#a jukebox or a coffin

[razorsadness]

After seeing these pictures you end up finally not knowing any more whether a jukebox is sadder than a coffin.

—Jack Kerouac, from the introduction to Robert Frank's The Americans

[dont-hug-me-its-yuri]

genuinely cannot explain how important the song “The Ballad of Hamantha” is to my version of Special One

[hairmetal666]

Steve has this bar he loves in Chicago. It's a little bit dive-y, a little bit dirty, but it's quiet. A good place for when he needs to clear his head.

Only, tonight, the place is packed. Music pounding from the jukebox, no space at the bar, patrons at the dartboard and pool table. In three years he's never seen it like this.

He has a second to wonder what's going on before he sees exactly who is going on, and for him to catch Steve looking.

"Stevie!" Eddie Munson cries. He leaps from the bar top, the people below scrambling away from the stomp of his big black boots.

He hasn't seen Eddie in years. Can't actually remember the last time. Max and Lucas's wedding? Robin and Nancy's baby shower?

Steve considers booking it out of there, escaping in the crush of the crowd. By the time he has the thought, though, Eddie's already pulling him into a hug.

He's excited to see his friend. He is! Really. He loves Eddie. But that's kind of the problem.

Steve fell in love and Eddie left town.

Well, maybe it wasn't so dramatic as all that. It wasn't until six months after they packed the last box in the back of Eddie's van that Steve could name his feelings for what they were. And by then, Corroded Coffin were building buzz and Eddie had a huge whole life outside of the people he saved the world with.

Over the years, as Eddie's fame grew, he came around less and now they hardly see each other. They still talk from time to time, Steve still buys all the band's records, and Eddie's still close with all the kids, Nancy and Robin too.

Eddie releases him, those big eyes bright, a pure and genuine smile stretching his face. Steve's stomach twists, heart skipping a beat.

"Gotta be honest with you, man. Never expected to see Steve Harrington in a place like this."

Steve snorts. "There's lots of place I go you wouldn't expect."

Eddie's smile wobbles, Steve thinks. It's gone in a blink, though, and Eddie laughs. "I'm sure you do, sweetheart. Have time for a drink with me?"

Eddie navigates to the bar, returns with two beers in hand. He presses his palm to the small of Steve's back, directing him to the single empty table in the corner as far from the jukebox as possible.

"How's life treating you, Stevie?" Eddie asks after a sip. "Nance told me the store is doing really well."

"It's good, yeah. Finally turning a profit. Wasn't sure about Dustin having us add a game section, but he was right. It's really taken off."

"Oh, he told me," Eddie smirks.

Steve rolls his eyes. "I'm sure that he did. He hasn't let me hear the end of it."

"That tone," Eddie says, voice soft.

"What brings you to Chicago?" He asks to hide the way all the fucking love he feels for this man is bleeding out of him.

"Not really supposed to be," he laughs. "Flight got diverted to O'Hare, can't get another one until tomorrow. Have to make it to LA in time to play a show."

They both know Eddie loves it; the rush, the adrenaline, that comes with performing, to making it to shows at the very last minute. It's how they got here in the first place.

"Working on new music?"

Eddie leans back, dimples popping with the pleased lift of his lips. "Oh, Harrington, you don't even know what we have in store." He leans over the table and launches into tales of rehearsals and writing. Steve drinks his beer and can't take his eyes off his friend, Eddie the sun Steve orbits around, helpless to his gravitational pull.

"So, Stevie," Eddie says, once there's no more to tell about music. "You seeing anyone?"

Steve hides his cringe with a chuckle. Picks up his beer to buy time and finds it empty. "Not anyone of note."

"C'mon, how is that possible? You're easily the hottest guy in this place."

He grimaces. "That's a low bar."

"Oooh, still bitchy after all these years." Eddie snickers, takes a swig from his bottle.

"Shut-up."

"Seems like it's been a while since you dated."

"You interrogating my love life now, Munson?"

"No, not at all. Just curious."

"Okay, who are you dating? Still that guy from People?"

"Gossip," Eddie frowns.

"Anyone else you got your eye on?"

"No one new," Eddie says. He stares at Steve hard for a second, like he wants to dig into his brain, like it holds the answer to all life's question.

"There is someone, then." Steve tries to ignore the jealousy licking down his spine. Eddie isn't his and never will be.

Eddie picks at the label on his now empty beer. "Not--not really." He licks his lips, leaning over the table again. "Is there a reason you don't seem to date anymore, man? It's just--you wouldn't hurt for options, right?"

Steve freezes, trying to figure out a way to answer that won't end up breaking his own heart. "Ah, it's--you know, things got busy with opening the store and everything. Stopped being a priority."

"Are you lonely?"

"Are you?" He snaps before he can stop himself. "Sorry, I'm--sorry."

"Yeah, man. I'm lonely as hell." Eddie answers as though Steve didn't give him an out.

"I--you ever have someone where the timing is always wrong?"

"Think it's a hazard of my profession. Who's yours?"

"What?" Steve clunks his bottle too hard against the table.

"The one that got away?"

"It's--it--I--it doesn't matter."

Eddie's smile is all jagged edges. "Nancy?"

"God, no. Nance and I are good with being friends. No lingering feelings there. Who's yours?"

"Ahh," Eddie sits back a little, eyes glittering with an emotion Steve can't place. "The best boy I ever met. Can't get over him, can't forget him. I think they guys are going to start banning my 'pathetic gay yearning songs'. Gareth's words."

Something in Steve's chest crumbles to dust. There's someone. Has always been someone. Of course. Eddie is beautiful and hot and charismatic and fucking famous. And Steve is--just a guy who runs a struggling bookstore with a couple of his best friends.

"That's--I'm sorry it didn't work out." He's trying to stop his voice from breaking, from giving Eddie any hint of what he's feeling, just knows he has to get out. "Listen, man, thanks for the beer. Great to catch up. You should hit up Robin and Nancy the next time you're in town. I gotta get going."

"Wait, Steve--"

"See you around."

He doesn't wait. He pushes through the people, and races out the door, into the crisp Chicago fall air. He squeezes his eyes closed, practices his breathing exercises, tries to relax the clench of his teeth, ease the screaming in his lungs.

Three steps away from the building is as far as he gets before he hears, "Steve, please wait." A hand catches his hip, holding him in place.

"Eddie, I don't--"

"It's you," Eddie says. His face is pale, stricken. "You're the one who got away, Steve."

"What?"

"I've never been able to work up the nerve to confess. I've been trying for years, but. Too afraid of losing you to tell the truth."

"Years?" Steve's brain is trying to wrap around what's happening. That Eddie has feelings for him? That he's the source of the pathetic gay yearning?

"God, since 1986, at least."

Steve doesn't know what to say; what to do. He's been waiting for this moment so long, and his brain goes on pause.

"It's okay if you don't feel the same," Eddie rambles. "Hell, I'd be surprised if you did, but--"

"You're mine too," the words tumble out.

"What?"

"You're the one who got away. For me. You're mine."

