#story post finally dropping tomorrow afternoon

[living-undead]

ASRA WHY ARE YOU SO FCKN ADORABLE 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

[grandprixprincess]

hermana part 2 || ln4

lando norris x fem!reader smau + written

part 1!

warnings: some language, slightly steamy scene (no smut but mdni!!), carlos being a protective big brother and lando being down bad

a/n: thanks for all the love on part 1! I decided to do a mix of written + smau for this part. requests are open for smau and text fics <3

landonorris posted

liked by maxfewtrell, yourusername, maxverstappen1, and others

landonorris perfect day in the sun with the best company. getting lots of rest and relaxation before the triple header 🤙

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user1 "best company" aka just y/n

user2 wait she was with him again today??? user1 yes! f1gossip just posted the photos. they were alone all day 👀

user3 omg this means y/n took these pics! y/n.jpg when?

maxfewtrell looks like my invite got lost

user4 💀💀💀

yourusername ☀️🤗

user5 queen y/n thank u for taking these great pics

f1gossip posted

liked by user1, user2, and others

f1gossip Lando Norris and Y/N Y/L/N were spotted getting cozy this afternoon. The two embarked on a private yacht for an afternoon filled with swimming and laughter. Eyewitnesses say the two were alone all afternoon. It seems like things are rapidly heating up with these two. The next time Y/L/N is seen in the paddock, will she be rocking red ❤️ or papaya 🧡?

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user2 LANY/N NATION WAKE UP

user3 i can't believe lany/n is real omg

user1 right?? people used to ship them during the carlando mclaren days and now it's REAL

user4 the hand placement omgggg

user5 i wonder what carlos thinks

user2 who cares? it's their lives not his

user6 y/n in papaya at the austin gp pleaseee

user5 ain't no way. she'll always support carlos first, he is basically her brother

yourusername posted a close friends story

story replies:

yourbestfriend not the private yacht on the FIRST DATE

yourusername technically our first date is tomorrow night yourbestfriend literally stfu you know what i meant

carlossainz55 don't stay out too late

yourusername 🙄

landonorris posted a close friends story

story replies:

maxfewtrell did you tell her that you've been secretly in love with her for like 5 years yet or

landonorris OBVIOUSLY NOT i'm trying to play it cool

oscarpiastri I think I missed a chapter

carlossainz55 get my sister back home early cabrón

landonorris leave us alone carlos carlossainz55 excuse me? landonorris NO SORRY THAT WAS Y/N SHE TOOK MY PHONE landonorris I'll make sure she gets home safe mate! 👍

You giggled as you watched Lando frantically type a message back to Carlos. "Sorry, I couldn't help myself!"

You played with the stem of your wine glass. It had been a dream of a day. You were now sharing a bottle of wine together to end the night.

"Your brother is going to have my head!" He finished typing his message out, feeling satisfied, before setting his phone back down.

Fighting the urge to roll your eyes, you said, "You know he isn't really my brother, right?"

Lando chuckled. "You try telling him that."

"Yeah, yeah, I know." You swirled your glass a bit, taking another sip. "He's always been protective like that."

Lando let out another chuckle. "Oh trust me, I know."

His response and tone piqued your interest. You turned your head towards him, seeing a sly smile on his handsome face. "What do you mean?"

Lando opened and closed his mouth for a few moments, contemplating his words. Finally, he spoke. "I may have tried to ask you out in the past, but Carlos sort of, put a stop to it."

Your jaw dropped in shock. "What?!" You tried to fully understand what he was saying. "When was this exactly?"

Without hesitation, Lando responded, "During Carlos' last year in McLaren."

The shock was evident on your face. Silence rang in the air as you tried to find your words. Lando took the opportunity to speak again.

"And again during his first year in Ferrari."

"What?!" You couldn't believe what you were hearing. When Carlos was at McLaren, you were taking a few years off from school to travel. Traveling the world ended up being easy to do when Carlos agreed to let you tag along to all the races as his "assistant". Carlos was on a new team in F1 with a rookie teammate that was your age. You and Lando became friends quickly, and it wasn't long until you began to harbor a crush on him.

It was a secret only you and Y/BSF/N knew about. You definitely didn't tell Carlos, because you knew how that would go.

Once Carlos left McLaren, you went back to school and your appearances at the races dwindled down to one or two a year. You and Lando went from spending every weekend together running around the paddock, to seeing each other in passing as you made your way to Ferrari and he made his way to McLaren.

"That little shit. I'm going to kill him."

You weren't sure if it was the wine or just how carefree and fun everything with Lando was, but you couldn't stop the fit of giggles that escaped you. After a few moments, Lando joined you in your laughter. Tears began to escape both your eyes.

As the laughter died down, the moment suddenly felt very intimate. Lando's face was extremely close, the rest of the world melting away. "I'm pretty sure I started having a crush on you after that first race weekend." You suddenly felt shy, but you couldn't stop the confession from slipping out.

Now it was Lando's turn to express his surprise, his eyes widening for a moment. He searched your face for a moment, almost like he was waiting for you to tell him you were kidding. Finally, he spoke.

"I really want to kiss you."

You were grateful that the sun had fully gone down now, so there was minimal lighting to help hide the blush creeping on your cheeks. Your heart felt like it was going to beat out of your chest as you whispered out, "Why don't you?"

Lando's adoring gaze had you captivated. "I've wanted to do it for so long now," he confessed, "I want to do it right."

You couldn't help the sly smirk on your face as you teased, "I think we've been pining after each other long enough, don't you think?"

Lando reached his hand forward, cradling your cheek in his hand. His thumb brushed against your cheek, causing goosebumps down your arms.

You wanted to live in this moment forever; Lando being this close, his lips inches from yours. Finally, you both instinctively moved forward, your lips colliding after what felt like an eternity.

You both stilled for a moment, trying to rack your brains over the realization that this was actually and finally happening. After a few seconds, you melted into the kiss, sliding your hands up to rest around his neck.

The two of you moved in sync. It felt like your lips were made for each other. Lando's hand around your head tightened, while his second hand found its home on your waist. One of your hands slide up Lando's neck and into his hair, playing with his curls lightly.

Lando slightly pinched your waist, causing you to gasp, which allowed for his tongue to sneak in. You responded with a slight tug on his curls, causing a groan to escape out of him and into your mouth.

You giggled slightly, breaking the kiss for a moment. "You like that, huh?"

Even though it was dark, you could see how Lando's eyes darkened. With no shame, he responded, "Yes," suddenly his hands slipped down, grabbing your thighs and easily moving you to straddle his lap, "You have no idea the effect anything you do has on me."

Now you were sure it was the wine giving you confidence when you ground your body down to feel his already hard erection. "Oh, I think I have somewhat of an idea." Your hands slipped back into his curls at the nape of his neck, tugging softly.

You relished in the way that Lando's eyes fluttered shut, his hands moving to your hips, guiding them as you continued to grind your body with his.

Lando was putty in your hands. You began to feel the heat in your core. You tugged on Lando's curls again, pulling his head back and eliciting a small moan from his lips.

Bringing your head down, your lips connected with his jaw, peppering him with open mouth kisses on both sides of his face before moving down to his neck.

Lando continued guiding the movement of your hips, his hands tightening around your waist and moving them faster as he felt your lips on his neck. You couldn't hold back the moan that escaped your lips, letting it ring out right in Lando's ear.

Lando was sure he was in heaven. Your moans were music to his ears.

He let one hand leave your hip and travel to your face, bringing you back towards his lips. Your lips collided again, this time with more urgency and desperation.

You both couldn't believe that you had let all these years go by wasted, when you could've been doing this the whole time. You were kissing each other like your lives depended on it.

Lando's hand moved up and down your sides, squeezing slightly, causing another moan to escape from you, and allowing his tongue entrance again.

You moved your hands down his chest, and began to play with the hem of his shirt.

Lando suddenly broke the kiss, breaking the blissful bubble you two had been caught up in.

"We should stop."

You felt fear creep up on you. Had you done something wrong? Did he not want this anymore? As if he could read your worries on your face, he softly brought his lips to yours again for a moment.

"Trust me, I don't want to stop," he began, chuckling lightly, "but I told you. I want to do this right."

You softened at his words. "You're right." You lazily played with his curls again. "Feels like we have to make up for so much lost time, but I'm not going anywhere."

Lando chuckled. "Me either. Now that I know you want me like I want you, you're never getting rid of me." Lando gave you a goofy grin. He moved his hand up, playing with a strand of your hair for a moment before tucking it behind you ear, "I could spend all night making up for lost time, and even then I guarantee I would be leaving wanting more."

You blushed, grateful again for the minimal lighting. Words lost you. Instead, you just gazed lovingly into Lando's eyes.

"Plus, Carlos told me to make sure you're home early, so..."

Lando relished in the way you rolled your eyes and chuckled softly.

The two of you always felt deep down that you had missed out on something great with each other. Now the universe was giving you a second chance to act on it.

yourusername posted

liked by yourbestfriend, iamrebeccad, landonorris, charles_leclerc, and others

yourusername 🌊🤙🖕

tagged: carlossainz55, iamrebeccad

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user1 not tagging lando is crazy 💀 girl we know

user2 shhhh let them cook up a soft launch user3 why would she tag him in this tho user1 that's literally lando's jolly lol

charles_leclerc hahaha the last photo

yourusername yeah that's actually me to carlos rn charles_leclerc never a dull moment with you two 😂😂

user2 her and lando used the same emoji. she posts his car but doesn't tag. he's in the likes. the soft launch of the century is about to begin. in this essay, I will-

user4 carlos in that pic is him reading these comments fr

user5 lando behind the camera of that first pic like 😍🤳

user1 we need y/n on lando.jpg stat

As you waited impatiently for Carlos to return home, your phone chimed, signaling another text had come through. You rolled your eyes, thinking it would be another message from Carlos, but you felt your heart skip a beat seeing Lando's name across your screen.

"Maybe Carlito thought you didn't like him, and was trying to help you out."

You stared at your sister's face on the screen in disbelief. "You're supposed to be on my side here."

Your sister laughed. "I am! I just also know Carlos wouldn't do something like this without a valid reason."

You heard a jingle at the door. "Speak of the devil, he's back."

"Call me later, don't give him a hard time, mana." She gave you a wave. "Oh, and have fun tomorrow night."

"I will, talk to you later." You gave your sister a wave back before ending the call.

You got up from your spot on the couch, walking towards the front door. You stood with your arms crossed as the door opened slowly. Suddenly Rebecca's head popped into view. You gave her a small smile.

"Your brother is behind me waving a white flag."

You couldn't help but laugh. "There shall be peace."

Carlos slowly came into view, his hands raised in defeat. He walked hesitantly towards you, waiting for you to react. Rebecca walked past you, giving your shoulder a light squeeze before disappearing into the bedroom.

"I don't want to argue, mano. I just don't understand."

Carlos stared at you for a moment before leading you back to the couch, sitting down and signaling you to do the same. "Listen, back then, you were so young and I was supposed to be looking after you on the road," he started, "and I know how it is once you get to F1. The fame, media, parties..." he paused for a moment, "The girls." He waited a beat before saying, "That's why I'm telling you to be careful with him now."

You had to fight the urge to roll your eyes. "Lando and I used to have movie nights every race weekend while you and other drivers would go out to clubs and party." You looked down, nervously playing with your hands. "And yeah, I know he does go out now and that he's been seen with different girls, but I know deep down he's still that same guy."

"You guys were kids back then, but now? Lando is usually the first to arrive and the last to leave the club now, always a different girl on his arm."

You finally looked Carlos in the eye, whispering out, "So you think I'm just another girl for him to flaunt around until he gets bored?" You felt your face get hot due to a mix of anger and shame. "I'm not good enough to be something real for him?"

The regret was evident on Carlos' face the second after you spoke. "No, no, hermana, you know that's not what I mean."

"Then what is it? Is it because he's your friend?"

Carlos chuckled. "No, no," he sighed, "I knew you liked him back then. I saw how you looked at him. That dreamy, goofy gleam in your eyes," he said, "and when Lando came to me and said he wanted to ask you out, I panicked."

You were listening intently now. "Why?" you whispered out.

"I think it was the first time I realized you were growing up. The idea of my hermanita dating anyone, nevertheless a driver, freaked me out." He laughed. "I just wanted to protect you from the craziness that comes with being with an F1 driver; I still do."

"Lando said he respects you, and that's why he stayed away back then. But now we're adults, and we're making our own decisions without interference from others." You couldn't stop the smile from creeping back onto your face. "I've always liked him, mano. I want to see where this goes."

Carlos couldn't help but match your smile. He liked seeing you this happy, and if that was because of Lando, then he was willing to be open-minded. "Okay, okay, I'm on board," he chuckled, "but I told you already. If he breaks your heart, he goes into the wall."

You rolled your eyes playfully. "You'd have to catch up to his rocketship in your tractor first."

Carlos' jaw dropped, disbelief written on his face. "I can't believe I've already lost you to the papaya army."

