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liyawritesss · 11 months

Text

ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴀᴛ'ꜱ ʙʀᴏᴋᴇ, ʟᴇᴀᴠᴇ ɪᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ʙʀᴇᴇᴢᴇ

Characters: MCU!Shuri Udaku x!Black!Fem!Reader

Type: Fic

Word Count: 11.8k

Synopsis: It’s your sister’s 25th birthday, and she invited you over for the extravagant birthday bash. However, there’s only one problem. Shuri has never met your family. She also isn’t aware of their past mistreatment of you. So when your parents begin to make jabs at you on what is supposed to be a joyous event, Shuri might have to apologize to your sister for what is to come next.

Warnings: cursing, mentions of verbal + physical abuse, mentions of severe anxiety, a very angry Shuri shuts shit down, shitty parents, dysfunctional family dynamics

A/N: So....this came about after watching a clip of Love & Hip Hop ATL, where in the clip one of the guys on the show was confronting his mother about the mistreatment and neglect he got as a kid and how his mother took all her frustrations out on him when he had nothing to do with what she was going through. That video touched exceptionally close to home so I wanted to writing for such an event but with Shuri, as I think for someone who is quite family oriented (or who appears to be), she would definitely have a few choice words to say to parents like that. Plus, I wanted to provide comfort to those going through similar situations as teenagers and young adults with their own parents. So I hope that this brings comfort to some of you, as it has done to me when writing it.

Song Suggestions: "Naked" & "Everything" by Ella Mai, "Let Me Down Slowly" by Alec Benjamin ft. Alessia Cara, "Let It Go" by James Bay, "Losin' Control" by Russ, "Control" by Zoe Wees, "You're Not Here" by Cynthia Erivo, "You Let Me Down" by Alessia Cara

Tags: @6-noir @playhousedistee @shuririsdefenseattorney @shuriszn @venusdraco @wrendermedone @writingintheshadowsforever @mbakuetshurisprincess @verachii @slytherin-34 @the_lesbian-fangirl @h34rtsformilli @strangefishflapturtle @cuddl3s4shur1 @shuriislut @dejaonline @babyboiboyega @badass-dora-milaje @inmyheadimobsessed @aaliyg @cafehyunji @chunkybabygorl @rosielovesfamily @lulu-network @nichole-224 @niyahwrites @lppriceisright @blacksapphhicmaddonna @pantherheart @marsfunzon22

Note: there are some of you that for some reason tumblr won't let me tag, so I apologize in advance.

The closer you were to pulling up to your sister’s home, the harder it was becoming for you to breathe.

It wasn’t like you were ignorant enough to believe you could escape this. You’d always known, deep down inside, that one day, you’d have to face them again. Yet, here you were, tucked into the smooth tan leather of Shuri’s car, hiding the fact that you were on the verge of an anxiety attack, and your girlfriend to the left of you filled with positive anticipation to meet your family.

Your sister, Alex, was turning twenty-five today. It is a big celebration for your bloodline, and though much of the original purpose of the celebration had been lost due to oral passing, the general belief was that the lucky lady who’d survive to her twenty-fifth birthday was to be guaranteed a long, fulfilling life.

Of course your sister would have a long, fulfilling life. Alex was a woman of greatness. She’d worked hard in school, got into an amazing college, met a handsome guy who she’d married as soon as she landed her first official big-girl job at some law firm in your home city. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind that Alex was guaranteed for greatness.

Alex was…perfect.

You didn’t want to go. As much as you knew it would have hurt her to not have her sister at her side for her big day, Alex would’ve understood. You never liked the elaborate, extravagant lifestyle. You were a simple girl with simple pleasures, who led a simple life and wanted nothing more than to live simply.

Though, that seems contradictory, since about a year ago, you found yourself gaining the attention and affections of the very Queen of Wakanda. How you managed that feat, you would never know.

It was Shuri who had found the invitation. She was visiting you during an monthly check up at one of the outreach facilities posted in your town, when she had inevitably seen the pretty invitation sitting on your kitchen island. It was all written in cursive, no doubt the product of your sister’s perfect penmanship, and most of all, it was addressed to you and Shuri.

You’d only told Alex of your relationship after the six month mark. You wanted to be certain that such a relationship would last; though, now that you thought back on it, what good would it have done Shuri to play you? Her intentions and integrity were clear the first day she had introduced herself to you. She’d never given you any reason to not trust her, and yet, you had still doubted her. It was a period of time you regretted most, and yet, Shuri still loved you. And in realizing that she would continue to do so, even after seeing the ugly parts of you, you allowed yourself to truly love her back.

Shuri was ecstatic to go. She wanted to meet your sister in person, having only ever seen each other through video calls and communicated through text. And with Shuri’s pretty brown doe-eyes that had always been a weakness to you, you couldn’t say no.

And now, here you were, gripping the door handle tightly as you released tight breathes, wondering if it would have been beneficial to sit Shuri down and tell her the reason why your eyes showed a glimpse of dread when she’d picked up that invitation.

“Darling?” The Queen’s voice cuts through the cloudiness that fogs your brain, grounding you in a way only her honey-laced voice could do. “Are you alright?”

No, you want to say, turn the car around, take me home. I don’t want to go there-

“Yeah, just a bit tired.”

Shuri looks at you quizzingly. You have not been acting as yourself since the day she’d stopped by your apartment. Since, she’d been trying to pinpoint the cause, but to no avail. Even after a year together, she still found you hard to read sometimes. It was endearing to her, a challenge she greatly accepted as part of the packaged deal that came with your relationship.

However, she couldn’t deny that this time, things felt…different.

There’s a melodic beeping that comes from the vehicle, and the red flashing on the dash panel alerts Shuri that the car is running out of gas. And not a second later, a familiar voice speaks from the surround-sound speakers:

Panther, the vehicle is reaching low fuel. It would be wise to refuel soon. There is a petrol station approximately ten miles ahead. Fuel here is priced at four ninety-seven per gallon.

“Thank you, Griot,” Shuri hums, turning to you, “we shall stop there. Fill up on gas and get some snacks. You haven’t eaten much today, my love.”

Though you fix your lips to protest Shuri’s ever so keen observation, the way her hand slips over your thigh, her open palm meeting your skin through the large hole in your ripped jeans, it’s almost enough to have you relent. “I did eat; at breakfast.”

“Which was eight hours ago,” Shuri reminds you, “almost nine, once we arrive at your sisters. I’m sure there will still be room for the food if you just have one bag of chips to hold you over.”

You hate how well Shuri knows you. It makes it hard to hide things with her keen perception and observation skills. Though, you suppose those traits all come with the territory of being The Black Panther.

A sigh escapes your lips, and the lack of a reply worries Shuri. Yet, she does not push. Instead, her thumb continues to swipe in soothing strokes along the smooth skin of your thigh as she continues to drive to the designated gas station.

All of five minutes pass until it comes into view. When Shuri parks at one of the gas lanes, she fishes into her pocket for her wallet. From it she produces a black card, and hands it to you. “Fifty should bring it back up,” the Queen says, “and a bag of chips for you should do the same.”

“Shuri, I said I’m fine-”

“Darling.” Shuri’s tone is firm, yet gentle, and leaves no room for argument. So all you can do is press a kiss to her cheek - a practice routine of mundane intimacy that brings you both pleasure - before exiting the car and walking towards the entrance of the gas station.

Shuri sits back in her seat, a sigh pushing past her lips. She’s not quite sure what to make of your behavior.

In the year that the two of you have been dating, never once did you bring up the topic of your family. Shuri didn’t even know you had a sister until six months ago. Alex reminded her much of Nakia in some sense - powerful and self made, and in that regard, she was glad that you had some semblance of family you could reach out to.

Your parents, however, were another story. A story you had well avoided, and as of recently as a few months ago, downright refused to talk about. It became quite clear that it was a touchy subject for you, so Shuri didn’t pry. However, she could not deny that part of her grew…heated, at the unpleasant thoughts that plagued her mind when it came to the reason for the non-existent relationship between you and them.

“Griot.”

“Yes, Panther?”

“What were my beloved’s vitals during the ride?”

A beat passes, as Griot computes.

“(Y/N)’s heart rate had been jumping from one hundred forty-five to one hundred seventy beats per minute. Her grip on the door was strong enough to break a thin glass cup. It appears (Y/N) was on the verge of an anxiety attack, but had been fighting it off for the duration of your journey.”

Shuri curses under her breath, more or less to herself at the information that had been relayed to her.

“She has been on edge all morning,” Shuri says aloud, “I did not ask, for fear of triggering her, but I cannot allow her to feel threatened.”

Shuri knows your triggers like the back of her hand. She’s learned to speak in a level tone to avoid startlement; she’s learned to make her presence known when entering your space; and most importantly, she reassures you, letting you know each and every day how much she loves you, how much she treasure your existence in her life, and how she vows to hold your heart with the utmost care in the world.

Shuri is the smartest person in the world, and yet, she cannot decipher the reason behind her lover’s heightened emotions. If it weren’t for the fact that she was focused on figuring out why you were like this, and how to calm you down, she’d surely find the thought embarrassing.

“Might I speak freely, Panther?”

A hum rumbles from Shuri’s throat as a sign for the artificial intelligence to continue.

“(Y/N)’s vitals have been heighted since one week ago,” Griot points out, “around the same time she had received the invitation to her sister’s birthday party. It would be safe to assume that these two instances have a correlation with one another.”

“You are insinuating that Alex’s birthday party is somehow the cause of my love’s anxiety spiking?”

“Perhaps not the party, but rather, who will be there, Panther.”

Silence fills the car as Shuri takes in the information given to her. Though, she doesn’t have much to think on it, as she spots your figure exiting the sticker-covered glass door of the gas station, a black plastic bag in hand, of which she hopes holds the snacks she had requested of you to get for yourself. She exits the car and takes hold of the gas nozzle, opening up the tiny door and unscrewing the protection cap, and slots the nozzle into the car to fill with fuel.

A few moments pass before Shuri returns to the car, having placed the nozzle back in it’s place and secured the gas compartment. Her black card rests on the arm rest, which she slips back into her wallet as the corner of her eyes catches you with something in your hand - something that’s not a bag of chips.

“I thought I told you chips, darling?” Shuri asks as she starts up the car again.

“I got chips!” You respond. “I wanted a Twix, too.”

Your free hand fishes into the black plastic back to produce a bottle of water for Shuri, slotting it into the cup holder.

“What is this?” Shuri asks, gesturing to the water bottle.

“You were thirsty,” You point out.

Shuri indeed was thirsty. She can’t help the smile that paints her lips soon after, taking the water bottle into her hand, unscrewing the cap, and taking a swig of the water.

“Are you sure you’re alright, my love?” Shuri asks once more after setting the water back down, preparing to put the car into motion.

To busy chewing on the cookie-chocolate-caramel treat, you opt for nodding your head, a short ‘mhm’ to accompany it.

As much as Shuri wanted to question further, she knew nothing would come of it. So she slips her hand back onto your thigh, presses down on the gas, and rolls out of the gas station, the conversation with Griot filing back into her mind as she drives down the long strip of highway.

“My parents are gonna come.”

You’d said it the second Shuri had parked into the driveway of your sister’s home. With each second that passed on the way there, your chest kept growing tighter and tighter. You thought that maybe if you focused on Shuri’s touch on you, or her low singing voice when Tems starts to flood the car with her hypnotic, warm and swelling voice, that maybe you would be able to calm down and not worry her. It usually worked, but perhaps because this instance was due to the fact that you would be seeing your parents for the first time in years, what was usually the cure for your attacks did very little to help.

Shuri pauses as the words leave your lips, and for a moment, it looks as if she is cross. And while she has every right to be, you hope that it isn’t at you.

You should have told her before the two of you left, as you thought to do. It plagued your mind when you were in the shower, when you were fixing your hair, when you were choosing your outfit. And Shuri had been in the same apartment with you the entire time. You had ample enough time to tell her and yet…you didn’t. You couldn’t.

You know Shuri. She would try to remain calm and collected for you, to not show her anger, because of course she would be angry either way. The car ride would have been in silence, the air thickening with each mile crossed from one city to the other. But you would know that she was upset. She should be upset now because you just dropped this bomb on her and-

“Beloved,” the Queen mutters to you, bringing you from your thoughts once more, “look at me.”

Your head turns to face Shuri. She’s put the car into park, one arm leaning on the arm rest, the other reaching over to soothe your nerves by caressing your outer thigh. She looks at you with a softness that relieves some of the pressure on your chest stunting your breathing. Her gaze tells you that she is not cross with you.

“Hey,” she says, “I am not upset with you.” And the reassurance helps you unclench the fists your hands have balled into.

She doesn’t speak again until she’s certain that your breathing has evened out, as opposed to the harsh and forced inhale-exhale pattern from before. “Is there…anything I should know?”

You tear your eyes away, but Shuri’s gaze remains firm. Consistency is key, she’s learned, when it comes to you confiding in her. Her eyes are your safe space, you will return to them. And you do, after a short moment, trying to gather your mind together.

“They’re not nice people,” you confess, eyes hesitantly returning to hers, “they’ll try and woo you and shit, but don’t fall for it. They ain’t shit.”

“Okay,” Shuri hums, “and…is there anything I can do? For you?”

“Um,” a shaky breath racks through your throat, as you speak, “they’re not here now. Alex texted me that, so I should be fine, but when they get here…j-just, don’t leave me alone.”

“I will not leave you alone.” Shuri assures. Her hand gathers yours into hers, your palms rendered chilly from cold sweat. “I promise.”

Gathering your hands into hers, Shuri brings them to her lips and presses a kiss to them. She then reaches over to press a kiss to your lips, of which you reciprocate gladly.

“Thank you for talking to me about this,” the Queen commends, “and telling me how to best take care of you. I know it is not easy-”

“I hate it-” you correct, which brings a grin to Shuri’s lips and a chuckle from her throat, because yes, she knows you hate it.

“-but you are doing it, and I am very proud of you for it.”

It’s sincere, Shuri’s praise. It’s still not easy for you to digest it, but you know her love is not transactional, conditional. She means what she says, and you know her love for you is unconditional and unyielding.

She loves you.

She is proud of you.

The pressure on your chest becomes lighter.

Upon exiting the car, you’re approached by your sister, Alex, who had seen the two of you pull into the driveway and wanted to be the first person you’d engage with. You’re not shocked when you see her eyes glassy looking - it’s been years since you two last saw each other face to face.

Alex is hesitant when approaching you - she wants to envelop you in the most bone-crushing hug she can muster, because she misses you and it has been so long since she’d held her baby sister. Though all it takes is for you to outstretch your arms to her, and Alex embraces you in the way she had been dreaming of.

“Oh, mama,” Alex breathes as she pulls away to get a better look at you. You notice the youthfulness in her face and the life in her eyes. She looks happy, “look at you. All grown up. My baby sissy is all grown ‘nd shit.”

It’s heartfelt, her words, and they make you smile. Alex turns to look at Shuri, who’s chosen to stand to the side to witness the sisterly reunion without interrupting. “And you have a girlfriend? You have to tell me how this happened.”

“By complete accident,” you say, as Shuri steps up. Her hand presses into the small of your back, encouraging you while she holds the other out to greet Alex officially, “but I guess anything can happen when you spill coffee on someone in the middle of a morning rush.”

“It is a pleasure to finally meet you in person, Alex.” Shuri says.

Alex shakes Shuri’s hand, and the Queen notes the hesitance in the older sister's movements. “Well, it’s not every day you meet the queen of a country. Much less, a queen of a country that’s also my sister’s girlfriend.”

“Well, I hope not to bring too much excitement with my titles,” says Shuri, “I am more than alright with being just Shuri.”

She sincerely hoped that she could just remain Shuri. For if a situation arises that she would have to act in the manner of either of her titles - Queen or Black Panther - she could not promise that the birthday celebration would remain a splendor.

An hour passes before either of you know it. You’ve found entertainment amongst the younger cousins who all gawk at your girlfriend, who sits not too far away. Shuri has a cup of punch in hand as she watches you chase the children around the yard, a small smile on her lips. It’s as if you are reliving a part of your childhood you’ve missed, the way you seem so content with the children. It all but warms her heart.

“So,” Alex’s voice interrupts Shuri’s not so discreet admiration of her girlfriend, nearly making the Queen jump, “you and my sister?”

“Ah,” Shuri breathes, looking down into her cup as a rush of heat travels up her dark skin, “me and your sister.”

“I’m not gonna go into the whole interrogation thing, grilling you on if you’re treating her right,” Alex says, “I see how you look at her. If that ain’t the look of someone in love, then I’on know what is.”

Shuri chuckles at that, because she knows that Alex’s observations are true. In fact she has no idea just how correct her observation is.

Shuri leans forward in her seat, elbows propped up on her knees as she finds your figure amidst the mess of kids once again. Her necklace dangles from her neck, the gold contrasting against her black tee that nearly meets the fabric of her ripped blue jeans with her hunched over position.

“(Y/N) is…the ray of sunlight one sees after a long, dark night,” the Queen hums fondly, “and had I known my gods would send me such a woman, I would have prepared myself better.”

Alex smiles warmly. She can tell the strong connection between you and Shuri is pure and unadulterated. It warms her heart beyond comparison.

“Thank you for coming, truly,” Alex says, “I was almost worried she wouldn’t, since our parents would be here and everything.”

And at the mention of them, Shuri finds her jaw tightening just the slightest.

“Your parents?” Shuri is beginning to put two and two together, and she doesn’t like the outcome that is unfolding from her assumptions, however careful they are.

“I…assume she’s told you about them?” Alex implies.

Shuri shakes her head lightly, taking a sip of her semi-forgotten punch. “I find myself piecing the picture together on my own…She does not talk about them.”

“That isn’t a surprise,” Alex says, “given…well, everything.”

Shuri turns her head to look at Alex. Her eyes are firm, inquisitive; Alex’s words have sparked an interest in Shuri.

”She says they aren’t good people. Is that true?”

“Depends on who you ask,” Alex replies, “to the community, their saints. To us they’re just….people.”

Shuri notes the hint of solemness that laces Alex’s voice as she speaks. “They weren’t good to either of us…but they were especially bad to (Y/N).” Alex clarifies. “You know what they say; hurt people, hurt people.”

Not when the person is your child, Shuri thinks, but keeps to herself, taking another sip of her punch. Things are starting to make sense now, and Shuri finds that perhaps she will also have to have you at her side to ground her whenever your parents decide to show up.

“So you mean to tell me you got yourself stuck in a tree, and then got angry because she tried to help you get down?”

“I was not stuck! I was admiring the view.”

“Sure you were…with tears coming down your face.”

“I think this classifies as bullying-”

Shuri had grown quite comfortable as the next hour passed. More of your family had begun to show up, a number of aunts and uncles, nieces and nephews, and cousins wishing Alex a happy birthday as they passed through the foyer of her house and into the backyard. Shuri couldn’t count the amount of gasps she’d heard when their eyes fell upon her, sat comfortably in the outdoor gazebo, her presence obviously a surprise to the many relatives who had come to celebrate the special birthday girl. Much more, the fact that she had you close to her side as she greeted them.

The behavior of your family members irked her. Shuri suspected that Alex had talked to each of the adults to assure that they’d be on their best behavior for the occasion, given the tight smiles and curt greetings between each of them and you. Or perhaps it was because of her own intimidating presence next to you, and the fact that she wasn’t even trying to hide the look in her eyes as she analyzed each adult that seemed to pass through.

“Babe,” you cleared your throat, “stop looking like that, you’re scaring them.”

“Looking like what?”

“Like you’re contemplating murder.”

Would it have been so bad if she was, though?

Shuri sighs as she places the red solo cup she had been nursing for a while onto the table. “Just behave, for Alex-”

“I am behaving for you,” the queen clarifies, “and your sister would say the same.”

Unable to comment any further, you released an exhale through the nose, sinking back into Shuri’s side.

“It’s guilt, y’know.” You try to reason, but Shuri had already considered that route. Perhaps there were a few who did have a guilty conscience. Shuri didn’t find herself caring if that was true or not. “They’re not bad.”

“Beloved-”

“Shuri.”

“-I am merely observing,” she says, “I promise.”

