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deathbecomesthem · 6 months

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You Can't Go Home Again

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader | 8.1K Words

Hawkins, Indiana - 2006. Reader and Eddie are both 40. The Reader has a 19 year old daughter that is mentioned.

Summary: You're both in town for a funeral. This is a love story.

Contains smut, death, love, booze, and weed. Just like all the best things in life, you take the good with the bad or your ass misses out.

+18 only. No one under the age of 18 has my consent to interact with anything on my blog. I am old enough to be your mother.

If you like this story, please let me know. Reblogs are strongly encouraged. If it doesn't get passed around, it dies in this spot. Thank you @jo-harrington and @br0ck-eddie for reading this over and telling me it's worth publishing on this blog. I love you both more than words can express.

---

You can’t go home again. Or so you’ve been told. Yet here you are, zooming down the familiar stretch of highway that leads back to that place. You turn the thought over in your mind while your hand surfs against the wind outside of your car window. You aren’t going home, not really. Hawkins isn’t your home anymore. It hasn’t been since you pulled out of your parents’ driveway over a decade ago.

At least he had the common decency to die as the leaves started changing color, you think to yourself while your hand surfs in the wind outside your open window. The view is really spectacular. The trees look like they’re on fire as the sun begins to dip below the canopy. Indiana is flatland, but it’s still pretty in its own way. Wide open, it bares itself to you. It is what it is. There are no hills to hide behind. Not in these parts, anyway.

As you cross the county line, you flip on the radio and tune to the local country station. Might as well acclimate, you think, but really, you’re happy to hear Bonnie Raitt’s bluesy voice as you pull off the highway. She’s singing about how she can’t make someone love her, and you hold up an imaginary glass to toast the sentiment. That’s something you’ve learned the hard way.

I’ll close my eyes, then I won’t see.

The love you don’t feel when you’re holding me.

You don’t realize a tear has escaped your eye until you feel it rolling down your cheek. You wipe it away angrily and wonder when every little thing will stop making the tears come. It doesn’t matter, not right now. Not this week. Tears are appropriate for a funeral, and it’s what everyone will expect to see from you. Even if they’re borrowed tears.

At the stop sign at the corner of Elm and Maple you sit longer than the 3 seconds required by law. It’s not until a BMW pulls up behind that you push up the indicator to hook a right. As you pass by the entrance to Forrest Hills, Deanna Carter is singing about Strawberry Wine and being 17. You can feel heat rising in your cheeks when you let your own memories flit across your mind. It’s true, the hot July moon really did see everything the summer of 1985.

You chuckle at yourself and turn the wheel, left this time. The old motel is up on the right, just at the Hawkins line. You’ve spent too much of your life thinking about a time that only existed for a moment. And it doesn’t matter anyway, because despite all of the daydreams you’ve had about running into him throughout the years, it’s never happened. And you’ve never taken the time to look. You’ve only seen him in your dreams, and what a delight that’s been.

The gravel crunches under your tires, and the feeling that something’s been forgotten rises like a wave. Every couple of hours, it comes unbidden. No, you haven’t forgotten her, she’s in her new apartment on the other side of town from your own. Right now, she’s probably out to dinner with Janey. It’s discount movie night, and that’s something every college student knows to take advantage of. You’re not forgetting her, but her absence leaves a hole that can only be filled with anxiety. It’s something no one really tells you, something that you wouldn’t be able to understand from words alone - your children are a piece of yourself that moves freely in the world. The further you move from them, the deeper the cut.

You’ve already decided you’ll try to call tonight, hoping against hope that she’s still at her place when you ring in. Hearing her voice will fill you a little, and maybe at least make sleep easier. Maddy told you she’d miss you, and you know that’s true. It’s a good thing to hear each other every day, even if it’s only for a moment.

When you come around a wide curve in the road, you’re pleased to see that the bar next to the motel is still standing, and that the lights are on. You’re getting drunk tonight. Why not? For the first time in a long time, you’re only accountable for yourself. Hawkins can swallow you up for the week, and no one outside of this place will see it. And then you’ll never step foot into Indiana again.

—

It’s stupid, and he knows it. He hasn’t been back here in years, and the only reason he’s doing this is because he liked the old guy. Wayne taught him to respect that. To show up for the family. Always go to the funeral, he’d told him, it eases the pain for the loved ones and makes ‘em remember there were people in the world that gave a shit about ‘em. When Eddie was a kid, he remembered how it felt to look out into the church and see so many faces with tears in their eyes. He remembered thinking that it was important that so many people turned out to say goodbye to his Mama, even if they were people that he never got to know outside of that mourning space. Wayne was right, it does matter. It does help. And he’s showing up, even if the thought of seeing you makes his stomach dip and his heartbeat faster.

It’s not about you, you fucking idiot. The words have been surfacing in his mind over and over this last week. It’s not about him, and he knows that. At least, his brain knows that, but there’s a place deep inside of him that can’t help but think about the possibility of something. Of what? Well, if he thinks too hard about it, his dick takes over. There have been many times over the years that Eddie let his mind wander back to his 18th summer, when the heat of your bodies rivaled the heat of the sun beating down on the two of you. Many times he’s touched himself, trying to find the right way to move his fingers to replicate the way your hands felt on him. He’s ashamed of it. He tries not to think about it, but the news of the funeral seems to have lit that spark inside of him again, just as he thought the old smoldering embers were finally snuffed out.

He told Wayne he’d be driving up for the services, hoping the old guy would be able to bring the rambler to meet him in Hawkins. It would save him the cost of a motel room, and the death of the old man’s friend is an unwelcome reminder that everything comes to an end eventually. But Wayne isn’t going to make it. Eddie should’ve known. As much as Wayne taught him about being there for the family, Wayne was closer to Jim than his blood ever was. Especially you. Wayne would be the first to admit that Jim made his bed, and now he’ll spend his eternal rest in it. Wayne will mourn in his own way, he’ll come down when no one knows he’s there to pour one out on his buddy’s grave. That’s alright. It’s how Jim would want it. The funeral will be a farce. People saying goodbye to an old bastard that no one really liked.

When Eddie passes the southerly Indiana border, his ass really starts to get sore. He should’ve flown in and rented a car. He’s getting too old for these long bike rides, and the Indian’s seat isn’t made for this kind of trip. He’s never seen the need to replace the warehouse installed seat, his daily commutes to the construction trailer are short, and he takes a work truck out to the job sites. Maybe it’s time to think about investing in a vehicle that allows for a little more comfort. His ass is only going to spread more from here on out. Turning 30 was like hitting a brick wall, all the years of fun have finally caught up. Now that he’s passed the 40-year mark, every day is a new opportunity to feel aches in parts of his body he never thought about in his younger years. Sometimes he would swear that he could feel his small intestine groan when he caught a whiff of something greasy. And sometimes he can’t go through the night without having to hop out of bed to take a piss. The most obvious reminder for Eddie is looking in the mirror and seeing the way his old tattoos have turned gray over the years, especially his beloved bats. Working outside in the sun has made them fade, and no amount of touch ups can bring them back to their former glory. Sometimes he thinks about you running your fingers over them, the way you ran them along the outline of the wings.

Time passes, and tattoos fade like memories. He knows too. He got to watch Wayne age, see the lines dig deeper and deeper into his face while he made sure Eddie kept a roof over his head. It’s amazing for him to think about the old guy, not really as old as he used to think. Eddie’s got more years than Wayne did back in those days. Close enough to be brothers more than father and son, but neither of them got a choice when it was time for his own Mama to go into the ground. The only one choosing in those days was Al, and every decision was a wrong one.

Eddie hates coming back to Hawkins, it stirs up the old shit he doesn’t think about anymore. It’s easier to see those times through rose colored glasses when he isn’t smack dab in the middle of the town that cut him so deeply in so many different ways. But he’s showing up. He’s doing this thing because it’s right. It has nothing to do with the minute possibility that he might get to find out how the years have treated you. Especially since he knows how you left Hawkins. But time does heal. Eddie’s proof of that.

—

The roadside motel is in better shape than you expect, so you strike your mental chalkboard on the pro side. At least you have a clean bed to sleep in for the next 6 nights. At least you won’t be forced to sleep on Uncle Jim’s couch. You think about what it will feel like being in his little shack. You think about how his own kids won’t show up to sift through his shit belongings to pull out any hidden treasures before the bank throws it all in the dumpster. You’re doing this thing for your father, because he asked you to. You need to make sure the stuff that ended up with Jim when your grandma died doesn’t get lost forever. No cash value to any of it, but it’s worth something to your dad, and he can’t face the ghost of his brother. Not even for his mother’s wedding band, or the family bible.

Your first thought when you opened the door to your home for the week was that you could still smell the faint scent of bleach hanging in the air. Good. These kinds of places have more personality, but it’s always a roll of the dice about cleanliness. The bed is soft, and the comforter smells of Snuggle. Also good. The scent is nostalgic, you can feel the muscles in your shoulders relax. You’ll be able to sleep here. You think that’s exactly what you’ll do. The heavy shades are drawn, so it’s full dark and quiet. You’ve got the room at that butts against the woods, but it doesn’t matter anyway, your car is the only one in the small parking lot tonight.

You’re sinking deeper into the mattress, and you begin to float away. You sit on the edge of sleep, about to topple over it when your ears begin to register a distant sound growing closer. It’s a purr that grows into a deep growling rumble. You stumble to your feet to peek your head out from behind your curtain. It’s full dark now, but the orange glow of the lights at each door along the row of rooms illuminates the parking lot enough for you to see the bike and its rider. Leather clad, head to toe, he’s wearing a small bucket helmet - the kind your daddy used to say they’d have to scoop your brains out of if you wrecked - and sunglasses. You watch him make his way to the door next to your own and let himself inside.

Well, you can think of a worse neighbor to have. At least you know you’re not alone out here. Maybe you’ll make a friend while you’re stuck in the hell that is Hawkins, Indiana. Maybe he'll let you bum a smoke or two.

—

You think about your call to Maddy while you walk down the street to the Hideout. She’s fine. All good. She got her new set of pots and pans from the big Sears out at the mall, and she didn't even need your help picking them out. Her dad did a good job. You’re happy for her. A girl doesn’t forget her first move away from home, and you suspect she's more nervous than she's been letting on. You can almost feel the butterflies beat in your own belly at the thought of rent checks and overtime while making it to class every morning. You hope she knows she can talk to you about it. You hope she remembers that you promised to help her if she gets into any jams. Maybe. Maybe not. She deserves to keep her secrets if it's how she wants to go about life. You'll be there either way.

Before you even open the door to the bar, you can smell the smoke and booze wafting through the cracks. That’s perfect. It’s why you’re here. You look down at your black jeans and smile. It took a few good jumps to get into, but your ass looks fantastic in them. You think you might even manage to get a drink out of someone, as long as the clientele is the same as it was when you were here last. Tammy Wynette is coming through the speakers of the jukebox, and the old curtains are pulled across the jury-rigged stage at the back. No band tonight. Just a couple of old drunks passing time at the sticky counter. You take the stool at the end, back facing the door, and think about what song you’ll choose for the room.

“Hello, ma'am,” a bright eyed 20 something from behind the bar greets you as you shift your weight to get comfortable on the cracked cushion under your ass. Ma’am. You decide to let that one slide and give him a big smile. “What can I get for you?”

“Oh, I think I’d like a whiskey sour, kind sir.” The words escape your lips without much thought. You haven’t had one in ages. Possibly the last time you had a drink as sweet as a whiskey sour was in this very bar. It wasn’t hard to get served with Big Dave behind the bar, especially when Eddie and the boys played.

The boy nods at you and gets to work on your drink. You see him flip through a rolodex of cards hidden under the bar, cheat sheets. He likely spends his nights pouring pitchers of Budweiser, rarely having to figure out how to make mixed drinks. Especially when the customers are good ole boys between the ages of 35 and 70. Even back in your day, the girls only showed up when there were boys their own age on the stage. You wonder if Bev is around somewhere. If she’s still kicking. The way the place still feels the same as it did back in '84 tells you she's still the owner of this shit stain of an establishment. But it's her shit stain, and good for her.

The bartender sets the glass in front of you with a cocktail napkin under it, fancy, and you feel a draft when the door at your back swings open. The drink isn’t bad, but you wouldn’t know if it was wrong. You don’t do mixed drinks. You’re a neat bourbon drinker. The sweet liquor does what it’s meant to, because you swear you can almost smell something familiar from the past as a figure goes past you. Like smoke and Old Spice with a hint of weed. This place is full of ghosts, you think, returning your focus back to glass coated in ice sweat.

“Hey, man. Three Wise Men and 3 fingers of Jim Beam.” The voice of the newcomer at the bar makes your head snap up. You watch his profile for a second. You see his hand disappear inside his jacket and come out with a pack of Camels. With a flick of his Zippo, his face is illuminated by the glow of the flame. You’ve seen it so many times, but even from this distance you catch sight of the creases that didn’t exist the last time you saw him. You wonder if you really did fall asleep if you’re really back in your motel room having one of your dreams again. The too sweet liquor on your tongue is real, and so must Eddie Munson be real.

You can’t peel your eyes from him, so you don’t try. You keep your gaze fixed to his face and wait for him to notice you. There are no words in you, and you’re afraid your legs will buckle if you try to stand up and walk over to him. You look at his hand, black lines decorate his knuckles. The ring on his left hand is silver, and you’re happy to see it sit on his middle finger. You banish the thought and break your gaze for a second to shake your stupid head.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Eddie’s voice echoes through the room, and everyone looks at him, even the drunk in the corner that can barely keep his head up. “Jesus Christ.”

Blood rushes to your head as he stands and makes his way over to you. Your heart is in your throat. You’d refused to let yourself believe that seeing Eddie this week was anything more than just a fleeting fantasy. The same fantasy that’s been playing through your mind for years. Pinch yourself, you fool. Too late, you’re standing on wobbly legs and giving him the kind of awkward hug reserved for old classmates - and apparently old lovers.

You break apart slowly, and sink down into your barstools, eyes never breaking contact. You think if you look away right now, he might turn into smoke and escape through the air vents. Your hands are on your lap, body still turned towards Eddie, Eddie Munson, and you pinch the skin between your thumb and index finger on your left hand until it hurts. This is real.

You’re both brought out of your shared reverie when the kid behind the bar slides Eddie’s drinks down to his new spot, along with the ashtray holding his still smoldering cigarette. Without a thought in your head, you pick it up and take a long drag before pinching it between your fingers to hand it back to him, filter out.

“So.” You exhale smoke through the word and let it hang for a second while Eddie brings the filter to his lips. The smoke of a kiss between the two of you hangs heavy in the air. “Eddie Munson, what brings you here tonight? Is Corroded Coffing playing a set later?”

