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belokhvostikova · 1 year

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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤: 𝐂𝐥𝐮𝐛 𝐏𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐬

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 | After finding out about their exclusion from the school yearbook, Hellfire—Eddie Munson—isn't keen in letting his feelings fall for your attempt to fixing said issue.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Swearing, yelling, crying, and mentions of bullying.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | Don’t know why, but I have an obsession with referring to Eddie by his full name, lol. If there are any necessary warnings that were accidently left out, please feel free to let me know!

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 | One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐱𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞

By the coming of the fall season of 1982, the Hellfire Club had garnered the stigma of satanic cultists that tainted the lives of those associated.

What started as a throng—four losers—of curious minds, on an endeavor to escaping the suffocating suburbia of Hawkins, Indiana, transpired into a league of camaraderie, fighting the hellscape of dark wizards and evil lords. Perfect comb-overs and pristine pom-poms who lived on the green laws that housed Reagan signs couldn’t touch them under the guise of their characters who built their strength and thick skin to defeat the wicked of suffering towns and cities through quests. Those four were invincible in the threshold of the drama room.

But in the real world, they had a target on their backs that merely grew as the years passed.

And Eddie Munson was victim number one, placed at the forefront of all propelled abuse.

But the beauty of Hellfire allowed the proffering of solutions, in which he quickly found solace within. See, the notion of characters, and qualities, and disguises permitted the perfect opportunity to build a facade unlike one’s truest self, that protected the vulnerable inside.

The terrors of childhood abuse, loss of loved ones, and the torment of classmates couldn’t be seen on the sneering smirk and scowling eyes that accompanied Eddie Munson everywhere he went. The act of toughness was not a thing to be found difficult; he saw it in its worst quality within the bruteness of his father, and he saw it in its best quality within the perseverance of his uncle.

Eddie Munson had no issue opening his arms to those who were caught in the pressuring seas of conformity, and he surely had no issue abusing back those who started it first, with a insult or shove being met with his harder kick and punch.

See, both aspects of toughness.

And while the idea may have protected him from the superficial blows of a socially divided high school, it actually hurt the potential improvements to his well being, suppressing all that left him weak and vulnerable, and choosing the outlet of a drink or substance that disabled his mind from the thoughts of reality.

But Eddie Munson couldn’t care about himself, no ever did anyways.

Until you. And he hurt you.

“This is bullshit! Complete and utter fucking bullshit!” If it hadn’t been for the cacophonous shrills of the school cafeteria, surely Eddie Munson would have garnered the usual attention from his antics. But instead, everyone’s attention was captured by the occurrence that was happening on the southern end of the crowded room. “I mean, really, what the fuck is this?!” His broad hand flung a pretzel out of frustration, not bothering to acknowledge the innocent bystander that got caught in the crossfire of his heated action.

To say Eddie Munson was pissed would be the understatement of the century.

The gnawing agitation that seemed to innately follow him wherever, had now been triggered by the bright smiles of individual students, paraded in their best attire, with glee of acknowledgement. Today was club picture day, and Hellfire was not included. As the lunch period progressed to its ticking last minutes, students of all age ranges savored the remaining bits of their glorious thirty minute break from school hell, but not Eddie. Nope. Because for every minute of those thirty minutes, Eddie watched as clubs, one by one, walked the notorious stage where all Hawkins High’s productions had been showcased, and sat with cheesy smiles at the notion of being a valued representative for their school’s yearbook.

But not Hellfire.

The heavy, black curtains provided the cleanest backdrop for its low budgeted cost, giving ample focus to the students, who sat with the straightest of all postures, amongst the perfect array of chairs—the good ones, too, not the ones that make your butt go numb after twenty minutes. Row by row, everyone had a place, even being complimented by the two large, fake plants that added a splash of color with their faux green leaves.

Gareth sighed. “It really is, man.” He turned back from watching the drama club get their picture taken, returning to pick at the cold spaghetti that stained his plastic tray. Everyone got photos, Hellfire got stale food. “But what do you expect, dude? This school already treats us like garbage, as it is.”

“We shouldn't tolerate this treatment, Emerson!” Eddie snapped, slapping Gareth’s hand that was causing the insistent scratch of his fork scraping his plate. The boy could only scoff in defeat at his ruined lunch, now that his plasticware landed on the dirty tiles of the lunchroom.

Eddie was becoming revved up. He groaned in irritation, feeling the need to slam his palm into the table, eliciting the flinches of each boy.

“Look, well, there’s nothing we can do.” Mike, at an attempt, reasoned with Eddie. But he merely got a seething glare that asked him who does he think he’s talking to.

“Oh, no?” Eddie snuffed with a mocking face. None of the boys were daring to challenge his eye contact. None of them ever did when he got like this. His worst days. “You boys gotta learn to take what you deserve.” He spoke too calmly for anyone’s liking. “It’s the only way people like us make it through life.”

Eddie jumped from his chair, the force too heavy for the flimsy thing, as it scraped the tile flooring before clashing with the ground beneath. All eyes were on him. Puffing the laps of his jacket, he strutted his way to the stage, all leather and chains, bumping shoulders with those who stood in his way. Done diligently, his worn sneakers stomped the couple steps, announcing his arrival. Those in the drama club were quick to move out of the way, refusing to become belittled for their judgemental stares against the Freak. But they were disregarded. Closest to Eddie Munson sat Nancy Wheeler, co-editor of the 1986 Hawkins High Yearbook. She rolled her eyes, fidgeting with her precious pen that had been used to check-off every name of every member of every club to ensure publication was precise and correct.

“Wheeler.” Eddie taunted, coming close to her table, tightly-balled fists supporting his weight as he leaned close to her face. “Funny,” he peered at his watch, “lunch is almost over and you have yet to call us up.”

There was no need to clarify “us.” Everyone knew—for worst reasons—who they were.

Nancy huffed, professionalism embedded in her character as she responded with such cadence, “That’s because you’re not on the list, Eddie.” And it was such professionalism of cadence that ticked him off. As she held up the roster of all clubs and members, contaminated with the ink of her pen, scratching titles off, Eddie snatched the paper from her hold, Nancy wincing at his aggression.

“The Art Club, the Aviations Club, the Math Club,” He read off, “the fucking ROTC shitbags!” He slapped the paper down with a harsh slam. “Some fucking wannabe soldiers, who aren’t even a fucking club here, can get their fucking picture taken, but not Hellfire?!”

Nancy was attempting to control her emotions from the ambush of his angry words, his spit coating her delicate makeup with every yell of his tirade. “Look, Eddie, that’s the list Principal Higgins gave us.” She pointed between herself and you.

Shit, she pointed to you.

You, who’d been quietly watching this shitshow go down, standing near the edge of the stage, with a camera held tightly in your sweaty palms. While his outburst had you racking with worry, it also elicited a wave of sympathy due to their obvious exclusion, clear as day as to why Principal Higgin’s didn’t want their association with Hawkins High. It was fucking awful.

But Eddie Munson didn’t see you. He saw you.

You, as in the fake smile that accompanied your obnoxious cheers, where’d you hangout with your bitchy friends, mingling amongst Jason Carver’s goons, before heading back to school the next day where you ran the student body government, finding yourself involved in all school activities, making the Principal's List and Honor Roll every year, and was about to be crowned prom queen by May and valedictorian by June.

And now, partnering with the Newspaper Committee to create ‘86’s yearbook.

Though he may not have known you, Eddie Munson fucking hated you.

He followed Nancy Wheeler’s pointed finger, now aiming his degrading scowl that shot bullets at you, and you peered down from the intimidating stare. “Oh, I see!” His terrorizing laugh stifled the already straining atmosphere. “Fucking, little Miss Pom-poms jerked Higgin’s cock to make sure we weren’t included. Isn’t that right, princess?” His sneering smile showed just how amusing he found your evident discomfort to be, as he marched his way towards you, the tip of his toes scuffing your pristine sneakers. “Tell me, sweetheart, was Carver there, too? Huh?”

“N-no, w-we didn’t do, uh-”

“Uh, uh, uh.” Eddie mocked. You could feel his large eyes scan your face, taking in all your features, and seeing your chest heave from the confrontation. “Bunch of fucking pussy, all of you, huh?” He glared, refusing to break from you luring eyes.

Saved by the bell, the obnoxious ringing gave you an out, and Eddie was quick to jog back to Nancy, who was beginning to pack up her station. For a second, his daunting demeanor relinquished, and his eyes softened with panic. “This isn’t fair, Wheeler, and you know it. C’mon.” He pleaded. “We’re as much of a club as any other bullshit clique here.” Eddie tried to reason, as Nancy sighed, trying to quickly gather her things.

Despite his hostile behavior, there was merit to his concerns. Hellfire was a club, and though Eddie Munson was the biggest asshole you’ve ever met, you understood his petition. Everyone knew why they weren’t included. They were never included.

“Your own brother is in the club.” Nancy stopped in her tracks and looked at Eddie. “Look, I’m sorry, Eddie, really, I am. But if you have a problem, take it up with Higgin’s not-”

“Maybe we can just take their picture.” You felt stupid for interrupting, hearing your voice waver under their snapping, stern stares—one more of anger than the other. “Um, Higgins already approved of our, uh, layout, so he may not even see the final draft until it’s already been printed.”

“And then what, we get in trouble? Not happening.” Nancy affirmed, more comfortable with disregarding Hellfire than staining her clean track record.

Eddie scoffed. “Fucking screw this!” He stood straight, adjusting his posture. Any shot at his ego and feelings went unnoticed, as he returned to his callous attitude. There was a moment in which he simply stared you down; all that was clouding his judgment was your refined Hawkins High cheerleading sweater. Your well known name printed at the forefront—cursively embroidered in velvet gold—encasing the pinnacle of all things Eddie Munson hated. As Nancy Wheeler left you be, Eddie trudged his way against you again, hot breath fanning across your smaller stature. “I don’t need your fucking bullshit pity. You understand?” He gritted with clenched teeth.

And he merely left it at that, nudging passed you, as he joined the stagger of students who were fleeting out of the cafeteria.

And you stood in disbelief.

You were crazy. You were out-of-your-fucking-mind crazy.

It was late into the night, and you were ready to break school rules for something so trivial, but seemed so desperately important to others.

You groaned in the palms of your hands, as you stood outside of the newspaper room, stolen key in hand. Why were you even doing this? Eddie Munson was an asshole to you. He didn’t like you. But this wasn’t for him. No, this was for the other members. Yeah, the other members, like Nancy’s brother, Mike Wheeler, or Lucas Sinclair, you sweetest kid you’d ever met on the basketball team, who were both totally innocent in all. Jesus shit.

“Hey!” Chrissy waved out to you, as you watched her flood out of the gym doors with the rest of the squad from practice. Clearly, your plans of leaving early to avoid them fell through. “What are you doing, I thought you left already? You coming?”

“Yeah, no, I just need to check over some things for the yearbook.” You lied, with your infamous fake smile. “Don’t know how long it’ll take, so I’ll just have my dad come pick me up.”

“Make sure my picture is front and center!” Jessica joked, as the girls laughed, and waved you goodbye.

As soon as they left, your head dropped back in your clammy palms. In all honesty, leaving would probably be a better choice, right now; you could drop your heavy cheer bag, get out of your sweaty shorts, have a nice bath, and dine out on some food. But instead, for whatever reason you tried to excuse in your brain, you’re here. Probably getting ready for whatever shit Eddie Munson was going to shout in your face when you appeared.

But fuck it.

“The weathered wood creeks beneath your feet as you confront the abandoned foundations of Barlok’s Tavern.” An unnerving sense consumed the boys, as Eddie’s bravado narrations subjected their quest through the ominous grounds of Havocs Beacon. “The merchant of Dunbar Armory has promised this place to be of pure seclusiveness, unknown to even the commoners who dwell the treacherous forest.” All attention was sucked, this was the escape. The escape from the conformity that abused the boys. And Eddie Munson was their protector. “The fate of decision lies in your hands, boys. Do you enter or run?”

They peered at one another, unsure of their next move. “Remember, there is no shame in running.” Eddie’s malicious smile worried them.

But before a consensus could be determined, a soft knock spooked the boys, Dustin’s shriek being most evident. Eddie’s eyes shot at the door, narrowing with his brows furrowing. Everyone went quiet. Too quiet. Maybe they misheard. But sure enough, a delicate knock came again.

Eddie trajected from his throne. “One of you expecting someone? On Hellfire night?!”

His agitated voice was quick to receive a series of stern no’s and insistent head shakes that saved the boys from an invective of shouts for interrupting Hellfire. But for whoever was behind that door? Yeah, they were about to be hit with a diatribe of yells.

Eddie’s breath heaved with irritation as he stomped his way to the large door, swinging it open with a heavy, “What-” But he was quick to shut up.

You timidly dropped your balled fist from the air, and held eye contact with Eddie. His gaze was intimidating, but unlike the earlier occurrence in the lunchroom, it was weirdly softer. His eyes widened at the tired state in which you appeared; sweaty hair messily splaying your head, face heated from clear exertion, your lip plumped raw from your nervous chewing, and then he looked down. Unabashedly, too. You watched his eyes peer at your glistening chest that was displayed from your low cut long sleeve, then found his attention primarily focusing on your tight spandex shorts that hugged your hips and exposed your legs.

“Um.”

His eyes shot back to yours, but you lost the ability to formulate words, both of you staring silently at one another.

“Uh, Eddie?” Jeff’s voice snapped him back to reality, as he turned back to see his buddies—all terribly confused—watching his blanking face obviously check you out.

His vulnerability was showing. And just like a switch, Eddie turned back to you, “What the fuck are you doing?!” You cowered at his sudden yelling. “We’re in the middle of a fucking campaign!”

“I-I’m sorry.” You stuttered from embarrassment, as you saw his friends watch and wince at you. “I-I just needed to, uh, take your photo. F-for the yearbook.”

“What?” He scoldingly questioned you.

“Your picture, um, Hellfire’s picture.” You pointed to his shirt.

