#found these napkins in the pantry

[catladychronicles]

[peachetteprice]

Mister Commander | Phillip Graves

Chapter 2 - Tiger Rag

Chapter Summary:

The Collins sit down for a family meal with their new-found guest. Only, he hasn't arrived at the table as of late.

Word count: 3.3K (ish)

CW: Crass language, written by a Brit with no knowledge of Texas...

Sunday was hot. Hotter than hell's boots.

Phillip had been with the Collins - somewhat distanced - for the past week.

Every day, he would go into the woods with Winnie's father with a pocketful of cigarettes and a flask of tequila, and they'd come back in the evening with game, wild hog, deer, rabbit, fish, or any other wild animal they could get their hands on - though, much to their chagrin, Mrs. Collins refused to cook any and all of them. And every evening, as the sun continued its descent behind the hills to the East, Winnie brought an aluminum-tin full of food to Graves' doorstep.

On Sunday, however, there was none of that. Mr. Collins said it was too hot for Phillip to be staying in that 'sauna' and suggested it would be a ripe enough day to have dinner as a collective, Graves included.

Mrs. Collins didn't think herself brave enough to break the news to Winnie, however, so at six - as they took up their seats at the table - Winnie found herself staring at a bare plate and a set of cutlery that had never been there before.

"Momma... are we havin' another guest?"

"Nope. Phillip's eatin' with us tonight." Mr. Collins cleared his throat. "He'll sit there."

Winnie glanced at her father, who was too busy scratching at a rust stain on his fork to notice her ample grievance. Mrs. Collins, however, caught her eye during her round of napkin-passing and surely spotted it.

"Stop with those eyes, Winnie. Phillip Graves is a guest."

She huffed. "Sure. Phillip Graves hasn't once tried to be a guest. Every evening, I walk over to his cabin, and every evening, he slams open his door and grabs his dinner like it was a damn burden for him to even bend down--"

"--You keep those comments in your own head, little miss Collins." Mr. Collins grumbled. It was a terrible grumble, the sort of grumble only a father with waning patience could muster. "Pro'lly is a burden for him to bend down with that shoulder. That's why he's out with me most of the time... gets his mind off the wound, alright. Can't blame him for bein' anti-social."

"Can, and absolutely will for as long as he's--"

"Phillip!" Mrs. Collins exclaimed joyously, wafting a ladle as if it were an Olympic baton. "How nice of ya to join us! Gosh, I didn't even hear ya come in! Take a seat, please, get comfy. It's grilled steak and potatoes on the menu tonight."

Winnie didn't dare look him in the eye. He didn't deserve it. Not after his treatment of her own mother, refusing her cooking until it was too late in the evening to eat it comfortably.

It was too easy to recall her mother's flustered state, scrounging like a rat in a pantry for cutlery and crockery - not forgetting the can of Cola - only for Winnie to bring it to his doorstep as if she was his servant.

As if it wasn't thirty-two steps from his door to their front porch and another twelve to the kitchen.

Even after he sat, she paid him no mind. No attention. Only once did her eyes cross his path, in passing, and as soon as they did, they promised never to meet it again.

"Hot outside, ain't it? Inside, too..." Mr. Collins licked sheepishly at a glass of Scotch.

Winnie, wine.

Graves, beer.

"Sure is." Graves leant against the table.

Winnie felt the wood tilt beneath her elbows - she wrenched both arms into her lap instead.

"Wonderin' where Bonnie is with the food..." Mr. Collins hummed. "Gonna have to move the sheep to the East field at some point... got a Chevy needin' repairs in the barn, too." His lips smacked after every sentence. "You gon' help me with that, Phillip?"

"Bastard, makin' me do all that shit that I don't wanna do..." He scoffed.

Mr. Collins raked with laughter.

Winnie didn't watch it happen, of course, but she heard it - a button popped. Another sliver of Graves' sternum appeared into view, beneath his blue cotton shirt. A sparse number of hairs tickled his chest, though he was mostly bare.

If she didn't have such a kink in her eyebrows, she might have noticed the better half of his looks. The way the evening sun caught his tan. The way it grabbed him by the hollow of his cheeks. The way it caught the strands of blonde in his hair and turned them golden.

"Where's Momma with the food? I'm starvin..." Winnie swallowed half of her wine glass in just two gulps. "Y'know, I can help ya with the sheep, Daddy--"

"--When d'ya need 'em movin' then? Next week?"

Winnie clawed at her table mat. She clobbered a mean silence.

"No rush. Few weeks." Mr. Collins shrugged. He then delved a pinky into his ear canal and gave it a twist. "You say somethin', Winnie? You know I can't hear well out of my right. Those IEDs pack a punch, don't they, Phil?"

"Sure do." He approved.

Winnie watched Graves' chest inflate with a breath - though nothing much above - then, after a few seconds, deflate.

"Doesn't matter, Daddy. I was just... I can help ya with the sheep if you need it."

"Why don't you and Graves do it together? Now, there's a million-dollar idea. Y'ever wrangled sheep before, Phil?"

His groan suggested he had never.

Then, and only then, did Winnie decide to gaze at his face. And, much to her bafflement, he was already watching her right back. Hazel blues, pierced and primed for her stern attitude to dissolve. Even still, he didn't much acknowledge her, for what it was worth. His eyes moved across, up, then somewhat down, before they cast off entirely to the right, where they narrowed with lust.

And, with a tight jaw, he whistled. "Ouch-- Bonnie - those steaks are lookin' fine. God, I've missed your cookin'."

"Who would'a guessed..." Winnie chided, much too suddenly and quietly for anyone to hear, except Graves. Whether he understood what she was referring to at all was beyond her level of care.

The table sparked with conversation once everyone had had their fill.

All four beef steaks had since disappeared, leaving a bloodied puddle of juice on the plate from whence they came. The remaining potatoes had been set aside for potato salad for the next day's lunch, and a mound of grits collected a crust in the bottom of the pan. To set delight along Mrs. Collins' lips (she was never much of a grits connoisseur, having grown up in Georgia), Mr. Collins went about churning spoonful of it into his stomach.

And when he'd finally exhausted the room in his pouch, to the extent of unbuttoning his jeans and making his shirt slack, he stood to help his wife swap the dishes out for dessert.

Chestnut pie - picked straight from the woods. Mrs. Collins hadn't ceased about how perfectly they'd behaved when grinding them down for butter. It was a stunning pie. Caramel brown; it steamed as she segmented it carefully, slice after slice, into equal triangles so as to not spoil anyone's temperament.

It was such a lavish dinner that, as they silently indulged in the woody scent of baked chestnuts and the sharpness of fresh dollopped cream on top, Winnie had forgotten what she'd sworn to herself earlier that evening.

As the spoon hit her tongue, her gaze meandered. Up, up, up, and right to rest on a vein along Graves' forearm. She hadn't known how firm they were - not that it should have been a very common thing to notice - until then, when the sun had dipped beyond its reach and simmered the dining room in all manners of orange.

It made the valleys, the rivers, and the streams of his arms appear taught, free-flowing with blood. The veins coasted about his skin as if they had been eroding him for millenia. When they dipped past his wrist and over the mound of his knuckles, they split into brooks and disappeared along his fingertips.

How a man of his calibre - his age, no doubt - could boast such raw beauty - of such a vexing degree - similar to that of the crests, peaks, troughs, basins, and gorges of her life in Texas, was simply astounding.

So astounding, in fact, that for all of three minutes, Winnie hadn't mouthed a word. Not a peep from her lips until the ambling drone of her father cut through the static, muffled laughter ensued, and her mother asked, as clear as the glass in the greenhouse;

"Phillip. When are you going to get a wife, already? You're eating us outta house and home every time you come 'round."

Winnie was back before she knew it, before she'd even taken her eyes off that one pesky vein on Graves' arm and before she'd even gained control over her eyes and the aching kink in her neck from staring him down for the better half of Al Green's Love and Happiness.

He raised his glass. "It's cause you're a damn fine cook, Bonnie. Can't get away from ya. I love a woman who can fix together steak and grits like it's the last meal she'll ever make."

Winnie smiled. She'd finally clued in, eyes lighting with recognition that wasn't present earlier - and it was best to be genial. "That's momma, for ya. She loves her food."

"Yeah, and it doesn't like my waistline..."

Mr. Collins, naturally, began his tirade that his wife was just as, if not more, beautiful as the day they'd met. Mrs. Collins, on the other hand, perked with laughter and gave him a coy clap across the chest.

Then, for at least forty seconds, maybe longer, the pair of them were cutthroat for the matter of humility. Mr. Collins chided that Mrs. Collins was as dainty as a daisy in a field, which she denied, and Mrs. Collins insisted that Mr. Collins was as dependable as the statue of Adam, which he also denied, and neither seemed to want to relent any time soon.

It was a plain argument, the stuff nobody would tip a pot over.

So they jousted for a while, as Graves and Winnie scraped the last of their pies. In good time, when Mr. and Mrs. Collins had at last come to the conclusion that neither was more or less stunning than the other, did Graves, beneath the commotion, ask;

"You cook much, Winnie?"

For the second time only that evening, Winnie met his gaze. Something inside it felt inviting - if only he had that glint in his eye on the porch last week. Perhaps it was the first time he'd extended an olive branch - it was certainly the first time he'd addressed her solely - but nothing about the depth of his eyes felt insincere, nor disinterested, nor anything malicious of the sort.

It was the kind of gaze that might have liked to be explored.

"No... no, not much, sir." She murmured.

"Sir?" He retorted, light as a feather. And then, with much raucousness, laughed to her father and asked, "You got her to call me sir, Steve? You're that much of a little shit to your own daughter, huh?"

"You're a veteran in my books, Graves," Mr. Collins took a healthy glug of Scotch to wet his throat, even if he had to give it a minute for the burn to settle, "a good woman has to know her manners."

"Manners?" Phillip scoffed.

Winnie slid out a smile, if only for the fact that her father had a smear of cream along his chin. "I know my manners just fine, don't I, Daddy?"

"Do ya?" Graves uttered. He didn't bother to meet her emphatic stare. Instead, he pawed and scraped at the mushed remains of his chesnut pie, wolfing it down like a starved man - as if he hadn't gorged himself on steak and potatoes prior to dessert.

Seconds trickled by as the ever-so-ignorant Mr. Collins turned to Mrs. Collins for a napkin - so that he might wipe the whipped cream from his face - at which point, Graves snuck once more into conversation, with a voice so hushed it could have only been meant for one person, "Might wanna teach a woman to knock a lil' quieter..."

It was the sort of comment her Daddy couldn't have heard.

So, Winnie's gaze flickered up. Not so far up that she met his face - she didn't want to make it the third - but not so far down that her eyes chased that one vein beneath his sleeve. Safe enough between the two extremes that, from the tilt of his chin, she could tell: his eyes were on her.

It seemed, after a while, that service was not over. Pie had been gorged on, sure, but conversation trickled as it had done for hours, with no end in sight. It had been so long at the dinner table that, much to Mrs. Collins' future disagreement, the remaining chesnut pie had lost its warmth, the whipped cream had since deflated and ran liquid, and, even still, nobody had realised the faucet was running from before dinner had initially been brought out.

"You never said, Winnie. What did y'do before comin' back here?" Graves sipped at his Scotch. There was a pool of condensation beside him, that he wouldn't touch with a napkin. If his glass wasn't sliding across the table, he wouldn't drink from it.

"Worked up in Dallas. Lived there, too. Used to be a financial accountant, you know, dealin' with numbers."

Graves stuck a thumb into Steve's face. "Like your Daddy after he retired from the field? You take after him pretty good. Heard ya... heard y'had a boyfriend or somethin' back there, too? Things turn' sour?"

"Not... not sour. Things... just happened." She corrected, stabbing a few asparagus onto her fork. "He tried me, once. Y'know how it is... never turned back after the second time."

"An' he let a pretty lil' thing like you get away?" An eyebrow twitched; he reached for another swig of scotch. Winnie would have said something, perhaps, if his tone wasn't so dismissive, and if he hadn't rushed right along the connotations. "You'll have suitors around the block for you in no time. Ain't that right, Bonnie? You were a bit-of-a catch in your day."

"Still is." Mr. Collins elbowed Graves.

"I am not." Bonnie caught a hand at her hip. "But, I admit, you should'a seen me ten years ago. You would'a had a go at me, too, Graves--"

He scoffed, holding his hands in mock defeat. "--You know what, I just might have done."

"Yeah, but you wouldn't've." He clapped a hand on Graves shoulder. The good one - he knew better than to kick a man when he was down. "I'm glad our Winnie took after Bonnie, here. Wouldn't wanna be chasin' a man down with this face."

Graves chuckled. "Yeah, cause they'd be runnin' the other way--"

"--You shut your mouth." Mr. Collins slapped the back of Graves' head.

The table was quiet for some time as the raucousness died. Only after a few minutes did someone say something, and like most times before it, that person was Phillip Graves.

"So, you take after your mother, Winnie?" Though he was still reeling from his laughter, shoulders sagging with every beat of amusement.

"No, I--"

Bonnie, mid-scoop of pie, wildly thrust the ladle toward Winnie. "--She does. Won't let her deny it. Wants to, 'cause she thinks she ain't pretty, but she takes after me!"

"Alright." She chuckled. "Momma says I look like her when she was young." Winnie shrugged. "Though she says my hair ain't as curly and my nose ain't the right shape--"

"--And she doesn't have my gums. She has her father's gums."

Winnie snorted. "Yeah. Daddy's gums, momma's... teeth, supposedly."

Graves shrugged. "Whatever gets y'there..."

Mr. Collins asked for another round of pie, next, even if she explained that it had long gone cold and the cream was flat - but there was too much left and he didn't want it causing Bonnie any upset - and they went circling the table for another few rounds of red wine, beer, and scotch (whatever matched their penchant), until they'd all but exhausted the modicum of vacancy in their stomachs, collectively slumping back into their chairs as the delirium of late-evening settled in.

That was, until, after some time - wishing to crack open a window and get to washing up - Mrs. Collins clamboured from her seat. "Well, I better start gettin' some of these dishes in before the sauce crusts down."

"I'll help ya with that, Bonnie," Graves stood.

Winnie stood after him, catching his curiosity. He was busy hoisting the belt of his trousers after being sat for so long, and stretched out his shoulders like her father did when it was time to dust the house.

"Sit." Winnie chimed. "Guests are guests. I'll help ya, Momma."

Mrs. Collins glanced between the two of them - it was a feast for her eyes. "Goodness. Well, one a' you help me!"

"Y'want me to sit around while you ladies clean the table? Can't do that. My Momma raised me better." Graves held his hands on his hips, half-intent on sliding plates along plates, and cutlery over those same plates - the sort of passive-aggressiveness Winnie despised from a man.

"Yes." She swatted his hand away, catching a twinge of provocation. "Now, sit."

Mr. Collins whistled. "You better just si'down, Phillip. She's got a temper on her like nothin' you've ever seen. Worse than her mother."

To which, Mrs. Collins shouted back from the kitchen, a muffled but audible, 'I heard that!'

By nine, Winnie regretted even opening her mouth. The exponential pile of dishes that stretched from one end of the kitchen to the other could have rivalled that of a hoarder's. For one meal for four people, out of the three that she'd cooked that day, she managed to use a mandolin and each of its attachments, of which there were six. Crinkle cut, straight cut, slivers, chunks, thin slices, and thick slices.

And all were a bitch to clean.

Winnie was on the 'slivers' attachment when she heard footsteps at the door. "Momma, how'd ya manage to use this many appliances? I'm half expecting the coffee machine to appear outta nowhere..."

A gruff voice replied - one she'd learned the sound of, though didn't like to hear. "Sorry, sweetheart. I ain't y'Momma."

"Well, can ya get her, please? I wanna ask how she managed to use both of our Dutch ovens." She gestured wildly at them on the drying rack; soapy water dribbled down the ankle of her gloves. "Seriously. How does one woman use both of 'em for beef steaks, potatoes, grits, and chestnut pie..."

Graves chuckled, and soon, he was beside the drying rack, back against the cupboards, towel in hand, swiping away the remnants of water.

"Thought my Daddy told you to si'down."

"Your Daddy's out back, choppin' wood for Bonnie's kiln, although I ain't seen her use it in years." He arranged the dinner plates into a neat stack. "And I'm sick of smellin' the remnants of dinner when I could be helpin'."

"Well - thank you, but I don't need your help."

"I know that." He dried another plate, and added it to the pile.

Was this some sort of a challenge?

A moment's silence, then; "Y'got a hair in your eyes."

"I know that." She spat his words right back, huffing the piece of hair away, just for it to fall back against her nose. "Damned... thing."

Graves dried his hands and hooked the rag over his belt. "C'mere. I got it." He reached for the strand, and Winnie paused with bated breath, waiting until he'd hooked it over her ear before she inhaled, lest she catch a whif of his cologne. "There ya go."

"Thanks." She mumbled, though it came out more like a disgruntled slur - because she couldn't quite get over the softness of his fingertips against her temple.

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[kerstrel]

heacanon Jay and Tim (CW: Unhealthy eating habits and Child Neglect)

It made sense for Jason to hoard food in Dick's mind. He was a kid from the streets, never knowing when his next meal was. It made sense to Bruce and Alfred who let him keep a stash of snacks and instant meals in his closet.

It made sense to Jason, who was still wrapping his head around being adopted by a literal billionaire. He hoarded food. Even after death and resurrection, he hoarded food.

If Roy were hungry, Jason had a granola bar in his pocket. He could go to any safehouse (his or no) and find a stash of goodies to keep himself going.

It didn't make sense for Tim to hoard food in Dick's mind. He was the child of billionaires, able to get anything he wanted whenever. It didn't make sense in Bruce and Alfred's minds as they cleared out yet another stash from Tim's bedroom.

