#there were some pop songs playing in every store and each and every one of them was so cringe

[autobahnmp3]

if i understood korean i would hate most kpop i think...

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

How about if Bucky was a police detective or a firefighter and ps!reader was like a baker or a nurse and she either Mets in the ER or her bakery and Bucky has like a girlfriend or someone he’s “talking” to and the someone notices that he goes in to the reader’s job more than usual and the girlfriend then goes to her job and says all this stuff but in the end Bucky and ps!reader end up together. Sorry for the rambling!!! 😅

༉‧₊˚. 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 || 𝐛𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬

― pairing: firefighter!bucky barnes x plus size baker!reader

― summary: falling for your avid customer bucky was never in the cards, but when a woman comes storming into your store calling you names, you began to think that he's not who he says he is.

― warnings: bullying, fat shaming, jealousy, hurt/comfort, stalking, mentions of stalking situations, angst, fluff, suggestiveness at the end, flirty bucky, angst with a happy ending.

― wc: 1482

⋆ a/n: thank you so much for this request! it was nice to work on an alternative universe fic, especially firefighter bucky!

masterlist | AO3

"Good morning sweetness!" Bucky greeted over the sound of your bell hitting the door. You flushed, rolling your eyes as you smiled shyly from behind the counter, brushing some flour off of your hands and onto your apron as you exited the kitchen.

"Morning Buck. Same as usual?" He leaned on the glass casings of cupcakes, cakes, cake pops, and other assorted baked treats. Usually, you'd scold customers for dirtying up the glass, but when it came to Bucky, you didn't care.

Bucky was a firefighter with a particular sweet tooth, practically showing up to your establishment almost every day. He was very flirtatious, and heavy on the nicknames as he watched you carefully. At first, the nicknames irritated you, because you thought it was just another man abusing the power of his occupation to catcall a woman, but you saw how kind he was, sometimes even bringing his coworkers Steve & Sam with him. You began to appreciate his arrival, even anticipating his visits whenever you heard the bell sing its similar song.

"So, Doll. I was thinking that maybe you and me could go out to dinner tomorrow night." Butterflies fluttered inside of your stomach at his words, raising an eyebrow as you tried to play your shock off. "Are you asking me out on a date, James?" His grin grew wider as you referred to him as his actual name.

"Would that be a problem if I was?" You reached into the casing, pulling out his three chocolate chip cookies he always gets. You knew they for himself, Sam, and Steve. Your heart grew at the selfless act.

"I suppose it wouldn't," You said with faux non-chalance, "Just name the time and place." As you handed him the little baggie full of goodies, you couldn't stop staring at each other with lovesick smiles, even as he left, you burning holes into his muscular back. It was always nice to be able to finish off the day with a smile.

The next day at work seemed to go by too slow for your liking, constantly checking the clock on the wall as you rung customers up.

"Looks like you have somewhere you're eager to be." Your best friend Wanda teased. You rolled your eyes, a tiny grin on your face as you shrugged. "Who knows?" You said playfully. Wanda nudged you with her shoulder, giggling as you feigned annoyance.

Your giggling was cut short by your door hitting the wall, a furious looking woman storming in.

"Which one of you is _______?!" She all but screeched. Your eyes were wide as Wanda rested a hand on your shoulder, giving you a look of concern.

"It's okay Wands," You whispered to her, "I got this." Putting on a kind smile, you walked from behind the counter to greet her. This wasn't the first time you had angry customers, but you were always able to calm them down, even coming to an agreement of a refund.

"That's me!" You said with fake enthusiasm. "What can I do for you?" You asked. She just rolled her eyes; her body close to yours as she eyed you up and down. "Stay away from James you fat freak." You could hear gasps come from your customers as your heart fell into your stomach. "I'm not sure I understand what you mean." You said nervously, bile feeling like it was about to rise in the back of your throat.

"What I mean is that he's mine. So, I don't know what you think you're doing flirting with him, but it's got to stop. Now. I'm his girlfriend, and if I ever see you snooping around him ever again, there's going to be some problems." As she stepped closer, you stepped back.

"And it's not like he'd ever go for someone as big as you are anyways. Even though he's a firefighter doesn't mean he deals with zoo animals too." She then plastered on a condescending smile. "So, he won't be coming back here anymore. Toodles." With that, she exited out of the store, leaving you standing there utterly humiliated as you tried to wrap your head around what just happened.

Why didn't you say anything? What was she talking about? Bucky had a girlfriend? There were all of these questions swirling in your minds as you felt Wanda's gently hand on your body once more, what she was saying falling on completely deaf ears as you stared at the glass door with your company name on it blankly. All you could do was turn your head to face her with a watery smile.

"It's okay, Wands. I'm fine." Despite your words, you disappeared back into the kitchen where you allowed your tears to fall.

You stopped looking at the time, tending to the people that chose to sit in the booths, the college kids that always had study groups there. You knew Bucky was probably waiting for you, but you couldn't find it within your broken heart to care. You had no idea that he was a cheater, the cute — and what you thought was harmless — firefighter turned out to be a total prick.

Maybe you got too hopeful.

You fell into dark thoughts, ones that you hadn't dwelled on since you were in high school.

You closed up by yourself, bidding Wanda a fruitless goodbye as she held you in her embrace, whispering words of affirmation and encouragement into your ear.

Wanda was a good person, the only one that could probably help pull you back from wherever you were falling from.

You were bent over wiping a table when you heard that familiar jingle.

"Sorry, but we're closed," You said, "Come back tomorrow! We open early in the morning." But the door never closed, the bracing breezes brushing up against the naked skin of your arms that your work shirt didn't cover. "I think I already know that." Bucky sounded from behind you. Your whole body froze, your grip on the wet rag tensing as you didn't even bother to look behind you.

"Go away, James." You said coldly. "No." You scoffed and finally turned around. He looked nice, clean shaven, his hair even styled when it was usually always out of place. He dressed up for you.

"I don't go dates with cheaters." You said simply. That made his eyebrows furrow. "Cheater? Doll, I'm single." That made anger bubble deep inside of you. "Oh trust me, I know you're not, because your psycho girlfriend came in my store and humiliated me in front of everyone!" Then, a look of understanding overtook his face, along with one of frustration.

"Goddamn it," Bucky groaned, "Fuckin' Dot." He walked up to you, taking one of your hands in his. You wanted to pull away from him, but the way his callused and worked fingers gripped yours was enchanting.

"Baby, that woman... she's—" He gulped. He looked almost anxious. "She's an ex of mine. I broke it off with her and she went psycho. At first, I thought she could just leave me alone, but then... but then she started to stalk me, so I had to get a restraining order against her. It had recently just expired. I figured she had started stalking me again, but I hadn't expected her to be this... to be this bold." He ended with a sigh.

"I'm sorry, _____. I really am. I'm sorry she did that to you, you didn't deserve it. You didn't deserve to be dragged into my shit." You shook your head softly, raising a hand so that it could rest on his now stubble free cheek. "Yes, I didn't deserve it, but you didn't either, Buck. I wish you would have told me about this, yeah, but I understand why you didn't. You wouldn't have scared me away because... because I wanna be with you, and I was really fucking excited when you asked me to go on a date with you." Your thumb caressed his cheek.

He looked at you through his eyelashes, large palms hesitantly landing on your waist, giving you an out to pull away if the gesture made you too uncomfortable. It didn't, instead, it heated up your body, a pleasant warmth settling in your gut at the feeling.

"I would still be willing to go on that date, if you want." You asked. You were scared that he would say no, you did stand him up after all. "Well, the restaurant is closed, but I'm pretty sure that Chinese place is still open. We could order in and watch tv at my place?" You raised an eyebrow at him, smirking. "You're not trying to get me alone so you can get in my pants, are ya, Buck?" You asked playfully. He only chuckled, leaning his head down and brushing his lips against yours.

"It all depends on how you want this night to go."

ೃ⁀➷ my lovely taglist!: @alina02 @louderfortheback @minervadashwood

[in-daddy-price-we-trust]

All I Wanted - Part 2

summary: when you are kidnapped discovered by TF141 they can't help but fall in love.

pairing: 141 x fem!teen!reader (platonic)

warnings: mentions of child abuse, drugs, canon typical violence, kidnapping

Part 1 Part 3

AN: Here it is! The Long awaited part two !!

Hope you enjoy this just as much as part one !!

Price POV

This was not what they needed right now. When 141 first heard of a potential weapons trade for El Sin Nombre going down in Amsterdam, they couldn't wait to get on the field.

The suspense was killing them as they waited for the right moment. They knew at this point that trying to stop the deal would be more hassle than worth. So the plan of waiting for their food to come to them was a better solution.

Price stalled however when he saw her step out. No way this was who they were after. No one in a cartel would go about wearing over-pink clothes. It was stupid. Even more so when she started shooting back, with a pistol as well.

"Ghost, move in," the static of the radio crackled before a grumbled copy sounded back. Price watched as Ghost snuck up behind her, his feet silent as he kicked her knees in and knocked her out.

"Well done Ghosty," The Scotsman, Soap, cheered over the comms, making his way down to the evac truck they scheduled.

She sat in-between him and Ghost. "No way she's with Nombre," Gaz announced after a few minutes of silence, "She's a child!" A hum left Soap's throat. 

"That's why we integrate her, Nombre or not, we can still use her to our advantage," Price concluded, sending the group back into quiet before she awoke.

-

Gaz was right. She was a child, barely reaching 16. Guilt hung heavy in his heart as he thought back to her crying. Cheeks red with tears and eyes puffy. 

He dragged a hand down his face, muttering a 'Jesus Christ' under his breath at the discovery. Eyes flicked across the room, every single soldier in that room seemed to suffocate in the amount of tension.

With a heavy sigh, Price spoke again. "How about we make a deal?" her head shot up at the words, a mix of emotions slathered across her features. From here he could tell she was picking apart his words.

"You, stay with us and get a place to stay," Price's eyes drifted to his team behind her.

"But - you have to help us catch our guy," The words cemented in her brain, slowly nodding along to them. It couldn't be worse to what she was used to, can it? Worse case scenario, she runs away again.

"Okay," it was final, "But I need to get my gear first."

-

The drive was quiet. The radio played some random pop song that she muttered the lyrics too, fingers drumming on her thighs. 

The boys seemed glad she accepted the deal. Although it may be the fact she was a minor and by the sounds of it, partaking in crime activity. Of course, this wouldn't be as different but at least all expenses were paid for by the government.

The car lulled to a stop, pulling up in front of the hotel. The door slammed shut before Price even registered her unclicking her seat belt leaving him to race after her.

A smile graced her lips as she greeted the lady at the front desk, who then proceeded to side eye Price. He would too if he saw a teenager going up to a hotel room with a 40-something-year-old man.

The pair continued to be silent in each other's presence, even when her fingers slipped together pressing and pulling on each one as a sort of fidget. The lift dinged at the second floor, Price hot on her heels to the hotel room. She muttered the number continuously under her breath, 105. 

Number splayed in gold, she struggles to get the keycard from wherever she managed to store the thing, like seriously, where did she put things? 

The door pushed open to the room. The white linen sheets still a mess from when she woke up this morning. What caught his eye was the absurdly bright duffle bag that sat on the middle of the hardwood floors, from where he stood he could make out the top of a pink sniper. 

'Jesus the girl knew how to stick to a theme, that's for sure..'

Diligently she picked up the weapons she managed to slide into nooks and crannies. Picking up stray plushies along the way. Price tried to help, but whenever he tried to pick up a cuddly brown bear he'd get holes burnt unto his head. So he eventually dropped it, opting to stand near the door.

Before long she came up to him, bag over her shoulder and a determined look in her eyes. The trip back to reception was awkward. The same tense atmosphere seemed to follow like a shadow. The lift dinged again, the robotic voice announcing their arrival.

She marched over to the receptionist, explaining she was checking out early (even though there was still two weeks left) and saying if anyone needed it to let them have the room for free. The soft spoken words melted the workers heart, promising to do as told.

-

Your POV

Price was awkward. Maybe the commanding aura around him clashed with yours of innocence. But - you both knew yours was fake. To some extent at least.

"Why did you make a deal? - with me?" It was a genuine question. The want of appreciation and validation flooding through your veins.

His eyes flicked down to you, noticing you already looking him in the face. He huffed a laugh at it. Soft, warm. "Well - I'm not just going to toss a kid out on the street, am I?" It was the truth. Voice of honey and liquid gold washing over you. Clouding your brain.

"Thank you, Price."

-

"Doll, wake up for me yeah?" a hum fell past your lips as you stirred awake, rubbing your eyes.

"Are we back already?" voice hoarse and scratchy, a yawn coming from you mid sentence.

Price chuckled at you. 'Glad someone finds this amusing.' 

"C'mon love - I'll show you to your new room and you can have a kip in there, kay?" His voice was soft, almost like the words would make you shatter and crumble like glass. Though it worked, pushing you out of the passenger seat of the car and onto the (now) familiar gravel plaza. Pink mary janes dragged behind you, sleep seeping into your bones.

That was soon rushed out of you when Mohawk appeared in front of you and Price. "Hi lassie, names Sargent John Mactavish but Soap is fine!" He beamed, pearly whites flashing down as you appeared wide eyed at him, stunned at the sudden (and quite frankly, loud) appearance. He threw a hand over his shoulder, pointing at the other figure you completely missed, "And that's Gaz." It was the shorty of the group, giving you a sheepish wave and a sympathetic smile at the loud Scot.

Price placed a hand on your shoulder, a slight apology maybe? You found yourself staring up at him before speaking, "Uhm.. thank- thank you Soap-?" cursing yourself for stumbling over your words. The nicknames getting caught on your tongue at its strangeness. "What kind of name is 'Soap' anyways?" He laughed at that, full belly laughed. Sort of high like a bell, although pleasant.