Before Eddie could get another word out, Gareth, who you only recognized as a random friend of Eddie's, did, “We’re getting our picture taken?” A small smile appeared on his face at the idea of inclusion.

“Wait, seriously?” A young, curly-haired boy spoke up.

There was a glimmer of hope oozing from their expressions, one that they didn’t get to experience often or lavish in, just at the mere idea of getting their picture taken, because it was a big deal, and seeing their excitement was enough to take Eddie’s hatred with honor to grant them their wish.

So you nodded your head. “Yeah, I’m here to take your picture.” You smiled, waving the stolen camera to prove so.

“Is this some fucking joke to you?!” And just like that, your smile was gone. “Don’t mess with their feelings for some sick joke!”

“N-no, this isn-”

“This is just a prank?” Eddie’s friends’ sullen voices simultaneously asked.

“No!” You were quick to assure. “I promise, it’s not. I would never.” You ignored Eddie’s scoff.

“Then why didn’t we get called up during lunch?” Mike, who Nancy Wheeler informed you about, asked.

“That was totally on me. After lunch,” you nodded towards Eddie, “I asked Higgin’s why you weren’t included, and he was just as confused.” You lied. You never visited Higgins. It was obvious why he didn’t want to include them. “And, well, apparently it was just some fluke with the system, and you guys were included! All of you, uh, Eddie Munson, Mike Wheeler, Lucas Sinclair… and t-the rest of you.”Lucas gave you a shy wave, which you softly returned, as he’d always shared his sense of not fitting in just yet with the basketball team. You were there to reassure he was okay and welcomed—and right now, thanking god that you knew him and Mike’s name to confirm your lie. “It was all on the revised list, and I should have checked the first one better. Totally my fault.”

Eddie stared at you warily.

“So, uh, come on!” You smiled, and the guys were quick to flood out of the drama room.

“Wait! W-We’re in the middle of a campaign!” Eddie warned. “We’re not fucking stopping for some dumb photo! I mean, c’mon, guys.”

Everyone stopped.

The younger faces of the group fell, as they contemplated going back or following you. Jeff sighed, walking up to his longtime friend with pleading eyes. “Come on, man. Just let us have this.” He whispered.

Eddie groaned, taking in the faces of the younger crowd, and nodded regardless, “Fine.” And a cheer of the younger boys echoed through the empty halls. “I’m bringing our logo! Wait- can I bring our logo?” Dustin—the young, curly-haired boy—asked.

“Uh, yeah, by all means, go ahead.” Logo? With a gummy smile, he ran back into the drama room, shortly returning with the round shield that mimicked the drawing on their shirts, encapsulating all that was the beauty of Hellfire.

Lucas smiled up at you, “So where are we going?”

“Oh, well, I didn’t have time to set up the fancy stage, so…” you thought quickly, “…against the wall in the main hall should be fine. Is that alright?” You grinned back. “We can just hang your logo up, though you guys will definitely stand out from the formality of the other photos.”

“Good.” Eddie mumbled. “Wouldn’t want to conform to this bullshit school, anyways.” He sneered, bumping into you with no apology.

Ignoring his hostility, you cleared your throat and directed the group of boys into the main hall, clear of all lockers, and decorated with plaques and awards honored to the Hawkins High establishment throughout the decades of operation. Catching sight of the familiar photo of Principal Higgins—one that had been countlessly vandalized by yours truly, Eddie Munson—you made the rash decision to dismantle it from the rusty nail that was drilled in six years ago when he first became principal. “Okay, hand me your precious shield.” You smiled at Dustin.

“Handle her with great honor, your majesty.” He unleashed his greatest—not so great—British accent with a bow to his knee.

You giggled, joining his playful antics, “Wouldn’t think to do any less, kind soldier.”

Eddie studied your interaction. His lips were fighting to flash a tiny smile, but his ego was stronger, choosing to focus on his sneaker scuffing the floor rather than you.

You, who was breaking every belief in the Munson Doctrine about prissy cheerleaders who hung off the arms of meathead jocks, and who was actively making his group of bullied outsiders feel included with your kindness; such kindness that Eddie was adamant he could not fall for. No matter how nice, how pretty, or enticing you were, all he saw was you.

You stepped back from hanging up their logo. “Okay, how’s that?” You asked the boys. After Dustin’s insistent need of a little to the left and just a bit to the right, it was perfect. “Alrighty, you guys line up there, and we can take a couple.” You smiled.

Every member was quick to find their designated spot against the wall, Eddie though, he slowly walked up beside you, as his friends got ready. He sighed, as he looked down at your warm face, “Are you actually putting us in the yearbook?” For a moment, you wanted to savor the little moment of bliss, in which Eddie Munson wasn’t throwing an insult or condescending comment towards you, but his genuine concern about your sincerity had your heart aching at his unmistakable plea to wanting to be included, also.

You softly spoke with a gentle nod to your head, “Yeah, of course.” You smiled at him. “Right where you guys deserve to be.” But his deep stare into your eyes had you pulling back from the moment that was happening, “J-just like Higgins said to do.” You were quick to add.

His heart could only manage a tight-lip nod back. “Right. Higgins.” He eyed you before joining his friends.

You took a deep breath. “Okay, guys-”

“Wait, you don’t expect us to, like, stand up straight or whatever?” Mike interjected.

“No, no,” you laughed, “be yourself, do whatever you’d like and just be comfortable.” You smiled, holding Eddie’s eye contact for a second longer than the others. “Okay, big smiles!”

Lining the camera to focus on the seven boys, you peered through the lens to see their uniquely catered pose establishing themselves through their individual personalities. Thumbs up, leaning postures, hands on hips, and beaming smiles, you snapped the photo with a large flash. You peered away from the camera and titled your head at Eddie. “What about big smiles did you not understand?” Your lips twinkled with delight of teasing. “You, too, Wheeler.” You giggled.

“Trust me, I look best without smiling.” Mike was able to rationalize.

You playfully rolled your eyes, “Okay, and your excuse?” You smiled at Eddie, who was undoubtedly using all his willpower to bite back a grin.

“I don’t smile.” His stern voice was no match for his wavering smirk.

“Why not, it’s so beautiful?” You giggled, as his cheeks flushed with redness, apparent that he was not expecting such a compliment. “Come on, for me!”

His smile started appearing at you, though his friends were quick to ruin the moment. “Oh, you are so beautiful, Eddie.” Jeff mocked with a girly voice.

“Just wanna kiss you.” Dustin was quick to add kissy faces.

“Fuck off, both of you.” He shoved them, though his laugh was evident along with his smile, and were happy with such accomplishment.

Because you weren’t lying, Eddie Munson had a beautiful smile.

“Alright, alright, alright.” You laughed. “No more teasing. I want big, beautiful smiles—with the exception of Mike—so I can get the most perfect photo.”

The boys shook out any giddiness, and were quick to, once again, get into their own poses. Eddie, for once, showing you his crookedly perfect smirk as he leaned into his friends comfortably. Instructing them to get ready, you realigned the camera and focused on their beings, capturing the fun that was occurring at Hawkins High’s center hall at 8:59 p.m.

“How lovely.” You smiled at them, as they cheered and excitedly congratulated each other for actually being in the yearbook.

As you watched the utter glee consume their face, you caught eyes with Eddie. He flashed you a small grin, one that lingered longer than he was anticipating, but how could he not? No one had ever thought to include them, and here you were doing just that, tugging on the string of his heart because you cared. You actually fucking cared.

“Okay, um,” you caught their attention, “sorry for interrupting your game, you’re free to go back. I’ll be sure to have these quickly developed for the yearbook.” You smiled.

You were quick to get a multitude of thank you’s from the boys, though it was then when Eddie suddenly fell uncharacteristically quiet. He cleared his throat, snapping back to reality, and once again, his apathetic face was nimble to mask his genuine smile that was once shining on his face. As the boys started flooding back into the drama room, you turned to catch his staring at you, though when you went to flash him a smile with a small wave, you were only met with cold eyes that stared your figure down. The same eyes that degraded you nine hours earlier at lunch. The eyes that you thought you managed to break through after today.

Speed walking away from his glare, you fumbled into the newspaper room, returning the stolen camera. You took a minute to adjust yourself, still stuck in your sweaty practice clothes, that only seemed tighter after Eddie’s scowl. But maybe you were just reading too far into it. He had been smiling at you before, maybe he was simply slipping back into his character to resume his campaign.

Placing the camera back—Nancy was going to have one out with you when she found out—you locked up, closing the heavy door quietly behind you. It was once you did so, a heavy hand prevented you from walking away. Turning you around, you were, once again, faced with Eddie’s daunting demeanor as he stood over you.

It seemed like a common occurrence now, that every time you came face-to-face with him, his unnerving eyes were always studying your face, from your eyes to your lips. “H-hi.” You gently spoke, breaking his trance from his detailed staring.

He cleared his throat, “I know Higgins didn’t tell you to do that.”

He wasn’t wrong, and it wasn’t like you exactly sold your lie too well. “Uh, yeah, b-but you guys still deserve to be included, and well, I’ll just take the fault if Higgin’s does find out. But I can assure you he won’t, so you’ll still be in there, I promise.”

Your reassuring voice that was laced with nervousness made him drag his hands across his face in frustration. It made all what he was about to do that more difficult. “Look, what you did back there…” He huffed. For a second, you thought that he may actually thank you and apologize for his previous actions towards you. But that’s not reality. “Don’t ever fucking do that again.” The way your face dropped had him slowing the lump in his throat knowing that he caused it.

“W-what?” Your eyes became round with confusion, and Eddie screwed his eyes shut to refrain from looking into them and being swept away. “B-but I thought-”

“No, no, stop.” He cut off your quivering voice that was sinking his stomach into a deep pit. “I, uh, I told you before that I don’t need your pity. We don’t need your pity.” He casted his face down, unable to face your disheartened look.

“No, Eddie, I promise, this wasn’t out of pity.” You were swift to defend. “I did it because you guys deserve to be in the yearbook, just like you said. I swear-”

“You’re gonna get their hopes up!” His. His hopes up. You flinched at his booming voice, attempting to find the strength to control the stinging in your eyes. “Some gorgeous, popular cheerleader being nice to them, leading them to believe all’s good, they won’t get hurt, only to come back and find you and your friends tormenting them as if today never happened!”

“No, I wouldn’t! I never even have! I’ll tell my friends to back off, Jason and Andy, I’ll tell everyone to stop, I promise. I didn’t do this to be some savior, you were just right earlier, and it wasn’t fair to exclude you guys.”

“Stop, just stop!” He couldn’t trust your words, though every fiber in his body was yearning to, but he just couldn’t subject himself to do so. His hands pulled on the roots of his hair. He wasn’t going to fall for you, in no alternate reality did Eddie Munson falling for a perfect cheerleader ever work out in his favor. He was an asshole before, and he’ll be an asshole right now, because that’s what kept him safe. “Just stay away from me- I, uh, my friends! Just stay away from my friends.” He choked with a shaky sigh, watching as you were fast to wipe away a running tear while looking away. Fuck.

He sighed, chest heaving with emotions he didn’t want to come out. “Just stay away.”

Eddie Munson was choosing to run.

Before he could crack from your glassy, round eyes, he marched back into the drama room with a heavy slam to the door, leaving you there.

Alone and crying.

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson angst #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson blurb #mean!eddie munson

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celtic-crossbow · 12 days

Text

Blood Ties Chapter 27

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Poorly written smut; lots and lots of pregnancy stuff (kinda gross toward the last)

A/N: We are now exiting my area of expertise with pregnancy. Google will be my friend. If I made mistakes, please just pretend I didn’t. lol

gif by @daryl-dixon-daydreams

Opening your eyes, you had to immediately squint against the morning sun. It couldn’t be later than eight o’clock, give or take a few minutes. You were still in the same room Hershel had put you in two days ago, only allowed up to walk around, use the bathroom, and join for meals if you would like. Hershel had said you could still do light chores with no bending or reaching above your head, but Daryl had forbidden it without even saying a word. So, you mostly rested and focused on taking in enough water. Carl or Beth would bring each person’s bag so you could go through and inventory the contents, ensuring all the supplies were making it from each escape and taking note of any new supplies added.

Stretching your legs, you winced at the ache in your pelvis. “Christ, Thumps. Why do you have to sit right on my bladder first thing in the morning?”

“S’prolly like a pillow.”

You already wore a smirk when your head rolled toward the door, finding Daryl in the chair working on his crossbow. Did it really take that much upkeep? Or was he just that meticulous? Cradling your belly, you eased onto your side to face him, propping yourself on your elbow with your cheek on your palm.

“Most women would find it creepy to wake up with a man watching them while tinkering with a weapon.”

His hands kept moving but he looked up with a smirk of his own, a dark brow arched. “But not you?”

You shook your head against your hand, smiling gently. “Not me.” He laughed with a breath through his nose and refocused on what he was doing. You had to push yourself up on your arm and shimmy around a bit to get into an actual seated position. Your belly was warm and heavy against your upper thighs, a hand or foot pressing out next to your navel. You poked it and chuckled when it disappeared and popped right back out. “Good morning, baby.”

In your peripheral, you could see Daryl had stilled, felt his eyes on you. He was watching the interaction in silence, as he usually did. Just as you watched his interactions without a word. You started to invite him over, but the baby shifted, the weight on your full bladder doubling and the discomfort growing tenfold.

“Okay, time to pee. Like—yesterday.”

Your partner was already getting to his feet and standing next to the bed before you even maneuvered your way to the edge of the mattress. Daryl leaned forward for you to grab his biceps while his hands found purchase beneath your arms and pulled you the remainder of the way with what appeared to be little to no effort. Using the hold he still had on you, he lifted you straight up and let you find your footing. Your protruding stomach was pressed against him, immediately squashing any hope you had of stealing a kiss.

You looked up at him with a silly pout that instantly disappeared in the face of the tiny one-sided lift of his lips. He’d smiled at you before; hell, he’d even laughed at and with you. But this? This was the most peaceful, truest smile you had ever seen him wear.

And then it was gone, replaced with a scowl that was half hearted at best. “What’s with the face?”