But.

It made sense to Jason who saw how skittish Tim was in the kitchen. It made sense to Jason who remembered a small kid following him and Bruce around, leaving a small trail of M&Ms in his wake. It made sense to Jason, who broke into the Drake Manor once and found an empty fridge and emptier pantry.

It made sense to Tim, who even with his parent's money, couldn't count on them to remember groceries or provide a next meal. It made sense to Tim, who'd eat himself silly whenever he could, and squirrel away whatever fit in a napkin.

Hoarding food was a survival instinct--one Jason honed on the streets and one Tim honed fancy dinner to fancy dinner.

When Jason saw what Tim did, how he behaved, Jason's heart broke a little. He talked loudly to himself about which utility belt pocket was best for what snack, and where he hid his own food stashes throughout Gotham. He went out of his way to watch cooking videos on the main TV and get (force) Tim to help him make them.

It made sense to Jason to help Tim feel safe because Dick, Alfred, and Bruce had done the same for him.

It just. Made. Sense.

[myhauntedsalem]

The Boogeyman of Beverly, Massachusetts

In the 1970’s, a family bought an old decrepit mansion near the harbor in Beverly, Massachusetts. They didn’t believe in the boogeyman until they moved in.

Almost immediately upon moving in the family experienced some strange things. The door that led from the house’s kitchen into the backyard was found open every morning, even when it had been locked the night before. Items in the kitchen and pantry were often rearranged, and the kitchen table moved.

The family’s father tried to fix the situation by installing a new double lock on the door. It didn’t work, the door was still found wide open each morning. Adding to the general creepiness, the family often felt like they were being watched while in the kitchen, and their dog refused to enter the room late at night.

Things got stranger.

One afternoon Steve, one of the family’s sons, heard his mother yell, “Steve, stay out of your father’s office!” Steve came out of the living room, and his mother looked shocked. They were both on the first floor. His father’s office was on the second floor. If it wasn’t Steve, who was in the office? No one else was home.

As they started to call the police, they saw through the window a shadowy figure jump from the office’s second floor balcony. The police came to investigate but no signs of an intruder were found.

That summer, most of the family retreated to their New Hampshire vacation house, but Steve, who worked as a lifeguard in Beverly, stayed behind. He slept with an antique WWII pistol on his nightstand, wrapped in a piece of old rabbit fur for protection.

One night, Steve awoke abruptly at 3:00 am. There was someone in his bedroom, and they were laughing maniacally at the foot of his bed. The room was pitch black. Terrified, Steve rolled onto the floor and reached for the gun.

He was surprised to find the items on the nightstand had been rearranged. The lamp and clock had been moved around, and the pistol was no longer wrapped in fur.

Still, Steve was able to find the pistol and he shouted at the intruder, telling him to leave or get shot. There was no answer. Steve finally got up enough nerves to run out of the room and out into the backyard. He got into his car and drove off, and kept driving until the sun came up.

When he went back home, he noticed something on the kitchen table. Placed on the kitchen table, folded like a fancy napkin was the rabbit fur that had been on my bedroom nightstand.

Steve immediately got back in his car and drove to New Hampshire. He spent the rest of the summer at the vacation home, and then went off to college. The family sold the house a few weeks later.

[vid-writes]

Godslayer Chronicles Ch. 3

This story will not contain any romance or sex but it does contain violence so reader discretion is advised!

A week later, the group found themselves in Madison, Wisconsin. For the first time since the group first got together, they stayed in a building with the outermost four walls still fully intact. There was only one hole in the roof, and the group chose to pretend that the master bedroom, with the clawfoot tub and converted hand-pumped faucet for it, didn't exist. Emalia and Petra had curled up in the room that appeared to be a library with a couple of books.

"Oh, well, that's very descriptive," Petra whispered as she blushed and held the book closer. Her eyes were flitting across the page faster than Emalia had ever seen. Emalia chuckled as she continued to read her mystery novel. She had read her fair share of romance novels but never as enthusiastically as Petra currently was.

"Lunch is ready, and then we need to move on further south around these Great Lakes," Jalinda announced as she popped into the little library.

"I'm just glad we found that gas-powered bike capable of pulling the bigger wagon. Now we can take on another couple of small wagons since we have more free bikes," Petra said as she stretched up from her chair.

"And a few gallons of gas in that gas can," Emalia added as they headed for the kitchen.

"Well, I'm grateful that the stove was gas-powered on a localized tank with plenty of extras in the garage," Jalinda smiled back at Emalia and Petra.

"Thank God for doomsday preppers," Anton called from the dining room.

Breakfast was a mixture of random scrambled bird eggs, Spam, and bread that Petra made. Usually, they only had bird eggs and bread, but there must have been more Spam here than they initially thought. As if reading Emalia's mind, Anton spoke up around a mouthful of his food.

"We found a whole extra pantry full of Spam that lasts another three years. We took all the food, and the Spam filled half the small wagon, so thankfully, Micha could ride his bike again." They all grimaced as food fell out of Anton's mouth. He just used the bread to shovel it right back into his mouth.

"I swear you're worse than a cow when you eat," Jalinda groaned as more food fell out of Anton's mouth.

He laughed.

"Oh, come on, we know only Petra grew up on a farm." Anton swallowed his mouthful of food and groaned with delight. Everyone at the table threw their used napkins at him.

Once the group had cleared away breakfast, they started to pack up the supplies they hadn't packed yet. In Emalia's case, this meant packing all the new clothes she found in one of the rooms here. It looked like they had belonged to a teenager going through a rebellious phase, but since Emalia's body looked like a stick, she took most of the shirts and a few pairs of loose pajama pants. As for the jeans that she chose to leave behind, they couldn't get up and over her one asset. Her ass.

With her bags packed and strapped to her bike, Emalia turned to her and the rest of her friends to load up stuff. Anton and Chaylen were arguing over who got to ride the gas-powered bicycle. Micha loaded the rest of the gas for the bike into the little wagon. Petra held up a piece of plywood between the gas and the Spam so the food didn't get contaminated. Only Jalinda was still going between the house and outside to bring out the rest of their stuff. Emalia hurried over to move the stuff Jalinda was piling at the end of the stairs over to the carts and the respective bikes they belonged to.

"Thanks, Emalia. I thought I would have to yell at Anton and my brother to stop fighting over a bike that goes fast and start helping me pack up stuff," Jalinda huffed as she pulled the door behind her.

"I don't know why they're fighting over it. Even before Anton started helping him, Chaylen could have done it alone on regular bikes. Now, with an engine to help him? Chaylen is built for this role, literally. He is how my great-grandma used to say, 'built like a shit brickhouse.' He's buff as hell. I've spent several night watches with Chaylen before all he does is read or exercise. If he were shorter and dumber, he'd remind me more of this character from an anime my great-grandma used to show me when I was younger. It was from a show about magic where the main kid wanted to become Wizard King to bone a nun or something. I don't know. That's all I remember since I was six the last time she showed it to me before the cancer claimed her." Emalia finished helping Jalinda distribute the rest of the bags and boxes as she spoke. Chaylen and Anton finally stopped arguing right as the girls and Micha wrapped up doing all of the heavy lifting.

Chaylen straddled the gas-powered bike with a smug look on his face.

Emalia giggled to herself as she straddled her bike and rested one foot on the pedal. She watched as her friends climbed on their bikes and got caught up in her thoughts. She was thinking about how she met them but mainly about the day they had all found Chaylen.

When Jalinda stumbled into their camp half blind from being attacked by some creatures that looked like they were straight out of a Resident Evil game, according to Jalinda's description, Chaylen hadn't been with her. A group of the pus pocket-covered, one-eye-having, toad-looking things had kidnapped Chaylen. Getting Jalinda to rest long enough to heal had taken a lot of convincing and a rotating guard outside of her tent. When she had told the group that the other two people Jalinda and her brother had been with were eaten by these creatures, Anton and Piper convinced her that if they were going to eat Chaylen, it wouldn't be anytime soon. Piper had lost her whole family to a group of these creatures and barely managed to escape their nest before they tried to feed on her two weeks later.

"Hey, what should we do with Chaylen's old bike?" Anton's voice ripped Emalia from the past and back to the present.

"Just leave it here," Micha grunted as he pushed his bike up the driveway by hand.

"Yeah, but if it gets left here, no one will probably ever use it," Anton challenged.

"Better for it to rust out inside of some abandoned building than to add more weight to our already increased load," Petra called out as she lounged on her bike.

Emalia would never understand how the twenty-three-year-old managed to lay halfway down on her bike loaded with saddlebags full and not fall over. She had even asked Petra once but merely winked at Emalia and refused to answer.

They got about a mile down the road before Emalia got lost in thought again. This time, she was thinking about the night her family died. The night that the sky split open and earthquakes rocked the whole planet, Emalia had a mom, dad, sister, and brother. She was the middle child of the bunch. They all survived for three years before the god Emalia had a vendetta against came along. She had been cold, cynical, and calculating. Her abilities included, but were not limited to, freezing people to death. The night the white-haired, white-eyed, humanoid, female-looking individual was a night Emalia would never forget. Emalia had been sound asleep when the first wave of the attack on her town had begun.

"Hey, look at that," someone said, and Emalia snapped out of her thoughts. She looked up to see Anton pointing at the sky.

The clear blue daytime sky upon which a comet was blazing across. Only the comet seemed to be coming closer to Earth. As far as Emalia could tell, the burning hunk of space was heading straight for her group.

"Fucking scatter," she screamed as she dove off of her bike. Emalia's feet hit the ground running as the sounds of her friends running faded away from her.

Heat greeted them first as Emalia dove over the concrete highway divider and continued running. Then, the impact the comet made on the highway knocked her flat on her face. Pain flared across her whole face as her ears rang. She rolled over, and everything she saw was glowing orange. Emalia blinked, but the orange tint to the world remained, so she pushed herself into a sitting position.

A fire raged across the highway a few dozen feet behind where her friends had abandoned their stuff. Emalia jumped up as the ringing in her ears faded; she needed to move their stuff before it caught fire, too. Especially since a few cars littered the highway just behind the blazing inferno.

"What in the actual fuck just happened?" Emalia looked behind her as she dragged another bike away from the flames to see Anton righting the gas-powered cycle.

"I don't have a clue, but that needs to move without you starting the engine. There's no telling if there's anything in the air that could cause it to explode," Emalia said as she set aside Petra's bike.

Just as she was about to start trying to move the smaller cart the rest of the group returned from where they had run to.

"We should probably just leave. That felt like some rogue or random attack from a god," Petra offered to no one. Everyone was nodding their agreement when something else happened.

The hunk of space rock split open straight down the middle, almost like it was opening on a seam. A hand shot out from between the rock, and Emalia acted before she could think. Fire still danced in a few patches that seemed to be dying off on their own, but she couldn't care. She raced to the comet as a female with pointed ears climbed out.

Emalia stumbled to a stop as the woman locked eyes with her. Fear rooted her feet to the spot as the strange woman walked towards Emalia. Her skin was leaf-green and covered in white tattoos, her eyes were a darker shade of green, and her red hair reached her waist, even braided. Skin-tight black clothes covered the woman, and a bow was strapped to her back.

"Did it actually work?" Listening to the woman speak reminded Emalia of sleigh bells ringing.

"Did what work?" The question came from behind Emalia. She glanced over her shoulder to see Micha standing just behind her and off to the side. He was gripping his sniper rifle tightly in his hands.

"Is this planet Earth?" The woman asked. She said the word Earth as if she was speaking it for the first time.

"That depends on if you're another wretched god or cryptid," growled Micha.

"I am neither of those things. I am a Nephilim from the planet Odreture. My name is Charamaline, but you can call me Char," the woman explained, yet Emalia understood nothing.

"What are you an alien or something?" Anton asked as he joined Emalia and Micha.

"Are you an idiot or something? I just said I'm a Nephilim. I come from another world that has collided with yours," Char said like it was the most natural thing.

Emalia gaped at her.

Char dusted her hands off on her pants and surveyed the group before her. Each of them, save for Emalia, was grasping a weapon tightly and staring at her like they had just seen a ghost. Given the state of this planet, they very well might have seen them before. Char pulled out a glowing green orb from only God knew where with that skin-tight outfit and started muttering.

"What are you doing?" Emalia asked, wishing she had grabbed her bandolier of knives.

"This orb is magical. Once I've told it my message, I only have to smash it, and my wife back in my home world will receive my words. I only have a small window of opportunity before the spell we used to get me here fades," Char explained. "Now, please save all the rest of your burning questions." She went back to muttering at the orb.

When she went silent again, Char raised the orb above her head and let go. It cascaded to the ground seemingly in slow motion before shattering all over the highway. At the same time, the flames that still burned all went out. At first, nothing happened, but the green smoke started to rise. The smoke caressed Char's cheek before it shot into the sky like weird green reverse lightning.

"I am far too sober for this shit," Chaylen muttered, and Emalia heard Jalinda agree just as quietly.

"Now I will explain everything, but first, I think you guys will want to sit down. The information I have for you is going to blow your mind. And yes, it is also information you might be too sober to fix." Chaylen tensed as Char said this. "If you don't want to do this on this roadway, might I suggest we find someplace to set up camp?"

"No, here is fine. We have camped on the highway before," Micha said.

"Highway," Char experimented with the word. "What is a highway?"

"The road we are on now. It goes up and over most other roadways and usually allows for higher-speed traffic. Also helps semi-trucks get to their destinations without clogging up local streets." Emalia watched as Char's face grew more confused by her explanations.

"It seems we all have a lot to learn." Anton coughed and turned around. "I'm getting the weed."

"Fucking finally," Chaylen commented as he followed after Anton. Emalia turned to look at Micha only to find him watching the strange woman named Charamaline. None of them knew how to react to her, but since she wasn't attacking them, they would listen.

After all, anything that had wanted them dead this far into the apocalypse hadn't bothered with psychological warfare. Those creatures had attacked immediately, and most weren't even capable of human speech, let alone English.

Or buy me a coffee <3

[ask-carmenpondiego]

Chapter 4: The plot thickens! Dun dun duuunn!

Days went by and Carmen had been napping here and there to pass the time, occasionally practicing standing and squatting to keep her legs and body stretched. As she felt more healed, she went back to her normal morning and evening stretches and exercises. She barely saw M outside of him grumpily dropping off food on the dresser and stalking off to brood. On this particular day, she hadn’t seen him at all so she decided to get dressed in a loose calf length maxi dress, and adventure out to explore the safe house. It was very small, barely two rooms other than bathrooms. She found the kitchen and started to raid the pantry when she heard voices outside. She peeked outside the window to see M pacing the beach on his phone, arguing with someone. Finishing making her peanut butter sandwich, she bring it out in a napkin and nibbles it as she walks towards him. “No, I dont give a fuckin flyin rats ass what your damn investigators say, you find his body! I aint accepting ‘erh it git burnt up in da fire’ No. I know how to fuckin burn bodies! You want me to demonstrate that to ya?! There WILL be a body if he is fuckin dead and you better fuckin find it before I fuckin find you! Capish?” He roars in frustration and slams his phone against the rocks, smashing into pieces. Moments later the pieces disappear and the phone is back in his pocket.

She sits down behind him on the sand, munching her sandwich quietly. He paces a little bit then turns towards her. Visibly startled, he takes a few steps back, “Geeezus-What the fuck is wrong with you?! Gawd damn you are like a fuckin ghost, sneaking up on me.. fack.. give me fuckin heart attack. I thought you were a demon baby, I was gonna punt ya head right in!” She looks up at him, crossing her ankles and leaning back on one hand, not even bothered, still eating her sandwich. “Soooo, Who was that?” He runs his hand through his hair and starts pacing again. “That was the fuckin medical investigator, they can’t find Wal’s fuckin body.” She scowls, “Even after all this time?? The museum would have been doing renovations by now! How could they miss a body?” He shrugs and puts his hands on his hips, “No fuckin idea. Somethin dont seem right. And I know my accidents, I specialize in them. This was no random accident. No body, no realistic cause of fire, it was arson to cover up somethin and it aint like Wal to abandon shit like family. If he were in trouble, he called me. He didn’t call me and he didnt call you. He’s the dumb hero type, so he would have helped people get out. It just dont make fuckin sense. Everything is telling me he screwed outta there to save his hide but that aint like him. Not one bit. And everyone is sayin he didnt get out, no one saw the fucker leave, and the only way outta there after evacuation was in a body bag! He wasnt there either!”

Carmen let her head drop back as she looked at the clear sky, a few gulls glided past, tossing them the last bits of her sandwich crust. “We can’t trust the medical nor the police. I even tried to get them to help and they just arrested me for my past warrants.” She sighed, bringing her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. He looked at her confused, “Why the fuck would they arrest you? Did you like assault the pig? What was yer name again? Caramel Cruz or some shit? Wally always called you his light. I’ll be honest, I tuned him out when he talked about you.” “My name is Carmen Cruz, not Caramel!” She frowned annoyed, ears back. He snapped his fingers, “Yes, that was it, Carmen, like that famous robber.” “Thief. I’m a thief.” She snarled. “No, you’re wrong. I think it was robber.. cat burglar? Ya know, you look a bit like her… wait.” He tossed her forward, her face in the sand and her tail in the air, he pulls up her dress and looks at the marking on her rump. “Well fuck my ass, the globe with the magnifier. You are her! Name change and everything! Holy shit! My brother really knew how to fuckin pick em!” She scrambled and covered her ass back up, her face bright crimson red in embarrassment. “You seen me naked almost this whole time and you never noticed it?!” He laughed, watching her panic to regain composure, “I wasn’t looking at yer ass. There were other important things I was paying attention to. Like not having you bleed out and die.” He held out a hand to help her to her feet, “At least that nugget of info explains why you are so nosey for details.” She dusts off her dress as she stands, “Yeah, well, I like having answers. And this whole thing with Wally’s body missing and me being redirected specifically to a place where they forget people? Someone wanted us out of the picture for good, and I need to know why.”

