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ambrosiagourmet · 11 days

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Rin Masterpost

Rin! Rinsha Fana! Beloved side character I think about far too much (or maybe not enough?)

I decided that it might be nice to put together an informational post about Rin, since she has some of my favorite background details of any character in Dungeon Meshi. This is partly as reference for myself, and partly for anyone else who might be interested in her but not know where to chase down the tidbits we we get of her, both in canon & extra materials. There’s also a little bit of theorizing and analysis sprinkled in for fun.

If anyone spots something I missed, please let me know and I will add it in!

Alright. Time for ultimate #rinposting

History and Timeline:

We don't have an official timeline for Rin (even in the expanded Adventurer's Bible, sadly), but we can put a lot of pieces together based on Kabru's timeline & their respective ages.

Rin is 2 years older than Kabru, and they met when he was 9. Assuming that he met her soon after she was taken to the elven capital, that means that the elves took her when she was 11.

Before that, she lived on the Northern Continent. Interestingly, when Mickbell asks about Shuro, Rin says she was born "here."

Since "here" doesn't mean the actual Island itself, it must mean simply "not the east." She is described in the Adventurer's Bible as having "no real knowledge of or attachment to the East," so maybe that's why she draws a "there" verses "here" line.

I'd also like to add a note here that the elves don't seem uh... they don't seem great about respecting the value of other cultures, especially those of short-life species. Milsiril seems to have discouraged Kabru from eating or remembering food from his hometown, at least, and that's even as an adoptive parent who cares (at least in some way) for her child. As I will touch on later, the "care" that Rin was under probably had even less respect for her history or ties to either Eastern or Northern culture.

That is all to say, considering that Rin spent many years with the elves, I'd take her having "[no] attachment to the East" as more of a comment on how she feels now, and less as a definite choice she made. She may genuinely have chosen that approach and opinion for herself, she may have been pushed towards it by the elves, and she may have had little choice at all in the matter - all are valid interpretations, though I personally lean towards the thought that it's unlikely the elves didn't have at least some hand in it.

Anyway, Rin does seem to know at least a bit about her heritage - she can presumably name and identify the specific island her parents are from, and she recognizes that "Shuro" isn't a name used there. She also knows that different places from the Eastern archipelago speak different languages, so she knows at least a little about the other islands as well.

Some additional extrapolations I'll make based on these facts: she never mentions, and probably isn't in contact with, any family from her island. This may be because her extended family died, because her parents didn't (or weren't able to) maintain contact, or because she lost contact when she was taken by the elves. Somewhat relatedly, she also prooobably doesn't speak the language, at least not fluently, though her being able to comment on the state of language in the archipelago makes me think that she at least learned a little as a kid.

Anyway, Rin's parents were refugees from the archipelago, though we don't know what specifically caused them to leave. There is this little tidbit of info we get (from the cover of chapter 48, of all places), though:

So yeah, that seems like it would be the backdrop of Rin's parents fleeing. As I said earlier, it's unclear if Rin might have any living family left back on her island. The listing she has for “family” in the Adventurer's Bible is just a dash, but so is Izutsumi's, for instance, and we know that she was taken from her family with no knowledge of who might still be out there. It's possible everyone else was killed, it's possible they were separated... it's possible that Rin's parents didn't even know.

As an additional note, and this is speculation on my part, but I think there is an argument to be made, with this tidbit from the cover as well as the Nakamoto clan's specialty in espionage and use of ninjas, that the politics of the archipelago are partially based on Sengoku era Japan. Not necessarily super relevant here, but I think it's interesting context for all... of the archipelago characters, honestly.

(Especially considering it seems like the Nakamoto clan is in a relatively comfortable position, and yet clearly are involved, or at least prepared to be involved in larger conflict. How stable is their position, really? How is Shuro's father viewed by the wider region and archipelago as a whole? What about his lord? NOT THE POINT THIS IS A POST ABOUT RIN. BUT IT'S VERY INTERESTING TO THINK ABOUT.)

Okay, back to Rin's parents.

Whatever caused them to leave, they made their way to the north, where they made their living with their magic for a time. There are no specifics about what kind of magic they used, but we know at least some examples of jobs that magic can get you, based on the flashback to Laios and Falin's childhood in chapter 26. Laios proposes that Fain could use her magic to be a priest, gravekeeper, or wandering exorcist. Though these are specific to Falin's affinity with spirits, they give some idea of the shape of the work that might be available. It's important, but it is also on the outskirts of society - not necessarily admired or appreciated by the average person.

And Rin’s parents were killed by vigilantes for that magic. It's not entirely news that superstitious villages in the area would sometimes kill magic users - we see a small drawing of people being burned at the stake in a panel towards the end of the manga:

Nonetheless, Rin is the only person in the main cast who has experienced this brutality firsthand. And she did experience it firsthand, having been found by the elves as the sole survivor within the burnt ruins of her home.

It is unknown exactly how she survived, or what happened to her parents before and during the fire. Rin lived, and they did not.

The elves came some time after the fire, intending to investigate reports of ancient magic. They (and we) don't know if Rin's parents actually did use ancient magic, or if the reports and murders were simply spurred by general fear and superstition. Rin was the only piece of "evidence" that remained, and so she was taken back to the west with the elves when they left.

We don't know much about her time on the Northern Central Continent (where the elves/Canaries are based), but it doesn't seem like she was adopted or taken in by anyone the way that Kabru was. According to the Adventurer's Bible, after being taken into custody, "under their care she was treated as a captive animal would be." I would guess that means very basic food and shelter, little to no education. Probably the most social contact she got was from Kabru, as well as maybe, occasionally, from elves treating her as a curiosity, such as in this bit in the Adventurer’s Bible:

Assuming she left with Kabru (which seems like it is the case, there's no info about them having separated during that time), she spent 9 years with the elves, and has been with Kabru on the Island in the 4 years since then.

She also stays in the Golden Country after the end of the story, apparently working as an alchemist.

Additional Details (& Speculation):

What does she remember of her family and home?

I'd like to take a moment here to explore a little of what Rin might remember of her parents and home.

For reference, we can look at Kabru. The canaries came to Utaya when Kabru was 6, and he arrived in the capital when he was 7. He remembers the events of the tragedy in his home, and has some memories of his mother and life in Utaya, including memories of local dishes.

Rin lost her parents and home at 11, so she presumably has much clearer memories of the events that lead to her being taken by the elves... or she might, assuming that they haven't been completely blocked by her trauma from the event.

Yeah, I am fairly damn sure that she's got some memory issues from trauma and PTSD. For one, this is the state she was found in:

As already mentioned, she was also treated like something of an animal by the elves. She probably didn't have a lot of contact with other people, which would further perpetuate that sense of isolation and dehumanization. What I'm getting at here is that Rin probably didn't have much to help pull her out of this place, or heal these wounds. She had Kabru, who was also a kid and even younger than her, and she had herself.

Obviously trauma leaves different scars on everyone, and everyone responds and copes in different ways. But I do think it is interesting that we never hear anything about Rin's parents or life before the elves, and there are no real details about it given in the Adventurer's Bible the way we have for Kabru. What's presented is more surface level facts: they were refugees, they made a living with magic, they were killed.

I'm inclined to believe that things are laid out this way because that's how Rin holds on to these things. She knows things about them, but possibly remembers them more as things she was told/knows to be true, rather than actual memories she can picture herself experiencing.

Rin's Magic

In an interesting counterpoint to her potentially spotty memory, I do actually think Rin may have learned magic from her parents (or started learning, and was self-taught from there). She never attended a magic academy, and actually has a bit of grudge against people who did - owing to the social protection afforded to "upper-class mages," which her parents did not have. She also almost certainly wouldn't have been taught by the elves, who not only treated her as an animal but also knew her parents may have been involved with ancient magic.

Falin began to show signs of magical talent at 8, and was sent to the Magic Academy at 10, and that was as someone who had absolutely no guidance about or exposure to magic in her home town. Raised by two mage parents, I think Rin absolutely could have been learning some things by the time she was 11.

In terms of continued learning, I'll add that Rin is able to identify Marcille's magic as being A) from an Academy student, and B) cast by an elf:

This makes me think that she continued to study magic on her own while held by the elves, and probably even more so after leaving with Kabru. They didn't form the party until two years after they left the elves, which would give Rin plenty of time to try and learn from other adventurers on the Island, or to study up on her own. She'd probably be able to pick up some dungeon-crawling basics (like the water walk spell), as well as become familiar with the skill level and expression of skill common in different people with different backgrounds (hence why she is able to comment on the "textbook" academy wards).

Much like Marcille, Rin also seems to rely on a 'one size fits all' Big Boom method of dealing with monsters: lightning. We see the best example of its power in the fight with Chimera Falin:

But we also see her cast it pretty recklessly in a few other places, including the end credits of the new anime ED, which I think provides a good example of the downsides to such an approach...

Yeah, it is very much a 'get out of the way or get zapped' spell.

Especially since Marcille's offensive magic is self-taught and works very similarly, this definitely reinforces the idea that Rin figured most of this stuff out herself.

Outfit and Character Design

Dear sweet Rin of the Red And Black... how I love her design.

First of all, her clothes are damaged. Despite the fact that Rin looks relatively well put together overall, her outfit is worn out. I have some theories on why this is that I'll get to in a bit, but for now I'll just touch on what this design communicates in general about it.

I think, just like with Kabru's horribly messy room, it creates a sense that there is something more complicated underneath the surface. Something that isn't being addressed or seen to, just as the dress hasn't been mended or replaced.

It also reflects her not caring a ton about her appearance. She's neat, but she's not concerned about being pretty, so she doesn't bother with fixing up her outfit after her dungeon crawls. This also fits with her perpetual scowl (which I will talk more about in a bit), and slightly disheveled hair.

Next: the gloves. At first I thought they might be a sort of uncomfortable-with-touch thing, but after skimming through the manga and some bonus content, I have another theory. Rin takes the gloves off to eat, as well as a few other instances, such as when working on a spell with Holm and Marcille in chapter 36

This one is especially interesting because she has them on in the next chapter, during the fight with Falin. Since she also isn't wearing gloves during some of the Daydream Hour art of her outside of the dungeon, that leads me to believe that they are specifically for combat.

What does she need them for, though? Most other casters we see don't wear gloves. Well... just look at the other half of the page where she attacks Falin with lightning:

She is enveloped by this spell. I said it before was pretty reckless magic, but maybe its not just a problem for her teammates, but for her as well.

So here's my theory: maybe the gloves are rubber, or some other electricity-resistant material? They might help protect her from her own magic. I don't know why a caster would need gloves for combat otherwise.

I also think this might be why her dress is tattered at the bottom, by the way. Especially since the Daydream Hour genderswap design doesn't have a similar problem with his outfit, since the tunic isn't as long.

I will admit this is a bit of stretch/guess, but I think it's a fun one, and I wanted to share. I do think I'm right about the gloves being for dungeons/fighting specifically, at least. That seems pretty consistent throughout all of her appearances.

I also mentioned her scowl, so I'll touch on that briefly as well. The (fairly confirmed) explanation for Rin's expression is that she intentionally wears a frown to prevent her other expressions from showing through. I think it's important to emphasize that it's not just smiling that she is trying to suppress here - it's any strong emotion:

Anyway, because I can, here is the art of Rin smiling.

Rin and Kabru

I have talked a bit about Rin and Kabru's history, but I think it deserves its own section.

I think it's very interesting that Rin is pretty much the ONLY character in all of Dungeon Meshi that has explicit canonical romantic interesting in someone. It's literally part of the main summary sentence in her character profile.

This could be sort of reductive as a way to describe a female character (and in some ways it still is), but I think in part the simplicity and directness of it actually is part of what makes it so interesting. Especially when on the very next page we see the comic about her backstory. "This mage is in love with Kabru" -> one page of a horribly traumatic event and a child frozen in shock with no one to comfort her. What does that do?

Well, in my opinion, it shows how much Rin focuses on Kabru as something to keep her in the present. In contrast with the immense loss she has experienced, her love for Kabru is current and alive. He has presumably been her anchor for years, and I think that her love is part of that anchor.

Adding to this, in contrast with how explicit her feelings are, she never seems to actively pursue Kabru. She complains about his potential interest in other women, but she doesn't really flirt. She doesn't let herself smile around him any more than anyone else, and she doesn't hide her bitterness or anger from him to present a more appealing persona.

As much as she craves Kabru's attention, and has stayed by his side for years, I don't know that she really wants to possess him. He seems to know about her feelings, more or less, and she seems to know that he knows. Maybe she believes he doesn't reciprocate and is respecting that, maybe she's afraid of what she could lose if she tried to change things, or maybe the change itself frightens her. In any case, though she's not exactly happy with the way things are between them, she doesn't seem to be trying to change that status quo.

A specific thing I'd also like to talk about with their relationship, beyond Rin's love for him, is her fear for him. As the Adventurer's Bible puts it, "she worries that his knack for dealing with whatever life throws at him might lead him to get too full of himself and end up in serious trouble."

Rin is an interesting mix of restrained and explosive, herself. Her magic is destructive, her temper seems to run hot (she gets annoyed easily, at least), and her feelings for Kabru are apparent. At the same time, she doesn't let her emotions show on her face, she is the one who bluntly states that the group has hit the limit of their abilities, and she doesn't act on those obvious feelings for Kabru. It's interesting, then, that what she fears for Kabru is that he won't restrain himself.

And a small personal idea about that as well: I wonder if she somewhat blames her parents for getting killed. Again, this is very speculative, but I think it's interesting that her fear for Kabru is that he will get too full of himself. Take up too much space. It's never really stated what Rin thinks of her parents, but it can be easy in grief to search for control, and control often means blame. If they hadn't been so confident, so flashy, would they still be alive...?

I don't know if she's ever thought like that, and it could well be that her fears for Kabru come from a totally different place. But it's an interesting connective thread between her past and present - the idea of "getting in trouble" for taking up too much space and being too confident in one's own abilities.

Miscellaneous Tidbits:

On that note, I'd like to wrap up the main part of this post, and move on to a few extra things that I couldn't find another place for.

Rin plays with her hair when she's stressed

Using stressed as a pretty big umbrella here, because I think it's hard to perfectly pin down all the emotions at play, but it is a habit of hers. Best displayed in chapter 32, but it shows up in other places, too.

Her design contrasts with Marcille

This is a small thing, but I just love how much they are visual opposites.

Rin wears red and black and has dark hair, Marcille wears blue and white and has light hair. Marcille cares a great deal for her hair and puts it up in elaborate hairstyles, and Rin's is mostly loose and a bit messy. Marcille was even educated at the Magic Academy, which Rin dislikes. They both have little capelets. Also they both look very cute in each other's clothes.

Rin knows Flamela (and they meet again in canon)

Nothing much is done with this in canon, but I think it’s super interesting that Flamela's squad are the ones that find Rin as a child and take her away to the west, and then they end up stuck in the dungeon together for a bit.

Two days??? I'm so very curious what things were like between these three.

Aaaand I think that's all I have to say about Rin! For the time being at least. There's a lot more analysis that could be done about her and Kabru especially, but for this post I wanted to keep things at least somewhat anchored to canon facts, with only a layer or two of speculation on top.

If it isn't already obvious, I think Rin is a super interesting character with a ton of potential depth to explore. She mostly interacts with Kabru in canon, but has ties to a bunch of other characters: she and Marcille fill similar roles in their parties but have differing personalities and histories, she and Falin (and Laios) have been tremendously shaped by xenophobia and fear of magic common in the Northern Continent, her parents fled from conflict in the same region Shuro and his retainers are from, and she has history with Flamela and some of the second canary squad.

Her temper, her fear, her love... her repression and passion - they all inform her character, even in small ways, even with as little time as she spends on the page.

#dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #rinsha fana #rin dungeon meshi #dungeon meshi spoilers #dunmeshi analysis #thank u to anyone who takes the time to read this ♥️♥️♥️ I love rin and lot

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granolawriting · 7 months

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"To make you forget."ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

pairing: no breakout!Joel x fem reader

Summary: The day after having your long term boyfriend put an end to your relationship, you find yourself in a complicated relationship with Joel, a friends family friend. He invites you out for a drink after a shotty first impression, and the rest is history. sequel to a change in fate

Content warning: 18+ NSFW, age gap, you're 21 and Joel is mid 30s to early 40s. Enemies to lovers, unprotected piv, praise kink, strong Joel carries you multiple places, pet names (princess, darling, doll, sweetheart), oral (f!receiving), fucking in his clothes, drinking, drunk secret kisses, sleepy kisses, aftercare, spooning.

word count: 5.2k

A/N: Thank you for all the love on the last one <33 please send me requests if you have any idea for what I could write next! enjoy ;)

“No. Fucking. Way.”

… … …

You sit across from your friend once more at the same table that held a much more, comfortable conversation the night prior. Eyes catch hers, and an agape mouth is what greets the information just relayed to her over morning coffee.

“No, no okay I must be thinking of the wrong one.”

“Your dad only has one friend named Joel I thin-”

“I KNOW!!!”

…

“It’s just. I’ve known him since I was a little girl. It's just a little, crazy, is all, that you’re now going on a date with him.”

“It's not a date-”

“It so is.”

You scoff at her implication.

“You know, there's a thing called ‘southern hospitality’. And he's not wrong about me needing a drink after everything I’ve been through. Maybe he's just good at reading people, trying to get back on how he treated me the other night now that I’m someone he has to be nice to.”

Your friend purses her lips, trying to think of a counter but coming up short. You were right, there wasn't anything inherently odd about going out for drinks with someone. Especially when you’ve earned it.

“Though I can't deny, he is kind of cute. For an old guy.”

And the tower comes crumbling down.

At the sound of your confession your friend goes into a fit, a groan followed by very exaggerated, nonexistent tears that whine into the floor that her head now faces along the lines of complaint of his age, and the jeans that predate your birth.

your hand touches her hair, stroking it as to try and ease her out of some melodramatic stupor, telling her that it'dve been bound to happen the moment she tried to push her old guy agenda on you. Kindly telling her that perhaps, she's just a little upset you got one before her. In the process however, admitting that a part of you feels as if you’ve got him-- but pay that no mind of course. It's purely for the joke, to antagonize her. There's no means for you to feel as though you’ve won anything out of a simple night out with a guy who, in the right clothes and lighting, looks kind of okay.

---------------------

A clock glares at you at a 6:30 timestamp as you stand in your bathroom. There's an array of clothing sprawled across the counter as the attempt to multitask becomes futile in the face of your absolute cluelessness on how to dress to get drinks with a 40 year old man. Was he 40? Who knows, maybe it's stress. Regardless, jeans of all cut from short shorts to flairs stare back at you, and patterns of all sizes leave you helpless. You spit out a bit of toothpaste in your mouth, and as you feel stumped looking at the clothes before you, you can't help but be slightly grateful that your hair and makeup were finished before you had to get dressed. Otherwise, you wouldn't make it out the door til 8. At least.

Though as you look upon your options an idea sticks to you; some odd desire to dress, a little western. Perhaps not the full hat and spurs, but what could a little plaid hurt? And as you piece together an outfit consisting of low-cut frayed shorts, some simple boots, and a front-tied plaid button-up, you felt ready to perhaps line dance. I mean, who fucking cares anymore. Otherwise, you’d still be stuck in limbo. Better this than nothing.

Putting on your first earring, a clock now showing 6:43, you hear a knock at the door, followed by said knock being answered by none other than your friend. Curious and afraid of who it may be, but unable to really go down and check as you hinged on being late as is, your questions are solemnly answered at the shrill “UNCLE JOEL!!!!” bounce upon the walls of the house as though she hadn't just seen him the day before.

The indistinct conversation is held downstairs as you feel horrifically embarrassed to not remember that most gentlemen, arrive 10-15 minutes early. And you, haven't experienced anything but a 10 after honk outside your house your entire life.

As you hurry to dress, the low pitch of his voice, the drawl of his words that you can barely discern from the distance between you two but is still everpresent leaves you with a pit in your stomach of unprecedented anxiety. You had been trying so hard to convince yourself that this was normal, casual, to you, but internally you knew it was nothing but that to you. And that scared you shitless. You've failed to go on a date with anyone else since maybe, 8th grade? The graduation dance? Your whole life you remember one man, and now another seems to blow him out of the water, with unbelievable ease. You worried you wouldn't impress him, that this was your only opportunity to seemingly get something good, that he secretly still has disdain for you after what happened to you two the night before, that he-

“HEYY!!!!!!!!! ARE YOU COMING DOWN OR WHAT! DON'T KEEP HIM WAITING!!!!”

You witch.

Secondhand embarrassment overwhelms any other emotion you had at that moment as a means to get you out the door, as soon as possible. Hurried steps fall down the stairs as you finish putting on your jewelry on the go, holding some within your pocket to finish up in Joel’s car.

“Hi- oh, I'm sorry I didn't think you’d be here early uh,”

Eyes lock on a vase of flowers new to the living room, that had not been there when you had last descended the stairs.

“Well, I didn't want ta’ show up empty-handed. Though it nice ta’ get somethin small for the pretty ladies.”

A shy smile creeps on his face as he explains the origin of the plants in the house, and a ring of surprise leaves you speechless for a moment. your friend pipes up;

“Isn't that so nice? Well, y'all better have a good time tonight. And don't bring her home too drunk Joel, then she’ll start telling me all her secrets, and I definitely don't want to hear that.”

A smile and nudge hits him as she finishes her statement.

Does she always have to be so corny?

You look him up and down. He wore a faded blue button-up top, with the top few trailing down his chest being unbuttoned. What fell on top of that was a faded brown jacket, a darkened collar, and a sturdy material as its makeup. Jeans that seemed omnipresent on his body, but instead of working boots did he wear what seemed to be brown boots underneath the cuff of his jeans. You could tell he tried a bit with his appearance, seeing traces of gel lining his hair that fell aside his face, and a scent of cologne softly present but still enough to put on an air of intention to impress.

Joel leads you to his truck, and as you enter it you realize just how much it smells like him. You smell sawdust and gas, with hints of his cologne. It was an old car, but with those scents combined it makes perfect sense to you. You took in the small things as he drove, anticipation welling in your body made everything seem so much more noticeable and intense, every sense in your body heightened at the sight of an unsuspecting Joel sitting to the left of you.

You notice as he bites his fingernails as though it's a habit, a strain upon his fingers down to the very skin of them that coats every finger on both of his hands.

Both hands fall upon the wheel as he turns into the bar.

“Finally here. Feelsa lot longer than it did when I was younger, funny thinkin of cause’ when I was ‘bout your age, you couldn’t pull me outta this place.”

Hahaha when I was about your age. Damn you old man.

“That mean I’m gonna have to pull you out of here tonight?”

You look at him with a little smile, but he seems to begin getting out of the car before you can give him a direct look in the eyes. However when he goes around to your side to open your door, as you step out of it with a small jump onto the loose gravel of the parking lot, his eyes trace your body with noticeable intent. He looks at you for just a moment though, and as his eyes turn to meet your own, he just smiles and says;

“Don't worry sweetheart, I can take my liquor nowadays. ‘Spose that cant be said fer you though, your little friend told me ‘bout yer habits when you drink.”

A satisfied chuckle leaves him that lands you in a pit of fear. What did she tell him.

Story upon story of less-than-elegant scenes of your drunken stupor flash within your mind before the need to shake them off is immanent as he follows up;

“Now no sense lookin like that hon, she aint tell me nothin too bad. Should she have? ‘Spose they’ve got virgin drinks now that this place got all prettied up since I last saw it. Just don't want ya pukin in my truck alright?”

“Oh don't worry, I’ll be fine. I doubt I'll drink all too much anyways.”

------------------

“ I doubt I'll drink all too much anyways “

That's all that's able to ring through your head as you demand another shot at the counter. Sure, you drank but,

"you hold it well!"

Or so you thought. But you never really noticed until now how badly you were hurt by what happened to you in the past few days. And when you lose someone you’ve known for 3 years, the inclination to drink past your limit grows ever stronger with every downing of liquor that's not on your tab. And as that realization becomes tucked into the back of your mind with every glass, more does an unfamiliar part of you comes out. One of loud unruliness, in the face of a man you otherwise strived to impress to the greatest degree.

At this point in the night, he’s had what, 2 beers? The first already probably already having worn off. He was a smart drinker, and you could tell he stayed under the threshold where he couldn't drive anymore, as a means to stay safe for you. And as the drinks poured you made it evident to him how much you appreciated that. Many many times. He wasn't like any man you’d ever been out with anymore. He didn't judge you, or make fun of you. He endorsed whatever made you happy.