You let out a laugh, nudging his shoulder. "Hey, family always comes first. I'm a Ferrari girl first, papaya girlie second."

"Good, because that would be where I'd draw the line."

"I'm ready for next year, though. Blue is much more my color."

The two of you shared a laugh, before Carlos leaned over to end the moment with a hug. "I love you, hermanita."

"Love you too, Carlitos."

As you and Carlos embraced, you heard a door open slightly. Rebecca appeared, smile evident on her face, happy to see Carlos back in your good graces.

"Anyone down for a late night ice cream run?"

yourusername posted stories

story 2 caption: making them pay for my ice cream like: 🥺 👉👈 i'm just a baby

story replies to story 1:

user1 LANY/N ANTHEM???

user2 "we were supposed to be just friends" omg omg omg

yourbestfriend dude has my girl posting love songs on main already 😭😭😭

yourusername 😂

landonorris is this what they call a soft launch

yourusername 😂🫣 maybe landonorris hmm brb yourusername huh?

story replies to story 2:

yoursister hahaha he really said here have some ice cream pls forgive me

yourusername no but fr 💀

user3 girl you can't just post that song and move on this quickly!!

landonorris posted a story

story replies:

danielricciardo is little lando norris in love???

yourusername 🥹😭

landonorris ❤️

user1 oh ya'll are in LOVEEEE

user2 you guys ain't slick posting these back to back 😭

carlossainz55 thanks a lot, she won't stop playing this song now

oscarpiastri okay I DEFINITELY missed a chapter

a/n: yep there will be a part 3 because I can't stop myself lol if you'd like to be tagged, let me know!

Part 3

tag list: @npcmia @tinyhrry @that-one-little-soybean

[writingquestionsanswered]

https://www.tumblr.com/writingquestionsanswered/730814386289131520/defining-terminology-via-pov?source=share

I saw this post and it inspired me to ask a similar question I was dealing with. Is it weird for the narrator to explain time skips or off screen events? They always feel so unnatural when I write them. Ive seen it done, but I can't judge the best way to do it.

Narrator Explaining Time Skips and Off-Screen Events

Nope, it's not weird, no matter who your narrator is. Your narrator is there to tell the story to your reader. If there is no way to show something through action or explain it through dialogue, the only other alternative is to have the narrator explain it.

With time skips, that's almost always going to be the narrator's job rather than something shown via action or told via dialogue, simply because action isn't often the best way to show time passing (though it can certainly work in some cases), and dialogue doesn't usually come right at the beginning of a scene (though it can sometimes.) The point being, although you certainly can show time passing with action or explain it through dialogue, a lot of the time it's just explained in exposition, aka narration. I talk about that in these posts: Guide: How to Skip Time in Your Story, Subtle Scene Transitions, and Skipping Broad Gaps in Time without Timestamp.

With off-screen events, you really have your pick between exposition, action (yes... action... I'll get to that in a second), and dialogue. It just depends on what works best for the scene/story. So, for example, let's say a secondary character had to run an errand for the protagonist, and what they find out from that errand is important, but showing the actual errand playing out isn't important. So, it happens off-screen. You can have the narrator explain it:

While Todd and Amy started pulling down the interior walls, Anna went to city hall to find out next steps for permitting. After waiting all afternoon to speak with someone and being told to come back the following day, she returned to the house feeling defeated but bearing mochas from their favorite coffee shop.

Alternatively, you could use dialogue to show this off-screen moment:

"How did it go?" Todd said, dropping his sledgehammer when he turned and found a defeated-looking Anna, who at least came bearing coffee.

"Not great," she said, handing him and Amy a mocha from their favorite coffee shop. "I was at city hall all day waiting to talk to someone in permitting, and after I finally got to speak with someone, they told me to come back tomorrow."

Amy frowned. "Yikes."

If the off-screen event happened before the story begins, or happened off-screen but was particularly important or memorable for the character who experienced it, you could also potentially use deep memory recall, a flashback, or a dream to show it happening. This wouldn't really be a great choice for Amy's long wait at the permitting office, but for the sake of the example, if it was worthy, it might look something like this.

Amy woke with a start, drenched in sweat, her nightmare addled brain telling her she was still inside the permitting office. The nightmare had been so real, she could still smell the stale coffee that permeated the small room--could still hear the quiet sizzle of the mildly flickering fluorescent lighting. She'd been suck waiting to speak with someone all afternoon, and they'd told her to come back tomorrow. Now she felt like she'd been through the ordeal twice in one day. She wasn't sure she could stomach going back again in the morning. She would have to make Todd go in her place.

I hope that helps! :)

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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[curtis-corner]

STAND BY ME (Darry Curtis) PART 10

Truly can not believe we are at Part 10!! This fandom is such a gift and y'all are inspiring me to post a few one shots in different Curtis POVs (but don't worry this story isn't going anywhere...especially because I am very excited about the next chapter).

Taglist : @lovelylegolas2123 @amnestyliketaz @spuffyfan394, @sleeplessskeleton

PART 10

“Ponyboy, get down from that ladder.”

“You said I could do the edges.”

“The floor edges,” Darry sighs. “I’ll take care of the ceiling ones.”

“I can do it.” But as Ponyboy says it, he starts to wobble and you hold your breath as the ladder shakes. A few drops of pale blue paint fall onto kitchen floor.

Darry gives him a look. The youngest brother starts to climb down the ladder.

It turns out, painting was a far bigger process than you thought. You and Darry had spent Saturday night fixing the cracks in the walls and washing off years of grease splatters. Now it was Sunday and Soda begged for you all to wait until he was finished his morning shift, so you found yourselves painting well into the afternoon.

“This color looks real nice.” Soda smiles, admiring the section of the wall he finished. “Like a happy sort of blue.”

“You did a swell job.” You barely see any of the brush strokes. “You like painting?”

“I guess so.”

“Good because we’ll need to do the garage this summer.” Darry stretches both hands above his head and you hear a pop.

“Are you alright Darry?” You don’t bother hiding the concern in your voice. You always got on Darry to rest during his day off, and here he is doing more work. “How about we finish this tomorrow. It’s only the edges left anyway.”

“I can do it tonight, just need a minute.” He stretches again and you see him try to hide a grimace.

“Come on Darry, I’ll work out the knots for ya.” Soda offers and you put the lid on the paint can and carefully set your brush down.

After a dinner of sandwiches and an hour of tv, painting had lost its appeal to Soda and Pony, but Darry insisted on finishing before the night was over.

You had finished the floor edges and he was nearly finished the ceiling when you hear the front door open.

“I go out of town for one weekend and a girl moves in and the kitchen is blue.” Two-Bit’s drawl enters the room before he does. He swings an arm across your shoulders. “You okay?”

He’s causal about the question, but you’ve gotten to know him enough to see the concern in his eyes.

“I’m alright.” You shrug. “I just wish I knew what sort of trouble my dad is in.”  Out of the corner of your eye you see Darry pause for a moment. You’ll ask him about it later.

“Saw a sign when I was on Easton.” Two-Bit opens the fridge to get a beer, careful to not let the door hit the wall. “The Drive In is opening back up soon.”

Darry finishes up the last few brush strokes and climbs down the ladder, offering a ‘hm’ in response. Two-Bit takes a swig of his beer.

“You think Pony will be up to the Friday night double when it opens? Finally get out of the house?”

“No.” Darry says firmly and you bite your bottom lip, wishing you were closer to the edge of the room and could easily slip out. “He ain’t ever going to that drive in again.”

“Come on-“

“No. Not after what happened last time.” Darry drops the paintbrush into the bucket of water and closes the lid on the paint can.

“That wasn’t the drive-in’s fault.” You knew Two-Bit meant well but you also knew the set of Darry’s jaw meant he wasn’t interested in discussing it.

“It certainly didn’t help. He ain’t going.”

“Alright.” Two-Bit must have seen Darry wasn’t budging. He finishes his beer with one final chug. “Was only mentioning it.”

Later, you and Darry sit on his bed as he changes the bandages on your arm.

“It looks better that yesterday.” He brings your arm up slightly and inspects the cuts. “You might only need the bandages for another day or two.” You hiss when the peroxide hits the cuts and Darry grimaces in sympathy. “Sorry sweetheart.”

“It’s alright,” you get out through clenched teeth. He kisses your forehead after it’s over and when he takes the first aid kit back to the bathroom, you change into your pajamas.

Darry had showed you two empty drawers to put your things in and you got a small thrill from unpacking your few items into them. It was probably silly since you would only be there a few days, but something felt right having your clothes next to his.

Your head rests on his chest and he mindlessly plays with your hair before he takes a deep breath.

“It’s not like I don’t want Pony to have a social life.”

You knew it had been on his mind since his conversation with Two-Bit and you knew Darry was never one to share the burden of his thoughts with anyone.

Except you.

“I know honey.”

“And spring track will start soon, that will get his mind on straight and get him out of the house.”

“That will be great for him.”

“It’s bad enough he has to see all of those Socs in school. Goin’ to the drive in would be askin’ for trouble.” You nod against Darry’s chest. “I mean, you’ve been to the drive in-“

“I haven’t.” You say and Darry’s hands stop running through your hair.

“You haven’t?”

“I always worked the late shift on Fridays, even in high school. And on Saturdays I would try to pick up babysitting jobs. I had a few friends who would go and tell me about it, but I could just…never make it.” When you say it out loud it sounds a lot worse than it actually was, and you try to tell Darry that when he says something that surprises you.

“Then we should go.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You deserve to at least see if you like it.” You snuggle in a little closer to his chest and decide to be brave.

“Maybe we should all go. You, me, Soda…and Pony.” Darry lets out a low breath and you give him a few minutes to mull it over.

“Maybe.” He says but it sounds more like a maybe-yes than a maybe-no.

--

Mornings in the Curtis household tended to be chaotic. Your schedule changes each day, so you never had a set routine but you figured with the boys generally having the same schedule, they would have it figured out.

You were wrong.

“Darry! Where are my jeans?” Soda slides through the kitchen in nothing but a wet towel and drips all over the floor. Pony immediately steps in one of the puddles and grimaces.

“Now I need new socks!” He rips off his wet socks and stomps down the hall, shoving a piece of toast in his mouth.

“Soda, if you aren’t dressed in three minutes I am leaving you and you can hitch hike to work.” Darry balances his coffee in one hand and tucks in his shirt with the other. “Your jeans are in my closet, I ironed last night.”

A loud honk comes from the front.

“Pony! Steve will leave without you if you don’t get out here!” Darry shouts into the room and you slide a piece of buttered toast over to him.

“Where’s that grocery list?” You sort through a stack of papers on the coffee table.

“Don’t buy too much, you can I can take the car out this weekend for a big trip.” Darry finishes the toast in record time. “I don’t want you carrying all of the bags home.”

“Mr. Murphy is letting me borrow his car after work, I’ll be fine.” You assure him. The horn outside sounds for longer.

“Ponyboy! Now!” Darry calls down the hall before pulling out his wallet. “Alright, here’s money for the food-“

“I got it.” You shake your head and he gives you a look. “Darry, I’ve been here five days, just let me do this-“

“Sodapop Curtis, you have thirty seconds!” Soda comes out of the bedroom, mostly dressed and looks around for his shoes. “Honey, I’m not letting you pay for everyone-“

“Where’s my backpack?” Pony is tearing apart the living room.

“Here,” you locate the backpack and hand it to him. He runs out the front door towards an impatient Steve.

“Do we have any toast left?” Soda asks and you point to the two pieces on the counter. He shoves both in his mouth before putting his DX hat on his head and walking out the front door.

“I love you. I’ll see you later,” Darry gives you a quick kiss and then he’s out the door as well. When you look back at the grocery list on the table, you see he left a ten-dollar bill on top. You shake your head and decide to use the money to get some extra things to stock the cabinets.

And maybe buy more hair conditioner because you had a sneaking suspicion the younger two Curtis brothers were using yours.

--

Thursday night saw everyone home at a decent time for dinner, which you and Soda elect yourselves in charge of. Darry sits at the table sorting through bills and Pony makes various groaning noises at his math worksheet.

“Are we thinking green or red?” Soda eyes the box of food dye and the pot of potatoes he’s currently mashing.

“Green.” You answer, flipping the chicken fried steak in the pan. It’s an old pan and it’s starting to smoke up the tiny kitchen. You make a mental note to see if the general store has any pans on clearance when you go in the next day. “Soda, you mind opening some windows? The pan is smoking up again.”

“Got it,” Soda opens the back one and heads to the living room to open more. “Hey Darry?” you hear him call. “How come Tim Shepard is coming to our door?”

NEXT: Oh Darry why did you keep your 'find out info for me and I'll rumble for you' deal a secret....

[soranihimawari]

Sign here

Or a short story about a new banker y/n willing to give Miya Osamu the business loan he deserves!