M kicked the sand a bit with his hoof, some grains sticking to his shaggy forlock fur. “Maybe they just wanted you gone, I mean, you do cause quite the fuckin ruckus when you steal something, like I dunno, an entire fuckin landmark!” Carmen rubs her forehead below her horn, “I quit doing that, the challenge of it was great and all but the practicality wasn’t there. I stopped thieving in general when I met him. Disbanded everything to settle down. Looks like thats one thing I can’t escape from, stealing.” She watches the waves a moment. “But I can change the targets of my stealing. If I cant escape the ship, form a mutiny and take control of the ship’s wheel!” She grinned, turned to him, “M, we’re going heisting!” And begins to jog back to the safe house. M just stood there, dropping his arms, shaking his head, yelling after her, “What the fuck are we even stealing? Hey! You can’t just say that and run off! I would like to know what bullshittery you’re dragging me into! Are you listening?! What are you even doing?! We’re not the cliffhanger end of a chapter in a mediocre self-insert fanfic on a Tumblr Ask-Blog, so don’t fuckin act like it!”

[m34gs]

how do you think kalim and idia would spend halloween together?

Hello! Thank you for this ask, I'm very excited to answer!!

As I've mentioned in my horror movie post for Housewardens (based on the ask from @kimium; link here), I think Idia would really like horror movies (which is based on his R Halloween costume card vignette), but I feel like Kalim would not really enjoy all things horror and creepy. He'd like the more fun, light-horror aspects of Halloween. That being said, I think they can find middle ground to enjoy the holiday together!

Decorations are a Must. Kalim may not want the spookiest decorations, but he loves parties and themes. He'd choose some of the cute-looking ghost and witch window-clings, there'd be garlands of bats, Halloween themed plates and napkins, goblets shaped to look like skulls, and, of course, jack-o-lanterns which they carved together! Their pumpkins are displayed proudly, front and center, even if Idia is a little shy about sharing his. It's ok, because Kalim encourages him that it's really good!

For costumes, they spend weeks working together to make a couple's costume. Idia models it after one of his favourite anime. Kalim may not know the show's title, but he's watched a bit of it with Idia and he had fun watching his boyfriend enjoy it so much. He also thinks a couple costume is a great way to make sure everyone can see he's dating Idia. I think Kalim would be really into doing couple activities because 1. he loves spending time with Idia, and 2. he loves showing everyone how much he loves his partner! Also, he finds it fun to make the costume; I think Kalim would enjoy crafts like that. Idia is a stickler for details, but I think Kalim gets him to also let loose a little and remember that everything doesn't have to be 100% perfect. Knowing Idia's perfectionism when it comes to cosplay and his love of anime, he's definitely the one that keeps them on-track so the costumes are actually ready for Halloween...lol :)

When it comes to snacks and candies...well, I think Jamil and Ortho have now put in place a rule that Idia and Kalim *cannot* go to the grocery store unsupervised. The pantry was full with nothing but candy, the closet had bags upon bags of chips and popcorn. Jamil found skull-shaped chocolates in the freezer. Ortho discovered Idia sleeping curled up in a ball on his bed because Idia's bed was full of bags upon bags of sour candies. And they weren't planning on sharing with anyone. Idia and Kalim bought all those snacks entirely in preparation for Halloween Date Night so they could eat them all while watching movies together. They both got the scolding of a lifetime and then received a rationed portion of treats they were allowed to have for Halloween. I guess it's 'the couple that gets in trouble together stays together'?...lol. Not an ounce of impulse control between the two of them when it comes to the snacks haha.

When they finally get to have their Halloween date, I do believe they would spend it watching cheesy, not-overly-scary, Halloween movies and munching on snacks. They're definitely cuddling on the couch (Idia made sure they chose costumes that would allow for this) and they're laughing at the movie together. They marathon so many movies that they fall asleep on the couch like that, and there's spilled popcorn on the floor and half-drunk cans of pop on the coffee table and empty chocolate wrappers scattered about like confetti...

So, yeah, that's how I think the two of them would spend Halloween! Hope you enjoyed my answer 💜 Thank you so much for the ask, and feel free to ask if you want more details or have any questions!

[favouritefab-blog]

W Cut Non Woven Bag for Every Industry’s

Introduction

Briefly introduce W Cut non-woven bags, highlighting their popularity due to their durability, eco-friendliness, and versatility.

Mention that these bags have found applications across various industries, becoming an essential packaging solution.

1. What Are W Cut Non-Woven Bags?

Design and Structure: Explain that W Cut non-woven bags are named for their W-shaped design at the top, which provides a wide opening and a comfortable grip.

Material: Highlight the use of non-woven polypropylene fabric, known for its strength, flexibility, and recyclability.

Benefits: Discuss the benefits, including lightweight nature, reusability, and customization options (e.g., printing logos and designs).

2. Applications in the Retail Industry

Fashion and Apparel: Describe how fashion retailers use W Cut bags to provide customers with stylish, durable packaging for clothing and accessories.

Grocery Stores: Mention the use of these bags in grocery stores, where their strength is ideal for carrying heavier items like fruits, vegetables, and pantry staples.

Promotional Use: Discuss how retail brands use W Cut bags for promotional purposes, printing logos and brand messages to enhance visibility.

3. Use in the Food and Beverage Industry

Takeaway and Delivery: Explain how restaurants, cafes, and food delivery services utilize W Cut bags for packing takeout orders, ensuring food safety and convenience for customers.

Catering Services: Mention the use of these bags by catering companies to transport utensils, napkins, and other small items efficiently.

Custom Branding: Highlight the opportunity for food and beverage companies to customize W Cut bags with their branding for marketing purposes.

4. Importance in the Healthcare Industry

Pharmacies: Discuss how pharmacies use W Cut non-woven bags to package and deliver medications, ensuring hygiene and safety.

Hospitals and Clinics: Explain the use of these bags for transporting medical supplies, documents, and personal belongings, maintaining a clean and organized environment.

Eco-Friendly Choice: Emphasize the importance of sustainability in healthcare, where non-woven bags contribute to reducing plastic waste.

5. Adoption in the Corporate Sector

Corporate Gifting: Describe how businesses use W Cut bags for corporate gifting, presenting items like diaries, pens, and promotional materials in a professional and eco-friendly manner.

Events and Conferences: Mention the use of these bags at events and conferences to distribute promotional materials, ensuring attendees receive them in a presentable and convenient package.

Employee Welfare: Explain how companies use W Cut bags for internal purposes, such as packaging welcome kits for new employees or distributing office supplies.

6. Utilization in the Education Sector

School Supplies: Discuss how educational institutions use W Cut bags to distribute school supplies, books, and uniforms to students, ensuring durability and ease of carrying.

Events and Campaigns: Mention the use of these bags for school events, campaigns, and activities, where they serve as both a practical tool and a branding opportunity.

Eco-Education: Highlight how schools promote eco-consciousness by choosing reusable W Cut bags over single-use plastic alternatives.

7. Role in the Agriculture Industry

Seed and Fertilizer Packaging: Explain how farmers and agricultural suppliers use W Cut bags for packaging seeds, fertilizers, and other small agricultural products.

Market Sales: Mention the use of these bags at farmers' markets and local produce shops, where they help in transporting and selling goods effectively.

Sustainability Focus: Discuss the importance of eco-friendly packaging solutions in agriculture, where sustainability is becoming increasingly prioritized.

8. Advantages of Customization Across Industries

Branding and Marketing: Discuss the benefits of customizing W Cut non-woven bags with logos, slogans, and designs to enhance brand visibility.

Targeted Marketing: Explain how different industries can tailor the design and messaging on these bags to suit their specific audience and marketing goals.

Cost-Effective Promotion: Highlight the cost-effectiveness of using customized W Cut bags as a promotional tool compared to traditional advertising methods.

Conclusion

Summarize the versatility and practicality of W Cut non-woven bags, emphasizing their widespread adoption across various industries.

Encourage businesses to consider incorporating these bags into their operations for their durability, eco-friendliness, and branding potential.

https://favouritehub.com/w-cut-non-woven-bag-for-every-industrys/

[puutterings]

no searching of the dictionary; seven, she murmured, seven.

        Having already eaten heartily, Gwendolyn had little appetite. Furthermore, again she was turning over and over the direful statements made concerning her parents. She employed the dinner-hour in formulating a plan that was simple but daring — one that would bring quick enlightenment concerning the things that worried. Miss Royle was still indisposed. Jane was locked in her own room, from which issued an occasional low bellow. When Thomas, too, was out of the way — [118] gone pantry-ward with tray held aloft — she would carry it out. It called for no great amount of time: no searching of the dictionary. She would close all doors softly; then fly to the telephone — and call up her father.       There were times when Thomas — as well as the two others — seemed to possess the power of divination. And during the whole of the dinner his manner showed distinct apprehension. The meal concluded, even to the use of the finger-bowl, he hung about, puttering with the table, picking up crumbs and pins, dusting this article and that with a napkin, — all the while working his lips with silent speech, and drawing down and lifting his black eye-brows menacingly.       Meanwhile, Gwendolyn fretted. But found some small diversion in standing [110] before the pier glass, at which, between the shining rows of her teeth, she thrust out a tip of scarlet. She was thinking about the discussion anent tongues held by her mother and the two visitors.       “Seven,” she murmured, and viewed the greater part of her own tongue thoughtfully; “seven.”

—

ex Eleanor Gates. Poor Little Rich Girl (Grosset & Dunlap; presumably reprint; copyright 1912) : 118 : link (New York: Duffield & Company, 1913), with four illustrations — U California copy, via hathitrust : link

—

This is not the play — The Poor Little Rich Girl, A Play of Fact and Fancy in Three Acts (1916) : link nor the several later films (Mary Pickford, Shirley Temple, even Andy Warhol) — see wikipedia and its disambiguation page.

Eleanor Gates (1874-1951) wikipedia : link  

[diceramblesaboutocs]

I can't answer shortly because...

So Aino and Licht it is :)

*****

"Your fianceé is going crazy."

Nokto had found his way to his twin, shaking his head while letting out a dramatic sigh. The words of the 7th prince punched a violent cough out of Yves as the dainty prince was sipping his perfectly brewed tea.

Licht swallowed the remains of a sweet dariole and turned to Nokto. "How so?"

"She was all hunched over by the wall close by the castle kitchen, crafting a small door. She finally lost it." The signature grin decorated Nokto's thin lips as he sat on the setee next to his twin brother. "Told her that she was too big for that door."

Only Nokto was able to see as Licht's brows furrowed ever so slightly. He placed his plate on the table, gathered his gloves as he stood up to investigate this scene.

"I hope she told you were being rude. No matter what she was doing, you were being an ass." Yves gently and shiftly tapped his lips with a napkin, giving his usual lecture to the younger one.

"She told it was big enough for my soul." Nokto popped a small chocolate cookie into his mouth.

***

The corridors of the palace were busy, the winter holidays approaching meant that the whole castle needed its decorations for all the public events. With practiced ease Licht dodged the hasty servants carrying bells, winter rose arrangements and huge candelabras.

Nokto was indeed truthful in his words. Aino really was there, sitting as ladylike as she could on the floor, in front of a wall close by the castle pantry and kitchen. Her hands were arranging a small door, no higher than 30 centimeters, against the wall. Its wooden grain painted dark red with white details of simplistic stars and snowflakes.

Licht slowly moved next to her, looking down at the small decoration. "What are you doing?"

His words prompted Aino to look up, her eyes wide from embarrassment, only for her to return to the task at hand. "I... I'm putting up a door for the Jule elf..."

"The Jule elf?" Licht's voice had a curious undertone, even tho his expression stayed as it always was. Non-expressive.

"Mmm... Yes. It's a silly little thing. A superstition. I guess..." Aino took a tiny wooden planks to arrange like a porch in front of the door.

"..." This wasn't new and Licht felt a sting of pain in his chest. His fianceé had a bad case of homesickness and he understood that this was her way of coping. No matter how weird it made her look in the eyes of the Rhodolitian people. "...What kind of a superstition?"

Aino took a deep breath, quickly brushed a runaway hair strand behind her ear. The unorthodox activity of crafting had loosened her updo a bit. The maids insisted that it was the best way to do her coarse hair. Licht didn't understand the logic. He found that he liked her hair, how it reminded of soft hay. Sturdy and warm.

"In Charoite... During this season, this way we let the Jule elf in to the house, visit the home elf and live with us. Protect the house, the residents and make sure all the festivities will go alright. ... It is like a protector of the home and hearth. And every building and place has its own protector." She placed a small felt piece on the small porch and turned to look at Licht.

"I see..." Licht stared at Aino and then turned to look at the door. "... It is an adorable door."

His words earned him a shake of a head, a quiet laugh and a warm smile. "I tried my best. I hope the elf likes it."

"I'm sure they will." Licht offered his hand to help Aino up which she accepted.

"Well I hope so. They might turn homicidal if they are displeased." Aino smoothed her dress and smiled at her fiance.

Licht's eyes widened a bit. "Wait, what?"

Question Of The Day

Everyone has their own traditions during the holidays, whether its handmaking ornaments together or hosting holiday parties. What is your favorite holiday tradition you’d want your favorite suitor to take part in?

╰❧ Daily Q's can be answered with your voice- or your OC's!

Divider by @/sweetmelodygraphics

[patsywalker1]

I got the lovely @frknchrldr for the Hellcheer gift exchange!

Taste of You

Everyone on earth has a soulmate — someone perfect for them, their other half. The connection a bonded pair of soulmates has is based on one of the five senses.

Sight; soulmates with the connection of sight can see glimpses of what their mate sees. Oftentimes you see glimpses in the corner of the eye. It's said when two soulmates with a shared sense of sight finally meet and discover their connection, their vision fully clears.

Sound; it's been said a connection through sound is muffled. Like hearing a concert from three blocks away; just a little fuzzy. When soulmates with a shared sense of sound find each other, it's like a radio that's been set to the right frequency.

Smell; those with the connection of smell have difficulty finding each other. Smell only lasts as long as your mate breathes in whatever they're smelling. The noses of soulmates who find each other can finally smell properly.

Touch; soulmates connected by touch are said to have the easiest time finding each other. The feeling of touch lasts as long as there's pressure. Once the pair has found each other they no longer feel the pressure that's being applied to their other half.

Last of all Taste; Whenever your soulmate has something in their mouth, you taste it. When you finally meet your soulmate; you no longer taste whatever they have in their mouth.

A soulmate connection is only lessons once the fated pair recognizes the connection.

It was taboo to tell one's soulmate about their shared connection once discovered- old wives tales of broken connections of those who shared.

----

Eddie was cursed with a sense of taste.

It might've not been a curse if his soulmate ate actual food.

But all he tasted everyday, like clockwork was: a nasty protein drink (if he was even awake early enough), a bland salad, carrots, and sometimes if he's lucky, some sort of steamed vegetables. Sometimes he wasn't sure if his soulmate was a human or a bunny.

Of course there was the issue of tasting vomit and bile everyday as well. But Eddie tried not to think about it; his chest hurt too much when he thought too hard about the habit.

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

Soulmate connections were not discussed in her family; Chrissy wasn’t even sure if her parents were soulmates. She remembered hearing hushed conversations when she was ten, about her dad's soulmate.

On Chrissy’s tenth birthday she experienced her first soulmate connection. Her connection was a shared sense of taste; it filled her with joy because her mother was starting to limit the greasy and carb-filled foods that Chrissy was allowed to eat. She could enjoy the delicious foods her soulmate ate — bacon, sausage, bisects, PB&J's. She’d enjoy every single opportunity.

She often wondered if her soulmate liked what she ate. Her father had a “refined” palate that her mother forced her to eat; she did this to show Chrissy what the upper-class families in the town of Hawkins ate. What she should “expect” to eat when she’s an adult. Dinners consisted of fish, quinoa, couscous, Brussel sprouts (she wasn’t a fan of those, too bitter), sometimes even duck or venison, and other dishes she had no idea how to pronounce.

When the Cunninghams would go to dinner parties, Chrissy was forced to eat things like steak tartare. She didn’t mind the taste, but when Steve Harrington told her that it was raw beef, she spit it into a napkin as he laughed next to her.

--------

When Chrissy turned eleven she was no longer allowed to eat any foods that her mother deemed unhealthy. Her days consisted of protein shakes, salads, and a few steamed vegetables. Fuel for her cheer camps, gymnastics, and morning runs. Laura Cunningham always had a tight leash on her daughter, but it was like Chrissy was being held by the collar now; Chrissy started to feel more and more hungry.

She had started sneaking downstairs in the middle of the night to steal a snack from her brother’s after school stash in the pantry. She was caught by her mother during one of her many nightly escapades. Her hands throbbing and red from the ruler, the tight and angry voice of her mother calling her a pig. She sobbed and promised to never do it again; now falling asleep every night with the tight uncomfortable feeling in her stomach. Trying to savor the taste of her soulmate's dinner.

The only thing that kept her going was her soulmate and the delicious foods they treated her to. It was easy to see that they had some sort of idea about her new food habits. It’s like they treated her to only the tastiest foods each and every day. Meats, cheeses, breads, and her favorites, Pop Tarts for breakfast. More PB&J’s for lunch, goldfish, snacks, so many snacks! It made her mouth water in envy. Dinner was always hearty things; burgers, meatloaf, sloppy joes (she had secretly eaten one once at Kimberly’s house), sometimes even pancakes. Chrissy always made sure she was awake for her soulmate’s dinner, they always ate late into the night.

