#( the rising of. ) finis.

[bobby-rising]

new bugz

[frenchiepal]

Happy Birthday!! J'espère que tu as passé une bonne journée et tu vas passer une bonne soirée aussi !!

merci beaucoup sophie!! jusqu'à ce point c'était une journée vraiment plaisante🥹🩷

[hederasgarden]

Finis

Summary: Lucius comes for you (this is a follow up to Post tenebras lux and Ab Initio) Pairing: Lucius Verus x F!Reader Word Count: 7.8 K (WHOOPS SORRY) Rating:  Explicit, 18+ only. Angst with a HEA, sex (PIV and f receiving), mentions of spousal death/grief and other untagged themes (please message me if you’d like to know what these are). A/N: A HUGE thanks to @aliensupastar and @ryebecca for their help with the fic. Becca also made the beautiful banner as well! This is full of historical inaccuracies and I’m using both Roman and Greek mythology interchangeably.  Please comment or reblog if you enjoyed this and want to see more. Or scream at me in my inbox. That always makes my day.

Gladiator Masterlist ♡ Masterlist

Anxiety pulses beneath your skin as you lie in the dark, Lucius’s body pressed close against yours. His steady, warm breath brushes the back of your neck, but you know he's just as awake as you are. Neither of you can sleep. It’s a cruel kind of torture, pretending that nothing has changed, and that you’ll still be together when the morning light spills into the cell.

You don’t know how much time you have before they come for you. It could be hours. It could be minutes. You wish you could take Lucius inside you just once more, to have him fill every part of you with his love, his devotion. You sigh and he says your name softly, urging you to face him. The ache in your chest only intensifies when you turn and meet his eyes. No words are spoken — how could there be any that would make this easier? What could you say that would make the pain of this goodbye more bearable?

You close your eyes and breathe out. Somewhere a guard’s laughter echoes faintly, while from another cell, the deep, steady snoring of a gladiator fills the silence. Then you hear it. A sound, small but sharp: the faint jingling of keys. The scrape of metal against metal. 

It’s time.

Lucius pulls you to your feet with a quiet urgency, his hands steady as he drapes the cloak over your shoulders and fastens the clasp at your throat. His touch lingers there before he dips his head to kiss you, gentle and tender. It carries the weight of something else, something final. You can’t bear the thought of it. With a sudden surge of emotion, you rise onto your toes and throw your arms around his shoulders, kissing him with a desperation that feels like a vow. It’s a promise that no matter what happens, you will find your way back to each other.

"Have faith," he whispers once you pull away, his forehead against yours. "I will see you again soon."

You swallow, the words heavy in your throat. "I have no faith left in the gods," you confess. Your lips tremble with the weight of your blasphemy. It feels like a sin, but it's the truth.

"Then have faith in me," he returns, his voice soft but unwavering. He holds your cheek in his scarred hand and your lashes flutter. "As long as there is breath in my body, I will return to you."

 "Lucius…" Your voice cracks, and before you can stop it, tears slip down your cheeks.

He grasps your neck, pulling you close and guiding your cheek until it rests against his chest. The steady beat of his heart is a rhythmic comfort, so different from the frantic pounding of your own. He holds you like this moment can somehow protect you from what’s to come, and you stay like that until Ravi says your name in a low, urgent tone. 

"Please, we must hurry." 

You look up at Lucius one last time, desperate to memorize every line of his face, but time is slipping away, and you know there’s no more time to hold on. You step away, your heart heavy, and take Ravi’s hand. 

The cool, solid grip of his fingers anchors you as you move down the dark hallway. Silence stretches out around you like a shroud. Despite your spurning of the gods, your mind drifts to Persephone, trapped in a fate not of her making. The thought lingers, haunting you, as you walk further into the darkness, but you press forward.

Because like Orpheus, if you look back, you will be lost.

–

You ride for days with a small group of men loyal to General Acacius and Lucilla, the landscape unfolding in shades of brown and green while the horizon stretches out endlessly. The dull ache in your thighs has become a constant companion, deepening with every hour spent on a saddle. The smell of horse and sweat clings stubbornly to your clothes, mingling with the dust of the road.  

Moments of rest are brief and tense, and the men around you speak little of where you’re headed. You often feel Lucilla’s gaze on you as you ride, though there is little time to converse meaningfully. She looks different from the times you saw her seated beside the emperors in the arena. Her beautiful golden hair is plaited into a simple braid and her face is bare. Yet, even without the fine robes and jewelry, there is nothing common about her appearance. From the sharp cut of her high cheekbones to the elegant line of her jaw, everything about her is unmistakably royal. 

She carries herself with a quiet authority that even the soldiers heed. They respect her and to your surprise, they show you the same reverence. It’s disorienting, unnerving even, but something in you is too afraid to push back against the illusion of nobility they’ve woven around you. So, you do what is required, what you learned from your time with Lucius and draw from the life you lived before you were a fisherman’s wife. You slip into the skin of someone else who is meant to be here and is worthy of the respect they offer. But it’s a mask that chafes, a weight far heavier than any shackle.

–

On the sixth day of riding, you crest a ridge, and suddenly the rugged coast unfolds before you with sparkling turquoise waters and lush hills. The soldier you ride with stops, just as stunned by the beauty as you. It’s been nearly two years since you’ve seen the ocean and smelt salt in the air. For a moment it’s as if Kronos himself has softened his grip on time and memories of your life before flood back, overwhelming and painfully beautiful. But the moment is brief, shattered when the soldier speaks. 

“This will be your new home, my lady, until we receive word from the General that Rome is safe once again.” 

He nudges the horse with a soft kick of his heels and the animal resumes its careful trot, disrupting loose stones as it makes its way down the steep, narrow trail. In the distance, you spot a small villa, nestled among rolling hills, its stone walls partially obscured by lush vineyards.

“Is it safe?” You question.

The young man offers you a smile over his shoulder. “There are many who are loyal to Lady Lucilla and the General. No one will know of your presence here.”

When you arrive you’re helped from the horse by another soldier, and follow behind Lucilla as she moves into the house. A row of servants greets the two of you, and the moment they see her they bow deeply. They don't look at you directly, but you feel their gaze flicker over you, just for a second, before their attention returns solely to her.

“Draw a bath for myself and my guest,” she instructs the gathered servants, handing off her dusty cloak and pushing her braid off her shoulder. “Bring fresh water and food for the men outside. See to it that they are taken care of first.”

You stand behind her, waiting for some instruction or sign of what you’re supposed to do. But as Lucilla turns and sweeps away, a young servant steps forward, offering you a shallow bow. 

“Your cloak, my lady,” he says.

His words hit you with an unexpected force and you realize, for the first time in years, that you are no longer a slave.

–

You wake slowly, the dredges of your sleep lingering as you roll to your back and shield your eyes from the morning light. After nearly a week on the road, the bed you sleep in is a welcome relief. It’s more luxurious than anything you’ve ever known and you inhale the clean, citrusy scent on the sheets. 

A gentle knock on your door is your only warning before a servant enters with a jug of water that she sets on a low table. She bows to you before moving to open the curtains and let sunlight flood the room. Next, she moves to the hearth, stoking a small fire with practiced movements. While she works another servant appears with fresh robes that she lays over the edge of your bed. The fabric is pale blue and finely made, trimmed in silver, but as your eyes linger on them, you can’t help but remember the last time you wore such finery.

"Domina," the new servant greets, drawing your attention away from the clothes. “May we help you dress?”

The way she addresses you, like the man last night, causes a strange, uncomfortable flutter in your chest. She does not seem to sense your discomfort and waits patiently for a reply, as sure and comfortable in her role as you are uncomfortable in yours. It feels so alien, to have someone serve you like this. Weeks ago, this was your job, your life. The thought twists in your gut.

“N-no.” You finally manage. “That will be all.”

“As you wish,” she replies, accepting your answer with a respectful nod.

You know they are here to serve you, and yet it startles you, the way they defer to you so unquestioningly. 

She pauses at the door, her attention on you once again. “Lady Lucilla wishes you to break your fast with her on the terrace.” 

Then she turns and quietly retreats from the room. Only once you're alone does the tightness in your throat abate, but there is another deeper discomfort that lingers. It takes you longer to dress than you expect and you’re left feeling unsure if it’s the way the garment fits or the unfamiliarity of the situation that feels so wrong. 

By the time you reach the terrace, the morning sun is brighter and warmer. Lucilla is seated at a table laden with food, her fingers lightly tracing the rim of her wine cup, lost in thought.  She offers you a quiet greeting as you slip into the empty chair beside her. A plate piled high with fruit is set before you; after so long on the road, your mouth waters at the sight. 

You select a peach and drag it through honey. It’s halfway to your lips when the servant’s voice cuts through the stillness of the morning.

“Did you sleep well, my lady?" She asks politely. 

"I am not a lady," you correct quietly, the words slipping out before you can fully think them through. 

The moment you say it, you freeze. Juice drips down your fingers, a sticky trail running under the sleeve of your robe, but you don’t even notice. The servant glances at Lucilla, brows furrowed in confusion by your denial, but Lucilla simply smiles, seemingly unbothered.  

"You may go now," she says to the young woman, a touch of finality in her tone. “We will call you if we have need of you.”

The servant nods and retreats without a word, her footsteps fading into the hall. Lucilla watches her go, waiting to speak until you are alone.  

"I suppose you're not a lady," she says, her tone not unkind. 

She delicately eats a honey cake, seemingly preoccupied, but there's something sharp and assessing in her eyes that reminds you strongly of Lucius. You chew the peach in silence, but it feels like ash in your mouth now. You’ve misstepped.

"It would be Princess, would it not?" she asks, not waiting for a response before continuing. "You are my son's wife and he is the prince of Rome."

Princess.

Wife.

Your mind doesn’t seem to know which to focus on first. Both are heavy titles, the first unexpected, but it’s the second that gives you pause. It’s a title you never expected to have again, but it’s one you cannot deny you long for. 

"My lady,” you begin quietly, “We were never…married. They gave me to him as a concubine.”  Though you know she understands, Lucius told her everything before you left, you still rush to clarify. "But I was never truly that. I was only ever a slave."

Lucilla hums thoughtfully, regarding you over the rim of her glass as she drinks. "You pledged yourselves to one another, did you not?" she asks.

You nod stiffly, and then she leans forward, surprising you by gently settling a hand over your chest. 

"If he lives here," she murmurs, her fingers pressing lightly, "and you live in his heart, what more could the gods ask for?"

“I...I suppose,” you respond hesitantly, unsure how to finish the thought. 

She smiles warmly at you as if the matter is settled, but you feel less sure. A slave, risen to the status of princess. Would the rest of Rome regard you so generously?

Lucilla seems oblivious to your doubts and with a soft, contented hum, she leans forward, turning her attention to the plate of fruits as she seems to contemplate her choices. She glances at you briefly before selecting a date, her movements slow and measured.

“When the time comes you will stand beside Lucius as his wife and the rest of Rome will see you as such. Because he will tell them to.”

The words hang in the air between you, but they do nothing to ease the gnawing discomfort building inside.

You swallow hard, trying to steady your voice. “Where I come from - what I am…it does not bother you?”

“What you were,” she corrects, holding your gaze for a beat before she continues. “But you mean, does it bother me you were once a slave?” She questions. 

You nod. “I am also not Roman. I was just a fisherman’s wife,” you reply, though that title has long since been stripped from you. 

���Lucius’s father was a slave and a gladiator,” Lucilla replies, her gaze softening when she speaks of him. The love and longing in her words feel fresh, as though Lucius’s father still lingers in her mind after all these years. 

You clasp your hands together, your fingers curling slightly, stroking your thumb over your knuckles. You exhale and meet her gaze again. 

“He was also once a general, was he not?” you question, half unsure why you’re still pressing the point. Maybe it’s the lingering unease, the feeling that you don't belong here. Why should it be so simple?

Lucilla sets her glass down with quiet deliberation. Her eyes meet yours, steady and unflinching.

“In the Rome my father believed in,” she begins, “anyone could rise to greatness, regardless of their past. It was not about where you started, but what you did with the chances the gods gave to you.”

For a moment you let yourself imagine the world she describes — one where people can transform, where their past does not determine their worth. You want to believe her, to let the fragile embers of hope her son ignited in you months ago bloom into something real. But doubt is a hard thing to shake. 

“It’s a beautiful dream,” you say, unsure if you quite believe her words. “Your father sounds like a great man.”

Lucilla smiles, sadness flickering in her eyes. “He was,” she replies. “I see so much of Lucius in him. His strength. His sense of honor.” Then, with an unexpected tenderness, she adds, “I think he would have liked you.”

“You honor me,” you respond, lowering your gaze. The weight of her acceptance feels heavier than you expect.

Lucilla shifts closer, her knees brushing yours. She says your name quietly and you look up. 

“I know you may not see it yet, but not everyone could have survived what you have and come out stronger,” she tells you, her voice steady but filled with a quiet conviction. “That is your gift. And now you must decide how you wish to wield that power.”

“Wield it?” you ask, confusion threading through your words. "I have no desire to rule."

Lucilla’s expression eases, but she doesn’t falter. "No," she agrees. "Neither did I. But that does not mean you cannot help Lucius rebuild Rome into something stronger, something better. If you choose to."

You’ve spent most of your life at the mercy of forces larger than yourself, swept along by events outside your control. The thought of the power she speaks of is daunting, almost uncomfortable.

“But what can I do?”

“In this world, there are many ways to hold power. Not all of them are visible, but they are just as effective.” Lucilla explains. “True strength lies in shaping the course of events without ever appearing to control them.”

You frown slightly. “I do not know how to achieve that.”

Lucilla tilts her head, her smile knowing. "You have already mastered the basics from your time in the arena. I can teach you the rest.”

You’re silent for a long moment, processing her words. 

“You truly believe I am capable of this?”

“Yes,” she says. 

There’s a certainty and knowing in her tone, so like her son’s, a belief that you are worthy — even if you can’t yet see it in yourself. A wave of emotion rises within you. You want to be worthy of Lucius’s love, and of Lucilla’s faith in you. 

Despite the doubt you lift your chin and straighten your shoulders. “Teach me.”

–

As the weeks slip by, you fall into a rhythm with Lucilla that feels almost comforting in its predictability, and certainly far more steady than the chaos of your days in the Colosseum.  Afternoons are spent learning to be a proper Roman woman. At first, the lessons are as expected: how to dress, how to speak, and how to move with the elegance and poise that mark a lady of high status. But soon the lessons grow more layered, more intricate. Slowly, you begin to learn to move through the world with intention, to shape it and, in time, make it yield to your will.

Yet, no matter how much of your time is occupied, your worry for Lucius never fully fades. It hovers at the edges of your thoughts, a persistent shadow on your periphery that remains there despite Lucilla's attempts to keep you busy. The only moments you can quiet your mind are in the early hours of the day, when the sun is just a faint promise of light that lingers below the horizon and the villa is quiet. 

On those mornings you rise without the aid of the servants, draping a heavy cloak over your shoulders and heading to the kitchen where the remnants of yesterday’s meal sit on the counter. There you gather the bread still fragrant with yeast and ripened figs and wrap them in a clean cloth. When you step outside, a wave of dizziness passes through you, a light-headedness that’s become more frequent of late as your stress and anxiety grow. You pause to steady yourself against the cool stone of the villa before you’re able to shake the feeling.

Felix, the same young soldier you rode with from Rome, is waiting for you. He leans against the wall, eyes heavy with sleep, but he rouses himself quickly as he sees you approach. Without a word, he falls in behind you as you begin the descent down the winding path that leads to the sea. By the time you reach the bottom, the path opens up to the edge of the old fishing dock. You unwrap the cloth and tear off a piece of bread, breaking it in half, and hand it to Felix along with one of the figs. He takes a seat on the short stone wall and you continue to the dock. 

The planks groan as you make your way to the end where the ocean stretches out before you into nothingness. You lower yourself until your legs dangle over the water. For a moment, there is only the sound of the waves lapping against the shore, gentle and rhythmic. Then, over the quiet, you hear the fishermen further down the coast. Their voices carry on the wind as they begin their work for the day, preparing their boats and nets for the first catch. 

The first time you came here, you expected the grief you carried for your lost husband would break over you like a swell, sharp and sudden. But it didn’t. That ache, that quiet, constant ache was still there as you suspect it always would be but somewhere along the way that wound had become a scar. Simply a part of you, like the salt in the air or the brine in the sea. 

You break your fast with a fig, savoring the sweetness of its soft flesh until a sudden wave of nausea stirs in the pit of your stomach. It’s brief, but sharp enough to make you pause before swallowing. You will it to pass and it does though it seems to linger longer and longer lately. You brush the thought away and finish your meal, remaining on the dock until the sun’s light begins to break through the clouds, casting a soft, golden glow on the water. The heat sinks into your skin and you close your eyes, accepting its warm touch. In the quiet your mind drifts, as it always does, to Lucius and the pain of your separation deepens.

Was he sitting somewhere, feeling this same warmth? Was he safe? Had the plans he set in motion succeeded? The questions swirl in your mind like the restless current. You try to picture him as you saw him last, steady and focused, but all you can conjure is the look of fear in his deep, dark-set eyes the night of Macrinus' party. Anxiety and dread return to you and tears threaten to fall. 

The urge to push the emotion down, to shield yourself from its pull is strong, but then, you remember Lucilla’s lesson. With a quiet exhale you drop your shoulders and accept the feeling, letting it pass over until it ebbs into nothingness. You take slow and steady breaths, gaining control of yourself once more.  

“Princess,” Felix greets, wood creaking under his feet. “We must return.”

The title hangs in the air, a strange thing even after all these weeks. He says it so effortlessly, as if it has always been this way. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to it. 

“Perhaps there will be news today,” he suggests encouragingly. 

“Perhaps,” you agree, accepting his offered hand. 

By the time you finish your ascent, perspiration dots your hairline, and sweat clings to your skin. The gentle breeze that stirs through the air is a welcome relief, helping to lift the heat that has settled into your body. You reach for the clasp of your cloak, ready to shed it, when the sharp sound of metal on steel cuts through the air. Your hand freezes mid-motion, and you realize that Felix has unsheathed his sword. 

Before you can question him, you register the presence of unfamiliar horses and men in the courtyard. The dust they’ve kicked up swirls in the air, and you cover your mouth with your sleeve.

“Stay behind me,” Felix urges. His free hand touches your hip briefly to guide you closer to him.

Though you do as he asks you can’t help but scan the gathered men for a familiar face, hope and dread tangling together. You find none and terror settles over you like a heavy shroud. Felix rolls his shoulders, widening his stance as he lifts his sword. There are too many men for him to fight but he stands firm, seemingly ready to lay down his life for you. It’s a sobering realization. 

You glance towards the house, worried for Lucilla when you catch sight of a figure in the doorway. Even with his back to you, you recognize Lucius. His posture is stooped with weariness, but his presence still commands the air around him as he speaks with his mother and an older man beside her.

“Felix,” you whisper, fingers curling into the fabric of his cloak. 

