#the gas has been broken in his apartment for months so hes been using his flames to cook and run the heating

[tytonnidaie]

no hate to all the bonrin in aoex fandom but I desperately need like 28yo rin who accidentally became a smoker bc lighting cigarettes with his flames was cool when he was 17 being like the black sheep of the order and sticking his nose in where it isn't meant to be bc he never outgrew his anger at the world that scorned him but by God is he gonna look for other part demon kids and shelter them where he can and give them a future. and let's assume Yukio went evil. Just for some fun ok is that such a crime

[bubonicc-writing]

The Rebound

Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem!Reader

Word count: 3194

Summary: It's been a long time since Cooper has felt a loving touch. Perhaps a little too long because he's not entirely sure what to do with you.

CW: Semi-slow burn, smut, P in V, creampies, loving on a crispy man who needs it real bad. Prob ooc because this is my first fallout/reader fic ever (sowwy)

Cooper was a hard man to break. Downright standoffish and a straight-up jackass. At least that was what he was like when you first met him. Charismatic, confident, an excellent shot, but god, was he a prick. That, though, you had gotten used to the longer you traveled together. As the months dragged on, that standoffishness started to shed from the Ghoul. 

It started with random small talk picking up between you two as you travel between settlements. For the first few months together, it was mostly silence or business talk traded between you. Who was the next bounty? Where were they last? Can you scavenge while I get intel? It was all just business. That was until one night, Cooper started making small talk between their travels. Then came the soft conversations by the fire when they settled for the night. Every week, the weight of that duster and those guns on his back seemed to lighten the more he talked to you. Then came the offered cantine of water on a scorching day. Already an out-of-the-ordinary gesture from him, more so because your cantine wasn’t empty and he was offering his for a sip.

You took it.

The small talk turned into jokes with hushed laughs between you. As Cooper drawled on, you watched him over the campfire's tip. The light it threw cast beautiful shadows along Cooper's features, and when that crooked ass grin warped his lips more and more, you felt a tinge in the center of your chest. A little candlelight flickering and quivering whenever he spoke in that long drawl. It blazed when his eyes flicked up at you, staring at you in a way that made it seem like he could see right through you. It was like he could see that candle burning just for him.

Now, when the two of you slept, you were no longer on opposite sides of the room. You both started to creep toward each other every night until you were only a few feet apart. Cooper never laid down when he slept. Instead, he leaned against the wall and semi-slouched. He’d tilt his hat downward until the brim hid his eyes. Finally, he would cross his legs and arms before drifting off. You, on the other hand, preferred your bedroll. While not much, it was still better than the barren floor or the questionable mattress they occasionally came across. 

Tonight, a storm was coming through, bringing billowing winds and harsh rain that pounded the roof of the abandoned gas station they had sheltered in. You had tried hours ago to sleep, but the chill from the wind crept between the broken boards and cracked windows. You tossed and turned for what felt like hours, unable to get warm in any position. You flopped over one more time, now facing where Cooper was slouched against a wall a good two feet from you. His brim was cast down, covering his eyes as usual, but from how still he was, you figured he had fallen asleep a while ago.

 Chewing your lip, you hesitated momentarily before scooting towards him and bridging the gap. Snuggling up against his hips and thighs, you sighed contently. He smelled of gunpowder and smoke, typical. Slumber tugged at your eyelids, and you finally drifted off within minutes.

A light sleeper for obvious reasons in this hellhole of a wasteland, Cooper had awoken the second you had touched his leg. He waited for you to settle before opening one eye halfway and staring down his brim at you. Studying your peaceful expression and how you pressed your nose into his thigh. Two rouge strands of your hair had fallen against your cheek, slightly curled at the tips.

A former version of himself would have shoved you away, telling you to git back to your side of the station. Except the current version of himself felt something swirling around in his chest. It was slightly uncomfortable but not all too unfamiliar.

It was a sensation he hadn’t felt for over a hundred years, something that longed for that little touch and craved so much more. It flopped around behind his ribcage, and he grits his teeth in annoyance.

Sighing and looking back down, he shifts gently. Bringing one hand down and outstretching two fingers, he tenderly brushes the hair strands behind your ear. With that, he recrosses his arms and sits back, eyes closing.

As the months continue, so do they, but Cooper is different at night. His expressions are somber, his eyes distant while he sharpens his knives. Deep in thought, sometimes it takes calling his name twice before he looks up at you.

“Coop, are you alright?” you ask, your eyebrows furrowed together in concern. You were annoyed when he smiled and chuckled softly, telling you he was peaches and cream. You didn’t push the matter and didn’t have to because he mentioned his daughter three nights later.

He spoke slowly, hesitantly, wondering if he should even be saying any of this to you in the first place. He wasn’t a vulnerable man, not anymore, anyway. 

He spoke, and you listened, night after night, as more pieces of the puzzle of this mystery man fell together. Under all those clothes and behind all those guns, Cooper was still just a man—an ordinary man.

“You’ll find her Coop,” Reaching over from where you were sitting at his side, you placed your hand on his wrist and gently squeezed it, “I know you will.” 

Cooper didn’t respond, but a smile so tiny it almost went missed curved the corners of his lips.

As you lay in your bedroll that night, you felt something shift against your front. Opening your tired eyes halfway, you watched through blurry vision as Cooper lay down next to you. His back was to you, but you scooted against his spine without a second thought. Resting your cheek between his shoulder blades, you closed your eyes again. 

Eventually, Cooper lay facing you. Without saying anything, he would hook your waist and tug you against his chest. Then, you would feel him resting his chin on your head. The first time he had done it, your face burned so hot you feared you might catch ablaze. If Cooper noticed, he didn’t say. No matter, you didn’t want him to stop, and you were sure he didn’t want you to, either. 

In truth, Cooper would be lying if he ever said he didn’t like the sensation of your small palms against his chest. He loved how you played with the buttons on his dirty shirt until you fell asleep.

Each night, you did the same thing, chest to chest, until finally, one night, you nuzzled your face into the nook of Cooper's neck. Soft and plump lips grazed across his scarred skin before placing a gentle kiss on Cooper’s jawline. 

Immediately, Cooper stiffened against you. You felt his fingers tracing lazy patterns on the small of your back pause. You heard him swallow suddenly, and your stomach sank as you expected him to push you away and scold you. 

Instead, Cooper cleared his throat and nestled his chin harder against the top of your head. 

Days in the wasteland dragged on usually, but the following days felt like an eternity since that night. Bounty after bounty, caps collected, and supplies scavenged, Cooper never once brought it up. Instead, he carried on as usual, which, in truth, made your heartache.

It was possible that even after all of this time, the candle he had ablaze in your chest was not mutually lit. 

What you didn’t know was that Cooper's heart had bounced out of his chest and into his throat that night. He didn’t think it was even possible for his cheeks to flush, but damn, they felt hot. It was alien; over 200 years of feeling the kiss of bullets, he had forgotten what a real one felt like. It was incredible but also terrifying.

 He had loved, and he had lost. 

The nights following the kiss, Cooper waited for you to make a move again, but you didn’t. You slept with your back to him and didn’t move when he pressed against you and draped an arm over your waist. After a few minutes, he felt your fingers intertwine with him in a gentle grip. 

The two of you stayed linked that night.

The following night, Cooper watched as you shrugged off your jacket and kicked off your boots, getting ready to sleep after a long day of tracking a bounty through the unforgiving sun. Reaching up, you released your hair from its loose bun and let your locks fall messily over your shoulders.

You half turned when you felt Cooper grab your hand. Watching him bring it to his lips, he kissed your palm and pressed your hand against his cheek.

The brim of his hat temporarily hid his eyes, but when he looked up at you, your heart fluttered. No words were exchanged as you slowly leaned forward, having to stand on your toes even to come close to his marred lips. Centimeters away, you paused, but Cooper filled the gap.

The first kiss was gentle, and your free hand came up to cup Cooper’s other cheek. When you broke away, it wasn’t for long. Reconnecting, your kisses became hungrier, and your hands on Cooper's cheeks drifted downward. Running over his neck, then his collar and chest. You worked your way down as he kissed you until you palmed at his groin.

“Wait,” Cooper pulled away suddenly, stepping back, “wait…fuck” He turned on his heels, pacing back and forth. 

“What’s wrong?” You ask, watching him shake his head and curse to himself. “Coop?”

Once he stopped pacing, he sighed and shook his head before glancing over his shoulder at you.

“I don’t think I have it in me no more, sweetheart.” He laughed softly at himself. 

“What do you mean?” Taking a step towards him, she watched as he finally turned to face her.

“It’s… been a long time. A really long time, sugar.” Too long, really, at least, that is what he thought anyway. Nobody had touched him like this since before the bombs. Nobody had loved him. The only thing he knew now was blood, bullets, and ass jerky.

“Coop,” You said softly, moving towards him and wrapping your arms around his towering frame, “let me take care of you for once.” There was silence before Cooper rested his chin atop your head and laughed. Slowly, his hands came up to rest on your hips, his thumbs dipping under the fabric of your shirt to rub at the soft skin there. 

Looking up, you place a chain of kisses along his jawline. Meanwhile, one of your hands pressed against his back snaked back to his front. There, you worked your way down again until you felt the subtle tent in his pants. You palmed it gently, drawing out soft groans from your Ghoul. He shifted in place, sliding his chin off your head and burying his face between the nook in your neck. His hips lean forward into your touch, and you purr at that.

“That’s it,” you whisper, working the top button until it pops. Next, you slide his zipper down and slide your hand inside. “I’ve got you.”

Upon grabbing his stiffening cock, you feel him tense against you, even sagging a little bit as you start to stroke. Your thumb rubs over his swollen head, spreading the generous amount of precum around. You feel it pulse against your palm, and you can’t help but smile when Copper’s breath stutters against your neck.

“Fuck darling,” He drawls, “You know how to drive a man mad.” Bringing his hands up from your hips, Cooper knots his fingers into the back of your shirt. It doesn’t take long to have him unraveling. You can feel his thighs trembling and his grip tightening the closer he gets to release. Like butter, he is melting and fast.

Each new noise you pull from him causes a feverish heat to swell over your form. Your stomach flips, and you feel your heat clench with desire. As much as you would like to keep your composure, you lean into him, pressing your forehead into his shoulder as you stroke faster and faster. 

The choked growl Cooper lets out is the only warning you get before hot fluid coats your palm and wrist. His hips lurch in your grip twice before he suddenly sags hard against your form. Finger still twisted in your shirt, he finally lets go and lets his arms swing heavily by his sides. His legs are like jelly, and it takes him a moment to stand up semi-straight, his hat slightly crooked. He looks drunk, his eyes glossy, that stupid ass grin you loved smeared across his lips.

“That good, huh?” Stepping back to give him a little breathing room, you pluck the first few buttons of your shirt open. Allowing your shirt to part and fall from your shoulders, your breasts become exposed. With your other hand, you reach down and open the first button of your pants.

“Well then,” You coo, “come on then bounty hunter.” You shimmy your pants and panties off, kicking them off to the side, leaving your form raw to his eyes. “Come and get it.”

There was no need to ask twice. Rushing forward, Cooper grabbed your hips and slammed your forms together. Your lips crashed together again and again, and you whined into his mouth, horribly needy. You didn’t doubt Cooper had seen the slick glistening on your inner thigh.

Pushing you backward, you allowed Cooper to guide you to your bedroll. Once close enough to it, he kicked his foot out, hooked his heel around your leg, and pulled it out from under you. As you fell backward, he fell with you, landing flat on his palms. Towering over you now, eyes ablaze as they drink in your beet red face and beautiful puffy pink breasts. 

“You’ve been wantin' this for a while, haven’t yah?” Lifting one of his hands and pressing it against your soft belly, he drags it down towards your heat. Without warning, he slides his middle and ring finger through your folds, running over your sensitive clit. You gasp, tossing your head back.

“Ngh! Fuck!” Looking up between your bodies, you watch as Cooper drags his fingers up and down over and over, teasing your swelling clit. “Fuck Coop, fuck!”

“Well,” He growls, “Who am I to keep a lady waitin'?” Without warning, his middle and ring finger coast downward and dip deep into your gushing cunt. The squeal that escapes your lips has Cooper chuckling. He presses deep into you, humming as your walls grip his digits. 

Burying himself knuckle deep over and over, a squelching noise is followed by each hand thrust. You lift and twist your hips from the intense waves of pleasure. Only when you feel Cooper withdraw his fingers do you flop down, panting harshly.

Through half-lidded and blurry eyes, you watch Cooper bring his hand between you. He inspects them before spreading his two fingers apart, a tendril of thick fluid connecting them.

“You get this wet for everybody else? Or just little o’l me?”

Turning your head away in embarrassment, you feel Cooper grip your chin and return your gaze to him. 

“Eyes on me.” He growls as he rolls his hips forward, running his stiff cock between your slick folds. The head bumps your clit, and for a moment, you think you see stars. Over and over again, he grinds against you, littering your chest with kisses in the meantime. 

When you finally feel him lean back and press his head against your opening, he hesitates. 

“It’s okay,” you whisper as you place your hand on his cheek and run your thumb over his cheekbone. “I’ve got you.” Sliding both arms around his neck, you gently tug him into your warm embrace. One hand rugs between his shoulder blades while your other rubs the back of his neck.

Allowing himself to lean forward, he nuzzles into the side of your neck before biting the soft flesh. 

Rolling his hips forward, he breaches and slides into you with ease. Gasping and choking out a soft cry, you feel him bury himself to his hilt. Hip connected to hip for a brief moment, he finally drags himself out. Rolling forward, the pase is slow, perhaps even loving, before your Ghoul gets hungry.

It doesn’t take long before your hips are slapping together. You can’t stop the sobs of pleasure that break past your lips with each sharp snap of his hips. Digging your nails into his shoulder blades, you feel your eyes cross when the head of his cock punches that sweet, sweet bundle of nerves.

“Oh fuck, Cooper!” Your back arches off of your bedroll, “F-fuck! I’m… I’m” The hot waves of pleasure radiating from your belly to your groin all the way down your trembling thighs to your toes are winding too tight. “I’m gonna cum!” 

He didn’t slow down and instead angled himself better to strike that little bundle of nerves that had your eyes rolling back. It took two hard hits before he felt your beck snap into a tight arch. He felt your chest bump hard against him, and your hips twisted to the right as your climate ripped you apart.

Head thrown back, mouth wide open, no sound came out of you as your climax held you prisoner.

Above, Cooper's thrusts started to become sloppy, losing their rhythm as your cunt clamped down on him spasmodically. As much as he tried to hold on, it had been too long, and you had felt too good.

Grunting hard into the side of your neck, you felt a warmth bloom in your groin as Cooper spilled everything he had left into you. He slammed your hips together, holding you in place and burying himself as deep as he could, pumping you full. The sensation had goosebumps blooming across your skin as your body finally deflated back down against the bedroll. 

With eyes half-lidded and glossy, you made out the foggy shape of Cooper still hunched over you, his chest rising and falling as he tried to catch his breath. Every other breath was a soft wheeze. Sweat had beaded on his forehead, and a droplet fell and landed on your chest.

Leaning back and sliding himself from your heat, a thick flood of cum followed. You shivered at the sensation and watched as Cooper lowered himself against your form. Resting his head between your breasts, he inhaled sharply and sighed.

Lovingly, you stroked the back of his neck, enjoying the sensation of his hot breath against your breast.

Together, you lay like that while listening to the rain from a passing storm plink against the tin roof.

When you looked down, Cooper's eyes were closed, and his breathing had finally leveled. Letting your head fall back, you closed your own eyes and smiled.

For once, the wasteland was at peace.

[trashmouth-richie]

nothing kills you slower than, letting someone go

Eddie x Fem!Reader ; Steve x Fem!Reader

W.C 6k [whoops]

A/N: I’ve had this floating around my brain for weeks, based loosely on the song “Letting Someone Go” by Zach Bryan

TW: underage drinking/ drug use, drug addiction, driving while drinking, mean!Eddie.

💋💋

Searching your bag for the soft pack of cigarettes, you push your way through the heavy metal door leading to the back of Hawkins High.

You needed a cigarette and right the fuck now. This stupid fucking town, stupid fucking people at this asshole school—you had had enough. The heat of the day was at its peak as you made it over to the corner behind the wood shop. Heavily graffitied and coated in butts and ashes, this had been your secret smoke spot for the past few weeks. It wasn’t a picnic bench in the woods where he had brought you years ago, no this spot was yours, since you had broken up last month you had to find more than a few different things to make your own.

You didn’t frequent the Hideout on Tuesday’s anymore; he made sure of that. You dropped out of Hellfire, giving away your dice to Dustin and Mike as a parting gift; the trailer park you had spent so much time in was now filled with the ghosts of memories, and any time you had bumped into Wayne at the grocery store or pumping gas, you smiled shyly and waved. Wondering if Eddie ever told him why you weren’t around anymore. Why you didn’t surprise them anymore on Saturday mornings with almost stale, day old donuts.