Based on @haebai-png ‘s Osamu: Work

This platinum almost out grown roots mean sits across from your desk. The bank today is filled with a few applicants and others doing their daily errands. After reading his letter of recommendations along with the deed of an older arcade going out business, you make sure you cleared every check box for this young entrepreneur. Ok, maybe not so young, you two seem to be of the same age, yet for lack of better understanding, you keep that comment to yourself.

You clear your throat and say between clicking and typing on your end, “You’re that onigiri guy I’ve been seeing at the local street vendor days in the park, right?”

His ears perk up and then turn a soft shade of peach. He’s a bit pale, but you could tell he used to be out in the sun for a while working on his tan…and onigiri of course. Nodding he hums.

“Ya been to the stand before?” He nervously chuckles as you hum.

“Killer combos dude and that umami?! To die for!” You smile.

A few more seconds go by as you’re viewing the final paperwork. He rubs his hands together silently praying for approval for his first ever shop. You excuse yourself to pick up the printed contract for the business loan, asking your work-senpai to re-read this document to see if there were any errors.

Luckily there were none and you breathe a sigh of relief.

“He looked so sad and nervous coming in,” you explain, straightening out your suit. “I guess he never really had much success trying to get approved…”

You don’t know that Miya Osamu, nearly 27 years old by now, has tried for the past two years to get a business loan. He’s been stuck selling his onigiri out of his truck and or motorbike since his early 20s or at least setting up a small table in the night markets. You’re just lucky you got everyone in your department at the bank to get hooked on his cooking.

Your work-senpai, Ms Miri, hums agreeing.

“In a post pandemic world it’s harder for family owned businesses to stay afloat, but boy did he try his best to save up how much…holy shit!”

She whispers her surprised expression when she sees just how much Osamu is putting down.

“I believe in him. He’ll do well!”

You practically are beaming as you return to your cubicle.

You knock to grab his attention and you wave the papers. He stands, wiping his hands on his pants, holding his hat apprehensively chewing his cheek like he’s pouting.

“Cute,” he hears me quietly say that.

You hide behind the stack of papers clearly embarrassed since you realize what you had said before clearing your throat.

“Ahem, Mr. Miya Osamu?”

“Yes Mx Shinkai?”

You pass him the papers. “I’m elated to report that your business loan and business credit line is now approved. Congratulations and thank for choosing Raiden-Bank to start your ventures.”

He drops his hat as he reaches for the papers.

You pull out a pen with a cap on it, “it’s all there. All you need to do is sign here.”

***short time skip***

Onigiri Miya night before opening day has finally arrived. You are the first person outside of family and friends that is invited to the mock service. The invitation said to only bring yourself, so that is what you did on your late afternoon from work.

You knock on the door and you see that Osamu is alone tonight—his staff probably sent home early to prepare for the grand opening tomorrow.

Osamu spots you at the door and unlocks it for you.

“Come in,” he says as he locks the door behind you.

“Woah, this looks so great!”

You settle into a booth you notice is set up for two. You take your time glancing around the interior. Blowing out a low whistle complimenting him on a job well done. There are various pictures of him and friends and his famous twin brother. Then, there’s one of you on a Polaroid frame eating one of his test creations earlier last month as your friend bloomed.

“Out of all these guys on here, I like this one the most,” he says. Then he has a drafted agreement in his hands.

“And I’m hoping since they believed in me and my onigiri that they’d be co-founder with me? Sign here if ya like.”

And you never reached for your pen fast enough with the broadest smile.

[fangirlfrom-hell]

The Fragile Bonds Part 4 || Jay and Will Halstead x Halstead Sister

*re-posting this because I'm stupid and accidentaly erased my other blog 🫠 If you were following this story I'd appreciate your reblogs 🙏🏻

Summary: After their father's death, Becca moved in with Jay. This is the first time the detective brother has to go undercover since his sister has been under his full care, creating a challenging situation for both. Reluctantly, Becca will have to live with Will and his family during those days, even though she doesn't feel very welcome in that household.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

It was a cloudy afternoon, with no sign of the sun in sight. The rain had subsided, and if it weren't for the gentle drops trickling down the windowpane, it might have gone unnoticed.

Becca lay on her bed, engrossed in the book Mr. Olinsky had given her. The story revolved around a lonely orphan girl who discovers the existence of a giant and goes with him into his world. Becca enjoyed the book, but at that moment, she found it hard to concentrate on her reading. She placed it on her chest and turned her gaze toward the window. She remained still for a few minutes, imagining Hailey's car pulling up on the street. She hoped that this would happen, as the detective had promised to visit her that day. Nevertheless, Becca was accustomed to last-minute changes in plans, a common occurrence in a detective's line of work. She continued to gaze outside, lost in thought, until her reverie was interrupted by a knock at the door from Will.

"Everything okay?" Will asked, but no words came out of his sister. She simply nodded.

"What are you reading?" Her brother approached and took a seat on the edge of the bed, prompting her to do the same. "The BFG?"

"The Big Friendly Giant," she replied. "Mr. Olinsky gave it to me, and he always asks me about it. I want to finish it for the next time I see him."

"Oh," Will was uncertain about how to react. It felt a bit strange to him that she was close to Jay's co-workers. For a moment, it tugged at his heart that she might be becoming closer to them than to him.

"Did you finish your homework?" Will inquired.

"Uh, no. It's Friday, and I don't feel like doing homework right now. I still have the whole weekend," Becca replied.

"Well," he said, taking the book from her hands, "I suggest you finish it today. We're planning to go to the aquarium tomorrow." He smiled from ear to ear.

"The aquarium?" Becca asked without much excitement.

"Yeah! We've been wanting to take Owen for a while now. Tomorrow's a great chance to do it, and you get to come with us," he said, excited and genuinely thinking Becca would be too.

"But tomorrow is my..."

"What?"

"Um, never mind..." She rolled her eyes, hoping that Jay would return at any moment. She was accustomed to Will always forgetting her birthday and other important events related to her, anyway.

"It will be fun!" Will tried to persuade her.

At this point, Becca couldn't even muster a fake smile. As soon as she was left alone in the room, she buried her face in a pillow, muffling her scream of frustration.

It felt as though time had ceased to exist that afternoon, a strange and surreal feeling. Becca spent most of the time in a state of half-sleep, drifting in and out, as if she were trying to fast-forward through the day. She didn't want to be awake.

By the time she finally woke up for good, it was already dark outside. She realized she had slept for a long time and suddenly remembered Hailey. Her heart raced with worry, fearing she might have missed a visit from the detective. "No, no, no," she muttered, reaching for her phone in the drawer. She discovered three missed calls and a text from Detective Upton.

Something surged, I'm sorry

The tone of the text conveyed the urgency. She put her phone in the back pocket of her jeans, just in case Hailey called again, she didn’t want to miss another call from Jay.

Leaving Mr. Snuggles behind, Becca ventured out of her dark room and was momentarily dazzled by the brightness of the rest of the house. The cold hit her immediately, and she shivered, regretting her choice of wearing only a light sweater over a tank top.

There were a lot of noises. The animated voices of cartoons emanated from the TV, Owen's plaintive cries echoed through the air, and Natalie's soothing reassurances cut through the clamor. Meanwhile, on the other side of the house, the clinking of plates, the splashing of water, and the rhythmic hiss of flames on the stove created a symphony of domestic activity. It smelled good. 

Upon entering the kitchen, Becca found her brother, Will, busy at the stove.

"Pasta!" He exclaimed, snapping his fingers and pointing to his little sister. "You can eat that, right? You can't be allergic to pasta!"

A smile graced Becca's lips as she responded, "Yeah, I can eat pasta. That's actually what Jay makes whenever he's too lazy to cook... which is often." Their shared laughter infused the room with a comforting sense of camaraderie.

"Well, dinner's almost ready. I bet you're hungry."

"Yes, I actually am. And it smells delicious." Becca's gratitude was evident in her words, and Will's smile in return felt like a small victory, he finally made Becca feel good.

"What's wrong with Owen?"

"I don't know, he just doesn't want to sleep. We didn't take him to the park because of the rain, so it might be all of his pent-up energy."

"Oh." Just as they were discussing Owen's restlessness, the baby's cries subsided, and the volume of the cartoons from the TV surged. Becca turned to glance at the wall clock; it read 7:00 PM. It was still relatively early, and she realized she hadn't slept as long as she thought.

"It's freezing," Becca mentioned, crossing her arms to ward off the chill.

"Here," Will offered, taking off his own sweater. "I don't want you to get sick." It was evident that he wanted to ensure Becca remained in the room with him, not wanting to break the peaceful moment they were sharing.

"No, it's all good," Becca quickly responded. "I'll get one from my bag. I'll be right back."

The door of the room was open, but the girl didn’t pay much attention to that detail. However, when she got in, she immediately noticed something amiss. The bed was empty. "Mr. Snuggles?" she thought, her heart sinking. She approached the bed, thinking she might have hidden the stuffed animal beneath the pillow, but her search yielded no trace of the beloved cat.

"Oh, no!" Panic gripped her, and she began frantically throwing pillows and blankets onto the floor, desperately searching for the missing plush companion.

“WILL! WILL!”, she screamed anxiously.

The redhead was at the door frame in an instant, a mixture of alarm and concern etched across his face.

"Wha--? What happened?" His own fear was palpable as they observed Becca, her tearful countenance and the disheveled state of the bed sheets. Quickly, he closed the distance and moved to her side.

“Mr. Snuggles is not here, HE’S NOT ANYWHERE!”

Will was confused, he didn’t understand what she was talking about.

“My stuffed animal!”

“Oh, the cat?” He finally realized. “Did you look well on the bed? Under?”

“WILL, I’M TELLING YOU–”

He could not understand why his sister was overeating that way, but he could feel her anxiety and exasperation. 

He put a hand on her shoulder and continued with a soothing tone, "ok, ok, let's go. I'll help you find it". 

Then, he proceeded to look under the bed, but there was no trace of the cat. "I don't know, Becca. Are you sure you leaved it in here? You didn't take it outside? Look, it's alright, tomorrow when we get out of the aquarium, we can go get a new one, I promise". 

However, this offer only seemed to exacerbate Becca's distress. She started bawling, and Will could see the profound sadness in her eyes, even if he didn't fully comprehend the situation. All he could do was embrace her, but Becca remained unresponsive, not reciprocating the hug.

"It's okay, Becca. You'll get a new one, and it will be even better. That cat was already old." Will tried to console her, although he was still perplexed by the depth of her attachment to the lost stuffed cat.

Becca's tears flowed uncontrollably as her mind became a whirlwind of memories from that special birthday when she had received Mr. Snuggles. She could see her mother's warm and loving smile, and picture Jay's supportive presence as he helped her unwrap the gift box. Those recollections also brought back the bittersweet image of their father, sitting at the table, all of them sharing a birthday cake. But what weighed most heavily on Becca's mind was the recollection of her mother's gentle voice and the overwhelming fear that gripped her – the fear that she might forget her mother's comforting scent and her cherished appearance if she were to lose Mr. Snuggles. It was this fear, this painful possibility, that had driven her to such intense distress.

In her frustration, Becca pushed her brother away, her actions betraying the depth of her anguish. "You don't get it," she groaned. The rawness of her emotions was palpable, and it left a profound ache in Will's chest as he struggled to comprehend the intensity of her distress and find a way to comfort her.

In that moment, the sound of laughter echoed from the living room, and it was at that moment Becca pieced together what had likely transpired. With a sense of urgency, she darted out of the room, her brother following closely behind. There, in the living room, she found Mr. Snuggles in the firm grasp of Owen, who was gleefully swinging the stuffed cat from side to side, dancing to the music of his cartoons.

"Mr. Snuggles," Becca whispered in relief.

Natalie, seated on the sofa, turned to look at Becca, initially unaware of the distress that had gripped the girl.

"Oh," she remarked to Becca. "It was the only thing that could calm him down. I was walking him around the house, and he wandered into the guest room to find it. I told him we would borrow it from you."

Will's voice came from behind, breaking the tension. "Good that we found him," he sighed in relief. "You still have my word about the new stuffed animal, though." He reached out and hugged his sister by the shoulder, still puzzled by her intense reaction and concerned by the fact that she was still upset. He wished he could understand and help her better, but for now, all he could do was be there for her.

"Will, I--thank you," Becca whispered in a hushed tone, ensuring her words were only for her brother's ears. "But I don't need or want another one. I need Mr. Snuggles, and I can't let Owen have it, I really can't."

Will glanced at Owen playing with the black cat. He didn't initially see the issue, but the intensity of Becca's emotions was impossible to ignore. He furrowed his brow and returned his gaze to her, realizing that she was genuinely suffering. It was clear that the stuffed animal held immense significance for her.

"Okay, alright," he said gently, attempting to wipe away her tears.

"Owen, come here," Will knelt to be at the boy's level. "Buddy, this little cat here is already tired. It's time for him to go back to sleep." As he tried to take Mr. Snuggles from Owen's small hands, the boy became upset and clung tighter to the toy.

“Will, what are you doing?” Natalie intervened.

“Becca wants, needs her plush back, that’s all”.