Of course Shuri was only observing. Observing the behavior of each adult family member. How they acted towards you. How very little regard was given to you. How, with the amount of bodies that have accumulated in the backyard, the gazebo area remained relatively desolate, beside the two of you, Alex, and Alex’s black and white spotted cat, who had made a home on the red painted banister.

Sure. Shuri was just observing. Definitely not questioning anything at all. Definitely not formulating words she would say to your parents if they decided to make themselves an issue.

“I’m gonna go get a shot,” you say, before propping yourself up with your hands and lifting from the cushion of the outdoor couch, “you want a refill?”

You take Shuri’s cup before she officially gives you a response. You needed a way out, to move around so that the beating in your chest could quell.

Inside there isn’t much of a party scene - it's practically empty besides a teenage family member fighting their sleep on the couch while watching an infant in the living room. The music from outside is muffled when you enter the house, and you take the time to admire the mahogany walls and deep maroon floors of the home. You could compare it to the childhood home you’ve grown up in, and you think that perhaps this was Alex’s way of healing. Recreating your shared childhood environment in a more peaceful manner.

You find the kitchen quite easily, rounding the kitchen island in pursuit of the adult punch purposefully left inside so that the underaged family members wouldn’t get it confused with the family friendly punch that rested in a big glass bowl on the party table outside. On the counter is an array of liquor choices, from fruit flavored tequila to everyone's favorite, Hennessy. You weren’t a drinker, but this far into the party, you needed some sort of incentive to get you to relax a little bit.

Once you’ve chosen your choice of liquor, you take a red solo cup, pour what you deemed to be a shot's worth, and downed it in one gulp. The burn in your throat definitely woke your senses, of which you were grateful for.

On your way towards the kitchen doorway, Shuri’s refilled solo cup in hand, the sound of familiar voices drifted to your ears from the foyer, and it made you stop dead in your tracks.

“Happy birthday baby!”

“Happy birthday, babygirl.”

“Oh, look at you, all grown up-”

It took everything in you to not drop the cup in your hand at the sound of your parents making their presence known. You backed into the kitchen again, your back finding a nearby wall to ground yourself with. Your chest began to tighten, a tight lump forming in your throat, and in that moment, your hand fished for your phone in your back pocket to text Shuri.

Kitchen. Now.

There was a light shake in your hands. You hated how just the mere sound of their voices sent you into a spiral; how much of an influence they still had on you after trying so hard to separate yourself from them. Then they had the nerve to act pleasant.

There was a growing ringing in your ears, accompanied with the muffling of surrounding noise that made you breathe harder as you tried to stabilize yourself from the very apparent anxiety attack that was waiting to crash into you. You couldn’t decipher if it was the same one from before that you had fended off by sheer will, or if this was a new, more powerful one. However, when the smell of patchouli made its way to your nose, the thought of it became seconded.

“Hey,” Shuri whispered, one hand running the length of your arm, the other taking the cup from your hand that was seconds away from meeting the floor, and settling it onto the kitchen island, “hey, I am right here.”

“They’re out there, Shuri.” You breathe out.

Something shifts in Shuri’s eyes, and you can’t quite tell what it was, but the way her grip on you tightens in the ever so slightest way lets you know she’s thinking something.

“We can leave, beloved,” Shuri begins, but you’re quick to cut her off with a shake of your head.

“No,” you say, swallowing thickly, “I can’t leave, it’s Alex’s birthday-”

“Alex will understand, love; would she really want you to risk your own self for her?”

I’ve done it for years, the little girl in you voices tiredly, what’s another evening of it?

Shuri never wants to be forceful with you. She knows you’re your own woman and can make your own decisions, even if they go against her better judgment, even if they hurt you. Which is why, against every logical bone in her body, she proposes a compromise.

“Three chances,” Shuri says, “three chances is all they have. Then we will leave. How does that sound?”

Knowing Shuri, she’ll want to throw hands at the first encounter. It was endearing, really, how hard she went for you. The extent of such craze was never explored, simply because she was always calm, cool and collected. There was a part of you that always wondered the extent of it as well.

And, in hindsight, you weren’t wrong about her.

Shuri peaks from the kitchen doorway and into the foyer, seeing Alex still entertaining the two adults, their backs turned towards the Queen, which gave her the incentive to leave while the trio were occupied.

She mutters a quick ‘let’s go’ with a gentle smile, and after a few seconds, you nod. Your hand finds her, tightly interlocking your fingers as Shuri pulls you back to the backyard gazebo. Shuri had no idea the depths she was about to breach in the layers of your estranged family, but whatever the case may be, she will not let you face it alone.

It was almost the perfect getaway, too, but apparently Shuri wasn’t fast enough in getting you out of the house. She heard the matured voice of your mother call out to you, asking if it was her other daughter, and Shuri supposed that it wasn’t meant to be taken in a demeaning way, but the queen certainly did. Perhaps it was predisposed biases, perhaps it was intentional. Either way, Shuri would make sure to take as much of the burden off you as she could.

“Mom,” you say, jaws tight, but Shuri stands close behind you, a hand on your waist, and it stabilizes you, “good to see you.”

The older woman, short in stature, with wide hips and thick arms, saw Shuri standing behind you, but whether or not she didn’t address her because she didn’t recognize the queen or because she simply didn’t care couldn’t be deciphered. “Come give me a hug-!”

“I’m good,” you hurriedly said, “just- uh, not feeling well.”

“Don’t be like that,” the deep, bolstering voice of your father chimed in; a large man with an intimidating physique. Shuri was not phased, her arm only snaked it’s way around your waist, “give your mama a hug, lil’ girl-”

“I said I’m good.” You reiterate more firmly, though there was an added incentive to clear your throat shortly afterwards to make your fib more believable. “Really; I know how easy it is for y’all to get sick.”

There was a moment of pause - and exchange of glances and a shift in energy before a light ‘humph’ came from your mother’s throat. “Well, I suppose that makes sense,” she snooted, “and I suppose that’s why your friend there is the exception-?”

“Girlfriend, actually,” Shuri interrupts, though it wasn’t planned, and surely wasn’t expected, “it is one of many perks of being the Black Panther. I do not succumb to normal colds and illnesses as easily.”

The pads of Shuri’s fingers press into your side as she steps beside you; she’s now side to side with you, face your parents with a high chin and a look you were sure she’d only pulled out when in front of important people - or people who she suspected would try to intimidate her, yet she’d still have to play nice for publicity purposes.

“Allow me to introduce myself formally,” Shuri said, holding out her hand for your mother to take; the shorter woman did just so as Shuri spoke again, “I am Queen Shuri to my people, but for tonight's festivities, I would like to remain just Shuri.”

“A queen?” Your mother breathes out in an amused chuckle, though you couldn’t tell if it was in actual amusement or in disbelief. “Well, perhaps we did do something right with her, hm, honey?”

Strike one.

Shuri’s hand then reaches out to your father, who stares at the long, brown arm outstretched before him for a moment, before taking one of his thick, meaty hands, and shaking Shuri’s tinier one. Though, the look on his face when the queen’s grip strengthened around his hand was enough to tell you his surprise and lack of proper judgment on the brown-skinned woman.

“Got a…firm grip for a lil’ lady.” He says.

“Well,” Shuri begins as she slips her hand from your fathers, “my baba and big brother always said a firm hand makes a firm leader.”

“Well, wise men they were.”

There was much to observe in the few words shared between Shuri and your parents. Your father hid very well behind the facade of a pleasant man of few words. Perhaps he was sculpted that way, by your mother or by his own parents; either one didn’t matter, only that the end result was a man with a weaker grip than the elders she held council with, and they were pushing their latter years of nineties and hundreds. Your parents looked to be in their mid-forties.

Your mother…Shuri admits that she wished her own were still alive, for the words she knew Ramonda would have for this short-stack of a woman would be more lethal than any weapon produced by her own hands. Condescension laced in her voice with a familiar tone of jealousy that she’d heard and witnessed many black mothers having towards their own daughters. It wasn’t hard to tell, Shuri thought, but perhaps when enough people ignore such a dangerous thing, the ugly nature becomes a tolerable norm.

“Well, if you will excuse us,” says the queen, “I’m going to take my beloved to sit down. She is in much need of rest.”

Shuri did not give your parents time to react, nor to object to the sudden ending to the conversation. She’d quickly pivoted your body around and walked back outside to the gazebo, a firm hand on your back and a ticking clock in her head for when the next strike would come.

Sure enough, Shuri did not have to wait long for that second strike.

After getting you back to the gazebo to take a seat, on the verge of hyperventilating from the amount of anxiety the back and forth gave you, despite the fact that you weren’t even the one talking, Alex had come with a look of disdain. Your parents were in tow, as they claimed to want to ‘have a sit down and reconnect’. Of course, Shuri didn’t buy into that bullshit. Neither did Alex. And surely, neither did you.

And yet, neither you nor Alex yet had the courage to send them off, and Shuri, keeping herself in check, had no other choice but to allow them to sit with the three of you. So now you were tucked into Shuri’s side, phone in hand as a distraction, while Alex sat on a beige-cushioned chair to your left, and your parents in a similar-fashioned loveseat to the queen’s right.

Alex was kind enough to hide her discomfort in nervous laughs and meek agreements as your mother and father raved on about your childhoods. Specifically, the accomplishments of Alex, which would have been understandable as it was her birthday, if it didn’t have to include the ‘disappointments’ of yours they had to bring into the light.

“Remember the speech competition your grammar school had, Lexi-Pooh,” your mother chimed, using the youthful nickname Alex very physically cringed over, “you won your first ever trophy then at eight years old! Oh, we were so proud of you-”

“Mom, everyone got a trophy,” Alex reminded, putting emphasis on the word ‘everyone’ as she spared a glance your way, “we were babies, and it was a participation trophy. They just didn’t want us to be left out.”

“Well, still, my baby had the best poem on that stage!”

“Mom, I literally stole that poem off the internet.” Alex reasons.

“Yeah, off DeviantArt no less,” you speak with a chuckle, remembering the nights your sister scoured the internet for a poem to read because she, for the life of her, couldn’t write her own. Which she couldn’t be faulted for, she was in third grade after all.

Alex shares a small laugh as well. “If anyone should have won that competition, it should’ve been (Y/N),” She says. “All the teachers swore up and down she was gonna be the next Lorraine Hansberry or Audre Lorde. I bet you she got some bars hidden somewhere.”

Your mother could only hum in response; “Well, we can’t all be winners, I guess.”

There was a familiar sting that ached your heart. Despite how used you were to such rhetoric coming from your mother, it didn’t make the twang in your heart any less hurtful.

“You never liked that kinda stuff anyway, (Y/N),” your mother says, “so why did you join it-”

“I do like writing,” you say sharply, “and I wanted to be like my sister. Who doesn’t wanna be like their older sister at seven years old?”

You glanced up from your phone to look between the three people sitting before you. Alex shifts in her seat, uncomfortably, slightly shaking her head as she knows what is to come.

“Or were you just so busy with your perfect princess that you ain’t have time to learn me?”

“(Y/N)!” Your mother scolds, and you feel the protective arm of Shuri’s curl around you in defense. “Hush your mouth with them lies, girl!”

Your father remains silent, as he’s always done when your mother gets this way, and Shuri sees this, and takes note of it.

“I swear, I don’t know where we went wrong with you,” your mother huffs, “lost yo’ damn manners and mind talkin’ like that.”

Your mother then turns to Shuri, sporting an apologetic look, though it is not sincere, and merely a coverup for her own outburst. “Now I know your mother taught you well and good, Shuri, about how to talk to people and behave-”

“My mother is dead.”

There is an inevitable shift in the conversation now, one that brings the eyes to Shuri as a deafening silence befalls the gazebo. Even you rise from your curled position into Shuri’s side to eye her demeanor, checking over her form to note any changes that came with the sudden mention of her mother. Yet, she is calm and collected, her eyes showing no shifts and her demeanor intact. All seemed well…on the surface, at least.

“My mother is dead, may she be at peace with the ancestors,” Shuri says, “and she is incomparable. I do not wish to speak further of her.”

A beat passes. Your hand travels to Shuri’s leg, providing a comforting touch to the woman beside you. You weren’t ignorant to the news of her family’s passing - since her father’s death, you’d had a semblance of understanding the inner turmoil she had endured. With her brother and mother gone, she was virtually alone - save for a sister-like figure and a nephew she’d only told you a little bit about in the past few months or so.

You wanted to say something, but your mother beat you to it - this time, she actually sounded somewhat apologetic for her ignorance.

“My condolences,” the woman mutters softly, clearing her throat, “I only meant that she must have had it easy raising you. You’re so well put together and polite, if only some of that would rub off on (Y/N)!”

Strike two.

“Mom, stop it,” Alex interrupts, voice firm with a scowl on her face, “you doin’ a lil’ too much now.”

“Now, your mama ain’t said nun’ wrong,” your father suddenly speaks, who had been quite the entire conversation, but suddenly decided to stick up for his woman who was clearly in the wrong, “it’s just ladies spat, y’all know how y’all do.”

“And like I said before y’all got here, I don’t want it in my house.” Alex emphasizes. “If that’s the type of time y’all on, the door is very clearly marked with an obnoxiously pink birthday banner. Period.”

There was a small swell of pride in your chest for Alex as she set her foot down to your parents. She was determined to have them behave; she wanted a classy, friendly party for her birthday celebration. Though, she would know just as well as you that even when being put in place, the audacity of your parent’s always found itself back into trouble.

Your mother mumbled out an apology, along with something along the lines of ‘got me apologizing to my child’ under her breath as well, before you cleared your throat in an attempt to cut through the tension.

“Shuri, baby,” you hummed, “don’t we have something for Alex? In the car?”

Shuri turned to look at you, eyebrows slightly furrowed, before she officially caught on to what you were insinuating.

“Yes,” the queen breathes out with a small smile, “we do have something in the car. For the birthday girl.”

Alex, too, shares the same look Shuri previously sported, with furrowed eyebrows and confusion written on her face. “M-Me? Something for me?”

“Of course!” Shuri answers. “Surely you did not think we would show up empty handed?”

Shuri’s hand rests on your leg, both as a reminder of her very physical presence as a grounding for herself, “How foolish of me to forget. I do not know what I would do without you, my darling.”

Shuri stands, offering her hand to you as well, adding on how she will need your help to retrieve it, before escorting you from the gazebo. While on your way to exit the yard, Shuri can hear Alex giving your parents a further scolding, which makes the queen smile mischievously.

It wasn’t a complete lie for escape, however. Shuri was nice enough to buy a gift for your sister for her birthday, though it wasn’t anything massive, and despite your constant jokes of it, wasn’t a pair of kimoyo earrings (though, from Alex’s birthday outfit, she could tell that she was a jewelry girl, and a pair of earrings probably would have sufficed better).

“I’m starting to understand why you never told me about your parents,” Shuri says in a breathless scoff, pressing a button on her beads to pop open the trunk of her car, “infuriating doesn’t even begin to describe them.”

“Are you okay?” You ask in all seriousness. “The..comment about your mom, I mean.”

How could you be worried of her feelings when she’d just had to watch your mother berate you in front of her? Shuri wonders this as she turns from the open trunk of the car to face you again. Though, she supposes that from that interaction, you were more used to centering others and their emotions than yourself. Although it caused an ache in her heart, the revelation made sense of previous actions between the two of you.

“What I said was true,” the queen replies, “though I admit, perhaps there was a bite in my tongue.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t curse her out.”

“Well…I do have a promise to keep to Alex.” Shuri says in a soft laugh. “I do not want to be the cause of her birthday being ruined. Your parents are making it fairly hard to do that, however.”

Shuri closes the trunk of the car, the tiny bag holding Alex’s gift inside being set on top of it as the queen leans against the sleek black vehicle. She invites you into her embrace, pulling you between her legs and resting her hands on your hips; yours make their way onto her shoulders, a weak smile on your face.

“That’s two strikes by my count.”

“I know.”

“We have yet to even make it to dinner.”

“I know.”

“What do you want to do, beloved?”

I don’t know anymore, you think, this is all just too much.

“Let’s…stay.”

Part of you was reluctant to leave due to wanting to experience your sister’s birthday with her. You’d all but promised that you’d come to enjoy yourself with Shuri, even if your parents made that hard. But there was also an inkling of pettiness inside of you that wanted to show the assholes your parents were to the rest of your family members (who, while had suspicions of their weird behaviors and holier-than-thou rhetoric, would rather not engage in family drama to keep peace amongst the ranks).

“I’m not letting them get the better of me,” you add on, “today is for Alex. And if they wanna make it a problem, it can be a problem.”

The look on Shuri’s face was a mix of shock and pride; she hadn’t expected you to say that, and if she were being honest with herself, she was secretly anticipating such a moment to occur. Perhaps because it would give her a chance to release the pent up frustrations that had collected within her due to your parents actions; perhaps it was because seeing you stand your ground had always been an attractive sight to her. Regardless, the small smile that spread across her face was a reflection of her hopefulness.

“One more chance, then?”

“Hopefully they make it count.”

Shuri remembers how she used to dislike family dinners.

The prospect of eating with her family irked her at a young age. Though she loved her parents and her brother dearly, her teenage self was far too absorbed in her technological advances to actively partake in the family tradition. She’d taken such a routine for granted, and now, the dinner table in the large palace she called home was barren. She barely ate there anymore, consumed by the regret of not making such precious moments a priority in her youth.

As she sits next to you at the elongated party table with the rest of your family members, she notes the same air of barrenness, but not of presence of people. It is a barrenness of love.

The behavior of certain family members began to change as the night progressed. Despite the lingering glares of your family members, many aunts and uncles approached you again, expressing their joy in seeing your presence. Perhaps it was truly the guilt that you mentioned earlier, how these extended family members were subject to the bystander syndrome, and hadn’t known how to deal with their guilty consciences for whatever reason. Perhaps these people did genuinely want to reconnect with their long lost niece, cousin, auntie. Shuri would never admit it aloud to anyone, but seeing the look of distaste upon your parents face was entertaining to say the least.

“So do you drive a space ship everywhere you go?” One of your many nephews asked the queen out of curiosity, big brown eyes and white bucked-teeth shining with glee, as he’d never seen anyone of her status before.

“Not everywhere,” Shuri answers, “only the far away places.”

“Do you go to other planets? Like Mars? Or Pluto?”

“Hmm,” the queen thinks, “I don’t think I have. I shall put that on my books and tell you about it upon my return. How does that sound, little one?”

“Awesome!”

Seeing Shuri interact with the younger children eased your tense body and racing mind. She was almost a natural with them, it seemed. You leaned into her side, your cheek squishing against her shoulder with a playful huff. “Can I have my girlfriend back, please? You’ve been askin’ her questions since we got to the table.”

“Nu-uh!” Objects the little boy. “Have not!”

“Have too, lil’ boy,” you reject, “now gon’ eat so your mama don’t yell at you.”

“Can we talk about spaceships after dinner then, Auntie Shuri?”

Shuri wasn’t sure if she should adhere to the new term, having only known the child for an hour or so, but to entertain him, she allowed it. “Sure. We can talk about spaceships after dinner.”

Thankfully, the young boy seemed to be satisfied with the compromise, and began to eat his plate of food. Shuri turns to you with an amused grin, eyebrows raised as she asks “Were you jealous of your own nephew?”

“I can be jealous if I want to,” you pout, bottom lip tucked out in protest, “lil’ shit was taking you away from me.”

Shuri laughs at your banter, both glad that you’ve somewhat relaxed, and that the evening seemed to be going well. She hoped that it would stay like this.

The clinking of metal to glass caught her attention, as well as the other partygoers. Looking towards the head of the table, Alex is standing, grasping the attention of everyone in order to speak.

“Now, we all know the reason today is such an important day, aside from the fact that it’s my birthday,” Alex begins, glancing around the table, making eye contact with each individual, “though some of the kids might not know. And since we have a newcomer with us,” she says, gesturing to Shuri, who returns a nod of acknowledgement as she speaks, “I figured now is as good of a time to talk about why we celebrate the twenty-fifth birthday of the girls in our family.”

Alex sets the glass down, clears her throat, and speaks again. “Now the story has never been written down, but anyone who has sat between Nana and Great Nana’s legs to get their hair done will know the story by heart. A generation or so before them, our family had a ‘curse’ on us girls. One of our enslaved ancestors was forced to ‘engage’ with their owner who desired a mixed child. That ancestor cursed our bloodline so that no girls would survive, and slowly our numbers began to dwindle.”

