#this was from when i was packing them away to vacuum the floor. he was NOT happy.

[dedmau]

his touys

[wingedjellyfishflight]

The Couch

Your official job is as a psychiatrist, but not a single one of the men who visit you care about that. They don't care about you at all. They just want... your cozy damn couch. Every time you walk in the room, there is a big burly man sleeping or lounging on it. Rarely, it is a woman. This time, there are three of them fighting over it. You sigh and submit a request for three more couches. When the supply officer asks why, you claim it is for group sessions. He sends one couch over. It is almost as comfortable as the original, and they take to it quickly.

You stop in your tracks the day you spot a KorTac man sitting nervously on the couch. So far, only Price's team and his associated strays have taken advantage of the open couch. You smile briefly before moving to sit at your desk.

"I'm here if you want to talk, but the couch is open to whomever wants a nap or to relax. No talking required." He nods, slightly more relaxed, and you focus on your computer. When you look up later, you see he has laid down and fallen asleep, his soft snores filling the room. After that, you send in another request and another for more couches and a couple of reclining chairs. You are denied. They tell you to just bring in folding chairs. You decide to use your paycheck and bring in something more comfortable than folding chairs.

The next week, you are struggling to get a reclining chair down the hall as silently as possible when you freeze, a chill running down your back. Turning, you see Ghost standing only a foot away, silently watching with his arms crossed.

"I got a new chair." Your bright smile seems to just bounce off his broad chest, but you pay no mind to him, turning back to the task at hand. You get a few feet further and glance back to say something witty, but Ghost is gone. Another few feet, and you are bodily lifted by a set of strong arms before Ghost and König pick up the chair and carry it to your office with no effort. You thank them and ask if they would be willing to help you with one more thing since they are here. Rolling their eyes, they follow you.

Proudly, you show them the three large boxes that you bought. The men are not amused. Their body language switches from annoyed to almost angry when you pick up one of the boxes. König nearly tears it from your hands, and Ghost swiftly grabs the second box. Holding up your hands, you wait until they storm inside to pick up the third box and follow them.

It takes most of the day for the stuffing in the giant floor pillows to fluff up from being vacuum packed in the boxes, so you take the time to rearrange the room. The next day, opening the door after lunch, you spot no less than ten men and one woman lounging in various spots around the room.

A few weeks later and Soap asks if you can requisition another chair because he is annoyed that Captain Price is constantly snoring away in the only one. You shake your head sadly.

"Sorry, bud. I can't get another one for a while. Too expensive." He nods but puzzles over your wording for the next few days before filing it in the back of his mind.

It takes another couple months for you to save up, but you do bring in a second chair. Soap nearly dances when he sees it.

"I tried to ask supply for one of these for my office, but they had no idea what I was talking about."

"Oh, they wouldn't. They deem my request too frivolous every time." You tap away at the computer, only half paying attention to Soap.

"Then, how did you convince them?"

"Didn't. Had to go get it myself." The silence that falls over the room is far more tense than usual.

"You, you bought these for us? Like with your own money?" You sigh. Here is the conversation you were hoping to avoid. Turning to Soap, you see every person in the room staring at you, trying to work out what is happening.

"Yes, of course. Nothing but the best for my patients. I am the psychiatrist for KorTac and 141, after all."

"What?! We just, we thought you were just an officer with a comfortable couch. But you're a god damn psychiatrist?!" You can see several edging toward the door, nervously.

"Yep. Ghost, please wait just a moment." He hesitates with his hand on the doorknob. "Think about how long you've been napping in here. Have I ever overstepped? Four years I have been assigned to the 141, and not once have I updated your files. Luckily, I can claim patient-doctor confidentiality, or I would be out of a job."

"So, you haven't been doing your job at all?" This comes from Captain Price, who looks confused.

"Oh, I have been. If you don't mind sharing, what is the thing your last psychiatrist kept trying to force you to do, Captain?"

"Fuckin golf. Claimed it would be a good stress relief like I want to be a lazy damn officer."

You nod and glance around. "Ghost, what was your recommendation?"

"God damn yoga." You hear Soap snort and give him a small smile.

"Mmhmm, not something I imagine you would ever be interested in. And you König, if you don't mind?"

His voice is quiet but strong, "Guided meditation."

"Every one of those is rooted in the idea that you need to rest. My job was to find a way to make it happen, and I wasn't keen on being stonewalled and hated by the people I work with. So, I left the door open and passed a rumor around that there was a mythical comfortable couch. Sort of a build it and they will come." You pause and gather your courage. "As I have said from the beginning, talking is optional. Naps and resting are welcome. That's the way it will stay as long as I am here."

Turning back to your computer, you submit another supply request, worded slightly different from the last. A bigger office for more group sessions so both teams can be present. The silence in the room is less tense, but you don't look up from your screen, not wanting to see how many left, knowing who you are now. To your surprise, when you stand up to stretch, every spot is still occupied.

The next week, you get your denial and an inspection scheduled as you haven't been logging apppointments since posted there, and your constant requests have been noticed. The stress shows in the tenseness of your jaw and the furrow between your eyes, but you don't say a word to anyone.

The day of your inspection comes, and you brace yourself for invasive questions and the likely anger from whomever shows up when you refuse to answer those questions. You hint three time and then outright tell the lounging men to leave just minutes before the scheduled appointment, frantically trying to tidy up and make it look like you have adults as patients instead of sleep away camp.

"What is goin' on, lass?" Soap asks lazily from the floor pillow he refuses to vacate.

"I- I have an inspection, like right now." That gets their attention.

"Och aye! We will clear ou-" A knock at the door interrupts him. You take a deep breath, forcing your emotions under a smile.

"Enter." A man confidently walks in, faltering when he sees so many eyes on him.

"I am here to inspect your work, Captain. You were informed as to the time?" Standing, you salute him, then motion him to one of the seats.

"Yes, my apologies, Lieutenant Colonel. This group session ran a little late. If you could excuse us, everyone. We can pick this back up tomorrow. Hopefully." They all stand and salute the Lieutenant Colonel before walking out. He stalks to the chair in front of your desk.

"You will be lucky to make it to the end of the day if I have anything to say about it. You have clearly squandered resources buying all of this furniture, and there isn't a single update to any personnel files. Your explanation better be damn good, Captain."

You meet his gaze squarely before answering. "I am assigned to a unit whose work is often above top secret. I do not take notes on what is said in this room. I have found that doing so makes patients uncomfortable and, therefore, less likely to relax."

"That doesn't explain why you are not charting recommendations." You lean back and pull out a paper from a drawer.

"These are the recommendations previously listed in the files of various patients who are now under my command. Almost all of them fall into the same category: relax. So when I reviewed the files, I notated in the general team file for The 141 that relaxing activities would be undertaken as needed. The KorTac file gained the same note when they were switched to my purvue. There is no need to update individual files when I do my utmost to only hold group sessions, again for comfort to the patients."

He sits back, clearly not convinced, but at least pondering it a moment. "Why did you have KorTac transferred to your care? They were previously under another, frankly more competent, psychiatrist."

"Was that psychiatrist able to get them to open up? Honestly, I am curious if the team even showed up to their sessions by how sparse their files are. Colonel König has been here for six years, and his entire file is less than a dozen pages. The same could be said for nearly all of the KorTac team. There are notations in most of these files that KorTac and The 141 can not be in the same room for more than five minutes at a time without fighting. Yet nearly every day members of both teams are here for upwards of an hour a day, and they haven't had any fights outside of here in months." You snap your jaw shut, noticing the slightest of movement behind the Lieutenant Colonel. You stand and salute.

"Corporal, you've already saluted me. Sit down."

"She is saluting me, not you, Lieutenant Colonel." Colonel König salutes you back as the Lieutenant Colonel grouses about being interrupted before he turns and pales. He hurriedly stands and renders his own salute, which is returned with deliberate slowness.

"Colonel, if I may?" At his nod, you continue. "I did not mean to speak so flippantly of your records. I should have guarded their contents more closely. You have my deepest apologies." His eyes lock with yours, and you could swear he is either smirking or smiling.

"It is of no consequence. I am glad to know that you feel such concern, despite the public nature that such personnel files often suffer during inquests such as these." He pulls up another chair from who knows where and sits just behind the Lieutenant Corporal. "I will monitor to ensure sensitive information about need to know operations is not disclosed."

You nod, "Yes, Colonel. Understood."

The Lieutenant Colonel shifts uncomfortably with the gaze at his back. "Circling back to my first concern. The wasting of British coffers on unnecessary seating is clear gross misconduct. You will need to return all except for the standard single couch immediately."

"Yes, Lieutenant Colonel. When can you send supply over to fetch the other couch?" He looks surprised, as though he expected more of a fight.

"I will have to confer with them to see when they will be able to take so many large items."

"Hmm? Oh no, only the two couches, desk, computer, and the chair you sit in were issued. The rest I brought in at my own expense to better facilitate having over a dozen soldiers and officers in here at the same time. I do ask to keep the original couch. It is the only one long enough to fit many of the men I treat." He looks shocked.

"You furnished the rest?" You can see him fighting not to look around at the room, hand fidgeting on the desk.

"Of course. Patients come first in my care. Every request I have put in has been denied since the second couch. The number of patients I see has more than doubled with the strays that Captain Price and Colonel König have dragged with them into my office. We are running out of time today. Would you like to meet again next week, or do you have the information needed to close out this inquiry?" The Lieutenant Colonel seems shocked.

"But I have more questions. And you need to answer them."

"I understand that, which is why I am offering another meeting. But you scheduled just one time block for this, and I have others coming in right after. The noise he made was pure frustration, and he let loose without thinking.

"Listen here you cunt! You will not get out of this by claiming an appointment. You will answer my questions until I am satisfied and have enough to properly fuck you over the way you deserve! I-!" A hand claps onto his shoulder, making him wince in pain.

"Lieutenant Colonel Riggs. That is not conduct becoming an officer. You will cease your screaming and see yourself out. Your lack of preparation and knowledge does not permit you to abuse officers of a lower rank. You will join me in my office while we discuss this further." The icy tone has you wincing in sympathy. When the door shuts behind them, you nearly collapse on your desk in relief. After a long moment of fighting the urge to cry, you jolt when a hand rubs your back.

"Ghost, why are you still in my office?"

"Support?" You grunt before looking up at him.

"Thank you. Now, I'm going to have a good cry, so if you need to leave to avoid it, now is a good time." Instead of leaving, he makes you stand and walk to the couch where he tugs you to his chest.

"Cry all you want, Luv. I'm here for you, just like you were for me all those times these past few years."

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

JJ maybank 14 pls thank youuu ‘‘I love you and no one can change that.’‘ Maybe his dad comes home and shit go down?

Slowly going through all of my old drafts. I don't remember writing some of them...

Warnings: violence, abuse

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

A massive downpour decided to hit the island while you and JJ were out. You took shelter under a bus stop, but the sky was showing no signs of the rain stopping soon, forcing you to brave the rain to find a better shelter for the coming hours.

You suggested going to the chateau, but John B. had made it clear that he was spending the day with Sarah and wanted no interruptions. So, reluctantly, JJ took your hand and showed the way to his house.

He was nervous about inviting you over. For starters, his house was a complete dump. There was trash and empty beer cans everywhere, the carpets had not been vacuumed in years, the things his dad broke during his last drunken brawl were still on the floor and his dirty — and clean — clothes were all over his bedroom.

And secondly, JJ was worried about his dad being there. He didn’t want you to meet him — ever. But according to the time on his phone, Luke should be at work until late, so it should be safe.

By the time you got to JJ's house, your clothes and hair quickly got drenched. JJ quickly unlocked the fetched towels to dry off. While you waited, you took in the living room, a distinct smell of dampness lingering in the air mixed with the faint odor of alcohol. The furniture was old and worn-out, with stains and cigarette burns marking its surface.

‘’Sorry about the mess," he apologized, glancing around the room and rubbing the back of his head. ‘’Ehh, here.’’ JJ handed you the towels. They were mismatched and had stains on them, but you didn't comment on it. ‘’I’ll get you some dry clothes. You can change in the bathroom.’’ He pointed to the bathroom door at the end of the hallway, and disappeared inside the door right next to it — seemingly his bedroom.

You followed him.

The walls were decorated with surf posters and one of a very lightly dressed woman. You turned your head away from her, trying not to think of many times JJ must’ve jerked off to her. On the opposite wall, JJ was searching through a dresser with opened drawers and clothes spilling out, looking for something clean to give you.

He sniffed a brown-ish tee shirt and put it back down, making you bite back a laugh. ‘’Definitely not that one.’’

‘’I can just wear that hoodie,’’ you said, picking the gray Kildare surfboard hoodie rumpled on his bed. You had worn it a few times at cookouts when the evening air would raise chills on your skin. ‘’You don’t have to go through all of your clothes.’’

JJ shook his head. As much as he would love the sight of you walking around his house in only his hoodie, he didn’t trust himself to not pop a boner. He settled on a pair of sweatpants and a tee shirt.

You thanked him and took the clothes to the bathroom to change. The herbal smell of weed lingered on them, which was very JJ.

At your return, the sound of rain hitting the windows had intensified, creating a soothing rhythm that filled the room. JJ had changed out of his wet clothes too, now sporting camo shorts and the grey hoodie that was on his bed. His hair was tousled from being roughly towel-dried, and you couldn’t help yourself, reaching to fix some pieces. He smiled at your touch.

‘’Thanks again for the clothes,’’ you said just as the front door opened and slammed shut, causing JJ’s smile to fall abruptly.

‘’Shit. I think that’s my dad.’’

He knew it was his dad. Who else would walk in and slam the door shut? Why was he home so early?

You heard the sound of a beer sex-pack being put down and JJ tensed, panic filling his blue eyes. ‘’JJ? You home, son?’’ the man called through the house, followed by some grumbling as he cracked a beer open.

‘’Stay here,’’ JJ said quietly, not wanting his dad to hear him talk to somebody.

‘’JJ—’’

He took your shoulders and looked you in the eyes, genuine fear and worry in his. ‘’Promise me you’ll stay here.’’

You nodded in response, sensing the urgency in his voice and the seriousness of the situation. It was evident that JJ was trying to protect you from his dad, and you respected his decision to handle the situation on his own.

He moved away from you, making his way towards the door with cautious steps. He didn’t want to go, but he had to. If he didn’t, Luke might come here and see you and JJ didn’t want to think about the inappropriate things that would come out of his filthy mouth.

You sat on JJ’s bed, hands in your lap as you waited for him to return.

In the living room, you could hear the voices of JJ and his dad. You couldn't make out what they were saying because of the shut door, but the latter’s voice quickly went up in volume. Then, the loud sound of glass shattering erupted from the living room, making your head snap in the direction of the door.

By reflex, you stood and went to the door, worry settling in your guts. Your hand was on the doorknob, but you remembered your promise and stepped back. JJ could handle his drunk dad, right?

Luke’s yells echoed in the house again, followed by a loud thud, and that’s when you decided to take a risk and come out.

You were quiet as you peaked down the hallway, not wishing to catch the older man’s attention. A quiet gasp caught in your throat when seeing JJ pinned up against the wall, Luke’s fist gripping the front of JJ’s hoodie as he continued to yell at him with violence in his words. On the floor beside them, one of the old liquor bottles was in pieces, having fallen and shattered in the commotion.

The floor creaked beneath your feet and you quickly ducked back in JJ’s bedroom. The noise had Luke glancing down the hallway, drawing his eyebrows together when seeing no one. Old houses creak for no reason sometimes, right?

When he turned his head back to his son, JJ headbutted him and managed to push his dad off him before running off to his bedroom. He shut the door so fast it echoed through the house and made the wall rattle. You jumped at the sound and stepped back when you heard Luke come after JJ, banging on his door and causing your heart to race behind your chest. 

When the banging stopped, JJ released a shaky breath and slid down to his floor with his knees pulled to his chest. He cursed repeatedly, pushing his head into his hands.

‘’I should’ve never brought you here.’’

The guilt in his voice made your heart sink. Carefully, you approached JJ and sat down beside him. 

‘’You can leave if you want. There’s a way out through the window. I’m not gonna be mad if you—’’

‘’I’m not leaving,’’ you told him firmly.

JJ slowly lifted his head, a frown appearing on his features. ‘’You should. I would leave my life if I could.’’ He forced a laugh, but all you heard was pain.

You didn't know how long his father's abuse had been going on, but it must've been a while. The thought of someone treating their child so horribly made your heart ache. Now you understand why he was always spending the night at the chateau and why no one ever come to his house. 

You shifted and gently reached for JJ's face, making him look at you. ‘’I’m not leaving,’’ you repeated. ‘’Not today, not tomorrow.’’