"M' Afraid I can't tell ya that, confidential," It was spoken with a wicked grin plastered across his face. The smile contagious and making the pink bands of your braces show. "Why don't Gaz and I show you to your new room?" A glance to Price and his nudge of the head allowed you to accept the offer, Soap instantly grabbing the bag from off your shoulder and pulling you along, going on to ramble about his hometown in Scotland.

-

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[emmaleighsworld]

Seriously?

Pairing: Steve Harrington x reader

Summary: When your coworker ditches work early Steve is there to lend a helping hand.

Contains: just fluff here

Word Count: 1.7k

Steve’s taste in music had always been something his classmates raved about, even after he stopped hosting those huge parties. They always talked about how every time he’d host a party or let people hang out at his house he’d have the best, most popular, music on standby.

Although most of his favorite songs were fun, rock songs he could sing along to—and the occasional pop song—Steve also had a soft spot for some songs from the 60s and 70s. They brought him back to the simpler times of his childhood, back to before he had seen how complicated the world really was.

However, he usually liked to keep that information to himself because it was special to him. And since he kept that to himself and a few of his close friends, even if they liked poking fun at him for it—it was no surprise that two weeks after his graduation Tina had asked Steve if she could borrow his best summer-music tape for a party she was hosting while her parents were gone over the weekend. 

Tina said she’d stop by Scoops after she was done with it, but her party was two weeks ago. So, that’s how Steve ended up walking across the mall towards Sam Goody’s after his shift, hoping that Tina would be on the closing shift. 

That’s when Steve first saw you. You were wiping down the counters, humming along to a Supremes song that played over the store speakers, when he walked in. 

Steve’s first thought was that music stores don’t usually play this type of music. Usually, it’s something fun and upbeat because that’s what they’re trying to sell. 

Then Steve remembered that he’d seen you once before. A couple weeks ago, after his closing shift, he saw you in the mall parking lot. Well, truthfully, he’d heard you first. You were in your car singing along to an old Supremes song blasting from your car speakers with your windows down.

When he’d gotten to his Beemer, Steve watched as you drove past him in the lot, singing to your heart’s content. He remembered thinking how carefree you looked that night and how pretty he thought you were. 

Steve had kept an eye out for you after that night but never had any luck finding you as his eyes searched the crowds of the mall each day during his break. Suddenly, he was pulled out of his thoughts when he heard that voice again—“Seriously?” He heard her say under her breath.

“Hey, sorry, but I already closed the register. We’re closed for today.” you said, “You’ll have to come back tomorrow.”

“Oh, no. I’m not here to buy anything.” Steve said looking around, “Do you know if Tina’s here tonight? She borrowed one of my tapes for a party and I just wanted to get it back.”

You laughed, Tina had left her shift early with her boyfriend after promising you an IOU for the next time you wanted to leave early. 

“No, she’s not here. Left early with her boyfriend.”

“Seriously?” Steve asked.

You weren’t sure if it was his straightforwardness or if it was the way he kind of looked like he needed a friend in that silly-looking sailor hat, but you decided to continue the conversation instead of shooing him out of the store.

“Seriously,”  You sighed, holding up the silly IOU cards Tina made for you, “Now I have two of these.”

Steve walked closer to the counter to read them as you placed them on the counter and moved to grab the window cleaning supplies.

“An IOU? She really gave you one of those?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure she doesn’t expect me to ever use them, but I kind of want to just so that she knows she can’t always dump this crap on me and ‘promise’,” you say making air quotes with your fingers, “ that she’ll cover for me.”

You began spraying the front window and continued your rant, “I mean, she barely helps when she is here.”

“I could help you close up the shop if you want?” Steve broached as you wiped the glass.

You stopped, turning around to face the guy you had allowed to stay in the store for maybe a bit too long.

“You would help me?” You asked skeptically.

“Yeah, sure. I mean, I just closed up Scoops Ahoy—which is why I’m still wearing this stupid uniform. But I did it all by myself since Robin had to leave early for some stupid family dinner. Anyway, I just—I know what it’s like and if you want some help just give me the order.”

Steve finished his rambling offer to help with a smile, hoping you’d take him up on his offer. 

You stayed silent for a few seconds and narrowed your eyes at him, thinking. But, just when Steve started thinking you were about to kick him out, you smiled.

“You know, I was starting to wonder why you walked in here looking like some discount store sailor. No offense.” You said.

“None taken,” he smiled back and took off his sailor hat, “This wasn’t really my first choice, but I had to get a job somewhere-you know?”

“Yeah, I get that—“ you paused, realizing you didn’t know this guy's name yet and he didn’t know yours, “What’s your name?”

“Steve Harrington,” he said.

“Well it’s nice to meet you, Steve Harrington,” you smiled cheekily and then gave him your name.

Steve smiled too, “It’s nice to meet you too.”

“Well, Steve, if you really want to help, I haven’t swept the floor yet and  there’s a broom in the back.”

You went back to wiping the front window and looked back at him after a few seconds. Steve had stopped moving. He had a blank look on his face like he was surprised you accepted his help. Most people just brushed off his offers for help.

“The back room is over there,” you said pointing, “Don’t think that I’ll let you just loiter around in here 'cause you’re nice.”

“Oh, okay,” Steve said, still in a daze.

As Steve walked over to the back room, the song over the stereo changed and you started humming along as you returned to your work. 

You could hear him moving around when you suddenly heard another voice quietly humming with you. 

You stopped and looked at Steve. He was quietly humming to the song and moving around the store as he swept. 

In that moment, you could feel your heart squeeze at the sight. You barely knew anything about him, but there was something so endearing about Steve and the way he wanted to help you for nothing in return.

He had surprised you. You didn’t think you were ready to like someone new, but there Steve was. Helping you out, on a Friday night nonetheless, in all his kindness.

Steve looked up at you when he realized you’d stopped humming. And just when you thought he couldn’t have shocked you more, he stopped humming and began to sing along-trying to coax you into joining him.

It took you a minute to let the moment sink in. With anyone else you would have passed it off as a joke, but Steve had disarmed you. So you joined him, singing along to your heart's content in an odd duet sort of way.

Soon enough, the two of you had cleaned the store and finished the rest of the closing duties, singing the whole time. 

“That was fun,” you said, turning off the music and grabbing your bag from the counter, heading towards the doors. 

“Yeah,” he said as he watched you lock the door for the night.

“Thanks—for the help I mean.” You said looking towards Steve.

“It’s no problem, I’m glad to help.” Steve said, “Can I walk you to your car?” 

He looked a little nervous when he asked. It was almost like he was scared you’d say no, but instead, you smiled at him.

“Sure,” you said.

So you started walking out of the mall, in step with Steve.

The walk to your car was surprisingly quiet. You couldn’t figure out what you should be talking about and Steve didn’t say anything either. He seemed to be lost in thought whenever you glanced over at him.

You thought the two of you had a lot of fun tonight. A small part of you thought that you could become friends with Steve, and an even smaller part thought about liking him as more than a friend if you got to know him better.

It felt a little silly thinking about it, but he helped you and made you feel better. 

But by the time you’d gotten to your car, neither of you had said a word.

“Well, thanks for walking with me. I guess I’ll see you around,” you said unlocking your car.

“Wait, umm…” Steve said before trailing off.

“Yeah?” You looked at him, waiting. 

He took a small breath and continued, “You remember how you said you wanted to use those IOU cards Tina made you?”

You nodded, wondering what exactly he was going to say.

“Well, I was wondering if you’d like to go to the Fourth of July fair with me—maybe use one of those IOUs to get off work early?” Steve asks.

“We could play the games and go on some rides,” he continued, “The food’s not too bad as long as you don’t think about how greasy it actually is. I was thinking we could get to know each other better…”

“Are you asking me, as a date? Serious?” You asked, almost not believing your ears.

“Yeah, I thought it could be fun,” Steve said as he rubbed the back of his neck, “So, what do you think?”

You broke into a smile, “I think I would like that a lot.”

Steve looked so relieved when you accepted. He had smiled a few times already, but this smile was brighter than all the rest and it made you glad.

That must have been what he was thinking about on the walk to your car.

“Cool. Awesome. I can write out the details and bring them to you on my lunch break tomorrow if that's okay?” Steve offers.

“That’d be great Steve,” you said, “And maybe I could stop by Scoops on my break. I’ve been meaning to stop in too—see what flavors you guys have.”

“Great, I’ll see you tomorrow then,” Steve said, “Drive safe.”

“You too,” you said before getting into your car to leave.

You weren’t quite sure what going on a date with Steve Harrington would bring. But, you did know that you were excited for something and it felt good to look forward to something again.

[deathblacksmoke]

call me when you get the chance

pairing: noah sebastian x nick ruffilo x fem reader

cw: polyamorous relationship, long distance yearning, it’s pretty fluffy my friends

taglist: @concretenoah / @ladyveronikawrites / @lma1986 / @monotoniscreaming / @xxrainstorm / @agravemisstake

let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future fics!

author’s note: thank you lady v once again for the beta; i added some pitt back in just for you. and thank you @darksigns-exe for the poly boyfriends brainworms. no smut in here - wild change of pace. and i’ll probably be writing more little bits of these sweet babes at some point 🤍 i got euclid on the brain so title from that, obvi. enjoy!

**************************************************************

Nick sends a postcard from every city.

Missing you from Atlanta! Love, Nicholas.

It makes you feel warm and loved, every time you open your mailbox to another card from another city, with your partner’s pretty writing on the back.

You imagine him standing in the store for ages, sifting through the cards, trying to pick the perfect one for your gallery wall. You imagine Noah picking one out as a joke, and Nick scoffing, putting it back irritated.

No, man, she’s particular about her wall. Remember?

It makes your chest swell. You long to be there, to play mediator like you do when they’re both home with you. They need it sometimes, and you’re sure Jolly could use the break every now and again.

Noah sends memes. They’re ones you would never see otherwise because you won’t step foot on Twitter, but they make you smile and remind you of him, his stupid sense of humor, and the way his face lights up when he laughs. You close your eyes and imagine it, his eyes scrunching closed with his laugh, and your chest tightens.

They always send a selfie when they get off stage, and another before bed, sometimes a FaceTime if you’re still up. They don’t show you their intertwined hands. They know it makes you jealous and weepy, but you’re so grateful that they have each other. You imagine them kissing when the call ends and you cry anyway.

***

When you couldn’t make it to the show you had all planned for, you thought that was it. Work gets in the way again, sends you out of town, but you’ll see them when they come home to you and all will be okay.

The show looks incredible. You brave social media just this once to see clips of your boys, weep in bed in your hotel room. You stay up late to see them before you sleep—they tell you they wish you were there, they miss you, they love you. You catch a glimpse of a love bite on Nick’s chest and wish it could have come from you. You fantasize about quitting your job. You get closer every day.

The postcard comes two days later, a pop-art rendition of the Pittsburgh skyline, Nick’s little note scrawled across the back. It feels silly to have but you knew he wouldn’t dare to break the tradition he’s created.

Wish you were here! Love always, your Nicholas.

You don’t know how much longer you can go without them, holding back tears as you put the card in its frame, giving it its place on the wall.

You feel helpless and hopeless until you get an email, the airline notifications you had set up on cost changes doing you a solid, for once. Flight to LAX, suspiciously affordable, landing at 2 PM on the 8th of October.

It’s not a question. You don’t think twice. You have the PTO, and your boss can’t possibly deny you again. And if they do, fuck it, you’ll really dig your heels in about them needing another girl working on the tour. You’ll get Lana on your side this time around. They can’t say no to you both.

You book the ticket, arrange a guest list spot with Matt and buzz with excitement in preparation for your surprise.

***

You never tire of watching them perform.

The way Noah owns the stage, running from stage left to stage right, commanding the crowd to chant and jump with him. Nicholas, his long hair swaying with each rock of his neck to the beat of the song. His slender fingers grip the neck of his bass as he bounces his leg, growling backing vocals going straight through you. You wish you could be at every show. You swell with pride and know you couldn’t have picked two better boys to share your life.

You head to the green room when they come back out to say their thank yous and goodbyes. You hate to miss the photo slides but you helped pick most of the photos, anyway. Lots from your private collection and you think maybe you owe some of these people a “you’re welcome.”

Sitting on the old, worn leather couch, you start to panic. You’ve never surprised them before. Noah hates surprises, but you hope at least you’re a good one.

Folio comes through the door first, followed by Jolly, and the door swings back closed. Shocked at first when they see you, Folio’s face breaks out into a huge grin before turning on his heels.

“Yo, Noah, you’re gonna wanna see this—” he yells as he swings the door back open, to reveal Nick, sweaty and looking exhausted, but when his eyes land on you—

“Holy shit,” he whispers.

You can barely make it out above the roar of noise in the hallway. You don’t know where Noah is, but Nick looks as gorgeous as you’ve ever seen him. You need to take a deep breath but find your throat stopping you as your vision starts to blur. The look on his face as he crosses the room to you melts your anxiety in an instant. You haven’t seen him in so long. And he’s here. He’s right here with you.

When he reaches you, he sinks to his knees at your feet. His fingers digging into your thigh, eyes glazed over as he looks up at you, you lean down to meet him halfway.

The feeling of his lips on yours makes you feel dizzy. The feel of the wetness on his cheeks when you cup his face makes you want to sob, but you don’t, you lick into his mouth and bask in the sound of his gasp.

“Where the fuck were you,” he speaks into your mouth when he pulls away from you.

