#lawn bowls jackets

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 60

Part 1 Part 59

The party is already in full swing by the time they pull up. Drunk high schoolers out on the lawn wearing more thought-out costumes than he and Eddie had managed. Their plans before Nancy accosted them in the hallway involved a pizza and a couple tapes from Family Video that Eddie swears he has to see.

It'd been Eddie’s idea; he’d shrugged on one of Steve’s preppy polos – his words, not Steve’s – and one of his acid-wash jeans, and pristine white sneakers, and called it good. Steve had gone along with the concept for lack of a better idea. He’d chosen his favorite Metallica shirt (the one with the hole in the armpit), a pair of Eddie’s black jeans, and Eddie's leather jacket. Eddie had grabbed his battle vest, pushing Steve's arms through it like he was a small child. It’d still been warm from Eddie’s own back.

To finish the look, Eddie had slid each ring off his fingers, matching them perfectly with their usual placements on his own hands. There was something about the way Eddie's hands felt, sliding up the vulnerable sides of Steve's fingers that made him shiver, goosebumps breaking out along his arms.

Eddie's hands had looked bare, almost risqué in their nakedness. Even now, while being packed in at all sides, Steve can't help looking down at them. He wants to push Eddie's hands into his jean pockets, hide the vulnerability of it from everyone else. He doesn't.

Almost the instant they walk through the door, Hargrove shouts, “King Bitch!” holding up his drink, as if to toast Steve’s arrival.

Tommy’s at his side, laughing like no one had ever said anything that funny in his life. Eddie’s fingers tighten around his wrist as he pulls him along.

Barbara and Nancy are hovering around the punch bowl, laughing. Nancy takes a sip of something that looks disturbingly red from her red plastic cup, and Barbara, while empty-handed, looks far happier than she had at Steve’s party all those months ago.

"Looks like they didn't need us at all!" Eddie calls loudly over the music.

Eddie’s bare fingers sneak under his sleeve to caress the skin of his inner wrist. Steve clenches his fist, relaxes it, wonders if Eddie can feel the flexing of his tendons beneath his palm.

“You came!” Nancy calls, handing her drink off to Barbara with a roll of her eyes, as she throws herself at both of them, wrapping an arm around each of their shoulders and pulling them into her smaller frame. She looks down at the pair of them, brow furrowed. “What are you two even wearing?”

The angle hurts his back, even more so when he turns his head to raise an eyebrow at Eddie, who’s already doing the same. “Well, you see,” Eddie says, trying to eel out of her arms with little to no success. “I’m dressed as the king, and Steve’s my noble jester, of course!”

Nancy opens her mouth, looking up at him with a bitchy expression, but Steve interrupts her, “I said we would.” He says it loud enough to be heard over the thrumming music.

“Are you drunk?” Eddie asks, looking at Nancy with befuddlement. Steve can’t blame him. Nancy’s behavior toward him can usually be called catty at best. Not that Eddie doesn’t usually give as good as he gets, but it’s still bizarre to see Nancy’s arm wrapped so familiarly around him.

“No!” Nancy yells, at the same time Barbara says, “yes,” with an exasperated sigh.

“I only had two drinks. When she pulls out of the embrace, she’s already pouting. “I only had two drinks.

Steve holds his hand out toward Barbara, who hands over Nancy’s drink, even as the other girl complains. Steve takes a tentative sip, curious. It goes down like battery acid. It makes him lightheaded and queasy instantaneously. Probably just from the fumes.

“What the fuck is that?” he asks, sputtering. He rubs his tongue with his fingers, hoping to scrub the remnants of that taste off his tongue for good. Eddie’s hand, where it’s still wrapped around his wrist, nudges against his chin.

“It’s pure fuel,” Barbara replies, laughter audible in her tone, even as Nancy nods enthusiastically.

Steve, still grimacing at the lingering taste, drops his hand, rubbing his saliva off on his borrowed pants. “That’s rancid.”

“This is what the Kingdom has fallen to without their King,” Eddie says with a sigh. For some reason, his cheeks are pink, like he’d been the one drinking that garbage.

Steve shrugs, “Carol always used to mix the drinks.”

“Of course, she did,” Eddie says, rolling his eyes.

Barb nods in agreement, but Steve had made the mistake of handing Nancy back her drink, so she was immediately long-sufferingly trying to corral her friend to stop drinking.

Steve flows into the groove of partying quickly. He fades into the music, smiles at his friends, lets the waves flow over him. He’s happy, with Eddie by his side, and friends coming in and out of view.

Enter: Jonathan Byers.

Steve’s breathing picks up, and suddenly the pack of bodies is suffocating. He can feel sweat slick his forehead, and his vision goes a little fuzzy along the edges. He pushes past bodies with no regard, ignoring the startled complaints that follow in his wake.

Steve grabs the lapel of Jonathan’s shirt in both fists, like a kid afraid of losing his Mom in the store. And he is; he’s afraid.

“Where’s Will?” he asks, pulling Jonathan’s t-shirt, stretching out the collar around his neck.

Jonathan’s eyes widen. He reaches out, covering Steve’s hands on his shirt and squeezing. “He’s fine,” Jonathan says. “He’s trick-or-treating with his friends.” There are spots in Steve’s eyes. “Breath, dude.”

Steve inhales, ragged and aching. “You didn’t go with them?”

Before Jonathan can answer, Eddie is there, big palms on Steve’s shoulder, squeezing. He leans forward, whispers in Steve’s ear. “Let’s go outside, sweetheart.”

Steve nods, letting Eddie lead him past the throng of partygoers, pulling Jonathan along as well by the hem of his shirt, still clutched in one of Steve’s fists hard enough to hurt.

They emerge out on Tina’s back porch. It’s dark, but the fresh air hits Steve and his lungs finally expand.

“Jonathan?” Steve asks, wheezy and breathless.

Jonathan meets his eyes, quickly pulling something out of his pocket. When Steve looks down, it’s a walkie-talkie, the same kind the party is so fond of using.

“He begged me to go with his friends,” Jonathan says, talking fast like he’s afraid Steve will punch him if he doesn’t get the words out quickly enough. Or pass out on him. “I told him he’d have to radio in every half hour, on the dot, or I’d call Hop.”

Steve breaths in, breaths out, feels Eddie’s hand steadying the small of his back. “And he has been?” Steve asks.

Jonathan nods, slow, like any sudden movements will spook Steve.

“Well, then!” Eddie says, massaging Steve’s shoulders quick and dirty a few times until Steve melts into his hands. Steve’s bereft when he drops his hands to join their impromptu circle. Eddie digs around in Steve’s pocket, pulling out a pristine joint with a quirked brow. “I think some of us could maybe chill the fuck out right about now.”

Steve rolls his eyes when Eddie looks pointedly his way, but dutifully swipes the joint from Eddie’s hand. He slides it in his mouth, feels it stick to the inside of his lip as he leans forward for Eddie to light it.

The first hit sends him coughing. Jonathan claps his back companionably as he passes the joint to him. Jonathan, suspiciously, doesn’t cough at all. Neither does Eddie, but that’s to be expected.

A few more rounds of puff puff pass, and Steve’s so relaxed he flows onto the ground. Eddie laughs, passes the joint to Jonathan, and plops down beside Steve, patting his thigh.

Eddie’s smiling down at him in a way that makes Steve’s stomach populate with butterflies by the handful. He looks teasing, like he’s thinking of the best thing to say. Steve suddenly knows he’s going to speak and then he does. “Are you alright down there, princess?” he asks. “All calmed down?”

He swallows his desert-dry mouth and hopes his voice comes out clear. God forbid he fucks up so badly Eddie invites Jonathan to warm his bed instead. “Yeah,” he says, throat cracking around the word. In a bid to redeem himself, Steve clears his throat, swirling his spit around to help rehydrate. “I can see the future?” he says, voice lilting upward at the end like it’s a question.

Eddie leans forward, hand patting Steve’s cheek gently. It feels nice. Steve leans into the touch. “Are you serious?” he asks. “Is this another superpower thing?”

Steve wobbles one of his hands together in a wishy-washy gesture that his brain gets caught in. It feels nice, the stagnant night’s air smacking against his palm so he does it faster, smiling.

“He’s just high,” Jonathan says, turning just enough that Steve can see the bottom of his chin. He looks weird from down below. Gargantuan.

Eddie flops gracelessly beside him, burrowing the back of his head into Steve’s ribs. “Damn, so you can’t see the future?” he asks, whining. “We could use another Supergirl.”

Steve’s too busy watching Jonathan to argue over not knowing any supergirls again. Jonathan’s leaning against the railing, and Steve knows, suddenly, that he’s going to take another drag from the dwindling remnants of the joint. And then he does.

“I can see three seconds into the future,” he says wonderingly, still smiling.

Eddie burrows his head harder into Steve’s ribs until Steve brings his hand up to pet clumsily through his hair. “Ugh, you got my hopes up.”

“I’m a supergirl.”

Jonathan and Eddie are laughing at him, but Steve’s looking up at the shitty overhang above Tina’s wonderous porch and wishing it was gone. He wants to see the sky, the stars splashing out above him. He wants to pluck them from the sky and put them, still flaming, into Eddie’s hair.

He wants.

Something answers his wishes. The overhang is gone, rotted away from above him so the white specks can rain down on his face. He holds up his hand, hoping it’ll be cold enough for snow. Even with the red sky, even with Eddie gone from beside him, Steve hopes.

But when he brings it down to his eyes, the stuff smears along his palm, just like ash. Maybe he can’t see into the future. He would’ve seen this.

He would’ve predicted the way the shadows stripe themselves across his face, blotting out all the red in the worst way possible. He would’ve predicted the way that thing seems to move without moving at all.

He didn’t.

Steve sobs, just once. And then, Steve does what he does best: he runs.

Part 61

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[sleeplesssmoll]

picnic day with the timekeeper fam?

I had this in the back of my head after I read it because the fam sharing a meal is one of the things we see in a lot of official art. The Suitcase fam actually likes to eat together, even if not everyone is available. I think that shows a bond. Chit-chatting, sharing plates, just wholesome fun.

idk how other people think but i see a scene in my head which is why my HCs usually get typed liked that. It started like this:

Vertin and Regulus share a pack of Pop-Tarts in one of the Suitcases huge bay windows. They're exhausted since they returned from a mission. The weather's really nice and Regulus casually mentions that'd it'd be good day for a picnic. Vertin replies "Then let's have one." No plan, all decided on a whim. Sonetto is actually the one who organizes everything and Vertin delegates responsibilities.

The picnic itself is very soft instead of chaotic because a lot of the members are tuckered out from the mission. Click's been taking pictures of them and enjoys the peaceful day since the Suitcase is usually very lively. Regulus is sharing her music with Sotheby while they cloud-gaze. Druvis is leading Lilya around her garden. She smiles more these days. Jessica is making a flower wreath for Blonney. Zima's writing poetry while listening to Getian play his flute.

Eternity is playing lawn bowling with Centurion and mentions how weird it was for the youths to be napping while the adults play. They are tied, which Centurion isn't used to as a winner, but it makes things exciting.

Tennant is talking to Dikke and mentions that it'd be nice if Vertin created an isolated, private section of the wilderness. Dikke tells her to shut up and also to leave the Timekeeper alone. They end up bickering but neither walks away from the other.

Vertin isn't running around keeping tabs on people like usual. She's sprawled out on a picnic blanket after eating a few sandwiches. The kids run off with her hat and coat but, she lets them. She ends up taking a short nap. When she opens her eyes again, Eagle, Erick, Mondlicht and the other youngsters placed her jacket over her like a blanket and they're curled around her like rabbits.

Vertin gets up carefully without waking them up. She eventually joins a very content Sonetto under a shady tree and the two talk about things that aren't work like Sonetto's recent poems and paintings. Vertin brings up her next idea for the Wilderness but she's very vague. It's because Vertin's next plan for the wilderness is actually inspired by one of Sonetto's paintings but its a surprise.

Tennant's wish might get granted after all.

Everything is very fluffy on this peaceful picnic.

On that note, can you imagine someone actually moving mountains for you? Vertin is like a deity and her Suitcase is her domain. She moves things around at will and its crazy.

[ncdweller]

Scaredy Cat vs Yellow Jacket nest

We have (had?) a very active nest in a sloped section of our yard, just above where the pumpkins were growing last month.

September/October are the very active months for these wasps, and they can be very aggressive.

I found a neat remedy online: at night, when everyone is in the nest, place a clear glass bowl over the opening. They will try to fly out during the day, seeing the sky above, but can’t go anywhere. They won’t build a new entrance, because this one doesn’t seem blocked.

It takes 3-4 days to kill off the population.

This was fascinating to watch with binoculars (scaredy cat), as hundreds of yellow jackets flew around under the clear dome.

But some were getting out. This was because the lawn around the opening hasn’t been mowed for a few weeks. Yellow jackets hate lawnmowers.

Four days passed, and the wasps seemed as angry as ever flying in the restricted airspace. Their numbers didn’t seem to diminish any.

So on to YouTube I went.

Dish detergent seemed like a good solution. The first video, the guy suited up in a beekeeping suit, poured some Dawn into a 5 gallon bucket of water, stirred it around, then went to the very active hole in the ground with the bucket of soapy water and a shovel.

He poured some of the water in the hole, then started digging to find the nest, pouring more soapy water as he went.

I don’t have a beekeeper suit, and digging into the ground looking for trouble didn’t sound wise.

Another video was by a landscaper, and made more sense to me. He simply poured detergent into the hole, then sprayed water from a hose into the hole, shooting down a couple of escapees that were flying around. Lots of soap suds at the entrance.

So last night we went out with a five gallon bucket of soapy water, removed the glass bowl, and poured the water in. We walked very quickly back to the house.

D thought the hive may be uphill from the entrance, and was concerned we didn’t get the entire hive.

This morning, sure enough, there was one wasp flying around the entrance.

So I got the hose, and the bottle of Dawn (cleans ducks, kills wasps). I poured a good amount of detergent into the entrance, that yellow jacket flying around, but not attacking. I then turned the water on and blasted the entrance.

Hopefully that’s the end of this episode.

I hate killing them, but they are/were too close to the house.

[latibvles]

a kiss to prove you don’t have feelings for them

For Willie and Brady? If you could.

