#my shag carpet jacket

[sparklehoard]

diamond, frog, branch

💎what my most prized possession?

Hmmm probably my phone? It's got all my friends in it and all my photos and memories and my funky dream journal notes.

🐸 describe your aesthetic?

Nothing terribly specific...nature elements, the color yellow. Coziness. .......slight clown and water elements.

🌿 describe your favorite outfit?

Aaaugh that's SO HARD. my closet is so plum full with clothing....one of my jumpsuits maybe??? My corduroy overalls paired with one of my soft yellow shirts? My clown colored plaid suspender pants? My new cargo jeans and my vintage looking crop tops???my funky fleece coats? I CANT DECIDE.

[yacinthemorning]

Birdsongs

Chapter 8

[first] [prev] [next]

Summary: The Life Pilgrimage is the biggest music festival of the century, set to take place all across the continent. Small-time rock band, GIST, and the up-and-coming alternative band, Empire, are both lucky to be among the hundreds set to make appearances, but there's just one problem. Neither can afford the travel expenses on their own. For better or worse, they're stuck with each other for the next five weeks as they try to make their dreams come true.

And, perhaps, among the chaos and music, two unsuspecting souls find one another...

Ships: Jimmy/Tango (slow burn romantic), Joel/Lizzie (romantic), Jimmy & Scott (platonic)

Warnings: Drugs, verbal fights, weight shaming

The crowd at the current venue was much denser than the last, owed to a major city being within a few hours’ drive. Tango could feel the excitement course through every vein, trying to keep from hopping about while he waited for Gem to finish the next introduction. Not helped by the sight of Empire in the crowd, easily picked out from the crowd thanks to Lizzie’s bubble-gum hair. She was up on Jimmy and Fwhip’s shoulders to see above the crowd, cheering on Gem.

“I hope you like this next one, I wrote it all myself! It’s called Sunflowers and Butterflies.” Gem declared, to which the crowd roared back. Tango slammed down on the first harsh note with Skizz, a smile shared between the two. Their Glitter Girl picked up on her part quicker than usual, always excited to play this one. Though it started harsh like much of their music, it cascaded into something much softer and cheery. A summer day. Not like the one they had now, sweaty and dusty, but something refreshing, early in the day. GIST had always been about the mood in their music, and despite how different her songs were to their usual nerdier fair she always captured that same rhythm.

The second chorus faded out, and with it all instruments but Tango. A hard reset to the tune as they each slowly rejoined the melody until Gem kicked back into gear with a cheer. Despite the lack of mic Lizzie cheered almost just as loud. The rest of the crowd joined in. A revelling chorus weaved into the beat. What was a song without an adoring choir to accompany it?

Tango thought he never wanted to be anywhere else but right here and now.

It all ended far too soon. He was still high off the applause as they filed off stage, sweeping their musical darling off her feet into a bear hug. She screeched with laughter, “Tango!”

“That was the most amazing show ever, Gemstone!” He declared, to which Skizz and Impulse gladly agreed.

“Stop! It was okay.”

“If that was okay then I think great would instantly kill me.” Skizz barked, digging his hands into her hair and messing it up until she called for mercy. Banter between the bandmates rang nearly as loud as the crowd had in Tango’s ears.

“Out of the way!”

A hand pressed into Tango shoulder, nearly knocking both him and Gem to the ground. She stumbled out of his arms, only kept on her feet by Impulse being right behind her. Her baby blue wasn’t so lucky, smacking hard against the trampled grass and letting out a terrible noise. Instantly he felt his blood boil and spun around to give the jerk a piece of his mind, “Excuse you!”

It was some guy in the ugliest green shag carpet-looking jacket Tango had ever seen and a dye job a month overdue for retouching. He also had a black eye, and for a moment Tango searched his memory wondering if he’d been at the brawl in the previous town. His face contorted into a toothy sneer, revealing a missing tooth as he shouted back, “What’s your problem, shorty!”

“My problem is you running through my band like we’re bowling pins, wack-a-mole!” Tango snapped right back.

Both Skizz and Impulse were on either side of him, but not as back up. Their hands simultaneously wrapped around his arms and started pulling him back. “Top, it’s okay.” Skizz, ever the shoulder angel, tried to deescalate.

“Bdubs, are you causing trouble?” A new voice chimed in, not sounding the least bit scolding. Three others had shown up, the front of the pack being the man who presumably spoke. An interesting looking guy, with mostly grey hair and mouth hidden behind some sort of mask, a look Tango might have taken in a bit better if he wasn’t already riled up. Their other two companions already looked exhausted, the bearded one shaking his head.

Bdubs hissed like a cat being hosed down, “I ain’t do nothin’, this freaking punk is the one causin’ me trouble!”

“You got a funny way of remembering things.” Growled Tango.

Gem pushed herself between them, “Tango my guitar’s fine, it’s okay.”

It almost worked if Bdubs hadn’t continued. “Yeah, listen to the little lady!”

Faster than he knew he could move his fist was twisted into the front of Bdub’s shirt, yanking his forward till their forehead cracked together, “Listen here, you little-”

“Alright, alright! That’s enough.” The silver haired man pushed them apart with surprising strength. Impulse’s arm wrapped around Tango’s shoulders and pulled him back further despite his protests. There was too much satisfaction in the new guy’s nod. “Bdubs?”

“What?”

“Apologize.”

He pursed his lips so tight Tango wondered if it hurt, but eventually muttered out the world’s least sorry, “Sorry.” Tango was ready to snap an ‘I’m not’ back at him if not for Impulse accepting the apology for him. It all seemed good enough for the other band, who shuffled the rest of the way past to reach the stage without another word. Not long after they met up with their travelling companions.

“Dude, is that Slab?” Joel perked up first, craning to catch a glance of the band that took GIST’s place.

At that, Tango did a double take. “Wha- Those jerks?” His voice went up an octave. On further inspection Tango could see it, though there was about twenty years of aging between the Slab he listened to in college and the band setting up in front of them. “Oh, wow, Etho went full salt, I didn’t think he was that much older than us.”

“Hey, we’re getting up there too. I got twenty-six grey hairs and counting!” Skizz said as he dropped to the grass.

They’d lost Joel completely, though, who was staring off towards the stage. Lizzie nudged him, a teasing smirk on her, “Go on, you dork.”

“What? Go where?” He said, gaze shifting to the sky. Some of Empire’s members began to giggle, which only added pink to the man’s cheeks.

It was Gem who leaned into the rest of her band with a similar expression to Lizzie. “He saw him play literally once when we were like 18 and now he has half a wall in his garage dedicated to the guy. He’s obsessed!”

“Uh, no I do not, Gem. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The drummer sneered, arms folded in defiance. In truth, Tango and Impulse couldn’t say anything, only nod in solidarity. It may be a bit odd for someone Joel’s age, but Slab was still touring to sold out stadiums over twenty years into their careers for a reason. It only took Gem tugging on him in the direction of the crowd to get him to start running for it.

The rest of the Empires seemed much less interested, Fwhip corralling them towards some band Tango didn’t recognize, but looked far more Lizzie’s vibe. There was an awkward moment, where Jimmy paused between his bandmates and GIST. Whether he thought he should help them with the long trek back to the trailer or invite them along, Tango shrugged either way, shooing him off. “You’re free from watching us, now.” He said, only half-joking. “You can go enjoy yourselves.”

“I wanted to watch you, you’re amazing.” replied Jimmy with a frown, but he hitched his guitar up his shoulder and went.

For some reason it made Tango stumble. For reasons that had to do with the universe hating him, Skizz noticed. “Oh, Top, my man.” His tone immediately sent the hairs on Tango’s neck up like a porcupine, flashing his teeth at his bandmate before stomping off.

“Shut up.”

“Tangle Top, what sort of friend would I be if I did that?”

“A good one.” He snapped. Any further protest was muffled by the arm that wrapped around his shoulders, shoving him into a firm headlock. He struggled, only for a moment, before resigning himself o his fate. “What?”

“What’s all this about, hm?” There it was, his therapist voice. Tango was convinced the only reason the guy got into middle management instead of therapy was because his patients would have bludgeoned him to death with his own clipboard after he revealed exactly what was wrong with them. “Is it you’re feeling out of style? Not hip with the kids? A little lame?”

He elbowed his old friend, which got a laugh. “No Skizz, I know we’re lame. We play music that hasn’t been in for over a decade without a single bit of irony or retrofication, of course we’re lame.”

“Then it’s to do with your new best buddy, huh?”

Tango could use a clipboard right about now.

Skizz had that grin of his, that one that said he hit the nail on the head and knew it. “You’re ridiculous, Top. You just basked in the praise of hundreds of screaming fans but you can’t handle one little compliment from Jimbo?”

“It’s a bit different.” Tango pinched his fingers, shoving them in Skizz’s face in hopes he would get the message. “You know, one’s the faceless masses who chose to come see us. The other’s a friend.”

“Whatever you gotta tell yourself to sleep at night, Top.”

When they reached the trailer Pearl was already waiting for them, playing with the canary through the bars of its cage. Scattered about the table were various booklets and maps. Given that she was here and not miles away in the car, Tango assumed the bird situation had yet to be figured out. Not that he knew what to do about it. All he knew was that he’d rather Pearl deal with it than Fwhip or Scott after the other day. He could hear the little Impulse in his brain, it’s not fair to judge people in the middle of a stressful situation, but he couldn’t help it. Better to leave serious matters to Pearly-pop.

“Empire doesn’t play until tomorrow,” was the only part of their conversation he caught as he passed. Scott’s tone was back to its usual cadence, as was his wrinkles. The only thing out of place on the man was the slight redness to his eyes and a blunt tucked between his fingers. Unusual not in its use, but in the man trotting about with it when Tango had never once seen him show his face before putting himself together. After his outburst perhaps this was his current form of put together.

Pearl waved him over, and the two met up a ways away from the teal-haired man. “Unless we wanna hang out around here an extra day we aren’t gonna be able to bring the bird back.” She explained as he joined her. Understandable, but frustrating.

“What if the trailer goes on ahead and we meet back up at the next venue?” He suggested, miming the plan with his hands for her.

Her expression was grim, but she nodded. “That’s what we came to. It’s either that, or we wait and someone brings it back at the end of this on our way home.”

“And that’s gonna take someone way outta the way if we do.”

“Exactly.”

A solid plan, in theory. Looking around at their group, however, a different issue became clear. “It can’t be anyone from Empires.” Realized Tango. Whoever went would need to get a move on today, and as Scott had said, they needed their manager here. They weren’t like GIST, on the verge of retirement, they couldn’t afford to have him missing from the biggest event they’re likely to ever be in. On the other end, “If two of us go and we don’t catch up in time we won’t be able to play.”

Pearl nodded along. They’d already figured this long before he did. “And you’ll have a good chunk of our luggage with you either way. We can’t fit it all into the bus.”

Tango’s eyes drifted over their camp, to Scott who was still nursing a headache in the shade, to Skizz and Impulse laughing inside, and the empty seats of their companions out enjoying the shows. “Then you and me will go.”

“Tango...”

“We won’t be late.” He assured, patting her shoulder and pulling her in closer. “Look, we won’t be late. There’s two of us, we can drive through the night. And I ain’t know anyone as talented behind the wheel as you, so I know we won’t get into any trouble. We’ll just take our stuff and a couple things the others won’t miss. We’ll shove the pots and pans in there and they can eat KFC for a few days or something.”

“I could eat KFC for the rest of the trip.” Scot suddenly interjected with a half-hearted laugh. His hand hid his expression, leaving Tango unsure if he was joking.

Pearl stared at the man for a long moment, frowning deeply. A tooth poked out the side of her mouth, trying to stop itself from biting her lip. She sighed. “Yeah, alright. Let’s do it.”

“Kay, then let’s get to work. We got a lot of walking back and forth to do.” He gave her a final slap on the back, and the two got to work.

-

Lizzie shrieked as Jimmy stumbled over an empty beer can left out in the mud. “Okay, I want down now!” She warbled. Gem laughed at her from atop Fwhip’s shoulders as the two sprinted by, nearly knocking Jimmy over a second time and tearing a shriek from both siblings.

“Right, right.” Jimmy agreed. His knees shook as he bent down for her to climb off his shoulders, trying to keep his case from dipping into the mud. “Geez, lay off the crisps, Liz.” He tried to joke, for which he received a kick in the shin as she landed. It was enough to send him tumbling forward right into the mud. Hopefully it was just mud, but as it filled his nostrils there was the stench of ash and alcohol mixed in. The cocktail was almost enough to make him gag. “Hey!” He squawked after her, “I help you see and this is the thanks I get?”

There was the telltale signs. The last glance of a shocked look before her nose turned up to the sky, and the stiffness of how she held her shoulders as she stuttered through her words, “Well, you should have thought of that before you insulted a lady’s weight. Maybe you should hit the gym more.” And the hesitance to leave or break her facade to help. She may act more poised, but Jimmy knew they fell from the same tree. Fell being the key word. She spun around and nearly slipped in the exact same mud pool. Jimmy rolled his eyes and pushed back up, trying his best brush as much mud off his guitar before helping haul Lizzie back up onto her own feet. When he attempted to chastise her back he was interrupted by his own yawn. It cascaded to Lizzie. “Oh my.” She murmured.

“Must be the heat.” He giggled. Never mind the last couple of days, a week in he was remembering how exhausting it really was to be around so many people and noises. And in the middle of warm weather and no shade. Despite not playing, he felt ready to crash for a nap. From the look Lizzie gave she had the same idea.

When they reached the trailer there was no one else there. Bags and instruments were strewn about, the side panels left open. Jimmy frowned at the sight of the little canary, shrieking in its cage left out atop a stack of Lizzie’s suitcases in the sun. “What’s going on here?”

“Must be reorganizing so we can get our stuff easier tomorrow.” Lizzie hummed, tapping her foot against the edge of the tarp they’d laid out. “Although they’ve made a right mess of it.”

“That they did.” He lifted the cage up, cooing to the canary until it calmed to a stressed chirp. The metal bars were warmed. How long had the poor thing been out here? He shifted his guitar further down his back, wincing as he felt a glob of mud slop down the back of his shirt. “Right, lets get cleaned up.” And so the three went inside, careful to slip their muddy shoes off at the steps and brush away the largest clumps.