His fingers are gripping your thigh painfully. You know you’ll bruise, you wince, but it’s Nick and you don’t care. You’ll press your fingers there when you get home and you’ll think of him and—

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I was flirting with the pretty bartender. I think you’d like her, Nicky, do you think Noah will go for a fourth?”

He’s leaning in for another kiss when you hear the green room door slam back open, thundering steps getting closer and closer until Nick is jostled forward, Noah’s head resting on his shoulder, eyes focused on you.

“You were a very naughty girl, keeping this secret from us,” Noah says, his head angling to press kisses and nip at Nick’s neck. Nick grins and you watch as the hand that was digging into your thigh takes Noah’s hand and laces their fingers.

When you’re far away, it makes you jealous. When you’re right here, when you have them both in front of you, that’s the furthest thing from your mind.

When you kiss Noah and he smiles into it, when the hand not laced with Nick’s threads through your hair, when Nick nips at your neck while Noah kisses you, you’ve never felt more at home.

Because they are your home.

“Nicky let me pick your postcard this time,” Noah tells you when he pulls away.

“You’ll hate it,” Nick says, but he’s grinning as he stands up to rummage through his backpack.

When he returns to you and holds it out, it’s a silly little card, but both their names are signed this time.

Loving you from LA. Love, your Nicholas and Noah.

Noah’s grinning as wide as you’ve ever seen. It’s your favorite of the bunch.

[orangeinecstasy]

inhaler bf thoughts please please please please🙏

an: AAAHHH YES IVE BEEN WAITING TO DO THIS!!! had to do ryan first because i love him so much.

ryan bf thoughts ฺ｡*:･

quality time!! he will 100% just pop over to your place so that he can be around you. he doesn’t care if you’re just sitting on the couch as long as he’s with you

move dates! can totally see him wanting to try out different theaters and maybe even a drive in. also you totally make him watch the 1996 romeo and juliet OMG AND WHIPLASH!

#1 passenger princess. he doesn’t care that you’re the one that can drive he loves it

spa days were you guys do face masks

soooo many pictures of you on his phone. we all know and love his random aesthetic instagram stories and you’d be all over them

park dates

late night music sessions where he constantly asks your opinion on lyrics or how something sounds

songs dedicated to you at shows - would put out when i’m with you from the vault just to play it for you

constantly sending you songs that remind him of you

definitely have some sort of couples item like a matching necklace or ring. but it’s something simple like a silver chain or a small band. nothing too crazy that screams i’m matching with my partner

going back to the romeo and juliet part - definitely did a couples costume based off of their party outfit

definitely soft launched the relationship. he just wants to feel like yours and his and not another third parties

definitely wants to be the little spoon after a long day. you make him feel safe and happy and he wants to be fully engulfed in that comfort

reading together

wearing each other's clothes. because he's a short king you both can totally swap clothes super easy

sending him edits you find of him on TikTok - i KNOW he thinks they're super funny and secretly LOVESSS them

calls you before every show when you're not there

museum dates-- i feel like he would want to go to an art museum most of the time, but you would drag him to a science one at least for one of the dates

baking together-- he always tries to eat the cookie dough and you always tell him he'll get sick

painting your nails together

can 100% see him wearing a ring of yours on a chain around his neck. maybe your claddagh to be a bit cheeky

when he's sitting next to you he definitely will drum on you thigh or tap his fingers against to some rhythm that's stuck in his mind

dancing in the kitchen together late at night

such a big words of affirmation guy

music store dates where you guys try out interments and pick up a few new records

so so so many coffee shop dates

wine tasting in italy

an: the other three guys bf thoughts are already in the works. i wasn't sure if i should be a nsfw section for inhaler's but lmk if you guys would be interested in that!

[hangmanapologist]

 Lonely Hearts Club Band | Bob Floyd

Bob Floyd x reader

a/n: I liked this idea more in my head but it was my resolution to finish at least one of the ideas in my drafts so you guys are stuck with this one because I miss working in a record store!!!!

summary: Bob tries to find something to distract from the loneliness, he finds her instead

warnings: brief mentions of death, fluff, mentions of grief

Many people knew Bob Floyd but they never really knew about him. Even those who thought they did.

They knew he was a Cancer, that his coffee order was a flat white and that his dog was his best friend. Bob never really seemed much deeper.

It wasn’t that he was afraid to let anyone in. Bob wanted nothing more than to spend hours talking about nothing and everything in between but he came to accept the fact that maybe romantic love wasn’t on the cards for him.

Physically, Bob didn’t think he was completely repulsive but socially? He was always the guy in the back, and no one gravitates towards that guy.

He was always gonna be the geeky band kid who went to prom with friends because he couldn’t get a date, the one who was never asked about what he did on the weekend, the one that everyone he worked with called a wallflower but really, they didn’t actually ask him anything about himself.

So, to feel less lonely, he started collecting things. He started with normal kid things, he had a pretty sick rock collection, Pokemon cards, Spiderman comics. His dad helped him put shelves all over his room to display them. They finally made him an interesting person. 

As he got older he graduated to records.

He was 13 when he bought his first record. He had saved all his birthday money and his Dad promised to take him to the small record store on the corner of the block after his piano lessons. All it took was a little bit of begging and agreeing to stop playing the drums after 8pm.

He still remembers the smell and the shrill ring of the bell as he opened the door and the way his eyes widened beneath his glasses, like a kid in a candy store, as he gazed at the songbooks, cassettes and vinyls that spread from one end of the store to the other.

Truthfully, he didn’t know where to start. So he asked his pops for help. He knew everything. Bob thought he was the smartest guy in the world and trusted every opinion he had. That’s how he ended up with his first record, “Sgt. Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band”. 

From there, it was a sordid love affair. He collected every vinyl he saw and played them until the grooves were worn in. He bugged his dad relentlessly, begging him to teach him every song he knew on the piano until his hands were cramped and he was playing ‘Hey Jude’ in his sleep. 

When his dad passed, not long after he had left for the navy, Bob played the piano during the funeral. He hadn’t touched any ivory keys since. He was all by himself to face the world. 

Curiosity had well and truly killed the cat.

“Will you hang with Rocky while I go take a look around” he questioned, gesturing behind him. “Take your time, we’ll do another round of the block.” Bob didn’t even wait to catch the last part of sentence while he pushed the door open and stepped inside. There wasn’t a shrill bell as he stepped in; but the air smelled like coffee and old vinyl sleeves and he could hear the faint croonings of Sam Cooke echoing through the store.

“Will you hang with Rocky while I go take a look around” he questioned, gesturing behind him. “Take your time, we’ll do another round of the block.” Bob didn’t even wait to catch the last part of sentence while he pushed the door open and stepped inside. There wasn’t a shrill bell as he stepped in; but the air smelled like coffee and old vinyl sleeves and he could hear the faint croonings of Sam Cooke echoing through the store.

It wasn’t busy but people filtered in and out of each section, some armed with songbooks, some with records. Others with both.

Bob headed straight for the classic rock section. He still had some vinyls at home, though his collection was much smaller than what it used to be. He still made a habit to listening to them as much as he could. He’d spend most of his mornings off cooking and doing laundry while The Beach Boys played throughout the all too quiet house. He still had a piano. He didn’t play anymore but it was a memory he always liked to look back on fondly. 

His long fingers comfidently flipped through the records, trying to find some of his favourites he forgot to bring with him. “You son of a bitch, there it is!” he smilled to himself pulling out the sleeve, handling it the way someone would handle a baby. He browsed a couple of other sections while making mental lists of ones that he wanted to add to his collection. He let eyes flit along the walls of songbooks and merchandise as he made his way to the register with the record safely under his arm. He stood at the counter humming alog to himself while he waited to be seen. He could see someone shuffling around a sideroom and he let out a gentle cough to alert of his presence. Then he saw you.

You know in romantic movies where the love interest appears and a cheesy 80′s song plays in the background? That’s how Bob felt. 

“Did you find everything you needed today?” you smiled. Bob thought you had a very pretty smile. It lit up the whole store.

He thought he could hear birds chirping when you smiled. You coughed gently, snapping him out of his trance. 

“I have a revolver” he blurted out, referring to the album, which was still half hidden from you. Not his best phrasing. “You know, if you didn’t have such a trustworthy face and an album under your arm I’d be pretty worried right now.” you grinned cocking an eyebrow playfully. Bob felt the blush creep to his cheeks under your gaze as he stuttered out an embarrassed sorry, handing the album over to you as he fished for his wallet.

You kept sneaking glances of him as you rang him up. The way he fished for the cash and pushed his glasses up his nose as he smiled at you endearingly. “That’s $25, whenever you’re ready.” “Oh no, it said $31 on the t-” “Oh yeah, that’s just a pricing mistake. Happens all the time.” you waved him off nonchalantly. You were lying of course, but the handsome man in front of you didn’t need to know that.

Your fingers brushed as he handed you the crisp bills in exchange for the bag. He had nice hands. Gentle but firm, you imagined.

He wanted to say something but he didn’t have a single thought that wouldn’t make him sound like a total weirdo. He just stayed there smiling at you, for what he thought was a second. It was clearly longer as the tapping on the glass broke him from his trance. “I think your friend is looking for you sir.” you smiled softly as you leaned over the counter and pointed toward the window. He caught a whiff of your perfume and swore he had died and went to heaven.

“Oh yeah, work stuff.” He nodded as he pushed his glasses up a little. A nervous habit. Was it hot in here? Was he the only one sweating? God what if you could tell he was sweating?

“You have a nice day now sir, don’t be a stranger!” you chirped watching the the handsome stranger awkwardly half run to the door, all six foot of him. “You too” he turned on his heel in a split second. “It’s just Bob.” “Okay, just Bob.”

You had a feeling you’d be seeing a lot more of ‘just Bob’ now.

“You lied to me.” Bob said approaching the counter, leaning a muscular forearm on it. “Bob?” you turned around questioningly upon hearing the slight drawl you had found yourself thinking about over the past few weeks. “You gave me an employee discount, I kept the receipts” “Look at you Nancy Drew.” you mocked as you continued wiping down the counters.

It was near closing and it was only the two of you in the store. If it was anyone else you would have done your best to hurry them out, but you didn’t mind his company. He’d become somewhat of a regular stopping in once or twice a week, usually buying all the classics everyone started with, you gave him the employee discount every time. Last week it was Queen, A Night At The Opera. This week who knows? He had his favourites though, usually The Beatles and their respective members.

“I brought you a coffee, as a thank you. I hope you like cappuccinos.” He offered the cup to you and you accepted graciously with a wry smile. “A cappuccino is good.”

He went to turn on his heel but you called his name out and he turned back questioningly, almost as if he thought he was hearing things. “We have books- I mean, you like The Beatles right?” you questioned as you dug through the stock below the counter. He popped his head over, looking down on you curiously as you rustled through boxes. “Yeah, Sgt. Pepper’s was my first record” he confided nostalgically, chin resting on his hand. You let out a little hmph of triumph as your fingers curled around exactly what you were looking for. “We got a song book! I remembered you like them so I held it back for you. You said you played piano right?” you leapt to your feet as Bob leaned back, avoiding a collision.

“Oh…” he scratched the back of his neck avoiding your eyes. He felt awful, you were clearly so excited to give this to him and here was, keeping you past closing and probably about to offend you. “I haven’t played in years really… not since my dad passed. It was kind of our thing.”

Bob hated this part of conversations. The part where people’s eyes filled with pity and they started talking down to you like an upset child, but you weren’t.

You grabbed a sharpie from the cup on the desk and opened the book, scrawling digits on the cover before you slid it across the counter. Making your move across the chess board. Throwing the ball in his court. “That’s my number. If you ever want to get back into it. I give piano lessons to some kids after work on Wednesdays but I’m sure I can squeeze you in.”

So he considered it.

Bob thought nothing bad could happen in your presence. Not with the way you smelled like vanilla. Or the way your lipstick stained your coffee cups. Or the way your hair always looked so soft. Not with the way your smile alone lit up the darkest corners of a room. You were like a halo of light in a big, dim world.

He could hear you shifting back and forth on your heels, waiting for any sort of acknowledgment on the offer.

“Can you do Thursdays?” You squinted your eyes in mock concern but couldn’t fight the smile bubbling to the surface. “I’ll ask my guy… see what I can do.” “Then I guess I’ll text you when I’m home” he smiled coyly, raising the book in acknowledgment.

“I take vanilla… in my cappuccino.”

Of course you do.

You paced around the the living room, the only sound being your shoes on the hardwood floors and your quick shallow breaths. Bob had called when he left to let you know he was on his way and all of a sudden you weren’t feeling so sure about this. What if you embarrassed yourself? What if you had been too insistent and you had upset him? You ran your hand through your hair, tousling it until it was somewhat presentable before the knocking on your door echoed in your hallway.

“I told you to just walk in, you know?” you said pointedly letting Bob in. “I don’t know about you, but my mama raised me with manners, miss” he teased with an exaggerated twang, trailing behind you.

His eyes followed every last detail as you showed him around your home. There were pictures lining every wall. With friends, with family, on vacation, in the store… you name it and you probably had it framed somewhere. No sign of a boyfriend though. Not that he had a chance but it’s nice to have a little hope. Ever the eternal optimist.

“…but you didn’t come here to see my bedroom.” you trailed off, nudging him from his trance while guiding him to the piano in the living room. If he was honest he would tell you he only caught the end of that sentence but it’s okay to not be honest sometimes.

Bob was a beautiful man. You studied his features in the warm light of the room as his eyes flit across the notes on the page in front of him. His eyes were honest and when you looked in them you were drowning and you didn’t care about coming up for air. When he smiled he smiled with his whole face. His eyes crinkled, his cheeks dimpled and a lopsided grin adorned his cherub like face. He lit up the room like the sun lit up the morning sky after the long, cold, dark winter nights.”