This wasn’t a typical breakup, he didn’t have a new girlfriend and you didn’t have a new boyfriend. Eddie had been pushing you away for weeks, unthreaded the strings of your hearts from one another and drifted apart. It wasn’t easy seeing him around school, interacting with your mutual friends who were now only his friends, waving in the hallways to you as a sort of pity, eyes casted downward when they were with him, loyal to their DM.

The sting of the breakup and the events that unfolded that night were still fresh in your mind. The way the rain fell as you fought with him in front of his trailer, both drenched to the core, his curls lengthening from the heaviness of the rain, chin quivering, shoulders sagged. The pitter sound of the drops of rain hitting his leather clad arms. Seeping through the crooks of his rings, threatening to let them slip off his fingers, wetting the tape used to make them a bit smaller.

Exhaling a line of smoke through your mouth you shudder at the memory. You didn’t want to think about that night or even him. Long legs and baggy jeans stroll beside you, you know it’s her before she even says anything, passing her the cigarette you chuckle when her blue fingernails swing down to take it out of your hands.

“I swear Ms. O’Donnell has a stick up her ass.” Robin explains, “I hope her car breaks down on her way home tonight.” She huffs and throws her back against the brick, one foot folded upwards pressed against the wall.

“She does,” you blow a cloud of smoke from your nose, “it’s sideways.”

Robin snorts, smoke escaping her lips as she exhales, “So are we going to Steve’s party tonight or are you going to bail, again?”

Your response comes slower than you had hoped, you really didn’t want to see him there. Usually avoiding any opportunity you could have of running into him.

“It’s been a month,” Robin says softly, treading lightly on the sore subject hoping not to break the ice of your fragile sanity, “besides, he probably won’t even be there.” She was right, he didn’t hangout with that crowd. The hellfire boys wouldn’t be there so why would he?

“I know… I just— if I see him with someone else it would actually kill me.” Robin knows you better than anyone, she knows how hard it has been for you. Moving through the motions of these last few weeks as if they were on film and you were just a bystander. “Three years is a long time to have it just end over an argument.” The first few days of your breakup it was rumored that he was fooling around with Chrissy Cunningham. The thought of that alone was enough to get you to miss school for a week straight. Refusing to leave your bed, holed up around your sheets like a baby being swaddled. The pain was too much. Robin had stopped by multiple times and assured you it wasn’t true. But the idea of him moving on so quickly, hurt.

“It is—you’re right.” Robin says, turning to you resting her head on the wall, “And you have every right to be upset. What he did—I’m still mad at him for the way he treated you in the end.”

“Join the club,” you mutter, wiping a stray hair behind your ear flicking ashes into the wind.

“So why not just get out and have a good time, maybe you’ll meet someone?” Her lips twist into a shit eating grin. You give her a look as if to say, ‘spit it out’, lowering your eyes to her, eyebrows raised. That’s what you loved about Robin, her emotions were worn on her sleeve and she couldn’t hide anything from you, “Okay fine! I’m like 96% sure that Steve has a crush on you, and if you were to tell him that I would deny everything so don’t even try it.”

A year ago, you wouldn’t have hung out with Steve Harrington, but since you and Robin started working with him at Scoops a few months ago, you had all gotten close. The past month you had become a recluse, only agreeing to go to places that you 100% knew Eddie wouldn’t be. Robin was the one who plucked you from your decaying shell, forcing you out into the sun, watering you like a flower watching you blossom.

Maybe getting out there and even putting on a fake smile would work. Maybe bring some happiness back into your life. “Fine, but I’m not drinking that witch's brew shit Vicky makes.”

The party was like any other one at Steve’s. Music flooded the streets, the thumping of REO Speedwagon could be heard from blocks away. Cars lined every square inch of the driveway, and the surrounding side streets. Beer cans were littered in the front yard, a very drunk Jonathan Byers was laying in the cool grass, taking pictures of the sky, red cups surrounding him and puke starting to dry on his denim jacket.

Having taken a few shots at Robin’s house while getting ready, you were already feeling yourself relax a bit as you entered the Harrington house. Steve was wearing sunglasses inside, a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips as his hair moved with the music. Surrounded by people taking long pulls from their cheap beers dancing along to the latest hits.

“Robin, Y/N!” Steve yelled above the crowd. He raises his arms above his head and begins making his way towards you through the maze of drunk underage teens. He sweeps you into a hug, pulling you in close and grinning into your hair, “you made it!”

“There were terms to her coming here ya know,” Robin stated, lifting a beer from a freshman’s hand and claiming it as her own, “no dancing, no drinks made by Vicky and no Eddie Munson lurking around.” A quick glance around calms your nerves seeing that Eddie wasn’t here, the tension in your shoulders subsiding.

“No dancing?” Steve presses, a look of fake shock on his face, “I was just going to put ‘Thriller’ on!” The three of you laugh as you look around the living room. People are packed into every corner, some making out, others swaying like bowling pins after an almost strike— trying like hell to not fall over. “Hey dickwad, put that down!” Steve rushes over to a guy in your grade and as attempting to put a lampshade on his head.

“Just give him a chance,” Robin whispers in your ear, “I’m telling you he’s got it bad, just nervous about if you still have feelings for Eddie.”

You did. You wouldn’t deny that. But those feelings weren’t reciprocated. Not anymore. He had made that clear the night he broke it off. Saying he was going to be too busy for a relationship, that you needed to move on from him, find someone else. He was leaving Hawkins and not returning.

Steve returned with the lampshade, setting it down in the corner as he grabs your hand in his, rubbing your knuckles softly with the pads of his thumbs. “And as for Munson? He won’t be here, I promise.” A smile breaks on his face as he pushes his sunglasses into his hair. “Come on, let’s get you a drink.”

The kitchen is oozing with the smell of spilt beer and strong liquor. The countertops are sticky like candy—a half assed attempt of cleaning has napkins stuck to them like cement. People are crowded around the kitchen island concocting mixed drinks of pop and various liquors, a game of tippy cup is being played in the dining room. “Pick your poison,” Steve says above the crowd, gesturing to the array of drinks on the counter.

“Personally, I wouldn’t touch the punch, Vicky emptied more than half of the liquor cabinet into it. Byers had about three cups and hasn’t been seen since.”

You laugh and a grin spreads across Steve’s face, “we saw him on the way in actually, he’s laying in the front yard, taking pictures of the sky.” You grab a beer off the counter, cracking it open, suds surrounding the aluminum top of the can you slurp them up and tilt it back into your mouth the iced pale ale flowing down your throat like a wheat river. Steve’s eyes haven’t left you since you got here.

“That looks good on you,” he says, taking a sip of his own beer, brown honeyed eyes pouring into yours.

You give him a confused glance, “the beer?”

He laughs and gestures to your lips, “a smile.” Your cheeks heat with a blush, you weren’t good with flirting. You and Eddie had only gotten together because you spun the bottle in his direction that summer night between 8th grade and Freshman year in Namcy Wheeler basements. Steve holds your elbow and looks at you through his lashes. Of course he was good looking, he was tall, hair always perfectly positioned, strong facial features and those dreamy honey eyes could make anyone fall for him. You smile shyly at him and take another sip of your beer. “Wasn’t sure if I’d ever get to see it again,” he whispers into your ear, pulling back closer than he was before.

Steve had known the ins and outs of your breakup just like Robin had. You had spent countless nights sitting on the floor of Scoops sampling the flavors while you delved out the inner workings of why Eddie did what he did. You were heart broken, no other way to say it. And it had hurt Steve to see you so low. You had done your best to avoid Eddie entirely, and Steve would do anything to try to help.

“Yeah,” you say quietly, looking down at your shoes and back up to Steve, “I wasn’t sure either.” Maybe it would be easier to get over Eddie if you just moved on from him, finding comfort in someone else, even if just for a night.

“I, uh— can’t believe he’d be that stupid.” Steve says, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck. Your brows knit slightly together as Steve continues moving a strand of hair from your face, “Eddie I mean. Cause if you were mine, I would never let you go.”

A shy smile tugs at the corner of your mouth as you look up at Steve. Those nights at Scoops had made you all closer, the three of you spilling your guts about relationships gone bad, secret hookups, etc. Not in any of those nights did you put together that Steve liked you more than a friend. Usually you were too busy daydreaming about a time where Eddie was still yours, still the sweet Eddie you had known and fallen in love with. Now he would hold his head high above yours in the hallways, never even glancing your way. You search your mind trying to remember if Steve talked about any girls during that time but you can’t think of any.

“Oh come on Steve, you don’t mean that,” you shake your head, Steve gently placed a finger under your chin positioning your face towards his.

“I mean it,” he says sternly with a hint of softness, “I care about you, a lot.” His eyes show sadness, your stomach flutters at his words. Maybe it’s the alcohol making this easy for you, or maybe it’s the way he’s staring so deep into your soul your whole body is tingling, but you feel safe with Steve. You can’t help yourself when you lean into him, licking your lips slightly and closing your eyes.

“Jesus H. Christ Henderson, why the hell are you making me do this?” Eddie huffs as he jumps out of the van and stomps up the sidewalk to Steve Harrington’s house.

“You’re the one who kept saying you were bored,” Dustin says, “listen I know you’ve never hung out with Steve before, but once you do you’ll see he’s a pretty cool guy.” A mouthful of braces smiles up at him.

Hellfire had ended early since none of the boys could defeat Eddie’s sadistic campaign. They were out of Doritos and Family Video didn’t have any new releases this week. “Yeah I doubt that,” Eddie scowled. He was finding it more and more difficult to be happy this last month. He thought breaking up would push him in the right direction of where he wanted to go, leaving Hawkins for good after graduation, getting a record deal, maybe. But so far all he had was one more failing grade before he was held back, again. He was annoyed beyond belief, hating himself for being so naive.

Agreeing to go with Dustin so he wouldn’t get himself into trouble, Eddie walks faster to the party, his Reeboks squeaking beneath him. Dustin makes it to the door first, “should I take my shoes off or should I leave them on? There aren’t any shoes here, are they somewhere else?”

Eddie chuckles at his younger friend, “keep ‘em on, easier to run if the cops come,” he says, eyes wide to scare Dustin.

“Come on man, don’t say that.” Dustin says, following Eddie as he made his way up the steps to the split level home. Maybe a few beers would help his mood. Not fair to Dustin that he has such a shitty attitude lately, the kid worships Steve so he could hangout for a bit, drink a few beers and then go home. Landing on the top step peering into the kitchen, Eddie stops dead.

Watching your lips move with Steve’s has Eddie feeling sick to his stomach. He’s convinced his heart stops beating. Blood rushing to his cheeks, this shouldn’t hurt the way it does. He had been the one to end it, the one who shoved you away. But you looked so happy with Steve. “Oh shit,” Dustin says behind Eddie’s shoulder, “uhh.. drinks? We need drinks!” Dustin pushes Eddie forward through the kitchen and out to the patio, finding the kegs, he pours two of the worlds foamiest beers and thrusts them into Eddie’s hands. “Here,” he says, raising Eddie’s hand to his mouth to get him to drink, “swear to God that’s not at all what I— ”

“Doesn’t matter,” Eddie says, slamming the beer and refilling it, foamy suds running down his chin, “I’m fine Dustin, really.” His eyes were dark with anger, rubbing his jaw with the heel of his hand he walks back inside the kitchen and grabs the closest bottles of whiskey he can find— noticing you and Steve are now gone— and waltzes back out. Throwing himself into a lawn chair and pressing his lips to the open bottle, stewing in his own misfortunes.

This was his fault, he broke up with you for no particular reason other than his own stupid ideas. You were each other's first kiss, first time, first everything. Of course he wanted to know what it felt like to kiss someone else, feel a body that wasn’t yours. But he had always considered you to be his. Seeing you lip locked with Steve was worse than a punch to the gut. Pull after pull on the bottle of whiskey, Eddie’s eyes got darker, he slumped further into the seat. He had no idea what Dustin had even been saying. The only thing he could focus on was you.

The way your hair smelled like coconuts when you were cuddled up against his chest, wearing his shirt when you slept over. You were his everything back then, he didn’t just love you he admired you, worshipped the ground you walked on. He had been regretting the breakup since it happened, but couldn’t find the heart to tell you that. He saw the way you cowered away from him at school, changing your schedule to avoid any contact at all with him, your locker used to be next to his now it was empty. He fucked up bad, but all he was trying to do was save you.

He stands up, his tall figure swaying slightly with the help of inebriation. He stumbled into the sliding door, face pressed flush with the glass, scanning the kitchen. You still weren’t in sight, but Robin was.

Throwing the door open a little harder than it should have been, it bounces slightly at the force. Eddie climbs in all legs first, “Robin! Robin!” Eddie yells above the crowd, maneuvering around drunk teens.

“Eddie,” Robin spins on her heel, a glare to her blue eyes, “you look— like shit.”

“Aww,” Eddie scoffs, “thought I was your favorite.” He takes a big swig from the whiskey, too drunk to even taste the amber liquid sliding down his throat, the burn barely there.

“You were, until you hurt my best friend, and became a giant dick.”

“Well now that just hurt my feelings Robby.”

“What’s the game here Munson, Vicky’s waiting.”

Swaying more than he would have liked and holding onto the kitchen island Eddie lets his guard down, “where is she?”

“Listen, you weren’t there. You didn’t see the way she trapped herself in her room for a week after you broke her heart. She’s trying to get over you— you can’t just pretend like you’re still her boyfriend.” Robin lights a cigarette and blows smoke directly in Eddie’s face.

“I just wanna talk to her. Tell her congrats, I’m sure she’s happy with the upgrade from Prince of the Trailer Park to King of Hawkins thassall.” He says with a shrug of his broad shoulders, leather creaking with his movements.

“I mean it— leave her alone, you already did it once, shouldn’t be too hard the second time.” Robin ashes her cigarette into a discarded cup and saunters off to find Vicky.

Eddie takes another swig, rolling the liquor around his teeth, before swallowing when he hears it. Your laugh coming from the living room. Long legs moving like he’s on ice skates with the help of the walls bearing the brunt of his body weight, he enters the living room with a frown. You're sitting on Steve’s lap, his face is nuzzled into your hair the same way Eddie’s used to when he surprised you by your lockers. You haven’t noticed him yet. Your eyes are pinched shut and you’re laughing at the way Steve’s fingers dip into your sides tickling you.

Always one for theatrics, Eddie starts to clap.

Steve’s lips are like silk, smooth and warm against yours, the taste of beer mixed with carmex on the tip of your tongue as you drag it across his bottom lip. His hands move into your hair, holding you closer to him as he slots his mouth against yours. Kissing Steve comes naturally, as if you have done this before. For the first time in weeks you feel at peace with the breakup. You hear the sliding door open and close as Steve deepens the kiss, moving his head in a slant to paint your mouth with his tongue. He tastes like cheap beer and a smidge of cigarettes and mint gum. You pull back from him, “whoa.”

“Shit, I’m sorry— just you were leaning in and I thought you wanted me to kiss you—fuck I just messed this up didn’t I?” Steve pushes his fingers into the inner corners of his eyes, you pull his hand away looking confused.

“No,” you giggle, holding Steve’s hand in yours, the other pressed against his chest. “It was good, great even— I haven’t felt like that in weeks,” you admit to him, “don’t apologize.”

A grin tugs at the corners of his mouth as he brings you into a hug, kissing the top of your head and wrapping his large hands around your back, moving them across your shoulders as he ushers you to the living room where Robin and Vicky are dancing. Steve pulls you into the couch with him, whispering into your ear about how pretty you are, how long he has been waiting until you were ready to say anything. The sweet gestures make you blush again and again. When he asks to take you out for a date tomorrow night you tease him.

“I think I’m busy, yeah definitely busy.” A sheepish grin lands on your face and Steve’s face goes from concerned to mocking mad as he tickles your sides you squeal and use his full name as if that were to somehow deter him away from you. A noise is growing louder in the living room and it’s not the music— is someone clapping? You slowly open your eyes and take note of the very drunk barely standing Eddie Munson making his way towards you, eyes black as tar a look of maniacal madness plastered on his face.

“Well well, what do we have here?” Eddie slurs as he steps cautiously towards you. Steve stops tickling you and moves his face away from your hair, you can hear his heart beating against his chest as he moves you off of his lap and onto the couch, protective hands on your legs as puffs out his chest.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, panic rising from your chest.

“Well I just thought I would wish the happy new couple many years of blissful togetherness, looks like I missed the knighting ceremony— sorry about that.”

“Eddie, you’re drunk,” Steve interjects, “let me take you home”

“Not really my type Harrington,” Eddie says, looking only at you, “ ‘m not leaving until she talks to me, alone.”

“Come on, man. You’re making a scene and she’s uncomfortable.” Steve places a hand on your jittering leg squeezing it tight to let you know it’ll be okay, a gesture that Eddie doesn’t miss.