Until, of course, a woman comes out of the bathroom to inform him the lady he came with has been nauseous near the toilet bearing on ten minutes.

“Alright doll, we’ve got to get you home.”

Drunken slurs of disapproval at that notion dispel from you in the way of elongated “no’s” and “please’s” fill the bar as Joel felt within himself the karma of every man who had needed to do this to him, now having to do this for you.

“C’mon you know fightin me wont work, I'm much stronger than you darlin’.”

And with flailed arms still being swung in the general direction of him, he finds this means to deal with you the old-fashioned way.

That being, just picking you up and taking you home that way. And thus, with one fail swoop of an arm and shoulder, you were slung over him in a fireman's carry. Too flushed and furious for a reason you can't quite discern, you throw weak jabs into his back as he takes you out of the bar as though you were nothing but a small child; treating you as though you were no weight at all upon a back hardened by muscle and grit. But even as he brings you to his truck, he lowers you into its passenger seat with nothing less than utter precaution. As though you were a porcelain doll that could break at any sight of rough handling.

“Alright princess, in you go.”

Is what’s mumbled under the breath of this gruff and barely buzzed man, now taking care of you as though you were a princess. At least you felt like it, as his arms wrapped around you with ease to shift you into a bridal carry that was a better means of getting you inside with.

All you can do is say indiscernible things towards him as he says that to you. Not being able to process, at least in the moment, how softly he treated you. And as he closed the door on your side, and opened his own side to drive, you found yourself slowly drifting into a sleep wedged between the truck door and its window. Quite a comfortable situation for the moment, it seemed.

What awoke you briefly was the feeling of his warm body against yours as he carried you out of his truck once more. This time taking you inside somewhere comfortably warm, inside home. He lays you on a couch that finds much greater comfort than the previous sleeping arrangement. As you lay down there, more than ready for rest he comes by once more to lift your head, a pillow to meet your head as you lay back down. And a blanket to cover you evermore, he made sure your body was tilted sideways. With that, you drift into sleep once more.

-------------

You wake up, checking a phone clock that shines at you 3:04am against the darkness of the house. Looking around, you quickly notice that, this isn't your house. This is absolutely unfamiliar, from the kitchen to the furniture to especially, the man who slept across from you in a cushioned chair. With strained eyes and a brief flash of your flashlight, it becomes evident that it's Joel. hands crossed across his chest and a slight snore leaving his person with every breath, a pang to your head reminds you of the night you allowed go to waste in the face of drowning your problems. Cursing to yourself the lost potential of a night like this, you also thank whomever above that he chose to take you to his home instead.

However, the liquor still seemed to have a hold on you as you looked across the living room at the dimly illuminated face of Joel through the moonlight that shone through the window.

You approached him, slowly. A wobble in every step that when paired with unfamiliar territory meant a lot of close calls on your part, but nonetheless you walked the few feet with no major issue. And there you stood, just inches away from him. His chest rises up and down to the rhythm of his body and the peaceful eyes of a man whose body soaks in any moment of rest it can muster. His mouth was slightly open as he slept, you studied it. Slightly parted were two brightly colored lips that were covered on its top by the growth of his mustache, and its bottom being overgrown by a quarter-inch beard that coats the lower half of his face.

You lean in closer, something overtaking you that can only be explained by drunken lust. So close in fact, that you can feel the heat of his breath upon yours. It's intoxicating. You haven't felt this kind of feeling in your heart for years, this desire to do something you didn't know the consequences of. The excitement of something new overtook you. Without any more thought, you close the gap. Feeling his lips against yours as he’s non the wiser, all but a simple kiss against his lips is all you needed to satiate this urge you’d had bubbled within yourself since you first heard his voice downstairs while you got ready.

At least, you thought. But as you tasted the liquor on his lips and smelled the remnants of cologne on his neck you couldn't help yourself. One kiss became two, to three, to fo-

A mumble stopped you in your tracks. You shot up what seemed like 10 feet, stumbling far enough away to absolve suspicion from your highly odd acts, to say the least.

His eyes slowly flutter open, followed by a groan and a stretch of his arms and legs wakes him up enough to address you. With fingers rubbing his eyes, he asks;

“Hey, are’ya finally up?”

Groggy, raspy, deep, whatever the fuck you want to say. It was everything. A just woken Texan man with the rasp and the drawl all together could finish you off right then and there.

You search for words, excuses, anything to respond to him with. Panicked, you say the first thing that comes to your mind.

“Oh yeah, I uh. I wanted to ask if I could take a shower maybe? Soak off the rest of this drunk. Is that, would that be alright?”

You look for his eyes in the dark of night, and as they meet yours he forms a reply,

“Course ya’ can. It's uh, just down there to the left. In my room.”

“Thank you”

Making your way down the dark corridors you find his room, and an entrance envelopes you in a part of his life. You see the things that he values enough to keep within his room, the set of sheets he sleeps on every night. The mementos that make his life fleshed out before you. And of course, the guitars. Of course, he plays the guitar, I mean what the hell else is he supposed to do.

You stumble into the bathroom, impressively kept for only housing a single man. Within there do you mindlessly strip your clothes, opting to shower as soon as possible just to not make him any more suspicious of the things you’re doing in his own home.

---------

Stepping out, however, having used his shampoo and body wash in an oddly exciting experience of smelling exactly like him, do you grapple with the uncomfortable realization you have no clothes to wear after you do all of this. You step out of the water, turning it off, and grabbing a towel to wrap around you a few things pass through your mind. Whether you go, and ask him for clothes. Or, if you just take them for yourself. Both have quite interesting endings to them, however, the latter seems to be more enticing. And you begin to realize perhaps it isn't the liquor that’s making you act like this, it's pure unadulterated lust.

Walking into his room once more do you rummage through drawers and closets looking for something wearable. And within it do you find an insanely dated rock shirt, and a pair of his boxers to suit your desired amount of cover.

You walk into the living room once more, a new wardrobe adorning you, you notice that the light is now turned on; he’s stayed awake. With a bit more caution in your step you watch as you round the corner of the living room he’s stood in the kitchen, cooking some sort of tea. Wearing little else than a pair of plaid pants to sleep in.

“Ah he-”

Turning to face you does he stop in his tracks as he observes you. Smelling like him, dressed in his attire, you realize that there's no man alive who could properly see that and act normal about that. Even the southern gentleman stood before you. He places the container of honey he held for his recipe down on the counter and approaches you slightly;

“I see you’ve found some clothes then? Was thinkin a’ bringin some of Sarah's stuff in fer ya, but I’ve got to say that this is a bit better of a sight.”

A smirk grows on his lips as he looks at you, a sense of desire that he had previously covered came to the surface as he saw you within his clothes. Assuming that was the only reason as to why.

Walking towards you does he move a stray piece of hair from your face to the back of your ears, looking at you from above he speaks again in a deeper, more domineering voice;

“Now I won't play stupid with you sweetheart. I felt all that stuff you were doing ta’ me, didn't think it’d be the first thing you’d do wakin up in a stranger's house. But can't say I'm all too mad at it.”

He cups your face with his palms and lifts your chin to look up at him.

“And now yer standing here in all my clothes, covered in me. Wasn't plannin on saying anything ‘bout it til you walked in here lookin like that. Now I don't think I can rightly resist darlin’.”

Before you can let out a word edgewise, he takes you into a kiss of his own, making sure to taste every part of you as you did him, down to the back of your neck where his tongue quickly traveled where traces of your night still burned your taste buds.

You let a moan escape, purely out of shock are you so vocal. Closing your eyes, you let the brush of his beard on your face, and the rough kiss of his lips guide you to wherever he’d want you to go.

After a few more moments of this, he lets up. For breath, but also to talk to you for a moment. His hands still cupped to your face, some of his fingers tracing their steps from the roots of your hair he had been grabbing just a moment prior.

“You wear all that pretty getup, and then you get all drunk on me. Spewin ‘bout how great I am, how kind I am. How you’ve never been shown anything like me. But let me tell you, sweetheart, I’ll make sure to show ya how a real man treats a woman like you.”

He grabs you by your thighs, lifting you up in the air to wrap your legs around his waist. He walks you over to the room you’d just left moments prior and doesn't fail to kiss you every moment he can in the small walk to his bedroom. Kicking open the door cracked open, he’s finally able to dump you onto his bed as he crawls on top of you.

“Spread yer fuckin’ legs, baby”

You listen intently. Doing just what he asks, do they fall to the side of you with as far apart as you can make them. Feeling his calloused hands as they trace your waist from beneath his shirt, until he slowly teases the waistband of his boxers. Pulling them down slowly reveals only your naked body beneath them.

“Such a pretty sight aren't ya? And so much for me already, what a good girl.”

He wastes no time to dip his face within your heat. Sopping up every drip that seeped from you from the moment you’d first kissed him. Feeling his tongue venture to every crevice, every fold inside of you makes your hands grip onto his sheets as a means to hold yourself down at the feeling of his tongue all around you.

Moaning filled his room as he pleased you, an empty house allowing the echo of your sound to make the neediness of his tongue on you to sound even greater.

He grips onto your thighs a bit harder as he lets up for a moment.

“Now listen, I'm gonna need ya’ to stay still alright darlin’? I'm gonna change it up a bit for ya.”

Going back in, you feel his tongue enter you entirely. Inside of you, up and down did he hit every part of you that made you weak and spazzed under his grip. The shake of your legs was only stopped by the iron grip he kept on them to make sure they stayed open no matter how badly you wanted them closed instinctively. The feeling of him inside of you sent shocks like lightning across your body at every flick of his tongue, at every hum to your clit while he relished in your stomach growing concave and your breath hitching and whining at every slight moment he made towards you.

“Joel- fuck. Fuck I feel like I'm going to cum.”

You plead for him not to stop. To never stop to please you to climax.

And he does exactly that. He toys with you and fucks you until you’re nothing but a screaming mess with him inside of you. Grabbing onto his hair, to the sheets, everything you can as your body convulses entirely by the work of his mouth alone.

He slowly lets up, not forgetting to tease your sensitive clit for a moment longer before going to look at you. A face coated in your juices, he looks upon you with a toothy grin and a sense of satisfaction upon his face.

“Been a while since I've done all that. Glad ta know I’ve still got it in me, sweetheart.”

He stands up, and what greets you is a bulge that comes purely from his adoration for being able to please you as he just did. He loved watching you like that, losing yourself at his touch, being able to do nothing but scream his name until your brain went numb to anything but the thought of him.

Out of breath with beads of sweat covering your face, you sit yourself up to better face his heat. Palming it with his hands before he could say another word, you watch his head buck up to reveal a neck and shoulders coated with tense muscle at the feeling of your hand on him.

“Fuck darlin;. Been a while since I’ve felt any a’ that either”

A voice interrupted by the pitch shifts of a man insanely desperate for your touch makes you well aware of what you need more than anything else.

You continued to paw at his bulge, feeling out how big he was just by the crease of his pants beneath your hand as you toyed with it, up and down. Slowly stroking it and toying with its base. His head, and watching as each motion elicited a harsh breath to escape him as he bucked his knees ever so slightly as you continued.

He looks down at you, and as he watches your eyes look up at him from his waist, he takes you into his arms once more. Lifting you to turn you on your back, does he lay right on top of you as your stomach lays on the bed and his body atop of yours.

You feel his bulge between your ass, and ass he makes quick of removing all other layers, you feel how solid he is right against your back. Heavy breath met in your ear before he did anything else.

“I’m going to make you forget feelin’ any other kind of way. The only thing you’re ever gonna remember after tonight is my cock, alright princess?”

He takes that as a means to move it to right between your thighs, right outside your entrance do a few strokes to feel how wet you are, giving way to his tip right on your clit, up and down. That alone could finish you for a second time, but as his cock entered you you saw as his eyes rolled in the back of his eyes at the feeling of being inside of you.

He was big, almost too big. You felt as though he was almost ripping you apart, in the best way possible. It felt so fucking good to have him slowly go into you. Feeling as with every inch closer to completely inside of you it got harder and harder for him to keep a steady pace with how badly he wanted to fuck you.

“Fuck you don't know how badly I’ve wanted this darlin’. Can’t have even imagined how tight you’d be. You’re perfect for me.”

As he got completely inside of you, you felt him curl over you and use one of his arms to grip your upper body as a means of support. When he went in and out of you, curling you upwards to arch your back and feel completely every thrust he put into you.

He couldn't control himself anymore. The kind gentleman you had let open the door for you when you entered the car now dripped beads of sweat upon your naked body as he fucked you like a toy. Grunts and moans fill the room to complement the incessant moans that you scream at the feeling of him inside of you. Using you and fucking wrecking you. You felt yourself getting close again at the feeling of his cock inside of you, until you felt his free hand make its way down to your clit to please you even while he fucked you.

“I want to make you cum again. Feel how tight you fuckin get on my cock. Think you can do that for me baby?”

That was more than enough for you. Only after a few strokes were you a shaking mess on top of his cock, just like he commanded of you. At the feeling of your climax wrapped around his cock, he quickened his pace until he pulled out just in time to cum all over your back. Feeling it drip down every crevice of your body as the feeling of his cum shooting on you seemed to go on forever.

Jagged breath from both you and him is all that fills the silence of the room as you two were both too tired to even speak for a moment.

“‘Supose I’ll go clean ya up. Least I can do darlin’. You just stay right there, and I’ll get you all cleaned up.”

And there he goes, into his bathroom. And so you let yourself lay there for a moment, dripping in your own cum as well as his. As you hear him come out from the bathroom you feel the grist of a towel meet your backside as he makes sure to take care of every spot that has him on it with much care as to not leave you uncomfortable. The doting, loving Joel came back the moment it was all over. You could feel it in the soft stroke of the towel upon your bare skin, and the quick tonal shift in his voice as he offered to get that for you in the first place.

“Sure you need these too.”

He hands you his boxers, and as you put them on he continues.

"You can sleep in my bed fer tonight, think that’ll be alright. Though, might have’ta join ya, the chair aint all that comfortable. If, ‘course that's alright with you.”

He just fucked you and is asking if it’s okay to sleep in the same bed. …

All you can muster is a pat on the side of the bed next to you, at which he greatly obliged and meets you beneath the greeting sheets upon his bed.

And as you drift into sleep once more, mumbling compliments and thanks within his ear as you grow conscious enough again to speak, he greets you in kind with sweet kisses over your face, and eventually, a big spoon to hold you until night's end.

…

Epilouge ?

#joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal #x reader #joel miller #the last of us fanfiction #pedro x reader #joel tlou #tlou #joel x reader #joel smut #joel tlou x reader

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some-pers0n · 4 months

Text

Memoir of an Albatross

Chapter 1 - The Legacy of a Monster

[1] [2]

(Art by Loquatic)

Chapter Description: Turtle and the Jade Winglet have decided to spend a night at the long forgotten Island Palace. Turtle is petrified. This is where Albatross, the mass murdering animus, had killed dozens. But, late into the night, he spots something strange.

The Island Palace was quite possibly the last place Turtle wanted to visit. Why would he? It remains as a scar on Pyrrhia, a reminder of the dangerous potential of animus magic. A stain on the Sea Kingdom's history of what happens when animus magic goes unchecked.

Albatross was not a dragon Fathom wanted to be. A mad dragon. A terrifying murderer. An animus who could not control his own magic. Simply thinking about him made his stomach churn. Knowing that it was a possibility he could end up like Albatross horrified him. He would be better than that monster.

So, hearing that the Jade Winglet wanted to spend a night at the Island Palace was definitely something he was not interested in doing.

Unfortunately, Qibli and Kinkajou were firm in their decision to do just that.

"Oh come on," Qibli said, "it's only one night!"

"We shouldn't...be here," Turtle mumbled. "Isn't this disrespectful? I mean, we are just going to run around in a place where so...so many dragons lost their lives."

"And? It's not like they're alive to see it. They've been dead for a long, long, LONG time," Kinkajou called out. "Who cares? It's going to be fun! Trust us."

"It's supposed to be scary anyway. It's Faust's Hallow. Wouldn't it be a little fun to spend it at some creepy old palace? We rarely get together nowadays, and besides, didn't Queen Coral give us permission for this? Turtle, this is our one chance!"

Turtle reluctantly looked at her, sighing. "If you say so..."

He was never fond of Faust's Hallow. It was a biannual "celebration" of one of the forgotten brother of Imperial, Oracle, and Perception. As the NightWing legend goes, while the other dragons ascended into the night sky to become the moons, Faust remained. He was tied to the world with his earthly connections. Thus, becoming the first-ever spirit. It was the basis for SandWing spirituality, so to say that Qibli was interested in it was most definitely an understatement.

Turtle on the other talon? Well, all he could think about was death and horror. His older brothers took joy in dressing up as ghosts and scaring the living daylights out of the younger ones. Not to also mention the constant imagery of skeletons and mourning, with Coral always having a memorial for her lost daughters.

Then, of course, Albatross himself. The reason they were coming here. A legend was that Albatross's spirit had never passed on. That his soul remained at the Island Palace, restless and still just as mad as the day he died. There had been stories of overly curious and confident dragonets running home after an encounter with Albatross at the Island Palace. But, those were just silly rumours. Little myths. That's what it is, certainly.

Albatross wasn't there. How could he be? Well, the story of Faust was based on him wandering the continent for eternity. Perhaps, maybe- no. It's a made-up story. Turtle wasn't going to fall for some sort of story his brothers would tell to scare him. He already had enough sleepless nights, filled with anxiety and worry over the concept of Albatross still being around.

He's not. He's dead. This was just going to be a nice, if a bit restless, night out in the ruins of the abandoned Island Palace. He will not be scared.

They touched down on the beach around it. If Turtle remembered correctly, this was the Sunrise Beach. It was empty, completely devoid of any sort of life. The palace in front of them was crumbling and tattered. The lavish white walls were discoloured and washed out from weathering an impossible amount of storms. It was covered in moss and sea flora, with barnacles growing on the base of the palace. The light of the setting sun basked the palace in an ominous glow of oranges and purples.

A deep, horrible feeling persisted within Turtle. It made him aware of the light sensation in his claws. The tiny burning from within. Only a little ways away, tragedy had taken place. Two thousand years ago, Albatross, his great-grandfather, slaughtered twenty dragons. He carries the same power he does. Even right now, he could kill all of his friends. One stray thought and who knows what would happen.

"Well, don't just stand there!" Kinkajou bounced ahead. "We've got a whole palace to explore! I call looking on the upper floors with Moon!"

"Wh- me? Uh...okay then?" She stepped forward, following after her. "See you, I guess?" She waved to Qibli and Turtle before disappearing off into the courtyard.

"So, that just leaves me and you." Qibli rested his wing on Turtle, pulling him closer.

"Hurray..."

"Where you wanna go? If they're going up, let's check out the ground floor. Gardens. See some cool old statues that've been crumbling from age."

"What fun..."

Qibli frowned. "Hey, look. I know you're a bit freaked out. You didn't really want to come here. I'm sorry for dragging you along. But, I promise it'll be fun! There's nothing here to hurt any of us. Even if Albatross is still floating around somewhere, I'll be there protecting all of you." He raised his tail, showing off his obsidian-black barb.

Turtle awkwardly chuckled. "I don't think you can really stab a spirit."

"Are you saying I've never fought a spirit before?" the SandWing grinned confidently. "I'll have you know that, as Queen Thorn's personal guard and adoptive son, I had to fend off armies of spirits. Vengeful ghosts of dragons. Such is the way of being queen, I suppose. Anyways, I just need to fight them. Give them the ol' one-two. Beat 'em off with a stick." He swung his arm, mimicking hitting something.

He laughed, feeling his anxieties melt away. Qibli looked back at him, a soft, genuine smile on his face. "Feel a bit better?" He patted him on the back. "Right, let's go exploring."

The experience was dampened by Turtle's constant anxiety, but even then he couldn't doubt the majesty of the palace. Despite its decaying state, it was beautiful. Quiet, with only the sounds of waves crashing in the distance and the gentle trill of the breeze blowing through. Roaming the vast, empty halls was an experience to say the least.

It made him picture the nights that happened in this palace. Legends say that it was originally used for diplomats to rest, but also for parties and special occasions. Turtle, having the soul of a writer, felt his mind wander as he imagined the sorts of stories that would've spawned from such a place. The balls and weddings. The ceremonies and speeches.

...then, of course, there's the massacre, but Turtle would still rather not think about that.

After a long while of exploring through forgotten gardens, they reached the main gathering room. It was central to the rest of the palace, with several collapsed balconies around it. Dried-up ponds and steams littered the floor. In the middle of it all was a large, grand statue of a SeaWing. Despite the ruin around it all, the statue remained somewhat intact. Turtle could even make out the royal blue of which it used to be.

Off to the side was a large archway leading out onto the other beach. The setting sun was just about on the cusp of the horizon, painting the sky in vibrant oranges and yellows. The sapphire blue ocean pulled in and out rhythmically. It was as though it was the sea's own heartbeat.

"Woah..." he whispered, awestruck.

"Sure don't see places like this too often." Qibli walked ahead, eyes glazing over every detail.

"Hey!" a voice called from ahead. Turtle looked up, seeing Moon and Kinkajou on a balcony.

"What did you find?" Kinkajou asked.

"Not much. Bunch of gardens. Cool statues in them though," Qibli said. "How about you?"

"Bunch of old bedrooms," Moon replied. "Kinkajou thought she could find some treasure still. Checked all over. Nothing."

"Doesn't seem like it," Qibli said, "palace has been picked clean for centuries. Any chance for any sort of gems are probably all lost."

"Yeah..." Turtle quietly said. "Is anybody else feeling a little tired? Like they don't want to explore a big ruined palace that a bunch of dragons died in anymore and just sleep?"

The SandWing laughed. "I don't know about that."

"I'm feeling a little tired myself," said Moon. "It's been a long day of flying. I can probably lay down with Turtle if you don't mind."

"Oh come onnnn guys!" Kinkajou wined. "This is supposed to be a cool adventure for us! Sleep? Bleh! Gross! I want to stay up all night and look for all of these ghosts. It'll be fun!"

"I know, but...I just want to rest. Besides, this was all mostly for you two anyways." Moon opened her wings, flying down to the ground floor. "Sorry for being disappointingly boring..."

"No, no! It's all good." Qibli waved them off. "It's fine, really. Kinkajou and I can stay up and face those spirits ourselves. Buuutttt if you hear us screaming and calling out for help as we're being chased by a very scary old murderer dragon, you wouldn't mind helping us out, right?"

Moon and Turtle chuckled. "No, not at all." She turned her attention to Turtle. "I guess we can settle down here. I doubt we'll find a blanket of some kind."

"Ah, so we have to lie on the cold, hard floor."

"Yes, probably."

"Hey, if it'll make it up to you, I could try and find something. There's gotta be a stash of blankets that are still around," Qibli said, lifting himself into the air.

"Even after two thousand years?" Turtle asked.

"Worth a shot!" He shrugged, flying up to Kinkajou. "See ya around." He dipped his head before wandering back into the palace with the RainWing, leaving them both to themselves.

"Well, see you in the morning." Moon walked in a circle, patting the ground before lying down.

"Hey, quick question," Turtle said, "do you feel scared?"

Moon tapped her claws. "A little."

"You aren't just saying that to make me feel better, right?"

"Of course! It's just that, you know, being alone in a big palace. Makes me think about Darkstalker and that whole...thing." She sighed. "I know you're freaked out too."

"It's nothing, really. I'm just a little anxious over nothing. Spirits don't last forever, right? They move on. Pass onto some new stage of life we can't even comprehend. I doubt that he would still be here."

"He isn't, and, well, if he is, then we'll do everything to protect you."

Turtle glanced at his talons. There was a gentle tingling within them, a feeling he had only noticed when his magic was briefly taken away. "You shouldn't need to protect me."

"Hm?"

"I have magic, don't I? I should be able to protect myself. I should be the one protecting you in case something goes wrong."

"Nothing's going to happen though."

"I know, but, I still feel like I should be using it in case things happen. Stop being so scared of it. But..."

"But you don't want to end up like Albatross?" Moon asked.

He smacked his lips. "Yeah, pretty much."

She exhaled. "I'm sorry. But, it'll be a nice night, I'm sure. We can just sit and sleep if that makes you happy. The night will pass and we can listen to Kinkajou and Qibli and their adventures in the morning."

"That sounds nice." Turtle laid down next to her, yawning before resting his head against the marble floor. It'll be fine. He just has to sleep. When morning breaks, it'll all be over. When morning comes, Albatross will be gone.