He turned his head away and pushed your hand off him, hiding his emotions from you. ‘’You say this now, but you'll get tired of me and my shit.’’

‘’I'm not. I meant it, J. I love you and no one can change that. Not even your shitty home-life.’’ 

—

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[pileofboneswrites]

IN THE WIND_oneshot.yellowstone

SUMMARY — loosely inspired by the song cheyenne by ian munsick. every year he never asks anything from you, resigned to the routine you've created; you pull into the yellowstone, park your trailer, and spend all your time with him, and then when august rolls around you pack it all in, and leave. this year, instead of dancing around the heartache, he [and a few others] ask you to stay.

PAIRING — fem!reader x lee dutton

WORD COUNT — 4.1k

WARNINGS — established friends with benefits type relationship, lee has been in love with reader since they met, pinning, allusions to smut, lee watches reader get dressed – reader puts on a show, no use of y/n — everyone calls her honey as a nickname, mentions of heartbreak, mentions of murder (not overly graphic), mentions of past abuse, angst

you put your truck in park, tucked along the side of the house like you always do. you open the trailer up, lead you horse peaches out into the fenced off area out front, and then wander up the front steps and into the house. you kick off your boots, and pad through the hallway, taking in the view from the living room windows. you enter the open concept kitchen, grabbing a beer and setting to work on tidying up. you start with the dishes, there aren't as many as there were last time.

next, you sweep, the build up of dirt he's tracked into the house has you frowning. after, you throw laundry in — your own clothes first of course. next is vacuuming, followed by grabbing the load of groceries from your cold box in your truck. lastly, you step into the shower, watching the setting sun as you deep condition your hair and shave your legs. when you wrap yourself in your towel you hear the front door open, a pair of boots falling heavily on the hardwood floor.

"honey," lee breathes out, a wide smile on his face as he steps into the warm room, and enveloping you in his arms, his lips latching onto your own.

"hi," you giggle, through pecks to your lips, followed by him slipping his tongue into your mouth.

you allow it for a few moments, relishing in his closeness. you untangle yourself from him, making him frown cutely at you. you give him a teasing smile, and peck him on the lips once more.

"i just swept, and washed those floors of yours, lee dutton. i'm not impressed," you slip past him in your bath towel, tsking at him as you go.

"i'm sorry honey, allow me to make it up to you," he says, a devious smile on his lips, as he follows you into his bedroom.

he catches you by the end of the bed, arms circling your waist as he pulls you flush with his chest. you look up at him throughout your eye lashes, and he bites his lip looking down into your eyes. he dips his head, resting his forehead on your shoulders, his lips ghosting over your collarbone. you want so badly to give in, but you have plans tonight.

"sorry cowboy," you murmur, pushing him away, turning towards his closet—where you keep a sizable amount of your clothes. "you need to shower, and get dressed."

"dressed? for what?" he groans dropping onto the end of the bed, slipping off his boots.

"the carnival? you promised tate last summer we'd be there to ride on the rollercoaster with him?" you say, glancing at him over your shoulder.

"you remember that?" he asks, rasing an eyebrow at you.

you giggle, dropping your towel to put on your underwear. lee moans quietly at the view of your naked body. you slowly pull them up, bending over to give him a full view of your bum. he sucks in a sharp breath, eyes never leaving your skin as you tease him.

you nod, "i do, and he's only text me about it everyday since – so y'know, it'd be hard to forget."

"yeah..." he agrees with you absentmindedly, eyes clinging to your chest as you twist your bra around your chest pulling it up. "hard to– hard to forget."

you make a show of putting your arms through the straps, and pulling the cups up. lee hangs off your every move, his fascination with your body not ending even with your boobs covered. his eyes rake up and down your figure, his eyes dark, and his bottom lip betweeen his teeth as he works through something silently. you feel smug with satisfaction as you step closer, slinging one leg over either side of his hips. you sit on his lap, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, bringing his attention back up to your face.

"baby," you whisper, lips ghosting over his.

"mhmm," he hums, hands landing on your hips.

"you promised,"

he nods, "i did,"

"but?"

his grip on your hips tightens, briefly, then retract.

"nothing, honey, i can wait." he leans in closer to your ear, "but tonight, i'm not going to be able to stop myself."

a shiver goes up your spine, goosebumps exploding over your arms. you missed that. he easily lifts you off his lap, setting you beside him. he stands, heading into the bathroom to shower, the door clicking closed calmly behind him. you sit there, surprised by his show of restraint. he doesn't normally do that, normally he would have had your face pressed into the mattress in a seconds notice. after taking a second to collect yourself, you stand up, and walk back over to the closet.

you pick out a dark green summer dress, a pair of brown cowboy boots in better shape than the ones you'd worn here. you grab a cardigan, and a cowboy hat that matches your boots. you then go back into the kitchen, and grab your cellphone from where you'd left it charging. two missed messages from monica dutton long.

hi aunt honey it's tate! excited to see you and uncle lee tonight rollercoster here we come!

hey, it's monica, just wanted to let you and lee know we'll be by the ticket booth. tate's very excited, see you at 9.

ten minutes pass, and lee is walking down the hallway. he's wearing a button that coincidentally matches your dress, his good hat and his best boots. he looks refreshed, the stress of the day washed away, and a easy smile on his face.

"well don't you look handsome," you smile, stepping into his embrace.

he kisses you deeply, your knees go weak, his arm sliding around your back steadying you. he smirks into your lips, and you pull back rolling your eyes playfully at him. you forgot how much you enjoyed being here, being with him.

"honey, you are the most beautiful woman i have ever met; dressed up like this, or covered in sweat and dirt from a long day."

your heartaches at his confession; it's temporary, you'll be gone again come the end of august. then the cycle continues. you smile, enjoy it now. lee's always been your favourite, it's why you keep coming back. he always knows what to say to make your knees weak, and how to break your heart.

"we'd better go," you say, ignoring the disappointment in his eyes as you walk away.

you're always walking away.

x

"i had so much fun!" tate yells, hoisting the matching bear to yours over his head.

"and now he's going to take forever to get to sleep tonight," monica laughs, "thanks for the sugar rush, aunt honey."

"pshhh, he'll crash the minute you get him in the truck." you reply, "and no problem, i live for these moments,"

"it was good seeing you, honey." monica says, pulling you into a hug.

"you too mon, we need to get coffee before i leave." you tell her, giving her a light squeeze.

"why don't you stay?" she asks, watching as tate makes a beeline for the truck, climbing into the backseat as kayce follows behind him, chatting with lee.

"i can't," you can't tear your eyes away from lee's back as he talks with his youngest sibling, which doesn't go unnoticed by his sister-in-law.

"why not? you and lee act like a married couple and besides; you're perfect for each other." her tone is gentle, like she's talking to an easily spooked animal.

"because..." you debate telling her the truth, the real reason you run every year, and your heart wins out over your rational thinking. "i know that he'll always be there this way, i don't think he'd want me if he had me fulltime."

"how could you possibly think that? lee looks at you like you personally hung the moon, sun and stars. he's so in love with you," she says, smiling softly at you. "you have to know that by now. he turns into a completely different person when you're gone."

"i know he is, i see it in the way he looks at me. i just– i'm terrified of ruining what we have. i'm not an easy person to love, i've been told that my whole life; i'm impulsive, stubborn, bossy, rude, selfish.... he doesn't deserve someone like that. he deserves someone who's sweet, and kind, and... good." you say, "someone like him."

"i don't know... the way you describe yourself; that's not the person i see. i see someone so full of love, and life, someone that helps others no matter what, honey, i've literally seen you give someone the shirt off your back. whoever's pumped your head full of that hate, was trying to convince you you're evil, when you're not. you're none of those things."

"i appreciate that, i'm not sure you're entirely right, but thank you." you shoot her a half smile, and squeeze her shoulder before you break away, walking towards lee's truck.

he meets you halfway, entwining your fingers, and pulling you closer.

he smiles at you, "that was fun,"

"i knew you'd have a good time,"

"thank you for making me come tonight,"

"thank you for winning me a big ass teddy bear," you reply, holding the giant black bear. "i love him, and i'm going to call him dusty,"

"dusty, eh?" he qestions, pulling your door open for you.

"do you have any better ideas?" you quiry, sliding into your seat.

he leans against the passenger door, his head tilted to the side as he thinks. after a few seconds he shakes his head, ducking down to kiss you once. twice. three times before closing the door and walking around to the drivers side.

"wanna grab a pizza on the way?" he asks, and you nod excitedly. "barneys?"

"barneys!" you say it at the same time, and he laughs, patting your left thigh.

x

three weeks later, you're sitting in one of the muskoka chairs up by the main house, a blanket over your legs as you and tate roast marshmallows.

"yours is burning!" tate says, pointing to your marshmallow.

"i love them burnt!" you reply, watching as it catches fire.

"that's weird," tate makes a face, "burnt ones are gross,"

"nuh-huh, they're the best!"

"no! golden ones are!"

"ewwww," comes lee's voice from behind the two of you, "marshmallows? gross!"

"i agree with you there," kayce says, from his chair across the fire pit.

"i second it, too sweet." john adds from beside kacey, and tate looks shocked.

"grandpa! you don't like marshmallows?"

john shakes his head, a disgusted look on his face.

"that's devastating," tate says, and monica lets out a snort of laughter.

"who taught you that word?" she asks, trying to keep a straight face as he stares her down.

"aunt honey, she says it a lot." tate shrugs, turning back to the fire.

monica gives you a quizzical look, as lee sits down beside you, between your chair and hers on your right side. so i don't say fuck in front of your kid, you mouth at her, and she nods in understanding.

"cause i'm trying not to corrupt you," you add, wrapping an arm around his shoulders to give him a quick hug.

"yeah, besides, his dad does a good enough job on his own." lee chuckles making kayce roll his eyes, and flip his brother off while tate's looking away.

"how long are you down for now?" john asks, when the conversation dies down.

your eyes snap to lee, who's looking staight ahead into the darkness. monica and kayce exchange a look before they both take turns glancing at you, and lee.

"uh, 'm not sure just yet," you say awkwardly, your shoulders tensing automatically.

you feel like a dear caught in the headlights. john nods, his attention being stolen by rip who materializes next to him. feeling like john just smacked you, you excuse yourself, wrapping your blanket around your shoulders, and making your way to lee's house. you sit out on the steps, thinking about what you were doing. i'm not good for lee. staying would be a mistake, it would ruin what we have. then i'd be all alone again. you're not sure how long you'd been sat alone, staring off into the dark when you hear lee's boots crunching gravel.

"you okay?" you ask him, and his eyebrows pull together in confusion.

"i'm fine, are you, okay?"

you force yourself to nod, "of course,"

he reaches out for your hand, and you immediately give it to him, allowing him to guide you up into the house. you shed your uggs, blanket, jacket, sweatpants and sweater, when you enter his bedroom. you crawl into bed, pulling the blankets up and waiting for him to crawl in next to you. he does, turning the lights off, and shimmying close to you. you rest your head on his chest, and even after you hear his soft snoring, you can't fall alseep. you lay there, eyes closed trying to sleep, but then the first ray of light speaks into the room.

before you know it, it's six am, and lee's softly shifting you over so he can go shower. you stare up at the ceiling, unmoving. the room is still dark, and when he steps out of the bathroom, towel around his hips, and his hair dripping wet. you pretend to be sleeping when he leans over the bed to give your temple a quick kiss, before he heads down to the bunkhouse. you lie there, staring up at the ceiling, your mind racing. you met lee at a bar in town when you were eighteen, you'd been passing through, on your way to your next race, when he'd caught your eye.

you ended up spending the month curled up in his sheets, praying that it would never end. but like all good things in your life, it did. you'd had a blow out fight about something ridiculous, and after he fell asleep that night you left. you found yourself passing through the following summer, part of you praying you'd see him again. and you did. he sat perched on a bar stool, chatting with rip and two other hands from the ranch. rip saw you first, a knowing smile on his lips, then the other two—who you later came to know as colby and ryan—their conversation fizzled out quickly.

lee had stood, ready to leave for the night, but when he twisted around on that bar stool, he saw you standing there. a smile broke out on his face, and the next thing you knew, you were face down on his mattress, and all was forgotten. it was a cycle that repeated itself for years, this being your tenth summer returning to yellowstone. you couldn't help yourself, there was just something so magnetic about him. you couldn't stay away even if you tried. you show up, play house, counting down the days until a fight breaks out and then you disappear like leaves in the wind.

this time something was different though. everyone around you seemed to be trying to get you to stay. you'd had conversations with kayce, beth, tate, monica and even rip. that was the one you kept rolling over the most. you'd had a similar childhood as he did, but instead of you ending things, your father took your mother and two younger sister's lives then his own. you were seventeen. the only things you had left after that, was your horse, peaches, your truck and trailer. other than some clothes, that was all. you were a traveller, rarely staying in one spot long enough to form any meaningful connections.

lee and the dutton's were an anomaly to that. maybe that was why you always came back, but you couldn't be sure. rip had intercepted you just before supper one night, and despite never having had a much of a real conversation (besides small talk) in your ten years as acquaintances, you sat and listened to what he had to say. rip being a man of few words, had talked to–well more like at you–for twenty minutes. in that time, he'd managed to make you really wonder if running was the best option. you can only run for so long, eventually you'll be too old too, and then what? what would you have to show for it?

you phone goes off on the nightstand, and you sigh, forcing yourself to sit up. monica dutton long. you hit answer, and greet her.

"sorry, were you sleeping?"

"no, no, you're fine. what can i do for you?"

"tate was hoping you'd be up for a ride, i've packed a picnic, and kayce and lee said they'd meet us for lunch."

"sure, that sounds fun," you smile softly, your head screaming, see? you'd miss this if you left. you always do. "i'll get peaches ready, and meet you down at the barn,"

"awesome, tate's already excited. see you down there,"

you hang up, and slide out of bed. your feet hit the hard wood floor, and you go through your routine. you brush your teeth, put on a ballcap, and then throw on a t-shirt, jeans and your boots. you grab a bag of the cookies you bakes yesterday, and jump onto the four wheeler lee leaves for you so you can get around the far without using your truck. over the years, you've noticed that lee gets weird about your truck. it's probably because anytime you go near it, you're usually hauling ass out of yellowstone. you blink away the thought, and head down towards the barn.

lloyd is standing in the bunkhouse doorway when you park the four wheeler, "coffee?"

"oh, yes please." you nod, and he disappears inside returning moments later with a mug for you. "thanks, lloyd."

"you're welcome sweetheart," he smiles at you, and the pair of you stand in a comfortable silence, enjoying your coffee. "y'know, it's nice seeing you around here again,"

the guilt you've felt since you stepped into lee's house flairs back to life, and you nod, forcing a small smile. you go to walk towards the stall's, and he catches your elbow pulling you back.

"i know you've heard it a lot since you got back," he says, staring you down, "but everytime you leave; it's like lee loses part of him... you know that saying, "behind every good man, there's a great woman"? lee needs his great woman around. he needs you around,"

your eyes fill with tears, and you're sobbing before you have much of a chance to try and keep yourself together. lloyd's eyes go wide, and if you weren't losing your mind, you'd have laughed. he guides you into the bunkhouse, closing the door behind him. you plop down at the table, and try to calm yourself. lloyd stares at you, waiting patiently.

"i'm sorry," you mumble, using the shoulder of your shirt to wipe your eyes. "i don't know why that happened,"

"i didn't mean to push you," lloyd tells you, a look of guilt in his eyes.

"no, oh god no, please don't. this isn't your fault. i just..." you trail off looking at your feet. "can i vent for a minute?"

he nods, pulling out a chair and sitting beside you, "please,"

"i come from a pretty fucked up family," you start, lee doesn't even know about what happened to your family. you liked it that way, because every time you give someone an insight into your background, their perspective changed and they started treating you like glass. "i mean, who's isn't? mine... well, mine is a different kind of fucked up. my dad snapped one night, murdered my mom, two baby sisters, and then killed himself. no one's really sure why he did it; he was abusive as shit, sure, but that– that was a kind of rage he never displayed before. he didn't leave a note, he just did it, and then shot himself in the head. go figure the old bastard went the easy way,"

you sigh leaning forward resting your head in your hands, "i started running that night. i'd snuck out to see a boy, and came home to find them all dead. i just took off. had i not snuck out, i would be just like them. i don't have friends, i don't have any family, i've tried to keep to myself but when i met lee... my desire to be isolated changed. i just wanted to be with him. when i'm not here, all i can think about is whether he's safe or not. he's all i think about, but... my dad made it incredibly clear to me growing up that i was a burdern, unlovable, worthless, a waste of space... that kind of thing is difficult to just forget. he told me that everyday, for seventeen years. the scariest part of it all, is that i have my father's rage. i don't want to be like him, but i'm terrified that if i'm too close, i won't see it and it'll be too late."

you look up at lloyd, tears in your eyes, "he told me i wasn't worth loving, and i believe him. i hate leaving, i'm tired of it, but i'm terrified."

someone clears their throat from the doorway, the pair of you jumping at the noise. you turn your head, and see lee standing there, clutching the doorknob so tightly his fingers turn white. lloyd clears his throat, and stands, leaning down only to give your hand a light squeeze. lloyd leaves, and lee closes the door. it takes four long strides before lee is pulling you to your feet by your elbow, and crashing his lips to yours. you're surprised by the action, but melt into his touch. when the pair of you pull apart, breathing heavily, he rests his forehead against yours.