“He’s been restless for two hours, this thing is the only thing that has calmed him”.

“Yes, I know, but it’s not his, and we should have asked Becca first if we wanted to take it”.

Becca felt a warmth in her heart as she watched her brother stand up for her in front of his girlfriend, something that had never happened before. 

"Owen, pal, please," Will implored. He managed to gently take the stuffed animal from the boy's hands, but Owen's reaction was immediate – he started crying and throwing a tantrum.

Becca couldn't help but feel awful. She didn't want the baby to cry, and a wave of guilt washed over her for not letting him have Mr. Snuggles. But she just couldn't, if it were any other toy, she wouldn't have hesitated to lend it to him.

"Will!" Natalie scolded, and the cat went back into Owen's hands.

Will found himself in a difficult position, torn between wanting to please Becca and not fully comprehending the depth of her attachment to the toy.

"Becc, just lend it to him for a while. He'll get tired of it soon, you'll see."

Becca watched as Owen continued to play with Mr. Snuggles, her heart heavy with mixed emotions. She shuddered when she saw him putting one of the toy's ears into his mouth. The thought of her mother's scent slowly fading away from the cherished stuffed animal weighed heavily on her mind, making it even more difficult to let go.

“No, I can’t”

Will tried to stop her, but he didn't have the heart to do it.

"Owen, baby, I'm sorry, you need to give it back to me, please," Becca pleaded with a soft, gentle tone. However, Natalie intervened defensively.

"Becca, stop acting like this. It's just a toy, and he's just a kid."

Seizing the opportunity when Owen momentarily left the cat on the floor, Becca reached for it with a sense of relief. But at the same time, Natalie grasped it by the tail, and in the struggle to pull it towards herself, the stuffed animal tore in two.

Becca clutched the body of Mr. Snuggles in her arms, her eyes filled with horror as she stared at the torn tail on the floor. Her beloved companion had been torn apart, and she was left in shock, aghast at the sudden, painful loss.

"NO!" Becca's anguished scream pierced the air, sending shivers down Will's spine. Her cries escalated into a torrent of tears, her emotions a chaotic whirlwind of anger, sorrow, and anxiety. She felt trapped and overwhelmed, and all she wished for was to escape that painful moment.

"I wish I was dead too!" Becca's words, spoken with laboring breaths, were a heartbreaking cry for release. She bolted towards the front door in a desperate attempt to escape, but Will managed to reach her in time, pulling her into a hug from behind, trying to be gentle and cautious, afraid of hurting her in the process. His embrace was a lifeline, an attempt to anchor her and provide the support she desperately needed in that agonizing moment.

"Let me go! Leave me alone!" Becca's cries reverberated, her voice laced with anguish and despair. No one had ever witnessed her in such a state; she appeared as if she were possessed, kicking and hitting, doing everything in her power to break free from her brother's embrace, as if she were fighting against her own tormenting emotions.

"I can't. I can't let you go like this. I need you to calm down, sweetie. Calm down, Beccs, everything's okay," Will implored, his words filled with love and concern.

But those last words pierced her like a dagger to the heart. Nothing was okay; everything felt wrong. Her world was fractured. She no longer had her dad, her mom, or Jay. The only thing that still connected her to her mother had been damaged. She didn't have a home, and she couldn't find her place in this world. In her anguish, Becca acted without thinking, biting Will's arm to break free from his embrace, her pain manifesting in a desperate attempt to escape her overwhelming emotions.

“Will, she bit you. Do something!” Natalie’s accusations rumbled in her ears.

“No, no. It’s ok, Beccs. It’s alright”, Will tried to calm his sister, whose little face looked frightened.

Everything happened so fast and Becca managed to break free and escape through the front door. She ran as fast as her legs could carry her, her vision blurred by tears, making it impossible to see clearly where she was headed. 

Unheeding of Natalie's protests, Will chased after her, desperate to catch up.

"Becca! Becca, please!" His voice reached her ears, calling her name at a distance, but it grew fainter and fainter as she continued to run. "Becca!" She heard one last anguished cry, a long and agonized scream that filled the air with sorrow.

When she finally came to a halt, she was exhausted, her breathing labored. She looked around, but the surroundings were unfamiliar, and she couldn't identify the street or any nearby landmarks. She was lost, but returning the way she came wasn't an option, so she continued to walk, trying to find her bearings and make sense of her tumultuous emotions.

It was dark and cold, and she wasn't properly dressed, lacking a warm sweater. Her nose turned red, and her face and ears stung from the biting chill, but she didn't stop walking. She suddenly remembered she had her phone in her pocket and, without breaking her stride, she pulled it out. She dialed the number, but the call didn't connect; the number she called was turned off. Nonetheless, she decided to leave a message on the voicemail.

"J-Jay..."

Will was overwhelmed by fear, his mind racing with countless scenarios. He rushed back inside his home to retrieve his car keys, wasting no time, and then immediately returned to search for Becca. Determined to find his sister and make sure she was safe, he set out with a sense of urgency.

Meanwhile, Becca continued walking along a dimly lit street, too afraid to stop and ask for help. At this point, even if she wanted to, she couldn't return to Will's house, as she was unsure how to find her way back. Eventually, she came upon a bench in a park that seemed relatively safe, with a few children and their mothers nearby.

With trembling hands, she retrieved her phone from the back pocket of her jeans and called Hailey's number multiple times, but there was no answer. Frustrated and desperate, she decided to send a text:

Hailey, I need you. Please, call me

Becca quickly noticed a man approaching her, which instinctively made her stand up and call Hailey one last time.

"Hey, girl!" The man continued walking toward her at an accelerated pace. "Are you alone?"

Once more, there was no answer on the other side of the line. This time, however, Becca decided to speak to the voicemail. Her voice trembled and cracked as she cried out of fear, "Hailey! Hailey! I really need your help..."

The stranger was now just a few steps away from her and made a gesture as if he was trying to take her arm. In a panic, Becca screamed at him while still on the call, "No, get off!" She then began to run once again, desperate to escape the approaching stranger.

After several minutes of wandering around, shivering from the cold and filled with fear, unable to stop crying, Becca found herself standing beneath a well-lit area outside a small store where a steady flow of people passed by. She retrieved her phone once more, but her heart sank when she realized the battery was dead. Cursing her misfortune, she felt a touch on her shoulder and startled in fear.

"It's okay, honey," a woman's voice reassured her. "I'm not going to hurt you. Are you okay? Are you lost? Do you need help?"

However, Becca was now too paranoid and frightened to trust a stranger. She took a few steps back, her guard up.

"Okay, okay, don't go. Don't worry," the woman said, trying to be reassuring. "I'll call the police, and they'll help you get back home, okay? I'll stay here with you."

But as soon as the woman briefly took her eyes off the young girl, Becca seized the opportunity to slip away and disappear into the night.

"Did you find her?" Natalie inquired, even though it was only Will who returned to the car. He was overwhelmed, his stress and anxiety apparent as he sat on the entrance stairs, his elbows on his knees and his hands on his face. His girlfriend knelt beside him and rubbed his back in a soothing manner. "She'll be back soon."

"Are you sure? She's a 12-year-old girl wandering the streets alone at night. She's never been out alone!"

"She must be hiding somewhere, like in a game. She just wants to get your attention. Give her time."

Will couldn't bear the waiting any longer. "She's anxious, stressed, and sad. She was crying her eyes out. She must be frightened and cold right now. And it's all my fault," his voice quivered as he spoke. Will ran his hands over his face in frustration. "We should call the police," he suggested.

"What? No!"

"It's been three hours now!"

"If you call the police, Jay will find out about this!"

Determined, Will stood up. "He'll find out anyway."

Natalie continued to resist, "...and we'll have the entire Intelligence unit here. Is that what you want?"

"Actually, yes, Natalie. I want every cop in Chicago looking for my little sister, if that's possible!" 

The 21st district was empty, the only sound filling the station was the echo of footsteps ascending the stairs. Jay was the first to enter the bullpen, followed by the rest of the Intelligence detectives and officers, all dressed in their tactical gear. He was the sole individual in plain clothes, and he looked thoroughly exhausted.

"Good job!" Voight patted Halstead on the back. "All of you. Now, go rest. The paperwork can wait until tomorrow. These punks aren't going anywhere." Before retreating to his office, the sergeant turned back to address Jay again. "Take a day off, you've earned it."

"Thanks, Sarge," Jay acknowledged.

"Alright, it's 10:40. Still time to head to Molly's to celebrate," Adam announced to the room. "First round's on me. Who's coming?"

They all accepted the invitation, including Hank from his desk.

"Jay, you coming?" Kevin inquired when he noticed Jay hesitating.

"No, I'll pass, guys. I'll just shower and go straight to pick up Becca. She must be losing her mind after a week with Will," he quipped with a smile. "If I hurry, I can still be the first one to wish her a happy birthday."

[jackalproject]

Good afternoon everyone! It is time once again for another update post. Are you excited? I hope so. Sorry for dropping it so late, I forgot to download my files and. Yeah. So there’s not much here, other than the once’s I needed. Oopsie.

I’d like to open this post by introducing my new collaborator, @bat-luun He has been helping me a TON with the backgrounds, and is a complete life saver, as well as an extremely talented artist. I’m so happy to have him, both as a friend and as an artist. He has done the Bonus Content banner for the post, when it goes up tomorrow. Go show him some love!!

On a somewhat related note, we now have a twitter account for the project! I personally have not used twitter in heaven knows how long, so I’m realering the ropes haha. The @ is jcklproject, in case you want to give it a follow there.

Before I get into the juicy details, I’d like to thank you all for your patience with me, and request that you hang on just a liiiitle longer. I am participating in the Sonic Big Bang, which I have just entered crunch time in. The project is SIGNIFICANTLY longer than I anticipated, and I have until the 25th to get it done. I am working hard on it, and if it comes to it, I may have to put this project on a little bit of a hold to finish it. Only until the 25th, though, and I will still be working on it! Keep an eye open on my main account for the project in June, when all of the works go up. I’m very excited, and while its not jackal related, I think it will be a ton of fun ;)

Anyway, lets get on to the good stuff.

TEST COMICS: Scripts complete, Issues in progress

PART ONE: Script complete, final concept art in progress

PART TWO: Scripts begun

PART THREE: Storyboard in progress

SCHEDULED RELEASES: Test Comic Issue Two, late May.

This coming test comic is a little beefier than the previous one, rounding out at about 7 pages total, and with a whole two pages worth of scripting! I once again remind you all that progress will go much quicker in the summer, as I will have my own computer at that point, more free time, and my portion of the Big Bang will be over with! Thanks for your patience <3

(Also, this issue ain’t SHIT compared to what’s coming down the line. Weeps.)

Here, have a frame! And a link to a silly post I made that you may have missed!

Sorry for the brief update, again, so heres a bit of a cut concept! In part two, Finn was supposed to break into Gadget’s house later in the story to request assistance with… something :). And this is how that was supposed to play out.

Your honor they’re really funny. But it was cut in favor of something arguably even funnier, and you’ll all know it when you see it, as it takes place right after the introductory issues lol

Niko out <3

If you have any questions, feel free to shoot me an ask.

