#(i have exactly eleven (11) days before school starts)

[ilottcallum]

i am practicing my time management skills at 2.47am

[asunflowerana]

mishaps — Itoshi Rin

“I love you, Rin.”

He swallows the rest of whiskey in his glass, the malt and alcohol burning his throat as he tries to chug it all down. He wants to suppress his senses and hush his mind, anything to stop the non-stop aching in his heart.

He just wants to forget, but the remorse keeps whispering in his head, from the moment his eyes found your figure among the mingling bodies in the room. Someone he hasn’t seen in years, that he didn't realised how much he longed for until now. The gentle tone of your voice, your bright smile when you saw something you liked, the twinkle in your eyes whenever you watched one of his matches; the feeling of holding you, having you right there between his arms even though a brief moment, made most of his days in high school. The sound of his name running through your honey lips, excited, apprehensive, sad, hopeful.

Once, Rin had all of you versions. Now, he can only get a small, superficial glimpse, which is still beautiful because it’s a part of you.

He wants to have the whole you again.

But how could he, after what he said?

“Rin.” As if his problems couldn’t get any worse, he hears Sae's voice close to him, taking the opportunity to sit on the free stool aside his. Shoulders tensing, Rin anticipates another pitiful conversation, wondering if he could be fast enough to make up a small excuse and escape to the bathroom. It’s hard enough to have your own mind reminding you of your mistakes; he doesn't want to hear it from Sae too.

Not that he can stop him, anyway. 

“Your teammates are looking for you. That lanky guy wants a couple of pictures for the press” Ego. He almost forgets why he's in this party, among futile golddiggers, instead of the safety of his home. 

With the promising future of Blue Lock 11, the company held a gala event to promote the project and acquire more sponsorships. All the eleven best players were obligated to make an appearance, in addition to some guests of honor, renowned players, soccer club presidents, and some contemplated journalists. 

A game of pretenses, appearances, and a lot of money involved. Another reason he wants to leave as soon as possible. This party was over before it even started for him.

“Not interested.” He lifts his hand to the barman for another round. He doesn't even bother to turn his face toward his brother, keeping his piercing eyes away from attention. The pink-haired man beside him chuckles, finding the scene too amusing. 

“You know, she moved on quite quickly.” Rin clenches his jaw. Sae knows exactly how to push his buttons, and the bastard won't stop until he gets a reaction out of him. “Why are you so pitiful? It's not like you didn't reject her in the first place.”

Words that stings like alcohol on a fresh wound. Why cant' he just leave him alone? His situation is torturing enough. He can’t help but glance at the happy couple a few meters away, slow-dancing on the dancefloor with a sickening fond gaze at each other, as if they're the only thing that matters there.

Red take sover his vision, watching that man’s arm wrapped around your waist, bringing your bodies close to each other in a embrace. An intimacy that not him, but his own teammate created with you.

Hyoma Chigiri it's the name of the man who stole the happiness Rin refused in the past. The man who hasn’t taken his eyes and hands off you, earning your smiles and flustered giggles as he impeccably leads you on, just like in those scenes from fairytales. The man who doesn’t need pointless words to express how beautiful you are, but do it with honesty, just by staring at you.

The man who placed a gold, diamond ring on your right finger, as a promise of his unending love for you.

Rin wants to break him apart right there, but he chooses to gulp down his replaced dose of beverage, the only thing that can hold him down, as ironic as it is. He ends it in one shot, having enough of this terribly and long night.

“Tell them I left sooner.” Not waiting for an answer, he places a tip on the counter to the bartender, poor guy did quiet a good job at bearing his grumbles and sorrow. Ego probably won’t like his departure, he hasn't shown much of himself through the night, but in the end of the day, Rin doesn't give a care. 

“Running away, I see.” Sae scratches his chin, observing his younger brother's. It's not a situation he could intervene even if he wanted to, but man, it’s irritating to watch Rin's childishness, preferring to sulk in silence instead of fighting for what he lost. You loved him before, you could love him again. He might be a good player now, but he's still as dumg as ever.

“Maybe it was for the best. She wouldn’t be happy with a coward dragging her down, anyway.”

Rin stills. His brother should thank heaven for the few steps he took away from him, or he would have a bloody broken nose for everyone to see. It would be unfair, though, because he doesn't disagree with him. He does wants to get you back, but no amount of trys will change the fact that he rejected you. You wouldn’t forgive him, even if your eyes no longer hold resentment when gazing at his

Now, they hold indifference. Maybe a bit of politeness you grant for people you've just met, but it's not the same way you used to look at him. And that's so much worse, ‘cause it means that what you both had lost its significance; as if he's no longer worth keeping in your memory.

“Good evening, Itoshi.” IIt's how you greeted him earlier, with nothing but cordiality. 

He was never Itoshi to you. He was Rin, your Rin.

“I love you, Rin”

“....I don’t.”

Two words. Two cursed words, coming so easily out of his mouth, made him lose everything. Everything, over a stupid teenager pride. Love was not on young Rin's plans, the only goal filling his mind was to become the world's best striker, and defeat his brother. Love would be a waste of time and effort, and he didn’t want anything to disrupt his ambition.

His own mind disrupts him now.

Giving a final, challenging gaze at his brother, he mumbles. “Don't talk to me as if you were better.” And then he leaves, taking the phone from his pants pocket to order a taxi back to the dorm. He’ll probably practice a few extra hours the next day to make up for the misfortune, but he doesn’t mind. 

As long as he forgets, anything will do.

n/a: writing angst is so bittersweet... rinrin will have his redemption, i hope😬

© asunflowerana 2024 — all rights reserved.

[mothbart]

day 12 of kolowv: day 11

my baby @theapocryphaofantares's birthday is in eleven days, and because i love him with all my heart he gets a small microfic every day until he gets his big present on his actual birthday.

day 11: climb | bartylily | words 2,631

Lily Evans has never felt so lonely and disappointed until now.

It’s her sixteenth birthday, and she’s standing outside in a short, black mini-skirt and a tight, light-green t-shirt that she stole from her sister. Her face isn’t really caked with makeup, but it’s definitely there because Lily wants to wipe away the thin layer of foundation her sister put on. The pastel pink winter jacket that she has on isn’t exactly keeping her warm while she waits for her date to show up.

She wishes that she had come up with some backup plan—something just in case this date fell through. Her best friend, Mary Macdonald warned her that James Potter was a flake, but she had been crushing on him since they both got into high school. She never thought that James would ask her out, so of course when James offered to take her out, she couldn’t say no. However, she was too scared to tell him that the day he picked was her birthday. She didn’t want him to feel any pressure, but she regrets it. She’s been standing outside for thirty minutes past the time James said he’d pick her up. Maybe she should’ve said something—maybe then he wouldn’t have stood her up.

She pulls out her cell phone again, making sure she didn’t miss a text from him or something, and she frowns when she sees the only notification is from Mary asking if she’s having a fun time.

It’s face-numbing cold outside, and she contemplates going back inside, but then she looks over at the house next door. Through the branches and leaves of the large sycamore tree that sits in her yard and her neighbor’s yard, she sees Barty Crouch Jr. pacing back and forth in front of his window.

She wonders what Barty is doing at home on a Saturday. Typically he’s always sneaking out and coming home in the early hours of the morning the next day, so seeing him home on the weekend is a bit shocking. She and Barty used to be close when they were younger—they’d spend hours upon hours with each other, doing whatever they possibly could. The world seemed to be their oyster during that time. Each day was new, shiny, and exciting—but now?

If Lily were to pry an oyster open now, there wouldn’t be a pearl inside. It would be a common pebble because Lily’s world is boring, dull, unappealing. She would do anything to feel that new and shiny feeling again, but the only person she’d felt that with was the boy that is currently hanging out in his bedroom next door.

She’s not sure what she’s doing���she’s finding herself going over to her mother’s garden, picking out some tiny rocks, and putting them in her coat pocket. She walks over to the sycamore tree and she looks up, trying to analyze which branches would hold her weight and which ones wouldn’t. She takes a moment before reaching up and grabbing the branch that’s above her and pulls herself up. She dangles her legs a little bit, and it occurs to her that she’s wearing a short skirt. When she gets on the branch, she looks around and a sigh of relief leaves her when the street is still empty.

If she climbs a few more branches, she’ll be fine and won’t have to worry about flashing someone.

So that’s exactly what she does.

She navigates her way through climbing the tree, and her upper arms are burning from all the pulling up she’s been doing. Her hands are sticky from sap and she wants to wipe them on her skirt but she thinks that’ll make the feeling of it worse. She reaches out to the branch that’s starting to cross over to the Crouch yard and carefully climbs on it, trying not to slip from how wet the branch is.

Once she’s on the branch that’s right outside of Barty’s window, she reaches into her pocket, pulls out the few rocks that she grabbed from before, and starts to toss them on the glass. After the third rock, she sees Barty come up to the window, and when they make eye contact, she gives him a soft smile and a small wave.

He looks so different now. His black hair is a bit more shaggier and there are bits and pieces of it that are dyed green. He has his lip pierced and his eyebrow pierced, and Lily isn’t surprised that it suits him. He’s staring at her, confused, but he still opens up the window.

“Lily?” Barty asks, and his voice is lower than the last time she remembers it. “What are you doing?”

“Climbing a tree?” She replies, shrugging. “What are you doing?”

“Uh,” Barty looks behind him and looks back at her. “Nothing, I guess.”

“Come outside,” she says.

“It’s cold.”

“So? Put on a jacket.”

Barty rolls his eyes and walks away from the window, and Lily waits patiently before Barty comes back with a black, raggedy-looking hoodie and starts to climb out of his window dormer. He carefully slides down a couple of inches of the roof before he sits down and shuffles his body over on the branch. Lily moves closer to the crown of the tree and tries to make herself comfortable, a branch in between her legs. Barty mimics her, swinging a leg over the branch and they’re just staring at each other. She hasn’t seen Barty this up close in a while, and even though she was able to see the piercings on his face from when he was in his room, she can see the small brown freckles littered across his nose and cheeks.

“What are you doing out here wearing an outfit like that?” He asks.

“I had a date,” she tells him.

“How was it?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t know,” she replies. “He never came.”

Barty frowns and crosses his arms, and he shivers just a little. “Who was it?”

“James,” she answers. “You know, James Potter—”

“Yeah,” Barty says, cutting her off. “Yeah, I know Potter.”

“How are you?”

“So we’re doing small talk now, are we?” Barty asks, staring at her. “Why did you ask me out here, Lils?”

Lils. The nickname has never sounded so sweet and she missed hearing it come out of his mouth.

“I just wanted to talk—catch up,” she says.

“You haven’t talked to me in years.”

“My momma told me not to,” she says, her voice quieter. “She said that you were trouble now.”

“Did she?” He asked, his voice monotone. “And you listened?”

“You didn’t make much of an effort to talk to me either, Barty.”

“We’re not kids anymore,” he says. “You have your friends and I have mine.”

“But we were each others.”

“When we were kids, Lily,” he reiterates.

“Come on,” she pushes. “Just catch me up.”

And so Barty does. There are some things that he’s hesitant to tell her, like his friendships with the Rosier twins, the younger Black brother, and Dorcas Meadowes. He tells her that his dad is starting to travel more for work now, and since he has the house to himself more he doesn’t feel the need to sneak out.

“Where would you go?” She asks.

“Out,” is his reply.

He tells her how his classes are going—he’s taking AP classes and he’s not worried about the tests at the end of the year. He tells her that his dad is still pushing him to apply to Harvard but he’s still not sure.

“Why are you not sure?”

“It’s not what my mom wanted for me,” he says. And Lily pauses for a moment because she sees the flash of pain in his eyes before he turns his head and looks over at the street. “She wanted Duke.”

“So will you apply?”

“Probably,” he replies. “What about you?”

“I don’t know yet,” she sighs. “Petunia wants me to follow her to Stanford if she gets in but I just don’t think I’m a person that screams California.”

“You might like it,” he says, finally looking back at her. “I remember that you like warm weather.”

“True,” she says, laughing a little. “We’ll see, I still have time.”

“Tell me about your life.”

And so she does. She does the same thing: tells him about her classes and the newfound friendships that she built. She explains that her sister leaves next year for college and she’s nervous but she thinks she’ll survive. Once she finishes, they both sit there in silence and they both look over at the empty street. They can hear the street lamps humming and Lily just wants to know—just wants to ask—

“Have you ever kissed anyone?”

“Huh?”

“Have you kissed anyone?” She repeats.

“Yeah, I have.”

“What’s it like?” She asks, her face getting warm. She’s thankful it’s dark enough that Barty can’t see the blush creeping on her cheeks.

“Kissing someone?”

“Yeah.”

“Uh,” Barty takes a second before saying more. “It’s wet, kind of gross. Sometimes it’s fine. I don’t know, Lils,” he says. “It’s—it’s not how it’s hyped in movies. So far everyone has been disappointing.”

“Maybe you just haven’t kissed the right person yet,” she offers.

“I mean, we’re sixteen,” he snorts. “I don’t think I’m really looking for the ‘right one,’” he says, using air quotes.

“Oh,” she breathes out.

“Wait,” he says, and Lily can practically see the wheels turning in his head. “You haven’t been kissed before, have you?”

“Well—I mean—”

“Doesn’t surprise me,” he says.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re, like, a goody two shoes,” he answers.

“Yeah, well, sorry I’m not kissing every person I see,” she bites back.

“What is that supposed to mean?” He mocks, scooting closer to Lily. She tries to back herself up, but her back is already against the crown of the tree and she’s trapped. “Kissing isn’t as scandalous as you think it is.”

“Then show me,” she replies, but she smacks her mouth once she realizes what she just said. Barty’s look of defensiveness turns into him smiling. She’s already started this, she might as well finish it. “If it’s so bad and awful like you say it is, then show me so I know to never kiss anyone in my life.”

“Lily,” he says, laughter falling from his lips. “What?”

“It’s my birthday,” she says, frowning, trying to change the subject.

“I know.”

“You haven’t said happy birthday yet.”

“I haven’t said happy birthday to you in years.”

“You can make it up to me, you know,” she says, her voice soft. She wants to smack herself in the face because she needs to quit trying to egg him on. She just can’t help but find herself staring at Barty’s lips and admiring the way that he had been playing with his lip ring while they’ve been sitting out here.

“How?” He asks. “By kissing you?”

“Yeah,” she breathes out. The churning that’s happening in her stomach is intense—her heart is beating fast and she licks her lips because she doesn’t want to kiss Barty if her lips are dry.

“Okay,” he replies. “I’ll kiss you.”

“Wait,” she says, sitting up straighter. She moves her legs a little bit because they’ve started to fall asleep, and the pokiness of some of the branches starts to ache on her thighs. “Wait, how do I do this?”

“Don’t overthink it,” he answers. Barty gets even closer to Lily, their legs touching and it’s the first bit of warmth that Lily has felt since she first started waiting for James to pick her up. Barty leans in, and Lily’s eyes widen and she starts to shake her head, a smile breaking out on her face.

She starts to laugh.

“Why are you laughing?” He asks, rolling his eyes. Their faces are still close together, and Lily can’t help it.

“Sorry—sorry,” she says in between laughs. She finally calms down, but the butterflies in her stomach are still fluttering around. “I’m just nervous.”

“Lily—”

“No, no, I’m ready,” she says with confidence. “I can do it.”

Barty stares at her, reading her, trying to make sure that she’s actually comfortable with what’s about to happen. Lily nods her head, indicating that she’s ready. So he leans in again, and Lily holds her breath because she’s about to kiss Barty Crouch Jr. and she feels like she’s dreaming.

His lips are on hers, and it’s cold yet her body feels hot. The kiss lasts for only a few seconds before Barty pulls away, and they’re both looking at each other with flushed cheeks.

“So—” Lily cuts off Barty by grabbing his face and kissing him again. This time it’s all messy and teeth hitting each other and it’s almost full of desperation that Lily didn’t even know existed in her. It takes a moment before they find a rhythm with their lips, but once they do, Lily finds herself letting out a small gasp when she feels one of Barty’s hands on her bare thigh. His hands are cold and calloused but she’s enjoying this and she’s addicted to this.

Addicted to kissing. Addicted to touching. Addicted to Barty.

They pull apart, heavily breathing and shoulders heaving.

“Satisfied?” He asks, grinning.

“You lied,” Lily says.

“What do you mean?”

“You told me that it was wet and gross and nothing like how it is in the movies,” she explains. Confusion is still on his face and Lily sighs. “It was more than that.”

“More wet and gross?”

“No,” she says. “It was perfect.”

And Barty—he just laughs at her, sliding his hand off of her thigh. It’s music to her ears.

“You know,” he says, once he stops laughing. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” she replies.

They enjoy each other’s company in silence for a couple of minutes, both of them smiling but not looking at each other. Lily doesn’t want to look at him because she’s going to want to kiss him again.

“Come on,” he says. “Go inside. It’s fucking freezing out here.”

The two of them climb their way down the tree, and Lily isn’t sure why Barty is following her down considering he could’ve just slid over to the roof of his house. Once they make it on the ground, Lily brushes her legs and her arms are burning from the workout that she just had to do from climbing up and climbing down this stupid sycamore tree.

They stand in front of each other, and Barty brings his hand up to her face and touches her cheek before tucking a piece of her red hair behind her ear.

“I’ll see you around, Evans,” he says. Lily watches Barty turn around and walk away from her, and when she sees him walk back inside his house, she presses her sticky, sappy fingers on her lips and she smiles.

Not bad for a first kiss.

[hrts4rn]

I’ve been holding onto something for a long time, but today I feel like it’s time to let it out—both to help myself and maybe to help someone else.

Exactly a year ago, I hurt myself with bigger intentions for the first time. I was exhausted, feeling alone and misunderstood. It felt like my life had become one tragedy after another, and I thought it was all my fault.

This all started days before my birthday, a time when I’ve always felt especially vulnerable. The holidays had just ended, and the combination of entering a new year and a new age weighed heavily on me. I come from a family that has raised me with love, adoration, and constant reminders of how proud they were of me. They’ve always been my biggest support, never saying no to me. It felt like I had the dream life, a privilege that many don't get. But suddenly, it felt like they had emotionally abandoned me, leaving me to deal with my internal struggles alone.

