#even if california isn't a place in this au

[lordgrimwing]

Friends and family #12

Ecthelion blasted the horn of a shiny red convertible car. Leaning out the window, he shouted across the street. “Glorfindel!”

Glorfindel was skimming a magazine in his bedroom when he heard the horn. He’d been shut in his bedroom all morning with the new magazine as it wasn’t exactly the kind of material he wanted his parents to know he had. When Ecthelion called, he shoved the glossy magazine under his mattress and scrambled to his window.

“Thel?” He asked, confused to see the other teenager behind the wheel of his step-father’s new car. Behind the wheel and very much alone.

“Get out here,” the black-haired elf called. He pointed at the passenger seat. “Let’s go!”

Glorfindel didn’t need any more encouragement than that. He ran outside, barely tossing a word over his shoulder to his mother as he shoved shoes on his feet, and sprinted across the recently mowed, patchy lawn. Ecthelion threw open the passenger door and he dove inside, sliding across the cream leather seat. The engine roared with gas and they shot off down the street before he finished closing the door.

“Let’s go to the beach!” Ecthelion hollered over the engine and wind whipping past them.

Glorfindel fought with his golden hair, trying to wrestle it into a ponytail while the wind whipped it around his face. “Your step-dad let you take it?”

The stoplight ahead turned yellow. Ecthelion stepped on the accelerator and shot through the intersection. “Chris is out of town and this girl’s got a full tank! I can’t leave her in the garage all weekend.” 

“Let’s go,” Glorfindel agreed with a whoop as the car skidded around the bend that took them to the highway. 

The ocean wasn’t far from their town. Certainly, at the speed Ecthelion kept up once they hit the nearly-deserted highway they’d get there in half an hour. As they drove, they talked, the thrill of the adventure fueling their voices to shout over the noise. 

Sports came up first. They’d both be on the high school football team when junior year started in a few weeks, and that was at the forefront of their minds most days. They might have to give up track and field if there were too many conflicts, but the coach said they could give it a go and their parents were okay with it as long as they made time for homework. Glorfindel had his heart set on doing as many sports as he could. Coach suggested if they really put themselves to it, they could get scholarships to go play at a college.

After sports came girls. Glorfindel didn’t have much to say on the topic, but Ecthelion made up for it in one-sided enthusiasm. In a bold declaration of his adoration of the female sex, he proclaimed that he’d be making out with a girl—elf, human, dwarf, or hobbit, he wasn’t picky—on the hood of his step-dad’s red sports car that very day. 

It was a very nice car. Glorfindel supposed that out of anyplace else at a beach, a girl would probably like to make out on the car, though personally he thought the leather seats would be a better spot for it.

It wasn’t long after that that they turned off the highway and into the sparsely populated dirt parking lot. A group of idle seagulls patrolled the lot for forgotten food. They screamed and scattered when the car roared toward them.

“First one in the water wins,” Glorfindel said, vaulting over the passenger door and sprinting toward the sand.

“Hey!” Ecthelion shouted. Turning off the engine and stuffing the car key into a pocket in his khaki shorts, he followed his friend.

They hadn’t brought any swim trunks. This wasn’t exactly a well thought out trip, after all. The lack of swimwear was no barrier, though, especially with the beach being mostly deserted still (it was early yet. Give it an hour or two and other kids would be bound to show up to take advantage of the last of the summer). A few feet from the waves, they shed their shoes and clothes. Neither of them were strangers to swimming mostly naked. 

Ecthelion kicked sand at Glorfindel, trying to distract and slow him down while he undid his button up shirt far enough to yank it off over his head. Glorfindel still made it in the water first anyway, diving into the cool waves until he was far enough out to tread water like he belonged in the sea while he waited for the other teen to catch up. 

When they were done racing and watching schools of small fish beyond the surf break, they swam back in. A group of human and dwarf boys were playing volleyball on the warm sand, and they happily let the elves join. After that, their new friends invited them to the lunch cookout they were having further down the beach with other kids from their high school.

Glorfindel volunteered to help grill hamburgers. Ecthelion slipped away with one of the girls who brought the ice chests. They came back about ten minutes later, in time for greasy burgers on cheap buns with store brand condiments and mounds of potato chips. They weren’t wearing enough clothes to look rumpled, but Ecthelion’s cheeks were a little red and he kept twisting one of his braids around his finger.

Glorfindel supposed the girl was pretty enough. Tall, thick brown hair cut in a bob, swimsuit leaving a little to the imagination. There was a dab of white sunscreen on her left ear that hadn’t been rubbed all the way into her dark skin. She wasn’t anymore interested in Ecthelion after they got back compared to before, though. Did that mean she didn’t like kissing him, or that she did and didn’t want her impromptu partner to know it? Glorfindel wasn’t sure, and wasn’t invested in figuring her out. Girls were still a mystery to him.

More people arrived during lunch. Some brought more snacks, others helped themself to what was already there. Everyone laughed and joked, and before long they dissolved into smaller groups again for games. Ecthelion and Glorfindel split up for a while but eventually met up again in the water.

Eventually, they had to say bye to their new friends. The sand was hot under their bare feet as they carried their clothes back to the parking lot. 

“That was great,” Glorfindel said as he flopped onto the white leather seat. With a small shout, he sprang up again. After so many hours in the sun, the leather was scorching hot on all his exposed skin. Maybe they should have closed the fabric top.

Ecthelion laughed at him, then spread his clothes over the driver seat to cover all the leather before sitting down. “Way better than anything we could’ve done in town.”

“Totally.” Glorfindel laid out his shirt and shorts and then gingerly sat again.

“Hey,” Ecthelion fished out the keys, “you should drive.”

“Me?” He’d only really driven a couple times. He’d certainly never thought he’d ever drive a car this cool.

“Yeah! Come on, at least part of the way. I can’t keep her all to myself. Besides, when are you gonna have a chance like this again?”

This was very true. 

They changed spots, and he settled behind the wheel. The parking lot was fuller than it had been when they arrived, cars lined up on either side of them. Luckily, there wasn’t anything blocking the way forward, so he didn’t need to back out of the spot. After some good-natured teasing about driving like a grandpa, they made it onto the road.

“Let her loose,” Ecthelion encouraged, giving Glorfindel’s shoulder a light shove. 

He did. As they cleared the last bend before the relatively straight road up and down rolling hills, he let his foot press the gas pedal further and further. The car nearly flew across the hill tops, a red streak against the green and brown landscape. The red needle of the speedometer turned further and further until it couldn’t go any more.

Ecthelion whooped. He climbed up on the passenger seat, kneeling on it so he could get his head and shoulders over the windshield. Laughing, he threw his arms wide, leaning into the wind as it buffeted his bare skin and pulled his hair streaming out behind him in a mad storm.

Nee-nah Nee-nah!

Red and blue lights flashed.

Glorfindel froze. For a moment, he considered flooring the gas pedal. This car was probably way faster than the officer’s behind them, and if they didn’t get caught then they couldn’t really get in trouble. Ecthelion dropped into his seat and looked over at him. His eyes betrayed the same question: what if we just keep going?

No! What were they thinking?

Glorfindel slammed on the break, suddenly horrified that the highway patrol or sheriff or whoever it was would think they were trying to escape if he didn’t stop immediately. The car shook and fishtailed side to side. A terrible screeching came up from the tires, accompanied by the stench of burning rubber. His heart pounded in his ears by the time the car screamed to a stop on the side of the highway. The front right tire rested in a dirt furrow off the side of the road.

The other car rolled to an easy stop behind them. The siren shut off with a final wail. 

“Oh shoot, oh gods,” Glorfindel whispered, cringing down as the officer opened the door to step out of the vehicle. 

Ecthelion’s knuckles showed white through his skin as he gripped the leather seat. “It’s okay,” he muttered. “We’re, uh, we’re just, uh-”

The crunch of boots against asphalt.

Oh, they were in so much trouble. 

“Alright, boys,” said a terribly familiar voice, “I’m not going to bother asking for your license and registration.”

Glorfindel raised his head and looked. 

Sheriff Thrainn, all four feet nine inches (plus three inch heels) of him, looked back. His curly black hair is pulled back in a ponytail and his thick beard is braided just so to show the badge on his uniform. “Ecthelion. Glorfindel,” he said. 

Sheriff Thrainn had done all the anti-drug and community safety assemblies since they started grade school. He came to the town block party in the spring. He knew exactly who they were and he probably knew whose car they had because Christopher liked to talk about it and show it to everyone who came by but never, ever, let anyone else drive it. 

“Mr. Thrainn,” the boys murmured.

“Does your step-father know where his car is?” This was asked over Glorfindel’s head to Ecthelion.

“No, sir,” was his subdued reply.

“Does your mother?”

“No.”

Officer Thrainn nodded like that was exactly the response he expected. “And do your parents know what you’re doing right now?” He asked Glorfindel.

“Probably not.”

“Does anyone know where you are?”

They shook their heads mutely. 

“You two know I’ve had to tell parents their kids died on this road before.”

They did. Everyone in town heard the story, and it was told every year at the homecoming assembly even though it happened fifteen years ago. Some high school seniors, friends, had gone to a beach party after a football game. Everyone knew there was going to be a lot of drinking and their parents said they couldn’t go, but they snuck out and went anyway. They were all drunk on the way back and the driver missed the turn and took everyone off the side of a cliff. 

But that was just a story to warn everyone off from drinking and partying. Neither of them had any alcohol at the beach today, though Glorfindel saw beer cans in one of the ice chests. That meant they were fine. They were okay. They couldn’t have ended up like those kids fifteen years ago. Right?

Right?

“Glorfindel, you could have killed your friend and yourself driving like that.”

He wouldn’t have. He would have slowed down before they hit the next bend. He hadn’t been going that fast. Right? 

“Ecthelion, today, you stole a deadly weapon and put it in your friend’s hands.”

Glorfindel took his hands off the wheel and stuffed them in his lap. 

“Now, get out and put your clothes back on.”

Obediently, they stepped out. The sun-warmed road burned Glorfindel’s feet and he quickly put his socks on before anything else. He felt extra embarrassed about everything with Sheriff Thrainn watching him struggle to get his shorts on and pull his t-shirt over his head.

Once they were dressed in their wrinkled, sandy clothes, Sheriff Thrainn looked them up and down and said, “This vehicle hasn’t been reported as stolen yet, so I’m going to let you drive it back home. Stay behind me the whole way. If I ever see you two have done something like this again, we’re going to take a ride together.”

They nodded again, relieved to be getting off with little more than a warning (unless, of course, the escort alerted everyone else to their return). Ecthelion sat slowly in the passenger seat and gingerly pulled out the seat belt. Resigned to driving the rest of the way, Glorfindel resettled behind the wheel, awkwardly groping for his own seat belt.

With a quick siren blare, the sheriff car pulled onto the highway again and rolled forward.

Glorfindel cautiously followed all the way back into town.

[wintrwinchestr]

strangers | part 2

summary: nearly a month has passed since you agreed to go to california with joel, and you think you might love him. you trust him, and he makes you feel cared for and safe, but he hasn't been telling you the whole truth. eventually, you make a shocking discovery that makes him feel like a stranger to you all over again.

!!PLEASE READ WARNINGS, THIS IS A VERY DARK FIC!!

I've tried to label this fic as detailed and as boldly as possible. I will not be held responsible or bullied off the internet if you choose to read this potentially upsetting/triggering work of fiction anyway.

warnings: joel miller x f!reader, 18+, smut, age gap (reader is college-aged, joel is mid-50s), no outbreak au, serial killer!joel, dark!joel, DDDNE (graphic descriptions of blood, murder, and of captive/dead girls, non-con p-in-v sex (i'll say rape just in case but reader does not explicitly express non-consent), being held captive, degrading language toward victims/victim blaming, joel is implied to fantasize that you're dead while fucking you, kind of stockholm syndrome), non-con breathplay/choking, mommy & daddy issues, lying, gaslighting, coercion, manipulation, pet names (baby, darlin', sweetheart, babydoll, etc), no ellie/sarah but tommy has an unnamed daughter, somewhat inspired by "strangers" by ethel cain, vaguely set in the 70s/80s, please respectfully let me know if i missed anything and i will rectify the tags

word count: 8.1k

a/n: this is the second part. if the tags deter you from reading that's okay, just pretend joel and reader made it to california and they lived happily ever after. i understand i've written something dark and heavy and it isn't for everyone, you are welcome on my blog whether it's for you or not as long as everyone is respectful of each other <3

divider by @saradika

series masterlist/moodboard

read this chapter on ao3

part 3 (coming soon)

As the breeze begins to carry a chill that bites without the protection of a jacket or one of Joel’s flannels, the two of you have been spending the last month or so trying to outrun Autumn altogether as you make your way to California. You’ve crossed more state lines now than you ever could’ve imagined you would, and you and Joel have even made a game out of trying to spot the license plate of the farthest state away from wherever you are. He was impressed when you had recently managed to spot an Alaska plate in fucking Kansas, of all places. 

You spend your days visiting cheesy tourist traps and collecting cheap souvenirs from their gift shops, and your nights in motels or in his truck or in goddamn gas station bathrooms tangled up in each other’s bodies, unable to keep your hands off each other. The seal had finally broken just a few days after you had agreed to go to California with him, when he had laid his hand on your knee while he was driving, and you didn’t stop him from sliding it higher and higher, his fingers eventually making their way between your thighs and gently rubbing your clit through your shorts. Joel would’ve been content to play with your pussy just like that, pinching at your little nub and dipping his fingers into your drooling hole as he drove, but the noises you were making were driving him fucking insane. He had pulled off into a wooded area and instructed you to climb into the backseat, where he had shoved himself inside of you for the first time and fucked you until you saw stars. You never made it to wherever it was you were headed to that afternoon, deciding instead to just call it a day and spend the rest of it covered in each other’s sweat and come and breathing heavily into each other’s necks. 

You’ve seen new parts of Joel in other ways, too, in the time that you’ve been traveling with him. He’s been opening up to you, slowly but surely, as the weeks go on. You did eventually remember to ask him about that song you couldn’t quite make out at Moody’s, humming the bit of the chorus you could remember for him in hopes that he’d recognize it.

“I think I know the one, darlin’. Should have it on cassette somewhere here, ‘s called Alone and Forsaken, think it’s by Hank Williams. Hadn’t heard that one in a while, ‘s a winner, though,” he’d said.

You’d rifled through the contents of the glove box and pulled it out, excitedly swapping the tape with the one in the player and pressing the button on the dash to start the song. Joel’s fingers had begun to tap against the wheel immediately, and he seemed to relax at the sound of the guitar’s steady strumming. You had just watched him as the song played, admiring the subtle movements of the muscles in his face as he’d hummed along.

But he’d noticed your staring, after a while, and teased, “Y’know, really shouldn’t look at a man like that, babydoll. Might give ‘im some ideas.”

Babydoll. That was new, too. It had become his new favorite pet name for you, bestowed upon you when he had offered you another dress to wear from the stash of clothing belonging to Tommy’s daughter that he keeps under his backseat. Joel had told you eventually that he’d fibbed about his relationship with Tommy, just a little bit, and that he hasn’t actually seen him or his kid in quite some time. “Just kinda grew apart after a while, stopped keepin’ up with each other,” Joel had explained. “Jus’ never quite got around to gettin’ rid of all that stuff, I guess.”

You certainly didn’t mind having something new to wear, especially something as pretty as the little pink dress that got you your new name. Joel had looked at you hungrily when you’d first tried it on, raking his eyes up and down your form as you twirled for him.

“So pretty, sweetheart. Look just like a lil’ babydoll in that, don’t you?” Joel had complimented.

You’d giggled at the nickname, becoming shy as he’d stalked towards you and used a hooked finger to lift up your chin, forcing your eyes to meet his own. “Like that one, do ya? Like bein’ my babydoll, all mine?”

You’d sucked your bottom lip between your teeth, your brows peaked with need as your eyes had begun to glaze over from his gentle dominance. It had never taken much from him to make you start feeling a little floaty, even early on, ready to fall into his arms so he could make you gush onto his fingers or his cock or his tongue.

You’d nodded your head all syrupy and slow, making a little whimpering sound in affirmation.

“Say it,” he’d whispered, the hand propping up your chin slowly finding its way down to your neck, where it always seemed to land in your moments of intimacy. Joel had never really asked you if you liked it there or not, if you liked it when he squeezed your throat just right until your vision became spotty and your breath came out pinched and raspy, but you had learned to like it, to crave that guidance and control from him. He’d never taken it too far, just brought you teetering over the edge of unconsciousness, then allowed you to fill your lungs with air again. 

“I like it, Joel, like being yours…”

“Yeah… ‘n you’re gonna be mine forever, huh? Never gonna leave my side, always gonna belong to me, ain’t that right?” His grip on your windpipe had begun to tighten as he questioned you.

“Forever… ‘m yours, Joel…” you’d promised through a hoarse whisper.

A growl had rumbled from deep in Joel’s chest at your choked words, and he’d quickly let go of your throat to spin you around and shove you face-first into the creaking motel mattress, flipping up the skirt of your little babydoll dress and showing you just how pretty he thought you looked in it. “Mine, mine, mine,” he’d chanted as he caged you in with his heavy form, slamming inside of your aching cunt until you cried out, shuddering around him as he spilled inside of you. 