He shifts to look at you, but you cannot tear your gaze from Lucius, greedily drinking him in like a mirage in the desert, terrified if you blink that he’ll vanish. His dark brown hair is matted with dirt and sweat, his clothes torn and stained. You can see his bare arms are streaked with cuts and bruises and a bloody bandage, hastily wrapped around his left bicep, hangs loose. The sight of him is a brutal testament to his journey and your chest aches at the thought of all he’s been through. 

But he’s here. Alive.

Before you realize it, you’re moving towards him. There is nothing dignified in the way you throw yourself into his arms when he turns to face you, colliding into him with enough force to send him staggering back. His arms wrap around you, steadying you both, and you bury your face against him. Your fingers twist into the hair at the nape of his neck as if you’re trying to anchor yourself to him.

Lucius says your name and a great, painful sob bursts from within you. He pulls away just enough to stroke your face and press his forehead to yours. His touch is gentle yet trembling, as though he's trying to reassure himself that you're real, that this moment is real. 

“I am here,” he murmurs, “I have returned to you, just as I promised.”

You move closer to him, still shaking, and with a fierceness you can’t contain, you whisper, “Had you not, I would have gone to Pluto himself.”

“I have no doubt,” he replies, a wry smile on his lip.

Together, you breathe the same air, the rhythm of your heart easing. When you brush your nose against his, he tilts his head, letting his lips graze yours in an achingly sweet kiss. Every part of you longs to lose yourself in it, but you’re acutely aware of your surroundings — and of the role you must play. 

With a quiet effort, you pull yourself from Lucius. Heat blooms in your cheeks when you realize nearly everyone is watching the two of you, but Lucius feels no such shame. He grasps your hand in his and with a proud tilt of his jaw, tugs you forward. Lucilla smiles warmly as you approach and introduces the man at her side as her husband, General Acacius.

“I have heard so much about you from Lucius,” Acacius shares, watching you with a mix of admiration and curiosity. “You are all he would speak of these last few weeks.”

You dip your head, both embarrassed and oddly pleased by the thought of Lucius talking about you to others.

“I have grown fond of her as well,” Lucilla admits. You feel her light touch on your arm before she withdraws and shifts her attention to her son and husband. “I wish to hear everything that has transpired in Rome, but you are both in need of a bath. Go,” she commands lightly.

Acacius turns to his wife with an affectionate look. He rests his fist over his chest, bowing deeply. “As my lady commands.”

You smile at Lucius, squeezing his hand. "Go," you encourage him. "We must see to it that the men are taken care of. They will need food, water, and a place to rest."

Lucius glances at his mother, and then his gaze shifts back to you. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes, surprise, perhaps, but he masks it quickly. He leans in and presses a kiss to your cheek, the gesture laden with affection. Then, with a final glance, he turns to Acacius and follows the older man out of the room.

You watch them leave and then look at Lucilla. She meets your gaze and offers a subtle but approving nod. It’s a quiet gesture but with it, the weight of responsibility settles heavily upon your shoulders. You take a deep breath, steadying yourself, before stepping forward and catching the attention of two servants nearby. Their eyes meet yours with attentive expectation as you give them clear instructions on how best to tend to the garrison of soldiers gathered in the courtyard. 

Every detail must be accounted for. These are the men who helped Lucius free Rome and brought him home safely to you. They deserve your care and your respect. But more than that, you understand something deeper: how you treat them now will not be forgotten. These soldiers will remember how they were received — whether with kindness, attention, and dignity or with indifference — and they will speak of it when they leave here.

Caring for them is not simply fulfilling a duty. You are establishing a connection, a foundation of trust and goodwill that will extend beyond this moment. 

–

You find Lucius in your room sometime later, seemingly lost in thought. He drinks deeply from a cup of wine, and you take a moment to study his profile, content to simply watch him. The soft glow of the hearth casts shadows across his face, blurring the sharp lines of his features. His hair and skin are still damp from the bath, and he wears nothing but a simple towel, cinched tightly around his waist. Though weary, he seems more relaxed than you can ever recall seeing him.

When he lowers his cup, his eyes meet yours. "How are the men?" he ask with a smile. 

“They are being taken care of," you reply. “They deserve it after what they’ve done for you."

Lucius steps closer, his hands reaching to cup your face. The familiar warmth of his calloused palms is grounding, a silent comfort.

"You have done well," he says, his voice thick with gratitude. "I am proud of you."

In his gaze, you see more than just affection – there’s respect. You try to look away, overwhelmed, but he holds your eyes, unwilling to let you break the connection.

"I am doing what needs to be done," you reply quietly. "For Rome. For you."

“For Rome?” He questions. “Since when do you speak so fondly of her?”

“Since I have fallen in love with a Roman,” you confess. 

A smile tugs at the corners of Lucius’s lips, his eyes softening as he looks at you. You reach up, drawn to the familiar comfort of his touch, and curl your fingers over his. But when you brush over the bare skin of his finger, you realize the ring he’s worn as long as you’ve known him is gone. 

“Lucius,” you breathe. “Your ring…”

His eyes close and a tremor passes through his body, an echo of a long-buried pain. When his hands fall from your face you mourn the loss of his touch.

“I returned it to the sea,” he says roughly, as if the words themselves are heavy. “Where it ended.” 

You stare at him, shocked.

“I do not need it any longer,” Lucius continues quietly, trying to ease the air between you. “I have avenged her.”

A quiet ache blooms inside you as you think of your own wedding band, the one taken from you when you were made a prisoner of Rome. You remember its weight and shape, your thumb often tracing the space where it used to sit as if it could somehow conjure it back. You wonder if it hadn't been stolen from you, if you could let it go as Lucius has done. 

“I carry Arashat with me. In my blood, in my bones.” His eyes open then, startlingly blue and clear. “It is the same way your husband still lives inside you.”

Your lip trembles and you sway, your body caught in the pull of something too deep for words. Before you ever fell in love with Lucius, before his touch became something that soothed the ache inside you, you forged a connection through shared grief. You could not escape those you lost, no matter how many years passed. But neither of you would ever want to.

Lucius’s voice breaks through the silence, his words raw and vulnerable. “More than that, it felt wrong to still wear it,” he admits. “When I love you the way a husband should love his wife.”

Your lips part, the words unable to form as they twist inside you. "A wife?" you repeat. You're unsure whether they should be a question or an answer. 

He smiles, his lips brushing over yours in the gentlest of kisses. “My wife,” he confirms. “If you will have me.”

A bubble of laughter escapes your chest and you push forward, capturing his lips with yours in a possessive, claiming kiss. For Lucilla to bestow that title upon you was one thing, but to hear it from Lucius —asking you to take it — feels like something you didn’t realize you were waiting for. 

“Yes,” you whisper, the word barely escaping in the space between you. “Yes, I will have you.”

Lucius urges you toward the bed, his mouth devouring yours. You fall together into the soft sheets and the weight of him almost steals your breath, but he hardly seems to notice. He pulls at your dress, baring your shoulder to his hungry lips. 

"I have dreamed of this every night," he breathes against your skin. "Your warmth. Your sweetness." 

Need flares hotly in your belly and you aid Lucius in removing your clothes. When you are bare to him he gazes down at you, his teeth catching his lower lip in an almost unconscious gesture of desire.  Those sharp eyes see all, cataloging the way you sigh and arch your back when his large hands cup your breasts. Even his tender touch feels overwhelming and it’s almost painful the way his roughened fingers tease the sensitive peaks of your nipples

You tremble when his hands sweep lower, ghosting over your stomach to frame your hips. The brief pressure of his touch is soothing and you exhale as he moves down your body, finally settling between your parted thighs. In the flickering light, you see a hunger in his eyes, something so consuming it wipes away the weariness that’s clung to him since he’s returned.

“I fought for Rome, but I fought for this too,” he admits. "You are far sweeter than any honey.”

His words twist your stomach pleasantly and your fingers brush an errant curl from his forehead. 

“Lucius…”

“Yes, touch me,” he encourages, lowering his mouth to you. 

You drag your nails gently over the back of his neck, tracing the curve of his scalp, and feel him shudder in response. His breath falls over your skin and you lift your hips. Scars old and new catch on your fingertips as your hands roam over his broad shoulders. There’s nothing hurried about Lucius’s touch, it’s a slow exploration of your body, something he was denied last time. 

Each brush of his tongue sends a surge of warmth through you and you respond by threading your fingers through his hair and tugging him closer. You need more and he gives it to you, delving deeper, greedy, and desperate for your taste. Your heart beats faster as one finger and then another slips easily inside you. He curls them up and seals his mouth over the most sensitive part of you, applying a dizzying amount of pressure. As he drinks from you his fingers move like a wave, a rhythmic caress that draws you closer and closer to the inevitable edge. 

“Please,” you gasp, drawing your knees towards your chest and riding his face with a desperation that would shame you were it not for the way Lucius responds with a needy groan. There’s a fleeting moment where it feels like the sensations he drags from your body are too much to contain, but then they overflow and you let out a desperate cry of relief.

Lucius does not relent until you push at his head. Then, he stares up at you, his mouth slightly parted, his face flushed. Your fingers have made a mess of his hair and his beard glistens with your arousal. He looks entirely too pleased with himself as he crawls up your body, pausing briefly to pull the towel from his waist. 

“My wife, my wife,” he murmurs. “Mine.”

“My husband,” you whisper back, curling your leg over his hip as he sinks inside you, filling you completely. 

A range of emotions flicker across his face — joy and pleasure, rapture and relief — each one passing like a fleeting wave, too intense to hold but impossible to ignore. You draw him close and his chest slides against yours. The air around you feels warm and heavy, thick with significance of the moment. Lucius’s labored breaths, slow and steady, fills the space, becoming the only rhythm that matters.

You stare into his blue eyes as you climb higher and higher together. There’s no need for words here, just him and the way he moves above you and inside you. He almost looks anguished as he strains and pants, pressing his forehead to yours. You hold him tightly, eyes sliding closed as something beautiful unfurls inside and everything goes quiet. 

After, you remain entwined, bodies tangled, until the warmth of your skin cools and the cadence of your breath slows. Only then does Lucius pull away, and his absence creates a hollow ache that lingers. It only eases once he returns, drawing you close and wrapping his arm around your waist. He rests his head against your stomach, his gaze lifting to meet yours. You run your fingers through his hair, savoring the quiet intimacy of the moment.

“I thought about this often,” he admits quietly. “Of seeing you. Holding you.” He pauses, and in the stillness of the moment, you can feel the weight of everything he’s been through, every battle, every loss, every moment of doubt. "There were so many times I thought this would not be my fate.”

The raw emotion in his voice makes your throat tighten, and tears prick at the corners of your eyes. It’s a feeling you’ve carried too, that you might never see him again.

“But you are here now, with me,” you remind him, resting your palm against his cheek. He sighs and you study his face. “Yet something troubles you.”

He shakes his head in denial, but the movement is half-hearted, a fleeting attempt to hide what he feels. Your fingers gently brush over the space between his brows, where the faintest line of worry has settled. 

“This tells me otherwise,” you say with a knowing look. 

He doesn’t say anything at first. His eyes search yours, as though he’s trying to find the words to explain what’s inside him.

“For so long I have been sustained by vengeance. It was always the next fight, the next battle, the next plan.” He closes his eyes and you can see the deep grooves time has etched into his face, the shadows of everything he's survived. “I did not let myself think about what would happen after all of this.”

“You rebuild Rome,” you tell him, the words simple but resolute.

His gaze doesn’t waver as he looks at you and he asks, “Is that what you want? Truly?”

“I want you. I want a life of peace and happiness,” you tell him, your fingers gently carding through his hair in a quiet reassurance. “Your grandfather’s dream would give that to me and so many others.”

“What else do you imagine in this life of ours?” he questions. 

There’s a quiet intensity behind his question and he watches you closely, almost like he’s searching for something. 

“What is it you imagine?” You ask.

"At times, I wondered..." he trails off, exhaling slowly, and turning his head so that his gaze drifts to the ceiling. The silence between you stretches and you watch the muscles of his throat work as he swallows hard. He seems to measure his words, as if what he’s about to say carries more significance than he’s ready to give voice to.  

“I thought I might find you with child when I returned,” he whispers, the longing in his voice palpable.

With child. The phrase lingers in your mind, tugging at something just beyond your reach. A nagging thought, one you’ve pushed away too many times, starts to surface. But before you can grasp it, Lucius's next words pull you back.

“I imagined a little boy with your eyes…or a girl with your smile.” He continues, the corner of his mouth lifting wistfully to transform his face into something even more handsome. “Children that would have your kindness, your goodness.” 

His confession is a painful one, unearthing a hope you buried so deep you almost forgot it existed. It was a dream you never let yourself entertain, because you knew, deep down, that if you planted that seed, nurtured it even for a moment, you’d never recover from its loss.

When Lucius looks back to you the question is clear in his eyes. Your answer comes before you can give it conscious thought. 

“Yes,” you assure him. How could you not want a child with the same fierce tenderness that Lucius carries in his heart? Someone who would inherit the best of both of you.

Lucius rises from your lap and draws you into his embrace.

“The thought of your growing round with my child is a prospect I look forward to,” he admits, resting his hand on the soft flesh of your belly. 

A jolt of something tightens in your lower abdomen at his touch, an unfamiliar flutter that gives you pause. And with it, the errant thought that had lingered at the edges of your mind, too fleeting to catch, comes rushing back into focus. 

You think of the dull, almost cramping sensation you’ve been attributing to the coming of your menses. How it never quite felt right. Too mild, too inconsistent. And the waves of nausea and exhaustion that have plagued you over the past few weeks alongside the other subtle changes in your body, small things that you dismissed as stress and anxiety.

But now, as his hand lingers there, warm and steady against your skin, the truth unfurls in your mind, clear and undeniable.

You’re already pregnant.

Lucius senses the shift in your demeanor and his brow furrows in concern. "What is wrong?" he asks.

“I do not think you will have to wait long,” you whisper with a shaky exhale. “I-I…I’ve been feeling strange these last weeks. I thought it was stress but…”

Lucius’s finger flexes against your belly, his gaze briefly flickering to your hand where it rests over his. Then, his eyes return to your face, and his words come soft but certain. “You have not bled.”

You shake your head and the hope and joy that suffuses every part of your body is almost crushing in its intensity. You can't hold it back anymore. Tearful joy spills from your eyes, and a breathless laugh escapes you, fragile and free all at once.

“A child,” Lucius breathes. 

The tender look of hope on his face and the love in his gaze is more beautiful than anything you could have imagined. His hand moves from your belly to cup your face, the touch so gentle it feels like something sacred. He pulls you into his arms, and for a long, perfect moment, you let yourself sink into the warmth of his embrace. His lips press softly against yours, so tender, almost reverent, as if this kiss is a quiet vow, a promise of everything to come.

When he pulls back, his forehead stays against yours, his breath mingling with yours. The love in his eyes is deep, unshakable and you know with certainty that this moment is not just the beginning of your child’s life, but the beginning of a life the two of you deserve. Together.

–

The chariot jolts, the rough motion throwing you off balance, but Lucius quickly steadies you with a firm hand on the small of your back. His touch seeps through the fabric of your white gown, grounding you as you lean into him instinctively. The chaos of the parade is overwhelming. Crowds line the street and the air buzzes with anticipation as the noise of their voices fills your ears. They chant your husband’s name, eager to see the savior of Rome. 

Your fingers instinctively brush over the diadem resting delicately on your head. The unfamiliar weight of it pulls at your scalp. Despite the servants’ careful work in securing it to your hair, a small, irrational fear grips you: what if it slips off, and everyone sees you are not worthy of it all? 

You were never meant to be in the spotlight like this but here you are, at the heart of it with Lucius beside you. He is poised and relaxed, lifting a hand to acknowledge the crowd. Behind you, Lucilla and Acacius ride in their own chariot, looking effortlessly graceful. Lucilla catches your eye, offering you an encouraging smile, and you return it. 

As the chariot moves forward, your gaze drifts toward the Colosseum. It rises in the distance, dominating the skyline. You expect to feel something, fear or anger perhaps, but instead, there is nothing. The Colosseum, that life of struggle and survival, is no longer the centerpiece of your world. It is behind you and Palatine Hill rises before you, a symbol of your new home and life. 

Hesitantly, your hand rises to offer a slow, deliberate wave to the crowd. The noise of their adoration intensifies and within the cries, you hear a shout of your own name and title mingled with Lucius’s. Hearing it sends a jolt through you. For a fleeting moment, the world seems to pause around you as the weight of everything settles in your chest. Like Caesar preparing to cross the Rubicon, you are standing on the precipice of something immense and there is no turning back. You can only move forward.

With that realization, you feel something shift deep within you, a quiet certainty taking root. It starts in your swollen belly, like the first spark of a fire, and spreads steadily outward, filling every part of you with a warmth you didn’t know you were missing. For the first time, you understand that you are not just here to fulfill Lucius’ dream and legacy. You are here for yourself and all those who once stood where you did — silent, powerless, nameless. 

You came to Rome a slave, but now, you are so much more. You are a wife, a princess, and soon, a mother – empowered and loved. And for the first time, you find you are not afraid.

The future is open to you, waiting to be shaped, and you are prepared to meet it head-on.

♡

Also part of this series:

Ab Initio

Post tenebras lux

Protego te

My inbox is open for your thoughts on this story, requests for drabbles with Lucius and further scenes with Lucius and the Fisherman's Wife.

[david-talks-sw]

When did the Jedi lose their way?

A notion put forward by Tales of the Jedi and The Acolyte is the idea that the Jedi were losing their way, as an Order, by letting themselves become more institutionalized and mired in bureaucracy.

Is that the intended narrative? Nope!

Because here's the thing, Lucas acknowledges the fact that the Jedi start to be corrupted, at some point. But if you ask him, that happens as a consequences of being used as generals during the Clone Wars.

(note the keywords "used" and "forced"... aka they didn't willingly join the war, they were drafted by the Senate to fight in it, see here for more research & quotes)

But during The Phantom Menace? The Jedi are in their heyday.

"You see the heyday of the Jedi, when they are the guardians of peace and justice in the galaxy, sort of like the old marshals out West. And there's thousands of them." - Vanity Fair, 1999

Their only fault is that:

the Senate is their boss and the Senate is corrupted af which limits their mandate greatly (so not really the Jedi's fault, but it does make their hands tied)

they're oblivious to the Sith's scheme.

This notion that "they were so institutionalized/detached from the regular Joes of the galaxy that they became dispassionate and lost their way, forgot about the little guy" is absolute headcanon from fans and current authors. Lucas never brings it up once.

On the contrary, during development, he and concept artists took measures to make them look less institutionalized and heartless.

The Jedi temple isn't meant to signify an ivory tower, it represents a place of warmth/worship that contrasts with the coldness dispassion of the Senate building.

The Jedi used to wear uniforms, it was softened to a humble tunic.

Because the intended narrative is that the Republic (including the Jedi) and Anakin's downfall are paralleled with Palpatine's rise to power. There is a direct correlation, both in-universe and thematically.