“You have pianist hands” you blurted out while he half heartedly banged out another Billy Joel song on the ivory keys. The ‘lesson’ was long over and the room was filled with laughter as he attempted to play some of the worst covers you have ever heard. “These are million dollar hands I’ll have you know! I’m not sure how the navy would take that compliment” “Oh shut up. You know what I mean.” In an act of courage or stupidity, maybe both, Bob gently grabbed your hand resting on the keys and held it up to his. “They’re so small” he pouted, only half mocking you. “Maybe you just have freakishly big hands, bully someone your own size Lieutenant.” you leaned in slightly, pushing his hand back. 

“Can I play you one more?” He leaned his forehead against yours with pleading eyes. Jutting his lip out for dramatic effect. You rolled your eyes playfully. “If you play one more Billy Joel song I’m gonna get evicted.” “No. I promise. It’s one my dad taught me.” His face softened at the word and your heart sighed for him. “This ones for you papa Floyd” you said toasting your coffee mug to the ceiling. Bobs eyes followed forlornly. “S’ones for you pops.”

Your shoulders pressed flush together as his fingers worked across the keys. A soft, familiar tune came from them and you felt him hum along. “Hey Jude, don’t make it bad, take a sad song and make it better…” his body pushed against you in encouragement, prompting you to join in softly while he sang.

The last time Bob had played this song was at the funeral but something was telling him it was time to move on. To make it the song he remembers without tears clouding his eyes while he hurries to the bathroom. It was hard to be sad while your head lay on his shoulder and you looked like angel. Sang like one too. Maybe his mama was right. Maybe angels were real.

He finished the song with a solemn smile as you lifted your head. “That was really nice…” you grabbed his hand, squeezing it reassuringly. You wanted him to know that you were there for him.

Your touch sent butterflies to his stomach. He thought about every time your hand brushed his. Every time you called his name cheerily over your shoulder when he came in. Every time he wished he was going home with you. Every time he wished the lipstick stained coffee cups were littering his car.

“I think I want to kiss you” you hadn’t meant for it to come out so suddenly. You didn’t even know you were speaking until you stopped. Your cheeks were flushing red under his gaze.

He felt all the air leave his lungs. He thought about this a lot. Maybe he was still dreaming. But the soft press of your lips on his confirmed otherwise. Your hand cradled his face like he was made of glass. Bob had never been treated so gently. You pulled away but kept a hold on his cheek. He liked that. It reminded him he wasn’t about to wake up to his alarm. “Can you kiss me again?” you barely let him finish the sentence before you were pressed to him. His hands instinctively pulled you into his lap where you fit like pieces of a puzzle.

“Stay the night, I just want to kiss you” “Where’s the bedroom again?”

[oldiesstationlover11607]

OMG i just had an idea-

what about tyler x reader where reader is interviewing the boys in honor of their new album !!! the tensionnn, like just imagine EVERYONE notices that theyre totally heart eyes for each other but them and maybe josh pokes some fun at them AH

also!! im the same gal who rec'ed the idea for Cover; you did so good on it!! super excited to read more of your stuff!! :)))

Radio Interview - Tyler Joseph x Reader

Relationship: Tyler Joseph × Reader

Warnings: None - super fluffy

Word Count: 791 - thought this would be perfect for a short blurb type piece so whipped this up in he back of my class lol

A/N: Thanks for enjoying cover! If you're going to be a regular requester I'd love to assign an emoji so I can tell my anons apart. Next time you request just let me know which emoji you'd like to use :)

“Welcome to 47.6 Alt Music Daily! Today, we have Tyler Joseph and Josh Dun from twenty one pilots in the studio to talk about their newest album Vessel! Thanks for coming in, guys,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady as I glanced down to double-check their mics were on. The studio had been buzzing with energy all day, and I'd spent the morning getting ready, listening to their new album on repeat. The excitement of meeting them was something I was barely able to contain.

“Thanks for having us,” Tyler responded, his voice smooth and perfectly on the mic. Most guests struggled with positioning, but not him—his eyes flicked over to mine, and there was something there. A curiosity I couldn't quite place. His sleeves rode up slightly, revealing fresh tattoos snaking up his arms. I'd been thinking of getting my own for months, and the sight stirred a new wave of nerves I hadn’t expected. I made a mental note to ask him about it later. 

I shifted my attention back to my notes. “So, for anyone who doesn’t already know, twenty one pilots is a local Columbus duo who cover a range of genres, including rap, pop, rock, and alternative music.” Tyler nodded as I spoke, his eyes fixed on me with an intensity that made my heart race.

“Sounds about right,” Josh chimed in, breaking the tension with a laugh.

“Okay, so how long have you guys been making music?” I asked, flipping to the next question, though the sudden warmth in my cheeks made it hard to focus.

Tyler looked like he was trying to hold back a smile. “I started when I was 16. Played piano, wrote my first song, and then released a solo album unofficially.”

“Well, I’ve been playing drums since I was about 12,” Josh added. “I’d hang around music stores until closing, playing their kits until I got kicked out.”

“Don’t ask him how many times he’s been kicked out,” Tyler interjected, shooting Josh a teasing look. “He can list every store and the exact date.”

Josh gasped dramatically. “And I’m proud of it!” His grin was infectious, but my eyes were drawn back to Tyler, who was shaking his head with amusement.

I laughed softly, glancing at my notes again. “Okay, so... where does the name ‘twenty one pilots’ come from?” I asked, trying to keep things professional, though my mind kept wandering back to the way Tyler was watching me.

Tyler’s eyes lit up. “Oh, that’s one of my favorite stories. It’s from a play called All My Sons by Arthur Miller.”

“Oh my god, I remember studying that in high school!” I blurted, my excitement bubbling over. Tyler straightened up in his seat, his gaze locking with mine as I continued, “It’s about a father who ran a company that made parts for World War II planes, and he had to decide whether to send out faulty parts.”

“Right! He chooses to send them out, and twenty one pilots die because of it. His son, who was also a pilot, dies in the war, and though it's never confirmed, his daughter blames the father for her brother's death. The guilt leads him to take his own life,” Tyler finished, his voice soft but intense.

It was like no one else was in the room—just the two of us, connecting over this shared memory.

“So, how does it relate to the music?” I asked, resting my chin on my hand, hanging on his every word.

Tyler leaned forward slightly, his eyes locked on mine. “It’s about those moral crossroads we all face. Choosing between what's easy now but could be disastrous later, or making the tough call that’ll pay off in the long run. It’s something we ask ourselves all the time—what’s our purpose? Why are we making music? Right now, it’s simple: we just want to make people think.”

Josh, who had been silently observing, leaned into his mic with a mischievous smirk. “Or, you know, maybe it’s also to impress someone,” he teased, wiggling his eyebrows.

Tyler’s face flushed red as he shot Josh a glare. “That’s not—”

My cheeks burned as Tyler quickly looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh... so, about that next question?” he stammered, trying to steer the conversation back on track.

I couldn’t help but laugh, the tension breaking just enough for me to finally breathe. “Yeah, we’ll move on... for now,” I added, glancing playfully at Josh.

The rest of the interview flowed smoothly, but that undercurrent of something unspoken remained, hanging between Tyler and me. And as the session wrapped up, I found myself wondering if maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t the only one feeling it.

//

Requests open!

[eri3ne]

we could have been us

You idiot, we could’ve been us

We could have been us

But hadn’t they been? For centuries, millennia even, they had been well…them. Aziraphale and Crowley. Especially for the past two years they had been together all the time, spending nearly every waking moment side by side. And even before then, they’d just pop up into each other's lives whenever they wanted or needed. Crowley could hardly remember a time when he and Aziraphale hadn’t been there for one another.

And now, he was alone. His only friend in the world had left him. His angel had left him.

And the worst part? Aziraphale hadn’t just left. He tried to take Crowley with him, and tried to get him to come back. To work for Heaven. Why the hell would he want that? They had been happy in their own little corner of the world and together. An Angel and a Demon but neither lived quite by the rules and now Aziraphale uprooted both of their lives and became the Supreme Archangel of Heaven. Wasn’t that against everything they stood for. They were an Angel and a Demon on their own side. Not heaven not hell, just Aziraphale and Crowly. But now, Aziraphale was with heaven once again.

And he still went even after Crowley had poured his entire heart out. He finally worked up the nerve to kiss him. Why didn’t he stay? What did Crowley do wrong? What the fuck?

Now, Crowley found himself across the street from the bookshop looking at the spot where Aziraphale and Metatron had just gone up to Heaven. He didn’t even know what to do with himself. So he just stood there, leaning against the Bentley, trying to figure out what to do next.

He looked around, Maggie was behind the counter at the record store and Nina was serving people coffee, Muriel was outside the bookshop. How dare she? Everything was just as it had been last time he’d been out here. Everyone was acting like everything was the same, like everything was alright, like the world hadn’t just changed forever. Crowley’s best friend, the man that he loved, was gone and no one cared. No one even knew. No one would ever know.

So, Crowley got in his car, and he just went. Went where? Anywhere but here. Anywhere he wouldn’t have to think about Aziraphale and all he had lost in the last hour. So, he put his foot on the gas, the radio at max volume and turned whenever he got too used to the road he was on.

He was doing a pretty good job at drowning out his emotions, when a certain song came on. All You Need Is Love by The Beatles. Because of course it was, one of few “modern” songs Crowley could think of that Aziraphale truly enjoyed, and a song about love. As if it wasn't enough that the demon had lost his angel, the universe was playing some cruel joke on him. Which should be impossible, he designed the damned thing. And yet here he was.

This was simply the last straw. Crowley pulled off to the side of the road and broke down. He cried, he screamed, he hit shit. But the real kicker is, Crowley cried. It was the first time in a while that he let himself have a good and proper cry. And it had been even longer since Aziraphale wasn't there to help him through it. He wasn't sure how long he had been there, it felt like something in between a few seconds and a few hours. But Crowley found himself curled up in a ball in his passenger seat, fresh out of tears to cry, shaking, and struggling to breath.

It was moments like these when Crowley wished he could die. He wished he could stop feeling. Particularly this feeling, he wasn’t quite sure what to call it, but it was just about the worst thing Crowley ever felt. And you would think that by now, Crowley would know how to not feel like this, or at least to make it not so bad. But he had always had Aziraphale to help him to make him feel better and keep breathing. Now though, he was all on his own, and he had no idea what to do. So he sat there in his passenger seat for at least an hour, doing all he could to get his breath back to a usual pattern and just generally calm himself back down.

Soon enough he was back on the road, his breath still a little shaky and his body still a little weak.

Crowley had absolutely no clue where he was going until he got there. The only place that really brought him comfort, but also the very place he was trying to get away from. He found himself right in front of the book shop five hours later. Not entirely trusting himself to drive much more, Crowley walked across the street and into Give Me Coffee or Give Me Death. He went straight to a table, not wanting to have to deal with people. But almost immediately, and it truly seemed as though she could read his thoughts and was trying to spite him, Nina showed up at his table.

“No.” he said before she got the chance to ask what he wanted, or God Forbid a much noisier question.

“What can I get you, Sir.”

“I already said no.” he felt like he was about to snap.

“Well then, I hate to break it to ya mister, but if you're not gonna have a coffee… you’re gonna have to leave,” she said, as sweet as she could. But Crowley didn’t reply. “Look,” she was no longer attempting to sweet talk him into listening. She knew it wouldn’t work. “I don’t know why you're moping around in a corner all alone. But I’ve got paying customers that could be drinking coffee they paid for at this table, which as I’m sure you're aware, is not what’s happening at this table.”

And at this point, Crowley is getting pissed. But he decides it’s best just to order a coffee. “Black coffee, hot.” He mutters, almost whispering.

“What was that?” Nina teases.

“Oh you heard me!” Crowley hisses. Nina leaves to get his and the other patrons orders. And Crowley is left alone with his thoughts, yet again.

Even in the bustling coffee shop, Crowley feels utterly alone. He truly had no place to go. In the past, when he was unable to return to hell, he had slept in his car in the nights and visited Aziraphale in the bookshop during the days. But now, he still could not return to hell and there was no one he might visit.

And it was at this moment that Crowley realized he doesn’t have any friends. He had no one. He was a demon all alone in the world, just as he should have been. And he had absolutely no clue how to cope with it.

And oh, here he goes again.

He’s not crying this time.

Or at least he doesn’t think he is.

But he can’t quite breathe properly.

And the walls are closing in on him.

And-

“Here you are,” and here Nina was, coffee in hand. Breaking Crowley out of a spiral. “Hot black coffee.” she smiles.

“Thanks,” Crowley replied. He wasn’t sure what else to say, but Nina stayed there, just looking at him. So he looked straight back at her.

“So where’s your f-” She started.

“No.” Crowley snapped, cutting her off.

“Yes, actually. Where is your friend?” Now, Nina isn’t usually one to pry, but this topic was of particular interest to her. These two men had meddled in her love life, so she felt it was only fair for her to do the same to them.

“Gone.” he whispered. And this time, Nina truly could not hear him.

“What was that?” She tried to sound as kind as possible. Which was…not her strong suit, but this guy seemed like he needed some kindness right about now.

“He’s gone.” Crowley said again, this time a little louder, and trying a little harder to hold back the tears that were ever so persistently forming in the corners of his eyes. And this time Nina doesn’t respond. Crowley is looking down at his table so he thinks she might have left. That is, of course, until he feels her slide into the seat next to him, and place a hand on his shoulder.

