#|| dog residue? : ooc ||

[seaslugfanclub]

~Wanting the Unwanted~

Hans x Reader

I’m yearning fr rn. This is totally OOC, but that’s because unlike the OG Frozen where Hans has NO ONE, he has you. I think reader inserts should affect the universe they’re put in, including changing possible villains.

Enjoy!

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The Westergaards didn’t give a shit about the youngest prince. Everyone knew that….Hans knew that.

Hans knew he was nothing more than an afterthought to his family, less than that even. He was used to the empty glances given to him by his parents and brothers, void of any familiarity and affection. Hollow. A far cry from how families are supposed to look at you, based on what Hans had read from the countless books in the royal library.

The idea of a family was nothing but a fantasy to Hans, just as imaginary as fighting dragons and saving princesses.

Hans had long since accepted his place in the castle, any bitterness long being replaced by apathy. The youngest prince would’ve been far more affected by his neglect, scrounging for any scrap of recognition like a dog, if it wasn’t for his secret saving grace. His proof of what actual love looks like.

You.

For Hans, his invisibility to his family had become a gift in disguise. Once he had completed his daily lessons, all he had to do was give one of his brothers a half-baked excuse about meeting a lord in the countryside, ask a stablehand to ready Sitron from the royal stables, and leave the palace grounds by late afternoon. And just like that, he was a free man, going to see the one person who actually mattered to him.

If it were any one of his brothers, their absence would be quickly noticed in the castle. They would need months in advance to notify Han’s father—the king, about any business trip or personal vacation they might have. But not Han’s, guess that was a perk to being unwanted and unneeded. And thank God for that, because he liked to spend a few days at your cottage.

The ride to your cottage always filled Han’s stomach with butterflies. Even if it was the hundredth time sneaking away to you, the combined giddiness of rebellion and the anticipation of seeing you made it feel like it was the first secret rendezvous all over again. Hans, giving Sitron a light squeeze to make him trot faster.

It was always dusk when Han’s finally arrived at your house. The light from your windows spreads warmth throughout him, no matter the season.

Any residual feelings of despair or vendettas for his family would wash away the moment your front door swung open, revealing your smiling face. Hans barely had the chance to unmount from Sitron before being swept into your arms.

‘This…This is what it’s like to be loved..’ Hans mused to himself as he buried his face into your hair, arms wrapped tightly around you, the both of you just basking in the shared presence of each other before parting slightly, just enough for you to press your lips against his. Days of longing now a fleeting memory.

The next few minutes were filled with sharing what eachothers days were like during his absence, with you walking close to Hans as he set Sitron away in the small stable beside your home. Once his prized horse was settled in and fed an apple that you had fished out of your pocket, you grasped Hans’s arm, pressing him close to your body as you led him inside for supper.

Most people who grew up in high society would sneer at anything less than an estate. But to Hans, your small home was more luxurious than any castle in Europe. As he sat down at the kitchen table, he took a moment to look around your home, as if to mesmerize any detail he may have forgotten over the past couple weeks. The first thing he always noticed was the smell.

It was warm, slightly musky, with floral notes from the numerous herbs you had drying in the kitchen. A welcomed change to the castle, which always smelt cold and sterile, a mix of old varnish and lanolin.

Hans always felt like a stranger in his own “home”, as if simply existing in the palace was a taboo. He wasn’t allowed to touch any of the fine china that lined the hallways, or step too heavily on the carpets, hell— he couldn’t even sit on the sofa in the parlor.

But here? Everything was handcrafted and meant to be used. Various trinkets, either made by yourself or found while browsing through the markets covered virtually every surface. The hardwood floors were chipped and warped from age (Hans personally loved walking over them, it made him feel like he was in a funhouse). The walls were nearly invisible from the amount of paintings and family photographs that were framed. You had brought up in passing that you’d love to take a couples photo with him when you both had the time, and Hans couldn’t wait to see it proudly displayed amongst the images of your family.

Your furniture was old and used, the table he was sitting at was made by your great-grandfather, but it still had many years left, probably going to be passed down to your own grandchildren.

Hans’s musings were interrupted by a plate of warm stew being set in front of him, served alongside some bread you had gotten at the market this morning. He closed his eyes, taking time to inhale the rich scent as the steam tickled his face. As always, he waited for you to sit down beside him before he began eating, not without thanking you for the meal first.

Conversation flowed easily between you two as dinner went on, the meal having to be occasionally paused so you could both laugh without fear of choking. You would talk about anything that came to mind, Hans asking silly questions just so he could listen to your tangents. Somehow between conversation dinner was eventually finished, Hans allowed to eat as much as he wanted, unlike supper at the palace, where he only got to eat the scraps left over by his brothers.

Once dinner was finished, Hans was in charge of cleaning the dishes. A chore he didn’t mind, especially after you were the one who cooked such a hearty meal. It was nice to be trusted to do a task, even if it was something so little as washing a few plates. He had just moved onto the silverware, when he felt your body behind him, your breath tickling his neck. Hans continued cleaning, using all his strength not to drop any utensils into the sink when he felt your hands find themselves on his hips, your face now pressed into the crook of his neck.

You peppered kisses along his neck, whispering praises and how much you had missed him as Hans tried his best to finish drying the dishes. His resolve shattered when he accidentally glanced down, meeting your calling eyes. They were half lidded, pupils large with anticipation, wordlessly beckoning Hans to abandon his task and follow you upstairs…

…and who was he to deny you?

————————————————————————

Hans laid awake long after you had fallen asleep, his head resting on your chest, body draped across your own. Moonlight shone through your bedroom window, reflecting off of your bare bodies tangled in the sheets. Glancing up at your sleeping face, Hans smiled at your partly opened mouth, face partially buried in the pillow, hair stuck to your face from now dried sweat. Looking up at you in the dead of the night, Hans could only wish he could always come to bed with you, always be with you. Not to sneak away from the castle as if your relationship was something to be ashamed of.

If he was anyone else, he would’ve married you years ago. He wouldn’t have to be apart from you for weeks on end. Even if he was 13th in line for the throne, his family would never allow Hans to wed anyone who wasn’t noble blood. They’d have your livelihood ruined if your relationship was ever discovered, and Hans wouldn’t put it past his brothers to do something to hurt you.

Hans would rather swing from the gallows than be the reason you were hurt.

Hugging your body a little tighter, Hans tried to think of other things. Knowing that stewing in negative thoughts would do nothing to help him sleep.

He thought of tomorrow, waking up buried in sheets after being allowed to sleep in. How he’d walk down the stairs to find you making pancakes for breakfast, proudly bringing up the freshly made maple syrup from the sugar shack down the street.

After having breakfast that couldn’t be beat, you’d then brainstorm what you wanted to do for the day. Usually when Hans visited, he wanted to go to the market. The food and items sold there were something he always looked forward to. But recently, he also just wanted to spend a day inside, curled up beside you on the couch as you read your own respective books. Occasionally speaking up to share something interesting in your readings.

As Hans silently planned what tomorrow could be like, he felt his eyes dropping, exhaustion finally settling in.

Your relationship couldn’t be hidden forever, and one day you’d both have to confront reality. But now, you two are together. Wrapped in warm blankets, surrendering to sleep, both dreaming about tomorrow's plans.

[hsjadhuhawdh2321312]

hey folks! an update on the blog here.

my ut muses will be found as @rainflws for now !! this is where im gonna keep username ideas if i wanna use them for muses (((:

[geminimoonbeamx]

Reality Bites: Dazed & Confused (5/6)

A/N: While this is painful to read, it was a blast to write. We finally get to see why Y/N(Peach) and Billy hate each other...and its because they’re a little too alike. @allaboardthereadingrailroad Bean has a type, doesn’t she?

Warnings: Swearing. Bullying. Underage drinking. Realistic descriptions of a couple tearing each other to verbal pieces. Semi OOC Steve. Horror at the end.