I’ve never had access to therapy, so I can’t say for certain if I was ever in danger, if I was mistreated, or if something is truly wrong with me. I can’t label what I went through as abuse or emotional neglect, and I wouldn’t want to diminish the experiences of those who face clinical depression or anxiety. However, since I was 11 years old, I’ve often prayed not to make it to the next year. I feel like it’s important to acknowledge that vulnerability.

I often joke about having seasonal depression, or about being the oldest daughter in a Mexican household where self-reliance is expected. I laugh about “mommy and daddy issues” and how I’ve been bullied my whole life for not raising my voice. I even laugh at how people joke about my sensitivity, even though deep down, I wonder if there's more to it.

Growing up, I always felt different, but I can’t say for sure that something is wrong with me because I don’t have the resources to confirm it. My family noticed this difference too, and I’ve come to believe it might be genetic. Still, the people I loved and trusted the most turned their backs on me, called me a liar, and said they were ashamed of me and the things I said. To this day, I don’t believe I was lying. I know what happened, and while I may have overreacted and made mistakes, I had reasons for feeling the way I did. I was just a child. I’m still young, still learning, and I apologize for how I acted, but I also know that if someone had believed me, things could have been different.

I needed my parents to hear and trust me like they always said they would, but they didn’t. If they had, maybe I wouldn’t have reacted with such panic and desperation. Maybe we could have found a solution together. But that didn’t happen, and I grew increasingly frustrated. My friends weren’t there for me either. Whenever I tried to talk about what I was going through, they either responded with empty sympathy, made fun of it, or ignored me altogether. Some even called me dramatic. I don’t blame them. I was just a teenager, and so were they. I couldn’t expect them to fix me, but what I needed more than anything was support.

There were days when I didn’t want to sleep, didn’t want to eat—all I wanted was to be hugged. I believe a single hug could have made all the difference. I remember the first few days after I hurt myself. I showed my mom my wrists, and she didn’t notice. I wore short sleeves to school, and no one said a thing. A few days before, I had gone to a Melanie Martinez concert, which had been one of the reasons I didn’t try anything earlier when I was eleven. I wore a bunch of bracelets I got from the concert to cover up the scars, and you can even see them in photos from that time.

The day it happened, I was drawing—the drawing you see in this post, actually—and I suddenly felt like I was losing my mind. I could hear people laughing, like a strange hallucination. I went to the bathroom and grabbed whatever I could to hurt myself. Afterward, I saw what I had done, and it hit me. I started shaking, cleaned the scratches as best I could, and went back to finish the drawing. I don’t know the exact day, but I wrote the 24th on it, and here we are now, a year later.

For days afterward, I felt strange—just like I do now. I heard people say cruel things, laughing and joking, even teachers being disrespectful. It made me wonder: would they have treated me differently if I had gone through with it? Would they have learned to be more empathetic, to respect sensitivity? Or would they have just mocked me even more for being vulnerable?

I could have left a year ago. A whole year ago.

What hurts me the most isn’t the way I’ve changed, because I think that all the pain I went through over so many years—the pain that led me to do what I did—has forced me to see the cruelty in people and not live in a bubble of good things. But I do mourn for the person I was last year, the person who came so close to what she had always wanted, only to lose it because of the emotional turmoil she was going through.

In 2022, I spent the whole year praying for certain people and friends to leave my life because I knew they weren’t good for me. I prayed to get into a relationship, to feel comfortable in my own body, to do well in school—all the things we all want. And I got it all. Within just a few months, my life started to change. I felt better. I even remember waking up two days before it all happened and thinking, "This is it." I was healing. I had friends, I almost had a girlfriend, I was comfortable with myself, and my grades were great.

But now, I wonder if deep down I already knew I was going to try to end it. Maybe that’s why I felt so good and so calm, because I thought it would finally be over.

Regardless, I’m here to say this: Your inner battles and struggles are valid, even when the scars have faded, even when no one noticed, even if the wounds weren’t that deep or if they were emotional instead of physical. Your pain, your trauma, your anger—they’re all valid. You are allowed to feel pain, to mourn the loss of who you were or who you could have been. It’s not your fault.

I’m sorry that the people who promised to be there for you weren’t. I’m sorry they didn’t believe you, didn’t hug you, didn’t apologize. You are allowed to be angry, to cry, to feel sad. You’re allowed to find some strange comfort in that sadness, in that pain. It’s not your fault.

I wish I could tell you that it gets better and the pain eventually stops. But now, I realize something more accurate—it never fully stops. But it does get better, even if just for moments. And eventually, you learn how to heal on your own. You start recognizing when you’re falling into that dark place, and you figure out how to pull yourself out.

You are not alone. Your pain is valid, even when it’s no longer visible. I love you, and I’m so sorry for what you’ve been through. But I have faith that it will get better for us, even if it takes time.

[konansock]

Hi there! :) I came on here to see if you could give me some advice about the Choose Your Classmates mod. I'm so frustrated with TS4 rn! So I've had your mod for a while, and on a good sim day, it will bring me the sims I CHOOSE for classmates to the school when I bring one of my teens (sorry for all caps, not yelling, just for emphasis). But unfortunately, there aren't too many "good" days. Right now, I have more than enough teens in the world (mostly mine) to fill up my school. So there's absolutely NO need for any NPCs to spawn. But yet....they always do. I get at least 1 NPC each time I go to hs. I play rotationally and have at least 4-5 houses in each of the 8 worlds that I play; there may be only two in a couple of worlds. But basically, my sims compromise a huge majority of the game. Each time I go to play a teen, in the morning before school starts, I go to the mailbox and Choose Classmates/Remove Classmates. I tend to remove some of them when they get older (but are still teens), to make room for my newcoming teens to come to hs and meet each other etc. I remove any NPCs and then go into Manage Worlds and delete those households. And I remove any older teens (like are within a week or so of aging up) or unplayed teens (that I don't intend to play with but aren't necessarily game generated NPCs). I try to choose 35 students. I have my lot limit set to 40, so along with the 2 teachers, janitor, principal, and lunch server, that leaves 35 spaces. So today, after choosing exactly 35 students, I come to school, and most of who I chose aren't there, yet there were 5 NPCs. I deleted them (via MCCC) and switched back and forth to the parents at home then to the hs. Even MORE NPCs. After a third time, I gave up. I went to the mailbox (that I added to the school) after that last time going out and coming back, and there were 11 ELEVEN NPC teens that had been created. I'm like, oh come ON!! (Sorry, I just really HATE NPCs. Would love to play with just my sims, but I know that isn't possible.) Hopefully you'll understand my frustration and predicament. Please let me know if there's ANY other way I should be doing this. And thanks SO MUCH for reading!!

Thank you! I fully understand the frustration!

I have thoroughly tested this mod with my friends, and since the release of the mod, there are many reports on how it's not functioning. Sometimes I ask for their save and it would work on my PC but not theirs.

Another factor might be that classmates are pre-defined so with my mod, normally there would be 8 students max. So the MCCC setting might conflict with that.

I also recommend another mod made by someone else, https://www.nexusmods.com/thesims4/mods/1463?tab=description&fbclid=IwAR2_rVsi-34eAwH2S3FAwqqaT1YX5Hb2gLcTa45_vhObg2-36t1tSACPhD0. This one seems to be working for some who didn't have luck with my version. Hope it helps!

[cking330]

The King, the Pyramid, the Moon and the Angles of GOD

Introduction This book has four parts, the story of my life (even-numbered pages), the conclusive proof that Jesus H Christ was a messenger of GOD (undeniable FACT finally proven with the addition of ‘Moon witness’ from my discovery of the 27/7/2024, see chapter 1) and proof that I, Christopher Holmes King, am #Jesusreborn.  Lastly, my God-inspired ORDERS/recommendations for the world as the MESSIAH, to be clear. God chose me. This is not an election. I am the H. I am the Holmes. I detect. The bridge and I-1 is H, where one 1 is Yahweh, and after I (9th letter mine) God repeats eleven (palindrome) times ONE (i.e; in the numbers 10, 11, 12 …18, 19) Read on..

“Hey Chris, 

How's it going? 

Really good speaking with you the other day. Listen Chris - I know I have said this before.....but remember mate I am always here for you. 

If you ever need to talk, just give me a call. You have always been there for everyone else, ever since we were kids. No one else has ever come close. If there is one person who has a good heart.....it is you. Remember that and remember to give me a shout if there is anything. 

Hope all is well mate, 

John Kramer" July 9th, 2012 John Kramer is one of my best friends. An American Sherpardic Jew I got to know at the British School of Brussels during my teenage years.

This book contains three themes: My family history (including my own biography) and proofs of the existence of God. Proof that I am Jesus reincarnated, and my requirements for the survival and organization of humanity.

There are too many apparent coincidences for these contentions not to be true.

Regarding coincidences, consider the following:

Agatha Christie: "One coincidence is just a coincidence, two coincidences are a clue, three coincidences are a proof."

Arthur Conan Doyle: (Mycroft Holmes): "What do we say about coincidences?" (Sherlock Holmes): "The universe is rarely so lazy."

So three coincidences, according to Agatha Christie amount to PROOF. Anything on top of that amount, I would surmise, would just be bonus material strengthening the proof and moving it closer to FACT. Well, I have 6 proofs that Jesus was the TRUE MESSENGER of GOD, the crucial proof I found was on the Sabbath of 27th of July, 2024, and is outlined in Chapter 1. Each alternate chapter will deal with the proofs. The second proof is also foundational, the Christ Angle in the Great Pyramid of Giza which was discovered in 1910 is also a proof with references to proverbs in the Bible. There are 6 proofs connecting Jesus to GOD. I have over 10 connecting me to Jesus Christ. Even numbered Chapters will deal with my life story, so if you just want to focus on the proofs to start with, simply read odd-numbered chapters first. This table shows a summary of the six proofs proving “Christ is King”, a nod to Candace Owens for popularizing this term (note: for the proofs connecting me to Christ, Chris is Christ, please read from Chapter 13 and the rest of the odd-numbered chapters):

PROOF 1 JESUS REAL MESSIAH, original Chris King discovery ofThe 27th SEP 2024 in Lasne, Belgium 

Diameter of the MOON 3474.8 KM divided By: Distance Apex of Great Pyramid at Giza to Apex of Church of Nativity, Bethlehem 434.02 KM Is 8.006 to get a perfect 8 add 0.33 KM. Why 330 meters? He lived 33 years and times 10 because of the commandment's Probability of this being due to chance: NIL

Proof 2 (Discovered 1910)

2) The Christ Angle, discovered by the Edgar brothers in 1910.This relates to the fact that within the Great Pyramid of Giza, there are 2 main tunnels: they are inclined at exactly 26.3 degrees compared to the ground. Taking the the equator as the X-axis a line at the same angle it bisects Bethlehem. Thus the discoverers believed the Pyramid pointed through time to our most influential messenger.Probability if this being down to change over 1 in a 600 by ùy reckoning.

Proof 3 (Well known fact Moon - Giza relationship)

The relationships between the Moon's diameter and the Great Pyramid of Giza's dimensions. These relationships are as follows (as analyzed by Mike Hooven on Quora):

* The height of the Great Pyramid is 482 feet. The sides are 755 feet in length. The ratio between the two dimensions is 0.638.

* The radii of the earth and moon are 3963 and 1080 miles respectively. Added together these distances total 5043 Miles. The ratio of this number to the diameter of the earth is 5043/7926 = 0.636 - very close to 0.638.

Proof 4: Psalms 89:37  the Old Testament. “Like the moon his throne will stand firm forever. It will be like a faithful witness in heaven." When taken into the context of the above three proofs this proverb shows that Jesus H Christ was and is a TRUE MESSENGER OF GOD. Proof 5: Mentioned more times in the Koran than Mohamed, Muslims can be counted among his followers (and unlike Christians, they correctly believe I will be human on my return). Bringing the total adherents of Jesus Christ to over half the world’s population.

Proof 6:  #WowSignal1977 JEUQ 6567….. 8 (If you draw out the graph that 65678 would make on a chart you would get the symbol of Nike (the sports brand known worldwide). Nike is the Goddess of Victory: is the next number in the sequence so says Jesus why repeat the S’es Einstein? The letters (not in sequence as above but easy to unjumble) ask a question of Jesus. I complete the sequence with an 8 and my LOVE for God is pure. Is the Universe friendly? Is generally agreed to be the most important question in the Universe asked by the most important scientist of the 20th Century: Albert Einstein. I am here to answer, God Wins: Yahweh Facebook.com/cking398 Rumble.com/cking398 cking398@yahoo.com TruthSocial.com/cking398 X : @Christo398398

[jdgo51]

Ladders from Heaven

Today's inspiration comes from:

God Never Gives Up on You

by Max Lucado

Editor's note: God never gives up on you, friend! Jacob's story reminds us even at our lowest points, God reaches down and meets us where we are. Join us for the God Never Gives Up on You Online Bible Study starting 10/23!

"'Genesis 28:10-17

You’ve had, or will have, moments of deep despair. You’ve had, or will have, hours in which your eyes weep a river, and your heart breaks into a thousand pieces. You’ve had, or will have, journeys through dry, barren stretches that will leave you exhausted and isolated.

You will feel stripped of all you cherish. You will look around and see no one to comfort you. You will search for strength, but you will search in vain, for strength will not come.

Yet in that desolate moment as you sit near the headstone and cry, on the barstool and drink, or in your bedroom and sigh, God will meet you. You will sense and see Him as never before.

Do not begrudge the barren stretches, for in the barrenness we encounter God.

We find the presence of God. Jacob did. And no one was more surprised than he.

In one fell swoop he’d tricked his brother and aging father. Rebekah, the mom of the twins, saw Esau’s rage and raced to warn Jacob. “He’s got that look in his eyes. Don’t pack a bag. Don’t grab a cloak. Don’t stop running and don’t look back.” She told him to hightail it to the land of her brother Laban and to stay there while Esau cooled down.

Jacob did exactly that. He grabbed a waterskin and filled a sack with figs and fruit and, with one final glance at his mother, mounted a camel and left. He set out from Beersheba to go to Mesopotamia (modern-day Turkey): 550 miles.1

Life was in free fall. Jacob left behind a weeping mother, a seething brother, and an aging, angry father. He had no herds. No servants to serve him. No guards to protect him. No cooks to prepare food for him. No companions. No resources.

Nada.

Jacob was raised in Fortune 500 wealth, surrounded by servants, shepherds, and slaves. His grandfather was “rich in livestock, in silver, and in gold” (Genesis 13:2). Abraham and his nephew Lot were so blessed that “the land was not able to support them... their possessions were so great that they could not dwell together” (Genesis 13:6). This affluence was passed down to Abraham’s son.

[Isaac] began to prosper, and continued prospering until he became very prosperous; for he had possessions of flocks and possessions of herds and a great number of servants. — Genesis 26:13–14

Jacob was the grandson of a baron. The son of an aristocrat. Had he lived today, he would have been raised in a mansion, pampered by servants, and educated in the finest schools. He had everything he needed. And then, from one moment to the next, he had nothing. He ran for his life, suddenly and utterly alone.

In the first two days he traveled forty-three miles from Beersheba to Bethel, a barren moorland that lay about eleven miles north of Jerusalem.2 The land through which he hiked was scorched and strewn with rocks, bleak like wasteland.

On the evening of the second day, as the sun set over a village called Luz, he stopped for the night. He did not enter the city. Perhaps its occupants were dangerous people. Perhaps Jacob was insecure. Why he stopped short of Luz is not revealed. What we are told is this:

He took one of the stones of that place and put it at his head, and he lay down in that place to sleep. — Genesis 28:11

Without so much as a bedroll for his head, he was the Bronze Age version of the prodigal son. The desert was his pigpen. But the prodigal in the parable did something Jacob did not do. “[He] came to himself” (Luke 15:17). He snapped to his senses. He looked at the pigs he was feeding, considered the life he was leading, and determined, “I will arise and go to my father” (Luke 15:18).

Jacob showed no such initiative. He made no resolve, displayed no conviction of sin, showed no remorse. Jacob did not pray, as did Jonah, or weep, as did Peter. In fact, Jacob’s lack of repentance is what makes the next scene one of the great stories of grace in the Bible.

Daylight dulled to gold. The sun slid low like a half-lidded eye. Orange gave way to ebony. Stars began to flicker. Jacob dozed, and in a dream he saw:

A ladder resting on the earth and reaching up into Heaven, and he saw angels of God going up and coming down the ladder. Then Jacob saw the Lord standing above the ladder. — Genesis 28:12–13 NCV

A ziggurat spanned the distance between Jacob’s barren, borrowed bed of dirt and Heaven’s highest, holiest dwelling. The stairway was aflurry with activity: angels ascending, angels descending. Their moving was a rush of lights, back and forth, up and down. The Hebrew wording of Jacob’s response implies raised arms and open mouth. A direct translation would be

There, a ladder! Oh, angels! And look, the Lord Himself! — Genesis 28:16, emphasis added3

When Jacob awoke, he realized that he was not alone. He’d felt alone. He’d assumed he was alone. He appeared to be alone. But he was surrounded by august citizens of heaven!

So are we.

Millions of mighty spiritual beings walk on earth around us. More than eighty thousand angels stood ready to come to the aid of Christ.4 Scripture speaks of “countless thousands of angels in a joyful gathering” (Hebrews 12:22 NLT). When John, the apostle, caught a glimpse of Heaven, he saw “ten thousand times ten thousand, and thousands of thousands” (Revelation 5:11). Can you do the math on that statement? Nor can I.

Angels are to Heaven what stars are to the night sky. Too many to count!

What is their task?

All the angels are spirits who serve God and are sent to help those who will receive salvation. — Hebrews 1:14 NCV

There is never an airplane on which you travel or a classroom into which you enter that you are not preceded and surrounded by God’s mighty servants.

He has put His angels in charge of you to watch over you wherever you go. — Psalm 91:11 NCV

God Never Gives Up On You Sheila Walsh experienced the promise of the passage. At the age of thirty-four she admitted herself into a psychiatric hospital. One would not have suspected any cause for concern. Just the day prior she had cohosted a well-watched national television broadcast. Yet a storm raged within.