“Nothing.” You brushed your fingers over his left temple at the same time that you felt his hands on either side of your belly. “As sweet as this moment is and as much as I love you, if we don’t get me somewhere to empty my bladder within the next two point three seconds—well, remember when I vomited on your boots?”

“Gross.” Daryl’s lip curled. He knew where you were taking that implication and urged you toward the door with a hand on the small of your back. “Just walk. Or—waddle.” When you snapped your head around to gape at him, he was utterly stoic.

“I swear I’m gonna strap a watermelon to your stomach and we’ll see how sexy you can strut.”

The archer snorted, following you out the door.

You were impressed that you could still move as fast as you were, dodging and ducking, with Carol’s hand tight in one of yours. Your bag was on your shoulder, bouncing against your back, and your other hand braced the swell of your belly. The other woman was watchful, taking out anything that she knew you couldn’t get around. Daryl was at your heels, stabbing walkers that stumbled out from the sides.

“Get ‘er outta here, Carol!” He roared from behind you, sounding further away than you were entirely comfortable with, but he always said run, don’t look back. You had promised to listen to him. It’s how you kept the peace when you were just as stubborn as him. Each of you gave a little.

“I’m trying!” Carol hissed out through gritted teeth, letting go of your hand to push back a walker while she stabbed another. Your knife sheath was unsecured, the weapon easily accessible, but you had promised to only use it when absolutely necessary. The walker that Carol had shoved turned in a stagger that led it straight toward you. In your book, that qualified as necessary. You took it down with ease, unable to admit how good it felt to protect yourself because another took its place. And another. And another. “Go! Get to the truck!”

You had the keys. Daryl always made sure you carried them now. You were perfectly capable of hot-wiring a vehicle but he didn’t want you wasting time. The two of you never discussed what would happen if he made it to the truck and you never did. He would never entertain the thought. Not for a moment.

You gave Carol a look, one that said you knew you had to listen to her, to Daryl but that it was definitely not what you wanted to do. And then you ran, stabbing if needed, dodging when you could. There were so fucking many. You could hear the yells of the others making their way to the van, sending up a silent prayer that they all made it. Your lungs were on fire by the time you saw the truck. It should have been a straight shot but someone—who had yet to come clean because you were all running for your lives—had left the gate open and allowed the dead to fill the driveway.

You caught yourself against the cold metal passenger door, fumbling for the handle before jerking it open. You had lifted one foot into the cab when the door was forced inward, slamming it against the side of your head. With a shout, you pushed back, scrambling to get inside the truck while your ears rang and your vision blurred. How many head injuries were you going to rack up within a year? Hands were grabbing at you, pulling at your bag, your clothes, your hair. Finally, you were on the seat, holding the door tight while two arms and several hands kept you from closing it.

“Fuck!”

Their snarls and moans were so loud that you couldn’t hear anything beyond them and the steady knell in your ears. Hands hit the driver’s side window. More walkers. Daryl wasn’t there. Carol wasn’t there. You’d never be able to get across the seat to start the truck before at least one was in the cab with you, maybe more.

But goddamnit, you had to try.

It was the only option left. You had to save Thumper and that meant saving yourself. It was what Daryl made you promise.

Holding the door with one hand, you leaned and fumbled with the key against the ignition. “Come on!” After a few more tries, a few more agonizing seconds, the key slid home. “Yes!” You let the bag slide from your shoulder and to the floorboard. Turning yourself to put your feet against the door while still holding the handle was some seriously uncomfortable gymnastics shit but you didn’t hold the position long. Pushing against the door with your feet, you both propelled yourself toward the steering wheel and knocked back the walkers that had been blocking you.

The seat was left between where it needed to be for you or Daryl to be able to drive. You could fix it later but you could fit well enough to get the fuck out of there. Turning the key, the engine barely started before you were throwing the shifter into drive. There were thumps that indicated a few had climbed into the bed but you could deal with that later.

Mowing down walker after walker, you nearly sobbed when you saw the taillights of the van. The others had made it. Had everyone made it? Maybe Daryl and Carol were with them. It took only a few moments to get far enough away to stop. You pulled off the road, just behind the van, your passenger door hanging open. The truck rocked, reminding you that there were still the walkers in the bed, but as people filed out of the van, there was no Carol. No Daryl.

And your world came to a screeching halt. “No.” You whispered against the hand you pressed to your mouth. Your other hand gripped the fabric of your coat over your stomach. Rick would never let the walkers get into the truck so you placed your head against the steering wheel and let the tears fall. How would you do this without Daryl? How could you live without him? The man you loved was gone and you knew in your heart of hearts that you needed to go back, face the herd, find him—along with Carol—and put them down. You wouldn’t leave them to walk. You couldn’t. You needed closure. A grave to visit if possible.

When the driver’s side door opened, you sobbed even harder, knowing Rick could never know how to comfort you. Your arms wrapped around your belly, your apologies to little Thumper for never being able to meet their father were choked down by each jerk of your shoulders, each wet breath. Distantly, inwardly, you hoped for a boy that you knew you would name DJ. You hoped he would be the spitting image of Daryl.

“Christ, ya drive like a maniac. Ya hurt? Baby okay?”

You straightened so quickly that your belly bumped the steering wheel and you felt a twinge of pain in your back. Daryl—a little worse for wear—was standing at the door, staring at you like nothing had happened.

“Dar—how—” You sobbed.

“Jumped in the back ‘fore ya could peel outta there. Carol too.” He tilted his head and studied you, his eyes raking over you before stopping on the right side of your head. “Ya alright?” You didn’t even register his arm lifting, but then his calloused fingertips were touching a tender spot just behind your right temple. You hissed but that pain meant nothing. “Hey, talk to me.”

As quickly as you could manage with your rounded middle, you launched yourself at him, falling into his chest with his arms instantly encircling you beneath your own. He walked forward and pushed you back onto the seat for support and held you tight, his cheek against the top of your head.

“I thought you were dead, you absolute fucking asshole!”

A hand pressed against the back of your head, pulling you to rest against his collarbone. “M’right here. M’fine. Carol’s fine.” When he tried to push you back, you held on, digging your fingers into his back, taking fistfuls of his vest. “Want Hershel to look ya over, butcha gotta let go first.”

“No.” You stated bluntly.

He didn’t say anything for the longest time, simply letting you cling to him until your sobs had quieted to whimpers and hiccups, his large hands rubbing your back and cradling your head. “Alright. Least scoot over so I can drive. An’ ya gotta let ‘im take a look atcha when we get to wherever the fuck we’re going.”

With a sniff, you conceded, nodding against his chest. When you moved back across the seat, you kept a hand fisted in the front of his shirt until he climbed in after you. He was talking with Rick but you didn’t hear a word of it. Your forehead was pressed against the round of his shoulder, thigh against his, hands gripping the hem of his vest below the arm he had outstretched to the wheel. Your body rocked with his as he closed the door. He went still for a moment, likely examining how he was going to drive with you clinging to him like a fungus but not a word was said. You had never killed the engine, so he just shifted the gear and drove while you held onto him like a lifeline.

“Ssh. Gotta be qui—fuckin’ christ.”

You had purposefully clenched your walls around him while continuing the steady rocking of your hips. “Ssh,” you pressed a finger to your lips, “gotta be quiet, Daryl.” The scowl he gave you was impressive for a man teetering right on the edge of orgasm. You traced a line through the sheen of sweat on his chest, only stopping when you reached where your belly loomed over him. His fingers were digging into your thighs, moving up to your thickened waist to both guide and urge you. “I’m so close.”

Daryl only grunted, running a hand over your prominent belly and up to your breast, squeezing gently. You were still so sensitive—and sore—but with one flick of his thumb over your wet nipple, you crested, your palm swiftly covering your mouth to muffle your shout. He quickly let go of the soft mound of your chest to grab a thigh, digging blunt nails into your flesh as he followed you up, up, up with a series of heightened breaths, desperately keeping himself quiet as well.

Still panting, Daryl caught you by your bicep and rolled with you to lay you onto your side, slipping out of you in the process. You must have looked as dazed as you felt because he was brushing your sweaty mess of hair out of your face and narrowing his eyes. “Ya okay?”

“Mhm.” With a content sigh, you caught his hand and kissed his palm, smiling when he gave you that look as if he had no idea what to do next. “I love you.” His mouth twitched into a tiny smile, a hum vibrating behind his lips. He turned his hand to hold yours, placing them on the bed between you. He didn’t say it back but he didn’t need to; you knew. You knew about his dissent with emotions but he had said he loved you and you believed him. And that was that. “Let’s get cleaned up and go face the people we probably kept awake.” You chuckled.

He scoffed, throwing the blankets back from the bedroll as he sat up. The room was cold. There were even goosebumps on his skin where the air touched it, and that man was always hot. The house was more of a shack, one large room with the kitchen and a family area, one bedroom, and a bathroom. It was the third temporary safehouse in a week and a half.

Daryl kept the truck close to the door now, as close as he could possibly get it. With you at around 38 weeks, he was taking no chances. Seriously. No chances. You had to pee? He was with you. He had to pee? You were with him. He was practically attached to your hip, but you were finding you didn’t feel crowded at all. You just couldn’t since the night you thought you’d lost him.

The archer stood, pulling up his pants and underwear together, staring at the window as he buckled his belt. God, he was beautiful. The moonlight was bathing him just right. He didn’t look real. Licking your lips, you thought about asking him to get right back under the blankets but that train of thought derailed with the tightening of your abdomen. You made a noise of discomfort, even though this contraction didn’t hurt. It still wasn’t the best feeling in the world.

“What?” Daryl sniffed, looking down at you.

“Stupid fake contractions.” You grimaced, holding out a hand for something with which to clean yourself up. He was already on it, digging through the bag for the bra pads for you anyway. He tossed you one of his shirts, huffing a laugh when you regarded him with bewilderment. “Are we really going to have Carol washing jizz off one of your shirts? Oh my god, or Beth?! No! Give me something else!”

“Ain’t much else to use, Sunshine.” He tossed the bra pads at you but continued rifling through the bag. A box landed next to your hip which you recognized as squares of gauze. If it weren't for the fact that you not only needed to clean up the mess between your legs but the bedroll and blankets as well, you would have just thrown on your underwear and left it.

Daryl was buttoning his shirt and not really paying attention when you wiped through the sticky mess at your core, ready to open another square but then your hand was brought to a sudden halt. Along with your heart.

“Daryl.” You knew there was fear in your voice, you couldn’t have hidden it if you tried. When you looked to him for reassurance, you found your expression mirrored.

“Hey, doc, get the fuck in here!” He bellowed, staring at the thick glob of red, white, and yellow on the white material. Everyone was asleep or had at least bedded down, so it would likely take a moment for anyone to appear in the doorway. Still, he moved fast, pulling the tank top he had tossed to you over your head. It had to be stretched over your belly and a portion of your breasts could be seen from the side but at least you were mostly covered since it was untelling how many would respond to his exclamation.

“Daryl, it’s blood. I’m bleeding. Is this normal? Is something wrong?” You rambled, the hand holding the gauze shaking so fiercely that he was forced to take hold of your wrist to steady it.

“I dunno. Hershel can—he’ll look. S’gonna be okay.” On his knees beside you, he pulled you against him with his free arm, holding you so tightly that you just knew it was so you didn’t shatter. “Hershel!”

“What’s wrong?” Carol was the first in, wrapping her cardigan tightly around her, but Hershel was just behind her, wiping at his eyes.

“What on earth, son?”

“She’s bleedin’, she ain’t s’posed to bleed is she?” Now, you could feel Daryl shaking, even with his voice as steady as it was.

The others were filing into the room but Carol was on top of things, ushering them all right back out while the old man rolled up his sleeves.

“Carol, could you bring a couple more candles, please?” He asked, his tone so light that even you wanted to kick him. It was likely Daryl wanted to throw him out the window. “Let’s see what we have here.” Hershel picked up the one candle you and Daryl had lit and knelt down next to the bedroll, his knees cracking and popping. When he held his palm flat, you curled your lip, wishing gloves were something any of you had thought of on the runs. Daryl guided your hand with his hold on your wrist, keeping the gauze from flipping or spilling onto the man’s palm. “Hmm. Can you tell me what happened before this?”

You and Daryl turned beet red. There was obviously cum on the gauze as well.

“‘Sides the obvious?” The archer murmured.

“Okay, so sex.” Hershel nodded. Daryl blanched. “Anything else?”

You were suddenly blank, the fear gripping your heart so tightly that it was cutting off the circulation to your brain. How could he seem so calm about this?

“She had one’a them fake contractions.” Daryl supplied. If you weren’t a trembling wreck, you would have kissed him.

Carol trotted back into the room with a candle in each hand, kneeling down next to the veterinarian. “Is that—?”

“I think so.”

You were looking back and forth between the two, still unable to find your voice. Once again, Daryl spoke for you. “Gonna make us guess?!” He snapped.

“Easy, Daryl.” Carol admonished, reaching a hand toward him but not touching.

“Don’t fuckin’ easy me! What the fuck is—”

“Calm down.” Hershel demanded in a no nonsense tone. You felt Daryl’s hold around your shoulders tighten. “I believe this is what is called the bloody show. Sometimes it just comes out on its own, but it can be triggered by intercourse. Now I have no way of knowing if the mucus plug has already passed and sadly, our woodland toilet would make it difficult to know anyway. It could actually be present in this. Regardless, that hardly matters.”

“M’gonna need some English an’ real fuckin’ quick, doc.”

“She’s fine, Daryl.” Carol soothed. “You know we wouldn’t say that if she weren’t.” The archer looked back and forth between the two again while you looked up at him. It took a long moment of uncomfortable silence but you felt the tension pressed against you loosen ever so slight. “Let him finish.”

Daryl gave a curt nod.

“This usually means the cervix is thinning and dilating; that the baby is nearly ready to be born. Now the contraction,” he continued while twisting to place the gauze somewhere behind him, “could have been Braxton Hicks, yes. It could have also been the real thing. Was it painful?”

You shook your head.