You always loved to hear this story. You were never sure why, but it had always been more than hair braiding entertainment to keep a child's attention. The raw history that your grandmother and great-grandmother passed down your line of lineage always held a special place in your heart.

“Then one thing lead to another, a generation passes, and a girl is born…and she lives old enough to run away with another slave guy she fell in love with. And that ancestor had Great Nana, who had Nana, who had mom and the aunties…who had us.”

You’d been sitting to Alex’s right when she extended her hand to you to hold. You accepted it with a warm smile. She’d done the same to your mother as well.

“Reaching twenty-five is like a right of passage. Guarantees to a long, fulfilling life. And that is what we celebrate tonight.”

There were a series of claps, cheers, whoops and hollers that erupted from the table, coming from the queen herself as well. It was indeed a remarkable retelling, she thought, and she even noticed the way that Alex posed herself as a bridge between you and your mother. She applauded the woman for still trying to reconcile, but knew that there was no hope for such a feat.

As soon as Alex sat down, your mother took a stand. “I’d like to make a toast as well.”

Shuri felt you lean just a little bit closer to her.

“My baby, oh, what can I even say?” Your mother begins, striking up a face of pride. “You were perfect since the day I first laid eyes on you. I knew you’d be destined for greatness, and I can’t be any more proud of you than I am now. My baby girl is all grown up, and I can’t wait to see more of the outstanding woman you’ve become…”

Another round of applause echoes throughout the backyard, and Shuri breathes. Though she doesn’t trust your mother one bit, the words that came from her mouth seemed very genuine-

“...and you are more than fit to carry on this tradition. My only daughter that can.”

-nevermind.

The distant crickets could be heard as your mother took her seat again, seemingly proud of her little stunt. Perhaps she thought it was something good to say, but neither you, Alex, or Shuri saw the need for the ending.

“That ending wasn’t needed, but thank you.” Alex says through gritted teeth, a sigh leaving her lips. It was much like the older woman to need the last word, and although Alex truly hoped she would behave, her own patience was waning thin with the woman and her antics.

“We have a toast as well!”

Shuri whips her head to you, brows furrowed in confusion as she whispers, “We do?”

The words leave your lips before you can actually think about what you’re about to do. Upstaging your mother had never been something you’d acted upon, although you’d fantasized about shutting her up numerous times with your own words; the courage was just never there. Perhaps it was because now you were older, or perhaps it was because you now knew that Alex was on your side, or perhaps it was because you had Shuri next to you to back you up. Whatever it was, it began surging through your veins that once were riddled and crippled with anxiety.

Nonetheless, you’re standing up, and so is Shuri, so there isn’t any backing down now. All eyes were on you.

“Sister,” you begin, reaching your hand out Alex who stands up again to be eye level with you, “I will make this quick, ‘cuz you know I hate sappy shit.”

Alex laughs a little. Her grip on your hands is comforting, and the way she looks at you is almost in a coaching matter. She hadn’t expected such a burst of confidence either, but wasn’t about to let you face it alone.

“We’ve had our…ups and down,” you say, “and there were ‘things’ happening that I blamed you for, that I pushed you away for. But you’ve always been there. You were..the only person there.”

You feel Shuri’s hand caress the small of your back for support. You feel like crying, and you're not sure the reason for it, but you push it down and continue.

“I am grateful for you, and I’m glad I came to celebrate with you…and I love you.”

The air that was once thick when you started to speak seemed to ease when you said those last three words. And again, claps and praises flew out into the air at the confession. Alex, the much more sappier of one of the two of you, tried to keep her eyes from swelling with tears, but of course it was harder for her to do so.

“Don’t you start crying,” you say playfully through the loudness of the table, “‘cus you know if you do, then I’ma start crying, and we just gon’ be two snotty nosed bitches-”

Yet you didn’t get the chance to finish, because Alex then pulls you into her embrace. It’s tight and full of love, and she gives you no choice but to sink into it. For a second, it seems like the noise drowns out as you bask in the love from your sister, and you hear a faint ‘thank you’ being whispered into your ear right as she pulls away.

“I suppose this means it is my turn,” Shuri says sheepishly, once the embrace has finished and you’ve returned right at her side. She’d been thinking of what to day this entire time, though each scenario that she had run through her head didn’t seem worthy of a quality toast to a quality woman, “I shall try to make this toast worthy of your time, Miss Birthday Girl.”

“Sitting at this table, surrounded by all of you; it reminds me of a similar family routine that I took for granted in my youth.” Shuri’s eyes gaze from person to person as she speaks. “You see, I was too absorbed in my technological advances to truly appreciate the aspects of family dinners. The mundaneness of sitting with one another and being present. I used to want to give anything to be left to my own devices. And now, I sit at the head of the same table, with no one. I am Queen of the most powerful nation in the world, and my entire family is gone.”

Another silence fills the table as everyone looks onto Shuri; her head is held high as she speaks, though, voice unwavering. She breathes when she feels your hand slip into hers.

“Alex, you are a very blessed woman to have your family here with you to celebrate a generational obstacle overcome,” the queen bids, “and for that, I propose a toast to you, and a saying from my people to yours.”

The queen picks up her red cup, and watches as each individual picks up their own, before speaking again. “To Alex, a woman of virtue and genuity. ‘Akukho mntu ngaphandle kwesidenge ophika usapho lwakhe’.”

A round of cheers sounds before everyone downs a gulp of their chosen drinks in unison, applauding Shuri for her heartfelt toast and gratitude. As the both of you sit, and light chatter begins to cover the table, your mother calls out to Shuri with a look of curiosity.

“Such a lovely quote, Shuri,” your mother says, “what does it mean?”

“Oh, the proverb,” Shuri says, “it is one my baba used to say.”

“Did he now?”

“It means ‘No one but a fool denies their family’.”

Hearing this, your gaze shifts from the food in front of you to Shuri, who sports a proud smirk as she watches your mother grow uncomfortable in her seat from the queen’s words. As if she were putting the dots together in her own head.

With Dinner done, your nephew was all too quick to pull the queen aside to continue their conversation about her fancy spaceships. While his eagerness was endearing, Shuri had to put the conversation on hold because of an important phone call that came through. You assumed that it was Ayo, a name you had heard in fleeting conversations, but knew it to be a person of importance to Shuri. A captain of her Queen’s Guard, which Shuri had respectfully asked to fall back on attending the outing with the both of you, since it was a family thing, and Shuri didn’t want Alex’s neighbors questioning why so many bald-headed women were lingering around her house.

She said she would make the call quick, five minutes at most, before stepping into the house for quiet and privacy. The loss of her presence made you slightly anxious, but you maintained your spot in the gazebo, and Alex popped in here and there. She was the host, so she had to engage with the rest of her partygoers, but you were more than grateful that she took the time out to still check in on you, despite it being her day.

You took a sip of your drink - the adult punch that had been put in the kitchen so kids couldn’t get to it - and watched the party goers enjoy themselves from the comfort of your seat. Children running around, chasing each other with sparklers; aunties and uncles dancing to the old school remix; teens making TikTok videos with dances and skits. For a moment, things were content, and everyone was happy. Normal.

For a moment, for the first time in a long time, you felt happy with your family.

“You’ve found this corner real comfortable, I see.”

The voice of your mother slips through he peaceful silence that previously covered the gazebo, and although you don’t feel it at first, your body begins to tense. She herself sports a red solo cup, though you can’t tell what’s inside of it.

She doesn’t ask to join you - just takes up a single seat across from you - and even if she were to ask, you aren’t sure if you could even mutter an answer.

“It’s been so long since you’ve left,” your mother says, “since you decided you were grown enough and left your family behind. How has life been for you?”

“Good.” You reply, short and curt, taking a sip from your drink.

“You seem more than good,” she continues, “I assume living with a queen gives you a lot of financial relief-”

“If you came over here to start shit, please don’t.” You quickly cut off. “One; my relationship is of no concern to you, but Shuri doesn’t pay for shit of mine that I have. I was good before I met her, and I’m still going good on my own.”

You weren’t sure where the sudden crossness came from, but you definitely knew it had something to do with your mother’s constant mention of Shuri, as if she held prominent importance tonight and not the other child she’d birthed. “And it’s Alex’s birthday. I’m here for her.”

Your mother scoffs at your words, “-and there you go, twistin’ my words around and making me seem like the enemy. I’m just trying to talk to you!”

“Bullshit,” you spit, rising from your seat in a quick bid to find a quick exit into an area more populated, and more importantly, away from her, “I’m not doing this with you.”

You turn to try and leave, but your mother continues to speak behind you, pushing you further, “you’re so ungrateful; after everything we’ve done for you, you can’t even show an ounce of respect to your own mother.”

In that moment your body froze on the steps of the gazebo. A dull chill awakens within you, spreading through your limbs, your skin nearly rising into goosebumps, before a wave of anger crashes in.

“Fine,” you mutter, “you wanna ‘talk’?”

You turn to face your mother once again, eyes burning holes into her face, which has the audacity to hold a look of shock. “Let’s fucking talk.”

“Oh, but where to begin?” You scoff. “Maybe lets talk about how you can’t seem to ever say one good thing about me. It’s always some backhanded comment that you can’t help to point out how amazing Alex was and how shitty I was in comparison-”

“-that is not true,” your mother tries to interject, “but you were - and still are - a difficult child-”

“-I wasn’t fucking difficult!” You shout, drawing a few pairs of eyes to you and your mother. “I wanted fucking attention that you weren’t giving me! And you thought beating me was the best way to get me to ‘stop acting out’?”

“It was discipline!”

“Oh, but Alex never needed it though, right?” You question. “Alex was just so perfect to yall. She got the best of everything while your little mistake became the punching bag you took your frustrations out on!”

The increasing shouting started to draw attention from the other partygoers, who muttered among themselves, wondering the reason for the altercation, questioning if they should intervene. And it only got worse when the sound of skin slapping skin echoed throughout the backyard, making the music that played from outdoor speakers seem quiet.

Your mother, the pious, religious, righteous woman she claimed to be, just slapped you in front of the rest of your family.

“What’s going on over here?” The voice of your father bellows as he approaches the gazebo, having only made his presence known after a few gasps from seeing your mother hit you.

“I will not be disrespected by you, you ungrateful wench,” your mother seethes, “I was a damn good mother to you, even when we fell on hard times. I raised you!”

“I was a fucking kid!” You yell back. “How does a fucking adult take their anger out on their own kid!?”

“And you,” comes your voice through gritted teeth upon seeing your father coming to console your mother, which seemed to anger you even more, “dear old dad, who never ‘picked a side’. You sat there and watched as she fucked up her own kid.”

Your voice comes out more strained, wavering at the sight of your father. The man you saw treat Alex like a literal princess while you could only ever dream of being treated as such. You knew the next words you’d say were going to push his buttons - perhaps part of you wanted a reaction from him that could show that maybe, somewhere inside of him, he cared when your mother didn’t.

“If anything you’re more of a bitch than her!”

You weren’t sure what scared you more in that moment; the loud grunt and your fathers arms menacingly reaching out towards you, or the flash of black that shot across your vision right before you closed your eyes shut, anticipating something to happen.

The silence was deafening as you felt your legs stumble back into something warm but you were too scared to open your eyes yet. Of all your senses that had been stricken with tension, the first to register with reality once again was your hearing.

“I want you to think carefully about your next actions,” the queen’s voice comes out hardened and unyielding, “because I can assure you, I will not have to think about mine.”

That flash of black that had crossed your vision earlier had been Shuri. And if your eyes had been open, you yourself would have shuddered at the pure rage that was present on her face.

Shuri’s hand, albeit tiny and delicate in most cases, held your father’s wrist in a right grasp, and despite the broader man's struggles to pull free, it was futile. She was not letting him go, and neither was the intensity of her stare that held your mother’s gaze.

“If you don’t let my husband go-”

“Shut. Up.” And her words were absolute, leaving no room for question. Perhaps it was part of the authoritarian aura that she’d gained from taking on her queenship that shut your mother up, but whatever the case may have been, Shuri admits that she certainly enjoyed the look of surprise on your mother’s face.

“Alex,” Shuri says, and it now becomes clear to you that the thing you had back into was your very sister. It also became clear how tight her grip on you was, as if she were scared to let you go, “take my beloved back to my car. We will be leaving shortly.”

There’s a gentle nudge and a hushed ‘c’mon’ before you feel yourself being moved sideways, then forward, Alex doing as Shuri says and relocating you to the front of her home to get you into a safer, calmer place.

It isn’t until Shuri sees your figure disappear behind the wooden fence that she releases your father’s wrist. The man winces as he regains control of his limb, his wife bringing her hands to soothe the skin where it was beginning to turn purple from just how tight her grasp was.

Shuri turns in a slow circle, eyes scanning each and every one of the individuals who’d stood by and undoubtedly watched the scene unfold, offering no sign of intervention. “This is what your family is?” She calls out. “It is sickening.”

The guilt shines in their eyes but Shuri has none of it. To her, they are all just as guilty as your parents, for they've watched the same scene unfold many times before, and just the same, no one stood up.

The queen turns back to your parents, as she bites the inside of her cheek to control her composure. “I do not know your story,” she says, “nor do I wish to, and now, nor do I care. I only leave you with this as I leave.”

Shuri takes a step forward to your parents, jaw clenched tight and piercing eyes meeting theirs once again. “My (Y/N) will be loved…as it is clearly something neither of you could bestow upon her.”

And in the same flash of black she leaves the party, that had long gone silent, and biting her tongue so hard she thought she’d draw blood.

Exitting the back yard, Shuri comes around the front to see you and Alex sitting on the porch steps. She holds a towel to your cheek, whispering to you with care about holding the cold, wet cloth gently on your cheek to battle the inflammation. It was the first and only thing she could grab without immediately leaving your side, the green garden hose still running into the grass proof of it.

It takes everything in Shuri not to run to you, to pull you into her arms and cradle you into her embrace, to shield you from the cruelness that has surely been brought back to the forefront of your mind. There’s a pit in her stomach that churns with the pain of unease, and it eats at her as she thinks; if she had just been swifter with that call with Ayo, or better yet, not even answered at all, then you wouldn’t have been left alone, and you wouldn’t have gotten hurt.

Shuri grows closer and realizes that the both of you are crying, and her heart tightens in her chest. She bends down to meet you on eye level, resting a soothing hand on your leg. Alex holds her head in one hand, her other still grasped tightly onto your side, holding you close to her. Shuri finally understands what Alex meant when she talked about the varying levels of harm done to the sisters in their youth. You took the physical and verbal brunt, while Alex took the emotional.

“This was not suppose to happen.” Shuri hears Alex mutter, and the queen quickly cuts in before Alex has a chance to even say as such.

“It is not your fault, Alex,” the queen asserts, “you cannot be responsible for the actions of your parents.”

Alex looks up to Shuri, sniffling as their eyes connect. A beat passes before the older sister nods, though her jaw is still tight with tension. There’s a shift in Alex’s eyes, from sadness and regret, to a hardened security.

“I need to get my house in order,” she says, glancing to her side, and reluctantly peeling her arm from around your waist, “party’s officially over.”

Alex stands to do just as she intends, and as she leaves, Shuri grows closer to you. One hand rubs circles into your knee, the other one gently lifts your face up to meet hers. Your eyes are tired, likely due to adrenaline fatigue, but your body still shakes with a light tremble.

“I am taking you home.” She says, leaving no room for argument; even though, in your current state, you couldn’t refuse her if you wanted to. So when Shuri wraps her arms around you and lifts you to your feet, you all but lean into her warmth.

And the kiss she presses into the crown of your head provides reassurance that even after the events that have unfolded, with Shuri, you will be okay.

If you enjoyed, please leave a like, comment, and reblog for others to see! And don’t be shy to send in a request!

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achaotichuman · 4 days

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Stupid little headcanon.

Nyx starts a rebellion in Illyria and the Hewn City. Tries to get Dahlia (Tamlin's daughter) on board, but she is extremely wary of everything when it comes to the Night Court because of what their High Lady did to her Court fifty years prior.

One day, after Dahlia snuck into the Hewn City with Nyx and his cousin Aesira (one of Eris and Azriel's daughters) on a dare to retrieve a jewel from the troves of the City. She finds a woman with a young babe in her arms, locked in the prisons who goes by the name of Aisling.

Turns out Aisling was locked in there under the accusation of practicing black magic against her abusive husband.

All the while Nyx is getting closer with a certain older blond High Fae male he met in a bar one night in Summer.

Cue Dahlia awakening to the suffering of the Night Court and an epic romance story fraught with tragedy, grief, heartbreak and looming war. Where the IC is finally stood up against, and the children of each Court stand against the system their ancestors upheld.

"Chaotic, this is a very weirdly specific headcanon-"

A Witch A Warrior And A Reckoning

A Court of Thorns and Roses next generation fiction.

Moodboard for Dahlia Fairburn

Moodboard for Aisling Sapphirus

Moodboard for Aesira Vanserra

Moodboard for Cynthia Vanserra

Mooadboard for Nyx Archeron

@sonics-atelier, @shi-daisy, @praetorqueenreyna (ask if you want to be added to the tag list!)

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cooliestghouliest · 3 months

Text

LOVE ME TWO TIMES, ch. two

(chapter one) (chapter two)

PAIRING: eventual Mungrove x Reader

SUMMARY: Struggling to come to terms with the abrupt abandonment of your father, you’re left with two options – attend an “all girls’ therapeutic boarding academy” that’s really more Bedlam Insane Asylum than trusty reformative school, or move half-way across the country to a small town in Indiana to live with your older brother, Rick. The upheaval of your life in Fresno might just end up being a little star-crossed and a whole lot serendipitous.

WORD COUNT: 8.7k+

SERIES TAGS: angst. some pretty heavy topics in later chapters. just enough fluff to hopefully balance it all out. eventual smut (18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI). not a slow burn; it’s pretty hot and heavy right off the bat. eventual love triangle. neurodiversity. dom/sub undertones (dom!Billy, switch!Eddie, switch!Reader), also bi!Eddie and bi!Reader but confused!Billy. drugs and drug addiction. no use of Y/N (but much use of nicknames and pet names). Reefer Rick is Matthew Lillard circa Senseless. more TBA as the story progresses.

CHAPTER TAGS: unexpected tears. some woeful reminiscing. wisecracking siblings. how Rick and Eddie met. flirting in front of a moody bartender. Eddie has a penchant for being self-deprecating but he tries to be funny about it. oversharing. dehydrated!Eddie 😉 (there’s a tease of f!rec oral here). even more cockblocking. a tinge of tension at the end.

TAG LIST: @babybatlover

—

chapter title: Nobody, That’s My Name

Packing up had actually taken three hours, mostly because you were so undecided on what to bring.

Your stomach was in knots with the realization that you’d have to leave some things behind. You wished you could just transport your entire room as it was to Hawkins.

This had been your sacred space since childhood. You were only two when your family made the move from Chicago to Fresno, so this house was really all you’d ever had memories of.

Your room had grown up and changed alongside you, a non-sentient appendage and an outward expression of every new trend and month-long hobby you’d picked up along the way.

“Bean, you good?” Rick’s voice called out from the other side of your closed door.

You’d been seated on your bed — it could have been for a few minutes or half an hour, you weren’t sure. You hadn’t noticed the wet line that rimmed your bottom lashes until you turned to look at your brother as he stepped inside your room. When you blinked, a tear broke free and rolled down your cheek.

“My face that ugly? You gotta cry when you look at me?”

You choked out a laugh, bringing a hand up to wipe your eyes dry. Leave it to Rick to try and lighten the mood. It’s what he’d been doing his whole life – never taking anything too seriously, refusing to get hung up on any emotion other than those aligned with happy hedonism.

You’d always wondered if there was a secret storm that raged somewhere deep inside of him.

“All my stuff isn't gonna fit inside your stupid van,” you said, not bothering to explain further.

You didn’t need to. Rick could read between the lines.

This was going to be the first time you’d left the only home you’d ever known for longer than a sleepover at a friend’s house.

The residence itself would never win any awards for being the greatest of places, but your bedroom, on the other hand — that had a surefire shot.

It was here where your dad had first read you the The Hobbit, the precursor to your love of fantastical tales.