As Palpatine becomes Emperor, the Republic dies under thunderous applause while the Jedi get slaughtered, and Anakin becomes Darth Vader.

As Palpatine gets emergency powers, the Republic weakens because of the war, the Jedi's values are foregone and Anakin is put in situations where he fails to uphold the Jedi teachings, over and over.

And it all starts when Palpatine becomes Chancellor after pushing out Finis Valorum, marking the end of an age of value.

(Get it? Finis Valorum? "Finis", latin for "end", "Valorem", latin for "value" puns are fun!)

[sinnabarmoth]

Worthy of Devotion (3/9)

Pairing: Sea God|Rafayel x Worshipper|Reader (fem)

Summary: Reader learns more about Rafayel and can't help asking some more personal questions. Meanwhile Rafayel is learning new things about human peculiarities both funny and concerning.

Content Warnings: Self worth issues caused by religious trauma.

Length: 3k

Chapters: (1) (2) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9)

Read on AO3

~~~

The next day was more of the same. You woke up, made yourself from breakfast and started cleaning a new part of the temple. You had decided to work on the bedroom this time. The main issue was all the dust and you ended up tying a handkerchief around your face to help keep yourself from sneezing.

You had also finally entered the attached bathing room. Yesterday you had just availed yourself to the communal toilets on the main level since that was where you had spent most your day. The bathing room was in much the same state as the bedroom, covered in a fine layer of dust. The main problem was the large tub in the center of the room. In any other circumstance it would have been lovely, the large basin cut into solid marble, you could fit at least four people inside easily. But over the years a layer of moss and fungus had sprouted inside, coating the marble like a carpet. That took a lot of scraping and shoveling and scrubbing to get clean.

You were knelt in the center of the tub, trying to get the green ring stain out of the marble when Rafayel wandered in. “There you are,” he sat at the edge of the tub. “Keeping busy?”

“Someone has to repair this temple and I’m the only one here, so yes.” you wiped the sweat from your brow but only managed to smear more dirt and grime against it. “I assume you’re here to continue working on the journal?”

“Yes. But you are going to need to clean yourself up first. You’ll end up dirtying the pages with hands like that.” he picked up one of your hands and inspected the grime caked under your nails. “In fact, have you bathed at all since coming here?”

“I have rinsed…” you muttered, “But I haven’t really had the time to--”

“Up. Now.” he pulled you up and out of the tub. “You are not doing any more work until you’ve bathed. To be perfectly honest, you smell rather bad too. I let it slide yesterday because we were working but there is no excuse for this now.”

“Alright. I’ll go down to the baths--”

“What are you talking about? You just cleaned this one, use it.”

“If I use this one then I have to carry buckets of water up here to fill it. It’s just easier to go to the baths downstairs.”

Rafayel rolled his eyes and reached towards the head of the tub. There was a pipe over the basin but you saw no pump with which to call up water from. Behind the pipe was a large smooth gem that he put his hand over. He muttered something foreign to your ears and suddenly water began to fill the tub. Even more than that, steam was rising from it.

“But how--”

“A water gem.” he pointed to the gem behind the pipe. “Very rare. They provide unlimited water with the activation of certain phrases. “Calidum, for hot water. Frigus, for cold water. To get it to stop, say finis. Try it.”

You put your hand on the stone. “Frigus?”

There was a pause in the spray of water and when it returned you felt it was ice cold. You touched the stone again. “Calidum.” Another pause and hot water came out again. “Finis.” The water stopped. “Wow. Do you know how useful that would have been to know an hour ago when I was carrying buckets of water up here to scrub the floors?”

He smiled. “Well now you know. There should still be some soaps around here somewhere. Clean yourself up, I will be back.”

“Thank you.” You started the water again, going back and forth with the cold and hot to get it to a nice temperature and then sank in. When was the last time you had an honest to goodness hot bath? It was always such a hassle back home to get a hot bath all to yourself.

You let yourself relax, the feel of the hot water easing the pain in your joints and relaxing your muscles. Yes, you needed this. After a while of just soaking and enjoying the bath you picked up a rag and the soap and started cleaning yourself in earnest. You shouldn’t have been surprised by how nice the soap was but it still caught you off guard to smell something so pretty and floral. It smelled like plumerias and a whiff of coconut.

You were rinsing the suds away when the door banged open and Rafayel strode in again. You ducked under the water up to your neck, covering your body with your arms. “I’m still in here!”

“I figured you would be.” he didn’t seem perturbed by your nakedness or the clear panic you were exhibiting. “I brought fresh clothes. Those rags you’ve been wearing need a wash, if you still want to keep them that is.”

“Yes, thank you. You can leave now.” you curled into yourself, trying to hide your body more the closer he got.

“You’re awfully jumpy. What’s got into you?” he cocked an eyebrow up at you.

“I’m naked!”

“So?”

You swallowed back the urge to scream. “So I don’t want you seeing me naked. Please.”

“I assume this is one of those human peculiarities.” he shrugged. “The nude form is very natural, there’s nothing to be ashamed of. You especially have a rather delectable form, from what I glanced when I came in at least.”

You were going to drown yourself in this tub. “Thanks. But I’d rather not wander around naked so freely. So can you please leave now so I can dry and dress?”

“Yes yes, I’m going.” he left the room. “We’re going to add these views on nudity to the book I hope you know. It’s ridiculous that you humans are so preoccupied with it.” He shouted from the bedroom.

“Got it.” you sighed, pressing the heels of your palms to your eyes. “Gods give me strength.” you muttered.

“Strength for what?” Rafayel shouted again.

“That prayer wasn’t for you!” you snapped. So he really could here your prayers…great. You needed to be careful about what you said now.

After you had drained the tub and dried yourself off you picked up the bundle of clothes that Rafayel had left for you. It was a pair of loose pants and shirt made out of the same linens that he wore. There were little shells embroidered along the sleeves and a wave design along the thigh of the pants. They were simple working clothes, easy to move around in and lightweight.

When you left the bathing room you saw Rafayel packing more garments into the standing wardrobe. He turned back to you and smiled. “There, that looks much better.” he walked up to you and pulled you close. You froze as his face was buried in your hair. “Smell much better too. Now we can work without you smelling like dirt and sweat.”

“It wasn’t that bad!” you protested. Your resentment covered the sheer panic of his sudden embrace.

“It was. Come along, mudskipper. Time to get writing.” he pulled you to the sitting area of the bedroom.

“First I’m a grouper and now I’m a mudskipper. If you’re going to keep comparing me to fish can’t they at least be cute? Like an angelfish or even a starfish would sound nicer.”

“How about a clownfish?” he deposited you in one of the chairs.

“Do you enjoy mocking me?”

“What? Do you not think clownfish are cute?” he tossed you the book and sat down in the chair opposite you. “Now, where were we?”

You flipped open the book with a roll of your eyes. “Let me see, we had just finished discussing how the title of Sea God is passed down through generations and I have a note here about partners to the Sea God. I think we left off talking about unions and the powers that romantic partners had if any.”

“Right,” Rafayel cleared his throat, “It varies from person to person, some gods chose to have a partner with which they could entrust helping to rule over the Lemurians, in that way it was very strategic. Others were more driven by their desires and chose partners with their hearts. Sometimes partners are equal rulers with similar ruling authority, sometimes they are figure heads, but there is no set in stone responsibilities for the partner of the Sea God.”

“Interesting.” you started writing everything down. “And what about children? Is there any chance that progeny of the current Sea God may be chosen as the new god or is it entirely up to chance?”

“It is entirely up to chance. Children of current gods do not automatically inherit their parent’s title. I only know of one recorded instance in which one of the children of a past god was selected as the inheritor.”

Your pen paused. “Rafayel, do you have a partner?”

His eyes widened a fraction before he shook his head. “No. I do not.”

You didn’t know why but your heart did a pitter patter in your chest hearing that. “Then, do you plan on marrying for strategy or for love?”

“I don’t really have any plans right now.”

“Alright, let me just write that down. Current god, Rafayel, is not one to plan for the future.”

“Hey! You can’t write that down!” his face turned pink.

“I’m the one with the pen so--ah!” you held the pen back as Rafayel tried to grab it. “You’re the one who tasked me with writing this book so I get to write my findings!”

“No, you write what I tell you to write. Now give me the pen.” he made another swipe for it but you leapt out of your seat. “Are you disobeying me, clownfish?”

“Of course not. I would never dare disobey my god.” you handed the pen to him. “Here you are.”

“Thank you.”

“But I will be taking this.” you grabbed the book and took off out the door.

“Oh! I see how it is! My sweet clownfish is actually a slippery little eel!” he took off after you.

There was a part of you that screamed that you shouldn’t be doing this. Everything you had learned, everything you had been raised as told you that you shouldn’t have been disobeying and teasing your god like this. If any of the priests or priestesses could see your behavior you’d be put on floor scrubbing for a year, maybe ten. But they weren’t here. None of them had actually completed their pilgrimages. None of them had spoken to Rafayel. According to what they taught you, and according to your god, you were more worthy than any of them. No one was here to say otherwise. You could do whatever you wanted. And you felt like having a little fun, and the fact that it was at the expense of a god made it all the funnier.

You were flying down the stairs, a wide smile on your face as you ran. You could hear Rafayel gaining behind you. You weren’t sure if you wanted to be caught or not.

You glanced over your shoulder to see how close he was and your foot hit a chunk of fallen ceiling. Your body pitched forward, gravity helping send you down the last couple of steps.

“Watch it!” you were caught by the waist and tugged backwards with force. You were tipping back instead and you landed with a thud on the stairs, Rafayel cushioning your fall. “Ow.”

“Oh no, I’m so sorry!” you rolled off him. “Are you okay?”

“No. I think this is it for me. I’m weak, this is the end.” he threw an arm over his eyes. “The light shall need to choose a new Sea God now. I am to descend into the abyss. Tell my people I died heroically, saving one of my acolytes.”

You could tell he was being dramatic but you saw the way he winced as he sat up and the rock that he had landed on was painted a deep crimson at the point.

Rafayel looked at you, the humor on his face disappearing. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” he waved a hand in front of your face, “Say something, you’re starting to worry me.”

“You…you’re bleeding.” you murmured, horrified that he had gotten injured saving you.

“Ah that,” he picked up the rock and tossed it away to a corner. “Don’t worry about that. I was only joking, I feel fine. A little sore between the shoulder blades but nothing to get worked up about.”

“I’m sorry.” you drew into yourself, pulling your knees close to your body. “I’m so sorry. You got hurt because of me. I’m sorry.”

“You would have gotten hurt worse if I let you fall. We really need to work on that balance of yours. You have about as much grace as a fish on a dock.” he smiled at you. When you did not return it he inched closer. He reached out as if to touch you and you flinched back. He eased away.

“You’re shaken from the fall. I get it.” he said slowly, as if trying to coax a skittish animal, “But I promise I’m fine. You don’t need to feel bad about it. Accidents happen.”

“I…I…” you glanced around and saw the book splayed out at the bottom of the stairs. You stood up, ignoring the pain in your foot as you hobbled down and recollected it. “I need to go.” You set the book on the bottom step and limped out of the temple.

“Where are you going?” Rafayel raced after you. “Your foot is scraped, if you get sand in it it will only make it worse.”

You ignored him, your body taking you down the steps and onto the beach. You kept going until you got the shore where the ocean lapped at the sand. You waded into the water up to your knees. The salt burned against your wound but you didn’t retreat, the pain helped to ground you. Staring straight ahead your vision tunneled as it tried in vain to see past the horizon line.

You hurt your god. Actually hurt him. And for what? Because you wanted to tease him a little? What right did you have? Was this a divine punishment? Fate reminding you of your place? A mortal poking fun at a deity like he was an old friend. No. There were lines for a reason. You couldn’t cross them. No one was ever meant to cross them.

“Come back inside,” you heard Rafayel’s voice behind you. “Your foot needs tending.”

“I shouldn’t be in there. I don’t belong in that temple or on this island. I’m not worthy. I need to leave. I need to--”

“By the tides, not this again.” Rafayel groaned and with an ease that surprised you he hefted you out of the water and started carrying you back to the temple. “Here I thought you were finally done with all that aggrandizing. One little tumble down some stairs and suddenly you think you need to throw yourself into the ocean. Those charlatans on the mainland really messed with your self worth in the name of worshiping me, didn’t they?”

“What--what are you--” you stammered as he marched you back into the temple. “Please! Put me down. I don’t--I can’t--”

“Shush.” he brought you into the kitchen and set you down on the table. “Stay there.”

“But--”

“Stay.” he pointed and left out the back door. He came back with a bucket of water and grabbed a clean rag out of one of the drawers. Dunking it into the water he grabbed your injured foot and started dabbing away at the blood and sand. “And here the day was going so well. I finally got you to take a bath, we were having a nice chat, then we took that little tumble and it was like it reset you. You had better not start calling me Your Radiance again, I swear.”

“I shouldn’t have ran though. It’s not my place. I shouldn’t have done it and then you wouldn’t have had to help me and you wouldn’t have gotten hurt and--” you went silent as he glanced up at you, that spark of blue flame alighting his eyes once more.

“Did I not say yesterday that you are allowed to feel whatever you please in regards to me? You can feel guilty if you wish but your guilt doesn’t get to erase the fact that you also feel comfortable with me. I like that you play. I don’t want you to stop on account of this one accident.” He patted your wound dry and tore a strip of fabric off of his sarong, wrapping it around your foot. “Understood? Don’t make me have to make it an order because that will go against everything I am trying to accomplish here.”

“What is it you want to accomplish?” you asked.

“I want to create followers that want to follow me out of devotion, not fear. If I can’t get you to not fear me, then what hope is there for the others?” he handed you the wet rag. “I know I can’t undo everything you learned, especially not in a day. But we are not going to spend this time with you too scared to say anything out of turn or show any displeasure. I may be your god but I do not control you. Do you understand?”

You nodded.

“No. Say it.”

“I understand.”

“Understand what?”

You took a deep breath. “I understand what you want from me.”

“Which is?”

“To be devoted to you out of desire, not obligation or fear.”

“Good.” he turned around and you could see the wound in his back where the rock stabbed him. “Now, could you be so kind as to help clean this for me?”

“Yes. Of course.” You wiped at the blood trickling down his spin and pressed the rag over the cut to staunch the bleeding.

“Rafayel?” your voice felt as if it was a thousand miles away from your body.

“Yes?”

“You talk of being a god worthy of devotion, but do you not have any requisites of your followers? Is there nothing to make us worthy of your blessings outside of wanting to worship you? It seems unfair that you hold yourself to such a high degree but not us.”

“You wish to know what I think makes my followers worthy of my blessings and spared of my wrath?” he thought for a moment. “They have to be kind and honest. They cannot spread fear in hopes that it will gain me more followers or larger offerings. To be worthy, their actions and words must come from their souls. A sand dollar offered by a child that believes in me out of trust is worth more than all the gold shoveled onto a dais by fearful priests. Chasing you through the halls as you try to play keep away with me is more precious to me than this self loathing you carry about inadvertently causing me injury.”

“I understand.” A smile started to creep its way back onto your face. “I like this version of you far better than the one I learned about on the mainland.”

“Nice to hear it.” he glanced over his shoulder. “Almost done back there?”

“Oh right.” you had forgotten what you were doing for a moment. You removed the rag from his back. You were shocked to see that the wound had completely disappeared, gone as if it never existed, save for a small pink spot between his shoulder blades. “What…how did that happen?”

“I’m God of the Seas, water is a natural healer to me, be it fresh or salt.” he rolled his shoulders, the muscles in his back flexing as he did. “Now, how about we do something relaxing for the rest of the day? No cleaning, no writing, something simple.”

“Like what?”

“Want to learn how to play a Lemurian board game?”

“Sure.”

“Alright,” he glanced around the room. “Right, I need to go get one. Stay here, don’t go tripping over anything else, I will be right back.”

He left to dive back into the sea while you stayed sat on the kitchen table. You picked your foot up, inspecting the makeshift bandage over your foot. He could have gone and found actual bandages but he tore off part of his clothes just to dress your wound. Either he thought very highly of your foot or very little of his clothes. You ran a finger over the gold embroidery, contemplating.

It would take him some time to return so you carefully stood up and limped back out to the staircase. The book was still resting on the top step along with the pen that Rafayel had dropped. You picked up both and cracked open the book, penning a new note near the back.

“The god Rafayel wants more than anything for his followers to follow him out of love rather than fear. I think this shows more than anything that he cares for us more than the priests of old would have had us believe. He is a kind god,” you bit back a mischievous smile, “and he likes it when you tease him, so if you are reading this you should do it a lot. He really does like it. Just be ready for him to tease you right back.”

[corinnetheanime]

The overall story.

Initium: The rise of Nocturn’s true form, the all-powerful god of sleep reborn anew. He seeks to devour the soul against him. His wings embrace the night skies like a gentle lover.

Peripeteia: The turning tide during the battle. Against the god’s sheer might, Phantom is forced to use his new power. A familiar power he was once afraid of. But not anymore.

Finis: Tapping into his soul, Danny releases a burst of dark energy. Void energy. The final blow defeats the nightingale once and for all. He falls into the dawn sky. The eternal dream is finally broken.

Hypnos, the god of dreams, has fallen.

Overall, I’m super happy with this series. This really helped me get these ideas out on the digital canvas, and I’m so glad I did. I’m grateful for the sheer amount of support from you guys when making these!!! Again, let me know if I should blaze this or not, but just clumping all three together.

Also if you artists ever want to try your hand at this, whether it be Nocturn’s form, Danny’s new powers (as shown so far), the scenes presented, or heck wanna make a scene of your own, feel free!!

[honeytama]

More Than Just a Meal

Vampire!Joakim "Jolly" Karlsson x Fem!Reader

Gif by @hedonists

A/N: Written for Bunny's ( @cowpokeomens ) Summerween Extravaganza! Be aware that this work talks about visiting the grave of a deceased friend. Please tread carefully if that is a sensitive topic for you personally <3

Summary and Prompts: After returning to your friend's grave in the cemetery at night, you're found by a fiend dressed in all black. He won't let you leave. Not until he's revealed the full extent of his plans with you. Dialogue - “Oh, could just eat you up. Maybe I will.”  Location - Graveyard

Content and Warnings: Vampire!Jolly, visiting a passed loved one in a cemetery, smut 18+, oral (receiving) against a gravestone (i'm sorry), praise, biting/blood/pain

Word Count: 1.8k

Two years ago, today, you’re best friend passed away. On the first anniversary of her death you chose to visit her grave to leave flowers and talk with her like old times; to share gossip from work and update her on your dating life. This year, you did the same, and it felt better to do it as more time has passed. You heal the friend-sized hole she left in your heart a little bit more every day and visiting her was a huge part of that healing process.