“They aren’t always in the beginning. According to my reading, some women are lucky enough to have very mild contractions all throughout labor and delivery.” He smiled, trying so hard to settle the unease eating its way through your sternum. “I’d like to examine you. Would you allow that?”

You nodded, feeling Daryl turn his head to see your permission with his own eyes.

“Okay, lie back please. Carol, I’ll need some water and soap please.” The woman was up and out the door before you could blink. “This will be just like the last one. Some mild discomfort but it shouldn’t be anything beyond that. Have you had any contractions since the last one?”

“No.” You sounded so small, even to your own ears.

“Okay, that’s good. We won’t rule anything out yet. Your water hasn’t broken, but I must warn you that it is possible I may accidentally cause that during the exam. If that happens, there’s no reason to be alarmed.”

You were nodding, you felt yourself doing it but it didn’t feel like you were really there at all. The fear had won and you were falling victim to the panic stirring up within you, its tendrils snaking around your lungs, making it impossible to breathe.

Then Daryl released your wrist and slipped his hand into yours.

He was listening carefully to Hershel, watching Carol return, but he was still attentive to what you needed at that moment as well. You felt the pressure in your chest recede, your lungs easily filling while your heartrate slowed. You were still scared. You still trembled, but so did he.

The vet had moved onto the bedroll but before he could do anything, Daryl was reaching down with a quick I got it and moving the blanket. His free hand was warm on your thigh, not removing it until you bent your knees and placed your feet flat. You watched the old man for a moment, suddenly self conscious when he stared impassively before his eyes flitted over to Daryl.

“Oh, uh—sorry for the—yeah.” The archer cleared his throat, his head ducking.

“Carol.” Hershel sighed. “If there are any runs to be made soon, please make sure gloves are mentioned as a necessity.” The other woman giggled behind her hand but quickly wiped it away and nodded. “Okay, here we go.”

It felt exactly as it had the first time, deeply uncomfortable and borderline painful at certain points, though this time you were able to remain still and silent. You chose to watch your partner as he eyed Hershel like a hawk, eyes squinted and focused. You squeezed his hand. Instantly, his attention was on you. His thumb swept back and forth over your knuckles, a grounding movement on which you could center yourself.

“Well.” Hershel had pulled his hand away and was washing up with the soap and water Carol had brought in for him. “You’re about 3cm, my dear. Now it’s anyone’s guess when your water will break or if it will at all. If not, I will likely need to intervene to speed things up but that’s down the road. Take it easy but walk around if you can. Drink lots of water, any extra that we can ration off for you. I’m sure others would be willing, myself included. Let me know of any contractions, even if they aren’t painful. We will need to start timing them. I can get Glenn to loan you the watch I gave to him, Daryl, but please don’t smash it.”

“Wait. That’s it?” You struggled to sit up until Daryl assisted you.

“That’s it. It’s a waiting game now.” Carol picked up what she could and promised to return for the rest, smiling at you before she left the room, likely to fill in the others. “But from the looks of things, your little Thumper will be making his or her debut in the very—and I mean very—near future.”

Both you and Daryl stared at the doorway long after it was empty. When you squeezed his hand, he squeezed back. And in unison, you both took a deep breath and uttered two words.

“Holy shit.”

#murda writes #blood ties #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #the walking dead #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x you #daryl #daryl dixon the walking dead #daryl x female reader #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon twd #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon angst #pregnant!reader

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stagefoureddiediaz · 18 days

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Something something about Bucks downstairs bathroom and it representing his innermost and truest self - almost a representation of his heart.

Because the door to Bucks bathroom being open and the room lit blue when Tommy came over, both of them crossing in front of that doorway has got me thinking because the bathroom door was firmly closed when Eddie was at the loft in 7x05.

This did a couple of things, it removed the blue light from the space so it was overwhelmingly yellow. But it also closed of a part of Bucks loft, metaphorically closing off a part of Buck.

I’m not 100% sure but I’m pretty sure we’ve only ever seen that door closed or very slightly ajar (I think when Taylor was around we saw it ajar - I’m going to have to go rewatch to be categorically sure) before now, the one big exception being when Buck was in that bathroom putting on a bullet proof vest in 4x14.

The other aspect is that Bucks bathroom has a glass door - and we all know about Buck and glass doors. Buck has metaphorically opened the glass door to his inner most self to Tommy, but he’s not able to do that for Eddie.

Because this isn’t about coming out, this is about opening up to the possibility of love and being loved in return - in a romantic sense.

If I’m right about the door being ajar around Taylor (not always but at certain points) this shows he was still somewhat closed off - he was open, but not all the way. He went into that room - into his innermost heart - when Eddie was injured - and put on a bullet proof vest - protecting his heart (and don’t get me started on that artwork about shouting at the top of your voice that is now also at the diaz house).

And now the door was fully opened when he had his first queer kiss - Buck being open to possibility- but firmly shut when he comes out to Eddie.

Something something about it no ring shut to Eddie, because he’s not ready to open the door to the possibility of Eddie yet (Eddie is also not available at the moment). But I think when he is and when Eddie is also ready or nearly ready, we’ll see that door open again when Eddie is in the loft.

#I will ascend to an astral plane if we see Eddie use/ go into that bathroom because the symbolism of him being in Bucks heart will end me #and this isn’t even touching on the fact that bathrooms are water based rooms - it is where most of the water sources in a house are located #and it was lit blue - like water -#buddie and water #this show makes me feral #so many layers and metaphors #911 spoilers #is it spoilers - who knows - tagging just in case #911 abc #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buddie #tommy kinard

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feralplantwife · 7 months

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Erzsebet Bathory- Thematic Character Analysis

I've seen a lot of posts about Erzsebet Bathory, and the general sense is that while her design is cool, she's not very well-developed or impressive from a character standpoint. I agree... Somewhat.

I'm going to get into it below, but the TL;DR version is that from a characterization standpoint, she is weak, but from a thematic standpoint, she is Everything.

Disclaimer: I have not been fortunate enough to play any of the games, so this analysis will focus solely on the show. <3

First, what do vampires mean in storytelling?

A vampire can symbolize many things, but here are the big three: they're a representation of the Other, the unknown (kind of like Frankenstein's Monster), but they can also be a manifestation of carnal, sinful, or deviant desires (think Dorian Grey). The one I'm going to focus on here, as it's the most relevant, is the third main type: the Parasite. Vampires are bloodsucking, gluttonous, selfish starving monsters that consume and consume until there is nothing left (think Robert Baratheon).

This was a theme that was explored in the first series with the Church's opulence and their desire to sacrifice innumerable human lives for the sake of their image and power. Carmilla is the same, but in contention with the Church.

This theme is expanded upon beautifully in Nocturne, with the French Revolution bourgeoise and American colonization and slave trade building upon the themes of the first series. Olrex talks about his home being destroyed, his lover's people being exterminated but holding onto his identity even in undeath. Annette holds onto her Yoruban faith and her Creole heritage taught to her by her mother and fellows even after generations of cultural genocide at the hands of her masters- a combination of more than one old indigenous faith and newer conglomerations of the same. (In this way, one could say that Erzsebet Bathory and Annette are foils!)

How does Erzsebet Bathory fit into this thematically?

Let me explain it like this: Erzsebet Bathory is a white woman dripping in stylized opulence who swallowed an Egyptian god. The truest enemy in this series is colonialism: the consumption of everything and everyone that isn't white and Christian to expand white and Christian ideals and desires using God as a face for their misdeeds- the consumption of people, land, culture, religion, knowledge, kindness. What could not be consumed was destroyed.

In this way, Erzsebet Bathory is the manifestation of all the greatest evils people of color and minorities have ever faced, and continue to face today: that of homogenization, exploitation, and destruction.

The fact that this is expanded by her vampiric elitism builds upon this idea by including all human beings. It's open knowledge among many anthropological circles that colonization destroyed a lot of technology, culture, and knowledge, has held society back, and continues to lead to unnecessary and painful struggle among society (largely due to that fact that many developed nations' governments are still being run by vampires today- how are all my fellow Americans doing as we barrel toward a government shutdown for this very reason?).

Erzsebet Bathory signifies the consumption of the human spirit and the death of mankind, wrapped up in a beautifully terrifying amalgam of every single sin the colonizers ever committed. She's not the ultimate character of Nocturne by a long shot, but she is the ultimate monster.

#castlevania nocturne #castlevania #netflix #erzsebet bathory #alucard #richter belmont #annette #i cannot stress enough how wonderful this show is #ignore the questionable voice acting #and strap in for a critique of both past and present #and also amazing application of classical music

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glass--beach · 27 days

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hey j. love your work and glass beach a ton.

currently living with my two transphobic and emotionally abusive parents as a trans teen. things are especially awful lately. i was wondering if there was any reassurance you can give. it would mean a lot.

i moved out of my parents’ house because they would not let me transition & didn’t take it seriously at all. we weren’t rich rich but i never had to worry about money or anything, it was very cozy, and since moving out i have struggled a lot financially but - i have never regretted my choice, i have been the happiest i’ve ever been. being a teenager is extremely rough no matter what, don’t let anyone tell you it’s supposed to be the best years of your life, it’s a time of finding your adult self but not having the freedoms of an adult, and having to repress such a big part of yourself makes it even rougher…

i’m very sorry you have to deal with that right now, but i can definitely assure you that it will get better, your parents won’t control your life forever, and you will find companionship and love and support in other people. keep yourself alive and healthy and one day you will be somewhere better with people you love and you will get to take a deep breath and feel a weight off your shoulders and reflect on just how far you’ve come. and then you will have so much life ahead of you to be your truest self. i hope things don’t get too bad for you. i’ve been there before. i hope, as someone who has been through that and seen the light at the end of the tunnel, that my words can provide at least a little assurance for you. please be kind to yourself and find love and happiness where you can until you can be truly free <3

#asks

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chaoticneutraltor · 9 months

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#this is the truest thing I have ever seen #tiktok

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angelwithdemonictendencies · 6 months

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meeting you was too perfect to be real; somehow i know in every lifetime i've heard your laugh.

jd6 x reader: baristas always flirt like this with customers, right?

(warnings: no warnings today! (isn't that just deranged?). all sweetness and cuteness and sparkles and the like. my gift to you, free of charge. (enjoy!).

(a/n: my favorites! i give to you the sugar installment of my sugar and spice project. nothing even a little bit sad, here. and, surprisingly, i actually had a lovely time writing this. so much so that i'm almost tempted to make this into a full story, not just a scene - so let me know if that would be something you're interested in. i love a good coffee shop meet-cute, so i tried to do it justice, complete with a shy, blushy jd6. tell me what you think, tell me how you're doing, tell me what you'd like to see next, tell me what you think about the season so far. go canucks. sending every lovely thing i've got to you and your snakes. you can find the spice story of this project (toxic tz11. have i convinced you?) here. until next time).

anaheim was sort of funny. hot, but not necessarily oceanic, somehow still classic california. it was home to you, or at least it had been for the last couple of years.

however, in a very classic california fashion, rent was high, and although you loved your job as a barista like a hobby, lately it didn't really seem to be paying the bills.

so, you asked around, told your friends that if they knew anyone who was looking for a place to live, they should send them your way. you let that issue settle to the back of your mind, for now.

this morning, the opening shift was busy but predictable. the regulars stopped in for their typical before-work cup, filling you in on new developments in their lives as they tore open sugar packets. you convinced two customers to try your new fall creation, a cinnamon pumpkin latte, which was quickly becoming you go-to. your only co-worker for this shift was your work-best-friend, which you loved, which made the shift feel like it wasn't even work.

the opening hours flew by, as they so often did on weekdays. like clockwork, three hours in, your coworker took their break, going out back for a smoke.

there were no surprises, nothing new at all, until someone you had never seen before stood in front of you.

someone tall and broad, with messy dark hair that glinted almost purple under the soft light and the warmest eyes you had ever seen. his sweatshirt hung off of him like a blanket, clinging softly to the muscles of his shoulders and arms.

you cleared your throat. "welcome in. what can i get started for you?"

somehow, he looked even more unbalanced than you felt. he coughed before shoving his hands in his pockets, rocked back and forth once on his feet. "uh, yeah, h-hello." his voice was not what you expected, a little less steady, a little too telling. you knew immediately that he was a terrible liar, that everything he thought and felt would play across his face and tone in the truest, most sincere of ways. "i've never been here before."

your smile was instinctual, immediate, and his hands flexed in his pockets when your face brightened. "i know," you said, tilting your head at his look of confusion "i would have remembered you," you whispered like a teasing secret.

rosy pink began to appear at the tops of his ears, across his freckled nose.

anyone who worked as a barista would tell you that flirting was pretty much in the job description. one of those unspoken truths of the universe, that the pretty faces making the coffee let compliments flow easy as cream.

it was so much more fun when the customer looked like this, behaved this way, like he was so mature but still somehow not used to the attention, which you could barely believe. if he looked like this, he must know the effect he had on others, no? at the very least, could he assume the effect he had on you?

your laugh was soft. "didn't mean to embarrass you, new kid."

he reached a hand up to rub at the back of his neck, nervous habit. how gentle it looked it on him. "'s okay, petal, forgive you." his voice seemed to have steadied, now, as he settled into his space. into your space, too.

you blinked. in your head, it was comically slow, like a cartoon. is this what swooning felt like? your head filling with chatter like girls at a sleepover in middle school, gossiping behind hands shining with popcorn butter?

you cleared your throat. "so, what are you drinking?"

he sucked on his teeth for a second, appearing to think. "usually a black coffee kind of guy," he mused, leaving the end of his statement hanging between you like a question.

your smile grew childish in its sincerity. "but you're going to let me make you a more interesting drink because black coffee is boring?"

he rolled his eyes playfully, pretended to think about it, absentmindedly twisting the ends of his soft hair between his thick fingers. "i really don't like chocolate, okay?"

you scrunched up your face. "me neither," you said, sensing you almost had him.

you leaned forward on the counter, summed up your most convincing expression. "c'mon, please? you deserve a sweet treat! promise i'll make it so, so good for you."

