#and looking up magical ways to get him to do it from beyond the grave

[wield-the-mighty-pen]

Okay, but what's going to happen when Adrien takes a Biology class in school and learns that "Identical Twin Cousins" aren't a thing and are virtually impossible?

[romcomeon]

「 ꨄ︎ 」 𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐒𝐋𝐎𝐏𝐄 .ᐟ

⁀➴ humans were much more fragile than he thought.

⋮ NOTE DETAILS — mammon x gn!mc. careless scars. wc ≈ 1K .ᐟ

"What's.. I... how do ya even injure yourself like THIS!?"

"I... don't know...?"

You gave an awkward smile. Eyes shaking from what remained of the adrenaline rush, your hands resting atop your stomach while you lie down on the couch.

"Oh for fuck's sake, treasure," Mammon cursed, removing his sunglasses as he pinches the bridge of his nose. Seriously, you barely even started your day. There you were: bedridden and partly immobile, with every sway of your leg hurting a tad more than the last.

Not that you can say anything, but it was a careless accident.

...

It was more careless than it was accidental. The shelves within the grand library at the House of Lamentation were far beyond your reach. By genius design, you had no choice but to use the dark spook tree ladder that was left isolated to the corner shelves.

You could try to use magic, though you are unfamiliar with the general book's looks, for you only knew the title and the name of the author. 'course you also had the option to ask Satan for guidance, but the blonde had whisked himself away to the barricaded doors of the attic --- who knew what he and the youngest had planned for their measly prank.

And who knew how slippery unattended furniture can get.

You have not a choice: by deduction, the best course of action was to use the ladder and manually look for it yourself.

With the success of finding the book, surely a long, carpentered, intricately designed slab of wood wouldn't betray you. Now would it?

The first step downward was manageable.

The second step caused the old ladder to wobble, near stumbling back to the floor; yet otherwise stood still as you maintained balance.

As the third step came, as if by some imaginary liquid, you missed. You lost your grip.

There you came tumbling down with the sharp wooden edges grazing against your leg. And then you landed on the floor, upright, yes, but your left leg stuck against the fifth to the last step.

Your leg a swollen red, a long scratch from your ankle stretched upward towards the lower knee - where blood dripped down the open scar.

"Shhh...f-" you hissed, taking your leg off the ladder and- oh. You might've misplaced a bone there. You had to drag your leg up to a nearby couch, taking sharp deep breaths to take your mind off the pain.

...

So that was the story. When you told Mammon the first time, he gave you a dumbfounded look. Nonetheless, when he found you, he was worried as hell.

Beyond the grave.

But the golden boy had to rush and rummage through every cabinet to find the human-safe emergency kit. You admit, it was adorable watching him slip from his "superiority" facade.

Ahhhh.. your train of thought came to a halt at the stinging sensation. Causing your leg to jerk up, but Mammon held it down by the knee.

"Aye- Don't move," he said, while he tried to gently disinfect the scar with the isopropyl alcohol. Not a sensation you weren't familiar with, but god it burns.

"I'm sorry, but, could you please go a little faster?"

"Ya sure, human?" he scoffed. His finger traced along the long bump of the scratch, watching the skin scorch crimson before he shook his head. "Nuh uh."

You tilt your head up to get a better look at your golden boy, raising a brow. "What do you mean 'nuh uh'?"

"Ain't no way I'm leavin' ya alone after pullin' that stunt."

"It's just once!" You raised your hands in feigned surrender. "I'll be careful next time."

Mammon huffed his cheeks in a pout, grabbing the wool bandage off the red box. Carefully wrapping it around your calf, careful not to put too much pressure on your shin, lest you kick his face.

"Bullshit," he muttered. There were more words said, yet you couldn't seem to make them out. His usual voice in an ever soft tone: slurred words that only he could comprehend.

You did manage to catch a string of words. "not on my fuckin' watch you aren't" while he tries to fix the jumbled up bandage.

Seriously, it looked good but tying it together had always been a challenge. After all, the great avatar of greed was more known for breaking things unloose, not putting them back together.

He tried. Mammon tried. Not the best of the best, but Mammon tried his best.

You can't help but give a soft smile, watching him mumble curses as he finally figured out how to tidy up the loose ends: finding the metallic clip and pinching it on there in hopes that it sticks.

He lifts his gaze one more time to meet yours. This time, Mammon was the one raising his brow. Looking annoyed, but his intrigue was betrayed by the curious glint of his tinted sapphire eyes.

"Whatcha lookin' at me for?"

A small chuckle escaped your lips, tilting your head to the side. "Thank you."

Two words. Mammon scoffed, averting his gaze. "S-shut up. Of course ya should thank me!!" as by virtue it is a great honour to be served by the GREAT Mammon.

Though you lay there, smiling like an idiot in his eyes. How you're transfixed with the cherry red creeping up on his tan cheeks, how he subconsciously purse his lips, puffing his cheeks to not let his words betray him. How despite everything he says, he still works his way to tend to you.

To care for you. To love you.

Or to simply keep you company when no one else could. Honestly, it made the future all the less scary. The uncertainty is all the less terrifying. The possibility of your bones giving up just feels all the more natural than ill-driven.

While selfish, greedy to an extent, you figured worrying in the future might just be a hoax. A fantasy in your head.

They say to get your head out the gutter, yet you couldn't help but examine each worse case scenario.

And if it's with him to your aid? It will all feel right.

note.s : lesson learned, always watch your step when climbing down ladders.

check out my masterlist | divider by adornedwithlight

[spiritsonic]

Hi Evan! Big fan here, hope I'm not disturbing you at an inconvenient time. I love your work as an artist and writer, but it's not just Sonic that you work on. It would be cool to know more about your work Ensouled. What is it about? Who is the ghost guy and the human girl?

Sure, I’ve been wanting to write some new character bios. Check it all out under the break!

CHARLEY PARKHEARSE

Once, long ago, Charley was the best teamster in Santa Alma county. His stagecoach flew over treacherous mountain roads, One crack of his whip could snuff a candle’s flame from six yards, and any bandit who dared to stop his stage would meet the business end of a rifle. Anyone who cared to comment about his sour temper or murky past knew to keep their voices low… and God help any fool who questioned Charley’s refusal to remove his heavy greatcoat, no matter the weather. 

But Charley’s fame was bound to earn him enemies… When the bandit Sugarfoot learned that Charley was in fact born a █████, the secret spread like wildfire through the mountains. Charley was ruined. He thought his life was over, until he was visited by a being dealing in black magic; a devil known in his human guise as Aurelius Flood. This devil promised to erase Charley’s secret from the minds of Santa Alma’s people, restoring Charley’s reputation, in return for his soul. Charley accepted, though he would not learn the depth of his folly until the night he died… and was raised as a ghost by that same devil, now bound to his service. Still, the devil was true to his word. Charley’s secret was safe, even beyond the grave.

At one point in the many decades since his death, Charley thought he could escape Aurelius’ control. But today��� he’s given up that hope. He haunts the roads he was once the master of, frightening drivers to meet his quota of Soul and waiting ‘till his memories fade away, taking the pain of his mistakes with them. That is until, in a flash of ill-advised mercy, Charley spares the life of a young woman he scared off the road…

(Charley is LOOSELY based on Charley Darkey Parkhurst, a real historical figure. Look him up! He's a really cool example of a queer, probably trans person ((by today's standards)) in history. The real Charley's dying wish was to be remembered as a man; a wish that has not been respected by history. I want to explore the pros and cons of living closeted or stealth in an ever-changing world, while also honoring his memory and wishes as best I can in a modern context.)

SEQUOIA LOGANBERRY

Sequoia would like you to believe that she is a monster. It’s easier that way. Ever since her father left for a mistress on the east coast in her senior year of high school, Sequoia has been working a dead-end job at the local amusement park and doing her damndest to drink and drive herself into an early grave. And she almost does it… Until a friggin' SKELETON GUY fishes her out of the lake she drove into?! And now she’s getting these insane migraines and seeing spooky shit everywhere???? 

After a close encounter with death (and Charley), Sequoia develops an unpredictable 6th sense that threatens to finish what she started in her car the other night… Until she’s found by the misanthropic wizard Monty and his much nicer siren husband Luka, who help her get her new powers under control… in trade for her helping them with a few odd jobs. Nothing crazy, just, oh, infiltrating the local magical crime lord’s fey court. Sequoia is just the wild card they need to break a fifty-year standoff between the supernatural powers vying for control over Santa Alma. Sequoia will need to learn fast, about both magic and herself, or else end up a pawn in other people’s plans. Will she be able to make the friends she desperately needs and find direction in her life before she’s swept away?

OTHER CHARACTERS INCLUDE...

MONTY MOUROS, aforementioned misanthropic wizard. Older than he looks. Came to Santa Alma in the 1930’s to earn his fortune, and ended up embroiled in one of Charley’s bids for freedom. It didn’t go well, and he still holds a bitter grudge. He’s guarded the local amusement park, the Boardwalk, from Aurelius Flood for years, but other than that has hidden himself from both the magic and mundane worlds for decades.

LUKA, a siren who lost his singing voice in a trap set by Flood. If not for Monty, it would have taken his life. When they were young the two fell in love, and Luka defied his family’s traditions to be with Monty. They’re still together, and Luka is the only person who can get past Monty’s harsh exterior. Luka now runs a speakeasy for spirits hidden beneath the Boardwalk, where he mixes magical cocktails and turns the rumor mill. He is a kind soul who defines himself through service to others…perhaps to a fault. 

AURELIUS FLOOD, The mastermind behind most of Santa Alma’s woes. A cruelly ambitious leprechaun who thrives on greed, he’s been following the money since the time of the Romans. In the 1800’s he came to the new world, where he found fabulous opportunity during the California gold rush. Assuming a human disguise he carved out a business empire in the mundane world, and a criminal one in the magic world. He built Santa Alma himself, engineering the city’s growth. Fattening a pig for the slaughter. Now, the only thing standing between him and his ultimate payday is Monty and the pivotal bit of territory he controls at the Boardwalk. It’s stymied him for years, but he’s got a new plan…

SUGARFOOT, Flood’s left-hand man. As the illegitimate son of a powerful Californio rancher and an Ohlone woman trapped in the California mission system, fate did not deal Sugar a kind hand. After his father’s family lost their rancho, Sugar turned to a life of crime. He got his sarcastic nickname from a festering leg wound he earned in a shootout with Santa Alma’s top teamster, Charley Parkhearse. As his infection grew, so did his hatred… These mountains should belong to him, not some johnny-come-lately from New Hampshire. So he turned to another stranger for help; Aurelius Flood. In trade for his soul, he gained information; a secret that, if it were to get out, would ruin Charley forever. Sugar leapt at the deal, and got exactly the revenge he’d wanted… until Charley came for him, blinded by rage and shame, and shot him dead in the street. In death, Sugar and Charley found themselves in the same situation… bound to serve Flood forever. As coworkers. Hell would have been a mercy. 

(Sugarfoot is also based on a historical figure of the same name, but almost nothing is known about him other than he was a bandit with a very stinky foot. IRL Charley shot him when he tried to raid his stagecoach.) 

ZINNIA LOGANBERRY, Sequoia’s annoyingly precocious little sister. While Sequoia turned to delinquency after their parents’ divorce to avoid her feelings, Zinnia threw herself into her studies for the same reason. She has become the model student and daughter, earning their workaholic mom’s favor… but man, this kid is Burnt. Out. When she finds out about Sequoia’s new adventures with the supernatural, she throws herself into this new world as a release from her demanding daily life only to once again take things too far. And now, the consequences come with fangs, and hair, and claws…

DEBORAH LOGANBERRY, Sequoia and Zinnia’s mother. She knows she could be doing better by her daughters, but ever since her no-good husband left them, she’s been the family’s sole provider. Her job in the city’s planning and zoning department is the only thing keeping them off of the streets, and the price of housing in Santa Alma is only going up. It’s a matter of survival; surely, once they’re more financially stable, she’ll be able to patch things up with Sequoia. And maybe something will come of the new friendship she’s struck up with Mr. Flood. He IS quite the successful developer, after all… perhaps they could be more than friends?

[rainystarters]

๋࣭ ⭑𓆩✧𓆪🗡ྀ࿔ 〖 stories and songs . . . 〗 a collection of sentence starters inspired by various codex entries from the dragon age rpg series. some prompts usfw. adjust details as necessary.

the wind that stirs their shallow graves carries their song.

heed our words, hear our cry.

oh, fair damsel of the garden!

surely your work is far too vital to be interrupted by one like me.

i was a fool to pluck that flower.

you are not a man known for your honor.

you allowed me to live once, and so now i do the same for you.

i am humbled by your words.

but some things cannot be repent.

there is something in here with us.

death is certain, either way.

you have been my rock and my shield.

strike true, do not waver. and let not your prey suffer.

as the sapling bends, so must you.

you are lost, and soon you will fade.

go forth and claim the empty throne of heaven.

you have brought doom upon the world.

magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him.

they shall find no rest in this world or beyond.

there is but one truth.

all things in this world are finite.

each night in dreams you may always remember me.

the light shall lead you safely.

i am but your faithful servant.

if blood must be shed and used, so be it.

step away from this folly, before it consumes us all.

i long to dance with you beneath the moonlight.

do not despair. for it is not you, it is of me.

my most heartfelt apologies for the ripped bodice.

such depravity i have never been forced to suffer!

let them hunt, and dread finding me.

truth will hold you for that is what truth does.

i shouldn't have doubted your resolve.

please accept my humble apologies.

in truth, it is i who has been most vulnerable.

the seals are already weakening.

it must be protected at all costs.

of unknown metal and magic keen, a finer blade there's never been.

any army is only as good as its equipment.

blessed by the vine in spring, i shall not fear the winter's sting.

only fools ignore the history of the ground they walk and the people they meet.

i could use an extra pair of eyes to keep watch at night.

i hope they found peace.

blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter.

in blood, my will is written.

we are forever in your graces.

the oath you have taken is all but broken.

can you be forgiven when the cold grave has come?

once we raised up our chalice in victory.

why change the past when you can own this day?

the wolves are our allies.

always keep an eye out for the noble owl.

nothing burns like the first cup.

gallows master, hold they hand. hold it back awhile.

look away, look into the sun.

you know we all are dying.

alas, i cannot stay.

we'll beat down the bastard, and then we'll get plastered!

what of the old secrets the burn in our hearts?

now we pray for a dawn that will never arrive.

but it is our blood he seeks.

you will realize the smiles are false, and behind them lies revenge.

for all your fancy intrigue, you have spent your life creating nothing of worth.

it moves on without you, uncaring.

who could bear the weight of a people destroyed by his hand?

what was your vision of our purpose?

so buy the lads a round.

i'm ashore for the night and seeking company.

i'd still rather die.

why be what i am when i can be more?

have you threatened to cut out anyone's tongue today?

for have i not grown in skill and measure?

binding a demon of higher power is dangerous...

let it be my choice to have served and died.

i'm not staying to watch you die like a fool.

the undead you have been fighting are people i killed with my own hands.

here is my soul, trapped in a cage of bone.

turn around, face the shadows. don't blink.

just going to lie here for a while.

chopping off their heads should do the trick.

i am empty, filled with nothing.

arrogance becomes our end.

i'm here to die. but i won't go quietly.

i don't want to die like this.

cry for the past; only there does glory dwell.

so the forest grows, a reflection of our might.

mourn the past and all that was left there.

mastery of the self is mastery of the world.

suffering is choice and we can refuse it.

pride disguises itself in its surety.

[bettyfrommars]

I'm on Fire

chapter 18: the ties that bind

masterlist playlist

18+ MDNI

If you've come this far in the series, you know what to expect. No physical violence in this final chapter, but there might be some jealousy, protective/jealous Eddie, and threats. Steve with an OC character, parental Stobin, unprotected sex, oral, and meeting the extended family. Can't say goodby without a glimpse of Charlene. Reader is an artist and a vegetarian, but I try hard to keep away from any physical description.

word count: 15k

official author's note will be at the end of this chapter. I cherish you, my I'm on Fire fam, I'm so grateful for the ride, and I hope you enjoy this one.

"It's a long dark highway and a thin white line Connecting baby, your heart to mine."

-- the ties that bind, Bruce Springsteen

The next morning, a new Henderson opened her eyes to the world. 

Steve was the next one to hold her after her parents, and he hadn’t expected to cry, to have his throat close up around his emotions and choke him when he was told they named her Stevie.  He held her so close but so gentle and he barely noticed how wet his cheeks were until Robin came close and rubbed her palm in circles on his back.

“She kinda looks like me. That’s weird right?” Steve hushed, voice catching in a tearful hiccup. He was already thinking of the tattoo he would get with her name, inside his arm, close to his heart. 

“Yeah, that is weird and impossible, Dingus,” Robin smiled into his shoulder, stroking a loving arc over Stevie’s little infant forehead with her finger.  “But she kinda does.”

The labor had been long, the sun was up, and everyone was exhausted.  Astrid was at the house making breakfast while you and Eddie looked after Oliver.  He insisted on watching Pee-Wee Herman's Big Adventure again, and that was when you learned it was one of Eddie’s favorites as well; he knew every line by heart.  He mimicked Ollie with the chant, “I know you are but what am I, I know you are but what am I?”

And it was only then that you realized why Eddie had made a joke once about violently cutting off your mattress tag, the one that specifically said DO NOT REMOVE. Also, it explained why Steve so ardently wanted to start his own biker gang called Satan’s Helpers.

After breakfast, Eddie took you back to the Hammer to get your car, and even though you didn’t want to socialize, you were also in no mood to be stranded at your place without wheels.  Jackie reminded you that you looked like shit on your way through the smoky haze from the late morning drinkers.  You simply nodded in silent agreement, and it wasn’t so much a nod as your head lazily bobbing on a spring.  Your internal clock was out of whack, and you desperately needed a shower.  A shower and a soak in the healing waters of some type of magical pond that could heal you from the inside out. 

Maybe a month on a beach somewhere.

And then you pictured Eddie in a pair of loud, tropical swim trunks and giggled to yourself.

You were just about to leave the locker room with your paycheck and a few of your things, when tall, blonde Erika pushed in with a concerned look on her face, making you back up.  She shut the door behind her and leaned against it, covering the “Safety in the Workplace” poster. 