I love them and want nothing but happiness for them…, but also I’m a sucker for angsty steamy scenes.

A KISS CAN JUST BE A KISS.

hi anon friend! as much as i would really love to try and work this into mainverse ( because im evil and love giving them problems ) Brady is . unfortunately (?) extremely aware of his own feelings as is the entire 100th except for Willie for a little while. you know who isn't as aware of his painfully obvious crush on Willie? Slightly Dumb College Frat Boy Brady. So this ended up taking a turn into Frat Boy AU. I hope you don't mind! I did have fun writing this ♡ I had to make an entire side character because I cannot for the life of me imagine one of Brady's own friends instigating this heavily in his love life

—

The house was busy — but with the October chill setting in, the backyard was a bit quieter. Still, they’d made a run for firewood today in anticipation, which was a good call on Jack’s part. It’s a welcome warmth, putting up an effortless fight against the chilly air, and they’re sitting all around it. Them, being himself, Willie to his left and Benny to his right, and then a couple others: some of the people here, he’s only just learned the names of.

Helen was a hospitality major, but he knew her boyfriend, Nash. He and Rosie were pledges living at the dorm, and the latter had an English class with Harry last semester. Her friend Tatty sat to the right of her, next to some guy he didn’t know all that well, but presumably went to school with (he’s pretty sure it’s Charlie), and the girl next to him, he recognized from a previous party, was Naomi. He’d also caught Dougie slipping her out of his room the next day — and she’d just smiled and waved at him as he groggily padded his way into the kitchen for a bowl of cereal.

“Alright Benny, your turn, truth or dare?”

The game was Naomi’s idea. John was just fine sitting there, leaned over and talking to Willie about nonspecific things. Since that first party they’d formed something of a friendship: formed mostly through iMessage games and playlist exchanges. Once he’d started seeing her he couldn’t really stop — whether that was on campus or at a house party, or her taking a cat nap in his room while he studied. Not that he minded. He liked talking to her, liked making her laugh, indulging in her comfortable silences. But Benny agreed and so he ended up doing so, and then Willie, too.

“Dare.” Really, it was less like truth or dare and more like Truth, Dare, or Drink. Benny’s lips curl in a smile as Charlie hums, running his finger over his lips.

“Kiss the least attractive person in the circle.”

“Yeesh, trying to get me in trouble, are you?” Benny leans back, eyes darting around the circle and Charlie looks smug enough. John watches as Benny’s eyes dart briefly to the door and sneaks a look himself. It’s not hard to spot the blonde he’s eyeing — has been eyeing since the start of the semester — who looks over at them. Or rather, at Benny, John’s pretty sure he may as well be transparent at the moment.

Benny leans back in the chair, finishes off the drink in his solo cup. One of Hambone’s ungodly concoctions that John is pretty sure is just straight up Tito’s with jolly ranchers or something dissolved in there for flavor. He coughs once, twice, then looks at John.

“Sorry. Didn’t want to hurt your feelings there.” John scoffs, with a roll of his eyes.

“Yeah, you’re really breaking my heart over here,” he counters dryly. Benny rises from his lawn chair with a promise to be right back — heading off to get another drink from inside. Willie laughs, quietly, watching him go and John looks her up and down. Viv’s jacket draped over her shoulders and denim-clad legs pulled in, curled up on the lawn chair.

“They’re hopeless,” she remarks quietly, looking back over at him. They smile at one another and John wipes at his nose.

“They’re something, alright.”

Naomi clears her throat, clasping her hands together.

“Right then. John, truth or dare!” 

“Truth.” She blows a raspberry at that, seemingly deflating before perking up again all at once, then takes a look around their circle.

“Ever hooked up with someone in this circle?” She asks, with a glint to her eye that makes John shift in his seat a bit. He shakes his head immediately.

“Can’t say I have.”

“I oughta make you drink for that,” she huffs, and John raises a curious brow. “It’s no fun if you lie.” Naomi isn’t looking at him. She’s looking just to his left, to Willie, and he looks at her too. Her cheeks are flushing and her brows are furrowed in confusion. “Oh don’t give me that look — I heard you spent like an hour in his room last month.”

“I was hiding,” Willie says flatly. “And it was more like twenty minutes.”

“It’s not like that.” John tacks on at the end.

He blames that twisting feeling in his stomach on the alcohol and not the indifference of her statement, how quick she is to say it and how quick he is to tack that part on at the end. Naomi’s eyebrows raise and he doesn’t like the look of it, but she hums out an “Oookay!” and sips from her cup absentmindedly.

The game continues. A couple more rounds. Helen and Charlie end up switching shirts on a dare, Benny returns and snickers about not letting Nash see that. John drinks when Tatty gives him a dare because he’s not sitting in the October cold in his boxers and shirt until his next round. Benny ends up telling the story about how Meatball knocked the door open while Dougie had a girl over and stole his pants. He feels a little warm and makes a note to ask Hambone just what the hell this concoction’s made of.

“Jooooooohn,” Naomi hums, looking at him. “Truth or dare?”

Maybe it’s the mystery drink making him feel a little bolder. He sits up in his chair.

“Dare.” Benny raises his brows in quiet surprise. On the other end of the firepit, Tatty chuckles, sitting criss-cross, or something like it.

Naomi grins. John doubts his choice for a millisecond. And it’s warranted, because she glances from Willie back to him.

“Kiss Willie.” John scoffs.

“What are we, twelve?” He looks to Willie, who just draws her knees closer to her chest. Naomi whines.

“Oh come on. It’s a real easy one, isn’t it?” She leans forward on her knees, and the firelight makes her look like some sinister storyteller. “You said it yourselves. It’s not even like that, so who cares?”

Something about the way she says it outright rubs John the wrong way. He already knows that she isn’t convinced that he and Willie are just friends. It feels like a challenge — and he’s really backed himself into a corner. He can either drink and prove her point, or do the stupid dare and… disprove it. Or prove it. Honestly, he doesn’t even know. He looks again to Willie, who’s expression is unreadable — and he usually really likes her quiet, contemplative silence, but right now he really needs her to say something. Anything.

Willie looks at him and her brows furrow.

“Why’re you staring at me?” She asks. He fights the urge to smack his hand to his forehead.

“Are you fine with this?” he asks, genuinely meaning it. He sees the hesitation flash across her face before she shrugs, unraveling herself and letting her feet hit the grass, hands gripping her knees. She’s staring off, not looking at him, or Naomi, or anything really.

“Sure,” she acquiesces, “Prove your… your point, I guess.” John feels his mouth go dry, and not just from the alcohol. His palms are sweaty and he has to try really hard not to balk at how casual she’s being about the whole thing. Or wonder if he should start taking notes from her.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, John,” Willie looks at him and there’s a slight edge to her voice. Insistence, maybe, or something like it. She’s never gotten impatient with him before. “It’s fine.”

John breathes out as she shifts her lawn chair until they’re bumping knees. He nods to himself once. Naomi looks decidedly pleased with herself, and so he shoots her a pointed glare, before turning to look at her. Willie’s already kind of leaning on her knees, looking at him and he can’t tell, even for a moment, how she might actually be feeling about this whole thing. Probably annoyed at John’s voiced protests instead of just getting it over with quick.

John turns, angling himself so he’s leaning towards her, into her space. She’s stiff as a board, her jaw clenched when it first comes into contact with his hand as he reaches for her. He sweeps a thumb over her cheek and it relaxes for a moment. She shuts her eyes and for a second John wonders if she’s bracing for impact or something. Her lashes are long. Dark. Pretty. She’s always pretty.

He’s surrounded by the scent of her; that soft citrusy perfume enveloping him, her dark curls tickling his hand where it’s tilting her jaw up a little. He’s leaning down to kiss her before he can think too hard on it, doubt it. It doesn’t have to be anything. A kiss can just be a kiss.

…right?

He means for it to only be a peck — a barely there bump of their lips. But hers are… soft, warm, they taste like the canned vodka seltzer she’d snuck from their basement fridge as opposed to the watery beer and strange half-assed concoctions they were offering en masse to the other guests.

There is an urge there, to deepen this, to taste and to hold her. A thought that crossed his mind so blatantly once before, when he’d first met her. Otherwise he thought he’d pushed that aside, buried it.

He’s grateful for her friendship. Wants to keep it, because it’s simple and because it was— is, easy to exist with her. Willie’s beautiful and funny and honest with him in a way he appreciates. He doesn’t want to lose that. Fuck it up with feelings that go beyond that — not wanting to demand more of her than what she ever wanted to give him. Her friendship’s precious and he’s lucky to have it; he knows that.

And here he is wanting to pull her into his lap and forget that this is supposed to be a part of a game. Wanting to press his tongue against her teeth.

His heart’s in his throat. A kiss can just be a kiss. He isn’t sure how much he believes that.

Willie breathes out against his lips, a soft, nearly mute “fuck” fanning across his face as they pull away from each other. His entire face feels flushed and he can’t bring himself to move away from the space between them. It was… charged with something. Energy between them that’s just downright impossible to ignore.

John stares at her, hardly moving from the space between them. Her expression’s unreadable for a few moments, holding his gaze with those piercing dark eyes of hers.

Her brows furrow, and she frowns. Willie leans away and turns her head from him.

“I’m… gonna go inside. S’cold,” she breathes out, standing up and walking away from before John can so much as rise with her and ask her to stay. Or ask to go with her.

It’s damning. All of it. The kiss, the way she looked at him, the way she walked away. His heart is sinking into his stomach. He wants to chase after her like some little kid but he somehow knows that that would be his second mistake.

[cloudrumble23]

It was a nice afternoon. One of those days where the temptation to spend the whole day outside instead of working on important chores was nearly unbearable. Jeremy's other friends had already gone home, leaving him alone with Mike on the grass in the front yard.

Mike was picking at blades of grass, not really focused on Jeremy anymore. The conversation had died when their other friends went home, and neither of them particularly felt like starting it again. So neither one of them did.

Jeremy laid back in the grass, feeling the sharp blades tickling his arms. "Hey, Mike. Aren't you hot in that jacket?"

"Hmm?" Mike glanced over at him for a moment, turning his head away again as his face reddened.

"Aren't you hot? You look like you're overheating, buddy."

"Oh, no. I'm... I'm fine." Mike shifted uncomfortably in the grass. "I'd rather the heat anyway."

Right. Mike ran extremely cold for some reason. He always wore that jacket in the summer. In other months, he layered up even more. Jeremy smiled to himself at the one time he and his friends convinced Mike to take the jacket off for once.

His face reddened as he recalled how toned Mike's arms were. He wondered just how strong Mike was. He didn't act strong, not really. Sure, he was loud and obnoxious sometimes, but so was Jeremy. And he didn't have a problem running during P.E., but weight room days were awful, as Jeremy's muscles always hated him after those first few days.

"Jeremy! Come in and get the laundry done! You can sleep on the lawn after you finish your chores!"

Jeremy sat up. "Yes, Mom!" He glanced at Mike. "I suppose this is-"

"I can stick around a while longer."

"Oh." Jeremy was a bit surprised, but Mike knew his responsibilities better than Jeremy did, and if he said he could stay, then that was Mike's business.

"Sorry. My, uh, room is a bit of a mess." Jeremy scrambled to collect his dirty laundry from the floor as quick as possible, intensely aware of the fact that Mike was standing behind him in the hallway. Mike, the neat freak, who'd flip out if someone wore their shoes into the house, who had lost his mind when his little brother accidentally dropped a full bowl of cereal on the floor.

That Mike was currently able to see all of Jeremy's messiness, in the worst possible way. Is he even going to want to be friends with me anymore? Jeremy wondered. This was it, wasn't it? Mike was going to ditch him, and Jeremy's stupid crush would never go anywhere.

"It's fine, dude." Jeremy couldn't even detect any irritation or discomfort in his voice at all, and he wasn't sure if Mike was being sincere or not.

"I wasn't prepared for company, otherwise I would have-"

"Jeremy. I said it's not a big deal." Was Mike amused? That was his teasing voice. "I'm not really surprised anyway. You kind of are a mess."

"I-" Jeremy opened his mouth to protest a moment before realizing that Mike was just joking with him. "Well, I guess so, yeah." He laughed awkwardly. "I gotta get this in the washing machine now."

Mike nodded. He wasn't in the way or anything, so Jeremy honestly didn't know why he'd felt the need to say anything. They just kind of stood there for a moment, before Mike glanced around him back into the room. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

"What?"

Mike pointed, and when Jeremy turned to look, Mike tickled him. "Hey! Hands off!" Jeremy's attempts to push Mike away from him were unsuccessful, as Mike's strength gave him a distinct advantage. "I gotta..." Jeremy gasped a breath between words. "Mike, the laundry..."

"Fine, fine." Mike stopped tickling him and stepped back. Jeremy regretted making him step back, missing his closeness immediately.

He went to pick up the laundry basket again, and Mike whistled. "You know, it doesn't look as bad in here as you think it does."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Just clean up the trash and make your bed and it's basically clean. Cleaner than the basement at my house anyway."

"There's a room in your house that's messy? I'm shocked, Michael. Shocked, I tell you." Jeremy nudged him playfully as he started toward the cramped laundry room.

"Ha ha," Mike rolled his eyes as he closed the door behind them. "You're hilarious, Jer."

"I know I am. I am the funniest person on the planet," Jeremy declared, dumping his clothes in the machine and setting the temperature. "Could you grab the soap? It's on that shelf there."

"Yeah, sure." Mike handed him the soap, going quiet for a moment. Jeremy continued setting the machine before closing the lid. "You look so good doing laundry..."

Jeremy froze. Surely Mike hadn't meant that in a... no, he must've meant it platonically. Neat freak that he was, Mike probably was admiring his ability to clean or something. Still, his face burned at the thought, and he replied, somewhat confused, "Thanks?"

Mike's eyes widened significantly as his own face flared red. Oh. So he had meant it that way. And from the look of it, he had not meant to say that out loud at all.

Jeremy cleared his throat, a goofy smile spread across his face. "Neat freak."

"...Huh?" Mike was still trapped in an internal panic over what he'd said, hands coming up to cover his mouth.

"I said," Jeremy swallowed, his throat feeling dry, "you're such a neat freak, Mike. Complimenting my laundry skills like that." Why did I say that?

Mike's eyebrows scrunched, showing his confusion. "Jeremy, what are you talking about?"