He didn't know what time it was when he woke up. All he knew was that it was dark. Pitch black. Turtle blinked, his eyes slowly adjusting to the night around him.

He didn't wake up from some nightmare or anything. He didn't dream much these days. Instead, he felt a presence around him. A shift in the air. He couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was, but it was uncomfortable enough to drag him out of his sleep.

Around him were the rest of the group. Kinkajou and Moon were huddled together while Qibli held his wing over Turtle. Looks like the hunt for a ghost didn't turn out so well if they were all asleep here.

He wiggled out from under there, slowly rising to his feet. He looked around, trying to see if it was just his paranoid imagination or if there was really something amiss.

Then, off in the distance, he noticed something. A dim light. A faint glow out by the ocean up ahead.

Immediately, Turtle's stomach dropped. His mind instantly went to the worst thing possible. It was him. He was here and he was going to kill them all. Why would there be glowing right there if not for being the aura of some spirit?

No, no... It's fine. Deep breaths. It's all okay. It's probably a moonlight jellyfish. They glow in the dark. Maybe it washed up on the shore. He could help it out a little. If he did that, then maybe he'd realize there was nothing to be scared of. That there is no ghost. No dangerous, vengeful spirit of a long-dead murderer.

He steadied himself as he walked forward. He repeated to himself over and over that he's got nothing to worry about. It's all okay. He walked up to the edge of the archway, right before his talons would touch the sand.

It was a glowing dragon with a massive spear plunged right through its neck.

His weight slipped beneath his talons and he fell forward. He tried to quickly turn around and fly, but, clumsy as he was, he tumbled and was now barreling towards it. He rolled along the sand like the most terrified armadillo to walk this continent before finally stopping. He froze completely. Paralyzed. His heart pounded against his chest as he tried to comprehend what to do.

After what felt like an eternity of waiting for an attack that never came, he sheepishly looked up.

Gazing back at him were two eyes, darker than the night around them. Their scales were a sickening pale grey. The most eye-catching thing of all was the silver spear that was lodged in his throat. Its hilt was stinking out one end, with the blade poking out the other. Faded stains of blood were dotted around his body, the most being around where the spear had hit him. Outlining the body was a gentle blue light that flicked like a lit candle.

The two stayed like that, staring. Turtle did not dare to blink, fearing that one small movement would instantly set him off. This was him. This was Albatross.

"Fathom?" the spirit asked. His voice was calm, if rather confused and surprised. "No, you can't be him. Fathom must have died ages ago. You're someone new. Someone in his likeness."

"...please don't kill me..." Turtle squeaked. He wanted to say something with more meaning. Cast a spell or anything. Yet, he was trapped in his fear. He couldn't think.

Albatross's expression dimmed. "Right. You must be terrified of me. I was so distracted by you looking like my grandson that I forgot about that horrible, horrible night. That night which made me what I am now." He tapped the spear. "Though, I do think you're the one to last the longest when seeing me. Most run. Maybe they'll throw something at me or try attacking me. Never works. Can't exactly kill a ghost, now can you?" He quietly laughed.

Turtle tried speaking again, but all that came out were mere whimpers.

"Goodness, you're petrified of me. I mean, anybody would. I haven't left the palace since the day I died, but I know enough to understand. I've been there when visitors come around. They steal the things out of my own house, cursing me and what I've done. It's upsetting to know what I am remembered as, but I don't blame you for being scared. I don't blame anybody. I should be condemned for what happened."

He finally shut his mouth. The more Turtle looked at Albatross, slowly, the less fearful he was. Granted, he was still very much horrified, but there was an air to the way the spirit spoke that resonated with him. That he was being genuine.

This wasn't what he expected. He pictured Albatross, the mad animus, as a being of chaos that the world has never seen. Some dark, twisted dragon who could barely control himself. He was imagining him to be vicious, bloodthirsty, and wanting nothing more than to kill.

Instead, he seemed mournful. He spoke warmly. There was reason and understanding in his body language. Even if it was idiotic, Turtle let his guard down somewhat.

"How...what..." he stammered.

"How am I here? I couldn't tell you myself. I've never read that much on spirituality and ghosts. But, I'm the only one left here. The rest have all gone away. Yet, I remain. I'm bound to this palace. I can't leave. If there was a way, I would've found it years ago. Then maybe I wouldn't be here, scaring you."

"You sound...sad," Turtle blurted out.

Albatross snorted. "Pff, do I really? I didn't know I sounded so melancholic. I haven't had anybody to talk to in ages. You're good company. Thank you for listening to an old sea dragon ramble, even if you're still scared. I know it's not much to you, but I promise I mean no harm. I've never meant harm. Ever. It's just..." He glanced away, breaking eye contact. "I was emotional. I had no excuse. I let my own instincts and desires take over my own better wishes. Despite doing everything right and trying my hardest to avoid it, it still happened."

He looked back at Turtle. "I'm sorry for what I've done for our tribe. You can run away now. I'll just be happy I had somebody to talk to, even if it was a one-way conversation." He smiled a crinkly, awkward smile.

Turtle stared. Then, he made what should've been the stupidest decision of his life:

He stood up but did not flee. He sat there. "My name is Turtle," he said quietly.

"Turtle?" he echoed. "You aren't flying away screaming?"

"Not unless you give me a reason to, I guess?"

"Isn't looking at a dragon who's killed dozens of dragons in one night enough of a reason?"

"It...should be, but I'm not that scared of you. You seem too sad to hurt me."

"Hurt you? I'd never do that! My magic is limited. I can't do much besides lift some rocks and play around with the water." He waved his talons. Behind him, a small amount of water rose into the air, shaping and twisting into the shape of a bird. A seagull.

"Even if I could do more, I wouldn't dare to hurt another soul. I've already done enough damage," he continued.

"You confused me for Fathom earlier. Your grandson, right?"

"Yes, Fathom." Albatross's eyes narrowed. "You have the wing patterns. You're royalty as well?"

He nodded. "...and I am also an animus."

He barked a laugh. "Really? I've never believed in reincarnation, but you're the spitting image of Fathom if I've ever seen it."

Turtle shuffled his talons. "Thanks. I got that once before."

"Hm? By who?"

"A big evil NightWing who wanted to kill the entire IceWing tribe. He was friends with Fathom as well. How did I meet him if he was alive two thousand years ago? It's a long story."

"Don't we all have long stories to tell." Albatross turned his back to Turtle, staring back at the ocean. "If you don't mind, may you sit next to me? I enjoy watching the sea."

Turtle hesitated, but he followed. He joined the spirit.

It was a tranquil night. A clear sky, the moons beaming down in their full glory. The cool salty breeze brushed against Turtle. Strangely enough, he felt at peace. He never would've thought in a million years he'd say that when right beside him is the ghost of Albatross, but what can you do?

"I'm sorry if this is selfish," Albatross began, "but do you have the time to listen to an old dragon's story?"

"Huh?"

"You seem like a wonderful dragon, Turtle. You're far too sweet than what I deserve. I apologize if it's a bit much, considering how I am still a murderer in your eyes, but could you listen to me tell my story?"

"Your story?"

"My life. Nobody ever heard about it. They only see me as a monster. I am, but I can't help but want something else. I want to tell at least one dragon about it. Set it all straight. Pour my heart out if only to get everything that's been festering inside me out into the world."

"That'd be alright. I like stories."

"It's not a very happy story. There's a lot of tragedy. Too much, now that I think about it. I'm sorry."

"No no! It's alright. I do want to hear it. What life was like for you," he said.

Albatross cracked another smile. "Thank you..." He sounded as though he was fighting back tears.

He waved his talons, the water rising once more. "I suppose I should start it when it all went wrong." The water slowly began to shift into the form of a dragon. "The day when I discovered my magic."

#Anyways I'm probably gonna post the second chapter tomorrow :)#See ya then #Hope you all enjoy this little prologue of sorts #wof #wings of fire #albatross wof #turtle wof #wings of fire fanfic #wof fanfic #sp-writing

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volturissideslut · 3 months

Note

I think I worded it better lol

How you think Rebekah Mikaelson would react to the girl she keeps rejecting (who always gives Beks princess treatment and her undivided attention) suddenly being super nice to Elena

𝕽𝖊𝖇𝖊𝖐𝖆𝖍 𝕸𝖎𝖐𝖆𝖊𝖑𝖘𝖔𝖓

"Hi, Bex" you grin, sitting next to the blonde. It was history class, first period, and the only seat next was the one left next to her because she glared at everyone else that dared to try. Not so secretly, you want her, and also not so secretly, she wants you. But Rebekah likes to be chased, she likes to be pampered, and she likes to make life hard. So though she also wanted you and enjoyed any previous advances you had given her, she was going to play hard to get.

"You again? Won't you ever learn to bugger off?" she huffs, turning away to hide her small smile at your presence. You catch the smile, though, and decide to play along despite the small pang in your chest.

"Never. What would i do without my favourite original by my side to talk to, hm?"

"Oh shush, Mr. Saltzman's starting his lesson, now let me borrow a pen"

___

This same back and forth continued between Rebekah and yourself for a few more days now and you stupidly began to think she would start being nice back. You shared your lunch, met when she called, watched her cheer leading try outs like she requested, even tied her laces for her once. And yet, today it seemed like it was going backwards.

"Oh go away, would you. You and-" Rebekah started, about to rant about the 'bloody Salvatores' and 'whiney Elena' but when she turned around to give you a practiced scowl she was met with the sight of you actually walking away.

The smile hidden under her grimace disappeared, wiped cleanly off of her face. Instead, a blank expression laid there, with eyes wide in surprise.

What was more surprising, though, was when you didn't show up for her practice. She no longer felt the need to show Caroline up, and slunk to the back of the group to peer at the stands.

Even more so, when she didn't see you sat next to her usual spot in history class. Instead at the front, doodling in your notebook.

Okay, so maybe it hurt a little. But she got what she asked for, right?

But what actually made her react was getting to the bonfire, expecting to speak to you and bicker - to hash it all out and move along - only to see you laughing with... Elena??

The two of you just looked like peas in a pod, giggling together and reminiscing about when you were closer as kids, when it was all less complicated. And then... and then you shared a smore. Like actually bit into the same one as that - that bitch!

And Rebekah was seething. Not that she really had any right to be.

And so she marched right up there, arms crossed in discontent, "A word, please?" and yet her tone indicated the 'please' was more of a 'get your arse up now'. And so, with a huff of annoyance and a shrug from you, Elena stood up to follow Rebekah. "Not you, you pest" she glared. Elena only looked to you with worry.

Brushing it off, you stood and followed Rebekah.

"What on earth has gotten into you lately? You've-" The blonde girl begins after sputtering for a few seconds

"I thought you wanted to be left alone bex, isn't that what you always tell me? To 'bugger off'?" and she has to hold back a wince at the way her own words are thrown back at her. "You asked to be left alone, and im leaving you alone. Is that all?"

"No that's not all!"

"Then what, hm?"

"Then... then-" she surges forward, kissing you deeply. "That, that's what!" she says angrily. "I'll see you Monday, in your normal seat, thank you very much" she turns to storm away, pointedly ignoring the hammering in her chest and the butterflies in her belly

"Okay" you whisper, fingers ghosting over your lips, mouth still tingling from the feel of hers. "See you Monday"

And that Monday she decides that maybe it's time to switch the narrative. Maybe its time for her to be attentive to you.

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yxstxrdrxxm · 2 months

Text

SYNOPSIS: Perfection lies on the eye of the beholder. Or, in this case, in the hands of an alchemist who dabbled in sculpting.

TW/s: yandere behavior, Albedo is a bit of an impulsive bastard, abstract in writing, nsfw tws includes usage of drugs, odd materials, dollification, toxic relationship. Please dni if you are uncomfortable.

NOTE FROM HR: Happy Valentine’s Day! If you asked Albedo, he had nothing to gain to be able to celebrate an occasion such as this, but it seems you guys have been together for months. I wonder what he has in store to celebrate this day with you, hm?

Albedo is what many would say is never considered to celebrate Valentine’s Day. If you ever told him what that occasion is like, he would simply tell you the meaning and not what he truly thought about it. After all, that is normal for many to expect, right?

Well, that is what the old him would’ve thought, but he had a lover now. One that understood him, and the person that seemed to look at him like he was someone to be cared for.

To be fair, he and Kendall are what people would say that are polar opposites. He was stoic and hard to approach, but to the likes of Kendall, he simply showed sides of him that he wanted her to see past.

Why? It was simply because the two shared the same ideas and bonded well. Thus, for the alchemist, he thought it simply made sense to do that.

One of those was when they picked up a book that he had seen and he told Kendall if she was aware. Although she wasn’t, the time they spent together deciphering and discussing the contents of the book when they read it together was nice. He had never been interested in reading anything but scholar-approved journals, so picking up something light with her had been an interesting perspective.

There was one thing that he remembered so clearly—in the passage of the book, ‘Challenger Deep’, he remembered asking her how she felt with the narrative being shifted so often. He recalled how many were speaking of how difficult it was to follow them, like they couldn’t figure out what was happening.

Her words caught him by surprise, though.

“It’s not that bad when you think about it. After all, the story is focused on the boy, so if they can’t follow what’s going on, that’s their problem.”

It was then that he realized just how different they were. And Gods, he was absolutely not letting this opportunity go.

So, he began to speak to Kendall more. He began to look into what she thought of certain topics, books, and even past those with art forms as well. But in the midst of it, he found himself feeling more and more attached to her.

It was a strange conundrum. He didn’t understand the feeling at all. It felt… Foreign.

He didn’t like that.

What was stranger yet was that he saw her profile in the MixMatch app. He had been on it for months since he needed more funds for his projects, and it was the easiest way for him as he had been scouted by the bigwigs of Celestia Inc, so to see her in there and the profile she has set up was a curious coincidence.

Now, any sane person would’ve simply ignored her profile and scroll past to the next one, but Albedo is no foolish man. Nay, he wanted to see just how far he can go when he managed to match with Kendall and see how deeper their relationship could become.

With one swipe, they were both matched up by the app. Just like how history led them to be tied together since day one.

After that time, the memories became a tad bit fuzzy for Albedo to remember. It had gone through so many changes: from the time they were finally together, then the small celebrations they hosted, and even their first kiss. It was almost sweet with how Albedo tried to be accommodating and loving to Kendall, but there were times that it was difficult.

Love is difficult for him. But he has his ways to show that to you.

Such a shame that one of them led you to the situation he’s facing right in front of him.

Standing in front of the somewhat finished sculpture he made, he found himself… Strangely at ease. His expression remained unchanged, though, but the sight of it made him internally smile. It was something that he himself can live on proudly.

In a weird way, it made him feel a bit human. It was perfect for him.

Granted, the materials he made was not something he can get right away. It had to be curated, picked by hand, and he needed to make sure it fit his vision. One slight and it would’ve been thrown away, discarded like a child’s toy when they’ve grown old to even touch it anymore.

He was a picky man. He wanted what’s best for him and his lover, and he had dedicated himself for far too long to be able to back down now.

Raising a hand, he gently swiped it across the cheek of his muse, his eyes softening. The feeling of smoothness meeting his bare fingers sent tingles in his spine, tracing it ever so closer to their eyes and lips, and even drifting to their neck. There were a few blemishes, sure, but it was fine—it looked close enough that he was able to modify it to make it look authentic from the naked eye.

He spent 6 months working on the statue before him. His life’s work, he coined as such. He had always wanted to express his feelings to his lover if they’ve stayed for this long, and even then, he wanted to give it to her as his memento for the occasion.

Looking down, he hummed in satisfaction at the placement of the props he curated. He made sure that the statue had the finest of jewelry hung on their body, its hair and clothing pristine as he first found it, and he gave extra care to spots he saw that weren't perfect.

The dust that was left from his smashed previous attempts and frustrations are all but swept away, hidden from anyone that dares to enter his workshop.

Grabbing the cloth next to him, he lifted it up and tossed it on top of the statue’s head, gently letting it flutter down to the ground. He didn’t want anyone to see it, and he made sure that every spot of that statue he made was covered to a T.

“... It’s perfect,” he whispered, looking down at the time and the pendant. “Now, I need to give this to her tomorrow morning. I must get some rest.”

He has a busy day tomorrow, after all.

Heading up to Kendall’s apartment, Albedo caught sight of his lover. Although there were bandages wrapped around her head and other parts of her body, he gently tapped on the door; a small greeting for her to hear, not one that may be too disruptive for someone who’s in recovery.

As her head turned and the two saw each other, the sculptor smiled.

“Greetings. Still trying to decipher the book, are you, Kendall?”

The latter blinked, the cogs obviously turning before he saw her nod with a gentle smile. “Yes, I wanted to know why I’m drawn to this book,” she answered him, making him hum and walk closer to her. Pulling up a seat, he glanced at the cover and the contents to see what she was reading.

“Challenger Deep… I see. This book can be quite tricky to understand,” he comments, his hand reaching to the cover. “However, you can try and read it later. I have something to show you at my house, Kendall.”

Closing the book, the blonde looked at his partner, smiling ever so gently with how she lit up.

It was different. So different from the reaction she’d give him, and it sometimes made him feel like he was dreaming. Alas, he isn’t, and he knew that to be the case for him and Kendall. After all, he made sure it wouldn’t come to light.

“Let’s go. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.”

Grabbing her hand, he grabbed the book and placed it on the table, keeping it closed. Leading his lover out of the living room, he helped her get her shoes and make some bits of conversation between them. He didn’t wish to make the mood tense, but it seems that she’s beaten him to it.

Albedo is never this talkative to anyone. To him, speaking takes a lot of his energy, and he is never fond of the idea. Though, with the one he’s with, he never found the idea revolting nor exhausting; she reminded him of Sucrose, minus that she’s a lot more outspoken with her thoughts to the alchemist.

It was an amusing sight: a man who refused to speak more than he had to, paired with a woman who loved to speak to those she found close with.

Their journey down to his apartment was as quick as he remembered. He kept a tight grip of Kendall as they went out and about, telling her that she must stay close, lest someone would see her and bring either of them trouble.

He knew why it must be done. People may still be out to look for her, and he didn’t want to risk anything to happen to his beloved.

Still, the real surprise came when he managed to reach his home. Pulling out the keys, he pushed one in and turned it, unlocking the door and letting her enter right inside his abode. Though, he found himself looking back for a moment.

It was strange. He swore he felt eyes pierce through him, but…

…

It must be nothing, he thought. No one would ever dare to follow me.

Turning back around, he entered the house, the floorboards creaking under his feet as he closed the door shut. He could already hear noises from inside his house, but he paid it no heed as he simply walked through to find where she ended up.

The soft thudding of boot meeting the floor echoed, and even the soft creaks didn’t deter him as much as it had used to.

He was used to it. It was his only home, after all.

“Albedo?” he heard a voice faintly call out. “Albedo, what is this?”

Ah, she’s found it.

“I’m right here,” he answered, entering his studio and watching as she stood in front of the now uncovered statue. The light began to shine and give the features more clarity, laying bare to what the two can see without a moment to lose.

The statue before the two had parts of themselves that had been sculpted by hand and blade, the skin color being the same as the one Kendall had with a few stitches and blemishes that Albedo wasn’t bothering himself too much to clean up. The attire had been commissioned by someone he knew, as it accentuated the statue’s body from head to toe.

The eyes remained closed as the hair was cut to her hairstyle, but there were some obvious patches and discoloration that shows its original color, which was something different entirely.

The face is what caught her by surprise, however. She had expected it to look like it was the same as hers, or even a human being’s face, but it was just patched with makeup and rough cuts. It was far too eerie to even put it to words, but Kendall can only look at it and then turn her gaze to Albedo.

He made this, did he? So why did this happen? Why is it made to look like an abhorrent abomination?

“I assume you like it, do you?” he asked her, his face still holding that same smile as he went closer to her. “You must be. After all, I’ve wasted blood, sweat, and tears over making this for you.”

It seems that’s all the answers they need from him.

“Don’t you think it’s perfect, too?”

@.throw-letter-away | do not republish or repost my works anywhere | 2024

#💌 ;; message delivery #💌 ;; from: albedo #💌 ;; to: armin-ocean-eyes #💌 ;; promising letter: one last call #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin #yandere gi #genshin impact #genshin #gi #yandere albedo #yandere #yandere writing #yandere text #male yandere #albedo #genshin impact albedo #genshin albedo

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 year

Text

Plus One

Sequel to One is the Loneliest Number, One on One, One Little Thing, Only One I See, One Thing Leads To Another, One Message Waiting, One Day Closer to You, I’m the Only One

Warnings: none, Professor Steve (that’s a warning in itself)

You smile at your phone and Inez nudges you with her elbow. You barely hide the screen as she peeks over. You turn it face down and push her off the armrest between you.

“So you and Jake? That’s a thing?”

“Huh? What do you mean?” You lie poorly.

“Don’t. He asked me for your number, dummy,” she rolls her eyes, “I didn’t know he was your type.”

“We’re friends,” you shrug, “he’s funny.”

You press your hand to your neck and look around the lecture hall, students filing in as Professor Rogers stands at the front, transfixed on his screen as the projector remains blank. It’s not like you hid Jensen, you mentioned that you ran into him and it’s not that deep. You need more friends than Inez. And he really is hilarious. Well, he knows where to find the good memes.

“Sure, funny looking,” she scoffs, “tell me, what does Professor Pretty Boy think about your new fling?”

“In,” you face her, “me and Jake are just texting and me and Professor Rogers are working together. There’s nothing going on between any of us. Besides, don’t you have your own web of lovers to get tangled in?”

“Oh, yeah, Brianna found out about Jacob, so…” she flutters her fingers carelessly, “I didn’t lie to either of them. I said we were having fun and they weren’t into having fun all together, I guess. I don’t know.”

“You don’t seem too broken up over it,” you remark.

“Eh, it’s college, you’re not here for life,” she dismisses, “speaking of, you should hop on Jakey Boy. He’s a nice guy, a good way to dip your toe in the water.”

“Do you ever think of anything else?” You challenge.

“Mmm, my grades would say no,” she chuckles and leans into you, “I’m just saying, if you got that puppy dog sniffing around, it’ll get the wolf off your doorstep.”

She sends a look towards the front of the class as the projector finally lights up with the week’s slides. Professor Rogers looks up and clears his throat, calling attention from the muttering rows of students. Inez turns her head, shielding her mouth behind her hand, “you don’t wanna get tied up with a professor. I’ve heard stories…” she pauses and glances behind her, “Laufeyson.”

“What?” You turn to her with a sharp whisper, “no–”

“Mm, apparently he makes the rounds on first years,” she utters flippantly, “Mona, sits in the first row in history… that was in September. I think he’s moved on to Larissa.”

“Shhh,” you hush her, “you shouldn’t listen to gossip.”

“From the mouth of babes,” she sighs, “they told me themselves.”

You frown and peer down at the podium. Professor Rogers isn’t like that. You can’t imagine him doing anything like that. He’s so awkward, you only imagine him combusting at the very thought. Laufeyson might be a dog but he’s his own breed.

💭

“I know it’s a bit cramped in here,” Steve leads you into his office, “but I have a kettle if you want some tea.”

“It’s fine, Professor,” you assure him as you leave the door open behind you, “so I sent you my lesson plan…”

“Ah, yes,” he rounds his desk and puts down his bag, “I did go over it. Just let me get set up.”

You take the chair across from him, letting your coat rumple behind you as you shed it. You take out your laptop and balance it in your lap as you feel your phone buzz. You ignore it as you power up and search through your cloud for the file. You see his icon already present in the doc.

“Got it,” he announces, “right, so, starting with horror…” His eyes scan his computer, “you’re a fan of Shelley?”

“I… I liked Frankenstein, yeah,” you answer as you watch his cursor on your screen.

“I can tell, which is good, being passionate about what you're talking about,” he says, “I might cut back a little on her personal history and spend more time on Stoker. But it’s good you touch on Gaskell…”

You start a comment on the doc, taking note of what he’s saying, “oh thanks, I’ll definitely go over that.”

“Your slides are good though, informative but not crowded,” he taps his fingers on his lower lip.

You listen to his feedback, relieved that he’s not so wound up as usual. He seems calmer somehow. You don’t know why but there’s not the usual tension. Maybe because he’s talking about what he knows.

He sits up as he pauses. He feels around his blazer and slides out his phone, “excuse me, this damn thing keeps going off. I’m just gonna turn it to–” He blinks and goes quiet, “sorry, give me a minute.”