It was here on the floor where you made your first prank call with Cynthia Toomey, your childhood best friend. It was to a teacher whose number had been written on a stall in the girl’s bathroom. It didn’t strike you as odd then why a twelve-year-old would know a much older male teacher’s phone number, but after the man had gotten arrested a few years back for soliciting a minor at a park, it all started to make sense.

It was here where you’d heard Janis Joplin for the first time, a record Rick had mailed you for your fourteenth birthday. Her deep crooning voice scratched at parts of your soul you didn’t even know were itchy.

It was here where you’d first taught yourself how to sew a patch onto your backpack; where you’d first tried on the lipstick and eyeshadow you’d stolen from the vanity in your parent's bedroom, something that resulted in a week's worth of extra chores (according to your mother, it was to teach you "the consequences of petty theft" or whatever); where you’d first experimented with a girl while watching Happy Days, soft tongues and even softer fingers exploring every inch of uncovered skin as Fonzie’s signature “Ayyyy’s” mixed with her breathy moans and your rapid heartbeat.

“I didn’t think I’d care that much about leaving,” you admitted, voice shakier than you’d hoped it would be.

Rick watched you from the doorframe, giving a knowing smile in an attempt to mollify you. “Y’know, you might not believe it, but I couldn’t sleep the first three nights after I left. Kept thinkin’ about how much I missed my bed and the noise the air conditioner made that I used to think I hated.” He quieted momentarily, observing his surroundings. Overflowing plastic bags and opened suitcases stuffed full of clothes, books, vinyls, and random knickknacks were scattered across the floor. “It’s still home, even if we never really wanted it to be.”

Rick walked over to one of the cases. He bent down to zip it up, having to put a foot on the grip to shut it enough so it closed completely. “But you’re gonna make a fuck ton more memories in Hawkins, Bean,” he pledged, grabbing the handle and pulling it towards the door. “We are. Okay?”

You chewed your lower lip and allowed yourself a few more moments of wallowing before heaving a sigh, slapping your thighs with the palms of your hands as you stood.

“Okay. You sap.” You snatched as many full plastic bags off the ground as you could. “The first memory’s gonna be about how much weaker you are compared to me.” You looked down at the single heavy suitcase he was carrying, scoffing lightheartedly. “Only one, Richard? Really? You have another hand. Use it.”

And he did, by bringing his free one up to flip you the bird.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

Although your brother had a spacious purple-painted 1970 Ford Econoline the pair of you could have comfortably slept in, the back of the vehicle was currently filled to the brim with all of your luggage.

Any time the side door had to be slid open for whatever reason, an ample amount of contents came pouring out.

One of your "haunted-as-shit dolls," affectionately dubbed by Rick, had fallen victim to the concrete ground outside of a gas station in Colorado. Its glass eye had popped out and shattered, its arms detaching from its tiny body. You’d gasped in horror at the doll’s demise, smacking Rick on his chest for being so careless.

It was safe to say neither one of you were going to be getting anything from the back of the van until you’d made it to Hawkins to unpack, or else Rick would be forced to face your wrath.

Your possessions were prized, goddammit.

So, one motel stay and thirty-two hours after leaving the WELCOME TO FRESNO sign behind, Rick finally pulled into the driveway of his boathouse.

The orange neon lighting of the van’s dashboard clock read 10:13AM.

You’d been soundlessly sleeping for the last hour of the car ride, having dozed off shortly after Rick had put in a Talking Heads cassette, the G Major melody of This Must Be the Place lulling you into a dreamless nap.

Rick suddenly had the brilliant big brother idea to grant himself the honor of becoming your own personal wake-up alarm.

Putting the car in park, he switched the Talking Heads cassette out for Bad Religion’s How Could Hell Be Any Worse? He skipped to a track titled In the Night, cranked the volume to the max, and started to head-bang and sing along wildly off-key.

You startled awake immediately, arms flailing at nothing as you tried to rapidly blink your eyes open.

When you found Rick performing his solo concert, way too committed to the bit, you refused to laugh at the sight, even if it was your gut reaction. The last thing you wanted to do was encourage him. “Noooo, is this what you’re gonna be like the whole time?” you instead asked with faux abrasiveness, speaking loud enough to be heard over the music.

Rick grinned wide, never faltering in his seated moshing, not until the song came to an abrupt end a few seconds later, when you’d finally had enough and reached a hand over to eject the tape.

“I didn’t want you to have an aneurysm,” you told him plainly with a shrug, in response to his offended look. “I could hear your little brain rattling around up there in that thick skull. I got worried.”

Rick shot a hand up to cover his heart, as if he’d been stabbed. “You wound me, little sister. Deeply and completely.”

He pulled the keys from the ignition and stepped outside, hurrying to the passenger side of the van to slide open the back door. He tried with both hands to stop the cascade of your belongings from spilling out, but failed miserably, clothes and books landing in messy heaps on the driveway.

“Hey, what the fuck!” you called out, hopping down from your seat to start picking up what you could from the pavement, pulling your items to your chest. “Don’t you have any grace?”

Rick pretended to ponder this before saying, “Grace, huh. Think I dated that girl in high school. Don’t have her anymore, nope.” That earned a snort and an eye roll from you.

Rick remembered a time when your brattiness would have annoyed him to no end. He knew it would again, and probably soon, but he was surprised by how fond of it he was right now, how much he missed having you around.

“Once we get all this shit inside,” he started, grabbing two suitcases, filling both hands so he didn’t have to hear you comment about his carrying capabilities (or lack thereof) again, “you can unpack, and we can shower and relax. But then I’ve got plans for tonight.”

He’d begun walking to the front door, you trailing off behind him. “So you’re ditching me the first night I’m here?” you scolded, albeit playfully. You honestly wouldn’t have minded some alone time, being able to start decorating and acquainting yourself with your new abode. Still, you wanted to keep playing the part of bitchy baby sister, a role you hadn’t been able to play in so long but a role you fell right back into, as easy as riding a bike. “That’s very rude, Rick. What a horrible host you are.”

“Not a chance, Bean. Plans for us tonight. You’re comin’ with. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

He’d told you that he was taking you to some bar called The Hideout. It sounded sleazy, and you’d told him as much. He didn’t argue that, just said there’d be food and drinks and live music. And some guy there he knew that was in the same grade as you.

You didn’t know this, but Rick had a plan for Eddie Munson. He was going to barter with his young metalhead friend: be the lookout for his little sister when Rick wasn’t around, and he’d heavily discount the bulk weed and other goodies Eddie bought from him for the foreseeable future.

“What’s this guy’s name again?” you asked, moving to kick your feet up on the dashboard before Rick swatted your legs down. Again.

He’d told you several times already that sitting like that was one of the most dangerous positions to be in if he got into an accident. Said that your legs would snap and your bones would jam through your body. You thanked him for the visual, then kept doing it.

“Eddie," he answered.

“And what exactly does this Eddie look like…?”

You tried to breach the question with as much nonchalance as you could muster, but the intent behind your inquiry was still obvious: was Eddie attractive?

“Off-limits.”

“Hmm. That’s a weird physical description of someone.”

“I’m serious, Bean. Don’t.”

It wasn’t that Rick didn’t like Eddie.

It was quite the contrary, actually.

Rick had met Eddie the summer of ‘84, outside one of Al Munson’s many, many court hearings, after the elder Munson had mistakenly asked both of them for a ride home.

As an apology, Al invited both Eddie and Rick over to where he was currently freeloading at some guy’s apartment, to smoke a few bowls (that ended up coming from Rick’s personal supply) and order Chinese (that Eddie ended up paying for).

At some point that night, Al had mentioned to Eddie that Rick was the go-to guy for weed and weed-alike.

“Oh, shit, man – you’re Reefer Rick?” Eddie had asked after a particularly rough coughing excursion, having hit the piece a little too harshly.

“Reefer Rick? That’s what the kids are calling me?”

Eddie nodded, handing the bowl off to his dad. “Yeah, you’re kind of like a celebrity. Or a unicorn?” Rick’s brows furrowed deeply at this. Eddie laughed before explaining, “Meaning I very confidently thought you didn’t exist. Figured you were just who the posers from school said they got their shit from as a red herring, so they didn’t get in too much trouble when Hop took their stash.”

“Hop, like, Hopper? Beer-bellied fucking pig asshole Jim Hopper? That motherfucker knows I sell?”

Hopper had been a thorn in Rick’s side since just about the day he’d moved in.

Jim had been pulling Rick over for minor traffic violations almost weekly by that point, and if Eddie was telling the truth, the hard-on Hopper seemed to have for him now made a hell of a lot more sense. The cop was probably trying to catch him with something on him.

Eddie grinned like he was letting his company in on a joke. “Well, he knows Reefer Rick sells. You're just Rick Lipton, my friend."

From that night on, Eddie would stop by Rick’s house twice a month to re-up on his stock. The pair would sometimes get stoned around the fire pit in Rick’s backyard after they made the deal, and Rick soon found out that Eddie was not at all like the hardcore persona he projected to the world. And he definitely wasn’t a magnet for mayhem like his old man.

At heart, Eddie Munson was a total fucking nerd.

He liked mythology and board games and doodling and passionately debating which conspiracy theories he thought would stand the test of time. He often marveled at Rick’s comic book collection, standing at the shelves for an hour or so at times, just browsing the titles that stood out to him. Eddie’s favorites to flip through were Rick’s copies of Twisted Tales and Creepshow.

Rick had briefly thought a handful of times that you and Eddie would probably get along great if the two of you ever met.

But then the thought of just how great you’d possibly get along would get Rick irritated with Eddie for the non-existent relationship the boy didn’t have with a sister he didn’t even know Rick had.

On their last meet-up, Eddie had told him that he and his bandmates would dress up as pirates and paladins and go to the Ren Faire twice a year.

The band. That was another reason Rick was wary of introducing the two of you.

Being in the scene for as long as he had been now, Rick knew many musicians, and he wouldn’t trust nearly any of them around his baby sister.

They weren’t all like Eddie, though. Rick had to admit that.

Sure, the boy was a little rough around the edges, rowdy and flamboyant, but Rick remembered being kind of the same way as a teenager – and he hadn’t ruined the lives of any girls, had he? Not that he knew of at least, or at least not intentionally.

He’d been a bit of a relationship hopper, just desperate for attention when you got to the bottom of it, but Rick had never been disrespectful of women. He’d never forced himself on anyone, never pleaded to turn a “no” into a “yes,” never verbally or physically accosted any of them. Rick couldn’t bring himself to even imagine doing anything like that. He couldn’t imagine Eddie doing any of that either.

Despite cringing at the idea of you and Eddie maybe catching something more than just friendly feelings for one another, Rick still couldn’t think of another person he’d trust more to keep tabs on you when he himself wasn’t around.

But Rick could still at least try to persuade you to see Eddie in just a platonic light.

“He’s a dork, Bean. His favorite talking point is why Gollum is just a misunderstood victim. Doesn’t shut up about how they do the special effects in those gory B-horror movies, ruins the whole fuckin’ movie yapping. Plays lame board games with his little weirdo degenerate friends.”

“First of all, Rick, did you ever even read Lord of the Rings?” you started, throwing your hands up in disbelief, and Rick was sorry he even opened his mouth. “Sméagol is totally just a misunderstood victim. I mean, sure, whatever, he bit off Frodo’s finger, but he was basically the reason Sauron was defeated! It’s all the Ring’s fault. It was evil. It possessed everyone.” You huffed, settling back against the seat as you watched Rick pull into a parking space at what you assumed was The Hideout. “Also, are these things supposed to make me want to talk to this guy less? 'Cause if that’s the case, you’re really good at doing the exact opposite of what you intend.”

Rick gave a classic you move, rolling his eyes.

“Just don’t flirt with him, Bean, damn. Please. It’s, like, my only rule. He’s my… friend. He’s my friend. So just don’t.”

You pushed your lips to the side, stepping out of the car before Rick turned off the ignition.

Did your brother know nothing about you? Being told you weren’t allowed to flirt with this stranger, to even go as far as saying he was ‘off-limits’? You now knew exactly what your plan was for the rest of the night: try to break Rick’s only rule.

Isn’t that what little sisters were for?

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

You knew Rick had said there would be live music, but you definitely weren’t expecting four young men about your age on stage singing nearly spot-on covers of Slayer and Iron Maiden songs.

Rick had gotten the two of you a table towards the back of the bar. He’d bought you a vodka pineapple – which he wasn’t initially intending on doing, at first telling you a Coke was all you were getting, something you were not willing to accept; after a hefty amount of prodding, he moped off to buy you the fruity alcoholic beverage just to get you to stop being so fucking annoying about it.

You were nursing the last few sips, sucking the liquid noisily through the small black straw, when the cute lead singer with the mess of black curls brought his mouth to the microphone.

“You guys have been great, really, all five of you, couldn’t ask for better fans,” he spoke to the sparse crowd. No one clapped or cheered or anything, which made you laugh out loud at the one-sided interaction. “This’ll be our last song for the night – ”

“Freebird!” someone in the audience called out.

“Vince, I tell you every time, we’re not fucking playing Freebird, man — it’s never gonna happen,” tall, dark-haired, and handsome sniped from the stage.

Familiar chords started to echo out from the bassist, the moppy haired drummer hit his wooden drumsticks together in a steady rhythm, and the small-town rockstar began singing Enter Sandman.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

Rick had been chatting with a handful of other bar patrons throughout the duration of the band’s setlist. A few of them — older, biker-looking men — occupied your table as the band on stage started to descend, done for the night.

You heard the jukebox start up, playing some Dolly Parton song, a hilarious juxtaposition from the heavy metal music that had just filled the bar.

Your eyes searched for the lead singer, spotting him heading over to the bar alone, the other boys in the band disappearing off backstage with their instruments in tow.

“Hey, I’m gonna go to the bathroom. I’ll be right back,” you announced, but Rick just nodded and waved you off, in a deep conversation with one of the bearded men about something to do with Special K. The cereal? You didn’t know, and you didn’t care to stay long enough to find out.

What you wanted to do was to talk to this Kirk Hammett lookalike that poured his heart out on the stage of a hodunk bar like he was performing in front of hundreds of thousands of people at Madison Square Garden.

His back was to you when you approached, black ringlets of hair falling down past his shoulders, frizzy from the indoor humidity.

You put your now empty drink down on the bar-top, the clinking sound pulling his attention over to you.

Oh, wow.

He was nice to look at from afar, but even nicer to look at up this closely. His face was flushed, likely from the hour-long show he’d just put on, a small smattering of light chestnut freckles peeking out over alabaster skin. His big brown eyes widened as they took you in, as if he couldn’t believe you were staring at him.

“You were great up there,” you started, not able to contain your smile. “Made me forget I was in Hawkins. Thought I was at Whisky a Go Go or something.”

He looked surprised. Whether that was from your compliment or just from you talking to him in general, you weren’t sure. “Yeah?” he prodded, voice deep and raspy, obviously a bit blown out from the seven or eight songs he’d just belted.

You nodded eagerly. He grinned wide, chest puffing out a bit now. Boys plus ego stroking equaled checkmate, one of your favorite mottos.

“Can I, uh, buy you a drink? Whatever you want… whatever that was,” he pointed to your empty glass, “I can buy you another one of those.”

“Nice try, Munson,” came the voice of the bartender. Your new friend — Munson, supposedly — shot him an annoyed look. “I know you’re only twenty. You can have water or a soda. That’s it, kid.”

The raven-haired metalhead turned his attention back to you, face a bit chagrined. “Foiled by the barkeep. Sorry. You want a soda? Best in the Midwest. You’ll never drink another Coca-Cola like this ever again.”

You laughed. “Sure, I’ll take a Best in the Midwest soda. Coke with grenadine, light ice.”

“You heard the lovely lady,” Munson said to the bartender, obviously enjoying that he now got to order the man around a bit. “Coke with grenadine, light ice. Hop to it.”

“Lucky the boss likes you, you little shit,” the bartender was grumbling, but Munson didn’t seem distressed. Amused, if anything.

You watched as his eyes drifted up to the top of your head. “Now those are cool,” he acknowledged, pointing with a ringed finger.

Your brows furrowed in confusion before realization struck. Oh, yeah! You’d forgotten you’d put on a tiny little headband before leaving for the bar. It was black, but had two small red devil horns poking out on either side.

“Why, thank you,” you said, bringing a hand up to touch one of the points. “Although I wasn’t really going for cool. More along the lines of wicked or evil, maybe. Sinful. Be the reason everybody in here’s thinkin’ all those shameful thoughts.”

Had Eddie been anywhere else, or at least not high from the adrenaline he ran on after performing, he knew he wouldn’t have been able to fight off the blush from your comment. That, mixed with the heavy-lidded stare you were currently fixing on him, he’d have been a goner.

Thankfully for him, he was able to continue to false bravado his way through this conversation, as he’d just spent two-ish hours channeling his inner Eric Adams from Manowar. He could act like a big shot for a little longer. “With a face like yours, I don’t think I can call you anything but an angel.” He surprised himself with his flirtatious evenness, but he tried not to let it show on his face.

He watched as your eyes softened a smidge, but the moment was ruined when the bartender shot forward your glass.

“Coke with grenadine, light ice, for the lovely lady,” he mocked, his hard stare never leaving Munson’s face.

When the bartender turned away, Munson glanced at you, then shot a look over his shoulder at the moody man as if to say, What’s this guy’s problem?

You couldn’t help but laugh at his colorful expression before you brought your straw to your lips, taking a sip.

“Oh, fuck!” came the expletive from Munson. “Sorry. Here I am, buying you drinks and calling you an angel, and you don’t even know my name.” He fixed himself into a relaxed pose, leaning his side against the edge of the bar-top. “Hi, there. I’m Eddie.” He offered what he hoped was a beseeching smile.

Eddie… Eddie… where had you heard that name tonight? You knew you’d heard it from somewhere…

Oh! Eddie! As in, Rick’s off-limits, total dork of a friend, Eddie. This had to be him, right?

How lucky you were. You didn’t even have to go searching for your fun for the night. He just strolled off the stage, practically falling right into your lap. He’d even bought you a drink!

Achieving your goal of breaking Rick’s only rule might be a lot easier than you’d intended.

“Ooooh, so you’re Eddie,” you bemused, taking another small drink. “Of course you’re Eddie.”

A worried look overtook his previously collected features. “You’ve heard about me?” he asked. His voice now wasn’t as confident as it had been before. It was tinged with uncertainty, maybe a bit of anticipatory disappointment. “What d'you mean, 'Of course I’m Eddie’?”

“No, no, it’s nothing bad,” you cooed, bringing a hand to rest on his forearm. You could feel the solidity of his muscles beneath your fingers. You fought the urge to squeeze. “All good stuff, actually. Meeting you’s just adding to the intrigue. I promise.”

That seemed to put him more at ease. He nodded slowly, eyes briefly darting down to your hand which was still grazing his arm. You took it away, wondering if he wasn’t appreciative of it.

You’d read it wrong. He was.

“What’s your name?” he asked, finding your stare again.

Should you have told him?

It probably wouldn’t have hurt.

But you were afraid maybe Rick had already gotten to him, told him to steer clear of his little sister. Name dropping yourself might make Eddie back off, and you did not want that.

“You said you can’t call me anything but an angel,” you replied with puckish modesty. “So, let’s stick with that.” You put your free hand out, the one that had previously taken space on his arm. “Hi, Eddie. I’m Angel.”

You were a little bewildering, kind of cryptic, and super fucking hot. Eddie was a big fan of all three. He didn’t want to pressure you into giving an actual name if you didn’t want to. He could live with Angel. It wasn’t like the moniker was inaccurate.

“Okay, angel,” he granted, taking your hand in his. “It’s an honor.” He brought his lips down to press lightly against the skin of your fingers, eyes never leaving yours. He relished in the tiny bite you gave the corner of your lower lip at his action.

The bartender cleared his throat loudly. Both you and Eddie rolled your eyes simultaneously, turning your attention to him again as you pulled your hand back.

“You two mind? No one wants to come up here and drink with the both of you making Fuck Me eyes at each other. Scram.”

“You’re mean,” you admonished.

Eddie laughed at your accusation, bringing a hand up to the back of his neck, rubbing at it under the heavy weight of his hair.

“You smoke?” he asked.

“Smoke what?” you countered.

Eddie grinned. “I was gonna suggest a cigarette, but maybe you’d be interested in something a little… greener?”