"i love you," he breaths, "you are worthy of love, you deserve happiness, and you are good."

your eyes water, again.

"how do you know i'm not a monster?" you whisper.

"because i know you. you bake cookies when you can't sleep, you pick up spiders and take them outside instead of killing them despite the fact that you're terrified of them, you close your eyes every time you see roadkill because it makes you sad that an animal died, you'd sooner adopt every animal than see them suffer, cute animals excite you, you're scared of thunder but always put on a brave face for tate because you don't want him to freak out, you hold doors open for everyone, and pay for peoples groceries or meal if they can't afford it. you are light, you are warmth, you are so damn good."

you bury your face in his chest, sobbing uncontrollably as he holds you tightly. never in the ten years that lee has known you, has he ever seen your eyes water, let alone see you cry. someone knocks softly on the door, and then monica pokes her head in.

"oh, sorry– i was just going to ask if you guys were ready, but if now doesn't work–"

"no, now's good," you say, pulling your face away from his chest. "we were just–"

"she's staying," lee cuts you off, and she lets out an excited squeal.

"i have to tell kayce and tate!" she says, quickly disappearing.

you look up at him through red, swollen eyes, a teasing smile on your lips.

"i'm staying am i?" you ask wrapping your arms around his back. "'cause last i checked, you're the only one who hasn't asked me to stay."

"hasn't?" he echoes, an embarrassed look on his face as he looks down at you.

"oh yeah, your family was on me the minute i pulled in. you just happened to catch me in the aftermath of lloyd asking me."

"even rip?"

you nod, "especially rip. i think he had me convinced, but i wanted to hear it from you before i made my final decision."

he looks into your eyes, a serious look you've never seen before sliding over his features, "stay, please."

"okay," you whisper, not breaking eye contact, as his lips twitch up.

"marry me?" he says next, "please."

despite how badly he's caught you off guard, you find yourself immediately nodding, a wide smile crossing your face as he grabs you and spins you. you giggle, and he laughs, the pair of you hugging each other tightly.

"i love you," you tell him, "i love you so damn much, and i'm sorry for not you telling you sooner."

"it's ok, because we know now. that's good enough for me."

you nod, "me too."

[theflashesoflove]

amuse-bouche

Jan Stevens x f!reader (nsfw)

a/n: i present to you my monstrous love for this woman. you can tell what her voice does to me. i have been writing it for several nights and completely fucked up my stupid sleep schedule. proofread, but there might be some mistakes i didn't catch. perhaps i need to go outside and touch some boob- i mean grass.

warnings/tags: descriptions of an injury, blood and cunnilingus

word count: 5k

💌: @maximoffslovergirl

A loud thud. A wooden stool slipping from under your legs, a mixer falling down to the floor, smearing everything with sweet sticky substance. A bowl of cream tipping over onto your dress, your skin, all over the floors. A strangled cry in pain, a dislocated kneecap. A blood stream flowing down your leg in a perfect straight line, an attempt to stand up- more pain. 

Silence.

Your bandmates turned off the hardware, vibration and rustle of your symphony faded out. The first rule of performance: if you mess up, pretend it was intentional. Audience’s applause was a distant noise – standing on all fours, you were dumbfounded by pain, a white veil covering your vision for a split second. Good, they thought that your embarrassing collapse was just the last strike of a chord. The hall became deserted in a few minutes. A few long, unendurable minutes, and not a single person paid attention to you still being on the floor, petrified by pain. 

Finally, your bandmates surrounded you, their hands reached out to your shoulders to help you get up, but you waved them away. You knew you couldn’t stand up, no matter how many hands would help you get on your feet. You groaned, falling over to the side to get your weight off your hands and knees. Blood and sweet cream mixed on your skin, making it sticky and hard to tear away from the floor. Fuck, it hurt. Like a fire burning under your skin, the pain streaming down your right knee across your calf and ankle to the tips of your toes. Your other leg was in pain as well, but a different kind of pain. A familiar cramp twisted the muscles of your left calf, turning them to stone. Excellent, both of your legs were nonfunctional. You bit your lip to suppress your cries and blinked the tears away. 

The world around you didn’t exist anymore, pain placed you into a vacuum. At that moment, you thought it would be easier to just pass out from it, to come round when the pain was over and your bandmates miraculously delivered your body to Dr. Glock to deal with the injury. Speaking of Dr. Glock, you really didn’t want to see him. So when your bandmates suggested calling for him, you refused. They stepped away and proceeded to pack the equipment and clean up the food from the table. At least you didn’t have to attend the afterparty anymore. Stones scribbled something in his notebook, observing your agony. Perhaps he would bring this situation up during the interview. 

You looked at your leg again, the wound still didn’t stop bleeding. Pink patches of blood and cream on your skin were connected with the scarlet river system. Your knee pulsated and swelled, pain capturing all of your senses. 

But something managed to sneak in. Something soft, warm, intriguing even, something soothing and yet so very intoxicating. A hand on your shoulder. A flash of white fabric, black fabric, white fabric again, black eyeshadow, the scent of her hairspray. 

This woman thrilled you right from the auditions. No one from your band understood your obsession with her, and they jokingly scolded you for getting distracted from perfecting your performance. But you had it all figured out. You’d managed to focus on your performances, but a part of you, a very big part of you, wanted to impress her. It worked like a perfect mechanism, her scrutiny, praise and helpful remarks brought out the best of your performing abilities, which rewarded you with more of her attention. Though you were sure, it wasn’t anything bigger for her. Her attention never meant anything beyond appraising your art, and the older woman was so out of your league anyway. Elegant, statuesque, with mouth-watering curves and dainty fingers. Her signature makeup complimented her soft features, her attires were so very her, quite formal yet with unmatched grandiosity. And you knew that all of it was expensive. That the fabric of her skirts and blouses was pleasant against her body, that no seams irritated her satin skin. However the thing that brought you to the edge the most was her sultry voice. Voice that made you want to crawl out of your body to no longer be limited by the human form and encompass every vibration of her vocal cords, every movement of her tongue against the roof of her mouth, every barely noticeable breath that accompanied her words. No angel choir could ever compare to her giving dinner speeches, to her squeaking when she was enraged, to her reprimanding your bandmates for ignoring her advice, to her guiding your band through the shops practise with her languid tone.

“Jan Stevens,” you whispered, suddenly so very aware of her proximity. And of the unappealing state you were in. You must have looked pathetic. You imagined that she was about to scrunch her nose and snort, but she just looked at you and crouched beside, a worried expression on her face.

Her voice drowned out your pain for a split second, “Poor thing,” she murmured, brushing your hair off your face. “Can you stand up?”

“She can’t,” your bandmate stepped in, but Jan Stevens didn’t even turn her head away from your face to acknowledge them speaking. She indeed heard them, though, and furrowed her brow, alarmed. 

“We suggested calling for Dr. Glock. She refuses to see him,” the other bandmate meddled, annoying you to no end. You didn’t want Jan Stevens tut at you being whimsical and hard to deal with. To your relief, she did no such thing. 

“I’ll take care of it, dear. Wim!!!” Before you could answer, she called out the institute's technical assistant. When he finally approached the two of you, her gaze still didn’t leave your pained face. “Please, bring her to my house. She can’t walk.” Wim sighed, but didn’t protest. He never did. And Jan Stevens tipped generously, so he scooped you up in his arms, ignoring your hisses. 

Jolts of pain stroke you with every step Wim took towards Jan Stevens’ house. You tried not to press yourself into him too much and keep as quiet as you could. Well, you tried not to howl your lungs out, restricting yourself to teary whines. Jan Stevens followed both of you, but Wim had to wait before the front door for the older woman to open it and hold it for him to enter. He found the nearest seat he could settle you in and left, gaining a nod from Jan Stevens. 

The woman disappeared somewhere and you tried to sit as comfortably as you could. But no matter the position, it ached, and ached, and ached. You became awfully aware of how sticky your clothes were, covered in stupid melted buttercream you used for your confectionery themed performance. You didn’t mind the feeling for performance's sake, but it wasn’t about art anymore. It was about your clumsiness, your foolishness, and it was suffocating. Squirming, you decided to take your dress off and clean yourself with it, ignoring Jan Stevens’ curious look when she returned to the couloir to see you in your underwear. 

She held a small white box in her hands with a bright red cross on its lid, a first aid kit. Kneeling before you, she placed it on the floor, and waited for you to finish dealing with the cream. You hesitated as to where to put your dirty clothes, and the woman took it from you to carelessly drop it to the floor. She licked her lips and focused on your injured knee, tilting her head from side to side to examine it. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be observing the afterparty?” you pried, feeling hot at being the centre of her attention.

She shook her head, “I have something more important to deal with. My absence is justified.” Your ears flushed at her words. “Are you in pain anywhere else?” 

“My other leg,” you said, “is cramping. It’s… fuck…” Your left leg was stiff, toes unnaturally curled, and the more you focused on that pain, the more insufferable it felt.

The older woman stroked your legs, not caring that one of her hands got immediately covered in gore. Humming, she decided to deal with your cramp at first. She took your left leg and stretched it out, it made you shriek, muscles tightening so hard as though they were going to be torn apart. She bent your knee and pulled it toward your abdomen, leaving faint palm prints on your skin with your own blood. You couldn’t tell if your cramp was relieved at all, because your other knee still ached immensely. Jan Stevens looked at you under her lashes as she moved your leg. She visibly swallowed, tracing the path of your half-naked body with her eyes, and finally settled your left leg to the ground. Your mouth slightly agape, you watched as she turned her attention to your wound once again, her fingers circled around the source of bleeding, barely touching, feeling how swollen your knee had gotten. 

Then, she did something you never expected. Jan Stevens leaned closer to your oozing wound, and stuck out her tongue to press it against you. You gasped, your fingers twitched – you had to stop yourself from burying them in her curls to push her away or to pull her closer. She lapped at your sore skin, acting surprised when the sudden sweetness of buttercream hit her tongue. She looked unabashedly satisfied. Your stomach flipped, a sudden gush of wetness covered your sex and you knew that you were doomed. If she had lowered her gaze, she would have been able to see the dark spot spreading on your underwear, exposing you.

"It hurts," you whined, grimacing. Her cool tongue gently swiped across your knee, aggravating. There were so many sharp sensations. And not a single question about her actions. A cramp in your left leg died down a bit, the echoes of the pain flaring up under your skin from time to time. The other injured leg ached, it ached even more now that Jan Stevens’ mouth was pressed against the mixture of your blood and sweet cream, devouring it like the best dessert she had ever had.

“I know, dear. Didn’t you know that saliva had healing properties?” Jan Stevens gave you a sickly sweet smile, but your pained expression made her face twitch in worry that she might have crossed the thin already nonexistent line. “I’ll help you, let me just…” and she caressed the skin of your calf, hands crawling up towards your knee where her mouth pressed against your skin again, making you whimper from strange, uncalled desire and, of course, boundless pain. “Shhh…” she cooed, her fingers grabbing your knee, open mouth pressed against your skin. She wasn’t kissing or licking it anymore, she just sat there, on her knees before you, her face flush against your dewy skin, hands snapping your kneecap into place with one quick motion. You cried out, hands gripping the arms of the fauteuil, nails scratching antique wood, tears splashing out of your eyes. “Oh, sweet girl,” her solacing voice brought you back to reality and you noticed that it was much easier to breathe. 

The overwhelming pain gradually stepped away, leaving behind a soreness that was much more bearable. Absolutely crushed in the armchair, you suddenly felt so, so tired. And so fucking aroused. Because Jan Stevens planted one last kiss to your knee and turned to her first aid kit to treat your wound. There was a little bit of blood on her face, almost the same colour as her lipstick. She cleaned your leg, lost in the process, and you just wanted, just needed to feel her mouth again. To see her lips wrapped around your wound, to hiss as her tongue would lap on your injured flesh again. Her soft hands flew across your skin, applying bandages, and once she was done, she sat back on her heels and placed her hands on her lap, looking up at you. 

“Better?” she asked, and you nodded, pursing your lips. Smiling, she added, gingerly, “You still must see a doctor, darling. I can arrange for someone else to examine you.”

“Thank you.” You knew that you looked like a mess. Dried tears on your face, dishevelled hair, weakness in your voice. Jan Stevens smiled and smoothed the fabric of her skirt, however she didn’t rush to get up and go on about her night. Her gaze studied you, curious, yet… unsure? She licked her lips, remnants of your blood hitting her tongue. Why did she look so hesitant after just almost drinking from your wound? You didn’t have enough strength in you to stare back, so you busied yourself with observing the couloir, now that your attention was no longer captured by strong pain. Jan Stevens fitted in this environment perfectly, and for a moment you wondered what her bedroom looked like. Was she her startling self even in the privacy of her home? Was she always wearing that makeup? She surely had to take it off at some point in the night, hadn’t she? What clothes did she sleep in? Did she sleep alone or was there someone keeping her warm from time to time? And did she even have a kitchen? It was most likely that she did, but did she use it? 

Her voice snapped you back from your thoughts, smooth as silk, “The fall was not planned, was it?” 

“Lost my balance,” you replied, not really willing to elaborate. 

“You never had problems with it before,” she wondered. 

“I just… I got lost in the sound and,” you started, unsure how to put it, “my thoughts lead me elsewhere.” 

“Where?” she leaned closer, curious. 

“Sometimes I forget that- that art isn’t all about the outcome. It’s about the process… I was carried away with anticipation of the result.”

“Tell me more,” her eyes bore into you. “What result did you anticipate?” And when she spoke like that, you knew you couldn’t withhold anything from her. 

You blushed and looked away. “I anticipated… being seen. That once we end our performance, people might get frustrated it was already over. And some of them might… might think of me, even for a second. Might… notice something about me, might be interested in something about me… and- oh, it sounds so silly.”

“And what?”

“And some of them… might want me to be in their life. Some of them might want me,” you whispered, horrified at your own thoughts. 

“Don’t you feel wanted?” She sounded almost disappointed.

The question was phrased rather oddly, you contemplated. Like you were supposed to feel wanted, like you didn’t recognise someone’s efforts. The truth was that maybe at that particular moment you did feel wanted. That maybe Jan Stevens’ treatment, and the way she still sat in front of you on her knees, looking deep into your soul, her sultry voice kissing your ears and making your body shiver with every word she spoke, maybe all of it made you feel wanted.

“I… I don’t know. My band needs me, although I’m sure they hate me for ruining the performance. But they can always replace me. And- I don’t want to be replaceable.”

It was too much to ask, you recognised that. Every person was replaceable, after all. Even directors of the Sonic Catering Institute, they had replaced one another until it was Jan Stevens’ turn to take the position. And someday there would be a replacement even for her. No person is truly unique, truly indispensable. There’s always someone else. Someone better, even. Your friend found new friends after you isolated yourself from them, your teacher found a new favourite student after you graduated, the company you worked for found a new employee after you quit. And even after your performance the audience walked away and found some other form of art to admire. They forgot about you – they probably didn’t even memorise you in the first place – until your next performance. But maybe, maybe there was someone who felt drawn to you. Maybe they weren't able to get you off their mind, maybe they attended every performance just for you alone, and maybe they would still think about you even after the residency would be over. And maybe they thought about you at night, and maybe they cried, because they would never be able to reach you, to hold your hand, to kiss you. And maybe you would inspire them to make art of their own. And maybe they would silently dedicate every art piece to you, or maybe they would say it loud and clear. And maybe they would live with a heavy soul their whole life, never having gotten a taste of you. Never having spoken to you. You would leave a trace in their heart, a scar even, and you would be irreplaceable for them until they draw their last breath. 

Having such thoughts made you feel guilty. It was hard not to lose yourself in this craving for being special, hell, these thoughts had already made you fall down and bleed and cry in pain.

“This is why you create, to feel wanted?” Jan Stevens’s voice brought you back to earth once again.

