#like all those old infomercials

[roosterforme]

Geriatric Millennial | Rooster x Reader

Bradley loves all things '90s. You don't completely understand it, but you appreciate his spirit.

1000 words

Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

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There were certain scenarios that became normal over time when you were in a relationship with a man more then ten years your elder. Sometimes you didn't understand certain movie references. Slang words and jokes occasionally went over your head. He and his friends would often reminisce about trends you'd never witnessed. But Bradley never made you feel bad about it, and you never called him an old-timer unless you were joking.

You were used to these things, but nothing quite prepared you for what you saw when you got home from work. Bradley was relaxing on the couch in something that looked like a bright blue, full body straitjacket with some random vintage headphones on his head.

"What the fuck?" you muttered, inching closer when you realized he was listening to music and hasn't spotted you yet. You glanced around the room, trying to locate the source of disturbing chattering sound that just started, and you tripped over a hard, black ball.

Bradley looked up at you with a smile. "Hey, you're home early." He quickly stood in his weird, fleece outfit and leaned in to give you a kiss, but you leaned away.

"What on earth is happening here?" you asked, standing frozen as he pulled his headphones off.

"What are you talking about?" He looked puzzled by your words but not by all of the weird things in the living room. 

"I'm talking about what you're wearing. And the robotic voice!"

"Oh," he laughed. "This is just my Snuggie."

"Your what?"

He glanced down at himself. "My Snuggie? I found it in a box of my stuff from highschool."

You were still so confused. "What's a Snuggie? And what is that weird sound?"

When his gaze fell to something fuzzy and brown on the couch, you jerked back in shock. "You mean my Furby?"

You glared at the critter and it's enormous, evil eyes. "Is that one of those things from that '80s Gremlins movie you're obsessed with?"

He barked out a laugh like you'd just said the funniest thing he'd ever heard in his life. "Baby, no. It's not a Gremlin. It's just a Furby. But imagine if Furby manufactured replica Gremlins... Would have been fascinating." It was starting to sound like he was speaking a foreign language. "I was just listening to Chumbawamba on my Discman and playing with my pogs and my Tomagachi. I literally forgot the Furby was even here."

You were sure you were gaping at him like he had two heads as you reached up to run your palm across his forehead. "Do you have a fever?"

"Huh? No, but I did eat a Kudos bar I found in the box, so I might potentially have an upset stomach later. But it was worth it."

After you pinched the bridge of your nose, you asked, "I'm sorry, but what did you say you were listening to?"

"Tubthumping. By Chumbawamba. You know it, don't you? Pissing the night away, pissing the night away. I get knocked down...." He looked at you in wide eyed shock. "You don't know that song? How is that possible?"

You didn't want to tell him that Chumba whatever wasn't a word. And neither was Snuggie. Not when he looked so adorably baffled. You stroked your fingers across his forehead and down his cheek as you shook your head.

"No, I don't know that song, because I'm not forty like you are. And you look kind of alarming in this thing." You pinched the fleece fabric and pulled it away from his body.

"It's my Snuggie," he muttered. "It was from an Infomercial."

"I don't know what that means." He gasped and you started laughing. "But I would love to sit down with you while you explain it to me. As long as you don't make me eat something from the late 1900s."

He took your hand in his bigger one and and led you toward the couch and the demonic looking Furby. "Okay, but first, you need to listen to this CD. Because Jake told me Chumbawamba is a guilty pleasure, but it's actually really good."

About twenty minutes later, you were wrapped up in the Snuggie, enveloped in softness and Bradley's lingering body warmth. "I love this thing," you told him, burying your face in the fleece. "And yes, Chumbawamba is good, but I like Hoobastank better. And I'm really sorry I accidentally kicked your Magic 8 ball across the floor."

He wrapped his arms around your shoulders and kissed your cheek as you skipped a track on his Discman. "That's okay. Hey, do you want to learn how to play pogs? The best part is, I'm not sure there are actually any rules at all."

"Sure," you said with a shrug. "Why the hell not? As long as you lock that Furby away and never let it out ever again."

"Heard."

[highhhfiveee]

to surrender (mike schmidt x reader)

part 2 of "to crumble". part 1: 🩹

pairing: mike schmidt x blackfem!reader summary: the ups and downs of y/n and mike, and where they lead them. wc: 8.2k tags: MAJOR, MAJOR ANGST, infidelity, non-graphic depictions of sex, non-graphic ending life ideation, some fluff?, lots of pain.  a/n: this hurt to write, so i'm sorry to all you readers 💔 also, has been proofread but if there are still errors, i'm sawryyyy. also also this is long.

mike can't wait to get home to you.

it's been such a long night, another shift of listless sitting and waiting for something to happen. nothing ever does, and while mike's getting paid to essentially do nothing, he wishes there was some kind of thrill, some kind of excitement. he couldn't believe he'd gone down the career path of protecting forty year old animatronics, and the thought of those creepy things hurried him out of there faster once the clock struck 6 am. 

as soon as he heard his alarm, he was packing up his things and locking up the pizzeria, refusing to look back as he marched to his car. he didn't peek at the building at all, pulling away with his focus centered on you. he thought about you on the couch, having dozed off to infomercials after putting abby down for the night, and how around 2 am, you would jolt awake, dragging your body into the bedroom to complete your slumber. 

it was saturday morning, and he'd walk into a fairly quiet house. he'd drop his stuff off at the front before traversing to the room, sheepishly smiling at your snoring figure. you were so beautiful, a dream that he never wanted to wake up from. he'd take off his clothes and finally replace the cold, empty space that's consistently behind you, hoping to not wake you as he wraps you into his arms and dozes himself, exactly where he wants to be. 

that's sort of how it pans out for him. he drives home in silence, not even taking a second to decompress before he's strolling his way inside. you're on the couch, up and watching a documentary on retirement communities. your eyes flick to him when he enters, and you sit up, yawning and stretching and giving him a languid smile. "morning, baby." 

he takes off his security vest and bag, hanging them on their respective hooks, before dropping to the couch beside you. you nestle into him, rubbing your cheek against the soft material of his t-shirt. "morning. missed you alot."

"missed you more," you coo, reaching up to grab his cheek and tilt his face down towards yours, placing a peck on his soft lips. "so glad it's the weekend. get to spend so much time with you." 

your kisses intensify, your hand slipping to the back of mike's neck so you're able to go deeper, and he clutches your hips, flipping the two of you over so you're under him, all loose limbs and roaming touches. your fingers feel so good on his skin, and it’s like he's being baptized in a way, completely anew by your heavenly touch. this is all he ever wanted; to be. to be with you, happy. 

you pull away from him, capturing his bottom lip between your teeth. the action makes him moan, and once you let go, you're flipping onto your stomach, throwing your tired, lustful eyes at him. "haven't felt you in a while." 

it has been a while. the two of you have been working so much, seen so little of each other that he's sure you haven't had sex in a year. the way you rock against him, swaying your hips from side to side on his pelvis makes him concede. "please? before abby wakes up." 

you don't have to tell him twice. he's unbuttoning his pants and spitting on himself and entering you, both of you softly moaning out at the feeling. he hasn't felt you in so long, and the sensation of your lush, warm walls around him has him seeing static. you're stretching your arms over the back of the couch, arching against it so he's able to get deeper. 

he's so content, so intoxicated with the way he's having you....even just...intoxicated in general.

something's off. 

the pleasure he's getting from you begins to evaporate, and suddenly, nothing feels right. it feels null between his legs, and it's like you're fading from him. you're there, under with your spine poking against your skin and your messy bun thrashing against the crown of your skull, but...something isn’t right. 

mike closes his eyes. he's sure it's just some sort of deja vu, a feeling of disbelief that he's able to have you like this again after so long. he loves you so much, loves that he can be home with you on a saturday morning, only—

mike's not home, and it's not saturday morning.

“c’mon, i gotta go to work soon.” 

the nasally lilt of voice and blue eyes that stare back at mike are all wrong, incorrect from how he knows you. this isn’t you. 

it’s not you at all, and the pieces start to come together. 

it’s friday night, and he’s not at work like he should be. he’s in a warmly lit hotel room, AC window unit churning in the corner, draped by the ugliest taupe curtains he’s ever seen. he feels so disoriented, tasting the malt liquor on his tongue and gazing at his surroundings with bleary eyes while he instinctively moves his hips forward, trying to catch his rhythm again. 

he’s having sex with some girl he met on a hookup website. he's missing work for this, using it as interference for the depression he’s been feeling everyday. it occupies the cavity of his chest with the weight of a million boulders, and even though he's got whiskey dick and he's aware of the infidelity he's committing, he decides that it's better than feeling how he always does. this is better than feeling empty. 

his mind is fuzzy, and he's able to stop thinking about his transgression, holding onto the girl's hips and rocking faster, closing his eyes again.

he lets the feeling take him away, the emptiness of his head chorused by skin smacking and soft whimpers. she's not you, but it didn't matter. he didn't have you anyway. you two had stopped being each other's so long ago, though unofficial. you’d felt like a “girlfriend” all this time, holding a title that no longer fit properly.

mike pretends to come, and he's sure his tryst does too, spasming and moaning in this manufactured way that makes him furrow his eyebrows in distaste. he pulls out and heads to the bathroom without a word, tossing the condom in the trash and eyeing his image as he cleans himself off. 

his eyes were bloodshot, red spiderwebs dancing trapezing along white. he didn't even remember drinking, or organizing this meeting, or how he even decided this was a good idea. he didn't recognize himself looking into the mirror. 

the person staring back at him was the one that ruined everything, and they followed him every time he moved. it solidified the fact that he couldn't escape the liability of what he’d done no matter how hard he tried to absolve it. he was marked with all of his wrongdoings and mistakes, and there was no overcoming that. 

the motel room isn't his, and even after splashing water on his face, hoping and praying that he would wake up from whatever this was, and getting dressed, he's still too drunk to drive. beyond that, where would he go? 

the only two places he had in this stupid town were freddy's and his house, and both were undesirable to him. he wasn't happy anywhere. 

he sits in his car parked outside of the room when everything is said and done. he feels gross. deep down, he can't make sense of what he's done. had the last year soiled his mind that much, leaving him so willing to feel something other than misery that he'd cheat on you? 

once upon a time, you were the love of his life. he wants to believe that you still are, that you're just going through a rough patch and that soon, it will feel like the honeymoon phase again. he thought it would stay blissful like that forever, and maybe that was naive of him, but he'd never been so caught up in someone before. he'd wanted to start a family with you, smiling at the thoughts of little ones running around the halls and saddling your ring finger with a weighty cluster of diamonds. 

he knew that none of that would ever happen now, even if the stress of life dissipated and you two felt at peace enough to begin planning for it. there was no coming back from cheating, especially not since it had happened to you before. he'd promised you he would never hurt you like that, and here he was. a year later and he'd done it in conjunction with so much worse. 

he drops his head in his hands, body convulsing with sobs of agony until the sun comes up. he doesn't sleep. he hasn't slept in almost 24 hours. his skin is dry and raw as he numbly throws his car into drive, somehow getting himself all the way to his side of town. he can't recall the trip, checking back in once he's turning the car off outside of the house. 

he doesn't know how he's supposed to walk inside. 

he almost doesn't, about to go drive his car off a cliff, but you poke your head out of the opened front door, staring at his stiff frame in his driver's seat. you'd been watching him from the living room window since he'd gotten home.

you'd thought he was just decompressing or something, and these days you just left him alone to do whatever he wanted, but after an hour and a half of watching him fail to blink or move, you get concerned.

he shifts his eyes to you, the first motion you've seen him do, and begins to exit the car, a dead man walking as he sulks to the door. you make space for him to enter, closing the door after him and pressing your back to it cautiously. "rough shift?" 

you two rarely talked about anything other than finances or practicalities these days. you'd stopped asking how he was, always wondering but keeping quiet, and he'd done the same. the overarching, desolate dynamic of the entire household spoke for itself. there was no discussion needed to notice it. 

still, mike gives you a curt "mhm", throwing his vest and hoodie on their proper hooks and leaving for the bedroom. the door closes with moderate slam, rattling the picture frames on the wall. one of them falls off, connecting to the ground with a loud shatter. you swear and move over to the mess, blinking away tears. you didn't think you'd ever be used to his apathy towards you, and though it was reciprocated, it was only for your own protection.

you loved mike with your entire being, even now. you wanted the mike you’d known back, but you recognized that he was still inside his being somewhere, pounding at the walls to escape. you were never one to be cold, or standoffish, but your heart wouldn't be able to take that from mike while you tried to give him your all, not again.

you kneel next to all the glass, picking up the damaged frame. inside is a picture of you, mike, and abby at a pumkin patch from last year. mike is kissing your cheek, scrunched up with joy, and abby is holding a pumpkin bigger than her head. 

you all look so happy. 

you can't stop the tears from pouring, drowning yourself in a pool of longing and regret. 

mike doesn't exit the bedroom until later that night. you'd cleaned up the glass and a few other things, using the remainder of your day to spend time with abby. mike had stopped interacting with her altogether, and you could tell how much it hurt her. you always tried to change the subject when she asked you about him, or when her lash line pebbled with tears at the thought of him. 

today, she'd broken your heart on the drive back from the children's museum. 

"i hate mike." you’d craned your head to her quickly, scowling deeply before settling your eyes back on the road. "i mean it." 

"i know he's done some bad things, abs, but he's still your brother. he's one of your guardians, and adult life is--" 

"you don't have to defend him, y/n." it was as sharp as if mike had said it, and it shut you up quickly. your defense came from the love and your connection, but you knew that you didn’t have to give him credit. his behavior in the last year hadn't been acceptable, everyone knew. he'd hurt you and abby so badly, so many times over. you two felt like you were on an island alone in the same house as him. "he's a dickhead."

"hey, language," you reprimanded, but she's right. "he is, though. i'll say it for the both of us. mike's a dickhead."

"he's just so miserable. the only reason they're not taking me away is because of you," abby admitted, and you knew it was true. with mike's lack of supervision and care, you'd had to slip into playing the role of caregiver for both yourself and abby. he bought food, other household stuff, anything abby needed, but it was up to you to make sure they were used, that abby was okay head to toe, 24/7, and that every bill was paid. you were doing something every hour of every day; grading or cleaning or cooking or helping with homework or washing clothes; you'd wanted to be a part of a collective unit. a real, supportive family. "housewife" hadn't been on your list of wanted titles. "i wish things were different."

"me too, abs," you muttered, biting indents into your bottom lip, over and over and over. you didn't want to cry in front of her. you’d needed to be strong, and if you'd survived the first fifteen minutes of the ride without breaking down, you could make it through the last fifteen.

you and abby eat dinner in her room, reheated lasagna that neither of you fully enjoy anymore. it had been your favorite meal at one point, but now it left an unsavory taste in your mouth, peppered with sour memories. you two talk about all the things she'd learned at the museum, about how her body functioned as she grew and what it meant to be an ever-evolving human. 

the conversation continues as you help her through her night routine. it finishes on, "it's not easy being human" as you tuck her into bed. she nods, flipping on to her side so that her tears fall onto her pillow. "aw, abby."

you wipe away the wetness, giving her a kiss on the forehead and stroking at her damp hair. "don't understand why mike hates us." 

you don't know what to say at first because you've felt the same way. it was like something had switched in him one day, rearranging his chemical makeup and transforming him into someone neither of you knew. "hey," you whisper, readjusting yourself so you're reclined against her headboard, sweeping her up into your arms. she rests her head on your chest, sniffling as she tries to stop her hiccupping breaths. "i think he's just lost right now. not to excuse his behavior, but...he doesn't know who he is. he's not mike, okay? and the mike that you feel like hates you isn't your brother. he loves you, deep deep down and i love you, abby. i love you so much." 