He stands and exits without waiting for a response. You don’t think much of it. Some emergency or another.

You slip out your phone from your coat pocket and sit back. Inez would eat her words if she was there. Professor Rogers is distracted, apathetic even. Maybe he’s just used to your presence.

You flip open the chat with Jake. ‘So, they’re having a showing of Young Frankenstein at the Film Club tomorrow night. You into it?’

Your phone bubbles with suggested responses; ‘sure’, ‘I don’t know’, ‘no, sorry, I’m busy’. You hover over them and select the textbox instead. Is he asking you out? You’re too shy to ask him directly.

‘Oh, I love Frankenstein!’ You key in, trying to repress a grin, a giddy flicker in your chest.

‘Is that a yes?’

‘It’s a hell yeah!’ You almost giggle at your own response and flinch as you hear the door click behind you.

You straighten up and rest your phone on your knee as you glance back at Steve. He forces a smile as he strides around you and places his phone face down on the desk.

“Sorry, my mother,” he shakes his head, “well, you know how parents can be.”

You nod and don’t comment. You never really thought of him having parents. Maybe that’s unfair, he’s not that old. You could laugh but you keep your face placid. Your phone vibes again and you look down at the gif flashing in the chat. Jensen is such a dweeb.

“So, ready to get back to it?” Steve asks and you look up at him. His eyes are on your phone.

Embarrassed, you tuck your cell away, “yes, sorry, it’s just Inez being silly.”

#steve rogers #professor!steve #dark steve roger #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #drabble #dark drabble #dark!drabble #series #au #avengers #captain america #mcu #marvel

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clearascountryair · 4 months

Text

Okay so I still can't get over how perfect "We Visit the Garden Gnome Emporium" was and I have a lot of thoughts. I just can't get over how perfectly they're blending together character exploration and plot. It's all so perfect and cohesive and I want to talk a little about how they're dealing with the relationships between the characters.

Percy and Grover

I think at first we’re supposed to think Percy wants Grover on the quest because he is his only friend, so therefore has to be the traitor, but then at the end, we get that it’s just because Percy fully trusts that Grover won’t betray him because he is used to the world where he and Grover are each other’s only friends. But that completely breaks for him when he finds out that Grover was Annabeth’s (and Luke and Thalia’s) protector first because he’s realizing that, while Grover would never betray him in malice, he, like Luke, might betray him if that’s what Annabeth needed (for safety, for the quest, for anything). And it also speaks so loudly to Percy’s views of friendship and loyalty: I don’t think Percy thinks he will be betrayed in some big malicious way. I think that he believes it is tied to failing to save what matters most—he won’t be betrayed by a fake friend who actually hates him, but by a real friend who will try to stop him from saving his mom if it interferes with the quest. He trusted that Grover will help him save his mom, even if that means risking the quest, but made that decision not knowing that Grover has an even longer history with Annabeth and might choose her not because he doesn’t love Percy, but because he loves Annabeth, too.

2. Annabeth and Percy

She’s so freaking determined to be the best. And as must as I love that post going around on here and Twitter and TikTok about how Annabeth was struggling with the candy because, in addition to never having gone to a store before, she wanted to do something nice for Percy (and Grover), I don’t think it was just about friendship. Percy was doubting her authority. I don’t think she gives a crap (at least, she won’t admit to it) about whether or not he likes her. I just don’t think she’s above buying his respect. The way she refers to him is so mean? Like, constantly referring to him as Grover’s friend, but in a way that feels like a pet. She says “Grover, control your friend,” but might as well be saying “Control you dog.” I could easily believe that she was effectively buying dog treats. But I also think both can be true. Because she clearly was so hurt by what he said about them not being friends, so she must want to be friends. ***Very minor spoilers for the rest of the books here, so skip to the third section if you've never read them*** And the ONLY time Annabeth talks about something positive from the first seven years of her life in ALL ELEVEN BOOKS IN WHICH SHE PROMINENTLY FEATURES is when she talks about her dog. For seven years, the only thing that loved her (and the only thing she loved) was her dog. Obviously, she is 12 and knows that dogs aren’t people and people aren’t dogs, but the only time she has probably ever had to work for someone’s affection and has been successful in that effort was probably with her dog.

(And yes, I know: Grover and Thalia and Luke. But those friendships are all different because all three of them were in an inherent place of authority and protection over her. I think we all tend to forget that while Grover and Annabeth appear the same age now, they probably didn’t when they met. Thalia was the closest in age to her, and she’s still five years older. And Annabeth doesn’t seem to have any other close friends).

I also love that it’s Percy who’s reluctant to the friendship here. Annabeth is just too traumatized and un-socialized to do it on her own. They’re not not friends because Annabeth is hung up on the Poseidon v Athena rivalry like she is in the books, they’re not friends because Annabeth (from Percy’s perspective) is a jerk.

3. Annabeth and Athena

The way Grover looks at her when Percy suggests leaving her hat with Medusa and she just says “Okay”!!!! Like, you cannot tell me that that conversation went down the way it did with no relation to the earlier conversation with Medusa. Despite her adamant defense of Athena, Annabeth was just told that her mother is a monster and a monster creator, straight from the mouth of one of her victims. For the first time in her life, the pedestal Annabeth has put her mom on is deteriorating and, before Annabeth gets the chance to pry further, they kill Medusa. And sure, this confirms to Annabeth that she was right. But she can’t stop the nagging in her head that, even if Medusa is a monster, she’s a monster that Athena created and how can that mean Athena is anything other than a monster? Especially when Medusa loved Athena just as Annabeth does. Even if she doesn’t totally believe her, she doesn’t not believe her, either. How can there not be a part of her brain that wonders, “will my mom turn on me one day, too?” So when Percy suggests leaving her hat behind, that broken, doubting part of herself says, “Okay.” Because, yes, it’s a gift from her mom. But what does that mean when her mom is a monster?

(And so maybe we will get an Annabeth-driven emphasis on the Athena v Poseidon rivalry not because of Annabeth’s blind loyalty to her mother, but because she has seen what happens when favorites of Athena appear too loyal to Poseidon.)

#pjo spoilers #percy jackson #annabeth chase #grover underwood #pjo #just some minor character analysis/speculation #look not even I expected to return to this site #but it looks like I am reentering my tumblr girlie era

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 9 months

Note

AITA for convincing a friend to run for an officer position in a club just so someone else didn’t win?

So, this happened a few months ago but it’s been gnawing at my brain and I want to know if I did the right thing. I asked some online friends for advice beforehand and there’s a chance they’ll see this- if you do, please don’t expose my blog, thanks.

Context: I (16F) am a member of my school’s Science Olympiad team, and held an officer position the past school year (my sophomore year/10th grade) and ran again for next year (my junior year/11th grade). I am using everyone’s ages at the time this happened to the best of my knowledge and memory. This takes place in a United States high school, and our Olympiad team is tied to a junior high school Olympiad team from the junior high on our campus, which we do all of our meetings with.

A group of my friends (17F, 16F, 16F, 15F) went out for the 4 out of the remaining 5 high school officer positions, and odds looked pretty good we’d win all of our races, thus having 5 out of 6 high school officer positions total. Usually it wouldn’t really matter who won anything, it would just be nice if we were all officers together. The only issue is that there are two other people on our team who are friends with each other (17F and 15F), but have a history of bullying and toxic behavior including towards people on the team. They ran for literally every single position, as you are allowed to run for multiple, and we were concerned they would use them to abuse power.

As I said before, it seemed likely we would win the positions we wanted, but this would leave secretary open, as the only two people running for secretary were one of my friends who I already mentioned, who was more likely to win president, and one of the girls I had mentioned we didn’t want winning anything in case of an abuse of power, so there wasn’t even a chance of a “third party” winning. The only reason we knew for sure who was running for what before the election started is my officer position (which was officially still held until the results of the election were released) enabled me to look at the sign up form, which I created.

My best friend told me she and another friend had worked out a plot to keep secretary out of this girl’s hands. She wanted me to ask a younger friend of mine (13NB, uses he/they for clarification) who was one of the eighth graders on the junior high school team to run, since he is going to be a freshman on the high school team this upcoming school year, and anyone with a year’s experience at any level who will be at least a freshman is allowed to run for a high school officer position.

I said I didn’t want to ask them, and I had multiple reasons why.

First, I already convinced him to do the high school team in the first place when he wanted to stick to the junior high one for another year (9th graders can be in either the junior high or high school competing divisions in Science Olympiad even though most schools in my area classify 9th grade as high school). Nobody asked me to do that, they’re just a smart kid and I thought it would be a waste of potential for them not to. Because of this I wanted him to choose to go for on officer position or not for himself at least. Second, I feel bad using a kid as a pawn in a drama he’s not involved in, even though it’s for a good reason. Everyone else involved in this was already in high school at the time. Third, they don’t even know about the stuff the girl we wanted him to run against has done, because she is nice to them specifically and they are friends. If he figured out we were plotting for him to beat her I think that would damage his trust in me and my friendship with him.

Here’s where I think I might have been an asshole. I gave in and asked them anyway, because my friends all seemed convinced this was the best course of action and I didn’t want them getting mad at me, and I still strongly felt this girl getting elected would be bad for the team I’ve worked so hard to support and for the other team members’ (mostly people I am friends with and care about) mental and emotional well being.

My friend did run, they took my suggestion to run for secretary and signed up to run for that specific position. The girl we didn’t want winning somehow beat them by two votes, so I guess it didn’t matter anyway.

In case this influences anyone’s opinion, I will tell you that we were probably right that this girl should not have been an officer. I was hoping she would mature in an officer position, but she didn’t. She’s still been saying nasty shit behind people’s backs (so has the other girl we didn’t want to win, though she didn’t win anything as we correctly predicted our wins in the other five positions). She’s been half-assing all her officer responsibilities and complaining about them constantly even though she signed up for this, and I have already been forced to do some things that were supposed to be her job.

I know it doesn’t matter now anyway, but I still kind of feel bad for using a (at the time, he’s 14 now) 13 year old as a pawn in a plot especially one that’s a good friend that I care about. Was I the asshole for doing that?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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magnoliabutters · 1 year

Text

• EYES ON ME •

pairing: simon "ghost" riley x reader (they/them, 18+)

summary: captain price and station chief kate laswell assign you to your latest mission with some new and old faces. for some reason they thought it would be a good idea to have two lieutenants...

warnings: 18+ content, mdni, adult language; angsttt to smut (kinda enemies to lovers trope?); cod mw 2 campaign spoilers; reader referred to by rank (lieutenant, "lt") and call sign (aero); weapons, gore, violence; heavy petting, oral and rough sex, etc.

word count: ~4.3k

support your author: reblogs for the sexy masked menace, ghostie boy ✨

• ghost stories series •

note: hello there! i’ve desperately needed to get this ghost smut out of my head. i hope you will join me on this crazy ghost loving journey. this is also my first time writing for a gender neutral reader. please let me know your thoughts so i can make my posts more inclusive for everyone! situational dynamics are inspired by the "my personal ghost" wattpad series. highly recommend.

resource: cod character list

Your CIA briefings usually last no more than 5-minutes. Laswell informs you of the target, the place, the time, and whether it’s a capture or kill. She typically chooses the squad for you, seeing as you haven’t collected many friends along the way. Price is often involved. Your favorite captain - your thoughts, priorities, and ideals always aligned. The briefing videos are always choppy and difficult to hear, but perfect for contracts.

“Her name is Nadia Sidorov. Intel says she will be at Restaurant Ébullition in Montpellier by 21:00,” Laswell reports. “France,” you mutter under your breath. “Yes, I know you have some history but Price will make sure everything’s clear before you land,” she replies with amusement. The country leaves a bad taste in your mouth. You love France, but France most certainly does not love you. Any mission you have had there typically goes to shit and leaves you improvising. Improvising tends to lead to more trouble than needed.

Laswell continues, “You are to capture her and deal-maker for interrogation. Deal-maker has ties with AQ.” You smile, “Tying up lose ends, Kate?” A smirk grows on her face. You aren’t supposed to know much about AQ’s organization, especially anything to do with the most recent mission against them. However, you have eyes everywhere. You tend to make it habit to keep tabs on your employers. Always ready for whatever they throw your way.

“I’ll get it done,” you answer with a firm nod. You reach to end the call, as you normally would at this point. “Wait, Aero-”, Laswell adds. You pause as quickly as you are instructed. “Your squad. You’ll be running with Sergeant MacTavish,” she continues. Soap, you think to yourself. He’s a good man to have, but can be quite annoying. He never knows how to keep quiet on coms, always making the corniest of jokes to keep things light. “And Lieutenant Riley,” she hesitantly adds.

You scoff with your eyebrows pulled together. “Another lieutenant?” you ask with a monotoned voice. You try your best to keep your face deadpanned, but you are disgusted at the thought of sharing rank with someone. To have to coordinate with another squad leader? To have to compromise and hear out their thoughts on how to approach the mission. Fuck that. “Price’s orders,” she shares. With an audible growl, you confirm, “I’ll get it done.” You furiously click the button to end the call. “Fucking hell.”

Boots on the ground and you are already dreading this mission. “Aero, it’s nice to see you again,” Soap says in passing as he pats your back with a smile. God, you hated his constant chipper attitude. You nod as you watch him run off towards the Captain’s table. There Price is, another wild style to his already wild beard. As soon as he makes eye contact with you, his eyes dart towards the map he’s laid upon the table. Oh, he knows exactly how much he’s asking of you by pairing you with another LT.

You observe the other men around the table. Many of which you have not met before. This was not out of the ordinary. It appears you may have been late to the briefing, despite being an hour early. “Welcome Aero,” Price says with a nod. “Captain,” you respond as you walk up to the table. “This is Alejandro and Rudy from Mexican Special Forces,” he continues. Rudy nods as Alejandro shoots you a smile. “You know Soap and Gaz.” Soap smiles at you, while Gaz smirks with a raise of his brow. You have some history with Gaz, but you were always a big fan of the solider.

“Lieutenant Riley, aka Ghost,” Price continues with finality. Soap bites his lip as he leads your gaze over towards the tall dark mass in the corner. The first thing you see is his skulled mask. It covers all but his eyes. Those eyes that burn holes into your face. They gaze back at only your eye line and none of your other features. He leaves no social or facial cues for you to decipher. You find it incredibly annoying.

You've had experience with masked soldiers. Usually, there's not much to look at underneath the mask. Or their face is a constant reminder of who they've become so they hide it away and never address it. You wonder why Simon Riley wears his, and why it's a skull. What's underneath? What's Ghost hiding? Arms crossed over his chest displays his black tattoos spread across his forearms. Interesting that he has visible identifying features, yet continues to use a mask.

“And this is Lieutenant y/l/n, aka Aero,” Price continues, pulling you from your thoughts. You look over the squad. If Price orchestrated this assignment, everyone must be more than capable to complete the mission. You trust your life in the Captain’s hands. However, it’s difficult to transfer that trust to those you’ve just met. Unfortunately, you have to try. “Hello boys,” you greet with a nod. A grin quickly forms on Soap, Gaz , and Alejandro’s faces as they exchange looks. Ghost remains stone cold, as far as you can tell.

“Sidorov will be meeting AQ’s out-sourcing team at the breakfast. We’ll have Gaz and Aero pose in the restaurant. Ghost and Soap overwatch. Alejandro and Rudy for exfil,” Price informs the group. Like a shot of unfortunate luck, both you and Ghost speak at the same time. “Why do they want her?” and “What does she have to offer?” You both exchange looks. Yours full of disgust. Ghost's eyes as ambiguous as ever. Soap and Alejandro snicker quietly. “This’ll be fun,” Soap adds with a bump to Gaz’s shoulder.

“Why do we need two Lieutenants, Price?” Ghost asks sternly. You weren’t able to hear it before on account of you both speaking over each other, but the tall masked man sounds deep, raspy, and unbearably serious. His voice filled with British inflection. The melodic tone has peaked your interest, but not any more than the Captain’s answer to the question.

Price sighs deeply, appearing to be annoyed. “God damnit,” he mutters under his breath. “Alright, you are both experts in your own fields. We need two of our top players for this mission. You two are the lieutenants. Figure out how you will both lead the 141.” He clearly has been annoyed for some time regarding the assignment, but funny how you have yet to even bring it up. Ghost, over there, must have drilled him prior to your arrival. He growls in response as you swear you watch the whites of his eyes roll. A slight smile forms on the side of your face.

With a clearing of your voice, you repeat, “Sidorov - what does she have to offer AQ?” Gaz quickly steps in. Your eyes darting towards his movement. “She’s an arms dealer. Pretty big in Europe. We have word that she’s moving something big,” he shares. “We need to find out what, when, and where.” You hum at the sound of his intel. “Sounds like fun. Where will exfil be?” you ask with your eyes to the map. Alejandro points towards the bridge across the way from the restaurant. “Los Vaqueros will be here. Ready for support if needed," he answers confidently.

"Alright," you answer. With a flick of your eyes, your glance shifts up to Ghost. "You got any questions, LT?" you tauntingly ask. You know exactly what you are doing. Hell bent on poking this masked bear. Soap exchanges looks between you two, like his first Christmas with divorced parents. Another growl emerges from behind the mask. It leaves you with a smirk. "Let's roll out," Price says as he grabs hold of the map.

Restaurant Ébullition has an interesting feel to it. Its stoned walls transport you to another time, but the food has you right here in the present. "God, I love when we get to eat on the job," you say with a mouth full of food. "You're damn right, Aero. This tastes incredible," Gaz responds with a laugh. You chuckle alongside him, truly selling the idea that both of you were close friends on a dinner date. All while beautiful Nadia is sitting alone three tables down from you. "Are you both done?" the chilling, deep voice plays through the covert communication device in your ear.

"Ugh. Can't even enjoy our meal, huh, Gaz?" you ask with a laugh. "Always work and no play," Gaz taunts. Ghost willingly radios his annoyed grunt. You take another bite of your pasta. A piece of you hinting that it should be your last, seeing as you are about to embark on quite the physical journey.

"AQ has arrived. One going in, two security outside," Soap radios in. You place down your fork as you shine a smile towards Gaz. "Eyes on," you whisper through your smile as you mark the male figure walking towards Sidorov. He wears a navy blue suit that fits him like a glove. "Confirmed meeting," Gaz says as he stabs his fork into another bite of food. You bite your lip as you watch the man and Sidorov greet each other. They both sit down as their hands rest upon their phones. "Electronic transaction," you mutter against your cup right before taking a sip of your water. "Tracking," Ghost answers coldly.

Gaz smiles as his hands reach over to yours. You oblige as you lean closer towards him. His fingers warm to the touch, but hardened in the way you appreciate. His delicate brown eyes leaving you with a genuine smirk. As much as this mission irks you, you do appreciate having something beautiful to look at.

While you are lost in thought, Gaz passes a small cylindrical item into your palm. "Who do you want?" he asks with a grin. The question leads you to believe the item is a tranquilizer. "Hm, I was thinking the man. I like his suit," you lean closer into him as you grip onto the needled tranq. He smiles devilishly as his eyes fall towards your mouth. You hum as you lightly place your lips upon him. Your eyes initially closed, but slowly open once you hear movement from the targets’ table.

"Are you two done snogging or are we gonna get the arm's dealer?" Ghost abruptly pours over the coms. You pull back with a laugh. "Someone's a little jealous," you murmur. That brings a huge smile to Gaz’s face. “Quite the opposite,” Ghost retorts. You place a gentle hand upon Gaz’s cheek, covering your mouth from Sidorov’s point of view.

You continue to keep your eyes on Gaz’s to sell that you were speaking only to him. “You’re telling me you wouldn’t want to be here and eat this delicious food right now?” Gaz places kisses to the palm of your hand. “No, I would not want to down there with you,” he answers matter of factly.

As much as his comment left a sting to your heart, you watch as Gaz’s eyes track Sidorov through the restaurant. She stands and walks towards the back kitchen. The AQ target stands as well. He straightens out his dress shirt and walks over to the front. "It's done," you whisper. Once their backs are turned, both you and Gaz go to your designated targets. He should have her down easy, but worst case he has Los Vanqueros to back him up. You, on the other hand, have to rely on Ghost’s overwatch.

“He’s about to meet up with his men,” Ghost chimes in. You hurry your pace as you watch the man pat one of his security on the shoulder. “Window’s lost. Made it harder on yourself,” he shares with disgust. Soap awkwardly adds, “What’s the point if there’s no challenge?” With a roll of your eyes, you mark one civilian in the area - the valet boy. As the target was finishing his conversation, you quickly move past him to give the valet your ticket first.

The boy runs to grab your car in the other lot. You turn to the men with a smile sprawled across your face. “Sorry, boys. I’m in a bit of a rush,” you share as they look at you with disdain. Abruptly, you stab the target in the top of his thigh with your tranquilizer. Your thumb pressing firmly against the plunge. All while spinning your leg through a low kick and dropping one of the security guards onto their backs. The other one attempts to reach for his gun. You quickly grab your knife from your boot and fling it. It lands perfectly into the man’s chest, just as Ghost’s bullet plows through his head.

You let out a growl as you turn your attention towards the man on his back. You rapidly plunge your other knife into his heart as you look up towards Ghost’s overwatch position. “I had him,” you say through gritted teeth. “Didn’t look like it,” he responds. You shake off that bullshit and reach for the AQ trader. He rests peacefully, face down, on the sidewalk.

As you lug him over your shoulder, a car pulls around the front in a mad dash. You lock eyes with Rudy, who’s smile slowly grows. “Hola, teniente,” he greets. “Qué tal, Rudy?” you respond. You walk the target over to the trunk of the car. Your arm pulls it open. You lean your shoulder over its empty so that the target lands gracefully. Closing the hatch, you hear Ghost ask, “Gaz, Alejandro - you at exfil?” You intently listen as you walk over to the front seat.

“Yes, LT, with target in hand,” Gaz answers. You pull yourself into the front seat. “Let’s wrap this up and get home,” you say sternly. All in hopes of closing the mission out before Ghost. How did your sole purpose in life become annoying this masked mystery? You watch as Rudy begins to laugh beside you. You can’t help but smirk as you mutter “Shut up” under your breath.

• qué tal: what's up?

Ghost stands in the corner of the room, his apparent favorite spot. His lurking tall mass blending in with the darkness. The hairs on the back of your neck stand. His presence is making interrogation so much harder for you. His continuous staring leaves you uncomfortable. You catch glimpses of his eyes through the swaying lamp that fills the room. They are always looking back at you.

Soap rests against the wall. His eyes solely focused on the target, which you greatly appreciated. He remains silent as you do your work. The group had brought Sidorov and the AQ contact to a US black site. Each room was lined with sound proofing, perfect for what you had in mind. Even the briefing room outside was lined with the proof, just to further ensure the intel received stayed with the right hands.

“Man, let’s not make this any harder than it needs to be. I really don't want to fuck up this suit," you say as you pull against the AQ target's blazer. "What’s your name?” you ask. You crouch in front of him as he sits upon an old chair with his hands tied tightly behind him. The man smiles, “Fuck you.” His accent thick with Russian descent. “Alright, ‘Fuck you.’ What is Sidorov moving?” you ask. That gets a chuckle out of Soap.

The man remains silent. His eyes tracking your every movement. With a sigh, you pull out your knife from your back waistline. “How’s this going to go?” you ask as you shine your knife towards him. “Fuck you,” he repeats without hesitation. You smile as you plunge your knife into the top of his thigh. The man’s screams radiate throughout the room. Music to your ears.

“Stand down,” Ghost announces as he walks from his darkened corner. You rise from your crouch to meet him head on. “Excuse me?” you ask. Did this asshole really tell you to stand down? As if he has any authority over you? After all his condescending shit tonight? Fuck that. You stand face to face with nostril’s flared and your fists clenched.

“Hey, hey, hey. Let’s take this outside, LT’s,” Soap suggests as he guides you both outside of the interrogation room. With a slight close of the door behind him, he lets out an exasperated sigh. “You two need to talk. I’ll keep pressing him,” he says as he walks back inside the interrogation room. The door makes a clear clicking sound when he locks it behind him. Making it impossible for you both to follow him.

Once Soap is gone, you turn to look at Ghost, who’s been staring at you the entire time. “The hell is your problem, Ghost?” you ask, rage filled through your voice. "You aren't needed here. You can leave," he states calmly. You scoff, trying to hold back your laughter. You lean in, closer to his stitched skulled mask. "I'm pretty sure the Captain decides that. Not you," you whisper.