He calls you babydoll almost exclusively now, like it’s your actual name. Your everyday clothing consists almost entirely of frilly dresses and tiny tops and tight shorts from the supply in Joel’s truck, with maybe a few items he picks out for you at the occasional Goodwill mixed in. He’s made it so that you never have to think for yourself ever again, taking care of everything for you from picking out your outfits to ordering for you at the diners. All you have to worry about is being good, being his, his perfect little doll, and he says that you deserve a life as easy as this, that it’s the least he can do for you in exchange for your company, for being so good for him.

Joel does allow you to use your brain for some things, still, like bombarding him with the questions you’d begun stashing away in your mind all those weeks ago. Some of them he still answers vaguely, like where the scar on his nose came from, or if he’d been married before, or what his life was like before he met you. But sometimes you can get a story out of him, and it always feels like you’ve won the lottery when you’re able to get him talking. After the Hank Williams cassette had finished playing that day, you’d decided to ask him what he’d wanted to be when he grew up. 

He’d thought about it for a second, and then laughed at himself. “‘F I tell you, I don’t wanna hear any gigglin’ outta you over there, ‘s that clear?”

“I can’t promise you that if I don’t know what you’re gonna tell me. If you say, like, a rodeo clown or something, I’m gonna laugh.”

Joel had just glared at you, and you’d rolled your eyes.

“Fine, I won’t laugh, I promise. Just tell me.”

“Alright…” Joel had sighed. “I wanted to be a singer, actually. Believe it or not.”

You had almost started crying right then, the visual of a little Joel all those years ago wanting to grow up and become a singer being almost too much to bear. 

“Awe, Joel… You can sing? Can you—”

“No, I ain’t gonna sing for you. Don’t even ask, babydoll.”

Joel had seemed adamant about that at the time, but just a few days later when a violent thunderstorm was blowing through the town you’d stopped in for the night, you’d woken him up when you couldn’t fall asleep, and asked him in a trembling voice if he would sing for you. He’d just grunted and rolled back over at first, but you’d kept quietly begging him, and he eventually gave in to your little frightened sounding pleas. You’d rested your head against his chest as he stroked your hair and sang Alone and Forsaken for you a few times over, until the soothing sound of his voice and the quiet thumping of his heartbeat had lulled you back to sleep. The thunder had eventually retreated when it realized you weren’t scared of it anymore, now feeling safe and protected in Joel’s arms. 

He could only take so much more questioning from you after a while, though, until he decided it was about time for you to reveal more of yourself to him, and you’d thought that was fair. You’d spent a whole afternoon in the truck one day telling him about how your dad had passed away when you were still in high school, and how you’d always wished he could’ve seen you walk across the stage at graduation and go off to college. How he was the one who’d even encouraged you to go in the first place, when you hadn’t felt smart enough or good enough at anything to ever find the pursuit worthwhile. But he’d always been supportive of your artistic endeavors, the ones your mom had always called ‘useless’ and ‘a waste of time’ and ‘nothing that could ever amount to a real job’. Your dad had tried his best to make you believe otherwise, always proudly displaying your work around the house when your mother would allow it, and even framing some of it for his office. It was devastating when he had passed, but at least you felt you could make him proud in some way, by deciding to pursue a degree in art at the nearby state school. But then your mother had ruined your chances of ever finishing the program, and, well… here you are now. 

After you’d finished your story, Joel had comforted you just like he always did, promising to find you a sketchbook and some pencils at the next town you came across so you could keep nurturing your talents. He’d made good on his word, and now your time on the road is often spent sketching Joel, his cassettes, the mountains, anything you see that sparks inspiration and demands to be committed to paper.

Today, the two of you are on your way to see the world’s largest something or other in New Mexico, and you’ve become determined to etch a drawing onto every page of your book by the time you reach California. You’ve sketched just about everything in the truck at this point, and different tries at capturing Joel’s handsome side profile already take up more than half of the pages that you’ve filled out so far. You begin scouring the cabin of the truck, searching for something new you can draw. You eventually try bending forward to look under the bench seat, just in case you can find a crumpled up candy wrapper or something, but an even more interesting object catches your eye, tucked just behind Joel’s legs. It looks like an old shoebox, maybe containing some more tapes or things belonging to Tommy’s kid. You try to reach over to Joel’s side of the bench seat to grab it, and he almost swerves the truck off the road when he notices what you’re doing.

“What’re you…? Don’t touch that, babydoll, jus’ leave it alone,” he scolds.

You sit up straight again, taken aback by his tone. “Why? I was just looking for something new to draw, thought there might be something in there.”

“It’s just junk in there, baby, nothin’ you’d much be interested in,” Joel says, his grip on the steering wheel becoming more white-knuckled.

“So? I can’t draw some old junk?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Joel sighs in frustration. “‘Cause I said so, babydoll, Christ. Just leave it be, I’ll throw it out next time we stop. Find somethin’ else to draw.”

“Okay… ‘M sorry,” you respond timidly.

“‘S alright, sweet girl. ‘M sorry too, shouldn’ta yelled at you like that. Just… tryin’ to drive here, don’t want you reachin’ behind my legs and shit, ain’t safe.”

You just nod, popping open the glove compartment for the hundredth time in hopes that there could be something in there that you’d missed before. There isn’t, so you decide to pluck out that Hank Williams tape and sketch it again, humming the song to yourself in an attempt at self-soothing as you begin to outline the shape of it. It seems like a bad time to ask Joel to sing it for you again, but if you’re good for the rest of the day and make up for your earlier mistake, maybe you could hear it again tonight.

—

You’re just finishing up your sketch a half hour or so later, when Joel decides it’s time to stop for gas. You glance over at the fuel gauge on the dash, and it looks like the truck still has half a tank left, but you decide not to say anything about it. Just like he’d said when you had first reached for the shoebox, Joel swipes it from underneath the seat as he exits the truck, tossing it haphazardly into the trash can by the gas pump. 

“Dammit,” you hear him curse to himself, and you look out the window to see him staring angrily at the empty pocket inside of his wallet where cash should be. Joel opens up the passenger side door to explain, “Forgot I used up the last o’ my cash on dinner last night. Just… stay here, babydoll, gotta head inside ‘n use the ATM quick, alright?”

You nod obediently, and watch him take long strides toward the convenience store before disappearing inside. 

He’ll only be gone for a few minutes at the most, so you know that you have to make your move now. You’ve never had Joel bark at you before like he’d done when you had reached for that beat up cardboard box, and you still feel a little rattled by it. What could possibly have been in there that he didn’t want you to see? For the first time, you feel like you might not be able to trust him, and it makes you feel a little sick. You’ve started to feel like you might love Joel, and you think he probably feels the same way, even if you haven’t said those exact three words to each other yet. Someone who loves you wouldn’t hide things from you, would they? Especially not after you’ve already bared so much of your souls to each other, after you’ve decided that you belong to each other.

There’s only one way to find out, you decide.

You exit the truck quietly, swiftly closing the short distance between you and the trash can and peering into the black plastic bag that lines it. You fish out the shoebox from where it lays on top of other garbage, and crouch down in front of the gas pump to hide yourself from view. Taking a steadying breath, you carefully remove the weathered lid from the box and begin to examine its contents. At first glance, it seems to just be full of washed-out polaroids and a few random objects—a tarnished charm bracelet, a fraying ribbon, and a cracked pair of glasses among them. What is all this stuff? You think to yourself, Keepsakes from his former life, more of Tommy’s daughter’s things that he couldn’t bring himself to get rid of yet?

You pick up a photo laying face down on top of the pile and turn it over, almost immediately dropping it back into the box in favor of clapping your hand over your open mouth. You shut your eyes tightly as they begin to water, hoping that when you open them again, you’ll find that you were wrong about what you had just seen. That it was just a trick of the light, that it wasn’t what it seemed, that you had just imagined it.

But you aren’t so fortunate.

Your heart plummets into your stomach as you peer inside the box again, a sickly feeling of dread beginning to claw its way up the back of your neck. You examine the photo more closely, and it appears to be of a girl who looks about your age, bound at the hands, gagged, and naked. She’s kneeling on the damp forest floor, staring up at the photographer with a defeated, glazed-over expression. She’s bruised, bleeding from her nose, and filthy, with her hair tangled in knots and mascara-stained tears running down her cheeks. The photo looks to have captured her last moments alive. 

One by one, you quickly examine a dozen or so more photos as your pulse hammers hard in your throat. Each of them are nearly identical, all depicting a pretty early twenty-something, either restrained and begging for her life or already dead. They all have dates scribbled on the front that are spaced out a mere couple of weeks from each other, with the names of the girls written on the backs of them. To your horror, you notice that some of the polaroids even have bloody fingerprints staining their white frames. It seems impossible that Joel could be the one who took these photos, that he could be the one to reduce these young girls to nothing more than weak puddles of tears and blood. You begin desperately trying to convince yourself that this is all part of a fucked-up nightmare you’re moments away from waking up from, until a photo containing a bright flash of white catches your eye. You can’t help how your face contorts into a grimace when you examine the photo closer, your stomach lurching at the sight of the amount of blood spilling from the back of the girl’s head as she lays lifeless on a wooden floor. All that she’s wearing are her underwear and a white tank top, the ditsy floral pattern of which you could swear you’ve seen before.

You don’t understand why it looks so familiar to you until you spread around more of the polaroids in the box, and spot one capturing a girl tied up and gagged on a motel bed, wearing a baby pink dress that grotesquely juxtaposes the depravity of her situation. She has wide, pleading doe eyes and ribbons finishing the ends of each of her braids that kind of make her look like… a doll.

The realization hits you all at once, that nearly all of the clothes Joel has given you since the day you met him had never belonged to Tommy’s daughter at all, if he even has one, if Tommy even really exists. You’d been wearing Anna’s white tank top with the delicate floral print. Elizabeth’s pink babydoll dress. Even the clothes you have on now probably belonged to some of Joel’s victims, but you don’t think you can stand to find out which ones. 

Your thoughts begin to spiral out of control, an irrational part of your brain working overtime to come up with a million reasons why this can’t be true, that there has to be some other explanation for what you’re seeing, until you pick up a final photo, where the sleeve of Joel’s drab olive flannel is clearly visible in the corner. The shirt is tattered at the cuffs in the exact way that Joel’s is, and it has the same terracotta striping woven through the plaid pattern. Emerging from the bottom of the sleeve is a tanned, thick hand, wrapped tightly around a pale, fragile neck, with some of the girl’s blonde ringlet curls poking through the gaps between his fingers. When you flip over the photo, your blood runs cold when you read the name inscribed on the back—Ruby.

Your tears begin to fall then. How strange, how cruel, that fate has led you here, lured you straight to him. Someone that you thought you knew, trusted, loved, who’s suddenly a stranger to you all over again. You’ve just been doomed from the start, haven’t you? All along, it was Joel who had been responsible for building the trap you’ve found yourself ensnared in now. Ruby hadn’t run away at all that summer, hadn’t found a place she belonged, a place to start a real life for herself, a place to see her unlimited potential finally fulfilled. She’d met Joel, and he’d restricted her existence to nothing more than a polaroid that he keeps in a fucking shoebox under the seat of his truck. All along, this is where she’d been. 

You feel like throwing up. You’re reeling, completely horrified and sick to your stomach, your life as you had just come to know it having come crashing down around you in an instant. You quickly replace the lid on the box and throw it back into the trash can, hopefully never to be seen again. You scramble back inside the truck just in time for the convenience store door to swing open again, the little bell accompanying the movement sounding sharp and sinister as it announces Joel’s imminent arrival. Your pulse pounds erratically against your ribcage as you try to act as naturally as possible, forcing your shaking hands to look like they’re busy adding the finishing touches to your latest sketch. 

You don’t look at Joel as he approaches the truck, and he doesn’t seem to pay you much attention, either. He leans against the hood casually once he feeds the bills into the pump, letting the tank fill the rest of the way up with gas. You have to come up with an escape plan now, before your poorly disguised agitation gives you away and he figures out what you’ve seen. 

When his task is finished, Joel climbs back into the driver’s seat exhales a deep breath, like he feels relieved to have finally discarded the evidence so you’d never find out the truth about him. You’re determined to keep him clueless for as long as you can.

“Ready to keep goin’, babydoll? Should only be another hour or so ‘fore we get to the next stop,” he asks, reaching over to you to gently tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. You flinch away from his touch instinctually, then silently curse yourself for already doing such a shitty job at keeping up your facade.

“A-actually, um…” You swallow hard. “I’m kinda g-getting a headache, it really hurts. And I feel really s-sick. Is it okay if we just… go straight to a motel? I just wanna… lay down,” you lie, screwing up your face into a pained wince and wrapping your arms around your stomach in an effort to make it all more convincing.

“Oh, you poor thing…” Joel coos, placing the back of his hand against your forehead. “Y’ do feel kinda hot… Sure, darlin’. Think there’s a place not too much further down the road here, jus’ hang tight.”

“T-thank you,” you reply weakly. Your voice is coming out a little uneven, but you hope it just adds to the believability of your act instead of raising suspicion. You try to cover it up with a cough and a little pained groan, just for good measure.

Joel doesn’t waste any more time getting back on the road, and you stay quiet for the short ride to the nearest motel, doing your best to hold back your tears and even out your breathing. You’ll need to be calm and clear-headed in order to have any chance at escape, lest you want to meet the same fate as the dozens of other girls who were probably also blinded by Joel’s southern charm and good looks, who were manipulated by his lies and tricked into believing that he could give them a happy ending. Was he ever going to let you see California? Or had he been leading you to your death all along?

You’re going to be the one who lives. For Ruby, you have to be. For all of them.

—

Just like the first night you’d spent with him, Joel has you wait in the truck while he checks in at the counter and retrieves the keys to your room before coming back to get you. You fake a stumble when you step down from the truck, and Joel mumbles a ‘Jesus, babydoll’ before hoisting you into his arms and carrying you across the room’s threshold, setting you down softly onto the bed.

“Whaddya need, sweet girl? Water? Some crackers, or somethin’? Bet I could ask the front desk if they got some medicine or anythin’ like that,” Joel asks, sitting on the edge of the bed while you curl up and turn away from him. You do your best not to flinch this time when he decides to comfortingly massage the back of your neck.

“Can you ask, please? It hurts so bad,” you whine, unable to tamp down your shuddering sobs any longer.

“Sure I will, my poor lil’ girl… I’ll be right back, alright?”

Joel pets your hair for a moment, and the gesture would normally flood your belly with lovesick butterflies, but it only feels predatorial now, like a lion trying to convince its prey that it only wants to play, that it won’t be torn to pieces and eaten alive. 

Your body finally relaxes when Joel leaves the room, and you count out thirty seconds to hopefully allow him to reach the front office before you make your break. When you whisper the final ‘thirty’ to yourself, you spring out of bed and sprint out the door, almost tripping over your own feet in your race to reach the payphone you’d spotted earlier in the parking lot. You figured that trying to call for help would be a smarter move than running, and you’d never make it far on foot, anyway, not in the flimsy little dress and cheap canvas sneakers you’re wearing. You’d stolen a few quarters out of the truck’s center console while Joel was letting the gas pump, and you shakily deposit them into the slot, nearly dropping them. You punch the numbers 9-1-1 into the keypad, nearly ripping the phone clean off the hook as you bring it up to your ear.

“Come on, come on, come on…” You mutter to yourself, drumming your bitten fingernails against the hard plastic handset as the mocking dial tone trills in your ear.

“911, what is your emergency?” comes a voice on the other line, female. 

“Please, I need hel–” but before you can even finish the word, he’s on you, one large hand clapped over your mouth while the other rips the phone out of your hand and slams it back into the receiver. You kick and bite and thrash, but your pitiful attempts at escape do nothing to deter him. After all, his pickup is the only car in the lot, and your room is the only one with a light on. The clerk who checked him in could have never existed at all, for all you know. There’s not a soul around to hear you cry or beg or scream, except for him. You should have known that he would see straight through you, that he would’ve anticipated you getting curious and made sure he was always one step ahead of you. Joel drags you back to the room with a two-handed grasp on your upper arm, gripped onto you hard enough you’re sure his fingertips will leave bruises.

“No, no, no, please! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Joel!” You plead, using his first name in a pathetic effort to try to appeal to whatever morality he might have left.

“You stupid fuckin’ bitch…” he spits.

Joel kicks open the door to your room and flings it shut behind him so hard you’re surprised the wood doesn’t shatter, splintering into a million sharp little pieces. He throws you down onto the stained double bed you’ll be sharing tonight, if he doesn’t decide to use the yellowed comforter to wrap your lifeless corpse in later instead. You push yourself up into a sitting position and brace yourself for whatever he’ll do to you for disobeying him, for trying to escape. You’ve never seen this side of him before, never even come close to upsetting him like this in the time that you’ve known him. 

“Don’t know who the fuck you were tryin’ to call, but you better get it through that dumb fuckin’ brain of yours that nobody gives a fuck about you anymore except for me, you got that? Cops ain’t gonna do nothin’ about some fuckin’ runaway slut, ‘specially not one who’s got nobody to miss her in the first place. ‘S why you ran away, ‘s why I picked you up… ‘Cause we both know ain’t nobody gonna come lookin’ for you. Wouldn’t be able to find your body even if they did,” he barks at you, a huge paw wrapped in the hair at the base of your skull to keep your gaze trained on him.