“I am so, so sorry.” she tells him softly. Crowley turns his head to face her but he still can't meet her eyes. And only now, when he’s finally realized that he’s not all alone, he lets the tears come. And come they do, it's like the floodgates have opened. And Crowley just sits there, with a near stranger. Crying and being comforted.

Maybe Crowley lost the love of his life.

But, maybe that doesn’t mean that the world has to end.

Sure, he’s gonna be sad, and pissed off, and all those other negative feelings about it. But he supposed that those feelings just have to happen, because if he tries to stop them, every day could be just as bad as today was. And, while Crowley doesn’t know what's next, the world will keep on turning. No matter how bad he wishes it would stop.

In the middle of Crowley's stream of thoughts, Nina has gotten up from where she was sitting next to him and she says, “Welp, I’ve got to get back to working. But, if you need anything, anything at all, I’m here. Just come and get me and I’ll do all I can.” She squeezes Crowley's shoulder, and heads off.

We could have been us. Crowley thinks. We could have been us, but you left me, to do God knows what up in Heaven.

And maybe they would have the chance to be “them” again. After whatever Aziraphale was doing up there was over and done with. If he ever decided to come back to Earth, Crowley would be there waiting for him. Willing and able to do whatever Aziraphale wanted. Barring, of course, going with him to Heaven.

But until then, if “then” ever comes, Crowley will just have to make it to the next day. And then the next and the next. He’ll try to get on with life. But he knew that hurt he felt when Aziraphale left, would never entirely go away.

[harlowarchives]

❝ a 𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐎𝐖 story!

HI! omg ok, so this was originally published on wattpad because it wasn't getting any getting reads i gave up on it & left wattpad completely but... out of boredom i re-read it this weekend and was honestly in 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐞 so i decided to upload it here if u like this i'll do some more but i love you, enjoy! ⁀➷

↳ listen to THIS PLAYLIST.

𝐍𝐎 warning today, all fluff & language!

Dawn was simply exhausted. She had been working all day at her job as a daycare worker with mostly 3-6-year-old kids from around 8:00 am to 1:50 pm. She walked down the street from her job towards the deli, picking up her usual chop cheese and pineapple Fanta with a pack of golden Oreos. Dawn waited for her food and had her usual conversation with her favorite deli guy, Max, who had been working there since she was seven. They had grown a tight bond and he called her "bestie" every time she walked in the deli to put a smile on her face when she'd had a rough day or wasn't in a good mood. Dawn shifted a bit, feeling a figure behind her as a person entered the store. She posted against the fridge waiting for her food to be ready as she glanced over at a tall Caucasian man with fluffy curly hair and deep blue eyes. She stopped herself for a second when he turned around to look back at her, releasing his hand from his pocket to give her a calm wave. After a second or two, it had finally registered that the man was someone familiar, Jack Harlow. "Nina! One chop cheese," Max called out, pointing towards Dawn.

“How much, bestie?" Dawn smiled. "15.98," he replied, returning the expression. "I'll pay for her," Jack called. Dawn began to blush. "Thank yo—" as Jack stopped her. "Least I could do when you look that gahdamn fine." Dawn was completely flustered, interrupting her daze. "You want anything else?" he asked, looking down at her small curvy figure, pulling $500 from his pocket. "I'm good," she said nervously. Jack then nodded, placing a $100 bill on the counter, then grabbing her bag and his bag across from it, smiling at Max as Dawn waved and they walked out of the store together. "Thank you, I really appreciate it," the short, curvy girl said, gifting Jack a warm smile. "No problem, I'm Jack," he replied, laughing as she peered at him.

“TRUST ME, I know.”

The two of them laughed for a bit while walking aimlessly down the street before Jack asked, "You tryna hit the park with me?" Dawn teased, furrowing her brow. "I don't know, stranger. Am I?" "Handsome stranger," Jack added as she rolled her eyes. "Hm, it wouldn't hurt. But if anything, I'm showing you around," Dawn said, pulling his wrists while grinning.

Dawn was a BIG talker the entire way to all of her favorite spots in the city, but Jack wasn't even short of entertained. There was a glimmer in her eye whenever Dawn started talking about Queens. She told Jack pretty much everything about herself, and he shared stories of him and his rugrat little brother Clay. Dawn made him feel extremely vulnerable because he'd never see her again. His secrets would never be used against him in a petty argument. Regardless, Dawn wasn't even the type - she was so warm.

The city streets were boiling. The children played outside - little girls playing double dutch, making dance routines while the boys raced each other down the streets and tripped the girls jumping rope. One of the little girls began shoving her friend, screaming to look across the street, running across the street towards Jack as others followed behind asking for pictures. As he laughed, scratching his head, embracing the kids, handing all of them 5 dollar bills, the kids were smiling and thanking him.

"Do you make that popping song?" a little girl questioned, as Jack nodded. "Yes, I do make the popping song," he smiled. "Momma said that's the devil's music," the girl responded, scrunching her nose, looking slightly disgusted. "Where's your mom?" he questioned while the girl pointed towards her mother sitting on the step, yelling at the kids who were misbehaving. "Give her this, tell her I make the popping song," he laughed, turning slightly red, passing the child an uncounted wad of cash as the little girl beamed running towards her mother handing her the money as the woman broke into tears, smiling. The boys and girls crowded around the mother and her children as Jack grabbed Dawn before the woman had a chance to see where the money had come from.

Dawn smiled, pulling Jack into a tight squeeze that was quickly returned she didn't have any idea what to say to him she let her actions speak instead, Jack walked towards a stand nicely located under a gazebo where three or four boys who all looked to be no older than 18 sold teddy bears, bouquets & fruit arrangements. He bought the largest bear available while Dawn just stood watching with a smile plastered across her face. Jack bought a card, standing in the corner writing a letter to Dawn for about 5 minutes before unzipping the bear and stuffing the letter inside. "You are so extra," Dawn added while cheesing, unzipping the bear reaching inside before Jack quickly popped her hand. "Read it later, Dawn!" he said placing his hand on his hip as she burst out into uncontrollable laughter. "Ok, Mr. Sassy, I'll wait," she sighed as he looked at her completely unamused.

Dawn and Jack had just roamed around the neighborhood for a while aimlessly talking about absolutely everything, things they wouldn't dare tell anyone else.

Dawn told Jack about every memory she'd made on the streets they walked, and he'd always had a similar memory of his hometown to share. After Dawn had complained about needing to rest her legs, he'd thrown her over his shoulder. Her body adjusted, resting her legs on his shoulders, her arms around his neck, gently stroking his chin, playing in his hair while he walked towards the park nearest to her house.

Dawn and Jack sat on the park bench feeding the birds the leftover bread from Dawn's sandwich. They'd laugh at the ducks who fought for food, pushing the others over. As the sky began to grey, Dawn rested her head on Jack's lap as he stroked her hair while she played with his loose yet tight moisturized coils. They had yet to break eye contact. Jack was entranced in her deep expanding brown eyes. 'Do you have a staring problem?' Jack scowled, rolling his eyes as Dawn laughed and pushed him. 'Bitch, da fuck you were looking at me first!' she snapped back, causing them to break out into even harder laughter.

⁀➷ shortly 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑!

Jack's fingers intertwined with Dawn's his varsity jack draped over her shoulders as the two walked up to her building. Jack licked his lips sucking his bottom stuck in her eyes like a tangled shoe lace.

Dawn began grinning at Jack opening her arms wrapping her arms around his chest placing his arms around her small waist, time sat still. They just hugged & hugged and hugged, until Jack layed a kiss on her forehead both of them cheesing "Thank you, Jack." Dawn said as he wrapped his hand around hers, "Thank you more, beautiful." clearing her hair out her face as the midnight breeze ran through her hair, he ran down the steps of the building before the girl blew a kiss at Jack that he quickly caught placing it in his pocket running off.

🏷️ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 ⁱ : @lexxlovesjack @iknowdatsrightbih @iheartharlow @livsters @honeyharlows @killatravtramp @jackmanduh

[diskmess]

ABOUT THESE EXPLORATIONS

(This is already posted on the 'about' page, but no one's gonna see that so I'm making it a normal post as well)

I listened to music differently in middle school. My relationship with music was different.

For an amount of reasons, LimeWiring songs had become a sort of non-possibility. This left me at the mercy of whatever I could find on YouTube (circa 2008) and whatever CDs I could get my grubby, nasty little hands on. Single pieces of music meant a lot more to me. Just one entire album of songs would suffice for at least a month’s entertainment. 

In the eighth grade I remember getting a teenage-sized lecture on monthly budgeting. As a basic exercise, we were individually given a monthly budget and several necessities we had to spend that money on. Each necessity had tiers from least to most expensive. For entertainment expenses, the cheapest option was one $10 CD every month. After that, the options got significantly more expensive. Of course, I chose the humble Compact Disk.

The teacher chuckled. “Really? Just one CD a month? No movies or anything?” 

Really. 

Some guy my mom was seeing at the time gave us a portable CD player. I used it almost every night alongside some cheap sound-canceling cans that were originally a gift for my dad, but he never used them. I’d blast the air conditioning, flip on the noise cancellation, push the “2x Bass” button on the CD player and just lay in bed with my eyes closed, listening as the disk spun.  

Which brings me to Now:

I recently threw my Spotify subscription in the Kill Pile. I have been discovering (and rediscovering) other ways to Love music. The first of these discoveries (and rediscoveries) was The Joy of Catching the Radio. Maybe someday I will write about The Joy of Catching the Radio. I will not write about it now.

The second of these discoveries (and rediscoveries) was The Joy of the Compact Disk. 

I like writing it with a K. It feels tougher and chunkier. Maybe calling a smooth, glossy little disk “tough” and “chunky” sounds incorrect. Maybe writing it this way comes across as teaboo posturing. That’s fine. I understand that CDs were once the sleeker and sexier Music Circle, killing vinyl dead. 

Why buy a big, fat, clumsy, skippy-crackly record when you could buy this ultra-convenient little disk that you can even play in your car? 

Some years pass, and it changes: 

Why buy an easily scratch n’ scritchable rotting disc when you could just stream it? 

And the tables turn: 

Why even buy a CD when you could buy a huge record that loudly displays your Deep Love for the music in all of its crackly, analog charm?

The Compact Disk is no longer sleek and sexy. These things hog up valuable real-estate in record stores. One of my local record stores even has a ‘buy three, get one free’ deal for CDs. They line the walls of that store, becoming one with the border that separates the Out There from the In Here. They sit in cardboard trays underneath the neat rows of vinyl and assimilate into the furniture’s sturdy legs.

HENCE:

I insist on using the equally correct, chunkier spelling of the word ‘disc.’ These things, in their pointy-cornered little plastic cases, are proper disks. 

Last month, newly free from the SHACKLES of Spotify, I popped into a record store on a whim. Underneath the shelves of vinyl records, there were boxes full of CDs. I got down on my hands and knees and carefully dug around each and every box, my fingers getting dust-crusted in the process. These things were dirt cheap. I bought about five of ‘em for a piddling fifteen American dollars. I bought some albums I know and Love, some albums I kinda know, and some stuff I’d never heard of in my life. 

The Joy of the Compact Disk turned my blood into gasoline fire. My heart exploded into larger versions of itself.

Finding music this way elicits a sense of exploration and discovery that I never got from just browsing related artists on Spotify. It’s impossible to describe. Even so, I’d like to try, if I can, to share a small morsel of the fruits of these explorations with Whoever Feels Like Reading All This.

Here is the CD player I will be using. It’s actually very similar to the one I had in middle school, although it lacked the swanky Walkman branding. It even has a bass boosting button, cutely labeled “SOUND.” This thing delights me. Beyond the joyful color and wonderfully bubblous design, it also reminds me of a Walkman MP3 player I used to hog from my older brother. I think I hogged it so much that it eventually became mine. I also happen to be borrowing this particular device from my younger sibling. It feels like the most appropriate machine to use on my voyage of music discovery (and rediscovery).

With all that said, I’d like to have these Online Postings be brief, for the most part. I’d like to share the experience of my DISCOVERY, followed by a description of my own EXPLORATION of the disk’s contents. As always and forever: you can read it or don’t. I dare not hang such annoyances upon anyone who doesn’t Want to be annoyed. There is no expectation. I only want to extend an invitation.

I intend to listen to these disks while laying in bed, distraction-free. I intend to become a vessel. I will go wherever I am led. Whatever I find upon arrival, I will describe to the best of my ability.

Thank you.

(I posted the first of these Reports a short while ago. You can read it here if you'd like — and only if you'd like.)

[audio-luddite]

Back to Normal

I sat down and did a listen for 2 hours after the system warmed up. The EH tube is in the preamp. The AT7V body with the AT440 stylus is on the turntable.

It was a bit different. The problem with the right channel is gone. As I said yesterday tubes can fail slowly which lets you get used to that changing sound. I was happy with the voice of my system until it got really bad. Fool me once.....

It now sounds more solid, and more clear.

The albums I played were a broad selection. There was noticeably more clarity but not harshness in the treble. The 440 Stylus is what they call a microline which is a bit sharper than an elliptical. It can trace fine detail better than an elliptical shape and even a Shibata tip. It is supposed to find areas of the groove that are not as worn from playing. More treble is to be expected.

My early experience with the AT440MLa was it was hot sounding to the point of unpleasant. I later attributed that to the capacitance of the lines to the preamplifier. It is particularly sensitive. With correct loading it was much better. It also means the stylus is almost new.

I played the "audiophile" Supertramp "breakfast.." album. It sounded good, but I am not that familiar with it as I have played it perhaps two other times.

Next was one side of Quarter moon in a ten cent town. It is a hot recording, but not harsh. Again all is well, and I was able to get out of the looking for issues mode.