“Partly, yeah,” the older woman tilted her head to the side in question and you explained, “I value the process. I revel in the process, but I also… I also crave the unachievable outcome, is it a bad thing?” 

“Of course not,” Jan Stevens lifted herself, standing on her knees, and reached her hand to your face to gently stroke your cheek, “It’s better than lying to yourself.” 

Fuck, why didn’t she kiss you already? You reminisced her face, contorted with pleasure as she licked the blood off your skin. You reminisced her hungry gaze, the breathtaking blues of her eyes swallowed by the dark pits of her pupils. And she was so close now, she caressed your cheek, and you noticed the corner of her mouth twitch in something she tried to suppress. “Do you do that?” you breathed out, looking her in the eyes. 

“Do what?” her voice was sweetened by the amused smile that spread across her features. You wanted to grab her by the hair and bring her lips to your ear for her to whisper, and whisper, and whisper the filthiest of words. You wanted to wrap yourself in her voice. 

“Lie to yourself,” your words made Jan Stevens’ expression turn stone serious. Did you upset her? Was she about to throw you out of her home on your broken knees? She slowly rose, your head leaned backwards, following her movements. Her hand grabbed the back of the fauteuil, and after regarding you from her full height for a second, she bent down until her breath tickled your cheeks once again. 

“Yes. A lot lately,” her upper lip twitched again, and she breathed out of her mouth, hesitating for a second. “Every year,” she started her revelation, “I dread that there will be someone who catches my eye and I won’t be able to resist it.” She made a small pause, her eyes sparkling dangerously. “But I also secretly hope that among my residents… there might be someone… for me, not for the audience, just for me.” Her intense gaze turned you inside out. “Don’t you feel wanted, Y/N?” the older woman asked again, her tone different this time. “Just like you craved to feel?” And you knew you had to be honest.

“I… I think I do,” your voice trembled, ragged breaths left your mouth as she leaned closer, so painfully closer. She looked satisfied with your answer.

“Good.” And she kissed you. Slowly, although it was clear that she suppressed the urge to swallow you whole. She grabbed your chin and dug her nails into your jaw to keep your mouth open, and she swiped the tip of her tongue across your lips, moaning, the knot inside of your stomach made itself known again. “I could give you it all,” she whispered into your parted lips after tearing herself away. “I could make you feel so, so special.” Jan Stevens shifted to the side and licked the helix of your ear and you whimpered, and you clamped your thighs, the slickness between your legs was audible at this point. “But beware, once I start, I won’t be able to stop, ever,” her mouth captured your earlobe, tongue playing with your tiny earring. 

Every word she spoke melted on her tongue like sugar, syrupy sweet syllables, meringue consonants and honey vowels. Her gaze bore into you like a spoon dipping into crème brûlée, and you were finally between her teeth, an indulgence she could never resist. She caressed your torso with featherlight touches, looming over you, her nails scraping your rubicund skin ever so slightly.

“Please,” you begged and spread your legs, instantly wincing and cursing under your breath from the pain. You grabbed her hips and leaned closer, hiding your face in the delicate fabric of her white blouse. 

"Do you really think you can take it?” Jan Stevens spoke again, her voice almost dangerous, cutting through you like a knife. But there was something else in her question. It was half playful, half sincere. As if she asked 'Do you think you can handle me? My desire? Do you think you won’t get sick of me the second we finish? Do you think you really want to stay with me?’

“I can,” you said confidently, answering all of her questions at once. “Or do you want me to beg for you to finally fuck my face?” you snapped.

“That won’t be necessary, dear” Jan Stevens uttered and sharply breathed out through her nose. The upholstery dipped under her weight as she climbed onto the fauteuil, it was a tight squeeze, but she managed to fit your legs between her knees, not straddling you, not applying any pressure to your much-suffering legs. She towered over you even in this position, her crotch right in front of your face. She rushed to hike up her long white skirt, exposing her ivory thighs wrapped in sheer black stockings. Your eyes focused on her red lace knickers that looked like a cherry you wanted to catch with your mouth.

“Fuck,” you mumbled, breathing her scent in. You pressed your nose against her thigh, hands squeezing her heavenly flesh bedecked with stretch marks. She peeped at you from above, biting her lower lip in seething anticipation. 

Two of your digits dove past the band of her underwear, you coated your fingers with her essence and slowly, carefully pulled them out and sucked them into your mouth. You groaned at the taste of her, tongue ripping the string of her wetness that connected your fingers. Once your fingers were out of your mouth, she tightly fisted her skirt in one of her hands to instantly pull you towards her with her now free hand, an airy moan escaping her throat as soon as your nose pressed against her clit through her knickers. 

You lapped at the soaked lace, causing a delightful friction of fabric against her sensitive spot. With one finger, you finally pushed her panties to the side and immediately kissed her slit, eliciting a blissful sound out of the woman. Her hand was still in your hair and she was firmly holding you where she needed you the most. 

“Oh, darling,” she drawled out and closed her eyes. Her fingertips massaged your scalp, and you hummed against the slickness, causing her to growl. 

With a simmering passion, you lapped at her folds and pressed onward onto her entrance. Eating her out was an otherworldly experience, it seemed like all of your life events led you to this particular moment. Her breathy moans encouraged you to press harder, to grind your nose against her clit and keep worshipping her. At that moment, you thought of the afterparty that was held in the main building, and with a certain smugness you realised how lucky, how special you were to be here, with her, while your bandmates must have revelled in the audience's tribute. The honour of being with her was transcendent, it was the highest praise. A course that you wanted to prolong until her knees would give in, until she wouldn’t be able to release anything other than muffled sobs of overwhelming pleasure. 

Her legs trembled above you. Grabbing her ass, you helped her steady herself, squeezing and squishing her plump flesh, and losing yourself, and allowing yourself to lightly slap her cheek to give her more, to give her the diversity of sensations. To show her that you would do anything with her, anything she would like, as many times as she would like, as filthy and rough as she would like, as lovingly and tenderly as she would like. To tell her, I wanted this for so long, and I can’t believe I’m here, and I won’t let you down, and I want all of your eccentricity, all of your ardour, all of your greatness, all of you, all of you, all of you. 

I want to sleep in your bed and wake up next to you, and kiss your beautiful face the first seconds of the morning. I want to sit next to you during performances and hold your hand, and stroke your thigh when no one sees. I want to sit near you at dinners, and soothe you, when residents test your patience as they always do. I want to protect you from intruders, hell, I would slash their throats for you to finally feel at peace. I want to walk with you in the gardens and compare your eyes to the clear sky. I want to help you take off your makeup at night and apply fresh eyeshadow in the morning. I want to help you dress, I want to undress you as a night ritual. For I am greedy for you. For you finally, finally gave me a taste of life I missed so dearly. 

The agonising aching in your knee never stopped, but you didn’t allow it to distract you from her. When some sudden jolts of pain made you let out a strangled ‘aw’ against her cunt, the older woman stroked your head, comforting you. 

Jan Stevens groaned as you sucked on her clit, and you pushed your hand up under the band of her skirt, under her blouse, and you groped her tummy, nails biting into the softness. Her skin was warm, covered in sweat, – god, she must have been very hot being still fully dressed when the air around the two of you seemed so heavy and stuffy – and you kneaded her flesh before reaching even further, fingers crawling to her bra and under it to graze her hardened nipple. Your tongue swirled across her lower lips as you rubbed her nipple between your fingertips and pinched it, causing her to let out a hoarse ‘Y- yes, Yes!’. How enrapturing it was, feeling her come undone above you with the palm of her hand wrapped around the back of your head. Feeling her fingers tangling in your hair, as your digits moved in crushing waves across the skin you could reach, as her pussy fitted in your mouth oh so perfectly. A mixture of her juices and your saliva dripped down your chin and your jaw was on fire already, moving up and down, mouth closing and opening around her. And your tongue dipped into her just right, as far as it could go, and she moved her hips to meet its thrusts. 

Eventually you retracted your hand from under her clothes, it replaced your tongue, massaging her sticky entrance in circular motions. Fuck, the way she dripped on your fingers made you groan, and you tried to pull away for a second to admire her form, but Jan Stevens protested and pushed your back right on her clit.

“Ah- f- fuck, don’t- don’t stop, don’t stop, ahh- don’t you d- dare stop,” it came out under her breath, sweet whimpers getting in the way of her words. 

Clenching your thighs, you felt so close to your own release. Just a little bit more pressure, just something, something to rut against, just for a second, just a couple of swift strokes, just- oh. Maybe you didn’t even need any of that after all. Maybe Jan Stevens, oh Jan Stevens, rubbing against your face in fast hard motions with your name on her lips was enough to bring you over the edge without any stimulation. You shuddered underneath her and your fingers that previously just applied pressure onto her surface, slithered inside of her and were immediately clenched by her wet walls. She came, shivering so hard it made her slip out of your mouth and from your fingers and smear your cheek with her essence. Her moan rang across the room, you trembled under her, and your clit pulsated, triggered from that sound, causing a whimper of your own. You leaned back on the armchair, sweat dripping down your temples. 

Jan Stevens dropped her skirt and gripped the baсkrest with both of her hands, breathing heavily. She looked at you from above, a clouded gaze admiring your exhausted state. Next thing you knew, she leaned closer and kissed you with such urgency it made your teeth clash against hers.

“I have never felt so desired,” you almost didn’t catch her whispering, still coming down from your own orgasm. Her words sounded detached as if she was pondering to herself rather than talking to you, almost surprised, stunned even.

I have never felt so lucky, you wanted to say. And I would give you more, and I would push you down to the floor and unravel you, and I would let you use me again and again and again. I would do all of it, if my leg didn’t hurt so fucking bad. Oh, there was so much she still didn’t know about your feelings towards her. 

Soon after her feet met the ground, and she studied your appearance once again. You could see her musing upon something – she must have thought of the ways to help you get up. Without further ado, Jan Stevens scooped you up in her arms, and you let out a mixture of light giggles and quiet grunts from the pain. 

“Now, I will tuck you into bed like a doll you are. And I will call a doctor in the morning,” she murmured, carrying you to her bedroom.

“Can I help you take off your makeup?” you muttered, pressing your cheek against her shoulder. 

“Oh dear,” she thought about it for a second, an amused smile on her lips. You pouted, awaiting her answer. “Yes, yes you can.”

﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉

a/n: i can assure you that reader absolutely adored her bunny pyjamas

[justastraymoa]

ADVENTURES WITH CHEESE EXTENDED EDITION PT 6

My dream job was currently a nightmare. Several sudden changes in upper management prompted a full audit of the system and all our work. It was chaotic and messy. Add on top of that the new management all had their own ideas they wanted to implement. Different ways to make the team “work more efficiently”. Which was causing delays in all the work and unnecessary stress to all the employees.

I had worked no less than 13 hours a day for the last two weeks, even going in on the weekend to make up some work. And I wasn’t the only one. The office was never empty at this point.

I was exhausted and ready to collapse at any second. So, I finished up my current project and packed up to go home. Determined to take tomorrow off no matter what. I wasn’t going to answer any calls or texts or anything at all. I earned this day off with my own blood, sweat, and many, many tears!

When I walked into my room to find my favorite plant destroyed and the dirt from the pot all over my bedroom floor, I was ready to burst into hysterics.

Cheese was laying among the dirt without a care in the world, grooming his paws. Pieces of my precious plant leaves were scattered around him like he had shredded it then rolled around in its corpse.

I sighed and dropped my bag onto the floor. So very done with this week.

I loved my boys dearly, but ill be damned if I let them go back on this grounding! I am done with this bratty behavior from Cheese! He had never messed with my plant before, and I don’t know why he decided today of all days was a good day to break my heart.

I spent years carefully propagating that plant over and over, so it was nice and long and bushy. It took several years to get it as amazing as it had been. It was my pride and joy and I loved to spend time carefully trimming off the dead leaves and making sure it stayed green and healthy.

I even went so far as to kick Cheese out of my room and shut the door. He would run out anyways when I turned on the vacuum to clean up the mess he made, but it still made me feel a little better to let him know just how upset I was with him.

It took 30 minutes to clean up the plant corpse, and I carefully went through the remains to see if there was anything I could use to try and propagate and start the process all over again. I liked bringing a little green into my city life and I am just stubborn enough to be willing to start from scratch to get it again.

Chan came home somewhere near the end of clean up to help before engulfing me in a hug and curling up on my bed with me.

“Go to sleep. You haven’t slept at all this week, and you are exhausted.” he said lowly tucking my head under his chin and rubbing my back.

“I have things I need to get done.” But I did not move to leave his warm embrace, body automatically relaxing under the weight of his arms around me and the sound of his heartbeat and breathing under my ear.

Chan hummed making my head vibrate slightly and eardrum tickle. “It will still be there when you wake up. Sleep.”

With a deep, drawn-out sigh I gave in to his gentle demands. Let someone else take care of me for a few minutes. It felt good, and I was secretly glad that Chan came home early just to make sure I was okay.

I woke up a couple hours later, still in Chans arms as he played on his phone behind my back quietly. I could hear the others chatting and banging around in the front entry as they got in.

With a deep yawn I stretched before curling back up into Chan, not yet ready to be awake. Chan for his part left me be, running my back idly and kissing the top of my head for a few minutes while I woke up.

“You really upset your mother today, Cheese. Why are you being mean to her?” I could hear Lino near my still closed door as he most likely picked Cheese up for his first cuddles of the night. “She grounded you and everything! You have some sucking up to do.” His voice got quieter as he walked away from the door.

“You ready to get up yet? You know they are just going to come in here in a few minutes if you don’t go out.” Chan asked quietly petting my hair. I whined in response.

Chan allowed me to hide for a few minutes more before getting us both up and moving.

I think it was more likely that Cheese was screaming his dislike for the terms of his grounding. He hadn’t had any treats all day and he had been stuck in the house with no special trips or car rides to speak of. He was upset.

But the boys have been respecting my declaration of grounding as far as I was aware. Even if Lino kept giving me dirty looks when Cheese came up to him and started meowing pathetically.

I lasted for the entire day before my anger wore off and the meows and glared started melting my heart and resolve.

“Fine! He’s not grounded anymore! Go crazy!” I snapped finally. Immediately all 4 boys dived for the treat tin we had sitting on the kitchen island making me roll my eyes. They were so whipped for my cat it was crazy,

Cheese spent the rest of the night getting treat after treat and going feral.

Cheese had spent half the night zooming around the apartment keeping me up. Apparently, no one else was bothered by it though. Bin aside, no one had even mentioned it.

But it was no wonder that he was all cuddly and sleepy with Chan now. He wore himself out being hyped up on cat treats!

At least be probably burned all the extra calories those treats had.

Still Chans comment brought a smile to my lips. Cheese has saved me many times over the years. He had been there when I was sad to cuddle me and loved me to cheer me up. He had been there to make me laugh when I wanted to scream. And he was there when I was scared and alone in the big city, away from home and my parents for the first time in my life and at a complete loss at what to do.

And lastly, he brought me, Chan, Bin, Lino, and Hyune together.

A/N: Two in one night! Though I feel like this one is kinda short too so yeah. Also, I changed the order this original post was in to fit the storyline a bit better. I hope you don't mind.

Thank you for reading and interacting. Or just reading or just interacting, if that’s your thing. I hope you enjoyed this little Cheese adventure!

Masterlist

Skz + pets masterlist

Taglist: @whatdoyouwanttocallmefor

[shini--chan]

Could I ask Charon and Guanyin for Yan!Canda and America? You could also just chose one, thank you.

It shall be both of them.

Yandere NA Brothers - Fouled Harvest 

Charon - How would they deal with your death/departure?

America would have his own special ways of dealing with your death. In the beginning that would mean that he wouldn’t really deal with your death. Reality would only really kick in when he buries you. Part of this comes from his own experiences with death, as in death is usually very temporary for him. That is why he might just sit beside your cooled body for hours at a time, waiting for you to return to the land of the living. Death isn’t in his end game of a happily ever after, so he is in denial for as long as possible. Then the fact that you’re dead and never coming back hits him like an IBM and he finds himself overwhelmed with all the emotions that come crashing down on him. 

Maybe he goes on a drinking binge, or fishes out the hard stuff he has hidden at the very back of the top shelf in the pantry. He goes on long walks, maybe dies himself because he is high and picks a fight with a grizzly or gets bitten by a rattlesnake. It really depends on where he is living at the moment. Then the tides turn, and a steely determination takes over and he launches himself with new found fevrour in various projects. Death is the final frontier and it is time to conquer it. 