You remember having the friendship bracelet on, the one she made and gave to you years ago, around your wrist. While talking to the air around her gravestone, you twisted the beads in between your forefinger and thumb mindlessly. It was a natural habit as you wore the bracelet every day, to every occasion, and with every outfit.

You’re home now relaxing on your couch having just eaten dinner. You turn the TV on to the new show you've been binging hoping to continue your night, but as you bring your hand to your wrist and try to twist the wooden and crystal beads as usual, your eyes widen. Your wrist is empty.

The couch’s cushions and pillows are turned upside down. Your purse is unloaded onto the dining table. You search your place for thirty minutes while also retracing the steps you took throughout the day.

As you grab your keys, you plan to head to the last place left to look. The cemetery.

—

It was pitch dark out now and you cursed yourself for not changing into something more comfortable. The chill breeze pinched your bare legs as you walked through the graveyard in a black skirt.

While you are in a graveyard at night, something about the atmosphere feels more eerie than you expected. You swear there are a pair of eyes boring into your legs and that there’s a dark figure who continues to come into your peripheral as you try to find your friend’s gravestone. However, every time you turn or stop and listen for anyone else to be around, no one is present.

Reaching the gravestone, the bracelet is there, just placed nicely atop it. The letters BFF face outward as if someone positioned it themselves.

“Thank God,” you said aloud. You slip the bracelet on your wrist and turn to walk back to your car.

“God? You should be thanking me,” the man standing just a few feet in front of you scoffs.

“Holy shit, you scared me,” you yelp. While trying to calm your rising heart rate, you take a glance over him. He towers over you and he’s dressed well. You think that he must have come from a late funeral because he’s dressed from head to toe in all black. “I dont want trouble. I just came back to get this.” You point at your wrist.

“Well, I found it for you,” he smirks and tilts his head. “So, again, you should be thanking me.”

“Sir—” you start to try to walk away past him towards the parking lot.

He puts his arm out to stop you and his hand lands on your bicep. Your skin prickles at his touch. For two distinct reasons: he’s incredibly handsome and his fingers are freezing. “My name is Joakim,” he continues. “I didn’t mean to make you fear me. I just thought—.”

Never have you made a man of this stature stumble on his words before, so you gained curiosity. “You thought what?”

“I thought you looked stunning. Ravishing,” he finishes.

Oh. “Well,” your cheeks burn and you hope he can't see them blush through the dark. “If I thank you for the compliments and for finding my friend’s bracelet, then will you let me go to my car?”

“Of course,” he gives you a soft grin and it makes your chest flutter.

“You’re words are very sweet. I’m flattered,” you put your hands to your chest to send it. “And, thank you for finding my bracelet.”

“You're welcome beautiful, but now that I think about it…” Joakim slides his hands to your waist and pushes you lightly back toward your friend's gravestone. “Finding that for you in this massive place has me quite hungry.”

You should have known this guy was a creep. There was no way he was going to let you leave! Fear cascades over your body once again and you submit to allow him to press you into the stone. The top of it presses firmly into the muscle of your ass. “I’m sorry. I don’t have any food,” you stammer. “Just, please let me go, Joakim.”

“I love the way my name falls from your lips,” he looks down at you with a smile as his thumb passes over your bottom lip. “What’s your name, my sweet,” his voice is low.

Everything inside you screams to not share your name with the stranger pressed against you, but out of fear of what he would do if you refused, you tell him. “Y/N. Y/N is my name.”

“Oh, could just eat you up, Y/N. Maybe I will,” he grumbles in your ear. When he pulls away, he faces you and you can see the inside of his mouth for the first time. The moonlight shines against his canines and you notice they’re longer, pointed, and sharp. His tongue licks over them before asking, sweetly, “Will you let me eat you, Y/N?”

Lust shoots between your thighs and attacks a spot inside of you you’ve never known was there. “What– what do you mean?” You whisper as you clench your thighs together.

“What I mean is… do you want me to give you an experience that will change your life forever? No other man on earth will be able to satiate your need for what I’m about to give you. If you need me to put it frankly, do you want me to make you cum using my tongue while also serving me something I need? Badly.”

You watch as Joakim slowly drops to his knees before you. He sits on the heels of his feet and places his large hands with tattooed knuckles on your knees. Your chest heaves at the sight. It’s irresistible to allow your thighs to spread apart to make room for him revealing the wet spot on your panties to his fixated eyes.

“Y/N, because I need your permission,” he softly pushes your skirt up with his fingertips to reveal higher up your thighs. His cold skin gives you goosebumps, once again. “Give me your answer. Will you let me eat you?”

Were you really about to let this guy eat you out against your deceased best friend’s gravestone? She would approve. “Yes,” is the word that squeaks out of you as you nod at him vigorously.

“Good,” he smirks below you. “Now, get comfortable,” he commands while slipping his fingers underneath your skirt to hook them at the sides of your underwear. The chilled air grazes your pussy and you wince at the temperature change as he pulls them slowly, sensually down your legs. You watch as he slips them in his jacket pocket through your half-lidded eyes.

Your breath hitches as he ducks his head between your legs and your hands immediately bring themselves to the back of his head, interlacing your fingers with his smooth, straight black hair.

Joakim uses his hands to spread you open and his thumbs massage the insides of your thighs as he takes inquisitive first licks to your clit. A gasp is let out of you when he dives deeper; he wraps his lips around your clit and his mustache tickles you incessantly.

“Your arousal tastes so heavenly, Y/N,” he moans against your skin. “You’re so special. I’ve never done this with a human before.”

He’s not human, you think, but the thought leaves you the second it passes through your brain. All you can focus on is his tongue. You feel him taste you; his tongue traveling to dip into your entrance curiously to gather more of your delicious juices. He groans monstrously while lapping and making figure-eights against your clit.

“Joakim, right there,” you whine and pull his head in closer with your hands when he hits the most perfect tempo.

He groans at your praise and it’s so low that it grumbles and vibrates against you. You chanting his name and “right there” also tells him you’re getting closer to your end. So, he decides it’s time for his meal, the one he so badly needed.

Joakim pulls away from your clit and finds a nice, plush spot at your inner thigh. He hisses before sinking his teeth into you and letting blood ooze from the two holes he’s made with his fangs.

“Fuck, ouch!” You wince and look down at Joakim between your legs as he pulls away. Blood drips from his fangs as he smiles eagerly up at you.

You want to curse at him, but the pain of his bite on your thigh turns to pleasure? The feeling between your legs is euphoric and your head spins trying to focus on his face. “I want more,” you whine. “Make me cum and I’ll let you suck me dry.”

“I’ll oblige,” he says before ducking under your skirt again. His tongue moves quickly, quicker than before, as he laps up your blood eagerly and laps at your aching cunt. He makes several other markings in your inner thighs, all demonstrated with pairs of perfect holes he’s left behind. When he finally sucks hard on your skin, to take you for all your worth, that’s when you finally let go on his mouth.

“Joakim, fuck!” You scream his name in the lonely, dark graveyard. You sway your hips and pull him in to ride his face as you get through your orgasm. Your chest heaves and your legs feel like they’re about to slide out from under you, but he catches your hips with his hands to stabilize you.

“Do you want to stand?” He murmurs as he takes out a handkerchief from the inside of his jacket to wipe his bloody mouth clean.

“Mhm,” you whine as you hold onto his shoulders for balance.

“You did so well,” he whispers as he smiles down at you in his arms. “I’ll remember this night forever.”

“Could I have my underwear, please?” You mumble against his chest.

“Well,” he tilts his head and chuckles, “that’s my other way of remembering you by? Maybe you can have them back if you choose to meet me here again.”

“I would love to,” you smile up at him. Honestly, he was right, no other man could match the feeling he gave you tonight.

“Hmm,” he hums. “Before I go…” He reaches under your skirt and softly touches over each of the markings he’s made. The pain of his bites subsides and you look down between your legs. All of them are gone.

“How did you—?” When you look up, a gust of cold air passes by you, and he’s gone.

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Hyrule flexed his fingers a little anxiously, feeling the cold sweat on his palms as Mo blared the siren to catch motorists' attention.

When they arrived on scene, they saw the patient in question. It had been a vehicle vs pedestrian. The speed limit was 25mph, they were in a neighborhood, so hopefully the damage wouldn't be too life threatening. It wasn't promising that the person was still down on the ground, though.

As Mo marked them on location of the scene over the radio, Hyrule stepped out, donning gloves and grabbing the jump bag. He walked with measured but fast steps, pacing himself so he wouldn't crank up his already fast heart rate. As he approached he could see the person was unconscious, laying prone with their head turned towards him. PD was talking to the driver, who was hysterical, repeating I didn't see him over and over.

Hyrule reached for a carotid pulse, and as he did so he saw the person's back rise and fall with steady breaths. Alive and breathing.

He pinched the back of the person's shoulder next to test their response to pain after he spoke aloud to get their attention. When the patient's eyebrows crinkled together in discomfort, he tapped in the same spot to wake him.

As he waited for the patient to rouse, he looked him over. He'd already done a quick visual assessment while approaching to look for glaring wounds and life threatening bleeding and hadn't seen anything. Upon closer inspection it looked like the worst external trauma, from what he could see, was road rash.

Before he had a chance to really wake the person up, though, he heard someone running over. He looked up to see--

Time?

"What are you doing here?" Hyrule asked, surprised.

"I was in the neighborhood," Time answered, eyes fixed on the patient. "Looks like a head injury. We need to get him to the hospital."

Hyrule blinked. "What--"

Before he could get another word in, Mo was bringing the stretcher over, and Time lifted his patient into the air to put him on the stretcher.

"What are you doing?" Hyrule questioned, rising to his feet, completely flabbergasted. He hadn't cleared c-spine, he hadn't finished his assessment, for all they knew this person needed to be backboarded!

"Let's check his vitals when we get moving," Time ordered as he and Mo moved the stretcher back towards the ambulance, leaving the medic behind.

A strange feeling was washing over Hyrule, like shock and hurt and anger mixing together. He marched towards the truck, debating arguing the matter - this was Time, he was his friend, he was a trauma surgeon. He knew infinitely more than Hyrule ever could. Should he really be questioning him? But he just marched in here and took over Hyrule's scene, this wasn't even an operating room, he had no right to be doing this. But he was trying to help. But he was doing it wrong.

Hyrule barely had time to climb into the back before Mo had lept in the driver's seat up front and slammed the gas. The truck tore down the street, lights and sirens blazing.

"Mo, what the hell--" Hyrule yelped as he nearly tumbled over and slammed his head into an overhanging cabinet.

"His blood pressure is dropping," Time announced worriedly.

Dropping? Hyrule looked at the monitor and... what the--

Why did the blood pressure read 72/98 with a MAP of 93???

Hyrule spent so much time staring at the monitor, completely bewildered, that he nearly missed the ambulance screeching to a halt in front of the emergency department. He quickly reached for the monitor to recycle the blood pressure and get an accurate value when the doors opened hastily.

"We have to move," Time insisted as Mo pulled the stretcher out, making Hyrule flinch back and sit on the bench seat so his feet wouldn't get run over.

"Mo--" Hyrule tried to petition to his partner, who clearly understood better than Time that they needed to actually figure out what the hell was happening and not--

The patient, his partner, and his friend were all out of the ambulance before the paramedic could even finish his thought process, and he hastily scurried after them. At this point it was futile to try and do anything anyway, the call had been completely hijacked and there was no point wasting time when they were at the hospital. Hyrule found himself simultaneously questioning his abilities and sanity, and also wanting to grab Time and shake him.

Whatever arguments or resentment or insecurities he was building up, however, were completely obliterated from his mind as he watched Mo and Time march with speed and determination towards the entrance to the emergency department. Instead of pausing at the doorway to enter the security code and gain access through the glass sliding door, however, they just barged right through and shattered the glass. The cot bounced unceremoniously as they dragged it over the now broken door, and--

What the hell was happening??

Hyrule ran in to make sure everyone was alright and instead saw Time barking out a report as doctors swarmed around them. When the medic caught sight of familiar scrubs and faces, he froze, staring at Legend and Warriors, who were chilling by the nurse's station slurping on smoothies.

"What are you guys doing?" Hyrule asked, absolutely baffled. What the hell even is this day?!

"There are so many doctors and they're doing everything," Legend answered with a shrug. "We don't have anything to do."

"Well," Warriors piped up, waving his smoothie. "We do offer reactions when a doctor does something."

"His heart rate is dropping!" a doctor shouted from another part of the ED, and everyone's heads swiveled to look at her. "Get the adrenaline!"

As she spoke, another doctor pulled open a supply cabinet and procured an already assembled epinephrine syringe from the gauze drawer. Hyrule felt his jaw drop as she proceeed to slam it into the awake patient's IV, which was... kinked??

Legend and Warriors both faced the physician and then looked at each other with relieved sighs and smiles.

Hyrule found himself beyond words until he saw another physician grab a defibrillator for a crashing patient. He stepped forward hesitantly, only to see asystole on the monitor. Why was no one doing compressions???

The medic rushed ahead, glaring at the nurses who were doing nothing, and then froze when the doctor defibrillated the patient.

"Did--did you just shock asystole?!" He couldn't stop the words from tumbling out of his mouth. His head was spinning, none of this made any sense. "What the fu--"

The hospital vanished. Hyrule's eyes opened. He was in a recliner. The TV was in some screensaver mode, and Warriors, Twilight, and Legend were all snoring on the floor and the couch.

Hyrule sighed, thankful that the world made sense again and then groaned, rubbing his face. He was never watching a medical drama with his friends again.

[solartale-officiel]

SolarTale Character #5 : SolarNegative!Gaster

Backstory

Gaster est l'un des monstres les plus anciens avec Sans, Asgore et Toriel, assez ancien pour avoir vécu la guerre entre les monstres et les humains il y'a des milliers d'années. C'est suite à cette guerre cruelle et enragée que les humains lui ont fracturés le crâne au niveau des yeux et lui ont fondu son oeil droit, lui faisant garder des séquelles et des traumatismes à vie.

Gaster rempli maintenant le rôle de scientifique dans l'Underground, continuant ainsi sa profession même après la guerre. Étant le second scientifique royale le plus performant après Sans, il le en tant que scientifique royal lorsqu'il n'est pas là, ce qui est souvent le cas.

Un jour, il récupéra une étrange substance noir qu'il décida d'étudier dans son laboratoire. Cette substance semblait être doté d'intelligence, ce qui sublima Gaster qui croyait avoir trouvé un sujet d'étude intéressant et qui allait pouvoir le faire monter en grade. Car après tout, Sans reste son supérieur et Gaster était jaloux de ses performances.

Suite à une mauvaise manipulation, la substance fini par entrer à l'intérieur de Gaster, prenant le contrôle de son corps et embrumant profondément son esprit. C'est à ce moment que n'acquit SolarNegative!Gaster à cause de cette substance de négativité qui est logé à l'intérieur de son squelette et qui le pousse à faire le mal autour de lui.

Gaster is one of the oldest monsters, along with Sans, Asgore and Toriel, old enough to have lived through the war between monsters and humans thousands of years ago. It was as a result of this cruel and enraged war that the humans fractured his skull at eye level and melted his right eye, leaving him with lifelong scars and trauma.

Gaster now works as a scientist in the Underground, continuing his profession even after the war. As the second most successful Royal Scientist after Sans, he acts as Royal Scientist when Sans is not around, which is often.

One day, he picked up a strange black substance that he decided to study in his laboratory. This substance seemed to be endowed with intelligence, which sublimated Gaster, who believed he had found an interesting subject of study that would enable him to rise through the ranks. After all, Sans was still his superior and Gaster was jealous of his performance.

Following some mishandling, the substance ended up inside Gaster, taking control of his body and clouding his mind. It was at this point that Gaster acquired SolarNegative, the substance of negativity lodged inside his skeleton that drove him to do evil around him.

Capacité

Manipulation de Goop : Le goop est le liquide noirâtre qui se trouve sur le corps de SolarNegative!Gaster. Avec cela, il peut former n'importe quoi comme des tentacules, se protéger et attaquer avec. Cela reste cependant très faible contre de la positivité qui peut la faire disparaitre.

Illusion horrifique : Il a la capacité de plonger une victime dans des illusions mentales en l'enfermant dans son goop. À l'intérieur, aucune lumière ne peut y pénétrait, laissant la victime enfermé avec ses peurs.

Gaster Blaster : Ses Gaster Blaster peuvent envoyer un rayon normal ou un rayon de Goop qui ralentit l'ennemie et qui fait plus de dégâts.

Manipulation osseuse : Il garde évidemment le pouvoir de faire apparaître des os et de les contrôler, ses os peuvent être normaux ou noirs et peuvent fondre ou former autre chose selon l'envie de Gaster étant donné qu'ils sont fait de goop. Par exemple former une chaîne afin d'immobiliser l'adversaire.

Renforcement négatif : Plus les personnes autour de lui ressentent des sentiments négatifs et plus il se renforce.

Formation de créature : Il a la possibilité de former n'importe quoi avec son goop, dont des créatures vivantes de diverses formes qui lui obéissent au doigt et à l'oeil.

Gaster Hand : Il peut faire apparaître 7 petites mains et 2 mains géantes qu'il peut se servir défensivement comme offensivement.

Corruption négative : Il a la capacité de corrompre une âme avec sa négativité pour la détruire ou prendre le contrôle de la personne, la transformant en un pantin de négativité qui le renforce.

Handling Goop: Goop is the blackish liquid found on SolarNegative!Gaster's body. With it, he can form anything like tentacles, protect himself and attack with it. However, it's still very weak against positivity, which can make it disappear.

Horrific illusion: He has the ability to plunge a victim into mental illusions by trapping them in his goop. Inside, no light can penetrate, leaving the victim locked in with their fears.

Gaster Blaster: His Gaster Blaster can send out a normal beam or a Goop beam that slows the enemy down and does more damage.

Bone Manipulation: He obviously retains the power to make bones appear and control them, his bones can be normal or black and can melt or form something else according to Gaster's whim as they are made of goop. For example, they can form a chain to immobilise an opponent.

Negative reinforcement: The more people around him experience negative feelings, the stronger he becomes.

Creature formation: He can form anything with his goop, including living creatures of various shapes that obey his every command.

Gaster Hand: He can conjure up 7 small hands and 2 giant hands, which he can use both defensively and offensively.

Negative corruption: He has the ability to corrupt a soul with his negativity to destroy it or take control of the person, turning them into a puppet of negativity that reinforces him.

Caractère

SolarNegative!Gaster a profondément été corrompu par la négativité, devenant un être cruel, terrifiant et qui apporte malheur et désolation sur son passage.

Il cherche a envahir l'Underground de négativité afin de se renforcer toujours plus et de devenir plus fort que Sans pour prendre le contrôle de l'univers. Pour cela, il doit amener la peur dans ses habitants et conquérir chaque zone de l'Underground.

Gaster has been deeply corrupted by negativity, becoming a cruel, terrifying being who brings misfortune and desolation in his wake.