Eddie’s crooked grin sits on his lips the same as it ever has, but it’s complemented by more fine lines at the corners of his eyes. You think it would be something to run a finger along them and feel the texture of his skin there.

“You know, I had this-” Eddie shakes his head and makes a noise like a huff of incredulity at what he hasn’t even said yet, “-I had this idea that I might see you here tonight. I’m sorry about Jim.”

“Oh,” you can’t hide the surprise on your face. The sudden presence of Eddie has scrubbed your mind clean of your purpose in Hawkins this week. Uncle Jim is dead. You try for a small frown, but decide against it and say, “yeah. I’m here for the funeral. Also, I promised my dad to go through the house before everything ends up at the dump.”

Eddie nods. His eyes dart across your face and then down to your hands. You’re suddenly very aware of the way your ring finger on your left hand still holds the indent of a band that’s been missing for months now. You think it may never truly leave you. You wonder if he’s seen it.

“Well, I think this is fate.” Eddie slaps his hand down on the bar, still as sticky as ever, and waves over the bartender that’s drying a glass with a bar towel. He turns back to you and says, “We’re drinking to that old bastard tonight.”

—

“Do you remember,” Eddie’s voice is too loud, but the only person left in the bar other than the two of you is a drunk with his head resting on the counter. He doesn’t seem bothered enough to lift his head, “breaking into the abandoned warehouse? Oh god, you were shaking like a leaf ‘Eddie, we should leave. What if someone’s hiding out in here?’” Eddie’s impersonation of your 18-year-old voice is both insulting and wildly inaccurate.

“You fucking asshole, you were the one that hauled ass out of there when a squirrel crawled out from under a desk. The noise you made,” you snort at the memory, “you sounded like my mom that time she found a dead mouse in her sugar dish.”

“That little fucker went straight for me, you can’t deny it.” Eddie’s finger is pointed directly between your eyes in an accusation. On instinct, you grab it with your fist and twist his arm. This is an old routine, one that the two of you had down pat all those years ago. Except now, Eddie’s a lot stronger, and he’s able to twist his arm back. You find your wrist in his strong grip, and you have no idea how it got there.

This is when you notice it. This is Eddie in front of you, but he’s not a boy. It’s not just your body that’s changed since the last time you were together. With his jacket thrown on the stool beside him, his forearms are bare before you. Sinful. Old ink and new, black lines and gray. But right now, it’s the flexed muscle that’s caught your eye. Oh, to be held by him.

The laughter in your chest dies and Eddie releases you. He waves the bartender down before he can call out a last call. One more round for the road, and you’re wishing you had a way to freeze this moment in time and keep him here.

But you can’t, so you take your final shots and hug each other. Jackets are thrown over shoulders, and you make your way side by side to the door.

“I’m staying at the motel on the corner. You should stop by sometime, I’ll be here all week.” You shove your shoulder into Eddie’s playfully and find that the booze has made your feet a little unstable. He puts an arm around you to keep you from stumbling.

“Well, let me walk you home then.” His arm doesn’t leave your side. You’re both hyper aware of the way his thumb strokes against the patch of soft exposed skin at your waist while you wander up the sidewalk, a little zig zag to your movements.

It’s been a night of sharing memories with no talk of the present. No acknowledgement of that indent on your finger where a ring lived for so long. You let yourself drink in the cool autumn air with Eddie’s arms holding you close to him. You let yourself feel held by him. You let yourself imagine that maybe this is real, and you let a sliver of moonlight pierce the darkness you’ve been hiding yourself in for these long months.

“This is my stop.” You pull away and lean your back against the door to your room at the end of rooms that line the facade of the old motel. It’s dark out, and the pale orange glow of the light above the door frame does little more than cast shadows across Eddie’s face. He could be mistaken for that boy if not for the way his shoulders stand wider than you remember. “Will you come in, Eddie?”

He tastes like whisky and smoke, and that’s just how you remember him. Gods, his mouth. His tongue moves swiftly across your lips, and your knees begin to sink. Those strong arms hold you up, they keep you in your spot so he can take his fill. This is the kind of kiss, one that makes you weak in the knees, that you thought was a thing that only existed in your past.

“So, yes?” You break apart from his kiss and rest your head in his chest to catch your breath.

“Yes, please.” Eddie kisses the top of your head and breathes in your hair before spinning you around to face the door. “Open the door, Sweetheart.”

The clicking of the door, and the snap of the deadbolt. Those things are clear, the anticipation of what comes next makes you laser focused on the feel of the metal under your fingers. And then it’s a flurry of mouths and hands. Teeth clicking, noses bumping. A stumble over a shoe in your shared path. You fall to the bed in a heap, it’s surprising how many articles of clothes have been discarded in the short distance between door and mattress.

“Is this real, or am I dreaming?” Eddie whispers into your neck, hot breath on the spot that he remembers makes you keen. His teeth test the skin, and you reward him with a gasp and a roll of your hips. “Fuck, I don’t care if I wake in a mess like a teenager. If this is a dream, I never want to leave it.”

You’d forgotten the way Eddie uses his words, but your body remembers the steps. Fingers waltz along your wider curves, they’re a quick study and map out the places that make you whine. Make you catch your breath. This is what he thinks about so often, the way you get lost under his touch. Your trust in him is still alive, and his need reaches a fever pitch.

“Eddie, please.” It’s all you can say, but it’s enough to snap Eddie out of his reverie. His hands are stroking the valley at your chest while his cock throbs against the cotton fabric of his boxers, hypnotized by the way your skin gives under the pressure of his fingers.

As above, so below. Hot mouths reach into one another as he spreads your legs and sinks his length into your heat. For a fleeting moment, it's a perfect union of bodies. Two as one. You need your breath as he reaches deeper inside you. He rests his forehead on yours and snaps harder into you. His open mouth takes the groans that leave you as he hits that tender and hard to reach place inside.

“You’re so fucking beautiful. You feel so good.” Eddie’s words float around your face as you reach your peak. It’s the words, not the ecstasy, which draw the tears from your eyes. Beautiful. You believe him, how could you not? You want to tell him that he’s beautiful, because he is. Instead you wrap your arms around him and kiss him while he cums. The last rocks of his hips move in rhythm with the languid kisses you share.

—-

You wake in the morning to find crumpled sheets in the space that was occupied by Eddie Munson as you drifted off to sleep. It really was a dream, you think, but the stickiness between your thighs tells you that there was a man in this bed last night. The idea that he’s left without a trace doesn’t even pass your mind, because not Eddie. He doesn’t do that.

You ignore the pounding at your temple and drop your feet to the carpet. A full bladder is an urgent thing that can’t be denied. The freezing tile under your toes jolts you to attention. You map your next steps while you piss, and then wash your hands. You take the time to brush your teeth before heading back into the dark bedroom to find an outfit for the day. It doesn’t matter where Eddie has wandered off to, you need to head over to Jim’s. Eddie can find you later. Eddie will find you later. That’s something you know. Right now? You need coffee. It’s when you go to put your shoes on that you see it. A tiny scrap of paper on the side table next to your keys.

I didn’t want to wake you. I had some business to take care of while I’m in town. Dinner? I’m staying in the room next to yours. I’ll be back by 6.

You shake your head. Your boozy brain missed it last night. Of course it’s Eddie in the room next to yours. The thought of him on that bike makes your head spin. Makes you throb. Dinner, sure. Food is fuel and you’re gonna fucking need it. In the meantime, you have a job to do.

The way to Jim’s house is familiar but strange. Like trying to hold onto a dream as you’re starting to wake. The roads have the same names, but the trees are taller. It feels smaller, the houses closer together. In no time, you’re pulling up the drive to the shack that stands at the far end of Oak Street. It’s easy to forget it, set a little farther back than the other homes, hidden in the shade of the oaks the road is named for.

With a deep breath, you step out of your car and move swiftly to the front door. The smell hits you immediately. It’s not overwhelmingly awful, but it’s not good. Mildew and smoke. It smells empty. So you fill it with the fall air by opening every window. You’re happy to keep your jacket on to replace the smoke with the smell of the dry oak leaves that litter the yard around the house.

The soundtrack to your day digging through the life of your Uncle Jim is provided by the records stacked up by the player in his living room. Bob Dylan, CCR, and Pink Floyd. It could be worse, so you’re grateful. The treasures you discovered hold no true financial value, but they are priceless. Photo albums of long-lost family members, depression glass cake stands and punch bowls, and the piece de resistance - the family bible. You run your fingers across the leather cover and smile. You did good, kid. Grandma’s ring, though. You’ll come back at least one more time and truly tear the place apart before you hit the road. If it’s here, it’s going home with you.

—

Rick’s place is still home for Eddie, more so than the trailer park ever was. Wayne’s home was never Hawkins, and it served him well to be back in the wild mountains of West Virginia from where the Munsons hail. But Rick is a Hawkins institution, and he’s only ever had love for Eddie without the pressure of the constant concern that weighed on Wayne and Eddie’s relationship. That’s how it is with a father and son. Rick is the fun uncle that taught Eddie a way to bring in cash without being under the thumb of some asshole. It’s served him well throughout his life, even now. Eddie can find work anywhere, he carries his skills in his hands.

Rick is expecting Eddie, and he’s sitting out front when the Indian hums up the road that hugs Lovers’ Lake. It’s still pretty out here from Eddie’s perspective, especially with the trees still hanging on to the leaves of various colors. Eddie’s already thinking about getting you to come out here with him before you both leave town at the end of the week. As soon as he caught sight of you last night he had decided to wring out as much as he could from this brief reunion. No time to waste, especially if maybe there’s someone you’re going home to. He’s not going to ask that question. He doesn’t want to know. For now, you’re both here, and that’s more than he thought could ever be possible.

“Eddie! Oh man, it’s been too long, brother.” Rick’s on his feet and meeting Eddie in the driveway for a bear hug. “Sight for sore eyes.”

They sit outside on the back deck for hours, talking about the old days and the new. They watch the sunlight dance along the ripples in the water when the occasional fish comes to the surface for a waterbug. They pass joints back and forth, and sip on the instant coffee that Rick swears is better than that overpriced bullshit the coffee houses try to con people into buying. And then they get down to business for a few minutes over a game of pool. Like the old days. It’s healing to remember there is a place in this godforsaken hellhole that Eddie can feel like himself. It was never all bad, but nothing ever is. Eddie knows this, his own life is a mixed bag. He has to take the bad or else lose out on the potential good.

The sun is starting to sink down below the trees when Eddie swings his leg over the seat of his bike to head back to the other side of town. He’s glad. He’s hoping that you’ve decided to accept his dinner invitation. The memories were fun to relive, but his mind is whirring with questions about who you are now. He’d like to hear it. He’d like to tell you about the bands he plays with on the weekends back in Charleston. Last night was nice, but he’d like to spend some time with you while the lights are on. He let his cock carry him away too quickly last night, he hopes he gets a chance to take his time with you tonight. His thighs vibrate from the hum of the engine while he weaves down the streets. He’s half hard remembering the way you smell and the sound of your voice when you get lost with him.

—

“You’d really like her. She’s a natural musician, like her dad. I’m just glad she’s sticking close to home for college. I worry enough even with her living less than a mile away.” You’re rambling on about Maddy while Eddie watches your lips move. He’d had a feeling there was at least one kid back home, he’s dated enough moms to recognize the signs.

“Oh, a girl after my own heart. I already love her.” Eddie’s thumb strokes the back of your hand, his arm reaching across the table. Your plates are empty, and your glasses are drained. Your concern about telling Eddie you have an adult child is forgotten now, and you’re gushing. Just as it should be.

“I’m sorry, I’ll stop talking about Maddy for a while. She’s the sun my life orbits around.” You tip back your martini glass, searching for any last remnants of gin. No luck.

“Yeah, you’re a good mom.” That thumb rubs again. “Of course you are.” Eddie looks around the restaurant and watches as the servers very purposely place chairs on top of tables, inching ever closer to the one where the two of you are seated. “I think we should probably let them shut it down, head back to the motel.”

Head back to the motel. That sounds really good, because Eddie’s wearing a tight black t-shirt that leaves little to the imagination. You can just make out the farmer’s tan that starts at the middle of his biceps. You hadn’t noticed it as much last night, but Eddie’s skin is sunkissed from years of working outdoors. A contract carpenter, he told you, and you could almost smell the sawdust and varnish when he explained about his special word working projects. You want to see them. You want to touch them. You have no doubt that they’re unique and special pieces. Eddie’s always had the ability to pull beauty out of the mundane.

“Will you drive, Eddie? Take me the long way home?” You’re already handing him your keys before he can answer. Of course he will. He’ll do anything you want, it’s always been that way. He’d stop the world if it would make you smile.

“Let’s go, Love. You can rest your head on my shoulder.” And that’s what you do. The walk to the car is slow, but Eddie’s arms need to stay around you. It’s where they belong.

He does take the long way, hooking a right when he pulls out of Enzo’s parking lot and heading for the back roads. One hand sits on your thigh. Your head can’t reach his shoulder in the car, so you lean it back and close your eyes. Linda Ronstadt’s been cheated and mistreated, she’s wondering when will she be loved? Some day, Linda, even if it’s for just a fleeting time. The idea pricks your chest, and you push it down. We won’t think about the end until it gets here.

“Will you be my date for the funeral, Eddie? I might not go if I have to do it alone.” You keep your eyes closed, and he squeezes your leg. He’ll go with you, you already know that.

“Yep. And then we’ll go back to the bar and get shitfaced. Bev will love it. Give the old gal something to be pissed about.” You snort at the thought of Bev trying to wrangle two 40 somethings trying to relive their youthful dalliances. Poor woman. But she would probably love it.

“I like your plan, Ed. Now tell me, did you smoke it all, or do you have some weed back at the motel?” You turn to face him, you want to see that crooked grin of his. “I’ve gotta call Maddy when we get back, but I think it’d be nice to sit outside and get nice and toasty.”

“Yeah, well, I might have a little. Can I ask you something?” Eddie turns the wheel and you’re looking at downtown Hawkins. You nod, but your mouth is dry thinking about the possibilities of what he wants to know that you haven’t already told him. “What kind of an asshole wouldn’t hold on tight to someone like you when you’re so fucking perfect?”

“Christ, Munson. Are you high already?” You pull a cigarette out of the pack sitting on the dash and light it. Just a drag before handing it back over to him. You’re both giggling, it was too much. “Well, you might have been the first to let me go, but you weren’t the last. But look at us now, hm? I think it’s better like this. Makes you realize that the grass isn’t always greener, ya know?”

Eddie blows smoke out of his nose and quietly mutters, “I was blind.”

“Nah. What I told you back then is still true, I’ll take what I can get from you, Baby. Any time, any place. It doesn’t have to be forever.” Eddie bites the inside of his cheek at your words but keeps his response in his mind.