Eventually Sheila would be diagnosed as a victim of depression and PTSD. But on the first night no one knew what was wrong. The hospital staff placed her on suicide watch. Sheila had every reason to feel all alone. But she wasn’t.

In the early-morning hours of day two, Sheila noticed that another person had entered her room. She had been sitting for hours with her head buried in her lap. Upon sensing the presence of the visitor, she lifted her gaze. The visitor was part of the suicide watch, she assumed. But something was different. He was a strong man with tender eyes. As her mind tried to process who he might be, the man placed something in her hands — a small stuffed toy: a lamb. He told her, “Sheila, the Shepherd knows where to find you.” And with that her guest was gone.

God had sent an angel to her.

Around six that morning Sheila awoke to the sound of orderlies entering her room. She had fallen asleep on the floor. There at the foot of her folding chair was the lamb the man had delivered hours before.5

Jacob was not given a lamb, but he was given Heaven’s comfort. The message of the vision could not be clearer: when we are at our lowest, God is watching over us from the highest. Between us stretches a conduit of grace upon which messengers carry out His will.

These angels convey our prayers into God’s presence. In the apostle John’s vision, he saw an

Angel, carrying a gold censer, [who] came and stood at the Altar. He was given a great quantity of incense so that he could offer up the prayers of all the holy people of God on the Golden Altar before the Throne. — Revelation 8:3–4 The Message

As God hears our petitions, He responds with thunder!

Then the Angel filled the censer with fire from the Altar and heaved it to earth. It set off thunders, voices, lightnings, and an earthquake. — Revelation 8:5 The Message

Our prayers have a thermostatic impact upon the actions of Heaven.

Mothers, when you pray for your child... Husbands, when you ask for healing in your marriage... Children, when you kneel at your bed before going to sleep... Citizens, when you pray for your country... Pastors, when you pray for the members of your church...

Your prayers trigger the ascension of angels and the downpour of power!

Jacob saw heavenly activity. One might well wonder why God would pull back the veil and show Jacob the hosts that surrounded him. After all, Jacob had not sought God. Yet what Jacob saw scarcely compares with what Jacob heard. You’d expect a lecture, a holy scolding. But God gave Jacob something altogether different. God told Jacob that he would make him and his descendants a great people who would cover the earth. Despite Jacob’s deception and shortcuts, God repeated to him the blessing he gave Abraham and Isaac:

I am with you and will watch over you wherever you go, and I will bring you back to this land. I will not leave you. — Genesis 28:15 NIV

The fugitive had not been abandoned. The trickster had not been cast aside. God committed Himself to the lifelong care of Jacob.

Again we might wonder why. Had Jacob done anything to show he was worthy of the blessing? No. Jacob had done nothing but slimy stuff thus far. He leaked integrity like a sieve. He played his brother like a two-dollar fiddle. He worked the system like a riverboat gambler. There is, thus far, not one mention of Jacob in prayer, Jacob in faith, or Jacob in earnest pursuit of God.

Even so, God drenched His undeserving fugitive with a Niagara of unexpected kindness.

God did not turn away from one who had turned away from Him. He was faithful. He still is.

If we are faithless, He remains faithful. — 2 Timothy 2:13 NIV"'

John H. Walton, Genesis: The NIV Application Commentary (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2001), 570. Donald Grey Barnhouse, Genesis: A Devotional Exposition (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1971), 2:83. Kent Hughes, Genesis: Beginning and Blessing (Wheaton, IL: Crossway, 2004), 359. “Do you suppose that I cannot appeal to My Father, and He will immediately provide Me with more than twelve legions [more than 80,000] of angels?” (Matt. 26:53 ampc). Adapted from Jack Graham, Angels: Who They Are, What They Do, and Why It Matters (Minneapolis, MN: Bethany House, 2016), 111–12.

This one is quite lengthy, Max got motivated and went on long. Sometimes its okay to read longer narratives. In this case it is worth it. Joe (posting this)

Excerpted with permission from God Never Gives Up on You by Max Lucado, copyright Max Lucado.

[mydissociativediaries]

2/11/2023: Timeline

Third entry for 2/11/2023.

Been thinking about a timeline for the abuse. I obviously don't remember all the dates or exactly when "milestones" happened--I remember some of the worst days vividly but not the date or how old I was--but I can recall a few things.

Important dates:

A song stuck in my head during what was probably the worst day (yep, my memories are THAT vivid) came out in 2007 when I was about 13. I couldn't believe it when I saw that. I thought I was a lot younger when that happened.

Aaaand now I have an exact date for the previous one: March 9, 2007. I remembered an art piece online that was posted on that date. Searched for it and found it.

A movie that we saw in the theater on another godawful day came out in 2004. I was about ten or eleven and in the fifth grade--I remember telling my teacher that I was going to see that movie.

One night when writing sentences was my punishment--that's not an abusive form of discipline, but the circumstances surrounding it were--happened in 2004. I remember the new episode of The Simpsons playing at the time.

I thiiink I was 12 or 13 when I read a book that triggered one of my "dark" periods? I don't have a clear date on that one, though. The book came out in 2000, and that definitely did not happen when I was eight, lmao.

I remember my mom saying that I started doing "it" two years ago when my POS sister was little. I guess that would be maybe 2001 or 2002? Maybe a little earlier?

Whatever this repressed memory is (and I'm starting to suspect that I have more than one) came from infancy or very young childhood, probably before I started preschool.

Two songs that remind me of this repressed memory came out in 2001, so something happened around that time (it's not 9/11, lol.) I probably have more than one repressed memory. I feel like there's something all the way back in early childhood, before I went to school, but something also happened (apparently) when I was 8 or 9. Either that, or something just triggered those memories.

A Michael Crichton book ("Next") came out in 2006. I associate it with an abusive event that happened before that (can't remember how long it had been, but a line in the book vividly triggered those memories, so it would've been relatively recent.)

I also remember a scene--another one of the worst--when my POS sister was singing along to a Pokemon CD. Looking it up, I found a couple of CDs that might fit the bill. A few were released in 2001, which seems too early for this memory, but she could've easily been listening to it a few years later. The next CD came out in 2005, which seems a little too late, but...maybe it's not. Don't know.

Wish I could remember which song that little asshole was singing. I can almost place it, but not quite. Might remember some of the lyrics if I think about it hard enough.

Looking at this now, some of these dates aren't lining up. My math is shit, lmao. But the song and movie dates are right at least.

Thanks for reading,

🗓️

[pxrxcxa]

Opposite Ends 

Chapter Ten - Doomed love

C1 | C2 | C3 | C4 | C5 | C6 | C7 | C8 | C9 | C11 | C12 | C13 pt1 | C13 pt 2 |

Chapter Eleven is out now, enjoy Sunflowers x 🌻

Pairing | Eddie x Female reader 18+. Steve x Robin x Female reader platonic friendship

Series summary | Dustins older sister got brought into the group during the events of Starcourt mall, 3 months on she's in her senior year and the kids are starting high school. After everything that went down she feels that she has to keep them safe at all costs, that includes keeping them way from the charismatic 'freak' Eddie Munson that runs a club based on their favourite game. They've both hated each other since freshman year -with good reason-, but when keeping distance between the kids and Eddie means putting herself in the firing line, boundaries get blurred, intentions get lost & the heart speaks louder than the brain.

The story is told from both Y/N & Eddies point of view.

What to expect | Slow burn enemies to lovers, Angst - with a happy ending (fix-it-fic if you will), fluff & smut (in the later chapters). 18+ to read this story.

Series Warnings | Mentions of abuse, drug use, 18+ smut content

Chapter word count | 9 K Word Count

Chapter warnings | Nothing too out there in this chapter

As always, any & all comments/reblogs are most appreciated - Thankyou, P. x 🌿

Authors Note | Again thank you for your patience, and as always thank you for reading! I did have to split this chapter up because we had a 20 k + word count but that's great news because 11 will be out in a couple of days! On top of everything else I had some pretty serious writers block but Im back & better than ever - at least I think so, let me know what you all think!

Eddie | March 1986

I didn’t walk around Hawkins with the intention of having my guard up all the time against almost everyone, it had just happened. When the entitled, judgemental residents of the town had taken one look at my ripped jeans, listened to the metal music blasting from my van and watched the fantasy game that my DnD club played that they deemed as ‘satanic’, and decided that I wasn’t worth more than the dirt beneath their shoes, it hadn’t exactly shaped me into a model citizen.  

But the feeling of being an outcast my entire life had sat fine with me; I had no interest in anyone in the small town I’d grown up in. They were all carbon copies of their parents, and their parents before them,  there wasn’t anyone worth being interested in. 

Until she came along. 

Henderson had strutted into my life like I didn’t have a choice, knocking down every single solid wall I’d spent years building up like they were made of feathers, even before she turned them into dust with each glance of her bright eyes and a hint of her sweet smile that she threw in my direction, she had been unconsciously destroying them with every death stare and exasperated sigh, breaking me down with every addictive movement of her.

She was meant for me, every hate filled eyeroll and love filled smile was ingrained on my soul in marks that would last a lifetime.

I’d never stood a chance. 

I never thought I would find myself completely and utterly consumed by another until I found her, or perhaps it was the other way around and she’d found – no saved - me. 

She’d taken my hand and led me out of the darkness of my own corruption and showed me that, whatever our souls are made of, however they were shaped from the loud, hurtful world around us… 

…hers and mine were the same, broken halves of the same blooming whole. 

I’d loved her from the moment I’d met her, I just hadn’t known it yet. 

And now I was never going to be able to tell her. 

In the three months since running into her at the Hideout, when we had both been trying to drown our sorrows over each other, we’d spent almost every day inseparable from each other. There had been a regular post-school afternoon once at my trailer when I had almost told her I loved her, and then I had been dying to tell her every day since.

“You’re an idiot Eddie Munson.” She laughed, smacking her hands against my bare chest as I nestled into the crook of her neck, tickling her through the thin sheets twisted between us. 

“Unfortunately for you, I’m your idiot.” She wriggled under my arms as I found her sweet spot, making her beg for mercy as I rolled over and pulled her on top of me. The setting sun that shone through my bedroom window sparkled magnificently in her hair, bringing out vibrant colours that weren’t usually there. The glittering sunlight brightened around her silhouette as a light breeze ruffled the stray whispers of hair falling into her face, furthering my suspicion that she was an angle.   

As she laid naked, pressed against me, she certainly had the angelic look to pull it off. 

“And I am entirely okay with that.” Resting her chin forward on my chest so that I had to tuck mine to still stare into her eyes, she pouted attractively.   

“How did we get here?” I breathed into the warm air, my thoughts falling back to us in our first Calculus class at the beginning of my third and her first senior year. “I used to hate you; you know.” I couldn’t ever remember or even fathom myself feeling any type of way that wasn’t absolute reverence towards the perfect creature in my hands. 

“If I remember correctly Munson, the feeling was extremely mutual.” Her smile was wide and carefree, her body pressed into me in criminal ways as her frame shook with laughter. Everything about y/n healed my soul, and although my only vice was weed, I was no stranger to the occasional dangerous party drug, but even their temptations cowered in the hulking shadows of Y/n's etherealness. 

“College will still be there y’know?” I blurted out suddenly, tightening my arms around her as the thought of losing her punctured my chest painfully. 

“What do you mean?” Her brows furrowed in confusion cutely, I smoothed the creases with my thumb as I traced light patterns along her spine.

“Come with me.” I stated, a sense of peace flowing over me as I realised it to be the only thing I would truly ever want, I’d been a fool to think I could walk away from her now, only three months in and she already had me willing to stalk the ends of the earth for her, God knows what kind of state she’d have me in by the end of the school year. 

“Be serious.” She scoffed; her eyes searched my face for a glimmer of falseness. 

“I am. Everywhere. Travel. We’ll travel everywhere, and we’ll fuck in every state and take a photo of it! I don’t want to forget a single moment with you.” I pressed my lips against hers ferociously, pulling away when her moans became too distracting, refusing to let our conversation be derailed.

“Come with me… please. A year or two, it won’t make a difference.” I begged, letting my excitement flare on my face, not even contemplating the very real possibility of her saying no. 

“Okay.” She didn’t miss a beat, determination and excitement reflecting in her own features now as I pulled back, shocked.

“Really?” I laughed disbelievingly, doubting that I had earned the right kind of karma to have y/n in my life. 

“Don’t give me a chance to change my mind Edward.” She warned, rolling to the side as she slipped from my arms, pulling my Hellfire t-shirt over her loose hair. I bit my cheek as I watched her strut over to my desk, my shirt barely covering her perfect ass as she bent down to retrieve the bud stashed away in the top draw. 

“How are you real?” I asked, watching carefully as she sat back into my desk chair, rolling a fat joint for the both of us between her deft fingers, waiting for her perfect form to burst into a cloud of air. 

“Don’t I feel real?” She laughed.

“Incredibly.” I shot back, wiggling my brows suggestively.

“You are damn near perfection” I promised and laughed as she broke off into a giggle. 

“Near?” She gasped; feigning being hurt over my careless words. 

“Well until you’re in my arms again how can I ever be sure you’re real?” I held them back out for her expectantly, but she dropped the rolling paper as she gasped out in pain this time. I flew from the bed instantly, tearing the sheets out of my way as I stumbled in my haste to get to her. 

“Another one?” I murmured concerningly, watching her face contort as she pressed her fists into her temples. She’d been getting relentless headaches, their appearances increasing over the last few weeks. The only thing that seemed to help was when I played my guitar for her, I already had my hand outstretched towards my acoustic one when her nails traced the skin on my arm. 

“I’m okay, this one wasn’t too bad” She smiled, placing her warm, soft palm against my cheek before turning away to re roll the joint. Even though she’d touched me a thousand times, the feeling of her still shot hot, fiery needs of desire and nerves through me. 

I needed her, and not in a sexual or even romantic way, I needed y/n like I need air to breathe, she was the only one who had walked into my life where I hadn’t spent a second worrying that she was about to walk right back out of it. Even my uncle Wayne, I still had nights where I woke up in a panic that I would find he had abandoned me like the rest of my family, but the suffocating thought never crossed my mind with y/n. 

She was my rock in a raging storm, the safe embrace of warm sheets after a hard day, the only arms that brought me comfort when the hate from our peers bit down through my metal exterior just a little too deep. 

Y/n saw me for who I truly was, scars and all, and still thought I was worth something. 

The most powerful, knee buckling feeling of affection rushed through me, and without thinking I opened my mouth. 

“I lo-“ I coughed as her eyes swung up to me, her cheeks reddening as instantly as mine. 

“Stay?” I amended, hoping she could hear the weight and meaning behind the single word. 

She laughed, like she knew what I had started to say, but chickened out at the last second, not wanting to ruin the most perfect moment of my life. 

“Always.” Her smile dropped as she stared back intently at me, walking over to place my head between her hands so I couldn’t turn away from her, she pressed her delectable lips against mine softly, pulling back slowly to wipe the unlawful tear away that brimmed at the corner of my eye. 

“Always Edward.”

But as y/n had put it, I’d been stupid enough to believe her. 

Those words, the entire night, every single moment shared between us had been ripped away from my rose-tinted glasses as my ring tumbled from her fingers onto the field, holding me rooted to the cold grass as she sloshed away from me and jumped into Jason Carvers truck. The painful sight had sent me spiralling after her once I figured out how to get my legs to work again, anger shot through me as I patted my jacket pockets for my keys as I sprinted across the field, finding them flat and empty. 

By the time I tore through the empty school corridors back into the drama room and found my discarded keys sitting on the tabletop, the parking lot was dark and empty, no trail of y/n or any of the basketball team. 

Even for my standard, I drove like a mad man to the nearest pay phone, smoothing out a crumpled piece of paper with y/n's loopy writing on it, Steve Harringtons number scribbled across the aged piece from her notebook.

“For emergency’s.” She’d smiled, slipping it into my glove box, at the time I had suspected her of just wanting Eddie the freak��and Steve the hair Harrington to become friends, but whatever her reasoning, I was grateful for it now. 

Even when I’d fallen from the roof of my uncles trailer at the tender age of ten playing air guitar, snapping my arm in the process, that didn’t even come close on the emergency scale compared to y/n disappearing with Carver. 

The phone rang three times before someone picked it up. 

“Harrington.” I breathed. 

“Uh yeah…? Who’s this.” 

“It’s Eddie.” 

There was a loaded pause. 

“Eddie Munson.” I gritted through my teeth, as I lightly banged my fist against the glass backing of the payphone box. 

“Yeah. I got that, there’s only one Eddie Munson in Hawkins after all.”

I sighed heavily into the phone as unwanted thoughts of what Jason could be doing right that second consumed me. 

“What’s up?” Steve’s voice was cautious as he waited for my answer. 

“Y/n.” My voice dropped off as I stuttered over her name, cowering over the phone box as her words echoed in my mind. 

“Y/n? Is she okay? What’s wrong? Where is she?” His voice raised an annoying octave with each question. 

“She’s with Carver, she’s not safe, find her.” I slammed the receiver as I stumbled from the payphone, ripping my cigarettes from my pocket as I jogged towards my van. A long shadow crossed across my vision and the dimly lit carpark; I pulled my lighter away from my face as I squinted into the darkness.

Chrissy Cunningham had skipped out of the shadows next to the closed convenience store, she had her hands clutched together in front of her cheer skirt and her face gleamed from panicked sweat as she asked me in a hushed whisper despite that we were alone, the nearest soul probably a mile away, for something no ‘Good suburban girl” should even know about. 

I wasn’t proud of it and given the situation I’d landed myself right after I’d invited her to my trailer, it had been the worst decision of my life. 

But seeing her in her cheer uniform with her pom poms dangling by her side, an image of her holding hands with Jason in their matching Hawkins teams uniforms after the school pep rally this morning had flashed in my mind, and the urge to hurt Jason the same way he’d got to me, surged through me in a blinding, white, hot stab. 