"Steve," Eddie breathes. "Is this--are you serious?"

"Pathetic gay yearning and all."

Eddie's laugh is a bright spot in the darkness, relief and happiness mixed with the hope of what's next.

Steve can't help but giggle. "We're so dumb," he says.

Eddie looks at him with a raised eyebrow before bursting into giggles of his own. "So dumb, Steve, oh my god."

"It's been a decade!"

"Fuck," Eddie cackles.

They collapse against each other, chests heaving with their mirth. As they catch their breath, Steve nuzzles against Eddie's neck, relishing the closeness. It's easy for him to change the angle so their lips meet in a kiss frantic with ten years of longing.

"Your place or mine?" Eddie asks once they part.

Steve laughs. "You think I'm that easy, Munson?"

"Oh, Steve," Eddie smirks. "I know it."

"Asshole." Steve presses a kiss to his jaw. "How many songs did you write about me?"

Eddie smiles so hard his dimples pop. "All of them, baby. Every single one."

Steve rests their foreheads together, body fizzing like freshly uncorked champagne, "Take me home, Ed."

[strangersteddierthings]

Daily Ficlet 4

I'm challenging myself to write a little ficlet every day, using the prompts from this list. Today's prompt is jukebox.

-

Steve's oh moment comes to him at The Hideout of all places. Dingy, dirty, with a bartender who served Will Byers a drink without so much as pretending to contemplate if he should or not.

The point Steve is making is he's just realized he might be a lot in love with Eddie and that it's not exactly the most romantic of settings. They're all here because they came to watch Corroded Coffins first gig since before... well, since Before.

Before Vecna. Before spring break. Before Steve was even aware of his attraction to guys.

A lot of Before that led them to this now. This oh.

It wasn't watching Eddie in his element, up on the stage. Seeing that for the first time was actually a Before thing, too. Steve's been to The Hideout before. The same bartender served Steve a beer back when he was a sophomore and Tommy H had heard the rumor that they didn't card here. The first time he'd watched Eddie Munson in his element had been shortly after his graduation, coming here to pretend he wasn't as alone as he felt as he drank a beer or two.

Watching Eddie on the stage knowing he has a crush on him certainly made the show better but didn't push him from crush to in love.

It also wasn't after, watching Eddie and Robin have a silent conversation of only gestures and eyebrows and pointed looks, though it did make Steve rush with adoration for them both. Knowing that Eddie and Robin got a long so well, cared to each other, made something settle inside Steve's bones. Steve hasn't been serious with anyone since Starcourt, and he's aware enough to know it's because he can't explain his codependency to Robin to anyone. Not with the truth, or in a way they're understand. He wouldn't need to do that with Eddie.

It wasn't that Eddie had then come checked on him, either. Asking if the place was too loud, and how Steve's head was doing. Steve had just recovered from a migraine and Eddie was worried about this bringing it back. It hadn't. The ear plugs were great. And Eddie beamed at him.

No. None of those were the oh, though they were all reason enough.

No, the oh was this.

Watching Eddie 'metalhead' Munson teach Will, El, Dustin, Lucas and Erica how to square dance. He'd tried to coax Mike onto the floor but that wasn't happening, and Max couldn't with her crutches still, but she'd promised to learn from Lucas once she was on the mend.

Eddie had pilfered most of Steve's quarters and slid them into the jukebox, picking the same country song 5 times in a row for the kids to practice to. "Just to wait, Stevie. These kids'll be winning square dancing trophies when I'm done."

Steve had laughed, sipping on his beer as Eddie danced his way to the jukebox.

And here, on the fifth song, watching Eddie improvise some swing dancing into their established routine with Erica being easily twirled about, trying to glare at Eddie for picking her but also doing nothing to stop him from throwing her around the dance floor, Steve thinks oh.

Oh. I love him.

He stands and heads to the jukebox, and queues up the same song once more, then turns to the group. "Alright Munson, teach me, too!"

Dustin whoops, Erica slips back into her place in line, and Eddie beams at him, hand outstretched and waiting.

[bettyfrommars]

Candy Necklace

biker!older!Steve Harrington x fem!reader

⚠️/tags: 18+Only, oneshot, smut, dry humping, mutual masturbation, biker!Steve, bit of oral, pet names, dirty talk, ejaculation, teasing, slight mention of what reader is wearing, mention of being in a biker MC. Word count: 2k

This is a companion piece to my older!biker!Eddie series I'm on Fire because we all deserve some biker!Steve. Can be enjoyed as a stand-alone smutty piece, but I do reference some of the details of his life from the series that might seem irrelevant to porn. It's the mid-late 90's, Steve is early 30's and reader is 21+.

A/N: When I initially envisioned this piece, I figured biker!Steve would be yanking someone's panties to the side in a dark alley (which he still could do) but, idk, patient, adoring, slightly sub Steve really does it for me.

------------

Steve’s above you, arms braced on either side of your shoulders, his head dipping down to suck and nibble a bead from your candy necklace. You’re both fully clothed, but your shirt has a low neckline, and he is still wearing his Coffin Kings leather biker cut over his t-shirt. Pieces of his hair flop against your chin and stick to your lips as you giggle, fingers hooking down into his belt loops.

“It tickles,” you say, wiggling, his tongue darting into the hollow of your throat to curl around another sweet, round morsel, slurping gently, patiently taking one at a time. He pulls the elastic cord with his teeth, crunching down on single one of the candies, still chewing as his plump mouth returns to your salty wet skin, tongue twisting and flicking to scoop up another.

“But I’m hungry,” Steve breathes on a chuckle, his hips grinding against you, almost involuntarily. He crunches into another one and his low moan of pleasure makes your nipples hard as he plants kisses up the length of your throat, until he gets to the base of your chin, and then he returns to feeding.

Your cheeks got hot as your pussy fluttered, and one hand went to his head, sliding your fingers into his thick head of hair, initially unaware of the affect this playful act would have on you.

Without any real conscious knowledge of it, just a body acting out of need, your hips buck up to meet his and a whimper parts your lips.

Your physical response made Steve lift his head, back teeth still chewing on a bead, breath hot and sweet, his chin glistening wet. He presses all the way up so that his face is in line with yours from above, elbows locked, and you cup your hands around his forearms that are covered in tattoos, gazing up at him.

His hips rotate against yours and the bed squeaks. “Yeah? You like that, sweetheart?”

This bad boy biker with the baby face and deep, chocolate eyes had finally worn you down after months of flirting and got you to go on a date with him. A few sporadic days a week, he worked the front door as a bouncer for a bar called the Velvet Hammer, a place you walked by on your way home from work. At first, you thought he was obnoxious. He’d stop whatever he was doing, or cut off whoever he was talking to when he saw you coming to ask if he could buy you a drink, or to tell you that he noticed that you changed your hair, and he thought it was pretty.

He was harassing you, basically, but he did it in this wholesome, genuine way that was almost awkward, and it made you smile despite of yourself as you turned the corner each time, out of sight.

One night, when he pushed a guy out of the way just so he could say hi to you, you called his bluff and went over with your hands stuffed in the pockets of your coat and agreed to take him up on that drink.