He seeks to invade the Underground of Negativity in order to grow stronger and stronger than Sans and take control of the universe. To do this, he must strike fear into its inhabitants and conquer every area of the Underground.

Physique

SolarNegative!Gaster est un squelette sombre avec un oeil partiellement fermé et un autre oeil grand ouvert. De ses yeux et de sa bouche coulent un liquide noirâtre. Deux pupilles qui brille d'une couleur violette peuvent être visible dans ses yeux, cependant, elles sont assez petites. Il a aussi des cicatrices au niveau des yeux qui laisse voir la substance noirâtre à l'intérieur de son squelette.

Il porte généralement des vêtements gris et simple dont une veste, un T-shirt et un pantalon long. Il possède aussi un tour de cou de la même couleur.

SolarNegative Gaster is a dark skeleton with one eye partially closed and another eye wide open. A blackish liquid flows from its eyes and mouth. Two violet pupils can be seen in his eyes, but they are quite small. He also has scars around his eyes that reveal the blackish substance inside his skeleton.

He usually wears simple grey clothes, including a jacket, T-shirt and long trousers. He also wears a choker of the same colour.

[thankyouforthememoriesworld]

Désolé, j'avais un peu oublié ta demande de traduction mais j'ai fini par le faire 👍🏻. Merci d'avoir partagé avec nous🤍.

In any case, here is the April 2024 interview with the NY GM talking about Jojo (in bold are the journalist's questions and in italics my remarks):

Johannès donned the New York jersey in 2019, 2022 and 2023, contributing to the progression of the franchise, the reigning WNBA finalist, from the small venue of Westchester to the Barclays Center. Let's have a chat with Jonathan Kolb, the Liberty's GM.

Over the years, Marine, initially very media-shy, has opened up. And in NY, how did her personality shine through? When we first welcomed Marine in 2019, she was clearly very shy. Honestly, she didn't speak very often. I think that was partly because of the language, but also because she was in a new team, a new country, a new league… It was a lot for her, but she handled it really well despite her shyness. Over the years I've learned a lot about who she is as a person, and I can now say that Marine has a lot of personality. She's incredibly funny (we told yall)! It's something that sometimes comes out with the media, and it's really fun to see her grow and blossom like that.

How popular is she in the US? In 2019, when she debuted with us, a lot of fans were asking, “Who is this player, how is she going to help us win?”. And in one of her first outings - and it happened several times - she shot at 100% and with every basket she scored - this was back when we played in a small arena in Westchester, NY - the fans celebrated louder and louder. She really won over the fans in NY. And it was when she came back in 2022 that she really started to blow up in the US. Our team wasn't where we are now, but we were on the rise, and Marine was one of the main reasons. I'll never, ever forget the move she made in the playoffs against Chicago, her overhead pass to Natasha Howard. We were down in the fourth quarter, but it was the only time a player ever made me say out loud, “Oh my god!” A spectacular play that will remain engraved in my memory, and which impacted the fans even more. And today, in 2024, she's a fan favorite in the US (the Jojo charm). She still has a long way to go to become a celebrity (Jojo is never going to want this), but the more she plays, especially in our market, the more people she'll reach with her style (most entertaining player in basketball🤙🏻). Because her style is so addictive, we want to watch her play all the time (should have played her more then).

We often hear that nobody plays like her. I couldn't agree more. Nobody plays like Marine (exactly🤩)! There's an excitement that rises when she gets the ball, you know you're more likely to experience something special than usual. Whatever she does with the ball, whether it's an elite-level read of the game, an exquisite pass (her IQ basketball is top tier), one of her one-legged running shots…Fans know, people almost start to stand up when she crosses the half court with the ball. She's an incredibly unique player, I don't think there'll ever be another like her (😮). Her skills, confidence and willingness to push the norms of basketball are something really, really special (it really is, we don't talk about it enough). We never want to put her in a box, we want Marine to play like Marine, because she's at her best when she does.

And so, like an artist, she must be allowed a certain freedom of expression, understanding that not everything is linear? In France, there's sometimes a lack of understanding, some fans not comprehending why she's not a leader scoring 20 points per game. It's something we continue to watch out for. We have to let Marine be Marine, and everything that goes with that. Sometimes Marine will want to take control of the game, and sometimes she'll think it's best to rely on others, but she also helps these players succeed by putting them in a position where they can score on the court. There's artistry in that. In the US, people are used to putting labels on players: so-and-so is the go-to player. Marine is so unique, she lets the game come to her and she tries to do what's right for the team, the best move, the right move, every time (that's a team player). Every time! She doesn't want to be labeled, and I don't think you can do it with a player like Marine. Or as you say, maybe her label is Artist (that's one of her nicknames and it's so fitting🎨). Marine defines what she is.

We hear that CC, the Iowa phenomenon, can revolutionize women's basketball. Do you think Jojo can do the same, especially as an inspiration to young people? I saw an interview with Marine where she talked about CC and Paige as the future of women's basketball. Which is a fair observation. But I don't think Marine should take too much of a back seat, especially with the Olympics in her own country. She'll continue to revolutionize basketball, as far as humanly possible (Willannès power couple changing the game on and off the court🔥). The way she plays is so distinctive and captivating.

[birbwell]

Tell us about different monastery burning motifs! Would be interesting to hear how each of them work narratively

hi! this was mostly explored when @st-vesta and I were yelling incoherently about it. I also don't have a very good grasp on The Name of the Rose as I've only watched the show. tbh I'm really only confident of my interpretation of PotE SO WITH THAT IN MIND

[SPOILERS FOR THE NAME OF THE ROSE, THE PILLARS OF THE EARTH AND PENTIMENT]

Right from the get-go their burnings are very different in when they come into the narrative. It comes very early on in Pillars of the Earth, with Kingsbridge Cathedral burning down right near the start. It's the force that drives the plot. Pentiment's Kiersau Abbey goes up in flames in the end of the second act as a culmination of the long-standing tensions over the course of five (?) years. The Name of the Rose ends its story with the burning of its mountain monastery.

How do they happen? Till the last second, Kingsbridge's fate was kinda just strung on a line of bad luck and split-second decisions. A forest boy named Jack tags along with a mason's family, becomes refugees of a burgeoning civil war, and ends up in Kingsbridge. He gets the idea to burn down the cathedral to give the kindly mason a job, and isn't even fully sure of his decision as he lights the vault boards on fire. He’s just a child. 

And yet.

Fire is a catalyst. As much as it is a catastrophe, it also presents three groups of people all fucked by the hellscape of 12th century England with an opportunity to build something brighter. Aliena’s family and earldom taken by the Anarchy, Philip and his languishing priory, and Jack, coming from the fringes of society all working together to pull their futures out of the ashes of the cathedral… Kingsbridge and its town start thriving again. 

(Fire is very much a motif in PotE. Someone as powerless as Jack using this volatile force of nature to bring down something as grand and sacred and built-to-last as a stone church! The Church controlling fire to produce a ‘miracle’ and restore faith in the institution! Fire as Hell, the only thing that has ever scared William Hamleigh! Fire as hope, Philip treading the aftermath and watching the sun rise with Tom!! I;m very ill)

Kiersau and Tassing, on the other hand, have been fostering tensions that would eventually destroy the monastery. It is the powder keg’s inevitable explosion. Neither the village nor the abbey are willing to back down, so it culminates in a situation where one or the other caves in. Nobody has been having a Good Time for a Long Time. Especially not Claus. In his grief, he walks into the library and sets it on fire.

Fire is an answer. It is a terrible, terrible night. We are told that the Benedictines scattered to the wind. We don’t get to see the immediate aftermath, but does it matter? Magdalene explores the abbey and it is still the same derelict cathedral from years ago. She wasn’t there to witness it, but there its soot-stained carcass stands as a reminder of tragedy. Some saw it as a victory, certainly- the humble villagers triumphing over their Benedictine landowners. Things grew from it, though- Wojslav and Matilda find their new chapter of life here, Mathieu and Illuminata find new, loftier prospects outside of Tassing, and Andreas finds a way out of an unhappy life.

The mountain monastery in The Name of the Rose has a long-kept secret, and attempts to unearth it are met with death. It goes up in flames after a week of murders as a last-ditch effort by Jorge to destroy its library and bury its secret for good.

Fire is the end. No matter how grand and complex the library labyrinth was, it would have never held up against fire. William and Adso didn’t succeed. They couldn’t have saved the library and they couldn’t stop the deaths. Jorge did what he set out to do! The elusive Finis Africae is still shrouded in mystery and anyone who knew of the contents is dead! The monks disband and William comes out of it disillusioned. 

TBH, all three of them make use of monastery burnings to destroy some hidden truth or secret. The history of Tassing? Records largely in flames, and even given to distortion, since we, the player, are able to interpret that segment! The truth about the White Ship? Gone with Prior James’ bones! And Finis Africae. Fire, if anything, can hide and rewrite. 

TL;DR: fire do many thangs and pyromaniacs everywhere are right.

[oneluckygoose]

House of the Rising Suns

Alright, let's do this.

This is for everyone who saw my poll a week or so back, and now chapter 1 of the fic is up and running!

The next one will hopefully be coming in the next week or so given my schedule, I don't want to keep you all long. So cheers! To the start of a journey!

This chapter is in Minerva McGonagall's POV, but the next one will be the true start of the fic (this is my pilot, don't tell anyone). 2k words.

Just all the people who left notes on the poll!!

@whyshouldihaveanam3 @mare-finis @sweetnnaivete @kaze-16 @quietlyhugo @lu-the-loser @loverofmusic18 @v4mvp1le @royallygray @st4rs78 @sspadfoot @jamespottersconverse @cass-black-barnes @amy-harper @wishiwereheather13 @m3ntal-hiatus @supernovasoup @emryyyyyss09 @skittle6 @the-stars-in-between @aletheraej @arggghhhsstuff @xcountingstars

And to the person who I binge read their fic and instantly felt the urge to write (the one who inspired me to start writing it for real): @shootingthe-stars

Thanks guys!

[shewhowantsmouseears]

magic mafia morgana scene

As promised, here's some silliness with the above idea inspired by this concept!

Ever since Drake Mallard had decided to take up the cape and become a real crime-fighter, every day had come with new surprises and challenges – and somehow, someway, he’d overcome each one of them. Sometimes he’d lose a few feathers or suffer a major concussion along the way, but now he wore these bruises as medals of honor knowing his beloved city was safe. Tonight was no exception – several of his feathers had been singed from flames because of literally blowing up this week’s villainous plan, but he couldn’t help but grin proudly as he watched the smoke rise into the sky, twirling his gas gun around his fingers.

It would have felt slightly better if said villain wasn’t howling in anger and agony, falling to her knees, and clutching her hair as she watched her plans go up in actual smoke.  Dang, she was even pretty when she was upset! Morgana MaCawber, head of the MaCawber family that had been threatening local businesses if they didn’t enter her magical protection racket, was unable to do anything but watch as the fire ate away at the magical supplies her gang had been about to unleash on the city. Gosalyn and Launchpad were in the sky, using the Thunderquack to douse the fire before it became uncontrollable.

“Well, Miss Macawber,” Darkwing said after trying to come up with a fire-based pun, “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, when you’re committing crimes in St. Canard, always expect them to be bust…ed. Hm. That didn’t quite work out.” Okay, he was still new at quips, give him time. He shook his head and began to walk towards Morgana. They were alone on the rooftop, with a perfect view of the city, and in his opinion, a perfect view of her lovely face, illuminated by the flames. It was a shame such a knock-out had been trying to knock him out all night. Boy, her eyes were really green… FOCUS. “I hope you’ve learned your lesson, and are ready to peacefully surrender. I’m sure the good folks in the police bureau will ease your sentence if you-”

“YOU.”

Morgana’s normally sultry voice had changed into something demonic and dark – it almost made Darkwing drop his gas gun, and he emitted a tiny squeak. “Me?”

“YOU…” Her entire body began to tremble with fury, her hands curling up and allowing Darwking to focus on how her fingernails started to resemble claws. “YOU… RUINED… EVERYTHING!”

“W-well, that was the idea, yes…” His confidence began to falter. This hadn’t been part of the plan – she was supposed to cry into his masculine chest, ask for forgiveness, and he’d run a hand through that silky looking hair and assure her he’d wait for her prison sentence to end, and then romantic music would swell in the background, credits roll.

Instead of becoming a dainty wounded princess, she began to rise to her feet (boy, she was SUPER tall too, homina homina homina) her breathing become harder and harder. “Do you have any idea… how LONG this took to plan?! How many years have I sunk into this? All this time, this money, this effort, and it’s all... GONE! EVERYTHING I WORKED FOR IS GONE! AND IT’S ALL… IT’S ALL…” She tilted her head back toward him, vaguely reminding him of a horror movie he’d seen as a kid. “BECAUSE… OF… YOU.”

“So we agree, I stopped you.” He let out a nervous little laugh. Funny, he’d wanted those emerald eyes gazing into his own earlier, but not quite like this. He tried to swallow down his fear and rationalize the situation – he had the gas gun, and while her body was (very) nice to look at, she was no threat to him physically. She was slim, slinky, and had the figure of a runway model, and HOO BOY he was going to lose his train of thought at this rate. The point was, she was defenseless, so he had no reason to be afraid of her. He aimed the gun at her, his resolve strengthened. “Now it’s time to come along quietly, Miss Morgana, and I’ll hand you over to the police. There’s nothing more you can do!”

The second he finished that sentence, the gas gun was blown out of his hands. He blinked three times in rapid succession as he tried to understand what had just happened. Morgana had been pointing at his hand – no, it was more accurate to say it was using finger guns at him… to be even MORE accurate, there were several glowing orbs of light around her hands, and she’d just fired one of them off at his hand, like a magical bullet. No, like nothing – that HAD been a magical bullet.

He clicked his tongue. “Spoke a bit too early, didn’t I?” His knowledge about magic and the arcane was extremely limited, given how he hadn’t believed in it until he met the McDuck family and their merry band of insanity. But maybe he should have guessed that anyone who dabbled in magical products was probably some kind of magical being themselves. “I knew you were enchanting, but I didn’t think you’d fit another description for it.” He made an attempt to grab the gas gun but she fired off another shot, and with a not-as-heroic whelp, he began to run.

“YOU THINK I’LL GO DOWN WITHOUT A FIGHT?!” She screamed at him, firing off several rounds from her smoking fingertips.

“I WAS KIND OF HOPING?” Darkwing shouted right back, trying to run through his vast tv trivia to find any ideas of how to save his skin and stop this sorceress. The only thing keeping him from being blasted from mullets was that her anger was making her aim off-kilter. He’d need to back off and rethink, which was why he took a valiant leap off of the rooftop to land on the next one… but she had the same idea, and the chase wasn’t stopped.

Gosalyn had been recording on her phone, hoping to use Darkwing’s victories as viral videos to boost his popularity (and her own, let’s be real) when the light of the magical bullets caught her eye. She glanced over and gasped at the scene unfolding, tugging on Launchpad’s arm. “Launchpad! Darkwing’s in trouble!”

“So are we!” Down below on the surface, the rest of Morgana’s mafia had finally caught up to the chaos and were firing their own “shots” toward the plane. The plane would survive, but its speed was vastly hampered, even as he tried pulling away as hard as he could. “I don’t know if we’ll make to him in time!”

“We have to try! She’s got him cornered!” Abandoning the phone, she placed herself up against the glass of the plane, watching in fright as Darkwing was backing away from Morgana, with no other safe places to jump to. Launchpad yanked on the throttle, steering the plane towards his friend, but…

Morgana was no longer running like a madwoman. Now that he had no place left to run, her steps were slow and meticulous, her hands spread out and glowing in a sickly yellow fashion. “No matter I do… you keep besting me.” She growled, sharp fangs bared. “No matter how hard I kick you down, you keep getting back up. No matter what corner I turn, you’re always there. You insufferable… pompous…arrogant…”

With each step she took towards him, Darkwing tried to lean an inch back, but when he nearly lost his hat, he knew escape was impossible. Sweat trickled down his face as she came closer and closer – funny, he thought, he’d worried about sweaty palms when he first met her.

“You’re relentless! You’re aggravating! You’re… you’re…” The glow from her hands vanished, and she grabbed him by the lapels of his costume -

“Darkwing!” Gosalyn and Launchpad cried out in horrified unison –

And then she kissed him.

Perhaps that was too gentle a word, because there was nothing soft and sweet about that smooch. It was a deep, all-consuming embrace that would have been the dictionary definition of passion, mashing her beak right into Darkwing – who, for the record, had gone frozen solid. It was a long one, too, which allowed the audience of Gosalyn and Launchpad to stare for several long seconds in stunned silence.

Launchpad broke the ice first with a well-meaning “Awww.”

Gosalyn wasn’t so cheerful. “What.”

It went on, and on, and on, and on, and just as Gosalyn was going to ask when they were coming up for air, Morgana pulled back and pulled Darkwing into her chest, holding so tightly that she nearly choked him. The furor in her voice had been abruptly switched out for gooey, giddy glee as she began to ramble in Italian. “Amore! Tesoro! Cara mia!”

“Those are Italian pet names.” Launchpad helpfully explained. “I learned them from my ex-boyfriend Tony in Venice! I should call him, see how he’s doing-”

“THANK YOU, LAUNCHPAD.” Gosalyn loudly smacked the glass with her fingers, trying to get him on the task at hand. “But that doesn’t exactly explain what we’re looking at! I think several steps were skipped!”

Darkwing was having similar thoughts buzzing in whatever part of his brain that hadn’t been fully knocked around by that massive kiss. Even then, that part was fighting for his life since he was being held by the beautiful woman he had a no-way-subtle crush on. The best he could muster up in response was “Huh?”

“You are my one true love!” Morgana cupped Darkwing’s cheeks in her hands, eyes aglitter with devotion. “All my life, I’ve been looking for a man worthy enough to stand by my side, but none have ever measured up to my standards! I thought I’d never meet someone who could be my equal, but you!” She peppered his face with kisses, his cheeks, his forehead, and his lips several times for good measure. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted in a man!”

Whatever was left of Darkwing’s sense managed to control his body for a very brief moment as he leaned his head back. “Hang on a minute. If I’m understanding this correctly… you, um, like me?”

“Darkwing Duck, I adore you!” Her hands clasped his own, and after a second of hesitation, he returned the gentle touch. “You’re the only one for me!”

Wow, this was way better than that fantasy he’d been envisioning earlier! A shy smile spread across his beak, and his tail did a tiny wag. “I… I feel the same way about you, Morgana! I’ve liked you ever since I laid eyes on you!” There we go, there’s the romantic music swelling up! Sure, it was inside his head – though he wouldn’t have put it past Launchpad to start blasting it on the Thunderquack’s speakers, he did make the ultimate wingman – but things were going his way! He actually had a shot with this gorgeous woman! Could life get any better?

With a pleased purr, Morgana affectionally nuzzled her beak to his cheek. “We were meant to be together! You simply must join mi familia at once!”

A blush began to grow on Darkwing’s cheeks. “You want me to meet your parents already? Before the first date?”