Feeding hardcore drugs to his innocent, preppy girlfriend had seemed like the perfect start, and after Chrissy admitted that she followed me from the school to find some reprieve from 'loosing her mind', she had smiled cautiously, but still trustingly as I pulled open my passenger side door for her and slipped inside. 

Y/N | March 1986

“If only we could just, like, combine.” Robin intertwined her fingers as she leant against the poster across from me, I was seated on the three-legged stool behind the counter, my knees pressed to my chest as I rested my chin on them, holding a wet bag of ice to my head.

“Combine?” Steve raised his eyebrows at her questioningly, sliding the last of the returned tapes back into their place on the shelves as he joined Robin. I had been put on checkout duty, though I’d mostly spent our shift at Family Video quietly withering away in the corner. There hadn’t been too many customers this morning considering it was a Saturday, and Robin saved me from most of them anyway, leaving me to revel in my pounding hangover and the sickening memories from yesterday that plagued me. 

Robin and Steve had both offered to cover for me at work, saying that it was okay if I needed to take some time for myself. They’d both shut their mouths when I’d glared at them, ripped Robins front door open and stormed past them towards Steve’s car, yelling out behind me that I would be in the back seat waiting to go to work. 

After what I’d seen last night, when I had torn myself from Max’s couch, tearing across the living room as I tried to escape, drunkenly beating on Steve’s chest when he tried to hold me back. I had begged him to take me away, with hot tears streaming down my frozen cheeks as I collapsed on the gritty carpet. Steve held me as I fell to pieces, the weight of everything baring down on me relentlessly. A nearby lamp post flickered unnervingly as Steve had draped his jacket over my slumped shoulders as he helped me walk back to his car, while I pointedly avoided looking across from Max's trailer, afraid of what I'd see.

I couldn’t stand to face any of the consequences of what happened yesterday, the excruciating headaches and tormenting visions that came with them, my choice to drink the pain away with the basketball team and what Jason attempted or seeing Eddie with Chrissy at his trailer. 

So when I woke up blearily in Robins bed this morning, with her and Steve watching me worriedly from the doorway, I had pretended that I couldn’t remember anything apart from ending things with Eddie on the field, quickly slipping between them towards the overtly pink bathroom as they tried to bombard me with inane questions, the steaming hot water that burned my skin hadn’t been enough to drown out their half-whispered fight behind the door as they argued over what they thought happened. 

Eddie owed me no loyalty after what I’d done; but I had never felt more gutted than when I realised he had meant a whole lot more to me than I to him, how easy it had been for him to move on with another warm body, how easily interchangeable I was for him when he had been irreplaceable to me. 

A whirlwind of emotions wrecked me. I felt devastated one moment and angry the next. My broken heart was coursing feelings of shame, doubt, confusion, and anxiety through me. 

But no words were grand enough to describe what I was really feeling when thoughts of him trickled into my mind, sending great whips of agony to lap at my raw skin as I buckled over on the tiled shower floor. 

I had ended things with Eddie and smashed both our hearts with my cruel words. They’d burned fiercer than the whiskey as they fell from my lips, each false word sending a new lash of pain across his face as we stood on the school field. I had almost gone back on my choice when he’d begged me to stay, the double subtext behind the word held it's on meaning between us. The true rawness of his pain crippled me, but the quick flash of the blazing headache that flickered behind my eyes had reminded me of what I’d seen in the school bathroom, and that my broken heart wasn’t anywhere near as important as Eddie, I needed him safe. It was better if he was heartbroken and alive, rather than the alternative he was guaranteed to succumb to if he continued to be a part of my cursed life. 

That knowledge hadn’t kept my heart from ripping itself apart inside of me though. 

I had to keep myself distracted, because if I stopped then I started to think about things; things like Chrissy walking up those steps, him inviting her into his trailer, opening the door for her like he’d done for me a hundred times. His hands tracing across her skin in the same patterns - 

I was going to scream. 

I slipped from my chair and started fiddling with a stack of receipts on the counter. I looked up as Robins heavy footsteps slapped against the floor as she ran past the register, her dark green work blazer flapping wildly as she spun around with a wide smile and snatched up a new tape.  

“Doctor Zhivago.” My gaze flickered over to Steve’s as he rolled his eyes and stood up straight from where he leaned against the wall.

“Ugh, you know I don’t do double VHS.” Despite my black mood, I grinned as he waved his hands in dismay at her choice for our morning movie. 

“But it’s about doomed love.” She held it up to her chest as her eyes puckered up in a puppy like state, I dropped mine to the tapes in my hands as my knees crumbled, her words sending an agonizing stab of invisible pain through me. 

“Oh well that’s relatable.” Steve mumbled as he grabbed the tape trolley.

“Precisely.” Robin smiled, clasping it tighter to her chest. 

I flattened myself against the counter as they both walked around it to join me, anger at their obliviousness surged through me as Robin continued to chatter aimlessly. I loved my only two, age-appropriate friends dearly, but their similar tactless ignorance was too much even for me at times.

“Also, Julie Christie is b-b-bonkers hot in this. Like seriously, the most beautiful creature I have ever seen in my life.” Steve rolled the trolly into the corner by our gumball machine as Robin snatched up the TV remote, I busied myself by drumming my fingers along the outdated computers keyboard as I waited for the monitor to roar to life. 

“We’re in the Forest Hills trailer park in east Roane County.” A deadly shiver shot down my spine and something evil enough to scare the devil churned in my mind as the words from the reporter crackled from the speakers. A strange mixture of knowing panic and relief settled in my chest as I turned to look at fuzzy screen with the others, like I’d been waiting for something terrible to happen and it had finally arrived. 

“We don’t have a lot of details now, but we can confirm that the body of a Hawkins High student was discovered early this morning. Police have not released the name..." 

I didn’t need the name. I knew, I’d always known. 

I had been too late, I’d been too selfish and given in to my basic human desires, it didn’t matter that it had been virtually impossible to stay away from Eddie, like there was something stronger than fate weaving our paths together, because now whatever brutal and fatal incident had happened at the trailer park, had pulled him into the cursed series of events that my friends and I were branded to never escape from. 

All because I wasn’t strong enough to stop loving a boy I wasn’t supposed to so that I could keep him safe. 

I gripped the side of the counter as blood rushed to my head, my body swayed dangerously as an ocean of blackness lapped at my consciousness, offering sanctuary as the glaring images from yesterday came to life before my eyes, the vision of Eddie’s lifeless body threatened to choke me as bile rose in my throat.

“Holy shit.” Steve moved closer into Robin as her eyes darted across the screen in shock, watching the older, dark-haired report deliver the news that was about to smash my world apart. 

“Max…” She whispered, shame pulsed through me that her name had not been the first one I’d panicked and worried over, a double shot of frenzied terror shot through our group as I pictured sweet, passionate, fiery Max taking Eddie’s place in my mind, her luminous pale skin turning a sickly white in death. 

The TV distorted in my vision as the blackness fought my last remaining feeble strings of hope, winning out as my knees collapsed onto the bristly carpet beneath us. 

Eddie | March 1986 

A trucks horn blared out as I dashed across the cracked road into the thick bush on the other side. My hair tangled with leaves and broken branches stung my eyes as my legs hammered into the uneven ground faster than they ever had before as I tore deeper and deeper into the woods. I hadn’t stopped running for hours, no straight thought in my mind except to run away from that. 

I crouched down and curled over my knees against a flaky tree trunk to catch my breath as the heady silence of the trees pounded down on my eardrums, sweat dripping down my brow mixed with my tears and stung my eyes. I buried my head into my balled up fists until I was pressing hard enough on my eyes that I saw distorted shapes behind my darkened lids as I tried to shove away the images flashing though my mind like a horror movie. 

It wasn’t enough. 

The shapes soon turned into thin, pale snapped limbs; a sickening cracking echoed around the empty woods as hysterical sobs wracked my chest. I pulled at my hair frantically, trying to drown out the mental pain with physical. I flinched as a flock of birds soared over the canopy of green leaves above me, I turned to side as I fell forward on my hands, sharp rocks and stick scratching into my palms as I heaved, my loose hair fell around my face in curls as I breathed through my mouth. The rich smell of the damp earth invaded my mind as I bunched up my hands, watching the dirt squeeze through my fingers as I tried to ground myself, shivering as a light wet mist started to fall, unable to escape the past twenty-four hours that had been torturous and downright unbelievable. 

I was in hell. 

I had to be, there wasn’t any sane reason for what I had seen. 

Unless I was crazy, maybe everyone that had ever call me freak was right, maybe I’d imagined it. 

As the image of Chrissy’s shaking body slowly rising into the air, snapping into gruesome angles under an invisible force played over in my mind, I leant forward to press my face into the coolness of the ground beneath me. I’d been pretty great at creating fake scenarios for my clubs DnD campaigns, but the sounds of her bones cracking and the bloodied empty sockets where her eyes should have been, was beyond anything I was capable of conjuring up. 

Comically – given my current situation and what happened with her yesterday –my thoughts flashed to y/n, my panic and worry for her was stronger than for myself right now, pathetically ironic since she had made it clear that I was nothing, that I meant nothing to her. I clenched my eyes shut and pressed my dirty palms to my forehead as tried to keep the images of her at bay, I’d rather face what happened in my trailer last night again then think about what she said, and how she’d looked at me on the field.  

It would have been easier to.

I still couldn’t help but wonder if Steve had taken me seriously, he wasn’t my biggest fan but the previously douche jock did seem to be a genuine friend to y/n and I hoped he’d heard the panic in my voice and had enough sense after my phone call to track her down and make sure she was okay. 

Even if what she had said to me, as her words tore me apart, was true, and there was no real feelings behind her actions the last couple of months towards me – my heart and eyes squeezed together as a wave of pain washed over me – that didn’t mean that there was anything but genuineness in my own behaviour, I had opened and bared my soul to y/n in a way no one else alive had ever seen. 

I still cared about her. 

I probably always would. 

No matter what reasons lingered behind her cruel words to me, I wasn’t going to let her go off drinking with the guy that she had told me tried to attack her months earlier. 

Or maybe I just didn’t know her as well as she knew me, I wondered what she would think when she saw the news this morning, would she instantly believe and know that I wasn’t the one who hurt Chrissy?

Would she even care?

And it was that thought that kept me running, because if I couldn’t even believe it why the hell would anyone else? As far as the narrow minded, straight path Hawkins residents were concerned, I was a satanic, devil worshipping, trailer trash, no good teenager and our High schools ‘It Girl’ was dead, crumpled gruesomely on my trailers living room floor. 

Something clattered to my left, I sprung up and slammed into the tree as I shuffled back on my hands, my chest heaving as I stared at the rodent sniffing around for food in the grass a few paces from me. The terrified scream locked in my throat as its' confused, beady eyes met my scared ones, died as I realised it was just a wild animal and not a vigilante group hell bent on finding me. 

I leapt up and took off again as distant horns hooted angrily in rapid succession from the main road, sending myself flying further into the disorientating clutches of the forest as my jacket flew out behind me in the whipping wind. 

My feet that shuffled uncertainly first in one direction, sped up with purpose as the reflective surface of Lovers Lake glinted in the far-off distance. 

Y/N | March 1986 

Déjà vu hit me like a tonne of rocks as I sat against the back wall behind the counter on the grainy floor, the red-tinged luminous Family Video sign flickered above me. I sat with my legs pressing into the rough carpet beneath me as Robin rubbed my back and asked me if I was going to hurl, her voice sounded thick and far away as she turned to where Steve leaned against the counter still watching the news as her palm rubbed warm circles into my skin. As I breathed through my mouth to ease the nausea, I wondered if monstrous events were going to become an annual occurrence for me, but I guess it didn’t matter. 

Because I didn’t think I’d survive this one. 

Not if it involved Eddie. 

Robin’s head snapped up, but I hung mine further into my hands as the store’s bell rung out loudly, the new arrivals slammed both doors open against the walls with a surrounding bang. 

“Hey Steve!” I looked up at Dustin’s voice from the front of the store, dread coursing through me at the expressions on his and Max’s face. She had an open flannel over the navy sweater I’d seen her in last night and her wild red hair thrown up in a loose ponytail, Dustin was dressed similarly but just on the opposite colour spectrum, sporting his ironic blue and white ‘thinking cap’. I hurried to my feet as Max’s eyes landed on me, guilt plastering her face as she tried to avoid my stare. 

“You guys seen this?” Steve shuffled uncomfortably as Robin moved to sit on the stool behind the counter as they both looked at Max in relief, neither of them voicing their solace in seeing that she wasn’t the unnamed dead student. 

Self-reproach wracked me as the same comfort did not fill me, my eyes only on my brother and my thoughts on the man we both cared for too much about as Dustin spied me behind the counter. 

“Y/n.” He gulped, his eyes flashing over my dark under eyes from crying all night; sleep had been well missed stranger to me for a while now.  

“Do you know where Eddie is?” I dug my nails into my palms hard enough to draw blood, my worst fears coming to light. I couldn’t speak as I opened and closed my mouth several more times, no sound except a gutted gasp escaping from it as my eyes flew to Max’s. 

I shook my head as I began to shake, waiting for the crushing blow I was sure he was about to deliver to me. 

“Come on y/n, you have to have some idea of where he is.” My voice failed me as my lips mouthed around the word no, Dustin snapped his head away in annoyance and turned back to Steve. 

“How many phones do you have?” He pleaded, laying his hands flat against the counter as he hunched over it, I looked between the two freshmen as an air of urgency and fear filled the air around us. 

“Someone was murdered.” Steve ignored him, pointing at the tv that had the images of a crime scene flashing across it, I squeezed my eyes shut as I recognised the background. 

“How many phones do you have.” He drawled out, his voice raising louder with each word as Max fiddled impatiently beside him. Steve’s head swung around to lock eyes with me over his strange request, confusion reflected in my gaze as well. 

What did this have to do with Eddie?  

“Uh two. Why?” His brow furrowed as he turned back to them, with slow movements I walked to stand behind Steve, watching erratic thoughts spin in Dustin’s eyes. 

“Technically three if you count Keith’s in the back.” Robin piqued up, jamming her thumb over her shoulder as she pointed to our managers office behind us. 

The others shared a confirming glance between them. “Yeah three works.” Max turned to Dustin, nodding ferociously as he slid his bulky backpack from his shoulders. 

“What are you doing?” Steve asked apprehensively as I tensed, Dustin slammed the bag down on the counter. 

“What are you-“ Steve yelled as he slid his bag across the tabletop and onto the ground below it. 

“My pile!” Robin jumped up from her chair and slammed into me as my brother launched himself onto the counter. 

“No no no! My tapes! Dude.” Steve grabbed his hair as Dustin’s feet swept the pile of movies into a loud clattering mess as he scrambled towards the computer. 

“What are you doing man?” Steve whined, throwing his hands up angrily in the air. Max snuck around the corner of the square counter to join him as he plopped down in front of the computer, rapidly firing away as his fingers stroked the keys at lightning speed. 

“Setting up base of operations here.” Robin peeked up at the screen as he typed madly away, absentmindedly handing me one of the scattered tapes as we both bent down to pick them up. 

“Base of operations?” Robin repeated, shooting Dustin a quizzical look. 

“Stop. Get off of that.” Steve tried to usher Dustin from the seat as Max stared over his shoulder intently at the names scrawling across the screen.

“No I need it.” He shot back, flexing his fingers in irritation.  

“Need it for what?” Steve grumbled, sounding awfully like a tired parent. 

“Looking up Eddie’s friends phone numbers.” He explained, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. My neck snapped up from the pile of tapes I had stacked in my hands, slamming them down on the counter at Eddie’s name. 

“Oh Eddie your new best friend because he’s so much cooler than me.” Steve replied immaturely. 

“Ehhh yes.” Dustin swung his head around on his shoulders in frustration at Steve’s childish antics. “I never said that.” He exclaimed. 

“Dustin.” I whispered, but my voice got lost as the store phone rung in a loud shrill. 

“Seriously you guys maybe on a Monday you can play around in here like toddlers, but it’s Saturday. It’s our busiest day.” Robin slammed her own pile down next to mine as she bent up to pick up a sign that Dustin had kicked off the counter. 

“Dustin.” I tried again, turmoil boiling within me as my mind ran rampant, Eddie’s face contorted in different types of pain burned behind my eyelids. 

“Look Robin, I totally empathise but this cannot wait until Monday.” He spun back in the chair as he ripped a notebook from his pocket, frantically scribbling down something as he stared as the computer screen.

“Oh my God.” Steve mumbled, rubbing his face as he bent down to pick up more stuff scattered on the floor. 

“What, because calling all of Eddie’s friends is an emergency?” Robin shot back. 

“Correct.” Dustin yelled. Max turned to look at me as she felt me move behind her. 

“You want me to strangle him? Or do you wanna do it?” Steve offered to Robin as he helped her return things to their rightful place. 

“We could take turns.” She smirked. 

“Dustin!” I yelled, slamming my hand down next to Max and making her jump. 

I knew something was seriously wrong when my brother refused to meet my eyes, his brows puckered as he dropped the notebook in front of him and pointed his pencil over his shoulders at us. 

“Can you just fill them in while I do this?” He aimed his words at Max, so I turned to her expectantly, so did Robin and Steve. A rage filed scream filed my throat as her stare met mine, pity and sorrow reflected in her blue eyes as her lips quivered, hesitating on the edge of words that were about cut through me like a rusty, serrated knife. 

“Fill us in on what?” Robin questioned, her gaze flicking between our faces as dread filled mine and guilt clouded Max’s. 

Eddie | March 1986

I sped past the front door of the house nestled by the glistening blue water, the darkened windows and dusty front porch giving off an air of neglect and headed straight for the boat house hidden down the back of Reefer Ricks property, I swung my head to the sides as I sprinted down the uneven slope.

Even out here, miles away from the nearest suburban household, I felt like there were eyes on me. I slammed my hands against the white sheet metal of the unlocked door, barrelling through it and spinning back to slam it shut. 