If you would just have departed and be out of his reach, then matters would look slightly different. Alfred would constantly be looking for you, at times more invested in the search and other times he would be distracted by other matters. If for some reason, he can’t get you back, he’ll be constantly looking for loopholes in order to do so. However, he considers himself above the laws of men and gods, so he might as well break a few treaties and bypass organisation structures and ignore reprimands if it means getting you back. 

Should it not be in his power or abilities to get you back, then matters become dangerous. No matter how many times his politicians explain to him that it is not within the realm of possibility to get you back, that they don’t have the power or the mean, he simply won’t listen to them. He is bound to become impulsive in such a state, and do something very stupid. 

Canada would have a far more sombre and realistic approach to the situation. It would also take a bit for the gravity of the matter to dawn on him, but not as long as it would take his brother. He'd store you in a cool space, and provide to clean up the property. Vacuum clean, and then wax the floors. Shake out every carpet, and prune and weed the garden, wash and polish the car, sort out old clothing. Your things wouldn't be packed away - he'll occasionally take a dress or suit of yours out and cuddle with it as he falls asleep. Perhaps he'll brush his teeth with your toothbrush when he is feeling down, or use the soap you preferred on himself. 

Eventually you are buried in the garden. Beforehand, he'll perform the usual duties of a coroner, of washing and dressing the deceased. He wants you to look pretty for your own burial, so he might lay the make-up thick. It would be staged like the usual funeral, only he is playing all the parts. It would also be the only time he would allow himself to fully and truly grieve your passing. Afterwards, that particular door will be closed again. 

Should you be alive and he just can't reach you, then he might just resort to waiting. It would bug him to no end, but he'll still do it. Matthew could get you to relax your guard and then he'll strike. Perhaps if he is patient enough you'll come back of your own accord. Or he'll track your every movement, stating himself temporarily by watching you. But in the long run, it wouldn't be enough. 

Guanyin - What would cause them to feel regret for their actions? Do they know what they are doing is wrong?

It would take a lot to make Alfred regret his mistakes. A lot of the time, he is just so caught up in his own hype and so called heroism that he isn't able to be cognisant of his own wrong doings. He is the ultimate good guy, and he doesn't like getting called out on his own bs. The person who does that is either a villain or envious of him and his awesomeness. There would have to be black-on-white consequences to his actions, consequences that affect him greatly and negatively for reality to start to dawn. Even then, it would take a bit for it all to sink in. Only then would he regret his actions and vow to do better. 

He might come to the conclusion that he is wrong in some aspects, and even try to make amends, but he would never go all the way. Alfred would be hard pressed to admit it aloud, and it wouldn't be for your sake. At the end of the day, he just wants to see himself as the good guy. You are just there to fulfil his wants and desires, so you as a person, as an individual with your own dreams, don't matter that much to him. If you have your own sway over the situation, or if you can even walk away if he crosses red lines, then he might push himself to make concessions. But it is a big "if".

Matthew would be more inclined to see the errors of his ways and the guilt would eat at him. However, he would decide to take a leaf out of his brother's book and be a bit selfish. The shame would always be there and even when he'd do his best to play cold and standoffish, he would still care deeply about your opinions. That way, you might be able to guilt him into doing things your way. You pointing out his wrongs and mistakes, would pain him - but that doesn't mean he'll act on the pain and automatically strive to make amends.

[andavs]

If eddie just kisses buck on his cheek, he would only realize what he did like 5 mins later and he would go 'oh' just as buck sits there frozen trying to process what just happened

I can see Eddie doing it and not even realizing at all until Buck's acting weird because he's overthinking it. It's natural, it's muscle memory for Eddie.

Mwah for Chris, mwah for Buck, grab his keys, out the door.

Meanwhile, there aren't a lot of people Buck gets cheek kisses from, so he would definitely remember if Eddie was one of them. He isn't. Or he wasn't. Until about ten minutes ago. And Buck has no idea what that means.

Chris either didn't notice or didn't consider it weird enough to comment on, and Buck doesn't want to make it weird if it's actually nothing, so he can't just ask. But he also can't just sit there with a freshly kissed cheek like that didn't just happen in the middle of gluing down big cut out letters for Chris' latest science project.

So because he's in a scientific kind of mood and can't do much more on the actual project layout until Eddie gets back with the tri-fold project board Chris swore he didn't need six hours prior, Buck takes a scientific approach and thinks through the concrete evidence he's gathered over the years.

Obviously Eddie gives Chris cheek kisses (and head kisses, and forehead kisses, and though they've waned as Chris has gotten older, every other kind of dumb, exaggerated kisses in dumb places just to make his son laugh). He gives his abuela cheek kisses, and Pepa. His mom and sisters. They're all family, that makes sense.

Eddie does not give any of the 118 cheek kisses. There's plenty of hugs, but no kisses that Buck has witnessed. Somehow he can't quite picture Eddie planting one on Chim at the end of a shift. Eddie considers the team to be family, and has said as much many times before, but not cheek kiss kind of family.

Buck is part of the 118.

Buck just got a cheek kiss.

Which based on evidence would group him not with the 118, but with the Diaz family.

Which does not bode well for Buck's not-quite-familial feelings towards Eddie.

But. He also clearly remembers a cheek kiss or two for Ana. Who was definitely not grouped in with the Diaz family or the 118 family. She was in her own circle on the Eddie Diaz Venn Diagram of Cheek Kisses, and if Buck was feeling particularly confident, he might say he himself occupied the very center of this diagram where all of these circles overlapped.

Except he's not feeling all that confident, and for all he knows, he actually occupies his own mutant growth off of the 118 circle that only gets cheek kisses because he promised to vacuum up the sand they've already spilled on the floor for this science project. Eddie really hates vacuuming, that's a definite possibility.

He's still staring into space at the dining table when Eddie gets back with the tri-fold project board. He's also sitting there totally alone, because he was so wrapped up in his mental Venn diagrams that he completely missed whenever Chris got bored and went into the kitchen to get a snack.

Eddie doesn't seem to find this weird at all as he bitches about the lady in front of him at the check-out who bought the store's entire stock of bagged fake snow even though it's May, and of course each bag had to be rung up individually. Halfway through, he tosses a pack of Reese's onto the table, even though neither he nor Chris likes them very much. Buck loves Reese's, and Eddie knows this, because he always makes a face when Buck licks the chocolate that gets left behind on the paper cup.

He calls for Chris and pulls his chair a little closer to Buck, and when he sits down their thighs are pressed against each other. Neither of them moves away. They might actually end up even closer together as the three of them work through the evening, and after Chris goes to bed, they finish cleaning up the project debris together. Buck vacuums and Eddie gathers up all the cut up bits of paper.

And when Eddie nods for Buck to follow down the hall to his bedroom instead of setting up the couch like he usually does, Buck starts to think that maybe being the center of the Eddie Diaz Venn Diagram of Cheek Kisses isn't such a long shot after all.

[shipskicksandgiggles]

The Meaning of Home (also on ao3)

Ever since he learned to drive, Steve had loved his BMW. He wouldn’t let anybody else touch his car, much less drive it. 

He kept it spotless. He wouldn’t consider himself a neat freak, but he kept the carpets vacuumed and trash out of the cup holders and off the floor. 

Not to mention he learned how to tune her up all on his own. His dad wasn’t around to help, and even if he was, he certainly wouldn’t be helping his son with dirty, disgusting work like changing the oil or cleaning out the filter. 

That was work for a mechanic. Someone you paid to get black sludge under their fingernails. 

Learning how to do it himself was a process. Without a positive male role model in his life, he resorted to reading books to guide him, starting with the car’s manual. 

Steve wanted his car in the best hands, and he trusted no one more than himself. 

He knew more about the inside of his car than he had any business knowing. Feeling her purr under his hands was the most satisfying part of his day. 

Even when he drove other people’s cars, feeling the thrum of the engine made him feel like he mattered. Like he had control. 

Nancy’s car was his favorite to drive. It was a shitty old station wagon, but he loved it. He was honestly a bit jealous. 

The truth was, he loved his car the most at first. He was able to use it to get around, to pick up girls, to impress his friends. That was when he was a younger man. 

Nowadays, his usual passengers were three kids and Robin, which his BMW was a bit too cramped to accommodate. 

Driving the Wheeler’s station wagon was a breath of fresh air. Sure, there was a suspicious rattle coming from somewhere, but he had all the kids with him, and he didn’t have to worry about them. He was even considering a minivan for his next car, if they survived all this. 

This being another apocalypse. They must be on four now, maybe five if he missed one last time he took a vacation. 

Not that Steve took vacations. He hadn’t left Hawkins for more than a day since he was 16 years old. Something about being anxious that one of the kids would need him, and he wouldn’t be there to help. 

Even the station wagon was too small to fit their whole group now, and not all of them were in Indiana anymore. Steve might have to reconsider his choice of a minivan. A bus might be a better option. 

Or a Winnebago. 

He could hear faint chatter behind him. The air was tense, but they were all trying to pretend like it wasn’t. 

Like they weren’t watching Max, in case she might float away. Like they didn’t check out the windows every few seconds to make sure they weren’t being followed. 

Like Eddie wasn’t on the run. Like Eddie hadn’t hotwired their vehicle. 

Like they weren’t on their way to get weapons to take out an evil, alternate dimension wizard. 

Steve had a headache, and no one had punched him in the face this time. 

His only relief came in the form of being able to count everyone, confirm they were all okay. 

‘Okay’ might be a bit of a stretch. 

Alive was good enough for him, even if they were all scraped, bruised, hungry, and tired. 

He focused on the thrum of the vehicle under his hands, and took a deep breath. 

As if she was reading his thoughts, Nancy plopped into the passenger seat next to him. 

“How’s it handle?”

“Not bad considering it’s a literal house on wheels.”

She huffed out a quiet laugh. None of them really had the energy for lighthearted fun anymore. 

Steve glanced over at her, and remembered back to when they were barely older than most of the kids in the backseat. They’d grown up so much since then. 

He sighed. “I used to imagine driving one of these actually.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, you know, like when I was older, with a family, a whole gaggle of kids. I’d just pack everything up and we’d travel across the country every summer. Take a different route every year so we’d eventually hit 49 out of 50 states.”

“That’s quite the dream.”

“Well, when you still believe in the American Dream, a road trip with six kids sounds like a good idea.”

“Six kids? That sounds like a horror show.”

“I realize that now,” he said, gesturing vaguely behind him. Six kids were a nightmare.

“I meant for your future wife, my god. What angel of a woman did you picture in this scenario?”

“Honestly? I have no idea. When we were younger, I think I hoped it would be you, but now?” 

Steve turned in his seat to look at the people behind him. Eddie and Robin were attempting to distract Dustin, Lucas, and Erica while Max watched them with her Walkman secured over her ears. Their party had changed so much over the years, but he loved them nonetheless. 

Just as he was about to turn back, Eddie caught his eye. He smiled and winked before doing something dramatic that made Dustin yell. It was amazing how he fit right in. 

“Eyes on the road,” Nancy reminded. “You’ve changed a lot since we first met.”

“Is that a good thing?” he asked, suddenly shy. 

“Definitely,” she assured him. “I’ll let you drive.” She patted him on the shoulder as she went back to join everyone else.

A couple years back, Steve had kind of dismissed his dream. It was right around the time he woke up concussed in the backseat of his own car with Max driving. Kids were out of the question. 

Then he thought maybe he’d travel the country by himself, pack up just his car and drive until he hit the ocean. 

He didn’t think he could leave Hawkins anymore. Not after all this. 

Steve shook the thought out of his head and focused on driving. One day all of this would be over. 

Moments later, someone else dropped into the passenger seat. Thinking it was Robin, he didn’t say anything, expecting her to speak first. 

“I got Dustin and Lucas to explain Hellfire’s last D&D campaign to Nancy and Robin.” 

Not Robin. Eddie. 

“Oh?”

“Figured it might keep them entertained for a while at least. They’ll probably be quieter too.”

“They’re not that bad. You get used to it.”

Eddie snorted. “You must have a lot of patience, Harrington.”

“I’ve just been babysitting them for a long time.”

He nodded. “Since this all started?”

“Something like that,” Steve agreed. “Once you live through the end of the world with them, all the yelling doesn’t seem like such a big deal.”

“Imagine that. Are you sure you’re The Steve Harrington? Like the prom king, king of the school, lady’s man of Hawkins High?”

“That’s what it says on my driver’s license.”

“It says all that on your driver’s license?”

“My wallet’s in my back pocket if you want to check.”

“As inviting as it is to touch your ass, I think I’ll wait until we’re not around the kids. What do you say darling?” Eddie winked. 

Steve felt himself flush. 

Eddie didn’t seem to notice. “But you really have been saving the world this whole time? Kids and all?”

“Kids and all,” Steve confirmed. “It doesn’t get easier by the way, so if you don’t want to stick around for the next apocalypse, I wouldn’t blame you.”

“You stick around,” Eddie pointed out. 

“I’ve got a pretty good reason to.” It was the truth. He loved Hawkins, loved the kids, loved Robin and his shitty job and even his empty house. He couldn’t just leave it all behind. 

Speaking of, he adjusted the mirror so he could see them, and smiled softly at what he saw. Sure enough, Dustin and Lucas were still fully invested in explaining things to Robin and Nancy, who were actually expressing interest. Even Erica seemed to be getting involved, and Max had slipped her headphones off of one ear so she could listen to both her friends and Kate Bush. 

“We’re going to get them out of this,” Eddie said quietly. “Right?”

Steve nodded. 

“They never got to be kids, did they?”

“Not really, no. Ever since Will went missing, they had to grow up too fast.”

“Do you ever wish you could go back and change things, knowing what you know now?”

He studied Eddie carefully. “More than you could possibly understand.”

“So make me understand.”

Eddie looked at him like he held all the secrets to the universe, and Steve took a deep breath, turning his focus back to the road to avoid Eddie’s gaze. 

“Realistically, I know that this was the way things were meant to happen. That I wouldn’t be the man I am today without all this suffering. Still, knowing what I know now, I would go back and be a less shitty person. Because then maybe Barb would still be alive. Maybe Billy would be too. Maybe we could have been friends a long time ago. Instead we’re here, and I know I can’t go back and fix everything, but for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

“Please, I forgave you the first time Henderson said you gave him rides home from Hellfire because his mom couldn’t make it.”

“Really?”

“Well, sort of. I thought he meant a different Steve Harrington until I saw your car pull into the parking lot and not leave until his seat belt was buckled. Then I forgave you.”

Maybe he was finally losing it, but for whatever reason, that was the first time Steve had really laughed for the first time in days. They were in the middle of the end of the world yet again, and he couldn’t stop laughing. 

His outburst seemed to surprise Eddie based on his expression. A grin slowly grew across his face. “Something funny, Stevie?”

“No, no, I’m sorry, I just-” he hiccuped. “I just can’t believe this is happening.”

“Didn’t we just establish you’ve saved the world multiple times?”

“Not that, I can totally believe that, but this. This stupid Winnebago and those kids and this. Sometimes I can’t believe I’m here. If you told Steve Harrington of four years ago that he’d be babysitting a group of kids with his ex-girlfriend, his best friend who he got tortured by Russians with, and the freak of Hawkins High, he’d think you were nuts, and yet.”

“Still think I’m a freak?” Eddie asked nervously. 

“Sure, but who isn’t?”

“Welcome to the party, your Majesty, it was good of you to join us.”

Eddie’s dramatics only caused him to start laughing again. “Sorry I’m late, honey, traffic was hell,” Steve mocked in return.

“Are you having a nervous breakdown? I think you have to tell us if you are.”

For a second, Steve thought he’d overstepped and offended Eddie, but a quick glance reassured him that he was just joking. 

“I think I’ll be okay. How are you though?” 

The past few days had been harder on Eddie than it was on most of them, which frankly he was handling like a champ, but Steve still worried. 

“Well, let’s see. I don’t know if I’ll ever get to go home, and even if I do I’ll probably be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life because the basketball team turned into a murderous gang. Also, I’ll need a list of everyone’s favorite songs because that seems important now which sounds insane, but it’s no less insane than anything else so what the hell, right?”

Steve got it. Not that he’d been accused of murder, but witnessing the upside down version of their town and facing the end of the world did tend to put things in perspective. What about their lives really mattered anyways?

He let Eddie’s words hang in the air for a moment before he figured out what to say. 

“My favorite song is The Winner Takes It All,” Steve said. “For when you start making that list.”

It seemed to take Eddie a moment to process that. “ABBA, Steve? ABBA? Are you kidding me? We cannot be friends, I’m so sorry, your taste in music cannot be that bad.”

His dramatics caused Steve to lose it. “Oh my god, I’m kidding. It’s actually Heroes. You know David Bowie?”