“Oh is she?” A false expression of concern clouds Eddie’s face, “how dare I? Turns out,” he says, inching closer and dropping down to stare into your eyes, your eyes burning from the aroma of whiskey on his breath. “I know how to make her very comfortable when it comes to that, isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

“Fuck you!” You yell, slapping his face.

“Now now sweetheart, poor Steve doesn’t need to hear how vulgar that mouth can get, you usually leave that for a second date at least right?.”

Steve stands from the couch and is toe to toe with Eddie, both fuming. You try to shove your way in between them before they start swinging. Luckily Eddie stumbles backward creating space between them, you turn to Steve just as Dustin runs into the living room, holding Eddie back as he grins wildly, shoving devil horns onto his head and throwing his tongue out.

“I’m gonna go talk to him Steve, he’s clearly just upset, I’ll be okay. I promise.” Steve gives you a look of concern, his eyebrows knitted together.

“Be careful.” He says, eyes glaring into Eddie’s from across the room. You press a kiss into his cheek and squeeze his hand.

“Let’s go,” you scowl, grabbing Eddie by the elbow and dragging him out to the front yard.

“Ow!” Eddie whines, “Christ, cut it out, babe!”

“Okay first and foremost, enough with the pet names, they were cute when we were together but they’re not now, so knock it off.”

Eddie salutes you like a soldier saluting his lieutenant.

“Secondly, what the hell is your problem?”

“My problem?” Eddie preens, “what’s that supposed to mean? I don’t have a problem, I’m just a, a concerned friend is all.”

You scoff, “we are not friends, this is the only conversation we have had since you dumped me that night, and look at us—we’re fighting again! Last I knew you hated my guts, so don’t come at me with this ‘concerned friend’ bullshit because it’s nothing but a fucking lie.”

“I don’t hate you.”

“Really? Could have fooled the fuck out of me when you made me quit Hellfire and told me to stop showing up to your shows. You forget they were my friends too! Did you even tell Wayne that we broke up? Cause every time I see him he looks more and more confused as to why I’m not around!”

That hit deep. “It’s not his business who I’m fucking.”

“So that’s all I was to you, huh?” Tongue in your cheek ready to slap his stupid perfect face, “You’re un-fucking-believable!”

“You look good tonight.”

“Shut up Eddie— don’t fucking start with me. I can’t believe you have the nerve to show up here and try to make an ass out of me, in front of my friends!” You poke a finger into his chest and glare up at him.

“Oh, now look who’s all high and mighty, well I’m sorry, your excellency, to interrupt the clever mind of King Steve—but I didn’t come here to fucking win you over. Dustin wanted to be here so I drove him. I didn’t even know you would be here! First person I saw was Steve Harrington and he was all over you. So yeah, it hurt to see you move on with someone else.”

“I’m only doing exactly what you told me to do!” You can’t help the tears from falling, “or did you forget that part?” You close your eyes remembering the way his mouth moved the way the rain fell against his leather jacket, how it felt sticking to your shirt soaking you to the bone. “You were the one who told me to find someone else, so I did, just so happens that you were around to see it happening. We aren’t even dating— that was our first kiss.” You wipe your tears as they fall, pulling away from Eddie as he tries to mimick your motions, his hand falling down to his jeans.

“You fucking think it’s easy for me to see you with him?” Eddie asks, looking at you through his lashes, “I felt like someone shot me in the chest when I watched him kiss you.”

“What did you expect? Me to wait around for you after you basically told me to go fuck myself?” You yank at the hair closest to your scalp, pulling in frustration, “you dumped me Eddie! Not the other way around.” You’re yelling at this point, so beyond pissed off that he’s making this seem like it’s your fault for the way he acted.

“Did you act like it was me? Wish it was my lips on yours instead of him?”

“Grow up, Eddie.”

“Oh come on baby,” his voice dripping seductively, “don’t you remember what it felt like to have my lips on your neck,” he sweeps your hair off your shoulder, “or when I was between your legs, making you come with my t—“

“Don’t— do not finish that sentence! You think insulting me while you’re hammered and a half ass apology is going to fix what you did? Think the fuck again.” You turn on your heel in a huff and try to head back into the house.

“I know your body better than any tweedle dick in Hawkins ever could, sweetheart.”

“God you are so fucking infuriating! Here you are again, acting like I ended this, like I was the one who ripped your heart out that night and stomped all over it. Leaving you to walk home in the rain. I fucking hate you Eddie Munson! I hate everything about you— now leave me the hell alone!” You turn on your heel, huffing as you walk the sloped grassy hill past a blacked out Jonathan Byers.

“Baby please,” Eddie has you by the waist pulling you closer to him. “Please just hear me out, I’m sorry, okay? I fucked up. That’s the only thing I’m good at is fucking everything up. I’m sorry I said those things when we broke up—I’m sorry for being an asshole tonight. I just—seeing you with him, letting you go— is a pain I’ve never felt before. And I’m sure the bottle of whiskey I drank isn’t helping that.”

You fish in your pockets for your keys, realizing Robin drove, “Give me your keys, I’ll drive you home.”

Climbing into the driver's seat of the clunky hunk of metal, you are met with the all too familiar scent of him. The cheap cologne you gifted him for his birthday last year, Marlboro reds, the spice of his deodorant that he kept in the glove box, all hitting you at once. Turning the key you press your foot to the accelerator to give it a little oomf to turn over.

“You gotta give it a little—”

“I know. Not my first time driving it.”

“Sorry, forgot I guess.” The van roars to life and you flick the lights on, Eddie is leaning with his head on the headrest, one long leg thrown across the dash the other stuffed under the glove compartment. You speed down the road, heading towards Forest Hills Trailer Park. Silence is golden but not if you’re Eddie Munson, “remember when you almost fought that guy at The Hideout?”

A chuckle breaks from your lips sighing at the memory, “he was talking shit about Corroded Coffin, specifically you.”

“He was at least 6ft 8, 400 lbs, a fucking caveman,” a smile forms on his mouth, showing his pearly whites, “he could have easily beaten up the entire bar, and you just stood there poking him in the chest giving him an earful.”

“And I’d do it again, too.” you smile widely back at Eddie.

“I fell in love with you that night,” he admits, “I already knew I was but that just put the nail in the coffin for me.”

Your smile fades at the memories of Eddie once being in love with you, being yours.

“Can I ask you something?” He blurts.

“You already did, but go on.”

“Why Harrington?” He’s facing you eyes droopy with drunkenness as he fiddles with a lighter. “Out of all the ass clowns of Hawkins, why him?”

“I told you, we aren’t dating, we just kissed. We got close after the— a month ago, and— why does it matter?”

“Easy..”

“No, I'm being serious. Why does it matter to you that much?”

“There’s road construction up ahead, take it easy!”

“Don’t change the subj— “

“Fuck! Fuck! The bridge is ou—”

Eddie wakes up a week later in the hospital. He suffered a concussion and broke his right femur, 4 broken ribs and a broken nose. His spleen had ruptured as well. Doctors thought he wouldn’t wake up due to the severity of the accident. The first thing he asked about was you. Dustin couldn’t tell him. He tried but when the machines hooked up to Eddie started beeping and he started ripping IV’s out of his arm— the nurses ran in to push more pain meds, making him drowsy again.

It was Wayne who ended up telling him what had happened. The van nose dived into the creek bed, the van’s exterior was nothing compared to the jagged rocks and old slabs of concrete at the bottom. The force of the fall crushed the front of it like a pop can. Ambulance crews from 3 counties came to assist with the crash, nobody on either crew had seen anything like it before. He was lucky to be alive, Wayne had said.

“Wayne— don’t bullshit me, where is she?”

The warble of Wayne’s lower lip was enough answers for Eddie. He shook his head until a headache blurred his vision. He threw anything around him he could get his hands on, ripping every single IV out of his arms, punching the cast on his leg, screaming until his lungs gave out and his ribs ached even more. He was sedated. Sent to the psych ward where he was kept on an involuntary 72 hour hold. Refusing to eat, refusing to talk to anyone. He was released into Wayne’s care. Roane County Hospital was thankful to get rid of him.

The Hellfire boys visited, each giving their condolences. Heads hung low like the dwarfs from Snow White after she bites the poisoned apple and is in a death/sleep limbo. Robin and Steve came next, offering to take Eddie to see your headstone. The ride home was quiet as Eddie’s tears fell silently. A red eyed Robin rubbed Steve’s back as he put his head in his hands. “I’m sorry.” Eddie finally said, “I didn’t mean for this to happen, I— ” his voice breaks as he clutches for sanity.

“It’s not your fault,” Steve muffled through his hands, “it was an accident Eddie, could have happened to any of us.”

Eddie’s grief wore him down, he barely left his room, his senior year came and went, returning to school was too much for him, the anxiety creeping through his veins surging panic anytime he was somewhere you would have been, should have been. If only he had drove that night, maybe he would have been dead instead of you. He would gladly take your place, nothing here for him, you had friends, family.

He found the only solace he could.

“I don’t usually make house calls but I guess I’ll do it for you Munson,” Rick croaked into the phone.

The high was fast, his breathing evened and he fell asleep quickly. The addiction was even faster, hitting him like a freight train against the rails, he was a shell of his former self.

One night it went too far.

The taste of grease coated fingers in his mouth jars his eyes awake, vomit fills his mouth as he hurls all over the shower. The beads of water beating down on his chest as Wayne places his fingers into his mouth again, making him puke again and again, the long coiled cord of the telephone dragging and bouncing across the bathroom linoleum as Wayne holds the receiver with his shoulder wedged against his ear.

That was eight years ago. A night that scared the absolute shit out of Wayne Munson and aged him at least 15 years. Eddie had been sober since that day, making a vow to himself and to you to live for the both of you. He did escape Hawkins, taking Corroded Coffin to the top of the billboard charts, and making Wayne quit that God awful factory job and go on tour with him, never to lift a finger for anyone but himself again. Tonight was the anniversary of your death. Corroded Coffin was performing a memorial show in your honor at the Hideout.

Eddie addresses the crowd, “this is for the sweetest girl I’ve ever known, she’s gone but never forgotten, living on through the people who knew her and loved her…” a teary eyed Steve wipes his eyes beneath his glasses, holding Nancy tight against him, resting his head atop of hers. “…sweetheart, this is for you.”

[disease-danger-darkness-silence]

I am.... Tired.

My ex-husband is slowly dying, and I'm actually really fucking sad and broken up about it. I sobbed when he signed his DNR. Kenny and I made our peace over the last year or so and while I still have some resentments and a LOT of trauma, I've let most of the resentments go because... Frankly, I don't think most of what he did was deliberately malicious. He's the DEFINITION of the Happy Squirrel card in the Alleyman's Tarot - he has a thought and he does it, zero thinking or planning involved. I just got caught up in his bad choices, unfortunately.

His body isn't evacuating CO2 like it should so he's slowly killing himself via gas poisoning. His kidneys are trying to keep up like champs, and their function is phenomenal right now so he has a minute before he goes. That's what'll get him in the end, most likely - kidney failure. So he has anywhere from four weeks to two years, but most likely four months. If we're lucky, he'll make it to August 31, his birthday.

He apologized, profusely and honestly, because he is dying and wanted to get that off his chest. I almost laughed because I didn't need it, but he did. I'd... Forgiven him already, I'll say, although that's not quite the right word, but it's what I used because it's the closest this whore language has. I thanked him for the apology, told him that, and then told him that that wasn't what I was there for.

I've been helping him with his paperwork and end-of-life preparations, and I've been helping my daughter. He lives with her and she refuses to let him go to a hospice facility - she wants him to die happy and peaceful at home. She's become his primary caretaker. She had to quit her job to do so. I'm her respite, so I take care of him when she needs a break or has to run errands.

Raven and I found an apartment complex in Red Rock, about 5 minutes from Adrienne's house, that's only a grand a month. I don't really WANT to move to Reno, for a lot of reasons, but I need to be nearer my kid while she deals with this. So while we have a gofundme going on for Adrienne to deal with shiz and buy things hospice can't provide, I'll probably need to do a lil' one for moving. *sigh* When I'm not up there, I'll be down here in Carson, throwing shit out, cleaning, and packing.

I'm gonna call them tomorrow and find out if they take HUD housing. Raven can qualify for HUD-VASH and that would help us a lot. Nation's Finest would help us move in by paying the deposit and first months rent. We just have to sign up with the Reno one.

It would be short-term. There's also a better job market in Reno, so I could work in a dispo again. I'd love that. I miss it.

I'm just so fucking tired. You know? So tired, all the time.

[ausetkmt]

and if you want to sing along -

"Ghost Town"

This town, is coming like a ghost town All the clubs have been closed down This place, is coming like a ghost town Bands won't play no more Too much fighting on the dance floor Do you remember the good old days before the ghost town? We danced and sang, and the music played in a de boomtown This town, is coming like a ghost town Why must the youth fight against themselves? Government leaving the youth on the shelf This place, is coming like a ghost town No job to be found in this country Can't go on no more The people getting angry This town, is coming like a ghost town This town, is coming like a ghost town This town, is coming like a ghost town This town, is coming like a ghost town This town, is coming like a ghost town This town, is coming like a ghost town This town, is coming like a ghost town This town, is coming like a ghost town

Riots have broken out around Britain.

Charles and Diana are about to marry.

And backstage at Top of The Pops, The Specials are falling apart.

In a few minutes they will perform their latest hit Ghost Town, which over the years, would come to be regarded as one of the greatest British singles of all time. It was a track which bottled the discord, racial tensions and societal breakdown happening in the UK that summer.

There had already been riots in Brixton that April, over the increased use of a new stop-and-search policy, the so-called sus law, which was named Operation Swamp. Police were said to have mounted a campaign of harassment against the black community in south London.

Brixton was the centre of clashes between members of the public and the police

Terry Hall is telling the band that he too has had enough. Worn down by touring, band infighting and struggling to deal with success, he wants out. It is too difficult to be singing about disharmony, while surrounded by it, both inside and outside The Specials.

"We knew it was going to end as we were recording it (Ghost Town)," Terry Hall told Front Row in 2019.

"It was bizarre. It took about eight months to record. I don't think there were more than two of us in the studio at any point. Those weren't good signs really. It finished up with me in a living room in Tottenham singing Ghost Town. It was all over the place. But it was a great way to bow out."

The song was written by the band's founding member Jerry Dammers, but it is also the track with which lead singer Terry Hall is most closely identified. Every TV and radio report about his death has centred on Ghost Town.

The single was simply one of the most timely releases in music history.

Terry Hall performing in Amsterdam earlier this year

"Talk about zeitgeist. That one song suddenly captured so much," remembered Specials fan and Bend It Like Beckham director Gurinder Chada in the 2021 BBC Documentary 2 Tone: The Sound of Coventry.

"If there is one song Margaret Thatcher wishes never got released, it's probably Ghost Town," she added.

On 7 July 1981, Radio One announced that Ghost Town had replaced Michael Jackson's One Day In Your Life at the top of the charts.

That same day, newspaper front pages were full of reports about the first ever use of CS gas grenades by the police on mainland Britain, as they struggled to contain the Toxteth Riots. These were sparked by tensions between police and the local community in Liverpool.

By the end of the week more than 20 towns and cities including London, Nottingham, Wolverhampton, Leeds and Luton had riots of their own. The Specials were providing the soundtrack.

Amy Winehouse and Terry Hall both attended the Q Awards in 2009

In 2 Tone: The Sound of Coventry, Dammers explained how the creation of the song started with him sitting at his home organ, trying different diminished chords and working out how wailing could substitute a chorus.

"I think I wrote the music first. I was working on that for ages. The lyrics I wrote on tour just seeing what was going down around the country. It was about the recession and three million people on the dole. It's about the police harassment and unemployment. It was like a perfect storm really."

For years there has been debate over whether or not Ghost Town is specifically about their hometown of Coventry. The decline of the car industry had turned a thriving post-war economy into a concrete jungle.

Shakin' Stevens' Green Door shot up the UK singles chart

Neville Staple from The Specials has stated he believes the song should be taken more generally: "In Coventry and all over England it painted the same picture. This town is coming like a ghost town."

Terry Hall's own understanding of Ghost Town changed over the last 40 years. In 1981, when speaking to the New York Times, he insisted: "We were talking about riots in Bristol and Brixton. The fact that it became popular when it did was just a weird coincidence."

But speaking on BBC Radio Five Live in 2019, he told Nihal Arthanayake: "We made a record about how we saw the north of Britain. People think it was about Coventry. It wasn't. It was about Glasgow and Liverpool and Newcastle. It was about the north."

Ghost Town has certainly had an after-life.

When Amy Winehouse joined The Specials on stage at the V Festival in 2009, it was Ghost Town that she wanted to sing.

In Father Ted, when the priests organised a disco and the DJ, Father "Spin Master" O'Dwyer only has one record that everyone has to dance to all night, the 7 inch on repeat is Ghost Town.

