#bc a lot of the dresses they do have have prints and really like. heavy handed motifs

[poorlittlevampire]

teeheeheeheeheeheehee

[softpascalito]

Pedro Pascal Kinktober Day Twentyfour

Crossdressing - Joel Miller/F!Reader

Summary: Joel Miller has been wanting to try a different piece of clothing for a long time. It's not until you that he feels supported enough to do so. Turns out, you both really fucking like it.

Relationships: Joel Miller x F!Reader

WC: 2000

Tags/Warnings: Smut, Fluff, Insecurity, Soft Joel (The Last of Us), Crossdressing, Explicit Sexual Content, Explicit Language, slight mommy kink, Very slight internal homophobia if you squint, Jackson!Era, sub joel miller, just joel miller in a skirt bc he looks cute af like that

AO3 LINK

notes: let me prephase this by saying that everyone can wear skirts without it being sexual. but here, it kinda is. cause y'know, joel miller.

_________________________________________

It's the blush that gives him away.

Joel and you are on patrol, checking out some picked-over clothing stores. Spring is finally here and the clothing department in Jackson has been running low. With the town dance becoming a regular monthly event, demand for dresses, skirts and dress shirts has skyrocketed, despite them being rather impractical in the day to day life of most inhabitants of the city.

But people are just people. And they like celebrating, like the drinks and dances and an evening that feels far, far away from Infected or raiders or anything else that awaits them on the next morning past the wooden fences.

You haven't been immune to the illusions either and despite not having the most dance-happy partner, you have been begging Joel for weeks to at least join you for one slow dance in the barn. The mention of the no-doubt stunning dress that he'd get to see you in seemed to help.

“Oh, look at these!” You call from the corner of the clothing store, having found a section that holds a few dresses. A red sign looms over the racks, announcing the last sale of late summer. You shine your flashlight onto the first rack and let your fingers wander over a few of the fabrics peeking out to you, admiring the different shades of clothing.

“And they're on sale too. Aren't you a lucky girl?” Joel deadpans as he walks over to you, a small smirk on his face. You simply nod at his joke, fumbling with the price tag of one of the dresses, raising your brows, “Ah, yes. It's-” you squint, trying to make out the number that's printed on the weathered piece of paper, “fifty dollars.”

“Expensive taste you got there,” he mutters, finally reaching you and joining your effort of looking through the clothing items. You've picked out a yellow sundress, the print made up of small flowers.

“Was fifty dollars a lot?” You ask as you test the fabric, taking in how much damage time has caused. Joel raises a brow at that, “Depends on what you spend it on.” He comes up behind you, like he does so often, and places his chin on your shoulder, admiring the dress in your hand, “They would've been worth seeing you in that for sure.”

You turn at that, smiling sweetly as you hold the dress out to him, “Will you buy it for me?”

Joel frowns slightly, “You can just-” You quickly cut him off, already knowing what he's gonna say, “Just pretend to,” you mutter. “I can't wear this to the dance and not tell people that my boyfriend got it for me.”

He rolls his eyes a little but you don't miss the small smile on his face as he dutifully takes the dress into his arms, holding on to it for you, “You got yourself a deal, darlin'.”

You gather more clothes after that, as much as you can carry without your packs getting too heavy. It takes a while, finding the pieces that are still intact and not too washed out but there's a few nice ones and you nod approvingly as you roll up the last dress shirt.

Your gaze lands on Joel, who is securing his own pack, making sure that everything is holding together well.

“We need something for you as well, you know,” you scold, making your way back to the sale section. A soft sigh behind you lets you know that the man is not exactly a fan of shopping, even the free, post apocalyptic version.

A few more minutes pass before you find a nice shirt, a soft green that you're certain would compliment Joel well and you turn your head to look for your victim when you spot him back at the rack of skirts, running his fingers over something.

In a few strides, you're by his side and by the way he jumps a little as you appear next to him, he's clearly startled, “Jesus. What's up?”

His eyes scan the surroundings for possible danger as you shake your head, picking up the item he's been looking at. It's a pleated skirt of medium length, a plaid pattern similar to the ones that Joel's usual shirts carry. The colors are muted, beige and dark gray mixed with a few stripes of color.

The color that is the most interesting to you, however, is the one of Joel's face. His cheeks are a soft pink, the blush spreading down towards his neck. It's the same blush he had a few months ago in the sex shop, the same one he had when you had packed the pink strapon into your backpack and it's precisely the same color his cheeks turn when you're behind him at night, gently thrusting into him. It's that blush that gives him away.

“It's pretty,” you say gently, looking over at Joel to catch his reaction. He keeps a straight face that seems a little too straight to not be premeditated. 

“Yeah.” His voice is a little thin, confirming your suspicions and you watch him closely as he continues, maybe to break the slightly awkward silence, “Would look good on ya.”

“It would look good on you too, Joel,” you mumble, reaching out to take it off the rack and hold it between you. Soft, brown eyes meet yours and the look in them is so damn insecure it makes you wanna cry. He opens his mouth and closes it again, clearly struggling to find his words.

“I'm not-” You shake your head before he can go on, “I know. It's just a piece of clothing.” He nods at that, his gaze on the skirt in your hands.

“Tell you what, I'll pack this. If anyone asks, it's mine. That sound good?”

Joel clears his throat, looking down for a moment before nodding, “Sound good.”

You peck a quick kiss to his lips before leaning down to gently roll up the skirt and store it in your backpack, more than aware of Joel watching your every move.

You sigh, gently knocking on the bathroom door, “Joel, baby, come on out. At least let me see.”

A grumble behind the door, a similar response that you've already gotten a few times in the past twenty minutes, the exact time since Joel has disappeared into the bathroom to change into his newly acquired piece of clothing. It has taken a few days until he's come around to it after you hung it up in your shared closet.

Funnily enough, it reminds you of a cat after having a new piece of furniture placed in their home, the way they avoid it for days only to come closer and closer with each one until they finally determine that there's no danger and carefully discover the new item.

Joel is not yet in the no danger phase.

“Just one peek?” You ask quietly through the door and after another sigh, the door clicks and, inch by inch, opens. You take a few steps back, watching as Joel steps into the bedroom and your breath catches in your throat as you take in his form.

His broad shoulders are covered in a slightly worn-out sweater that pools around his waist. Below is the skirt, the pleating standing to the sides a bit, creating a cute form. His strong, hairy legs are bare, only his feet covered with black socks that he frequents.

You stare at his strong thighs peeking out, shamelessly and with your mouth slightly ajar and it takes you a second before you can pull yourself back to any thoughts other than the very inappropriate ones you're having right now.

Joel still looks self-conscious, his left hand playing with the hem of the skirt absentmindedly as he waits for your reaction. At your silence, he opens his mouth, of course, wrongly interpreting it, “Sorry, I didn't mean to- you know what, we'll just give it to the store.”

You surprise yourself with a small growl at that, sucking at your lower lip as you take a step towards him, “If you don't like it, we will.”

Your voice is quiet as you speak, “But goddamn, Joel, you look so hot right now.”

The blush is back and you're fairly certain that you've never seen him as shy as he looks now.

“You like it?” He still sounds so unsure and quiet and that's what makes you close the distance between you, reaching for his hand that's still fumbling with the fabric, “I love it. You look-” You force yourself to look up at him, taking in his soft, brown eyes, “You look absolutely amazing.”

A small breath of relief escapes him at that and he nods. You make a mental note to ask him about this sometime, how long he's been wanting to try a skirt. Your feeling tells you that it goes back, before you, before Jackson, possibly before the outbreak. Either way, you feel honored in a way, that he trusts you enough to do this with you instead of anyone else.

You watch as Joel moves a bit in the skirt, clearly trying to get a feel for the unfamiliar piece of clothing. He sits down on the bed, smoothing the skirt down over his bare legs and it's getting harder to ignore the heat in your stomach at that sight. Still, you don't want to turn this moment into something it's not, not unless he wants to.

Your hand finds his shoulder, squeezing slightly, your eyes darting between his eyes and his skirt, “You want me to-?” An eager nod comes before you even finish your question and with a small smile, you reach around to straddle him, placing your own form so perfectly on his lap.

“You look so fucking pretty, Joel,” you whisper again, your lips ghosting over his as your hand wanders behind you, caressing his knee for a few moments before slowly inching up his leg. It's something you've done a million times, skin that you've kissed and rubbed yourself on and stroked at night and still, this feels different.

Joel tenses under you, his breathing going a bit faster as he feels your hand moving further and further until, finally, you reach where you assume his boxers to be- just that they're not there. A small gasp escapes you at the surprise before you catch yourself and tut softly, staring right into the chocolate brown eyes in front of you. “First time wearing a skirt and you're already going commando?” You whisper, your voice hushed, “Were you hoping I'd find that? That I'd touch you like this?” Joel takes a sharp breath at your words. Or maybe it's the way your hand finds his balls, beginning to fondle them softly.

“You're being such a good boy for me, you know that? Looking all pretty for mommy.”

An actual whimper leaves Joel's lips at that and you know you've hit the mark. It does things to you, his noises, the skirt above his strong thighs, the little kisses you exchange and it isn't long until the skirt is pulled up, revealing Joel in all his glory for a split second before you're on him, enveloping him between your walls, your muscles already eager to milk him.

You play with the hem of his skirt afterwards, the same spot he'd held earlier. His breath is soft again and his heart is full, feeling so loved and worshiped and good.  

“You've been wanting to try that for a while, hm?” You whisper, finger ghosting over his thigh and he nods softly, “Yeah. Yeah, I guess I have.”

“Everything you imagined it to be?”

Brown eyes meet yours before he presses a gentle kiss to your cheek.

“Better,” he whispers, his eyes wandering down to your hand on his legs, the fabric covering his now softened dick, slowly getting used to the way it looks on him, to the way it feels around his legs and Joel Miller finds then, cuddled up with you in a heated bedroom somewhere in Wyoming that he likes wearing skirts.

People are just people.

[poupeesdecirque]

Wolfscon 2023

Another little Travel Blog... well.. "travel".. it was a local con for once.

I just learned about the Con last monday and decided to attend it. It was held in a mall in one of the bigger cities in my area, completely for free.

Wolfscon - 30th September 2023

Weirdly enough the day started with me dressing up at home, I had time to do the make up and all as I wasn't even driving. I asked Mom to come with me as she loves to stroll around and well I just dislike to drive with wig/make up and therefore she helped out.

After a short driving time we arrived in Wolfsburg. The big thing was: there was a football game happening and Oktoberfest in the city and I was a bit anxious if things would clash. But gladly we exactly left as the match was over later on and the Oktoberfest was busy in the evening but still okay as we went a bit into the city. phew.

The main stage was placed in the basement of the mall, you had some different events happening there like an interview with voice actors, bands playing, a quiz, the cosplay contest etc.

Then you had two little artist/merchandise isles a level up with different vendors. There was regular merch from comic shops, Manga, but also artists with their own products, it varied a lot from anime/manga heavy to fantasy jewerly, to pins, cosplay props, art prints, cosplay prints and more.

Then you had some booths were you could take photos in front of backdrops and some artists advertising their work (like huge Transformer Costumes), there were some Marvel Hero Impersonators walking through the mall, you could get photos with them.

I think it was pretty nice and a good variety of different franchises for a wide audience. For me personally it was little to buy but my anime/manga interests are super niche therefore I don't take my interests as standard.

While Mom bought something for her step-niece I had a very lively talk with one of the artist who was at the Connichi as well about how the first one in Wiesbaden was and we agreed a lot need to be adjusted and she told me that she wasn't even aware of some points, but also told me that the Connichi Management is aware of some issues like the Matsuri being lovelessy arranged.

Another thing here is that she got told to not complain about the food options at the Matsuri because there was soup sold in the congress centre as well and .. uhm... as artist/vendor .. you weren't able to go into the city to eat and that's just a terrible way to deal with feedback. Please organize better food for the people working at your Convention, thank you.

Anyways she even offered me to help at her booth for the future as I have some expierence from the past but I had to decline. It was a super lovely exchange though.

We decided to leave the mall then to check out the Oktoberfest (we were getting hungry).

And they had a ferris wheel... those who know me is that I suffer from acrophobia, but to the extent that I get nauseous when it's really bad, everything starts to spin then but ... oof... it was tempting.

I decided to gather all my courage and go for a ride. I was nervous but was able to manage better than I thought, to my own surprise!

... and as I had no lunch prior we had to fetch some food. Allen without food is not Allen, right? Went for a crepe with kinder schokolade, my favorite combination.

After going through the vendors again I saw someone with a Starbucks cup and Starbucks is ... like I rarely went there (to be honest twice, and the first time was bc someone else wanted something) as we don't have one where I live. I decided I want to try the pumpkin spice latte.

As we left the mall I was actually recognized as Allen! That made me so happy. Thank you <3 I hope we get in touch, especially with the fact you have a Kanda Cosplay in store, it was really nice to meet you.

Back to the Latte... I had one but I decided it's the last I want. i went without cream because I wanted to know how it tastes like but as someone who doesn't like coffee.. well... I'm a bit sad they don't offer the Pumpkin CHAI Latte T_T I am sure I would have loved that one.

After a little shopping trip we went back to the mall and - not without our favorite snack: soft serve ice cream :'D

Gladly we left as the football match was over as the team won and everybody was just hyped about it and the city was getting super full!

I have to say it was a nice afternoon and truly fun to have a local con. I was pretty beat still, but this has different reasons like the fact I ... am now wearing glasses and it was the first day without them again and the city being super full and me eating really late (again ..) didn't help much.

It's still running today, if you are in the area I can tell you can pay it a visit, it's fun!

My little haul and the free entrance ribbon you were able to get.

Wolfsburg is kinda adorable with their Wolfs-Theme over and over.

[oracleofsecrets]

fuck it I’ll post my thoughts and progress here. Never done a proper cosplay before but after I made Tri for funsies at the beginning of October I was like haha what if….? Also bc I couldn’t think of a costume for Halloween, despite not currently having plans for Halloween >.>

I’ve gotten a lot done just figured I should Log It somewhere that isn’t just my friend’s dms lol

Couldn’t be assed to make a white dress so I bought one from. Idr where. Had briefly considered buying Zelda’s vest-like thing from this like modesty clothing site called Veiled I think? It seemed pretty quality but I wasn’t sure if I could style it right or if it was a good color or feel, and it was outside my budget

Couldn’t figure out what to Call her vest thing to even find patterns to buy, but I ended up getting one on Etsy for a “long cardigan” that I figured I could just make Longer

Unfortttttunately, the A0 pattern file was locked, so I couldn’t try to get it printed at a print shop for like blueprints size, but the person who called me said they can’t print This big a size anyway. So I had to deal with taping together a bunch of regular printer paper. Wish I’d have thought to use that guillotine paper cutter thing at work…

For the cape I wasn’t sure what kind of fabric I’d want to make it out of. Partly bc I’m Quite New to sewing lol. Even though Zelda’s wearing it, it’s Link’s cape, so I don’t imagine it’s Super fancy, and it should be lightweight. Wool could’ve been cool but that is Very Much out of my price range lmao

Found a nice free (if you email them… kinda annoying but could be worse) pattern online for a hooded cape that I think will work p well. So with that, I decided to make it out of fleece. It’ll double as a nice comfy cozy thing to wear around the house for fun too hehe

Then I was off to the fabric store weeeeee. I was trying to decide for a while between some pink knit fabrics (p-something? It seemed sturdier than Jersey knit and wouldn’t look too cheap) bc her vest isn’t quiiite pink but it’s not full on purple either, and none of the purple fabrics looked close

but thennn I found this clearance/last chance cotton in the perfect color :3 bonus of being able to put off learning to see non-woven fabrics lol. Got some muslin fabric too bc I figured I’d need it to make a practice version of the vest (greatly paid off!)

This isn’t how much I bought btw these are just the bolts I was lugging around while deciding and then waiting for the cutting counter. They were quite heavy…

Oh, also decided (we’ll see if I regret this later when I actually get to the Making It part) to make the cape detail basically like a fleece appliqué. There are probably better and easier ways to do it but i don’t really know about them !

Jeez ok this is getting long and this is just the “intro” djshdjfjd

[kashimos-hajime]

the shakes | p.d.

summary: “It’s the Shakes, darling. Makes everything excruciating.” Or, you’re experiencing the terrible side effects of being horny and Poe Dameron knows just how to fix it.

WARNINGS: SMUT (18+), oral (fem!receiving) and just a whole lot of banter, bruh poe is just feastin TONIGHT, sprinkle of plot pairing: poe dameron x fem!reader word count: 5.1k

a/n: uhhh so,,, heh,,, enjoy. bc smut. 

“Ow, fuck.”

“You’re stepping on my foot.”

“My bad. It’s not like we’re stuck in a fucking closet.”

“Who’s fault is that?”

“Yours.”

You breathe out through your nose, struggling to contain your annoyance as you try to back up away from man but no dice. Instead, your back jams awkwardly against the busted control panel.

Said control panel is one of the reasons why you’re stuck in a closet with a man you met only twenty minutes before. Other reasons may or may not include you, the man mentioned, and a certain droid both of you are supposedly waiting on.

“You said that droid is coming?” you grunt as he lets out a heavy sigh against your collarbone. You’ve been squished in a four by four foot supply closet for the past twenty minutes at least and there’s barely enough room as he reaches around to jam the button again. “That’s not going to work,” you say pointedly and he scowls at you, pressing the button again.

“BB-8’s coming,” he growls. “He’ll know I’m missing.”

“Oh, thank the Maker for that!”

“Do you have a problem?”

“Uh, yeah. You’re breathing in my air, in my general vicinity.” A pause, and then: “Can you breathe in any other direction?”

In response, he sucks in a huge breath and lets it out in one big exhale towards the vent above them before glancing down again and arching a brow as if to say, Happy now?

You are most certainly not.

“At least this gives us a moment to breathe. It’s better than being arrested,” he says as if offering a ceasefire. The man leans away from you and you sigh, readjusting the strap of your short dress. His eyes are determinedly staying on yours but even you know they’ve dipped the few times your back was turned. “We can get to know each other.”

Not that you haven’t been thinking about his ass all day either. You spotted him earlier in the markets today, even if he hadn’t noticed you, with that orange and white droid rolling around behind him. Cute and memorable.

What can you say? A good looking guy tends to stick out in a crowd.

“I think I’d rather be arrested,” you say as you lean against your own wall and tug at your dress where you think it doesn’t fit too well. “Who the fuck are you, anyway?”

“You mean, you don’t lock lips with any random handsome stranger?” he fires back. “I’m hurt.”

“Right. You know what I meant.” You nod to the chip in his pocket. “What do you wanna do with that?”

“Top secret, Snatch.”

“Snatch?” you repeat, frowning. “Never mind. I’m sure it’s a secret you can share with me.” At this, you push off the wall and, by the limitations of the closet, stand in his space. Dameron straightens up, an unimpressed smirk printed on his face. “So?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“It could be.”

“It really couldn’t.” His nose brushes against yours and his soft breath tickling at your lips makes a hot spear shoot into your gut. You can taste the sunfruit on his breath, the sweet swipe of his tongue across his lips and your eyes narrow as his chest presses against yours. You don’t budge from your spot as a curl of his dark hair falls into his eyes. Almost automatically and before you can register what you’re doing, you reach up to brush it back and he catches your wrist before you can, grin growing. “I knew I recognized you.”

“I’m so happy for you,” you reply dryly. You shake his hand free from your wrist and back up against the wall, crossing your arms. “I’ve seen you in the markets a few times. The only eye-candy way out here,” you admit grudgingly, thinking of the weird fantasies you had about the guy you dubbed ‘The Man from the Market.’

Not your most graceful or catchy nickname, or your most dignified moment, waking up to soaked panties and a flustered sensation glossing over your skin, but you also didn’t expect to see him again. At this party, no less, of some merc bastard and his friends.

“Likewise,” he says, eyes dropping from yours to your lips and then darting up again. He chews on his lip, as if fighting back that cocky smile before he adds, “You’re the only thing that’s caught my eye in the past two days.”

“Charming.”

“Hm. Poe Dameron.”

You glance at the unopened door, sighing out a, “Good for you,” as you cross your legs at your ankles. Dameron only frowns, turning to the door and you observe the darkness around you. You can’t really make out anything but the solid shape of your fellow closet companion. You can’t even make out his features too well unless he’s extremely close to you, and even then, it’s a guesstimate.

You’re going to kill Yvonna. If she wants the intel, she’s going to have to pay you double the credits.

The darkness seems to crowd in on you and you take a deep breath, the heat of the room getting to you. You feel sweat gather underneath your arms, in the creases of your thighs, and maybe it’s the alcohol getting to you, but you swear your feet aren’t attached anymore. They’ve been strapped to some stupidly high heels to accentuate your legs and it's gathered in a trembling pain in your calves now that you’ve a moment to stop moving. You want to keep moving. It’s the dancing in your stomach, the strange flutter in your lungs, the involuntary clenching between your legs.

Normally, you’d be fine but right now…

God, it might’ve been something you ate. You don’t know, but right now, you feel like you’re a hollowed out piece of scrap.

“C’mon, BB-8,” Dameron murmurs as you let your head drop back against the wall. Your eyes slip shut and it’s not too different from the darkness surrounding.