Flustered, he stumbled in to get you a stool at the bar that was close to him, so that he could still talk to you while he worked the door. While the jukebox played Sex & Candy by Marcy Playground, you learned that he had a son named Oliver that he was over the moon about, and a best friend named Robin who he co-parented with since Oliver’s bio mom left when he was a baby.

The pride in his face when he talked about his son was what helped you turn a corner on your opinion of him.

You accepted his invitation to dinner a few days later, and that’s when you told him that you hadn’t had sex since your last relationship, in which you had been cheated on and hurt ruthlessly, and the idea of sexual intimacy too soon made you nervous. To your surprise, he respected this and never tried to push you.

So, there the two of you were on your bed; three dinner dates, one coffee meet up, and two make-out sessions later. He was such a dominant force in the streets---rolling up on his beast of a Harley to pick you up, covered in tattoos all the way up his neck, a cigarette pinched between his lips. But, in private, for the most part, he let you be in control; craved it, even.

“Yeah? You like that, sweetheart?” He asked, rolling his hips against yours, the use of the pet name making your core throb.

You didn’t have the words for how powerful your attraction was to him in that moment, but you blinked a few times as you met his gaze and nodded, pupils blown, lips parted.

Steve’s eyes searched your face, enamored with you more every day, and then he lowers his mouth to yours, tenderly sucking your bottom lip, nuzzling your nose, mumbling sweet words against your mouth, his cock aching as it strained against his denim. Your cores are locked together, each of you arching your pelvis in to meet the other, bodies wordlessly begging.

This was new for Steve. He could count on three fingers the amount of times he hadn’t jumped right to getting his dick wet within the first day of dating a girl. You made him want to savor the moment, you made him want to make it special, even as his balls bleated their joint discontent.

The elastic candy necklace you wore as a silly gesture was all but forgotten as you slid your hand down to touch yourself over your clothes, maintaining eye contact with him.

“Do you want to...watch me?” You whisper, unsure, feeling the outline of his huge cock on the back of your hand, rock hard in his denim, as it dawns on you that you’re not dealing with an average-sized man, and some of his “cocky” personality is explained.

Steve gulped: were you suggesting what he thought you were suggesting? “Oh god, fuck yes,” his voice trembled a bit, the need to bury his cock inside of you was making his vision blur, but to have the honor of watching you pleasure yourself? He’d never been so ready.

He moves over so that he is sitting next to you on the bed, eagerly taking his leather kutte off and tossing it on the chair in the corner. He’s propped slightly up against the headboard, legs long, and he takes your chin in his hand to lean down and kiss you again. You catch a glimpse of the Coffin Kings MC insignia on the back of his leather where it hangs on the armrest, realizing the caliber of bad boy you had in your bed; his knuckles criss-crossed with scars to show that he was no stranger to violence. There was also a scar cutting into his eyebrow, and one on his chin.

He watches intently as you push your pants down your legs and kick them to the ground. You’re just in your t-shirt, candy necklace, and underwear now; you cup your fingers down over the cotton material to feel the soaking wet spot that has developed there, rubbing the pads of them in slow circles.

Steve whines deep in his throat, biting his bottom lip, one hand clamping down to palm his erection, the tip of his cock already juicing with pre-cum. God, at this rate, he worried it wouldn’t take much; he might just cum right there in his jeans like he was 14 again.

You look over at his bulge, and then you tilt your head back to meet his eyes. “You too, if you want,” you say as you bypass your underwear and dip two fingers down and curl them inside, your back arching a bit. “I think it would be hot if you did it with me.”

“Yeah?” He leans down to kiss your forehead and then your lips as he jerks the buttons of his jeans open, freeing his cock with a groan,. “You want me to cum with you, baby?”

“So bad,” you gasp, soaking wet fingers coming out of your warm hole to rub your clit again.

Now it’s your eyes that are locked on him: fist wrapped around his whale of a cock to spread a few fresh pumps of pre-cum down his shaft to wet it, two of his chunky, silver rings clinking together. He spits in his palm and lubricates the rest of the length, and then he stretches it down before his eyes return to you.

“Fuckkk, baby, your panties are soaked,” the sight made him stroke his tip a little faster, shivering, breath hitching in his chest, bracing one hand on the bed between the two of you, metal jean buttons folded open, jingling on his wallet chain.

The way his cock was so ready, so swollen for you, made your hand swipe faster on your clit, taking sharp breaths, eyes flicking from his cock to his face.

The back of Steve’s head hit the headboard as he watcheed your fingers paw at your sweet spot and then dive back down inside, curling in and fucking yourself making sloppy wet sounds that have his hips fucking the air.

“I love watching you baby, you’re so fucking beautiful,” he said on a moan as his hand went from long, slow strokes to shorter yanks at the tip, milking a rapidly approaching release.

You bent your knees and planted your feet on the bed, bringing your hips up to meet your hand, fingers fucking deeper beneath your underwear as you met his eyes. “Tell me how hard you want to cum inside of me,” you mutter with sticky lips, pale pink saliva juice from the candy necklace dripping over your clavicle on a mix of saliva and sweat.

Steve convulsed a bit at the thought, swallowing hard, making himself slow to longer, slower strokes. His head rolled back and forth on the headboard before finding your eyes again. “I wanna cum so deep and hard inside of you that I drip out of you for days,” he hissed, edging the tip of his cock, watching your fingers work your core, wishing it was his mouth.

“I want to taste you so bad,” he breathed in a strangled cry, throat muscles flexing as his leg jerked. “Fuck, I know you’ll taste so good.”

It was then that you felt the wave coming and your fingers latched to your clit, working faster, cursing as you exposed your throat, concentrating, head sinking back into the pillow.

Steve could’ve cum then, but he edged himself a few more times, groaning, balls aching, not wanting to miss your release, heels digging into the bed.

You peeked over at Steve’s red tip, aching to explode, thinking of how bad your hole throbbed for him, and then suddenly, the velvet walls were crashing around you, jolts of orgasmic electricity bursting, making your limbs jolt.

You were mumbling, “Stevie ba-by...cum-cumming so har-r-r-r-d.”

Nothing could’ve prepared him for “Stevie baby” rolling off your tongue like that and, just as you arched back in your ecstasy, Steve’s grip raced to meet you, grunting, tip exploding with bursts of cum, milking it with his fist as he cursed, yanking out every last drop with the whimper of your name on his lips.

Twitching in the aftershock, moans ebbing in your chest, you looked over as Steve finished, squirts of his seed pouring over his hand, leaking onto the tufts of hair below, his head tilted back.

That was when you rolled towards him and took hold of his hand, pulling it close to lick at his fingertips, around his rings, tasting him, cleaning him up. You met his eyes before you took the glistening tip of his cock in your mouth, and he nodded, so you sucked him in, drinking him clean while he moaned, hovering on the edge of the precipice, about to fall hard for you.