[michaelasworlds-blog]

DADDY’S GIRL

(Preview)

This is meant to be Bean’s story, it takes place in the same time period as “Fawning for You” by @nkirukaj however this is Bean’s story so ya know it’s mostly from her perspective.

~~~~~~~~

Oregon, 19XX

He had been watching her for a week now, where she lived, where she went to school, and hung out with her friends. She was beautiful and he had to have her..

One late afternoon he finally got up the courage to go after her.

Now here they were, in one of his sheds, “Can't Smile Without You” playing on the record; She was chained to a medical bed crying over Barry Manilow.

“Please! Please let me go! I won’t tell-”

“Shh!” He gagged her with a cloth. Listening for a moment he started to hear a child talking to themselves, the man rolled his eyes. “You couldn’t have waited at least an hour,” he glared at the girl still crying. The man grabbed a syringe, before walking to a closet across the room. Opening the door, a little girl was playing with a black baby doll.

“Daddy!” She smiled up at him. “Look the baby not sleep!” she showed him the doll.

“Uh oh,” he grabbed the doll. “I have to teach a lesson.”

“Oh no! Can I come out now?” The little girl asked.

The man picked her up, “Not until you’ve had your nap young lady, you know how you get when you’re cranky.”

“Awe…” the toddler pouted.

“Yeah, I know,” the man also pouted before sticking the syringe in her leg. His daughter slowly fell unconscious, he dropped her on the floor of the closet before closing the door; “Now! Where were we?” He picked a pair of pliers walking over to the medical table.

“Please..please let me go, I won’t tell anyone,” the girl on the table cried.

“Shh…” he rubbed her head. “It’s okay, I’ll let you go I just need a favor”

“Okay, fine whatever you want,” she smiled sort of relieved.

“Say ‘ahh..’ ” he pried her mouth open before putting the pliers in.

She screamed.

(I will probably start writing sometime today or tomorrow, and start posting it next week on here and on Ao3, also check out all of @nkirukaj stories, she post on here, Ao3 and Wattpad I believe)

[jikookuntold]

Hi! I appreciate your takes a lot, please can you share your opinion about this situation. Hope you saw Jungkook last Wlive which he did between Friday-Saturday night, at 2-3 am. Jungkook said there “I don’t have nothing to do to tomorrow. I will just work out tomorrow” then we know that JK spend Friday night before this Wlive at musicals with Tae and Wooga, and later on Saturday night he spent bowling with Tae. Two nights in a row he chose to spend with Tae. Ok. Whatever. Maybe Jimin was busy, right? But no, today Jimin said this: “ it would have been great if all the members could go together, but because we all busy with our individual work. But I'm still in the middle of preparations so I had time (other translation says *spare days*) in those few days after various film shoots and it happened to be on a weekend and Hoseokie-hyung also had a day off, so we went together.” So I have many questions here and confusion. Their stories contradict themselves, JK said he was totally free on Saturday, while JM said other members were so busy they couldn’t join even if he wished. I think JiHope visited Jin in the early afternoon, while JK fall asleep early in the morning (he woke up at 8 again, said he was tired and would want to sleep some more, it’s unknown if JK slept more). Soooo there’s several questions, and to be honest they don’t advantage jikook much. Just from following the situation: Jimin isn’t updated to JK’s life and didn’t know he was free that day? Or Jimin just didn’t contact JK and didn’t invite him for some reason? Or he lied that all other members had working schedule that day so others would look good in public eyes that they didn’t join? On the other hand. Did Jungkook just declined to go to JIn because he had something more important that day (bowling with Tae and and before spending morning on Wlive just chilling and doing nothing)? Or JK was just not invited by Jimin? And then again I don’t think JK lied that he was free on Saturday, he or Tae decided to spend lovely night bowling together. He was definitely free I think. So the following question is the most important one that bothers me: Why would a couple chose to spend their precious day off completely separately with different people? And that happened when finally their schedule would align (after one partner was busy with job), they what didn’t miss each other…plus while one of them doesn’t know the other one was free, and the other one was spending two days in a row with the same person, prioritizing that friend over his allegedly lover…how does it make sense? Maybe I missed something and didn’t understand it and drew some incorrect conclusions, and you would be kind enough to say where my logic lacks because honestly …it is confusing

ps sorry if i double posted, I didn’t understand if it was sent or the site dropped

Your confusion and the essay you made out of it comes from a little mistake in calculations. You forgot that waking hours for a normal grown up human being is at least 16 hours per day, and they can do multiple activities at the same day, like having schedules (not necessarily Hybe-related things), working out or going to musicals, or bowling or eating outside, and still having spare time left. And the bowling didn't happen last Saturday, the photos are from November.

Also you forgot that boot camps don't accept visitors at night, so what if Jimin wasn't lying or covering for anything and JK actually had important business during the day? Or JK just had things to do but didn't want to spoil and just said he will work out?

You see? There is no need for overanalysing or writing essays or calling anyone liar or calling a resurfaced friendly hang out from four months ago "lovely". Just chill ❤️

[serenevulpine]

Stray Kids Bangchan: I Know Who You Are Too

Part One

It’s late afternoon and you’re at a local cafe working on Stray Kids edits for your TikTok. You were supposed to meet a friend here and you’ve been waiting for a while. Your phone goes off and when you read the alert, it’s a text from her saying she’s at a coffee shop on the other side of town and you realize that you picked the wrong one. You grab your coffee and run to the door crashing into a guy wearing a mask. As you collide your coffee spills all over him, soaking his shirt.

“I’m so sorry! Let me help clean you up,” you say as you grab some napkins and start dabbing at his shirt. You blush a little bit as you can feel how firm his chest and stomach are underneath the shirt and you drop your hands to your side embarrassed.

He laughs. “Naur, it’s really fine.” He has an Australian accent mixed with something else. His voice seems very familiar to you but you can’t quite place it.

When you finally meet his eyes, they look familiar as well. “At least let me buy you a coffee to say sorry. My name is [Name].”

“I’ll let you buy me a coffee if you let me buy you dinna,” he replies smoothly. “I’m Chris.”

You feel your face flush again. “Okay.” You buy him the coffee and write your number on the cup. “Here’s my number. You can text me whenever but I really do have to go. Nice to run into you, Chris.”

Chris laughs at your joke as you head out and thinks to himself I don’t think she recognized me. He puts your phone number in his phone and meets up with Han.

Han’s eyes widen in surprise when Chris shows up. “What happened to your shirt? You’re soaked. You’ll have to change before the interview.”

“A cute girl spilled her coffee on me. I asked her out.” Even though he was wearing a mask Han could tell Chris was grinning from ear to ear.

“Was that before or after she spilled her coffee on you?” Han asked. They both laughed and started to make their way to the interview while Chris relayed the entire story.

Later that day, you’re at your friend’s house when your phone rings with a number you don’t know and your heart jumps. “Hello?”

“Hey, [Name]? This is Chris, from the coffee shop.”

You do a little happy dance and then calmly say “Oh hi Chris!”

Your friend gives you two thumbs up and mouths “Very cool”.

“Are you free tomorrow night for that date you promised me?” he asks.

“Yeah, that sounds great. Where do you want to meet?”

“I'll text you the info.”

Your friend watches as you end the call and then roll over on the sofa giggling. “You’re pretty excited over a guy whose face you haven’t even really seen.”

You look at her and shrug. “He seems really nice and he has really nice eyes. Do looks really matter all that much?”

“I guess not. Let’s hope he doesn’t ask for your social media. He might get jealous over all the Stray Kids videos you post” she laughs.

Rolling your eyes you throw a pillow at her. “He probably doesn’t even know who they are.”

The two of you brainstorm over outfits and conversation topics before you go home.

The next day you slog through work, unable to focus. It had been a really long time since you’ve been on a date so you were more than a little nervous. You get off at five and race home to get ready and be at the restaurant by 7:00. You manage to arrive at the restaurant a little early and the host seats you. You text your friend to let her know that you’ve arrived safely. You look around for him but realize that unless he’s wearing a mask, you probably won’t recognize him. The minutes tick away and anxiety starts to kick in. What if he stands you up?

A few minutes later you see Bangchan walk through the door. Your jaw drops and you start to reach for your phone to text your friend when you see him smile at you and wave. You look behind you and there’s only a wall. You can feel your face flush as he walks toward you. How could you not have recognized his voice or his eyes? You’ve only spent the past seven years staring at them!

He sits down across from you. “Thanks for waiting, [Name]. I got a little lost.”

“It's fine” you mutter

“So I’m guessing you know who I am,” he says with a smile

You grin sheepishly. “Well, I do now.”

“So what do you do?” he asks, trying to break the ice.

You tell him your job and then, without thinking, add “I’m also a content creator.”

“Oh? What kind of content?”

Just in time the waiter shows up to take your orders.

After dinner he offers to walk you home and you graciously accept.

“So you like k-pop?” he asks.

“Yeah, actually Stray Kids is my favorite.”

Chris grins, “So am I your bias?”

“Well, it would be really awkward right now if I said no.” He seems surprised by your answer and you slap your hand to your face. “Sorry, I can’t always be responsible for what comes out of my mouth.”

He laughs. “No, you’re really funny. And really cute.” He stops on a street corner and leans in to kiss you on the cheek. You misread the signal though and turn your face so that your lips meet. He backs away, surprised for a moment.

“Oh wow, I’m so sorry. I just thought…” Before you can say anything else, he leans in and kisses you again.

You aren’t sure how long you stood there but an older lady passing by on the street coughs loudly and the two of you break apart.

A few days later and you haven’t heard from him since the date. Your friend is at your apartment, listening to you freak out about it.

“I can’t believe I blew it so badly. He hasn’t called or texted in three days. I must be a complete joke to him.”

“Well, at least it’s now instead of when you tell him that you make edits of them on TikTok” she laughs.

You throw a pillow at her as your phone rings. You see it’s Bangchan trying to Facetime you.

“Hey, sorry I haven’t been able to talk to you. I’ve been really busy with work.”he says apologetically.

Felix pokes his head in frame, “He hasn’t stopped talking about you though.”

Chris pushes him away and laughs shyly. “Listen, I have to fly out of town today but I wanted to talk to you before I go.”

“Oh, how long will you be gone?” it’s hard for you to hide your disappointment.

“Just for a few days. We’re doing another interview.” He takes a deep breath like he’s preparing to say something important.

Just as he’s about to say what it is, Felix and Hyunjin start horseplaying and Hyunjin falls into Bangchan and the phone screen goes black.

[mizkit]

new blog post: inspiration has terrible timing

new blog post on https://mizkit.com/inspiration-terrible-timing/

inspiration has terrible timing

I was very tired last night, and had a HUGE amount to do today, so went to bed at a very sensible hour, ~10:30pm.

I then utterly failed to sleep for 90+ minutes.

Shortly after midnight, having tossed and turned and gotten up to pee and to make sure my son had done his Pokemon for the day so he wouldn’t lose the 20 day streak he was aiming for for a task, I finally thought I was comfortable and worn out enough to sleep.

And the first line of a new book, a project I’ve been developing the synopsis for but couldn’t figure out how to start writing, dropped into my head.

Me: …maybe I’ll remember it… Experience: no you won’t Me: MAYBE I WILL THIS TIME Experience: no you won’t Me: BUT MAYBE…okay, fine, maybe if i just get this sentence down it’ll trigger anything else i think of when i listen to it tomorrow…

I got my phone, voice recorded the first line (not a great way to tell stories, for me; i have no practice at it), put it down, rolled back over.

The next few lines fell into my head.

Me: …maybe I’ll remember it… Experience: no you won’t Me: THIS IS WHY I RECORDED THE FIRST SENTENCE THO Experience: i mean it’s your funeral Me: BUT…okay, fine.

I recorded a few more sentences, badly; they were far better constructed in my head than they were when they came out of my mouth. I put the phone down and rolled back over.

Another two paragraphs arrived, unbidden.

FINE, I said, I’LL JUST GET UP AND TYPE IT, IT’LL COME OUT BETTER THAT WAY ANYWAY

Yes, said Experience, serenely.

So that’s what found me staggering downstairs at twelve thirty in the morning to type up the first 600 words of a new book.

Husband, alarmed, visibly thinking am I in trouble?: everything ok? Me, groggily, seizing my computer and lurching to another room to work: book. words. in my head. won’t shut up. have to write them down to keep. Husband, relieved: oh ok, good luck

WHY can inspiration not strike at a quarter to two in the afternoon on a day I have nothing particular planned, instead of in the middle of the night before an INCREDIBLY busy day?!??

[antisocialxconstruct]

some GC writing I'd been on the fence about posting because [vague static sounds] but I think it provides some important context for the other thing I want to post... tomorrow, maybe. So:

5.3k, Maksim reacts poorly to Ilya saying extremely normal things (aka Maksim Experiences The Horrors). Nothing really to warn for here... some brief extremely oblique references to why Maksim has issues with physical intimacy.

This takes place after Ilya's "conversation", and before the interrogation.

---

The first time he told Ilya where his apartment was they laughed. "So do you ever eat," they had asked, "or do all your payouts go into the rent?"

And he had simply explained, "I got lucky. They were running a deal," and left out the skull-splitting migraine he nursed for two days after manufacturing that deal in the mind of the property manager.

Ilya still wrinkled their nose at the thought of whatever upper-crust snobs he must be surrounded by, and assured him (unprompted) that he would never have to worry about unannounced visits because they wouldn't be caught dead in a neighborhood like that. So it's a relief to see them standing very much alive in the hallway, albeit bristling and out of place, but it is equally a curiosity. At least they kept their promise that it wouldn't be unannounced. [Where are you] had been an unexpected enough text to receive at two in the afternoon that he’d followed up immediately.