I played three sides (yes 3) of my 2x180@45 rpm of Fleetwood Mac Rumours. Fleetwood is a drummer. Mac is a Bass player. They have always been big in the bottom end. I think they were a bit bigger now than I recall. More umph in the new tube? The tinkling bells and cymbals Mr Fleetwood likes were very clear. The vocal tracks were obvious where they overdubbed the background singing. The also did many overdub tracks of guitar by Mr. Buckingham. Overall it was more clear than before. Any trace of that goofy channel was gone.

One of my favourite songs is "Songbird". Just a solo singer and her piano in a real theater. Though there is a guitar quietly mixed in to accent some stuff. It is a pretty nice recording with less of the pop-song-rock processing on the rest of the album.

In the second side of Dire Straits Album I noticed that the character of the percussion was different. The drummer was hitting the cymbals and the tick of the stick was prominent at each hit. I had not ever noticed that. So yes different and more detail.

I will geek out on more later.

In other news I got notice that my compatible power tubes are on the way. $120 bucks extra. That makes me think I should have modified the bias circuit as the parts are far less than the premium for the tubes. That violates the purity of the ARC design though. W.Z. Johnson would be appalled. Oh well this only needs be done every few years. The set in the Cl60 are very old.

My Tube dealer is "the tube store".

I really appreciate the friendly service. They have been very helpful. They are in Canada, but ship worldwide.

When all done and running all the tubes in my system will be Russian Electro Harmonix. Just like the factory wanted. It is getting cooler around here, I can use the extra heat.

[randomvarious]

Today's compilation:

Badger-A-Go-Go 1989 College Rock / Indie Rock / Power Pop / Avant Garde

I don't think that comps like this really get made that much anymore, either physically or digitally, but all throughout the 80s, 90s, and probably up until the ~mid-2000s, it seemed that nearly every American city, sizeable suburban cluster, and college town had had some sort of snapshot made of its own locally eclectic independent music scene at one point that you could pick up in that locale's own record stores. People who put these things together may not have realized what vital artifacts they'd end up becoming later on down the line, but with this Badger-A-Go-Go CD from the now-defunct brick-and-mortar shop that was Atomic Records—which also operated briefly as a label—we get a nice, little document of what was bustling in late 80s Milwaukee, Wisconsin.

Now, inevitably, when you sift through local comps of this type, not everything is gonna slap. A bunch of local bands end up staying local for good reason, and Milwaukee is no exception; a lot of this music, with 35 years of hindsight, is really not that much to write home about. And even though some of these bands did end up making decent names for themselves—Plasticland appeared on a comp from pioneering indie label BOMP! Records; Die Kreuzen were on Touch and Go; and E-I-E-I-O landed on Frontier, which had been home to bands like Circle Jerks, Suicidal Tendencies, American Music Club, and T.S.O.L.—the fact of the matter is that every song that appeared on this album was an exclusive. And that certainly makes this thing a must-have for any die-hard completist fan of any of the bands that are on here, but it's also something that usually suggests that each band didn't contribute any of their A+ material, either.

But with all of those caveats, we still nevertheless appear to have a couple gems on here—one from a band called Dummy Club and another by a group that goes by the irreverent name of Couch Flambeau.

It might strike some as odd for a psychobilly band from anywhere in the US to actually find the bulk of its success in a place like Germany instead, but that appears to have been the case with Dummy Club. Founded in '82, they would end up making their only release in '85 on Berlin label Zensor, and then would make their final appearance in '89 on this very comp, before breaking up and then later re-forming as the Psycho Bunnies. Here, with their amphetamine-fueled and punky Americana sound, they deliver "The American Way," a shouted anthem that not only ironically proclaims that the quote-unquote 'American way of life' actually stinks, but it also smells! 🇺🇲👃😫

And then Couch Flambeau, who both Discogs and RateYourMusic seem to bill as a punk band, deliver something that doesn't actually feel all that punk in "Helvetica," a dynamic piece of flowy indie rock with a wacky and off-key, childlike lead vocal that definitely sounds inspired by lo-fi outsider king Daniel Johnston.

Apparently Dave Grohl has professed himself as a fan of Couch Flambeau too, and guess what? If you actually visit the Atomic Records website, where the business still operates as an online storefront, the first thing you'll see on there is an old pic of Dave playing at a show while wearing an Atomic Records tee! And being that today was the first time that I actually visited their website, I thought that maybe they had just put it up as a joke recently in light of Dave's recent news (he just had a biological kid outside of his own marriage!), but apparently it's been up there for a while now 😅.

Anyway, always love digging into these comps that reflect the arts and cultures of specific pockets of the country from a certain point in time. Most of these kinds of albums expectedly don't end up bearing much fruit, but it's still worth it to learn about local scenes and find a couple sweet and obscure songs along the way 😎.

Highlights:

Dummy Club - "The American Way" Couch Flambeau - "Helvetica"

[karmic-vibes]

If I Can Dream

17 - We’re Trapped in a World

cw: use of deadname, misuse of pronouns, use of f slur, use of t slur, mentions of cheating, [verbal] domestic dispute, threats of divorce

Year: 1993

“Steve, please, for the love of god, turn this off,” Eddie huffed.

“What? It’s just music.”

“ABBA isn’t music!”

“You dillweed, yes it is! Back me up here, Bobbs.”

“I like it,” She shrugged from her car seat.

“Of course the hell spawn takes your side with ABBA. Ugh, what a disappointing day.”

“Sorry, papa,” Bobby pouted.

“I’m only teasing, bug. Listen to whatever you want—as long as it makes you happy, then I’m happy.”

“How come the same logic doesn’t apply to me?” Steve asked.

“Because you didn’t come out of me—you don’t get the free pass.”

“I feel like since I didn’t come out of you I should get the free pass.”

“You put her in me—all your free passes are gone, Harrington.”

“Whatever, ABBA stays on.”

Steve turned up the volume as he spoke, making Eddie cringe in his seat. If the pair were still dating, or just didn’t have a child, he would’ve turned it off, smashed the tape, and chucked it out of the window.

But, alas, Bobby was bopping her head along in the backseat. Eddie would be damned if he turned off the music she liked.

The family pulled into the grocery store as the song ended. Eddie thanked all the gods he didn’t believe in and started collecting their belongings—Steve grabbed Bobby as he grabbed their reusable bags. Bobby was hiked up onto Steve’s hip, clutching at the collar of his polo shirt. As the family walked through the threshold of the store, ABBA’s Voulez-Vous was blaring over the speakers.

Steve smirked at his husband as Eddie blatantly ignored him, grabbing the shopping cart. Steve walked ahead of him with Bobby still on his hip—he was prancing around the aisles, bouncing the little one up and down to the beat.

“Voulez-Vous, aha!” Steve sang, bouncing the toddler up and down with each aha.

Bobby giggled giddily as her father used her as a pawn to taunt her other dad. Eddie started walking ahead of Steve, trying to save himself some embarrassment, but it was no use. Steve continued pestering his husband until the song died out over the speakers. Another pop song began to play, and Eddie just tried to tune it out.

“Okay, I can take produce through soda and you can do soda through freezer section?” Eddie asked.

“Yeah, we can do that. Bobbs, do you wanna stay with me or go in the cart with papa?”

“Stay with you,” she pouted. “Sorry, papa, I don’t wike the cart.”

“It’s okay, bug, I understand. No hard feelings. We’ll meet back near the Coke, okay?”

“Sounds good. Come on, bug.”

And with that, the pair split up to complete their shopping list. When Eddie was making his way up his last aisle, before reconvening with Steve, someone accidentally rammed into him with with cart.

“Jesus– watch where you’re going!” he scoffed.

“Sorry, sor… holy shit…” the guy smirked. “Eden Munson?”

“Huh?” Eddie quirked a brow. “Do I know you?”

“Billy… Billy Hargrove. We went to school together.”

“Oh, right. Hi.”

“You look well.”

“Because I am.”

“You seeing anyone these days?”

“Uh, yeah? My husband?”

“Huh, no shit. How long have you been married?”

“We just celebrated our five year.”

“I’m sure Harrington’s kicking himself,” he chortled.

“Why do you say that?”

“His high school crush moved on and is married? I didn’t even date you and I’m upset. Even if you did get rid of your best asset,” he tutted his tongue. “What happened, by the way?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Your chest, Munson– or Missus, whatever. It’s like they vanished into thin air.”

“Are you dumb or just plain stupid?”

“I’m sorry?”

“I’m a dude, Hargrove. Of fucking course they’re gone.”

“Shit… Harrington dodged a bullet, I guess.”

“What’s with your obsession with Harrington, hmm? Because every fucking interaction we’ve ever had has seemed to be centered around him.”

“Awe, Munson, is it a touchy subject? Is he the one that left you?”

“Please,” Eddie scoffed. “What is it with your obsession with him? Is he the one that got away?” Eddie spat.

Billy’s face fell, brows knitted together, tears brimming at his eyes. He grabbed Eddie by the collar and shoved him into the closest shelf—Eddie gasped for air as the wind was knocked out of him.

“Who fucking told you?” Billy grit his teeth. “He said he’d never breathe a fucking word to anyone.”

“You fucked my husband‽” Eddie choked out.

“Husband‽”

“Yeah, husband. Answer the question, Hargrove.”

“I don’t need to answer to some tranny faggot bitch.”

“What the fuck did you just call me?” Eddie sneered.

“Oh, you heard me loud and clear, Munson.”

“It’s Harrington, you jealous fucking bitch.”

“Oh, you are so dead, Mun–”

“Ed?” Steve whispered, setting Bobby down—the toddler ran herself over to Eddie, tugging on his pants to be picked up. “I leave you alone for twenty minutes and you nearly go and get yourself killed. Bobby, come here, please.”

“But papa!”

“And I don’t know what in god’s name he’s doing, but I don’t want you getting hurt. Come here, please.”

“Papa?” Billy whispered, letting go of his shirt. “You’re a mom?”

“God, you’re an idiot. No, I’m a dad. Come here, Bobbs. Papa’s okay.”

He crouched down, arms wide open, and waited for his daughter to run into them. As she tore away from Steve’s hand, she giggled as she crashed into Eddie, making him tumble to the ground.

“Dear lord, you’re gonna be the death of me, Bee,” Eddie chuckled. “I think you were just leaving, Hargrove.”

“Yeah… I think I was…” He stepped by Eddie and Bobby on the floor, making his way over the Steve. He cocked his head to the side and plastered a shit-eating grin across his face. “Good to see you again, Steve. Next time you should tell a fling you’re married.”

He pinched Steve’s cheek before heading towards the registers. Eddie held his daughter close, steam visibly shooting from his nostrils and ears. Steve screwed his eyes shut, taking a deep breath, before heading over to help his husband up from the floor.

“Don’t touch me,” Eddie growled. “Let’s just finished our list and go.”

“Ed–”

“I don’t wanna hear it right now, Steve.”

“Nothing happened!”

“We’ll talk about this when we get home,” he snarled. “How was shopping with daddy outside the cart, huh, bug?”

Eddie threw the last few remaining items into the cart, ignoring Steve the entire time. Not wanting to cause a scene in public, or in front of their daughter, he waited until they were home (and after Bobby was put down for her nap). It wasn’t until the couple was unloading the groceries in the kitchen when Eddie exploded.

“What the fuck happened, Steve?”

“Ed, please–”

“I asked you years ago why anyone would hate you. Why didn’t you fucking tell me he was an ex of yours!”

“Because I didn’t think it was pertinent!” Eddie scoffed and rolled his eyes. “He also didn’t want me telling people. I was out, he wasn’t—hell, he still isn’t!”

“And how would you know, Steve? Do you just keep tabs on all your ex’s?”

“No, why would I? The only one I know anything about is Nance, but she doesn’t even count! Why are you even so worked up about this, Ed? I chose you. I married you. I had a child with you. He was a dick anyways! It wouldn’t have worked out.”

“It’s not what you did, Steve, it’s what he said.”

“What did he say?” Eddie scoffed and started throwing random things into the pantry. “Ed!”

“Next time you should tell a fling you’re married…”

“Oh my god, you don’t actually think I’ve slept with him since we’ve been together, do you?” Eddie shrugged. “Ed, when have I ever given you a reason to not trust me? Hmm? I love you. I love Bobby. I love our life. I would never be so fucking stupid to throw it all away—especially on an asshole like him.”

“Then why’d he say it, Steve?” Eddie cried.

“Eddie…”

Steve’s heart broke for his husband. He walked over to him and tried wrapping him in a warm embrace, but Eddie kept shooing him away. Steve, however, wouldn’t take no for an answer. He forced his husband into a tight hug where he fell apart in Steve’s arms, sobbing hysterically.

“I love you…” Steve whispered. “I could never leave you. I can’t lose you, Eds.”

“Why’d he say it, Steve?” Eddie continued weeping.

“Because… shit…”

“What?” Eddie sniffed.

“Back when you were pregnant with Bobby, we saw each other at a bar and started talking. You know, catching up, and…”

“And?”

“He made a move on me, Eddie. It wasn’t anything huge, but I was drunk and didn’t stop it right away. I’m sorry…” Eddie’s eyes widened, tears staining his face, jaw hung slack. “Eds?”

“While I was fucking pregnant…”

“Eddie, it was an accident. It literally meant nothing!”

“No, if it meant nothing you would’ve told me about it as soon as you got home! Not five fucking years later!” Eddie broke away from Steve and shouted at the top of his lungs.

“Eddie, I’m sorry! I didn’t want you to freak out. You were hormonal and I didn’t want you putting stress on yourself or Bee!”

“Oh, how considerate of you! I think I’m falling in love all over again!” Eddie spat.