On the outside of their clothes and the half of his case that faced outwards the sun had already baked the mud into crumbling dirt, leaving them half dried out and half muck-covered. A terrible, disgusting feeling. They took the chance with no one else around to change. Though the inside of the trailer was cooler the sun beat down through the windows into the main area, and the siblings retreated to the bedroom, where the curtains were always drawn. “Thank you Gem.” Lizzie murmured as she sunk into the cool mattress.

Jimmy laughed, until the canary squawked again. “You be quiet, mister.” He hushed, putting the cage down in the corner and throwing a stray sheet over it. In the darkness the bird quickly calmed. Poor thing must have been tired as well from all its flapping about. His case went beside it, almost entirely blocking off the doorway. It was better than getting an earful for dirt on the bed. Jimmy joined his sister, making sure to land half-on top of her as revenge. Lizzie shrieked, smacking him until her rolled away cackling.

“I’ll throw you back in the mud!” She threatened.

“I don’t think either of us have the energy for that.” he sang, lifting his arms and letting them flop back down for emphasis. It only felt more like he was trying to imitate a bird than prove his point. It worked well enough, Lizzie rolling over without bothering to reply. No one to talk to, he felt the weight of exhaustion and heat overcome him, and bother Jimmy knew it he was out like a light.

-

The drive so far had been pleasant, Tango taking first shirt as they barrelled back down the road and Pearl mapped it out. A mix tape she’d made only a few months ago played over the stereo, blaring Simple Minds for the pair to sing along to.

“Don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t you,” Pearl cooed, shaking her head each time, until Tango joined in with a wide grin, “Forget about me!” Absent an instrument, Tango tapped his fingers against the steering wheel and made a horrid attempt at repeating the keys with his voice, causing Pearl to burst out laughing.

“Alright, mate, none of that! You sound terrible!”

“Reason number five million bajillion and seven why I’m the bassist and not the singer.” He drawled, still snickering.

“And why I’m the manager.” Pearl added, exaggerating the slur in her accent until it was hardly intelligible. It was a lie, Tango had heard her sing. Though she had no training like Gem or Lizzie, she was more than good enough for long car rides with the windows down.

Pearl let out a hooting sort of sigh, and stretched her long arms out behind the seat as far as she could. “I know I shouldn’t be but I’m glad to get a break from all that.” Said the woman as she slumped into her seat.

Tango hummed in agreement, letting his arm hang out the window. The car was still cramped as hell, but just being away from the large group was a breath of fresh air he hadn’t realized he needed. “It sneaks up on you. No matter how well you get along, being trapped with a bunch of people and no way to get away wears you out.”

“And we got another four weeks of this.”

Both groaned as it sunk in. “Well, hopefully someone steals a parrot or something before we leave for the next venue.” Tango tries to joke. “Though I’m not sure I could handle the twittering.”

Pearl gave him a pity laugh and turned around. “That little guy’s been quite good so far, actually. Almost five hours now it’s been silent.”

Tango made a noise of agreement. Thank whoever for the bird’s silence so far. Before they left he was dreading listening to it squawk for twelve hours straight. “Did you put blackout curtains over it, or did you suffocate it under the luggage?”

But Pearl turned to him, brows furrowed. “Nooo, I didn’t. Where did you even stuff it in back there, I can’t see it at all.”

“Me?” Tango balked. Dread filled his belly, and he quickly pulled over to the side of the highway. “I didn’t put anywhere, I went to grab it and it was already gone.” He explained. Pearl was already undoing her buckle.

Both stumbled out of the car and started with the trunk. It was nowhere to be seen. Soon they began to dig, undoing all the neat packing Pearl had done earlier. They dug, and dug, and nothing. Tango shifted things around, they had to have just missed it somehow, but Pearl was already wandering off with her face buried in her hands.

“Oh my god.” She groaned, muffled. “Are you kidding me?”

“Are you kidding me!” Tango repeated, tossing his duffel bag violently against the mess they’d made.

They slumped onto the edge of the trunk. Tango tried to retrace their steps, remember where Skizz had put the cage down while they were sorting through bags with Impulse. Tried to remember who said would grab what. It was an uphill battle against his terrible memory, and one that meant nothing now that they were in the middle of nowhere with a car packed full of everything but the one thing they needed.

The sun was beginning to set through the trees, casting long shadows across them. Only a few cars passed by, none stopping to check on them. He didn’t know if he was offended by the rudeness or thankful he didn’t have to explain to a stranger that they lost a bird.

“We have to go back.” Pearl announced, though she made no move to get back in the car.

Tango scoffed. “And what? We’ll have wasted ten hours at least, we don’t have time to drive the bird back now.”

“Well where else are we gonna go?”

Good point. Counterpoint, Tango wasn’t so sure he wanted to face their bandmates, and especially not Empire, with this humiliating story. The most they could do was continue on to some complete stranger’s house and tell them their buddy stole their bird, but also they didn’t have it and they’d return it in a month. He groaned, tossing his head forward. “Well, you wanna drive through the night or find a motel?”

“Let’s just get back.” Tango had never heard her so defeated. She pushed off the trunk and headed for the driver’s seat. “You catch some sleep, I already took a nap earlier.”

With a sombre ooze hanging over everything the pair crawled back into the car and made a U-turn back to the event.

[emo-gremlin]

Disco Bear x Autistic reader!!!

(As always, based off my own experiences)

🪩 HIS HAIR IS SO FUCKING SOFT OH MY GOD THIS MAN KNOWS HIS HAIR CARE AND HE LOVES WHEN YOU RUN YOUR FINGERS THROUGH IT

🪩 You end up being his mockingbird, when you tap your fingers or hum randomly, he starts hearing a rhythm in it. He insists on giving you a writing credit in his songs when you help him.

🪩 Gets you the best, top of the line, noise canceling earmuffs so you can come to his concerts, and stylish sunglasses too.

🪩 Yes, he does have a shag carpet in one of his rooms. Yes, it's one of the softest things ever. He's caught you more than once just laying on the floor. He thinks it's cute.

🪩 STIMMY MUSIC STIMMY MUSIC STIMMY MUSIC

🪩 Man's a foodie. Knows the best restaurants and best dishes they offer. He does learn what your brain just says "NO." to and respects it like one would a food allergy.

🪩 He has many, many silk and fluffy clothes, and some of his jackets are heavier than others and he loves to share.

🪩 Definitely understands obsessing over stuff. I mean, look at him. It's 2023 and the man's still dressing like it's the 70s.

🪩 You might start hearing him writing songs based off your interests. I mean, you talk about them so often, and he wants you to know he supports you. <3

🪩 Finds it adorable when you do full body stims. It's like you're dancing to your own beat.

Enjoy!! <3

[bitter-limelight]

An AU in which it is Marius who found Daniel first.

"Daniel….Daniel, young one, wake up."

Daniel groaned as the vampire shook him, the gentle movements feeling ready to jostle him off the motel sofa he'd fallen asleep on. Vampires were damn strong like that, he knew, and besides that, he was dizzy. He cracked open his eyes a sliver and groaned as the room around him undulated. In the piss yellow lamp light though he could see his companion, silvery hair stained yellow from the bulbs, white skin turning gold.

The blurry visage of his follower frowned at him, the lines around his mouth deepening. "You aren't drunk," he observed hesitantly and Daniel groaned again.

"Fantastic observation, Marius, you clever fuck." He blinked a few times and finally pushed himself upright, his body aching for it. "Not hung over either, just dying."

"Hardly." Marius clucked once and bent down, his impressive height lowering to Daniel's level as he pressed the back of his hand to his cheek; Daniel shivered. It felt good but it was *so* cold. His skin felt burned compared to it. "You're feverish."

"Groovy," was all Daniel could muster up before he began to cough, raising up his arm to hack into his elbow. Marius retreated slightly and Daniel wondered if he was still worth hunting now that he was grossing him out so much.

"I'm not put out by a little cough," Marius informed him, having obviously read his mind. "I have had multiple humans in my care through my 2,000 years and have seen far worse than a head cold."

Daniel finished his coughing, noteing the tickle in his chest that could become a pain at any time-damn the cigarettes- but he looked up to Marius with interest even through it.

"Multiple huh? How many multiples? All at once or like, one after another?"

Marius smirked. "Nice try my little interviewer, but no."

"Oh come on, Marius, you've been after me almost a year now and you never tell me shit!" Whined the boy. He shivered again, and drew one of the lumpy orange pillows onto his lap as though it would warm him.

"Oh come now, I tell you plenty." Marius was unbothered, it seemed, by Daniel's cranky accusations. How strange he looked to Daniel still, this man dressed in a pair of simple wool slacks and a black turtleneck sweater, jacket draped over his arm and hair clipped back in a neat tie, looking wholly out of place among the wild green and yellow wallpaper and shag carpeting of this cheap room. Daniel had been here long enough to make a home of it, as much a home as anywhere had been in the year since he left San Francisco with his head full of vampires and New Orleans and immortality. About three weeks here in Detroit, his shampoo and razer in the small bathroom, a few pieces of clothing taken from his duffle bag and crammed into the dresser. Good enough for a rambling man running from (or was it leading on?) A vampire.

"I tell you plenty. I told you I lived in Rome, didn't I? And I told you about the house I kept there. I told you I paint, and I'm fond of red-"

"Anyone not color blind can see that," Daniel argued, before he began to cough again, mad about it this time. "Damn it!"

Marius appraised him, still standing quite detached from it all in the center of the messy room. "Well, perhaps you wouldn't be sick if you didn't spend your nights wandering bars in the cold and sharing cigarettes with strange men."

Daniel's laugh was dry and wheezy, bloodshot eyes looking up through long, messy ashen bangs. "Marius, I put a lot worse than their cigarettes in my mouth you know."

"A gentleman doesn't watch, Daniel."

"Prude," he chided, and he watched Marius parse out that bit of slang for a moment as though testing whether he should be insulted. He was rarely insulted. Daniel had let out every volley of curses and rude accusations at this man since he started following him in New Orleans, but very rarely did Daniel even make him blush. He was taking it as a challenge now. Daniel shook his head, regretting it as the vertigo took hold, and stood. He regretted that too; he felt cold, yes, but also weak as he walked, and his legs ached like he'd just walked a mile uphill. The flu, then, he guessed, remembering how much it ached when he'd last had the flu. His arms hurt too as he raised them to ruffle through his cabinet in the kitchenette, looking for aspirin and finding the bottle empty.

"You took the last ten when you were hung over on Sunday," Marius reminded the boy, and he caught the bottle easily as Daniel hucked it at him. Daniel was still after all this time startled by the speed of the vampire, their strength and skill, but this was waning each day. Now he was accustomed to it and he only glared at Marius and gave another unbecoming cough.

Marius gave a disapproving shake of his head, and next Daniel knew those cool, marble hands were on him, pulling him back to the larger part of the room and to the rumpled bed. "Come," Marius growled, "you're ill. Lay back down."

"Just a cold," he argued, but he was also too off kilter to put in his usual sass and fight to his vampiric stalker.

Marius paid him little mind, though, and besides that, laying down felt better, the sheets cool and almost clean ish beneath him, mattress lumpy but less so than the couch was. He sighed, rolling over onto his stomach and half burying his face into the pillow as though to hide from the building headache. Around him he heard Marius wandering the room, gathering up discarded t-shirts and jackets, throwing it all into a single pile. Ah, a housekeeping vampire, now that was useful, thought Daniel, before dozing off.

He slept deep but fitful through the night, waking to pad to the bathroom, change into a warmer shirt, only to be guided back to bed. This service was more and more welcome as the night wore on and his fever grew, making him more uncomfortable and surely more cranky. It was perhaps a blessing for Marius then that Daniel was so tired and couldn't mouth off. At one point though it had occurred to Daniel through his temperature that this was leaving him at an exceptionally vulnerable spot, and that he couldn't fight Marius off at all now should he decide to kill him.

"You couldn't fight me off even on your best day," reminded Marius as he handed Daniel a glass of water, and Daniel cussed him out for prying into his brain again.

More nap, more sleep, strange dreams enfolding Daniel each time. The waters of a canal, Venice, it seemed, beautiful buildings, the marble glittering in moon light. More marble, temples now, stone carvings, lit by fire, some sort of altar, as though for worship- such strange dreams, fueled by fever, and when Daniel awoke he was alone. Of course he was, with Marius unable to survive him by sunlight.

He coughed fitfully, scrubbing at his eyes and his body aching. He rolled over to see his bedside table stuffed with things. Bottles of water and juice, bottles of aspirin, tissues, a folded piece of paper. Reaching for it, Daniel squinted in the dim light without his glasses.

"Daniel,

There is soup for you in the refrigerator. I'll be most displeased if I find it there still when I return.

-Marius."

"Christ alive," Daniel groaned. He sat up, coughing again, and then felt suddenly very cold as something fell from around his shoulders. Blinking, he looked around him, catching sight of a pile of red velvet; he recognized it immediately as Marius' jacket, one he wore often, gold buttons adornijg thebfront and the smell of hisbexoensoge cologne all over it.

Whatever was in the fridge could wait. Feeling *strangely* warm now, even with his fever, Daniel nestled back down, burying his tired face in the folds of that coat.

[hypocriticaltypwriter]

"𝐂𝐫𝐲… 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫… 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐞, 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫."

(The Lost Girls AU)

"Shit..." Stephanie slams her bedroom door shut, looking towards her friends at the same time, her brown eyes locking with Jessie's hazel ones. "Shit..." She utters out again, louder this time, bringing her trembling hands up to look at the deep, crimson stained on them, along with her clothes, the glittery hue dancing against the dim light reminding her that it wasn't human blood spilt across her body along with her friends.

"Was... Is that it?" Jessie asks, her voice cracking a little due to screaming in horror just minutes earlier. "What did we do? Dear God, what have we done?" The panic begins to rise as the adrenaline begins to slow, running her hands through her ginger hair, gripping at her scalp as her already pale complexion almost drains completely, making her look dead.

"We haven't done wrong... We... We didn't do anything wrong!" Meg says, though the shouting doesn't help in reassuring, her pacing stops turning to look at Jessie, pointing a bloodied finger at her, hints of her aqua nail polish along her nail still visible.

"We killed someone, Meghan!" Jessie screams back, storming toward her and pushing her finger into her friends chest. "We killed a living person!"

"We killed a vampire!" Meg corrected, dark eyes narrowing a bit as she mimics to accusatory poke at her friends chest, harsh enough thus time to make Jessie stumble back from her close space. "If we didn't do it, it probably would've killed five actual living people in the span of a night!"

"There's more of them... What if they find us?! They'll spill our guts all over your aunts shag carpet!" Jessie looked to Setphanie, who still had her glazed over gaze slowly dart between her two friends, an unreadable look of dread on her face.