Your brows shot up in intrigue and you nodded, sucking the rest of your soda down in three long sips before slamming the glass back down on the wooden surface of the bar.

“Show me the way, rockstar.”

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

“So, I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen you around here before,” Eddie started, leading you out the door of The Hideout, heading into the parking lot.

You’d quickly scanned the crowd for Rick before exiting, wanting to make sure he was still otherwise occupied and wouldn’t catch you sneaking out with the one person he most definitely didn’t want you sneaking out with.

No longer was he talking to the biker bros that had basically accosted him at the table. Now he was sitting so close to a pretty purple haired girl that you were sure their foreheads were touching. His hand was on her cheek, and he was smiling goofily at her.

Good. He should be busy for a while now. Thank you, lavender loc’d lovergirl.

“'Cause you’d remember my pretty face if you’d seen it before, is that the rest of your sentence?” you teased.

Eddie grinned a bit bashfully, hand moving to rub at his neck again. You acknowledged it was probably a tell for when he was nervous or bordering on embarrassed. Good to know, perhaps an essential quirk to tuck away for safekeeping.

“Yeah, something like that,” he admitted with a laugh. “But really. You’re not from Hawkins, are you?”

“I am not from Hawkins, no. I actually just moved here today, if you can believe it.”

“Wow,” Eddie said, voice taking on a bantering tone. “Less than 24 hours here and you’re already walking alone at night with some stranger who many have dubbed a sinister cult leader. I may just be Indiana’s very own Satan incarnate. What ever will your parents think?”

“Well, lucky for you, I happen to be the offspring of a high-level Duke of Hell,” you countered, fully thinking of your mother when you spoke. “Guess it’s a match made in… Inferno?”

“My favorite kind of match,” Eddie confessed with a grin as you approached the brown and cream Chevy Beauville you figured belonged to him.

You paused for a beat as Eddie pulled open the side door before asking, “Do people really think that? That you’re a cult leader?”

“Oh, yeah,” he responded, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world. When he spoke next, he took on a theatrical guise, words laced with performative shock. “When I walk down the street, men can’t help but to scoff and glare; women clutch their purses to their chests; mothers cover their children’s eyes before their children can shriek in horror; dogs bark and wolves howl and the whole Earth opens up beneath my feet.”

You found yourself watching in utter amusement at his sermonizing, your focus unwavering on his expressive hand motions and his demonstrative body language, your ears attuned to every shift in infliction of his voice.

Rick was right.

Eddie was a dork.

But such an endearing dork. A stellar storyteller. A winsome wordsmith. And it was like he wasn’t even trying. Like this ingenuity came to him as easy as taking a breath.

He reminded you a little of your father -- the eagerness to put on a show, the effortless spellbinding nature. The similarities filled your chest with a warmth you hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Too much?” Eddie asked, cringing a little at your silence.

You shook your head slowly, smiling. “Not at all.”

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

Eddie had a multicolor Afghan spread out on the floor in the back of his van, one he informed you was made for him by a past girlfriend of his Uncle’s.

He apologized profusely that the interior wasn’t more appealing, mumbled something about how he should maybe think about getting actual seats installed, but when you sprawled out wordlessly on the blanket, back plush against its scratchy softness, and positively beamed at him, he shut up.

He sat down next to you after finding a half-smoked joint in his middle console, offering it to you for the first hit.

“Where'd you move here from?” he asked after a few moments of peaceful silence, nothing heard but the sizzle from the lit Rizla and the steady stream of cars from the busy street outside.

“Fresno,” you replied, passing the joint to him as you held in your hit until the smoke burned your lungs.

“A California city girl in little ole Hawkins?” he bemused, taking a deep drag. “You must feel pretty out of place here, angel.”

With a shrug, you said, “Dunno yet. It’s only been less than a day, remember?” You took the joint as he extended it out to you, taking a smaller hit this time. “Ask me again after school on Monday.”

“You goin’ to the community college or something?”

“No, I’m still in high school. Senior. I think it’s just called…”

“Hawkins High. Yeah, I uh, I go there too.” That hand rubbing at the back of his neck again. “Um – Paul, y'know, that mean bartender, he… said something about me being twenty? I dunno if you heard. But, yeah. I got held back a few years, so…”

Turns out the hand thing was a sign of embarrassment.

“Eddie, you don’t have to explain yourself to me,” you told him, moving to position your weight onto one side, leaning against your elbow. “Everybody’s on a different path. Besides, high school is such bullshit. It’s basically hardwired for you to fuck up or fail. Believe me, I know.”

You took another hit, this one bigger, wanting to feel the lightheadedness of the high sooner rather than later, especially breaching this subject. It always warranted a lament from you.

“I’ve had specialized learning plans since forever,” you continued, passing the joint off to him. His brows furrowed in concentration as he listened. “I was diagnosed with ADHD when I was little. Like, five or six. I could never sit still in class, and I always needed way more time to take tests than everybody else, and I'd forget whole chunks of paragraphs that I’d just read the second I finished reading them.” You sighed, slightly frustrated at the memories, but the weed was beginning to work its magic. Your muscles felt like they were relaxing, tension drifting away, and your head felt a very good kind of heavy. “But then I got on medicine, and it helped. Still helps.” As an afterthought, you added, “When I remember to take it.”

Eddie considered this for a few moments before sticking the joint in his mouth, inhaling. “Shit. Maybe I have ADHD,” he surmised, exhaling a thick cloud into the air.

“Maybe,” you suggested. “I’d say you could talk to my mom, 'cause she’s a psychiatrist, but she’s actually a huge fucking bitch, so nevermind.”

Eddie laughed, not expecting you to say that, and he'd been in the middle of another inhale so he ended up choking and coughing hard on the smoke.

“Oh, no!” You hurried into a sitting position. “Are you – are you okay?” you asked, and you felt bad, but you couldn’t help the little laughs that were escaping your lips at his now bright red tomato face. You were stoned. “D'you – do you have water in here, somewhere?”

Eddie nodded, having a brief break in his hacking fit, pointing to the front of his van. “Y-yeah, shit,” cough, cough, cough, “o-over there. Fucking fuck, man.” Cough, cough. That last one sounded like it hurt.

You scurried on your hands and knees to the front of the van, scanning the dashboard for some kind of drink. The high made it seem like your eyes could only move in slow motion. Finally spotting a half-drank bottle of blue Gatorade, you snatched it, crawling hurriedly back over to where Eddie sat hunched over, trying to control his breathing.

He took the drink, spun the cap off, and quickly downed most of the contents in an attempt to soothe his raw throat.

“Goddamn,” he rasped out. He realized he was still holding the joint in his hand. He definitely didn’t want anymore now. He looked to you, offering it silently, but you shook your head, rejecting it. He stubbed it out in an ashtray that was laying at his side. Bringing the Gatorade back to his lips, he dipped his head back, finishing it off.

Without really thinking, and weed always loosening your already pretty loose inhibitions, you brought your hand to rest on his cheek, your thumb stroking a small path back and forth on the smooth skin under his eye. “You good?” you asked, the ghost of a laugh twisting at your words.

Eddie’s breath caught in his throat at your touch. He was happy he’d swallowed the Gatorade or else he probably would have started choking on that, too.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt a careful caress like the one you were currently giving him. It was simple, but it felt so good. So soft. And – fuck – you were straddling one of his thighs with your legs, and he didn’t even think you noticed. But he definitely did.

Even though his skin was covered by denim, he could still feel the heat from your center warming him. His cock gave an appreciative jerk in the confines of his tight jeans.

Your eyes finally drifted down to the sitting arrangement you found yourselves in. Slowly lifting your gaze to meet his glassy, doe-eyed stare once more, you tilted your head to the side in quandary, hand not dropping from the curve of his face.

“Should I move?” you asked, voice a pitch louder than a whisper.

“Please don't,” Eddie answered, unblinking.

You let your weight rest fully down on his thigh, shifting your hips once, watching as his eyes rolled back at the contact. He was so receptive that it made your cunt clench around nothing, and you took that moment to pull his face closer to yours, pressing your lips to his almost hard enough to bruise.

Eddie groaned at the feel of your mouth, his tongue eagerly and immediately trying to pry open your lips. You grinned into the kiss, giving him what he wanted by allowing his hot tongue access to slide slippery against your own.

He thought you were sweet and citrusy, like sugared oranges, and a little tart, like ripe pomegranate. He thought fleetingly that if he could, he’d bottle you up and drink you with every meal.

You thought he was fresh and sharp, like spearmint gum, and heady, like expensive sativa. Your tongue fought with his for dominance, each moan from either one of you spurring on the other, greedy mouths working hard to stake their claim.

When you finally pulled away, you were a little out of breath. “God, Eddie, you kiss like you’re thirsty.” Your hand moved from its resting place on his face to tangle in the curls at the back of his head.

He groaned when he felt you tug at the roots of his scalp, bringing a hand up to cradle just under your chin, fingers stretching out over the expanse of your neck. A lazy grin curved at his lips.

“You wanna see thirsty?"

With that, he flipped the both of you over so you were on your back, Eddie positioning himself between your spread legs. You were happy for the padding of the Afghan, knowing the cool steel flooring of the van would have pinched your skin unpleasantly.

He wasted no time in pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, sucking quick but harsh at your supple skin.

You moaned wantonly, lolling your head to the side to give him better access. Your legs moved to wrap around his slim waist, your hips moving up to feel as much of him against your center as you could. Eddie couldn’t help but give a thrust down against you, his persistently hardening cock straining taut against his jeans.

“Can I taste you?” he asked against your skin, pressing softer kisses to the tiny marks he’d left just moments ago with his lips and teeth.

A strained whimper escaped your lips at his request. You nodded, feeling more drunk than high, arching your hips up again to try and garner more friction from him.

“Say it,” he demanded, bringing a hand up to grip at your jaw, forcing you to look at him. “‘I want you to taste me, Eddie.’ Tell me.”

“I want you to taste me, Eddie,” you repeated lewdly, ad-libbing after with, “please, Eddie, want you to make me feel good.”

His pupils blew dark and wide, and he slid the remainder of the way down your body, burying his head under your skirt. Without removing your underwear or even pushing them to the side, he pressed his mouth to the damp fabric, his open-mouthed kisses continuing there. A desperate sound came from him as he sucked you through your panties, the deliciously honeyed scent of you enveloping him completely.

In this moment, he felt like if he died with his face buried in your heat, it would be a very happy and welcomed death.

“Eddie, take them off,” you demanded, shaking your hips around in a frustrated movement.

He laughed at your impatience, but moved to grant you your wish. He hooked his fingers under the sides of your panties, just about to pull them down… before a loud pounding was heard on the outside of the van.

“Hey, Ed? Hate to interrupt you, dude, but my mom’s gonna be pissed if you don’t get me home by 10.”

Eddie groaned loudly, the noise sounding almost pained. It seemed like it took a lot out of him to have to move his head out from under your skirt. He glanced over his shoulder to the clock on his dash, the LED numbers reading 9:35PM.

“This dream just turned into a real fucking nightmare, angel,” he grumbled, biting down lightly at your inner thigh.

You jolted at the feel of his teeth, and couldn’t help but give a frustrated whine at his sentiment, wholly agreeing. Your entire body was thrumming, wanting so badly to be touched and given a release.

“Eddie…?” came the voice again.

“Yeah, Doug, got it. Give me a minute, man.”

Eddie took one more longing look at your clothed cunt, studying the wet spot made from his spit and your arousal. He gave a salacious lick of his lips before dragging his eyes up to meet yours.

“That’s my bassist,” he begrudgingly informed. “His mom’s like your mom. Huge fucking bitch, but don't ever tell him I said that. I have to drive him home or else she’ll forever forbid him to play another show.”

You offered him a placating smile, moving your hand to brush a few of his longer bangs from around his eyes. “It’s okay. I mean, it really isn’t, 'cause I’m so fucking horny right now, but I get it.” Eddie gave another groan at your admission. He cursed the universe for shit fucking timing, and for totally inconsiderate bassists who didn’t have their licenses.

“Can I see you again?” he asked, voice bordering on timid.

It was shocking to you how he could go from dirty mouthed amateur porn star to red-cheeked virginal teenage boy in the matter of minutes. The duality was enticing. You briefly wondered just how far you could push him to either end of the spectrum.

“I’ll give you my number,” you said, but then remembered, “oh, wait, I don’t know my number yet. Um. You can give me yours?”

Eddie nodded fervently, moving to a kneeling position as he reached over and started looking through a pile of stuff on his passenger seat. He pulled out a pen from the mess and ripped off a small piece of paper from an old report card, quickly scrawling down his digits.

“Here,” he said, moving to hand it to you. He did a quick once over though, realizing you didn’t have pockets, so he slid the folded piece of paper under the front hem of your panties. He patted it with his fingers and gave a pleased grin before saying, “C'mon, I’ll walk you back inside.”

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

By the time you’d made it back through the front door of The Hideout, Rick was running around like a chicken with its head cut off, obviously in search of you.

“What the fuck, Bean!” he scolded, marching his way up to you when he spotted you walking in, not even glancing at Eddie. “I don’t pay attention for two minutes and you disappear for an hour?!”

“Two minutes, Richard, really?” you laughed out, the sound incredulous. Because, really, Rick’s timeframe was way, way off. You knew he wasn’t the greatest at math, but damn, right now he was straight up delusional. “You’ve been talking to everyone but me since we got here! You weren't paying attention for way longer than two minutes.”

“So not fuckin’ true,” he said, but his tone was quieter now as if he figured that, yeah, it might actually be true.

Rick’s eyes finally drifted to your side, observing Eddie’s presence. You’d taken great care to fix the boy’s hair and his clothing, making sure he didn’t look disheveled for this very reason – you could tell Rick was sizing the younger man up after finding out the two of you were off somewhere together. Alone.

Eddie looked like a lost puppy, glancing between you and Rick, trying to figure out what the fuck the dynamic between the two of you was. You tried your hardest not to look so amused at his sweet, utterly confused expression.

“Oh, yeah, I ran into Eddie while I was outside smoking,” you explained away easily. “He told me you guys are friends. I figured he’s who you brought me here to meet.”

Eddie side eyed you, unsure of where this was heading. He definitely did not tell you that he and Rick were friends. Eddie didn’t even think him and Rick were friends. He hoped they were, he wanted them to be, but he didn’t think it’s how Rick would have classified their relationship.

Rick turned his apprehensive gaze on Eddie. “Is that true?” he asked, eye contact steady and unblinking.

Best go along with it, Eddie thought.

“Couldn’t be truer.”

The older man seemed to consider Eddie’s response for a minute before a familiar silly grin etched itself across his pierced face.

“Cool!” he exclaimed, clapping Eddie on the shoulder.

Rick had been planning on propositioning Eddie tonight about being your watchdog, but after downing a few drinks and having basically driven around for the past four days straight with little sleep, he figured that conversation could wait a little longer. “You wanna come over tomorrow night, Munson? Hang out with me and the little sister for a bit?”

Eddie’s brows furrowed, shaking his head slowly in uncertainty. “Sure, but... who’s your little sister?”

Rick’s smile slowly began to fade in skepticism as his attention moved from Eddie and back to you standing beside him.

“Me, silly,” you admonished, bringing a hand down to grab at his, concealing the contact behind your back so Rick didn’t see. You stroked the skin on his thumb in a wordless apology for the whole not-being-totally-honest-about-who-you-were thing.

Eddie’s eyes widened at the reveal, still a little too stoned for the realization that he’d just had one of the hottest make-out sessions of his entire life with… Reefer Rick Lipton's… little sister…

Shit.

“Remember? I told you outside?” you were pleading at him with your eyes, still trying to make it not appear obvious that you were lying your ass off to your older brother.

Eddie indulged, not wanting to be on the receiving end of the rage of Rick if he found out what had just gone one in the back of his Beauville.

“Oh, yeah! Right, right!” Eddie tried to play it off. “Sorry, man, I’m just – totally fucking stoned.” That part was relatively true. This whole interaction was making him feel even higher than he thought he was in the first place, actually. Eddie gave Rick what he prayed was an easy-going grin.

You released Eddie and stepped in between the two of them, forcing out a wide yawn. “Rick, c'mon, I’m getting tired,” you brought your hand to your brother’s arm, starting to tug at him, pulling him toward the door. “Let’s go home.” You stressed the last word, hoping that by you referring to his Hawkins residence as that, it would soften and distract him.

It did.

Rick relented, figuring he was probably just looking too deeply into things, understanding his paranoia sometimes got the better of him. Nothing probably happened between you and Eddie. He was probably just being an overbearing older brother. Probably.

“Right. 'Kay. Lemme just go find this one girl and say bye.” He disappeared off into the dwindling crowd, and you assumed he was off to bid adieu to the same purple-haired girl from before.

You took this as your chance to turn to Eddie.

Eddie, who was currently staring at you a little too warily for your liking.

“Please don’t be mad at me,” you implored, fingers finding his hand again. He didn’t make a move to pull away, so you took that as a good sign. “Just come over tomorrow night, okay? We can talk about it.”

It kind of freaked you out how much you didn’t want this – whatever this was – between the two of you to be ruined so quickly.

Since your dad left, you knew things in your life had gone a little downhill, and you also knew you’d been acting a bit belligerently in your attempts to try and ignore it. You’d been making irresponsible, rash decisions all over the board – from school, to home, to friendships and relationships. Nothing seemed to be sacrosanct from your newfound self-sabotaging behaviors.

From this, you’d encountered quite a few willing partners, of both the opposite and same sex, to occupy your mind and time since last summer, and not a single one of them was someone you were interested in getting to know more than just carnally.

Eddie was the first person in a long time you felt you actually clicked with on more than just a physical level, and that was evident from your discourse at the bar, your rendezvous in the van, and now with the realization that you may have screwed it all up by not being truthful to him. You were starting to get a stomach ache. This was so not how you’d planned on the night ending.

Across from you, Eddie seemed to weigh the entire situation as you just had, his dark brown eyes studying your face as he did so. Maybe to find a glimmer of further deceit? Of an ulterior motive? He was used to those things. It wasn’t often people wanted him just to want him. It was usually to get something from him.

However, he could find nothing but honest anticipation in your eyes. His fingers squeezed yours briefly before Rick made his way back over, your brother’s heavily tattooed arm sliding around your frame as he pulled you away.

“See ya tomorrow, Munson!” Rick called.

At the last moment you could, right before the door to the bar closed, you looked back over your shoulder at Eddie. He saw you smile at him. Your intention was to silently ask for the possibility of forgiveness, or at the very least, understanding.

Eddie watched the door you’d exited through for a minute or two longer. Blinking back to reality, he realized he was tired, at first thinking it was just from the weed, but then remembering that Corroded Coffin had literally played a show tonight.

That seemed like days ago at this point.

Being in the van with you had felt like a lengthy escapade, definitely more than just roughly sixty minutes spent together.

Eddie’s palms started to sweat.

He hadn’t known you before an hour ago, but now that you weren’t next to him anymore, talking and teasing, he’d felt more alone than he had in a long time.

Exiting the bar, Eddie headed back to his van.

The whole trip to Dougie’s house and then on his ride back to the trailer park, he was fake scenario-ing all the different ways tomorrow night at Rick’s could go.

Maybe he was bound to be screwed over by you eventually, fucked royally in a not-so-fun way.

But Eddie, ever the opportunist, would likely let you as long as that meant he got to go along for the ride.

#eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #billy x reader #billy x you #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove #billy hargrove smut #mungrove x reader #mungrove

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spatialwave · 12 days

Text

𝐝𝐚𝐳𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝. 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞.

“𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐖𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐋”

pairing: angus tully x fem!reader | benny o’donnell x fem!reader word count: 8.2k summary: with the emporium not being the only form of entertainment for the night, you find yourself nestled in the backseat of a car with a group of boys, all so you could spend a few more minutes with a cute, but troubled football player. you had no idea the chaos that was brewing, but hopefully you'd score a beer or two. warnings/tags: underage drinking and drug use, use of homophobic slurs, bullying, verbal/physical fighting, jealousy, love triangle. notes: this took so long, but i tried my best to make sure i could pace it out well, i hope you enjoy. <3

(ao3 vers.)

<- chapter two.