“Clean me up?” You ask as you put your head back on the pillow, licking your lips, stretching the candy necklace into your mouth like a tiny, sweet, pastel gag. Steve’s mouth watered as he slid your underwear down so he could bury his face between your legs, greedily sucking every last drop of your cum.

You bit down on a candy and crunched it, letting the bits melt in the back of your throat as his tongue darted inside of you, owning you, clutching your thighs, growling, hungry for more, his cock getting hard again in the process.

[courtingchaos]

Butcher Knife

Gutterballs

This is a late follow up to my fictional self in @dr-aculaaa amazing little Valentine’s Day fic. This is just self indulgent nonsense so like, don’t read it if you don’t want to I don’t care 😂

18+ No Minors

Eddie met you when you worshiped at the altar of Bourdain and read Kitchen Confidential like it was a holy text only given to the worthy. Anyone with the wits and smarts and balls and idiocy to rock up into a kitchen 6 days a week and sweat for 10 hours each night.

He met you when you abhorred brunch because it’s what Anthony told you (and like, he was fucking right it blows) but you had just perfected that pancake recipe. With the buttermilk and separated eggs with whipped whites not at stiff peaks and the good flour mix you’d made.

But you’re stuck on this fucking brunch shift and that asshole Rich is a no call again and-

You shake your head with a laugh at the memory. You’d met Eddie that night after one of those long shifts where you’d been on sides and expo because of Rich being hungover again. A dingy little dive bar in the worst part of town, Keep Your Hands to Yourself weakly trickling through the old jukebox. This is when you still lived in Florida and Corroded Coffin was kind of on tour, kind of just like, doing their own thing man.

"A butcher knife, for Meg." Says the smooth Mrs. H.

"Heheheh... Fuckin' Meg." Says Eddie fucking Munson. You’d put off listening to this particular podcast because it was still a soft spot for you. Tender and pale like a lot of other metaphorical wounds left by various lovers but Eddie was…Eddie.

"I love that you have a whole theme going on: knife, cheese, a sugar cookie's next, an olive-"

"Hummingbird! And what can I say? I'm a simple creature, food is my comfort."

"Is it a love language for you then?"

Yes you think to yourself. You know it is. You remember that first morning after how he’d watched you move around your stupidly small kitchen in your stupidly small apartment like it was a range at the restaurant. Almost like he held his breath for fear of breaking your concentration, but little did he know you worked through most shifts hoarse from yelling over fryers and the busted boombox that crackled overhead on a metro.

"Ohh. Damn, yeah. Food is a love language."

See, you knew something after all this time.

"So what about Meg?"

What about Eddie, huh? Would he talk about your hair? Now bereft of deep auburn but shot through with silver your mother never had. Mention your piercings that you’d let go of after one too many lost screw on balls. Maybe he’d bring up that tiny sliver of scar tissue on your ass that came from him biting you awake. Red tinged laughter while you slapped his arm and he commented on your ‘natural blush’ and he’d somehow ended up with a fistful of his hair in your fist.

"Heh. Fuckin' Meg. She had cheeks like pancakes. I just wanted to eat them. Nom. Bite into her cheek and watch how red she gets in the face. I loved it when she yelled at me. I loved it when she wore heels and was just a smidge taller than me. When she pulled my hair

-what? What? Why are you laughing?”

You can’t help but laugh along with Mrs. H, that lifelong ailment of red cheeks flaring at the mention of any of this to the public. You’re too old to be embarrassed about something as trivial as this but you can’t help the knot that loosens a bit in your chest. He maybe had a tender spot about you too, something covered in flower petals now.

“Ohh..” You hear Eddie pause and realize something in real time. “You know what I just realized? I still use her pancake recipe. Like.To this day, this morning. Waking up at the fuckin asscrack of dawn to make Brock and Hunter pancakes."

He liked when you yelled at him except for that last time. You remember how fucked the night had been at work and there was the band in the dining room suddenly. Lost in the shadow but Eddie saw you running expo and couldn’t read a room for shit at that time. Stuck his head through the window to try and kiss your bangs and you’d snapped. Shoved. Yelled. It’d been happening a lot more recently when he’d roll back through town and it wasn’t him and it wasn’t you.

It was probably the vices and midlife fast approaching you both but he’d left with a goodbye and then you’d gotten a slim box in the mail with simple little E.M. note. It was one of those really nice Wusthof utility knives you’d mentioned in passing one night, flashing him the catalog between a shared beer.

"That's love, Edward."

"Shit. That is love."

You look to the window and see the darkened restaurant. Yours now. New building. New city. The street lights still on outside even as the sun starts to break over the horizon between the buildings. You imagine Eddie walking through those doors, not the skinny 30-something who did questionable drugs with you in dark dive bars after your 12 hour shift over hot pans, but the almost 60-something with the greying hair and the worn in warm smile. He’d walk into your restaurant and lean into your expo window and watch you carve into these vinyl red strawberries, making them little works of art to be buried around your crafted deserts. He’d watch you wield that little German made knife around with dexterity like it was just another finger on your hand.

You could make him those pancakes again. Layer these soon to be syrup soaked strawberries between the fluffy layers. You could make that vanilla bean whipped cream that was basically room temp ice cream. You wouldn’t snap at him this time when he stuck his arm through and wiggled his fingers at you in greeting.

You split the strawberries and carve your notches in them, slide them into the container of cooled lemon syrup and tuck it back in the fridge for later. In your office you connect to your little bluetooth speaker before everyone else starts filtering in and put on The Georgia Satellites and bring up the Instagram for the podcast, hovering over the message button with pink stained thumbs and grin.

[shares-a-vest]

He's Gonna Save Me, Call Me 'Baby'

wc: 1.1k | Rated: T for alcohol consumption (not excessive) | cw: post-breakup, angst with a hopeful ending

Tags: Future Fic (mid-90s), Post Stancy Breakup, Steve Harrington Angst, Angst with a Hopeful Ending, Platonic Stobin, Jeff (Stranger Things), Eddie Munson, Corroded Coffin, Implied Future Steddie (only bc the end is a little vague)

Written for the @strangerthingswritersguild Hozier Project. I chose the song, 'Jackie and Wilson'. Thank you soooo much to @subbaculture for setting up this event and making the banner!

(Read on ao3)

“Look alive, Dingus.”

Robin turns around to Steve and pats him square in the chest. He perks up, even though his best friend turns straight back to the entryway of The Hideout to wave at Jeff. He thinks it would be easier if Robin’s head were on a literal swivel with the way she has been whipping back and forth for the past hour.

Steve grumbles into his beer, pushing through the burn in his throat that still lingers years later as he laments the lack of Eddie following behind his bandmate.

He knows they had arrived too early for Corroded Coffin’s show, but Robin’s summer break from teaching came just in time – sue him for needing to spend every possible moment with his best friend.

Though he’d decided as soon as Robin announced her return to Hawkins that he wouldn’t mention the flowers he ripped up in haste in the back garden last week.

He’d done so straight after arriving home from the real estate agent, head hung in shame as he fully accepted yet another hard thunk on the head courtesy of Nancy Wheeler.