“Hey, so, that guy is here looking for you again,” her whisper was urgent.

Your heart sank for a second as the memory of Craig gripped you.  You had to remind yourself that he was long gone.  

But you wondered if a part of him would always be lurking somewhere near, haunting you from beyond the grave.

Your next guess was Chief Hopper, maybe he had more questions for you.  

“What guy?” You were hoping she had a clue, or asked a name, so that you could prepare yourself, doing your best to smooth out the front of your shirt.

She only shrugged.  “He’s older, Paul Newman type. Smells like he’s made of money. This is the third time he’s been here asking about you.”

It still didn’t ring any bells, but you’d only slept a half hour on the couch curled up next to Eddie while Pee-Wee stormed the Alamo looking for his bike.  

You took a slow peek around the corner of the bar from the hallway and saw John Gregson sitting there with a drink in his hand. Full head of salt n’ pepper hair slicked back off his face, wearing one of his signature gray suits. 

Was he by himself?  The way Charlene had been popping up like a bad rash lately, you almost expected to see her there, playing the dutiful wife.  

You hid yourself in the hallway again, wondering if you had it in you to have a conversation with anyone, let alone him.

To say his face “lit up” when he saw you would be an understatement; He looked as if you’d been pulled from the rubble of a burning building, and he thought he would never see you again.  

You found it hard to match the enthusiasm, even though he’d turned out to be a decent guy.  

He stood up from his stool and Shana gave you both a curious look from behind the bar as she poured a shaken martini into a glass. She was wearing one of her long, black wigs that day with Bettie Page bangs.  

“It’s good to see you,” he gestured to the seat next to him, his icy blue eyes shone like the Mediterranean Sea. “It’s been a while.”

You sank one hip onto the padded stool so that one foot was still on the ground.  You didn’t want him to think you were staying for too long.

“I’m sorry I’m so behind on your painting, life has been—”

He put his hand up, palm out to you.  It was his left hand and you noticed that he was not wearing his wedding ring.  

“Please, don’t worry about the painting.  Take all the time you need, that’s not why I’m here.  Can I buy you lunch?”

“I-I…” you fumbled.  “I was just on my way out.”

“A drink then?” He cleared his throat and shifted closer casually so that his knee was touching yours. He swirled his drink in his hand.  “There’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about and I didn’t feel it was appropriate to do it over the phone.”

Your anxiety spiked a bit, and it wasn’t as if he was a serial killer or anything, but his sudden shift in proximity gave you pause.  You asked Shana for an iced tea and gestured for him to follow you to one of the more isolated tables against the dark red wall, underneath a framed Led Zeppelin poster.  He pulled your chair out for you before getting settled with his gin and tonic, making sure to use one of the black cocktail napkins as a coaster. 

“I know you’re busy,” he cleared his throat. “So, permit me to get right to the point.” He removed the two stir straws from his drink and put them on the napkin.

 “First of all, I’d like to apologize for my wife. I believe she’s caused you quite a bit of trouble.”

You had not expected that one

His stare was too intense, you had to shift your attention and take a gulp of your drink.

“You see,” he settled back, keeping his forearms on the table.  “I met Charlene when I was barely out of high school, we were together before I made my money, and I always felt like I owed her my blind devotion.  Lately it’s obvious that we only make each other miserable.”

He continued.  “I’m not a stupid man. I always knew about the other boyfriends, not that she made much of an effort to hide it,” he smiled wryly to himself.  “Not to bore you with the details of my failed marriage, but I know that Charlene’s the reason you lost your job at the gallery, and I’d like to rectify that, if I can.”

Realization dawned at his words.  Why hadn’t you put those pieces together earlier? Of course Charlene was the reason you lost your job, she probably threatened to remove her funding and ruin Judith.  

You could barely catch up to what he was saying before he started again.  “I’m opening a gallery in Chicago, and I’d like you to come out and run it.”

You choked and had to cover your mouth with the back of your hand.  “Excuse me?”

John smiled so genuinely at your reaction that the skin around his eyes crinkled.  He undid a button on his suit jacket to get more comfortable. “You’d have full creative license, you’d be able to hire your team, do with it what you wish.  I trust your vision.”

It was that opportunity you’d been dreaming about for years, the one you’d been working toward for almost a decade.  

So easy, just like that.

Here, take it, it’s everything you’ve ever wanted.

…but was it?

Your head swam, vision tunneling slightly as you glanced around the Velvet Hammer.  You imagined Steve on his stool at the door and Eddie pulling you aside in the hallway to kiss you.  The song Everlong by The Foo Fighters was on, and you thought about how Chicago was over three hours away.  You’d have to move; it was much too far for a commute.

“That’s such a generous offer, I…I don’t know what to say?” 

“You don’t have to say anything right now,” and before you knew what was happening, his hand slid across the table and was on top of your fingers. 

Your eyes flashed to his hand over yours and you sat there shocked while your need to be polite overrode your core instincts. 

“I know there’s a lot to think about,” he continued, removing his hand to cup it around his drink again.  “Of course, I’d pay for all of your moving expenses.  I own a building downtown with an artist loft I think you might be interested in.  You’d have plenty of room to live and paint, start fresh, if you wanted to.”

Start fresh.

You felt like Shana had slipped a psychedelic into your tea, like you were melting into your chair.  Your brain was having a hard time keeping up with the reality of what was being offered.  

He tossed back another sip and wiped the corners of his mouth, looking almost unsure if he should say the next part.  “Charlene and I—” he licked his perfectly straight teeth in contemplation. “---we’ve decided to go our separate ways.  We’re selling the lake house, a few other properties, and she’s planning to move to Hawaii to be near her sister.”

A thought zipped through your mind then. How long had Charlene known she was leaving? Why would she become a partner in The Velvet Hammer and then move to Hawaii?

“That means I’ll be at my condo in Chicago most of the time, unless I’m traveling for business,” he gave you a pointed look again.  “There are so many places I’d love to take you to in the city.  If you are interested, that is.”

“Well,” you laughed nervously. “I’d need to talk to my boyfriend about it. About the job, I mean.  Moving to Chicago. His whole life is here.”

“Certainly,” John nodded, not missing a beat. “You talk to him and when you’re ready, you have my number. The gallery space I’m buying needs work, so I’d like to fly you out there in a week to take a look at it, once you decide.”

You were still staring glassy eyed at the edge of the table after John stood and left the Hammer.  You hadn’t remembered to breathe in god knew how long, so you tried that, letting out a hard exhale that made a cocktail napkin go flying off the table.

Would Eddie move with you? Visit you on the weekends? The latter seemed more likely but also not, considering how demanding his work schedule was.  Katie told you that Robin had asked her to move in, and you were overjoyed for her.  She’d be paying her share of the rent and utilities for the next month, but after that you’d either need to find a smaller place or a new roommate because you couldn’t afford your duplex on a Velvet Hammer salary.  

One week was all you had.

Did you even need a week? Surely you knew your answer.

—-------

The tires on the tow truck screeched to a stuttering halt out on a Hawkins back road lined with cornfields.

Behind the wheel, Eddie idled there, right in front of that familiar white picket fence around the big yard and the farmhouse with a porch swing and a red barn in back.

Eddie knew the details of the old Ferguson place by heart, it had been his dream house ever since he was in high school and used to take long rides on his bike to clear his head.  The couple that had spent their life raising a family there were in their 80’s now, and he’d heard through the grapevine that they were relocating to a retirement community.  To a smaller place that was easier to care for.  All of their children were grown and lived far away.

The newest addition to the house was where his eyes fell.  

His attention fixed on the sign at the end of the driveway for a long while, heart thudding in his chest.

The old Ferguson Farmhouse was for sale.

—---

The next day was the Welcome Home Baby Stevie barbeque at Steve’s and he had a blue “Kiss the Cook” apron on and a spatula in his bandaged hand when you and Eddie arrived.  He wore an elastic bracelet made of colorful plastic beads around his wrist that you assumed was a new gift from Oliver.  The sky was bright blue, almost blinding, and the air was crisp. 

“You sure you’re okay?” Eddie asked on the way up the driveway to Robin and Steve’s backyard where the lawn had been neatly mowed and edged.  “Anything you want to talk about?”

You hated keeping things from him, but you had no idea how to bring up John’s offer, or if you even wanted to mention it.  Eddie had invited you over to his place the night before, but you’d told him you needed some time alone to get to bed early.  Turns out that being alone with your thoughts only made it worse.

“No, I’m fine my love, I promise,” you leaned into him.  “I’m just tired.”

He put his arm around your shoulders to scoop you closer and kiss your ear.  “I’m gonna take care of you tonight.  Make you a bath, pour you some wine, kiss you all over.  How does that sound?”

“It sounds—” you felt emotions water your eyes suddenly and you blinked it away as quickly as you could.  “That sounds perfect.”

You felt guilty that you were even considering John’s offer, but how could you not? A very hopeful part of you said that both were a possibility, that you could keep Eddie and have your dream job in the city. But how? You couldn’t take Eddie away from Wayne and Oliver and his business, you would never ask that of him.  

“Is Wayne coming?” You asked, noticing you did not see his truck.  Also, your thoughts were racing again and you needed a distraction.

“He’ll be here later,” Eddie assured you.  “Astrid is picking him up on her way over.  Max and Lucas stopped by the garage for a visit and I didn’t want to disrupt the reunion.”

You felt a bit embarrassed at the mention of his longtime friend Max, only because you’d been made to believe that she was a mysterious redhead that Eddie was having an affair with not too long ago.

Thanks to Charlene.

You imagined that Hawkins would be a much better place without her lurking around every corner.  Was there a chance that Judith would take you back on at Moon River Gallery?  No, you had no desire to go crawling back to that place. Unless a new gallery opened, or your art took off to celebrity status, you’d be waitressing at the Hammer and squirreling away your tips for the foreseeable future.

But, you’d have Eddie.

You’d been spacing out so hard, you barely realized that Robin was standing in front of you, offering to take the sack with a Tupperware full of homemade potato salad and hamburger buns. Eddie was carrying your veggie burger patties that he bought especially for the occasion, and the fixings to make tofu skewers.  You told him you were a vegetarian once, and you never had to remind him again.  

“You good?” Robin asked, noting the way you shook your head a few times to come back to reality. Katie came up behind Robin to place her hands on her girlfriend’s hips before she moved over to your side.

“Have a beer with me?” Katie asked softly, reading the weariness in your slightly hunched shoulders.  

It was officially fall, but the weather was warm for Indiana in late September.  Eddie had on his Iron Maiden concert tee under his jacket from their 1985 World Slavery tour and black converse with his worn jeans, and he took his leather off and threw it on a lawn chair as he walked over to the grill.

“You better leave the hard stuff to me,” he said to Steve, shifting his gaze accusatory to grill.  The last time he let Steve grill your veggie burger, he’d charred it within an inch of its life.  

“Have at it,” Steve dusted his hands together.  “I have to go check on my pie in the oven.”

“You baked a pie?” Eddie gawked at him like he had hornets crawling out of his ears.  

“Well, Astrid made it,” he pinched a few sunflower seeds out of the front pocket of his apron and popped them in his mouth, chewing as he spoke. “It’s cherry,” he bobbed his eyebrows up and down a few times suggestively, and Eddie scoffed, elbowing him out of the way so that he could put his skewers down on the folding table.

You were just about to take the first sip of your beer when a man’s voice that was not familiar called over from the driveway.  

“There’s that long-haired freak I’ve been looking for.”

The skin on your arms prickled with gooseflesh and you spun around, thinking there was about to be some sort of trouble. 

Slightly unrealistic to think the worst, but you were understandably alert.

There at the edge of the lawn stood a tall, handsome guy you’d never laid eyes on before, maybe in his late 20’s, and he had a Coffin Kings cut on that was very similar to the one’s Eddie and Steve wore.  At his side, holding his hand was an adorable redhead. Her long hair was pulled through the back of a baseball cap, but you noted that the bright candy color was deeply familiar.  

You turned to see Eddie’s reaction like you were watching a tennis match.  

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he beamed.  “Look what the cat dragged in, "and he stopped what he was doing to make his way over with his arms out and the two hugged, giving each other hearty pats on the back.

“Max!” Robin squealed, practically doing a cartwheel in that direction.  You and Katie fell back and stood shoulder to shoulder, watching the group reconnect in a way that was very familial.  

Lucas and Max had been together since high school, you learned, and Lucas was a member of the Coffin Kings Indianapolis chapter.  The song Love Spreads by The Stone Roses played from Robin's portable boombox on the steps as the new arrivals meandered in to be with the rest of the gang and assimilated with ease.  

Eddie rested his hand on your lower back to introduce you, and instead of a handshake, Max went in for a hearty hug, and in your ear, she said, “Eddie loves you so much, I’ve been dying to meet you.”

When she pulled back to meet your eyes, you nodded, swallowing hard.  “I’ve heard so much about you,” you told her, and then Max shot a look at Eddie and made a crack about how she hoped it was all good things that you’d heard.

They were even more interested to meet Katie, being that Robin had not been serious about anyone since before Oliver was born.  Just then, the Oliver in question came bursting out of the house flying his hot dog bun through the air like a plane, making engine noises.  

By the time Dustin and Suzie came by with their new baby, the smell of burgers charring on the grill filled the air and you helped Steve bring some more chairs out to the lawn.  Eddie was taking much care to keep your vegetarian stuff away from the meat, and you couldn’t help but notice with deep adoration.

Astrid had a lot on her mind.  So much so that she didn’t have it in her to make the usual banter with Wayne that she enjoyed when they were together.

“You okay, darlin’?” Wayne turned to her in the truck on the way over.

“Oh,” she tucked a thick swatch of dark hair behind her ear. “You know, just thinking about how excited Steve must be about the new baby.”

There was a distinct melancholy in her voice.  One of the reasons the relationship between her and Steve had never gone any further than besties who make love was her refusal to take away his chance at a big family.  She was barely 21 when a doctor told her she’d never be able to conceive. Well, technically he said there was a small chance—a hairline percentage—but that it “would take an actual miracle”---those were his words.  

She loved Steve too much to not let him be a dad.  He was made for that life.  Ever since he was a teenager, he’d known he wanted to be a father, and once he had Oliver, she knew she’d done the right thing.  She’d tried to keep their relationship platonic time and time again, but in the end, the chemistry between them always proved to be too strong.  

She’d decided that she would love him until he found someone else, and then she would continue to love him from the shadows.  She’d given her heart long ago, and with him it would stay.  

“Hell, look at the head of hair on that kid,” Wayne said when Suzie introduced him to her daughter.  He gave a crooked grin and stroked a finger along the back of her tiny, exposed hand.  

At that, Dustin took his cap off and swiped a hand through his unruly mane.  “Thank god the rest of her looks take after her mother.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Lucas grumbled, thumping his friend in the arm.  

Steve had his back to the crowd when they came in and Astrid spanked him on the bum on her way up the stairs to the kitchen.

He spun on his heel and was quick to cage his arms around her so she could only squirm.  His face was flushed and glowing.  “You meet the kid?”

“I did,” normally, she would’ve kissed him, but instead she pulled back a bit, tilting her chin away.  “She’s so beautiful, Steve.”

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I—” she knew she was a fool to think he wouldn’t be able to read her face, a fool to think he couldn’t read her like a book after all of those years.  

Steve frowned, examining her face for a clue to her distress.  

Astrid’s stomach felt like she’d swallowed a lead weight.  

She hadn’t decided if she should tell him or not.

About the secret she’d been carrying with her for a few days.  

15 years, that’s how long she’d been in love with him.

Back when he was 19 and she was 23.

They’d known each other since they were little kids.

“I need to talk to you later,” she told him.

Steve dropped his arms from around her but held her hand.  “You can’t tell me now?”

She’d be 38 in December.

“Later, okay?” She winked at him to ease his suffering, and then made her way into the house, knowing that he stood there the whole time and watched her go. 

But later that day never came.  

Wayne wanted to get back and rest before his chemo treatment, and Dustin and his family only stayed for about an hour as they were all understandably still exhausted and wanting to recover at home.  

Astrid waved goodbye to Steve on her way out, and Steve stood up from his chair thinking he’d get a kiss, or at least a hug—but then she was gone.  

He tried not to think too much of it.  If he’d done something to upset her, she was never shy about letting him know.  Maybe she was tired of socializing, maybe she needed a break from him.

Lord knows he wished he could take a break from himself.  

Eddie looked over at where you stood talking with Max and Robin, and he recalled the conversation he’d had with Wayne a few days earlier.

“I don’t have to tell you you found a good one,” Wayne said from the couch in his trailer while Eddie sat next to him.  “I think you know they don’t come around very often.”

“Oh believe me, I know,” Eddie raked a hand through his hair, brushing his bangs off his forehead one, two, three times.  “I keep thinking one day she’s going to wake up and realize she could do a lot better.”

“You’ve done better than you give yourself credit for,” his uncle returned in a low, steady voice. 

When the next words came, Eddie felt a tightness in his throat:

“I’m proud of you, son.”

Wayne had a hard time leaving the house the day after his treatments, so Eddie always came by to bring him lunch and make sure he had everything he needed.  One day he came by to check on Wayne and found that you were already there, doing his dishes for him.

He’d never been with anyone who cared about the people in his life like that.  

Back at the barbeque, you slipped up next to him and planted your lips on his bicep, breathing in the sandalwood and leather of his scent.  “Penny for your thoughts?”

“Since you asked,” he smirked.  “I was thinking how I wish I’d met you a lot sooner.”

“How much sooner?” You batted eyes at him once he turned to face you. “In high school?”

Eddie made a yuck face.  “No, you would not have given me a chance in high school.  I would’ve been a lovesick puppy, but you probably wouldn’t have even known I existed.”

“Are you kidding?” You stuck the tip of your tongue out between your teeth, examining him.  “I would’ve jumped your bones so fast.”

“So fast, huh?” He chuckled, taking you by the hips. “What about now?”

He pulled you in and you hummed against his lips, trying not to get too horny right there in front of the guests.  

Lucas and Max would be in town for a couple days, so you and Eddie made plans to meet up at the Velvet Hammer when you were off work on Tuesday.  By the time the sun went down, all of the visitors were gone, and you were happy to head home as well after helping with some cleanup.  