“Do I know David Bowie, he asks. Jesus Christ, Steve, of course I know Bowie. He’s not bad, but still, remind me to play you some better music if we make it out of this alive.” Then he paused. “When we make it out of this alive.”

“You’re already a natural at keeping a positive mindset with the constant threat of the world ending! I’m proud of you, man.”

“Might as well, right?”

“Exactly. And I can’t wait to hear you play. I've heard you’re a part of the best metal band in this part of Indiana.”

“Steve, we’re pretty much the only metal band in this part of Indiana.” 

“Which automatically makes you the best!”

“Fair enough. My favorite song is Rainbow in the Dark by the way. Master of Puppets would probably work too honestly.”

“I’ll make sure we get a tape of both of them, just in case.”

“Thanks.” His response was uncharacteristically soft, but Steve tried not to think too hard about it.  

They drifted back into silence after that. 

“Do you know what you’re going to do after we save the world?” Eddie asked. Sitting quietly for too long set all of them on edge now. 

“Same as always I guess. Might start taking classes at the community college.”

“Yeah? What are you planning on getting your degree in?”

“Something stable. Teaching maybe. If it doesn’t work out, I can always try my hand at being a mechanic.”

“Mechanic? You?”

“Hey, I fix my own car all the time, don’t start. Anyways, people always need mechanics.”

“We’ll always need teachers too, Steve. I can see it now, your classroom full of bright colors and smiling faces.”

“Now you’re just teasing me,” Steve groaned. 

“I’m not! I really think that’s a good path for you. Stability is a good route to go.”

“Would you ever want anything like that?”

“Oh god no. I want to be out on the road! Experiencing real, true freedom,” Eddie said with conviction. 

Steve certainly believed him. The relief was evident on his face, as if that freedom was finally in reach. 

“Really? You don’t even want someone to come home to? Something to look forward to when you’ve been away for a while?”

He could feel Eddie studying him. 

“I guess that doesn’t sound so bad,” Eddie said eventually. 

“Look man, I’m not saying you can’t do whatever you want. If you want to be out on the open road for the rest of your life, that’s what you should do. But I think everyone needs somewhere to call home, and maybe someone who helps make it a home.”

“Yeah?”

“It probably sounds dumb, but-”

“No no no, I think it’s sweet. I just don’t think that’s the kind of future I’m destined to have.”

“Why do you say that?”

Eddie sat back in his seat a bit. “Home for me growing up wasn’t the definition of stability, and I don’t know if I have what it takes to build that foundation with someone. And even that would require someone to want to have that with me in the first place. I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that’s not in the cards for me.”

They lapsed into silence as Steve digested that information. Finally, he spoke again. 

“Okay, don’t take this the wrong way, but are you dumb?”

“Thank you for that, Steve.”

“No, listen to me. You’ve already got a halfway decent start on that foundation, I just think you need to take a step back and see that.”

He looked at him doubtfully, but Steve continued. 

“You created a safe space for a whole group of kids that wouldn’t have that if it weren’t for you, and they adore you. It’s that unconditional love and willingness to accept them that’s going to start you in the right direction. That D&D club of yours is a home of its own if you think about it, and you did that all on your own. Imagine what you could build with someone else.”

Eddie took a moment to think. “What if I don’t want kids?”

“That’s fine. Home doesn’t always equal kids. Good luck getting rid of Dustin though.”

“Which will prove to be a challenge I’m sure, that kid sticks like glue.”

“Trust me, I’ll be dealing with it for the rest of my life too, don’t you worry.”

“Maybe we should deal with it together then,” Eddie said nervously. 

Steve heard the hesitation in his voice like he wasn’t sure how he would react. 

He reached out a hand and patted Eddie’s knee. “I think that could be arranged.”

“Stability, huh?” Eddie asked. 

“If you want it.” 

Steve craved stability more than just about anything else in the world. He couldn’t imagine functioning without some surety of knowing how his life was going to play out for at least the next few months. 

He also craved validation and comfort. One might say he craved love.

A love he wasn’t so sure he could have. 

But Eddie glanced back at the kids and smiled softly, almost privately to himself had Steve not been there to see it. 

“Yeah. I could go for a little bit of stability.”

[tagsecretsanta]

From @such-a-random-rambler

From @such-a-random-rambler to @ajpendragon

Here is my gift, much love to you all

Scott threw down his tablet to clatter onto the marble work surface. With a frustrated sigh that echoed around the kitchen he spun forlornly on the stool. Months of ‘I’ll get to it next week’ or ‘just got to rest after that last rescue’ or ‘the board meeting’s coming up soon, got to get the agenda sorted’ had swept away the time between his great idea and now. If he’d started research when inspiration had first struck back in the summer Virgil would shortly be receiving the most perfect Christmas gift. But he’d left it too late and now with just two weeks to go Scott’d have to fall back on Plan B.  

After he thought of Plan B. 

He laid his head in his crossed arms slumped across the tabletop, and allowed himself to indulge in wallowing at the problem of his own making. He’d come up with something great no doubt. In a minute. 

The soft scuff of boots across tile announced a visitor, easily identifiable by their pace, light step and the squeak in the left heel. The slight ‘oof’ as they sat on a stool opposite and the slightly clinical smell of an intricately controlled environment that accompanies them confirms it.  

“I’m busy being melodramatic.” Scott said, only slightly muffled by having his head in his arms.  

“I know. I could see that in space. It’s much more entertaining down here though.” 

Scott allowed himself a peak at John, who looked far too amused to be comfortable with. As suspected he’s still in uniform, only leaning a little to the side from his hasty descent from vacuum to atmosphere.  

“You keep saying that I should take more time out, get a hobby. Well I’m trying ‘procrastinated too long and now I’m a failure’. Not enjoying it so far.” 

John actually laughed at that: his full deep laugh that he rarely got a chance to exercise. John never used to be so serious, and that’s just one more wound their family bears. If Scott’s own mistakes got John to laugh like that it was worth it, just a shame Virgil was dragged along too. 

“I thought you might be trying that.” John said, a twinkle of mischief in his eye. “Why don’t you get me one of those disgusting juice drinks Virgil keeps insisting I have and tell me all about it.” 

Loath to let an opportunity to get some vitamins into John go to waste Scott dragged himself to his feet, and grabbed a bottle of the freshly made, nutrient packed smoothie from the fridge. And two glasses, for solidarity purposes.  

“Virgil’s the problem really. See he – wait. Where is he?” Scott looked about, as if Virgil was about to spring out from behind the couch cushions. 

“Hangers. Obviously. And will be some time judging by the number of pieces of Two that spread out on the floor.” John took a sip of his juice, then eyed it suspiciously. “This one’s not that bad actually. I’ll give him my compliments.” 

Scott also took a cautious sip – just in case John was using some reverse psychology – and … he kinda agreed. It was lacking most of the bitter earthy notes that usually made these concoctions a chore.  

“Ok, so you know Virgil’s been working on those music pieces, those compositions, and he finally finished last spring?” 

“I do.” 

“I was going to get them all written out and bound. Not just printed mind you – hand written on hand made paper, old school. Like the greats of classical music used to.” 

“Sounds like a really thoughtful idea. I’m sure he’d like that. Things always feel more real to him when he can get his hands on it.” 

“Exactly. I thought it would be easy to get that sorted, but I never found the time. And apparently there are only a few people in the world who do that sort of binding any more, and they can’t get it done in a couple of weeks. I’m one of those desperate leaving-it-to-the-last-minute sort of people now.” Scott takes a deep draught on the juice, which gets worryingly more bitter the further down the glass he gets. 

“If you’d listened to me, started taking breaks, you’d have been all nice and organised and had Virgil’s sonatas in the bag by October.” John continued to sip at his drink, unbearably smug.  

“And you’ve taken your own advice have you? You’ve had a weekend off here and there? Picked up a hobby? Like sleeping, you should try that for a hobby.” Because Scott knew that John barely had a sleep schedule, let alone a healthy one and certainly didn’t have days off. And John knew that Scott knew. 

John grinned. “I have got a new hobby: bailing my brothers out of trouble. Maybe that’s not so new actually. Here.” He picked up a large square package that Scott hadn’t noticed on the stool beside him, and slid it across the work surface. “Consider this an early Christmas gift. I’ve got you an actual one of course, this is just a bonus.” 

Carefully Scott put his still half full glass down, and inspects the heavy wrapping. With one eye on the still grinning John – there’s always trouble when he looks that triumphant – he grabbed a knife from the block and slit the side. 

Inside were several leather folios of crisp cream paper, embossed with the name ‘Virgil Tracy’ and filled with careful hand written notations – Virgil’s music made real by a master craftsman.  

Scott was stunned. “How did you - ? I didn’t tell anyone.” The realisation hit. “Have you been looking at my personal files again?” 

“And your internet searches.” John downed the remaining juice without so much as a grimace, and seemingly no guilt. “You really did come up with an amazing gift idea, but I knew that you would never actually get around to organising it in time. So I sorted it for you.” 

“And if your lack of faith had been misplaced?” 

John shrugged. “No harm in having a back up is there.” 

Scott ran his hand over the soft leather. He’d been too busy. He really had. And John’d been there to take the load as he always was. “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome. I’m not going to gift wrap it though, that’s on you.” 

“I wouldn’t dream of asking you to.” Wrapping presents was not one of John’s skill sets. The wrapping paper was usually held together by hope as much as tape. “Are you eating dinner with us before you go back up?” 

“Thought I might have a dinner or so. I was thinking of not going back up until after New Year. Take one of those breaks you’ve been going on about.” 

John says it so offhandedly that Scott almost doesn’t make a quick calculation of days between now and then. “Two weeks?” 

“Three actually.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah. I’ve been … tired recently. More tired than usual. I think I need to breathe fresh air for more than twelve hours at a time. Maybe go swimming. Sleep in on Sundays. Live like a normal human for a bit.” 

Placing the folio gently on the countertop, smoothing down the cover, Scott slowly yet inevitably stalked around the counter. Scott waited until John had put his glass down safely – you could never be too careful with him newly planetside – to enfold John in the tightest hug he could manage. Scott would forgive his brother his snooping and meddling to have him home for three weeks. And John knew it. It was probably all part of the plan. 

John suffered the hug for at least thirty seconds before pushing Scott away with a roll of his eyes. Despite his mutterings about overreacting John didn't actually look that displeased at the contact. 

“Hide that in your room somewhere,” John nods in the direction of the folio, “and we’ll go help Virgil reassemble his bird. Being as I have nowhere else I need to be.” 

[rindecisions]

From Hell and Back Chapter 1 | advocandum

Explicit | 5k/160k | Demon Eddie

Find the rest and more here

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Art by @feralsteddie Original art posted here

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Art by @lady-lostmind Original art posted here

༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒

“You know none of this is real, right?” Steve asked with his arms crossed, watching Robin upend a bag of occult supplies onto his living room floor.

“Oh, just have some fun for once, will you?” Robin stated as she picked up a black candle. “It’s not like we have any other plans for Halloween anyway.”

Steve chuckled and shook his head. “What is all this?”

“I’m going to hold a séance,” she said simply, setting the candle on the carpet. It tipped over and she pursed a frown.

“You’re going to summon a ghost?” He raised his eyebrow at her as she stood and walked over to his coffee table.

“I’m going to try!” Robin said confidently, picking up a stack of coasters.

Steve skeptically picked up the candle that fell over. “And if you do?”

She snatched the candle out of his hand. “I’ll figure it out then.”

He rolled his eyes and watched her set five candles on coasters in a rough circle. She picked up a large box of salt and started pouring it onto the carpet between the candles. “What the hell are you doing?” Steve panicked.

“It’s just salt. You can vacuum it up later.”

Steve groaned and ran his hands through his hair. By the time she closed the box of salt, she had made an attempt at a pentagram, each star tip ending at a candle.

“There,” she said proudly as she set the box on the coffee table.

“Now what?” he sighed grumpily.

“Now for the last touch.” She picked up a heavy-looking case and opened it. Inside was a wooden Ouija board. “My mom got this when she was a kid and gave it to me last year. I’ve been wanting an excuse to give it a try.”

“And you had to ruin my carpet for that?” Steve leaned on the wall and raised an eyebrow at her.

“I didn’t ruin shit.” She set the board on the ground just outside of the circle. “Light the candles, turn off the lights, and come sit next to me.”

Steve rolled his eyes and pushed off of the wall. He grabbed the lighter next to his pack of cigarettes and started lighting them. “This better not burn down my fucking apartment.”

“Can you stop complaining!?”

Steve laughed and turned off the lights before sitting on the floor next to Robin.

“Hand,” she said, holding out hers.

Steve placed his hand in hers and looked over the messy salt pentagram. “Ow!” he exclaimed when he felt a sharp prick on his index finger. He tried to pull his hand away, but she held it firmly, positioning it over the edge of the board and squeezing it. A drop of blood fell from the puncture and onto the salt line. “Oh, come on, that’s going to stain.”

“Shut up,” she snapped, hissing as she pricked her own finger with the pin. She coaxed out a drop of blood on top of Steve’s. After she shook the pain off, she picked up Steve’s hand and took a deep breath.

When she closed her eyes and started saying words Steve didn’t recognize, he rolled his eyes and closed them with her. He heard her gasp, and he opened his eyes.

“Look,” she said excitedly, pointing at the farthest candle. Only a thin wisp of smoke trailed from the singed wick. “I think it worked,” she laughed playfully. “Who do you think it is?”

Steve sighed and shook his head, deciding to play along. “Probably someone very confused. Like some random grandmother.”

Robin chuckled. “What if it’s Billy? Or,” she gasped with wide, excited eyes, “What if it’s Eddie?”

“My grandma theory is more likely.”

“Let’s ask.” She grabbed Steve’s hand and placed it on the planchette with her own. “Do we know you?” She over-enunciated each word.

Steve chuckled when Robin started moving the wooden arrow. It stopped over ‘Yes’ in the upper left corner of the board.

“See!” she said excitedly. “Are you Billy?” Again she spoke slowly and deliberately.

Once again, the planchette moved, heading to the opposite corner and stopping over ‘No’. Steve was amused by Robin’s little game.

“Eddie?”

It moved back to ‘Yes’.

“Oh shit, seriously?” Robin said softly.

It jerked over the word ‘Yes’. Steve looked over at her. She had a look of surprise. “You okay?”

“Steve, I’m not moving this,” she said sincerely.

Steve laughed. “Yeah, okay,” he said, unconvinced.

Robin didn’t bother trying to convince him. “I don’t know what to ask him.” Her mind was entirely blank. “You ask something.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, that’s why I’m telling you to as—” She paused when the planchette started moving again. One by one it spelled out ‘H-I-B-I-G-B-O-Y’.

“Hibig boy?” Steve squinted.

“He said ‘Hi big boy’, dumbass,” Robin corrected.

Steve swallowed. Even if Robin was controlling it, being reminded of that nickname stung and brought back a lot of hard memories.

“Well, say something,” Robin urged.

Steve shook his head, snapping himself out of his flashbacks. “Um, hi?”

“Nice,” she said flatly.

“I don’t know what to say either,” he defended.

The planchette started moving again. ‘S-A-Y-T-H-I-S’

“Say what?” Robin asked.

‘N-O-N’ the planchette spelled before moving to a blank spot.

“Non?” Robin said, confused.

It continued to spell out ‘I-A-M’

“I am?” She squinted.

The planchet jerked to ‘No’

“Iam?” She corrected, furrowing her brow at the unfamiliar word. “Is that Latin?”

Steve chuckled. “Shouldn’t you know? You’re the one controlling it.”

“I told you, it’s not me. I—”

The planchette moved quickly over ‘S-I-L-E-N-C-E’. They both stared at the board, stalk still and silent. Steve began questioning whether it was actually Robin controlling it. She did not have the dexterity to do that so accurately at that speed. He flinched when it started moving at a slower pace. ‘S-A-Y-O-N-L-Y-T-H-I-S’

“Say only this?” Robin squinted.

‘N-O-T-T-H-A-T-P-A-R-T’

“Sorry.”

‘M-A-Y-B-E-J-U-S-T-W-R-I-T-E-I-T-D-O-W-N’

Steve raised his eyebrow as the little wooden arrow moved from letter to letter. He almost wondered if it was even spelling anything or if it was just going through the goddamn alphabet. “Seriously?” Steve squinted when it stopped on a blank spot in the center of the board. “What the hell did that say?”

“He’s asking us to write something down.” She looked at Steve. “Do you have a notepad?”

“Uh, yeah.” Steve was confused about what was going on, but got up and grabbed the notepad and pen he kept by the phone. He handed it to Robin before returning to his spot next to her.

“Okay,” she said, pen at the ready. The planchette remained in place. Robin reached forward and placed her hand on it, but it remained still. “Steve, put your hand on mine.”