"i love you more, y/n," she gasps. you curl her into you further, cradling her so she'll settle. you want to shed your own tears once again. you can only imagine how hard all of this is for her. losing her whole family before she'd even started puberty. how were you supposed to figure out your own life, all the ups and downs, twists and turns of being sentient, when you were needed to guide abby into her formative years? how was this any way to start them?

you hold her for hours, staring blanky at the walls above her desk. they're fairly bare now, every picture she'd had with mike in it gone. you'd replaced him, outlined in gold radiance and holding abby's hand. it's bittersweet.

you're still mulling over the drawings when you hear the bedroom door open and close, footsteps retreating to the bathroom. what mike had been doing in there all day, you don’t know, and you try your hardest not to care. this is how your weekends had gone for a while.

you gently ease abby into her bed, smoothing her hair and murmuring sentimentalities into her ear before heading to your room.

there's not much excitement in your own night routine; mike usually sleeps on the couch on weekend nights, so you all you do is change your clothes and brush your teeth in the kitchen, moving around like a phantom. you don't make a sound, forgoing your past habits of humming or singing as you twirled about.

you lay in bed with the lamp light illuminating the pages of your book, leering your eyes over the text. reading was your form of escapism, using the fictional worlds printed on paper to leave the earthly realm you felt trapped in. you didn't have to be y/n when you read; you got to be free. 

it's close to 1 am when mike opens the door and your eyes lock onto his. it's instinct. you're still connected, in more ways than just a waning relationship, and sometimes you two will catch each other's stares like nothing negative has ever transpired between you two. your heart always pounds when it happens, and you wonder if you're alone in that.

"sorry for barging in, i just...uh, need some more clothes." you nod at his statement, but you're not sure that it's entirely true. he's dressed for night already, in his loose t-shirt and deep blue plaid pants. "really?" 

"just a change of pants...might get hot while i'm out there sleeping in the living room," he bites, and you don't miss a beat with your snappy reply. "nobody's making you sleep out there, mike, and it's fucking november. i'm sure it won't get hot." 

he leans against the dresser, deflated. it was a stupid excuse to use, a shitty way for him to try to snark at you, but he's so frustrated with himself, with everything he's caused. he doesn't understand what's wrong with him, and how he could ruin one of the only good things he's ever known. 

he'd taken an ambien earlier, fingering one out of the "legit prescription" bottle his dealer had given him, and sobbed into his pillow until he passed the fuck out. what looked to you like his usual appearance of fatigue was actually fatigue and guilt and rage and all these other feelings that had boiled to the surface since he'd been unfaithful. he just wanted to be near you again, to have you in the way he did all that time ago. 

how had he been so mindless, brain-dead enough to go through with dropping the responsibilities into your sole hands, virtually ignoring you for a year straight, and now, cheating on you? how had he let it get to this?

"i know. i'm sorry. i just don't deserve you, y/n." you slip your bookmark into the fold of your book, setting it down on the nightstand and sitting up straight against the bedroom wall. mike is still facing away from you, slouched yet frigid. there's so much tension radiating from his direction, and you find yourself subconsciously empathizing with him. you feel the same tension in your limbs every day, wishing life would give you one moment to take a deep, relieving breath. you want the stress to go away, for the both of you to be able to exhale all the sullen air of the past that resides in you, and replace it with the hope for a brighter future. 

mike stands to his full height, backing into the bed to plop down on the edge, staring dead ahead at his image in the dresser mirror. you get on all fours, thoughtlessly crawling over to him and wrapping one of your arms around his shoulders, skimming your other hand over his arm. it's what you would've done on any other day, and for some reason, you no longer feel like you're in the present with him. this is happening before everything, when the thought of him filled you with nothing but giddiness. "like how can you even...do this with me?" 

"i love you, mike," you whisper swiftly, tilting your head away from him so you can gaze into his eyes. he fucking hates himself, hates the way his jaw trembles as you fall into him again. he doesn't deserve this. he isn't entitled to your grace, and he wants to yell at you to take it back; save it. keep it for yourself, or abby. "i love you, and i miss you, and i just want things to go back to the way they were. i miss being in love."

it's all it takes for him to grab at the back of your neck, smashing his lips onto yours like no time has passed since the last time you'd done it, even if it'd been a year.

how had he gone a year without this, too? the feeling of your mouth on his shuts his brain off, and it isn't long before you're under him, arms wrapped tightly around his neck as he gives you slow, sweet, soft thrusts; thrusts you haven't felt in so long. you're all faint, yet honeyed whimpers and scratching at his back, and mike pushes away the shame that courses through him. this is what he wanted. his hookup was nothing close, a physical dupe of you that couldn't compare to the feeling of the real thing. he's in love with you, and he's crying into your neck, moaning out, "i love you baby, i'd do anything for you. i'm so sorry for ruining our lives, please forgive me, gonna make it better" between gasps. you nod your head, giving mike the most merciful eyes and it only makes him more emotional, coming into you with a muffled, shattered sob. 

you both settle into cuddling after you've used the bathroom, and mike keeps his sanity in check by telling himself that this is what he wants, and that he'll do anything to keep it. he'll never make another mistake again. from this day on, he'll do better. no more ambien. no more ignoring abby. no more putting all the responsibility on you. he has to save himself and he wants to show you that he'll change, that the person you fell in love with is still there. he even agrees to couples therapy when you bring it up. it's without hesitation, a quick, "anything you want baby", and he begins thinking of all the ways he can make extra money to pay for it. 

"we're gonna be okay. i'm going to turn this around," he promises, kissing at the top of your head before turning off the bedside lamp. you two sleep tangled in each other's limbs, and it's the best sleep either of you have gotten all year. 

you're impressed by the way things actually turn around. mike takes up a second job and makes you quit yours, opting for something close to the house for a small 9 am - 1 pm shift after freddy's. it works out perfectly for everyone; he gets to eat breakfast with the two of you every morning; you take abby to school, and get to work knowing that you don't have to work again after you're dismissed of children; mike picks abby up, on time, and brings her home, making her lunch and letting her decompress while he takes a nap; you come home and decompress yourself, afterwards helping abby with her homework as mike gets his winks in until 7:30 or so. you two trade off making dinner during the week, and by 8:30 at the latest, you're all sitting at the table enjoying a meal together. mike leaves for work, catching up on sleep there too. you help abby settle down for the night, and then you're grading until you're calling it quits. it feels like the earth has healed. 

it takes abby a bit of work to come around to mike again, and by the fourth weekend of positive change, he's worked his way back into her good graces. it moves you, the genuine effort he's put in to right his wrongs and show the two of you that he was endlessly remorseful. the two of you had even been having sex again; quickies during the week, but passionate, heated, breathless hour-long sessions during the early mornings or late nights of the weekend, panting into each other's mouths and clinging to skin like saran wrap. it's a year's worth of tension unfolding every time you two are in bed. 

you're going out on dates. you're taking abby places. you're making memories again. the lunch texts happen again. you're going to couples therapy, really working on everything. everything is perfect...until it isn't, once again.

all it takes is a month and a half. 

you're waltzing around the living room, tidying up a bit around the place before the three of you convene on the couch for a movie night. it's something you'd recommended at the start of all the improvements, and it'd become a highlight of the weekends. every saturday night, rotating choice of movie, max pg-13. abby sits on the couch as you organize the random knickknacks that lay about, clicking through the streaming app's home screen while she waits for mike to give her a movie title.

he calls out a name, something generic and easily marketable, and abby rolls her eyes, searching for it anyway. "sounds like a boring kid movie." 

"you are a kid, silly," you say through a laugh, arranging two bowls of snacks on the table and plopping down beside her. she scoots into you, and you throw your arm around her shoulder, resting your temple on the top of her head.

"mikeeeeeeeeee," you trill, looking towards the shadowed hallway. "get your ass in here! why are you even brushing your teeth right now anyway? we're about to devour popcorn and doritos, and abby's gonna get to drink sodaaaaaaaa, but only because tomorrow is sunday. it'll all taste so gross with the mint flavor," you and abby giggle at your words, caught in a laughing fit when mike's glowing phone catches your eye. 

it's on the coffee table, thrown there without a care, and you reach forward to check out what notification he got. you two don't go through each other's phones, but there's no rule about using them. you scroll through his social media apps sometimes, and vice versa. you two are open, trusting, secure...right?

the notification is an email from something called Hookup-Haven, the body of the message starting with "you were kind of too drunk to make me come last time...". the subject says new message from: slutzora_xx.

you think it's just a spam email, one of those "hot, horny singles in your area!" type of things, and it's a bit puzzling to you that they're coming to mike's primary inbox instead of his junk folder, but you will yourself to push it away. this was an invasion of his privacy and you didn't do this. you didn't condone this. 

the will doesn't work. 

you would've believed it to be spam if clicking the one email didn't expose you to a thread of communication from about a month and a half ago. there are only a couple of emails, six of them from back then. mike initiated them.

mikelovesnaturesounds | 8:23

just looking to fuck, nothing else. 

slutzora_xx | 8:25

well, you're in the right place, searching on a hookup site lol. were you looking for something tonight?

mikelovesnaturesounds | 8:29

if you could, sure. i can skip work. been really depressed about my life and my relationship and i don't want to think about any of it rn.

slutzora_xx | 8:31

aw mike <33333 i'm really sorry. i'll still fuck you, irdgaf but i have to ask...how would your girlfriend feel about this?

mikelovesnaturesounds | 8:32

what she doesn't know won't kill her. we don't even talk.

slutzora_xx | 8:34

doesn't sound like much of a girlfriend to me </3 but, it's an answer nonetheless (: meet me at the oakmont at 10:00, mkay? room 106. see you then *kissies*

your eyes blear as you read the one he just received.

slutzora_xx | 8:17

you were kind of too drunk to make me come last time but you're still pretty cute. wanna try again sometime, sober? ;D i'm back in town for another week so lmk! same place, room 213. 

you can't breathe. it feels like your chest has been vacuum sealed, all of the air within you sucked out with every word you read of this exchange. you swipe up to find his calendar app, comparing the date of the emails to that time period in your life. 

month and a half ago, friday. mike had exited without a word as you entered, with his usual dead eyes and apathetic physicality. you'd watched him leave, backing out of the driveway without a single glance at you. it'd stung worse than lots of things you'd felt recently, and in that moment, you didn't know why. it all made sense now. 

he'd had sex with you the next night. you'd forgiven him, trusting his sorrowful whimpers and desperate movements, believing that everything would actually be okay again. 

you don't realize that you're still wheezing and trembling until abby waves her hand in front of your face, eyes filled with worry. "are you okay, y/n?" you set mike's phone down, screen on and infidelity exposed, as you try to give abby your strongest smile. how could you when even you were terrified by the harsh tremors of your hands? 

you stand to your feet, ushering her down the hall to her bedroom door. "just go in your room, okay? put on your headphones and do some karaoke. sing as loud as you want. i just need to talk to mike really quick, i'll come get you when we're done." 

abby turns to her door, cracking it open with one more look back towards you. her eyes are melancholic, as if she knows exactly what's going on.

"you and mike aren't going to just talk, are you?" 

you nudge her into her room with a simple, "sing as loud as you want, abby", your voice toned with mature finality. "don't come out until i come get you." abby knows not to argue.

you return to the couch, staring at mike's bright phone screen. you'd been cheated on so many times, and though you hadn't wanted heartache to harden you, it still hit you over the head like a sack of bricks. it never got easier, finding out that you couldn't trust someone that you loved deeply, but you just kept your head held high. you knew you would find something eventually, something right. someone good, someone who would keep you and your heart safe, never hurt you. 

you thought that person was mike. you'd felt 100% positive that he was right for you.

how had you ended up being wrong?

you hadn't cried yet, sitting with your back straight and interlocked fingers crushed between your knees. your gaze is locked on his phone still, a leg bouncing as you will yourself not to explode with the betrayal.

mike finally comes out of the bathroom, throwing a lovedrunk, sheepish smile your way as he walks into the illuminated living room. the smile falls when he catches your expression and tracks your eyes to his phone. his heart sinks to his ass as he takes in the Hookup-Haven logo, tiny and almost illegible, but there, nonetheless, on his phone. fuck.

"baby--"

"don't!" your voice is sharp, sharper than it's been in recent times. he was used to this tone back then, but for the last month or so, you'd been so sweet, so much like yourself when you'd first started dating. "don't call me baby. i'm going to ask you this once, and i swear to fucking god, mike, if you lie to me, i'm leaving right now." mike swallows hard, standing motionless in front of you.

"did you cheat on me?" your voice crack strikes mike all over; his brain, heart, and stomach all lurch with remorse and his hands fly up in surrender, eyes closed so he can't see your face. "baby, listen---"

"stop...calling...me that!" you scream, shooting to your feet and stepping into his space. he keeps his eyes closed, squeezing them so hard it starts to give him a headache. he can't see you. he'll die if he sees you. "yes or no, mike?" 

"yes, y/n! i cheated on you, okay? i was fucked up---" 

"not when you coordinated your meetup," he opens his eyes and is met with your tearful ones, red and overflowing with devastation. you're breathing so hard, placing a hand on your chest to try and soothe yourself before you have an anxiety attack. what has he done? 

"you left the house twenty minutes after you finalized your plans. you made them sober." your voice breaks again, and mike tries to reach out for you, bring you to him so he can make it all better, but you dodge him, diverting your way to the kitchen. you have your arms crossed over your chest, rubbing your hands over your biceps. 

"you fucked me the next day! you knew what you'd done and still had sex with me," you're not facing him, staring into the darkness just outside the kitchen window. it's the only thing keeping you calm. "how fucking could you?" 

mike is at a loss for words, stammering to find something to say. he’s so angry at himself, internally pummeling himself into the ground. 

what’s there for him to say? there’s no fixing what he’s done. he'd put in so much effort to fix things with you and abby, working his ass off to make sure that he didn't fail you two again. he'd done everything he could, and it'd had all crumbled into dust by one mistake, one mistake he'd known was irredeemable. 

"y/n, listen to me, okay?" he doesn't deserve your ears, but you lend them to him anyway, still shunning him from seeing your face. 

"nothing is going to fix what i did. nothing is going to change it, but please know that i love you with my entire being. i have since the day i met you, and...i was in such a bad place. i had been... for the entire past year. i felt nothing but pain...nothing but this mix of a void and lead inside my chest. i didn't want to wake up. i didn't want to do anything. i just wanted to feel what we had, or at least something close. i needed to feel something other than that pain, y/n. that's all i felt when i was here, or at freddy's, or anywhere for that matter. the circumstances had me feeling nothing but this...deep sorrow because everything had fallen apart." 

"because of you!" you screech as you whirl around to him, blood-curdling and angry and followed by a sharp wheeze of breath inward as you try to keep it together, key word try. "because of you, mike. you were the reason that abby almost got taken away, and why we were almost evicted, and why i was fucking killing myself to keep everything afloat!" 

"y/n..."

"you were drugging yourself and i picked up your slack! i've helped abby through two school semesters and a summer, showing up late to my second job that i really needed because you were asleep! you missed picking her up so many times that she thought you hated her. she thought she was a burden, mike; crying into my arms every night because she didn't understand why you'd suddenly just given up on her. she tore down all her drawings of you in her room...i remember walking in on her, ripping them to little pieces in her fort with the most heart-breaking cries coming from her. screaming over and over, 'why doesn't mike love me?'" your voice is so shaky, and you're trying to keep your composure, but the thoughts you're conjuring send you further into a breakdown. "i had to help her through that on top of everything else because you checked out. you checked out intentionally, and it's not fair that you get to go out and fuck other people while i have to be here, cleaning up the mess you made!" 