“Robin and I can take care of it,” Katie nudged you away from trying to wash out a casserole dish at the sink. “You get out of here and go rest.  Make Eddie rub your feet or something.”

You both stopped what you were doing to look at each other.  

The way you were searching your friend’s face made her turn to give you her full attention.  In the background, you could hear Steve trying to convince Oliver to get his pajamas on and brush his teeth in a sing-song voice.  

“I can’t believe how much has happened in these past few months,” you still had soap bubbles popping on your wet hands and you slid them absently along the thighs of your jeans. 

Katie gave a thoughtful sniff.  “I think about it a lot,” she mused. “About that night on the couch at our place when you first told me about the guy who picked you up in the tow truck, and then meeting the boys at The Hideout and then—”

She cringed and covered her face with a dish towel, remembering her “date” with Steve.  “---it feels so surreal that Steve and I actually…well…I don’t want to think about it.  It’s too weird.”

“But then you and Robin found each other again,” you offered, thinking back to that first barbecue at their house when Eddie had to take off suddenly for secretive Coffin Kings business.  

It was on the tip of your tongue to tell your friend about the offer from John Gregson.  Katie knew you better than most people and you could always trust her advice to be on the mark.  

For some reason, you wanted to cry, just drop to your knees and start bawling right there on the kitchen floor.  For no one reason just

Everything

Katie caught the way your jaw moved like you were just about to say something, but then Eddie’s hands were snaking around to hold your back flush to his chest.  Your hair caught on his beard stubble when he leaned in, warm breath at your ear.  “You ladies need any help in here?”

You closed your eyes; you were glad to have him there. Glad to be in his arms, glad to know, in your heart, that he would always try his best for you.

But you were the one keeping a secret.  

Robin joined Katie at the sink and told you both to take a hike, lovingly.  

Steve came into the kitchen after you were both gone and the engine of Eddie’s Chevelle could be heard thundering down the road.

The first thing he did was pick up the beige, wall-mounted phone and call Astrid.  He stood there for a while with the receiver pressed to his ear and his other arm folded over his chest before he held the mouthpiece out in front of him and stared at it.

“She’s not answering,” he mumbled loud enough that the girls could hear.  

“Maybe she’s at Wayne’s? Did you check there?” Robin offered; her hair worn up in a haphazard ponytail.

Steve checked the clock first to make sure he wasn’t bothering Uncle too late, but it was barely 8:30 and he was probably up in his recliner watching M*A*S*H reruns.  

Wayne answered and they exchanged a few words, but then when Steve hung up again, he was quiet, contemplatively so.

“What did he say?” Robin asked impatiently, drying some silverware with a checkered towel.

Steve frowned.  “He said she dropped him off almost two hours ago and told him she was going home.”

He tried her house one more time and, again, no answer.  He let it ring five times but disconnected once her answering machine clicked on.  

“Maybe she went to bed early,” Katie shrugged.  “And turned the ringer off.”

Steve knew better; Astrid barely slept.  Normally, not being able to get a hold of her would not phase him, but something about the way she’d been acting that night set an alarm off in his gut.  

Outside, there was the sound like a firecracker bomb going off that shook the house.  Robin yelped and Steve bolted to the window to yank the yellow curtain back to see where it had come from.  

He got there just in time to see a streak of lightning crack the dark sky and a drizzle of rain hit the glass.  “Oh shit, good thing Eddie came in the Chevelle,” the droplets turned into a downpour as he stood there.  

“Looks like a hell of a storm is brewing.”

—----

Earlier that day, Charlene Gregson marched out of Murray Bauman’s office with her lawyer in tow.  She wore her oversized sunglasses and no expression on her face as they went down in the elevator and exited into the austere lobby.  She looked like a million bucks, which was probably the cost of all of the gold and diamond jewelry she had on.  

Outside on the busy street, her personal chauffeur was waiting by the Towncar to open the door for her while her lawyer, a pit-bull of a man named Saul, got in on the other side to slide in next to her.  Billy was out there waiting on his bike, to make sure no one bothered her on their way out.  He flicked his cigarette to the ground and revved the engine, angling to fall in line behind the Towncar.

“You sure this is what you want?” Saul posed the question to her as he slammed his door shut. They’d just thrown a lot of money at Murray and had him sign official documents.

Charlene sounded annoyed.  “It’s a bit late for that, isn’t it? The deal is done.”

He continued. “I suppose I’m still trying to wrap my head around why you would—” 

“I don’t pay you to ask personal questions,” she sniffed. “Just make sure there’s a smooth transition.  I don’t want to be having a cocktail on the beach and find out that you fumbled something, and I’m forced to fly back out here.”

The town car sailed into traffic and the two sat in silence for a few minutes until Charlene stared out the window at the passing buildings on their way back to the lake house. 

 “Have you ever been in love, Saul?” 

He was confused by the question and tapped his foot a few times.  “I can’t really say I have.” 

After recent events, and everything that he’d been tasked to do in her name for the benefit of someone else made him wonder. “What about you?”

“Only once,” she pressed her red lips together, eyes unblinking behind her sunglasses.  “And once will have to be enough.”

Saul assumed she meant her soon to be ex husband John, and so he left it at that.  

—-------

In a matter of seconds, the rain was coming down in sheets and the windshield wipers on the Chevelle were flapping back and forth at supernova speed.

“We could go back to my apartment if you want,” Eddie turned the Faith No More song down on the radio so that he could be heard over the rain.  “But your place is cozier, and I know both are fairly small but I’ve been wanting to talk to you about—”

“I think I want to stay at my place tonight,” you blurted it out, keeping your attention fixed on the dash, staring at nothing. “Alone, if that’s alright.” 

You could see in your peripheral vision that he turned to look at you, and you offered a reflexive smile, shoulders hunched a bit as if you were trying to fold  in on yourself.  

He smoothed his palm around the steering wheel and tried not to let the sensitive side of him that had been abandoned his whole life jump to conclusions.  Not everyone needed to sleep next to the person they loved every night; you wanting space was totally reasonable and had nothing to do with your feelings for him.

Right?

Just in case, he decided to make sure.  “Was it something I said or? Cause if there’s an issue between us, you know you can talk to me.”

For some reason, his insistence to have healthy communication irritated you.  Possibly because you knew he was right and you should put it all out on the table and talk to him, but you didn’t know how.  Your brain had barely been able to process the offer from John, let alone put the whole thing into words.

“It’s nothing you did,” you said softly.  “I just need time to think.”

Something about your tone and choice of words made his heart rate increase.  “Think about what?”

“Just stuff Eddie, okay? I don’t want to talk about it right now!” You snapped at him, for the first time ever.  

After everything with Erika and Charlene and Melanie and thinking he’d been cheating on you, you’d never lost your temper with him, and the two of you had never had a fight.  As much as you knew that arguments and disagreements were a very normal part of intimate relationships, you still felt like shit the second the words came out with such vitriol.

There it was, Eddie’s biggest fear: you were pulling away from him.  

He’d suffocated you just like he was prone to do.  He was “too much”, and now you were getting sick of him.  

For the next few minutes of the drive to your place, neither of you said a word.  

You because you didn’t want to take your confusion and anxiety out on Eddie, and Eddie because he didn’t want to sound like a whiny, needy bitch and make things worse.    

He parked up in your driveway to get you close to the door, but he kept the engine running to let you know he was honoring your wish to drop you off and let you be.  

You took a deep breath and flipped the manual lock up with two fingers.

“Wait, let me—” he was about to get out and come around to hold his coat out for you so that you wouldn’t get wet, but you were too quick for him.

“I’ll be fine, goodnight.” you were soaked the second you stepped out, fumbling in the pocket of your bag to find your keys.

“I love you,” Eddie’s voice was barely loud enough to be heard over the weather.

“Love you too,” you said quickly, and then you were bolting for the house, wishing you’d left the porch light on.  

Once you were inside, you clicked the deadbolt shut and watched the beam of Eddie’s headlights retreat.

This was ridiculous.  You were being ridiculous.  

There’s a beautiful man out there who treats you better than you’ve ever been treated in your whole life.  

You threw your bag on the floor and undid the lock to jerk open the door again.

You stumbled out into the rain.  “Eddie wait!”

But all you could see were his taillights as he pulled onto the main street and drifted away.  

—------

Back at her house, Astrid let the phone ring.

At one point, she had her hand on it, ready to pick up, but then decided against it.  

It was impossible for her to be fake with Steve, but she also wasn’t ready to be as forthcoming as she needed to be.  

She stood at the table and looked at the paperwork from the doctor's office one more time before she made her way over to the couch and hugged a pillow to her chest to let the tears fall hot and heavy.  

She had her eyes closed, so she didn’t notice the lights approaching in the driveway or hear Steve shouting her name from the sidewalk as he stood out in the rain.

He’d borrowed Robin’s car to ease his mind and make sure Astrid was okay.  What if she had slipped and hit her head or something? What if she was there with another dude? Also, a possibility under their “don’t ask, don’t tell” relationship agreement.    

The white t-shirt he had on was soaked through, making the tattoos underneath look like they were a design imprinted on the material that hugged his muscles.  

He banged on the door with the side of his fist and shouted her name again. 

By then, Astrid could hear him, but she stayed curled on the couch and waited in vain for him to give up and leave.  

—--

Eddie scowled to himself as he parked the Chevelle in one of the garages and made his way across the parking lot and up the steps to his apartment, shaking his wet hair like a dog.  He could hear a few of the guys partying in the clubhouse, and he thought about joining them, but realized his spirits were too low to be social. There was a punching bag in the back office where he normally did his workouts to burn off steam, but he wasn’t in the mood for that either.  

He told himself he would check on you first thing in the morning, but then it occurred to him that you might not want to hear from him right away.  He wanted to respect your wishes, your boundaries.  

He didn’t want to smother you.

On the nightstand next to his phone was the card for the real estate agent he’d visited the day before.  There was a room on the second floor of the Ferguson farmhouse with a view of the big backyard and he imagined setting some easels up to make it a place for you to paint.  It had a big living room with a fireplace and a workshed in the barn.  He wanted to talk to you about it, to ask if maybe you could see yourself living there.  With him.  

But now he wondered if things were moving too fast.  

He crossed his arms over his body and took his shirt off in the bathroom mirror.  He rubbed a hand down his stomach, noting the areas of skin that were not covered in inked designs.  The fanged bat with wings spread wide on his chest, the dragon design on his bicep, the grim reaper on his forearm.  A crude dagger made to look like it pierced his skin just under his rib cage that said, “true friends stab you in the front”.  There were other bits of traditional biker flash scattered around that Steve had doodled on him over the past decade.  On his other forearm was a memorial tattoo for his mother with her name, the year she died, and an angel statue with eyes that dripped blood, surrounded in roses and thorns, and the thorns came down over the back of his hand.  It was done in a way so that the bats that had been inked there earlier were still visible.  

He was barely 15 when another friend inked HELLFIRE on his knuckles.  It was done with a homemade tattooing gun like the ones used in prison, and the letters had to be redone later because they were basically chicken scratches.  One of the other earliest ones was the skull with a snake through it on his opposite bicep with his nickname “War Machine” underneath.  

Some days, he wanted to get them all removed and start over.

Other days, he wanted to go balls to the wall like Steve and be inked from ear to foot.  

He threw his soaked shirt in the hamper and was just about to grab a beer out of the small fridge near his desk to take into the shower with him—

but then there was a knock at the door.  

At first, he thought it was one of the other Coffin Kings, trying to drag him down to get plastered with them, but then he noticed that the rapping of knuckles was soft, cautious even.  

“Eddie?”

His head snapped around at the sound of the voice.

It was you. 

—------

Steve held his finger on the doorbell, relentlessly.  “Astrid, if you don’t answer the goddamn door, I’m gonna break it down!  You know I will!”

Astrid wiped her face, flapping her hand to dry her eyes and cheeks to the best of her ability.  She still had on the flowy, floral, maxi dress with an empire waist that she’d worn at the barbeque, and she wrapped a black shawl around her shoulders as she stomped begrudgingly to the door. 

Just as she was about to reach up to unlock the safety chain, there was a loud thud from Steve’s foot slamming into the wood, vibrating the hinges.

“Steve stop!” She yelled, fussing with the second lock on the doorknob.  

She yanked the door back and there he was: soaked to the bone. 

There was only a short awning over her front steps, and so he was standing as close to the frame as possible while more thunder rumbled in the distance. His wet hair had flopped into his eyes, and he swiped it back with a twist of his head, spitting to the sidewalk as he did so.  

His expression was one of anger at first, but then it melted into confusion when he could tell right away that she had been crying.  “Why aren’t you answering your phone?”

“This is a bad time,” she stayed blocking the entrance, although the yearning in his eyes was actively testing her resolve.

“The hell it is?” He pushed. He shifted to see behind her, as if there was someone or something she was hiding.  “You’re upset, I can tell.  Let me in.”

“No.” That was her answer, but Steve wasn’t having it.

He stomped up onto the threshold, wet hair dripping onto her face as he closed in, bracing his hand on the door so that she couldn’t shut it.  “Why don’t you want to see me?”

She tried to look everywhere but his face, but then his hand caught her chin and guided her eyes up to meet his. 

 “Talk to me,” he whispered from lips dotted in water droplets.  

There was a tug of war going on in her heart, and in the end, Steve won.  He always did.  

She didn’t invite him in properly, she just turned on her heel and left the door open, knowing he would follow her into the living room.  

His boots squeaked from all the moisture on her hardwood floors.  He always liked to take his shoes off when he came to see her, but it was too late for that.  He found her sitting on the couch in the dark, but he could only see the outline of her curly hair.

“Why are you sitting here without any lights on?” He reached down and flicked on a tiny wicker lamp that was on the nearby bookshelf.  

“You ask a lot of questions,” she mumbled.

He pinched the front of his shirt to peel it from his body and flapped it a few times as if that would dry it out. “What did you want to talk to me about at the barbeque?”

“You’re soaking wet,” she got a good look at him in the light and suddenly felt bad that she’d made him wait out there.

“No kidding?” He snorted sarcastically. 

“You left some of your clothes here last time. I folded them in the third drawer,” she hugged the pillow.  “Get into something dry and then we can talk.”

He stripped down to his underwear right there in front of her, staring at her the entire time, as if he was worried she would bolt and try to hide from him. His patchwork of colorful tattoos was a jumble of loud expressions of his aggression and passion.  In honor of his nickname Taz, he had several Tasmanian devils doing various things including riding a motorcycle and one on the back of his arm giving onlookers the middle finger.  The ones on the front of his thighs were all self-done when he was just a kid, practicing his craft.  When he was a teenager, he used to tease her and call her “Asteroid” and just above his knee was an asteroid with a fire tail crashing toward a heart-shaped earth.  Besides the Seek and Destroy tattoo on the side of his throat, his skin was full of phrases, including the big “FTW” letters in an arc under his ribcage that stood for “Fuck the World”.   

He went into her bedroom and brought out a pair of jeans and a blue t-shirt with “Gary’s Plumbing” advertised on the front pocket.  He dressed in front of her as well, keeping a relentless eye.

“You really are ridiculous, you know that?” She put her chin in her palm and waited patiently for the show to be over.  

He flapped his arms out to his sides like a little kid waiting for approval on his outfit. “Okay, beautiful. I’m dry.  Time to spill the beans.”

“Can you sit down, please?” Her heart flopped in her chest as she considered the words that were about to come out of her mouth and the effect, they would have on him.

In Steve’s experience, when someone asked you to sit down before they told you something, it was always their attempt to soften the blow of bad news.  “Why can’t you just tell me now? You’re freaking me out, babe.”

“Steve,” She pleaded sternly.  “Trust me, I need you to sit down for this.”

—------

Eddie barely had time to greet you before you were pushing by him to get into the studio apartment.  You were hugging yourself, and anxiety had your stomach in knots.  

“I need to talk to you about something,” you gushed.  

Eddie stood at the door, keeping his back to you while he locked it.  He was shirtless, dark hair dripping down the pale muscles that flexed under his flesh.  

You looked around, trying to decide if you should sit or stand when your gaze landed on the painting you’d done for him after that first time you met.  He had it displayed front and center, right above his desk on the main navy-blue wall, as if it were the most important piece in the room.

You were pacing when he turned toward you, the wheels in your mind spinning.

When he got closer, you stepped further away, but he caught your wrist.  “Hey, why can’t you look at me? What’s going on?”  His voice was sterner than he’d intended it to be.  

“I can look at you,” you made yourself meet his stare to prove his point, but it was difficult. You felt like he could see right through you; all of your doubts, all of your fears and insecurities. 

“Sit,” he directed you over to the end of the bed, facing the small sitting area with where there was a couch and a coffee table in front of an old Zenith tv.

Next to you, the mattress sank under his weight, but in your mind, you were somewhere else.  

“So, is this it?” He released a heavy breath and started to play with one of the rings on his hand, pulling it up the finger and then pushing it back down to the knuckle.

“What do you mean?”

It was he who couldn’t look at you now.  “Are you breaking up with me?”

“No!” You blurted it, eyebrows pinching together in frustration with the way you couldn’t get the words out.  “That’s not…I didn’t mean…I just have a lot on my mind, that’s all.”

A rush of endorphins filled him with temporary relief while he waited for your next words.

You stretched your neck from side to side, swallowed hard, and then you told him.

You told him about John’s offer to run your own gallery in Chicago, the opportunity to have the artists loft you’d always dreamed of.  You picked at a piece of skin on the side of your thumb as you talked.

“But I said I needed to talk to you about it first,” you added.

Eddie got to his feet and went over to look out the window over the garage parking lot. “Sounds like a pretty sweet deal,” he mumbled.  

You weren’t breaking up with him, but you were, in fact, leaving him, which was much the same thing.

“Well, it’s complicated,” you said, watching as he went over to snatch his pack of smokes and lighter off of the coffee table.  

“Doesn’t sound complicated to me,” the cigarette bobbed between his pinched lips as he talked, cupping his hand to light the end.  “Sounds like you already know what your answer is.”

“I wouldn’t be talking to you about it if I’d already made my decision,” you countered.  “I want to know what you think.”