Steve shook his head in resignation and added his hand. Quickly it moved and spelled out the first word, ‘N-O-N,’ then moved to a blank spot. Robin kept her left hand on the planchette as she wrote on the notepad with her right. She wrote each word on a new line until the wooden arrow stopped moving altogether and the paper read:

non

iam

ligas

discidium

levo

saeptum

tuum

Robin took her hand off of the planchette and looked at the paper. “I don’t know if we should say this.”

“Why?”

“You’ve seen Evil Dead. Nothing good comes from reading Latin.”

“You can’t actually believe that?” Steve groaned.

“Plus, I may not understand Latin, but it is a root language, and I can make out the jist of a few of the words. No, bind, disrupt, and lift.” Robin set the notebook down. “I’m not reading it. I don’t know what this is, but I think it’s asking us to bring about chaos, and that sounds like a bad idea.”

“Whatever you say, Rob.” Steve rolled his eyes.

Robin tore out the page and crumpled it up, tossing it toward the trashcan. The paper bounced off the wall and rolled a few inches closer to them. “I’m getting the heebie-jeebies. Let’s just watch the movies you rented.”

Steve chuckled and stood. “I got Evil Dead one and two.”

Robin laughed, getting up as well. “Of course you fucking did.”

Steve blew out the candles, worried they’d get knocked over. He sat with Robin on his couch and started the movie. They spent the rest of the evening watching horror movies and stuffing themselves with candy.

When they saw the peak of dawn on the horizon, Robin picked up the board but left the salt and candles. Steve sighed and walked her to the door before turning his attention to the clumsily made summoning circle. He shook his head and got the vacuum out of the coat closet.

The paper that Robin tossed aside caught his eye. He picked it up and hesitated to toss it into the bin. Curiosity got the better of him, so he flattened it to see the notes.

He got a strange sensation of someone watching him and he turned around to his empty living room. He squinted back down at the paper. “Non i-am leg—how do you even pronounce half of this? Disc-i-dee-um? Seep-tum?” Steve shrugged and tried it out. “Non, ee-um, lie-gas, disc-ee-dee-um, lev-oh, sayp-tum, toom.” He snorted and crumpled it back up.

When he turned around to toss the paper into the trashcan, he froze at what sounded like a match strike. He swallowed and turned around to see the candles lighting by themselves, one by one. Each candle flared back to life with the sound of a match strike. The flames from the candles grew into thin towers of fire as the lights of his apartment dimmed out. The light from the flame was blinding, making Steve shield his eyes as the fire spun together in the center of the pentagram.

“*Fucking finally!*” A familiar voice shouted as the flames burst and petered away.

Steve stared in awe as his lights flickered back on. There was a demon resembling Eddie standing in his living room, casually cracking his neck. His skin was warm gray with lines of black tattoo-esque writing twisting around his body. A multitude of thin silver chains draped over him as his only form of clothing. Strangely, it wasn’t indecent that he was basically nude, as he didn’t seem to have any genitalia. He had four horns coming off of his head. The top two flanked the natural part of his elbow-length wavy hair and curved down the back of his head. The other two started on each temple and curved around his ears. A thin whip-like tail waved wildly behind him as he stretched.

“E—Eddie?” Steve gasped.

“In the flesh.” He paused with a contemplative expression. “If you can call this flesh.” He looked at Steve and a smile spread across his face. “Did you miss me… big boy?”

“Yo—I—th—” Steve stammered, looking into his inhuman eyes. They were black where they should be white, and his irises looked like hellfire. “I have to be fucking dreaming.” He blinked and shook his head.

“Aww,” Eddie cooed. “Are you calling me a dream come true, Harrington?”

“More like a nightmare.” He looked at the ground and raised his hands in disbelief.

“I’ll take it.” Eddie smirked. “Now, how about you finish what you started?”

“What?” Steve snapped his eyes back to the surreal sight, not fully convinced that he hadn’t fallen asleep while watching movies.

Eddie put his hands behind his back and leaned forward with a teasing grin. “Come closer and I’ll tell you.”

“I don’t think so.” Steve took a step back.

“Aw,” he pouted, “And here I thought we were friends, Steve.”

“I was friends with Eddie. You’re not Eddie.” He backed up until he hit the wall.

“Oh, but I am,” he said simply. “A lot has happened since I died in order for me to get where I am today, and I’ll happily tell you about it after you help me finalize this ritual.”

“What does this ritual do?” Steve asked warily. He folded his arms behind his back and gave his hand a pinch. Fuck…

“Just releases me from my last bind.” He stroked the air between them. Sparks shot from his clawed fingers, sending distorted ripples through the air and revealing an invisible dome around him. “Nothing nefarious.”

“Your existence is nefarious.” The rational side of Steve’s brain still fought for this whole thing to be a dream. There was no way he was staring at his dead friend. There’s no way that’s Eddie.

Eddie’s playful expression fell into something akin to annoyance. “I want to take that as a compliment, but I feel like you’re going to be difficult.” He crossed his arms and cocked his hip. “Whatever,” he sighed. “Just get back to cleaning your house.” With that, he lifted his feet off the ground and sat cross-legged midair, holding his ankles.

He furrowed his brow at the being levitating in his living room. “You won’t try anything?”

“I won’t interrupt you cleaning your swanky pad, don’t worry,” Eddie grumbled and spun himself upside down, remaining in the same position. His wavy hair fell limply from between his horns, a few strands catching on them.

Steve swallowed and inched closer to his vacuum. “How do I know I can trust you?”

“Well, that’s up to you, but believe it or not, it’s impossible for us to lie.” He stretched his hands out below him to play with the salt in the center of the pentagram. The tip of his claws pushed the salt around aimlessly.

“Us?” Steve squinted.

“My brand of demons, fiends, servants of the Prince of Darkness, etcetera.”

Steve wasn’t sure if he should trust the words of... whatever it was. “If you can’t lie, then tell me one thing,” he said with a serious face, crossing his arms.

Eddie tilted his head curiously.

“Why did you deviate from the plan that night?”

Eddie’s face fell and he righted himself, dropping his feet back to the ground. He took a deep breath. “It’s been a long time since I thought about that.” He held his elbow and turned away from Steve. The shy demeanor looked strange on him. “But I figured… if I didn’t stay behind and keep them busy…” His tail wrapped around his ankle and he took a deep breath. “They got into the trailer,” he restarted. “We didn’t barricade it well enough. If I’d followed Dustin, the bats would have come through the gate and chased us on that side. I knew if I left the rope intact, Dustin would’ve followed me back into the Upside Down, and I didn’t want that. I ran out of the trailer knowing full well that what I was doing could end with me dying.” He sighed and looked back at Steve. “I was also just done with running and was ashamed by how many times I had.”

Steve dropped his guard a little. He still didn’t trust him, but his story checked out. “You know… you were right to run away. Trust me, sometimes it’s better to run.”

Eddie blinked and relaxed his body. “But that was like what? Four, five years ago?”

“Yeah…” Steve contorted his face in contemplation. “How did you even end up like this?”

Eddie smirked and balanced himself on his thin tail. “I already told you. I’ll tell you when you let me out of here.”

Steve raised his eyebrows with a stern expression. “I don’t think so.”

Eddie shrugged. “Not like I can go anywhere until you do. So, I’ll be here whenever you change your mind.”

Steve stared blankly at the warped version of what was supposed to be Eddie. He couldn't wrap his mind around what he was seeing and, honestly, he didn't want to believe it. He threw his hands up and walked away. “I’m convinced I’m dreaming. I’m going to go to bed, and when I wake up, you’ll be gone.”

“Okay, see you in a few hours.” Eddie returned to floating cross-legged, slowly spinning in various directions.

༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒

Steve woke up around noon and walked into the living room. “Shit, you’re still here.”

“Mornin’, sweet cheeks.” Eddie was upside down, stretched out with his ankles crossed, his head a few inches off of the ground. His hair was defying gravity as well, making him look like he was right-side up. He smirked at Steve in his boxers.

Steve groaned. “How do I send you back?”

“Want to get rid of me already, Steve?” He pouted dramatically.

Steve glanced over at the pouting face. He’d returned his eyes to his original brown ones, making the pout even more pathetic. “Don’t look at me like that.” Steve looked away and walked into the kitchen.

“But it’s working.” He grinned and disappeared into smoke for a second before reforming upright, his chains faintly jingling as they settled. “Please?” he said softly and pathetically.

Steve sighed and turned to say something, but entirely forgot what it was when he saw Eddie. He looked exactly as he remembered him five years ago and was just standing in his living room.

“Hey Steve,” he said meekly.

“That’s-” Steve took a deep breath and looked at him in horror. “That’s not fair.”

Eddie huffed a soft, almost sad, laugh. “But it’s me.” He vaguely shrugged.

“No. No, it’s not,” Steve said, more to convince himself. “You’re… that demon thing.”

“We’re one and the same.” Eddie created a hologram effect, overlaying a translucent image of his demon form behind him, displaying the size difference between them. The demon towered at least a foot over him.

“How is that even possible?” Steve strained. He didn’t want to look at his lost friend, but couldn’t take his eyes off him. Flashes of that face, lifeless and covered in blood, kept invading his mind.

The afterimage of the demon faded away. “I already told you what you need to do in order to get that information.” Eddie raised his hand and stroked his ring-covered fingers against the invisible barrier, making it spark.

“How exactly do I release you, anyway?” Steve squinted.

“I’ll tell you if you promise to do it,” Eddie smirked.

“Never mind,” Steve sighed and turned back into his kitchen, forcing himself to look away.

“Oh, come on!” Eddie exclaimed and sat on the ground cross-legged, twirling his finger in the salt next to him.

Steve got himself a bowl of cereal and sat in the living room, facing away from Eddie.

“Are you seriously just going to ignore me now?” Eddie puffed out his cheeks and turned back to his demon form in a dense cloud of black smoke when Steve turned on the TV. “Ignore me all you want. I’m not going anywhere.”

The volume turned up on the TV. Eddie groaned and paced in circles around the tiny enclosure. He watched with an unamused expression as Steve finished his breakfast and cleaned up after himself.

Steve glanced at Eddie and the salt-covered carpet below him. “You said you wouldn’t pull anything if I tried to clean, right?”

“Yes,” Eddie rolled his eyes. “Clean ‘till your heart’s content. And if I’m being honest, as I have to be, the salt keeps getting between my toes.”

Steve chuckled and walked over to the vacuum. He plugged it in and looked toward the circle at Eddie's feet. The candles caught his eye and figured he'd best pick those up first.

“No!” Eddie panicked and held his hand out when Steve reached for one.

“What?” Steve said, startled.

“Don't remove the candles.” He looked at Steve with a distraught expression.

“How am I supposed to clean my living room with them in the way?”

“Just clean around them.”

“Why can't I remove the candles?” Steve squinted.

“Something bad will happen,” Eddie said quickly.

“Bad how?”

Eddie opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He contorted his face and tried again. “I—” he sighed and looked away. “I don't want to tell you.”

“Did you just try to lie?” Steve chuckled.

Eddie glanced at Steve and moved his mouth to create an ‘N’ sound, but froze and pursed his lips.

Steve laughed. “You actually can't lie, can you?”

“No,” he said grumpily. “I can't.”

“Then tell me why I shouldn't move the candles.”

“Just because I can't lie doesn't mean I have to answer your questions.” Eddie's tail flicked at the salt on the floor and a few granules passed through invisible wall with tiny sparks.

“Then I guess I'll just have to find out,” he threatened, reaching for the closest one.

“Please don't.” Eddie’s fear and desperation sounded sincere.

Steve dropped his hand and looked at Eddie. Or rather, up at him. He was easily a foot taller than him. The chains swaying from his chest caught Steve’s eyes. He squinted when he saw they were hanging off of matching nipple rings. “Tell me why and I won't.”

Eddie looked at him warily. “Promise?”

“Promise,” Steve agreed.

“Ugh,” Eddie exclaimed as he ran his hands through his hair.

Steve found himself scanning over the rest of Eddie's body. It was the same body type he had as a human, just a bit more muscular and on a taller frame. His nipple rings weren't the only piercing the chains were attached to. He also had a bellybutton ring, a line of three small rings going down either hip and the same on his shoulders. Each ring had at least one chain, either attached directly to it or threaded through the hoop.

“I don't know…” Eddie groaned. “Humans can lie.”

“I'll keep my word,” Steve reassured.

Eddie sighed and glanced away. “If the candles are moved before I'm released, it’ll send me back.”

Steve squinted at him. “And you don't want to go back?”

“Are you kidding?!” Eddie exclaimed. “Do you know how rare it is for someone to successfully summon a demon these days? Plus, for it to be someone you know? It's unheard of!”

“What's so special about being summoned?” Steve stepped back and leaned on the wall next to his vacuum as he waited for Eddie to respond.

“It's one of the few ways we can have a physical form.”

Steve squinted. “You don't have a physical form?”

“Not down there I don't,” he answered simply.

“So… Hell is real, then?” Steve raised an eyebrow.

“Oh yeah. Honestly, not that bad of a place either… Well, if you're there to serve, anyway,” he corrected. “If you're there for punishment, then it's literally your worst nightmare.”

“How did you become a servant?”

“That part of the tale I'll tell you when you let me out.” Eddie beamed at him.

“If I do let you out, what do you plan to do?”

“Lots of things,” he said cheerily, dragging the tip of his tail over the invisible wall, creating a trail of sparks and ripples. “Mainly sins of the flesh, can't really enjoy those without the ‘flesh’ part.”

“You're not going to kill anyone, are you?”

Eddie laughed. “No, actually, we're not able to cause any direct harm to mortals.”

Steve furrowed his brow in disbelief. “Really?”

“Yep. That's mainly for the higher-ups.” He pointed toward the ceiling.

“You said mostly sins of the flesh. What else?”

“Just standard demon duties, temptations, creating general chaos, etcetera.”

“I'll think about it,” Steve said with uncertainty as he pushed off the wall. “And in the meantime, I'll keep the candles where they are.”

“I guess I'll just be your little caged bird.” He turned into a bat and flew around in circles before appearing as his demon self again.

“Do you know what a bird is?” Steve scoffed with a quirked brow as he secured the vacuum hose.

“Duh, but bats are cooler.” He crossed his legs and returned to floating about three feet off of the ground. He dusted the salt from the bottom of his feet.

Steve rolled his eyes. “Figured you'd never want to see a bat again.”

“Normal bats are fine, it's those fucking Upside Down bats...” He shivered at the memory.

Steve went to turn on the vacuum, but had a thought. “Hey, with the weird force-field thing, will I even be able to clean that?” He pointed to the salt below Eddie.

“Yeah,” Eddie stated, as if it was obvious. “You can come and go freely through these.” He knocked on the force field with his knuckle. It sparked and rippled, but made no sound. “Humans aren't affected by such rules.”

“Good, then just stay where you are so I can get the salt under you.” Steve turned on the vacuum and pushed it toward the circle below Eddie. As Eddie had said, the vacuum didn't hit anything, but a loud cracking sound made Steve freeze and turn off the vacuum. His eyes opened wide when he saw barely visible cracks in the air. He stepped back and watched as the cracks grew and spread over the invisible dome around Eddie, who had a thrilled grin on his face. With a deafening shatter, the dome exploded, and Eddie laughed triumphantly.

“Thank you!” Eddie said gleefully as he appeared in front of Steve from a cloud of dark smoke.

Steve stood stalk still as Eddie grabbed his face and shoved his unnaturally long tongue into his mouth. He didn't know what to think and pushed him away out of reflex. Eddie licked his grinning lips with a forked tongue, winked, and popped into dark smoke that was quickly dissipated by a wind that wasn’t there. Too much had happened too quickly for Steve to fully understand the situation. Plus, he was distracted by the strange taste of sulfur that lingered in his mouth.

@steddiebang

[xxxbloodskiesdarkwaterxxx]

Topher hides his EVIL WEED smoking from his HORRIFIC AND WEIRDLY ATTRACTIVE INHUMAN PLASTIQUE MATERNAL FIGURE. I do indeed picture that Caitlyn can fucking smell it and he does a shit job of hiding it so, picture, if you will:

Topher, on his PC, eyes glazed over, as his alarm clock beckons 6am into existence. He's been up all night and his fingers crack as he flexes them, slowly bringing his hunched posture into an upright sit as his back pops. He stretches, sliding out of the chair that's placed too high up for him to naturally get in and out of it. He neglects to adjust it for himself, leaning over to his unmade bed and pulling out a small plastic baggie and a big, glass bowl from underneath the mattress.