She tried things through them that she found she hated, maybe even loathed. Olives; she already knew her dislike of them, so tasting them again through her soulmate only reconfirmed her hate for them. She popped a piece of her Bazooka gum in her mouth as soon as she could, trying to communicate to them that she didn’t like it.

Some sort of meaty food — she didn’t like it, she didn’t know what it was — but as soon as the Bazooka gum popped into her mouth, her soulmate stopped eating it, getting her message loud and clear.

The gum was the only sweet thing she was allowed by her mother, the reasoning being that she wasn’t going to swallow it, so it would never end up on her hips.

The last food she learned she disliked was an egg of some kind. It tasted like an egg, but it was far too bitter — it reminded her of a pickle almost.

The egg followed up the taste of smoke. Her soulmate did that a lot, smoke. She tasted different types of smoke from them. Asking her friend Kimberly and describing the taste, she discovered that it was the taste of pot and cigarette smoke; she found the flavors comforting.

Only a few days later had she realized she had eaten a pickled egg. She saw a jar of them at the grocery store. But again, when she popped the gum into her mouth, her soulmate stopped eating. They, whoever they were, valued her opinion and stopped when she made it clear that she didn’t like something.

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

At the age of twelve her mother forced her to perform a cheer routine in the middle school talent show. She had no say in what she did, her mother picking the routine, her outfit, her hair, reminding her to smile when she was on stage.

“Boys love a pretty smile.”

Her extra-small bright white cheer uniform was constricting her breathing, and her ponytail was so tight she could feel a headache coming on. Her shoes and scrunchie matched the pristine white of her uniform. Her mother had even put a small amount of makeup on her, a little eyeshadow and a strawberry lip gloss.

She couldn’t help but nervously pace behind the stage awaiting her turn to perform. She hated performing in front of crowds; the fear of disappointing anyone weighed too heavily. She felt a soft tap to her shoulder and whipped around. Craning her neck up so she could look the boy who had tapped her in the eyes. They were wide and brown, and most of all — soft and caring.

How could someone so rough looking have such soft eyes? The buzzed hair, the t-shirt with the arms ripped off, the chain wallet, the eyeliner he seemed to have on. He was the type of person her mother told her would ruin her life.

“Are you okay?” The boy asked her, brows knit in concern. How could he be concerned over her? He’d never met her before, there was no reason to care about a stranger. With a realization that she left it too quiet for a beat too long, she gave a jumbled answer.

“I– I’m just a little nervous! I don’t like performing in front of others, I feel like I won’t do well.” She flushed at her confession. Nervous gray eyes shyly lifting to meet his own, she felt him study her face; his own breaking out into a lopsided smile when it appeared that he saw what he wanted. Chrissy was blown away by that smile; it wasn’t teasing, it was genuine. She returned it with her own timid smile.

“Well, I’ve seen you practicing, and I know you’re going to do great. Just imagine everyone in their underwear, nothing is more embarrassing than that!” He spoke triumphantly. Her cheeks heated further at the thought of him watching her practice — and his wild advice.

“Thank you, I– I’ll try to do that. Um I bet you’ll do great with your–” She motioned towards the guitar flung over his shoulder.

“My band, Corroded Coffin! Oh yeah, we are going to rock this school like it’s never been rocked before!” She could tell he was pumped, no ounce of nervousness on his body, she felt envious of his unwavering confidence.

“Hell, we go right after your routine, so make sure to give a little extra cheer for us, got it?” She was taken aback by his language, her mother would’ve washed his mouth out with soap then and there. But couldn’t help the giggle that slipped from her mouth.

“Of course, and I’ll be your number one fan,” she teased. Both of their smiles grew on their faces.

Seconds later she was called to the curtain. With a small wave she made her way towards the edge of the curtain to wait her turn, biting her lip, trying to suppress the smile she felt on her face, given to her by the most unexpected boy.

He was her first crush.

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

When Chrissy turned fourteen, nothing she did was enough to keep the weight of puberty off.

She was getting more and more pressure from her mother to lose weight, to fight for that old body; her sides were pinched daily to remind her what she needed to lose.

Chrissy threw up for the first time her freshman year of high school. Her anxiety was running rampant; her weekly weigh-in with her mother was after cheer practice. The dread of her mother’s cold eyes and words caused her to throw up with panic. She felt light, no longer weighed down by her protein shake or salad.

The taste of bile still lingering on her mouth- was interrupted by a minty flavor; with shame she realized it was her soulmate. God, they probably hated her; she knows she wouldn’t want to taste someone else’s throw up. Throwing the Bazooka gum in her own mouth was the best apology she could give.

Her mother was happy. She lit up when she saw that Chrissy had lost a pound, stating how proud of her daughter she was; how the cheer skirt could finally be taken in again. Every day after that she found herself making visits to restrooms to relieve the weight; she tried to do it late enough in the day, hoping her soulmate was asleep. It never seemed to work because each and every time, she got the taste of her soulmate's cool mint — she’d chew her own sweet Bazooka with a silent apology. She thought the flavors of their gum balanced nicely and it brought a smile to her face.

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

At fifteen, Barbara Holland disappeared. Chrissy had heard rumors going around that she had left Hawkins, but she refused to believe it. Not Barb, who was one of the sweetest girls Chrissy had ever known. Anyone who knew Barb knows that she’d never do that. Leave Nancy Wheeler, who she’s basically attached at the hip with? Chrissy called bullshit.

Will Byers, the little brother of Jonathan Byers (whom she shared a couple classes with) went missing. Chrissy watched as Jonathan put up the missing person posters for him; she didn’t even want to imagine what it was like. Her own brother just disappearing? She teared up at the thought. A pang of guilt from the fear she had when she thought what the Cunningham house would be like if her own brother went missing. Will and Alex were the same age, what if something happened to her own brother? What if someone took Will? Would they take more kids his age? What about Alex?

When it was announced that Will's body had been found and identified she expressed her condolences to Jonathan, letting him know that she’d share her notes with him for the classes they had together. Through his hazy eyes he thanked her, head down low as he walked out of the school. Everyone’s eyes followed him, along with whispers of his absent father and irresponsible mother. Cold anger ran through her veins, Ms. Byers did everything she could for her boys.

The Cunningham family attended the wake, showing their condolences to the Byers family.

When it was revealed that Will wasn’t actually dead, Chrissy thought her mother was going to faint. Laura demanded that Alex stay away from the other boy, claiming that there was devil magic involved.

Additionally when Chrissy was fifteen her mother set her up with Jason Carver, the son of a wealthy family from the church. He was attractive enough if not a little pushy — arrogant, a bully, with a need to be the center of attention. Staying at his side kept her mother happy.

Three months into their relationship after a big celebratory party, Jason wanted to take their relationship to the next level. He dropped his pants and boxers in the front seat of his car; begging Chrissy to use her mouth. She did the best she could do with no experience, he mostly wildly thrust into her mouth, his hand on the back of her head, pushing down, forcing her to take all of him. Gagging and choking her, he pushed her head down further and came down the back of her throat.

Chrissy felt dirty and used, wanting nothing more but to scrub her mouth out.

After zipping up his pants and turning the engine on; Jason looked over at her and suggested that she get some practice in before next time.

An hour later at three a.m. as she laid in her bed, she let tears slip out of her eyes, begging God that her soulmate had been asleep during that encounter.

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

When Chrissy was sixteen her days flew by. Wake up at five a.m., go for a run, drink her protein shake, go to school, cheer practice, sports games, parties, throwing up — pop a piece of gum — headaches from the pinch of her ponytail, weigh-in with her mother, nights spent in the sewing room, suck Jason off in the back of his car, and her mother fussing on her more than usual.

On one such occasion she was getting ready for Homecoming and couldn’t help but overthink her life, hyperventilating in the bathroom unable to move. She had spent the last three hours pin-straight in front of the vanity as her mother did her hair and makeup. Laura expressed her disappointment in her features as she went.

Unable to take it anymore Chrissy ran for the bathroom, spilling the contents of her stomach into the ceramic bowl. Her mother's voice yelling at her outside the door, the knob shaking as her mother tried opening the door.

“Chrissy. Open the door! Open the door or I’m going to gut you like the fat pig that you are!” Her mother’s words broke her from her panicked trance, dread settling low in her stomach. The only comfort she got was the sharp minty taste of her soulmate's gum.

Not even thirty minutes later a broad smile was plastered on her mothers face as she took pictures of Chrissy and Jason. Jason’s arm was tight and uncomfortable around Chrissy’s waist, like he knew she’d run if he let go.

At times like this she couldn’t handle it, life was too much to bear. The only thing that kept her going was her soulmate. Everyday without fail they’d warm her heart by eating delicious foods, foods that were her favorite; the taste of their minty gum comforting her at rough times. She felt so loved and didn’t want to give up until she had the chance to meet them.

-----------

When Chrissy was almost eighteen, the mall fire happened. Heather Holloway and her whole family were some of the victims. Chrissy thought it was a little strange, Tom Holloway was never one to be seen at a mall, he always had Janet do all the shopping by herself. Heather didn’t even like to associate with her dad, much less go to the local hangout spot with him.

Billy Hargrove was another countless victim of the mall fire. The cheer girls often gossiped about how attractive and assertive he was; Chrissy didn’t see it, she thought he always looked so angry and sad. Chrissy knew Billy through basketball, they never spoke but he always leered at her at parties. She tried to tell Jason, but he waved it off. “Boys will be boys babe. I can’t blame him for checking you out..” She fumed at how ridiculous it was; Jason was pissed if another guy so much looked at her wrong, he had started fights in the past with anyone who even looked at her for too long. The only explanation was that Jason was afraid of Billy. Now he didn’t need to worry about Billy at all.

When Chrissy started her last year of school, her eyes started following Eddie Munson more and more. All she knew about the boy was that he dealt drugs and was apparently satanic. Jason called him a devil-worshiping freak. Chrissy might’ve agreed before, but after seeing the super senior interact with his new freshman followers, she knew he wasn’t anything like that.

Sure, he looked intimidating when speaking to everyone but when he spoke to those freshmen, Chrissy saw his eyes soften. She could tell that he cared for them, the way he stuck up for them in the halls only confirmed it. His soft brown eyes, knowing smirk, unruly hair, radiating confidence, and no-care attitude made her weak in the knees.

On one such day, Eddie was preaching about the expectations society had for new graduates.

Chrissy couldn’t keep her eyes off him, heat pooling between her legs. She went through the whole day trying to ignore what her body wanted, trying to focus on the sweet gum that popped in her mouth instead.

Once she was in the safety of her own room, she could no longer hold back her whimper. She closed her door as softly as possible — anything louder was unladylike, ladies don’t make noise, it’s unbecoming.

Legs pressed tightly together, throbbing from exertion, She had pressed her legs tightly together for hours; she was throbbing from exertion. The damp spot on her panties had gone cold during her walk into the house; but it did nothing to quell her lust — the lust for the freak.

She pictured the devilish smile he threw out to the snarling jocks, letting his tongue hang from his mouth as he threw his signature devil horns. Good girls didn’t think about what that tongue could do to them; how they wanted it to unravel them. Or how they wanted to scream his name when his head was between their thighs, or to taste their own cunt on his tongue.

It had been so long since she last touched herself, too long. Laying herself on her bed Chrissy spread her knees apart shyly, doing this in her own bed felt like too much sometimes. Hands ghosted down her body, rubbing her nipples softly between her thumb and forefinger, Her other hand ran down to her damp panties.

She imagined him in bed with her, his own hands in place of her own. Thick, calloused fingers playing with her nipples, the cool metal of his rings kissing her skin. His other hand teased her through her panties; he’d coo at how wet she was for him. The thought brought a new wave of excitement through her; she tried to bite back the groan that left her mouth.

She had never been so wet before, fingers damp and sticky. Bringing her fingers to her nose, she sniffed herself. It was musky and sweet. Without a second thought she sucked the two fingers into her mouth, whimpering at the taste.

That night she drove herself to an orgasm with Eddie on her mind. Her eyes dropped as exhaustion took over her body. Barely any memories of falling asleep with the musky sweet taste of semen in her mouth.

----

When Chrissy was eighteen, the nightmares started. She was plagued with horrible dreams, her mother’s harsh cold words and chilling, judgemental touches, her dad's silence, Jason’s pushy hands drifting over her body, forcing himself on her and in her while he held her down. And worst of all she’d dream that her soulmate hated her, thought her disgusting, ugly, and unlovable.

She could barely bring herself to eat anymore. No longer did the hunger pains bother her, only the twisting of fear in her gut.

Mother was finally proud of her; the weight that was kept off, her new stoic nature unswayed by the food laid out in front of Alex and her father.

She decided to see Ms. Kelley, who said she was experiencing stress and anxiety. Chrissy didn’t tell Ms. Kelley everything, they both knew it, but some help was better than nothing. She began to teach Chrissy breathing exercises, grounding exercises, anything that could help.

Nothing made the nightmares go away. Not the grounding exercises, not exercising herself into exhaustion, not even the taste of her soulmate's food or comforting minty gum on her tongue.

Nothing helped Chrissy get rid of the paranoia she felt; her skin was always tense with anxiety. She felt like a rabbit being stalked by a wolf. A wolf waiting for the perfect time to pounce.

Kimberly commented to Chrissy that she looked worse for wear; her childhood friend was the only one who could see it. Kimberly didn’t know everything about Chrissy’s life, about her controlling mother, or her boyfriend who was too handsy and forceful, or the way Chrissy pushed the food around on her plate.

Or maybe Kimberly did know, maybe not everything, but she knew enough. Chrissy shouldn’t be surprised, her friend has known her for so long it’d be wrong if she didn’t notice. She knew enough that she suggested Chrissy get something for her mind to be at ease, something that would let her relax. To leave a note in Eddie Munson’s locker with a request for drugs.

Chrissy did it the day Kimberly suggested that she try pot. She slipped her note into Eddie’s locker during class when no one was around. And somehow, right after lunch, she had a note waiting for her in her own locker. ‘Tomorrow after school. Table in the woods’. Signed with an E and a little devil face. She slipped the note into her jacket pocket, clutching it like it was her last lifeline. Maybe the pot and spring break would bring her relief.

She felt the telltale sign of sickness hit after the latest session with Ms. Kelley. Relieving herself in the bathroom came easily at school, she used the least used bathroom. A soft voice of a young girl asked her if she was alright. Replying with a less than believable lie it went silent again.

What followed scared the shit out of Chrissy. She thought the younger girl shook the door to her stall, but it was far worse. She heard her mothers cold voice threatening to gut her — the stall door shook harder, the memories of homecoming night playing out again.The gnarly feet under the stall door disappeared after she clenched her eyes closed.

Chrissy was in a living nightmare, who knew how long it’d be until she was sent to Penthurst. Not even the minty taste of gum could bring her any comfort.

Bringing her shoulders back and holding her head as high as she could, Chrissy made her way out to the requested meeting place. Her head ran through all the negative scenarios that could take place; maybe Eddie just wanted to laugh and watch her suffer, maybe he wouldn’t sell to her because of Jason, maybe he’d never even show.

____

___

____

It was a gift that Jason didn’t end up making that last winning shot. She thought the new freshman, Lucas, deserved it. He had been playing bench all season, she had seen how antsy he was during every game — always ready to jump to his feet.

Jason tried to pretend as much as he could that it didn’t bother him; trying to be happy that the team had won. But Chrissy could see it, his mask wasn’t as strong as he thought it was. He thought he deserved that last winning shot.

It was a struggle telling him that she wouldn’t be going to the party, that she didn’t feel well enough. The heat behind his eyes blazed, he had wanted her to suck him off in the car on the way over to the party, a little present he felt he deserved for the team's victory — just like every other victory. With the best sultry smile she could muster, she promised to make it up to him. At times like this it was better to play into his desires, he’d be easier to deal with if a “reward” was dangled in front of him.

Reluctantly he dropped the possessive grip on her waist. With a wave to Kimberly and the rest of the cheer squad, Chrissy walked to the other side of the parking lot. A shout of laughter came from the door to the art building. Eddie, his band, and his gang of freshman bantered with each other as they exited the building.

Eddie’s hands were full of books from their campaign (he had corrected her when she called it a game). Eyes searched the parking lot until they found her own. With a small nod and smile he jerked his head towards his van, motioning for her to meet him there.

After a short good-bye to his friends and a promise to meet up over the break, he made his way over to her and shot her a friendly smile after she asked about the session.

Eddie opened the passenger door for her, offered a hand to help her in, she took it with a graceful smile and a teasing "thank you, milord." He gave a dramatic bow before closing the door.

Brushing her hands together trying to memorize the feeling of his calloused hands, her mind filled with the lewd memory of her in bed, thinking of those very hands. With a shake of the head she banished the thoughts to the back of her brain.

A smile found itself on her face once again, as he entered his own side of the van with an exaggerated grunt. Her body relaxed in his presence.

The engine of his car started with a growl, music blaring on the stereo. It was quickly turned down and Eddie gave her a sheepish smile. She’d have to tease him about going deaf. He turned the channel to what he thought she’d like, ABBA and his endless chatter filling the van.

They quickly found themselves at his trailer. With another flourish he popped open the passenger side door, his hand already out for her to take. How she wished to hold that hand forever.

------

She wasn’t sure what she imagined the inside of his trailer to look like but she loved what she saw.

It was cluttered, a little messy, knick knacks everywhere. The yellow light from the lamps gave it a soft and friendly glow, a stark contrast to the sterile white of her own house. This was a real home.

She found herself asking if he lived alone, The thought brought her sadness; no one especially Eddie deserved to be alone. She was relieved when he described his uncle and that he was currently working a night shift at the plant.