West End Girls

On Desert Island Discs, it's a recent favourite, having been picked four times in the last three years: by the charity worker Claire Horton, the Director of Tate Maria Balshaw, the foreign affairs specialist Fiona Hill and the actor Rupert Everett, who called it "one of the great songs of the era".

And in 2020, The Guardian named it the second best number one single in the UK of all time, behind West End Girls by Pet Shop Boys, a song released four year later and not entirely dissimilar with the sense of urban decay which it creates.

Ghost Town is now considered to be an all-time classic, but its reign over the summer of 1981 came to an ignominious end. The day before 28 million people watched the wedding of the future King to Lady Diana Spencer, The Specials were dethroned.

The lunchtime unveiling of the charts revealed that rising 22 places to number one was none other than Shakin' Stevens with Green Door.

The band's era as chart-dominating stars had well and truly been slammed shut by Shaky. Within months, Hall had formed Fun Boy Three and The Specials in their original incarnation were over.

More than 40 years on Ghost Town stands as their defining work - the perfect coming together of pop and politics at exactly the right moment in history. It was that rarest of things, a song dealing with subjects found in The Economist while the band were on the cover of Smash Hits. Special indeed.

[gwydionmisha]

Personal: It's been an exciting four days, let me tell you.

I was putting on my seatbelt to pick up Oldest continuous friend, when the bad shoulder popped out again. this meant, of course, that the entire weekend I was in searing pain, but I'm used to that, and the upside was i could show the specialist on Monday what my shoulder is actually like these days. More on that in a bit.

The visit was absolutely lovely. We had a lot of time to hang out. The Party Saturday went swimmingly and we had a couple Millennials over for Sunday dinner so Oldest friend and the youngest two Millennials got a lot more chat time with Oldest friend than they were able to get at the party.

The one bad thing was steam started pouring out of my car Sunday while we were out and about. I cracked the hood and immediately spotted water pouring out of the side of one of the things. It was definitely water. It was too deep in for me to temp fix with duct tape. I think another hose or possibly the seal connecting a hose has crumbled. A car guy saw me with the hood up and I showed him where the water was coming from, and it wasn't anything he could solve without taking it apart either, which was what I suspected.

I spent all the money catching up bills after the three (3!) car emergencies I had last spring. except for a few dollars left in my wallet, what little else I had for the month is earmarked for auto-withdraw bills, etc.. It is now a November problem. The car is dying, but I can't manage without it and I will never be able to afford replacing it. Sigh. I had enough gas in my car for the month, but now I must work out how to buy Squirrel gas to replace what I'm using for medical stuff. He's still behind on bills from his car emergency last spring and has now lost his job. Makes me wish they'd let me sell blood, but I'm on too many meds, even with the blood bans lifted.

People watching on tumblr would have seen mostly pre-programmed activity because I was either busy or exhausted, so non-social time was mostly spent asleep or petting cats.

Tavy had the Best Time. He got the Quiet Man Cleaner Friday, who he let pet his head a little without attacking him despite the excitement of bed linen change. He remembered Oldest friend despite long separation. There were lots of visitors Sunday all of whom he enjoys.

Bonus: The Cats were given an exciting new toy for my birthday in the shape of a coffin, containing ghost mice they can fish out through the side holes. This toy is perfectly designed to cater to both Tavy and Livia's interests and they have been taking turns going to town on it.

I hung out with OCF for a few more hours Monday before dropping them at the station, then went to see the Ostio about my arm which is deteriorating badly despite daily physio excercises.

The Backstory; At some point in 2019 I woke up with my shoulder joint fucked. I kept trying to find ways to unfuck it. No dice. It wasn't healing, just getting worse. Eventually, I'd lose power to it and drop things leading to scaldings, other injuries, broken things etc.. You know, like my legs, which is from arthritis damage to my hips and spine.

So when that started happening I tried to take it to my doctor, but the pandemic had hit, so there were delays. She and I both thought it sure looked like the arthritis was attacking my shoulder joints. (The other shoulder had it too, but much more mild and manageable.) so she sent me to an osteo. cue more pandemic delays. I got an older white male doctor, who did a cursory examination and insisted that there was nothing mechanically wrong with my shoulder. The arm was simply atrophied and that was causing the pain that pre-dated the atrophy, presumably via a time portal, rather than the atrophy being caused buy the pain and the arm not working so I couldn't use it for much, even though my theory fit the facts and cause and effect. So I got referred to physio, which took awhile to get because pandemic.

I got a bunch of exercises I do every day unless I have an injury, like the damage from Friday's dislocation. They did really help the left shoulder. It's still damaged, but mostly holding steady. My right plateaued for a while and I got some use back, but as the physio did not fix the underlying cause that was making me lose power to the arm and causing all that pain, it started deteriorating again. Despite not being atrophied anymore. it's almost as if there were something mechanically wrong with the joint and I had not in fact done this to myself by spontaneously deciding to mostly not use my dominant arm for no reason, and is if cause and effect were still in operation. Huh.

Monday's Doctor was my ageish. We did the usual wow your arm is fucked tests and got a bunch of x-rays and I bet you'll never guess what is wrong with my shoulder joint. I have serious arthritis in that shoulder, which we would have known back in 2020, if the other osteo had listened to me and believed in cause and effect and didn't assume I was lazy because he was too lazy to properly examine me. Bonus! after four years of not getting proper treatment and reinjuring the shoulder over and over and over odds are good my rotator cuff is borked too. So we need to schedule an MRI so they know which joint replacement surgery to do and how to sort out the rotator cuff situation.

It's not that I enjoy surgery. I fucking hate it, but I've known for a couple years the joint needed replacing. I figure the surgery can't hurt that much more than it already does right now. Shoulder rehab will suck, but at least I will be getting somewhere with it instead of doing extremely painful physio that periodically injures me while it continues to deteriorate. So progress of a sort.

Squirrel has lost his job and needs about $800.00 for bills and food for a month. They are an old RL friend and my roommate. https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/Squirrelmh

My car has broken yet again and I owe Squirrel gas now: https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/Gwydion

[dameronology]

scenes from a modern romance (tasm!peter parker)

summary: everyone has stupid arguments, but it's hard to stay mad at peter parker

warnings: language, mild angst. this is honestly just a catharsis for the stress of being in ur 20s.

this is based on the song therapy from tick, tick...boom! which stars the wonderful beautiful talented andrew garfield, hence, this is for his peter parker. spoiler free, of course. enjoy

- jazz xx

New York was a tiring place. No matter where you went or how fast you walked, you couldn't escape the people. They were everywhere; on the streets, in the bank, blocking the aisles of every goddamn shop and oozing out the subway. Nobody moved to the city with the intention of it being an open and peaceful space but man. After a long day of work at a diner - filled with spilled coffee, angry customers and the clogged-up air of heat fryers and grills - the last thing you wanted was to deal with that. With people. So many fucking people.

Even the hallways of your apartment building were filled with them. Your elderly neighbour was dragging her five dogs out for a walk (it explained the smell in the hall, at least) and there was a group of teenagers smoking something much stronger than tobacco in the stair-well. Your grocery bag ripping a few feet from your front door was the final straw.

"Peter!" you let out an exasperated sigh as you kicked open the door. "Did you not hear me calling from the hall?"

"Huh?"

Your boyfriend stuck his head up from the sofa, soft tufts of hair sticking up in a million directions and brown eyes tired with sleep. You'd clearly ruined his nap - not that you had much sympathy for him. More like jealousy.

"My bag..." you trailed off, deciding it wasn't worth it. "Don't worry. Can you just help me unpack the shopping?"

"Yeah, of course," Peter hopped up, over to the kitchen in a flash. "Man, am I happy to see you."

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you back against his chest. You didn't mean to ignore his affection, but you just wanted to get shit done and pass out on the sofa. You could be all over him then. That meant for now, if he wanted hug you, he'd have to awkwardly shuffle around the kitchen whilst attached to you. To no-one's surprise, that was exactly what he did.

Peter pressed a kiss to the back of your head. "The oven broke again by the way."

"Seriously?" you groaned. "That's gonna take ten years for maintenance to fix."

The only thing worse than the crowds in New York was the housing. Unless you were a millionaire, there wasn't much on offer. The estate agent had called your apartment a steal, but with its terrible lighting and thin walls, you had to disagree. It had been the first place you and Peter had got together after high school and it felt like home now. That didn't mean the real estate gods didn't test you every now and then by blowing up an appliance or bursting a pipe.

"It's okay, we can use the microwave."

"Yeah," you forced a smile. "Did you send off the cheque for the gas bill?"

You felt Peter tense up behind you. That was a no.

"Peter," you groaned, turning around to face him. Despite you attempts to elbow him off of you, he stayed pretty stuck. "I asked you to do it three days ago."

"I forgot. I'm sorry-"

" - so the oven probably isn't broken," you cut him off. "The gas company have cut us off, most likely. And no gas means no oven."

"I'll do it tomorrow," he gave you a goofy smile. "I promise."

"Yeah, okay," you let out a small sigh of defeat. He was hard to argue with.

You felt bad nagging him; you didn't want to sound like his Aunt May, but you could have sworn the boy had undiagnosed ADHD. He worked his ass off at night to protect New York, but his day-job as a freelance photographer had dried up. That meant most of the financial burden fell on your shoulders, which had been fine when it was just a temporary thing. Temporary had lasted almost six months by that point and Peter forgetting basic things you asked him to do was starting to get to you. Coming home to empty take out boxes and piles of washing up after a ten hour shift wasn't fun.

Your eyes landed on a strewn pizza box half way across the room. You let out a groan. It had flies on it.

"Pete," you sighed. "How old is that?"

"Oh, like two days," he pressed a kiss to your nose. "The one I got today is - I mean, I didn't order one today-"

"- Peter!" you groaned.

Spiderman needed to be fed. You got that. What Spiderman didn't need to do was order another fucking pizza when there was enough food in the fridge.

"I was hungry!"

"There's food in the fridge," you reminded him.

"You sound like my Aunt May," he muttered.

"And you're acting like the teenage boy that used to live with her," you shot back. "You're twenty four now, Pete."

"Thank you, I think?"

You rolled your eyes. "I mean you can cook for yourself. I'm not working fifty hour weeks to make ends meet just so you can spend it all on-"

"- I'm finding work," he cut you off. "There's just a lotta crime right now! You know how I feel about crime."

"We all feel that way about crime," you grumbled. "I'm just tired is all. Spiderman is great but it doesn't pay the bills."

Peter blinked in surprise. "I thought you liked Spiderman."

"Why are we talking about him like he's a third person in our relationship?" you huffed. "What I mean is that you need to start balancing this life with that one, because you can find a job and help old ladies cross the goddamn road!"

He almost reeled backwards, finally releasing you from his grip. Okay so yeah, that had been a low blow on your part. He did a lot more than just help get cats outta trees. He'd saved New York like...multiple times. It was just that this whole thing was either an issue of Peter being too tired from Spiderman-ing to have a life in the day, or he was using it as an excuse. You didn't know what worse, but you did know that you were tired.

You'd been in love since you were teenagers and sometimes, you still argued like kids. Maturing into an adult relationship was a learning curve.

"Yeah, well maybe we wouldn't need to worry so much about money if you hadn't spent four years at a fancy art school for a useless degree!"

Maybe you deserved that. At the very least, you had to admit you'd thrown the first punch.

"At least I went to college!" you snapped. "How's the self-employment going, huh? The last gig you had was taking pictures for our school newspaper!"

"I took photos at your cousin's wedding, remember?"

"Only because my mum got you the gig!" you snorted.

"God, you're starting to sound like her-"

"- don't bring my mother into this!"

"You brought her into this!" Peter waved his hands in the air. "So hah! I win!"

"You have pizza on your chin," you grimaced. "I don't think you do win, babe."

"At least I'm doing something I enjoy," he continued. "I'm not working at a soulless job doing work that I hate. Spiderman might not pay but hey, at least it counts for something more than wasting my time in a hospitality job!"

Peter regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. He could practically see them float from his mind and into the air - he wanted to swat them away, catch them with a net, shove them back in to his stupidly loud gob. He knew he'd fucked up. The seething look on your face confirmed it.

"Oh my god," he murmured. "I didn't mean that. I did not mean that. I am so, so sorry. You are the light of my life and I love you and I do not think-"

"- fuck you, Parker."

The next few seconds were a blur of your angry face. a middle finger, and the slam of your bedroom door.

--

Your apartment might have been shitty, but hell, at least it had a bath tub.

Once you'd soaked in there for an hour and washed off the smell of chip grease, you felt a lot better. You put on an old hoodie of Peter's and some pyjama shorts; you might have been angry at him but his clothes were comfy as hell. Maybe the fact they smelt like him was nice too.

It was hard to avoid him in such a small space, but you found an old book and curled up in the old sofa by your window. It was a nice place to sit and stew - not that you had much to think about. What you said - however insultingly - was true. You were more scared that Peter's words were as well. He knew how lost you'd been since finishing college. It felt like all your friends were going off and getting high paying jobs in their fields; starting families and buying houses. Meanwhile, you'd been at the Moondance Diner since you were nineteen years old. Your apartment had the structural integrity of a piece of lasagne and you really had no idea where your life was going. The only good thing in it was Peter - even if he had a tendency to run his fucking mouth.

After a few hours, there was a knock on the door.

"Heeeey," Peter's voice came from the other side. "Can I come in?"

"That depends," you called back. "Are you gonna slag off any more of my life choices?"

The door creaked open and Peter stuck his head around. "No."

"Then please," you gestured to the bed. "Do enter, Lord Parker. I hope being in the presence of a petty little food server such as myself won't harm you, permitting that you even let me breathe the same fucking air as you-"

"- okay, enough!" he groaned (but you could see him fighting back a smile).

He made his way over to the chair, kneeling down in front of you. He took your book out your hands and took them in his. It seemed like a good sign that you didn't stop him.

"I did not mean a single word that I said," Peter softly said. "I just knew that you were right about everything and apparently, I'd rather be a complete asshole than admit it."

You gave him a little smile. "I hate my job, Pete. I'm terrified I'll be stuck there forever. I don't know what I'm doing with my life and it freaks me out when you make comments like that."

"I know, baby," he murmured, giving your hands a squeeze. "I'm proud of you, whatever happens. Whether you wanna wait tables for the rest of your life or become a busker on the subway, I will support you. I promise."

"There's still the issue of money," you reminded him. "I didn't word it the best, but-"

"- I need to get off my ass, I know," he said. "I think I've worked out a way to get money."

Your eyebrows shot up. "You have?"

"I just sold like fifty Spiderman selfies to The Daily Bugle for $2000 bucks," he gave you a lopsided grin. "I can't say my ego is in tact but that's our rent made for the month."

"Oh my god," you dropped your head against his shoulder, letting out a groan. "Please don't turn Spiderman into a social media star just for my sake."

"I'm not, I promise," he chuckled. "I can get some more...dignified photos and sell them to legit papers. It'll put my name out there to other news sites and it'll get me more gigs."

"That's amazing," you smiled and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "That's a job."

"We'll see," Peter stood up. He pulled you up from the chair and pulled back the covers of the bed.

You both climbed underneath them - he did an awkward shuffle dance for a moment as he kicked off his shirt and jeans. Part of you half expected him to pull out the Spiderman suit in their place. He had been going out every night recently.

"So, are we good?" Peter gently asked. He rolled over to face you, pressing his forehead to yours. "I never want to go to sleep knowing we're not good."

"Yeah," you nodded. "We are."

"Perfect."

"Aren't you going out tonight?"

"Nope," Peter pressed a soft kiss to your lips. "M'very happy here with you."

You didn't know what you wanted to do with your life, but there was thing you were sure of - as long as you had the absolute fool that was Peter Parker by your side, you'd be absolutely fine.

[siremasterlawrence]

Unnerving Clark Kent

Clark Kent receives a new assignment from The Daily Planet causing him to take a week off and jet to a strange city off the map.

He lands in a darkly lit alley way checking over his shoulder right to left and back and forth.

He does a huge sigh of relief opening his arms to son equally and apart and spin

.

His clothes go flying off of him revealing his new hobo look for the story and he places his clothes in hidden panel nearby.

Removing a piece of broken glass from a damaged picture frame he quickly removes bud glasses.

Placing them in the same hidden panel then slips in to his new character forcing a smile.

Clark wonders the filthy streets filled with the homeless, the lost and some unsavory characters.

One unbeknownst to him has been keeping a close watch on him for the last hour or so.

The man waited for any cue to approach him faking being drunk he falls to two ground and of course like a idiot Clark falls for it.

“Are you alright sir?” He asks jumping to his knees and pulling him up.

“Yes, thank you” he says staring up with a huge smile then stood right up to Clark’s shock.

“Dumbass Man Of Steel, so gullible.” He says.

“Who are you? What do you want fiend“

Clark states non to happy.