He isn't allowed to have lighters but he's stowed one away inside the windowsill, and he slides it up, shuddering at the morning breeze and sun on his pasty, washed-out skin. He quickly and sloppily packs the bowl, imagining that the dropped crumbs of EVIL WEED would be too small for Caitlyn to catch when she vacuums his floor and checks over the acquired dust later. Sighing loudly, pulling the lighter from the frame and quickly looking to the door, he lights it and takes a big EVIL RIP.

He immediately starts coughing and dying because his sadboy lungs are weak and malnourished. Tears roll down his face, there's like snot everywhere, and the whole room stinks now. He quickly finishes the bowl, while crying from the smoke, and uses a folder to fan the room. But he's also super high now so his hands are shaking and he's still crying so he can't see and there's still snot everywhere and now the bowl is just laying on the ground, there are EVIL ASHES on the carpet, it's just a mess-

[theretirementstory]

Greetings from a freezing cold Bar-sur-Aube, it’s -5c and we may reach the balmy heights of 1c later today. It has been very cold all week so I don’t feel as if I have done very much at all but I will let you judge.

To warm me up, let’s have a look at the songs I have chosen this week. The first song is “Higher Love” by Steve Winwood from 1982 and the second one “Ain’t Nobody” by Rufus and Chaka Khan from 1983. Hard to believe that these songs are over 40 years old 😳. I have given my heart and lungs a workout singing and dancing along to the tunes.

So one lot of checks have been returned OK for “The Ex-Graduates” new job, she is going next week for “the vetting” process and then it shouldn’t be too much longer before she starts the job. How exciting!

“The Trainee Solicitor” is working like a Trojan. His boss has been out of the office for quite a few days so far this year and has left the workload to him. That’s fine until you hit a problem but I am sure we all know this is “normal” worklife (unfortunately).

Working from home is to be the new norm for “The Photographer” unfortunately it’s not in the field of photography (at the moment). It seems that he has enjoyed just moving from one room to another to start his work, likes that a break means he can go into the kitchen in his home to get a drink and an hours lunch starts prompt at the allotted time (something which doesn’t happen when you are dealing with customers face to face). It’s early days but having a couple of hours travelling time given back to you is something and he can use that time for shopping, appointments or going to the gym.

My granddaughter FaceTimed me this morning without her Daddy being in the room so it was a surprise for him when he heard her talking to me. Her little brother is on penicillium medicine as he has an ear infection. He was in the kitchen with Grandad but came through to have a chat with me. They were at the cinema yesterday to see the Disney film “Wish” and are going out today to see butterflies and aquatic creatures. My granddaughter ended the call saying “bye I will ring you tomorrow “ 😂😂.

Now my week, the cleaner has been, returning to her two days a week. I don’t think the house really warrants 4 hours cleaning per week but she does move furniture to clean underneath, wash windows as well as dust, vacuum and wash floors so I can’t complain. Then I had my appointment with the oncologist. He had my blood test results and I was sad that things were not as good as they could have been with a couple of areas of concern. I came away with a prescription for five days of injections to boost my white cells and was told to have fortnightly blood tests now too. Well nothing I can do about it just got to wait for the next round of blood test results.

I was fortunate on Tuesday that I went into town to the pharmacy in the morning as in the afternoon it SNOWED! I have arranged with the nurse to come in for the next five days to give me my injections also arranged for them to come to do blood test on 22/1.

My cousin, in London, had her birthday this week. I had posted her card last week, however I went online and arranged a small hamper of 4 saffron buns, 1 pack of Cornish Faring biscuits, 1 pack of Cornish clotted cream shortbread and a box of Cornish Black tea although it didn’t arrive on her birthday it arrived the following day.

I also took the opportunity to order more books for myself, although I am back to knitting and crochet I like to read before I go to sleep.

It was the week for the knitting group and as the weather had turned so cold I couldn’t decide whether to go or not. Anyway after exchanging a few messages with Claudine I decided to go. I have been crocheting something which does resemble a scarf and as I have plenty of this wool I can make it quite long. I had also found a book of knitting patterns for children’s clothes, however the instructions are in French. I have decided that I am going to knit a cardigan from the book and I cast it on. I am enjoying knitting something different, a different pattern but one that is easy to do. Let’s hope it continues as easy as this is at the moment.

I knew that I had to get over my fear of rats and mice which may be lurking in the compost. So far I had been brave enough to go and put my vegetable peelings in there but as far as turning the compost went, it hadn’t been done for months with the result that the peelings were just sitting on top of the other matter. I plucked up courage to go out into the freezing cold (dressed like Nanook Of The North) armed with my twisty thing and a garden fork. I was working quite well then decided to use the garden fork, now this meant removing part of the front of the composter and I was sure I would see something staring at me, but no, not a thing and I was rather pleased with the result. I feel ready to maybe do this job once a week to oxygenate the pile and get it “working”. I have previously been told that you will know if rats are in the bin as you will smell ammonia (apparently rats urinate a lot) whether this is true or false whenever I open the composter I take a good sniff.

I have had messages from Monique, Pauline (in Barcelona), have messaged Anie (who should have returned from Indonesia this week) and Maud (no reply from these two) plus have been in contact with Sarah, Denise (a lady from the old knitting group) and friends in the UK.

I do so love January here in France. If you employ people to work in your home (gardener, cleaning lady in my case) you can claim money back on your tax. The tax office usually give you an advance in January and my notification came through this week. Also, I pay my energy by direct debit and I did increase my payments (as instructed) in September. Now I only pay 11 months of the year, get my invoice showing all the details of usage, payments etc in January and any overpayment is refunded directly. Imagine my surprise when I was informed I had overpaid so would be refunded. I have my heating on extra hours a day and still get a refund 😁.

Today is the Fete sans Frontiere in town and normally I would be going. However, as I still want to keep safe due to low immunity, it seems silly to go into a hall with well over 100 people and remove my mask to eat. Also they ask that you take a dish with you for sharing. These are then laid out and people are called up to go and collect food. Now 1) you don’t how hygienic the preparation of the food may be, 2) fingers could have touched the food that is laid out, had hands been washed say after using the toilet, 3) coughs and sneezes spread diseases and no matter what, someone could cough or sneeze while in the queue, not everyone carries sanitiser! No I don’t want to be among that, not when I (feel) I have managed to steer clear of any infection so far. So I guess I will stay at home, in the warm, and do some knitting or crochet.

I feels like coffee time now, I am also trying to get into the habit of having a piece of fruit mid-morning and mid-afternoon. It cuts down on munching on biscuits and enables me to have my five-a-day. I baked a quiche yesterday so I will be having quiche with something healthy this lunchtime.

So I will wish you all a very good week until next week.

[i-am-still-bb]

Whumptober 2022 - No. 1 - "This wasn't supposed to happen"

Anders/Mitchell - T

--

The acrid smell of vinegar filled the great room of Anders’ apartment.

“I can just throw it away,” Mitchell offered quietly. “I can pay for a new one.” He sat in the chair furthest from the kitchen with his knees drawn up, his bare feet pressed into the edge of the cushion.

“I’ve got it.” Anders wrung out a rag, the pinkish water running down the drain. Picking up the spray bottle with its mixture of water, dish soap, and vinegar he saturated the spot on the carpet once again. He sprayed the surrounding tile for good measure. He used the now clean rag to wipe the tile and scrub at the rug. When the rag is tinged pink again Anders rinsed it.

And repeat.

“You shouldn’t have to ‘get it,’” Mitchell mumbled.

Anders sat back on his heels. This was not how he had planned for this evening to go. Thai food sat, probably cold, on the counter alongside a six pack of the wretched brown ale that Mitchell liked and a bottle of Argentinian Malbec for himself. He was kneeling on the rug, the knees of his suit damp, sleeves rolled up over his forearms, and jacket and tie hung up somewhere.

Fine. Maybe kneeling on the rug had been part of the plan. But not the rest of it.

But he had known that when he stood outside the door with his key listening to the frenetic pacing and cursing from inside.

Anders had opened the door. He had taken charge of the situation.

Mike had been called. And Anders had stressed “hiding the body like its a hiding game.” Mike had glared at Anders, but he did not rescind his offer to help. Axl had tagged along as help, but he had looked green around the gills and distinctly uncomfortable.

Anders made Mitchell take a hot shower and change into clean clothes. Anders made him sit down, draped a blanket over him, and took care of the stained clothes.

Mitchell’s hair was still springing up into curls as it dried right now as he watched Anders clean blood out of the kitchen rug.

“Mitchell. It’s fine. I’ve got it taken care of,” Anders said calmly, but he kept one eye on Mitchell while he finished up.

Mitchell turned away and stared at the lights of the city as they twinkled on as the dusk faded into complete darkness.

His phone vibrated from its place on the counter while Anders was storing mop, bucket, and wet/dry vacuum in the closet. The rag was thrown in the trash and that had already been taken out.

It’s a text from Axl. // Do you need us to come back? Just in case… you know. //

Anders leaves him on ‘read.’ He flicks on ‘Do Not Disturb’ and turns his phone face down on the counter.

Electric fireplace on, a few candles lit to bury the scent of vinegar, and it’s done.

It looked like nothing happened.

“Drink this.” Anders held out a glass of water.

Mitchell flinched at the word.

“Sorry.” Anders sat on the couch. “You should have some water.”

Mitchell tore his gaze away from the windows. His eyes are unfocused as they flick from Anders’ face to the glass of water. He shook himself and seemed to come back. Uncurling Mitchell took the glass. He drank. And neither of them said anything.

Mitchell stared at the now half empty glass. “This shouldn’t have happened.”

“It—”

“No. This shouldn’t have happened.”

Anders licked his lips. A nod, “You’re right. But it did. It’s taken care of. And now I want to make sure that you’re okay.”

Mitchell’s rage had fizzled out almost as soon as he saw Anders. He had let Anders take over.

“The food’s probably cold by now, but it’s pretty decent when warmed. Or I can get something else. Pizza?”

A small smile tugged at Mitchell’s lips, “With chips and tea?”

Anders snorted. “Heathen.” But he made it happen—pineapple and onion pizza for the heathen, and bacon pizza with garlic dipping sauce for himself.

Mitchell fell asleep with his head on Ander’s lap while they watched a 90s sitcom that they both knew too well.

Anders shifted the take out containers to the floor to be taken care of tomorrow. “Hey, Siri, turn off the lights.”

[lifewithchronicpain]

I am home but not for long. My sister's back is really bad. And since she doesn't want to go to the ER/Doctors it will probably take longer to heal. A toradol shot would do her good but she's not big on shots anyway. Besides that's really the only thing I can't provide, I've done my best to give her what she might get in meds anyway.

So I'm giving her what little tramadol I can spare and my muscle relaxants. Because we left Tuesday in a rush my brain just didn't process that I needed to bring all my muscle relaxants, so I only had what was in my pill case and weekly case. But my back is okay so I could do without. I also brought one of my older canes.

We go back Monday and I'm getting my Tramadol and Cyclobenzaprine refilled. Meanwhile I have to take the weekend to rest because we'll probably be up in NH for the all the weekdays.

At least this time I can pack slowly and bring all the shit I need for an extended stay. Like last time I accidentally only brought one pair of PJ pants. I was going to put another in but left in on my chair in my room. Rush packing is never good.

While we were there my mom was doing most of the chores, and bringing Jean what she needs. (I don't like going up her stairs they are steep) I just did things like load the dishwasher (fuck I wish we had a dishwasher :c ours broke when I was a teen and no money to fix it especially since it custom sized) and vacuum the floor. But mostly my responsibility was the kids.

I'm not used to spending so much time away from home, I usually only go for two nights and never more than once in a month. 3 nights this past week, and potentially 4 nights next week. But family needs me, and this is the time when I am willing to push myself. BIL is chief engineer on a research ship, he can't just leave on a dime. He wasn't even docked when it happened. He comes home the following week.

But hey, at least I saw a bear. That was really cool. I only saw them at a distance before.

[snowmuttgetsweird]

3/5/23 CW: Abuse/Trauma mention kinda? ADHD stuff, anxiety stuff, "The Bluey Post."

Last couple days have been okay. I've been learning to manage the panic attacks better. I didn't actually have one today- I kinda had a smaller episode yesterday, but I put on some Bluey and it turns out to be like, magic anti-panic attack medicine. Who knew.

Some people have heard me say (seen me type?) before that after watching Zootopia, I didn't want to FUCK Clawhauser; I just wanted to be his friend. My first real furry crush was Alex the Lion from Madagascar- just a bright, bouncy, funny, silly, charming character that loved to perform and loved people- bonus points for having huge bappy manimal paws and big chompy teeth. This is going somewhere, I promise.

I feel like there's this positivity vacuum in my life that makes me a sucker for hyper-pure characters and content, like it artificially fills some kind of void that makes me wish I were a part of it in an earnest and genuine way.

Bluey has been like... The greatest expression of that feeling. I love watching Bluey never stop being bossy because she gets away with it nine times out of ten due to her shear charisma. I love watching Bingo constantly challenged to fight for attention and respect, and ultimately succeeding. I love watching the chaos that unfolds literally any time that Muffin is on-screen. I love the way Bandit genuinely loves his daughters and does everything in his power to spend time with them and indulge them, even if it's not always on his preferred terms. I love the storyboarding, the subtle hints at deeper trauma across the cast, the relatability of the characters.

I remember before ever seeing the show, I saw a clip of Jack on Twitter. Why can't you sit still? Why can't you remember anything? Why can't you just do what you're told? He stops fidgeting for a moment and really thinks about it and says, sadly:

"... I don't know."

I cried to that clip- hard- because that moment with Jack was my entire childhood and was the most I ever related to a character. It was the most I had ever seen of myself on a TV show packed into three words uttered by a cartoon jack russell terrier that couldn't remember his god damn hat.

Every day of my life, my dad yelled and screamed at me asking why I couldn't do these simple things he asked me to do and all I could say was "I don't know." Sometimes he'd scream it back at me at the top of his lungs in that condescending slurred "pretending to be special needs" tone, mocking me.

My third grade teacher tried to tell my parents "Chris is very smart but has a difficult time staying on task and participating in class- I think that Chris may be struggling with ADHD" and my mom jumped down her throat for suggesting her son could have been anything less than perfect. She didn't attend parent teacher conferences anymore after that. Where dad was hard on me, mom coddled me and kept me "under [her] wing" as dad would say.

I grew up "smart" and "gifted" but "lazy" and "unmotivated," bullshitting and last-minute-ing my way through school, flopping upwards and somehow convincing everyone I was everything they thought I was.

I'm not medicated or diagnosed and I can't afford to be, but I KNOW I'm ADHD. Seeing the way other people struggle and relating to it all- the time blindness, the hyper-focus, the terrible working memory, the difficulty managing emotions, the executive dysfunction, the rambling- yes I know I'm doing it right now, sorry- all of it and more.

At THAT moment, seeing Jack internally question why he can't do all these simple things really endeared me to the character, and I knew I wanted to watch Bluey for more than just lusting after Bandit (god help me he's still so fucking ideal). When I actually watched the show and reached that episode, I was floored by just how beautifully and subtly the show straight up teaches kids about ADHD without ever mentioning it.

Rusty involves Jack in a game that challenges every debilitating aspect of his neurodivergency, and Jack succeeds in every event based on the three motivational pillars of ADHD: Urgency, Novelty, and Personal Interest. If you think of motivation as a bridge, those three things make up the planks you step across, and if any or all of them are missing, it's MUCH harder for someone with ADHD to stay invested in the task at hand and follow through from start to finish without struggling along the way. It's a game, so there's novelty. Jack wants to make a good impression on Rusty, so there's personal interest. In the last part of the game, they need that dust off NOW, so there's your urgency. All three allow Jack to overcome his poor working memory (difficulty remembering multiple pieces of information across short periods of time), his inability to sit still, and his executive dysfunction (inability to actively prioritize what your brain decides to focus its attention on). The episode is just extremely well researched. Fun fact, did you know there's a prominent, internationally recognized authority in the field of ADHD research named Russell Barkley? Coincidence? I think not!

Obviously I got off-track and rambled a bit and now I'm mentally spent, but all I mean to say is that Bluey is a really, overwhelmingly beautiful and cozy show and I'm extremely thankful to have it in my life. It is genuinely beautiful artistically and the animators are given a lot of opportunity to flex their creativity. There's a lot to love but that first episode with Jack was the one that really sold me on it.

It's about 1:30 AM now, I've got a pot roast I've gotta get in the slow cooker in the morning, and I think I'm more prone to panic attacks when I'm sleep-deprived, so I'm gonna try to maneuver around this cat that's leaned up against my thigh and go to sleep.

I don't know if anyone is actually reading these, but I kinda like typing them either way.

Night.