He should address it, shouldn't he? It was clear Mike was expecting him to address it properly. "Do..." He couldn't do this. "Mike, do you..." He swallowed again. "Do you like me?"

"Like you? Jeremy, you're my best friend."

Not what I was going for, Jeremy thought to himself as he laughed awkwardly. "Yeah, I know that. But I mean, do you like me? Like, would you date me if you had to?"

Mike trembled, stumbling against the wall. "I... if I had to? Of course, Jer."

I shouldn't have phrased it like that. Jeremy scolded himself. "Cool..." Jeremy shrugged, feeling out of place and very uncomfortable with the awkwardness in the room. "I'd date you without having to," he suddenly blurted out.

Mike blinked. Once. Then twice. And suddenly, he was shooting forward, pulling at the front of Jeremy's shirt as he kissed him. Mike was kissing him. Jeremy eagerly kissed him back, hoping this wasn't just his imagination.

"So... you do like me," Jeremy whispered when they finally stopped. "And I look good when I'm doing laundry, huh?"

Mike's mouth twitched, but he still elbowed Jeremy. "Oh, shut up."

"You can't stand the sight of me cleaning, can you? It's just so attractive to you. Why, Mike, I bet if you had your way, you'd just watch me-"

Mike kissed him again to shut him up. "Fine, you win, Jeremy! Just shut up for once."

Jeremy grinned. "I think I can handle that. For you."

Based on this post by @hearts4ggy (sorry to tag, but you deserve credit for this!)

[rainintheevening]

🍁🍁Comfy-vember 🍁🍁

Day 8: Thunder shower/Fresh fruit

Grant Ward & Gramsy & Phil Coulson, Agents of SHIELD, Saving Grant Ward AU

--------

The storm rolled in faster than Grant had expected, its flash and growl catching them just as they turned in at the lane up to Oakstone.

"Come on, Lady!"

Grant bolted, sprinting fast enough his tennis shoes barely seemed to touch the paving stones. Lady caught him at the turn by the rose hedge, and passed him, her chestnut ears streaming behind her head.

The rain came slow at first, big fat drops that warned of a torrent, but by the time he reached the walk up to the kitchen door, the heavens had truly opened.

He fetched up on the veranda soaked through, dripping as he took off his baseball cap and walked to where Coulson and Gramsy sat in lawnchairs, sipping sweet tea and smiling over at him.

"Did you take a swim?" Coulson kidded.

"Don't stay wet too long, honey," Gramsy said, squinting a little in the dim storm light.

"Yes, ma'am," he nodded, suddenly self-conscious under their combined scrutiny. Of course, he thought, they must have been talking about him, Coulson getting the scoop on all the skeletons in the Ward family closets.

The man looked away, out over the lawn, and Grant quickly stole the drink out of his grandmother's hand, drained it in three gulps. He ignored her exclamation and it's fondness, rattling the left-over ice cubes as he pushed the glass back into her fingers.

"Thanks, Gramsy!" he called as he bolted back to the edge of the porch, hopping a few steps on one foot then the other as he tugged his shoes and socks off, before running back out into the rain.

Soft grass, cool and wet under his bare feet, as he ran down the lawn to the pond, divebombed in, came up laughing like a crazy person. Lightning flashed, thunder close on its heels, and the rain fell thick enough he felt like he still had his head underwater. He swam to the little dock, hoisted himself out in a single easy motion, and jogged back up the hill a little ways.

Again a flash, the crack of thunder almost on top of it, and he straightened sharply out of his flinch, almost glaring up into the sky, daring it to frighten him again.

He had to close his eyes against the rain, and as he stood there, he became aware of the warmth in the water covering his face, the sticky sweat washed clean away, his quick breathing, his rapid heartbeat. His skin seemed to tingle, and then he saw the burst of light through his eyelids, heard the sound of the sky tearing, an enormous sound, followed by a boom that shook the ground under him.

Grant did not move.

Let the storm rage, let the lightning burn, he'd survive.

When he opened his eyes, he was less startled by the lightning, than he was to discover Coulson standing beside him.

The man had taken his suit jacket off, and his own socks and shoes, and now he was as drenched as Grant, head tilted back, eyes closed. When light and sound split the sky, Coulson laughed, opened his eyes to grin over at Grant.

"When I was a kid," he called, loud in the abruptly slackening rain, "I was terrified of thunderstorms." His voice dropped, smile softening. "Until my dad carried me out in a storm, danced me around in it. Once I stopped screaming, I realized it was actually beautiful."

Grant had to turn away from that direct look.

"We'll have to strip in the mudroom," he said over his shoulder. "Gramsy doesn't like anyone tracking mud on her carpets."

"True southern woman," Coulson chuckled, sloshing after him back up the lawn to the house.

Simply slipping into dry clothes made Grant feel like he'd turned on a heater, and he found himself whistling softly as he followed Lady back down the main stairs to the kitchen, where Gramsy was slicing fresh peaches into three bowls.

"You're in Georgia, child," she said, when he raised his eyebrows at her.

"In the summer," he smiled, filling in the old thing she'd always said to him and Rosie. Outside, the rain had slowed to a drizzle, and the thunder's growl was faint.

Glancing down at Lady, Grant snuck two slices from under the knife, dropping one on the white tile, where the little spaniel gobbled it up.

"Grant!"

He couldn't help grinning at her shocked indignation, and the backhand across his bicep was more of a pat.

Gramsey was so small and fair, so open and carefree, Grant had often had trouble believing she was his father's mother. But then he'd catch the heavy hints of sadness when she looked at him sometimes, and he knew she was reminded of the boy she once loved.

"Dropping fruit on my floor." Gramsy tsked her tongue, wagged her small knife at him. "What kind of manners is that Mr. Coulson teaching you out there in the Wild West?"

"Oregon isn't the Wild West, that's Texas." He leaned on the counter, stuck his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

"Well, he says you're the best marksman he's ever seen, so I don't see much of a difference." Gramsy's grey curls bobbed around her face as she shook her head.

Grant felt a sudden heat in his cheeks, and he stared off out the half-open windows.

"But I like him. He's good for you, I can tell. And to think he turned his life upside down for you, left the job he loved, moved to the other side of the country to give you a fresh start... well. If that doesn't tell me he cares deeply about you, I don't know what does."

Grant bit his lip, wanting to shake his head. He didn't understand it. Coulson had agreed to that within 48 hours of meeting Grant—how could he care about a nutcase teenager that much that fast?

Maybe he'd ask Ms. Trina in their next session, after he and Coulson got back to Oregon. Or maybe not. After all it wasn't like he trusted her.

But after stealing Lola, Grant thought he might be starting to trust Coulson.

"Speak of the devil," Gramsy said, as Coulson appeared, now in jeans and a t-shirt himself.

"Uh-oh." Coulson raised his eyebrows. "Am I really that bad?"

Gramsy laughed, a light sound that lifted Grant's heart.

"Not at all, honey."

"Well, you have your faults." He bit back the 'sir' as Coulson's gaze slid to him.

"Such as?" The man spread his hands in a gesture of innocent confusion.

"You are a traitor to your state, cheering for the White Sox like that."

Coulson cracked into an honest chuckle. "Yes, my parents would be absolutely ashamed of me."

"And Grant grew up in Massachusetts but cheers for the Yankees." Gramsy raised her eyebrows at his glare. "Honey, it's nothing to be ashamed of, everyone cheers for the Yankees."

"Except you," Grant pointed out.

"You know very well I don't cheer for any baseball team but the Swainsboro Tigers," Gramsy said primly. "Now, let's take these peaches outside. The humidity makes them taste better, I promise."

Grant sat on the steps, Lady lying beside him, and mostly just listened to the adults talk. He hadn't actually visited Gramsy in several years, not since he'd been sent off to Lyman Ward.

As kids, he and Rosie had been sent here for two weeks out of the summer, while Mother and Father took Chistian and Thomas off to Europe or wherever. Rosie had declared Oakstone to be fairyland, or maybe Heaven. It was understood that they would never tell Gramsy about the things that happened back home. Oakstone was a safe place, and they wouldn't even think about Mother or any of that while they were there.

Now... Grant was looking forward to going home tomorrow. He liked his job at the pizzeria, and Coulson said he had enough money to start browsing the junkyards and dealers for something good. Grant wanted a truck, Ford, something classy, but not an antique. Maybe something like what Rory Jefferson had had, not that he'd deserved it. Grant twitched, shaking off the memories of Christian's gang, tuned back into Coulson and Gramsy's conversation.

"The yard needs some work," Coulson was saying. "Not much in the way of grass."

"Oh, you should take some cuttings back with you for some roses. Maybe some Teasing Georgia, or a Tahitian Sunset?"

"I've never tried growing roses before. But Grant's been a big help tilling, and putting in a bit of a vegetable garden. We've got more tomatoes than we know what to do with."

Grant smiled a little to himself. Putting in the garden had been fun. And Sal at the pizzeria had promised to show Grant how to make a good sauce.

Lady huffed a sigh, sprawled on her side so her head pressed against his thigh, and he ran a hand over her soft belly fur.

"Good girl," he whispered.

The sweetness of peaches and brown sugar syrup still lingered on his tongue, when the clouds broke, and a shaft of afternoon sunlight spilled through.

[devilofsf-cisco]

Cisco was walking around the lawn with a slice of cake on a dessert plate. He'd abandoned his tux jacket sometime after the reception started and had already played all of the lawn games at last once by now. "Alright as soon as I finish this slice of cake, how about we do some bowling? Fair warning, I don't know if people are letting me win today or if someone slipped a horseshoe somewhere on me while I wasn't looking. Either way, I've been on a hot streak."

[carolmunson]

last christmas (s.h. x reader)

(a gift to you written by @reborn-rollergirl)

a/n: i, carolmunson, did NOT write this. this is a holiday fic written by @reborn-rollergirl that i'm posting on her behalf. please enjoy! cw: hurt/no comfort, discussions of alcohol and smoking

christmas, 1989, hawkins, indiana: the wheeler-byers residence.

Steve's boots clomped along the wooden porch of the tiny, redbrick house. The chimney blew gusts of grey smoke into the pale blue sky, and the prospect of a blazing, crackling fire to warm his frozen bones had Steve feeling giddy. Snow billowed in large, swirling gusts along the empty street, the fluffy white lawns decorated with twinkling reindeer and waving, inflatable snowmen. It was a picturesque Christmas, just like Steve knew it would be. He just hoped it would be better than last year.

It had to be better than last year.

Steve tapped the toes of his boots against the bottom of the doorframe to shake off the snow before raising his knuckles to knock. Jazzy Christmas music, muffled by the door, came blaring at Steve when the door swung open. Nancy Wheeler stood in the doorway, dressed in a festively knitted sweater, hair perfectly curled. She grinned toothily at Steve upon greeting.

"Steve! I'm so glad you could make it."

Arms full of haphazardly-wrapped gifts, stiff with layers of sweaters and the puffy blue jacket he bought for the winter, Steve grinned back.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world."

Nancy ushered him inside, where Steve immediately sighed at the gust of warmth and the scent of gingerbread that washed over him. Nancy made quick work of relieving Steve of the mountain of presents in his arms, and he quickly unlaced his boots.

"Harrington! Glad you could make it, man," came her fiancé, Jonathan Byers' voice from down the hall.

Freed of the gifts, his shoes, and half his layers, Steve straightened up and smiled again. His cheeks were sore from the whip of wind and too much smiling, but he knew it was just the beginning. Pretending he didn't feel this terrible aching inside his chest while his friends, all festively dressed, laughed and mingled and pretended like it wasn't the anniversary of Steve Harrington's worst nightmare.

"Of course, I wouldn't think of missing it. Where's—"

"—aw, man, all these gifts make mine look like shit. I thought we were supposed to be doin' secret Santa," Eddie grumbled as he stomped toward the door.

The only semblance of Christmas-themed attire on Eddie this year was the twig of holly Robin tucked behind his ear. He patted Steve on the back in greeting, and Steve followed his eye toward the pile of presents Nancy was carrying into the living room to place by the tree.

"Well, I ended up finding something for everyone," Steve murmured sheepishly.

Eddie tugged him close with an arm around his shoulders, ruffling his hair like a kid on the playground.

"Always so thoughtful, Hair-rington," Eddie teased, and before Steve could roll his eyes and shove him away, Eddie was pulling him into the kitchen.

The counters were littered with plates and bowls of food, and metal tins with puppies and snowflakes and jolly-old Santa housing assortments of Christmas cookies that Steve knew Nancy had spent too long baking just for one day. Steve could hear giggling and music from the living room on the other side of the wall, and he was eager for a seat on the couch to ease his aching legs.

"Listen, man, I wanted to tell you before anyone else," Eddie hurriedly murmured, huddled close to keep quiet.

Steve blinked, swiping a wreath-shaped cookie from the counter.

"Tell me what?" Cookie crumbs spewed from his mouth around his words.

Eddie inhaled deeply, cheeks tinged with a soft, pink flush. He fiddled with his gaudy silver rings, eyes flickering quickly toward the hall, and then—

Steve heard it. The most beautiful laugh in the world. Melodious, sweet, like the tinkling of bells. Smooth like honey, so sure of herself. It was her.

Steve's smile slipped, and he placed his half-eaten cookie back on the counter at a snail's pace. He felt like he could be sick. Eddie quickly placed his hand on his shoulder again, eyes widening.

"Is that..."

"Yeah. Yeah, she...she's home for the holidays, she just told Nancy yesterday she was coming. Fuck, I'm sorry, Harrington, we just...we didn't know what to do. I mean, we couldn't tell her not to come, she's our friend, too, you know? And obviously we couldn't tell you not to—"

"—Munson," Steve barked, reaching out to pat him on the chest roughly. "It's fine."

Eddie released a heavy breath, looking Steve over worriedly with big brown eyes. Steve rolled his shoulders back, swallowing thickly, and reached up to adjust his snow-blown hair. It's fine Harrington, he assured himself, it's just the woman that shattered your heart.

"Alright, come on," Steve urged, waving Eddie to follow him as he headed toward the living room.

The Christmas tree twinkled with multi-color lights, flocked with gleaming ornaments of various shapes, colors, and sizes, finished with silver tinsel and a sparkly, light-up star. Along the tree skirt, presents in various states of wrapping were arranged neatly. The fireplace, as Steve suspected, crackled and smoked. The coffee table, full of mugs of eggnog and cans of Pepsi, flanked by Robin, Nancy, Jonathan, and her.