The feeling of unease, of being watched, snapped her from her happy trance. She asked Eddie how long the Special K would take to kick in while she watched him attempt to find it.

With a motion towards the radio, Eddie left the room to continue his search for the requested drug. Chrissy turned the radio on at a low volume, Madonna’s Like a Virgin, filling the room.

When the clock chimed, Chrissy filled with dread, her brain screaming at her to move, to try and find Eddie.

-----

When she came to, she was gasping for air. Eddie's arms wrapped around her tightly, rocking her back and forth, whispered pleas pouring from his mouth. Her own mouth tasted of tears.

Memories of running through her house rushed back to her; Eddie noticed as her body stiffened. A cry of relief rang through him as he held her tighter, explaining what he had seen. Her floating in the air, eyes white, twitching around. No matter what he did, she wouldn’t respond.

Bile rose in her throat in fear, urgently tapping Eddie on the arm, he let her go. Legs carried her towards the bathroom he had pointed out earlier.

Hands clutching his toilet as she emptied her stomach. Her hair being held from her face and another hand rubbing her back soothingly.

Soft whispers from Eddie, asking her to raise her head for water. He helped her drink from the glass, setting it back down once he was satisfied by how much she drank. Offering a piece of gum shortly after, taking one for himself- only now did Chrissy notice how green his face was. The minty flavor of the gum was familiar and comforting.

Eddie moved them to his room, making jokes about hanging out in the bathroom. Once settled, with her on his bed, at his insistence, and him perched on the floor. Chrissy began to describe the nightmares she started to experience, the excruciating headaches, the nosebleeds, the lack of sleep, and finally how she started to hallucinate.

He quietly listened, nodding his head. Only once she had finally gotten it all out did he speak.

“Well, at least we know you’re not going crazy. I saw you floating for fuck’s sake and the lights, man the lights were going batshit…” She softly laughed. How could he joke in such a situation?

“Unless you’re dreaming about me right now, am I on your mind Cunningham?” He teased further, if only he knew how wrong he was. Eddie was on her mind a lot, especially in her bed alone, late at night. With reddening cheeks she vehemently denied that she thought of him.

Just like the forest, he stabbed himself in the heart, dramatically falling over, pulling a giggle from her.

After a few seconds of silence, Eddie cleared his throat and looked back up at her, asking if she’d like to be taken home. Maybe she had shot down his suggestion too quickly, but the thought of heading back into that house chilled her to the bone. Her mother already thought she’d be with Kimberly most of the break anyways, there was no point in going back.

It was easy to see how much she disliked the idea. Eddie provided a few other suggestions, one of which included his dealer Rick’s house on the lake. Both of them hoped they could forget about her floating in his living room and move past it.

They made it to Rick’s cabin around midnight, and Eddie provided her with some of his spare clothes so she could get out of her cheer uniform. She could feel the heat in his eyes when he saw her leave the bathroom. His spare Hellfire shirt was huge on her, the three-quarter sleeves falling to her wrists, the bottom kissing her knees.

Chrissy felt her face heat up. The shirt smelled just like him; it was so big, and it was warm. He cleared his throat, a blush creeping up his face.

“It uh, it looks good on you.” He didn’t meet her eye.

They decided to sleep in the living room together, music softly playing in the background. Eddie gathered as many blankets as he could, making a small nest for her to cuddle into. She shyly asked for him to join her — she craved his touch, too scared to sleep alone. Relenting, he climbed into the pile of blankets beside her. Shifting closer as he laid the blankets over them, Chrissy grabbed his hand, entwining her fingers through his.

Eddie understood the need for physical contact, it helped him know that she was right there next to him, rubbing her hand in comfort until they both fell asleep.

The Next Morning

Chrissy shot awake as soon as she heard shouting outside the cabin, her fingers still tangled around Eddie’s, their bodies now curled together.

“Eddie, I swear to GOD I know you’re here!” a young voice yelled as they pounded on the door some more.

With a groan of his own, Eddie rose from his spot, giving Chrissy a sleepy smile that made her heart melt. Chrissy peeked at the door from her spot as Eddie answered it. It was the freshmen from the Hellfire club,and a redhead who Chrissy was pretty sure Lucas from the basketball team was always making eyes at. Robin Buckley from the school band, and… Steve Harrington? Who was holding four grocery bags.

The group pushed past Eddie into the cabin, the kid from Hellfire talking a mile a minute.

Something about the lights flickering in the trailer park last night, and the scream which the redhead, who Chrissy now knew as Max, heard coming from Eddie's trailer. Eddie didn’t tell Chrissy about his screaming, but by his blush she knew it was intentional.

Steve Harrington stopped in his tracks as soon as he saw Chrissy, smacking Robin at his side pointing to Chrissy on the floor.

“Um, hey Steve, hey Robin.” Shyly she waved at the two of them.

---

“So you’re telling us, Chrissy was frozen in place and floated up to the ceiling? And the only other thing you saw was the lights flickering? No specks of dust?” Dustin, Eddie’s Hellfire freshman, shot the questions out in a rapid fire.

Rubbing his hand over his face in annoyance, Eddie gave a full nod. “That’s exactly what I’m saying Henderson,” he said, clearly annoyed about being asked the same few questions multiple times in a row.

After the explanation from Max about what she saw and heard in the trailer park, Chrissy realized how she knew the voice. It was the girl from the bathroom that had asked if she was alright, the only person who checked on her all day, the only person who realized something was wrong without her having to say anything.

Chrissy sat herself next to the girl, giving her a smile. Perplexed, the girl raised her brow in return.

“You’re the one who checked in with me yesterday in the bathroom. Thank you for that,” she began, gulping deeply as she described what she saw. Max was trustworthy, she decided.

As her story continued, she saw the concern and fear fall over Max’s already pale face. Chrissy could tell the other girl was sleep deprived — it was like she was looking in a mirror. Suddenly it all clicked for Chrissy. Max was taking pills in the bathroom, she had seen the same girl walking towards Ms. Kelley’s office after her own appointment.

“You’re experiencing it too, aren't you.” This wasn’t a question. Chrissy knew deep in her gut that this girl was going through the same thing she was. The room fell quiet, all other conversations stopped.

Dustin asked Chrissy to repeat herself. Eddie rubbed soothing circles into her back as she told her story once again. Steve and Robin exchanged a glance — they were obviously going to talk about this later. Chrissy couldn’t find it in herself to care.

Dustin groaned after she finished hashing out what she experienced yesterday.

“Fred Benson is dead. And we think the same thing is after you Chrissy. And Max too.”

The long history of the Upside Down was given to them after the explanation of how Fred’s dead body was discovered in the school's newspaper room. Nancy Wheeler had made the discovery. After giving her statement to the police, her next course of action was calling on this ragtag group.

The existence of the Upside Down explained so much. She knew that Barbara Holland would’ve never run away. Heather Holloway would’ve never gone to the mall with her parents. Billy Hargrove would never be caught going to the mall. Not to mention Will Byers unexplainable “return” from the dead.

Oh if only her mother knew all of this, she’d surely die from shock.

This information surprisingly made Chrissy feel better. She knew it all wasn’t in her head anymore. It was an external force, and her thoughts all those years ago about the events were not misplaced.

Steve finally dug into his bags once things had quieted down, everyone soaking in the information they were just presented with. He threw a box of cereal and YooHoo at Eddie. And handed another bag over to Chrissy to sift through, It had granola bars, coffee, and her favorite Bazooka bubblegum.

Her gut turned; she hadn’t even felt hungry this whole time. When was the last time she ate? Yesterday at lunch, it was her small salad. Lost in her own thoughts as she stared into the bag, she tasted chocolate milk on her tongue. Her soulmate must be awake and eating, smiling softly to herself, Chrissy looked up into the room, her eyes drifting towards Eddie. His YooHoo at his lips as he drank it down.

The flavor hit her tongue again, chocolate milk. Eddie was drinking chocolate milk.

Chrissy could taste it. Chrissy could taste it.

Eddie was Chrissy's Soulmate.

----

Once Nancy Wheeler had shown up and explained to the group what she heard about Victor Creel and his family. Questioning Chrissy how she got away, she gave them everything she could. She couldn’t help but think the largest reason for her survival was that her soulmate (soulmate!) was with her.

Nancy and Robin started planning a trip to Pennhurst, hoping to hear from Creel how he had survived.

While Steve was fighting with the two women about joining them on their trip, Chrissy stared at Eddie, soaking in his appearance as he frantically spoke to Dustin.

She couldn’t believe it, he was her soulmate. Strong, free, confident, and beautiful Eddie was hers. Her heart soared at the thought, quickly followed by shame.

Eddie had to put up with her constant binging, the constant taste of bile, the constant taste of Jason’s dick, even his semen.

But Eddie had blessed her with so much, giving her all the flavorful foods that he could, everyday, letting her taste something other than bland salads and steamed vegetables. Tears entered her eyes. She was already so thankful for him, maybe she was given him because he’d set her free.

She needed to break up with Jason.

That was the very next thing that she did. Eddie had easily shown her the landline once she explained she needed to make a call.

The conversation with Jason was anything but easy. He was obviously hungover and still drunk from his night of partying. Unwilling to listen to her explain that she wanted to break up, he instead went on to interrupt her and ranted how she should’ve been there, how she abandoned him. How she should’ve given him his prize for winning even if she wasn’t feeling well, he said he deserved it after all, it was the least she could do.

She rolled her eyes, not willing to listen to him continue his self absorbed rant. She did what she’s never done before. Interrupted him.

“Jason, stop for one second. I called you because I wanted to tell you something. Not listen to you whine about not getting your dick sucked because I didn’t feel well or how I supposedly abandoned you.” Keeping her voice as calm and steady as she could, she continued.

“Jason, I’m breaking up with you. I found my soulmate.” She wasn’t willing to go into how self absorbed, narcissistic, and pushy he was, not right now. After she heard a disgruntled noise of shock she hung up the phone, her message was received loud and clear.

Her focus would be on Eddie after they dealt with whatever was after Max and herself. Dustin so lovingly referred to their enemy as Vecna.

Three days later

Fiddling with the pick necklace Eddie had given her (he noticed her habit of chewing on her nails and gave her his necklace to fiddle with as an alternative — she had never seen him so beautifully red-faced), Chrissy squared her shoulders as the group laid out their plan on defeating Vecna once more.

Max, Erica, Lucas, and Chrissy would stay in the Creel house. Max and Chrissy would be acting as the bait to distract him as the others went into the Upside Down. Dustin and Eddie would distract the demo-bats with music. Eddie had wanted to give a concert on his guitar but Chrissy shot him down quickly. They had the school's loudspeaker. All they needed to do was play music over that. Feeling proud of herself as she suggested playing it in different parts of school to hold their attention.

After the two of them would draw the attention away from the house, Nancy, Robin, and Steve would sneak in and kill Vecna. They were all armed to the teeth in weapons.

At the Creel house, Chrissy barricaded the door after she had heard from Patrick while she stopped at home to pick up more clothes, that Jason was hunting for Eddie. Apparently Jason was convinced that Eddie had killed Fred as some sort of virgin sacrifice.

Patrick went on to explain that he had stayed with Jason to stop him from doing anything too stupid, but was unsuccessful. Patrick looked worse for wear, extremely pale. After probing, Chrissy learned that Patrick was experiencing the same things as Max and Chrissy. She had successfully convinced him to keep his favorite music on at all times. She even convinced him to take Jason to the movies or something the night the plans were in motion.

After the close call with Max, they finally knew that music would break the trance that Vecna would put the victims in. ABBA would soon be blasting from her own Walkman once Eddie left.

Chrissy’s best music was Eddie, she still believed that their soulmate connection was the reason she survived that night in his trailer. How she wished she could tell him of their connection. But the soulmate connection needed to be discovered by each party individually. She didn’t care how long it might take him, she’d wait forever if she had to.

The group gave Patrick a Walkman of his own, asking him to inform them about when he was headed into the movie with Jason. Step one was making sure that Jason was out of their hair; Chrissy had convinced the group he’d be a problem if he was left wandering around.

As soon as that message from Patrick came through, step two went into plan — splitting up.

The group split ways with hard hugs and promises to see each other soon. Chrissy hugged Eddie the hardest, giving him a few pieces of her gum for his nerves. Promises of a huge joint to be had after they defeated Vecna.

With one final squeeze and wave, she watched the group shuffle into Eddie’s van.

“Eddie, huh?” Max asked next to her, a smirk on the other girl's face. Chrissy’s own face bursting into flames. Erica laughed as Max teased her.

-----

Max was pulled into a trance by Vecna. Lucas, Erica, and Chrissy stay by her side, waiting anxiously for it to be over.

Chrissy’s hands were trembling, no wonder Eddie was so shaken up from Chrissy’s trance. It was nerve racking not being able to do anything for the young girl. Fiddling with the necklace was no longer enough. She popped a piece of her gum into her mouth, the sugary flavor soothing her nerves.

Chrissy reminded the group that it was okay, they had her Walkman and her favorite music, it was going to be alright. She squeezed the hands of the Sinclair siblings. The three of them kept their hands together as they waited anxiously.

When Max started to float, she could feel Lucas squeezing her own hand harder. She did her best to squeeze back to comfort him, but she felt fear for the girl herself. Max had become something of a little sister to her; she couldn’t stand the thought of anything happening to her or to the little group she had grown so close to.

Their little ragtag team was already so good at reading her. Nancy had confronted her about her eating habits, promising Chrissy she’d help her anyway she could but giving a firm reminder that she needed to keep her strength up if Chrissy wanted to protect the rest of the group. That comment from Nancy had helped as did the firm looks she’d gotten over their group meals.

Eddie himself was starting to see the issues Chrissy tried hard to hide. The small comments about her mother made him grimace. The things she always felt were normal growing up were far from normal. Each time Eddie heard something that he found detestable he would tell Chrissy, make sure she knew that it wasn’t normal.

It wasn’t normal for a mom to punish their daughter by paddling their thighs if mud was brought into the house, or if they did something that could embarrass the family. It felt good hearing that it wasn’t something normal, that her mother really was extreme, or as Eddie called it, abusive.

Chrissy had tried to defend her mother at first. But Eddie had reassured her that she didn’t need to, nothing about what her mother did was okay or done out of any real parental love. Her heart sang at his reassurance, at the embrace he helped her in after she confessed to the verbal and physical abuse her mother put her through.

A soft gasp from Max shook her from her thoughts that had wandered onto their group. The redhead fell into the pile of cushions that Lucas, Erica, and Chrissy had set up under her after she went into her trance.

The walkie talkie blared to life.

“We did it, we did it!” Robin excitedly shouted into the walkie. Confirming to the Creel house group that they were on their way back — Eddie and Dustin were unharmed and they’d meet back at the Creel house.

Max began talking about El, the superpowered friend the group had that moved to California, how El had helped in defeating Vecna. El was there, in Max’s mind, fighting Vecna the same time that Nancy, Robin, and Steve were. The girl was on her way back to close off the door he had opened.

The screech of tires on the asphalt alerted them that the rest of the party had arrived. A door slammed shut. Mere moments later an out of breath Eddie appeared at the doorway of the living room. Leaving on the doorframe to catch his breath, he looked straight as Chrissy with wide eyes.

“Bazooka gum, it’s your Bazooka gum,” he croaked out.

Chrissy started to tear up with a nod of her head, scrambling to her feet. Eddie rose to his full height and took a few steps forward, entering her own space. Grabbing her chin softly with his hand, he kissed her with so much passion her knees went weak under her.

Groans sang out around her but she couldn’t find it in herself to care, her soulmate finally knew that she was his and he was hers. His lips tore away when he was no longer able to breath, resting his own head against hers.

The love in his eyes warmed her all over.

“Soulmates,” he simply said.

“Soulmates,” she replied.

Eddie would be the start of her independence. Vecna had brought on so many new friends that cared for her, friends that wanted to help her recover and get away from her parents. She couldn’t help but be thankful.

---

“Wait, does this mean I know what Jason’s dick tastes like?”

[the-starryknight]

Happy @hd-wireless 2022! To celebrate, I'm sharing a little "extra" from my Wireless 2021 fic, Two Zinnias and the Scent of Lemon.

One draft of the fic included what I called the "ephemera," little bits of transient things that Harry and Draco might have seen (or lost) while on the run, like newspaper articles, a wanted poster, ads, a coffee-stained napkin, a page of their flower code book, a museum label, a Ministry form, a Minister's speech, so on, one in-between each chapter. Though these were so much fun to compose, I cut them from the fic in final edits as I (and my incredible betas) found them distracting from the actual story. I think it was the right call, but I've still wanted to find a way to share them. Text from the image above is below the cut.

Plus, check out the gorgeous art & headers inspired by the fic, by Mari, Blue, Liv & Boo!

I. Excerpt from: Daily Prophet. Saturday Evening Edition, July 8, 2006

“SAFER TOGETHER” BILL PASSES Yesterday, the Ministry signed a bill into law requiring all Creatures and Non-Magical wix (Squibs, Muggle-affiliated wix, etc.) to register officially and give up any magical items in their possession. “It is for the safety of all wizardkind,” Minister Rookwood declared. Sources close to the Minister say that this bill has been in the making for some time and that it passed with nearly full support from the Wizengamot. Though there were some gathered protestors outside of the Ministry Buildings, Aurors were dispatched and the disturbance was quickly removed. One supporter who gathered in anti-protest remarked to our reporters that “it’s been eight years since He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named walked our streets. This bill will keep us safe from anything like him ever coming back.”

