquired, starting to walk towards her. Mary Jane received your arms snaking around her waist with a smile, "It's kinda late, don't you think?"

"Well, most actors work during the day..."

"Right."

"So, I just gotta adjust my schedule to theirs..." she finished explaining apologetically. You pouted in response but left a kiss on her cheek nonetheless, "I can offer you a hot shower and, maybe, round four...?"

"God, aren't you a romantic?"

Mary Jane Watson was adorable, even if her name was a mouthful. She was just a tad more talkative than you, had the cutest laugh and you were growing dangerously accustomed to the way her fingernails grazed your skin. Three more sessions of this and, fuck, you were going to risk it all.

So you drove home with a smile after showering, specially grateful of the fact that Peter hadn't texted you about any flings. Maybe he had finally gone to the girl's place, for once. Either way, as you got out of your car and walked towards the elevator, you texted him that you were arriving.

And little did you know you were in for a surprise.

"Felicia!" you exclaimed when you got into your apartment. At least she was fully clothed, and judging for the disheveled appearance of her hair, they had already finished, "How the fuck did he convince you to come back?"

Instead of appearing annoyed or angry like the night before, she just smiled and rolled her eyes. You raised your eyebrows at that, to be honest you didn't think that Parker had it in him.

"Damn, okay."

And Peter came out of the bathroom, wearing only his boxers. You pressed your lips together, turning towards the kitchen as you uncomfortably watched the way Felicia stood on her tippy toes to leave sloppy kisses on his jaw and collarbone.

"Damn, okay!" you repeated, so they'd acknowledge your presence.

Peter smiled your way, "I didn't think you'd come back."

Yeah, that was the smile of a person who just got fucked their brains out.

"Yet I did," you said dryly, but smiled his way to show there were no hard feelings though he hadn't warned you, "Is your apology take out offer still up?"

He held Felicia by the waist and walked towards you, getting three glasses out of their cabinet, "Of course. Water?"

"It's Friday night" you stated like it was an answer, "I'm getting myself a glass of whiskey."

You heard the small hum coming out of Felicia's mouth and you weren't an idiot, the girl was gorgeous, so you turned towards her and seductively let out, "Want some?"

"Oh, I don't drink wh..." Peter begun to say, but you saw the blonde nod and you were replacing two of the glasses with a whiskey tumbler. 

"Not asking you, dickwad." And Peter let go of Felicia's waist, "You staying over for dinner, cutie?"

"I have time."

You gave your roommate a small, knowing look. He gave you another in response. An annoyed, deadpan stare that almost made you burst out laughing.

"She has time, Peter" you said, "So you're buying us both dinner."

NEXT PART.

TAGLIST: @marcspectorondeeznuts @slutfortheblog let me know if you want in or out of the taglist<3

[dailyspiderplush]

Spider-Plush In The Media #16

You see, in the 90's, ToyBiz made a christmas Spider-Man and MJ box set where Spider-Man is Santa and MJ is Ms. Claus, they have a bag with cardboard toys and one of those happens to be a Spider-Plushie.

[consult-sherlockholmes]

Who knows, maybe it is a pengling wearing a mask and a little hat. I think she would be in favour of this stuffed little creature. And it would be a good opportunity to teach her about deadly pandemics of the past, pathogens and the wonders of antibiotics.

I do not know what you are talking about.

If your doctor isn't available to look after you, do you want to have mine? He can't cure you but he is great company.

Doctor? Are you sure that this distinct gentleman has a medical degree? Maybe he has a doctorate in another field? History, perhaps? The dramatic arts? And I do not suffer from the plague, Yersinia pestis, so you are correct that he cannot cure me. But maybe his presence would be beneficial.

[angryducktimemachine]

If you can't find a human Watson, Rat Watson is fine.