Steve slowed, taking a moment to swallow again, before sinking into the end cushion of the sofa next to the tv. Conversation seemed to come to a stop. The record player, spinning a Nat King Cole record, filled the void. Steve wrung his hands together on his knees, leaning forward to look around—to look anywhere but at her. With her beautiful eyes, sparkling in the Christmas lights, and her perfect lips, shiny with gloss. Her hair was different, shorter, a little darker in color, but still so pretty.

"Uh, Steve, want some eggnog? We have alcoholic and nonalcoholic," Jonathan announced.

Steve glanced at him, flashing a tight-lipped smile.

"Uh, yeah, sure. Alcoholic, please."

And then she did it. She broke the quiet stasis, the polite silent-treatment that Steve had decided he would give her to keep holiday spirits up and avoid confrontation. She scoffed.

Steve's eyes cut over in her direction, suddenly hard and cold. Jonathan quickly scampered toward the kitchen, eager to get away from the brewing conflict.

"Oh, hey. Surprised you're even here," Steve snipped.

Their eyes locked, and all Steve wanted to do was cry. His glare softened out of habit, and he wished it didn't. The slope of her nose reminded him of lazy mornings tangled in bedsheets. The swell of her cheeks brought him back to the brush of lips against soft skin, the moments she'd spend perched on the bathroom sink to peer into the mirror and do her makeup. The shape of her lips made his own tingle with longing.

"Of course I'm here, Steven. It's Christmas," she countered, though her voice lacked the abrasiveness that Steve's had.

Robin, who had yet to even greet Steve, glanced between the two warily. She was stringing popcorn for the tree, and her ministrations grew slow.

Steve scoffed this time, a loud, sharp sound. Eddie sank down beside Robin and mirrored her glancing, equally as stiff and uncomfortable as everyone else.

"Well, I didn't know the holiday meant that much to you. What, with your track record and all."

She sighed, and her eyes drooped toward her lap. Steve felt his heart squeeze, like a fist closing around it. He wished he could swallow his words and stow them away. He wished he could be the bigger person, treat her like a distant friend, with polite and friendly kindness. But he just couldn't help the way his heart thumped at the sight of her, the way his eyes stung with the onset of tears when he heard her voice. He hadn't heard it in a year.

last year, christmas, 1988, indianapolis, indiana: steve harrington's apartment.

"I don't know, man. Are you sure you guys are ready for this?"

Eddie and Steve gazed down at the black velvet box in Steve's hand—more importantly, the giant, gleaming diamond sitting in the middle of it. Steve's lips spread wide into an uncontainable grin.

"Oh absolutely, Munson. Absolutely," Steve declared.

Eddie glanced at him, a silent disagreement; but he didn't have the heart to protest with the sort of smile lingering on Steve's face. So, he clapped him on the back and gave him a shake.

"I'm happy for you, Harrington, really. When are you gonna pop the question?"

Steve snapped the box closed, whirling around to face his friend. He tucked the box into the pocket of his jeans and rubbed his clammy palms along his thighs.

"Tonight. You know, everyone's around the tree, giving out gifts—it'll be romantic."

Eddie nodded, though his smile was tight this time.

"Yeah, super lovey-dovey. She'd be crazy to say no."

Steve's smile slipped, cheeks reddening.

"Y-you think she'll say no?"

Eddie's eyes bulged, and he hopped up from his place on the end of Steve's bed.

"What? No, no! No, of course not. I'm saying, it's a no-brainer—that she'll say yes!"

Steve exhaled sharply, nodding in agreement.

"Right. Right, okay, good."

But Eddie was right.

When their friends were over, all dressed in their holiday best, stuffed full of her glorious cooking and Nancy's amazing baking, retired to the tiny Harrington living room to watch Christmas specials on channel 4 and sip lukewarm eggnog, Steve got down on one knee. She was standing right before the Christmas tree, half her face illuminated ruby red, both hands tucked into Steve's palm. But when he sank down, gazing up at her blissfully, her smile slipped.

"Steve?"

He took the ring box from his pocket and popped it open, holding it out to her.

"Baby, I love you so much. You're the light of my life, and I can't imagine life without you. So, I wanted to ask, in front of all our friends, in the name of Christmas," Steve giggled, giddy and cheerily grinning, "will you marry me?"

"Oh, Steve..."

All waited with bated breath, and the longer they waited, the less hope Steve had. He was no longer smiling when she reached out and closed the box, her smile solemn and pitiful.

"Stevie, I'm...I'm sorry, I can't."

And now, she was looking at him with that same solemn pity, sweet and sad.

"Steve," she breathed, and her face crumbled into a pleading crinkle. "Come on."

Steve huffed, reaching up to run his hand through the front of his hair.

"I'm, uh, gonna get some air."

He rushed the front door and snatched his coat on the hook, ignoring the softened looks on his friends' faces, and stepped into the cold. He eased against the wooden pillar beside the steps, fumbling into his coat pocket for his cigarettes. He lit one urgently, inhaling a mouthful of smoke while his eyes sank closed.

When the door squeaked open behind him, Steve sighed, assuming it was Eddie.

"Munson, I don't need you to check on me."

Soft footsteps shuffled across the slippery wood, and then a gentle hand pressed into his arm.

"It's me."

Steve's eyes popped open, and he whirled around to find her standing here—his beautiful girl. God, what was she doing here? Hadn't she hurt him enough?

"What are you doing?" Steve scowled around his cigarette.

She tucked her hands into the pockets of her coat, shuddering out a sigh that blew a puff of grey air.

"I wanted to check on you."

"No, I mean what are you doing here?"

Steve turned back around, but she just followed to rest against the railing, chasing his gaze.

"They're my friends, too, Steve."

He shook his head, blowing smoke in the other direction. His back was to her, but he could still feel her heavy gaze. His every nerve lit on fire when she was around. Even after all this time, even after she left him, she still had the same affect on him.

"Well, I'm not your friend, so..."

She was glad he couldn't see the way she burned at his emotionless words.

"Can't we be? Can't we be friends, Steve?" she whispered.

If he wasn't so on edge, Steve might have lost her words to the howling wind. But he was so focused on every intake of breath she took, every twitch of her fingers, slip of her foot. Jesus Christ, he missed her.

Steve turned, glancing at her in his periphery.

"No. No, we can't be friends."

She reached out, but curled her fingers away before they could reach him.

"Why?"

Steve faced her full on now, smoking cigarette in hand.

"Why? Why? I could ask you the same."

Her brows furrowed, chest deflating.

"What?"

"Why'd you say no? Why'd you leave me?"

She recoiled, like the inquisition burned her.

"Steve—"

"—I deserve an answer. Consider it your Christmas gift to me."

She huffed a small, incredulous laugh, leaning back against the railing.

"Okay, uh...I said no because...I couldn't give you want, Steve."

Steve tapped his ashes toward the lawn, rubbing at his eye with his free hand.

"What?"

She tucked her open coat closer to her body, pulling her arms into her sides. But she didn't look at Steve. She couldn't. Her eyes began to sting with warm wetness, pooling in the corners, threatening to spill over. Her lip wobbled, but if prompted, she'd blame it on the cold.

"You want the whole package, Steve. A house, kids, the perfect wife to come home to—and I'll never be that. I would have...I would just disappoint you."

Steve's head shook again, and he tossed the butt of his cigarette toward the lawn.

"That's bullshit—"

"—it's not bullshit!—"

Steve glared down at her, jaw tight.

"Three years! Three years, me and you, what did you think was gonna happen?"

Her eyes glistened, and she shuddered out another breath.

"I-I don't know, I just...I wasn't ready, Steve."

Steve spread his arms, an empty, open gesture of questioning.

"So what? So you just leave? You pack up all your shit in the middle of the night and leave?"

"I—"

"—we could've worked through it. I could've waited. But you gave up on us." Steve pointed an angry finger.

She swiped away fallen tears, sniffling snottily.

"I'm sorry, Steve."

He sighed, hands slipping into his pockets.

"Yeah. Merry Christmas."

And he stepped off the porch, scarf and second sweater abandoned inside with his friends. They huddled in the front window, watching Steve trudge toward his car, get inside, and drive off.

[adanima]

KPTS Soundtrack - VegasPete edition

Listing of the songs played during emotional VP moments ep11-14, in chronological order, plus some meta as a treat (shout out to @aletheiarynne's post for starting me off on this journey)

Timestamps are for when the song starts in the episode. Colors are to indicate type of instrument - purple for strings, blue for piano, red for other (usually guitar or some electronic synth) <- more on the instrument type later

EP 11

40:22: Vegas bandages Pete - Dreaming While I’m Awake by David Celeste

41:32: Vegas gives a kiss pill to Pete - Little House on the Hill by Francis Wells

43:50: Pete tells Vegas about his own abusive dad - A Sky Sparkling by Johannes Bornlöf

48:49: Vegas shows up in front of Pete in his jammies, "I'm hurt...it's not as bad as before" - True Bliss by Line Neesgaard

EP 12

20:55: Pete turns back from escaping and walks to Vegas sitting on the lawn - From the Ashes of a Previous Life by Lama House

22:05: Vegas cries for his hedgehog - Hypothesis by Jo Wandrini

23:12: Vegas and Pete walk back into the safehouse after hedgehog funeral - Therapy by Bireli Snow

24:29: Vegas tells Pete about the other hedgehogs - Quiet When Dark by The Tap Room

26:34: Vegas hits himself, "your eyes tell me you like it" - They Broke Out by Farrell Wooten

28:44: VegasPete sex scene - Stable Delusion by Max Anson

EP 13

11:19: Pete tells himself he didn't like sleeping with Vegas, Vegas trashes his kitchen - Unspoken by Silver Maple

13:21: Vegas drops the bowl of noodles to the floor and puts Pete in a chokehold - ??? note: don't know the name of this one but it matters for what I say later, so I'm listing it here. lmk if you know the name!

16:06: Pete tells Vegas he never exists and grabs the knife - This Creed by Johannes Bornlöf

18:34: Vegas pleads with Pete to stay with him - ??? note: same deal as above lol

30:59: Vegas and Pete try to eat dinner alone - ย้อนแย้ง by เอก Season Five (Contradict by Aek Season Five) special mention for an OST song because I say so. the song actually starts playing at 30:02 but the vp scene starts at 30:59

40:16: Vegas tells Pete he's sorry in the bar alley - Touchless by Gavin Luke

EP 14

40:49: Vegas and Pete raise their guns at each other in the garage - Silent Castle by Jay Varton song actually starts playing at 40:40 but vp scene starts at 40:49

42:35: "Could it be you who kills me? I love you, Pete" - Felt like November by Magnus Ludvigsson

50:16: Vegas points his gun at Korn, Korn tells Vegas he'll take care of him and Macau, Vegas leaves, Pete resigns - A Most Dignified Betrayal by Trevor Kowalski

52:59: Pete takes off his jacket after resigning - End of an Era by Christoffer Moe Ditlevsen

56:46: Pool scene. "I'm your pet. Could you please turn around to see me?" - Glory Be by Heath Cantu

57:41: Immediate aftermath of Vegas getting shot - Ink by Charles Holme

1:18:52: Post credits scene - Midsummer Waltz by Wanderer's Trove

So...why color code by instrument type?

Here's my claim: string instruments (violin, cello, etc) are used to signal external forces/pressures, specifically their unequal positions in the mafia, getting in the way of VegasPete's relationship, while piano is used to signal VegasPete baring themselves to each other, without the masks, and becoming equals.

I'm about to sound like an obnoxious English teacher "the curtains were red because…" so putting the rest under a cut.

First, another quick shout out to aletheiarynne's post for pointing out that guitars seem to be used for KinnPorsche's sweet scenes, which is what prompted me to pay attention to the type of instrument used in VegasPete scenes.

Note: The color coding may not be wholly accurate or representative of the songs. I'm color coding based on what I hear in the episodes. Meaning the whole song may use strings and piano but if the sections of the song we hear in the episode only use piano, I only color coded for piano, not strings. And I mostly color code and look at what instrument is playing the melody or can be easily picked up on while watching the episode. That leads to a couple of points of error - my ears aren't perfect, the audio used in the episodes may have been modified from what we hear in the youtube videos, what I consider to be the melody may not actually be the melody.

Now, we're gonna go episode by episode, scene by scene. All timestamps used below are episode timestamps. Remember the coloring - strings, piano, other

EP 11

Vegas bandages Pete, Vegas gives a kiss pill to Pete, Pete tells Vegas about his own abusive dad

gah the timing of the music throughout the whole bandage > pill > talk scene is so so good

Vegas bandaging Pete is the first time Pete gets to see Vegas as something other than cruel, something other than the minor family heir or his captor. The BGM is all piano for the entire bandaging and the kiss. We don't get the first note of a string instrument until 42:16 when Vegas sits down on the floor, looks away from Pete, and Pete asks why Vegas didn't just let him die, as might be expected from "Vegas from the minor family". The entire time Vegas is trying to heal Pete, he isn't bothering to put up a front as "big bad evil Vegas". He's just a guy who worries when his hedgehog isn't eating. It isn't until Pete poses that question "Why don't you just let me die" that the reality of their respective statuses come back to the forefront and the strings come in, but the piano is still there. Vegas says "you must suffer" which sounds in line for minor family Vegas but it's said without his usual evil glee.

The next couple of seconds could honestly just be due to good timing within the song but if I choose to believe it's intentional, my claim looks stronger lol. The strings and piano still play intertwined here but when Pete asks "What happened to you?" the strings fall back and only the piano plays aka this is Pete (not head bodyguard or prisoner Pete) asking Vegas (not minor family heir or captor Vegas). The strings kind of swell up as Vegas talks about his dad who is very much an oppressive force in Vegas's life and the main marker of Vegas's status as minor family heir.

When Pete talks about his dad, it is all piano. Pete is completely revealing himself to Vegas here, no more mask as dumb, cheerful Pete. The first note of a string instrument happens at 44:48, right when Pete says "And has he ever beaten Khun Korn?" which again, brings the major vs minor family conflict back to the forefront of the conversation. The strings are still mostly in the background for a bit, with the piano holding the melody. There's a slight increase in how loud the strings are right after Pete says "they, themselves, suck" and Vegas presumably rethinks his entire life/relationship with his dad. But by the end of the scene, it's really just piano we hear. Which makes sense - Vegas and Pete both end that scene having learned entirely new sides of each other.