"then fucking leave!" mike counters with a yell, taken back by the way he's berating you when the anger he feels is for no one but himself. he doesn't mean to, but your confessions unsettle him, leaving him unable to think logically. he'd gone from excitedly thinking about watching a movie with you and abs, to arguing about his prior lack of involvement with either one of you, and he knew there was only one person to blame. nevertheless, all his foggy brain knew was to yell, to shout out his frustrations until they finally released their hold on his body. "it's not like you're staying with me after all this, so just go ahead and fucking leave," he wishes he could take it back after he says it. he's not thinking straight, and he begs himself to get it together. why can't he stop causing all of this destruction? 

"i want to!" your scream is loud, shaking the entire house. you can't believe he's giving up so easily, letting you slip out of his life like you never really mattered at all. "i've wanted to leave since our anniversary!" 

"why didn't you then?" his voice is whiny, genuinely disappointed in the fact that you didn't go. "we ignored each other the entire day, ignored each other every day since. why didn't you just leave me?" you figure he was trying to use self-pity as a way for you to empathize, prodding at your heart's soft spot for him, which was, frankly, the entire thing. you couldn't let him win. you couldn't let him trick you again, effortlessly handing over your forgiveness just because he was mike, and you loved him, and he made you melt. 

"i always believed things would change," you mutter, pursing your lips with an absent-minded head nod. "asked the universe if i was doing anything wrong by chance, but it was never me. it was you, and i thought that maybe if i toughened it out long enough, you'd see that and work to fix it. too bad you did that after you had sex with someone else, right? felt so guilty that it forced you to make the change, even though you'd already done the one thing you knew i wouldn't forgive? had me forgive you after you'd destroyed everything?"

"please," he whispers, bringing a hand up to quickly swipe at his undereye. "i'm sorry, y/n. i know i don't deserve you. i never have, and i never will. i fucked up, bad, and i'm just..." he stops with a regretful sigh, reaching out to you once more, but before he can say anything else, you blurt, "we're done, mike." 

the sentence causes his eyes to fall shut, air coming from his nose as a despondent laugh. "yeah?" 

"rushed into all of these responsibilities, thought i could trust you. made me feel safe, made me let my guard down. i thought you were different, mike. after everything that i told you about. all the things you promised you wouldn't do, but none of it matters. it doesn't matter what you say. you lied from the beginning, convincing me that moving in with you would be so great and that we'd be a real family, but this was no family. you didn't support us. you weren't there.you did stupid, reckless things and hurt the ones you love, the ones that love you."

"we're done though, right? don't know why you'd say that, considering that it doesn't seem like you love me much anymore." you couldn't believe him, staring at him with bewildered eyes.

he couldn't believe himself either. who was he? why did he continue to self-sabotage, completely throwing his mouth out to the sharks before it'd had a chance to communicate with his brain? you shake your head, bitterly laughing at him and his reaction and everything around you. the situation had you in tearful knots, laughing this maniacal laugh with tears streaking down your face. 

"i'll be out by the end of the week, mike. should figure out what you're going to do about...everything." you give him a tight lipped smile before strolling past him, forcefully knocking your shoulder into his. he almost trips backward, stumbling into the dining table. he deserves it. he deserves everything, with the exception of anything good, you, and abby. 

it doesn't take much time for you to pack all your things. you call out of work for a few days, packing while mike snoozes on the couch. he's never actually asleep, eyes closed but fully alert with thoughts and emotions and gripes to himself, about himself. 

you didn't have much stuff. you'd sold a lot of duplicate things you'd had when you moved in with mike, his assurance that you'd always have everything you needed bringing you solace you'd always dreamt of. you'd trusted him with everything, and now it left you needing to start (almost) completely over.

you cry about the situation at first, cooped up in the room with a pile of gross, used tissues on your nightstand. you didn’t want for all of this to be over. you’d wanted to be with mike and abby forever, and your brain unhealthily begins to wrack with ideas of what you could do to change things, but…there was nothing you could do. 

the damage had been done, and all that’s required of you is to dry your tears and move on like you deserve.

you stuff your car full with everything, and on wednesday afternoon, you're leaning on it outside with your old house key in hand as you wait for mike to come home with abby. 

you'd told her about what happened, and she'd let you know that she'd read the emails over your shoulder that night. you two cried together, cuddling and falling asleep in her bed. you wanted to take her with you, but you knew you couldn't; not back to your parent's house. it wasn't yours, and it was fairly small, barely enough space for the three of you. you promised to visit her somehow, and reminded her that she could always text or email you.

mike pulls up on the opposite side of your car, staring at you as you turn and round the front to let abby out. you don't even make it to the door before she's throwing herself out and onto the asphalt, falling to her knees at your feet and wrapping her arms around your shins with earth-shattering sobs. she clings to you so tightly that you'll trip if you try to move. mike watches the whole thing from inside the car, trying to breathe and center himself. he thought you would've taken the entire week to pack, maybe lingering on everything that you two had been, but he'd felt his mouth fill with bile he pulled in and saw you with your car stuffed to the brim. you had three days to spare. 

he tries not to think about what his future without you, just him and abby again, would hold. he didn't feel so good about it.

you pull abby upwards and wipe at her tears, brushing hair out of her eyes and caressing the perimeter of her face, blotchy with red. it breaks your heart that you're leaving right as she comes home from school, but you know you can't dwell any longer. besides her, there was nothing left for you here. you'd done everything you could, keeping your heads above water for an entire year. you wouldn't stay somewhere that didn't serve you, and unfortunately, even abbycouldn't change your stance. 

you tuck your own curls behind your ears, willing your voice to steady enough so you can talk to her. "keep singing karaoke, okay? record yourself with the webcam i got you and send me the videos. i wanna hear from you, so don't be a stranger. i'm here for you, always. whatever you need, just call, text, carrier pigeon," your last option makes her giggle, nasally and snotty from crying so much. "i love you so much abby, more than you'll ever know."

"i love you so much more, y/n. i want you to stay," she hugs at your legs, and you enclose her in your arms, taking deep breaths as to not cry and dribble all over her. "you were supposed to stay forever. please don't leave me with mike." you can barely hear anything in your ears, the sound of your heart splintering into a million tiny pieces ringing in your eardrums like tinnitus. 

a single tear tracks down your cheek as you close your eyes, and you whisper, "i know. i'm so sorry," before giving her a long, low-spirited kiss on the forehead and standing to your full height. "i love you. never forget that."

"i won't," she muses, so small and frail. you hand her your house key and she captures it in her hand, making a tight fist around it. she hands you an index card with her other one, a bright, happy drawing of you and her on the unlined side. "to y/n, from abs" is scribbled on the opposite one. "i made one for myself too, so we could both have one. it'll keep us together, even so far apart." 

you kiss at the figure of her on the card, pressing it to your heart. "i'll keep it safe. thank you so much, abby." she smiles, giving you one last hug at the waist before allowing you to move to your car. 

once again, what's mike to say, or do, or conjure? nothing will change his mistakes, one after the other that he'd saddled you two with. he didn't know how he could go on after this, feeling the darkness of a deep depression licking at him. he wanted to take twenty ambien. he didn't want to wake up if it wasn't beside you. 

you catch his stare for the final time when you start your car, your chest rising and falling with a deep breath. you twist your lips slightly to the side, giving him a head nod that says, "that's a wrap on us." 

he returns your movement, lifting his hand in a small wave. you don't wait around, reversing out of the driveway. mike watches you in his rearview mirror, taking another breath before you release it with a smile, settling the card abby gave you on your dashboard. he knows you're smiling because you're free after so long of tying yourself down for him, taking on the weight of the world for three different people, when all you really wanted to focus on was yourself. 

he doesn't blame you. 

you were going to live your life. you were going to live stress-free. you were going to be young, and do whatever youwanted to do. you'd be careful with your heart but still so full of love, rolling the weight of mike's sins off of your shoulders. none of it was your fault, and you got to leave the house a lot lighter than you'd felt in a while. 

your car peels down the road, and mike can't believe that he'll never see you again. he'll never kiss you, or call you baby. he may not do it with anyone else ever again.

abby comes to the car and grabs her things out of the backseat without a word. mike turns to her and her eyes bore into him with the ferocity of a trillion daggers. she's still crying, silently now, slamming the front door of the house shut as she enters. mike knows that she'll probably never forgive him for this, or for anything.

he realizes that everything has led him back to the same position he was in when he'd arrived home from his fling, alone and numbly sedentary in his driver seat. 

his body chokes with the first sob, and then the next one, and the next, wholly defeated by your surrender. 

well. i suppose this saga has come to an end. this was actually pretty emotional to write, and i may take a tiny break before i get into writing safety net. even though that series is super cute and fluffy, i just need some time to digest wtf i just wrote 😭 this shit HURTS. i hope you all enjoy this. i know it's not very fluffy, but still. sometimes we can't tell a compelling story and service everyone lmao. i think this was the way their story was supposed to end, so i'm happy i was able to execute it how i wanted 💜 lemme know what you think!

faire's seedlings ✿

@leahdhopkins4321-@pyr0-kai-@angstywhore-@sunazroo-@nyxthoughtss-@mirophobic-@fayethor-@marixsimps-@regretfulme-@ithinkitszeph-@707xn-@cattt777-@violetta-ximena-@amnesia33-@topnerd03-@fastnights-@laprvphette-@savage-aespa-@mfdxz-@0-tatiana-0-@dusstory-@delwrites-@nim-rose

[shushmal]

Please enjoy this deeply incomprehensible ghost story. Content warnings in tags.

He's there again. Steve can see him, just barely—a distant face in the crowd, too far away for his eyes to focus on, but Steve knows he's there. Can feel the sensation of being seen, of being watched, the prickle cold sharpness dragging over his skin. He's there, Steve knows it. If only he could just—

"Steve?"

Steve blinks, startled by the sudden sound of the cafe, the bustle of holiday shoppers on the street. He falls back into his body, overwhelmed by the noise and the smell and the heat.

"Are you okay?" Robin asks, carefully.

"Yeah," Steve croaks. His throat feels tight and scratchy. It's hard to breathe. He can still feel those eyes on him. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Robin's lips thin, pursed into a tight line. She doesn't say anything, and Steve gives her a wane smile.

It's been years now, and Robin's been so gentle with him. Steve remembers a time that her gentleness would grate, would make him feel tight and wrong, would make him shy away.

Now, he's grateful for it. He feels as fragile as she treats him.

Bringing her coffee to her lips, she takes the time to study him and Steve wonders what she sees. A thirty year old man with dark bags under his eyes, pale, wane, lifeless. Or maybe she still sees some of that kid he used to be, cocky and carefree and clueless. He wonders, because some days Steve feels like nothing at all anymore.

"Are you taking your medication?" she asks.

Steve swallows, stares down at the table. His coffee stares back up at him, cooling and untouched. "No."

Robin doesn't say anything, because what's there to say? She's watched him take pill after pill. Nothing ever changes. He still hardly sleeps. He still barely eats.

He still sees him.

"Is he...?" she starts, never asks fully.

Steve's eyes slide to the right. There's a mirror on the cafe wall, meant to make the room seem bigger than it is. Steve can see him, just barely there, a reflection in the corner—long hair and blood and—

Steve looks back down at his cold coffee. He nods.

It's cold in their apartment. They keep the heating turned off until it becomes truly unbearable, and Steve makes Robin take their only space heater for her room. She deserves to sleep comfortably, and it would be wasted on Steve, who sits on their ratty couch and watches infomercials until the sun comes up. He bundles himself in sweaters and thick socks and blankets, lets the night pass him by, dozing sometimes, or simply resting just outside his body, seeing something everyone tells him isn't there.

But Steve can see him. Eyes in the darkness. A whisper he can just barely make out. Sometimes he thinks he can hear him perfectly.

Sometimes, Steve hears him call his name.

When Steve sleeps, he dreams. Not a nightmare, not really.

But it's the same dream, every time, cold darkness pressing on him at all sides, bare feet on wet ground, enough water to splash, to ripple. Steve stands alone in the cold darkness. It feels like hours, ages, he stands, unseeing, unmoving. Waiting. He can't remember why.

He's always waiting.

Nothing ever comes.

Steve gasps awake, and Robin jumps back, startled. "Jesus," she breathes, hand over her heart. "You scared the fuck out of me!"

Gulping down air, Steve sits up, shaky. "Sorry, I didn't—"

"I couldn't wake you up!" she says over him, talking fast, almost shrill. Robin's face is washed of color, terror in her eyes. "You weren't breathing, Steve!"

"W-What?" Steve blinks at her. The dream slips away, leaking out of him, like blood blistering through skin. He's practically panting, his clothes sweat soaked.

"You wouldn't wake up! I couldn't get you to wake up, and you weren't breathing— Fuck! Steve, I thought you were fucking dead!"

"I'm sorry," Steve says, automatic. It rolls off his tongue like a bad consolation. "I don't know..." he trails off, and Robin stares at him. Together, they match their breathing, until the gasping stops, until some color returns to Robin's face.

She sits down beside him, and the old couch creaks, ominous, like a wail. She takes his hand, holds it tight. Her fingers are cold against his skin.

"I'm scared for you," she whipsers.

"I'm sorry," Steve tells her again. If feels like it means nothing, useless.

"It's not your fault," Robin says. She squeezes his hand. "I don't know what else to do, but it's not your fault, Steve."

This time Steve doesn't say anything at all.

When Steve first started seeing him, that figure in the corner of his eye, Steve had just thought it was his imagination, his guilt. Because he was. He felt so goddamn guilty all the time, about how it all went down, how they hadn't been able to—

He'd felt guilty. So, maybe it wasn't such a surprise, that he kept seeing him out of the corner of his eye, guilty thoughts taken shape.

But then—the dreams. And the feeling of being watched. The distant whisper, words he couldn't make out. It'd felt so real.

So he told Robin. It didn't get better. They asked Eleven, the party, everyone—but nothing, just the insistence the upside down was gone. There was nothing left to curse Steve. It didn't get better. They went to doctors, psychologists, faith healers, fortune tellers, ghost whispers. The doctors called him brain damaged, the psychologists schizophrenic. The faith healers possessed, the fortune tellers cursed. The ghost whispers told him he was haunted.

It didn't get better. No matter the drugs, the anti-psychotics, the prayers, the cleansings, or all the rest of the bullshit Robin sunk all her college savings into, to fix him.

It didn't get better.

"Something's different," Robin says.

Steve stares straight ahead, eyes carefully diverted. He can see him, he's gotten so close now. Steve can see him. And he can obviously see Steve. Eyes in the darkness. Eyes in the shadows. Eyes always on him, watching. Waiting.

"What do you mean?"

"I can just tell," Robin says. She's holding his hand again, their fingers laced together. "Steve, what's going on?"

He thinks of telling her. He knows he can't. "Nothing, just... Just more the same." He makes himself smile for her. "I'm okay, Robbie."

"I feel like you're going to disappear," Robin admits on a whisper. She squeezes his hand, white knuckles, bones grinding against bones. "I feel like I'm losing you."

Steve makes himself look at her, wet eyes and freckled and cropped hair. She's beautiful. She's his family.

"I won't leave you," he lies to her. "Promise."