“Please, please don’t hurt me! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I won’t ever do it again, I promise–”

“Y’ know… I saved you from that hell hole, I gave you everything, and this is the fuckin’ thanks I get?!” The low gravel of his voice seems to be coming from somewhere deep and cavernous inside of him. It fills the entire room with a black smoke that penetrates your eardrums and fills your mouth with something bitter.

“I know, I know, I don’t know what I was thinking, I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you–”

“Yeah, I know you weren’t fuckin thinkin’. Dumb fuckin’ cunt.” Joel releases your hair and you collapse in on yourself, beginning to sob all over again. You know it probably makes you look weak in front of him, but you can’t help it as the dread washes over you. You’re on the verge of hyperventilating, wondering if this will be the one mistake that seals your fate, if he’ll let you live long enough to see those aching little imprints on your arm from where he grabbed you bloom into purple-red blotches in the morning. With your eyes shut tight and hot tears streaming down your cheeks, you’re heaving, trying to catch your breath as you release broken little noises that sound like sorry, sorry, sorry. The repeated apology almost resembles some kind of prayer, as if that could save you now.

He lets you run the gamut of your terror for a minute before pinching the bridge of his nose, the calloused pads of his fingers squeezing that angry red scar that adorns it. He expels a heavy sigh and sits beside you on the bed, the springs of the old mattress screeching as they dip with his weight.

“C’mere, babydoll,” he says, quietly now, and you feel too weak to fight him as he pulls you into his lap and helps you to straddle your legs across his thick waist. You can feel his hardening bulge against your core through the thin material of your panties, exposed now by the skirt of your dress riding up and pooling at the creases of your thighs. 

“‘S okay, darlin’ I forgive you.” He lets you cry into his shoulder as he shushes you, rocking you side to side and petting the top of your head as if he were soothing a spooked little dog. When you’re able to take deep breaths again, your senses are flooded with his familiar comforting scent. The combination of his natural cologne and the softness of his voice reaches inside some deep corner of your brain that isn’t completely terrorized and disgusted by him, and it’s enough for you to lift your head up to face him again.

“Y-you do?” You squeak out as you sniffle, and Joel wipes away the last of your salty tears with one of his rough thumbs, sucking it into his mouth afterwards. He lets out a soft groan before gripping your jaw so that the fat of your cheeks makes your lips pucker.

“Yeah, babydoll… But why would you try to go off runnin’ like that, hm? Thought you were mine, my girl, thought we understood each other.”

His tone, the furrow in his brows and the slight pout of his lips make you feel guilty, somehow, upset with yourself for making him feel this way, for trying to run from his care and affection. “I-I thought so, too. But then… then I…” you stutter, finding it impossible to speak coherently anymore.

“Then what, babydoll?” Joel prompts calmly, stroking his thumb along your cheek as he squeezes it.

“T-the box… I saw—”

“Yeah… You saw my girls, didn’t you, baby? That’s why you tried to run, ain’t it? Look at me, babydoll.”

Joel jostles your face in his grip, and you obey his command, nodding slowly. When you look into his eyes, you finally notice how dark they’ve become, their usual warm amber color now appearing more red.

“You… you killed her. I-it was you.”

“Which one’re you talkin’ about, baby? Collected a lotta girls over the years, lose track of ‘em after a while.”

Your stomach churns at his callousness. “R-Ruby… I saw h-her. Y-you… you were…” You can’t bring yourself to finish your sentence, your words interrupted by your hiccuping breaths.

“Oh, Ruby…” Joel shifts his hips into yours, a growl rumbling from deep in his chest as he closes his eyes for a moment, turning over her name on his tongue. “Yeah… She was a pretty thing, wasn’t she? Feisty one, though. ‘Bout broke my goddamn nose. Wasn’t gonna be so rough with her, but… she practically asked for it.” He brushes his finger across the scar on his face, and your eyes well up again when you make the connection. “What else did you see, hm? Talk t’ me about it, babydoll.” Even through his jeans, you can feel that he’s fully hard now, turned on at the prospect of reliving those gruesome scenes.

Nauseating visions of the polaroids flash across your memory—the girl bleeding from the back of her head, the one with the cut throat, the one with her neck bent at an unnatural angle. “No, please don’t make me…” you shake your head at him, your bottom lip trembling as you fight back more stinging tears. 

Joel releases his hold on your face in favor of giving your cheek a harsh smack. “Wasn’t a fuckin’ question, girl.”

You use his loosened grip as an opportunity to try to scramble out of his lap, hitting your hands against his chest as you try to push off the bed and get back onto your feet.

“Nuh-uh, I don’t think so. Quit fuckin’ strugglin’.” 

He’s got you flipped onto your back in a second, with your legs dangling off the edge of the bed. He stands between your parted thighs, and you look up at him through blurred vision, one of his strong hands now attempting to cut off the blood supply to your brain as he uses the other to free his thick cock from his jeans. His teeth are bared, and the look in his eyes is faraway, as if the Joel you thought you knew is somewhere else entirely, miles away from this dingy motel room off the side of the freeway. He’s long gone now, replaced by this monstrous version of him that you don’t recognize.

“Keep fightin’, see what fuckin’ happens… I’d take the prettiest photos of you, y’ know that? Add you to my lil’ collection, have no choice but to be mine forever… You’d fit right in, babydoll, this perfect fuckin’ body.”

He slides a hand up and down his leaking shaft as he rambles, and it’s impossible to deny how much it excites him, talking about his killing, his ritual. 

“Wasn’t plannin’ on it, promised myself I’d be done after the last one but—fuck—just can’t fuckin’ stop myself. ‘S just so goddamn easy,” Joel hisses through his teeth. His hand never leaves your neck as he flips up the skirt of your dress and yanks your ashamedly damp panties down your trembling legs. He flings them haphazardly onto a discolored patch of carpet in the corner of the room, and it makes you wince, imagining how he must’ve disposed of so many other girls before you in the same careless manner.  

As hopeless as it seems now, you won’t be one of them. You don’t have any other choice, you have to make it out of this alive, you have to do something.

“W-what… what is?” You manage to choke out.

Joel looks down at you, almost startled, as if you’re an inanimate object speaking to him, like he didn’t expect you to have a voice.

“Huh?”

“Y-you said… it’s so easy. What’s easy?”

He licks his lips as he thinks on his response, a sickly smile tugging at the corners. “Pickin’ up a pretty slut nobody’s gonna miss, takin’ her home with me and turnin’ her fuckin’ lights out. They practically do it to themselves with all their strugglin’ and bitin’ and scratchin’, just want ‘em to fuckin’—unh—behave.”

You whine as he pushes his tip inside your little hole, but try to maintain your composure. You think you understand now, why he’s acting this way. He wants you to want to be with him, and it triggers some kind of deepset anger inside of him when you fight, when you run, when you throw his affection back in his face. Killing the girls might not even be his end goal, at least not when he first takes them, more like an inevitable side effect of what happens when they try to escape his captivity and he feels rejected, hurt, tossed aside. And then he lashes out. And then they die. And then the cycle repeats. You’d lasted this long because you’d been the first to not reject his advances, because he’d seen himself in you.

If you don’t fight, if you can keep him talking, if you can convince him that this is what you want, you might have a chance at survival. It’s not much of a strategy, but it’s something, and it’s better than giving up.

“How… how do you d-do it?” you ask, a little less rasp in your voice as his grip on your throat begins to loosen, but his hand never leaves it entirely. He slides the rest of his cock inside you as you stutter out your question, and he laughs.

“You sure you wanna hear it, babydoll? Might be a bit much for you.” He’s fully seated inside you now, and the stretch of him burns. Even though the two of you have been fucking like bunnies practically every day since you’ve met, you can only fight against your body so much, and the fear you’re trying desperately not to clue him into is making every one of your muscles tighten around him.

“No! No, I-I wanna know. Tell me, please…” You bat your eyelashes up at him for good measure, and his canine grin widens some more.

“God, y’ really are just as fucked up as I am, huh? ‘S why I kept you around, ‘cause you’re like me…” He begins to piston his thick length in and out of you, affectionately tucking a lock of hair behind your ear with his free hand as he does. The other one constricts your airflow once again, and you stifle a whimper, suppressing the urge to argue and spit back that you’re not like him. “Usually strangle ‘em, little throats always fit so perfectly in my hands, jus’ like this…”

His voice trails off as he shoves into you harder, picking up his pace. Your breathing becomes broken and frantic as you claw through the black cloud closing in on your vision in your effort to keep him talking. “And then what?” you squeak out.

“Squeeze ‘em, real hard and slow,” Joel growls. “Try not to come in my jeans just from the pathetic lil’ sounds they make when they’re prayin’ to God to save ‘em. Ain’t so gentle with ‘em if they put up too much of a fight, though. Jus’ gotta cut the shit sometimes, slice ‘em open or split their fuckin’ skulls just to make ‘em stop. God, you’d never believe the amount of blood a lil’ girl like you’s got in ‘em.” He’s slamming his hips into your sore cunt now, both hands wrapped tightly around your neck as he uses it for leverage. You feel your muscles begin to slacken, either from the lack of oxygen or from his just-right strokes against that little spot deep inside, you can’t be sure. It was just a survival instinct, you’ll tell yourself in the morning.

“Yeah? It’s… it’s a lot?” you prompt, skin feeling tingly and voice coming out hoarse, sounding like it had come from somewhere else other than your own body. It could’ve just been the wind, a tractor-trailer whistling by outside.

“Yeah, ‘s a lot. Bleed so fuckin’ much, y’ think it might never stop. Just keeps—fuck—comin’...”

Joel’s voice breaks on the telltale word, his thrusts becoming frenzied and disjointed as he nears his release. A few high-pitched moans manage to squeeze past your compressed vocal chords, and they’re half-genuine, half-forced as a means to spur him on and speed up the process. The stretches of skin between his thumbs and forefingers are pressing down, down, down against your windpipe, and you plead with him as coherently as possible in your race against that darkness threatening to swallow you whole. 

“C-come, Joel, p-please, want you to—”

“Shut up, babydoll. Fuck… Eyes on me, c’mon,” he orders, shaking you by the neck to wake you up a bit, prevent your eyes from closing all the way. “Look at me. Just… lay fuckin’ still, don’t make a sound. Hold your goddamn breath, okay? Don’t even fuckin’ blink.”

He’s never demanded something like this before, but you aren’t exactly in a position to disobey. You do as he asks, and some of it comes involuntarily, anyway. With your hands laid at your sides, eyes looking into Joel’s own but somehow past them, unblinking, your mouth slack and lungs paralyzed, you almost feel like…

Like one of them. 

“Tha’s it, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chants to himself, rutting into your limp body with abandon as he chases his high. You can’t help but let another tear slip past your lashes, and he doesn’t wipe it away this time. 

A few more bruising pulses of his cock later, and all the blood rushes back into your head at once as Joel lets go of his vice grip around your neck, collapsing on top of your still form and breathing heavily into the damp skin of your neck where your wet tears have collected. He stays like that for a while, still slotted inside you, and you let him come back into himself for as long as he needs, not daring to move a muscle until he permits you to do so. 

Joel slides himself out of your leaking hole when he’s finally caught his breath, grunting as he pushes himself up off the bed and runs a hand through his sweat-damp hair. He studies your abused form, then tuts when he notices the marks he left around your throat.

“Better make sure you wear your hair down tomorrow, I reckon. Got a decent record of keepin’ the law off my ass, I’d rather keep it that way.” 

Tomorrow. He plans on letting you live. Until then, anyway. 

“Okay,” you agree quietly.

Joel doesn’t let you out of his sight again for the rest of the evening. He’d helped you up off the bed and into the shower, where he’d cleaned both of your bodies and scrubbed the dried tears and sweat from your skin. He’d sunk his claws into your scalp as he washed your hair under the scalding water, and you wondered if the suds could carry even the intangible filth down the drain with it—the guilt, the fear, the defeat, the violation. You almost wish you hadn’t looked in the box at all. What difference would it have made, if you’d stayed with him in ignorance? Those girls are still dead. It’s not like you can save them now. You couldn’t even save yourself.

Joel changes you into one of his large t-shirts for you to sleep in tonight, instead of a frilly nightgown or something else short and revealing that he’d usually pick out for you. You suppose that the choice of clothing acts as a more visible representation of his ownership over you. He’s marking his territory, scenting you like a dog. Like you’re his bitch.

Joel holds you suffocatingly close to him in bed that night, his arms wrapped around you so tightly that it’s difficult for your ribs to expand. He keeps one hand possessively wrapped around the column of your neck, not squeezing, just to remind you what he’s capable of. As if you could ever forget. 

“Y’know what, babydoll? I think we could be partners, you and I,” Joel says in a slow, gravelly voice, right next to your ear.

“W-what do you mean?” You whisper back into the darkness.

“I just… I tried to quit, y’ know, but I don’t think I can. I don’t want to. Too damn old and slow to keep chasin’ after ‘em anymore, but… ‘f I keep you around, you’d just make the perfect bait, wouldn’t you? That pretty face, sweet lil’ smile, you could lure ‘em straight to me, they’d never see it comin’.”

“See… what coming?”

“My hands. The knife. A fuckin’ rock. Whatever, ‘s up to them.”

His words linger in the air, and you know you should say something, but how could you possibly respond to what he’s asking of you?

“You want me to… to kill—”

“No, no, ‘course not, babydoll. Wouldn’t even have to be in the room while it’s happenin’, would never ask my sweet girl to get her hands dirty like that. Jus’ gotta bring ‘em to me, tha’s all. Maybe go after ‘em if they try to run. I mean… you’d rather it be them than you, wouldn’t you sweetheart?” Joel’s hand closes in around your throat, and you understand now what he’s offering you—a deal. Your life in exchange for helping him grow his collection of victims, helping him satisfy his urges. He’s made you feel indebted to him, like you owe him something in exchange for letting you live tonight. He thinks he’s found something special in you, a victim who finally can’t run away from him, who won’t, now. There’s enough of a connection still here, although held together by fear, that he knows you won’t try escaping again. Because he saved you, the first time from starving on the side of the road, the second time from himself. And you owe him your life, now, in some form or another. 

You only nod against the pillow, but it seems to be enough for him.

Joel kisses the back of your head, breathing in the smell of your hair. “I love you, babydoll.”

His fingers press harder against your arteries, making it clear that you have no choice but to respond with what he wants to hear.

“I love you too, Joel.”

The words are still true, you think, somehow. But it just feels like you’re saying them to a stranger now.

You wish you would’ve listened to the one useful thing your mother had ever told you—not to talk to strangers, or you might fall in love.

tag list: tag list: @beefrobeefcal @iamasaddie @rebel-held @dilfgestivo @zliteraturehoe @joeldjarin @kamcrazy123 @hellowoolf @rexamongthestars @stevie75 @luxurychristmaspudding @noisynightmarepoetry @mewantpeepaw @pedritoferg @alex-does-art-things @evolnoomym @annoyingmarvelreader @k1l4ni @joelsdagger @hjzghi-blog @natalieispunk (if your name is crossed out, it won’t let me tag you!!)

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Honey Girl. Chapter Four.

Chapter One. Chapter Two. Chapter Three. Chapter Five. Chapter Six. Chapter Seven. Chapter Eight. Chapter Nine. Chapter Ten. Series Masterlist. The Playlist.

Chapter Synopsis - You and Bucky deal with the fallout of Cora's reveal. What's that saying? If you love something, let it go...

Pairing - Dad'sBestFriend! Bucky Barnes x Female Reader - soulmate au

Age Rating - 18+

Warnings - cursing. angst. alcohol consumption.

Word Count - 5k

Author's Note - i can only apologise that this chapter took a little while!! my life is at a super weird place rn, so i'm just trying to find the time when i can. words cannot describe how incredible all of your support is for Honey Girl. the fact you all reblog and comment and send me asks means the world to me. love you all so much.

as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback) are immensely appreciated!! your reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics, which keeps me going <3

Masterlist. Inbox.

You can't breathe.

It's like all of the oxygen has been sucked out of the air, leaving it dry, brittle, sterile. Your lungs are burning, scratched like sandpaper. The backyard is spinning, like teenagers at a roller rink - all flashing lights and endless rotations.

You haven't taken your eyes off of Bucky, and he hasn't taken his eyes off of you. If you were thinking more logically, you'd probably realise that you've been staring at each other for too long, and it's starting to look a little suspicious. You don't care.

Your ears are ringing. It's like there's been an explosion, and you're scattered amongst the debris. Smoke, flames, rubble. A catastrophic detonation in your parents backyard.

A gentle hand on your shoulder snaps you back to reality. The music is still playing, everyone around the table is still conversing, the house still stands. No explosion here.

"Sweetheart?"

It's your Mom, clearly sensing your distress. She probably thinks you're upset with her, for telling Cora. You are, but that's not what's causing the pain in your chest.

"Come inside with me, baby girl. Let's get away from the noise for a second."

She grabs your hand and pulls you out of your chair, still none the wiser to the magnetism preventing you from breaking your gaze that's locked on Bucky's. She practically drags you inside, the cool air of the kitchen waking you up.

"Sweetheart, I am so, so sorry. Cora overheard the conversation we had earlier. I thought it was good news, so I didn't think to ask her to keep it private."

She looks like she's being eaten alive by guilt. Your bottom lip quivers, your eyes well up, and before you know it, there are warm, salty tears dripping down your cheeks.

"Hey, hey. What's the matter?"