Vegas shows up in front of Pete in his jammies

This one is easy. Other people have talked about how Vegas wearing his comfy clothes signals Vegas being open and more himself, less of the minor family heir, in front of Pete. Having the BGM be piano adds another layer to this. Vegas is being honest with Pete, revealing how he is actually feeling.

EP 12

Ngl, pretty much all the BGM in ep 12 contradicts my claim. I have no idea why they decided to use so much guitar or synth (is that even the right word?) sounding music for VP here, other than to make it seem eery?

Pete turns back from escaping and walks to Vegas sitting on the lawn, Vegas cries for his hedgehog

Honestly, if the songs for this scene started off with strings then transitioned to piano, it would make my claim look so much stronger. Unfortunately, they don't.

First, we have piano playing when Pete initially runs out of the safehouse. When he slowly walks back to take a long look at Vegas being sad on the grass at 21:13, the strings come in. We get Pete shaking his head in disbelief before heading down to join Vegas. I could say that the strings when Pete shakes his head is him reminding himself of their respective positions and that this is Vegas - minor family Vegas and his captor - but I'd be lying if I said I 100% believed that. It's all piano again when Vegas first turns to Pete and says the hedgehog is dead. He's not putting up a front. Pete looks hesitant or conflicted for a moment before laying a hand on Vegas's knee and that's when the strings come in. Again, maybe the strings are there to remind them and us that they should be in opposing positions but even I don't believe that.

Everything else for VP this episode is not strings nor piano, so idk lol. Given how the only other moments in this list non-string or non-piano music is used for VP is Vegas begging Pete to stay (ep 13) and the post-credits hospital scene, maybe we can take it to mean extreme turning points in VP's relationship. Or maybe a release/freedom from something? We got Pete letting go of his inhibitions in the sex scene, Pete letting go of their budding relationship when he leaves the safehouse, and both of them letting go of their previous positions in the mafia in post-credits scene. The more likely option is that I'm pulling stuff out of my ass for this lol. Moving on.

EP 13

Oh dear, this and ep 14 is where we really get into the fun stuff. I'll try not to go on too long, since I'm drafting a whole other post about the music choices for the breakdown/escape scene + alley scene

Pete tells himself he didn't like sleeping with Vegas, Vegas trashes his kitchen

Reality is crashing in for Pete. He knows there are a multitude of reasons he shouldn't want Vegas, one of the biggest being their respective positions in the major vs minor family and their relationship as captor/captive. He doesn't want to want Vegas.

For Vegas, he's dealing once again with the reminder of his position in the minor family, as his father's son. And, most of all, dealing with the pressure of it and not living up to it. Both of them are putting walls up around themselves again. Of course we're hearing all strings, no piano.

Vegas drops the bowl of noodles to the floor and puts Pete in a chokehold

Again, other people have talked about how Vegas is wearing his Vegas-clothes here and how he's back to being "minor family Vegas." Obviously he isn't showing his bare self to Pete right now. For Pete, this BGM starts right after Pete told Vegas to give himself up to Korn. Pete is bringing that external party into their conversation. The grip the mafia has on both of them, and their place in it, gets brought back into the spotlight with Pete's words. Again, all strings, no piano.

Pete tells Vegas he never exists and grabs the knife, Vegas pleads with Pete to stay with him

Now, you would think that if my claim is true, we should hear some piano for this moment, right? Pete is revealing some long hidden truth about himself. But when does this BGM start? Right after Pete says "I got nothing left. Not even my humanity." Now, it's possible Pete may have felt this even before becoming a bodyguard. But being a bodyguard certainly doesn't help this feeling, and most likely exacerbates it. His place in the mafia is a cause for him feeling this way.

Everything Pete says applies to Vegas too. Vegas's place in the mafia, in the minor family, directly contributes to him feeling less than human and lashing out at Pete.

Strings in the BGM don't necessarily mean VegasPete are occluding/hiding their true selves from each other. It's more like strings in the BGM means external forces like the mafia are asserting themselves on VegasPete and getting in the way of them expressing themselves to each other. Here, because of the mafia, both Vegas (his father showing up and hitting him) and Pete (remembering he doesn't exist his whole time as a bodyguard) are at breaking points and unable to interact with each other here without remembering the weight of their respective positions. So, we get strings in this scene. (Again, don't really know what to say about the more electric/guitar sounds.)

Vegas and Pete try to eat dinner alone

This one should be fairly simple. They're alone, no pressure to put up a front, and both crumbling to pieces because they're separated. They're letting the walls down and letting themselves truly feel the loss of one another. Even if the other person isn't there to see it, we the audience are, and some inner part of them is being revealed here. Plus, neither of them are acting in their mafia positions, so no strings, just piano.

Vegas tells Pete he's sorry in the bar alley

When they first see each other in that alley, both of them are back in their mafia positions. Vegas is in his Vegas clothes, Pete has returned to the main family. This BGM starts as Vegas puts Pete's gun to his chest and says "Why don't you shoot? Don't you want me to disappear?" Vegas is reminding Pete of all the reasons why Pete should hate him. This is similar to when Pete was telling himself he didn't like sleeping with Vegas.

Their past status as captor/captive and their ongoing status as minor family heir/main family bodyguard should dictate that they want nothing to do with each other. But Vegas says the infamous "I don't think you can. And you know why." And, yeah, we really do.

You know when the piano starts? When Pete starts crying. When Pete gives up on wanting to hate Vegas and gives in to Vegas.

Now, the strings don't entirely go away. They stay throughout the rest of the scene. But they're in the background, playing the accompaniment while the piano holds the melody. Which is so fitting for this scene. Yes, they're reaching out to each other and holding on to each other. But Vegas is still on the main family's blacklist and Pete is still going to return to the main family at the end of the day. In this moment, they and their true feelings are exposed to each other, but the reality of their situation with opposing loyalties looms in the background.

EP 14

Oooooh boy, we're about to get into stuff. Let me point out that in this episode, every single time VegasPete are truly alone, we get piano BGM. Every single time there isn't someone else present to be a physical reminder of their positions in the mafia, they are truly genuine with each other and able to see each other without caring about their positions and statuses.

Vegas and Pete raise their guns at each other in the garage, "Could it be you who kills me? I love you, Pete"

I mean, do I need to say anything? VegasPete aren't even trying to pretend they want to shoot each other in the garage, Vegas fully lowers his gun. And then the love confession is pretty self explanatory.

Vegas has no defenses, no walls up for Pete. And Pete isn't fully ready to accept he wants Vegas, not yet, but there's definitely no mask here. His emotions are plain to see on his face.

Vegas points his gun at Korn, Korn tells Vegas he'll take care of him and Macau, Vegas leaves, Pete resigns, Pete takes off his jacket after resigning

The whole time Vegas is in that library, his focus is no longer on Pete. All he's focused on is his dead father and the threat of Korn. There is no way he can let himself shed the "minor family Vegas" persona in front of these people. Of course we're hearing strings. Again, strings = assertion of external forces (the mafia) getting in the way of VegasPete expressing themselves to each other.

And when Pete resigns, he says it himself. "I can't betray my own feelings anymore." Being a bodyguard for the main family means Pete can't express his true self/feelings for Vegas. It isn't until Pete takes off his bodyguard suit jacket that we hear some piano. Pete is literally shedding his status within the mafia in order to express his own feelings. Now, we do get some strings in the background here, especially as Korn says "Take care of him" which not so subtly brings back to our attention that Vegas is still related to this mafia family. A nice little foreshadowing for the pool scene? So, you know, there's that.

"I'm your pet. Could you please turn around to see me?", Immediate aftermath of Vegas getting shot

I love the BGM here. It's actually silent during the pool scene until Pete yells "Then why did you tell me you wanted to be with me?" and Vegas finally gets some hint of understanding in his face. That's when the piano starts. And all we hear is piano for this entire interaction because right here, Pete is no longer a bodyguard and Vegas no longer has anything of the minor family left. There is no external societal status to get in the way here. This is just Vegas and Pete, telling each other that yes, I want you.

And then, of course, the gunshots and subsequently, the string instruments. A literal mafia presence coming in and causing a wreck in VegasPete's relationship.

Post credits scene

Last but not least, we get guitar BGM for the post credits scene. Okay, definitely not least in terms of the scene, but maybe least in terms of what I have to say about the BGM. Again, guitar - don't really have much to say. Could possibly represent true freedom from the mafia, since a guitar is a string instrument but the guitar sound is very distinct from other string instruments like the violin.

Caveats

I am making this claim about strings vs piano in BGM purely for the VegasPete narrative. I do not know whether this music observation holds up for the whole series and I highly doubt it does. As mentioned in aletheiarynne's post, some of the music used for VP scenes were also used for KP scenes and just looking at the KP scenes mentioned in the post, I don't think it holds up.

Why only talk about strings and piano? Why not other instrument types? Because I only paid attention to the VP scenes in ep 11-14 and those instrument types were the ones that stood out to me. I'm too lazy to go back through the whole series and dissect every piece of music used. Also, the prevalence of strings and piano instruments in the music used could honestly just be down to what music is available. Pretty much all this music comes from Epidemic Sound aka those copyright free music channels on Youtube. Most composers will use piano or string instruments as the main instrument or the instrument that plays the melody. This is a choice that has historical and physical reasons. Composers have focused on piano or string instruments for centuries and continue to do so today because musicians are able to play these instruments for longer hours than, say, woodwinds which require you to breathe and thus have limited play time. It just makes sense for composers to use piano or strings in their music more commonly than other instrument types.

Also, it is entirely possible that this is all coincidence and Be On Cloud meant nothing quite as deep with these music choices. I could be making a fuss about nothing. They could have just chosen whatever emotional sounding music they liked and that music happened to have strings or piano for whatever scene they lined it up with. I'd like to think there was some meaningful thought behind the music choices, though.

And there we have it. A rather unasked for breakdown of some of the music in VP scenes. If you've read this far, thanks, you're a trooper.

[themysterycrewau]

The Button Key | Chapter 4: The Old Neighbors

First | Prev | Next (Coming Soon!) | Learn about the AU here! | Read it on Ao3!

As brown eyes fluttered open, Coraline sat up on her bed and let out a yawn, stretching her arms above her head. Once her senses came back to her, she realized she was in her old, boring bedroom and not in the beautiful, colorful one she fell asleep in. She looked over to see her doll look-alike still on the chair. She hummed to herself and picked it up. Once she did, she noticed something on her hand. 

There was no rash. 

She gasped with a broad smile on her face. “My poison oak! It’s gone!” She quickly got out of bed and rushed down the stairs, holding onto the railing so she wouldn’t slip. The teen dashed into the living room, sliding on her knees to open the small door, the smile still on her face. But once she opened it, all she found was a bricked-up wall. She frowned once more, she placed a hand on the cold bricks, confusion all over her face until she heard a loud whistling noise from the kitchen.

“It was incredibly real, mom!” Coraline said as she sat at the table, finishing her bowl of cereal as her actual mother poured herself a cup of coffee. “Only you weren’t really you, you were my Other Mother.” 

“Buttons for eyes, huh?” She questioned, shaking her head before looking at her daughter with a disapproving look. “Coraline, you only dreamed you ate all that chicken.” This caused Coraline to glare back at her, watching as the woman pushed her a bottle full of vitamins. 

“Take your multi-vitamin, at least.” The woman said as she rolled her eyes and walked away. 

Coraline then turned her attention to her father, who was carrying the morning newspaper under his arm and a cup of coffee in the other hand. “You were in the dream too, Dad. You had wild-looking pajamas and orange monkey slippers!” 

Her father gasped in pretend offense at that. “Orange? My monkey slippers are blue!” He soon whispered over his shoulder. “Psst. Can you get me some of that magic mud you were talking about? Because I have a terrible case of writer’s rash on my–” 

“AHEM!” 

The two paused to see Mel glaring at her husband from the fridge. “If the real Charlie Jones wants his pages edited, he better wrap them up ASAP.” 

He soon curtly nodded before turning on his heel and walking away to get some work done. As soon as he was gone, the woman sighed before giving a tired smile at her daughter. “Coraline, why don't you go visit downstairs? I bet those “actresses” would love to hear your dream.” 

Coraline scoffed at that. “Miss Spink & Forcible? But you said they’re dingbats!” 

Mel hummed in confirmation at that, giving her daughter a knowing smirk before walking out of the kitchen, leaving Coraline there to look unamused at that. She rolled her eyes, put her dishes in the sink, and sulked up her room to get ready for the day. 

The blue-haired teen closed the front door behind her and looked out into the fog-filled morning. She wore her classic yellow jacket and had gardening shears in her hand. Before she could go out in the yard, she felt her foot knock over something. Brown eyes glanced downwards to see a bunch of packages. Annoyed at this, she slammed the garden shears into the floorboards of the porch blade first and picked up the packages, reading them out loud. “Bobinsky… Bobinsky… Bobinsky…” 

Her nose soon picked up a weird, unpleasant smell. She sniffed around, trying to figure out where it was coming from, and as soon as she turned to the packages, she gagged and pulled away. Fighting the urge to lose what little breakfast she had, she looked at the front lawn to see there was a sign that pointed to where this “Bobinsky” person lived. So, Coraline slowly started walking in the direction the sign pointed to, seeing a bunch of rusted stairs leading up to a door. She looked at it in confusion before shrugging and walking up the steps. Once she made it to the top, she looked out and enjoyed the view… Seeing some treetops and what looked to be a large shack in the distance. She took note of it before turning away and knocking on the door. 

“H-hello?! I think our mail got mixed up!” She called. But was met with silence in return, she soon leaned her ear onto the door, saying; “Should I leave it outside or…?”

She couldn’t finish her question as the door swung open, catching her off-guard and letting the packages fly up. With master precision, she was able to catch them all back in her hands, balancing them. She let out a relieved sigh before staring into the building. The room was dark, and cramped with different boxes and furniture, there was a stove with overflowing boiled water on top of it, and a chicken clucked as it pecked the table it was standing on. She hummed in curiosity, wanting to take another step in… 

“SECRET!!!”