Parings: Steve Harrington x Plus Sized Reader

Summary: The end of the bonfire at the Quarry is supposed to be the cherry on top of a perfect summer. Instead, the tension between you and Steve comes to an ugly head.

Chapter Five: Love Will Tear Us Apart(Again)

Pregaming is a very dangerous business. 

You’d learnt that Freshman year, when you’d spent the entirety of Homecoming in the backseat of Heather’s then Wide Receiver boyfriends car. Violently drunk, spinning, the front of your pretty green dress soiled with vomit. 

Since then, you've learned to keep a count on your drinks. Blackouts weren’t on the agenda. 

The conclusion was; anything over two beers before a party? You’ll be blackout before midnight. You don't ever accept more than a couple shots, and mixing the two? Is out of the question. 

There's a method to your madness, a party equation of sorts. It always worked, always. In the past it had kept you from many fiesta folly, celebration carnage if you will. 

Of course, just like everything else in your life lately, 

Nothing was going how it should, how it always had. 

Boo, Bean. Bullshit. What a lie about the Scientific process always being right. 

The night is damp, muggy Indiana heat hanging heavy in the air. Ugh, you hate it, but more importantly, your hair hates it. 

You’d had to absolutely douse it Clairol serum, and even then, you know that sooner rather than later you’d sweat out your sleek blowout- 

Luckily, if there was anyone who cared as much about their hair, you so happened to be in his car. 

Steve Harrington had come to pick you and Bean up in that shiny BMW of his. Fashionably late, a little after ten pm. He’d been to enough parties to know that nobody of notoriety showed up before nine.

You’d both informed Bean of that fact, you sliding into the passenger and her into the back. 

“Aren't we going to be late, or something?” Bean wondered, tugging a little at the hem of her dress. It had come out perfect, just as you’d planned. 

Short and tight and slutty, leopard print and just on the right side of tack. She wanted to look like a Motely Crue groupie, and that she did. 

Steve chuckles as he cranks the wheel, backing out of your driveway and into the street “I don't think that you can really be late to a party, Sinclair- it's like, not conducive to partying” 

Steve and his big, shiny new words. 

They clash, his developed vocabulary and his ability to morph into a near replica of his school days self. Shiny styled hair, the red and white bomber over the crisp white tee. Cuffed jeans. Expensive tennis shoes. 

You used to hate him, and his pretty hair and his exorbitant sneakers and now, he rubs your bare thigh absent mindedly, before reaching for the radio.  

It’s odd. 

A real mid fuck. 

You suck, hard on the end of a lit pre-roll, your lungs screaming in protest. 

Weed gods, please. SOS. Take away this…unease. 

There’s no need for it. You’re hot. Beans hot. You and Steve arent dating, just showing up together. 

Multidimensional aliens aren't real. Maybe. 

It was Bean's first “official” party, the knot in your stomach must be her residual nervous energy. Had to be. Right?

As Bean swigs Orange Jubilee Mad Dog, she doesn't seem very nervous at all. 

The Farewell at Lovers Quarry is as old as the town it’s self, as middle america as it got. A bonfire, bright and blazing sat on the rocky shore of the watering hole, a meeting ground. It felt primordial, and trashy and more then a tad bit juvenile. 

Just the way that a High School kegger should. 

You’d always loved it, the dirty debauchery. The pounding music, the never ending chatter and commotion that came with being in a large group of people. You liked being acknowledged, spotted in the crowd, having your name called, 

“Y/N, wherve you been?” 

“Wow, look who actually showed up” 

It just doesn't…scratch the itch. 

“AH! SEE!!” Heather had screeched, eardrum piercingly loud, throwing her arms around your neck and squeezing tight “I told you she was coming! Didn't I tell you! I fuckin’ told you”

She’s drunk, but that's a given. Whenever the brunette has a red solo cup in her hand, it only means one thing; full to partial black out. Maybe a fight. Possible alcohol poisoning “What you didn't tell me is that you were bringing your boyfriend, you bitch” 

Her whisper isn't much of a whisper at all, and you're glad for the blush you’d already applied because your face would be flaming. You don’t even want to look at Steve. 

“Hi! You're Ben, right?” 

“Um, Bean” Bean corrects, looking a little bit uncomfortable with the intimate nickname being thrown around so blase. You hope she knows you're sorry “B/R/N, actually”

“Oh! Yeah! Bean!” Heathers not malicious, not venomous the way you knew the rest of the squad could get. But she is drunk, her filter dissolved in vodka, who knows how long ago “Want’a shot?”

“Sure” Bean nods, grin a bit forced but still there. Trying. There- she might have that experience she was looking for yet. Fake it til’ you make it, huh. 

“Yessss” 

Bean had a lot of practice with touchy feely former Homecoming Queens. Being friends with you, she had to adjust to overbearing physical contact pretty damn fast. 

When she becomes victim to a Heather Headlock, she can't help the squeak she emits. her eyes look like they're legitimately going to bulge straight out of her head and you let out a peel of laughter. 

This is what you wanted, sweet Jelly Bean. 

You don’t notice how Steve trails behind, apprehensive- even when his former team players clap him hard on the back. Man hugs. Weird boy code hand shakes. He smiles, but that look in his eye never shifts. 

Cheerleading is a competitive sport, and one day the world will recognize it as such. It’s the most physical thing you’d ever done, your body had bent and broken in ways that had made even your surgeon of an uncle take a double look. 

All those fractured bones and tumbles, 

And none of that shit had anything on the mental gymnastics that came with being a Hawkins High Tiger

It’s sick, and you’d deny it to anyone who asked, but you’d always kind of gotten off on it. It was a pyramid of gossip, and as long as you stayed at the tip, you got a good vantage point. It was fun, looking down on everyone. 

It used to be fun. 

So why isn't it anymore?

Because you’re old news, the intrusive bitch part of your brain whispers. 

The new generation of Varsity Tigers are shiny, new. Young and excited, eyes glittering and hopeful. They’re only a bit younger then you, and most of them you’d known for years- and yet you envy them so much it makes the liquor in your stomach churn.

This is what this party was about. A final farewell to the Graduates of 86’, as soon as the clock struck midnight the schools books would officially update.

Your names would be gone forever, gone. 

Time would reset and go on, and you? Would be stuck. 

You’re not only old news, you’re Jurassic. You’ll be a Hawkins fossil, forever frozen in the Indiana mud the even bitchier, more intrusive part of your brain reiterates her evil twin. 

Weren’t people supposed to have an angel and a devil on their shoulders? Instead you had a head full of bitches, and really, none of them liked you. 

It’s why you’ve been actively trying to drown them in the trash can punch you’d been handed. 

Shut up. Have fun. Be normal.

You wonder if people would be so eager to party in the woods if they knew what you did. If they hit a Venus fly trap with legs, would they be okay in the near darkness? 

You are. 

Okay. 

Listening to Molly talk about how she’s road tripping to Ann Arbor next weekend. She wanted an early monopoly on Freshman rush. She was a legacy, of course. 

You’d be good at that, you think. Sorority. Another predestined social construct you could fall in. Sounds nice. 

“What about you, Y/N? Still taking that gap year?” 

It comes from Kirsten. Bleach blonde, fake tan Kirsten. You’d never liked her, and you think the bright blue swiped across her eyelids looks like clown makeup. You should tell her of the fact, 

Instead you explain for what felt like the thousandth time that yeah, you were. Maybe you’d volunteer at the hospital with Elliot. Maybe you’d go backpacking- you like hate nature but whatever. Maybe you’d blow your brains out, oh, that’s if you didn’t get eaten by-

You leave out that last part. A smile on your glossy pink lips, toss a quick “I’ll be back” before you give them your acid washed back. 

Where’s Steve? And Bean? Heather had been feeding your party green friend shots, but then Kyle showed up and well now Heather was liplocked and distracted. Usual. Hargrove hadn’t gotten here yet, had he? You hadn’t seen that environmental ailment of a car of his parked along with all of the others in the clearing. 