"woah, the brothel's next door." your coworker's interested and mocking voice came ringing in clearly as the back door swung open and shut.

you and your new customer both turned a bright pink.

"can i make you a treat, please?" you said to him, simply, pulling a cup from the stack next to the register.

"i'd like that," he said, bashful as anything, his smile like a reflex.

you nodded to your coworker. "my friend's gonna ring you up."

her eyes lit up with mischief as she took your spot at the register. "let me guess," she said, barely able to talk because of her laughter, "you want that iced?"

your brow furrowed in confusion, unsure of the grounds on which her joke was being made, but you just finished fiddling with the espresso maker and put the finishing touches on your creation.

an iced americano, since he liked black coffee, with a splash of almond milk you infused with cinnamon and cardamon. a classic with a twist. something different, like you were so sure he was.

you handed it to him with a smile, still flushed from his presence, pleased to find him just as affected as you.

he held it in his hand like a treasure, like some kind of luxury, never looking away from you.

"aren't you going to take a sip?" you asked. "so i can make you something else if you don't like it?"

he shrugged, the motion making the muscles in his shoulders and back ripple. "i trust you."

you could have shaken your head at him. how silly, you could have said, how silly you sound, talking like that to me.

"i hope i'll see you around, new kid," you said genuinely as he made his way out, reluctance dripping from his frame like amber.

"thank you, petal," he said, so sweet you could have sworn the shop smelled like cotton candy for the rest of your shift.

"remember what i said about your zone entries!" your coworker called out after him as she wiped down the counter.

you turned to her, finally. "what are you talking about?"

she waved you off. "he plays hockey. my little brother's favorite. and god, if their zone entries aren't the sloppiest in the league."

she had lost you already, though, as your mind became clouded over with burnt caramel eyes and hands flexed in pockets.

an image that stayed present in your mind days after.

you had only just started to forget about your handsome stranger when one of your friends called to tell you he might have a roommate for you.

he assured you that this guy was not a creep, not even a little bit, that he was clean and orderly and liked a schedule, just like you.

"i swear, you'll love jamie," he had said.

and you knew this friend, loved him like a brother, trusted his opinion, so you agreed to have this prospective roommate, jamie, you supposed, swing by your place for a tour.

just a tour, you thought, what's the worst that could happen? it probably wouldn't even be the most memorable part of the hour, never mind the day.

you knew you were wrong when a gentle knock gave way to an opening door, and he stood there in your doorframe like a vision from a dream, hazy and lovely and every bit as beautiful as you remembered.

you almost dropped the mug you were holding.

and he genuinely did drop the flowerpot he was holding in his own grip. the loud crash had you covering your mouth with one hand.

"oh, fuck," came his rough voice, the smell of dirt growing stronger as shattered ceramic and soil now laid between the two of you like some sort of seance. "oh, god, 'm so sorry, petal," he practically whined. "just shocked me, 's all, didn't mean to make a mess."

you tilted your head, smile coming easy. "shocked you? you showed up at my house, new kid."

"if anything it's your fault," he said, face so rosy pink, smile shy. he let out a frustrated sigh, gestured to you. "can't answer the door looking like that, petal, swear you're a safety hazard."

"flattery will get you nowhere," you warned playfully, although you were pleased.

"not even in the door?" he asked, a hopefulness glazing over his gaze like lemon pound cake icing.

you shook your head, stepped to your side to let him in. "well, then, jamie, i guess i can start your tour by showing you where the vacuum is."

fin. (maybe).

#hockey #hockey smut #nhl #nhl smut #smut #jd6 #jamie drysdale #jamie drysdale imagine #jamie drysdale x reader #jack hughes #quinn hughes #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes smut #trevor zegras smut

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vesora · 1 year

Text

is law of assumption real? yeah

i have come across an individual vilifying the loa community and i find their statements kinda funny and stupid but i love having my beliefs challenged bc i can know why i believe in this. please also read my response to this other girl who thought loa ppl were crazy. it is ok to think if it’s crazy. ur welcome to criticize it. also, i am using aesthetic pictures bc of my ocd, i need things to be divided.

this is for the people who want to listen whether LOA is real from MY perspective:

firstly, i was primed for law of assumption from a young age. this means that i experienced many and i mean MANY spiritual things from a young age. i saw spirits (not hallucinations, it was my dead grandma who i had never seen and i described her down to her ring to my dad and he started crying because it was her), started speaking french at random points without ever having consciously learned the language, heard random piano compositions in my ear which i had never heard before, had visions which protected me/warned me about the future/informed me about the future and many manyyy more things. this proves to me the power of the subconscious mind.

the difference between someone who was born with their third eye awakened versus someone who has no spiritual experiences + is not open-minded to it, is that they will view spiritual phenomena from a materialistic practical sense.

this is saddening, because humans before being impacted by materialism were so spiritual and we were the ones who created the pyramids and all the structures you see on earth. we did that.

anyways,

is it real?

my opinion: yes.

no i am not in a cult waiting to pounce on the next vulnerable piece of meat. in fact, my future career is removing people out of cults and helping trafficking victims but anyways.

i have manifested things far beyond logic. you know how and why? because manifestation is the most basic human trait. and awakening to the fact that you are the creator of your reality is the most liberating amazing feeling and practice. i manifested one of my dying cats becoming free of cancer. that is not luck. that is manifestation. i manifested bad circumstances away. not luck, manifestation. i manifested all my exes leaving me the SAME way because i had assumed they would. not a coincidence, manifestation. there is definitely a lot we don’t know about the universe. i can’t say with certainty that all things are attributed to us which is also why i hate any form of victim blaming. but one thing is for sure is that humans have more control over our lives than we think. we don’t need a divine presence outside of us to dictate us the circumstances in OUR lives.

also, law of assumption is not law of attraction. law of attraction is “AHHH DONT THINK BAD THOUGHTS OR U WILL GET BAD JUJU” very fear-based, also seen in dogmatic religions. law of assumption uses a CBT based approach to change assumptions and therefore, influence reality. you have every right to not believe in this and even chastise me for it, i understand. however, i know this is real for me.

i was a victim of many racist attacks, however, as soon as i decided that the outside world is safe for me, i never had ONE negative experience. is this a coincidence? not for me, no. this is a human taking control of their life. this is a human not bound by societal expectations and leaning into divine energy and expressing the truest essence of one’s self. i am not blaming myself for being a victim, it is the racist’s fault. i am not blaming other victims, it is the perpetrators’ fault. however, if there is any fucking chance i can help a victim, i will take it, i do NOT care.

things i manifested regarding other people towards me:

1. no more racism towards me, family and friends.

2. parents being emotionally available with me

3. my friends expressing affection the way i want them to

4. my mum making me the exact food i visualised many times

5. my professor saying the exact words to me as i visualised

6. my friends saying to me the exact words i visualised

7. this guy flirting with me out of nowhere because i visualised it

8. and many more stuff this shit is too easy so

maybe i feel this strongly because i am a fighter for the working class. my main goal in life is to help liberate all oppressed people. if there is any chance that it can be done by mind, i would take it. would you not? would you not help people by the means you have helped yourself?

how can you so strongly and with such conviction without ever practising the law come to a conclusion that is a harmful new age ideology when the maxim prevalent in so many esoteric practices (yes, non-white too) have preached that reality is made by the mind? will we ignore the science behind it too? will we ignore the cia declassified documents? will we ignore ancient accounts of reality shifting? will we ignore hermes trismegistus? will we ignore rumi? will we ignore plato?

you can ignore this. i won’t, however. this is the liberation of the human soul. having said this, anyone is welcome to criticise the LOA community, look at us as vultures, think we are crazy. i value all opinions (even if they’re wrong HAHA sorry).

how is loa different from dogmatic religion?

well for one, there is evidence for conscious manifestation (e.g. dr joe dispenza’s books). i personally do not like religion. i have religious trauma so if you are religious, id advise you to not read this section. abrahamic religion is based on fear to oppress minorities, trap human potential and it also makes you rely on luck and wishful thinking (this view is only if the holy books were to be taken in the literal sense and abused by ministers etc) whereas the human is able to decide its own fate. law of assumption liberates the human by putting the human from an us vs them view to an us AND them view, meaning everyone is one and the same. this is not a christian thing, this is a well documented thing featured in asian philosophy. consciousness is the thing that unites us all. it is within you and it is within me. religion (abrahamic) forces you to look at the people who are not like you, aka dont believe what you do, as these other creatures who have defied the will of God and ahhh will face wrath. LOA instead empowers the individual and promotes free will. i understand if you think this is dangerous, the woo-woo stuff, just dont practise it.

how is loa not a cult?

loa CAN be misused in a cult but on its own it is not a cult. no one in the loa community is forcing the individual to join this practice which lowkey is just manifestation. however, i get your concerns and i advise you to read this reply: x

i wish i took pics of my cat when she was sick so i could provide u guys evidence but of course i didnt take any pics.

anyone is welcome to leave. anyone is welcome to adjust loa to their lives the way they see fit.

the void state

i doubt that so many people are lying about manifesting in the void state. i do think it’s not a big deal but i definitely don’t think it’s fake. besides, whats the harm in trying?

thing is right, if you are not garnering results or whatever, u dont need to stay. i stayed regardless of whether i manifested my shit instantly or not (which in the beginning was hard for me) because i believed in the philosophy, it resonated with me and it didn’t make me alienate my fellow man. however, if you feel you have a chance of being manipulated here or idk what, don’t join this practice. seriously, it’s okay. i am not being sarcastic or anything, because you are welcome to stay or leave. you are welcome to compliment me or insult me. i will love you either way for you are my fellow man.

also this is so random and a general thing but only psychoanalytic/psychodynamic psychologists use the subconsciously thing.

#loa #law of assumption #manifesting #manifestation #neville #neville goddard

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extrovedteen · 5 months

Text

WAIT Y/N! Quick Note: For those of you that saw ‘chapter one’ I decided to just break it down into individual parts all based on NEP’s PUP EP because I’m obsessed and it gives me hardcore Colby vibes so for all of us Colby Brock girls, this ones for us!

Warning: SMUT , FLUFF and everything in between. Enjoy my lovelies, if we like this I may do a Kit Connor one afterwards!

PART 1: FENDER (COLBY BROCK x READER)

“I really like it when you scream, I really like when you do not hurt me, I really like the way I look up at you and somehow you look down on me kindly.”

"You're not meant for that side of YouTube!" your manager yelled at you through the phone.

"It's what I want to do, I'm not interested in-" you started, trying to be heard.

"You're not doing it!" Your manager said sternly, you felt your heart break, as you knew you weren't in control of your own carer and if you wanted to continue this life, you had to stay a lifestyle guru.

You woke up in a hot sweat, a squeal escaping your lips before you fully woke up and understood that it was just a dream, your subconscious coming through.

"Hey guys, what's up! It's Y/N!" You spoke into your camera, you had just bought a brand new Cannon EOS R5. You had been with Cannon since your dad had bought you your very own Cannon EOS 5DS for your 16 birthday, when it all began. "And Happy Vlogmas Day 1!" You grinned from ear to ear, you were now 22 and vlogmas was the only thing you still truly loved about being a lifestyle guru. "Today we're hanging out with Adelaine Morin, we're going to go to the gym, our personal trainer is waiting for us, somehow we're always late." You laughed into the camera, you felt so fake.

Kris: we should have a sleep over tonight!

You had become close friends with Kris and Celina in the last few years of your career, they were the only ones that truly knew what you wanted to do on YouTube and about your gift

Ever since you remembered you had the gift of clairsentience (noun. the ability to perceive emotional or psychic energy that is imperceptible to the five standard senses.) and therefore you wanted to explore with this gift as it was only getting stronger as you were getting older, but your fan base was with you for lifestyle content and not paranormal investigations. You were worried about losing your fan base if you had a change, so you never did.

You had met Kris and Celina at a Tik-Tok event and the three of you had become inseparable ever since, and you loved spending time together however they knew that they had to hide you in their videos so you'd always be there, but nobody would know.

Celina: At Y/N's? I'll bring crumble!

You smiled at your phone, but then frowned as you knew it was vlogmas and that you needed that time to create content, during Vlogmas it was hard to keep up the double life, so you replied with

Y/N: I truly wish I could, but it's Vlogmas :( and I really need the time to create content.

Kris: Oh, yeah I forgot. It's understandable, but we'll really miss you this month.

Celina: you should just tell your fans the truth, I'm sure they'd understand and be really excited for the new content.

You had wished that it would be like that, but you knew otherwise, you had seen one person who was truly successful at a whole new brand change which was Taylor Swift, and you were no Taylor Swift. Instead you were Miley Cyrus, living a double life.

Y/N: guys unfortunately I'm no Taylor Swift... instead I'm a Miley Cyrus...

Kris: YOU GET THE BEST OF BOTH WORLDS!! 👩‍🎤

Celina: CHILL IT OUT, TAKE IT SLOW!

Y/N: THEN YOU ROCK OUT THE SHOW!

You chuckled as you replied, no matter how much you truly cherished your friendships with the other lifestyle guru's especially Adelaine you knew you only truly fit in with Kris and Celina, they made you feel welcomed, they made you laugh and you could always be your truest self without being judged.

Y/N: I have to go! I have the gym this morning, but I'll talk to you guys later

You added to the chat and headed off to pick up Adelaine in your yellow Tesla, your dream car. You picked up Adelaine and the two of you went to grab something for breakfast from Starbucks before heading to the GYM.

"I just picked up Adelaine and we grabbed some Starbucks for breakfast, I got the egg bites and an iced matcha." You said, shaking your drink as you took a sip, your Tesla driving for you. "So good!" You grinned, Adelaine then shared what she got as well before you both said "and now we're on our way to the gym!"

Cut to the gym, it was leg day for you and so your PT talked you through that and you captured as much footage as possible before the session was over. After the gym, you and Adelaine went shopping to target to do some Christmas shopping and found something you knew that Kris would die for and so you recorded yourself putting into in the trolley, as a part of your footage for the day when your phone pinged.

Celina: Sam and Colby are coming to mine, we're filming a video on my haunted house.