"I don't want to die... I-I don't want to die!" Jess is practically screaming at this point, exhaling loudly as her lip trembles, and she backs herself into the wall, clawing at the sensation of drying blood on her hands, stuck in between her rings.

"We aren't gonna die, Jesus Christ!" Meg snaps, biting down on her lower lip as she grabs at the tangled curls in her afro, taking a deep inhale, a slight tremor in it. "We can leave... We can leave this town in under an hour in my van -"

"We can't leave now. It's night! You're putting a damn target on the back of our necks!" Jessie states, which only makes Meghan throw her hands up and growl.

"Well then what am I supposed to fucking do!?"

"Will you two shut up?!" Stephanie exclaims, finally vocal after minutes if silence while watching the two argue. She took a step forward to either defuse or push herself into the screaming fit.

The sound of harsh wind and clattering of her guestroom window sliding open instantly turned the three girls heads to the sound- trying to see through the flying curtains along with their hair blocking the view of the figure now standing in her room.

"Were dead!" Jessie nearly cries, letting out a quick scream as she cowards back into the wall, gripping at the closet hinge as if it'd protect her of sorts. Meg had resorted to standing in front of her ginger haired friend. Even if she looked just as terrified, she stayed in a protective stance, ready to sheild and defend.

But Stephanie didn't move. Stephanie didn't retreat in fear. As her black hair calmed back onto her shoulders, her mouth sightly fell open. The churning dread and fear building in her stomach left in one word as she gazed at the figure standing at her open window.

"Chris..."

The blonde vampire gazed at her, a look of alarm, and something akin to pain danced behind his dark green eyes, but his face was unreadable, like it was unable to shift or change into what he was feeling in that moment.

His eyes scanned her appearance. Specifically, the blood poured on her hands and stained into her tanktop and leather jacket, sticking to her figure in discomfort. His eyes fall, and his grip on the window seal slumped back to his side.

"It was you... Wasn't it." He spoke, but it almost wasn't a question. It was though he was speaking fact. He didn't have anger or betrayal in his voice. It almost sounded as though he was in pity, heartbreak.

"I didn't mean to do it, Chris. I'm sorry..." She takes a step toward him, her eyes going glassy as all the emotions and realizations began to fall on her shoulders, making it feel impossible to make it across the room to her weekend lover without the guilt crushing her. "I'm so sorry, Chris."

"You did it." He accused softly, but he didn't move as she got closer. "I didn't know, Chris, I didn't know." Stephanie states, her voice cracking and falling to a whisper as her hands shakily come up to his chest, nervously fumbling with the necklaces around his neck, her eyes never leaving his. "I'm so sorry I..."

"You killed my sister..." He spoke again, the look and impact slowly shifting onto his face as she brought her soft hands to the sides of his face, shaking so uncontrollably he gripped her wrists with his own, the strong scent of blood filling his nostrils making his lungs burn.

"It wasn't supposed to happen. I'm sorry." She utters, the look on his face breaks her heart, unable to fight the singular tear that falls from her eye down her cheek, mixing with the glittery substance splattered along her jaw.

"You killed Tiff." Chris's voice falters, letting go of Stephanie's hands as he turns his head in a way to get her to remove her hands from his face, which she hesitates to do, but does, still holding them in the air in front of her, lingering against his cold touch.

"Forgive me. Please, Chris, I'm sorry. I promise, you gotta believe me... It wasn't supposed to happen." She pleads - no, begs.

She would get on her knees in front of this boy, kiss his feet and cling to his legs while crying for pity if it meant for her to hear him laugh again, or spend one more night on his motorcycle, or feeling the passion of his lips on hers. Feel a warmth she never got from his body, but from his heart.

Which she had learned stopped beating a long time ago.

"You need to help me and my friends, if we're killed -" Stephanie chokes, glancing back at her friends, seeing the fear and awkward casts to the ground.

"You're sisters will kill us, Christopher... You need to help us."

"I can't." Chris says finally, he seems almost helpless. He wants to help this girl, this girl he's only known for a week, but he feels stole his heart the second she traveled into this town. But he can't. He knows he can't. Because he can't stop them. He can't stop vengeance. He can't stop the revenge.

The lights in the room flickered - sparking for a second of life before the house fully goes black. The radio faint in the background slowly and clicks off. The air goes still, and the wind outside goes quiet and calm, ceasing the small flow in the curtains.

It went quiet. So quiet Stephanie could hear her heartbeat, starting to feel the sudden quickening in its pace as it dawned on her what was happening.

"Besides..." Chris voice goes silent, right in Stephanie's ear, as though he himself is afraid to speak, afraid to reveal where exactly in this room they were, like even blinking would give away where the four teens had huddled.

"It isn't my sister's you should be afraid of."

[myloveforhergoeson]

20

20: she's got a boyfriend now by boys like girls

(send me a number 1-100!!!)

augh... tasw namesake song. at first it started as a jealous james song in my mind when dak and roxy were together, but now it think it fits mag and brand new day pretty well...

this follows the scene in chapter 31 after mag invites roxy to the bnd album release party

-

Slipping back into apartment 5-A, Mag pocketed his keys as he strode into the near empty living room.

The beige walls and suspiciously stained shag carpet were already such an eyesore, and he and Dani had been in LA for months at this point, but neither of them could bring themselves to use their precious free time to decorate. Their manager was working them hard, day in and day out, leaving making the space their own pretty low on the priority list.

For now, the two, old lawn chairs in the middle of the room did, while their small portable TV was sat atop of one of the moving boxes on the longest wall they had. Dani was sitting there, not moving at all at the sound of Mag's arrival, watching an old heist movie Mag thought was vaguely familiar.

It took Dani a second, they were always so invested in the plot of these stories despite watching them over and over, but eventually, when there was a pause in the dialogue, they asked, "How'd it go?"

From their tone, Mag knew they were only being polite when they asked. Inviting Roxy to their album release party had been his idea; Dani didn't seem interested if she came in the slightest. Which the singer felt pretty strange, considering how close the three of them used to be.

"She's got a boyfriend now." Joining Dani on the free lawn chair, Mag practically fell into the uncomfortable seat. "Isn't that weird?"

The chattering on the TV continued in the background.

"That's not what I meant." His friend replied, eyes still glued to the screen. Nonchalant as ever. "Is she coming or not?"

A heavy feeling set in Mag's chest, one he couldn't explain, and while it was annoying, the boy did his best to ignore it. "Only if her boyfriend can come... Like they're connected at the hip or something"

The singer fiddled with one of the zippers on his battle jacket, waiting for a reply that never came. Chest still constricting, he sighed once more.

"It's sad what this town's doing to her." Mag blurted out, unprompted. His palms were slick with sweat, sticking to the plastic armrests. A slight metallic taste from his lip ring settled on his tongue. "Letting her put her feelings over a good networking opportunity..."

Now, Dani finally looked Mag's way, giving him a quick once-over with furrowed brows before turning back to the movie. "If you want her there that bad, invite him."

"He'd stick out like a sore thumb."

"So don't invite him."

"But Roxy needs to see what she's missing out on!" Mag was still fighting back, voice slightly raising. "Leaving us behind only to run off to Hollywood with some stupid boyband? What a sellout..."

"So invite him!" Dani was beginning to push back as well, turning up the volume on the TV with the remote in their hand. "I literally couldn't care less about this... jealousy thing you've got going on."

"I am not jealous." He bit, realizing that only made him sound more jealous. "Just doesn't seem like her is all. Writing for a pop band, dating some airhead prep, playing by someone else's rules... It's like she's a whole different person."

"Are you still the same person you were a year ago?" Dani asked and Mag was quick to nod his head.

"Aside from a fat record contract and a couple new tattoos? I'm the same guy I've always been."

Huffing again, now signaling the conversation was over, Mag stood up and stocked off to his room.

If that's the case, he asked himself as he slammed the door and flopped down on the edge of the bed, reaching for his baby blue electric guitar, why did seeing her make me feel so different?

[zilabee]

- I love them, I love their faces, I love that we've stopped sitting around being sad and awful. I love Ringo's shirt, I love MLH being up front about how he needs his own microphones that beatles can't get away from, I love the vast amount of tea, I love the breakfasting, I love the green carpet and the white walls, I love that nothing's put together properly yet and none of it works, I love that it was a good day yesterday, (good vibes, man). I love that George is clean enough to comment on it, and that John is wearing a jumper. I love that Glyn comes in every morning looking more shagged out than any Beatle.

- The way George Martin looks at Ringo when he gets there is indecent and beautiful and I'm glad they still have someone in their lives who looks at them properly.

- I hate Glyn John's ugly black jacket I can't remember if I already complained but I will complain again it makes him look like an evil snake. It's inappropriate to the rest of his excellence.

- I love Ringo telling Glyn how good the sound was on Around the Beatles, he's ridiculous with his going around happily making people feel loved. I figure he's definitely sleeping with Glyn and MLH at this point, but - and this might be controversial, I don't know - I feel like he's not sleeping with George Martin, despite all the smiling and the eyes. That's just my vibes, yvmv.

My rock and roll finger is bleeding

- MLH still wants to talk about the show, which is great and exactly what they need, because they've just got George back and we know George likes to talk about the show, it's his best thing, it's very helpful. (More fairly, we don't have the right video of that bit, so it probably wasn't immediately early morning) (more fairly still, I've just looked ahead in the book, and some of that conversation is from tomorrow, so it might just be Peter Jackson who still wants to talk about the show.)

- When John's telling Ringo how he wants the drums, and Paul and Ringo start miming the cymbal in perfect sync, I just like that very much. I like their colours together today.

- I love them laughing about the press, and the fisticuffs, I love Yoko's little dances, I love Paul dragging Glyn about by the elbow, I love his orange jumper, I love his beard and his obsidian hair, I love MLH encouraging John to juggle a knife, I love everything they play, I love how often they want things to sound like the Top Ten club, I love how leaving Hamburg was a huge mistake in a way. I love all the close ups of equipment, I love them just bothering the tech staff like children because they don't like being ignored, to the extent that Glyn eventually sends them off for lunch so he can finish getting setup without them underfoot.

- I love the weird way Ringo starts having a play with bass like he's literally never seen a guitar before, and Paul helping him, I love John's voice, I love all their voices, I love all their smiles, I love that bathroom window is Diana chords in A, I love John giving us a little flash.

Riffs on guitar, Paul, harmony on piano.

- I do not enjoy Paul reading out that whole article that they've already got over when he wasn't here, and reading it out and why and John just starting singing over it, like god make it stop.

- John and Ringo having a little cuddle on the way to the control room. It exists and it'll exist forever and they can't take it away now.

- Today just felt like a celebration of being back, and having a lovely new studio, and feeling good, and having George Martin around looking fondly at them, and ignoring anything difficult. Good Day. Sunshine.

[katytheinspiredworkaholic]

WIP Wednesday

Dreamwalker (Eddie’s Story)

Summary: Steddie Canon compliant/fix-it fic paired with a corresponding story in Steve’s POV, each chapter happens in tandem with the other. Eddie wakes up alone in the Upside Down, not knowing how he survived, and unable to reach anyone topside in Hawkins. Wounded and alone, he finds shelter at the Harrington’s house (the place is a damn fortress after all), and while hiding out there discovers that he has gained the ability to walk into other people’s dreams.

((unbeta'd snippet from Chapter 03 that probably has some incorrect information in regards to the Upside Down/history of the show but I haven't gone back to fact check just yet. Also remember Eddie does not have some information that the others do so there are missing pieces there as well: for instance, he is calling the Demogorgon a Nazgûl (because we are doing lots of LotR references, and he never actually saw a Demogorgon in the show). He is currently hiding at the Byer's old house, and ends up falling asleep there while the creatures ourside are hunting. This is the first chapter where Eddie doesn't dreamwalk with Steve -- but with someone else. And therefore learns that he can walk into anyone's dreams. Also sets the tone for the rest of Eddie's story. There's 15 chapters total, if that helps paint the picture of how much more there is untold. Another stupidly long snippet, but it will probably be my last one for Eddie for a while. I'm wishy-washy on when the fic will be posted, and the logistics of formatting dreams vs. reality, but more info will come when the time nears. For the purpose of this snippet, the dream is in italics and reality is in regular))

—

Eddie dreams, and almost immediately he knows it’s not his own.

After finding himself walking through Steve Harrington’s dreams, Eddie discovers they feel very distinctly different from experiencing his own. It’s less confusing, for one thing, and he’s more sure of himself and his body as he moves around within the dreamscape. But he’s only dreamed with Steve twice, both when sleeping in his bed in his home, and there’s something very not Steve about this dream.

For one thing, he’s back in the woods. Not the Upside Down version of the woods, either, because the trees are intact and the air smells less foul, and there’s a different hue to the darkness here. Almost like it’s lighter, more familiar, nostalgic to his rattled senses.

He spins around, hands in his jacket pockets, once again wearing his battle vest (he misses it a lot, maybe Harrington kept it for him) and his Hellfire shirt. His armor. His go-to outfit. If he was to be drawn like a cartoon character in Scooby-Doo or some shit, wearing the same thing every frame, this is what he’d have on. And when he looks out into the darkness, he finds himself alone. Very much alone.

But this isn’t his dream.

How does he know this? Don’t fucking ask him. Eddie can just… feel it. Like when you step outside and can tell it’s about to rain. The atmosphere is just different.

He can also tell this isn’t Steve’s. Steve’s dreams feel like wearing a warm sweatshirt, they are crisp and confined and comforting even when they are facing something scary. But this… this feels more brittle. More watery. Smaller.

Then, Eddie sees him.

A little boy, standing in the woods. The towering trees seem to press in on him from either side, the forest floor is a shag carpet of leaves, roots and dips in the ground that could swallow that kid whole. He looks so small, and lost. Eddie had been lost in the woods before, when he didn’t know that if you just keep walking in one direction you’ll eventually hit a road. So he makes his way towards the boy, and only pauses when his vision fails him.

Well, it must have, anyway. Because Eddie could have sworn it was a little boy, about nine years old, and then like a movie-frame shutter the boy ages a few years. And then the click shutter happens again. It’s very ghost-story-esque and Eddie isn’t sure he wants to get much closer after that. The boy shutters between ages: maybe 10 years old, then 12 years old, 15 years old, and back to 10. If he had to guess.