[ID: three photos of a person wearing a Sherlock Holmes cosplay consisting of a dark grey suit and a light grey deerstalker hat. On his shoulder sits a plush rat dressed as Watson is a grey jacket and a blue flat cap. /End ID]

[gasogene]

my sherlock collection (as of 24 jan. 25)! all details in the read-more! :)

i love this display so much, i've put my heart into it!

here is a list of everything pictured:

• two different sets of the complete novels by ACD

• angels of darkness by ACD (a play that rewrote the utah chapters of a study in scarlet, where instead john watson finds himself in san francisco, california)

• the private life of sherlock holmes by vincent starrett (1st edition!)

• sherlock holmes of baker street by william s. baring-gould

• sherlock holmes FAQ: all that's left to know about the world's greatest private detective by dave thompson

• the sherlock holmes encyclopedia by orlando park

• letters to sherlock holmes by richard lancelyn green

• a murmuring of bees by atlin merrick & others (this is a fantastic collection of johnlock pastiches & poetry)

• my dearest holmes by rohase piercy (a johnlock pastiche from 1988..? we've always been here)

• the private life of sherlock holmes by michael & mollie hardwick (this is a pastiche based on the 1970 billy wilder film, not to be confused with vincent starrett's book)

the fun stuff!

• first & main sherlock plush dog for valentine's day...the paw says "our love is no mystery"

• a miniature sherlock holmes mug

• sherlock cologne from a long gone beauty brand

• ace attorney herlock sholmes tsum plush

• around 30 BBC johnlock doujinshi

pictured next is my collection of sherlock hound vinyl records! i own 2/3 of the soundtrack pressings, two 45s of the intros + outros, and one reading of two of the episodes. one of the soundtracks opens up into a boardgame, with special dice & pieces to play with while you listen!

not pictured in my collection (because my shelf is only so big!) are:

• the new annotated sherlock holmes

• the sherlock holmes scrapbook by peter haining

• the private life of sherlock holmes soundtrack

• two BBC sherlock keychains

• several sherlock hound prints

• two vintage sherlock dog-themed valentine's day cards

and vaguely related to this interest is my collection of books on beekeeping...

i do have sherlock: chronicles by steve tribe on the way, along with little pieces of the set of BBC sherlock...complete with COA..! ;)

[gooolabatooo]

This is art for the story "With Charity For All” by EC Boss (@emilycare) for the When the Rose Speaks its Name Sherlock Holmes Anthology!

You can check out their blog @whentherosespeaks . This is a non-profit project, Returns from sales will be donated to AKT, a UK charity benefiting LGBTQIA+ youth.

Image Description: The setting of this image is in a nursery. From left to right of the background is a wardrobe, a door, a nappy changing station, and a mirror with a wash stand. Watson is holding his baby daughter, Charity in his arms while Holmes looks excitedly at her. Charity is holding a plush bee. In her crib, there is a plush bear and duck.

Website | Tumblr | Instagram

[pigeon-tracks]

Noooo, don't turn me into a marketable plush.....

I'll be updating my Etsy soon for Plush!John Watson and Sherlock HolmesHere's the secret fun project I put into production so long ago!! Hopefully it did not disappoint

[momma2boys]

Many thanks to @calaisreno for the prompt that got me writing the story that's been rattling around in my head for a few weeks.

John Watson has been invalided home from Vietnam and is desperately trying to keep Watson's Tri-State Trucking, the family business, solvent. As he travels across New York, Pennsylvania, and New Jersey, he notices a slender stranger. Late one night, they meet.

Prompt for May 1: Open

Everything ached. Everything from his shoulder to his big toe. The ache in his shoulder was dull and heavy. John tried stretching his neck from side to side to loosen it; experience told him it would be useless to try rotating the joint itself. The ache traveled down his arm in buzzy pulses that pierced his elbow and froze his ring and middle fingers. Lifting his hand from the steering wheel, he shook it violently before rhythmically squeezing it into a fist and releasing it.

Harder to bear was the burning pain from buttock to toe. No matter how many times he shifted his weight from one cheek to the other, the pain was constant. Ten miles outside of Binghamton his thigh began to throb. Just a little farther, he thought. Get to a truck stop or rest area, someplace populated and he’d catch forty winks. The lost time would be better than driving his rig off a bridge in desperation.