As soon as you saw the names of the boys you wished you could go, Sam and Colby you had met them a handful of times as you were in their friend groups and would go to the same parties, you still remembered the first time you had never met Colby as clear as day. You glanced at him from across the room only to see him already looking down on you kindly, it made your breath hitch and your heart flutter. He walked over to you, it was an open mic tik-tok event and he was going to sing his song ‘Skin’ you also sang every now and again, but what influencer didn’t really. You knew how to play the bass and so when you noticed him holding his bass, you walked over to him confidently.

‘Nice Bass, It looks really expensive. I’m Y/N.” You introduced yourself, holding your hand out. He took your hand and kissed the back of it.

‘Colby.’ He replied before smirking up at you ‘Do you know how to play?’ He asked you.

‘Yeah, a little.’ You replied, feeling cheeky. He took his bass off and placed it over you.

‘Back straight, chest out.’ He instructed, you followed his instructions.

‘You lied bunny, you’re good’ He grinned, his breath on your neck as he stood behind you.

‘I know, I was just messing with you.’ You laughed, feeling the tension in the air of him standing behind you and obviously flirting with you.

‘No, say it.’ He said sternly, he very much had dominate energy and you couldn’t help but blush.

‘Say what?’ You asked, confused.

‘Say that you’re good.’ He continued.

‘Okay, I’m good.’ You admitted, turning around and looking into his eyes trying to make him feel just as intimidated.

‘Good Girl.’ He said looking into your eyes, he definitely wasn’t the littlest bit intimidated and he took his bass back before walking out on stage.

You still remembered everything he ‘taught you that night’ even how surprised he was when you played for him and found out how good you were.

You blushed, thinking about it until Adelaine’s voice bought you out of it. ‘Y/N!’ She spoke loudly before waving her hand in your face. ‘What are you thinking about that’s got your face all red? Wait! Is it a guy? Finally!’ She grinned. ‘WHO? Who is it?’ She asked, excited. She had been waiting for you to get into a relationship since you guys had met seven years ago, you had never had a boyfriend before.

‘Nobody.’ You laughed, your phone pinging again.

‘Is that him?’ She asked, reaching for your phone and you instantly became scared of her seeing who was messaging you so you shoved your phone into your pocket.

‘Don’t.’ You said sternly. She was surprised but that but dropped the conversation not wanting to upset you further.

‘Who is that for anyway?’ She asked you, looking into your trolley. ‘Just a friend from back home’ You lied. You hated lying to your best friend of seven years but your fear was far too strong and you knew you needed to keep the two lives separate, if you ever felt the courage to change your carer she would be the first to know, other then those from that other life.

Kris: Count me in!

You sighed, reading the message that had come through

Y/N: Have fun guys!

was all you could say, knowing your fans were counting on you getting enough footage each day for vlogmas. Instead of counting down to Christmas you were counting down the days until you could finally spend time with your best friends and see the boy that you had a crush on, not a crush- you just thought he was cute- or annoying.

Kris: Colby is talking about you!

Celina: He asked where you are AH

Y/N: Guys, he’s probably just used to me being with you guys and helping you paranormal investigate because I have a gift.

Celina: Yeah and because he probably wants to give you a gift ;)

Kris: BOO YEAH! GOOD ONE.

You just laughed at your best friend’s messages, shaking your head as you sighed, stretched and finished editing the thumbnail as you had already sent off the footage to your editor. By the time you were done it was 12:00AM and you knew they could possibly still be filming.

Y/N: I’m finally done! Be proud.

Kris: We’re so proud of you, beautiful. We’re almost done filming, we’re just about to do some rituals to close.

Celina: Get over here RIGHT NOW! Sam and Colby are staying the night.

You read the messages, and although you were tired 5 minutes ago you were wide awake.

Y/N: Lifestyle guru by day, paranormal investigator by night! I’m on my way!

You replied, getting up of the couch grabbing an energy drink out of the fridge and grabbing your car keys as you walked out the door, you got into your Tesla and drove to Celina’s house, your makeup was still done from earlier that day and you were wearing a tight black dress with a cut in the front exposing skin, you paired it with a leather jacket as it was winter and you’d be filming outside but you wanted to show off your brand new dress.

You got there 45 minutes later as Celina lived in a secluded area the time now reading 12:45AM. You took a few seconds to pull yourself together knowing that you truly had a crush on Colby Brock, no matter how hard you tried to deny it.

“Ello, Ello!” You called out, walking up to the door as you automatically felt goosebumps and the hairs on your skin prick up.

“Y/N!” Kris ran to the door and twirled you around before putting you back down.

“Come into my lair!” Celina said in her demon voice making you all laugh as per usual, dragging you inside. As soon as you stepped inside your eyes automatically looked for Colby’s as your heart fluttered.

“Hey Sam” You smiled, before looking back at Colby “Colby” you added.

“Bunny.” Colby replied, Sam walking over to you to give you a hug “Long time no see” Sam said with a grin.

“I can’t believe you guys wanted for me, I can’t even be in any of the footage.” You stated, feeling disappointed in yourself.

“We just enjoy your company, plus we always know we’re on the right path when you’re here because of your gift.” Colby said, looking at you with the kindest eyes.

You just smiled and nodded before you turned out of the frame and let them continue their filming, all of you walking towards the outdoor cabin, them filling you in on what you had missed.

“We’re going to play this game, it’s basically a ritual. It’s called the corner game.’ Sam started explaining. ‘So basically the idea of the game is to use all of our energy to summon said thing we want to talk to into the space that we’re here.’ He finished before adding on that the whole point of the night was to try and get rid of Elias. You instantly felt the negative energy and knew that it was Elias. “He doesn’t like that.” You said, Colby standing next to you out of the frame but recording Sam speaking. He instantly looked at you, and could tell that you were feeling uneasy.

“It’s summoning him right?” Colby asked and Sam replied “Summoning him into our space.” You nodded your head before Colby assured all of you that they had a plan and not to worry, you took their word for it and you all started the ritual.

Whilst you all undertook the summoning ritual, you were the last in, after Colby so that it would be easier to edit your voice out.

“Y/N! Y/N! Y/N!” You chose your corner and instantly felt Elias’ in the cabin with you, the uneasy feeling following you, you chose your corner and then the ritual went on, the energy just getting worse and worse.

“Y/N! Y/N! Y/N!” You said lastly, walking out of the door and closing it behind you, however Colby needing to go back and close the door so you weren’t in the video.

As soon as you were all out, you started to fall over feeling the negative powerful energy consume you, it was a downside of your gift. Colby caught you “You okay, bunny?” He asked you, worried. You sat down and nodded

“He’s definitely here.” You told your friends. Your friends stood up and started to film themselves using the Alice box hearing ‘Here’ come through which only proved your gift further, Colby was so turned on by your gift, he truly thought it was incredible.

You all filmed the last part of the video which was the banishing ritual, and by the end of it you truly didn’t feel his presence anymore, the video was complete and filming wrapped.

“Your gift is incredible” Colby said looking at you, everyone else agreeing.

“The way that you said ‘He’s definitely here’ and then the Alice box said ‘here’ that’s so crazy.” Sam added.

“Thanks guys, well in good news I don’t feel him anymore.” You assured them.

“Thank you.” Celina said thanking everyone. “It’s getting late.” Celina said, looking at her phone as you all walked back into the house, It was now 2AM.

“We should all get the bed, and we’ll hangout tomorrow morning?” Kris asked, everyone agreeing.

“Is there anywhere for me to sleep?” You asked, not really wanting to drive another 45 minutes home.

“Of course! We were thinking maybe You and Colby could share the cabin?” Celina asked, Kris’ eyebrows raising as a small chuckle left her mouth.

“What’s funny?” You asked, obviously knowing what they were implying, everyone could feel the sexual tension between the two of you although you’d both always deny it.

“Nothing.” Kris said, “It’s just probably less scary with you there due to your gift” She said, saving herself.

“Nice save” You laughed.

“I don’t mind, bunny.” Colby said, using that nickname that he knew made you swoon.

“Okay, then neither do I.” You said, daring.

“Well, goodnight.” Kris smiled, giving you a hug and walking inside. Celina and Sam following her inside, after Celina also gave you a hug.

You just looked up at Colby before twirling, showing of your brand new dress. “I guess your stuck with me” You said meeting his eyes that were looking down on you kindly, every time.

“I don’t mind that” He admitted, the two of you walking into the Cabin.

It was now 3:30AM and the two of you still weren’t asleep, you had gotten cold and so he gave you his sweater which was apart of the new XPLR merch, it was the purple ‘busy fighting demons’ sweater, you had been wanting one and now you had one and it smelt like Colby. However it fit you terribly but it was okay because you felt all cute and chic. You hadn’t spoken much to each other, only stealing glances when you’d look up from your phones. You were sleeping head to toe together in bed, and occasionally you could feel his leg touch yours and you weren’t sure if it was on purpose or because of the way you sit in the single bed together.

“I’m starving, I didn’t eat dinner.” You admitted.

“No dinner, bunny?” You asked, again that nickname made your heart flutter, although it was the only thing he called you, it always caught you off guard.

You pouted. “Unfortunately not, I was so busy with my daily footage.” You admitted. “I only had breakfast earlier before the gym.”

“There is a McDonald’s 25 minutes away.” He asked, looking at the maps on his phone. “Come on, my shout” He said and you were too hungry to disagree so you followed him out of the door.

25 minutes later you both arrived at the McDonald’s and ordered your food, Colby parked in the parking lot and you both got out and sat in his trunk which had a lot of space in the back. You ate your food and talked about life, just getting to know each other and it was obvious that you both liked each other.

“You have sauce” He said, rubbing his thumb under your lip. You both looked into each other’s eyes “Your eyes are so beautiful.” He admitted, you gulped before the two of you knew it your lips were crashing together as you kissed each other passionately. You bit his bottom lip and giggled. “You’re so beautiful.” He added before you both hid in the trunk, you were pretzeling your legs as you fell back into the trunk, you both had so many tattoos and you couldn’t help but admire his.

You wanted to take things slow, but the sexual tension was so strong that your legs instantly wrapped around his waist, dragging him down on top of you and the two of you started making out again. “Colby” You said, biting his bottom lip again, driving him crazy. “Bunny” he whispered into your ear, as his hands rubbed down your sides “Can I?” He asked, his hand meeting the top of your panties, he was asking for consent to put his hands inside your panties which made you admire him even more, you nodded your head as you nuzzled your head into his neck, biting his neck and leaving little love bites. “You’re driving me crazy” he admitted, but you already knew you were. His hands found your clit through your panties and he started to rub against it, making you wet. You had never been with anyone else so this was your first time, you didn’t want to ruin the moment so you didn’t tell him that.

“What do you want to do?” He asked you, before your hands were also in his pants, rubbing his hard on.

“I want something baby” you replied before whispering “guess” in his ear.

When you assured him that’s what you wanted, he started to undress you, taking off your dress, leaving you in your underwear. His hands making their way inside your panties as his fingers found their way inside, still rubbing your clit. You started to moan softly into his ear.

“Fuck, Bunny you feel so tight.” He spoke dominantly. You instantly knew it was because you were a virgin, you had always dreamed of losing your virginity to your soulmate because you believed in that type of stuff but you wanted him more than you had ever wanted anyone.

Your hands unbuckled his belt and you pulled his pants down, him helping you with this before your hands started to jerk him off. He moved you on top of him, so you were sitting on his face as he fingered you and ate you out moaning while he did so. “You taste so good” He assured you.

You started to suck his cock, jerking him off while your mouth is around him, this making him scream enjoying it so much. He would have never guessed that you were a virgin. Soon your breath was hitched as he started to pump two fingers inside of you, you now understood why everyone enjoyed sex.

You started to experience your first orgasm, feeling his tongue against your clit, rubbing it as fast as he could.

Whilst he did this, you continued to suck him off, licking in between his tip, focusing on the side. “Fuck!” He groaned as you both started cumming together.

You laid down next to him after this, looking up at him. “Good Girl” he whispered, kissing the top of your head. You really like it when he didn’t hurt you.

You started to trace his tattoos, “How many do you have?” You asked him. “11” He told you before the two of you fell asleep in the trunk.

Ending Note: AYO that was good, I think? What did you guys think? Next SONG will be PUP!

#colby brock #sam and colby #angst #fluff #smut #youtube #kris collins #celinaspookyboo #Spotify #colby brock x reader #spotify

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archangeldyke-all · 2 months

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Coming to your blog to relax and calm down bc I got some shit going on and it's starting to irritate me. If/when you've got the time for it, and if you're comfortable, it'd be really nice to see sev and reader helpindheal each other's inner children, could be modern or in universe if you want.