My breathing was heavy as I rushed to the grimy window, gripping the sides as my bulky rings strained against my skin painfully, I peeked through the smears of dirt and dust into the empty surrounding woods, the blaring sunlight filtered down through new spring trees, shining far too much exposure onto my scarcely hidden position for my liking. I slumped over the windowsill as my breathing slowed, clutching at the stich in my side. The small boat suspended in air over the hole in the middle of the floor that dropped off into the lake, held by four chains attached to each corner, creaked eerily as a cool breeze flowed in from the still water outside, the reflection of its' depths danced across the walls in a dizzying pattern. 

A pungent off smell surround the boat house from the life jackets and fishing gear hung up around the walls, I swept my hands across the rough wooden benches that lined the far wall across from me as my stomach rumbled, pushing piles of crap and junk onto the floor carelessly as I searched for some kind of weapon. 

Something. 

Anything. 

I scoffed to myself as I pulled a warm pack of beer from beside the turned off old fridge in the corner, out of date snack bars layered in dust, packed behind it. 

Yeah, it’ll have to do. 

The glass bottle slipped through my fingers and split into a thousand shards as something screed behind me, I flung around and fell back against the grainy wood bench, swinging my head wildly towards to source until I spotted the Bald Eagle soaring over the reflective blue water as it dived, it’s wings spread wide as it dipped and flew in spectacular patterns. I walked over slowly to the edge of the open window, my thoughts moving to my Uncle Wayne. 

They were his favourite birds; he’d always come home with a new random fact about them, his face bright with excitement as he shoved his favourite nature book under my nose as we sat at our dingy dinner table eating a five-star microwaved meal. 

“You know kid, they mostly eat fish?” 

“Really?”

“Yeah, follow a Bald Eagle and you’ll never go hungry.”

I coughed as a desperate sob racked my body, bending over to grab my knees as my heart clenched for my Uncle, wishing he was here with me now, torn between not wanting to be alone in this mess but praying to a God I definitely didn’t believe in or at least, - didn’t have a good relationship with – that divine fate had intervened, and my uncle didn’t return home this morning from his shift to find what drove me out last night. My hands trembled as panic consumed me, imagining what he must have thought when he found the bloody, crumpled mess that used to be Chrissy. 

Would he think it was me? No, he knew me better than almost everyone. He must have called the cops by now; he had to be worried about me. Once my name was dragged into this there would be hell to pay, a fury of uniform clad search parties out for my head. 

I wondered if there’d be anyone on the opposite side of that, out looking to help me. My uncle definitely, My Hellfire club maybe. Though I couldn’t imagine anyone or anything able to stop whatever did that to Chrissy. 

My thoughts flashed to Henderson as I watched the Eagle soar low over water’s edge, disappearing into the orange horizon as the sun quickly set. Jealously floored me as I wished for my own pair of strong wings to fly me away from this mess. 

Like a rabid animal, I shot up and dived under the damp blue tarp covering the rusty boat, rapidly spreading it over me to cover my sneakers as the far-off sound of tires spinning over gravel made its way towards the boathouse.

Y/N | March 1986

“Have you seen or heard from Eddie recently?” Dustin paced back and forth in front of me as he pressed the phone harder into his ear. The world around me passed in a blur as my thoughts consumed me. 

Chrissy Cunningham dead in Eddie’s trailer. 

Eddie missing or worse. 

I had nearly torn poor Max’s arms off as I gripped her shoulders, leveling my face with hers as I made her repeat what she said, she had to tell me three times that she had seen him leave – alive – before I collapsed back against the stool behind the counter in relief. 

Steve, Robin and I had all stood wordless as a cold tremor ran though the three of us as Max spoke about the electrical problems at the trailer park and what her and Dustin thought that meant. 

I didn’t think that I would ever feel relieved to hear that the upside down and the monsters within it were wracking havoc on Hawkins in again, but relief flowed through me that they thought and agreed that it had to be something supernatural because there was no way Eddie had hurt Chrissy. 

Alive but on the run. Thing could be a lot worse. I bit at my raw nails beds, my ringers tracing the ghost of Eddie’s ring that no longer sat on my finger as I impatiently sat and listened to the three phone calls happening around me, I had been dismissed from my list of names to ring, Robin gently tugging the phone from my hand with a small, pitiful smile as I shook like a leaf in the wind. 

“Eddie Munson.” Max sped past me in the other direction to Dustin.

“When was the last time you talked to him?” Dustin sighed and crossed another long shot name off the short list.

“Yeah have you seen him?” Max quipped. 

“Okay, sorry to bother you” Dustin slammed his receiver down and reached for another number. 

“Know anyone who’d know where he is?” Max groaned, her eyes snapping up to meet mine as I fiddled and leaned in closer to hear the irritated voice on the other line.  

“I reallyyy don’t think he’s at the arcade.” Robin grabbed the phone dial and held it to her chest, walking over to the other side of the counter. “Yep, I’m pretty sure.” I sighed and pressed my lips together as she looked up at me in disappointment. 

“Reefer Rick? No. Does this Reefer Rick have a last name? I mean, it’s kind of…” Max jogged over to the blank notebook in front of the register, waving her hand around as she tried to drag the information out from the person on the other end of the call. 

“Doctor Zhivago.” Steve strutted past me on the other side of the counter as he weaved his way through the isles of stacked movie, the double VHS tape held up in his hand as he smirked as the customer – she was what both he and Robin would have described as a ‘babe’. I huffed and slipped from the chair, ignoring his antics as I watched Max scribble something down madly, peeking over her shoulder to make out her messy handwriting.  

She slammed the phone down and turned to the me watching her with a hopeful expression. “Hey guys, I might have a lead.” 

“Seriously?” Dustin spun around with a keen grin as Robin hung up mid conversation. 

“Yeah. Apparently Eddie gets his drugs from some guy named Reefer Rick. And sometimes Eddie crashes there.” Max’s face scrunched up over the name as she shook her head. 

Uh oh. 

Ricks place out by Lovers Lake, sat in the middle of nowhere surround by thick tufts of trees. 

Perfect place to hide. 

Panic and frustration shot through me that I hadn’t thought of Eddie’s supplier myself, while I listened to the group try and figure out where to find him. 

“That sounds promising. Where does this Reefer Rick guy live?” Robin 

“See that’s the thing, no one knows. He’s more of a legend than someone that people actually know.” Max shrugged her shoulders as she acknowledged how ridiculous it sounded. Guilt pulsed through me as I considered letting them figure it out the hard way, saving me the grace of not admitting my habit to Dustin, not that I’d been keeping life together well recently, but I still wanted to be a good older sibling example to him. 

No, Eddie’s safety was more important than my bruised ego taking a hit to my questionable-to-begin-with reputation, and with the man hunt that was already brewing from the news that there was a high school student murdered, every second was crucial. 

“What about a last name?” Dustin suggested. 

“I don’t know that either.” Our heads flung to the front of the store as Steve cut Max off.  

“Bet the cops know the last name.” He was loading more tapes into the trolley, mumbling away from us as he pointedly tried to ignore my outraged face, his vest swayed like a red flag as his back made for a nice, large target for the tape I’d subconsciously picked up. 

“The cops? Really Steve that’s your suggestion?” Dustin spat, a similar expression of disgust and anger reflected on his face. 

I needed to speak up now. 

“We don’t need the cops. I know where Reefer Rick lives.” The older friends of the group shot me knowing and disappointed looks as Dustin scrunched up his face at me. Steve slammed the last of the tapes down and spun around towards the counter. 

“How the hell do you-“ I cut Dustin off before he started on his tangent. 

“That doesn’t matter right now.” I waved him off, turning my attention to Steve as I slid closer next to him to join him at the counter, placing my own arms on the tabletop, forcing him to look at me. My body was like an electrified live wire, burning at the touch as each wasted second that ticked away put my teeth on edge. 

“We need to find Eddie before the cops do, and every moment counts right now.” I forced myself to hold back the anger in my voice, we couldn’t afford to fight between ourselves right now, Steve didn’t know Eddie like I did – not that he’d given him much of a chance – but if what happened at his trailer had anything to do with the upside down, then we needed to stick together, I needed his help, my friends help, to save Eddie.

And myself, if I was honest. 

Because if Eddie didn’t escape from the evil supernatural forces of the upside down or the inevitable witch hunt by Hawkins residents, then I had no intention to either. 

The only way we were going to be able to fight this was together, like we always had. 

“I just think that they should be filled in on what we know, what’s going in.” He shrugged, turning to face me as my expression pleaded with him, his own conveying his urgency for me to understand his point.  

“You think Eddie’s guilty, don’t you?” Dustin snapped, my younger brother grew fiercer than even myself for a moment as Steve tore his stare away from mine and leaned on the counter towards him, an apologetic look on his sharp features as he shrugged again. Dustin crossed his arms and raised his brows at him as I placed my hand over his, clenching down harshly on his fingers. 

“Steve, you and I have been through things that we can’t even bare to speak about. Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t trust me. I know Eddie, better than anyone else ever will. He didn’t do this. We need to go find him and save him from whatever did.” Dustin swiped his bag back onto his shoulders as he shoved Max and Robin towards the exit, mumbling for them to move faster. 

I turned away to catch the door as it swung back closed after them, pausing as I noticed Steve still hadn’t moved, his eyes glued to his hands as he clenched them together. 

My thin patience snapped as I watched a police patrol car speed past with its siren blaring as its lights reflected off the store front’s windows. 

“You’re coming, or so help me I will put hair removal in your shampoo until you go bald.”  

Chapter Eleven

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[dreadwulf]

1. It Was There That I Saw You

He hears it over the radio that first time. 

“The Blue Angel is down.”

One of those crummy broadcasting setups that still run out of universities sometimes. Ancient amateur stations he picks up on the road while trying to plot out a route to the family compound around the Others. They announce sightings sometimes, rather like weather reports, or traffic updates. Undead on Highway 11, detour recommended.

The roads are clear that evening, and the drive is as quiet and peaceful as a biodiesel vehicle can manage, except for the news on the radio.

"The Blue Angel is down, and our world grows a little bit colder and darker," the radio man says.

Jaime switches off the receiver. He shakes his head slightly as he drives the ungainly armored car along the winding road, peering into the dusk without headlights. The radio man doesn’t know the Blue Angel. He’s some punk kid, was probably at uni when the Others first attacked and hasn’t ventured outside since. That’s who still broadcasts these days, old student outfits barricaded inside their campuses. This kid doesn’t know the Blue Angel’s name, probably doesn’t even know she's a woman. He will pay him no mind.

But he leaves the radio off for the rest of the journey.

At the Rock he pulls the car into the oversized garage and erects the usual gates and barriers behind him to keep the Others out. These precautions he can do in his sleep now, and he hardly has to think on them. He is more fortunate than most, now - living in a walled compound in a walled city offers a stability most people no longer have, one that would have been unheard of not very long ago. It gives him a more uneventful life, even some creature comforts. It's also, in his opinion, dreadfully boring. Which is why he never stays for long.

His thoughts pivot around the voice on the radio. The Blue Angel. He gave her that name, years ago, before anyone knew her at all. When it was just the two of them on the Kingsroad, and she was hardly more than a kid herself. Does the kid on the radio know that? No, he assuredly does not. The kid on the radio doesn’t know anything. 

His brother Tyrion will have heard the news elsewhere. He doesn’t listen to radio, wouldn’t have any reason to since he never leaves the compound. But he has his own sources.

His brother is the second person to tell him, when Jaime walks into the front office loosening his tie. As expected, Tyrion’s still working - it would be either that or reading, even when the house goes dark. Their generator only runs a few hours a day, and his brother keeps right on working by lamplight when the time’s up. 

Tyrion has taken over the family business, as well as the mansion and all its high walls. That happened after the rest of the family had been wiped out, while Jaime had been away. Ironic that he had survived them all, considering he had been essentially left to die when the Others came. Like many of the sick and disabled, there had not been much provision for his physical difficulties as a little person and he had been left to fend for himself. Anyone who couldn’t defend themselves was SOL in that first year. How he had even gotten himself home from uni is a bit of a mystery to Jaime. By the time Jaime managed to get himself there, his brother was already gone, and it had taken them a very long time to find one another again. 

It had been his brother’s cleverness helped him survive, not his big brother, to both of their disappointment. Said cleverness certainly keeps them in business now.

Tyrion probably hasn’t looked up from his ledgers in hours, but he looks up when Jaime comes in, and keeps looking.

“Blue Angel’s down,” Tyrion mentions casually, but he is watching him closely.

“So they say.” Jaime whirls off his long coat and throws it over a chair. He has to sit right across from Tyrion to get within the circle of lamplight.

His brother’s mind works just a little bit faster than other people’s. The software he runs on is a little bit sharper, and before you can quite get a statement out, he is already replying. He gets bored of the formality of all these extra words and niceties. He doesn’t quite realize how obnoxious this is. As a result, Jaime never needs to say much. Tyrion will have most of the conversation without him.

“You don’t believe them,” Tyrion surmises, pushing his papers aside. An ill-fitting pair of glasses slides down the end of his scarred nose, and he has to catch them before they can fall off. Even Lannisters have troubles with eyewear these days. “I know you think she’s indestructible.”

“Near indestructible.” Insolently, Jaime puts his feet up on his brother’s nice mahogany desk, which used to be their father’s nice mahogany desk. Something about this room makes him act like a rebellious teenager. “It will take more than an amateur disk jockey passing on rumors to convince me.”

“True, rumors have been wrong before. I’ve heard that you were dead too, when you rode the Kingsroad.”

They don’t speak much of that time. Tyrion hated that Jaime abandoned the family to serve as a glorified mailman for five years, as he calls it. Escorting people and messages across the dangerous countryside in the early days of the Disaster might have made his name, and eventually added to the family’s renown, but this personal betrayal his brother has never forgiven. What he really hates, of course, is that Jaime left him alone with their father. 

Jaime lets it pass, jokes with him. “I probably started that rumor myself, at least once.”

“Don’t let this distract you,” he says. Tyrion’s mismatched eyes go back to his ledgers meaningfully. “Running Lannisport is enough work, without you running off all the time. We’re trying to bring the Riverlands into the fold. I need you on task, not obsessing over a girl.”

Jaime snorts. Tyrion can hardly lecture him on distractions. Little he may be, he has no trouble acquiring female companionship. He seems to have a different lady on his arm every time Jaime comes around. Sometimes two. 

Tyrion rolls his eyes. “Don’t start. My girls are different. I’m not mooning around after them years after they’re gone. When I lose one, I find another. You need another woman, Jaime.”

“With me running off all the time? Who’s going to tolerate that?” Jaime is bored of this conversation already. They’ve had it many times before. 

“Romantics. That’s who. You’re off risking your life to join the old nation together again, you’re a dashing hero. Plus the whole Kingsroad adventure. Women love that. You could be swimming in girls if you spared them half a glance. It’s been five years, Jaime.” 

“Four,” Jaime corrects him. Four years, three months, and eleven-or-so days. 

Tyrion says this more solemnly, looking over his glasses, “If the rumor isn’t true this time, someday it will be.”

He looks very much like their father when he does that, which is unwelcome. Jaime snatches his feet off the desk and wanders away to find something to eat, the big Lannister mansion resounding emptily around him. 

He manages to avoid his brother until he can head out again - he rarely passes more than a night at a time in this house. He checks for messages, refills his supplies, gets a proper shower, all of which he can do in a few hours. Such safety he finds oddly uncomfortable, if he lingers too long. He’ll be leaving the next day, and out the door before Tyrion is even out of his bed. 

The traveling, on the other hand, takes an age. Not even he travels very fast these days. The armored car, which is more of a delivery truck, doesn’t get over 50kph, and shudders and lurches at the upper end. Real petrol might perk up his engine, but petrol is rare these days, and he can refuel the biodiesel at most settlements now. So he drives slowly and is on the road almost constantly, and stops at Casterly Rock as infrequently as he can manage. 

Soon Jaime is hearing the same rumor everywhere, in snatches. He travels through the guarded and gated villages of the Riverlands on a regular circuit, drives through miles of nothing between aettlements, edging around clusters of Others that still live beyond the city lights. As he exchanges goods, messages, and information, he hears of the Blue Angel. Edges of conversation, news bulletins, idle conversation with gasoline sellers. His hosts at Pennytree gossip over it at dinner while passing around the green beans.

Did you hear about the Blue Angel? Damn shame. 

Jaime always agrees wordlessly. People still like to feed him, remembering his own time guarding the Kingsroad in the beginning of the new era. He hasn’t been the Slayer in four years, has been a politician-cum-envoy for far longer than he ever battled the Others, but he is far better known still for the former. Arguing with his hosts would be pointless. He just finishes his meal, salvaged canned goods heated over a campfire out back. In those early days, this would have been a feast. It’s still pretty good now. Vegetables are more and more scarce.

No one seems to know exactly what happened. He hears a few variations on it; the tale is different each time. Turned by the Others, haunting the Kingsroad where once she had been its protector. Crushed in the fall of a skyscraper in the Eyrie. Slain in battle protecting a school full of orphans from robbers. The details are in debate, but there is a consistent center. The Blue Angel is dead. It's a rumor still, but one with all the authority of the old King’s Landing Times newspaper, of truth. Everyone is sure.

But they don’t know her. Not like Jaime did. If they knew her they would not believe it so easily. They would need evidence. They would need a body, a grave. Otherwise it's just not realistic that she could be gone. He is not worried. He’s not.

Tyrion passes on the same news the next time he’s at the house. No particulars, but the same word from his own channels of information. No one knows how, but the Blue Angel is dead. 

Jaime has little patience for it now. Without any details, it’s still only a rumor. A remarkably consistent one, to be sure. But not enough to know for certain. He doesn’t even stop in the office, claiming exhaustion, avoiding conversation. 

Tyrion finds him anyway. 

“If you really wanted to know, you could ask The Spider.” His brother suggests late one night, startling him awake. “He could give you the whole story.”

Jaime had been dozing in an armchair in his own study, unwilling to go to bed and too tired to stay awake. He rubs at his left eye and yawns. “What time is it? You’re the only person I know who still wears a wristwatch.”

Tyrion looks worried. He stands there a long time waiting for him to answer.

“I don’t want to know,” Jaime mumbles sleepily. “Really I don’t.”

“Try to get some sleep, Jaime.”