“Well,” he scoffed, exhaling a sharp plume of smoke down his chin. His eyes were much darker now, almost black.  “No one in their right mind would choose to stay in Hawkins, not with an opportunity like that on the table.” 

He almost added, “no loser biker boyfriend is worth it,” but decided it was not the right time to be self-deprecating. 

“But I like it here,” you mused. “More than I ever thought I would.”

“We’ll always be here, trust me,” he was trying to remain cool, but his exterior was cracking.  “So, this John guy has been stalking you or something? Getting you to do this painting for him was one thing, but now he’s waiting for you at your job to get you to what? ----Move to Chicago to be closer to him?”.

The smoke came out his nose that time and the muscles in his throat tensed.  He had a bad feeling about that guy before, but he wanted to respect your business ventures and give you space.

The change in Eddie’s demeanor made you wonder if that was the time for full transparency.  In the end, you’d made a promise not to have any secrets from each other and you wanted to keep your word.

“There was mention of that, yes,” you said cautiously, nibbling at your lip.  

“Mention of what, exactly?” Eddie scowled, cocking his head to the side.

“He said there were lots of places he wanted to take me to in the city,” you recited the words cautiously.

Eddie laughed and threw his head back; it was much more of a crazy, maniacal cackle.  “Oh shit, maybe I should pay him a little visit?  See if pretty boy wants to show me the city too.”

“Eddie.”

“What did you tell him?” He was fuming now, grinding his jaw as he stabbed the half-smoked cig into the ashtray.  

“I didn’t tell him anything,” you repeated, but in a much louder voice.  “I said I needed to talk to you, my boyfriend.”

“He knows you have a boyfriend, and he still pulled that shit?”  Eddie bit the tip of his tongue between his teeth with a grimace.  “That fucker needs to get rolled.”

“Eddie!” 

“No, I’m serious,” he was yelling now, but more about the situation than at you.  “I gave him a chance to be cool, to be a gentleman, and he fucked it up. I told you babe, dudes like that, with money, think they can take whatever they want.  Well, he can’t have you, unless it’s over my dead fucking body.”

“Well, it’s my fucking choice, and I don’t want to be with him, I want to be with you, asshole,” You shot to your feet.  

You’d realized something on your way over to his place and it was that you really did not want to leave Hawkins.  

Every rational bone in your body told you to take the offer and run, but the other bones in your body, the not so rational ones, told you that you’d finally found your family and a place you belonged.  

“Listen to me,” you grabbed him by the arm and made him turn, his hair flying over his shoulder.  “I don’t want to take the job, okay? I want to stay here.  With you.”

Eddie nostrils flared.  It was taking all of his strength not to go out looking for that pencil pushing dweeb Gregson.  But if he actually got his hands on him in the heat of the moment, he was afraid of what he would do.  

“I’ll move with you,” Eddie wet his lips, a new idea flashing behind his eyes.

“With me? To Chicago?”

“Yeah, no, I could make it work. Hire another manager here, another tow truck driver. Come back and check in a couple times a month,” he walked by you as he talked, plucking at his lower lip with thumb and forefinger. “I could get a job at a garage in Chicago, easy. There’s even a King’s chapter there. I could get Bones to patch me in.”

“What about Wayne? And Oliver?” 

“We’ll come back to visit,” Eddie nodded at the plan that was forming in his head.  “Steve and Robin and the kid love Chicago.  Maybe we can get a place with a spare bedroom for when they come up.”

“But what about—”

“I know this means a lot to you, this opportunity,” he cut you off.  “I know I’m a dirty, biker asshole, but I’m not going to be the reason you give up on a dream.” He went over to the dresser drawers and pulled out a Pabst Blue Ribbon shirt to pull on over his head.  The armholes were cut wide, and the collar was frayed.  

“But what if I don’t want to live in Chicago?”

Eddie squinted like he hadn’t heard you correctly.  “What now?”

You bit the inside of your cheek in contemplation.  “I’ve been thinking that I don’t really care about that world anymore, the art world I mean.”

“You don’t want to paint anymore?” He appeared hurt by this notion.  

“No, I do, I will always paint,” you corrected with a wave of your hand.  “But the retail side of it, the snobby clientele, the stress, I’m not sure it makes me happy anymore.  Not sure if it ever did.”

It was Eddie who took a seat that time, perching on the back of the sofa. You could tell he was trying to understand, but the information was coming at him a bit too fast.

“I don’t want to work at the Hammer for the rest of my life, either, but it’s okay for now,” you were working through the revelations as you spoke them aloud.  “I have a friend who is starting her own greeting card company, and she wants me to do some artwork for her.  Little by little, I can make a living while still doing what I love.”

Eddie’s thoughts drifted back to the farmhouse, and how much he felt like it fit the both of you.  

“Are you telling me you chose Hawkins? Really?”

You went over to situate your hips between his knees and brushed his bangs off his forehead.  “No, I’m saying I choose you, asshole,” a smile tugged the side of your mouth up.  “Hawkins is a bonus, yes, but I will always choose you.”

Foreheads met then, and Eddie forced out a long-held breath from between tight lips.  “I don’t want you to wake up one day and realize you made a mistake.”

“The only thing I regret is that I didn’t get to jump your bones in high school.”

He chuckled, repeating what he’d asked at the barbeque earlier.  “Well, what about now?”

In the back of his mind he was thinking, “that John Gregson is still a dead man,” but he kept it to himself.

—----

Steve flopped down next to Astrid on the fluffy, tan sofa so violently it was as if he’d been thrown there by a force of nature.  He scooted closer and pawed at her hand so that she would intertwine her fingers with his.  He was reminded of all of those times as a teenager when he would get hurt on purpose just so she would patch him up.  She was a couple years older and wanted nothing to do with him back then, but nevertheless he melted under the tender touch of her attention every time.  

“I’m all ears,” he prodded eagerly when she did not speak right away.  

Keeping Steve’s hand with hers, Astrid turned to face him and tucked her bare feet underneath her, adjusting the stretch length of her dress.  

Steve watched the way her long hair fell across her neck and ample cleavage. 

“Okay,” she cleared her throat. “What I need to tell you is—”

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, perpetually distracted.

“Steve?”

“Sorry, go ahead.”

Another big inhale and then: “These past few weeks, I could tell something was…off.  I thought it was early menopause because I missed my period.”

Steve stared blankly, trying not to get turned on watching her lips move.  

She let her gaze fall to their hands clasped on Steve’s knee, wondering if any of it was real, or if she was still dreaming. 

“Is it cancer?”  He dared to ask, squeezing her hand.  “Because I’m not going to let anything happen to you.  I’ll find the best doctor at gunpoint if I have to.”   

“Steve!” 

“What? You’re making me crazy! Tell me everything's okay?”

“I’m not dying, Steve.”

“Well then what is it? I’ve been going out of my mind and here you are—”

“I’m pregnant.”

His body had been moving, vibrating even, but it all came to a complete halt at that.  

As if he’d been flash-frozen on the spot.

A mannequin of himself; mouth open, one eyebrow up. 

He shook his head, confused.  “Hold on, what? But I thought you said that you—”

She played with the hem of her shawl.  “I was told it was impossible.  I was told it would take a miracle.”

“Wait a minute, so—” he gulped and then leaned forward to search her face, one arm scooping behind her.  Her eyes were glossy again, on the verge of another wellspring.  

“Is it m-my…is it my baby?” He stammered.

She could only nod, chin quivering as more tears gathered at her lash line only to race down her cheeks once she blinked.  

Steve lost it then too, sucking in air before he choked on his own emotions.  He brought her hand to his chest and held it there.  “My baby,” he gasped, eyes flooding.  “You’re having my baby.  We’re having a baby.”

“Yeah,” she hiccuped and sniffed. “You’re not upset?”

“Upset? Why would I be upset? How could you even think that?” He was deeply offended that she would question his reaction to something he’d wanted his whole life with her, specifically.

He was wiping her tears away with his thumbs as she spoke.  “This is far from convenient, Steve. The way we both live our lives, we never planned for this. We barely have two pennies to rub together between us and—”

“Shhhh,” he kissed her nose and her eyelids and her mouth. “Money comes and goes, sweetheart.  It doesn’t matter, nothing matters, but you and this baby.  Our baby.”

Our baby.  He couldn’t stop saying it.  

He hadn’t known about Oliver until a few days before he was born, and he always felt robbed of all that time in the womb when he could’ve bonded with his son.  Tina had been a three-day fling at a music festival, and he never had any intention of seeing her again.  He’d been prepared to do the right thing though, to be a family even if it killed him, but then Tina just handed him a baby boy a week old and drove away, as if he knew what the fuck he was doing.  

Robin had been in the car waiting for him when it happened.  She saw him standing there in the street holding that screaming baby in a blanket and right then and there, a mother was born.  

He put his hand on Astrid’s stomach, gently.  “Can I feel it move yet? The baby?”

She laughed into her hand as she wiped her nose.  “I’m barely seven weeks along, silly.” 

He curled down like he always did when he put his head in her lap, but instead he placed his ear on her stomach, massaging her thigh with his hand. “I don’t think you can hear me, little one, but daddy has loved your mother his whole life and I love you very much.”

His next words were to Astrid; a murmur into the meat of her. “Will you let me love you now? The way I’ve always wanted to? Will you stay with me?”

She scratched her fingers through his hair, and then held his head there when his arms went around her waist. They stayed like that for a long while.

A bit later, in bed with her head on his chest, he was half asleep when she whispered: “You know that twins run in my family, right?”

—------

“A geriatric pregnancy,” Steve told you from across the bar when you were both back at work the next evening to the tune of Connection by Elastica. 

You made a face while you put some limes and shots of tequila on your tray.  

“That’s what they call it, I guess, when a woman is over 35,” he shrugged.  “A geriatric pregnancy.  So, I’m forcing her to take it easy.”

He was letting you and Shana in on the good news, and he’d been grinning from ear to ear for so long, his cheeks hurt.  His gold incisor caught the red lights like it had a ruby in it.  He’d even been smiling in his sleep, somehow, as Astrid noticed when she got up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom. 

“I’m so happy for you,” you mirrored his enthusiasm.  “Does Eddie know? Wayne?”

“Not yet,” he made a loose fist and cracked his knuckles. “We wanted to tell Uncle together.  I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone, but I couldn’t wait,” he added sheepishly. “She knows I can’t keep a secret like that.”

“I’ll wait and let you give Eddie the news,” you told him.  “I think he’d rather hear it from you.”

“Where is that War Machine?” Steve looked around, adjusting his sunglasses on his head.  “I owe him a drink.”

“That’s a good question,” you glanced at the clock that was up by the wall-mounted tv.  “He said he was going to stop by, but that was almost two hours ago.”  It didn’t concern you too much because your boyfriend was a busy guy, and last-minute things were always popping up at the shop.  

It was on your to-do list to call John on your break and let him know you were turning down his offer.  The more you thought about it, the more you wondered if he’d planned to hire you on merit, or if he just wanted to get into your pants.  When you thought about the possibility of the latter, it made your blood pressure spike.  

You delivered a round of drinks to a table, and on your way back to the bar, there was a man in a suit coming through the door, holding a briefcase.  

Steve gave him a nod when they made eye contact, but he didn’t ask to check his ID because the man had a graying hairline and was possibly mid-fifties at the least.  He was fit though, and had a very confident demeanor about him.  He looked like he was there to do business.  

“My name is Saul,” he introduced himself to Steve with a handshake and Steve stood up from his stool to be eye level with him.  “I’m looking for Steve Harrington.”

“You found him,” Steve rolled his neck, wondering what he could possibly want from him.  

Saul gave a stiff smile that did not reach his eyes. 

By then you were at the bar, acting like you were busy so that you could eavesdrop.

“What’s this about?” Steve pushed the sleeves of his flannel up to his elbows, exposing his tattoos.  

“Well, it would behoove you to give me a moment of your time,” he moved one side of his suit jacket back to shove his hand in his pocket, rocking back on his heels.  

“I have some business to discuss with you on behalf of Charlene Gregson.”

—------

John Gregson had no idea he was being followed.

He vaguely registered the sound of the loud pipes from the motorcycles rolling up to Margie’s diner, but he was having a late lunch with a business associate and didn’t pay much attention to it.  He preferred white tablecloth lunch meetings, but in Hawkins there weren’t many choices.  Their BLT was unbeatable though, as was the chocolate cream pie.  He’d have to calculate them both into his low-carb diet and spend extra time at the gym in the morning.  

He had his back to the door, making notes in his date book as the man across from him spoke over the sound of clattering dishes and silverware.  

He felt the shadows pass over the table, but he figured it was a group on the way to sit at a booth further down.  

But they came to a halt and loomed there, smelling of leather and tobacco.

John glanced over the top of his reading glasses at his companion first and saw that the color had drained from his face.  

There were four members of the Coffin Kings glaring down at them.  

Eddie frowned at the man with John and jerked his thumb to the side.  “Get up,” he said.  “Find somewhere else to be, I need to talk to your friend here.”

Devlin sank into the booth behind John while Van stood across the aisle flipping his butterfly knife, and Lucas stayed next to Eddie.

“Now, hold on just a—” John began to protest, about to get to his feet, but Lucas clapped a hand onto his shoulder and pushed him back down with calm, steady force.

His companion’s eyes darted from Eddie to John a few times before he gathered his things in a rush, tucking all of his papers under his arm, and shimmied past Van while holding his breath.  It was clear he had no intention of going to wait at another table, he was down the row of booths and out the front door in a flash.

With a heavy sigh, Eddie sank into the seat across from John, wallet chain dragging on the vinyl as he settled in, stretching his arms wide along the back of the bench.  

Lucas turned his back on the two but stood in the same spot, feet planted wide, hands in his pockets, blocking John from leaving.

With a resolute nod, John put his pen down.  “Have we met? I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure—”

“Cut the crap, man,” Eddie huffed with a lazy grin and hooded eyes.  “You know exactly who I am.”

John took his glasses off and tucked them inside his jacket pocket.  “Fair enough. How can I help you?”

Eddie plucked a pack of smokes out of the front pocket of his cut and motioned for Devlin to toss him a lighter.

“This is a no smoking section,” John reminded him, pointing to the sign on the wall with a red line through a cigarette.

Eddie stared at him as he lit the end and sucked in his cheeks until the cherry glowed orange. 

He waited until after a generous exhale to speak, directing the smoke into John’s leftover pie.  

“You see, John—can I call you John? I’ve been really…patient when it comes to this infatuation you have with my girl.  More patient than you deserve, I think.”

John clicked his tongue.  “Now, you misunderstand me, I—”

“I haven’t misunderstood shit,” Eddie scoffed a laugh. 

The waitress came over, and John was sure she was going to tell him to put his cigarette out, but instead she just gave him the most flirtatious smile.  “You want some coffee, hun? You hungry?”

Eddie finished taking another drag and winked at her.  “Just coffee for me, darlin’,” and then he gestured to the other Coffin Kings. “Get these boys whatever they want and wrap it up to go.  It’s on John’s tab.”

Once she was gone, Eddie continued.  “Here’s what’s gonna happen, slick,” he reached over to tap the ash out on John’s plate.  “Once she finishes this painting, you’re gonna to pay her more than what you initially offered, and then you’re never going to see her or talk to her ever again.  Comprendo?”

John used the back of his fingers to push the plate a few inches away, dabbing the sides of his mouth with his napkin.  “My offer for her to run my gallery in Chicago had no devious intentions, I assure you.  I genuinely believe she is that talented.”

Eddie ground his teeth, jaw muscles bulging.  “She’s beyond talented, you got that right, but she doesn’t want to work for you.  You’re a creep.  Throwing money and big promises around to get what you want.  I know your type.”

“My type?” 

“Has your wife ever mentioned me?” Eddie inquired, exhaling into John’s face.

He watched John visibly go rigid.  

Rhonda set Eddie’s coffee cup on a saucer down in front of him with extra creamer and poured him a steaming cup.

John cleared his throat.  “I think it would be in her best interest—”

“You don’t know what’s best for her,” Eddie bit.  “Who are you, her fucking dad?”

He’d said it a bit too loud and a few people from other tables craned their necks to follow the sound.  

Eddie leaned forward, whispering tensely.  “I don’t think I have to tell you that I have friends in low places. People who will do what I say at the drop of a hat.  You think you can hide behind your money?  You’re wrong.  The people who pump your gas and make your food and clean your bathroom?  They’re all with me. You’ll be looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life.  If you fuck with me on this, if you seek my girl out after I’ve told you not to?  Well, then, I hope you like dentures sweetheart because I’m gonna pull your perfect, pearly teeth out one by one.”

By the time he was done, his hand had curled into a fist on the table.  He spread the ringed fingers out wide and then made the fist again, making John look at it.

Eddie snubbed out his smoke in John’s pie with a sizzle and then settled back in his seat, relaxing his shoulders.  He cocked an eyebrow up.  “Are we good?”

John sat back as well.  “We’re good,” he acknowledged stiffly, adjusting his suit jacket.

Eddie slapped the table and gave John a wink.  “Well, this was fun,” he chuckled.  “We should catch up more often.”

He took a quick gulp of his coffee and slid out of the booth.  

He stopped to bend over and whisper, “don’t forget to tip well, slick,” in John’s ear on his way out.  

—-------

By the time Eddie showed up at the Velvet Hammer, swatting away plumes of second-hand smoke as he went, everyone knew that Steve was going to be a dad again.  Even the new customers who’d barely just walked in the door that evening.  

Astrid had prepared for this.

One of the many complicated reasons she’d waited more than a week to tell him was because she’d known that, if he knew, he’d be announcing it to everyone he passed by on the street.

Steve jumped from his stool and hugged Eddie.  “I’ve got great news, man,” he clapped Eddie a few times on the arm, over the thick leather jacket he had on.  

Eddie had been on his way across the room to you when his friend stopped him, so the sudden affection took him off guard.  “I like good news,” he caught your eye over Steve’s shoulder and smirked.  

Steve let him know that he was going to be a dad again, which Eddie assumed would happen sooner than later, but he was surprised and delighted to know that Astrid was the mom.  They both knew that she’d been told it would be nearly impossible for her to conceive.  

Steve leaned in.  “This proves it, man, I have a magic dick.”