>[Home]

[Boring. Door #?]

And he’d told them, and half an hour later they were on his doorstep.

He wants to question them, or at least rib them a little for debasing themself enough to set foot in Oceanview, but this is an uncomfortable intersection of two very different sides of his life and he also wants them out of view of any prying neighbors. Before he says anything he steps back and beckons them in with a tilt of his head.

Ilya doesn’t immediately volunteer an explanation either, hovering only a few paces past the door as Maksim retreats back to the couch, where his manhunter lays field stripped and half cleaned on the coffee table. He spares them another glance as he sets about wiping down the frame, saying, “there’s no one you need to impress here.”

“This is so weird,” Ilya muses, turning in place to take in his living room before finally meandering closer to his place on the couch. “It doesn’t even look like anyone lives here.”

Maksim blinks, looking up at them again with a puzzled scowl. He sits back to gesture at himself, at the gun and the kit in front of him, a wordless statement of little more than I’m literally sitting here.

Ilya snorts. “You know what I mean. It’s… I don’t know, sterile?”

“It’s clean,” Maksim volleys back. “I don’t believe you came all the way here just to judge my decor.”

“No…” Ilya’s gaze begins to wander again, and now that Maksim is watching them more closely he suspects it’s not just the unfamiliar surroundings making them tense. There’s something in the way they’re holding themself, the way their eyes dart back to him and then flick away again… a question hanging in the air between them. Eventually, somewhere in their nervous inspection of his space, they find it. “Did anything… happen last night? I had the weirdest conversation at the bar, after the run, I haven’t been able to shake it.”

Maksim cants his head, giving them an analytical once-over. By now he knows what a noteworthy ‘conversation’ at the bar entails, but he also knows the extent of Ilya’s resilience. Still there’s an impressive bruise sprawled across one side of their jaw, fresh enough to stand out dark against their tan skin and telling the story of at least one blow that would have been heavy enough to lay out someone with even marginally less chrome. He drops his attention back down to his original task, turning his attention to the barrel and spring assembly as he says, “weird enough to send you home with quite a headache, I assume.”

Ilya manages a laugh and a nonchalant roll of their shoulders in spite of their obvious discomfort. “I mean it was nothing I couldn’t handle. One suit and some muscle, way too far from their own turf.”

“How far?” Maksim prompts, a smile flitting across his own features as he fits the manhunter’s slide back together. Ilya’s tension was starting to leak into the room, he’d rather keep them on a subject they’re comfortable with.

“Man, I don’t know,” they say, exhaling a sharp puff of air. “Sounded like UCAS somewhere… east coast, maybe?”

And the smile gets wicked away as a chill pours itself down Maksim’s spine. He doesn’t look up.

It could be a coincidence.

If it was, why would Ilya come to him with it? What are they angling at?

The manhunter comes back together with the soft scrape of metal on polymer. He steals another glance at them without moving his head, and both the initial unease and the subsequent brashness are gone, replaced by a look he can’t interpret in the brief moment he has to examine it.

It can’t be a coincidence. They know what they’re doing.

“I can’t imagine what they would be looking for in California,” he remarks.

“Actually the suit was asking about you.”

Maksim grits his teeth, hoping it doesn’t show on his face the way those six words just turned his stomach. The silence settles too fast and too heavy between them, punctuated only by a hollow click as Maksim points the newly reassembled pistol at the floor and pulls the trigger. Racks the slide, does it again.

Calm, controlled. Everything operating as it should.

It was only a matter of time until they tracked him down again, he knows that. It’s a bad sign that they’re close enough on his trail to know they could get to him through Ilya… They’ve never tried anything like that before, but then he never stayed in one place long enough to have contacts before. It’s a worse sign that Ilya is here now, holding this over him, waiting for… for what? For him to negotiate? To beg? There’s no reason to panic yet, though. He can salvage this. And if he can’t… He slots the magazine back into place, sets the manhunter down deliberately on the table in front of him, and finally looks up to meet Ilya's gaze.

“What did he offer you?”

Ilya's poker face is at least as good as his, but he catches the subtle hint, the furrowing of their brow as their gaze darts to the gun and then back to him. Not quite unease… confusion? This is a gambit they’ve seen before, they should understand what he’s signaling. I’m not escalating, but I’m prepared to. Their voice sounds uncharacteristically hesitant as they ask, "does that matter?"

Maksim takes in a slow breath through his nose, exhales as he rolls his eyes. "Of course it matters," he says, with all the patience he can muster. "You don't have to be coy about this, if I can beat whatever they're offering you I'd rather-"

“Maksim.” There’s something in Ilya’s voice that stops him short, some tone he doesn’t think he’s heard before. Not from them. They’re wearing the bemusement more openly now, but underneath it, he thinks there’s something else. “Did you think I was shopping for a better offer? I’m not just gonna sell you out like that.”

That’s not what he was expecting, and for what feels even to him like an uncomfortably long moment Maksim just stares. He figured there were only two ways this conversation could go, but they’re already off-script. Something… shifts, a thin fissure opening up between the calm and control he'd weighed himself down with. Some sort of unnamed discomfort bubbles up out of it and he tries to swallow it back. “Why…?” he asks, and he hates the way he can hear his own voice waver.

Ilya frowns, furrowing their brow and cocking their head at him like he’s speaking gibberish. “Because we’re a team…? I don’t… is this a problem?”

The discomfort continues to well up into Maksim’s chest despite his efforts to bury it, congealing into a sort of dread, a certainty that something is wrong. A problem. This is a problem. “Yes,” he blurts and winces, instantly regretting the honesty as his eyes fall searchingly to the floor as he presses the back of his hand to his mouth. He feels sick, like the dread is going to spill over, viscous and far too real. Ilya’s chuckle in response is brief and uncertain, and when Maksim holds their gaze again, whatever they see in his expression evaporates that momentary attempt at mirth.

“Why? I’m… I don’t get it.” 

No more than a second’s hesitation. He drops his hand back into his lap. “Because I-” but this time the answer breaks apart on Maksim’s lips in a burst of self doubt. Because I thought we both agreed that was the arrangement. Because it’s what I would do in your place. It’s this thought that ricochets back out of his subconscious, twisted into a question he doesn’t want to answer, and his next breath comes short and quick, accompanied by a sudden stab of fear.

Wouldn’t I?

It only takes that momentary uncertainty for the dam to break on the terrible reality of the situation, for all the other inevitable questions to come flooding in after it. Did the dynamic change? When? What signs did he miss? Where do they stand now? What is Ilya expecting of him? How has he failed them already? How does he get out of this?

A wave of lightheaded nausea crests over him and he leans forward, trying to ignore the sensation that he’s about to pitch himself off the couch onto the floor. The horror pooling in his chest is hardening, crystalizing, jagged against his ribs as it presses the air out of his lungs. Elbows braced on his knees and thumbs pressed to his temples, he stares hard down at the pistol in front of him. Not with any sort of intent, simply because it’s the easiest thing to focus on that isn’t Ilya. It’s the only thing in his immediate perception that seems stable. The next words he speaks come out small and strangled. “You need to…  can you leave?”

He doesn't look up but he can hear Ilya take a step closer. "Look, if you just tell me what-"

"Ilya, can you just leave?" he says again, a little sharper, a little louder this time. He's well past the point of being able to construct a better counter-argument. He has to fight back the temptation to dig a telepathic hand into their brain and make them leave, whether they want to or not. If he didn’t already feel like he was going to be sick… Instead he appends the request with a single word. "Please?"

Maybe it's the fact that he’s begging that settles things. Maybe it's the way he keeps involuntarily flexing his claws, fingers laced together over his brow so he can feel the carbon fiber tips pricking against the backs of his hands. The silence stretches out into several long, uncomfortable seconds before he finally hears Ilya turn, retreat to the front door without a single word more, and step out. The door latches softly behind them and the only company Maksim has left is the sound of his own ragged breathing.

What is this…?

What this is, is bad. He’s been on the run for over two years, dodging repercussions for something he still firmly maintains he didn’t do but never managed to shake off anyway. Something that broke some part of him, permanently warped his relationship to his own body. He doesn’t even know for sure who’s coming after him, what kind of retribution they’re looking for, he only knows that they’re persistent. He can’t run any further west than San Francisco, and if they kept up with him through three different territories it won’t matter if he starts going north or south next. They’re close, practically breathing down his neck, and they’re playing by different rules now. Rules he doesn’t know and can’t defend against.

And right now he can’t worry about any of that.

Because right now the problem is Ilya.

This… this has happened before–the confidence, the certainty that he understood the parameters of a relationship and was working within them, and the gut-churning elevator drop of realizing all at once that he was wrong. When a girl in his teen social circle had declared to the rest of their friends that they were dating he’d gone along with it, did all the things he understood fell under the label of “boyfriend,” and six months later when she justified cheating on him on the basis that he didn’t take her out enough for it to be a “real” relationship, he conceded and assured her they didn’t need to be in a fake relationship either. When an artist in Rostov had become enamored with him, he’d agreed to steal away to the studio whenever he could to play the role of muse, and after a year and a half when the artist confessed he had never once felt that Maksim was truly “present” with him despite their time together, he apologized for wasting the man’s time and then stopped showing up. After the army he’d spent the better part of his travels across Europe in lockstep with a fellow hitchhiker, only for them to become irate at being rebuffed when they tried to act on the “signals'' Maksim hadn’t been aware he was sending. By then he had concluded that the only safe way to navigate any encounter was to project outward what he had always felt but internalized as an inappropriate response to new people–flat, passive disinterest. The last time a fellow runner had remarked on how much ze valued their friendship, and wondered if Maksim might ever want more out of it, he had been quick to clarify that he had never thought of them as friends.

It’s difficult to say how long he sits there, bent forward on the couch and floundering in the mire of his own thoughts, but by the time his heartbeat and breathing have leveled out and he feels like he can move without fainting, the afternoon light has fully given way to the soft rusty hues of a California evening.

He stands, unsteady at first, and shuffles away from the couch to stretch the tension out of his limbs. He needs to move, he needs to do anything else. After a bit of aimless pacing he finds himself in the kitchen, rifling through the cabinets for the unopened bottle of whiskey that a neighbor had presented as a housewarming gift, which then got shuffled away into a back corner because Maksim didn’t bother explaining to her that he doesn’t drink.

Anymore. He doesn’t drink anymore. But under the circumstances…

He uncovers it eventually, pours a couple fingers into the first glass he finds, downs it, coughs as it hits the back of his throat with a vengeance. It’s a blessing that he’s in the apartment alone, grimacing through the mid-tier burn of his first drink in two years. But it blankets his nerves enough to tamp down the burst of nervous energy, and the second shot softens the focus around the brittle edges of his thoughts just enough for him to be willing to face them again. He does the third pour the courtesy of actually sipping it as he sinks back into the pits of unwelcome self-reflection.

He always had a simple solution for this, for every fool who thought they were close when he thought he was being cold, every asshole who thought they were enemies when he thought he was being civil–disengage. Whatever the dynamic was, abandon it, let it dissolve, never think about it again. He’d never invested himself in any relationship–romantic, platonic, or work-related–so much that he wasn’t willing to end it at a moment’s notice, so if the other party didn’t like it, what did he care? He’d tried that once with Ilya already, pulled back and insisted that he had no interest in being friends, and it had rolled off their back and left them entirely unfazed. But they didn’t leave. So he had assumed they had an understanding. We’re not friends. This partnership ends as soon as one of us has better prospects. He doesn’t know when Ilya started thinking of them as a “team,” if that’s all they think, if it’s his fault again, but it should be grounds for a more final liquidation of the dynamic to avoid any further misunderstandings. And yet none of that aligns with his reaction tonight. It doesn’t explain the lingering dread, dripped down out of his ribcage to sit heavy in the pit of his stomach. It doesn’t explain why the idea of letting Ilya down, the possibility that they might want something he can’t give them, makes him feel ill.

It would be easy to remove them from his life if he really wanted to. It’s a big city, they never moved in the same circles anyway, if they stopped meeting on purpose he’d probably never see them again. He has enough credibility now that he could find another team, even if that meant finding another fixer. He’s not so loyal to Violet that he would miss em. It would be quick, it would be practically effortless… and when he tries to envision it, tries to formulate the final conversation with Ilya before they part ways for good, his chest constricts like someone’s got a vice grip around his heart.

Someone…

It doesn’t quite hit him like a lightning strike, like a tidal wave, like anything especially poetic.

Moreso it comes crashing down on him like the contents of a precariously packed closet, finally succumbing to the structural instability of removing a single item from the bottom, leaving him stunned and dismayed and with a clear, perfect view of the absolute mess laid out around him.

And it is a mess.

With a groan he leans forward to rest his elbows on the counter, runs a hand over his face, hangs his head and laces his fingers over the back of his neck. Then he quietly and very somberly tells the empty glass in front of him, “жизнь ебет меня.”