“Neither, merely a friend” the man continues

bud weird speech.

“This is all for you.” He swears opening a odd box of weird colors in a amalgamation.

“What is that….no” Clark freaks out shoving him back.

“Oh yes” the man cackles boisterously cups his hand blows it in Clark’s face.

“Make it easy Superman, inhale and fall to your knees.”

Clark woke up hours later his back lying on a metal gate, feeling extremely weak against the cuffs holding him down.

Barely able to make out anything with his bleak vision from the Kryptonite lace in all things.

“That fiend, how dare he do this to me.”

“Still so proud Clark, shame full”

“Fuck you!”

“Language! No Supe should speak like that”

“I will get out and then”

“And then what?”

“I - I don’t know”

“Exactly! So zip it and shut up!”

“What do you plan of doing to me?”

“Do to you? I am here to save you”

Clark turns his head down in defiance as the man slaps him hard and he shivers.

The process is pretty easy for him mixing all Kryptonites into a simpler liquid form and use a funnel to pour done his throat.

The man thought how much fun a double dose would do and grabs his mouth pushing it open.

He forces it down his throat making him swallow it and then grabs remote from the table.

A small panel opens where he picks up a gas mask and sets tight on his face.

Using separate apparatus it’s connection to the gas tank with the same formula and he turns it.

Coughing loudly he falls to get floor gasping for air and the man howls in great thrill.

“You bastard”

“It’s only just beginning “

“I hope you enjoy the extra fun”

“First my Hypnotic pop song”

“As well as the the video for your pleasure”

“Ooooohhhh Gggggoooodddd”

Clark is subjected to countless hours of more horror till he passes out not waking till the next morning.

Flashback

Clark look up at the calendar on the wall it has been eight months he has been chain down in the basement.

He misses some people he use to call ma, pa, Lois, Lana, Jimmy, Kara and his boss.

Who are they? a single thought cost him his process sending a shiver down his spine.

The headache comes again for hours till his age peace again when the music plays once more.

He shakes his head sudden it vanishes and his mind empties again he is ready to embrace.

The door upstair on top of ten staircase swung open, this familiar steps bring a smirk to his face.

Aaaahhh! I don’t get, I am not into men, yet he does it without a word or action.

His presence wipes the memories all away and he is at peace again for the final time.

The man cups his chin feeding him and then helping him take few sips of water at a time.

End of flashback

“What the fuck?”

“Where am I?”

“It was dram”

“Horrific wonderful dream”

“Take me back, please”

“You never left”

“You are real?”

“This so real”

“You … you fiend … I love you”

The end

[inkandguns]

The end of my foray in to providing affordable housing: a rant

I left my parent's home with nothing but my car, guitar, and bag full of clothes at the age of 19. At this time the economy was pretty shitty and I was living in the suburban sanctuary city area of Chicagoland. Gas and rent prices were high and the competition in the job market was intense. Latino workers new to the area had more years of experience and more skills than any of us young kids at the time, so they usually got the good high paying jobs that didn't require college. The young spoiled suburban kids competed with one of the best labor forces that has ever been created. Being homeless didn't phase me much. I had plenty of training in living outside from the Boy Scouts (I'm an Eagle Scout), and I had a good work ethic.

Times were tough, but one of the biggest blessings during that time of my life was that I was able to eventually rent a room from a friend who had bought a small condo. Rent took up anywhere from 50%-75% of my income, and I was taking home less than 15k a year. Any time I could I would pick up work with a temp agency or friends with landscaping jobs when they needed a bigger crew. It felt like no matter what you did, someone was there to economically push your head back under water every time you caught a breather.

I would continue to live in poverty like this until I enlisted in the US Army. Fast forward to one year after my Army contract and I was buying my first home. I had continued to work in the medical field and had applied for and been granted a small amount of disability money from the VA. The housing market in Colorado was, and is totally jacked, so when I bought the house it was actually more than 50% cheaper than renting an apartment. After my ex who I had moved in there with and I split up, I moved in a couple of friends.

Things started out badly. My long term friend who I had helped out by charging very low rent to is an awful person to live with. He's cheated me on rent, negligently discharged a 9mm round almost killing me, and has broken 2 windows he refuses to fix. Additionally I had included a discount for if they could keep the lawn mowed - but this guy just wouldn't help the other one. After two months of sitting them down and talking about responsibility and team work, they still couldn't work together. So I pulled the discount and collected the extra cash from them. Things would not improve as I tried moving in different people.

I moved in a young couple. I had gone to school with the boyfriend and he assured me their stay would be short. His mother was mentally ill, and their apartment had about 3 feet of trash, clothes, and papers in the entire dwelling. Reluctantly I gave my friend a chance. It was only a couple of weeks before I caught him stealing my tools. So that couple didn't work out. They left within the first two months. Next, I took in a friend who was living in a van by the pool hall. He had some kind of persecution complex - accused me of racism, all of that kind of stuff. I let him park the van in the driveway and gave him a key to my mini-house. Eventually he would begin refusing to pay the small amount of money I was charging him. He then stole my portable air conditioner and was never heard from again.

A guy that I served with in the Army was staying at my place for free. He began using meth and started drinking an insane amount of whiskey and was eventually stabbed twice in the chest by his ex girlfriend. After his manic episodes started to get violent I had to ask him to leave. I could keep going with these stories - I have many. In the end I've only had 3 people out of about 12 live there that have been decent people. One of the worst ones was when I tried to help my meth addict friend get back on his feet. I got my notary public so I could help him get his ID, let him live in my garage for NO MONEY AT ALL. My only condition was that he was the only one allowed in the garage and that if he used meth, to do it behind the garage. After coming home too many times to people smoking meth in my garage, I kicked him out.

So clearly I've had bad experiences providing affordable housing. But what's going to happen across the market when investors realize that low income housing is just a total waste of money? It seems like every week there's another horror story from Colorado Springs about renters taking complete advantage of their landlords. The biden eviction freeze didn't help either. Without the possible threat of eviction tenants were allowed to get away with some insane shit.

The move away from affordable housing is very clear in South Downtown Colorado Springs. Older affordable housing buildings and single family homes have been knocked down in favor of expensive high rise luxury apartments. Entire families are being priced out of the city - because why would an investor rent to a random? They can rent to people based on income and ask for a very high income level. They can rent to primarily military, in which they have the JAG officials and unit commanders to go to with grievances. In Moses Lake, the town I now live next to, affordable housing came in the form of the government leaving the small Army base for the locals to buy and rent. The Base, formerly post housing, is the dirtiest and most violent area of town. There are frequent shootings and the residents admit that they in fear of the growing violence. Blessed with the opportunity to live in affordable housing, the locals have chosen to sink to the lowest level possible - turning an affordable community in to a drug filled and violent shithole.

There is zero motivation to manage, build, or develop affordable housing. So what will happen? I think within a few years we are going to see a lot of cities starting to look like Portland with people living in their vehicles wherever they are allowed to. So will the government step in and force current property owners to rent at lower prices? Probably, since most cities are controlled by big government democrats. New York is already pushing to use hotels and empty offices for those that cannot or will not find housing. Medium sized suburbs will be flooded with vagrants, their police departments unable to stem the tide. In my situation I only had good renters 25% of the time. I attribute this to people just being shitty nowadays. Laziness and dishonesty were the two biggest problems with my renters. No matter how low I went with rent or expectations of decency, people were always prepared to go lower. What kind of sane investor want to make a 25% return on investment while at the same time incurring expensive damages, dealing with law enforcement, and having to deal with the county to serve evictions? I've got my favorite renter of all time moving back in this upcoming winter. He's a good friend who has never done me wrong. He's paid on time and really respected my space. When he moved out the first time, I could barely tell there was anyone in his space and it smelled like purple fabuloso. After that I am not moving anyone in ever again. My attempt at helping people has been nothing but an abject failure. And for my parting words of this rant I'll point out the most disturbing part of this in my opinion. The most disturbing part of this to me is the low quality of people's character. Most people's word cannot be trusted. I tell my young guys that work for me this all the time: You can be bleeding, naked, and dying in the gutter and the only thing that cannot be taken from you is your integrity. You must hold on to it at all costs. If you are a man of your word it will bring you farther in this world than any amount of wealth. Being a man of my word got me the excellent start in the career field I am in now. My current boss just wanted to know if I could be trusted and nothing else. I entered the agricultural industry with nothing but the honor of my good name, which will never be taken from me.

[desicroft02]

Depressed (TW)- JJ Maybank x Fem Reader

Before I write this, it is going to be very detailed about things that are going on in my life right now, and I'm going to be relating Covid with the show, because that's where a lot of my current issues come from.. It will start off by me ranting about things happening using "I" and my name, and then it will transition into an actual imagine and JJ being there for me (but it'll be Y/N) now if that makes sense. This was really just a way for me to get things off my chest, but writing these has helped me escape reality that's why I am doing this. This is going to be upsetting to read, so please if you can't handle it don't read it. The whole thing is literally a giant trigger warning. The TW for this are anxiety, depression, self harm, alcoholism, and miscarriage

Fourteen deaths. Fourteen deaths I've had between family and friends this year. Fucking COVID-19 ruined everything. Aunts, uncles, cousins, a second father figure, and my brother in law. On top of it, my dad was thrown into jail days before my Thanksgiving. My dad who I was finally connecting with, finally spending time with. He was caught one too many times with unregistered vehicles, DUIs, carrying weed, and not having a license. About 2 1/2 months ago on his birthday, he went to the bar and got drunk and crashed into a gas station sign and ripped it out of the concrete.

He had a court date, but one night past midnight a police officer knocked on the door asking where he was, and my mom said he wasn't home. They had come with a warrant for his arrest regarding the court dates he had missed. He was going to turn himself in the day after we had our early Thanksgiving (we always do it before so family can go to other families houses). He was moving his car around to the back of the house that Sunday, so family could park in the front. The cops just happened to be driving down the road. He was also drinking that morning, a beer in his cup holder. My mom and aunt screamed at them to wait and that we were having our whole family over today. (Mind you I was at work for 5:30AM) and I didn't find this out until I had gotten home around 12.

I was torn apart. I had gotten home and my mom said "Desiree. We need to tell you something, put  your things down. The cops came by today and took your father." Tears rolled down my cheeks and I looked over at the coffee I made him with Dad❤️ drawn on it. I started hyperventilating, struggling to breathe. I then went on with my day pushing myself away from the family at the party. Fast forward to not even 3 weeks later. My older sisters fiancée died from Covid at 32 years old. The worst part? They are expecting a child in April. I wanted to be there for her but she's already terrified of Covid, and now even more. Out of all my siblings she was going to be the first to have a child.

My first time being an aunt and having a nephew. And I can't even be there for her. 2 ish weeks later is the funeral, which I go to. I walked in and there was pictures and collages of him and everyone he knew. The second picture shown when you walked in is a huge picture of him and my sister. I couldn't breathe and I started sobbing hysterically, feeling the room cave in as I tried walking outside. Once I calmed down I went and talked to my sister who was broken down and barely talking. I went to hug her but due to Covid she said "please just stay away." After awhile of talking, I walked over to his urn. I told him thank you for being such a good man to her, and that he would've been a great father. "I'll be there for them as much as I can." I had said. What a great Christmas present, a funeral a week before. My dads not here for her, and he won't be here for anyone at Christmas. I can't even visit him because of Covid, and his court date isn't until the second week of January, so I don't even know how long he will be there. I'm falling apart faster and faster and there's nothing I can do about it. The depression and anxiety medicine I was taking made me nauseous so I had to stop. I've turned to smoking and drinking as a way to cope.

———Now to JJ being there for Y/N———

You haven't been hanging out with the rest of the Pogues for the past month or so due to the fucking pandemic, and because you've been in a really bad depressive episode. You barely even saw your boyfriend JJ. You love talk talking to him about things, but you feel bad talking to him about your father because his is a piece of shit. Same with Sarah, and John B- well his dad is dead. That left Pope and Kiara to talk to about your father, but even then you just felt like a burden, so you kept your mouth shut. When it all first happened, you called JJ having a panic attack and he left work to calm you down. You told the rest of the Pogues but acted like it didn't bother you. The most you said was "It's better for him to be there than to hurt others or himself while driving intoxicated."

Whenever they asked, you just said you were doing better because he was in a safe place, being able to detox and sober up. Then, you just stopped hanging around about a week after because the new variant was spiking from the holidays, and quite honestly, you prefer being alone. Less things for your friends to add onto their already long to do list. They didn't need to help you and waste their time. They always asked "Hey Y/N, how are you today?" or "Did you want to hangout?" And then once your brother in law died, you ghosted. You told them over the groupchat, and muted everything. JJ repeatedly called you, but you didn't answer. How could this all be happening? So many deaths, and the urge to be a sort of father figure for your nephew that was yet to be born. You and JJ were so excited for him to be born. Even though you weren't married, JJ was still seeing himself as an uncle.

You felt as if there was going to be karma with having children for the rest of you and your siblings. I mean, the first one going to be born and the father dies? Not to mention the fact your sister might get so stressed she could have a miscarriage. You snapped out of your thoughts and looked at your phone. 15 Missed calls and 4 texts from JJ. You haven't seen him since the funeral 5 days ago. You told him you needed space, and you figured the rest of the gang convinced him to stay away.

Baby 9:48AM - Good morning cupcake, I love you

Baby 10:12AM- Can I come over today? Christmas Eve is tomorrow and I want to stay a few days

Baby 11:46AM- I miss you babygirl

Baby 12:13PM- Wake up love, I'm coming over. I'm so worried about you

You 1:08PM- Hi J. I love you too. And I miss you. Can you bring me a hot tea please?

Baby 1:08PM- Hi Y/N. Of course. I will be there in 20 minutes. Be prepared for cuddles, I love you.

You groaned and rolled out of bed looking at yourself in the mirror. You haven't showered since the funeral, your hair is starting to get matted, and your clothes are stained. You've been in the same sweatpants, sweatshirt, socks, and underwear. You've done absolutely nothing the past 5 days besides sleep. "Maybe I should pick up this mess before he comes over." There are piles of dirty and clean clothes everywhere, including your funeral clothes. You looked over to see the letter and drawing from your dad that arrived yesterday. He's been drawing in his cell, and he wants to buy colored pencils from commissary so he can send more. Shit, you were supposed to send him a Christmas card. You rummaged through your desk looking for some card stock, and you drew on the back of it, writing him a paragraph on the front. Your mom can send it later for you.

You looked at the time, and it was almost 1:30. JJ would be here soon, and you still haven't cleaned yourself up, never mind your room. You quickly went to your drawers, trying to find clothes to wear, and ran to your bathroom. You took your shirt off to reveal the fresh cuts from last night. You took off your pants only to reveal more. "Makeup, makeup." you mumbled looking through the bathroom drawer. "Fuck." is all you said before throwing clothes back on and going back to your room looking for some. You ran into your room almost tripping over your feet only to see a teared up JJ on your bed holding something small. "B- baby, how long have you been doing this?" he asked, holding up your razor. How could you forget it was on the other pillow on your bed.

"I. Well um." you tried saying, but instead choked up. You dropped to your hands and knees on the floor struggling to breathe. You were getting dizzy and it's probably because you haven't been eating either. JJ jumped off the bed crawling on the floor down to you, holding you. "Babygirl, it's okay, I'm here now. What have you been doing these past 5 days?" You couldn't talk, so he started rubbing your back and playing with your hair. "Y/N, lets go on your bed, come on." He helped you lift yourself up and sat you down on the bed. You looked down at the ground and he stuck his finger under your chin lifting your head up. "Y/N, I need to know what's been happening and what's going through your head. We can do it slowly, but I need to know, okay?" a few tears rolled down his cheeks and you nodded.

"Ever since the funeral, after I told you to give me space, I've been in these clothes, laying in bed." "Okay, have you eaten anything?" you shook your head no. "Does your mom know what's going on?" "No, I pretend I'm okay when she comes up." he rubbed your hands. "And how long have you been hurting yourself for?" you trembled, crying some more. "Ever since Saturday night. I started thinking of everything going wrong and how dads not here, and how my sister won't have the father of her child, and how that was the 14th death this year and how the holidays are here and everything is just fucked up." you choked out. He pulled you into his chest now, caressing your cheek with one of his hands, kissing your forehead. "I'm going to help you clean up okay? You nodded but replied "Can we do my room first? Please J?" he shook his head "No honey, you need to eat, drink water, brush your hair and teeth, and shower. I don't know how long your room will take but it is very important you eat babygirl." you huffed but agreed.

"Do you want one of my t shirts to change into after? I brought my pj pants so we can match Y/N. Remember? Our Christmas ones?" A small smile went to your face and you went over to your drawer picking them out, along with a pair of clean underwear and socks. "Lets go put them in the bathroom, and find something to eat." You went and put your things in the bathroom and walked to the kitchen. Thankfully your mom was at work. JJ was grabbing a small soup pan, and another pan to make grilled cheese. "I'm making you chicken soup and grilled cheese love. For now, you're going to try to eat half the sandwich and half a bowl of soup." He knew that was your comfort food. Back about 6 years ago, you were in your first depressive episodes, going through self harm, thoughts of suicide, and not eating. JJ was only your bestfriend then, but he was always there to make sure you were okay.