The teen gasped one more as she turned around, she ducked just in time to dodge a hand grabbing the doorknob and slamming the door shut. The young girl looked up in shock to see a very tall, blue man hanging upside down and scowling at her. “Famous Jumping Mouse Circus not ready, little girl!” 

“Circus…?” She asked, confused at what he just said, but she looked down at the packages she was holding and soon gestured towards them. “Oh, uh, I brought this for you.” 

Bobinsky soon smiled at them, taking them and inhaling their scent happily. “ Noviseer… ” 

“Huh?” 

“New cheese samples.” He explained before swinging down onto the balcony and glaring at the girl, holding up one of the packages to her face, causing her to grimace at the smell. “Very clever, using this "mix up" to sneak my home and peek at meeshkas.” 

“Meeshkas?” 

“THE MICE!” 

“O-oh! Sorry… I’m Coraline Jones!” She said, giving a friendly smile at the man, whole returned it while balancing on the balcony with one hand. “And I am the Amazing Bobinsky! But you can call me Mr. B because amazing I already know that I am.” 

He soon jumped off the railing, causing Coraline to gasp and run to look over it, seeing nothing there. She raised a brow in confusion before hearing a thump behind her. She gasped once more and looked behind her to see Mr. B. 

“You see, Caroline, the problem is my new songs go oompah oompah . But the jumping mice play only toodle toot , like that. Is nice, but not so much amazing… So now, I switch to stronger cheese, and soon… WATCH OUT!” He announced proudly before opening his door and giving something to Coraline. “Here, have beet. Make you strong.” 

He then salutes her, a smile on his face as he kicks open his door. “Daas vee daan ya, Caroline.” 

The door slammed shut. 

“...COR-aline…” She glared at the door, before looking at the beet with an unimpressed look and tossing it over her shoulder. She descended back down the stairs and grabbed her gardening shears from the porch before walking back around the house, humming to herself. 

“AYYYY! CAROLINE!!!’ 

Brown eyes looked confused as the teen glanced up to see Mr. B once more, yelling over the balcony. 

“PA-DAZH-DI! WAIT!” He yelled, jumping off and falling towards her feet first. 

“NO!” She yelled, holding her gardening shears up, almost like a shield, closing her eyes and waiting for him to just land on her, but it never came, she looked up to see him step over her and kneel beside her, putting a hand on her shoulder. “The mice asked me to give you a message.” 

“The… jumping mice?” She questioned, receiving a nod in return as he leans in. “They are saying; “Do not go through little door”.” 

Coraline looked at the man, wide-eyed and startled at what he just said. Her whole body stiffened up as he shrugged at her. “Do you know such a thing?”

“The one behind the wallpaper? But… It’s all… bricked up…”

“Bah! So sorry, is nothing. Sometimes the mice are little mixed up, hmmm?” He says, walking back to the stairs and climbing up them, yelling over the railing. “They even get your name wrong, you know. They call you Coraline instead of Caroline , not Caroline at all. Maybe I work them too hard…” 

The young teen raised an eyebrow at that, snipping the gardening shears shut before making her way toward her set destination, keeping what the “Meeshkas” had said in mind.

The family car soon appears in her vision. Coraline walked up to it and used the gardening shears to cut off the rope that held the box steady on top of the car. Once she retrieved it, she placed it on the ground and opened it up, revealing a black schoolboy-style cap, she placed it on her head with a smile before strolling towards the basement stairs, walking down the stone stairs. Once she made it to the bottom of the stairs, she approached the door and used the door knocker on the door. She waited patiently for someone to come to the door, rocking back and forth on her heels, brown eyes wandering around before looking down at the floor mat she was standing on. 

No whistling in the house

She raised a brow in confusion before pressing her face up against the glass of the door, trying to see if she could spot anyone in there. But she was startled by many barking dogs, and she backed up a bit, trying to get her breath back to normal as an elderly lady with pink hair and a walker opened the door, causing three Scottish Terriers to circle around her legs as they sniffed her rain boots. “Oh cease your infernal yapping!” The old lady said to the dogs before smiling sweetly at Coraline. 

“How nice to see you, Caroline. Would you like to come in? We're playing cards.” 

“Still Coraline, Miss Spink.” The teen informed as she stepped inside, putting her hat on the hat rack next to the door and taking off her jacket, letting it hang over her arm as she walked deeper inside the nicely, decorated house. 

“Miriam put the kettle on!” Miss Spink said before winking at the young teen. She led her toward the couch in the living room, Miss Forcible strutted out of the kitchen, grabbing her light blue glasses and holding them up to her face. “April, I think you're being followed.” 

“It's the new neighbor, Miriam. Caroline?” She informed as Coraline looked towards the lady with a small wave and smile. “She’ll be having the Oolong tea.” 

“No, no, no. I’m sure she’d prefer Jasmine.” 

“No. Oolong.” Miss Spink said, lightly glaring at the other woman. Miss Forcible turned around to the stove with a smile. “Jasmine it is, then!” This caused the pink-haired woman to sigh and place her hand on her forehead, shaking her head. 

Coraline walked over to the couch to see three dogs occupying the space, this caused the elderly woman to glare at the dogs. “Come on, boys!” Once the dogs were off the couch, the teen draped her yellow raincoat on the cushions before sitting down. Brown eyes glanced up to the shelves next to the couch to see many stuffed dogs decorated in white robes and golden angel wings. She felt chills go up her spine as she asked; “Are those dogs… real?” 

April sighed in sadness. “Our sweet, departed angels. Couldn’t bear to part with them… So we had them stuffed.” 

Soon she started listing off their names, but Coraline started to tune her out once she saw Miss Forcible walk towards the couch holding a clear dish full of colorful candies. She placed them on the coffee table. “Oh go on, have one. It’s hand-pulled taffy from Brighton. Best in the world.” She said proudly. 

The teen reached for a piece, but since is so old and sticky, her fingers got stuck, so she tried to shake the dish off of her hand. No dice. So she growled and used her foot to try and get the dish off, and it was a success, but she rolled off the couch and the taffy got stuck on the ceiling. She looked up in annoyance before she saw Miss Spink bring a candle close to her face with a smirk. “I'll read them if you like.” 

“Read what?” The teen asked as she got back onto the couch. 

“Oh, your tea leaves, dear. They'll tell me your future.” 

Coraline looked at the tea cup with a suspicious look before grabbing the cup, and gulping the tea before stopping once she heard Miss Spink say; “No, not all of it, not all of it.” She quickly paused a drank more slowly. “That's right, now hand it over.” She did so.

Miss Spink lightly swirled the cup before looking into it, gasping a little. “Oh... Caroline, Caroline, Caroline… You are in terrible danger.” The other older woman scoffed at that before whipping out her glasses and holding them to her face. “Oh, give me that cup, April, your eyes are going.” 

“ My eyes?! You're blind as a bat!” 

She yanked the teacup out of her hands and looked at it herself. “Oh, now, Ummm... not to worry, child, it's good news: there's a tall, handsome beast in your future~” 

“A what?! ” Coraline questioned, a look of utter confusion on her face. 

“Miriam, oh really, you're holding it wrong!” April said as she turned the cup upside down. “See? Danger!” 

“What do you see?” The teen questioned, not wanting to be left out of any information, to where Miss Spink says; “I see a very peculiar hand…” 

“I see a giraffe.” Miss Forcible said, turning the cup back around. 

“Giraffes don't just fall from the sky, Miriam!” 

As soon as she said that, a candy dish fell from the roof, hitting the ground with a crash, surprising everyone, including the dogs. Once the teen got her heart rate back to normal, she let out a sigh and asked; “Well, what should I do?” 

“Never wear green in your dressing room.” Miss Spink said with a smile, bumping into Miss Forcible, who bumped back harder while saying; “Acquire a very tall step ladder.” 

“And be very, very careful. Now, was there something you came to tell us?” 

Coraline mulled it over, wondering if she should tell them about the supposed dream she had about the wonderland of food and joy she had… But she held off, getting up from the couch and grabbing her raincoat. “No, I guess not. Thanks for the tea, though.” 

“Toodle-oo.” 

“Cheery-bye.” 

Coraline gave them one last look before walking out the door and closing it.

She looked down at the ground as she walked back up the stairs. “Danger?” She mumbled to herself, the fog was even thicker at this point, covering the ground in a blanket of white. As she was walking, she caught something in her peripheral vision and heard a cranking noise. She stopped and smirked to herself before turning and walking in a different direction, her hands behind her back as she tried to remain as casual as possible. Once she felt like the thing was close enough, she yanked around and grabbed it, pulling it up out of the fog to reveal Wybie. She growled and punched him in the arm, causing him to let out a whiny: “Owww!!!” 

“Great, the village stalker!”

“I - I wasn't stalking you. We're hunting banana slugs.” He explained before pulling out some salad tongs and snapping them with a smile. Coraline raised an eyebrow at that. “What do you mean we -” 

“HELLO!” 

“AH!” Coraline jumped as she looked to the side, where a large oak tree laid. Mabel and Dipper were sitting on it, smiling down and waving at the girl, the black cat from before was also there, perched atop the brunette’s head. Coraline rolled her eyes and smirked at them, crossing her arms. “Ha! That cat’s not wild, he’s a wuss-puss!” 

Dipper frowned at that before reaching over and scratching the now-annoyed cat behind the ears, Mabel blew a raspberry at that before smiling. “Aw, he just hates to get his feet wet, don’t you buddy?” 

The cat meowed at that before getting off her head and making his way toward the roof. The twins soon jumped off of the tree and onto the floor, walking with Wybie and looking around. Coraline looked at the cat before softening a bit, following the trio. “So... that doll. Did any of you make it look like me?”

“Huh? Oh, no, we found it that way. It’s apparently older than Wybie’s grandma.” Dipper explains, sending her a smile and gesturing towards the boy wearing his mask with a jab of his thumb. “It’s old as this house, probably,” Wybie muttered as well. 

“Oh come on!” Coraline said, clearly skeptical of that idea. She started to gesture to herself as she said; “Blue hair, my swampers, and my raincoat?” 

“Oh! I found one! I found one!” Mabel said excitedly, causing everyone to look at her before showing it to Coraline. “Check out Slugzilla!” The brunette said excitedly, showing off her braces with a wide smile. 

Coraline raised an unamused eyebrow at it before looking into Mabel’s brown eyes and pushing it away with a finger, it was clear that she is frustrated. “You guys are just like them.” 

“Like who?” Dipper questioned, raising his own eyebrow. 

“My parents! They don’t listen to me either.” She mumbled, looking down at the ground while crossing her arms, feeling suddenly dejected. Wybie hummed at this before taking his camera out and handing it to her. “You mind?”

Coraline slowly takes it and brings it up to her face, taking a photo of Wybie pretending to eat it, then one of Mabel pretending it’s in her nose, one of Dipper pretending it’s gonna attack him, then the last one of Wybie having it on his face as mustache. This caused Coraline to say; “Ew!” Before laughing at him. He smiled at the slug before tossing it behind him, Dipper had to basically duck and trip over himself to dodge the slug, causing Coraline to laugh even more. 

She had to admit… It felt nice to have some kids that reminded her of her old friends back in Michigan. The young teen missed her best friends… She missed skipping classes to raid the vending machines, just talking about different plans they had for the future or doing their zodiacs. 

“You know, I've never been inside the Pink Palace,” Wybie said, causing Coraline to snap out of her daze. She looked at him and with a doubtful tone said; “You’re kidding.” 

Wybie looked at her with a sad look on his face. “Grandma would kill me. Thinks it's dangerous or something.” 

“Dangerous?” The young teen questioned, causing her to look at the twins, who shrugged in response. 

“Well... she had a twin sister…” 

“So?” Coraline questioned, shrugging herself as the three followed Wybie around the house to the front lawn as he continued; “When they were kids, Grandma's sister disappeared. Says she was stolen.” 

“Stolen?” Mabel questioned, her brows furrowed. 

“...Well, what do you think?” The blue-haired teen asked Wybie, who picked up his bike and shrugged, he put his mask on, flipping it upwards so they could still see his face. “Uhhh, I-I don't know. Maybe she just ran away?” 

“Why didn’t you tell us about this? I mean, we’ve been friends for god knows how long…” Dipper questioned, looking a little hurt by the fact that the twins weren’t informed about this before, Mabel nodding in agreement. The person in question was about to answer but was interrupted by a ringing bell noise and a call of his name in the distance. He sighed and got on his bike. “Look, I gotta go.” 

“Wait a minute!” 

And with a flip of his mask, he rode away on his bike, causing the three to look at him in confusion, a million questions in their minds. Coraline turned towards Dipper and Mabel with a questioning look; “So… You guys didn’t know about this?” 

“No… Which is weird cause Wybie usually tells us everything.” Dipper said, putting his hands in his vest pockets.

“We’ve been friends since Kindergarten,” Mabel explained, sitting down on one of the steps of the front porch, Dipper and Coraline following her. “Does your uncle let you come down here? Or is he just as restrictive as Wybie’s grandma?” 

“As long as we’re not in any real danger. He doesn’t care.” Dipper said, rolling his eyes and resting his chin on one of his knees, an annoyed look on his face, the blue-haired teen noticed it, but decided not to push it further, the pre-teen soon turned and with a smile on his face. “So hey, how are you enjoying Gravity Falls so far?” 

“It’s weird.” Coraline said, crossing her arms and looking at the twins unamused, Mabel butted in by showing some jazz hands and saying; “That’s the motto!”

“Wait, really?” 

“Yup.” Dipper nodded with a smile, looking out into the foggy landscape, the girls doing the same. 

“Gravity Falls. Just west of weird.” 

[rcreveal]

Spring Picnic

Summary:

NaNo Mutt Prompt a Day Challenge: Day 12 How you say I love you: on the spring grass. Muriel invites Eric on a spring picnic, but didn't check the weather first.

Work Text:

“Um, what are we doin’, again?” Demon Eric asked as Muriel handed him another parcel.  Muriel had recovered from CCO (Complete Choice Overload) after the chocolate chip cookie experiment and as a scrivener, they were back to the weighty and serious work of research.

“We are going on a ‘picnic’ on a spring day!” Muriel announced.  “I brought beverages to imbibe and you brought foods to eat,” Muriel handed over another flask and looked at the little package that Eric had brought.  