"Back up," Ghost warns. His voice remaining cool, calm, and collected. You lean in closer to him. Your face right in front of his. You are practically begging for him to do something. You can see the anger building in his eyes as you show no fear, no authority, no respect. Finally, some emotion he cannot hide. "No," you retort.

Ghost quickly extends his arm to land a blow to your gut. You, just as quickly, block it and land a fist against his jaw. Hey, he started it. Your leg goes in for a kick, but he blocks it with his own. He lands a blow against your gut that time and another onto your nose. Blood trickles down from one of your nostrils as you increase the distance between you two.

The familiar itchy sensation as the blood pools atop your upper lip. You can't help but smile. You always enjoyed a good fight. Your nose bleeds for only a minute. His eyes remain hellbent on you, still filled with rage.

Through dipping and ducking, you manage to drop your fist onto his zygomatic bone. Guaranteeing a black eye that only he will see when he takes off his mask. As you reach in for another jab to his nose, he wraps your extended arm around your body. He tucks you close against his as he pins the arm across your chest. Your elbow digging deep within his stomach. He grunts as he rapidly adjusts his hand placements.

Before you knew it, your pinned arm was now being used against you and holding your chin against your left shoulder. Your other arm now held tightly at the side of his hip. He got you. Fuck.

As you both breathe heavily against each other in this tight hold, you continue to try and best your way out of it. With each of your movements, you begin to feel a growing firmed mass against your ass. You recognize exactly what it was. It was difficult to pull your focus back towards getting out Ghost's hold. It even left you wondering if you wanted to. Confusing thoughts flood your brain as your body continues to make attempts out of his grasp.

You finally are able to move your leg enough to land the heel of your foot against Ghost's toes. In his pain, you are able to snake your body away from him. You face him once again, but this time with your hands to your sides. His brown eyes watch you carefully, preparing for your next move.

As you often do when fighting, you allow your body to take control. You trust your instincts and where your body leads you. You raise one of your hands as your eyes remain on Ghost's. Your dominate hand slowly travels to the inner hem of his cargo pants. As he feels your gentle touch, he takes in a sharp surprising breath. His eyes remain on you and still filled with anger. But he wasn't stopping you as you place your palm upon the outline of his cock.

You press against him with more force. Your own mouth begins to hang as you pull closer to him. His bulge growing in your hands. Ghost releases a shaky breath as his chin raises. His eyes remaining on you. Before you can stop yourself, you whisper, "I want it." Another breath is released between the two of you. It is followed by a hesitant nod of Ghost's head.

With his agreement, your hands gradually travel to Ghost's belt. You unbuckle it while both your eyes continue to remain on each other. No one would dare break the gaze. As you unzip and lower his pants, you slowly descend onto your knees in front of him. The bulge is even more evident against his blacked out boxer briefs. Your mouth begins to water.

Ghost's breathing intensifies at the sight of you on your knees. Your eyes still fixed upon him. Slow again, you pull down his briefs. Your eye contact breaks only to reveal the large girthy red tipped cock that flips onto his toned stomach. You release a slow breath as you see a bead of precum emerging from his slit. Your mouth is drawn to him. It is undeniable.

You allow your body to take charge once more. Your hand slowly wraps around the base of his cock, firm against his groomed curls. Your mouth slightly opens as you are ready to take him in. Ghost's fingers curl underneath your chin. Your eyes land upon his once again. Those warm brown eyes watching you with hellish intent.

He softly instructs, "Eyes on me, Lieutenant." With a growing smile, you guide his cock towards your mouth. As your lips wrap his tip, you watch as he takes in a heavy breath. His eyelids slightly fluttering. You note that he is trying his best to keep his eyes on you as well.

Circling his reddened head, your tongue lathers Ghost's cock. The salted taste of his precum leaving you with an abundance of warmth within your chest. You hum against his dick as his girth feels fantastic in your mouth. He begrudgingly releases a short, low toned groan as you take more of him in your mouth. "Fuck," he murmurs as his hand moves towards the top of your head. As his body tightens, his hands grip onto several strands of your hair. You enjoy the tightening pull against your scalp as your tongue travels against the thick vein under his dick.

Ghost's moans fill the air. You grab tightly against the back of his thighs as you take more of him into your mouth. He fills your mouth so fucking good. The sounds he makes when your tongue explores his cock leave you so close to your own euphoria. You struggle to keep your eyes on him, but his are most definitely on yours. "Let me fuck that pretty face," he says as he gathers more of your hair. He ruts his hips against your chin and cheeks. His cock firmly pressed to the back of your throat. You gag on his length, which makes him thrust harder into you.

"God, you take me so well," Ghost whispers as his cock twitches against the roof of your mouth. You decide to take control and wrap your hand around his base once again. You begin to pump his dick as your mouth sucks tightly against his head. Your tongue lapping up anything that came from his pretty slit. He struggles to find his balance as you suck on his cock. He leans against a desk as your hands rest firmly against the tops of his thighs.

"Fuck. Get up," he demands with his hands now hooked under your arms. He lifts you up quickly, leaving a gasp escaping your lips. He spins himself around you so that your back is against his chest. Ghost lands a firm hand against the crook of your neck. With his strength, he pushes your chest down onto the desk. Your body feels on fire as he plans to use your ass however he pleases. You feel his hands harshly pulling your pants down.

As you lay bare assed in front of him, Ghost's breathing heavies. One of his hands lands upon your waist as the other guides his cock to your hole. You feel his saliva-soaked dick circle your entrance as you grip onto the desk. Any and all surroundings were gone from your field of vision. All you had was this desk and Ghost. You moan as you feel his cock twitch against you. You wanted him so badly in this moment. Nothing could take this away from you. Until you hear the popping of the door's lock.

You feel Ghost's hands push off of your back. You quickly raise from the desk and pull your pants up. You see Ghost doing the same in your peripherals. Pulling your shirt down, you look up to see Soap opening the door slowly. "Sidorov's got a stealth bomb drone. AQ's hoping to use it against Las Almas cartel and Los Vaqueros," he shares with concern. You answer with a clearing of your throat, "Two birds, one stone." Soap nods. "Let's see if Alejandro, Gaz, and Rudy got anything out of Sidorov," Ghost says as he quickly turns and leaves the briefing area. You turn to Soap to see if he might have anything to say from what he saw, but he fortunately did not seem phased. Maybe he didn't see anything. Fuck, you hope he didn't see anything. With a deep breath, you follow Soap into the hallway.

note: let me know if you want more! i think i want more tbh <3 reblogs if you enjoyed please!

• take me • part two •

• nav • no-no plagiarism • one shot • requests open •

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alexanderlightweight · 10 months

Note

Hello! For Writing Wednesday could we please have some more Spoils of War or Created for Death? I’m obsessed with both of these to an insane degree:

What I love about SoW: tentative!Alec whom Magnus has to work at gaining trust from? I love it. There’s a line in one part about Magnus having to fix how the Clave broke Alec before Magnus can gentle him and I just—gorgeous, perfect, headcannon accepted. Veiled consorts? Hooooooly that’s so cool omg I swear I heard a symphony in my head when I realized where you were going. The mask? Alec’s hesitance and obedience, thinking everything is out to hurt him but doing it anyway because what choice does he have, is so beautiful, and Magnus mourning a little that he didn’t have more time to make the experience better for Alec but not willing to risk the delay and risk Alec growing even more distant is just 😍—lmao I could write an essay about how much I love this universe.

CoD: I fucking love eldritch angel nephilim and this is giving EVERYTHING. Nephilim who are cobbled together projects of the angels, their biology so skewed by angelic power that even the nephilim don’t know what their children will look like/heal like/die like. Mostly the difference being subtle, but sometimes Not. Raised to hate and fear their full potential, anything that is Too Angelic, and Alec a living hearsay/blasphemy even when his blood was only 30/70 because if it. AND THEN. It’s not losing Jace that tips Alec over, it’s Magnus dying—demon-born prince/king of edom enemy of the Clave. So gorgeous, holllyyyy. I can’t even think too much about Magnus collaring 6-winged Alec, about Alec kneeling for him, about the terrible kindness and protection in Izzy disowning her brother, about the gentleness of Magnus hiding Alec away and covering his eyes and hushing him because even the ANGELS wouldn’t know what to do in this situation, with this new body, and then Team Immortal coming in and IMMORTALITY and wow

Anyway yeah sorry for spitting up my lovestruck brain in your asks but I had to make sure that you knew you’ve struck me deeply with your writing and that’s why I’m begging on your doorsteps for literally any content in either one of these verses 💜

i'm very glad both stories are being enjoyed so much and please don't apologize i love stuff like this! it's a huge compliment but also it's just really nice to see that other people are as into and obsessed with my verses as i am. because sometimes i wait for my sleep meds to kick in and i just plot where i'm going and end up passing out in the middle of a mental scene being written lol

so i wrote a thing for spoils of war and thank you! i'm glad it was enjoyed because i have this big headcanon about how consorts are really magically important to warlocks and magical kings if dominion magic is in the fic and a big thing about that is protecting the consorts identity. via masks but also cloaking the consort in so much magic that you can't even tell anything abut them besides what the warlock allows you to know. and there is a lot of history thats hinted at

for created for death

izzy was fucked up about that, okay. but she had to relinquish alec as a brother because otherwise the clave still had ties to him. since they don't need them anymore, the clave sort of doesn't let true nephilim have any rights. so alec had to be disowned as a nephilim and then magnus was basically like 'okay but my magic is on him so hes mine since i calmed him down' and izzy was like 'he totally counts as a weapon. yours now. because thats the safest thing for alec atm

so alec is actually 70/30 and most nephilm are 30/70 in a angelic/mundane equation. which is why he was being kept watch over by the clave but uh, the fear of magnus dying kinda made him lose it

i hope you enjoy this!

<3 lumine

spoils of war

—

Alec doesn’t know what’s going on.

Magnus didn’t bother explaining what the ritual was or what it did beyond that it was yet another bonding ceremony. But even their political wedding that signified the end of a war didn’t feel this elaborate.

Alec knows it doesn’t really matter, that he’ll be taking part in the ritual whether he knows what it does or not. In fact, it's almost better not to know than to know what he might need to do.

Alec can’t say no to whatever is going to happen and he knows that, so he takes comfort in the fact that he can still see. The mask has magic in and through it and Alec tries not to consider where it’s from and why he can feel nephil magic still fading from it.

Instead, he concentrates on Magnus and his magic and puts out the thoughts and details of his surroundings, like being watched by over a thousand warlocks and their companions, all hidden with their faces hidden behind a variety of masks.

It’s daunting to be here, to be taking part in something that feels so old and sacred when Alec was supposed to be no more than chattel. Fodder for a war built on the blood of innocents that Alec’s own people started. It feels wrong to be here so defenseless and yet know that Magnus’ magic will protect him better than any weapon.

—

Carefully, Magnus uses magic to take off Alexander’s ceremonial collar and he instead replaces it with a loop of pure magic that will slowly take on more and more power until the image of it will always become whatever Magnus wishes it to be.

For now, however, it is a tight loop of deep purple magic that pulses with Magnus’ magic and power in time to Alexander's every breath.

It’s a show of power to summon a single adamas arrow — one that Alexander gave to Magnus by his own hand — and hold it without harm. Alexander sucks in a startled breath — perhaps at the sight of one of his own arrows or that Magnus can hold it with ease — and Magnus can feel him quiver under Magnus’ palm.

“My protection is absolute. When you bleed it will be because I wish it, for no other is allowed to spill your blood.” Magnus uses the arrowhead to nick Alexander’s upper lip — just as he cut the lower with the stele — and then he leans forward to lick it off and suckle the cut until he earns a whine of pain.

“The flames of Edom will devour all before allowing anyone to touch you without my permission.” Magnus promises and his fingers dance with flames that brush harmlessly over Alexander’s neck — the shard of Magnus’ soul claiming Alexander in an undeniable way that will protect him from harm in Edom.

Alexander seems torn between leaning forward and stepping away and Magnus knows his boy better now than he did when they were wed. Alexander needs no leash as Magnus first thought, just a steady hand and Magnus’ voice.

The bonds between them are the only tether Magnus will ever need with Alexander.

“Sweetheart—” Magnus teases, his voice caressing Alexander with magic and he can see how his boy shudders at the sound and feel of it. He steps forward unconsciously, he's been instinctively drawn to Magnus from the very beginning and Magnus croons and reaches out. His palm blooms with hellfire before settling on Alexander’s hip and Magnus pulls him closer still.

“Should any look at you without being graced by my benevolence, their sight shall be consumed by my magic. A payment for stealing a glimpse of what is only mine to see.”

Magnus’ vows are instinctive and there is a primal surge of delight as he takes the ritual a step further, cursing any being who would dare look at Alexander’s uncovered face without his blessing.

It’s an old tradition.

Older still than the ritual Magnus is using and it’s something that has been out of style for over three centuries. Magnus still remembers the stories of how the legend of Medusa started. A warlock desperate to protect her gorgeous consort cursed her love with a vicious, loving protection.

Magnus knows now that Alexander expects to be a spectacle.

A disgraced nephilim in the eyes of his own people, traded away for a peace bought with his soul and virginity. Alexander expected to be paraded around as a mockery, a whipping boy for the clave to offer to the warlocks and it’s clear that’s what the clave told him he was.

But Alexander is not something to be gawked at.

He is not someone who Magnus will allow others to see, not to admire and certainly not to laugh over. Alexander is his consort and if that means that Magnus veils him in magic and curses all those who dare look upon him, then so be it.

#lumine writes #writing wednesday #writing wednesdays #spoils of war #malec #magnus bane #alec lightwood #shadowhunters

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muninnhuginn · 6 months

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The latest chapter actually provided a lot of Yuri backstory and context through a mix of Yuri's own words and information provided by Chloe.

This is a bit image-heavy so I've chucked it under a read more. Spoilers for chapter 89 below.

Firstly, Yuri says that he skipped grades in order to get where he was. To some extent, we could have inferred this already given his relatively young age for being part of the SSS, but it's nice to have official confirmation.

Chloe is pretty familiar with Yuri, and we find out here that they actually went to college together, where she was his upperclassman. She didn't skip any grades herself and in the SSS she's actually ranked below him, but their history still stands, for all that Yuri would rather hide behind rank. Her knowledge of him back then means she's one of the few people in the position to call him out rather than subjecting him to the praise/concern he seems to get from his superiors and immediate colleagues respectively.

And, as we find out here, he's always hidden behind that sense of superiority. As someone who skipped grades, he didn't really have any peers and seemed to have pissed off everyone in his surroundings by playing the genius and claiming to only care about his sister.

Admittedly, his sister *is* his motivation and why he studied so hard in the first place, so he could pay her back for her time protecting him, but the whole description of Yuri "not minding being hated" reads more as him using indifference for a shield. So long as he could say he was doing it all for Yor, it didn't matter if he had no friends. It likely fed into itself and added to the isolation that would have already faced him as someone years younger than everyone in his surroundings.

(I do like the slight mirror to Twilight this raises though. The idea that achievements may not see the light of day, but that's not the point or reason for him to do them. The idea of being in a position where you couldn't do anything so all you could do was make yourself stronger and refuse to be that weak again.)

And we can see even to this day that he's not much of a socialiser. Before Chloe, there hasn't really been anyone who gets close to the description of "friend", only really "concerned colleague" or "pleased superior". Yuri's still lacking true peers.

And here's the kicker. The key trait linking Yuri, Nightfall, and Twilight together. They all think that if they just get stronger and try harder they can achieve their goals. Their respective obsessions prevent them from taking a step back and approaching from a different angle, because they're so tied up in the idea that if they just push through, it'll fall into place.

Obviously, I don't know Nightfall's backstory to compare here, but it's easy to see how this tunnel vision developed for both Yuri and Twilight. The brute force pushing through working every time is a somewhat childish notion so it makes sense that it has its roots in their childhoods.

#also the fact that yuri himself seems to be beating himself up over not doing better with twilight for all other ppl are saying he did well.#his pride vs self-esteem is an interesting one. he has to maintain his pride in being 'elite' but that means his standards for himself #are ridiculously high past the point of being reasonable. (another similarity with twilight ngl)#spy x family #sxf manga spoilers #tried to keep this post purely to yuri's history #but it was difficult when his constant one step forward-one back is so fascinating

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mystic-writings · 2 years

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tongue tied, harrington? | steve harrington

PAIRING — steve harrington x fem!reader

REQUEST — @chevyharvelle - Could u possibly do a Steve Harrington x Reader based on Tongue Tied by group love? I am a slut for the best friends to lovers trope

SUMMARY — you and steve are invited to a group hang out at robin's, and during a cigarette break on the roof, steve finally tells you how he feels

WARNINGS — mentions of underage drinking & smoking, friends to lovers

WORD COUNT — 2,405

NOTES — happy st4 release day!! i love this song so much and i’m so glad i got to write for it (listen here - tongue tied by grouplove) also i think this is the fastest i've ever written and posted a request btw it hasn't even been 12 hours since i got the request and i'm queuing it to post at like 11pm

masterlist | navigation

Steve Harrington. Your best friend, Steve Harrington. Ever since you were seven years old, Steve Harrington's been by your side through everything.

It started, ironically, the way most childhood friendships start. With a game of tag. Katie Mulligan had been ‘it’ that round, and half of the second graders were running wildly around the field. You were trying to get to the play set where the older kids hung out so you could hide under it and avoid Katie (and hopefully everyone else that would get tagged afterwards). Instead, you ran straight into Steve Harrington’s body, crashing to the ground and getting grass stains all over your clothes.

He helped you up and asked if you were okay, and you brushed yourself off as best as you could before Steve was taking your hand and running as fast as you would let him. It wasn’t until you glanced behind you that you could see Katie Mulligan chasing after you, and you picked up speed and ran with him until the bell rang and your lungs were burning. The rest, as they say, is history.

Even now, almost eleven years later, Steve Harrington was still your best friend. Sure, he became friends with the popular group when you got to high school and you tended to drift toward the so-called ‘outcasts’, you always found time for one another. Even when he started dating Nancy Wheeler and you called him an idiot for dating someone a year younger than him, someone so nice and sweet, you always made sure that he came over on Fridays for mac and cheese and a movie, just like you’d been doing since you were ten years old.

Then everything changed, and it all started when a little boy went missing.

Will Byers disappeared on November 6, 1983. Barbra Holland followed after him less than three days later, waiting for her friend at Steve’s house. It wasn’t until you and Steve went to the Byers’ house to help him ‘win back Nancy’ (his words, not yours) that you discovered the truth about it all.

Will had been taken to a place called the Upside Down, a mirror dimension full of darkness and terrifying monsters that were out for blood - something you realized very quickly. When it was all over, Will’s friends lost a member of their party, and you were forced to sign an NDA. No one was allowed to know what happened, and that was something the Hawkins Lab would be sure of.

But now, almost two years and two catastrophes later, things were beginning to feel somewhat normal again. The Byers had moved to California with El and everyone else was trying to pretend like things were okay, even if Hawkins had become the focus of every interested eye in America.

Tonight, though, you were ignoring everything that had happened and the fear that something else would eventually come along and cause more damage in favor of some fun. You and Steve were invited to what Robin liked to call a ‘hangout’ with a group of other people, some of her other friends from school.

Steve, of course, had gotten an invite since he works with her and they went through a lot together, but you had gotten an invite partially because of last month, but also because Robin had been part of the group of ‘outcasts’ you hung out with. You decided to go together, since that was how you spent most of your time anyway. Steve drove, and you fiddled with the radio until you found a good song to listen to.

The windows were rolled down, wind billowing throughout the car as you bobbed your head along to the music, occasionally belting out lyrics. You’d even tried putting your Converse-clad feet on the dash, but Steve swatted them away with a disapproving look.

When you pulled up to Robin’s house, the sun was setting and almost every light in her house was on. A few cars were in the driveway, so Steve parked on the street out front, allowing you to step onto the grass of Robin’s front lawn.

The air was thick with humidity and too warm for your liking, but sometimes a small breeze would blow past and make it feel perfect. It didn’t matter, though, since you headed toward the red front door of Robin’s house, following behind Steve, before you got the chance to enjoy it for long.

The blonde greeted you happily when you knocked, the sound of music and chatter growing louder as she led you to the den, where everyone was hanging out. You recognized almost everyone - there couldn’t have been more than ten people, most of which you knew were in band, a few outcasts that were a year or two younger than you and Steve, but you were familiar with most of them.

You and Steve sat on the last open spots on the couch, wedged between the arm and one of the girls you were in an art class with during senior year; one of the boys from band was sitting on the other side of her. Steve’s leg was pressed against yours, and you were sure that four people weren’t supposed to be sitting on the same couch, but you didn’t complain, because Robin’s AC made her house too cold (even though you’d been wearing a zip-up hoodie) and Steve’s body heat was enough to warm you up in minutes.

Everyone was lounging around the den, either sitting in the leather chairs or the other couch to your right, while Robin and the girl you knew she had a crush on - Cassandra, you were sure her name was - sat at the bay window, talking to one another instead of the group conversation everyone else was having. You smiled to yourself, watching Robin blush when Cassandra put her hand on Robin’s knee.

As the talking continued and the sun set further beneath the horizon, the flow in the room made you feel light. You’ve always been like that, you supposed. You felt better talking in groups, even if you were only talking to one person. More people made it easier for you to open up.

It wasn’t until the sun fully set that Robin and a few others cracked open some beer, and before you knew it, with half a bottle of beer flowing through you, you were cracking jokes and talking more adamantly than you cared to admit. You felt a little looser, almost like you were light headed, but that wasn’t just because of the beer. For the past half an hour, Steve’s hand had been resting on your knee as he leaned forward to talk to the guy sitting on the arm of the couch nearest to you.

You didn’t know how long it’d been since the sun set, but you decided it was time to get a bit of air. As soon as you excused yourself, the chill of the AC set in again, and instead of going out the front door, you decided that the roof would be a good idea. You’d been in Robin’s house plenty of times, and you knew her parents weren’t the biggest fans of smokers, so the roof was best. Besides, you and Robin shared plenty of cigarettes up there before, anyway, so you knew she wouldn’t mind.

Once you made it to her room, you crossed the carpet floor and pried open the window, a blast of warm, humid air hitting your body as you used your strength to push it all the way open. When you slipped out, you closed the window behind you before stabilizing yourself and walking a few feet away, just to be sure, before you sat down and stretched your legs.

Not long after you stretched your legs out before you, you decided it was too uncomfortable, opting to tuck your knees to your chest. Reaching into your pocket, you pulled out a pack of your mom’s Malboros and your zippo, pulling out a cigarette and letting it dangle between your lips as you shielded the other end from the breeze with one hand, the other lighting it with the zippo.

You took a long drag, relishing in the calm that the cigarette brought you. A light breeze washed over you, just like the one you felt when you first arrived at the house. You couldn’t help but smile as you exhaled, watching the cloud of smoke dissipate as it floated into the night sky. The calm was nice, but you barely got two drags into your cigarette when the window opened, and out walked Steve.

Without saying a word, he closed the window and came over to sit beside you, tucking his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. Neither of you spoke as you took another drag, but you could feel Steve’s eyes on you as you exhaled.

After a few more long moments, you let out a puff of smoke as you rolled your head to the side, looking at your best friend with an arched brow. Steve’s mouth gaped, opening and closing as you smirked at him, wondering what was going on in his head.

“What’s the matter?” You smirked. “Tongue tied, Harrington?”

The unfortunate truth of the matter was, he was in fact, tongue tied. He couldn’t help it, you looked so beautiful to him. You always did, but here, under the moonlight, baggy sweater slipping off your shoulder to show the maroon tank top you bought a few years ago, a cigarette delicately held between your fingers and that oh-so familiar playful glint in your eyes, he couldn’t help but think you should be photographed and hung up in a museum, just so everyone knew how beautiful you were.

You looked away for a moment, taking a final drag from your cigarette before stubbing it out on the shingles. When you turned back to Steve, smoke trailing from your lips, your eyebrows furrowed. He was still looking at you, mouth agape and hair falling in his face, but there was a glint in his eyes; one you’d never seen before. At least, not one you’d seen in his eyes when he was looking at you.

“What?” You asked slowly, heartbeat growing erratic. “Is there something on my face or something?”

Steve let out a low breath, eyes flickering to your lips before he shifted, leaning on his hand. Slowly and with a quiet voice, he asked, “Can I kiss you?”

The question, if you were being honest, hit you like a truck. Steve Harrington wanted to kiss you. Your best friend wanted to kiss you.

And your only answer was yes.