—

Eddie sits in his room rolling joints while you’re on the other side of the wall talking to your daughter. All that talk about the kid, and no mention of the dad. Eddie knows who Maddy’s dad is because word travels fast. He’s never really thought about the guy much, but Eddie’s pretty sure he’s the one responsible for the sadness living behind your smile.

Eddie pulls the comforter off his bed. He’s taking it outside with him to wait for you on the bench that’s at the entrance to the cemetery across the street from the motel. There are no streetlights out here, and the dead won’t mind the company. They never do. The plans he had for this week are fading into one persistent thought - be with you as much as possible before it’s too late. The threat of Sunday coming too fast hangs over every second that ticks past.

It’s harder for Eddie to push those thoughts away than it is for you, because of the regret. He can’t help but feel it, even though he knows that 1984 Eddie is not the same as Eddie today. He’s learned how to spot a good thing, and that’s you. The idea of holding onto you with both hands doesn’t send a lightning bolt of fear through his guts like it did when he was 18. This couldn’t have happened then, whatever this is. It’s a battle in his mind, trying to see through the haze of the memories, how real can it be when everything is shrouded by the past.

The inward battle halts when he sees the door to your room open. He focuses on your form growing larger with each step closer to him. He watches each step of your feet until you’re looming over him, blotting out the weak light from the motel across the street. You have a soft smile on your lips, and he memorizes the way those lips feel on his forehead before you flop down on the bench next to him. He spreads the comforter over your lap, and pulls you into his side.

“This is so romantic, Eddie. You, me, and the sleeping dead.” You sigh and nuzzle your nose into his neck. “You smell nice.” Your lips brush against his skin and the hair stands up in answer.

“What time are we leaving tomorrow?” Eddie asks as he places a joint between your lips. “I’m hoping to wake up next to you again, but I don’t wanna make any assumptions.” Sparks fly out from his Zippo, and you breathe in the weed smoke before answering.

“Baby, as far as I’m concerned, you could cancel your room for the rest of the week and move into mine. You don’t even need to ask what I want. This is it.” You look up at him and place the joint in his mouth. It’s hard to see his features in the dark, but you think his eyes look a little misty. “Hey now, don’t give me sad eyes, Eddie. We’ve talked about this already. I’ll take what I can get.”

“That’s bullshit.” Eddie’s voice is low and you’re already feeling a little lighter. It’s been a long time since you’ve smoked, and you can feel the cloud starting to creep across your thoughts.

“Oh? Well never mind then. Fuck you, Munson.” Your retort, but there’s no bite. You pluck the joint out of his fingers.

“I just mean, you deserve better than that, and I’m sorry.” Eddie kisses the top of your head, an apology of sorts.

“We all deserve better than we get, Baby. You should know that. It’s easier to accept it than to try and demand what other people can’t give.” You think the words came out right and can’t muster the energy to care if they didn’t.

“Yeah, but it’s still not right.”

Right or not, it’s a truth you accepted a long time ago. It doesn’t stop the pain, but it kills the resentment. What more can you do? Life is hard enough.

—

The light stays on in your room tonight. The weed slows down time. It swallows you and Eddie up, and gives you the space to study each other. The rough calluses on his fingertips travel along the lines of your body, creating a roadmap in his memory. He needs to remember how to find you again, even when you’re a thousand miles away. He needs to taste you on his lips.

The hunger is as strong as the previous night, it’s why your center on Eddie’s face. It’s why your nose leads the way down his torso, inhaling the smell trapped in the dark hair at the base of his cock. He tastes how you remember. Your mouth wraps around him while his tongue and fingers make you sing. He keeps one wide palm planted on the fat of your ass, his rip is hard enough to bruise. He keeps you in the spot until hot tears spill down your cheeks with the intense pleasure of it all. He keeps you there until he spills himself inside your mouth. And you drop, head on his hip, looking at his softening cock in front of you. You lean over and kiss its tip.

Eddie’s giggles are music to your ears. He suddenly needs to see your face, but your legs are still spread in front of him. He slaps your ass, hard enough to sting, but it works. You slowly move your legs over to the side, freeing him so he can crawl down to the end of the bed. He can taste himself on your lips and is surprised to feel his cock jump. You need a little more time than that, Bud.

“I need to tell you something.” Eddie’s arms are wrapped around your sweaty body, and he’s peppering kissing along the bridge of your nose. You release a questioning hum, trying to focus on his words. Sleep is calling to you. “I’m going to the funeral with you tomorrow. I’m going to Jim’s with you to finish the scavenger hunt from hell. I’m spending every fucking second with you until we both leave this shithole. But I don’t want that to be the end.”

“Everything ends, Baby.” You mutter into the skin of his chest. You feel his breath hitch and wonder if there are tears to match the stutter. “But it doesn’t have to end so soon if you don’t want it to.”

“I want to hold onto this, Love. I think we both know this -” Eddie points a finger between the two of you, “- is something special. It always has been. I’ll fucking pick my shit up and move to wherever you are. I won’t even complain about the snow. At least not the first year.”

“I’ll complain enough for the both of us. I always do.” You kiss his chest and look up at him. There are tears, You reach up to rub them off his cheek. You look at the hair at his temple and see the way the gray hair threads through his dark curls. You think it would be something, wouldn’t it? To see the gray overtake the black over the years. And you know Eddie doesn’t say anything to you that he doesn’t mean. It’s not something he’s capable of doing. “For Eddie Munson, my door is always open.”

“What about Maddy’s dad?” Eddie chokes on the words a little, but he gets them out along with a fresh tear that leaks from the corner of his eye. That’s something you’ve always loved about Eddie, he’s never hidden the tears when they show up.

“That’s been over for a while, Ed. I should’ve told you that.” You stroke his cheek and smile. “You’re down bad, old man. Wow, that’s really something, ain’t it?”

Eddie’s laugh rumbles through both of you. The years in front of you don’t look so bleak when you picture Eddie’s arm around your waist. The tears won’t sting so much if you have each other to wipe them away. It’s not too late, you’ve got two feet above ground. You’ve got two hands to hold onto this thing, and Eddie’s hands are holding on just as tight now. The memories and the future swirl together, and you thank god for those years apart. It’s so much sweeter this time around.

You fall asleep with Eddie inside of you. I love yous breathed into your mouths. Eddie’s going to have to replace that seat on his bike if he expects you to ride on it with him. He’s adding it to the mental list he has running. Tell Wayne he’s moving closer. Pack his shit up in a Uhaul. Drive a couple hundred miles. Replace the bike seat. Wrap his arms around you and never let go.

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfic #thanatos writes #stranger things smut #wayne munson

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vikersund · 7 months

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Hi! I hope this post won't flop </3

first of all I wanted to finally reveal myself on this platform - many of you know me as Himbeertee_ on tiktok and twitter, Hello! Yes, I'm also here :P

I felt like last few days were like a fever dream - so I decided to write a summary/recap of my journey to Stozice.

It was not my first Joker Out show, last month I was in Żalec and both times I traveled by train and bus, so if anyone wonders how to get to Slovenia from Poland - the cheapest way is by Flixbus, but the fastest is by plane. I spent 5 hours in train and 11 hours in bus and it was only one way ride.

Me and my friend arrived at the arena around 4pm and we were 24/25 in the queue and we ended up at barricade in front of Kris, thanks to long catwalk and very long barricade. (I wanted to be at Kris' side, because duuuh i'm a Kris girlie).

If it comes to new merch - there were new winter beanies, new shirts, hoodies, socks, UM and Demoni CD's, condoms, new notebook (juhuhu hahaha), new tote bags and if you ask me... well.. those shirts didn't look good at least for me, but the rest of it was fine. I bought baby boos socks, because (to the unpopular opinion) I love the name xD

If it comes to the show alone, I will try to describe few songs. As you might have seen on twitter I managed to get the setlist (which was leaked at least day before - and unfortunately i saw some of it so I didnt experience the surprise).

The live-from-backstage intro was so cool, like I had chills, the screen was turning from the backstage to black screen or to joker out sign with the music that made your heart beat to it, it definitely built an atmosphere, we saw Jo getting ready to rock the stage, Kris leading the 5 of them to the stage from backstage, then they finally came from behind drums, which was such a cool entrance!

First song was Sunny Side of London - and now I understand that they picked it as an opener because of the "welcome" at the beginning, but when I first heard it i was kinda sceptical why is this the first song. People from the brass band joined them for the iconic balcan solo (dare I say - Kris outwhored himself during the solo).

Then we screamed for the record and we beat it, but honestly I think that the result should be higher, but because it was such an open space, the device didnt gather the sound as good as in smaller venues.

Then gola and bele sanje - honestly don't remember much of it because I was enjoying myself, maybe a little too much, but the guitar transition from bele sanje to plastika was sooooo good.

Plastika oh plastika! This song is made for concerts, everyone were screaming their lungs off and Bojan was everywhere, including the cat walk.

Proti toku - what can I say other than justice for Proti Toku! Like i dont understand why they abandoned this song at the shows...

As you already know I was at Kris' side and I had the best view on him, let me tell you. This man didn't hold back during dopamin, his moves were electric and there should be another twitter account "Kris shuffles to:"

Padam - Bojan sang the song laying on the catwalk for the entire length of the song and for a moment I was so confused where he went, because I didn't see him at first.

Then after Padam we had a small break, that included screenings of pre-eurovision clips from their vlogs and during that everyone was lying on the stage (not sure about Jure tho).

Then demoni happened and the Iconic scream was... well... demonic xD Bojan ended up almost on all fours in front of 12k audience. You're welcome or something.

Katrina - is another song which was made to being played on stage. I loved the red and white lights especially, bojan was very slutty and we were introduced to releasing fumes from the pyro stuff (not real pyro or fire on their show in Stozice).

ASTP - AMAZING intro played by a dude with trumpet, I had chills, Bojan was sitting on his knees on the stage, listening to it. I'll try to upload it to tiktok later! It is one of my fav songs. Great vocals from Bojan and Kris, the second one was very slutty af during the song (who is surprised at this point?). No Janace ending, Jan ended the song playing at the end of catwalk, nice moment between Nace and Bojan.

Omamljeno Telo - well this is the only JO song that I am not that much a fan of, but they definitely delivered their perfomance, especially when everyone went to the catwalk. We had Kris/Nace moment during the song.

Kot Srce Ki Kri Poganja - will you banish me If I tell you that I have never heard any of their unreleased songs?

Anyway I LOVED THIS SONG, can they release it on new album please? I already knew that Martin will join them because I saw pics from backstage before the show, but I was surprised to see Matic there. This songs slaps and I fell in love with the vibe martin gave while playing the bass. I couldnt stop staring at him, he was magnetic and so happy to play with others. I might cry a little when Nace gave him his bass. I loved how everyone was hugging each other before and after the song. Such a heartwarming moment, even if Martin doesnt play anymore, you could definitely see that he is still part of the family <3

Metulji - amazing perfomance, again they delivered, love the song, also amazing Jan solo at the end of the song, kinda improvised i think? At least I have never heard those sounds before.

Vse Kar Vem - well, you know who I was focused on xD I guess I have a new Vse Kar Vem iconic video for you xD

NGVOT - before the song I was wondering if they will do Tavastia 2.0 with ngvot and the scream i I let out when I saw that Bojan was far from the mic, far enough to be late to start singing the song if he had to, and then I turned to look at Kris and I already knew. This is all I've been asking for. I'm so glad that Kris is more comfortable to sing the first verse, his voice was more relaxed, less shaky than in Tavastia, I loved the way he sang "ti pa barvo las" the way Bojan does. But I still think he has to work a little bit on his voice, because I know he CAN sing (from other videos). I wonder if they will leave this song as a duet for other shows in the future or If it was like one-time thing.

Vem Da Gres - all I remember was Nace on our side and how handsome he looked. I'm not a Nace girlie, but I can definitely see why others are, and his new hair and the outfit... asdfgrew

Ne Bi Smel - this time Jan joined our side and he had a nice moment with Bojan

Ona - Another time when men from brass band joined and it was the song which had changed arrangement. I loved it. the whole vibe of the song stayed the same, but the brass instruments elevated it. (If i think about any fuck ups during the show - it happened here - the mic of the Saxophone guy didnt work at first, I've heard him from the front row, but idk if people in the back have heard him). During this song they also showed me and my friend on the screen and i cant stop thinking about how the hell it happened xD Now i am immortal in joker out stozice lore xD

Tokio - honestly don't remember what was happening - probably I was just screaming and singing.

Umazane Misli - i loved it. I LOVED IT. The way Bojan was demanding the audience who and when should they sing, and then he came down to us and let 2 people sing, and he received the THREE KAKSI ANANAS LONKERO shirt and he loved it so much, he was so smiley and took this shirt with him on the stage.

Novi val - I almost cried. This is my fav song, and thanks to Joker Out Subs and Spela the project came true, the coloful lights flashed beautifully above boy's heads. We and them were touched and it was such a special moment. At the beginning of Novi Val Jure came to our side and we could see his outfit from the closer proximity, and dare I say it was second best after Kris'.

Last but not least - Carpe Diem. After novi val they left the stage, but everyone knew it wasnt over. The break was too long and It just clicked in my head that what if they are changing into their Eurovision clothes. AND THEY DID. I just predicted it seconds before it happened. It was unreal - like i just travelled back in time 5 months.

Overall it was the best night of my life. Everything was perfect. The lights were amazing. The stage was amazing. Clothes - god, the amount of details on each outfit! Personally I think Kris and Jure had the best outfits. I couldnt really see Jan and Nace outfit details, but the looked GOOD. But if I have to complain - not a fan of detachable sleeves on Bojan's shirt.

They all delivered their performances. Not a single mistake - i am so impressed because thats a skill.

We all agree that Kris outdid himself that night. The way he moved, the way he sang, the way he was SO CONFIDENT. Like he was born to be in that exact moment.

I also loved every single interaction between boys, the group ones, or the doubles. Maybe there was no Jan and Nace astp ending but they had few moments. It was so nice to see Jan and Bojan jamming together, Kris and Nace doing their thing, Bojan and Kris' little shenanigans and even Jure and Jan had their moment when Jan ran to him at the beginning of the show.

I also love how they had movie-like credits. Everyone from their crew was credited, every person who worked on the show, team of photographers etc.

Other thing was how nice it was to being supplied with water all the time. The people behind barricade were giving us cups with water all the time, and even at the end of the show we got whole bottles.

Please don't take this post as a proper review - these are just my thoughts of the show <3

#joker out #bojan cvjeticanin #kris gustin #nace jordan #jure macek #jan peteh #stozice #eurovision

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aheathen-conceivably · 10 days

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Ok so I read the post on your thoughts on Gio and the American Dream and I hate to say it … as an immigrant, I understand him.

I also come from a culture where women tend to their male partner's needs and I don't believe he wants to turn Jo into a subservient wife. He fell in love with a lively, free, and wild Jo and loves that aspect of her.