But his presence doesn’t go unnoticed, the kid turns to him and looks at him with wide eyes. He’s got a rather unfortunate bowl-cut and big watery eyes and is looking at Eddie like he’s one of the Nazgûl come to eat him alive. So Eddie raises his hands in the universal gesture of ‘I come in peace’ and – it takes him a moment to realize he’d done something similar to Chrissy all those months ago. Trying to make himself not look so scary for a moment, when he spends most of his time otherwise doing his very best to have ‘Fuck Off’ stamped on his forehead.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he tells the kid, who about trips over his own feet to back away. “I’m not gonna hurt you. What’s your name?”

The boy licks his lips in nervousness, shutters between 10 and 12 again, a courage in his eyes as he finds his voice. 

“Will Byers.”

…Oh, shit. 

Eddie’s eyes are a little wider, now, and he lets out a deep breath as he tries to gain his bearings. He’d fallen asleep in mini-Byer’s room, and now he was in his dream.

So that’s how it works.

“Will Byers,” he murmurs, still a little shell-shocked. “Your friends with Wheeler and Henderson.”

He blinks and the kid is 15, almost as tall as he is, looking at him with more curiosity now. But then he’s 10 again, fingers clenched at his sides, suspicious and untrusting.

“Who are you?” he asks, his little voice doing its best not to shake.

“My name is Eddie.” He’s usually good with little kids, and he’d get down to the other’s level if he didn’t have a tendency to switch between four feet and six. But the spark of recognition is worth the softer tones, because the kid immediately connects a bunch of information Eddie isn’t privy to. But he gets the same look in his eyes that Henderson does when he figures something out.

“Eddie who died?” Will Byers asks, confused, hopeful.

“Yeah, Eddie who died,” he says back, and wow that feels like a kick to the chest. He puts his hands back in his pockets and leans on one hip heavily. At least they still talk about him, topside.

“Why are you here?” Will asks. Eddie just shrugs in response.

“I don’t know, man. It’s your dream.”

There’s a noise off in the distance, a dark guttural growl and heavy footsteps – both Eddie and Will look to it, snapping to attention and not moving an inch. ((This is a dream.)) Eddie reminds himself, like he has to do every single time. But the Nazgûl and Vecna could probably penetrate dreams as well as minds, so who’s to say that the thing in the distance wouldn’t be able to hurt them, here.

Will’s back to a small child, the same face and wide eyes that had been on missing posters three years ago. And he’s looking up at Eddie, whispering so as not to be overheard by the monster in the forest. “Do you know somewhere safe to hide?”

It takes him a moment to consider it. In fact, Eddie almost retorts with the same line as before. It’s your dream, kid. But then again, Eddie did have more control of himself so maybe… maybe he did know a safe place. Max had hidden from Vecna in happy memories, right? Dreams were just a compilation of memories and imagination. Eddie knows how to weave a tale, so yeah – why not?

He nods, steps closer, and offers his hand to the kid.

“This way.”

The woods are dark and dense and kind of lovely in their own way. The two can hear the Nazgûl in the background, although Eddie really wants to ask what the kids called it instead, and as he walks through the woods he just… focuses on the areas of the forest he knew well. In particular, the place he set up shop almost every day of the week.

And like magic, it appears.

They step into a small clearing in the woods, and there’s the picnic table he had last sat at with Chrissy Cunningham. Making a fool of himself to get her to laugh so she wouldn’t look so scared of him. Now he knows she wasn’t really scared of him at all, but the hallucinations Vecna had plagued her with. He swallows thickly, not wanting to think about Chrissy now – not when his very thoughts are driving where they walk – and then they are rounding the bleachers of the high school football field. Crossing the parking lots, and ducking through the East Entrance doors. Will had changed again, he’s older now, maybe 12 or 13, and looking around in curiosity.

Interesting.

“Have you ever been here before?” Eddie asks, because he needs to know. If Will had never been to Hawkins High, then he wouldn’t be able to dream it at all. That would mean that Eddie could create things out of thin air in a head that wasn’t his own. Both a very cool and very scary thought.

“Only a few times for school stuff. The others knew it better than I did. When I was lost they had El do her mind-walking here, so she could search for me. They made a sensory deprivation tank in the gym.”

Mind-walking. Eddie is even more interested now, and he wants to pry every little bit of information out of mini-Byers head if he can. “That’s the girl with superpowers?”

“Yeah, she’s like my sister.”

“And she can walk through minds?”

“Kind of,” and woah the kid’s voice dropped. He was older now, and taller again – probably the actual age of Henderson and Wheeler and Sinclair. “She walks through dimensions, but she can also walk through memories.”

“What about dreams?”

He almost doesn’t ask, but he also doesn’t get an answer – because then they make it to his hideout.

Eddie opens the door to the Drama room, where (low and behold) the Vecna Lives! Campaign is still set up from the night of the basketball game. The night Chrissy died, and Eddie’s entire life with her. The stage lights are set low, he’d created the perfect ambiance, and the table is still full of the havoc of their campaign. Those little shits won by the skin of their teeth, all thanks to Erika Sinclair. He’d never expected that. But it had been such a wonderful, delightful surprise. It’s a good memory, and Eddie holds onto it, lets it warm his chest and ease a smile onto his face.

“Woah!” Will’s face is pure awe, and there’s a handsome little smile on his face as well as he looks over the entire board. “Is this… you did all this?”

“It’s the night before I became a fugitive. My last and greatest campaign,” Eddie laments, shutting and blocking the door (just in case the Nazgûl decides to take up tracking) and then circles round to his Dungeon Master throne. Flops down in it with his legs hanging over the arm, and relishes in the familiarity of it. It’s the throne the props people built for a few plays over the years, and Eddie had to beg the Drama teacher to let him keep it for Hellfire. It was perfect. Set the tone immediately. All the other players got little folding card chairs, but Eddie was in charge and this was his domain. The throne never let them forget it.

Will looks around the board with skilled eyes, taking in each part of the story, and then his gaze lands on Henderson’s seat, where the character sheets and books are still set up. He must recognize the name, or the handwriting, because suddenly he’s frowning. The seat next to Henderson is Wheeler, and the frown deepens.

“Those shitheads,” he mumbles. “I begged them for months to play D&D with me last year, and as soon as I’m gone they join a club for it with a kick ass DM.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment” Eddie tells him with a wave of his hand, like the royalty he’s trying to be. “But yes, that was rather shitty of them. They told me all the time about how you’d wreck the campaign. Your presence was missed, Will the Wise.”

And it was true. Henderson had often shouted to the D&D heavens when Eddie’s hidden monsters would destroy half their party and demand to know where ‘Will the Wise’ was when they needed him.

“So,” he draws out the question, wanting to get back to the mind-walking girl, but he can see there is something still bothering the little Byers. “Did Henderson take over the campaigns? Or did you fill my empty throne upon your return?”

The smile falls from his face like a cinder block, and Will sits down in Wheeler’s seat heavily, gaze still roaming the complex board on the table.

“No, there’s been no games since everything happened.” He sounds sad about it, but Eddie gets the feeling it doesn’t actually have to do with D&D at all. 

“How come?”

“Well, it’s kind of a… sore spot,” Will admits, and then he glances guiltily at Eddie. Who doesn’t get it for a minute.

Oh.

Oh, crap.

It must show on his face that he knows it’s because of him. He was the ringleader of Hellfire, after all.

“Dustin doesn’t even really like talking about it,” Will confides in him. “But he doesn't really talk to anyone about anything, we don’t see him that often. Mostly just at mom’s family dinners when Steve drags him there.”

“I heard about those,” Eddie murmurs, picking at the flaking black polish on his nails to mask the guilt clawing at his chest. “Good ole Steve.” 

“He’s trying so hard to take care of everyone, but I know he spends a lot of time with Dustin. And Max. I really should visit Max more,” he murmurs now, his gaze going further away, and Eddie isn’t sure if he’s waking up from his dream or if Eddie is actually losing him in all this maudlin talk.

“She’s in the hospital, yeah?”

“The doctors aren’t sure if she’ll wake up,” Will tells him. “She’s just… in a coma. El is worried she’s stuck somewhere between the realms, but everyone else is worried she’s just… gone.”

Okay, they needed a topic change.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” Eddie says, nearly flipping out of the throne in a manner that might have been a little over the top, but it shook the sadness from Will’s eyes and that’s what Eddie was going for. Court Jester, extraordinaire. It worked on Chrissy, it’ll work on little Will Byers. (Although not so little anymore.)

“Sure?”

He fumbles upright, and sits down in Henderson’s chair so he can finally level with the kid.

“You were stuck in the Upside Down when you went missing, right?” He knows he’s right, Henderson had gone into great detail about how it all started, but that's not the point of asking the question. Will nods, confused but intrigued. Super. “Okay, so – how did you hide and like… stay sane? You were just a little munchkin and all but you were in there for days.”

“Time moves differently there,” Will points out, but then shrugs and thinks about it. Looking up at the stage lights in thought. “I hid in this old fort of mine in the forest, it was something I had built myself and it didn’t make me feel so alone.”

Castle Byers, Eddie had seen it. He nods and motions for Will to continue with an exaggerated hand flourish that makes the kid smile. 

“So, here's my theory – after talking with El and some of the others about it, and about how Max hid from Vecna – I think maybe because it held such good and safe memories for me, it protected me like no other house could. I think that’s how I wasn’t caught again.”

Now that, that gives Eddie pause… because his safe spot right now was Harrington’s house. But he had never slept in Steve’s bed before in his life. (Dreamed about it? Of course, but Eddie had only ever stepped foot in his kitchen to do business during house parties. There was no connection to the property itself.) So why was it safe now? Was it Steve’s memory that made it so? A combination with the fact there were no vines inside? It was a lot to mull over, and Will was taking his silence as a go-ahead to continue on.

“Basically, if I had to give any advice,” Will draws out, trying to see what Eddie was angling for. Yes, advice would be greatly appreciated. “The Upside Down is a direct mirror of Hawkins, so go and find the bits of yourself that still exist out there. Things that make you feel more like yourself, and less like you’re living in hell. Clothes or pictures or books. Something that’s not dangerous to carry around, but reminds you of home.”

That makes a lot more sense than Eddie had expected it to. 

He looks back to Will, and gives the kid a grin that is equal parts impressed and appreciative.

“Thanks, kid. I think I’ll just have to do that.”

Will beams at him, a little hero-worship shining in his eyes that Eddie has witnessed before from his little hellion sheep. But then a spark of something like recognition crosses those wide eyes and Will’s gaze narrows at him in suspicion.

“Wait, why would you want to know that?” he questions, and Eddie doesn’t answer. Stays kind of tight-lipped about it because… he could just tell mini-Byers that he’s alive in there and that he should get Good Ole Steve-O and Nancy Wheeler and superhero girl to come rescue his ass. But would he believe him? Or remember?

And he recalls how fast the Nazgûl attacked once he fucked with the lights. The gate was closed, opening it could open up a whole can of worms or whatever that no one was ready to deal with.

Maybe… maybe he should just sit tight, for now, and see if he can help them all out somehow?

((Where was all this self-righteous bullshit coming from?))

Analysis time would also be a problem for Future Eddie.

“Let’s just say, it’ll come in handy for me,” Eddie relents. A little hint. Knowing those shits they’ll figure it all out anyway.

Instead of elaborating, he extends his hand, and waits for Will to clasp it like all good boys had been taught to do.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Will the Wise.”

He’s slow to smile again, but it’s a genuine thing and Eddie takes it for the little speck of Gold it is. “I’m glad I finally got to meet you, Eddie the Banished.”

And Eddie knows he has Henderson to thank for that nickname, but he would wear it proudly for the rest of his days if he ever manages to make it out topside again. 

Although Byers might give Henderson a run for his money on ‘favorite child’, at this rate.

—

When the blood red morning dawn creeps in through Will Byer’s windows, and Eddie crawls out from underneath his bed, there’s a lot of thoughts tumbling around his head as he gathers his things.

In particular, the thought that trying to contact the other side might not be the best idea at the moment. 

For his health? Yeah, possibly. He can’t actually live on moldy food the rest of his days, however short that may be, but he has to think of the bigger picture here. Everyone was having a rough time topside, in a completely different manner to Eddie’s own, but that old saying really rang true to him – shit was tough all over. They were all trying to heal, and knew there was a fight on the horizon. Eddie knew that eventually, everyone else would make it back to the Upside Down to finish this fight. He just had to live long enough to see that day.

So… why didn’t he just use his placement as an advantage?

Why doesn’t he do what he imagined himself doing, and really commit to the bit of espionage? Eddie could commit to the bit so hard he got himself in trouble most of the time. No use switching that up now.

So he gathers his things, tip-toes through the house, and runs right back into the woods. He has quite a few stops to make, but there’s one he needs to do first and foremost.

It takes the better part of the day, but he finally comes to the trailer park. The chasm splitting open the Earth glows and pulses with an intense heat, and there’s things prowling all around, but Eddie stays pressed to the backs of the trailers and dips and ducks around as best he can. Avoiding bats and rats and dogs and what might be a cat-like creature but he’s not entirely sure. Margaret’s trailer is much further down the road, where he’d biked when the bats chased him, so her bunker of Doomsday materials would have to wait.

Will said to find the things that reminded Eddie of himself, so that’s what he was going to do.

Uncle Wayne’s trailer is split in two, but Eddie’s room had been at the back end so it survived – to a degree. He crawls through the wreckage, picking through stuff that’s burnt and probably leaking radiation or some shit (seriously how has he not dropped dead at this rate?) and finally finds the tiny space that used to be his closet. It’s full of shirts and clothes he hasn’t seen in a couple years, but at the bottom is an old metal tool box that he’d stashed a bunch of sewing shit inside of. Patches. Bits of old band T-shirts, and sure enough – he lifts the lid, and finds the very origins of his battle vest. It’s still a jean jacket, at the moment, with sleeves covered in patches and safety pins – he ripped them off the summer between his second and third senior year – but on the back is the freshly hand-stitched Dio logo taking up the entire back panel. It’s gorgeous, and he immediately slips it on under Steve’s leather jacket. He’s lost enough weight the past few weeks it still fits, but he has a feeling he might be ripping off the sleeves sooner rather than later. Because he has some work to do, and some weapons to practice with.

But not before he goes and retrieves the final missing piece of himself.

His sweetheart is lying on the ground, covered in ash, some of the strings rusted. He whispers apologies to her as he picks her up out of the rubble. She’s a beautiful blood red Warlock NJ Series electric guitar that he spent two years saving up for, and as soon as he clips on a strap and slings her across his back, he feels more at peace than he had in a long time. Will the Wise had been right, he feels like he could take on the world with these bits of himself restored.