Bean had to be around here somewhere, your eyes scanned fast for the raven haired girl. Leopard print. Amber skin- the bonfire is raging now, full blast. The party packed; bodies swaying, way more people had shown this year- how long had you been sucked into the cheer vortex? You hadn't realized how much time had passed, but if you were gauging it by how many people were now here…shit. 

The wedges you’re in are tall, and though you’d been on heels since the first time you’d seen how they made your ass look in a Macy’s changing room in 8th grade, the terrain isn’t meant for them. It’s too rocky, unstable. Roots and uneven ground.

“Learn how to fucking walk, asshole” you hiss at a guy, he had knocked into your cup and your hand is covered in sticky red, the sleeve of your jacket soaked. 

He slurs an apology, something about a bitch, but clears the path enough for you to shoulder your way around him. 

These stains would never come out, you mentally lament as you inspect the damage to your coat and dress, the vivid red that marred the baby blue. No baking soda slurry would fix it. 

It’s not even Midnight, hadn't even hit the hour that everyone had shown up for. You can't leave yet, it would look bad. 

Everybody talks about how fun you are, but I just don't see it,. 

You down the little that's left of your drink, and drop the cup, let it roll where it may. It gets stomped on, down to flat plastic bits and yeah. That feeling isn't far off or foreign 

Finding Bean is bust, the girl is gone in a plume of smoke. If you had to guess- said plume of smoke was thick Marlboro Red based, exhaled by a certain mullet having asshole. 

Where the hell is Steve? 

What, you can't get him to leave you alone for more then five minutes at a time all summer, but the moment you get him in a social setting he totally ghosts? It makes you uneasy, that notion. 

He said it was fine, that the two of you were fine. 

Ending up with the burnouts is not how you thought this party would go, but they have weed, even if it is shitty home grown grass. Youre all for Bean getting her rocks off, but did she have to run off with the tin of pre-rolled joints in her bag? 

Midnight comes and goes, 

The world doesn't stop. 

But it doesn't feel like it goes on either, the bonfire, the people. The sky and the watering hole and Hawkins in fucking general is suspended, a snowless snow globe. 

The new seniors cheer, raise their cups because fuck yeah, one step closer to being done. And the graduates, they cheer because they did it. Accomplished what they had been told needed to be accomplished since kindergarten. 

You don't cheer, but you don't let your face screw up either, just suck on the end of the poorly rolled blunt that some guy you would have absolutely never talked to in school hands you. 

You don't even really talk to him now, but you’ll smoke his weed. 

“Y/N-:” 

You're sufficiently stoned, when you hear your name called. When that familiar head of perfectly styled hickory hair bobs through the crowd. Steve finds you, standing too near the bonfire, arms crossed, a frown marring your pretty features, the flames licking and dancing in the reflection of your narrowed eyes. 

“Uh, what are you doing?”

“Not like you care,” You shoot at him. “But some asshole drowned my jacket in jungle juice. I’m trying to dry it off”

“Shit, here-” He starts to take off the bomber hed donned for the night,a peace offer. Maybe. You wave him off, its fine, you tell him. Whatever. 

“No, I’m cool. Where have you been all night? I feel like I've barely seen you. What? We come together but you're too cool to be seen with me?” 

You’ve said worse to him, so much worse. Your tone isn't even that shitty, bratty maybe but well he deserved it. Bean had an excuse for ditching you, but Steve? What the hell. 

“What the fuck are you talking about? you're the one who sent me on a beer run so you could sit and play catch up with the squad” 

“Longest beer run in history, huh” 

“Y/N” It’s a warning, his tone. The square of his shoulders. 

But youre drunk and irritated, and not having even a little bit of fun. The music is too loud, blaringly so, and whoever is in control of it has super shitty taste, A View To Kill had been replayed like three times. 

Steve drains his own solo cup, seeming to need it before replying and yeah. He was the DDD, Designated Drunk Driver, but like, that seems extensive. 

“I really don't need this shit right now, I’ve been looking for you for an hour, no one told you to run off-” 

“Run off? Are you serious?-”

“Look, I dont want to fight, I really dont” he grabs your arm, loose grip. “Let’s just go home. My parents are gone so you can spend the night at mine? We can get the hell out of here, and go watch that weird Gelfling movie you were telling me about” 

“We cant leave yet, Steve” 

“Why not?” 

“We- We haven't even been here for that long. And you know after parties always beat this stupid shit anyway. Isn't Tommy H throwing?” 

“Yeah, fuck no I’m not going to his after party. You don't even like Tommy-” 

“I know but like who cares. All of our friends will be there” 

“So? Doing what? More of this” He gestures vaguely with his hand, and you don't like this, “This shits miserable, I didn't even want to come-”

“What?” That's not true, he’d been just as excited as you. He’d wanted to be here just as much as you did. He'd been all for it, hadn't he?

“But I did, because you did. Because you wanted to have fun, but I can tell you're not. And I’m not, so let;s just go. We have a better time when it’s just the two of us anway” 

“Okay you're kind of being an elitist asshole right now. What do you mean miserable? All of our friends are here” You insist, trying to force your voice party light. Happy. Because you’re supposed to be here, He’s supposed to be here. It makes sense, you can't leave yet. “Beans somewhere around here-”

“Nah, she ran off with Hargrove. They left, dude. A while ago” 

Dude? 

“Okay, dude” its a clear taunt “So what? You just want to go without telling anyone goodbye-”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying I want to do”

“Heather!-” You’re insisting. Throwing out the weakest argument points ever, and really, you don't even know why. Why youre playing devils advocate for this stupid as shit party, why youre trying to convince him to stay with you. 

“Ditched you to play tonsil hockey with Lisnecki” 

“I did not get ditched! If anyone ditched me tonight it was you-” 

You’d always believed that there was a time and place for everything. The right timing, Your Uncle Elliot had taught you young, could change everything. Could make or break a situation. 

Nancy Wheeler has horrible timing. 

Always had. Spoke when she knew it would infuriate people. Reminded teachers who had clearly forgotten about homework due dates. Stumbled into the middle of cat fights in the locker rooms. 

It was clearly a habit she wasn't going to drop anytime soon. 

You're so consumed with Steve, and the ever growing tension between the two of you that you dont notice her. Wouldn't have, even if your- Steve wasnt starting to really piss you off. She’s never been very noticable. 

There's a tap on your shoulder, just as you're about to tell him to go home without you if he wanted to leave so bad. 

You should've known, by the look in his eye. By the way his mouth snaps shut and his jaw does that weird little grindy thing it tended to do when he felt awkward, put on the spot. 

Nancy stands there, looking completely out of place. Far from her element, and both of you know it.

 Any other day the two of you would be just about the same height, but you tower over her in your heels. Look down on her. Jonathan Byers lurks just behind her, in his usual Jason Vorhees fashion. Very shasher sheek. 

“Um, Hi Y/N- uh Steve, hey” She greets, thin lips pulling up into a cumbersome smile as she greets you.

“Nance” Steve nods. 

“Wheeler” The pseudo one word greeting you give back is short.

 “I was just wondering if you know where Bean is. I can't find her anywhere, and we were supposed to meet up. I thought she’d be with you” Nancy continues. Doesn't this bitch want to be a journalist? Shouldn't she know how to read the proverbial room better? 

Maybe it's the fact that she calls Bean by the sacred nickname that meant so much to you, that she inquired about your best friend. 

Or maybe, it’s the way that Steve greets her back, with none of the strained animosity that he had been speaking to you with just moments before. Soft, he’d always been so soft with Nancy. So soft for her. 

Either way. Nancy had always had horrible timing. 

And you…well, you didn't have the patience to play nice right now. Not for someone who mattered so little, who you barely liked in the first place. 

“She wanted to meet up with you? Are you sure?” Your voice is sweet, teeth rotting. Nerve exposing “I didn't even think the two of you were friends anymore”

Nancy’s already big round eyes go even rounder. Shock. Indignance. You don't give a shit. She wasn't the little doll people treated her as, and you sure went going to handle porcelain priss Nancy with kiddy gloves. Not for Bean. And certainly not for Steve. 