Well, it wasn’t so much a thunk this time as it was what Steve might consider, ‘divine intervention’.

He was in the backyard, tending to his small and still very much intact flower garden when a piece of guttering fell clean from the house, smashing through the window of the spare bedroom Nancy was using as her office – a room they’d falsely promised each other would be used for an entirely different reason.

But, much like his childhood home (which endured a mighty crack right through that cursed goddamn pool during Spring Break of ‘86), Steve found himself existing in a not-so-perfect house. One that grew increasingly cold as years of Upside Down dust and fog and smoke cooled Hawkins’s atmosphere.

A house that, with a broken and rusted gutter pipe, decided to remind them that shouldn’t – couldn’t – be playing house.

That’s all it really was: a pretend white picket fence dream that isn’t what Steve had meant by his vision of vacationing with a brood of Harringtons, Nancy by his side.

A dream that Nancy never wanted and got dragged into until her office window smashed in.

A dream that Steve thought was dead and buried the day Nancy rightfully picked through shards of glass for her things and left.

Buried until Eddie called him, saying that he had been talking to Robin (because of course, they kept tabs on him). He said the band would be back in town and that Steve and Robin should meet them.

And so, with a few beers warming his belly, burning his throat and sending a prickling sensation up his scar-covered sides, Steve found that nagging hope bubble up again.

He shakes his head, scoffing at his hopeless self as the sound of rhythm and blues music over the bar’s jukebox almost drowns out Jeff’s and Robin’s chattering.

Maybe he should be talking himself out of it. Finally acknowledging that years-old fleeting something between him and Eddie.

But he wants it.

And Lord knows he acts on a mere fleeting feeling.

Maybe history won’t repeat itself this time. Maybe the rusted gutter was one last divine thunk.

Maybe it won’t just be a first date. Or meaningless sex. Or bullshit.

He should have known that love with Nancy – a love long sucked down his old pool drain along with Barb Holland’s life – couldn’t prosper in the aftermath of an almost apocalypse.

They thought they were supposed to try, is the thing.

Staying in Hawkins. Keeping things at bay. Watching. Perhaps waiting for it all to come back.

But then it didn’t.

It all just lingered.

And they were left to pick up the pieces.

Right mistakes.

Move on.

They just didn’t need to do it together.

Steve pivots on his barstool, leaning an elbow on the bar top to get a better (hopefully seemingly more casual) view of the entryway.

He has seen Eddie over the years. Every Christmas at the Hendersons, sporadic visits home, a phone call here and there. The band hadn’t exactly made it big – at all, really. But they made enough to move around. Tour. Always returning to The Hideout for a one-off Tuesday Night gig as if nothing changed.

Steve looks around, thinking there might be three more drunks than the last show –

And there he is.

Eddie enters the bar with Gareth and George in tow and Steve swears a summer breeze flows in with him.

He looks good. Leather-clad as always. Pants impossibly tight. Jacket chains jangling. His hair still a river of wild curls.

But Steve sinks back on his seat as the trio makes a beeline for the stage, Eddie’s bright eyes turning into a dark frown as he orders the boys about, barely carrying a thing himself.

He probably had some theatrical excuse about his outfit, punctuated by manic hand gestures and a pout or two.

Steve watches as they dump their equipment by the one-step platform, each maneuver creating cacophonous thuds that reverberate through the bar. Jeff grimaces at the sight before shooting an apologetic glance at the manager and barkeep. The boys always did saddle him with sweet-talking the staff.

“Someone’s eager,” Robin teases, catching Steve’s smirk.

Jeff quirks a brow and stifles a smile.

“Shut up,” Steve chuckles into his glass before he downs the last of his beer.

“Eddie is really excited to see you, man,” Jeff nods, offering a nonchalant shrug just as Eddie begins making his way towards them.

Steve’s heart quickens.

There’s that something.

A something that is reflected in the glint in Eddie’s eyes as he smiles wide and waves.

Steve wiggles his fingers in greeting, shaking his head at himself almost instantly causing a lock of his hair to flop out of place.

George not-at-all subtly drags Gareth in Jeff’s direction.

“Over here, Gare,” Robin commands loudly through gritted teeth.

“Hey, Steve,” Eddie says, his voice low as he steps forward to stand just close enough that yeah, Steve decides to roll with that hope again.

He reaches up to comb a hand through his hair but Eddie gets there first.

“Sucks about Wheeler, babydoll,” Eddie continues, allowing his fingers to scrape his scalp, carefully looking him over as he does so.

Eddie always is too much.

Everything.

A lot. All at once.

Seeing him.

Steve hums and Eddie soon stops, an embarrassed set of dimples dotting his cheeks as he likely thinks better of it given their current location.

“It was... all a mistake,” Steve admits, taking Eddie’s retreating hand.

He intertwines ring-adorned fingers with his own, refusing to let go of the hope tethering them, ready to start again.

[ozu-teapot]

Look At Life: Coffee Bar (Short) | Uncredited | 1959

The Moon Over the Alley supplemental #1

A brief segment of The Moon Over the Alley featuring singer Roy Martin and “weirdies” Sue Wakeling and Eddie Doyle takes place in the vey cool looking Le Macabre Coffee Bar. Le Macabre was a kind of proto-Goth establishment which operated from the 50s into the 70s, decorated with hanging skeletons, skull ashtrays, tables shaped like coffin lids, murals featuring skeletons cavorting with naked young ladies, and with a jukebox which featured the Danse Macabre and Chopin’s Funeral March.

[mymanymerrymuses]

Hermitcraft season 10 sentence starters.

"If you die, you're out." "The salmon head makes it feel slightly safer." "I think if you die you should be punished." "I'd happily munch on a bit of (name) thigh." "Skeleton! Skeleton!" "Don't go that way! Don't go that way! Don't go either way! Don't go any way!" "If it's a jukebox, you're going in the lava." "(name). I am brimming with rage." "As our heroic adventurer descended, he shouted back: oh no, my food!" "I suddenly just want to organise my documents and I don't know why." "You organised it into a fire, you complete buffoon!" "Oh we're gonna make loads of telescopes, can't wait." "Actually I need to punch (name) at some point." "I'll be next to you, (name). We'll be right next to each other, rubbing up a-yeah, we'll be like- we'll be there." "That hole right there is my hole." "I don't know if that's the best deal, but it was entertaining." "I worry about myself, I really do." "Whoever did this needs to be put in jail." "I just keep launching myself to the ground." "I spent sixteen hours on these yesterday. You'd better like them." "(name) encouraged me. He encouraged me." "I'm not too scared of goats anymore." "NO MORE SAND!" "Look at my calves. Those are strong." "This is the best mountain that's ever lived, and I claim it as my own." "I think whoever gets to it and touches it first gets to claim...whatever this is." "I left for five seconds and you killed (name)." "Fight for my love!" "You know what, we could all link our cracks together." "I'm banning the word 'crack'." "I don't need any questions asked about this. No questions please." "I assure you these are not underwear. These are man shorts!" "I can't believe you're still alive." "Avert your eyes. Avert your eyes!" "I promise I mean you no harm." "I'm just gonna go cry in the river." "Have you come to mock me and my hole?" "Look how unmoved I am by this." "I'm not pivoting! I don't want to pivot!" "Oh look at those guys. It'd be a shame if something happened to them." "What is this day-ball of fiery death above me?" "Did you just ask me what trees are?" "I heard we were having a funeral? I brought wood for your coffin." "Where's my trenchcoat and binoculars?" "Hi everybody. Welcome to my cower hole." "(name), I'm very suspicious of you now."