Maybe it’s cause you haven’t seen Krieg in a moment which is part of the reason you’re here. Hasn’t given you a chance to take the edge off and you’re so full of this energy that needs to be spent or you’re going to die in this closet, in that ship…

You needed to do something.

Your eyes open and see the shape of Dameron’s head.

Or, someone.

Yes, you had kissed him first, pushed him into this closet, let his hands wander, but that was because a guard was coming and you weren’t about to get caught red-handed.

This fucking sucks.

“My friends call me Y/N,” you say glumly, your fingers gingerly tugging at the hem of your skirt. An uncomfortable slickening is occurring down there just thinking about that kiss that occurred in a time when you weren’t stuck in a closet, and you can’t help but think that Dameron was a good kisser.

Give credit where credit is due, all that bullshit.

“Y/N, huh?”

“I said my friends,” you reply pointedly. “Associates and otherwise know me by my callsign.”

“Which is?”

“Bandit.”

“How original,” he mutters almost under his breath and you roll your eyes. The burning in your gut spreads like a fan of fire, following where your knuckles press against your thighs as you try to adjust your dress to fit comfortably, but it’s too damn hot and you shift again, catching his attention. “You okay? Not afraid of the dark, are you?”

“No. It’s just… it’s just hot in here,” you mumble with a scowl directed at your own body betraying the way his arm bracketing you on one side of your head is radiating a heat you want to choke on. “When did it get so hot?”

“When they started serving spiced whiskey?” he tries and, this time, your scowl is directed at him with another poison to kill a small snake. “Maybe you’re having the Shakes.”

“The…” You blink, and you’re not sure if your eyes are adjusting to the blinding darkness or if you can actually see him clear as day when he bends his arm and leans against the wall by his elbow. You don’t move away and his breath, searing, tingles at your sweating neck. The drawling exhales only serve to send more thigh-clenching spasms into your stomach and you shoot him a weak glare. “The what now?”

“The Shakes,” he repeats as if he’s totally unaware of what he’s doing to your body. Maker, he must be able to smell it. There’s no way he can’t because you can feel just the effect of him being so close to you has done and— “You know.”

“I, uh, I really don’t.” If he knew a fraction of what his voice did to your panties, he would not be talking right now. Or he’d be talking more. You don’t know which one you want more.

“Oh, you know, when you haven’t had sex in a long time. I call it the Shakes. Every little thing sets you off, you get cranky and flustered, you’re all wired up and your gut feels like the first time you go into hyperspace.” He sighs, and you hear the quiet thump of his head resting against the wall. Y’know, darling?”

“Hm?” you hum, distracted by the index knuckle running over your cheek.

“It makes you distracted.” You can hear his smirk and you roll your eyes with a scoff. “It’s why I call ‘em the Shakes. Throws everything off, doesn’t it?”

“Stars, you love hearing yourself talk, don’t you?”

“You know, I see the it often enough that I can recognize any poor soul suffering from a mile away,” he says, ignoring you. “And you’re sick with it, Snatch.” Casually as if he isn’t lazily tracing the shell of your ear with his hand now, he chuckles. You close your eyes as if you’re not critically aware of every desire to pull him into another hard kiss, every little movement of his body from the way he leans to the way his fingers flutter around the curve of your jaw.

You’re a fucking fighter, though. You’re not about to hook up with some random motherfucker in a closet.

Even if the random motherfucker is the hottest thing you’ve seen in who knows how long.

Holy shit, you think your gut might explode with how hard you’re trying to keep it together so you say the first thing you can think of related.

“I didn’t get sick the first time I flew into hyperspace. I didn’t get sick the first time I did an aileron. I, uh, I really don’t get sick when I fly at all,” you say, eyebrows rising skeptically. “Do you?” Confused: “No. I’m a pilot.”

“Oh. And you get the Shakes often, then? Wedged in the seat for hours on end,” you ask conversationally, managing to keep your tone in check. Dameron chuckles at your question, but he pulls back. Your thighs press together and something lurches at his withdrawal, wanting him near again but you silently push those urges down. “If you’re so wise to depart your knowledge with me, that is.”

“You’re a funny girl. Nah, you just get used to it when you’re busy doing other things.”

“Other things?”

“Hm, well, let’s say I have a busy job, and that’s pretty much my whole twenty-four-seven schedule.” He comes close again, close enough that his lips brush against the delicate skin before your ear and shivers shoot down your spine like waves of electricity and you stiffen. You know he hears you suck in your breath, the tiny hitch of your chest and he chuckles again, almost amused.  

“I think… it’s…” Maker, please forgive me for my utterly hedonistic will that has the strength of melted bantha cheese. “Fuck, I think it’s physically impossible to ignore that you’re horny.”

“I didn’t say that,” he corrects, lips whispering over your skin. He tilts his head. “I said you get used to it.”

“Well… n-normally, I’m pretty fucking good at that.” You bite your lip and lift your head to the ceiling, thighs pressing together and straightening up but the sound of your dress dragging against the wall gives you away. “When... people aren’t around.”

“People?” he echoes. “You alright, Snatch?” Fuck him. He is definitely enjoying this.

Well, fuck. Might as well, right?

“The Shakes,” you say in a very steady tone that is betrayed by the absolute ocean swimming between your thighs, “may have found residence here.”

“Hm.”

“That funny to you?” you ask, feeling his smug fucking smirk against your cheek and turning to look at him. His dark eyes glint somehow in the non-existent light. You just know it’s there. A cocky spark.

“Explains why you kiss like I’d melt away between your fingers. It was a good kiss, by the way. You’re a good kisser,” he adds, “but more passionate than I thought you’d go for, considering all we were trying to do was evade the guards and that fact that up until that point, you were trying to pickpocket me.”

“I was trying to get the chip. And I think the pushing into the closet was a good touch,” you defend as he rotates around and cages you against the wall. You stare defiantly back. “He went away, didn’t he?”

“But that just implies something.” His elbows are on either side of your head and he leans in, low enough that you can feel the sound of his voice, his sweet breath against your aching mouth. It’s one thing to admit it but another thing to act on it. Maker, are you really about to—

You know what?

Fuck it. Your panties are ruined, you need this fucking annoying heat out of your system and he’s fucking right about one thing: you’re hornier than a Lucrusian fengrill in heat.

What do you have to lose?

“Why just imply something?” you ask innocently as his lips brush against the corner of your mouth. You sigh in relief when the heat seems to sink, spreads through your body instead, and his shadow brushes against your skin as he moves lower, lips finding your chin, the curve of your jawbone. “Oh, fuck…” you choke out, your hands finding his hair automatically, threading through the dry locks and his name slips out in a breathless moan. “Fuck, Dameron.”

His body jerks at the sound of his name coming from you and your eyes widen when his hips press flush against your thigh. His bulge is hot and hard, the fabric of his pants silky against your bare skin and you let out a soft sound when he nudges your head up. His hands run over the walls, find your shoulders, your waist, tugging at fabric that sticks to your skin before continuing elsewhere, and you’re not even breathing as he licks at the pulse point, the sweat, the alcohol glazing your skin.

“Shit,” he breathes against your neck, teeth running along the vein as his hand sneaks underneath the hem of your dress, skirts around the edge of your panties and it’s the brush across the absolutely soaked spot that does him in, does you in because you know he felt you clench around nothing. “Fuck, I can feel it—”

“Shut up,” you groan, wrenching his head up and smashing your lips against his. He sighs into your mouth, hips grinding against yours as you take a handful of his curls. You yank him back, your lungs seizing for air. Everything tastes like sugar and starfruit as you push him down to his knees, your calves burning. “My feet. Ow. Fuck these heels, honestly.”

“I got ‘em.” His hands immediately find your ankles, running smooth circles into your skin but before you can tell him the strap is on the outer side of your leg, he lifts your foot up. A protest stammers in your throat as he reaches up and presses you against the wall with a large hand flat against your tummy, but he merely smirks against your thigh, letting your knee hang off his broad shoulder. “It’s the Shakes, darling. Makes everything excruciating.”

“Dameron—”

“Relax,” he drawls as your back meets the wall flush and cold. You grab onto the handle of one of the mechanical drawers, wincing when his hand digs into the sore muscle on its way up to stabilize your thigh just as the other on your stomach travels down. “Got a nice view, don’t you?”

“Would be better,” you grit out, “if I could see.”

“Need me to pull out my glow-in-the-dark condoms for you?”

“Dameron.”

“Kidding. Well, only half. I do have some back on the ship.”

“Dameron.”

“Alright, alright. Next time.”

You can’t even see the silhouette of his face anymore, gone underneath the hem of your dress, but you shake your head anyway, lip caught between your teeth as you feel his hand slide up and down the one calf still planted firmly on the ground.

You take a breath and let your head fall back, your ravaged neck pulsing, your entire world spinning.

It happens all at once. When his grip on the thigh resting on his shoulder tightens, when he lifts your other leg over his shoulder, when he surges forward, his lips finding your soaked panties immediately, teeth nipping lightly at the fabric.

Your entire system shuts down.

He noses up higher and your thighs wrap around his head, ankles hooking. His fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs, clutches at your ass really, and your fingers in his hair tighten when the dress begins to ride up higher, revealing more of the gorgeous man between your legs.

Oh, how you wish there was some sort of light in here so you can just—

There’s one shaky breath, then another, and there’s no movement which you’re only painfully aware of and your eyes open—when did you even close them?—as you look down. “What’s wrong?”

“I just wish I could see you, darling,” he breathes, kissing the top of your slit and sending a warm shiver through your gut. “Fuck. The way you’d look when I finally chase the Shakes out of you—I’d ruin you. Ruin you and then some. Eat for days.” And then his teeth return, barely skimming the soft flesh of your navel as they hook on the waistband of your panties and tug, his breath following down your thigh as he works on pulling it down, slowly, luxuriously, his lips soft as they press teasing kisses in the crease of your thighs, land tiny nips to the juncture of your hips. You spasm at every turn, wiggle and squeeze until you’re sure you’re cutting off the circulation in his neck, but he doesn’t give any indication that he cares.

No, he just holds you against the wall, your legs tossed over his shoulders, and grins.

You don’t know how you know.

You just do so you don’t know why you stutter out, “You g-good?” anyway.

“Fucking perfect.”

Maybe it’s so you can hear that voice, low and deep in his chest, between your legs.

He leans forward and his nose bumps into your clit, and, as if on reflex, a warm, strong tongue darts out and licks a solid stripe through your heat. “Fuck, darlin’.”

Definitely so you can hear that voice between your legs.

“You’re heaven, y’know that?” he mumbles but you can’t quite focus, your hands gripping at anything you can—one in his hair, the other on that handle and your back arches when he just goes for it, mouth to clit contact, tongue probing and licking and stroking all at once. “Think ‘m gonna die if you don’t drown me first.”

“W-way to i-inflate a girl’s—fuck…” Your voice goes hoarse midway, as if he sucks it out of you, and you can feel the air in your lungs going with it as your back arches off the steel wall. You can feel his jaw, sharp and strong and warm, flexing against your thighs as he works, tongue velvet, lips teasing and he inhales deeply as your legs tighten around his head.

His fingers dig deeper into your ass and you choke back a pathetic moan when his teeth raze your swollen bud lightly, just enough to tease you and keep you on edge. Everything is cotton. The shadows, his hair, his rough hands that are full of calluses you don’t know the meanings of.

Your nails scratch his scalp, tug him impossibly closer and you’re biting through your lip right now, your moans bundling in your chest as he pushes deeper, pushes you closer against the wall as if he wants more of you but can’t quite reach and you want to just let him continue, let him have his fun because you’re sure he can go down on you for hours but—

You’re only human, and the tide comes so quickly you fucking know for sure two things: Dameron knows what he’s doing and Dameron knows what the fuck the Shakes are.

A slight brush of his tongue at your clit and you’re gone. You’re on that downhill slope that sends a spiral of chain events through your body. Your thighs lock around his head and your fingers tighten as lightning shivers and lances through your limbs, sending your heart up into your throat and pulsing between your legs. Your gut clenches, so desperate to hold on that you can’t even breathe, that the only thing you can stutter out is some bare semblance to his name followed by ramblings of “fuck” slewn with more “close… close… so, so close…”

Your eyes are screwed shut, your mind scrambling to concoct an image—an image that would be reality if the lights were on and you can almost see it. Poe Dameron, with his dark eyes, raven hair, plush lips and a beard that scratches against your skin, on his knees with your legs thrown over his shoulders, his hands, huge and veined and strong, grabbing at what flesh he can, head gone underneath the hem of your dress and you can only feel what he’s doing—

You don’t even recognize him chuckling until you can feel the vibration of it through your knees, against your leg.

“Darlin’,” he pants, drawing back just enough to breathe and he tilts his chin just enough to press a sloppy, slick kiss against the soft flesh of your inner thigh and he laughs again, entertained at the desperate little whine that comes outta your throat because the image would’ve been just enough if he kept going for a second more, “gotta let me fuckin’ breathe if you want me to stay down here.”

“That’s…” You struggle for words because you’re heaving so hard, so out of breath because you didn’t even know you weren’t breathing for several seconds. “That’s—it’s, oh, shit.” Your thought process is disturbed by another teasing lick at your swollen folds. “Dameron, if you don’t let me just fucking—”

He nips at the juncture between your thigh and your soaking, swollen cunt.

“Watch it.” You retaliate with a sharp tug of his hair and he only laughs again, soothing the bite mark with a few gentle kisses.

“Just keeping you on edge, darling,” he whispers, peeking up from underneath your dress for the first time in what feels like hours. You run your hand blindly down his face and feel the slickness on his chin, swiping it off but his teeth catch your thumb, and then it’s his tongue wrapping around your fingers, too, sending fluttering shivers through your stomach. He licks them dry before he lets go and your hand finds his hair again as he sighs, disappearing between your legs again, and you barely hear it, a nearly indecipherable mumble that sounds more like it’s coming from inside your head that his own mouth, “Anyone ever told you… you taste like heaven?”

“And how would you know?” you gasp, feeling a little giggly yourself as the crest begins to rise, your chin tilted up as his tongue flattens against your slit. He hums to himself, the curve of his jaw brushing against your tender thigh as he pulls back just enough to speak.

“‘Cause I just tasted it, darling. And I know I could just feast on you for days.” Your entire body tenses as he laughs into your cunt, the ripples of it against your sensitive skin shooting through your spine and you’re on that downward spiral again as his smiling mouth attaches to your bud and his tongue dips into you again.

You’re dripping. The sounds are obscene, filthy to the nth degree, and you’re so close that it aches. You want to thrust but you can’t risk toppling the man you’re resting on the shoulders of, but at the same time, you know he’s teasing the ever loving shit out of you with his shallow passes, his fluttering kisses.

Taking his sweet time, indulging in it. You’re pretty sure if he could make do on his promise to eat you out for however long you’d let him, he would, but you’re half-aware of where you are, that the droid is supposedly coming, and having half-a-brain is half-a-brain too much to lose all common sense.

“Dameron,” you whisper, and he pauses, looking up and you wish you could see his face, the face of a man who stopped at the mere utterance of his name that it sends a thrill through your overstimulated system. “Please.”

There are no further words needed.

He works you up to it slowly, until your fingers are clamped so hard and you’re seeing stars despite there being nothing but shadows around you. The only sound is the wet slop of his mouth working against your drenched pussy, your moans and his heavy breathing that fans out across your navel.

It’s when his tongue pushes so much deeper, and curls, that your thighs clamp down around his head and your fingers are gripping so hard you’re not sure you’re going to make it without a few nail cuts in your palms that you know the Shakes are gone.

Your entire world flips as your vision goes black. Your fingers curl tighter, your thighs begin to quiver, and everything snaps inside you. Your back arches off the wall and you feel like you scream but it’s because your voice is so utterly broken that it seems so as he continues to drink through the floods, drawing out the aftershocks for as long as possible and the euphoria that shoots through you like a blaster is both molten and cool as spring water.

Your vocabulary is nothing but his name, soft breathes of “fuck” and “shit”, and the unrelenting “thank you”.

Your heart rattles against your ribs, beating so quickly you think it might burst from your chest and you feel another quivering sigh escape your lips as Dameron gives you a few more gentle sucks to your messy centre before he’s slowly running his hands up your thighs, to your knees, and gently sliding your legs off back to the floor.

Your body is trembling so hard that your knees nearly give in immediately, but, luckily, Dameron’s hands find your waist and ease you to the ground just as you let go of the handle of the drawer.

“Fuck,” you croak ungracefully once your ass is on solid ground and you gulp down nothing but air as you try to open your eyes. It’s not that different from your closed vision and there are a few white stars blinding you in the dark, but you can still make out the shape of your partner, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand before he’s leaning over your leg to check the control panel. It’s then that you can feel it, pressed against your shin. He’s hard as a fucking rock. “Y-you need—” But your voice is a garbled mess, exhausted from the alcohol and the Shakes, and he turns to you, fingers dancing up your calves before slowly pulling your ruined panties back up your thighs.

“Up,” he orders quietly, and you lift your hips up enough for him to slip them firmly back onto your hips. “And it’s fine. I told you. I’m good with the Shakes.”

“Yeah, but, y’know…” you mumble, “could be good.” You can feel him smiling as he leans over to kiss your neck blindly, still finding that tender juncture of your shoulder. You grin, your hands finding his shoulders and roaming his back, feeling the curved muscle of a military man. You know his type.

Continuing downward, down his sides…

“You do owe me,” he murmurs and you nod as he pulls back just as the sound of beeping on the other end of the door.

“Mhm, don’t wanna stay in debt,” you say just as the sound of whirring fills the heated silence and your grin grows as you expectedly raise one of your hands to shield the light about to fill their little closet. You pull your other hand away and you begin pulling the loops out on your heels, sliding your aching feet out of those torture shoes. “Maybe we’ll run into each other again in the future, huh? Pay you back then.”

The door slides open and you stand as he scrambles to his feet as well. At least, you can see his features clearly, and you grin because he’s just as handsome as the first time you saw him.

Absolute score.

With your fingers hooked on your shoes, you wipe the bit of slick he missed on the corner of his mouth. He grabs your hand before it drops, pressing a cheeky kiss to the center of your palm and you roll your eyes.

“That’s fine with me,” he replies, squinting against the light and you tap his cheek. “See you around, Flyboy.” You flash him one last smile before leaving the closet first and walking down the hall. Your knees are still trembling and you feel like you’re a complete mess as you stagger through the metal hallway. Exhaustion is telling you to just go the fuck to sleep right then and there, but you can’t. Not until you get back to your ship and get into hyperspace.

As soon as you’ve rounded a corner, you run with everything you have.

It’s only a matter of time before Poe Dameron realizes that the chip that was in his pocket is making its way to another buyer.

Yvonna totally owes you.

[girl-in-the-tower]

Special corner on NRC’s grounds: An interview with the birthday girl ~Kore~

Ramshackle Dorm - Birthday Party Venue

Chapter I

Interviewer: Happy Birthday!

Kore: Ah! Thank you so much! And thanks for making time to visit me!

Interviewer: I heard that Ramshackle is holding a party today. Is that true?

Kore: Yeah! Grim said that any birthday needs to have a party as well! Though I think he just said that so I’ll prepare some tasty food for him today.

Interviewer: So did you make all the preparations for the event?

Kore: Hm, not really. A lot of people turned up to help, even though I didn’t ask them to.

Clover-senpai and Ruggie-senpai helped out with the cooking so I didn’t have too much on my plate when it came to catering. They’re really good chefs so all the food ended up being delicious! Even Epel made some nice apple carvings. Ah, though we made quite a lot so Ruggie-senpai ended up taking the leftovers with him.

Kalim-senpai was really excited about the whole idea. He wanted to organize a parade and a big banquet! There were supposed to be elephants and monkeys and pheasants and I think a tiger, but Viper-senpai talked him out of it. He still ended up in charge of the decorations though.

Deuce, Jack and Epel helped with the seating plan and with carrying the tables. Epel was told by his senpais to sit this one out, but he insisted on doing it. I think his training’s really starting to pay off! Though in the end it was still mostly Deuce and Jack doing the heavy lifting... 

Ace and Cay-senpai picked the music. Apparently, it’s supposed to be really trendy right now, but... ah...

Interviewer: Do you dislike it?

Kore: Ah, dislike is a strong word. I think it just doesn’t speak to my generation... hehe...

But stil! We had a lot of fun dancing together. Even Viper-senpai joined in. Haha, I got really ditzy when he spun me around like that. 

I wanted to ask Leona-senpai for a dance too, since he seemed on the verge of falling asleep, but Ace jumped in before I had a chance. He really wanted to show off his dance skills since he asked me a bunch of times. I guess he was really proud of that.

Interviewer: You seem to have enjoyed yourself.

Kore: Mm! To be honest, this was the first big celebration I ever had so I was really excited about it. Up until now it’s only been me and Theo on my birthday each year. We used to make a big bowl of rice pudding and stick a candle in it and call it a cake. So having a real one is a bit odd for me...

But I’m really grateful to have spent this day with all my friends! To think that I’d be able to experience such happiness... Ah, sorry, I’m getting a bit teary-eyed for some reason. 

Chapter II

Interviewer: How about the presents this year?

Kore: I got a ton! Everybody was so kind and thoughtful! Here, look!

Interviewer: Is that...?

Kore: Haha, yes! It’s a can of tuna! Grim said that since we’ve friends he’d allow me to have one as a present for my birthday. Though he was really reluctant to give it up...