II. Wanted Poster { DMLE, Ministry of Magic - Auror Subdivision }

Harry James Potter For crimes of treason, sedition, inciting rebellion, consorting with Muggles, resisting arrest ALERT LEVEL: 3 Warrant Issued: August 7, 2003 Warrant Number: 003847-XQ34 Notes: Suspect frequently uses disguises. Use anti-glamour and polyjuice dissolving when interrogating. Suspect should be considered dangerous even when disarmed. Known accomplices: Draco L. Malfoy, Shayla Khan, Jill Martin-Riesling, Luna Lovegood

III. Excerpt from The Floating Hippogriff (A Radical Alternative Zine) March 2002 edition - creative entries section

On Bicycles and Daydreaming of Tomorrows The other day I was on my bike and I was thinking about the sun. I was riding from the north part of Cambridge and I was avoiding the cars and the smog and the Floos and it was beautiful outside. I stopped my bike down by the park. You’ll know the one. It’s got the big pond and every Saturday there’s a group of people there with bikes and books and potluck food and we take care of each other. I put down my kick stand (the rusted one that I learned to take off and clean properly last Spring at the Bike Share) and I just had to pause for a minute and remember to be grateful. Maybe you could park your bike right here next to mine. We’ll sit in the shade of the tree and remember that the sun keeps rising. When we’re done sitting back, toes on the ground and bikes waiting, then we’ll go down to the food pantry on Cliff St and we’ll help make the soup. And then we’ll be the sun. -- Noam Vane (co-editor of The Floating Hippogriff)

IV. Wand Advertisement: Pfieffer’s Wands - Ministry Approved and Pre-Registered - 50% off TODAY ONLY!*

Confused at all the new wand regulations? Tired of wading through the registration paperwork? Pfieffer’s is here to help! Pick up your Ministry-approved wand in Diagon Alley today and we’ll take care of all of the paperwork. Plus, your wand is pre-equipped to avoid any unlawful magic! ~*~ A Pfieffer’s wand will help keep us all safe. ~*~ * Pfieffer’s maintains the right to deny sale of wands to non-magical wix, creatures, and Muggle affiliates.

V. Museum Label: Varrick Brunhegelian Netherlandish, Wizarding (c. 1500-1643)

The Village in the Winter, 1550 Oil on panel

In a style typical of his work, Brunhegelian presents a dense allegory of human sharing: witches, wizards, and non-magical people alike work and play in the city center. A close look at some of the townspeople in the city center shows small vignettes: one woman stops to offer bread to a non-magical neighbor, another group of young men cast street-cleaning charms to remove leaves from the path, and far in the back, a Muggle priest delivers a sermon to gathered listeners. Brunhegelian uses a bright colour palette with saturated red and white shades that evoke a sense of harmony even amid the chaotic and busy scene. The sense of winter’s looming and dangerous approach is evident from the heavy clouds in the background, which none of the figures in the foreground seem to notice. Museum Purchase, Coalition of Muggle-Magical Development Fund, 1854. 1854.32.5

VI. Excerpt from The Quibbler - November 7, 2006

CAN THE WIZARDING WORLD GET MORE INSULAR? MINISTER SAYS YES. Though we will not reprint the entirety of the Minister's speech (as it is a load of utter drivel), the Quibbler’s editors (namely L.L.) believed it prudent to transcribe one small portion of it as we hope this will not be lost to future history. We wish this were satire. Sadly, it is from the Minister’s mouth to our inky pages… “Today, we made a bold choice, and we invite your support as we move forward. We have elected to prioritize Wizard-kind above all else. We have elected to uphold the sanctity of our people. Over the next two years, we will move forward with the Magical Makers Initiative, empowering our small businesses to prosper and support each other. With a new allocation of 1.2 million galleons, we will endow new businesses in Diagon Alley and expand Horizont Alley to accommodate as we close out the Muggle invaders. Preventing our wizarding communities from shopping in Muggle stores will help us all. This division is for our safekeeping and the safeguarding of our futures. Think of the children! Our children will grow up surrounded by wizards, safe and secure and away from Muggles and all the dangers they pose. In turn, our businesses will prosper. Our communities will provide any resources we might need. Not one more sickle will be exchanged for Muggle money…”

VII. A Fragmented Page from: A Gentleman's Guide to The Victorian Flower Code (1889) - Page 33

BLUEBELL Identification: These flowers are easily identified by their upturned bell shape and vibrant blue or violet color. They emerge and flower from April onwards. Meaning: Though this flower can have many meanings it is most known for constancy and everlasting love. Share this flower with your lover to remind them of your loyalty and gratefulness for the strength of your relationship. Mythic Association: It is said that the Bluebell is a flower of the fae and so should be treated with care and respect. Legend has it that if one can turn a bluebell flower inside out without tearing it, they will find their true love.

[hotforharrysheart]

The Rehearsal Part 3: Big Questions

It was hardly six a.m. and Harry had waited about as long as he could for time to have a serious talk. He could hardly concentrate for wondering what he was going to do to convince you to go on the road with him this year. His schedule was incredibly heavy and, well, it didn't really matter if it was heavy or not, he needed you by his side and that was the bottom line. In fact, he really just wanted you to move in with him.

He knew how much your podcast meant to you and that you were knee deep in a case you wanted to cover for the next six weeks, but, fuck, if he didn't have plenty of resources to ensure whatever you needed would be at your disposal wherever you were. If he had to he would make sure a booth could be set up anywhere, after all that's how they did it when they recorded on the road back in his 1D days.

He'd already planned to try his hand at baking for you this morning, he thought he'd attempt making Marcy's Berry Cream muffins, since you loved them so much, and after all, he was a baker in a past life; he’d told that story enough. He'd had the idea to call Helen and see if she could tell him where to find fresh berries and fresh cream.

Thankfully Helen was wide awake when he called and she happily volunteered not only a recipe, but berries from her garden and a jar of cream. He slipped out the door and headed down the road toward the blue cottage; it seemed to be customary that everyone referred to their home by the color of its door. Helen had a basket filled with strawberries, blueberries and blackberries, the cream and a hand printed notecard with her recipe all bundled up and ready for him. She had also included a bundle of three pale blue Hydrangeas from the front flower bed. Kissing both his cheeks she wished him good luck and sent him on his way. On the walk back with Bennett escorting him the entire way, he felt so content to have found the Chapmans. "Bennett go home," he said testing to see if he would go back on his own. True to Ron’s word, Bennett headed down the side of the road back home. Harry chuckled as he quietly made his way through the pink door.

He got everything he needed for the muffins out of the pantry and set about his task. Helen’s recipe had a lot of ingredients, but the instructions were easy to follow. He mixed the dry ingredients carefully into the wet batter, careful not to over mix. Then he folded in the berries. He dropped them in the muffin pan and into the oven they went. He sat on the couch scrolling through his phone and keeping an eye on the timer. He didn’t want it to go off and wake you.

He removes the muffins and sticks the toothpick in testing their doneness - it comes out clean. He plates two muffins, adds a sprinkle of powdered sugar and a smattering of berries then places it on the tray along with your tea and his coffee then crooks his mouth, feeling like something is missing. The flowers, he thinks and he finds a glass to put Helen’s hydrangeas in, then places it on the tray and carefully heads up the stairs.

He stops just outside the bedroom and sets the tray on the hallway table. Ever so carefully he steps into the bedroom and grabs his backpack. Back in the hall he unzips the inside pocket and retrieves the small white box with the Gucci logo and a pink velvet bow. He places it on the tray under the napkin and heads back into the room.

He stands over you as you sleep. You'd fallen asleep on your side, hand pressed under your face. Your hair was a wild mess and your mouth was slightly open as you slowly breath in and out steadily. God she's so amazing, he thinks to himself, how could I have gotten so lucky?

He sets the tray down on the bedside table and goes to the other side of the bed and crawls in behind you. He snuggles up to you, kissing your neck and shoulders in an attempt to wake you up gently. “Wake up, baby,” he says in your ear, his lips trailing over your cheek. You stir and turn your head to look at him. You smile and snuggle back against him.

“Hi…” you say offering a smile and yawn combination.

He hugs you tight and says, “can you sit up for me?” You’re surprised…you thought maybe he woke you up for something else, but you roll onto your back and slowly push yourself up and back, pulling the sheet up over your chest and securing it under your arms. It’s then the smell of baked goods hits your nose. He smiles, gets up, and places the tray on your lap.

“Awww, Harry! You got muffins!” You exclaim.

He smirks. “I MADE muffins with a little help from Helen.”

“You did?” You say looking up at his face astonished. “Oh, you, mister have mad skills…a god in the bedroom AND the kitchen! How’d I get so lucky?!”

He nods proudly. “Been up since six am, and ‘M the lucky one”

“H…you didn’t have to do that but thank you.” You lean over to kiss him.

You pull a piece of the muffin and pop it on your mouth. “Omg, so good!”

“Yeah?”

You hold up a piece and he eats it from your fingers, making sure to lick them along the way.

You gasp and say, “pest.”

He chuckles.

You finish the muffin, grab the napkin and are just about to pick up the second one when you see the GUCCI box.

You pick up your tea and take a few good sips before putting it down and picking up the box. “What’s this?”

He smiles. “Gotta open it and see.”

"Harry, I really don't need anything,” you say shaking your head at him leaning over to give him a kiss.

"Jus' open it!" He says grinning like the Cheshire cat, which is fitting for him, considering.

"Ok," you say matching his grin. You wipe your finger on the napkin laid upon the tray and grab the box. Gently you pull the tail of the bow to untie it, but you stop abruptly, "I..I..I just want wanna say something," you blurt out, "In case I get distracted and forget to say it, I really, really like whatever is in the box and thank you so much for it,” you say leaning forward to kiss him.

He just smiles and gently says, "Well, ya welcome. Now, put me outta my fuckin' misery here an’ open it for the love of god."

You giggle. “Ok,” you say pulling the ribbon and letting it fall to the tray. You pull the top of the box and open the tissue and nestled on a velvet background is a gold chain with an ‘H’ an ‘S’ and a small bumblebee hanging from it. “Harry!!! These are…these are just like your initial rings! And this little bee is so cute!” Your hand is over your heart and you can feel the tears behind your eyes.

“Do ya like it?” He softly questions.

“I love it…it’s a little bit of you on me all the time,” you say holding it to your heart. “Why the bee?” You say holding it up and looking at the dangling gold creature.

He moves over you and places the tray on the floor and pulls the sheet down. Your legs open to make a place for him in between. He kisses you and then down your neck. “Ya really wanna know why?”

“Yes,” you tell him as his mouth closes over your nipple. He kisses back up your neck, to whisper in your ear. “It’s cause I love this honey,” he says brushing his hand over your mound.

You moan. “Jesus H.”

"Harry, put this on me, please,” you ask holding your hair up. He latches the clasp and can't help running his finger along the line of the chain and then down between your breasts. "Looks lovely, babe,” he says through a happy smile.

You grab the letters and hold them close to your heart. "Put your mark on me, eh?" You say running the back of your loose hand down his cheek.

"Tha's right, you’re mine, and, love, I have somethin’ else I wanna talk to ya about." He looks so serious, you furrow your brows in concern.

"What Harry?" You ask matching his serious tone.

"No, 's no’ like tha’, babe, ‘s just... I was...I mean...I jus’...was thinkin’ maybe ya might move some things into mine an’ maybe ya might let me buy out your lease?"

You shake your head, brows furrowed, "What?"

"I'm just wondering....I mean...I thought maybe you might wanna just move your things to mine, yeah?" He asks again this time with a gentle smile.

"I mean...are..are...you asking...I mean, what are you asking, Harry?" You say with a stunned gulp.

"Wan' ya ta move in with me." He states firmly.

You’re blinking rapidly, fingers fiddling with his initials on his necklace.

“What about my clothes?”

He laughs a breathy laugh, “I’ll make room in the closet, build ya a new closet if ya wan’.”

Shaking your head incredulously, “What about my furniture?”

“Bring it an’ we’ll find a place for it or ya can donate it or sell it.” He sighs then waves his hand back and forth. “Don’ care abou’ any of tha’. Wan’ ya…need ya there. When I get back from workin’, wanna know you’re there waitin’.”

“You do?” You say, brows still furrowed.

He searches your eyes, “God, haven’ ya been listening’ ya me? I love ya and I wan’ ya to move in wi’ me. An’ I wan’ ya to come on tour wi’ me. As much as ya can. Maybe not every stop, but as many dates as ya can.”

You open your mouth to say something. “Whatever ya need to do ya podcasts, I’ll make sure ya have it.” He kisses you. “Please. Jus’ say yes.”

You search his eyes. He's pleading with them. "Harry, I...think maybe...would you mind if..." You start and see his eyes look down in concern preparing himself for a let down. You put your hand under his chin and pull up to have him meet your face. "H, would you help me find a place to take my furniture to donate, because I don't have anything that’s sentimental to me and I love the way the London house is decorated."

He grins, so very, very big. "Yeah?" He says on a happy chuckle.

You begin to nod your head dramatically, "Yeah."

"Fuck, baby I'll hire a team to not only pack ya up, but make sure your items get ta a place tha’ deserves them." He leans forward to kiss you in a smacking kiss.

He leans back and sighs a big sigh. "I'm a bastard to push, but would ya please consider goin’ wi’ me on the road," he says, picking invisible lint off the duvet.

"Harry, I'm saying that I'm all in....I…I just…this weekend, I've come to realize just how much I need to be with you, how much I need to go to sleep in your arms and wake up in them as much as possible and if that means I learn to do my job while on the road with you, then that's what I'll do. It's me and you together and H, I,” you look down at the bedding, “just don’t…I can’t be away from you," you say unable to stop the tears from rolling down your face.

He grabs a tissue from the bedside table. “Don’ cry baby, please don’ cry.” He wipes your tears, even as tears slide down his face. You giggle through your tears and take the tissues and wipe at his.

“I love ya, baby. Fuckin’ love ya s’ much.” He says kissing you all over your face.

Gasping and giggling you say, “I love you too, H. So much.”

He brings his lips to yours and kisses you deeply. “You are my everything.” He says, kissing down your neck. “Mmm…God, I love you.” The kisses become more intense. “Mmm…need yeh…wan’ ya…” In between kisses he’s pulling you down the bed and situating his body between your legs, “make love with me, need to see ya cum…wanna feel you cum over and over.” He leaves you long enough to strip outta his clothes. Then he kisses down your stomach, hands skating down your sides. He moves back up until his eyes meet yours. He cups your cheeks and leans down to whisper in your ear. “’M gonna lay down and I want your pussy on my tongue, m’kay? Want ya to sit on my face,” he says, smirking. Throwing the pillow off the bed, he rolls over and reaches for you hauling you over him in a straddle and you shriek in giggles.

"Jesus, H,” you giggle, “that dirty mouth...my god, what am I gonna do about that mouth?!”He leans up and rubs his head into your tummy making your giggle even harder. He plops back flat on the bed laughing as well and says, "Gotta filthy mind to match!" Waggling his eyebrows at you he groans, "Now, get tha’ pussy up here." He's pulling you forward, hands on your bum cheeks.

You still and stare into his eyes, "You happy Harry?"

"So happy, happier than I've been...ever.” His eyes convey his sincerity.

Pulling you down for a quick kiss he quips, "Be happier when I've got ya honey dripping on my chin."

"Jesus, Harry..." you say leaning forward and grabbing the headboard to steady yourself.

He’s running his hands up and down your thighs. “Look a’ me. Look a’ me while I eat ya.” His breath makes you shiver.

“Jesus,” you say, looking down into his eyes. You can tell he’s smirking against your pussy. The first lick has you falling forward. You grip the headboard harder and his hands on your bum tighten and then he’s licking and sucking your clit like a man possessed, his nose pressed against your cunt. It’s one of the most erotic things you’ve ever seen. Your hips move over his mouth of their own accord, but you don’t break eye contact as you chase your orgasm. He stills your hips and sucks your clit into his mouth and you’re done for. Your legs are shaking around his head and you call out his name over and over as you cum.

You're still shaking when he moves his hands to your waist and pushes up to indicate that he wants you to rise up. As soon as you've moved just an inch, he literally tosses you over onto your back and scoots down on his tummy pushing your legs up and apart holding them mid-air leaving you wide open to his view.

"I wan’ more of ya, fuckin' wan’ more of ya!" He says though gritted teeth. You shriek and arch your back twisting as soon as he puts his wide-open mouth over your entire cunt, from clit to hole he has his whole mouth on you, swirling his tongue and sucking on your clit hard.

"Fuck…fuck Harry, my goooddd!" You say loudly looking down your body at the top of his head. You reach down and grab a fist full of hair while your feet dangle in the air.

“Hold ya legs, love,” he demands. His hands slide down the inside of your thighs to pull your pussy lips apart with his thumbs. "Jesus ya taste so fuckin' good.... Mmmm...Fuck baby!" He's absolutely gone.

He runs his fingers down to your entrance and he stops to put both his forefinger and middle finger in his mouth. He pulls them out with a line of saliva and, without preamble, presses them in deep palm down only to twist his hand to turn his palm up so he can curl his fingers. "This is mine, an’ righ’ now this spot, our spot…is all mine." He begins to fuck into you with curled fingers...fast and deep.

"Don' fuckin' cum." He demands. "Just hang on the edge for me..."

"Hahh, Hahh, Hahh, Harry, I can't..." you start to say.

"No! Don' say a word, just hang on.... don’t cum," he says sternly.

And then you hit that wall, that place where you’re just floating blissfully. You arch your back and begin to giggle. "Oh gohod, ha, oh, soo good..." you pant breathily.

Harry's rutting his hips into the bed, he just can't help it, you look so fuckin' sexy.

He latches back onto your clit and sucks it into his mouth. He pops off. “Cum for me.” He latches back on and everything goes white as you cum, fingers tugging his hair so hard he grunts against you.

You’re so far gone, you’re just murmuring, “Cumming” over and over.