“Eddie, it was a drunken mistake, five–”

“What did you two do?”

“What?”

“Don’t play dumb, you heard me.” Steve bit his lip and sighed, staring up at the ceiling to keep his tears in. “Steven!”

“I love you.”

“Steve!”

“Please don’t leave me,” he teared up.

“Oh my god, you fucked him, didn’t you?”

“No…” Steve’s voice was soft, hardly there at all. “It started with him kissing me… then feeling me up through my jeans, then… everything was a blur and the next thing I remember was him on his knees in the bathroom.”

“Oh my god,” Eddie cried. He fell to the floor, clutching his necklace in his hands, as he wailed out in agony.

“Eddie, please, I’m sorry! It was years ago. I-It meant nothing!”

“How could you cheat on me when I was pregnant with our child!” he sobbed. “I gave up so fucking much for you and that’s how you repay me? I-I can’t even stand to look at you right now, Steven…”

“Ed–”

“I think it would be best if you stayed with your mother for a few days.”

“Eddie, please… don’t do this.”

“You should be grateful I’m not going out and finding a divorce lawyer, you sack of shit! I could so easily leave you and take Bobby with me.”

“You wouldn’t,” he cried.

“You’re right, I wouldn’t… I just… how could you do that to me, Steve? How?”

“I told you, I was drunk,” he pleaded. “I don’t know if he spiked anything or if I just had that much to drink, but I… Ed, it’s been eating me alive for all these years.”

“Good.”

“I love you and I love Bobby. That’s never going to change. I would do anything for you two.”

“I think what kills me the most, Steve, is that since I got pregnant, you barely want to touch me or be intimate with me. But you have no problem doing it with an ex.

“I’m sorry… I love you…”

“I know you do.”

“Please, please believe me when I say it meant nothing.”

“I’m gonna need a bit away from you, Steve, okay? I believe you, but I just can’t look at you right now. After all I’ve done and all I’ve sacrificed for this family, for you to just… it’s insulting.”

“I know and I’m sorry.”

“Sleep on the couch until further notice. Stay away from me unless we’re together with Bobby—I don’t want her thinking anything is wrong. And for the love of god, find a marriage counselor—a good one.”

“Yes, done! I can do that!”

“Okay…” Eddie sniffed. “Jesus fuck, what I’d give to go back in time to two hours ago. Who ever would’ve thought I’d miss listening to ABBA…”

“I won’t let you down again, Ed… I promise.”

“I know you won’t… now, please just… please leave me alone.”

Dinner in the Harrington home that evening was tense—even Bobby could sense something wasn’t right. Her fathers wouldn’t give each other the time of day, they barely spoke to her, and they sat on opposite ends of the dinner table. At the end of their meal, when it was time for Bobby to get washed up and ready for bed, she ran into the living room.

Eddie let out a tired sigh, just wanting the day to be over, and chased after the little one. She slipped through his grip every single chance she got, laughing relentlessly at her father’s failed attempts.

“Bee, please, papa is exhausted.”

“Papa, I wanna listen to music.”

“Fine, one song.”

“Can I put it on?” She asked as she made her way over to the cassette tower.

“Mhmm, sure,” he huffed.

She sorted through the tower of tapes, finally landing on the one she wanted. She popped it into the cassette player and eagerly jumped up and down, waiting for the song to begin.

Steve was in the dining room, still cleaning up the mess from dinner—until he heard their song. He gently closed his eyes and hung his head back, taking in the music.

“Dance with me, papa!” Bobby cheered, tugging at his hand, as If I Can Dream rang throughout the living room.

Eddie began dancing with his little girl, until she ran away right before the bridge. The little one returned just seconds later with Steve by her side, holding his hand, dragging him into the living room.

“Dance with us, daddy!”

“No, bug, I have to clean up.”

“Please, daddy! Please!”

“Can I?” Steve whispered to Eddie, who reluctantly nodded.

Steve picked his daughter up and began swaying her back and forth to the beat. He extended his hand out to Eddie, pulling him close until his cheek was smushed against Steve’s chest. Eddie began silently crying into his husband’s polo shirt, trying desperately to hide his emotions from their toddler.

But as long as a man has the strength to dream, he can redeem his soul and fly… Deep in my heart there's a trembling question, still I am sure that the answer, answer's gonna come somehow out there in the dark…

“There's a beckoning candle,” Eddie quietly sang, “And while I can think, while I can talk, while I can stand, while I can walk, while I can dream. Oh, please let my dream come true…”

Right now… Elvis’s voice finished off.

The family continued to sway back and forth, as the world melted around them. Eddie and Steve had forgotten about their fight—about Billy. All that mattered in that moment was each other and Bobby.

They knew they’d have to fall back into reality—face their fight head on and work together to heal what had been broken.

But that could always wait until the morning.

[sleepydross]

Chapter One, Route_A: Clerks, Too A Chapter of the 'SEER' or 'Spontaneous Edifice Emergence / Reification' Storyline. "Chapter One, Route_B" coming when I can. CW: Damage to fingers, mutilation, body horror, disturbing imagery, fleshpunk concepts, blood and injury, surreal terror / horror, harsh language etc.

Song Title: Everything Burns Eventually (I think)

Description: A person whose voice sounds vaguely masculine sings about how fire (Passion?) is churning and burning (Lyrics specifically mention 'churning and burning,' like, as part of the chorus. It's… weird.) and tearing across the land, and consuming everyone that it touched. It sounded like a raging orgy, or something. It started to be a little… more blunt than most modern songs about sex and horny shit, uh, in the last verse, from what I remember. I just remember… I remember it struck me as odd. No one else seemed to notice, but it was… strange.

I remember the lyrics said, they said, "And the fire's burnin' and churnin', burnin' and churnin' and all the fat little kids sizzle like they're on a griddle."

I almost said "What the fuck?" when my brain processed it, and then… The song was over. After that it was, I don't know, some pop shit. I'd heard it before, it played like, once a night when I was on shift, you know? It was normal.

I thought maybe, maybe it was just stress, you know? I thought I imagined it. Maybe I did.

The doors slid open, and another customer walked in. Jackie looked up, and said, cheerfully, "hello!"

Mostly, the cheer wasn't fake. J liked xis job, liked working the night shift… liked that every single hour that passed was another hour of pay to make xis life better. Fake cheer was only a necessity because of the exhaustion. Xe hadn't slept very well, during the day before - nightmares had assailed, and eventually won ground, in Jackie's mind. They'd been real bastards, too, pervasive and cruel.

They were snakey, awful fucking things and xe'd woken up screaming loud enough to piss off xis roomate.

"Great deals!" the customer replied, cheerfully. She was a nice looking older lady, hair dyed a bright purple - scrubs indicated she was a nurse, and the fact that it was two in the morning indicated she was a seasoned nurse working some graves. Whether she was coming or going, Jackie had no idea, but the response felt… off kilter, strange.

"Yes ma'am, UltiMart's got pretty solid bargains!" xe replied, bemused more than anything else. A terminal case of desperation to work nights meant xe had only very rarely showed up to the store during the day, and even then, it was only to pick up partial shifts or cover for coworkers who were sick - it wasn't anything long term. Terminal overnighters were an odd kind of kin, like that recognized like, and they'd share their little jokes about the lack of daylight.

While the old lady did her shipping, J did what J did, checked the list of all the shit xe needed to get done, and then moved down it until xe found a task that was suitable for a time when there was a customer in the store and got to it. Each of the coffee makers was an absurd Austrian thing that looked like what aerospace engineers worked on when not making space ships - they even had touch screens, which had thoroughly confused a number of customers who, for whatever reason, lacked the basic decency to just read the very simple on-screen instructions.

They made a damn fine cup of coffee, at least.

While the old lady did her browsing, J did what needed to be done with the coffee machines. First, xe had to pull out the tray all the coffee grounds were dumped into by the individual bean grinders, and brush them out - and then wipe them down with the bottle of food safe sanitizer hanging from xis belt.

A song started playing, an unfamiliar one - which was, in and of itself, something of an event. The store's radio had been standardized for the three years xe had worked at the fucking place, with new songs being added only very rarely. It was covers, always covers of popular songs from years past, because (presumably) licensing fees were less.

This song, however, was wildly unfamiliar. Right then, it was december the fourth, and the ugly American phenomenon of Christmas music had already begun, with essentially every song being some softly shitty, saccharine song about how Christmas was good and lovely (it wasn't) and how snowing it was definitely going to be (or how not snowing it would be but how it was in fact still Christmas in Vegas). All of it was thankfully constantly rubbing its ass across the floor of a room labelled 'easy listening' like a dog in heat, and thusly, was incredibly easy to tune out.

This was not easy listening, and was not dragging its ass. It started up right away with a strange, slightly overdriven scream of a note on what could've been a guitar, or what could've been a violin having its various indelible rights violated. J looked up, confusedly, staring at the nearest ceiling mounted speakerplate. The first words of the song were definitely in English, but they were unintelligible, howled with such ferocity that J couldn't make anything out.

Unnerved, xe let the cleaning routine finish on the coffee machine and wiped down the grill people set their cups on, cleaning up loose droplets wondering how people could make so much off a mess with a damned device that was largely automatic, and-

The music was loud, louder than it should have been, loud enough to be downright unpleasant. Whatever the verse was supposed to be about, J heard the word 'fuck,' and then 'death is our business, and business is good' and wondered with a kind of dim anxiety what xis boss was doing with the damned radio. Usually, she didn't fuck with it in the middle of the night, neither the volume nor the station, preferring to change it during morning shift change if she changed it at all.

Baffled, xe threw the soiled towel into the trash can behind the counter, passing through the swinging, saloon style waist-high doors to get to the register - the old lady was meandering her way back towards the front of the store, and three years of instinct told xim that she was done and ready to check out.

As she approached, the singer was howling the words 'hunt, fight, kill, spill' over and over as the guitar player went absolutely fucking bananas. It sounded like a challenge song made by a sadistic modder for some guitar-legend type video game - not meant to be musical, really, but instead meant to be as hard and inhuman as possible.

"Sorry about the radio!" J half-shouted, in the most customer service voice that xe could manage. "We have no control over it in the store, its controlled remotely!"

"What radio, sweetie?" the old lady asked. This simple question was not one that would normally frighten anyone, but when she asked it, with that fake sweetness that all the music tasted of, a trickle of icewater ran through xis spinal fluid.

"The, uh, really loud song that's playing, right now!" xe told her, confusedly, as she set… something, on the counter.

"Sweetheart, I'm old, not deaf, you don't have to shout," she said, still sweetly, but with a freezing, hard edge.

"S-Sorry," J said, trying to shut out the music that felt like it kept getting louder, and now had words in it like 'fuck, consume, eat, devour' mixed in with the other ones in some kind of charnel, wylde hunt of a crescendo. "Let me, just uh, ring you out."

So, J did what J always did when unnerved - focused on process. Grab the items, get them in place on the counter, find the barcode, scan them…

But the old woman had set, on the counter, a huge wet hank of something that looked an awful lot like intestines, loosely wrapped in some kind of slick plastic that was labelled with the store's branding, but was definitely not something xe had ever sold before. This had happened once or twice, though usually not with something so viscerally disgusting, but strange products made their way to shelves in rural areas - they had, after all, a whole goddamn minifridge by the door full of live bait and weird bottles of deer attractant or whatever.

This was marked as 'Sausage casing, natural, unprocessed' which was pretty much exactly what it looked like was inside - intestines, unprocessed, raw guts. Sure, that was fucked, and sure it made J want to go leap out a fucking window into a hot shower that would presumably be waiting out the window as a matter of course, but… It was hunting season. Rural freaks… bought all kinds of weird shit.

"I can't wait to get home and tuck into that," the old lady said, as J scanned it. J looked up at her immediately, with a kind of sluggish trepidation rising up alongside the ice-water level in xis insides. "Hard to get good, fresh intestine these days, oh boy, but you all… Well, like you said! Ultimart has some great deals!"

"Y-Yeah, absolutely," J replied, at that point, shaking. It hadn't been like this in a long time, the anxiety, the terrible feeling that something was getting worse and worse every moment, and whatever the fuck it was, it was wholly inconceivable and impossible for a human mind to understand. Early on, working the graves, that had happened a few times and required medication to quell - but it had been at least half a year since such a thing was a necessity.

The last item that J scanned was a knife, which xe was incredibly sure that they didn't sell - but it rang up in the POS system just fine, despite being a bowie styled weapon with blade length J was almost entirely sure was illegal. After several long moments of staring at the weapon, and then at the screen, xe said, "I need just a moment, okay, ma'am?"

"Oh come on now, I really would like to get home to sleep," she said, barely audible over the blood-horny shrieking of the 'music.' "What's the problem anyway?"

"I'm fairly sure this knife is of illegal blade length," J replied, evenly. "I'm going to call my manager real fast, just to make sure you're not exposed to liability, and neither are we, okay?"

For a long moment, the old lady stared at xim, paper white skin, eyes like puddles of mud with spots of green algae floating on the surface, pupils lightless pits that seemed overlarge, and then she said, "check me out, boy, or I'll use the knife on you."

"W… Excuse me?" J asked, softly, having never once been threatened by a fucking grandmother whose hair was still tinged cyan with blue-rinse. She looked like an octogenarian but had just-

"Sell me my fucking knife and my guts, boy, and let me go home. They're on SALE!" she all but barked, voice deeper than it ought to have been. For a long, ice cold moment, a temporal crystal of a ten-second cluster, J just fucking stood there, struck silent and immobile.