“We never really stopped being friends. Just different paths, for a while. I thought we could all- Bean invited me here so that we could hang out” 

Oh. 

Hm. 

“Here? To a party?” You let out a giggle, “ Isn't that that a little counterintuitive, you and parties don't really mix. The last party I remember you being at was Hanna’s Halloween thing, and well. We all know how that went” 

“Y/N-” 

No, Steve. This is the most normal you’ve felt all night, 

“I mean you were better dressed at that one, to be fair. Which is funny because that was an actual costume party. Whats with this get up, Nance? Did you get dressed in the dark or something? Its okay. We all have our fashion faux pas But for future reference, green and pink stripes dont look good on anyone” You whisper the last part, delighting at the way her face crumpels.

 The tendons in her neck straining as she swallows. Tears? A retort? 

You want it. It feeds something in you, something starving and empty and gaping. Ugly. Familiar. 

“What the hell is your problem?” Oh. Retort it is. She’s not a doll at all is she? Ballsy, taking the bait. 

“Okay that's enough” Steve goes forward, wanting to put literal space between the two of you. You side step him easily, crossing your arms over your chest. That smile, the one that contorts your entire face, aimed at him now. 

“It’ll be enough when I say it’s enough” 

“You’re being ridiculous.It’s not her fault, don't take our shit out on her-” 

“I’m being ridiculous?” 

“Yeah, you are. Act your age for like, two seconds and let’s go cool off. This is so below you-” 

“Screw you, Steve” You spit the words right into his face. Cutting whatever else he had to say short. 

You’re turning away, fast on your heels before he can say anything else. You cant even look at him, as you feel the heat lick up your chest your cheeks burn. 

Embarrassment and rage intermingle dangerously, and you feel them in your throat. In the tips of your fingers, as you curl them int fists at your side. 

Its not that he stepped in to defend her- even though yeah, you fucking hate that too. 

It’s the way he had spoken to you. He’d literally looked down on you and scolded you, in front of everyone. For anyone to see. Like you were a child, like you were below him. He had spoken to you the way he did the kids. Like you were Lucas, or Dustin, or Mike. A child who needed to be corrected. 

You're on a warpath, you don't care who you knock into. If anyone has any sense, they’ll get the fuck out of your way. You push and shove through the crowd, legs carrying you faster then they should be able to. Your ankles barely wobbling as you climb the rocky path, the one that leads to the field. Away from the party. Away from the fire. From Nancy, from Steve- 

“Y/N!” 

You ignore him, ignore the way he yells after you as he trails behind you, getting caught up in the crowd. Lacking the fuel like anger to push his way through. 

You’re too mad to think about how you’re going to get home, you don't even know where you're going. You just need to get away. You have to outrun this. These feelings. Him. 

“Really? Fuck” Steve curses as he fumbles through the dark, slips on rocks and almost faceplants “Wait a second, Y/N!”

Curse his athleticism. Curse his long legs. Curse these fucking wedges!

Steve grabs your wrist when he catches up to you, which he does quickly. You wrench your arm away from him. 

“Dont touch me” 

“Seriously, talk to me-” 

“Talk to you? I dont even want to fucking look at you right now” 

“At me? I wasn’t just a cunt to random people for zero reason. What the hell was that back there? Why would you act like that?” 

You can't believe him

“Like what?” You goad him, finally meeting him head on. Steve wanted this. He wanted to fight. “A cunt? Like myself?” 

“Stop” 

“No Steve, you said it. I’m a cunt. I’m not a nice person, and that's fine. At least I dont parade around, with a holier then though nice guy act pretending to be decent” 

Steve rubs his head, both hands, standing straight and letting out a long exhale “Dont try to turn this around on me. You always do this shit, its always the same thing. Me. I’m the bad guy. I’m the asshole-” 

“You are!” 

“I’m not the one who just used an innocent girl as my own personal punching bag” 

“Oh! Okay! There it is Steve” You point at him, hands gesturing  wildly, manic shrill laughter bubbling “Innocent Nancy. God, could you be more pathetic? How are you still pining after her? It’s been like two fucking years, get the fuck over it” 

“You don't know what you’re talking about” Steve grits out. “This has nothing to do with her, I didn’t even know she was going to be here tonight”

You've seen him annoyed. You’ve seen him get chewed out by shitty customers over ice cream, seen him lose big games. Seen him exasperated and pissed. 

You’ve never really seen him angry. 

Not at you. 

“You want a Nancy. Thats fine, go find one. Hell, go see if you can get her back from Byers. But don’t you ever, ever fucking try to chide me infront of everyone because I refuse to play boring Wonder Bread girlfriend for you” 

“Is that what you’re so pissed about? You’re embarrassed that I called you out in front of everyone?” 

“You had no right-” 

“Fuck, really? I had no right? So you get to say whatever you want to me, whenever you want to? But god forbid I-. Why do you always have to start this?” Steve’s eyebrows are pinched together something fierce. Face sour in a way you had never seen it. 

“Me? I started this?” You cry because you don't like where this is going, you don't like the way hes turning it around on you. “You’ve been acting sketch all night!”

“You did. You started it because all you care about is what these people think of you. We shouldve left an hour ago- fuck, we never should of came in the first place. But you just had to come show out for em, huh? What do you get out of it, what does it do for you?” Steve questions, and the worst part is? It’s valid. 

You don't know what to say, your well of near constant quick witted comebacks going dry. As dry as your throat as you swallow around the lump that clogs it. 

“What are you so scared of?” Steve pushes, coming forward. You want to hold your ground, he doesnt get to make you feel this small “Why are we here? For someone as bossy and OCD as you are, it's insane to me that you let opinions, of people who you don't even care about, get to you this bad” 

“You're such an asshole-” you start, but he goes on. 

He doesn't even sound as mad anymore. Just tired. Exhausted exasperation. It makes your hair stand on end. 

What he’s saying, the way he’s looking at you. 

“-I don't have to explain a thing to you. What, you think you know me because we’ve fucked a few times? That doesn't mean shit, it doesn't mean a single thing to me” 

“Here we go” He shakes his head, a joyless quirk of his lips. “I don't know you, huh? At all? Thats such bullshit” 

“You don't. What, you think because you know how to make me come you suddenly know the inner workings of my psyche? What are you so scared of? Fuck off with that garbage, Steve. You're not my boyfriend. You're a glorified booty call, you get that right? That all we've been doing? God, your parents really didn't hug you enough as a child” 

The blow lands. You can tell by the look on his face. By the way he staggers, almost physically. 

He gapes, mouth opening and closing. Like he's trying to figure out what to say- you're ready for it. For the back lash. For him to snap. 

“It's always gonna be like this with you, isn't it? With us?” Steve frowns, disgusted. 

You shrug. 

Probably. 

“You’re fucking insane” Steve accuses. 

You start to walk away from him. 

“And insecure!” 

Whatever. 

“And I'm done chasing you. I’m so serious, I’m not gonna keep doing this with you, don't walk away from me-” 

“Fuck you, Steve!” You hiss. 

“No- fuck you, Y/N. Fuck this” 

Your pride keeps you from looking back, from watching him climb into the BMW. You hear the ignition though, heer his wheels ground gravel as he backs out, as he drives away. 

Even though you're furious, even though you hate him in that moment,and even though you’re drunker than you’d meant to get. You he won't leave you, not really. 

Steve always comes back. 

Steve doesn't come back

The night is sweltering, the summer heat digging its nails in even as the stars dot twinkling constellations across the blackened sky. Hot, humid, and miserable. You’ve never felt so heavy. 