“Sure you do,” Eddie scoffed, patting Steve on the cheek a few times.  “Only took you 15 years.”

Before you could greet him, Eddie was already in front of you, pulling you flush to his body.  He started to walk and you took backwards steps to stay with him.  “Can you take your break right now?”

“I wasn’t going to for another hour but—”

“I need to talk to you,” he hushed.  

“Um, okay, well,” you glanced over at Shana and she waved you off.  

His mouth found yours the second you were obscured in the dark hallway.  You figured he’d be escorting you out to the alley where you usually took your breaks with him so he could smoke, but this time, he pulled you into one of the two unisex bathrooms and locked it behind him. The bulbs inside were red, and it set an eerie, bloodwashed glow.

“This place sees a lot of action,” you mumbled into his kiss as he worked your skirt up so that he could take a handful of the meat of your ass.  “I like to call it Steve’s Office.”

Before you knew what was happening, he was hoisting you up onto the sink counter with a grunt.  Your thighs and bum were fully exposed now, covered in fishnet stockings, and one of his hands held your face while the other rubbed a knuckle over the heat between your legs.  Your panties and stockings were preventing him from going further, but not for long.  

You were about to protest, to say you had to get back to work, or to remind him how many women Steve had probably railed in that very spot, but

Fuck

And just when you softened with a shaky moan, he kissed a trail down your jaw and throat, with a few nibbles in between.

You whimpered, spreading your legs further apart, Doc Marten booted feet locking onto his thighs to keep him close.

“I have something..” smooch “...that I need…” smooch “...to ask you…” smooch

“Right now?” You palmed his hard length over his denim and then went to work at undoing his belt buckle. “We only have 10 minutes.”

He leaned back, letting his cherry bitten lips hover there at eye level.  His bangs were getting too long, he needed a trim, and you brushed them to the side, off of his eyebrows. 

“Do you want to move in with me?”

You blinked a few times. “Into your apartment?”

“No, no,” eager lips found your mouth again and his thumb rubbed circles over the taut nub of your nipple through your shirt.  “The big farmhouse down on Marigold Road.  I pointed it out once when we drove by.”

You stopped.  “The old Ferguson place? Aren’t there people already living there?”

“Not anymore,” he could feel your arousal soaking through your underwear and he hissed, grinding his erection against your thigh. “I want to buy it. For us.”

In your desperation, you reached down and clawed at the section of black fishnet that was keeping him from you, ripping a little further down your thigh than you’d intended to.

Eddie kissed down the front of you on the way to his knees, and then your underwear was pulled to one side and his tongue was on your swollen clit, rolling in circles there.  

You dug your fingers into his hair with one hand and supported yourself on the ledge with the other.  He sucked a few times, and then his tongue went inside of you, and you bit your lip, squirming to try and repress a scream.  

“That is a big step,” you gasped. “Moving in together.”

For the longest time, you couldn’t see yourself living with anyone other than a roommate ever again.

He hummed on your now soaked cunt and then kitten licked it a few times.  “I’m ready. Are you?”

You didn’t respond at first because your eyes were rolling back in your head, so he popped off to get to his feet, his chin glistening.  He spread your thighs further apart to make room for his hips and undid his zipper.

His pupils bloomed wide as he searched your lustful eyes, insecurities making his heart rate quicken.  “Are you not ready? I mean, do you not want that? Is it too soo—”

But then you silenced him with your mouth, lapping up your juices from his chin, moving away a strand of his hair that had stuck there. “I want to see the inside. Could we go look at it together?”

“Yeah we can,” he pushed his boxers down and rubbed the tip of his leaking cock along your slit. “I’ll call the real estate dude in the morning.”

You clung to his neck, jaw going slack as he sank in. “I’ll have to check with Charlie.”

He chucked into the kiss at you mentioning your cat, and then he was stretching you out, easing his way in, aching to be one with you.

“Deeper…more,” you whimpered, and then you each let out a muffled cry when he filled you to the hilt, flush inside of your pulsing heat.

He rested his forehead on yours and began to work his hips, thrusting deep and retreating with a curl of his hips so that you could feel every vein, every ridge, but then you were clenching around him, and he sped up with a curse, a thumb working at your clit.

“This…fuck, I’m going to cum so hard inside of you,” he admitted with a huff.  His belt buckle clinked against his zipper with every thrust.  “You want that? You want all of me?”

“Fuck, Eddie, yes,” You whined, clinging to him as stars exploded behind your eyes. 

His strong fingers dug into your flesh to hold your legs in place, and after a few more shaking pumps, he was spilling inside of you, each of you a moaning mess of “I love yous”, clawing at the other to be closer.  

Someone banged on the door just as the two of you were catching your breath and Eddie was still inside of you.

“Get lost!” Eddie yelled, not caring if it was a customer.

“Are you two having a tea party in there? Cabbage Patch meeting perhaps?” 

It was Steve, and then you could hear his ruckus laughter as he banged another few times just to be cheeky.

You adjusted your underwear back into place, and Eddie fastened his jeans before he helped you down off the counter.  You pulled your skirt down and checked yourself in the mirror.

Yikes.

The rip down your inner thigh was painfully obvious.  You wondered if shredding them in a few more places would make it more of “a look”, but then realized that the lighting in the Hammer was not great, and it wasn’t unheard of for someone to accidentally rip their stockings at work.  

But what about when Eddie’s seed started to drip down your leg?

“You go,” you shooed him away as he stood there adjusting the collar of his jacket, waiting for you. “I need to pee.”

He was looking at himself in the mirror, rubbing lipstick off his cheek, but then he turned just before grabbing for the door.  “If you don’t want to, you know, live together right away, I get it.  But with Katie moving in with Robin and all, I figured—”

“You figured we could be roommates?” 

He smirked, giving a bashful shrug.  “A little more than that, maybe.  Roommates with benefits.”

“Yeah?” You sank against his chest, forever helpless to his gravitational pull.  “What kind of benefits?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he rubbed the sides of your arms with his calloused hands. “I’ll make you pancakes.”

“You think you can make pancakes?” 

“Baby, I've told you before, you ain’t seen nothing yet.”

—-------

“WAYNE!”

Uncle entered the Hammer and everyone screamed his name like he was Norm in an episode of Cheers.

It had been a while since he dropped by unannounced, and he looked better than ever.

Still much thinner than he had been the year before, and it was hard for him to catch his breath sometimes, but his eyes were bright, and he wore a soft smile more often than not.  

Maybe the chemo was working? Maybe there was hope?

Devlin had been sitting on the stool at the bar next to Eddie, but Eddie was quick to tell him to take a hike when Wayne showed up.

“What did the doctor say?” He asked as his uncle straddled the stool and got comfortable.  He was in a green and white plaid work shirt and had decided to leave his Coffin Kings leather at home.  

Wayne gave a single nod and patted around for his smokes out of habit, even though he’d given it up when he started treatment.  “Just heard Steve's gonna be a dad again. He better treat her right, that's all I can say." It was obvious he was damn near giddy at the thought, Eddie could see it in the way a smile kept tugging at the sides of his mouth. "I’m sick of talking about doctors and my goddamn condition. Want to forget about it for a night.”

Eddie respected that, and tapped the bar to order him one of those non-alcoholic beers that they kept cold specifically for Wayne and one other regular patron.  

You barely had a chance to give Wayne a shoulder squeeze when Robin burst in through the door, frantically scanning the crowd.  There was a dancer on the backstage, working her way down the poll, and Steve had gone over to remind a few rowdy customers to behave themselves.  Robin rushed over and met him halfway, in front of the glowing jukebox.

He found no comfort in the way she looked like she’d been crying.

“What’s going on?” Felt like his heart literally stopped beating in his chest. “Are you okay?”

“The spare key,” she held her palm out.  “You used it last time and now I’m locked out of the house.”

He felt around in his back pocket.  “Where are your regular keys?”

She rolled her eyes, bouncing in frustration. “I lost them somewhere, okay? At work maybe, I’m not sure, but Oliver just threw a fit, I’m on my period, and we’re all just in a really bad mood and want to go home.”

“Alright, alright, here take my key,” he wrestled it off the metal ring to hand it to her.  “Just remember to leave the back door unlocked for me.  Is Oliver in the car?”

“No, he’s at Katie’s place with her, I needed to take a drive alone so that I could scream,” she snatched the key from him.

“Shit, you had me worried for a second.”

“Sorry,” admittedly, she felt like she was overreacting to something so small and fixable, but more likely her tears were from an accumulation of things.  Once the panic spike subsided, her eyes landed on half of a white envelope peeking out of the pocket of his Coffin Kings leather, right above his TAZ insignia.  She always teased him and said his official nickname should’ve been Dingus.

“What’s this?” It looked like it had some official lettering in the corner, and she plucked it out to look closer.

They made their way back to the front so he could keep an eye on the door, and she frowned at the name of a law office in the corner. 

“I don’t know, I haven’t opened it yet,” he shrugged.  “Some douchey lawyer brought it by, said it was from Charlene.  It was busy when he came in, so he gave me that to read and told me to call him in the morning.”

“Fucking Charlene?” She balked.  “What, is she suing you for not wanting to be her boyfriend?”  

“I haven’t had time to open in, but it wouldn’t surprise me.”

A group of people came in, and two looked like they were 16, so Steve carded them.  

Robin ripped the top of the envelope open. You stepped in front of her on your way to a table, and the two of you collided.

You said a quick apology and were about to ask if she wanted a drink, when Shana shouted across the bar to tell Robin the phone was for her.

“It’s your boss from the motel,” Shana continued, holding her hand over the bottom half of the receiver.

Robin gave a heavy, exasperated sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose.  “She’s going to ask me to work a double shift tomorrow, I just know it.”

She shoved the paperwork at you that she’d just unfolded, but not yet read.  “Hold this for me? Be right back.”

“Oh—okay,” you had the paperwork pressed flat to your chest as you made your way over to stand at Eddie’s shoulder.  He was talking to Wayne, but he reached back and squeezed your thigh in greeting.  

You hadn’t meant to look, to eavesdrop on their private business.

But once glance was all it took

For you to be fully invested

Charlene’s name was the first thing to catch your eye

And then, The Velvet Hammer

You took a few long blinks, unsure if what you were looking at was real.

You mouthed a few of the words quietly just to make sure you were reading them correctly.

The way you froze made Eddie curious, and he turned his head to see what you were doing.

“What’s up babe? What is that?”

“It’s, uh—” you stammered.  “It’s Steve’s.  You’re never going to believe this, but um—”

“Can I see it?” 

He tried to meet your eyes as he took it from you, but you couldn’t seem to look away from the words on the paper.  Your mind was reeling.

Robin returned just as Eddie held the papers out in front of him, and she steadied herself with a hand on his back to read over his shoulder.

Steve meandered over; his curiosity officially piqued at what you were all huddled together about.  

“What’s it say?”  He had a smoke bobbing between his lips and his hands in his pockets.  “Did I win the lottery or somethin’?”

He chuckled, but then you all turned to him in unison, unblinking, mouths agape.

“Yeah man,” a smile curled on Eddie’s lips.  “Actually, you kinda did.”

—------

Charlene was on the plane to Hawaii when she read the newspaper article.

A glass of first-class champagne and a window to her right, an empty aisle seat to her left.  

There he was, right on the front page of The Hawkins Post: 

Steve.

In a bigger city, a business changing hands could fly under the radar, but in a small town, it was newsworthy when a local biker and bouncer becomes a business owner overnight.

A Cinderella story, the reporter called it.

The cover photo was of him out on the sidewalk, standing next to the red door entrance to the Velvet Hammer.  Shana was in the photo with him, as were Robin, Jackie, Erika, and you.  

Not pictured was Eddie Munson, whom the article mentioned Steve had chosen to take on as a partner.

The article talked about their plans for the Hammer, including bringing in a tattoo studio to the vacant storage space next door.  

She ran her finger over his face on the newsprint.

It wasn’t until the end of the article that she got the wind knocked out of her:

“Steve and his longtime partner, Astrid Bautista, are expecting their first child together in the spring.”

She hadn’t expected that.

She had to look away and take a generous gulp of champagne.  

Her eyes got a little wet and her vision blurred, but she read it again.

“Did you miss me?” Billy sank into the seat next to her with his sunglasses on and a white shirt unbuttoned almost to the waist of his jeans. He smiled around the pink gum he was chewing and craned his neck to see what she was reading, but she folded the paper hastily and turned it over.

She didn’t answer him, she just stared out the window over the clouds and tried to forget she ever felt a thing.  

------

authors note: wow, we did it. This is my first fic series to finish ever 😭 If you've made it this far, you know how much this story and the characters have evolved since those first couple chapters. If this were an actual novel, I'd go back and make it all sync up, give it more continuity, and reveal nicknames like War Machine and Taz earlier in the game. But the cool thing about posting this way for a fandom is that you, the reader, are able to see in real time how the characters develop a mind of their own and take over the story in a way not even the writer can predict. In this case specifically, you can also see how I went from having no idea how to write a reader insert fic to becoming more and more comfortable with it.

I never had any intention of making Charlene a villain. She was literally based off of the wealthy woman in the Bruce Springsteen video for his song I'm on Fire. Just a gal who had a crush on her mechanic. Some of you voiced that you wished Charlene could get killed, or hurt somehow, and for those of you, you can trust that she is hurting. Knowing that Steve will be having a family with someone else is a deep wound.

I've had several requests for a separate biker Steve story with a new reader, and until two chapters ago, I fully intended to follow through on that. But the more I wrote him with Astrid, the more I felt it was wrong to keep them apart. If you are a fan of their love story, I highly recommend visiting THIS masterlist from @texasblues who created Astrid's character. But I do plan to bring a slightly different biker Steve back in a new au, stay tuned 🥰

This of course, is not the end. I plan to drop an epilogue on you all when you least expect it, and it will take place a year or two after the events here. If you are a friend of mine, you will laugh at this because whenever I say I'm going to write an epilogue, I never do. But this time I mean it.

I can't express in words how much your comments, asks, and messages about this story have meant, and will always mean to me. I was living through one of the darkest years of my life when I joined tumblr back in April and started writing this fic, and you all have held me together, whether you realize it or not. I love you and am deeply grateful for you all.

Taglist: @notsobubblybaby @unfocused81 @aysheashea @etherealglimmer@manicmagicmayhem @dream-a-little-nightmare@chaoticgood-munson @emxcast @rhirojo @bexreadstoomuch @micheledawn1975 @falling-solar-system@secretdryrose

@whatwedontdointheshadows @miarosso @seventhlevelofhell @corrodedcoffincumslut @lofaewrites @goldyghoul @chloe-6123 @kelsiegrin @chelebelletx @stylesxmunson @kurdtbean@dandelionnfluff @clincallyonline17 @tlclick73 @eddiemunson95 @sidthedollface2 @hideoutside @truffleshuffle12 @tenthmoon @texasblues@emilyslutface@mmunson86@onegirlmanytales@laylaloves-ed@dashingdeb16@eddiiiieeee @ick90 @dashingdeb16 @polyestermonster @trixyvixx @atomickaratel8dy @kiyastrf94 @allthingsjoeq @eddiesxangel @razzieth @corrodeddeadlydoll @erinekc @angietherose @sllooney @writinginthetwilight @moonbeamsandmayhem @brianamunson92 @joannamuns9n @bellalillyrose @alba8688 @chevelle724

[stars-in-a-jam-jar]

Moar Buddy Dawn Shit in relation to this post

Buddy was dead for about 10 to 15-maybe-20 minutes. Kristen and Gorgug at the top of Freshman Year were only dead about 3 to 5 minutes and they still got some form of time in the afterlife, (side note: Gorgug not knowing what Orc Heaven looks like and being Deeply Fucking Terrified and shellshocked by the entire experience is So Juicy To Me, like. Something that should by all rights be familiar to him being foreign. Of deep spiritual significance, but not in the way it was 'supposed to be'; he didn't even know how it was 'supposed to be' at the time or after he learned it, he's still not really sure if it was ever a 'supposed to'.) so I'm quite sure Buddy experienced Something beyond the grave and chose to leave it for this nameless aspect of Ankarna. The version of her which exists as a result of her complete death and incomplete resurrection/preservation.

In that 10 to 15 minutes, Buddy passed into the place he was going. Perhaps some cornfield out on the edge of Helio's domain where Helio figured 'I'll get to him or he'll find me sometime, there's literally infinite time here'. Perhaps as a petitioner on the Astral Sea- wait, no, I'm thinking about Rolling With Difficulty cosmology, the Astral Realm is not a sea in Fantasy High. (also go listen to Rolling With Difficulty) Regardless of if he went to the afterlife the adults all told him he'd go to if he'd been a good boy or to some more limbo-like place, he had just enough minutes for the reality to sink in that he's Dead. He's dead and the feeling of a hand gripping his shoulder as if to hoist his assailant high enough to slit his throat presses like a cold weight on his skin. As if this body has skin, no, he's just a solid soul given form in this place.

So jarring. Resting dead in some corner of the cosmos like finding the one empty room at a big loud party where you've mostly been taking things in, sticking close to people you know, not doing anything you're not supposed to. Sitting down on the unfamiliar furniture or swaying idly in place as you listen to the murmur of this foreign world around you. Only it's not like that, not truly at all. You're not at the party anymore, the echoes of your life aren't some thing you're taking a break from to rejoin or building up the nerve to excuse yourself from to get a proper change of scene. There is no going back or moving forward.

He's dead. Buddy Dawn is dead.

How many minutes did it take him to lose composure? Did he even? When the ultimatum was posed to him, did he harden his heart to any regrets about abandoning his original faith, or did he relax into knowing he could live again, in service of something that reached for him and he reached back towards?

Why was he so chipper saying 'Dang, y'all, I worship a nameless god of rage.'? He didn't sound horrified by his decision in much the same way he didn't sound in touch with reality when he said 'Sometimes I raise my hand and magic that burns folks to a crisp comes out, but that's just the lord Helio working through me.' His death didn't change him so much as it fixed his gaze onto something new.

He is still a Cleric. Through and through. His soul needs a divinity to latch onto. And this is the first time he has latched onto a divinity wholly and completely for himself. He was not taught how to live for himself. He was taught how to live and die for a cause. For Helio. He earns a nice afterlife via sacrificing his autonomy to whatever the church tells him is good and right.