Muriel had three different baskets on the counter and after looking at the parcels and flasks, chose the middle one, packing everything in.  Muriel tried to lift it.   The handle came off, but the basket stayed on the counter.

Eric tilted his head to the side and speculated, “The liquids have a lotta mass in this gravity.  Mebbe we don't bring so many of them?” he took out his food packet and put it in the smallest basket, which an angler would have recognized as a wicker trout basket and Eric thought smelled nicely of ancient decomposed fish.  Muriel took two of the smallest containers and fitted them into the basket before snapping the lid shut and experimentally hefting the basket.  Muriel smiled as they were able to sling the strap over their shoulder.  Smiling brightly they led the way out of the shop.

By the time they made it to Hyde Park, Muriel was soaked to the skin but still smiling.  A gust of wind plastered their vest and skirt to their side.  Eric’s leathers glistened with moisture rather more than they normally glistened with darkness.  Water dribbled off his chains and his eye makeup had run down his cheeks.

Muriel walked out in the middle of a lawn and sat down.  Eric sat across from them.  Muriel opened the wicker trout basket and handed the demon one of the individually wrapped meals that he had contributed along with a spoon.  Screwing the lid off the insulated container, a shower of hail bounced off his horns and a few fell into the deliciously scented steaming bowl.  Some of the hail also fell into the lemonade Muriel was pouring into cups as they handed one over to Eric.  

Looking up at the weather, Muriel remarked, “The wind must be going really quickly up there!  Look at how fast the clouds are moving.”

“Yeah, an’ the the air’s really jumbly to create the hail.  It's good hail.” A gust of wind pushed them both over to the side a bit.

Water dripping off their nose, Muriel asks, “Did you make this?  It's very good!”

Eric shrugs, “Nah, Grandmother Alvita insisted on making goat curry when I told her you'd invited me onna picnic,” Eric hands back the empty cup.

“Her human food is always so good!” Muriel finishes the curry and pours iced tea into the cups. 

Eric tastes the tea, now water is running over his jacket, while also managing to run over his shirt underneath the jacket and over his feet. “You researched picnic drinks?  They're nice and cold.”

“Eric-c-c, wh-why are your lips b-blue?” Muriel asks.

“Dunno, are they?  Yours are, too.” Eric replies.

“Eric-c-c?” asks Muriel.

“Yeah?” he replies.

“My c-c-corporation is c-c-cold” Eric looks at the wet, dripping, shivering, blue-lipped angel and opened his bag pulling out meters of waterproof material.

“Um, Grandmother Alvita thought we might be, so she sent me with this. Tho’ it seems kindof unlikely how this is supposed to warm us up.” Standing up, he slips an extra large poncho over his head unzipped at the neck.  The wind is whipping and tugging at the material and Muriel has the brief confusing feeling of being slapped by cold wet curtains as he sits down behind them, letting their face peek out the neck of the poncho and trapping it under them.  

Getting out of the wind helped, but the angel was still cold and shivering in his arms. When Grandmother Alvita had insisted he take the poncho, he’d asked how it was supposed to help.  Giving him one of her little smiles she had replied, “I tink you'll figure it out,” with a twinkle in her eye.

Blissful warmth blossomed around Muriel and they felt themselves surrounded by hot, dry feathers.  With a little sigh, they leaned back into Eric's lean chest as his wings surrounded them both under the cover of the poncho.

Eric was unaccustomed to the feeling he had in his chest when Muriel sighed.  It was a little bit painful and a little bit intoxicating. And he didn't want it to stop.

As they watched the storm clouds race by overhead, Eric knew one thing.  He would definitely agree to help Muriel with their research, any time.

[booksbydlwhite]

#SAMPLESUNDAY: HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS- “We’re too cool…”

Welcome to another Sample Sunday! I’m sharing a snip from HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS, my upcoming holiday novella. I’m making great progress and I’m excited to share Reid and Sabrina with you. No release date yet, but you will see this novella before the year is out!

Enjoy today’s snip-grab links to add this title to your ‘I NEEEEED TO READ THIS’ lists on Goodreads and The Storygraph.

“This view is breathtaking,” she murmured, admiring the lake at mid-afternoon. “I can’t get over how everywhere I look, it’s so…picturesque. Like right out of a Thomas Kincaid painting. No wonder Aunt Cara loves it here.” 

I was reminded, taking in the view of my hometown, of the survey I was supposed to complete and the changes that I truly believed would revolutionize this community. I didn’t want to ruin the afternoon with work, though, so I set those thoughts aside for another day. We talked and walked, lost in conversation until the sun began to sink below the horizon, turning the sky a deep, dusky pink. We headed back toward the center of town. 

In just a few hours, the town square had been transformed into a lively winter festival. The crisp air filled with the aromas of hot chocolate, popcorn, grilled sausages, and boiled peanuts. Children shrieked with laughter as they ran from game to game, eagerly trying their hand at each one. There was a ring toss, lawn bowling with pins that were painted like snowmen, “ice fishing” with magnets attached to plastic fish and sticks to mimic fishing poles. Booths stood side by side, boasting handmade crafts and tasty treats like taffy, frosted gingerbread and varieties of fudge-hazelnut, walnut, dark chocolate, white chocolate. Before I could eat my weight in candy, Sabrina and I got drafted to a corn hole team. 

After picking out a few painted ornaments, we headed over to the towering pine tree in the town square, singing along to soulful holiday tunes performed by a live band. 

Without the sun offering warmth, the chill in the air had a bite to it. I pulled my jacket closed and urged Sabrina to do the same, then nudged her over to Rooster’s Coffee and Hot Chocolate stand. A couple was working the line, laughing and talking with each customer as if they were old friends. 

“I’m guessing you two are Sage and Bennett,” I said, once we had reached the counter. 

“We are,” they answered in unison, with bright smiles. 

“You don’t even have to tell me who you are,” said Sage, looking right at Sabrina, flipping the swoop of her bang out of her eyes. Her bright red Rooster’s Coffee t-shirt peeked out from a puffy black coat. “Ms. Cara cannot stop talking about how her niece is here visiting. She was hoping you’d find your way into town. I hope we’ll see you around more…and you dragged Cliff and Patricia’s son out, too!”

My brows shot up in surprise. “Nobody needs an introduction in a small town, I guess.”

“You look just like your dad,” said Bennett, “so it’s not at all necessary. Y’all want whipped cream on your hot chocolate?” 

We headed toward the crowd milling around the tree with tall cups of hot chocolate and a generous dollop of whipped cream. I herded us toward the seats near a heater and waited for the ceremony to begin. I spotted my parents, who waved at us but opted to sit with their friends, a rowdy bunch of gray haired people that include Aunt Cara. 

“I guess we’re not cool enough for them,” mumbled Sabrina. 

“Or... we’re too cool.”

“That’s probably not true, Reid.” 

“Agree.” I sipped from my cup of hot chocolate, sending a band of warm through my body. 

Sabrina glanced at me, then glanced again in a double take. “Uh... you... you have some...whipped cream. In... in your...”

I wanted to ask her to lick it off but couldn’t decide if she would welcome that request or leave me hanging. 

“Do you mind?” I asked instead, bending toward her. 

She hesitated for a brief moment, then swiped her thumb under my lip. Her fingertips were cold, but the warmth that billowed through me at her touch took care of that.

“I look good?” I asked. 

“Perfect,” she replied, with a smile. 

The ceremony began with Larry Cable, city council president, opening the event in a brief prayer, followed by one of my favorite NBA players, Kade “KC” Cavanaugh taking the mic. I fanboyed a little as he spoke, then introduced his wife Leslie, who led us in counting down the seconds until he threw the switch that lit up the seven-foot Christmas tree. 

As the tree illuminated, the crowd cheered and the band started up again. 

Sabrina nudged me with her elbow. “What a perfect tree! It’s gorgeous!”

“Yes. Yes, it is,” I replied…but I wasn’t looking at the tree. 

[rustedhearts]

dazed and confused (70s!childhood best friend!steve x fem!reader)

summary: steve's been your best friend all your life. but friends aren't supposed to think about friends the way you think about steve.

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

✶ the only living boy in indiana ✶ main masterlist

tags: 70s!steve, childhood bestie!steve, fluff, pining! we're pining!, tid-bit of jealousy from us, this is short but sweet. not edited as usual.

recommended listening: you're lost, little girl —the doors; sweet leaf —black sabbath

buy me a ko-fi! ♡

somewhere in indiana. october, 1977.

The slow riff of The Doors’ You’re Lost, Little Girl trickled through the cinderblock basement. The Strange Days album spun on Steve’s turntable, the right door left open to reveal his cautiously-crafted selection. An array of colors and bands, all organized into what Steve considered his “most prized possession.” A music man above all else, you sort of admired how much he cared for the craft of careful listening.

You wriggled your fingers through the gaps of one of the Harrington Afghan blankets, where an orange stripe turned to brown. Steve hummed along to the start of the lyrics—a low, rumbling sound. You peeked over the edge of the sofa, ratty and old and shoved down here when Mrs. Harrington bought something sturdier at the start of the decade. You remembered the day she instructed Steve’s father to bring the old one down here; it was the first time you wandered into a room alone with Steve. Just the two of you, other neighborhood kids neglected on the lawn down the street.

He asked if you wanted to stay over and play a game, and Mrs. Harrington brought a bowl of pretzels to share while you hunched over Monopoly. Now, the basement was your place—yours and Steve’s. Four walls of cinderblock and concrete floor, softened with a shaggy brown rug once found in the living room, and posters purchased at the record stores and concert merchandise stands, and seasonal decorations Mrs. Harrington rotated every few months.

When it didn’t smell like the linen and laundry beating against the pea green dryer, the stench of Steve’s Winston cigarettes took over. It was always cold, and always home. You often found yourself here instead of at your own.

“You’re lost, little girl,” Steve cooed lyrically, cigarette withering and smoking between his two fingers.

He was lying on the hard ground, one palm pressed over his sweater-clad stomach and the other held open against the air where his cigarette waited. The maroon red of his shirt made his hair look dark and luscious, and the paleness of his Midwestern-cold-season skin warm again. If he opened his eyes, now pinched shut to marinate in the song like he so often did, you knew they’d be soft and puppy-like. He only ever looked at you with a smile.

So how was it that you never kissed?

You found yourself asking that a lot lately. When he picked you up for class at the community college with a thermos full of hot coffee on bitter cold days. When he slung his jacket around your shoulders when you shivered at football games. When he popped a kiss against your cheek out of pure excitement and whirled away like he hadn’t just burned your skin in the most delightful way.

And that tingling delight only appeared this year. When he started to fill out his brown leather jacket until it creaked. When his voice started growling through you like a firework. When his hands grew rough from work on the Pontiac in the driveway, inherited from his father for his eighteenth birthday. He spent the summer fixing it up, and that first scorching day you came up the driveway and saw him slicked with grease…you were done for.

Now, you only ever thought about kissing Steve.

“Penny for your thoughts, little girl?” Steve mused from the floor. His eyes were open now, head tipped to catch you staring.

You jerked away, blushing into your knees. “Sorry. Just zoning out.”

You continued your poking ministrations in the blanket before tossing Steve a bewildered look. “And don’t call me that.”

Steve chuckled around his cigarette, growing smaller by the minute between his lips, puffing smoke with every sharp ejection of amused breath. His socked feet scuffed against the floor as he pressed up, sauntering toward the rear of the couch in his brown corduroy pants.

“Jeez.” He yanked the cigarette from his mouth and slung one leg over the back of the couch beside you. “Who pissed in your Cheerios today?”

You shifted away from him when he settled on the top edge of the couch, huffing as you went. Crowded against the padded and pillowed arm, you frowned into your fist propped under your chin and glared at the poster of Led Zeppelin ahead of you.

You hated your own body for betraying you this way—for making you ache for your best friend. It was wrong. Everyone knew that dating a friend never ended well. You knew too much about each other, had seen too much of the bad for the food to feel unadulterated and sweet the way it did with someone you’d known for far less. But you’d known Steve nearly all your life. Introduced as two curious and adventurous six year olds, you saw each other through elementary, middle, high school, and now college. You’d comforted all the bad dates and heard the rundown of every parental fight. You knew about the rash he had from a new laundry detergent last winter, and you knew he liked to jerk off with his left hand even though he was a righty because it “feels like it’s not even his.”

You knew too much.

So why did he look so handsome sitting next to you like that?

“Hey.” Steve’s voice was soft now, murmured just under the stereo. “Are you—you’re not mad at me or something, are you?”

"No," you murmured, eyes turned down toward your lap.

Steve watched you a moment, elbows on his knees, waiting for more to utter from your mouth. It was so unlike you to grow quiet in his presence. Your mouth was always running, spilling some secret you promised to keep with "the exception of Steve," or retelling some story with adamant vibrancy. If you were ever quiet, it was only so you could bathe in the peacefulness of your alone time together.

You had never been quiet like this. Well...not since that time in high school when your boyfriend dumped you.

"Well, hey, did I show you the Masters of Reality I found at the record store? It's sick, I've never seen this version of the cover before."

Steve hopped off the couch, stubbing his cigarette out in an old mug on the end of the coffee table as he went. He disappeared up the stairs with a rushed be right back, and you listened to his footsteps thump above your head. When he was gone, you dropped your head into your hands and sighed.

✶ ✶

You parted ways for the day a few hours later, the span of uncomfortable time in which you sat shoulder-to-shoulder silently watching The Price Is Right. You couldn't think of a thing to say to him, and he didn't know how to take your quiet.

On the trudge home, you scolded yourself for having such romantic thoughts about him. For wondering what his lips would feel like on your own, and how his hands might feel beneath your clothes. It was wrong. And you were certain that if Steve knew how you were thinking these days, he'd be appalled. You'd lose your best friend forever.

There's no coming back from unrequited love.

You spent the night tossing and turning and glaring at your Donna Summer poster in the dark, wondering why your brain wouldn't just shut up about Steve. Steve's hair and Steve's eyes and Steve's ass in those Levis. You slumped from bed the next morning (thankfully a Sunday) with scratchy eyes and a head full of Steve.