Love you, love you, kisses if you want them, I feel like fucking crying right now

my poor baby mars. ily so much baby i hope this helps you feel better <3

men and minors dni

sevika's the only person you can be your truest self in front of. it goes both ways

sometimes it's anger: you coming home exhausted and pissed off and spending thirty minutes ranting to sevika about your idiot boss.

sometimes it's sadness: sevika burying her face in your chest and holding onto your body like her life depends on it as she cries.

sometimes it's joy: both of you giggling and dancing around each other as you laugh and joke.

but the specialist of all, to you at least, is when you and sevika can be like kids together.

you've never been with someone you can be so goofy with. someone you feel so safe around, someone you feel so seen with.

it comes out in a lot of ways.

sevika gets sleepy around you so easily. you asked her about it once, why she's always slumping to sleep on your shoulder or in your arms, and she just smiled shyly and shrugged. "just feel safe around you." she mumbled. you tripped over your own breath and pulled her into after hearing that.

you guys play together (video games or board games or just hand games) and get so competitive about it. sevika gets this giddy glint in her eye when she's winning, cackling and jumping in her victory. if you're winning, sevika will do any and everything she can to beat you. wrestling you to the ground or blocking your view of the tv screen or tickling you or stealing your paper money-- she's half motivated by her need to win, half motivated by the giggles and screams she gets out of you.

as corny as it is, you guys aren't just girlfriends, you're best friends. sevika knows you so well, and you know her so well, that you're both so in tune with each other that half of the time you don't even need to talk to communicate. you have a series of specific hand gestures and facial expressions you've created throughout your relationship that work like a secret little language between the two of you.

you both revert to love-sick middle schoolers after a while together. sometimes you'll find little crumpled up pieces of paper in your pockets or tucked away in the book you're reading-- all of them little love notes from sevika. in exchange, you're always doodling your initials right next to one another, a big heart around them.

you guys make friendship bracelets together, and once sevika gets the hang of it, she's making you a new bracelet about once a month. if she ever catches you without one of her bracelets on (all of them stitched with a little S) she'll pout until you put one on. she refuses to take off the bracelets you make her, even if it means she'll have a forearm full of handmade bracelets.

sevika loves doing your hobbies with you, or having you do hers with her. she loves sitting next to you as you read and working on her laptop, or vice versa. she loves napping in your lap while you play video games, or having you sit in the kitchen while she cooks up snacks.

but her favorite thing to do is have you teach her, or being able to teach you.

she finds out you can't change a tire on your own, the next thing you know she's got you out on the pavement, showing you how to do it. or sevika admits to you that she's never played minecraft before, so of course you make her download it and start a game with her.

one time you told her you couldn't cook. she dressed you up in her favorite apron and walked you through each and every step of making dinner that night. it was sweet and romantic and cute-- and then she threw a handful of flour at your face and it became an all out food war in your kitchen. by the time you were done, you were both out of breath, abs aching from laughing so much, and covered in various sauces and powders and crumbs.

one of your favorite ways to spend time together as a couple is taking and edible and building a blanket fort, then spending the day cuddling inside, watching cartoons and eating junk food and goofing off with one another.

one night as you're falling asleep, sevika jolts awake next to you. you blink your eyes open and look over at her.

"babe?" you ask. she hums, settling back down against you.

"jus' a nightmare."

"you okay?"

"all good. got my girl here with me, i'll be okay." she mumbles. you laugh.

"love you baby."

"love you too. i feel like... i dunno. i feel like a kid around you, y'know?" she asks, yawning as she nuzzles against you. your heart melts and you press a kiss to her head.

"i know." you say nodding. "happiest kid in the world."

@fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @ellabslut @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @love-sugarr @chuucanchuucan @222danielaa @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther @gr0ssz0mbi3 @ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @leomatsuzaki @emiliabby

#sevika #sevika imagine #sevika arcane #sevika x reader #sevika x you #soft sevika

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coltermorning · 3 months

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Of Love and Loss Ch. 11 (RDR2 Fanfic, Arthur Morgan x F!Reader, 18+)

Summary: After narrowly escaping with your lives, the trip goes on without further trouble as the weeks begin to add up. To pass the time during a snowstorm, you and Arthur exchange questions over a bottle of gin.

Author’s Notes: Nothing like a little alcohol to make you admit your feelings to yourself :) Arthur and reader both get drunk in this one. Chapter eleven of this one.

Tags: Arthur Morgan x reader, high honor Arthur Morgan, minor character death, loss of parents, blood and injury, grief/mourning, survivor guilt, strangers to lovers, slow burn, eventual smut, graphic depictions of violence

AO3 Link

Of Love and Loss

Eleven: The Gentle Act of Teaching

Word count: 5574

It has been a month since we started this journey and, as I assumed it would, it has come with no shortage of setbacks. Rambling like we do, I have seen a lot in my time and maybe even grown used to the pointless violence of it all. The wilderness is unkind and man more so, but I haven’t given it much care or thought until now. Now it seems I’m only leading a woman just to show her how cruel this world can be. That haunted look on her face will stay with me for the rest of my days.

Arthur rolled his shoulders, trying to undo the persistent ache that tightened them. Riding three days without much of a break to speak of had worn on his body, his mount, you and yours. In fact, it was so wearying you hadn’t said a word to him since the night before.

Your grief seemed to come in waves. This time it was pulling you back down into that shell of yourself you had been, unspeaking, unreacting, seemingly doing all you could just to make it another day. It was tough to watch, but Arthur didn’t have it in him to cheer you up. He was too worn down himself. That, and there was another nagging reason in the back of his mind he hardly let in for fear of letting it eat at him—that this was all his fault. He couldn’t do a thing about what else had happened to you, but he’d lost his head in that town. The mere thought of that slimy bastard calling you out like that had him bristling even now, fingers twitching with the need to shoot something. That nasty little look in his eye had been why Arthur had drawn iron in the first place, so fast it was more instinct than any sort of decision. That same look that had said plenty without words, that said the man felt he was owed something from you which warranted him following you out of town. Arthur didn’t care to ponder whether the man would have followed had he not threatened his life. It didn’t matter now anyhow. He had killed them all, exposed himself for what he really was. All because he saw red at the mere suggestion of someone wronging you. For protection’s sake, he had done his job. But it was obvious that you needed more from him than that. Your near silence since his shooting those men was plenty proof of that.

The truth was, Arthur suddenly felt that the side of him that town had revealed was glaringly wrong. It was a strange feeling, like denying the truest part of himself. But it gnawed at him now, that who he was did not have to be defined by his talent with a gun, but by the possibility of being something more. That the man he wanted to be became something he actually pondered. Things used to be about survival, about protecting those he held dear and nothing else besides. When had that changed?

As Arthur looked sidelong at you riding beside him, the empty stare on your face like that of a corpse, he knew. He had never had someone pure-hearted enough to warrant the believability of some better version of himself. With the gang, with Mary, there had only ever been a separation of good and bad, white and black, and he was always caught on the latter side of those things. But you made him think he could push beyond that, into some unknown middle ground. That look on your face was making guilt curl low in his gut for the first time in a long time at the act of taking lives. So he would push, do his best to shield you from it all. For you were good, and you deserved to remain so, lest he die trying to make it truth. If he didn’t try, no one would. Then you would be left like this—empty. And he knew enough about that to be determined to keep you from it.

The fourth day riding away from that terrible place and those terrible people, Arthur finally relented his pace. You had stopped here and there in the meantime, but never for a full night. The tiredness threatening to roll your eyes shut was testament to that.

Before the sun had even set and Arthur had finished with the tent, you laid back on the hard, thankfully snowless ground and fell asleep, the empty bliss of it like a gift.

When you woke, the sky was already lightening above you. You’d slept the whole night through, mercifully dreamless.

You looked down, curious over the warmth surrounding you despite the cold air, then remembered the bison coat. It was doing its job. The wind could hardly touch you with it on despite your poor judgement in sleeping outside the tent. And, like a pair of fools, it seemed Arthur had done the same. He sat against a nearby tree with his knee up, a gun in his lap and his head lolled down in sleep. Like he had every intention of standing guard but had let his exhaustion get the better of him. You couldn’t blame him.

No, the past few days had been anything but easy. You had been so plagued with guilt and worry and shame and regret the whole time it was a wonder you hadn’t given up. Given Arthur your mule and laid down and died right there in the dirt. In fact, the mule had been the only measure of happiness tethering you to the world at all. She still was. Though, sleep had helped clear your helplessness some. Instead, you were left feeling like you could go on but that there wasn’t much point in doing so. There was only brutal, unknown life ahead of you. And just like every interaction with strangers on this trip, that terrified you. The only comfort you’d known since losing your parents had been Arthur’s steady company. But that wouldn’t always be there. And, it seemed, you weren’t cut out for simple comforts anymore. It was time to grow up and see the world for what it was—unforgiving.

After plenty of rest, the pair of you packed back up and set out again. This time, you went two weeks without a break in routine. You passed over into Nebraska in the meantime, plenty of snow and cold following you in. You finally admitted to Arthur just how far you had left to go, nearly midway into the state, with no small measure of annoyance resulting on his part. But he agreed nonetheless, saying he had come this far. At least the railroad would tie into the trail soon, and he could take it back down to Denver instead of riding all the way back alone to join up with his gang.

His gang—you still hadn’t grown used to that. You hadn’t brought up the subject of his killing those five men, though it often crossed your mind to. The only thing stopping you was the fact that he didn’t owe you a thing, squeaky clean reputation included. In fact, his killer instinct had probably kept you alive thus far. Your judgement would be no help. If anything, it would just set you two to arguing again, as you often found yourselves doing. And the fact of the matter was you were tired of arguing. You were tired of a lot of things.

When the trees finally seemed to give up their steady growth, leaving behind nothing but wide open plains and brutal cold, Arthur stopped midday for the first time in a long time. The snow was blowing in sideways, and you nearly groaned in relief when he stopped his horse and swung off of her, saying, “Forget it. I ain’t freezing my balls off just to wait ‘til nightfall to do it again.”

You gave a pitiful laugh and dismounted, your legs like ice picks themselves when the pain of reaching the ground shot up them.

You and Arthur cleared a circle of snow for your camp, then built the tent and the fire. Arthur had been carrying kindling and a bit of wood for miles considering there wasn’t much of it to come by anymore, and you were impressed with his campfire skills when he got the thing burning despite the pelting snow. He had built it on the far side of the tent so that the canvas was blocking the weather, and when the flames began small then built, it took all you had not to shove your gloved fingers and your booted feet right into them.

You were both huddled close enough to the fire that Arthur suddenly took to laughing, calling you both idiots for being out in this kind of weather.

You managed a faint smile. “Montana got a lot colder than this, but…cold is cold.”

“Cold is cold,” he agreed. “How was it up there anyway? In the winter.”

“Brutal,” you admitted. Lots of days spent inside, chores finished as quickly as possible, week-long stretches where you didn’t know if the food would last. But it always did. Lucky you and your father were good hunters, your mother a good motivator.

“It wasn’t always like this,” you went on, having to raise your voice to talk over the wind. “It was sunny and pleasant some days. But still cold. The snow never left.”

Arthur just hummed his acknowledgment before holding his hands out to the fire, black gloves and harsh light eating up the reflection of the flickering flames.

After long enough, he reached around to his satchel and pulled out a box of cigarettes. Not a day went by he didn’t do this, whether for habit or enjoyment you couldn’t tell. You didn’t have the experience of smoking one to know. But when he lit one, the butt smoldering to life beneath his inhaled breath, it suddenly seemed like just the thing to warm your bones. So when he offered, as he always did regardless of how many times you turned him down, you took one.

“Well,” he said with a drawl. “Finally become a bad influence, have I?”

You didn’t respond, sticking it in your mouth, rolling it over your tongue. It was faintly earthy. Bitter.

You watched him light a match, touching it to the end of his own. Then he brought his hands over to you, cupping them around the flame to keep the wind from snuffing it, touching the match head to your cigarette.

You didn’t know what you expected to happen, but nothing did.

He grinned at you. “You gotta breathe in. Just- small breaths-” he added, but too late. You had taken in such a large breath that your lungs crumpled beneath it, burning from the inside out. You took the cigarette away and coughed and coughed, the feel of it like hellfire trapped inside your chest.

He was laughing at you, but you couldn’t quit coughing enough to berate him for it. You did hand it to him, the disgusting taste and the horrible feeling enough to convince you that it wouldn’t be your new pastime. Then the cold set back in, frosting over your throat and combining with the burning feeling in your lungs. All in all, it only served to make you feel worse.

Arthur’s chuckling finally tapered off. “At least you didn’t get sick on yourself.”

“Does that happen?” you asked, hoarse.

“Sometimes.”

“Lovely.” You wrapped your hands around your knees, scooting closer to the fire, glad for your shaggy coat. It was nearly unbearably cold, but your only other option was inside the tent, and without the fire it would only be colder.

You watched Arthur smoke both cigarettes with ease, one after the other, like he needed their smoke to breathe.

“Why do people do that anyway?” you asked, still miserable from the rawness in your throat.

“What, this?” he said, putting the one that had been yours to his lips and taking a long drag. He blew out of his nose like a dragon would, smoke billowing out of both nostrils.

You didn’t answer, knowing he was just trying to show off or work you up or both.

He finally turned to you. “Calms you down. Takes the edge off.”

The first time he’d offered you one, he’d said the same thing. What edge had he been so desperate to dull back then? And each day since? It wasn’t hard to figure now—cold like this could drive any man to madness. It was certainly making you want to run circles around the camp like a crazy person.

“Same as anything I guess,” he went on, blowing more smoke. “Why does anyone do anything? Alcohol, sex, drugs, they’re all the same.”

You didn’t quite understand the sex part but let it pass. One conversation with him about it was enough to last you a lifetime. But the mention of alcohol had you suddenly desperate to try that too. You had before, what little you’d been able to get your hands on up in the mountains, but it was never enough to take much effect.

“Would alcohol warm me up?”

He eyed you, that boyish gleam returned. “Not necessarily. Though it can make you too busy thinking about other things to remember how cold you was before.”

Anything would help at this point. “You got any?”

He huffed a laugh and stood, walking over to his horse. The poor animals were both standing with their backsides to the wind, close enough to share body heat. Arthur pulled a small glass bottle from his saddle bag and shuffled back over, kicking snow as he went. He tossed you the bottle, and you caught it, flipping it. It had no label.

“What is it?”

“Gin. ‘Fraid I drank all the whiskey.”

You eyed it. “How can you tell? There’s no label.” The liquid was clear, tinged green due to the tint of the glass.

“I can tell,” he said with amusement. “Can’t afford the labeled stuff.”

You eyed him for that, wondering about your saddle and bridle and the mule standing beneath them. He was either exaggerating, or you owed him more than you thought you did if one bottle of good gin would put him out. He just inclined his head toward the bottle in your hand with a slightly upturned mouth, not giving whatever worry you had about owing him a moment’s thought.

You uncorked the top with stiff, numb, gloved fingers then lifted it to your lips. The burn of it was immediate. Almost as bad as the cigarette. You forced yourself to drink it down but let out a wincing cough after you did.

“Christ. Are all the vices so terrible?” you asked, wiping the excess off your mouth and handing the bottle back to him. It had to be a punishment, for people to drink that. Addiction born of the need to punish one’s self.

Arthur was snickering again, but this time you joined him in it.