[clever-fox-studios]

So I guess I should consider one of those “master posts” for the sake of organization?

Main Project(s)

Free Runner:

See the blog here! @jenn-the-butterfly

(Sometimes there’s smut!)

Master post

Star Hearts (coming soon)

Magic & Machines (concept artist/artist)

@magickandmachines (written by @quilandscroll)

Mal'car (concept artist)

@mal-car (writte by @quilandscroll

The Hedgerow House

@the-hedgerow-house

People I Think Are Neat:

8um8le / Cyber Crew ; Stellar City

Ayy-imma-ninja / Fairy!AU

Venomous Quill / GITM

Imagine Creative / Bird in a Cage

Satoga Crank / Mantus Celestia

Spadillelicious / Love, Death & Robots

Quil&Scroll / Magic & Machines ; Mal'car

FNAF RELATED

Legacy AU: #legacy #legacy au #jenny_jukebox #jenny jukebox #jennifer raster #BAFIA

Legacy playlist (playlists might have some overlap in songs because I like them)

Lookinglass/Shatterverse AU: #shattered #shatterverse #lookingglass #viiaraa #dimensionjumping

Shatterverse playlist

Free Runner/Task Manager AU: #freerunnerAU #freerunner #taskmanager #azil #A2-i1 #cyberpunk #dystopia #jenn&co #toast

Free Runner playlist

Wonder Mall/Wonder Garden AU: [coming soon???] co-op with Lotus #wondersolarus #wondernocturne # wondertwilight #wonderequinox #wondergardenAU #vucub #zotz #solarion

Whimsyverse AU: [coming later???] co-op with Quil&Scroll

Deeply Dreaming AU: [unconfirmed concept]; possibly recycled into "In the Garden"

In the Garden: [Free Runner sub-story] ooky spooky, thanks Quil

Cruel Hearts AU: an excuse to draw DCA-styled spooky bois [notes being taken] #cruel hearts AU #ch #shadow work AU

Forest of Stars AU: [unconfirmed concept] mythological creature AU inspired by the Fairy!AU

Other Content (may or may not overlap with DCA AUs)

Draco Project: Synth's story, still buffing the dents out

Shatterverse: looking to move this project away from the DCA-centric group

Hedgerow House: [Cruel Hearts AU being moved here] #cruel hearts #ch au #shadow work au #hedgerow house #hhh au

Viu: :) y'all aren't ready for this one; co-developed with Quil&Scroll

Mal'car: assistant artist to the writing project belonging to Quil&Scroll

Phoenix Heart: not ready to share this one yet

Crystal Capture Creatures: concept and design artist for the project that's written and directed by Quil&Scroll

By OC/project

Legacy:

Jenny/Jennifer: #legacy #jenny_jukebox #jennifer #thejens

Jackson Dingo (Quil&Scroll): #jackson #dingo #roxyraceway

Jeanie Spider (Quil&Scroll): #jeanie #spider #wishspider

Legacy Sun/Moon: #dca #daycare3.0 #legacy_moon #legacy_sun

Legacy Eclipses: #eclipse #blacksun #bloodmoon #solareclipse #lunareclipse #totaleclipse

Phil Mercer: #phil #mercer #headIT #smelly #techsupport

The Hedgerow House:

Vinnie: #ch vinnie #vindicare #bitter feelings

Chess: #ch chess #chaine #regrets

Noir: #ch noir #ch umbra #painful past

Vex: #ch vex #bathorus #wrath

Ion: #ch ion #sisiphus #self-indulgence

Coffin: #ch coffin #cacophony #intrusive thoughts

Meat: #ch cairn #carneades #survival instinct

Shatterverse/other:

Synth: #draco #dracoproject #synthbabies #dracoraptor

Viiaraa: #viiaraa #shatterverse #technowitch

Peliand’r: #peli #peliand’r #tamaran #shatterverse #bluefire

Firewall (and Nan0): #firewall #nan0 #apeturescience (Nan0 belongs to Quil&Scroll)

Ylixir (and family): #ylixir #trixx #hex #helix #jsab #bossfight (Trixx belongs to Quil&Scroll)

Smoke: #smokeandshadow #smoke

Centre: #centre #shatterverse

Greer: #stellar objects #universal constants #demi-god

StarEater: #stellar objects #universal constants #asterofis #stareater #high god

Projects

Legacy AU: hiatus

Free Runner AU: FULL STEAM AHEAD, BABY

My stuff :

Twitter: @/cleverfox94

Bluesky: @//cleverfoxstudios.bsky.social

Ko-fi: CleverFoxStudios

Deviantart: CleverFoxStudios

I take commissions sometimes! Feel free to ask me about them!

Prices:

Check out my DA if you have a hard time looking through content here!

I’ll make this page pretty later, if I remember.

[mikkaeus]

5.04 pulled me out of the abyss

where do i even start

cuddy drugging house. jab right in the butt while he’s leant over the desk. beautiful

the fact that the police dude automatically assumes that house was the one looping the song on the jukebox that pissed wilson off enough to throw a bottle and theyre still here all these years later, close enough to each other to go to his dad’s funeral (which may not have been true in that moment but is also an incredibly accurate assessment of their friendship)

the iconic 

police dude: this guy was a total stranger to you and you bailed him out? house: it was a boring convention. i had to have somebody to drink with wilson: and there’s the foundation of our entire friendship. if you hadn’t been bored one weekend, it wouldn’t even exist. house: hey, with 3000 people at that convention, you were the one I thought wasn’t boring. That says something.

wilson knows house so goddamn well — correctly guessing that house never got a DNA test done even though he suspected his father wasn’t his bio dad, “im sure you know your son better than i do”, when he stood up the MOMENT house went over to the coffin during his emotional eulogy that was extremely convincing because he knew that he was Up To No Good

the whole “do you really want to have this domestic in front of everyone” whispered conversation (the military people there totally thought they were fucking)

whispering to each other like naughty schoolboys during the sermon with house’s mom looking askance 

“you’re scared to death of losing anyone that matters, so you dump the person who matters most to you!” - im sorry but the fucking vulnerability it takes to say something like that? for HOUSE to say something like that? like god, no matter how sure he is that wilson taking him to the funeral means something. he is really putting it all on the line. 