Steve dreams. He stands in the darkness, unmoving, unseeing. Waiting. Hours, days, months pass, or maybe just a few seconds. Then—

Footsteps. From behind, or all around. Splashing in the shallow water. Gentle ripples lapping against Steve's feet. Footsteps, distant, but growing closer, louder, and louder and louder—closer, closer, closer. Until, finally—

He's behind Steve, looming, impossibly big, a giant thing. He's behind Steve, and Steve can hear him sigh, his soft breathing, the rustle of movement as he shifts from foot to foot, waiting, impatient.

The quiet drip, steady, of water meeting water.

Steve looks down and sees the blood pooling around his feet in the darkness.

There's a cold touch on Steve's arm, and he shudders, hands dropping the cereal box. In front of him, Robin jumps.

"Hey," she says, beside him instantly. Steve pays her no attention, eyes stuck on his forearm, where the touch had circled just above his wrist. "Are you okay?"

Steve doesn't answer.

"Oh, shit, you're bleeding," Robin gasps. She grabs him at his elbow, avoiding the red around his arm. "What happened?"

For a long moment, Steve doesn't answer. The bloody handprint is stark against his pale skin.

"Steve?" she says, careful, always so careful.

He meets her eyes. "You can see it?"

He watches lips thin, her eyes widen. He imagines her pulse jumping in her neck. "The blood?" she asks. "Yeah."

Steve closes his eyes and breathes a long sigh. "Oh."

Steve dreams of him, standing just behind him, a line of heat along his spine, only just not touching. Steve can feel his breath on the back of his neck. He feels him shift his hulking weight, from foot to foot, impatient. Waiting. Blood in the water. Eyes in the dark.

Robin paces the apartment, tight circles weaving to tight circles. She's talking, but Steve can't hear her. He looks pointedly at his hands in his lap.

He can see him out of the corner of his eye—wild hair, bloody and torn. Pink lips, thick brows, long fingers tapping, tapping, tapping against his knee, picking at the frayed hole in his jeans. He's so red and dark and broken. He's the boy they left behind.

Steve can see him, and he watches Steve. Waiting.

Robin drops to her knees in front of Steve, angling herself right into his eye line. "Steve!"

"Sorry," Steve says, automatic. He watches her chew her lip. She clutches his hands in hers.

"What do I do?" she whispers. Steve has no answers for her, and she knows it. "Fuck, something's wrong. Something's so wrong. I don't know what to do."

She has tears in her eyes.

Steve cries with her. "I'm sorry," he tells her, means it with his whole heart. "I don't know. I'm so sorry, Robin."

Beside them, he watches, unmoving and silent.

Steve dreams. He stands just at Steve's back, completely still, until he moves. He looms over Steve, his arms coming up around him, too-large hands, too-long fingers like claws, spread wide over Steve's chest. He presses himself close, a heavy weight on Steve's shoulder, his back, long hair falling against Steve's neck.

"Hey, Harrington," he says, and holds Steve tight.

And Steve sobs, like a damn breaking, the power of the flood nearly bending him in half, breaking him, if not for the arms and hands and fingers holding him together.

"Eddie," he sobs. "Eddie, Eddie, Eddie."

"Steve," Eddie says. His voice is a rumbling rasp of a thing, almost inhuman, clicking and hissing.

But it's Eddie. Steve knows it's Eddie.

"Did you miss me?" Eddie asks. He presses his face into Steve's neck, lips moving along his pulse, sharp teeth sliding across his skin. "I missed you."

"Eddie," Steve sobs. "Oh my god, Eddie."

"Shhh," Eddie shushes him, and it's half a hiss. He hums, and it rings loud in Steve's ear. A hand reaches up to Steve's face, and it's wrong, it's not a human hand, it's not the hand Eddie used to have, now just claws gently dragging across Steve's cheek, through his tears. "Shh, shh, enough of that."

"I'm sorry," Steve chokes. He wants to wipe his face, but he can't move. "Eddie, I'm so sorry."

Eddie hums, curls over Steve more, his lips against his collar bone. "You did leave me there," he says casually. "But that's okay. It took me a while, you know? But I forgive you."

"I'm sorry," Steve says again. A chant, a prayer. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Eddie."

Eddie shushes him, hums. "I forgive you, Steve, shhh. It's okay now. It's okay," he sighs. His hand rings Steve's throat, fingers dragging, claws touching and overlapping on the back of his neck. "Breathe, Stevie, I forgive you. It's all going to be okay."

"Eddie," Steve says, pathetic. He can see him, empty eyes and bloodless lips. He's so warm, he's cold. He's whole here, in the dream, monstrously whole—no longer the haunting, torn corpse that follows him in his waking hours.

"I missed you, Steve," Eddie whispers. "I was really lonely, you know."

"I'm sorry," Steve tells him. The hand around his throat tightens, just a little, not enough to hurt.

"I'm sorry, too," Eddie says. He covers Steve's eyes, but Steve can still see him. See what he's become. "I didn't mean to kill you."

"What?"

A touch along his side, long healed wounds gone white, the fading memory of teeth in his gut, blood in his mouth. "It made you different," Eddie says. His breath is hot, like fire. "And then it made me your's, and you mine."

Steve shudders.

"I didn't mean to kill you," Eddie sighs. "I'm so sorry, Stevie. But there's only you for me. Only me for you. And I couldn't find my way home."

Breathing deeply, freely for the first time in years, Steve squirms, twisting in the arms around him. Eddie squeezes him tighter.

"Sorry, Stevie," Eddie says, apologetic, sweet. "I don't want to fight you. It's already done."

Steve huffs, and elbows Eddie hard in the ribs, until he has enough room to turn Eddie's embrace. Now, face to face, Steve can see the hulking form of him, all twisted up into a monster—familiar gray skin, long limbs, a flower for a face.

Still, Steve wraps him arms around Eddie's waist, presses his face into his chest. Eddie is Steve's and Steve is Eddie's, it wasn't a lie.

"I missed you," Steve says, lips brushing the skin stretched across Eddie's chest. "I missed you, too, Eddie."

"Oh," Eddie breathes. He settles, and pulls Steve tightly to him.

The shape of him ripples under Steve's touch, stretches and compresses, and Steve finds himself held by the boy that was in the boathouse. And Steve finds himself again the boy with a bat, the child he used to be. Eddie leans back, grinning, round faced and pink and brown eyes sparkling.

But when he moves, Steve can still see the shadow of the monster moving around him, too-long arms and too-long hands holding him close.

"You'll come with me?" Eddie asks. The hissing growl is a quiet echo in voice.

"Of course," Steve tells him. He misses Robin like a severed limb, but he still smiles for Eddie. "I won't leave you again," he promises.

Robin wakes to a cold, silent apartment. When she gets out of bed, she'll find a pile of blankets on the couch, and all the doors and windows locked from the inside. She'll look around the emptiness of her home and wonder what she's missing. But for now, she curls under her comforter, trapping what little warmth she has with her, and sleeps a little longer.

[anomaly-hivemind]

Cuddle Buddies | Cuddling w/ Sunny Day Jack x Reader

Word Count: 1,038

Horror Masterlist, Kinktober Masterlist

You were still feeling a bit bad after work, you didn’t really think that a simple yogurt would have given him such a reaction. So the trip back home was a bit of a more silent one, and you're definitely not going to get any surprises any time soon. He really looked like you had poisoned him and or assaulted his taste buds, which you probably did with your terrible choice flavor combination. Unfortunately it's far too late for you to go back now that you were already unlocking the door. Plus there are no reload points in life after all. 

You flopped on the couch with a sigh, maybe if you watch some TV you'll feel better. The show was in reality watching you inside of the other way around.  It took a total of three infomercials before Jack appeared in front of the TV, a small awkward smirk on his face and slightly raised eyebrows. 

“Why the long face, Sunshine?”  He looks at you for a moment before sitting beside you on the couch. You could feel his body heat from where he sat, Jack has always felt so warm.  

“I feel bad about earlier, y’know at work.” You look up at Jack, his large arm lying behind your head, fingers playing with a few strands of hair. 

“...Oh Sunspot,” Jack sighed with a worried expression on his face. He pulled you closer to him, thighs touching each other. His dark eyes were staring into yours, with the intent to sooth. 

“I’m sorry.” The words escaped your lips with a whisper you barely registered as your own.  

“You have nothing to apologize for, my star.” Jack places hand on your face with his thumb caressing your face. His voice was soft like it always tends to be when he was being comforting, yet it almost seemed to have a slight sultry tone to it.  You decided to not think too much about it and push the thought to the back of your mind. 

“I didn't mean to give you the impression that you upset me, Sunshine.” Jack gave you a smile, leaning a bit closer. 

“You sure? Is there any way I can make it up to you?” You decided to ask in hopes to at least make yourself feel a bit better since he had already seemed to have forgiving you. But the look on his face made you question if that was a good idea. Jack was smirking, eyes half lidded giving you the same look he had a few days prior when you kissed him.

Jack wrapped his large gloved hands around the fat of your thighs and pulled you into his lap. His head falling onto your shoulder, his breath fanning your burning ears. His arms encasing you at the waist, pressing you on his chest.

“I have a few ideas, if you really want to make it up to me with that bad sugar.” He whispers in your ear, his lip brushing against the shell of it . One of his hands moved up your stomach and on to your chest, right over your heart which is currently at beatboxing speed. Trying your best to look over at him maybe wasn't the smartest thing to do when this close, because now your noses were touching. 

Quickly turning away you decided to talk, then you curse yourself when you stutter a bit. “Like what exactly?” 

“Well for starters we can stay exactly like this and watch one of those movies you like. Then later we can decide what happens next.” He chuckled lightly after he spoke and if you were looking at his face he’d probably have a big goofy grin on his face.  He pecks your cheek  before leaning over to grab the remote and handing it to you. 

Both of you now kinda lying on the couch to be more comfortable, picking an old looking horror movie on Netflix. It was bad in hindsight, like borderline shitty but it had joke potential so you both watched it all the way through. Jack was rubbing the side of your waist, squeezing and kneading your skin. He really is the touchy time but it's clear with the rising heat to your face that you don't mind it that much. His other hand was intertwined with yours; however the size of his hand basically covered most of yours. 

The movie was near its climax, where the main girl is running, before magically tripping over her own feet.  Groaning at the cliche, you roll your eyes. Why are they all like this no one knows.  

“Why do they always do this? I would never trip in this situation, and if I did I sure as hell am not staying on the ground.” you proclaimed with a loud sigh.

“‘I'd protect you. I would never let someone hurt you especially like this, they would never even get the chance.” Jack said with surprising seriousness that it catches you off guard a bit.  You shift in your spot on his lap to look at him and he moves his arms to keep his hold on you.  

“I bet you would, Jack but can you even interact with other people that aren't me?” You tilt your head a bit and raise an eyebrow. 

“If it means keeping you to myself then i’m sure,” he said with a closed eyed smile, not sure if he was joking or not. “Your safety means the world to me sunshine, and I will do anything to make sure of it” He continued in a low tone, as he hugged you tighter. 

“That is so sweet” You fell into his chest and his body heat was pulling you in. Eyes getting heavy with each passing moment and his caressing hands were luring you to sleep.  Jack slowly gets up and carefully picks you up, holding you with ease. 

“Let's get you to bed my sunshine,” he said softly,  placing you on the bed and then curling up beside you. Covering the blanket over the two of you, whispering a good night into your ear. His arms wrapped around you, keeping you as close to your body as he could before falling asleep with you. 

[pinetreegoblin]

I have a silly and indulgent Very Important People fan theory:

Very Important People!Vic Michaelis is extremely insecure and lonely as shown by their dialogue throughout many of the currently released episodes. They seem down on their luck and frustrated by their lot in life especially in their career and their personal connections. They seem like the perfect character to go through a classic “self growth through a journey of meeting crazy characters” plot. 

Each of the characters seem like out of this world caricatures of people they could meet out in the world, and some (like Denzel and Vic’s Grandma), seem like representations of those in her actual life (I also have a fun theory that the dolls were her childhood dolls). Many of the characters themselves point out that Vic seems to be down on their luck and unhappy, and in some way preventing themselves from happiness. Off the top of my head, Vic has referred to their father being murdered, a divorce from their husband, and struggling to get a “real reporting career.” 

If I had to construct a story of how they got to this point I would say the death of their father pushed VIP!Vic into grief induced isolation and loneliness, which inhibited their personal connections as they were stuck in survival mode. The murder of their father inspired them to become a reporter, as an attempt to help other victims of violent crime, but they are struggling to find a foothold. Their unbridled grief and obsession with retribution for their father has put a strain on their marriage and their partner asks for a divorce. Maybe in their exasperation and the chaos of life they are spurred to follow a lead they have no business or jurisdiction to follow and they end up injured. It is in this injury they are experiencing this hallucinogenic state.

The VIP set itself feels very cultivated and its “old-fashioned” eclectic style gives it a vibe of a surreal manufactured reality. Each episode starts with Vic idly messing with some aspect of the set, before realizing the camera is on and putting on the reporter mask. In my memory, none of the people “on set” ever say anything, besides Vic and the interviewee, even when Vic audibly asks them questions. Additionally the cutting off to infomercials gives an uncanny feeling of parody, someone concocting the stereotypical formula of a show. Finally, there are the moments where there is an abrupt cut to a transition card from a more intense scene, almost to redirect the emotional plot. Overall, it has given me a kinda WandaVision vibe of a dreamlike state manufactured in VIP!Vics head in order to address their loneliness and disillusionment with life.

The closing question especially points towards this specific idea of VIP!Vic being stuck in this fugue state looking for answers: “What is the meaning of life?” This is both impactful if we go with the idea she is injured and experiencing this all in an unconscious state (almost "deciding" whether to wake up) as well as just in them searching for the next direction to go in their frozen life. What is the meaning of life amidst grief, loneliness, fear, and unfair circumstances? How can Vic find meaning? In creating this dreamlike fabrication, VIP!Vic is trying to recover and find a version of themselves who can live a more fulfilling life as they let go of the past which has held them back. “Remember to always be yourself, unless you'd rather be somone else” 

TLDR: Vic Michalis is having some sort of surreal, unconscious dream where crazy characters are attempting to help them heal from their father's death, their fucked up social situations, and to find meaning and happiness in their life. Through the interviewees eccentricities they teach Vic their personal meanings of life so Vic can find their own.