At the end of the day she loves him too so why would she leave? I understand she doesn't like to be dependent of him but where else would she go? There are no parties or glamour, which was her whole thing, anymore. At least the farm offers stability in the economic crisis.

Point is, I understand Gio as an immigrant, but don't understand Jo as a woman.

BABES! We’ve got another one…

(As in me being touched and having no other means to say how much I love y’all takes other than to give them a standing ovation in GIF form).

But you know…there’s a whole lot to break down here, friend, especially about Jo. I think you know what that means! Under the cut we go….

First and foremost, I very much appreciate you saying you understand that aspect of Gio. I did in part write him as a commentary on the immigrant experience in America (filtered through his own personality/character of course), and so to know that is relatable means a lot to me. I don’t think it’s a spoiler to tell y’all his journey is far from over, and you can already see the cracks in his outlook beginning to form. Whenever Jo is depressed he says this quite vividly:

Because you are very, very correct. This isn’t about molding Jo into some subservient housewife, or even eroding those exact qualities that he loves in her. This is about Gio attempting to square what he’s been taught/believes will bring his life happiness and meaning with his own experience and emotions. It’s about the myth of the American dream and the perfect housewife and the very real struggle of those things existing as actual, lived realities.

Because at the root of it, Gio is amalgamating an understanding of his own family unit and what he knows he doesn’t want in this country. He has seen another methods of “making it” in America, and so he thinks if only he can make the “right” choices, he can avoid that, and become the respected and happy man that he wants to be.

Now onto Jo, boy oh boy, Jo….

I think one of the core misunderstandings here is that Jo wants stability. This is kind of the crux built into her desire for control and her never-ending failure to achieve it. She wants to control her surroundings, to make sure nothing and no one can hurt her, but she also wants to feel in a way that is hard to find in a stable, heavily domesticated life. On the flip side, despite whatever imaginary dream Gio has, he’s the same way. They both want a life filled with excitement and new experiences, new people and rushes of emotions. This is one of the ways they differ heavily from Antoine and Zelda.

Now on one level, this is simply the way Josephine is. She’s high energy, fun loving, and insatiable. But on a deeper level, this is tied into her experiences not only as a woman, but as a daughter. She has a brief moment of clarity in that last post where she realizes:

Now I have chosen not to go too in-depth on Josephine’s trauma, but you can see her lay out the course of events here and also her deep hesitation to any of it here. Josephine is still only a teenager in that second post. Her mother not only told her things like that (“this is the weight that prejudice and expectation have placed upon us”) but also “what do you want to be then? Some glorified maid to a man?” (Which, frankly, I can write another Ted Talk about the juxtaposition here, but I think ya'll can pull some threads).

So when you see Josephine’s struggle with control, this is heavily rooted in bodily autonomy. Now all things considered, Josephine has managed to make great strides toward reclaiming this and reasserting not only her sexuality, but also her sense of self in her body. Gio knows this. We see him recognize and respect it quite clearly in that last post. He’s been part of that process for her, and that only adds another element of love, trust, and safety between them.

But on a fundamental level, neither Gio nor Josephine has made the connection between that trauma, her own personality, and why she hates her life now so much:

Here’s the issue right now: Josephine doesn’t feel like she’s living her own life. We have seen how she would like to live in the 20s not just in the parties and glamour, but when she was managing bands. She wants to be fulfilled professionally, through helping people/places she believes in and bettering her own life by bettering theirs. That’s how she gets her joy, and that’s what she would chose to do if given the chance.

And right now, she does not feel like she gets to chose. You’re correct in that part of that is coming from the current economic situation. Again, she sees that herself here. She knows what demons are waiting outside her window, and how easily poverty can make them rearise. That only makes it worse. It doesn’t make the smell of bread (domestic security) any better or more comforting. It makes it bitter, because she didn’t chose it. She was backed into a corner by circumstance (and, as she can sense, by the choices men made for her without telling her), and now she feels like she can’t say no. That’s her ultimate trigger.

Now whether or not that loss of control is simply perceived, or should be offset by how “lucky” she is to be in a stable position in such precarious economic times, we might all have different options on. Even more, I’m sure each of us would answer differently for ourselves in that situation. I know I would. But for Josephine? Not only is this a life she will never find joy in, because even without her trauma, she is an ambitious, restless, and outgoing person with different goals for herself; but that added memory and pain makes her reaction to it all the more volatile.

Perhaps most importantly, Jo feels as though her life is being controlled again, whether by Gio, the reality of the world outside her window, or by her own guilt/love that makes her feel beholden to the people around her (just like it did to her mother). Because you’re right, she does love him. She wouldn’t leave because she doesn’t. If she leaves now, it would leave because she panicked, because she feels like she’s lost all the autonomy she worked so hard to regain and she’ll never feel the fulfillment she felt when she was successfully independent ever again. That’s the element I hope we can understand, even if it’s not what we would do.

#okay THAT might be my longest Ted Talk yet 🤣#which if you’re actually reading you really deserve a tshirt let’s be real #and I’m so very sorry they’re so long #I try and infuse them into all the posts but like to condense it and write it all out clearly can be so helpful sometimes #for me too let’s be real #and like I want them to have a real solid base before we move into ~the great unknown~#anywho there’s a number of threads I could have touched on here that I didn’t for ~time~#but if you’d like to go through the #Josephine Duplanchier extra #tag there’s some good stuff there too 😉#Giorgio Mistretta extra #also #*ahem*#does it REALLY offer stability in the economic crisis?#y’all remembering what I’m remembering? 😬#ain’t a true American dream without a healthy serving of debt aint it

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kydrogendragon · 5 months

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Dec 9 - "We Have to Hurry"

(Ao3 Link)

“Are you ready yet? We have to hurry, or we’ll be late!” Death called from outside Johanna’s bathroom door.

“Christ, yes, just about!” Jo called back, voice muffled. Death rolled her eyes and leaned against the white wall across from the door. It was just ten minutes before they were supposed to be in the Dreaming. She knew, objectively, they’d be on time, but could you blame her for being excited to get to her own brother’s wedding?

The door pulled open. Jo stood, dressed in a fine white blouse tucked into black trousers. Her eyes were adorned with a fine line of black and a touch of maroon shadow. Her hair fell to the side in soft curls. She was beautiful. And she was also scowling at Death.

“You look fantastic,” Death said, pulling her girlfriend close to her and pressing a kiss to her lips. Jo grunted, but melted into her touch.

“Yeah, well, I wasn't planning on showing up to my mate’s own wedding, still coated in ectoplasm, thank you very much.” Death laughed.

“This is very much an improvement, I’ll give you that.”

Jo swatted her arm with a smile.

“Right. Wedding time, then?” She asked, holding her arm out. Death wrapped her own around it, tucking in close to her side.

“Wedding time.”

They appeared in the White Horse. Well, technically, they appeared in the Dreaming in a recreation of the White Horse. Daniel, after hearing that Morpheus and Hob were getting married, offered to host their event here, in a version of the White Horse that no longer exists in the Waking. Morpheus had been unsure, not wanting to take advantage or rely upon the powers and the realm that was once his. Death prided herself on talking him out of it. It helped that Hob promised that they’d have to have another wedding for all their Waking world friends, anyways, so Morpheus would still get to enjoy all the fun of planning a wedding as a human.

Morpheus stood next to the fireplace in a regal looking gown, dressed in living stars and galaxies. Hob stood to his right, wearing a near replica of his style back from the sixteenth century. He was staring down at her younger brother with the most dopey look on his face. Good. As he should.

Jo and Death approached them. Hob’s gaze lifted and he smiled. Stepping forward, he opened his arms. Jo stepped away and pulled the immortal man into a tight hug. “I was hoping you’d make it,” he said, releasing her from his grip.

“Like I’d miss it. Or miss the chance to be here in person.” Hob laughed.

Death turned to her brother and reached out a hand. Morpheus took it gladly and was promptly pulled into just as tight of a hug. He grunted as Death gave him a squeeze.

“I’m so happy for you,” she whispered against him. Morpheus relaxed, giving her a squeeze in return.

“I am happy.” He says, shifting his head to see Hob and Jo talking animatedly to their side. “I am glad you were able to join. I know you are busy.”

Death lets him go, keeping her hands on his shoulders. “Never too busy for you, you know that.” Morpheus smiles. “I can’t believe you’re getting married. I mean, I can. I knew it was only a matter of time, but I can’t believe it’s finally happening! Are you excited?”

Morpheus nods. “I am. I am… looking forward to being Morpheus Gadling… officially.”

Her eyes softened at the unadulterated joy on her brother’s face. When the fates had come to the Dreaming just two years ago, now, she thought she had lost the brother she’d grown up with forever. She thought she’d never get to see him happy, to see him wanting to live and looking forward to the future. But now she can. And he is. And she is so fucking glad she decided to refuse her gift to Hob Gadling all those centuries ago.

A chime rings through the room and rows of seats appear where the tables and chairs had sat before. Daniel stands at the entrance of the inn, smiling.

“I believe it is time for the ceremony to begin.” He gestures to the chairs. “Please, be seated.” And as everyone finds their seat and the wedding begins, Death can’t help but smile through the tears as Hob slips a ring onto her brother’s finger and says ‘I do’.

#dreamling #constantdeath #ky writes #december writing list #kydrogen's december drabbles 2023

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haaam-guuuurl · 6 months

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Little Women Amy x Laurie Ballet Modern AU

The March sisters grew up tripping over dance bags and discarded ballet slippers. Piano music and counts of eight were the soundtrack of their childhoods, ever since Meg first joined the ballet class at their local dance studio, every sister following her soon after. Careful Meg, spirited Jo, delicate Beth, and artful Amy all found their place along that barre, different tempers and styles united by effort and a love of dance.

Ballet brought them closer, brought them friends - most notably Theodore Laurence, Jo's partner and best friend - and even brought them their futures. All of them incredibly talented and dedicated, it was no surprise when the four sisters each found their way in the world of ballet.

Meg surprised everyone when, though gifted enough to pursue a profissional dancing career, she settled into a teaching position at the studio they'd all attended, happy to instead pursue what had captured her heart from the very beginning. None shocked more than Jo, however, who got as far as being offered a contract from a prestigious ballet company, but turned it down and turned away from dancing all together, pivoting into academics and other passions, seeking to make her own mark in the world. Beth remained in the studio, but fell in love with the music instead of the steps, finding an inclination for the piano in the corner of the room, and a talent for it unmatched among her artistic possibilities. It was only the youngest, Amy, who'd dreamed of becoming a prima ballerina since first stepping foot in a ballet class, that followed those dreams all the way to her place at a professional ballet company.

Though they'd all loved it, Amy was the one who'd wanted it, wanted it all, had ambition for it beyond the passion. She didn't only want to dance - she wanted to be great. That ambition carried her through her apprenticeship, through the corps, through being one of many and feeling like she'd never be good enough to stand out, all the way through to one of the coveted soloist positions. At last, a chance to be seen, to be exceptional! A chance she wasn't going to give up that easily, not even when she was cast opposite Theodore Laurence for the company's production of Firebird.

Laurie had been the closest friend of the March sisters, once. And though he'd cared for them all, Jo was definitely his favorite. She was his partner, his best friend, his beloved. And when she'd abandoned dance, she'd left him too. He'd envisioned them working side by side forever, spending their lives together. But that wasn't what Jo saw. It wasn't what she wanted. Though they'd always fit together so well, they couldn't understand each other in this, not really. So, Jo went on, and Laurie did too, signing with the furthest company that would have him, determined to forget all about Jo, and about their childhood.

Amy and Laurie had not seen each other for years. They'd gone on to different companies, in different cities, and only now, by chance, did they find themselves in the same place, Amy just promoted, and Laurie just hired. Though she was still new and eager to prove herself, he'd been a soloist at his previous company for some time, had grown comfortable and complacent in his position. The two had been pleased to see each other again after so long, if not also surprised, and it could've been fair to assume they would've worked perfectly well together, if not for that difference in their careers and dispositions.

Dancing Katerina, Amy was working hard every day to be great, yet also constantly feeling the sting of second best. Laurie's attitude was no help, either. As Ivan, he had a principal role and every advantage and talent one could have, but he seemed intent on wasting it, going through the motions every rehearsal and putting in only the bare minimum in his performance. He had lost his passion for dancing, carrying on mostly out of habit and duty, but he hadn't felt the same ever since Jo left. And Amy, in his arms, couldn't help but feel like a poor substitute.

The pair had been friends for years, before. Even clashing during rehearsals, they did get along well now, managed to become closer than before and have fun together. But this wasn't something they could move past. Amy finally had enough of it. She couldn't bear to see Laurie waste it all like this, throw away everything he had, while she was fighting for every opportunity. He wouldn't work with her, and he wouldn't work for himself. She came very close to quitting the production.

Amy had always been powered by her ambitions, but deterred by the knowledge of how hard it was to succeed in this business. If there was something she couldn't get past, if this was the best she'd ever get, if she'd only reach second tier, only ever good enough, and never great, then what was the point?

Surprisingly, however, Laurie heard her. Amy made him see what he'd been avoiding for years. He knew what he was doing. He knew he was wrong. He just didn't want to face his own pain, didn't want to change, to grow up, to truly leave it behind. But he also knew he had to. If he wanted to keep going, he couldn't be dragged back by the past.

And then there was her. He and Amy had become so close through the course of rehearsals. She had been the one to wake him up, and to see there's a future beyond Jo, to make him start to love dancing again. He desperately didn't want her to quit the show, to quit him. He wanted to be there, to be better for her, wanted to dance with her, wanted to be the partner she deserved.

Laurie committed. He showed up, for Amy, every rehearsal and every show after that. More than that, he worked hard on it, not just for her, but because he'd begun to feel passionate about dancing again. And in his revival, he made Amy feel it too. Though she'd never abandon her dreams, seeing Laurie like this made her remember why she loved dancing in the first place. Not just to be a prima, not just to be great, but to be an artist.

The two of them, dancing together, managed to get past complacency, past ambition, past insecurities. They managed to dance, to create something beautiful, to fall in love with it all over again. They managed to fall in love.

Amy and Laurie made each other better. They inspired each other, captured one another's hearts. They danced together, and together they shined.

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reciprocityfic · 1 year

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champagne problems, chapter eight

title: champagne problems fandom: little women pairing: theodore laurence x amy march rating: m summary: amy accepts fred's proposal, and laurie comes home and marries jo. but instead of it being the end of something, it's just the start of something bigger.

(or, how laurie and amy find their way back to each other.)

chapter one: champagne problems chapter two: right where you left me chapter three: it’s nice to have a friend chapter four: the end is here chapter five: moments that we stole (on begged and borrowed time) chapter six: this godforsaken mess chapter seven: love slipped beyond your reaches

author's note: i so, so apologize for this long break. thank you to everyone still reading after all this time. it means more to me than you will ever know, and inspired me not to give up on this story.

cracks of light

My Dearest Amy,

I’ve been dreaming of you. In my mind, you are beautiful and joyous. In my mind, you are eagerly waiting for my return. And in my mind, you love me still, despite my absence and all my mistakes.