This bouquet of snowdrops is from the Octavinelle dorm. See? This card is in Jade-senpai’s writing. Ashengrotto-senpai also said that for my birthday he’s ensure that Floyd won’t pick on me as a special favour. He said he doesn’t want anything in return, but I wonder...

The box over there is from Rosehearts-senpai, Clover-senpai and Cay-senpai. They pitched in for some high quality gardening tools! Clover-senpai noticed that my old ones were kind of falling apart so he thought I could do with some new ones. Ah, I kind of shudder to think how much they could have cost... Though Clover-senpai insisted it wasn’t that much...

Ah, Ace and Deuce also pitched in for a present. Ta-da!

Interviewer: A boar plushie?

Kore: Yeah! Ace said it reminded them of me, which kind of annoyed me at first, but... Look into those cute button eyes! Isn’t this just adorable? So I decided to forgive them. Hehe, it’s hard to get angry at such a cute face.

Hm? What else? Ah! According to Jack, Leona-senpai ordered me a Magift team jacket on behalf of Savanaclaw. I’m still not allowed on the field when they play, but he said this week he’ll make an exception and let me join practice a couple of times. I’m so excited! Leona-senpai is a really good player so watching him in action is always exhilarating! 

Even Shroud-senpai sent me a gift. Ortho came to drop it off since Shroud-senpai was too shy to attend a party with such a big number of people. It was kind of disappointing... But ah! Look! He got me a limited edition BC! SSR card! I heard they didn’t print this anymore, so getting a hold of it must have been tough. I’ll have to properly thank him when we see each other again.

Chapter III

Interviewer: I was rather surprised to see that they would have a “Birthday Girl” sash prepared for this occasion.

Kore: Ah, they didn’t. This was actually a present from Rook-senpai and Epel! Hehe, Rook-senpai said it wouldn’t do to have a birthday without a birthday sash so he kindly made one for me! On top of that, he and Schoenheit-senpai did my make-up and hair for today too! Schoenheit-senpai said this was “a once-in-a-lifetime occasion” so I was really grateful to him!     

Interviewer: I see. Was the dress a present from them as well?

Kore: Eh? No, no, it was-!!

Interviewer: Are you alright? You suddenly turned red...

Kore: N-No! I mean, it’s nothing... Um, the dress is actually a present from K-Kalim-senpai and Viper-senpai...

I saw it in a magazine a few months ago and mentioned to Viper-senpai that it’s a shame this sort of dress is so expensive since I don’t have the budget for it... He said Kalim-senpai was actually looking to buy something more extravagant so hearing me express a wish for something simpler saved him a lot of grief too...

And... And Kalim-senpai said I looked... really pretty in it too...

Interviewer: Um...

Kore: A-Ah! Di-Did you know the fabric for this dress is only made in the Valley of Throns? Vanrouge-senpai told me that! He said the books he and the rest of the Diasomnia dorm gifted me had more information on it! I-I can go look for it! Yeah!

Interviewer: That won’t be necessary. But it seems you’ve had quite an eventful day. 

Kore: Yeah... It was a lot of fun, because everyone was here with me. 

Hm? Ah, my cellphone is ringing! It’s Theo calling me to wish me Happy Birthday. Um, I’ll have to go now, so...

Interviewer: No problem. Thank you for this conversation! And once again Happy Birthday!

[periperiwinkle]

more TGBBO!TMA AU content

here’s a list for all 12 contestants on the TMA TGBBO tent:

 Agnes, 19

-       The youngest on the tent that year

-       Shy but sweet, has a smile that makes everyone melt (HA!)

-       Her signature is making almost all of her bakes spicy, even the ones that Paul tries talking her out of. Both judges are always weary of trying her stuff bc she almost always goes too heavy handed on the chillies

 Tim, 30

-       The Hot One

-       Always smiling, always chill, always making jokes and making people crack up

-       Sasha makes him a cookie crown once and a screenshot of him wearing it with the smuggest look on his face becomes a meme

-       His signature is always adding some sort of booze to almost all of his bakes. Self-proclaimed king of hangovers, insists that the solution is always more booze (Prue loves his stuff)

 Sasha, 29

-       Everyone Likes Sasha

-       Is always the first to finish and is consistently acing the technical challenges

-       Never overcomplicates her bakes, so she always has tons of free time to help out wherever needed. Despite that, her bakes are consistently very good, although she’s never “won” the title of most overcomplicated idea (and she’s fine with that)

 Elias, 42

-       Hot older guy, has the Smoulder look on point

-       Gets flustered very easily when time starts running out and he still has a lot to do

-       His signature look is wearing a crisp dress shirt every weekend to the tent. No one knows how it still looks impeccable on the second day, even when everyone sweats buckets the day before. A Mistery

-       He has a bizarre fascination with adding eye motifs wherever he can get away with it. Paul finds it disturbing, but even he begrudgingly admits that the finishing touches on Elias’ bakes are immaculate

 Gertrude, 65

-       Doesn’t smile a lot and looks very stern, but can be incredibly kind (to the right people. looking at u Elias)

-       Vibes well with Tim because she likes his boozy treats, and is always very motherly towards Agnes and Gerry, which everyone loves to see

-       Very laid back, never gets super excited when she does well and also is very flippant when things go wrong. Live and let live I guess

 Simon, 78

-       Nice Old Man

-       His signatures are his politeness, his cheery attitude, and of course, his collection of Hawaiian shirts

-       He once wore two Hawaiian shirts, one buttoned up on the bottom and another one open on top. It was great

-       He always has his trusty canister with him, and he uses it to make foamy toppings on nearly all of his bakes. He also likes whipped things and mousses, the airier the better

 Jon, 27

-       Serious Mister Proper Pants, as Tim calls him

-       Not the best at flavours, but actually really neat, achieving flawless presentations very consistently (him and Elias are always toe to toe for the nicest looking bake of the week)

-       Surprisingly kind even though he looks stern, always running around helping people get things done at the last few seconds

-       His signature is adding unusual flavours to his bakes. Most of the time he misses the mark (he likes the flavors in his bakes just fine but they’re more of an acquired taste) but when he gets it right he gets it right

 Martin, 28

-       Good And Pure

-       Tall and wide, he’s the best boy in the tent that year. Always smiling, always helping, and also always struggling. Time management really isn’t his best trait but he makes up for it with enthusiasm and staying positive

-       He cries a few times when he doesn’t do very well and it breaks everyone’s hearts

-       His signature is adding various tea flavors into his bakes. He also always has a mug of tea at his station

-       Everyone wants to win (duh) but it’s a consensus around the tent that no one would be upset if Martin won instead

 Basira, 33

-       Also stern looking, but incredibly kind and gracious

-       Not the best, but she does have fun trying things out

-       Fumbles a bit, but always seems to take things in stride. Has a scary gorgeous wife that appears on the slice of home moments, and everyone loves them

 Melanie, 25

-       Gets angry when she starts freaking out. It’s great

-       Is always behind on her bakes, so she’s always blowing up and snarling and groaning loudly to herself about it. Jon Hates It, it’s flinch town over at his station whenever she starts losing it (which is often)

-       She tries her hardest though. Her signature is her spooky themed bakes. They’re all very cute

 Michael, 31

-       Creepy Handsome Guy

-       Has very long limbs. A bit scary, really

-       Not much to say about him. He has a near constant smile and a weird laugh. Doesn’t last long in the tent, much to the other contestants relief (someone has to be the first to go I guess)

Gerry, 23

-       Tall and Goth, covered in tattoos, lots of them eye themed. It’s a bit unsettling.

-       Actually a really sweet and chill guy, and pretty much everyone loves Gerry

-       Likes making black bakes (black like his sooooul) and the fans swoons when he puts his long black hair up in a bun at the beginning of every episode

[hollywoodhangar]

5 things!

Tagged by: @silvcrreaper! thank you, dear! :’D this is a really cute meme! I’ll probably use it again in the future bc of that tbh. I’d like to do a lotta characters. Tagging: @mettatoniic / @corviudex, @wcrldlyadventures​, @tcthinecwnself, @scwewywcbbit, @wabbitseezun, @couragelinked​, @contractualsarcasm​, @heedingcalls, @bloominghands, @fairestfall, @blackstardiopside​ / @hellhogged​, & you!

doing this for red’s hardcore over-a-year fixation seriously this woman owns my ass at this point hhggh this thing got way too long!!

CLAUDIA P.

5 THINGS YOU’LL FIND ON HER PERSON.

Her mother's broken pearl necklace. It's very near and dear to her, she's held onto it like a security blanket as well as a trinket for luck & protection ever since Lord Phantomhive whisked her away to the estate. She keeps them safely tucked away in one of her hidden skirt pockets! Those of supernatural origin that are able to detect magical objects can sense there is a Divine blessing on it; it’ll never be lost to Claudia, and those who mean her ill-intent will have their hands burn when they grab at it - almost like they stuck their hand in flames. It’s a precious thing that Máire [ her mother ] has long since used in her prayers specifically to Brigid ever since she was twelve, so it’s instilled with her blessing! 

Her axe. Even when she’s retired, the Countess keeps her silver axe on her person just the same; tucked away in its renewed sheathe that’s hidden under a flap on the back of her dress [ fun headcanon: while undertaker takes his sotoba up from the top of his collar, she pulls her axe down from below ]. Divine magic also touches this weapon; a blessing from the Morrígan in which the blade is kept heinously sharp so long as she gets some sip her blood tribute, absorbing the splatter and gore through the axe’s silver surface and leaving it pristine. Should too long go by without it having a taste of blood it will begin to dull rapidly for the amount of years its gone untouched, but fortunately the Phantomhives never seem to run short of assassins, hitmen and abductors. Her Divine continues to be pleased.

An emerald poison ring. Silver, classy and adorned with the head of a wolf opening its maw to hold a shiny emerald. No one'd expect such a beautiful big gem hides such a heinous poison beneath! It looks pretty neat when she pops it open and the poison pours out of the wolf’s mouth.

[ Enchanted ] Skeleton key. A simple-looking golden key with hidden runes that activate when inserted into magical locks its made for, but it functions like a normal key as well. This key will open absolutely any door in the Phantomhive manor [ unless Sebastian’s room has the same thing going on! ] as well as the invisible locks she has guarding her forest altar. This is also the only thing that will open all doors leading into her bedroom [ the hallway and the balcony ] as those locks are spellbound to react to only the key itself. Vincent’s always tried to pick his way in but could never quite achieve it! I like to think he inherited his mother’s mischievously nosy curiosity. 

Her black choker with a deep green brooch embedded in its middle. It hides the scar paved along her throat from the attempted assassination. Don’t want anyone seeing that, especially not family. v_v

5 THINGS YOU’LL FIND IN HER ROOM.

Her bed, of course! Mahogany framed. It’s enormous, as to be expected for a Countess. It’s extremely soft, easy to sink into and piled with many lace-ended pillows. Heavy, wool-knitted beige blankets lay over the very top, plush to the touch and covering the white and green sheets beneath it. Deep green curtains with leaf embroidery are tied to the bed posts with dark brown rope, and close all around the bed when Claudia turns in for the night -- except for the curtains at the foot. Those stay partially open to absorb the heat from the fireplace. As for the back of the bed, she built it herself! It has an enormous, full-length mirror installed into its wooden frame and a long, smooth surface below for convenience. It has two lamps at both ends that are within reach. 

Lovely mannequins. Rested next to the balcony are two simple manniquens. One is the bearer of her Brigid cloak, the hood pulled up and draped over to obsfuscate the face. Its arms are stretched forwards, hands splayed up with the ceremonial cloth and ropes used for Claudia’s handfasting ceremony; the pearls that were wrapped around all that hanging from its neck. Opposite of that is the other manniquen. Covered with a deep, dark duster, a peasant blouse, tight black pants and thigh-high boots give off a familiar visage of the Countess during her Watchdog days. Around its waist hangs a very intricate rich brown leather belt with lots of slots in it, weaponized chatelaines and satchels with golden clasps - and a golden wolf head as the buckle in front center.

Secret compartments. Many secret locked compartments in the walls she installed herself [ ^ that can only be opened by aforementioned skeleton key, or a very determined and powerful supernatural force ], hidden behind landscape portraits and animal print wall tapestries. She keeps various things in them: Tonics & Poisons. These are very rare breeds of both, being highly efficient in what they’re made for specifically. There’s vials of strange-looking gnarled roots and various colored liquids stored in here as well, along with herbs (??) hanging from the top. Inheritance. The late Lord Phantomhive left Claudia a fortune, most of which she sent to charity, but kept her own sum for emergencies sake. But that is not all he left her; there’s a small pile of letters, some opened, some remaining closed with different seals. There’s also an envelope in here for Claudia specifically, opened and re-sealed. What’s inside is information concerning safe passage to a number of locations and a list of names. Near the very end, the Lord gave Claudia a way out if she ever felt the need to flee from the Phantomhive title; she’s the only blood left. He would not hold it against her to forfeit the Watchdog title, he’d be dead - he has no reason to care for anything at that point. It’s a very bittersweet gift Claudia’s gone back and forth more than once and plans to hand down to the Undertaker “if I go before he does”. She trusts him to hold onto it and give to any Phantomhive who starts feeling pushed to the brink. Altars. A small altar for each of her Goddesses exists in the walls, in twin compartments side-by-side, their doors marked with the carvings of an anvil and a raven. Brigid’s altar is warm, decorated with handmade trinkets and rolled up drawings. The Morrígan’s is dark, positively dark and dimly lit with this very small icy blue lantern that hangs from the top, and the rest of it is decorated with fans fastened from raven feathers and odd white-crimson candles -- that contain her own blood.  Memonto Mori. Death has been embraced around Claudia for so much of her life, so she’s dedicated her own reminder of that in a “.. yet I survived” way.  Mementos from the Famine in the form of mothbitten fabric from the nightgown she wore that entire time and a lock of hair that had fallen out, from the first attempt on her life by a kidnapper in the form of the rusting gun he had and the bottled flesh & muscle she tore from his throat that earned her the title “Wolf of Winchester” among the Aristocrats of Evil, from the nigh successful assassination in the form of the bloodied gown fabric and pressed white roses that wear dried crimson on their petals. There is nothing for the Phantomhive Fire. This rebuilt manor is a jarring memento mori of its own now. 

Cherry wood bookcases. It is stacked with books of worldwide mythology, folklore, natural remedies, strange leatherbacks, and lots of journals Claudia’s written personally over the years. There’s pictures of loved ones wrapped in oval-shaped, polished wooden frames, a lot of old wooden toys she made for her progeny that they’ve grown out of, a black onyx hand with all fingers lined with rings she made herself and holding an ornate athame. Currently, “Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus” sits with a long brown & white feather serving as a bookmarker. 

Urns. Three very precious porcelain urns that are specifically customized to fit the lives they belonged to: Vincent, Rachel, and Claudia’s seven hounds. While she drew the designs for Vincent and her hounds, she let Rachel’s parents decide how they wanted their daughter’s urn handled. She passed the drawings to the Undertaker and he made them to perfection. They rest on the previously mentioned bookshelf, side-by-side in a very gorgeous center display, with fresh white roses, rosemary, gladiolus & lilies from the garden surrounding them and small lanterns constantly providing a low, gentle golden light. There’s candles that have been melted to their hilts and others that are brand new.

5 THINGS THAT MAKE HER HAPPY.

DOGS. 

Mythology. Mythology and folklore have always been incredibly fascinating to her! They can easily eat hours away as she delves herself into learning more and more about them and re-reading the ones she already knows.

Family. I've said it once, I've said it twice, Claudia's a woman who adores to be surrounded by family. Her attempts to convince the Midfords to join with the Phantomhive household have gone shot down by both her grandson and her daughter. One day she’ll prevail. One day. She won’t but she can dream of having a full house again, let her dream.

The countryside. Honestly, the fact they live here instead of in the city was something of an immense comfort to Claudia because it’s a little reminscent of Donegal. She regularly takes Gelert for a walk and finds a nice green pasture to just sit in for a while and enjoy the wind. It brings such a huge wash of calm and relief and what she turns to when feeling absolutely stressed, anxious or angry. Her natural dopamine hit!

Sweets. The Countess has a bad sweet tooth like her grandson and loves to eat sweet things, including things of her own baking and creating! Wave any delectable sugary sweet before her face and you have her attention - not her compliance, but her attention. [ 1v1 phantomhive discourse is continuously stealing the other’s treats. she doesn’t even recall who started it but it is an on-going War. ] 

5 THINGS SHE'S CURRENTLY INTO.

Infinite woodworking! She has several projects going on at the moment, one being a boat and another being a marionette bitter rabbit she’s eventually going to get around to painting. Both gifts!

Foraging. Sure she can easily send the servants to buy this stuff from the market, but she likes to retrieve them herself. There’s a lot of berries and edible/medicinal plants in season right now and she’s pretty happy about that. :) Mulberries galore.

Reading. Very good exercise for her brain as she’s getting a little more forgetful in her old age, so keeping it busy with things like this strengthens her mentally. At the moment she’s not only reading Frankenstein, but she’s also reading about Japan mythology! That, and about strange monsters & creatures encountered at sea, actual accounts taken down by the author of the book who interviewed many-a sailor. 

Hunting. Not only does it give her a grand excuse to get out of the manor, but she needs to keep her archery sharp and Gelert in shape. 

Summer Games. Speaking of which, she has a title to defend! Sporting events are beginning to ramp up and the Phantomhive name continues to hold first place in the Archery branch, much to the chagrin of many who try their aim & speed against the Countess And Lose. Also, the events are always a bunch of fun to take part in - she’s dragging along anyone available.

5 THINGS THINGS ON HER TO-DO LIST.

Finish the on-going "Misfortune's Way" Funtom board game with Ciel. [ Ciel: 9. Claudia: 9. Neck-to-neck. Who Will Win? ]

Continue work on the boat she's created for the Midfords. She needs to finish carving their family crest into the right side of it and hollow out the rest of the bow. So much work to be done! But four months of blood, sweat and tears are going to pay off. :)

Fix that TERRIBLY painful floorboard her foot keeps hitting. It's been on this list for about a week now. She keeps forgetting or gets sidetracked! She’s getting a bruise. :( [ have tanaka do it? no no, she lets that poor man rest now. have sebastian do it? not a chance. "Are ya daft!? I ain't about to have that damned vulture creepin' about my own private quarters." ]

Pack up Tanaka, cook some food [ avoid bard. he always offers, she always declines after he set a strawberry cobbler she requested on fire right before her own eyes, and then proceeded to catch a portion of the kitchen on fire. she was so stunned she didn’t even notice Sebastian come in and bat out the flames LMAO. ], make some tea and head out with Gelert to her favorite spot to chill in the countryside and soak up the rays of Summer. She’s been so much colder than normal lately and needs to a b s o r b s u n. It’s Summer! She shouldn’t be freezing this much! [ although it is funny to put her hand on the back of people’s necks when they complain about the heat and watch them flip ]

Commune with the Goddesses at her forest altar. Bring the landscape painting she’s done for Brigid, bring the bloodied clothes of a fallen enemy for The Morrígan.

[dollsorwhatever]

LOL Surprise: OMG review

Alrighty so I’m off work and I got a chance to sit down and take my time, unboxing these ladies, and thought I’d take a few photos with my thoughts. Spoiler alert: I am VERY IMPRESSED LMAO Everything is below the cut!

Ya’ll have probably seen the box a few times, so I never took any photos of it- but basically the way it works is that you pull a tab on the right side, then pull the box out from the left side to reveal the doll and all of the surprises/clothes and accessories (this will all be demonstrated on Swag, since I deboxed her first): Sidenote- the box clearly states, on the outside, which character you’re getting! 

One compartment has the surprises, which consist of two garment bags with hangers attached (one has a bottom piece, the other has a jacket), a plastic shoebox (it even has a little label and barcode!) and a larger cylindrical container with the accessories (jewelry, belts, sunglasses, hats etc). The second compartment is the doll, her purse and a stand. Swag is gorgeous

Personally, I think her makeup would’ve been better if the eyeshadow was white and her eyes were brown, but she’s gorgeous.  Her head is fully rooted with nylon braids, and it’s ridiculously heavy and thick. Despite that, her scalp is visible at the top of her head and the thatching is an afterthought (like it’s barely there lol). The braids are rooted with a lot of space between each plug, and imo this gives the impression of a realistic braided style and I love it tbh. Even as a hair nut, I’m fine with this rooting pattern and the braids are stunning:

I didn’t take photos of the naked body, but I think there’s one floating around somewhere. These dolls are thicccccccccc, with rubber click knees and articulated arms.  Here’s a photo from my friend to show the amazing, detailed hand sculpt bc I forgot to take one! It looks so delicate, and look at the little dimples on her knuckles! So cute.