When you woke up on May 28th, 1976 you had expected a fun, but well-planned day. Wake up and get ready much earlier than normal so you could spend dedicated time on your hair, makeup and clothes. Once at school, you’d go to each class with a smile on your face and be thankful that it would all be over soon. Finish it all up with some ‘light’ hazing over the incoming freshman’s and make way for Pickford’s party so you could get plastered in celebration of summer.

It was an extremely easy plan that shouldn’t have had any fuck-ups, but that’s not how your life worked. You could plan your day with an itinerary and share it amongst all your closest friends, but they wouldn’t listen–you were a magnet of chaos. Hell, your friends were chaos.

Hazing hadn’t even concluded before you were running off with the boy you’d spent the past few weeks dreaming of, praying for his affection. Then, after the party fell through, you found yourself with Benny, his presence comforting for the first time. A new experience that left more to be desired.

Perhaps Kaye was right, had you become a walking cliché?

It’s not like you’d meant to get involved with two boys, but you’ve heard this line many times in your life–the heart wants what the heart wants. You just happened to have two people digging into your chest, racing to claim it, and you weren’t sure who to open it for.

Angus Tully was one of the kindest boys you’d ever met, sure, a firecracker at times who despised authority in all forms, but he was kind. The first day you met him, he greeted you with a tiny smile and invited you to a poker night with Mike, Tony and Cynthia. You would never forget the way that invite, as small as it was for him, was huge for you–a light in the darkness for a girl who transferred schools in the middle of the year, fearing that she’d never make friends again.

Benny O’Donnell, well, he was a different story. You’d met him formally at a party at Shavonne’s place, a few beers in and looking for attention that he was more than happy to provide. That was the first night in a string of many where you learned each other’s bodies in ways that no one else had. It evolved into what you could only describe as casual hook-ups, although, there were blossoming feelings you’d tried to ignore.

It only became complicated when Angus came into the picture. When you finally decided to take him up on the offer of poker, a month before school ended. The plans had fallen through when Tony and Cynthia fell sick with a bad cold, and Mike said that he was bored by playing poker with only three people. Before you could withdraw for the night and rely on Benny for backup, Angus convinced you to spend the evening with him.

Unbeknownst to you, you fell for him that night. Hard.

It was easy to pretend like those feelings weren’t there, but you’d started cancelling on Benny more often and instead finding yourself in the passenger seat of Angus’ car. That was telling.

Now, you were in the backseat of Pickford’s car with a familiar hand on your thigh and the smell of weed strong in your nose. You weren’t sure how you let yourself get caught up in this mess, but the lack of willpower to speak your mind was the likely culprit.

Smacking your lips, you looked down at your feet when you feel something hard and cold against your sandal-clad foot. Your eyes dropped, and you blinked a few times in the darkness of the backseat as Pickford backed out of the spot at the Emporium. You furrowed your brows together and reached down, hands gliding over a smooth sphere, save for three holes in the top.

“Who’s bowling ball is this?” You asked curiously, picking up the heavy ball and resting it over your lap which had Angus pulling his hand away from you to make space for it. You quickly wished you left it down at your feet.

“Yours,” Jason said from the passenger seat, a grin on his lips as a flame illuminated his face while lighting the end of a half-assed rolled joint.

You snorted a laugh as you rubbed your hands over the bowling ball, feeling the surface of it and relishing in the way it felt against your skin. You pulled your gaze up to look between the two boys in the front as you slowly slid closer to the middle seat, the bowling ball snug between your hip and the door. Your eyes then watched as Jason’s hand reached behind his headrest, joint in hand as he passed it to Angus.

Sitting closer to him now, you watched as he held the joint to his lips and inhaled. The embers at the end of it reddened, you were mesmerized by it—by him. By the way he pulled the joint away and parted his lips and inhaled the lingering, thick smoke that dared to escape. Your eyes were fixated on his lips, and you hadn’t realized how intently you were staring until your gaze flickered up, and you saw the smirk on Angus’ face just as he exhaled.

Straightening up slightly, your eyes were pulled away when another hand reached back behind the headrest, Pickford’s—offering you his lit joint.

You took it in your hands eagerly, inspecting how expertly it was rolled, and you imagined the way Michelle likely rolled this one. Carefully and meticulously, yet like it was no trouble at all.

“You a smoker?” Angus chuckled, his hand returning after he passed the roach back to Jason who smoked the rest until he threw it out the window.

“What? A lady can’t indulge?” You quipped in return, smiling as you brought it to your lips and inhaled with ease. The smoke filled your lungs, and you pulled the joint away, holding the smoke for a few seconds before parting your lips and letting it flow out of you and into the air—dissipating instantly from the wind coming in through the windows.

Your chest burned, but you didn’t cough, and you scrunched your face as you stifled it.

“God,” you groaned before taking another small hit, quickly passing the joint back to Pickford as you exhaled once more, “And you?” You asked, turning to look at the boy sitting next to you, “Thought you weren’t supposed to be smoking or drinking… you know, that little pledge of yours, Mr. Quarterback.”

“Fuck that,” Angus huffed, “that pledge is bullshit.”

“Just sign the damn papers, man,” Jason jumped in the conversation, “It’s the least you can do, it’s not like we’re all going to turn into prudes tomorrow morning, we’ll still be having fun next year.”

“Yeah, but that’s not the issue,” the boy beside you grumbled, “It’s that we’re signing this stupid pledge and letting them have the upper hand over us. It’s so fucked that they think they can control us.”

Jason rolled his eyes, biting his tongue back from continuing the conversation.

You watched Angus as he spoke, the anger palpable. Silently, you reached a hand to rest on his thigh, his attention moving from the back of Jason’s head and to you, gaze softening. You squeezed his thigh, an action of reassurance––a familiar touch, one that he often gave you.

“Hey, hey!” Jason exclaimed, reaching an arm out and hitting the exterior of the car door, “pull over to the trashcan. Pull over!”

This was enough to perk up and gain your interest, leaning a bit forward in your seat as you watched Pickford slow down and pull over to the side of the road, but still moving. You hadn’t realized how high you’d gotten until your body couldn’t hold itself forward anymore and had to rest back into the seat, almost like you were glued to it.

And just like that, Angus’ attention was far from the pledge and instead focused on Jason with a big smile as his friend picked up said trashcan.

As you opened your mouth to ask what the hell his was doing, your eyes widened as he threw the trashcan at a mailbox as Pickford sped back up—destroying it completely. The boys whooped and cheered, but all you could do was sit there with an open mouth as you turned in your seat and looked back at the trash scattered on the person’s lawn, mailbox somewhere in the mix.

“This is what you do for fun?” You quirked an eyebrow at Angus, a permanent smile over your lips as your glossy eyes stared at him.

“Sorry if it isn’t up to your standards, my highness. Maybe you should learn to get off that high horse of yours and loosen up a little,” he grinned, rolling down his window as he watched your face turn into one of offense, “Slow down,” he called out to Pickford, leaning over and out the window carefully, “let me get this one!”

From your position beside him, you watched Angus with half-lidded eyes that glimmered with curiosity and interest. As if you were scared he’d fall out, you reached your hand so you could loop a finger into the belt buckle of his pants as he leaned out and grabbed onto the trashcan. You were able to get a better look this time as he picked up the metal bin, holding it a few inches off the ground as the car sped forward. Soon, he mustered up the strength to toss it at a mailbox that was decorated white, blue and red patriotically, immediately smashed into pieces.

Again, the boys cheered and whooped loudly––the car full of laughter as the sound of the rolling trashcan on pavement became quiet as you sped away from the scene of the crime.

With a big smile on your face, you leaned back in your seat, now perfectly in the middle and nestled up against Angus like you’d been in this position many times before. It felt normal, his arm dangling over your shoulders and a grin on his lips as he smoked the last joint you’d four had been smoking. You couldn’t help but stare up at him in awe, watching as his curls became nothing but a mess because of the wind rushing in through the open windows. And how his cheeks flushed red when the smoke hit too hard and started coughing.

You could never have a nice, gentle moment, could you?

“The bowling ball––” Jason blurted out as he finished swallowing down half a beer, excitement radiating like it was a Nobel Prize idea. The teen turned around completely in his seat so he could look at you and point at the heavy bowling ball just to your left, a wide smile that made you uneasy.

Your eyes travelled, settling on the globe. If you were sober, you’d be retorting at the blonde boy for having such a stupid idea, but you couldn’t think straight. You couldn’t think at all.

“The ball?” You questioned with furrowed brows, pulling away from Angus’ touch as you let your hands touch the surface of it again, picking it up and feeling the heaviness as it dropped on your lap, “You want me to throw it?” A laugh bubbled up from your throat at the mere idea.

“Fuck yeah, I do. Throw the goddamn ball.” Jason beamed, eagerly sitting closer and Pickford’s eyes watching from

“Throw it,” Angus chimed in, leaning so close to you that you felt his words tickle your ear.

Still, even as you neared a felony offense, you hadn’t had any urge to stop. You were a puppet to the boys right now, willing to do whatever they said to fit in. You were no better than your younger brother, who was likely doing the same thing back at the Emporium––though, your foggy mind kept you from overanalyzing the ‘why’ of it all.

All you could do was keep pushing forward, sliding your body until you were against interior of the car and head peaking out the window. The air was cool against your skin, offering relief that you didn’t know you needed from the heat of the car. Your eyes adjusted to your surroundings, a residential neighbourhood with rows of houses and mailboxes all waiting to be destroyed by a flying bowling ball.

Knowing that your audience was waiting, you used all the strength that you could muster up in your altered state and pulled the bowling ball up until it was resting between you and the base of the car window.

You wasted no time.

Within seconds, you took hold of the bowling ball and threw it, intending for it to smack the mailbox that was adorned in colour birds and butterflies, likely home to an elderly woman. Instead, you were greeted with the sounds of glass shattering as it landed right into the rear window of an old Cadillac.

Time slowed for a second, your eyes watching as the now-damaged vehicle passed by. Waiting to ruin an unfortunate soul’s morning when they realize their car has been subjected to high school shenanigans.

Your jaw dropped, and you pulled yourself back into the car, eyes wide and your high threatening to disappear as reality sunk in. Yep, you’d done it. You finally allowed peer pressure consume you to the point of vandalism and criminal offenses. So long to the scholarships you so desperately wanted, and hello to juvenile detention.

Your mother would cry when she found out, your father disowning you. Your younger brother would follow in your footsteps, becoming a menace and fitting in with the wrong crowd. Oh, and your grandmother––how would she react? You didn’t want to think about that.

Body frozen, you thinned your lips as your mind rambled, yet, at the same time, felt quiet. Your eyes flickered around, and you saw that the three boys all looked similar, but there was a hint of amusement. Pickford was fighting back a smile, and Jason was starting to snicker.

Angus was the first to erupt into a loud fit of laughter that the two other boys joined, leaving you speechless… and relieved. A small smile spread onto your face as your body relaxed into the leather seat, their laughter contagious as your emotions went from scared shitless to who-gives-a-flying-fuck!

“You’re nuts. Fucking nuts!” Pickford laughed, leaving you blushing under the attention as he reached his hand back for you to take. He shook your hand proudly, a big smile on his lips, as Jason cheered and looked around for a celebratory beer.

Even as your attention was enraptured by the two rowdy boys sitting up front, you noticed the way that Angus was smirking at you out of the corner of your faded vision. Lips pulled to the side lazily, his hand reaching to rest on the designated spot on your clothed thigh reserved solely for his touch.

Fuck. You squeezed your thighs together––the fluttering in your stomach mixed with the high was making you feel good.

“Hey!” Jason called out, grunting, “We’re outta’ beer, man. We have to make a stop at grab ‘n’ go.”

“I don’t have any money,” Pickford was prompt in his reply, hand tightening over the steering wheel as the car made a sharp turn toward the corner store.

“Who’s got money?” The blond spun in his seat, eyes flickering between you and Angus, leaving you doe-eyed and shrugging.

“I––” you stuttered, hands flying to your jean pockets and fingers digging inside, Angus following in suit.

Jason waved his hand in front of his face, turning around in his seat as, “Doesn’t matter, I’ll get it.”

“What are you going to do, hoist it?” Pickford asked as he slowed the car, shifting into park and twisting the keys in the ignition so the engine lulled.

“It’s all I ever do,” Jason retorted, turning around in his seat and grinning at you, “I just need a certain someone as a lookout.”

“Me?” You questioned quickly, looking over at Angus and feeling your body grow warm. Was throwing a bowling ball into someone’s vehicle not enough? Now you were being wrangled into petty thievery.

“I don’t know about this, Jay,” Angus shifted in his seat uncomfortably, and you could see the worry on his face for getting you involved. That didn’t stop Pickford from getting out of the car, though, pulling his seat forward and giving you space to crawl out and be a lookout, so the group could score.

You inhaled a sharp breath, pulling your gaze from Angus and deciding that you’d do it. You were already in deep, you might as well get a beer or two out of this.

“Be careful, darling,” Pickford grinned as you stepped out, smoothing down the halter top you wore that had ridden up your rib cage and exposed most of your stomach.

“Whatever,” you rolled your eyes, stepping away from him and heading to the front of the store with Jason, feeling like you could definitely use more weed and beer to get rid of your sobriety. Being caught up in crimes was a sure way to get that hazy feeling out of your head, “I don’t know about this Jason,” you spoke softly, your arms wrapped around your stomach as you slowed down near the door, wide eyes looking up at him and pleading.

“Shh,” Jason shushed you, stopping in his footsteps and peaking around you to look over at Angus and Pickford, eyes settling on you again, “I’m going to pay for it, I’m just messing with them.” He smiled wide, immediate relief washing over you when you realized he was only trying to be ‘cool’ in front of the boys.

A quiet laugh came from you as you slid your hands into your back pockets, nodding at him as he walked inside the convenient store and pulled some bills out of his wallet.

You were given a moment of reprieve as you stood under the fluorescent lights of the store’s awning, tilting your head back and inhaling a deep breath of the late, summer air. It smelled like there was rain in the distance, and you wondered if tomorrow you’d be spending the day inside recovering from a hangover and listening to a thunderstorm. Not a terrible way to kick off the break––cozy and relaxed.

Your eyes closed as you relaxed, breathing slowly and listening to the distant sounds of Pickford and Angus chatting, likely about they’d be doing for the rest of the evening. The buzzing of the lights above you, the crickets that sounded like they were across the street in the grassy park.

The sound of the door opening startled you, having been lost in your thoughts for a few minutes while Jason had ‘stolen’ the goods.

“Go, go, go!” He said to you, ducking down underneath the building windows and putting on a show for the others like he’d just stolen everything he held in his arms. Quickly, you turned on your feet and scrambled for the car, adrenaline coursing through your veins––even if this was pretend.

You hadn’t noticed the sound of tires screeching behind you as you slid into the backseat as Pickford leaned forward in the driver’s seat, only noticing someone else had arrived when a well-polished revolver was pointed at your face.

People lied when they say they see their life flash before their eyes in those fleeting moments before death because you didn’t see shit. All you saw was a huffy, angered man who was too unhinged for his own good. You didn’t get to witness all of your greatest moments one final time.

This sucked.

“Don’t try anything, or I’ll shoot the shit outta’ ya!” He growled at the group, pointing the gun now at Pickford and Jason.

As your heart leaped up into your throat, you felt arms wrap around your waist and heat press against your back. Angus held you tight, and you could feel how fast his heart was beating, too, as you put your hands over his and squeezed them until you felt like you would nearly break them.

“Jay, give him the money, man.” Pickford said as he lowered in his seat, eyes wide and focused on the blonde boy sitting ahead in the passenger seat.

“I paid for the beer, man.” He replied, staring down the barrel of the gun.

You squeezed at Angus’ hands again, trying your best to keep a steady breath and not spiral. It was difficult, though, because at any moment you feared the sounds of four gunshots and meeting with an untimely death. All because of what? What the hell did he want?

“You busted my mailbox, didn’t you?” He asked, hand shaking as he pointed the gun with fervour and intimidation. It worked––all of you shivering in fear and hoping the barrel wouldn’t point at you. “Look me in the eye, girl!” He snapped, pointing the gun to the back seat and in your face.

That’s when the image flashed through your head, the mailbox painted red, white and blue… scattered and broken on the lawn.

“I-I… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you spoke, words shaky and heart racing, Angus’ arms around you providing no comfort when he couldn’t block a shot from going in your head, “I think you might’ve got us confus–”

“Huh?” He goaded loudly, now pointing the gun at Pickford, the silver barrel pushing against the boy’s nose, “Tamperin’ with mailboxes is a felony offense. Now, I done called the police…” The old man grunted, uncocking the gun and taking a step back, slowly. Your eyes flickered to the boy in the driver’s seat, and you noticed how his shoulders relaxed, but eyes still wide as he slowly turned to look at Jason––begging for an answer on what to do.

“I think you boys ought to get out of the car,” the man huffed, holstering the gun in his pants as he took a step back.

That’s when Angus clung to you tight as he leaned forward, whispering between Pickford and Jason, “Just get the fuck out of here,” he hissed, keeping his voice low, “go!”

It felt like everything else happened in the blink of an eye, your eyes flickered to see as the older man had reached forward and opened the driver’s door ajar in an attempt to coax you all out of the car. Then, you heard the sound of the engine roar after Jason shifted the gear into drive and Pickford slammed his food on the accelerator.

“Go, go, go, go!” You shouted loudly, flying back against Angus as the car shot forward, and all you could hear was the sounds of the man yelling loudly as he tumbled back onto the pavement.

With wide eyes and smiles adorning your faces, both you and Angus turned around in your seats, watching as the man scrambled to his feet. Your lips had parted to shout something at him, some form of a ‘fuck you’, but you were greeted with a gunshot. The bullet missed the car entirely, but all of you still slid down to avoid any strays that could penetrate the windows.

“Holy shit!” You yelled loudly––Jason’s laugh louder––hands over your head as you kept your body sunken below the seat, glancing over to Angus, whose eyes were already on you. Two more shots missed the car, but by now the entire situation felt like a distant memory as you stared into those big brown eyes full of life and wonder, fear long gone now that you’d all escaped with nothing more than adrenaline pumping through your blood vessels.

Both Pickford and Jason were too caught up with each other, sharing a laugh over the old geezer who would be doing nothing but dealing with cops and unknowing who the hell to charge.

You, though, were completely enraptured by the boy next to you, a big smile on your face that matched his. Your heart skipped when he reached a hand forward, using it to tuck back some of your that had blown into your face from the breeze blowing through the open window.

This was terrible timing, you knew it. You knew that driving away and being shot at by some crazy old man who loved his mailbox more than his wife was likely the worst time to realize how deeply in love you were with someone. But you couldn’t help it.

Not when his long fingers brushed against your warm cheek, your skin tingling in its wake. Especially not when he leaned forward so slowly and left you completely breathless when his lips grazed against yours in a kiss that made your entire body shiver and ache for more. Your eyes closed, and you inhaled sharply through your nose as you two moved your lips together just barely—just enough to taste each other for a brief moment.

Nearly as quick as he’d done it, he pulled away with reddened cheeks and left you having to swallow down an audible whimper.

It was a saving grace that Pickford or Jason didn’t notice, instead too fixated on passing the last remnants of the joint between each other––the smell of marijuana pulling you both away from the kiss you shared and back into the present. Feeling nothing short of awkward as Pickford reached forward and turned up the radio, so Low Rider could play loudly through the speakers.

Clearing your throat, you pulled away and sat up in your seat, your thumb brushing against your lip longingly, watching through the corner of your eye as Angus pulled away just as quickly, running a hand through his curls.

The rest of the car ride was silent between you two, sharing nothing more than the smallest of knowing smiles and wondering if this meant you’d be seeing more of each other later. The troubles of Elise and Benny were far from you––until the car pulled back into the Emporium’s lot and your eyes landed on the blond boy standing outside the building, cigarette between his lips and hands on his hips. He wore a long-sleeve striped button down and a blue ball cap snug on his head, an outfit you’d seen him wear on many other party nights. Discernible as his ‘nice’ outfit.

The more you stared at him, the more you had begun to realize that he wasn’t… well––he wasn’t Angus. You felt terrible, staring at him from the darkened backseat, watching the sparkle in his eyes when those blue eyes flickered over and landed on you.

It wasn’t until you felt the pressure removed from your thigh that you realized Angus had already slid out from the backseat, dipping inside the Emporium with Jason tagging along. Abandoning you, so you could have your time with Benny.