So, that’s exactly what you said. And before you knew it, his lips were brushing against yours, slow and hesitant, and nothing like the Steve you knew. He was brash and confident and loud, so you knew he must’ve been nervous. But that first touch sent sparks flying, and within seconds the real Steve was back, slanting his lips against yours and lifting his free hand to cup your jaw, fingers tangling in your hair.

You shifted in your spot to face him better, wanting nothing more than to kiss him until the world ended. But he pulled away for air, and for a moment, you found your body leaning into his, chasing the kiss and wanting more. For a moment, you thought that would be the end of it, but you remembered that you could do something. You could make it more. You snaked your right hand up to the back of Steve’s head, barely giving him a moment to admire you before your lips were crashing onto his, a burning passion intertwining in your lips, showing Steve how much you liked him.

This time, it was your turn to pull away, feeling Steve’s hand slip from your face as you smiled at him, lips bright pink and swollen. Steve gaped once again, and you couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled up your throat. “Tongue tied, Harrington?”

“I-I’ve been wanting to do that since middle school,” Steve admitted, nervous laughter floating in his words as his cheeks and ears tinted red.

There hadn’t been a single word of a lie in his sentence. Ever since seventh grade, when you tackled Tommy H. for calling you a pussy when you wouldn’t participate in the race he was holding for the other seventh graders at recess, he felt like he could’ve kissed you right there, even if it was in front of a hundred middle schoolers. And for years, there were times when he’d just stare at you in awe, wondering how he managed to get the best person in Hawkins to be his best friend, and how on Earth you managed to stick by him, even when he usually only dated girls to try and get over his crush on you. And on the off times you’d catch him staring, you’d always say the same thing: ‘Tongue tied, Harrington?’ and he would never really have a response, because how were you supposed to tell your best friend that you wanted to date them?

The corner of Steve’s lips pulled into a smile as he watched yours do the same, and he couldn’t take his eyes off you as you moved, resting your head on his shoulder. “Well, now you can do it any time you want, Harrington.”

Steve’s heart pounded in his chest, but he forced himself to remain calm. This was something you did all the time, and there was no need to freak out. Except, you’d just kissed, twice, so there was plenty to freak out about. Instead, Steve pressed a gentle kiss to your head before resting his head on top of yours, eyes looking out at the stars.

A blush crept onto your cheeks as you felt him press a kiss to your hair, but you didn’t mind it. In fact, you quite liked Steve kissing your head like that. It was such a minuscule moment, but to you, it meant the world. So, as the two of you sat there, in the silent, humid air of the night and watched the stars, you laced your fingers with his, and decided that there wasn’t anything you wouldn’t do to protect this. To protect your best friend, whatever you two had, and the quiet domesticity you two were harboring.

Permanent taglist: @simonsbluee @sapphicwriting @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @mazerunnerrose @theboldandthebootyful @miraclesoflove @queen-asteria04 @sunny-reys

Steve Harrington taglist: @theweasleyslut @starjane312 @the-romanian-is-bae @lillsxd @jemimah-b99 @heavcnslyre @xitsyaiizax @magicalxdaydream @timeladygallifrey @cadencebeat2662 @jamespotterslover @whoreou @mariecoded @suranne-doesstuff @hehehehannahthings @alexwritesthingsometimes @unic0rntaking0ver17645 @wecallhimbrowneyes @erospecies @pariahsparadise @alexxavicry

taglist form is in my navigation!

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fluff #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things x reader

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sansaery-theonsa · 2 years

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Road not taken looks real' good now

Alicent hightower x Rhaenyra Targaryen

Warning: none

It's basically a modern day story and idk i kinda went along with whatever the fuck was that

Its a bit messy and I didn't really rewrite it so it's probably full with mistake's because unfortunately I'm not english native. But fingers crossed.

Ps: title is a quote from "'tis the damn season" by taylor Swift because she's basically their soundtrack.

(They kinda looks like that but obviously Rhaenyra's hair is platinum blonde)

Part 2

________________________________

"Your father knowledge of history is very impressive"

Alicent said as she scanned the ink on the pages.

The two girls sat on the couch in the Targaryen's living room, with big heavy books on their laps and a few others books along side notes and textbooks scattered around them.

Saying that both were restless would've been an understatement.

Although alicent loved history, she was anxious about their final test, history.

Rhaenyra was restless just because that who she was, staying still was not one of her strong qualities.

The blonde laughed as her eyes scanned one of the closed book next to her fit, her own father's name printed on the side of it.

The books were pretty impressive, in viserys defense, Each book with the historical detail of each war and royal that ever lived, all printed together.

As the history man he was, he released a few of these along the years and somehow, like the gods had their own sense of humor, she ended up using them in class, all her classmates did.

at least she had the advantage of asking her father questions about it tho.

"Good to hear you think that, because we do have to remember basically everything he written about to our finals. or you somehow forgotten?" The blonde laughed and Alicent sigh.

"How could I forget" she said with her own laugh. The two shared a sweet smile before they returned to their notes.

music was playing from the kitchen, and rhaenyra hummed along.

(Rhaenyra's voice was lovely, alicent thought.)

Saying that Alicent was jealous of her friend will be an over exaggeration of things, but she did found herself longing for one thing her friend was blessed with

A functioning and loving family.

The Targaryen house was never truly quiet, she came to notice with times, it was either music from somewhere in the house, or video games from one of the boys's rooms, It could be yelling or laughing or crying, it was raw and lively and she wished for it for herself as well.

Luckily for her, Rhaenyra and her family took her in, basically, the moment they understood she was pretty much alone.

Her own father was absent for the most part, while rhaenyra's was very much present, and warm and he never failed showing alicent kindness like she was a part of his family too.

Aemma, rhaenyra mother was a nice woman, with kind heart, and a warm smile.

She had her own bakery, one that sold the most heavenly pastries in the city, and she always made sure alicent had eaten and had a good night sleep.

Alicent own mother died when alicent was 14, and a few weeks later, she and her father moved from oldtown to westroes, where she met the rebellious blonde that now sat opposite her.

Although, the Targaryen siblings were a whole other level off unfamiliarity for her.

While she only had one brother, who was in the army, and she barely saw, rhaenyra was the second oldest, out of six, the house was never truly quite.

Dany was the oldest, 21 at the time, while rhaenyra was getting closer to 19, then was aegon, at the age of 17, helaena who recently turned 15, aemond 14 and daeron who was 3.

Alicent's restless thoughts were cut off by a warm voice calling her name.

"Alicent I assume you're staying for dinner?" Viserys asked with a warm smile from the entrance of the living room.

The brunette smiled back "id love to"

He nodded as it was obvious for him and looked at his own daughter, that was glaring at the book in her lap, alicent noticed it was the page that explained the death of queen rhaenyra.

"I still dont get why you called me after this queen" she huffed and viserys smiled at his annoyed daughter and sat on the armchair near them before taking the book and reading the paragraph who made her upset.

The blonde girl was pouting and alicent heart skipped a beat.

"The queen was brave, and strong and fierce. the realm delight, they called her" he explained

Rhaenyra's eyes trained on him, a frown on her lips.

"I wouldn't say I'm such a delight" she huffed and alicent giggled

"Couldn't agree more" she said and rhaenyra glared at her.

"Rude" the blonde shoved her softly.

Viserys looked at the two with amusement like if he knew something the two didn't know.

"I think im just a bit annoyed she was all of that but yet she ended up dying horribly, and it was basically because she was a woman, how is that fair"

alicent eyes scanned her friend features with her own curiosity. Rhaenyra was genuinely upset, and Alicent thought the wrinkle in her nose was cute.

The way she saw that, Rhaenyra was stubborn and fierce, and brave and strong just like the queen, and if the stories were true, she was as beautiful as her as well

"Its not, but it didn't change who she was, she was all of that, yet she was still a woman in a time that for many it was a bizarre idea to see a woman on the iron throne" he said back before looking down at the book.

"Why you wining again? Just be greatfull he didn't name you after a crazy queen" daenerys said from behind the girls.

Alicent jumped in surprise and rhaenyra laughed at her reaction before looking back at her older sister with a glare.

"Queen daenerys was-" the man started to say but got cut off by his oldest

"a woman that lost too much" she finished.

He nodded, and alicent thought about it for a second before speaking up.

"She was incredibly powerful and caring, and she freed many people from slavery, if I remember correctly, she was a good woman"

"She was" viserys said

"But then she burned thousands of innocents, so it kinda set the scale" rhaenyra said.

"Yeah, i guess it kinda does" alicent said as she put her own book down

"But its a lesson for us" viserys said and caught their attention

"Even the best people aren't immune to tragedy and trauma, they might even be less immune then the wicked"

"Point taken" dany said

"be bad or go mad" rhaenyra summed up and the man sighed.

"Or drop dead" dany finished and the sisters high faved.

"Dear gods" alicent said with an amused smile.

"That was lovely, anyways. not to be a buzz killer but the reason im here is because Mom sent me to get you, food's ready"

Dany finally said, pushing any more of the dreadful subject away

________________________________

"You can stay the night if you want, my parents wont mind"

Rhaenyra said when she walked Alicent to the door.

"i know, and i appreciate it, but I can't. Dad's coming home tomorrow so i need to make sure the house looks alright, plus you're murmuring in your sleep its a bit distracting" she jokingly said

"First: your dad's an ass for leaving you alone all of the time, and second, rude!"

The blonde said and Alicent wanted to agree, because he kinda was, especially towards Rhaenyra who was nothing but wonderful to her.

"Don't be mean"

"Im not, i just hate to see you like this, you deserve more" the short girl admitted.

"I know, but its not forever" alicent smiled sadly.

Soon they'll be out of school, and do whatever they want.

The two girl got accepted to various universities but decided to take a gap year to travel, and they couldn't wait to do that, just them, traveling without anyone else, traveling the world and eating only cake.

The two stood in the balcony, the moon light reflected on Alicent's face, and Rhaenyra couldn't stop but appreciate the curves of her lips or the sparkling of her eyes, and moment later, the way she tried to stop herself from shivering.

Although they were gettin close to the summer, some evenings were still a bit cold, and all alicent wore was a pair of jeans and a t shirt, not warming enough for that evening.

rhaenyra frowned and took her jacket off in seconds before pulling it over the tall girl's shoulder.

"How cheesy of you, have you learned that from your uncle? Is that how you pick on girls?" Alicent joked, but her cheeks warmed up and she kinda hoped Rhaenyra wouldn't notice (she did, she noticed everything about Alicent)

"Maybe, did it work?" Rhaenyra smirked and alicent laughed before she hugged her tightly.

"Goodnight Rhaenyra, and thank you"

"Let me know you're home safe"

"I will!"

And then she was gone, and Rhaenyra was standing on the balcony with only a t-shirt.

She stood there until the door was open and Aegean stood there with a knowing smirk "ask her out already, will you?"

"Shut up"

#rhaenyra targaryen #alicent hightower #rhaelicent #rhaenyra x alicent #house of the dragon #hotd #daenerys targaryen #alicent hightower x reader #rhaenyra x reader #rhaenyra targaryen x reader #alicent x reader #alicent x rhaenyra

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some-pers0n · 5 months

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I'm in a bad writer's block right now, but! I'm trying to cook up something real soon. Here's the first little bit of a new fic of mine I've got in the works. Take four guesses as to what it's about. Winner gets to eat bricks.

Oh and also small Turtbli moment happens if you like Gay Dragons.

So, hearing that the Jade Winglet wanted to spend a night at the Island Palace was definitely something he was not interested in doing.

Unfortunately, Qibli and Kinkajou were firm in this decision.

"Oh come on," Qibli said, "it's only one night!"

"We shouldn't...be here." Turtle mumbled. "Isn't this disrespectful? I mean, we are just going to run around in a place where so...so many dragons lost their lives."

"And? It's not like they're alive to see it. They've been dead for a long, long, LONG time," Kinkajou called out. "Who cares? It's going to be fun! Trust us."

"It's supposed to be scary anyways. It's Faust's Hallow. Wouldn't it be a little fun to spend it at some creepy old palace? We rarely get together nowadays, and besides, didn't Queen Coral give us permission for this? Turtle, this is our one chance!"

Turtle reluctantly looked at her, sighing. "If you say so..."

Albatross wasn't there. How could he be? Well, the story of Faust was based on him wandering the continent for eternity. Perhaps, maybe- no. It's a made up story. Turtle wasn't going to fall for some sort of story his brothers would tell to scare him. He already had enough sleepless nights, filled with anxiety and worry over the concept of Albatross still being around.

He's not. He's dead. This was just going to be a nice, if a bit restless, night out in the ruins of the abandoned Island Palace. He will not be scared.

They touched down onto the beach around it. If Turtle remembered correctly, this was the Sunrise Beach. It was empty, completely devoid of any sort of life. The palace in front of them was crumbling and tattered. The lavish white walls were discoloured and washed out from weathering an impossible amount of storms. It was covered in moss and sea flora, with barnacles growing on the base of the palace. The light of the setting sun basked the palace in an ominous glow of oranges and purples.

A deep, horrible feeling persisted within Turtle. It made him aware of the light sensation in his claws. The tiny burning from within. Only a little ways away, tragedy had taken place. Two thousand years ago, Albatross, his own great-grandfather, slaughtered twenty dragons. He caries the same power he does. Even right now, he could kill all of his friends. One stray thought and who knows what would happen.

"Well, don't just stand there!" Kinkajou bounced ahead. "We've got a whole palace to explore! I call looking on the upper floors with Moon!"

"Wh- me? Uh...okay then?" She stepped forward, following after her. "See you, I guess?" She waved to Qibli and Turtle before disappearing off into the courtyard.

"So, that just leaves me and you." Qibli rested his wing on Turtle, pulling him closer.

"Hurray..."

"Where you wanna go? If they're going up, let's check out the ground floor. Gardens. See some cool old statues that've been crumbling from age."

"What fun..."

Turtle awkwardly chuckled. "I don't think you can really stab a spirit."

He laughed, feeling his anxieties melt away. Qibli looked back at him, a soft, genuine smile on his face. "Feel a bit better?" He patted him on the back. "Right, let's go exploring."

#SP-writing #wof #wof fanfic #turtle wof

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moonchildreads · 11 months

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small town

Chapter 16 - Let's Hear It for the Boy

IN THIS CHAPTER: Science fiction double feature, rotten eggs, and Eddie turns 20 [12.2k]

WARNINGS: bullying (mentions of racism and fatphobia), childhood trauma (hair trauma, child neglect, toxic masculinity), one use of a homophobic slur (f-word), mild spoilers for The Rocky Horror Picture Show and The Exorcist (specific mentions of the crucifix scene, if you've seen the movie, you know what this is about)

A/N: shout out to my one and only @gutterratt for helping me figure out my way through old horror movies! i'm a wuss so i relied heavily on her opinions to make this work (also read a few entire scripts and scared myself lmao). thank you for being the best teacher i could have asked for. 10 more days until i get to hug the shit out of you <3

masterlist - prev - next | playlist

We always have a real good time And maybe he sings off-key But that's all right by me, yeah

Thursday, May 15th - 1986

On Eddie’s 20th birthday it rained cats and dogs. There was a light shower during the early morning which stopped at around 10 only to come back with a vengeance after lunch, and by the time the school day had ended, the weather was warm and humid with a sky-obscuring fog that made it seem like it was much later than it actually was. Eddie, as he always did when it rained, offered to take Gareth home so he gave his friend his keys and asked him and Dottie to wait in the van while he finished up a private conversation with Mrs. Vaughn, his Drawing teacher. She was quite impressed with how his portfolio was shaping up, and wanted to know more about the subjects he’d chosen to portray in his art. Some talks were meant to be kept behind closed doors.

Gareth left Dottie at her locker where she was fighting to fit Eddie’s birthday present in her backpack without absolutely destroying the muffin she’d baked for him during Home Ec and headed towards the parking lot to wait for his friends in the safety of the van. Dottie had barely managed to zip up her backpack when a pair of pink sneakers came up to where she was kneeling.

“Do you need help?” a warm, melodic voice asked.

Dottie looked up to find Chrissy Cunningham, the current Queen of Hawkins High, smiling at her like they’d known each other for years. She wasn’t wearing her full cheerleading uniform that day; instead she had chosen cuffed jeans and a lovely cream blouse, her strawberry blonde hair cascading down her shoulders. Wow, Dottie thought without an ounce of shame for ogling. She’s gorgeous. Realizing she had been staring up at the kind (almost) stranger, she quickly stood and threw her backpack over her shoulder.

“Oh, no, thank you! I’ve got it,” Dottie said, and Chrissy smiled even wider if it was even possible.

“You’re Dottie Burke, right? We’re in World History together, you sit with Jeff Patton two seats in front of me?”

“Yup, that’s me! And you’re Chrissy Cunningham, you sit with, um, Melissa?”

“Yes, Melissa Levine,” the blonde’s eyes brightened up, pleased that this conversation was going smoothly. “I know you’re best friends with Eddie so could you give this to him for me?”

Chrissy presented a shiny green gift bag to her. It was carefully sealed with a big transparent sticker from the store where it had been purchased from and a huge silvery bow was tied to the handles. Of all the things she had been expecting her to pull out behind her back, a birthday gift for Eddie hadn’t been in her Top 10 List at all.

“Are you sure? He’ll come back in a sec if you want to give it to him yourself, he’s just talking to a teacher.”

“Yeah, I think he already knows what it is,” Chrissy waved her hand like it wasn’t a big deal. “I’d wait for him but my boyfriend is in the car already so…”

“Oh, yeah, totally. I can give this to Ed for you, don’t worry.”

“Thank you, you’re so nice!” she said, beaming at her. “I’m sorry if I’m coming off too strong, Eddie said we’d get along so I thought “well, what am I waiting for”, right?”

“You’re fine, seriously,” Dottie laughed; Chrissy’s bubbly energy was contagious. “He told me we’d get along too. Something about you liking Queen and owning all the records?”

“Yes! Gosh, I love Queen! Do you? We should hang out sometime, we can listen to them together.”

“Absolutely, yes. I’d love that.”

“Okay, cool! I’ll see you around, okay?”

“Yeah, sure! Have fun on your date!”

“How did you know I’m going on a date?” Chrissy said, mild intrigue on her face.

“You just look really pretty and you mentioned your boyfriend so I thought you might be going on a date with him,” Dottie explained like it was the simplest thing in the world. “I like your makeup.”

“Oh,” she said, stopping for a moment.

Chrissy wasn’t a stranger to people telling her she was pretty. She had grown up going to pageants and being paraded as a doll by her mother but the compliments were always the same and regarding things she didn’t care about, like how big her Mom had teased her hair, and how thin she looked like in that formal gown. No one had ever told her something she did for herself, like her daily makeup, was pretty. She gave Dottie a big toothy smile, genuine and warm.

“Thank you! I like your dress!”

“Thanks, it was my Mom’s. It has pockets!” the brunette said, shoving a hand inside the left pocket of her short black jumper dress to demonstrate.

“I love that! Not enough dresses have pockets, it’s a shame.”

They said their goodbyes again and Chrissy disappeared down the hallway, leaving Dottie to consider that maybe she really did need more girl friends. She loved her Hellfire boys, and of course Erica was great, but she had missed the kind of special warmth female friendships gave - the gentle toughness she’d always admired in her Aunts’ actions. Now that she knew what a real friend was supposed to look like thanks to the guys, she realized that whatever she had thought Jeannie was during her life in New York hadn’t exactly been a good example of true friendship. Dottie wondered if, given enough time, Chrissy could become a real friend. She was, after all, good friends with Eddie already and he seemed like a fine judge of character so far.

“You ready to bounce?” Eddie asked, hurrying down the hallway to where she was still standing.

“Yeah! This is for you, by the way,” Dottie said, giving him the gift bag. “It’s from Chrissy.”

“Chris- damnit, I told her not to do it,” he shook his head, a fond smile gracing his face. He accepted the bag and shoved it inside his backpack to protect it from the rain; he had a pretty good idea of what it was but he’d look at it once they were home. “Come on, let’s go.”

He guided Dottie towards the parking lot with a hand on the back of her bag, keeping her close as they ran out into the rain and towards the dry seats of his van. They were almost there when Eddie noticed someone curled into themselves near the furthest column that supported the overhang roof at the entrance, a figure huddled up on the floor wearing what looked like Gareth’s red plaid shirt. He looked at his van and saw instantly that his friend was not sitting inside waiting for them, and the vehicle wasn’t even on. What the fuck, he thought bitterly, taking note that the door on the driver’s side was covered in what looked like a runny viscous liquid. The rain was washing it away, but the white and light brown shells on the floor were enough to confirm his suspicions. Switching gears quickly, he pulled Dottie under his arm and guided her towards Gareth.

“What’s going on?” she asked, looking up at him, arm up trying to keep the rain out of her face.

“Gareth!” he yelled for an answer, and the younger boy lifted his teary head up from his knees. “Jesus Christ.”

“Oh my god, what happened to you?” Dottie exclaimed, rushing to their friend.

“They were waiting for Eddie. Said it was a birthday present,” he sniffed, lifting his arm to wipe his face with his sleeve and putting it down instantly when he saw it was filthy. He smelled like rotten eggs.

“I’m so sorry, man,” Eddie said, crouching next to him.

“Not your fault,” Gareth shrugged. “You always cover for me so… guess it was time I covered you for once.”

“This has happened before?” Dottie asked, and both boys looked at her like it was common sense. “Who- who did this to you? How many times?”

“It isn’t always eggs,” Gareth sniffed again. “One time they threw mud at Donny, called him a pig. Gave Dustin a swirly a couple of times but they don’t touch Mike anymore since they found out Nancy Wheeler is his sister. Andy is the worst, he, um-” he interrupted himself and looked at Eddie.

“Andy Humphrey,” Eddie sighed. “He put a bunch of racist notes in Jeff’s locker for a couple of months last year. We saw him doing it but Higgins didn’t do shit about it. He’s on the basketball team, always wears that stupid hat.”

“Yeah, I know him,” Dottie said. “He’s in my AP Spanish class, he’s barely passing. He cheated on our last pop quiz, he knows I saw because he winked at me like he was trying to get me on his side.”

“Almost everyone on the basketball team sucks,” Gareth said. “I don’t know what Lucas is doing with them.”

“Lucas?”

“Lucas Sinclair. Erica’s brother?” Eddie explained. “He used to play with us before he decided being a freak wasn’t good enough for him.”

“I mean… I don’t blame him. I smell like a sewer,” Gareth grimaced.

“Okay, come on, let’s get you home,” Dottie said, patting his knee to get him to stand up.

“I’ll just walk, I’m gonna get the van dirty.”

“No way, man, not in this thunderstorm. Get in the back,” Eddie instructed.

The three of them headed back to the van, the rain not relenting for a single second. On the bright side, Eddie’s door wasn’t dirty anymore, clean from the constant water streaming upon the metal. On the other hand, Gareth was soaked and shivering by the time he sat himself on a plastic crate at the back of the van, keeping himself away from the blankets and pillows, windows cracked open to let cool air in and rotten egg smell out. They drove to Gareth’s house in silence, only the occasional sniffling coming from the dirty boy wallowing in his own misery could be heard under the vehicle’s rumbling.

When they arrived and pulled up to Gareth’s garage, Eddie wasn’t expecting Dottie to get out too, leaving behind her backpack tucked under the co-pilot seat. He followed the pair to the front door, heard the keys tinkling against each other as his friends walked inside and hurried up to get out of the rain. In the foyer, Dottie peeled off her cardigan and sneakers before directing Gareth to his bathroom.

“Eddie, can you get a chair from the kitchen?” she asked, already pushing Gareth down the hallway.

Eddie complied with her request, bringing one of the aluminum chairs with pleather seats into the Jack and Jill that connected Gareth’s bedroom with his sister’s. Gareth was peeling his dirty sleeveless shirt and sweatshirt off his body, Dottie kneeling near his feet helping him take his rain soaked shoes off.

“Thanks,” she said, smiling softly at Eddie before looking up at Gareth. “You sit.”

“Why can’t I just take a shower?” he complained, but still sat down on the chair.

“Because you’re not only covered in gunk, there’s eggshells in your hair. Let me get them out and we’ll leave you to shower in peace, okay?” she pulled back the bath curtain and got his shampoo and conditioner, coming to stand next to the sink.