You trudge down Old Mill Road, through the darkness. It cuts through the woods, and is a straight shot back into town from the quarry. It’s also a five mile hike- you’d ditched the platforms twenty minutes ago. Your feet feel no no relief, padding barefoot on the rough asphalt, 

“Ow- Fuck” You hiss, for what feels like the hundreth time as you hop on one foot, rubbing pebbles and rubble away from your soft soles. A hysterical sob bubbles up from the pit of your chest and you choke on it, fighting to keep your emotions at bay. It’s fine, you’d made this walk before. Drunker than this- 

There's a shuffle in the leaves. 

Yeah, you’d made this walk. But never had you done it alone. 

The treeline is alive, dark and ominous and gaping on either side of the road. Your ears catch every noise, head snapping to follow the sound, eyes shifting in the thick pitch dark. It’s probably an animal or something. A bunny, or maybe a deer- the coyotes in the area had ripped the Jeffersons dog to shreds last fall. 

Funnily enough, you’d take a pack of rabid dogs over what could be out there. 

It’s going to be fine, you chant to yourself, picking up the pace. Your calves screaming in protest, your inner thighs rubbed beyond raw. 

You're just paranoid and upset. You’re not thinking logically-

Branches snap and crunch and the hair on the back of your neck stands straight, on high alert-

Your mind is just playing tricks on you, but you propel yourself faster and faster until you’re full on sprinting down the isolated road. Your lungs tighten painfully and your head spins. It has teeth, rows and rows of them, and claws. It left a crater sized dent in your hood- and it fucking killed Barb. Bean said-

A pair of headlights cut through the dark,

Part of you would’ve taken the Xenomorph instead. 

The beat to shit Ford Galaxi passes you, and then rolls to a stop a few feet ahead. You deliberate bee-lining into the monster infested forest.

 Instead you raise your chin and square your shoulders a bit. It looks better than jumping up and down and cursing at the sky because what had you done in a past life. To. Deserve. This. 

There's only so much dignity one can have when they’re barefoot with mascara running down their face, with their shoes hanging from their left hand. 

“Y/N?” Nancy calls through the open, she’s riding passenger of course. Jonathan Byers just stares at you, beady eyes hard and cautious. “Are you okay?”

“Uh-” you blank  because really, what the fuck does she expect you to say. You wonder if maybe this is some kind of prank, you tell her no, you are very much not okay and she drives away cackling because you’d pointed out her lack of fashion sense. 

It’s what you would do. 

Nancy’s gaze isn’t malicious, as much as it is inquiring. A little too knowing, a little too concerned. 

Because she’s a better person than you are. 

“I’m totally fine” It’s weaker than you mean for it to be, far from the venomous retort that you can't seem to muster. 

They have all the reason in the world to leave you there, stranded on Old Mill, Jonathan actually looks like he’s totally okay with that option. But Nancy persists. Pushy as ever. 

“We could give you a ride home, if you need one?” 

Everything inside of you protests that offer, down to a cellular level. You should tell them absolutely the fuck not, and walk away. Flipping your hair behind you. That’s how it is, how it’s been. What you know. 

The forest breathes again, crunching and shifting and swaying and you swear somewhere in the distance something is shrieking. 

“Yes” the words feel like cotton in your mouth. Jonathan looks as shocked as you feel, like the craziest thing to ever happen in this town is you agreeing to ride in the back of his junk mobile. 

“Please, if you’re going by my place. I’d really uh appreciate it” 

The smile Nancy gives you is both forced and sympathetic and you’d really like to die. Death seems like a comfort at this point, and that’s not you being dramatic. 

“No, It’s okay you’re only a few streets over from me. Right, Jonathan?”

Jonathan grimaces and you never thought you’d feel any sort of camaraderie with the Eldest Byers, like ever. But as you climb into the back seat, situating yourself on the tattered leather, you lock eyes with him in the rearview. I’d rather be doing anything other than this. 

 Yeah, the feelings fucking mutual. 

The ride to your place is too long, and you don’t think you really breathe through the entirety of it. The Guns of Brixton floats through his speakers and you cling to the thought of; maybe none of this is real. Maybe nothing has been real, since you hit that thing in the woods. 

If only that were the case. 

Word to the wise; If a man ever calls you a cunt and then leaves you stranded in the middle of nowhere? You better never talk to him again. Ever. Even if he does look like Steve Harrington

[sloppy-butcher]

Can I get some hcs for Freddy x reader who have like very love/hate reltionship? Like they annoy eachother constantly but still seek each others company. Thanks!

This is the first time I have ever tried writing for Freddy and to be honest, I am quite nervous I did him wrong. Please forgive any ooc characterizations i may accidentally give him - i tried my hardest to make him accurate to the 80’s version (yes, this one will be based on old freddy not the new one (2010 remake), hope that it okay <3) i also hope that you don’t mind if i make the reader a killer as i am only comfortable writing for freddy when the power dynamics are equal

Thank you for the request and i hope these are good enough for you 

Headcanons for The Nightmare (Freddy Krueger) with a Killer!S/O who have a Love/Hate relationship

When you are an obedient little dog, when you kill mercilessly and the Entity grows fat from your bountiful supply of food, the spider-god showers you with rewards. Most forms of these appreciations take a physical appearance (new and terrifying outfits to adorn during your daily workouts or new weapons for you to play with). But there were some gifts that were intangible, and otherworldly and oh so irresistible to you - dreams. The Entity lets you sleep if you do well in trials and sometimes even offers you sweet, beautiful dreams. They were indulging at first, so totally vivid in their detail and color that you could almost lose yourself completely in their daydreams. It was a spider web most wonderfully and intricately made. A labyrinth of the mind. But it did not take you long to notice the spider lurking in the corners of his creation.

You spotted him often hiding under the shadow of trees, just standing there in the corner of your eye - one look and he would vanish without a trace. You would have thought nothing of the strange occurrence had it had only happened once and in only dreams. During your walks in between realms, you’d spot the man through the treeline. He was unmistakable in his silhouette and in the way his eyes glowed a horrid orange. You did not fear him however, he was no worse a monster than you were. Rather you were annoyed by his presence in both reality and dreams. 

You bend down and pick up a rock, turning it over in your hands testing its weight and size. “Hey!” You shout at the man who halted his retreat into the dark, night wood at the sound of your voice. “Stay out of my fucking dreams, asshole!” You throw the rock at him, narrowly missing him and instead, striking a tree.

“Such a temper.” A hoarse voice coos from somewhere behind and you spin around to meet it. It was him, moving faster and quicker than air and appearing next to you, closer than ever before. You got your first good look at him. His skin was a sore pink leather and he smelled like smoke. “Trust me, sweetheart, I would if I could. Your dreams,” He takes out a hand covered in razor-sharp knives and mockingly strokes the hair out your face, “, are so boring.” You snatch his hand away from your face, barely noticing the sting of blades in your soft palm and the trickle of warm blood down your forearm. You did not grimace, did not cower, and did not back down. He grins at your defiant expression. “And here I thought you’d thank me for giving you the chance to live in such a wonderful world. I’m hurt,” He feigns agony, his free hand placed sorrowfully on his chest, “, good work always goes unappreciated.”

You scoff and show your teeth. “I would prefer nightmares if it meant I wouldn’t get to see you.” The man laughed and flexed his knife-fingers, fresh blood oozing out your wound.  

“Oh babe, you and me both. I don’t like this babysitter gig anymore than you do.” He leans closer grinning with his horrible yellow fangs, the scent of a recent kill seeping off his tongue. “I prefer nightmares anyway.” 

“You look like a nightmare.” You spit into his face, finally letting go of his weapon and glaring at him. He laughs again.

“You are a feisty one. I think you and I are going to get along fabulously.”

Of course, he did not heed your warning for that very same night you saw him again in your dreams. Though now, he made it a point, not to hideaway. He approached you and actively talked to you, following you around your dream like a resistant plague. He commented on your shit reality, on all the things you could have wanted to dream of, and yet you only wanted to be in an empty field at the brink of dawn. He shakes his head and degrades your poor taste with even more snarky comments. You knew you couldn’t do anything to him while in his dream but in the physical world - well, that is a completely different story. 