“admit it. you’re angry and you’re scared of losing me. admit it admit it admit it ADMIT IT ADMIT IT!!” *wilson hurls a bottle of jack at the stained glass window* “still not boring” - i cannot imagine what the funeral attendees are thinking of their screaming match. they definitely can hear something based off the audible reaction to the shattering of the glass - give us more unhinged wilson!!!  - “still not boring” was so FOND i am eating my shoes

“did you know i was going to throw that bottle? because i didnt know i was going to” “i know you have difficulty losing people” and then they proceed to draw a parallel between now and wilson’s first divorce and wilson good as well admits that he IS terrified of losing house

wilson helping house with with the differentials!!! and house smirking and saying “this is fun, isnt it” and like house just looking so fucking happy in that moment he’s RIGHT 

“im not even sure anymore we get to choose who our friends are” my god. codependent statement of the year. 

“if you’re coming back just because you’re attracted to the shine of my neediness... I’d be okay with that” wilson’s SMILE in response to this. im crying throwing up

[muninnhuginn]

For all people joke about season 2 being "plotless" (including myself tbh) I do think the Gabriel plotline was pretty well-constructed in terms of the mystery aspects.

There's literally enough to start suspecting as of episode one and later episodes give enough to solidify it.

Rough breakdown of the Clues below:

Episode one: blink-and-you-miss-it, but there is in fact a fly that buzzes out of the cardboard box when Aziraphale fetches it in. You also actually *hear* a fly in the bookshop at one point too, which isn't suspicious on its own but becomes so when you add it to other pieces. (Other pieces meaning that Beelzebub's own first appearance has the same fly sfx. And of course they're literally reintroduced this season surrounded by flies so we're not forgetting their whole theme any time soon. Jim also later has his whole thing with fly swatting where he says it's a-okay because the flies are always fine. My point is, flies are brought up multiple times in relation to Jim where our only prior association was with Beelzebub).

There's also Jim's line along the lines of "don't you think it'd be easier if you just had one specific person by your side". And on first watch, I'll admit my focus was way more on Aziraphale's overreaction to it (clearly thinking of Crowley) but in retrospect it's clearly *meant* to mean Beelzebub for all that Gabriel can't recall himself.

Then, later episodes, the Resurrectionist. The matchbox is literally *from* there and we know Gabriel had been there because the bartender recognised him. The bartender also said he was with someone who "looked like a mason". And masons (according to google at least :V) wear these collar-type things that resemble sashes, aka, pretty similar visually to what Beelzebub wears. You can also read into how the Every Day song was one of the few things Gabriel could remember that it was either a really strong memory or recent to just before he was mindwiped. But the news articles and the bartender all imply the jukebox changed to that song a few months/years before the present day. And again, why keep the matchbox from back then as one of his only earthly objects? So the song and the company *are* both actually pretty important to Gabriel. Genuine Clues. Possibly the companion is the same "specific person" who would make everything better? Bit of a stretch maybe but a possibility for sure.

And alongside all this, we have a number of instances of Beelzebub acting strangely. It can be written off at first as Gabriel being an archangel so it makes sense Hell is incredibly interested. We get Beelzebub offering Crowley an incredible reward, okay, kinda weird, but this is about an archangel, you know? And then it just builds. So we get the scene with the lower demon who says they usually have their tongue extracted and that... doesn't happen because Beelzebub is moping? Harder to write off but okay. And the final straw, Beelzebub authorising Shax to storm the bookshop despite it still being an "embassy". It seems like a recipe for disaster so the fact Beelzebub approved such a hare-brained scheme adds to the entire sense of wrongness around Beelzebub.

We know Gabriel had a companion we don't know the identity of. That the song was important to him when he was meeting this companion. Beelzebub is acting more and more off in their pursuit of Gabriel. There's a space there waiting to be filled and as the series goes on there are only so many people that can fill it. And so the flies are just the final nail in the coffin.

There are also some bonus bits and bobs like how it was implied Michael and Beelzebub were directly in contact by phone in episode one. (It's not directly confirmed to be them but given how Beelzebub later relays info that's identical to what was said in Heaven it seems a reasonable assumption) How the Job flashback had the whole Heaven-Hell bet. The higher-ups in Heaven and Hell have always been more buddy buddy than they'd like to pretend.

[ivoryminitower]

Echoes of Home: 23 - Steve ("message")

Echoes of Home: FFXIV AU OC – WoLs on Earth

Tsu'na was pretty introspective after that talk we had in bed.  I haven't brought up the topic again; I assume she will when she's ready and interested.  But we do need to discuss the game…like it or not, it gives Earth perspective on Eorzea, and may be important to inspire some abilities to work and reinforce the paradigm.

For example, we haven't tried the Duty Finder yet.  It's in our journal; in theory we should be able to use it to enter dungeon instances, especially since they are in fact instanced.  It is "reasonable" for an instance to manifest for us, since instances manifest on demand in the game.  We could try forming a private undersized party, which wouldn't get us any experience but might yield loot and gil.  If nothing else the loot might be a source of materials from desynthesis.

That's just the one that comes to mind.  But I figured that before that conversation with Tsu'na happens I needed to distract her a bit.  And we hadn't checked out the bar.

There's only one in Wyatt.  Hardcore partiers who want variety can head down the road towards Tulsa, or out the road towards Stillwater, or...well, anywhere but Wyatt.  But Wyatt couldn't not have a bar, and Wyatt's bar is named The Pit.  The Pit of Hell, the Mosh Pit, the Barbecue Pit, the Cherry Pit...I have no idea.  I guess I don't particularly care...perhaps no one does.  It's the place with the beer.

Faded wood-paneled walls.  A dart board.  A jukebox.  A cornhole alley.  A couple pool tables.  A bunch of cheap spindly tables and matching chairs, with a few booths.  And of course the bar.

Tsu'na and I found stools at the bar.  She looked around at all the details. "It reminds me of the Coffer and Coffin."

"Not Buscarron's place?"

She considered. "Buscarron's has more...warmth?"

I nodded.  It did.  The Coffer and Coffin in Central Thanalan has a very mission-specific look to it...a place to go and get drunk and forget about whatever the day had involved.  This place was similar.  Yes, the pool tables were used, and the dart board had holes in it, but it wasn't a very warm place.  Certainly no artsy drinks on display and a limited variety of bottles on the shelves.

The bartender at least made an effort. "Hey there...haven't seen you folks before.  New in town?"

"Kinda.  I'm Steve and this is my wife Tsu'na."

"The pretzel and pie people?"

"Famous, are we?"

"Small town.  I'm Sam.  What can I get you?"

"What's on tap?"

"Coors."

I smiled and waited a beat.  He smiled and didn't continue.

"Guess I'll have a Coors, then."

"Excellent choice.  And for you, ma'am?"

"I will try his first."

"One Coors coming up."

The beer came.  My wife brought it to her lips.  We waited for the verdict.

"...Do you have Coke?"

Sam chuckled and headed back down the bar.  Tsu'na kept her face pleasant as she leaned close and quietly asked, "Do you like that, Husband?"

I smiled back and murmured, "I've had worse.  Not really my thing, but we're making nice and social."

"But people do like this...beer?"

"People say they do.  Maybe because it's a cheap way to get drunk."

"Drunk?"