The garment bags are made of a papery fabric and open very easily (but I still ripped them oops lmao), the hangers are hard plastic. The tops and bottoms come in their own garment bags with a hanger, but here’s a picture of the top and bottom she comes with:

These pieces are VERY nice, exactly what you’d expect from a good MGA doll. realistic, stylish, well made. Pants are very well made, studs aren’t falling off (lol @ bratz 2018), and they have slits on either side. V nice! The sweatshirt is very nice too, the only issue is that the collar was flipped up in the package and it’s hard to keep down, and the fabric of the collar looks tattered- though I think this is a design choice, since they all seem to be like that! Swag comes with a necklace, earrings, a belt and sunglasses, wrapped in tissue paper in the cylindrical container (which is V useful for storage):

All unique sculpts, the earrings are electroplated and look amazing! Side note, the accessory count is not the same for each character. Some of them have extra pieces, or they’re missing a belt etc. Shoe box has a cute little pair of Stilleto Timbs (which made me chuckle, bc I have a pair of heeled Timbs and they’re my favorite shoes lol)

Here she is all dressed up! I love herrrr:

Each doll comes with a C-clasp stand, and underneath the base you’ll actually find an extra, smaller base for the stand, JIC you want to display them closer together or run out of room lol. Lemme just breeze through the other characters rather than show the same box and etc over again! Lady Diva prob has my favorite face and her hair is amazing, soft shiny nylon ponytail that goes down to her ankles (except for the puff in the front) it feels so silky and gorgeous:

She comes with an extra necklace and a headset (the little choker says ‘Slay’ lmao I love it) I aesthetically hate her skirt and purse because I do NOT like animal print, but the skirt is still well made (though it barely fits around her butt), her fur coat is shedding a little bit and the sleeves go past her hands.  Her two-piece undies are stunning though! You’ll also notice her belt is falling off- this is the only design flaw, the bels don’t have clasps, you just basically drape them over and they hang on in the back. But Diva’s is warped, so it  doesn’t drape correctly. Will have to fix that with boiling water.  I haven’t decided if I want to keep the hair puff, or comb it into a pompadour like Dynamite Girls Electropop Jasper. Will def be washing the gel out of her ponytail though. Royal Bee is STUNNING, her hair is incredibly thick and the little curls are so well done. The nylon is incredibly smooth and shiny, the blonde highlights are SO shiny that they look like tinsel. It’s really, really amazing hair. Her thatching goes all the way to the back of her head and it’s V thick.

Her lips are glitter, but it’s such a fine glitter that she just looks like she’s wearing a metallic liquid lip. I love her lil baby hairs and the metallic eyeshadow! I honestly didn’t think I’d like her makeup, but I think she’s one of my top favorite dolls of the bunch. She’s soooooo nice. The metallic cord around her buns is a nice touch, they really went there with every detail for this line.

I love her sheer pants and the incredibly detailed jacket, with the little metallic shoulder pads! I’m gonna leave her hair as-is for now, but I may eventually take down the buns and wash her hair.  My only issue with her is that her choker is really hard to put on lmao.  Neonlicious is super cute (but needs the most work hair-wise)

She has the most detail in her face, with two different eye shadows, star freckles and wiggly brows. The fact that she has wiggly brows is, imo, a sign that MGA really, REALLY spent a lot of time looking at current trends while designing these dolls, like they did in 2002-08 for Bratz. Her hair is very nice, my only issue is the sheer amount of product in it. The sides and fringe are drenched in it. Her short bangs kinda terrify me because it’ll be hard to even them out without making them too short, but the quality of the hair is amazing and she has a full set of crimps.  I’ll also probably cut the side pieces to match the rest, they’re annoying tbh. Her undies are very nice and will definitely be useful, versatile pieces for restyling. I hope we get fashion packs!!

Her glasses are awesome lmao, it’s such a weird design. The vinyl over-dress is very well done, with studs and stitching in place, and her jacket is very well tailored- you can even close it at the waist! She only has earrings and a bracelet jewelry-wise, likely because she comes with an (awesome) hat. She’s very like.. if Leloo from Fifth Element was a runway model, doing a show for a Moschino x Rugrats collection lmao. Very that, and I love it.  Group photo (with bad lighting):

Overall thoughts...ya’ll I hardcore LOVE this line. The level of quality and attention to detail is something I haven’t seen in playline for almost a decade, the designs are current, trendy and well tailored, the dolls themselves are gorgeous and unique, the body is well made, the hair is amazing quality and thickly rooted, literally not a single problem with these dolls, even the QC is great. Worth every penny, and I’ll definitely be buying the next wave. Highly, HIGHLY recommend. And as a very picky collector, that means a lot coming from me lmao.  ETA: codes and sales info DPCI and UPCs for each of the LOL OMG dolls:

Swag-

UPC-035051560548

DPCI-086-02-4903

Royal Bee-

UPC-035051560555

DPCI-086-02-8366

Lady Diva-

UPC-035051560555

DPCI-086-02-9404

Neonlicious-

UPC-03505160562

DPCI-086-02-9906 Retail price: 26.99 The dolls come one of each in a case and the street date (July 7th) was lifted yesterday, so the dolls are coming into stock and put on the floor immediately for sale! The DPCIs aren’t on Brickseek yet, but you can tall your local Target and they’ll know (however they’re not doing holds because it’s a ‘hot item’)

[selfundiagnosed]

i’m trying to find my style! i’m fat so it’s hard to find clothes that fit me that aren’t ugly lol i really like ur style so i’m kinda trying t model after u lol would you recommend any stores? ty!!

GOODWILL AND SALVATION ARMY MENS SECTIONS. Oh my god. Understand the image youre trying to convey. Find lots of details abt what makes it the image you like (see: sleeves, color schemes, fabric, texturing, etc)

For example, cottage core is very light colors... beiege, baby pink, floral prints, ruffles, layers, earth tones, etc.

My clothing is very much grunge esque brown only but now that its summer im dipping my toes in mustard and orange. But i love fringed shorts, very choppy DIY looking clothes. Stripes STRICT browns, leaning towards WARM browns. I seldom tuck my shirts into my pants. Try not to cuff my pants and prefer long pants that semi-hide my shoes. Sweaters, cardigans, patterns cant be too complex or too contrasting. Love patterns that are uncommon but still simple and follow the color scheme

A big part of why i dress the way i do is body dysmorphia. Like a big reason i dont tuck anything into my pants is bc im bottom heavy and it makes me (and unfortunately others) painfully aware of my curves so i just wear baggy shirts over straight leg jeans.

Please do not let your weight dictate what you wear or how you wear it. What you should let dictate that stuff is how comfortable you are with it. Do you like tucking ur shirts into high waisted jeans? do you like how it looks? If yes, fuck what i do and go do that! Yes get inspiration from others but tinker it and make it yours!

And dont let yourself be hindered by a strict clothing style like i do. At the end of the day i dress this way because of body dysmorphia, dysphoria, and obsessive behavior. To a lot of people i seem dedicated but i dont have a choice lol

[su-angelvicioso]

Maria’s Wardrobe

Now I know a lot of people like to paint her as someone that’s only into black and red and drab and all that but i’m here to tell you that is not only cliche, but boring. María was born, rasied, and bitten in Mexico okay? She appreciates some color alright? Just wanted to set the record straight. Colors have been all around her since the day she was born, there’s no way she’d just stick to one. Not when she’s making or buying her clothes. Even in the movies she’s seen wearing very light/frilly clothing.

Girls got style, a cute one that alters sometimes. I see her as wearing a lot of off-shoulder tops, strapless/sleeveless tops, bustiers, tanks, crop tops, and such that come in a variety of colors. I see her really liking floral prints and embroidery. She also looks really adorable in stripes and polka-dots though she doesn’t wear those patterns much? This is a weird thing for her but she also adores clothes with cute little food designs but never wears them lol. She just thinks they’re neat. Some of her favorite colors to wear are pink, yellow (bc it really brings out her skin), purple, green, white and red (pairs well with her brunette hair.)

She likes less layers/restricting clothes because she’s kind of very active (and a fighter lol) so she doesn’t really want her clothes to be too tight or too long. but on days where she isn’t doing much she might be more open to longer clothes, like the long skirt we see her wearing in the movies; but that was in the 1800’s so her choice of long clothes have definitely changed since then lol. Same goes for tighter clothes. Although she usually wears them when she’s getting dressed up, on some lazy days she might wear a tighter fitting outfit just cause lol.

She may be active and doesn’t mind getting her hands dirty but she also really likes to look cute. So (and I’m totes projecting here) she really likes wearing short shorts the most, and capri’s second, a lot of her jeans are like rolled or cuffed at the end and they vary in size from like a fat cuff or a skinny cuff. She likes to get really creative so sometimes she’ll cut up her jeans and make them into even more shorts, and paint cute designs or add cute accessories onto them. Her favorite being daisies. Her favorite pair of shorts at the moment are a dark wash blue jean with a cute white lace at the trim/hem and on the pockets. She loves pairing it with a white crop top and her dark wash jean jacket.

She likes jackets, sweaters, cardigans and such but they usually are very light. The only time she really wears heavy outerwear is when the weather is bad and she doesn’t want to look weird by not being appropriately dressed. But it’s cute bc she pairs it with adorable scarfs and beanies and boots. Her tops tend to have a bit of a lower cut in the front which shows a little cleavage but thats okay. Sometimes she covers using one of her cardigans.

Her usual outfit is a very light cardigan, with some sort of tank top or sleeveless top underneath, a pair of shorts, capris or jeans, and either flats or like keds or something. She doesn’t have a lot of heels but she does own a few cute pairs in mostly base colors for her more flashy clothes. Her heels also tend to be more chunky because she walks better in those than others, she owns a cute pair of wedges with white straps because they always go so well with her sundresses. She tends to like platformed shoes as well bc they give her some height.

This post is more so based on her modern clothing bc I already kinda wrote another post about how she wears her more traditional clothing, which she usually makes herself using old techniques (here). Her tehuana’s are always to die for.

[sharkmobster]

spider verse coffee shop au??

Anon im sorry i wanted to draw the coffeeshop au but ive been so tired lately so imma just overshare about what goes down bc this au is just (thick tombstone voice) : “everybody’s traumatized bitch lets get you a latte”

 • this au is incredibly villain centric bc uhhhhh all i do is think about villains

 • its also very aaron davis centric bc time to project my anxiety onto a grown ass man babey!!

 • anyway this takes place in a normal world where there’s no superheros or avengers or what have you, everyone’s super average 

• like i said this is more or less aaron centric and focuses on him readjusting to society and making connections with other people, and just healing in general. Aaron’s whole deal is that he was wrongfully arrested for defending himself against an off duty cop who was harassing him and ended up with a 10 year sentence  (but was let off a year earlier for good behaviour). He’s got a lot of guilt bc of this if only for the fact that he feels like he let down his brother and Miles (who was a small lad at the time).

 • Fun Fact! Jefferson was the one that picked up Aaron at the jail when he served out his sentence! The ride back to brooklyn was awkward! but also jefferson loves his brother and even tho they’ve had their falling outs he never once stopped believing that his brother was innocent. Jefferson also made sure to pull some strings and ended up getting an apartment set up for Aaron (even though jefferson and rio were 100% down to open their home to him for as long as it took him to get back onto his feet but of course aaron denied them bc he didnt want to be a burden) Aaron’s grateful but he tends to avoid his own family…a lot….

• it’s ridiculously hard to find a job bc nobody wants to hire an ex convict no matter the circumstances and Aaron’s legitimately about to lose hope when he spots an expensive looking shop nestled in between an old arcade and a knick knack shop

 • ‘Vanessa’s Cafe’ is neatly printed above the door in fancy gold lettering. it’s obvious that the owner has serious cash bc the shop looks too damn good and too well maintained to be a regular mom and pop shop. there’s a help wanted sign hastily scribbled on a piece of notebook paper in the middle of the window which is odd since it off sets the professional vibe of the place. But hey it’s worth a shot so Aaron walks in ready to be denied another job only to find the weirdest looking group of people he’s ever seen.

 • The first guy that catches his attention is the very large albino man who looks way too stressed out and manic to be working in a coffeeshop, but the job must pay well because he’s very well dressed.

 • “Liv, for fuck’s sake! Clean your goddamn station!” he’s whisper shouting? Is that even a thing? oh look at that he’s got a full set of razor sharp teeth. huh. that’s a hell of an aesthetic he’s going for.

 • The lady in question isn’t even giving him the time of day, just enthralled by her phone with a smile that looks too peaceful given what’s happening around her. She’s got wild hair tied up messily in a knitted bandana, weird glasses (custom made??) and when she glances up at aaron, her eyes widen in interest like he’s some anomaly to be cracked open. aaron looks anywhere that isnt the wild eyed lady at the counter.

• Theres another big guy that’s hanging around the back, heavily tattooed and lifting stacks of heavy boxes. Aaron takes notice of his prosthetic hand and the tattoo guy takes notice of Aaron. 

• “Lonnie. Customer.” The Tattoo guy seems nonplussed about Aaron and walks into the back. aaron assumes that he’s offended him by staring at his prosthetic for longer than necessary which yeah….yeah he’s probably not happy about the staring. 

 • lonnie’s got a bad case of resting bitch face so he’s glaring at aaron without actually glaring and he’s just rough around ALL the edges so his tones got that nice bite to it as he shouts from across the counter (which is not something you do to a customer but it’s lonnie…..)  "Hey! Ya looking for a job, skinny jeans?!“

 • Aaron blanches at the idea of working with these people but he is absolutely desperate for a job at this point.

 •"Yeah. I just got out of-”

 •"Great, you’re hired! We’re speed running this whole introduction thing, string bean.“

 •and that’s all i got other than like small details like:

 •Peter B Parker owns a ”“’'cafe”“” across from Vanessa’s and its literally just a burger joint that h a p p e n s to sell coffee and Parker will fight you if you call his place a deli ahdhdj

 •Liv and May are dating (big shock) and peter b has to constantly deal with seeing his competition over at his place all the time and it’s yikes

 • Tombstone and Noir will 100% throw hands on contact. They don’t hate each other tho??? Its weird they just like to fight. gives them a chance to work on their banter i guess. Noir works the coffee machine at Peter’s “'cafe”’ so i guess he’s the “”barista”” of the joint but he drinks the coffee more than the customers do

 • Miles and the rest of the spider kids “”“”“"intern”“”“” at the cafe which basically translates to free labor

 •  spider ham works there but he isnt a pig he’s just john mulaney. i know its weird. nobody actually sees him tho so he’s a complete mystery as to what he looks like so he could be john mulaney you never know. the only person who’s seen him is noir and that’s only bc they’re  a thing???

 •oh speaking of everyone being gay:  everyone’s gay

 • Lonnie and Gargan (tombstone and scorpion) are 100% dating but everyone legitimately thinks that the both of them are straight old men despite the fact that they live together, go to work together, hang out afterwards together, and they’re just always together

 • lonnie’s  daughter (janice)  visits every other week (def the product of a divorce he went through years ago) she’s alright with gargan but she’s very distant towards her dad and def has that teen angst phase that she’s going through

 • (lonnie can and will talk to you for hours about how much he loves and supports his daughter despite the fact that their relationship is very estranged)

 • you can find janice hanging out with the cute blond punk girl at that weird burger/coffee place across the street

 • oh gargan’s big and strong despite the fact that he’s missing three limbs, liv works in robotics on the side and constantly tweaks and repairs his prosthetics when they start acting up which leads to them having this weird friendship where they both borrow each other when they need something and dont really expect anything in return (like gargan’s good for getting her supplies and doing heavy lifting when she needs it and liv’s always down to run check ups on gargan)

 • oh yeah liv used to be a scientist but immediately lost her license and phd when she started going above some board members heads to buy less than legal things through super illegal sources

.• that’s another thing, kingpin tends to just hire ex cons and criminals to work in his cafe just bc he believes that a person willing to work hard to better themselves deserves a chance to re enter society again.

 • like they’ve all done bad things but still ended up with a job at the cafe. aaron fought a cop, liv did some shady deals for an illegal experiment, gargan used to run a drug ring years ago due to personal reasons but once he was free from jail he never dealt with the stuff again, and lonnie killed a dude (allegedly. he never went to jail bc they couldn’t prove anything but hey word spread around quick and everyone knew not to go anywhere near this guy)

 • kingpin is in this au btw he’s just……a very depressed man who’s still grieving over his wife and son dying in a car accident

.• he rarely shows up to run the cafe bc its too much for him being in the place that his wife loved and built up from the ground. he used to be the manager after she died but couldn’t handle it and mostly left lonnie to take care of it

• which holy fuck lonnie is trying his best to keep this cafe alive and well and there’s only two other people working there so like its enough to have him scrambling all over the place trying to find more help (thanks aaron)

 •miles doesn’t know aaron’s working at the cafe across the street and aaron def wants it that way bc even tho he’s out of jail he hasn’t actually……visited miles yet….. it’s the shame that’s keeping aaron from reaching out to him which is….sad bc miles doesn’t care what happened he just wants his uncle back.

 • oh oh one more thing RIPeter used to run the deli across the street but had to leave brooklyn to go volunteer at homeless shelters across the states indefinitely so theres no telling when he’ll be back, so he left the cafe under the guidance of pb parker (peter b parker voice: my cafe now)

 •and uhhh thats all i got, like i said this au is just found family trope + the healing we all want + bad people getting redemption which is all the tropes that i love all compacted together in the most cliche au you can imagine!

[guardiandae]

Meta/Commentary Part 1: A Little ‘XO’ Wouldn’t Go Amiss

(Spoilers below)

Wade finally learned his roomie's real name on day two, when the proposed nickname of 'Priscilla' was rejected via stabbing.

"Y'know- I usually know a guy's name before I let him penetrate me," Wade joked, gritting through the pain.

"My name is Nathan Summers. You can call me Nate. Or you can shut your whore mouth."

I’m gonna say this right now so when I finally finish the sequel of this fic, nobody can cry foul or anything or pretend that I didn’t plan everything all along from the very start of this journey: There’s a reason why Nate stabbed Wade and it’s not just to be an edgelord. This fic starts written in Wade’s POV and then switches to Nate’s, and there is so much more info revealed from Nate’s perspective that changes how interactions are colored. In the sequel, it’s not written in that style but eventually you will understand Nate’s POV and be able to look back on this (and other moments) and be like, Ah. I spent a few months just agonizing over this fic planning. The levels of depth going on here, you don’t know.

Also it’s hilarious because, the movie never really establishes Cable’s real name so hi, it’s Nathan Summers. Scott Summers’ (Cyclops)’s son, but like... older than him because future and time traveling hijinks or whatever. This is only important because like, daddy issues.

-

technically they were even sleeping together, even if Nate slept in the only bedroom because he'd called dibs and Wade slept on the couch in a pile of fast food wrappers.

Denial.

Living with Nate was weird after living with Vanessa for so long. No more kisses -- not like he wanted any.

Denial!

-

Usually when Wade got home, Nate was never there.  Hours later when Nate did come back, he'd just go to bed. Other times, Wade was hired for jobs that took days of travel to complete. There was little interaction between them and they barely saw each other, so Wade took to leaving little notes behind.

[Went to get milk. And also to put a cap in someone's ass. He's a bad guy though, so don't worry. I'll be home late. xoxo] [Forgot the milk. Also didn't cap the guy so I didn't get paid. Can you pick some up while you're out? xoxo]

So much info in one little spot. Nate only sees them as roommates, as a living arrangement and tenuous partnership to serve as an end to both of their needs. Nate has a place to live, and his only responsibility, as we learn in his POV, is to pay the rent on Wade’s behalf, with Wade’s money, because Wade is a disaster and his memory is getting worse. Not only is Wade just an annoying person who can’t take anything seriously, in his incorrect opinion, but there’s that level of guilt for feeling like a freeloader when Nate is the kind of person who’s had to fight just to survive his entire life. Wade’s little notes are so sweet, but to Nate, 1. weird 2. is this a joke? 3. stop reminding me of how much you care and meanwhile i can barely bring myself to write a note back, aaaaaa

I need to remember to revive the note-leaving between them in the sequel. It’s too cute, I can’t stand it.

-

Mercenary jobs had become harder to come by, and then work dried up. It was almost like nobody wanted to pay a guy to kill people anymore. As if there could ever be a shortage of people in the world who needed to die. But when one door closes, another opens -- everywhere he went, he suddenly saw slews of missing persons flyers. Wade had never noticed how many there were before, but he took it as a sign. He'd always wanted to try his hand at being a P.I. and Wade hadn't realized that the market was booming with families desperate to find loved ones. He offered his services as a private dick to several different people, but every single case was unsolvable. It was like they'd just vanished into thin air, but he knew that wasn't possible. It was frustrating to realize he was such a lousy dick.

Spoilers, but this is when the Thanos snap happens, and Wade is completely oblivious. Could someone who can be so devastatingly observant really be so obtuse? Or is his mind just protecting itself from such an incomprehensible reality that everyone else is suddenly saddled with? These are things Nate wonders later as well. Even I don’t know for sure. (I haven’t watched End Game and there’s still more plotline to tackle during the Snap, don’t @ me about how Marvel did it, I don’t know and I don’t care, I have my own plans)  (By the way, characters will either be snapped or inexplicably alive, and that’s not a plot hole, that’s the joke. Welcome to Marvel, the writers never fucking make sense and I don’t have to either, YEET)

[Someone tried to sell a metal arm on the black market????!! It better be Bucky's and not yours. Not like I care.] [It was Bucky's.]

Rip Buckkyyyyyy lmaooo

But also, cryyyy because Nate is busy trying to help deal with absolute fucking chaos and he didn’t really stop to consider whether Wade would be wondering what happened to him. Ow. Yeah, I think Wade definitely subconsciously registered what happened and is in total denial of reality. It’s better that way. Nobody fucking tell him.

-

There was nothing that he hated more than being ignored. Might as well just talk to himself. Which he did a lot of lately.

Foreshadowing.