In the bathroom mirror he has a few more gray hairs than before, visible even in candlelight. Before long there will be more gray than blond. He pulls them out one at a time. 

It’s too bad he can’t pluck the laugh lines away from his eyes the same way. He hasn’t laughed in a long time now. They feel unearned.

Everywhere he goes for a week solid, it's a funeral. Holly branches along the road, and stray, somehow-preserved flowers. Bars full of black coated mourners, drinking morosely.

It irritates him. Makes him grind his teeth. He shouldn’t resent these people. He knows it’s irrational to feel this way. But what do they know? How dare they mourn? What have they lost? A legend, a leader, a hero? They don’t know the woman behind the stories. She is so much more than that. 

For some reason it is the graffiti that finally gets to him. Seeing it written gives it permanence. Someone felt the need to document this, on a building, for all to see. First in an alley in Riverrun - written in an electric blue that seems to float over the dull brick of the building. “Blue Angel RIP,” it says, and it sears into Jaime’s vision. He sees it every time he closes his eyes. 

Before long the makeshift walls around Raventree are covered in mismatched sprays of blue, the neat and professional swoops of seasoned graffiti artists alongside the amateur efforts of random passers by, all offering their tributes. At the center of them all is a portrait, as detailed as an oil painting rendered in spray paint, of the Blue Angel’s long cloaked form standing over smaller figures in protection. She’s holding her favorite weapon, a solid titanium baseball bat. 

He stares at this portrait for a long time. It’s very good. She must have passed this way at some point. You can’t see her face, but she mostly keeps it covered anyway. This artist captures the way she stands, the gesture of her long, elegant fingers. This artist saw her, at least once, for certain.

It’s so strange. All of these people feel like they know her, that she belongs to them. And it’s true in a way. The Blue Angel belongs to everyone, she really does. But Brienne... Brienne belongs to a very few, if anyone, and if anyone then he is certainly one of them. And he knows she cannot possibly be dead. He knows it.

He stares at the graffiti portrait until his vision blurs and he can’t see anything anymore.

Jaime cuts off the rest of his circuit after that. Drives back to the Rock, as slowly and deliberately as ever, always watching for Others that he could be leading to the compound. In the house he stays only an hour. Packs a small bag and leaves the keys to the car on Tyrion’s desk, along with all his dossiers on the Riverlands, and his appointment book. 

Then he takes out his motorbike and drives it across the Riverlands, wastes precious petrol cruising the old highways dodging the snarls of abandoned cars. Tries to outrun the news. The wind blasts through him like a cold knife. He uses up one of his few remaining chargeables to get an mp3 player playing again, painfully loud, the heaviest music he can find. Hailstorms of guitar riffs assaulting him through the earpiece. He rides until his face is numb from wind and his nerves are rattled and brittle.

The Spider’s lair moves between rest stops these days. King’s Landing is still too dangerous, overrun with Others, and he likes to be off the map. Jaime checks a dozen highway offramps before he comes across the black RVs he is looking for.

He leaves the bike some distance away, as is the custom. The sound of a motorbike will bring Others running from miles away, and it’s impolite to lead zombies to people’s front door. Jaime walks the last mile in darkness, quiet as he can. He should have brought more weapons than a single pistol. He didn’t really think this through. But if the Others came to investigate the bike, he does not encounter them walking south, and before long the pavement opens out into a runaway truck ramp and a parking lot, and he can feel eyes on him from the line of trees beyond.

The Spider’s gang greets him with guns cocking, friendly as always. Black leather gargoyles. When they emerge from the shadows into the moonlight, Jaime puts his hands up and drops down to his knees. He waits for them to decide whether he can approach or if he has to move on and try again another night. He doesn’t hear them talking, but they communicate somehow, silently. He’s determined, over the years, that they use some kind of hand signals, but he’s never caught them doing it. 

The mobile home is painted black, and it’s almost invisible in the night. The Spider doesn’t take visitors in the daytime. The gun at his back pokes him directly up to the door.

On the inside, the trailer is flooded with fluorescent lighting of the kind rarely seen anymore. After years of lanterns and lamps, it looks otherworldly. Dreamlike. The Spider, in his silk robe, seems to gleam in the artificial light, reclining on his cushion-covered couch.

“Slayer,” he says mildly, gestures for Jaime to sit in a chair opposite him. “It’s been some time. What brings you to--”

“If you know anything,” Jaime tells him flatly, staying where he is just inside the door, “you know why I am here.”

Varys looks at him with cool, calculating assessment. His bald head shines thoughtfully.

“I do. But do sit down, you’re upsetting my birds.” In their cages all around the room, crows shudder and caw. Their black eyes stare unblinkingly at the intruder. The bald little man gestures again to a cushioned seat welded into the trailer.

Jaime acquiesces only enough to take a few steps further into the trailer, standing over the Spider’s chaise lounge. Varys shrugs him off, not remotely threatened. He smiles up from his comfortable position as though it’s a deck chair at a beach, and Jaime is there to take his drinks order.

“That is a fine prosthetic you have there. I would never have known, if I didn’t know everything. The color is perfect, just perfect. Which one is it, right or left?"

The Spider doesn’t really expect him to answer. He knows that Jaime has kept a tight lid on that detail, so far. There are certainly people out there in the world who know for certain, and he will surely find out eventually, but the Spider has not gotten any of them to talk just yet. He will fish for the information just the same. It’s a reflex, at this point. 

"Where in the world did you get it? I didn’t think they made things like this anymore, not to custom. But you’re a wealthy man again, aren’t you? Even after Armageddon, Lannisters stay rich.” The spider shows a sliver of teeth. “You would think that money and influence would mean nothing in the new world, but it isn’t so. We simply deal in different currencies now. Your brother realized that faster than most. Clever man.”

Jaime remains standing. 

The Spider’s fingers drum his seat warily. “I, of course, recall how you helped me to escape King’s Landing. Have you come to call in this debt?”

“Is she dead?” He spits out the words like he will not taste their poison if he is rid of them quickly enough.

Varys hesitates. Just for a moment, but it is enough to make Jaime blanch well ahead of his answer.

“Yes. Without a doubt.”

Jaime’s throat tightens around the word. “How?”

“How else? The Others.”

Jaime takes one more breath, and chokes on it. He can’t get any more words out. 

He turns and slaps his palms against the door of the trailer so that it bangs open and he is out into the freezing night again, running, past the blurry borders of the rest-stop and into proper forest, and when he cannot run anymore he drops to his hands and knees in the mud and opens his mouth and wails until he has no voice left. 

His fists beat into the earth as though he can make it give her back.

When there’s nothing left inside him he gets up. Stumbles unseeing back through the forest. Raw and shaking, he pushes through Varys’ honor guard of former bikers, back into the Spider’s Lair.

Varys has not moved since he left him. He watches Jaime drop down into the chair opposite him as though it were only moments since he gave his terrible answer. 

“Would you like to ask for your boon now?” the Spider asks. 

“Yes.” Jaime leans forward. “I need weapons.”

***

Let me hold you in my arms dear

And let me melt in the heat of your gaze

And let the clock strike one,

Time and mind go marching on

Let our sense of selves decay

It was there that I saw you

In the heat of a summer's embrace

But as time went on

I wondered what went wrong

I wondered what became of you

“It Was There That I Saw You”, ...And You Will Know Us By The Trail of Dead

[legends-live-in-memories]

First Friend

AYO im back with biodad!bruce wayne day 2! lets see how long i keep going

Maribat Masterlist  AO3  @maribat-bdbwm 

Day 1

Word count: 1.2k words

Summary:

“You’re rude.”

It was just two words. Two very simple, honest words but they were enough to send the blonde eleven year old girl into hysterics.

The story on how 11-year-old Marinette made her first friend

BD!Bruce Wayne Day 2- Family/Friends

without further ado:

“You’re rude.”

It was just two words. Two very simple, honest words but they were enough to send the blonde eleven year old girl into hysterics. She was going on some tirade about her father and how he would never allow Marinette to talk about her like that. It made little sense to her because her maman had always told her to speak about her feelings openly. Hiding how she felt about someone who she was not actively trying to deceive was a waste of energy, her maman had explained. Marinette wholeheartedly agreed. Just imagining trying to keep the blonde girl happy at all times added ten pounds of weight to her shoulders. Her heart went out to the little redhead trying to do just that. Was that what friends do?

Marinette’s never had friends before. She was the only child in her village. The Guardians, she had learned, lived longer than their peers so they chose to live in seclusion, away from anything that could corrupt their world view or challenge them. They recruited in secret, always older people, people who have seen the world and wished to correct it. Marinette, being born into the way of the Order of the Guardians, knew very little of society. The elders sought to correct that. First, she was introduced to her father—who she discovered was a bit of a recluse despite living and protecting a heavily populated city—then the elders decided that she would live in one of the cultural centers of the world. Paris, France; home to a little over two million people and a hot spot for tourists. No better place to learn about the world than somewhere that has entertained the rest of the world.

She had been enrolled in school and was introduced to almost a dozen children her age. She memorized their names and faces and whatever random information she gathered from observation. A short blonde girl named Rose loved to collect bugs but the boy named Max hated them. He liked something called video games, Marinette noted to ask her parents about that later. The other blonde girl in her class, a girl named Chloé, was the daughter of the mayor and she liked to make sure everyone remembered. Everyone. She was also a brat and loud and rude and Marinette was rather upfront when she told her such. Which led to her current situation.

“You’re rude,” she had said. She was standing in front of a shy girl with pretty locs, Mylène, blocking her from Chloé’s view.

“I’m not rude!” the blonde shrieked. “I was just telling her that her headband was ugly and it belonged in the trash where she found it!”

“It doesn’t matter where she got it,” Marinette didn’t think she found it in the trash but people were weird and she didn’t want to be wrong just in case. Regardless it was still a cute pink headband with flowers. “You don’t get to call people’s things ugly.”

“And who are you to tell me what I can and can’t do?” Chloé had crossed her arms and was pouting and not even looking at them anymore. Marinette felt hot frustration boil under her skin. She didn’t like how the girl wouldn’t even look at them. “My daddy’s the mayor and I can do whatever I want!”

Who cared who her father was? That didn’t mean she got to do whatever she wanted whenever she wanted. If that were the case then Marinette was untouchable. Her frustration grew and she had no control over herself anymore. Her small body could only hold so much anger and, despite her teachers’ best efforts, she inherited her papa’s quick temper. The words were out and Marinette regretted them before she could stop herself from saying them.

“Well, my dad is Batman!”

Silence.

No one spoke and Marinette was already beating herself up for the misstep. She shouldn’t have said that! That was classified information and she shouldn’t be using her family’s business to win petty arguments. That would make her no better than Chloé. How could she fix this? She had to fix this.

“Yeah and my dad’s Superman!” yelled a new voice. Kim, this tall kid from another class, had joined in the argument. He stood slightly off to the side, drowning in a big red hoodie with his chest puffed out and posing.

“My mom is Wonder Woman!”

“My uncle is the Flash!”

One by one more of her classmates started to shout out how they were ‘related’ to various members of the Justice League until all that could be heard was a cacophony of names and laughter.

“Ugh, whatever, Dupain-Cheng,” Chloé huffed and stomped in place but her voice could barely be heard over the other children. Marinette watched as she realised she was being ignored before grabbing the redheaded girl and pulling away from the crowd.

“Umm, thank you,” Marinette heard a voice directly behind her ear, as timid as a mouse. She turned to face the girl she was protecting, Mylène, and offered her her best attempt at a reassuring smile. “You didn’t have to stand up for me like that but I’m glad you did.”

“Of course, I really like your headband so I didn’t want what Chloé said to get to you.”

“You really like it?” Marinette watched as she slowly, almost afraid to touch it, reached for her headband. The wonder in her eyes made pride in Marinette’s tiny frame. She did the right thing standing up for her!

“Yes! I really do!”

“Thank you, do you,” the girl paused and squared her shoulders, looking Marinette intently with a furrow to her brows, “do you want to be friends with me?”

Friends? Marinette has never made a friend before. Is that what the Guardians wanted from her by sending her here? Friends meant trust but she was a Guardian in training. That meant she would have to keep secrets. Could she do that? Keep such secrets from a friend? Did she want friends? What would her father do? Did Batman have friends? Did she want to be like Batman? Before an answer to any of those questions could come to her, Mylène spoke out again.

“It’s okay if you don’t,” she tried to reassure Marinette but by the look in her eyes, the cloudiness and the slight red tint, Marinette knew that her lack of an answer deeply hurt the girl.

“No! I do want to be friends!” She was quick to quell the other girl’s worries, not wanting to form any misunderstandings. It appears they both could need a friend. Even though she had never accounted for them in the Guardians’ plans for her, Marinette believed friends were exactly what she needed. And the Justice League were Batman’s friends so it was obviously the right choice.

She would need to discuss with her mother going forward but she still did well today. She was honest, stood up for someone and even though she accidentally outed her father, nothing bad happened. She just needed to be more cautious next time, to be more level-headed. There was no harm, no foul.

Besides, having friends never hurt anybody, right?

[oopsitsstella]

A Soldier Comes Home

Peter Parker x Mom! Reader, Sam Wilson x Reader

Fandom: The MCU

Parker-Wilson Family Masterlist: More stories in the same universe

Warnings: Some angst, but it’s not too bad, me not knowing things about being a soldier, so I most likely got things wrong

A/N: Peter is 11 years old in the first section of the fic, and 16 in the second one. Peter acts a bit younger than an eleven year old in the first part, but let’s just go with it. Also, Sam isn’t Peter’s actual dad, Y/N already had Peter when she and Sam started dating.

2012

It was five in the morning on a chilly November day at LaGuardia Airport. Y/N Parker was kneeling in front of her son Peter, wiping the tears off his cheeks, while her sister and boyfriend stood behind them, watching the interaction.

“I don’t want you to go.” Peter said quietly.

A sad smile crept onto Y/N’s face, and she brought Peter in so she could hug him properly.

“I know you don’t. I don’t either, but duty calls.” She tells him, pulling back slightly to look at his face.

“Mom has to go be a hero.” Sam speaks up, and Peter turns his head to look at him.

“Like Iron Man?” He asks, looking back at his mom.

“Yeah. Exactly like Iron Man.” Sam chuckles.

“I’m cooler though, aren’t I?” Y/N asks, and Peter cracks a smile.

“You’ll always be the coolest.” He says, before more tears slip down his face.

“Oh, my darling boy.” Y/N sighs, hugging him again. “It’ll be okay. Sam and May will look after you, and I’ll call, or write letters as often as I can.” She promised him, while Sam crouched down next to him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“You trust me, right?” He asked, trying to lighten the mood. It seemingly worked, seeing as Peter let out a teary laugh.

“Yeah.” He said, and Sam also gave him a quick hug.

The two adults stood up again, and May came and put a hand on her nephews shoulder, while Y/N wrapped her arms around Sam.

“Promise you’ll be careful?” He asked.

“I always am.” She assured him, pressing her lips firmly against his. They kept their embrace for a while longer, before pulling away.

Y/N then moved to her sister, giving her a hug too.

“I’ll miss you.” May said quietly.

“I’ll miss you too.” Y/N whispered, tightening her arms around May for a moment before letting go.

“Think you’re ready to go?” Sam asked.

“Not quite.” Y/N said, crouching down to the ground. “Can I have one last hug, Pete?”

Peter didn’t hesitate a second, launching himself into his mom’s arms, one last embrace before she left.

When they let go of each other, Y/N stood back up, and gripped onto her bag.

“I’ll call as soon as I can after I land.” She promised.

One last goodbye from her small family, and off she went.

2017

It had been five years since Y/N saw her son in person. Five years.

Yeah, it came with being a soldier, she knew that, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. Not being able to see her son, her boyfriend or her sister for such a long time was not a good feeling. So when Y/N received the news that her deployment was ending, rest assured she was over the moon.

She knew Peter would most likely be in school, so she instead decided to call Sam.

“Hi Sam.” She spoke into the phone.

“Hey Baby. How are you doing?” Sam’s voice greeted.

“I’m doing… spectacular, honestly.”

“Oh really? Any particular reason, or is it just a good day?”

“There is a very particular reason.” Y/N couldn’t help the giddiness seeping into her voice. “My deployment’s ended. I’m coming home.”

“What?! Seriously? You’re not messing with me?”

“Samuel, would I joke about this?”

“Touché, no you wouldn’t.” Sam said. “Do Peter and May know?”

“No, they don’t. I figured Peter’ in school, and May wasn’t answering, so I called you.”

“Well, don’t I feel special now.” Sam said, making Y/N laugh. “When are you coming back?”

“Well, me and the other soldiers who are coming back are getting a flight, it leaves Wednesday night, so two days from now, so if all goes according to plan I’ll be landing at around noon on Thursday.” Y/N explained. “Oh, but that means Peter will be in school when I get home, doesn’t it?”

“It does indeed, sadly.” Sam said. “But I’m sure we could get Peter out of school for the day so he could come greet you.”

“Is it bad I kinda don’t want to tell him so I can surprise him on Thursday?” Y/N spoke hesitantly, and Sam laughed.

“No, I don’t think so. You wanna surprise him?”

“I kinda do.” Y/N chuckled. She could hear the sound of fingers snapping, before Sam spoke again.

“I have an idea. Tony’s been wanting to have dinner with the whole team, May and Peter included, and I also happen to know, and I think you do too, that he’s been wanting to actually meet you in person.”

Y/N had met her son’s superhero mentor a few times when she had been on the phone with Peter, and Tony also happened to be around.

“Sam, are you saying what I think you are?” Y/N asked.

“I mean, great minds think alike, right?” He said, and Y/N laughed.

That day, Sam and Y/N, along with Tony and May made a plan. May would come pick Y/N up from the airport that Thursday, and they would spend some time together. Then Sam would come pick her up, and they would also spend time together, before heading to the tower. Then, later that night, Peter and May would come to the tower for dinner with the team, and there Y/N would be. Ready to see her son for the first time in 5 long years.

“I missed you so much. You don’t even know.” Y/N whispered, tightening her arms around Sam’s neck.

Sam had just pulled up outside the apartment complex where May and Peter lived, where Y/N had been waiting for him, and as soon as he was out of the car, Y/N had launched herself into Sam’s arms.