You sit down on the tiled floor, back pressed against the cabinets. Curling your knees to your chest, you try to stifle your sobs.

"Everything's such a mess, Mama."

She drops to the ground, gathering you in her arms. She holds you as tight as she can, rubbing soothing circles into your back and whispering comforting words in your ear. Eventually, she pulls back to look at you.

"What's the matter, baby? I thought Stella's call was a good thing - that you'd be excited to go back to California."

You take a shaky breath before replying.

"It's just... I think - I don't, it's... it's so complicated."

She traces her fingers over your cheeks, your eyebrows, your nose. She dances her fingertips over your face, as if she's committing it to her mind forever. It brings back warm and cosy childhood memories of her doing the same thing to help you sleep. The two of you would snuggle up against all of your pillows in bed, tucked up and safe. She'd lie with you until she was sure you were dreaming, before kissing you on the forehead and sneaking out.

"Talk to me. We can figure it out. We always do."

"It's not that simple. I just... there's a lot going on, I guess. I thought it'd be an easy decision, but it isn't, and it's all I can think about, and it's eating me up because I'm so scared I'm gonna do the wrong thing -"

You cut yourself off with a sob, resting your head on your knees.

"I knew there was something bothering you, sweetheart. Why didn't you come and talk to us? Even if we can't fix it, we can listen."

"I thought I could handle it. I thought I could figure it out on my own."

"You don't ever have to carry stress like this on your own, baby girl. Ever. You hear me?"

You nod and lean into her, letting her rock you in her arms on the kitchen floor.

"I'm sorry again, about Cora. She means well, you know she does."

"I know. Doesn't feel like it sometimes, but I know."

A pause.

"Okay, sweetheart. What are we going to do now? Whatever you decide, we'll support you."

"Your Mom's right," your Dad says from the doorway. "Whatever you choose, we'll be right alongside you. No matter what."

He strides over to join the two of you on the floor, sandwiching you between him and your Mom.

"If you need help packing up and moving, we're here. If you need us to create an elaborate lie to tell Stella, we're here. Either way, you've got us."

You smile at him gently, leaning to rest your head on his shoulder. Regardless of what happens, you have two parents that love you more than anything in the world. That has to count for something.

"You wanna rejoin us outside, or are you too tired? No one will blame you if you go home."

"I think I'll go home," you murmur. "I don't wanna face any more questions for today."

"Bucky's just gone too. Said something about an early morning tomorrow."

You inhale shakily at the mention of his name. You know you'll have to face him sooner or later.

Your Dad stands and grabs your hands to help you to your feet, before doing the same to your Mom. They both hug you tightly before walking you out to the front door.

"Promise me you'll call if you need anything. Anything."

"I promise, Mama. Don't worry about me. I'll be okay."

"Do you want one of us to walk you home?"

"No, it's okay. I think I need the air."

"Love you, baby girl."

"Love you too. Both of you."

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You're halfway home when you decide to turn around. You need to talk to Bucky.

It doesn't take you long to figure out where he is. You can feel in your chest that he's close by, that he hasn't strayed far. He hasn't gone home, though. The Universe is pulling you in the opposite direction.

The beach.

You spin on your heel and start walking down the road, picking up pace as you go. You can feel rain in the air, threatening to spill from the clouds at any given moment. Before you know it, you're running, sprinting along the sidewalk in the direction of your soulmate.

You get to the small boardwalk and look out over the sand. The sky is grey as concrete, cold and unforgiving. You spot a figure in a worn brown leather jacket by the shore, and you know instantly. It's him.

You march onto the beach with your shoes still on, wrapping your arms around yourself to act as a shield from the wind. You left your jacket at your parent's house, too eager to get out of there in a hurry. The rain is suspended in the air, never quite reaching the ground. You know it's only a matter of time before the heavens open.

"Bucky!" you yell, practically bounding across the sand. "Buck!"

He doesn't turn because he hears your voice. He turns because he suddenly feels like he can breathe, which he hasn't been able to do for the last hour. He knew you were there before you shouted his name.

"Bucky, please!"

He spins on his heel and stops walking, waiting for you to catch up with him. You're sprinting, panting as you reach him. The ocean waves crash against the shore, dangerously close to his boots.

"Buck, just let me explain," you choke out, trying to catch your breath.

You finally stop running and look at him. He looks broken. His hair looks like he's pulled his fingers through it repeatedly, tear tracks staining his cheeks, lips bitten red. You've never seen him upset like this. It's the worst thing you've ever witnessed.

"There's nothing to explain," he begins calmly, trying to keep a lid on his feelings.

"There is, Buck. There is. I... Cora overheard me confiding in my Mom, telling her about a call I'd gotten, from a classmate at culinary school. It was just an offer - I haven't accepted anything! I never meant for you to find out like this, I swear. It's all just... it's all so fucked up."

He looks at you in disbelief.

"No, you know what's fucked up?" he asks, raising his voice. "Finding out that my soulmate is moving across the country from some alcoholic suburban mom at a dinner party!"

You've never heard him yell before. You don't like it at all. You gather yourself before replying calmly, determined to keep you emotions under wraps.

"I've been trying to find a way to talk to you about it, but I didn't know where to start. How do I even begin to explain any of this?"

"Maybe, I don't know - 'hey, Buck, I got a call and I'm thinking of moving thousands of miles away for my dream job,' would be a good place to start?"

"It's more complicated than that. I was trying to protect you."

"Protect me from what?"

"From blowing your life up for me!"

You stare at each other for a minute, both of you unblinking.

"What are you talking about?" he croaks out.

"You'd drop everything for me, Bucky, and I can't let you do that. You've worked too damn hard to let it all go."

He's dumbfounded, for a moment. Not because he doesn't understand. No. He's realising that you're right.

"I knew that if I told you straight away, you'd have persuaded me to let you come with, and I would have said yes. And then you'd regret it, and you'd resent me, and we'd be over before we've even begun."

When he doesn't say anything, you continue.

"The thing is, Buck, the selfish part of me would have happily invited you along. Me and you, in California, running a bakery? That sounds like a fucking dream. But I have to listen to the other side of me, the selfless part. And that part is telling me that you have worked too damn hard for too damn long just for me to take that all away."

You feel droplets of water on your face, and for a moment, you wonder when you started to cry again. Then, in the deep distance, you hear a crack of thunder. The rain begins to pour, both of you caught in a storm in more ways than one.

"You don't get to make a decision like that for me!" he finally responds, yelling to be heard over the downpour. "We're supposed to talk about these things! To figure them out together! That's what soulmates are - we're a team!"

"I can't think rationally around you, Bucky! It's like all logic goes out the window. I'm just so overwhelmed with-"

You stop yourself before the word comes out, but you both know what you were about to say. He feels it in his ribcage, the surge of emotion from you.

"-with how I feel about you. You're my forever, Buck, and I feel like -" a sob wracks through you, shaking your frame. "-like I've fucked it all up already."

Your tears mix with the rainwater, trailing down your cheeks. You watch as Bucky fights with himself, internally battling his feelings.

"You're not the only one fucking it up," he chokes. "You repeatedly told me we had to take it slow, but I just... couldn't help myself. I've never felt for anyone what I feel for you, and being away from you for even a minute is fucking torture. I moved us too fast, and now look where we are. We've become the equivalent of a married couple in a couple of weeks. No one can handle change that sudden."

"It's not.. none of this is your fault, Buck. I kept something from you, something big. I know it doesn't matter now, but I want you to know how hard it's been to not tell you. It was killing me."

"I felt it," he murmurs shakily, willing himself not to cry. "In my chest. You were so torn up about something, and I just couldn't figure out what it was. I should have pushed you more, but I was worried I'd push you away."

Your lip trembles as you watch him bite his own anxiously.

"I'm so scared, Buck," you whisper. "I feel so lost and so confused and like nothing makes sense."

"Me too," he whispers back, eyes never leaving yours. "I'm fucking terrified. Our worlds have been turned upside down."

"Is it... is it supposed to be this hard? Everyone makes it sound so easy."

"I don't know. Maybe the Universe heard that we were anti-soulmate and decided to be super tough on us. Cosmic karma, or something."

You choke out a laugh through your tears. The rain has plastered your clothes to your body, the salty wind chilling you to the bone. Without thinking, Bucky takes off his jacket and wraps it around you, unable to watch you shiver any longer.

"What now?" you ask quietly. If he wasn't standing so close, he wouldn't have heard it.

"Let's get out of the storm," he suggests, nodding his head towards the path home. "We can talk some more somewhere warmer."

You sniffle and take a deep breath, willing yourself to get it together. Bucky surprises you by linking your hand with his, warm fingers intertwining around yours.

He doesn't let go the whole way home.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Bucky takes you to his house.

You haven't been here since before your Tethering. You walk in the door, and your knees threaten to give way.

It's overwhelming.

Everywhere - everything - smells like Bucky. His scent clings to every fabric, every upholstery, every room. There's pictures scattered across the mantelpiece, his handsome face staring at you wherever you go. The house is warm, cosy, and just so Bucky it makes your heart ache.

You walk over to the fireplace, taking a closer look at the array of frames adorning it. There's one of your parents and Bucky smiling, sat out on his lawn last summer; another of Bucky and his team of mechanics, stood proudly outside his garage. A small black frame catches your eye. You pick it up, and your breath hitches in your chest.

It's a picture of the two of you on the deck of his boat, the day after you found out you were soulmates. The wind is blowing your hair, billowing your shirts, sun beating down on your skin. You're both beaming at the camera, bright and blinding, completely content.

You're holding back tears as you put it back in it's original place.

"My favourite picture," he murmurs from somewhere behind you. "We look happy."

"We were happy," you whisper. Then, quieter, "We will be again."

A pause.

"You want something to drink? Coffee, cocoa? Oh, I have that tea you like, the apple one?"

"You do?"

"Yeah. I, uh, bought some last time I went grocery shopping. In case you stopped by."

"Tea sounds good. Please."

You stay stood in the middle of the living room while Bucky puts the kettle on the stove, worried that your wet clothes will ruin his couch. As if he's read your mind, he pops his head around the door.

"There's a load of fresh clothes folded on top of the dryer. Grab whatever you want, dry off a little."

You wander into the laundry room, sorting through the pile. You find a t shirt with his garage logo on the back in big, white letters.

J.B.B. Motorcycles and Automotives.

The blocky, bold font swirls across the black material. You run your fingers over it, tracing the curves and spikes of the typeface. It's something you've seen him in a million times. You inhale deeply as you slip it over your head, revelling in the way it smells like him. You grab some boxer shorts and slip those on too, glad to finally be warm and dry.

Bucky loses his breath when you walk into the room. He's never seen you in his clothes before, and for good reason. He's about to have a goddamn heart attack.

"Tea is on the coffee table," he chokes out. "I'm gonna change, and then we'll talk, yeah?"

You nod gently, settling into the cushions of his couch and tucking your legs underneath you, mug warming your hands.

When Bucky returns, he's in sweatpants and an oversized hoodie that you want to burrow yourself into. He takes his place, careful to put a little distance between you. Far enough that you're not touching, but close enough that you almost are.

"I'm sorry," you whisper. "I'm not good at this."

"Neither am I," he smiles gently. "It's my first time having a soulmate."

"Mine too," you laugh softly.

It floors you, his ability to always be able to comfort you. It's like a superpower, the way he always knows what to say or do to put you at ease.

"I think we got a little ahead of ourselves," he begins, careful to keep his voice low and deliberate. "I keep forgetting that we have forever. Literally. I was so eager to rush into this with you because I got excited. Don't get me wrong, I'm still ridiculously excited, but I'm realising now that our version of 'slow' wasn't slow at all."

"This whole Tethering thing makes everything so intense. There have been times where I honestly thought I was going to drop dead if you didn't kiss me."

"The feelings mutual," he chuckles.

You lace your fingers with his, never breaking eye contact, before addressing the elephant in the room.

"What am I gonna do about California, Buck?"

Your voice cracks just saying the word.

"Stella needs an answer, and I've upset you, and my parents are clueless, and I just - I don't know what to do. Tell me what to do. Please."

"I can't tell you what to do, honey," he soothes, running his thumb over the back of your hand. "And I'm not upset. I was, in the backyard... but I was mainly just blindsided. I kinda get it, you not telling me. I'm not sure what I'd do in your situation either."

"I just feel like both decisions are wrong. I can't win."

"Hey, hey. Look at me, pretty baby."

Bucky cradles your face in his warm hands, forcing your eyes to meet his ocean blue ones. You have to focus on his words, so you don't get lost in the waves of his irises.

"At the end of the day, it's completely your decision, and no one in the world can change that. But-"

He takes a deep breath, and continues.

"I think that you'll regret it every day for the rest of your life if you don't take the incredible opportunity that's been offered to you."

You take a second to process what he's telling you, your mind running at a thousand miles an hour.

"Are you... you're... are you saying I should take the job?"

"Like I said, it's your decision, but... yes. I'm saying you should take the job."

Your eyes well with tears, and you bite your lip to stop them from escaping. Inhaling carefully, you put your hands on his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat under your palms. He's calm. He's sure. He's collected enough for the both of you.

"What about us?" you ask, barely above a whisper.

"Like you said, baby. I'm your forever." Buck leans in, resting his forehead to yours. "We have time."

"All the time in the world."

You connect your lips to Bucky's softly, testing the waters. He kisses you back with so much feeling, tears slip from your lashes without warning. He's crying too, emotion mixing with yours, dousing you both.

You pull away and wrap your arms around him, curling yourself into his chest. He holds you as tightly as he can, knowing this will be the last time for a long time.

"So you'll go."

"I'll go."

"And I'll stay."

"You'll stay."

"And we'll be okay. No matter what, we'll be okay."

You and Bucky fall asleep in each others arms, cherishing the feeling of home one last time.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The happiness is starting to seep through.

You're devastated to be leaving Bucky behind, but you're trying to look on the bright side. Sunny beaches, new people, your dream job. If you think about the positives for long enough, the Bucky sized hole in your chest hurts a little less.

You're packing up your bookshelf when your phone rings, scaring the life out of you.

"Bitch!"

You know who it is instantly.

"Hi, Lacie."

"Where have you been? Why didn't you answer my text from last night?"

"Shit, sorry. I've been packing. What's up?"

"We're going out tonight. Not just us - all the girls. We're throwing you a goodbye party!"

You groan inwardly, massaging your temples with your fingers.

"A party? Lace, I don't need a party."

"Babe, you do. You really do. It'll be fun! I thought you'd be excited!"

You take a deep breath, and remember what you've been telling yourself. Focus on the positives.

"Okay, fine. Where? What time? What should I wear?"

"I knew you'd say yes! Come to my place at like... six? We can get ready together, like old times! And wear something sexy."

She doesn't wait for you to argue, just hangs up the phone. She knows you too well.

You know it'll be good for you, to see your girlfriends - but the thought of all the goodbyes you're about to say breaks your heart a little more.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

"Okay, what the fuck is going on with you?"

You're sat cross legged on Lacie's living room floor, sharing makeup that's scattered across the coffee table. You sip your wine for a moment, trying to come up with an excuse. It's no use.

"I don't know."

"Bullshit."

You turn to look at her.

"What?"

"It's bullshit, babe. Something's going on. You've been given your dream job, and you're moping around like you just got broken up with or something. Why aren't you happy?"

There's no malice in her voice, just pure love. She adores you. You adore her. She's the one person with an outsiders perspective on all of this. So, you cut the act.

"I had my Tethering."

Silence.

She's processing.

"What?!"

"Yeah."

"When? Who? Where? How? Oh my God what is happening? Why didn't you say anything? Fuck, I'm gonna cry. I'm so overwhelmed right now, I'm so happy for you! Wait... are we not happy?"

"It's... complicated."

There's a lump in your throat, but a levity in your heart. A weight has been taken off you. Telling someone the truth has made you feel a little lighter.

"Who is it, babe?"

You take a deep breath, and look her in the eyes.

"Bucky."

Her jaw drops.

"Your... your Dad's best friend Bucky?"

"That's the one."

"Oh. My. Fucking. God."

"Yeah."

"Holy shit."

"Yeah."

"This is complicated."

"Yeah."

"Aw, babe."

She pulls you in for a hug, not caring about the makeup you're smearing across her shirt. You cling to her as tightly as you can, savouring your best friends comfort.

"Does anyone else know?"

"No. We decided not to tell my parents for a while."

"Shit. No wonder you've been so sad lately. You're moving across the country, away from the one person you're supposed to be near."

"It's really hard," you whisper, tears threatening to spill.

"I can't even begin to imagine," she murmurs, holding you close. "I wish you'd told me sooner. We could have talked about it."

"I know," you sniffle. "I thought I could handle it on my own, but I really can't."

"You're not on your own, okay? You have Bucky, and you have me. You can always talk to me about this stuff. God knows I talked your ear off about Cameron."

You laugh softly, thinking back to that day that feels both like yesterday and a million years ago.

"Where is he tonight?"

"Out with his boys. It's good for us to spend a few hours apart."

You smile at the happiness that's radiating off her. She's glowing, beaming in all directions.

"Thanks, Lace. I love you. You know that right?"

"Of course I do. I love you too. So much," she leans forward to kiss your cheek. "Now let's have one hell of a last girls night, shall we?"

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You've lost track of exactly where you are.

You know you're downtown somewhere, in one of the bars. This one smells like wood and whiskey, lowlit and smoky. You hit the cocktail bar first, then the one covered in leopard print, then the monochrome pink one. Now, you're here.