(This is all just to be silly, I know a lot of it is just stylistic choices of the show and the nature of the type of show it is, but I just love the show a lot and this little theory came to me)

[bambifornia]

more swindle headcanons because he won't leave my brain and i'm tired of him

crazy good at math. he's able to calculate the price/cost of something within seconds. the only reason he's not a mathematician/accountant or anything like that is because swindle wouldn't do well with those jobs. swindle likes moving on his pedes, not sitting behind a desk

extremely well-versed in politics. but not because he's very political or anything; swindle just likes knowing where and when the next intergalactic war is raging so he can profit off it. it helps to keep up with the news

workaholic. though this trait is less notable to see in him than say, someone like optimus (mostly because swindle takes great care not to let his exhaustion be shown. his image MUST be perserved, after all)

used to keep a diary in which he noted anything interesting he found on the planets he traded with. he was actually semi-organized with it, and even included some crude doodles of the organics he ran into. he stopped journaling once the war broke out, though, and hasn't journaled since due to fear of his diary being used as blackmail

answers questions like a politician. if u want a straight answer from swindle then good fucking luck LMAO. he doesn't like to go into detail about his past. it's all old news, anyway

he's a Beyonce fan. i feel it in my bones

puts effort into his image. granted his image got fucked over ever since he defected to the decepticons LMAO but the point is that swindle tries to make himself look better than he actually is.

surprisingly open-minded. he has to be. if he were to be openly xenophobic to the multitude of alien races he trades with, then his business would tank. besides, he's actually pretty curious about other worlds besides his own (ex; how he mentioned he spied on the human villains in the SUV episode, and thought their whole get-up was "exciting")

he hates hates HATES the cold. if he HAS to do business in a cold planet, he will bitch and complain about it the entire time except when he's in the negotiating room

when he was a young bot, swindle was pretty open book. that's not to say he didn't LIE back then, it just so happened that swindle was created with a super expressive faceplate, and you could always tell what swindle thought based on whatever look he was giving you. this got him into some...issues (dw he learned how to keep a poker face later on)

not the jealous type (how can he be jealous when he's the most wanted bachelor on cybertron?) but on the rare occasion that he IS, he gets real quiet. probably sulks to himself in a corner while sipping on some energon. if confronted, he'll brush it off but don't you doubt it for one second; he is PISSED

says he doesn't have any regrets or moral dilemmas about his job, but that's only half of the truth. swindle takes care not to give himself enough time to think about the past. it makes living easier that way. and swindle is a creature who seeks comfort, even if it inconveniences everybody else around him. don't try to call him out on this bad habit of his; he will huff and excuse himself by claiming you'd do the same thing too if you were in his shoes (or pedes?)

he does not like keeping living things in his subspace. he's made the mistake of storing a organic he thought was cute when he was younger, and it ended up with a trip to med-bay (surprisingly, organics don't like being in strange voids filled with nothing but weapons)

fantastic at detecting scams. he doesn't have a mod for it or anything, he just KNOWS

has a """"healthy"""" amount of paranoia. he claims he's just looking out for himself, given the kind of business he's in, but there's times where the paranoia really fucks with his health

really likes sprinkling those "infomercial phrases" into his daily speech. he thinks it makes him sound suave. thought he sometimes fucks up with the delivery and he just gives up mid-way lmao ("guard the prisoners...orrr loot the ship? it's a no process-...or? er? err..." - a direct quote from decepticon air)

he's mostly self-aware. the only thing he isn't honest about to himself is his own emotions

whenever he feels stupid stuff like "fear" or "stress" or (shudder) "remorse" he takes a look at his bank account. it helps him, in a weird way. because yes, he's an outlaw, and yes, he's technically gambling his and everyone else's life, and YES, there's days where he winds up battered and broken, barely an inch away from death, but...at least his efforts aren't for nought. they're adding up to something; with every corpse, swindle's wallet gets fatter. and with all that money in his servos, swindle might be able to buy himself the one thing cybertron can't offer him: peace

^ swindle thinks he deserves this. he delusionally believes he deserves peace and riches more than anybot

[applejaax]

Blue Hour

Chapter 1: The Dreadful Implications of a Pizza Delivery Man

Steve dropped his keys on the table when he entered the apartment. Robin was nestled on the couch fast asleep under an afghan, with the tv mindlessly droning on in the background. He took the remote from her hand and turned it off, startling her awake.

    “Ya gotta stop falling asleep with the tv on, Robin. It’s gonna rot your brain with subliminal messages from infomercials,” Steve said sarcastically, dropping the remote down onto the coffee table.

    “Wow those are big words for you, Steve, don’t hurt yourself now,” she retorted, tugging the blanket over her head and rolling away from him.

   “Haven’t heard that one before.” Steve rolled his eyes and went to the kitchen.

   It was a barren wasteland in the fridge besides some fresh vegetables they’d gotten from a local farmers market for no apparent reason, a single jar of jam, and a few beer bottles. He took one and shut the door.

   “Pizza for dinner?!” He called out. Robin’s hand came into view with a thumb up in approval and disappeared again. He laughed and leaned on the counter, sipping from the bottle in his hand.

    For three years, since he moved away from Hawkins, Steve’s been living with Robin in Illinois. She had been accepted and enrolled in some private university. At first he was upset about her leaving him all alone after everything they’d endured. In the end though it was nothing but a blessing in disguise. He pitched the idea of them moving in with each other and how good it would be for them. Robin wasn’t too keen on it at first because she wanted to make new friends, or even meet a girl she could really connect with, and suspected he’d get in the way. That was a pretty deep cut to his ego at first, he wouldn’t lie. However, with much annoying pleading and begging on his end, she eventually agreed.

     His parents had opposed, especially his father on the premise that Robin and Steve were dating. Steve never fully expressed why that would never in a million years happen but all it took was a, ‘she’s not my type, Dad,’ and that was the end of it. His mother had been the one to fully convince his old man that this was a good thing for his son. Somehow, that worked.

   Now here they were. They stayed about 5 miles off campus in a rundown neighborhood. The rent was low and the standards of living even lower. Everything in their apartment was broken. The ceiling leaked, the floors creaked, and the walls were made out of paper machete. Yet, Steve never felt more at home. He’d rather live here in this dump than step one foot back in their hell-bound hometown. In fact, it was his worst fucking nightmare. This was paradise in comparison.

   He worked a pretty simple office job in a marketing company. It wasn’t ideal but it paid well and didn’t require him to have a degree. He’d gotten lucky, he was aware of the privilege that living in the city provided. Also, who his parents were and his surname did help too. Regardless, he no longer felt like a nobody failure the way he did in Hawkins. There were so many opportunities and options out here. He could truly flourish without second guessing himself anymore. Hawkins had nothing left to offer him and all it took was an outside perspective. He was happy he’d left. He hoped and prayed, for whatever reason there may be, he never had to go back there.

  That was wishful thinking.

   About an hour after Steve had called in their pizza order there was a knock at the door.

   “Robin, pizza’s here!” He called from his bedroom down the hall.

   “I’m busy! Get it yourself!”

    Steve groaned, pausing the movie he was watching and rolled off his bed.

   “You’re so lazy!” He threw the front door open. His eyes grew wider than saucers and it felt like lightening crackled under his skin as time seemed to slow.

    A pair of brown eyes like rich soil after heavy rain, brown curly hair to match in contrast to skin as fair as moonlight. A smile with dimples and lines in the cheeks that caused creases under the eyes that made them light up like fireflies. Steve was dreaming. He had to be. No way this was real. He wanted to reach out and touch his soft skin, when he knew he shouldn’t. He needed to ground himself and stop the impending spiral but it proved to be too late for that.

  Oh fuck. This is bad.

   Steve’s brain malfunctioned and he couldn’t form a single coherent thought let alone any words. His mouth moved like a fish out of water as he tried to form a sentence or even a sound. He simply gaped at the person in his doorway for an uncomfortable amount of time.

   “Uhm, sir?” The man waved his hand in Steve’s face. The cadence and pitch in his voice was all screwy. Not right at all. It snapped Steve clean out of this mortifying stupor.

   He blinked rapidly and swallowed hard, throwing the money at him, snatching the pizza, and slamming the door. He turned and leaned on it for support, trying to catch the breath that was steadily running further and further away from him.

   Robin came sprinting from the bathroom with damp hair and a shocked look on her face.

  “What the hell happened?!” She asked, Steve couldn’t respond, he was paralyzed. “Steve?” She approached him slow with her hand out.

   “Robin, he looked like him,” he managed to say around the lump in his throat. “He looked just like him.” He slowly hugged his knees to his chest and fought the tears that threatened to fall.

   This couldn’t be happening. Everything was going so well. Maybe even too good to be true but he didn’t care. There wasn’t a damn thing out of place and this was the landslide he’d been anxiously awaiting to fuck him over. He was cursed, he was sure of that. There was no other rhyme or reason for it.

   They moved to Robin’s room when Steve found the courage to even stand up. They sat on her bed with the pizza box wide open. The smell of cheese, tomato sauce, and garlic nauseated him despite the fact he was starving.

   “I mean, doppelgängers do exist! They say it’s dangerous to come across your own. It’s really fascinating. I guess it makes sense though because how can we have all these billions of people on the planet and not have someone look exactly like us, you know?”

    Steve didn’t say anything. He let her ramble on as if it would help when it certainly didn’t. This dug up memories he’d presumed he’d buried forever. He was certain he’d laid it all to rest along with his dead boyfriend. After this whole hot mess, he felt like he’d regressed to square one and all it took was a similar face. He didn’t want to throw himself a pity party but damn he couldn’t catch a break.

    “Steve…Steve!” Robin flopped on the bed next to him. “Am I doing it again…with the talking too much thing?”

     Steve sighed and picked up a slice of pizza, biting into it hesitantly and watched the cheese stretch.

    “Kinda,” he said with his mouth full.

    “Shit. Sorry. I’m not good with this sorta thing. Comforting people isn’t my forté. But I’m a decent listener…sometimes.”

    Steve stared at her for a moment, then mustered a smile. A mask that was quick to falter and dissolve away at any moment.

    “It’s fine. There’s really nothing either of us can do in this situation.” He set down the half eaten slice of pizza. His appetite was gone. “You’re right about one thing. I guess we’re bound to see someone who looks like someone we know or knew eventually.”

   “Yeah, but…I’m just- I’m so sorry.”

    “Don’t be. It’s nobody’s fault.” Steve could hear the strain in his voice. “Would you mind if I uhh-“ He signaled towards the door and Robin nodded encouragingly.

    In his bedroom, Steve curled up under his blankets and laid there in the dark for what felt like an eternity. The tears that spilled from the corners of his eyes had finally dried but it wasn’t over. Especially since now all he could do was torture himself with nothing else but the thought of Eddie.

    He meant the world to Steve and taught him so many lessons he wouldn’t have learned otherwise. His mind had never been more open than when he was with Eddie. He was someone everyone could rely on but nobody wanted to put their faith in. Steve did and it was so worth it right up until the very end. He still kicked himself for the period in which he regretted even meeting Eddie. Or that he wished they could swap places. It was only because the visceral pain of letting him go and moving on was something he could hardly handle. The wounds tore open so often that he let the memories of Eddie die, too, just to get some release from the heartbreak.

     It was like he didn’t exist anymore in Steve’s world and he preferred it that way as opposed to living the rest of his life in agony. There was no other way to let go besides that. And tonight, that man at his door, instantaneously destroyed walls he’d put his blood, sweat, and tears into building to free himself of Eddie and everything they’d shared. To put it lightly, this was a slap to the face and a boot to the gut. 

     He was gone. He deserved to be here but he wasn’t. He was never coming back. Steve had come to peace with that, and his grief, before he’d left Hawkins. It was one of the things that helped him cope the most. Now he had to pick himself up all over again and he hoped it wouldn’t take as long as the first time around, or both him and Robin were doomed to suffer.

****

    Steve didn’t remember falling asleep. He woke the next morning to a migraine, swollen eyelids, and the phone ringing off the hook. He shoved a pillow over his head and waited for it to stop. He had work today but he didn’t want to go. He felt like shit after last night. He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling for a long time until the phone started up again and forced him out of bed.

    “What do you want?!” He answered gruffly. He sounded like garbage and felt even worse. 

   “Well, geez. Hello to you, too.”

    “Dustin!” He sighed in relief. “Wait, shouldn’t you be in school instead of bothering me at 8 in the damn morning?”

    “The city has changed you, Steve. I don’t like it.”

    Steve rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Get on with it.”

    “Okay, okay. I’m not at school right now because I have something important to tell you. I couldn’t wait,” he paused for a beat. “I think he’s back, Steve.”

     Steve’s heart lurched and plummeted hard into his stomach. His sadness was overpowered by fear. His throat tightened up as panic rose. The room started to spin and he lost his balance, stumbling back into the wall.

   “Steve? Talk to me, man! Are you okay?”

    “I’m- good. I’m good.” He rested his head in his palm and slid down to the floor in defeat. “Tell me everything.”

[gin-juice-tonic]

convinced that you were somehow secretly alive in the 60s/70s. what sort of secret historical resources and/or time machines are you using to expand your knowledge of decades past

Ha ha, I dont feel I do a particularly great job, but I always find myself getting into googling sprees when I just wanted to post about something simple. I'm always checking if x thing was invented yet, or popularized yet, and I end up learning a lot of new things... So I would say the best way to expand your knowledge is to ask a question about One thing, and let the research take you around in circles to answers you didnt ask for.

I talked more under here but it got long. Im putting it under a read more and bolding key words like an ace attorney game.

As for specific resources I've looked at... hm... I've gone through a lot of the old sears catalogs. There's websites out there that have ones dating all the way back from 1940 to 2017. That can give you ideas about (some) styles of clothes and furniture popular at the time. There's also websites dedicated to explaining certain decades of american fashion. Sometimes I read old popular science magazines, mainly because google books has every single one of them archived and available to read for free...

Youtube has a lot of videos of old advertisements, those are good ways to both get into some pop culture and see societal attitudes. I've watched a lot of infomercials and employee training videos for stan in particular lol. If you have specific places you want to know about you can search for videos of them. Tourism videos work well if its a famous area, if not some people upload their home movies onto youtube as well.

If you really want to, you can read books (or skim books) that were written, or had been popular to read around the time. Or advice/guide books for specific occupations. Biographies of people of different ages are great as well to learn about what life was like more in a daily way...

This is long, so I'm just going to list some things now. Blogs dedicated to histories of certain things (music, sports, gay history, 5 string banjos, columbo, whatever!), TV shows and Movies from the time period you were interested in, old comics, redditors who want to post old photos of their favorite old hangouts, and lastly, you could also just talk to older people. I've bothered my parents asking about disco, I've bothered asking my grandma about pads in the 1950s. Most people like to reminisce or complain about things from their youth lol...

oh. And I almost forgot. I've used Cassell's Dictionary of Slang a few times. Usually just to check if a phrase that I want to use existed yet. But then in the course of my search I end up finding something I think is funny

[sereneabyyss]

Posting this here for the sole reason for maybe someone will write this au before I am forced to by sheer peer pressure alone.

Anyway so idol au for hunters gonna lay low time. (Someone please write this I'm already too swamped in aus)

(will probably write this au anyway but as one shots of different scenes but I DIGRESS-)

So anyway idol au right? Cej debuted as an idol and his stage name was J, he was so popular because he always wore a mask as an idol which added this mysteriousness to him that everyone fucked with hard. This led to a trend of idols debuting with masks. He just wanted privacy.

So then flash forward three years after debut, his aunt gets sick, dies, he maybe gets injured, maybe gets sick, went to military service for a few years, had a midlife crisis, anything to fill in eight years, the aunt totally did die tho.

So like during those eight years he didn't keep up with idol culture and he was kept signed to his company without dissolving the contract (totally not legal btw, we ignore these things) in that time a new number one pop idol has come about, Lee Sa Young.

He comes to know of Lee Sa Young because when he first visited the hangover soup restaurant (yes that STAYS dammit) a new segment covering the tribute show lsy performed for J was playing.

Anyway so in this au lsy was a child dying from cancer that cej visited as J for idol promotion stuff but when he learned lsy didn't have any close relatives or anyone visiting, he would visit and even have a portion of his income to pay for lsy treatments. So then lsy gets better, debuts under the pado agency and he's the idol that gets them on the map. lsy is a solo idol with bww as his manager. BWW ONLY manages lsy. That's how much of a pr nightmare he is everyday.

Well anyway without j who was their only big star, his company went under and got bought by pado agency. But the paperwork for j kinda got lost so technically j is a pado idol, no one knows who he is tho.