Harrington’s house was twenty miles away, and sundown was in only a few hours. He had errands to run, a distance to cross, and a realm of monsters in between them.

But he also now has a bike (discarded in a pile from Spring Break just waiting for him to pillage), and his guitar, and his battle jacket. 

Fuck Vecna and his minions. This was Eddie’s world now.

Time to get to work.

—

tbc

—

Series Snippets:

- Dreamwalker (Eddie’s Story) (Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5)

- Subconscious (Steve’s Story) (Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4)

[carli-meows]

The Static 3 - TubbyTronik (Apollyon)

In the static, acting Erratic

Error in the system, no display just static

Stuck in the Static, The Static 3

Gray, Black and White, (Oye, Eyo, transmission to me!)

I'm so rare, I get snatched up and I sound so good,

Elmo's gonna have to pack up outta Chavo's neighborhood

my sound's so rare you can barely feel it

styles so slick, you can't get a chance to smear it

PH80, and I ate the whole cow,

Pigged out like a piggy, still a Tubby not a sow

Got a sugar rush, and my dragon year is now

Upon the great wall of China i scraped your knee (How?)

3 Characters for you, P O 1, slick

nothing deep about me, except this crew that i run with

You're welcome to try us with those demonic powers

we're behind the static, so keep heckling like flowers

I remember being the White of the static Eons ago

I remember getting here, it was white as snow

In the static, I can still spit my lyrical smile style

and with the other static 2, I'll make it worthy while

In the static, acting Erratic

Error in the system, no display just static

Stuck the Static, The Static 3

Gray, Black and White, (Ok, luv, channel to me.)

I'm so applaudable, I get clapped up (Ayyo?)

Clap you in a strait tench jacket, straight strapped up (Oh)

I ought to gut punch you and invert your organs, but

you only pissed me off, so you get smacked up, twat

Out the static, first goal is to make your life tragic

Fuck up your duds, didn't need to use the TubbyMagic

I got the resolution, New Year's came really early

Yank your bitch ass back down 144p

Static bellied, pissed off and yellow headed

I'm a blockbuster, and you're just blockheaded

halfheartedly, I ask where the fuck you think you're headed

headbutt you, cause school always said I was fuckin hard headed

Lapses of memory with in the black of the static

I can hardly remember the isolation of the tragic

magic laid upon my new home with these other 2

pixels with me, this may be the best place to call tomb

In the static, acting Erratic

Error in the system, no display just static

Stuck the Static, The Static 3,

( And me. (And me. (And me.) ) )

I'm so matter of fact, I remain factual

Your blasphemous remains gasp in cathedral walls

Such slow breathing, Loud heart beating, pores bleeding

Can't hide from the hidden, suddenly no more breathing.

My liminal crimson art? [ C R I M I N A L ]

Putting [ R E D A C T E D ] in the static, straight Subliminal

I'm a wicked force of nature, unheard of before

The reckoning's before you and black blood's on the shore

Once apart of the static, always part of the static

You grow into the static, never away from the static

Nary a day passes without influence from my static realm

Nay, a whisper escaped, one day, and it was me, I tell em

Word of advice from your hueful god, dear

I'm going nowhere, and I'll always be near

Take my words with you, and listen, and hear

You just cannot stop what's already here

In the static, acting Erratic

Error in the system, no display just static

Stuck the Static, The Static 3

Gray, Black and White, (Hell yes! Transmit it to me!)

I'm so fly you can call me Sugar Ray

Call me late to dinner the way I ate sleep that day

My treasure's so green X'd up and mapped up

And the green so sticky, it might get slapped up

I pack up a bowl for the ones in rotation

no nightmare in it, no Freddy nor Jason

this shit be fictive, and that's what you sell em

I keep my scriptures zesty, bitch, I'm talkin lemon

I never fit in, because the waistline's busy

I wear a bucket hat, and it's full don't tip me

I'm green like a giant, not green with envy

And I doodle all day, that's why they call me Dipsy

One, two, three, the static's cozy like shag carpet

Uncomfy unconforming visions up and upon it

I ain't trippin on the gray, I keep my shoes tied

And here in the static? How could I lie?

In the static, acting Erratic

Error in the system, no display just static

Stuck the Static, The Static 3

Gray, Black and White, The Static 3

In the static, acting erratic, you better hop like a rabbit

Apollyon winks your essence damns it, and nabs it

trapped it in static, forever probably

Once they get you, you hang with the static 3

In the static, erratic, with the static 3

Trapped in the static, damns it, and nabs it

No matter once they get you, forever probably

Apollyon winks, you hop like a rabbit

Apollyon winks, you hop like a rabbit

Trapped in the static, trapped in the static

Apollyon winks, trapped forever probably

Now you forever hang with the Static 3

What are you lad's up to?

Flower's quiet.

FLOWERS QUIET?

Not even shit talking.

BUT THEY LOVE DOING THAT!

That's what I'm saying!

[allenharbershortstories]

The Unexpected Prom Date

David's mother stood at the door, mouth agape, staring at the woman who had just rung her   doorbell. Six feet tall. Long fiery red hair that matched her dress and skin that, well there's no need to get too graphic. To David's mother, the real surprise wasn't that this twelve had showed up on her doorstep, it was the fact that she had introduced herself as David's prom date. 

“Ma'am, is David ready?” The woman asked. 

David's mom quickly shook her head and managed to find her words. “I didn't know he was going to prom tonight.”

“It was a last minute thing. Could you please get him?” 

When David walked down the stairs he was dressed in his fleece pajama bottoms and faded cartoon t-shirt.

“David,” his mom snapped. “You can't go out looking like that. Your hair isn't even combed and you're not wearing your glasses.”

David yawned. “Go out where?” His mother motioned to the door. 

The woman curtsied.  “Hello David. My name is Sadie and I'll be your prom date.” 

“Wait a minute,” David's mother said. “My son is not going to prom with an escort.” 

“I'm not going to prom ,” David whined. “No one wanted to go with me.” 

Sadie crossed her arms. “I do. And ma'am I am not an escort. I go to the same school as your son and he may not remember but he did ask me to go with him, so I'm here.”

“Oh, well, my son can be the forgetful type. David, go upstairs and get ready.”

“But,”

“No buts. You made a commitment to this girl, now go and have fun.” 

It didn't take David long to get ready. He didn't have a suit jacket so he pulled out a wrinkly blue button down shirt with a clip-on tie and a pair of jeans. When he came back downstairs his mother and Sadie were sitting in the living room talking. Now that he was more awake and could see properly, he got a good look at Sadie and his heart began to beat a little faster. Did he really ask her out and then forget? If so, how did he even get the courage? He still had trouble reading in front of the class. 

“David,” his mother snapped. “Is that the best you can do?” 

Sadie laughed. “That's quite alright, I can work with that.” She got up and held out an arm. “Shall we?” David hesitated for a moment but then wrapped his arm around hers. 

She was warm and it made his stomach tighten a bit. This wasn't the first time he had been entwined with a girl, but it was the first time he had been entwined with a girl like this. Sadie took the lead and all but carried him out the door and down the sidewalk towards a white limousine. 

“Have fun you two,” David's mom called after him. He didn't turn around, but he heard the door close behind them making the night eerily quiet. 

“Your mother is very trusting isn't she?” Sadie asked behind a wolfish grin. The smile made David shiver. 

“We are going to prom, right?” 

“Of course we are.” Sadie opened the limo door. “Please.” 

The inside was the size of a small living room. As far as limo’s go, it wasn’t as fancy as David had come to expect. It had a leather sofa that stretched out on one side and curved towards the back of the car and a shag carpet. There was no mini bar, no televisions, not even a disco ball or colored lights. 

“I’m not sure what you were expecting,” Sadie said, pushing past David, “but we’re only going to be in here for a few minutes. No need for all that excess.”

David gasped. “Can you read my mind?”

Sadie laughed again. “No, your face is just easy to read.” As she slunk to the couch David had trouble trying to pull his eyes away from her movements. He tried to look away in time when she turned and sat down but her eyes caught his. Her smile deepened and she patted the seat next to her. As David sat down, Sadie slid in closer and leaned on his shoulder. David swallowed. The engine of the limo turned on and they began to move. 

For the first few minutes of the ride it was quiet except for David's hammering heartbeat. Finally Sadie sat back up. “Alright I think it's time we deal with the paperwork.” 

“Paperwork? So you are an escort?”

Sadie pushed herself away and narrowed her eyes. “Just so we're clear, I have no issue dropping you off in the middle of the street and letting you walk home in the night. Calling me an escort implies intimate relations, and I don't provide that service, nor would I provide it to a teenager.” 

“But aren't you a teenager?” David stammered. 

Sadie's smile returned. “Of course. Now,” she reached into the space behind the sofa and produced a clipboard and handed it to David, “you need to decide how we will spend the night.” 

On the clipboard was a single sheet of paper. All the words were written in curving letters like the kind you would see on a scroll in a movie. At the top it read “Prom Date Contract,” followed by a list of different things to do throughout the night.  

“As you can see some of the boxes are already filled in. That's because they are an integral part of the experience and cannot be left out. Things like the limousine ride, slow dancing and a photo. The rest is for you to decide.” Some of the other options were showing off Sadie to make people jealous, a song dedication from the DJ and even…a kiss at the end of the night. 

“You see,” Sadie continued, “we aim for you to be fully satisfied by the end of the night since payment is non-refundable.” 

At the bottom of the list in bolted letters read, “Payment Read Carefully. At the conclusion of tonight's contract the signee must hand over their soul.” 

David tossed the clipboard to the side on the couch. “Pull over,” He said flatly. 

“Pull over? Why?” 

“You know why. Those ass holes at school put you up to this. This is all just a prank.” 

Sadie narrowed her eyes again. “Excuse me, I didn't go through all this trouble for a mere prank. Do you know how expensive limousines are to rent?” 

“I don't care. Drop me off here.” 

Sadie crossed her arms. “I'm offering you the best night of your miserable young life. A soul is but a pittance to an experience like this. And it's not like you'd die. You can survive without…” 

“Just let me out.” 

“Fine. Diavlo, pull over, there's still plenty of losers out there for me to fill out quota.”

[caramel-kitten1997]

The Theif and the Sea

The boy we follow is currently sneaking around the shop. He is checking corners and marking his target. With no one around, he pounces and shoves his objective into his bomber jacket. With grace and speed, he makes his way out of the store with no witnesses. Or so he thought .

"Come back here, you have to pay for that!" screams an older man. Before the man can catch him, the boy is out the door. He runs down the block before turning a corner into an alley. He hides behind some trash bins to make sure that he's not being followed. When he is certain, he comes out to the other side of the alley where no one is and opens up a pair of beautiful russet brown wings. Two flaps and he's up in the air. Three more and he's above the buildings of the town. He sighs and soars to the edge of town. There, an abandoned sewage plant stands. He dives to the building and gently lands. Making his way in, he sees others who live there as well. Everyone from adults to toddlers, all living in this community in the sewage plant. The boy says hi to some of the people as he passes by. Heading to his section of the plant, he walks into a makeshift room. The walls are made of metal sheets and covered in fabrics of all kinds. The floor is covered in a purple shag carpet to help ease the hardness of the concrete underneath. In the far corner is a torn mattress covered in old pillows and stuffed animals. There, he sees the only one who makes this life worth living, playing with a raggedy bunny toy.

"Hey Jackson, I got a surprise for you," the boy says as he walks up to the younger boy. Jackson looks up from his toy and a broad smile covers his pale face.

"Briason, you're home!" Jackson says.

"Yeah, and you'll never guess what I got you," Briason says. Jackson rolls his eyes.

"I know you got me gummy bears. You get them for me every week," Jackson says. Brinson shrugs with a smile.

"Well, I guess you don't want these then," Briason says, holding the bag of gummy bears above his head.

"Hey, no, I do want them," Jackson laughs, reaching with only his arms. The two laugh as Briason keeps the sweet treat away from Jackson before Jackson erupts into coughs. Immediately worried, Briason kneels next to the small boy and pats his back.

"Hey, Jackson, you okay? Do you need some water?" Briason asks. Jackson nods as he coughs. Briason grabs a bottle of old water and hands it to Jackson. Coughing subsiding, Jackson chugs the water.

"Careful, Jackson. Don't want to start another coughing spree. Did you take your medicine today?" Briason asks. Jackson nods as he puts the water bottle down.

"Good. I want to make sure you're doing okay," Briason says. Once Briason is sure Jackson’s cough had calmed down, he gives the bag of gummy bears to Jackson. Beaming, Jackson tears the bag, just as Briason showed him. Briason smiles and loops an arm around the younger boy.

“So, how was your day?” Briason asks.

“It was fun! Maggie came with some of the other kids and they played with me for a little while. Then Shelby brought a turkey sandwich and some chips, the barbeque kind, you know how much I love that flavor. She gossiped with me for a bit and then she suggested I take a nap because she said I looked tired, so Fluffy and I laid down for a bit,” Jackson explains, Briason hanging onto every word.

“How was your day?” Jackson asks, eyes wide and expecting.

“My day was okay. I manage to get a few bucks from the mail company for delivering newspapers, and a lady lost her baby’s pacifier in the park, so I helped look for it. Luckily, we were able to find it, and she was really grateful for it.”

“And the gummy bears?” Jackson asks. Briason sighs.

“Well, I didn’t have enough to buy them, so I may have… stole them. BUT! I will pay the owner back tomorrow, I promise,” Briason confesses.

“You know I don’t like it when you steal the gummy bears. I could’ve waited until you had the money to buy them,” Jackson says, clearly disappointed.

“I’m sorry. What about this; I’ll pay twice the price of those gummy bears tomorrow?”

“No, we don’t have the money for TWO gummy bears. I want you to apologize and pay the regular price for the bag.”

“Alright, I can do that. It will have to be after my deliveries though,” Briason says, ruffling Jackson’s platinum blonde hair. Jackson looks up at Briason with wide eyes and asks, “Can I come with you?”

Briason winces at the question and asks back, “Why would you want to come with me?”

“I want to also apologize to the owner and thank him for not calling the police,” Jackson says honestly. Briason looks long and hard at Jackson and sighs.