The birthday boy watched her work, carefully picking all the shells out of Gareth’s hair and throwing them into the pink waste bin that was hidden next to the toilet. She got rid of the knots in his hair with a glittery blue plastic comb that clearly belonged to Gretchen, wetting it with warm water between each pass. Eddie could feel something bubbling up his chest, but it wasn’t anything like the usual jealousy he swore he had stopped feeling days ago. No, this was something different, much more deep seated, clawing up his throat and threatening to tear his insides apart leaving no prisoners behind. This was something he’d been ignoring for a very long time, from before he even knew a Gareth Coleman or a Dorothy Burke. This padlock had been sealed shut with rust ages ago, the key long forgotten somewhere no one, not even Eddie, would find it anymore.

Dottie poured water on Gareth’s scalp with her hands, making him shiver once and then giggle at himself for his reaction. She worked the shampoo into his curls, pulling his hair once to make him wince when he made a stupid comment that Eddie wasn’t listening. He watched the suds fall into the pure white porcelain of the sink bowl as she washed them away with the utmost patience and care.

“You should be a hairdresser,” Gareth said, eyes closed while he relaxed into her touch.

“I could never. You know that smell when you walk into a salon? I fucking hate it,” she said, snorting at the end.

When was the last time Eddie had gone to a salon for a haircut? Not since living with Wayne, that’s for sure. The last time he’d had a haircut he hadn’t given himself in his own bathroom was back in middle school, when a neighbor buzzed all his hair off during that horrible lice outbreak he’d told Dottie about. He remembered that before he turned 12, before she passed away calmly in her sleep, his Grandma kept his hair rather short, like it had been that summer he’d spent in her care when he was eight. And before that… Eddie didn’t like to remember before that.

Dottie shook the bottle of conditioner until a small blob hit her palm and began weaving her fingers into Gareth’s curls. They were still chatting quietly, their long haired friend hovering in the hallway near the door. Eight years. Eight years since anyone had touched Eddie’s hair, since anyone that wasn’t himself had run a brush through his curls and snapped the damaged ends off with a pair of sharp scissors. He hated getting haircuts from his Grandma - not because she was bad at doing them, but because she always pulled at the knots a little bit too harshly, muttering about how boys with longer hair were unkempt and unruly. And Eddie loved his Grandma so much, and she loved him so much in return, but in those moments there was no denying that she was his father’s mother, and getting haircuts from her only reminded him of Wyatt Munson calling him a faggot because his curls reached the collar of his school shirt before he dropped him off at a cheap salon and returned five hours later, smelling of booze and nicotine and regrets.

Eddie used to feel so guilty whenever he went to the salon. Wyatt would treat him like absolute shit, and then he’d sob quietly in the chair while a middle aged lady told him things like “boys don’t cry” and “it’s just hair, kid, don’t be a brat”, only for Wyatt to return and ask her if she’d turned his little girl into a proper boy. A while back, when Eddie first got his driver’s license, he drove past that salon on his way to Donny’s family restaurant and felt like he’d won the damn lottery when he saw it had been closed for several years. Fuck that place, he’d thought and promptly sped up.

“Hey,” a hand touched his arm, making him jump lightly. “Where’d you go?”

“Sorry,” he said quickly, blinking a few times and focusing on Dottie’s worried face in front of him. “I think I fell asleep for a second.”

“We’re done so… we can go now,” she said, not pushing him for an answer.

She’d seen that face on him before, back when they were arguing about his moldy ceiling, and immediately decided they weren’t going to have this conversation in front of Gareth. The younger boy had a small towel on his head like a nun’s headdress to stop his curls from dripping all over the floor as he gathered his dirty clothes and walked past them towards the laundry room.

“Sorry about all this,” said Gareth, standing under his front door’s frame.

“Wasn’t your fault, man. Sorry you got caught in the crossfire,” Eddie reassured him, waiting for Dottie to finish putting on her sneakers.

“Better me than you.”

“Tell you what, why don’t you pick the movie tomorrow? Anything you want.”

“Anything?” he asked, mischief glinting in his eyes.

“Just… don’t pick anything stupid, okay? The Boogey Man sucked ass.”

“You have no fucking taste,” Gareth complained, rolling his eyes.

“Wait, hold on, are we gonna watch a horror film?” Dottie asked in the direction of the younger boy.

“It’s tradition, we always watch horror movies on our birthdays.”

“Can we not do that this time? You know I hate horror. We can do a thriller, that’s like… horror-adjacent, right?”

“Horror-adjac… Dude,” Gareth turned to Eddie, seeking an ally.

It’s not that Eddie was dying to watch a horror film, he really wasn’t. He was happy to watch whatever most of the time, like when Jeff had insisted on watching Spacehunter: Adventures in the Forbidden Zone for some weird reason and he’d gone along for the ride because, well, any movie was still a movie. Eddie loved stories, the more outlandish the better. He wasn’t about to complain about two hours of mindless entertainment, regardless of the subject of the VHS tape in the player. Caught between his two friends, one who looked at him with exasperation at even suggesting a change of plans and the other one with the cutest goddamned pout and rounded eyes he had ever seen, well, he was only human. If Jesus had stumbled, why wouldn’t he do it too?

“Maybe we can skip the horror this time,” he said.

“Come on, man, don’t let her peer-pressure you!”

“Peer-pressure? God, you’re such a little-”

“Okay, okay, calm down, Jesus,” Eddie lifted his hands, getting between them. “How about this? We do a double feature. You each pick one movie and you can’t complain about what the other one chooses, alright? It’s my birthday, don’t make me uninvite you.”

“But-”

“Take it or leave it, Gareth, it’s my final offer.”

“Fine,” Gareth grumbled.

“Thank you,” Dottie said, still looking apprehensive but not wanting to push the argument further.

This was a tradition she hadn’t been a part of since its inception and she wasn’t going to fight her way in when they were so graciously holding the door open for her. Friends do stuff they don’t enjoy to make other friends happy sometimes, it’s okay. They’d do it for me. I’ll just… suck it up and watch the floor for two hours, she thought as they said their goodbyes and ran under the rain to get to Eddie’s van. He was excitedly going on about the cake Wayne had gotten for him on the way to the trailer, and Dottie couldn’t find it in herself to care about what horrifying movie Gareth was gonna subject her too when Eddie looked so happy to spend his special day with his Uncle and her.

“Wayne, we’re home!” Eddie yelled, trying to put his key in to open his front door.

Dottie was standing very still in front of Eddie, his chest to her back and arms on either side of her while he wrestled with his keys, shielding her from the storm with his body. The copious raindrops falling on them pinged off the leather jacket that was keeping him cozy and dry, soaking his hair that curtained Dottie’s head from above. She was holding both their backpacks against her chest, trying to protect them and their contents from the rain.

“Wayne!” he yelled again, hitting the door twice with his fist.

“Hold on, I’m coming,” the older man replied from the inside, hurrying up to let them in. "Where were you?"

"Got held up at school," said Eddie, guiding Dot in and closing the door quickly behind his back before shedding his wet jacket. "Talked to that teacher I told you about last night. She said I have talent."

"Coulda told you that myself," Wayne smiled at him, pulling his big boy into a hug and patting his back. "Happy birthday, Ed."

"Thanks, Wayne," Eddie melted into his Uncle. They didn't hug often, less so now that he wasn't a little kid anymore, but if you asked him, his Uncle Wayne gave the best hugs in the entire world because whenever he gave you one, he definitely meant it. "Can we have cake now?"

"Get the candles," Wayne jerked his head towards the kitchen where a set of barely used birthday candles were waiting in the bottom drawer ready to grant a new wish.

While Eddie busied himself putting the candles on a small chocolate cake, Dottie cleared the coffee table, setting his gifts on the floor. There were three presents: Chrissy's shiny green bag that had gotten a bit smushed in Eddie's backpack, a thin rectangle in bright blue paper, and a little package smaller than a hand. Wayne added two to the pile wrapped in the same red paper; one looked soft, the other one was a square box. Dottie's funfetti muffin ended up with its own candle next to the cake.

"Light me up, princess," Eddie said, pointing to a BIC lighter that had been abandoned in the coffee table bowl at some point.

"I can't," Dottie admitted, looking embarrassed. "I don't know how to use that kind of lighter, the flick thing scares me."

"The flick thing?"

"You know, the thingy you have to roll with your thumb? That scrapes something inside and sparks up?"

"The sparkwheel?"

"I don't know what it's called!" Eddie held back a grin. "Don't laugh at me, I don't like how close the spark is to the finger. It's a perfectly reasonable fear, I don't want to burn myself!"

"No, yeah, absolutely. You're totally right" he said, fighting a chuckle. God, she's so fucking cute. He reached into a kitchen drawer and retrieved a small matchbox. “Here, use these.”

“The Hideout,” she read aloud on the front of the box. “That’s where you guys play on Tuesdays, right?”

“Yeah, they have a big bowl of these on the bar. I grab a couple every few weeks, haven’t bought real matches in years.”

“Very smart,” she said, lighting the two candles at the same time Wayne found his old camera tucked away in their storage closet.

Eddie knelt in front of the coffee table, closing his eyes with only one wish in mind. Dottie and Wayne sang to him and he smiled, the sudden flash of the camera in his Uncle’s hands painting his eyelids pink for a brief second. His 19th birthday had been tainted with the knowledge that he was going to be held back for the second time in a row. Wayne had taken him to a diner that night; they’d gotten pancakes for dinner and Eddie had cried and apologized for being such a goddamn failure. The eldest Munson had simply let his tears dry before he’d said, very matter-of-factly: I didn’t finish high school, do you think I’m a failure? What’s important is that you keep tryin’ and see things through even if they get hard. Are you a quitter, Ed?

Please, let ‘86 be my year, Eddie thought as hard as he could, sending his prayer to the universe before he opened his eyes and blew both candles out with one single breath. Dottie clapped and hollered, making them laugh. Wayne nudged her side with his elbow, nodding once in his nephew’s direction.

“Come on, you two. Gimme a nice smile,” he lifted the camera again.

Dottie hurried to sit next to Eddie and he didn’t waste a second pulling her to him, cheeks pressed against each other’s. She smiled brightly, the muffin she’d made for him in her hands like a delicate flower, and his arms around her waist, tongue out in a funny face. Wayne committed the memory to film before Dottie lifted herself up onto her knees, making grabby hands at him, Eddie still holding onto her.

“I’ll take one of you two, Mr. Wayne!” she offered.

“How about we take a group picture?” he said, sitting on the couch behind them and turning the camera around.

The two teens huddled up at his feet, his nephew giving him instructions to frame everyone better (“You gotta go higher, Wayne, half your head will be out of the picture!”). After the flash went off, Dottie went to find a knife to cut the cake while Eddie tore into his gifts, starting with Wayne’s packages. He seemed to already know what the soft looking one was, but still ripped the paper with gusto, a childlike glint in his eyes.

Wayne’s gifts had clearly been picked from a thrift shop, but that didn’t damp Eddie’s excitement in the slightest. He thanked his Uncle profusely for his two new shirts and boxy jean shorts for the summer before moving onto the mystery box which turned out to be a thermos flask with a slightly faded Snoopy print.

“No way!” he said, gleefully. “I’ve been trying to get one of these for ages!”

“I know,” Wayne said, proudly. “Heard you yappin’ about it so I asked Loretta to hold one for me if she ever saw them. Said they got a few of them a couple of months ago so I went and snatched one for you.”

“A couple of months ago? Where did you hide it all this time?”

“Under the seat in my truck,” he laughed, and Dottie was reminded once again of how similar the Munson men truly were.

“Gonna start checking down there around Christmas,” Eddie said, narrowing his eyes. He passed the flask to Dottie to examine who traded it for a plate of cake.

“This is really cute, Mr. Wayne. Wish mine was pretty like this one.”

“You got one of these?” Eddie asked.

“Yeah, my Grandpa gave me his old one a few years ago. It looks so ugly, it’s like… plaid? But it keeps water cool in the summer so I can’t really complain. He got it for his fishing trips but he never used it so I got it instead. The perks of being his only grandchild,” she waved her fingers.

“You don’t have cousins?” Wayne asked, digging into his own piece of cake while Eddie picked a new present to open.

“No, both my parents are only children. All my Aunts and Uncles are their friends. I’ve got a big family, but I’m not blood related to any of them.”

“Oh, shit,” Eddie muttered, his attention on the long thin box in his hands.

Chrissy’s gift had turned out to be a red tie. The fabric was soft and silky, slightly shiny, and the tie itself was on the thinner side. There was a simple white card in the bag, it only said “For: Eddie, From: Chrissy” but she’d dotted the I’s with tiny hearts. He caressed the side of the box lightly, staring at it in wonder. He’d never owned a tie, much less one that looked as expensive as this one. When he’d asked Chrissy for advice on what to wear for prom, he’d never imagined she’d take it upon herself to make sure he was presentable. He’d have to figure out a way to make it up to her for her birthday, maybe Dottie would know how to help.

“That’s nice,” Wayne said, craning his neck to see into the box. “That one yours, Dot?”

“No, this one’s Chrissy’s,” she replied.

“Who’s Chrissy?”

“Chrissy Cunningham,” Eddie said, realizing he’d never talked to his Uncle about his most unlikely friend. “We’re in Sociology together.”

Dottie knew he was lying; Eddie only shared Sociology with Jeff but it wasn’t like he could tell Wayne he’d become friends with a cheerleader by selling her weed, could he? She noticed how suspicious his Uncle was by his statement and decided to help him out.

“I’m in World History with her, she’s really kind,” Dottie said, making Eddie look up at her too. “We were talking about Queen when you were with Mrs. Vaughn today, she said she liked my dress.”

“She did?”

“Yeah! She liked the pockets,” she smiled at him. “You gonna wear this for prom?”

“I think that’s why she got it for me,” Eddie chuckled. “I told her we’re all wearing Hellfire colors. Gareth got a red bowtie the other day.”

“I still haven’t found a dress I like or that fits right,” she huffed. “Dad said we’re gonna have to go to Indianapolis, we’ve been to every shop in Hawkins already.”

“A lot of shops closed last year ‘cause of the mall,” Wayne said, clearing up the cake plates. “Never reopened after the fire. Damn shame.”

“Can I open these ones?” Eddie interrupted, excited about the two other presents he had left on the pile.

“Sure!”

“Any special order?”

“No, they’re separate from each other.”

He decided to open the bigger one first, fairly confident about it being a book. He tore the paper to find a hardcover notebook, black with an elastic to keep it closed. It looked fancy, but not particularly special, at least not until he opened it. It was sheet music, 14 five-line staffs on every off-white page, binded and with a pocket on the back. He turned to the first sheet, blank, no lines but with a note written in familiar black ink. For my favorite rockstar, from your darling Dottie. With a little daisy at the end. He stared at it for a minute that never seemed to end and looked up at her, big rounded eyes pushing his eyebrows under his fringe.

“You were talking about wanting to write more songs for Corroded Coffin last week at practice, so I thought you might need a place to keep everything organized,” she explained, voice shy and a little soft.

“Dot, I-”

“Open the other one.”

Wordlessly, he grabbed the small box, instantly recognizing it as a cassette case. He removed the paper, aware that Wayne was watching them from behind the kitchen bar while he brewed some coffee, and turned the transparent case in his hand. 1986 - E&D was written on the front, colorful stickers decorating the plastic. The song list inside only had one entry: Hot Patootie - Meatloaf (RHPS).

“Just one song?” he asked, confused.

“I thought we could fill it up together. See, I wrote 1986 on this one, but we can make a new one for every year we’re friends so when we get old, we can remember what we were doing that year by the songs we chose. Like a musical scrapbook.”

“Fuck, I love you,” Eddie said, launching himself from the floor and tackling her to the carpet, dissolving into giggles as she fought to sit back down.

“Stop- Jesus, Ed- I don’t like tickles, stop!” she pleaded, writhing on the floor like a worm, thankful that she was wearing colorful leggings under her skirt.

“Who doesn’t like tickles?” he lifted himself up onto hands and knees above her, ceasing the attack but still caging her under his body.

“I get nervous if I can’t breathe right,” she explained, hair fanning out like a halo around her head. Eddie felt his knees go weak. “Also, it makes me feel like I’m gonna pee myself and that’s so embarrassing.”

“Okay, gotcha. No tickling,” he pulled them both into a sitting position and smiled, wrapping one arm around her. “Thank you, I love my gifts. And I already know what song I wanna add next to the mixtape.”

“Do tell.”

“Nope,” he shook his head dramatically. “You’ll find out when it’s done.”

“Fine,” she rolled her eyes, turning to where Wayne was watching them, hiding a smile behind his mug.

“Happy birthday, son,” he said, raising his coffee to his mouth, and Eddie thought it might have been the happiest of them all.

After dishes had been washed and the rest of the cake had been put away until a certain birthday boy got the munchies at midnight, Eddie and Dottie decided to sit on the porch just outside his bedroom and leave Wayne to his devices. They lounged side by side on the old ratty couch, him working on his portfolio and her reading Pride and Prejudice out loud in an attempt to get him to finish the last book left in their compulsory reading list before finals week was upon them.

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife. However little known the feelings or views of such a man may be on his first entering a neighbourhood, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the surrounded families, that he is considered as the rightful property of some one or other of their daughters.

“My dear Mr. Bennet,” said his lady to him one day, “have you heard that Netherfield Park is let at last?”

The heavy rain hitting the tin roof provided the perfect ambiance for Eddie’s limbs to start feeling heavy and his hand to begin missing the lines he was trying to stay between while he shaded his latest piece. He closed his sketchbook and slid it through his open window to keep it dry in the safety of his bedroom, quickly returning to the couch to continue hearing the tales of the Bennet sisters. He laid down on the cushions, legs hanging off the armrest and head comfortably pillowed by Dottie's lap.

“Come, Darcy,” said he, “I must have you dance. I hate to see you standing about by yourself in this stupid manner. You had much better dance.”

“I certainly shall not. You know how I detest it, unless I am particularly acquainted with my partner. At such an assembly as this, it would be insupportable. Your sisters are engaged, and there is no another woman in the room whom it would not be a punishment to me to stand up with.”

“I would not be so fastidious as you are,” cried Bingley, “for a kingdom! Upon my honour, I never met with so many pleasant girls in my life as I have this evening; and there are several of them, you see, uncommonly pretty.”

“You are dancing with the only handsome girl in the room,” said Mr. Darcy, looking at the eldest Miss Bennet.

What a lovely voice, Eddie thought about Dottie, closing his eyes and letting his impressive imagination create Austen's lavish world behind his eyelids. It wasn't too high-pitched, nor too low, with the cadence of someone who already knows the story they are reading and is aware of where to pause for dramatic effect. This Bingham fellow seems nice. Is this a love triangle-angle?, he wondered. Dottie's voice turned sweet when reading Jane, demure when reading Charlotte, and bratty when reading Lydia. She would be kind when she read Bingham, disdainful when Caroline and solemn when Darcy. But Eddie's favorite so far was her Lizzie voice, which turned sensible and self-assured, yet playful and naïve. He supposed it was because she used her own voice for her most preferred Bennet sister.

“Pride,” observed Mary, who piqued herself upon the solidity of her reflections, “is a very common failing, I believe. By all that I have ever read, I am convinced that it is very common indeed, that human nature is particularly prone to it, and that there are very few of us who do not cherish a feeling of self-complacency on the score of some quality or other, real or imaginary. Vanity and pride are different things, though the words are often used synonymously. A person may be proud without being vain. Pride relates more to our opinion of ourselves; vanity to what we would have others think of us.”

“If I were as rich as Mr. Darcy,” cried a young Lucas, who came with his sisters, “I should not care how proud I was. I would keep a pack of foxhounds, and drink a bottle of wine every day.”

A page was turned, and Dottie’s hand that had been propped up on her armrest fell onto her lap, where it began playing with Eddie's hair. She had touched it before, albeit briefly, but never had she had the opportunity to absent-mindedly run her fingers through his curls like this. They were so much softer than she had expected. She continued this soothing motion, and Eddie kept his eyes closed, leaving her to wonder if his unusual stillness was due to him falling asleep under her touch. She stopped, not wanting to disturb him when his arm shot up and his hand curled around her wrist.

"Please," he muttered in a broken voice. "Keep going."

Eddie couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten a haircut at a salon, but he also couldn't remember the last time anyone had brushed their fingers through the strands that had grown exponentially since middle school. He couldn't recall anyone helping him wash it, blow drying it for him, pushing it out of his face. And now Dottie was showing him the type of affection and care he'd craved for since before he learned how to tie his own shoes, and the rusty padlock with the missing key was beginning to break with the slightest amount of brute force applied to it.

"Please," Eddie pleaded, and Dottie closed the book, pulling her wrist out of his hand.

"Wait here," she said, moving her thighs so he'd let her get up and promptly disappeared into the trailer.

I've finally done it, he berated himself. I finally scared her off. But she reappeared quickly carrying a cushion and a rounded brush, sitting once again on the ratty couch. She opened her legs and put the cushion on the floor between them, motioning for him to sit down. Eddie complied without questioning it, his shoulders grazing against the colorful nylon leggings that covered her inner thighs while he faced the trailer park currently plunged into darkness by the storm. The first gentle but firm pull of the plastic bristles on his scalp made him shiver. The second one broke the dam.

Dottie brushed his hair in silence, being extra careful when she encountered a knot, undoing it slowly and patiently. Eddie sobbed without fear of judgment, because even though they weren't talking about it, he knew that she understood. How could she not, growing up with a single father who had never once in his life styled long hair before hers began to grow past her shoulders? So she brushed, and he cried, and they let go of yet another invisible weight together. When she put the brush down on the cushions, Eddie expected her to say something to ask him about what was happening. Instead, he felt her fingers running once, twice through the entire length of his hair, parting a small section near the top to his left on the third time. Dottie began braiding the strands into a thin plait, securing it with a small colorful plastic hair tie, the kind Eddie knew she always carried in her bag and had used a couple of times to pull her short curls into low pigtails.

She finished the braid, and moved onto the next one, right below the first one. Dottie wove strand with strand until she had three braids on either side of his head, all thinner than her own pinky. She pulled them back into a ponytail with the rest of his hair and brushed the ends for good measure one more time before dropping her weight on the floor between Eddie and the couch. Her arms curled around his waist, his chest to his back, her hands finding his curled into tight fists on his lap.

“You look like a viking now,” she said, softly.

“Thank you,” he replied, voice frail and small but full of meaning. She leaned forward to press a chaste kiss to the base of his neck, just above his shirt, and he bit back another sob.

“Happy birthday, Ed,” she muttered, lips still pressed to his skin like she wanted to get the words permanently etched into it.

Dottie did not go back to reading out loud and Eddie didn’t fish his sketchbook from his room for the remainder of the evening. They simply sat together on the porch, tangled with one another as usual, and watched the rain fall and heard the thunder rumble until it was time for her to go home. They didn’t say anything about what had happened, but there was no need. Another padlock laid at their feet, and they weren’t afraid of busting them open anymore.

Friday, May 16th - 1986

“Fred? Fred!” Dottie called, pushing the doors to the Hawkins High newspaper room in a hurry. “Fred, are you here?”

“N-no, he’s- he went to see the nurse!” a familiar voice came from under the stairs.

Sitting on the floor and hiding between a few boxes that contained blank bundles of paper, was Nancy Wheeler. Her pretty calf-length pastel rainbow skirt covered her bent legs, concealing her feet from anyone who walked by. She had been crying, brown mascara staining the skin under her eyes but she clearly wasn’t anymore, face dry and eyes only slightly swollen. When she noticed Dottie coming to kneel next to her, she quickly hid the paper she was holding in her cardigan pocket. They didn’t know each other very well yet, were friendly at best, but Dottie knew that Nancy didn’t have many friends in school. She was highly regarded as a good student, on track to being the valedictorian with a bright future ahead but she could be a bit of a loner when she wasn’t being followed around by Fred Benson or another newspaper club member.

Nancy often chose to spend most of her time in the library studying or working on something for The Weekly Streak, building her journalism portfolio to parade around in search of internships when she left Hawkins for college in Boston. Dottie wasn’t one to gossip with anyone that wasn’t named Gareth Coleman, but Fred liked to talk. On one occasion when the junior was assisting Dottie with an urgent task, he’d babbled on and on about Nancy, her late friend Barb, the fact that she’d been considered Hawkins royalty for a period of time while she dated some popular guy who was captain of the swimming team, and how she’d dumped him rather publicly at a Halloween party and gotten together with known weirdo Jonathan Byers. She tried to steer Fred away from the topic at the time, but he was undeterred: it was clear the boy held some sort of candle for the pretty senior, and who was Dottie to tell him to snuff it out? She’d only known them for less than a month. Still, with the knowledge that Nancy was a bit of an outcast after the tragic death of her best friend, and coupled with the fact that she was Mike’s sister, Dottie couldn’t pretend like she hadn’t seen her distress.