He heated up the soup, and made the grilled cheese, kissing your face all over in between, while hugging you. "Here baby, I'll eat with you." He took half the sandwich for him, and the other half for you. Soon after, pouring the soup into 2 bowls. You felt nauseous just looking at it. You took two bites of the sandwich and he smiled at you while taking spoonful's of soup. You blew on it first, tasting a few spoonful's. You sat for a few minutes letting it digest while taking three more bites of the sandwich. Only a few more bites left. You started eating more soup, but your stomach was hurting too much. "J, I'm done for now. After some tums and a shower I'll eat some okay?" you gave him a weak smile. You went into the bathroom, and saw your hair in the mirror. "We have to brush it first, and then I can shower. From the bottom up." you showed him how to brush your hair, and you did one side while he did the other.

You flinched a little every time, because it hurt, so you took breaks between sides instead of brushing at the same time. About 45 minutes later, you were finished. JJ smiled down at you kissing your forehead "I love you, I'm proud of you. You ate, and brushed your hair. Does your stomach feel better love? Do you want to finish eating" "Yes, but can I shower first? I stink." you laughed. "Do you want to do it yourself or do you want help?" You got on your tiptoes and kissed him. "Can you help J?" "Yes my love." he smiled and kissed your lips slowly and softly. You turned the water on, grabbing a washcloth and taking your clothes off. JJ got in first, helping you in. He let you get under the water, but you immediately winced from the water touching your cuts. "Baby what's wrong?" he asked. "The water, it. It hurts my cuts." you mumbled looking at the ground. He cupped your face in his hands and made you look into his beautiful blue eyes. "We need to clean them, but we can do your arms first, and then your legs. All separately, and not at once so it doesn't hurt you at the same time okay?"

You lifted your arm and he gently rubbed the dried blood off with the cloth, quickly going to the other. He kissed your forehead and held your hands. "That wasn't so bad was it Y/N?" you had some tears rolling down your cheeks, but you shook your head no. He got on his knees and started rinsing off your legs. They didn't hurt as bad a your wrists did. He came back up between kisses said "You're so beautiful." You smiled into the kiss, wrapping your hands around his neck. "You need to clean up too JJ. But, can I wash your hair?" you loved playing with his hair, and he loved it too. He washed himself up, and stuck you under the water to warm up. He scrubbed the coconut smelling shampoo into your scalp, making you lean you head back from the feeling. You rinsed it out, and he continued to stroke conditioner through your hair. Once he was done, you made him go under the water.

"J you need to lean down so I can reach your head." you giggled. He leaned forward a little and you curled his hair between your fingers before rubbing the shampoo onto his scalp. He rinsed it out and you finished off with rubbing conditioner through his blonde locks. He rinsed his hair off and pulled you under the running water with him, hugging you. "I love you so much Y/N. Are you all done or did you want to shave? I'm going to help if you do though." You looked down at your legs. You were planning on wearing a skirt tomorrow, and with clean sheets and your soft pjs, freshly shaven legs would feel amazing. "I can shave." He watched you closely as you started shaving your legs, to make sure you didn't do anything bad with the razor. Once you got up to the cuts on your thighs you looked up at him "Can you do it please? Gently. And hold my hand?" He grabbed your hands, kissing them before taking the razor and holding only one hand now. He went over the cuts and you winced. "Okay, okay. Can we just not shave over them? I want to get out." You tried rushing out, but he pulled you into a hug, rubbing your back. "Shh it's okay baby. Breathe. It'll be alright. Lets dry off."

You both got out of the shower, and dried off. He looked at the cuts on your wrists and kissed them, putting one of his shirts on you, and putting gauze over the cuts. He went down to the ones on your thighs, kissing them and covering them with gauze as well, and let you put your pj pants on after. "You're amazing Y/N. I want you to stop hurting yourself like this. Please. It's not going to help anything that's going on. I'm here for you through everything, always. So are the rest of the Pogues. It will get better." He kissed your forehead and you started crying into his bare chest. "But it's not J. It's just getting worse." "I know it is, but please believe me when I say it will get better. We're spending Christmas together, that's good right?" he wiped your tears and you smiled at him and nodded your head yes. "Can we go clean my room now?"

You walked into your room not sure what to do first. "How about we put all your clothes in basket and change your sheets?" You nodded, beginning to pick the piles of clothes up. You didn't realize how dirty your floors were. "Maybe after this we should vacuum and maybe mop. I would say dust too, but this might be enough for me today." "Whatever you want, I'll do Y/N." You guys picked up the clothes together, moving onto the sheets on your bed. "Can you get the red plaid ones out of the closet? Those are my favorite." JJ went and grabbed the sheet set and changed the sheets, putting the pillowcases on as well. "I need a small break, and then we can finish." "Okay baby. What else needs to be done?." "Um, the trash needs to be picked up, and the room needs to be vacuumed and mopped." He kissed your forehead and went on to do chores. You were getting tired and felt yourself falling asleep.

You woke up two hours later, to see JJ dusting and disinfecting everything. Your room was spotless, and your little Christmas tree was out and plugged in. "J you found my tree? And, and. It's so clean in here. It smells so nice." He walked over to you and sat on the bed. "I know how much you like a deep cleaned room, and I brought you up a water bottle, and plugged your phone in for you, it was almost dead. Your mom came home about an hour ago and she showed me where the tree was. What candle do you want lit? I'm almost done." "Well, it was supposed to be a present, but. Go look in that small box on my desk." He opened it and smiled. It was candles with the letters of your first names on them. "Light those ones." you smiled.

He lit them with his lighter and threw the rest of the dirty dusting wipes out, laying down on the bed with you. "I love these pajamas they're so comfy and I get to match with my princess." he said before pulling you into a kiss. You climbed onto him, deepening the kiss slightly. "I missed you so much JJ. I'm sorry I pushed you away. I'm so happy you're here now." You pulled away giving him a kiss on the nose, proceeding to lay your head on his chest. "I missed your touch, and the the way you smell. It calms me down. Can we lay like this for the rest of the night?" you asked. "It's okay Y/N I understand. But no more pushing me away, I need to make sure you're okay. I love you so much, and I missed you more than anything. We can cuddle, but you need to finish eating dinner. I can bring it up if you want, unless you want to go talk to mom." "No, I want to stay up here please. She doesn't know about- you know. Unless I steal your sweatshirt..." "You can have my sweatshirt love, but she needs to find out eventually okay?" you huffed, but agreed to take his sweatshirt.

He went over to his bag and grabbed it and you snatched it out of his hands, taking in the scent. You put it on and motioned for him to come cuddle again. "You need to eat more, and then we can cuddle Y/N." He pulled you out of bed and you went downstairs. He heated up the rest of your soup, and made you another sandwich, giving you half again. You actually ate all the soup and most of the sandwich this time. "Do you want to bring snacks upstairs for later?" he asked. You pointed to the bag of chips on the counter. Your mom walked in and said "Hi Y/N, did you like your surprise?" You hugged her "Yes, I love my tree. I just wish I would've taken it out earlier." "I know, but it's okay that you didn't, we're having a rough year." You talked with your mom and JJ for a bit, and went upstairs. "Do you want to brush your teeth or wait until after if you decide to eat snacks?" he asked.

"After. I want my cuddles now." you pouted. He laughed and pulled you onto the bed with him, tickling you. "J, st- stop." you laughed. He stopped and set you down facing him. "I love you so much Y/N. I'm always here for you my love." He said while tucking your hair behind your ear. "I love you too JJ. Thank you for helping me. I'm sorry again for pushing you away. I promise I'll open up to you from now on." You kissed him again and tucked yourself between his arms, entangling your legs with his. He kissed your forehead and the last thing you heard before falling asleep was "I'm so happy you're mine Y/N, I don't know what I'd do without you. You're everything to me, I love you so much."

Hi so. Yeah. I wrote this acting as if he was here for me, and as stupid as it might sound it did help. I'm sorry if some of the things I wrote were intense, but these are real problems in my life and I need a way to vent them out. If you read this far, thank you for reading, and if anyone ever needs someone to talk to my DMs are always open :)

[misha-moose-dean-burger-lover]

for @bend-me-shape-me 's SPN advent calendar 2020. prompt: phone calls and late night texts.

Cas isn't a serial texter.

And Dean's a-okay with it.

But for all that's worth, they sure seem to have a ridiculous amount of emotionally significant conversations via, or starting off as, texts. And most often, in the middle of the night.

*

>>> hello, dean. [12:07 am]

Dean jolts up at the sound, realizing he fell asleep still wearing his headphones, with the laptop on his lap (and a new episode of The Good Place playing) and rolls his eyes at himself, hitting pause before he can see what’s happening (because he has good reflexes, and because screw spoilers that’s why) and rummaging for his phone.

At this hour of the night, it has to be something important.

It doesn’t really strike him that Mechanical Engineering majors whose only other selfprofessed skill is air guitar aren't exactly the frontline warriors for midnight emergencies.

Cas's name shows up when he squints at the too-bright screen, and he sits up a little straighter.

<<< hey [12:09 am]

<<< you OK? [12:09 am]

The response is immediate.

>>> do you have peanut butter? [12:09 am]

And as if it's an afterthought, Cas adds.

>>> yes, I'm fine. how are you? [12:10 am]

Dean blinks.

<<< peachy. peanut butter? [12:10 am]

At least this time the response takes a while. Dean wonders if Cas realized it was midnight, and not exactly a time to run inventory on your best friend's stash of condiments.

>>> I ran out. [12:12 am]

Dean sighs, unable to help smiling.

It's not like he's a stranger to Cas's weird cravings when he's high. (There'd been this one time with pie and a traumatized Gas 'N Sip cashier that still sits heavy on Dean's conscience.) But he doesn't think Cas is supposed to be high right now — Dean's usually either invited or informed by an unspoken rule — which just means this is regular "jelly, not jam"-Cas, at his core a weird, persistently sleep-deprived economics major and astronomy nerd, that Dean may or may not have had a crush on for an embarrassingly long time, and who's also prone to grammatically perfect texting, deadpan, Disney references, and bluntness when the occasion calls for it.

<<< pretty sure i have some [12:14 am]

>>> :) [12:14 am]

>>> I'm coming over [12:14 am]

*

And weird as it may sound, that had turned out to be the night Cas told him he was gay. Said it had been a revelating moment, unprecedented and wholly unexpected — and apparently revelations come in pairs because it had been followed by an intense need for peanut butter, and the rest, he explained emphatically, was history.

Dean had just snorted, congratulated him, and brought out the fancier plates for sandwiches — shipped in from home instead of a sale at Target — all the while, repeating to himself in a loop, that this changed nothing between them, nothing at all, and Cas having the capacity to be attracted back to him didn't mean that he ever would be (or for hell's sake, he'd scoffed at his traitorous chick-flick-nonsense brain, is.)

*

The second time had been early — way, way too early and it was by pure chance that Dean was awake to respond at six friggin' am on a Sunday. Like, that’s practically nighttime. 

Goddamn stupidly-fit running-freak.

Dean picks up his phone blearily, tongue in cheek as he clicks on it.

>>> I miss you [6:28 am]

>>> I'd* miss you [6:29 am]

Dean's stomach twists, and he's not sure if it's in a good way, or a bad way, or what-the-sincere-fuck-are-you-talking-about way.

<<< what [6:32 am]

<<< wtf are you talking about? [6:32 am]

Nothing.

<<< cas? [6:33 am]

<<< dude [6:34 am]

<<< cas???? [6:34 am]

Dean swears at his screen, more queasy than irritated. He can't stop fidgeting, so gives up on lying down altogether and hoists himself to his feet. Better to get his friggin' toothbrush since he's already up, and now definitely awake. Cas was so paying for this later.

He comes back, mouth mint-fresh in theory but still tasting awful and of fear and dread, and practically sags when he sees his screen blare with two messages from Cas.

>>> sorry, I had to make a call. [6:42 am]

>>> I'm not taking the job. [6:42 am]

*

And that's how Dean finds out about Michael (Cas's oldest brother, entitled asshole) inviting Cas to join his and Lucifer's (second oldest, bag of dicks) firm the year he graduates — invite, of course, being a loosely used word here for expecting it blindly (out of some crap he calls 'loyalty') and being readily willing to manipulate him into it.

And it's how he finds out that Cas turned them down.

"It's not who I am anymore." Cas had repeated, third time probably, and surer than before, and Dean had nodded earnestly before realizing Cas couldn't see him through the phone, and humming his affirmation instead. "And if I go back there, I'm never getting out again."

Dean'd swallowed.

"I don't want to." Cas had said, voice trembling. "I am — my own person here. It shouldn't be like this but this is the first time I have autonomy, Dean. Here is free will, and here are you. I don't — I can't. I'm not going to let them take it away."

"Good." He'd sounded shaky to even himself. "Don't."

"Yes." Cas had promised. "I'm not going."

*

And eventually they'd moved past the heavy talk into why-didn't-I-hear-about-this-before territory, Dean being righteously annoyed at his best friend for keeping something so huge from him, and Cas making lame (but probably valid) excuses in the name of not knowing how to explain the situation until he knew himself what he was going to do, because Dean may've been the first person he'd confided in about the insane fuckery that been his childhood and adolescence, but that still didn't mean he'd understand this, broken and convoluted.

And then Cas had nicely segued himself out of Dean's target of irritation and added, "They asked Gabriel too, by the way."

"And?" Dean didn't ever have much care for Gabriel (third oldest brother, cares about Cas, still a jerk) but Cas shared an apartment with him, so he had to face him plenty.

"He's running off to Miami."

And Dean had thrown his head back and laughed until Cas had smoothly added, "And I was wondering if you would consider moving in with me." 

At which point, of course, he'd started coughing instead, because holy shit, it actually made sense (Sammy had left for Stanford two months back, and Dean lived alone in a space that had probably been two big even when there were two of them) and might actually happen, but Dean wasn't really sure how much longer he'd be able to hide his crush, sharing a friggin' kitchen with the guy.

*

The third time's after their first date.

(Because, well. It happened.

It happened with Dean leaning across the breakfast table to prove to Cas his bacon was superior (to cookie friggin' crunch, because goddamn is Cas a dork) and Cas taking a bite with their eyes fixed on each other's, and Dean turning red when Cas licked his lips and then, just like that, Cas swearing under his breath (definitely filed for later pondering, that bit), grabbing Dean, and kissing the living daylights out of him.

And Dean had kissed back with everything he had, hands cupping his face, and nearly melting in his arms - but then they'd separated for air and Cas had had an apologetic look on his face and when Dean had tried to lean in to kiss it away, he'd received half a smile and a shake of his head.

"Let's do it the way we're supposed to."

And Dean had known immediately what he'd meant. Let's not fuck this up by becoming best friends and roommates who sleep together. Let's...play safe.

"Okay. Uh," he'd rubbed the back of his neck. "Would you like to go on a date with me?"

"Thursday." Cas had promised with twinkling eyes, though Dean had already known he was going to say that since he knew Cas’s week at least as well as he knew his own, and two days and an anxious half of a thursday later, they went on their first date. Burgers and beer, and Led Zepp, and hands held in the Impala. Four hours later, they were back, and in their respective rooms, and Dean couldn't stop thinking about Cas.)

When his phone vibrates, Dean reaches for the bedside table.

It's at least midnight, it feels like he's been in bed for ages, and the only reason he isn't asleep is because all his brain seems to be capable of at the moment is thinking endlessly about the date. Fortunately, he's not the only one — although he's better at hiding it (practise, he'd say) because his heart is in his mouth the moment he reads Cas's text.

>>> I think I'm falling in love with you [11:43 pm]

>>> already. [11:43 pm]

Dean is very grateful for autocorrect as he types back with too-excited thumbs and a racing heart.

<<< so much for doing it the regular way cas mosby [11:44 pm]

>>> in my defense, it's been years. [11:44 pm]

<<< that part i get [11:44 pm]

<<< me too [11:44 pm]

<<< but youre supposed to wait three days before calling dumbass [11:45 pm]

Jesus, he'd never expected to blush cause of texts, but here they are.

>>> I'm texting. [11:46 pm]

And he guesses he'd never expected to giggle (he's alone there, sue him) cause of them either, but Cas apparently exists to prove him wrong about himself.

<<< good for you [11:46 pm]

He sends, biting his lip, and then lies in the silent darkness for a couple of minute, devoid of text notifications entirely, thinking uneasily — before he gives up.

They're idiots, sure, but nobody is this dumb.