She giggled sweetly, lightly booping Darkwing’s bill. “Not that, silly! I want you to join my enterprise – my criminal empire, as my right-hand-man!”

There went the romantic music, and here came the record needle scratch. “What’s that now?”

“You and will rule over St. Canard together!” She threw an arm around his neck, holding him close again and accidentally choking him. “We’ll conquer this city and become the king and queen of crime! With your bravado and my magic, we’ll be unstoppable! Together, our love will destroy everyone who dares cross our path! Say, for the wedding, you mind if I forgo traditional white and go with red?”

“First off,” Darkwing managed to choke out as he pushed Morgana’s arm off his neck. “Obviously you look good in any color! Second, I’M NOT BECOMING A CRIMINAL!” Once he was free from her hold, he smoothed down his outfit. “I won’t say I’m not flattered by the offer, but I’m the city’s guardian! I’m not going to become it’s enemy because you’re hourglass shaped and I’m going to be thinking about that kiss for the rest of my life.” Maybe honesty wasn’t the best policy for this situation. “Sorry, Morgana, but if that’s how you see things, the only lady I’m going to work with is Lady Justice!” And that was too corny. Maybe he should have followed Jim Starling’s routine and gotten actual writers for his quips.

Strangely, Morgana didn’t look heartbroken or defeated, which should have been the first red flag. Instead, she tilted her head ever so slightly, and then let out another giggle, but this one was a bit more… witchy in nature. “Oh, how wonderful! You have a sense of humor too.” She then grinned, showing off every single one of her pearly white fangs.

A hard chill went Darkwing’s spine. “What’s the joke?”

“That you think you have a choice about this.”

Clink! Darkwing turned his head toward the new noise, and now found his right hand handcuffed to Morgana’s. “Wh-where did you even KEEP these?!”

Morgana was still smiling, but it was no longer full of adorable tenderness. It was the sort of look Darkwing recognized when he’d gone to toy conventions and a horde of rabid fans had tried to seize the last collector’s edition. There was no arguing logic with that kind. “Dark, darling.” Her sultry voice had returned but now it had deadly hints of infatuation. “You think I’m going to let a little thing like your own morals stand in the way of true love?”

He suspected that just like those rabid fans over that last collectible, she too wanted to steal him away and lock him up so no one else could ever put their fingers on him.  “Any way we can discuss this over dinner and a movie? And minus any chains?”

As Morgana did a classic evil laugh, Gosalyn couldn’t help but wince. “Wow. His childhood idol tried to kill him, and now his first girlfriend is legit crazy about him. He really can pick ‘em.”

“In Japan, they call that a yandere! Learned that from my ex-girlfriend Kimiko in Tokyo.”

“Thank you, Launchpad.”

[moneypowerglorymiddleofmiami]

afternoon tryst | luke castellan

pairing: luke castellan x daughter of apollo!reader

warnings: angst if you really squint, lots of pda

note: a random luke blurb because even the most sensible of us has a secret crush on luke.

You listened intently to the various sounds that filtered through the walls of the Apollo cabin— muffled fragments of idle conversations and laughter, rustling leaves, the patter of sole-covered feet against the ground, the distinct ‘chink’ of swords pushed against each other, of Pegasi taking to the air. Honestly, you could contest that there was no better atmosphere than the chaotic lull that permeated the grounds of Camp Half-Blood on a summer afternoon.

Luke’s arms caged you in a pleasant embrace. You snuggled in further, breathing in his scent. With him being head counselor of the Hermes cabin, and you having to tend to the Apollo cabin as the official in-camp clinic, there wasn’t much time in the day for a break. This is why you savored having him beside you for a little rest and relaxation. Your fingers fiddled with the pendants of his necklace while his hand was perched firmly against your hip.

You closed your eyes and listened again: you could hear the faint thumps of a basketball hitting the ground, the whoosh of an arrow as it flew towards its target, Luke’s steady breathing… and something else; you heard it with more clarity than any of the clamor you heard before. Apollo was clearly high in the skies because you could hear him.

Well, not him, per se, but Bon Jovi’s ‘You Give Love A Bad Name’ blasting from the Sun Chariot was enough to alert you of his presence.

“Shot through the heart, and you’re to blame,” Unable to resist, you sang along to the chorus, “You give love a bad name. I play my part and you’re to blame…”

You felt Luke stir from his nap. His grasp on you tightened then his hand moved lower to squeeze your thigh, his thumb kneading the skin underneath the fabric of your pants. It was a habit he picked up recently, something he started doing because he knew random touches always brought you at ease.

You raised your head slowly, careful to avoid his jaw. You pressed a chaste kiss against his chin. “Did I wake you?”

“Hm,” He hummed in confirmation. “But ‘s alright. It was about time I woke up anyway.”

“My father’s playing 80’s rock music right now.” You mumbled pushing up against him even more, as much as physically possible. He chuckled, the movements of his chest vibrating against you. You turned your head to kiss his arm.

“Really?” He leaned down to press his lips to the top of your head. You felt his chest rise as he took in the fragrance of your shampoo; he always found the faint traces of lavender calming.

“He’s playing a Queen song as we speak.”

“Must be loud.” He said offhandedly.

“Nah, it’s pleasing.” You shifted away from him. You looked up at him. “Bad dream? You kept flinching.”

For a moment, something unrecognizable flashed behind his eyes— too quick to discern, but slow enough to cause concern. He grinned down at you before closing the gap between your lips. He settled for pecks before his tongue ran against the slit of your lips; you could taste your strawberry chapstick on him. It was both intense and sweet. After a few breathless seconds, you parted. “Nothing you need to worry about, baby.”

“Luke, you know you can tell me anything, right?” You placed your hand atop his, entangling your fingers together. His palms felt rough against yours, the callouses from his years of sword training adding to it. You brought it to your lips, kissing it.

“I know.” He responded gently. “I’ll tell you when the time’s right.”

Someone knocked intensely against the closed door of the cabin. By the cadence, you could tell it was Will. He called for you, a tad bit impatiently. “You better not be doing anything inappropriate in there!”

Whispering, you said: “Not like I haven’t caught you and Nico—”

“I can hear you! Let me in right now!” He interrupted before you could finish.

“Coming!” You rolled your eyes. Since you were against the wall, you pushed your leg over Luke’s hips to climb off. You smiled mischievously as you took a second to sit on his lap.

“You’re killing me.” He groaned, his hands squeezing your waist. You giggled before placing another chaste kiss against his lips.

[moonchildreads]

small town

Chapter 22 - Let's Dance

IN THIS CHAPTER: Matching outfits, a parking lot talk, and Hellfire does Prom [10.5k]

WARNINGS: underaged drinking (no one gets drunk), mentions of teenage delinquency, Eddie being an unreliable source of info about Hawkins' recent oddities, shitty former friends and partner

A/N: so. this chapter was supposed to come out last week but i got food poisoning, which turned into me taking a day off work because i felt like shit and when i returned, it got insanely hectic to the point where i did three extra hours today. life is lifing, friends! in order to keep myself sane (i cried at work again today, it's not looking good folks) i'm gonna throw away the update schedule and post whenever i feel like it. i'm still gonna aim at one chapter per week though! i just won't make promises on dates anymore because nothing is working out irl at the moment. anyways, enjoy the chapter and i'll see you when i see you (soon, i promise)!

masterlist - prev - next | playlist

Put on your red shoes And dance the blues

Friday, June 6th - 1986

On Thursday afternoon, Eddie Munson made the mistake of not telling Dottie Burke - his girlfriend that wasn’t actually his girlfriend because he hadn’t asked her out yet - why he couldn’t drive his friends to Donny’s family restaurant for dinner before prom. They’d been lounging on her bedroom’s window seat, radio playing at a low volume while they lazily kissed and cuddled, taking full advantage of the fact that her Dad hadn’t arrived from work yet when Eddie mentioned having to run an errand with Wayne on Friday after school. He said he was probably going to arrive late to the gathering, so they should make plans without him and he’d meet them at the restaurant whenever he was done. The metalhead noticed how Dottie freezed in his arms, lifting herself up from her comfortable position on his chest and put a little distance between them, but since she didn’t inquire further, he simply left a few hours later without ever explaining himself, leaving her to sink into a spiral of self-doubt and very familiar anxiety that left her equal parts jittery and exhausted.

That night after dinner, Dottie called her Auntie Rachel to ease the pang of rising panic, desperately seeking reassurance from the older woman who was always plenty eager to provide a pep talk to her favorite niece whenever she needed one. Everything will be fine, Rachel had said while nursing a glass of red wine all the way in her apartment in New York, her kids already tucked into bed and a newly acquired romance book waiting for her on her bedside table. Stop worrying about it, bug. Senior prom will be the best prom of your life. But as much as she tried to help, Auntie Rachel hadn’t been made aware yet of the change in her niece’s relationship with the older boy, so her advice rang hollow in Dottie’s ears, and the teen had ended up having a pitiful and unsatisfactory sleep before what was supposed to be the most exciting day of her senior year up until that moment.

Still, Eddie had behaved completely normal on Friday at school towards her and their friends, which had eased her nerves slightly. He didn’t make any comments about being anything less than happy to attend his first and hopefully last senior prom, and once he’d dropped Gareth off at his house, he’d lingered in Dottie’s driveway for ten long minutes. Eddie let himself enjoy the feeling of her mouth against his while a gentle drizzle hit his van windows before she finally headed into her house and he sped away towards his mysterious errand. Her best guess that the reason he had never really explained himself was because he was off to do something that was private to his uncle, and she hoped it wasn’t anything health related; Wayne wasn’t exactly old, but he also wasn’t young, and she didn’t like the idea of him having to go through any kind of medical emergency or invasive treatment. And so Friday evening found Dottie at her desk putting the finishing touches on her makeup look, and Eddie on the other side of Hawkins pleading to the stars above his head that his not-yet-girlfriend would understand his weird need for secrecy by the time the night had ended. Hopefully.

“How are you feeling, honey?” James asked, leaning against Dottie’s door frame as she took the last rollers out of her hair and sprayed her curls into place.

“Excited? Honestly a little bit terrified,” she confided in him. “I keep thinking that I’m gonna look around at some point and everyone will have gone home without me.”

“I really don’t think the guys would do that to you, but if they do or you want to leave at any point and for any reason, you can call me, okay? Don’t come home alone.”

“No, I know,” she smiled at him, but it looked more like a nervous grimace than anything else. “I promise I’ll call, I put coins in my purse just in case.”

“Great,” he came to stand behind her, putting his hands on her shoulders reassuringly. “But don’t go in there expecting the worst either. Everything’s gonna be great, honey, you’ll see. Just have a little faith.”

“I really hope you’re right this time, Dad.”

For the next few seconds, each of them were lost in their own painful memories from barely a year ago; James vividly remembered sitting down on their old couch with a can of beer in his hand and a rented movie in the VCR before a younger Dottie barrelled through their front door, shoes dangling from her fingers and black mascara streaking down her cheeks, running towards her bedroom where she locked herself into for 12 straight hours. In turn, all Dottie could think about was how she’d never gotten to see the inside of the gymnasium that was supposed to have been transformed into a fairy wonderland. Her Dad squeezed her shoulders with a comforting touch, dislodging the dark thoughts from her mind before dread overtook her and left her paralyzed once more. She picked up her Mom’s wedding earrings from her little jewelry box and quickly put them on, completing her outfit. Dainty gold pieces secured in place at her earlobes, she rose from her chair and twirled once to show off her full look, fluffy dress glinting as she moved.

During their weekend visit to Hawkins, Aunt Mary Elizabeth had put her sewing skills to good use and shortened the floor-length gown until it reached Dottie’s calves, the golden metallic heels they’d gotten at that heaven-sent Indy thrift store perfectly on display on her feet. She felt like a movie star, ready to walk down the red carpet with a handsome date and be adored by her fans, camera flashes blinding her as she glided effortlessly through a crowded room like she’d always belonged there. Except there were no fans, no paparazzi, and no handsome date either, just her Dad helping her into the front seat of their car so they could pick up the first of her friends for what was surely going to be a night to remember.

Their first stop of the night was at Gareth’s house. James hadn’t even put the car into park before the poor boy was jogging down his front lawn, trying to escape his mother who had been obsessively taking pictures of him in his rented black tux and bright red bowtie in various places around their home. Much to Gareth’s dismay, James insisted on saying hello to his parents before they left, so while he chatted amicably with dad Gavriel, Lydia made her son and his best friend pose in front of her bushes as a backdrop to fulfill the role of nosy journalist in Dottie’s movie star dreams. As much as they complained, the two teens hugged each other and smiled for photos until their eyes were wet from the flash going off and it was finally time to wrap up the shoot and head to their next stop.

The scenario repeated itself at Jeff’s house. His mom, Tricia, prompted Dottie to stand between him and Gareth in the middle of the living room, her son’s white suit jacket with black lapels contrasting nicely with his friend’s black jacket and white button up. As the two boys crowded their friend and planted big wet kisses on both of her rosy colored cheeks while the flashes kept going off, their vision for the night started to become clear: Dottie’s red dress, Gareth’s red bowtie and Jeff’s red Chuck Taylors and cummerbund were difficult to not notice, their club colors proudly and prominently on display leaving no doubts as to whom they belonged with. There might not have been a fancy date à la Rob Lowe or Ally Sheedy to walk hand in hand with into the packed Hawkins High gym, but the Hellfire Class of ‘86 didn’t need any of that to face their prom night - they just needed each other. Tricia promised James she’d get copies of all the photos printed for him and so the teens packed once again into the car and drove away to their final destination.

Donny’s family restaurant wasn’t as fancy as Enzo’s, but in their opinion, it was definitely way more charming. With its big sign spelling Giulia’s in cursive and a homely feel that could be experienced since before they had even walked in, big flower boxes decorated the outside and stereotypical checkered tablecloths were visible from the huge front windows. Donny had been waiting for them at one of the booths near the counter, flowers on every table and tea candles setting the mood for all the couples and groups of friends stopping by to have some authentic Italian pizza or pasta before dancing the night away in their heavily decorated school gymnasium.

“Hey, Don! Looking sharp!” James exclaimed from the driver seat when he pulled up to the restaurant as Donny rushed to keep the front door open for his friends.

“Thanks, Mr. Burke!” he beamed, blue eyes twinkling under the streetlights. “You wanna stay over for pizza?”

“No, thank you, you kids have fun, okay?” he turned to his daughter who lingered in the co-pilot seat. “Take care, honey. I love you.”

“Thanks, Dad. I love you too,” Dottie said, giving him a big hug.

James was so thankful she’d never gone through an I’m ashamed of showing my parent affection in public phase. He watched how Jeff hurried to catch the door when Donny left his post to greet Dottie, spinning her around once and making her laugh, her anxiety visibly melting as the boys made her feel more cared for and loved than she’d ever thought a friend could make her feel in her life. They all waved James goodbye as he drove away, his eyes glossy at the knowledge that his baby was rapidly growing and would inevitably stop needing him, but also incredibly proud of not only her but Donny, Jeff, and Gareth for being such good people to one another. It almost made him wish they’d moved back to his hometown earlier if it meant he’d see his daughter smile as bright as she did every day now.

“Hey, welcome!” Donny’s dad Angelo shouted from the door to the kitchen, his white apron stained with red sauce and his balding head covered with a stripy black and white bandana. “Thought you had gotten lost on your way over! Everyone likes margherita, right?”

“That the one with anchovies we had last time?” Gareth asked as they seated themselves into the booth, ignoring the looks they were getting from the other guests as they talked loudly over their heads.

“That’s the romana,” Donny said, going through the big beverage fridge at the back of the counter where his older sister Isabella was fiddling with the register. “Margherita is sauce, cheese and basil.”

“Oooooh, I love basil,” Dottie said, caging Jeff between herself and Gareth.

“We’re good with margherita, papà!” Donny placed glass soda bottles for everyone on the table and plopped himself down besides Dottie. “You look really pretty, by the way.”

“Thank you! You clean up nice too,” she smiled at him, and he chuckled shyly, not used to all the attention.

“Angelo, why didn’t you say the kids were here already?” Bianca, Donny’s mom, said coming out from the kitchen carrying pasta dishes for another table.

“They just arrived, cuore mio,” Angelo said, kissing the side of her head as he walked past him before he returned to the kitchen and busied himself with more cooking.

“Let me see you, boys, you’re looking handsome!” Bianca beamed at Gareth and Jeff, the two rowdy teens she’d known since before they could tie their own shoes. “And this is Dorothy, right?”

“Just Dottie is fine, mamma,” Donny corrected his Mom.

“Isn’t she a doll! Donatello said you’re interested in joining us for the summer, is that right?”

“Yes, ma’am, I’d love to work for you,” Dottie said, ignoring how her friends were snickering at the mention of Donny’s full first name.

“Do you have any experience?”

“Not as a waitress, but I was a babysitter back in New York since I was 13. I took a Red Cross course and everything. And I have CPR and First Aid certification if that helps.”

“We’ll talk more after graduation, but job’s yours if you want it,” Bianca said with a kind smile before hurrying over to attend to a customer.

“That was the quickest job interview I’ve ever seen in my life,” Jeff laughed.

“If we’re all gonna have money in our pockets, summer’s gonna be fucking awesome,” said Gareth, and everyone couldn’t help but agree with him.

By the time only pizza crust and empty cups of tiramisù remained on the table, everyone was feeling ready for some good old teenage fun on a sweaty dance floor. At some point during the dinner, Donny’s older sister Isabella had brought out a camera and taken a couple of snapshots of the group, wanting to preserve the memory of her little brother going to his first ever high school dance. Donny was acting like a peacock in his maroon suit with a matching black button up and tie; he’d even gelled his curls back, his stud earring glinting in the candlelight whenever he turned his head. As their classmates started leaving but their group remained behind, Dottie began to worry once again. Where in the world was Eddie, and why hadn’t he shown up yet? When she excused herself to the bathroom to reapply her bright red lipstick in an attempt to hide her nervous breathing, the boys huddled up in the booth, voices dropping to a low mumble, heads close together above the table.

“Where the fuck is he?” Gareth hissed.

“He said he was gonna be late, but this is too much,” Jeff said.

“You think he chickened out?”

“No way,” Donny said, confidently. “He was really excited about the surprise, he wouldn’t flake on us like that.”

“Well, he better show up or I’m beating his ass,” Gareth said. “Dot doesn’t deserve to go through another sucky prom.”

“Fuck, I didn’t even think about her,” Jeff’s eyes went wide. “She’s gonna be devastated if he doesn’t come.”

“He’ll come,” Donny nodded. “He’s not gonna stand her up. Like, if anyone knows how much this means to her, it’s probably Ed. They tell each other everything.”

“Okay, I’m ready to roll,” Dottie said, making their heads snap up at her voice. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah! You wanna get going now or do we wait for a bit longer?” Gareth asked.

“I… I dunno, guys. I don’t think Eddie’s coming,” she said, resigned. Jeff and Donny looked at each other.

“I’m gonna call him,” Donny decided. “You guys wait here.”