“We’ll have to ask Maggie if it’s okay,” Briason admits. Jackson smiles wide and throws his arms around Briason. Briason wraps his arms around Jackson and under his legs before double tapping Jackson’s shoulder. Jackson feels his body become lighter and Briason picks him up. He carries Jackson out of their little abode and across the sewage plant. They make their way to the room where Maggie stays during the hot days of summer. Briason pushes open the door, feeling the instant temperature drop around him. In the middle of the room, Maggie stands, bundled in winter clothes. She turns to see the two boys enter and smiles.

“Hello. My old eyes aren’t the best, but I can always tell when you two enter a room,” Maggie says. Jackson smiles and opens his arms for a hug. Briason gently sets down Jackson and Maggie walks over and hugs Jackson.

“Let's get out of here; it’s way too cold,” Maggie says. She puts an arm under Jackson’s shoulders and leads him and Briason out of the room. They head to Maggie’s tent, which is in between the room where they keep the cold food and the nursery/elders’ room. She spent most of her summer days in the food room, using her power to keep the food cold, and most of her winter days in the nursery/elders’ room, keeping it warm. Maggie helps Jackson into the tent and sets him on the padded party of the floor that she uses as a bed.

“So, what can I help you with, boys?” Maggie says, slipping out of the winter jacket.

“I want to go to town with Briason!” Jackson exclaims. Maggie raises an eyebrow and smiles.

“Well, shoot, little man, may I know why?” Maggie asks. Before Briason could say anything, Jackson says, “Briason stole gummy bears and I want to apologize to the owner!”

Maggie throws back her head and laughs.

“Well, Briason, looks like you got into a bit of trouble. Well, Jackson, since you feel up to visit the town, I say it’s okay. But you should ask Briason if he’s okay with taking you,” Maggie says. Jackson looks up at Briason with puppy dog eyes and pouts.

“Of course, I’m okay with it. I just wanted to make sure it was okay with you, Maggie,” Briason explains.

“Well, he doesn’t ask to go out very often. It would be a good experience for him to go to the town,” Maggie says. Jackson smiles widely.

“Okay, you can be my helper tomorrow then,” Briason says, ruffling Jackson’s hair. Maggie walks the boys back to their little area and they enjoy the rest of the afternoon. The next day, Briason shakes Jackson awake.

“Time to get up, buddy,” Briason says as Jackson rubs his eyes. Briason holds out a pill and a bottle of water that Jackson gratefully takes. After a breakfast of stale cereal, Briason double taps Jackson and lifts half his weight. He brings Jackson outside where the sun has barely risen.

“Briason, the sun isn’t even awake yet; do you wake up this early every day?” Jackson asks.

“Of course! People love reading their newspapers in the morning,” Briason laughs. He then spreads his wings and launches into the air. Jackson gasps and holds tightly to Briason. Briason makes sure to have a tight hold on Jackson as they fly over the field that separates the town from the sewer plant. As they approach the town, Jackson notes how quiet the town is. Briason gently lands in front of the post office and carries Jackson inside. A lazy-eyed woman stands at the counter and perks up as the boys come in.

“Well, early as always, Briason! And who’s that little friend of yours?” she asks.

“Hi Lily, this is Jackson. He wanted to come to town today so I figured he could help me with delivering the newspapers,” Briason explains, Jackson waving nervously at her. Jackson hasn’t been in town since his last doctor’s appointment, which was almost a year and a half ago.

“Are you able to do your job with your friend?” Lily asks.

“Shouldn’t be too hard,” Briason says.

“Can he walk on his own?” Lily states bluntly. Jackson feels his face heat up.

“I can carry him,” Briason frowns. Lily is quiet for a moment, puckering her lips.

“How ‘bout I make you a deal; your little friend can stay here with me and help me sort out the mail for twenty bucks while you do your deliveries,” Lily offers. Jackson’s eyes grow wide and excited.

“Really?! You’ll pay me?” Jackson asks. Briason looks a bit worried.

“Of course, dearie, you’d be helping me with my job, and Briason can do his job without worrying about you,” Lily says. Jackson looks at Briason with big eyes.

“Well, we could use the extra money,” Briason gives in. Jackson smiles widely and Lily escorts him to the back of the post office, leaving a worried-looking Briason. Lily comes back with the bag of newspapers and hands it to Briason.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of him,” Lily reassures. Briason manages a small smile before heading out for his journey around town. It only takes him a total of three and a half hours, which was full of worrying about Jackson. Briason knows that Lily would take good care of Jackson, but it is still worrisome. He makes it back to the post office, relieved to find Jackson and Lily chatting in the front of the store.

“Briason! Did you know that Lily has a healing power like Shelby?” Jackson asks excitedly from the counter. Briason immediately feels like his worries were silly.

“It’s not great, but it’s good for small injuries, like cuts and bruises,” Lily smiles, looking sheepish.

“Thank you for taking care of him,” Briason says, grabbing Jackson off the counter.

“Wait a moment, I still need to pay you,” Lily stops them. She pulls out fifty-eight dollars and fifty cents and places them in an envelope.

“Wow, that’s a lot of money,” Jackson says, looking into the envelope.

“Thank you, Lily, I’ll see you tomorrow,” Briason waves as he takes Jackson outside.

“Do you make this much everyday?” Jackson asks.

“Not on Sundays; that’s my day off. But we also have an extra twenty because of you,” Briason explains. Jackson thinks for a moment and then asks, “How much are gummy bears?”

Briason is quiet and Jackson asks again. With no answer, Jackson says, “You didn’t need to steal those gummy bears, did you?”

“I technically didn’t need to, but I’ve been saving up for something,” Briason admits.

“Briason! What is so important that you had to steal gummy bears?” Jackson accuses. Briason is quiet as they walk towards a new building. Jackson sees the sign, but doesn’t know how to read it.

“What’s that place?” Jackson asks.

“It’s a pharmacy. That’s where we get your pills,” Briason explains as he walks in. He brings Jackson down the aisles before stopping and showing Jackson a product sitting in the back.

“W-what is that?” Jackson asks, wanting to make sure of what he was seeing.

“It’s a wheelchair. I was hoping to get you one for your birthday, but it’s like two hundred dollars. I’ve been saving as much as I can so you are able to start going places by yourself, and I have just enough to buy it and still pay for the gummy bears,” Briason explains. Jackson covers his mouth to stop himself from sobbing, but silent tears are rolling down his face.

“You- you were wanting to buy this? For me?”

“Well, yeah, you’re getting to the age where you can start doing stuff yourself and I figured that I’d give you that chance, in case you ever chose to.”

Jackson wraps his arms around Briason’s neck and gives him a hug.

“You’re the best, Briason.”

“I try. Now, let's get this baby,” Briason says, grabbing the wheelchair box carefully. He double taps the box, because it is much heavier than he imagined it would be. Briason carefully puts Jackson on his feet so he can walk with Briason’s help and carry the wheelchair in the other hand. Together, they make their way to the cash register.

"Do you need any help with that?" the cashier asks.

"I got it," Briason says, placing the box on the counter. The cashier gives the two boys a curious glance before scanning the item.

"That'll be 250 dollars. Is that all right?" the cashier asks.

"Yes ma'am, it is. Just give me a second. Jackson, I gotta set you down for a second," Briason says as he gently lowers Jackson to the ground. Jackson nods and smiles. Briason then pulls out an old plastic bag out of an inside pocket in his bomber jacket. In the bag is a bundle of cash containing mostly tens and twenties. He quickly adds up the amount of cash he needs and finds he has just ten dollars over.

"Here you go! This should be enough," Briason says as he hands over the cash. The cashier takes the money and double checks the amount. Once she is done, she smiles and says, "Will you need help assembling it?"

"I think I can handle it," Briason says as he picks Jackson up off the floor and takes the box. They shuffle outside where Briason takes the next ten minutes reading the instructions and putting the wheelchair together.

"There, that should do it," Briason says when he's finally done.

"Put me in it!" Jackson squeals in delight.

"Alright man, here we go!" Briason says as he picks Jackson up. He gently sits Jackson into the wheelchair, and Jackson immediately starts messing with the wheels. He takes a little bit to experiment with the wheelchair before rolling forward.

"So, buddy, how is it?" Briason asks.

"It's perfect!" Jackson says with a smile on his face.

"That's great! Do you think you can get yourself to the grocery store?"

Jackson wheels himself a bit before saying, "I think I can, but I might need some help."

"No worries, just tell me when you need help," Briason says. They start to make their way to the grocery store, Briason walking next to Jackson. On the way, Jackson needs help with getting off the sidewalk and back on it, but Braison is happy to help. Jackson is pretty proud of himself, and Briason couldn’t be any prouder himself. When they finally arrive to the store, Briason stops Jackson in the front.

“Hey, are you sure you want to go in with me? The guy will be pretty mad about the whole ‘stealing gummy bears’ thing,” Briason asks.

“Of course I want to come in with you! It would only be fair for me to also apologize since I’m the reason you stole the gummy bears,” Jackson pouts. Briason sighs and says, “Okay, but I get to push you in.”

Jackson nods his head and Briason starts to push him in, swallowing nervously. Sure, he’s always had a rocky relationship with the store owner, but it had gotten a lot better since Jackson convinced him to stop shoplifting. But actually coming back and apologizing? He’s never done that. Along with that, the owner doesn’t know about Jackson; they’ve never met before. What if Briason ruins a potentailly good relationship by bringing Jackson in with him? Briason nearly turns heel when he sees a cashier, but Jackson takes over and heads in the cashier’s direction. Briason quietly admits defeat and follows.

“Excuse me,” Jackson says as he rolls up to the cashier. The cashier looks at him and smiles before he sees Briason behind him. The cashier’s smile falters for a second but he ultimately smiles brighter.

“Hello young man, how can I help you?” the cashier asks.

“My friend here has something to tell the owner. Are you ther owner?” Jackson asks with doe eyes.

“I’m sorry, I’m not. The owner is busy today, but I can get a manager for you.”

Jackson looks back at Briason in confusion and Briason nods.

“Yes, that would be nice,” Jackson says. The cashier presses a few buttons on his register and says, “Hopefully she’ll be here soon.”

It takes a minute, but a small lady comes to the register.

“Yes, what do you need?” she asks.

“These boys apparently have something to say,” the cashier says, pointing to Jackson and Briason. The manager’s face stays neutral as she looks at them.

“What can I help you with?” she asks. Jackson looks at Briason with expectant eyes.

“W-well,” Briason starts, and Jackson’s smile encourages to keep going, “I stole some gummy bears yesterday and I wanted to pay for them today. I’m very sorry that I did it and I promise it will never happen again.”

Both the manager and cashier look bewildered by this confession and apology. There’s a pause of silence, and Briason thinks that they’re going to throw the two boys out.

“Well, I have to say, that takes a lot of courage to admit that. I have to say, I’m very proud of you,” the manager says, cracking a small smile. Jackson’s face breaks into a smile and Briason lets out a breath of relief.

“To be honest, if it weren't for my friend here, I wouldn’t have,” Briason admits.

“I don’t blame you,” the manager laughs, “how about this? We’ll check you out for those gummy bears and everything will be cleared up, okay?”

“That’d be great! Thank you so much,” Briason says. The cashier starts to ring them up for yesterday’s stolen gummy bears when Jackson starts to cough.

“Hey, buddy, need some water?” Briason asks. Jackson continues to cough while nodding.

“Yeah, man, get a bottle of water, there’s some right there,” the cashier says, pointing to a little fridge. Briason grabs a bottle and stops when he’s about to open the bottle.

“Don’t worry, as long as you pay for it, it’s fine to open,” the cashier reassures him. Briason nods and hands the opened bottle to Jackson. Jackson takes the bottle and begins to chug the bottle.

“I guess it’s time for your meds. Lets get those for you,” Briason says, patting his pockets. When he doesn’t feel the pill bottle, Briason’s heart drops. He quickly pats Jackson’s pants pockets, but to no avail.

“Shit shit shit,” Briason panicks.

“Hey, what’s up?” The cashier asks.

“His pills, I can’t believe I forgot his pills,” Briason says.

“Hey, no worries, the pharmacy is down across the street,” the cashier tries to calm Briason.

“I have no money,” Briason says.

“Hey, if you need the money, I can let you pay tomorrow.”

“His meds are like one hundred dollars,” Briason cries out. Jackson’s coughs turn to gasps and he’s clawing the air.

“What do his pills do?” the cashier asks, gaining concern for Jackson.

“HE’S A MERMAN!” Briason yells before picking up Jackson and running out of the store. Outside, Briason immediately takes flight and heads to the sewage plant. Jackson is turning blue as Briason carries him close to his chest. Briason can feel Jackson’s legs fighting the pants he’s wearing, the only thing thast is keeping Jackson’s legs as is.

“Hang on man, we’re almost there,” Briason begs. He barely stops as he lands in front of the building and runs inside. He passes by Maggie.

“Hey, what’s the rush?” Maggie asks as Briason rushes by her, but he has no time. Jackson is motionless in his arms as Briason enters their room and places him on the bed. Jackson’s face is deep purple and Briason can see the scales peppering him, blue in color. Briason struggles to finds the pills for a second but spots them next to the bed. He grabs the bottle and hurriedly opens it, begging that it isn’t too late. Pill in hand, he coaxs the pill into Jackson’s mouth and down his throat. When it doens’t seem to help, Briason grabs the water bottle full of old water and begins pouring it into Jackson’s mouth. Briason tips Jackson’s head back and rubs his throat, just like the doctor taught him in case of emergency.

“Come on man, don’t do this to me,” Briason begs and holds Jackson close to him, tears pouring out of his eyes. He shuts his eyes and cries into Jackson’s shoulder. Briason almost lost all hope when he hears a gasp and feels Jackson’s chest expand.

“Jackson! Jackson, you’re okay! You’re okay, man, you’re okay,” Briason sobs, patting Jackson’s back. Jackson coughs for a moment and gasps, “Yeah, I’m okay.”

[notallwonder]

Alright kiddos, let's see... Criminal Minds 16x08 "Forget Me Knots".

Spoilers and "thoughts" under the cut:

Okay, so the previouslies are JJ and Will heavy...ruh roh. We gonna find out Will's been lying about his health still?

LOL I'm still so excited. It's so funny that I'm still emotionally jazzed up by this silly show.

Hahahaaha Penelope "that's not how this works" finally

I guess it would be uniquely easy to kidnap real estate agents.

ZOMG THE KIDS ARE BACK. Henry you are SO FREAKIN TALL

I'm still laughing to myself about the...section of artful shag carpet?...hanging above the Jareau-Lamontagne fireplace.