But he doesn't want a nice afterlife.

He wants another life.

And he no longer has faith that Helio will deliver him from any hardship, because even after he's just barely grasped how dead he is and has been for the past 11 minutes, his soul is wrent into an ultimatum by a different power. Go back to his body and continue living under a new banner, or be trapped in a dark, solitary purgatory which his soul may never be free from.

It's an easy decision, really. Barely requires any thought, only following a feeling. He no longer wants to stand by the god who allowed him to die so unceremoniously and so unfairly. He honestly feels more betrayed by Helio than he does by Kipperlily. Kipperlily hardly made any promises to him, just asked for him to be the party's cleric. He never expected her to do that, sure, but... His whole life he was promised that every bad emotion he ever felt in response to every wrongness in his life would (should, must, has to) simply evaporate away in the golden light of the corn god. And it's been an eternal 12 minutes, but he only feels worse and worse.

And if all Helio could promise him was a flat expanse of farmland overseen by someone who didn't even properly greet him when he walked in (if the celestial bureaucracy were even doing their jobs and funneled the soul of Helio's cleric to Helio instead of some cosmic waiting room or other), but this nameless deity can promise him a life for himself? Then by god he's taking that ultimatum, come back to life, sit up with a slightly surprised little smile and announce to the world (as he has been taught is right to do when you are devoted to a god) 'I worship a nameless god of rage!'

And he'll be happy with this choice-that-is-not-a-choice which he was betrayed and coerced into. Because it truly feels self indulgent to choose anything. To choose ragefully living for himself instead of obediently dying for an unfulfilling promise. He'll choose the intensity and the darkness because the gentle constant pressure cooker of walking in the light gave him nothing but sunburns and a slit throat.

[danikamariewrites]

more dark batboys x dark reader pls i’d literally give you my first born for more, maybe they sit together and do a debrief of all mysteries in velaris. like the boys have been trying to solve this one criminal that kidnaps primarily men sith bad reputation and reader joyfully says oh that’s me!! :)) and their jaw drop nv they’ve been investigating for over 20 years and now they’re in awe and want to know exactly how her brilliant mind did it🧎‍♀️

Cold Cases

Poly!batboys x reader

A/n: I think this has been one of my favorite ‘series’ to write for besides the ddlg stuff

Warnings: mentions of injuries, murder, torture, and mentions of abuse

Azriel had laid out all his unsolved cases from the past decade. All missing males or murdered. He stood, his hands behind his back, as he waited for you, Cassian, and Rhysand to come in.

Rhys pushes the door open giving Azriel a questioning look. He just nods at the table and Rhys just lets out an ‘Ahh’ before taking his seat. You have your arm entwined with Cassian’s as he leads you to your seat.

You plop down kissing Cassian’s hand in thanks and turn your attention to Azriel. “What’s all this Az?” You gesture at the files across the table. Azriel sits, pulling the closest one to him flipping it open. “These are all unsolved cases. All males either missing or murdered, so I wanted to go through them with you to see if you knew anything.”

“Ooohhhh a stroll down memory lane. Ok read ‘em.” You say excitedly. A deranged twinkle in your eye as Azriel reads out some of your greatest crimes. The first three cases were duds. You were almost offended he thought you did it.

Once Azriel read out the fourth case that devilish smirk that told them you knew something they didn’t spread across your lips. You let Azriel finish before you said anything. “Yeah that was me. He’s dead, I buried him in the Dark Forest. The asshole was beating his wife, so I stopped it.”

Cassian gave your shoulder a supportive squeeze as Azriel moved the file to his ‘solved’ pile. The next few were also you. Majority dead, all in different and very creative ways, as Rhys put it. This went on for two hours and over seventy percent of Azriel’s unsolved cases were you.

The last case was an interesting one. The male was missing and still alive. You wouldn’t say what he did, it was far too vile to repeat. The female that was his victim didn’t live in the long run. “I-I wanted him to live with the pain he caused her.” You seemed to be struggling to get your words out.

The boys knew this was clearly personal. But they wouldn’t push. You’d tell them the story on your own time. “I psychologically tortured him for years. His friends and family thought he’d gone crazy, magic really helped there. Once I got my hands on him I kept him tied up for days. I broke his mind to the point where he didn’t even know who he was.” You let out a shaky breath, laying your sweaty palms on the cool wood table.

“A few days after that I dropped him in a random Winter Court village. Gave him a whole new identity and a face fucked up beyond recognition. He’s confused, alone, and scared. And he will be for the rest of his life.” Your eyes had gone distant, like you were in that Winter village watching the male. A grave look had taken over your usual chipper demeanor.

Shaking your head a little, you snap back into yourself. That smirk coming back along with the glint in your eyes. “That all of them Azzy?” “Yeah,” he nods. “I’m very impressed darling. And not a single person suspected you.”

You shrugged, standing from your seat. “What can I say? It’s a talent.” As you left the room the boys shared a look that said they were impressed yet terrified of where you draw the line.

[odditycircus-2002]

Medusa!Reader and Shang Tsung MK 1: Part 5

PREVIOUS

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Spoilers for Story Mode: Proceed with Caution

The Imperial soldiers aren’t too gentle when they throw you into a cell; luckily, Johnny Cage’s unconscious form broke your fall. You were still blindfolded and tied up, yet you quickly picked up Baraka’s familiar grave voice. He asks what happened as he removes your gag, but you stop him from removing your blindfold by putting a hand over his. You first explain that you lost your mask, so it’s not a good idea for him to remove the blindfold yet. Then you recall what happened upstairs, although Kenshi is the one who reveals it was Mileena being treated for Tarkat. You hiss at Kenshi for disclosing such sensitive information casually. He’s lucky he’s already injured, else you’d give him a good reason to see a healer!

While understandably upset by you withholding the truth, the Tarkatan can’t find it in himself to be mad at you. You were only upholding your vows and doing your duty diligently for the Royal House.

Baraka then asks about your welfare, carefully skimming his hands over your form to check for injuries. You reply that you’re okay before asking Baraka to close his eyes so you can check over him, too. The latter insists it’s some scrapes and bruises, so there's nothing to care for; nonetheless, he complies with your request when you press. After preliminary checking on Baraka, your hands lingering around his face longer than necessary, you look over Kenshi.

However, there wasn’t much you could do for the now blind man since your apothecary bag was confiscated besides using your minimal magic to stop the bleeding. There wasn’t anything else you could do for the others besides wait for them to come to; you were able to turn your attention to the horrors right outside your prison.

You have treated soldiers during your training on the front lines without falter. You have carved open your fair share of cadavers without so much as flinching while digging around in their insides for medical studies. You had even helped dispose of your fair share of cadavers by gathering them to be burned in a pit without issue. Yet what you saw before you trumps all of that and more.

The first thing to hit you was the smell, by the gods' awful smell of death, both new and old. Which mixed with a sickly sweet smell reminiscent of mildew. It was intensified for you since you and your snakes could TASTE it on your tongues. You gagged as it threatened to be the only thing you’ll ever taste again. Then the sounds you’d only ever expect to hear from the Netherealm’s damned souls languishing in eternal torment.

Empty cages hang from the ceiling, with cells lining the walls on your side. You could see arms poking out from between the bars of these cells, desperately trying to scrape for the bloody remains all over the stone floors, which were stained with freshly spilled and hardened blood. From the position of your cell, you could see giant tubes filled with a mysterious green substance and malformed bodies obviously inflected with Tarkat. You felt bile rise in your throat from the dread filling your stomach.

You... you recognize some of the experiments from your mind. All those times you shared your theories and hypotheses with Shang Tsung... Is this all because of what you put into his head??? No! You always, ALWAYS, explicitly expressed how they would be crimes against nature! You did not create such depravity with your hands! Yet, it did nothing to alleviate the guilt already burrowing into your head.

Still, the amount of information that must've been gathered from these- NO! NO! You will not even indulge in such dark thoughts! Shang Tsung has twisted your research beyond recognition of their original intention! This whole lab shouldn't existed! After putting your blindfold back on, you desperately get to work to assist Baraka in breaking out of your prison in more ways than one.

Despite hours of effort, the bars were too thick and deeply embedded in the stone to rip apart. Kenshi eventually speaks again, asking you and Baraka to help take his mind off their current situation. You listen to the ill man retell his life before his disease, about his family and former vocation. Though you have heard it many times before, your heart broke for Baraka when he reiterated how Tarkat took his entire family. Not for the first time, you say that you would've loved to have met Baraka before his misfortune, met his family since they sound so lovely, and seen him happy. You then add how you two would've been good friends even then.

You don't see Baraka's thoughtful expression as both Johnny Cage and Kung Lao begin to regain consciousness. The first quickly remembers Kenshi's condition and rushes to check on his state. You explain to the actor that you did your best, but your apothecary bag was confiscated. Johnny and Kung Lao had understandable reactions when they realized the nightmare they'd woken up in. All your attention then turns to a lone figure entering through a heavy sliding door.

You let out a gasp as you recognize the figure to be none other than Syzoth, Shang Tsung's "assistant." You call out to him, catching the Zaterran's attention. Judging by how his eyes widened and he took a step back, he wasn't expecting you, of all people, to be down here.

The Zaterran avoids looking in your direction out of guilt; even if it was safe to make eye contact, he wouldn't be able to look you in the eye. He then turns his attention to the now blind Kenshi crouched on the stone floor and inquires about his condition. Syzoth then digs around in your apothecary bag next to your cell to pull out a jar of cream you made to dull the pain. He then hands the pot to you first, asking if this is correct. After opening it to give it a sniff, you confirmed he was right before handing it over to Johnny. Johnny offers you a pair of his shades to pay you back, citing you'll need to see. While the latter cared for his friend, you could feel Baraka's questioning gaze.

After commenting on how Syzoth is vile to be a part of Shang's schemes, he questions how you two know each other. You explain that you thought Syzoth was a lab assistant Shang brought along and a friend, the last part you add bitterly. The Zatteran looks at you and the rest in remorse before firmly stating that while you are Shang's prisoners, he is his slave. Your eyes widen behind your new sunglasses as Syzoth explains that the Sorcerer has his family hostage. While he's genuinely sorry for what Shang did to you and everything he was forced to do, he must obey Shang to keep his family alive. You felt conflicted in your sudden urge to strangle Syzoth and your sympathy for his plight. It does dawn on you that having his family hostage explains Syzoth's behavior around Shang Tsung. You weren't surprised to learn that Shang learned shapeshifting from Syzoth, as the latter has demonstrated the ability to you before.

However, you did try to warn Syzoth that, given what you know by now, Shang won't keep his word to him. Baraka assures you that you don't need to show your form if you don't feel comfortable, but you insist otherwise. That's when you removed your hood and cloak from your form to reveal the true extent of what Shang Tsung has done to you, reminding him of the day your life changed forever. The Zaterran barely swallowed his gasp in horror at the sight before him. Your entire body was covered in scales; you had a nest of living and slithering snakes atop your head; your teeth were sharpened points; you had some small spikes on your shoulders and on your forearm; you also had two bat-like wings reminiscent of a Vaternian's, flare from your back.

Shang teleports in front of you not long after revealing your new body. He glances in your direction briefly, taking in your changes with a look of interest. Baraka growls at the Sorcerer before moving in front of you as you put your hooded cloak back on. Shang scowls at the Tarkatan before happily informing the rest of your fellow prisoners of the gruesome fate that awaits them. He directly addresses you after boasting about how he can't be apprehended so easily.

"I truly did want to spare you of your fate, my sweet. Rest assured, my benefactor has told me you are still needed alive for her goals. I will be back soon, dear Y/N."

"... I hope the Netherrealm claims your soul."

After instructing Syzoth to "take care" of you, he teleports away, leaving the rest to their doom. After you and Baraka implore Syzoth that he doesn't have to obey Shang, the Zaterran glances toward you before restating that it's either you or his wife and son. When he raises your cell's gate and a cell containing dozens of Tarkatan abominations, all of you fight back. You finally put your petrifying gaze to use in combat, stopping three combinations in mid-pounce before they could pile on top of Baraka. Kung Lao watches in a mixture of horror and amazement when the three stone hybrids shatter to the ground.

After Baraka defeated some of the larger hybrids, you and Kung Lao assisted him in freeing the others who were put in electrified cells, much to Syzoth's dismay, who knew that Shang Tsung would torture his family to punish him. Before Baraka shifts his stance to fight the Zaterran, you tell him not to blame him for Shang's evil doings. Baraka acquises by not killing Syzoth, informing him that he would've done the same if he were in the Zaterran's shoes.

You go to help up your scaley friend right when Shang reappears. The Sorcerer scowled, displeased at seeing his prisoners free and his experiments killed. You and the rest stood ready to fight as Shang berated Syzoth for ruining his plans for vivisection. Seeing he's surrounded, Shang then uses his magic to release what you instantly recognize as poisonous gas. After revealing that he's killed Syzoth's family long before, Shang teleports away before the enraged reptiloid can grab him.

However, the Sorcerer quickly appears behind you, forcing your mask on your face before you bite him. However, one of your head's snakes managed to nick him on the finger. The last thing you hear before teleporting away is Baraka screaming your name.

[aviiarie]

GHOST STORIES — event masterlist.

there's a chill in the air, and the sweet smell of candy filling your senses. the night is lit up by candles, casting shadows across the room. can you feel your heart racing? can you feel your hairs stand on end? that's the halloween spirit!

still not scared yet? you will be soon! below are all of our spooky stories that are lined up, ready to be told over the days leading up to halloween.

“ready for a scare? well, here's the stories that we'll be telling tonight...”

note: completed fics will be linked below when they are posted. entries will be posted from the 22nd of october until the 31st!

DAY ONE: TRICK OR TREAT — feat. inosuke you take him out to go trick or treating! dressed to the nines in matching costumes, it's a night to remember, for sure.

DAY TWO: THAT'S THE SPIRIT! — feat. tengen (+ wives) they might be gone from this world, but they'll never leave your heart. or your side. or you alone. they loved you in life, and now they have a whole afterlife to spend haunting you.

DAY THREE: SCAREDY CAT — feat. heizou it seemed like the perfect way to spend the spooky season: watching old horror movies together and laughing at how hilariously not scary they were. but this one is much more... chilling than you were expecting.

DAY FOUR: BUTTON EYES — feat. lyney (coraline au!) despite appearing picture-perfect, there's something sinister about this other world... you know you have to escape, before you're trapped forever.

DAY FIVE: IN PLAIN SIGHT — feat. kazuha you know for a fact that your new next-door neighbour is a supernatural creature of some kind, and you're determined to prove it.

DAY SIX: HAUNTED HOUSE — feat. lyney your new house is a bit strange. doors keep slamming, there's whispering in your ears, and you have the distinct feeling you're unwelcome here.

DAY SEVEN: UNLIKELY COMPANION — feat. kyojuro you're certain that the creature that keeps visiting you is something completely inhuman, but you don't mind. he seems quite fond of you, and always tries his best to look after you, so who are you to complain?

DAY EIGHT: HOCUS POCUS — feat. shinobu you found out the hard way that the 'witch' that lived at the end of your street was telling the truth about her magic, after you knocked over a potion in her house and accidentally cast a spell on yourself.

DAY NINE: TIL DEATH DO WE PART — feat. kaveh (corpse bride au!) you were practicing your wedding vows near a grave, and accidentally brought a corpse back to life. trouble is, he now thinks you two are married.

DAY TEN: HAPPY HALLOWEEN — feat. kagaya you go to a halloween party along with some friends, but in between games and snacks, you notice some... strange things about this party, and its host.

“hehe, you didn't get too frightened, did you? either way, i hope you enjoyed youself, and happy halloween!”

if anyone wants to be tagged in the event or any specific fic, i would be more than happy to! but thank you for everyone who's shown their love for this event already, i'm beyond excited for this <33

© aviiarie 2024. do not copy, repost, translate or use my work to train ai.

[boasamishipper]

Hello! You are my go to expert for Night Court and Dan/Harry, so I would like to ask, which episodes would you recommend watching for particularly shippy Dan/Harry moments or storylines? Thank you <3

i am beyond honored to have been bestowed such a title, thank you nonny! <333

there are so many excellent danharry moments and storylines across all nine seasons, but here are my (very painstakingly selected) top five danharry episodes in chronological order:

1. S3E9-10 The Wheels of Justice (Part 1 + 2)

every time i think about this episode i go fully insane charlie kelly standing in front of the pepe silvia conspiracy board style. admittedly the first episode doesn't give us a lot of danharry content beyond harry smiling super fondly at dan while dan screams at bull's tiny tv, but the SECOND episode. jesus CHRIST. dan talking harry out of his slump in that pool hall........'you were good, harry! very good. you were impartial. you were fair. passionate. compassionate. understanding. and i admired you.'............dan hugging harry after harry apologized and said he would come back to court........the way harry and dan looked at each other after harry's line about taking the good with the bad no matter how bad the bad gets...........dan's smile while harry tells mac that dan is the only reason he left the pool hall..........and then. of course. this.

what is their DEAL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

2. S4E1 The Next Voice You Hear...

'emily,' night court nation says. 'this is not a danharry-centric episode.' you are correct! 'then why is this on your list?' because after harry found out his mother was dead, mac's first instinct was to call dan, and dan dropped whatever he was doing to come and console harry. they're best friends!!!!!!!!! and i cry about it Every Day

3. S4E5-6 Dan's Operation (Part 1+2)

this is THE danharry episode. every other danharry episode go home (except please don't, you're all wonderful). seriously though if someone told me when i first started watching night court that harry would fall asleep on a comatose dan's chest after begging him to wake up (AFTER they had a huge argument earlier in the episode) and dan's first instinct upon waking up is to stroke harry's hair and also Not Move Or Say Anything Because Harry Is Sleeping and THEN they would have ANOTHER argument that ended in both of them saying 'i love you' to each other, i would have died on the spot. and then i watched these episodes and i DID die on the spot. larroquette won his third emmy award for his performance in these eps and it is extremely well deserved.