So pardon your irritation when you dressed and dolled yourself pretty for the few short paces down the street to his house, only to find the rear of a long head of auburn hair looking up at Steve. You skirted to a stop at the end of the driveway, nose already turning cold from the nip of autumn air, new brown boots scuffing on the pavement. The gurgle of Steve's radio could be heard even from there, winding up an eight track. The Pontiac windows were rolled down to stream out the sounds.

And there Steve was, propped against the hood, grease-stained rag thrown over his puffy-sweatered shoulder, gazing down at this short little thing like some new kitten. He had his arms crossed the way he does when he wants to be handsome—and Christ did it work. But they were on her.

Over her shoulder, Steve caught the edge of your coat. He swiftly shifted gears, pushing off the car to wave a hand at you. You watched his mouth move in a murmur toward the girl, who rubbed her hand along his arm as she sidestepped toward a goodbye. You still lingered, hands tucked and balled tight in your fuzzy pockets, waiting for some sort of instruction.

Steve always had girls around, but suddenly, while watching this tiny little inkling of a girl sashay her way away from your best friend, you felt like screaming. You wanted the girls to stop coming around.

"Hey, c'mere," Steve called through the distance, and with a start, you realized the girl was fading down the street, and you were just standing there.

You shuffled your way over, inhaling deeply as you went. As the gap diminished and you approached, you caught a whiff of sharp autumn leaves, and the smoke of a Winston recently put out. Somewhere underneath, the amber musk of his cologne. You'd drool if you bothered to open your mouth.

"Hey." Steve grinned, hands rubbing around the greased cloth. His familiar, heather grey sweatshirt looked soft, hood a bit rumpled at the nape of his neck.

Once, you fell asleep on a three hour road trip, and woke up on the edge of Ohio with your head in his lap. He was playing with your hair, and when you blinked up fuzzily and furrowed your brows, he soothed you awake like some sort of child. You could still feel the warmth of that sweatshirt.

"Hey," you returned, a little too sharp. "Who was that?"

Steve's sneakers whooshed over the pavement, kicking up gravel and crunching fallen leaves as he headed toward the tool box. He was polishing up, checking fluids and odds and ends. Sometimes, you thought he just liked standing next to his hot ride.

Steve glanced toward the end of the drive where the mystery girl disappeared to a few moments ago. "Who?"

You rolled your eyes, huffing. "The girl, Hair."

Steve scoffed at your ill-intended nickname, heading toward the driver side door. He hung halfway in, reaching for the knob on the stereo.

"Somebody, nobody. I don't know yet."

You kicked at a rock near your foot, frowning. "What does that even mean?"

Steve continued to fiddle inside the car. "It means, she could be somebody. I'm seeing where it goes, takin' my time."

You pushed your head back toward the sky, head shaking. Steve took the moment to look at you through the windshield, memorizing the colors and shapes of your outfit. Camel brown coat, chocolate brown boots, black turtleneck, purple corduroy jeans. You had lipgloss on today, and the color made your eyes beam.

Steve pulled out of the car and headed back toward the tools before he could look any more. You tipped your head back into place just as he slid under the car, the soles of his sneakers bared to you. His socks didn't match. Something about that made you smile.

"Why are you so cranky anyway?" he called from under the hunk of blue metal. "Yesterday, today—you havin' your monthly—"

Kicking his foot hard with the toe of your boot, you glared down at the portioned part of Steve Harrington you could see. "Don't finish that sentence, Harrington."

Steve jolted. "Ow! Alright, alright, Jes-us."

You pulled away, pacing the patch of grey ground in front of the car. You tight-roped the crack for a while, watching your feet overtake the severed cement, glancing occasionally toward Steve when things clattered.

"How'd you meet her?" you found yourself calling out.

Steve paused a moment. You continued to pace. He sniffled and rolled up his sleeves, shifting under the car. "Uh...record store. She asked my opinion."

Oh, you inwardly groaned. She was a cool girl. Trying to swallow down your frustrations, you sniffled away a cold drip snot and hummed.

"What's she listen to, ABBA?"

Steve shook his head, chuckling. "Yeah, actually. But I can't be a music snob, honey, that's not how I roll. Chicks can play whatever they want when we're doin' it, I don't mind."

Scowling, you thought about going over and kicking him again for good measure. But the poor kid just didn't have a clue, did he? He was handsome, lived in a two-parent home, his father still had a job, and he had a job waiting for him when he was done fooling around. It wasn't his fault he had everything.

You just wanted him to have you, too.

"Hey, grab my smokes for me? On the front seat."

Tapping your foot, arms firmly crossed over your chest, you spent a moment boring a hole into Steve's foot. Another kick? No. Your mind wandered to that Tuesday evening, straight after school your senior year, when Nancy Wheeler dumped Steve behind the gym during fifth period, and Steve came running home and did everything he could to stop crying—but you held him in your arms and told him he could cry all he wanted.

Steve didn't think "chicks" could "play whatever they wanted when they were doin' it." Steve didn't think women were playthings. Steve wanted to be loved.

You could love him well.

Huffing, you stomped toward the car, coat sleeves swinging with every bound. You snatched the crumpled back of half-empty Winstons from the leather of the front seat and rounded the square-nosed hood of the Pontiac. When you came into view, Steve slid out from under the car and sat up.

"Thanks—whoa!"

But you threw the pack at his head, heard the small clatter of cardboard against skin as it pinged off his brow and into his lap. His brows creased as you spun sharply on your heel and crossed your arms again, heading for the end of the drive. Steve scrambled to catch up, tripping over his feet as he went.

"Wait, wait—stop!" Steve rushed you, snatching you by the elbow to pull you to a sharp stop.

When you turned—or he made you, rather—you looked anywhere but his pretty face. Glaring at the collar of his sweatshirt, doing all you could to hold your breath and bring down the simmer in your cheeks. Suddenly, you couldn't speak. Suddenly, all those feelings were coming to a boil, flowing over and spilling out.

But you couldn't put into words just what you were feeling. You couldn't find it in you to open your mouth and speak.

"What's goin' on?" Steve chuckled, but his tone lacked the humor. "What did I do, what's wrong?"

Balling your fingers into fists again, frozen numb and trembling with a hungry ache, you tossed your eyes his way. Steve could see the anguish on your face, pinched in the center sourly. But what was wrong? Steve couldn't put his finger on it.

Stomping your booted foot, you gave a soft, petulant whine into the brisk air. And before Steve could laugh or shake his head at your childish antics, ones he's seen plenty of before when you haven't gotten your way—you smashed your mouth on his.

Leaning up on your boots, creasing the leather toes, creaking with your weight; planting your hands on his firm, bulging arms growing bigger by the day; squeezing muscle mass with an eager grasp. You pressed your mouth right to his and breathed him in. The stereo in the Pontiac gave a whir and a click, and then the hoarse cough of Ozzie Osbourne cut through the quiet of the street. Sweet Leaf slipped from the car and fueled Steve with a fire like no other.

So, when you pulled back with a sharp smack of spit and swollen cheeks, Steve didn't let you get far. A step back and to the side, a slow and incomplete rotation toward the front of the house—until Steve snatched you by the belt loop just above your ass and tugged you back.

"Hey."

You crumpled into him, arms caged against his chest—and yes, the sweater was just as soft as you remembered. His hands slid through the groove of your waist and down the round globes of your ass, squeezing with firm pressure and eager palms. Big biceps pressing you into him by the shoulders: pulling you in, holding you close. He tasted like Coca Cola, glass bottle now rolling into the grass, blown away by the wind.

If he asked, you were searching for more of in his mouth, parched from the cold.

Against your mouth, you felt the lines of Steve's lips widen. When he pulled away, it was just far enough to still feel his breath against your chin, close enough to see the flecks of jade in his eyes.

And he was grinning a half-cocked, handsome grin.

"About damn time."

[thepedanticbohemian]

The Ouderkirk House sample

Here's a snippet from my now-finished second novel, a supernatural thriller called, The Ouderkirk House.

“Woman, what am I going to do with you?”

“I've seen the hasp on the shed in my visions. The padlock is missing in those visions.”

Harlowe sighs, then walks to his trunk to retrieve the bolt cutters. He has a resigned, grin and bare it expression on his face.

“If this goes south, it's me they'll come after.”

“What could go wrong?”

“Well,”

“Don't go there. We need answers, right?”

He returns with the bolt cutters like he has every right to be there. I love this about him. Once he commits, he's one-hundred percent in.

As he gets the cutters up to the lock, a child's shrill screams come from inside. He hurriedly cuts the padlock and yanks aside the hasp. He pulls the door open to reveal what I'd seen in Quantico. A dirty tool shed with a gynecology exam table in the middle and a deep freezer along the rear wall. There's a small boy, his body bleeding from the amputated left arm and mutilated genitals. His tiny form is lashed to the table with ankle and wrist manacles.

I'm too stunned to move, but Harlowe wades in to find Michael wielding the hatchet from my visions of my sister. A glittering chef's knife is tucked into his belt, blood dripping down Michael's leg.

Harlowe's gun is out, but Michael easily bats it out of his hand and away across the lawn.

All I can think of is the last time these two squared off and Michael nearly killed Harlowe. He's still recovering from that fight. Then as the child's screams fade into whimpers and after silence, Harlowe moves to wrestle the hatchet from Michael's hand.

Without much effort, Michael traps Harlowe at the other side of the shed, between the exam table and freezer.

“Michael, let's just think here,” Harlowe is murmuring, hands up in a placating gesture.

The visions I had when I touched my sister roll onto me. Not now, my mind is screaming when it hits me, this is the Knife and Hatchet Man. Michael. He murdered my sister, Noah Nixon, and dozens of others. I'm watching, frozen in place as Harlowe and Michael continue this death dance in the shed.

When I focus, I see Michael upend a gasoline can over the child's immobile body, himself, and Harlowe. The amber liquid splashes across the front of his uniform and he's still trying to reason with Michael.

Move, Ruthie.

It's Naomi's voice all around me.

You know what to do.

I'm frozen to the spot, but when Michael pulls a flare out of a nearby bin, I'm racing to the patrol car. I sling a door open, climbing in just enough to pull the on board rifle out of its mount. I run back to the shed and Michael and the boy's body are on fire. Harlowe is trapped on the wrong side of the flames.

I have no knowledge of guns and I've certainly never fired a police rifle. I don't give myself time to panic. I put the butt against my shoulder and take aim at the bulk of Michael's flaming back. A boom splits the air like a bowling ball hitting a strike. Michael seems to flinch inside the flames and moves closer to Harlowe.

“How are you still alive, motherfucker?”

I'm shrieking as I take aim again. Knowing I can't possibly be lucky enough to make a head shot, I shoot him in the neck, almost dead center of his cervical spine. A one in a million shot like Abigail's kill shot of her mother. He slumps over the boy's corpse and flames flare out of control.

“Gene,” I'm screaming for him as the rifle slips from my trembling hands into the snow.

When I've got my cell in my fingers and dialing 911, Harlowe leaps through the door of the fully consumed shed. I tackle him into the snow, rolling my body with his to extinguish his flaming uniform jacket and pants.

“I held my breath,” he tells me, winded. “I'm okay.”

Before five minutes elapse, the sound of fire trucks approaches us. But I don't care what else happens now. I saved Harlowe's life and killed Knife and Hatchet Man. Me, a silly kook of a psychic.

[kingworm]

The List

- pastries

- coffee (particularly mochas)

- junk journals

- dandelion/butterscotch yellow

- chocolate

- stone fruits

- sturdy black boots

- warm blankets

- the smell of campfire smoke

- slow mornings

- long gabs with friends over food

- lightning (especially when purple or blue)

- trinkets

- collages

- heavy rain on an overcast day

- the sound of fire crackling

- vinyls and cds

- soft animals

- stickers

- warm days with clear skies & a cool breeze

- bugs chirping

- discussing film & shows

- soft warm hued lights

- smell of a forest after the rain

- drives home to think

- cartoon dogs

- mulled wine

- spiced pear

- keychains and carabiners

- pineapple slices

- reading book passages & poems aloud

- thickened cream on warm desserts

- errand-running with loved ones

- thin-crust pizzas

- laughing through kisses

- bulky mismatched rings

- crisp fresh paper

- smell of turkish rose

- spontaneous calls from friends

- smell of ink from a lino press

- stomach aches from laughter

- being animatedly explained something

- second hand furniture

- wildflower front lawns

- large ornate mirrors

- dark wood grains

- charcuterie boards (with brie & cheddar)

- kettle chips

- australian native bouquets

- cassette tapes

- book smell

- chainmail fashion

- matching socks

- forehead/head kisses

- overcrowded greenery

- found-family stories

- lino-cut illustrations

- personalised CDs and cassettes

- ‘reminded me of you’ texts

- kicking feet over a high surface

- cleanly wrapping a present

- cupping the sides of someones face

- handmade crafts

- match box designs

- illustrations on tinned fish cans

- mismatched gallery walls

- the snap of dark chocolate

- ornate frames

- eating with your hands

- homemade birthday cake

- physical ticket stubs

- postcards

- hand-made mugs

- physical calendars

- restaurant ramen bowls

- dried flowers

- hand painted tiles

- chai

- warm chocolate chip cookies

- soup & pho

- scented hand cream

- dark leather bags

- fruit & citrus sorbet

- crochet bonnets & beanies

- concept albums

- huggable plushes in bed

- hand-written letters & playlists

- physical photographs

- unique icecream flavours

- magnets

- silk pillow cases

- bass-heavy songs

- fresh warm buttered popcorn

- zines

- artistic local event posters

- cuddly pets

- sour lollies

- petrified wood

- kintsugi

- patchwork

- raspberries (sauce, topping, flavour)

- riso print

- water reflecting light

- glow-in-the-dark sticker stars

- old illustrations of comets and stars

- jewel tones

- paperback books

- rainbows

- kotatsu

- sea glass

- red brick buildings

- mixed badges (especially vintage)

- animatics and comics

- dappled sunlight from trees

- coffee flavoured dessert

- turrets on houses

- sourdough toast

- autumnal colours

- hand paintings on walls or furniture

- the harvey ball smiley face

- mexican tile

- oversized jackets and coats

- corduroy

- woven tapestries

- scrapbooking

- knitted leg warmers

- iridescent seashells

- bookmarks

- scrunchies

the haters would hate to see the personalised list of over 120+ things which i love & appreciate when i feel worn down by the world they’d hate to see it

[crystal-c-a-t-s]

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