If he was going to bother you while you slept like a buzzing mosquito, you decided to bother him when you were awake. In the real world he was much less intimidating, that aura of cosmic power that bubbled around him while in a dream state, was not present in the night air and you smirked at his weakness. You mentioned his height, asking how anyone could be scared of such a small man. He’d lash out, swinging at you with both his blades and his harsh tongue.  He was easy to toil, easy to wind up but a task to deal with. Freddy could take a punch to his pride and deal out damage times 10. 1 mean-spirited remark deserves 10 more. 

Freddy thrived on this back and forth. Ordinarily, he would turn his nose up at the idea of bickering with another killer - sure, some of them were fun, simple minds with which to bend and manipulate in dreams but most were already so twisted in their own self-delusions that well, he just didn’t find them all that interesting. But your mind was sharp and quick, built in the skull of a hardened murder professional yet dainty enough to still yearn for the sunlight world of goodness. A perfect balance. It had been a very long time since last Freddy had had a conversation of equals - a real conversation where the table was not shifted in the favor of either one. If he said something that crossed a boundary or hit a nerve (a task he sought out to do almost every night) you would turn on him, shoot daggers at him with the sole intent of murdering his little ass. Sure, it never really scared him but there was no denying that in a way, to spare with an equal really turned him on. To be challenged. 

There were times when he would become too much. Like the static on a dead radio station, he would drone on and on about a certain topic he knew would heat your blood. Always poking his stick deeper and deeper into the bear until you’d bite. Luckily it was quite simple to turn him off - just don’t sleep. You never really needed to rest in the Fog anyway, tiredness never made its claim over your bones even after a long day at work. Sleep was merely a reward, after all, a gift that could be refused if so desired. If time could be recorded within the Entity’s world, then the longest you had gone without sleep, and without seeing that little creep, would have been 2 months. He had really pissed you off when in a dream he produced a small songbird and made you watch as he melted its skin off - all for sport. A sight that did not necessarily make your skin crawl but one that irked you. It was always a game with him, a competition to see who would break first and try to strangle the other. And, to be dead honest, it was starting to annoy you more than anything he could say or do. So you stopped seeing him, stopped dreaming, and stopped seeking him out in the woods. You were tired of always trying to be bested and frankly, his childishness was wearing you thin.

But there was no denying that in that quiet that ate up the space where Freddy used to stand, a strange loneliness would grow incredibly heavy and dreadful. You missed his rather repulsive company, his witty and sharp tongue always keeping you on edge and on your toes. There was no way you could stop your head from turning around to look for him, seeking out his small frame among the dark wood. It was lonely without the flies, silent and decaying slowly.

For the life of him, Freddy tried to move on. He had never tied himself to one person before, never allowed himself to latch on to anyone save for his favorite little toys. But with you it was different. It was fun to annoy you, it was fun to torment you in dreams. It was even fun when you reeled at him, hackles raised threatening to kill. It was exciting, it reminded him of the joy of being powerful and alive (in a sense). And when you never took his bullshit sitting down, when you'd raise to meet his call, oh how it set fire to his heart. To be challenged. He could feel himself wither away, the interest that you had sharpened only seemed to dull and break off in your absence. He’d hate to admit it, but he missed you. Missed your noise and missed that sweet dream of yours.

Both of you are too prideful to confess to the other that you were lonely. But when, one day, you find yourself dreaming a familiar vision, that built-up residue of solitude melted and you turned to face Freddy eagerly.

“Did you really think you could not sleep forever?” He crossed his arms over his gloating chest, a snake tongue flickering victories in between teeth. “I always get my prey.” You smirk, not surprised in the slightest by his rather rude welcome back. You look around at the grassy field surrounding you both shining a brilliant emerald, the sun feeling warm on your back, and the fresh, clean air carrying with it the scent of spring flowers. 

“Aw, you missed me, Frederick?” You tease him with his unused full name, casting a devilish side-eye to the dream-demon. You see a flicker of panic, alerting you that you had hit the nail on the head before he spits and loudly proclaims,

“Don’t be so far up your own ass!” His golden eyes gleamed pure hatred at you. “It's not a hat.” You laugh at the face of the fuming man, knowing that despite how his actions appeared malicious and distasteful, there was no feasible way to deny that the dream he had made for you was spectacular and expressed something deeper than just surface-level annoyance. 

[wolfhednn]

dog residue, dog salad, spider cider, undyne's letter

undertale headcanons | asked by : @rudlm

DOG RESIDUE how well do they handle being around animals, or how they feel about animals in general?

ooc » felix is the resident crazy cat duke.

aside from his love of cats, he’s pretty ambivalent about all other animals. i think i’ve mentioned it before somewhere, but he sees mounts as just that — war steeds, to be well cared for, definitely, but ultimately as beasts of burden to be used on the battlefield, not really as friends.

he doesn’t dislike animals, and can be around them easily enough. he just doesn’t have any strong feelings either way. except cats. felix/cats is the true otp in this house.

DOG SALAD what kind of food do they enjoy that other people typically find disgusting or questionable?

ooc » ask sylvain sometime about his opinion on felix’s love for beast meat teppanyaki KJKJSHF

felix will pretty much try any kind of meat, even stuff that other people might find way too game-y or offputting. and he’d probably like it, honestly.

fraldarius territory also draws most of its inspiration from norway for me, which includes all of its questionable seafood choices. pickled fish in vinegar brine here we go. yikes.

SPIDER CIDER what kind of drinks (alcoholic or nonalcoholic) do they refuse to drink? Is there a reason they won’t drink it?

ooc » by nature, anything sweet. as we know, he doesn’t like sweet things. it’s a flavor thing — sweet, as a taste, is kind of overwhelming for him and he just doesn’t prefer it. anything else though, he’s good, especially if there’s a lot of spices in it.

[the-schwayest-batman-around]

The Wild Years

OOC: This was a belated birthday present for a great friend, @kirameku, who wanted to know my thoughts on Terry during his wild and crazy years. So here is a short drabble for your entertainment.

~ ~ ~

For Terry McGinnis, being sent to his own room was getting easier and easier. He could get himself in trouble, say how he was failing science class or even mention he was cutting classes to be sent upstairs, but he didn’t need to. These days, his folks were arguing more and more and wouldn’t even notice if Terry slid upstairs. They were arguing about anything these days. If his Mom was out with friends, his Dad would begin to ask who she was with. If his Dad came home late from work, his Mom would be arguing that his Dad was avoiding time with the family. When this almost daily event happened, Terry could sneak into his bedroom to play video games, text his friends, or do what he had been up to for the last bit: see his friends.

Everyone at school was always checking on him, seeing how he was or making comments that Terry would be joining the “Split Family Club”. Dana checked in on him and usually wanted to hang, but she brought up Terry’s family situation all the time. He needed to ignore everything and there was one friend he knew he could trust.

Terry had texted his friend earlier today and agreed to meet him down the block. Terry would just have to prepare and make his way there in the next five minutes. He stuffed the bed with pillows and locked the door. Even if his parents could force the lock, they would just see a figure resting in the bed. It was full proof and would do well until Terry could sneak back inside at 2 or 3.

Terry opened the window and poked his head out to check the coast. No one was in the backyard and his baby brother’s room was dark. His Mom wouldn’t be in there to get a break from all the dumb drama going on.

He shimmied onto the window ledge and closed the window shut. This was old hat for him and he could do this in his sleep. Terry braced himself and lept towards the nearby tree branch. The leaves rustled and the branch jerked up and down from the sudden weight. The bark dug into his palms, but Terry held on. He ignored the all too familiar pain before climbing his way towards the trunk. Shimmying himself down, Terry glanced up at the two story McGinnis home one last time. No one was looking out and most of the house lights were off. He was almost home free.