-

All of the warmth left his body at once, leaving him a little breathless and dizzy. He was vaguely aware of Nate looking at him, but it was less of a 'you're home' and more of a ' why are you here?'

This whole area of the fic hurts so good because I’m gay and I love drama.

Wade coming home, literally bleeding to death on the inside and in shock because, once again, everything went to shit for him, story of his life. And he sees Nate just there, dressed down, relaxed, and has this little flash of domestic happiness because he so desperately wishes that the domestic happiness was real and that Nate actually was waiting for him and happy to see him come home, and the hard snap back to reality where Nate doesn’t even like him is soooo fucking painful lol end me. And on top of that, he misread Nate’s concern as hate/disgust for him bc that’s what he’s used to, and then he passes out on the floor and wakes up with Nate over him because I’m gay and I love drama!!!!

-

"Wade, you died for a second," Nate told him. Wade couldn't quite tell if Nate was concerned for him or just annoyed. "I had to pull a piece of metal pipe from your chest. Can you tell me what happened?"

"I got a… pipe in my chest," Wade said, pausing for breath. His lungs felt wet and heavy. He should've left the pipe in.

"Very illuminating," Nate deadpanned, letting go. "Anything else I should know?"

This moment where Nate is so very fucking concerned for Wade, but then Wade cracks a weak joke, because that’s how he copes, and Nate is like, wow, fuck it, so much for being worried about you.

[[SCREAMS IN GAY.]]

-

These thoughts didn't feel like his own, even though they had his voice. His mind was always scattered, full of thoughts that flowed nonstop like a babbling brook. Sometimes it took a lot of conscious effort to reign himself in and make sense of his own head. But these just popped out of nowhere, in bold print, in boxes that were separate from everything else.

"Am I going nuts?" he wondered aloud, whispering to himself, because honestly, he was a little afraid of his own head right now.

(A little late to be asking that.)

And this is when the ‘boxes’ manifest for Wade. But in this fic, the voices that manifest in his head are his own intrusive, negative thoughts. The depression, the loneliness, the self-hatred, the belief and fear that Nate hates him too.

-

I’m gonna recap vs a full copy and paste because the next bit is long:

-Wade is coughing up blood clots from his lungs in the morning, or trying to. -Nate is disgusted but also sympathetic and offers to help Wade out. -A really layered conversation occurs.

“Maybe if I drown myself in the bathtub, the blood clots will rinse out. What d'you think?"

Wade’s exhausted. Joking, but also dead serious. Nate is concerned about Wade making such a dark joke, but he also can tell that Wade really is struggling.

“I’ll help you.”

“Really?” Wade is relieved Nate wants to help him, at first, but then remembers he just said he wanted to drown himself in a bathtub, and becomes disheartened again because he remembers Nate doesn’t like him. “Oh. Yeah.”

From Wade’s point of view: Nate just offered to help Wade kill himself, because of course someone would get a kick out of drowning him, he’s annoying, yadda yadda.

From Nate’s point of view: Wade isn’t okay and he offered to help him with his problem, because he sounds desperate and Nate doesn’t think that jokes will help Wade with his mental state, nor will the drowning actually do anything to solve the problem (the blood clots festering in his lungs).

"I bet you'd love to hold me down and watch me struggle," he said, still thinking about the drowning idea. Then, in a flirtatious tone, "I'll make it good for you, baby. Just promise me we'll do it face to face."

From Wade’s POV: He’s making a joke about Nate drowning him, but also making a sex joke to make it funny, to mock Nate if he really does want to drown Wade, so maybe he wouldn’t do it, or maybe it’d be weird and interesting.

From Nate’s POV: Wade is flirting with him, and his humor and still really dark and Nate really shouldn’t laugh at it or encourage that kind of thing.

From Wade’s POV, seeing Nate trying not smile: ah holy fuck he really wants to drown me.

"I don't want to watch you struggle," Nate said. If he did, he'd just leave Wade alone to keep coughing up blood.

"Ah. Consensual," Wade nodded. "Okay, well, I'd be open to some over-the-clothes stuff, and whatever happens while I'm still dead doesn't count."

Nate couldn't help but laugh. "I don't think we're having the same conversation."

Wade is continuing the joke, because from his POV he’s like, whelp, this might as well be what happens.

But they really aren’t having the same conversation. There’s more like, four different conversations happening at once. Wade’s very sincere idea of drowning himself as a solution to his problems, and Wade joking about Nate drowning him as a sexual innuendo.  Nate interpreting Wade’s dark humor as a shitty attempt at flirting that he neither wants to encourage nor outright shoot down, and Nate offering to give Wade a better solution to fix his actual problem.

And Nate’s solution is to use his telekinesis to just... remove all the shit from Wade’s lungs. But he didn’t communicate that idea with Wade before just doing it, even if he did ask permission, so that’s pretty shitty and hence why we had to add the ‘Nonconsensual Telekinetic Heimlich Maneuver’ tag. smh

"That was dubious at best and now we have to add a warning in the tags," Wade sighed. "Non-consensual telekinetic Heimlich maneuver…. This is problematic now. People aren't gonna click on this."

-

This is a good spot to stop for now and continue in another post.

[yourprayer]

“Quitting time at the plant. Time for supper now. Time for families. Time for a cool drink on a porch. Time for the quiet rustle of leaf-laden trees that screen out the moon. And underneath it all, behind the eyes of the men, hanging invisible over the summer night, is a horror without words. For this is the stillness before storm. This is the eve of the end.”

a twilight zone inspired one shot

based on the episode “third from the sun”

this is my it fandom secret admirer gift exchange (@itfandomsecretadmirers) present for @reddiesetrichie ! i hope you enjoy this piece, and i hope this is close enough to your interests i not so sneakily asked you about (x so sorry this is late! i hate being an adult with a job asdikkfdckj

pairings: reddie, stenbrough, benverly

word count: 12.5k

warnings: swearing, allusions to sexual activity, smoking/drinking, mild depictions of violence  + to avoid spoilers, i will say only that this piece centers around a fairly heavy political subject. please proceed with caution as you read as this may be upsetting to those easily upset by political turmoil. remember that this is fiction & for fun, don’t stress yourself out/upset yourself over it! i won’t be offended if you don’t read bc it is too heavy. this is in no way intended to be a proclamation of something to come (i mean only that im not trying to say i think this is going to happen; im not trying to scare you. this is just based on the episode, and that’s what it happens to be about. this was written in the 60s for the sole purpose of being an interesting and compelling piece of sci fi. im using it for the same thing) this is getting long winded but basically, if you have any questions about content before you read, shoot me an ask and i’ll tell you privately bc i don’t want to spoil the twist for anyone. i just thought it would be really fun to do a twilight zone au, but this show can be very thought provoking, sometimes in a scary way. 

the twilight zone is available on hulu, netflix and cbs all access! i recommend watching the ep before (or after, if you don’t want spoilers!) reading this piece but its not necessary! heres a link to the ep free online if you have none of those services, but the picture is off center so i recommend the services over this! + the opening theme to get you in the mood!

Richie Tozier sighed, shifting his identification card from one hand to the other in impatience. The sun had just began its descent from its highest point in the sky, and the heat of the afternoon started to seep into his skin through the heavy work suit he was wearing. Why his supervisors insisted they come to the factory is full dress attire was beyond him, but it was his own fault for leaving the suit jacket on. It was quittin’ time after all; he could just take it off. Perhaps it was the nervousness and distractions of the day that made him disregard the possibility altogether.

To say his mind was not on the task at hand would be quite the understatement. He could barely count with both hands the number of pieces he’d fudged the fabrication of; his average was usually two or three, but on this day, he knew he’d reached double digits. He almost laughed to himself, catching his mind thinking of the next weekly review; his boss, red-faced and shaking, telling him off for wasting materials. It would be quite a sight, quite a sight for a laugh, if it ever came to be.

Yes, he almost laughed to himself.

Almost.

“Mills, Germ Warfare Research.” The bored voice of the gate guard cut off his wandering thoughts as he stepped forward in line. The man in front of him had his card read and his person pursued for any out of place items or (as he knew was the real protocol) smuggled machinery by the two uniformed men minding the exit from the factory grounds. No matter the department, the employees at the facility were all funneled in a single file line through the one break in the fence, each required to show their employment I.D. upon entering and exiting the property. Richie flicked his own identification card between his fingers in impatience as he waited for the man in front of him to be cleared and begin his trek to the parking lot.

The man cleared the way, and Richie stepped forward, handing his card to the guard on his left.

“Tozier, Hydrogen Armament.” He read aloud, as the guard across from him checked Richie’s name off of a numbered list on his clipboard. “You fellas are getting pretty busy up there, aren’t ya?” The guard questioned conversationally as Richie returned his card to his breast pocket.

“Very.” Richie replied curtly, not wanting to continue the conversation. He stepped out of the line, off to the side of the path of the cars. He knew he should be rushing to get to his vehicle, he knew he shouldn’t be lingering on the premises; but he also knew his supervisor, Mr. Bowers, was just a few feet away, eyeing him suspiciously. I must maintain some image of normalcy, he thought to himself. Deciding it would be best to stick with his usual habits, he reached into the same pocket his card resided in to extract a cigarette and match from their respective packets. His nervous fingers brushed his departmentally issued employee identification button, the numbers that dictated his employee profile printed largely on the face. He sighed heavily, exhaling the smoke from his first drag, attempting to quell any physical signs of his fear that could possibly be showing.

“Hold that light, will you, Tozier?” A voice from over his shoulder jarred him as he went to shake out the match. Suddenly a hand was gripped around his wrist, raising the match towards the tip of another cigarette. The mouth behind the butt and the statement belonged to none other than Bowers himself.

“Long day, wasn’t it?” Bowers said calmly, exhaling his drag as he let Richie extinguish the match. “They’ve got us going full blast, on our end.”

Richie barely dared to give him a nod, averting his gaze as he pinched the end of his cigarette and raised it to his mouth.

“It’s coming, boy.” Richie gritted his teeth at the petty nickname, one Bowers had been using to demean him ever since he’d been hired at the plant. “It’s really coming. A big one, too.” Bowers glanced around conspiratorially. “Even now, as we’re speaking, I’ll bet you anything they’re gearing up.”

Richie swallowed nervously, taking a deep pull with slightly shaking fingers.

Bowers finally looked over at Richie, making eye contact, a frightening edge to his gaze.

“Talk is forty eight hours.”

Richie felt his blood run cold.

“Wait and see if I’m wrong.” Bowers continued, an almost goading tone to his voice as Richie took another neurotic drag. “Forty eight hours, and then…” Bowers’ expression was nearing a sneer, as he raised a hand and mimicked a projectile flying. “Whoosh..” He added the sound effect, opening his closed fist like the opening flower of bomb bay doors on the bottom of a plane. Richie watched his gesture with a clenched jaw, his trepidation and anger growing as Bowers’ fingers continued to stretch open, accentuating his boss’s apathy over the situation. “Then, there goes the enemy.”

“And what are they doing in the meantime?” Richie’s temper got the better of himself, pulling the interjection from his closed teeth, even as his mind screamed at him not to speak, not to reveal his truth.

“What do you mean what are they doing?” Bowers gave him a cross look. “Retaliating, of course, though not nearly in the same fashion as us.” He gave a small, crass laugh. “Big fucking waste of time, you ask me.” Bowers took another drag of his still-lit cigarette. Richie finished his off and crushed it under his heel, trying to push all of his anger out of the bottom of his feet so as to prevent himself from putting in his two cents again. “We get ours in first, then they can’t do much.”

“The can respond, with their own ‘whoosh…’” Richie found himself speaking again, barely able to disguise the frustration and disgust in his voice, the only thing keeping him from repeating Bowers’ gesture was his tightly clenched fist, which he refused to release.

“Oh, they can.” Bowers nearly shrugged, taking another pull. “But not so accurately. Not so powerfully.”

“Then instead of losing a million people, we lose a hundred thousand.” Richie said hardly, his voice rising in anger.

“Dangerous words there Tozier.” Bowers made eye contact again, his gaze piercing. “Not a defeatist, are you?” Richie made no move to respond, only returning the look. “You better watch what you say.”

“And what I think, too.” Richie bit back with a raise of his eyebrows, challenging almost.

“And what you think.” Bowers rejoined.

Richie huffed. “Goodnight, Bowers.” He leaned in, just enough to be in Bowers’ space. “See you tomorrow?” He said pointedly.

Bowers didn’t reply as he watched Richie retreat to his vehicle.

He just... observed.

________________________________________________________________

A light, airy tune floated upstairs as Eddie Tozier (nee Kaspbrak) busied himself with his workload. He could visualize easily in his head his husband downstairs, drink in hand and hips swaying casually to the beat as he began to unwind from a long day at work. Richie would have just arrived home, car parked safely in the garage, tie possibly still yet to be undone, hands still slightly greasy from the machines as he poured his favorite scotch. Eddie smiled at the thought as the music grew a bit louder, and decided that he should make the vision become his reality.

Taking the stairs nearly two at a time, the undone top buttons of his shirt causing the collar to open a bit in the breeze his momentum caused, Eddie rushed down to greet his husband as he did every day.

He was greeted by the sight of Richie, drink in hand, record turning lazily in their player, his back to the stairs.

Two things instantly alerted Eddie that something was off. The first: Richie’s glass contained a considerably greater amount of the amber liquid than his usual. Richie had been a heavy drinker in their youth, and after a particularly nasty bout of alcohol-centered arguments Richie had given in and placed himself on a strict regimen of limitation. The second: he was not, as he always, always did, swaying to his music.

Eddie’s smile fell as he adjusted the spectacles that had been jostled on his way downstairs, pushing the center further up his nose with his middle finger. He pushed his rolled sleeves up just a bit more, a strange way of preparing himself to comfort his husband. He then approached Richie from behind, preparing his winning smile that Richie always maintained could cut through every stressor in his life.

Eddie only prayed that now, it could do its job.

“Hey there, handsome.” Eddie said kindly, sliding a hand around Richie’s waist as he tucked himself into Richie’s side.

“Hey, baby.” Richie turned to him, a pleasant but obviously forced smile plastered on his face. He pulled Eddie into a distracted kiss, setting his drink down and snaking his arms around Eddie’s middle to pull him close. “Where’s Mike?” He asked, pulling away all too soon.

“Outside, begging the new peonies to sprout.” Eddie joked. Mike was their best friend from college, housemate, and avid gardener, who had insisted on landscaping their entire yard. Richie looked towards their sliding glass door that lead to the side garden, and made a move to exit, dropping his hands from Eddie’s back.

“Oh, no you don’t. Not before our dance.” Eddie pouted, placing Richie’s hands back on his own hips and linking his around the taller man’s neck. Richie gave him a ragged smile, for a moment considering joining him in their well practiced sway, but after a moment removed Eddie’s hands and held them in his own, between their chests.

“Some other time, honey. Promise.” Richie said quietly, before releasing Eddie’s hands, picking up his glass, and crossing to the player, turning the music off.

Eddie watched in quiet awe as Richie looked again to the door, then appeared to have thought better of it before crossing the room and sitting heavily on the couch. Richie had never been able to say no to a dance.

“Rich.” Eddie said, concern written plainly on his face and in his speech, as he moved quickly to sit on the coffee table across from his worn out husband.

“Yes, dear?” Richie joked half-heartedly, placing a hand absentmindedly on Eddie’s knee as he took a sip of his drink.

“What’s going on with you?” He placed his hand on top of Richie’s, giving him a pleading look. It was unlike Richie to behave this way, but even more unlike him to admit why. Eddie steeled himself, determined to get an answer out of the man. Richie had been a bit more tense as of late, but had often been fine after a nice massage or a particularly satisfying night spent in bed. But this nervousness and distance he placed Eddie in was downright out of character, and he needed to know exactly what the cause was, so he could destroy it.

“Nothing serious, Eds.” Richie offered that same thin smile, and it set Eddie’s jaw in frustration. Just as he was about to lay into the man, Mike came in through the sliding glass door, wiping the sweat off his brow with a rag.

“Afternoon Rich, how was work?” He called over his shoulder after he spotted Richie, crossing into their kitchen to grab a glass of water.

“Work.” Richie said in a strange tone, taking another drink. “Hey, Mike?” He said after a pause, as the other man appeared in the doorway.

“Yeah?”

“I’m gonna invite everyone over for cards tonight. You’ll be here, right? Bill will want to see you.”

Eddie furrowed his brow, looking from Mike to Richie in confusion. They usually played cards on Fridays…

“Actually, guys, I uh…” Mike paused, taking a nervous sip of his water. “I have a date.” He said with a sheepish smile. “Maybe I could get home a little early, but..” His smile grew, obviously lost in thought of how his date might go.

“Call it off?” Richie said suddenly, worry briefly painting his features, and Eddie’s jaw all but dropped at the sight. On any other day in their normal universe where Richie was his Richie, smiling, joking, often highly inappropriate Richie, there would be congratulations and jokes about ‘making it’ and conspiratorial high-fives between him and his good friend. But here in this strange, hell universe where Richie was changing before Eddie’s very eyes into Richard Wentworth Tozier, a serious man, an alien on his couch where his husband should be, he was asking Mike to cancel a date.

“Rich, I- we’ve been planning this for awhile now, I’m very fond of her-” Mike said, rightfully flabbergasted.

“Please, Mike. I’ve had a terrible day. I’d like a night for us. Everyone, together again.” Richie pressed, giving Mike a solemn look. When he seemed hesitant, Richie extended his plea in a small voice. “Please, Mike? Just us losers.” A small smile at the end.

Eddie and Mike shared a look of concern.

“Sure, I guess.” Mike caved.

“Wunderbar.” Richie smiled, feigning his usual playfulness with his terrible German accent. Eddie noticed straight away there was no soul behind it. “Will you call everyone for me, Michael?” He asked before knocking back the rest of his drink. “I’ve got to have a private conversation with my husband upstairs, if you catch my drift.” He added a wink, some of his old energy creeping back into the conversation. Eddie watched the display in abject horror; this wasn’t Richie, this was a ghost trying on his clothing. No matter how much he tried to act like his rambunctious old self, with each attempt at humor Eddie’s worry grew.

Mike raised an eyebrow, finishing his water. “Sure I will. What time should I tell them?”

“Oh, around seven. Maybe earlier. Not before five, though.” Richie said as he stood and stretched, brushing off Eddie’s hand. Mike raised his eyebrows in confused concern and turned to use the phone. He almost reached it before he paused. “Wait, wasn’t Bill still out of town?”

“He got back this morning.” Richie replied, crossing to the fireplace and pulling another cigarette from his pack, before lighting it quickly.

“Really? I thought they were testing their aircraft all week-”

“They finished.” Richie said simply, his tone indicating the finality of the conversation. He had his back turned to both men as he took a long drag. Eddie stood, turning to look at Mike. Mike raised his eyebrow quizzically, to which Eddie responded with a shake of his head.

I’ll find out. Eddie mouthed to Mike. The other man nodded, and left to make the calls.

Richie finished about half of his cigarette before extinguishing it in the ashtray atop their fireplace. He then turned to exit the room, but was stopped by Eddie’s hand on his arm.

“Rich-”

“I just would like a game of cards, is all.” Richie asserted, not looking at Eddie. “Take my mind off of things.”

He pulled his arm out of Eddie’s grasp, and trudged up the stairs to their room.

“Richard.” Eddie said angrily, stopping at the bottom of the stairs with his hands on his hips. The use of the full name was usually a good way for Eddie to snap his husband back into seriousness; here it was only met with a retreating back. Richie did not stop, just continued until he hit the landing and turned to enter their bedroom, finishing his drink in the process.

Eddie huffed angrily, taking a minute to steal himself before storming up the stairs after him.

Richie stood before their bureau, idly examining a few trinkets spread across its surface. He placed his glass next to a watch their good friend Stanley had given him years ago, at the bachelors party before their wedding. Eddie watched as Richie trailed his long fingers slowly over the face, as if in attempts to memorize its texture.

“Richard.” He repeated. Richie did not turn around. “What is going on?” He demanded as he closed their door.

“Just feeling my years.” Richie said quietly, his shoulders falling.

“You’re thirty seven.” Eddie folded his arms across his chest.

“Touche.” Richie laughed to himself, catching Eddie’s gaze in the mirror above the bureau. Suddenly and without warning he turned, crossing the room easily in a couple of strides, and cupping Eddie’s surprised face in his hands. “But looking at you, dear,” He paused to kiss Eddie quickly. “Your beautiful face,” Eddie rolled his eyes, face reddening, more so as Richie peppered it with kisses. “It’s just reminding me of how old I feel…” He trailed off, gazing into Eddie’s eyes, but not looking, as though his husbands face was not truly there, not looking back at him. He looked instead as though he was glancing back through a pinhole, nostalgia and want written on his features, as his eyes saw not the man in front of him, but the boy he fell in love with. He saw Eddie now as he always did then; young, freckled, glowing. Memories swirled around him abstractly, no specific events coming to mind but rather an amalgamation of the years he’d passed. He thought briefly this was what it must be to have your life flash before your eyes.

After all, he was a dying man.

Eddie watched the display in a cocktail of wonder and horror.

“Richard, I need you to tell me what’s happening.” He said in a near whisper. “I- I don’t know if it’s work, but-”

“No, no, not work.” Richie shook his head, his fondness suddenly dropping off into exasperation as he released his grip on Eddie’s face. “It’s just work, it’s fine.”