Will I wish you had better taste in ties

aw no, Henry overhearing adult things. Hope you're ok bud.

it's so nice when a serial killer can share photos of his children to make himself seem disarming and safe.

there's that $400 of duct tape being put to good use!

oh no - is she supposed to be a surrogate for his wife? *grimace!*

yeah lady I also would be like WTF save you're fucking marriage? WTF???

EMILY VOICEOVER...hello hottie (voice)...

GOD. how are you so beautiful? every time. Every Time!!!

Aw, isn't it nice, law enforcement agencies working together to circumvent...rules and stuff

hot.

PG I really like this lil' jacket number

And Luke, welcome to the brown suede jacket club.

Oh HO. So Now we are calling PG out!! They know she is Getting Some. lol ok

Oh, Henry buddy. Budding investigator apparently (knows how to Google). He's sweet. Where....where where is this going? Is Will still going to die? This honestly feels more like...normal family stuff frankly. Maybe I am searching too hard for *meaning*. But usually...look, it's a TV show. It's usually going somewhere.

this poor woman is doin' her best, but she's gonna die.

damn, that's cold. she's tanking her marriage (ish) to make it through.

Luke and Tara partnered up! yay!

Tara, when is your turn in brown suede?

why would Indio police immediately contact FBI? Just on the 'strength' of the 2nd street connection? shenanigans. but ok.

"JJ and I will run interference with the AG" sounds....slightly promising. can't wait for no onscreen follow up on this idea!

awww. Sicarius is Murder Santa!

I should also learn how to stay off camera. But for fun and profit (not murder).

"Copy you"??? what.

murder elf picking up the package...

poor lady, she just wanted to sell some houses.

Extreme Home Makeover Ty Guy??!! Selling me gambling apps??

jeez. that's a huge fucking list of missed calls bud.

An ENTIRE SCENE with Emily and JJ in the same room all by themselves. what a gift. yes they are doing crime solving. of course they are!!! i love them.

yes they both look super fabulous, because of course they do!!!

just to reiterate for no one, i do not watch this show for the crime or the crime solving. nor the naturalistic dialogue lmao.

murder elf dead. lady hang on!!

Ramona I'm so proud of you. First, extremely fast resuscitation, A +. Second, you're alive babe! But you really should get your husband to change his hair/beard situation.

Yes, bazillion sounds about right. I do kind of miss CM depicting agents actually doing any kind of tedious investigative work.

EMILY. You are so gorgeous. Dear AJ Cook, thank you for this shot that is just Emily at her desk. I am not mad about it.

Yeah, so Henry. JJ is this going in the "I have to leave the FBI" column? Is that where this is going?

Henry you are my most favorite now of all. They are terrible liars. And this is a sweet through-line from the ol' "monsters" thing at Halloween five million years ago.

Oh! a real live timeline clue. "It's been 10 days since you walked out of this house."

uh oh crazy eyes time. he is gonna kill his wife. oh no. I really thought for a second the doorbell was going to be another murder elf. David Rossi!!!

I wonder if this will 'end' with Elias turning himself in to the FBI to try to salvage the remainder of his life. Hm.

Okay. As far as episodes go, this one again felt like filler - like connective tissue leading up to something(s) bigger. Ultimately not particularly interesting in its own right. But, bright spots? Not so little Henry Lamontagne. A nice bit of Tara & Luke camaraderie. Emily Prentiss looking fine as hell, as per usual. And some more Elias Voit time, if that's what you're into (I'm not, but it's not horrible).

Really missing...Rebecca, right about now. So Tara stopped freaking out about her phone and then.....nothing? Gimme a little something here, CM. An indication of some kind. Emily running into Rebecca in the hallway (oh wait, Rebecca got pulled back to DC, no longer at Quantico). Anyway, want more of that. I'm not mad there was no overt follow up on the Garcia/Tyler sitch. It's coming, I'm sure.

[passivenovember]

Harringrove Week Day 1: Candy Corn

--

When Billy was a little boy Neil could scrape up an apology that wouldn’t make him bleed.

Maybe it was Billy’s mother. Her absence, or the words she’d thrown like daggers at him the night before she left. You’re too hard on the boy, she said, you’re skinning him alive. 

Either way, after harsh words and frozen peas pressed to angry purple skin, Neil used to appear into his bedroom and toss Billy’s jacket onto the bed. 

He’d light a cigarette right there in the doorway and mutter, “Parade’s comin’ down main any minute now,” Because when the leaves turned gold and firetruck red, that was as good as any I’m sorry you got saddled with a shitty old man like me, kid. 

“Could probably look up the majorette’s skirts if we get good enough seats,” Neil would tell him. When Billy refused to look up from the trampled shag carpet in his bedroom, both knowing Billy would never be interested in the baton girls on Main Street, his father would soften a little. “We could score you some free candy while we’re at it,” he’d say, and Billy would thaw. 

Just like that.

His coat always fit like a life preserver, on those days, driving across town with Eagles playing on the radio, his dad smoking Black N’ Mild’s with the windows down because fall in California was still warm enough to trap promise in between the folds of dusk. 

Neil would park the truck somewhere far from Main Street and they’d walk together. Billy charging ahead, sadness swallowed by anger as he tried not to process what had just happened, and they’d run smack into it.

Parade season. 

Billy was still small, in those days. Too short to see over the traffic breakers. Neil would ash his cigar and hold out his hand.

In those days, it didn’t automatically mean pain. It didn’t latch like a bear claw, it didn’t rip him open.

In those days it meant, “Let’s get you a better seat.” It meant Billy, clumsy like a baby dear on his father’s shoulders, accidentally tugging at Neil’s mustache hair while he laughed it off. While the floats marched by. 

While his mother’s boys healed themselves under the rain of unwrapped candy corn.

Steve only knows about those days because Billy mentions it at the fall festival. High on half a joint and tipsy from too many hard apple ciders.

He’s wearing a cropped top that says “corn my hole,” that Steve won him at the Iowa State Fair on their way home to California, and he’s gotta be babysat.

Steve’s holding onto his belt loop, laughing to himself as Billy nearly rips his arm off to get to the pier in time. 

“It’s a parade,” Billy tells him, “It’s the Halloween parade, they do it every year and we’re gonna be late--”

“Which means we’ll be that much more on time to see it next year,” 

Billy whirls on him, beer-drunk cheeks so red they look like poisoned apples. “Don’t joke about the parade.”

“I won’t,” Steve giggles. “C’mon, we’re gonna get shitty seats.”

Billy grips him tightly, reeling Steve closer until they’re pressed all down their fronts. 

Steve will never get tired of this. Being affectionate like this, where everyone can see and no one gives a shit. 

“Will you put me on your shoulders?” Billy asks seriously, eyes twinkling.

And Steve knows the story. Gets the significance. Is honored, deep in the pit of himself where the walls are covered in Billy’s name, that this boy trusts him.

“Sure,” He says, “C’mon.”

[the-fiction-witch]

Show Off P1

TV SHOW THE QUEENS GAMBIT COUPLE: BENNY X READER  RATING: FLIRTY

I say at the small excuse the hotel has given for a vanity. My little case opened with a few tools have made their way across the vanity as I worked on my hair and my make up knowing it was likely I was to be photographed and such. I began taking my clips and rollers out of my hair. I heard the sound that had been defending me for the last ten minutes. Silence and I saw in the reflection the bathroom door open and emerging from the bathroom was the familiar man. Barefoot in the green shag carpet, his lower half-concealed with the dull old green towels with 'TRHH' embroidered on them, his chest bare still with a few beads of water trickling down his smooth skin onto the towel, his thin chest made his ribcage clear with little to conceal it, his arms with a slightly more muscle than the rest of him given that he had been working out alot more of late, his hand on his neck as he stepped over to the left of the two queen-sized beds, his hair dry and fluffy in his usual way. He grabbed his duffle bag from the bedspread digging through the books and chess magazines before throwing out an outfit onto the bed one item at a time.

"You use my hairdryer again Benny?" I giggled

"Yes. I find it adds a nice bounce to my hair" he answered fiddling with his hair a little before he began getting dressed 

"Alright Benny whatever you say" I giggled finishing with my hair and grabbing my brush adding a little more blush and highlight to my cheeks 

"What are you doing anyway? You've been sat there since I got up" he says throwing his towel to the side and getting his jeans on 

"Making myself look pretty" I answered trying to focus I felt a kiss on my head and his arms around my neck and shoulders 

"You're already very pretty." 

"Thank you Benny" I smiled, giving him an elbow so he would return to getting his clothes on "I thought you liked when I dressed up?"

"I do. It's cute" he answered "I like when you dress up all beautiful for tournaments." 

"Because you like to show me off" I giggled as I finished up and headed to the other bed to get my handbag sorted 

"I might do" he smirked evilly as he got his jacket on "now. Where did I leave my knife?" He pondered 

"On the bed stand Benny" 

"Ahh thank you" 

"Your welcome" I giggled going to get my own jacket for the day 

"Don't"

"Why not?"

"You're not wearing that stupid big coat it'll ruin how nice you look in your snug little dress" he encouraged

"But I'll be cold" I pouted 

"So? You can cuddle me. And maybe if you get a little chilly I might get to see those little nips poke out your dress again. Humm like in Ohio"

"No!" I whined 

"No coat. Or no snuggles tonight"

"Fine" I sighed leaving my coat here 

"Good girl" he smirked 

"Shall we go?"

"No."

"No?"

"You're not going out without that baby" 

"Without what?" I giggled unsure what exactly I was missing he smirked more turning me to face the mirror again, his arms around my waist tight so I had no space to move away from his body, he smirked running his nose up from my shoulder to my jaw then pressing a couple of soft kisses on my exposed neck I blushed hard as I felt him choose his spot of course as usual in a place impossible to hide he kissed the skin there softly before biting like a vampire, he sucked hard almost like he was actually trying to drink blood from me his grip tightening as he did before he pulled back and smirked hard admiring his own work and the now dark hiki that sat perfectly in my neck 

"There. in case any of those boys forget who you belong to" he smirked "let's go" he growled grabbing my waist and tugging me Along with him so I had no chance to hide what he did to me, or my large amount of blush that now tinted my face.

We went out to the main part of the hotel where the chess tables were still being set up. Benny never removed his arm from around my back, his hand from my waist keeping me close to him at all times. I didn't speak much, still not being used to all this but I always was a little shy. 

But I was getting used to the similar faces and names at these things now. I know Benny liked having me around on his arm like I was his little bragging rights just having me attached to his hip, you rarely ever see women at chess tournaments so I always got looked at perhaps more than Benny would like me to. So he kept me closer and almost always gave me a mark or something to make it obvious I was taken. He liked me to dress up and look pretty and sexy even if it always made me blush and want to hide away in my jackets but he liked to show me off. 

"I've got my match I'll see you later alright?"

"Okay, good luck" I smiled giving him a kiss 

"Thank you, I'll see you soon" he cooed giving my head a kiss before he headed off for his game 

I went to the bar to get myself an orange juice taking a seat on the little stool waiting for my drink, I noticed almost instantly as usual eyes were on me. On my neck. On my tits. On my ass. Men looked me up and down like I was meat. Many of them did not have the excuse of just checking out some pretty girl, all of them were chess boys so they all knew who I was, and who Benny was. So I knew to some extent I was safe, not like anyone would try anything. I mean Benny is literally a chess player who walks around with a knife there not risking that just for an ass slap. But that didn't mean they didn't look. It always made me blush seeing so many people looking at me I knew boys were looking at me looking me up and down checking my dress, my hair, my body and even my hair many looked away once spotting my neck but some didn’t. They continued so I grabbed my bag and headed out to the main part of the hotel spotting benny playing his game against some other boy and it wasn’t long before the boy laid down his queen and benny offered his hand, of course, the boy gave in.

“See, I told you it wouldn’t be long” He smiled giving my cheek a kiss 

“I know your too good” I giggled taking his hand 

“Am I, come on else we’ll be late for the next one” He smirked putting his arm back around me and keeping his hand on my ass as we walked to the next match.

[vinyls-and-valentines]

Places to spend the night in the Zones ranked:

Hyperthrust. The atmosphere can get a little stuffy and you're not going to get any shut eye unless you pass out. There's plenty of things to pass the time with though, and you might maybe be able to take a power nap in the employee room at about 4 am depending on how severe the bags under your eyes are. No blankets or heating, but there's enough lost jackets and other (mostly clean) items of clothing to make do;

The Nest. Same sleeping situation as Hyperthrust most nights, but with less booths and couches. The second floor is ever so slightly warmer than the first, but you'll have to either sleep in the bathtub or share one of the beds with at least another 4 people. The couch and floor are, of course, always options if you don't mind mystery stains and the possibility of people stepping and or sitting on you;

Gravel Gertie's. Ranked lower solely because you must be under 16 to be allowed to spend the night and under 14 to also get a meal with your stay instead of hunting down Uncle Hankle's dubiously FDA standard-compliant food truck. Also your only option if you're broke, under 16 and have no relationship whatsoever with anyone running the WKIL station or affiliates. There's no heating, but there are shared blankets and a sleeping pile;

The WKIL station. The sheer amount of junk that has collected over the years provides surprisingly good heat insulation and they do have two very shabby space heaters and a diesel generator. There's only one couch and a rolled up shag carpet in the corner of the recording booth, but no blankets. Unless you grew up in an apartment above a busy strip mall you won't be able to sleep more than maybe 30 minutes at a time;

Paradise Motel. No heating, which means you've already paid Tommy double than you should've, were you a smart person, but there are blankets in some of the rooms. If yours doesn't have them— and you've also checked inside, above, underneath, and behind the closet to be sure— you're more than welcome to search other empty rooms for some as long as you understand this may come with repercussions;

Some random abandoned building. Start a fire near a window, hole in the wall, or caved in roof and at least you'll be warmer than if you didn't. Not 100% scarecrow safe, but arguably more animal and weather safe than not, as well as safe from getting collected as a dead body if you sleep in an unused body bag bought from TCM's. This does not mean your belongings are safe from fellow killjoys, however.

Junkyard Motel. Scarecrow safe in Zone 2, which is not a feat by any means, but usually devoid of all and any heating or blankets unless someone got sentimental about their graduation and left some threadbare blankets or clothes in the trunk of one of the cars.At least some still have intact windows so they can provide shelter from the wind, rain and or snow;

Your car. Ranked below the Junkyard Motel soley because of possible carbon monoxide poisoning;

Out in the open. You will find out where body bags end up after scarecrows collect them. Do not sleep out in the open unless it is your last resort.