"I'm… I'll be right back," J said, stalking off away from the register before the old lady could be any more of a freak. Some reasoning had to be done, and xe wasn't going to do any of it standing right there with nightmare grandma. Once behind the enormous display stand wherein all of the scratch off tickets were located, xe took a long breath and pulled out xis phone.

No service. That had happened a few times before, always at crucial and stressful moments for it to happen, but it meant xe was on xis own and had to made a damn decision. Decisions had never been J's strong suit, nor had making them, nor had making good ones - but in this case, there were a few scraps of logic to cling to.

Tattered though those scraps were, the items had been entered into the POS, and were up on screen. They had prices matching the tagged prices, and that meant at least, at LEAST a manager and an assistant manager… nothing got in the system without their approval.

If anything legal-related happened, it'd happen to them. Employees below management weren't to be held responsible for such things, especially if they didn't do anything out of the ordinary but check out a registered item. After another moment of exhaustion and fear, and decision making, J headed back to the register and faced down nightmare granny with the music she couldn't hear blaring in a new, brutal, howling hellscape of sound. Satan himself and all his choruses roared and bleated.

"Okay. I had to do a quick check with the management. Everything is fine. My apologies for the inconvenience," J said.

"You fucking freaks get worse and worse every year, I swear," the grandma said, digging in her purse and tugging out a series of bills. J had been threatened, had been nearly beaten, had been yelled and screamed at, people had tried to scam xim, but no one had ever been quite as scary as this old lady and her widening pupils. Whatever she was on, and she WAS on something, it had dilated them at that point to a level that the irises could scarcely be seen.

"Sure," J said, because 'freak' was hardly the worst xe had been called by customers. Xe took the bills, checked their values, and then quickly and quietly typed the amount in the POS. The drawer snapped open, the automatic change vault dispensed the coins, and then J handed her the bills. "Have a nice day, ma'am."

"Great deals!" the old lady crowed, and then she gathered her guts and her long knife and her chocolate bar and can of coffee, and fucking dipped. That was it, she just left, walkd out the doors into a soothing darkness that absorbed her readily as if she was made of it and simply evaporated back into it past the glass.

Finally free of whatever the fuck that was, J started to emerge from behind the counters, only to realize that xis hands were wet. Soaking, dripping, and xe raised them to stare at them, finding them wet and slick and-

"What the riddling goddamn fuck?" xe asked, as the smell, the familiar smell of iron and pennies touched xis nose and that special kind of instinct-triggering vital red pattered weakly onto the floor. Already trembling with the shock and the anxiety, the worker-alone stalked into the back room and grabbed one of the GOOD cleaning paper towels to dry the red away. It was a hazmat issue, for starters, and that meant procedures had to be followed and-

"Where did it come from?" xe demanded, heading to the sink with its three huge, wide bays - and then past it, to the hand sink, where xe could wash without violating biohazard protocols. Once all the iron stink was gone and with it all that vital red, J stalked back out behind the counter, taking careful note of the pattern of blood droplets on the floor, so that he could fill out a biohaz report and clean it all properly.

At the register, J saw the blood running out from underneath the drawer, and decided this was a great time to wake up from what was most assuredly a nightmare. The howling chorus of murder and violence carried on its carrion chorus until at last, xe hit the button to open xis drawer and-

Silence. It cut out, a shocking and startling abuse of sudden peace. Inside of the drawer, the bills were soaked in blood, floating in the liquid as if it had been full up before the money was even placed inside, and none of that made sense…

Confounded, confused, xe reached in and tried to take one of the bills out - and then jerked xis hand back as the drawer snapped viciously shut, so fast that the reaction was more instinct than anything else. Strangulation of a scream was something J had experience with, and xe choked the rising scream in xis throat, and choked the bile of horror down with a guttural swallow.

Xis pinkie finger was gone, cloven off cleanly between the two middle knuckles, at an angle. Blood squirted, red and so vital, and J walked with numbness and purposeful intent. Each footstep was a labor of necessity, a cold wrought iron act that could only be forged out by someone who had experienced pain, horror and sudden and unexpected wounding before.

In the back, xe grabbed another of the good cleaning paper towels and wrapped it around the digit, taking great effort to fold the flap of skin over the stump for the moment. Whatever had happened, the bone had slowed down the cut, and perhaps that was the only reason there was so much of the digit left. With duct tape from the emergency toolbox, xe secured the makeshift dressing.

A lot of things were happening in xis head at once, most of them related to trying to get xis fucking finger sewn back on. It wasn't a terrible loss, a pinkie that was barely used for anything, and the pain, the pain was so immense but so much less than xis mind would have thought had xe been made aware of the cut before it came.

It ached. It hurt. It was-

"Need the bit," J muttered, feverishly, half-drunk with adrenaline and half-sick with horror. These new steps, back out to the register, were accompanied by the forceful requisition of a pair of heavy metal tongs that were normally used for pulling hot wings off the cook plates. Shaking still, J used the POS to open the drawer, and stared into it, seeing what was wrong, what xe had missed.

The bills that strange woman had given over, they weren't the source of the blood - xe wasn't even sure it was really blood. Somehow, all the fleshy horror of the inside of the drawer was almost not a surprise. The various slots for all of the bills had been replaced with chambers full of blood, oozing from little holes near the top and soaking all of the coins and paper, drowning them in thickened red. The fingertip, the digit, was hissing and smoking, that smoke the acrid horror of digestion. The inside lip of the drawer was lined with a thick, wide row of misshapen but unmistakably human front teeth - misshapen, but razor sharp.

Pain. Beneath the layers of tissue, thick plates of bone formed the basic skeleton of the drawer, though the outside remained mottle gray metal. Wrong, it was all wrong. It was a horror. Disgusted, enraged, J wedged the tongs in and watched it snap shut. This animal was nothing but that, an animal, operating on instinct - and it kept trying to close, grinding aggressively against the shaft of the tongs… and then gave up. This gave J only a moment to snap the remains of the digit from the single dollar slot.

This time, when it snapped shut, it was done. Xe set the digit on the counter, having fully given the screaming fuck up on hazmat protocols, and was distressed to find that there wasn't enough flesh to sew back on. It was just grotesque, awful bone and some tendon gumming it all together.

Frantic with afterthought, J checked xis hands and… they had burns, mild ones, on the palms. It wasn't blood, it was some digestive fluid that smelled and felt a lot like blood, but was just a bit thicker and-

J opened the drawer again. It was still there.

"Fuck," xe said, because if xe was just crazy, it'd be a lot less fucking scary.

It was that moment that xis phone started beeping, and the wounded worker fumbled the device out and squeeze-pressed the side button to reveal…

Six thirty AM. It was morning, and not just morning, but half an hour past the end of xis shift. Xis relief, an assistant manager, hadn't shown up, and was half an hour late - and this was when xe would have to call xis boss, if xe had ANY FUCKING SIGNAL.

Xe did not have, in fact, any signal, fucking or otherwise.

Panting with the extreme exhaustion of an adrenaline crash and the staggering pain of a severed digit, an executive decision was called for - and this one was easy, in the extreme, to make. Without even pausing to think, to wait, to hesitate, J walked to the manager's desk behind the front counter and opened the non-manager drawer on it, retrieving the emergency key for the doors. With that in hand, xe stumblefucked to the rear door and fully closed it, tricking it to latch with a little wiggle of the 'if you press this, the fire department will come' bar that forced them to leave that particular portal open, if only just, propped that way.

That done, xe walked to the front doors and reached up to the sensor controls, disabling the sensor so it wouldn't open for anyone. A final step had to be followed, and xe followed out, because at that moment, clinging to procedure was basically all that was keeping xim fucking sane. With a certain amount of disdain, xe slapped on the 'Closed due to emergency circumstances, please wait for a manager, or otherwise find another location to serve you' sign on the front door.

Xe then stepped out into the cold of morning, locked the doors, and turned to the parking lot intending to head right next store to the apartments where xis manager lived. If the phones were down, xe would pound on the fucking door and wake the poor woman up.

Except, facing the parking lot, that preternatural darkness still enveloped everything but the pumps and the area beneath the bright canopy lights. Something was wrong with that darkness, something that J couldn't quite figure until xe walked halfway across the lot and saw something that made that cold ice-water-in-the-cerebrospinal-fluid feeling come on back.

Bricks. Through that thick, syrupy darkness, xe saw bricks at the edge of the parking lot, at the very edge of the store's lot. Baffled, nauseous, xe made xis way to that edge and pressed xis wounded hand to the brickwork and just… breathed, slowly, carefully. Walking down the wall revealed just another wall, at the edge of the lot farthest from the doors - and then, xe walked down that door to a pool of light that had been hard to even notice through the black.

They slid open smoothly. J stepped into the entrance of Ultimart, and turned around as the doors shut, staring across the parking lot at pumps that had been mutated and warped, blended together and superimposed with pumps that had been mirrored. Light shone out of doors to the right, to the left, and to the locked doors with the posted sign directly across the lot.

"Welcome to Ultimart! We have great deals and fantastic meals!" a voice called. J turned, slowly, looking at a cashier that stood behind the counter. Frightened, sick with anger, xe walked up to the swinging doors and stared over them.

The Cashier was not standing there. Instead, thick rivulets of bone ran down from a bare and exposed pelvis, tubes connected to various internal organs emerging from blistered, scarred up, cauterized flesh - the tubes themselves were thick, glistening white connective tissue, wet. The bone formed pillars all the way to the floor, lumpy and uneven like melted stick candles.

There, at the floor, that bone grew in sickly, plantlike tendrils straight into the gaps between the tiles. Those cartilaginous tubes ran down through holes below the register.

"Working hard, or hardly working?" the cashier asked, like a fucking freak, like a disgusting nightmare. Neither of this things eyes were the same color, and both of them failed to focus equally, pupils seemingly set at entirely different levels of dilation. "Great deals!"

"Fall over and fucking die," J said, quite evenly, before walking back through those same goddamned doors and past the overlaid, mutated pumps. Xe unlocked the doors from the outside, and then re-locked them from the inside, and walked behind the counter. There, J sat down against the cigarette wall, and just… stared at the register. Blood was still dripping from the counter, and the bone and tissue still smoked faintly.

Finally, after a few minutes, xe said, softly…

"Fuck."

[nicoscheer]

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹 god I love these dumb men so much

Via marcelacastelli on twitter

Miles walking up to the mic and Alex like during the TLSP times 😭

The first time in 5 years that these two Grace a stage with their shared presence 🥹 but also how grown up and different they both look while still seeming like the exact same lovesick puppies that met all the way back in 2003

AND JUST YESTERDAY MILES’ GUITARIST POSTED THAT 505 WAS THEIR BAT/TURTEL SIGNAL AND TODAY THEYVARE PLAYING TIGETHER AHHHH sorry I gave up trying with grammar

When we got the info that Miles was present at the stadium I was already freaking out but this this is so much better (I felt like we were playing little illusion machine with ourselves)

Also we got confirmation that they hugged in the beginning and ended it with a kiss on the cheek by Miles

I saw somewhere during 17.06 when the yellow poster got published that someone was being delusional like yellow that’s the color of TLSP who’s in TLSP right Alex And Miles so so conclusion Miles is gonna be there, I mean it was a day too soon but still… being delusional paying off 🤣

Wearing brown leather jacket I love my guys but also please tell me he just quickly popped round to the store after the show for some booze or new cigs while they were celebrating together and didn’t just leave after the gig cause I couldn’t handle that

How Miles keeps looking at Alex and Alex keeps pointing at Miles and Alex stimming at the end and Alex’s full scrunchy face smile when Miles walks up to him and Miles smirk and the mic and and and I’m unter rot irrevocably besotted, how Miles just seamlessly fits in with the boys

But also I’m really hoping for a video where we can see the cheek kiss that apparently happens after the lights went down

With full introduction

I love that we know Miles and Al +monkeys had a very long night cause he posted at around midnight to his story and then nothing for fourteen hours till around 2 pm when the next 505 clips came 🥃 🍸 🍻

Clip of Miles with Chef Tom Brown and Jay Forrester and other friends during Cornerstone, Miles singing along 🥹 (Tom’s restaurant name) god he seems so happy, Tom Farrell was there as well but on the other stadium side (he posted a story of two lads getting into a boxing match during do I wanna know😂) Miles’ manager rosie_skinner was also present, and I love how Miles didn’t just watch from the wings but enjoyed the concert with his friends from the seats (I’m imagining this is how he invited them: “you wanna go out tonight?” “Sure what did you have in mind?” “Wanna come watch me and my husband play our song in Emirates stadium?”) and he probably was given a setlist beforehand or some roadie was ordered to fetch him a few songs ahead to come backstage where his already tuned guitar was and then Miles was ready to go only waiting for Alex to call him onstage

505 Via cat_mason

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Somewhat able to see the crowd jumping In the Video

Also just me or does it seem like Miles got a fresh haircut :)

My day literally consisted of watching that HUG over and over again from every possible angle, I love them and their dramatic hugs like they haven’t seen each other barely two weeks ago that we are aware of, but really I need to receive a hug like that one that’s just I missed you and I’m gonna squeeze all my love into you right now, the kisses 🥹🥹 Miles just casually kissing Al’s neck and his cheek and nuzzling his neck again 🫶🏽 and Alex cradling his head I can’t

Via Miles insta how Alex literally tilts Miles head so he can have better access for the neck kiss and how his hand digs into Miles’ shoulder he literally clings onto him for dear life and tries to ground himself and find the strength for the remaining concert in that hug 🫠

A view at 505 from the wings and a quick Miles and Cookie hug and forehead kiss (also thank you Miles for that prime few of Jamie’s arse 🤣🫶🏽)

Miles’ evening summarized #coming on stage #slaying the guitar parts #kissing half the monkeys 💅 #leaving

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