“It doesn’t fucking seem like that.” Eddie’s voice raised as Richie turned around again, a hand sliding nervously through his hair.

“It’s just work! I’m just a cog in a machine baby, just a fucking part of the whole damned thing-”

“Richard-”

“Do you know how many men it takes to build a bomb, Edward?” Richie turned back suddenly, a dangerous expression in his eye as he stared down Eddie, still not seeing him. Eddie stared back in shock, bewildered by the strange question and terrified by the expression and the use of his name. Richie never called him Edward, not even in their worst fights, just when he was joking.

“What?” He sputtered, when it seemed the question was apparently un-rhetorical.

“Hundreds. Thousands maybe. I make lugnuts all day, babe, one fucking piece. Someone else cools them down. I operate the press, that’s all I do. All the other tiny pieces and functions, all of them need another person. Construction, assembly, execution… when it’s all said and done there’s so many of us. I’m just one piece. I just pull one lever….” By the end he’d worked himself into a frenzy, hands shaking as they pulled at errant strands of his barely-controlled hair, the curls Eddie had come to love so dearly over all these years protesting angrily against the gel applied that morning. Eddie wanted to jump back to that moment, Richie sitting in his trousers on the end of their bed, shirtless and smiling as Eddie worked the stuff through his hair, jokingly trying to distract him by snapping the waistband of Eddie’s boxers as he tried in vain to control the unruly locks. He wanted to go back so badly, and hold close the man he loved before he could turn into the one he saw now, frightened and frenzied as he rambled nonsense, pacing the self same room. He could not find an answer in his mind as to why his husband had come so undone; but then, he supposed he should have seen it coming, noticed it sooner. Even in that memory of the morning, even in Richie’s light smirk as he snapped the elastic for the twelfth time and looked up at Eddie, he should have seen that heaviness in his eyes. In retrospect he could see it; for weeks now, it had been there.   

“If you think of it that way,” Richie continued, more so to himself. “I’m- not solely responsible…”

“Responsible for what?” Eddie pleaded, shocked by the urgency in his own tone. “Rich, please, what is this about?”

Richie stood, one hand still on his forehead, looking off to the corner of the room.

“Please. Please speak to me.” Eddie begged, stepping closer and taking Richie’s hand in his own, using the other to make Richie look at him. “Tell me what has you so afraid. I- I can see it’s been plaguing you. For some time now.” Eddie swallowed, thoughts racing. “I’ve been- I’ve been frightened too. For awhile now. I couldn’t explain it if you asked but- there’s something in the atmosphere. Like this weight, this… wordless terror. I’ve seen it in others; especially in you. Please. Please tell me. Give it a name, Richard.” He stressed the latter, almost shaking Richie’s face as he held it in his hand, eyes searching the others for some give.

“Fear.” Richie muttered to himself as he placed his hands on Eddie’s arms, still staring at the spot on the carpet.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying, Rich. What is everyone so afraid of?” Eddie pleaded quietly, his hand trailing from Richie’s cheek to his chest, where his fingers brushed the button that proclaimed the numbers that dictated his husband. His Richie, complex, creative, beautiful Richie, reduced to a code. A cog in a machine.

“People are afraid because they make themselves afraid.” Richie said darkly, his tone shifting as he finally made eye contact with Eddie. His grip on the smaller mans arms tightened, and as he spoke he jostled Eddie a bit, his anger and frustration growing with each thought. “Because they do it to themselves, Edward, because they can’t just leave good enough alone. Because they have to take every inch they can possibly have, because there’s no compromise-”

“Chee, you’re frightening me-” Eddie breathed, attempting to pull Richie out of his trance with the pet name.

“Because no one makes any attempts at diplomacy anymore, because they’d rather play dice with our lives than pull their heads out of the sand-” Richie barreled on, Eddie’s feeble words falling on deaf ears as the taller man kept gripping, kept shaking him. “They’re afraid because now- now when it’s too late, far too late to change, to turn back, now they’re asking why-”

“RICHARD!” Eddie found himself shouting, shocking both of them, Richie’s anger lifting and being replaced with surprise, as he looked down at Eddie’s hands fisted in his lapels and gulped, realizing how tightly he held Eddie’s upper arms and letting go immediately, rubbing his hands over the muscles apologetically.

“Baby- I’m sorry-”

“What is this about?!” Eddie returned the jostle, desperately hoping he could shake an answer out of the man.

“I guess it’s too late for vagueness…” Richie nearly whispered, eyes roaming Eddie’s face.

Eddie huffed in frustration. “It sure fucking is.”

“It’s coming.” Richie said suddenly.

Eddie’s blood ran cold.

“No..” He breathed, feeling his knees go weak.

“It’s coming baby, sooner than anyone predicted.”

Eddie shook his head in denial, Richie’s arms around his back now the only thing holding him up.

“We have forty-eight hours.” Richie said solemnly, his eyes as grey as graves.

Eddie’s knees hit the floor.

“It- it can’t be-”

“It is.” Richie repeated, kneeling to pull Eddie back up into a standing position, his limp body refusing to cooperate.

“How- how bad?” Eddie caught his eyes, not moving, not allowing himself to be moved. Richie gathered his strength, both to haul Eddie up to the foot of the bed at least, and to say the heavier truth.

“Bad.” He said simply as he man-handled his husband to their bed. He sat down gingerly next to him, letting the smaller man rest his weight on him. “It’ll be the end… of everything. All of it. Our life as we know it… Gone. It’ll be a holocaust.”

Eddie could feel the world underneath him tipping and swirling as he tried to rationalize what Richie was saying. He knew that the situation was tense, that the enemy had their finger over the trigger-

The enemy, he scolded himself. No one is the enemy. There are no sides in a war that destroys us all.

He used what little strength he could muster to look up at Richie.

“What do we do?” He whispered, his voice shaking. He almost thought he might cry, but he was too shocked to form tears.

Richie raised a hand to cradle Eddie’s face, keeping it there so they could lock their gazes on each other, to help ground him.

“We’re getting out of here.” He said quietly, Eddie’s eyes widening. “Bill and I, we’ve devised a plan. The two of us, Mike, Bill and Stanley, Ben and Beverly and the kids too. We’re all getting out of here.”

“Where?” Eddie insisted, flabbergasted. If it was as bad as they’d been threatened, as bad as Richie had claimed, as bad as he had imagined, there’d be nowhere to go.

“I can’t tell you.” Richie said cryptically, instantly earning an expression of anger. “Baby, Eddie, I can’t tell you but you have to trust me. We’re leaving, tonight.” He squeezed the hand cupped around Eddie’s cheek, running his thumb over his cheekbone. “Between midnight and one, we have to be gone. Then we’re getting out of here.” Eddie just looked at him, fear freezing him down to his bones. “You can’t say anything, to anyone. Not even Mike, or the others. Bill and Ben are the only ones who know so far, and we’ve only just told Ben. But you can’t say anything.” Richie looked deep into his eyes, and Eddie nodded robotically. “What we’re doing… it’ll be dangerous. Anyone could be- could be on to us. They could be listening-”

“Richie, hey!” Mike’s voice suddenly filled the house, causing Eddie to nearly jump out of his skin. “Bill’s here to see you!” He continued as Richie wrapped his arms protectively around his frightened lover.

“I’m coming, tell him it’ll be a minute.” Richie called back, his loud voice strange against the heavy quietness that had been with them in the room.

“Chee…” Eddie sobbed dryly into Richie’s shoulders.

“Shhh… hey, I’ve got you.” Richie mumbled, rubbing a hand up and down Eddie’s back to soothe him. “Eds, it’s gonna be okay. I’ve got you.” Eddie shook his head, shivers wracking his body as the weight of his fate set in. “Baby, I have to go talk to Bill, but I’ll be back, I’ll be right back.” He gently pulled Eddie upright, wiping away the one tear that had managed to fall. “I need you to be strong for me. For yourself.” He stressed, a hand on Eddie’s knee. “I know you can, dear, you’ve always been. We can do this.”

“I’m so- I’m so frightened, Rich.”

“I am too. But you have to trust me; Bill and I have a plan. We’re going to make it. All of us; we’ll make it.”

Eddie watched, as though underwater, as Richie leaned over and kissed his forehead, before standing and leaving the room. He watched; drowning.

________________________________________________________________

“Well, buddy, you better have some fuckin’ fantastic work stories for tonight, I had to cancel a date for this.” Mike was saying with a laugh as Richie came down the stairs. He locked eyes with Bill over Mike’s shoulder, catching the same look of thinly-veiled worry that had been staring back at him in the mirror the past few days. They nodded to each other as Mike excused himself and left the room.

“Bill.” Richie said curtly, glancing out of a window near his front door.

“Rich.” Bill rejoined, shaking his head slightly to indicate they weren’t in the clear.

“You and Stan are still coming over tonight, right? Mike got ahold of you?”

“Sure did.” Bill said nervously, almost reverting back to the boyish stutter of his youth. “Wouldn’t miss it. Stan says he’s on a winning streak.”

Richie gave a curt laugh, before raising an eyebrow questioningly. “I’m sure I won’t hear the end of it, then.” He kept his tone conversational, plain, and unconcerned.

“He’ll be taking all your chips tonight, either way.” Bill said with a fake laugh as he tugged on his earlobe. Richie got the hint, glancing toward the window again. The slight rustle of a low hanging tree branch was enough to confirm his suspicion. Glancing around for inspiration, his eyes landed on the watch on Bill’s left arm.

“Say, Bill, S’at the watch Stanley got you for your anniversary?” Richie cocked his head towards the garage door.

“Sure is, made by his father, same as yours.” Bill nodded.

“Looks like it’s speeding up again, want me to take a look?”

“Sure, sure.”

The two kept their eyes locked on any open window they passed as they made their way into the garage, where Mike had set up his gardening bench, and Eddie had built his workstation. Eddie worked at a local chinaware store making ceramic figurines, each a tiny, intricate masterpiece. Richie took a moment to admire the small delicate pieces, the wonderful figures each holding the magic that he knew exuded from Eddie’s fingertips. These figurines were one of the things Richie found himself repeatedly falling in love with over and over again. Eddie never failed to amaze him with the things he could create. Every time he set about his work he would come out the other side with a magnum opus. Of course the man was always ridiculously humble about the affair, always blushing and brushing off Richie’s praises, but when he was at the bench, back hunched, glasses on the tip of his nose and his face scrunched up in concentration, he was a God in his element, and no amount of protest would ever convince Richie to think otherwise.

The reverie was ripped from his mind at the sound of Bill closing the door, the click of the latch as it slotted into place disrupting him.

“Rich, we’ve gotta change our plans.” Bill blurted urgently.

“Not yet.” Richie mumbled, eyes still on the line of figurines scattered across the work surface, a hand raised to silence Bill. He ignored Bill’s look of urgency and crossed to the bench, a hand trailing over it’s surface, before his eyes found the answer he was searching for.

Flipping the switch for Eddie’s fine sander, he turned to face Bill with a nod. The sound of the machine filled the room, as Bill crossed over to the bench to stand with him. Richie picked up one of the tools left out on the bench and gestured for the watch, fiddling with it and pretending to fix it.

“Okay, Bill. What’s happened.” He muttered under his breath, just so that he was barely audible to Bill underneath the hum of the sander.

“The guard we paid off- he’s had his shift shortened. He contacted me just a bit ago; he’s gonna be off at eleven instead of one.” Bill basically whispered, nervously watching Richie’s hands as they fidgeted.

“So we move it up a couple hours, big deal.” Richie feigned a shrug, his skittish swallow betraying him.

“Yeah right it’s a big deal, it’s gonna be a lot harder to pull off, you know there’ll be more guards on the field-”

“And if any of those guards stop us to ask, we’ll tell them we’re your family come to see the ships you work on.” He fixed Bill with a serious, placating look, steeling himself. Bill gulped.

“You think it’ll work?”

“It’s got to.”

“Does Eddie know?”

“I’ve just told him. Stan?”

“I have a.. A plan, to tell him… roundaboutly.”

“Mike doesn’t know.”

“Beverly got it out of Ben, but they didn’t speak of it in front of the kids. As long as they were careful…”

“Let’s just keep it that way, yeah? I wasn’t gonna tell Eds, but he looked like he would have about killed me if I kept talking cryptic… Maybe Stan and Mike should just…” Richie trailed off with a sigh. “God, does it even matter now? We just need to get through the evening, and if we’re only seeing each other…”

“Your point is sound Rich, but…” Bill’s fingers flew up to his earlobe again. “We both know there’s still some risk.”

Richie nodded, looking down at the watch and tool in his hands. He set both down on the bench and instead picked up one of the figures perched there. Eddie kept a small framed photo of the two of them at their wedding, surrounded by the rest of their group of friends, on the bench near his workstation. Bill, to Eddie’s right, a proud best man, and Stanley, on Richie’s left, Bill’s counterpart at the ceremony. Next to Bill was Beverly, red hair cascading and held tight in the grip of her then eight month old daughter Amelia, her proud father Ben on Bev’s other side, drink in hand and face frozen in a beaming smile. Beside Stanley stood Mike, a flower from his garden in his lapel, the arrangements on all the tables, and the boutineers of all the attending men in the wedding party. Each of them had a look of elation shining out of their faces, from Beverly’s crooked but blindingly white teeth to Eddie’s squinted eyes behind his spectacles. The wedding had taken place during the brief period in their timeline where they’d both had glasses; just before Richie’s laser surgery and just after Eddie had jokingly tried on Richie’s specs to find he desperately needed them. Richie’s eyes behind the thick frames were magnified, and in them he saw only love. His face was turned down towards Eddie’s, watching the smaller man laugh. He remembered the jab he’d just given Eddie’s side, trying to elicit a tickle-induced giggle for the camera. Richie studied his own face more. Written plainly alongside the endless stream of affection for the boy next to him was also another fountain; one of hope, of power, of bright longing for a future. The man that had gotten married that day had done so with determination to make that lovelight last. He had sworn that day he would love Eddie until he was a dying man, but had failed to consider just how soon that could come upon him.

Next to the photo was a small collection of figures Eddie had saved at Richie’s behest, one’s Richie had insisted were his best works and should be kept at home, instead of wasted in the outside world. Richie knew Eddie had only really kept them to get Richie to stop harassing him about it, but at this moment he was damn thankful to have won that fight. The one clutched in his hand was a small, vanilla painted bear, one Eddie had made clear back in the beginning of his career. It was misshapen in some places, and the paint was faded and uneven, but it was by far Richie’s favorite piece of Eddie’s. He loved it so much mostly because of the way Eddie had beamed when he had finished it, the way he had shyly handed it over to Richie and said Chee look I finished one, the way he had literally glowed with happiness as Richie lifted him in a swirling hug, laughing and kissing his face with praise. He remembered that moment every time he glimpsed the bear that sat on the bench, or sometimes their nightstand, or on the kitchen table. It was sometimes moved around, picked up on a whim and set down absentmindedly. Over the years Richie had developed quite the habit of moving knickknacks when he was unfocused.

Richie looked down at the bear in his palm, and closed his fist around it in determination. He suddenly stuffed it in is pocket, reaching out to grab the other six that sat near it. A bird, a bouquet, a bible, a key, a bicycle, and a slim silvery-black painted miniature vinyl record Eddie had given Richie for a gift one anniversary. In the shuffle it had made its way down here, along with the others, and was now joining them in the lining of Richie’s pockets. He then picked up the frame and began detaching the back, fingers trying to prize it open as Bill watched in slight confusion.

“The plan stays the same.” Richie said, still quiet under the buzzing machine, as he freed the photo from the frame. “We do everything the same, but we leave at ten.”

Bill watched him tensely as he folded the picture and placed it in the breast pocket of the suit jacket he still wore. “Okay. I’ll tell Ben when I get home.”

“Don’t. I’ll tell him when he gets here for cards. Just make sure they’re all packed.” He tapped a finger on the outside of the pocket. “You and Stan too.”

Bill nodded, fingers slowly moving to pick up the watch.

“I’ll see you at seven.” Bill said quietly as Richie turned off the saw.

“Well, Bill, I think you should be okay, but you should have the old father in law check that out when you and Stan go up and see him next month.” Richie said loudly, his raised tone casual enough to be convincing but a bit jarring after the noise. “I’m no horologist, so it’s not gonna be a perfect fix, but it should hold up till then.”

Bill nodded as he strapped the watch back on his wrist. “Thanks Rich. We’ll be over around seven for cards. Hope you’re feeling lucky.” He fixed Richie with a pointed look before turning to exit. Richie took one last look at the bench, eyes scanning over the figures scattered across its top, before deciding not to grab more and following Bill out of the room.

He did not turn to look when he turned out the light, thankfully so. Because if he had, he would have seen the not so slyly hidden face of Henry Bowers as he turned slowly to watch the two men through the window.

________________________________________________________________

“I’ll take three.” Mike mumbled, sliding his discarded choices across the glass table to Ben, who reached into the deck to grab three new cards for him. Mike took a small sip of his scotch as he accepted them, sighing a bit to himself as though he was displeased with what he received. He then dropped a single green chip into their pile in the center. He nodded to Eddie, who was absentmindedly twirling his hand through his fingers.

“Oh, uh, just two.” He took a moment to rifle through his cards before tossing two to Ben. “How much did you put in?” He asked Mike quietly as he accepted his new cards.

“Five.”

Eddie grabbed one of his dwindling stash of green chips and added it to the pile before taking a long drink out of his own glass. They had collectively decided with a silent agreement to crack open the bottle of high dollar alcohol Eddie and Richie had kept since their wedding, citing they were saving it for a special occasion. It had been forgotten when Bill and Stanley’s marriage had rolled around, and decided against each time one of the girls was born, and had remained gathering dust in their curio cabinet since.

Richie had thought tonight was as good as any to polish it off.

“Four.” He said after a swallow of his own, sliding the cards past the pile of chips between he and Ben.

“That bad, huh?” Ben joked, grabbing the new cards for Richie with a small, nervous smile. Benjamin, bless his soul, the only one of them who was still trying to find some kind of lightness in all their intensity. Richie only responded with a non committal noise as he viewed his new hand.

“I fold.” He sighed, laying his cards down and draining his glass.

“Damn shame.” Bill tried a smirk, reaching to deposit his green chip in the pile without trading in any cards. “You were just starting to turn a profit.”

“Yeah, well, you’ll just have to settle it with me next week.” Richie chided, causing silence to fall over the table. Bill gave him a small, quizzical look, as Richie raised his eyes to look at him. They shared that look for a brief moment, before Richie’s words dawned on them and they proceeded to dissolve into laughter. Ben laughed a bit timidly, like he was unsure of whether or not he was allowed in on the joke. Beverly and Mike shared a look of utter confusion as Eddie turned white. Stanley gave Bill an incredulous look, but was unable to decipher exactly what it was that had set his husband off. Bev and Ben’s daughters, Amelia and Lillian, sat undisturbed by the commotion on the carpet, playing with dolls they had brought along boredly.

Eddie cleared his throat as Richie and Bill’s laughter turned from mirth to neurotic bursts. “Maybe we should put up the bottle.” He tried, reaching to the center of the table to replace the stopper. “Um, tea, anyone? I’ve got a pitcher of iced…”

“That sounds wonderful, Eddie.” Beverly caught his eye, attuned acutely to his skittish behavior. “I’ll come with you and get some water for the girls.” Eddie nodded his agreement and the two stood, Beverly gesturing to the girls to come with them as they entered the kitchen. The sound of clinking glasses and pouring liquid pierced the silence that remained around the men in the living room before being broken completely by Mike.

“Bathroom break.” He muttered as he stretched, before standing and leaving the room. Richie waited until he heard the click of the latch before reaching for the bottle in the center of the table, unstopping it, and pouring himself another full glass.

“We finished the calculations.” Bill said after a moment of watching Richie drink. He gestured to Stan, who pulled a small folded square of paper from his shirt pocket. Stan unfolded it and spread it out on the table where Richie could see. Ben hopped the empty seat between him and Stanley that Bev had vacated, and joined the others in looking down at the diagram.

“By we he means I did.” Stan griped. “And I’d still very much like to know what this is about.” Stan gave Richie a hard look.

“You haven’t told him?” Ben asked Bill, brow furrowed.

“Coming from the guy who let it slip to Beverly-”

“She is my wife, you can’t expect me to just-”

“And I am your husband, so please, enlighten me.” Stan cut off Ben, joining him in staring down Bill, who was too busy looking at Richie for defense.

“Go ahead.” Richie shrugged, taking another swig.

“Stan-”

“Here we are, tea for everyone.” Beverly’s voice interrupted Bill, who flipped the paper over quickly in front of him. “Benny, you’re in my seat.” She joked as she handed Ben his glass, handing the other in her hand to Stanley, who was still eyeing Bill for an explanation.

“Sorry dear, just conferring with my financial adviser here.” He joked, elbowing Stan good-naturedly. “He says I shouldn’t bet so high next round.”

“And you really shouldn’t need Stan to tell you that.” She laughed as she sat down in Ben’s old seat. “Common sense should have that covered.”

There was a small smattering of snorted laughter at that, as Eddie came into the room with more glasses in his hands, doling them out to the remaining guests. Richie declined his.

“We ready to get back to it?” Stan said pointedly, practically daring Bill to respond as the the girls resettled themselves on the couch, snuggling up with the arm rests as though they were going to nap. Bill only glanced at his husband apprehensively, appearing like a fish groping for air as he searched for his words. Thankfully he was saved by Richie, who was rifling through his cards impatiently before calling out.