Some other details: hangover soup restaurant is right next to all the idol agencies, a lot of the staff go there for lunch, rarely does an idol come, but you can sometimes see them.

Jung bin was a rising actor when cej was active, but after eight years he's only known for the infomercials his agency keeps having him do. You can often see his face advertising a juice juice brand or a flavor of water.

J has a very distinct style of dance. No one else has been able to replicate this. Lsy recognizes cej as j after seeing him dance when cej thought he was alone in the hangover soup restaurant.

OH ALSO the artisan dude is a highly sought after producer who doesn't care to work with most idols because he thinks their styles are boring. He can sometimes tolerate producing for lsy but even that gets boring. This all changes after he finds a video of some guy singing in his show with a really low quality mic but the voice is absolutely angelic and is the closest thing to J they've had in years.

(meanwhile cej had heard posting covers on YouTube could sometimes get you extra cash and he had an old video that his aunt took when he was practicing his part for an unreleased song back when he was active and figured that would be alright and not stand out too much but should gain some traction. He immediately freaked out when it somehow just suddenly went viral and deleted it.)

[cannotgiveafuck]

Thinking about Billy Batson and horror and the kind of emotional / psychological damage that would be wrought on a child in that genre when he’s smart and savvy and could turn into a Champion of Magic, but is still very much a vulnerable kid. More aware of the world than those his age, but sees things through a lens adults cannot. Privy to things that only show themselves to those most likely to see them.

Anyway, have a little snippet. Might pick it back up again later.

This was the fifth night in a row that Billy was getting by on little to no sleep.

Don’t get him wrong, he could go a day or two if the going gets tough. Sometimes the winters were especially cold, or the summers really hot. Sometimes the storms got so bad that his place had leaked or the wind threatening to knock everything away. And sometimes, not now, of course, but back when it happened, sometimes Uncle Ebenezer had a bad few days that made sleeping in that house neigh impossible.

So, truly, Billy was no stranger to lack of sleep. He could survive, trust him. He could survive just about anything. But five nights was pushing it, even for a fellow like him.

The first night hadn’t even been noticeable. All sorts of noises happened in the apartment he was squatting in. There was the family down the hall with the crying baby, and the couple a few doors down that had shouting arguments, an old man across from him that couldn’t hear very well so his late night television was always turned up, and Madison next door had her new boyfriend over a lot and they were quite loud. So, Billy was used to all sorts of loud noises - but, see, those were normal noises. Just as traffic outside or a car alarm or police siren were all normal.

What wasn’t normal was the silence that shrouded over the apartment the moment his clock hit midnight.

But, Billy didn’t even notice that first night. So tired from the week long mission he was away for with the Justice League, his head hit his pillow the moment he got back and while he wanted to be out like a light, he spent most of the night tossing and turning. And really, he did not notice anything the second or third nights either. Granted a few days leave from hero work, Billy spent that time doing seasonal errands around the neighborhoods and shops. He had to earn money somehow, and not a lot of tasks were out there for eleven year olds to do. Those nights, too, were of fitful bouts, his eyes closed and willing sleep to really pull him under, but true rest just out of reach.

It was that fourth night, when he was laying there, eyes opened and staring at the ceiling with its ages old stain and crack, listening to the normal noises of the apartment complex - that was the night he noticed something was off. When all that sound was just... gone.

Billy didn’t even really notice at first. Eyelids heavy with every blink, but sleep avoiding him, the ringing in his ears that only silence could make. And when he did notice it, his brows furrowed in confusion. Thought that maybe, for once, everyone finally decided night time was for rest. Wondered if everyone else was snuggling up in their beds and under their blankets with the night chill really creeping in fierce, as it does when the heat goes out or couldn’t keep up with the winter winds. And sure, it was May, but man, it really was very cold inside all of a sudden.

He pulled the covers tighter over him, burrowing into them to stave off the shivers suddenly wracking through his small body. Eyes closed, urging sleep to please, please let him rest, Billy heard the wails of a child, or maybe a baby, just down the hall. 

Billy thought, you and me both, kid...

The fifth night, the last one he had before heading back to the Watchtower, Billy couldn’t explain why he was still awake. Staring at the ceiling again, watching the reflected lights of cars go by, listening to the old man’s television play an infomercial - he thought maybe he should do more Marvel work overnight at this rate. At least he’d be doing something useful with his time instead of trying to get sleep that would never happen. At least Marvel never was bogged down by the heavy weight of human limits.

Silence fell over the apartments again.

There was that wailing child again, too.

By the time Billy started to tune into it, really listen to the sobs, he was sitting up from his mattress, gaze on his front door. The cries were right on the other side.

Logically, Billy knew that as a hero, he should be rushing toward that door. He should be pulling it open and checking on the kid who should not be wandering the hallway crying away. He should be seeing what was wrong and try to fix it, save the day as he usually did. It was what Marvel would have done.

However, Billy did not move a muscle. He stayed right there on his bed on the floor, staring at the door he knew was locked several times over. His body refused to do anything that involved getting up and opening the door. His body barely seemed to want to breathe. His mouth shut tight and his lungs taking short, quiet breaths, even as his heart jack hammered in his chest.

Something was wrong.

Something was wrong, and not with him. Billy didn’t survive the streets this long by not listening to his instincts.

And right then, as scratching and pounding started up against the door to try to get inside - Billy’s instincts told him not to move. Told him not to let that kid inside because that the thing on the other side wasn’t a kid at all. Not when its cries got loud and lower and more guttural with every shake of the doorknob.

Not when the words that seeped through sent shivers down Billy’s spine. Made him grip the blankets, almost made him call forth the power of Shazam - the shriek of: I’m hungry, let me in, let me in, I’m hungry, hungry, hungry.

[one-winged-dreams]

Lonely

ship: adri cisneros x leonard walker source: original content word count: 1761 cw: subtle mentions of alcoholism

Okay, I'm publishing the fic. OTL

Leon's the poorly adjusted 46 year old man I was talking about. I fleshed him out and then accidentally made him really hot.

Deadbeat DILF with disorders (PDD, OCD, PTSD).

I'll talk more about him if the ship sticks, I'm thinking about like a dozen other OC f/os right now.

tag list: @dearly-beeloved @adoredbyalatus @kylilah @dorothys-wife @the-sleeping-city

@goldenworldsabound @dear-gambler @mahitosoulmate

@faerie-circle-ships @heatobrienswife @tireddovahkiin

It feels like this sense of unease has been hanging over Leon for the past two weeks. Coincidentally, it’s been two weeks since a guy only a few years older than his own son took up residence in his spare room.

Leon doesn’t like people. 

He’s never been a people person, he’s never been good at socializing, and he’s the furthest thing from cordial when it comes to having guests. He doesn’t consider himself a shitty person, but he can’t argue that he’s standoffish and mildly misanthropic. 

And right now; horrendously sober. 

He feels the OCD thought spiral kicking in, he needs a fucking walk and some air before it turns into a smoke and a drink or three. 

But something’s different, he knows his house and the way sound travels inside it. Someone’s awake right now, milling about the living room. 

‘Someone,’ he thinks, as if there’s not only two goddamn human beings in this house. 

A brief reprisal of the events of two weeks ago enters his thoughts and now he DOES feel like a shitty person. God he’s lonely, it’s been so long since he’s had a warm body in his bed, or anywhere else for that matter. 

It’s not that he doesn’t want him, the kid’s 30 and can make his own decisions. The situation had been innocent enough, it’s the way that it had started to skew towards something Leon isn’t sure either of them are ready for that made him shut it down. 

Adri had seemed disappointed, and that was part of the reason Leon knew he’d made the right choice. He had said it himself, no one had ever been nice to him in that way before. Leon wasn’t about to let Adri attach himself to him solely because he was nice to him. The fear of taking advantage of someone’s delicate mental state is what’s been suffocating him for the past 14 days, now that he really takes a good gander at it. 

That and being sick with want, like a lonely dog pining for affection. 

He’s not any different, now that he thinks about that too. They’re just two lonely men in separate circumstances. Adri’s never been shown affection, and Leon self-sabotages every relationship he’s ever been in. 

It’s hard to breathe now, he needs to go check the ice maker. 

Coincidentally, this takes him through the living room.

And Adri’s there.

He makes no indication that he heard Leon leave his room, bleary eyes cast towards whatever plays on TV at 2 am, hugging his knees to his chest.

Leon feels awkward, all things considered, he’s nervous about startling the guy. He’s not good at considering other people’s feelings, he’s more of an ‘apologize about stepping on toes he didn’t check for’ kind of guy. 

“Hey…” he softly announces himself, gently making his presence known in the most benign way that he can.

Adri turns to look at him, his expression a weary and feeble attempt at a smile of reassurance.

“Hi…”

The only sound is the droning of the infomercial, God, Leon can’t stand those things. 

“Can’t sleep huh?” he plunges himself into the awkward silence in a nobly sacrificial manner. 

Adri just shakes his head, hugging his knees a bit more and resting his chin on them.

The ice maker is completely forgotten, Leon’s fixation is now the small, delicate thing on the couch. Nothing else exists as he takes a seat, selfishly cutting out enough distance as he can get away with to feel any small amount of body heat. 

He hates himself for how pleased the motion of Adri closing the distance makes him. 

“Nightmares?” he asks in no particular tone. 

Adri’s head makes its way to rest against his chest and he wastes no time in wrapping his arm around his shoulders to pull him closer. He feels Adri practically melt, and it makes him so giddy he wants to vomit. 

“Mhm…” 

He barely catches Adri’s response, touch starved as he is, he’s surprised he hadn’t just straight up-

“Not to keep repeating myself, but if you need anything, don’t keep it to yourself. ‘M not a mind-reader,” he says, the words not matching the tone. Truthfully, conjuring that sort of softness so naturally on the first try shocks him a little bit. 

Adri doesn’t respond, at least not verbally. He snuggles up a bit closer, and Leon likens it to a small animal cuddling up to something that would usually waste no time eating it alive. 

“I liked it when you held me like this that first time…” 

Hell.

Leon’s hand moves over Adri’s shoulder and down his arm.

“Do you… want that again?”

“Which part?”

HELL.

“When I held you,” Leon emphasizes. but god he wants to open himself up to much more than that. “Do you want to be held again? Like this?”

As if to emphasize further, he awkwardly pulls Adri closer, holding him tight against his own body. 

Adri shivers lightly, telling Leon he hit the mark.

“You feel warm…” is his answer to Leon’s question.

Leon feels himself spiraling again, so he says what he’s thinking.

“Can I ask you something?”

The nod throws him off and he has to take a second to think about how to ask this.

“Are you this clingy because you miss being loved?”

The question comes out in a more abrasive manner than he’d meant to word it, and Adri’s eyes open, throwing him into a momentary internal panic.

“I don’t think… I’ve ever been loved enough to miss it,” Adri answers after a tense few seconds.

Leon sighs and rests his head against the back of the couch.

“Yeah… That’s what I was worried about..”

There are another few beats of silence that tell Leon Adri’s trying to say something.

“I’m-”

“Don’t,” he interrupts. “This is fine. This,” he gestures with his free arm, “this is fine. We can just sit like this for now.”

The silence returns for a while, thankfully louder than the droning of an infomercial Leon’s seen so many times that he’s got a personal vendetta against the product itself. 

“You smell nice…” Adri’s voice barely carries above that silence.

“You said that the first night too,” Leon snorts. “High off your ass on those sleep pills.”

Adri’s face tints a slight pink but his eyelids flutter closed slightly. 

“Is it cologne or aftershave?” he murmurs the question. “You don’t shave your face much, but the smell…” His nose runs up from Leon’s chest to his neck in emphasis. “Do you shave here…?”

It takes a moment for Leon to learn how to breathe again, a vacancy in the air where his response should have gone.

“... Aftershave,” he finally mumbles. 

Leon’s not sure why, but Adri nods before he buries his face into the crook of his neck. 

“It’s nice…” he whispers.

Leon suddenly feels like he’s doing something he shouldn’t. Like he’s reinforcing some bad habit, especially with how touch-starved they both are. 

He has no doubt in his mind he’s the first person to hold Adri like this, to show him this amount of affection. It’s a laughable thought, a selfish old prick like him showing this kicked stray of a human being more love than he’s ever known. Life likes to throw him sick jokes from time to time, but never something quite like this.

Guilt begins to gnaw at him, and he wonders if he actually cares or if he’s just as lonely as this poor bastard halfway in his lap. 

“Do you wanna come lay down…?” His lips brush against those pretty black locks before he even knows what he’s saying. 

“Your bed?” Adri’s tone betrays the beat his heart almost definitely skipped.

“Yeah. My bed,” Leon affirms, but his tone is implicative of this not escalating beyond anything more than what it is right now.

And Adri’s fine with that, at least he seems it.

The walk to Leon’s bedroom is uneventful, Adri’s at least seen inside from the times he’s woken Leon up for breakfast. Which is to say, every morning.

It’s only imaginable how many times he’s daydreamed just crawling into bed with Leon instead. Or maybe Leon’s just delusional. Wistful thinking and all that.

Though his suspicions are partially confirmed by how quickly Adri melts into his arms as soon as the blankets are pulled up. 

Once again, Leon is filled with overwhelmingly shameful giddiness. He wasn’t exaggerating to himself, he’d completely forgotten what it had felt like to share a bed with someone. 

Without even realizing it, he’s placing a soft kiss across the top of Adri’s head.

He’s not even remotely aware of what he’s doing until Adri asks him, “Why do you do that?”

He freezes.

“Do what?” he practically grumbles, his lips remaining against Adri’s hair.

“You kissed my forehead like that that first night too…” Adri seems almost embarrassed to ask.

Cute…

“It’s just something I do. Shows someone I care about them, I guess…” 

“Does that mean you care about me?”

“I…”

He has to think about how to navigate this question. 

“I’m kind of just… taking care of you I guess,” he eventually mumbles in an attempted noncommittal fashion. “You were lonely and you needed something. That’s why I’m here with you. In bed.”

“I see…” Adri responds, and his eyes close.

“Sorry if that’s not the answer you wanted to hear. It doesn’t mean I don’t like you, I just. I dunno what else I can say…”

“No no, it’s okay. I’m sorry, I don’t… mean to get like THAT.”

It’s quiet for another moment and then Adri sighs.

"I just feel kind of stupid..." he mumbles. "I must look really pathetic, throwing myself at an older man just because he's nice to me..."

“You’re not stupid,” Leon sighs, and his words are tinted by something akin to exasperation.

He’s not good at this.

“You’re not pathetic, okay? You’ve just gone through a lot so it’s not stupid to… Well… You know… Seek out a little love.” 

He pauses again, finding himself pulling Adri a little closer.

“…If I’m honest, I’m lonely, too.”

Adri’s initial response is a sigh, and he clenches his eyes tightly shut while burying his face in the comfort of Leon’s chest.

“God I want to fix that…” he whispers.

This time Leon sighs.

“I’ll hold you tonight, alright? That’ll… That’ll help us both.”

So they settle into a comfortably awkward silence, and in the morning they’ll try to find out what their fucking problem is over breakfast.

[spiribia]

i like when in dreams you dig yourself deeper and deeper into an absurd rabbit hole of issues Old lady who swallowed a fly style or like if a guy was in an infomercial cinematic universe and youre like How am i ever supposed to work my way out of this and then you just wake up and none of those things are a problem in your life that you have to deal with at all

[dingochef]

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x You (OFC)

Warnings: Swearing, Smut (MDNI 18+ Only), Stalking, P in V, oral (female and male receiving), Semi-public sex, light spanking, light bondage, blindfolds, shitty parents

Summary: Christmas day! It's a roller coaster of emotions and boundaries drawn.