He pulls off you and proudly grins. He’s not sure you’ve ever been this far gone. "Don' stop baby." He demands still pumping his curled fingers in and how. “Keep rollin' with it."

"God, H, gonna cum again!" You call out louder than you've ever been.

"Good, cum again…this time on my cock." He groans out. Then he runs his tongue up your body to bite your nipple hard.

"Ahh...Ahh...Owww... again, do it again H!" You sob out.

He moves to the other and bites down and pulls back pulling your breast up before letting it go. Then he flips over onto his back, "Ride me baby, ride me hard."

You scramble to straddle him, grabbing his cock and holding it steady as you hold up one knee to impale yourself down on his him. You lean forward to grab the headboard and start to fuck yourself fast and hard. Hands on your bum he's groaning and grunting and cursing like you've never heard before. "Yeah....baby....fuck me! Fuck y’self hard on my cock...d'ya hear me, love…fuck me like ya mean it. God damn, ya tits…my letters are hanging down from ya neck," he says between clenched teeth.

His hands move to your tits, his fingers pulling at your nipples. You cry out because they’re a little sore from him biting them, but it feels good and your hips move a little faster. “‘M gonna cum, gonnacumgonnacum” you chant. You cry out “Ungh!” as your hips jerk and you fall forward onto his chest.

You’re squeezing him hard and he grits his teeth. “Fuck!” As soon as he can, he plants his feet on the bed and thrusts up into you. It’s fast and hard but he can’t think about anything right now except for his need. His brow furrows as he looks down where his cock is deep inside you, the veins in his neck standing out and his mouth pulls wide…then he stills, cumming into you with a groan.

Both panting rapidly, you try to roll off him and he just holds you tight, large hands splayed on your back. “Wait," he whispers. "Jus’, wait a minute, baby."

"Harry, I'm heavy," you mutter resting your head on his shoulder.

"No, no’, please jus’ stay here," he pleads.

"Ya Ok?" he asks apologetically. "I was rough…'m sorry," he holds your head and pulls it out so he can see your eyes.

"I'm fine, H. I'm more than fine," you say running your hands through his hair.

"Lemme see you, please, he asks pushing you up. You push up on your hands so he can see your face.

He runs his hands up your arms and searches your face, runs his hand down, the side of your neck where you have a burn from his unshaven face. Continuing down he brushes his hand across your nipple, "God, love it's so red and swollen, 'm so sorry."

You look down at your nipple and you’re surprised at how red and swollen it is. “It’s ok. It’ll go away. It didn’t hurt in the moment. It felt…it felt really good. I’m stronger than you know,” you say, hand running down his chest. “I have a pretty high pain threshold.” You quirk your brow.

He’s staring at you open mouthed.

“Whatever it is. I can take it.” You tell him, grabbing his hand and kissing the tips of his fingers.

"I've never lost myself like tha'…ya make me lose my mind," He says apologetically again. "'m not s'posed to hurt ya, cherish ya and adore ya" he murmurs.

"Harry, listen, what if I told you I want more, I want to push the limits, push my limits with you...it feels right and I want more, I want...I want ALL OF YOU... every part of you, I WANT you to lose yourself in me, I want to be the one you lose it with...I want you to show me all your sides." You say with determination.

He’s gaping at you. He can’t believe what you’re saying, but he’s anxious to explore more things with you.

“I told you before. I want to learn all the things that excite you. I want you to feel as good as you make me feel,” you say leaning down to press your lips to his. "I love all the things we do in our bed or wherever," you say with a smile.

Suddenly your eyes become big as saucers, "Holy shit, I'm moving in with you!"

He laughs out, "Yeah, ya did agree to tha’..." He says smirking. "An’ don' forget ya gonna go on the road with me too."

You lean down and kiss him, giggling, "Yes, yes, I did agree to that as well....holy shit."

He pulls you down and rolls over on top of you, "Yeah, it's gonna be quite a year, baby,” he says with a smile, kissing you. "Hey…I love ya." He says placing another soft kiss to your lips.

"I love you too, H so much,” you say kissing his eyelids.

"So much," he says back to you.

[tea-and-spoons]

What happens when... I develop a new food allergy?

Whether this is your first food allergy, or the most recent in a long list, it can still be a rough adjustment and overwhelming amount of change.  But as someone who has gone through this more than twenty times, I promise you it’s not the end of the world.

The majority of this post is related to severe, anaphylactic food allergies, but I’m of course always going to advocate for being careful, and some of this will apply to milder allergies too.  This advice also works if you were just diagnosed with celiac disease, or another condition that makes you sensitive to cross contamination.  I’m going to let your doctor handle the medical side of this, but I’m hoping this post will cover all the other things you need to know!

I made some pretty thorough lists of things to check, replace, or clean to make sure you’re safe from allergens- I’ll put those at the end of this post.  It is a lot- recruit a non-allergic friend to help if you can!

But before I get into the lists, here are some other things I’ve learned about getting a new food allergy.

-Update your doctors, including your dentist.  And also update any emergency info you have around, like your medical ID in your phone.

-Research other names for your allergen and what it might be found in.  Food labelling can be very sneaky, which is Not Cool, but you get really good at reading ingredient labels once you know what to look for.  I would stay away from googling too many other allergy related things though, it’s an easy way to get into a panic.

-Talk to the people you live with.  Hopefully they’re good about it, but they might take a while to understand, or might even be angry and resistant, which honestly is beyond me.  If this is your situation, I am so so sorry.  You deserve to feel safe in your own home, no matter what.  If you can set some ground rules and get people on board even a little bit, that will help, and hopefully everyone will come around eventually.

-You should also talk to your partner, or anyone you might be kissing (or who might be kissing you, even on the cheek.  Hi grandma.)  Their foods, medications, reusable water bottles, and toothbrush are all possible ways you could get sick.  So even if they haven’t eaten allergens in hours, it could still be on their toothbrush and that can be enough to cause a reaction.  This research article (Maloney JM, et al. Peanut allergen exposure through saliva: assessment and interventions to reduce exposure. J Allergy Clin Immunol 2006; 118: 719-724.) found that waiting at least an hour and having something allergen free to eat was the best way to de-poison-ify for someone you want to kiss.  I’ve also heard from other allergists that 3-4 hours is the right number.  So I would ask your allergist what they recommend for you.

(note:  I would like to keep this blog safe and friendly for spoonies of all ages, but if you are in need of more information about dating and allergies, feel free to message me and I’ll send you some links!)

-One thing that surprised me with some of my food allergies was the cravings.  Sometimes I never want to even hear the word “pineapple” again, but especially if it was something like eggs that are more a hidden ingredient, I struggled with cravings for foods I couldn’t have anymore, like French toast.  And I’m not even someone who likes food that much!  So I’m here to tell you that the cravings are normal, and will subside in a few weeks.  It also helps to just not be around things you can’t eat for a bit.  And to look for replacement recipes for your favorites- there’s so much out there, it’s really impressive.

-The other common (emotional) reaction is anxiety.  Anaphylactic food allergies can be life threatening, of course you’re scared!  It is 100% normal to be worried and afraid and anxious and terrified, especially after an allergic reaction.  That response happens to help keep you safe!  But it’s also exhausting, and can get out of control.  My best advice here is to follow the concrete steps you need to be safe, and then tell yourself that you’ve done everything you can, you know what you’re doing, and even if something goes wrong, you know you are prepared.  You can be prepared and careful AND not have to be scared all the time.  There is zero shame in seeing a therapist about this too, they can really help.  (My advice here is borrowed from my lovely therapist!)

And here are the lists I mentioned earlier!  I hope this helps you feel safer and more prepared.  Severe food allergies are a big change, but you got this!

Things to replace:

-Toothbrush (and maybe toothpaste too)

-Any food that is still safe but might be cross contaminated (like flour, sugar, spices, things that go on toast… basically any open containers)

-Kitchen sponges and rags and anything else that gets used to hand wash dishes

-Chapstick and lipstick

-Stim toys that go in your mouth

-Cast iron kitchen equipment

-Cutting boards

-Reeds (if you play a reed instrument)

-Ice cubes, if you have a tray in your freezer that people reach into

Things to clean:

-Kitchen itself, including all appliances and countertops

-Anywhere else food is kept or eaten (such as pantry, dining room, couch, in your purse, desk, locker)

-All cooking supplies (plates, pans, silverware, crockpot, basically everything)

-Potholders and oven mitts

-Pillowcases

-Dish towels

-Doorknobs

-Handles

-Light switches

-Remotes

-Cloth napkins

-Reusable water bottles

-Kitchen drawers that might have gotten crumbs or residue in them

-Retainer or mouthguard

-Lunchbox

-Toys and fidgets

-Purse/backpack

-Writing utensils

-Car steering wheel, controls, and handles (especially if you’re the driver)

-Inhaler, spacer, nebulizer, CPAP mask, and other related equipment

-Oral thermometer

-Face masks

-Phone, computer keyboards, touch screens

-Hand or wrist braces

-Video game controllers

-Any musical instruments you play, but especially if it’s a wind instrument.  Plus the case, and any cleaning equipment.

-Whatever your toothbrush is stored in

Things to check the labels on:

-All your food (what you have at home, and anything new you buy)

-Toothpaste

-Floss

-Shampoo and other hair products

-Hand soap and dish soap

-Deodorant

-Makeup and chapstick

-Medications

-Lotions

-Sunblock

-Pet food (if their food turns out to contain your new allergen, you might want to clean or replace their toys as well.  And a bath for the pet themselves!)

If I missed anything on my lists, please feel free to add on in the replies!  If you need someone to talk to or have questions, you’re welcome to message me.  And I promise this gets easier 💙

[derekmorganscrocs]

Her Lipstick: Ace x Reader

Pairing: Ace (Nancy Drew CW) x Reader, Valentine’s Special.

Word Count: 1,725 (short but sweet.)

Summary: With everyone else having their nights planned out with romance and dates, Y/n and Ace get stuck manning the night shift at The Claw.

Notes: Ideally takes place after the aglacea is gone, and we’re finally having a quiet moment. But like SPOILER ALERT!!!! if Owen lived. ALSO A QUESTIONABLE ENDING BUT I LIKED IT NGL.

Ace’s Dad’s name is Tom by the way, this is key info for later.

“No one’s even gonna come in, George. It’s Valentines, and last I checked, crappy fried clams aren’t most people’s version of romance.” You glance her way from the kitchen, pausing with an alarmingly large knife in hand. The parsley in front of you isn’t going to chop itself, but your hands are starting to cramp.

“Yeah, well it’s business hours. Just humour me this once? I’ll owe you one.”

“George, you already owe me like nine.” You roll your eyes and look her way, attitude softening slightly at her expression. Knowing how she felt when the whole crew was a day away from death, about missing out on her and Nick... it puts a little graciousness in your heart. For their first Valentines together, why not just help her out? “I’ll do this one for free. Wait! Not for free! I’m still getting paid right?”

“Yes,” she laughs. “Thank you.” Nodding your way once more, she turns and heads out, closing the door behind her. You sigh, turning back to your cutting-board. Finishing with the stack of parsley and dumping it in a plastic container, you throw the knife in the sink. Surveying the restaurant quickly, as well as the parking lot, you ensure the coast is clear before heading to the freezer.

These days it seems like everyone’s got someone except you. Nancy and Owen, Nick and George, Bess and Lisbeth, hell, even the weirdo chef no one likes who only works fridays has a girlfriend. Not you though. You and Ace got stuck on the Valentine’s shifts no one else wanted because you were the only two available. Admittedly, Valentine’s wasn’t a big deal to you, you just thought the tacky decorations were kind of entertaining to have around. However, it kinda sucks when you’re single. And crushing. Speaking of crushes, you snap yourself out of your thoughts at the idea of a certain floppy haired boy.

“Ace?” You look around for your shift partner and best friend... and yes, crush, who for some reason isn’t in his usual happy place. Or anywhere to be seen. He doesn’t respond, so you look in the pantry, the dark corner by the lockers, and even the supply closet. He’s nowhere to be found. “Ace?”

“You looking for me?” Ace puts a hand on your shoulder, coming from behind you. Not gonna lie, it scares the crap out of you. And you whip around and punch him in the face. Then you realize it’s him and let out a small gasp.

“Ace! Oh my god, I’m so sorry-“ you lean down, taking his hand and helping him up, as he massages his jaw with his other hand. That’s embarrassing. Really embarrassing.

“My fault,” he mumbles. “Forgot you scare...” he pauses for a second, trying to find the word, “...punchily. Good hit though, really starting to get that impact value.”

“Thanks, I think. I’ll go get you some ice, can you just watch the dining room?”

Ace nods and you head to the freezer. Of course there’s no ice. Why would there ever be ice when you need it? You root through the options of ice packs for Ace’s eye, as you think to yourself.

Lately, you’ve been making yourself a fool in front of Ace. See, it wasn’t this bad a few weeks ago, when you liked him but didn’t know you liked him. You throw a box of clams (ew.) to the side. Now that you’ve realized, you’re a hot mess. Next you find a singular frozen fish (also ew.). He’s been acting a little off too, and you’re worried it’s because he knows. Now you’ve found a lobster that you’re pretty sure has been there since the place opened (ew x3). Oh look, some frozen bread (that won’t really work).

What you don’t know is that Ace has also just recently realized his feelings for you, and his dad, Tom, has just tricked him into bringing you over to their place later. You finally find a box of heart shaped popsicles, and take a couple of them back to the kitchen, where Ace stands, leaning against the counter.

“This is all we have. Valentine’s special, have some heart shaped chemicals for your black eye.” You hand him two of the three popsicles you’re holding. “I also brought you one to eat. If you’re crazy enough to.” You hop up on the counter beside him and sit cross legged, tearing open the third wrapper.

“If you are, I am.” He rips open one of the frozen treats and places the other below his eye. Looking down at the wrapper from the one he opened, he makes a face. “I can’t even read half of these things.”

“Hey, I could’ve brought you the lobster.”

He knows exactly what you’re talking about and backtracks his critiques of the popsicle. The two of you sit in silence for a few seconds, disturbed by the bell ringing. A woman walks in, which grabs both your and Ace’s attention, but she just pins a flyer to the bulletin board and leaves. Exciting crowd.

Soon enough, the snack popsicles are gone, and the ice pack popsicle is slush. Ace throws the melted package into the sink, the slush inside making a questionable ‘plop’ sound as it hits the metal. The two of you stand around a little longer, before packing up the perishables and putting them back in the freezer/pantry. Business is slow, and it’s boring. The two of you are back to waiting around, and Ace ends up laying across one side of a booth, you on the other. The two of you pass a rolled up napkin back and forth, tossing it over the table to the other person. It doesn’t keep you entertained for long, though.

“You bored?” You turn your head and look at him under the table.

“Yeah,” he chuckles.

“Same.” You sit up, getting a slight head rush as you do. Ace mirrors your actions, minus the head rush. The two of you stand, but before you can start wandering around aimlessly-

“You, uh, you have something on your face,” he chuckles softly, his goofy grin turning into a smaller smile, a certain softness appearing in his eyes. You reach for your cheek, trying to swipe whatever it is off your face. Seems like you miss, because Ace chuckles, before asking- “Can I?”

You nod, and he wipes your cheekbone with his thumb, his lips parting just a little bit as he lets out a small, nervous, chuckle. Suddenly your heart is beating about a thousand miles a minute, and as Ace’s eyes settle on your lips for a second, you look at his face, taking in every detail that you can.

The bell rings and the door opens, making you and Ace launch away from each other. A strong gust of wind blows in, and no one walks in, making you sigh. The wind literally blew open the door. Horseshoe Bay is dead quiet tonight. No customers. You close the door, and realize it’s nine pm, so you flip the sign to closed and lock the door.

“Hey, Y/n, you wanna come to my place? My dad told me he’s making food for three tonight.” Ace watches as you make your way to where he stands by the kitchen.

“That his way of inviting me over?”

“Guess so,” Ace quips with a smirk, throwing an arm around your shoulders as the two of you walk to the locker room. After double checking that the freezer is sealed, you lock up The Claw and head to Ace’s place, hitching a ride in Florence, of course.

When you get to Ace’s place, the smell of cherry pie wafts straight into your face as soon as you open the door. Ace’s dad stands by the coffee table in the living room, and his face lights up when you walk in. You sign a quick hello, Ace doing the same behind you. Ace also throws in a cautionary ‘don’t embarrass me’ but that goes unnoticed by you, you’re too busy checking out the coffee table. There’s all sorts of food that you love, especially compliments of Chef Tom.

You flop onto the couch, snatching a fresh baked dinner roll off the table. Ace flips on the tv, sitting down beside you, and Tom heads back to the kitchen to clean up. Looking around, you notice some of the sweet little Valentine’s decorations around the house. There’s a few plastic hearts hanging around the rooms, and some red streamer thingys. They bring a smile to your face, despite being a little corny.

“Dad knows you like the tacky decorations. No matter how much you say you hate them.”

“Your dad is so sweet. I always feel like part of the family when I’m here,” you say softly, pure joy radiating off your face.

“Okay, I gotta be honest for a second,” Ace blurts out sharply, seemingly out of nowhere. Your heartbeat speeds up a little as anxiety bubbles in your chest, and you nod quickly. “It’s because he wants you to be part of the family.”

“What?” Your eyes widen as you look at Ace. “Sorry, that makes no sense.”

“You really are blind. Nancy told me you couldn’t take hints but I didn’t think she-“

“Ace!” You put a hand on his thigh, cutting him off. He pauses, getting back on topic.

“Well... you see. You’ve always gotten along great with everyone. Especially Dad, sometimes I’m convinced he’s your best friend. And I made the mistake of telling him that I have feelings for you, so now he’s like extra nice. Because he wants me to be happy.”

“Oh wow,” you laugh, suddenly a lot more relaxed.