“If it’s anywhere near as much as I missed you, I think I have a pretty good idea.” Sam replied.

Y/N pulled back slightly to look at her boyfriend. Much like May, he hadn’t changed much, but she was almost thankful for that. It was nice coming home to familiar faces.

“Still as handsome as ever.” She said quietly, placing a hand on his cheek.

“And you’re still as beautiful as when I last saw you.” Sam replied smoothly.

“And you haven’t lost your charm.”

“I could never.”

“Fair enough.” Y/N whispered, before placing her lips on his.

“Peter, come on! We have to go!” May called to her nephew.

“Mr. Stark isn’t going to be mad if we’re a little late!” Peter called back.

“That doesn’t mean we have to be.” May responded as Peter walked into the hallway. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah, let’s go.”

The car ride to the tower was mostly filled with silence. The radio was on, playing music, and May and Peter talked a little bit, but it was mostly silent.

“May, are you okay?” Peter asked after a while. “You seem a little on edge.”

“I’m fine Peter.” May assured him, glancing at him before looking back at the road. “I’m just a bit nervous about meeting the team. I have only met Tony, Pepper and Happy before, you know. Other than Sam, of course.”

It wasn’t a complete lie. It was true that she hadn’t met most of the team yet, but it was most certainly not the reason she was a little nervous.

They soon arrived at the tower, and were greeted by Tony, Pepper and Sam standing at the entrance waiting for them.

“Hey buddy.” Sam said, giving Peter a hug, before giving one to May.

“Welcome, welcome.” Tony said, giving both Peter and May a hug as well, Pepper doing the same. “How are we doing on this fine evening?”

“I’m okay. I’m missing mom a little. Well, more than usual, I haven’t talked to her in a while.” Peter said.

“Well that’s okay.” Sam said, placing a hand on Peter’s shoulder as they all stepped into the elevator. “I’m sure we can make you feel a bit better.”

The five of them stepped out of the elevator, and walked through the kitchen.

“Mm, before I forget, I don’t know if May told you, but we have a special guest join us tonight.” Pepper told Peter as they stepped into the dining room.

“Oh really, who-“

Before Peter could finish his sentence, he stopped dead in his tracks. There, standing next to the couch, just a few feet away from him, stood his mom.

Her hair was a little longer than when he last saw her, and she looked a little tired, but there was no doubt about who it was.

“Mom?”

“Hi Peter.”

That was all it took before Peter was running towards her, and she caught him in a hug. Both of Peter’s arms wrapped around Y/N’s waist, while she placed one hand around his shoulder and one at the back of his head.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, tears in his eyes.

“I’m home.” She simply said.

“I missed you so much.” Peter whispered, tightening the hug.

“I missed you too.” Y/N replied, running her fingers through Peter's hair.

“Sam come here.” Peter said after a moment, reaching an arm out to him, making Y/N chuckle.

“Oh, I’m allowed to be part of the family moment?”

“You’ve been a part of this family for forever, now come here. You too May.” Peter said.

Sam let out a chuckle as May walked up to her sister and nephew, before he also joined the trio.

Y/N kept one arm around Peter, her other one moving to wrap around Sam. May had both her arms wrapped around Y/N and Peter, while Sam’s arms were encasing the whole group, Peter still in the middle hugging his mom.

Their family was finally back together again.

[postmodernmulticoloredcloak]

I decided to watch the Walker pilot so you don’t have to. #2

Because I don’t love myself enough, I guess. Let’s continue.

Recap in case you missed the first part: it’s boring, Jared acts like he stumbled on the set and never heard about it before, Texan law enforcement must wear very pristine shirts and cowboy hats or they will die, I guess, the cinematography wants to be good but I’m not sure it knows how to do it.

The last thing I mentioned in the first post was Jared doing a thing with his mouth but I think you need to see it. It’s basically the extent of Jared’s acting in this show. I had nothing against you, man, I swear. I even got your autograph once. I’m not a hater. I’m just looking at him...

THE TITLE CARD! I had paused the episode riiight before the title card. You have to witness it in all its embarrassing glory

Whose idea was it??

Some shots of the city of Austin. Walker and Martinez (Mexican Lady Cop) are having lunch. She says she’s heard about him, he asks what she’s learnt, she says, I textuallty quote, “I hear you are the edge of the coin”. Again, we are not allowed to have any kind of slight metaphor without the dialogue slapping us in the face with it.

“Not head or tail, just... your way” Jared didn’t even come up with the metaphor in that interview, it was in the script. Unless he came up with that line, which isn’t even a good line.

She basically tells him not to get in the way of her career. Being a Mexican-American cop is hard! Such deep commentary.

They start discussing the case, which I had already forgotten about. The cop who was slightly assaulted and won’t talk about it. “Maybe whatever was in that truck spooked him enough to abandon his oath” maybe it was a monster. god I wish it was a monster so that’d mean I’m watching Supernatural and Jensen is in it. The “oath” thing is kinda icky, like they want to remind us that being a cop is a noble path. It is in some places under some conditions. But we’re talking about Generic American conditions.

He’s like “let’s use the traffic cams to see if we can see something” and he slips right into his Sam tone. Admittedly that’s a Sam kind of thing to say.

It was day, and now it’s night. Walker house. He arrives when his family have already started dinner. Except the daughter isn’t there, she’s out with a friend. “Isabel, some Mexican girl” Walker’s father calls the friend. “Mexican American, dad” the gay brother corrects him, a deep and interesting commentary on ethnicity in the United States, we’re weeping with emotion.

Walker apparently isn’t happy that his mother has enrolled his daughter in a Catholic school, his father snaps back at him. We don’t care. We’re not emotionally invested in any of this.

There’s some awkward dialogue because he mentions the daughter playing basketball, but she’s switched to soccer. Wow, it’s like she’s become an entirely different person in those eleven months he was undercover! Can you believe? Apparently she used to play soccer before, she’s come back to it. Whoa. She’s an utterly unrecognizable person now, it’s going to be so hard for Walker to get to know her again from scratch. Can you believe?

Then he gets a call. He needs to pick up the daughter from the police station. He does some Jared awkward faces and leaves.

The daughter (Stella) was at a party and was arrested for possession. I miss when possession meant demonic possession. Dramatic music plays. She’s there with the Mexican American friend, whose parents arrive and he starts a speech on how they should get to know each other better. It is so not the right context to start making friends. “Epic first meeting” Isabel says. “I’m so sorry, this is so embarrassing” Stella says. “For who?” Walker quips, like a normal person does.

He’s like, let’s go, and the girls hug, which is the only believable expression of affection I’ve seen so far in the episode. Can’t the story be about Stella and Isabel?

Father-daughter conversation in the truck. Apparently we have emotional moments in cars, which we have never seen on television before.

He asks what she was thinking, she’s like, duh what do people use drugs for. She calls him out for disappearing completely. She mentions how it was bad enough that they didn’t have mom. He says “we both got to stop acting like she’s gonna come back and put us right” which makes absolutely zero sense. It’s like someone wrote it on a note for how to develop the characters and they just decided to slap it into the script of the pilot. Remember these people haven’t seen each other for eleven months, he left shortly after his wife died. They didn’t have the time to process the grief together, why is he even saying that line here?

Meanwhile Martinez get home and we meet her boyfriend, a very cute Black man. They’re cute. Why can’t the story be about them?

He asks her about Walker, she says he’s a mess. Oh god. She says he was a Marine, “signed after 9/11”. Holy shit. He’s a Marine who signed up after asdfghjkl can’t you feel the Manly Trauma here????

He’s a Marine who signed up to fight Muslims after 9/11 and now has a dead wife, he’s exactly the kind of male lead character we need right now.

She says she’s trying to figure him out. Her boyfriend is like “dude stop thinking about that guy, he’s not at home trying to figure you out” and she replies “oh I’m pretty sure he thinks he knows everything about me already”.

This is the first scene that hasn’t felt bad so far.

Meanwhile Jared and his brother go to a bar. It’s very ~Texas Aesthetic~, and they’re wearing cowboy hats, of course. You are not allowed to go to a bar without a cowboy hat in Texas. “The brothers Walker” the flannel-shirt-clad bartender says, coming with drinks. Jensen Ackles makes a face somewhere in the mountains.

The brother goes to call his partner and the bartender starts chatting with Walker. She has a conversation with Jared’s awkward faces and she’s like, I guess you left because I couldn’t answer your questions about what happened yo your wife. This is how people converse in real life.

She asks him if he’s alright and he doesn’t answer, instead is like “let’s have a dance”. He doesn’t say he’s fine, but I think it still counts as a I’m Fine Lie Moment #2 because that’s what it is in spirit.

I know you’re bored, I’m bored.

They dance in the Texan bar, I’m distracted by the pool tables and wish this was Supernatural so we’d see Jensen Ackles play pool.

Obviously the dance is interrupted by work - a text from Ramirez who says she’s got something, “office 8am?” so he leaves because he has to wake up early. I’m not kidding.

I was kind of warmed over by Ramirez and her cute boyfriend and by the bar who was kind of nice as a location, when the next scene at the office immediately starts with Ramirez saying “My mom wouldn’t let me play with dolls when I was a kid, so Iearned about cars instead”. I die a little inside. It’s the second time she’s referred to her mother wanting a son...? So she’s badass because she wasn’t raised to be feminine...? Ew.

So they have this lead thanks to her knowledge of cars. They go investigate. I’m bored.

I shouldn’t have said I was bored, because Walker destroys my boredom by having Jared pick up a cross and start talking to “JC” sarcastically asking him for guidance about his kids going to the Catholic school. “Can you stop” Ramirez says, along with all of us.

By the way they’re in a workshop run by an ex-convict who employs former criminals to make figurines (like that cross). I got a bad feeling about this. Former criminal in cop shows is always code for current criminal.

The investigation leads to two guys who work in the store - “oh I know you,” one immediately says when he spots Walker, “you’re the ranger with the dead wife”. Walker is like, what did you say. And the guy is like oh I heard the story of a ranger’s wife biting a bullet near the border, guess you couldn’t protect her uh~~~

They exchange more provocations - Walker calls him some lowlife something and the guy goes to punch him and Walker beats him up. Violently. I’m uncomfortable. We’re supposed to think he’s exaggerating here but... he does get very violent and should not be a cop. Period.

They go to Ramirez’ house because he cut his hand. Her boyfriend is like “baby there’s a dude bleeding on your couch” I want a season of him, exclusively him.

She scolds Walker. Not because he beat up a guy with more force than needed, but because he acted stupid and that’s bad for her career. I’m uncomfortable.

Also, what’s bad is that they’re supposed to work *together*. He says he has his own way of doing things. Yikes yikes yikes.

She says that her theory is that they put them together because he always break the rules. Apparently she read up his cases and he always break the rules. The main character of the show is a cop who break the rules in half the cases he works. Yikes yikes yikes but also did I mention yikes?

No, wait, he acknowledges that he “bends” the rules, like that’s better! Yikes!

More bad dialogue, then Stella’s school calls him. She hasn’t been at school.

He goes to ask Isabel’s mother, who reveals they haven’t their papers yet, so any criminal activity would mean deportation. He talks about it with Ramirez and mentions that his brother who’s a DA could get in contact with the Feds to speed up the papers. Are we supposed to be like “oh what a good guy”? The thing is just creepy to me.

Well, at least Ramirez says something about it, or actually quotes her mother who used to say that the law doesn’t protect us. That’s why she ~burned bridges~ with her family! Apparently because she became a cop.

Ow. Her mother is not speaking to her because for her, her daughter being a cop is like a betrayal. But for her it’s a way to set things right! We’re supposed to think her mother is exaggerated. #notallcops #individualgoodcopscanchangethesystemfromtheinsideforsuredefinitely

Meanwhile their investigation continues. Remember the cross Walker randomly picked up to mock the concept of Jesus? Ramirez stole it. And now they find out there’s heroin in it. Alright... obviously the business that was supposed to rehabilitate former criminals is a cover for cartel drug dealing. What were we expecting. I’m tired.

Ramirez decides to work the case alone and sends Walker to look for his daughter. “I was that kid once, I always wanted to be found”. The impression you get from the scene is that Walker had forgotten about his daughter missing lol. Ramirez insists he goes. I’m uncomfortable with how many times people put on cowboy hats. Someone should count. We’re only 30 minutes in and it feels like it’s happened 80 times.

Alright, a break now! My laptop’s ventilation is running like crazy, VLC and long tumblr drafts are a bad combination. Or maybe it’s just my laptop being allergic to this show.

[nambamjun]

Star Stuff {SMG}

Pairing: (Hufflepuff) Song Mingi x (Hufflepuff, Gender Neutral) Reader

Genres: Hogwarts AU, mutual pining, friends to perhaps lovers, fluff, some angst

Warnings: I think one or two instances of slight language? Nothing too too bad though

Word Count: 1.4K

A/N: I’m finally and officially done with university for the semester! Off and on break till the fall, which means I’ll have a lot more time to write! I’m home with my cat and it’s missing Mingi hours (as per usual) so I figured why not put a lil thing out here super quick? Comments and (constructive) criticisms are always welcome, hope you enjoy ~<3

You stood on the top most floor of the astronomy tower, pulling your jacket closer to your frame and breathing outwardly before burying your nose deeper into your house scarf that wrapped tightly around your neck. The crisp October air swirled around you, miscellaneous leaves dancing around the floor as it tousled your hair. You looked at your wrist watch, a gift from your muggle friend back home. Staring at the face you wondered how she was getting on these days. Sure, it had only been two and a half months since you had seen her last before leaving for this term, but knowing that didn't really make you miss her any less.

To keep you company while missing old friends, though, you made new ones. Friends that you didn’t have to hide a pretty substantial part of your life from... aka, anything to do with magic. While it wasn’t as if you were popular you did have a few people who really exemplified the saying “quality over quantity”, and you knew that just as you would always have their backs, they would always have yours. Seeing as most of them were hufflepuffs including you this wasn’t too surprising. Most, not all, but hey the value of loyalty was held quite highly in your close knit group.

Speaking of a hufflepuff friend… you zoned back in to your wrist. 11:37pm. You stuffed your now icy hand back in your pocket and huffed. Where is he…? This wasn’t the first time you two had snuck out after hours, far from it. Still, you hoped he hadn’t been caught. That would have definitely weighed on your conscience. I’ll give him until ten of midnight. Thirteen minutes is enough time, if he isn’t here by then… I guess I’ll head back and hope that he just fell asleep or something.

And that is what you did. Five minutes... eight... eleven... thirteen... heck, fifteen. You gave an extra two minutes, but you could only wait around for so long. Briskly walking towards the door the only thought in your head was that you hoped he was warm in bed and that’s all there was to it. Well, that and the hopes that you, too, would be in that same placement in your own room. Lost in thoughts of blankets and pajamas, however, you failed to see someone start to come through the doorway just as you were about to exit. Your bodies crashed together and you stumbled backward, about to give them a right piece of your mind, but any anger faded instantly when you looked upon the apologetic yet smiling face of your best friend.

“Song Mingi how dare you keep me waiting,” you pointedly whispered, lightly pushing him with your fist. “You had me worried! I had half a mind to send an owl straight to your room!” He started chuckling at your reaction and despite wanting to just be a tiny bit dramatic you couldn’t help but let his contagious smile spread to you. “So you’re laughing at me now, okay, I see how it is-” you started to throw your hands up in mock frustration.

“Oh come on, stop being a drama queen. Besides, I’m here now!” You crossed your arms and tried your best to look as indifferent as possible. He sighed and gave you a big eyed stare. “I’m sorryyyyyyy...”

Well who could stay mad at that face?

You relented, stepping forward to give him a short hug before returning to your bundled up state, nose once again deep in your yellow and black scarf. Wordlessly you two made your way over to the usual sitting spot on the side steps and sat down, backs leaning against the wall. You allowed yourself to scoot right next to him and lean into his side, sharing the warmth as your eyes gazed out into the expansive night. You didn’t know he was looking at you until he lightly muttered, “is it just one of those nights…?” You looked up at him, his eyes soft and compassionate, and felt a flood of warmth bloom outward from your chest. You hummed and slightly nodded your head before lightly placing it back down onto his shoulder. He didn’t say anything else, just put his cheek on the crown of your head and moved even closer.

It was times like this that you felt truly at peace. Here, with him, thoughts of all of the assignments you had to do didn’t even cross your mind. School drama was little more than something to chuckle at. Being homesick wasn’t even an issue, because although you were far from your family, you felt at home with him. Yes, the assignments were still there, and maybe two of your other friends were in the middle of a fight that put you in between them, but all of it would work out eventually. You’d be able to get through it all with him by your side. You grew up together, him having been one of the first friends you made upon arriving and being sorted into the same house. Now it was both of your sixth year. The fact that you didn’t have all the time in the world for moments like this loomed over your head sometimes, and it scared you that after this it would be time for the real world, where summer breaks would be no more and nights like these… you hoped they would still happen but who knows? Adults go their separate ways sometimes.

Actually, no, it wasn’t adulthood that scared you. It was the change. Being ripped away from everything you knew, maybe even everyone, just to start something else, whatever that would be. But you were especially afraid of losing him. Not being able to see his beautifully unique smile every day, hear his laugh that was sweeter to you than bird song, or even just exchange little looks so many times a day to have two second long silent conversations that the others wouldn’t be privy to.

Did you have feelings for your best friend? No.

Were you in denial about that? Well… maybe…

Were you going to do anything about it? Absolutely not.

Because he’s your best friend, and you his. You couldn’t - you wouldn’t - afford to change anything from where it is now. Moments like this still had to happen. You wouldn’t know what you would do if they didn’t, let alone if he looked at you differently. Treated you differently. Or even, worst case scenario, left altogether.

You blinked and forced yourself out of your head. You wanted to be in the moment and enjoy every moment with him you could, as fully as possible. All of that could wait until later. You took a deep breath inward and released it, letting yourself revel in the serenity you felt beside him. Little did you know that Mingi was thinking almost the same exact thoughts, with the same worries, and the same fears pitted in the bottom of his stomach. Looking up at the stars without tilting his head he thought to himself that he wouldn’t let any of that happen. He wouldn’t let you drift apart, in fact he would do everything in his power to make sure that the bond between the two of you would be stronger than ever. He allowed a small grin to work its way onto his lips. Right there and then he started plotting.