Finally at a comfortable leve, Terry jumped down, his legs taking the fall to the ground with a hard thump. He needed to work on his landing, but he didn’t want to be late. Terry rushed down the sidewalk. Terry and the McGinnis family lived in the 30s of Neo-Gotham and didn’t have to worry about nosy neighbors. It was too late and too dark for anyone to recognize the young teen going down to the end of the block.

He came to the corner, looking around for a moment. Very few people were out and those that were were busy moving. It was Gotham and no one, not even the night owls had time to stop. Terry checked his old phone again to check the time. He didn’t need to wait long as a salvation came in on a loud, beat up black truck.

“Hey there shrimp, you lost or something?” The driver, poking his head out of the window, was sporting the biggest grin on his face. Terry couldn’t help but match his smirk with his own as Charlie ‘Big Time’ Bigelow motioned for Terry to get on in. “You’re right on time Tiny!”

“Like I’d be late, Charlie!” Terry said as he scrambled around the car. Traffic honked but Terry ignored them as he planted himself firmly in the shotgun sheet and slammed the door shut.

He had met Charlie some time ago. He was the cool older kid that everyone insisted was bad. Charlie wasn’t though. If schway could be a person, Terry was certain it would be Charlie. He was free from his parents and was always looking to make a day brighter. Right now, Terry needed it.

Charlie didn’t ask questions. He was the one lone person that was willing to give Terry a break from life and never tried to dig up any of Terry’s life drama. While everyone was asking Terry what was wrong, how he was feeling, and where he was going to go, Charlie instead stole a six pack of beer and gave it over to him when Terry admitted his family life wasn’t doing well. It was the first beer Terry ever had and it tasted god awful. It was like warm gasoline and hot ass mixed together. The young teen had coughed and sputtered and Charlie just laughed, telling him to try again. Terry eventually mastered it and could now handle any beer that was given to him.

“So where are we going?” Terry asked. “Down to the 5th to break some windows? The club?”

“Nah, kid. July’s got a party going on and we need to bring some favors” Charlie said as he swerved around a nice looking car. The driver honked and Charlie held out his finger, twirling his middle finger out with a cocky grin. Terry couldn’t help but laugh, mimicking Charlie. He couldn’t get away with this anywhere and instead of being scolded, Charlie laughed. “That’s the spirit!”

“They deserved it” Terry pipped in. Terry was happy to see Julio though. Julio “July” Jimenez was another friend that ran with Charlie. He could fight just as well as Charlie could, having been raised in the lower levels. He was also the one person who had a place of his own and no family. It meant more often than not, July’s place was where everyone wanted to be.

"We’re gonna get some goods at the gas station” Charlie insisted as he turned onto the highway to start going down the various levels of Gotham. “Snatch and grab. You in?”

~ ~ ~

This wasn’t Terry’s first time with Snatch and Grab. He had seen Charlie and his friends do it plenty of times before. This was just the first time Terry was doing it and he had the harder job. Armed with an empty backpack, Terry was going to focus on the snatching part after Charlie finished pumping gas. They couldn’t go in together and Terry would need to act fast. He’d go to the snack section and began stuffing his backpack with anything good. Chips, dips, drinks, but nothing kiddie like soda. If he could grab extra stuff like any condoms, lighters, even some booze, it would really make the party better.

Charlie had a tough task too. While Terry snatched, Charlie would be distracting the guy at the counter. It made sense since Charlie was of age and could ask for things behind the counter without looking weird. Cigarette packs and even detergent pods were all back there. If Terry pulled this off, he’d even lend Terry one of the magazines in the back as a reward.

Terry would have done it for free, but the idea of getting his own nude magazine was too good to pass up. Besides, if he could sneak out of the house, he could easily do this. Charlie had pulled his truck up and was getting it gassed. Grabbing a dirty Gotham Knight’s ball cap, he stuffed it on Terry’s head. Terry grimaced and swatted Charlie’s hands.

“Be quick, Terry” Charlie insisted. “In and out; no slowing down. Got it?”

“Got it.” Terry fought back the nerves working through his body as he watched as Charlie entered. He wanted to prove himself and this was a great chance to do it. Some of Charlie’s gang, especially some of the girls Charlie was having a thing with, thought Terry was a dreg just following along. Terry wasn’t and was going to show them how he could hang with guys like Charlie and Julio.

A minute passed, the time that Charlie said he needed. Terry tugged his backpack straps and began heading inside. The gas station was run down and not in some kind of retro way. Everything was tiled brown, tan and beige from the floors, the walls and the counters. The few splashes of colors advertised coffee, the pretzel dogs, and a turkey sandwich. No one else was here except for Charlie, thumbing through the magazines and the cashier who was keeping his eyes mostly on Charlie.

Terry didn’t stay still for long. He began moving quickly to the back. Terry had seen Charlie and Julio do this plenty of time, where one of them would loop around the store and begin stocking up on goods. It was plenty of time for Charlie to get whatever he needed before launching the next step in their plan. Terry did his best to be silent, his shoes sticking on the floor from dry soda or dirty mop water before he wrenched them free. He passed the the sizzling hot dogs, the stench drenching the air in heavy meat. Terry gagged, but didn’t stop there, passing by the sandwiches, some cheap truck supplies before spotting what was on the list: beer.

There weren’t any single bottles or cans Terry could grab. Instead, he was going to have to grab a six pack and hope he was strong enough. Opening the door, he felt the cool refrigerator air hit him before glancing back. Terry was in the far back now and from where he was, hidden from the cashier. Darting back to the beer, Terry quickly looked around before grabbing two six packs of Lit Beer. As tempted as he was to get the Buzz Soda, he snapped the door shut and pressed ahead.

“Heeeey, I’m ready to check out.” Charlie’s recognizable voice carried inside the store. Terry could hear him crystal clear and knew it was time to start heading the front. Hoping the residual gunk from his shoes didn’t make too much noise, Terry scampered with the aisle, ignoring the beer weighing down his bag. The cashier had a thick accent, asking Charlie if the magazines was all he wanted and that he’d have to see Charlie’s ID.

“I need some other stuff too. Got any Silk Cuts? The filters if you got ‘em.” Terry was at the snacks now. His heart was racing, the thrill consuming him as he looked back and forth. There was still no sign of anyone and he couldn’t see any cameras. His face was hidden and they’d be long gone by the time anyone saw them. That was what Charlie said anyways.

Terry waited for a moment as Charlie fished out his fake ID. He gave it five seconds before he quickly began grabbing what he needed. Dip was easy to grab and stuff in but chips were noisier. They’d crinkle and alert anyone listening that someone was grabbing them. A little noise was fine but too much and he’d be caught red handed.

Terry worked quickly before grabbing three bags. His backpack was ready to burst and his back was already screaming in agony with the weight. The beer was weighing everything down. Terry just hoped the back would stay together long enough to--

“YoHOOOOOOO!”

A hearty laugh cut through the store. Terry looked around and saw a clown walk in, totting what Terry thought was a laser gun the cops had only been given recently. He looked as old as Charlie and had the same amount of muscle as him, but he looked like a dreg with all the grease paint on him. Terry knew what this was: a Jokerz member.

The clerk and Charlie froze in place, as the Jokerz laughed again. The dreg was clearly happy about this as he aimed the gun right them. “Your ATM wasn’t working outside, so I figured I’d ask for a cash deposit.”

Charlie was bigger and could have decked this guy into next Tuesday, but he wasn’t armed. Instead, he stepped back, arms raised as the cashier began to hurriedly open the cash drawer. Terry didn’t even have to see his face that Charlie was giving this guy the evil look and wanted nothing more than to deck him.

Terry hadn’t been noticed despite taking a quick peek to see what was going on. The snack counter was his cover from anyone in the store. His mind was racing as fast as his heart. His friend was stuck at gunpoint and could be shot. Terry looked around, trying to figure out something. Should he rush out and tackle the guy? No, Terry told himself, he'd get shot. He could try and distract the gunman, but Terry was stuck on the how.