As you moved out from behind the driver’s seat, your fingers brushed your lips again absentmindedly. Angus’ lips were softer than you imagined and had tasted of cheap beer, a taste that wasn’t new to you, but was heavenly coming from him.

“Hey!” A girl’s voice called to you as you shut the car door behind you, your hand quickly dropping from your lips and instead shoving it deep into the pocket of your jeans, “I heard you got shot at by some old geriatric.” Shavonne laughed, leaning up against the side of Pickford’s car, a cigarette snug between her fingers.

“News travels fast,” you returned, chewing on your bottom lip as you took the cigarette and indulged in a drag, “It was insane. I don’t know why I let myself get caught up with them.”

The blonde took back her cigarette begrudgingly, taking the last drag before stomping it out with her shoe on the ground, “I don’t know why you’re complaining, you’ve got messy hair and red cheeks. You look like you had the best time of your life,” she said to you, narrowing her eyes slightly as she looked deep into yours, “and you’re high as hell.”

“Am not,” you protested, the effects of the weed long gone.

“Don’t lie to me, girl,” she giggled––her teasing sending a shiver down your spine as it reminded you of the old man who had said the same thing moments earlier. She shoved you playfully with her hand before reaching up and fixing some of your misplaced hair, “I suppose a gun in my face would sober me up too.”

“The problem is that I don’t want to be sober anymore,” you huffed, arms crossing over your chest as you let her fix you up, pursing your lips.

“Join the club. Nobody wants to be sober.”

Once inside the Emporium, you managed to score a beer from Teddy. One of the few perks of being linked to Benny––free beer and sexual relief when you needed. You knew better than to complain.

As you stood off to the side, watching Teddy, Mel, Wooderson and Benny indulge in a game of pool, you found yourself growing restless and bored. Stuck here with nothing better to do but watch. You could sense that the others were beginning to feel this way too, the most excitement tonight was coming from Pickford, Angus and Jason who were making their rounds in the Emporium and telling the story of how you’d all been chased by a gun-wielding maniac.

Your eyes settled on the brunet across the room, watching Angus as he closely stood next to Elise––a big smile on his face as Pickford retold the story again to her and Darla with animated movements. Your jaw clenched when your eyes moved downward, seeing the way his hand had snuck behind the girl’s body, much too low to be resting on her back.

With half a beer reigniting the fire in you, you nearly pushed yourself away from the wall and started a scene… until a certain someone stopped you.

“So, you’re a tough girl now?” Benny said, standing a few feet away from the pool table and in front of you, leaning against the cue stick.

“Huh?” You scrunched your face as you looked up at him, blinking through the confusion.

“A tough girl,” he said, “You know? Running away from an old fuck with a loaded gun?”

“Oh, right,” you smiled, shaking your head slightly, “Sorry… I spend one car ride with Pickford and my mind is fucked from the weed,” you carefully avoided the truth, thankful for the distraction from Angus.

“Don’t turn into a stoner on me now,” Benny grinned, looking you up and down, “you have too much potential for that.”

“Oh, a girl can’t smoke once in a while and get chased by someone with a gun without ruining her potential?” You returned the smile, one hand on your hip and the other tucking the can of beer against your halter-covered chest.

“Now you’re twisting my words around,” he chuckled lowly in his throat, the sound making a chill run up your spin as you watched him turn around and strike a ball perfectly into one of the corner pockets, “fuck yeah!” He cheered, sharing a big smile with Kountze, his pool partner.

“Hey, kid,” you heard Mel start speaking, noticing him whispering over to your younger brother and slipping him a couple dollar bills. You watched as your brother’s eyes widened, a smile on his face as he left.

“You get freshman to do your beer runs?” You asked him, quirking an amused eyebrow as you stepped closer to the pool table, looking down at the game that he was losing at as Teddy took a shot.

“Sure do,” he flashed a smile at you, “Don’t worry about him. One day he’ll be doing the exact same thing.”

“Mhm, sure,” you nodded cheekily, taking another sip of your beer and staying close to Benny’s side.

With an entire beer in your system, and another couple hits of a joint, you’d happily forgotten about Angus and Elise now. The anger that had accumulated inside you and was ready to burst had vanished, and you were left only with a buzz that left a smile on your face. You held a cue stick in your hands as Teddy took another shot, loudly cursing when the cue ball struck nothing, leaving you trying to hide a laugh as Benny helped you make a shot for him.

“Benny, just shoot yourself man, I don’t want to lose.” Teddy grumbled from the side, a frown on his face as he looked at you with what you could only discern as disgust. You had no idea how this man still managed to stay afloat in the social ranks.

“Don’t be a prick,” you said to him, but Benny was quick to pull your attention back to the pool game before you and Teddy could go head-to-head in a screaming match.

“C’mon, lean over,” he whispered, guiding you with a hand on the small of your back as he took in a deep breath, pressing you forward until your chest was nearly pressed against the cue stick parallel to the table. Your face felt hot underneath the lamp that lit up the pool table, lighting you up perfectly as several people watched and waited for you to shoot.

“Like this?” You asked quietly, gliding and balancing the stick along the skin between your pointer finger and thumb.

“Yeah, just like that,” Benny knelt down beside you, just enough to get a levelled look at your play. His hand gently rubbed the skin of your lower back, soothing, “Go for the hit.”

Your nose scrunched as you pulled back on the cue stick and slid it forward with a quick ‘snap’. The cue ball rolled forward and crashed into the eight-ball––the one you were trying to avoid. With a look of horror, you quickly pulled yourself upright as you sunk it perfectly into the middle pocket before you could get rid of all the solids, ending Benny and Teddy’s game against Wooderson and Melvin with a loss.

“God fucking dammit,” Teddy groaned, “You might possibly be the worst pool player I’ve ever seen in my life. Seriously.”

“Suck a dick,” you retorted angrily at the boy, sneering in his direction as Benny laughed and so casually wrapped an arm around your waist. You noticed the foreign touch quickly, eyes widening slightly, but refusing to look up at him and allowing your surprise to be caught by him.

What you hadn’t noticed, however, was the glare being shot into the back of your head none other by Angus Tully, who had been standing with Jason a few pool tables down. Those brown eyes were full of jealousy and rage as he clenched his jaw and hands balled into fists, watching too closely at how Benny’s fingers had teasingly dipped into the hem of your halter top along your waist.

You did your best to remain as cool and as casual as you could, thankful that your brother had returned with the score of beer for Melvin so you could focus on something else other than the blond’s large, calloused hand over the exposed skin of your waist. Leaving you shivering at his touch and silently praying for more.

Your head was far in the gutter.

“Benny––” Teddy snapped, “come on, let’s play another, you and me.”

“Weirdo,” you breathed out under your breath, looking over your shoulder as Teddy walked away and started provoking two other boys into playing a game against them. You looked up at Benny and you could see in his eyes how he was trying his hardest to pretend like he wasn’t desperately wanting to go play another round, “go on,” you laughed softly, pulling away from his touch, “I’ll go find Shavonne and Kaye.”

“I’ll catch you later, right?” He asked you, grinning from ear-to-ear as he took a few steps back.

“Yes,” you smiled, waving him away. As you turned on your heel to find your friends in the sea of teens, your eyes met with Angus’ and you sensed exactly what he felt because you’d been looking at him with those same eyes when he was with Elise earlier. Sharp and narrow.

The energy between you was tense, not hostile… but it was sharp. Electric. Jealous. Desire.

You puffed out your chest proudly and walked yourself out of the Emporium with a swaying in your hips as if to take a stab at him, as if somehow he’d sense exactly what you felt. It was so incredibly childish because you both had taken one small step forward with that kiss, only to jump back three paces the moment you felt an ounce of jealousy.

Teen dramatics were a curse.

The moment you were outside, you were able to take in a deep breath, one that expanded your lungs fully and left you able to think clearly for once. “Fuck.” You murmured shakily to yourself as you closed your eyes tight, feeling the cool night breeze on your hot skin, unaware of what was happening just across the street.

A plan concocted by your younger brother.

“Move–” you were rudely interrupted by the voice of Teddy Kountze. The bastard practically knocking you aside as he ran to his car and grabbed his paddle.

“Watch where you’re going!” You grumbled as you caught your feet, watching with sharp, angry eyes as he ran over to the other side of the road to the machine shop––you could just barely make out the boy being leaned up against the large shop door. Carl… something. A friend of your brother’s.

You cringed to yourself as you walked forward to the corner of the Emporium, listening to the foul language that Kountze was spitting at the poor boy. It made you wonder what your brother had gone through earlier that evening at the hands of him. Speaking of the devil, with your arms crossed over your chest, you looked over your shoulder to see your brother standing behind you, with Wooderson and Angus lingering a few steps behind.

“That’s your friend?” You asked him, furrowing your brows together.

“Yeah,” He murmured, doing a good job at pretending like he was worried.

A crowd had started to form just outside the Emporium, tens of eyes watching the scene unfold as Teddy took his precious time, eating up the situation slowly and savouring every last bit of fear coming from the freshman. You could barely make out what he was saying, but you could see the sinister smile on his lips. That man was pure evil.

Though, just as he was preparing for the first of many paddles, your eyes flickered up, and you saw two kids leaning over the roof of the shop with something large in their hands. You were having a hard time connecting the dots, leaning closer as if you would get a better look at them.

Your eyes widened when you saw the paint, watching the white liquid trickle out of the can and splash onto Teddy’s hair. Only enough to get his attention.

“Holy shit,” you grinned, your entire expression brightening up as he lifted a hand to touch the paint in his hair.

“Remember me, you pig?” One of the boys asked loudly from the rooftop, only now seeing that they were also friends of your brother. They began imitating the sounds of squealing pigs as Teddy looked up at them, only to be greeted with an entire bucket of white paint which splashed onto him, covering all of his hair, most of his face and shirt. It left him so vulnerable and pathetic. A small, small man.

You burst into laughter, hell, most of the people around had. If there was anything most people could agree on, it was that Teddy Kountze was a fucking asshole and deserved this.

“Fuckin’ freshman, bastards!” He screamed, pushing the white paint out of his eyes and watching as the kids dropped from the side of the roof and ran to a car that quickly sped off. He walked over to the other senior boys in the class who had been firstly trying to paddle Carl, turning the blame to them, “Jesus! You let that little fuck get away! What’s the matter with you? It’s fucking pitiful!” He shouted at them, turning his anger away from the boys and instead looking over in your direction.

Your brother’s direction.

He began walking across the street, eyes scouring over the crowd that watched, eyes landing on your brother as he narrowed in and chose his next target. It was never Teddy Kountze’s fault.

“What are you smiling at? You little freshman faggot? Huh?!” He walked right past you, reaching out and shoving at your brother so hard he nearly tumbled to the ground.

“Don’t fucking touch him, you pig,” you swore at Kountze, your heart pounding hard in your chest. No one was allowed to treat your brother like that. Absolutely fucking no one.

You reached forward and grabbed at the wet fabric of his shirt, pulling him back hard enough that his attention had gone from your brother and landed right on you. The look in his eyes was wild, crazier than the man who had been pointing a revolver in your face. Teddy Kountze, too, might be more dangerous.

“You step the fuck back,” he warned you through a deep grunt, taking a few taunting steps forward so that you had to back up, “What are you doing to do? Hit me? Stand up for your pathetic little brother?” He teased you, close enough that you could smell the beer radiating from him. Kountze was an angry drunk.

“Don’t take your anger out on the freshman just because you’re an idiot who’s too dumb to graduate.” You quipped, hearing the ‘oohs’ coming from the crowd that gathered around. It was a brave statement coming from you because you knew that it would only take a few seconds for him to blow.

You were almost certain that Teddy Kountze wouldn’t be afraid to hit a woman.

“You shut your whore mouth. Sluts shouldn’t talk––”

Your fist moved faster than your brain, eyes widening when your knuckles made contact with his jaw and pain shot up through your arm. Immediately, you winced in pain, but before you could continue taking your pent-up anger out at him, you felt someone pull you back, while Wooderson pulled Teddy away.

“Didn’t know you were a fighter,” Angus breathed into your ear, you could feel the smirk on his lips as he tugged you back as you tried to wrestle yourself out of his grip to get back at the paint-covered senior. You gave up very quickly, though, when you saw Kountze pulling away from Wooderson.

“Ah, fuck you! Fuck everyone here!” Kountze yelled as he pulled himself away from everyone and stomped to his car. For his final statement and burst of anger, he took the paddle and smashed it onto the ground until it split it in half––tossing it aside before angrily getting inside his car and speeding away in shame.

The crowd had turned to laughter again, a few people telling you ‘good job’, but you didn’t feel like it was a good job. Your hand felt like it had shattered, and the bruising had already started, and now you were wrapped in Angus’ arms wanting nothing more than to spin around and finish the kiss he’d left you with.

You were a mess. Everything was a mess, and you could hardly think straight.

You were a flurry of emotions now, taking a quick, but longing, glance at Angus before pulling away from his grasp and heading right toward your brother––he was far more important right now.

“Hey, are you okay?” You asked him, reaching up to touch his cheek, but he pushed it away.

“Don’t,” he laughed, “it’s covered in paint!”

“Sorry,” you smiled, crinkling your nose down at your hand that had paint smeared on it from the punch you’d just landed on Teddy.

“I’m fine,” he added, “that was badass… but I think he’ll probably hate me for the rest of my life.”

“Yeah, probably,” you breathed out your nose, feeling apologetic for the complications you’d been getting your brother in, “I guess I’ll just have to punch him if he tries something again. Maybe he’ll learn his lesson.”

You both shared a laugh––a gentle moment you both needed during this wild night.

Soon, Mitch’s attention had been taken away by a blonde sophomore girl, leaving you with a small smile at the prospect of your younger brother running in the same crowd with you now. You had long disappeared from the chaos of the night, having met up with Kaye and Shavonne in the quiet washroom as you cleaned yourself up and shared a cigarette with your girls. You promised yourself that you’d spend the next while with them, you seemed to get way too caught up in trouble with anyone else… you could use some time to breath and think over everything that had happened.

Everything about Angus.

“The moon tower?” You asked as you finished touching up your lipstick that you borrowed from Shavonne, noticing in the mirror how your knuckles were nicely bruised, “I don’t think I’ve ever been there.”

“Really?” Kaye questioned, taking a long-needed drag, “I would’ve thought that you and Benny would frequent it a lot… but I guess the floodlight there doesn’t give much privacy for young love, does it?”

“Ha. Ha.” You faked a laugh, “If you must know, we usually have the decency of fucking behind closed doors.” You chided, smacking your lips together a few times before blotting on some paper towel, returning the lipstick to Shavonne.

“So, you and him are still a thing, then?” Your short-haired friend asked, smirking as she passed the cigarette to you.

“Well, I don’t know,” you shrugged with a slight frown, passing it over to Shavonne, not wanting to ruin your lipstick, “What do you want me to say to that?”

“Well, what happened to you and Angus?” She tilted her head, “I don’t think I’ve seen you two interact since you got back from that… joyride.”

“What are you, a stalker?” You prodded at her, “We actually saw each other outside, just before I came in.”

“Really?”

“... Yeah. Kind of.”

“Quit being a prude and fucking tell us! What happened?” Shavonne exclaimed loudly, tired of you beating around the bush, as she took one more drag and tossed the cigarette into the wet sink.

You stood in the middle of the washroom with your arms crossed over your chest, fingers digging into the skin of your forearms as your two closest friends stared daggers into you. Forming the right words in your head was hard because you weren’t exactly sure just how much you should share, or if they would judge you––but the words slipped out so quickly.

“We kissed, okay!” You admitted, your gaze flickering between them, “We kissed in the backseat after that guy pointed his gun in my face. It happened so quick and then… we got awkward about it. I don’t know. Now I feel like we’re just… waiting to see who caves first,” you felt your cheeks warm up, “and I liked it… and I want it to happen again.”

“God. One just isn’t enough for you, is it?” Kaye teased, her voice gentle to show she hadn’t meant anything negative. If anyone was your real best friend, it was her.

“Well, we better get our asses to the moon tower, then.” Shavonne grinned excitedly, licking over her teeth as she pushed herself off of the sink counters, wrapping around your shoulders and tugging you along as Kaye followed, “You, my friend, need a shit ton of beer so you can stop being such a worry wart and finally make the first move.”

A quiet laugh bubbled up from you, knowing that even if she was a bit wild-spirited and acted on impulse, there was truth behind those words. You know that before this night ended, you needed to kiss him again––and preferably on your own terms.

Shortly after, you had settled into the backseat of the car, sitting up on the back of the seat with Sabrina by your side. You were giddy—thankful that there was finally something to do instead of just mayhem after mayhem. An actual party where you could drink, smoke and maybe dance if someone played music loud enough.

A real graduation party.

Just as Kaye backed out of the parking lot, you looked over at the Emporium’s entrance once last time and your eyes settled on Angus Tully as he stepped out of the doors with Jason close behind, hands tucked into the front of his pockets. Everything felt slow as you drove past, your eyes fixated on his as you two shared a knowing look.

Angus winked and left you with a tiny smile on your lips and butterflies swirling in your stomach.

You both wanted each other, desperately.

#angus tully x reader #angus tully #dazed and confused #the holdovers #dominic sessa #angus tully fic #the holdovers fic #the holdovers au #dazed and confused au #wordsbyspatial

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webslingingslasher · 1 year

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Candygrams

i'm writing other things but, c'mon now, it's valentines.

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Genre: fluffy

Word Count: 1.4K

Summary: you send a valentine to peter and hopes he shows up.

Matt broke up with Cynthia and it was rattling the walls of Midtown High.

Especially because it was valentines day, couples can break up any day but one would assume, birthdays, anniversaries and major holidays would be safe, no one breaks up on those days.

Except for Matt.

Cynthia is letting the holiday play into her will. Wails coated the school, people pressured to not show love to their honey, people scared their honey will do the same. She was ripping apart flowers Matt had given her before he dumped her, a pretty brutal move on his end.

You watched with wide eyes, mostly everyone peering over at the girl on the outskirts of campus absolutely losing it. Looking back and forth between the line and the girl you looked to the side of you at MJ, “How long until the resource guards come?”

Cops. They were cops with a safer sounding name, but they were still cops that would detain, handcuff and transport her to somewhere under lock and key.

“She’s absolutely batshit right now.” MJ peered at her through her sunglasses, you snorted and took a step forward. You start to peer at the menu, deciphering which flower seemed best. You heard a scream, “Matt! Don’t do this, don’t let them do this!”

Cynthia was in a full sprint, looping in circles. Yelling out pleas to her ex while he hid his face and let out an “Oh my fucking god,” as she was trying to dodge a cop on foot and a cop in a golf cart. You’ve never seen a more interesting show on valentines, when Cynthia comes back to earth she can never show her face again. You could never live through this humiliation.

“Hi Y/N! Hi MJ!” Betty gave an over exaggerated wave, her eyes hidden by red tinted heart sunglasses. Her earrings were dangled hearts and she wore a cupid’s arrow pin on her shirt. She looked her part, you always commend her full commitment.

“Hey Bets! You look awesome, the booth looks even better!” MJ nods at your words, “You make valentines look classy.”

“Aw guys! I love you both, cause today is love day!”

MJ grimaced, she preferred to pretend she wasn’t doing this because she had a crush, but because she could.

You smiled, glad to finally have a reason to spoil your person.

Betty clapped her hands and got her pen ready.

“Okay! Y/N, which flowers are you going with?”

You point, “Secret admirer, crush and I love you.” Betty squeals and begins to cluster the flowers, different colors, each with a tag to explain what they meant to the receiver. “Would you like to write a note to send with it?” You did, and then sat for a minute trying to think of what to say.

You settled, “If I am who you think I am, I’ll be waiting.”

Ominus, you know. But it made sense, he would get it. Or at least you hoped he would. He should.

“And where is this going, and who to?”

Betty and MJ grinned at you, anxious to hear what they already knew.

“Peter B. Parker, homeroom one oh three.”

MJ clapped you on the shoulder, “That’s my girl. I want the yellow one, Bets. It’s for Brad.”

You held in a laugh, you know MJ and that she’s participating means she’s smitten. However the flower she’s chosen has quite an adorable title, “I notice you,” which could be a little crush or an “hey, you’re not invisible.”

Betty’s smile falters. “You sure that’s the one? If you want I can throw in a crush for you, on me?” MJ shakes her head, “No, I think just the yellow is fine.”