4. S5E14 I'm OK, You're Catatonic/Schizophrenic

a danharry episode that raises more questions than it answers. what do you mean dan just randomly took a nap on harry's conference table. what do you mean dan kidnapped mel torme for harry. what do you mean dan said re: his kidnapping of mel torme '[harry's] gonna kiss me on the lips for this'. what do you MEAN dan handcuffed mel torme to a chair using 'a trick harry taught him' with 'magic shackles' that HE KNOWS CHAFE and WHAT DO YOU MEAN HARRY DOESN'T EVEN HAVE MAGIC SHACKLES AT ALL. SO WHAT WAS DAN TALKING ABOUT. someday i will get a ouija board so i can talk to reinhold weege from beyond the grave and ask him hey man!!! what was up with this episode!!!!!!!!! and also harry destroying dan's car in retaliation for dan accidentally destroying his mel torme record collection (on top of harry strangling dan upon receiving the news and also screaming I'M GOING TO EAT THAT MAN'S EYEBROWS) is proof that these two match each other's freak like no one else and that's why they should be endgame, thank you and good night.

5. S5E22 + S6E1-2 Danny Got His Gun (Parts 1-3)

1980s sitcoms were operating on a whole other level because if even an iota of this plotline happened to one of my otps on any of my currently airing shows the entire fandom would burst into flames. dan is presumed dead!!! his plane goes down north of hudson bay!!! and harry is the first one to receive the news!!! and the first one to receive further telegrams from the army and also dan's belongings!!! in his will dan left harry his 'heartfelt gratitude'!!! harry had to plan dan's memorial service!!! he had to write dan's eulogy!!! he had to sit there and watch everyone in attendance including the funeral director (barring roz) not be able to say a single nice thing about his best friend!!! then said best friend CRASHES HIS OWN MEMORIAL SERVICE!!! dan is alive!!! he has a beard!!! he smells awful!!! which i will maintain to my last breath is the only thing that prevented harry from kissing the breath out of dan right there in the funeral home!!! they!!! looked!!! at!!! each!!! other!!! like!!! this!!!

LIKE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[lachlanzeez]

being wednesdays sister and everybody falling for you pt1

parts: [1] [2] [3] [4]

_____________________________________________________________

you and your sister wednesday had recently moved to a new school. A one for freaks

when you were being introduced to everybody in the courtyard you saw a lot of people looking at you instead of your sister, which weirded you out a lot.

bianca and xavier were still together in this and ajax and enid were just getting into a relationship. Rowan and kent were still single.

They couldn't stop looking at you, because you have long white hair and you looked so soft and gentle unlike wednesday.

so when xavier and bianca were walking around at night the came across you singing an old pirate song

hoist the colours

The king and his men stole the queen from her bed... and bound her in her bones

The seas be ours beyond the powers where we will we'll roam

Yo, ho, haul together Hoist the colours high Heave ho, thieves and beggars Never shall we die

Some men have died And some are alive And others sail on the sea With the keys to the cage... And the Devil to pay We lay to Fiddler's Green!

The bell has been raised From it's watery grave... Do you hear it's sepulchral tone? We are a call to all Pay heed the squall And turn your sail toward home!

Yo, ho, all together Hoist the colours high Heave ho, thieves and beggars Never shall we die!

she sounded so angelic for a dark song. Her voice sounded like honey, and they way she danced while singing was magical. Thought xavier and bianca was staring at (name) like she and bianca were the only ones in the world, but xavier didn't mind, because (name) was an exception.

rowan saw xavier and bianca walking around so he was sneaking off to the nightshades library. Since he wasn't in them anymore he wasn't allowed in there. And if anybody caught him, he would be suspended and he doesn't want to spend his break with his unloving and uncaring mother and father. Until he heard singing, he went to investigate and saw (name) singing while dancing in the middle of the moonlight

she looked magnificent dancing in her white dress, her hair flowing with every jump.

you didn't know 3 people were watching you dance and sung last night.

you went out to jericho and went to weathervanes cafe. It sounded like a sweet place so you went in.

tyler was trying to work the coffee machine but the words were in latin so he didn't know what to do. Until a nevermores student came up to him asking if he wanted help.

he had never seen anybody with white hair but it was beautiful. He felt like he could stare into those y/e/c forever.

After the coffee machine was fixed by this beautiful looking girl, i gave her a hot chocolate on the house from helping me.

i hope to see her again thought tyler while he stared at her walking out and walking to a car.

enid and ajax were walking near the lake when they saw wednesday and her sister (name) shooting arrows on the target.

they watched (name) while she was getting her gloves on, she was wearing her beautiful white archery outfit with her arrows in the bag

she looked so magical, liked she came out of a fairytale and enid and ajax were head over heels, but what they didn't know was kent was swimming in the lake and was watching them stare at (name). He felt angry that they were trying to take her away, and how bianca and xavier were trying to take her away.

he was going to do something about it.

_________________________________________________

xoxo

lachlan zeez

[yulesmistress]

My first story I’m finally publishing, hope you lot enjoy it lolz.

Word Count: 3.6k

Warning: This is SMUT.

Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/story/369395515?utm_source=ios&utm_medium=link&utm_content=story_info&wp_page=story_details&wp_uname=yulesmistress

There I sat..in a studio, with the bass guitar that had lingered and taunted my dreams since I was a young lassie. God, it was beyond ethereal...the way the polished wooden neck felt upon my honored left hand, the girthy twang of the strings ringing as my rough fingers plucked and strummed them. Now before this, I would've thought,

"Shit, this is THE dream, my dream...it couldn't possibly get any better than this."

I can't even begin to fathom that fucking stupendous thought.

Why, you might ask..?

A sweet, sing-songy voice suddenly strokes my eardrums, contrasting with the low, gravely sound of my bass. Mmm, how could I possibly ignore this painfully familiar voice, the voice in subject that I had studied for many, many hours. The person to which the voice belonged to I had also, madly, studied. His low eyelids slowly unveiled his tantalizing globes, just like how the sun peeks over a horizon, as his eyes greet mine in his usual stern manner.

Geeeeooorrggee Harrison.

He crept me a shy smile, appreciating me only from the corner of his eye before continuing to rehearse Old Brown Shoe with the lads. I bit my lip, hoping to sustain the violent quivering that activated as soon as his gaze shone on me.

I still cannot believe I am in a studio...with the Beatles...playing with George Harrison and the bassman himself Paul McCartney. I questioned my worth as I sat so feebly in that room full of musical geniuses. I wasn't sure how to contain myself—how to manner myself. But, obviously, I had no other choice but to conceal these brash admiral feelings...as they all felt I was a pretty impressive artist. After all, they had invited me to jam with them, and I wasn't going to fuck it up by revealing the fact I was somewhat of a fangirl. I couldn't.

bannerrrrr

After a few eventful hours of mindlessly jamming and productive writing, lunchtime came around. With Paul, John, and Richie's temporary absence, George and I were abandoned in the studio with only the suffocating tension of one another. I resumed on my bass quietly, slouched on an uncomfortable chair as I faced the ceiling. However, the subtle sound of George stumbling over some thick wires had deflated the dome I was in.

"Fucking hell.", he cussed sharply under his breath.

My slightly tired eyes shifted to the cigarette that was once in his mouth, noticing it was now lying on the ground. He was still venting the smoke through his lips from the previous puff he had taken, which I had found oddly attractive.

"Tragic."

I shot him a fake-sympathy frown, which earned a low chuckle from him.

"You don't 'appen to have a Marlboro on you, do you, Madame?"

George's words interrogated me slowly and smoothly, his thick accent tickling the tip of my tongue as I pulled out the precious pack of cigarettes I luckily had. A wide grin magically appeared on his cheeky face, causing me to chortle at his reaction as his hand began to eagerly reach for a ciggie.

"Ah-uh."

I cooed, averting the pack of cigarettes from his grasp as I swayed them tauntingly in his face. George shot me a befuddled look, his propped up eyebrow leaving that hint of playfulness in his expression that his face so beautifully displayed.

"My, where are your manners Mr. Harrison..?"

I noticed a cherry hue that enriched his cheeks as I teased him. Did he enjoy this?

"Oh, my sincerest apologies, me gracious queen.", he sarcastically remarked.

With a swift movement of his long fingers, he managed to snatch a ciggie and prop it in between his glistening lips, then without warning, approached my face daringly close to slowly ignite his cigarette with my own. My eyes shifted down at the touching tips of our cigarettes...steadily watching as a familiar ember glow emerged from the toxic paper. George then clasped the smoke with two of his slender digits once it was properly lit, and exhaled a cloud of toxicity right in my face. I noticed his bashed expression and prominent features through the sheet of smoke that was now flowing between both of our faces.

Why was that hot? I panicked internally.

This was only one of the subtle, steamy moments I had encountered with George.I had noticed it, and I knew I wasn't going fucking crazy.

He had to be into me.

The shameless flirting that painfully teased me, oddly leaving me wanting more. The sheepish glares he would sneak my way from across the studio, followed by the rather riskier glares that would trail from my operating fingers...up to my lips...down to my tempting cleavage which—of course—I had left there on purpose. The way he'd somehow always seemed to find an opportunity to interact with me in any way. The stone ball of tension that would clump up in my chest everytime his presence neared me. His peculiar shyness and tint in his cheeks when I would catch him staring particularly hard. His admiration of my musical abilities that he was never afraid to express; How my skills were a sort that he has "never seen before and should be more recognized." George saw me...saw me as a woman with "crazy good taste", with personality, not as the stereotypical 60's birdie who would try her hardest to be the perfect girl for her man. Who would make sure to shut up and stay to the side, only arising when a man needed her for sex, children, food, marriage, comfort...for anything he wished for. Because that was all women could be according to society. However I refused to stay within these ridiculous boundaries society had set up for me, and actually be a woman who was aware of her own wants and feelings in life, and wasn't afraid to express these things in any way she pleased.

I mean shit, it wasn't illegal was it?

George saw a true character in me, and so I did him. Although he had usually been the discarded one during band sessions, his lack of brashness only melted me into him even more. I knew he was a genius. After all, the ones with the finest ideas are forced to keep quiet, so the egotistical ones can propose as they please. George had this perplexing detail about him...about his aura...about those eyes that had grabbed me by my heart and reeled me in shamelessly. I wanted to know all of him—not just what the papers had claimed.

Shifting back to the present moment from my short tunnel of thought, I quickly noticed the blinding gray haze had already slipped away, leaving George's gradually red face and mine only mere inches away. My eyes widened for a split second and an alarmed cough heaved from the edge of my throat, as I attempted a fake smile.

He definitely noticed.

And it definitely turned me on.

"Hey-uhm..I was actually working on some stuff last night for..."

I didn't finish my sentence, for the reason that when I stood up and positioned my hands to prepare to strum a new bassline, George had halted my fingers with his own, turning my beloved bass in a different direction.

My heart did not jump.

No—it damn near performed backflips at his sudden taking of action. I swallowed quietly as that overwhelming feeling overcame me; y'know, that suffocating warmth where you're sweating but you're not really sweating..? He had noticed my use of gimmicks to attempt to change the subject, but he didn't want to change the subject. Nor did I, at least not anymore after weeks of this anticipation-filled taunting of ours. I shifted my attention up to his eyes and they were already fixated on me, just as I expected them to be as I felt his gaze sifting through the tender grooves of my ego when I was looking down at my instrument earlier. He sent me a look that I can only decipher as need.

"Y/n"-

His yet to be gathered words are quickly cut off before he can even finish my first name. That look was all George needed to do to send me over the edge. I dropped my bass (which pained me to a great extent, but at that moment I couldn't care less) in order to grasp his face with both hands and pull his lips to mine in a heated kiss. I felt his body jerk the slightest bit, in reaction to the sudden feeling of my lips daringly welcoming his. Both of George's eyebrows shot up, eyelashes fluttering shut as he proceeded to kiss me back in a slow, painfully sweet manner.

I am literally kissing George Harrison right now.

It was incredulous. The sentiment of his lips were incredulous. With each rhythmic pucker in which his mouth morphed into mine, a fluid saccharine dispersed through my veins. After 5 incredibly steady seconds, our lips parted with only the sound of a wet smack followed by synchronized panting. I inhale shakily, parting my swollen lips in awe as I peer up at his flustered face. Something was suddenly...different about George's demeanor. From his taunting frame displayed an aura that was 10 times more powerful than it was five seconds ago, that had me questioning whether I should be scared—or excited—or both.

"George..."

My words trailed off into a cry as George longingly pressed my figure against his, demolishing any space between us that could interfere with the intertwining of our rutty bodies. With one of his hands applying pressure to my lower back forcing my crotch to bump against his, and the other holding the back of my neck to ensure I was strictly only inhaling the air that left his mouth which still had a smoggy hint to it, he kissed me once again deeper than before.

We were in a rut, like caged fucking animals who haven't been able to interact for years. The slow, sentimental kissing we had partaken in just seconds ago had quickly turned into a hot, sloppy make-out, as several chairs, guitars, and drinks had been repeatedly knocked over consequently from our passionate fondling. Oh, how passionate it was. The harmonic "huffs" and "puffs" reverberated off the studio walls, blending with the sound of George's groans, which I earned from from occasionally tugging at his silky brown locks I cherished so much. He had then slipped his eager tongue past my inviting lips, as it explored every empty space inside of my mouth and occasionally swiveled its wetness around mine. After traversing around the room in a lustful tango for what seemed like forever, I eventually felt a cold collision between my back and the wall behind me.

"Shit, Harri...", I wept to his right ear, the grip I had on his shirt growing even tighter from the shifting levels of our hot clothed sex down below. Our bodies were inseparable at that point, being so close that I could sense the heat that radiated from George. Suddenly I felt the corners of his moist lips expand into a smile against mine.

"What 'appened to 'Mr. Harrison?'"

The pitch of his voice steeped lower than usual, however he still had that undertone of mockery that rang through my ears and shot signals down to my aroused areas. Huffing a light chuckle through his nose, he urged to continue his hand's exploration of my vulnerable body...however I had interrupted his hungry gestures.

"You're gonna have to prove yourself for such a title...", I whispered as I took both of his veiny hands within my grasp and started to slither them down over my chest, then eventually to my stomach...then lastly I guided him to where it ached for his infectious contact the most. When I shifted my attention back to his face, his peering velvet pools indicated he had took me on to this "challenge".

George had surely understood the assignment.

We both heaved out a sigh as his yearning fingers started to slide under the waistline of my jeans, and very slowlyyyy dipped into my sopping panties. I bit my lip as my eyebrows caved in, anticipating the electric touch of his fingertips. He tapped the slick residue from my aching heat, almost as if he was testing the waters, jaw clenched tight from the wet abundance that coated his fingers. I could tell it was turning him on like crazy. While humming blissfully through pursed lips, George gently pushed his independent digit inside of me making sure to curve it at that perfect angle which ever so slightly hit my sweet spot, before drawing his drenched finger back out. A whine escapes my mouth at the emptiness of my needy muff.

"Fuck, I can't", he exhales while looking at my squeamish body.

"What do you mean"-

"I can't wait any longer, I want to taste you."

Leaving a beam of excitement shooting through my core, he lifted me up with both hands supporting my ass, and lied me on the piano. As the shock of the cold surface raised my restricted nipples almost immediately, George skimmed his hands down my body, then slid down my pants so only my lacy underwear remained.  The corner of his lips formed a coy smile when he noticed the decently sized dark spot that lingered on the fabric of my crotch. Then as he licked his lips once more, he pulled my panties aside with a singular finger, exposing my—

"Pretty cunt", he buzzed while he admired the not-so-still picture that was now displayed for him. His word choice seemed brash, but the way it slurred of his tongue was so gentle...in a way that made him seem strangely humble.

He's unreal, I thought as a wave of shyness came over my body in reaction to the sight of him observing my sacred parts, urging me to quickly close my legs. However before the skin of my thighs could smack together, George pulled them back apart, revealing his cheeky smile.

"Ah-uh."

A tingling pink hue scattered through my face when I realized that he was mocking me from our little Marlboro situation. The sass of that man.

George didn't waste a second re-entering his finger into my seeping twat, following that slow, steady rhythm he had performed just seconds ago. He knew exactly where to hit. Every dip and protrusion of his experienced feeler that rubbed against my sensitive walls shot pulsing signals through my body— and catapulted me into a fucking orbit. My stomach caved in as I tensely watched his finger disappear in and out of my pussy, each time coming out shinier than before. My front teeth sank into my bottom lip in attempt to hide restrained whimpers that escaped my mouth...until he snuck in a second finger (it wasn't sneaky at all) with a wet kiss to my clit. Unable to bear the dilated size and girth of his two fingers alone pumping into me so sweetly, my head flew back and I started let every gasp and moan he triggered spill shamelessly from my lips. I couldn't tell if he wanted me to beg for mercy...or serve me by satisfying any desires and fantasies that I wished. George was so alluring...so complex. I loved it.

"Yes...thats it, love, don't hold back. Am I makin' you feel good?"

He knew what he was doing. He was fully aware of the dramatic effects he had on my body, but he just wanted to partake in toying with me further. George's thick accent that bled through his vocabulary only turned me on so much more with each syllable rattling my core—making it so much more harder to choke out words, therefore I only nodded my head obnoxiously to satisfy his question.

"Mm-mm, I need to hear you. Let me hear how good my fingers make you feel. C'mon...", he encouraged as his tall frame draped over mine; long strands of chocolate hair gracefully tickling my hot cheeks. As he serenaded my soul with his words, his fingers were gradually fucking my insides faster and faster, each stroke producing a raunchy squelch that became more and more audible. Torpedos of pleasure repeatedly shot through my body with each time George flawlessly curved against my G-spot, never missing a beat. Finally, I folded my neck to desperately look at his eyes which were keenly observing every facial and bodily reaction that was fingered out of me. His staggering orbs then peered into mine, hassling me to give him that audible closure he yearned for, as his locks shuddered from his jerky movements. I managed to to cry out one more shaky moan before panting out,

"Yes Mr. Harrison, it feels so good. I want you so bad...I want to come all over your fingers. Please."

George plastered an appreciative smile on his face in attempt to mask the fact my pleading and name-calling had drove him fucking feral; the suffocating protrusion in his pants making it evident already. His right hand crept down to the band of my undies, retracting it so it would audibly slap against my skin. His eyes shot up to mine.

"May I?", he questioned as he continued the fiddling of my intimates.