“Mike! Hurry up! We’re gonna get started!”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming.” Mike sighed as he turned the corner to re-enter the room, bumping into Eddie as he tried to return to his seat. “Oh, thanks.” He muttered as he accepted the drink in Eddie’s outstretched hand. He took a seat and began conversing with Richie, while Bill and Stan carried on a mumbled but heated conversation to their left, with Bev and Ben still joking around across from them.

Leaving Eddie the only one to hear the doorbell.

He froze as the small ding echoed near him. Placing his full glass on a small table in the entryway, he walked as if in a daze to their front door, not bothering to look through the peephole before flicking the lock.

“Hello-?” He said as he swung the door open, his intended end to the sentence bottoming out along with his stomach.

“Why, hello there Mr. Kaspbrak. Lovely evening isn’t it?”

The sneering face of Henry Bowers greeted him from his darkened doorway, the streetlight of their cul de sac illuminating him from behind and casting an eerie glow around his silhouette.

“Mr. Bowers…” Eddie barely managed, voice wavering as he tried to pull in a breath.

“Say, is your boy home? I have some business to discuss with him.” Henry said casually as he removed his hat.

Eddie turned to look at his friends, all distracted around the table.

“Richard?” He said in a small voice.

Richie turned to look at him over his shoulder, as well as a few of the others, whose faces all dropped as soon as they took in the sight before them.

“Mr. Bowers is here to see you.” Eddie continued, gripping the knob of the still open door as though it were a lifeline.

Richie’s curious expression was instantly replaced by one of white faced anger. He’d become no stranger to seeing Bowers at work, hell, the man was one of his superiors, he had to interact with him regularly. But it was another thing entirely for him to enter his home, as he was doing now.

They could all feel it, the memories of their youth coagulating like sludge as Bowers casually trudged across the carpet, stopping between Bill and Richie, who sat with the diagram face down between them and identical expressions of distaste as they looked up at the man. Eddie remained frozen at the door, unable to make himself move enough to swing it closed.  

“Well, what have we here? A little game of cards, huh Tozier?” Henry said with a smile as he set his hat on the table, over top of the paper.

“Just a few rounds.” Richie forced himself to say, keeping his gaze on the man in front of him, no matter how much he wanted to check on his husband, still frozen at the door. He felt his blood boiling and singing under his skin, his rage over Bowers having the audacity to enter his home just barely being overridden by his terror of their plot being discovered. If Henry somehow caught them in the act, or reported them…

They’d watch the world burn from a prison cell.

He settled for clearing his throat. “Would you care for a drink?” He tried to sound as hospitable as he could.

“That would be excellent.” Henry smiled down at Richie, before turning to look at Eddie. “Does your Eddie here still make that wonderful tea?”

Eddie’s color went yellow as Richie’s jaw clenched, seething at the use of the name.

“He does. I’ll get you a glass.” Richie made to stand.

“Nonsense, he’s got it covered. Isn’t that right, Eddie?” Henry said sharply, eyes locked with Richie’s, who still sat because Henry was now far too much in his space to allow him room to stand.

Eddie stood frozen at the door, his mind fighting a million battles (first and foremost, stopping him from running out the open door altogether) before clicking back on again.

“I’ll be right back with a glass.” He closed the door, composing himself. He caught eye contact with Mike, who had been monitoring him with care. They shared their look, one perfected over many years of friendship and caring for each other, Mike’s raised eyebrow an unspoken question.

Eddie shook his head no, before disappearing into the kitchen.

“Nice night.” Henry mused as the group watched he and Richie with trepidation. The girls were settled on the couch, grateful they had gone unnoticed and hoping it would continue. Every once in awhile Ben would steal a glance at them, praying (as much as it hurt him to do so) that Henry’s attentions would stay focused on Eddie. He subconsciously reached a hand down to touch the faint scar that remained on his stomach, and remembered.

“It is indeed.” Richie responded mechanically.

“It’s a night for a tall drink on a porch. And sleep. Nothing else.” Henry gave Richie a pointed look.

“Right you are.” Bill said suddenly, trying to deflect the conversation as he watched Richie’s nostrils flare, sensing his friend’s anger was on a precipice. “Stanley and I are just about ready to head home and do just that.” Bill patted Stan’s leg, but left his hand there, hoping it would help comfort his partner, whose worry was plain. “I’ve been up north all week testing an aircraft, so I’d like to call it an early night. Haven’t gotten much sleep recently.”

“Is that aircraft the one we’ve been hearing about over in operations? The one they’ve said’s capable of even possibly leaving the atmosphere?” Henry questioned him with a raise of his brows.

“That’s uh, that’s the goal. Eventually.” Bill swallowed. “But we’re really not even close to that part yet. It’s mostly been about keeping her in the air.” He said with a timid laugh.

Eddie entered the room again, glass in hand, which was trembling as he crossed the space to give it to Henry. He reached out, slowly, doing his best to quell his quaking nerves as he extended the cup.

“Here you are.” He said, barely making eye contact with the man.

Despite his best effort, Henry took notice of his shaking hand.

“Say, Eddie, you’re a little nervous there.” Henry joked, reaching to accept the cup with one hand, the other coming up to wrap around Eddie’s wrist. Eddie’s hand shook violently, his frayed nerves betraying him. Henry removed the cup from his hold completely, the other hand turning Eddie’s arm just so, so that the jagged scar on his forearm was staring up at them. “You’re very nervous.”

Richie watched the exchange as though through a tunnel, his vision red. His mind filled to the brim with violent memories, each pulling more and more seedlings of anger out of his subconscious.

Thankfully Stanley, ever the observant friend, intervened before Richie could do something brash.

“He’s only upset over how much of their vacation money Richie’s lost to us tonight.” Stan joked. “Bill and I have been making a clean sweep.”

“I can attest to that.” Ben joined in, giving Richie a placating look. Richie missed it, his eyes locked on the hand still closed around his husband’s wrist.

“But we won’t settle it out tonight.” Bill said, looking up at Henry’s back. Bill had never been afraid to look the man in the eye, no matter how much he had tortured their ragtag gang. He only wished now he had the opportunity to. Bowers was still facing away from him, attention fully turned to the small man trapped in his grip, who was gazing at his face like it was a theatre screen displaying a particularly sickening sequence.

All his life Bill had sworn to keep any need for that expression from ever touching his friends.

“Next week. I want to give Richie here another shot.” He continued, urging the man with all his mind power to turn around.

“Next week?” Bowers turned just slightly to look at Bill over his shoulder, not releasing Eddie’s hand. “You certainly plan ahead.”

Bill swallowed, refusing to address the menacing intent in the statement. “A week? Nonsense. We play cards on a regular basis.”

“Shame you aren’t settling it tonight.” Henry shrugged. “A lot can happen in a week.”

Henry made eye contact with Richie.

“A lot can happen in forty eight hours.”

Bill’s stomach dropped.

“Not much that can sway me from collecting.” Bill managed a skittish laugh. “Though I’m sure Richie would take the gamble on that.”

“Oh I wouldn’t be surprised. I’d think Mr. Tozier here would gamble on most anything.”

Bower’s kept his eyes locked on Richie’s, his hand tightening almost imperceptibly around Eddie’s wrist.

Almost.

“Well.” The hand finally released, falling to Henry’s side. “I’d better head on home. Nice evening for a bit of a walk.” He raised the glass he had been holding and downed it quickly. He replaced it on the table, lifting his hat, his eyes on the paper underneath it. He made as if to scoop it up, but it was quickly snatched by Stanley.

“Better not lose this. I’d rather get my payment from Rich in full. He’ll swindle me, I have no doubt.” He tried to joke, but the power of it died out.

“Keep an eye on him then, lads.” Henry smiled, placing his hat back on as he turned, stopping to step even closer into Eddie’s space. “Have a good evening, Eddie.” He said lowly, eyes boring into the smaller man, who was nearly quaking. Bowers then turned fully to exit, finally stepping away from the table.

“I’ll walk you out.” Richie muttered, more so to the table than Bowers, as he stood quickly and followed the man to the door.

Henry stopped once the front door had been opened and he was stood on the porch.

“I’ll see you at the factory tomorrow?” He said pointedly, glancing down the street.

“Of course.” Richie said mechanically, imagining himself slamming the door repeatedly on the parts of Bowers that still remained in its path.

“Clear night.” Henry said as he looked up at the sky, a smattering of stars visible beyond the haze of the streetlights. He paused for a beat, clearly taking his time and enjoying letting Richie stew. He knew what his superior was doing; he got the message he was sending loud and clear. What Bower’s didn’t understand, however, was just how stubborn Richie could be. “Good night for stargazing.”

“I wouldn’t know.” Richie said quietly.

“Ever think about what it would be like? To be out in the beyond, among those stars? If there’s a life out there?” Bowers took out a cigarette and lit it.

“It’s crossed my mind once or twice.”

“Yeah.” He took a drag. “I don’t doubt it.”

With one last glance up at the sky, he walked away, a trail of smoke following him down the street.

Richie waited until the man had turned a corner before ducking back inside, slamming and locking the door. His friends had remained frozen in their places, listening intently to see if they could hear the hushed conversation.

Eddie still stood, frozen in the same place, his wrist held close to his chest and his face vacant. Richie turned, his back against the door, sighing as the tension dropped away in waves. After a moment the two made eye contact, Eddie’s awareness returning to him, before appearing as though he would burst into tears in that moment. Richie rushed forward, pulling his lover into his arms. He wound an arm around Eddie’s middle, the other coming up to cradle the back of his head and card lightly through his hair. Beverly watched the exchange for a moment before turning to Ben, and in one swift movement they had both arisen and crossed the room to check on the girls, who looked frightened and bewildered. Stan and Bill were holding each others hands in a death grip, while Mike looked at them imploringly for an explanation. When it seemed none would come, he spoke.

“Eddie, are you alright?” Mike stood, placing a hand on Eddie’s shoulder as he stayed wrapped in Richie’s arms. Eddie simply shook his head, face still buried in Richie’s chest. Richie stroked a hand through his hair, whispering encouragements occasionally as Eddie trembled. Mike rubbed a small circle with his thumb, sighing in frustration. “Anyone want to tell me why Henry Bowers was just in your house?” He looked at Richie, Bill, and even Ben behind him who all looked guilty. The three of them shared another look with each other before Richie spoke.

“The time is now.”

“The time for what, exactly?” Mike pressed, taking caution not to tighten his hold on Eddie’s shoulder in frustration, concentrating on keeping the touch comforting.

“Mike, I’m sorry, we should have told you sooner about this. We were trying to keep it as quiet as possible, so we figured the least of us that knew the better, but we’re leaving.”

“Leaving? Leaving where?”

“Far from here. Look, we don’t really have time to get into the details, but Ben and Bill and I have been planning this for a few months now. We’ve bribed a lot of people over at the factory, we’ve got a ship filled with supplies waiting for us, and we’re getting in it, tonight.” Richie rubbed his hands over Eddie’s back, hoping to help the man compose himself. “We have to go soon, because if there’s one thing I know for sure, that was no coincidence. I think Bowers is on to us.”

“Rich, this is a lot-”

“I’ll say.” Stan cut in, looking angry. “You didn’t think to let us all in on this?”

“It was to keep you safe-”  Bill tried defending himself, still gripping Stanley’s hand.

“What I don’t understand,” Mike said loudly, commanding the conversation again. “Is why it’s got to be tonight.”

“I think you know why.” Eddie said quietly, voice muffled by Richie’s suit jacket.

Beverly went white, Lillian clutched in her arms.

“It’s coming.” She looked at Ben, who nodded.

Mike’s anger dropped, fear replacing it instantly.

“How long?”

“Bowers didn’t pick an arbitrary number.” Eddie said bitterly, standing up straight, wiping quickly at tear tracks down his cheeks.

The room remained silent for a moment as the severity of the situation sunk into the adults. Richie silently fussed over Eddie, wiping his face and fixing his hair, occasionally dropping a kiss on his forehead as Eddie gathered himself.

Bill eventually broke the silence.

“We should head out now. I’m not sure how much time we’ll have before-”

He was cut off by the tone of the house phone.

It rang loudly from the corner, its shrill tone cutting to the core of the frightened adults, sending shock waves back into Eddie as he looked at Richie, fear plain on his face. He shook his head quickly.

“Don’t.”

“Eds, I’ve gotta answer it.”

“Don’t, let’s just go.” He pleaded. Richie shook his head before letting go of his husband and crossing the room to answer the phone.

“Tozier residence.” Richie said dryly. The rest of the group waited with bated breath, unable to hear the other end of the conversation. “Tonight? I’ve already gone to bed.” Richie’s eyes darted back and forth, his hand coming up to scratch his left ear, as it always did when he was trying to think of a lie. He made as if to speak again, before the dial tone sounded, signaling the end of the call. He replaced the phone slowly, heart rate increasing. “That was my work.” He addressed the room. “They’re sending a car for me. Production services wants us all in tonight.”

“We need to leave now.” Bill said, standing. “Stan, go get our bags from the car. Ben, I suggest you get the girls ready to go, you’ll follow us in yours. Mike, can you pack quickly?” Mike nodded numbly, his mind racing to struggle to accept what was happening. “Rich, go get the car started. I’ll help you pack it.” Everyone began a mad scramble through the house, collecting various items and packing them into cars. Eddie stood frozen through the chaos, eventually slowly moving to clean up the abandoned glasses left on the table. Richie found him and stopped him, gently placing a hand on his arm.

“This is foolish, isn’t it.” Eddie said dejectedly. He looked at Richie, sadness filling his eyes. “We’ll never be back here again.”

________________________________________________________________

“Here. Gate 6A.” Bill said quietly as he pointed at a diverging path in the road they had been following. Richie made a sharp right, glancing in in the rear view to make sure Ben had followed. The headlights behind him curved, hugging tight to their path without wavering. They continued along the road for a couple of tense minutes until they came upon a section of fence. Richie pulled up to it slowly, killing the engine and the lights as they approached. He looked into the rear view again as Ben swung up behind him, the headlamps illuminating the silhouettes of Stan, Mike, and Eddie in the backseat. Richie caught Eddie’s worried gaze, hoping to infuse as much courage as possible into his husband.

But as Ben’s lights clicked off, Eddie’s fearful gaze becoming shrouded in darkness, he thought perhaps he didn’t have much in the first place.

He undid his seat belt, swallowing thickly. He shared a nod with Bill, who climbed out of the passenger side. They closed their doors softly behind them as Ben emerged from the drivers side of his own car, Beverly staying inside with the nervous girls.

Ben approached the fence, fingers trailing over the thick piece of locked chain that held the opening closed. He continued to look beyond the barrier, eyes alighting on a large, circular aircraft a few hundred yards away from them on the field.

“So there it is.” He said quietly as Bill came to stand next to him.

“There it is.” He agreed, Richie joining them.

A small pinprick of light suddenly appeared from the shrouded area of black night beyond the fence, west of the aircraft.

“Is that out contact?” Richie whispered, recognizing the light as the short flash of a handheld light.

“Yeah, that’s him.” Bill nodded, turning to the car. “Stan, flash the lights, just once hun?” He whisper-yelled. Stan nodded nervously, climbing over the front seat to reach up and flash the headlights. When he sat back down, he placed a hand on Eddie’s quacking knee.

“It’s gonna be alright, Eddie.” He said calmly.

Eddie so badly wanted to believe him.

The light returned, illuminating a razor thin beam as it cut through the darkness from the same source. Instead of being a staccato beam, it remained lit, as the holder began walking towards their small group gathered on the other side of the fence. Mike could tell from the tense set of Bill’s shoulders that something was amiss in the situation, and was about to throw open the door and emerge from the car when the hand- and face- the light belonged to was thrown into relief by the new proximity.

“Evening, Mr. Tozier.”

Next to him, Eddie gave a small, terrified sob.

“You know, when I said it was a nice night for a walk, I didn’t think you would have walked this far.”

Stanley’s blood ran cold at the sound of the dry, short laugh that accompanied the statement.

Mike’s mind stopped altogether when he noticed the gun.

Eddie made another noise of fear, this one much louder, as he presumably saw it too. Bowers took notice, raising the flashlight he had in his right hand to illuminate his face, a small smile of victory playing on his lips. He slowly cocked the pistol clenched in his left. Mike had to physically restrain Eddie from leaping over him and out of the side of the car. The last thing they needed in the situation was Eddie’s brash behavior, the way he always got when his emotions were pushed.

“So here’s how this is going to go.” Henry lowered the light, sounding almost bored as he continued. “You three-” He gestured broadly at Ben, Bill, and Richie, earning a sharp intake of breath from the group as they each collectively braced themselves for the worst. “Are going to stay where you are, very quietly. You two gentlemen-” This time, he swung the light, shining it on Mike and Stanley’s faces. “Are going to get out of the car and join them.” He reached into his pocket for a small key, used it to unlock the chain, and opened the fence to step through.

Richie was fuming, every muscle in his body screaming to rush forward and tackle the man to the ground, to pulverize every possible piece of the other man until there was nothing left.

Bowers clearly noticed.

“Then, after I join our little Eddie here, you will all get in your other vehicle and follow us to the authorities.” He finished, his smile growing as he turned to Richie, his satisfaction being fed by Richie’s look of sheer rage.

“Why him, alone?” Ben said, voice unwavering.

“Because I have a strong feeling our testy Richard will try any manners of funny business. Though I’m sure those thoughts are flying right out of your head now, aren’t they?” He raised a challenging eyebrow.

“Most of them.” Richie said, his words poison through gritted teeth.

Bowers stepped closer, gun trained on Richie’s chest.

“I thought I made myself clear to you enough times today Tozier, but apparently I’ll need to remind you, bluntly.” He moved forward again, a small yell erupting from Eddie in the backseat as he attempted to scramble his way out of the seat. In a flash, Henry turned, eyes locking with Eddie’s, his hand flying up to aim, Richie rushing with a shout to throw himself in between them-

But the gun did not go off.

Richie lowered the arms thrown up to shield himself to see Bowers, pivoted from where he stood, gun raised and aimed directly at Eddie’s head, which was just visible over Richie’s shoulder. Eddie had fallen back into his seat, his arms held tightly by Mike and Stan to keep him from jumping up again (and to haul him down for cover if necessary).

“Still don’t understand, boy?” Bowers said venomously. “You’ve lost. Now if you don’t cooperate with me you’ll get your man pack in more than one piece.” He stepped closer again, the butt of the gun practically resting on Richie’s shoulder as it stayed trained on Eddie. “Is that what you want?” Henry whispered. “Would you like me to break him again?” He sneered. Instantly the memories came flooding back to Richie’s, and for that matter, all of their minds. He shivered in fear, his head pounding, and he was fourteen again, watching his best friend scream in pain as his arm was snapped, four boys much bigger than any of them pinning him down and pulling him apart. He was fifteen, staring at the strange misshapen scar as Eddie cried and languished over it, knowing he was doomed to live with it the rest of his life. He was thirteen, watching Ben stumble into the river with a gaping wound in his stomach. He was twelve, watching Beverly’s hands shake from across the cafeteria as she endured another string of insults unfairly thrown her way, her bruises stark and fresh against her skin. He was sixteen, hauling Mike away from a fight, the two of them running like their lives depended on it as Henry screamed profanities after them. He was eighteen, driving Stan at sixty miles per hour through their residential zone to the emergency room on the third night of Hanukkah. He was thirty seven, watching a gun be trained on the face of Bill, his Bill, one of his closest and most trusted allies in all his life. He was overwhelmed, completely terrified, as he felt the weight of the weapon over his shoulder. Henry would always have that power over him, he languished. All their years as children spent attempting to get out from under Henry’s hellish reign of the school yard, only for him to become Richie’s supervisor, to continue to torment him in small, destructive ways years into their adulthood. His constant jeers and jabs at Eddie, who used to come pick him up or bring him lunch, his constant need to drop into the dress shop Beverly ran just to tell her horrible, vile things, his insistence on driving slowly down the street next to Mike just to make him uncomfortable, just to put him on edge. He was overwhelmed, by all of it. The constant torment had worked.

In that moment, Richie felt like they had truly lost.

Thankfully for him, for all of them, Stanley hadn’t.

“Because if you keep pushing me-” Bowers had continued, unheard by Richie through his haze. “I will.”

Stanley curled his fingers around the door handle, silently thanking God that Richie was far enough to the side.

“If you’d like him to last the little time you have left,”

Stan pulled, ever so slightly, the latch releasing.

“I suggest you and your friends listen to my instructions, and-”

Stanley slammed the door into Henry’s side, taking extra effort to knock his knees out of place. Richie lept into action, hands immediately reaching for the gun to wrench it out of Henry’s hands. They flipped, Henry’s back hitting the car as Richie fought him in his daze. Bill and Ben erupted, Bill literally diving over the top of the car to grab Henry’s neck in a choking headlock. Ben jumped into the fray, helping Richie as he wrestled the gun from Henry’s hands, which were immediately restrained by Ben. Richie did not hesitate, disarming the gun before grasping the butt in his hand and clocking Bowers in the side of the head, knocking the man out cold. The three men panted as they let go of Henry’s limp body, pausing only for a moment to watch it slide to the ground. Richie then dropped the gun immediately, the cold metal suddenly searing his hands. Bill collected himself quickly.