I miss you desperately. Although my dreams of you are pleasant, they are no substitute for being by your side. I understand why you haven’t written back, but it still pains me to not hear from you. I hope you are well. I hope you are happy, as you are in my dreams.

Know that I am working every day to secure our future together. I hope to return soon, but there are a few more things that must fall into place before I can come home to you. Know that I think of you every moment. And know, above everything, that I love you.

Wait for me, my love, please.

Forever yours, Laurie

She jumps slightly as someone knocks on the door to her room. Carefully, she folds the letter in her hands and goes over to her desk, opening the top right drawer and placing it on top of all the saved letters that came before it. She stares at the heap for a moment, runs her hand over the top of it. She can feel the indent of the pen strokes on the delicate paper. She imagines him alone in a hotel room, writing by candlelight, pen gripped tightly in his fist as he put words down on the page.

Her heart aches.

I miss you desperately.

She misses him desperately, as well. And she wants to write to him more than anything. But she’d solemnly resolved to live with as little of him as possible in his absence; after all, it was something she would have to get used to, almost certainly. She still can’t see a future for the two of them - not one together, at least. Although Laurie has been insistent in his letters that he’s working toward a way for them, he hasn’t erased the doubt in her mind or the sinking feeling in her stomach.

She’ll have to live without him, and there was no time like the present to practice. Which meant no writing back. No sketching him. No visits to his home - not even any visits to Mr. Laurence. She even avoided talking about him as much as she could.

“Amy? Are you there?”

She jumps again; this time, it’s at the sound of Marmee’s voice. She walks to the door, opens it to find her mother standing there, a sweet smile on her face that almost distracts from the slight concern in her eyes.

“There you are. You’ve been up here a while. Is everything alright?”

“Yes,” she says simply. She’s never told her mother that she comes up and locks herself in her room for sometimes hours reading Laurie’s letters, but she suspects Marmee knows anyway. Her mother always seemed to know everything about her. It would be bothersome if her mother was anyone other than Marmee .

“Good,” Marmee says, her gaze relaxing. “You have a visitor, dear.”

She freezes, and feels all the blood rush from her face. It can’t be…

Her mother reaches out quickly and takes her hand.

“It’s not him,” she assures her. “I would tell you if it was.”

She lets out a shaky breath, and looks down at the floor, cursing the disappointment that floods through her. She even feels tears begin to gather behind her eyes. She doesn’t know how her dread regarding seeing Laurie again can exist alongside how much she misses him, but the two of them do exist, creating a war inside her and constantly tugging her heart in two different directions.

“Come,” Marmee beckons, turning towards the doorway. “It’s not good to keep company waiting.”

She follows her mother down the stairs, idly trying to figure out who would be here to visit her specifically. It’s always a family event when Meg comes, and Marmee has already confirmed it’s not Laurie.

Could it be Fred? For a moment, her stomach fills with dread. But then, she remembers that his response to her letter ending their engagement and calling off their wedding had only arrived two days ago, and it had been postmarked from Berlin. It’s impossible that he could’ve made it here by now. And she doubts Fred ever wants to see her again; his letter, though polite, was quite curt, to say the least.

Her brow furrows; she doesn’t know that many other people. Not anymore. In fact, she’s utterly confused when she walks into the front room with her mother, until she lays eyes on the person in a chair next to her father, chatting pleasantly.

“Mr. Laurence,” she says, and the old man looks up from his conversation.

“Amy, my dear,” he replies, smiling fondly at her.

Her face brightens, despite everything, as Mr. Laurence stands and walks over to her. In the time during Beth’s illness and after her passing, the man had truly become like a grandfather to her and her sisters. She’d missed him dearly, she realizes, as a few tears begin to gather in her eyes.

Before Mr. Laurence reaches her, though, his face becomes serious, and he asks Marmee and her father to give the two of them a moment together. Anxiety creeps up her spine as her parents leave the room. Surely this has something to do with -

“I have news from Laurie,” Mr. Laurence tells her, interrupting but confirming her thoughts. Dread must show on her face, because the man quickly reaches out and takes her hand.

“It’s nothing bad, I assure you,” he says, leading her to the sofa. As they sit, Mr. Laurence sighs. “But Laurie said to be careful, because he didn’t know how you would react.”

The old man squeezes her hand as her stomach churns. She turns her face away and stares at the floor, not wanting him to see her reaction to the news, whatever it may be.

“He’s coming home,” Mr. Laurence murmurs.

Her hand - still grasped in his - tightens reflexively, and she squeezes her eyes shut. She’s silent for a few moments, waiting to speak until she’s sure her voice won’t tremble.

“When?” she finally breathes.

“His train arrives tomorrow morning.”

She doesn’t cry, surprising herself. Instead, something quite like shock runs through her veins and stimies her emotions. The idea that Laurie will be in Concord less than twenty-four hours from now seems almost unfeasible to her. She’d spent so much time trying to avoid and forget him - even the concept of him. She’d honestly wondered if she would ever see him again, despite what he wrote in his letters. And now that he’s coming back, she isn’t sure what to feel.

“Are you alright, my dear?” Mr. Laurence asks, after long moments of quiet.

She feels numb. Like so many different emotions are pulling on her at the same time that they’ve overloaded her brain and heart and broken her.

“Yes,” she decides, “I’m alright. Did he - do you know what he’s been up to all this time?”

“I needed him for a week in Boston about a month ago,” he tells her. “But other than that, I haven’t a clue.”

She nods, and then pulls her hand away from the old man’s, wrapping both of her arms around herself. She feels strange. Maybe stranger than she’s ever felt.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Laurence,” she says, “but I’m afraid I need to excuse myself.”

“Of course,” he says, without hesitation, and stands up as she does. “It was nice seeing you again, dear.”

She smiles at him politely, and then starts towards the stairs. Before she exits the room, though, she hears Mr. Laurence’s voice echo from behind her.

“I do sincerely hope everything works out for you, Amy.”

She stops, and looks over her shoulder. The old man gazes after her, his eyes shining with sincerity. Before she realizes what she’s doing, she walks quickly towards him and envelopes him in a hug.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, then squeezes her eyelids shut again. She can feel inklings of the pressure behind her eyes from tears, but they do not fall.

After a moment, she steps back from him. She almost feels embarrassed, but when she looks up, Mr. Laurence is smiling down at her. She nods at him again, and then starts back towards the stairs.

When she’s finally in her room and has closed the door behind her, she exhales loudly. She still feels muddled and unsteady, and anxious energy starts to bubble up inside her stomach. She paces back and forth in the small room for about a minute before pulling the chair out and sitting down at the desk. She sighs, and then reaches into the bottom right drawer and pulls out a sketchpad and pencil.

When she was a child and needed to calm down after a quarrel with one of her sisters, she’d come up to her room to draw. Art has always soothed her, and she hopes it will soothe her now.

She turns her head to the right to look out the window, but sees nothing that captures her interest. She sighs in frustration, and then turns back to the blank paper in front of her. Slowly, she picks up her pencil, tapping it against the edge of the desk twice before putting it to the page.

She writes down his name. Laurie . She drops her pencil, and traces over her small, neat penmanship, lets her fingertip linger over the letters. Suddenly, she picks her pencil back up, writes his name three times more.

Laurie

She decides to write him, that it will be easier to slip a letter under the front door of the Laurence mansion this evening instead of facing him in person tomorrow. But she gives up only a moment later; she’s never been good with words, not like Jo. And, in any case, she can’t get her thoughts straight. The only word that comes to mind is his name.

Laurie.

Laurie, who’d written to her unfailingly time and time again even though she hadn’t written him a single thing in response. Laurie, who'd said goodbye to her all those months ago, promising he’d find a way for them. Laurie, who’d had the courage to confess for the both of them. Laurie, who’d kissed her and held her and loved her like she was the most precious thing in the world. Laurie in the rain. Laurie in his study that first day, drunk and sorrowful.

Laurie, who’d stayed too long at his own wedding just to dance with her.

Laurie in Europe. Laurie, who’d proposed marriage to her. Laurie, who’d had the habit of gazing and smiling at her for moments too long. Laurie, who’d visited her day after day after day in France during Fred’s long absences, seemingly trying to make up for his bad behavior by spending time with her. Laurie in her studio at Aunt March’s. Laurie, who’d unbuttoned her apron and called her beautiful and asked that she make her last portrait one of him. Laurie, who’d forgotten about her and embarrassed her in front of everyone she thought mattered at the time.

Laurie, who’d been there to catch her when she flung herself into his arms on that street in Paris.

Laurie during her childhood. Laurie, who’d bitterly left Concord and Jo behind. Laurie, who’d helped her make flower bouquets the day before Meg’s wedding. Laurie, who’d written her weekly at Aunt March’s house while Beth was sick, updating her on her sister’s condition and the family as a whole. Laurie, who’d run alongside her on the beach during her first trip to the ocean. Laurie, who’d given her a key to their mailbox in the forest that had a green ribbon because he said it matched her eyes. Laurie, who’d saved her that day at the lake, carrying her home and whispering that she would be alright into the cold air. Laurie, who’d bandaged her hand with the utmost care. Laurie, who’d noticed her outside his window. Laurie, who’d looked at her curiously after she introduced herself to him that first night, her eyes shining, and smiled.

Laurie, who, even though his attention had been absorbed by Jo, had taken the time to whisper to her, “Hello.”

Laurie.

“Laurie,” she whispers into the air, and the corners of her lips turn up.

***

She’s restless the next morning. She wakes up before the sun rises and can’t fall back to sleep; every time she closes her eyes, Laurie’s face appears behind her lids. So she lies on her back and stares at the ceiling until she hears the rest of the house stir.

Even Marmee, Father, and Hannah can’t calm her, though. As they sit at the table, she can’t help but glance at the front door every minute, almost as if she can hear the beginnings of the knock she’s expecting. She’s barely picking at a piece of bread during breakfast when she registers her mother’s voice.

“Meg should be coming today, with the twins and John.”

“It is Wednesday already?” her father answers. “The week seems to be flying by.”

“Oh!” Hannah exclaims gently. “I promised Daisy last week that we’d bake something together the next time she visited. I’ll have to look at what we have around.”

“I’m going to go for a walk,” she says suddenly, tossing down her piece of bread and standing up abruptly. “I’m not feeling well, and I think some fresh air might help.”

It’s not far from the truth. She does feel unwell. She feels like the walls are closing in on her, and her family’s conventional conversation grates at her brain and patience.

Her family knows better than to protest, and as they say their goodbyes, Marmee gives her a sympathetic, knowing, sad smile that makes her heart clench. Before she leaves, she runs upstairs and grabs her sketchpad and pencil.

He’s been gone so long that it’s already spring again, and it’s warm enough outside today. The sun is shining, but there's still a certain chill in the air when the wind blows that harkens back to winter. She’s forgotten her coat, but decides against going back for it. Instead, she wraps her arms around herself tightly.

She doesn’t know where to go at first, but her feet lead her, and she follows them without question today. She ends up on that beautiful hill where he’d proposed to Jo. Where he’d confessed his love for her and kissed her for the first time.

She sits down on the sloping ground, her art supplies still clenched in her fist. She brings them into her lap, puts graphite to paper. She intends to draw the landscape in front of her, and she starts without thinking. She’s a few minutes into her work when she realizes that, instead of trees and earth, she’s drawn the outlines of his face.

She stares down at the paper, pausing for a moment, and then goes back to work, purposefully drawing him this time. The way he looked that day, right before he pressed his lips to hers.

And if you don’t leave now, I might kiss you .

She hadn’t left. She’d stayed. And he’d kissed her.

She doesn’t know how long she sits there drawing him - his windswept curls, red and pouted lips, eyes dark and purposeful - but she drops her pencil into the grass when she’s done, and flexes her cramping hand; she’d never been able to teach herself to be ambidextrous, as Jo had.

She leans back slightly and examines her work, and can’t help but press her lips together in a sad, incredulous grin. She’d tried so hard to forget him - she’d spent months trying to forget him - and had failed miserably, it seems. Although she hasn’t seen him for months, she’s captured his details with near perfect precision. She lifts her hand and runs her fingers over the pencil markings.

“I thought you’d given up on art, Raphaela.”

The sound of his voice startles her, and she nearly jumps off the ground before she registers that it’s him. It’s Laurie.

She’d been wondering what she would do when she was in his presence again for his entire absence. Would she scream, or cry? Would she push him away? Would she run to him? Would she still love him?

As it stands, she picks up her pencil from the ground, and speaks without turning to him.

“How long have you been standing there?”

“Only a minute or so,” he tells her. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“It wasn’t a question, so I have no obligation to comment on it,” she retorts calmly.

“Alright, Amy,” he relents.

Amy . She closes her eyes, and lets the sound of him saying her name permeate her eardrums again. She can hear the smile in his voice, as well.

She hears the rustling of footsteps, and then he’s sitting down next to her. He’s close, but doesn’t touch her. Instead, he pulls his knees up to his chest, and drapes his arms across them.

“You didn’t answer my letters, either,” he points out, after a beat of silence. “I’ve learned to expect silence from you. Quite a change from how it was when we were growing up.”

She’s about to defend herself, but then she sees the grin on his face, out of the corner of her eye - she still hasn’t looked at him fully, yet - and realizes he’s teasing her.

“Stop it, Theodore,” she huffs.

“Only for you, Amy Curtis March.”

She can feel his gaze on her. He’s trying to make her smile, and she bites her bottom lip to hold it back.

Silence falls over them, and she’s overcome with subtle amazement - amazement that he’s here again, next to her, but primarily amazement that this is so easy . There is a future full of questions ahead of her, she’s sure, but this - being with him - is still one of the easiest things she’s ever done.

His voice removes her from her thoughts, though, with an sudden rush.

“I’m no longer married.”

Her mouth falls open, and she finally turns to look at him. (He looks beautiful - tired, but absolutely lovely. She would focus more on this if she wasn’t so confused at his statement, she’s sure.) He’s staring straight ahead, one of his knees bouncing nervously. She gapes at him.

“What are you talking about?”

“Jo and I aren’t married anymore.”

“You’re -”

She doesn’t finish her sentence, because she can’t even imagine it.

“We’re divorced, yes,” he says.

“That’s impossible,” she counters immediately.

“No,” he tells her. “It’s…difficult, but not impossible. You have to have a certain amount of money, and know the right set of people, and be willing to give up a few things…”

“Like what?” she asks, and he sighs deeply.

“Your reputation, mostly. Mine will take a hit, but Jo’s will fall off…quite a bit. At least around here. She said she’s staying in New York permanently. Still, I was afraid she wouldn’t agree. But then again, Jo March has never been one to care much about what other people think of her, has she?”