You hear an oof, you look to the left and see Cynthia laid out. Two cops laid on top of her, screams never failing. You follow your eyes to Peter who’s watching with his fist to his mouth with Ned, he takes a sharp inhale as the bigger cop elbows her.

He looks over and waves, you give him one back before throwing a bill at Betty and jogging to catch up.

Peter’s eyebrows raise, “Candygrams?”

“I did fall for the capitalist scheme.”

Peter laughs, “I’m better than buying into all the valentines crap.” You frown slightly, sure it’s mostly junk but sometimes the meaning behind the gift has more value.

“Because, I did my own.” He pauses to lower his backpack, Ned keeps walking. Peter unzips and digs for a moment, then pulls out a card. You can’t help the growing smile stretching across your face, “You didn’t have to.”

He shrugs, “I wanted to.”

You peel the page open.

“Happy Valentine's Day, Y/N. I’m glad to have you in my life and I’m glad you make me feel like I have to write you a Valentine’s day card. It’s a feeling I haven’t had before, I’d been waiting on it for a while. Love, Peter.”

A pout takes over your lip, Peter rolls his eyes. He’s glad you like it, but he’s pretending like he doesn’t care if you like it.

“Peter!” You reach for a hug, he complies. You talk in his ear, he holds tighter. “Thank you, Peter. I love it.”

“Yeah, yeah. Make sure you frame it. It took me all night thinking of what to say.” He sounds joking but he’s serious.

You are too. “Seriously, Peter. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

But he does know, it’s that same feeling he gets at homeroom.

He’s never had a valentine, or given one so this is pretty special for him. Peter nearly slaps himself when his name is announced for a valentine, his name was called clearly. “Peter B. Parker?” Yup, that’s him alright.

He raises his hand shyly, half convinced it’s a prank. But it’s real, three flowers are dropped on his desk, a red, pink and white one. Each had a special meaning, he had to stop himself from taking a whiff right then.

Then remembered it came with a note, his hands nearly shook when he opened it.

“If I am who you think I am, I’ll be waiting.”

He doesn’t know who he thinks you are, but he knows who he hopes you are.

So, he waits.

He waits like he hopes you are, he’ll only be a few more minutes.

You’ve talked about it before. The butterfly museum.

How bad you’ve always wanted to go on a date there, how cute it sounded. You’d tell him, “to get butterflies with butterflies is the kind of on the nose I’m into.” He hummed and agreed it would be cute, because it would. You would just be so happy to be there, and he’d move heaven and earth to see you happy.

He assumes you’re there.

He hopes you’re there.

Peter holds his breath when he opens the enclosure. A burst of air shoots him, then he’s surrounded. Colorful wings decorated the plants and ceiling, he’s never seen anything so beautiful. He understands why you’ve talked about it so much, how beautiful it was.

Nearly forgetting why he’s there he tightens the hold on the flowers behind his back, the ones you’ve gifted him. Peter looks in awe and follows some butterflies as they float in front of him, he’s feeling nearly defeated.

Maybe he has the wrong person, he assumed it was you. But he’s looked all around and couldn’t find you, he had hoped he was right. He wanted it to be you.

He was ready to turn away, until he heard you laugh. His heart is soaring, he looks around then sees behind a bush you stand with a butterfly in your arm. You hold it in front of you and whisper, Peter can’t help the love that tugs at him.

How delicate and gentle you are.

He clears his throat and walks to you, he moves in right behind you. His voice is low in your ear, you jump slightly and turn. In his hand are three flowers. He stretches them out to you.

“Tag. You’re it.”

#peter parker x reader #peter parker blurb #peter parker fluff #peter parker fic #my writing

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mamasturn · 6 months

Text

dirty dancing pt. 9

pairing austin!elvis x black!fem!oc (cynthia). warning: 18+ steam, suggestive themes. content: cynthia and elvis get married. tags: @neeville @dulcewrites @crash-and-cure @cvpidspearl @blackwriter48 @wonderprince @venus2eros @adoreyouusugar @sunshinetoday1 @cosmic-parker @kaitaesupremacy @librarydame @louderfortheback @thetaoofzoe

note: well…long time, no see

“Marry me, baby.”

Cynthia’s hands released the utensils they held. A loud clatter ricocheted off the decorated walls of the dining room. The curls upon her head curtained her eyes, but they were blown wide in shock. Slowly, she tuned to the left. Her eyes found his baby blues, which were filled with hope as he descended onto one knee.

In his hand was a black velvet box. He pulled the cap back to reveal the most piece of jewelry she’d ever seen. And, it was authentically her. She’d expressed to him that as she’d gotten older, she found an indescribable beauty in the color green. Cynthia was well-aware that he was attentive; she just never knew he was so attentive that he’d propose to her with an emerald ring.

It was beautiful, goodness, was it beautiful. The emerald diamond was at least three karats, and it was the star of the show. Its setting was gold with vines entagling the band. He pulled it out of the box and brought it closer to her.

“I don’t want to spend my life with anyone else but you, Cyn. You came in my life and changed my desires. I’d be a fool to let you slip through my fingertips. I want to be yours, and I want you to be mine, as long as you’ll have me.”

A tearful laugh fell from Cythia’s lips. “Where will we go?” The four words held so much weight, and he knew why. No one in the south would approve of the union of a white man and a Black woman--it was unheard of. But, Elvis knew that already, and he was determined to get what he wanted. There was one state that would grant their wishes--California. California had legalized interracial marriage in 1948, and if she said yes, he already had the first flight there arranged. He just needed a yes.

He stood to his feet and placed the box on the table. Cynthia looked up at him, her brown eyes teary and filled with a million unreadable emotions. “California. They’ll accept us out there. They don’t believe in the silliness them people in the south believe. We can get married, baby. All you gotta do is say yes, and we’ll go. It’ll be me an’ you forever. Baby…”

Cynthia stared at the ring and it stared back at her. What would she tell her parents? They were already suspicious of her relationship with Elvis and feared for her safety daily. Their Black daughter was in a committed relationship with the most famous singer in the world. That was dangerous enough. How much further was she willing to go?

She wanted to be his wife, she truly did. But she was scared. What would happen when people found out? Would they try to hurt them? A part of her challenged her concerns because her relationship was nobody else’s concern, and who was society to tell them who to love? Yes, they were of different races, but it was no reason to repel a love that was so strong and profound. They weren’t hurting anyone.

Her lips twisted as she nodded. “Let’s get married.”

“You look beautiful, darlin’.” Cynthia’s eyes dropped toward her dress. It was a simple, white slip dress that’d been hiding in her closet. It was form fitting and stopped just below her knees. Accompanied by silver pointed heels, she was the most stunning bride. She rushed her makeup in the courtroom bathroom and took the rollers out of her hair, which produced the most voluminous curls. The new layered haircut fit her wonderfully.

“Thank you. You look handsome as always.” He wore a simple black suit, nothing too crazy. He was flamboyant any other day, but chose to have the more simplistically beautiful wedding of his dreams.

“We are gathered here today…”

Their eyes met and giddy smiles spread across their faces. A dream had become a reality. All the worries and fears were washed away when she heard, “you may now kiss the bride.” Cynthia welcomed the passionate kiss and scattered applause from the judge an the officiant. It wasn’t the most ideal wedding, but it was perfect for them, and that’s what mattered. “Mr. and Mrs. Presley, congratulations.”

“Mrs. Presley…I love the sound of that.” They’d found a hotel to stay in for the evening before flying back to Graceland the following morning. The hotel service was luxurious, as they wanted the best for Elvis Presley and his wife. They stayed in the presidential suite on the top floor, which was decked out to the nine.

Large windows that oversaw the city, flowers and plants that reminded her of Graceland, chandeliers above them, and a King sized bed with an angel-white comforter, which she laid on comfortably.

Cynthia turned her head to meet his eyes and smiled gently. She loved it too. Cynthia Irene Presley. Music to her ears. Elvis stood at the end of the bed admiring her beauty. She was freshly showered and dressed in her white nightgown with lace trimming. Her makeup had been removed and her hair was tied with a satin scarf. God, she looked so beautiful to him.

Her brown eyes were blown wide with love and adoration as they followed his movements toward her. She sat up on her elbows and spread her legs just slightly to make room for his body.

Elvis crawled over her, his breath fanning her lips gently. Cynthia shuddered. His pink lips captured hers and she welcomed the feeling.

She loved intimate moments with Elvis, and she could only imagine how much better their interactions would get since they were married. It would mean they’d finally go all the way.

Cynthia and Elvis had dabbled in other forms of sexual intimacy, but had never crossed the line of penetration, as Cynthia requested. She was grateful for her husband’s patience with her, and was more than ready to give herself to him fully.

“Elvis,” she moaned softly as his lips traveled down her body. What a sight to see, it was. Him working his way down her quivering body with darkening eyes and swollen lips. Her, jerking at every touch he gave her and calling him name so gently.

“Yeah, baby…” His large hands cupped her hips as his thumbs traced the waistband of her panties. Slowly, he slid them down her legs. Cynthia kicked them to the side.

“Come here.” She pulled him upwards and kissed him again. Her lips moved toward his ear, which she nibbled on softly. Elvis moaned softly. “Make love to me, Mr. Presley.”

He burned with desire. Elvis hummed softly and instructed her to lay back. His hand slid up her abdomen, leaving goosebumps in the wake. He reached behind her back, looking to unclip her bra. She lifted up to help remove the article of clothing.

Soft pants and breaths of anticipation passed through her lips as Elvis’ warm lips traveled down the valley or her chest, around her clothed hips, and between her thighs, where he teasingly and strategically kissed around the place she wanted him the most.

He lifted his eyes, finding Cynthia with closed eyes and a heaving chest. Her lip was caught between her teeth. She looked down at him when she felt him stop.

She tensed suddenly. Elvis rubbed her thighs gently as a way of reassurance. He wouldn’t push her, though. If she needed time to prepare, he’d give her all the time in the world.

“Relax, baby, relax…”

Cynthia nodded slowly. She didn’t want it to be weird, but she was indeed nervous. But, it was Elvis, she reminded herself. She had no reason to be. All of her worries went away when she felt his lips on her. A gasp fell from her lips, “Elvis…”

“You okay?”

Cynthia nodded tiredly against his chest. “I’m okay.” She’d fantasized what her first time would be like, and Elvis exceeded her expectations. She felt so loved, adored, and honored. He paid close attention to her body and made sure her pleasure was the priority, and for that, she couldn’t have been more thankful.

“Mrs. Presley…” Elvis said for what seemed to be the millionth time. It didn’t bother her, though; she enjoyed hearing it. “I love you, darlin’.”

“I love you more, Mr. Presley.”

#black authors #austin butler x reader #austin butler x black!reader #austin butler #austin!elvis x reader #austin!elvis x black!reader #just a little something #writers and authors #black!reader #austin butler inspired male oc x black fem oc #austin elvis imagine #elvis 2022 #elvis presley x black!reader #austin butler elvis #austin!elvis x oc #austin!elvis x black!oc #austin!elvis fanfiction

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wingsoverlagos · 3 months

Text

Lewisohn vs. Cynthia Lennon, Pt. 1 of 3

Seems like we're getting some momentum, eh? Let's keep it going! To that end, here is the first of three posts comparing Tune In against Cynthia Lennon's memoirs. Cyn wrote two memoirs: A Twist of Lennon (1978, henceforth Twist) and John (2005). Lewisohn cites Twist 21 times and John five times, twice in conjunction with Twist. Of these citations, I found issues with sixteen of them. I'm deferring judgment on footnote 9-33 at this time, as it cites three other sources that I haven't gone through yet.

Cyn's memoirs were used both for quotes and for factual information in Tune In. In general, the quotes were less mangled than the ones taken from the 1980 Playboy interview, but I also stumbled upon some other issues, namely plagiarism and mischaracterization of certain events. Some of that will pop up here, but I intend to make standalone posts to explore those issues further.

For previous Lewisohn fact-checking, check out @mythserene's work and my Lewi-sins tag. Onwards!

Twist p.25-6 vs. Tune In 11-22

This passage describes the emotional timbre of John and Cyn’s relationship starting from their art school days. Tune In gives a mostly faithful account – I’ve underlined/highlighted some details that are consistent in both books. There was one line that stuck out to me in Tune In, though: “she knew he’d dismiss her in a second if she didn’t stand up to him.”

There’s no account of Cyn standing up to John in Twist. She withstands his behavior, but there’s no evidence of her pushing back, particularly in the early days. She describes herself as “a quaking, nervous wreck on many an occasion—so much so that the thought of going into college the following day would fill me with fear and dread.” I can’t think of any passages in Twist where we see Cyn standing up to John, and John (2005) is similar. In the latter, Cyn does give a couple of anecdotes in which she goes against John’s will (e.g. having Julian baptized), but this is usually done in an “ask forgiveness, not permission” way, rather than directly confronting him.

In fact, this isn’t the first time Lewisohn mentions Cynthia standing up to John. Just a few paragraphs before the above example, he writes this:

Cyn standing up to John is crucial enough that Lewisohn mentions it twice in short order, but that dynamic isn’t present in either of Cynthia’s accounts. Of course, there’s always the possibility of bias—perhaps Cyn portrayed herself as meeker than she was in practice—but if that’s the case, Lewisohn needs to provide a source. He mentions conflicting accounts multiple times throughout Tune In, but there’s no word of that here.

This isn’t the only time Lewisohn writes something contradicted by his cited source, and in some of those cases, I’ve found information supporting Lewisohn’s account in another, uncited source—we’ll get an example of that in the Twist citations. But I don’t think that’s what’s going on here—I think Lewisohn is subtly but purposefully warping the dynamics of John and Cyn’s relationship to make John come off better. He doesn’t go so far as to erase or excuse John’s abuse, but he implies there was more give-and-take in the relationship than was really there.

Twist p.18 vs. Tune In 10-34

There are no factual errors or misquotes here; Lewisohn is instead too faithful to the source material. Cyn describes her first dance with John as “slow and smoochy”; Lewisohn describes it as “slow, smoochy.” Yeah, he changed the “and” into a comma, but this is still plagiarism. “Slow” is a classic dance descriptor, but “smoochy”? Lewisohn is lifting original, distinct verbiage with little change. If this was a one-off thing, I might give him a pass, but he frequently leans heavily on distinctive phrases from his sources. There will be a post.

Twist p.30 vs. Tune In 13-10

Omission without ellipsis.

Twist p.42-43 vs. Tune In 13-53

A one-word quote from Cyn, but Cyn did not say that one word. Without the quotes this would be fine.

Twist p.37 vs. Tune In 13-64

The quote itself (in green) is consistent here, but check out the surrounding sections in pink. Cyn says that the boys’ magic was “so indefinable as to be almost non-existent at times” until they started playing. Lewisohn uses it as a blanket description of the band while playing. Not the most consequential change, I know, but Lewisohn is nevertheless using a quote in a way that directly contradicts the source.

Twist p.42 vs. Tune In 15-32

A few dropped words and one large, unmarked omission in the middle of the quote, but the meaning is retained.

Source: Lennon C. 1978. A Twist of Lennon. New York (NY): Avon Books. 190p.

#mark lewisohn #tune in #the beatles #cynthia lennon #john lennon #lewi-sins

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stanathanxoox · 1 year

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Hiding From The Bullies

gif is mine

Thank you to @creativepromptsforwriting for these prompts; Twenty-Fourth Day of Gift-Giving: Twenty-Four Touches. There will be more of these fics to come as they are a work in progress but I hope you like what I have so far

Stanathanxoox

Foreheads pressed together, a silent way to say “I’m here” – Newt Scamander x reader

He rushed up to the room of requirement, knowing that it was where you would be. He’d heard about the fight that you’d been involved in, the one where you had tried to stand up for yourself against your bully and instead all he’d done was knock you over and injure you whilst also wounding your pride. Newt had been in a special class at the time with Professor Dumbledore when he’d heard about the fight, your best friend Cynthia rushing to tell you, and whilst Professor Dumbledore had rushed off to deal with the bully, he had raced towards you. Finding you hidden in a small room surrounded by your Muggle comforts he wasn’t really surprised that it was here that you found your calm. You were snuggling a soft brown teddy bear when you hear him whisper

“My sweet Y/N” as he kneels down next to you. Immediately you throw your arms around his neck and begin to sob, even though you hadn’t received more than a small graze to the arm, it had hurt your pride more and you had needed the comfort of your boyfriend in this moment. You tilt your head up and Newt leans his forehead against your own as you give him a watery smile, you knew it was his way of saying that he was here for you no matter what.

Tag List: @tiva-jenry-caskett-rizzles-densi, @jimmybpride, @dressed-up-just-like-z1ggy, @nikkiwierden, @samchelforever007, @kirkspockbones, @xoncisxncislaxncisnolaox, @lasalle-pride-sebastian-love, @haliannej, @brooklyn-99-amyxjake, @mizzezm, @genius2050, @twilight-twihard, @cullencoven2019, @wxlfgirlx, @luciferxchloeislove, @drethanramsey-ismybabe, @sawyer-oakley-is-mighty-fine, @loverofoneshots, @aelin-thefirebreathingbitchqueen

Tag List: @tiva-jenry-caskett-rizzles-densi, @jimmybpride, @dressed-just-like-z1ggy, @nikkiwierden, @samchelforever007, @kirkspockbones, @xoncisxncislaxncisnolaox, @lasalle-pride-sebastian-love, @haliannej, @brooklyn-99-amyxjake, @mizzezm, @genius2050, @twilight-twihard, @cullencoven2019, @wxlfgirlx, @luciferxchloeislove, @drethanramsey-ismybabe, @sawyer-oakley-is-mighty-fine, @loverofoneshots, @aelin-thefirebreathingbitchqueen

Tag List for Harry Potter/Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them/ Hogwarts Mystery: @harryxhermioneisharmony, @myslytherinboiis, @xneville4lunax

#fantastic beasts and where to find them x reader #fantastic beasts and where to find them reader insert #fantastic beasts and where to find them #fantastic beasts and where to find them imagine #newt scamander #newt scamander imagine #newt scamander x reader

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burnt-to-cynders · 8 months

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Alright, time to actually make one of these for real, since this is looooong overdue. Hi! I'm Cynthia! I'm...a lot of things, and I struggle to describe them without it feeling inadequate! I play games, I write software for a living, I write non-software things for fun occasionally, I'm wildly horny, neurodivergent, a massive nerd who constantly wishes she knew more about everything.

Property of: @synthbang and @stalesweetrolls

Let's start with some ID stuff, I'm a pre-HRT(for now!!!) transfem, I go by she/they/it pronouns. My friends call me any fun variation of my name they can come up with, like Cyn, Cyndy, Cyndicate, etc. If we're mutuals, we're friends :3. I'm white, American(New England), poly, t4t, atheist, wildly sapphic, and physically, but not visibly, disabled.

As for interests, I've got literal dozens. Gaming, anime, manga, movies, writing, reading, music, pole dancing, ttrgps, game design, hiking, conservation, activism, fashion, just to name a few, each of which splinters into dozens of little sub-interests. Ask me a dragonball question, I dare you.

Actually, ask me any kind of question. Asks are open all the time and so are anons. Go wild ya horny fools

FOLKS WHO ARE NOT WELCOME (DNIs)

Minors

Seriously, minors, this blog is very horny

Ageless blogs

Sissy kink blogs

Race and ageplayers

SIDEBLOGS

I have two sideblogs atm, although in actuality there's just one that's even remotely active.

@den-of-cyn is where I used to do my hornyposting. The big thing that's there now is the pinned post with a list of my kinks, for those of you interested in the horny side of the Cynner. The account got flagged as NSFT and I haven't been able to get that revoked yet, and moreover I decided to stop worrying about it and just started posting horny on main anyway. There's quite a few good ones on there that I haven't reblogged to here, and a few pics I haven't reposted, so if you somehow don't get enough horny nonsense on this page, you can always go there to see some vintage Cyn >:3

@thebookofcyn is my writing sideblog. It's where all my original stuff will one day live, when I get the spoons to put all my old stuff on it. It is SFT FOR NOW, IT WILL NOT BE IN THE FUTURE! Soon there will be a pinned post there explaining my tags and how to find stories. I'm hoping to post more there as time goes on and I actually embrace this hobby more.