He shouldn’t have called, because when he returned to the table and said no one had picked up, the way Dottie’s face fell was enough to make them all feel incredibly guilty about something that wasn’t even their fault. They watched her school her features, masking the disappointment behind a friendly smile while she gathered her purse and slid out of the booth like nothing was bothering her. They said their goodbyes to the Vitale family, nonna Giulia coming out from the back to see her only grandson off (and pinch all their cheeks), and finally headed towards Donny’s car with a false sense of cheeriness but the best intentions at heart. The boys weren’t gonna let anything ruin the night for their friend, insisting on opening doors for Dottie and taking turns to offer her their arms to hold onto. Donny was unlocking his car’s doors when a very familiar brown van pulled up behind him, Eddie spilling out hurriedly without turning it off first.

“Jesus Christ, fuck, I’m so sorry,” he breathed out, jogging to catch up with his friends.

“You jackass, where the hell were you?” Jeff scolded him, but his words lost all edge when he pulled the long haired boy into a side hug.

“I’ll tell you later, but fuck man, I really thought I wasn’t gonna make it,” Eddie laughed, turning to hug Gareth.

“Is Wayne okay?” Dottie asked.

“Yeah, he’s fine, don’t worry about him,” he turned around and felt his soul leave his body when his eyes rested upon her. “I, uh- wow.”

“What’s wrong?” she said, looking down at her dress with a frown.

“Nothing! You- you look really nice,” he couldn’t hide his smile even if he tried, and he didn’t want to.

“Oh. Thank you, you look nice too,” she smiled back.

“Let’s take a picture before we leave now that we’re all here,” Donny said, waving through the window at Isabella, who immediately understood the assignment.

“We should take the camera with us,” Gareth proposed, and Jeff nodded in agreement.

Isabella had a few stern words towards Eddie for being late, but when she made them pose on the street, the light spilling out from the inside of the restaurant illuminating their happy faces, she couldn’t stop a fond expression from gracing her features. Donny hadn’t had an easy time throughout his school years, but it was this group of kids in front of her that had made everything better for him. She remembered the summer barbeques in the backyard with a younger Jeff, that one time Gareth lost a tooth munching too harshly on a cannoli, and that first day Donny brought Eddie over. She had asked her boyfriend (now husband) to help her keep an eye on the older boy throughout his visit, worried about what a junior could possibly want with her little brother. They’d talked about Lord of the Rings and played checkers for hours, and she’d heard Eddie warning a freshman Donny about certain teachers and how to avoid getting on their bad side, which softened her attitude towards the lanky teen considerably.

Truthfully, Isabella wasn’t one to judge quickly, but she had been worried about Dottie when Donny first began dropping her name in conversations at family gatherings. Girls had never been particularly nice to her brother while growing up, and as the eldest Vitale sister, she could be a little overprotective when it came to her siblings, especially towards her only brother. But here Dottie was, huddled up between Gareth and Donny, head resting lightly on her brother’s shoulder to be captured in a picture forever and looking happy about it, and Isabella knew this new addition to the group had been good for everyone. They were all wearing matching formal outfits, for Christ’s sake! After Isabella returned inside and everyone started heading towards Donny’s car again, Eddie grabbed Dottie’s wrist and stopped her from following their friends.

“Hey,” he said, tilting his head to the side. “Ride with me?”

“I, uh…,” she turned to look at the rest of the guys who were waiting for her a few steps ahead.

“I kinda wanted to talk to you about something important.”

“O-okay,” she said, heart sinking into her stomach. “I’m gonna ride with Eddie, guys.”

“Everything okay?” Jeff asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I’ll tell you later,” Eddie said. “Meet us in the parking lot?”

He guided Dottie towards his van with a hand on the small of her back, holding her little gold purse for her as she climbed inside and clicked her seatbelt on, their friends slowly driving away without waiting for them to catch up. Once she was seated and her skirt was out of danger from getting caught in the door, Eddie closed it, jogged to the driver’s side and jumped inside, turning on the van and heading towards Hawkins High School. They stayed quiet for a whole block and when Dottie moved to turn on the radio to fill the awkward silence, he caught her hand in the air and brought it to his lips for a quick peck, the loving gesture helping her relax into her seat.

“I’m sorry I was late,” he said. “I had to do something important and it took me longer than I thought it would.”

His hair was still a little bit damp from his hurried shower, and he was wearing a black button up shirt with the sleeves barely rolled up, his good black jeans without holes in them with the chains on the side, and black boots. Chrissy’s birthday gift was the only pop of color in his all black ensemble, the red tie carefully ironed and knotted at the base of his throat.

“You look really handsome,” Dottie muttered with an airy tone, interlacing their fingers.

“And you look stunning,” he smiled softly, glancing at her before he turned his eyes back to the road. “Kinda took my breath away when I saw you.”

“Was worried you weren’t gonna show up,” she admitted.

“And leave my girl hanging? I’d never,” Eddie said, his thumb rubbing the back of her hand. My girl. She could get used to that. “I should have just told you what I was up to, but I didn’t want to ruin the surprise.”

“Surprise?”

“Check the glove box,” he said, pointing to it with his chin.

Dottie retrieved her hand from his grasp and opened it as instructed, pulling out two envelopes from the inside: one was white and looked like it contained a letter or a folded piece of paper, the other one was big and brown. She looked at him warily with a million questions in her eyes; he grinned mischievously in return.

“Open the small one first,” Eddie said.

Curiously, she opened the white letter and unfolded the single sheet of paper, finding in her hands a copy of Eddie’s school transcript. At the bottom, written in what she recognized as Ms. Kelly’s handwriting after seeing it for almost six months straight during their check-ins, were Eddie’s final grades for his third senior year. Not quite believing what she was seeing, she read them again and again, the information in front of her eyes staring back at her impassively.

“Stop the van,” she said, her gaze still stuck to the paper.

“What?”

“Fucking pull over, Ed!” she clicked her seatbelt off and threw the papers towards the dashboard, barely waiting until he’d hit the brakes before throwing herself onto him and planting a kiss on his lips.

“Wait, wait-” he laughed loudly, pulling her out of her seat and into his lap, her poofy dress covering his legs.

“I’m so- fucking- proud of you-” Dottie said, kissing him over and over, not caring if her lipstick was transferring onto his skin.

“Yeah? You are?” Eddie asked, giddy. “I had a meeting with Ms. Kelly today,” he began explaining, and she stopped kissing him to hear his story, her hands dropping to his shoulders where she played with his hair as he melted under her touch. “Dropped you off and booked it back to school. Last two times she called me to her office a week before graduation, she told me I wasn’t making it so I kinda shit my pants there for a minute but I knew I did good this time, I could feel it.”

“You did, babe, you did so good,” she grinned at him with hearts in her eyes.

“We did it,” he pressed a noisy kiss to her cheek, making her giggle. “We’re graduating together.”

“Hell yeah we are!” she moved to kiss him again but he dodged her, leaning to the side to get the other envelope from his dashboard.

“Hold on, that was only half of the surprise,” Eddie said, offering the papers back to her. “Open this one next.”

“Is this gonna say you got a full ride to come to Michigan with me or what?” she joked, pulling out the documents. “Oh, a job application! You mentioned this the other day-”

“Turn to the second page.”

“Holy shit! You got it?”

“I got it!”

In her hands, was a copy of his filled out job application and an informal looking contract, but a contract nonetheless. It was missing Eddie’s signature at the bottom, but that was merely a formality: she was looking at Thatcher Tires’ newest employee, with his starting date stamped as Monday, June 16th, the day after graduation weekend. It was only a part-time apprentice position, but it came with the promise of being promoted to assistant and eventually to full-time if he did well, and it was so much more than anyone else had been willing to give to Eddie before. Dottie looked at him with wet eyes and so much love inside her she didn’t know what to do except scoop him into her arms and squeeze him tightly against her chest like she never wanted to let go, lest he thought she wasn’t as equally over the moon about the news as he was.

“I’m just… fuck, Ed, this is huge,” she pressed her nose to his neck and he wrapped his arms around her, breathing in deeply.

“I know. It feels huge,” he chuckled. “Never thought I’d graduate and get a real job, y’know. Wayne cried when I told him.”

“That’s so sweet.”

“Yeah,” he sniffed. “I decided I’m not gonna deal anymore either. I’m just selling what I have left now and then I’m done with that shit. Forever. I… I wanna be good for you, darling. I wanna be the kinda man you deserve.”

“Ed, you don’t have to change who you are for me,” she lifted her head from his shoulder and looked at him, her hands coming to hold the sides of his face tenderly. “I fell in love with you like this, I’m not gonna change my mind all of a sudden. I’m so sorry if I made you feel like you had to be anything different than who you are, I-”

“No, no, that’s not it,” he said quickly, hands settling on her waist. “I’m just… You deserve a good man, Dot, and I wanna be that. I wanna be a good man. I- I just didn’t think I could be good before, y’know? Everyone’s always talking about how I’m so fuckin’ stupid, and how I’d never do shit with my life, and I guess at some point I started believing they were right, and- I dunno. I don’t wanna be useless and I don’t wanna end up in jail with my asshole Dad like everyone in this shit town thinks I will. And- and when I met you and you were all like you’re really smart, Eddie, you’re just lazy, you were right, darling, you were so fuckin’ right. You always are,” he was looking at her with so much intensity she had to close her eyes and lean forward, their foreheads resting against each other’s. “I wanna look at myself in a mirror and see what you see. I wanna be good.”

“You are,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to his nose. “You are so good, Eddie. You are the best thing in this whole town and I love you so much.”

“Say that again, please.”

“I love you.”

“One more time?”

“I love you, Edward Munson,” Dottie kissed him sweetly. “I love you.”

“Shit,” he grinned. “You really love me.”

“Of course I do.”

“I love you too, baby. So, so much.”

They stayed like that for a few seconds, Dottie sitting on his lap, her thighs bracketing his, his thumbs rubbing circles on her sides and her hands cupping the sides of his jaw, noses pressed together. They didn’t kiss, because it didn’t seem enough to express what they were feeling right at that moment. It almost felt childish to do so, like kissing was something they usually did for fun and the real intimacy came from just existing in the same space, breathing the same air, feeling each other’s warmth under their hands and just how alive the other felt when skin was pressed against skin. A truck full of rowdy classmates that were clearly somewhat inebriated sped down the street, the loud music coming from their speakers breaking their fairytale bubble and bringing them back to real life. With a shy smile, Dottie collected all the documents strewn around them before moving back to her seat and clicking her seatbelt back on while Eddie tried to wipe her lipstick from his face with a tissue he’d stolen from her purse and water from an old plastic bottle. Once she’d reapplied her makeup and he was sufficiently clean so as not to raise suspicions, Eddie pulled back into the road towards the school, holding Dottie’s hand in his for just a few more minutes.

“You know what I realized the other day?” he said, stopping at a red light. “I didn’t used to be scared of jail when Chief Hopper was still around.”

“Really? Why not?”

“Because Hopper didn’t give two shits about me selling. He busted me a couple of times, gave me a talking to and dropped me off back home. I think he knew I was just doing it ‘cause we needed the money, I wasn’t gonna become a career criminal or some shit like that. He was cool.”

“And the new chief isn’t?”

“Powell’s useless,” Eddie scoffed. “He’s still trying to convince everyone he has what it takes to be like Hopper and no one believes he’s got it. And Callahan is a fucking moron. You know those handcuffs I’ve got in my bedroom?”

“I’m guessing you didn’t get those in a magician’s kit,” Dottie joked.

“They’re Callahan’s,” he grinned. “He caught me buying when I was like 15, put the cuffs on me and everything. Took me to the station and when Hopper saw me at his desk, he turned around and called him a drama queen, told him he was “wasting police resources” over nothing. It was awesome. I swiped the cuffs before Hopper took me home. Wayne wasn’t too happy about it though, he grounded me for like a month but I thought it was worth it.”

“So you stole a police officer’s cuffs? And just… hung them in your bedroom like they were a dreamcatcher?”

“Yeah, pretty much. At first I kept them ‘cause I thought they made me look badass,” he turned into another street, their final stop looming closer and closer. “Now I look at them and kinda get chills. I think Wayne would die if he saw me in those but for real this time. Like, I think he’d actually have a heart attack or something. Can’t do that to my old man, he doesn’t deserve that.”

“And Hopper didn’t know you took them?”

“He absolutely did, he just didn’t care,” Eddie laughed. “As far as cops go, Hopper was pretty cool. He actually gave a shit about us when it really mattered. I mean, yeah, he could still be an asshole when he wanted to, all cops are, but he was pretty chill most of the time. Kept to himself a lot. It kinda pissed me off how everyone started pretending like he was their best friend after he died.”

“Nancy told me he saved people in the Starcourt Mall fire.”

“Yeah. A true American hero: Vietnam war vet, died heroically saving children from a fire during the Fourth of July… doesn’t get more patriotic than that.”

“You said Dustin and Mike were there, right?”

“Yeah. And Erica.”

“What?”

“They were all in the cinema, I think. Dunno much about it, the kids never talk about what happened. Just know they were there ‘cause they mentioned it on the news. Nancy was there too, she didn’t tell you?”

“Oh,” Dottie said, like something had clicked in her head. “Well, that makes more sense now.”

“What do you mean?”

“I thought it was weird that Nancy’s boyfriend’s mom just, like, adopted the Chief’s daughter after he passed away, but it makes sense. They must have been friends.”

“What are you talking about?” It was Eddie’s turn to be surprised.

“Nancy’s dating a guy named Jonathan-”

“Yes, Jonathan Byers. I know him. Fellow weirdo,” he raised an eyebrow pointedly.

“Well, his mom adopted Hopper’s daughter before they moved to California last year. She’s dating Mike, he told us about her, remember?” Dottie explained. “So she must have been in there with Mike and their friends if Nancy and Jonathan were there too.”

“Hopper didn’t have a daughter. I mean, he did have one but she died when she was a kid,” Eddie said.

“Nancy said he didn’t know he had a daughter until recently, maybe her Mom passed away or something and she left her with him. She was here all summer with Mike and Dustin, she’s really pretty!”

“Yeah? How do you know?”

“They showed me a picture! She’s taller than I expected, has brown hair, brown eyes. Looks a little bit like an elf actually, she has, like, sharp cheekbones?” Dottie pointed to her own round cheeks that looked nothing like the girl’s face on a Polaroid currently stuck to the inside of Dustin’s locker.

“Well, damn,” he chuckled. “Look at Wheeler go, totally thought he was lying about that one. Hey, uh, did Nancy tell you anything about the Byers?”

“About Jonathan, mostly. I know he has a brother that’s friends with Mike and Dustin too.”

“Will.”

“I think so, can’t remember his name. I know Mike’s girlfriend is named Jane though.”

“So she didn’t tell you about all the weird shit that happened a few years ago, huh?” Eddie eyed her curiously as he pulled into the school’s street, the building waiting for them just a few blocks further.

“Define weird shit for me, please.”

“This town is fucking cursed, babe. That Will kid went missing in the woods and then the feds found a random body in the quarry and thought it was him. Everyone thought Mrs. Byers was insane because she kept saying that the body wasn’t Will, but she was right - Hopper found him alive a few days later. It was a huge mess, like, they had held a funeral and everything and now the kid is back like nothing happened?” Eddie shook his head in disbelief. “I thought maybe Nancy would have told you because around that same time, everyone thought this girl named Barb that was best friends with her had run away but actually she died from getting exposed to some weird chemicals from that lab in the middle of the woods where Will went missing and there was a whole conspiracy to cover it up. And also y’know, the fire thing last year.”

“Those are like a lot of strange as fuck things to have happened in such a short span of time,” Dottie frowned.

“I know, right? And Mike and Dustin are always in the middle of it somehow. Must suck.”

“Poor kids,” she said, sadly. “It’s probably hard for them to deal with all that and have to pretend everything’s normal.”

“People get crazy good at hiding things they’ve been through, especially when they were fucked up,” he shrugged.

Eddie finally pulled into the school’s parking lot, quickly locating Donny’s car and their friends standing around waiting for them. He honked the horn twice to call their attention and they waved at him to hurry up. Dottie looked at the boys through the windshield and thought about what Eddie had just said. He was right and she knew this because she’d gotten pretty good at pretending things were okay when they weren’t, not looking for pity or compassion because she’d simply assumed others would judge her for it. Being around Eddie had helped her open up, but there were some secrets that were buried too deep to unearth so casually, particularly when they filled her with shame. But maybe it was about time she stopped doing that. Maybe she owed it not only to her friends, but to herself, to stop feeling sorry for something that had been out of her control and such a special night seemed like the perfect moment to tell them the things that had been eating her from the inside out for a year now. But for now, Eddie was offering her his hand to help her get out of his van, and her friends were grinning at her like the cat that got the cream, so the truth would have to wait until later. There was a prom to attend first, and she was determined to enjoy this one to the fullest.

Gareth Coleman had never been known to be particularly patient about anything throughout his goddamn life. He was always eager to spill the beans, and he always wanted to spill them now, so the fact that he’d managed to keep this specific secret for almost a week had been impressive. Him, Jeff, and Donny had discussed Eddie’s weird behavior while on their way to the school, and they were all equally curious as to what was taking him and Dottie so long to arrive. Donny had already smoked a cig and Jeff had checked the bag in the backseat thrice by the time those two finally rejoined the group, looking a little bit suspicious and plenty cozy with one another. The boys didn’t have too much time to ponder on why though, because immediately upon arrival Eddie revealed that the reason he’d been late for dinner and why he’d stolen Dottie away for a private chat, was that he’d seen Ms. Kelly after school and had gotten confirmation that he’d finally be graduating high school with his friends. Hellfire Class of ‘86, baby, he’d said, pulling his friends into a huddle as they cheered and hollered at what was probably the most anticipated piece of news they’d gotten in a long time. However, Gareth was still impatient as ever, so he quickly peeled away from the group hug and dove into Donny’s car to retrieve their final surprise of the night and keep emotions running high.

“Since we’re all here and in a good fuckin’ mood,” he began saying, making everyone turn to him. “We have something for you, Dot.”

“For me? What did I do?”

“Well, it wouldn’t really be prom if you didn’t have one of these, so… here you go,” he pulled a white box from inside the bag and extended it to her; she accepted it curiously before peering inside.

“Wow, this is…,” she said, taken aback. “You guys! You didn’t have to buy anything for me!”

“Yes, we did,” Jeff said, moving forward to help her get her surprise out of the box.

In his hands, he held a very special corsage they’d all pitched in to buy for her since she didn’t have a formal date to the event to get it for her. The flowers were bright red, with the ribbon in black and gold; he slid it over her fingers until it sat prettily on her left wrist, her eyes filling with heartfelt tears at their thoughtful gesture. She didn’t have time to thank them, however, because soon enough Gareth was pulling smaller boxes from the bag and giving one to each of his friends.

“Could you help us with these?” Donny smiled, opening his box for her to see what he was holding.