I bobbed my head once and with that, he hooked his fingers under the east and west ends of my panties and sluggishly pulled them down to my ankles, slick rubbing off on my thighs on the way down. George took his time enjoying every twitch and squirm of anticipation that ran through my legs, subconsciously swiping his tongue over his lips several times before I was finally free of any restraints. His attention shifted to the wall clock for a brief second before returning back to the helpless—dressless—woman that was now naked and ready for him.

"Sorry, love. Im going to have to make this quick", he says before flashing a smirk.

Why?, I thought as I turned my head around to try and look at the clock, however my thought was mercilessly pushed away by George's wetness invading my eagerly displayed pearl. My teeth almost immediately captured my bottom lip at the surging pleasure that quickly dispersed through every nerve that claimed my system.

Boy, did he have some magical tongue.

George steadied himself by setting his hands on my jerking hips as his tongue flicked heavy stripes and circles around my clit—every motion erupting huffs, moans, groans, and squeals from my core to the edge of my lips. And with every lewd sound and dirty prompt that shamelessly spewed from my mouth, a groan, hum, or chuckle from him followed...each one a wet vibration to my clit. His encapsulating eyes flicked up second after second to capture every reaction that was sucked so graciously out of me. Every once in a short while my eyes would meet his, and I could tell this man was enjoying every jerk and squirm my body made, every cave and expansion of my stomach, every pant I heaved like a dog in heat, every direction my eyes would turn whenever he hit a particularly sweet spot....he made sure to absorb everything. While my hands were desperately trying to grab something for support, they just so happened to meet George's messy mop, tugging tightly until it urged a groan from his lips—and an addition of two fingers inside of me.

"Oh god..." , I whimpered as the mixed sensations of Georges gentle kisses and licks to my jewel and his skilled digits rhythmically pumping inside my heated walls pushed me closer and closer to the edge. I watched tentatively, noticing how between kisses his gaze would shift constantly between the hot sloppy juices that exited my body and coated his fingers, and the priceless facial expressions that morphed my face...almost like he struggled deciding which view was better.

"Right there..?, he cooed with his mouth hung open, being entranced by the image before him and wanting more of it. I helplessly nodded my head as he continued to course his curious muscle around my clit, pleasantly tossing it around and sucking it occasionally with his pillowy kisser. With a few more bumps his fingers had flawlessly pressed to my G-spot, that all-too familiar sensation started creeping up from the depths of my core like a volcano, as I felt the earth-shattering eruption overwhelm my body.

"George..!", I cried, squeezing his left hand that still rested on my waist—which was now elevated a few inches off the piano—I experienced a high I've never done before. Patches of color and patterns masked my vision in a striking haze as I bared the painfully-sweet orgasm that possessed my body.

Damn, all he did was eat me out.

Once I recovered, I fluttered my eyes open to see George below me—messy hair, flushed cheeks, and...wet clothes? I quickly scanned the area and noticed the piano speckled in a water-like fluid, along with my own clothes.

Oh.

Once I realized what George had evoked out of me, I shot upwards and closed my legs shut, hands flying to my mouth in embarrassment.

"My, where are your manners?", he mocked once again with a stupid smile tweaked in his lips, standing up straight to uncover my bashed face with his hands.

"Don't act so posh now, you devil."

He mumbled something sultry under his musky breath before dipping his head in for another kiss, however before the edges of our lips could meet, a parking vehicle catches our attention from outside the window. Our heads turn simultaneously as our eyes slowly track a familiar figure strut out of the car and closer to the studio building.

It was Ringo.

[noficbyhalves]

Have some "Kadar is thoroughly Done with these two even from beyond the grave":

"Hey! Altair!" called a familiar voice.

He froze, turned. Leaning out of a traincar door was Kadar, waving furiously at him. He was smaller than Altair remembered, but somehow whole and hale. The only way that could be real was if- if he-

Fuck.

"I'm dead, aren't I," were the first words out of his mouth as he walked closer.

"Hello to you too, I've been lovely thanks," Kadar said dryly. The mannerism was achingly familiar, but when Altair tried to remember from what his head only pounded.

"Hi Kadar," he sighed. "Am I dead?"

"Eh, kind of?" Kadar made a so-so gesture. "You're about halfway there. Something about blood ties making curses rebound? Don't ask me, I'm just the messenger."

He had heard all this before, it was on the tip of his tongue. He died because of his grandfather, because of the war, but Altair knew there was something else, something so very important. Why couldn't he remember? Why did the inside of his skull feel so battered? "You're the messenger of... death?"

Kadar laughed. "Not for everyone, silly. It's more of a 'the universe shows you someone you trust to guide you' kind of situation."

And the universe had decided the best guide Altair could hope for was a scrawny fourteen-year-old. It would be funny if it wasn't so sad.

[...]

"You've got two options. You could go back to life and all its complicated bits," Kadar gestured vaguely at the nebulousness behind him on the platform. "Or, you can get on the train and just... let go."

"Give up?"

Kadar's expression was terribly sad. "No one's going to judge you if you want some peace, Altair. You've done plenty, if that's what you're worried about."

Altair couldn't meet his eyes. When put like that, it made perfect sense... and yet. He started walking towards the train. Maybe peace wouldn't be so bad. Kadar was here, he could see Rauf again, he could meet his parents...

Then why was his heart hammering in his chest? Why did he feel sick looking at the train?

Kadar was holding out his hand. Altair lifted his left hand to reach him, glanced down at his fingers.

...his... four fingers.

He had four fingers on that hand, because...

The pain in his head reached a fever pitch. His vision was swimming.

Because of his grandfather, because of the brand on his arm, because because because-

This is perfectly safe and I'm a fucking genius.

Altair sucked in a gasp (had he breathed at all since he opened his eyes?) and jerked his hand back. There was a phantom sensation of a hand on his jaw (only the one), a voice echoing in his ears (wake up you have to Altair please). Kadar smiled, and for once it looked real.

"I can't," Altair croaked.

"I figured. You two sort your shit out yet?"

Altair had no idea how to answer that, even if he could get enough air in his lungs. He stumbled backward, away from the train.

Kadar sighed. "Nevermind. Don't suppose you can pass a message along?"

"Will I remember this... after?"

"Your guess is as good as mine. It's usually more of a one-way situation."

Right. But Altair's wasn't because of blood magic or something. The rules of magic really were bullshit. If he remembered this enough to share, Malik would have a conniption. Altair nodded, "I'll try."

"Tell him I love him, and it's not his fault either."

Altair gaped. "How-"

"I've known him my whole life, and I'm not an idiot?"

The laugh bubbling out of his throat was edging on hysterical. "I- yeah, yeah okay." He turned away, towards the unnerving blankness on the other side of the platform. "How do I-?"

When he glanced over his shoulder, Kadar gave him the world's most exaggerated shrug. Truly unhelpful.

Nothing for it but to do it. Altair shut his eyes and walked into the fog.

[ominousredherring]

Forever Reunited

Unedited. Angst. Painful. Read at your own discretion.

It’s cold. So, so cold.

But nothing phased you anymore. Your heart was replaced with a void of darkness, swallowing anything warm and bright, like a black hole.

Even as you sit next to an unmarked grave. But you know who is there. You know who lays beneath the cold earth as you wished for nothing more than to join them.

You didn’t even feel the warm hand that rested on your shoulder, offering the little bit of comfort they could give. All hands felt cold to you anyways. The sky is cold and grey as the rain attempts to wash your pain away, but it only soaks you in sadness and regret.

“Are you alright?” Ominis asks, leaning down to sit next to you.

What a stupid question you thought, continuously staring into the haze of the foggy highlands as the storm passed through, like it did most days during the spring.

You stayed silent, knowing he would hear your low heart rate and silence would be enough of an answer. It wouldn't have been more than a whisper anyways. Your voice has been incredibly sore from all the screaming and crying you have done from the last few days.

"I believe that suffering in silence is the most excruciating type of pain." He began to say, "I wish you would at least try to talk to me." he pleaded.

"It's too much, Ominis. All of it." That was all you could say. In short, it was true. Everything with the rebellion, your ancient magic, everyone's expectations of you, and now losing the only one who made it all seem worth it? It was just so much for you. Too much.

"He was my best friend and brother. I know the depth of pain you are feeling and it's easier to go through if you talk about it with someone." If you wanted to look away from the curtains of rain that fell in the distance, to notice that Ominis was silently shedding tears, maybe things would have been different. Seeing someone else in pain always brought out a motherly instinct in you, to comfort them.

Maybe if you had comforted Ominis, things would've been different.

But you didn't.

“He was more than that.” You whispered, just loud enough for him to hear.

“I know.”

The rain worsened, making the dirt you sifted through your fingers turn into mud as you squeezed it through your fingers. Trying to find something to bring you back to earth, to help you gain some semblance of reality. But it didn't quite feel real to you just yet.

That he was gone. Sebastian was truly gone.

“Had I not been there… he wouldn’t have died.”

“No. This isn’t your fault.” Ominis began to plead, but you continued to blame yourself.

“If I wasn’t there, he wouldn’t have had to save me.”

You knew it was true. Solomon was a horrible guardian to Sebastian. While he had coddled Anne because she resembled their mother and because of her affliction, he held indifference and hate towards Sebastian because he was the spitting image of his brother.

"You are your father's son." He would often spit at him, acting as if it was a sin that he was even alive. You had grown to hate Solomon for the way he treated him for trying to go above and beyond what any healer has tried to do to save Anne.

Anne would only praise Solomon for taking care of her all the time, but you knew the truth. You knew she had to of been blind by her twins mistreatment, not even realizing the shack behind the house was Sebastian's humble abode during the summers.

While the dark arts was a bit above your comfort zone, you followed him anyways. Because you trusted him. He was your only solace while your own world was growing darker and more dangerous by the day. He made you feel safe. He made you feel wanted. He made you feel understood.

Everyone warned Sebastian about the dark arts, especially Solomon. The further you go, the worse it gets. While you adored his determination and loved how far he would go to save those he cares for, Solomon found it incredibly burdensome.

In the catacombs, all of the built up resentment he felt for his nephew had exploded into a cacophony of rage. Solomon was more focused about teaching Sebastian a lesson instead of the onslaught of Inferi that seemed to be never-ending. You, were merely guilty by association in Solomon's eyes.

As you fought off Inferi and helped defend Sebastian who was coming out of the trance of the relic, you noticed Solomon was losing his patience with him. Fury was a fire you knew all too well, and you could see it in his eyes.

Solomon began to attack you too. While you were strong for your age, you were no match for an ex-Auror. His strikes were relentless and as the Inferi kept popping out of the ground, you began to realize that you may just meet your death here.

Solomon began to scream at you, saying that you were only encouraging his nephew towards the dark arts and that you needed to be dealt with. You needed to be gone. He sent a powerful diffendo spell hurtling towards you at a rapid speed. One that would surely cut you clean in half, due to the malevolent nature of its caster.

But while you attempted to quickly dodge the attack.

Sebastian was quicker.

He dove between you and the oncoming spell, using his body as a shield to protect you. Everything around you blurred. You couldn't hear anything but your thundering heart beat and his that went sickeningly silent. You watched as his warm brown eyes turned dull and his freckles lose their color. His soft hair that reminded you of the late autumn leaves, with the micro-strands of red and gold that highlighted his hair had suddenly become a dull shade of brown.

His body fell with yours. You could feel the warm and sticky blood that had begun to stain your clothes, your hands, your face, everything. You began to call for his name, starting with a whisper until it became a deafening scream that alerted the distracted Inferi to your location.

All of the pent up anger, your rage, your sadness, your helplessness. Everything overloaded into your veins as you began to glow blue with your ancient magic surging to the surface, brighter than you had ever seen. As you held Sebastian to your chest, you watched through blurry eyes as you incinerated every Inferi in sight, which scared Solomon into fleeing the tomb.

Your magic was so powerful that the catacomb began to collapse. You only sat there and hugged Sebastian through it all, waiting for the falling debris to either crush you or suffocate you, either way, what bliss. If it wasn't for Ominis who had drug you out of the tomb right as it collapsed, you would have died next to him.

Now, here you both sit on top of the hill. Below you, are the remnants of the caved-in catacomb. Sebastian’s final resting place.

“I wish you hadn’t saved me.” You stated, finally glancing towards Ominis who looked just as sullen as you.

But he only replied with a sigh as he got up and offered his hand to you. While his hand was still cold, you grabbed it and he helped you up with his usual gentleness as he guided you back to the castle.

You only slept in your Room of Requirement now. Sobbing and retching everything your stomach could manage after not eating for almost a week. Your whole body began to shut down. Your chest heaved in pain, your head felt numb, you felt like you could crumble to pieces as you lay in the same bed you shared with Sebastian during the nights where it was too much.

It was too much now, but his warmth was no longer in the cold expanse of sheets next to you. Only his smell that was already fading from the pillow he slept on.

You started to become overwhelmingly drowsy, wondering if it was actually true. If it was indeed possible, to die from a broken heart.

You got your answer, and so did the others when they found your body days later after the news of your sudden disappearance.

Your final thought was how excited you were to see him.

To see his loving gaze and feel his warmth once more.

Forever reunited.

[thatmexisaurusrex]

Sambucky: ghost detective agency

I kind of already have a SamBucky paranormal detective agency fic hehe Buuuuuuut, you know I love a good urban fantasy prompt 😆 Enjoy!

Wilson & Barnes

It was a dark, stormy night. Not an oddity in the greater New Orleans area, but there was still an air of mystery as the window shutters slammed from the wind and the rain crashed on the tiny office above the garage, all brought by a tropical storm.

"I don't think we're getting a new client," Bucky said, his voice a little distant.

Living transposed on another plain until summoned, the daemon Barnes stretched lithely between long shadows made by the poor lighting in Sam's office.

Or.

Sam supposed it was technically their office.

Sam and the daemon did have a contract of sorts. Not for a soul or years of life, but just... freedom, really.

Bucky would provide a lightning rod for magics; a grand convergence that would allow Sam easier sight, easier pull to the strange and unknown, easier reach into his own abilities. Sam would provide Bucky freedom; a chance to live in a world solid and beautiful once more.

Their partnership was one of equals. One of wanting to help one another. One of - of maybe more, but it wasn't that they had discussed that before.

Not yet.

Maybe someday.

"A storm like this? As the witching hour is upon us? It's the perfect time for a client to come our way," said Sam as he saw their office door open, "Speak of the devil - hello. Welcome to Wilson & Barnes. Ghost Detective Agency."

"I'm the ghost," said Bucky from the corner, waving as he pushed through the shadows and into the light; solidified before their eyes, "Or. I suppose I was once."

"And I can see ghosts," said Sam with the most charming smile, "What do you need from us today?"

The man who had stepped in had wings. Big, vibrant wings that were joined to his arms. He seemed to be - maybe a harpie? A siren? All the same, he was a little starstruck as he took in both Sam and Bucky.

"Hi. My name is Joaquín Torres. I'm - I'm looking for two friends of mine," said Joaquín as he pulled out a phone and showed Sam and Bucky a photo with him and two women, "Yelena and Kate. They were trying to summon Yelena's sister, Nat, from beyond the grave. I think something went terribly wrong. I can't find them anywhere."

"A summoning gone wrong. Don't we know that well," mused Bucky fondly.

Because.

That was how Sam met Bucky. Sam tried to summon Steve Rogers, but ended up with Bucky Barnes. Not that Sam was complaining.

"We're on the case," said Sam, "Bring us to where you last think they were."

[dent-de-leon]

Thinking again about Lucien’s whole childhood and trauma, the child abuse and loss of autonomy. His own parents selling him out to a hag--forcing him to lead other victims to her when he was just a child, afraid and all alone in the cursed Savalirwood. Memories of how he treated his older brother's wounds after their father hurt him. His own parents later digging up that same brother's grave and handing him over to the hag, letting her turn him into an undead puppet--a lifeless, empty husk, a haunting mockery of the loved one he lost.

The fire he set to stop his parents from ever hurting him, his siblings, or anyone else ever again. How he still wakes up screaming to nightmares of smoke and screams--

Living on his own in the streets of Shadycreek Run by the age of 12, sending his little sister off to Rexxentrum with some traveling merchants because he was desperate to do anything to get her out of that town, to get her away from people like the Jagentoths--the family that killed their other sibling over their parents' debts.

Lucien saying goodbye to his sister and not seeing her again for years because he felt like it was his only chance to get her out of the Run, to give her a better life while he still struggled and fought every day to survive. Lucien throwing his lot in with the Claret Orders and sacrificing his own blood to fight deadly monsters--believing it was a way to prove himself "worthy," to slay other horrors like the witch who tried to make him into an empty puppet. A way to finally make enough money to support his sister and give her the life he always wished he could. A chance to finally have enough power so no one could ever manipulate or hurt him again.

Lucien looking up the Solstryce Academy in awe, yet knowing that a child like him would have never been given a chance there, feeling the ache of his blood hunter scars and believing that he would never truly belong. Lucien who knew from the beginning that he would be an outsider, that people in Shadycreek would only ever see his infernal blood and hate him for it. The heartbreaking realization that blood hunters are ostracized and feared and hunted down just the same, that his own sister looks at the scars he got trying to build a life for her and she's so disgusted and terrified, she turns him away.

Mage after mage using their magic to try and control Lucien and bend him to their will time and time again. The hag who always hoped to add him to her collection one day, hollow him out into another empty puppet. Vess manipulating him at every turn, using him and throwing him away again and again. The Somnovem all branding Lucien against his will, whispering in his dreams, tormenting him through countless visions. Enslaving him just like all the other fate touched souls that mages of Aeor tortured so long ago.

Lucien being betrayed and hurt by the world again and again, losing any semblance of family or home, always knowing he would never be accepted. Blood and debts and fate and all the misfortune entirely beyond his control, a deck stacked against him from the very beginning.

Lucien looking at Mollymauk and breaking a bit when he realizes that this other part of him was so loved, was able to find his own family and home and happiness. Molly carrying the same scars but none of Lucien's painful past or memories, free of every nightmare Lucien's ever been running from for so long. The way Mollymauk Tealeaf is living the happy dream and fantasy that Lucien always ached for, but never believed could be. How the two of them shake hands and join together again at the very end--