The six of you are sat at a booth, high heels tangled and legs intertwined under the table. The wood is sticky with lemon wedges from tequila shots, salt scattered across the surface.

"If you find any hot west coast men, will you send them my way?" Reese asks, nudging you with her shoulder.

"And if you find any hot west coast women, will you send them mine?"

Everyone laughs, the scent of perfume filling the air.

"Rosa, what happened to Aubrey? We liked her!"

"Caught her kissing my ex girlfriend. So now they're both my ex girlfriends."

"Jesus Christ."

"Man, that's rough," Lacie giggles next to you.

The other girls continue to talk about Aubrey's infidelity as Lacie leans to whisper in your ear.

"Have you said goodbye to Bucky yet?"

You nod.

"Yesterday. I stayed the night, we fell asleep together. Said our goodbyes in the morning. It was awful."

"Love you," she whispers, squeezing your hand under the table.

"Love you too," you reply, squeezing back.

"There's a table of super hot guys over there," Maggie observes, tilting her head in their direction. "Maybe we should conveniently dance that way in a little while."

You don't bother to look over, knowing that none of them will compare to your soulmate. The other girls seem interested, though, so you smile along with them.

"Babe," Sam hisses, kicking you under the table. "There's a hot guy at that table, three o'clock, that keeps staring at you."

You glance over, and your heart stutters in your chest.

Bucky.

His blue eyes pierce your soul, even from across the room. For a moment, it's only the two of you, all the noise forgotten.

You're snapped back to reality by Sam.

"Fuck, he's hot. If you don't want him, I do."

"You should talk to him," Lacie suggests quickly. "Why not, right?"

She's practically pushing you out of the booth, high school wrestler style. In another life, you think, she would have made a good football player. All five foot four of her.

You walk past his table, eyes still locked on him, and towards the bathrooms. You know he'll follow you. You walk to the end of the hallway and out of the door, into the fresh night air.

You feel him appear before you see him. You lean your body against the wall, head resting on the cold brick. Bucky stands in front of you, shirt stretched across his shoulders gorgeously.

"Hi."

"Hi, honey baby."

You smile softly at the nickname.

"What are you doing here?"

"I got dragged to a boys night. What are you doing here?"

"I got dragged to a girls night."

He laughs, and all the tension melts from your muscles.

"Thought we said our goodbyes. I didn't think I'd see you again before I left."

"Me too. But you know the Universe. It hates us."

"Cosmic karma," you whisper.

The two of you stand down the alleyway, looking at each other carefully. Neither of you wants to spook the other person. You'd processed your leaving, said your emotional goodbyes. And now he's here, standing in front of you. You don't want to have to do it all again.

"I should probably get back inside, before the girls get the wrong idea."

"Baby, I followed you to the bathroom. They've already got the wrong idea."

You chuckle, kicking at a rock on the ground.

"Yeah. I don't know how I'm gonna explain this."

A smile. A pause.

"I'll let you get back to your friends, then."

You lean up to press a kiss to his stubbled cheek.

"Bye, Buck."

"Bye, pretty girl."

You push off the wall and walk away towards the door. Suddenly, a warm hand wraps around your wrist, yanking you into a solid chest.

Bucky kisses you like a man possessed. There's nothing gentle about it - just pure, unadulterated passion. It's all teeth and tongue and nipping and biting, neither of you willing to be the first to pull away.

He walks you back into the wall, pushing you against the rough brick. You hike a leg up onto his hip as he grabs your thigh to pull you closer, desperate to feel all of you. Your hands are in his hair, around his neck, tangled in his collar, his shirt, his belt loops. Anything you can get your hands on, you grab.

A distant chorus of cheers break you out of your lust fuelled haze. A bachelorette party walks by, one of the women winking at you as they go. You and Bucky take a step away from each other, straightening out your clothes and fixing your hair.

"Promise me you'll call me if you need anything," Bucky murmurs, leaning to rest his forehead on yours.

"I promise," you whisper, almost against his lips. "Goodbye, Bucky."

"Goodbye, honey girl."

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The salty ocean wind whips through your hair, sun beating down onto your skin, some upbeat pop song humming from the radio. You keep your eyes glued to the road in front of you, begging yourself not to look back. You know if you do, you'll turn the car around and run straight back into Bucky's arms.

Let the happiness seep through, you remind yourself, gripping the steering wheel.

Let the happiness seep through.

tag list part one -

@lillytracy6996 @securegorgon @roostersforevergirl @povlvr @val-writesstuff  @dreadfulxives18 @1deadpool26 @abbygraceasd @nyutasgirl @mavrellover91 @winterslove1917 @f-this42 @skewedcherries @noisesinthedark @kandis-mom @black-cat-2 @harrystylesandthegoobs @vladsgirlxx @h0nestly-though @arienotari @nash-dara   @wandaneedstherapy @galaxy-dusk @justherefortheficandsmut @cremebruleequeen   @cjand10 @buggy14 @avengers-fixation @blueberrybambi @beautiful-loserr @sarah1barnes @miss-rebel-without-applause @ragingrainbowshipl @shamrockqueen @savemeroman @jenn-f @8crazy-freak8 @daddyjackfrost @openup-yourmind @adangerousbalance  @mandijo17 @daddylorianisastateofmind @rcarbo1 @casa-boiardi @spideegwen @navs-bhat @mssbridgerton @asuni921 @middle-of-the-earth @mfrnchsk

[blouisparadise]

Upon request, here is another part of our possessive Harry rec list. If you missed them, you can find part one here and part two here. There are a ton of amazing fics on this list that we hope you'll check out. If you enjoy our rec lists, please be sure to like and reblog this post to help spread the word. Happy reading!

1) Back Where I Belong | Explicit | 7,217 words

Harry’s trying to have a conversation with Nick, who he hasn’t seen in nearly three months, but the way Nick’s eyes keep darting over his shoulder every few seconds is quite distracting. It’s ironic, because at least a quarter of the reason that he’s even talking to Nick in the first place is because he needs a distraction. He’s all too aware of exactly what’s going on behind his back. Nick is the one who finally brings it up. “Do you think he’s doing it to spite you?” “He’s definitely doing it to spite me,” Harry answers tightly, resisting the urge to crane his neck around so he can see. He clutches his drink a little tighter, trying to keep his tenuous control over his own movements.

2) Come A Little Closer | Explicit | 9,867 words

Louis puts on lingerie. It's not, like, a thing.

3) Fuck U Betta | Explicit | 11,438 words

There’s something about having Louis like this, exposed and desperate, that makes a primal urge bubble up from deep inside Harry’s chest. Desire mixed with something else, something unquantifiable. It’s the thing that makes them want this, need this. Nothing else will satisfy them or quench their thirst.

4) Please, I'm Begging | Explicit | 13,746 words

Louis is an omega who just wants to be with Harry

5) Rendezvous | Explicit | 15,357 words

"Harry's got a date tonight." Zayn greets him. Louis misses the good old times, when people used to say hello. "Why's he got a date, Louis?" Louis has no time for Zayn's nonsense, he's late to crash Harry's date. He only came here for one thing. "I need the fur coat." he announces. "No questions asked."

6) I’m Kind Of Into It | Explicit | 19,483 words

Note: This fic is locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

A pair of eyes follow him, narrowed and if Louis has judged right; assessing. Trying to see if Louis has a favourite. Waiting to see if he gives it up to one of the baying crowd. He doesn't. He straightens up and moves smoothly back towards the intriguing man in the front-row seat. He hasn't moved, bar to clutch his fingers slightly around the edges of the circle-shaped seat; his thighs pushing open a little further as he tucks his ass in; showcasing his dick somewhat. The dress pants do barely anything to cover the jut of that length and Louis makes it his personal mission to make him hard. It's insulting really that he's not already there. He's been dancing for three minutes and if that isn't long enough to incite some interest then what is?

7) Play By The Rules | Explicit | 21,835 words

Fed up with the excess energy that’s wreaking havoc on his personal and professional life, Louis asks his boyfriend to dom him in the hopes that it’ll help him relax. Unfortunately, Harry is a bit of a disaster when it comes to being a dom. So, Louis decides to get creative to try and encourage the dominant side out of him.

8) Worth The Wait | Explicit | 29,262 words

In all the words Louis would use to describe a baby shower, the last one he’d ever thought to use was depressing.

9) Can’t Fool Me | Explicit | 30,162 words

AU where Louis hates fraternities and would never be into a frat boy. And one of these things is definitely not a lie.

10) Blue Songs Are Like Tattoos | Explicit | 30,739 words

“Good morning, University of California, you’re listening to KALX 90.7 FM Berkeley, this is DJ Harry Styles. If the owner of the tapes I’ve been finding around the studio doesn’t come forward and introduce himself, I’m going to continue tossing them straight in the trash!”

11) Like It’s A Game | Explicit | 32,223 words

There is little harry hates more than truth or dare.

12) All This Devotion | Explicit | 38,047 words

Louis is Harry’s work wife. The already blurry lines of their friendship are smudged further when they get caught up in a web of lies.

13) Kiss Me On The Mouth And Set Me Free (But Please Don’t Bite) | Mature | 42,036 words

Harry is the CEO of Flora Corp, Louis is his new secretary.

14) Strangers In Love | Explicit | 42,207 words

Louis wakes up to find himself in a marriage with the last man he thought he'd ever end up with.

15) Let Your Damage, Damage Me | Explicit | 57,077 words

A low and dangerous growl was ripped from the future King’s chest. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” the alpha snarled, eyes dark and nostrils flared. Even as anger rushed through him at the alpha’s brutish display, Louis felt breathless at the intense gaze of the man that was going to be his future mate. ‘Tomorrow I’m going to be under all that. He will be inside me, all muscles and rage.’ Louis felt his cheeks heat again, but refused to be cowed. So he put his best smirk on display, the one alphas despised to see, the one that assured them all he had the upper hand. “Thought you were expecting me, dear husband. I’m your future mate.”

16) Not Afraid Of Living On A Fault Line | Explicit | 55,218 words

His eyes widened when he realized he had just somehow managed to ask Harry to hang out. Judging by Harry’s own expression, he wasn't the only one who was shocked. Louis expected him to laugh off the ridiculous request but the beta looked up at him, almost hopefully. “Are you being serious?” “Um,” was all Louis could say, feeling every bit as speechless as Harry had been earlier. “Are you?” Harry shrugged. “I’ve been told I need to get out more.”

17) These Still Waters Run Deep | Explicit | 64,602 words

Having accepted his engagement to Viscount Andrew, Louis is aware that it isn’t a love match and has no wish to be swept off his feet… until he meets the viscount’s brother, Harry, who makes him second-guess everything.

18) King Of My Heart | Explicit | 83,712 words

Harry shrugged, his shoulders brushing against Louis’. “I think since I was young, I craved that feeling, though. I didn’t always hate being a prince, but over time, certain aspects of it just bothered me so much. I remember being four years old and realizing that every person in the world knew my name, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted that. I told my mum as much and she tried telling me that being a prince is not a punishment. That it was a privilege that I should be happy about it, but no one asked me if I was. But looking up at the sky, I remember that all of this will one day mean nothing, and neither will I. All the pressure will then disappear and I could just be.” Louis stayed quiet, allowing Harry the space to open up because he knew Harry wasn’t looking for advice, but just someone to confide in. What he wished he could tell him was that in the short amount of time that he’d known the prince, in Louis’ eyes, he couldn’t be insignificant if he tried. He was brighter than every star up there in the sky. He was all Louis could look at and think about.

19) Echoes & Omens | Mature | 100,707 words

Echoes of the dead come in many forms. Their imprints forever tied to the ones who'd killed them. Louis Tomlinson is able to track the dead using their echoes, they call to him. He's used that gift to aid Scotland Yard in their investigations, with the hopes of studying Criminology at Cambridge University. He's lived a life of privilege and good fortune as a Marquess, son of the late Duke Tomlinson, with his life mapped out since day one. Until two terrible truths are revealed. One, he's adopted. Two, his biological parents are London's most notorious serial killers. Against his family's wishes, Louis travels to Chicago to uncover the truth of their incarceration. Much to his dismay, his biological mother's Lawyer, Harry Styles, wants to take his case. Together, they work to uncover what really happened all those years ago, but perhaps more is revealed than they could've ever anticipated. Trapped in a whirlwind of portents and omens, Louis and Harry find themselves pitted against an enemy they'd not foreseen.

20) You’ve Got A Higher Power, You’re Once In Any Lifetime | Explicit | 113,444 words

Giving up and letting them think they're right were never valid options in Louis Tomlinson's mind. In a society full of prejudices, finding a family and being accepted, also seemed like an unrealistic utopia. Louis sets out to do what no other of his kind ever has before and in doing so, he finds love, friendship and more about himself than he thought he would.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

[suzukiblu]

Day thirteen of fic NaNoWriMo; obligatory sugar daddy Tim/sugar baby Kon AU.

Tim gets to the Gotham mall Tim Drake is meeting Superboy at fifteen minutes early because on-time is late, and is entirely unsurprised to have to wait twenty minutes for Kon to show up. Actually, if anything he’s surprised to only have to wait twenty minutes for Kon to show up. 

“Sorry I’m late. You will not believe this, but there was literally a cat stuck in a tree,” Kon says with a sheepish, guilty grin as he lands right next to him in full costume like that’s a perfectly normal thing to do, especially in Gotham. Tim is very glad he decided to wait in one of the security cameras’ more out-of-the-way blind spots. 

“I’m surprised the cat let you save it,” he says, raising an eyebrow at him. It is Gotham, after all. 

“He did not,” Kon says, making a face. “He tried to claw my eyes out and then jumped off my head and down into his owner’s arms, who proceeded to ask me why I thought I was too good to wear body armor.” 

“Well, why do you?” Tim asks, feeling a bit of quiet pride on behalf of his city. Gothamites have priorities. 

“Because anything that could hit me hard enough that I’d need body armor for it would trash the body armor anyway,” Kon replies matter-of-factly, gesturing illustratively at himself. “TTK only works on skintight clothes. Like, I did not go for Spandex as a fashion choice, it’s because anything else would shred right off me in an actual fight.” 

Tim feels his own eyes glaze over. 

“Uh-huh,” he manages vaguely. 

“Also I don’t know where I’d get body armor stronger than I already am anyway,” Kon says. “Cadmus doesn’t have any and that’s pretty much my whole supply chain, you know?” 

“Uh-huh,” Tim manages again, still attempting to reboot his brain. “Shred right off, huh?” 

“Yeah,” Kon says with a shrug. “It’s not exactly dignified, fighting crime naked.” 

“. . . uh-huh.” 

Tim blinks a few times. Blinks again. Then he shakes his head and forces the mental reboot. 

“First things first, are you hungry?” he asks. “There’s a pretzel place and a smoothie shop right over there, or we could just hit the food court.” 

“I could eat,” Kon says with another shrug. “I mean, who doesn’t appreciate a good smoothie?” 

“Well, don’t get your hopes up, Gotham smoothies are fine but unfortunately use a lot more frozen fruit than Metropolis ones,” Tim says, which is the one and only thing he will ever hear said against Gotham. 

“Isn’t frozen better anyway?” Kon asks, wrinkling his nose. “Fresh fruit makes it kinda watery sometimes. Frozen it comes out thicker and stuff.” 

Okay, well, Tim is apparently talking to someone who knows a lot more about smoothie-making than he does. Note to self. Also, what an incredibly weird thing for Kon to know. Like, even weirder than the caffeine. 

“Does it?” he says. “I just always hear fresh is better than frozen.” 

“From pretentious snobs who can grocery shop every day, I bet,” Kon snorts, rolling his eyes. Which . . . is a fair and accurate assessment, admittedly. “And it’s a smoothie, not a juice bar. They’re supposed to be frozen, yeah?” 

“Okay, well, in that case, guess we’re getting better-quality smoothies than I’d assumed,” Tim says. 

“Spoiling me, huh, pretty boy?” Kon says with a smirk. Tim experiences every possible flavor of mortification under the sun and smirks back. 

“If I wanted to spoil you, we’d be getting smoothies in California right now,” he says. 

“I mean, we could,” Kon says with a snicker, tucking his hands into his jacket pockets. 

“I appreciate the offer but that seems like a lot of travel time just for smoothies,” Tim says wryly. “Did you bring a change of clothes?” 

“No, why?” Kon says, looking puzzled. 

“. . . so we can hang out without anyone bothering you,” Tim says, wondering how that could've possibly not occurred to Kon. “Or interrupting the conversation every five minutes.” 

Kon looks–odd, briefly. Tim isn't sure why. 

“Hate to break it to you but I'm not exactly a scintillating conversationalist,” Kon says with a quick, forced smile. “You might want the interruptions.”

Tim thinks there might be a few more people to add to his supervillain vengeance hit list. Like, just possibly. Maybe. 

“What's your size?” he asks.

“Beats me,” Kon says, looking a little odd again. “I don't wear civilian clothes like . . . ever, really. Like, swimsuits at the beach, sure, but that's about it.” 

“What, never?” Tim asks, a little incredulous. Fucking–what is wrong with literally everyone Kon has ever known, for fuck's sake? 

“I mean, I have,” Kon says with an awkward little shrug, keeping his hands in his pockets. “Just not all that often, so I dunno what my size or whatever is.” 