Each of them had gotten themselves a boutonniere, two different styles but all in matching colors. Jeff and Eddie had chosen red flowers with black and gold ribbon much like her corsage, but Gareth and Donny had white flowers with red and gold ribbon. Between wet laughs, she pinned all decorations to their chests, wondering how she’d gotten so lucky to have these four men in her life who were all so eager to make every moment count when it mattered the most. Dottie tucked herself between Eddie and Jeff, and Donny turned his sister’s borrowed camera towards the group, blindly taking a picture and hoping he hadn’t accidentally cut any heads out of it. After checking on each other for the final time, the five teens turned towards the gymnasium doors and headed inside to get the party started.

The Hellfire Class of ‘86’s big entrance had been something to behold. No one had really been expecting the freaks to show up, much less dressed to the nines and arm in arm with that one girl that had moved to Hawkins a few months ago right in the middle of the school year, but there they were, and they demanded to be seen. Their matching outfits made them stand out in a sea of bold colors, pastels, and satin fabrics, but the fact that they moved like a cohesive unit anywhere they went was weirdly fascinating. First, they headed to get their picture taken and the photographer had been happy to capture what looked to be a healthy group of friends instead of awkward looking couples that would probably not make it anywhere further than a few months beyond graduation. Then, they lingered at a corner of the refreshments table when Chrissy Cunningham excitedly greeted them and chatted with them for a few long minutes, gushing over Dottie’s vintage dress who in turn couldn’t stop telling the blonde how beautiful she looked in her baby pink gown.

It was silly, really, how the most non-conformist friend group in Hawkins High had found some sort of genuine amusement in participating in what was probably the most stereotypical event in the life of any high school student, but they’d long ago stopped trying to explain themselves to others. Prom to them was a celebration of their friendship, a culmination of four shitty years (or six, in Eddie’s case), and the hope of a better future that felt as equally glorious as every moment spent together. They sipped on cheap vodka from a hip flask Gareth had smuggled in, they pestered the DJ to play Black Sabbath, Metallica, or even some Mötley Crüe to no avail, and they danced in a circle until their feet hurt. Dottie excused herself for a bit to dance with Chrissy to a Queen song, and then she’d stolen Nancy away from her friends for a few minutes, but she stayed pretty close to her boys all night, and in turn, they never left her alone. She’d been twirling around the dance floor with Jeff while Gareth escaped to the bathroom for a couple of minutes when Donny came to stand next to Eddie, who was watching her from the side with the most lovesick expression on his face known to man.

“Might wanna be less obvious with the staring there,” Donny nudged him goodnaturedly. “People are gonna notice you’re drooling.”

“Don’t really care if anyone sees me,” Eddie admitted. “Now that we’re all getting out of here I’m gonna ask her to be my girlfriend, so I don’t give a shit about what this lame ass school thinks about me anymore.”

“Damn, good luck, man,” he looked at him, impressed. “I mean, she’s totally gonna say yes but still, good luck.”

“Thanks, Don. You’re a good friend, you know that, right?”

“Been told once or twice but it’s always good to hear.”

“I should tell you more often,” Eddie smiled. “We’re all best friends, but… I dunno. I feel like you always got me the most.”

“Always thought you got me the most, actually,” Donny said, smiling back at him.

“Hey, Eddie!” Chrissy called, hurrying towards him all giggly and secretive. “We're up next!”

“Shit, already?”

“What’s going on?” Donny asked, looking at the blonde.

“I'm his Best Man," she said, like that explained everything before grabbing Eddie's hand and pulling him towards the dance floor.

Without having to squint too much, the gymnasium didn't look like the sweaty room the majority of the school's populace hated with a passion anymore. Chrissy and her fellow Prom Committee members had worked really hard to turn it into a different place, from the red carpet and fairy lights at the entrance to the golden streamers obscuring the bleachers to the sides, all the way to the myriad of rented mirror balls hanging from the ceiling; everything came together to create a portal to a world where Hawkins’ senior class could pretend like they were movie stars for a night. The theme was perfectly captured in the décor, and Eddie found it very fitting that the Hellfire Club's colors matched it so well - it made everything that much more special and movielike than they had intended when they agreed to display their club’s allegiance so blatantly.

Chrissy maneuvered them past several people towards where Jeff and Dottie danced to Falco’s Rock Me Amadeus, immediately joining in and not caring that classmates around them were looking at her like she'd grown two heads. She had worked her ass off so everyone could have a wonderful night and if she wanted to dance with the freaks, she felt like had rightfully earned her prize. After all, Eddie had said she was a freak too once and she took it to heart, considering it might as well have been the biggest compliment she had ever received in her 18 years on planet Earth. Jeff was still wary of Chrissy, not having had a full conversation with her in all four years of high school but he knew Eddie thought of her as a friend, and Dottie seemed to like her as well so he followed their lead and danced along with her, making both girls spin at the same time in tune with the song.

"Are you having fun?" Chrissy asked Dottie, holding onto her hands.

"So much fun! I voted for you, by the way."

"You did?! Oh my god, thank you!" the blonde beamed at her. "I'm so nervous, I hope I get it!"

"Are you kidding me? We all voted for you, you're totally gonna win," Dottie said with honesty, because there was no other way the night could end without Chrissy Cunningham winning Prom Queen.

"Don't jinx it!" she laughed, as the final notes of Rock Me Amadeus played out.

"Alright, alright, Hawkins High! Is everyone having fun?" the DJ asked over the music; everyone cheered in response. "Let's slow it down a little bit, shall we? This one's for the lovers in the room, but remember to leave space for Jesus in the middle, okay? Don’t want any teachers getting upset."

Dottie laughed at the DJ’s silly joke while the next song began, head whipping around to find Eddie who was already turned towards her and, dare she say, looking mighty sheepish. Oh, darling, please believe me, crooned Paul McCartney as the dancefloor became a little bit less crowded and couples began partnering up to share a sweet moment with one another. Eddie offered his hand to her and Dottie looked at their friends before taking it, but there was no need - Chrissy was fulfilling her Best Man duty to perfection, already swaying away from them with her hands on Jeff's shoulders. He looked mighty confused as to why a pretty cheerleader was slow dancing with him instead of going to find her jock boyfriend, but he was enjoying the small talk about what colleges they'd attend after graduation and Chrissy seemed to be having fun too so beggars couldn't really be choosers. Dottie let herself be pulled closer to Eddie and he held her in a way that didn't look entirely platonic, but they both silently agreed that they’d deal with whatever teasing they could get in the future. Right now, being in her not-yet-boyfriend’s arms while The Beatles played in the background was probably one of the happiest moments of Dottie’s life and she was going to enjoy it as much as she could without overthinking it.

"Got any other surprises up your sleeve I should prepare myself for?" Dottie asked, eyes shining under the disco balls.

"This was the last one for tonight, I promise," he said, fighting the urge to cradle her head into his chest; Mrs. O'Donnell was standing to a side looking for students who didn't leave space for Jesus and he didn’t want to risk it. "How are you feeling, princess?"

"Like this is the best prom I could have asked for."

"Yeah? Is it how you dreamed it would be?"

"It’s so much better. I'm lucky enough to be dancing with the prettiest boy in the room, what more could I ask for?" she smiled.

"Don't know, I'm dancing with the most beautiful girl in the room so I'm feeling pretty lucky too," he smiled back at her, his dimples on display.

“God we’re corny. How did you get the DJ to play our song?”

“I thought our song was Hot Patootie.”

“We have multiple. Answer the question, Munson, Donny and I asked him to play some Bruce Springsteen earlier and he said no.”

“I have friends in high places,” Eddie said cryptically, but undermined the mystery by looking at Chrissy who was laughing at something Jeff had said.

“You totally told her about us, didn’t you?” Dottie asked, but her grin told him she wasn’t mad about it.

“She’s gonna be my Best Man, I had to,” he shrugged, making her snort and shake her head.

“Already thinking about the wedding and he hasn’t even asked me out yet. You’re getting awfully cocky,” she raised an eyebrow, and he had the decency to look shy about it.

“I’m working on it, darling. Just give me time to make it special.”

Eddie pushed a strand of her hair behind her ear as they danced, not realizing that both Donny and Gareth were watching the pair like hawks, smirking at how obvious their affection was in a sea of couples that ranged from uncomfortable to loving. They, however, looked downright sickening, like they had been plucked from a cheesy coming of age movie where the two leads finally came to terms with the fact that all they’d ever wanted had been right in front of them all along.

“He’s totally head over heels for her, isn’t he,” Gareth said, crossing his arms across his chest.

“Absolutely,” Donny said, taking a sip of his spiked fruit punch. “But she’s not far behind either.”

“Yeah,” the wild curly haired boy turned to look at his friend. “Wanna bet on how long it’ll take for them to get together?”

“I say twenty for graduation day.”

Nearing the end of prom night, their feet hurt from standing for so long and they were all starving for some salty junk food. Chrissy had, of course, ended up winning Prom Queen; Hellfire had cheered for her extra loud which hadn’t made the basketball team very happy but they couldn’t retaliate when there were so many teachers around. Besides, Andy’s eye was still very much purple and no one wanted to be sporting a face injury in their graduation photos. Jason Carver had won Prom King too, but much to his dismay, rumor had it that he’d barely beaten the football team’s captain for the title. Nonetheless, the newly crowned couple was dancing in the middle of the gym surrounded by other partnered up classmates when Eddie proposed what was probably the best plan of the night: leaving early and going to get fries and milkshakes at a cheap diner.

Dottie went in the car with Donny and Gareth this time, trying to avoid alerting their friends to her and Eddie’s blossoming relationship anymore than they’d already had, and the teens spent the entire ride gossiping about things they’d noticed had happened during the event, like how this girl from the swimming team had very publicly broken up with her boyfriend in front of everyone or how their History teacher had been dancing with the pretty Science teacher every freshman (namely, Dustin Henderson) had a crush on. When they arrived at the diner, Eddie opened the doors of his van and they sat in the parking lot to eat their fries and share various flavors of milkshakes, debating on which one was better. The boys were rowdy as they always were, Gareth fighting hard for peanut butter versus Jeff’s chocolate and Donny’s orange creamsicle, when Eddie went to grab more fries from the basket he was sharing with Dottie and noticed she was staring at her corsage, a blank expression on her face.

“Hey,” he said softly, trying not to startle her by rubbing the back of her hand with his pinky finger. “You okay? Wanna go home?”

“No, I’m okay. Just thinking.”

“Wanna tell me? I’m a good listener.”

“I know you are,” Dottie afforded him half a smile. “I… there was something I wanted to tell you but don’t wanna bring the mood down.”

“Uh-oh,” he pouted dramatically. “Am I in trouble already?”

“Shut up,” she shoved him lightly. “No, it’s just… it’s about New York and- I don’t know, we’re having such a fun time. Feels like I’m gonna fuck it up. It’s fine, I can tell you guys some other time.”

“Tell us what?” Jeff asked, making her notice that all the boys were quietly looking at her.

“You don’t have to tell us anything if you don’t want to,” Gareth hurried to say. “-but we’re always down to hear you if you wanna, like, get something off your chest or whatever.”

“Yeah! You’re not fucking anything up, we’re just talking,” Donny said.

Dottie looked around at her friends who were waiting to follow her lead whatever that may be and knew that if she was ever going to say anything, then this was it. This was the moment where she let them all in, where she let them see just how truly damaged she was, and they’d have to decide whether this baggage was something they wanted to help her with or if it was too much for them to handle. Eddie’s ringed hand sneaked behind her, caressing her spine back and forth on top of her dress for support. She took a deep breath and set the basket of fries to the side.

“I, uh- you know how I said my junior prom sucked and that’s why I kinda didn’t wanna come tonight before we made plans?” she began, and they all nodded. “So, there’s actually a pretty big reason for that.”

“You said you didn’t have a date for junior prom and you felt bad so you didn’t go. That’s why I said we should all go together,” Gareth said, making the other teens turn to him in surprise. He clearly knew more about it than they all did and he hadn’t said anything.

“I lied. I did go and I did have a date. I had a boyfriend actually,” she said grimly.

“Oh.”

“How long did you date that guy?” Donny asked, sparing a glance at Eddie who was staring at her nervous hands playing with her Mom’s engagement and wedding rings, spinning them around her left middle finger.

“Around six months. His name was Tyler, we went to school together. He was… nice, I guess? I really liked him,” she muttered. “And like, not to overshare but he was my first real kiss, you know? My first everything. And he made me feel special for a while.”

“What happened?” Jeff asked, frowning and shifting closer, his hand coming to rest on her ankle.

“We went to prom together. Flynn, his older brother, took us and the whole ride was so awkward because he kept trying to talk to Tyler and he would just stare ahead, like he was angry or something. He wouldn’t even look at me.”

“Flynn or Tyler wouldn’t look?”

“Tyler. Actually, Flynn was pretty awesome, best older brother ever. He was pre-med, just… a really cool guy. Kinda miss him, he was fun to be around. He had wild stories about college, but not like drunk wild, just general weird things that happened around campus,” Dottie smiled, remembering the nice older guy that gave her advice on how to apply to colleges.

“He sounds nice,” Donny said.

“He was! Honestly, I think the best part about dating Tyler was that I could hang out with Flynn a lot.”

“So… what happened at prom?” Donny prompted her to continue.

“Um, Flynn dropped us off and Tyler said he wanted to talk before we went in. I thought he was nervous, y’know? I mean, I was nervous too. But he basically said he didn’t wanna date me anymore because he was gonna go to this science whatever camp during summer, and we were gonna be so far away and he just couldn’t deal with long distance so it was over.”

“What?” Eddie’s eyebrows raised on his forehead until they were hidden completely by his bangs. He was prepared to wait for her all four years of college and this fucking guy couldn’t handle being two months apart? “That’s such bullshit!”

“That’s what I said!” she exclaimed, getting angry again at the memory. “But then he said that he didn’t like me anymore because I didn’t put in any effort, and that other girls got pretty for their boyfriends and- and that hurt because he knew that I hadn’t been able to get a dress I liked for prom, so a friend’s sister let me borrow an old one from her.”

“What a fucking douchebag,” Gareth said, scoffing. “You always look pretty, what was his deal?”

“Wish I didn’t know, but, um, that one hurt way more when I found out,” she said, tears starting to form along her waterline. “Because I obviously went home after that, right? He didn’t want me there, and I didn’t want to be there either, so I got on the first bus I saw and that was it. I didn’t show up for the final week of school, and then I went to see my grandparents and stayed away from everyone all summer.”

“What about your friends?” Jeff asked.

“My Dad returned the dress for me and I called Tracey to say thank you, and that was it. She didn’t ask about what happened and no one else called.”

“You mean that no one cared you went missing for months?” Eddie’s face dropped.

“That’s kinda how summers were like for me in New York anyway,” she admitted, and he moved his hand from her back to her hip to bring her closer to him and into a side hug. “I was sure that everyone knew and that’s why no one called. Like, what would they even say? It would have been so awkward. But then school started again and I found out what happened during the holidays and everything made sense.”

“Why? What happened?” Gareth frowned. “What did they do while you were gone?”

“Tyler went to his dumb summer camp two weeks after school ended and got together with my friend Jeannie,” Dottie said, fat drops finally falling from her eyes. “God, why am I still crying about it? I don’t even care about them anymore, I’m pathetic.”

“Fuck that! You’re not pathetic, they are!” Jeff exclaimed, gripping her ankle tighter to get to look up from her hands. “What a bitch, how could she do that to you?”

“Okay, I’m gonna kill both of them,” Gareth deadpanned. “We should totally kill both of them, right, guys?”

“Hey, come on, don’t cry,” Donny said, shifting closer until he was on Dottie’s other side, squishing her between himself and Eddie. “Do you want us to kill them? Because you know we would. I’ll bring the shovel, Eddie has the van, we can make it happen. Just say the word and we’ll be there.”

“I know you would,” she managed to chuckle through the tears. “It’s fine, I just… I never really told anyone this other than my Dad. The only reason my family knows is because he had to explain to everyone why I was locking myself in my room to cry all the time and wouldn’t leave home. I worried everyone a lot those days.”

“You were keeping this one really close to the chest, huh?” Eddie said, things clicking into place for him. Her sudden desperation when he mentioned Chrissy’s name mid freakout, her willingness to hide her own heartbreak if it meant they’d still be friends, the way she kept to herself all those months before she joined them. “Can I ask… did someone tell them anything? Did your other friends know?”

“They all knew. Tracey and Benji said they were sorry but that was kinda it. And all of them sat during lunch with Jeannie, who kept bringing Tyler over to our table and literally fucking sitting on him every day so I had no friends for six months except for Mrs. Randall.”

“Who’s Mrs. Randall?” Eddie asked, vaguely aware that he’d seen that very same name signed at the front of her well-loved Anne of Green Gables copy.

“The school’s librarian. I had lunch with her every day and she helped me write the essay I sent to UMich. She’s awesome, honestly. Dunno what I would have done without her.”

“I’m so sorry you went through all that,” Jeff said. “You didn’t deserve it, and I’m glad you aren’t friends with those assholes anymore.”

“Yeah! You have us now!” Gareth smiled, throwing himself over Eddie’s legs to join in on the hugging party. “We played D&D together which means we’re bonded for life. Can’t get rid of us anymore.”

“He’s right, princess,” Eddie added, hand coming up to brush her tears away. “It’s in the Player’s Handbook. You signed a blood contract.”

“I love you,” she said, looking at him earnestly before turning to her other boys. “I love all of you. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you anything before, it was just so embarrassing to admit and I didn’t want you to know I’m the biggest loser on Earth and decide you didn’t want to be friends anymore.”

“You’re not a loser,” Donny said. “And those people weren’t your real friends, they were shitheads. That’s not on you, Dot. And we love you too, or else we wouldn’t be wearing suits right now.”

“Everything you guys did today… thank you. I’m gonna remember this forever, you have no idea how much it means to me.”

“We know,” Gareth said, looking at all his friends. “That’s why we did it.”

In the back of Eddie’s van, with the doors open to the empty parking lot waiting to be filled with teens looking for a snack, Dottie shed yet another layer of fear and anxiety. The air smelled vaguely of weed and fries, their forgotten milkshakes sweating rings onto the hard floor, but no one made a move to get themselves out of the puppy pile they had sunk into, five sets of legs and arms tangled with one another and the calm understanding that physical comfort was something they all needed at that moment. They had all been outcasts, freaks, easily disposable and replaceable throughout their lives, but here, in this van, they were invaluable and unique. Here the Hellfire Class of ‘86 was home, and there was nothing in the world that could convince them otherwise. Here they belonged, and birds of a feather flock together after all.

taglist (comment below or send me an ask if you wanna be added!): @munsonology @kurdtbean @every1lovesanunderdog @eg-dr3amer3

[cryscendo]

kurt hummel in every performance

5x10 - Trio

The Happening - One Three Hill

“Hello, everybody. I'm Kurt, and welcome. I know most of you were excited to see Pamela Lansbury perform tonight, but unfortunately, I have some sad news. Pamela Lansbury... c'est fini. But do not worry, because rising from the ashes like a phoenix, I give you New York's new singing thruple... One Three Hill!”