“You okay?” she asked, giving her editor-in-chief enough room to answer however she wanted.

“Yeah, it’s… it’s nothing,” Nancy rolled her shiny blue eyes, waving a hand around. “Everything’s fine.”

“I was dropping by to leave these for Fred,” Dottie explained, showing her the stack of papers she was holding. “Is he okay?”

“Yes, he was just complaining about a headache. Nothing serious.”

“Good, okay. I’ll leave this on his station and we can go get a soda. Would that be alright?”

“You want to get a soda with me?” Nancy said, a soft smile gracing her lips.

“Of course! We can share M&Ms if you want too. I’ve known you for a month and all I know about you is that you’re going to Emerson and that Dustin thinks you’re a badass.”

“He called me badass?” she laughed, getting to her feet and wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

“God, the kid loves you. Mike says he had a crush on you when they were younger.”

“Ugh, he did,” Nancy said, remembering the moment fondly. “Dustin is probably my favorite out of all my brother’s friends.”

“He’s so nice. His Mom did a great job with him.”

“Have you met Claudia? She’s quite the character,” she confided as the two girls climbed up the stairs and headed into the empty hallways side by side.

Nancy was funny. That was something Dottie hadn’t been expecting. She was polite and reserved, yes, but funny in the way people who notice things others don’t are. She carried their conversation well, asked Dottie questions to get to know her better while she answered the ones directed at her with ease. Her favorite color was pink, she liked all her classes except Math, was really excited about the release of Top Gun and was going to go see it with her Mom, Karen. She preferred Sprite to Coca-Cola, and in her opinion, the best M&Ms were the red ones, even though they all tasted the same. They sat on a bench just outside the cafeteria and talked about trivial things until they ran out of topics to explore.

“I wish we would have done this earlier,” Dottie said, popping a green candy into her mouth. “You’re really cool, Nance.”

“Thanks,” she said, chuckling shyly. “I think you might be collecting Wheeler siblings at this point. Should I let my Mom know you’re available to babysit Holly?”

“I actually have a lot of experience with babysitting. Give me until finals are done and if you need me, I’m there.”

“Speaking of babysitting, Mike mentioned you’re tutoring Eddie Munson.”

“I’m not really tutoring him, just… helping him keep his focus. We’re good friends.”

“I know. Mike,” Nancy said, like that explained everything and it actually did. “Actually, he… he mentioned you gave him advice a few times. About his girlfriend?”

“Yeah, I remember. Why are teenage boys so scared of their own feelings?”

“Tell me about it,” she scoffed, but immediately turned shy and rigid. “Could you… would it be okay if I asked you for advice too? It’s just- you are impartial in this situation and I think that’s what I need right now.”

“Sure, how can I help?” Dottie turned to her.

Nancy explained that she’d gotten a letter from her boyfriend, Jonathan. Ex-boyfriend, actually, but neither of them were good at the ex part. They had had a big argument over the phone after Spring break when post California-visit, Mike had accidentally let it slip that Jonathan didn’t want to go to Emerson with Nancy and had chosen community school instead. She hadn’t been upset about him changing his plans, but it definitely had hurt to know he’d been lying to her all this time, telling her he’d applied when he hadn’t, stringing her along for months on end. Dottie listened to Nancy retelling how she’d broken up with him, worried about if there were maybe other things he’d been hiding from her, and how Jonathan hadn’t tried to argue back once. He’d called two weeks later from a payphone outside the pizza parlor his new best friend worked at, high off his mind, crying and begging for her to take him back. Nancy had firmly said no, but that she was willing to talk more when he wasn’t on drugs.

This had happened mid-April, and Jonathan hadn’t called since. Instead, a letter addressed to Nancy had arrived that same Friday - four full pages of him not exactly asking for forgiveness, but explaining his reasoning in regards to his lies. Nancy didn’t share all the details, but the essential part was that as the eldest son of a single parent, he felt a sense of duty towards his siblings and didn’t want to move away so soon after they started high school in a new town where they had virtually to no friends and were getting bullied just for daring to exist. She did mention that his new sister Jane, Mike’s girlfriend, was still dealing with the loss of her adoptive father, so that situation on top of the move wasn’t helping in the slightest.

“I just don’t know what to do,” Nancy said, at the end of her long monologue. “If he’d told me all of this before, I would have understood him. He’s right, they are all having a hard time but did he have to lie about it for an entire year?”

“I think both sides are valid,” Dottie said, offering her the last candy in the package. “He’s not wrong for wanting to help his Mom and his siblings out, but he went about it in a really shitty way and you’re allowed to feel betrayed by it.”

“Am I?”

“Yes! Nancy, he lied to you! It was with the best of intentions, but he still lied. If you feel like that’s a hard limit in your relationship, you should tell him that, and he should respect it. And you. He should always respect you.”

“He does, he’s… I love him.”

“You can love someone and be upset with them at the same time. Just tell him how you feel instead of avoiding each other because you don’t want to get into a fight. Trust your instincts on this one.”

“You’re right. I’m gonna call him this weekend, and if we’re done, we’re done, but at least we handled it like adults.”

“That’s the spirit!” Dottie cheered her on. “Everything will turn out okay, I have faith in you both.”

“Thank you,” Nancy said, smiling. “I really needed the pep talk.”

“Anytime. I gotta run now, but I liked hanging out with you.”

“Me too. It’s been a while since I’ve done the whole… girl talk thing.”

“Can’t imagine Mike being into that, no,” Dottie said, and Nancy laughed. “See you on Monday?”

“Yes. Monday. Good luck with Hellfire!”

“Good luck with Jonathan. Fight for your love, girl!” she declared dramatically while she sped away.

Nancy watched her go with a curious smile on her face. She’d have to keep an eye on Dorothy Burke from now on, but that could wait. It was Friday, Fred might be down for the count, and she had a newspaper edition to perfect before Monday morning.

Dottie had been to Family Video only twice since moving to Hawkins, once with her Dad and once with the boys, both times during a weekend. When Donny pulled into the parking lot that Friday night after Hellfire, she was fully expecting to see the same greasy dude that smelled like Cheetos she’d seen the last two times but saw instead a pretty tall girl that had her eyes glued to a black and white movie playing on the overhead TV. Gareth immediately ran to the horror section in search for the first part of their double feature, and Dottie approached the girl timidly while Donny smoked outside, waiting for Eddie and Jeff to arrive with warm pizza and fresh ice cream.

“Hi, welcome to Family Video, how can I help you?” the taller girl smiled with tired eyes, the kind you only got if you worked retail.

“Hi! I wanted to rent The Rocky Horror Picture Show if you have it?”

“Yeah, of course, follow me,” she said, lifting the counter and guiding her towards the Musicals section. Another boy was restocking shelves labeled as Comedy next to them.

“Hi there,” he said, waving a VHS case in the air.

“Hi,” Dottie said and turned to where the girl was moving movies around, a frown on her face. “Did someone else beat me to it?”

“No, no, I know it’s here… Just can’t figure out where I put it.”

“What are you looking for?” the boy said, coming to stand above the girl, craning his neck to see the stands.

“The Rocky Horror Picture Show. The cover’s a mouth with red lips.”

“Oh, yeah, I moved it to the Horror section,” he said, brows bunching in the middle.

“Why did you move it? It’s a musical, dingus.”

“How would I know? It says horror in the title!”

“God, you’re hopeless,” the girl shook her head, and Dottie snorted at their antics.

They bickered all the way to the Horror section, Gareth looking up with a confused expression at the scene in front of him. The tall girl moved around him with ease, finding instantly what she was looking for.

“Here you go, sorry about that,” she said, giving the VHS to Dottie.

“You picked a horror movie?” Gareth asked.

“No, it’s a musical.”

“We’re not watching a musical.”

“Why not? It’s really fun, it’s about-”

“Dot, we’re not watching lovey-dovey bullshit on movie night. Come on, pick something else.”

“No!” Dottie put her foot down. “Eddie said we both got one pick and we couldn’t complain about what the other person chose. Jeff hasn’t seen Rocky Horror and I want him to know where Hot Patootie comes from if he’s gonna be singing it for me every week!”

“It’s from a musical? Eddie said it was a Meatloaf song!”

“It is!” the tall girl interrupted with a bright smile. “Meatloaf plays Eddie in it, it’s his only song in the whole movie but it’s a classic.”

“You’ve seen it?” Dottie asked, eyes lighting up at the discovery of a kindred spirit.

“Y-yeah, it’s really good. I love how it constantly breaks the fourth wall, I mean, talking to the audience through a narrator must be one of the most well known resources in theater but it must be so fun to experience in the stage show-”

“Oh my god, yes!” Dottie interrupted her, turning her entire body to face her newest friend. “The stage show is so cool, I saw it twice at, like, the shittiest community theater ever but they killed it every single time. The material is just so good!”

“You saw it live? Where?”

“New York, I used to live there.”

“That’s so cool,” the girl said, her eyes wide.

“Okay, so maybe you two can have your own movie night and watch your girly musical together,” Gareth said, getting back to the topic. “-but we’re not gonna watch that tonight. Birthdays are for horror movies.”

“It says horror in the title, dude,” the other boy said, making Dottie chuckle. Gareth looked at her like she was betraying him.

“Come on, it’s really not bad. You’re gonna like it, I promise. There’s… there’s sex and boobies in it!”

A tense silence spread through Family Video, Dottie painfully aware that she had said something extremely weird in front of people she didn’t know. It was okay that she was using the tantalizing idea of breasts to lure Gareth into saying yes to her movie choice, but she didn’t need to make it so damn obvious she was excited about the prospect of seeing them too. The taller girl was staring at her with a wild blush spreading from her chest up to her ears, but perhaps the other boy’s reactions were much more disconcerting. He lifted his eyebrows in surprise, stared at the back of his friend’s head, and then turned to Dottie with a huge grin on his face.

“If you don’t rent this movie, I will. We’re definitely watching it tonight, right, Rob?” he said, and the girl began giggling, her face in her hands.

“You’re such an idiot, Steve,” she gritted out through her laughter.

“Really, man, you’re a dumbass if you miss some boobs because you don’t wanna watch a musical with friends.”

“You’re gonna like it, G, I swear. It was made for the freaks,” Dottie insisted, sharing a grateful smile with the boy who was now known as Steve.

“Ugh, okay, fine! But if you’re picking a dumb musical, I can pick whatever I want and you can’t say no because you’re scared.”

“Those were the rules, we don’t complain about each other’s picks.”

“Not even if I pick The Exorcist?”

“Well… No, it’s- it’s okay. You can pick whatever you want,” she said, but looked very daunted by the idea.

“You sure?”

“She said yes, man,” Steve said, putting his hands on his hips like a suburban dad. “Are you gonna rent these two or do you want one more? You can rent up to three every time.”

“Two’s okay, thank you, Steve,” Dottie said, grabbing The Exorcist off the shelf and taking both VHS cases to the counter.

The four of them moved to the main area and Steve busied himself checking them out, asking Gareth for his information to enter into the computer. Dottie was distracted while she looked at the small selection of candy they offered, the tall girl following her movement with her eyes. She knew she’d seen her before, probably at school but who was she? She mentioned she lived in New York…

“You’re Dorothy, right?” she said suddenly.

“How did you know?”

“People used to talk about you a lot back in January. Then you kinda dropped off everyone’s radar.”

“Yeah,” she grimaced. “Kinda joined the outcasts so…”

“I’m in band, I get it.”

“What do you play?”

“Trumpet. Been playing for twelve years.”

“Wow, that’s impressive,” Dottie said, thinking that she hadn’t done anything in her life with that kind of consistency. “It’s really nice to meet you, Robin.”

“Wha- oh. Oh! My tag!” Robin laughed at herself, looking down at the pins on her vest. “You know, I heard there’s a place in Indy where they do Rocky Horror showings once a month if you ever want to go. I don’t drive b-but I bet Steve can take us.”

“That sounds great, yeah! Is he cool with, y’know, nudity and stuff?”

“Oh, yeah. Absolutely! He doesn’t mind. He’s cool. Yeah, Steve’s… really cool.”

“Aw, you actually love me,” Steve said, giving away the fact that he’d been eavesdropping, and Robin hit him with a magazine.

“You two are really cute,” Dottie said, smiling at them. “How long have you been together?”

“We’re not-”

“Ew, that’s not-”

“We’re friends,” said Steve.

“Best friends,” added Robin.

“Strictly platonic.”

“With a capital P.”

“Oh. Well, I guess retail bonds you forever,” Dottie laughed, and Steve chuckled.

“You have no idea,” he said, looking over at Robin with a knowing expression.

“Okay, can you stop flirting with King Steve now? You’re grossing me out,” Gareth deadpanned, making Dottie frown.

“I’m not- I’m sorry, I wasn’t-”

“It’s cool. We’re all friends here,” Steve said. “Enjoy your movie night!”

“Thank you, bye! Bye, Robin,” she waved at the girl, who waved back before Dottie grabbed Gareth’s arm and pulled him towards the door. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Ow, you’re hurting me,” Gareth said, when she shoved him outside, Donny holding the door open for them.

“Don’t know what you did, but you probably deserved it,” he said, letting the door close behind them, muffling their voices from inside the store.

Steve and Robin watched them get into Donny’s car and pull out behind a beat up brown Chevy van, both vehicles disappearing down the road together. When the tail lights were no longer able to be seen, they turned to each other with curious expressions.

“Was she-” Robin asked.

“I think she was, yeah.”

“Huh.”

“What did I tell you?” Steve said, going back to where he had been restocking before all the commotion. “Boobies.”

“Stop saying boobies!”

When Dottie asked to sit next to him to watch The Exorcist, Eddie imagined a scenario where she’d be a little bit scared and seek him out for comfort. After all, cuddling on a couch wasn’t something they’d never done before, blurring the line between friendly touches and something more every day that went by. She suggested eating first, putting the movie in later, and no one complained about the request, eager to stuff their faces after a long day of school and extracurriculars on top. Jeff’s basement was a cozy hangout spot with a door that led to a side entrance, perfect for sneaking out for a smoke between his mother’s carefully manicured rose bushes. The tan carpet and wooden walls were welcoming, if not slightly tacky, and the space had been filled in with a big couch and two armchairs, a huge TV where Jeff’s dad liked to watch football, and a great sound system that had probably been top-of-the-line ten years prior. They gotten their fill of cheese and soda, Whitesnake and Black Sabbath playing in the background, and then retreated to their seats for the movie: Eddie, Dottie, and Jeff on the couch, Donny to Jeff’s left as far away from the TV as he could sit, and Gareth on the remaining Lay-Z-Boy to Eddie’s right, bowl of popcorn for himself on his lap.

As soon as the movie started, it was clear Eddie’s expectations had been sorely mistaken. Dottie started stiff as a board between the two boys, slowly sinking into the couch as the minutes ticked, head hidden behind her knees. Jeff had a bit of success in getting her to relax when he attempted to tell her every time it was safe to look up, but after a miscalculation of the length of a scene involving various medical procedures, her eyes never went beyond the coffee table again. Gareth and Donny’s constant commentary helped ease the uncomfortable air in the room, but it was clear to Eddie that Dottie was not enjoying this situation one bit. Forgoing any ideas of romance, he pulled her into his side, letting her bury her head into his shirt as she tried to ignore the sounds coming from the TV while Regan thrashed on a hospital bed calling for her mother.

Donny looked at Eddie pointedly during a quiet moment, but he pretended not to see it, choosing instead to rub big circles on Dottie’s back in an attempt to calm down her heart rate, beating wildly against the side of his chest like it was trying to get out of her body. Progressively through the 122 minutes that the movie lasted, she pressed more and more of herself against Eddie trying to shield herself from the horrors on the screen, and truthfully, if he hadn’t been so distracted trying to comfort her, he would have been terrified too. By the time Regan was gilding down the stairs on all fours, Jeff was covering half his face with a decorative pillow. When she began hurting herself with a crucifix, even Donny who had been somewhat unaffected until that moment let out a perturbed “Jesus Christ”. By the time the actual exorcism had began, Donny looked like he desperately needed a cig, Jeff was threatening to throw up if Regan threw up again, and Dottie was shaking so much that Eddie straight up manhandled her into his lap like a child and covered the ear that wasn’t pressed up against his chest with his own hand. Credits rolled, and Gareth was the only one that moved out of his chair to stretch and turn on the lights, face pallid when he saw the angry faces of his friends.

“Uh…”

“Are you fucking serious, Gareth?” Donny said in disbelief, knees cracking with the sudden movement of standing up after two hours. “That shit was so fucked up!”

“Please don’t fight,” Jeff said tiredly, letting his pillow drop to the floor.

“Oh, I’m fighting,” Donny doubled down. “Look at Dot! You know she hates horror movies and you get this one? Couldn’t you get fucking Gremlins instead?”

“It’s not that scary, it’s so obvious everything’s totally fake! You can see the tube stuck to her head when she throws up!”

“That was so fucking gross,” Jeff added, still looking a little green himself.

“It’s okay-” Dottie began, wiping under her eyes with the sleeve of her red cardigan, but Donny interrupted her again.

“This is what you were giving her shit for in the video store?”

“Okay, shit- I get it. I fucked up,” Gareth lifted his hands. “I honestly didn’t think it was that scary the first time I saw it.”

“Man, you need to see a shrink if that shit didn’t scare you,” Eddie said, no longer all cozied up to Dottie, but still keeping one arm around her for support.

“I’m sorry,” Gareth looked at Dot, who was the most affected out of his friends. “Didn’t mean to make you feel like ass for two hours. I thought we’d have fun with it.”

“You’re mean, and I hate you, but it’s okay,” she said, grumpily pouting but lifting her arms to ask him for a hug which he immediately gave her. “Just don’t do it again. And you have to go with me to the bathroom now because I’m gonna pee myself and I don’t wanna be in there alone.”

“I’ll hold your hand while you pee, you big wuss.”

Gareth and Dottie climbed up the stairs, him cracking the stupidest jokes to get her to relax while Jeff busied himself going to grab the ice cream so everyone could cool down before the second movie. Donny got his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and nodded at Eddie to follow him outside. They pressed their backs to the cold brick, the lights spilling out from the glass panel on the door illuminating their faces with warm yellow tones. They smoked for a few minutes in silence, looking out onto the fenced-in backyard.

“That shit was wild,” Donny said. "Can't believe they made a twelve-year-old pretend to stab her own pussy with a fucking cross."

"You think that actress was really 12?" Eddie mused.

"Well, she looked like it."

"Yeah, but... maybe she was like 16 and just looks really small? Dunno, but that was crazy. Was she really telling that priest to fuck that other priest?"

"Yeah," Donny chuckled, throwing a bit of ash to the ground. "Saw you, by the way."

"Saw me?"

"You two. Dottie sitting on your lap."

"Oh, fuck off," Eddie scoffed.

"I'm not saying anything weird was happening. Just that I saw you."

"She was terrified, man. Never seen her shake like that, and I've seen her scared before," the eldest said, bitterly.

"Yeah?"

"I'm telling you, I could feel her fucking heartbeat and that shit didn’t feel healthy. She's gonna sleep with her lights on for a week."

"Shit. Didn't realize it was that bad or I would have said something. Honestly thought she was playing it up a little bit, getting cozy with you."

"Nah, she's not like that."

"How do you know?" Eddie shrugged, and Donny narrowed his eyes. "What's been going with you two lately? You're like, attached at the hip."

Eddie took his time to answer, letting the smoke in his lungs leave his body slowly, savoring the peace and quiet of the Friday night. Donny had been his first friend in the group, and if anyone deserved honesty after showing him so much loyalty, it was him. Maybe he'd have valuable insight to share with him in return.

"I'm whipped, Don. That's what's going on," Eddie said.

"Tell me something I don't know, dude."

"Is it that obvious?"

"To me, yes. I don't think the others have noticed yet."

"Yeah, well, it's bad. Like really, really bad. Like I'm one more pout away from dropping on one knee and asking her to be the new Mrs. Munson bad."

"Jesus."

"Yup."

"So it's not just a crush? Are you, like, seriously in love with her?"

"I'm gonna go to prom and wear a tie for her. Take a wild fucking guess."

Donny stared at Eddie for a few seconds before smiling and shaking his head. The long haired boy lifted an eyebrow, questioning.

"Why haven't you asked her out yet?"

"I don't deserve her."

"Ed-"

"I just don't want to drag her down, y'know? She has all these plans, she’s gonna go to college, do cool stuff. I want to ask her when I have something real to offer. After graduation, once I get a job."

"Eddie, has it ever occurred to you that she really fucking likes you right now? You know, without all that extra shit?"

"I know she does."

"You do?" Donny looked at him like he'd grown two heads.

"I'm stupid, not blind. Dunno when she started to like me but yeah, I know she does."

"When did you figure it out?"

"We spent Mother's Day together."

"Oh."

"That's when I realized, damn, she must really like me to spend such a big day like this with me. And then her Dad gave me a manly talk so I just kinda put two and two together."

"Does she know you know?"

"I don't know if she even knows herself. She was telling me the other day that it's stupid boys and girls can't be friends without people reading too much into it. Maybe she’s in denial. I was.

“You were?”

“For like two days, yeah,” Eddie admitted.

"I'll ask Gareth about it. I bet he knows."

"You think?"

"They act like siblings all the time, if someone knows, it's him," Donny assured him, putting his cig out against the brick wall. "Hurry up though, she might get tired of waiting."

"Just a couple more weeks. Until I know if I graduate or not. It's the bare fucking minimum but she deserves it."

"Alright. I'm rooting for you, man. Go make me proud."

"Thanks, dude."

They returned to the basement after their smoke break, Donny giving him an encouraging pat on the shoulder when they saw Dottie and Jeff back on the couch, heads together over a big tub of vanilla ice cream. Gareth was sitting on the floor in front of them scooping chocolate into a bowl that already had strawberry and vanilla in it. She was explaining the basics of the movie they were about to watch, warning them that things weren’t what they seemed and that it was about to get weird. Jeff looked terribly excited about the prospect of some lighthearted fun, and whatever talk Gareth and Dottie had had while they were in the bathroom (he’d apologized again while he stood in a corner, back to her and his eyes closed for good measure while she peed) had left him equally curious. The boy heard the words “boobs” and “murder” and decided he was all in for the experience.

Once everyone was back in their seats and had a cold treat in their hands to enjoy during the movie, lights went off and bright red lips filled the screen. Michael Rennie was ill the day the Earth stood still, but he told us… where we stand, Dottie mouthed following the lyrics, spoon resting on her lower lip. It was a complete 180 from the previous feature, her eyes now glued to the moving images, only rousing from her hypnosis to fill her spoon with more ice cream when Jeff prompted her to do so. She encouraged the boys to participate, instructing them to say “Janet” or “Oh, Brad” in a bored tone along with Riff Raff and Magenta during Dammit Janet or teaching them the steps to The Time Warp. Donny and Jeff, ever the performers, immediately jumped to action when Hot Patootie - Bless My Soul began, and Eddie twirled Dottie around proving himself to be quite the capable dancer when he put effort into it. Even Gareth got into the festivities when the pickaxe came out.

“Okay, that was awesome,” Jeff said while the credits were still rolling. “Didn’t know musicals could be, y’know, not Grease.”

“Take that back, Grease is legit,” Donny threatened him with his spoon.

“Less boobs than I was promised but still pretty good,” laughed Gareth, and Dottie chucked a pillow at his head.

“Looks like movie night is a success all thanks to Dot,” Eddie said, grinning at the girl that couldn’t sing for shit, but still knew all the lyrics to every beat of the musical. “Gareth, you’re banned from picking movies for a month.”

“I’ll take it,” he shrugged.

“Are there more musicals like this?” Jeff asked, and Eddie could see Dottie’s eyes glinting in the darkness.

“Well, there’s one about a demon barber…”

Eddie’s 20th birthday had been nothing like he was used to, but as he sat in Jeff’s brown-looking basement, his crush resting her weight against his shoulder as she animatedly explained to their friends the plot of Sweeney Tood: The Demon Barber of Fleet… Street, his spoon full of strawberry ice cream, and a pre-rolled joint in his backpack they were definitely going to sneakily smoke in the back of his van at some point during the night, he felt truly lucky for the first time in years. Everything was going to change for them in a few weeks, but Eddie really hoped that his 21st birthday would be as happy, if not more, as his 20th had been.

taglist (comment below or shoot me a dm if you want to be added!): @munsonology @kurdtbean

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