“Okay,” Tim says, internally seething. Fucking Cadmus. Fucking Superman. Nobody ever even taught Kon how to fucking dress himself? How is that even a thing, for fuck's sake?! How is he supposed to ever get even five fucking minutes of being a normal person if he doesn't even own a goddamn pair of jeans?! 

Maybe Tim could do the supervillain thing a little bit earlier than planned. Like. Possibly. As long as he keeps the majority of his villain-ing outside of Gotham, anyway. That'd work, right? 

“Give me five minutes,” he says. “I'll be right back, just try to . . . uh, be . . . subtle, I guess.” 

Kon looks at him. Looks down at his bright costume and striking leather jacket. 

Tim despairs of his own capacity to do, like . . . anything. Ever. 

“Just wait right here, okay?” he says. 

“Okay?” Kon says skeptically. Tim takes the better part of valor and flees the scene. Four minutes and fifty-nine seconds later, he's back with a bag full of clothes that he eyeballed the sizes of that Kon hopefully won't hate, and that he also-hopefully eyeballed correctly enough. He's been learning how to do that more accurately, because you never know when you'll need to immediately get someone in new clothes in this line of work, but it's still a learning process. 

Kon takes out the dark wash skinny jeans and bulky forest green turtleneck sweater that should cover his suit effectively enough, as long as he takes off his gloves and jacket and maybe a belt or two, and the outfit's maybe a little heavy for the weather, especially layered with his suit, but it is Gotham and their chances of getting randomly rained on are higher than zero, put it that way. 

“You can get changed over there,” Tim says, pointing towards the nearest men's room. 

“What is this?” Kon asks, puzzledly rubbing the sleeve of the sweater between his fingers. 

“Cashmere,” Tim says, because obviously he sprung for cashmere. Kon wrinkles his nose, still looking puzzled. 

“It’s really . . . soft,” he says, almost hesitant. 

Tim doesn’t say “to be honest, I’ve always kind of assumed you’d appreciate nice textures more than most people, given the ‘tactle’ part of your telekinesis” and just shrugs. 

“I’ll get you something else if you don’t like it,” he says, and Kon bites his lip. “Or if it doesn’t fit.” 

“I mean–it’s just gonna get wrecked anyway. Like, I have a very developed history of wrecking things. Especially clothes,” he mutters, not looking up from the sweater. Which is, Tim cannot help but notice, not an “I don’t like it”. Actually, it’s just about the opposite of that, he can’t help but suspect. 

“Then I’ll get you another one,” he says with a shrug. “It’s just a sweater. I’ll buy you as many as you want.” 

“That’s very weird of you, man,” Kon says, rubbing the cashmere between his fingers again. “Like, you’re aware that buying superheroes sweaters is not a normal pastime, right?” 

“I wasn’t really concerned with being not weird,” Tim replies reasonably. 

“Uh,” Kon says, glancing at his face for a moment and then . . . pausing, briefly, before zipping off without actually saying whatever he was about to say. 

Well, alright then. 

Tim has several very weird reactions to the idea of Kon putting on clothes he picked out for him and immediately beats them all down because it is really not the time. Not even slightly is it the time. 

But Kon is also currently putting on clothes he picked out for him. 

Tim has possibly made a mistake or two here. 

Or definitely. Definitely Tim has made a mistake here, now that he’s considering how soft and pettable that cashmere actually was and the fact that Kon is about to be wearing it and therefore also going to be very soft and pettable and–

Tim has made so many mistakes here.

[babygirl-diaz]

Sammy's Random BuckTommy 00s Romcom AUs: 27 Dresses

In which, Buck and Tommy are still firefighters. Tommy is with the 217 and Buck is with the 118.

His whole life Tommy has only been a groomsman, but never the groom. He has 27 different suits to prove that. Now in his 40s, he has lost all hope of ever finding love and getting married. But then he meets Evan when he flies Evan and his coworkers in the middle of a storm to save his Captain and his wife. Evan, who is a golden retriever personified, tries his best to get Tommy's attention. Tommy is intrigued but he also knows if he gives in to Evan, it will end up just being some meaningless fling because there is no way he and Evan can last because of their age difference and he needs something more concrete. Besides, Tommy has other things to worry about. Like the impending wedding of his little brother, Mark. Mark considers himself a "ladies' man" and is always getting in trouble, but despite his life choices, Tommy still helps him out because he's family and besides, he practically raised the guy. So as the best man, he has to deal with the other groomsmen, the bridesmaids, even the bride. And if that isn't enough, he also has to plan the bachelor party.

But keeps running into Evan. And despite his hesitance, he becomes friends with the guy because he is genuinely fun and he makes Tommy smile in a way no one else does. Evan keeps flirting with him and Tommy finds he doesn't mind it. Sue him for liking the attention. His whole life, Mark has been the one who got the attention of everyone. Even his past boyfriends became friends with his little brother and spent more time with him than they did with Tommy. But Evan doesn't care for Mark. Tommy has his full attention.

Tommy invites Evan to the bachelor party and the two get drunk and separate from the others. They spend the night talking to each other, which eventually leads them to make out. They take an Uber to Tommy's place and end up spending the night together.

The next morning, Evan is gone and Tommy feels his heartbreak because it seems Evan only wanted sex from him.

Then in some cliche fashion, Tommy finds out that his brother cheated on his wife-to-be with a bridesmaid. He tries to knock some sense into the guy but fails.

Evan approaches Tommy and tries to explain himself but Tommy refuses to listen to him. Evan says he had to leave the next morning because he had work. Tommy points out that he could have woken him up.

Tommy tells Evan he has to deal with his brother and doesn't have time for this.

At rehearsal dinner, Tommy gets petty and shows everyone Mark's true colors and makes Mark confess he has been cheating on his fiancee.

Mark's fiancee breaks off the wedding and Tommy's mom and Mark are both pissed at Tommy.

Tommy runs into Buck again after the entire disaster. Buck confesses that he did run away the next morning because after they fucked, he was scared Tommy would get sober and reject him and he couldn't face the rejection.

Tommy tells him that their insecurities make them bad for each other and they shouldn't pursue anything until they are both ready to trust each other. So they part ways...

Flash forward 3 years later, and Tommy is getting married. His 27 suits are worn by the 27 grooms whom he was a groomsman for.

The story ends with the officiant asking:

Officiant: Do you Thomas Kinard take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part? Tommy: I do Officiant: And do you, Evan Buckley, this man to be your lawfully wedded husband to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part? Evan: I do Officiant: Well, by the power vested in me by the state of California and the LA Fire Department, I now pronounce you husband and husband. You may kiss.

And they do and that's where it ends...

P.S. The officiant is totally Bobby

Which 00s romcom should I do next?

[official-darkforest]

in your anthro au, does bramble actually make it to canada? is the plotline of the lake territory scrapped for something else?

rambled quite a bit here!

no, they dont make it to canada. they abandoned that idea after feather was killed. instead her funeral and burial is held in california by her dying wish and her family drives/flies over. graystripe and mosspelt took feather's car, but mosspelt flies back home via plane. graystripe is staying wirh storm indefinitely and eventually meets millie.

with storm's blessing, bramble,tawny, crow, and squirrel take the van back home. tawny is dropped off on the way, but crow insists on tagging along to thunder because he's not ready to be alone yet. his family is pretty small and he's not sure his parents will be able to help much, as much as they may try.

dodging the draft can get you into trouble, but there are many that got off scot free and bramble was one pf those lucky fellows (especially with firestar's involvement. he made sure bramble wouldn't have it held against him in return for keeping squirrel safe and bringing her home). firestar was furious at both bramble and squirrel but he's not cruel and unsympathetic, especially considering they just lost a very close friend (and that gray isnt coming back for a while).

this is where crow and leaf meet, crow is kinda bunking with bramble at his place and even had plans to move in for good. his parents were pretty combative but couldnt do much since he was a few states away!!! they dont know where the fuck thunder-whatever is. but eventually he gets a call about his father's rapidly declining health and immediately abandons his plans to stay. he asks leaf to come with him but leaf still isn't finished with med school (she doesn't know she's pregnant yet) and they part ways. crow makes it home to help ashfoot care for deadfoot in his final few months and fills in after his father dies. it's something he didnt plan to continue but its notnlike he HATES doing the work. eventually meets+marries nightcloud a 1-4 yrs later

leaf meanwhile continues med school. being unmarried with kids is still a social taboo, especially at such a young age (im imagining she and squirrel are around 18-19 by now, 17 during the road trip). squirrel and bramble, however, had been in a relationship with one another for a while after coming back home. sure, it got a bit messy when ashfur came back from vietnam and got a bit too close to squirrel for comfort, but they sorta resolved it and eventually bramble/squirrel got engaged. leaf confided in squirrel for her help with the pregnancy and squirrel immediately offered to take the children in as her own if leaf needed. it was a huge jump but leaf took the offer. bramble was let in on the plan the closer leaf got to her due date. he thought it was a very impulsive decision and they fought a bit about making the decision without him but he was enthusiastic about being a father regardless.

the others in town had their suspicions but dont ask dont tell.

theres some other parts i havent fully ironed out yet like where hawkfrost and mothwint come in.

as for the actual lake territories, they coexist with the forest territories by just being in different states LOL windclan and thunderclan's territory was pretty consistent in terms of The Basics so theyre mostly in the same general area (tc is east coast forests, wc is southwest-midwest prairies. theres a lot of cowboys, farmers, and ranchers in "windclan" as a result). shadowclan i can see being in the southern swamps, especially florida or louisiana, and riverclan is kinda interspersed alont the mississippi and ohio rivers. maybe a few along the east coast, too, as the lake territory equivalent. skyclan is probably in the rockies or the redwood forests out west. maybeeee old skyclan is in the appalachias???? idk LOL since the cats are so far apaer now the conflicts are a little less wide scale and more personal if rhat makes any sense at all. of course this whole au is a huge work in progress so some of what i say here may change!

the clans are rural/small/poor towns in my head. tight knit communities that have to rely on each other. kittypets are urban/suburbanites as a contrast and keep the 'kittypets r fucjing spoiled' theme going . you inow the city slicker junk LOL

bloodclan is probably a gang in new york. at least scourge's bloodclan. the other iterations are probably in other huge metropolitan cities. idk what warriorclan is, and the tribe is a whole can of worms im trying to be very careful with so im not gonna talk about them as a whole quite yet other than imply they exist

[lakesparkles]

MORE MR PEANUTBUTTER!! Can you tell I like him?? The worst part is that it's all very new art, I drew all of this in... 3 days? Idk

So, this one is very self indulgent. I wanted to explore his relationships with some characters in my AU (the one he dates both Diane and Guy, it all happens after the finale of the show). One of the reasons I love creating this AU (I even just finished writing a fanfic about it!!) is so I can develop PB more.

If you want an explanation about his relationships, it'll be under the cut!

Bojack: they spend way more time together now that they live together in California - PB has two houses, so he travels there to Houston all the time. His relationship with Bojack… Is improving, just like showed in the doodles. Some people even mistake them as a old married couple, but nah, they didn't even kiss once. Maybe once. Bojack doesn't want to talk about it. One day, years later, Mr Peanutbutter will make peace with his own sexuality, look back and realize that things make way more sense now.

Guy: talking about his sexuality, Guy plays a big role on it. I created a whole backstory for him, but it's a story for another day. He's way more comfortable about being bi than PB is - who is now having a lot of questions: "what if he's wrong about it?"; "what if he's too old for that?"; "what if all media reacts very badly about it?" It's a little easier when he's not alone. Their personalities go very well together and, other than that, PB is having the time of his life having a husband now <3 Guy usually calls him "dog" and PB isn't sure if he thinks it's cute or the opposite.

Pickles: I have a lot of thoughts about Pickles tbh. Some of her scenes made me think that she seemed so lonely. Years after dating and breaking up with PB, she realized that their relationship… Was kinda messed up, yes. But she was never angry, even being happy seeing how different his life is right now. When she meets PB again and finds out that, not only he felt guilty during all the time they dated, but also *still feels that way*, she thinks it's a little funny. She has a good life now, he didn't ruin anyone like he thought he did. They end up in good terms and message each other often enough.

Diane: PB calls her his "ex ex wife"! Coming back together has been a nostalgia trip for them and this comes with a bunch of complicated feelings. What makes all different is exactly what Diane herself said in the show: "if they met as the people they are now, things would be totally different". And they surely are different now, even more after spending so many years apart. But different doesn't mean perfect, this they would never be. They still have a couple of fights out of nowhere that Guy is confused about. What changes is that it's, in fact, better. And now they have hope. And they're enjoying finding out once again why they were in love in the first place. It's such an old feeling that they were tricked into believing it's new~

[sp0o0kylights]

Being from PNW as I am, I really want to do a Polybius AU with Steddie (I just don’t want to write it lmao) 

We begin with Eddie being absolutely attached to this growing urban legend. An arcade cabinet shrouded in mysterious gameplay, awash with rumors of kids disappearing or even dying, and men in black “collecting” something from the cabinet every week? 

Throw in his own little weird encounter with an arcade game as a kid, one Eddie cannot for the life of him find again and yeah, he’s salivating over this shit. 

Hellfire’s tired of hearing about it. This has been Eddie’s white whale since they met him, they’re done listening to him chase down rumors and insist the game was checking for psychic powers in the population. (Or testing a “mind weapon” or six other things.) 

 He gets met with nothing but groans and complaints when he catches wind that something like Polybius popped up on the west coast, igniting the rumors all over again, but this is a new tale for Hellfire’s freshmen.

They sit, enraptured  and asking six million questions, by something everyone but Mike thinks is just some silly bullshit story--but it’s so out there that Lucas and Dustin placate him. 

(“Why on earth would Brenner use an arcade cabinet when he was just kidnapping kids at birth Mike, you just want an excuse to see El…”)

Obviously Polybius IRL takes place in Oregon, but let’s say things have grown a bit. Extended, like the growth of a disgusting, pulsing vine, into California. 

Will is walking home when his hand flies to the back of his neck, a buzzing overtaking his ears as this weird, black arcade cabinet from a nearby shop seems to slide into his focus.

Slowly, like a camera lens being focused, it pulls him in until El yanks him out of it and he realizes he hasn't been breathing.

 Later he tells Mike--because he has to tell someone that isn't Jonathan and isn't El and absolutely isn't his mom-- and Mike absolutely loses his shit. 

This, of course, accumulates into a blowup at lunch, in front of the rest of Hellfire. 

Who are rolling their eyes because oh God, not only has Eddie infected the freshman with this, they’re now doing that thing they do where they get all secretive and try to talk in code words. 

(As if all of Hellfire isn’t aware they think “Mike’s girlfriend” who is about as real to them as Suzie is, has superpowers. 

The party is good at a lot of things, but whispering isn’t one of them.)  

There's an argument about whether this means Brenner, or someone like him, is collecting kids again and if so, do they have a responsibility to stop it, and that this isn't the Upside Down this is human horror, but what if it is actually the Upside Down, they don’t know--and it goes round and round between the Party in Hawkins and El & Will up in California, via phone calls. 

The Hawkins crew decides they need to go to California, together. 

They just…have to figure out a way to get there, first. 

Will & El on the other hand, decide they can’t wait, because they can save kids.

They can make a difference--prevent this shit from happening in a new location all over again.

El doesn't want to be like Kali anymore, but she understands what Kali was trying to do and she feels that same sort of responsibility to stop what she can. 

They disappear. 

Jonathan calls everyone he can, frantic, because he thinks Will and El have decided to go back to Hawkins, and his mother just left with Murray to do something she was extremely vague about and Argyle does not have enough weed for this.

If you guessed this accumulates with a Eddie + the Extended Party (Nance/Steve/Robin) going on a road trip you’d be right. 

Also they collect Suzie on the way because no one ever uses her in stories and fuck it she’d be fun to bring in. 

With them being in California you have Max’s past coming into play, as well as Eddie’s own mystery with the arcade cabinet, everyone crashing together at the Byers house (one bed or no bed either is hilarious for Steddie) and as we left the rest of Hellfire back at Hawkins to try and dodge six million questions about where like, ten people vanished off to (“Uh….camp?”) we get to have some fun there too. 

Throw in Eddie’s massive ass crush, “out of Hawkins”  Robin + Steve (who is perhaps a lot more chill with things than Eddie realized) and a need to go “undercover” at a gay bar purely for selfish reasons on my end (I want to see Steve flirt shamelessly with men and watch Eddie blue screen bc of it) and you have a lot of fun with the entire groups dynamic. 

I don’t have an ending other than Eddie at some point needs to play Polybuis and Steve drapes himself over Eddie’s back, whispering encouragement in his ear as a way to keep him from getting pulled into it the way Will was while the kids work together to kill whatever it is the government's unleashed this time (not Brenner, but instead another branch or faction who took his research and ran) but I’d love to parallel Eddie more to Will, on both the gay and supernatural fronts.

[wildflowerteas]

The Second Perspective ♠

A masterthread/post of all the easter-eggs, fun facts, and references to literature, BSD canon, film noir, and history included in my Soukoku fic, The Second Perspective.