"Remember when that woman drugged you in Falcon's Nest?  Some people like that feeling.  Alcohol will do that to you...helps you not think or care if you don't want to.  Also helps you do really stupid stuff.  And throw up a lot afterward."

"And fall down unconscious under a table?"

"Happens, yeah."

"And people find this fun?"

"Some do.  Some just want something different from whatever they're experiencing."

She pursed her lips as she considered this. "The Coffer and Coffin is more understandable now."

Sam brought Tsu'na a Coke.  We drank our drinks, her enjoying hers more than I enjoyed mine, and chatted about the things in the room.  No pool tables in Eorzea.  Throwing weapons at targets is a thing there, but not in the precise manner of darts.  Cornhole was nearly incomprehensible to her.  I explained half the fun of these games was watching people try them when drunk.

I finished my beer and headed off for the bathroom.  I was gone for at most five minutes.

When I came back I found three angry guys crowding my wife at the bar and a fourth one on the floor.  Sam was reaching for something under the bar.

While I was sure Tsu'na could easily handle all four of them, I felt it was my husbandly duty to intervene.  I pushed in in front of the three. "Hey!  Back off from my wife!"

"That bitch just knocked Dewey down!"

Dewey must have been the douche on the floor.  I guessed he was the Alpha douche who made the first move.  That meant the one yelling at me must be Beta Douche, with Gamma and Delta standing by.  I smiled. "Sorry, did you just call my wife a bitch?"

"Look at what she did to Dewey!"

I glanced back at Tsu'na, who said, "He grabbed me and would not let go."

I turned back to Beta Douche. "Your friend laid hands on my wife?"

"He was just being friendly!  Now get the fuck out of my way!"

He tried to shove me aside.  I wasn't shoved.  I kept smiling.  "Okay, let's just think about this a minute, shall we?  My wife put your guy down.  So one of two things is true here.  Either she's stronger than me and you're yelling at her husband, or I'm stronger than her…"  My smile got a little wider. "...and you're getting in my face."

Beta Douche stared at me a moment.  Then he did that thing you see on TV where a thug with an entourage is trying to be clever...he looked back at his buddies with a smile, which he used to cover up a windup for a punch.

He connected to my jaw.  I kept smiling.  His smile went away.  I grabbed his shirt with one hand, hoisted him a foot in the air, and slammed him to the floor through a nearby table.

I was still smiling as I looked up at Gamma and Delta Douches.  "Hey, I think your friends have had enough party this evening.  Why don't you make sure they get home safe?"

They looked at me, looked at each other, looked briefly at Tsu'na, and moved to help their fallen comrades leave the field.

I turned back to Tsu'na and saw Sam with a baseball bat in his hands.  "Oh, hey, I'm really sorry about that...I just got carried away with those guys crowding my wife and all.  I just wasn't thinking.  I didn't mean to break the table."

"You gonna pay for that?"

"Better.  I'll do you one better.  We'll make you a new one.  It'll be real nice, I swear."

That gave him pause. "You're gonna make me a table."

"Yeah, my wife and I work with wood all the time.  Just give me a couple days, okay?  You'll love it, I promise."

Sam didn't seem to know what to do with this. "...Fine.  Two days.  Money or a table.  Or I'm calling the Sheriff."

"Right, sure thing.  We'll get right on it.  Let's go, my love."

Tsu'na stood up and gave Sam a smile. "Thank you for the Coke."

She took my arm and we headed out of the Pit.  As we got outside, she murmured, "Was that theatre, Husband?  Was I a prop?"

"No, my love, that was a hostile encounter.  You were a party member."

"Yet you did not need to throw that man through the table.  You could have thrown him elsewhere."

"Serendipity, my love.  Happy accident.  When we come back with a new table we'll show people we can do decent woodwork.  Might start a new business line."

"Tactical theatre, then."

"Sure.  As Doctor Willoughby said about his cockroach business, 'First you have to create a market.'"

"What is a cockroach?"

"An insect that infests places with food like restaurants and bars."

She peered at me. "Why would anyone want to buy a cockroach?"

"Well, first you have to create a market."

She was going to ask more, but we noticed we had another hostile encounter waiting.  The douches had come back armed.  Alpha Douche had a tire iron, Beta Douche had a board, Gamma Douche had a knife and Delta Douche had a broken beer bottle.

Tsu'na released my arm.  I thought about switching to Paladin, but before I did Tsu'na threw something at the douches.  It burst with a wet-sounding explosion and covered them with sticky stuff.

They didn't react well to that.  They thrashed around, getting tangled with themselves, their weapons and each other.  I turned to Tsu'na. "What the hell was that?"

"My new latex bomb.  Do you like it?"

"...I totally need the recipe."

"Of course, Husband."

We moved in on the douches.  Alpha tried swinging his tire iron; I caught it, pulled it away from him and shoved the round end into his gut.  One down.

Beta tried to swing his board but it was stuck to his shirt.  Tsu'na yanked it free and swatted him in the knee.  He yelled and crumpled.  Two down.

Gamma was too busy panicking and struggling with the goop to do anything useful.  That left Delta, who was apparently the brains of the group because he was standing very still, watching us.

I gave him a smile. "Hey, guy.  Wanna be a messenger?"

"Messenger?"

"Yeah, I need you to deliver a message to your friends here.  Know what the message is?"

He shook his head.

"We are Hyurcat.  Don't fuck with us.  You got that?"

He nodded.

"Cool.  Enjoy your evening."

We walked on and left them to deal with the mess.  Tsu'na murmured to me, "I am sorry, Husband.  I did not think this evening would be fun.  I was mistaken."

"I'm wounded from you doubting me."

"I will try to believe in you in the future."

[spideygwennie]

❛  has no one ever given you a compliment before?  ❜ (goblin children, goblin children!)

🕸️🕷️— 𝑭𝑶𝑹𝑻𝒀 𝑹𝑨𝑵𝑫𝑶𝑴 𝑸𝑼𝑬𝑺𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵𝑺. — @aapothic

"No, actually—" Gwen said blankly as she kicked a brawler straight in the jaw. How she always ended up on the receiving end of a bad attitude or a bold robber, regardless of the universe, must've been her other special ability. The suit and its perks she joked. "I usually get a 'fuck you Spider-Woman!— or 'damn you Spider-Woman, you broke my phone!' Never mind that I just saved their life—!!" Gwen grunted the last sentence, a much larger man coming from behind as she spoke. Attempting to hold her down while another man came for a punch to the gut. Last time she takes a mouthy teenager to a bar because she said please.

Sadly, for him anyway, Gwen kicks like a mule, and strong as an ox. It helped the bar's jukebox blasted this universe's Mötley Crüe. The sound was different, but the beat was the same. Take a ride on the wild side. At tempo with the riff, their body vibrating with adrenaline. Near uncatchable when they were in unison.

"A day's pay on 'the wild side'-!" Gwen hummed the lyric as she SMASHED! a bar stool over a man's back. Being the final nail in the coffin for the bar to settle down, property damage was always the best way to calm a bar fight after all.

[wonkypete]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Monster High Draculaura Doll And Partial Die-ner Playset.