She can’t agree or disagree with his statement. She’s still too busy trying to wrap her mind around what he’s told her.

Divorced.

“It’s impossible,” she murmurs quietly.

“It’s not,” he assures her again. “Amy…”

He reaches out, puts his hand on her arm. A warm current that stems from his palm flows through her immediately. She stares down at his hand for a long moment.

“Divorced,” she whispers.

She covers his hand with hers tentatively.

“I’m…sorry,” she says suddenly. “I’m sorry I didn’t reply to your letters. I read them, though. I read them over and over again, and kept each one. They’re in a drawer in my desk, and I read them and read them and read them -”

She doesn’t realize she’s crying until he gathers her into his arms. She grabs on to the lapels of his jacket and sobs once, nestling his face into his neck.

“I missed you so much,” she tells him.

Because she had missed him, even if she hadn’t admitted it to herself. She’d missed him so terribly that the thought of it almost makes her ill, even though he’s here with her now.

“I missed you,” he murmurs into her hair. “My God, Amy, how I missed you.”

He hugs her closer to him for a moment more, and then pulls back. He reaches over to her, takes her face in his hand and tilts her chin up so he can look into her eyes.

“I love you,” he tells her. “I love you, and I don’t deserve you. Especially not now. But I want you, and

I want my future to be with you. I understand if you don’t - if we’re together, your reputation will suffer as well. So I understand if you -”

She kisses him quickly - to quiet him and his doubts that seem so silly now, mostly, but also because she’s missed kissing him so much . When they separate, he’s smiling, and even though a few tears stream down his cheeks, he laughs.

She breaks into laughter as well, and they laugh together until they can’t breathe. Anyone passing would think they were crazy.

But no one is passing. No one is here, except her and him. Amy and Laurie.

This is the way it was meant , he’d said, after he’d kissed her that first time.

Once they’ve calmed down, he reaches for her face again, and rests his forehead against hers.

“Amy. Will you marry me?”

He can barely get the question out before she gives her answer, teary and breathless.

“Yes .”

He smiles, and whispers, “Thank you,” before kissing her again, deep and slow.

She kisses him back, and feels, for the first time since she arrived back from Europe, that she’s finally come home.

#laurie x amy #amy x laurie #little women #little women 2019 #amy march #theodore laurence #amylaurie #cprobs

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thepersona · 2 years

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A non-romantic K-drama starter pack

If you're interested in K-dramas but don't know where to begin, and aren't interested in (or would like to take a break from) romantic storylines, then this is for you!

P.S.: Some of these dramas may contain romantic side plots that don't necessarily define the main storyline. List not sorted in any particular order, and only includes completed dramas.

Gifs not mine!

Stranger (2017; 2019)

A political crime thriller full of red herrings, "Stranger" (Season 1) follows an investigation into the murder of a man who has bribed countless officials from multiple levels and branches of government. Led by stoic prosecutor Hwang Shi Mok (Cho Seung Woo) and feisty detective Han Yeo Jin (Bae Doona), this well-paced, well-acted drama is full of twists and turns that will make you suspect everyone at some point.

Kingdom (2019; 2020)

Historical political drama meets zombie thriller in the 2019 hit "Kingdom" (Season 1). The story follows Crown Prince Yi Chang (Ju Ji Hoon) as he investigates an outbreak of a mysterious plague that turns average citizens into rabid monsters while fighting to keep his rightful place as heir to the throne. The hit series has led to a second season and a prequel TV movie "Ashin of the North" (2021).

Signal (2016)

Featuring a mysterious walkie-talkie that links the past to the present, "Signal" is one of the most beloved police dramas of the last decade because of its refreshing take on the genre and the top-notch performances of its three leads: Kim Hye Soo, Lee Je Hoon, and Jo Jin Woong.

The Uncanny Counter (2020)

"The Uncanny Counter" is a comedy-drama about four "counters", or grim reapers who have been lent superhuman abilities by a group of spirits. Their main job is to stop demons who possess violent criminals that become more powerful by consuming the souls of their victims. Funny, colorful, and action-packed, the show features wonderful performances from the main actors: Jo Byeong Gyu, Yoon Joon Sang, Kim Se Jeong, and (my personal favorite) Yeom Hye Ran. The hit series has been granted a second season.

Racket Boys (2021)

If you need a feel-good drama that's not too heavy on the tears, crime, and lovey-dovey tropes, then this may be for you. "Racket Boys" is about an underdog middle school badminton team that dreams to make a mark on the national level and beyond. The rural setting and endearing ensemble cast, led by the talented Tang Jun Sang, allow for lighthearted moments but are never too cartoonish. A puppy love storyline exists between the leads, but it's very wholesome and innocent, and given far less importance than the struggle surrounding the national tournament.

Squid Game (2021)

International smash hit "Squid Game" is about a mysterious organization that selects individuals with impossible debt to participate in a series of children's games to have a shot at winning 45.6 billion won. The catch: only the winner gets to live. Features an amazing ensemble cast led by Lee Jung Jae, Park Hae Soo, and impressive newcomer Jung Ho Yeon.

Dear My Friends (2016)

A slice-of-life comedy drama featuring a stellar ensemble cast of the most accomplished Korean actors and actresses over 60, "Dear My Friends" follows 40-year-old writer Park Wan (Go Hyun Jung) as she chronicles the stories of her mother, her aunts, and their families. There are two romantic side stories here but the overall plot is more invested in how your friends can become your family especially after you reach a certain age. Think "Golden Girls" but in Korea. Praise-worthy acting from everyone involved, especially the main quintet: Na Moon Hee, Kim Hye Ja, Go Doo Shim, Park Won Sook, and Oscar winner Youn Yuh Jung.

Live (2018)

"Live" is a slice-of-life, police procedural drama that tells the story of rookies and veterans at Hongil Station in Seoul, where there is no shortage of petty and violent crimes. The crimes featured examine the decisions that South Korean cops have to make especially in dangerous situations wherein the gray areas become even grayer. There are romantic storylines between the four leads but they never overshadow the cases. Wonderful acting, especially from Bae Sung Woo and Bae Jeong Ok who play the veterans Oh Yang Chon and Ahn Jang Mi, respectively. Also stars funny man Lee Kwang Soo and the angelic Jung Yu Mi (Train to Busan).

Vincenzo (2021)

Born in South Korea, adopted into an Italian family, mafia lawyer Vincenzo Cassano (Song Joong Ki) flies back to Seoul after falling out with his adopted brother following the death of his boss/father-figure. His mission is to retrieve gold hidden beneath the dilapidated Geumga Plaza before it is ultimately demolished by the evil Babel Group that constantly harrasses its tennants to move out. Teaming up with the feisty lawyer Hong Cha Young (Jeon Yeo Been, Vincenzo uses mafia tactics in his war against the conglomerate that thinks itself above the law. What sounds like a heavy premise is offset by the physical and witty comedy provided by the charismatic leads and supporting cast. There is romance between the leads (who share great chemistry nonetheless) but it is by no means the driving force of this story. They could have recasted this with two male leads as more of a bromance story and the outcome would be quite similar, but Jeon Yeo Been gives a unique, quirky flair to her character that makes her difficult to replace.

Hyena (2020)

I know I said this wasn't a list for romantic K-Dramas but hear me out. There's romance but it's not what you think (the leads kiss a grand total of 3 times, twice in the first ep then once a little later). "Hyena" explores the world of corporate lawyers who serve the South Korean 1%. It's a dog-eat-dog world where the most conniving and least picky hyena reigns supreme. The hyena in question would be the brilliant renegade lawyer Jang Geum Ja (Kim Hye Soo). Sparks fly as she goes head to head with the by-the-book, elite lawyer Yoon Hee Jae (Ju Ji Hoon), whose ideals are constantly challenged as his world unravels around him. The cases are challenging and the solutions that the leads come up with are intriguing. Romance doesn't drive this drama, but the chemistry between the leads is undeniable.

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miraclesabound · 2 years

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Love in Idleness

Summary: Johanna’s friend Annie thinks she imagined the way Morpheus looks at her - and then she gets exposed to a plant that shows her the truth.

Also available on AO3.

Pairing: Morpheus/F!Plus-Size!OC Annie Magdalene (written in second person)

Notes: My first ever sex pollen fic! I’ve been toying with this idea since before the show premiered. Johanna, Matthew, Lucienne, Death and Desire all make appearances. Annie is an original character, but I’ve written her in second person so that she can be read as any race. Set after Season 1 - Johanna is still dealing with the fallout from losing Rachel.

FAN ART by @miranhas-art

Content/Warnings: Sex pollen, self-doubt related to weight, Desire actually NOT being a little shit for once, but it still blowing up in their face, worries about mortality, canon-typical language, fingering, PiV sex/dream sex. In the intro, items related to funeral preparation and difficulty with grief.

Tags: @writeforfandoms, @insomniamamma, @edwardmunsen, @darklingveracruz, @morpheus-helm, @bowieandqueen11, @mylifeisactuallyamess, @whovianayesha, @blueeyesatnight, @yayforawesome

Normally, a large raven landing on your windowsill would catch your attention. However, you’ve been knee-deep in paperwork for weeks. Johanna had called you to tell you about Rachel dying, and you’ve been handling the administrative side of things while Jo assists Sam, Rachel’s father. You don’t mind doing it – Johanna’s been your best friend since you were six, and she loved Rachel. That’s more than enough reason for you to direct your research efforts towards something useful instead of studying your family’s grimoires all day. As such, it takes the raven clearing his throat for you to look his way. Your eyes widen when he begins to speak.

“I’m looking for Johanna Constantine – am I in the right place? I have a note for her.” He lifts one of his legs, and you see a band of paper secured there.

“Uh…yes…” You stand up from your desk and poke your head into the hallway. “JO!” you call out. “Can you come in here a sec?” You only hope you don’t sound panicked.

Johanna shows up quickly, and she looks you over. “You ok, Annie? What’s – oh!” She sees the raven, and her eyes light up in recognition. “Matthew, is that you?”

“Hi, Johanna,” the raven says. “Yeah, it’s me – the boss wanted to give you this.”

Johanna sees the paper and gently unwraps it from Matthew’s leg. Opening it, she reads over the words with a slight frown. “How soon does he want an answer?” she asks.

“As soon as possible,” Matthew tells her. “Just call out for him, and he’ll come by. You both have a good night.” He flies off, and Jo shows you the note.

Muttering to yourself, you read aloud, “For your service, you are hereby invited to the Palace of the Dreaming as – wait, WHAT???”

“It’s real,” Johanna reassures you. “Keep reading.”

Clearing your throat, you start up again. “You are hereby invited to the Palace of the Dreaming as the guest of Dream of the Endless. An invitation has also been sent to Death and Desire. Please respond promptly with your attendance.”

You jokingly shove Johanna’s arm. “You met Dream of the Endless, from the family that the Magdalene family has studied for four hundred years, and you didn’t tell me??”

You realize your tone was misplaced when Jo looks at you sadly. “He’s the one who eased Rachel’s passing. I thought that made us even for me helping find his sand, but I guess he wanted to offer another boon.”

“I’m sorry,” you tell her. “I shouldn’t have teased.”

She waves away your concern. “No fuss – but I can tell you, I won’t be fit company right now, my head’s still kinda fucked.” She taps her lip. “Ya know, I have an idea. Got any paper you can spare?”

You tear off a piece from the notepad you’ve been using and pass her a pen. She writes the word MORPHEUS with intentional, bold strokes – quite different from her usual scratchy handwriting. When she’s done, she looks to you. “Want to do the honors?”

Realizing what she’s doing, you nod, and clear your throat. With clear intonation, you say, “I call upon Morpheus, Dream of the Endless.” Not even a tenth of a second after you finish speaking, the walls shake, and the lights begin to flicker. Jo squeezes your hand in reassurance.

When the lights and shaking cease, you realize that there’s now a third person in the room. He’s tall, black-haired, and his eyes will steal your breath if you’re not careful. Combine that with his dark attire and gorgeous features, and he’s exactly your type. When he speaks, his voice is like dark honey. “Who is it that called me?”

“That was us, boss,” Johanna says. The man turns to see the both of you. “Matthew brought your note.”

“I’m glad to see you well, Constantine. Then you’ll be joining me for family dinner?” he asks.

Johanna shakes her head. “I’m afraid I’d be bad company – I’m still handling some of Rachel’s affairs, and I don’t much feel like small talk. However…” she gently pushes you towards him. “This is my friend Annie Magdalene – she is from a very prestigious magical bloodline. It might benefit her to visit the Palace.”

“Jo, what are you doing??” you hiss.

“Giving you an in – you think your parents would ever forgive you if you had a chance to dine with an Endless and didn’t take it?”

“Magdalene?” he cuts in. “I know that name.”

Gathering your courage, you say, “We’re a family of practitioners and magical historians, sir – sire…what would you have me call you?” You know full well that if you insult him, you definitely won’t get the invite, and you may suffer something painful to boot.

However, he offers you a small, warm smile that makes your heart flip. “You may call me Dream or Morpheus, Miss Magdalene. And is this what you wish as well?” You’re not sure, but he seems to be looking appreciatively at your curves and rolls.

“Only if it’s no trouble.”

“None at all. If you’re willing, I’d like to spend some time with you before you come to the Palace next week. May I see you later tonight?”

Johanna is smiling in approval of your good fortune, but you must admit you’re still a little confused. “Where would we meet?” you ask.

“Leave that to me,” Morpheus says.

You’ve visited this vineyard many times in your dreams, but this is the first time you’ve had company. As you pluck a grape from one of the vines, a voice close behind you asks, “Are they almost ready?”

You’re startled only for a second, but when you turn around and see Morpheus, you smile. Of course, he would visit you in your dreams. You hold the grape out to him. “See for yourself?”

He opens his hand, and you drop the grape to him. He catches it deftly between two fingers and turns it this way and that to get a proper look at it. “Perfect color and shape – and the right level of firmness. Beautiful work, Miss Magdalene.”

His compliment warms you, but you feel the need to be honest. “I don’t know how much credit I can take,” you tell him. “I’ve been dreaming of this place since I was a kid, and it was already beautiful then.”

“Then at least someone is here to treasure it.” The conversation flows easily from there, and you wake up with a smile on your face.

The next several nights are much the same. Morpheus appears in the vineyard to spend time with you, whether to chat or just to sit together. You find in these times that Morpheus is not just a beautiful face. He has the mind of a poet, and sometimes, you love to just listen to his words. He does his best not to dominate your conversations, but his voice inspires the best nights of sleep you’ve had in a long time.

The one thing you do notice is that he doesn’t give you that same appraising look again that he offered the first time you met. Perhaps it’s just him being a gentleman, but you’re worried. Did you misread him when you met him? You’d thought it was appreciation, but he just doesn’t seem interested in your body like he was before.