Maybe Yunho could do me a favor and get the Gryffindor quidditch team involved. That would be so cool, with sparkling letters in the air that would fly out of the ends of their brooms! Is there even a spell for that…? What about maybe putting something like a slip of enchanted paper into that one book? No that might be too subtle and easy to miss. Maybe she’s not into grand gestures though. What wouldn’t be too big but yet still somehow grand? OH! OH! What about that one plant in herbology that blooms those little flowers she loves so much? Maybe I could…

~~~~~

As his mind ran away from him the stars twinkled on above you, hearing the way your two minds crossed so beautifully and whispering to one another about where they thought it would lead. They looked down on the pair and sent some good old fashioned celestial luck to the young romantics. They knew soulmates well enough, and knew that luck wasn’t exactly something they needed in the first place, but why not? It couldn’t hurt. And besides, Mingi was coming up with so many ideas. He could use that energy to help him pick one of them and make it as perfect as possible. After all, to him, you were deserving only of perfection. Nothing less. And he’d be damned if that wasn’t exactly what you got.

[clairecrive]

“A promise”- Remus Lupin imagine

A/N: so this is my first Remus and hp imagine ever, so I’m sorry if it sounds off. I’m open to constructive criticism if you have any. Hope you like it anyway!

Pairing: Remus x bff reader, Sirius x reader, Remus x girlfriend OC, Lily x James

Warning: none I guess, angst with fluffy end so

Summary: as you grow it can happen sometimes that people change and so their relationship with you. And as you’ve overheard something your best friend agreed to, you feared that that’s exactly what happened to your relationship. It is really though?

Flashbacks are in italics

"So you’re leaving? Just like that?" You ask when he sits down on the couch in front of the one you were sitting in. You had heard him talk with his girlfriend about moving after graduation and of course, there’s nothing wrong with that. What bothered you was that she wanted to leave England.

"What are you talking about?"

"Oh don't be daft Remus, you know what I'm talking about." he really seemed clueless but the fact that he had taken such a big decision and hadn’t even told you yet had hurt you. It was something one would immediately tell their best friend, was it not?

"I don't, seeing as my girlfriend asked me to move in her and I reckon there’s nothing wrong with that." But of course, in true Remus and y/n fashion, whenever one of you bit the other answered right away.

"Your girlfriend wants to move on the other side of the globe Remus!" And so you snapped, surprising all of your friends around you beside the man of the hour and your boyfriend Sirius since both of them knew you like the back of their hands.

"So?" he asked causing you to scoff

"Don't you remember?" your voice got very quiet almost as if you didn't want him to hear

"We made a promise to always be together," you explained after seeing his puzzled expression.

Realization washed over his face and you knew the memory of you two in the back of his yard played in his mind. The day, at 11 years old, you promised that no matter what, you'd never leave the other alone. 

For as long as you could remember, you and Remus had always spent the summer together. Since you attended different schools, you didn’t have a lot of time to spare to see each other as much as you’d like during the school year, so as soon as it ended you tried to spend every moment you could together. Of course, now that both had received the letter from Hogwarts, things were going to change. You couldn’t wait to finally attend school with your best friend.

So here you both were, swaying on the swings in the park near your house while Remus was on the ground next to them reading a book. The boy could always be found with his nose buried in a book but you never minded much seeing as it could be said the same for you.

However, since the letter arrived, your mind was filled with excitement for this new adventure that awaited you but also, you couldn’t help but have a lot of questions about the future.

“Where do you see yourself in ten years?”  you asked him not stopping the swing. 

Remus didn’t answer you right away but you knew you had caught his attention.

"I don't know. I've never thought about it."

"Really?"

"Well, yeah I mean we all know my... condition isn't going make things easier for me."

"Is that why you don't like to think about the future?" He just nodded but you knew it was because he didn’t like to talk about it so you quickly changed the subject.

"I don't like it either you know, but I do hope you'll be in it."

Your bond with Remus wasn’t exactly a secret. Everyone who knew you, was aware of your tight knit relationship. However, being both shy and reserved, you never really outed your feelings for each other with words. Your constant presence at the other's side was enough of a statement.

It was rather unusual for both of you to openly speak about it like this so while you looked in front of you while swaying on the swing, Remus was busy trying to hide his rosy cheeks.

"Well, I thought that was a given." He said loud enough so you could hear over the metal sound of the swing. Now it was your time to blush.

"You promise?" Stopping your legs, you got the swing to slowly still. Reaching your pinky towards him, a gesture so very common between you whenever you wanted to seal a deal, you wait for him to do the same.

"Promise." And the deal was sealed with the same seriousness as it was a legal binding contract.

Seemed like one took it more seriously than the other though.

"We were only 11 y/n..." Remus said tentatively. He looked taken back and this possibly hurt you more than his words. 

So what if you were both eleven at the time? Your age didn’t take away any ouch of importance from the promise you made. You were dead serious about it and still stood by your words. Didn’t he?

"Yes well, I was serious when I promised you than I'd never leave you alone. I should have known though that all it took was a cute girl for you to push me aside." Now, that might have been a tad too far fetched but you’d always had a fliar for the dramatics and being with Sirius didn’t help that in the least.

"Oh don't be a hypocrite now, y/n. If Sirius asked you, you would have done the same thing." Rolling his eyes, he pointed at Sirius who was currently sat on the couch behind you. You were standing in the middle of the common room but fortunately most of the students seemed to in class and those who had a free period fled as soon as they heard you arguing.

"No, I wouldn't. Because you mean the world to me and I'd never leave you behind." You boasted tired of hearing him misjudging you." It's nice to know how you feel though." And with that, barely able to contain your tears anymore, you stormed out of the room leaving a confused and angry Remus behind.

The truth was that this had nothing to do with your partners. You loved Sirius with all your heart and were happy when Remus seemed to find what you have with his best friend with Sarah. You were genuinely happy for them, Remus deserves to be happy and there was nothing you wanted more for him. Even if that meant he had to leave you behind…

Now that you were looking at the whole thing with a clearer mind, you started to realize that Remus was right. You were being a hypocrite indeed.  Your relationship with Sirius had flourished beautifully since you’d started dating in third year and while you hadn’t already talked about it, you knew you’d probably end up living with him in his apartment. Lily and James were practically already married and Peter… well Peter was Peter. So where did that leave Remus?

If he didn’t move with Sarah that would mean that he’d be alone. Sure, their houses will always be open to him but it wouldn’t be the same without her by his side. You knew that. 

So, you realized, at the end of the day, you just wanted him to be happy. And if you loved someone you should set him free. You still had Sirius and everyone else and it’s not like you’d never see each other again. Of course, being apart from him was going to be hard for you but it was a sacrifice you were willing to make. He deserved it.

Sighing you stopped, knowing that you owed him an apology. But when you turned around to go back to the common room, you saw Remus walking towards you. You didn’t hear him following after you stormed out but he was walking rather quickly to catch up with you. He didn’t expect you to stop though so he almost knocked you over, his arms wrapped around you were the only reason why you hadn’t toppled over.

“I’m so sorry y/n, I didn’t realize you had taken it this way. I swear it’s not like that, you know how much I care about you,” Remus was muttering frantically in your neck, your grip on you tightening and you could help but chuckle at how sweet and wonderful human being your best friend. 

You pulled away slightly, just enough so you could look into his eyes while speaking,not that Remus allowed you to pulled away that much. 

“I’m the one who should be apologizing Rem, it wasn’t fair of me to hold that against you. It’s only right that you live your life how you want and with the woman you love. I just want you to be happy.” You said while caressing the crease in the between his eyebrows. You knew how much he hated arguing.

“What about our promise? I also was serious at the time, I don’t want you to feel like you don’t matter as much to me because you do. You know how much you mean to me.” He continued wanting to be 100% sure that you were okay.

“I’ll be okay Rem, I’ll just have to come to term with the fact that I’m not going to see your annoying sprout every day.” You joked to ease his worry and mirrored the smile he gave you.

“I’m not going to disappear, you know. I’m going to write you every day, you’ll be more annoyed with me than you are now.” Keeping an arm on your shoulders, he lead you back to the common room where the others were waiting for you.

“As if that could really happen.”  You retake your sit beside Sirius that shots you a wing while Remus leaves a kiss on your head before sitting down next Sarah.

Yeah, you had a feeling that you were going to be alright despite the distance.

[heavenlyhaechan]

The Road Not Taken

Pairing: Kevin x Gn!Reader 

Genre: exes to almost lovers, angst, fluff

Word Count: 2k 

Warnings: mentions of alcohol, alludes to explicit content, not a happy ending

Rating: PG 

Note: Based on ‘tis the damn season by Taylor Swift. Look for the lines inspired by the Queen’s Gambit.

The cafe was the same as it’d always been. Big windows looked out onto the wet street, sacks of coffee beans lay along the back wall, their sweet aroma filling the air. You breathed in deeply, letting the smell fill your lungs until your body forced you to exhale. 

You ordered a plain black coffee at the counter, turning to lean against it as you waited. A baby looked at you in the curious way babies do, and you returned their stare. Their hair stuck up in curls that bounced around as they giggled. You smiled, averting your gaze as you heard the bell on the door jingle. 

His hair was longer than you remembered. It threatened to fall into his eyes as he surveyed the room, eyes that froze the second they landed upon you. For a moment you were tempted to try and hide, abandon your unmade coffee and run as far away from here as you could. But he was already making his way past the cashier and the cases of baked goods, only slowing down when he reached you.  

“Kevin Moon,” you said as he came to a stop in front of you. He nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. 

“It’s been a while,” he replied. 

“I like your hair.” 

He thanked you as you turned to accept your coffee from the barista. 

“Where are you staying?” he asked as you took a sip of the dark liquid. 

“My parents house.” 

“How long?” 

“Two weeks.” 

He nodded again, fingers playing with the silver chain of his necklace. 

“Aren’t you gonna order?” you asked after a moment of silence. 

“Oh yeah. Wait for me?” 

“Of course,” you said, but in your head all you could think was: did you wait for me? 

“You still drink that bitter stuff huh?” he asked as he walked you back to your parents house. 

“You still drink that glorified milk huh?” you shot back. 

He made an indignant sound as he held his coffee cup close to his chest. “How dare you disrespect my latte like that.” 

For the first time in what felt like forever, a genuine laugh bubbled up in your chest. Soon enough you were both laughing, high on the cold air and the nostalgia of each others company. It felt so natural being with him, laughing with him, like four years hadn’t just gone by without a word from either of you. 

“So what are you up to these days?” you asked when you’d recovered. 

“Well I’m a uh, teacher. For first graders.” 

“Oh?” you said. “You went through with it huh?” 

“Yeah,” he laughed again, quieter this time. You remembered how easily laughter had always come to him, as well as the days when it had come easily to you too.

——

Thursday morning you sat up in your childhood bed to find the world outside coated in a thin layer of snow. By the time you made it downstairs for breakfast it had begun to fall again, the wind sending white flurries of it dancing across your parent’s lawn. 

At eleven o’clock you answered a knock on the door, only to find Kevin standing on your porch with a navy blue beanie pulled over his hair and a sled under his arm. 

“Are you serious?” you asked in place of a greeting, trying and failing to hold back a smile as he nodded enthusiastically. 

“It never snows here, so we are obligated to take advantage of it!” he said as he quirked an eyebrow at you comically. 

You didn’t need any more persuasion than that. 

Half an hour later the two of you stood at the top of a hill in your neighborhood park, surrounded on all sides by people twice your age. Not that Kevin seemed to care. A flipped coin resulted in you sitting on the front of the sled with Kevin behind you, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist. 

The butterflies that were conjured at the feeling of his chest pressed against your back (albeit separated by quite a few of layers), were blown away as he sent the two of you hurtling down the snowy slope. You didn’t know whether to laugh or scream, so you did a bit of both. It was over in a flash however, as the two of you came to a smooth stop at the bottom of the hill. 

“Again!” you shouted elatedly, laughing as you pulled Kevin to his feet and started back up the incline. 

Once, twice, three times you repeated the process, until on your fifth run your luck ran out and you were sent toppling off the sled as you reached the bottom of the hill. You lay still for a moment, trying to catch your breath, before you realized the position you’d landed in. Kevin hadn’t let go of your waist once, resulting in the two of you falling onto the snow covered ground in a pile of limbs, your cheek pressed to his chest. 

“Are you okay?” you asked as you scrambled off of him hurriedly, blaming his newfound blush on the cold. 

“Yeah, are you?” he asked as he sat up slowly. 

“Yes, you’re good landing pad.” 

“Glad to be of service.” He looked around for a moment before laying back down and shouting, “Snow angel!” His arms and legs moved sporadically in the snow, sending you into another fit of laughter. 

——

The next week was spent both with and without Kevin. During the day you would go explore art galleries, cafes, and parks, or just go for a drive in the old truck he’d had since you were seventeen. At night you would spend time with your family, trying your best to pretend that your mind wasn’t elsewhere. 

New Years Eve arrived sooner than you would’ve liked, as it meant your trip was coming to an end. That night Kevin showed up on your doorstep yet again, this time carrying a bottle of champagne. 

“Might I uh, steal you away from your parents for a bit?” he asked when you answered the door, his smile as big and lopsided as ever. You found that you couldn’t help but smile back. 

——

“This is it; home sweet home,” he said as he closed his apartment door behind you. It was small but cozy, with little bits of Kevin everywhere. Boxes of beads were spread across the kitchen table, and some of his students drawings were pinned up on the white front fridge. 

As Kevin went to get some glasses for the champagne, you found your eyes fixating on the piece of art hung on the far wall.

“Do you like it?” he asked as he set a pair of champagne glasses down on the kitchen table. 

“Yeah,” you said, although honestly you weren’t sure. The piece sent a strange sense of loneliness streaking through you. 

“It’s mine.” he said. “I made it I mean.” 

“I didn’t know you were an artist,” you said as you ripped your eyes away from the piece and moved to where he stood at the table. 

“I’m not really,” he deflected, lifting his hands to gesture towards the bottle of champagne. “Shall we?” 

——

A few glasses of champagne later you found yourself laying on Kevin’s couch, legs resting on his lap. His hands tapped an unfamiliar beat on your thighs, the beads on his bracelet creating a makeshift song. 

“You know, this isn’t technically champagne,” you mused, your fingers playing with one of the couches loose strings. “It’s just sparkling white wine,” you continued, lifting your head to look at him. 

“Is it now?” he said to show he was listening, his eyes not straying from where his hands rested on your legs. 

“Yes,” you sat up properly now, your head spinning a bit as blood rushed from your brain to the rest of your body. You watched the clocks hands tick the seconds away, counting down to midnight. 

——

It was 11:57 when he asked you if you still liked his hair, the words heavy with meaning. His breath ghosted across your lips as you pondered for a moment, leaning forward to twist a lock of his pitch black hair between your fingers. You noticed then that his eyes had glazed over, although whether it was because of the champagne or the close proximity you weren’t sure. 

“Yes,” you said finally, and he smiled. 

“Can I kiss you?” he asked this time, leaning just a hair closer. 

“Yes,” you said again, barely loud enough for him to hear. 

Four years had passed, but he tasted the same; like that peppermint gum you’d loved in high school, with remnants of coffee from the place down the street. You wondered if you tasted the same, if deep down you were still the same naive school girl that he’d watched leave all those years ago. 

You thought back to the last kiss you’d given him before you’d left, and realized that this felt exactly the same. The only difference was that this time you thought you might finally drown in your guilt. 

But then you felt his teeth dig into your bottom lip and you stopped thinking anything at all. 

——

You awoke to the scent of him on your skin and in your lungs, the warmth of his presence permeating your very being. You were enveloped in it, and for a moment you wished you could stay there forever, wrapped in the warmth of his blankets.

But no. You rolled onto your stomach, not wanting to look him in the eye as your mind grappled with the conflicting bitterness of the truth. Goosebumps rose on your skin as he trailed his fingertips over your bare shoulder, up to your cheek, before coming to rest in your hair. 

“I’m leaving tomorrow,” you murmured finally, not wanting to disrupt the peaceful atmosphere of the morning. 

“Wow,” he said. “Time flies.” 

A few moments passed, and part of you lit up with the hope that he might ask you to stay. But then the warmth of his hand left your head, and the warmth of his body left your side. You kept your face buried in the pillow, eyes screwed tight against the tears that you felt rising in you. You could feel the strain in your throat as you forced yourself to hold them back.

“Why didn’t you,” he started and then stopped as his voice wavered. A moment passed, and the another, and then another, until you thought he might have decided to leave it alone. But then he began again. 

“Why didn’t you keep in touch?” 

The question felt like salt added to an already aching wound. You forced yourself to think back to the day you’d left. You’d been eighteen then, ready to get out of your hometown and explore the world. Ready for new adventures in unfamiliar cities. And that’s exactly what you’d found. 

Nevertheless, you’d promised Kevin that you’d keep in touch, keep whatever it was the two of you had back then alive. In this you had failed. You’d been too wrapped up in your luxurious new life, meeting luxurious new people and seeing luxurious new places. 

“I did at first, I just-” you stopped yourself when you heard, more than felt, your voice crack. What good were excuses anyway. 

“Yeah,” you heard him sigh. “At first.” The bed moved underneath you as he stood up. You opened your eyes then, only to feel any lingering hope that you had left being ripped away as you watched him turn towards the door. 

“I’m going down the street to get breakfast,” he said, but you knew what he really meant was: you better be gone when I get back. With that he left the bedroom, his bare feet making so little noise on the hardwood floors that it was like he was a ghost. 

You wanted to call his name, ask him to stay a little longer, but that was too selfish even for you. You couldn’t ask him to wait for the same reason you knew he wouldn’t ask you to stay. 

——

As you stood in the airport saying goodbye to your parents a strange wave of deja vu washed over you. Four and a half years and almost nothing had changed, except this time he wasn’t here to say goodbye.