♠

The Timeline ->

1958 to 1978

The gap of twenty years was super intentional. By the late 50s, McCarthy was censured by the senate, the Second Red Scare and anti-Soviet rhetoric were slowly losing public support and popularity. My choice to include the Rats in the House of the Dead was mediated by that fact. The late 50s is also when the LAPD and law enforcement across the country started making psychological evaluations ( of suspect quality ) mandatory, starting in Northern California, actually. Kinsey's publications in 1948 and 1953 were explosive--especially to the stifling, extremely heteronormative, nuclear-family morals of post-war 50s America. In 1970s, the term 'Serial Killer' officially enters the public's vocabulary. Despite not being an ongoing investigation, the re-opening of the Angel's Ripper case aligns with what is called the 'golden age' of serial killers. The 'second look' and the desire to re-sensationalize the case is due to Detective Dazai's belongings turning up, but also timely, as it would feed into the public's paranoia and fascination. I took some liberties with Los Angeles's mayoral election schedule ( which, if I'd been meticulous and historically accurate with, would have had TSP take place in the early days of 1977 or late in 1976 ). Los Angeles in the 70s was also suffering from serious smog--almost 200 bad air days a year. Akutagawa's lung condition ( which hasn't been touched on just yet with the exception of a throwaway lines at Tycheron and with Yosano ) is largely due to this bad air quality.

July 17th, 1958

The date of the Red Camellia murder was also chosen with intention. July, the peak of summer, rife with Americana, fireworks, and full California beaches, is everything the winter season of Camellia isn't.

Organizations -> The Double Black

A bit obvious, really, but the club's logo of the two black Ace playing cards is an obvious nod to Soukoku being equally matched partners, even if in this au their dynamic is wildly different ( If anything, Chuuya has the upper hand in this one--even if he doesn't quite know it yet ). The Double Black is also described as more Golden Age of Hollywood-like, since Kouyou runs it and she's quite the traditionalist, I figured she'd cringe ( or pass out ) at the sight of plastic plants in the vases and blue carpeting.

The Golden Coast Guild

The TSP equivalent of Hearst corporation, run by William Randolph Hearst, a media company that covered everything from celebrity gossip to politics with over a dozen papers and magazines. Hearst became obscenely rich, and in real life, used his wealth to support Marion Davies, an actress ( and his mistress ), whose life he nearly ruined. F. Scott Fitzgerald ( the actual author ) loathed Hearst's willingness to print yellow journalism ( basically, bullshit ) and Jay Gatsby's mansion is loosely inspired by Hearst's home in New York, I believe. I thought it would be funny to combine the two. I also have a soft spot for Fitz in canon, even if he does speak with the sound of a cash register in every word and there's an American flag behind him wherever he goes.

Tycheron and the House of the Dead

First, Tycheron, Sigma's casino business, gets it's name from the Greek goddess of luck--Tyche--named Fortuna by the Romans. I couldn't call it the 'Sky Casino' because well, there's no sky. But a goddess is pretty up there. California gambling law is extremely complicated, but casino boats, docked 3 nautical miles outside of state borders ( usually from a point in Santa Monica, where the bay/bight made those laws a bit easier to work around ) were a neat exception--at least, until they started getting repurposed for WWII. So, Sigma still evades the law by being 'out of bounds' with The Angelica gambling boat. The casino business as a way for the DoA to stick their noses into the L.A. political landscape is also a loose reference to Bugsy Siegel, and the Italian-American Mafia's attempts to expand westward with the establishment of casinos and the nurturing of Las Vegas. Siegel's mansion, where he was murdered for his thefts from the Mafia, also inspired the Mori estate.

Characters ->

The Red Camellia

The real life Nakahara Chuuya was quite the romantic. His poetry is described as 'Bohemian,' so I thought having him be a bit of a drifter-like character, almost mysterious and unnatainable to his fans and SSKK in the present, would be a bit similair to how much of what we know of Chuuya doesn't come from the main story in canon, either. Combining that with Dazai's obsessive desire to lock him in ( haha ) with a comitted relationship and his serious levels of devotion, makes for a pretty interesting dynamic, I think. Though, Dazai's no Catherine Tramell, and Chuuya is certainly not Curran--BI's dynamic has been flipped almost completely with TSP, but the crazy is the same. And though I describe him as a drifter, that's not to say this au's Chuuya isn't fiercely loyal, it's just his loyalties haven't had the chance to be tested just yet. I made the choice to have Chuuya called the Red Camellia in life because it's a direct subversion of other flower-tagged murders like: the White Rose murders, the Lilac Murder of William Desmond Taylor, the Black Dhalia ( inspired by the film, Blue Dhalia ), the White Gardenia murder, etc. etc. All of those monikers are posthumous, and created for the sole purpose of selling the story of a dead individual. Also, rather than having a journalist bestow it to him, Dazai is the one who comes up with it. Do what you will with that info . . . Additionally, Camellia japonica is native to East Asia, not the U.S. It can survive here, but it will struggle. The choice to set the story in L.A., in a period of harsh post-war crackdowns on Japanese/East-Asian immgiration into California also influenced this title. It was also a choice made based on the appearance of 椿Tsubaki in Soukoku official art. Their Japanese meaning of passionate love and a noble death, also holds true here.

KEY LAPD Characters with interesting qualities

Sasaki Nobuko, Homicide Detective - reference to canon Sasaki's background in criminology and experience as a lecturer at a Tokyo university. Captain -> Commander Fukuzawa Yukichi - Holds a position of authority similar to his role as the ADA's president in canon, but he's unenthusiastic about his career in the LAPD.

Note the lack of private eyes in the story so far!

Interesting PM Character references keeping this light for obvious, spoiler-y reasons

Elise - Elise is intentionally a grown woman in this au. And a nurse! A reference to both her presentation in BEAST and the Great War in the main BSD storyline, and a reminder of the timeline ( she'd have been 8-10 years old in the past TL! ). Her feisty nature is also retained. I was inspired by Lauren Bacall's Vivian in The Big Sleep, especially her meeting scene with Marlowe, when writing her meeting with Atsushi at the Mori Estate.

***SPOILERS procede with caution***

The Angel's Ripper

A reference to Los Angeles, but also Dazai's title as the Demon prodigy of Yokohama. Ripper, rather than Killer being used because of the surgical nature of the deaths ( Jack the Ripper was thought to be either a doctor or a policeman ).

Films ->

some of my major inspirations for this fic are:

Chinatown ( 1974 )

The Maltese Falcon ( 1941 )

Vertigo ( 1958 )

Last Night in Soho ( 2021 )

The Batman ( 2022 )

The Third Man ( 1949 )

The Silence of the Lambs ( 1991 )

The Big Sleep ( 1946 ) and lastly, on a much lighter note:

The Nice Guys ( 2016 ) I couldn't get Gosling's outfits out of my head after watching it. I took one look and thought: I need to get a BSD character in this obnoxiously-70s blue suit yellow shirt combo ASAP.

Phew. What a mess. This has largely been for me to keep track of my own thoughts and the tangled web I've been weaving with this fic, and it will likely get several updates over the course of me writing the second half of Part II and ( the much shorter ) Part III to TSP. But if you read it, and enjoyed it, I'm extra glad <3 I've been having a blast talking about my love for these films and this AU after keeping it bottled up for so long. I'm like shaken, corked champagne haha.

Signing off with the aesthetic of The Second Perspective's ending:

ty <3

[christinesficrecs]

Hey I was wondering what is your favorite trope for sterek fics and can you any recommend fics with that trope

Magic!stiles is everything. ❤️ Here are some of my favorites.

Beltane by DevilDoll | 8.2K | Explicit

"Watching Stiles heal someone has always been a little uncomfortable for Derek, like he's seeing something intimate and private that shouldn't have an audience. That's nothing compared to how it feels." This is an AU in which Stiles has magical healing powers.

Better Fortunes by SmallBirds | 39.6K

When a group of sinister men attempt to kidnap Stiles Stilinski from the Brooklyn apartment he shares with his stepsister, Lydia, Stiles is forced to activate a spell that translocates him to where he'll be safest. Derek Hale isn't sure what to do about the soaking wet young man he finds wandering down a Beacon County roadside during the middle of a thunderstorm, but he feels compelled to help him. There's something about Stiles that Derek finds fascinating, and before long the two become embroiled in each other's lives. Despite the threat to his life and the sudden upheaval of everything he's ever known, Stiles is having a hard time feeling too upset about that.

A Letter From Mom by StilesIsMySpiritAnimal 32.9K | Explicit

After waking up at the age of 11 without any memories of his past Stiles spends eight years with his father in the tiny town of Shelter Cove, California. After his father's death he receives a notice from a storage facility in some town called Beacon Hills. Stiles is confused and thinks the manager made a mistake until he finds a letter that should have been for his 18th birthday that his dad never gave him. It's from his mother, who he has no memory of. Weirdly enough, her letter mentions Beacon Hills and some woman named Talia, who he's supposed to trust. Confused and angry at his father, Stiles sets out for Beacon Hills anxious and determined to find out what his dad had been hiding from him all these years.

The Walls Are Breathing In by secondstar | 41.8K | Explicit

Nothing could go wrong. It was just supposed to be a safe trip to the Nemeton. But this is Beacon Hills and things are rarely that simple. Welcome to the life of Stiles Stilinski.

Or, that time that Stiles accidentally became a sorcerer against his will.

Safe Place to Land by Green | 19.2K

The Hales have been tracking a group of hunters who've targeted small packs with the help of a magic user. When they finally attack the hunter compound, they aren't expecting to find Stiles, a Spark who's practically a slave, and his young werewolf son. Derek isn't expecting the Spark to be his mate, either.

Where The Inevitable Isn't by Survivah | 41.2K | Mature

Stiles has a magical thingamajig that's supposed to get him out of danger. Trouble is, it took him really, really far out of danger. Like, to the point where he isn't in the same universe anymore.

Red Witch by rootbeer | 34.2K

The red hair of a banshee. The red eyes of an alpha. The red hoodie of a mage. The red of fire burning.

Derek Hale has been a prisoner to the hunters since they burned his family alive. But now someone has come to save him: skinny, defenseless Stiles--147 lbs of skin and fragile bones. Turns out, sarcasm isn't his only weapon.

Soulseeker by alisvolatpropiis | 9.7K | Explicit

Sighing, Stiles reaches for Derek’s big hands, cradled in his broad lap, his skin lighting up even more at Derek's touch. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, preparing himself to look for Derek’s soulmate. Whoever you are, he thinks, you better be worth him.

The Adventures of Ranger Rookie and Deputy Dork by shipNslash | 12.3K

When the Sheriff tells Stiles that he's getting a partner, he's not exactly thrilled. How is he supposed to keep his magic a secret with some rookie stuck in his cruiser all day?

When Derek's mother decides to move the pack back to Beacon Hills, he looks forward to joining the local police force. Less so to hiding his werewolf-iness from some poor, unsuspecting partner.

Derek is assigned to be Stiles' new partner at the Sheriff's Department. One is a mage and the other is a werewolf. Neither knows what the other can do. What could possibly go wrong?

Stand Fast in Your Enchantments by DevilDoll, Rahciach | 76.9K | Explicit

"Stiles knew damn well what a pissed-off wolf sounded like, and every hair on the back of his neck was telling him that somewhere in this room was a very pissed-off werewolf."

An AU in which Derek is feral, Stiles is magical, and they eat a lot of fast food.

You Only Live Once...or Twice by WonderWolf | 32.9K | Explicit

“Anything,” Derek’s eyes are determined, boring into Stiles’.

Stiles huffs a laugh, “Careful there, big guy. Don’t want to be promising anything to every necromancer you meet. Some might ask for your soul or someth—”

“I’ll give you my soul to bring her back,” Derek says, his voice steady and strong with resolve, “if that’s what you want.”

Stiles’ mouth gapes open for a moment before his brain kicks into gear and he stutters out, “N-no, I don’t ask for that. I only ask for money.”

There's Monsters at Home by calrissian18 | 83.6K | Explicit

“How did you get past the wards?” Derek had put them up, with Peter’s grudging assistance, after the Alpha pack had made themselves at home a few times too many.

The guy pulled a face. “You mean the wards a five-year-old girl with the mental ability of a goldfish could deconstruct?” He blinked wide eyes at Derek. “Gee, I don’t know. It’s bound to go down as one of life’s great mysteries.”

Derek despised him.

They’re all together ooky, the Hale family… (Snap, Snap) by DropsOfAddiction | 12.4K | Explicit

Derek realises that he’s probably squashing Stiles a little bit, right at the same moment that Stiles apparently realises that he’s still holding onto Derek’s face.

They both definitely acknowledge Derek’s nakedness at the same exact time, judging by the alarmed look on Stiles’ face.

“So, you have no clothes on,” Stiles removes his hands and holds them above his head in surrender, cheeks a muddy red.

“In my defence, I was covered in fur less than two minutes ago,” Derek rolls his eyes and he pushes himself up and off him, hands covering his junk for Stiles’ sake.

“You’re still kind of furry now…” Stiles sits up, blinking rapidly, clearly just as weirded out as Derek. “Oh my god, pretend I didn’t say that. I’m not looking or anything.”

Derek smirks, because that… that was a lie and he cocks an eyebrow at him.

And We'll Be Complicated by ingberry | 18.5K | Explicit

Stiles already had his hands full with the case he was working on for the enigmatic Mrs. B. He really didn't need this too, but there was no changing the fact that he no longer remembered Derek Hale or anything connected to him. And no one could figure out why.

Someone Else's Dream by theroguesgambit | 36.6K

Post-3B. Derek has gone missing, and Stiles' dreams might be the only way to save him.

[hlficlibrary]

✤ Coming Out Fics ✤

A series of posts with the top five fics of each category by kudos plus five more hidden gems from that category! Remember to leave kudos and a comment on the fics you enjoyed to show your appreciation! You can find the library's other recs here.

- Top 5 H/L Fics -

1️⃣ And Then a Bit by @infinitelymint (E, 158k)

“We’d like to give the fans what they want.” Magee states, placing his hand on the table in front of him and leaning forward. “We want to give them Larry Stylinson.”

Or, take a parallel universe where Louis and Harry were never together, mix in a two year hiatus and an impending comeback, pour in a dash of lost fans, two tablespoons of strong friendship and a Modest! employee with a good idea. Add a squeeze of pretending to be a couple, lots of kisses and a tattoo or two. Stir. Serve: the mother of all publicity stunts.

(aka Harry and Louis fake a relationship for publicity. Eventually it becomes a lot less fake and a lot more real.)

2️⃣ led by your beating heart by @missandrogyny (E, 33k)

Nick leans over. "Oh," he says, his voice smug. "Who is that?"

Harry just blinks at his phone. "Um," he manages to stammer out.

"Who's that, Harry?" Nick asks again, but this time he raises his eyebrows and smirks. Harry knows Nick is just teasing, and that he's not really looking for new Harry Styles gossip, but, um. He might have found something. Accidentally.

Harry opens his mouth to speak, but all that comes out is another 'um'. He really needs to work on translating his thoughts into words. But then it probably wouldn't be any help right now, would it? His mind is as blank as a newly erased etch-a-sketch.

"Oh," Nick says again, this time gleefully, seemingly having picked up on Harry's distress. "Looks like we've got a story here! Are you going to call or delete her number?"

Her number. So Nick thinks it's a girl. Well, Harry can't blame him: 'Lou' is kind of an androgynous nickname. His stylist's name is Lou.

But this Lou, well, Louis, he's kind of, really, really not a girl. He's really pretty though, which, is something.

(Or: AU where Harry's in One Direction, Louis isn't, and they reconnect over a game of 'Call or Delete'.)

3️⃣ California Sold by @isthatyoularry (M, 123k)

Notoriously closeted boyband member Harry Styles is famous on a global scale, meanwhile Louis, as his best friend, is back home in Manchester, living the typical life of a 24 year old. When Harry needs Louis with him in LA, a publicity stunt gone wrong changes their friendship forever.

A fake-relationship AU between two lifelong best friends.

4️⃣ Shake Me Down by @agreatperhaps12 (NR, 208k)

Harry's new to college, fresh out of Catholic school and conversion therapy camp, and Louis runs the campus LGBTQIA organization.

5️⃣ Time Bomb by ThisSentimentalHeart (M, 291k)

“Why exactly are you here?” Louis asked, feigning annoyance and failing pathetically at it. “My publicist told me I can't go anywhere near you.” Harry said, eyes still smudged with last night's eye liner. “That makes you my favorite person in the world.”

Or the one where Louis has everything: a lead role in a giant Hollywood franchise, a glittering new house with an entertaining Irish neighbor, and a steady, normal boyfriend who he probably loves. Louis never expected to become a household name among young Hollywood overnight. He also never expected to find something endearing about the enigmatic rockstar who keeps showing up on his back porch.

HIDDEN GEMS:

💎 Caught In Your Gravity by @lululawrence (NR, 62k)

It felt like the blood froze in Harry’s veins even as he got a bit lightheaded. He hadn’t even made it two practices, only one of which he was remotely in charge of, without giving it all away and now he and Liam were both absolutely fucked.

“Shit,” Harry breathed out. “Who all have you told? Does everyone know? I thought I covered it better than that…”

“No, no,” Louis said quickly. "They’ll figure it out soon enough, though, because they’ll get used to you changing things up, but you’re only going to trip over your so called Americanisms for so long before they realize it’s because you don’t actually know fuck all about football.”

Harry sighed. “Yeah. I figured. I just need to bullshit for long enough to allow Liam to get the situation figured out from his end.”

“Right, which brings me to my entire point. I think we can find a mutually beneficial arrangement with all of this.” Louis leaned forward. “You need to learn the ins and outs of the sport incredibly fast. I can help you with that.”