The Hall of Mirrors. Don't. Trust me, just don't. I don't care if you're so tired your eyes are glueing themselves shut anytime you blink. Don't ever go into the Hall of Mirrors. I know it looks safer and more enticing than sleeping behind the wheel, but it is not. Never ever, under any circumstance, enter the Hall of Mirrors.

And if you're out in outer Zone 5 and see a huge glass building that you're more or less sure is a mirage? Well, congrats, you just hit the jackpot, my friend! That's the Zone 5 abandoned shopping mall! The killjoys there will be more than happy to give you a helping hand (would be number one if it weren't so damn near-impossible to get to).

[mcmansionhell]

Underground, Part 1

[Author’s Note: A year ago, when waiting for the DC Metro, I came up with an idea for a short story involving two realtors and the infamous Las Vegas Underground House, typed up an outline, and shoved it away in my documents where it sat neglected until this month. The house recently resurfaced on Twitter, and combined with almost a year of quarantine, the story quickly materialized. Though I rarely write fiction, I decided I’d give it a shot as a kind of novelty McMansion Hell post. I’ve peppered the story with photos from the house to break up the walls of text. Hopefully you find it entertaining. I look forward to returning next month with the second installment of this as well as our regularly scheduled McMansion content. Happy New Year!

Warning: there’s lots of swearing in this.]

Underground

Back in 1997, Mathieu Rino, the son of two Finnish mechanical engineers who may or may not have worked intimately with the US State Department, changed his name to Jay Renault in order to sell more houses. It worked wonders.

He gets out of the car, shuts the door harder than he should. Renault wrinkles his nose. It’s a miserable Las Vegas afternoon - a sizzling, dry heat pools in ripples above the asphalt. The desert is a place that is full of interesting and diverse forms of life, but Jay’s the kind of American who sees it all as empty square-footage. He frowns at the dirt dusting up his alligator-skin loafers but then remembers that every lot, after all, has potential. Renault wipes the sweat from his leathery face, slicks back his stringy blond hair and adjusts the aviators on the bridge of his nose. The Breitling diving watch crowding his wrist looks especially big in the afternoon glare. He glances at it.

“Shit,” he says. The door on the other side of the car closes, as though in response. 

If Jay Renault is the consummate rich, out-of-touch Gen-Xer trying to sell houses to other rich, out-of-touch Gen-Xers, then Robert Little is his millennial counterpart. Both are very good at their jobs. Robert adjusts his tie in the reflection of the Porsche window, purses his lips. He’s Vegas-showman attractive, with dark hair, a decent tan, and a too-bright smile - the kind of attractive that ruins marriages but makes for an excellent divorcee. Mildly sleazy.

“Help me with these platters, will you?” Renault gestures, popping the trunk. Robert does not want to sweat too much before an open house, but he obliges anyway. They’re both wearing suits. The heat is unbearable. A spread of charcuterie in one hand, Jay double-checks his pockets for the house keys, presses the button that locks his car. 

Both men sigh, and their eyes slowly trail up to the little stucco house sitting smack dab in the center of an enormous lot, a sea of gravel punctuated by a few sickly palms. The house has the distinct appearance of being made of cardboard, ticky-tacky, a show prop. Burnt orange awnings don its narrow windows, which somehow makes it look even more fake. 

“Here we go again,” Jay mutters, fishing the keys out of his pocket. He jiggles them until the splintered plywood door opens with a croak, revealing a dark and drab interior – dusty, even though the cleaners were here yesterday. Robert kicks the door shut with his foot behind him.

 “Christ,” he swears, eyes trailing over the terrible ecru sponge paint adorning the walls. “This shit is so bleak.”

The surface-level house is mostly empty. There’s nothing for them to see or attend to there, and so the men step through a narrow hallway at the end of which is an elevator. They could take the stairs, but don’t want to risk it with the platters. After all, they were quite expensive. Renault elbows the button and the doors part. 

“Let’s just get this over with,” he says as they step inside. The fluorescent lights above them buzz something awful. A cheery metal sign welcomes them to “Tex’s Hideaway.” Beneath it is an eldritch image of a cave, foreboding. Robert’s stomach’s in knots. Ever since the company assigned him to this property, he’s been terrified of it. He tells himself that the house is, in fact, creepy, that it is completely normal for him to be ill at ease. The elevator’s ding is harsh and mechanical. They step out. Jay flips a switch and the basement is flooded with eerie light. 

It’s famous, this house - The Las Vegas Underground House. The two realtors refer to it simply as “the bunker.” Built by an eccentric millionaire at the height of Cold War hysteria, it’s six-thousand square feet of paranoid, aspirational fantasy. The first thing anyone notices is the carpet – too-green, meant to resemble grass, sprawling out lawn-like, bookmarked by fake trees, each a front for a steel beam. Nothing can grow here. It imitates life, unable to sustain it. The leaves of the ficuses seem particularly plastic.

Bistro sets scatter the ‘yard’ (if one can call it that), and there’s plenty of outdoor activities – a parquet dance floor complete with pole and disco ball, a putt putt course, an outdoor grill made to look like it’s nestled in a rock, but in reality better resembles a baked potato. The pool and hot tub, both sculpted in concrete and fiberglass mimicking a natural rock formation, are less Playboy grotto and more Fred Flintstone. It’s a very seventies idea of fun.

Then, of course, there’s the house. That fucking house. 

A house built underground in 1978 was always meant to be a mansard – the mansard roof was a historical inevitability. The only other option was International Style modernism, but the millionaire and his wife were red-blooded anti-Communists. Hence, the mansard. Robert thinks the house looks like a fast-food restaurant. Jay thinks it looks like a lawn and tennis club he once attended as a child where he took badminton lessons from a swarthy Czech man named Jan. It’s drab and squat, made more open by big floor-to-ceiling windows nestled under fresh-looking cedar shingles. There’s no weather down here to shrivel them up.

“Shall we?” Jay drawls. The two make their way into the kitchen and set the platters down on the white tile countertop. Robert leans up against the island, careful of the oversized hood looming over the electric stovetop. He eyes the white cabinets, accented with Barbie pink trim. The matching linoleum floor squeaks under his Italian loafers. 

“I don’t understand why we bother doing this,” Robert complains. “Nobody’s seriously going to buy this shit, and the company’s out a hundred bucks for party platters.”

“It’s the same every time,” Renault agrees. “The only people who show up are Instagram kids and the crazies - you know, the same kind of freaks who’d pay money to see Chernobyl.” 

“Dark tourism, they call it.”

Jay checks his watch again. Being in here makes him nervous.

“Still an hour until open house,” he mutters. “I wish we could get drunk.”

Robert exhales deeply. He also wishes he could get drunk, but still, a job’s a job.

“I guess we should check to see if everything’s good to go.”

The men head into the living room. The beamed, slanted ceiling gives it a mid-century vibe, but the staging muddles the aura. Jay remembers making the call to the staging company. “Give us your spares,” he told them, “Whatever it is you’re not gonna miss. Nobody’ll ever buy this house anyway.” 

The result is eclectic – a mix of office furniture, neo-Tuscan McMansion garb, and stuffy waiting-room lamps, all scattered atop popcorn-butter shag carpeting. Hideous, Robert thinks. Then there’s the ‘entertaining’ room, which is a particular pain in the ass to them, because the carpet was so disgusting, they had to replace it with that fake wood floor just to be able to stand being in there for more than five minutes. There’s a heady stone fireplace on one wall, the kind they don’t make anymore, a hearth. Next to it, equally hedonistic, a full bar. Through some doors, a red-painted room with a pool table and paintings of girls in fedoras on the wall. It’s all so cheap, really. Jay pulls out a folded piece of paper out of his jacket pocket along with a pen. He ticks some boxes and moves on.

The dining room’s the worst to Robert. Somehow the ugly floral pattern on the curtains stretches up in bloomer-like into a frilly cornice, carried through to the wallpaper and the ceiling, inescapable, suffocating. It smells like mothballs and old fabric. The whole house smells like that. 

The master bedroom’s the most normal – if anything in this house could be called normal. Mismatched art and staging furniture crowd blank walls. When someone comes into a house, Jay told Robert all those years ago, they should be able to picture themselves living in it. That’s the goal of staging. 

There’s two more bedrooms. The men go through them quickly. The first isn’t so bad – claustrophobic, but acceptable – but the saccharine pink tuille wallpaper of the second gives Renault a sympathetic toothache. The pair return to the kitchen to wait.

Both men are itching to check their phones, but there’s no point – there’s no signal in here, none whatsoever. Renault, cynical to the core, thinks about marketing the house to the anti-5G people. It’s unsettlingly quiet. The two men have no choice but to entertain themselves the old-fashioned way, through small talk.

“It’s really fucked up, when you think about it,” Renault muses.

“What is?”

“The house, Bob.”

Robert hates being called Bob. He’s told Jay that hundreds of times, and yet…

“Yeah,” Robert mutters, annoyed.

“No, really. Like, imagine. You’re rich, you founded a major multinational company marketing hairbrushes to stay-at-home moms, and what do you decide to do with your money? Move to Vegas and build a fucking bunker. Like, imagine thinking the end of the world is just around the corner, forcing your poor wife to live there for ten, fifteen years, and then dying, a paranoid old man.” Renault finds the whole thing rather poetic. 

“The Russkies really got to poor ol’ Henderson, didn’t they?” Robert snickers.

“The wife’s more tragic if you ask me,” Renault drawls. “The second that batshit old coot died, she called a guy to build a front house on top of this one, since she already owned the lot. Poor woman probably hadn’t seen sunlight in God knows how long.”

“Surely they had to get groceries.”

Jay frowns. Robert has no sense of drama, he thinks. Bad trait for a realtor.

“Still,” he murmurs. “It’s sad.”

“I would have gotten a divorce, if I were her,” the younger man says, as though it were obvious. It’s Jay’s turn to laugh.

“I’ve had three of those, and trust me, it’s not as easy as you think.”

“You’re seeing some new girl now, aren’t you?” Robert doesn’t really care, he just knows Jay likes to talk about himself, and talking fills the time.  

“Yeah. Casino girl. Twenty-six.”

“And how old are you again?”

“None of your business.”

“Did you see the renderings I emailed to you?” Robert asks briskly, not wanting to discuss Jay’s sex life any further.

“What renderings?”

“Of this house, what it could look like.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Jay has not seen the renderings.

“If it were rezoned,” Robert continues, feeling very smart, “It could be a tourist attraction - put a nice visitor’s center on the lot, make it sleek and modern. Sell trinkets. It’s a nice parcel, close to the Strip - some clever investor could make it into a Museum of Ice Cream-type thing, you know?”

“Museum of Ice Cream?”

“In New York. It’s, not, like, educational or anything. Really, it’s just a bunch of colorful rooms where kids come to take pictures of themselves.”

“Instagram,” Jay mutters. “You know, I just sold a penthouse the other week to an Instagram influencer. Takes pictures of herself on the beach to sell face cream or some shit. Eight-point-two million dollars.”

“Jesus,” Robert whistles. “Fat commission.”

“You’re telling me. My oldest daughter turns sixteen this year. She’s getting a Mazda for Christmas.”

“You ever see that show, My Super Sweet Sixteen? On MTV? Where rich kids got, like, rappers to perform at their birthday parties? Every time at the end, some guy would pull up in, like, an Escalade with a big pink bow on it and all the kids would scream.”

“Sounds stupid,” Jay says.

“It was stupid.”

It’s Robert’s turn to check his watch, a dainty gold Rolex.

“Fuck, still thirty minutes.”

“Time really does stand still in here, doesn’t it?” Jay remarks.

“We should have left the office a little later,” Robert complains. “The charcuterie is going to get –“

A deafening sound roars through the house and a violent, explosive tremor throws both men on the ground, shakes the walls and everything between them. The power’s out for a few seconds before there’s a flicker, and light fills the room again. Two backup generators, reads Jay’s description in the listing - an appeal to the prepper demographic, which trends higher in income than non-preppers. For a moment, the only things either are conscious of are the harsh flourescent lighting and the ringing in their ears. Time slows, everything seems muted and too bright. Robert rubs the side of his face, pulls back his hand and sees blood.

“Christ,” he chokes out. “What the hell was that?”

“I don’t know,” Jay breathes, looking at his hands, trying to determine if he’s got a concussion. The results are inconclusive – everything’s slow and fuzzy, but after a moment, he thinks it might just be shock.

“It sounded like a fucking 747 just nosedived on top of us.” 

“Yeah, Jesus.” Jay’s still staring at his fingers in a daze. “You okay?”

“I think so,” Robert grumbles. Jay gives him a cursory examination.

“Nothing that needs stitches,” he reports bluntly. Robert’s relieved. His face sells a lot of houses to a lot of lonely women and a few lonely men. There’s a muffled whine, which the two men soon recognize as a throng of sirens. Both of them try to calm the panic rising in their chests, to no avail.

“Whatever the fuck happened,” Jay says, trying to make light of the situation, “At least we’re in here. The bunker.”

Fear forms in the whites of Robert’s eyes.

“What if we’re stuck in here,” he whispers, afraid to speak such a thing into the world. The fear spreads to his companion.

“Try the elevator,” Jay urges, and Robert gets up, wobbles a little as his head sorts itself out, and leaves. A moment later, Jay hears him swear a blue streak, and from the kitchen window, sees him standing before the closed metal doors, staring at his feet. His pulse racing, Renault jogs out to see for himself.

“It’s dead,” Robert murmurs. 

“Whatever happened,” Jay says cautiously, rubbing the back of his still-sore neck, “It must have been pretty bad. Like, I don’t think we should go up yet. Besides, surely the office knows we’re still down here.”

“Right, right,” the younger man breathes, trying to reassure himself.

“Let’s just wait it out. I’m sure everything’s fine.” The way Jay says it does not make Robert feel any better. 

“Okay,” the younger man grumbles. “I’m getting a fucking drink, though.”

“Yeah, Jesus. That’s the best idea you’ve had all day.” Renault shoves his hands in his suit pocket to keep them from trembling.  

If you like this post, and want to see more like it, consider supporting me on Patreon!

There is a whole new slate of Patreon rewards, including: good house of the month, an exclusive Discord server, weekly drawings, monthly livestreams, a reading group, free merch at certain tiers and more!

Not into recurring donations but still want to show support? Consider the tip jar! 

Or, Check out the McMansion Hell Store! Proceeds from the store help protect great buildings from the wrecking ball.