“Tastes smooth to me,” he said, lifting it to his own mouth. You watched him drink it down with near reverence, his eyes half-closing as he did. Savoring it. He brought the bottle down and examined it. “Shitty, but smooth.”

You leaned over and snatched it from him. Like hell was it smooth. It was as cutting as swallowing ice. But the aftertaste wasn’t near as bad as the cigarette had been, so you took another sip, letting it cut all the way down.

Arthur took it back. And after some back and forth, minutes passed and enough swallowed to dull its burn, he stopped you from taking it again. “Slow down there, or it’ll come right back up. I ain’t letting you put out the fire with your own sick.”

You cringed at the thought but felt that familiar defiance within you stand up at the challenge. You went for the bottle, but he snatched it away before you could grasp it.

“Don’t be dense,” you spat, going for it again. He again held it out, far enough you couldn’t reach it. And the resulting smile curving across his face was making you mad enough to tackle him for the damn thing.

You were about to lunge for it when he stopped you with a hand held out. “All right, all right, quit it. I’ll make a deal with you.”

You already didn’t like where this was going. To hell with the gin. Now you were just angry. You crossed your arms at him.

He grinned then said, “You answer a question, I’ll give it back.”

As annoyed as humoring him made you, you just shrugged.

“Agreed?”

“Go on,” you snapped. Better to get it over with, get the bottle back and walk away so as not to have to deal with him anymore.

He thought on it a moment, taking another sip as he held your gaze, an amusement lighting his eyes you didn’t much care for. Then, “What’s something you never told anyone?”

That you still wished you had died with your parents. That life didn’t feel like it had much meaning after their deaths. That one of the sole reasons you went on was because the man staring back at you had given a damn at the right moment. But you didn’t want to go down that slippery slope, not right now and not with him. So you reverted back to your younger years, to the girl who was full of life and grit and the ability to get her way. What had you kept hidden even from your parents?

You landed on it then hesitated, heat staining your cheeks from embarrassment.

“Spit it out,” he said accusatorially, sensing that hesitation.

“I…” How to word it and not sound ridiculous? “When I was a kid I…fancied the postman.”

Arthur burst out laughing.

“Shut up,” you said miserably.

“That’s your deepest, darkest secret?”

The deepest, maybe. Certainly not the darkest. But his laughter was slightly contagious given how stupid the confession had sounded, so you just said with a laugh, “I was little! He was handsome!”

“I’m sure he was,” Arthur said, tilting his hat to you in obvious sarcasm, his grin never leaving.

“And I never got to go to the post office,” you went on, unsure why you were explaining yourself. “So when Pa let me come with him, the hours that it took to get there, it was…it was just nice to see the man is all!”

Arthur was veritably howling with laughter now.

“Shut up!” you said, leaning over and shoving him. “Like you never had an infatuation with a girl.” This did seem to sober him some, and that gave you an idea.

“Give me that,” you snapped, yanking the bottle away. “And it’s your turn for a question.”

“Well, I never said-”

“Yeah, and I don’t care. You’re answering one.”

He settled back with a sigh but didn’t protest. So you took a swig of gin for courage and looked him straight in the eye. “Who taught you to shoot so well?”

Surprise crossed his face, lining every inch of it. He had obviously assumed you were going to ask about said girl, whomever that may be. But no, you wanted to know how he had taken down five men in a matter of seconds.

His face turned contemplative. Then, “No one, I guess. I always had a good eye. Good aim.”

“That aim was better than good,” you admitted. And the reference to what had happened back in that town seemed to sour his mood. He snatched the bottle back and took a long pull from it.

“Yeah, well, you’re either a decent shot or you get killed pretty quick in my line of work.”

His line of work. On the opposing side of the law, where bullets were aimed at you as often as a dirty glance.

“Do you ever get scared?” The question pushed out before you could stop it.

Arthur just looked at you, face tinged with mild curiosity.

“Not really,” he said. “Not anymore. But—” He tipped the bottle at you. “It ain’t your turn.”

You rolled your eyes and sat back, looking into the flames instead, knowing he would fire off another stupid question whether you got on to him for it or not.

Sure enough, he spoke, the amusement in his tone not lost on you. “You ever get into trouble up in them mountains?”

“What kind of trouble?”

You shouldn’t have asked. The smirk he shot back was enough for you to know he didn’t mean the kind where you got lost in the snow, where your life was in danger.

When he didn’t answer, you sighed like he usually did, drawing it out. “A few times. Once for this,” you said, taking the gin from him.

“What, getting drunk?”

“No, they caught me before it got to that point. I raided the liquor cabinet. It wasn’t much, a bottle of whiskey and some wine. But I was trying both when Momma and Pa came back from town early. They gave me hell for it.”

Arthur snickered. “How old were you?”

“Twelve,” you answered. “But it’s not your turn,” you said sweetly, making him shake his head, though his smile never left.

You took a sip of gin, wondering what it took to be drunk. But you wouldn’t waste a perfectly good question asking Arthur about it. Instead, you asked him something you had wondered since the night after leaving that trading town.

“Why didn’t you buy another bedroll? At that trader stall.”

Again, Arthur seemed surprised by the question. He took some time to answer, gesturing for you to hand him the gin. You did so, and he took another long pull of it. Long enough that you wondered how often he did this, drinking his thoughts away.

“It honestly didn’t cross my mind,” he muttered, staring into the fire. “I was trying to keep an eye on you when I was talking to that old croak. Weren’t thinking about it.”

You let out a breath of relief at his response. You had assumed he’d spent all his money and resources on you, that he couldn’t afford one. And, as it stood, he had been using the very edge of your bedroll ever since, both of you colder than you cared for but too prideful to cling together for warmth like you had that night after the wolves. So you had thought all this time another bedroll had been neglected at the cost of the coat on your back. But now that you knew otherwise, you didn’t feel quite so shameful. And you were grateful, too, that it had been because Arthur had kept such a watchful eye on you.

He took another long drink from the bottle, and you watched him, watched his throat work and his mouth purse with the harsh liquid. This man who you thought you knew—you didn’t really know him at all.

Arthur looked over and caught you staring.

“What?”

You shook your head, pushing the thought from your mind. Not because it scared you, but quite the opposite—you always assumed he was bad, that he was the low-down outlaw, and at every turn, he proved you wrong.

“Nothing.”

He chuckled lowly. Then, “You ever kissed anyone?”

“Excuse me?” It was all you could manage through your embarrassment. Not this again.

“Couldn’t ask it any clearer,” he said, about to take another drink. But you snatched it away before he could, taking a long pull yourself. Drunk. You needed to be drunk.

“How much of this do I need before it blocks out the sound of your voice?”

“So, no then,” he said with that god awful smirk.

You drank again.

He laughed. “Easy there.”

“I told you,” you said, voice hoarse from the harsh liquor. “There wasn’t anyone up there to kiss.”

“Not even the postman?”

You could have hit him. Instead, oddly enough, you laughed at that stupid smile on his face. “No, not even the postman. He was twice my age. Maybe more.”

“Hm.”

“What?” you fired at him, the bottle clutched tightly in your hands.

“Nothing, just…” He smiled again, his teeth showing. “Imagining it, is all. That life you led.” He pried the bottle from your clawed grip, smiling as he brought it to his lips. “Sounds…boring.”

You tried not to think about his mouth kissing the bottle, his mouth kissing anything, as you replied, “It was what you made of it. I enjoyed it.” At your nerves, you reached over and took the bottle away before he was even done drinking. He made a noise of protest, but it didn’t register before you had the bottle at your own mouth, trying desperately not to think of how his lips had just touched the same spot.

When you brought it away, you looked at him. Really looked at him, all notion of it being improper to do so suddenly lost. “There are other ways of enjoying yourself, you know.”

His brows rose high, either at the way you were looking at him or at the implication in your voice.

After long enough, he said, “You plan on enlightening me?”

“I…” Your eyes dipped to his mouth before you took another long pull, the bottle blocking your view of him. Shaking loose the thought that began to plague you. The urge to experience something new, something you were afraid would be addicting in its own right, alcohol aside.

When you didn’t respond, just pulled the bottle back down and looked to the fire, Arthur said, “I can’t imagine it would be much beyond snow sledding or the like all the way up there. You telling me that’s the secret to happiness?”

There it was, an out. A diversion to the path this conversation had led you down. And in anything other circumstance, you would have taken it. But for some reason, you were starting to believe that drunkenness snuck up namelessly after all, a haze of intuition lost.

You looked to Arthur, to the soft amusement on his face, to the casualness that seemed to always weigh on his shoulders and make its way to his mouth.

“You could teach me.”

“Come again?”

Your eyes dropped to his mouth again, seemingly of their own volition. Then words spilled out of you like gin from a bottle.

“Kiss me. Show me how.”

His face softened. Surprise, realization, a bit of embarrassment. Then deflection as he chuckled, his face tingeing redder in the gray light than the cold could account for. “Nah, you don’t want that,” he said, like he was trying to convince himself. “Not your first-”

“Kiss me,” you said again. You couldn’t imagine it being anyone else in the world. There was no one else you trusted. “I wouldn’t ask if that were the case.”

He looked at you then with such raw surprise you wondered when the last time anyone had shown him such affection was.

He stared at you, and you stared at him, and before you could ask if his brain had shut down entirely, he looked to the fire and said defiantly, “No.”

You scoffed. “Come on. It’s not that big a deal. Just think of it as teaching me something new.”

“But it ain’t that,” he fired back. He still wouldn’t look at you. “It’s…kissing someone to learn something and kissing someone because you want to are two different things.”

“Exactly,” you said, taking another sip of gin. “If it‘s just for learning’s sake, what’s the problem?”

He shook his head, disgruntled. “Forget it. I ain’t doing it.”

You groaned aloud, unbelieving he was being the stick in the mud for once. “You know, for an outlaw,” you said, standing, pointing the bottle at him. “You’re awfully honorable.”

He let out a barking laugh like he didn’t believe that in the slightest but still didn’t take the bait. The stubborn fool.

The ground swayed a bit beneath you as you added, “And cowardly.”

“Excuse me?” he asked, the question poised somewhere between annoyance and a threat. But he had finally looked at you at least.

“Woman asks you to kiss her, and you won’t even consider it.”

He stood now, swiping the bottle from your hand. “You’ve had enough.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” But you couldn’t have pried the glass from his grasp if you wanted to, your vision starting to swim. “You don’t want to kiss me that’s fine, but don’t tell me what to do.”

He laughed that annoying laugh again. “I ain‘t kissing someone who can barely keep her feet.”

“Oh yeah?” you said, stepping over to him to prove a point. Close. You could have leaned over and kissed him yourself you were so close. In fact, the thought was a breath away from being turned into reality when he lifted the gin to his own lips, blocking you, his eyes catching on your mouth. Or maybe that was your shoddy vision making things up.

When he brought the bottle away, he was grinning. “Real impressive, being able to walk.”

“Shut up,” you said, but didn’t shove him like you wanted to. His closeness was…distracting you. And any forceful movement would likely land you on your backside.

“Tell you what,” he said, shifting his weight so that he stood even closer. Not backing down from you in the slightest, that cocky grin lighting his face. “You answer one more question, and I’ll kiss you.”

Your face burned with those words, like your body was realizing this might actually happen.

When you didn’t respond, his grin went wider. Feral. Then, “Tell me your name.”

Damn him. Because he knew it was the one thing you wouldn’t give him.

“That’s not a question,” you said simply, holding his eye.

“Come on,” he coaxed. “Why don’t you want me to know it?”

Now it was your turn to grin. “Because they were the last people to call me that.”

Arthur was confused by your smile despite your words, his brows pinching together. And you said without hesitation, “And I just answered your question. So kiss me.”

Realization hit him again, and he immediately let out an unbelieving laugh. “You’re a damn sneak, you know that?”

When his eyes met yours, his gaze shifted the slightest bit toward serious in the harsh daylight. And he definitely eyed your mouth this time. Alcohol or no, you could see it plain as day. Then at last, he groaned his annoyance, or tried to shake how flustered he was, and said, “All right then. You win.” He dropped the gin and stepped toward you.

All you had ever known of this suddenly became futile, juvenile, worthless in the eyes of him bringing his gloved hands to the back of your head. Your scant knowledge couldn’t hold a candle to the gentle way he brought your mouth to his, meeting you at last in a kiss so tender it sobered you. This was happening. Arthur was…

All thought was lost when his mouth pressed against yours a second time. Slow. Caring. You let him be, forgetting entirely what this was supposed to be about, instead navigating the newness that was kissing someone back.

The kiss went on for an eternity, the effect better than any cigarette, any gin, anything in the world. There was no snow, was no cold, was nothing but the way his lips parted. You did as he did, and soon your mouth was at his with a fervor, his tongue warm against yours, the taste of gin and tobacco all you knew and all you ever wanted again.

Then he was stepping away, letting his hands fall, his gaze shy as it hit the ground.

“Was that…what you wanted?” he asked softly, meeting your eye as his hands fell a bit nervously onto his gun belt, fidgeting.

You just stared at him. Dove deep inside yourself to remember your words, to remember your circumstances and who you were supposed to be to each other. Because it was certainly blurring as the warmth of his mouth lingered.

After long enough that he kept shifting his weight, you spoke. “I understand it now. Why people…enjoy that.”

You thought you saw the smallest softening of his gaze before the mask returned, his teasing smirk back in place. “You really don’t know nothing, do you?”

You couldn’t even be bothered to chide him. Not after what he had just given you.

You pursed your lips like you could hold that kiss forever then looked at the bottle at your feet. You knelt and picked it up, pushing it into his chest. He grabbed it. And you wouldn’t meet his eye for fear of wanting him to kiss you all over again as you said with a giddy smile, “Thank you for teaching me,” and stepped around him. Aimed for the tent. Focused on keeping your feet beneath you, keeping your head somewhere inside reality, keeping your thoughts away from the man at your back. Away from just how much you truly felt for him, your fondness veiled like the unfamiliarity of a kiss until now.

_________

Chapter twelve is here.

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