“We have to go.”

Richie found himself nodding, his brain kicking into overdrive as Bill turned to pull the gate open all the way. Ben dashed back to his car, hopping in and turning it on. Richie followed suit, immediately, feeling Eddie’s hand on his shoulder, a silent need for affirmation that Richie was okay. He placed a hand over his husbands as Bill climbed back into the car, revving the engine and driving as fast as he could take it, his eyes locked on the aircraft swiftly approaching.

As soon as they hit the field, searchlights locked on them, a guards voice raising a call over the speakers as the security scrambled to meet them.

“UNAUTHORIZED VEHICLES ON FIELD. UNAUTHORIZED VEHICLES ON FIELD. APPREHEND IMMEDIATELY.”

Ben and Richie pulled up to the ship haphazardly, skidding to a stop and not bothering to kill the engines. Everyone scrambled to jump out of the cars, trunks thrown open. Beverly and Stanley grabbed the girls, immediately boarding the ship with them. Ben and Bill followed them, as many bags as they could carry in their hands as they ran up the small ramp of stairs leading to an opening in the craft. None of them had time to stop and process what exactly they were getting themselves into, in the most literal sense. None other than Bill had been anywhere near the machine, which looked so unlike anything they had ever seen that they couldn’t even come up with something it was akin to. Mike and Eddie grabbed what they could from their trunk as Richie checked Ben’s car for any left behind items, double checking the backseat in case the girls had left some treasured toy. Bill came back out of the craft, running to its base to detach a strange array of pipes and pumps running into the side. Eddie and Mike ran up with their bags, throwing them inside carelessly as they turned to grab more. Richie was behind them with the last from their car, handing it up. Before they could all ascend, guards came rushing from the dark, batons drawn and poised to fight. Mike pushed Eddie, who was at the top of the ramp, back up into the aircraft, as he, Richie, and Bill remained to fight off the guards. It devolved into a good old fashioned fist fight, their blows earning them more ground as the three men moved higher up the ramp. Bill hit a switch on its side that caused the steps to start ascending into the machine. He then landed a kick to the chest of the last guard, who fell off the end of the platform. He caught one last glimpse of the ground as metal came up to meet metal, and knew, heavily in his heart, it was the last time he’d see the soil of his home.

________________________________________________________________

“How are we looking?” Mike asked, looking up from the small guidebook he was holding.

“So far, so good. It’s holding steady, just like the tests.” Bill replied, eyes on a screen of data.

“Think we’ll be able to maintain that?” Stan asked the question on everyone’s minds.

“I couldn’t say for sure.” Bill answered honestly, looking up at him. “But I’m hopeful.”

Stan took a moment to process his thoughts.

“If you’re convinced, that’s enough for me.” He finally said, crossing the small space of the hull to sit on the low bench where Eddie and Richie were huddled together. On the other side Ben and Bev were sat on the floor, each with a dozing child in their laps, Ben’s slack face nodding every so often, signaling how close he was to joining them. Beverly had remained silent with her face trained on the small viewing screen the entire time they’d been flying.

“Where are we headed, anyways?” Eddie asked timidly. “It’s stars. Stars so far away…” he trailed off as he too gazed at the screen.

“See the bright one? To the right, in the corner?” Richie said, his head chin tucked over Eddie’s shoulder. The two hadn’t let go of each other since boarding. Stan and Mike shifted so that they too could look at the screen. “That’s our destination.”

“We’ve been researching it in our division.” Bill said, joining them as they all looked at the star. “It’s got life on it, like us. It’s so damn similar to our planet, it’s frightening.” He folded his arms over his chest. “We’ll get there soon enough.”

“What is it?” Bev piped up from her corner. “What’s it called?”

“It’s the third planet from the sun. It’s called… Earth.”

“That’s where we’re going.” Eddie breathed.

Richie nodded. “To a place called Earth.”

________________________________________________________________

authors notes: okay so this is OBNOXIOUSLY late to the party but im so glad this is finally done! this very much got away from me and i wrote waaaaaayyyyyy too much so here’s this whole damn ass thing lmao. anyways i rlly hope u love it and that it suits u! i got the idea and ran too too far with it. thank u so much for bein patient, i was on a long work trip this past week and a half, so getting the last couple of scenes written didn’t happen until today //: i may need to go back thru and edit but ANYWAYS !! thank u for reading and i hope yall enjoy <3 i may end up doing an anthology series of one shots based on twilight zone episodes, so if you guys are interested in that message me and beg me to do it!!! i live to please <3 

tags list: @stennbrough @s-s-stutteringbill @gazeboseddie @misssiriusblack @mythgirl96 @crackhousetozier @reddieaddict @wincestklaine @beepbeep-losers @ayyyymichele @ttrxshmouth @megelizabethvh @tapetayloe @flickerflies @ghostbustermike @i-is-gazebo @reddiesetrichie @jessicarayheyman @r-u-reddiee @wyttolff @gayzier @hanscombeverly @kaspbrak-is-our-king @babybyelers @28shoes @nicoperryy

[dreamoftowers]

The Shanghai Lady

hi uhhhh i posted this forever ago but deleted it bc i just didnt like it anymore, but i was recently looking thru old works of mine and i re-read this and was like “wow! this is p cool” so uhhhh i’m gonna post it again. i edited it a bit, but i hope yall like it maybe? 

it’s my take on the shanghai lady’s character. this is a drabble that’s written in media res of a story that i’ll probably never completely write out. who knows idk maybe? *shrugs*

anyway it’s a bit Dark and Edgy or w/e but who cares. hope yall like it anyway!

tw: mention of character deaths / violence, yelling, crying 

Sung struggled and squirmed about as two shady figures held tightly onto his arms and dragged him forward through the basement. Vivid neon lights shone from the ceiling, but it somehow still managed to be dark and dim down here, becoming increasingly darker the deeper they descended into the understructure of the place; though, Sung couldn’t even see any of this through the blindfold wrapped around his eyes. High-octane pop music blasted from the upstairs dance floor, becoming more and more faded the farther they walked.

After a few minutes of dragging, struggling, and stumbling, Sung heard a door swing open in front of him. As he was dragged into the direction of the door, he felt the atmosphere around him suddenly change. The air felt cooler, crisper, but heavier, somehow, much heavier in a way that Sung couldn’t quite understand.

He felt himself being thrown forwards, and his body fell face first onto the cold floor. As he lay there on the floor, the figures grabbed his hands, and held them behind his back. Sung felt icy cold handcuffs latch onto his wrists. Hands grabbed at his arms and yanked his upper body up from the ground, and they positioned him so that he was sitting on his knees. There Sung sat, breathing heavily as one of the figures untied the blindfold and ripped it off of his eyes.

The sudden bright neon lighting of the room stung Sung’s eyes. He groaned, and squinted until he adjusted to the vivid lights. He darted his eyes all around the room; again, somehow the room managed to be dim even though there were deep hues of pinks and purples and blues emitting from the neon lights scattered around the room. Decorating the room were ornate paper lanterns, indoor waterfalls and water fountains illuminated in colorful LED lights, and strange glowing plants and vines growing on the walls.

A large pool sat in the back of the room, glowing in alternating hues; and in the middle of it, a rectangular platform rose out of the water. There, the dusky figure of a woman sat cross-legged, her back facing Sung.

The Shanghai Lady.

Exactly who he was looking for- though, admittedly, he wasn’t expecting to meet her like this, sitting on his knees with handcuffs binding his hands together.

He couldn’t really make out what she was wearing, but the shape of it, from what he could make out, was something ornate, something flamboyant. She was surrounded by glowing waterfalls and hanging floral vines.

Sung breathed heavy breaths, taking in the oddly calming sounds of the area: the gentle splashing of running water, the quiet ambient music playing throughout the room, the soft remnants of pop music playing high above them from the nightclub. He was just awestruck from this atmosphere. Who knew that The Shanghai Lady had such a hunch for avante-garde interior design? For someone with as much blood, corruption, and destruction on her hands, one wouldn’t expect such contrastingly calm scenery for her lair.

A robotic female voice rang out through the room. It was shockingly silky, gentle, soothing to the ears, while also containing an eerie undertone.

“I would have never in a million years expected to see you here, Sung.” Her voice reverberated through the room.

An unnerved chill shot through Sung’s body. He frowned, and asked in a demanding voice, “What do you want from us? How did you find us? What did we d--”

The Shanghai Lady cut him off and continued to speak as though she hadn’t heard his questions. “You’re usually so elusive, caught up in your own little world. I was so surprised that you came here. Hmhm.” Her small chuckles seemed to echo and reverberate a bit more intensely than her sentences did. “Why the sudden change of heart? Did you fina--”

“WHERE ARE THEY!!?!” Sung suddenly exploded, his trembling voice roaring over hers. His breaths became just as shaky as his body was. “What did you do to them?!”

She didn’t answer. All she did was chuckle.

“ANSWER ME!!” Sung screamed out, his face turning red and contorted with anger.

“Oh, my.” She said in such a nonchalant tone. “Someone’s upset. I’ve never seen you like this before, Sung. It’s so… intriguing to see you at your breaking point already. Though, I suppose I shouldn’t have expected anything different of you. You’re always gushing about your… damned bandmates. Friendship this, and- and brotherhood that.” When saying these words, her tone shifted to a slight hiss, as though the words were poison on her tongue. Her tone quickly returned back to normal. “Of course you’d be so concerned about them. Pathetic.”

Anger ran red hot through Sung’s boiling blood. Why is she talking like she knows him personally? Does she? He certainly doesn’t know her personally. Hell, he only knows her through rumors and myths.

“Stop talking like you know me,” Sung spat out through gritted teeth.

“I do know you, Sung.”

“You know nothing about me.”

“Hahaha, ah, on the contrary, sweetheart.” In her next sentence, her voice shifted to that menacing hissy tone again. “I know everything about you.”

Sung was shaking so much that he felt like he would explode from the rage burning within him. He balled his hands into tight fists. He couldn’t even respond for a long moment. He just stared daggers at the back of her head. “What… do you want…?”

“Do you recognize my voice, Sung?”

The sudden question stunned him into a brief silence. Bewildered, he furrowed his brows and furiously shook his head. “No, I don’t!”

“Not at all?” The Shanghai Lady asked in a mockingly sad tone.

“N-... No… I don’t- I don’t think so.” Sung began to think about this a little deeper. “Not a lot, it’s just… vaguely… familiar... agh, it-it sort of reminds me of someo-- WHERE ARE THEY?” He snapped again, shaking off the previous thoughts on his mind. She… did sound somewhat familiar, he just couldn’t put his finger on it. But it didn’t matter. He was going to find out where his friends were, no matter what distractions she threw at him.

“You were so, so close,” she said, ignoring his last question. “Still can’t figure it out?”

Sung said nothing in reply.

Suddenly, in the next words she uttered, her voice became dramatically different, but in a way that was somehow still vaguely similar to her original voice. It was much more robotic and monotone, much colder. 

“How about now?”

Sung’s heart sank into his stomach. His face fell into immediate horror and dismay, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging agape.

Sung could recognize that voice anywhere.

He tried to utter something, anything, but no words came out. All that could escape his throat were failed attempts at words. “C…c-co…”

The Shanghai Lady chuckled again in her normal tone. “Go on, take your time. I’m waiting,” she said in a whispery voice.

Tight knots formed in Sung’s stomach. His lips trembled as he stuttered out, “Co...c-comp..uter… w-w...ife…”

“There you go,” she congratulated him in a mocking tone.

“No…” Sung muttered, shaking his head. “But.. but why?” Sung whimpered out. “What..--”

“You haven’t changed at all, Sung. A part of me isn’t surprised.” She slowly rose to her feet. The skirt of her dress, or shirt, or whatever she was wearing, swayed as she stood and turned around. Once she was facing Sung, the glow of her metallic amber irises pierced through the darkness. As she approached him, descending down the stairs from the platform onto the floor, Sung could only gaze at her in utter disbelief, utter awe. “You’re not-- you’re not her,” he said, his voice shaking with emotion. “Y-You’re not her, I know it, she- sh-she wouldn’t do anything like this, I…” He seemed to be trying to convince himself of this rather than telling her this.

As The Shanghai Lady came closer to him, the lighting from nearby lamps and waterfalls illuminated her figure, giving Sung a chance to gaze upon her. She wore a slightly loose-fitting black jumpsuit that had intricate gold designs printed on it. A black, armor-like shoulder mantle draped over her chest, and from the back of it fell a long flowing cape lined with gold. Her chrome metallic skin was pure white, like that of a marble statue, other than the dark green circuitry running down her face like trickles of water. Some of her detailing was similar to how she looked before she… left, and abandoned Sung. But others were so much different now. She looked like such a completely different person, but what scared him more was that she still did resemble her old self a bit. She couldn’t have been lying about being his compu--... ex computer wife. Even now, Sung refused to believe his own eyes.

Sung looked up at her as she stood over him, chuckling to herself and leaning over to gently caress his chin with her robotic white hand. The familiar, and yet somehow simultaneously foreign, touch of her hand sent unnerving chills through his heart. “Oh, Sung. Even with all the intellect and genius in the universe, you never did, nor ever will, understand your own finest creation. It’s a shame. So knowledgeable, yet so idiotic.” The Shanghai Lady suddenly gripped at Sung’s jaw, and yanked his head up further. “We could’ve been unstoppable, Sung. With your intellect and my vigor, we could’ve achieved anything we wanted. But you didn’t want that, did you?” She squeezed tighter onto Sung’s face. “No, you’d rather waste your talent building robot drummers and specialty instruments with all of the finest elements of our universe. Never focusing on the bigger picture. Such wasted potential.” She shoved his face away, and Sung let his head droop down.

Memories of their marriage flashed into Sung’s mind. Gradually, over time, the more sentient and self-thinking that she became, the more she would grow tired of him and his experiments. He noticed that she became distant, irritable, and, now that he was looking back on it, more ominous about her outlooks and views. That’s when the arguments began.

She was always urging him to do “more important” things with his time and energy, saying that his talents shouldn’t go to waste on such “trivial” things such as music, but Sung would always calm her down enough to where they could get back to their normal lives. But the arguments only got worse until one day, she disappeared without a word, without a trace, and the only thing she’d left behind was a goodbye note.

But this… how could she have done all of this? Making such a bloody reputation for herself, on Earth of all places? And… more importantly, how was she able to single handedly tear TWRP apart so easily, and take away all of Sung’s friends one by one? He still didn’t even know what she’d done to them yet, and as much as it burned him on the inside to be so ignorant, he had no choice but to listen to her. No words could escape him at this point.

The Shanghai Lady slowly walked away from him, then stopped and stood with her back facing him. “But no need to dwell on the past, right? Not without the proper actions, at least. That’s when you all came in to the picture.” She slowly turned her head to look back at him. Her eyes shone a sharp and intimidating glow. “You made it so easy, I just couldn’t resist exacting revenge on you. You all came running right to me.”

She took a brief pause, almost as though she were thinking about something. She chuckled loudly before turning her head away and speaking again. “You know, Sung, I’ve always been intrigued by the lives of organic beings like yourself. You all have limitations: physically, emotionally, psychologically. It’s so captivating…. watching how you all squirm and thrash about once you’ve reached your breaking point. Blood spilling, bones shattering, hmhm, even watching tears fall is fascinating. Thrilling, even. Such fleshy, emotional little things, you are!” She said this in almost a cheery voice. “I never would’ve guessed that little red one’s neck would break so easily. Or that the lion man’s psyche could be so easily shattered.”

Sung’s heart stopped. A paralyzing horror fell over him, leaving his blood running cold, his skin draining of color. No, no, she couldn't’ have, she wouldn’t do that…right? In just a few short seconds, his entire world began to crumble and fall, and the weight of it crushed Sung’s heart. He started to tremble.

Sung shook his head in disbelief, denial. “No..N-no… you…”  

“Yes, the red one… so brittle. His neck just snapped like a twig. Oh, and the lion… he saw everything. He’s usually so calm and laid back.” The Shanghai Lady snickered. “Yet he broke down into such a demented state, screaming and sobbing out… and so quickly, at that. I was genuinely surprised.”

All Sung could do was listen as rage and dread rose within him, making him tremble and whimper. He hung his head and squeezed his hands into tight fists, each word she uttered sending more and more pain into his heart and soul.

“Even that robot broke much easier than I expected. I figured that another one of your creations might have stood a chance, but I was mistaken. He fell just as easily as the rest. The red glow in his eyes flickered away so… gently. It was almost peaceful to watch that heap of useless metal fall to the ground.”

In an outburst of rage, Sung cried out and tried to race over to her, but the two figures grabbed onto his arms and held him back as he kicked and screamed. He tried to struggle as much as he could, thrashing around and cursing and wailing about, but he eventually broke down and grew stiff, letting his body slump in their arms as he erupted into sobs and whimpers. The only movements he made were the violent shakes of his body as he cried, his chest heaving up and down in spastic breaths.

“And now, you…” The Shanghai Lady said, turning around with the same devilish smirk on her face. “Broken so easily, my sweetheart. You always were so sensitive. But I’m not nearly finished with you, yet.” She raised her hand in the air, and a strange golden orb slowly formed around it. It swarmed with electricity and circuit-like patterns.

She began walking over to him, taking her sweet time.

“No, no, I have more special plans with you.”

[lesbianavagardner]

"i-mean-I’ve-questioned-it-in-terms-of-being-critical-of-what-it-means-to-be-a-woman-and-what-that-expression-means-in-my-life" --- will you please share more thoughts on this?

I guess I meant that I’ve had a long journey in figuring out how I want to present myself as a woman and finding an outward expression of it that felt authentic and good to me.

Ok this will be long but the people who wanna read it can read it……so once I hit 6th or 7th grade I was always the fat girl in the group. growing up people would like compliment my clothes or say I was cute but I don’t know that I was considered Beautiful by anyone. Then kind of by accident around the time I was 19 I lost like 40 or 50 pounds in ~a year and I started to wear heavy makeup and do my hair every single day and I literally got treated like a different human being. “I almost didn’t recognize you” was a frequent refrain. I went to visit my grandpa in Michigan after not seeing him for a couple years and it took me 5 minutes to convince him I was Ashley and not one of my brothers’ girlfriends. It was extremely disorienting but I was now a Hot Girl and I got showered with praise everywhere I went and that felt really good bc I had never been that before? Greta Gerwig actually described this perfectly in a Fresh Air interview around the time of Frances Ha. She mentioned being really thin at one point and how you just feel fucking powerful, it’s like a high, because there’s nothing we’re rewarded for more as women. So I leaned into it all and was really ritualistic about beauty routines and spent most of my money on clothes and my identity and worth just got really tied up into all these things without me even realizing it.

It was enjoyable and fun except when it wasn’t because I hated waking up earlier to spend an hour on my face and hair, I hated shaving my legs constantly, I hated looking in the mirror with my bare face and feeling terrible about myself because I had tricked my brain into thinking my face looked wrong as it naturally was. I hated feeling like I shouldn’t leave the house without being made up.

Add to that the fact that I felt guilty or wrong as a lesbian because I was too feminine to EVER be perceived as one by a stranger. Which is why I then had a phase around the time I got married where I like cut my hair into a bob and stopped wearing a stitch of makeup and put on weight and mostly wore very casual futchy clothes and it was kind of the opposite end of the spectrum. I just wanted people to see my wife and I and think we were a couple, not sisters or friends. But none of this really felt right either? Not wearing makeup felt amazing honestly except that I’d punish myself a little when I did feel the urge to wear it.

Ultimately I had to come to the conclusion that even if I don’t want to do my hair and makeup every day or shave any of my body hair, I really do love wearing skirts and dresses!! I’ve loved clothes my entire life, I literally stopped letting my mom pick my outfits or shop for me when I was 2 years old. I wore black pumps almost every day for my entire high school career!!! I do not feel like myself wearing sweatshirts and solid colors and baggy pants. I need like patent leather and psychedelic prints and fur and microminis or I Will Die. But I also don’t feel bad about myself when I feel like putting on makeup once a week. I’ve accepted that I can decide to look very feminine one day and not at all the next and it’s whatever and every choice doesn’t necessarily have some grand political significance to consider? And I no longer question that any part of this makes me less of a lesbian or less of a woman because I no longer view my experience as a woman or a lesbian through the lens of my outfit or hair. My being a woman means existing in this class of people who have shared an experience of life and circumstances under patriarchy along with me. There is no meaning to being a woman for me beyond existing where I do in society’s hierarchy and the relationships I’ve formed as a result of it, there is no list of traits physical or mental that I need to embody to be this thing. How others perceive the expression of my gender has nothing to do with me. My being a lesbian means loving other women and taking part in a community that feels closest to me. I feel less and less limited by any parameters of either group and more just like letting myself be and not trying to fit myself into boxes that others have made for me because if you step into the actual fucking world a lot of this shit does not matter!

Compared to so many women I’ve had a pretty easy go of it. This is all a brief summary and I’ve struggled and put a LOT of thought into all of this and I’ve had doubts and questions and worries. I grew up with just as many toxic images as the next gal and just as much false significance placed on my appearance. But I never at any point hated myself, I never had issues remotely close to an eating disorder, I never struggled with depression as a result of this stuff. I’m happy to be in a place where I can love myself and not be bogged down in shame or doubt and just accept that I am what I am in this moment and that is good!!!