Because he doesn’t want to disengage. Whatever he and Ilya actually have, he doesn’t want it to dissolve. He just wants a name for it.

It still takes two days after the revelation before Maksim finds the nerve to contact Ilya again, and even then only through text.

>[Can we meet?]

The hour between when he sends it and when they respond feels like one of the greatest agonies of his life, no matter how many times he tells himself they could simply be busy.

[Are you sure?]

>[Yes]

He hesitates, types I owe you an explanation, deletes it. Too open ended, he doesn't know if they'll show up with questions he can't answer. He tries I'll tell you as much as I can, then It's important, scraps them both. Pointlessly ominous. What is he trying to say? What does he want them to think he's trying to say? Finally he settles.

>[Caporal, lunch?]

This time the answer comes quickly.

[I can be there at 1]

El Caporal Restaurant & Bar is one of the precious few middle grounds they were able to settle on in the time they’ve been working together. Its atmosphere is pragmatic and unassuming, far less trendy or quirky than most of the establishments in the Mission, and it’s close enough to the Haight-Ashbury slums that the staff aren’t likely to bat an eye at metahumans or anyone who comes off rougher than an ordinary wageslave, convenient for both of them especially when they’re together. As an added bonus the food is even half-decent, not that Maksim can find much of an appetite beneath his tangled nerves.

He gets to the restaurant just after 12. Enough time to linger at the front and strike up a conversation with the hostess, who’s just the right mixture of “bored on a slow day” and “afraid of looking like she’s slacking” to indulge him. Once he gets her laughing along with a joke at the expense of the management–”you can’t say that,” she giggles conspiratorially–he knows they’re on the same side, and moves on to his real intent.

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” he says, winking playfully. “Listen I probably shouldn’t keep you, and I hate to be more trouble, but could I ask one last favor?”

“Sure, what do you need hun?” her posture shifts slightly, more attentive, ready to engage the customer service protocols.

“I need your patio, actually.” He looks past her, lifting his chin to indicate the double doors at the back. “I’m waiting for a f-. A friend,” he clears his throat, pressing on before she can notice the hesitation and before he can properly wonder why the label didn’t roll off his tongue like any other lie, “it would mean the world if we could just have some privacy to catch up, if you think that’s doable.” He keeps his tone and smile bland, taking care not to weave any sort of implication into his words. Let her decide if this is some sort of back-room deal or just two friends looking for a quiet reunion. El Caporal manages to be a passable location for either one.

“Oh!” The hostess steals a glance over her shoulder, then turns back to him. “Yeah… I think we can manage that,” she says with a wink of her own. “I doubt we’re going to see much of a crowd this afternoon anyway.”

He still ends up sitting alone outside for another twenty minutes, a cigarette in one hand and the steady drum of fingertips on the glass tabletop becoming a quiet metronome behind his thoughts as he stares blankly down at the menu. Most of that time has been spent half heartedly sipping sangria and fighting his own instinct to start writing an internal script for this conversation. With his luck, it’ll veer left a few minutes in and he’ll be completely out of his depth all over again, made all the worse for the inability to let go of what he had planned. Best to speak as freely as he can handle.

Best to speak from the heart.

He grimaces, immediately disliking the mawkishness of his own thoughts, but shakes it off just as quickly when he hears the double doors open. He straightens, meeting the hostess and Ilya with the same pleasant demeanor he’d entered with. “Ah there you are,” he laughs, fixing Ilya with a pointed look when he sees the uncertainty suddenly flit across their features. “I was starting to think you were lost.”

“Well… you know how it is,” Ilya offers, doing a quick inventory of the scene and catching on fast even if the code-switching isn’t as instantaneous for them. They’re on time, but it’s obvious he’s been waiting anyway. “Traffic’s a bitch.”

“Can I get either of you anything to start out?” the hostess chirps, all professional courtesy now.

Ilya takes another second to eye Maksim’s drink, then turns to her with a light smile of their own, not quite as plastic as Maksim’s feels but a level of politeness he knows they reserve for people they don’t actually want anything to do with. “Anything you’ve got on tap with a bite would be great,” they say, then break away to take their seat as she heads back inside.

There’s a graciously short span of uncomfortable silence before she returns, sets the glass down in front of them, and then picking up on the fact that neither of them has shown much interest in the lunch menu, bustles away again with some noncommittal pleasantries.

Finally, once he's reasonably confident they won't be bothered again for a while, Maksim exhales sharply and lets the facade slip away, rubbing his eyes with his palms until it brings little bursts of color to the surface of his vision.

"Well this is... more intimate than I was expecting," Ilya comments, and when Maksim opens his eyes again he can't tell from their expression whether it was a joke, an observation, or a complaint. Either way they look at least a bit like they're suddenly doubting they were allowed to say it at all.

"I just wanted privacy," he explains, maybe a little too quickly. Too eager to justify. Then, "you... I thought you deserve to know why you were attacked."

A sharp little smile does tug at the corner of Ilya’s mouth as they raise their drink to their lips. “‘Attacked’ is giving those goons a lot more credit than they deserve.”

Maksim takes a second to study their face again. The bruise their confrontation left behind has begun to fade, purple giving way to an uneven brown of healing tissue. Several conflicting thoughts pile to the front of his mind, it’s my fault that happened to you and why didn’t you just take the deal and they’re not going to get away with that. He pushes them all away and stubs out his cigarette, then leans back to fish the pack and lighter out his pocket. He so rarely chain smokes, but it’s apparently been a week of giving in to his worst impulses.

Finally he dives in, speaking through the first mouthful of smoke. “I know people talk… there was a botched run on a CAT warehouse in New York City a couple years ago, did you hear about it?”

Ilya doesn’t respond immediately, their expression becoming slightly pinched, and when they do speak there’s a note of what Maksim would hazard to call guilt underpinning the single word. “Yeah.”

He sighs again, but regards them with newfound curiosity. “You never brought it up.”

“I didn’t see a point,” Ilya shrugs. “All I ever heard were rumors from a lot of people who weren’t there and seemed to think they knew exactly what happened.”

Maksim nods slowly, trying to fit this neatly into his impressions of Ilya, of the terms of their relationship. “Well…” he pauses to take another drag. “Ironically, I was there and I’m not entirely sure what happened,” he says this with a light, apologetic smile, hoping to convey that it’s at least partly a joke and not just a tragic confession. “But I can tell you what I remember.”

“Hey, you really… you don’t have to-” Ilya starts, but Maksim holds a hand up to stop them.

“I just think you deserve some context,” he says. Then, with a last deep breath to steel himself, he presses on. “It really should have been a milk run. There were guards at the entrance but a warehouse is a warehouse… It was a tax shelter, full of worthless art, but apparently whoever it belonged to accidentally got their hands on something real… some catholic…” he rubs his eyes, makes a vague gesture with his hand. When the word doesn’t come to him he simply presses on. “Five runners seemed like overkill to get it but Alabast was paying well enough for a five-way split to be worth it, I guess they wanted it that badly.” He pauses again and frowns down at the table, taking a moment to reorganize his thoughts, weigh out which details Ilya actually needs and which ones would be wasting their time. “Of course I didn’t know we were working for Alabast until I was in Denver,” he muses, “I don’t know why I got into such a bad habit of never asking for details.”

Realizing he’s gotten ahead of himself, he closes his eyes and gives his head a quick shake before meeting Ilya’s eyes again. “There was something else in that warehouse with us… or someone, I don’t… I never found out. But while the five of us were still trying to figure out their cataloging system, it got in-” the end of that sentence gets swallowed by a sudden shudder that runs up the length of Maksim’s spine, as if the temperature had suddenly plunged around them. He hunches forward onto the table, shoulders pulled in tight and defensive, screwing his eyes shut again as he pinches the bridge of his nose with his free hand. He thought if he just said it, simple, matter of fact, that would strip away some of the power the memory still had over him. Instead it just feels like a hit-and-run.

“Maksim…” Ilya cuts in softly, but he waves their attempted reassurance away only to backtrack a moment later.

“No, you know, you’re right, this isn’t really important,” he concedes breathlessly, his gaze wandering aimlessly across the table as he wills himself to uncoil. “The point is, it went wrong, two people died, the three of us still alive had to scrub the run with nothing to show for it, and everyone blamed me. For a couple months after that I was traveling a lot for…” he glances at his hands, idly extends and retracts his claws. “Research. Visiting showrooms. Talking to surgeons. Talking to loan sharks.” He flashes Ilya another thin smile. Another joke. Sort of. “So I didn’t know how the rest of the team was dealing with the fallout, but I know when I got back into the city one of them wasn’t happy to see me and the other was telling me I needed to get back out. I thought I’d lay low in Chicago for a while until I could sort out what happened, but when I realized even that far out I was being followed, I…” he lets his head fall back slightly, rolling his eyes up toward the sky as he shakes his head again. “I panicked. And then ran a little further every time I got a sense someone was keeping track of me. I had some time in Denver after another surgery and had the sense to do some research, until that put a spotlight on me and I had to start moving again.” He sighs deeply, running a hand over his hair until it comes to rest at the back of his neck, one finger tapping idly against the tip of the reflex trigger where it peeks out from his shirt collar. “I really thought they’d give up before I hit the west coast…”

“But no such luck,” Ilya provides, maybe just to assure him that they’ve been keeping up.

“No,” Maksim confirms with a grimace.

“So Alabast…” Ilya says the name with a thoughtful intentionality, testing the sound of it, or possibly testing it against their own knowledge. “What do they even want? Why bother with you instead of just finding another team?”

Despite himself Maksim responds with a weak chuckle. “I wish I knew,” he says. “I haven’t exactly stopped to ask. I was hoping they gave you some idea.”

Ilya shakes their head, frowning. “The suit was pretty light on specifics. Conspicuously.”

“Of course.”

The conversation hangs there for a beat as Maksim grasps for a way to tie it off. A script really would have been helpful. He wasn’t going to ask for anything, he didn’t have any plans to put forward… he just needed an excuse to talk to Ilya again, pull them back in without having to address the real question simmering between them. The fact that they’ve let him talk this much is unexpected, he had been anticipating more questions, a demand to explain his behavior…

It’s Ilya who breaks the silence. “I know this wasn’t the point but, for the record I believe you.”

He blinks a couple times. The comment draws him back up out of his thoughts but leaves him wondering if he missed something. “What?”

“About the run…” Ilya continues, only to hesitate as another flash of uncertainty passes over their expression. Then with a quick inhale they add, “you don’t have to tell me exactly what happened. I believe it wasn’t your fault.”

“Oh…” Maksim breathes, and internally he’s thinking you can’t keep saying things like that to me. You can’t keep acting like you get it, like none of this is a problem for you. What am I supposed to think? What he says is, “thanks.”

[spaciousreasoning]

Zooming the Steps

This morning’s blood sugar was up to 150, due most likely to the relative lateness of our meal after the meeting last night, which included tater tots.

We got the day started with our usual coffee and brain games, mostly of which were easy stuff for a Monday morning. While we made our cheesy eggs, bacon bits, and toast with jam for breakfast, I played some Death Cab for Cutie tunes for Nancy. Ben Gibbard, the founder of the band, co-wrote the theme song for “Shrinking,” which we really like. Nancy had never heard of Death Cab, but she enjoyed the collection of tunes from Spotify.

We made an appointment for Jan. 22 for our annual first of the year phone call and chat with the Edward Jones representative. Then we went to Albertsons for some cookie ingredients and more stuff.

After putting away the groceries, Nancy and I went for a short walk around our block, just .6 of a mile. It took just under 15 minutes at a slow pace. My left foot is not doing great. Even the slow walk brought some pain.

With Kathleen coming over to play the piano, I headed out for some solo time. I stopped at Old Crow to get a mocha, then dropped off our old toaster and some pants Nancy did not order at St. Vinnie’s. Then I took a burned out blow dryer to Best Buy, which recycles old electronics.

After those errands, I spent time driving around different parts of town, trying to familiarize myself even more with our new environs. I finally stopped by the Target on the west side of town and found a flannel sheet set that was nicer than the ones that were available at the Gateway Target the other day.

When I got home, Kathleen was still playing the piano. Or, they said, she was just starting, because she and Nancy evidently spent a bit of time in conversation.

A couple of calendars were returned by the Post Office for what they claimed were bad addresses. I asked my sister Deborah and a Tucson friend to help find good addresses for the two whose calendars were returned. Deborah said Marion’s address is still the same. I then reached Marion via Messenger and she confirmed it. I’ll be taking the envelope to the Post Office tomorrow and telling them they need to deliver this without me having to put another stamp on it.

I also got my ABRS check for the final quarter of 2024.

Another NA step group met via Zoom today for the first time, at 5 p.m. Oregon time. Michael, from the Tuesday men’s meeting, is leading this one as well. There’s also Jeremy, who lives south of Eugene/Springfield, somewhere between Roseburg and Myrtle Creek, and Tim, who lives in northern Idaho now but used to live in Alaska for many years. He and his wife are currently doing some traveling, and he dialed in from somewhere in northern California.

After the meeting, Nancy and I had leftovers from Friday night, the chicken and rice and roasted veggies. For dessert we had a small chocolate cake a friend gave me Sunday night at the meeting.