“What do you want in exchange?”

Or, an AU inspired by a 30 second trailer of Ted Lasso that doesn't actually have much in common with the show at all.

💎 That Smile and That Midnight Laugh by yeah_alright / @uhoh-but-yeah-alright (T, 50k)

Harry’s never noticed how lovely Louis really is. Maybe it’s just that she’s usually so guarded – a little tense, a little irritated, a little put out. At least when she’s at school, and also usually when she’s around Nick, which are the only times Harry has really seen her. Until tonight. Tonight Harry’s seen her with her guard completely down. Too busy laughing and enjoying herself to remember to be prickly, maybe. She seems different.

It feels different.

A Ferris Bueller's Day Off AU that picks up right where the movie leaves off, and imagines what might happen if Ferris' girlfriend and sister become friends. And maybe something more, too.

💎 some evening in springtime by delsicle / @eeveedel (M, 20k)

Fresh out of veterinary school, Louis moves to a sleepy small town in Texas to take over the local animal clinic. But his new life is quickly interrupted by a middle aged rancher with a bad leg and a mysterious past, who really needs Louis's yoga skills.

💎 still feel the same around you by momentofclarity / @gaycousinlarry (E, 13k)

Twenty-five years is a long time to fall in love with someone, to learn all the ways a person can fit into one's heart. It’s also an awful long time to lie to one of the most important people in your life.

The Act My Age Girl Direction AU.

💎 Glass Heart by @musketrois (G, 7k)

“26-year-old West Ham footballer Louis Tomlinson was seen getting acquainted with 24-year-old pop sensation Harry Styles and others. Although it is not unordinary for these two professions to be social, we can’t wait to see what this budding relationship will bring to London’s social scene.”

-Celebrity Blurb 25 March, 2017

[fastcardotmp3]

watching too much of TLOU has me thinking of a stranger things au where the Upside Down wins the war before the Party ever has the chance to fight in it, right? so like. hear me out.

the UD makes it's go at invading topside when the older kids are young, like just old enough to remember what the world was like in the before, but the younger kids, the original party? They've never seen a version of this world that wasn't dark skies and crimson lightning and learning how to fight off monsters at the same time you're learning how to ride a bike.

It's not just Hawkins, Indiana that's been overcome by these forces that no one knows how to stop, although those of them trapped here at the point of origin by the military forces that started trying to shut it all down a decade-plus ago can't be positive just how far it reaches.

There are rumors of cities on the coasts still intact-- a California sunset in a clear sky, the water clean without having to go through intense filtration and people just going about living their lives without carrying three weapons on their person at all times, without preparing to run at the drop of a hat.

There are rumors of places that the twisting vines of a malicious consciousness can't reach, and there have been rumors like that for as long as Steve Harrington can remember.

But he doesn't believe them.

The Earth split open when he was nine years old and took his childhood with it, cracked the whole thing open and swallowed down the future of a boy who liked to play sports and sit on the counter while his mother cooked dinner to loud music on the radio.

The Earth split open and took her with it, leaving Steve a lonely kid made angry by his loss and made mean by his anger.

He comes of age in chaos, in military housing for kids with nowhere else to go, free soldiers to raise for killing, and they like him there. They like that he doesn't form attachments to the other kids, like that he's got a sharp tongue, like that he isn't afraid of a fight even when it's one everyone knows he'll lose.

They like that he's got a tough exterior, because they don't know what's hiding behind it. They don't see the him behind the bared teeth and snarling words until he falls in love with a girl in town.

Until they get wrapped up in a conspiracy because her best friend is missing and a kid named Byers is missing too and Steve's entire worldview gets dropped on its head because suddenly all the anger he has over his mother's death has a place to go other than fighting.

Nancy Wheeler slaps him and Jonathan Byers kicks his ass and they both break his heart a little bit and Steve realizes somewhere amidst heartbreak turning to friendship that they're angry too, but they're using it to help.

There aren't a lot of options for a kid without a family in a place like this, ravaged by monsters with too few resources to go around, but Steve isn't a boy that does things by halves, so leaving the training school is something of a no-brainer.

There are rumors about cities on the coasts that never had to face Hell crawling out of the ground, and Steve doesn't believe them when he stumbles his way into a cabin off the main drag of occupied Hawkins and into a half-decent living situation.

He doesn't believe them when he meets Robin Buckley while they're both trying to earn a few extra meal cards for their families doing shit grunt work that no one else wants, no one but the desperate among them.

He still doesn't believe them when a boy and his uncle, the girl named Chrissy they picked up along the way, come passing through town saying they're on a journey out West towards the rumored Free Zones.

For years he keeps not believing, keeps holding onto the understanding of the world in which this happened everywhere and no matter where they had been, his mother would still have died, that there was no saving her, that he couldn't have--

For years he believes, but Max starts having these nightmares...

And the cracks in the Earth begin to widen...

And everything goes to shit again again again again--

The Munson's have a mobile home and so does Hopper.

Joyce thinks with Eddie's help she can grab a third to be able to fit them all comfortably.

There are rumors about cities on the coasts, and maybe Steve can find a reason worth believing them now.

[trojanteapot]

Obligatory Infinity Train Fanfic Plug I Guess

I have some new followers since I posted about my Infinity Train cosplay process so I guess now's a good time to plug my boring overly-long fanfics that are mostly sad and stuff.

SHIPPING FICS

RYMIN:

Ain't No Cure For Love: Ryan and Min-Gi perform their first gig in Montreal. Min-Gi wants to confess his feelings. (First fic I ever wrote probably a bit rough now and the only fic without any sort of theme besides "love wins" i guess) It Can't Be Helped: Takes place in the mid-2000s when Ryan and Min-Gi's band have become quite successful and are touring East Asia. Ryan has some cultural identity issues to overcome at the age of like, 40-something. (This one is much much better than the first Rymin fic, and is about more than just shipping. I did a ton of research into Japanese-Canadians and Korean-Canadians for it as well! Shout-out to my partner for his huge role in shaping this fic as he is Japanese-Canadian himself.)

GRIMON:

Raison d'Etre (PART 1) (PART 2): Post-Canon AU where Simon survives the Train. Grace and Simon spend about 4 years apart from each other living their own lives on Earth, but one day Grace shows up randomly in Quebec to pay Simon a visit. Traumatic wounds get reopened, things get emotional, philosophical, maybe even a little... sociopolitical? Also interspersed between Grace and Simon's little dates are flashbacks to the Train that explain exactly how Simon managed to leave the Train in this AU.

I separated it into two halves because the second half contains smut. However, the second half kind of needs to be read for there to be a complete story. The smut is entirely skippable and doesn't contribute to the overarching plot so I do encourage you to read both halves.

(Also of note is that this takes place not in the "present" but in the past (2018), because I am An Old Person(TM) and so I made Grace and Simon millennials. And I also didn't want to write about the pandemic. It's not that noticeable and you can ignore that timeline fuckery if you want.)

True Love Waits: (VERY VERY CURSED) Sort of not a shipping fic? But Grace gets pregnant here and we all know who the father is! So Grace needs to leave the Train before the baby is born. Canon complacent so Simon is dead. (TW: other than pregnancy there's also thoughts of self-harm and mentions of abortion)

Leave It In My Dreams: Grace's sad nightmare in Alma Mater but from Simon's perspective.

Shame On You, Blue-Eyed Fox: Grace lets her guard down and harassed by a rookie cop. Simon finally makes himself useful for once in his entire life. (TW: real world racism obviously.)

GENERAL FICS

Alma Mater: Post-Canon. Tulip starts college, is very typically Tulip about it, but she befriends an older student named Grace Monroe who helps her through it. However, Tulip comes to learn that she and Grace have more in common than they realized at first. Also Jesse and Lake get thrown into the mix and drama ensues. (Mostly canon complacent except for 1. time period, and 2. Grace is from California, not DC, but her parents work in DC.)

Initial State: A side story to Raison d'Etre. After Simon realizes he's wrong he works with the Cat to bring his number down and leave the Train. But this isn't as easy as he thought especially when he meets a denizen he's recently met before, but never expected to meet again (becausehekilledherlol).

Semi-Automatic Lonely Boy: Prequel to Raison d'Etre. Just a series of vignettes of Simon's life after returning to Earth. (TW: depictions of self-harm) Other than It Can't Be Helped, this is the other fanfic that I am the most proud of so far. Literally went and relearned French to write some of the dialogue in this.

I'll Get It Right Sometime (ongoing): Four years after Book 3, Hazel and Amelia have a pretty decent life on the Train. But this peace is interrupted when Hazel meets a passenger and decides to help him through the Train. How can Amelia keep Hazel safe? Who is this passenger anyway? Why is the Cat so interested in interfering? Why is Simon somehow involved?! Why is JESSE somehow involved?!?!??! (Note: I think Hazel ages normally, so she's 10 years old in this one.) This is also my most ambitious fanfic yet. I have an Entire Homestuck Reference chapter, a Reddit chapter, and I plan to have several Discord chapters.

[kleenexwoman]

Kk3 au where Johnny and Daniel end up together

1) Johnny isn't at school after winter break.

Daniel wonders if he's okay. He goes up to Jimmy, who isn't the most approachable Cobra but who is probably the least likely to kill him, and asks if Johnny's still in the hospital or something.

Jimmy looks at him blankly and says he doesn't think Johnny went to the hospital. He called him to see if he wanted to hang out before Christmas, but Johnny said he was busy with stuff and that he'd see him when he was finished with it.

Daniel asks what stuff. Jimmy says he didn't ask.

Bobby asks why the hell Daniel wants to know, then softens when Daniel reminds him that he saw Johnny get strangled by his sensei, too. Bobby tells him that Johnny isn't ready to come back to school, which makes sense.

Daniel says that he hopes Johnny feels better, and that if Bobby talks to him, maybe he can just tell Johnny that Daniel hopes he's okay. That there aren't any hard feelings. He'll even spar with Johnny if he wants.

Dutch sneers and says he's asking to get his ass kicked.

As Daniel walks away, he can hear Tommy saying, "I can't believe you even bothered to talk to that little maggot. You're not gonna tell Johnny all that shit, are you?"

2) It wasn't Johnny that Daniel was afraid of.

Newark was a hard, cold town. There wasn't much work, and there were plenty of brown faces in the town to turn against each other when the car company moved down to Mexico to find cheaper brown hands. Daniel knew the cold flash of fear in the pit of the stomach that comes when you see the glint of a knife or the barrel of a gun.

He'd gotten a switchblade from Cousin Enzo and taken it to school, flashed it at Peter Dabish when the oversized prick tried to fuck with his friend Cici, and nearly gotten kicked out of Aaron Burr High School, home of the Fighting Governors, in favor of the Joseph Pesci Reformatory for Boys.

California seemed safer. Sure, Compton was full of gangs, but Reseda was merely mildly seedy. And West Valley High School promised little more dangerous than social ostracism by blonde pastel-clad children of privilege.

For fuck's sake, the scariest guy in school did karate instead of carrying a piece. And he was skinny. Well, not so much skinny as slender, with long graceful limbs layered with gentle curves of muscle, and a tiny waist, and a chest more curved than barrel. The bruisers back home were all chunk, built like bricks, bulked with pasta and pork, heavy with flesh. Johnny looked like he'd been carved away over time by a stream of water.

Sure, five against one was shit odds, but Daniel knew that a knife doesn't help when you're outnumbered anyway. It's just another thing that can be taken and used to hurt you.

Daniel could have hurt Johnny badly enough to end it, if he'd wanted to. He wasn't an idiot. The kind of places that would sell a kid an illegal blade or even a gun under the table were always easy to spot in Newark, and they didn't look much different in L.A.

He was scared of what he saw when he'd looked into John Kreese's dark blue eyes. Whatever was in there was hungry, hollow, and blank. Something that had cut itself off and refused to be reached. Something that only took and didn't know giving. Something that didn't know limits.

Daniel was scared that the thing driving John Kreese would push Johnny too far. That the posturing, the pushing, the pressing against lockers, that it would explode into something real.

He really didn't want to have to hurt Johnny. Johnny had been hurt enough already.

3) The All Valley was the second night of Hanukkah and Johnny was sleeping in his car by the eighth night.

Sid had a big party at the house the night after. Since Mom was Christian, he liked to call it Christmas-kkah. There was a tree and ornaments, and there was an electric menorah in the window that looked like nine plain, ugly glass tubes that lit up in a plain, ugly sodium yellow. If that was supposed to represent the miracle of having enough oil or whatever the fuck the whole thing was about, that sure didn't look like it meant shit. The potato pancakes weren't even any good, soggy and flavorless because nobody was eating fat.

Sid gave Johnny a blue sweater that didn't fit him, a check for thirty-six hundred dollars, and a sweaty rant about how Johnny needed to stop getting his face beaten on purpose before a big party. Did Johnny want everyone to think Sid beat him, get a reputation for being a domestic abuser and ruin his career? Was that his game?

Johnny gave Sid a head hung low, a bite of the lip, and a tear in the eye. He gave Sid the generous, frankly unwarranted gift of the most sincere-sounding apology he could muster. He promised Sid that it would never happen again.

(He couldn't make himself tear up until he started to think about the prospect of leaving his mother alone with the bald piece of shit. But he'd begged Mom to just take the money she had tucked away and leave, let Sid take everything else in the inevitable divorce. She'd always said she couldn't.)

Mom gave him a bunch of things that were nice, but that he didn't really need and had never asked for. That weren't really his style, but something between the chunky, shiny bright reds he'd liked as a kid and the soft, slender pastels she seemed to like him in. She also gave him a card that had a little trophy on it and said "To A #1 Champion of A Son!" on the inside.

"I'm so proud of you," she said to Johnny, and hugged him. "You always do so well when you put your mind to it. You only ever have to try."

The report card came in. Johnny got more C's than D's this time, but Math had plummeted from a B to a D, and Phys Ed was a B instead of an A because of all the shit he'd given LaRusso that year.

Sid screamed at him that he was never gonna get into a college, that he'd wasted hundreds of thousands of dollars on Johnny, that Johnny was gonna end up as a janitor scrubbing toilets. Then he shoved a brush and bucket into Johnny's hands and followed him around while he demanded that Johnny scrub all twelve toilets in the house by hand without gloves.

Later, retching, scrubbing his chapped hands with moisturizing soap, he looked to his mother for comfort.

She stood in the doorway and said softly that he'd done a good job cleaning the toilets.

Johnny left before sunrise, everything he wanted to take in the trunk of his Avanti, then drove to West Valley High and slept in the parking lot.

He found a new place to crash before the school year started up again. It wasn't hard. He looked good, and that made it pretty easy to make new friends who'd shoot you a few bucks now and again. As long as you were, you know... Properly grateful.

[bigskydreaming]

Sci-fi story that starts out as a bunch of strangers encountering each other at the only place still open and serving coffee at 2 am in a mostly empty airport. They're all confused about the whys and hows of being there, their minds similarly fogged and each of them having trouble recalling any specific details about where they were or what they were doing prior to finding themselves in the strangely disquieting, twilight zone-esque liminal space that is this coffee shop.

A coffee shop that seems to have no one working there, no one actually serving drinks or tidying up behind the counter....in fact aside from each other and the dimly lit shop they're gathered in, there's literally no other signs of life in the surrealist landscape surrounding them. Each of them agrees it looks like any other airport they've ever been to, just....hauntingly empty and quiet in a way that feels deeply unnatural given the bustling, always busy nature of real airports that aren't....whatever this place is.

Things only get stranger as they compare notes and slowly start to realize that aside from having no real memory of arriving here, there's one other thing they all seem to have in common.....impossible as it may seem, they all appear to be time-travelers, each of them hailing from different times. Nothing dramatic, no one's from a different century or anything - no, its more like they're all from times just slightly out of step with each other, the discrepancies subtle enough that they were easily missed until they dug a little deeper, quizzed each other that much more frantically as they tried to get to the bottom of what was going on.

And then the lone employee stuck with the graveyard shift comes back from their break, still talking on the phone with a friend and too tired and done with everything to be anything but blunt as she rolls her eyes at the strangers' shared confusion:

This isn't a sci-fi story, its a coffee shop AU and they're all just a bunch of severely jetlagged randos who just got their second wind thanks to the caffeine drinks each ordered before she went on break finally kicking in sometime in between then and now. And apparently, they all just flat out do not get the concept of time zones, and yes they probably should feel embarrassed about that because jetlag or no, an underpaid graveyard shift barista should not have to explain to a bunch of grown adults how its possible to board a plane at 11 pm in California and six hours later arrive in New York even though its currently only 2 am there. And yes, even airports can occasionally be this empty and quiet at 2 am, its literally the only upside of being stuck with this particular shift. Any other questions? Yeah? Use google. Your phone batteries are dead because that's what happens when you use them all day while traveling. Its why there's charging stations all over the place, there's literally one less than ten feet away over there, and yes, of course it works, why the fuck wouldn't it, you're not actually in a Nightmare on Elm Street you're just sleep deprived. Now either order another coffee or maybe consider going back to your departure gates to finish waiting for your connecting flights there where you can be someone else's problem, haha okay great, thanks for choosing our establishment for your late night beverage needs and please have a nice day!

"But sure, don't feel the need to leave a tip or anything. No, its fine, its not like I just solved your shared existential crises for you. You're welcome!"