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Chapter 14

Word Count: 4.9k

Chapter 15: Hold onto with Love

December 25, Christmas Day

Jake wakes you up somewhat early on Christmas morning even though you aren't due to the rental house till noon.

"Good morning, El. Merry Christmas," he practically purrs in your ear.

You roll over to face him,

"Merry Christmas, Jake."

"Time to open presents, see what Santa brought you."

"We could just stay in bed, and open other presents,"

you suggest. He considers it for a brief second and then says,

"Come on Grinch, let's get up.

"Make me some Grinch coffee and it's a deal."

"Will do," he hops out of bed radiating Christmas little kid energy and it makes you smile.

You pull on some comfy clothes and pad out to the kitchen for the promised coffee. Jake mocks your gingerbread flavored creamer and you defend yourself by saying,

"It's festive."

"And tastes terrible." Jake laughs.

After you've had a few swallows of coffee he grabs your hand and pulls you over to the tiny fake Christmas tree he bought for the house. It's sitting on the knee high brick hearth in front of the fireplace that never gets used. He came home with the tree not too long after Thanksgiving.

"You have to have a tree for Christmas, where else is Santa going to put your presents?" he joked. This is the first time the house has actually been decorated for Christmas as long as you've lived here. You keep calling Jake your personal Christmas elf.

You sit on the floor and Jake pulls his two gifts for you from the stack. You find your gift for him, the others are for Lanie and my parents. You and Jake had agreed to keep the gifts simple this year. You're glad you made some ground rules having witnessed Jake's enthusiasm for Christmas.

He hands you a small box wrapped with amazing skill in shiny red paper. You laugh,

"You're the first guy I've ever seen that can wrap a gift and not have it look like you got into a fist fight with the paper."

"I'm very talented with my hands," he replies, smirk in full force.

"That you are."

You slide your finger under the seam and soon uncover a black box. You open it and there is a silver cuff bracelet. One end of the cuff is the San Diego skyline, you'd recognize it anywhere seeing it all the time from the island, the other end is the detailed outline of an F-18. The bracelet is slightly twisted so the F-18 is flying over the skyline.

"Is this a F-18 flying over San Diego?"

"Yes, I knew you'd recognize it. There's also an inscription on the inside of the cuff."

You turn the bracelet and read the inscription aloud, "Together we soar. Love, Jake."

You're hit with one of those waves of the realization of just how much Jake loves you,

"This is the most thoughtful gift anyone has ever gotten me, it's beautiful."

You lean over to kiss Jake. He is beaming, his panty dropper smile on full display.

"And wait, there's more," he says like an old infomercial as he hands you an envelope. It's a card with a picture of a P-51 Mustang on it. Inside it says, "Good for one flight in Maverick's Mustang with Hangman as your pilot."

"How did you swing this? Mav's going to let you fly his plane?"

"It took a lot of favors but Rooster came through and when Mav found out it was for you he caved. Rooster's going to take Lydia up at the same time."

"Favors for Rooster?"

You cock one of your eyebrows up.

"Nothing that salacious, although one blow job would be easier than the two months of grading exams I'm going to do for him."

You laugh at the thought,

"Thank you, so much. These are by far the best gifts I've ever gotten. They're so thoughtful. Your turn."

You hand him a box wrapped in the same red shiny paper. He opens it up and there is a digital photo frame.

"Turn it on," you urge him. He turns it on and the first photo to pop up is him from middle school on top of a horse. The picture changes to him getting pinned as an ensign.

"El, where did you get these?"

"I might have coopted your mom for my efforts."

There's pictures of you and Jake interspersed in the family photos. He laughs at the one of you smooshed together in an awkward selfie.

"This is great, El. Thank you." He leans over to kiss you.

"I thought you could put it in your office or keep it around here, your choice."

You put the bracelet on right away and Jake thoughtfully puts the frame up on the mantle. You cook up a light breakfast and lounge around till you have to get ready and go to the rental house.

You've just walked in the door at the rental house when your mom comes almost running towards you in the foyer.

"Oh, shoot. I was hoping to catch you guys before you left, we don't have any wine to go with dinner. Do you have any at the house? I think everything is closed today."

You turn to Jake and ask,

"Jake, we're having prime rib, do you want to run back to the house and grab a couple bottles of red?"

Lanie pops her head into the foyer, "Did you bring the Vette?"

Jake nods.

"Ooh, can I go with you? I've always wanted to ride in one."

"Sure, let's roll." Jake and Lanie are out the door on the wine run in a flash.

You walk into the kitchen and your dad has already poured you a drink. After you thank your dad and you head out to the living room where your mom is sitting. You choose an armchair opposite her and sit.

She notices the bracelet from Jake right away.

"Is that a gift from Jake?" she asks, pointing at your wrist.

"Yes, it's a F-18, his jet, flying over San Diego."

You stand up and show her in more detail and then sit back down. She frowns slightly as you sit.

"So, just how serious are you and Jake?" she asks, trying to sound casual.

"Pretty serious, we live together, been together 10 months, and I plan on marrying him."

You lean forward in the armchair, wary of where this conversation is going.

"Are you engaged yet?"

"No, we're working towards that."

She looks oddly relieved.

"I don't really know how to say this, Elsa, but I don't think he's a good fit for you."

"Mom, how would you know? You haven't been the most friendly person since you arrived. And what do you mean not a good fit?"

"I just always thought you'd end up with someone more on your intellectual level, like Liam."

"Jake is on my level, Liam was a fucking pyschopath who stole my work and betrayed me."

"Honey, he didn't really go to college." You slam your drink down on the wood side table, harder than you intended, causing her to startle. Luckily the glass doesn't break, you know if you keep it in my hand I will break it with the rage that is starting to bubble up inside you. You take a deep breath to attempt to calm yourself.

"He has a goddamn degree like mine."

"Just a bachelors."

You scoff and start to say something before she interrupts.

"It's just the military thing seems beneath you," she sighs, "It just seems like you'd be happier with someone more like you, as smart as you."

You are pinching the bridge of your nose trying to tame the anger that is bubbling up from a deep pit from your past.

"Have you noticed I do a lot of work for the military? Who else buys god damn experimental aircraft?"

Her face is stuck in that neutral look you always associate with her, the frustrating one that you could never figure out if she was happy, sad, angry, or feeling anything when you were a kid and even now. You wonder briefly where your dad is, whether he's making the world's loudest cranberry and vodka and can't hear you or he is purposely staying out of this argument like he alway does.

You continue,

"It shouldn't matter what Jake does for a living, he is a very good man who loves me very much and I love him. He could be a fucking janitor and it wouldn't matter to me."

My mom lets out a derisive snort.

"Someday it'll matter to him that you're smarter and more successful and he'll resent you and leave. I just want to save you from that heartbreak."

"Jesus fucking Christ, mom. Now you have an interest in protecting me. Hil-fucking-larious. Feels about 30 years too late. Where you when I was being told I was worthless by an angry Russian coach when I was six or being told to lose weight at age eight, age fucking eight!"

"That was all part of making you a better gymnast, all a part of the sacrifice and the hard work to make it to the Olympics, your dream. We all worked hard for that."

"God damn it, Mom. It was your dream. Yours, not mine."

You are quieter than before when you say it, your energy surge from the rage starts to ebb.

"I did it because I thought you'd be proud of me, hell, love me like a mother should."

For once she shows an emotion and it looks like betrayal, you know you are hurting her with the truth of how you feel.

"I love you, Elsa, don't ever doubt that," she is starting to cry.

"It's not unconditional. I've always had to be something, earn something, or achieve something to feel like you loved me. I didn't feel like I was worthy of your love unless I did something to earn it. No kid should feel that."

There is a brief moment when you look in her eyes and there is a flicker or recognition or regret and then it's gone, the neutral mask back.

"I still don't think you should marry Jake. It won't work out, he's just not good enough for you."

You let out a long sigh, you want to scream and rage at her for even thinking that Jake wasn't a worthy partner in life.

"Mom, I'm just tired of you judging my life like it's a scorecard, if it's good enough for whatever level you've set. I'm tired of trying to earn your approval and love. I should have stopped trying when I broke my ankle."

She winces at the mention of your injury, probably because it was the moment her dream evaporated. She is softly crying.

You stand up ready to leave, feeling some catharsis from this argument.

"Mom, my future is with Jake, you'll have to decide you want to be a part of that future."

You walk out of the living room to find Lanie and Jake in the foyer, shell shocked at what they've just heard. Jake is still holding two bottles of wine that he quickly hands to Lanie and so he can pull you into a fierce hug. It's then that you start crying, the adrenaline surge retreating quickly

Lanie completes the hug around your back.

"Jake, take her home. I'll deal with these shit heads. Elsa, I'll call you in a little bit."

Lanie hands the wine back to Jake, "You might need it."

She tries to joke as she also picks up your purse and hands it to Jake. Jake takes your hand and leads you out to the car helping you in the passenger seat. The car is silent as Jake processes the shit show.

"How much of that did you hear?" you ask, watching the ocean roll by the car window.

"Came in at the point where you said it didn't matter if I was a janitor."

"How did you get back so quick?"

"There was a shop open just down the road, so Lanie's probably right if you need cheap red wine to drown your sorrows, we got that."

"Okay, you got most of the discussion then. What are you thinking?"

Jake takes your hand briefly.

"El, a few things. One, I'm here for you. Two, I again emphasize how amazing it is you grew up into the beautiful loving person you are with that shit show of a parental situation. Three, you chose me and that means a lot."

Jake's voice cracks on the word "chose", and the watery beginnings of tears form in the corners of his eyes.

"I'll always choose you, Jake. Always."

You get home and immediately change into comfy clothes and put on Jake's old Navy hoodie. It's hilariously long, but it's the level of comfort you need right now. Jake follows suit and is changed into lounge clothes and of course a Navy shirt. You stop in the bathroom to scrub your face and wash the tears away. Jake is in the kitchen doing something that you can't place by the sound alone. When you come out to the living room Jake is sitting on the couch, wine glass in hand and another waiting on the table for you and ice pack for my head. You're overwhelmed that he's anticipated the headache that is forming as the adrenaline rushes out of your system. You sit down and take a drink of the wine.

"This is really good, for 'cheap red wine,'" you hum and use air quotes.

Jake laughs,

"It's not a bottle we got today, figured you could use a little pampering and good wine after that whole event."

"Thank you, Merry Fucking Christmas, by the way. I hope my family hasn't killed your Christmas spirit."

"Hardly, Christmas is about spending time with the people you love, so I think we've got that checked off the list."

You put your glass on the table, lay your head in Jake's lap, and put the ice pack on your forehead.

Jake has put some music on, Fleetwood Mac it sounds like. You and Jake sit there in your mutual bubble for a while, listening to the music and being close to each other. After about 20 minutes you discard the ice pack and then stay cuddled up for the better part of an hour. Not talking, but understanding each other.

A knock at the door makes you jump, almost bumping Jake's wine glass.

"Who's that?" you wonder. Jake is already at the door prepared to tell whoever it is to fuck off, particularly if it's your parents. You're standing behind Jake when he opens the door.

Lanie is standing on the doorstep with grocery bags full of food.

"Surprise!

You're sure you and Jake are standing there with your mouths open.

Lanie looks at Jake,

"Here, take these," she says, shoving the bags at Jake. He grabs them all before they can drop to the floor. She steps in and hugs you,

"I thought I'd rather spend Christmas with people who actually know what love is, plus I stole most of the good food and all of Mom's vodka. Oh, do you know how to cook prime rib?"

"That's what Google is for," you reply back with a sniffly laugh, "Thank you, Lanie, thank you. I love you so much, sis."

"I love you too, Elsa."

Jake is in the kitchen unpacking the groceries when he pulls out the prime rib.

"Damn, that's a lot of meat. What are we going to do with 12 pounds of prime rib?"

You remember that Lydia and Rooster are having Beth over for dinner, they decided not to head back east to see Lydia's family after a disastrous Thanksgiving where Lydia's parents got into a crystal goblet throwing fight after her Dad's mistress showed up.

"I've got an idea, give me a sec," you say to Jake and Lanie.

You call Lydia and she answers on the first ring.

"Merry Christmas, what's up?" she chirps, sounding like her usual self.

"Merry Christmas to you too. So, long story short, got into a giant argument with my mom today over Jake being good enough for me, left and came back here, my sister stole a 12 pound prime rib from my parents and showed up here, and now I'm trying to put together an impromptu dinner party to eat it all. Interested?"

Lydia laughs,

"There's a whole lot more to that story, wait one sec," her muffled voice can be heard as she asks Rooster, "Want to go to Elsa and Hangman's for Christmas dinner? They have prime rib."

She's back on the phone,

"Rooster said you had me at prime rib. Need us to bring anything? What time? Oh, and I'll call Beth and let her know about the change in plans."

"Great, a side dish or something close if you've got it. Let me see, I'm literally googling how long it's going to take to cook this thing, 3ish hours, it's a little after 2 now, let's plan on 5ish."

"Sounds great, see you then. And oh yeah, we've got a little surprise for everyone."

"Ooh, intrigue. See you at 5."

You get off the phone.

"Well, Lydia, Rooster, and Beth are going to be coming to dinner at 5. Let's get that prime rib in the oven and see what else we can make with all the stuff Lanie stole."

Jake and Lanie are surprised for about 30 seconds and then fall into line as you strategize. With the random stuff in your kitchen and the various items Lanie brought over you come up with a decent menu.

You put on your best french accent and announce,

"Let's see here, tonight's menu will be:

Appetizers:

Crudites and Chickpea Mash

Charcuterie

Main Course:

Herb Crusted Prime Rib

Roasted Root Vegetables with Thyme Butter

House Made Savory Bread Pudding

Dessert:

Chocolate torte with seasonal biscuit."

Jake is looking at the pile of stuff and considering the menu.

"El, some of that stuff isn't in here."

"Oh yes it is, crudites and chickpea mash is just veggies and hummus. Roasted root vegetables are sweet potatoes and carrots. We'll throw some fresh thyme in the butter. House made savory bread pudding is that stuffing made with the loaf of fancy bread from the bakery and the dessert is literally this brownie mix and these store bought Christmas cookies. It's all in how you sell it. So, easy peasy."

Jake is just laughing now,

"Seasonal biscuit, nice. I'm impressed, that menu sounds very fancy and delicious. What do you need us to do?"

"Put some Christmas music on first of all and then I'll have some stuff you can do."

Jake hops on getting the music going and Lanie is in the kitchen pouring more wine for everyone. You spend the rest of the afternoon chopping vegetables, baking brownies, and getting the various parts of the stuffing made and ready to pop in the oven when it's closer to dinner time. By about 4 pm you have it all in hand and can focus on getting the table ready. Jake scrounges up two more chairs to go around the dining table, sets out some place mats and fabric napkins, and gets some candles for the table. Lanie draws some cute place cards with everyone's name.

You go for a quick change into something slightly nicer than sweats and then plop on the couch with Lanie and more wine, and Jake excuses himself for a minute and you get a chance to talk to Lanie.

"What happened after we left?" you ask, the wine putting you fully into don't give a fuck mode.

"The expected shit show, Mom raged about you being an ungrateful daughter who was throwing away her life, Dad said nothing. I told Mom, 'That at least she isn't a lesbian tattoo artist like me. 'That put her over the edge and she went to their room. Dad went into the other bedroom and nobody talked after that. So, that's when I hatched the plot for my heist and got an Uber over here."