It stings, but you’ll live. True friendship with a member of the Endless is still worth more than your weight in gold and wine – you’ll take it for the gift it is.

On the day of the event, you dream of the Palace for the first time. It’s utterly gorgeous – truly the home of a king in his prime. The structure is perfectly engineered, and the gardens stretch on for miles. You’re tempted to go exploring, but then Morpheus calls out to you.

You walk over the great bridge, and he’s waiting there with a woman you haven’t met before. He introduces her – Lucienne, his Chief Librarian – and she shakes your hand warmly. “So glad you could make it, Miss Magdalene,” she says with true sincerity. “We don’t often have guests when it’s not a matter of state.”

“And I truly appreciate that,” you tell her. “From what I’ve studied, I know this isn’t typical.”

Lucienne nods, and then turns to Morpheus as the three of you walk past the hippogriff, wyvern and griffin who guard the palace entrance. “All invitations have been answered as of today, my lord. Death and Desire will be in attendance. However,” she looks at Morpheus over her glasses. “Desire did specify that they will not be able to attend the dinner itself. They will arrive afterwards.”

You almost miss the way Morpheus rolls his eyes, but the annoyance is still present in his tone. “I appreciate them giving notice, I suppose – but it would have been nice to know sooner.”

Lucienne shrugs. “They would have given the kitchen a headache anyway.”

You do your best to contain a snort, and you’re relieved when you hear a laugh echo behind you. “It’s true – I remember how the last dinner went.” The voice comes from a lovely woman with a warm smile, curly black hair, and dark skin. “I don’t think even they knew what they wanted; they simply couldn’t be satisfied.”

“Sister, I greet you,” Morpheus says. “Miss Magdalene, this is my older sister, the Lady Death. Sister, this is Miss Annie Magdalene. She’s a friend of the Constantine family, and she is my guest for this dinner.” You feel a slight shiver pass through you – you realize it’s the first time he’s actually said your first name.

If Death sees your reaction, she’s kind enough to be discreet. Instead, she pulls you into a hug, quite possibly the best one you’ve ever had. “Well, any friend of Dream’s is a friend of mine – would you like to sit next to me for the dinner?”

“That would be wonderful,” you tell her, and you mean it.

The dinner goes beautifully – the food is perfect, of course, but it’s the company that really makes it. Death is especially chatty, and she tells you of the worlds she’s seen and the people she’s met. In turn, you explain to her and Morpheus how your family came to study theirs.

The meal concludes, and while you’re certain there will be further conversation at the table, you find yourself wanting to wander. While Death and Morpheus’s backs are turned, you find a side door and turn the handle. It opens into the courtyard, and as you walk out, you see an archway leading into the Palace gardens.

“It’s not safe to walk in there alone, you know,” a voice purrs behind you. When you turn, you see a devastatingly gorgeous blond person leaning against the garden entryway. From your family’s books, you recognize that this must be Morpheus’ sibling Desire. They’re almost a little too pretty, you think. Their hair is perfectly coiffed, their make-up and smile are razor sharp, and their black blazer is open, showing a slender build that would put even the most renowned model to shame. Good grief, is everyone in this family stunning?

“You must be that Magdalene woman I’ve heard about,” they say. “An invite to my brother’s palace is no small matter – what favor did you manage to grant him, sweetling?”

You know from your research that this being is temperamental at best and an active saboteur at worst – but when they offer their arm, you still accept it. Indeed, as you begin to traverse the gardens together, you find yourself spilling your guts about everything – Morpheus’ invitation to Johanna, her arranging for you to visit instead, the many dreams you’ve had where you and Morpheus simply talk…

“Then you and my brother are courting?” Desire asks.

You’d been smiling while discussing your and Morpheus’ conversations, but Desire’s question makes your heart deflate. “It’s not like that,” you tell them. “I thought there was something there, but I don’t think I’m his type. I’m not slim and elegant like Johanna, and I’m just a researcher, not a practitioner – and a fat one at that.”

You appreciate Desire not immediately trying to say that you’re not plump. You’ve always hated when people do that – you know what you are, and it’s better to be a realist, even in a place like this.

You’ve come to a grove full of beautiful purple flowers – pansies, if you’re not mistaken. Your fingers drift towards one, but Desire quickly catches your wrist. “I wouldn’t do that, sweetling – you’re mortal after all. Allow me.” With their free hand, they pluck the bloom and tuck it behind your ear. Unfortunately, neither of you notice the spray of pollen and juice that comes loose from the vine when the flower is plucked. Instead, your attention is drawn to a marble bench, and the two of you sit down together.

“I won’t speak to my brother’s desires,” Desire tells you. “But I don’t know of any woman who shouldn’t walk with flowers in her hair at least once.” They smile as they arrange the strands of your hair and secure the blossom. “There – lovely as a picture.”

Your own smile returns briefly. “Thank you, I – ” you cut off with a hiss. “SHIT, my head…”

“Are you all right?” Desire asks. “Let me bring you back inside.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” you agree. You stand up, take maybe three steps – and then your feet go out from under you as the heat and pain move down into your chest.

Desire catches you before you can hit your head. You could swear you see true panic in their molten gold eyes. “Fuck – fuck fuck fuck!” they mutter. Raising their voice, they call for help – “MORPHEUS! DEATH! SOMEONE HELP!!!”

There must be a summoning power in Desire’s call. The palace is at least fifty yards away, but Morpheus and Death appear in the grove immediately. It’s Death who moves first – she helps you back to the bench, and when you’re seated, she has you face her, looking at your eyes. “Talk to me, Annie,” she says. “When did this start – just now?”

“Uh-huh,” you nod. “I think I need to go home – ” Another flash of heat rolls through you, and this time, you feel it between your legs. “What is happening to me??”

Morpheus turns to Desire, and his eyes go black, only his pupils showing as pricks of starlight. “What did you do, sibling?” You bite your lip to avoid moaning – the dangerous tone he’s using now makes you want to crawl over and worship at his feet.

“Nothing, I swear!” Desire protests. “We were having conversation, and I picked a flower for her to wear – I thought it would look nice!”

They gesture in your direction, and Morpheus finally sees the purple bloom in your hair. He doesn’t curse, but he rips the flower away, stomping it under his foot. Turning back to Desire, he slaps them hard across the face. “I TOLD you! I told you what would happen if you interfered with me or mine again. And now you use Love-in-Idleness to poison an honored guest??”

To their credit, Desire takes the hit like an absolute champion. Shaking off their pain, they look Morpheus straight in the eyes. “I didn’t know what this was, brother. Besides, I thought Love-in-Idleness made you fall for the first person you saw after exposure. I can tell – it’s not me she wants.”

“There were multiple variants,” Morpheus says. “Will Shakespeare put the version you describe in his play – but he considered different ideas. All of them ended up here in my gardens. Do you not see how suspicious it looks that you just happened to pick the version that amplified sexual desire?”

“Intentional or not, something has to be done,” Death says. Her hand is pleasantly cool where she checks your temperature. “She’s feverish and her pulse is wild. Today isn’t the day she has an appointment with me, but unless someone who cares for her gets this out of her system, that could change.”

“Appointment??” Your eyes go wide. “I don’t want to die!” You double over as another spasm racks your body.

“We won’t let that happen.” Morpheus says. Kneeling before you, he kisses your knuckles like a knight of old, and his eyes return to their usual shade of blue. “We’ll find the one you want – he must be here in the Dreaming somewhere. He’ll fix this.”

Tears fill your eyes, even as the feel of his lips makes you ache. “Then I’m doomed – you don’t want me back.”

It’s unknown if Morpheus of the Endless has a heart in the human sense, but at the very least, he has a soul. Right now, it feels like it’s being ripped away. “You…you truly believe that?” he asks. “Even with the time we’ve spent together?”

“Unfortunately, that’s exactly what she believes,” Desire says. “When we were talking, she was convinced that you weren’t the woman for her.”

It’s Death who gets to business. “Desire, you know these things – can you confirm that Morpheus and Annie have the same feelings for each other?”

“My sister, I swear it on our parents.” Desire’s smirk is completely gone. “Our brother is unaffected by the pollen but still cares, and Miss Magdalene was practically glowing when she talked about him, even before we came to the grove. The affection is mutual.”

Your gaze flicks to Morpheus, your eyes still brimming with tears. You don’t dare ask if it’s true – if Desire is misinformed, the heartbreak might kill you before the drug does.

However, all doubts are erased when Morpheus walks over to you and lifts you into his arms in a full bridal carry. You cling tightly to him, even knowing that he wouldn’t let you fall. Death and Desire briefly look at each other, and then they disappear. Before you can ponder that too much, Morpheus leans in and kisses your forehead. “I’m going to take care of you, sweetheart – I promise.”

Your surroundings fade – and then they reform into an elegant bedroom suite inside the Palace. The cool sheets where Morpheus lies down with you sooth some of the tension in your body instead of scratching like your sheets back home do. Nevertheless, your system is singing for your Dream Lord’s touch. Reaching behind you, you try to find him, but he grabs your wrist and pins it down in front of you.

“Annie, listen to me,” he says. “I need to make you come at least once so that I know you’re safe from danger. After that, I’m all yours. Can you be good and let me work?” You can barely manage to tell him that yes, you’ll be good, you’ll do whatever he wants – when he promises to get you off, you almost black out imagining what he might have in mind. “That’s my girl.” He releases your wrist, and your fingers tangle in the sheets.

Morpheus kisses the point where your neck meets your shoulder, and you can’t help the shudder that rolls through you. You’re sensitive at the best of times, but with the flower in your system, you feel like you’re going to break into pieces. “Morpheus, please…” you beg, “I need you!”

He knows full well that you’re speaking of your survival, not just your arousal. As such, he hurries to help you get naked from the waist down. Morpheus isn’t immune to your shape or sounds, and he promises himself he’ll lavish you with affection – later. Right now, he needs to make sure you’ll be ok.

Once your hips and legs are bare to him, he turns your face towards him. “I need you to use your words, sweetheart – I may know your dreams, but I’m not a mind-reader. What will work for you?”

“I need at least two fingers inside while my clit gets rubbed,” you tell him. “I usually like to edge myself a while but – FUCK!” Another heavy wave of arousal and heat hits you, and you swear that you can feel your heart falling out of rhythm.

“Understood.” Morpheus gives you a quick kiss and gets to work.

His clever thick fingers find the right spot almost immediately, and you groan in relief. Even just being filled is helping quite a bit. You vaguely remember a legend from the grimoire stating that Morpheus had been married at least once – you can’t say you’re surprised. With how he’s using his hands, this is clearly someone who knows how to please a partner. You don’t think you’ve ever been this wet in your life.

Your orgasm catches you off-guard, hitting you with enough force that you think your heart did in fact explode. But no – as you come down, you realize that the edge with the pollen was so painful that your current adrenaline buzz feels sleepy by comparison.

Morpheus places a hand on your neck, finding your pulse. Your heartrate is still elevated, but not nearly as high as it was before. When you turn to face him, a lazy smile on your face, he feels his own relief as well. He kisses you again – but now, he can be a bit more leisurely. Pulling you on top of him, he keeps your mouths connected and lets his hands wander.

You’re so plush, he realizes – wherever he touches, his fingers sink into your flesh. If he didn’t know better, he’d think you were made of his own sand – a sculpture of soft perfection.

That very flesh is still warm to the touch, even if the worst of the fever is gone. Breaking the kiss, he notes how you chase his mouth with yours, and he asks, “Do you still burn, sweet girl?”

You nod. “You were wonderful, Morpheus – but yes, it’s still pretty intense.”

“Then let’s fix it.” Taking your hand, he places it over his crotch with a smirk. “For both of us?”

You feel his hardness and gulp. “Where do you want me?” you ask.

“You’re perfect where you are, darling – but I want to see more of you.” After you take off your shirt and bra, he sits up so you’re in his lap. “Beautiful,” he says, and you can see from the look in his eyes that he means it. You’re not a virgin, but you can’t remember any time that a partner looked at you with such pure hunger. Even if you didn’t still have the flower in your system, those beautiful eyes would reduce you to a puddle.

Your cunt pulses, and you’re thankful for Morpheus holding you up. “What about you?” you ask breathlessly. He snaps his fingers, and you now feel his naked hardness beneath you.

“Can I have you, Annie?” His voice is low and deep, but not demanding. “I want you to be safe and I want you.”

“I’m yours,” you tell him. If you’re honest with yourself, you were his as soon as you met him, flower or no flower.

Once you say that, he doesn’t waste any time. You’re still incredibly wet after your first orgasm, and there’s barely any resistance when he slides his cock inside of you.

You may be on top, but Morpheus is the one setting the pace. He may look slender, but his arms are strong around your middle, and he lifts you with minimal effort up and down on himself. You suppose you shouldn’t be surprised – the way he carried you earlier, it’s obvious that your weight is no imposition to him.

What is a surprise is the tenderness he’s trying to include, even as he fucks you silly. For every thrust that rocks you to the core, there’s a stroke or caress of your arm, your hip, your face… It’s as if he’s trying to remind you that you’re here and you’re safe.

Your orgasm builds more slowly this time – it’s the glow of an ember more than the roar of a flame. Still, your desperation to come remains high, and you whine into Morpheus’s shoulder as the glow grows. He chuckles slightly, and taps your back to make you look him in the eyes. “Kiss me and I’ll give you what you want. Can you do that for me?” he asks.

You lock your lips onto his, and you groan into his mouth as he starts stroking your clit. You swear you can feel his smile as he strokes faster and faster…

When you come, it cascades out from your core like the feeling of slipping into a bath – you can tell that the fire inside is finally quenched. You still appreciate the jolt you feel as Morpheus disconnects your lips and finishes as well, but your heart isn’t catapulting around your rib cage anymore. However, a new kind of anxiety is settling in.

Morpheus sees the look of concern on your face and wipes a few beads of sweat off your forehead. “Are you all right?” he asks. “I know this was sudden.”

“Should I be worried about getting pregnant?” you wonder. You really like this man, this god, this Morpheus – but you don’t know if you’re ready for a baby, even with someone that you could easily fall in love with.

“No – for our kind, child-bearing is a very intentional process.” You swear you see a shadow of sorrow flit through Morpheus’s eyes. It’s gone before you can analyze it too deeply, and he says, “I wouldn’t surprise you with that, especially in these circumstances.”

He pulls out of you slowly, and you kiss his cheek to let him know you’re ok. “What now?” you ask. “I would ask if I can sleep over, but I guess I’m already doing that.”

Morpheus lets out a brief laugh. “I understand your meaning, darling.” He wraps a blanket around you, and with a wave of his hand, you’re back in the dream version of your own bedroom. “You’ve had an intense experience – I think resting in your own space will be best.”

“For…how long?” you ask. “I’d like to see you again.” You’d like to do a lot more than that, but you don’t want to seem desperate.