“I’m sorry, I know it’s stupid, and-“

You cut him off by grabbing his shirt and pulling him towards you. You kiss him, and he obviously kisses back, his hands settling against your face as he pushes himself closer to you.

“I like you too. Thought it was obvious,” you breathe against his lips. He lets out small chuckle.

“Not really,” he whispers, and then kisses you again.

Now your arms are over his shoulders, and you’re basically on his lap as the kiss heats up a little. Tom is forgotten until the sound of footsteps behind you causes the two of you break away again. You turn to see Ace’s dad come over and put a plate on the table.

You sign a ‘thank you, Tom.’ his way, and he smiles widely back at you. He glances over at his son beside you, and his eyes widen slightly. Glancing back and forth a few times, he lets out a delighted chuckle when he makes the connection.

“You two? Finally,” He signs quickly.

“What?” Ace tries to play it off, but fails miserably. He’s not the best actor. About thirty seconds of your and Tom’s laughter and Ace’s denial go by before Ace folds. “What gave it away?”

“You’re wearing her lipstick.”

TAGS:

@ananad1

@remmysrecs

@bookish-bucky

@sahi-raa

@peakyrogers

[river--ghost]

Parent Guidance Recommended

word count: 3,281

focus characters: Pacifica Northwest, Fiddleford H. McGucket

warnings: child neglect, implications of alcoholism, implications of infidelity, mugging, knives, threatening, generally awful people

summary: On the worst birthday she’s ever had, Pacifica finds herself seeking support from a source she’d least expect; the new owner of the once-Northwest Manor, her own former home.

Pacifica was turning fourteen on the Fourth of July. A perfect birthday. Perfect girl. Perfect family.

Her parents would throw a party. Like any Northwest party, with gorgeous, itchy lace ball gowns and impeccable etiquette, each word in every conversation spoken with flawless flow, with purposeful posture and respect-demanding mannerisms. A perfect party for perfect people, with perfect food prepared.

After claiming her designated ruby-studded chair at the dinner table, she would be shocked when her plate was revealed to her. Deep-fried Roareos. Stacked in a small sweet-powdered delicious heap in front of her, chocolately, cream-filled cookies, dipped in batter and deep-fried to perfection. Sugary. Messy. Pacifica had never had it before. How did her parents know she wanted to try it?

She turned her head to cast a quizzical look to her parents, who’d been watching her, holding each other with loving smiles directed at her. A warm feeling spread inside her like warm butter. She reached for a fork.. but hesitated, and hovered her hand over the plate instead. She casted another glance at her parents to see their reaction. No cold response was elicited so far. In fact, she could have sworn her father nodded in approval.

She delicately picked one of the cookies up with her thumb and forefinger, and raised it to her lips to nibble at it. Her senses were flooded with warm, sweet goodness. Just as amazing as she imagined. She stuffed the rest in her mouth, going so far as to lick her fingers. Her lips were coated with melted cream. She neglected the napkins beside her plate to instead lick the sugar mixture from her lips. Barbaric. But her parents didn’t seem to mind either of the actions. She thought she even heard an amused giggle from her mother.

“Sweetie, would you like your presents now or after you’re finished?” Priscilla— no, this was Mom— asked. Pacifica paused. She had a say? Were they not on a schedule? She supposed if she was given the option, she would love to open gifts while she snacked on the rest of the Roareos.

“Now, please,” the young blond girl responded. On cue, one of the butlers was beside her, placing a neatly-packaged gift box on her lap. A beautiful purple silk ribbon sat on top, holding it together. She couldn’t recall the last time she felt so eager to reveal its contents.

What was inside? Some comfy clothes? Paint, perhaps? A cute animal plush that would contrast the creepy porcelain dolls in her room? The possibilities were endless.

Delightfully, she tugged at it. The box opened. As she peered inside, her excitement dissolved. The warm feeling turned to ice.

The bell. The one her father carried on his person at all times. The one that willed his command in the mansion. The one Pacifica hated. Suddenly Preston was standing over her, slowly picking the bronze item up.

Loving smile gone, replaced with a disapproving, even disgusted scowl. She shrank in her seat.

“Pacifica Elise Northwest,” he boomed. “So it’s true. You’re mingling with the common, ignoble crowds these days.”

“No!” she found herself crying out. “It’s not like that! I have to!”

“Have to what? Work a lowly job as a waitress in that slobbish cesspit? At that- that disgusting, sorry excuse for a dining destination? THAT’S NOT ACCEPTABLE EVER. How can you call yourself a Northwest? How can you call yourself our daughter?”

The very first thought she woke up to was that it was too good to be real.

Tangled in her sheets, warm tears trickling down her cheeks. She sniffled and quickly wiped them away before slipping out of bed.

The house was dark. Silent. The clock on the wall read 7:52. Her parents’ bedroom was empty as she passed. It smelled of wine. They would not be back for a while. Pacifica found herself releasing a sigh, her tension easing a little, even if that meant she’d be spending her birthday alone for the very first time. She leaned against the doorframe and closed her eyes, trying to recall the good part of the dream, trying to revive the taste of the sugary treat, but it was gone. Soured by the unreality of it. All it was doing was making her hungry belly ache.

When checking the refrigerator, cabinets and pantry and coming to the realization that all that was left was a loaf of bread, a half-empty tube of Bringles and a couple dinner kits. No breakfast food. Not even a single egg. Not even leftovers. Something like despair and disappointment blossomed inside her. She would have to eat at the diner again…

She snagged her wallet from the counter only to find her twenty had disappeared, leaving only a couple measly ones and fives and whatever coins were loose inside. She felt the tears building a little again and slapped the wallet shut to try to stifle them. There was a time she had nearly everything, but now after Weirdmaggedon, she couldn’t even trust that her own hard-earned cash wouldn’t be snagged if left around her own greedy birthgivers. Her strength was being sapped by the will not to burst into a sobbing fit. There was enough in there to cover breakfast at work when she got to Greasy’s, at least.

With her belly still growling, she changed out of her nightwear, threw on her apron and a pair of aviators and began the walk to work.

The day was a bright one, sunny and a little breezy. A pleasant temperature. It did not reflect how Pacifica felt. Despite the summer weather, she pulled her scarf over her head, casting shade over her face. The neighborhood streets were mostly void of people, every house gated off. Just because they lost the mansion did not mean the Northwests were living in squalor, but her spending money was strictly monitored. Her parents now enforced that any money she spent, she’d have to earn. A fourteen year old. A child. Just so her birthgivers could ensure a few extra dollars in their account.

Pacifica couldn’t help but feel the fanciness of the neighborhood was almost deceitful. Her own household was a prime example. Her own rumbling tummy was a prime example. She wondered if there were others who lived in these houses that had similar problems as hers. Unlikely here.. however there were definitely others, people who’d been pushed to extremes just to get by.

Whether that was the reason behind why Pacifica soon found herself being followed halfway through the trip, she didn’t know. The feeling of being watched intensified by the minute, and glances into the reflections of shop windows told her there was a person. They refused to let up for at least a couple of blocks, the likelihood that they were just going the same direction by chance was steadily decreasing. They probably saw her leaving the wealthier neighborhood. The young girl picked up her pace. It did her no good.

The next moments were a blur. Her arm was snatched. When she struggled, a slice put a stop to it. Her arm began to bleed. Something sharp pressed to her throat, stiffening every muscle in her body. Vulgar language was hurled at her, demanding cooperation before her purse was yanked from her shoulder, and she was thrown to the curb. She was left winded, bruised, panicked and hyperventilating. She struggled for her breath back.

Mugged. She’d been mugged for the few measly dollars she had on her. And the fact that her first thought after all that was concern for what her parents would think that she let those precious dollars be nicked in the first place.. it only increased her distraught. Her breaths hastened more and more, and she didn’t realize her tears had finally started to flow until she was already sprinting down the street, her vision muddled. Every step felt like thunder to her ears. Home. She just wanted to go home. Maybe she couldn’t be herself as much, and maybe she was always busy, under constant supervision. But at least there was stability. At least there was certainty of the future. At least it was comfortable, at least there was always food on the table, breakfast, lunch and dinner. At least her father never stumbled around reeking of alcohol while only Lord knew where her mother was. Maybe her parents weren’t the best to other people but at least she could be certain they were true to each other. At least she could pretend everything was fine.

Pacifica wasn’t sure how far she’d gone. She was sweaty, she felt gross and sticky. Her legs were sore, threatening to give out if she went any further. She was still bleeding. She ached everywhere. But she’d reached her destination. She stood at the bottom of a familiar, long driveway, and at the top, sitting on a large hill, towering over the town stood the proud family mansion. Waves of nostalgia and sorrow crashed over her. Everything felt so gross. Every memory tainted by the knowledge of her parents’ true nature. She couldn’t even speak to anyone, not even her parents. Who would listen to a rich brat whine about how she used to be richer? Certainly not any of the townsfolk.

She found herself staring at the manor for a while, not entirely sure what to do.

“...What am I doing here…?” Pacifica whispered, sniffling and reaching for the tissues she kept in her purse, only to be hit with the whirlwind of events that had just happened again. Her arm stung. She could barely hold herself upright. She felt so… so tired. She meekly wiped her nose on her sleeve, and started to turn around when suddenly she bumped into someone.

“Wo-ah there, kiddo, careful, better watch where ya—” a cheerful voice piped, before cutting itself off when the sight of Pacifica in her disheveled state registered. “Huh? Hey.. Ah’ know you.”

Color drained from Pacifica’s cheeks. This guy again.. Why was he here? She quickly wiped the tears from her cheeks as she tried a witty remark, but — “Y-y-ea-h, well-, wh-o w-ou-uldn’-t-” — ultimately failing when her quivering body wouldn’t stop heaving sobs. Again she sniffled. Disgusting. In front of the hillbilly too.

McGucket’s face morphed into something like sympathy. He kneeled down to her height. “Ah- hey, what’s goin’ on kiddo? Are ya alright?”

Pacifica parted her lips. She wanted to say yes. Her instincts screamed at her to say yes. She could practically hear her birthgivers demanding her to say yes. She had to be perfect. She had to be flawless. She had to be stoic, proud, happy, for her family.

But that’s not what came out.

“n-NO!” she cried, her knees finally buckling as if the years of abuse weighing down on her shoulders finally came crashing down on top of her. Her face buried in her hands, sobbing violently into them. She wasn’t okay, she wasn’t okay, she wasn’t okay. Wails and cries escaped. She couldn’t stop the tears anymore. She was in so much pain, she was so alone. The sobs wouldn’t stop. The raging storm of emotion only continued to demolish her walls, clawing at her pride and self esteem. Everything she pretended to be crashed and burned at that moment.

Fiddleford had been a little stunned by the sudden breakdown, but he started to piece the situation together from the bits and pieces the poor girl was babbling. He didn’t get up and walk away like Pacifica was expecting him to. He stayed put, even placed his hand on her shoulder to try to console her. When she didn’t flinch away from him, the old man started rubbing circles on her back as she cried and cried. Fiddleford never was the best at comfort.. though he could only imagine how long this outburst had been bottled up, and he thought it best that Pacifica let it all out before trying to say anything.

It was a while before Pacifica’s sobs began to calm enough to allow her to speak in more coherent sentences. The story became clearer. She spoke about how her parents had mistreated her, like she was an accessory rather than a human being, a literal child. How things had been getting worse this past year since they were forced to move due to her father’s irresponsible stock market decisions during Weirdmaggedon, to preserve what fortune they had left. How she felt more at home at the diner than she ever did at her own residence. How she hardly saw her parents anymore. How everything had changed for the worst. The way her parents had become about money, even how they scolded her for ‘nagging’ about her birthday the previous day, when it had been the first time she brought it up in half a year. It all hurt terribly to speak of but Pacifica couldn’t help but notice the sudden weightless feeling after getting everything out. She was surprised to find Old Man McGucket was still listening.

“Y’know,” he spoke finally, “Ah knew a fella once who thought ‘e had everythin’ before ‘e lost it all too. ‘Should’a been there for ‘im like he needed.”

Pacifica was quiet for a moment. “..W..ho was he?”

Fiddleford only waved his hand. “Ol’ college buddy. Doin’ mighty fine these days. Now whaddya say we get off’a the street an’ patch up that lil’ ol’ scratch a’ yours inside?”

It tooka moment to register the question through his southern accent, but when she did, her eyebrows knit together in confusion. “..I- inside..?”

Inside the mansion. Pacifica almost couldn’t believe it. Old Man McGucket was the one that bought the Northwest Manor. She wondered how on earth a former homeless man was possibly able to afford such a grand purchase, until peeks into a couple rooms along the hallway that had been filled with computers and strange machinery told her she didn’t know nearly as much about McGucket as she previously thought.

It was so strange walking through the hallways again. Everything was the same, but different. Was the grand rustic architecture and furniture always so beautiful? And… were those.. raccoons she was spotting out of the corner of her eyes?

McGucket led her to a room with a couch- a familiar silver-themed room with a certain carpet pattern. It looked nearly the same, except for the banjo leaning against the couch’s armrest, and maybe a few more stains than its previous flawless condition “for guests- that is, for guests to look at”. Despite her emotional state, she found herself smiling at the memory of her adventures with Dipper Pines, trying to bust that ghost… until she recalled the punishment her parents had made for her after that was all over. She began to feel a little sick. Her gaze dropped to the floor as McGucket trudged into the room, plopped onto the couch and patted the cushions beside him. Hesitantly, she followed him and did as gestured. It was.. weird to be back. She wiped her eyes again.

“How’d that’a happen?”

“..What?” the question hit her like a slap.

“The cut.” He gestured to the bleeding injury with a bandaged hand.

“...Oh.” Again, her gaze dropped. Her eyes began to mist again before she shut them. “..I-I.. I was.. um.. mugged on the way here… They stole my favorite purse…” Shame burned at her belly. She didn’t see any sign of judgement in McGucket’s reaction, though. He didn’t ask why she let that happen, or why she wasn’t responsible enough to bring someone with her. There was only concern for her.

“Oh.. ‘Ahm sorry that’a happened. Gravity Falls’s usually safe.. er- ah..” The old man scratched the back of his head. “‘least, it’s not the people ya gotta usually worry ‘bout.”

“Heh.. yeah..” Shrugging, the old man pulled out a full-blown first aid kid, temporarily baffling Pacifica for a moment. “Wai- were you just carrying that—?”

The question went without a response as McGucket went straight to disinfecting the cut. “‘Doesn’t look terri-bubly deep,” he piped. “Should’a stopped bleeding by now but we’ll patch it up ta’ keep it safe while it’s a-healin’.”

“Wait.. how do you know how to do this..?” Pacifica asked, furrowing her eyebrows a little. The old man gave her a cheery grin.

“Well, ‘gotta pick up somethin’ ‘bout it after livin’ in the dump buildin’ evil whatsits and thingamajigs outta rusty metal for a couple’a decades.”

..Oh. Well, that would make sense, she supposed.. Briefly, the question as to why he was being so nice to her after the way she and her family treated him crossed her mind. She wondered if that friend he mentioned had something to do with it… Suddenly she found herself wishing she’d paid closer attention to the details of the relationships between the other people involved in the zodiac. She guessed it could be that hotter Mr. Pines (or.. Dr. Pines?), she recalled seeing some kind of emotional exchange between him and McGucket during Weirdmaggedon.

Occupied with her thoughts, she hardly realized McGucket had completely finished with the bandage until he announced it.

“Done!” he cheered, stuffing the first aid kit back into the oblivion from which it came. Weird. More Gravity Falls weirdness. “...Thanks.”

“Anytime, sweetie. Y’always got’a listenin’ ear right here if ya’ need it.”

Pacifica gave him a small, grateful smile. The old man would never know what that meant to her.

“I.. I don’t know..” she sighed softly. “Today was just… awful… It’s the first birthday I’ll be spending alone, and I guess it’s… getting to me…”

“Yer birthday’s today?? Ah, Ah’m sorry, sugerbun,” McGucket spoke. “Awful break, goin’ through somethin’ like a’this on’a birthday mornin’. Say, ya always got a place right ‘ere if ya need. Plenty a’ empty bedrooms.”

Pacifica raised her head. “...R...Really..?”

McGucket beamed. “Why sure! Ya remind me a’ my lil’ Tator Tot, Ah’ miss ‘em somethin’ terrible. It gets a lil’ lonely in this ‘ere big ol’ mansion sometimes and ah wouldn’t mind a visit from some young folk from a’time ta’ time.”

She could… she could visit. Whenever she wanted? Her old home, without her parents around. McGucket was that okay with her? Even going so far as to compare her to (presumably) his own kid? That was… incredible. Before thinking it through, she threw her arms around the old man, chorusing her ‘thank you’s with a bubble of laughter. Though startled, Fiddleford slowly returned the hug with a warm smile.

He stank quite a bit. Pacifica recoiled a little at the realization of what she was doing. Ew. What would people think of her if they caught her doing something so unthinkable? Willingly embracing this stinky old man who…. gave incredible hugs.. Her concern suddenly dissolved. In its stead, a certain safety appeared, and she melted into it a little more. It was the same feeling she craved in her dreams. Dirt didn’t matter at all anymore. The feeling of a parental embrace shielding her from the unpleasantness of the world was all she could bring herself to care about at that moment. It felt so warm… Before she knew it, she was tearing up again.

“...Thank you, McGucket..”

“Heheh, anytime, sugarbun. Say, since it is yer birthday, whaddya say we hit th’ town an’ find somethin’ ta’ cheer ya up?”

Pacifica wiped her eyes with her palm. What an offer... To think a year ago she would never had even considered walking around with the old kook as a possible option, but.. She found herself looking forward to it. “I… I would love that.”

[Part 1 of ??? possibly 2??]