Then we streamed some entertainment, starting with the first episode of a new series, “Joan,” based on the true story of a woman who went from housewife and mother to petty offender, diamond thief and criminal mastermind in 1980s London. Then we watched another “Father Brown,” the first episode in the fifth series, which was something of a Christmas special; and wrapped the evening with the next episode in the third series of “Harry Wild.”

Having missed our usual afternoon naps, we made it to bed right about 10 p.m., good timing, given my early Tuesday appointment with the doctor to try and find out what’s going on with my foot.

[hotshotsxyz]

ur tags on this post i am LISTENING!!!

ask and you shall receive

The advertisement had seemed like such a clean solution to the sticky mess that was Buck’s problem. And it would’ve been, probably, if it weren’t for the fact that the man who’d answered it is easily the most attractive person Buck’s ever laid eyes on. 

“Eddie Diaz,” he says, holding out a hand and smiling in a way that’s guarded, but no less breathtaking for it. 

Yeah. Buck’s fucked. 

Because, see, he really needs this to work. And it’s not going to work if he can’t catch his breath long enough to shake Eddie’s fucking hand because he’s the only one who answered the ad and the barbeque is literally tomorrow. 

Buck stumbles to his feet and clumsily takes Eddie’s hand, shakes it, probably a little too hard. “Evan– er, Buck. That is, Evan Buckley, but you can call me Buck.”

Eddie’s guarded smile curls into something a little more genuine. “Buck,” he says, like he’s testing the name out. He nods to himself once, like whatever he was looking for he’s found. “That’s some story you put on Craigslist,” he says. 

Buck drops back into his chair and groans. “Before you judge me–”

“I’m not judging,” Eddie says with a chuckle, sitting much more gracefully than Buck had a moment before. “I’m just–” he pauses for a moment, considering his words before finally settling on “–curious.”

And well– if Buck’s going to convince Eddie to help, he’s not going to get around telling this particular story, is he?

So he tells him about Melanie, who wouldn’t stop hitting on him, and his boss, who has a stick up his ass the length of a golf club, and his lieutenant at the academy who’s not really relevant but who’s definitely scary and who Buck really really doesn’t want to disappoint and–

“Okay, okay,” Eddie says with a good natured chuckle, holding up his hands. “I’ll do it.”

Buck lets out a  breath that he couldn’t possibly have been holding, given the number of words he’d just vomited over the table. “You will?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Yeah,” Buck says, something a little like awe settling in chest, “Yeah, you are.”

And it– it doesn’t mean anything, obviously, that Eddie’s willing to pretend to be his date for an afternoon. It’s a transaction, nothing more, nothing less. 

Eddie tilts his head to the side and grins, a little thing that makes Buck’s heart flutter a little in his chest. “So how’d we meet?”

It’s a transaction. Buck’s brain knows this. 

His idiotic heart just needs a minute to catch up.

[ratmuffintherapy]

Our Meetings (Part I)

imagine: you and eddie are best friends, despite being complete opposites. you're completely and totally in love with him but refuse to tell him, despite nancy and robin and everyone in hawkins telling you that he feels the same about you. you just can't risk ruining that friendship. timeline: post vecna, the upside down has been defeated. everything is back to normal, eddie is not outcast anymore, he's been proven innocent. warning: part I is clean but the later parts won't be ;)

I walked through the halls of Hawkins high, weaving my way through the crowd to the Weekly Streak office.

"Hi Susan! What's up Fred!" I waved at my friends as I passed them, but no time to stop! I was on a donut mission.

I finally got to the office and swung open the door.

"Gooood afternoon loves, I have donuts!"

I waved at Nancy, who smiled at me and shook her head as the members of the Hawkins high paper swarmed around me.

"You animals!" I laughed and set down the box on the table next to me and headed towards Nancy.

"What's the story today, boss?"

"Well, we have a really interesting story about the boys' bathroom and the pile of shit that someone found in it."

I grimaced. "Nance, do we really have to write about that?"

She threw her hands up in the air, "Well, that's the most riveting thing that's been happening here! What else are we supposed to write about?" Oh boy. Ever since things settled down after Vecna, the Weekly Streak hasn't had enough stories to keep it interesting and Nancy has been pretty tense about it.

"Okay, okay," I rubbed her shoulders calmingly, "We'll find something, okay? We're not writing about... about poop."

Nancy sighed and nodded, defeated.

"Y/N!!" The door to the classroom slammed open and everyone jumped. The kids who were hunched over the donut box looked like scared rats.

"Eddie Munson! How many times do I have to tell you to stop breaking down the door!"

"Alright, alright, calm your pants Nance, I'm just here to see y/n."

"You're always breaking down the door to see her, maybe consider opening the door normally like a sane person next time." Nancy rolled her eyes at Eddie and walked away.

I giggled and walked towards him. "What do you want this time, Munson?"

Eddie strutted towards me in the cocky way that he does. "Well, pretty girl, I was wondering if you would like to join me in a little.... gathering in an hour." Eddie winked and I huffed and crossed my arms. In Eddie's words, a "gathering" was sitting around in the woods and smoking weed, which I wasn't opposed to, but he knew I had a big chemistry test tomorrow.

"Eddie, you know I can't. I can't fail Kazinsky's test tomorrow."

Eddie dropped to his knees like the drama queen he is, clasping his hands together and begging, "PLEASEEE Y/N, it's been too long since we've had a meeting! I'm desperate!"

"Oh my god, get up!" laughing, I yanked Eddie to his feet and dragged him out of the classroom. The rest of the team snickered behind me.

Outside the classroom, I smacked his arm. He grinned at me, eyes sparkling. "Why can't you just smoke without me?" I hissed at him, "Also, stop calling it our 'meeting,' people are going to think we're starting another cult! And you can't have more rumors about you spreading after what happened with Vecna."

"Come on princess, I can handle it myself." Eddie flicked my chin playfully and I pushed his hand away. What a dork I thought, desperately trying to hide my blush.

"And I can't smoke without you because that would be a sin. I haven't gotten high without you in two years!"

Laughing, I said, "Wow, codependency much?"

"Yeah, you could call it that."

"Okay, how about this for a deal?" Excited, Eddie straightened up and waited for my proposal. "You leave me alone to study tonight, and tomorrow after the game, I'll get as high as a kite with you. Okay?"

Eddie stroked his chin. Then his eyes widened and I swear I saw the lightbulb going off in his head.

"Oh god Ed, don't even--"

"How about THIS for a deal? I come over and help you study tonight and you and I get high for the entiiire weekend and I get to have YOU all to myself for 48 hours?"

"What the hell do I get out of that?"

"You get a genius to help you ace the stupid chem test, and then I get my time with my girl."

"No, Eddie, if you helped me, we'd get nothing done, you idiot."

Eddie acted like I stabbed him. "WHAT? I'd be so helpful y/n!" He began to get on his knees to grovel again. I yanked his arm.

"Okay, fine! Just don't do that again please." I gestured to the classroom where I could still hear some kids giggling.

"Yes!" Eddie pumped his fist in the air and skipped away down the hall, not caring about the people staring after him. "SEE YOU TONIGHT, YOU NERD!"

I buried my face in my hands to hide my laugh. What an idiot. And yet, I couldn't help getting butterflies in my stomach thinking about seeing him tonight.

[grimoireofhayley]

OTHERWORLDLY

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.2k

MINORS DNI

WARNINGS: Contains season 4 spoilers, anxiety, swearing, vomit, some sexual tension, graphic descriptions of Eddie being a perv.

Summary: During the final episode of Stranger Things 4 and Eddie's death, your tv started bugging out. The lights flickered, the house shook and the fourth dimension broke; Eddie Munson was in your universe, alive and confused.

A/n, I couldn't stop thinking about this idea and I'm definitely turning it into a series once my Colourful Mind story is complete (it'll have 6 parts!). I also apologize if it's short and seems rushed, it is almost 2:00 am where I live, I have twins and I'm tired... 😅 but I HAD to share my idea before I lost it or forget to post it. Editing will underway tomorrow!

Plopping onto your bed, the mattress sank, engulfing you in comfort as the satin sheets tousled around your frame, submerging you in bliss. You rolled on your side, pulling the blanket with you, reaching for your Sony controller and pressing x to continue your show; Stranger Things.

Volume two had just released and you planned to spend the rest of the afternoon in your Alien print pyjamas, snacking on Cool Ranch Doritos and binge-watching the last two episodes of season 4, mainly, to see if Eddie lives or dies.

Like every other person on this planet, you grew an unhealthy attachment to the boisterous character of Eddie Munson; dreaming of his dark-chocolaty eyes, long-curly hair and those ring-cladded fingers.

He was definitely your new obsession, knocking Henry Cavill as Geralt of Rivia from his spot as number one.

However, you were on the last episode and at the part where Eddie is on the ground, unable to move and choking on his own blood.

"I didn't run this time, right?" His words echo from the television and a knot bubbled in your stomach, tears brimming in your eyes.

"No, but you should have!" You yelled at the image.

"I think it's finally my year, Henderson...." Eddie chokes, crimson sputtering out of his mouth, "I love you, man."

Your lip quivered, watching the heartbreaking scene unfold, Dustin cried, holding his friend in his arms.

"I love you too—"

White noise interrupted the dialogue and coloured lines flashed across the glass.

You quirked a brow, frustration swelling to the surface.

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" You growled, hopping off your bed and made your way in front of the flatscreen, repeatedly clicking the power button underneath it, trying to turn it off, but it didn't work.

The TV was completely frozen on the static-like vertical rainbow that drowned the screen.

You hit the side of it, seeing if that would do the trick, but to your dismay, it didn't.

Your reached for the outlet, unplugging it. You twirled the plug around your finger, your left hand on your hip as you tilted your head, trying to figure out why your $800 purchase wasn’t working.

However, the TV soon flicked on on it's own as the lights in your room went haywire.

"What the fuck—" You cut yourself off, dropping the plug to the ground, feeling the earth beneath your feet crumble.

"Holy shit, holy shit!" You screeched, fear evident in your hues and you backed up against your bed, falling onto it.

The TV wobbled, it's picture coming back and Dustin appeared, repeating the words 'I love you too,' but there was no Eddie in his arms, in fact, there wasn't any sign of him anywhere, he was just holding onto air where a body should be.

The picture went out again, a bright glow illuminating from the box.

"What the hell is going on!" You cried, gripping your sheets as the bed swayed with the floor, you closed your eyes shut, shielding yourself from the harsh light.

...THUD...

Then quiet.

Then Darkness.

The shaking stopped.

You let out a breath, slowly opening your eyes, 'What was that thud?'

You moved quietly across your bed, not wanting to startle whatever it was that made that noise.

You peaked over the edge, eyes widening and your breath caught in your throat.

"Holy crap." You whispered, your attention on the figure who laid on the ground. "There's no-fucking-way..."

You gulped, bringing your finger to poke at the male who was on his side.

"Eddie?" You questioned, jabbing your index finger into his shoulder, startling him to his feet.

Panic washed over the tall-brunette.

He shuddered, unable to speak, confusion laced across his features.

You eyed him with curiosity; he patted at his jeans, pulled at his jacket and danced his fingers towards the wounds that were once apparent on his sides. He was awe-stricken; his shredded shirt was whole again and his blood was no longer pooling around him, staining his skin. He was healed, alive and well.

"What the—" He shook.

You coughed slightly into your hands, gaining Eddie's  attention.

His mouth hung ajar, looking at you.

"Who are you? What happened and where am I?" He flaunted questions, nausea building up, you were going to answer, but he held his finger up at you, "Hold that thought." He groaned, puffing out his cheeks, spotting a garbage pail at the corner of your room and ran towards it.

He retched into the bin, his bodily fluids filling the garbage as the faint scent of vomit swirled in the atmosphere.

You gaged, pinching your nose, eyes tearing up at the burning sensation of the stench. You looked away, emetophobia taking over.

He hurled again, "Ugh, Christ, this is the worst feeling ever.." He murmured after his episode of puking.

He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, "I'm sorry about that, uh—?”

"(Y/n), (Y/n) (L/n)." You smiled slightly, slowly turning back to look at him.

"(Y/n)..." He trailed your name, "Um, can you help me understand how I ended up... here?"  He gestured around your room, "Am I dead, what is this?"

You frowned, "I don't know how you ended up here, but yeah, you're dead, well, not anymore?" You said more of a question then a statement.

"Dead!?" He spat, shocked, he was only joking when he asked ‘am I dead,’ he didn’t think it would be literal.

"Clearly you're not dead anymore!" You reassured, waving your hands frantically. “One second I was watching you on the television, dying, the next… you’re here!” Your face flushed, increasingly becoming overwhelmed, Eddie-fucking-Munson was in your room.

“So, let me get this straight…” He paced back and forth, anxiously assessing the situation, “I was in the upside down, fighting for my life— Did you say television?” He stopped pacing, interrupting his own thought. “I was in the tv?!” He stared at you, bewilderment becoming his new expression.

You hesitantly nod, swinging your legs over the edge of your bed, slowly standing up.

Eddie felt the heat travel from his neck to his cheeks, eyeing you up and down. He didn’t mean for his gaze to linger, but he couldn’t help himself, especially when your cropped tank was just barely covering your breasts; revealing under boob.

His breath hitched as his eyes locked on the way the green extraterrestrials bulged as your nipples and its piercings protruded through the fabric; how your short-shorts were hugging you in all the right places, tightening around the folds of your slits.

He gulped, snatching his head away, adjusting his pants as he felt his cock twitch, hardening on the spot.

Your face burned and you turned around, wrapping your arms around your torso, trying your best to cover skin.

“C-Can you step out, please? I need to change.” You stammered, rocking back and forth on the soles of your feet, awkwardly.

“Uh, yeah, sure…” Eddie mumbled, taking one last glance at you, seeing your shorts wedge in between your ass cheeks and admiring the jiggle of your bum.

…Jesus fucking Christ…