“You will soon enough,” he promises, and kisses your cheek. “Rest well, Annie.”

It ends up being about three weeks later, but Morpheus does keep his word to you. You’re dreaming of the vineyard again for the first time since the dinner, and as you turn a corner, he’s there waiting for you. He pulls you into a firm embrace and kisses the side of your forehead. “Have you been well?” he asks.

You nod. “I’m feeling a hundred times better, but I did miss you.”

“I missed you too – but there were arrangements I had to make before I could come check on you.”

“Oh?” You truly don’t know what he might mean by that.

Letting you go, he squeezes your hand. “I had thought,” he says, “that perhaps we could go on a tour of the Dreaming together, and I needed to map a route. You’ve only seen your section and the Palace, after all.”

You smile wide. “Is my Lord Morpheus asking me on a date?”

He returns your grin, even if his smile is more understated. “Yes, I am – I don’t want my intentions to be unclear this time.”

Linking your arm into his, you ask, “Where to?”

#the sandman #the sandman spoilers #the sandman fanfic #morpheus x reader #morpheus x original character

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ladygayspanker · 2 years

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Did I binge the lesbian baseball show with a wild mixture of nostalgia for the 90s version of the story and giddy excitement about just how gay this version was? YES!

I don't think I've ever seen butches represented in media as done in A League of Their Own! There's more than one! They're friends with each other! They're desirable! (Even those not white, not young, not skinny!)

I also love that the high femme characters are so recognizably queer (from the way they dress to how they interact with other women) not just "straight" women with same-sex love interests.

The series is doing so much so right that I wondered why I was even more invested?

... and it comes down to Carson's (and to a certain extent Max's) role as the protagonist (sorry!). That plot point reminds me so/too much of other queer series who chose the "newbie"/"I'm still figuring myself out"-character (see Jenny in The L Word, Piper in Orange is the New Black) to introduce the audiences to the world they wanna depict. Carson learning that the League is afraid of its players "looking like queers," Carson learning what a friend of Dorothy is, what butch is, what a queer bar looks like, that queer couples refer to their partners as wives. Max questioning why Bert would leave the house "like that," learning that house parties exist ... it seems sooo catered to audiences not familiar with that history. When most of "us" are! Give Uncle Bert's perspective on his family! Give me the beginning of Greta's and Jo's friendship! Give me the sexual exploits of Jess and Lupe! Give me queer characters' perspectives on a straight world - without justification and explanation!

I know it's a minor complaint about a show that has done so much so well; maybe I'm spoiled - but so what: in my dream version of this show, Carson is a side character, Maybelle gets more screen time, and audiences are thrown w/o safety instructions into the deep end of queer history (unless Vi and Clance want to explain things. They may explain racism, homophobia, and current events anytime!)

#aloto #greta gill #butch rep #lesbian #oitnb #the l word #lupe garcia #jess mcready #bert chapman #jo de luca #maybelle fox #clance morgan

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garbinge · 8 months

Text

Never Okay

Opie Winston x OC Joanne Teller

From these August Prompts: Blinding & For @the-slumberparty's Bingo Challenge! Bingo square: Biker A/N: This is... dark and very sad and emotional. Totally get if no one wants to read this cause it's heavy (warnings below) but the story has been in my head and I just... let words hit paper. Again, I love writing for my Teller sister OC outside of her little multi chap I have.. this is an AU to my own fic, yet again. And an AU to canon in a way.

Words: 2.6k

Warnings: Spoilers for series finale of SOA. Canon level mentions of suicide. Mentions of suicide, losing a sibling, murder, grief, angst, nightmares, tense, car/bike accidents, torment, trauma, self blame, not a happy or content ending.

SOA Taglist: @drabbles-mc @justreblogginfics

The breeze was cold and felt eerie along her skin. It was late into the night and Joanne was standing in the middle of the highway. Her head turned to get a look at what was around her, where she was. 508. She knew the road well, too well honestly. Her head looked up ahead and saw the rocks that framed the edge of the road where her father’s initials were permanently marked as well as his soul. But what was she doing here? Why was she standing in the middle of the empty highway in the middle of the night? There was no sign of how she got there, no cars, no people, just her. Her head looked down and she noticed she was in one of Opie’s t-shirts, it was practically swimming on her, her feet were bare, no socks, no shoes. Before she could question any of that, she heard the rumbling of a motorcycle. Her eyes looked up, at first, expecting Opie to be coming to pick her up, explain what the fuck was happening, but it wasn’t him. She saw the bike that was now passing those tall mountained rocks, it was teal, a Tiffany blue to be more exact, the color she had told her father to paint the bike when she was younger. She felt the joy hitch in her throat as she recognized the person on the bike, even from far away. Her father. The smile on her face grew and she took a few steps forward as if that was going to bring her closer to him. Her voice called out while her hands waved. It felt so strange calling out to her father, it was something she hadn’t done in years because, well, JT was dead. Once her mind wrapped itself around that fact, that joyous feeling sunk back into her gut and the bike suddenly turned electric blue and the figure on the bike changed too. Joanne saw her brother, no helmet, smile on his face, and hands beginning to release the handlebars of the bike. Her heart dropped and she began running towards Jax, screaming, telling him to stop, begging, crying, she was so wrapped up in getting her brother’s attention that she didn’t notice the tractor trailer behind her. Her body turned and her hands moved up to shield herself from the blinding headlights, out of instinct she turned the opposite direction but was met with the same blinding light from Jax’s bike. Impulsively she crouched down and shielded herself as both vehicles drove directly at her. She felt two hands on either one of her shoulders and a whisper in her ear that sounded just like the two deceased men in her life. “It’s okay, Jo.” They both said at the same time and the chills that moved down her arms mixed with the noise of beeping and crashing sent her straight awake.

As she sat up in bed her hand moved to her chest in an attempt to slow its rapid beating and catch her breath. It was a dream. Well, more like a nightmare. But nonetheless, it wasn’t real even though it all felt extremely real. Her eyes moved over to the other side of the bed where Opie laid sound asleep, his long hair sprawled around the pillow and his black tank top sat snug across his chest with the comforter half on and half off. His snores were light but they were enough to let Jo know her sudden jolt didn’t stir him awake. After a deep breath she moved her eyes to the nightstand, 3:30AM. She wasn’t sure the last time she could sleep through the night, it’d been months but when everynight posed its own issue preventing sleep, things began to feel like years.

Jo stood up, one thing remained true from her dream, she was still swimming in Opie’s shirt, but she quickly threw on a pair of socks to protect her feet from the cold hardwood floors. Managing to tip toe out of their shared bedroom, she moved down the hallway and began checking in on the three bedrooms past hers. The first one which belonged to Dylan and Ellie, her daughter with an ex and Opie’s daughter, both girls were sound asleep on the bunk beds that they begged to have. Jo silently closed the door and moved onto the next room which was Kenny’s. Their only son. He was asleep as well, but not in bed. He was passed out in the bean bag that sat in the corner of the kid’s room, a video game controller in one hand and the other across his chest. He slept similarly to Opie, sprawled out with a blanket half on and half off, it made her smile before she lightly closed the door and made her way to the last bedroom. Nicolette’s. Their child together who was aging out of her crib as the days passed. The door was already open in the baby’s room, they left it that way so they could hear her cries better in case the monitor didn’t pick it up entirely.

The baby was sound asleep as well. There was a part of Joanne that wished she was awake, needed to eat, needed to be burped or just simply wanted to be up. It’d give her something to do since she was up and had no intention of going back to sleep, it’d also give her something to push every aspect she had been going over and over in her head about the nightmare. But, she opted to let the baby sleep and make her way to the garage.

Her hand rested on the door handle for a minute. Thinking if this was something she wanted to do or if it was just going to put her deeper in grief, deeper in depression. Ultimately, she decided to open the door and she saw the skeleton of the Teller bike and then the parts scattered on the work table against the garage wall. The Teller bike took the place of the panhead Opie had bought back when they decided to leave Charming and the club behind. She thought she had escaped the violence, escaped the torment and path of a bloody Teller life but no matter where she went, it’d follow her.

“Can’t sleep?” Opie’s voice was soft and didn’t startle Jo one bit. That was one perk of feeling dead inside, nothing frightened her anymore. Sure, she feared for her kids but not for herself.

“Never can.” Jo stood in the doorway, arms crossed leaned up against the frame staring at the bike that her brother crashed and died on.

“I told you if you had an issue with me rebuilding it, I’d take it somewhere else.” Opie was now towering behind Jo, his body slightly touching her back as his arm moved up and down her arm.

“No, I like knowing you’re close when you’re working on it.” Jo protested and melted into Opie’s grip.

That was one thing she’d never intentionally do, take out her grief on Opie. He had his own share, between Donna and Piney and now their shared grief over Jax. She knew his shoulders were heavy with burden as well.

“You dream about him again?” Opie’s voice was soft now.

Joanne hummed. “Both of ‘em. I feel like they’re fuckin’ talking to me.”

“You’ve always felt that way when it came to JT.” Opie rested his head next to Jo’s as they talked.

“It’s different now, I feel so fucking connected to Jax, JT never haunted me the way Jax’s death is.” Jo shook her head.

“It’s still fresh. You gotta cut yourself a break.” Opie was now removing himself from Jo and stood directly next to her in the doorway, but he was facing her while she was still staring at the bike.

“How come you’re so put together.” Jo looked over at her husband, the statement was a little aggressive, again, it was something she’d never intentionally do, didn’t mean that anger didn’t come pushing through sometimes.

“It’s the life, babe.” Opie shook his head. It’s when Jo realized he tied his hair back into a bun compared to the sprawled out mess it was in bed when she left.

“It’s not our life anymore.” Jo was back to staring at the bike.

“But Jax didn’t give it up like we did. You tried, you tried to get him to come with us, but he chose the life.”

“So that’s what allows you to accept it? Because it's the life?” Jo was trying to wrap her brain around that.

“I was in the life, Jo. I get it. It’ll always be a part of guys like me and Jax, it makes it easier to understand.”

Was it? Was that what made it easier to understand? Those were the thoughts pinballing in Jo’s head. She was a part of the life, too. Whether she liked it or not. Maybe that was the difference, Jo didn’t exactly choose this life, it was forced on her, she was born into it. But it was the same for Jax and Opie. They all came from the parental lineage of the club. At one point though, it did become a choice. Jax and Opie became grown men and were fully accountable for their actions, their choices, their decisions. So did Jo. In different ways, that was likely where their paths forked. But somewhere along the way, Jo and Ope made the decision to get out. After all that loss the inevitability of the loss to come, it was the only thing that made sense. Jo had begged Jax to leave, begged him to take the kids and come with them but the ghost of JT haunted him in a way that it didn’t haunt her. JT might have loved the club but Jo didn’t think he loved it enough to sacrifice his kids, their well being. Jo’s argument was that was why the club was created, a way to live out a certain way of life, and time and time again, the club proved that wasn’t possible. It’s why JT wrote the manuscript, he was holding on to hope, the same hope that kept the reaper’s grip tight on Jax. Jax also had Gemma in his ear in a way that Jo didn’t. When Jo told Gemma she was packing up her and Opie’s kids and getting the hell out of Charming, Gemma gave some mumbled half assed comment before leaving and really taking it out on Opie. Everything that should have been said to Jo, was said to Opie. Gemma practically begged him to stay, for the club, for Jax. That Jo was just an old lady that needed to be put in her place, and listen to her husband. That was the breaking point of a long line of tension building between the two women. But ultimately, Gemma pulled one Teller back in. The Teller that was going to kill her. The Teller that would ultimately be the demise of Gemma Teller-Morrow. The weight of Gemma’s death didn’t weight on Jo the way everyone thought it would. She was content with it, similar in a way that Opie was with Jax. It was part of the life. Gemma knew what the life was. Through and through and chose it every time. Gemma was the reason JT was dead, whether Jo knew the gory and full truth, she had enough to place blame, Gemma was the reason Jo’s nephews were orphans, she was the reason why there was a strew of death all falling at her feet.

That’s what made Jo think more about Gemma. How she practically groomed her to become an old lady, a club girl. How she wasn’t a good mother and maybe she could let that go for herself but she couldn’t for Jax. Maybe that’s what it all came down to. The fact that Jo tried so hard as the eldest sibling to be the parent that Jax needed while also being his older sister, while watching out for him, while seeing the good in the man and not pushing him to become something he’d never be able to come back from. But none of it worked. No matter how hard Jo tried, Gemma always won. And Jo always lost.

So, that was why Jo had an issue blaming the life for the literal wreck in front of her. Because it wasn’t so much the life to blame but the web that Gemma spun for her own personal gain.

“I would blame the life if he was gunned down by an enemy MC, shivved in prison, hell, even taken down on his bike. But this, Ope? This wasn’t the life. This was our life. The Teller life did this. Gemma did this–” Joanne was getting angrier as she spoke but the last sentence got stuck in her throat as she stopped short of saying what was seconds away from spilling out from her brain through her mouth.

“You know you did everything you could, this doesn’t land on you.” Opie’s voice got serious now. He knew what she was going to say, that she was going to put the blame on herself. It was an odd position for Opie to be in, being the one trying to ground Joanne, be her support when all these years that was what she did for him.

Joanne let out a laugh at the statement. This doesn’t land on you. Everything landed on someone in this life.

“This all lands on me, Ope.” Jo shook her head, pushing off the door frame. “I was the only one there for him. I could’ve pulled him out. I could have prevented this. All of this.” Jo was beginning to spiral.

“Jax was a grown man, Joanne.” Opie’s voice was soft even though the statement was firm. “Every decision he made falls on him, not me, not Gemma, not you.”

Joanne looked over at him and gave him a look. “Alright, yea, we can blame Gemma a little.” His stance softened and Jo managed to let out a laugh for the first time in a long time.

She moved over to him and he wrapped his arms around her shoulders as she melted into his embrace. Opie’s head rested on Joanne’s as their embrace tightened. “Wendy and Nero are taking the boys horseback riding tomorrow.” Opie mumbled on Jo’s head. “Figured we could take the kids.”

Jo let out a sigh of relief. If there was one thing that came from all of this, it was that Opie and them moved onto Nero’s farm with Wendy and the boys. It allowed Jo to be close to them, help raise them, be some type of fucked up family.

“That sounds like a good idea.” Jo nodded her head against Opie.

“You wanna talk about the dream?” Opie asked, bringing up their original conversation.

“I was on 508, blinding lights from both directions. JT and Jax coming straight at me while the truck was coming from the other side. Then they whispered to me that it’s okay.”

“Maybe it is okay.” Opie said, still hugging the girl.

Jo wanted to respond but instead, she just kept her thought to herself.

Or maybe it never will be.

#SOA #Sons of Anarchy #SOA fanfic #Opie Winston #Opie Winston x OC

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