"Good to know our family patterns don't change much. Sorry to fuck up Christmas."

"Hah, that's all Mom's doing. Frankly, it's been a long time coming, the reckoning between you and her. I held Jake back from running in to save you, because I think you needed to let that shit out. Probably could have been done better in a family therapy session, but hey, we work with what's available,"

she says shrugging.

You laugh darkly and hold your wine glass up to Lanie's,

"Yeah, here's to the Matthews family. Hey at least a lesbian tattoo artist is interesting and cool. An aerospace engineer is decidedly not as cool."

"If you're fishing for compliments I'm going to save them all for Jake, because he is the best thing, person, rather, you've ever done."

Lanie earns a deep laugh from you.

Jake takes that moment to jump over the couch and land next to you,

"You were singing my praises?" he asks, head tilted.

"Yes, we were. Lanie said she had to hold you back so I could as Lanie put it 'let some of that shit out.'"

His face softens,

"My first instinct was to bust in there and start swinging, but Lanie helpfully reminded me, by practically clothes lining me, that this was your battle to wage and I would be needed at the end for support. Your sister is stronger than she looks."

He rubs a sore spot on his chest.

"Did my little sister hurt you, Jakey-poo?" you tease.

"No, I'm fine."

He's still rubbing his chest when there's a knock at the door and soon Lydia and Rooster are spilling into the room.

Lydia announces,

"Merry Christmas! We brought mashed potatoes!"

"Excellent, let's get those in the kitchen," you let Lydia know.

Rooster is holding up beer, wine, and tequila.

"Merry Christmas, Rooster. So which of the wise men brought tequila to Bethlehem?" Jake asks as he takes some of the items.

"The cool one, it probably goes well with mmyrh, whatever the fuck that is. Merry Christmas, Bagman," Rooster quips back.

You give the small hostess spiel,

"Check the fridge for beer or anything else you might want to drink. There's wine on the counter and the liquor is in the cabinet above the stove. Help yourselves."

Beth has appeared at about the time that Lydia and Rooster clear the door. You shout over the hubbub,

"Merry Christmas, Beth!"

"Merry Christmas, Elsa and everyone else."

Beth is holding up two bottles of wine to add to the mix. People get settled in with drinks and you bring out the appetizers and check the prime rib. Rooster is looking over the counter like a hungry dog.

"That smells amazing, Elsa," he almost sighs.

"I hope it tastes as good, we are literally in unexplored territory. Thank chef google if this works out."

Beth cuts in,

"So, how exactly did you come into possession of a giant prime rib today? I only heard the garbled version from Lydia when she called with the new plans."

Lanie decides to jump in and be the storyteller,

"Lanie, Elsa's super cool younger sister for you folks new to the room," you do some super quick introductions, Lydia has met Lanie before.

"So our emotionally stunted mother decided Christmas Day was a great time to dunk on Jake supposedly not being good enough for Elsa,"

Rooster mumbles,

"She might be onto something," before he's slapped in the chest by Lydia.

"Which brought up some other emotionally lurking shit from childhood that came out a giant hot mess. Elsa and Jake split, rightfully so, and I pissed our mom off even more by reminding her what a failure I am by her standards. Everyone stormed to a different room, I called an Uber and stole a 12 pound prime rib and other goodies, including all of Mom's vodka, because Christmas is supposed to be spent with people you love. And I love my big sister and this guy is growing on me too," she wraps a big hug around you as she points to Jake,

"Any questions?"

Rooster raises his hand, "What kind of vodka?"

Lydia looks at him confused. He continues,

"If I have to spite drink some fancy shit I'm game."

"No such luck," you laugh. "Smirnoff."

He looks disappointed. The reminder on your phone goes off to put the stuffing in and check the prime rib. You look back from closing the stove and take in the scene of your ragtag group of friends laughing and enjoying the day, the food and drink, and most of all each other's company. You think of the strained dinner that you would normally be having right now and your heart feels like it's about to burst. Jake catches your eye from where he's talking with Beth and gives you a wink. Lanie and Rooster are comparing tattoos. Lydia stops him before he pulls down his pants to show what is presumably a tattoo on his ass. You almost snort wine through your nose at the sight. The stove timer goes off and the food is done. The kitchen counter is quickly turned into a gorgeous landscape of food worthy of Instagram.

Everyone fills their plates and sits down at the table. You stand and propose a toast,

"To family," Lanie and Jake look confused, "Not necessarily the ones you were born with, although some of those turn out good,"

you give Lanie a finger gun and a wink, "But to the ones we find and hold on to with love in this crazy world."

Everyone leans in and clinks their glasses doing the best we can to avoid the candles. Rooster decides to stand,

"Since Elsa set this up so nicely, Lydia and I have a few announcements," Lydia stands up and fishes something out of her pocket and puts it on her finger.

"I have asked Lydia, the love of my life, to marry me and she said yes." Lydia holds up her hand with a ring on it absolutely beaming. Rooster puts his arm around and looks over at her with an absolutely adoring look,

"And speaking of family, we're going to have a baby!"

It is pandemonium for a few seconds with the breathless "Oh my gods" and hardy Congratulations. Beth and you rush around the table to hug Lydia. She is crying but absolutely incandescent with happiness. Jake pats Rooster on the back,

"You sly dog, Congrats, man."

Everyone calms down enough to eat and the meal is filled with lively conversation and so much laughter. Halfway through the meal, Jake takes your hand and gives it a squeeze as he leans over to say in your ear,

"I promised holidays would be better."

You return respond to his words with a soft smile and a squeeze of his hand.

After everyone has eaten themselves silly, people stand up and help with some of the cleanup. You are at the sink rinsing dishes before handing them to Beth to load in the dishwasher. You had opened the little window over the sink earlier because it was getting warm in the kitchen. Lydia is telling you a few details about the quickly upcoming wedding in three weeks time. Jake and Rooster out on the deck talking and you can just overhear them over the activity in the kitchen.

"Rooster, I have to say I'm genuinely happy for you. I know you've wanted a wife and family for a long time. I'm glad it's all coming together for you," Jake says his hand on Rooster's shoulder.

"Thanks, I know how much it pains you to say that, but I don't have words for how happy Lydia has made me. I can't believe all this is happening because she thought I was hot at a bar."

"She might make you unbelievably happy, but I will question her taste in men and facial hair till the end of time."

"Like you can talk, Bagman. The only reason you managed to find love is that Elsa likes baseball enough to say yes to a date. You're a lucky son of a bitch, if there ever was one."

"Oh, I know it, don't worry about that, Rooster."

"Jake, I have a question for you."

Jake's head cock to the side at Rooster's use of his real name. Rooster goes on,

"Speaking of luck and circumstances, since you saved my life and none of this ever would have happened without you, would you be my best man?"

For once Jake is speechless, no quick reply, no retort on his lips, he just engulfs Rooster in a crushing hug and says,

"It would be an honor," and then his wit comes back online, "It also gives me one more chance to convince Lydia to come to her senses."

Rooster laughs and hits Jake's shoulder with his own, knocking him a little off balance. You turn back to the conversation with Lydia and Beth.

Soon everyone is saying their goodbyes to people and you are sending them out the door with leftovers. The house is calm once everyone is out the door save the slight hum of the dishwasher.

You wrap your arms around Jake's waist and sigh contently as he kisses your forehead.

"Thank you for being amazing, this blow up with my mom has been a long time coming. Her dunking on our relationship was just a catalyst."

"I'll always be here for you, El. Always," he answers, leading you towards your bedroom and some much needed rest.

Chapter 16

@kmc1989

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[cator99]

Taged by @parallaxia to play a little game of answers so heres my ansewrs

1. Pretty sure I'm the only person with my name Tyler

2. Wednesday Happy Tears

3. Yeah Created every Twink

4. Every day is a Triathalon and I'm winning

5. too many autistic baddys aroun me for that

6. I notice whatever most noticeable about people

7. Purple but Red when I'm Angry

8. I could waste my life watch movies or I could be Buff yup guess what my decision is

9. Jack of all trades master of all of them also

10. In the mountains but then we had to go to the cave... More work out ther

11. Yeah pretty much all of them due to my exuberance and golden mind

12. stupid too many legs thing in my bathroom that I have to keep taking out of the tub because it gets stuck all those legs and for what useless but it chill so whatever I low key hate peeing alone anyway feels really vulnerable if I had it my way I'd always hold someone hand while I did it and thankfully it has like 40

13. height 5 foot 6 inch shoulder width 3 foot 2 inch

14. Drawing an Eye but Cigarette in the trees across the street was close second Followed by Barricading myself in the girls washroom in attempt to avoid getting arrested

15. I do not dream of labour just kidding god could you imagine jobs is awesome I could do any of them I bet all bring such different enrichment to life so pertty much whatever my handlers need from me I'll do that but other than that id say CEO of Boeing (self explanatory), Buff Real Estate Agent (real estate agent who is buff), Old Detective(bald tanned and smokes cigars), carrying heavy pieces of equipment around in arms on a work site (The Carrier), Fireworks Manufacturer, Fran Lebowitz but Buff, Monk, Angel Of History, Steel Mill, Infomercials guy that people make You Tube Poops of, Krav Maga Instructor.

[ford-between-dimensions]

So...you haven't seen your brother for...well, presumably decades at this point. The last time you did see him was following a 10-year silent period where, prior to THAT, involved watching him get kicked out of your home and disowned as a teenager. You had no contact whatsoever during that 10-year period. You had no idea what he was doing or how he was doing, physically, mentally, emotionally, or financially (especially given your father's "don't come home without millions" threat). Fuck, until those infomercials started coming out, you wouldn't have had a way of knowing if he was even alive.

And when you finally, FINALLY get to talk to him again, the person you essentially haven't seen or known since you were teenagers/kids (teenagers are kids and I stand by that, coming from a 22 year old child, by the way), you decide to berate him. Insult him. Whatever way you want to phrase it. Okay, never mind on that. You'd probably use the word "critique" to soften the blow that it'd have on your psyche and make yourself feel better.

What happened to you, getting pushed into the portal, was specifically an accident. The portal had been turned on without either of you kmowing, especially Stanley given he hadn't been the damn thing for who knows now long. You were pushed during the heat of the moment, which had a ton of underlying tension that had been building for an extremely long time.

I'm not saying there wasn't fault on Stanley's part. There was. But you aren't the perfect person who's never done wrong like you seem to think you are. You've made your own mistakes.

Yes, well, I had no simple means of contacting him then—I had no idea where he was living. By the time I saw his infomercial, we hadn’t spoken for years. We have the same face, but I could barely even recognize him. He was selling garbage like a snake oil salesman, with an egregiously fake name. It left a bad taste in my mouth.

When I finally spoke to him again, it was of my own initiative. I asked a favor of him…and you know how that went. I’m well aware Stanley didn’t intend to “send me to my death” by pushing me into the portal. But that’s just my point. He’s always been reckless, causing accidents left and right and leaving me to deal with the fallout. My future…my life. These are important matters, and regardless of any explanations he can give, the fact is that he put them both at jeopardy.

Yes, I have my lapses of judgements, but nothing that merits any apology towards him. I made a bad call with Bill. That was my mistake. But I was trying to undo all the harm my research had caused. Matters were urgent, and I needed help to accomplish it. I really wanted to believe Stanley could be that help, no questions asked, but he only complicated matters further.

I’ve been plenty patient with him as is…I don’t owe him any more than that.

[adultswim2021]

Tim and Eric Awesome Show Great Job #49: “Greene Machine” | April 26, 2010 - 12:30AM | S05E09

One of those TIm & Eric episodes that’s more-or-less one thing. This is actually introduced as an episode of Inventive Discoveries, a paid-programming commercial presentation for the Tairy Greene Machine, a refrigerator-sized appliance that is dedicated to showing you any movie, TV show, or public appearance featuring Tairy Greene. It’s hosted by Tim & Eric, the later of which has sliced his hands very badly and requires medical attention. He instead opts to wrap them in gauze and proceed with the infomercial.

We are treated to an extensive trailer for The Little Dancing Man, starring Tairy Greene, portrayed by then-comedy mega-star Zach Galifianakis. It’s a weepy-but-inspirational tale about a brilliant ballet dancer who loses the use of his legs. He is despondent, and constantly crying. The ghost of Levar Burton appears to him, and either helps him recover, or is just holding him up the entire time Angels-in-the-Outfield-style, eventually leading him to lift off and fly around like a dang-ass bird. He is still crying constantly, but now they are tears of joy. 

Our hosts show us how to get extra features, like the kind you find on a highfalutin special edition DVD edition. This costs extra, but luckily it’s only two Tairy Tokens (which cost $39.99 apiece) to see the tie-in music video. 

Enter Mary Bly, the high-strung old woman whose delivery is unlike anyone else's. She wants to watch The Little Danson Man, a spiritual spin-off to the Tairy Greene film about Ted Danson being shrunk down by a bolt of lightning and having to adjust to his new life of being hella small. David Cross is in this, playing his agent, who promises to get him all the tiny things he could ask for. David Cross again approximates Tim & Eric’s sensibilities and slightly misses the mark, but he’s mostly okay in this. Him saying he gets the “chilly willies” just reminds me of him saying “I ain’t no ho-ho” in the Abstinence episode, and I FAMOUSLY didn’t care for that. Sorry to pick nits, I promise I respect David Cross. I even watch his bad podcast sometimes. 

There’s also a tie-in music video for this film, featuring Peter Cetera from the band Chicago. Some friends of mine have a mutual fascination with a certain public persona who loves the band Chicago, and I remember riffing with them about his reaction to the sketch. We would mock this man for having a son, for some reason, and I suggested that the part in which the tiny Ted pops up and tugs on Peter Cetera’s cool earring just disappointing this man on a profound level, and that he’d be watching it with his son. He would turn to him, shaking his head in disapproval, point to Tim & Eric on screen, and say to him, “those men fucked me, son”. Made us laugh, anyway. 

Okay: I am pretty sure Tim told a story on Office Hours or somewhere about recording Peter Cetera (It might be about someone else, but I’m having trouble finding a source to confirm or deny my claims) who took all of this very seriously and was a consummate professional. According to Tim there was a little lull in the conversation and Tim was feeling awkward and found himself mindlessly asking Cetera if he ate “a lot of fish”. 

The Tairy Greene Machine runs on tap water, but when you’re done using it you simply open the back of it to let the water spill out on the floor. The machine comes with a bunch of mops, so you simply mop the mess up.

While mopping, Eric eventually succumbs to his blood loss. Tim eulogizes him by slapping his shoulder and saying “you were the best”. Cut to a panicked Mary Bly, seemingly caught in an unguarded moment of genuine confusion. She looks into the camera and pathetically asks “What am I supposed to do? Who am I??”. I recall Tim & Eric discussing this moment as a highlight in their careers, and it inspired them to cast Mary as Mrs. Heidecker in their Billion Dollar Movie. She also shows up in a Funny or Die Presents segment that was created by Tim & Eric collaborators Ben Berman and Jon Mugar.

I’ve always really liked this one, and have used the whole crying-too-much thing as a reference point for pandering, over-serious tear-jerkers. This is basically satirizing the dramatic version of a sitcom, only instead of a laugh-track there’s a crytrack.

I’m usually glad when Tim & Eric do an episode that is roughly all one thing. Some of them are like short films, while some are things that still resemble the format of a typical Awesome Show episode, just with everything tied together. Is this Jim & Derrick? Brother, it’s not even Anniversary. But I consider this a highlight of season Cinco, even if you don’t. 

EPHEMERA CORNER