<<< so when the fuck are you coming over then [11:50 pm]

>>> on my way <3 [11:50 pm]

And thinking about the lightening speed of that reply and the fucking heart emoji is enough to sustain him the entire one minute it takes Cas to get there, gently opening Dean's door, and climbing into bed — fitting in Dean's space like it's been made for him, and kissing him in greeting after leaving his phone on the table next to Dean's.

*

As it goes, with the confessions and the midnight cravings (and the grocery lists that keep getting piled onto through the day, and random pickup lines Cas decides are perfect to send Dean daily once he's found a website for puns, courtesy of Claire, and of course, pictures of Grease, which clog Dean's cloud in dozens whenever the ridiculously cute cat does something even slightly out of routine, god bless her lazy soul) Cas might just be a texter.

But Dean's pretty sure he's more than okay with it, so it doesn't really matter.

[theramseyloft]

7/23/21 Loft Notes

Feeling much better today.

Not 100%, yet, but closer to it than yesterday.

Cleaned Ankhou's feeding station.

Dove palace is clean.

Patron: "so I'm a little confused why some birds aren't allowed to breed?"

Patron: "health issues generally, or waiting to be shipped"

Patron: "Some portion of health issues aren't heritable, like broken wings and stuff though?"

Patron: "It might not be healthy for the bird to take care of babies or lay eggs,, it takes a lot out of them"

Most of my birds aren't allowed to breed.

Only 8 pair are on the breeding roster at any given time.  

Not necessarily because of anything wrong with anyone else, but because no responsible breeder breeds out of every single animal they produce or acquire.  

I'm very selective about who is allowed to contribute to the breeding program.  Who ever is allowed has to: 1. be physically fit enough that the strain of laying eggs and rearing peeps to weaning poses no known potential risk. 2. Have specific heritable traits the project needs.

For example, Alex and Dodger were allowed to stay and breed to incorporate the absolutely insane immune system feral pigeons develop by necessity into the Therapy bird project.  

Even when those conditions are met, not every clutch is allowed to hatch.  

If I allow a clutch to hatch, it's either because I need a baby from that pair for developmental observation, or because there are still people on my wait list waiting for their peep.  

Pairs that are retired are hatch controlled until they go to their new homes. Leonard and Elliot, for example, both have homes lined up, so the egg she laid yesterday was swapped for a fake.  

Passenger looks great now, but she barely survived.  

Eggs take a LOT of resources to produce! Each is larger than her head, and needs enough calcium from her to make not just the shell, but form the skeleton of an entire baby bird AND make all of the ridiculous chemical pathways and reactions that calcium is involved in.

The building blocks to make two entire baby birds and the encapsulated external wombs they will grow in comes directly from the tissue of the hen.  

After that, she's going to spend four weeks so devoted to keeping them fed that, between her weight loss and the rapid weight gain of the peeps, they will out weigh her when they wean.

That's hard on a fit hen.

To allow a hen that barely escaped death by malnutrition to go through that would not be acting in her best interest.

Clutch rearing is a lot less hard on the cock because the only tissue he's losing is a drop of semen.  Not exactly physiology expensive.   He'll put as much time and physical effort into incubating the eggs and feeding the peeps as she will, but he will not have provided all of the physical building materials to make the eggs and peeps.

Hospital cages are clean.

Cherub and Tandy seem to have accepted my solution to their dilemma.

Tandy laid an egg next to their not-quite-3-week-old, but couldn't actually set it because the peep was in the way.

I made a second nest box, intending it to be for the egg. But Tandy had shuffled a cup into the gross used nest, and that was the one she wanted to brood in.

So I removed the poop, preserved the cup to the best of my ability, returned the egg, and put the nestling in the clean nest.

Cherub is on the egg in the photo.

Mesh and bricks hosed yesterday brought in.

Window, mirror, swing, and weight stones brought out and washed.

Pigeons really seem to like their new diet. These are the roundest, most neatly compacted poos I've seen in a while!

Well shit.

My loft's doorknob has fallen apart in my hand.

Well, fuck...

Fixed it!

Required several minutes of standing in the hateful ga sun, but I fixed it.

Needles finally got here!

Nettle tread Hoss.

Swing, clean mats, and clean bricks replaced.

Compost emptied.

Back third nest boxes mucked.

Mesh laid out.

Birds watered, supplemented, and fed.

Nests mucked.

Need to take a break.

Starting to develop heat exhaustion.

Caught myself early, drank cold water, and sat with my foot on the AC vent.

Heading out to finish up.

Center third finished.

Just the front third and photos left.

Ginger's simpin' pretty hard for Lucy.

Keeps trying to interrupt Pippin treading her to get in there himself.

Maybe he's who sired her older peep with pied markings on his beak.

None of Pippin's kids have ever been pied. He doesn't cary any.

I'm done with the manual aspect of loft work.

Nettle is 5 months old, and so busy driving Hoss that I can't get a fucking shot of him.

Jesus Christ, Nobu has nestlings and was easier to get.

The camera struggles to focus on Komodore's white face because it doesn't like the contrast with her shiny black neck, and she was easier to get!

Fucking Suki, who has nestlings and a horny husband and hates me was easier to get photos of!

Bell, who reacts to the camera like it will steal her soul, posed like a model.

Nettle is still chasing Hoss.

Buddy. We're gonna lose the light

Can you take literally a thirty second break, so I can get updates of you?

God damn fucking teenage boy hormones.

I had to put her on the porch. He's been so intent on chasing her that he's gullar fluttering like he's gonna faint.

Patron: "Nettle jfc"

"Keep it in your pants for a second"

And now Couture is trying to drive everything that moves, and won't fucking let Nettle cool off.

Nevermind, Nettle won't let himself.

Starting shit with literally everyone is not going to help you cool off, Nettle.

Neither is yelling about this nest box belonging to you between panting.

There you go.

Drinking water actually will.

[thebrokengate]

Melvin's relationship in S4 is essentially a retelling of S3 but in a more toxic and nonsensical way.

In S3, we see Mike and El acting like someone they're not, there are lies in their relationship. Mike actively acts like he hates being a nerd and hides his own personality to ''grow up''.

In S4, we see Mike and El acting like someone they're not, there are lies in their relationship from both sides, Mike actively acts like someone he's not when he leaves Hawkins because of his insecurities and because he feels inferior. We know he acts different because we see him being like his own S1 and S2 self since he actively chooses to join Hellfire and enjoys it, but the moment he steps on Cali his persona changes. El's the same, she acts like someone she's not, we also learn that she's been lying constantly in her letters to Mike. We also learn that Mike has not been saying or writing ILY to El for months even though he's been sending her letters.

In S3, we see Mike trying to say ILY to El in a fake-out scene with that ''(blank) makes you crazy'' scene, but he never verbalizes it and they get interrupted. Then he verbalizes it by saying he loves El in front of a crowd where he thinks El cannot hear him and El is physically away from him. When later on El says she loves Mike and kisses him, Mike doesn't react or reciprocate, he just stands there and El leaves.

In S4, the same saga continues. Mike avoids using the word 'love' and has been avoiding it for months, he doesn't say it even when El's crying in front of him. Then El leaves. We have a fakeout scene where it seems like Mike might say ily to El in that Pizza scene but he never says it, they get interrupted. Then he says it in a death-or-life situation when once again El is technically away from him and stuck in an alternate dimension fighting against the big bad. Then we see them not talking about it again. What's gonna happen in S5? Will the Duffers make El go and kiss Mike while Mike's standing without reciprocation? Then make El leave Hawkins again and rince and repeat ig?

The endings of S3 and S4 are also similar. In S3, multiple people die, Billy die, and villain is still out there and El loses her powers.

In S4, El loses to Vecna, Vecna is still alive. Hawkins and Upside Down merge, and multiple people die. Eddie dies, Max dies and dies up in a coma etc.

I mean, seems like the Duffers are joking atp. Because what the hell even is this?

Incoming rant:

Yeah, I mean, honestly it's the most tiresome and frankly boring part of the show at this point and I wish they didn't stretch it out this long. And you're right. The only stakes they raised here was making the relationship develop with even more toxicity than what it already had by season 3. They could've left it with them broken up by the end of season 3 and just remaining friends but they didn't. Hell, they could've had them break up by Vol 2, but instead decided to write that monologue that didn't help shit because Mike was basing it off of Will's feelings from the van, was telling even more lies, and just telling El what he thought she wanted to hear, so their relationship still isn't glowing, but the writers made the conscious choice to not just end it so now we're stuck for 2 more years putting up with being called delusional. Even if it's a little less frequent than what it was and the "power dynamic" has shifted where Byler is becoming more popular, it's still bad. They're literally on the verge of a break-up right now, but they still couldn't give it up this season and now have to do it next season. Why do they feel the need to literally milk Milkvan? Maybe they raised the stakes of toxicity to get the GA more used to the idea of them separating and not liking them as a couple as much, but still. Every season, they get separated and come back together. And at no point does that time apart solve anything, because they keep running into the same fundamental issues over and over, and it just gets worse and worse every time where they leave their relationship off. Just separate them for good and be done with it. They don't work. I know a part of it is a codependency issue in the relationship itself and that's closer to being solved on El's part at least and now she's starting to move away from Mike, but honestly. Every time we make 10 steps forward, we end up taking at least 7 back almost every season. It might've been less this time just looking at the not-great terms Mike and El have ended on this season and the character progress El has made, but it's just kind of getting old, and I completely understand.

[smhalltheurlsaretaken]

THE BOX IS NABOO

That’s it, I’m doing it, I’m writing that stupid meta I’ve had in the works for two and a half years, I’m sharing it with the world. I promised it for last Thursday, my poll was forever ago, but whatever! I’m writing that freaking thing.

(super duper long post, press j to skip)

Enter my rabbit hole.

First thing to establish: the Box makes no sense whatsoever in-universe.

((EDIT: Something I forgot to mention. IRL, the premise of a giant murder cube and the aesthetic - wall patterns, light designs, etc - of the episode come from the 1997 horror movie Cube, (see the episode’s wookieepedia page). However, while the two are very closely linked visually, the Box does not follow the movie structurally or narratively, as you can verify by simply reading the movie’s summary.))

Recap of the context for the "Box" episode (s4e17): Palpatine is planning his own kidnapping. It was never meant to succeed, and while the plan would obviously benefit him (making the Jedi look bad, pushing Anakin closer to the Dark Side, making Republic citizens more afraid -> more docile, etc...) his actual goal is never explained, and it’s weird that he’d go to such extreme lengths for results so minimal that we’re never told what they are.

So Palpatine asks Dooku to kidnap him at the Festival of Lights on Naboo. Dooku hires Moralo Eval to design a giant box-thingy to test bounty hunters to hire the best of them to kidnap Palpatine. Moralo then gets arrested to alert the Republic that something is afoot, and hires Cad Bane to break him out. Obi-Wan - undercover to learn Moralo’s plan - goes with them. They evade capture and go to Serenno, and Bane and Obi-Wan have to pass the box-thingy test. The level of brainkarked logic here... Truly on par with Megamind, Gru and Heinz Doofenshmirtz.

Setting aside the insane plot holes and utterly nonsensical behavior of the villains, the Box itself is moronic from a plot perspective. It’s insanely complex, obviously incredibly expensive and would have taken months (more like years but it’s a short war) to make when it’s not even needed for the dastardly plot! Just hire some guys who have already proven themselves against Jedi! Throw cash at Bane and Embo and a few others! Maybe attack them with your saber and see how they do! 

And after all that, Dooku still ends up trying to kidnap Palpatine on his own. I can’t even... 

So why does the Box exist? Well, apart from being a nerdy callback to Cube, giving us a good thrill and being generally awesome to look at, it has actual narrative purpose within the SW universe.

The box is Naboo.

What the Box lacks in plot relevance, it makes up for with its heavily symbolic meaning. It very closely follows Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon’s experiences on Naboo - but only certain parts, which I’ll explain later.

We start with clean, sterile environments, SW’s favored way of showing villainy.

Then we have the protagonists locked in a room as dioxis, a poison gas, pours in.

And then they escape... this way.

(Okay, here the shaft is down, not up. And it’s not a ventilation shaft per say, it’s the designed escape route. Same difference).

We then skip most of TPM (namely, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon discovering the droid army, finding Padmé, leaving Naboo, landing on Tatooine, going to Coruscant, etc, etc) to come back to Naboo and go directly to the lightsabers and catwalks.

(Note: in both scenes, Obi-Wan has to propel himself from a catwalk.)

In TPM and TCW, the catwalks are immediately followed by ray shields

And we finally end with the last scenes. Now, they don’t look the same but they are structurally identical. 

Obi-Wan is faced with a challenge unsuited for his abilities (facing Darth Maul // shooting three moving targets when he’s far more skilled with a blade than a blaster) on a narrow space above a melting pit/pit of fire. 

He first watches someone die failing to complete the task...

 ... and has to do it himself, faring much better than expected (holding his own against Maul // shooting all the targets easily). 

He then almost falls to his death and gets saved unexpectedly.

And then there’s the final showdown.

In both scenes, Obi-Wan is angry. And in TCW Dooku eggs him on, banking on his anger. (More on that later.) In both cases though, he centers himself and is able to overcome both his opponent and his own unbalance. But in TCW, he doesn’t go for the kill, because he doesn’t need to. 

The Box, as a literal character-explorator ex-machina, thus shows us Obi-Wan’s growth.  

In TPM, Obi-Wan follows Qui-Gon’s lead. In TCW, he is the leader. He identifies the gas, makes the plans. He doesn’t fall from catwalks anymore - he runs atop moving ones. He doesn’t stay stuck behind ray-shields, he finds the solution. (Btw, how did Moralo know what blood type Derrown the Exterminator was? There was a 50% chance of him dying - thus killing all of the bounty hunters. Was that an acceptable outcome? TCW I need answers!) He doesn’t slay his foes, because he’s become powerful enough, skilled enough and wise enough to survive (and win) without needing to kill.

He’s grown - and, even more interestingly, he’s also stayed the same. In the previous episodes, we see some of the dark aspects of Obi-Wan. How he - like all Force-wielders, all people - could lose himself if he stopped maintaining absolute control.

But in the Box, surrounded by the worst criminals of the Galaxy, the most ruthless, worthless people, he’s still kind and tries his best to keep them alive.

The Box is a reminder and a reassurance for the audience that Obi-Wan Kenobi is still there under Rako’s face. He hasn’t lost his compassion, his restrain. He’s still a Jedi. And he’s an awesome, badass one. 

And now, for what it tells us about Dooku! 

It’s much shorter, don’t worry. Basically, Dooku considers that the best way to pick “the best of the best” of the deadliest people in the Galaxy is making them go through what killed his Padawan. There, I’ve broken your hearts, you’re welcome. 

More seriously, Dooku is a manipulative ass. It’s pretty clear that he knows Rako is Obi-Wan, or at the very least suspects it. 

He has an interesting reaction upon learning Rako’s identity, he keeps praising him despite his usual distaste for low-lifes, he smirks secretively after Eval says “I’ll show you who’s weak” (not included there because it’s a close-up of Dooku’s lips and no one wants to see that) and he tells Rako he’s very disappointed when he doesn’t finish off Eval.

[Later]

(Look at this smug asshole - I can’t. YOUR GRANDSON IS THE BEST, WE KNOW, STOP ACTIVELY RUINING HIS LIFE ALREADY.)

(Dooku... why...)

Now obviously Dooku couldn’t have made the Box specifically for Obi-Wan, because it would have to have been designed months before the Council ever decided to send Obi-Wan undercover, but he has no qualms trying to use it to push Obi-Wan to the Dark Side. Ffs Dooku, making your spiritual grandson relive one of the most traumatic events of his life on the off chance that he’ll join you (and desecrate his Master’s memory in doing so) is not okay!

Final tidbits of analysis: I mentioned that not all of TPM is mirrored in the Box. What’s omitted is the droids (even though Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon fight B1′s and droidekas between the dioxis and the ventilation shafts) and anything pertaining to Sidious (all the political stuff on Coruscant). You’ll also note that the fake lightsabers are orange.

=> The Box distances itself from anything that connects Dooku to Naboo. Red lightsabers are the trademark of the Sith, so they’re not used. The bounty hunters will be facing Jedi, so logically the fake sabers should be green or blue - and yet they’re orange, the color closest to red without being red. It fits with Dooku’s special brand of dishonesty - he always tells bits of the real story but twists them just enough to absolve himself of any fault and to justify his choices. 