On the far side of Binghamton he pulled into a truck stop, parking well away from the other semis. After a quick trot to the head, he swallowed two aspirins with a swig from his flask and settled down in his bunk. The aptly named coffin sleeper provided just enough room to pull off his boots and shimmy out of his jeans before pulling the blanket over himself, but he didn’t care. His rig was paid for—much as he admired the newer Peterbilts with their fancy cabs that were as well-appointed as a Newark studio apartment, the 1962 Mack belonged to Watson’s Tri-State Trucking one hundred percent and only needed the occasional bit of doctoring and prayer.

Two days on the road with minimal breaks—the client in Buffalo paid a bonus for early delivery—meant John was exhausted. Despite the pain, he was asleep in minutes. His dreams were painless, pleasant, in fact. He was two-stepping ‘round the dance floor at the Bluebonnet, feet sliding on the smooth wooden floor, slow-slow, quick-quick. He swayed in sync with the music and his hips moved easily. Slow-slow, quick-quick. His partner was vague, as happens in dreams, but he didn’t care. His body felt loose, moving to the music—some cover band playing classic hits--and his partner was gracefully leading him around the floor. The hips beneath his hands were slender and their gentle motion filled him with a tingling that was the opposite of pain. Together they moved in perfect harmony like a set of well-matched horses at the county fair. Slow-slow, quick-quick. A welcome warmth surged below his waist and he pulled his partner closer. John threaded fingers through his partner’s belt loops to tug their bodies closer, allowing him to feel a bulge there, matching and meeting his own. Slow-slow, quick-quick. As he dug his hips against theirs, his partner came into focus; not a woman, but the man from the truck stop. Dark curls, sharp cheekbones, pale skin, cupid bow lips. A little closer and he could kiss that plush mouth.

Suddenly, the twangy music was overpowered by the screeching whine of artillery.

“Incoming!” John yelled as he pulled the stranger off the dance floor.

Cover, they needed cover. John scanned the bar for a table, an alcove, anywhere that might provide shelter. This was a complete clusterfuck—his head ached from the constant whine of missiles and the acrid stink of explosives. The dance floor was littered with spent shells and disembodied limbs. John pulled on the stranger’s arm, sending them both skating through the slick of blood covering the smooth wooden boards. His eyes were watering now, his nose dripping from the smoke and the smell of burning flesh. This is it—this is how he’ll go home, another body bag, another nameless number on the evening news— He is shaking, huddled on the floor with a stranger in his arms because there is no escape, unless….Unless this were a dream, if he were dreaming, he could wake up. Wake up, he willed himself, wake up, dammit…wake the fuck up, asshole!

He shut his eyes and covered his head with his arms—he owed it to Harry, to Dad, to at least try to survive—

“You’re all right,” soothed a resonant voice.

“It’s not all right,” John heard himself say, “it will never be all right…”

Cold. He was cold despite being soaked in sweat.

“Yes, I know,” the voice answered, “but you are all right.”

There was a hand on his back, firm and steadying. Whoever was with him was close enough that he could smell the coffee and peanuts on his breath. John found himself matching his own breaths to those of this nameless, faceless companion. He didn’t realise how disordered his breathing had been until it slowed into an ordered rhythm. In, two, three, out, two, three. Slow, slow, slow.

“That’s it. Breathe. Good.” The strong hand traced circles on his back in time to their respirations.

John squeezed his eyes tightly shut before opening them. The world around him came into focus. It was night—he was in his truck—the 1962 Mack that his father had paid off before he died—tangled in his blanket. Kneeling on the driver’s seat was the stranger he’d seen in Gouldsboro and Norristown and Buffalo.

“What…how’d,” John croaked, he swallowed hard and tried again, “what are you, how did you get into my truck?”

“Hanger,” the man said, “left your window rolled down enough to work it through, which makes sense given the temperature and humidity this evening, but you might want to consider a different sleeping arrangement if you are opposed to uninvited guests. An inch and half of space is an open invitation, although I wouldn’t have taken you up on it if you hadn’t been screaming your head off. I rather thought you were being attacked, but now I reckon it was just a nightmare.”