Looking down at his backpack, Terry saw one of the cans of Lit Beer. An idea struck him and with little options left, he hoped it would be enough. Terry dove his hand down into the bag, snapping the can from the plastic rings. The chips rustling from the bag was distracted as the drawer clung open, the dreg saying “In the bag! In the bag now! Come on!” His gun was shifting too and from Charlie and the cashier so neither or them would get any funny ideas.

Terry moved back around, going down one of the aisles until he saw what he was looking for: the sandwich containers. It was filled with all sorts of sandwiches: the only good sandwiches like chicken, turkey, turkducken, fish, and then the not so good ones like the hamburgers that were dry and crumbly and a BLT that had more green and plant life on it than was advertised. It also just so happened to be in the complete opposite direction of the cashier.

Terry took aim and hurled the can of Lit Beer. It spun in the air before crashed into the side of the container with a loud THUNK! The can crashed to the ground, ruptured from the two sudden impacts as the beer splashed out in all directions. It was too far away to hit anyone but the noise was enough for the gunman to spin around. “WHO’S THAT?!” he called out.

Everything happened so fast. Charlie stepped forward and sucker punched the Jokerz thug with a hard right hook. The goon crashed to the ground, the gun clattering to the ground. Terry floored it, now rushing past the beer puddle as Charlie moved forward and kicked the gunman in the gut. The man wretched as Charlie kicked him again, and again. Terry was moving fast, heart pounding in his ears as Charlie lept over the man, scooped something up and rushed forward. All the while, the cashier was grabbing his own gun, aiming the old shotgun right at the Jokerz who was quivering and coughing on the floor.

Terry and Charlie didn’t look back. They didn’t even look to see if anyone else was in the parking lot. They hopped into Charlie’s truck before flooring it. The truck lurched forward, peeling out of the parking lot before another CRASH could be heard. Charlie and Terry were jolted forward but kept driving as quickly as they could. Terry looked back, only to realize they had never pulled the fuel nozzle out of the truck as it flailed behind them, the pump now effectively ruined.

Charlie laughed. It was an adrenaline filled guffaw before he let out a long cry of victory. “TT! That was the schwayest! Did you see that? DID YOU SEE THAT?!”

“Y-YEAH!” Terry was also laughing now. His body was shaking, trembling in his seat as Charlie continued to laugh. That was incredible and they had managed to get away with everything they had. They had done it! They had won!

~ ~ ~

They pulled the pump out a few blocks away. Charlie said that someone would probably want it for scraps and it could be useful. It didn’t even matter though. TT and Big Time had taken down a Jokerz dreg and were riding high off that all the way to Julio’s party. "Wait ‘til I tell everyone what we did! You’re moving up TT. Maybe we’ll do some bigger stuff soon.”

“Bigger?” Terry asked, but was clapped on the shoulder by Charlie. Terry hid the wince so he couldn’t get an arm punch for flinching. “How much bigger?”

“Bigger than you or me kid.” Charlie looked behind the chair and grinned. Terry got a look and noticed the Jokerz’s gun had been lifted instead of the magazines or the cigarettes. “Now come on. Let’s party.”

[rosariesandwrath]

An Inheritance of Wrath

“I see potential in you,” he said softly as he curled a gloved finger beneath Muriah’s chin and tilted it upward as if he were appraising a show dog. Tipping his dented barbute forward in his inspection, he allowed her to look at him. For a man with one eye rendered ineffectual due to an unspoken injury, he saw her fears. He knew everything.

                                                            ---

Muriah had never met Malakov Brightgrasp until that day. Before then, she had been a teenager employed to care for the Cathedral of Holy Light and its surrounding pavement - a virtual nobody. Her recruitment into the Scarlet March by the mutual urges of High Executor Errigal Camille and Rose Eveligh was abrupt; prior to their approaches, she had never heard of the organization. She had never tasted poison. Once she was a pledged member, she donned a simple pair of recycled red twill trousers and an oversized white blouse with the distinct scarlet tabard - hers also recycled based on the bloodstains - guising any of her distinctly feminine features.

The Brothers Brightgrasp, a mythologized pair, consisted of a contentious duo. The younger Brightgrasp boy, Emyr, was a man of the cloth. Known for his melodramatic tendencies and sudden outbursts, he often fought with his elder brother for control. Malakov Brightgrasp, the forefront of the Scarlet March, was a perpetually composed, calm man with hunger churning like a tempest deep within his eyes. Public squabbles were not uncommon betwixt them, but the arguments rarely resulted in anything beyond Emyr’s temporary disappearance in order to reinforce the value of his existence.

On the day of Malakov’s proclamation, the initiates and tyros were brought to northern Elwynn Forest, just beyond the reach of Stormwind’s gates in order to undergo training. A waif among titanic brutes, Muriah struggled to perform most of the rudimentary tasks asked of her. Running crippled her. Pushups depleted her. She surmised that she would have been dismissed… until he showed up with his younger brother in tow.

He was ruggedly handsome by some accords. With salt-and-pepper patches dispersed within his chocolate locks and his manicured beard, Malakov had begun to display his age with composed grace. Countless battles and deleterious injuries wizened him, leaving a visage deformed by deep wrinkles and perpetually tired but kind eyes. A thunderous voice complemented his towering height, molding him in the likeness of an earthbound deity.

With his commanding presence, the Grand Crusader held a lone hand up to mark the cessation of activities. One-by-one, he spoke to individual newcomers, welcoming them with idle conversation and saccharine grins. When Muriah’s time had come like her predecessors’, she was met with such a bold proclamation that surprised even the generals beneath Malakov. However, as quickly as he came, he walked away and his words seemingly slipped away with the sands of time.

                                                              ---

Three weeks had passed.

With her freckled nose deep in an archaic text promulgated by the Church of the Holy Light, Muriah sat cross-legged on one of the marble benches that encircled the fountain in the district. Residual droplets from the recycled waters brushed against the nape of her neck and her overgrown curls were secured into a messy bun atop her crown. Her smile - a pearlescent, toothy sort - was sempiternal.

A barbaric figure emerged from the Cathedral of Holy Light just a few hundred feet away. The silence of his movements and his mannerisms belied the confidence exuded in his step. He descended his revered mountain of marble with calculated footfalls that produced an audible metallic click with every depression. Wordlessly and without deviation in his trajectory, Malakov stormed towards the seated girl.

Muriah was blissfully unaware of his advance until it was far too late, for when he promptly grabbed her by the shoulder with a metallic claw and forced her to stand, she could only echo a weakened cry. She did not know what she did wrong. She was doing her best. Closing any gap between them, he lowered his barbute and pressed the acute angle in which the headpiece terminated into her shoulder, replacing his hand.

“I need you to do something for me. If you trust me, you will be rewarded beyond your comprehension.” His words were muffled by his helmet, but in his eloquent diction, he conveyed himself clearly.

His scent overwhelmed her. Sweat. Blood. In the temptation afforded by his words, Muriah could taste his presence and promise. Power. Compassion. Protection. As an orphan of a long forgotten noble bloodline, she had never savored the potential she was born into. She lingered in the perpetual shadow of the underhand of society; a nobody born of somebodies. Like many children forced into the tragic lifestyle of an orphan, she knew she would remain irrelevant if no intervention was offered. This was her way out.

Captivated by his boldness in the moment, Muriah pressed her cheek into the barbute and listened as he offered her a world she never knew. It was so sweet on her tongue. His urgency, however, brought with it a less pleasant sensation. Much like his assurances, Malakov’s neediness burned her palate with prophetic truths. The eternal struggle for dominance. The decay of an empire. The wrath of a promise unfulfilled.  

Moved by his trust and seduced by the hopes for better, Muriah raised a quivering, unscathed hand to the opposite hand of his helmet and patted it. The naiveté that shrouded her from reality was whittled away in a moment’s notice. She was just a girl and he was a stranger. Yet the moment he approached her, she knew she needed to devour his woes. She was his remedy.

“What is it you require of me, Master?” 

@diermina @iahri-mg @illdraes

[hsjadhuhawdh2321312]

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