(”We can destroy the Sith” -> could maybe destroy Sidious with Obi-Wan, but fails to mention he’s a Sith Lord himself; “the Viceroy came to me for help, that’s why I’m attacking the Republic” -> political idealism is a small part of it, but fails to mention he’s Sidious’ underling and is playing the Viceroy like a fiddle; “Qui-Gon would have joined me” -> maybe, still fails to mention he’s working for the man who ordered Qui-Gon’s death; “I told you everything you needed to know” -> debatable, never said that Palps was Sidious; “Sifo-Dyas understood, that’s why he helped me” -> partly true, doesn’t admit to killing Sifo-Dyas right after getting his help)

So we have a twisted version of Naboo, droid-free (as droids are now irrevocably associated with Dooku, even if that wasn’t the case in TPM) and with sabers that aren’t quite red. Keep in mind that Dooku had already fallen by TPM. (We know this because he killed Sifo-Dyas and created the Clone Army - part of Sidious’ plan - when Valorum was still Chancellor, as per the episode The Lost One.) That means Dooku was (in)directly complicit in Qui-Gon’s death. And the Box doesn’t (=refuses to?) acknowledge that. 

(Also omitted in the Box are the Gungans and Tatooine. It makes sense, because Dooku probably wouldn’t have the full details regarding those parts of Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan’s missio as they weren’t as public, and would see them as irrelevant if he did. He utterly despises Anakin, and Gungans are the type of people he always dismisses out of hand). 

Anyway, that’s my two cents about the Box. To quote Lucas...

“It’s like poetry. It rhymes.”

Thanks to @lethebantroubadour @impossiblybluebox​ @nonbinarywithaknife @ytoz​ and @kaitie85386​ for voting for this one. Next up is a compilation of the Jedi being casually tactile with each other (because they’re a warm and affectionate culture, dammit).

Also thanks to @laciefuyu​ for giving me gifs I ended up not using ^^; you rock anyway!

[issaxcharlie]

Always You

Pairing: Charlie Gillespie x Fem Reader

Summary: {We Play Pretend Series} Charlie decides to stop overthinking and finally proposes to his best friend at his very own way.

Songs Used: Black and White by Niall Horan and I’ll Follow You by Echosmith

Word Count: +2k

Charlie finally finishes preparing the fire as Y/N comes out of the tent in his orange hoodie, one of his bandanas adorning her high ponytail. Her dazzling smile blanks him for a few seconds, and the day he asked her to be his girlfriend for the first time appeared on the back of his head.

He was maybe even more nervous than he is right now, and he blurted out the question without realizing it. It wasn't until Y/N jumped into his arms and pressed her lips against his that he finally understood what was happening. That day was the happiest day of his life, but then it was overcome by the day their paths crossed again, then by the day they became a couple again, then by the day they moved in together, and if everything goes well, now it will be overcome by this one. He smiles fondly at the memories. One thing is for sure, with Y/N everything always gets better.

She sits next to him, reaching out to sink her face into her boyfriend's neck. When he suggested for them to take a little camping trip before they returned to Canada for the holidays, she said yes without hesitation. First of all, because she loves to experience moments like this with him. Memories of all the times they camped in the Gillespie's backyard when they were children lighting up her heart. And secondly, because she knows that he needs the peace and calm that being here gives him, after all, she has no doubt that Charlie has planned to propose to her during the trip back home.

“Did you enjoy the day? I know you wanted to rest before the trip, it means a lot to me that you agreed to come.” He confessed while wrapping his arm around her, lifting the hoodie slightly to caress the sensitive skin on her waist.

“Char, we spent hours blasting our favorite albums, we elegantly ate ridiculously delicious gas station hotdogs, you spilled the soda down your pants which was quite entertaining, and now I'm under the stars by your side on a beautiful night. If you ask me, this is the perfect day.” She declares without hesitation, raising her head a little to give him a soft kiss in his jawline.

Charlie blushes, happiness flooding his soul just as always with his precious girl. “I couldn’t agree more. Everyday I get to spend with you is a perfect one.” She smirks at his words, her raised eyebrow indicates she's ready to fight him.

"Oh yeah? Even the time I convinced you that Santa was obviously born in Canada and we searched for his house all over the city?" He snorts thinking about two really small ten year olds doing mischief around the town.

"You had very convincing arguments. Shame our parents didn’t think the same and punished us for a month."

“It’s not really punishment if we get to spend it together anyways.” Y/N added, remembering all the hours of fun they managed to have in the Gillespie’s leaving room.

"They had no other choice, we were attached by the hips. I mean, we tried to elope and live in the park a year earlier just because we were sick of saying goodbye every night.” Charlie reminds her while breaking into laughter.

“Mom had to convince us to come back, telling us that one day we could get married and be together in a way nicer place than the park. And you didn’t believe her because what could be nicer than the park?” Y/N recalls, the image of their 9 year old selves swinging with their backpacks full of important prized possessions like Charlie's collection of rocks or Y/N’s toy microphone making them laugh.

“She had to explain to me everything about that marriage thing she was talking about on the way home.” Charlie says with a smile.

“And then you propose a few days later in your backyard, with a red ring pop and a beautiful original song you played on your guitar.” She hugs him tightly, giving him a sweet kiss on the cheek.

“I was nine, I'm sure it wasn’t beautiful. It probably didn't even make sense. But, I wrote it with a lot of love, just for you to eat the ring five minutes later.” He calls her out, sticking out his tongue in a playful way.

“And I’ll do it again.” He pretends to be offended but Y/N just needs to kiss him and whisper that she loves him against his lips for him to smile again. “We were quite intense children, huh?”

His eyes light up, and he winks cheekily. “We still are.”

Charlie gently kisses her hair and gets up to take his guitar, meanwhile she sits a little further away from him to give him enough room to play, and he tries to control the shaking of his hand while playing a soft sound he has been working on.

Once he finally calmed down a little, he starts to play the song he drove so far away to play, deciding it’s time. “That first night we were standing at your door, fumbling for your keys, then I kissed you. Ask me if I want to come inside, 'cause we didn't want to end the night. Then you took my hand, and I followed you.” Y/N had never heard that song before, which immediately surprises her because they live together, how come she never heard it? She puts attention to the lyrics and realizes he is talking about the night they became a couple again, after the Stand Tall presentation.

“Yeah, I see us in black and white, crystal clear on a star lit night, In all your gorgeous colors, I promise that I'll love you for the rest of my life. See you standing in your dress, swear in front of all our friends there'll never be another. I promise that I'll love you for the rest of my life.” Then everything clicks. How nervous he has been all day, his "sudden" desire to camp before the holidays, the eyes full of emotion with which he has looked at her all night. And suddenly this day is even more perfect than she ever believed it could be.

“Now, we're sitting here in your living room, telling stories while we share a drink or two. And there's a vision I've been holding in my mind, we're 65 and you ask when did I first know?" Tears begin to fall down her cheeks, the purest smile she has ever had stuck on her face. “I always knew.” They whisper at the same time in a broken voice, Charlie trying very hard not to cry at their matched answer so he can finish the song.

“I want the world to witness, when we finally say I do. It's the way you love, I gotta give it back to you. I see us in black and white, crystal clear on a star lit night, In all your gorgeous colors. I promise that I'll love you for the rest of my life.”

He finishes the song, puts down the guitar while taking a deep breath and kneels carefully in front of her. “It has always been you. It was you when we were 8 years old and only you could borrow my best crayons, It was you when we were 16 and I learned to drive because you had no one to take you to your auditions, and It was you when we were 22 and I asked you to move in with me because I couldn’t stand be apart from you again. You are the only one with whom I feel as ecstatic as when I jump into the sea, and all you have to do is look at me to achieve it. You are light, Y/N. This beautiful bright star that for some reason, always chooses me. I love you so much, beautiful. You are the love of my life, It will always be you.”

She can't stop the tears falling down her face, her hand lovingly caressing the cheek of the man in front of her. "Y/N Y/L, will you marry me?" She doesn’t give him time to react and joins their lips hard, trying desperately to make him feel everything she is feeling in those moments. He responds fervently, taking her with one hand firmly by the thigh while with the other caresses her neck, confidently putting his hand inside the hoodie.

She bites his pouty lower lip to smoothly slide her tongue, and he strokes her breasts gently before removing his hand from the collar of her clothing. When they finally separate to breathe, Y/N's eyes move to what Charlie is holding in front of her, a precious ring dangling from a golden chain that she has apparently been wearing as a necklace for who knows how many hours.

“Yes, yes, yes. I would always choose you Char.” Y/N gets up and helps Charlie to his feet, only to pull him close and bring his body against hers, her hands entwining in his hair while his arms wrap around her hips. His face shining with happiness. “The necklace was a smart move. Since when have I been wearing it?” She asks while staring deeply at his dazzling green eyes.

“You are unable to keep a ring on your finger for more than three days, there was no other option. I put it on after you fell asleep on the road.”

"This is the first time you managed to fool me. I totally thought you were going to propose in Canada."

“I know it wasn't glamorous but-”

“Shh, it was perfect. The song is beautiful, the ring looks just as I always dreamed of and you are all I want and more. I have never been happier. Heck, you could have asked me this morning while we were in our pajamas watching cartoons and I would have cried with joy anyway. Char, you're everything I need.” He kisses her deeply, releasing all the emotions that had had him stressed throughout the day, enjoying the company of his future wife and the way that only she knows how to melt him.

He lets go briefly to search something in his phone, and the melody he just played starts to fill the comfortable silence.

“It’s my favorite song already.” She whispers against his lips, a small smile in the corner of her mouth.

“It’s all yours, just like me.” Both laugh at how cheesy it sounded, dancing in each other's arms under the stars. Silently thanking God for having found their soulmate in this life.

Although he swears he has enough energy to dance the night away, after an hour Y/N notices just how tired Charlie actually is, and drags him to the tent to get some rest.

“Baby, I’m okay. I want to celebrate all night with you.” He whispers in her ear, catching her by the waist the moment she leans his head against the pillow to prevent her from getting up.

“Easy there, tiger. You can't even keep your eyes open. You drove nonstop for hours without complaining once just because you know I don't like driving. You did the hardest work with the tent and the fire, plus all the time we spent hiking. You need to rest.” His grasp on her loosens and she moves quickly to his side. He turns over his shoulder and leans on her chest, wrapping his arm around her waist.

She smiles at the sight and starts to softly play with his curls while singing him to sleep. “I fell in love at first sight, green eyes that fix it all. Your heart, it feels it all.” All the times she seeked the comfort in his beautiful eyes during the years replaying in her head. The way they shined with love and confusion that first day at the jatp bootcamp replaying in her mind.

“And I, I can't believe that you're mine.” She lets go of his hair to admire the ring around her neck with more attention, but his hand instantly reaches for hers and puts it back on his hair, making her chuckle. “You take away every breath. I can't believe I'm still speechless.” She whispers, planting small kisses on his hair, inhaling the scent of his shampoo as she wraps him in her arms.

“Charles Gillespie, It will always be you.”

Thanks for reading ✨

Taglist: @writerinlearning @strangerthanfanfiction713, @thebloodthirstyvampress @kinda-really-lost, @kcd15 @magnet-girl @aliandthephantoms, @stxrkspidey, @pinkrockstar19, @s0uz4s, @shycupcakealissa @cookiebuba, @fangirlangioma, @sageellsworth05 @twist3dtinkerbell @sunsetcurvenotsunsetswerve @caitsymichelle13, @ifilwtmfc, @bibliophilewednesday, @totomoshi, @siennanoelle01 @lunashadow6955 @bookfrog247, @morganayennefertyrell, @kiss-themoongoodbye, @rachelle3musicals, @imsydneywalker @really-dont-forget-it @agentstarkid @talksoprettyjjx @kaitieskidmore1 @lukeys-giggle @katie-navarro @crybabyddl @cocopuffs0211 @marvel-ousnesss @blackhood5sos @dpaccione @tuttigunner @calamitykaty @owensgoathat @magicalxdaydream @sunsetcurvej @ss-tipton @rangerelik @badwolf00593 @fobobozobo @justalittleweirdoo

[kazzyboy]

Andriel As Gamers (Kinda)

Andrew (@HolierThnThou03)

- Personal channel, separate from his team/exy life, so he can post whatever the fuck he wants

- And what does that mean?

- Chaos. Pure, unbridled chaos.

(Like the notes I made for this spontaneously at five this morning)

- Either shows up to stream in a complete, put-together outfit, carefully-done messy eyeliner, fresh out of the Maserati; or shows up in sweats and one of Neil’s old Jurassic Park shirts. He has three of his piercings in. One of his socks is missing. There is no in between

- Barely responds to chat, except when someone’s being fucking annoying (and not in normal fan sense, in horrible person sense) to publicly pause his game, stare directly at the screen, and psychologically demolish them for ten straight minutes. The mods (Typically Renee, Nicky, and Robin) calm everyone down and give the user a warning. If they say something horrible like that again, they’ll be kicked and blocked. No one ever gets to the second bit.

- Stares directly into the camera when he dies like he’s in The Office

- Mostly horror games, occasionally aesthetically-driven Minecraft builds

- Sort of stiffens and goes wide-eyed when he’s well and truly scared

- More often than not does story-oriented games

- Gets cancelled for saying shit like,”Disgusting. Horrible. Kill yourself.” When he gets nervous while playing horror games (except nearly everyone reacts like “he can’t be cancelled!!!” Which he can’t, because he was telling the game to kill itself, which his poor mods had to explain for several months after the initial pandemic.)

- Sarcastic, poetically-driven commentary. Gets memed for it, constantly (“Humor be like-“ picture of Andrew, blank-faced, while someone gets swallowed whole by an alien on camera,”the inner workings of my mind are an enigma”)

- Leaves randomly, midstream, for snacks. Doesn’t even pause the game. His chat goes insane every time

- Guest stars include Renee, Robin, King, Kevin, and occasionally Nicky and Aaron

- @/BetsyTheBee shows up in chat sometimes and no one knows who the fuck it is, but he thinks it’s funny so he waits till people start asking if they’re dating to tell them she is literally his therapist and basically his mother.

- Streams and posts lengthy, unedited content (bc he’s lazy, but he says it’s because his editor sucks. No one knows who it is. It’s Neil. Neil did not sign up for this responsibility.)

- Rock music constantly in the background

- Occasionally does a crime podcast with various Foxes, called Gravedigger -The High Road To No One

- Constantly the victim of copyright strikes, thanks to his posters, music, and shirts, and he wins every time. Constantly claims it’s the reason he chose to major in Criminal Law (or whatever it was, cheeky little shit)

- He purposely holds his controller weird when he uses one to piss people off

- Coffee. Just, so much coffee.

- Cries at the end of Rrdr2

Neil (@TheFoxSaysNJos10)

- Semi-professional channel, in which it was supposed to be professional but the PR managers had to fight Neil’s loud mouth and lost

- Constantly argues with chat (His mods, Allison, Matt, Dan, and occasionally Andrew ((undercover)), have to block so many people bc they actually try and start shit over his jokes. Not because Neil cared that they were insulting him, but because if they mentioned the Foxes he’d fucking kill them. And get away with it.)

- Professional exy player for Pro Palmetto State Foxes, Coached by Dan and Captained by Kevin Day (you can’t @ me I’ll die on this hill)

- Promotes stuff for the team by wearing/using it on stream/in interviews/events. To this day, it’s a mystery how no one realizes he wore Andrew’s hoodie three consecutive interviews in a row, his sweatpants in another, and Andrew’s stuff is literally all over his apartment (from random visits, made up of broken traffic laws and horrific gas prices)

- His poor, poor PR managers. ManagerS. There’s more than one. The trauma is too powerful

- Clips from exy games, interviews, and practice (Him and the Foxes sometimes react to compilations, from fails, funnies, and fights)

- Every time someone asks about his scars his story gets more ridiculous. He got smacked in the face with a flying jellyfish at the zoo when he was seven. He became self-aware before he was born and took a chunk out of god’s hand, so he was cursed. He tripped on a crack and broke his mother’s back. Neil what the fuck

- Collabs with Kevin’s conspiracy channel, posted at three in the morning somehow everywhere? There are a million mugs on the desk. Are they in a news station? A single light is on? What are they trying to summon???

- When he does post gaming videos, they have like a millions cuts thanks to all of his cursing, to the point that people think they’re actually just clips of him playing the same game

- He does randomly stream, which is beyond the power of professionalism

- He normally plays shooter games, and is deathly attached to Halo.

- No one wants to play multiplayer with him, though, even online strangers, because his insults are unnervingly accurate. How did you know I have forty eight tea cans on my desk. Lurking. Jail

- Sir!! He once devotes an entire three hour stream to playing games with Sir, to the point that he occasionally does Sir Sundays

- Plays random games out of nowhere (Wobbledogs, puzzle games, literal board games that he drags others into)

- Neil doesn’t get a mic on his headphones bc he’s too loud.

- Their fans constantly ask for Andrew and Neil to collab, thinking it’ll be a total bomb show, since they haven’t talked since college and they hated each other

- Because they are completely unaware of the fact that Andrew and Neil have been married since their third year of professional exy, thanks to one too many unauthorized hospital visits

- And no one knows that they’re waiting for Andrew’s five-year contract with the New York Lions to expire so he can move in with Neil back in Columbia and become a co-coach for the professional Foxes

- All the while, Andrew is helping Renee with a Shelter For Homeless And Troubled Youth, called The Fox Den.